University of Virginia Library

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.