Ah me, what shall I do? My former suitors seek And be again rejected? Shall I humbly court Numidia’s lords whose suit I have so often scorned? Or shall I rather follow haughty Ilium’s fleet, Submissive to their every will?—Because in sooth, ‘T is sweet to be delivered, and my former aid Still dwells within their faithful memory? But who, Though I should wish it, would permit me, or receive The hated Dido in their haughty ships? Ah, poor, Deluded one, dost thou not know, dost thou not still Perceive the frailty of a Trojan oath? What then? Shall I forsake my kingdom and accompany The joyful sailors, or with all my Tyrian bands Around me, follow in pursuit and force again My friends upon the deep and bid them spread their sails, My comrades whom with pain I weaned from Sidon’s halls? Nay, nay! as thou deservest, die, and with the sword Thy sorrows end. O why was it not given me To spend my life from wedlock and its sorrows free, As beasts within their forest lairs? Or why, alas, Was not my promise to Sychæus’ ashes kept? She sprinkles incense on the flame at the shrine of Sychæus. Dawn begins to brighten. The sailors are heard singing in the distance. Dido starts. She rushes to the window, and looking out, sees the Trojan fleet sailing away over the sea. She cries out in frenzy. _Dido_ (590-629): Ye gods! and shall he go, and mock our royal power? Why not to arms and send our forces in pursuit, And bid them hurry down the vessels from the shore? Ho there, my men, quick, fetch the torches, seize your arms, And man the oars!—What am I saying? where am I? What madness turns my brain? O most unhappy queen, Is it thus thy evil deeds are coming back to thee? Such fate was just when thou didst yield thy scepter up.— Lo, _there ‘s_ the fealty of him who, rumor says, His country’s gods with him in all his wandering bears And on his shoulders bore his sire from burning Troy! Why could I not have torn his body limb from limb, And strewed his members on the deep? and slain his friends, His son Ascanius, and served his mangled limbs To grace his father’s feast?—Such conflict might have had A doubtful issue.—Grant it might, but whom had I, Foredoomed to death, to fear? I might have fired his camp, His ships, and wrapped in common ruin father, son, And all the race, and given myself to crown the doom Of all.—O Sun, who with thy shining rays dost see All mortal deeds; O Juno, who dost know and thus Canst judge the grievous cares of wedlock; thou whom wild And shrieking women worship through the dusky streets, O Hecate; and ye avenging Furies;—ye, The gods of failing Dido, come and bend your power To these my woes and hear my prayer. If yonder wretch Must enter port and reach his land decreed by fate, If thus the laws of Jove ordain, this order holds: But, torn in war, a hardy people’s foeman, far From friends and young Iulus’ arms, may he be forced