Thou art no son of Venus, nor was Dardanus The ancient founder of thy race, thou faithless one; But Caucasus with rough and flinty crags begot, And fierce Hyrcanian tigers suckled thee. For why Should I restrain my speech, or greater evil wait? Did he one sympathetic sigh of sorrow heave? Did he one tear let fall, o'ermastered by my grief? Now neither Juno, mighty queen, nor father Jove Impartial sees; for faith is everywhere betrayed. That shipwrecked beggar in my folly did I take And cause to sit upon my throne; I saved his fleet, His friends I rescued--Oh, the furies drive me mad! Now 'tis Apollo's dictate, now the Lycian lots, And now "the very messenger of heaven sent down By Jove himself" to bring this mandate through the air! A fitting task is that for heaven's immortal lords! Such cares as these disturb their everlasting calm! I seek not to detain nor answer thee; sail on To Italy, seek fated realms beyond the seas. For me, if pious prayers can aught avail, I pray That thou amid the wrecking reefs mayst drain the cup Of retribution to the dregs and vainly call Upon the name of Dido. Distant though I be, With fury's torch will I pursue thee, and when death Shall free my spirit, will I haunt thee everywhere. O thou shalt meet thy punishment, perfidious one; My soul shall know, for such glad news would penetrate The lowest depths of hell. Miller. She works herself up to a frenzy, and as she finishes she turns to leave him with queenly scorn, staggers, and falls. The servants carry her from the scene, leaving Æneas in agony of soul, struggling between love and duty. Meanwhile the Trojan preparations go on with feverish haste. The ships are launched, hurried final preparations made, and all is now ready for departure. Dido sends her sister to Æneas with one last appeal, but all in vain. No tears or prayers can move him now. The queen resolves on death. She has a huge pyre built within her palace court under the pretense of magic rites which shall free her from her unhappy love. The Trojans spend the night sleeping on their oars; the queen, in sleepless torment. As the dawn begins to brighten, the sailors are heard singing in the distance as they joyfully hoist their sails. Dido rushes to her window and beholds the fleet just putting out from shore. She cries aloud in impotent frenzy.