Chapter 1

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The Tudor Facsimile Texts

The Tragedy of Dido Queen of Carthage

Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE and THOMAS NASH

1594

_Date of this the earliest known edition_.... 1594

[_Bodleian_]

_Reproduced in Facsimile_.... 1914

The Tudor Facsimile Texts

_Under the Supervision and Editorship of_ JOHN S. FARMER

The Tragedy of Dido Queen of Carthage

Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE and THOMAS NASH

1594

_Issued for Subscribers by the Editor of_

THE TUDOR FACSIMILE TEXTS

MCMXIV

The Tragedy of Dido Queen of Carthage

Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE and THOMAS NASH

1594

_This play is facsimiled from the Bodley copy. Other examples (says Sir Sidney Lee, but unrecorded by Greg) are at Bridgewater House and at Chatsworth; the Devonshire Collection of Plays has recently been disposed of to an American collector_.

_For other and bibliographical details see D.N.B. I have included in this facsimile the page of manuscript in the Bodley example inasmuch as it contains matter of interest to the student._

_The reproduction from the original was made by The Clarendon Press, Oxford_.

_JOHN S. FARMER_.

[Transcriber's Note: The following paragraphs have been transcribed from a handwritten page. Some text is illegible, and this has been marked with asterisks where appropriate.]

The tragedy of _Dido_ is one of the scarcest plays in the English language. There are but two copies known to be extant; in the possession of D^r Wright and M^r Reed.

M^r Warton speaks in his _Hist. of Eng. Poet_ (III. p. 435) of an Elegy being prefixed to it on the death of Marlowe; but no such is found in either of those copies. In answer to my inquiries on this subject he informed me by letter, [crossed-out text] that a copy of this play was in Osborne's catalogue in the year 1754, that he then saw it in his shop (together with several of M^r Oldys's books that Osborne had purchased), + that the elegy in question--"on Marlowe's untimely death" was inserted immediately after the title page; that it mentioned a play of Marlowe's entitled _The Duke of Guise_ and four others; but whether particularly by _name_, he could not recollect. Unluckily he did not purchase this rare piece, + it is now God knows where.

Bishop Tanner likewise mentions this elegy in so particular a manner that he must have seen it. "Marlovius (Christopherus), quondam in academia Cantabrigiensi musarum alumnus; postea actor scenicus; deinde poeta dramaticus tragicus, paucis inferior Scripsit plurimas tragedias, sc. Tamerlane.-Tragedie of Dido Queen of Carthage. Pr. Come gentle Ganymed. Hanc perfecit + edidit Tho. Nash Lond. 1594. 4^to.--Petrarius in præfatione ad Secundam partem Herois et Leandri multa in Marlovii commendationem adfert; hoc etiam facit Tho. Nash in _Carmine Elegiaco Tragidiæ Didonis præfiso in obitum Christop. Marlovii_, ubi quatuor ejus tragidiarum mentionem facit, nec non et alterius _de duce Guisio_." _Bib. Britan._ 1740.

I suspect M^r Warton had no other authority than this for saying that this play was left imperfect by Marlowe, and completed + published by Nashe; for it does not appear from the title page that it was not written in conjunction by him + Marlowe in the lifetime of the former. Perhaps Nashe's Elegy might ascertain this point. Tanner had, I believe, no authority but Philipses, for calling Marlowe an actor.

There was an old Latin play on the subject of Dido, written by John Rightwise and played before Cardinal Wolsey + again before Queen Elizabeth in 1564. There is also another Latin play on this subject _Dido_, tragedia nova so quatuor pri*ibus *** **************** Virgilii disampla Antwerp ed, 1559.

THE Tragedie of Dido _Queene of Carthage:_

Played by the Children of her _Maiesties Chappell._

Written by Christopher Marlowe, and _Thomas Nash. Gent._

Actors

_Iupiter._ _Ascanius._ _Ganimed._ _Dido._ _Venus._ _Anna._ _Cupid._ _Achates._ _Iuno._ _Ilioneus._ _Mercurie._ _Iarbas._ _Hermes._ _Cloanthes._ _Æneas._ _Sergestus._

AT LONDON,

Printed, by the Widdowe _Orwin_, for _Thomas Woodcocke_, and are to be solde at his shop, in Paules Church-yeard, at the signe of the blacke Beare. 1594.

