Classic Poem

Then grovelling on the bed, But shall I die,
And not reveng'd? Yes, die. What, so present
Myself to Dis ? Even so. Drink with thine eye,
Fierce Trojan , this flame's comet-like portent
And let my death bode thee a dire event.
Here her maids saw her with spread hands fall down
Upon the reeking blade: a shrill cry went
To the high roofs, and through th'astonish'd town,
Swift as a thunderbolt, the raging news was blown.

With sighs, laments, shrieks and a female yell
Earth sounds, and Heav'ns high battlements resound,
As if, the foe let in, all Carthage fell,
Or mother walls of Tyre were brought to ground,
And fanes and houses one flame did confound.
Her frighted sister hears the baleful noise:
She thumps her bosom, and with nails doth wound
Her face, distracted through the press she flies,
And Dido, Dido , O my sister Dido , cries.