DIDO
Ah! Belinda, I am prest
With torment not to be Confest,
Peace and I are strangers grown.
I languish till my grief is known,
Yet would not have it guest.

BELINDA
Grief increases by concealing,

DIDO
Mine admits of no revealing.

BELINDA
Then let me speak; the Trojan guest
Into your tender thoughts has prest;
The greatest blessing Fate can give
Our Carthage to secure and Troy revive.

CHORUS
When monarchs unite, how happy their state,
They triumph at once o'er their foes and their fate.

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