University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A royal apartment, a table and seats.
Selene, Araspes.
Sel.
What hand has loos'd the rude barbarian's chains?

Aras.
I know not, fair Selene; I behold
Myself a prisoner, guilty; then again
In freedom and absolv'd; in one short moment
Araspes freed, his sovereign lord in bonds:
Through all the palace anxious now I seek him,
And find Selene.

Sel.
Ah! some secret treason
Is fram'd against Æneas—O! Araspes,
Preserve the hero's life.

Aras.
He is my foe:
But if you ask Araspes to defend him
From hidden fraud, thus far I plight my faith;
My honour here will prove his firmest guard:
Thus much must yet suffice.

Sel.
It shall suffice.

[going.
Aras.
Ah! take not from my eyes so soon the joy
To view Selene's charms.

Sel.
What means Araspes?

Aras.
Alas! I know I should conceal my passion;
But if I err, Selene, to yourself
Impute the crime of love.

Sel.
I own, Araspes,
Thy valour, virtue, all that claims regard
From woman's sex—but, ah! another flame
Has warm'd Selene's heart.

Aras.
Ah me, unhappy!

Sel.
Yet more, Araspes—if these feeble charms
Have touch'd thy breast, at least disclose thy pains,
I'll hear and pity them—but ah! Selene
Cannot conceal, yet dares not own her secret.

Aras.
Yet let me here devote my constant faith.

Sel.
Thus much I grant, but ne'er expect return:
If thou canst love me on this hard condition,
I take thy love—but ne'er aspire to more.

Aras.
My heart, on this condition, plights its truth.

Sel.
For me thy faithful love retain,
Thy bosom bear the shaft in vain;
But ne'er to me henceforth complain
Of unrewarded love.
My constant heart and thine must share
An equal portion of despair:
No hope must ever sooth thy care,
Nor I compassion prove.

[Exit.
Araspes
alone.
Thou bid'st me never hope, but bid'st in vain;
Hope is the gleam that cheers the parting soul.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Dido with a paper, Osmidas.
Did.
I know that under feign'd Arbaces' name
The sovereign of the Moors here lurks conceal'd:
But be it as it may, he injures Dido,
And king or subject he shall pay the forfeit.
He dies without reprieve.

Osm.
Whate'er thy will,
Behold in me your faithful minister.

Did.
Thy loyalty shall find its due reward.

Osm.
And what reward, O queen? In vain my valour
And loyalty are yours, while in your heart
Æneas rules alone the sovereign lord.

Did.
No more—nor call to mind that hated name,
Perfidious and ingrate! A soul that knows
No law nor compact—I detest myself
For loving him so long.

Osm.
Should you again
Behold him, he would sooth each angry thought.

Did.
Again behold him? Think not this deceiver,
While Dido lives, shall ever see me more.

SCENE III.

Enter Selene.
Sel.
Æneas sues for audience, if my queen
Vouchsafe to admit him.

Did.
Heavens! Æneas! where,
Where, my Selene?

Sel.
He attends at hand,
And sighs impatient to behold his queen.

Did.
Rash man!—but let him enter—thou, Osmidas,
Awhile retire.

[Exit Sel.
Osm.
Did I not well foresee it?
Æneas rules at will the heart of Dido.

Did.
Distract me not in vain—Osmidas, leave me.

[Exit Osm.

SCENE IV.

Enter Æneas.
Did.
Not yet departed? Does the great Æneas
Still deign to honour Lybia's barbarous shores?
I thought, already crost the furthest waves,
He now, a victor in Italian climes,
Had dragg'd in triumph, at his chariot wheels,
Whole nations bound in chains and captive kings.

Æn.
Such harsh reproaches, O! too lovely queen,
But ill beseem your gentleness—I come
Anxious to guard your honour and my own.
I know you mean to punish with his death
The Moor's presumptuous pride.

Did.
Behold his sentence.

[shews the paper.
Æn.
Glory permits not I should thus revenge
My private wrongs—if you for me condemn him.

Did.
For thee condemn him? Thou art too much deceiv'd:
Past is that time, Æneas, when on thee
Was Dido's every thought—that flame is quench'd;
Those chains are broken; scarce remembrance now
Recalls thy name.

Æn.
Reflect—the seeming envoy
Is sovereign of the Moors.

Did.
Whate'er he be,
I know him not—to me he is Arbaces.

Æn.
O! Heaven! his death against your state would raise
All Afric's powers in arms.

Did.
I ask not counsel:
Guard thou thy kingdom, Dido guards her own
Without thy arm. I gave my Carthage laws,
And saw, without thy help, her rising towers.
Bless'd had I been if thou, ungrateful man,
Hadst never reach'd these shores.

Æn.
If Dido's soul
Despise the peril, grant his life to me;
Let me entreat his pardon.

