Here the curtains draw:-there is discovered Jupiter dandling Ganymede upon his knee, and Hermes lying asleep.

Jup. Come, gentle Ganymede, and play with me;

I love thee well, say Juno what she will. Gan. I am much better for your worthless love,

That will not shield me from her shrewish blows:

To-day, whenas I filled into your cups, And held the cloth of pleasance whiles you drank,

She reached me such a rap for that I spilled, As made the blood run down about mine

ears.

Jup. What! dares she strike the darling of my thoughts?

By Saturn's soul, and this earth threatening hair,

Or seemed fair, walled in with eagle's wings,

Grace my immortal beauty with this boon, And I will spend my time in thy bright

arms.

Jup. What is't, sweet wag, I should deny thy youth?

Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes,

As I, exhaled with thy fire-darting beams, Have oft driven back the horses of the night.

Whenas they would have haled thee from my sight.

Sit on my knee, and call for thy content, Control proud Fate, and cut the thread of Time:

Why, are not all the gods at thy command, And heaven and earth the bounds of thy delight?

Vulcan shall dance to make thee laughing sport,

And my nine daughters sing when thou art sad;

ings quake,

I vow, if she but once frown on thee more, To hang her, meteor-like, 'twixt heaven and earth,

And bind her hand and foot with golden cords,

As once I did for harming Hercules !

Gan. Might I but see that pretty sport afoot,

O how would I with Helen's brother laugh, And bring the Gods to wonder at the game:

Sweet Jupiter! if e'er I pleased thine eye,

pride,

To make thee fans wherewith to cool thy

Or force her smile, that hitherto hat! frowned:

Gan. I would have a jewel for mine ear, And a fine brooch to put into my hat, And then I'll hug with you a hundred times. Jup. And shalt have, Ganymede, if thou wilt be my love.

Enter Venus.

Ven. Aye, this is it; you can sit toying
there,

And playing with that female wanton boy,
Whiles my Æneas wanders on the seas,
And rests a prey to every billow's pride.
Juno, false Juno, in her chariot's pomp,
Drawn through the heavens by steeds of
Boreas' brood,

Made Hebe to direct her airy wheels
Into the windy country of the clouds;
Where, finding olus entrenched with
storms,

And guarded with a thousand grisly ghosts,
She humbly did beseech him for our bane,
And charged him drown my son with all his
train.

Then 'gan the winds break ope their brazen doors,

And all Æolia to be up in arms;

Poor Troy must now be sacked upon the sea,
And Neptune's waves be envious men of war;
Epeus' horse to Etna's hill transformed,
Prepared stands to wreck their wooden walls;
And Æolus, like Agamemnon, sounds
The surges, his fierce soldiers, to the spoil:
See how the night, Ulysses-like, comes forth,
And intercepts the day as Dolon erst!
Ah me! the stars surprised, like Rhesus'
steeds,

Are drawn by darkness forth Astræa's tents.
What shall I do to save thee, my sweet boy?
Whenas the waves do threat our crystal
world,

And Proteus, raising hills of floods on high,
Intends, ere long, to sport him in the sky.
False Jupiter! reward'st thou virtue so?
What is not piety exempt from woe?
Then die, Æneas, in thy innocence,
Since that religion hath no recompense.
Jup. Content thee, Cytherea, in thy care,
Since thy Æneas' wandering fate is firm,
Whose weary limbs shall shortly make repose
In those fair walls I promised him of yore:
But first in blood must his good fortune bud,
Before he be the lord of Turnus' town,

sword;

waste,

In managing those fierce barbarian minds; Which once performed, poor Troy, so long suppressed,

From forth her ashes shall advance her head And flourish once again, that erst was dead But bright Ascanius, beauty's better work, Who with the sun divides one radiant shape Shall build his throne amidst those starr towers,

That earth-born Atlas, groaning, underprops No bounds, but heaven, shall bound hi empery,

Whose azured gates, enchased with his name Shall make the morning haste her gre uprise,

To feed her eyes with his engraven fame. Thus, in stout Hector's race, three hundrer years

The Roman sceptre royal shall remain,
Till that a princess-priest conceived by Mars
Shall yield to dignity a double birth,
Who will eternise Troy in their attempts.
Ven. How may I credit these thy flatter
ing terms,

When yet both sea and sands beset thei ships,

And Phoebus, as in Stygian pools, refrains To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhene main

Jup. I will take order for that pre sently :

Hermes, awake! and haste to Neptuner realm;

Whereas the wind-gods, warring now wit fate,

Besiege the offspring of our kingly loins, Charge him from me to turn his storm powers,

