The XII Aeneids of Virgil, the most renowned laureat-prince of Latine-poets; translated into English deca-syllables, by Iohn Vicars. 1632
         Aeneis. English
         Virgil.
      
       
         
           1632
        
      
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         ESTC S111557
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         99846870
         11865
         
           
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             The XII Aeneids of Virgil, the most renowned laureat-prince of Latine-poets; translated into English deca-syllables, by Iohn Vicars. 1632
             Aeneis. English
             Virgil.
             Vicars, John, 1579 or 80-1652.
             I. P., fl. 1632, engraver.
          
           [18], 418, [4] p.
           
             Printed by T. Buck and] are to be sold by Ni: Alsop at the Angell in Popes head ally [, London,
             [Cambridge :
             1632]
          
           
             A translation of: Aeneid.
             In verse.
             Printer's name from STC.
             The title page is engraved and signed: IP.
             The first leaf and 2E2 are blank.
             With final errata leaf. Variant: lacking this leaf.
             Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           The
           XII
           Aeneids
           of
           Virgil
           ,
           the
           most
           renowned
           Laureat-Prince
           of
           Latine-Poets
           ;
           Translated
           into
           English
           deca-syllables
           ,
           By
           Iohn
           Vicars
           .
           1632.
           
        
         
           Are
           to
           be
           sold
           by
           Ni
           :
           Alsop
           at
           the
           Angell
           in
           Popes
           head
           ally
           .
        
      
       
         
         
         
           TO
           THE
           RIGHT
           HONOUrable
           and
           thrice
           noble
           ,
           the
           Lord
           George
           ,
           the
           Lord
           Io●n
           ,
           and
           the
           Lord
           
             Bernhard
             Stewart
          
           ,
           sonnes
           of
           the
           gracious
           and
           illustrious
           princesse
           Katharine
           ,
           Dutches
           of
           
             Lenox
             ,
             Iohn
             Vicars
          
           wisheth
           all
           increase
           of
           true
           noblenesse
           and
           honour
           here
           ,
           and
           eternall
           happinesse
           in
           heaven
           hereafter
           .
        
         
           
             RIGHT
             HONOURABLE
             ,
          
        
         
           THe
           boundlesse
           bond
           of
           sincere
           gratitude
           ,
        
         
           For
           savours
           multitude
           and
           magnitude
           ,
        
         
           My self
           and
           second
           doth
           so
           firmly
           tie
        
         
           To
           you
           and
           your
           illustrious
           familie
           ,
        
         
           That
           what
           I
           can
           or
           do
           ,
           or
           speak
           ,
           or
           write
           ,
        
         
           Comes
           short
           of
           your
           demerits
           infinite
           .
        
         
           Yet
           that
           I
           be
           not
           totally
           ingrate
           ,
        
         
           At
           least
           (
           at
           last
           )
           in
           minde
           to
           memorate
           ,
        
         
           What
           I
           and
           mine
           to
           you
           and
           yours
           do
           owe
           ,
        
         
           I
           long
           have
           longed
           ,
           fitly
           forth
           to
           show
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           at
           length
           my
           hopes
           being
           happifi'de
           ,
        
         
           And
           kinde
           occasion
           caught
           ,
           as
           soon
           as
           spi'de
           ;
        
         
           My
           humble
           hand
           and
           thankfull
           heart
           accords
           ,
        
         
           To
           you
           thrice
           noble
           and
           illustrious
           Lords
           ,
        
         
           To
           dedicate
           and
           consec●ate
           ,
           as
           due
           ,
        
         
           My self
           ,
           my
           service
           ,
           and
           my
           all
           to
           you
           .
        
         
           In
           this
           translated
           prince
           of
           poets
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Disrobed
           thus
           from
           's
           Latine
           vestures
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Into
           a
           home-spun
           english
           gray-coat
           plain
           ,
        
         
           It
           s
           vitall
           warmth
           ,
           not
           worth
           ,
           safe
           to
           maintain
           :
        
         
         
           Yet
           in
           its
           self
           a
           princely
           poem
           sweet
           ,
        
         
           For
           your
           true
           princely
           patronage
           most
           meet
           ;
        
         
           Not
           for
           my
           manner
           ,
           but
           its
           matters
           sake
           ,
        
         
           Wherein
           much
           various
           pleasure
           you
           may
           take
           .
        
         
           Fully
           and
           fairely
           to
           affect
           and
           fit
        
         
           Your
           pregnant
           promising
           ,
           faire
           sprouting
           wit
           ,
        
         
           And
           cedar-like
           high
           growing
           noblenesse
           ,
        
         
           In
           learning
           ,
           vertue
           ,
           grace
           and
           godlinesse
           .
        
         
           O
           as
           your
           yeares
           ,
           so
           may
           these
           in
           you
           flourish
           ,
        
         
           Your
           king
           t'
           affect
           ,
           the
           church
           and
           state
           to
           nourish
           !
        
         
           So
           faire
           paire-royall
           of
           young
           nobles
           high
           ,
        
         
           Here
           to
           adorn
           ,
           in
           heaven
           to
           glorifie
           .
        
         
           Thus
           from
           his
           heart
           (
           best
           part
           )
           most
           humbly
           prayes
        
         
           He
           ,
           who
           in
           him
           and
           his
           doth
           rest
           alwayes
        
         
           
             Your
             honours
             most
             humbly
             devoted
             servant
             ,
             
               JOHN
               VICARS
            
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           TO
           THE
           COURTEOUS
           not
           curious
           Reader
           .
        
         
           THou
           hast
           here
           (
           courteous
           and
           candide
           reader
           )
           the
           weak
           issue
           of
           my
           many
           nocturnall
           travells
           ;
           a
           work
           fitter
           (
           I
           confesse
           )
           for
           one
           of
           Apolloes
           elder
           bay-browed
           sonnes
           :
           But
           thus
           you
           see
           ,
           it
           hath
           ple●sed
           Vrania
           to
           make
           choice
           of
           one
           of
           the
           meanest
           and
           most
           unworthie
           younger
           brethren
           of
           Parnassus
           .
           In
           which
           my
           (
           though
           poore
           ,
           yet
           painfull
           )
           travell
           ,
           I
           must
           intreat
           thee
           ,
           kinde
           reader
           ,
           to
           take
           notice
           of
           two
           things
           touching
           the
           translation
           ;
           namely
           the
           motives
           thereunto
           ,
           and
           the
           manner
           thereof
           .
           The
           motives
           ,
           whereby
           I
           first
           undertook
           this
           task
           ,
           were
           first
           ,
           the
           instigation
           and
           in●itement
           thereunto
           ,
           by
           a
           no
           lesse
           learned
           then
           loving
           friend
           .
           Secondly
           and
           especially
           the
           common
           good
           and
           publick
           utility
           ,
           which
           I
           hoped
           might
           accrew
           to
           young
           schollars
           and
           grammaticall
           Tyroes
           .
           The
           manner
           ,
           wherein
           I
           have
           aimed
           at
           these
           three
           things
           ,
           Perspicuity
           of
           the
           matter
           ,
           fidelity
           to
           the
           authour
           ,
           and
           facility
           or
           smoothnes
           to
           recreate
           thee
           my
           reader
           .
           Now
           if
           any
           criticall
           or
           curious
           wit
           tax
           me
           with
           a
           
             Frastrà
             fit
             per
             plura
          
           ,
           &c.
           and
           blame
           my
           not
           curious
           confinement
           to
           my
           authour
           line
           for
           line
           ;
           I
           answer
           ,
           (
           and
           I
           hope
           this
           answer
           will
           satisfie
           the
           moderate
           and
           ingenuous
           )
           that
           though
           peradventure
           I
           could
           (
           as
           in
           my
           
             Babels
             Balme
          
           I
           have
           done
           throughout
           that
           whole
           translation
           )
           yet
           in
           regard
           of
           the
           loftie
           majestie
           and
           gravity
           of
           this
           my
           authours
           stile
           ,
           I
           would
           not
           adventure
           so
           to
           pinch
           in
           his
           spirits
           ,
           as
           to
           make
           him
           seem
           to
           walk
           like
           a
           livelesse
           ghost
           .
           But
           thinking
           on
           that
           of
           
             Horace
             ,
             Brevis
             esse
             laboro
             ,
             obscu●us
             fio
             ,
          
           I
           presumed
           (
           yet
           still
           having
           an
           eye
           to
           the
           genuine
           sense
           as
           I
           was
           able
           )
           to
           expatiate
           with
           poeticall
           liberty
           ,
           where
           necessi●y
           of
           matter
           and
           phrase
           enforced
           .
           And
           so
           much
           the
           rather
           ,
           being
           backt
           with
           so
           good
           a
           warrant
           therein
           ,
           as
           the
           authority
           and
           direction
           of
           the
           foresaid
           au●hour
           in
           his
           
             Arte
             Poetica
          
           :
           whose
           words
           runne
           thus
           ;
           
             
               Publica
               materies
               privati
               juris
               erit
               ,
               ●i
            
             
               Nec
               circa
               vilem
               patulúmque
               moraberis
               orbem
               ;
            
             
               Nec
               verbum
               verbo
               curabis
               reddere
               fidus
            
             
               Interpres
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           If
           then
           (
           gentle
           and
           ingenuous
           reader
           )
           these
           my
           poore
           endeavours
           may
           either
           prodesse
           ,
           or
           delectare
           ▪
           then
           give
           God
           the
           praise
           ,
           his
           due
           deser●
           ,
           my
           true
           d●sire
           ▪
           But
           if
           thou
           canst
           find●
           neither
           of
           either
           ,
           but
           canst
           finde
           in
           thy
           heart
           to
           finde
           fault
           withall
           ,
           then
           I
           say
           to
           thee
           ,
           or
           rather
           Martiall
           in
           his
           Epigrams
           for
           me
           ,
           
             Carpere
             vel
             noli
             no●●●a
             ,
             vel
             ede
             tua
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thine
             JOHN
             VICARS
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           ❧
           THE
           LIFE
           OF
           VIRGIL
           ,
           written
           by
           
             Tiberius
             Claudius
             Donatus
          
           ,
           as
           Servius
           in
           his
           commentarie
           upon
           Virgil
           relates
           it
           .
        
         
           
             PUblius
             Virgilius
             Maro
          
           was
           (
           as
           antiquity
           testifies
           )
           born
           of
           mean
           parentage
           ,
           especially
           on
           the
           fathers
           side
           ,
           whose
           name
           was
           Maro
           ,
           who
           ,
           as
           some
           say
           ,
           was
           by
           profession
           a
           potter
           .
           He
           was
           (
           as
           many
           suppose
           )
           at
           first
           ,
           servant
           to
           a
           certain
           wandring
           wizard
           or
           southsayer
           ;
           and
           by
           his
           sedulous
           industrie
           in
           ru●ick
           affaires
           ,
           husbandrie
           ,
           keeping
           of
           catt●ll
           ,
           working
           in
           woods
           ,
           and
           tending
           of
           bees
           ,
           raised
           up
           his
           mas●●rs
           small
           means
           to
           a
           good
           estate
           ,
           and
           afterwards
           marrying
           his
           daughter
           ,
           became
           his
           masters
           sonne
           in
           law
           .
           He
           was
           born
           the
           15.
           day
           of
           October
           in
           a
           countrey
           village
           called
           Andes
           ,
           neare
           Mantua
           ,
           in
           the
           yeare
           of
           the
           consulship
           of
           
             Cneins
             Pompey
          
           the
           great
           ,
           and
           
             Marcus
             Licinius
             Crastus
          
           ,
           and
           was
           a
           citizen
           of
           Mantua
           ,
           as
           saith
           
             Servius
             M●urus
             Honoratus
          
           ,
           a
           learned
           Grammarian
           .
           His
           m●ther
           Ma●a
           ,
           being
           great
           with
           childe
           of
           him
           ,
           dreamed
           that
           she
           was
           delivered
           of
           a
           〈◊〉
           branch
           ,
           which
           being
           set
           in
           the
           ground
           ,
           grew
           up
           immediately
           into
           a
           great
           spreading
           tree
           ,
           fairely
           fraught
           with
           variety
           of
           fruit
           and
           fr●grant
           flowers
           :
           And
           the
           next
           day
           she
           and
           her
           husband
           walking
           into
           the
           next
           neighbouring
           countrey
           ,
           she
           stepping
           aside
           ,
           was
           delivered
           of
           him
           in
           a
           ditch
           .
           It
           is
           said
           ,
           that
           being
           born
           ,
           he
           never
           cried
           ;
           but
           was
           of
           such
           a
           sweet
           and
           amiable
           countenance
           ,
           that
           he
           gave
           great
           hope
           of
           a
           m●st
           flourishing
           future
           condition
           .
           His
           infancie
           ,
           till
           the
           age
           of
           about
           seven
           yeares
           ,
           was
           spent
           in
           Cremona
           .
           From
           Crem●na
           he
           went
           into
           Millain
           ,
           and
           from
           th●nce
           shortly
           after
           passed
           over
           into
           Naples
           ,
           where
           with
           great
           indu●●rie
           and
           utilitie
           studying
           the
           Greek
           and
           Latine
           ●ongues
           ,
           he
           addicted
           himself
           principally
           and
           most
           seriously
           to
           the
           studie
           of
           Physick
           ,
           and
           of
           the
           Mathematicks
           ,
           and
           in
           both
           exceeded
           all
           others
           of
           his
           time
           ,
           insomuch
           that
           he
           planted
           himself
           in
           Rome
           ;
           where
           falling
           into
           f●miliaritie
           and
           acquaintance
           with
           the
           master
           of
           the
           horse
           to
           Augustus
           the
           emperour
           ,
           he
           cured
           many
           of
           his
           horses
           diseases
           ,
           who
           rewarded
           him
           with
           a
           dayly
           allowance
           of
           bread
           ,
           as
           to
           the
           rest
           of
           the
           officers
           of
           his
           stable
           .
        
         
         
           Afterward
           the
           Cretonians
           presented
           to
           the
           emperour
           a
           gallant
           colt
           ,
           which
           in
           the
           opinion
           of
           all
           the
           beholders
           was
           like
           to
           prove
           a
           nagge
           of
           rare
           spirit
           and
           pace
           :
           but
           when
           Virgil
           saw
           him
           ,
           he
           told
           the
           master
           of
           the
           horse
           that
           it
           was
           bred
           of
           a
           very
           faultie
           mare
           ,
           and
           would
           prove
           neither
           quick
           spirited
           nor
           nimble
           paced
           :
           which
           afterward
           fell
           out
           so
           indeed
           .
           Which
           the
           master
           of
           the
           horse
           relating
           to
           Augustus
           ,
           he
           commanded
           that
           Virgils
           allowance
           of
           bread
           should
           be
           dayly
           doubled
           .
           Again
           ,
           certain
           hounds
           being
           sent
           as
           a
           present
           out
           of
           Spain
           to
           the
           emperour
           ,
           Virgil
           told
           both
           of
           what
           kinde
           they
           came
           ,
           and
           how
           they
           would
           prove
           dogs
           of
           admirable
           use
           and
           swiftnes
           :
           which
           also
           being
           made
           known
           to
           
             Augustus
             Cesar
          
           ,
           he
           again
           gave
           order
           that
           his
           allowance
           of
           bread
           should
           be
           re-doubled
           .
           Shortly
           after
           ,
           Augustus
           growing
           doubtfull
           of
           himself
           whether
           Octavi●s
           were
           his
           father
           ,
           and
           perswaded
           that
           Virgil
           ,
           who
           so
           well
           knew
           the
           nature
           and
           kinde
           of
           hounds
           and
           horses
           ,
           could
           also
           resolve
           this
           doubt
           ,
           separating
           all
           other
           companie
           ,
           and
           retiring
           into
           a
           private
           room
           ,
           he
           taks
           Virgil
           with
           him
           ,
           and
           askes
           him
           alone
           ,
           whether
           he
           knew
           who
           he
           was
           ,
           and
           what
           power
           h●
           had
           to
           make
           men
           honourable
           and
           happie
           .
           Whereunto
           he
           answered
           ,
           I
           know
           that
           thou
           art
           
             Augustus
             Cesar
          
           ,
           and
           that
           thou
           hast
           power
           almost
           equall
           to
           the
           immortall
           Gods
           ,
           and
           that
           thou
           can●t
           happifie
           whomsoever
           thou
           pleasest
           .
           Surely
           ,
           said
           Cesar
           ,
           I
           have
           now
           a
           minde
           and
           purpose
           to
           make
           thee
           most
           happie
           and
           honourable
           ,
           if
           th●u
           canst
           give
           a
           full
           answer
           to
           my
           request
           unto
           thee
           .
           Sir
           ,
           sayes
           Virgil
           ,
           I
           wish
           it
           were
           in
           my
           power
           to
           tell
           you
           the
           certainty
           of
           whatsoever
           your
           majesty
           could
           demaund
           of
           me
           .
           Some
           men
           (
           sayes
           Cesar
           )
           think
           that
           Octavius
           was
           my
           father
           ,
           others
           think
           some
           body
           else
           :
           Whereunto
           Virgill
           with
           a
           smile
           ,
           thus
           replied
           ,
           Sacred
           sir
           ,
           if
           I
           may
           freely
           and
           with●ut
           offence
           answer
           your
           majesties
           demaund
           ,
           I
           am
           perswaded
           I
           shall
           easily
           resolve
           this
           doubt
           .
           Cesar
           hereupon
           assured
           him
           with
           an
           oath
           ,
           that
           whatsoever
           he
           spake
           he
           would
           not
           take
           it
           amisse
           ,
           and
           that
           withall
           ,
           he
           would
           not
           leave
           him
           unrewarded
           .
           Now
           then
           Virgil
           fixing
           his
           eyes
           seriously
           on
           the
           emperours
           face
           ,
           said
           ;
           It
           is
           easie
           in
           other
           creatures
           (
           by
           rules
           of
           philosophie
           and
           the
           mathematicks
           )
           to
           discern
           the
           qualities
           and
           conditions
           of
           their
           prog●●itours
           and
           parents
           ,
           but
           in
           man
           it
           is
           not
           so
           easie
           a
           matter
           ;
           yet
           as
           touching
           your
           sacred
           majestie
           ,
           I
           am
           able
           to
           make
           some
           probable
           conjecture
           what
           profession
           your
           father
           was
           of
           .
           Hereat
           Cesar
           began
           to
           li●ten
           the
           more
           attentively
           what
           he
           would
           say
           .
           Then
           sayes
           Virgil
           ;
           So
           farre
           forth
           as
           I
           can
           collect
           and
           understand
           ,
           thou
           wast
           a
           bakers
           sonne
           .
           The
           emperour
           hereat
           amazed
           ,
           presently
           began
           to
           wonder
           within
           himself
           how
           
           that
           could
           be
           .
           But
           Virgil
           instantly
           interrupting
           his
           thoughts
           ,
           said
           ;
           Hearken
           sir
           ,
           I
           beseech
           you
           ,
           on
           what
           ground
           I
           build
           this
           my
           opinion
           :
           Your
           majestie
           knows
           ,
           that
           when
           I
           formerly
           foretold
           diverse
           things
           which
           could
           not
           be
           seen
           into
           nor
           foreshown
           ,
           but
           by
           men
           of
           great
           learning
           and
           understanding
           ,
           that
           your
           majestie
           the
           great
           monarch
           of
           the
           world
           again
           and
           again
           rewarded
           me
           with
           a
           lot
           and
           allowance
           of
           bread
           ,
           which
           surely
           is
           the
           propertie
           eith●r
           of
           a
           baker
           or
           a
           bakers
           sonne
           .
           This
           facetious
           conceit
           pleased
           the
           emperour
           wondrous
           well
           :
           who
           thereupon
           said
           unto
           him
           ,
           Thou
           shalt
           now
           be
           no
           more
           rewarded
           by
           a
           baker
           ,
           but
           by
           a
           munifice●t
           and
           magnificent
           king
           :
           and
           ever
           after
           the
           emperour
           highly
           esteemed
           him
           and
           commended
           him
           to
           Pollio
           .
           He
           was
           big
           of
           body
           ,
           and
           tall
           of
           stature
           ,
           of
           a
           shallow
           complexion
           ,
           hard
           favoured
           and
           of
           a
           sickly
           constitution
           ,
           a
           moderate
           drinker
           ,
           and
           of
           a
           spare
           diet
           .
           It
           is
           reported
           that
           he
           was
           given
           to
           the
           filthie
           and
           lu●●full
           love
           of
           boyes
           ,
           but
           the
           honestest
           sort
           of
           men
           of
           his
           dayes
           were
           perswaded
           he
           loved
           them
           no
           otherwise
           then
           as
           Socrates
           loved
           Alcibiades
           ,
           and
           Plato
           his
           schollars
           :
           and
           that
           above
           all
           other
           he
           loved
           Cebetes
           and
           Alexander
           best
           ,
           whom
           in
           the
           second
           Eclog
           of
           hi●
           Bucoiicks
           he
           termed
           Alexis
           ,
           whom
           
             Asinius
             Pollio
          
           gave
           unto
           him
           .
           And
           it
           is
           reported
           also
           that
           he
           kept
           
             Plotia
             Hieria
          
           ,
           but
           
             Asconius
             Pedianus
          
           affirms
           the
           contrarie
           from
           Virgils
           own
           s●rious
           d●niall
           thereof
           .
           In
           all
           other
           demeanours
           of
           his
           life
           he
           was
           both
           in
           speech
           and
           conversation
           so
           honest
           and
           upright
           ,
           that
           throughout
           all
           Naples
           he
           was
           called
           Virginity
           ;
           and
           if
           at
           any
           time
           (
           as
           that
           was
           but
           seldome
           )
           he
           walked
           the
           streets
           of
           Rome
           ,
           and
           observed
           himself
           to
           be
           noted
           and
           followed
           by
           any
           in
           the
           streets
           ,
           he
           would
           retire
           himself
           immediately
           into
           the
           next
           house
           he
           came
           unto
           .
           He
           in
           his
           moderation
           of
           riches
           refused
           the
           goods
           and
           estate
           of
           a
           banished
           man
           ,
           which
           
             Augustus
             Cesar
          
           profered
           to
           him
           ;
           having
           a
           good
           competent
           estate
           of
           his
           own
           ,
           and
           a
           house
           in
           Rome
           in
           the
           Exsquiliae
           neare
           Mecoenas
           his
           gardens
           .
           He
           used
           much
           ,
           and
           most
           frequently
           ,
           to
           retire
           himself
           into
           Campania
           and
           Sicil.
           In
           any
           request
           to
           Cesar
           he
           never
           had
           deniall
           .
           He
           was
           annually
           helpfull
           to
           his
           parents
           in
           great
           measure
           ,
           who
           died
           when
           he
           was
           himself
           grown
           to
           a
           ripe
           age
           ;
           his
           father
           being
           blinde
           ere
           he
           died
           .
           His
           two
           brethren
           Silo
           and
           Flaccus
           being
           dead
           ,
           he
           bewailed
           under
           the
           name
           of
           
             Daphnis
             .
             Melissus
          
           reports
           ,
           that
           he
           was
           slow
           of
           tongue
           and
           sparing
           of
           speech
           ,
           as
           if
           he
           hadbeen
           a
           very
           ignorant
           and
           illiterate
           man.
           When
           he
           fir●t
           addicted
           himself
           to
           poetry
           ,
           he
           made
           this
           distich
           upon
           one
           Balista
           a
           master
           of
           fence
           ,
           who
           f●r
           report
           of
           robberies
           was
           covered
           with
           a
           heap
           of
           stones
           :
           
             
             
               Monte
               sub
               hoc
               lapidum
               tegitur
               Balista
               sepultus
               ;
            
             
               Nocte
               ,
               die
               tutum
               carpe
               ,
               viator
               ,
               iter
               .
            
             
               This
               heap
               of
               ●●ones
               ,
               Balista's
               corps
               interre
               ;
            
             
               Then
               night
               or
               day
               passe
               safely
               ,
               passenger
               .
            
          
        
         
           After
           this
           he
           wrote
           
             Moretum
             ,
             Priapus
          
           ,
           Epigrams
           ,
           
             Dirae
             ,
             Culex
          
           ,
           and
           other
           Poems
           ,
           when
           he
           was
           but
           about
           sixteen
           yeares
           of
           age
           .
           He
           wrote
           Aetna
           also
           :
           and
           after
           that
           ,
           writing
           of
           Romane
           affairs
           ,
           yet
           misliking
           the
           sharpnes
           and
           rigidnes
           of
           the
           matter
           and
           names
           thereof
           ,
           he
           fell
           upon
           his
           Bucolicks
           :
           especially
           to
           celebrate
           the
           names
           of
           
             Asinius
             Pollio
             ,
             Alphenus
             Varius
          
           ,
           and
           
             Cornelius
             Gallus
          
           his
           great
           friends
           .
           Afterward
           he
           wrote
           his
           Georgi●ks
           in
           honour
           of
           Mecoenas
           .
           Last
           of
           all
           ,
           he
           t●ok
           these
           Aeneïds
           in
           hand
           ,
           a
           work
           of
           a
           various
           and
           multifarious
           argument
           ,
           and
           in
           a
           manner
           ,
           resembling
           both
           Homers
           works
           .
           When
           he
           wrote
           the
           Georgicks
           ,
           it
           is
           reported
           ,
           that
           every
           morning
           he
           was
           accustomed
           to
           write
           a
           certain
           number
           of
           verses
           ,
           which
           he
           would
           all
           the
           day
           long
           overlook
           and
           so
           abridge
           ,
           and
           refine
           them
           into
           a
           f●w
           ,
           that
           it
           might
           not
           be
           unfitly
           said
           ,
           that
           he
           brought
           forth
           verses
           
             ursino
             more
          
           ,
           as
           the
           female-be●re
           doth
           her
           young
           ,
           bringing
           them
           into
           due
           form
           by
           licking
           .
           This
           his
           work
           called
           the
           Aeneïds
           ,
           he
           wrote
           first
           in
           twelve
           books
           in
           prose
           (
           as
           some
           think
           )
           and
           afterward
           digested
           it
           into
           verse
           ;
           and
           some
           think
           ,
           that
           had
           he
           lived
           he
           would
           have
           enlarged
           it
           unto
           twentie
           foure
           books
           ,
           even
           unto
           the
           time
           of
           Augustus
           .
           Of
           his
           Aeneïds
           (
           scarcely
           yet
           begun
           )
           there
           was
           spread
           such
           a
           fame
           ,
           that
           
             Sextus
             Propertius
          
           doubted
           not
           thus
           to
           write
           of
           them
           ;
           
             
               Cedite
               Romani
               scriptores
               ,
               cedite
               Graii
               ;
            
             
               Nesciò
               quid
               majus
               nascitur
               Iliade
               .
            
             
               Give
               place
               ,
               give
               place
               
                 Greeks
                 ,
                 Romane
              
               writers
               wise
               ;
            
             
               Some
               worthi●r
               work
               then
               Ilias
               now
               doth
               rise
               .
            
          
        
         
           When
           
             Augustus
             Cesar
          
           ,
           who
           by
           chance
           was
           absent
           from
           the
           Cantabrick
           expedition
           ,
           requested
           Virgil
           ,
           partly
           by
           intreating
           ,
           partly
           by
           merrily
           m●nacing
           letters
           ,
           to
           send
           him
           ,
           if
           it
           were
           but
           a
           very
           little
           ,
           or
           (
           as
           his
           own
           words
           are
           )
           some
           one
           perfect
           sentence
           of
           his
           Aeneids
           ,
           he
           refused
           it
           :
           but
           afterward
           ,
           when
           it
           was
           fully
           perfected
           ,
           he
           recited
           to
           him
           three
           of
           the
           books
           ,
           namely
           the
           second
           ,
           the
           fourth
           ,
           and
           the
           sixth
           ,
           and
           this
           especially
           for
           Octavia's
           sake
           ,
           who
           being
           there
           present
           at
           the
           recitall
           of
           those
           verses
           of
           her
           sonne
           ,
           
             Tu
             Marcellus
             eris
             &c.
          
           
           Thou
           shalt
           Marcellus
           be
           ,
           it
           is
           reported
           she
           fell
           into
           a
           swound
           with
           sorrow
           :
           and
           being
           with
           much
           adoe
           recovered
           ,
           she
           commanded
           that
           Virgil
           
           should
           have
           to
           the
           value
           of
           five
           pound
           for
           every
           verse
           .
           He
           read
           his
           book
           also
           to
           diverse
           ,
           but
           not
           often
           ,
           and
           those
           places
           onely
           ,
           whereof
           he
           made
           any
           scruple
           or
           doubt
           ;
           thereby
           to
           heare
           mens
           judgements
           of
           them
           .
           He
           fully
           perused
           his
           Bucolicks
           and
           Georgicks
           :
           and
           when
           he
           was
           about
           52
           yeares
           old
           ,
           with
           a
           desire
           to
           finish
           his
           Aeneids
           ,
           he
           resolved
           to
           have
           withdrawn
           himself
           into
           Greece
           and
           Asia
           ,
           and
           there
           to
           have
           spent
           three
           whole
           yeares
           in
           correcti●g
           and
           perusing
           it
           ,
           that
           he
           might
           bestow
           the
           remainder
           of
           his
           dayes
           onely
           in
           the
           studie
           of
           Philosop●ie
           .
           But
           being
           in
           his
           journey
           ,
           at
           Athens
           he
           met
           Augustus
           returning
           out
           of
           the
           East-countreys
           towards
           Rome
           ;
           whereupon
           he
           purposed
           to
           have
           returned
           home
           again
           with
           the
           emperour
           :
           but
           travelling
           to
           Megara
           ,
           a
           town
           neare
           Athens
           ,
           onely
           to
           see
           it
           ,
           he
           took
           a
           sicknesse
           there
           ,
           which
           with
           continuall
           travell
           by
           sea
           so
           increased
           till
           he
           came
           to
           Brundusium
           ,
           that
           within
           few
           dayes
           after
           he
           there
           died
           ,
           on
           the
           22
           of
           
             Septemb.
             Cneius
             Plautius
          
           and
           
             Quintus
             Lucretus
          
           being
           Consuls
           .
           When
           he
           felt
           himself
           sick
           unto
           the
           death
           ,
           he
           called
           often
           and
           very
           earnestly
           for
           his
           desk
           ,
           that
           he
           might
           burn
           his
           Aeneids
           :
           which
           being
           denyed
           him
           ,
           he
           notwithstanding
           ▪
           ordered
           by
           his
           last
           will
           and
           testament
           ,
           that
           it
           should
           be
           burned
           ,
           as
           a
           work
           both
           faultie
           and
           imperf●ct
           .
           But
           Tucca
           and
           Varrus
           told
           him
           that
           Augustus
           would
           by
           no
           means
           suffer
           it
           .
           Whereupon
           he
           bequeathed
           that
           work
           and
           his
           other
           writings
           to
           Varius
           and
           Tucca
           ,
           upon
           this
           condition
           ,
           that
           they
           should
           set
           forth
           nothing
           but
           that
           which
           he
           would
           have
           set
           forth
           ;
           and
           such
           verses
           as
           were
           imperfect
           ,
           to
           leave
           so
           still
           .
           He
           desired
           that
           his
           bones
           should
           be
           translated
           to
           Naples
           ,
           where
           he
           had
           lived
           long
           and
           merrily
           ;
           which
           at
           Cesars
           command
           was
           accordingly
           performed
           ,
           and
           he
           buried
           in
           the
           way
           to
           Puteoli
           .
           Vpon
           his
           tombe
           ,
           at
           the
           second
           stone
           was
           engraven
           this
           distick
           ,
           made
           by
           himself
           ,
           
             
               Mantua
               me
               genuit
               ,
               Calabri
               repuêre
               ;
               tenet
               nunc
            
             
               Parthenope
               ;
               Cecini
               pascua
               ,
               rura
               ,
               duces
               .
            
             
               Mantua
               gave
               life
               ,
               Calabria
               death
               ,
               a
               grave
            
             
               Parthenop
               :
               I
               sang
               fields
               ,
               lands
               ,
               captains
               brave
               .
            
          
           
             Plotius
             Tucca
          
           after
           Virgils
           decease
           (
           as
           he
           had
           requested
           )
           at
           Cesars
           command
           ,
           corrected
           the
           Aeneids
           ;
           for
           no
           man
           judged
           them
           to
           be
           burnt
           ;
           whereof
           these
           verses
           of
           Suspitius
           the
           Carthaginian
           ,
           are
           extant
           .
           
             
               Jusserat
               haec
               rapidis
               aboleri
               carmina
               flammis
            
             
               
                 Virgilius
                 ,
                 Phrygium
              
               quae
               cecinere
               ducem
               .
            
             
               Tucca
               vetat
               ,
               Variusque
               simul
               :
               tu
               maxime
               Caesar
               ,
            
             
               Non
               sinis
               ;
               &
               Latiae
               consulis
               historiae
               .
            
             
               Infelix
               gemino
               cecidit
               propè
               Pergamos
               igni
               ,
            
             
             
               Et
               penè
               est
               alio
               Troia
               cremata
               rogo
               .
            
             
               Virgil
               these
               verses
               vow'd
               to
               fires
               fierce
               flame
               ,
            
             
               Which
               sweetly
               sang
               the
               Trojan
               princes
               fame
               .
            
             
               But
               
                 Tucca
                 ,
                 Varius
                 ,
                 Cesar
              
               ,
               to
               his
               glorie
               ,
            
             
               The
               fact
               forbad
               ,
               preserv'd
               th'
               Italian
               stori●
               .
            
             
               Vnhappie
               Troy
               ,
               twice
               (
               neare
               )
               with
               fire
               consum'd
               ;
            
             
               Neare
               Pergame
               perisht
               had
               ,
               to
               fire
               twice
               doom'd
               .
            
          
           There
           are
           extant
           also
           many
           other
           and
           most
           excellent
           verses
           written
           by
           
             Augustus
             Cesar
          
           himself
           ,
           to
           the
           same
           effect
           :
           which
           begin
           thus
           ;
           
             
               Ergóne
               supremis
               potuit
               vox
               improba
               verbis
            
             
               Tam
               dirum
               mandare
               nefas
               ?
               Ergò
               ibit
               in
               ignes
               ,
            
             
               Magnáque
               doctiloqui
               morietur
               Musa
               Maronis
               ?
            
             
               And
               must
               so
               vile
               a
               voice
               of
               last-will
               stand
               ,
            
             
               And
               such
               a
               foule
               nefarious
               fact
               command
               ?
            
             
               Must
               Maro's
               marrow
               of
               pure
               poëtrie
               ,
            
             
               Most
               learned
               lines
               in
               furious
               fire
               so
               frie
               ?
            
          
           And
           a
           little
           after
           ;
           
             
               Sed
               legum
               servanda
               fides
               ;
               suprema
               voluntas
            
             
               Quod
               mand
               at
               fieríque
               jubet
               ,
               parere
               necesse
               est
               .
            
             
               Frangatur
               potiùs
               legum
               veneranda
               potestas
               ,
            
             
               Quàm
               tot
               congestos
               noctésque
               diésque
               labores
            
             
               Hauserit
               una
               dies
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               But
               law
               ,
               and
               what
               last-will
               doth
               will
               ,
               must
               stand
               ,
            
             
               And
               that
               must
               be
               obey'd
               which
               laws
               command
               :
            
             
               Nay
               rather
               we
               'le
               infringe
               laws
               awfull
               power
               ,
            
             
               Then
               such
               rare
               nights
               and
               dayes
               toiles
               in
               one
               houre
            
             
               Suffer
               to
               suffer
               shipwrack
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           Pedianus
           reporteth
           ,
           that
           Virgil
           was
           very
           courteous
           ,
           and
           a
           lover
           of
           all
           good
           and
           learned
           men
           ,
           and
           so
           unspotted
           with
           the
           foot
           of
           envie
           ,
           that
           if
           he
           heard
           or
           saw
           any
           thing
           wittily
           or
           worthily
           said
           or
           done
           by
           any
           others
           ,
           he
           as
           much
           rejoyced
           therein
           ,
           as
           if
           it
           had
           been
           his
           own
           :
           That
           he
           used
           not
           to
           dispraise
           any
           man
           ,
           but
           ever
           praised
           good
           men
           ;
           and
           that
           he
           was
           so
           courteous
           and
           affable
           ,
           that
           there
           was
           none
           (
           except
           he
           were
           most
           rudely
           and
           barbarously
           inclined
           )
           but
           both
           much
           favoured
           ,
           and
           most
           ardently
           affected
           him
           .
           He
           seemed
           utterly
           unglued
           from
           strict
           meum
           and
           tu●m
           ;
           for
           his
           librarie
           stood
           still
           as
           open
           to
           the
           schollars
           ,
           as
           to
           himself
           ,
           and
           oftentimes
           used
           that
           old
           adage
           of
           Euripides
           ,
           
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
             〈◊〉
          
           ,
           
             Communia
             amicorum
             esse
             omnia
          
           ,
           All
           things
           are
           common
           among
           friends
           .
           And
           therefore
           he
           so
           lovingly
           respected
           all
           the
           poëts
           of
           his
           time
           ,
           that
           when
           they
           were
           emulously
           and
           enviously
           
           jarring
           and
           snarling
           at
           o●e
           another
           ,
           yet
           they
           all
           with
           an
           unanime
           consent
           ever
           loved
           and
           reverenced
           him
           ,
           as
           
             Tucca
             ,
             Varius
             ,
             Horace
             ,
             Gallus
             ,
          
           and
           Propertius
           .
        
         
           He
           so
           much
           despised
           glorie
           ,
           that
           when
           some
           had
           ascribed
           and
           arrogated
           to
           themselves
           certain
           of
           his
           verses
           ,
           and
           were
           therefore
           had
           in
           the
           greater
           reputation
           for
           their
           learning
           ,
           he
           not
           onely
           shewed
           himself
           no
           way
           discontented
           therewith
           ,
           but
           much
           rejoyced
           at
           it
           .
           For
           when
           once
           he
           made
           a
           couple
           of
           v●rses
           containing
           the
           praise
           and
           prosperitie
           of
           Cesars
           emperie
           ,
           which
           were
           set
           upon
           the
           gates
           without
           name
           ,
           (
           these
           were
           the
           verses
           ;
           
             
               Nocte
               pluit
               tota
               ,
               redeunt
               spectacula
               mane
               ,
            
             
               Divisum
               imperium
               cum
               
                 Iove
                 Caesar
              
               habet
               .
            
             
               All
               night
               it
               rains
               ,
               next
               morn
               sights
               glut
               the
               eye
               :
            
             
               Cesar
               with
               Jove
               hath
               equall
               emperie
               .
               )
            
          
           Cesar
           having
           made
           enquirie
           for
           the
           authour
           of
           them
           ,
           yet
           could
           not
           know
           him
           ,
           at
           length
           Bathyllus
           a
           certain
           plain
           poët
           (
           when
           none
           would
           father
           them
           )
           took
           upon
           him
           to
           be
           the
           authour
           of
           them
           ;
           and
           was
           therefore
           both
           well
           rewarded
           and
           much
           respected
           by
           Cesar.
           But
           Virgil
           not
           taking
           this
           very
           well
           ,
           set
           upon
           the
           same
           gates
           ,
           this
           begining
           of
           his
           conceit
           fouretimes
           ,
           
             Sic
             vos
             ,
             non
             vobis
          
           ,
           which
           
             Augustus
             Cesar
          
           would
           have
           had
           made
           up
           :
           but
           when
           many
           had
           fruitlessely
           e●deavoured
           it
           ,
           Virgil
           himself
           rep●yed
           thus
           to
           the
           foresaid
           distich
           :
           
             
               Hos
               ego
               versiculos
               feci
               ,
               tulit
               alter
               honores
               .
            
             
               Sic
               vos
               non
               vobis
               nidificatis
               ,
               aves
               :
            
             
               Sic
               vos
               non
               vobis
               vellera
               fertis
               ,
               oves
               :
            
             
               Sic
               vos
               non
               vobis
               mellificatis
               ,
               apes
               :
            
             
               Sic
               vos
               non
               vobis
               fertis
               aratra
               ,
               boves
               .
            
             
               These
               verses
               I
               did
               make
               ,
            
             
               Others
               my
               palm
               did
               take
               .
            
             
               So
               you
               not
               for
               you
               ,
               birds
               ,
               build
               nests
               in
               trees
               :
            
             
               So
               you
               not
               for
               you
               ,
               sheep
               ,
               wooll-fleeces
               beare
               :
            
             
               So
               you
               not
               for
               you
               gather
               honey
               ,
               bees
               :
            
             
               So
               you
               not
               for
               you
               ,
               beeves
               ,
               plow-yokes
               do
               weare
               .
            
          
           This
           thus
           known
           ,
           Bathyllus
           was
           for
           a
           long
           time
           an
           occasion
           of
           jest
           and
           laughter
           to
           the
           whole
           citie
           of
           Rome
           .
           Once
           Virgil
           having
           in
           his
           hand
           the
           works
           of
           Ennius
           ,
           and
           being
           demanded
           by
           one
           ,
           what
           he
           did
           with
           them
           ,
           he
           answered
           ,
           that
           he
           gathered
           gold
           out
           of
           Ennius
           his
           dung
           :
           for
           that
           author
           expressed
           worthy
           sentences
           and
           matter
           under
           homely
           words
           and
           phrases
           .
           
