Speech-prefixes and character names have been standardized throughout in accordance with the designations given in the Dramatis Personae. Where no act-division is present in the original text (Doctor Faustus, Edward the Second and The Massacre at Paris), the text has been sub-divided into scenes only. Foreign languages have been corrected throughout, and are translated in the Notes. We have regularized the Latin except in the case of Doctor Faustus, where some incorrect usages seem to have comic, or other, significance.
We have been sparing in the use of editorial stage-directions, which are enclosed in square brackets; these are added to clarify rather than prescribe the stage action. Where possible, we have reproduced the original positioning of stage-directions as set in the copy-texts, but in some cases, it has made better sense to move those stage-directions which do not correspond with the stage action implied by the text. A number of ‘late entries’ in the copy-text have therefore been repositioned to indicate when a character is most likely to enter the stage.
DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE
[Dramatis Personae
JUPITER
GANYMEDE
MERCURY, Or HERMES
VENUS
AENEAS
ASCANIUS, Aeneas’s son
ACHATES
ILIONEUS
CLOANTHUS
SERGESTUS
IARBAS, King of Gaetulia
DIDO
ANNA, her sister
CUPID
JUNO
A LORD
NURSE
ATTENDANTS]
ACT 1
Scene 1
Here the curtains drawn; there is discovered JUPITERdandling GANYMEDE upon his knee, and MERCURY lying asleep.
JUPITER
Come, gentle Ganymede, and play with me:
I love thee well, say Juno what she will.
GANYMEDE
I am much better for your worthless love
That will not shield me from her shrewish blows!
Today, whenas I filled into your cups
And held the cloth of pleasance whiles you drank,
She reached me such a rap for that I spilled
As made the blood run down about mine ears.
JUPITER
What? Dares she strike the darling of my thoughts?
10 By Saturn’s soul and this earth-threat’ning hair,
That, shaken thrice, makes nature’s buildings quake,
I vow, if she but once frown on thee more,
To hang her meteor-like ’twixt heaven and earth
And bind her hand and foot with golden cords,
As once I did for harming Hercules!
GANYMEDE
Might I but see that pretty sport a-foot,
O, how would I with Helen’s brother laugh,
And bring the gods to wonder at the game!
Sweet Jupiter, if e’er I pleased thine eye,
20 Or seemèd fair, walled-in with eagle’s wings,
Grace my immortal beauty with this boon,
And I will spend my time in thy bright arms.
JUPITER
What is’t, sweet wag, I should deny thy youth,
Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes
As I, exhaled with thy fire-darting beams,
Have oft driven back the horses of the night,
Whenas they would have haled thee from my sight?
Sit on my knee and call for thy content,
Control proud fate and cut the thread of time.
30 Why, are not all the gods at thy command,
And heaven and earth the bounds of thy delight?
Vulcan shall dance to make thee laughing sport,
And my nine daughters sing when thou art sad;
From Juno’s bird I’ll pluck her spotted pride
To make thee fans wherewith to cool thy face;
And Venus’ swans shall shed their silver down
To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed;
Hermes no more shall show the world his wings,
If that thy fancy in his feathers dwell,
40 But, as this one, I’ll tear them all from him,
[Plucks feather]
Do thou but say, ‘their colour pleaseth me’.
Hold here, my little love! [Gives jewels.] These linkèd gems
My Juno wore upon her marriage-day,
Put thou about thy neck, my own sweet heart,
And trick thy arms and shoulders with my theft.
GANYMEDE
I would have a jewel for mine ear,
And a fine brooch to put in my hat,
And then I’ll hug with you an hundred times.
JUPITER
And shall have, Ganymede, if thou wilt be my love.
Enter VENUS.
VENUS
50 Ay, this is it! You can sit toying there
And playing with that female wanton boy
Whiles my Aeneas wanders on the seas
And rests a prey to every billow’s pride.
Juno, false Juno, in her chariot’s pomp,
Made Hebe to direct her airy wheels
Into the windy country of the clouds,
Where, finding Aeolus entrenched with storms
And guarded with a thousand grisly ghosts,
60 She humbly did beseech him for our bane,
And charged him drown my son with all his train.
