...So Dido, doomed,
was lengthening out the night by trading tales
as she drank long draughts of love--asking Aeneas
question on question, now about Priam, now Hector,
what armor Memnon, son of Morning, wore at Troy,
how swift were the horses od Diomedes? How strong was Acilles?
"Wait, come, my guest," she urges, "tell us your own story,
start to finish--the ambush laid by the Greeks, the pain
your people suffered, the wanderings you have faced.
For now is the seventh summer that has borne you
wandering all the lands and seas on earth." (l. 898-908)