Volume II Part 71 (1/2)

_Dido._ Not all the world can take thee from mine arms.

aeneas may command as many Moors As in the sea are little water-drops: And now, to make experience of my love,-- Fair sister Anna, lead my lover forth, And, seated on my jennet, let him ride, As Dido's husband, through the Punic streets; And will[528] my guard, with Mauritanian darts To wait upon him as their sovereign lord.

_Anna._ What if the citizens repine thereat? 70

_Dido._ Those that dislike what Dido gives in charge, Command my guard to slay for their offence.

Shall vulgar peasants storm at what I do?

The ground is mine that gives them sustenance, The air wherein they breathe, the water, fire, All that they have, their lands, their goods, their lives!

And I, the G.o.ddess of all these, command aeneas ride as Carthaginian king.

_Ach._ aeneas, for his parentage, deserves As large a kingdom as is Libya. 80

_aen._ I, and, unless the Destinies be false, I shall be planted in as rich a land.

_Dido._ Speak of no other land; this land is thine; Dido is thine, henceforth I'll thee lord.-- Do as I bid thee, sister; lead the way; And from a turret I'll behold my love.

_aen._ Then here in me shall flourish Priam's race; And thou and I, Achates, for revenge For Troy, for Priam, for his fifty sons, Our kinsmen's lives[529] and thousand guiltless souls, 90 Will lead an host against the hateful Greeks, And fire proud Lacedaemon o'er their heads.

[_Exeunt all except_ DIDO _and_ Carthaginian Lords.

_Dido._ Speaks not aeneas like a conqueror?

O blessed tempests that did drive him in!

O happy sand that made him run aground!

Henceforth you shall be [of] our Carthage G.o.ds.

I, but it may be, he will leave my love, And seek a foreign land called Italy: O, that I had a charm to keep the winds Within the closure of a golden ball; 100 Or that the Tyrrhene sea were in mine arms, That he might suffer s.h.i.+pwreck on my breast, As oft as he attempts to hoist up sail!

I must prevent him; wis.h.i.+ng will not serve.-- Go bid my nurse take young Ascanius, And bear him in the country to her house; aeneas will not go without his son; Yet, lest he should, for I am full of fear, Bring me his oars, his tackling, and his sails. [_Exit_ First Lord.

What if I sink his s.h.i.+ps? O, he will frown! 110 Better he frown than I should die for grief.

I cannot see him frown; it may not be: Armies of foes resolv'd to win this town, Or impious traitors vow'd to have my life, Affright me not; only aeneas' frown Is that which terrifies poor Dido's heart; Not b.l.o.o.d.y spears, appearing in the air, Presage the downfall of my empery, Nor blazing comets threaten Dido's death; It is aeneas' frown that ends my days. 120 If he forsake me not, I never die; For in his looks I see eternity, And he'll make me immortal[530] with a kiss.

_Re-enter_ First Lord, _with_ Attendants _carrying tackling_, &c.

_First Lord._ Your nurse is gone with young Ascanius: And here's aeneas' tackling, oars, and sails.

_Dido._ Are these the sails that, in despite of me, Pack'd[531] with the winds to bear aeneas hence?

I'll hang ye in the chamber where I lie; Drive, if you can, my house to Italy: I'll set the cas.e.m.e.nt open, that the winds 130 May enter in, and once again conspire Against the life of me, poor Carthage queen: But, though ye[532] go, he stays in Carthage still; And let rich Carthage fleet[533] upon the seas, So I may have aeneas in mine arms.

Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plains, And would be toiling in the watery billows, To rob their mistress of her Trojan guest?

O cursed tree, hadst thou but wit or sense, To measure how I prize aeneas' love, 140 Thou wouldst have leapt from out the sailors' hands, And told me that aeneas meant to go!

And yet I blame thee not; thou art but wood.

The water, which our poets term a nymph,[534]

Why did it suffer thee to touch her breast, And shrunk not back, knowing my love was there?

The water is an element, no nymph.

Why should I blame aeneas for his flight?

O Dido, blame not him, but break his oars!

These were the instruments that launched him forth. 150 There's not so much as this base tackling too, But dares to heap up sorrow to my heart: Was it not you that hoised up these sails?