             Augustus
             Cesar
          
           asking
           him
           how
           a
           citie
           might
           be
           best
           governed
           ,
           he
           answered
           ,
           If
           the
           wisest
           men
           were
           placed
           
           at
           the
           helm
           of
           government
           ,
           and
           good
           men
           authorized
           to
           over-rule
           the
           bad
           ;
           and
           that
           thus
           men
           of
           desert
           might
           have
           their
           due
           honour
           ,
           and
           men
           of
           mean
           condition
           not
           oppressed
           w●th
           injurie
           .
           Mecoenas
           also
           asking
           him
           what
           it
           is
           that
           procures
           least
           loathsomenesse
           and
           tediousnesse
           to
           a
           man
           ,
           he
           answered
           ,
           The
           multitude
           and
           similitude
           of
           all
           things
           offends
           every
           mans
           appetite
           and
           affection
           ,
           except
           of
           understanding
           .
           Mecoenas
           asked
           him
           again
           ,
           how
           a
           man
           might
           conserve
           from
           ruine
           a
           faire
           and
           flourishing
           estate
           ?
           To
           whom
           Virgil
           answered
           ,
           If
           he
           excell
           others
           as
           much
           in
           liberalitie
           and
           goodnesse
           ,
           as
           in
           riches
           and
           in
           honour
           .
           He
           was
           accustomed
           to
           say
           ,
           that
           none
           of
           all
           the
           vertues
           was
           more
           laudable
           or
           more
           profitable
           for
           a
           man
           then
           patience
           ;
           and
           that
           no
           estate
           or
           fortune
           could
           be
           so
           terrible
           or
           untoothsome
           ,
           but
           that
           a
           wise
           man
           by
           discreet
           sufferance
           might
           overcome
           it
           .
           Which
           he
           excelently
           urgeth
           in
           the
           fifth
           of
           his
           Aeneïds
           ,
           thus
           ;
           
             
               Nate
               Dea
               ,
               quà
               fata
               trahunt
               ,
               retrahúntque
               ,
               sequamur
               ;
            
             
               Quicquid
               erit
               ,
               superanda
               omnis
               fortuna
               ferendo
               est
               .
            
             
               Fair●
               Goddesse
               sonne
               ,
               let
               's
               follow
               fates
               where
               s●ere
               ;
            
             
               Worst
               state
               or
               fate
               by
               bearing
               let
               's
               o'rebeare
               .
            
          
        
         
           There
           are
           many
           other
           worthy
           and
           memorable
           things
           written
           by
           this
           authour
           ,
           of
           this
           our
           poet
           ,
           and
           his
           other
           excellent
           works
           ;
           which
           ,
           partly
           to
           avoid
           prolixitie
           ,
           partly
           also
           as
           not
           being
           peculiarly
           pertinent
           to
           this
           work
           ,
           I
           have
           of
           purpose
           pretermitted
           ,
           and
           referre
           the
           reader
           ,
           for
           farther
           satisfaction
           (
           if
           he
           require
           it
           )
           to
           Donatus
           himself
           in
           Servius
           his
           Commentarie
           upon
           that
           our
           Prince
           of
           Poëts
           ,
           Virgil.
           
        
      
       
         
         
           TO
           MY
           GOOD
           COUSEN
           Mr
           
             IOHN
             VICARS
          
           .
        
         
           GOod
           cousen
           ,
           as
           farre
           forth
           as
           my
           other
           serious
           studies
           would
           give
           leave
           ,
           I
           have
           read
           your
           
             Virgils
             Aeneïds
          
           translated
           into
           english
           decasyllables
           .
           Wherein
           (
           that
           I
           may
           be
           just
           ,
           and
           give
           you
           your
           due
           )
           I
           know
           not
           whether
           you
           have
           performed
           better
           the
           part
           of
           a
           good
           poët
           or
           of
           a
           good
           interpreter
           .
           In
           my
           judgement
           ,
           I
           will
           speak
           it
           without
           feare
           or
           flatterie
           (
           
             quorum
             causas
             procùl
             habeo
          
           )
           your
           great
           pains
           in
           transplanting
           this
           worthiest
           of
           latine
           poets
           ,
           into
           a
           mellow
           &
           neat
           english
           soile
           (
           a
           thing
           not
           done
           before
           )
           deserveth
           great
           applause
           and
           good
           acceptance
           of
           all
           scholars
           ,
           both
           such
           as
           are
           under
           the
           ferula
           in
           Grammar
           schools
           ,
           and
           such
           as
           have
           their
           brows
           bedect
           with
           laurell
           in
           the
           Universities
           .
           If
           I
           were
           of
           a
           perfect
           wit
           ,
           or
           a
           poët
           but
           of
           an
           inferiour
           alloy
           ,
           I
           would
           have
           sent
           you
           some
           verses
           as
           an
           encomiastick
           :
           but
           I
           must
           not
           mount
           above
           my
           sphere
           ,
           nor
           step
           beyond
           my
           last
           .
        
         
           Invida
           me
           spatiis
           natura
           coercuit
           arctis
           ,
        
         
           Ingenii
           vires
           exiguásque
           dedit
           .
        
         
           Nature
           ,
           a
           shallow
           wit
           in
           narrow
           brains
        
         
           That
           pent
           ,
           forbids
           me
           all
           poëtick
           strains
           .
        
         
           And
           therefore
           in
           plain
           prose
           I
           bid
           you
           heartily
           well
           to
           fare
           ,
           and
           shall
           ever
           rest
        
         
           
             Your
             assured
             loving
             cousen
             
               Thomas
               Vicars
            
             .
             B.D.
             Ox.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           TO
           HIS
           WORTHY
           FRIEND
           Mr
           
             IOHN
             VICARS
          
           .
        
         
           
             WHy
             dost
             thou
             
               (
               Maro
            
             )
             doom
             unto
             the
             fire
          
           
             Those
             loftie
             raptures
             ,
             which
             all
             times
             admire
             ,
          
           
             Hugging
             thy
             genius
             ?
             Ah
             ,
             unhappie
             verse
             !
          
           
             Must
             thou
             needs
             burn
             ?
             No
             ;
             Caesar
             doth
             reverse
          
           
             That
             fatall
             verdict
             ;
             fitter
             farre
             to
             be
          
           
             In
             this
             ,
             thy
             sire
             ,
             than
             who
             gave
             life
             to
             thee
             .
          
           
             Let
             reverend
             sway
             and
             awfull
             majestie
          
           
             Of
             laws
             ,
             before
             those
             high-flown
             poems
             die
             ,
          
           
             Cries
             great
             Augustus
             :
             So
             ,
             who
             ever
             reads
          
           
             Thy
             lines
             (
             thou
             best
             interpreter
             )
             must
             needs
          
           
             Cry
             ,
             Live
             for
             ever
             such
             smooth
             strains
             as
             make
          
           
             The
             world
             to
             doubt
             ,
             whether
             fam'd
             Maro
             spake
          
           
             The
             Brittish
             or
             the
             Romane
             language
             ,
             best
             :
          
           
             How-ere
             ,
             in
             one
             ,
             then
             ;
             now
             in
             both
             he
             's
             blest
             .
          
           
             Who
             scans
             ,
             shall
             freely
             tell
             ,
             Rome
             owes
             not
             more
          
           
             To
             his
             ,
             then
             fairest
             Albion
             to
             thy
             store
             .
          
        
         
           
             Idem
             ad
             eundem
             .
          
           
             The
             soule
             (
             Pythagoras
             did
             teach
             )
             doth
             go
          
           
             From
             body
             unto
             body
             ;
             and
             if
             so
             ,
          
           
             The
             paradox
             may
             passe
             .
             Who
             reads
             will
             sweare
          
           
             The
             
               Romane
               Maro's
            
             soule
             inspired
             were
          
           
             Into
             thy
             breast
             ;
             so
             smooth
             and
             sweet
             thy
             strains
             ,
          
           
             So
             high
             thy
             language
             ,
             full
             of
             sweat
             thy
             pains
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Thomas
               Drant
            
             ,
             M.
             A.
             Ca●●
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           TO
           THE
           LEARNED
           TRANSlatour
           of
           
             VIRGILS
             AENEIDS
          
           .
        
         
           LOftie
           was
           Maroes
           muse
           ,
           feather'd
           his
           pen
           ,
        
         
           Which
           rais'd
           so
           high
           the
           acts
           of
           Gods
           &
           men
           .
        
         
           Yet
           that
           but
           hover'd
           on
           the
           Romane
           sphere
           :
        
         
           Thine
           soares
           ,
           as
           chanting
           ,
           in
           the
           Brittish
           aire
           .
        
         
           The
           storie
           great
           ,
           in
           both
           the
           lustre
           cleare
           .
        
         
           There
           shines
           the
           sunne
           ,
           but
           the
           reflection
           here
           .
        
         
           What
           dayes
           were
           those
           ,
           when
           Attick
           streams
           did
           swell
        
         
           Higher
           at
           Rome
           ,
           then
           at
           the
           Thespian
           well
           ?
        
         
           What
           dayes
           ,
           said
           I
           ?
           why
           't
           was
           Augustus
           reigne
           ,
        
         
           When
           arts
           and
           arms
           advanc'd
           in
           equall
           train
           :
        
         
           When
           fate
           was
           acting
           fame
           :
           and
           then
           't
           was
           meet
        
         
           That
           such
           a
           poët
           such
           a
           prince
           should
           greet
           .
        
         
           But
           change
           the
           times
           :
           Is
           not
           the
           state
           as
           free
           ?
        
         
           Doth
           art
           or
           nature
           faint
           in
           pedegree
           ?
        
         
           No
           ,
           pearch
           Romes
           eagles
           now
           ,
           the
           quills
           are
           gone
        
         
           From
           them
           to
           us
           ,
           and
           so
           the
           conquest
           won
           .
        
         
           Tongues
           have
           their
           severall
           orbs
           ;
           that
           spangles
           bright
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           flame
           is
           native
           ,
           not
           a
           borrowed
           light
           .
        
         
           So
           spangled
           
             Homers
             ,
             Maroes
          
           so
           :
           so
           thine
        
         
           With
           rayes
           embellisht
           splendid
           and
           divine
           .
        
         
           The
           author's
           crown'd
           before
           with
           Romane
           bayes
           ,
        
         
           Then
           rob
           not
           the
           translatour
           of
           his
           praise
           .
        
         
           A
           matchlesse
           piece
           of
           such
           exact
           a
           frame
        
         
           Will
           envy
           hush
           ,
           and
           criticisme
           shame
           .
        
         
           On
           then
           ,
           if
           poëtrie
           pythagorize
           ,
        
         
           Virgil
           in
           Vicars
           sacred
           breast
           survives
           .
        
         
           
             W.
             Sq.
             
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             first
             Book
             .
          
           
             A
             man
             for
             valour
             ,
             vertue
             ,
             rare
             ,
          
           
             Aeneas
             ,
             prest
             with
             woe
             and
             care
             ,
          
           
             By
             angry
             Iuno's
             unjust
             spight
             ,
          
           
             To
             Italie
             taking
             his
             flight
          
           
             Through
             rocky
             rough
             Sicilian
             seas
             ,
          
           
             At
             last
             in
             Libya
             found
             great
             ease
             .
          
           
             Where
             wandring
             with
             Achates
             kinde
             ,
          
           
             By
             mothers
             guide
             themselves
             they
             finde
          
           
             I'
             th'
             kingdome
             of
             Elisa
             queen
             .
          
           
             Then
             closed
             in
             a
             cloud
             unseen
             ,
          
           
             Aeneas
             to
             the
             citie
             bound
             ,
          
           
             There
             his
             lost
             ships
             and
             fellows
             found
             .
          
           
             Whom
             Dido
             kindely
             entertains
             ,
          
           
             And
             of
             Troyes
             wrack
             to
             tell
             constrains
             .
          
        
         
           I
           Who
           on
           slender
           oat-pipes
           once
           did
           sing
        
         
           My
           songs
           ,
           and
           leaving
           leavy
           woods
           did
           bring
        
         
           Each
           neighbouring
           field
           to
           yeeld
           obedient
           gains
        
         
           (
           A
           countrey
           welcome-work
           )
           to
           greedy
           swains
           :
        
         
           But
           now
           I
           sing
           fierce
           warres
           ,
           and
           that
           brave
           knight
        
         
           Who
           forc'd
           from
           Troy
           ,
           came
           first
           by
           fatall
           might
        
         
           To
           Latium
           and
           Lavine
           ,
           tost
           to
           and
           fro
        
         
           By
           angry
           Gods
           ,
           with
           lands
           and
           seas
           much
           woe
           ,
        
         
           And
           jangling
           Iuno's
           old
           remembred
           frown
           ,
        
         
           Much
           warre-woe
           felt
           he
           ere
           he
           built
           his
           town
           ,
        
         
           Or
           into
           Italie
           his
           Gods
           could
           bring
           ,
        
         
           Whence
           Albane
           peeres
           ,
           and
           royall
           Rome
           did
           spring
           .
        
         
         
           Shew
           me
           ,
           my
           Muse
           ,
           why
           angry
           destinie
           ,
        
         
           Or
           why
           the
           queen
           of
           Gods
           implacably
        
         
           Should
           force
           this
           pious
           prince
           such
           straits
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           Such
           woes
           to
           feel
           :
           Can
           Gods
           thus
           angry
           be
           ?
        
         
           There
           is
           an
           ancient
           town
           ,
           Carthage
           by
           name
           ,
        
         
           By
           Tyrians
           built
           ,
           and
           o're
           against
           the
           same
        
         
           Stands
           Italie
           ,
           and
           Tybers
           mouth
           most
           wide
           ,
        
         
           For
           wealth
           and
           feats
           of
           arms
           of
           peerelesse
           pride
           :
        
         
           Which
           onely
           Iuno
           held
           then
           all
           more
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Even
           before
           Samo's
           self
           .
           Her
           armour
           here
           ,
        
         
           Here
           was
           her
           chariot
           :
           This
           the
           imperiall
           throne
        
         
           (
           If
           fates
           were
           pleas'd
           )
           she
           mindes
           ,
           maintains
           alone
           .
        
         
           O
           but
           she
           heard
           a
           Trojan
           plant
           would
           spring
           ,
        
         
           Which
           once
           t'
           her
           Tyrian
           towres
           would
           ruine
           bring
           :
        
         
           That
           hence
           a
           potent
           people
           would
           arise
           ,
        
         
           By
           Libya's
           losse
           :
           so
           pleas'd
           the
           destinies
           .
        
         
           She
           fearing
           this
           ,
           and
           mindefull
           of
           th'
           old
           broile
           ,
        
         
           Whereby
           for
           her
           deare
           Greeks
           she
           Troy
           did
           spoile
           :
        
         
           Nor
           had
           she
           yet
           quite
           quencht
           old
           angers
           flame
           ,
        
         
           Forgot
           fierce
           griefs
           :
           to
           fresh
           remembrance
           came
           ,
        
         
           Her
           beautie
           scorn'd
           ,
           by
           Paris
           judgement
           base
           ;
        
         
           That
           hatefull
           stock
           stole
           Ganymeds
           great
           grace
           :
        
         
           For
           these
           ,
           all
           these
           ,
           great
           Iuno
           all-displeas'd
           ,
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           poore
           by
           tossing
           waves
           diseas'd
           ,
        
         
           (
           Of
           Greeks
           and
           fierce
           Achilles
           the
           remains
           )
        
         
           Enforced
           farre
           from
           her
           Italian
           planes
           ,
        
         
           Long
           times
           through
           seas
           by
           fates
           they
           driven
           were
           :
        
         
           So
           hard
           it
           was
           Romes
           empire
           up
           to
           reare
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           had
           they
           cheerly
           from
           faire
           Sicils
           fight
        
         
           Hoist
           sails
           ,
           and
           plowd
           the
           foamy
           waves
           outright
           ,
        
         
           When
           Iuno
           ,
           stuft
           with
           ancient
           imbred
           ire
           ,
        
         
           Sayes
           thus
           ;
           Must
           I
           vanquisht
           vail
           my
           desire
           ?
        
         
         
           Can
           I
           not
           keep
           Troyes
           king
           from
           Italy
           ?
        
         
           Cause
           fates
           forbid
           :
           Could
           Pallas
           potently
        
         
           Fire
           all
           the
           Grecian
           fleet
           ,
           the
           Greeks
           all
           drown
        
         
           For
           one
           mans
           fault
           ,
           even
           Ajax
           mad
           love
           known
           ?
        
         
           Ioves
           nimble
           lightning
           she
           from
           heaven
           soon
           darted
           ,
        
         
           The
           waves
           wound
           up
           ,
           the
           ships
           disperst
           and
           parted
           :
        
         
           And
           him
           himself
           ,
           heart
           wounded
           ,
           spuing
           fire
           ,
        
         
           With
           whirlewindes
           dasht
           on
           rocks
           she
           made
           expire
           :
        
         
           But
           I
           the
           queen
           of
           Gods
           ,
           sister
           and
           wife
        
         
           To
           mighty
           Iove
           ,
           have
           many
           yeares
           had
           strife
        
         
           With
           one
           poore
           nation
           :
           who
           'le
           henceforth
           adore
        
         
           Great
           Iunoes
           Godhead
           ,
           or
           her
           aid
           implore
           ?
        
         
           This
           Goddesse
           thus
           pumps
           forth
           her
           fierie
           spite
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           Aeolia
           swiftly
           takes
           her
           flight
        
         
           To
           Winde-land
           ,
           full
           of
           furious
           Southern
           blasts
           :
        
         
           Where
           Aeolus
           their
           king
           most
           fiercely
           casts
        
         
           The
           blustring
           winds
           and
           tempests
           turbulent
           ,
        
         
           Into
           vast
           caves
           ,
           as
           slaves
           in
           prison
           pent
           .
        
         
           They
           rumbling
           make
           huge
           noise
           i'
           th'
           hollow
           pits
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Aeolus
           enthron'd
           with
           scepter
           sits
           ,
        
         
           And
           tames
           their
           tumults
           ,
           over-rules
           their
           rage
           ,
        
         
           Which
           if
           he
           should
           not
           powerfully
           asswage
           ,
        
         
           Swiftly
           they
           'd
           sweep
           both
           heaven
           ,
           earth
           ,
           seas
           ,
           and
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           whisk
           them
           through
           the
           aire
           without
           recall
           .
        
         
           But
           mighty
           Iove
           kept
           them
           in
           dungeons
           black
           ,
        
         
           (
           This
           fearing
           )
           and
           main
           mounts
           laid
           on
           their
           back
           :
        
         
           Gave
           them
           a
           king
           ,
           who
           being
           charg'd
           ,
           should
           see
        
         
           To
           curb
           or
           loose
           the
           reins
           ,
           by
           firm
           decree
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           now
           gentle
           Iuno
           humbly
           said
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Aeolus
           ,
           (
           for
           so
           great
           Iove
           thee
           made
           ,
        
         
           Potent
           to
           still
           the
           waves
           ,
           to
           stirre
           the
           winde
           )
        
         
           On
           Tyrrhean
           seas
           do
           sail
           my
           foes
           unkinde
           ,
        
         
         
           Troy
           into
           Italie
           (
           in
           hopes
           )
           transporting
           ,
        
         
           Their
           petty
           conquered
           Gods
           with
           them
           consorting
           .
        
         
           Strike
           strength
           into
           thy
           windes
           ,
           their
           ships
           all
           scatter
           ,
        
         
           Or
           drown
           ,
           or
           on
           rocks
           ,
           sands
           ,
           their
           bodies
           batter
           .
        
         
           Foureteen
           faire
           lovely
           lively
           Nymphs
           I
           have
           ,
        
         
           Of
           whom
           the
           rarest
           for
           her
           beautie
           brave
           ,
        
         
           My
           Deïopeia
           ,
           thy
           faire
           bride
           shall
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           firm
           wedlock
           wedded
           unto
           thee
           ,
        
         
           In
           lew
           of
           all
           thy
           love
           ,
           eternally
           :
        
         
           Making
           thee
           ●ire
           of
           sweet
           posteritie
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           thus
           Aeolus
           ;
           Great
           queen
           ,
           but
           say
           :
        
         
           For
           what
           you
           bid
           I
           'm
           bound
           straight
           to
           obey
           .
        
         
           By
           you
           I
           have
           this
           kingdome
           ,
           whatsoe're
           ,
        
         
           By
           you
           my
           scepter
           and
           Ioves
           favour
           deare
        
         
           I
           do
           enjoy
           ,
           and
           with
           the
           Gods
           do
           feast
           ,
        
         
           O're
           windes
           and
           storms
           by
           you's
           my
           power
           increast
           .
        
         
           This
           was
           no
           sooner
           said
           ,
           but
           straight
           he
           stroke
        
         
           His
           speare
           into
           th'
           hills
           side
           ;
           forth
           ,
           forth
           with
           broke
        
         
           Huge
           blustring
           windes
           ,
           as
           all
           in
           uproare
           rais'd
           ,
        
         
           Through
           that
           small
           postern
           ,
           making
           earth
           amaz'd
           .
        
         
           Then
           nestling
           on
           the
           sea
           ,
           they
           rouse
           the
           waves
        
         
           Quite
           topsie
           turvie
           ,
           East
           ,
           South-east
           ,
           outbraves
           :
        
         
           Yea
           ,
           stormie
           Africk
           puffs
           upon
           the
           ocean
           ,
        
         
           Making
           flouds
           flow
           to
           shore
           with
           strange
           commotion
           .
        
         
           Hence
           follow
           ,
           straight
           ,
           mens
           shreeks
           ,
           and
           creaks
           of
           cable
           ,
        
         
           Storm
           clouds
           from
           Trojans
           sight
           ;
           day-light
           disable
        
         
           Claps
           up
           the
           sunne
           :
           black
           night
           the
           sea
           hugs
           o're
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           heavens
           sound
           with
           Ioves
           thunder
           roare
           :
        
         
           With
           thick
           quick
           lightning
           flashes
           th'
           aire
           's
           repleat
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           things
           present
           death
           to
           th'
           Trojans
           threat
           .
        
         
           Forthwith
           Aeneas
           joynts
           with
           chilling
           feare
        
         
           Benum'd
           ,
           he
           sighs
           ,
           and
           's
           hands
           to
           heaven
           doth
           reare
           ,
        
         
         
           Venting
           these
           sad
           events
           ;
           Blest
           ,
           oh
           thrice
           blest
        
         
           Were
           they
           ,
           whom
           'fore
           friends
           face
           ,
           home
           death
           gave
           rest
           .
        
         
           O
           Greeks
           great
           Diomedes
           ,
           tell
           me
           why
           ,
        
         
           Why
           by
           thy
           hands
           in
           Troyes
           camps
           died
           not
           I
           ?
        
         
           Where
           by
           Achilles
           blade
           Sarpedon
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           our
           warre-wondrous
           Hector
           with
           death
           fought
           .
        
         
           Where
           swift
           Simois
           did
           ingurgitate
        
         
           Helms
           ,
           shields
           ,
           and
           valiant
           corps
           inanima●e
           .
        
         
           Whiles
           thus
           he
           spake
           ,
           a
           whistling
           N●r
           hern
           puff
        
         
           Whiffs
           up
           the
           waves
           ,
           gives
           his
           sails
           such
           a
           cuff
           ,
        
         
           As
           brake
           their
           wingy
           oares
           ,
           turn'd
           the
           foredeck
           ,
        
         
           And
           layes
           the
           ships
           broad
           side
           to
           th'
           b●llows
           check
           .
        
         
           Then
           follows
           ,
           flows
           ,
           a
           mountanous
           burst
           wave
           ,
        
         
           These
           ,
           turret
           like
           ,
           on
           flouds
           tops
           station
           have
           ;
        
         
           Those
           ,
           'twixt
           two
           gaping
           seas
           seem
           sunk
           to
           th'ground
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           boyling
           ,
           fomie
           ,
           frothy
           flouds
           surround
           .
        
         
           A
           Southern
           blast
           three
           'gainst
           hard
           high
           rocks
           mall'd
           ,
        
         
           (
           Rocks
           which
           i'
           th'
           deep
           Italians
           Altars
           call'd
           ;
        
         
           Huge
           swell'd
           up
           heaps
           amidst
           the
           sea
           :
           )
           and
           three
        
         
           East
           winde
           on
           shallows
           cast
           (
           wofull
           to
           see
           )
        
         
           And
           dasht
           on
           foards
           ,
           engulft
           in
           thick
           quicksands
           :
        
         
           One
           which
           Or●ntes
           held
           ,
           and
           Lycian
           bands
           ,
        
         
           Was
           sorely
           shaken
           by
           a
           furious
           wave
           ,
        
         
           Even
           in
           his
           sight
           ,
           which
           the
           ship-master
           drave
        
         
           Headlong
           o're
           board
           :
           The
           ship
           it self
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
           Thrice
           whirling
           round
           ,
           was
           on
           a
           whirlepool
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           devour'd
           :
           Men
           ,
           riches
           ,
           writings
           ,
           arms
           ,
        
         
           Were
           here
           and
           there
           seen
           floating
           (
           helples
           harms
           )
        
         
           Above
           the
           waves
           ,
           Ilion's
           and
           stout
           Achates
           ,
        
         
           Brave
           barks
           ,
           and
           that
           of
           Abas
           ,
           old
           Alethes
           :
        
         
           All
           these
           the
           storm
           had
           torn
           ;
           all
           leakt
           full
           sore
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           the
           leak
           suckt
           dangerous
           draughts
           in
           store
           .
        
         
         
           Neptune
           meanwhile
           sees
           the
           seas
           huge
           commotion
           ,
        
         
           Foule
           winter
           weather
           overspread
           his
           ocean
           ,
        
         
           Waves
           upside
           down
           o'return'd
           :
           highly
           offended
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           calm
           countenance
           the
           main
           ascended
           :
        
         
           Looking
           about
           ,
           sees
           all
           Aeneas
           fleet
        
         
           Disperst
           ,
           his
           Trojans
           nought
           but
           wave-woes
           meet
           ,
        
         
           Heavens
           hot
           combustion
           :
           Iunoes
           rage
           and
           guile
        
         
           Not
           being
           to
           her
           brother
           hid
           the
           while
           :
        
         
           East
           and
           West
           windes
           to
           him
           he
           call'd
           ,
           and
           said
           ;
        
         
           Proud
           windes
           ,
           hath
           your
           high
           stock
           so
           stout
           you
           made
           ?
        
         
           Thus
           heaven
           and
           earth
           without
           me
           to
           molest
           ?
        
         
           To
           dare
           ,
           my
           streams
           with
           such
           fierce
           flouds
           t'infest
           ?
        
         
           Whom
           I
           :
           but
           first
           't
           is
           best
           the
           storm
           to
           stay
           :
        
         
           Then
           with
           unpattern'd
           plagues
           your
           pride
           I
           'le
           pay
           .
        
         
           Be
           packing
           quick
           ,
           and
           tell
           your
           king
           from
           me
           ,
        
         
           The
           three-tooth'd
           scepter
           ,
           and
           seas
           soveraigntie
           ,
        
         
           Are
           mine
           ,
           not
           his
           :
           let
           him
           his
           hard
           rocks
           hold
           ,
        
         
           Your
           dens
           ,
           puft
           windes
           :
           let
           Aeolus
           be
           bold
        
         
           In
           that
           his
           craggy
           court
           to
           rule
           and
           reigne
           ,
        
         
           His
           windes
           in
           that
           close
           prison
           to
           contain
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           swiftly
           swag'd
           the
           swelling
           streams
           ,
        
         
           Dispell'd
           the
           cloddy
           clouds
           ,
           clear'd
           Sols
           bright
           beams
           .
        
         
           Cymoth
           and
           Triton
           strenuously
           do
           strive
        
         
           The
           ships
           securely
           from
           hard
           rocks
           to
           drive
           .
        
         
           Neptune's
           self
           nimbly
           with
           his
           trident
           mace
           ,
        
         
           Helps
           from
           the
           sands
           and
           seas
           all
           feares
           to
           chase
           ,
        
         
           And
           o're
           the
           seas
           surface
           his
           chariot
           glides
           .
        
         
           And
           like
           as
           when
           sedition
           rudely
           rides
        
         
           Amongst
           th'
           ignoble
           madhead
           vulgar
           hindes
           ,
        
         
           Then
           sticks
           and
           stones
           flie
           thick
           ;
           wrath
           weapons
           findes
           :
        
         
           But
           if
           some
           grave
           great
           man
           they
           haply
           spie
           ,
        
         
           Straight
           they
           stand
           husht
           ,
           listning
           attentively
           :
        
         
         
           Whose
           words
           their
           wills
           reform
           ,
           their
           rage
           appease
           :
        
         
           So
           at
           great
           Neptunes
           sight
           all
           sea-storms
           cease
           :
        
         
           And
           being
           ceast
           ,
           in
           's
           chariot
           cheerefully
        
         
           He
           turns
           his
           steeds
           ,
           gives
           reins
           ,
           to
           heaven
           doth
           hie
           .
        
         
           The
           tired
           Trojans
           now
           seek
           the
           next
           strand
           ,
        
         
           And
           soon
           arrived
           on
           faire
           Libya's
           land
           .
        
         
           There
           is
           a
           place
           in
           a
           long
           creek
           ,
           where
           th'
           ile
           ,
        
         
           By
           cast-up
           banks
           doth
           a
           safe
           haven
           compile
           ,
        
         
           Broke
           from
           the
           main
           ,
           whence
           doth
           the
           stream
           divide
        
         
           Into
           safe
           creeks
           :
           here
           ,
           there
           huge
           rocks
           reside
           :
        
         
           Two
           chiefly
           ,
           whose
           high
           tops
           seem
           heaven
           to
           threat
           ,
        
         
           Under
           whose
           hieght
           the
           sea
           makes
           still
           retreat
           .
        
         
           A
           shade
           there
           is
           with
           beauteous
           boughs
           o're
           head
           ,
        
         
           Made
           by
           a
           well-grown
           wood
           ,
           with
           leaves
           outspread
           :
        
         
           Under
           the
           hanging
           boughs
           a
           rocky
           cave
           ,
        
         
           Wherein
           fresh
           waters
           were
           ,
           and
           seats
           most
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Of
           art-like
           stone
           ,
           the
           wood-nymphs
           habitation
           ;
        
         
           Where
           yet
           no
           fangy
           anchor
           made
           ship-station
           .
        
         
           Hither
           Aeneas
           seven
           of
           's
           barks
           had
           brought
        
         
           Of
           all
           his
           fleet
           ;
           and
           now
           to
           shore
           (
           long
           sought
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           his
           Trojans
           ardently
           desired
           )
        
         
           They
           came
           ,
           and
           rest
           their
           faint
           limbes
           quite
           sea-tired
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           Achates
           from
           a
           flint
           strikes
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Leaves
           were
           for
           tinder
           ;
           and
           ,
           more
           strength
           t'
           acquire
           ,
        
         
           Drie
           fuell
           added
           ,
           kindles
           to
           a
           blaze
           .
        
         
           Then
           ,
           hungrie
           ,
           baking
           instruments
           they
           raise
           ,
        
         
           And
           fit
           their
           sea-harm'd
           corn
           and
           balace
           grain
        
         
           To
           grinde
           and
           bake
           ,
           their
           lost
           strength
           to
           regain
           .
        
         
           Meanewhile
           Aeneas
           an
           high
           clift
           ascended
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           vast
           sea
           in
           's
           sight
           farre
           comprehended
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           if
           he
           could
           spie
           Antheus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Trojan
           galleys
           weather-driven
           about
           ,
        
         
         
           Capys
           or
           Caicus
           flags
           .
           No
           ship
           he
           ey'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           three
           tall
           stragling
           stags
           on
           shore
           he
           spide
           :
        
         
           The
           whole
           herd
           following
           fed
           upon
           the
           strand
           .
        
         
           Here
           he
           stood
           still
           ,
           wi●h
           bow
           and
           shafts
           in
           's
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Which
           his
           most
           kinde
           Achates
           for
           him
           held
           :
        
         
           And
           first
           their
           high-horn'd
           leaders
           soon
           he
           fell'd
           :
        
         
           Then
           all
           the
           rest
           o'
           th'
           horned
           troop
           he
           forced
        
         
           With
           his
           sharp
           shafts
           into
           thick
           woods
           ;
           where
           coursed
           ,
        
         
           He
           left
           not
           off
           till
           (
           shooting
           )
           he
           had
           got
        
         
           Seven
           stately
           stags
           ,
           to
           his
           seven
           ships
           t'allot
           .
        
         
           To
           th'
           haven
           he
           hastes
           ,
           them
           'mongst
           his
           mates
           imparted
           ,
        
         
           And
           wine
           ,
           which
           kinde
           Acestes
           ,
           when
           they
           parted
        
         
           From
           Sicils
           shore
           ,
           most
           generous
           ,
           frank
           and
           free
        
         
           In
           hogs-heads
           laded
           gave
           ,
           divided
           he
           ;
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           words
           their
           drooping
           hearts
           doth
           cheare
           ;
        
         
           O
           mates
           ,
           (
           for
           yet
           past-perills
           fresh
           appeare
           )
        
         
           O
           partners
           ,
           in
           farre
           worse
           perplexities
           ,
        
         
           God
           will
           at
           last
           end
           these
           our
           miseries
           .
        
         
           You
           Scylla's
           rage
           ,
           rock-roaring
           dreads
           have
           past
           ,
        
         
           You
           have
           Charybdis
           gulf
           escapt
           ;
           at
           last
        
         
           Recall
           your
           courage
           ,
           and
           let
           go
           faint
           feare
           ,
        
         
           A
           time
           may
           come
           these
           things
           your
           thoughts
           may
           cheare
           .
        
         
           By
           divers
           dangers
           ,
           various
           hard
           events
           ,
        
         
           To
           Italie
           we
           sail
           ;
           where
           sweet
           contents
        
         
           Fates
           will
           afford
           us
           :
           there
           Troyes
           throne
           we
           'le
           build
           .
        
         
           Hold
           out
           ,
           with
           these
           hopes
           let
           your
           hearts
           be
           fill'd
           .
        
         
           Thus
           he
           with
           words
           :
           with
           cares
           his
           soule
           's
           deprest
           ,
        
         
           Hope
           sat
           on
           's
           face
           ,
           but
           grief
           his
           heart
           possest
           .
        
         
           They
           then
           to
           their
           good
           cheere
           themselves
           addresse
           ;
        
         
           Some
           flay
           the
           skins
           ,
           some
           do
           the
           umbles
           dresse
           ;
        
         
           Some
           cut
           it
           into
           joynts
           ,
           some
           the
           meat
           spit
           ,
        
         
           Some
           set
           on
           pots
           ,
           some
           make
           great
           fires
           for
           it
           :
        
         
         
           Then
           on
           the
           grasse
           set
           down
           ,
           they
           cheerly
           eat
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           old
           wine
           ,
           fat
           ven'son
           are
           repleat
           .
        
         
           All
           hunger
           stancht
           ,
           the
           tables
           ta'ne
           away
           ,
        
         
           Long
           talk
           began
           of
           their
           lost
           friends
           decay
           :
        
         
           All
           anxious
           stood
           ,
           betwixt
           much
           hope
           and
           feare
           ,
        
         
           Whether
           fallen
           by
           fate
           ,
           or
           yet
           alive
           they
           were
           ,
        
         
           Or
           that
           the
           invocated
           Gods
           would
           heare
           .
        
         
           But
           good
           Aeneas
           chiefly
           did
           lament
        
         
           His
           brave
           Orontes
           fatall
           hard
           event
           ,
        
         
           Valiant
           Amycus
           ,
           and
           Cloanthus
           high
           ,
        
         
           Lycus
           and
           Gyan
           ,
           slain
           by
           destinie
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           it
           was
           that
           Iove
           from
           starrie
           skie
        
         
           Sail-bearing
           seas
           ,
           neare
           neighbouring
           lands
           did
           eye
           ,
        
         
           The
           ports
           and
           people
           all
           abroad
           commixt
           ,
        
         
           On
           Libya's
           realm
           from
           heaven
           his
           sight
           had
           fixt
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           he
           thus
           did
           muse
           on
           mens
           affaires
           ,
        
         
           Venus
           ,
           w●th
           eyes
           of
           teares
           ,
           heart
           full
           of
           cares
           ,
        
         
           Sayes
           to
           him
           ,
           O
           great
           king
           of
           Gods
           and
           men
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           datelesse
           laws
           ,
           and
           lightnings
           hamper
           them
           ,
        
         
           What
           so
           foule
           fact
           hath
           mine
           Aeneas
           wrought
           ?
        
         
           What
           my
           poore
           Trojans
           to
           such
           ruine
           brought
           ?
        
         
           From
           all
           the
           world
           for
           Italie
           thus
           driven
           .
        
         
           Surely
           from
           hence
           a
           promise
           great
           was
           given
           ,
        
         
           That
           once
           times
           revolution
           forth
           should
           bring
        
         
           A
           Romane
           branch
           from
           Teucers
           stemme
           to
           spring
           ,
        
         
           Which
           should
           be
           conquering
           Lords
           of
           sea
           and
           land
           :
        
         
           And
           why
           ,
           great
           sire
           ,
           does
           not
           this
           sentence
           stand
           ?
        
         
           With
           these
           faire
           hopes
           Troyes
           hardest
           haps
           I
           staid
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           fates
           I
           crossing
           fates
           repaid
           :
        
         
           But
           still
           their
           former
           turmoils
           them
           distresse
           :
        
         
           Great
           king
           ,
           when
           wilt
           thou
           their
           great
           toiles
           redresse
           ?
        
         
           Antenor
           could
           escape
           Greeks
           thickest
           strength
           ,
        
         
           And
           piercing
           through
           Illyria
           ,
           safe
           at
           length
        
         
         
           Passe
           through
           Liburnia
           ,
           and
           Timavus
           swift
           :
        
         
           Whence
           nine
           great
           streams
           issuing
           with
           headlong
           drift
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           mount
           with
           mightie
           din
           descending
           ,
        
         
           Make
           a
           burst
           sea
           ,
           the
           banks
           and
           fields
           transcending
           .
        
         
           Yet
           he
           strong
           Padua
           built
           ,
           and
           planted
           all
        
         
           His
           Trojans
           ,
           and
           did
           them
           by
           's
           owne
           name
           call
           .
        
         
           In
           's
           temples
           thus
           advancing
           Troyes
           brave
           arms
           ,
        
         
           In
           peace
           his
           people
           settled
           free
           from
           harms
           .
        
         
           But
           we
           thine
           ofspring
           ,
           plac'd
           by
           thee
           in
           heaven
           ,
        
         
           Our
           ships
           (
           most
           wofully
           )
           lost
           ,
           from
           us
           driven
        
         
           For
           ones
           displeasure
           ,
           are
           betray'd
           to
           wrack
           ,
        
         
           And
           farre
           from
           Italy
           are
           forced
           back
           .
        
         
           Is
           this
           the
           palm
           ,
           the
           prize
           of
           pietie
           ?
        
         
           Are
           we
           thus
           rais'd
           to
           regall
           dignitie
           ?
        
         
           On
           whom
           great
           Iove
           casting
           a
           courteous
           smile
           ,
        
         
           With
           lovely
           looks
           ,
           which
           heaven
           ,
           earth
           reconcile
           ,
        
         
           Kissing
           his
           daughter
           kindely
           ,
           thus
           he
           said
           ;
        
         
           Sweet
           Cytherea
           ,
           cease
           to
           be
           afraid
           :
        
         
           The
           fates
           are
           firmly
           thine
           ,
           and
           thou
           shalt
           see
        
         
           Thy
           promis'd
           Latine-cities
           built
           to
           be
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           great
           Aeneas
           lifted
           to
           the
           skies
           :
        
         
           Nothing
           shall
           revocate
           these
           destinies
           .
        
         
           He
           (
           for
           since
           this
           thee
           grieves
           ,
           I
           'le
           tell
           thee
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           our
           old
           hid
           fate-records
           will
           recall
           .
           )
        
         
           Shall
           wage
           fierce
           warres
           ,
           th'
           Italians
           shall
           subdue
           ,
        
         
           Build
           them
           strong
           towns
           ,
           and
           make
           them
           statutes
           new
           ,
        
         
           Untill
           Sol
           thrice
           the
           globe
           hath
           circled
           round
           ,
        
         
           And
           three
           year●s
           king
           of
           Lati●es
           he
           be
           crown'd
           .
        
         
           But
           his
           Asc●nius
           young
           ,
           I●lus
           nam'd
           ▪
        
         
           (
           For
           Ilus
           't
           was
           ,
           whiles
           th'
           Ilian
           state
           stood
           fram'd
           )
        
         
           Full
           thirtie
           yeares
           shall
           reigne
           ,
           and
           from
           Lavine
        
         
           Transferre
           the
           throne
           ,
           and
           Alba's
           strength
           combine
           .
        
         
         
           Here
           shall
           great
           Hectors
           race
           to
           rule
           be
           seen
        
         
           Three
           hundred
           yeares
           :
           till
           Ilia
           priestly
           queen
           ,
        
         
           With
           childe
           by
           Mars
           ,
           two
           at
           a
           birth
           shall
           bring
           .
        
         
           Whence
           wolf-nurst
           Romulus
           shall
           reigne
           as
           king
           ,
        
         
           Build
           martiall
           towns
           ,
           and
           Romanes
           call
           by
           's
           name
           :
        
         
           Whose
           state
           no
           date
           ,
           whose
           strength
           no
           time
           shall
           tame
           :
        
         
           A
           boundlesse
           empire
           I
           them
           give
           :
           Beside
           ,
        
         
           Fierce
           Iuno
           ,
           who
           molests
           the
           whole
           world
           wide
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           reconciled
           be
           ,
           and
           with
           me
           nourish
        
         
           The
           Romane
           gowned
           Lords
           o're
           all
           to
           flourish
           .
        
         
           Thus
           we
           decree
           ,
           yea
           in
           times
           due
           processe
        
         
           Tro's
           sonnes
           Achilles
           race
           shall
           much
           distresse
           ,
        
         
           To
           bondage
           brought
           ,
           and
           conquer'd
           Greece
           suppresse
           .
        
         
           Then
           shall
           great
           Caesar
           spring
           from
           Troyes
           high
           race
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           throne
           the
           seas
           ,
           whose
           fame
           shall
           heaven
           embrace
           ,
        
         
           Iulius
           so
           called
           from
           Iülus
           grave
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           crown'd
           with
           Eastern
           spoils
           ,
           thou
           glad
           shalt
           have
        
         
           In
           heaven
           ,
           who
           shall
           with
           votes
           be
           invocated
           .
        
         
           Fierce
           warre
           shall
           then
           on
           earth
           be
           moderated
           .
        
