Page:The works of Christopher Marlowe - ed. Dyce - 1859.djvu/317

 

 

Æn. Where am I now? these should be Carthage-walls.

Ach. Why stands my sweet Æneas thus amaz'd?

Æn. O my Achates, Theban Niobe,

Who for her sons' death wept out life and breath,

And, dry with grief, was turn'd into a stone,

Had not such passions in her head as I! Methinks,

That town there should be Troy, yon Ida's hill,

There Xanthus' stream, because here's Priamus;

And when I know it is not, then I die.

Ach. And in this humour is Achates too;

I cannot choose but fall upon my knees,

And kiss his hand. O, where is Hecuba?

Here she was wont to sit; but, saving air,

Is nothing here; and what is this but stone?

Æn. O, yet this stone doth make Æneas weep!

And would my prayers (as Pygmalion's did)

Could give it life, that under his condùct

We might sail back to Troy, and be reveng'd

On these hard-hearted Grecians which rejoice

That nothing now is left of Priamus!

O, Priamus is left, and this is he!

Come, come aboard; pursue the hateful Greeks.

Ach. What means Æneas?

Æn. Achates, though mine eyes say this is stone,

Yet thinks my mind that this is Priamus;

And when my grievèd heart sighs and says no,

Then would it leap out to give Priam life.—

O, were I not at all, so thou mightst be!—

Achates, see, King Priam wags his hand!

He is alive; Troy is not overcome!

Ach. Thy mind, Æneas, that would have it so,

Deludes thy eye-sight; Priamus is dead.

Æn. Ah, Troy is sack'd, and Priamus is dead!

And why should poor Æneas be alive ?

Asc. Sweet father, leave to weep; this is not he,

For, were it Priam, he would smile on me.