The Tragedie of _Dido_ Queene _of Carthage._

_Here the Curtaines draw, there is discovered_ Iupiter _dandling_ Ganimed _upon his knee, and_ Mercury _lying asleepe_.

_Iup._ Come gentle _Ganimed_ and play with me, I loue thee well, say _Iuno_ what she will.

_Gan._ I am much better for your worthles loue, That will not shield me from her shrewith blowes: To day when as I fild into your cups, And held the cloath of pleasance whiles you dranke, She reacht me such a rap for that I spilde, As made the bloud run downe about mine eares.

_Iup._ What? dares she strike the darling of my thoughts? By _Saturnes_ soule, and this earth threatning aire, That shaken thrise, makes Natures buildings quake, I vow, if she but once frowne on thee more, To hang her meteor like twixt heauen and earth, And bind her hand and foote with golden cordes, As once I did for harming _Hercules_.

_Gan._ Might I but see that pretie sport a foote, O how would I with _Helens_ brother laugh, And bring the Gods to wonder at the game: Sweet _Iupiter_, if ere I pleasde thine eye, Or seemed faire walde in with Egles wings, Grace my immortall beautie with this boone, And I will spend my time in thy bright armes.

_Iup._ What ist sweet wagge I should deny thy youth? Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes, As I exhal'd with thy fire darting beames, Haue oft driuen backe the horses of the night. When as they would haue hal'd thee from my sight: Sit on my knee, and call for thy content, Controule proud Fate, and cut the thred of time, Why are not all the Gods at thy commaund, And heauen and earth the bounds of thy delight? _Vulcan_ shall daunce to make thee laughing sport, And my nine Daughters sing when thou art sad, From _Iunos_ bird Ile pluck her spotted pride, To make thee fannes wherewith to coole thy face, And _Venus_ Swannes shall shed their siluer downe, To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed: _Hermes_ no more shall shew the world his wings, If that thy fancie in his feathers dwell, But as this one Ile teare them all from him, Doe thou but say their colour pleaseth me: Hold here my little loue these linked gems, My _Iuno_ ware vpon her marriage day, Put thou about thy necke my owne sweet heart, And tricke thy armes and shoulders with my theft.

_Gan._ I would haue a iewell for mine eare, And a fine brouch to put in my hat, And then Ile hugge with you an hundred times.

_Iup._ And shall haue _Ganimed_, if thou wilt be my loue.

_Enter Venus._

_Venus._ I this is it, you can sit toying there, And playing with that female wanton boy, Whiles my _Æneas_ wanders on the Seas, And rests a pray to euery billowes pride. _Iuno_, false _Iuno_ in her Chariots pompe, Drawne through the heauens by Steedes of _Boreas_ brood, Made _Hebe_ to direct her ayrie wheeles Into the windie countrie of the clowdes, Where finding _Æolus_ intrencht with stormes, And guarded with a thousand grislie ghosts, She humbly did beseech him for our bane, And charg'd him drowne my sonne with all his traine. Then gan the windes breake ope their brazen doores, And all _Æolia_ to be vp in armes: Poore _Troy_ must now be sackt vpon the Sea, And _Neptunes_ waues be enuious men of warre, _Epeus_ horse to _Ætnas_ hill transformd, Prepared stands to wracke their woodden walles, And _Æolus_ like _Agamemnon_ sounds The surges, his fierce souldiers to the spoyle: See how the night _Ulysses_-like comes forth, And intercepts the day as _Dolon_ erst: Ay me! the Starres supprisde like _Rhesus_ Steedes, Are drawne by darknes forth _Astræus_ tents. What shall I doe to saue thee my sweet boy? When as the waues doe threat our Chrystall world, And _Proteus_ raising hils of flouds on high, Entends ere long to sport him in the skie. False _Iupiter_, rewardst thou vertue so? What? is not pietie exempt from woe? Then dye _Æneas_ in thine innocence, Since that religion hath no recompence.

