_Dido._ To warre against my bordering enemies: _Æneas_, thinke not _Dido_ is in loue: For if that any man could conquer me, I had been wedded ere _Æneas_ came: See where the pictures of my suiters hang, And are not these as faire as faire may be? _Acha._ I saw this man at _Troy_ ere _Troy_ was sackt. _Æn._ I this in _Greece_ when _Paris_ stole faire _Helen_. _Illio._ This man and I were at _Olympus_ games. _Serg._ I know this face, he is a Persian borne, I traueld with him to _Ætolia_. _Cloan._ And I in _Athens_ with this gentleman, Vnlesse I be deceiu'd disputed once. _Dido._ But speake _Æneas_, know you none of these? _Æn._ No Madame, but it seemes that these are Kings. _Dido._ All these and others which I neuer sawe, Haue been most vrgent suiters for my loue, Some came in person, others sent their Legats: Yet none obtaind me, I am free from all, And yet God knowes intangled vnto one. This was an Orator, and thought by words To compasse me, but yet he was deceiu'd: And this a Spartan Courtier vaine and wilde, But his fantastick humours pleasde not me: This was _Alcion_, a Musition, But playd he nere so sweet, I let him goe: This was the wealthie King of _Thessaly_, But I had gold enough and cast him off: This _Meleagers_ sonne, a warlike Prince, But weapons gree not with my tender yeares: The rest are such as all the world well knowes, Yet how I sweare by heauen and him I loue, I was as farre from loue, as they from hate. _Æn._ O happie shall he be whom _Dido_ loues. _Dido._ Then neuer say that thou art miserable, Because it may be thou shalt be my loue: Yet boast not of it, for I loue thee not, And yet I hate thee not: O if I speake I shall betray my selfe: _Æneas_ speake, We two will goe a hunting in the woods, But not so much for thee, thou art but one, As for _Achates_, and his followers. _Exeunt._ _Enter Iuno to Ascanius asleepe._ _Iuno._ Here lyes my hate, _Æneas_ cursed brat, The boy wherein false destinie delights, The heire of furie, the fauorite of the face, That vgly impe that shall outweare my wrath, And wrong my deitie with high disgrace: But I will take another order now, And race th'eternall Register of time: _Troy_ shall no more call him her second hope, Nor _Venus_ triumph in his tender youth: For here in spight of heauen Ile murder him, And feede infection with his left out life: Say _Paris_, now shall _Venus_ haue the ball? Say vengeance, now shall her _Ascanius_ dye. O no God wot, I cannot watch my time, Nor quit good turnes with double fee downe told: Tut, I am simple without made to hurt, And haue no gall at all to grieue my foes: But lustfull _Ioue_ and his adulterous child, Shall finde it written on confusions front, That onely _Iuno_ rules in _Rhamnuse_ towne. _Enter Venus._