University of Virginia Library

THE PASSION OF DIDO FOR ÆNEAS

Having at large declar'd Joves Ambassy,
Cyllenius from Æneas straight doth flye;
He loth to disobey the Gods command,
Nor willing to forsake this pleasant Land,
Asham'd the kind Eliza to deceive,
But more afraid to take a solemn leave;
He many waies his labouring thoughts revolves,
But fear o're-coming shame, at last resolves
(Instructed by the God of Thieves) to steal
Himself away, and his escape conceal.
He calls his Captains, bids them Rigg the Fleet,
That at the Port they privately should meet;
And some dissembled colour to project,
That Dido should not their design suspect;
But all in vain he did his Plot disguise:
No Art a watchful Lover can surprize.
She the first motion finds; Love though most sure,
Yet always to itself seems unsecure;
That wicked Fame which their first Love proclaim'd,
Fore-tells the end; The Queen with rage inflam'd
Thus greets him, thou dissembler would'st thou flye
Out of my arms by stealth perfidiously?
Could not the hand I plighted, nor the Love,
Nor thee the Fate of dying Dido move?
And in the depth of Winter in the night,
Dark as thy black designs to take thy flight,
To plow the raging Seas to Coasts unknown,
The Kingdom thou pretend'st to not thine own;
Were Troy restor'd, thou shouldst mistrust a wind
False as they Vows, and as thy heart unkind.
Fly'st thou from me? by these dear drops of brine
I thee adjure, by that right hand of thine,
By our Espousals, by our Marriage-bed,
If all my kindness ought have merited;
If ever I stood fair in thy esteem,
From ruine, me, and my lost house redeem.
Cannot my Prayers a free acceptance find?
Nor my Tears soften an obdurate mind?
My Fame of Chastity, by which the Skies
I reacht before, by thee extinguisht dies;
Into my Borders now Iarbus falls,
And my revengeful Brother scales my walls;
The wild Numidians will advantage take,
For thee both Tyre and Carthage me forsake.
Hadst thou before thy flight but left with me
A young Æneas, who resembling thee,
Might in my sight have sported, I had then
Not wholly lost, nor quite deserted been;
By thee no more my Husband, but my Guest,
Betray'd to mischiefs, of which death's the least.
With fixed looks he stands, and in his Breast
By Joves command his struggling care supprest;
Great Queen, your favours and deserts so great,
Though numberless, I never shall forget;
No time, until my self I have forgot;
Out of my heart Eliza's name shall blot:
But my unwilling flight the Gods inforce,
And that must justifie our sad Divorce;
Since I must you forsake, would Fate permit,
To my desires I might my fortune fit;
Troy to her Ancient Splendour I would raise,
And where I first began, would end my days;
But since the Lycian Lotts, and Delphick God
Have destin'd Italy for our abode;
Since you proud Carthage (fled from Tyre) enjoy,
Why should not Latium us receive from Troy?
As for my Son, my Fathers angry Ghost,
Tells me his hopes by my delays are crost,
And mighty Joves Ambassadour appear'd
With the same message, whom I saw and heard;
We both are griev'd when you or I complain,
But much the more, when all complaints are vain;
I call to witness all the Gods and thy
Beloved head, the Coast of Italy
Against my will I seek.
Whilst thus he speaks, she rowls her sparkling eyes,
Surveys him round, and thus incens'd replies;
Thy Mother was no Goddess, nor thy stock
From Dardanus, but in some horrid rock,
Perfidious wretch, rough Caucasus thee bred,
And with their Milk Hircanian Tygers fed.
Dissimulation I shall now forget,
And my reserves of rage in order set;
Could all my Prayers and soft Entreaties force
Sighs from his Breast, or from his look remorse.
Where shall I first complain? can Mighty Jove
Or Juno such Impieties approve?
The just Astræa sure is fled to Hell,
Nor more in Earth, nor Heaven it self will dwell.
Oh Faith! him on my Coasts by Tempest cast,
Receiving madly, on my Throne I plac'd;
His Men from Famine, and his Fleet from Fire
I rescu'd: now the Lycian Lotts conspire
With Phœbus; now Joves Envoyé through the Air
Brings dismal tydings, as if such low care
Could reach their thoughts, or their repose disturb;
Thou art a false Impostor, and a Fourbe;
Go, go, pursue thy Kingdom through the Main,
I hope if Heaven her Justice still retain,
Thou shalt be wrackt, or cast upon some rock,
Where thou the name of Dido shalt invoke;
I'le follow thee in Funeral flames, when dead
My Ghost shall thee attend at Board and Bed,
And when the Gods on thee their vengeance show,
That welcom news shall comfort me below.
This saying, from his hated sight she fled;
Conducted by her Damsels to her bed;
Yet restless she arose, and looking out,
Beholds the Fleet, and hears the Seamen shout:
When great Æneas pass'd before the Guard,
To make a view how all things were prepar'd.
Ah cruel Love! to what dost thou inforce
Poor Mortal Breasts? again she hath recourse
To Tears, and Prayers, again she feels the smart
Of a fresh wound from his tyrannick Dart.
That she no ways nor means may leave untry'd,
Thus to her Sister she her self apply'd:
Dear Sister, my resentment had not been
So moving, if this Fate I had fore-seen;
Therefore to me this last kind office do,
Thou hast some interest in our scornful Foe,
He trusts to thee the Counsels of his mind,
Thou his soft hours, and free access canst find;
Tell him I sent not to the Ilian Coast
My Fleet to aid the Greeks; his Fathers Ghost
I never did disturb; ask him to lend
To this the last request that I shall send,
A gentle Ear; I wish that he may find
A happy passage, and a prosp'rous wind.
