University of Virginia Library

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.