Actus 2.
Enter Æneas, Achates, and Ascanius.
Æn. Where am I now? these should be Carthage walls.
Acha. Why stands my sweete Æneas thus amaz'd?
Æn. O my Achates, Theban Niobe, Who, for her son's death, wept out life and breath, And dry with grief was turnd into a stone, Had not such passions in her head as I. Me thinks that town there should be Troy, yon Idas hill, There Zanthus stream, because here's Priamus, And when I know it is not, then I die.
Ach. And in this humor is Achates to, I cannot choose but fall upon my knees, And kiss his hand: O, where is Hecuba, Here she was wont to sit, but saving air Is nothing here, and what is this but stone?
Æn. O yet this stone doth make Æneas weep, And would my prayers (as Pygmalion's did) Could give it life, that under his conduct We might sail back to Troy and be reveng'd On these hard-hearted Grecians; which rejoice That nothing now is left of Priamus: O Priamus is left and this is he, Come, come aboard, pursue the hateful Greeks.
Acha. What means Æneas?
Æn. Achates, though mine eyes say this is stone, Yet thinks my mind that this is Priamus: And when my grieved heart sighs and says no, Then would it leap out to give Priam life: O were I not at all so thou mightst be. Achates, see King Priam wags his hand, He is alive, Troy is not overcome.
Ach. Thy mind Æneas that would have it so
Deludes thy eyesight; Priamus is dead.
Æn. Ah Troy is sack'd, and Priamus is dead, And why should poor Æneas be alive?
Asca. Sweet father, leave to weep, this is not he: For were it Priam he would smile on me.
Acha. Æneas see here come the Citizens; Leave to lament, lest they laugh at our fears.
Enter Cloanthus, Sergestus, Illioneus.
Æn. Lords of this town, or whatsoever style
Belongs unto your name, vouchsafe of truth
To tell us who inhabits this fair town; What kind of people, and who governs them, For we are strangers driven on this shore, And scarcely know within what clime we are.
Illio. I hear Æneas's voice, but see him not, For none of these can be our general.
Acha. Like Illioneus speaks this Noble man, But Illioneus goes not in such robes.
Serg. You are Achates, or I deceiv'd.
Acha. Æneas, see Sergestus, or his ghost.
Illio. He meane Æneas, let us kiss his feet.
Cloan. It is our Captaine; see, Ascanius?
Serg. Long live Æneas and Ascanius!
Æn. Achates, speake, for I am overjoyed.
Acha. O Illioneus, art thou yet alive?
Illio. Blest be the time I see Achates's face.
Cloan. Why turns Æneas from his trusty friends?
Æn. Sergestus, Illioneus and the rest, Your sight amaz'd me; O, what destinies Have brought my sweet companions in such plight? O, tell me, for I long to be resolv'd.
Illio. Lovely Æneas, these are Carthage walls, And here Queen Dido wears th'imperial Crown, Who, for Troy's sake, hath entertain'd us all, And clad us in these wealthy robes we wear. Oft hath she ask'd us under whom we serv'd, And when we told her, she would weep for grief, Thinking the sea had swallowed up thy ships; And, now she sees thee, how will she rejoice?
Serg. See, where her servitors pass through the hall
Bearing a banket; Dido is not far.
Illio. Look where she comes: Æneas, view her well.
Æn. Well may I view her, but she sees not me.
Enter Dido and her train.
Dido. What stranger art thou that doest eye me thus?
Æn. Sometime, I was a Trojan, mighty Queen: But Troy is not; what shall I say I am?
Illio. Renowned Dido; 'tis our General, warlike Æneas.
Dido. Warlike Æneas, and in these base robes? Go fetch the garment which Sicheus wore: Brave Prince, welcome to Carthage and to me, Both happy that Æneas is our guest: Sit in this chair and banquet with a Queen, Æneas is Æneas, were he clad In weeds as bad as ever Irus wore.
Æn. This is no seat for one that's comfortless, May it please your grace to let Æneas wait: For though my birth be great, my fortunes' mean; Too mean to be companion to a Queen.
Dido. Thy fortune may be greater then thy birth, Sit down, Æneas; sit in Dido's place, And if this be thy son, as I suppose, Here let him sit; be merry, lovely child.
Æn. This place beseems me not, O pardon me.
Dido. I'll have it so; Æneas, be content.
Asca. Madame, you shall be my mother.
Dido. And so I will, sweet child: be merry, man; Here's to thy better fortune and good stars.
Æn. In all humility, I thank your grace.
Dido. Remember who thou art; speak like thy self, Humility belongs to common groome.
Æn. And who so miserable as Æneas is?