The Tragedy of Dido Queene of Carthage Part 2

_Serg._ See where her seruitors pa.s.se through the hall Bearing a banket, _Dido_ is not farre.

_Illio._ Looke where she comes: _aeneas_ viewd her well.

_aen._ Well may I view her, but she sees not me.

_Enter Dido and her traine._

_Dido._ What stranger art thou that doest eye me thus?

_aen._ Sometime I was a Troian mightie Queene: But _Troy_ is not, what shall I say I am?

_Illio._ Renowmed _Dido_, tis our Generall: warlike _aeneas_.

_Dido._ Warlike _aeneas_, and in these base robes?

Goe fetch the garment which _Sicheus_ ware: Braue Prince, welcome to Carthage and to me, Both happie that _aeneas_ is our guest: Sit in this chaire and banquet with a Queene, _aeneas_ is _aeneas_, were he clad In weedes as bad as euer _Irus_ ware.

_aen._ This is no seate for one thats comfortles, May it please your grace to let _aeneas_ waite: For though my birth be great, my fortunes meane, Too meane to be companion to a Queene.

_Dido._ Thy fortune may be greater then thy birth, Sit downe _aeneas_, sit in _Didos_ place, And if this be thy sonne as I suppose, Here let him sit, be merrie louely child.

_aen._ This place beseemes me not, O pardon me.

_Dido._ Ile haue it so, _aeneas_ be content.

_Asca._ Madame, you shall be my mother.

_Dido._ And so I will sweete child: be merrie man, Heres to thy better fortune and good starres.

_aen._ In all humilitie I thanke your grace.

_Dido._ Remember who thou art, speake like thy selfe, Humilitie belongs to common groomes.

_aen._ And who so miserable as _aeneas_ is?

_Dido._ Lyes it in _Didos_ hands to make thee blest, Then be a.s.sured thou art not miserable.

_aen._ O _Priamus_, O _Troy_, oh _Hecuba_!

_Dido._ May I entreate thee to discourse at large, And truely to how _Troy_ was ouercome: For many tales goe of that Cities fall, And scarcely doe agree vpon one poynt: Some say _Antenor_ did betray the towne, Others report twas _Sinons_ periurie: But all in this that _Troy_ is ouercome, And _Priam_ dead, yet how we heare no newes.

_aen._ A wofull tale bids _Dido_ to vnfould, Whose memorie like pale deaths stony mace, Beates forth my senses from this troubled soule, And makes _aeneas_ sinke at _Didos_ feete.

_Dido._ What faints _aeneas_ to remember _Troy_?

In whose defence he fought so valiantly: Looke vp and speake.

_aen._ Then speake _aeneas_ with _Achilles_ tongue, And _Dido_ and you Carthaginian Peeres Heare me, but yet with _Mirmidons_ harsh eares, Daily inur'd to broyles and Ma.s.sacres, Lest you be mou'd too much with my sad tale.

The Grecian souldiers tired with ten yeares warre; Began to crye, let vs vnto our ships, _Troy_ is inuincible, why stay we here?

With whose outcryes _Atrides_ being apal'd, Summoned the Captaines to his princely tent, Who looking on the scarres we Troians gaue, Seeing the number of their men decreast, And the remainder weake and out of heart, Gaue vp their voyces to dislodge the Campe, And so in troopes all marcht to _Tenedos_: Where when they came, _Vlysses_ on the sand a.s.sayd with honey words to turne them backe: And as he spoke to further his entent, The windes did driue huge billowes to the sh.o.a.re, And heauen was darkned with tempestuous clowdes: Then he alleag'd the G.o.ds would haue them stay, And prophecied _Troy_ should be ouercome: And therewithall he calde false _Sinon_ forth, A man compact of craft and periurie, Whose ticing tongue was made of _Hermes_ pipe, To force an hundred watchfull eyes to sleepe: And him _Epeus_ hauing made the horse, With sacrificing wreathes vpon his head, _Vlysses_ sent to our vnhappie towne: Who groueling in the mire of _Zanthus_ bankes, His hands bound at his back, and both his eyes Turnd vp to heauen as one resolu'd to dye, Our Phrigian shepherd haled within the gates, And brought vnto the Court of _Priamus_: To whom he vsed action so pitifull, Lookes so remorcefull, vowes so forcible, As therewithall the old man ouercome, Kist him, imbrast him, and vnloosde his bands, And then, O _Dido_ pardon me.

_Dido._ Nay leaue not here, resolue me of the rest.

_aen._ O th'inchaunting words of that base slaue, Made him to thinke _Epeus_ pine-tree Horse A sacrifize t'appease _Mineruas_ wrath: The rather for that one _Laoc.o.o.n_ Breaking a speare vpon his hollow breast, Was with two winged Serpents stung to death.

Whereat agast, we were commanded straight With reuerence to draw it into _Troy_.

In which vnhappie worke was I employd, These hands did helpe to hale it to the gates, Through which it could not enter twas so huge.

O had it neuer entred, _Troy_ had stood.

But _Priamus_ impatient of delay, Inforst a wide breach in that rampierd wall, Which thousand battering Rams could neuer pierce, And so came in this fatall instrument: At whose accursed feete as ouerioyed, We banquetted till ouercome with wine, Some surfetted, and others soundly slept.

Which _Sinon_ viewing, causde the Greekish spyes To hast to _Tenedos_ and tell the Campe: Then he vnlockt the Horse, and suddenly From out his entrailes, _Neoptolemus_ Setting his speare vpon the ground, leapt forth, And after him a thousand Grecians more, In whose sterne faces shin'd the quenchles fire, That after burnt the pride of _Asia_.

