thrice and again smiting her beauteous breast with her
hands, and rending her golden locks, “Great Jupiter!” 5
cries she, “shall he go? Shall a chance-comer boast of
having flouted our realm? Will they not get their arms
at once, and give chase from all the town, and pull, some
of them, the ships from the docks? Away! bring fire;
quick! get darts, ply oars! What am I saying? Where 10
am I? What madness turns my brain? Wretched Dido!
do your sins sting you now? They should have done so
then, when you were giving your crown away. What