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Act One, Scene Two

Enter [Iarbus, with] Illioneus, and Cloanthus [and Sergestus].

Illioneus
Follow ye Troians, follow this brave Lord,
And plaine to him the summe of your distresse.

Iarbus
Why, what are you, or wherefore doe you sewe?

Illioneus
Wretches of Troy, envied of the windes,
That crave such favour at your honors feete,
As poore distressed miserie may pleade:
Save, save, O save our ships from cruell fire,
That doe complaine the wounds of thousand waves,
And spare our lives whom every spite pursues.
We come not we to wrong your Libian Gods,
Or steale your houshold lares from their shrines:
Our hands are not prepar'd to lawles spoyle,
Nor armed to offend in any kind:
Such force is farre from our unweaponed thoughts,
Whose fading weale of victorie forsooke,
Forbids all hope to harbour neere our hearts.

Iarbus
But tell me Troians, Troians if you be,
Unto what fruitfull quarters were ye bound,
Before that Boreas buckled with your sailes?

Cloanthus
There is a place Hesperia term'd by us,
An ancient Empire, famoused for armes,
And fertile in faire Ceres furrowed wealth,
Which now we call Italia of his name,
That in such peace long time did rule the same:
Thither made we,
When suddenly gloomie Orion rose,
And led our ships into the shallow sands,
Whereas the Southerne winde with brackish breath,
Disperst them all amongst the wrackfull Rockes:
From thence a fewe of us escapt to land,
The rest we feare are foulded in the flouds.

Iarbus
Brave men at armes, abandon fruitles feares,
Since Carthage knowes to entertaine distresse.

Sergestus
I but the barbarous sort doe threat our ships,
And will not let us lodge upon the sands:
In multitudes they swarme unto the shoare,
And from the first earth interdict our feete.

Iarbus
My selfe will see they shall not trouble ye,
Your men and you shall banquet in our Court,
And every Troian be as welcome here,
As Jupiter to sillie Baucis house:
Come in with me, Ile bring you to my Queene,
Who shall confirme my words with further deedes.

Sergestus
Thankes gentle Lord for such unlookt for grace.
Might we but once more see Aeneas face,
Then would we hope to quite such friendly turnes,
As shall surpasse the wonder of our speech.
[Exeunt.]

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