By this the Campe was come vnto the walles, And through the breach did march into the streetes, Where meeting with the rest, kill kill they cryed.

Frighted with this confused noyse, I rose, And looking from a turret, might behold Yong infants swimming in their parents bloud, Headles carka.s.ses piled vp in heapes, Virgins halfe dead dragged by their golden haire, And with maine force flung on a ring of pikes, Old men with swords thrust through their aged sides, Kneeling for mercie to a Greekish lad, Who with steele Pol-axes dasht out their braines.

Then buckled I mine armour, drew my sword, And thinking to goe downe, came _Hectors_ ghost With ashie visage, blewish, sulphure eyes, His armes torne from his shoulders, and his breast Furrowd with wounds, and that which made me weepe, Thongs at his heeles, by which _Achilles_ horse Drew him in triumph through the Greekish Campe, Burst from the earth, crying, _aeneas_ flye, _Troy_ is a fire, the Grecians haue the towne,

_Dido._ O _Hector_ who weepes not to heare thy name?

_aen._ Yet flung I forth, and desperate of my life, Ran in the thickest throngs, and with this sword Sent many of their sauadge ghosts to h.e.l.l.

At last came _Pirrhus_ fell and full of ire.

His harnesse dropping bloud, and on his speare The mangled head of _Priams_ yongest sonne, And after him his band of Mirmidons, With balles of wilde fire in their murdering pawes, Which made the funerall flame that burnt faire _Troy_: All which hemd me about, crying, this is he.

_Dido._ Ah, how could poore _aeneas_ scape their hands?

_aen._ My mother _Venus_ iealous of my health, Conuaid me from their crooked nets and bands: So I escapt the furious _Pirrhus_ wrath: Who then ran to the pallace of the King, And at _Ioues_ Altar finding _Priamus_, About whose withered necke hung _Hecuba_, Foulding his hand in hers, and ioyntly both Beating their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and falling on the ground, He with his faulchions poynt raisde vp at once, And with _Megeras_ eyes stared in their face, Threatning a thousand deaths at euery glaunce.

To whom the aged King thus trembling spoke: _Achilles_ sonne, remember what I was, Father of fiftie sonnes, but they are slaine, Lord of my fortune, but my fortunes turnd, King of this Citie, but my _Troy_ is fired, And now am neither father, Lord, nor King: Yet who so wretched but desires to liue?

O let me liue, great _Neoptolemus_, Not mou'd at all, but smiling at his teares, This butcher whil'st his hands were yet held vp, Treading vpon his breast, strooke off his hands.

_Dido._ O end _aeneas_, I can heare no more.

_aen._ At which the franticke Queene leapt on his face, And in his eyelids hanging by the nayles, A little while prolong'd her husbands life: At last the souldiers puld her by the heeles, And swong her howling in the emptie ayre, Which sent an eccho to the wounded King: Whereat he lifted vp his bedred lims, And would haue grappeld with _Achilles_ sonne, Forgetting both his want of strength and hands, Which he disdaining whiskt his sword about, And with the wound thereof the King fell downe: Then from the nauell to the throat at once, He ript old _Priam_: at whose latter gaspe _Ioues_ marble statue gan to bend the brow, As lothing _Pirrhus_ for this wicked act: Yet he vndaunted tooke his fathers flagge, And dipt it in the old Kings chill cold bloud, And then in triumph ran into the streetes, Through which he could not pa.s.se for slaughtred men: So leaning on his sword he stood stone still, Viewing the fire wherewith rich _Ilion_ burnt.

By this I got my father on my backe, This yong boy in mine armes, and by the hand Led faire _Creusa_ my beloued wife, When thou _Achates_ with thy sword mad'st way, And we were round inuiron'd with the Greekes: O there I lost my wife: and had not we Fought manfully, I had not told this tale: Yet manhood would not serue, of force we fled, And as we went vnto our ships, thou knowest We sawe _Ca.s.sandra_ sprauling in the streetes, Whom _Aiax_ rauisht in _Dianas_ Fawne, Her cheekes swolne with sighes, her haire all rent, Whom I tooke vp to beare vnto our ships; But suddenly the Grecians followed vs, And I alas, was forst to let her lye.

Then got we to our ships, and being abourd, _Polixena_ cryed out, _aeneas_ stay, The Greekes pursue me, stay and take me in.

Moued with her voyce, I lept into the sea, Thinking to beare her on my backe abourd: For all our ships were launcht into the deepe, And as I swomme, she standing on the sh.o.a.re, Was by the cruell Mirmidons surprizd, And after by that _Pirrhus_ sacrifizde.

_Dido._ I dye with melting ruth, _aeneas_ leaue.

_Anna._ O what became of aged _Hecuba_?

_Iar._ How got _aeneas_ to the fleete againe?

_Dido._ But how scapt _Helen_, she that causde this warre?

_aen._ _Achates_ speake, sorrow hath tired me quite.

_Acha._ What happened to the Queene we cannot shewe, We heare they led her captiue into Greece, As for _aeneas_ he swomme quickly backe, And _Helena_ betraied _Diiphobus_ Her Louer, after _Alexander_ dyed, And so was reconcil'd to _Menelaus_.

_Dido._ O had that ticing strumpet nere been borne: Troian, thy ruthfull tale hath made me sad: Come let vs thinke vpon some pleasing sport, To rid me from these melancholly thoughts.

_Exeunt omnes._

_Enter Venus at another doore, and takes Ascanius by the sleeve._