Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships fuftain? So often wreck'd, how dar'ft thou tempt the
Which were it smooth, were ev'ry wave afleep, Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep. In that abyfs the gods their vengeance store, For broken vows of those who falfely fwore. 60 There winged storms on fea-born Venus wait, To vindicate the juftice of her state.
Thus I to thee the means of fafety fhow;
And, loft myself, would ftill preserve my
Falfe as thou art, I not thy death design:
O rather live, to be the caufe of mine!
Should fome avenging ftorm thy veffel tear,
(But heav'n forbid my words fhould omen bear)
Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly ;
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy
With threat'ning looks think thou behold'st me
Gafping my mouth, and clotted all my hair. Then, fhould fork'd lightning and red thunder
What couldst thou fay, but, I deferv'd 'em all.
Left this should happen, make not haste away;
To fhun the danger will be worth thy ftay. 76
Have pity on thy fon, if not on me:
My death alone is guilt enough for thee.
What has his youth, what have thy gods de
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 firft-deluded wife;
Left to pursuing foes Creüfa stay'd,
By thee, base man, forsaken and betray'd.
This, when thou told'st me, ftruck my
That fuch requital follow'd fuch defert.
Nor doubt I but the gods, for crimes like thefe,
Seven winters kept thee wand'ring on the feas.
Thy starv'd companions, caft afhore, I fed, 91
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbour ftrangers, fuccour the distrest,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the reft!
Curft be the cave which firft my ruin brought,
Where, from the ftorm, we common fhelter
fought!
A dreadful howling echoed round the place :
The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials
I thought fo then, but now too late I know
The furies yell'd my funerals from below.
O chastity and violated fame,
By death redeem my reputation lost,
And to his arms reftore my guilty ghoft.
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 ftatue
ftands,
The pious monument of artful hands.
Laft night, me thought, he call'd me from the
And thrice, with hollow voice, cry'd, Dido,
She comes; thy wife thy lawful fummons hears; But comes more flowly, clogg'd with conscious fears.
wrong I offer'd to thy bed; Strong were his charms, who my weak faith mifled.
His goddess mother, and his aged fire
Borne on his back, did to my fall confpire.
Oh! fuch 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 flain,
Whose wealth was made my bloody brother's
Friendlefs, and follow'd by the murd'rer's hate,
To foreign countries I remov'd my fate;
And here, a fuppliant, from the natives' hands
I bought the ground on which my city ftands, With all the coaft that ftretches to the fea; E'en to the friendly port that shelter'd thee: Then rais'd thefe walls, which mount into the air,
At once my neighbours' wonder, and their
For now they arm; and round me leagues are
My scarce establish'd empire to invade.
To man my new-built walls I muft prepare,
An helpless woman, and unskill'd in war.
Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend;
And for my person would my crown defend :
Whofe jarring votes in one complaint agree,
That each unjustly is difdain'd for thee.
To proud Hyarbas give me up a prey;
(For that must follow, if thou goest away :) 140
Or to my husband's murd'rer leave my life,
That to the husband he may add the wife.
Go then, fince no complaints can move thy
mind:
Go, perjur'd man, but leave thy gods behind. Touch not thofe gods, by whom thou art forfworn,
Who will in impious hands no more be born:
Thy facrilegious worship they difdain,
And rather would the Grecian fires fuftain.
Perhaps my greatest shame is ftill to come,
And part of thee lies hid within my womb. 150
The babe unborn muft perifh by thy hate,
And perifh guiltlefs in his mother's fate.
Some god, thou fay'ft, thy voyage does com-
mand;
Would the fame god had barr'd thee from my land!
The fame, I doubt not, thy departure fteers, 155
Who kept thee out at fea fo many years;
While thy long labors were a price fo great,
As thou to purchase Troy would'st not repeat.
But Tyber now thou feek'ft, to be at best,
When there arriv'd, a poor precarious guest. 160
Yet it deludes thy fearch: perhaps it will
To thy old age lie undifcover'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'ft transfer thy
Troy:
Here young Afcanius may his arms employ ;
And, while we live fecure in foft repofe,
Bring many laurels home from conquer'd
By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee ftay;
By all the gods, companions of thy way.
|