Did.
Dido sure
Must owe her kingdom and herself, her all
To thy transcendent merits—To a lover
Loyal as thee; a hero so renown'd
For filial piety; to prayers so just,
To such a pleader what shall be denied?
[goes to the table.
Inhuman! tyrant! on this day, the last
We e'er perhaps may meet, thou now art come
To speak but of Arbaces; Dido claims
No more thy care.—O! had I seen thine eyes
But moisten'd with a tear!—Do I not merit
A look, a sigh, some little mark of pity?
And yet thou dar'st to plead another's pardon!
Shall I reward thee for thy cruelty?
Since thou would'st have him live he surely dies.

[signs the paper.
Æn.
My soul's best treasure still! for such thou art,
In spite of rigorous fate. Ah! what avails
With mutual tenderness to wake anew
Your slumbering grief—if yet your heart retain
Some little thought for this forlorn of men,
Appease your anger, and revoke the sentence.
Æneas begs it—he whom Dido once
Pronounc'd her chiefest good, and whom, till now,
She priz'd beyond her life and regal throne;
And he whom once—

Did.
Enough—thou hast subdu'd me—
Receive this paper—See, ungrateful man,
[gives him the paper.
How Dido still adores thee; with one look
Thou hast disarm'd her—all defence is lost;
And wilt thou yet betray me—yet forsake me?

[Exit.
Æneas
alone.
I feel my constancy begin to fail
Before such wondrous truth; and while I seek
To save another I myself am lost.

SCENE V.

Enter Iarbas.
Iar.
What means the great Æneas? Still I see
His face impress'd with marks of recent fear.

Æn.
Iarbas loos'd from bonds! Who set thee free?

Iar.
Osmidas gave me leave to range at large
The palace walls; but, to secure thy safety,
Without my trusty sword.

Æn.
Does thus Osmidas
Betray his sovereign's charge?

Iar.
What fears Æneas?
Lest I should steal in secret from these walls?
O no! I rather shall remain too long
For thy security.

Æn.
Thy present fortune
Excites Æneas' pity, not his fear.

Iar.
Indeed—thy mighty heart may spare its pity:
Go—to my ruin, o'er a queen and lover
Exert thy power; inflame her angry soul
To rage: such arms as these alone are us'd
By Phrygian heroes to revenge their wrongs.

Æn.
Read there—in that the royal dame has sign'd,
With her own hand, the mandate for thy death.
And were Æneas one of Afric's sons,
Iarbas were no more—take this and learn
Discourteous, rude barbarian! how Æneas
Revenges injuries by him receiv'd.

[tears the paper and gives it to Iar.
Exit.

SCENE VI.

Iarbas
alone.
Unheard of, strange adventure! from my foe
I meet with pity, from my subject falsehood!
Ah! both perhaps conspire against my peace—
But be it as it may—my haughty rival
May feign compassion, or my friend be false,
Iarbas' soul shall never harbour fear.

[Exit.

SCENE VII.

A hall.
Æneas
alone.
'Twixt love and duty in my doubtful breast
My heart still fluctuates, while, alas! my virtue
Submits too far to beauty's sovereign sway.
Rouse, rouse thyself and let the hero now
Subdue the lover.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Araspes.
Aras.
Till this hour in vain
I have sought thee through the palace.

Æn.
Let me now
Embrace my friend—

Aras.
Away—behold in me
Thy foe, Æneas; draw thy sword this instant;
I seek not friendship with thee, but the exchange
Of enmity, with arms oppos'd to arms.

Æn.
Thou first hast sav'd me from Iarbas' fury;
Thou call'st me now to meet in mortal strife,
And spurn'st my profferr'd friendship.

Aras.
Thou art deceiv'd.
I but defended then my monarch's glory,
And not Æneas' life—prepare thee now
With nobler death to give that just revenge
Which late my arm denied him.

Æn.
Shall Æneas
Against his brave preserver draw the sword?

Aras.
Ha! wherefore dost thou pause?

Æn.
My life is thine:
Take, if thou wilt, the gift thyself bestow'd;
But hope not, generous warrior, e'er to see
My weapon rais'd against thee.

Aras.
If thy hand
Refuse to draw, expect to hear each insult
That brands the vile and coward—

Æn.
'Tis too much—
Æneas never can submit to bear
Such threats as ill beseem a warrior's ear;
Thou shalt be satisfied. Behold my sword
Brandish'd against thee—but let Gods and men
Be witness first to what my tongue declares:
I am Araspes' friend, and to his gift
I owe my life; that now reluctant, urg'd
Beyond my heart's best feelings, and debas'd
With infamous reproach, I dare the combat;
And sacrifice my gratitude to honour.

[fight.

SCENE IX.

Enter Selene.
Sel.
Such boldness in the palace? hold, Araspes,
Thus to Selene wilt thou keep thy faith?
And thus, O traitor, guard Æneas' life?

