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Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships fustain? So often wreck’d, how dar'st thou tempt the

main ? Which were it smooth, were ev'ry wave asleep, Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep. In that abyss the gods their vengeance store, For broken rows of those who falfely fwore. 60 There winged storms on sea-born Venus wait, To vindicate the justice of her state. Thus I to thee the means of safety show; And, lost myself, would still preserve my foe. Falfe as thou art, I not thy death design: O rather live, to be the cause of mine! Should some avenging storm thy veffel tear, (But heav'n forbid my words should omen bear) Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly ; And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye.

70 With threat’ning looks think thou behold'st me

ftare, Gafping my mouth, and clotted all

my

hair. Then, should fork'd lightning and red thunder

fall, What couldft thou say, but, I deserv'd 'em all. Leít this should happen, make not hafte away; To fhun the danger will be worth thy stay. 76 Have pity on thy fon, if not on me: My death alone is guilt enough for thee.

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me, struck

What has his youth, what have thy gods de

seri'd, To fink in feas, who were from fires preferv’d? 80 But neither gods nor parent didst thou bear; Smooth stories all to please a woman's ear, False as the tale of thy romantic life. Nor yet am I thy first-deluded wife : Left to pursuing foes Creüfa stay'd, By thee, base man, forfaken and betray’d. This, when thou told'st

my tender heart, That such requital follow'd such defert. Nor doubt I but the gods, for crimes like these, Seven winters kept thee wand'ring on the seas. Thy starv'd companions, cast ashore, I fed, 91 Thyself admitted to my crown and bed. To harbour strangers, fuccour the distrest, Was kind enough ; but, oh, too kind the rest! Curst be the cave which first my ruin brought, Where, from the storm, we common fhelter

fought ! A dreadful howling echoed round the place : The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials

grace.

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I thought fo then, but now too late I know
The furies yell’d my funerals from below.
O chastity and violated fame,
Exact
your

dues to my dead husband's name!

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By death redeem my reputation loft,
And to his arms restore my guilty ghost.
Close by my palace, in a gloomy grove,
Is rais'd a chapel to my murder'd love;
There, wreath'd with boughs and wool his statue

stands, The pious monument of artful hands. Last night, me thought, he call’d me from the

dome, And thrice, with hollow voice, cry'd, Dido,

come.

110)

;

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She comes; thy wife thy lawful fummons hears ; But comes more flowly, clogg’d with conscious

fears. Forgive the

wrong

I offer’d to thy bed Strong were his charms, who my weak faith

misled. His goddess mother, and his aged fire Borne on his back, did to my fall conspire. Oh! such he was, and is, that, were he true, Without a blush I might his love pursue. But cruel stars my birth-day did attend ; And as my fortune open’d, it must end. My plighted lord was at the altar Nain, Whose wealth was made my bloody brother's

gain. Friendless, and follow'd by the murd'rer's hate, To foreign countries I remov'd my fate ;

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And here, a suppliant, from the natives'

hands I bought the ground on which my city stands, With all the coast that stretches to the sea; E’en to the friendly port that shelter'd thee : Then rais'd these walls, which mount into the

air, At once my neighbours' wonder, and their

fear. For now they arm ; and round me leagues are

made, My scarce establish'd empire to invade. To man my new-built walls I must prepare, An helpless woman, and unskill'd in war. Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend ; And for my person would my crown defend : Whose jarring votes in one complaint agree, That each unjustly is disdain'd for thee. To proud Hyarbas give me up a prey ; (For that must follow, if thou goelt away :) 140 Or to my husband's murd’rer leave my life, That to the husband he

may

add the wife. Go then, since no complaints can move thy

mind : Go, perjur'd man, but leave thy gods behind. Touch not those gods, by whom thou art for

sworn, Who will in impious hands no more be born:

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VOL. IV,

I

Thy facrilegious worship they disdain,
And rather would the Grecian fires sustain.
Perhaps my greatest shame is still to come,
And part of thee lies hid within my womb. 150
The babe unborn must perith by thy hate,
And perish guiltless in his mother's fate.
Some god, thou fay'st, thy voyage does com-

mand; Would the same god had barr’d thee from my

land ! The same, I doubt not, thy departure steers, 155 Who kept thee out at sea so many years ; While thy long labors were a price fo great, As thou to purchase Troy would'st not repeat. But Tyber now thou seek'st, to be at best, When there arriv’d, a poor precarious guest. 160 Yet it deludes thy search : perhaps it will To thy old age lie undiscorer'd still. A ready crown and wealth in dower I bring, And, without conqu’ring, here thou art a king. Here thou to Carthage may'st transfer thy

Troy: Here young

Afcanius may his arms employ ; And, while we live secure in soft repose, Bring many laurels home from conquer'd

foes. By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee stay ; By all the gods, companions of thy way. 170

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