Then gan the winds break ope their brazen doors,
And all Aeolia to be up in arms;
Poor Troy must now be sacked upon the sea,
And Neptune’s waves be envious men of war;
Epeus’ horse, to Etna’s hill transformed,
Prepared stands to wrack their wooden walls,
And Aeolus, like Agamemnon, sounds
The surges, his fierce soldiers, to the spoil.
70 See how the night, Ulysses-like, comes forth,
And intercepts the day as Dolon erst!
Ay me! The stars, surprised, like Rhesus’ steeds
Are drawn by darkness forth Astraeus’ tents.
What shall I do to save thee, my sweet boy,
Whenas the waves do threat our crystal world,
And Proteus, raising hills of floods on high,
Intends ere long to sport him in the sky?
False Jupiter, reward’st thou virtue so?
What? Is not piety exempt from woe?
80 Then die, Aeneas, in thine innocence,
Since that religion hath no recompense.
JUPITER
Content thee, Cytherea, in thy care,
Since thy Aeneas’ wand’ring fate is firm,
Whose weary limbs shall shortly make repose
In those fair walls I promised him of yore.
But first in blood must his good fortune bud
Before he be the lord of Turnus’ town,
Or force her smile that hitherto hath frowned.
Three winters shall he with the Rutiles war,
90 And in the end subdue them with his sword,
And full three summers likewise shall he waste
In managing those fierce barbarian minds;
Which once performed, poor Troy, so long suppressed,
From forth her ashes shall advance her head,
And flourish once again that erst was dead.
But bright Ascanius, beauty’s better work,
Who with the sun divides one radiant shape,
Shall build his throne amidst those starry towers
That earth-born Atlas groaning underprops;
100 No bounds but heaven shall bound his empery,
Whose azured gates, enchased with his name,
Shall make the morning haste her grey uprise
To feed her eyes with his engraven fame.
Thus in stout Hector’s race three hundred years
The Roman sceptre royal shall remain,
Till that a princess-priest, conceived by Mar
s,
Shall yield to dignity a double birth,
Who will eternise Troy in their attempts.
VENUS
How may I credit these thy flattering terms,
110 When yet both sea and sands beset their ships,
And Phoebus, as in Stygian pools, refrains
To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhene main?
JUPITER
I will take order for that presently.
Hermes, awake, and haste to Neptune’s realm;
Whereas the wind-god, warring now with fate,
Besiege the offspring of our kingly loins,
Charge him from me to turn his stormy powers
And fetter them in Vulcan’s sturdy brass,
That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsman’s peace.
[Exit MERCURY.]
120 Venus, farewell, thy son shall be our care.
Come, Ganymede, we must about this gear.
Exeunt JUPITER with GANYMEDE.
VENUS
Disquiet seas, lay down your swelling looks,
And court Aeneas with your calmy cheer,
Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud,
Had not the heavens, conceived with hell-born clouds,
Veiled his resplendent glory from your view.
For my sake pity him, Oceanus,
That erstwhile issued from thy wat’ry loins,
And had my being from thy bubbling froth.
130 Triton, I know, hath filled his trump with Troy,
And therefore will take pity on his toil,
And call both Thetis and Cymodoce
To succour him in this extremity.
Enter AENEAS with ASCANIUS [and ACHATES], with one or two more.
What, do I see my son now come on shore?
Venus, how art thou compassed with content,
The while thine eyes attract their sought-for joys!
Great Jupiter, still honoured mayst thou be
For this so friendly aid in time of need!
Here in this bush disguised will I stand,
140 Whiles my Aeneas spends himself in plaints,
And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints.
[VENUS stands aside.]
AENEAS
You sons of care, companions of my course,
Priam’s misfortune follows us by sea,
And Helen’s rape doth haunt ye at the heels.
How many dangers have we overpassed!
Both barking Scylla and the sounding rocks,
The Cyclops’ shelves and grim Ceraunia’s seat
Have you o’ergone, and yet remain alive!
Pluck up your hearts, since fate still rests our friend,
And changing heavens may those good days return
150 Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride.
ACHATES
Brave Prince of Troy, thou only art our god,
That by thy virtues free’st us from annoy,
And makes our hopes survive to coming joys.
Do thou but smile and cloudy heaven will clear,
Whose night and day descendeth from thy brows.
