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      New counsels tries, and new designs prepares:

      That Cupid should assume the shape and face

      Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace;

      Should bring the presents, in her nephew’s stead,

      And in Eliza’s veins the gentle poison shed:

      For much she fear’d the Tyrians, double-tongued,

      And knew the town to Juno’s care belong’d.

      These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke,

      And thus alarm’d, to winged Love she spoke:

      “My son, my strength, whose mighty pow’r alone

      Controls the Thund’rer on his awful throne,

      To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,

      And on thy succor and thy faith relies.

      Thou know’st, my son, how Jove’s revengeful wife,

      By force and fraud, attempts thy brother’s life;

      And often hast thou mourn’d with me his pains.

      Him Dido now with blandishment detains;

      But I suspect the town where Juno reigns.

      For this ’tis needful to prevent her art,

      And fire with love the proud Phoenician’s heart:

      A love so violent, so strong, so sure,

      As neither age can change, nor art can cure.

      How this may be perform’d, now take my mind:

      Ascanius by his father is design’d

      To come, with presents laden, from the port,

      To gratify the queen, and gain the court.

      I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep,

      And, ravish’d, in Idalian bow’rs to keep,

      Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit

      May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat.

      Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace

      But only for a night’s revolving space:

      Thyself a boy, assume a boy’s dissembled face;

      That when, amidst the fervor of the feast,

      The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,

      And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,

      Thou may’st infuse thy venom in her veins.”

      The God of Love obeys, and sets aside

      His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;

      He walks Iulus in his mother’s sight,

      And in the sweet resemblance takes delight.

      The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,

      And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:

      Lull’d in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,

      She gently bears him to her blissful groves,

      Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,

      And softly lays him on a flow’ry bed.

      Cupid meantime assum’d his form and face,

      Foll’wing Achates with a shorter pace,

      And brought the gifts. The queen already sate

      Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,

      High on a golden bed: her princely guest

      Was next her side; in order sate the rest.

      Then canisters with bread are heap’d on high;

      Th’ attendants water for their hands supply,

      And, having wash’d, with silken towels dry.

      Next fifty handmaids in long order bore

      The censers, and with fumes the gods adore:

      Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join

      To place the dishes, and to serve the wine.

      The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast,

      Approach, and on the painted couches rest.

      All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze,

      But view the beauteous boy with more amaze,

      His rosy-color’d cheeks, his radiant eyes,

      His motions, voice, and shape, and all the god’s disguise;

      Nor pass unprais’d the vest and veil divine,

      Which wand’ring foliage and rich flow’rs entwine.

      But, far above the rest, the royal dame,

      (Already doom’d to love’s disastrous flame,)

      With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy,

      Beholds the presents, and admires the boy.

      The guileful god about the hero long,

      With children’s play, and false embraces, hung;

      Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms

      With greedy pleasure, and devour’d his charms.

      Unhappy Dido little thought what guest,

      How dire a god, she drew so near her breast;

      But he, not mindless of his mother’s pray’r,

      Works in the pliant bosom of the fair,

      And molds her heart anew, and blots her former care.

      The dead is to the living love resign’d;

      And all Aeneas enters in her mind.

      Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas’d,

      The meat remov’d, and ev’ry guest was pleas’d,

      The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown’d,

      And thro’ the palace cheerful cries resound.

      From gilded roofs depending lamps display

      Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day.

      A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,

      The queen commanded to be crown’d with wine:

      The bowl that Belus us’d, and all the Tyrian line.

      Then, silence thro’ the hall proclaim’d, she spoke:

      “O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,

      With solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow’r;

      Bless to both nations this auspicious hour!

      So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line

      In lasting concord from this day combine.

      Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,

      And gracious Juno, both be present here!

      And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address

      To Heav’n with mine, to ratify the peace.”

      The goblet then she took, with nectar crown’d

      (Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,)

      And rais’d it to her mouth with sober grace;

      Then, sipping, offer’d to the next in place.

      ’Twas Bitias whom she call’d, a thirsty soul;

      He

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