That contract I not plead, which he betray'd,
Nor that his promis'd Conquest be delay'd;
All that I ask, is but a short Reprieve,
Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve;
Some pause and respite only I require,
Till with my tears I shall have quencht my fire.
If thy address can but obtain one day
Or two, my Death that service shall repay.
Thus she intreats; such messages with tears
Condoling Anne to him, and from him bears;
But him no Prayers, no Arguments can move,
The Fates resist, his Ears are stopt by Jove:
As when fierce Northern blasts from th'Alpes descend,
From his firm roots with struggling gusts to rend
An aged sturdy Oak, the ratling sound
Grows loud, with leaves and scatter'd arms the ground
Is over-layd; yet he stands fixt, as high
As his proud head is raised towards the Sky,
So low towards Hell his roots descend. With Pray'rs
And Tears the Hero thus assail'd, great cares
He smothers in his Breast, yet keeps his Post,
All their addresses and their labour lost.
Then she deceives her Sister with a smile,
Anne in the Inner Court erects a Pile;
Thereon his Arms and once lov'd Portraict lay,
Thither our fatal Marriage-bed convey;
All cursed Monuments of him with fire
We must abolish (so the Gods require)
She gives her credit, for no worse effect
Then from Sichæus death she did suspect,
And her commands obeys.
Aurora now had left Tithonus bed,
And o're the world her blushing Raies did spread;
The Queen beheld as soon as day appear'd,
The Navy under Sail, the Haven clear'd;
Thrice with her hand her Naked Breast she knocks,
And from her forehead tears her Golden Locks.
O Jove, she cry'd, and shall he thus delude
Me and my Realm! why is he not pursu'd?
Arm, Arm, she cry'd, and let our Tyrians board
With ours his Fleet, and carry Fire and Sword;
Leave nothing unattempted to destroy
That perjur'd Race, then let us dye with joy;
What if the event of War uncertain were,
Nor death, nor danger, can the desperate fear?
But oh too late! this thing I should have done,
When first I plac'd the Traytor on my Throne.
Behold the Faith of him who sav'd from fire
His honour'd houshold gods, his Aged Sire
His Pious shoulders from Troy's Flames did bear;
Why did I not his Carcase piece-meal tear
And cast it in the Sea? why not destroy
All his Companions and beloved Boy
Ascanius? and his tender limbs have drest,
And made the Father on the Son to Feast?
Thou Sun, whose lustre all things here below
Surveys; and Juno conscious of my woe;
Revengeful Furies, and Queen Hecate,
Receive and grant my prayer! if he the Sea
Must needs escape, and reach th'Ausonian land,
If Jove decree it, Jove's decree must stand;
When landed, may he be with arms opprest
By his rebelling people, be distrest
By exile from his Country, be divorc'd
From young Ascanius sight, and be enforc'd
To implore Forrein aids, and lose his Friends
By violent and undeserved ends:
When to conditions of unequal Peace
He shall submit, then may he not possess
Kingdom nor Life, and find his Funeral
I'th' Sands, when he before his day shall fall:
And ye oh Tyrians with immortal hate
Pursue his race, this service dedicate
To my deplored ashes; let there be
'Twixt us and them no League nor Amity;
May from my bones a new Achilles rise,
That shall infest the Trojan Colonies
With Fire, and Sword, and Famine, when at length
Time to our great attempts contributes strength;
Our Seas, our Shores, our Armies theirs oppose,
And may our Children be for ever Foes.
A ghastly paleness deaths approach portends,
Then trembling she the fatal pile ascends;
Viewing the Trojan relicks, she unsheath'd
Æneas Sword, not for that use bequeath'd:
Then on the guilty bed she gently lays
Her self, and softly thus lamenting prays:
Dear Reliques whilst that Gods and Fates gave leave,
Free me from care, and my glad soul receive;
That date which fortune gave I now must end,
And to the shades a noble Ghost descend;
Sichæus blood by his false Brother spilt,
I have reveng'd, and a proud City built;
Happy, alas! too happy I had liv'd,
Had not the Trojan on my Coast arriv'd;
But shall I dye without revenge? yet dye,
Thus, thus with joy to thy Sichæus flye.
My conscious Foe my Funeral fire shall view
From Sea, and may that Omen him pursue.
Her fainting hand let fall the Sword besmear'd
With blood, and then the Mortal wound appear'd;
Through all the Court the fright and clamours rise,
Which the whole City fills with fears and cries,
As loud as if her Carthage, or old Tyre
The Foe had entred, and had set on Fire:
Amazed Anne with speed ascends the stairs,
And in her arms her dying Sister rears:
Did you for this, your self, and me beguile
For such an end did I erect this Pile?
Did you so much despise me, in this Fate
My self with you not to associate?
Your self and me, alas! this fatal wound
The Senate, and the People, doth confound.
I'le wash her Wound with Tears, and at her Death,
My Lips from hers shall draw her parting Breath.
Then with her Vest the Wound she wipes and dries;
Thrice with her Arm the Queen attempts to rise,
But her strength failing, falls into a swound,
Life's last efforts yet striving with her Wound;
Thrice on her Bed she turns, with wandring sight
Seeking, she groans when she beheld the light;
Then Juno pitying her disastrous Fate,
Sends Iris down, her Pangs to Mitigate,
(Since if we fall before th'appointed day,
Nature and Death continue long their Fray)
Iris Descends; This Fatal lock (says she)
To Pluto I bequeath, and set thee free,
Then clips her Hair, cold Numness strait bereaves
Her Corps of sense, and th'Ayr her Soul receives.