Though we be now in extreme misery
And rest the map of weather-beaten woe,
Yet shall the aged sun shed forth his hair
160 To make us live unto our former heat,
And every beast the forest doth send forth
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted food.
ASCANIUS
Father, I faint. Good father, give me meat.
AENEAS
Alas, sweet boy, thou must be still a while
Till we have fire to dress the meat we killed.
Gentle Achates, reach the tinder-box,
That we may make a fire to warm us with
And roast our new-found victuals on this shore.
[AENEAS kindles a flame.]
VENUS[aside]
See what strange arts necessity finds out!
170 How near, my sweet Aeneas, art thou driven!
AENEAS
Hold, take this candle and go light a fire;
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.]
ACHATES
The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit
For cities and society’s supports;
180 Yet much I marvel that I cannot find
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.
VENUS [aside]
Now is the time for me to play my part.
[To them] Ho, young men, saw you, as you came,
Any of all my sisters wand’ring here,
Having a quiver girded to her side
And clothèd in a spotted leopard’s skin?
AENEAS
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,
190 Nor speech bewrays aught human in thy birth?
Thou art a goddess that delud’st our eyes
And shrouds thy beauty in this borrowed 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.
200 Tell us, O tell us, that are ignorant,
And this right hand shall make thy altars crack
With mountain-heaps of milk-white sacrifice.
VENUS
Such honour, stranger, do I not affect.
It is the use for Tyrian 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 lawns
And overtake the tuskèd boar in chase.
But for the land whereof thou dost enquire,
210 It is the Punic kingdom, rich and strong,
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?
AENEAS
Of Troy am I, Aeneas 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.
220 With twice twelve Phrygian ships I ploughed the deep,
And made that way my mother Venus led;
But of them all, scarce seven do anchor safe,
And they so wracked and weltered by the waves
As every tide tilts ’twixt their oaken sides;
And all of them, unburdened of their load,
Are ballasted with billows’ wat’ry weight.
But hapless I, God wot, poor and unknown,
Do trace these Libyan deserts all despised,
Exiled forth Europe and wide Asia both,
230 And have not any coverture but heaven.
VENUS
Fortune hath favoured 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 perished in the storm,
But are arrivèd safe not far from hence.
And so I leave thee to thy fortune’s lot,
&nb
sp; Wishing good luck unto thy wand’ring steps.
Exit.
AENEAS
240 Achates, ’tis my mother that is fled,
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 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.
Exeunt.
Scene 2
Enter ILIONEUS and CLOANTHUS [with SERGESTUS and IARBAS].
ILIONEUS
Follow, ye Trojans, follow this brave lord,
And plain to him the sum of your distress.
IARBAS
Why, what are you, or wherefore do you sue?
ILIONEUS
Wretches of Troy, envièd of the winds,
That crave such favour at your honour’s feet
As poor distressed misery may plead;
Save, save, O save our ships from cruel fire,
That do complain the wounds of thousand waves,
And spare our lives whom every spite pursues.
10 We come not, we, to wrong your Libyan gods,
Or steal your household lares from their shrines;
Our hands are not prepared to lawless spoil,
Nor armèd to offend in any kind.
Such force is far from our unweaponed thoughts,
Whose fading weal, of victory forsook,
Forbids all hope to harbour near our hearts.
IARBAS
But tell me, Trojans – Trojans if you be –
Unto what fruitful quarters were ye bound
Before that Boreas buckled with your sails?
CLOANTHUS
20 There is a place, Hesperia termed by us,
An ancient empire, famousèd for arms,
And fertile in fair Ceres’ furrowed wealth,
Which now we call Italia, of his name
That in such peace long time did rule the same.
Thither made we
When suddenly gloomy Orion rose
And led our ships into the shallow sands,
Whereas the southern wind with brackish breath,
Dispersed them all amongst the wrackful rocks.
30 From thence a few of us escaped to land;
The rest, we fear, are folded in the floods.
IARBAS
Brave men-at-arms, abandon fruitless fears
Since Carthage knows to entertain distress.
SERGESTUS
Ay, but the barbarous sort do threat our ships,
And will not let us lodge upon the sands:
In multitudes they swarm unto the shore,