Affright me not; only Æneas' frown
Is that which terrifies poor Dido's heart:
Not bloody spears, appearing in the air,
Presage the downfall of my empery,
Nor blazing comets threaten Dido's death;
It is Æneas' frown that ends my days.
If he forsake me not, I never die;
For in his looks I see eternity,
And he'll make me immortal with a kiss.
Re-enter First Lord, with Attendants carrying tackling, &c.
First Lord. Your nurse is gone with young Ascanius;
And here's Æneas' tackling, oars, and sails.
Dido. Are these the sails that, in despite of me,
Pack'd[1] with the winds to bear Æneas hence?
I'll hang ye in the chamber where I lie;
Drive, if you can, my house to Italy:
I'll set the casement open, that the winds
May enter in, and once again conspire
Against the life of me, poor Carthage queen:
But, though ye[2] go, he stays in Carthage still;
And let rich Carthage fleet[3] upon the seas,
So I may have Æneas in mine arms.
Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plains,
And would be toiling in the watery billows,
To rob their mistress of her Trojan guest?
O cursèd tree, hadst thou but wit or sense,
To measure how I prize Æneas' love,
Thou wouldst have leapt from out the sailors' hands,
And told me that Æneas meant to go!
And yet I blame thee not; thou art but wood.
The water, which our poets term a nymph,
Why did it suffer thee to touch her breast,
And shrunk not back, knowing my love was there?
The water is an element, no nymph.
Why should I blame Æneas for his flight?
Dido, blame not him, but break his oars!
These were the instruments that launch'd him forth.
There's not so much as this base tackling too,
But dares to heap up sorrow to my heart:
Was it not you that hoisèd up these sails?
Why burst[4] you not, and they fell in the seas?
For this will Dido tie ye full of knots,
And shear ye all asunder with her hands:
Now serve to chàstise shipboys for their faults;
Ye shall no more offend the Carthage queen.
Now, let him hang my favours on his masts,
And see if those will serve instead of sails;
For tackling, let him take the chains of gold
Which I bestow'd upon his followers;
Instead of oars, let him use his hands,
And swim to Italy. I'll keep these sure.—
Come, bear them in.[Exeunt.
Enter Nurse, with Cupid as Ascanius.
Nurse. My Lord Ascanius, you must go with me.
Cup. Whither must I go? I'll stay with my mother.
Nurse. No, thou shalt go with me unto my house.
I have an orchard that hath store of plums,
Brown almonds, services,[5] ripe figs, and dates,
Dewberries, apples, yellow oranges;
A garden where are bee-hives full of honey,
Musk-roses, and a thousand sort of flowers;
And in the midst doth run a silver stream,
Where thou shalt see the red-gill'd fishes leap,
White swans, and many lovely water-fowls.
Now speak, Ascanius, will you go or no?
Cup. Come, come, I'll go. How far hence is your house?
Nurse. But hereby, child; we shall get thither straight.
Cup. Nurse, I am weary; will you carry me?
Nurse. Ay, so you'll dwell with me, and call me mother.
Cup. So you'll love me, I care not if I do.
Nurse. That I might live to see this boy a man!
How prettily he laughs! Go,[6] you wag!
You'll be a twigger when you come to age.
Say Dido what she will, I am not old;
I'll be no more a widow; I am young;
I'll have a husband, or else a lover.
Cup. A husband, and no teeth!
Nurse. O, what mean I to have such foolish thoughts?
Foolish is love, a toy.—O sacred love!
If there be any heaven in earth, 'tis love,
Especially in women of your years.—
Blush, blush for shame! why shouldst thou think of love?
A grave, and not a lover, fits thy age.—