         
           Pure
           Faith
           and
           Pietie
           ,
           Remus
           and
           's
           brother
        
         
           Shall
           reigne
           ,
           give
           laws
           ,
           &
           warres
           rage
           smoothly
           smother
           ,
        
         
           With
           bolts
           and
           barres
           lockt
           fast
           in
           Ianus
           gates
           ,
        
         
           Base
           civil
           broiles
           chain'd
           in
           resistlesse
           straits
           :
        
         
           And
           shackled
           there
           with
           hundred
           fettering
           gyves
        
         
           Sits
           bound
           ,
           with
           bloody
           mouth
           frets
           ,
           fumes
           ,
           and
           strives
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           sends
           from
           heaven
           swift
           Mercurie
           ,
        
         
           To
           ope
           the
           earth
           and
           Carthage
           courteously
        
         
           To
           Trojan
           guests
           ,
           le●●
           Dido
           of
           their
           ca●e
        
         
           Ignorant
           ,
           should
           them
           from
           her
           confines
           chase
           :
        
         
           Through
           th'
           aire
           he
           winged
           glides
           ,
           o're
           Carthage
           hovers
           ,
        
         
           Gives
           Libyans
           tender
           hearts
           ,
           and
           there
           discovers
        
         
           Great
           Ioves
           command
           :
           Chiefly
           the
           queen
           exprest
        
         
         
           To
           th'
           Trojans
           her
           benigne
           and
           bounteous
           breast
           .
        
         
           But
           good
           Aeneas
           ,
           full
           of
           thoughts
           by
           night
           ,
        
         
           Goes
           forth
           next
           morn
           as
           soon
           as
           day
           grew
           light
           ,
        
         
           To
           search
           new
           corners
           ,
           see
           what
           shores
           he
           found
           ,
        
         
           Who
           dwelt
           there
           (
           for
           't
           was
           all
           rude
           untill'd
           ground
           )
        
         
           Or
           men
           ,
           or
           beasts
           ;
           and
           to
           his
           mates
           made
           known
        
         
           What
           he
           found
           out
           .
           His
           ships
           tied
           safe
           ;
           each
           one
        
         
           Under
           a
           concave
           rock
           ,
           tall
           trees
           ,
           did
           hide
           ,
        
         
           With
           mighty
           boughs
           :
           Achates
           by
           his
           side
           ,
        
         
           A
           brandisht
           lance
           in
           's
           hands
           with
           strong
           steel
           lin'de
           .
        
         
           Whom's
           mother
           Venus
           met
           i'
           th'
           wood
           most
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           With
           Spartane
           virgins
           arms
           ,
           coat
           ,
           count'nance-grace
           :
        
         
           Or
           like
           horse-tiring
           Harpalace
           of
           Thrace
           ,
        
         
           Or
           like
           swift
           Hebrus
           in
           its
           nimblest
           flight
           :
        
         
           For
           on
           her
           shoulders
           hung
           she
           (
           huntresse
           right
           )
        
         
           A
           comely
           bow
           ,
           her
           haire
           dangling
           i'
           th'
           winde
           ,
        
         
           Knees
           bare
           ,
           breasts
           ope
           ,
           her
           coat
           tuckt
           up
           behinde
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           she
           sayes
           ;
           Sirs
           ,
           saw
           ye
           ,
           shew
           me
           ,
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Any
           of
           my
           sisters
           wandring
           by
           this
           way
           ?
        
         
           Arm'd
           with
           their
           quivers
           ,
           clad
           with
           leopards
           hide
           ,
        
         
           The
           foaming
           boare
           with
           loud
           noise
           to
           outstride
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Venus
           :
           and
           thus
           Venus
           sonne
           ,
           Faire
           dame
           ,
        
         
           None
           of
           thy
           sisters
           by
           us
           this
           way
           came
           ,
        
         
           Or
           hard
           ,
           or
           seen
           .
           O
           whom
           may
           I
           thee
           deem
           ?
        
         
           For
           by
           thy
           voice
           and
           face
           I
           thee
           esteem
        
         
           No
           mortall
           :
           but
           a
           Goddesse
           sure
           thou
           art
           :
        
         
           Ioves
           sister
           ,
           or
           some
           nymph
           ?
           O
           let
           thy
           heart
        
         
           Pitie
           our
           piteous
           toils
           ;
           shew
           us
           ,
           we
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Under
           what
           clime
           ,
           and
           in
           what
           parts
           we
           stray
           :
        
         
           (
           Of
           place
           and
           persons
           ignorant
           we
           be
           ,
        
         
           By
           windes
           and
           waves
           forc'd
           hither
           as
           you
           see
           )
        
         
           Thine
           altars
           shall
           with
           offrings
           loaded
           be
           .
        
         
         
           Then
           Venus
           ;
           Sure
           such
           grace
           for
           me
           's
           too
           great
           ,
        
         
           Our
           Tyrian
           damsels
           weare
           their
           quivers
           neat
           ,
        
         
           High
           on
           their
           legs
           ,
           they
           purple
           buskins
           lace
           .
        
         
           The
           Punick
           realm
           ,
           
             Tyrians
             ,
             Agenors
          
           place
           ,
        
         
           Are
           these
           :
           but
           Libyan
           bounds
           ,
           a
           warlike
           nation
           ,
        
         
           Whereof
           
             Tyres
             Dido
          
           hath
           due
           domination
           ,
        
         
           Fleeing
           her
           brother
           :
           long
           's
           the
           injurie
           ,
        
         
           Long
           the
           discourse
           :
           but
           of
           the
           heads
           briefly
           .
        
         
           Her
           sponse
           Sichoeus
           was
           most
           rich
           in
           ground
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           ,
           poore
           soule
           ,
           her
           love
           did
           much
           abound
           ;
        
         
           To
           whom
           she
           soon
           a
           virgin
           pure
           was
           married
           :
        
         
           But
           (
           as
           his
           right
           )
           Tyres
           crown
           her
           brother
           carried
           ,
        
         
           Pygmalion
           base
           ,
           in
           ill
           surpassing
           all
           ,
        
         
           'Twixt
           whom
           great
           wrath
           and
           discontent
           did
           fall
           :
        
         
           Whence
           blinde
           with
           love
           of
           gold
           ,
           he
           impiously
        
         
           Supine
           Sichaeus
           made
           'fore
           th'
           altar
           die
           ,
        
         
           Carelesse
           of
           's
           sisters
           love
           ,
           this
           fact
           long
           hid
           :
        
         
           With
           base
           faire
           shews
           ,
           and
           much
           false
           hope
           he
           fed
        
         
           Her
           love-sick
           heart
           :
           Till
           in
           her
           sleep
           by
           night
        
         
           Her
           deare
           unburied
           sponses
           gastly
           sprite
        
         
           To
           her
           appear'd
           ,
           shew'd
           his
           thin
           death-pale
           face
           ,
        
         
           Sword-pierced
           corps
           ,
           the
           altars
           foule
           disgrace
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           houses
           hid-ills
           known
           did
           make
           :
        
         
           Wisht
           her
           to
           take
           swift
           flight
           ,
           her
           land
           forsake
           :
        
         
           Of
           unknown
           earth
           ,
           hid
           treasures
           he
           her
           told
           ,
        
         
           Way-helping
           wealth
           ,
           much
           silver
           and
           old
           gold
           .
        
         
           Dido
           herewith
           provokt
           ,
           for
           flight
           and
           friends
        
         
           Makes
           way
           :
           And
           all
           whom
           hate
           o'
           th'
           tyrants
           ends
           ,
        
         
           Or
           s●avish
           feare
           kept
           down
           ,
           combin'd
           ,
           and
           preyd
        
         
           On
           ships
           found
           readie
           ,
           where
           their
           wealth
           they
           laid
           ,
        
         
           And
           fled
           with
           what
           Pygmalion
           hop'd
           to
           have
           :
        
         
           A
           lady
           foremost
           in
           this
           fact
           so
           brave
           .
        
         
         
           Hither
           they
           came
           ,
           where
           now
           strong
           towns
           thou
           seest
           ,
        
         
           And
           Carthage
           kingdome
           new
           ,
           now
           faire
           increast
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           whence
           't
           was
           first
           nam'd
           ,
           Byrsa's
           well
           bought
           ground
           ,
        
         
           So
           much
           as
           one
           bulls
           hide
           could
           circle
           round
           .
        
         
           But
           who
           are
           ye
           ?
           whence
           came
           ye
           ?
           whither
           bent
           ?
        
         
           To
           whom
           he
           first
           a
           deep
           fetcht
           sigh
           did
           vent
        
         
           From
           's
           heart
           ,
           then
           forc'd
           these
           words
           ;
           O
           Goddesse
           faire
           ,
        
         
           If
           I
           should
           all
           from
           first
           to
           last
           declare
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           hadst
           time
           to
           hea●e
           our
           toils
           related
           ,
        
         
           Ere
           I
           could
           end
           ,
           day
           would
           be
           terminated
           .
        
         
           We
           from
           old
           Troy
           (
           if
           ere
           of
           Troy
           th'
           hast
           heard
           )
        
         
           Upon
           these
           Libyan
           shores
           by
           tempests
           rear'd
           ,
        
         
           Through
           rigid
           seas
           are
           here
           arriv'd
           :
           And
           I
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           fame
           transcends
           the
           skies
           for
           pietie
           ,
        
         
           Am
           good
           Aene●s
           :
           in
           my
           ships
           I
           have
        
         
           My
           countrey
           Gods
           ,
           whom
           I
           from
           foes
           did
           save
           .
        
         
           I
           of
           Ioves
           race
           ,
           Lati●e
           my
           land
           would
           finde
           ,
        
         
           With
           twentie
           ships
           Troyes
           shores
           I
           left
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           A
           Goddesse
           mother
           guide
           ,
           following
           my
           fate
           ,
        
         
           Scarce
           seven
           ships
           left
           from
           wea●her-torn
           esta●e
           .
        
         
           I
           a
           poore
           pilgrim
           range
           through
           Libyan
           woods
           ,
        
         
           From
           
             Europe
             ,
             Asia
          
           forc'd
           .
           These
           plaintive
           flouds
        
         
           Venus
           here
           stops
           ,
           and
           midst
           his
           moan
           sayes
           thus
           ,
        
         
           Who
           ere
           thou
           art
           (
           for
           sure
           most
           gracious
        
         
           Thou
           art
           to
           th'
           Gods
           ,
           who
           thus
           art
           come
           to
           Tyre
           )
        
         
           Go
           on
           ,
           and
           for
           the
           queens
           faire
           court
           enquire
           :
        
         
           For
           all
           thy
           fleet
           and
           followers
           most
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           I
           thee
           assure
           ,
           ●ail
           safe
           with
           prosperous
           winde
           ,
        
         
           Unlesse
           my
           heaven-●aught
           angurie
           me
           blinde
           .
        
         
           Behold
           ●welve
           swans
           flu●●'ring
           their
           w●ngs
           with
           joy
           ,
        
         
           Escapt
           from
           th'
           eagles
           sw●●ping
           claw●
           annoy
           ,
        
         
           I'
           th'
           open
           aire
           pursu'd
           ,
           now
           downward
           bent
           ,
        
         
         
           Landed
           ,
           or
           landing
           with
           a
           joynt
           consent
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           they
           (
           safe
           )
           sport
           with
           spread
           silver
           wing
           ,
        
         
           And
           circular
           assembled
           swan-songs
           sing
           :
        
         
           Even
           so
           thy
           ships
           ,
           and
           thy
           associates
           brave
           ,
        
         
           With
           full
           sail
           neare
           ,
           or
           now
           the
           haven
           have
           ;
        
         
           Go
           on
           then
           ,
           as
           the
           path
           leads
           ,
           take
           thy
           way
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           she
           turn'd
           ,
           her
           roseall
           necks
           bright
           ray
        
         
           Glistred
           ,
           sweet
           sents
           from
           her
           Ambrosian
           haire
        
         
           Distill'd
           ,
           her
           robe
           hung
           down
           her
           feet
           most
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           her
           gate
           she
           shew'd
           a
           Goddesse
           right
           .
        
         
           He
           with
           these
           words
           follows
           his
           mothers
           flight
           .
        
         
           (
           Now
           known
           )
           Oh
           why
           dost
           thou
           thy
           sonne
           delude
        
         
           With
           oft
           false
           shapes
           ?
           why
           might
           we
           not
           include
        
         
           Kinde
           hand
           in
           hand
           ?
           and
           words
           for
           words
           have
           chang'd
           ?
        
         
           Thus
           he
           her
           blam'd
           ,
           thus
           to
           the
           town
           he
           rang'd
           .
        
         
           But
           Venus
           with
           a
           mist
           these
           trav'lers
           clad
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           a
           coat-like
           cloud
           o'respread
           them
           ,
           glad
        
         
           That
           none
           might
           see
           them
           ,
           ●urt
           them
           ,
           force
           them
           stay
           ,
        
         
           Or
           ask
           the
           reason
           why
           they
           went
           that
           way
           .
        
         
           Herself
           to
           Paphos
           flies
           ,
           glad
           to
           revise
        
         
           Her
           mansions
           ,
           temples
           ,
           where
           ,
           at
           sacrifice
        
         
           An
           hundred
           altars
           smoak
           with
           frankincense
           ,
        
         
           And
           fragrant
           smell
           with
           garlands
           excellence
           .
        
         
           They
           the
           meanwhile
           presented
           paths
           pursu'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           they
           clim'd
           a
           hill
           ,
           which
           over-view'd
        
         
           Most
           of
           the
           town
           ,
           towres
           ,
           turrets
           multitude
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           wonders
           at
           the
           fabrick
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Once
           cottages
           ;
           the
           ga●es
           ,
           states
           ,
           streetwayes
           rare
           .
        
         
           The
           Tyrians
           busie
           some
           thick
           walls
           to
           make
           ,
        
         
           To
           raise
           strong
           forts
           ,
           stones
           up
           in
           heaps
           to
           rake
           ,
        
         
           To
           dig
           enclosures
           ,
           house
           foundations
           fit
           ,
        
         
           Magistrate●
           making
           laws
           in
           counsel
           ●it
           .
        
         
         
           Some
           shippy
           havens
           contrive
           ,
           some
           raise
           faire
           frames
           ,
        
         
           And
           rock
           hewen
           pillars
           ,
           for
           theatrick
           games
           ,
        
         
           Like
           busie-buzing
           bees
           in
           flowery
           May
           ,
        
         
           Working
           most
           nimbly
           in
           a
           sun-shine
           day
           ;
        
         
           When
           they
           thick
           swarms
           put
           out
           ,
           with
           honey
           sweet
           ,
        
         
           Their
           waxen
           combes
           to
           fill
           and
           furnish
           meet
           :
        
         
           Unburthning
           loaded
           bees
           ,
           combining
           strong
           ,
        
         
           To
           drive
           out
           drowsie
           droans
           ,
           their
           hives
           which
           wrong
           .
        
         
           Hot
           grows
           their
           waxie
           work
           ,
           sweet
           grow
           the
           smells
        
         
           Of
           their
           mellifluous
           odoriferous
           cells
           .
        
         
           Oh
           ,
           sayes
           Aeneas
           ,
           men
           most
           fortunate
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           walls
           thus
           rise
           ,
           whose
           town
           so
           full
           of
           state
           !
        
         
           Thus
           (
           strange
           to
           tell
           )
           cloath'd
           with
           the
           cloud
           he
           enters
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           unseen
           ,
           midst
           the
           thick
           rout
           adventers
           .
        
         
           I'
           th'
           heart
           o'
           th'
           town
           was
           a
           faire
           shady
           grove
           ,
        
         
           To
           which
           place
           first
           ,
           windes
           ,
           waves
           the
           Tyrians
           drove
           ;
        
         
           And
           driven
           ,
           set
           a
           signe
           by
           Iuno
           shown
        
         
           A
           horse-head
           found
           i'
           th'
           ground
           ;
           they
           should
           be
           known
        
         
           A
           potent
           people
           ,
           a
           most
           warlike
           nation
           ,
        
         
           There
           therefore
           unto
           Iuno's
           adoration
           ,
        
         
           
             Sidonian
             Dido
          
           rais'd
           a
           temple
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Garnisht
           with
           gifts
           ,
           and
           riches
           wondrous
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Sacred
           to
           Iuno
           ,
           with
           brasse
           steps
           ascending
           ,
        
         
           Brasse-joynted
           beams
           ,
           brasse
           doores
           on
           hinge
           depending
           .
        
         
           Here
           first
           i'
           th'
           wood
           new
           matter
           tempered
           grief
           ,
        
         
           Here
           first
           Aeneas
           hop'd
           for
           hearts
           relief
           ,
        
         
           And
           better
           learn'd
           to
           trust
           afflictions
           frown
           ;
        
         
           For
           as
           he
           view'd
           the
           temple
           up
           and
           down
           ,
        
         
           Finding
           the
           queen
           minding
           this
           cities
           state
           ,
        
         
           Which
           curious
           Artists
           did
           delineate
           ,
        
         
           He
           wonders
           ;
           most
           ,
           to
           see
           his
           Trojan
           storie
           ,
        
         
           Their
           warres
           and
           woes
           ,
           spread
           with
           world-wondrous
           glorie
           ,
        
         
         
           
             Atrides
             ,
             Priam
          
           ,
           and
           unkinde
           Achilles
           .
        
         
           He
           weeping
           staid
           ,
           and
           said
           ,
           See
           ,
           kinde
           Achates
           ,
        
         
           What
           place
           ,
           what
           parts
           abound
           not
           with
           our
           woes
           ?
        
         
           Behold
           king
           Priams
           pay
           ;
           his
           praise
           here
           grows
           ,
        
         
           These
           are
           materiall
           teares
           ,
           crosses
           come
           neare
           .
        
         
           Cease
           feares
           :
           for
           from
           these
           palms
           doth
           hope
           appeare
           .
        
         
           Thus
           sayes
           he
           ,
           and
           him
           gluts
           with
           pictures
           vain
           ,
        
         
           Sighs
           deep
           ;
           and
           flouds
           of
           teares
           his
           cheeks
           do
           stain
           .
        
         
           For
           here
           he
           saw
           how
           'bout
           the
           walls
           of
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           Brave
           Hector
           did
           fierce
           Greeks
           affright
           ,
           annoy
           :
        
         
           There
           ,
           how
           
             Achilles
             Trojans
          
           did
           destroy
           .
        
         
           Hard
           by
           he
           weeping
           ,
           knew
           white
           Rhesus
           tent
           ,
        
         
           Which
           soon
           i'
           th'
           night
           betraid
           by
           hard
           event
           ,
        
         
           Cruell
           Tydides
           with
           much
           bloud
           did
           spoile
           ,
        
         
           And
           his
           fierce
           horses
           forc'd
           to
           's
           camp
           recoile
           ,
        
         
           Before
           they
           graz'd
           on
           Troyes
           unhappy
           grasse
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Xanthus
           streams
           to
           taste
           cold
           safely
           passe
           .
        
         
           Young
           Troilus
           flying
           there
           ,
           whose
           sword
           him
           fail'd
           ,
        
         
           Unluckie
           lad
           ,
           unequally
           assail'd
        
         
           By
           Achilles
           ,
           soon
           shov'd
           out
           of
           's
           chariots
           chaire
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           held
           the
           rulelesse
           reins
           :
           his
           comely
           haire
        
         
           And
           deadly
           wounded
           corps
           drag'd
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           after
           him
           his
           speare
           he
           drailing
           found
           .
        
         
           Then
           how
           Troyes
           dames
           ,
           with
           haire
           about
           their
           eares
           ,
        
         
           With
           vailed
           heads
           ,
           eyes
           full
           of
           brinish
           teares
           ,
        
         
           Beating
           their
           breasts
           ,
           to
           Pallas
           temple
           went
           :
        
         
           Who
           frowningly
           to
           th'
           ground
           her
           fixt
           eyes
           bent
           .
        
         
           How
           Hectors
           corps
           thrice
           'bout
           Troyes
           walls
           were
           drag'd
           ▪
        
         
           And
           by
           Achilles
           sold
           for
           gold
           ,
           upbag'd
           .
        
         
           Heart-breaking
           sighs
           he
           fetcht
           ,
           to
           see
           the
           spoiles
           ,
        
         
           The
           current
           chariots
           ,
           and
           friends
           deadly
           foiles
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           king
           Priam
           pray'd
           with
           weak-rais'd
           hands
           :
        
         
         
           Yea
           he
           himself
           saw
           ,
           '
           midst
           the
           Grecian
           bands
           ,
        
         
           The
           Indians
           troops
           ,
           and
           Memnons
           black
           aray
           ,
        
         
           How
           that
           Virago
           ,
           brave
           Penthesil'a
        
         
           Led
           her
           Amazones
           arm'd
           with
           moon-like
           shields
           ,
        
         
           And
           bravely
           fighting
           in
           Troyes
           Martiall
           fields
           ,
        
         
           Her
           breast
           laid
           ope
           ,
           bound
           with
           a
           golden
           belt
           ;
        
         
           Proud
           foes
           the
           blows
           of
           this
           fierce
           female
           felt
           .
        
         
           Whiles
           these
           rare
           objects
           
             Troyes
             Aeneas
          
           ey'd
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           serious
           sight
           of
           them
           even
           stupifi'd
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           this
           temple
           faire
           queen
           Dido
           came
           ,
        
         
           Tended
           with
           many
           a
           stately
           youthfull
           dame
           ,
        
         
           Most
           like
           divine
           Diana
           and
           her
           train
           ,
        
         
           On
           Cynthus
           hills
           ,
           or
           on
           Eurota's
           plain
           .
        
         
           About
           whom
           thousand
           Faries
           faire
           do
           cluster
           ,
        
         
           About
           her
           neck
           a
           quiver
           ;
           whose
           bright
           luster
        
         
           And
           stately
           pace
           all
           her
           Nymphs
           farre
           exceeds
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           Latona's
           heart
           prompt
           pleasure
           breeds
           .
        
         
           Thus
           lovely
           lively
           Dido
           seem'd
           to
           be
        
         
           '
           Midst
           all
           intent
           her
           throne
           stablisht
           to
           see
           .
        
         
           Then
           (
           guarded
           )
           she
           ,
           just
           at
           the
           Goddesse
           gate
        
         
           Sate
           down
           ,
           high
           seated
           in
           a
           chaire
           of
           state
           .
        
         
           VVhere
           she
           made
           laws
           ,
           and
           labours
           did
           requite
           ,
        
         
           Allotting
           all
           ,
           by
           lots
           or
           laws
           ,
           their
           right
           :
        
         
           VVhen
           suddenly
           Aeneas
           saw
           a
           throng
        
         
           Approach
           to
           him
           ,
           which
           was
           Cloanthus
           strong
           ,
        
         
           
             Sergest
             ,
             Anthea
          
           ,
           and
           the
           Trojans
           all
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           raging
           seas
           forc'd
           on
           strange
           shores
           to
           fall
           .
        
         
           Amaz'd
           he
           stood
           ,
           astonisht
           with
           him
           were
        
         
           Achates
           and
           the
           rest
           ,
           with
           joy
           and
           feare
           ,
        
         
           Longing
           for
           sweet
           reciprocall
           embraces
           ,
        
         
           But
           ,
           a
           hid
           hap
           ,
           this
           from
           their
           heart
           first
           chases
           .
        
         
           They
           coucht
           it
           ,
           and
           cloth'd
           in
           a
           concave
           cloud
           ,
        
         
         
           What
           fate
           their
           friends
           ,
           what
           haven
           their
           ships
           did
           shroud
           ,
        
         
           How
           they
           came
           thither
           then
           expostulating
           ,
        
         
           They
           some
           selected
           ,
           who
           themselves
           prostrating
           ,
        
         
           Came
           to
           the
           temple
           pardon
           there
           to
           crave
           ;
        
         
           Where
           entred
           ,
           they
           to
           speak
           full
           freedom
           have
           .
        
         
           Then
           fluent
           faire
           Ilioneus
           sweetly
           said
           ,
        
         
           Great
           queen
           ,
           whom
           Iove
           this
           cities
           foundresse
           made
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           justice
           proudest
           people
           makes
           afraid
           ;
        
         
           We
           ,
           weather-tyr'd
           ,
           poore
           Trojans
           thee
           desire
        
         
           To
           spare
           our
           ships
           from
           fierce
           nought-sparing
           fire
           :
        
         
           Pity
           a
           pious
           race
           ,
           propitious
           be
        
         
           To
           our
           affaires
           .
           For
           we
           are
           all
           most
           free
        
         
           From
           least
           intent
           to
           rob
           or
           spoile
           thy
           land
           ,
        
         
           Or
           on
           faire
           Libya's
           Gods
           to
           lay
           foule
           hand
           .
        
         
           Poore
           captives
           cannot
           harbour
           hopes
           so
           high
           .
        
         
           But
           there
           's
           a
           place
           ,
           which
           Greece
           call'd
           anciently
        
         
           Hesperia
           ,
           ancient
           ,
           powerfull
           ,
           plenteous
           ,
           known
           :
        
         
           Where
           the
           Oenotrians
           dwelt
           :
           by
           fame
           now
           shown
           ,
        
         
           Italia
           nam'd
           ,
           from
           Italus
           renown'd
           .
        
         
           Thither
           we
           all
           have
           our
           intentions
           bound
           .
        
         
           VVhen
           straight
           stormie
           Orion
           tympanizing
           ,
        
         
           And
           surly
           Southern
           fierce
           blasts
           tyrannizing
           ,
        
         
           Brought
           us
           upon
           black
           seas
           ,
           seas
           overflown
           ,
        
         
           Drave
           us
           on
           rocks
           unpassable
           ,
           unknown
           :
        
         
           Hither
           we
           few
           have
           swumme
           .
           But
           what
           be
           ye
           ?
        
         
           What
           rude
           conditions
           on
           this
           soile
           see
           we
           ?
        
         
           To
           be
           debarred
           harbour
           on
           your
           land
           ;
        
         
           From
           setting
           foot
           on
           shore
           warres
           countermand
           .
        
         
           If
           mortall
           men
           and
           earthly
           arms
           ye
           sleight
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           feare
           the
           Gods
           ,
           mindefull
           of
           wrong
           and
           right
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           was
           our
           king
           ,
           more
           just
           then
           he
           ,
        
         
           More
           pious
           ,
           potent
           prince
           there
           could
           not
           be
           :
        
         
         
           Whom
           if
           the
           fates
           preserve
           ,
           if
           yet
           alive
           ,
        
         
           If
           gaping
           grave
           him
           not
           of
           life
           deprive
           ,
        
         
           We
           feare
           not
           ,
           nor
           need'st
           thou
           thy
           love
           repent
           ,
        
         
           Primely
           exprest
           :
           In
           Sicils
           continent
        
         
           Are
           Trojans
           and
           Troyes
           arms
           ,
           Acestes
           great
           ,
        
         
           A
           Trojan
           born
           .
           Let
           us
           (
           we
           thee
           intreat
           )
        
         
           Our
           weather-beaten
           barks
           to
           harbour
           bring
           ,
        
         
           Repaire
           our
           oares
           ,
           fit
           masts
           i'
           th'
           woody
           spring
           ;
        
         
           That
           so
           we
           lively
           may
           to
           Latium
           sail
           ,
        
         
           Our
           king
           ,
           companions
           ,
           safe
           ,
           if
           fates
           don't
           fail
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           they
           do
           ,
           and
           thee
           ,
           great
           prince
           of
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           Libyan
           seas
           hold
           ,
           withhold
           our
           hoped
           joy
        
         
           Of
           young
           Iülus
           :
           let
           's
           at
           least
           regain
        
         
           Faire
           Sicils
           shores
           ,
           where
           king
           Acest
           doth
           reigne
           ,
        
         
           From
           whom
           we
           hither
           came
           .
           Thus
           Ilion
           said
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           Trojans
           humming
           ,
           reverence
           made
           .
        
         
           Then
           Dido
           with
           grave
           count'nance
           briefly
           spake
           ,
        
         
           And
           said
           ;
           Brave
           sirs
           ,
           false
           feares
           ,
           vain
           cares
           forsake
           :
        
         
           Novell
           necessitie
           of
           our
           late
           reigne
        
         
           Doth
           us
           to
           this
           strict
           watch
           and
           ward
           constrain
           .
        
         
           Who
           knows
           not
           Troy
           ,
           and
           brave
           Aeneas
           race
           ?
        
         
           The
           men
           ,
           their
           might
           ,
           and
           dire
           warre-wracked
           case
           ?
        
         
           Our
           Punick
           hearts
           are
           not
           so
           dead
           ,
           so
           dull
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           from
           our
           parts
           doth
           Sol
           his
           steeds
           so
           pull
           ;
        
         
           But
           that
           ye
           may
           Hesperia
           faire
           enjoy
           ,
        
         
           Timanus
           ,
           or
           Sicilian
           plains
           employ
           ,
        
         
           And
           go
           to
           king
           Acestes
           at
           your
           pleasure
           :
        
         
           I
           'le
           safely
           free
           you
           ,
           furnish
           you
           with
           treasure
           .
        
         
           Or
           if
           you
           will
           in
           our
           dominions
           bide
           ,
        
         
           Our
           citie's
           yours
           ,
           our
           havens
           your
           ships
           may
           hide
           :
        
         
           Trojans
           and
           Tyrians
           I
           'le
           alike
           embrace
           .
        
         
           And
           oh
           that
           king
           Aeneas
           ,
           whom
           storms
           chase
           ,
        
         
         
           Were
           present
           !
           Sure
           I
           'le
           send
           to
           search
           each
           shore
           ,
        
         
           And
           Libya's
           utmost
           confines
           to
           explore
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           if
           haply
           in
           strange
           town
           he
           stray
           ,
        
         
           Or
           in
           some
           uncouth
           woods
           have
           lost
           his
           way
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           and
           Achates
           hearts
           reviv'd
        
         
           With
           these
           sweet
           words
           ,
           to
           break
           the
           cloud
           long
           striv'd
           :
        
         
           And
           first
           Achates
           to
           Aeneas
           said
           ;
        
         
           Great
           heaven-born
           prince
           ,
           what
           thoughts
           thy
           minde
           invade
           ?
        
         
           All
           things
           are
           safe
           ,
           our
           ships
           and
           mates
           all
           found
           .
        
         
           One
           onely's
           lost
           ,
           whom
           we
           our selves
           saw
           drown'd
           :
        
         
           All
           things
           thy
           mothers
           words
           firm
           ratifie
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           spake
           he
           thus
           ,
           when
           into
           th'
           open
           skie
        
         
           The
           cloathing
           cloud
           brake
           ,
           and
           dissolved
           straight
           .
        
         
           When
           faire
           Aeneas
           in
           illustrious
           state
        
         
           Did
           shine
           ,
           and
           shew
           like
           Phoebe
           in
           face
           and
           feature
           ,
        
         
           His
           mother
           making
           him
           a
           matchlesse
           creature
           ,
        
         
           For
           gracefull
           haire
           ,
           and
           youthfull
           azure
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           For
           count'nance
           sweet
           ,
           which
           beautie
           happifies
           :
        
         
           Like
           damsels
           hands
           with
           ivorie
           braclets
           graced
           ,
        
         
           Or
           sparkling
           stones
           with
           gold
           plates
           round
           embraced
           .
        
         
           Thus
           then
           ,
           unthought
           on
           ,
           quick
           to
           th'
           queen
           he
           spake
           ;
        
         
           See
           here
           I
           stand
           ,
           for
           whom
           such
           care
           you
           take
           ,
        
         
           
             Trojan
             Aeneas
          
           ,
           freed
           from
           Libyan
           floud
           .
        
         
           O
           thou
           ,
           who
           onely
           Troyes
           true
           friend
           hast
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Tendring
           our
           toiles
           ,
           us
           ,
           lands
           ,
           seas
           ,
           Greeks-remain
           ,
        
         
           Drawn
           drie
           with
           woes
           ,
           most
           poore
           ,
           dost
           entertain
        
         
           In
           towns
           and
           tenements
           :
           O
           how
           shall
           we
        
         
           Repay
           condigne
           deserved
           thanks
           to
           thee
           ?
        
         
           Faire
           queen
           ,
           we
           cannot
           ;
           nor
           hath
           Troyes
           spoil'd
           nation
        
         
           Ought
           left
           wherewith
           to
           make
           gratification
           .
        
         
           The
           Gods
           (
           if
           good
           men
           they
           a
           jot
           regard
           ,
        
         
           If
           justice
           ,
           or
           good
           conscience
           they
           reward
           )
        
         
         
           Reward
           you
           worthily
           .
           What
           Halcyon
           dayes
           ?
        
         
           What
           honoured
           stemmes
           so
           rare
           a
           branch
           could
           raise
           ?
        
         
           Whiles
           flouds
           shall
           flow
           ,
           while
           Sol
           gives
           mount-beams
           bright
           ,
        
         
           While
           spangling
           stars
           in
           skie
           give
           twinkling
           light
           ;
        
         
           Thy
           noble
           name
           and
           fame
           I
           'le
           glorious
           make
        
         
           In
           all
           parts
           ,
           as
           I
           passe
           .
           As
           thus
           he
           spake
           ,
        
         
           Aeneas
           in
           's
           right
           hand
           Achates
           took
           ,
        
         
           With
           's
           left
           
             Serest
             ,
             Gyan
          
           ,
           the
           rest
           he
           shook
           .
        
         
           Dido
           at
           first
           astonisht
           with
           the
           states
        
         
           Of
           such
           brave
           men
           ,
           thus
           them
           exhilarates
           :
        
         
           What
           churlish
           chance
           (
           faire
           Goddesse
           sonne
           )
           what
           might
        
         
           Hath
           thee
           on
           barbarous
           banks
           forc'd
           in
           such
           plight
           ?
        
         
           Art
           thou
           Aeneas
           ,
           whom
           Anchises
           old
        
         
           On
           Venus
           got
           ,
           by
           
             Phrygian
             Simois
          
           cold
           ?
        
         
           How
           Teucer
           came
           to
           Sidon
           now
           I
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Forc'd
           from
           his
           state
           ,
           hoping
           good
           help
           to
           finde
           ,
        
         
           To
           be
           by
           Belus
           repossest
           of
           's
           crown
           ,
        
         
           My
           father
           Belus
           then
           with
           high
           renown
        
         
           Warring
           on
           wealthie
           Cyprus
           ,
           wonne
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           that
           time
           I
           knew
           Troyes
           fate
           and
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           great
           renown
           ,
           thy
           Grecian
           princes
           high
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           Troyes
           foe
           Troyes
           fame
           did
           magnifie
           ,
        
         
           Wishing
           himself
           sprung
           from
           Troyes
           progenie
           .
        
         
           Go
           on
           therefore
           ,
           faire
           Sirs
           ,
           inhabit
           here
           ;
        
         
           For
           I
           have
           not
           of
           such
           like
           woes
           been
           cleare
           :
        
         
           But
           forc'd
           by
           fate
           am
           setled
           in
           this
           place
           .
        
         
           Thus
           knowing
           wo
           ,
           I
           pity
           a
           wofull
           case
           .
        
         
           This
           she
           recounts
           :
           and
           to
           her
           princely
           court
        
         
           Aeneas
           brings
           ,
           and
           then
           she
           doth
           resort
        
         
           To
           th'
           temples
           sacrifice
           ,
           sending
           by
           scores
        
         
           Twentie
           fat
           ox
           ,
           an
           hundred
           rough
           hair'd
           boares
           ,
        
         
           An
           hundred
           ews
           and
           lambes
           ,
           to
           th'
           ships
           to
           's
           mates
           ,
        
         
         
           God-pleasing
           gifts
           ,
           heaven-cheering
           delicates
           .
        
         
           But
           th'
           inner
           rooms
           with
           princely
           pomp
           were
           drest
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           bounteous
           banquet
           love
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           Rich
           hangings
           of
           most
           rare
           wrought
           tapestry
           ,
        
         
           Cupboards
           of
           massy
           plate
           ,
           where
           curiously
        
         
           Were
           graven
           the
           famous
           facts
           ,
           continued
           storie
        
         
           Of
           potent
           peeres
           ,
           and
           of
           her
           nations
           glorie
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           (
           for
           paternall
           love
           now
           may
        
         
           No
           longer
           linger
           )
           swiftly
           sent
           away
        
         
           Achates
           to
           Ascanius
           ,
           to
           the
           shore
           ,
        
         
           To
           shew
           these
           things
           ,
           and
           bring
           him
           them
           before
           .
        
         
           All
           fathers
           joy
           in
           's
           gemme
           Ascanius
           lay
           ,
        
         
           And
           bad
           him
           bring
           Troyes
           rich
           sav'd
           garments
           gay
           :
        
         
           A
           costly
           coat
           embroidered
           thick
           with
           gold
           ,
        
         
           A
           mantle
           wrought
           with
           flowres
           rich
           to
           behold
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           Helens
           vestments
           which
           from
           Greece
           she
           brought
           ,
        
         
           When
           Troy
           ,
           and
           unchaste
           nuptialls
           there
           she
           sought
           :
        
         
           Her
           mother
           Leda's
           gorgeous
           gifts
           they
           were
           .
        
         
           Beside
           ,
           the
           scepter
           which
           Ilion
           faire
           ,
        
         
           King
           Priams
           eldest
           daughter
           us'd
           to
           hold
           ,
        
         
           A
           neck-pearle
           bracelet
           ,
           massie
           crown
           of
           gold
           .
        
         
           Achates
           ,
           this
           rich
           present
           to
           present
           ,
        
         
           Skips
           to
           the
           ships
           with
           joy
           and
           high
           content
           .
        
         
           But
           Venus
           new
           inventions
           ,
           new
           plots
           findes
           :
        
         
           Her
           Cupids
           count'nance
           first
           to
           change
           she
           mindes
           ,
        
         
           And
           him
           for
           young
           Ascanius
           to
           bring
           in
           ,
        
         
           The
           love-sick
           queen
           with
           gifts
           to
           love
           to
           winne
           .
        
         
           For
           why
           ?
           the
           Tyrians
           double
           tongues
           she
           fear'd
           ,
        
         
           Their
           hollow
           hearts
           ,
           and
           Iuno's
           wrath
           uprear'd
           .
        
         
           These
           nightly
           thoughts
           she
           thinks
           .
           Her
           winged
           childe
        
         
           Cupid
           she
           therefore
           calls
           ,
           with
           terms
           most
           milde
           ,
        
         
           And
           sayes
           ,
           Sweet
           sonne
           ,
           my
           sole
           ,
           my
           soveraigne
           might
           ,
        
         
         
           Ioves
           darling
           deare
           ,
           who
           thunder-claps
           dost
           sleight
           ,
        
         
           To
           thee
           I
           flie
           ,
           seeking
           thy
           sacred
           aid
           .
        
         
           Thou
           seest
           ,
           my
           sonne
           ,
           thy
           Trojan
           brother
           made
        
         
           The
           scorn
           of
           seas
           and
           shores
           ,
           by
           them
           still
           chaste
        
         
           Through
           Iunoes
           wrath
           ,
           which
           thou
           condoled
           hast
           .
        
         
           Him
           Dido
           has
           ,
           and
           holds
           with
           speeches
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           I
           ,
           lest
           Carthage
           courtesies
           ensnare
           ,
        
         
           Much
           feare
           :
           In
           active
           times
           delayes
           are
           vain
           ,
        
         
           I
           therefore
           plot
           how
           first
           by
           some
           slie
           train
        
         
           To
           catch
           the
           queen
           ,
           with
           love-flames
           her
           to
           heat
           ,
        
         
           Lest
           Iuno
           change
           her
           love
           ,
           which
           now
           seems
           great
           :
        
         
           Thus
           with
           me
           mine
           Aeneas
           still
           t'
           affect
           .
        
         
           Which
           how
           to
           do
           observe
           ,
           I
           'le
           thee
           direct
           .
        
         
           The
           Princely
           boy
           ,
           my
           joy
           ,
           mine
           onely
           care
           ,
        
         
           By
           's
           fathers
           will
           for
           Carthage
           doth
           prepare
           ;
        
         
           Carrying
           rich
           gifts
           preserv'd
           from
           flames
           and
           flouds
        
         
           Of
           Troy.
           Him
           fast
           asleep
           in
           Cythers
           woods
        
         
           I
           'le
           hide
           ,
           or
           on
           fierce
           Ida's
           holy
           h●ll
           ;
        
         
           That
           none
           preview
           ,
           and
           so
           prevent
           our
           skill
           .
        
         
           Assume
           his
           shape
           but
           for
           one
           onely
           night
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           childs
           childish
           face
           in
           's
           fathers
           sight
           ;
        
         
           That
           when
           the
           joyfull
           queen
           shall
           thee
           embrace
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           her
           princely
           bounteous
           banquet
           place
           ,
        
         
           Hugging
           thee
           in
           her
           arms
           ,
           give
           kisses
           sweet
           ;
        
         
           Loves
           poys'nous
           potion
           ,
           hid-fire
           ,
           her
           may
           greet
           .
        
         
           This
           love-lad
           straight
           his
           mothers
           minde
           obeyes
           ,
        
         
           Goes
           like
           Iülus
           ,
           wings
           away
           he
           layes
           .
        
         
           But
           Venus
           laid
           Ascanius
           fast
           asleep
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           her
           bosome
           tend'red
           did
           him
           keep
           ,
        
         
           Laid
           him
           in
           Ida's
           grove
           ,
           on
           shadie
           bed
           ,
        
         
           With
           fragrant
           thyme
           and
           Marjoram
           o'respread
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           goes
           Cupid
           to
           discharge
           his
           charge
           ,
        
         
         
           Led
           by
           Achates
           ,
           with
           his
           gifts
           most
           large
           ,
        
         
           And
           princely
           presents
           .
           And
           now
           come
           to
           court
           ,
        
         
           The
           queen
           on
           carpets
           rich
           in
           regall
           port
        
         
           Sate
           in
           the
           midst
           of
           her
           magnifique
           state
           .
        
