Actus 3.
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Scena I.
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Enter Cupid solus.
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Cupid. Now Cupid cause the Carthaginian Queene, To be inamourd of thy brothers lookes, Conuey this golden arrowe in thy sleeue, Lest she imagine thou art Venus sonne: And when she strokes thee softly on the head, Then shall I touch her breast and conquer her.
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Enter Iarbus, Anna, and Dido.
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Iar. How long faire Dido shall I pine for thee? Tis not enough that thou doest graunt me loue, But that I may enioy what I desire: That loue is childish which consists in words.
Dido. Iarbus, know that thou of all my wooers
(And yet haue I had many mightier Kings) Hast had the greatest fauours I could giue: I feare me Dido hath been counted light, In being too familiar with Iarbus: Albeit the Gods doe know no wanton thought Had euer residence in Didos breast.
Iar. But Dido is the fauour I request.
Dido. Feare not Iarbus, Dido may be thine.
Anna. Looke sister how Æneas little sonne
Playes with your garments and imbraceth you.
Cupid. No Dido will not take me in her armes, I shall not be her sonne, she loues me not.
Dido. Weepe not sweet boy, thou shalt be Didos sonne, Sit in my lap and let me heare thee sing. No more my child, now talke another while, And tell me where learnst thou this pretie song?
Cupid. My cosin Helen taught it me in Troy.
Dido. How louely is Ascanius when he smiles?
Cupid. Will Dido let me hang about her necke?
Dido. I wagge, and giue thee leaue to kisse her to.
Cupid. What will you giue me? now Ile haue this Fanne.
Dido. Take it Ascanius, for thy fathers sake.
Iar. Come Dido, leaue Ascanius, let vs walke.
Dido. Goe thou away, Ascanius shall stay.
Iar. Vngentle Queene, is this thy loue to me?
Dido. O stay Iarbus, and Ile goe with thee.
Cupid. And if my mother goe, Ile follow her.
Dido. Why staiest thou here? thou art no loue of mine?
Iar. Iarbus dye, seeing she abandons thee.
Dido. No, liue Iarbus, what hast thou deseru'd, That I should say thou art no loue of mine? Something thou hast deseru'd, away I say, Depart from Carthage, come not in my sight.
Iar. Am I not King of rich Getulia?
Dido. Iarbus pardon me, and stay a while.
Cupid. Mother, looke here.
Dido. What telst thou me of rich Getulia? Am not I Queene of Libia? then depart.
Iar. I goe to feed the humour of my Loue, Yet not from Carthage for a thousand worlds.
Dido. Iarbus.
Iar. Doth Dido call me backe?
Dido. No, but I charge thee neuer looke on me.
Iar. Then pull out both mine eyes, or let me dye. Exit Iarb.
Anna. Wherefore doth Dido bid Iarbus goe?
Dido. Because his lothsome sight offends mine eye, And in my thoughts is shrin'd another loue: O Anna, didst thou know how sweet loue were, Full soone wouldst thou abiure this single life.
Anna. Poore soule I know too well the sower of loue, O that Iarbus could but fancie me.
Dido. Is not Æneas faire and beautifull?
Anna. Yes, and Iarbus foule and fauourles.
Dido. Is he not eloquent in all his speech?
Anna. Yes, and Iarbus rude and rusticall.
Dido. Name not Iarbus, but sweete Anna say, Is not Æneas worthie Didos loue?
Anna. O sister, were you Empresse of the world, Æneas well deserues to be your loue, So lovely is he that where ere he goes, The people swarme to gaze him in the face.
Dido. But tell them none shall gaze on him but I, Lest their grosse eye-beames taint my louers cheekes: Anna, good sister Anna goe for him, Lest with these sweete thoughts I melt cleane away.
Anna. Then sister youle abiure Iarbus loue?
Dido. Yet must I heare that lothsome name againe? Runne for Æneas, or Ile flye to him. Exit Anna.
Cupid. You shall not hurt my father when he comes.
Dido. No, for thy sake Ile loue thy father well. O dull conceipted Dido, that till now Didst neuer thinke Æneas beautifull: But now for quittance of this ouersight, Ile make me bracelets of his golden haire, His glistering eyes shall be my looking glasse, His lips an altar, where Ile offer vp As many kisses as the Sea hath sands, In stead of musicke I will heare him speake, His lookes shall be my only Librarie, And thou Æneas, Didos treasurie, In whose faire bosome I will locke more wealth, Then twentie thousand Indiaes can affoord: O here he comes, loue, loue, giue Dido leaue To be more modest then her thoughts admit, Lest I be made a wonder to the world. 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.