Act One, Scene One

Here the Curtaines draw, there is discovered Jupiter dandling Ganimed upon his knee, and Mercury lying asleepe.

Come gentle Ganimed and play with me,
I love thee well, say Juno what she will.

I am much better for your worthles love,
That will not shield me from her shrewish blowes:
To day when as I fild into your cups,
And held the cloath of pleasance whiles you dranke,
She reacht me such a rap for that I spilde,
As made the bloud run downe about mine eares.

What? dares she strike the darling of my thoughts?
By Saturnes soule, and this earth threatning haire,
That shaken thrise, makes Natures buildings quake,
I vow, if she but once frowne on thee more,
To hang her meteor like twixt heaven and earth,
And bind her hand and foote with golden cordes,
As once I did for harming Hercules.

Might I but see that pretie sport a foote,
O how would I with Helens brother laugh,
And bring the Gods to wonder at the game:
Sweet Jupiter, if ere I pleasde thine eye,
Or seemed faire walde in with Egles wings,
Grace my immortall beautie with this boone,
And I will spend my time in thy bright armes.

What ist sweet wagge I should deny thy youth?
Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes,
As I exhal'd with thy fire darting beames,
Have oft driven backe the horses of the night,
When as they would have hal'd thee from my sight:
Sit on my knee, and call for thy content,
Controule proud Fate, and cut the thred of time.
Why, are not all the Gods at thy commaund,
And heaven and earth the bounds of thy delight?
Vulan shall daunce to make thee laughing sport,
And my nine Daughters sing when thou art sad,
From Junos bird Ile pluck her spotted pride,
To make thee fannes wherewith to coole thy face,
And Venus Swannes shall shed their silver downe,
To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed:
Hermes no more shall shew the world his wings,
If that thy fancie in his feathers dwell,
But as this one Ile teare them all from him,
[Plucks a feather from Mercuries wings.]
Doe thou but say their colour pleaseth me.
Hold here my little love: these linked gems, [Gives jewells.]

My Juno ware upon her marriage day,
Put thou about thy necke my owne sweet heart,
And tricke thy armes and shoulders with my theft.

I would have a jewell for mine eare,
And a fine brouch to put in my hat,
And then Ile hugge with you an hundred times.

And shall have Ganimed, if thou wilt be my love.
Enter Venus.

I, this is it, you can sit toying there,
And playing with that female wanton boy,
Whiles my Aeneas wanders on the Seas,
And rests a pray to every billowes pride.
Juno, false Juno in her Chariots pompe,
Drawne through the heavens by Steedes of Boreas brood,
Made Hebe to direct her ayrie wheeles
Into the windie countrie of the clowdes,
Where finding Aeolus intrencht with stormes,
And guarded with a thousand grislie ghosts,
She humbly did beseech him for our bane,
And charg'd him drowne my sonne with all his traine.
Then gan the windes breake ope their brazen doores,
And all Aeolia to be up in armes:
Poore Troy must now be sackt upon the Sea,
And Neptunes waves be envious men of warre,
Epeus horse, to Aetnas hill transformd,
Prepared stands to wracke their woodden walles,
And Aeolus like Agamemnon sounds
The surges, his fierce souldiers, to the spoyle:
See how the night Ulysses-like comes forth,
And intercepts the day as Dolon erst:
Ay me! the Starres supprisde like Rhesus Steedes,
Are drawne by darknes forth Astraeus tents.
What shall I doe to save thee my sweet boy?
When as the waves doe threat our Chrystall world,
And Proteus raising hils of flouds on high,
Entends ere long to sport him in the skie.
False Jupiter, rewardst thou vertue so?
What? is not pietie exempt from woe?
Then dye Aeneas in thine innocence,
Since that religion hath no recompence.

Content thee Cytherea in thy care,
Since thy Aeneas wandring fate is firme,
Whose wearie lims shall shortly make repose,
In those faire walles I promist him of yore:
But first in bloud must his good fortune bud,
Before he be the Lord of Turnus towne,
Or force her smile that hetherto hath frownd:
Three winters shall he with the Rutiles warre,
And in the end subdue them with his sword,
And full three Sommers likewise shall he waste,
In mannaging those fierce barbarian mindes:
Which once performd, poore Troy so long supprest,
From forth her ashes shall advance her head,
And flourish once againe that erst was dead:
But bright Ascanius, beauties better worke
Who with the Sunne devides one radiant shape,
Shall build his throne amidst those starrie towers,
That earth-borne Atlas groning underprops:
No bounds but heaven shall bound his Emperie,
Whose azured gates enchased with his name,
Shall make the morning hast her gray uprise,
To feede her eyes with his engraven fame.
Thus in stoute Hectors race three hundred yeares,
The Romane Scepter royall shall remaine,
Till that a Princesse priest conceav'd by Mars,
Shall yeeld to dignitie a dubble birth,
Who will eternish Troy in their attempts.

How may I credite these thy flattering termes,
When yet both sea and sands beset their ships,
And Phoebus as in Stygian pooles, refraines
To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhen maine?

I will take order for that presently:
Hermes awake, and haste to Neptunes realme,
Whereas the Wind-god warring now with Fate,
Besiege the ofspring of Our kingly loynes,
Charge him from me to turne his stormie powers,
And fetter them in Vulcans sturdie brasse,
That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsmans peace.
[Exit Mercury.]
Venus farewell, thy sonne shall be our care:
Come Ganimed, we must about this geare.
Exeunt Jupitercum Ganimed.

