_Dido._ The gods! what gods be those that seek my death? Wherein have I offended Jupiter, That he should take Æneas from mine arms? 130 O no! the gods weigh not what lovers do: It is Æneas calls Æneas hence; And woful Dido, by these blubber'd[549] cheeks, By this right hand, and by our spousal rites, Desires Æneas to remain with her; _Si_[550] _bene quid de te merui, fuit aut tibi quidquam_ _Dulce meum, miserere domus labentis, et istam, Oro, si quis adhuc[551] precibus locus, exue mentem._ _Æn. Desine_[552] _meque tuis incendere teque querelis; Italiam non sponte sequor._ 140 _Dido._ Hast thou forgot how many neighbour kings Were up in arms, for making thee my love? How Carthage did rebel, Iarbas storm, And all the world calls me a second Helen, For being entangled by a stranger's looks? So thou wouldst prove as true as Paris did, Would, as fair Troy was, Carthage might be sack'd, And I be called a second Helena! Had I a son by thee, the grief were less, That I might see Æneas in his face: 150 Now if thou go'st, what canst thou leave behind, But rather will augment than ease my woe? _Æn._ In vain, my love, thou spend'st thy fainting breath: If words might move me, I were overcome. _Dido._ And wilt thou not be mov'd with Dido's words? Thy[553] mother was no goddess, perjured man, Nor Dardanus the author of thy stock; But thou art sprung from Scythian Caucasus, And tigers of Hyrcania gave thee suck.-- Ah, foolish Dido, to forbear this long!-- 160 Wast thou not wrecked upon this Libyan shore, And cam'st to Dido like a fisher swain? Repaired not I thy ships, made thee a king, And all thy needy followers noblemen? O serpent, that came creeping from the shore, And I for pity harbour'd in my bosom, Wilt thou now slay me with thy venomed sting, And hiss at Dido for preserving thee? Go, go, and spare not; seek out Italy: I hope that that which love forbids me do, 170 The rocks and sea-gulfs will perform at large, And thou shalt perish in the billows' ways To whom poor Dido doth bequeath revenge: I, traitor! and the waves shall cast thee up, Where thou and false Achates first set foot; Which if it chance, I'll give ye burial, And weep upon your lifeless carcasses, Though thou nor he will pity me a whit. Why starest thou in my face? If thou wilt stay, Leap in mine arms; mine arms are open wide; 180 If not, turn from me, and I'll turn from thee; For though thou hast the heart to say farewell, I have not power to stay thee. [_Exit_ ÆNEAS. Is he gone? I, but he'll come again; he cannot go;