Stay but a little, 'till the tempeft cease,
And the loud winds are lull'd into a peace.
May all thy rage, like theirs, unconftant prove!
And fo it will, if there be pow'r in love.

Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sustain ?
So often wreck'd, how dar'ft thou tempt the main ?
Which were it smooth, were ev'ry wave asleep,
Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep.
In that abyss the Gods their vengeance ftore,
For broken vows of those who falfely swore.
There winged ftorms on fea-born Venus wait,
To vindicate the juftice of her state.
Thus I to thee the means of safety show;
And, loft myself, would ftill preserve my foe.
Falfe as thou art, I not thy death defign:
O rather live, to be the cause of mine!
Should fome avenging florm thy vessel tear,
(But heav'n forbid my words should omen bear)
Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly;
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye.
With threat'ning looks think thou behold'st me ftare,
Gafping my mouth, and clotted all my hair.
Then, fhould fork'd lightning and red thunder fall,
What couldst thou fay, but, I deferv'd 'em all?
Left this fhould happen, make not haste away;
To fhun the danger will be worth thy stay.
Have pity on thy son, if not on me:

My death alone is guilt enough for thee.

What has his youth, what have thy Gods deferv'd,
To fink in feas, who were from fires preferv'd?
But neither Gods nor parent didst thou bear;
Smooth ftories all to please a woman's ear,
Falfe as the tale of thy romantick life.
Nor yet am I thy first-deluded wife:
Left to pursuing foes Creüsa stay'd,

By thee, base man, forfaken and betray'd.

This, when thou told'st me, ftruck my tender heart,
That fuch requital follow'd fuch defert.

Nor doubt I but the Gods, for crimes like these,
Sev'n winters kept thee wand'ring on the feas.
Thy ftarv'd companions, caft afhore, I fed,
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbour strangers, fuccour the distrest,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the rest!
Curft be the cave which firft my ruin brought,
Where, from the storm, we common shelter fought!
A dreadful howling echo'd round the place:
The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials grace.
I thought fo then, but now too late I know
The furies yell'd my fun'rals from below.
O chastity and violated fame,

Exact your dues to my
dead husband's name!
By death redeem my reputation loft,
And to his arms reftore my guilty ghost.
Close by my palace, in a gloomy grove,
Is rais'd a chapel to my murder'd love;

There, wreath'd with boughs and wool, his ftatue ftands,
The pious monument of artful hands.

Laft night, methought, he call'd me from the dome,
And thrice, with hollow voice, cry'd, Dido, come.
She comes; thy wife thy lawful fummons hears;
But comes more flowly, clogg'd with conscious fears.
Forgive the wrong I offer'd to thy bed;

Strong were his charms, who my weak faith misled.
His Goddess mother, and his aged fire
Borne on his back, did to my fall conspire.
Oh! fuch he was, and is, that, were he true,
Without a blush I might his love pursue,
But cruel stars my birth-day did attend;
And as my fortune open'd, it must end.
My plighted lord was at the altar flain,

Whofe wealth was made my bloody brother's gain.

Friendlefs, and follow'd by the murd'rer's hate,
To foreign countries I remov'd my fate;
And here, a fuppliant, from the natives hands
I bought the ground on which my city ftands,
With all the coaft that stretches to the fea;
E'en to the friendly port that shelter'd thee:

Then rais'd these walls, which mount into the air,
At once my neighbours wonder, and their fear.
For now they arm; and round me leagues are made,
My scarce establish'd empire to invade.

To man my new-built walls I must prepare,
An helpless woman, and unskill'd in war.
Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend;
And for my perfon would my crown defend:
Whose jarring votes in one complaint agree,
That each unjustly is difdain'd for thee.
To proud Hyarbas give me up a prey;
(For that must follow, if thou goeft away.)
Or to my husband's murd'rer leave my life,
That to the husband he may add the wife.
Go then, fince no complaints can move thy mind:
Go, perjur'd man, but leave thy Gods behind.
Touch not those Gods, by whom thou art forsworn,
Who will in impious hands no more be borne:
Thy facrilegious worship they disdain,
And rather would the Grecian fires fustain.
Perhaps my greateft fhame is ftill to come,
And part of thee lies hid within my womb.
The babe unborn muft perish by thy hate,
And perish guiltless in his mother's fate.

Some God, thou fay'ft, thy voyage does command;
Would the fame God had barr'd thee from my land!
The fame, I doubt not, thy departure fteers,
Who kept thee out at fea fo many years;
While thy long labours were a price fó great,
As thou to purchase Troy would'st not repeat.

But

But Tyber now thou feek'ft, to be at best,
When there arriv'd, a poor precarious guest.
Yet it deludes thy fearch: perhaps it will
To thy old age lie undiscover'd still.

A ready crown and wealth in dow'r I bring,
And, without conqu'ring, here thou art a king.
Here thou to Carthage may'st transfer thy Troy:
Here young Afcanius may his arms employ;
And, while we live fecure in soft repose,
Bring many laurels home from conquer'd foes.
By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee ftay;
By all the Gods, companions of thy way.
So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive,
Live ftill, and with no future fortune ftrive;
So may thy youthful fon old age attain,
And thy dead father's bones in

peace remain: As thou haft pity on unhappy me,

Who knew no crime, but too much love of thee,

I am not born from fierce Achilles' line,

Nor did my parents against Troy combine.
To be thy wife if I unworthy prove,
By fome inferior name admit my love.
To be fecur'd of still poffeffing thee,
What would I do, and what would I not be!
Our Libyan coafts their certain seasons know,
When free from tempefts paffengers may go:
But now with northern blasts the billows roar,
And drive the floating fea-weed to the shore.
Leave to my care the time to fail away;
When fafe, I will not fuffer thee to stay.
Thy weary men would be with ease content;
Their fails are tatter'd, and their masts are spent,
If by no merit I thy mind can move,

What thou deny❜ft my merit, give my love.
Stay, 'till I learn my lofs to undergo;
And give me time to ftruggle with my woe.

If not, know this, I will not fuffer long;

My life's too loathfome, and my love too ftrong,
Death holds my pen and dictates what I say,
While crofs my lap the Trojan fword I lay.
My tears flow down; the fharp edge cuts their flood,
And drinks my forrows that must drink my blood.
How well thy gift does with my fate agree!

My fun'ral pomp is cheaply made by thee.
To no new wounds my bofom I display:
The fword but enters where love made the way.
But thou, dear fifter, and yet dearer friend,
Shalt my cold afhes to their urn attend.
Sichæus' wife let not the marble boast,
I loft that title, when my fame I loft.
This short infcription only let it bear:
Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here.

"The cause of death, and fword by which the dy'd, "Æneas gave: the reft her arm fupply'd."

號

TRANSLA