Disquiet Seas lay downe your swelling lookes,
And court Aeneas with your calmie cheere,
Whose beautious burden well might make you proude,
Had not the heavens conceav'd with hel-borne clowdes,
Vaild his resplendant glorie from your view.
For my sake pitie him Oceanus,
That erst-while issued from thy watrie loynes,
And had my being from thy bubling froth:
Triton I know hath fild his trumpe with Troy,
And therefore will take pitie on his toyle,
And call both Thetis and Cimothoe,
To succour him in this extremitie.
Enter Aeneas with Ascanius [and Achates], with one or two more.
What? doe I see my sonne now come on shoare
Venus, how art thou compast with content,
The while thine eyes
attract their sought for joyes:
Great Jupiter, still honourd maist thou be,
For this so friendly ayde in time of neede
Here in this bush disguised will I stand,
Whiles my Aeneas spends himselfe in plaints,
And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints.

You sonnes of care, companions of my course,
Priams misfortune followes us by sea,
And Helens rape doth haunt ye at the heeles.
How many dangers have we over past?
Both barking Scilla, and the sounding Rocks,
The Cyclops shelves, and grim Ceranias seate
Have you oregone, and yet remaine alive?
Pluck up your hearts, since fate still rests our friend,
And chaunging heavens may those good daies returne,
Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride.

Brave Prince of Troy, thou onely art our God,
That by thy vertues freest us from annoy,
And makes our hopes survive to coming joyes:
Doe thou but smile, and clowdie heaven will deare,
Whose night and day descendeth from thy browes:
Though we be now in extreame miserie,
And rest the map of weatherbeaten woe:
Yet shall the aged Sunne shed forth his haire,
To make us live unto our former heate,
And every beast the forrest doth send forth,
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted foode.

Father I faint, good father give me meate.

Alas sweet boy, thou must be still a while,
Till we have fire to dresse the meate we kild:
Gentle Achates, reach the Tinder boxe,
That we may make a fire to warme us with,
And rost our new found victuals on this shoare.

See what strange arts necessitie findes out,
How neere my sweet Aeneas art thou driven?

Hold, take this candle and goe light a fire,
You shall have leaves and windfall bowes enow
Neere to these woods, to rost your meate withall:
Ascanius, goe and drie thy drenched lims,
Whiles I with my Achates roave abroad,
To know what coast the winde hath driven us on,
Or whether men or beasts inhabite it.
[Exit Ascanius with others.]

The ayre is pleasant, and the soyle most fit
For Cities, and societies supports:
Yet much I marvell that I cannot finde,
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.

Now is the time for me to play my part:
Hoe yong men, saw you as you came
Any of all my Sisters wandring here?
Having a quiver girded to her side,
And cloathed in a spotted Leopards skin.

I neither saw nor heard of any such:
But what may I faire Virgin call your name?
Whose lookes set forth no mortall forme to view,
Nor speech bewraies ought humaine in thy birth,
Thou art a Goddesse that delud'st our eyes,
And shrowdes thy beautie in this borrowd shape:
But whether thou the Sunnes bright Sister be,
Or one of chast Dianas fellow Nimphs,
Live happie in the height of all content,
And lighten our extreames with this one boone,
As to instruct us under what good heaven
We breathe as now, and what this world is calde,
On which by tempests furie we are cast.
Tell us, O tell us that are ignorant,
And this right hand shall make thy Altars crack
With mountaine heapes of milke white Sacrifize.

Such honour, stranger, doe I not affect:
It is the use for Tirien maides to weare
Their bowe and quiver in this modest sort,
And suite themselves in purple for the nonce,
That they may trip more lightly ore the lawndes,
And overtake the tusked Bore in chase.
But for the land whereof thou doest enquire,
It is the Punick kingdome rich and strong,
Adjoyning on Agenors stately towne,
The kingly seate of Southerne Libia,
Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as Queene.
But what are you that aske of me these things?
Whence may you come, or whither will you goe?

Of Troy am I, Aeneas is my name,
Who driven by warre from forth my native world,
Put sailes to sea to seeke out Italy,
And my divine descent from sceptred Jove:
With twise twelve Phrigian ships I plowed the deepe,
And made that way my mother Venus led:
But of them all scarce seven doe anchor safe,
And they so wrackt and weltred by the waves,
As every tide tilts twixt their oken sides:
And all of them unburdened of their loade,
Are ballassed with billowes watrie weight.
But haples I, God wot, poore and unknowne,
Doe trace these Libian deserts all despisde,
Exild forth Europe and wide Asia both,
And have not any coverture but heaven.

Fortune hath favord thee what ere thou be,
In sending thee unto this curteous Coast:
A Gods name on and hast 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 perisht in the storme,
But are arived safe not farre from hence:
And so I leave thee to thy fortunes lot,
Wishing good lucke unto thy wandring steps.

Achates, tis my mother that is fled,
I know her by the movings of her feete:
Stay gentle Venus, flye not from thy sonne,
Too cruell, why wilt thou forsake me thus?
Or in these
shades deceiv'st mine eye so oft?
Why talke we not together hand in hand?
And tell our griefes in more familiar termes:
But thou art gone and leav'st me here alone,
To dull the ayre with my discoursive moane.

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