_Dido._ Iarbas, know, that thou, of all my wooers,-- And yet have I had many mightier kings,-- Hast had the greatest favours I could give. I fear me, Dido hath been counted light In being too familiar with Iarbas; Albeit the gods do know, no wanton thought Had ever residence in Dido's breast. _Iar._ But Dido is the favour I request. _Dido._ Fear not, Iarbas; Dido may be thine. _Anna._ Look, sister, how Æneas' little son 20 Plays with your garments and embraceth you. _Cup._ No, Dido will not take me in her arms; I shall not be her son, she loves me not. _Dido._ Weep not, sweet boy; thou shalt be Dido's son: Sit in my lap, and let me hear thee sing. [CUPID _sings_. No more, my child; now talk another while, And tell me where learn'dst thou this pretty song. _Cup._ My cousin Helen taught it me in Troy. _Dido._ How lovely is Ascanius when he smiles! _Cup._ Will Dido let me hang about her neck? 30 _Dido._ I, wag; and give thee leave to kiss her too. _Cup._ What will you give me now? I'll have this fan. _Dido._ Take it, Ascanius, for thy father's sake. _Iar._ Come, Dido, leave Ascanius; let us walk. _Dido._ Go thou away; Ascanius shall stay. _Iar._ Ungentle queen, is this thy love to me? _Dido._ O, stay, Iarbas, and I'll go with thee! _Cup._ An if my mother go, I'll follow her. _Dido._ Why stay'st thou here? thou art no love of mine. _Iar._ Iarbas, die, seeing she abandons thee! 40 _Dido._ No; live, Iarbas: What hast thou deserved, That I should say thou art no love of mine? Something thou hast deserved.--Away, I say! Depart from Carthage; come not in my sight. _Iar._ Am I not king of rich Gætulia? _Dido._ Iarbas, pardon me, and stay a while. _Cup._ Mother, look here. _Dido._ What tell'st thou me of rich Gætulia? Am not I queen of Libya? then depart. _Iar._ I go to feed the humour of my love, 50 Yet not from Carthage for a thousand worlds. _Dido._ Iarbas! _Iar._ Doth Dido call me back? _Dido._ No; but I charge thee never look on me. _Iar._ Then pull out both mine eyes, or let me die. [_Exit._ _Anna._ Wherefore doth Dido bid Iarbas go? _Dido._ Because his loathsome sight offends mine eye, And in my thoughts is shrined another love. O Anna, didst thou know how sweet love were, Full soon wouldst thou abjure this single life! _Anna._ Poor soul, I know too well the sour of love: 60 O, that Iarbas could but fancy me! [_Aside._ _Dido._ Is not Æneas fair and beautiful? _Anna._ Yes; and Iarbas foul and favourless. _Dido._ Is he not eloquent in all his speech? _Anna._ Yes; and Iarbas rude and rustical.