EPIS T. VII.

THE ARGUMENT.

Eneas, the fon of Venus and Anchifes, having, at the deftruction of Troy, faved his Gods, his father, and fon Afcanius, from the fire, put to fea with twenty fail of fhips; and, having been long toft with tempests, was at laft caft upon the shore of Libya, where queen Dido (flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion her brother, who had killed her husband Sichæus) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his fleet with great civility, fell paffionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last favours. But Mercury admonishing Æneas to go in fearch of Italy, (a kingdom promised him by the Gods) he readily prepared to follow him. Dido foon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to ftay, at last in defpair writes to him as follows.

S

O, on Mæander's banks, when death is nigh,
The mournful fwan fings her own elegy.
Not that I hope (for, oh, that hope were vain!)
By words your loft affection to regain:
But having loft whate'er was worth my care,
Why should I fear to lose a dying pray'r?
'Tis then refolv'd poor Dido must be left,
Of life, of honour, and of love bereft!
While you, with loofen'd fails, and vows, prepare
To feek a land that flies the fearcher's care.
Nor can my rifing tow'rs your flight restrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd you in vain.
Built walls you shun, unbuilt you feek; that land
Is yet to conquer; but you this command.

Suppose

Suppose you landed where your wish defign'd,
Think what reception foreigners would find.
What people is fo void of common sense,
To vote fucceffion from a native prince?
Yet there new scepters and new loves you feek;
New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
When will your tow'rs the height of Carthage know?
Or when your eyes difcern fuch crowds below?
If fuch a town and subjects you could fee,
Still would you want a wife who lov'd like me.
For, oh, I burn, like fires with incenfe bright:
Not holy tapers flame with purer light:
Eneas is my thoughts perpetual theme;
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream.
Yet he's ungrateful and obdurate ftill:
Fool that I am to place my heart fo ill!
Myself I cannot to myself restore;

Still I complain, and ftill I love him more.
Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart,
And pierce thy brother's with an equal dart.
I rave: nor canft thou Venus' offspring be,
Love's mother could not bear a fon like thee.
From harden'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb,
At least thou art from fome fierce tigrefs come;
Or on rough feas, from their foundation torn,
Got by the winds, and in a tempest born:
Like that which now thy trembling failors fear;
Like that whofe rage fhould still detain thee here.
Behold how high the foamy billows ride!
The winds and waves are on the jufter fide.
To winter weather and a stormy fea

I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee.
Death thou deferv'ft from heav'n's avenging laws;
But I'm unwilling to become the caufe.
To fhun my love, if thou wilt feek thy fate,
'Tis a dear purchase, and a coftly hate.
Q 2

Stay but a little, 'till the tempeft cease,
And the loud winds are lull'd into a peace.
May all thy rage, like theirs, unconstant prove!
And fo it will, if there be pow'r in love.

Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sustain?
So often wreck'd, how dar'ft thou tempt the main ?
Which were it fmooth, 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 falsely swore.
There winged ftorms on fea-born Venus wait,
To vindicate the juftice of her state.
Thus I to thee the means of safety show;
And, loft myself, would ftill preserve my foe.
Falfe as thou art, I not thy death defign:
O rather live, to be the cause of mine!
Should fome avenging florm 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 prèsent to thy eye.
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 couldst thou fay, but, I deferv'd 'em all?
Left this fhould happen, make not hafte away;
To fhun the danger will be worth thy ftay.
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 deferv'd,
To fink in feas, who were from fires preserv❜d?
But neither Gods nor parent didft thou bear;
Smooth flories all to please a woman's ear,
Falfe as the tale of thy romantick life.
Nor yet am I thy firft-deluded wife:
Left to pursuing foes Creüfa stay'd,

By thee, bafe man, forfaken and betray'd.

This,

This, when thou told'ft me, ftruck my tender heart,
That fuch requital follow'd fuch defert.

Nor doubt I but the Gods, for crimes like these,
Sev'n winters kept thee wand'ring on the feas.
Thy starv'd companions, caft afhore, I fed,
Thyfelf admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbour ftrangers, fuccour the distrest,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the reft!
Curst be the cave which firft my ruin brought,
Where, from the ftorm, we common fhelter fought!
A dreadful howling echo'd round the place:
The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials grace.
I thought fo then, but now too late I know
The furies yell'd my fun'rals from below.
O chastity and violated fame,

Exact your dues to my dead husband's name!
By death redeem my reputation lost,
And to his arms reftore 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 ftatue ftands,
The pious monument of artful hands.

Laft night, methought, he call'd me from the dome,
And thrice, with hollow voice, cry'd, Dido, come.
She comes; thy wife thy lawful fummons hears;
But comes more flowly, clogg'd with confcious 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 confpire.
Oh! fuch he was, and is, that, were he true,
Without a blush I might his love pursue.
But cruel ftars my birth-day did attend;
And as my fortune open'd, it must end.
My plighted lord was at the altar flain,

Whofe wealth was made my bloody brother's gain.

Q3

Friendlefs,

Friendless, 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 fhelter'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 perfon would my crown defend:
Whose 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 goeft away.)
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 those Gods, by whom thou art forfworn,
Who will in impious hands no more be borne:
Thy facrilegious worship they disdain,
And rather would the Grecian fires fuftain.
Perhaps my greatest fhame is ftill to come,
And part of thee lies hid within my womb.
The babe unborn muft perish by thy hate,
And perish guiltlefs in his mother's fate.

Some God, thou fay'ft, thy voyage does command;
Would the fame God had barr'd thee from my land!
The fame, I doubt not, thy departure fteers,
Who kept thee out at fea fo many years;
While thy long labours were a price fo great,
As thou to purchase Troy would'ft not repeat.

But