Achates, how doth Carthage please your Lord?

Acha. That will Æneas shewe your maiestie.

Dido. Æneas art thou there?

Æn. I vnderstand your highnesse sent for me.

Dido. No, but now thou art here, tell me in sooth, In what might Dido highly pleasure thee.

Æn. So much haue I receiu'd at Didos hands,
As without blushing I can aske no more:
Yet Queene of Affricke, are my ships vnrigd,
My Sailes all rent in sunder with the winde,
My Oares broken, and my Tackling lost,
Yea all my Nauie split with Rockes and Shelfes:
Nor Sterne nor Anchor haue our maimed Fleete,
Our Masts the furious windes strooke ouer bourd:
Which piteous wants if Dido will supplie,
We will account her author of our liues.

Dido. Æneas, Ile repaire thy Troian ships,
Conditionally that thou wilt stay with me,
And let Achates saile to Italy:
Ile giue thee tackling made of riueld gold,
Wound on the barkes of odoriferous trees,
Oares of massie Iuorie full of holes,
Through which the water shall delight to play:
Thy Anchors shall be hewed from Christall Rockes,
Which if thou lose shall shine aboue the waues;
The Masts whereon thy swelling sailes shall hang,
Hollow Pyramides of siluer plate:
The sailes of foulded Lawne, where shall be wrought
The warres of Troy, but not Troyes ouerthrow:
For ballace, emptie Didos treasurie,
Take what ye will, but leaue Æneas here.
Achates, thou shalt be so meanly clad,
As Seaborne Nymphes shall swarme about thy ships,
And wanton Mermaides court thee with sweete songs,
Flinging in fauours of more soueraigne worth,
Then Thetis hangs about Apolloes necke,
So that Æneas may but stay with me.

Æn. Wherefore would Dido haue Æneas stay?

Dido. To warre against my bordering enemies: Æneas, thinke not Dido is in loue: For if that any man could conquer me, I had been wedded ere Æneas came: See where the pictures of my suiters hang, And are not these as faire as faire may be?

Acha. I saw this man at Troy ere Troy was sackt.

Æn. I this in Greece when Paris stole faire Helen.

Illio. This man and I were at Olympus games.

Serg. I know this face, he is a Persian borne, I traueld with him to Ætolia.

Cloan. And I in Athens with this gentleman, Vnlesse I be deceiu'd disputed once.

Dido. But speake Æneas, know you none of these?

Æn. No Madame, but it seemes that these are Kings.

Dido. All these and others which I neuer sawe,
Haue been most vrgent suiters for my loue,
Some came in person, others sent their Legats:
Yet none obtaind me, I am free from all,
And yet God knowes intangled vnto one.
This was an Orator, and thought by words
To compasse me, but yet he was deceiu'd:
And this a Spartan Courtier vaine and wilde,
But his fantastick humours pleasde not me:
This was Alcion, a Musition,
But playd he nere so sweet, I let him goe:
This was the wealthie King of Thessaly,
But I had gold enough and cast him off:
This Meleagers sonne, a warlike Prince,
But weapons gree not with my tender yeares:
The rest are such as all the world well knowes,
Yet how I sweare by heauen and him I loue,
I was as farre from loue, as they from hate.

Æn. O happie shall he be whom Dido loues.

Dido. Then neuer say that thou art miserable,
Because it may be thou shalt be my loue:
Yet boast not of it, for I loue thee not,
And yet I hate thee not: O if I speake
I shall betray my selfe: Æneas speake,
We two will goe a hunting in the woods,
But not so much for thee, thou art but one,
As for Achates, and his followers. Exeunt.

Enter Iuno to Ascanius asleepe.

Iuno. Here lyes my hate, Æneas cursed brat,
The boy wherein false destinie delights,
The heire of furie, the fauorite of the face,
That vgly impe that shall outweare my wrath,
And wrong my deitie with high disgrace:
But I will take another order now,
And race th'eternall Register of time:
Troy shall no more call him her second hope,
Nor Venus triumph in his tender youth:
For here in spight of heauen Ile murder him,
And feede infection with his left out life:
Say Paris, now shall Venus haue the ball?
Say vengeance, now shall her Ascanius dye.
O no God wot, I cannot watch my time,
Nor quit good turnes with double fee downe told:
Tut, I am simple without made to hurt,
And haue no gall at all to grieue my foes:
But lustfull Ioue and his adulterous child,
Shall finde it written on confusions front,
That onely Iuno rules in Rhamnuse towne.

Enter Venus.

Venus. What should this meane? my Doues are back returnd, Who warne me of such daunger prest at hand, To harme my sweete Ascanius louely life. Iuno, my mortall foe, what make you here? Auaunt old witch and trouble not my wits.

Iuno. Fie Venus, that such causeles words of wrath,
Should ere defile so faire a mouth as thine:
Are not we both sprong of celestiall rase,
And banquet as two Sisters with the Gods?
Why is it then displeasure should disioyne,
Whom kindred and acquaintance counites.

Venus. Out hatefull hag, thou wouldst haue slaine my sonne,
Had not my Doues discou'rd thy entent:
But I will teare thy eyes fro forth thy head,
And feast the birds with their bloud-shotten balles,
If thou but lay thy fingers on my boy.

Iuno. Is this then all the thankes that I shall haue,
For sauing him from Snakes and Serpents stings,
That would haue kild him sleeping as he lay?
What though I was offended with thy sonne,
And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land,
When for the hate of Troian Ganimed,
That was aduanced by my Hebes shame,
And Paris iudgement of the heauenly ball,
I mustred all the windes vnto his wracke,
And vrg'd each Element to his annoy:
Yet now I doe repent me of his ruth,
And wish that I had neuer wrongd him so:
Bootles I sawe it was to warre with fate,
That hath so many vnresisted friends:
Wherefore I chaunge my counsell with the time,
And planted loue where enuie erst had sprong.

Venus. Sister of Ioue, if that thy loue be such,
As these thy protestations doe paint forth,
We two as friends one fortune will deuide:
Cupid shall lay his arrowes in thy lap,
And to a Scepter chaunge his golden shafts,
Fancie and modestie shall liue as mates,
And thy faire peacockes by my pigeons pearch:
Loue my Æneas, and desire is thine,
The day, the night, my Swannes, my sweetes are thine.

Iuno. More then melodious are these words to me,
That ouercioy my soule with their content:
Venus, sweete Venus, how may I deserue
Such amourous fauours at thy beautious