So do the Tyrians, because of you.

You ruined me and my good name—my one path

To heaven. My guest leaves me here to die.

Now I must call you guest instead of husband.

Pygmalion my brother will raze my walls,

Gaetulian Iarbas lead me off, a captive.

If only, though deserting me, you gave me

A child—if I could see a small Aeneas

Play in my palace, with a face like yours—

I wouldn’t feel so cheated and abandoned.”

She spoke; he kept his eyes down, at Jove’s orders,

Struggling to force his feelings from his heart.

Finally, briefly: “Name your favors, list them.

There isn’t one I ever could deny.

Never will I regret Elissa’s memory

While I have memory, while I breathe and move.

A little on the facts, though: don’t imagine

I meant to sneak away, and as for ‘husband,’

I never made a pact of marriage with you.

If fate would let me live the life I chose;

If I had power over my decisions,

I would have stayed at Troy, where I could tend

Belovèd graves; Priam’s high citadel

Would stand; I would restore Troy for the conquered.

But Grynean Apollo and the edicts

Of Lycia drive me into Italy.

My love, my home are there. You are Phoenician,

But love to see your towers in Libya.

How can you then resent us Trojans settling

In Italy—our lawful foreign kingdom?

When the night covers earth with drizzling shadows,

When fiery stars rise, then the troubled ghost

Of my father, dear Anchises, hounds my dreams.

I know I cheat my darling son Ascanius

Of fields fate gave him in his western realm.

From Jove himself a heavenly emissary

(On both our heads, I swear it) brought me orders

Down through the air. In the clear day I saw him

Come through the gate, and these ears heard his voice.

Don’t goad me—and yourself—with these complaints.

Italy is against my will.”

Although her back was turned, she still surveyed

The speaker blankly and distractedly

Over her shoulder. Then her fury broke out.

“Traitor—there is no goddess in your family,

No Dardanus. The sharp-rocked Caucasus

Gave birth to you, Hyrcanian tigers nursed you.

Why pretend now? Is something worse in store?

Was there a sigh for tears of mine? A glance?

Did he give in to tears himself, or pity?

Injustice overwhelms me, which concerns

Great Juno and our father, Saturn’s son.

What bond can hold? I helped a castaway,

I shared my kingdom with him, like a fool.

The ships you lost—I saved your friends from death—

Hot madness drives me. Now the fortune-teller

Apollo, Lycian lotteries, Jove dispatching

Dire orders earthward through the gods’ own mouthpiece—

As if such cares disturbed the gods’ calm heaven!

I will not cling to you or contradict you.

Ride windy waves to chase Italian kingdoms.