And fetter them in Vulcan's sturdy brass, A That durst thus proudly wrong our kins [Exit Hermes

man's peace. Venus, farewell! thy son shall be our care Come, Ganymede, we must about this gears [Exeunt Jupiter and Ganymede Ven. Disquiet seas, lay down your swell ing looks,

And court Æneas with your calmy cheer, Whose beauteous burden well might mak you proud,

Had not the heavens, conceived with hell born clouds,

Veiled his resplendent glory from your view For my sake, pity him, Oceanus,

nat erst-while issued from thy wat'ry loins, nd had my being from thy bubbling froth: iton, I know, hath filled his trump with Troy,

id, therefore, will take pity on his toil, nd call both Thetis and Cymodoce,

› succour him in this extremity.

Enter Æneas, Ascanius, Achates, and one or two more.

'hat do I see? my son now come on shore? enus, how art thou compassed with content, he while thine eyes attract their sought-for joys:

reat Jupiter! still honoured may'st thou be, or this so friendly aid in time of need! ere in this bush disguised will I stand, 'hiles my Æneas spends himself in plaints, nd heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints.

En. You sons of care, companions of my course,

riam's misfortune follows us by sea, nd Helen's rape doth haunt ye at the heels. ow many dangers have we overpast? oth barking Scylla, and the sounding rocks, he Cyclops' shelves, and grim Ceraunia's seat,

ave you o'ergone, and yet remain alive. luck up your hearts, since fate still rests our friend,

nd changing heavens may those good days return,

Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride. Acha. Brave Prince of Troy, thou only art our god,

hat, by thy virtues, free'st us from annoy, nd mak'st our hopes survive to coming joys! o thou but smile, and cloudy heaven will clear,

Whose night and day descendeth from thy brows:

hough we be now in extreme misery, nd rest the map of weather-beaten woe, et shall the agèd sun shed forth his hair, o make us live unto our former heat, nd every beast the forest doth send forth, equeath her young ones to our scanted food.

Asca. Father, I faint; good father, give

me meat.

En. Alas! sweet boy, thou must be still awhile,

ill we have fire to dress the meat we killed; entle Achates, reach the tinder-box, hat we may make a fire to warm us with, nd roast our new found victuals on this shore.

For cities, and society's supports;
Yet much I marvel that I cannot find
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.
Ven. Now is the time for me to play my
part :
[Aside.
Ho, young men ! saw you, as you came
[along],

Any of all my sisters wandering here,
Having a quiver girded to her side,
And clothed in a spotted leopard's skin?

En. I neither saw nor heard of any such; But what may I, fair virgin, call your name? Whose looks set forth no mortal form to view,

Nor speech betrays aught human in thy birth;

Thou art a goddess that delud'st our eyes, And shroud'st thy beauty in this borrowed shape;

But whether thou the Sun's bright sister be,
Or one of chaste Diana's fellow nymphs,
Live happy in the height of all content,
And lighten our extremes with this one boon,
As to instruct us under what good heaven
We breathe as now, and what this world is
called

On which, by tempests' fury, we are cast?
Tell us, O tell us, that are ignorant ;
And this right hand shall make thy altars
crack

With mountain heaps of milk-white sacrifice.
Ven. Such honour, stranger, do I not

affect;

It is the use for Tyrian maids to wear
Their bow and quiver in this modest sort,
And suit themselves in purple for the nonce,
That they may trip more lightly o'er the
lawns,

And overtake the tuskèd boar in chase.
But for the land whereof thou dost inquire,
It is the Punic kingdom, rich and strong,
| Adjoining on Agenor's stately town,

The kingly seat of Southern Libya,
Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as queen.
But what are you that ask of me these
things?

Whence may you come, or whither will you go?

An. Of Troy am I, Æneas is my name; Who, driven by war from forth my native world,

Put sails to sea to seek out Italy;

And my divine descent, from sceptered Jove: With twice twelve Phrygian ships I ploughed the deep,

And made that way my mother Venus led; But of them all scarce seven do anchor safe, And they so wracked and weltered by the

waves,

As every tide tilts 'twixt their oaken sides; And all of them, unburthened of their load, Are ballassed with billows' watery weight. But hapless I, God wot, poor and unknown, Do trace these Libyan deserts all despised, Exiled forth Europe and wide Asia both, And have not any coverture but heaven. Ven. Fortune hath favoured thee, whate'er thou be,

In sending thee unto this courteous coast : In God's name, on! and haste thee to the court,

Where Dido will receive ye with her smiles; And for thy ships, which thou supposest lost, Not one of them hath perished in the storm, But are arrived safe, not far from hence; And so I leave thee to thy fortune's lot, Wishing good luck unto thy wandering steps. [Exit.