_Iup._ Content thee _Cytherea_ in thy care, Since thy _Æneas_ wandring fate is firme, Whose wearie lims shall shortly make repose, In those faire walles I promist him of yore: But first in bloud must his good fortune bud, Before he be the Lord of _Turnus_ towne, Or force her smile that hetherto hath frownd: Three winters shall he with the Rutiles warre, And in the end subdue them with his sword, And full three Sommers likewise shall he waste, In mannaging those fierce barbarian mindes: Which once performd, poore _Troy_ so long supprest, From forth her ashes shall aduance her head, And flourish once againe that erst was dead: But bright _Ascanius_ beauties better worke, Who with the Sunne deuides one radiant shape, Shall build his throne amidst those starrie towers, That earth-borne _Atlas_ groning vnderprops: No bounds but heauen shall bound his Emperie, Whose azured gates enchased with his name, Shall make the morning halt her gray vprise, To feede her eyes with his engrauen fame. Thus in stoute _Hectors_ race three hundred yeares, The Romane Scepter royall shall remaine, Till that a Princesse priest conceau'd by _Mars_, Shall yeeld to dignitie a dubble birth, Who will eternish _Troy_ in their attempts.

_Venus._ How may I credite these thy flattering termes, When yet both sea and sands beset their ships, And _Phœbus_ as in stygian pooles, refraines To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhen maine?

_Iup._ I will take order for that presently: _Hermes_ awake, and haste to _Neptunes_ realme, Whereas the Wind-god warring now with Fate, Besiege the ofspring of our kingly loynes, Charge him from me to turne his stormie powers, And fetter them in _Vulcans_ sturdie brasse, That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsmans peace. _Venus_ farewell, thy sonne shall be our care: Come _Ganimed_, we must about this geare.

_Exeunt Iupiter cum Ganimed._

_Venus._ Disquiet Seas lay downe your swelling lookes, And court _Æneas_ with your calmie cheere, Whose beautious burden well might make you proude, Had not the heauens conceau'd with hel-borne clowdes, Vaild his resplendant glorie from your view, For my sake pitie him _Oceanus_, That erst-while issued from thy watrie loynes, And had my being from thy bubling froth: _Triton_ I know hath fild his trumpe with _Troy_, And therefore will take pitie on his toyle, And call both _Thetis_ and _Cimodoæ_, To succour him in this extremitie.

_Enter Æneas with Ascanius, with one or two more._

What? doe I see my sonne now come on shoare: _Venus_, how art thou compast with content, The while thine eyes attract their sought for ioyes: Great _Iupiter_, still honourd maist thou be, For this so friendly ayde in time of neede. Here in this bush disguised will I stand, Whiles my _Æneas_ spends himselfe in plaints, And heauen and earth with his vnrest acquaints.

_Æn._ You sonnes of care, companions of my course, _Priams_ misfortune followes vs by sea, And _Helens_ rape doth haunt thee at the heeles. How many dangers haue we ouer past? Both barking _Scilla_, and the sounding Rocks, The _Cyclops_ shelues, and grim _Ceranias_ seate Haue you oregone, and yet remaine aliue! Pluck vp your hearts, since fate still rests our friend, And chaunging heauens may those good daies returne, Which _Pergama_ did vaunt in all her pride.

_Acha._ Braue Prince of _Troy_, thou onely art our God, That by thy vertues freest vs from annoy, And makes our hopes suruiue to cunning ioyes: Doe thou but smile, and clowdie heauen will cleare, Whose night and day descendeth from thy browes: Though we be now in extreame miserie, And rest the map of weatherbeaten woe: Yet shall the aged Sunne shed forth his aire, To make vs liue vnto our former heate, And euery beast the forrest doth send forth, Bequeath her young ones to our scanted foode.

_Asca._ Father I faint, good father giue me meate.

