Thro' every street she flies, with anguish stung,
And broken accents flutter on her tongue,
Her words confus'd, and interrupted flow;
Speak and express the hurry of her woe.
Ah! How is Dido, is that Dido lost,
Who late receiv'd the Trojans on her coast,
And bad them banish grief, and share her throne,
Dismiss their fears, and think her realms their own?
Next the great orators consult, and thence
Draw all the moving turns of eloquence;
That [1] Sinon may his Phrygian foes betray,
And lead the crowd, as fraud directs the way;
That wise [2] Ulysses may the Greeks detain,
While Troy yet stood, from meas'ring back the main;
Need I name [3] Nestor, who could talk to peace,
With melting words, the factious kings of Greece;
Whose soft address their fury could controul,
Mould every passion, and subdue the soul!
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