_Dido._ Not sicke my loue, but sicke, I must conceale The torment, that it bootes me not reueale; And yet Ile speake, and yet Ile hold my peace, Doe shame her worst, I will disclose my griefe: _Æneas_, thou art he, what did I say? Something it was that now I haue forgot. _Æn._ What meanes faire _Dido_ by this doubtfull speech? _Dido._ Nay, nothing, but _Æneas_ loues me not. _Æn._ _Æneas_ thoughts dare not ascend so high As _Didos_ heart, which Monarkes might not scale. _Dido._ It was because I sawe no King like thee, Whose golden Crowne might ballance my content: But now that I haue found what to effect, I followe one that loueth fame for me, And rather had seeme faire _Sirens_ eyes, Then to the Carthage Queene that dyes for him. _Æn._ If that your maiestie can looke so lowe, As my despised worths, that shun all praise, With this my hand I giue to you my heart, And vow by all the Gods of Hospitalitie, By heauen and earth, and my faire brothers bowe, By _Paphos_, _Capys_, and the purple Sea, From whence my radiant mother did descend, And by this Sword that saued me from the Greekes, Neuer to leaue these newe vpreared walles, Whiles _Dido_ liues and rules in _Iunos_ towne, Neuer to like or loue any but her. _Dido._ What more then delian musicke doe I heare, That calles my soule from forth his liuing seate, To moue vnto the measures of delight: Kind clowdes that sent forth such a curteous storme, As made disdaine to flye to fancies lap: Stoute loue in mine armes make thy _Italy_, Whose Crowne and kingdome rests at thy commande. _Sicheus_, not _Æneas_ be thou calde: The King of _Carthage_, not _Anchises_ sonne: Hold, take these Iewels at thy Louers hand, These golden bracelets, and this wedding ring, Wherewith my husband woo'd me yet a maide, And be thou king of _Libia_, by my guift. _Exeunt to the Caue._ Actus 4. Scena 1. _Enter Achates, Ascanius, Iarbus, and Anna._ _Acha._ Did euer men see such a sudden storme? Or day so cleere so suddenly orecast? _Iar._ I thinke some fell Inchantresse dwelleth here, That can call them forth when as she please, And diue into blacke tempests treasurie, When as she mcanes to maske the world with clowdes. _Anna._ In all my life I neuer knew the like, It haild, it snowde, it lightned all at once. _Acha._ I thinke it was the diuels reuelling night, There was such hurly burly in the heauens: Doubtles _Apollos_ Axeltree is crackt, Or aged _Atlas_ shoulder out of ioynt, The motion was soouer violent. _Iar._ In all this coyle, where haue ye left the Queene? _Asca._ Nay, where is my warlike father, can you tell? _Anna._ Behold where both of them come forth the Caue.