         
           Next
           grave
           Aeneas
           ,
           then
           conglomerate
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           troops
           ,
           on
           purple
           carpets
           spread
           :
        
         
           Water
           for
           hands
           ,
           faire
           towells
           ,
           salt
           and
           bread
           ,
        
         
           The
           servants
           brought
           .
           Fiftie
           faire
           maids
           beside
        
         
           Tended
           within
           ,
           whose
           care
           was
           to
           provide
        
         
           And
           dresse
           the
           meat
           ,
           and
           fires
           on
           altars
           make
           :
        
         
           An
           hundred
           damsells
           more
           ,
           and
           men
           care
           take
        
         
           To
           set
           the
           banquet
           ,
           and
           to
           see
           cups
           fill'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           troops
           of
           Tyrians
           ,
           as
           the
           queen
           had
           will'd
           ,
        
         
           Sate
           on
           th'embroidred
           beds
           ,
           wondring
           to
           see
        
         
           Aeneas
           gifts
           ,
           Iülus
           raritie
           ,
        
         
           His
           God-like
           shining
           face
           ,
           words
           quaintly
           coyn'd
           ,
        
         
           His
           coat
           and
           cov'ring
           richly
           wrought
           and
           lin'd
           .
        
         
           Chiefly
           
             Sidonian
             Didoes
          
           minde
           and
           sight
        
         
           On
           nothing
           else
           could
           muse
           ,
           or
           take
           delight
           ,
        
         
           Unsatiate
           to
           behold
           her
           after-bane
           ,
        
         
           The
           lovely
           lad
           ,
           and
           gifts
           which
           prov'd
           her
           pain
           .
        
         
           He
           having
           hung
           on
           fathers
           neck
           and
           arms
           ,
        
         
           And
           fed
           ,
           yea
           fill'd
           him
           with
           feign'd
           loving
           charms
           ,
        
         
           Runnes
           to
           the
           queen
           .
           On
           whom
           she
           clasps
           her
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           Clings
           to
           him
           in
           her
           heart
           ,
           sometimes
           likewise
        
         
           She
           hugges
           him
           in
           her
           bosome
           ,
           ignorant
        
         
           How
           great
           a
           God
           her
           Love
           came
           to
           supplant
           .
        
         
           But
           he
           now
           minding
           what
           his
           mother
           will'd
           ,
        
         
           Makes
           her
           forget
           her
           good
           Sichaeus
           kill'd
        
         
           Slily
           and
           slowly
           :
           blows
           dead
           coals
           ,
           fresh
           burning
           ,
        
         
           Her
           love-dull'd
           heart
           to
           loves
           delights
           returning
           .
        
         
           Their
           first
           feast
           finisht
           ,
           tables
           ta'ne
           away
           ,
        
         
         
           They
           bring
           huge
           bowls
           and
           wine-pots
           garnisht
           gay
           .
        
         
           VVith
           mirth
           their
           rooms
           all
           ring
           ,
           and
           loudly
           sound
           ,
        
         
           In
           golden
           lamps
           great
           lights
           are
           placed
           round
           :
        
         
           VVhich
           burn
           so
           cleare
           ,
           that
           light
           doth
           night
           confound
           .
        
         
           Here
           the
           queen
           caus'd
           a
           wine-bowl
           rich
           and
           great
        
         
           Forthwith
           to
           be
           fill'd
           up
           with
           wine
           compleat
           .
        
         
           (
           The
           same
           which
           Belus
           us'd
           ,
           and
           all
           his
           race
           )
        
         
           Then
           silence
           made
           ,
           she
           said
           with
           comely
           grace
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Iove
           ,
           (
           for
           thou
           guest-laws
           ,
           men
           say
           ,
           dost
           frame
           )
        
         
           Do
           thou
           the
           day
           ,
           on
           which
           the
           strangers
           came
           ,
        
         
           To
           Tyrians
           and
           to
           Trojans
           happifie
           ,
        
         
           And
           blissefull
           make
           to
           our
           prosperitie
           .
        
         
           Mirth-making
           Bacchus
           help
           us
           ,
           Iuno
           deare
           ,
        
         
           And
           you
           my
           Tyrians
           strive
           these
           guests
           to
           cheare
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           the
           wine-bowl
           in
           her
           hand
           she
           took
           ,
        
         
           Temp'rately
           toucht
           it
           (
           first
           )
           with
           princely
           look
           .
        
         
           VVith
           checking
           charge
           to
           Bit●as
           she
           it
           gave
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           quickly
           quaft
           off
           the
           whole
           cupfull
           brave
        
         
           Of
           foamy
           vvine
           :
           after
           him
           all
           the
           rest
           .
        
         
           Hairy
           Iopas
           also
           did
           his
           best
        
         
           VVith's
           golden
           harp
           to
           make
           them
           musick
           svveet
           ,
        
         
           As
           ancient
           Atlas
           taught
           him
           songs
           most
           meet
           .
        
         
           He
           sang
           and
           plaid
           Moons
           monethly
           vagrant
           change
           ,
        
         
           The
           Suns
           diurnall
           toiles
           ,
           mans
           stock
           most
           strange
           ,
        
         
           VVhence
           birds
           and
           beasts
           ,
           vvhence
           fire
           and
           vvater
           vvere
           ,
        
         
           How
           starres
           do
           rise
           and
           fall
           ,
           and
           bright
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           The
           stormie
           seven-stars
           ,
           double
           plough-stars
           bright
           ,
        
         
           VVhy
           Sol
           runs
           Southward
           in
           his
           VVinter
           flight
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvhy
           the
           Summer
           makes
           so
           short
           a
           night
           .
        
         
           The
           Tyrians
           do
           their
           joy
           ingeminate
           ,
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           echoing
           .
           And
           the
           night
           in
           prate
        
         
           Poore
           Dido
           spends
           :
           vvhose
           love-draughts
           deep
           her
           touch
           ,
        
         
         
           Much
           talk
           of
           Priam
           ,
           and
           of
           Hector
           much
        
         
           She
           makes
           :
           and
           of
           Auroras
           sonnes
           brave
           arms
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Diomedes
           horse
           ,
           Achilles
           harms
           .
        
         
           Tell
           me
           good
           guest
           (
           ●ayes
           she
           )
           the
           totall
           storie
           ,
        
         
           Greeks
           treason
           great
           ,
           which
           quenched
           Troyes
           great
           glorie
           :
        
         
           Yea
           tell
           us
           all
           thy
           toiles
           ,
           which
           (
           as
           appeares
           )
        
         
           Thou
           hast
           endur'd
           by
           land
           and
           sea
           seven
           yeares
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             first
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             second
             book
             .
          
           
             When
             all
             were
             silent
             ,
             Troyes
             brave
             knight
          
           
             Troyes
             fates
             ,
             friends
             ,
             states
             ,
             doth
             here
             recite
             :
          
           
             The
             guilefull
             
               Greeks
               ,
               Minerva's
            
             gift
             ,
          
           
             La'coons
             smart
             ,
             sly
             Sinons
             shift
             ,
          
           
             To
             ope
             the
             hollow
             horses
             side
             :
          
           
             I
             dream
             of
             Hectors
             death
             discry'd
             ,
          
           
             Troyes
             fall
             ,
             king
             Priams
             destinie
             :
          
           
             Aeneas
             forced
             thence
             to
             flie
             ,
          
           
             With
             's
             father
             on
             his
             back
             he
             fled
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             his
             hand
             Ascanius
             led
             ,
          
           
             His
             wife
             Creüsa
             following
             fast
             ,
          
           
             But
             all
             in
             vain
             ,
             was
             lost
             at
             last
             .
          
           
             He
             thus
             escapt
             ,
             his
             fellows
             findes
             ,
          
           
             Who
             flock
             to
             him
             with
             chearefull
             mindes
             .
          
        
         
           ALl
           silent
           sate
           ,
           attentive
           heed
           to
           take
           .
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Aeneas
           from
           's
           high
           bed
           thus
           spake
           ;
        
         
           Great
           queen
           ,
           thou
           bidst
           me
           wondrous
           woes
           renew
           ,
        
         
           How
           
             Greeks
             Troyes
          
           realm
           and
           riches
           overthrew
           :
        
         
           Which
           I
           most
           wofully
           distrest
           did
           see
           ,
        
         
           And
           whereof
           I
           had
           share
           in
           high
           degree
           .
        
         
           O
           what
           hard-hearted
           
             Greek
             ,
             Vlysses
          
           ,
           could
        
         
           From
           teares
           ,
           large
           flouds
           of
           teares
           his
           eyes
           withhold
           ?
        
         
           And
           now
           being
           night
           ,
           starres
           summon
           us
           to
           rest
           .
        
         
           Yet
           since
           you
           so
           desire
           to
           heare
           exprest
        
         
         
           Troyes
           finall
           fall
           ,
           our
           woes
           :
           though
           extream
           grief
        
         
           Makes
           me
           abhorre
           those
           thoughts
           ,
           yet
           I
           'le
           be
           brief
           .
        
         
           The
           Grecian
           captains
           tir'd
           ,
           retir'd
           from
           fight
           ,
        
         
           With
           many
           a
           yeares
           fierce
           warre
           wearied
           outright
           ,
        
         
           By
           Pallas
           art
           a
           mount-like
           horse
           they
           built
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           strong
           wooden
           ribs
           his
           sides
           they
           quilt
           .
        
         
           This
           fictious
           vow
           they
           leave
           :
           so
           flies
           the
           fame
           .
        
         
           In
           the
           huge
           concave
           belly
           of
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           Closely
           contriv'd
           ,
           select
           brave
           youths
           they
           hide
           ,
        
         
           And
           armed
           souldiers
           in
           its
           belly
           bide
           .
        
         
           In
           sight
           of
           Troy
           lies
           Tenedos
           faire
           isle
           ,
        
         
           A
           wealthie
           place
           ,
           whiles
           fates
           on
           Troy
           did
           smile
           :
        
         
           Now
           but
           a
           bay
           ,
           sheep-shelter
           ,
           unsecure
           ,
        
         
           Here
           in
           a
           wood
           ,
           retir'd
           ,
           they
           hid
           them
           sure
           .
        
         
           We
           ,
           thinking
           they
           were
           fled
           ,
           for
           Greece
           all
           bound
           ,
        
         
           And
           Troy
           from
           her
           late
           toiles
           refreshment
           found
           ,
        
         
           Set
           ope
           our
           gates
           ,
           let
           all
           go
           in
           and
           out
           ,
        
         
           The
           Greeks
           forsaken
           camps
           to
           view
           about
           .
        
         
           Here
           Grecian
           troops
           ,
           there
           fierce
           Achilles
           might
           :
        
         
           Here
           lay
           their
           ships
           ,
           there
           armies
           us'd
           to
           fight
           .
        
         
           Some
           wondred
           at
           Minerva's
           gift
           accurst
           ,
        
         
           The
           horses
           hugenesse
           :
           and
           Thymoetes
           first
        
         
           Would
           have
           it
           set
           i'
           th'
           citie
           ,
           plac'd
           i'
           th'
           tower
           ,
        
         
           Whether
           by
           fraud
           or
           force
           of
           fatall
           power
           .
        
         
           But
           Capys
           ,
           and
           the
           part
           more
           provident
           ,
        
         
           Wisht
           that
           those
           Grecians
           grins
           ,
           gifts
           fraudulent
           ,
        
         
           Were
           either
           sunk
           i'
           th'
           sea
           ,
           or
           burnt
           i'
           th'
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Or
           's
           hollow
           belly
           boar'd
           ,
           truth
           to
           enquire
           .
        
         
           The
           commons
           carried
           were
           with
           crosse
           desire
           .
        
         
           La'coon
           first
           with
           troops
           attended
           then
           ,
        
         
           Runnes
           from
           the
           tower
           ,
           fiercely
           cries
           out
           ,
           Poore
           men
           ,
        
         
           What
           follie
           's
           this
           ?
           think
           ye
           your
           foes
           are
           fled
           ?
        
         
         
           Or
           Grecian
           gifts
           want
           sly
           Vlysses
           head
           ?
        
         
           Either
           this
           wooden
           pile
           doth
           Grecians
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Or
           'gainst
           our
           town
           some
           stratagem
           provide
           ,
        
         
           Or
           some
           hid
           harm
           :
           Trojans
           ,
           trust
           not
           these
           drifts
           :
        
         
           What
           e're
           it
           is
           ,
           I
           feare
           Greeks
           bringing
           gifts
           .
        
         
           Thus
           having
           said
           ,
           a
           strong
           speare
           with
           great
           force
        
         
           He
           strook
           into
           the
           ribs
           and
           side
           o'
           th'
           horse
           :
        
         
           Which
           trembling
           stood
           ,
           and
           deeply
           pierc'd
           did
           sound
           ,
        
         
           The
           hollow
           vault
           even
           groan'd
           with
           that
           great
           wound
           .
        
         
           And
           had
           the
           fates
           been
           friends
           ,
           our
           hearts
           been
           wise
           ,
        
         
           The
           speare
           had
           spide
           out
           Greeces
           treacheries
           :
        
         
           And
           Troy
           had
           stood
           ,
           and
           Priams
           turrets
           high
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           ,
           behold
           ,
           Troyes
           shepherds
           hastily
        
         
           Brought
           to
           the
           king
           a
           young
           man
           with
           great
           shouts
           ,
        
         
           His
           hands
           pinyond
           behinde
           ,
           found
           thereabouts
           :
        
         
           VVho
           of
           set-purpose
           gave
           himself
           to
           them
           ,
        
         
           Troy
           to
           destroy
           by
           this
           sly
           stratagem
           ;
        
         
           A
           fellow
           bold
           of
           heart
           ,
           for
           all
           feats
           fit
        
         
           To
           work
           his
           wiles
           ,
           or
           to
           death
           to
           submit
           .
        
         
           Our
           Trojan
           lads
           do
           flock
           about
           him
           fast
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           his
           face
           ,
           and
           scoffs
           at
           him
           to
           cast
           .
        
         
           Now
           heare
           and
           see
           Greeks
           grins
           ,
           and
           by
           this
           on●
        
         
           All
           other
           their
           slie
           juglings
           may
           be
           known
           .
        
         
           For
           as
           unarm'd
           'mongst
           them
           he
           trembling
           stands
           ,
        
         
           Glancing
           his
           eyes
           upon
           our
           Phrygian
           bands
           .
        
         
           Alas
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           what
           seas
           ,
           what
           shores
           me
           hold
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           tends
           me
           wretch
           ,
           but
           mischiefs
           manifold
           ?
        
         
           To
           whom
           nor
           Greeks
           permit
           poore
           habitation
           ,
        
         
           And
           angry
           Troy
           in
           's
           bloud
           seeks
           expiation
           .
        
         
           VVith
           which
           sad
           sigh
           our
           hearts
           relented
           straight
           ,
        
         
           Passion
           supprest
           ,
           vve
           vvill'd
           him
           to
           relate
        
         
           Both
           whence
           he
           was
           ,
           and
           vvhat
           strange
           news
           he
           brought
           :
        
         
         
           VVhat
           hopes
           he
           had
           ,
           being
           now
           thus
           captive
           caught
           .
        
         
           He
           ,
           feare
           at
           last
           forsaken
           ,
           thus
           repli'd
           ,
        
         
           Great
           king
           ,
           I
           'le
           tell
           thee
           all
           ,
           vvhat
           e're
           betide
           :
        
         
           'T
           is
           true
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           I
           am
           a
           Grecian
           born
           :
        
         
           This
           first
           :
           though
           fortune
           Sinon
           made
           forlorn
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           fond
           and
           faithlesse
           shall
           she
           make
           me
           never
           .
        
         
           If
           by
           relation
           to
           thine
           eares
           came
           ever
        
         
           The
           name
           of
           Palamedes
           ,
           of
           much
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Against
           whom
           guiltlesse
           ,
           Greeks
           a
           snare
           did
           frame
        
         
           Of
           treacherie
           (
           'cause
           he
           these
           vvarres
           forbad
           )
        
         
           To
           put
           to
           death
           ,
           for
           vvhom
           now
           dead
           they
           're
           sad
           :
        
         
           His
           man
           and
           kinsman
           neare
           ally'd
           ,
           am
           I
           ;
        
         
           And
           of
           a
           childe
           ,
           through
           parents
           povertie
           ,
        
         
           VVaited
           on
           him
           i'
           th'
           vvarres
           ;
           vvhiles
           in
           good
           state
        
         
           The
           kingdome
           stood
           ,
           and
           he
           was
           fortunate
           .
        
         
           For
           then
           vve
           liv'd
           in
           fame
           and
           reputation
           ,
        
         
           Till
           by
           Vlysses
           envious
           emulation
           ,
        
         
           (
           I
           speak
           :
           but
           what
           I
           knovv
           )
           he
           dead
           ,
           poore
           I
        
         
           VVas
           forc'd
           to
           live
           in
           obscure
           miserie
           ,
        
         
           The
           losse
           lamenting
           of
           my
           guiltlesse
           friend
           .
        
         
           Nor
           could
           I
           ,
           frantick
           fool
           ,
           to
           silence
           bend
           ,
        
         
           But
           vovv'd
           ,
           if
           fates
           did
           me
           to
           Greece
           reduce
           ,
        
         
           I
           'd
           be
           reveng'd
           on
           him
           for
           this
           abuse
           :
        
         
           Hence
           rose
           Vlysses
           envie
           ,
           hence
           did
           spring
        
         
           First
           harms
           to
           me
           :
           hence
           he
           new
           crimes
           did
           bring
        
         
           Against
           me
           ,
           and
           hence
           rash
           reports
           vvere
           spread
           ,
        
         
           His
           guiltie
           heart
           rais'd
           broiles
           ,
           not
           quieted
           ,
        
         
           Till
           I
           by
           Calchas
           .
           But
           vvhy
           stay
           I
           you
           ?
        
         
           VVhy
           things
           unsavourie
           do
           I
           thus
           revievv
           ?
        
         
           You
           have
           the
           Greeks
           all
           in
           one
           condemnation
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           enough
           you
           heare
           ,
           take
           on
           me
           vindication
           .
        
         
           In
           this
           th'
           
             Atrides
             ,
             Ithacus
          
           vvould
           joy
        
         
         
           Hereat
           we
           ardently
           our
           thoughts
           employ
        
         
           To
           search
           the
           end
           ,
           ignorant
           utterly
        
         
           Of
           so
           foule
           facts
           ,
           Pelasgan
           policy
           .
        
         
           Faintly
           and
           falsely
           on
           he
           tells
           his
           tale
           .
        
         
           The
           Greeks
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           from
           Troy
           oft
           sought
           to
           sail
           ,
        
         
           Would
           have
           reti'rd
           ,
           ti'rd
           with
           that
           wearie
           warre
           .
        
         
           O
           that
           they
           had
           !
           But
           bitter
           winters
           barre
        
         
           Debarr'd
           them
           ,
           and
           fierce
           windes
           their
           flight
           deni'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           chiefly
           when
           that
           high
           built
           horse
           they
           spi'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           thundring
           skie-noise
           all
           the
           seas
           o're
           sounded
           .
        
         
           T'
           Apollo's
           oracle
           (
           our
           thoughts
           confounded
           )
        
         
           Eurypylus
           we
           sent
           ,
           quick
           ,
           to
           enquire
           :
        
         
           Who
           with
           these
           words
           of
           woe
           did
           soon
           retire
           ;
        
         
           With
           Iphigenia's
           bloud
           ,
           a
           virgin
           slain
           ,
        
         
           You
           Greeks
           got
           windes
           ,
           the
           Trojan
           shores
           t'
           obtain
           .
        
         
           With
           bloud
           you
           must
           obtain
           safe
           to
           depart
           ,
        
         
           A
           Greek
           soule
           sacrific'd
           .
           This
           to
           the
           heart
        
         
           Strook
           the
           astonisht
           Greeks
           :
           as
           soon
           as
           heard
           ,
        
         
           Through
           all
           their
           joynts
           was
           trembling
           terrour
           rear'd
           ,
        
         
           To
           think
           ,
           whom
           thus
           Apollo
           meant
           should
           die
           .
        
         
           Vlysses
           then
           pull'd
           Calchas
           forcibly
           ,
        
         
           The
           southsayer
           ,
           'fore
           the
           Greeks
           ,
           bad
           him
           disclose
        
         
           Whom
           't
           was
           the
           Gods
           requir'd
           :
           then
           forthwith
           rose
        
         
           Much
           mutt'ring
           ,
           me
           to
           be
           this
           mischiefs
           aime
           ,
        
         
           Some
           this
           fear'd-ill
           to
           tell
           me
           closely
           came
           .
        
         
           Calchas
           beside
           was
           silent
           ten
           dayes
           space
           ,
        
         
           And
           would
           not
           shew
           the
           man
           must
           death
           embrace
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           Vlysses
           urging
           instantly
           ,
        
         
           He
           purposely
           burst
           out
           ,
           said
           I
           must
           die
           .
        
         
           All
           were
           unanimous
           ,
           what
           all
           did
           feare
           ,
        
         
           The
           weight
           of
           deadly
           woe
           ones
           back
           must
           beare
           .
        
         
           My
           dying
           day
           drew
           neare
           ,
           deaths
           vestments
           sable
           ,
        
         
         
           My
           heads
           death-co●f
           ,
           fatall
           fruits
           deplorable
           ,
        
         
           VVere
           all
           prepar'd
           .
           But
           I
           (
           't
           is
           true
           )
           evaded
           ,
        
         
           And
           death
           to
           scape
           ,
           by
           night
           a
           mud-lake
           vvaded
           ,
        
         
           And
           hidden
           ,
           lay
           i'
           th'
           flags
           ,
           till
           they
           did
           flee
           ,
        
         
           If
           haply
           so
           .
           No
           hope
           yet
           left
           for
           me
        
         
           My
           soile
           to
           see
           ,
           children
           ,
           or
           parents
           deare
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           thus
           expos'd
           to
           punishment
           ,
           I
           feare
           ,
        
         
           For
           mine
           escape
           ,
           guiltlesse
           to
           beare
           my
           smart
           .
        
         
           VVherefore
           by
           th'
           Gods
           ,
           friends
           t'
           a
           truth-venting
           heart
           ,
        
         
           By
           faith
           unfeign'd
           (
           if
           firm
           faith
           yet
           do
           stay
        
         
           'Mongst
           mortall
           men
           )
           I
           thee
           submissely
           pray
           :
        
         
           Pity
           my
           grief
           so
           great
           ,
           so
           unjust
           wrong
           .
        
         
           At
           these
           his
           teares
           our
           mercy
           staid
           not
           long
           ,
        
         
           But
           Priam
           presently
           life
           freely
           gave
           him
           ,
        
         
           Unbound
           his
           hands
           ,
           and
           all
           offence
           forgave
           him
           :
        
         
           And
           said
           ,
           Who
           e're
           thou
           art
           ,
           (
           lost
           Greeks
           forgo
           )
        
         
           Thou
           now
           art
           ours
           :
           the
           truth
           then
           fairely
           show
           .
        
         
           VVhat
           means
           this
           huge
           horse
           ?
           who
           did
           it
           invent
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           plot
           ?
           vvhat
           pious
           end
           ?
           vvarre-instrument
        
         
           Is
           coucht
           in
           it
           ?
           He
           straight
           ,
           instructed
           well
        
         
           VVith
           Grecian
           craft
           and
           guile
           his
           tale
           to
           tell
           ,
        
         
           His
           loos'ned
           hands
           to
           heaven
           lifts
           up
           ,
           and
           said
           ;
        
         
           I
           you
           adjure
           ,
           you
           quenchlesse
           shrine-fires
           made
           ,
        
         
           Your
           Godhead
           great
           ,
           altars
           ,
           death-swords
           ,
           (
           now
           fled
           )
        
         
           You
           fatall
           head-bands
           ,
           vvorn
           when
           I
           seem'd
           dead
           :
        
         
           VVitnesse
           how
           justly
           sacred
           vows
           I
           break
           ,
        
         
           How
           justly
           hatefull
           'gainst
           my
           Greeks
           I
           speak
           ,
        
         
           Opening
           their
           secrets
           ,
           of
           all
           oaths
           now
           free
           .
        
         
           Thou
           then
           ,
           faire
           Troy
           ,
           keep
           promis'd
           faith
           vvith
           me
           ;
        
         
           If
           truths
           I
           shew
           ,
           if
           love
           I
           largely
           pay
           .
        
         
           All
           Greeces
           hope
           of
           warres
           ,
           good
           hap
           still
           lay
        
         
           On
           Pallas
           power
           :
           since
           vvhich
           Tydides
           still
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           vile
           Vlysses
           ,
           authour
           of
           all
           ill
           ,
        
         
           Assay'd
           t'
           assail
           her
           temple
           ,
           thence
           to
           take
        
         
           Minerva's
           image
           ,
           and
           did
           slaughter
           make
        
         
           Of
           the
           towres
           guard
           ,
           and
           desperately
           stole
           thence
        
         
           Faire
           Pa●●as
           statue
           ,
           with
           strange
           impudence
        
         
           Daring
           to
           touch
           ,
           to
           take
           with
           bloudy
           hands
        
         
           The
           Virgin-Goddesses
           unstain'd
           headbands
           :
        
         
           From
           that
           time
           Greeks
           great
           hopes
           'gan
           ebbe
           and
           end
           ,
        
         
           Their
           force
           waxt
           feeble
           ,
           Pallas
           not
           their
           friend
           ,
        
         
           No
           shewing
           anxious
           issues
           by
           strange
           sights
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           had
           her
           statue
           station
           ,
           but
           flash-lights
        
         
           Of
           glist'ring
           flames
           came
           from
           her
           angrie
           eyes
           ;
        
         
           She
           swet
           all
           o're
           ,
           and
           thrice
           with
           jumps
           did
           rise
           :
        
         
           (
           Fearefull
           to
           see
           )
           and
           shoke
           her
           shield
           and
           lance
           .
        
         
           Calchas
           quick
           flight
           advis'd
           them
           to
           advance
           :
        
         
           And
           told
           them
           Greece
           could
           ne're
           see
           Troyes
           shipwrack
           ▪
        
         
           Unlesse
           their
           Gods
           ,
           and
           all
           else
           they
           brought
           back
           :
        
         
           Which
           they
           with
           them
           to
           sea
           in
           barks
           do
           beare
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           that
           they
           to
           Greece
           to
           sail
           prepare
           ,
        
         
           To
           make
           the
           Gods
           their
           friends
           ,
           arms
           ,
           all
           things
           fit
           ,
        
         
           Unseen
           sail
           back
           :
           thus
           Calchas
           orders
           it
           .
        
         
           Vision-advis'd
           ,
           they
           fram'd
           this
           fabrication
           ,
        
         
           Pallas
           t'
           appease
           ,
           and
           make
           due
           expiation
           .
        
         
           And
           of
           so
           high
           ,
           so
           huge
           skie-magnitude
           ,
        
         
           Calchas
           contriv'd
           it
           with
           oak-fortitude
           :
        
         
           That
           through
           Troyes
           walls
           and
           gates
           it
           might
           not
           go
           ,
        
         
           Left
           men
           their
           ancient
           superstition
           show
           .
        
         
           For
           if
           your
           hands
           should
           Pallas
           presents
           spoile
           ,
        
         
           Much
           mischief
           (
           which
           heaven
           bring
           on
           him
           the
           while
           )
        
         
           Would
           light
           on
           Priam
           and
           his
           Trojan
           train
           :
        
         
           But
           if
           your
           helpfull
           hands
           do
           it
           sustain
           ,
        
         
           And
           place
           i'
           th'
           town
           ,
           Troy
           would
           all
           Greece
           subdue
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           make
           our
           children
           this
           fierce
           fate
           to
           rue
           .
        
         
           These
           Sinons
           snares
           ,
           false
           fetches
           ,
           perjuries
           ,
        
         
           Troy
           trusts
           ,
           being
           catcht
           ,
           o'rematcht
           with
           false
           forc'd
           cries
           ;
        
         
           Whom
           nor
           Tydides
           nor
           Achilles
           great
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           ten
           yeares
           warres
           could
           tame
           ,
           nor
           thousands
           chear
           .
        
         
           And
           ,
           which
           made
           more
           ,
           to
           make
           them
           yet
           more
           blinde
           ,
        
         
           A
           fearefull
           object
           troubled
           their
           dull
           minde
           .
        
         
           
             La'coon
             ,
             Neptunes
          
           priest
           ,
           as
           't
           was
           the
           guise
           ,
        
         
           Offring
           a
           bull
           in
           solemne
           sacrifice
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           ,
           two
           snakes
           (
           I
           tremble
           to
           declare
           )
        
         
           With
           wondrous
           wraths
           from
           Tenedos
           repaire
           ,
        
         
           Gliding
           from
           silent
           seas
           to
           shore
           ,
           extending
        
         
           Their
           speckled
           breasts
           ,
           and
           flamy
           mains
           all
           bending
           ▪
        
         
           Above
           the
           main
           ,
           their
           uglie
           odious
           tail
           ,
        
         
           And
           backs
           with
           fearefull
           folds
           ,
           do
           wrigling
           trail
           .
        
         
           The
           waves
           they
           shove
           to
           shore
           ,
           with
           foamie
           dinne
           ,
        
         
           And
           up
           the
           land
           to
           crawl
           and
           creep
           begin
           ,
        
         
           Their
           gogling
           eyes
           flashing
           forth
           bloud
           and
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Their
           hissing
           mouthes
           ,
           sharp
           tongues
           do
           stench
           expire
           ▪
        
         
           This
           sight
           put
           us
           to
           flight
           :
           they
           joyntly
           crawl
        
         
           To
           La'coon
           ,
           and
           two
           of
           's
           children
           small
        
         
           They
           first
           affront
           ,
           and
           'bout
           their
           bodies
           wound
        
         
           With
           clinging
           clasps
           and
           bites
           ,
           their
           corps
           confound
           .
        
         
           Then
           him
           their
           fierce
           assailant
           they
           assail
           ,
        
         
           With
           sword
           in
           's
           hand
           ,
           and
           o're
           him
           they
           prevail
           :
        
         
           And
           twice
           about
           his
           body
           ,
           twice
           his
           neck
           ,
        
         
           They
           twine
           and
           twist
           and
           hist
           ,
           with
           hideous
           check
           ,
        
         
           Their
           scalie
           corps
           ,
           long
           necks
           ,
           his
           height
           excelling
           .
        
         
           And
           he
           with
           strugling
           hands
           stiffly
           repelling
           ,
        
         
           Pulling
           their
           knots
           ,
           with
           poys'nous
           filth
           besmear'd
           ,
        
         
           Most
           horrid
           screeks
           and
           cries
           to
           th'
           skies
           he
           rear'd
           ▪
        
         
           Much
           like
           an
           altar
           bull
           ,
           beat
           down
           ,
           broke
           out
           ,
        
         
         
           To
           save
           his
           neck
           from
           th'
           ax
           ,
           roares
           ,
           roaves
           about
           .
        
         
           But
           the
           serpentine
           dragons
           thence
           did
           glide
        
         
           To
           th'
           temple
           ,
           and
           to
           Pallas
           palace
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Under
           whose
           feet
           and
           shield
           they
           lurking
           bide
           .
        
         
           New
           shivering
           feare
           our
           quivering
           hearts
           hence
           caught
           ,
        
         
           For
           ,
           all
           La'coon
           justly
           punisht
           thought
           ,
        
         
           Because
           his
           speare
           had
           pierc'd
           the
           sacred
           oak
           ,
        
         
           And
           's
           lance
           had
           lanc'd
           the
           horse
           with
           impious
           stroke
           .
        
         
           To
           fetch
           the
           fabrick
           (
           therefore
           )
           all
           consent
           ,
        
         
           Into
           our
           town
           ,
           Minerva
           to
           content
           .
        
         
           Then
           straight
           we
           brake
           the
           wall
           ,
           a
           wide
           gap
           made
           .
        
         
           All
           with
           their
           helping
           hands
           bring
           nimble
           aid
           ,
        
         
           By
           's
           wheely
           feet
           and
           stiffe
           stuft
           neck
           to
           draw
           it
           ,
        
         
           And
           ceast
           not
           till
           o're
           walls
           ascent
           they
           saw
           it
           .
        
         
           The
           fatall
           foe-fill'd
           fabrick
           thus
           brought
           in
           ,
        
         
           About
           the
           horse
           young
           boyes
           and
           girles
           begin
        
         
           To
           sing
           their
           holy
           hymnes
           ,
           to
           touch
           the
           cable
        
         
           Delighted
           much
           .
           Troy
           (
           now
           )
           the
           horses
           stable
           ,
        
         
           I'
           th'
           heart
           o'
           th'
           town
           ,
           to
           th'
           town
           most
           formidable
           .
        
         
           (
           O
           countrey
           deare
           ,
           Gods
           seat
           ,
           victorious
           Troy
           !
           )
        
         
           Yet
           oft
           it
           stumbled
           ,
           hazarded
           annoy
           ,
        
         
           Entering
           the
           porch
           ,
           arms
           oft
           in
           's
           paunch
           were
           heard
           ;
        
         
           And
           yet
           blinde
           ,
           blockish
           we
           were
           not
           afear'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           in
           the
           sacred
           towre
           the
           horse
           thus
           hous'd
           .
        
         
           Yet
           we
           were
           by
           Cassandra's
           cautions
           rous'd
           .
        
         
           Whom
           we
           would
           never
           trust
           ,
           by
           fates
           decree
           .
        
         
           Poore
           we
           ,
           to
           whom
           this
           must
           the
           last
           day
           be
           ,
        
         
           With
           festive
           flowres
           and
           boughs
           our
           temple
           strew
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           the
           skie
           'gan
           change
           ,
           the
           day
           withdrew
           ,
        
         
           All
           darkning
           night
           her
           curtains
           black
           did
           spread
           ,
        
         
           And
           heaven
           and
           earth
           and
           Greeks
           grins
           covered
           :
        
         
           Dreadlesse
           Dardanians
           silent
           ,
           soundly
           slept
           .
        
         
         
           And
           now
           the
           Grecian
           troops
           had
           slily
           crept
        
         
           Out
           of
           their
           ships
           from
           Tenedos
           ,
           and
           soon
        
         
           Assisted
           by
           the
           still
           kind-shining
           moon
           ,
        
         
           Closely
           they
           landed
           :
           then
           their
           Admirall
        
         
           Hung
           out
           a
           lanthorn-light
           ,
           and
           therewithall
        
         
           Sinon
           ,
           base
           Sinon
           sheltred
           by
           bad
           fates
           ,
        
         
           Closely
           unclasps
           the
           wooden-belly
           gates
           ,
        
         
           Wherein
           the
           Greeks
           lay
           lockt
           :
           this
           opened
           Jade
        
         
           Lets
           out
           his
           armed
           intralls
           ,
           all
           's
           displaid
           :
        
         
           
             Tisander
             ,
             Sthenelus
             ,
             Vlysses
          
           sly
           ,
        
         
           
             Athamas
             ,
             Thoas
          
           ,
           down
           by
           ropes
           'gan
           hie
           ,
        
         
           
             Ne'ptolemus
             ,
             Achilles
             ,
             Mach'on
          
           first
           ,
        
         
           Menelaus
           ,
           and
           Epeus
           the
           accurst
        
         
           Horse-enginer
           :
           The
           citie
           they
           surround
           ,
        
         
           And
           set
           upon
           't
           with
           sleep
           and
           drink
           all
           drown'd
           .
        
         
           The
           watch
           they
           did
           destroy
           ,
           set
           ope
           the
           gates
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           rush
           in
           their
           arm'd
           confederates
           .
        
         
           Just
           now
           were
           men
           in
           their
           first
           dead
           sleep
           cast
           ,
        
         
           Gods
           gratefull
           gift
           for
           mans
           most
           sweet
           repast
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           ,
           behold
           ,
           me
           thought
           in
           dream
           I
           saw
        
         
           Before
           me
           Hector
           weeping
           ;
           whom
           foes
           draw
        
         
           Along
           in
           piteous
           plight
           ,
           at
           's
           chariots
           tail
        
         
           Besmear'd
           (
           as
           once
           )
           with
           bloud
           and
           dust
           most
           pale
           ,
        
         
           Under
           's
           wound-swelling
           feet
           his
           horse
           reins
           trail
           .
        
         
           Ah
           how
           he
           lookt
           !
           how
           chang'd
           from
           that
           brave
           Hector
           ,
        
         
           Which
           wore
           Achilles
           spoiles
           ,
           our
           States
           protectour
           ,
        
         
           Or
           ,
           darting
           Trojan-flames
           in
           Grecian
           barks
           !
        
         
           His
           beard
           now
           smear'd
           ,
           haire
           glew'd
           with
           bloud-wound
           marks
           ,
        
         
           And
           skarres
           seen
           plain
           ,
           ta'ne
           at
           the
           siege
           of
           Troy.
        
         
           And
           I
           ,
           me
           thought
           ,
           condoling
           his
           annoy
           ,
        
         
           Seem'd
           him
           to
           call
           ,
           and
           sadly
           thus
           to
           say
           ;
        
         
           O
           Dardanes
           light
           ,
           O
           Troyes
           true
           staffe
           and
           stay
           ,
        
         
         
           Why
           hast
           thou
           lingred
           long
           ?
           whence
           ,
           Hector
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Long
           lookt
           for
           ,
           cam'st
           thou
           ?
           that
           we
           ,
           wearie
           ,
           have
        
         
           Thy
           companie
           so
           late
           ,
           so
           many
           slain
           ,
        
         
           The
           citie
           spoil'd
           ,
           the
           people
           put
           to
           pain
           ?
        
         
           O
           what
           dire
           deed
           hath
           soil'd
           thy
           lovely
           cheeks
           ?
        
         
           Why
           art
           so
           wounded
           ?
           Not
           a
           word
           he
           speaks
           ,
        
         
           Or
           stayes
           a
           jot
           ,
           or
           answers
           what
           's
           desir'd
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           he
           had
           a
           deep
           fetcht
           sigh
           expir'd
           ,
        
         
           Flie
           ,
           heaven-born
           prince
           ,
           he
           sayes
           ,
           O
           flie
           this
           flame
           ,
        
         
           Foes
           have
           our
           forts
           ,
           fall'n
           flat
           is
           Troyes
           high
           frame
           .
        
         
           Our
           king
           and
           state
           were
           well
           ,
           if
           Troy
           could
           stand
           :
        
         
           And
           stand
           it
           should
           ,
           had
           strength
           been
           in
           our
           hand
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           her
           Gods
           and
           pious
           rites
           to
           thee
        
         
           Troy
           recommends
           ,
           let
           these
           thy
           fates
           mates
           be
           ,
        
         
           With
           these
           seek
           out
           those
           walls
           and
           turrets
           high
           ,
        
         
           Which
           thou
           (
           seas
           voyage
           ceas'd
           )
           shalt
           edifie
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           our
           countrey
           Gods
           ,
           holy
           headbands
           ,
        
         
           And
           altar-fire
           he
           put
           into
           my
           hands
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           much
           woe
           our
           town
           inhabited
           ,
        
         
           And
           more
           and
           more
           (
           though
           trees
           surrounding
           hid
        
         
           My
           fathers
           house
           ,
           which
           stood
           farre
           in
           )
           yet
           still
        
         
           Warres
           rumbling
           roaring
           noise
           did
           sound
           most
           shrill
           .
        
         
           I
           startled
           out
           of
           sleep
           ,
           did
           soon
           ascend
        
         
           Our
           highest
           turret
           ,
           listning
           eares
           to
           lend
           :
        
         
           Even
           as
           fierce
           blasts
           fling
           flames
           ,
           and
           cornfields
           burning
           ▪
        
         
           Or
           mountain
           flouds
           with
           swift
           careere
           o'returning
           ,
        
         
           O'reflow
           faire
           meads
           ,
           o'respread
           crank
           corn
           ,
           plow'd
           lands
           ▪
        
         
           Tumble
           down
           headlong
           trees
           ,
           nought
           upright
           stands
           :
        
         
           Which
           the
           poore
           silly
           shepherd
           stupifies
           ,
        
         
           When
           from
           's
           high
           hill
           this
           rumbling
           stirre
           he
           spies
           .
        
         
           Thus
           ,
           O
           even
           thus
           truth
           shown
           ,
           Greeks
           craft
           we
           knew
           ▪
        
         
           First
           Deiphobus
           faire
           house
           they
           o'rethrew
        
         
         
           By
           flames
           represselesse
           ;
           then
           they
           set
           upon
        
         
           His
           neighbours
           house
           ,
           our
           kinde
           Vcalegon
           :
        
         
           Sigaea's
           shores
           glistred
           with
           fierie
           blaze
           .
        
         
           Mens
           screeks
           and
           cries
           trumpets
           shrill
           sound
           did
           raise
           .
        
         
           I
           raging
           run
           to
           arms
           ;
           arm'd
           ,
           rashly
           fought
           ,
        
         
           Rudely
           rusht
           headlong
           into
           thickest
           rout
           ,
        
         
           Ranne
           to
           the
           towre
           ;
           hurried
           with
           wrath
           and
           rage
           ,
        
         
           Held
           it
           true
           honour
           ,
           life
           in
           death
           t'
           engage
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           ,
           behold
           ,
           Panthus
           ,
           fled
           from
           Greeks
           power
           ,
        
         
           
             Panthus
             Apollos
          
           priest
           ,
           keeper
           o'
           th'
           tower
           ,
        
         
           Frantickly
           ranne
           to
           sea
           ,
           to
           flie
           the
           land
           ,
        
         
           Our
           Gods
           ,
           their
           sacred
           rites
           ,
           his
           sonne
           in
           's
           hand
           :
        
         
           To
           whom
           I
           cry'd
           ,
           O
           Panthus
           ,
           where's
           warres
           worst
           ?
        