_Æn._ Alas sweet boy, thou must be still a while, Till we haue fire to dresse the meate we kild: Gentle _Achates_, reach the Tinder boxe, That we may make a fire to warme vs with, And rost our new found victuals on this shoare.

_Venus._ See what strange arts necessitie findes out, How neere my sweet _Æneas_ art thou driuen?

_Æn._ Hold, take this candle and goe light a fire, You shall haue leaues and windfall bowes enow Neere to these woods, to rost your meate withall: _Ascanius_, goe and drie thy drenched lims, Whiles I with my _Achates_ roaue abroad, To know what coast the winde hath driuen vs on, Or whether men or beasts inhabite it.

_Acha._ The ayre is pleasant, and the soyle most fit For Cities, and societies supports: Yet much I maruell that I cannot finde, No steps of men imprinted in the earth.

_Venus._ Now is the time for me to play my part: Hoe yong men, saw you as you came Any of all my Sisters wandring here? Hauing a quiuer girded to her side, And cloathed in a spotted Leopards skin.

_Æn._ I neither saw nor heard of any such: But what may I faire Virgin call your name? Whose lookes set forth no mortall forme to view, Nor speech bewraies ought humaine in thy birth, Thou art a Goddesse that delud'st our eyes, And shrowdes thy beautie in this borrowd shape; But whether thou the Sunnes bright Sister be, Or one of chast _Dianas_ fellow Nimphs, Liue happie in the height of all content, And lighten our extreames with this one boone, As to instruct us vnder what good heauen We breathe as now, and what this world is calde, On which by tempests furie we are cast, Tell vs, O tell vs that are ignorant, And this right hand shall make thy Altars crack With mountaine heapes of milke white Sacrifize.

_Venus._ Such honour, stranger, doe I not affect: It is the vse for Turen maides to weare Their bowe and quiuer in this modest sort, And suite themselues in purple for the nonce, That they may trip more lightly ore the lawndes, And ouertake the tusked Bore in chase. But for the land whereof thou doest enquire, It is the punick kingdome rich and strong, Adioyning on _Agenors_ stately towne, The kingly seate of Southerne _Libia_, Whereas Sidonian _Dido_ rules as Queene. But what are you that aske of me these things? Whence may you come, or whither will you goe?

_Æn._ Of _Troy_ am I, _Æneas_ is my name, Who driuen by warre from forth my natiue world, Put sailes to sea to seeke out _Italy_; And my diuine descent from sceptred _Iove_, With twise twelue Phrigian ships I plowed the deepe, And made that way my mother _Venus_ led: But of them all scarce seuen doe anchor safe, And they so wrackt and weltred by the waues, As euery tide tilts twixt their oken sides: And all of them vnburdened of their loade, Are ballassed with billowes watrie weight. But haples I, God wot, poore and vnknowne, Doe trace these Libian deserts all despisde, Exild forth _Europe_ and wide _Asia_ both, And haue not any couerture but heauen.

_Venus._ Fortune hath fauord thee what ere thou be, In sending thee vnto this curteous Coast: A Gods name on and hast thee to the Court, Where _Dido_ will receiue ye with her smiles: And for thy ships which thou supposest lost, Not one of them hath perisht in the storme, But are ariued safe not farre from hence: And so I leaue thee to thy fortunes lot, Wishing good lucke vnto thy wandring steps. _Exit_.

_Æn._ _Achates_, tis my mother that is fled, I know her by the mouings of her feete: Stay gentle _Venus_, flye not from thy sonne, Too cruell, why wilt thou forsake me thus? Or in these shades deceiu'st mine eye so oft? Why talke we not together hand in hand? And tell our griefes in more familiar termes: But thou art gone and leau'st me here alone, To dull the ayre with my discoursiue moane. _Exit_.

_Enter Illioneus, and Cloanthes._

_Illio._ Follow ye Troians, follow this braue Lord, And plaine to him the summe of your distresse.

_Iar._ Why, what are you, or wherefore doe you sewe?

