Æn. By chance sweete Queene, as Mars and Venus met.
Dido. Why, that was in a net, where we are loose, And yet I am not free, oh would I were.
Æn. Why, what is it that Dido may desire And not obtaine, be it in humaine power?
Dido. The thing that I will dye before I aske, And yet desire to haue before I dye.
Æn. It is not ought Æneas may achieue?
Dido. Æneas no, although his eyes doe pearce.
Æn. What, hath Iarbus angred her in ought? And will she be auenged on his life?
Dido. Not angred me, except in angring thee.
Æn. Who then of all so cruell may he be, That should detaine thy eye in his defects?
Dido. The man that I doe eye where ere I am, Whose amorous face like Pean sparkles fire, When as he buts his beames on Floras bed, Prometheus hath put on Cupids shape, And I must perish in his burning armes: Æneas, O Æneas, quench these flames.