Epistulae

I preserve, in a little chapel of marble, a pious statue of Sichæus, wreathed with flowers and white wool. From this dome, I seemed to be four times called, and my dear husband (as I imagined) in a low hollow voice said, "Dido, come." I will come without delay. I who am thy wife, due to thee alone, will come; but with diffidence, because conscious of the wrong I have done you. Pardon my unhappy error: