passes into the harbour of his assured love, a rapture of content, such as the divinest music brings, fills her soul. Then the shadows begin to fall. At first the sincerity of Aeneas's love unites with her startled and clinging constancy to dispel the gathering gloom. With splendid gifts she dims the alluring brightness that draws him from her. A little longer Jove holds his hand; Aeneas's promise is till death. _Aeneas._ O Dido, patroness of all our lives, When I leave thee, death be my punishment! Swell, raging seas! frown, wayward Destinies! Blow, winds! threaten, ye rocks and sandy shelves! This is the harbour that Aeneas seeks: Let's see what tempests can annoy me now. _Dido._ Not all the world can take thee from mine arms. But the second call is imperative. With constraining pathos Dido implores him not to go. When that cannot melt his resolution the resentment of thwarted love breaks out in passionate reproach. This again changes to the wailing of sorrow as he turns and leaves her. Anna is sent after him to beseech his stay. _Dido._ Call him not wicked, sister: speak him fair, And look upon him with a mermaid's eye.... Request him gently, Anna, to return: I crave but this--he stay a tide or two, That I may learn to bear it patiently; If he depart thus suddenly, I die. Run, Anna, run; stay not to answer me. Anna returns alone. Frantic schemes of pursuit, dangerously near to madness, at length crystallize into the last fatal resolve. The pile is made ready. Her attendants are all dismissed. One by one the articles left behind by Aeneas are devoted to the flames. Here lie the sword that in the darksome cave He drew, and swore by, to be true to me: Thou shalt burn first; thy crime is worse than his. Here lie the garment which I clothed him in When first he came on shore: perish thou too. These letters, lines, and perjured papers, all Shall burn to cinders in this precious flame. When all have been consumed she leaps into the fire and so perishes. The character of the Queen of Carthage sufficiently demonstrates that Marlowe could paint a faithful and impressive likeness of a woman when he chose. Possibly his fiery spirit would have proved less sympathetic to a gentler type. Yet there are touches in the slighter portraits of Abigail and Queen Isabella which reveal flashes of true insight into the tender emotions of a woman's heart. Had Marlowe died before writing _Edward the Second_ we should have said that he was incapable of portraying any type of man but the abnormal and Napoleonic. He showed himself to be a daring and brilliantly successful voyager into untried seas. In the face of what he has left behind him it would be a bold critic indeed who named with confidence any aspect of tragedy as outside the empire of his genius.