"O son, my might, my only might, who fearest nought at all How his, the highest Father's bolts, Typhoeus' bane, may fall, To thee I flee, and suppliant so thy godhead's power beseech: Thy brother, e'en Æneas, tossed on every sea-side beach Thou knowest; all the fashioning of wrongful Juno's hate Thou knowest; oft upon my grief with sorrow wouldst thou wait. Him now Phoenician Dido holds, and with kind words enow 670 Delays him there, but unto what Junonian welcomes grow I fear me: will she hold her hand when thus the hinge is dight? Now therefore am I compassing to catch their craft in flight, To ring the Queen about with flame that her no power may turn, That she may cling to me and sore for mine Æneas yearn. Now hearken how I counsel thee to bring about my will: The kingly boy his father calls, he whom I cherish still, To that Sidonian city now is ready dight to fare, And gifts, the gleanings of the sea and flames of Troy, doth bear, Whom soaked in sleep forthwith will I in high Cythera hide, 680 Or in Idalium's holy place where I am wont to bide, Lest any one the guile should know and thrust themselves between: But thou with craft his fashion feign, and with his face be seen Well known of all, for no more space than one night's wearing by; And so, when Dido, gladdest grown, shall take thee up to lie Upon her breast 'twixt queenly board and great Lyæus' wave, And thou the winding of her arms and kisses sweet shalt have, Then breathe the hidden flame in her and forge thy venomed guile."