Ven. See, what strange arts necessity finds out! How near, my sweet Æneas, art thou driven! [Aside.
Æn. Hold; take this candle, and go light a fire;171 You shall have leaves and windfall boughs enow, Near to these woods, to roast your meat withal.— Ascanius, go and dry thy drenchèd limbs, Whiles I with my Achates rove abroad, To know what coast the wind hath driven us on, Or whether men or beasts inhabit it. [Exeunt Ascanius and others.
Ach. The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit For cities and society's supports; Yet much I marvel that I cannot find180 No steps of men imprinted in the earth.
Ven. Now is the time for me to play my part.— [Aside. Ho, young men! saw you, as you came, [451] Any of all my sisters wandering here, Having a quiver girded to her side, And clothèd in a spotted leopard's skin?
Æn. I neither saw nor heard of any such. But what may I, fair virgin, call your name, Whose looks set forth no mortal form to view, Nor speech bewrays aught human in thy birth?190 Thou art a goddess that delud'st our eyes, And shrouds thy beauty in this borrow'd shape; But whether thou the Sun's bright sister be, Or one of chaste Diana's fellow-nymphs, Live happy in the height of all content, And lighten our extremes with this one boon, As to instruct us under what good heaven We breathe as now, and what this world is called On which by tempests' fury we are cast: Tell us, O, tell us, that are ignorant!200 And this right hand shall make thy altars crack With mountain-heaps of milk-white sacrifice.
Ven. Such honour, stranger, do I not affect: It is the use for Tyrian [452] maids to wear Their bow and quiver in this modest sort, And suit themselves in purple for the nonce, That they may trip more lightly o'er the lawnds, [453] And overtake the tuskèd boar in chase. But for the land whereof thou dost inquire, It is the Punic kingdom, rich and strong,210 Adjoining on Agenor's stately town, The kingly seat of Southern Libya, Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as queen. But what are you that ask of me these things? Whence may you come, or whither will you go?
Æn. Of Troy am I, Æneas is my name; Who, driven by war from forth my native world, Put sails to sea to seek out Italy; And my divine descent from sceptred Jove: With twice twelve Phrygian ships I plough'd the deep,220 And made that way my mother Venus led; But of them all scarce seven do anchor safe, And they so wrecked and weltered by the waves, As every tide tilts 'twixt their oaken sides; And all of them, unburdened of their load, Are ballassèd with billows' watery weight. But hapless I, God wot, poor and unknown, Do trace these Libyan deserts, all despised, Exiled forth Europe and wide Asia both, And have not any coverture but heaven.230
Ven. Fortune hath favour'd thee, whate'er thou be, In sending thee unto this courteous coast. A' God's name, on! and haste thee to the court, Where Dido will receive ye with her smiles; And for thy ships, which thou supposest lost, Not one of them hath perish'd in the storm, But are arrivèd safe, not far from hence: And so I leave thee to thy fortune's lot, Wishing good luck unto thy wandering steps. [Exit.
Æn. Achates, 'tis my mother that is fled;240 I know her by the movings of her feet.— Stay, gentle Venus, fly not from thy son! Too cruel, why wilt thou forsake me thus, Or in these shades [454] deceiv'st mine eyes so oft? Why talk we not together hand in hand, And tell our griefs in more familiar terms? But thou art gone, and leav'st me here alone, To dull the air with my discoursive moan.