DIDO TO ENEAS

THE ARGUMENT

Eneas, the son of Venus and Anchises, having, at the destruction of Troy, sav'd his gods, his father, and son Ascanius, from the fire, put to sea with twenty sail of ships; and, having bin long toss'd with tempests, was at last cast upon the shore of Libya, where Queen Dido, flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion, her brother, who had kill'd her husband Sichæus, had lately built Carthage. She entertain'd Eneas and his fleet with great civility, fell passionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last favors. But Mercury admonishing Æneas to go in search of Italy, (a kingdom promis'd to him by the gods,) he readily prepar'd to obey him. Dido soon perceiv'd it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to stay, at last in despair writes to him as follows.

So, on Mæander's banks, when death is nigh,
The mournful swan sings her own elegy.
Not that I hope (for, O, that hope were
vain !)

By words your lost affection to regain:
But, having lost whate'er was worth my

Got by the winds, and in a tempest born, 40 Like that which now thy trembling sailors fear;

Like that whose rage should still detain thee here.

Behold how high the foamy billows ride! The winds and waves are on the juster side.

To winter weather and a stormy sea
I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee.
Death thou deserv'st from heav'n's aveng-
ing laws,

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But I'm unwilling to become the cause. To shun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate, 'Tis a dear purchase, and a costly hate. Stay but a little, till the tempest cease, And the loud winds are lull'd into a peace. May all thy rage, like theirs, unconstant prove!

And so it will, if there be pow'r in love. Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sustain ?

So often wrack'd, how dar'st thou tempt the main ?

Which were it smooth, were every wave asleep,

Ten thousand forms of death are in the

eye.

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With threat'ning looks think thou behold'st me stare,

Gasping my mouth, and clotted all my hair. Then, should fork'd lightning and red thunder fall,

What couldst thou say, but: "I deserv'd 'em all"?

Lest this should happen, make not haste away;

To shun the danger will be worth thy stay. Have pity on thy son, if not on me:

My death alone is guilt enough for thee. What has his youth, what have thy gods deserv'd,

To sink in seas, who were from fires preserv'd?

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Thy starv'd companions, cast ashore, I fed,
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbor strangers, succor the distress'd,
Was kind enough; but, O, too kind the
rest!

Curst be the cave which first my ruin brought,

She comes; thy wife thy lawful summons hears,

But comes more slowly, 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 sire, Borne on his back, did to my fall conspire. O, such he was, and is, that, were he true, Without a blush I might his love pursue! But cruel stars my birthday did attend; And, as my fortune open'd, it must end. 120 My plighted lord was at the altar slain, 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; And here, a suppliant, from the natives' hands

I bought the ground on which my city

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 forsworn,

Who will in impious hands no more be borne:

Thy sacrilegious 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.
The babe unborn must perish by thy hate,
And perish guiltless in his mother's fate.
Some god, thou say'st, thy voyage does com-
mand;

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Would the same god had barr'd thee from my land!

The same, I doubt not, thy departure steers, Who kept thee out at sea so many years; Where thy long labors were a price so great, As thou to purchase Troy wouldst not repeat.

But Tiber now thou seek'st, to be at best, When there arriv'd, a poor, precarious

guest.

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Yet it deludes thy search: perhaps it will To thy old age lie undiscover'd still.

A ready crown and wealth in dow'r I bring, And, without conqu'ring, here thou art a king.

Here thou to Carthage may'st transfer thy Troy:

Here
young Ascanius 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
So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive,
Live still, and with no future fortune strive;

So may thy youthful son old age attain,

And thy dead father's bones in peace remain;

As thou hast pity on unhappy me,

Who know no crime, but too much love of thee.

I am not born from fierce Achilles' line,
Nor did my parents against Troy combine.
To be thy wife if I unworthy prove,
By some inferior name admit my love. 180
To be secur'd of still possessing thee,
What would I do, and what would I not be !
Our Libyan coasts their certain seasons
know,

When free from tempests passengers may go:

But now with northern blasts the billows roar,

And drive the floating seaweed to the shore.

Leave to my care the time to sail away; When safe, I will not suffer thee to stay. Thy weary men would be with ease content;

Their sails are tatter'd, and their masts are spent.

If by no merit I thy mind can move,

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[John Paulet, fifth Marquis of Winchester, was among the most noted adherents of Charles I. After the siege of his mansion, Basing House, in Hampshire, by the Parliamentarians, from August, 1643, to October, 1645, and its final capture by Cromwell, he was called "the great loyalist." He died on March 5, 1675, and was buried at Englefield in Berkshire, where he had lived since the Restoration. Dryden's lines are engraved on his monument, followed by the inscription: "The Lady Marchionesse Dowager (in testimony of her love

and sorrow) gave this Monument to the memory of a most affectionate tender husband."

This epitaph was first printed, with title as above, in Miscellaneous Poems and Translations, published by Lintot in 1712. This volume, which contained the first form of The Rape of the Lock, and some minor poems by Pope, is commonly known as Pope's Miscellany. The present text is from a copy of the inscription on the monument.]

HE who in impious times untainted stood, And midst rebellion durst be just and good; Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings