Re-enter Anna. Anna. Before I came, Æneas was aboard, And spying me, hoised up the sails amain; But I cried out, "Eneas! false Æneas! stay!" Then 'gan he wag his hand, which, yet held up, Made me suppose he would have heard me speak; Then 'gan they drive into the ocean; Which, when I viewed, I cried, "Æneas, stay! Dido, fair Dido wills Æneas' stay!" Yet he, whose heart's of adamant or flint, My tears nor plaints couid mollify a whit. Then carelessly I rent my hair for grief; Which seen to all, though he beheld me not, They 'gan to move him to redress my ruth, And stay awhile to hear what I could say; But he, clapped under hatches, sailed away. Dido. O Anna! Anna! I will follow him. Anna. How can ye go, when he hath all your fleet? Dido. I'll frame me wings of wax, like Icarus, And, o'er his ship, will soar unto the sun, O Anna! Anna! fetch Arion's harp, And now down fall the keels into the deep: Save, save Æneas; Dido's liefest love! hurt; But, see! Achates wills him put to sea, Anna. Ah, sister, leave these idle fantasies : Sweet sister! cease; remember who you are. But die in fury of this oversight? There is a woman famousèd for arts, Enter Iarbas. Iar. How long will Dido mourn a stranger's flight That hath dishonoured her and Carthage both? How long shall I with grief consume my days, And reap no guerdon for my truest love? Dido. Iarbas, talk not of Æneas; let him Lay to thy hands, and help me make a fire, Dido. Aye, aye, Iarbas, after this is done, None in the world shall have my love but thou; [They make a fire. So, leave me now; let none approach this For perjury and slaughter of a queen. Here lie the garment which I clothed him in When first he came on shore; perish thou too! These letters, lines, and perjured papers, all Shall burn to cinders in this precious flame. And now, ye gods, that guide the starry frame, And order all things at your high dispose, Grant, though the traitors land in Italy, They may be still tormented with unrest; And, from mine ashes, let a conqueror rise, That may revenge this treason to a queen, By ploughing up his countries with the sword. Betwixt this land and that be never league, Littora littoribus contraria, fluctibus undas Imprecor: arma armis: pugnent ipsique nepotes: Live, false Æneas! truest Dido dies! Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras. Anna. What can my tears or cries prevail me now? [She casts herself into the fire. Dido is dead, Iarbas slain; Iarbas, my dear Enter Anna. Anna. O help, Iarbas! Dido, in these flames, Hath burnt herself! ah me! unhappy me! Enter Iarbas, running. Iar. Cursed Iarbas! die to expiate The grief that tires upon thine inward soul: Dido, I come to thee. Ah me, Æneas! [Kills himself. love! Hero and Leander. Dedication. ΤΟ THE RIGHT-WORSHIPFUL SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM, KNIGHT. SIR,-We think not ourselves discharged of the duty we owe to our friend when we have brought the breathless body to the earth; for, albeit the eye there taketh his everfarewell of that beloved object, yet the impression of the man that hath been dear unto us, living an after-life in our memory, there putteth us in mind of farther obsequies due unto the deceased; and namely of the performance of whatsoever we may judge shall make to his living credit and to the effecting of his determinations prevented by the stroke of death. By these meditations (as by intellectual will) I suppose myself executor to the unhappily deceased author of this poem; upon whom, knowing that in his lifetime you bestowed many kind favours, entertaining the parts of reckoning and worth which you found in him with good countenance and liberal affection, I cannot but see so far into the will of him dead, that whatsoever issue of his brain should chance to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle air of your liking; for, since his self had been accustomed thereunto, it would prove more agreeable and thriving to his right children than any other foster countenance whatsoever. At this time seeing that this unfinished tragedy happens under my hands to be imprinted, of a double duty, the one to yourself, the other to the deceased, I present the same to your most favourable allowance, offering my utmost self now and ever to be ready at your worship's disposing. EDWARD BLUNT. 1 Many would praise the sweet smell as she past, When 'twas the odour which her breath forth cast; And there for honey bees have sought in vain, And, beat from thence, have lighted there again. About her neck hung chains of pebble stone, Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds shone. She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind, Or warm or cool them, for they took delight To play upon those hands, they were so white. Buskins of shells, all silvered, usèd she, And branched with blushing coral to the knee; Where sparrows perched, of hollow pearl and gold, Such as the world would wonder to behold: Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills, Which, as she went, would cherup through the bills. Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pined, And, looking in her face, was strooken blind. But this is true; so like was one the other, So lovely fair was Hero, Venus' nun, As Nature wept, thinking she was undone, Because she took more from her than she left, And of such wondrous beauty her bereft : Therefore, in sign her treasure suffered wrack, Since Hero's time hath half the world been black. Amorous Leander, beautiful and young, (Whose tragedy divine Musæus sung,) Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there none For whom succeeding times make greater moan. His dangling tresses, that were never shorn, Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne, Would have allured the venturous youth of Greece To hazard more than for the golden fleece. Fair Cynthia wished his arms might be her sphere; Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there. His body was as straight as Circe's wand; Jove might have sipt out nectar from his hand. Even as delicious meat is to the taste, How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly; And whose immortal fingers did imprint That heavenly path with many a curious dint, That runs along his back; but my rude pen Was moved with him, and for his favour sought. Some swore he was a maid in man's attire, For in his looks were all that men desire,— A pleasant-smiling cheek, a speaking eye, A brow for love to banquet royally; And such as knew he was a man would say, "Leander, thou art made for amorous play: Why art thou not in love, and loved of all? Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall." The men of wealthy Sestos every year, For his sake whom their goddess held so dear, Rose-cheeked Adonis, kept a solemn feast; Thither resorted many a wandering guest To meet their loves: such as had none at all, Came lovers home from this great festival; For every street, like to a firmament, Glistered with breathing stars, who, where they went, Frighted the melancholy earth, which deemed Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seemed, The guidance of the sun's rich chariot. Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the Vailed to the ground, veiling her eyelids chase, Wretched Ixion's shaggy-footed race, So ran the people forth to gaze upon her, And as in fury of a dreadful fight, Their fellows being slain or put to flight, So at her presence all surprised and tooken, On this feast-day-oh, cursed day and Went Hero, thorough Sestos, from her tower To Venus' temple, where unhappily, As after chanced, they did each other spy. And with the other wine from grapes out- Of crystal shining fair the pavement was; Committing heady riots, incest, rapes; Was Danäe's statue in a brazen tower; And for his love Europa bellowing loud, close; And modestly they opened as she rose: And thus Leander was enamoured. Relenting Hero's gentle heart was strook: We wish that one should lose, the other win; He kneeled; but unto her devoutly Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said, And as she spake those words, came some- He started up; she blushed as one ashamed; Wherewith Leander much more was inflamed. He touched her hand; in touching it she Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled. The air with sparks of living fire was span- And Night, deep-drenched in misty Acheron, |