_Iar._ And might I liue to see thee shipt away, And hoyst aloft on _Neptunes_ hideous hilles, Then would I wish me in faire _Didos_ armes, And dead to scorne that hath pursued me so. _Æn._ Stoute friend _Achates_, doest thou know this wood? _Acha._ As I remember, here you shot the Deere, That sau'd your famisht souldiers liues from death, When first you set your foote vpon the shoare, And here we met fair _Venus_ virgine like, Bearing her bowe and quiuer at her backe. _Æn._ O how these irksome labours now delight, And ouerioy my thoughts with their escape: Who would not vndergoe all kind of toyle, To be well stor'd with such a winters tale? _Dido._ _Æneas_, leaue these dumpes and lets away, Some to the mountaines, some vnto the soyle, You to the vallies, thou vnto the house. _Exeunt omnes: manent._ _Iar._ I, this it is which wounds me to the death, To see a Phrigian far fet to the sea, Preferd before a man of maiestie: O loue, O hate, O cruell womens hearts, That imitate the Moone in euery chaunge, And like the Planets euer loue to raunge: What shall I doe thus wronged with disdaine? Reuenge me on _Æneas_, or on her: On her? fond man, that were to warre gainst heauen, And with one shaft prouoke ten thousand darts: This Troians end will be thy enuies aime, Whose bloud will reconcile thee to content, And make loue drunken with thy sweete desire: But _Dido_ that now holdeth him so deare, Will dye with very tidings of his death: But time will discontinue her content, And mould her minde vnto newe fancies shapes: O God of heauen, turne the hand of fate Vnto that happie day of my delight, And then, what then? _Iarbus_ shall but loue: So doth he now, though not with equall gaine, That resteth in the riuall of thy paine, Who nere will cease to soare till he be slaine. _Exit._ _The storme. Enter Æneas and Dido in the Caue at seuerall times._ _Dido._ _Æneas._ _Æn._ _Dido._ _Dido._ Tell me deare loue, how found you out this Caue? _Æn._ By chance sweete Queene, as _Mars_ and _Venus_ met. _Dido._ Why, that was in a net, where we are loose, And yet I am not free, oh would I were. _Æn._ Why, what is it that _Dido_ may desire And not obtaine, be it in humaine power? _Dido._ The thing that I will dye before I aske, And yet desire to haue before I dye. _Æn._ It is not ought _Æneas_ may achieue? _Dido._ _Æneas_ no, although his eyes doe pearce. _Æn._ What, hath _Iarbus_ angred her in ought? And will she be auenged on his life? _Dido._ Not angred me, except in angring thee. _Æn._ Who then of all so cruell may he be, That should detaine thy eye in his defects? _Dido._ The man that I doe eye where ere I am, Whose amorous face like _Pean_ sparkles fire, When as he buts his beames on _Floras_ bed, _Prometheus_ hath put on _Cupids_ shape, And I must perish in his burning armes: _Æneas_, O _Æneas_, quench these flames. _Æn._ What ailes my Queene, is she falne sicke of late?