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ACT I.
THE TRAGEDY OF DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE
253
Beseige[s] th' offspring of our kingly loins:
Charge him from me to turn his stormy powers,
And fetter them in Vulcan’s sturdy brass,
That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsman’s peace.
[Exit Hermes.
Venus, farewell: thy son shall be our care.—
Come, Ganymede, we must about this gear.
[Exeunt Jupiter and Ganyemede.[1]
Ven. Disquiet seas, lay down your swelling looks,
And court Æneas with your calmy cheer,
Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud,
Had not the heavens, conceiv'd with hell-born clouds,
Veil'd his resplendent glory from your view:
For my sake, pity him, Oceanus,
That erst-while issu'd from thy watery loins,
And had my being from thy bubbling froth.
Triton, I know, hath fill'd his trump with Troy,
And therefore will take pity on his toil,
And call both Thetis and Cymodoce[2]
To succour him in this extremity.
Enter Æneas, Ascanius, Achates, and others.
What, do I see[3] my son now come on shore?
Venus, how art thou compass'd with content,
The while thine eyes attract their sought-fur joys!
Great Jupiter, still honour'd mayst thou be
For this so friendly aid in time of need!
Here in this bush disguisèd will I stand,
Whiles my Æneas spends himself in plaints,
And heaven aud earth with his unrest acquaints.
Æn. You sons of care, compauions of my course,
Priam's misfortune follows us by sea,
And Helen's rape doth haunt ye[4] at the heels.
How many dangers have we overpass'd!
Both barking Scylla, and the sounding rocks,
The Cyclops' shelves, and grim Ceraunia's seat,
Have you o'ergone, aud yet remain alive.
Pluck up your hearts, since Fate still rests our friend,
And changing heavens may those good days return,
Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride.
Ach. Brave prince of Troy, thou only art our god,
That by thy virtues free'st us from annoy,[5]
And mak'st our hopes survive to coming[6] joys:
Do thou but smile, and cloudy heaven will clear,
Whose night and day, descendeth from thy brows,
Though we be now in extreme misery,
And rest the map of weather-beaten woe,
Yet shall the agèd suu shed forth his hair,[7]
To make us live unto our former heat,
And every beast the forest doth send forth
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted food.
Asc. Father, I faint; good father, give me meat.
Æn. Alas, sweet boy, thou must be still a while,
Till we have fire to dress the meat we kill'd!—
Gentle Achates, reach the tinder-box,
That we may make a fire to warm us with,
And roast our new-found victuals on this shore.
Ven. See, what strange arts necessity finds out!
How near, my sweet Æneas, art thou driven!
[Aside.
Æn. Hold; take this candle, and go light a fire;
You shall have leaves and windfall boughs enow,
Near to these woods, to roast your meat withal.—
Ascanius, go and dry thy drenchèd limbs,
Whiles I with my Achates rove abroad,
To know what coast the wind hath driven us on,
Or whether men or beasts inhabit it.
[Exeunt Ascanius and others.
Ach. The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit
For cities and society's supports;
Yet much I marvel that I cannot find
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.
Charge him from me to turn his stormy powers,
And fetter them in Vulcan’s sturdy brass,
That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsman’s peace.
[Exit Hermes.
Venus, farewell: thy son shall be our care.—
Come, Ganymede, we must about this gear.
[Exeunt Jupiter and Ganyemede.[1]
Ven. Disquiet seas, lay down your swelling looks,
And court Æneas with your calmy cheer,
Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud,
Had not the heavens, conceiv'd with hell-born clouds,
Veil'd his resplendent glory from your view:
For my sake, pity him, Oceanus,
That erst-while issu'd from thy watery loins,
And had my being from thy bubbling froth.
Triton, I know, hath fill'd his trump with Troy,
And therefore will take pity on his toil,
And call both Thetis and Cymodoce[2]
To succour him in this extremity.
Enter Æneas, Ascanius, Achates, and others.
What, do I see[3] my son now come on shore?
Venus, how art thou compass'd with content,
The while thine eyes attract their sought-fur joys!
Great Jupiter, still honour'd mayst thou be
For this so friendly aid in time of need!
Here in this bush disguisèd will I stand,
Whiles my Æneas spends himself in plaints,
And heaven aud earth with his unrest acquaints.
Æn. You sons of care, compauions of my course,
Priam's misfortune follows us by sea,
And Helen's rape doth haunt ye[4] at the heels.
How many dangers have we overpass'd!
Both barking Scylla, and the sounding rocks,
The Cyclops' shelves, and grim Ceraunia's seat,
Have you o'ergone, aud yet remain alive.
Pluck up your hearts, since Fate still rests our friend,
And changing heavens may those good days return,
Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride.
Ach. Brave prince of Troy, thou only art our god,
That by thy virtues free'st us from annoy,[5]
And mak'st our hopes survive to coming[6] joys:
Do thou but smile, and cloudy heaven will clear,
Whose night and day, descendeth from thy brows,
Though we be now in extreme misery,
And rest the map of weather-beaten woe,
Yet shall the agèd suu shed forth his hair,[7]
To make us live unto our former heat,
And every beast the forest doth send forth
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted food.
Asc. Father, I faint; good father, give me meat.
Æn. Alas, sweet boy, thou must be still a while,
Till we have fire to dress the meat we kill'd!—
Gentle Achates, reach the tinder-box,
That we may make a fire to warm us with,
And roast our new-found victuals on this shore.
Ven. See, what strange arts necessity finds out!
How near, my sweet Æneas, art thou driven!
[Aside.
Æn. Hold; take this candle, and go light a fire;
You shall have leaves and windfall boughs enow,
Near to these woods, to roast your meat withal.—
Ascanius, go and dry thy drenchèd limbs,
Whiles I with my Achates rove abroad,
To know what coast the wind hath driven us on,
Or whether men or beasts inhabit it.
[Exeunt Ascanius and others.
Ach. The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit
For cities and society's supports;
Yet much I marvel that I cannot find
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.
- ↑ Exeunt Jupiter and Ganymede.] On their going out, we are to suppose that the scene is changed to a wood on the sea-shore. In the third act we find;
"Æn. Stout friend Achates, dost thou know this wood?
Ach. As I remember, here you shot the deer
That sav'd your famish'd soldiers' lives from death,
When first you act your foot upon the shore;
And here we met fair Venus, virgin-like," &c. - ↑ Cymodoce] Old ed. "Cimodoœ".—I give, with the modern editors, "Cymodoce," as it comes nearest the trace of the letters; and she doubtless was one of the Nereids: but, according to the passage in Virgil's Æn. (l. 144.), the name ought to be "Cymothoe."
- ↑ What, do I see, &c.] Perhaps this line should be pointed,
- "What do I see? my son now come on shore!"
- ↑ ye] Old ed. "thee".—Here the modern editors print "us" on account of "us" in the preceding line: but compare what immediately follows, "have we overpass'd"—"Have you o'ergone."
- ↑ annoy] Qy "annoys"—for a rhyme?
- ↑ coming] Old ed. "cunning." The words are very often confounded by our early printers.
- ↑ his hair] i.e. his blazing tresses. Old ed. "air,"—a misprint which has occurred before; see note 3, p. 251.