Æn.
No, princess, never yet Araspes' bosom
Could harbour treason.

Sel.
He, who serves Iarbas,
Can never sure be faithful.

Aras.
Fair Selene,
You only dare accuse me.

Sel.
Peace, and leave me.

Aras.
With silent awe I bend to thee,
But, ah! thou wrong'st my truth, on me
To fix a traitor's stain.
Far, far, be hence my steps address'd,
Yet soon, I trust, thy gentle breast,
Will mourn its past disdain.

[Exit.

SCENE X.

Æneas, Selene.
Æn.
When late Araspes dar'd me to the fight
He fought his monarch's cause; and if Selene
Would now condemn him, she condemns unjustly
A noble heart.

Sel.
Whate'er Araspes be,
I waste not time on him—Dido requires
A converse with thee.

Æn.
But even now I left
The queen's apartment; if she hope again
To stay my steps on these forbidden shores,
She will but torture both with fruitless pain.

Sel.
How canst thou, O thou dear one! thus forsake
A wretched queen that loves thee?

Æn.
How Selene!
To me?

Sel.
'Tis Dido, not Selene speaks.

Æn.
If pity for a sister thus afflict you,
Think not of me—to her once more return:
O! bid the beauteous mourner yet have comfort,
Submit to fate and banish fruitless sorrow,

Sel.
Ah! no—yet change thy purpose, yet relent,
—My life's best treasure!

Æn.
Ha! Is this Selene?

Sel.
'Tis Dido, not Selene speaks—consent
To hear her yet—'tis all she now implores.

Æn.
'Tis thus that lovers still deceive themselves,
And seeking comfort, find but new despair.

[Exit.

SCENE XI.

Selene
alone.
O fond Selene! O unhappy maid!
For whom dost thou indulge a hopeless flame?
My peace is lost!—But who, alas! compels me
To sigh in vain?—Then choose some other heart
More grateful to thy vows, some other lover
Worthy thy love—O Heaven! it is not ours
To fix the choice—nor is it grace, nor beauty,
Nor inbred worth, nor valour that awakes
The seeds of love—ah! no—we find the worthless
Too often priz'd, while, partial to its choice,
The blindfold passion forms ideal charms.

[Exit.

SCENE XII.

A closet with seats.
Dido
alone.
I'll live no longer doubtful of my fate:
'Tis now the last important time, once more
To prove Æneas.—Since my prayers, my sufferings
Have fail'd to move his pity, jealousy
May search the deep recesses of his heart,
And from its ashes wake the smother'd flame.

SCENE XIII.

Enter Æneas.
Æn.
I come, O queen! to hear your last reproaches:
I know you mean to call me false, perfidious,
Ingrate, unworthy, perjur'd—every name
That anger dictates—I deserve them all.

Did.
O! no—no longer I'm incens'd—no more
I call thee perjur'd, false—nor seek I now
To bring our past endearments to remembrance.
I ask Æneas' counsel not his love:
Be seated and attend.

[they sit.
Æn.
[aside.]
What would the queen?

Did.
Thou seest, Æneas, how unnumber'd foes
Begirt my growing empire; till this hour
I scorn'd their threats and fury—but Iarbas
By me provok'd, when I shall lose thy succour,
Will take, for his revenge, my life and throne.
In such distressful state all help is vain—
What then remains? I must encounter death,
Or give this hand to appease the haughty Moor.
Fatal alternative! I know not where
To fix my choice—alone—a feeble woman—
Far from my native soil—Alas! I feel
My spirits sink, unequal to the trial:
Then wonder not, Æneas, that my soul
Still unresolv'd requests thy friendly counsel.

Æn.
And is there then no other way but death,
Or this detested Hymen?

Did.
Ah! too sure
One other way remains—

Æn.
Say—

Did.
Had Æneas
Disdain'd not to receive my plighted faith,
Then had I seen, from furthest Araby
To Atlas' waves, all Afric bend the knee
To adore their queen in Carthage—then renew'd,
Might Troy and Tyre united—but I rave!
And feign impossibilities—then say,
What course befits me?—With a mind unshaken
Shall Dido now Iarbas choose or death?

Æn.
Iarbas choose or death! and mine the task
To counsel thee! her, whom my soul adores,
To see her in a hated rival's arms,
Her whom—

Did.
No more—since thus my nuptials pain thee,
I here disclaim them—but to save her fame,
Herself from insult, Dido must not live.
Draw, draw thy sword, and pierce this constant bosom;
Such cruelty were mercy—

Æn.
Shall Æneas
Then murder Dido! first let angry Heaven
Rain all its vengeance—rather may the Gods
Take from my days of life and add to thine!

Did.
Then let me wed Iarbas.

