Dido, Queen Of Carthage Monologue
| Dido, Queen Of Carthage Monologue by Christopher Marlowe | |
| Character: | Dido |
| Gender: | Female |
| Age (range): | ? |
| Style: | Drama |
| Length: | < 3 minutes |
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- DIDO: Are these the sails that, in despite of me,
- Pack'd with the winds to bear AE neas hence?
- I'll hang ye in the chamber where I lie;
- Drive, if you can, my house to Italy:
- I'll set the casement open, that the winds
- May enter in, and once again conspire
- Against the life of me, poor Carthage queen:
- But, though ye go, he stays in Carthage still;
- And let rich Carthage fleet upon the sees,
- So I may have AE neas in mine arms.
- Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plains,
- And would be toiling in the watery billows,
- To rob their mistress of her Trojan guest?
- O cursed tree, hadst thou but wit or sense,
- To measure how I prize AE neas' love,
- Thou wouldst have leapt from out the sailors' hands,
- And told me that AE neas meant to go!
- And yet I blame thee not; thou art but wood.
- The water, which our poets term a nymph,
- Why did it suffer thee to touch her breast,
- And shrunk not back, knowing my love was there?
- The water is an element, no nymph.
- Why should I blame AE neas for his flight?
- O Dido, blame him not, but break his oars!
- These were the instruments that launched him forth.
- There's not so much as this base tackling too,
- But dares to heap up sorrow to my heart:
- Was it not you that hoisted up these sails?
- Why burst you not, and they fell in the seas?
- For this will Dido tie ye full of knots.
- And shear ye all asunder with her hands:
- Now serve to chastise shipboys for their faults;
- Ye shall no more offend the Carthage queen.
- Now, let him hang my favours on his masts,
- And see if those will serve instead of sails;
- For tackling, let him take the chains of gold
- Which I bestow'd upon his followers;
- Instead of oars, let him us his hands,
- And swim to Italy. I'll keep these sure.--
- Come, bear them in.
Credits: Reprinted from Dido Queen of Carthage. Christopher Marlowe. London: Hurst Robinson, 1825.