_Illio._ Wretches of _Troy_, enuied of the windes, That craue such fauour at your honors feete, As poore distressed miserie may pleade: Saue, saue, O saue our ships from cruell fire, That doe complaine the wounds of thousand waues, And spare our liues whom euery spite pursues. We come not we to wrong your Libian Gods, Or steale your houshold lares from their shrines: Our hands are not prepar'd to lawles spoyle, Nor armed to offend in any kind: Such force is farre from our vnweaponed thoughts, Whose fading weale of victorie forsooke, Forbids all hope to harbour neere our hearts.

_Iar._ But tell me Troians, Troians if you be, Vnto what fruitfull quarters were ye bound, Before that _Boreas_ buckled with your sailes?

_Cloan._ There is a place _Hesperia_ term'd by vs, An ancient Empire, famoused for armes, And fertile in faire _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 gloomie _Orion_ rose, And led our ships into the shallow sands, Whereas the Southerne winde with brackish breath, Disperst them all amongst the wrackfull Rockes: From thence a fewe of vs escapt to land, The rest we feare are foulded in the flouds.

_Iar._ Braue men at armes, abandon fruitles feares, Since Carthage knowes to entertaine distresse.

_Serg._ I but the barbarous sort doe threat our ships, And will not let vs lodge vpon the sands: In multitudes they swarme vnto the shoare, And from the first earth interdict our feete.

_Iar._ My selfe will see they shall not trouble ye, Your men and you shall banquet in our Court, And euery Troian be as welcome here, As _Iupiter_ to sillie _Vausis_ house: Come in with me, Ile bring you to my Queene, Who shall confirme my words with further deedes.

_Serg._ Thankes gentle Lord for such vnlookt for grace, Might we but once more see _Æneas_ face, Then would we hope to quite such friendly turnes, As shall surpasse the wonder of our speech.

Actus 2.

_Enter Æneas, Achates, and Ascanius._

_Æn._ Where am I now? these should be Carthage walles.

_Acha._ Why stands my sweete _Æneas_ thus amazde?

_Æn._ O my _Achates_, Theban _Niobe_, Who for her sonnes death wept out life and breath, And drie with griefe was turnd into a stone, Had not such passions in her head as I. Me thinkes that towne there should be _Troy_, yon _Idas_ hill, There _Zanthus_ streame, because here's _Priamus_, And when I know it is not, then I dye.

_Ach._ And in this humor is _Achates_ to, I cannot choose but fall vpon my knees, And kisse his hand: O where is _Hecuba_, Here she was wont to sit, but sauing ayre Is nothing here, and what is this but stone?

_Æn._ O yet this stone doth make _Æneas_ weepe, And would my prayers (as _Pigmalions_ did) Could giue it life, that vnder his conduct We might saile backe to _Troy_ and be reuengde On these hard harted Grecians; which reioyce That nothing now is left of _Priamus_: O _Priamus_ is left and this is he, Come, come abourd, pursue the hatefull Greekes.

_Acha._ What means _Æneas_?

_Æn._ _Achates_ though mine eyes say this is stone, Yet thinkes my minde that this is _Priamus_: And when my grieued heart sighes and sayes no, Then would it leape out to giue _Priam_ life: O were I not at all so thou mightst be. _Achates_, see King _Priam_ wags his hand, He is aliue, _Troy_ is not ouercome.

_Ach._ Thy mind _Æneas_ that would haue it so Deludes thy eye sight, _Priamus_ is dead.

_Æn._ Ah _Troy_ is sackt, and _Priamus_ is dead, And why should poore _Æneas_ be aliue?

_Asca._ Sweete father leaue to weepe, this is not he: For were it _Priam_ he would smile on me.

_Acha._ _Æneas_ see here come the Citizens, Leaue to lament lest they laugh at our feares.

_Enter Cloanthus, Sergestus, Illioneus._

_Æn._ Lords of this towne, or whatsoeuer stile Belongs vnto your name, vouchsafe of ruth To tell vs who inhabits this faire towne, What kind of people, and who gouernes them: For we are strangers driuen on this shore, And scarcely know within what Clime we are.

