With fixed looks he stands, and in his breast
By Jove’s command his struggling care suppress’d. 
’Great queen! your favours and deserts so great,
Though numberless, I never shall forget;
No time, until myself I have forgot,
Out of my heart Eliza’s name shall blot: 
But my unwilling flight the gods enforce,
And that must justify our sad divorce. 
Since I must you forsake, would Fate permit,
To my desires I might my fortune fit; 60
Troy to her ancient splendour I would raise,
And where I first began, would end my days. 
But since the Lycian lots, and Delphic god
Have destined Italy for our abode;
Since you proud Carthage (fled from Tyre) enjoy,
Why should not Latium us receive from Troy? 
As for my son, my father’s angry ghost
Tells me his hopes by my delays are cross’d,
And mighty Jove’s ambassador appear’d
With the same message, whom I saw and heard; 70
We both are grieved when you or I complain,
But much the more when all complaints are vain;
I call to witness all the gods, and thy
Beloved head, the coast of Italy
Against my will I seek.’

Whilst thus he speaks, she rolls her sparkling eyes,
Surveys him round, and thus incensed replies;
’Thy mother was no goddess, nor thy stock
From Dardanus, but in some horrid rock,
Perfidious wretch! rough Caucasus thee bred, 80
And with their milk Hyrcanian tigers fed. 
Dissimulation I shall now forget,
And my reserves of rage in order set,
Could all my prayers and soft entreaties force
Sighs from his breast, or from his look remorse. 
Where shall I first complain? can mighty Jove
Or Juno such impieties approve? 
The just Astraea sure is fled to hell;
Nor more in earth, nor heaven itself will dwell. 
Oh, Faith! him on my coasts by tempest cast, 90
Receiving madly, on my throne I placed;
His men from famine, and his fleet from fire
I rescued:  now the Lycian lots conspire
With Phoebus; now Jove’s envoy through the air
Brings dismal tidings; as if such low care
Could reach their thoughts, or their repose disturb! 
Thou art a false impostor, and a fourbe;
Go, go, pursue thy kingdom through the main; 98
I hope, if Heaven her justice still retain,
Thou shalt be wreck’d, or cast upon some rock,
Where thou the name of Dido shalt invoke;
I’ll follow thee in fun’ral flames; when dead
My ghost shall thee attend at board and bed,
And when the gods on thee their vengeance show,
That welcome news shall comfort me below.’