         
           What
           towre
           may
           taken
           be
           ?
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           burst
        
         
           Into
           deep
           sighs
           ,
           and
           spake
           thus
           as
           he
           past
           ;
        
         
           Troyes
           fearfull
           fate
           is
           come
           ,
           this
           day
           's
           our
           last
           :
        
         
           We
           once
           were
           Trojans
           ,
           once
           this
           was
           faire
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           And
           Trojans
           grace
           :
           now
           angrie
           Iove
           our
           joy
        
         
           Gives
           to
           the
           
             Greeks
             :
             Greeks
          
           lord
           it
           over
           us
           ,
        
         
           Out
           citie
           fir'd
           ,
           we
           most
           calamitous
           .
        
         
           The
           hiddie
           horse
           standing
           within
           our
           town
           ,
        
         
           Hath
           armed
           men
           disgorg'd
           :
           fire
           up
           and
           down
        
         
           Sinon
           triumphant
           throws
           :
           some
           strongly
           stand
        
         
           To
           keep
           our
           gates
           wide
           ope
           :
           ne're
           did
           our
           land
        
         
           So
           many
           Grecian
           swarms
           behold
           :
           some
           guard
        
         
           Our
           narrow
           lanes
           ;
           strong
           troups
           keep
           watch
           and
           ward
        
         
           With
           sharp
           drawn
           swords
           ,
           to
           th'
           death
           to
           fight
           most
           stout
           ;
        
         
           Our
           guards
           confus'dly
           fight
           ,
           hardly
           hold
           out
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Panthus
           :
           straight
           my
           heaven-spurr'd
           spirit
           me
           threw
        
         
           Into
           the
           hottest
           flame
           ,
           and
           fight
           ;
           I
           view
        
         
           Angry
           Erinnys
           ,
           noise
           ,
           annoise
           me
           guide
        
         
           Rhipheus
           and
           valiant
           Iphitus
           ,
           beside
           ,
        
         
         
           My
           Martiall
           mates
           agglomerate
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           
             Hypanis
             ,
             Dymas
          
           ,
           vvay
           by
           moon-light
           see
           :
        
         
           Great
           Mygdons
           sonne
           ,
           young
           Choroebus
           most
           stout
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           in
           those
           dayes
           by
           chance
           to
           Troy
           came
           out
           ,
        
         
           Caught
           with
           Cassandras
           captive
           love
           :
           both
           he
        
         
           And
           his
           great
           Sire
           brought
           aid
           t'
           us
           Phrygians
           free
           .
        
         
           Unhappy
           ,
           vvho
           the
           counsel
           vvould
           not
           heare
        
         
           Of
           his
           Cassandra
           prophetizing
           deare
           .
        
         
           VVhom
           when
           I
           saw
           boldly
           to
           battell
           bent
           ,
        
         
           I
           thus
           bespake
           ;
           Brave
           youths
           of
           high
           intent
           ,
        
         
           O
           ,
           but
           in
           vain
           ,
           if
           flames
           of
           Martiall
           fire
        
         
           Kindle
           your
           courage
           ,
           honour
           true
           t'
           acquire
           ,
        
         
           Alas
           our
           cities
           fortune
           here
           you
           see
           :
        
         
           Our
           Gods
           ,
           best
           goods
           ,
           all
           quite
           extinguisht
           be
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           propt
           our
           state
           ,
           a
           citie
           burnt
           you
           'd
           save
           :
        
         
           Let
           's
           die
           ,
           and
           rush
           through
           thickest
           rank
           most
           brave
           .
        
         
           'T
           is
           captives
           comfort
           no
           helps
           hope
           to
           have
           .
        
         
           These
           vvords
           the
           Gallants
           hearts
           vvith
           rage
           did
           fire
           ,
        
         
           And
           straight
           (
           as
           ravening
           vvolves
           at
           night
           desire
           ,
        
         
           Their
           whelps
           being
           left
           ,
           their
           paunch
           being
           hungerbit
           ,
        
         
           To
           range
           abroad
           to
           finde
           a
           prey
           most
           fit
           )
        
         
           Through
           speares
           and
           spight
           of
           foes
           ,
           fearelesse
           to
           die
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           passe
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           midst
           o'
           th'
           citie
           hie
           :
        
         
           Black
           night
           with
           sable
           shades
           doth
           us
           surround
           .
        
         
           O
           ,
           vvho
           that
           nights
           great
           slaughter
           ,
           vvoes
           great
           wound
        
         
           Can
           explicate
           ?
           what
           teares
           equall
           those
           toiles
           ?
        
         
           A
           town
           of
           fame
           is
           fal'n
           ,
           long
           ,
           rich
           vvith
           spoiles
           ,
        
         
           Her
           streets
           are
           strew'd
           most
           thick
           vvith
           bodies
           slain
           ,
        
         
           Troyes
           unreveng'd
           bloud
           ,
           temples
           ,
           all
           doth
           stain
           .
        
         
           Courage
           in
           conquered
           hearts
           vvas
           once
           made
           known
           ,
        
         
           Now-conquering
           Greeks
           vve
           once
           had
           overthrown
           :
        
         
           But
           now
           vvhere
           e're
           vve
           look
           ,
           vve
           nought
           can
           spie
           ,
        
         
         
           But
           feares
           and
           teares
           ,
           and
           much
           mortalitie
           .
        
         
           Androgeos
           then
           ,
           a
           Grecian
           captain
           stout
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           first
           affronted
           ,
           with
           his
           Grecian
           rout
           ;
        
         
           VVho
           taking
           us
           for
           friends
           ,
           thus
           friendly
           said
           ;
        
         
           Make
           haste
           ,
           brave
           Sirs
           ,
           vvhat
           loytring
           hath
           you
           staid
           ?
        
         
           VVhiles
           others
           sack
           and
           take
           all-fired
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           You
           scarce
           your
           ships
           have
           left
           ,
           help
           to
           employ
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           soon
           perceiv'd
           :
           (
           for
           no
           reply
        
         
           Fitting
           his
           minde
           vvas
           made
           )
           that
           th'
           enemie
        
         
           Had
           close
           enclos'd
           him
           unawares
           :
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           heart
           and
           heels
           he
           made
           swift
           retrograde
           .
        
         
           Like
           one
           that
           unawares
           t●eads
           suddenly
        
         
           On
           an
           earth-creeping
           snake
           vvhich
           close
           did
           lie
        
         
           'Mongst
           pricklie
           thorns
           ,
           he
           quick
           starts
           from
           (
           in
           feare
           )
        
         
           The
           rage-swoln
           snake
           ,
           vvhich
           his
           blew
           neck
           doth
           reare
           .
        
         
           Feare-dampt
           Androgeos
           thus
           flevv
           from
           our
           sight
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           follovved
           close
           ,
           closely
           maintain'd
           the
           fight
           :
        
         
           On
           all
           sides
           fel'd
           our
           foes
           ,
           strangers
           to
           th'
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           fill'd
           vvith
           feare
           :
           fates
           did
           our
           first
           facts
           grace
           .
        
         
           Choroebus
           courag'd
           vvith
           this
           good
           successe
           ,
        
         
           Cries
           out
           ,
           Brave
           mates
           ,
           let
           's
           this
           faire
           path-vvay
           presse
           ,
        
         
           Let
           's
           hold
           fast
           fortune
           by
           her
           friendly
           hand
           .
        
         
           Let
           's
           change
           our
           shields
           vvonne
           from
           this
           Grecian
           band
           ,
        
         
           And
           vveare
           their
           arms
           :
           What
           courage
           can't
           ,
           craft
           may
           .
        
         
           Slain
           foes
           vvill
           furnish
           us
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           straightvvay
        
         
           Androgeos
           helmet
           faire
           ,
           and
           shield
           he
           bare
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           brave
           Grecian
           blade
           by
           's
           side
           he
           vvare
           .
        
         
           The
           like
           did
           
             Dymas
             ,
             Rhipheus
          
           ,
           and
           the
           rest
           .
        
         
           And
           vvith
           Greeks
           spoiles
           themselves
           they
           joyfull
           drest
           .
        
         
           Then
           flew
           vve
           'mongst
           the
           Greeks
           ,
           not
           by
           self-guide
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           dark
           night
           vve
           many
           a
           skirmish
           tride
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           a
           Grecian
           soule
           vve
           sent
           to
           hell
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           some
           to
           ships
           and
           shores
           we
           did
           repell
           :
        
         
           Some
           with
           base
           feare
           to
           th'
           horrid
           horse
           retire
           ,
        
         
           Reclimbe
           his
           back
           ,
           known
           belly
           holes
           t'
           acquire
           .
        
         
           But
           fates
           displeas'd
           ,
           alas
           ,
           there
           's
           nothing
           stable
           ,
        
         
           For
           now
           behold
           Cassandra
           amiable
           ,
        
         
           A
           virgin
           pure
           ,
           king
           Priams
           daughter
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Drag'd
           out
           o'
           th'
           temple
           by
           her
           tender
           haire
           ,
        
         
           Lifting
           her
           starrie
           eyes
           to
           heaven
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           eyes
           :
           for
           her
           soft
           hands
           bands
           did
           restrain
           .
        
         
           This
           spightfull
           spectacle
           Choroebus
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           Hating
           to
           see
           ,
           with
           love-rage
           straight
           did
           pierce
        
         
           Into
           the
           rout
           ,
           resolved
           there
           to
           die
           :
        
         
           After
           whom
           we
           do
           all
           most
           fiercely
           flie
           .
        
         
           Here
           from
           the
           temples
           top
           by
           our
           friends
           darts
        
         
           We
           were
           confounded
           ,
           suffered
           sorest
           smarts
           ,
        
         
           By
           our
           chang'd
           arms
           ,
           chang'd
           Grecian
           shields
           and
           shouts
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           the
           Greeks
           enrag'd
           ,
           since
           from
           their
           routs
        
         
           The
           maid
           was
           freed
           ,
           from
           all
           parts
           hither
           throng
           ,
        
         
           And
           fiercely
           us
           assail
           :
           there
           Ajax
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           Atridas
           twain
           ,
           and
           Grecian
           bands
           among
           .
        
         
           Like
           adverse
           windes
           burst
           out
           with
           fierce
           crosse
           puffs
           ,
        
         
           Eastern
           with
           West
           ,
           West
           windes
           with
           Southern
           shuffs
           .
        
         
           Trees
           therewith
           tremble
           ,
           Nereus
           foamie
           voice
        
         
           Makes
           tumbling
           waves
           rowl
           up
           with
           roaring
           noise
           .
        
         
           So
           they
           ,
           and
           those
           whom
           we
           (
           by
           dark
           night
           vail'd
        
         
           With
           shieldie
           shades
           )
           ensnar'd
           ,
           to
           death
           assail'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           chac'd
           about
           the
           streets
           ,
           appeare
           :
           first
           finde
           ,
        
         
           Our
           changed
           shields
           and
           arms
           ,
           yea
           then
           they
           minde
        
         
           Our
           different
           dialects
           .
           Straight
           numbers
           die
           :
        
         
           And
           first
           Choroebus
           ,
           by
           Peneleus
           high
           ,
        
         
           At
           th'
           altar
           of
           Pallas
           omnipotent
           ,
        
         
           Did
           loose
           his
           life
           :
           next
           Rhipheus
           eminent
           ,
        
         
         
           One
           of
           the
           justest
           and
           the
           most
           upright
        
         
           Of
           all
           our
           Trojan
           peeres
           ,
           fell
           in
           this
           fight
           .
        
         
           So
           destinie
           dispos'd
           :
           then
           Dymas
           di'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           Hypanis
           ,
           by
           friends
           (
           as
           foes
           )
           defi'd
           :
        
         
           Nor
           thee
           ,
           good
           Panthus
           ,
           could
           thy
           pietie
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Phoebean
           function
           save
           ,
           but
           thou
           must
           die
           .
        
         
           I
           call
           to
           witnesse
           (
           here
           )
           the
           spirits
           of
           mine
           ,
        
         
           And
           Trojan
           flames
           ,
           that
           I
           did
           ne're
           decline
        
         
           (
           In
           their
           distresse
           )
           a
           Greek
           ,
           a
           sword
           ,
           a
           shield
           :
        
         
           But
           ,
           had
           fates
           pleas'd
           ,
           to
           death
           was
           prest
           to
           yeeld
           ,
        
         
           As
           my
           Greek-slaying
           hand
           and
           heart
           did
           merit
           :
        
         
           Thence
           brake
           out
           I
           ,
           and
           Pelias
           of
           stout
           spirit
           ,
        
         
           And
           Iphitus
           with
           us
           ;
           Iphitus
           old
           ,
        
         
           And
           P●lias
           ,
           perisht
           by
           Vlysses
           bold
           .
        
         
           Straight
           friends
           loud
           cries
           did
           us
           to
           court
           incite
           ,
        
         
           Where
           we
           did
           finde
           so
           fierce
           and
           furious
           fight
        
         
           As
           none
           had
           been
           before
           ,
           as
           none
           had
           di'd
        
         
           In
           all
           the
           town
           ,
           but
           what
           did
           there
           reside
           .
        
         
           There
           did
           we
           see
           unmastered
           Mars
           rush
           on
           ,
        
         
           Bloud-glutted
           Greeks
           our
           houses
           leap
           upon
           ,
        
         
           And
           block
           up
           fast
           ,
           and
           scaling
           ladders
           set
        
         
           Against
           our
           walls
           ,
           and
           scaffolds
           up
           to
           get
           ,
        
         
           By
           posts
           and
           pillars
           striving
           to
           ascend
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           their
           shields
           in
           left
           hands
           them
           defend
        
         
           From
           darted
           shafts
           ,
           their
           right
           hands
           grasp
           the
           tops
        
         
           Of
           highest
           holds
           ,
           the
           Trojans
           seek
           strong
           stops
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           uncovered
           roofs
           pull
           tiles
           and
           slates
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           as
           last
           helps
           ,
           hurle
           them
           down
           on
           their
           pates
           ,
        
         
           A
           while
           to
           keep
           off
           death
           ,
           which
           properates
           .
        
         
           Some
           guilded
           beams
           pluckt
           up
           do
           tumble
           down
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           were
           forefathers
           facts
           of
           high
           renown
           :
        
         
           Some
           with
           sharp
           brandisht
           blades
           their
           houses
           guard
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           in
           thick
           troops
           keep
           them
           with
           watch
           and
           ward
           :
        
         
           Those
           regall
           rooms
           resolv'd
           with
           hand
           and
           heart
        
         
           To
           save
           ,
           and
           to
           tir'd
           friends
           best
           aid
           impart
           .
        
         
           There
           was
           a
           wall
           with
           privie
           doores
           and
           wayes
        
         
           To
           passe
           unseen
           ,
           which
           Priam
           (
           in
           the
           dayes
        
         
           Of
           Troyes
           triumphant
           state
           )
           did
           use
           to
           walk
           ,
        
         
           Unhappy
           now
           ,
           and
           for
           sweet
           private
           talk
        
         
           Andromache
           did
           use
           alone
           to
           meet
        
         
           Her
           father
           in
           law
           :
           and
           where
           ,
           with
           lovely
           greet
           ,
        
         
           Astyanax
           her
           childe
           his
           gransire
           saw
           .
        
         
           I
           by
           this
           passage
           did
           my self
           withdraw
        
         
           To
           th'
           top
           of
           an
           high
           house
           ;
           whence
           ,
           all
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           The
           conquered
           Trojans
           showred
           darts
           amain
           .
        
         
           A
           tower
           we
           then
           assail'd
           ,
           plac'd
           on
           a
           hill
           ,
        
         
           With
           skie-topt
           turrets
           built
           ,
           with
           curious
           skill
           :
        
         
           Whence
           totall
           
             Troy
             ,
             Greeks
          
           ships
           and
           camps
           we
           might
        
         
           Prospectively
           behold
           :
           this
           with
           warre
           spight
        
         
           We
           set
           upon
           with
           swords
           ,
           and
           hack
           in
           twain
        
         
           The
           joyn'd
           crosse
           beams
           ,
           and
           rais'd
           the
           ground-pins
           main
        
         
           From
           firm
           foundation
           ,
           shaking
           it
           so
           sore
           ,
        
         
           As
           that
           we
           forc'd
           it
           fall
           ,
           falling
           to
           roare
           :
        
         
           Whose
           sudden
           ruine
           fiercely
           ruinated
           ,
        
         
           Huge
           troops
           of
           Greeks
           about
           it
           congregated
           .
        
         
           But
           others
           us
           assail
           ,
           nor
           stones
           for
           harms
        
         
           Are
           spar'd
           ,
           nor
           any
           kinde
           of
           deadly
           arms
           .
        
         
           Before
           the
           porch
           ,
           even
           at
           the
           doore
           without
           ,
        
         
           In
           glistring
           brazen
           armour
           ,
           Pyrrhus
           stout
        
         
           Insulting
           stood
           ,
           a
           brandisht
           sword
           ●●'s
           hand
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           snake
           ,
           basking
           on
           Sunnie
           land
           ,
        
         
           With
           poys'nous
           grasse
           full
           fed
           (
           late
           )
           lurking
           in
        
         
           The
           frozen-earth
           ,
           cold-swoln
           ,
           now
           his
           old
           skin
        
         
           Stript
           off
           ,
           and
           he
           thereby
           made
           fresh
           and
           fine
           ,
        
         
         
           His
           slipperie
           rowling
           back
           breast
           high
           doth
           shine
        
         
           Against
           the
           Sunne
           ,
           with
           's
           mouths
           three-forked
           tongue
           .
        
         
           Great
           
             Periphas
             ,
             Antomedon
          
           among
           ,
        
         
           Achilles
           page
           ,
           horse-rider
           ,
           present
           were
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           lusty
           Scyrian
           youths
           were
           there
           .
        
         
           All
           thick
           do
           throng
           to
           th'
           house
           ,
           and
           wildefire
           cast
        
         
           Up
           to
           the
           top
           .
           Himself
           first
           comes
           on
           fast
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           tough
           two-edg'd
           tool
           cuts
           doores
           in
           sunder
           ,
        
         
           And
           pulls
           down
           brazen
           posts
           with
           Martiall
           thunder
           .
        
         
           Thus
           the
           beams
           broke
           ,
           boards
           cleft
           ,
           ruptures
           made
           bare
        
         
           The
           rooms
           within
           ,
           great
           halls
           and
           parlours
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Priam
           ,
           and
           Troyes
           ancient
           princes
           rare
        
         
           Delighted
           were
           :
           all
           lay
           to
           open
           view
           ,
        
         
           All
           were
           display'd
           .
           Thence
           feare
           and
           frights
           ensue
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           arm'd
           souldiers
           stand
           before
           the
           doores
           :
        
         
           Loud
           screeks
           and
           cries
           ,
           tumultuous
           uproares
        
         
           Do
           fill
           the
           rooms
           within
           ,
           which
           loudly
           ring
        
         
           With
           womens
           wailings
           :
           whose
           shrill
           clamours
           ding
        
         
           The
           golden
           starrie
           skies
           .
           The
           ladies
           faire
           ,
        
         
           O'reloaded
           with
           laments
           ,
           runne
           here
           and
           there
           ,
        
         
           And
           clasped
           posts
           embrace
           and
           kisse
           in
           feare
           .
        
         
           But
           Pyrrhus
           vvith
           paternall
           power
           breaks
           in
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           walls
           ,
           nor
           warders
           can
           protection
           win
           :
        
         
           His
           battering
           ramme
           breaks
           open
           doores
           and
           gates
           ,
        
         
           Pushing
           down
           pillars
           ,
           all
           things
           devastates
           .
        
         
           The
           Greeks
           do
           finde
           ,
           or
           force
           their
           way
           at
           will
           ,
        
         
           Kill
           all
           they
           meet
           ,
           all
           parts
           with
           souldiers
           fill
           .
        
         
           The
           foaming
           floud
           ,
           when
           banks
           are
           open
           brast
           ,
        
         
           O'rerunning
           obvious
           mounts
           ,
           runnes
           not
           so
           fast
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           its
           resistlesse
           stream
           the
           field
           o'reflows
           ,
        
         
           And
           swallows
           sheep
           and
           sheep-coats
           ,
           as
           it
           goes
           .
        
         
           Thus
           did
           I
           Neoptolemus
           behold
        
         
         
           Even
           drunk
           with
           bloud
           ,
           and
           both
           th'
           Atridas
           bold
        
         
           Entring
           the
           entry
           ,
           and
           faire
           Hecuba
        
         
           Her
           divers
           daughters
           ,
           and
           king
           Priam
           gray
           ,
        
         
           Defile
           the
           fires
           with
           bloud
           ,
           once
           consecrated
           :
        
         
           His
           fiftie
           concubines
           accommodated
        
         
           With
           fiftie
           hopefull
           sonnes
           ;
           columnes
           ore'laid
        
         
           With
           barbarie
           gold
           ,
           with
           spoiles
           most
           specious
           made
           ,
        
         
           All
           wofully
           laid
           waste
           ;
           and
           Greeks
           do
           share
        
         
           Amongst
           themselves
           what
           ravening
           fire
           did
           spare
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           perhaps
           you
           'l
           ask
           how
           Priam
           fared
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           he
           beheld
           his
           citie
           so
           ensnared
           ,
        
         
           His
           building
           burnt
           with
           fire
           ,
           houses
           puld
           down
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           midst
           of
           's
           palace
           foes
           fierce
           frown
           .
        
         
           The
           good
           old
           king
           his
           long
           left-arms
           resumes
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           age-feeble
           joynts
           ,
           sword
           ,
           shield
           assumes
           ,
        
         
           Buckles
           all
           on
           ,
           but
           all
           in
           vain
           ,
           and
           so
        
         
           His
           dying
           self
           in
           midst
           of
           foes
           doth
           throw
           .
        
         
           I'
           th'
           heart
           of
           's
           court
           ,
           just
           in
           the
           open
           aire
           ,
        
         
           A
           mightie
           altar
           stood
           ,
           a
           bay-tree
           faire
        
         
           Did
           by
           it
           grow
           ,
           ancient
           ,
           and
           ample
           spread
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           shade
           the
           shrine
           and
           carv'd
           Gods
           covered
           .
        
         
           Here
           Hecuba
           ,
           and
           all
           her
           daughters
           milde
        
         
           Like
           doves
           driven
           headlong
           by
           a
           tempest
           wilde
        
         
           All
           in
           a
           heap
           ;
           in
           vain
           the
           altar
           hold
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           their
           arms
           their
           helplesse
           Gods
           enfold
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           she
           ▪
           saw
           her
           aged
           Priam
           arm'd
        
         
           In
           youthfull
           arms
           ,
           wherewith
           once
           foes
           he
           charm'd
           ,
        
         
           O
           wofull
           ,
           oh
           unhappie
           spouse
           ,
           she
           said
           ,
        
         
           What
           mood
           ,
           what
           motive
           dire
           hath
           thee
           aray'd
           ?
        
         
           Nay
           ,
           forc'd
           to
           weare
           such
           weapons
           ?
           why
           dost
           flie
           ?
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           grave
           sir
           ,
           there
           's
           no
           necessitie
        
         
           Of
           such
           assistance
           ,
           such
           a
           Guardian
           grave
           :
        
         
         
           Chiefly
           if
           here
           we
           had
           my
           Hector
           brave
           .
        
         
           Oh
           then
           come
           neare
           :
           this
           shrine
           will
           shield
           us
           all
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           we
           'le
           here
           together
           dying
           fall
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Hecuba
           ;
           and
           to
           her
           him
           she
           takes
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           a
           sacred
           seat
           to
           sit
           she
           makes
        
         
           Her
           aged
           spouse
           .
           And
           now
           behold
           we
           heare
           ,
        
         
           Polites
           ,
           one
           of
           Priams
           sonnes
           most
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Scapt
           from
           the
           slaughter
           ,
           which
           fierce
           Pyrrhus
           wrought
        
         
           Through
           hostile
           fire
           and
           sword
           ,
           some
           safegard
           sought
           ,
        
         
           Flying
           the
           galleries
           and
           emptie
           places
           ,
        
         
           Searching
           ,
           sore
           wounded
           :
           whom
           so
           Pyrrhus
           chases
           ,
        
         
           And
           prosecutes
           and
           executes
           most
           fierce
        
         
           His
           rage
           on
           him
           ,
           and
           now
           o'reta'ne
           doth
           pierce
        
         
           His
           body
           with
           his
           lance
           ,
           who
           new
           now
           fled
        
         
           Into
           his
           parents
           presence
           ,
           fell
           down
           dead
        
         
           Before
           their
           face
           ;
           and
           much
           bloud
           spilt
           ,
           expir'd
           .
        
         
           Priam
           hereat
           ,
           though
           hedg'd
           with
           death
           ,
           yet
           fir'd
        
         
           With
           aged
           rage
           ,
           could
           not
           abstain
           ,
           but
           straight
        
         
           His
           wraths
           revenge
           doth
           thus
           evaporate
           :
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           but
           the
           Gods
           (
           if
           heaven
           loves
           holinesse
           ,
        
         
           And
           hates
           foule
           facts
           )
           for
           this
           thy
           wickednesse
        
         
           And
           daring
           deed
           ,
           with
           condigne
           guerdon
           quit
           ,
        
         
           And
           pay
           thee
           home
           with
           recompence
           most
           fit
           ,
        
         
           Who
           thus
           hast
           slain
           my
           sonne
           before
           my
           face
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           such
           death
           wrought's
           parents
           great
           disgrace
           ,
        
         
           But
           he
           did
           not
           do
           thus
           ,
           whom
           thou
           dost
           lie
           ,
        
         
           And
           sayest
           to
           be
           thy
           sire
           ,
           Achilles
           high
        
         
           Was
           no
           such
           foe
           to
           Priam
           :
           but
           desir'd
           ,
        
         
           Kept
           faith
           and
           promise
           in
           that
           I
           requir'd
        
         
           Humbly
           of
           him
           ,
           and
           did
           restore
           to
           me
        
         
           Brave
           Hectors
           corps
           ,
           interred
           for
           to
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           me
           into
           my
           state
           did
           re-estate
           .
        
         
         
           This
           said
           ,
           old
           Priam
           did
           ejaculate
        
         
           A
           feebly
           flying
           dart
           ,
           which
           gave
           a
           clang
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           did
           no
           hurt
           ,
           but
           on
           his
           helmet
           hang.
        
         
           Whereat
           thus
           Pyrrhus
           ;
           I
           'le
           thee
           recompense
           ,
        
         
           And
           as
           my
           messenger
           dispatch
           thee
           hence
           ,
        
         
           To
           tell
           my
           Sire
           Achilles
           this
           sad
           news
           ,
        
         
           That
           Neoptolemus
           ,
           of
           his
           issues
        
         
           The
           bastard
           was
           :
           so
           let
           him
           understand
           .
        
         
           Die
           therefore
           now
           .
           And
           with
           those
           words
           ,
           with
           's
           hand
        
         
           He
           trembling
           Priam
           to
           the
           altar
           drew
           ,
        
         
           And
           did
           his
           corps
           in
           his
           sonnes
           bloud
           embrew
           .
        
         
           H●s
           left
           hand
           wrapt
           up
           in
           his
           locks
           most
           gray
           ,
        
         
           His
           right-hand
           with
           a
           naked
           sword
           made
           way
        
         
           Into
           his
           fide
           ,
           to
           give
           his
           life
           last
           passe
           ,
        
         
           Which
           up
           to
           th'
           hilts
           in
           's
           body
           sheathed
           vvas
           .
        
         
           This
           was
           king
           Priams
           end
           ,
           this
           his
           hard
           fate
           ,
        
         
           To
           live
           to
           see
           Troy
           fir'd
           ,
           quite
           ruinate
           :
        
         
           Even
           he
           ,
           who
           once
           was
           
             Asia's
             Keisar
          
           great
           ,
        
         
           Mightiest
           in
           men
           ,
           and
           spacious
           regall
           seat
           :
        
         
           A
           despicable
           trunk
           (
           now
           )
           dead
           on
           ground
           ,
        
         
           His
           head
           cut
           off
           ,
           his
           carcasse
           no
           name
           found
           .
        
         
           But
           I
           with
           hideous
           horrour
           thus
           begirt
           ,
        
         
           Amaz'd
           ,
           my
           thoughts
           began
           straight
           to
           revert
        
         
           Upon
           the
           visage
           of
           my
           father
           deare
           ,
        
         
           As
           I
           beheld
           the
           king
           massacred
           here
           ,
        
         
           Just
           of
           my
           fathers
           age
           :
           I
           thought
           upon
        
         
           My
           sweet
           Creüsa
           ,
           from
           whom
           I
           was
           gone
           ;
        
         
           On
           my
           forsaken
           house
           ,
           and
           the
           fear'd
           fate
        
         
           Of
           young
           Iülus
           .
           'bout
           me
           I
           lookt
           straight
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           what
           hope
           of
           libertie
           I
           had
           .
        
         
           But
           all
           had
           me
           forsaken
           ,
           tir'd
           and
           sad
           ,
        
         
           Some
           leaping
           down
           ,
           themselves
           precipitate
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           some
           themselves
           in
           flames
           do
           conflagrate
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           I
           left
           alone
           ,
           at
           last
           did
           spie
           ,
        
         
           (
           Bright
           fires
           gave
           light
           to
           me
           ,
           who
           wandringly
        
         
           Peep
           into
           every
           nook
           )
           I
           saw
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           lady
           Helen
           ,
           how
           she
           closely
           lay
        
         
           In
           Vesta's
           temple
           ,
           on
           the
           sacred
           staires
           ,
        
         
           Her
           head
           and
           heart
           full
           of
           just
           feares
           and
           cares
           ,
        
         
           Both
           for
           the
           Trojans
           vvrath
           ,
           their
           citie
           spoil'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           grudgefull
           Greeks
           ,
           their
           marriage
           bed
           defil'd
           .
        
         
           She
           being
           Troyes
           sole
           firebrand
           ,
           fierce
           flame
           ,
        
         
           At
           th'
           altar
           therefore
           lay
           she
           hid
           for
           shame
           .
        
         
           Revengefull
           coals
           hence
           kindled
           in
           my
           heart
           ,
        
         
           To
           vindicate
           my
           countreys
           vvofull
           smart
           ;
        
         
           To
           pay
           her
           for
           her
           cursed
           wickednes
           :
        
         
           Shall
           she
           ,
           said
           I
           ,
           to
           Sparta
           have
           regresse
        
         
           In
           safetie
           ?
           and
           her
           countrey
           Greece
           regain
           ?
        
         
           There
           ,
           as
           a
           queen
           ,
           her
           triumphs
           to
           maintain
           ?
        
         
           Her
           parents
           ,
           children
           ,
           husband
           ,
           home
           to
           see
           ?
        
         
           With
           Trojan
           lords
           and
           ladies
           there
           to
           be
        
         
           Attended
           on
           ?
           shall
           she
           old
           Priam
           slay
           ?
        
         
           And
           Troy
           by
           furious
           flames
           bring
           to
           decay
           ?
        
         
           And
           make
           our
           shores
           so
           oft
           sweat
           streams
           of
           bloud
           ?
        
         
           Not
           so
           :
           for
           though
           there
           be
           no
           true
           manhood
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           glorious
           conquest
           in
           a
           womans
           wrack
           :
        
         
           Yet
           t'
           have
           extinguisht
           such
           a
           deed
           so
           black
           ,
        
         
           To
           take
           so
           just
           revenge
           ,
           is
           worthie
           praise
           :
        
         
           'T
           will
           be
           some
           ease
           to
           quit
           my
           countreys
           blaze
           ,
        
         
           And
           my
           friends
           ashes
           by
           revenge
           to
           raise
           .
        
         
           As
           with
           mad
           mood
           these
           things
           I
           cast
           in
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Ready
           to
           runne
           at
           her
           ,
           my
           mother
           kinde
        
         
           Offred
           her self
           to
           my
           most
           joyfull
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           glistring
           farre
           more
           gloriously
           by
           night
        
         
         
           Then
           formerly
           she
           did
           ,
           a
           Goddesse
           plain
           ,
        
         
           Such
           ,
           and
           so
           great
           ,
           as
           with
           her
           heavenly
           train
           :
        
         
           And
           holding
           me
           by
           my
           right
           hand
           ,
           she
           staid
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           her
           roseall
           lips
           she
           spake
           ,
           and
           said
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           sonne
           ,
           what
           untam'd
           wrath
           boiles
           in
           thy
           breast
           ?
        
         
           Why
           fretst
           thou
           ?
           why's
           no
           care
           of
           us
           exprest
           ?
        
         
           Wilt
           thou
           not
           first
           thy
           feeble
           father
           finde
           ,
        
         
           Left
           in
           much
           woe
           ?
           seek
           thy
           Creüsa
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           And
           childe
           Ascanius
           ?
           vvhom
           in
           Grecian
           rout
        
         
           I
           found
           (
           with
           wondring
           )
           wandring
           all
           about
           :
        
         
           And
           had
           not
           I
           peculiar
           care
           employ'd
           ,
        
         
           Fierce
           flames
           and
           foe-mens
           swords
           had
           them
           destroy'd
           .
        
         
           Nor
           hated
           Helen
           ,
           nor
           your
           Paris
           blam'd
           ,
        
         
           Did
           Troy
           subvert
           :
           but
           fates
           with
           wrath
           inflam'd
           .
        
         
           Behold
           (
           for
           I
           'le
           all
           cloudy
           mists
           expell
           ,
        
         
           Which
           dimme
           thy
           sight
           ,
           and
           make
           men
           not
           see
           well
           )
        
         
           Feare
           not
           thy
           parents
           precepts
           to
           obey
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           from
           their
           regulating
           rules
           once
           stray
           .
        
         
           Here
           where
           thou
           seest
           broad
           scattered
           heaps
           to
           lie
           ,
        
         
           And
           stones
           by
           stones
           remov'd
           ,
           and
           up
           on
           high
        
         
           A
           foggy
           fume
           to
           rise
           ,
           mixed
           with
           dust
           ,
        
         
           And
           Neptune
           with
           his
           trible
           fork
           to
           thrust
           ,
        
         
           And
           shake
           the
           walls
           ,
           and
           rouse
           up
           the
           foundation
           ,
        
         
           And
           utterly
           subvert
           the
           cities
           station
           :
        
         
           Here
           chasing
           Iuno
           chiefly
           guards
           th'
           old
           gates
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           wrathfull
           ,
           her
           choice
           ship-troops
           animates
           ,
        
         
           And
           steel-arm'd
           souldiers
           to
           her
           congregates
           .
        
         
           Yea
           see
           how
           Pallas
           on
           the
           high
           towres
           walks
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           storm-brightnes
           Gorgons
           furie
           stalks
           :
        
         
           How
           Greeks
           great
           patron
           strength
           and
           spirit
           infuseth
        
         
           Into
           their
           hearts
           ,
           and
           all
           his
           projects
           useth
           ,
        
         
           To
           make
           the
           Gods
           Troyes
           foes
           .
           Therefore
           depart
           ,
        
         
         
           Fly
           hence
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           cease
           here
           thy
           toiles
           of
           heart
           :
        
         
           I
           never
           will
           be
           absent
           from
           thy
           side
           ,
        
         
           But
           safely
           in
           thy
           countrey
           cause
           thee
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           she
           quick
           in
           nights
           thick
           mists
           was
           clos'd
           ,
        
         
           The
           great
           Gods
           frowning
           face
           being
           plain
           disclos'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           their
           furie
           to
           poore
           Troy
           oppos'd
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           ,
           me
           thought
           ,
           I
           saw
           all
           Ilium
           flame
           ,
        
         
           And
           quite
           o'retumbled
           
             Nerean
             Troyes
          
           faire
           frame
           :
        
         
           Like
           an
           old
           oak
           upon
           a
           mountain
           high
           ,
        
         
           Which
           rustick
           clowns
           do
           labour
           lustily
        
         
           To
           hack
           and
           hew
           with
           ax
           and
           chisils
           strong
           ,
        
         
           By
           frequent
           blows
           at
           last
           to
           lay
           along
           .
        
         
           The
           oak
           makes
           threatning
           nods
           ,
           and
           tremblingly
        
         
           Doth
           shake
           and
           quake
           its
           leafie
           tops
           on
           high
           ,
        
         
           Till
           chopping
           vvounds
           do
           make
           it
           give
           last
           crack
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           its
           fall
           doth
           all
           about
           it
           wrack
           .
        
         
           Then
           I
           retreat
           ,
           led
           by
           my
           Goddesse
           guide
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           both
           foes
           and
           flames
           away
           I
           glide
           :
        
         
           Weapons
           give
           way
           ,
           and
           flames
           do
           back
           recoile
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           being
           come
           into
           my
           native
           soile
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           my
           fathers
           ancient
           mansion
           faire
           ,
        
         
           My
           father
           (
           for
           whom
           was
           my
           speciall
           care
           ,
        
         
           To
           carry
           thence
           over
           the
           mountains
           high
           )
        
         
           Loathing
           to
           live
           ,
           Troy
           lost
           ,
           doth
           flat
           denie
        
         
           To
           go
           with
           me
           ,
           and
           exile
           to
           endure
           :
        
         
           And
           said
           ;
           O
           you
           whose
           bloud
           is
           fresh
           and
           pure
           ,
        
         
           Who
           young
           and
           strong
           can
           of
           your selves
           subsist
           ,
        
         
           Shift
           you
           for
           life
           ,
           you
           may
           flie
           ,
           if
           you
           list
           .
        
         
           But
           as
           for
           me
           ,
           if
           fates
           would
           I
           should
           live
           ,
        
         
           They
           (
           sure
           )
           this
           place
           would
           me
           for
           safegard
           give
           .
        
         
           But
           't
           is
           enough
           ,
           more
           then
           enough
           ,
           I
           see
        
         
           One
           ruine
           ,
           and
           our
           citie
           lost
           ,
           yet
           we
        
         
         
           Survive
           :
           even
           thus
           ,
           oh
           thus
           my
           corps
           laid
           well
           ,
        
         
           Departing
           ,
           give
           it
           a
           sad
           Vale
           knell
           ,
        
         
           These
           hands
           shall
           finde
           out
           death
           :
           foes
           may
           be
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           They
           'le
           take
           but
           spoiles
           ,
           small
           losse
           ,
           no
           grave
           to
           finde
           :
        
         
           Heaven-hated
           and
           earth-loathing
           fruitlesse
           me
           ,
        
         
           My
           yeares
           till
           now
           too
           long
           protracted
           be
           ,
        
         
           Since
           first
           the
           father
           of
           Gods
           ,
           and
           mans
           great
           king
           ,
        
         
           Did
           on
           my
           corps
           his
           blasting
           lightnings
           fling
           .
        
         
           Urging
           these
           arguments
           he
           fixt
           remains
           .
        
         
           But
           we
           with
           cheeks
           all
           wet
           ,
           with
           tearie
           stains
           ,
        
         
           I
           with
           my
           wife
           Creüsa
           and
           my
           childe
           ,
        
         
           And
           our
           whole
           houshold
           with
           intreats
           most
           milde
           ,
        
         
           Pray'd
           he
           would
           not
           all
           with
           himself
           o'rethrow
           ,
        
         
           But
           yeeld
           to
           forcing
           fates
           .
           Still
           he
           said
           no.
        
         
           Who
           holding
           his
           intentions
           ,
           sitting
           still
           ,
        
         
           To
           arms
           again
           I
           flie
           with
           eager
           will
           ,
        
         
           Willing
           to
           die
           a
           most
           perplexed
           wight
           .
        
         
           For
           what
           advise
           ,
           what
           fortune
           help
           me
           might
           ?
        
         
           Thinkst
           thou
           ,
           deare
           father
           ,
           I
           'le
           thee
           leave
           and
           flie
           ?
        
         
           May
           a
           fathers
           tongue
           vent
           such
           indignitie
           .
        
         
           Iffates
           conclude
           ,
           nought
           shall
           of
           Troy
           be
           left
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           to
           min'd
           Troy
           of
           help
           bereft
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           art
           resolv'd
           thy self
           and
           thine
           to
           adde
           ,
        
         
           The
           gate
           stands
           ope
           ,
           death
           may
           be
           quickly
           had
           .
        
         
           Pyrrhus
           with
           Priams
           bloud
           all-soil'd
           ,
           makes
           haste
        
         
           The
           sonnes
           bloud
           in
           his
           fathers
           sight
           to
           waste
           ,
        
         
           The
           father
           at
           his
           sacred
           shrine
           to
           slay
           .
        
         
           For
           this
           ,
           deare
           mother
           ,
           hast
           thou
           been
           my
           stay
           ,
        
         
           And
           refuge
           from
           all
           darts
           and
           deadly
           fire
           ?
        
         
           That
           I
           should
           see
           i'
           th'
           heart
           and
           heat
           of
           ire
           ,
        
         
           My
           father
           ,
           wife
           ,
           and
           my
           Ascanius
           tender
           ,
        
         
           In
           one
           anothers
           bloud
           ,
           their
           lives
           surrender
        
         
         
           By
           furious
           foes
           ?
           Arms
           ,
           arms
           ,
           bring
           arms
           ,
           deare
           friends
           ,
        
         
           This
           last
           day
           calls
           us
           ,
           conquered
           ▪
           to
           our
           ends
           ,
        
         
           Shew
           me
           the
           Greeks
           ,
           set
           me
           afresh
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           We
           will
           at
           least
           some
           of
           our
           deaths
           requite
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           I
           buckled
           on
           my
           arms
           again
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           my
           left-arm
           did
           my
           shield
           retain
           .
        
         
           But
           to
           the
           field
           I
           readie
           now
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           my
           deare
           Creüsa
           suddenly
           ,
        
         
           Just
           at
           the
           doore
           about
           my
           heels
           hung
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           my
           presence
           my
           Iülus
           cast
           ;
        
         
           Saying
           ,
           If
           thou
           'lt
           flie
           and
           die
           ,
           let
           's
           die
           with
           thee
           :
        
         
           Or
           if
           in
           arms
           ,
           lest
           hope
           of
           help
           there
           be
           ,
        
         
           Bestow
           thy
           strength
           ,
           first
           to
           defend
           this
           place
           :
        
         
           To
           vvhom
           else
           dost
           thou
           leave
           us
           in
           this
           case
           ?
        
         
           To
           whom
           thy
           father
           ,
           thy
           Iülus
           deare
           ?
        