_Illio._ I heare _Æneas_ voyce, but see him not, For none of these can be our Generall.

_Acha._ Like _Illioneus_ speakes this Noble man, But _Illioneus_ goes not in such robes.

_Serg._ You are _Achates_, or I deciu'd.

_Acha._ _Æneas_ see _Sergestus_ or his ghost.

_Illio._ He meanes _Æneas_, let vs kisse his feete.

_Cloan._ It is our Captaine, see _Ascanius_.

_Serg._ Liue long _Æneas_ and _Ascanius_.

_Æn._ _Achates_, speake, for I am ouerioyed.

_Acha._ O _Illioneus_, art thou yet aliue?

_Illio._ Blest be the time I see _Achates_ face.

_Cloan._ Why turnes _Æneas_ from his trustie friends?

_Æn._ _Sergestus_, _Illioneus_ and the rest, Your sight amazde me, O what destinies Haue brought my sweete companions in such plight? O tell me, for I long to be resolu'd.

_Illio._ Louely _Æneas_, these are Carthage walles, And here Queene _Dido_ weares th'imperiall Crowne, Who for _Troyes_ sake hath entertaind vs all, And clad vs in these wealthie robes we weare. Oft hath she askt vs vnder whom we seru'd, And when we told her she would weepe for griefe, Thinking the sea had swallowed vp thy ships, And now she sees thee how will she reioyce?

_Serg._ See where her seruitors passe through the hall Bearing a banket, _Dido_ is not farre.

_Illio._ Looke where she comes: _Æneas_ viewd her well.

_Æn._ Well may I view her, but she sees not me.

_Enter Dido and her traine._

_Dido._ What stranger art thou that doest eye me thus?

_Æn._ Sometime I was a Troian mightie Queene: But _Troy_ is not, what shall I say I am?

_Illio._ Renowmed _Dido_, tis our Generall: warlike _Æneas_.

_Dido._ Warlike _Æneas_, and in these base robes? Goe fetch the garment which _Sicheus_ ware: Braue Prince, welcome to Carthage and to me, Both happie that _Æneas_ is our guest: Sit in this chaire and banquet with a Queene, _Æneas_ is _Æneas_, were he clad In weedes as bad as euer _Irus_ ware.

_Æn._ This is no seate for one thats comfortles, May it please your grace to let _Æneas_ waite: For though my birth be great, my fortunes meane, Too meane to be companion to a Queene.

_Dido._ Thy fortune may be greater then thy birth, Sit downe _Æneas_, sit in _Didos_ place, And if this be thy sonne as I suppose, Here let him sit, be merrie louely child.

_Æn._ This place beseemes me not, O pardon me.

_Dido._ Ile haue it so, _Æneas_ be content.

_Asca._ Madame, you shall be my mother.

_Dido._ And so I will sweete child: be merrie man, Heres to thy better fortune and good starres.

_Æn._ In all humilitie I thanke your grace.

_Dido._ Remember who thou art, speake like thy selfe, Humilitie belongs to common groomes.

_Æn._ And who so miserable as _Æneas_ is?

_Dido._ Lyes it in _Didos_ hands to make thee blest, Then be assured thou art not miserable.

_Æn._ O _Priamus_, O _Troy_, oh _Hecuba_!

_Dido._ May I entreate thee to discourse at large, And truely to how _Troy_ was ouercome: For many tales goe of that Cities fall, And scarcely doe agree vpon one poynt: Some say _Antenor_ did betray the towne, Others report twas _Sinons_ periurie: But all in this that _Troy_ is ouercome, And _Priam_ dead, yet how we heare no newes.

_Æn._ A wofull tale bids _Dido_ to vnfould, Whose memorie like pale deaths stony mace, Beates forth my senses from this troubled soule, And makes _Æneas_ sinke at _Didos_ feete.

_Dido._ What faints _Æneas_ to remember _Troy_? In whose defence he fought so valiantly: Looke vp and speake.