University of Virginia Library

SCENE XVIII.

Dido, Æneas.
Did.
Æneas, thou art safe:
The Gods for me preserve a life so precious.

Æn.
O Heaven! my queen—

Did.
Again dost thou retain
A doubt of Dido's truth?

Æn.
O no!—my fate
Is far more wretched—I must leave thee, Dido.

Did.
Leave me! what fatal cause?

Æn.
The will of Jove,
My father's shade, my country, Heaven's command,
My faith, my duty, honour, empire, all
Now summon me to tread the Italian shores:
My long delay too much offends the Gods.

Did.
And hast thou then, perfidious! till this hour
Conceal'd thy cruel purpose?

Æn.
O! 'twas pity.

Did.
Pity! thy lips had sworn me endless truth
When thy false heart prepar'd to part for ever!
Whom shall I trust again?—A wretched outcast
Of winds and waves, receiv'd upon my coast,—
I gave him welcome from the seas; refitted
His scatter'd fleet and arms; with him I shar'd
My heart and throne—and ah! as this were little,
For him I have provok'd a hundred kings,
That profferr'd me their love—Lo! such reward
Has faith like mine—Ah! whom, unhappy Dido,
Whom shalt thou trust again?

Æn.
O! while I live
Thy name shall be the solace of my thoughts:
O! never, Dido, would I quit these shores
Had not the will of Heaven decreed my toils,
To raise another realm in Latian climes.

Did.
The Gods indeed have then no other care
Than great Æneas' fate.

Æn.
And would'st thou then
Æneas should, by still remaining here,
Incur the guilt of perjury?

Did.
O no:
Thus would thy offspring lose in future times
The world's great empire.—Go, pursue thy fortune;
Go—seek the Italian realms—to winds and waves
Intrust thy hopes—but know that righteous Heaven
Shall make those waves my ministers of vengeance.
Then shalt thou late repent thy fond belief
In raging elements—then shalt thou call,
But call in vain on Dido.

Æn.
Could'st thou read
My secret thoughts—

Did.
Away and leave me, traitor!

Æn.
At least, with gentler aspect, from my lips
Receive the last farewell.

Did.
Leave me, ingrate!

Æn.
And yet my wretched fate, alas! deserves not
From Dido such reproaches.

Did.
Hence, thou false-one!
Have I not cause to accuse my fate?
To mourn a heart by thee, ingrate!
With every grief opprest?
Perfidious man! for love so true,
Thou know'st if such reward was due:
Ye souls! like me unblest!
Ah! say, what pangs can mortals know,
If what I feel bespeaks not woe
That deepest rends the breast.

[Exit attended.