         
           To
           vvhom
           me
           thy
           late
           vvife
           dost
           thou
           leave
           heare
           ?
        
         
           Weeping
           these
           vvords
           ,
           she
           fills
           the
           house
           with
           cries
           :
        
         
           When
           (
           strange
           to
           tell
           )
           there
           suddenly
           did
           rise
        
         
           A
           hideous
           chance
           :
           for
           even
           amongst
           us
           all
           ,
        
         
           In
           my
           sad
           fathers
           sight
           bright
           beams
           did
           fall
        
         
           Upon
           the
           top
           of
           young
           Iülus
           head
           ,
        
         
           Which
           lightly
           licks
           his
           locks
           ,
           and
           hurtlesse
           fed
           ,
        
         
           And
           grew
           about
           his
           brows
           .
           VVe
           much
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           Frame
           burning
           haire
           to
           strike
           the
           flames
           ,
           assaid
        
         
           To
           quench
           the
           sacred
           fire
           vvith
           vvater
           cast
           :
        
         
           But
           grave
           Anchises
           joyfull
           ,
           lifts
           at
           last
        
         
           His
           eyes
           ,
           his
           hands
           ,
           and
           voice
           to
           heaven
           on
           high
           ,
        
         
           Saying
           ;
           O
           great
           Iove
           ,
           if
           prayers
           do
           pierce
           the
           skie
           ,
        
         
           And
           move
           thee
           ought
           ,
           regard
           us
           in
           this
           thing
           :
        
         
           If
           pietie
           to
           mortalls
           profit
           bring
           ,
        
         
           Great
           father
           ,
           grant
           thy
           favour
           ,
           stablish
           right
        
         
           All
           these
           so
           faire
           predictions
           ,
           in
           our
           sight
           .
        
         
         
           Scarce
           spake
           the
           old
           man
           thus
           ,
           when
           sudden
           sound
        
         
           Of
           ratling
           vvelcome
           thunder
           did
           rebound
           ;
        
         
           A
           streaming
           starre
           from
           heaven
           most
           nimbly
           fell
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           lustrous
           brightnesse
           rarely
           did
           excell
           .
        
         
           Which
           from
           our
           houses
           top
           we
           saw
           to
           glide
           ,
        
         
           Its
           shining
           self
           in
           Ida's
           wood
           to
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Pointing
           our
           path
           :
           whose
           furrow
           with
           long
           streams
           ,
        
         
           Shone
           all
           abroad
           ,
           with
           sulfure
           fuming
           gleams
           .
        
         
           My
           father
           hence
           o'recome
           ,
           the
           signe
           respects
           ,
        
         
           Adores
           the
           starre
           ,
           thanks
           to
           the
           Gods
           directs
           ,
        
         
           Forthwith
           cuts
           off
           delayes
           ,
           sayes
           ,
           Here
           am
           I
           ,
        
         
           Lead
           on
           the
           way
           ,
           I
           'le
           follow
           readily
           .
        
         
           Deare
           Trojan
           Gods
           ,
           my
           house
           and
           grandchilde
           save
           :
        
         
           This
           was
           your
           augur
           ,
           yet
           you
           seem
           to
           have
        
         
           Some
           care
           of
           Troy.
           I
           yeeld
           ,
           good
           sonne
           ,
           with
           thee
        
         
           To
           go
           along
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           we
           heare
           and
           see
        
         
           Upon
           our
           walls
           a
           more
           cleare
           flashing
           flame
           ,
        
         
           And
           scorching
           heat
           more
           neare
           us
           rowling
           came
           .
        
         
           I
           therefore
           said
           ;
           Deare
           father
           ,
           take
           fast
           hold
        
         
           About
           my
           neck
           ;
           for
           I
           with
           courage
           bold
           ,
        
         
           Willingly
           on
           my
           back
           will
           beare
           you
           hence
           .
        
         
           How
           e're
           things
           hap
           ,
           one
           common
           exigence
           ,
        
         
           Ones
           welfare
           shall
           be
           boths
           :
           Iülus
           vve
        
         
           Will
           take
           with
           us
           ,
           my
           wife
           may
           follow
           me
           .
        
         
           And
           you
           my
           servants
           ,
           mark
           well
           what
           I
           say
           :
        
         
           Being
           out
           o'
           th'
           town
           ,
           you
           'le
           finde
           a
           h●ll
           i'
           th'
           way
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           forsaken
           Ceres
           temple
           old
           :
        
         
           Whose
           ground
           an
           ancient
           Cypresse
           tree
           doth
           hold
           ,
        
         
           Many
           yeares
           kept
           for
           our
           religions
           sake
           ,
        
         
           Thither
           we
           'le
           all
           from
           all
           parts
           us
           betake
           .
        
         
           Our
           Gods
           and
           sacred
           things
           ,
           father
           ,
           hold
           you
           :
        
         
           But
           as
           for
           me
           that
           now
           this
           warre
           eschew
           ,
        
         
         
           Still
           stain'd
           with
           hot
           bloudshed
           ,
           't
           is
           impious
           (
           sure
           )
        
         
           Them
           once
           to
           touch
           ,
           till
           in
           some
           fountain
           pure
        
         
           I
           may
           me
           lave
           ,
           and
           cleansing
           fit
           procure
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           I
           with
           a
           lions
           skin
           arayd
           ,
        
         
           Clothes
           on
           my
           neck
           and
           shoulders
           fitly
           laid
           ,
        
         
           I
           took
           my
           burthen
           up
           :
           my
           right
           hand
           fast
        
         
           My
           young
           Iülus
           gript
           ,
           and
           on
           he
           past
           ;
        
         
           But
           not
           with
           equall
           pace
           to
           's
           fathers
           flight
           :
        
         
           My
           wife
           comes
           after
           ,
           forc'd
           :
           through
           darkest
           night
        
         
           We
           thus
           are
           hurried
           on
           :
           and
           I
           ,
           whom
           late
        
         
           No
           clouds
           of
           flying
           darts
           could
           trepidate
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           swarmie
           troops
           of
           adverse
           Greeks
           could
           wound
           ,
        
         
           Novv
           feare
           each
           puff
           of
           vvinde
           ,
           each
           smallest
           sound
           .
        
         
           Most
           for
           my
           little
           mate
           ,
           grandvveight
           ,
           thus
           fear'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           to
           th'
           citie
           gate
           my
           way
           thus
           clear'd
           ,
        
         
           Thinking
           all
           safe
           ,
           I
           seem'd
           most
           suddenly
        
         
           To
           heare
           a
           thick
           quick
           noise
           of
           feet
           hard
           by
           :
        
         
           And
           straight
           my
           father
           through
           a
           glimmering
           shade
        
         
           Looking
           foreright
           ,
           O
           sonne
           ,
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           he
           said
           ,
        
         
           And
           hast'ly
           cride
           ;
           Flie
           fast
           ,
           our
           foes
           draw
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           For
           I
           their
           shields
           and
           glittering
           arms
           do
           spie
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           ,
           I
           know
           not
           what
           unfriendly
           fate
        
         
           Made
           me
           amaz'd
           ,
           did
           me
           precipitate
           ,
        
         
           Into
           strange
           by-wayes
           ,
           lanes
           ,
           and
           lawns
           untill
           ,
        
         
           Whether
           by
           fate
           fetcht
           thence
           she
           lived
           still
           ,
        
         
           Wretch
           that
           I
           am
           ,
           I
           lost
           Creüsa
           kinde
           ;
        
         
           Or
           whether
           ,
           being
           wearie
           ,
           left
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           Or
           having
           lost
           her
           way
           ,
           I
           am
           unsure
           ,
        
         
           But
           sure
           no
           search
           her
           sight
           could
           reprocure
           .
        
         
           And
           e're
           her
           lost
           my
           mindes
           reflect
           respected
           ,
        
         
           To
           Ceres
           sacred
           seat
           ,
           the
           place
           directed
           ,
        
         
           Even
           to
           the
           hill
           we
           came
           ,
           where
           we
           all
           met
           ,
        
         
         
           One
           onely
           wanted
           ,
           whose
           mistake
           did
           fret
        
         
           Her
           mates
           ,
           her
           sonne
           ,
           and
           me
           her
           husband
           deare
           .
        
         
           And
           whom
           herein
           did
           frantick
           I
           hold
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           And
           not
           accuse
           ?
           Or
           Gods
           ,
           or
           men
           ,
           or
           what
        
         
           In
           all
           Troyes
           wrack
           held
           I
           more
           harsh
           then
           that
           ?
        
         
           Ascanius
           ,
           and
           Anchises
           my
           deare
           sire
           ,
        
         
           Our
           Trojan
           troop
           and
           Gods
           ,
           with
           zeals
           hot
           fire
           ,
        
         
           I
           to
           my
           mates
           commend
           ,
           and
           did
           them
           hide
        
         
           In
           a
           deep
           vale
           :
           my self
           to
           th'citie
           hy'd
           ,
        
         
           Appointed
           ,
           with
           my
           shining
           shield
           and
           arms
           ▪
        
         
           I
           now
           resolv'd
           to
           reinforce
           all
           harms
           ,
        
         
           The
           citie
           thorough
           to
           perambulate
           ,
        
         
           My
           life
           in
           dangers
           to
           precipitate
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           I
           mount
           the
           walls
           ,
           and
           as
           I
           past
           ,
        
         
           I
           pry'd
           into
           the
           cities
           backwayes
           ,
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           back
           return'd
           :
           the
           way
           I
           came
           by
           night
           ,
        
         
           And
           into
           every
           crook
           I
           cast
           my
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Horrour
           my
           heart
           ,
           silence
           my
           sense
           amaz'd
           ;
        
         
           Thence
           to
           review
           my
           house
           ,
           my
           thoughts
           me
           rais'd
           ,
        
         
           If
           haply
           there
           I
           gladly
           might
           her
           see
           :
        
         
           But
           it
           I
           found
           by
           Greeks
           destroy'd
           to
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           whole
           possest
           .
           For
           why
           ?
           devouring
           fire
        
         
           Blown
           by
           fierce
           windes
           did
           to
           its
           top
           aspire
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           overtopt
           it
           ,
           flames
           flying
           into
           th'
           aire
           :
        
         
           Hence
           then
           to
           Priams
           palace
           I
           repaire
           ,
        
         
           The
           towre
           I
           did
           review
           ,
           which
           all
           decaid
           ,
        
         
           With
           emptie
           rooms
           :
           and
           by
           fierce
           Iunos
           aid
        
         
           I
           found
           Vlysses
           vile
           ,
           and
           Phoenix
           fell
           ,
        
         
           Guardians
           thereof
           ;
           keeping
           their
           prey
           too
           well
           :
        
         
           Hither
           being
           brought
           ,
           our
           Trojans
           treasures
           kept
        
         
           (
           Our
           temples
           burnt
           )
           from
           flames
           ,
           which
           all
           quite
           swept
        
         
           The
           tables
           of
           our
           Gods
           ,
           great
           cups
           of
           gold
           :
        
         
           Our
           captiv'd
           royall
           robes
           this
           tower
           did
           hold
           .
        
         
         
           These
           ,
           all
           these
           thither
           brought
           :
           and
           their
           young
           boyes
        
         
           And
           frightfull
           matrons
           making
           wofull
           noise
           ,
        
         
           In
           heaps
           enhedg'd
           it
           .
           And
           though
           '
           midst
           my
           foes
           ,
        
         
           I
           with
           my
           voice
           adventured
           to
           disclose
        
         
           My
           heavie
           losse
           ,
           and
           through
           the
           nightly
           shade
        
         
           I
           fill'd
           the
           wayes
           with
           woes
           ,
           and
           swiftly
           said
           ,
        
         
           Nay
           cride
           ,
           Creüsa
           ,
           O
           Creüsa
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Once
           ,
           twice
           and
           thrice
           (
           in
           vain
           )
           for
           she
           'd
           not
           heare
           .
        
         
           Thus
           as
           I
           ceaselesse
           ,
           easelesse
           pri'd
           about
        
         
           In
           every
           nook
           ,
           furious
           to
           finde
           her
           out
           ,
        
         
           Me
           thought
           the
           wofull
           gastly
           ghost
           I
           saw
        
         
           Of
           my
           Creüsa
           neare
           mine
           eyes
           to
           draw
           ,
        
         
           In
           bigger
           shape
           then
           wont
           :
           I
           stood
           agast
           ,
        
         
           My
           haire
           did
           stare
           :
           my
           tongue
           to
           's
           roof
           stuck
           fast
           .
        
         
           And
           straight
           she
           seem'd
           to
           say
           ,
           my
           plaints
           to
           end
           ,
        
         
           What
           good
           is
           got
           ,
           such
           fruitlesse
           pains
           to
           spend
           ,
        
         
           Deare
           Pheere
           ?
           these
           things
           fall
           out
           by
           fates
           decree
           :
        
         
           Nor
           may
           thy
           mate
           Creüsa
           go
           with
           thee
           :
        
         
           For
           so
           great
           Iove
           gainsayes
           :
           and
           sayes
           beside
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           by
           sea
           long
           banishment
           must
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           And
           plowing
           Neptunes
           waves
           to
           Latium
           glide
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           arive
           ,
           where
           
             Lydian
             Tybers
          
           torrent
        
         
           Through
           fertile
           soiles
           doth
           passe
           with
           facile
           current
           .
        
         
           There
           joyes
           attend
           thee
           ,
           there
           's
           a
           crown
           ,
           a
           queen
        
         
           Thy
           wife
           to
           be
           :
           then
           cease
           this
           sorrow
           seen
        
         
           For
           me
           thy
           lost
           Creüsa
           thus
           affected
           .
        
         
           For
           I
           the
           Grecian
           dames
           ,
           all
           disrespected
           ,
        
         
           Will
           neither
           serve
           nor
           see
           in
           their
           proud
           places
           ,
        
         
           But
           I
           now
           go
           t'
           enjoy
           the
           joyfull
           graces
        
         
           Of
           Dardan
           Ladies
           ,
           sacred
           Venus
           neece
           .
        
         
           Here
           now
           the
           mother
           of
           Gods
           plants
           me
           in
           peace
           .
        
         
           O
           then
           farewell
           ,
           my
           love
           t'
           our
           sonne
           supply
           .
        
         
         
           This
           having
           said
           ,
           she
           weeping
           wofully
           ,
        
         
           And
           willing
           to
           have
           said
           much
           more
           ,
           departed
           ,
        
         
           And
           into
           th'
           open
           aire
           quick
           from
           me
           darted
           .
        
         
           Thrice
           in
           my
           arms
           her
           neck
           to
           clasp
           I
           tride
           ,
        
         
           And
           thrice
           her
           form
           from
           my
           hands
           hold
           did
           slide
           ,
        
         
           Like
           a
           swift
           winde
           ,
           or
           slippery
           dream
           by
           night
           .
        
         
           Night
           thus
           being
           spent
           ,
           I
           went
           to
           take
           a
           sight
        
         
           Of
           all
           my
           mates
           :
           where
           such
           a
           confluence
        
         
           Of
           followers
           I
           found
           ,
           since
           I
           went
           thence
           ,
        
         
           As
           made
           me
           much
           admire
           their
           multitude
        
         
           Of
           men
           and
           women
           ,
           youths
           and
           vulgars
           rude
           ,
        
         
           From
           miserable
           exile
           there
           collected
           ;
        
         
           With
           goods
           and
           good
           wills
           freely
           all
           affected
        
         
           To
           follow
           me
           wheres'ere
           by
           sea
           or
           land
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           tops
           of
           Ida's
           woody
           strand
        
         
           Bright
           Lucifer
           with
           sweet
           Aurora's
           face
           ,
        
         
           Began
           with
           dayes
           faire
           rayes
           to
           guild
           and
           grace
           :
        
         
           The
           Greeks
           our
           blockt
           up
           gates
           and
           houses
           held
           :
        
         
           And
           we
           from
           hope
           of
           help
           being
           quite
           expell'd
           :
        
         
           I
           therefore
           ,
           on
           my
           back
           my
           father
           ta'ne
           ,
        
         
           Departed
           thence
           ,
           the
           mountains
           thus
           to
           gain
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             second
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             third
             book
             .
          
           
             Troyes
             kingdome
             thus
             quite
             ruinated
             ,
          
           
             And
             they
             for
             flight
             accommodated
             ,
          
           
             Aeneas
             first
             ariv'd
             in
             Thrace
             ,
          
           
             And
             built
             a
             citie
             in
             that
             place
             ,
          
           
             The
             death
             of
             Polydore
             him
             frighted
             .
          
           
             The
             kings
             great
             harbrous
             love
             recited
             ,
          
           
             And
             Phoebus
             oracles
             declar'd
             ,
          
           
             To
             sail
             to
             Creet
             he
             's
             now
             prepar'd
             .
          
           
             Where
             he
             again
             new
             fortunes
             found
             ,
          
           
             And
             shipwrack
             did
             him
             sore
             surround
             .
          
           
             Whence
             fled
             ,
             the
             Harpyes
             frights
             he
             shows
             :
          
           
             Helenus
             left
             ,
             his
             fates
             he
             knows
             .
          
           
             He
             Achemenides
             befriends
             ,
          
           
             His
             father
             dies
             :
             his
             tale
             so
             ends
             .
          
        
         
           AFter
           the
           Gods
           had
           ruin'd
           Asia's
           state
           ,
        
         
           And
           Priams
           throne
           ,
           unworthie
           so
           great
           hate
           ,
        
         
           
             Neptunian
             Troy
          
           like
           blazing
           brands
           of
           fire
           :
        
         
           We
           were
           constrain'd
           ,
           by
           signes
           of
           fatall
           ire
        
         
           Exil'd
           ,
           to
           wander
           through
           strange
           woods
           and
           wayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           Antander
           and
           Ides
           banks
           we
           raise
        
         
           And
           build
           our
           navie
           ,
           being
           all
           unsure
        
         
           Where
           fates
           would
           force
           us
           ,
           where
           to
           sit
           secure
           .
        
         
           Our
           men
           we
           muster
           :
           Summer
           scarce
           comen
           on
           ,
        
         
           My
           father
           bad
           us
           hoise
           up
           sail
           ,
           be
           gon
           .
        
         
           I
           then
           my
           native
           countreys
           losse
           bewail
           ,
        
         
           And
           planes
           where
           Troy
           late
           stood
           .
           I
           banisht
           sail
           ,
        
         
         
           With
           me
           my
           sonne
           ,
           my
           mates
           ,
           Gods
           small
           and
           great
           .
        
         
           Farre
           off
           th●re
           lies
           a
           spacious
           Martiall
           seat
           ,
        
         
           (
           Thracians
           it
           plant
           and
           plow
           )
           Lycurgus
           wise
        
         
           Once
           did
           it
           rule
           ;
           Troyes
           ancient
           firm
           allies
           .
        
         
           Their
           Gods
           as
           ours
           ,
           whiles
           fortune
           made
           us
           rise
           .
        
         
           Here
           I
           ariv'd
           ,
           here
           first
           I
           built
           a
           town
        
         
           In
           a
           crosse
           crook
           ,
           entering
           by
           fatall
           frown
           :
        
         
           And
           from
           my
           name
           ,
           I
           did
           it
           Aeneads
           name
           .
        
         
           And
           to
           my
           mother
           Venus
           I
           the
           same
        
         
           Did
           dedicate
           ,
           and
           offer
           sacrifice
        
         
           To
           my
           kinde
           Gods
           ,
           that
           blest
           mine
           ente●prize
           .
        
         
           And
           Iupiter
           great
           king
           of
           Gods
           t'
           adore
           ,
        
         
           A
           fat
           bull
           I
           did
           offer
           on
           the
           shore
           .
        
         
           By
           chance
           hard
           by
           a
           woody
           hill
           I
           spide
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           whose
           top
           white
           horny
           rods
           did
           bide
           ,
        
         
           And
           tall
           thick
           shady
           mirtle
           boughs
           did
           grow
           .
        
         
           Thither
           to
           pluck
           off
           some
           of
           them
           I
           go
           ,
        
         
           Our
           altars
           with
           green
           branches
           to
           bedeck
           :
        
         
           But
           as
           I
           pluckt
           ,
           a
           fearefull
           chance
           did
           check
        
         
           My
           first
           attempt
           :
           for
           the
           first
           branch
           I
           tore
           ,
        
         
           There
           issued
           thence
           thick
           drops
           of
           muddy
           gore
           ,
        
         
           Which
           stain'd
           the
           ground
           with
           bloud
           .
           This
           did
           me
           fright
           ,
        
         
           And
           chilling
           feare
           shook
           me
           in
           piteous
           plight
           .
        
         
           Again
           another
           tender
           sprig
           I
           pluck
           ,
        
         
           Longing
           to
           know
           the
           cause
           and
           lurking
           luck
           :
        
         
           Straight
           from
           the
           bark
           more
           bloudy
           drops
           did
           sprout
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           much
           mov'd
           ,
           the
           wood
           Nymphs
           (
           in
           great
           doubt
           )
        
         
           I
           did
           adore
           ,
           and
           Mars
           great
           Thracia's
           king
           ,
        
         
           To
           th'omen
           good
           ,
           to
           th'
           sight
           delight
           to
           bring
           .
        
         
           Then
           when
           a
           third
           branch
           I
           more
           strongly
           tore
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           both
           knees
           to
           th'
           ground
           me
           strugling
           bore
           ,
        
         
           (
           Speak
           may
           I
           ,
           or
           be
           still
           ?
           )
           A
           grievous
           groan
        
         
         
           From
           bottome
           of
           the
           pit
           to
           heaven
           up
           thrown
           ,
        
         
           Seem'd
           thus
           to
           crie
           .
           Aeneas
           ,
           why
           dost
           teare
        
         
           Distressed
           me
           ?
           my
           buried
           body
           spare
           ,
        
         
           O
           spare
           ,
           thy
           holy
           hands
           thus
           to
           bestain
           ,
        
         
           For
           Troy
           did
           me
           thy
           kinsman
           know
           most
           plain
           :
        
         
           See
           how
           out
           from
           this
           stump
           doth
           gush
           my
           gore
           ,
        
         
           O
           flee
           this
           barbarous
           land
           ,
           this
           sharking
           shore
           .
        
         
           For
           I
           am
           Polydore
           ;
           who
           here
           being
           slain
           ,
        
         
           My
           corps
           a
           bush
           of
           sharp
           shafts
           doth
           remain
           .
        
         
           My
           heart
           was
           straight
           with
           dubious
           thoughts
           dejected
           ,
        
         
           Speechlesse
           ,
           amaz'd
           ,
           my
           hair
           's
           upright
           erected
           .
        
         
           Unhappy
           Priam
           (
           once
           )
           this
           Polydore
        
         
           With
           store
           of
           gold
           did
           secretly
           send
           o're
        
         
           Unto
           the
           king
           of
           Thrace
           for
           education
           :
        
         
           Who
           when
           he
           saw
           Troyes
           troops
           in
           desperation
           ,
        
         
           The
           citie
           round
           besieg'd
           ,
           our
           valour
           vail
           ,
        
         
           Our
           weal
           grow
           weak
           ,
           our
           fortune
           us
           to
           fail
           ,
        
         
           Following
           great
           Agamemnons
           conquering
           arms
           ,
        
         
           He
           fled
           from
           us
           ,
           burst
           out
           into
           base
           harms
           ,
        
         
           Poore
           Polydore
           he
           slew
           ,
           usurpt
           the
           gold
           .
        
         
           O
           cursed
           thirst
           of
           gain
           !
           what
           ,
           uncontrould
           ,
        
         
           Wilt
           thou
           not
           force
           mans
           minde
           to
           undergo
           ?
        
         
           But
           now
           ,
           feare
           past
           ,
           this
           fatall
           signe
           I
           show
        
         
           To
           my
           choice
           Peeres
           ,
           but
           to
           my
           father
           first
           ,
        
         
           Pray'd
           them
           to
           say
           their
           mindes
           ,
           or
           best
           ,
           or
           worst
           .
        
         
           All
           were
           unanimous
           ,
           't
           was
           best
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           To
           save
           that
           hatefull
           harbour
           ,
           instantly
        
         
           To
           sail
           away
           .
           A
           tombe
           we
           therefore
           made
        
         
           To
           Polydore
           ,
           great
           heaps
           of
           earth
           up
           laid
           :
        
         
           About
           this
           wofull
           herse
           blew
           clothes
           were
           plac'd
           ,
        
         
           With
           cypresse
           boughs
           ,
           and
           sable
           garments
           grac'd
           :
        
         
           Our
           Trojan
           women
           (
           as
           we
           us'd
           )
           stood
           round
           ,
        
         
         
           Their
           haire
           about
           their
           eares
           hung
           all
           unbound
           ▪
        
         
           Then
           on
           it
           we
           warm
           pales
           of
           milk
           do
           throw
           ,
        
         
           And
           bowls
           of
           sacred
           bloud
           :
           and
           e're
           we
           go
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           at
           his
           herse
           do
           ring
           his
           soules
           sad
           knell
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           loud
           cries
           give
           him
           his
           last
           farewell
           .
        
         
           Thence
           when
           first
           fittest
           serene
           seas
           gave
           way
           ,
        
         
           And
           gentle
           fanning
           blasts
           made
           dandling
           play
        
         
           Upon
           our
           sails
           ,
           our
           troops
           the
           shores
           do
           fill
           .
        
         
           My
           mates
           put
           forth
           to
           sea
           with
           free
           good
           will
           ,
        
         
           And
           past
           the
           port
           ,
           the
           lands
           and
           towns
           us
           leave
           .
        
         
           Thus
           sailing
           ,
           we
           aloof
           (
           at
           length
           )
           perceive
        
         
           I'
           th'
           sea
           a
           lovely
           land
           lie
           situated
           ,
        
         
           To
           th'
           mother
           of
           the
           sea
           Nymphs
           dedicated
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           
             Aegean
             Neptune
          
           :
           which
           faire
           land
        
         
           Stragling
           abroad
           ,
           pious
           Apollos
           hand
        
         
           Did
           with
           restrictive
           bands
           and
           bounds
           confine
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           Gyarus
           and
           faire
           Myc●●
           combine
           ,
        
         
           And
           thereby
           it
           most
           strong
           and
           stable
           made
           ,
        
         
           Fearlesse
           when
           windes
           and
           waves
           did
           it
           invade
           .
        
         
           Here
           I
           ariv'd
           ,
           here
           we
           our
           wearie
           state
        
         
           In
           a
           most
           pleasant
           port
           did
           recreate
           ;
        
         
           And
           comen
           on
           shore
           ,
           adore
           Apollos
           town
           ,
        
         
           VVhither
           to
           meet
           us
           speedily
           came
           down
        
         
           King
           Anius
           ,
           king
           and
           priest
           to
           P●oebus
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           those
           people
           ,
           he
           with
           kinde
           receipt
        
         
           (
           His
           h●ad
           with
           headb●●ds
           and
           green
           la●●ell
           deckt
           )
        
         
           Anchises
           his
           known
           friend
           doth
           much
           respect
           .
        
         
           Then
           hands
           we
           shake
           in
           lo●●
           ,
           and
           home
           are
           h●ad
        
         
           Into
           their
           houses
           ▪
           where
           I
           then
           ●ost
           glad
        
         
           In
           th'
           old
           rock-founded
           te●ple
           made
           ob●ation
        
         
           Unto
           Apollo
           ,
           with
           this
           supplication
           ;
        
         
           Grant
           ,
           
             Thymbr●●n
             Ph●●us
          
           ,
           to
           〈◊〉
           Troj●●●
           ti●ed
           ,
        
         
         
           A
           proper
           place
           ,
           an
           issuing
           race
           desired
           ,
        
         
           And
           setled
           citie
           :
           yet
           preserve
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Another
           Troy
           ,
           the
           reliques
           which
           yet
           stay
        
         
           Of
           conquering
           Greeks
           ,
           and
           of
           Achilles
           stout
           .
        
         
           Whom
           follow
           we
           ?
           whither
           range
           we
           about
           ?
        
         
           Where
           shall
           we
           seat
           our selves
           ?
           Great
           father
           ,
           say
           ,
        
         
           Shew
           us
           some
           signes
           our
           anxious
           mindes
           to
           stay
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           said
           I
           thus
           ,
           when
           all
           seem'd
           suddenly
           ,
        
         
           The
           doores
           and
           bayes
           of
           Phoebus
           majestie
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           all
           the
           mount
           about
           ,
           to
           move
           and
           shake
           ,
        
         
           Apollos
           private
           Tripos
           roares
           did
           make
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           to
           earth
           we
           prostrate
           fell
           ,
           and
           heard
        
         
           A
           voice
           saying
           thus
           ;
           Stout
           Trojans
           ,
           be
           not
           feard
           :
        
         
           The
           land
           whence
           first
           ye
           sprang
           from
           ancients
           race
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           safely
           you
           receive
           in
           copious
           case
           :
        
         
           Seek
           your
           old
           granmother
           .
           For
           surely
           there
        
         
           Aeneas
           house
           shall
           spacious
           empire
           reare
           ;
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           childrens
           childrens
           offspring
           faire
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Phoebus
           :
           we
           with
           clamours
           joyfull
           are
           ,
        
         
           Desirous
           all
           to
           know
           what
           towns
           he
           meant
           ;
        
         
           Whither
           he
           'd
           call
           us
           ▪
           whither
           we
           wandring
           went.
        
         
           My
           father
           then
           old
           stories
           recollecting
           ,
        
         
           Said
           ;
           Heare
           brave
           peeres
           ,
           your
           hopes
           I
           'm
           now
           detecting
           ,
        
         
           Mark
           then
           :
           I'
           th'
           midst
           o'
           th'
           sea
           lies
           
             Creet
             ,
             Ioves
          
           nation
           ,
        
         
           There
           's
           Id●
           ,
           our
           countreys
           cradle
           of
           education
           ;
        
         
           Whose
           large
           rich
           realm
           an
           hundred
           towns
           doth
           hold
           :
        
         
           Whence
           our
           great
           Sire
           king
           Teucer
           sprung
           of
           old
           .
        
         
           (
           If
           hearesay
           fail
           not
           )
           He
           on
           Rh●●t●ans
           shore
        
         
           Did
           first
           arive
           ,
           a
           fit
           seat
           did
           explore
        
         
           To
           plant
           his
           throne
           :
           as
           yet
           no
           Ilium
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Pergams
           pinacles
           stood
           beauteou●
           rare
           ,
        
         
           But
           then
           low
           valleys
           they
           inhabited
           .
        
         
         
           Hence
           was
           wood-haunting
           mother
           Cybel
           bred
           ,
        
         
           Sage
           Corybantes
           bels
           ,
           and
           Ida's
           wood
           :
        
         
           Hence
           sacred
           secrets
           found
           safe
           silence
           good
           ,
        
         
           Goddesse-yokt
           lions
           hence
           their
           chariots
           drew
           .
        
         
           Go
           on
           then
           ,
           and
           let
           's
           passe
           where
           Gods
           us
           shew
           ,
        
         
           Let
           's
           calm
           the
           windes
           ,
           and
           get
           to
           Candies
           land
           :
        
         
           The
           wayes
           not
           farre
           :
           if
           Iove
           do
           for
           us
           stand
           ,
        
         
           Creet
           shall
           our
           fleet
           receive
           within
           three
           dayes
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           sacrific'd
           to
           th'
           Gods
           due
           praise
           ,
        
         
           One
           bull
           to
           Neptune
           ,
           one
           t'
           Apollo
           kinde
           :
        
         
           To
           storms
           a
           black
           ,
           a
           white
           sheep
           to
           Southwinde
           .
        
         
           There
           flies
           a
           fame
           ,
           that
           Idomeneus
           duke
        
         
           Forc'd
           from
           his
           native
           state
           his
           Creet
           forsook
           ,
        
         
           That
           all
           his
           lands
           lay
           void
           ,
           to
           foes
           a
           prey
           .
        
         
           To
           sea
           we
           flie
           ,
           from
           Delos
           part
           away
           ,
        
         
           Leave
           green
           
             Donysa
             ;
             Naxon
             ,
             Bacchus
          
           pride
           ,
        
         
           Olearon
           ,
           white
           marbly
           Paron
           wide
           ,
        
         
           Sea-spreading
           Cyclads
           ,
           passe
           those
           lands
           about
           .
        
         
           With
           various
           noise
           our
           mariners
           cries
           out
           .
        
         
           My
           mates
           me
           move
           for
           Creet
           ,
           forefathers
           seat
           ;
        
         
           And
           as
           we
           sail
           ,
           rough
           windes
           our
           ships
           do
           beat
           ;
        
         
           So
           that
           at
           last
           Candies
           old
           coast
           we
           held
           .
        
         
           Where
           gladsome
           I
           ,
           long
           wisht
           for
           town-walls
           build
           ,
        
         
           And
           Pergam
           nam'd
           :
           my
           glad
           mates
           Trojans
           call'd
           ,
        
         
           Wisht
           them
           to
           grace
           the
           Gods
           ,
           see
           cities
           wall'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           houses
           fram'd
           :
           our
           ships
           in
           ports
           secure
           ,
        
         
           Out
           youths
           new
           wedlock
           rustick
           works
           inure
           .
        
         
           I
           laws
           and
           lands
           allot
           :
           when
           suddenly
        
         
           Through
           corrupt
           aire
           a
           foule
           mortalitie
        
         
           Did
           on
           us
           seaze
           :
           a
           murrion
           miserable
        
         
           Our
           trees
           and
           plants
           did
           spoile
           most
           lamentable
           ,
        
         
           A
           deadly
           yeare
           .
           For
           ,
           or
           men
           quickly
           die
           ,
        
         
         
           Or
           sicklie
           languish
           in
           much
           miserie
           .
        
         
           The
           dog-starre
           burns
           our
           barren
           fields
           and
           plants
           ,
        
         
           Denies
           us
           grain
           ,
           complies
           our
           pain
           and
           vvants
           .
        
         
           My
           father
           hence
           to
           Delphos
           vvills
           us
           send
           ,
        
         
           And
           back
           by
           sea
           Phoebs
           oracle
           to
           tend
           ,
        
         
           Pardon
           to
           pray
           ,
           these
           toiles
           and
           cares
           to
           cease
           ,
        
         
           To
           know
           their
           course
           ,
           and
           labours
           longed
           peace
           .
        
         
           Novv
           night
           vvas
           come
           ,
           sweet
           sleep
           shut
           up
           mens
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           me
           thought
           in
           sleep
           I
           saw
           to
           rise
           ,
        
         
           Before
           my
           face
           the
           sacred
           images
        
         
           Of
           Trojan
           Gods
           ,
           our
           countrey-Deities
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           I
           ,
           from
           Troyes
           fierce
           flames
           sav'd
           ,
           brought
           with
           me
           :
        
         
           These
           by
           much
           light
           I
           seem'd
           most
           plain
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           Like
           Cynthia
           faire
           ,
           vvhen
           vvindows
           open
           be
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           they
           seem'd
           to
           say
           ,
           to
           cheare
           my
           heart
           ,
        
         
           VVhat
           
             Delian
             Phoebus
          
           means
           to
           thee
           t'
           impart
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           by
           us
           sent
           to
           thee
           :
           thus
           he
           sings
           ;
        
         
           VVe
           vvho
           ,
           Troy
           burnt
           ,
           thee
           and
           thy
           armies
           vvings
        
         
           Have
           followed
           ,
           vve
           who
           through
           rough
           seas
           have
           past
        
         
           VVith
           thee
           ,
           vvill
           thee
           and
           thine
           to
           th'
           heavens
           at
           last
        
         
           Exalt
           ,
           and
           give
           thy
           citie
           soveraigntie
           :
        
         
           Prepare
           great
           vvalls
           for
           great
           posteritie
           .
        
         
           And
           leave
           not
           thy
           long
           labours
           progresse
           faire
           ▪
        
         
           Thou
           must
           seek
           other
           seats
           :
           Apollo's
           care
        
         
           Call'd
           thee
           not
           hither
           thus
           to
           rest
           at
           Creet
           .
        
         
           But
           there
           's
           a
           place
           for
           thee
           held
           farre
           more
           me●●
           .
        
         
           VVhich
           
             Greeks
             Hesperia
          
           call
           ,
           of
           pristine
           state
           ,
        
         
           Potent
           in
           arms
           ,
           vvith
           fertile
           soiles
           ornate
           .
        
         
           Th'
           Oenotrians
           dwelt
           there
           once
           ,
           now
           younger
           fame
        
         
           Doth
           it
           from
           
             Italus
             ,
             Italia
          
           name
           .
        
         
           Here
           is
           our
           proper
           place
           ,
           hence
           Dardan
           springs
           :
        
         
           Hence
           father
           Iasius
           ,
           and
           our
           chiefest
           kings
           .
        
         
         
           Rise
           then
           ,
           and
           this
           ,
           as
           sure
           as
           sweet
           relation
           ,
        
         
           Shew
           to
           thy
           aged
           sire
           with
           exultation
           :
        
         
           Seek
           out
           faire
           Corits
           coasts
           ,
           Italia's
           bay
           :
        
         
           Iove
           thee
           denies
           in
           Candie
           longer
           stay
           .
        
         
           This
           voice
           and
           vision
           of
           the
           Gods
           me
           frights
           ,
        
         
           (
           Nor
           was
           't
           sound
           sleep
           ,
           for
           I
           their
           perfect
           sights
        
         
           Did
           plainly
           know
           ,
           their
           faces
           ,
           haire
           bound
           neat
        
         
           I
           surely
           saw
           :
           whereat
           a
           chill
           could
           sweat
        
         
           O'respread
           my
           limbes
           )
           from
           bed
           I
           started
           straight
           ,
        
         
           To
           heaven
           my
           hands
           and
           heart
           I
           elevate
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           Gods
           give
           a
           pure
           sacrifice
           :
        
         
           VVhich
           honour
           done
           ,
           I
           ,
           as
           they
           did
           advise
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           Anchises
           all
           the
           vision
           tell
           .
        
         
           Th'
           ambiguous
           branch
           ,
           and
           fathers
           both
           ,
           full
           vvell
           ,
        
         
           He
           straightway
           knows
           ,
           and
           sees
           his
           new
           mistake
        
         
           From
           places
           old
           :
           and
           therefore
           thus
           he
           spake
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           sonne
           ,
           long
           seasoned
           vvith
           our
           Trojan
           toiles
           ,
        
         
           Onely
           Cassandra
           told
           me
           these
           turmoiles
           .
        
         
           That
           these
           things
           now
           our
           nations
           due
           portend
           ,
        
         
           I
           right
           recount
           ,
           and
           oft
           did
           apprehend
           ,
        
         
           Hesperia
           spoke
           of
           ,
           and
           faire
           Italie
           .
        
         
           But
           who
           'd
           have
           thought
           Trojans
           should
           e're
           come
           nigh
        
         
           Those
           parts
           ?
           or
           who
           did
           then
           Cassandra
           trust
           ?
        
         
           But
           to
           Apollo
           now
           submit
           we
           must
           ,
        
         
           And
           follow
           better
           fortunes
           .
           This
           thus
           said
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           all
           his
           words
           most
           joyfully
           obey'd
           .
        
         
           And
           parted
           from
           this
           place
           ,
           few
           left
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           Our
           ships
           do
           plow
           the
           seas
           vvith
           pleasant
           vvinde
           .
        
         
           As
           thus
           our
           vvingy
           sails
           through
           vvaves
           do
           flie
           ,
        
         
           No
           land
           novv
           seen
           ,
           all
           sea
           ,
           all
           aire
           ,
           and
           skie
           ;
        
         
           Then
           o're
           my
           head
           a
           black
           blevv
           cloud
           did
           stand
           ,
        
         
           Whereby
           i'
           th'
           floud
           night●storms
           seem'd
           neare
           at
           hand
           .
        
         
         
           VVindes
           quick
           winde
           up
           the
           waves
           ,
           huge
           billows
           rise
           ,
        
         
           Flouds
           make
           our
           fleet
           to
           float
           :
           day
           from
           our
           eyes
        
         
           Dark
           clouds
           rowl
           up
           ,
           wet
           night
           takes
           skie
           from
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           cleft
           clouds
           flash
           out
           quick
           lightnings
           bright
           .
        
         
           We
           wander
           through
           blinde
           seas
           ,
           our
           course
           crost
           quite
           .
        
         
           Yea
           Palinurus
           did
           himself
           denie
           :
        
         
           He
           could
           or
           day
           or
           night
           by
           heaven
           discrie
           ,
        
         
           Or
           know
           his
           way
           i'
           th'
           sea
           .
           Three
           dayes
           together
        
         
           In
           foggy
           mists
           vve
           stray'd
           in
           stormie
           weather
           ,
        
         
           And
           three
           nights
           never
           having
           seen
           a
           starre
           .
        
         
           The
           fourth
           day
           first
           vve
           land
           discri'd
           afarre
           ,
        
         
           Mountains
           peept
           up
           ,
           and
           chimney
           smoak
           ascended
           .
        
         
           Our
           sails
           we
           slack
           ,
           our
           oares
           vve
           close
           attended
           :
        
         
           No
           stay
           vve
           make
           ,
           our
           shipmen
           strenuously
        
         
           Slice
           up
           the
           foam
           ,
           sweep
           the
           blew
           flouds
           on
           high
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           Strophadean
           shores
           from
           sea
           me
           save
           ,
        
         
           The
           Greeks
           these
           isles
           Strophades
           named
           have
           ,
        
         
           Isles
           in
           the
           great
           Ionick
           sea
           ,
           vvhere
           dwell
        
         
           Celaeno
           fierce
           ,
           and
           ravenous
           Harpyes
           fell
           :
        
         
           E're
           since
           Phinëus
           house
           vvas
           from
           them
           shut
           ,
        
         
           And
           they
           from
           their
           first
           table-feares
           vvere
           put
           .
        
