Page:The works of Christopher Marlowe - ed. Dyce - 1859.djvu/335

Rh But I cried out, " Æneas, false Æneas, stay !"

Then gan he wag his hand, which, yet held up,

Made me suppose he would have heard me speak;

Then gan they drive into the ocean:

Which when I view'd, I cried, "Æneas, stay!

Dido, fair Dido wills Æneas stay!"

Yet he, whose heart['s] of adamant or flint,

My tears nor plaints could mollify a whit.

Then carelessly I rent my hair for grief:

Which seen to all, though he beheld me not,

They gan to move him to redress my ruth,

And stay a while to hear what I could say;

But he, clapp'd under hatches, sail'd away.

Dido. Anna, Anna, I will follow him!

Anna. How can you go, when he hath all your fleet?

Dido. I'll frame me wings of wax, like Icarus,

And, o'er his ships, will soar unto the sun,

That they may melt, and I fall in his arms;

Or else I'll make a prayer unto the waves,

That I may swim to him, like Triton's niece.

O Anna, fetch Arion's harp,

That I may tice a dolphin to the shore,

And ride upon his back unto my love!

Look, sister, look ! lovely Æneas' ships!

See, see, the billows heave 'em up to heaven,

And now down fall the keels into the deep!

O sister, sister, take away the rocks!

They'll break his ships. O Proteus, Neptune, Jove,

Save, save Æneas, Dido's liefest love!

Now is he come on shore, safe without hurt:

But, see, Achates wills him put to sea,

And all the sailors merry-make for joy;

But he, remembering me, shrinks back again:

See, where he comes! welcome, welcome, my love!

Anna. Ah, sister, leave these idle fantasies!

Sweet sister, cease; remember who you are.

Dido. Dido I am, unless I be deceiv'd:

And must I rave thus for a runagate?

Must I make ships for him to sail away?

Nothing can bear me to him but a ship,

And he hath all my fleet. What shall I do,

But die in fury of this oversight?

Ay, I must be the murderer of myself:

No, but I am not; yet I will be straight.—

Anna, be glad; now have I found a mean

To rid me from these thoughts of lunacy:

Not far from hence

There is a woman famoused for arts,

Daughter unto the nymphs Hesperides,

Who will'd me sacrifice his ticing relics:

Go, Anna, bid my servants bring me fire.

Iar. How long will Dido mourn a stranger's flight

That hath dishonour'd her and Carthage both?

How long shall I with grief consume my days,

And reap no guerdon for my truest love?

Dido. Iarbas, talk not of Æneas; let him go:

Lay to thy hands, and help me make a fire,

That shall consume all that this stranger left;

For I intend a private sacrifice,

To cure my mind, that melts for unkind love.

Iar. But, afterwards, will Dido grant me love?

Dido. Ay, ay, Iarbas; after this is done,

None in the world shall have my love but thou.

So, leave me now; let none approach this place.

Now, Dido, with these relics burn thyself,

And make Æneas famous through the world

For perjury and slaughter of a queen.

Here lie[s] the sword that in the darksome cave

He drew, and swore by, to be true to me:

Thou shalt burn first; thy crime is worse than his.

Here lie[s] the garment which I cloth'd him in

When first he came on shore: perish thou too.

These letters, lines, and perjur'd papers, all

Shall burn to cinders in this precious flame.

And now, ye gods, that guide the starry frame,

And order all things at your high dispose,

Grant, though the traitors land in Italy,

They may be still tormented with unrest;

And from mine ashes let a conqueror rise,

That may revenge this treason to a queen

By ploughing up his countries with the sword!

Betwixt this land and that be never league;

Litora litoribus contraria, fluctibus undas