Æn.
Yet reflect—
Too much, O Heaven, thou heed'st Æneas' peace.

Did.
Then take my life.

Æn.
No—let us yield to fate—
Give to Iarbas—give thy royal hand—
Do thou but live and let Æneas never
Know peace or comfort more.

Did.
Since thou canst wish
To see me wed another, thou shalt find
Thy wish completed—call Iarbas hither.
Thou seest thy power o'er Dido.

[an attendant enters, and having received the order departs.]
Æn.
O! farewell.

[going.
Did.
Say, whither goest thou? Stay—thou must remain
A witness of these happy nuptial rites—
[to Æn.
He cannot long resist—

[aside.
Æn.
Be firm, my heart!

SCENE XIV.

Enter Iarbas.
Iar.
Why am I summon'd hither? thinkst thou, Dido,
Thy threats or wrath can make Iarbas bend?
O! no—thou art deceiv'd—his heart remains
Unchang'd, inflexible.

Æn.
Presumptuous man!

[aside.
Did.
O king! be now appeas'd—thy rank and name
From me conceal'd, thou hast expos'd thy honour
To ill-beseeming perils—while myself—
But sit and calmly hear me now reveal
My secret thoughts.

[sits.
Iar.
Speak on—I am attentive.

[sits.
Æn.
At least permit me now—

[going.
Did.
Forbear—be seated;
A moment yet with patience hear our converse—
—He cannot long resist—

[aside.
Æn.
Be firm my heart.

[aside.
Iar.
Let him depart, for since Iarbas stays
With thee, O queen! it fits not that Æneas
Should share our privacy.

Æn.
O yet be patient—

[aside.
Did.
In him thou seest no rival but a friend,
[to Iar.
For thee he still has pleaded—by his counsel
I yield thee love; but if Iarbas think
My lips deceive him, thou, Æneas, speak,
Confirm the words of Dido.

Æn.
All is true.

Iar.
Has then the Moorish king no higher praise
Than great Æneas' favour?

Did.
No, Iarbas,
I lov'd in thee the kingly pride that beams
From every look; I love thy dauntless heart
That scoffs at peril, and despises death;
And if Heaven e'er decree that, join'd with thee,
Thy partner and thy spouse—

Æn.
O! queen, farewell.
Let this suffice, Æneas has till now
Fulfill'd your bidding.

[going.
Did.
Yet awhile remain—
One moment more—his constancy is shaken.

[aside.
Æn.
O death to suffer!

[sits again.
Iar.
Thou delay'st too long,
O Dido! think what now thy duty claims;
Yet for thy beauty's sake, transcendent fair,
I pardon all my wrongs.

Æn.
O heavenly powers!

[aside.
Iar.
In pledge of faith vouchsafe me now thy hand.

Did.
Receive it here—and never favouring love
Could knit my future life in happier bands.

Æn.
I can endure no more—

[rises greatly agitated.
Did.
What means Æneas?

Æn.
What would you? Is it not enough to prove
My constancy with trials so severe?

Did.
Ah! yet, be silent—

Æn.
Silent! I have borne
Enough in silence—to my rival, princess,
You give yourself, and bid my lips confirm it.
All have I done for you—what would you more?
Shall I behold you in his happier arms?
Command my death, but bid me not be silent.

Did.
Yet hear—thou much hast wrong'd me to complain—
Thou know'st that to obey thee—

[rises.
Æn.
Yes, full well
I know it all—I know myself a traitor,
Ingrate and false, that Dido's constant faith
For me would forfeit life and regal sway:
But faith like this I can behold no longer.

[Exit.

SCENE XV.

Dido, Iarbas.
Did.
Æneas, stay—

Iar.
Permit him to depart.

[rises.
Did.
Fain would I calm his transports.

Iar.
What's thy fear?
Give but to me thy hand, the care be mine
To vindicate thy fame.

Did.
It is not now
A time for nuptials.

Iar.
Wherefore?

Did.
Seek no further.

Iar.
Give me to know the cause.

Did.
Then learn it now:
I never lov'd thee, never did my eyes
With pleasure view thee—no, thou hast been ever
To Dido hateful, and far less I prize
Iarbas constant than Æneas false.

Iar.
Perfidious! am I then an abject mark
For scorn to point at? Dost thou know Iarbas?
And know the man thou dar'st insult?

Did.
I know thee
A rude barbarian and despise thy power.

Iar.

[Exit.

SCENE XVI.

Dido
alone.
Amidst these warring thoughts methinks I find
My heart more light: I little fear the threats
Of proud Iarbas; but Æneas still
Even in resentment charms; in him I prize
His very wrath, the welcome proof of love.
Ah! could I hope—Ye pitying Powers! remember
Like me you once were lovers—Hear, O! hear,
And let your heavenly bosoms feel for mine.

[Exit.