         
           Then
           these
           vvere
           ne'remore
           hideous
           monsters
           found
           ,
        
         
           Then
           these
           the
           Gods
           great
           vvrath
           did
           ne're
           more
           wound
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           rais'd
           from
           Stygian
           pools
           .
           Birds
           of
           strange
           shape
           ,
        
         
           Foule
           fowles
           vvith
           virgins
           faces
           ,
           mouths
           which
           gape
           ,
        
         
           Still
           hunger-starv'd
           ,
           vvith
           most
           insatiate
           maws
           ,
        
         
           Which
           filthily
           hang
           loose
           ,
           hands
           vvith
           huge
           claws
           .
        
         
           Here
           now
           i'
           th'
           port
           vve
           safely
           set
           ,
           behold
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           saw
           great
           droves
           of
           lusty
           fat
           beefs
           bold
           ,
        
         
           And
           flocks
           of
           goats
           feeding
           ,
           no
           herdsman
           by
           .
        
         
           On
           vvhom
           vvith
           swords
           vve
           set
           ,
           and
           instantly
        
         
           The
           Gods
           ,
           yea
           Iove
           himself
           vve
           invocate
           ,
        
         
         
           Part
           of
           our
           prey
           with
           's
           to
           participate
           :
        
         
           Then
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
           beds
           spread
           ,
           we
           eat
           our
           meat
           .
        
         
           But
           from
           the
           mountains
           with
           a
           bluster
           great
        
         
           And
           horrid
           noise
           ,
           the
           Harpyes
           on
           us
           light
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           huge
           din
           clap
           their
           wings
           in
           our
           sight
           :
        
         
           Snatch
           up
           our
           meat
           with
           filthie
           fists
           defilde
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           most
           odious
           smells
           and
           screekings
           vvilde
           .
        
         
           Again
           ,
           in
           a
           remote
           most
           private
           place
           ,
        
         
           Under
           a
           rock
           which
           shades
           and
           boughs
           did
           grace
           ,
        
         
           Our
           table
           set
           ,
           on
           shrines
           we
           sacrifice
           .
        
         
           Again
           ,
           from
           hidden
           holes
           a
           crosse
           way
           flies
        
         
           Another
           troublous
           troop
           ,
           with
           hooky
           claws
           ,
        
         
           To
           catch
           the
           prey
           ,
           and
           fill
           their
           filthy
           maws
           .
        
         
           Then
           straight
           to
           take
           up
           arms
           I
           charge
           my
           mates
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           fierce
           fight
           each
           one
           accelerates
           ,
        
         
           Against
           that
           odious
           armie
           ;
           as
           I
           bad
           ,
        
         
           Their
           swords
           and
           shields
           i'
           th'
           grasse
           they
           hidden
           had
           .
        
         
           Thus
           when
           to
           th'
           shore
           to
           us
           with
           noise
           they
           grew
           ,
        
         
           Misenus
           from
           an
           high
           hill
           did
           them
           view
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           brasse
           trumpet
           sounds
           th'
           alarum
           straight
           :
        
         
           My
           mates
           make
           head
           ,
           thick
           blows
           reduplicate
           ,
        
         
           Those
           foule
           sea-fowls
           to
           foile
           and
           profligate
           .
        
         
           But
           nor
           their
           wings
           nor
           backs
           our
           blows
           could
           hurt
           ,
        
         
           For
           into
           th'
           aire
           they
           swiftly
           flie
           and
           flurt
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           the
           half-got
           prey
           and
           prints
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           Of
           their
           foule
           feet
           .
           Onely
           alone
           I
           finde
           ,
        
         
           Set
           on
           a
           steepie
           cliff
           ,
           Celaeno
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           Unluckie
           wizard
           ,
           who
           ,
           our
           hearts
           to
           pierce
           ,
        
         
           Brake
           out
           into
           these
           words
           ;
           Is
           't
           vvarre
           indeed
           ?
        
         
           Perfidious
           Troj●ns
           ,
           must
           fierce
           vvarre
           proceed
        
         
           For
           our
           slain
           beeves
           and
           goats
           ?
           quite
           to
           expell
        
         
           Us
           harmlesse
           H●rpyes
           from
           our
           native
           cell
           ?
        
         
         
           Then
           heare
           me
           ,
           and
           my
           words
           imprint
           in
           thee
           :
        
         
           What
           mightie
           Iove
           to
           
             Phoeb
             ,
             Phoeb
          
           shewed
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           I
           chief
           of
           furies
           will
           reveal
           to
           thee
           :
        
         
           With
           winde
           and
           tide
           to
           Italie
           you
           go
           ,
        
         
           To
           Italie
           (
           at
           last
           )
           you
           shall
           do
           so
           :
        
         
           But
           first
           ,
           e're
           you
           your
           citie
           edifie
           ,
        
         
           Fierce
           famine
           and
           our
           slaughters
           injurie
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           cause
           you
           quite
           devoure
           your
           store
           of
           meat
           ,
        
         
           And
           bring
           you
           to
           distresse
           ,
           nought
           left
           to
           eat
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           away
           into
           the
           woods
           she
           flies
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           bloud-chilling
           feare
           doth
           us
           surprise
           ,
        
         
           Our
           hearts
           did
           faint
           :
           now
           not
           with
           powers
           ,
           but
           prayers
        
         
           We
           labour
           to
           make
           peace
           ,
           to
           cure
           our
           cares
           ;
        
         
           Whether
           bad
           birds
           ,
           or
           sacred
           fouls
           they
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           old
           Anchises
           ,
           most
           devoutly
           he
        
         
           His
           hands
           stretcht
           forth
           ,
           the
           great
           Gods
           invocates
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           them
           their
           due
           honours
           dedicates
           .
        
         
           Great
           Gods
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           spare
           threats
           ,
           avert
           these
           ills
           ,
        
         
           Appeased
           ,
           save
           good
           men
           that
           do
           your
           wills
           .
        
         
           Then
           straight
           he
           bids
           us
           loose
           the
           ship
           from
           shore
           ,
        
         
           And
           hale
           the
           cables
           in
           .
           The
           windes
           up
           boare
        
         
           Our
           faire
           spread
           sails
           :
           and
           so
           we
           cut
           the
           seas
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           our
           way
           where
           puffs
           and
           pilot
           please
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           at
           sea
           we
           woodie
           Zacynth
           spie
           ,
        
         
           
             Samey
             ,
             Dulichium
          
           ,
           rockie
           Nerite
           high
           :
        
         
           Ithaca's
           rocks
           we
           passe
           ,
           Laertes
           strait
           ,
        
         
           Vlysses
           native
           soile
           we
           execrate
           ,
        
         
           As
           we
           it
           passe
           .
           To
           stormie
           Leucas
           hills
        
         
           We
           came
           ,
           and
           to
           Apollo's
           point
           ,
           vvhich
           fills
        
         
           Poore
           shipmens
           heart
           with
           feares
           .
           Here
           vve
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
           Tir'd
           ,
           at
           a
           little
           town
           ariv'd
           ;
           and
           fast
           ,
        
         
           To
           come
           to
           shore
           ,
           our
           anchours
           out
           we
           cast
           .
        
         
         
           Thus
           having
           found
           an
           unexpected
           land
           ,
        
         
           To
           Iove
           vve
           expiated
           out
           of
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Made
           vows
           and
           sacrifice
           ,
           and
           manly
           sport
        
         
           On
           Actium
           shore
           ,
           us'd
           in
           our
           Trojan
           court
           .
        
         
           Our
           nak●d
           youths
           suppling
           their
           joynts
           vvith
           oyle
           ,
        
         
           Our
           countrey-vvrastling
           use
           :
           ●o
           see
           our
           toile
        
         
           And
           danger
           past
           ,
           passing
           so
           many
           towns
        
         
           Of
           adverse
           Greece
           ,
           and
           midst
           of
           foe-mens
           frovvns
           ,
        
         
           This
           joy'd
           our
           hearts
           .
           Now
           a
           full
           summer
           past
           ,
        
         
           By
           Northern
           icy
           blasts
           flouds
           frozen
           fast
           :
        
         
           On
           a
           brasse
           shield
           ,
           vvhich
           on
           a
           post
           I
           hung
           ,
        
         
           Great
           Abas
           famous
           facts
           in
           verse
           I
           sung
           .
        
         
           Saying
           ;
           Here
           Aeneas
           consecrates
           these
           arms
           ,
        
         
           Wonne
           from
           the
           conquering
           Greeks
           most
           fierce
           alarms
           .
        
         
           Then
           from
           these
           shores
           to
           th'
           oares
           I
           bid
           them
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           they
           the
           seas
           beat
           ,
           brush
           ,
           most
           Iustily
           .
        
         
           Soon
           vve
           lost
           sight
           of
           high
           Corcyra's
           towers
           ,
        
         
           And
           bare
           up
           by
           Epirus
           pleasant
           bowers
           .
        
         
           VVhere
           entring
           Chaons
           port
           ,
           our
           course
           vve
           bend
           ,
        
         
           To
           brave
           Buthrotums
           citie
           to
           ascend
           .
        
         
           Here
           vve
           rare
           things
           of
           note
           did
           understand
           ,
        
         
           Hovv
           Trojan
           brave
           Helenus
           did
           command
        
         
           The
           Grecian
           towns
           ,
           vvho
           Pyrrhus
           vvife
           did
           vved
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvore
           his
           crown
           ,
           and
           after
           married
        
         
           Andromache
           ,
           both
           of
           them
           Trojans
           bred
           .
        
         
           I
           vvondred
           ,
           and
           my
           heart
           burnt
           vvith
           desire
           ,
        
         
           To
           greet
           the
           man
           ,
           and
           of
           these
           things
           t'
           enquire
           .
        
         
           So
           on
           I
           past
           ,
           shores
           ,
           ships
           ,
           safe
           left
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           When
           as
           by
           chance
           I
           saw
           (
           vvith
           mournfull
           minde
           )
        
         
           Before
           the
           citie
           in
           a
           grove
           most
           green
           ,
        
         
           Neare
           Simois
           stream
           ,
           Andromache
           the
           queen
           ,
        
         
           Offring
           sad
           gifts
           ,
           an
           annuall
           sacrifice
           ,
        
         
         
           To
           Hectors
           ashes
           ,
           calling
           up
           likewise
        
         
           The
           ghosts
           to
           's
           tombe
           ,
           'bout
           which
           green
           turfs
           did
           grow
           ,
        
         
           And
           two
           more
           shrines
           (
           her
           greater
           grief
           to
           show
           )
        
         
           She
           consecrated
           had
           .
           When
           me
           she
           saw
           ,
        
         
           And
           Trojan
           troops
           with
           me
           neare
           her
           to
           draw
           ,
        
         
           Distracted
           ,
           straight
           she
           seem'd
           strangely
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           At
           this
           so
           sudden
           sight
           she
           stood
           dismaid
           :
        
         
           All
           vitall
           heat
           her
           corps
           did
           quite
           forsake
           .
        
         
           And
           down
           she
           sunk
           ,
           long
           first
           ,
           at
           last
           she
           spake
           :
        
         
           Is
           't
           a
           true
           face
           ?
           bringst
           thou
           true
           news
           to
           me
           ?
        
         
           O
           God
           desse
           sonne
           ,
           liv'st
           thou
           ?
           or
           if
           thou
           be
        
         
           Rais'd
           from
           the
           dead
           ,
           tell
           me
           ;
           where
           's
           Hector
           deere
           ?
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           a
           floud
           of
           teares
           from
           her
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           place
           she
           fills
           with
           clamorous
           woes
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           scarce
           could
           I
           (
           briefly
           )
           her
           rage
           oppose
           :
        
         
           But
           mov'd
           with
           grief
           ,
           these
           abrupt
           words
           breath'd
           out
           ;
        
         
           Indeed
           I
           live
           ,
           through
           all
           straits
           born
           about
           .
        
         
           Thou
           seest
           a
           certaintie
           ,
           then
           do
           not
           doubt
           .
        
         
           Alas
           !
           what
           chance
           thee
           chas'd
           from
           such
           a
           Pheere
           ,
        
         
           Now
           resustains
           ?
           what
           fate
           does
           thee
           recheare
           ?
        
         
           Great
           Hectors
           Deare
           ,
           art
           (
           still
           )
           stout
           Pyrrhus
           mate
           ?
        
         
           Hereat
           with
           hung
           down
           head
           ,
           words
           temperate
           ,
        
         
           And
           submisse
           voice
           she
           said
           ,
           O
           blest
           and
           best
        
         
           Priams
           faire
           daughter
           ,
           happie
           'bove
           the
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           foes
           did
           force
           under
           Troyes
           walls
           to
           die
           :
        
         
           For
           whom
           no
           lots
           were
           ever
           cast
           ,
           to
           tie
        
         
           Thee
           to
           the
           captive-bed
           of
           conquering
           foe
           !
        
         
           We
           ,
           Troy
           destroy'd
           ,
           have
           been
           tost
           to
           and
           fro
        
         
           Through
           divers
           seas
           ,
           and
           travelling
           have
           tride
           ,
        
         
           In
           bondage
           base
           ,
           th'
           Achillean
           youths
           great
           pride
           :
        
         
           Who
           after
           lov'd
           and
           married
           Hermion
           brave
           ,
        
         
           And
           me
           his
           maid
           to
           's
           man
           Helenus
           gave
           .
        
         
         
           But
           then
           Orestes
           in
           fiecie
           jealousie
        
         
           For
           his
           stoln
           wife
           vex'd
           with
           his
           villanie
           ,
        
         
           And
           rous'd
           with
           rage
           ,
           did
           unawares
           him
           catch
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           his
           fathers
           tombe
           ,
           of
           life
           dispatch
           :
        
         
           And
           by
           the
           death
           of
           Neoptolemus
           ,
        
         
           Part
           of
           the
           kingdome
           came
           to
           Helenus
           :
        
         
           Which
           he
           from
           Chaon
           a
           brave
           Trojan
           state
           ,
        
         
           Did
           totally
           Chaonia
           nominate
           :
        
         
           And
           this
           Troyes
           towre
           and
           Pergams
           walls
           erected
           .
        
         
           But
           what
           faire
           windes
           ,
           what
           fates
           thee
           thus
           directed
           ?
        
         
           What
           God
           did
           thee
           thus
           to
           our
           confines
           drive
           ?
        
         
           Where
           's
           young
           Ascanius
           ?
           does
           the
           lad
           yet
           live
           ?
        
         
           Whom
           Troy
           to
           thee
           for
           future
           hopes
           did
           give
           .
        
         
           Of
           his
           lost
           countrey
           has
           the
           boy
           a
           thought
           ?
        
         
           Or
           have
           the
           ancient
           noble
           vertues
           wrought
        
         
           In
           his
           young
           pregnant
           heart
           ,
           of
           's
           father
           〈◊〉
        
         
           Aeneas
           ,
           or
           of
           's
           uncle
           Hector
           brave
           ?
        
         
           These
           words
           she
           spake
           ,
           and
           speaking
           wept
           full
           sore
           ,
        
         
           Though
           all
           in
           vain
           ;
           and
           e're
           she
           could
           give
           o're
           ,
        
         
           
             Trojan
             Helenus
          
           from
           the
           citie
           came
           ,
        
         
           Attended
           with
           a
           train
           of
           Peeres
           of
           fame
           .
        
         
           His
           countrey-men
           he
           knew
           ,
           acknowledged
           ,
        
         
           And
           joyfull
           ,
           us
           into
           his
           citie
           led
           :
        
         
           And
           as
           we
           went
           ,
           spake
           much
           ,
           as
           much
           he
           wept
           .
        
         
           Thus
           on
           to
           Troy-novant
           our
           way
           we
           kept
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           his
           Pergam
           patterning
           our
           great
           ,
        
         
           Where
           was
           the
           drie-brook
           ,
           Xanthus
           call'd
           ,
           whose
           seat
        
         
           I
           knew
           ,
           and
           hugd
           the
           posts
           of
           Ianus
           gate
           ,
        
         
           My
           Trojans
           with
           me
           do
           participate
        
         
           In
           this
           kinde
           harb'rous
           town
           .
           The
           king
           also
        
         
           In
           royall
           rooms
           did
           them
           great
           kindnes
           show
           .
        
         
           In
           his
           great
           hall
           they
           drank
           full
           bowls
           of
           wine
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           with
           choice
           cheere
           ,
           in
           golden
           dishes
           dine
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           two
           dayes
           at
           least
           we
           there
           did
           spend
           ,
        
         
           Now
           faire
           Southwindes
           our
           wingy
           sails
           did
           tend
           .
        
         
           Then
           to
           this
           kingly
           prophet
           humbly
           I
        
         
           With
           these
           beseeches
           ,
           do
           my
           suit
           apply
           ;
        
         
           Trojan-interpreter
           of
           Gods
           decree
           ,
        
         
           Who
           Phoebus
           power
           ,
           Delphick
           stools
           ,
           starres
           dost
           see
           ,
        
         
           Who
           Clarian
           bayes
           ,
           birds
           chirps
           ,
           swift
           flights
           dost
           know
           ▪
        
         
           I
           pray
           thee
           ,
           plainly
           to
           us
           all
           to
           show
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           all
           religion
           hath
           my
           course
           made
           faire
           :
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           Gods
           advise
           me
           to
           prepare
        
         
           For
           Italie
           ,
           that
           promis'd
           land
           to
           gain
           :
        
         
           
             Harpyck
             Celaeno
          
           onely
           seems
           to
           feigne
        
         
           New
           and
           nefarious
           frights
           ,
           and
           doth
           us
           threat
        
         
           With
           a
           most
           foule
           and
           fearefull
           famine
           great
           )
        
         
           Shew
           us
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
           what
           dangers
           first
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           such
           toiles
           to
           vanquish
           valiantly
           .
        
         
           Helenus
           here
           ,
           first
           ,
           as
           he
           us'd
           ,
           did
           slay
        
         
           His
           heifers
           ,
           and
           to
           th'
           Gods
           of
           peace
           did
           pray
           :
        
         
           Loosning
           the
           fillets
           on
           his
           holy
           head
           ,
        
         
           He
           by
           the
           hand
           me
           full
           of
           feare
           and
           dread
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           thy
           temple
           ,
           great
           Apollo
           ,
           brings
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           his
           sacred
           mouth
           the
           priest
           thus
           sings
           :
        
         
           Great
           Goddesse
           sonne
           ,
           (
           for'tis
           a
           truth
           most
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           shalt
           sail
           to
           th'
           sea
           by
           gods
           most
           deare
           :
        
         
           So
           Iupiter
           guides
           fates
           ,
           so
           lots
           do
           light
           ,
        
         
           So
           he
           the
           wheel
           of
           fortune
           orders
           right
           )
        
         
           I
           in
           few
           words
           'mongst
           many
           things
           will
           show
        
         
           How
           thou
           through
           serene
           seas
           mayst
           safely
           go
        
         
           To
           Italie
           :
           Further
           to
           know
           ,
           unfold
           ,
        
         
           The
           fatesand
           Iuno
           have
           my
           tongue
           controld
           .
        
         
           First
           ,
           Italie
           ,
           which
           thou
           think'st
           neare
           at
           hand
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           ignorant
           ,
           would
           rest
           in
           neighbouring
           land
           ,
        
         
           Farre
           off
           ,
           long
           wayes
           ,
           long
           rigid
           reaches
           yet
        
         
           It
           doth
           contain
           :
           and
           first
           thou
           down
           must
           sit
           ,
        
         
           And
           set
           thy
           bending
           oares
           smoothly
           to
           sail
        
         
           In
           Sicils
           seas
           ;
           and
           after
           ,
           with
           free
           gale
        
         
           Passe
           with
           thy
           ships
           through
           Italies
           salt
           seas
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           th'
           infernall
           floud
           ,
           and
           isle
           Circes
           ,
        
         
           Before
           thou
           canst
           secure
           thy
           citie
           build
           :
        
         
           Mark
           well
           ,
           for
           I
           will
           thee
           some
           tokens
           yeeld
           :
        
         
           When
           carefull
           thou
           'bout
           Tyberinus
           shore
        
         
           Hast
           that
           still
           silent
           stream
           quite
           passed
           o're
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           on
           those
           banks
           a
           huge
           white
           sow
           shalt
           see
           ,
        
         
           With
           thirtie
           white
           young
           pigges
           late
           farrowed
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           ground
           sucking
           the
           sows
           vvhite
           ●eats
           ,
        
         
           There
           is
           the
           place
           for
           thy
           faire
           cities
           seats
           .
        
         
           Nor
           for
           the
           foretold
           famine
           be
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           Phoebus
           vvill
           help
           ,
           the
           fates
           vvill
           finde
           good
           aid
           .
        
         
           But
           see
           thou
           shunne
           these
           parts
           ,
           our
           neighbouring
           land
           ,
        
         
           Though
           neare
           some
           part
           of
           Italie
           it
           stand
           :
        
         
           For
           there
           the
           greedy
           Greeks
           all
           cities
           hold
           ,
        
         
           There
           lie
           in
           garrison
           the
           Locrians
           bold
           ,
        
         
           There
           Idomeneus
           on
           Salentine
           plains
        
         
           His
           Grecian
           armie
           musters
           up
           ,
           and
           trains
           :
        
         
           And
           there
           duke
           Philoctetes
           safely
           sleeps
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           Petilias
           vveak
           vvalls
           closely
           keeps
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           the
           seas
           safe
           past
           ,
           thy
           ships
           at
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           altars
           built
           on
           shore
           ,
           thou
           readie
           prest
           ,
        
         
           Then
           pay
           thy
           vovvs
           ,
           vvith
           purple-hood
           thy
           head
        
         
           See
           thou
           adorn
           ,
           that
           no
           disordered
        
         
           Or
           adverse
           fact
           be
           found
           ,
           i'
           th'
           sacred
           fire
        
         
           Made
           to
           the
           Gods
           due
           praise
           ,
           t'incensetheir
           ire
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           molest
           .
           This
           custome
           thou
           and
           thine
        
         
         
           Keep
           firm
           in
           sacred
           rites
           ,
           at
           sacred
           shrine
           .
        
         
           After
           ,
           vvhen
           vvindes
           to
           Sicil
           bring
           thee
           neare
           ,
        
         
           And
           strait
           Pelorus
           banks
           smally
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           Sail
           to
           the
           left
           hand
           sea
           ,
           the
           left
           hand
           side
           ,
        
         
           Steere
           ,
           by
           a
           long
           circumference
           ,
           the
           tide
           :
        
         
           Be
           sure
           to
           shunne
           the
           right
           hand
           sea
           and
           shore
           .
        
         
           These
           parts
           (
           they
           say
           )
           vvere
           by
           a
           tempest
           sore
        
         
           (
           Such
           a
           strange
           change
           makes
           long
           antiquitie
           )
        
         
           And
           rupture
           great
           ,
           long
           since
           most
           vehemently
        
         
           Broke
           forth
           ;
           both
           lands
           did
           once
           together
           lie
           :
        
         
           For
           with
           great
           force
           came
           a
           huge
           inundation
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           overflowing
           stream
           made
           separation
        
         
           'Twixt
           Italie
           and
           Sicil
           ,
           tumbling
           down
        
         
           With
           swift
           represselesse
           rage
           each
           field
           and
           town
           :
        
         
           Yet
           running
           with
           a
           narrow
           furious
           floud
           ,
        
         
           On
           whose
           right
           side
           pernicious
           Scylla
           stood
           ;
        
         
           Implacable
           Charybdis
           on
           the
           left
           ,
        
         
           The
           midst
           whereof
           so
           hellishly
           is
           cleft
           ,
        
         
           That
           its
           deep
           gaping
           gulf
           with
           treble
           swallow
        
         
           Sups
           up
           huge
           waves
           ,
           which
           broken
           in
           do
           follow
           :
        
         
           And
           thrice
           again
           disgorgeth
           them
           on
           high
           ,
        
         
           Dashing
           its
           wavie
           vomit
           up
           to
           th'
           skie
           .
        
         
           But
           Scylla
           lurketh
           in
           his
           covered
           caves
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           his
           sharp-tooth'd
           mouth
           sucks
           ships
           from
           waves
           :
        
         
           Upward
           a
           man
           ,
           downward
           a
           comely
           maid
           ,
        
         
           His
           lower
           parts
           like
           a
           huge
           whale
           are
           made
           ,
        
         
           All
           of
           wolves
           wombes
           and
           Dolphins
           tails
           are
           said
        
         
           To
           be
           engendred
           .
           But
           Pachynus
           point
        
         
           Is
           farre
           more
           safe
           for
           thee
           ,
           at
           ease
           t'
           appoint
        
         
           Thy
           courses
           in
           and
           out
           ,
           though
           farther
           it
           winde
           ,
        
         
           Then
           formidable
           Scyllas
           fangs
           to
           finde
           ,
        
         
           And
           rocky
           roares
           of
           his
           curst
           curres
           unkinde
           .
        
         
         
           Beside
           ,
           if
           any
           wit
           Helenus
           have
           ,
        
         
           If
           him
           least
           faith
           or
           truth
           Apollo
           gave
           ;
        
         
           This
           one
           thing
           ,
           and
           but
           onely
           this
           for
           all
        
         
           (
           Deare
           Goddesse
           sonne
           )
           to
           thee
           I
           motion
           shall
        
         
           And
           mention
           ,
           yea
           and
           move
           most
           ardently
           ,
        
         
           'Bove
           all
           adore
           great
           Iunos
           deitie
           :
        
         
           Make
           vows
           to
           Iuno
           with
           a
           willing
           minde
           ,
        
         
           And
           overcome
           with
           sacrifices
           kinde
        
         
           That
           mightie
           Goddesse
           .
           Thus
           ,
           thou
           victor
           may'st
           ,
        
         
           Sicilia
           left
           ,
           in
           Italie
           be
           plac'd
        
         
           To
           Cuma
           thou
           being
           come
           ,
           and
           on
           that
           shore
           ,
        
         
           Where
           sacred
           flouds
           ,
           Avernus
           woods
           do
           roare
           ;
        
         
           There
           thou
           the
           frantick
           prophetesse
           shalt
           see
           ,
        
         
           Who
           in
           her
           deep
           steep
           rock
           doth
           prophesie
           .
        
         
           And
           all
           her
           notes
           and
           names
           in
           leaves
           she
           writes
           ,
        
         
           And
           what
           in
           leaves
           she
           written
           leaves
           ,
           indites
        
         
           In
           metre-modules
           ,
           and
           locks
           in
           her
           cave
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           untoucht
           ,
           they
           lie
           in
           order
           brave
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           ,
           the
           doore
           being
           ope
           ,
           the
           winde
           displace
           them
           ,
        
         
           And
           out
           of
           doores
           the
           whisking
           puffs
           do
           chase
           them
           ,
        
         
           She
           never
           cares
           to
           catch
           them
           in
           again
           ,
        
         
           To
           recollect
           their
           strains
           ,
           or
           place
           them
           plain
           ,
        
         
           Rudely
           they
           runne
           ,
           and
           Sibyls
           seat
           disdain
           .
        
         
           Nor
           think
           it
           losse
           of
           time
           there
           to
           abide
           ,
        
         
           Though
           thy
           companions
           thee
           to
           ship
           may
           chide
           ,
        
         
           And
           though
           to
           launch
           out
           thou
           have
           winde
           at
           will
           ,
        
         
           Which
           with
           most
           prosperous
           gales
           thy
           sails
           may
           fill
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           prove
           the
           prophetesse
           ,
           her
           humbly
           pray
        
         
           Thy
           fates
           by
           word
           of
           mouth
           plain
           to
           display
           ,
        
         
           She
           'le
           shew
           thee
           Latium
           lads
           ,
           fierce
           future
           broiles
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           thou
           mayst
           forsake
           ,
           or
           take
           thy
           toiles
           :
        
         
           Thy
           journeyes
           joyfull
           sacred-she
           will
           make
           .
        
         
         
           Of
           these
           things
           I
           'd
           have
           thee
           chief
           note
           to
           take
           .
        
         
           Go
           on
           then
           ,
           and
           to
           th'
           heavens
           Troy
           magnifie
        
         
           By
           famous
           facts
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           most
           courteously
        
         
           The
           prophet
           gave
           him
           ivorie
           gifts
           ,
           and
           gold
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           his
           ship
           huge
           massie
           silver
           hold
           :
        
         
           Dodonaean
           basons
           ,
           and
           a
           coat
           of
           arms
        
         
           Richly
           beset
           with
           hooks
           ,
           to
           save
           from
           harms
           ,
        
         
           And
           treble-guilt
           with
           gold
           ;
           a
           helmet
           faire
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           rich
           crest
           ,
           and
           dangling
           plume
           ,
           like
           haire
           :
        
         
           The
           arms
           of
           Neoptolemus
           they
           were
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           my
           father
           he
           great
           gifts
           did
           beare
           :
        
         
           He
           gave
           us
           horses
           ,
           gave
           us
           captains
           there
           :
        
         
           Gave
           us
           new
           oares
           ,
           and
           armour
           for
           our
           men
           .
        
         
           Achilles
           my
           old
           father
           bad
           us
           then
        
         
           To
           fit
           our
           ships
           with
           sails
           ,
           for
           windes
           swift
           chace
           :
        
         
           To
           whom
           Apollos
           priest
           said
           ,
           with
           great
           grace
           ,
        
         
           Anchises
           ,
           whom
           faire
           Venus
           to
           embrace
        
         
           With
           wedlocks
           royall
           rites
           ,
           did
           kindely
           '
           dain
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           Gods
           regard
           ,
           and
           twice
           did
           safe
           sustain
        
         
           From
           Pergams
           spoile
           ,
           behold
           faire
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Then
           sail
           thou
           thither
           with
           celeritie
           ,
        
         
           And
           needs
           thou
           must
           from
           these
           our
           parts
           depart
           .
        
         
           For
           very
           farre
           remote
           from
           whence
           thou
           art
           ,
        
         
           Are
           those
           Italian
           plains
           ,
           by
           Phoebus
           shown
           :
        
         
           Then
           go
           (
           he
           said
           )
           thou
           who
           art
           happie
           known
        
         
           In
           a
           most
           pious
           sonne
           :
           But
           why
           thus
           still
        
         
           Does
           my
           talk
           stay
           thee
           ?
           winde
           blowing
           now
           at
           will.
        
         
           Andromache
           likewise
           at
           our
           farewell
        
         
           Most
           sorrowfull
           ,
           brought
           gifts
           that
           did
           excell
           :
        
         
           Garments
           with
           gold
           embroidered
           ,
           rich
           and
           deep
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           rare
           Trojan
           coat
           ,
           which
           she
           did
           keep
           ,
        
         
           She
           to
           Ascanius
           gave
           ,
           equall
           to
           any
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           rarely
           woven
           gifts
           she
           gave
           him
           many
           ,
        
         
           And
           said
           ;
           Take
           these
           brave
           childe
           ,
           and
           let
           them
           be
        
         
           Pledges
           of
           my
           hands
           and
           hearts
           love
           to
           thee
           ,
        
         
           Let
           them
           Andromaches
           ,
           great
           Hectors
           mate
           ,
        
         
           Largely
           extended
           kindnesse
           demonstrate
           :
        
         
           Yea
           take
           them
           as
           friends
           gifts
           in
           last
           extent
           ,
        
         
           O
           thou
           who
           onely
           much
           dost
           represent
        
         
           My
           deare
           Astyanax
           !
           for
           so
           had
           he
        
         
           His
           eyes
           ,
           his
           hands
           ,
           his
           countenance
           like
           thee
           ;
        
         
           And
           ,
           had
           he
           liv'd
           ,
           he
           had
           been
           just
           thine
           age
           .
        
         
           Then
           parting
           ,
           I
           with
           a
           sad
           carriage
        
         
           And
           many
           teares
           ,
           said
           unto
           these
           my
           friends
           ;
        
         
           O
           happy
           you
           ,
           whose
           toile
           already
           ends
           :
        
         
           Whereas
           new
           and
           alternate
           fates
           us
           call
           ,
        
         
           You
           sit
           at
           ease
           ,
           no
           seas
           to
           sail
           at
           all
           :
        
         
           You
           seek
           no
           Latian
           retrograding
           plains
           ,
        
         
           You
           Xanthus
           and
           Troyes
           figure
           safe
           contains
           ,
        
         
           Which
           your
           own
           fingers
           fram'd
           :
           I
           trust
           ,
           more
           blest
           ,
        
         
           Then
           e're
           to
           be
           by
           Greeks
           again
           distrest
           .
        
         
           If
           ever
           I
           faire
           Tybers
           flouds
           and
           field
        
         
           Do
           enter
           ,
           and
           my
           nations
           citie
           build
           ,
        
         
           And
           kindred
           countreys
           and
           our
           neighbouring
           nations
           ,
        
         
           Epirus
           and
           Hesperias
           combinations
        
         
           In
           amitie
           ,
           who
           both
           from
           Dardane
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           both
           in
           bloud
           and
           fortunes
           were
           the
           same
           :
        
         
           Then
           both
           shall
           be
           one
           Troy
           in
           sweet
           affection
           ,
        
         
           And
           our
           posteritie
           have
           one
           protection
           .
        
         
           By
           sea
           we
           to
           Ceraunia
           sail
           ,
           hard
           by
           ,
        
         
           Whence
           by
           short
           cut
           lies
           way
           to
           Italie
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           the
           Sunne
           goes
           down
           ,
           shades
           hide
           the
           hills
           ,
        
         
           We
           on
           the
           long'd
           for
           land
           with
           cheerfull
           wills
        
         
           Lie
           down
           and
           choose
           our
           oares
           ,
           and
           scattered
           wide
           ,
        
         
         
           We
           for
           our
           wearie
           limbes
           on
           shore
           provide
           :
        
         
           And
           tired
           ,
           quickly
           fell
           full
           sound
           asleep
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           yet
           did
           midnight
           season
           from
           us
           creep
           ,
        
         
           When
           Palinurus
           nimbly
           rose
           from
           rest
           ,
        
         
           To
           watch
           the
           winde
           ;
           his
           eare
           to
           th'
           aire
           most
           prest
           ,
        
         
           He
           marks
           the
           gliding
           starres
           in
           serene
           skie
           ,
        
         
           The
           
             Plow-starre
             ,
             Wain
             ,
             Hyades
          
           waterie
           ,
        
         
           Golden
           Orion
           ,
           full
           of
           tempests
           great
           .
        
         
           And
           finding
           all
           to
           be
           both
           faire
           and
           neat
           ,
        
         
           From
           ship-board
           gives
           a
           signe
           :
           we
           change
           a
           station
           ,
        
         
           And
           steere
           our
           way
           with
           sail-yards
           elevation
           .
        
         
           The
           starres
           now
           fled
           ,
           ruddy
           Aurora
           smiles
           ,
        
         
           And
           we
           dark
           hills
           discry'd
           some
           distant
           miles
           ,
        
         
           And
           Italie
           lying
           low
           :
           when
           first
           of
           all
        
         
           
             Achates
             Italie
          
           aloud
           did
           yaull
           ,
        
         
           Our
           mates
           do
           Italie
           salute
           with
           joy
           .
        
         
           And
           old
           Anchises
           doth
           himself
           employ
           ,
        
         
           A
           bowl
           of
           wine
           brimfull
           to
           coronate
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           Gods
           divine
           did
           invocate
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           ,
           advanc'd
           i'
           th'
           ship
           ,
           did
           impetrate
           :
        
         
           You
           Gods
           of
           sea
           and
           land
           ,
           who
           storms
           do
           cease
           ,
        
         
           Prosper
           our
           journey
           with
           all
           joyes
           increase
           .
        
         
           And
           straight
           faire
           blasts
           do
           blow
           ,
           the
           ports
           appeare
        
         
           To
           our
           approach
           ,
           and
           we
           beheld
           most
           cleare
        
         
           Minervas
           temple
           in
           her
           sacred
           tower
           .
        
         
           My
           mates
           their
           ships
           to
           shore
           with
           all
           their
           power
        
         
           Put
           in
           ,
           to
           land
           ,
           and
           quick
           let
           down
           their
           sails
           ,
        
         
           The
           haven
           hooks
           in
           ,
           by
           Eastern
           seas
           avails
           ,
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           bow
           ;
           and
           rockie
           banks
           cast
           up
           ,
        
         
           The
           foaming-swelling
           salt
           seas
           waves
           do
           sup
           .
        
         
           The
           haven
           lies
           hid
           ,
           the
           rocks
           ,
           like
           turrets
           high
           ,
        
         
           Stretch
           out
           two
           walley-arms
           ,
           and
           back
           doth
           flie
        
         
         
           The
           temple
           from
           the
           shore
           .
           Here
           did
           I
           see
        
         
           (
           The
           first
           omen
           )
           foure
           snow-white
           steeds
           to
           be
        
         
           About
           the
           field
           ,
           and
           on
           the
           grasse
           to
           graze
           .
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Anchises
           thus
           his
           minde
           did
           blaze
           ;
        
         
           O
           harbrous
           land
           ,
           bringest
           thou
           battells
           great
           ?
        
         
           By
           these
           warre-horses
           thou
           fierce
           warre
           dost
           threat
           .
        
         
           And
           yet
           these
           beasts
           chariots
           were
           wont
           to
           draw
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           kinde
           couples
           bits
           to
           champ
           and
           chaw
           .
        
         
           Here
           's
           hope
           of
           peace
           ,
           sayes
           he
           :
           then
           submissely
        
         
           VVe
           pray
           to
           Pallas
           powerfull
           deitie
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           us
           most
           glad
           receiv'd
           ,
           before
           whose
           fires
        
         
           Our
           heads
           with
           hoods
           we
           vail
           ,
           and
           Trojan
           tires
           :
        
         
           Holy
           Helenus
           charge
           we
           discharge
           now
           ,
        
         
           Which
           chiefly
           he
           enjoyn'd
           us
           ,
           and
           we
           bow
        
         
           And
           sacrifice
           to
           
             Greeces
             Iuno
          
           high
           .
        
         
           Without
           delay
           ,
           our
           votes
           paid
           orderly
           ,
        
         
           We
           turn
           about
           our
           cover'd
           crosse
           yards
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           Greeks
           feared
           towns
           and
           fields
           we
           fall
           .
        
         
           And
           hence
           we
           saw
           
             Herculean
             Tarents
          
           bay
           ,
        
         
           (
           If
           fame
           be
           true
           )
           'gainst
           which
           in
           full
           sight
           lay
        
         
           
             Lacinian
             Iunos
          
           temple
           ,
           Caulons
           towers
           ,
        
         
           And
           shipwracking
           Scylacaeums
           stormie
           powers
           .
        
         
           Then
           farre
           from
           sea
           ,
           
             Sicilian
             Aetnas
          
           hill
        
         
           We
           saw
           ,
           and
           heard
           the
           seas
           huge
           roares
           most
           shrill
           ,
        
         
           And
           battering
           stones
           clattering
           against
           the
           clift
           ,
        
         
           And
           abrupt
           sounds
           at
           shore
           ,
           waves
           loudly
           lift
           ,
        
         
           And
           sands
           and
           seas
           boyling
           with
           furious
           drift
           .
        
         
           Here
           's
           that
           Charybdis
           (
           sure
           )
           Anchises
           said
           ,
        
         
           Helen
           these
           rigid
           rocks
           ,
           these
           clifts
           displaid
           .
        
         
           Hence
           then
           brave
           mates
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           ply
           close
           your
           oares
           .
        
         
           Straight
           they
           what
           's
           bid
           obey
           ,
           shove
           from
           those
           shores
           :
        
         
           First
           Palinure
           the
           stern
           steeres
           to
           th'lef●
           side
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           whole
           fleet
           rows
           to
           th'
           left
           with
           winde
           and
           tide
           .
        
         
           Huge
           bow-backt
           vvaves
           do
           tosse
           us
           up
           to
           th'
           skie
           ,
        
         
           They
           shrink
           ,
           we
           sink
           to
           hells
           profunditie
           .
        
         
           Thrice
           threatning
           rocks
           i'
           th'
           clifts
           made
           clamorous
           jangles
           ,
        
         
           Thrice
           we
           the
           foam
           did
           slice
           ,
           see
           dewy
           spangles
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           both
           winde
           and
           sunne
           us
           tyr'd
           forsake
           :
        
         
           Unknown
           on
           Cyclops
           banks
           a
           stay
           we
           make
           .
        
         
           The
           haven
           is
           huge
           ,
           unstur'd
           by
           sturdy
           winde
           ,
        
         
           But
           Aetna's
           horrid
           roares
           there
           (
           neare
           )
           we
           finde
           .
        
         
           Whence
           a
           black
           cloud
           sometimes
           is
           belched
           out
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           pichy
           fume
           and
           fierie
           sparks
           about
        
         
           Vent
           flakes
           of
           flame
           ,
           and
           seem
           the
           starres
           to
           lick
           ,
        
         
           Vomiting
           up
           unbowell'd
           mount-mould
           thick
           ,
        
         
           Working
           up
           rocks
           to
           th'
           skie
           ,
           and
           heaps
           of
           stones
           ,
        
         
           From
           's
           fierie-boyling
           paunch
           venting
           great
           groans
           .
        
         
           Encelads
           lightning-half-burn'd
           corps
           ,
           't
           is
           said
           ,
        
         
           Under
           this
           mightie
           mountain
           Aetna's
           laid
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           those
           chimney
           breaches
           breaths
           out
           fire
           ,
        
         
           And
           when
           that
           vveight
           his
           vvearie
           limbes
           doth
           tire
           ,
        
         
           All
           Sicil
           shakes
           vvith
           rumbling
           noise
           and
           cries
           ,
        
         
           And
           mightie
           fogs
           and
           fumes
           do
           dimme
           the
           skies
           .
        
         
           That
           night
           in
           vvoods
           strange
           sounds
           and
           sighs
           us
           fright
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           on
           the
           cause
           of
           them
           vve
           could
           not
           light
           .
        
