t._

Actus 3. Scena I.

_Enter Cupid solus._

_Cupid._ Now _Cupid_ cause the Carthaginian Queene,
To be inamourd of thy brothers lookes,
Conuey this golden arrowe in thy sleeue,
Lest she imagine thou art _Venus_ sonne:
And when she strokes thee softly on the head,
Then shall I touch her breast and conquer her.

_Enter Iarbus, Anna, and Dido._

_Iar._ How long faire _Dido_ shall I pine for thee?
Tis not enough that thou doest graunt me loue,
But that I may enioy what I desire:
That loue is childish which consists in words.

_Dido._ _Iarbus_, know that thou of all my wooers
(And yet haue I had many mightier Kings)
Hast had the greatest fauours I could giue:
I feare me _Dido_ hath been counted light,
In being too familiar with _Iarbus_:
Albeit the Gods doe know no wanton thought
Had euer residence in _Didos_ breast.

_Iar._ But _Dido_ is the fauour I request.

_Dido._ Feare not _Iarbus_, _Dido_ may be thine.

_Anna._ Looke sister how _AEneas_ little sonne
Playes with your garments and imbraceth you.

_Cupid._ No _Dido_ will not take me in her armes,
I shall not be her sonne, she loues me not.

_Dido._ Weepe not sweet boy, thou shalt be _Didos_ sonne,
Sit in my lap and let me heare thee sing.
No more my child, now talke another while,
And tell me where learnst thou this pretie song?

_Cupid._ My cosin _Helen_ taught it me in _Troy_.

_Dido._ How louely is _Ascanius_ when he smiles?

_Cupid._ Will _Dido_ let me hang about her necke?

_Dido._ I wagge, and giue thee leaue to kisse her to.

_Cupid._ What will you giue me? now Ile haue this Fanne.

_Dido._ Take it _Ascanius_, for thy fathers sake.

_Iar._ Come _Dido_, leaue _Ascanius_, let vs walke.

_Dido._ Goe thou away, _Ascanius_ shall stay.

_Iar._ Vngentle Queene, is this thy loue to me?

_Dido._ O stay _Iarbus_, and Ile goe with thee.

_Cupid._ And if my mother goe, Ile follow her.

_Dido._ Why staiest thou here? thou art no loue of mine?

_Iar._ _Iarbus_ dye, seeing she abandons thee.

_Dido._ No, liue _Iarbus_, what hast thou deseru'd,
That I should say thou art no loue of mine?
Something thou hast deseru'd, away I say,
Depart from _Carthage_, come not in my sight.

_Iar._ Am I not King of rich _Getulia_?

_Dido._ _Iarbus_ pardon me, and stay a while.

_Cupid._ Mother, looke here.

_Dido._ What telst thou me of rich _Getulia_?
Am not I Queene of _Libia_? then depart.

_Iar._ I goe to feed the humour of my Loue,
Yet