En. Achates, 'tis my mother that is fled; I know her by the movings of her feet : Stay, gentle Venus, fly not from thy son! Too cruel! why wilt thou forsake me thus, Or in these shades deceive mine eyes so oft? Why walk we not together hand in hand, And tell our griefs in more familiar terms? But thou art gone, and leav'st me here alone, To dull the air with my discoursive moan. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Iarbas, followed by Ilioneus, Cloanthus, and Sergestus.

Ilio. Follow, ye Trojans ! follow this rave lord,

And 'plain to him the sum of your distress. Iar. Why, what are you, or wherefore do you sue?

Ilio. Wretches of Troy, envied of the winds,

That crave such favour at your honour's feet

As poor distressed misery may plead :
Save, save, O save our ships from cruel fire,
That do complain the wounds of thousand

waves,

And spare our lives, whom every spite pur

sues.

We come not, we, to wrong your Libyan gods,

Or steal your household Lares from their shrines :

Our hands are not prepared to lawless spoil
Nor armed to offend in any kind;
Such force is far from our unweaponed
thoughts,

Whose fading weal, of victory forsook,
Forbids all hope to harbour near our hearts.

lar. But tell me, Trojans, Trojans if you be, Unto what fruitful quarters were ye bound, Before that Boreas buckled with your sails?

Cloan. There is a place, Hesperia termed

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

Enter Æneas, Achates, and Ascanius.

En. Where am I now? these should be
Carthage walls.

Acha. Why stands my sweet Æneas thus
amazed?

En. Oh, my Achates, Theban Niobe, Who for her sons' death wept out life and breath,

And dry with grief was turned into a stone, Had not such passions in her head as I. Methinks

That town there should be Troy, yon Ida's hill,

There Xanthus' stream, because here's Priamus,

And when I know it is not, then I die.

Acha. And in this humour is Achates too; I cannot choose but fall upon my knees, And kiss his hand; oh, where is Hecuba? Here she was wont to sit, but saving air Is nothing here; and what is this but stone?

En. Oh, yet this stone doth make Æneas weep;

And, would my prayers (as Pygmalion's did)

Could give it life, that under his conduct We might sail back to Troy, and be revenged

On these hard-hearted Grecians, which rejoice

That nothing now is left of Priamus !
Oh, Priamus is left, and this is he :
Come, come aboard; pursue the hateful
Greeks.

Acha. What means Æneas?

En. Achates, though mine eyes say this is stone,

Yet thinks my mind that this is Priamus; And when my grieved heart sighs and says

no,

Then would it leap out to give Priam life: O were I not at all, so thou might'st be! Achates, see, King Priam wags his hand; He is alive; Troy is not overcome!

Acha. Thy mind, Æneas, that would have it so,

Deludes thy eyesight; Priamus is dead.

En. Ah, Troy is sacked, and Priamus is dead;

And why should poor Æneas be alive?

Asca. Sweet father, leave to weep, this is not he:

For were it Priam, he would smile on me.

Acha. Eneas, see, here comes the citizens ;

Leave to lament, lest they laugh at our fears.

Enter Cloanthus, Sergestus, Ilioneus, and the others.

En. Lords of this town, or whatsoever style

Belongs unto your name, vouchsafe of ruth

To tell us who inhabits this fair town, What kind of people, and who governs them :

For we are strangers driven on this shore, And scarcely know within what clime we

are.

Ilio. I hear Æneas' voice, but see him not,

For none of these can be our general.

Acha. Like Ilioneus speaks this nobleman, But Ilioneus goes not in such robes.

Serg. You are Achates, or I am deceived. Acha. Eneas, see Sergestus, or his ghost.

Ilio. He names Æneas; let us kiss his feet.

Cloan. It is our captain; see Ascanius! Serg. Live long Æneas and Ascanius! En. Achates, speak, for I am overjoyed. Acha. O Ilioneus, art thou yet alive! Ilio. Blest be the time I see Achates' face.

Cloan. Why turns Æneas from his trusty friends?

En. Sergestus, Ilioneus, and the rest, Your sight amazed me: oh, what destinies Have brought my sweet companions in such plight?

Oh, tell me, for I long to be resolved.

Ilio. Lovely Eneas, these are Carthage walls,

And here Queen Dido wears the imperial

crown;

Who, for Troy's sake, hath entertained us all,

And clad us in these wealthy robes we

wear.

Oft has she asked us under whom we served,

And when we told her, she would weep for grief,

Thinking the sea had swallowed up thy ships;

And now she sees thee, how will she rejoice. Serg. See, where her servitors pass through the hall Bearing a banquet; Dido is not far.