Dido monologue — Diminutive dramas

(_calmly_) You are quite right. It is entirely my fault. I thought you were a man of honour. I believed your word. I thought you were a man. I was mistaken. You were only a Trojan. I found you shipwrecked, an outcast, starving, helpless, at death’s door. I saved your fleet. I rescued your comrades from death. I saved you from destruction. And this is my reward. The Greeks were right when they burned Troy to the ground, killed your men and made your women into slaves. They were right to spare you, because you are not a man. Your place is with the menials. Please don’t think I shall prevent you going to Italy. Don’t imagine for a moment I am going to argue with you. By all means go and found a kingdom. I trust you will enjoy it and that it will turn out better than Troy. I am sure you know best, and I am sure you know what is best, and I am sure you are right. Don’t imagine that I mind, or that I shall miss you, for I shan’t. I am not the least annoyed at your going, I am only surprised and vexed to find that a man whom I thought was honourable, and truthful, and brave should turn out to be dishonourable, a liar, a coward--and a mean coward. I am angry with myself that I should have made such a mistake about a man, and that you, by your foolish, silly, transparent lies and shuffling should have shown me what a poor opinion you have of me. I wish you a very pleasant journey, and I hope you will do your duty in Italy as well as you have done it in Carthage.