If you are fond of war, if Iulus is impatient to gather laurels in the field; that every thing may be to your wish, he shall find foes to conquer. Here you may taste the blessings of peace, or engage in the toils of war. I adjure you by your parent Goddess, by the arrows of Cupid your brother; by the Gods of Troy, companions of your flight, (so may all that you bring with you from Troy survive the attacks of fortune, and that war prove the period of your calamities; so may Ascanius fill up the measure of his years, and the bones of old Anchises rest in peace,) have pity on me, whose fate is in your hand; whose only crime is to have loved you too well. I am not of Mycenæ, or descended from hostile Achilles; nor did my husband or father ever bear arms against you. If you think we unworthy to be your wife, receive me under the name of your hostess. Dido will submit to any thing, if she may be yours. The seas that beat against the
African shore are well known to me. At certain seasons they favor and they frown. When the winds invite you to be gone, you shall spread the swelling sails: now the moored ships are surrounded with floating sea-weed. Let it be my care to observe the season proper for sailing; you shall go, when you may with safety; nor (if you should even desire it) would I suffer you to stay. Your companions will be pleased with a little rest; and the shattered fleet, not completely repaired, requires some delay. I also ask a small respite, if I have any merit with you; if you value my love, or the ties by which I am your's; that the waves and my love may assuage; that by time and use I may learn to bear my sorrows with fortitude. If not, I will end my misery with my life; nor shall it be long in your power to use me thus barbarously. O that you could represent me to yourself as writing this letter! I write, and on my lap lies a drawn sword. The tears flow down my checks upon that weapon, which instead of tears will be soon stained with blood. How well are your
gifts fitted to my destiny! You raise my sepulchre at an easy rate. Nor does this dart now first pierce my breast; it previously felt the wounds of cruel love. And you, my dear sister, the confidante of my guilty flame, shall soon pay the last duty to my unhappy remains. Nor let my monument boast that I was the wife of Sichæus; may the marble bear only this inscription: “Æneas afforded the cause and instrument of Dido's death; but she fell by her own hand.”