         
           For
           neither
           vve
           the
           light
           of
           starres
           did
           see
           ,
        
         
           No
           nor
           the
           starrie
           pole
           discern'd
           could
           be
           :
        
         
           But
           mungy
           clouds
           o'respread
           the
           skie
           most
           black
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           dark
           night
           made
           us
           moon-light
           to
           lack
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           the
           next
           dayes
           light
           sprang
           from
           the
           East
           ,
        
         
           And
           Sols
           bright
           rayes
           nights
           devvy
           shades
           decreast
           :
        
         
           VVhen
           suddenly
           out
           of
           the
           vvoods
           vve
           spie
        
         
           A
           mans
           strange
           shape
           ,
           hunger-starv'd
           ,
           like
           to
           die
           ,
        
         
           In
           piteous
           plight
           ,
           his
           hands
           humbly
           stretcht
           out
           ,
        
         
         
           Whom
           we
           behold
           ,
           see
           him
           soil'd
           all
           about
           ,
        
         
           His
           wilde
           grown
           beard
           ,
           his
           garments
           all
           thorn-torn
           ,
        
         
           In
           all
           things
           else
           he
           seem'd
           a
           Greek
           forlorn
           ,
        
         
           Who
           once
           in
           Grecian
           troops
           to
           Troy
           was
           sent
           ,
        
         
           He
           spies
           farre
           off
           Troyes
           arms
           and
           vestiment
           ;
        
         
           Which
           sight
           him
           somewhat
           startled
           ,
           made
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           And
           stopt
           his
           pace
           :
           at
           last
           he
           headlong
           made
        
         
           To
           us
           to
           shore
           ,
           with
           wofull
           treats
           and
           teares
           .
        
         
           By
           starres
           ,
           by
           Gods
           ,
           life-breathing
           aire
           ,
           he
           sweares
           ,
        
         
           Take
           me
           hence
           ,
           Trojans
           ,
           to
           what
           parts
           you
           please
           :
        
         
           And
           this
           ,
           this
           onely
           gives
           me
           ample
           ease
           :
        
         
           My self
           a
           Grecian
           souldier
           I
           confesse
           ,
        
         
           That
           by
           that
           warre
           Troyes
           Gods
           we
           did
           distresse
           :
        
         
           For
           which
           ,
           since
           so
           great
           harms
           our
           arms
           have
           wrought
           ,
        
         
           Fling
           me
           to
           th'
           flouds
           ,
           let
           sea
           bring
           me
           to
           nought
           .
        
         
           If
           so
           I
           die
           ,
           by
           man
           to
           die
           I
           'm
           glad
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           staid
           ,
           kneeling
           on
           knees
           most
           sad
           :
        
         
           We
           bad
           him
           tell
           us
           who
           he
           was
           :
           where
           born
           :
        
         
           And
           what
           dire
           fate
           did
           cause
           that
           state
           forlorn
           .
        
         
           Yea
           and
           my
           sire
           himself
           ,
           Anchises
           old
           ,
        
         
           VVithout
           delay
           the
           young-mans
           hand
           did
           hold
        
         
           In
           his
           right
           hand
           ,
           a
           pledge
           of
           hope
           to
           's
           minde
           .
        
         
           VVhereat
           he
           thus
           began
           ,
           feare
           cast
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Ithaca
           I
           am
           ,
           Vlysses
           mate
           ,
        
         
           My
           name
           is
           Achaemenides
           ,
           and
           late
        
         
           I
           came
           to
           Troy
           from
           Adamast
           my
           father
           ,
        
         
           A
           man
           (
           then
           )
           poore
           (
           and
           oh
           I
           wish
           much
           rather
        
         
           That
           state
           had
           stood
           )
           here
           ,
           my
           unmindfull
           mates
        
         
           Fearefully
           fled
           ,
           left
           me
           within
           the
           gates
        
         
           Of
           the
           huge
           Cyclops
           den
           ,
           foule
           den
           indeed
           ,
        
         
           VVherein
           they
           on
           dire
           bloudie
           dai●●ies
           feed
           :
        
         
           As
           deep
           as
           dark
           within
           ,
           the
           masters
           self
           ,
        
         
         
           An
           ugly
           ,
           odious
           ,
           tall
           ,
           starre-touching
           elf
           :
        
         
           (
           Heaven
           grant
           ,
           like
           plagues
           mortals
           finde
           never
           more
           )
        
         
           Fierce
           in
           his
           sight
           ,
           furious
           to
           speak
           before
           ,
        
         
           Fed
           with
           the
           flesh
           and
           bloud
           of
           wretches
           poore
           .
        
         
           For
           I
           my self
           saw
           him
           most
           slightly
           take
           ,
        
         
           And
           grasp
           in
           his
           foule
           fist
           ,
           and
           fiercely
           shake
           ,
        
         
           Two
           of
           the
           bodies
           of
           my
           mates
           at
           once
           ,
        
         
           And
           dash
           them
           both
           against
           the
           rockie
           stones
           ,
        
         
           Sprinkling
           their
           putrid
           filth
           thick
           on
           the
           walls
           :
        
         
           Yea
           and
           I
           saw
           the
           beast
           ,
           how
           close
           he
           falls
        
         
           To
           eat
           and
           gnaw
           their
           flesh
           and
           issuing
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           How
           vvith
           their
           hot
           joynts
           'twixt
           his
           teeth
           he
           stood
           .
        
         
           And
           yet
           not
           altogether
           unrewarded
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           of
           himself
           Vlysses
           unregarded
           .
        
         
           For
           loathing
           life
           ,
           Ithacus
           ,
           in
           this
           feare
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           he
           was
           stuft
           vvith
           vvine
           and
           his
           good
           cheare
           ,
        
         
           His
           head
           bent
           down
           to
           sleep
           ,
           he
           laid
           on
           ground
        
         
           In
           his
           huge
           den
           ,
           and
           in
           his
           sleep
           most
           sound
           ,
        
         
           Disgorging
           guts
           and
           gobbets
           ,
           bloud-mixt
           vvine
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           all
           do
           call
           upon
           our
           powers
           divine
           ,
        
         
           Each
           man
           in
           's
           turn
           ,
           closing
           him
           round
           about
           ,
        
         
           His
           gogling
           eye
           we
           vvith
           a
           club
           dasht
           out
           ,
        
         
           His
           onely
           eye
           ,
           fixt
           on
           his
           frowning
           brow
           .
        
         
           Like
           Sol
           ,
           or
           Grecian
           shield
           in
           's
           au-all
           bow
           .
        
         
           Thus
           we
           our
           fellows
           deaths
           reveng'd
           at
           last
           .
        
         
           But
           flie
           ,
           oh
           flie
           ,
           poore
           soules
           ,
           from
           hence
           full
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Your
           cables
           cut
           ,
           and
           loose
           ,
           and
           quickly
           brast
           ,
        
         
           From
           such
           ,
           so
           huge
           ,
           as
           Polypheme
           in
           's
           den
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           men
           and
           beasts
           in
           's
           clutches
           close
           doth
           pen
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Cyclops
           monstrous
           full
           an
           hundred
           more
           ,
        
         
           Do
           rove
           and
           rage
           about
           this
           crabbed
           shore
           ,
        
         
           And
           haunt
           about
           these
           hills
           .
           Novv
           Cynthia
           bright
           ,
        
         
         
           Had
           thrice
           increast
           ,
           decreast
           her
           hornie
           light
           ,
        
         
           Since
           we
           in
           woods
           and
           deserts
           vvilde
           did
           range
           ,
        
         
           And
           wilde
           beasts
           dens
           :
           vvhen
           the
           huge
           Cyclops
           strange
        
         
           Descending
           the
           rough
           rocks
           ,
           I
           saw
           in
           sight
           ;
        
         
           Whose
           roaring
           voice
           and
           pace
           did
           me
           afright
           .
        
         
           Wilde
           stonie
           berries
           ,
           rurall
           heps
           and
           haws
        
         
           They
           foulely
           fed
           on
           ,
           roots
           ,
           herbs
           ,
           fill
           their
           maws
           .
        
         
           Sculking
           about
           ,
           first
           I
           beheld
           this
           fleet
        
         
           Sailing
           to
           shore
           :
           which
           I
           (
           thus
           )
           vow'd
           to
           meet
           ,
        
         
           What
           e're
           it
           vvas
           :
           enough
           I
           had
           that
           I
        
         
           Had
           scapt
           these
           barbarous
           beasts
           immanitie
           :
        
         
           By
           you
           more
           willing
           any
           death
           to
           die
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           had
           he
           done
           ,
           when
           from
           a
           hill
           we
           saw
           ,
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           vvalking-mount
           ,
           to
           us
           to
           draw
        
         
           Huge
           Polypheme
           himself
           amongst
           his
           sheep
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           well-known
           shore
           his
           way
           to
           keep
           :
        
         
           Monstrous
           ,
           misshapen
           ,
           horrid
           ,
           huge
           ,
           stark-blinde
           .
        
         
           His
           hand
           a
           pine-tree
           grasps
           ,
           firm
           vvay
           to
           finde
           ,
        
         
           His
           flocks
           him
           follow
           ,
           this
           his
           onely
           joy
           ,
        
         
           His
           pipe
           ty'd
           at
           his
           neck
           ,
           to
           ease
           annoy
           .
        
         
           Who
           entring
           now
           the
           deep
           ,
           and
           come
           to
           shore
           ,
        
         
           Of
           his
           boar'd
           eye
           he
           vvasht
           the
           running
           gore
           ,
        
         
           Gnashing
           his
           teeth
           vvith
           rage
           ;
           i'
           th'
           main
           he
           goes
           ,
        
         
           And
           yet
           above
           the
           vvaves
           his
           sides
           he
           shows
           .
        
         
           We
           fearefull
           ,
           quickly
           skudding
           thence
           do
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Taking
           vvith
           us
           the
           vvretch
           ,
           and
           vvorthily
        
         
           Slily
           our
           cables
           cut
           ;
           with
           nimble
           oares
        
         
           VVe
           brush
           the
           floud
           ,
           and
           glide
           from
           off
           the
           shores
           .
        
         
           VVhich
           so
           perceiving
           ,
           follows
           our
           ships
           din
           ,
        
         
           But
           seeing
           he
           no
           reach
           of
           us
           could
           vvin
           ,
        
         
           To
           gripe
           us
           in
           his
           paw
           ,
           finding
           likewise
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           Ionick
           seas
           he
           could
           not
           equalize
           ,
        
         
         
           Us
           to
           pursue
           so
           huge
           a
           howl
           he
           rais'd
           ,
        
         
           As
           earth
           ,
           and
           seas
           ,
           and
           shores
           vvere
           all
           amaz'd
           .
        
         
           All
           Italie
           stood
           trembling
           ,
           Aetna's
           hill
        
         
           VVith
           hollow
           holes
           resounded
           echoes
           shrill
           .
        
         
           VVhereat
           huge
           troops
           of
           Cyclops
           from
           the
           vvoods
           ,
        
         
           And
           mountains
           tall
           ,
           flock
           to
           the
           shores
           and
           flouds
           :
        
         
           VVhom
           vvith
           their
           fruitlesse
           frowns
           vve
           safely
           eye
           ,
        
         
           Those
           Aetnaean
           elfs
           ,
           whose
           pates
           even
           touch
           the
           skie
           ,
        
         
           A
           hellish
           heap
           :
           much
           like
           a
           forrest
           rude
           ,
        
         
           VVhere
           grow
           old
           oaks
           and
           trees
           in
           multitude
           ,
        
         
           Or
           cypresses
           tall
           boughs
           ,
           on
           hills
           that
           stood
        
         
           In
           faire
           Diana's
           groves
           ,
           or
           Ioves
           tall
           vvood
           .
        
         
           Feare
           forc'd
           us
           thence
           confusedly
           to
           sail
           ,
        
         
           Wheres'ere
           the
           windes
           would
           blow
           with
           prosperous
           gale
           .
        
         
           But
           grave
           Helenus
           hests
           us
           countercheckt
           ,
        
         
           'Twixt
           Scylla
           and
           Charybdis
           to
           direct
           ,
        
         
           And
           keep
           our
           course
           'twixt
           both
           ,
           as
           we
           could
           best
           ,
        
         
           From
           being
           by
           least
           feare
           of
           death
           distrest
           :
        
         
           But
           ,
           if
           not
           so
           ,
           then
           backward
           to
           retire
           .
        
         
           But
           see
           ,
           a
           happy
           Borean
           blast
           did
           spire
        
         
           From
           faire
           Pelorus
           parts
           ,
           which
           brought
           us
           right
        
         
           Unto
           Pantagia's
           rockie
           mouth
           and
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Of
           cape
           Megarus
           ,
           and
           of
           Tapsus
           low
           .
        
         
           All
           these
           did
           Achaemenides
           us
           show
           ,
        
         
           Vlysses
           mate
           ,
           as
           by
           those
           banks
           we
           goe
           .
        
         
           Against
           sower
           Sicils
           bay
           an
           isle
           doth
           lie
           ,
        
         
           Call'd
           foule
           Plemmyrium
           by
           antiquitie
           ;
        
         
           But
           modern
           times
           do
           it
           Ortygia
           name
           .
        
         
           Alphean-Elis
           current
           (
           so
           sayes
           fame
           )
        
         
           Here
           undermines
           the
           sea
           by
           secret
           passe
           ,
        
         
           Which
           now
           into
           thy
           mouth
           ,
           Arethusas
           ,
        
         
           Falling
           ,
           confounded
           is
           in
           Sicils
           floud
           .
        
         
         
           There
           vve
           (
           advis'd
           )
           adore
           those
           Gods
           so
           good
           .
        
         
           Thence
           from
           Elorus
           fruitfull
           plains
           we
           put
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           Pachinus
           rocks
           and
           crooks
           vve
           cut
           :
        
         
           And
           sailing
           ,
           see
           unmov'd
           Camarina
           ,
        
         
           Gelo's
           large
           towns
           ,
           and
           torrent
           fierce
           G●la
           .
        
         
           Then
           ample
           Agragas
           struts
           stately
           high
           ,
        
         
           Of
           prauncing
           horses
           (
           once
           )
           a
           nurserie
           .
        
         
           By
           thee
           ,
           date-bearing
           S●linus
           ,
           I
           sail'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           Lilybeums
           hid
           rocks
           rough
           streams
           hail'd
           .
        
         
           And
           thence
           I
           came
           to
           Drepanus
           sad
           shore
           :
        
         
           Where
           having
           all
           my
           toiles
           at
           sea
           past
           o're
           ,
        
         
           (
           Alas
           !
           )
           my
           father
           ,
           cure
           of
           all
           my
           care
           ,
        
         
           Anchises
           ,
           here
           I
           lost
           :
           O
           father
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Here
           dost
           thou
           thy
           poore
           tired
           sonne
           forsake
           ?
        
         
           Alas
           !
           did
           heaven
           thee
           from
           such
           turmoiles
           take
           ?
        
         
           And
           all
           in
           vain
           ?
           And
           ,
           nor
           Helenus
           vvise
           ,
        
         
           Who
           many
           hardships
           to
           me
           did
           premise
           ,
        
         
           Foreshew'd
           me
           this
           mishap
           ,
           this
           sorrow
           great
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           fierce
           Celaeno
           ,
           vvho
           much
           fright
           did
           threat
           .
        
         
           Is
           this
           my
           labours
           ,
           this
           my
           travells
           scope
           ?
        
         
           Hath
           heaven
           me
           hither
           brought
           ,
           for
           this
           poore
           hope
           ?
        
         
           Thus
           grave
           Aeneas
           did
           himself
           relate
        
         
           To
           all
           their
           listning
           eares
           his
           God-given
           fate
           :
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           voyages
           at
           large
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           And
           here
           did
           end
           ,
           and
           ceast
           ,
           and
           so
           took
           rest
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             third
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             fourth
             book
             .
          
           
             The
             queen
             incens'd
             with
             love-sick
             fires
             ,
          
           
             Her
             sister
             Annes
             advise
             desires
             :
          
           
             Who
             blows
             the
             coals
             more
             ardently
             .
          
           
             Whereat
             to
             Juno's
             deitie
          
           
             They
             sacrifice
             :
             A
             hunting
             ride
             ,
          
           
             And
             Venus
             to
             their
             votes
             applide
             .
          
           
             Fame
             spreads
             the
             fact
             :
             by
             fates
             decree
          
           
             Aeneas
             charged
             thence
             to
             flee
             ,
          
           
             Prepares
             his
             shipping
             and
             his
             mates
             ,
          
           
             And
             thence
             to
             part
             he
             properates
             .
          
           
             This
             Dido
             saw
             ,
             his
             stay
             assayd
             ,
          
           
             With
             teares
             and
             treats
             ;
             but
             all
             denayd
             ,
          
           
             On
             her
             built
             shrine
             ,
             in
             sacrifice
             ,
          
           
             With
             wofull
             words
             and
             wounds
             she
             dies
             .
          
        
         
           BUt
           all
           this
           while
           the
           queen
           with
           love
           sore
           wounded
           ,
        
         
           Hugs
           her
           hearts
           harm
           ,
           with
           imbred
           flames
           confounded
           .
        
         
           The
           mans
           rare
           parts
           she
           mindes
           much
           ,
           much
           does
           trace
        
         
           His
           noble
           nation
           :
           and
           his
           words
           and
           face
        
         
           Engraves
           in
           heart
           :
           Care
           cuts
           off
           all
           sweet
           rest
           .
        
         
           Next
           morn
           ,
           when
           Sols
           bright
           rayes
           the
           earth
           had
           drest
           ,
        
         
           And
           Phoebus
           fair
           made
           moist
           mists
           heaven
           forsake
           ,
        
         
           She
           love-sick
           ,
           thus
           t'
           her
           siding
           sister
           spake
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           sister
           Anne
           ,
           what
           dreams
           me
           thus
           molest
           ?
        
         
         
           Who
           is
           this
           our
           so
           noble
           new-come
           guest
           ?
        
         
           How
           faire
           he
           seems
           !
           how
           rare
           in
           power
           and
           grace
           !
        
         
           I
           think
           (
           nor
           vainly
           think
           )
           he
           's
           of
           Gods
           race
           .
        
         
           Feare
           shews
           a
           cowards
           heart
           :
           ah
           how
           hath
           he
        
         
           Been
           tost
           by
           fates
           ?
           what
           warre-woes
           shew'd
           he
           me
           ?
        
         
           Were
           he
           not
           in
           my
           heart
           fixt
           movelesly
           ,
        
         
           With
           nuptiall
           bands
           none
           living
           should
           me
           tie
           .
        
         
           Since
           my
           first
           Love
           ,
           deceasing
           ,
           hath
           me
           fail'd
           ,
        
         
           Had
           I
           not
           hence
           marriage-bed
           rites
           quite
           vail'd
           ,
        
         
           I
           could
           perhaps
           this
           one
           love-slip
           embrace
           .
        
         
           I
           'le
           tell
           thee
           
             (
             Nan
          
           )
           since
           poore
           Sichaeus
           case
           ,
        
         
           My
           spouse
           ,
           slain
           by
           my
           brother
           at
           his
           shrines
           ,
        
         
           This
           onely
           windes
           my
           will
           ,
           my
           heart
           inclines
        
         
           To
           a
           forc'd
           fall
           :
           I
           feel
           loves
           old
           flames
           power
           .
        
         
           But
           may
           the
           earth
           gape
           wide
           ,
           and
           me
           devoure
           ,
        
         
           Or
           mightie
           Iove
           by
           lightnings
           force
           me
           die
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           die
           to
           hells
           black
           nights
           profunditie
           ,
        
         
           Before
           I
           thee
           ,
           sweet
           chastitie
           ,
           do
           blot
           ,
        
         
           Or
           wrong
           thy
           rites
           .
           He
           which
           my
           love
           first
           got
           ,
        
         
           He
           has
           it
           ,
           holds
           it
           in
           his
           grave
           with
           him
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           her
           eyes
           with
           teares
           stood
           full
           to
           th'
           brim
           .
        
         
           Anne
           straight
           replies
           ;
           Sister
           ,
           to
           me
           more
           deare
        
         
           Then
           lovely
           light
           ,
           shall
           I
           thee
           onely
           heare
        
         
           Still
           to
           bewail
           thy
           youths
           continuance
           ,
        
         
           Void
           of
           sweet
           sonnes
           ,
           or
           Venus
           dalliance
           ?
        
         
           Think'st
           thou
           that
           graves
           or
           ghosts
           will
           this
           supply
           ?
        
         
           Say
           ,
           though
           all
           suiters
           (
           once
           )
           in
           nicitie
        
         
           Thou
           didst
           put
           off
           ,
           and
           Libyan
           lords
           neglect
           ,
        
         
           And
           king
           Iärbas
           ,
           whom
           Tyre
           did
           reject
           ,
        
         
           And
           other
           princely
           Peeres
           ,
           whom
           Africk
           land
        
         
           Enricht
           with
           spoiles
           :
           dost
           still
           sweet
           love
           withstand
           ?
        
         
           Regard'st
           thou
           not
           whose
           land
           thou
           now
           dost
           hold
           ?
        
         
         
           Getulian
           towns
           ,
           a
           warlike
           people
           bold
           ,
        
         
           By
           proud
           Numidians
           hedg'd
           ,
           and
           swallowing
           Syrts
           ,
        
         
           Whereby
           unharbourous
           land
           thee
           round
           begirts
           ,
        
         
           And
           barbarous
           Barceans
           blustring
           all
           about
           .
        
         
           Why
           talk
           I
           of
           our
           Tyrian
           warres
           burst
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           thy
           greedy
           brothers
           threatnings
           stout
           ?
        
         
           Truely
           I
           trust
           ,
           fair
           fates
           and
           Iuno
           kinde
        
         
           Drave
           t'
           us
           those
           Trojan
           ships
           with
           prosperous
           winde
           .
        
         
           O
           what
           a
           citie
           (
           sister
           )
           shall
           wee
           see
           ?
        
         
           How
           rare
           a
           realm
           ,
           by
           such
           a
           spouse
           as
           he
           ?
        
         
           If
           Trojans
           trimme
           our
           troops
           ,
           what
           matchlesse
           praise
        
         
           Shall
           Tyrians
           to
           their
           noble
           actions
           raise
           ?
        
         
           Onely
           get
           thou
           the
           Gods
           good
           will
           ,
           then
           offer
        
         
           Thy
           sacrifice
           ,
           thy
           guest
           all
           kindnesse
           proffer
           :
        
         
           And
           work
           out
           wayes
           him
           with
           thee
           to
           retain
           ,
        
         
           While
           tempests
           rage
           at
           sea
           ,
           while
           clouds
           drop
           rain
           ,
        
         
           While
           ships
           are
           rigging
           ,
           storms
           in
           skie
           remain
           :
        
         
           These
           words
           loves
           kindled
           fire
           highly
           enflame
           ,
        
         
           Strengthen
           her
           stragling
           thoughts
           ,
           dissolve
           all
           shame
           .
        
         
           First
           then
           to
           church
           they
           go
           ,
           favour
           to
           finde
        
         
           By
           sacrifice
           :
           fat
           beasts
           to
           shrines
           they
           binde
           ,
        
         
           As
           us'd
           to
           Ceres
           their
           law-maker
           sweet
           ,
        
         
           To
           
             Phoebus
             ,
             Bacchus
          
           ,
           and
           (
           as
           was
           most
           meet
           )
        
         
           To
           Iuno
           first
           ,
           Goddesse
           of
           Nuptiall
           rite
           .
        
         
           Here
           daintie
           Dido's
           self
           in
           beautie
           bright
        
         
           Holding
           in
           hand
           a
           cup
           of
           sacred
           wine
        
         
           'Twixt
           the
           white
           heifers
           horns
           ,
           upon
           the
           shrine
        
         
           Poured
           it
           out
           'fore
           the
           Gods
           statues
           faire
           ,
        
         
           At
           th'
           altars
           walks
           no
           gifts
           that
           day
           they
           spare
           :
        
         
           And
           the
           beasts
           inwards
           opened
           ,
           inly
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           And
           seeks
           i'
           th'
           smoaking
           intralls
           auguries
           .
        
         
           O
           shallow
           sight
           of
           priests
           ,
           what
           good
           do
           votes
           ?
        
         
         
           To
           love-sick
           soules
           what
           good
           do
           temples
           notes
           ?
        
         
           When
           all
           this
           while
           sly
           flames
           my
           pith
           consume
           ,
        
         
           And
           creeping
           Cupid
           holds
           my
           hearts
           best
           room
           .
        
         
           Enflam'd
           is
           dolefull
           Dido
           ,
           like
           one
           mad
           ,
        
         
           And
           up
           and
           down
           the
           citie
           doth
           she
           gad
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           silly
           deere
           pierct
           with
           a
           shaft
           ,
        
         
           At
           unawares
           by
           hunters
           cunning
           craft
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           quick
           arrows
           chac'd
           through
           Creets
           thick
           woods
           ,
        
         
           Away
           (
           the
           huntsman
           knows
           not
           where
           )
           she
           skuds
        
         
           O're
           large
           Dictaean
           downs
           ,
           and
           springs
           ,
           her
           side
        
         
           The
           deadly
           arrow
           fixed
           fast
           doth
           hide
           :
        
         
           So
           Dido
           now
           with
           her
           leads
           to
           and
           fro
        
         
           Her
           deare
           Aeneas
           ,
           shews
           him
           ,
           as
           they
           go
           ,
        
         
           Her
           Tyrian
           treasure
           ,
           citie
           readie
           made
           .
        
         
           Readie
           to
           speak
           ,
           yet
           stops
           i'
           th'
           midst
           she
           made
           .
        
         
           Now
           day
           declining
           ,
           to
           like
           banquets
           great
        
         
           She
           him
           invites
           ,
           and
           fondly
           doth
           intreat
           ,
        
         
           Again
           to
           heare
           his
           Trojan
           toils
           related
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           while
           her
           fixt
           affections
           waited
        
         
           Upon
           the
           speakers
           face
           .
           But
           Cynthia
           pale
        
         
           Upon
           their
           parting
           having
           but
           a
           vail
        
         
           Of
           darknesse
           o're
           day-light
           ,
           and
           pendent
           spangles
        
         
           In
           skies
           ,
           mens
           eyes
           with
           drowsie
           sleep
           entangles
           ,
        
         
           In
           her
           void
           palace
           she
           alone
           laments
           ,
        
         
           And
           his
           forsaken
           seat
           her
           now
           contents
           :
        
         
           Whom
           absent
           she
           as
           present
           heares
           and
           sees
           ,
        
         
           And
           young
           Ascanius
           dandles
           on
           her
           knees
           ,
        
         
           Catcht
           with
           the
           count'nance
           of
           the
           father
           right
           ,
        
         
           If
           thus
           her
           lawlesse
           love
           she
           lessen
           might
           .
        
         
           She
           builds
           no
           towers
           ,
           begun
           ;
           no
           spirits
           brave
        
         
           Trains
           up
           in
           arms
           :
           and
           now
           ,
           least
           care
           they
           have
        
         
           To
           raise
           strong
           forts
           for
           warre
           ,
           faire
           ports
           to
           land
           ;
        
         
         
           All
           's
           interrupted
           ,
           all
           laid
           out
           of
           hand
           ;
        
         
           Their
           walls
           ,
           for
           height
           threatning
           the
           skies
           ,
           lie
           still
           ,
        
         
           Now
           Ioves
           deare
           Iuno
           findes
           this
           festring
           ill
           ,
        
         
           Not
           suffring
           fame
           her
           furie
           to
           restrain
           ,
        
         
           She
           with
           these
           words
           to
           Venus
           doth
           complain
           ;
        
         
           A
           proper
           piece
           of
           praise
           ,
           and
           pompous
           prize
        
         
           To
           you
           (
           forsooth
           )
           and
           to
           your
           yonker
           rise
           !
        
         
           A
           goodly
           Godhead
           must
           you
           both
           hence
           clame
           ,
        
         
           If
           you
           two
           Gods
           one
           silly
           soule
           do
           tame
           !
        
         
           Nor
           am
           I
           ignorant
           you
           feare
           our
           powers
           ,
        
         
           And
           much
           suspect
           high
           Carthaginian
           towers
           .
        
         
           But
           to
           what
           end
           is
           this
           ?
           vvhy
           do
           we
           strive
           ?
        
         
           Let
           's
           rather
           practise
           peace
           ,
           at
           long-love
           drive
           ;
        
         
           And
           them
           in
           vvedlock
           joyn'd
           ,
           make
           live
           ,
           love
           thrive
           :
        
         
           Thou
           hast
           thy
           hearts
           desire
           .
           Poore
           Dido
           burns
        
         
           With
           extream
           love
           ,
           which
           her
           to
           phrensie
           turns
           .
        
         
           Let
           's
           then
           this
           people
           into
           one
           unite
           ,
        
         
           Let
           's
           rule
           them
           both
           with
           equall
           love
           ,
           delight
           :
        
         
           Let
           her
           her
           Trojan
           true-love
           serve
           ,
           obey
           ,
        
         
           And
           totall
           Tyre
           to
           thee
           large
           dowry
           pay
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           (
           for
           well
           she
           saw
           she
           subt'ly
           spake
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           Italian
           kingdome
           frustrate
           thus
           to
           make
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           imperiall
           throne
           to
           Carthage
           to
           procure
           )
        
         
           Thus
           Venus
           said
           ;
           who
           'd
           be
           so
           senselesse
           (
           sure
           )
        
         
           This
           to
           deny
           ?
           or
           strife
           with
           thee
           t'
           endure
           ?
        
         
           If
           that
           thou
           say'st
           the
           fates
           would
           ratifie
           .
        
         
           But
           by
           them
           I
           'm
           distracted
           diversely
           ,
        
         
           If
           Iove
           to
           Tyrians
           and
           to
           Trojans
           grant
           ,
        
         
           Themselves
           in
           this
           one
           citie
           safe
           to
           plant
           ,
        
         
           To
           live
           together
           ,
           like
           the
           combination
           .
        
         
           Thou
           art
           his
           wife
           ,
           try
           thou
           by
           impetration
        
         
           What
           he
           will
           do
           .
           Go
           first
           ,
           I
           'le
           follow
           thee
        
         
         
           Straight
           sayes
           queen
           Iuno
           ,
           Leave
           that
           work
           to
           me
           .
        
         
           Now
           how
           what
           I
           desire
           we
           may
           effect
           ,
        
         
           Listen
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
           I
           briefly
           will
           direct
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           and
           poore
           Dido
           do
           intend
        
         
           Next
           day
           i'
           th'
           woods
           in
           hunting
           sport
           to
           spend
           :
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           ever
           Titans
           lustrous
           ray
        
         
           Begins
           to
           beautifie
           the
           lightsome
           day
           ,
        
         
           I
           on
           them
           both
           a
           black
           thick
           cloud
           of
           hail
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           his
           hastning
           followers
           will
           not
           fail
        
         
           With
           thunder
           to
           showre
           down
           ,
           whiles
           in
           great
           feare
        
         
           They
           winde
           the
           woods
           ,
           and
           search
           to
           chase
           the
           deere
           .
        
         
           Their
           gallants
           gone
           ,
           enclos'd
           in
           clouds
           most
           black
           ,
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           prince
           and
           Dido
           I
           'le
           bring
           back
        
         
           Into
           one
           cave
           :
           we
           'le
           both
           be
           present
           there
           ,
        
         
           And
           if
           with
           me
           thou
           like
           good
           liking
           beare
           ,
        
         
           She
           shall
           be
           Bride
           ,
           and
           I
           'le
           them
           firmly
           wed
           .
        
         
           Here
           shall
           their
           nuptialls
           be
           ,
           their
           marriage
           bed
           .
        
         
           To
           these
           desires
           faire
           Venus
           with
           a
           smile
        
         
           Gives
           her
           consent
           ,
           glad
           to
           have
           found
           the
           guile
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           from
           seas
           arose
           Aurora
           bright
           ,
        
         
           And
           Lucifer
           ,
           dayes
           harbinger
           ,
           in
           sight
           :
        
         
           Young
           gallants
           nimbly
           flock
           about
           the
           gates
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           their
           hands
           boare
           speares
           with
           iron
           plates
           ,
        
         
           Their
           nets
           ,
           gins
           ,
           grins
           ,
           troops
           of
           Massylian
           sparks
           ,
        
         
           Kennels
           of
           senting
           hounds
           with
           loud-mouth'd
           barks
           ,
        
         
           Prime
           Punick
           peeres
           at
           the
           queens
           chamber
           wait
           ,
        
         
           Who
           there
           herself
           was
           dressing
           in
           great
           state
           :
        
         
           Her
           steed
           in
           stately
           trappings
           proudly
           stamps
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           mouth
           his
           foamie
           bridle
           champs
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           the
           queen
           comes
           forth
           with
           tendance
           great
           ,
        
         
           Adorned
           with
           a
           Tyrian
           mantle
           neat
           ,
        
         
           Most
           richly
           wrought
           ,
           a
           golden
           quiver
           hangs
        
         
         
           Behinde
           her
           back
           ,
           her
           haire
           ty'd
           up
           with
           spangs
        
         
           And
           knots
           of
           gold
           ,
           buttons
           of
           beaten
           gold
        
         
           Her
           purple
           garments
           neatly
           clasp
           and
           hold
           :
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           troops
           do
           also
           follow
           neare
           ,
        
         
           'Mongst
           whom
           comes
           young
           Iülus
           with
           brave
           cheere
           :
        
         
           But
           yet
           the
           first
           and
           fairest
           of
           them
           all
           ,
        
         
           This
           hunting-game
           doth
           prince
           Aeneas
           call
           ,
        
         
           Them
           to
           associate
           ,
           make
           the
           train
           compleat
           :
        
         
           Like
           faire
           Apollo
           ,
           when
           his
           Delphick
           seat
        
         
           He
           glad
           revisits
           ,
           leaving
           Lycia
           cold
           ,
        
         
           And
           Xanthus
           streams
           ,
           and
           sacred
           feasts
           doth
           hold
        
         
           With
           his
           
             Epirian
             ,
             Cretian
             ,
             Scythian
          
           rout
        
         
           Of
           lords
           and
           lowns
           ,
           Parnassus
           round
           about
           :
        
         
           Himself
           on
           Cynthus
           tops
           doth
           stalk
           in
           state
           .
        
         
           His
           fragrant
           haire
           laid
           in
           a
           curious
           plate
           ,
        
         
           He
           bindes
           with
           tender
           boughs
           ,
           and
           wreaths
           with
           gold
           ;
        
         
           At
           's
           back
           his
           quiver
           clattering
           shafts
           doth
           hold
           .
        
         
           Lovely
           like
           him
           was
           (
           now
           )
           Aeneas
           pace
           ,
        
         
           Such
           sparkling
           splendour
           shone
           from
           his
           faire
           face
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           when
           the
           high
           hills
           they
           ascended
           had
           ,
        
         
           And
           search'd
           beast-couching
           holes
           and
           haunts
           most
           glad
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           ,
           a
           herd
           of
           wilde
           goats
           they
           espie
        
         
           Run
           down
           the
           tops
           of
           rocks
           ,
           and
           fast
           to
           flie
           .
        
         
           From
           other
           parts
           he
           saw
           i'
           th'
           open
           plain
        
         
           A
           herd
           of
           deere
           to
           skip
           and
           skud
           amain
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           their
           thick
           quick
           race
           to
           raise
           the
           dust
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           the
           hills
           ,
           themselves
           in
           thickets
           thrust
           .
        
         
           The
           lusty
           lad
           Ascanius
           ,
           '
           midst
           the
           plains
           ,
        
         
           On
           's
           nimble
           courser
           races
           runs
           ,
           maintains
           ,
        
         
           Outriding
           all
           ,
           ardently
           long
           to
           spie
        
         
           Some
           foaming
           boare
           'mongst
           the
           mean
           beasts
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Some
           lusty
           lion
           from
           the
           mountains
           high
           .
        
         
         
           Meanwhile
           the
           heavens
           with
           stormie
           clouds
           are
           cloy
           '
        
         
           Huge
           showers
           of
           hail
           the
           hunters
           soon
           annoy'd
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           the
           Tyrian
           troops
           and
           Trojan
           train
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           Venus
           sonne
           himself
           ,
           flock
           all
           amain
           ,
        
         
           Disperst
           and
           scattered
           all
           ,
           with
           feare
           to
           hide
        
         
           Themselves
           in
           what
           next
           shelter
           they
           espi'de
           :
        
         
           Great
           rainy
           flouds
           from
           hills
           do
           whirling
           glide
           .
        
         
           In
           one
           cave
           Dido
           and
           Aeneas
           meet
           :
        
         
           And
           first
           the
           earth
           and
           nuptiall
           Iuno
           sweet
        
         
           Work
           wedlock
           signes
           ,
           conjugall
           fire
           and
           aire
        
         
           Shew
           forth
           ,
           and
           wood-nymphs
           loud
           their
           loves
           declare
           ▪
        
         
           This
           day
           began
           first
           cause
           of
           death
           ,
           of
           woe
           ,
        
         
           For
           neither
           future
           fame
           ,
           nor
           present
           show
           ,
        
         
           Doth
           Dido
           move
           ;
           nor
           to
           consulting
           came
        
         
           This
           surreptitious
           love
           ,
           which
           she
           did
           name
        
         
           Wedlock
           ,
           and
           under
           wedlocks
           name
           did
           hide
        
         
           This
           faulty
           fact
           ,
           which
           soon
           o're
           Libya
           wide
        
         
           Fame
           blows
           about
           ,
           even
           fame
           ,
           that
           fluttering
           ill
           ,
        
         
           Which
           thrives
           by
           flight
           ,
           and
           as
           it
           goes
           ,
           grows
           still
           .
        
         
           Small
           first
           ,
           by
           feare
           ,
           strait
           ,
           stuft
           up
           ,
           wondrous
           high
           ,
        
         
           First
           goes
           on
           ground
           ,
           then
           hides
           its
           head
           i'
           th'
           skie
           .
        
         
           Whose
           mother
           earth
           (
           men
           say
           )
           did
           her
           beget
        
         
           On
           extream
           fury
           ,
           which
           the
           Gods
           did
           fret
           :
        
         
           Sister
           to
           Caeus
           and
           Enceladus
           ,
        
         
           By
           light-fleet
           ,
           quick
           wings
           ,
           expeditious
           :
        
         
           Huge
           ,
           horrid
           elf
           ,
           with
           feathered
           corps
           so
           thick
           ,
        
         
           Such
           unseen
           eyes
           (
           most
           strange
           )
           for
           sight
           so
           quick
           ,
        
         
           So
           many
           tatling
           tongues
           ,
           and
           railing
           lips
           ,
        
         
           Such
           listning
           eares
           ,
           such
           nightly
           nimble
           skips
        
         
           She
           makes
           i'
           th'
           aire
           ,
           and
           in
           dark
           shades
           so
           squeaks
           ,
        
         
           That
           rest
           she
           takes
           none
           ,
           but
           sweet
           slumber
           breaks
           ,
        
         
           By
           day
           strait
           watch
           she
           keeps
           on
           supream
           seats
           ,
        
         
         
           Or
           palace
           turrets
           ,
           and
           towns
           fright
           and
           threats
           :
        
         
           More
           full
           of
           fiction
           ,
           fraud
           ,
           then
           faithfulnesse
           ,
        
         
           With
           various
           voices
           ,
           in
           meere
           wantonnesse
           ,
        
         
           Stuffing
           the
           vulgar
           sort
           ,
           tatling
           about
        
         
           Things
           done
           or
           undone
           ,
           without
           feare
           or
           doubt
           .
        
         
           The
           
             Troyes
             Aeneas
          
           was
           arived
           here
           ,
        
         
           That
           Dido
           faire
           wedded
           him
           as
           her
           Pheere
           ;
        
         
           That
           now
           a
           winter
           long
           their
           lusts
           they
           nourisht
           ,
        
         
           Carelesse
           of
           crowns
           ,
           they
           filthy
           folly
           cherisht
           .
        
         
           This
           godlesse
           Goddesse
           spreads
           these
           mens
           mindes
           .
        
         
           VVhich
           to
           Iärbas
           king
           accesse
           soon
           findes
           .
        
         
           Wherewith
           he
           's
           vex'd
           ,
           perplex'd
           ,
           exasperated
           .
        
         
           From
           Ammon
           he
           by
           birth
           was
           generated
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           deflor'd
           nymph
           Garamantide
           ;
        
         
           To
           Iove
           an
           hundred
           temples
           builded
           he
        
         
           Through
           his
           large
           realms
           ,
           an
           hundred
           shrines
           beside
           ,
        
         
           Where
           sacred
           unextinguisht
           fires
           did
           '
           bide
           ,
        
         
           For
           dayes
           and
           nights
           incessant
           sacrifice
        
         
           Unto
           his
           Gods
           ,
           fraught
           with
           fat
           beasts
           likewise
           ,
        
         
           For
           burnt
           oblations
           ,
           all
           the
           doores
           throughout
        
         
           VVith
           flowers
           and
           garlands
           garnished
           about
           .
        
         
           He
           ,
           mad
           with
           love
           with
           the
           harsh
           heare-say
           stung
           ,
        
         
           Forthwith
           (
           't
           is
           said
           )
           unto
           his
           altars
           flung
           ,
        
         
           And
           '
           midst
           his
           Gods
           ,
           his
           hands
           high
           elevated
           ,
        
         
           Iupiter
           (
           thus
           )
           he
           humbly
           invocated
           :
        
         
           All
           powerfull
           Iove
           ,
           whom
           we
           black
           Moores
           adore
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           we
           our
           Lenaean
           liquors
           poure
        
         
           On
           right
           embroidered
           beds
           ;
           seest
           thou
           these
           things
           ?
        
         
           Or
           ,
           when
           (
           great
           Iove
           )
           thou
           on
           us
           earthly
           kings
        
         
           Dost
           flash
           forth
           lightnings
           ,
           feare
           we
           this
           in
           jest
           ?
        
         
           Do
           those
           cloud-hid
           flames
           vainly
           fright
           mans
           breast
           ?
        
         
           Make
           but
           a
           skarre-crow
           sound
           ?
           A
           woman
           (
           late
           )
        
         
         
           Who
           stragling
           to
           these
           parts
           ,
           did
           at
           a
           rate
        
         
           Purchase
           and
           plant
           a
           poore
           ,
           a
           petty
           town
           ;
        
         
           Whom
           ,
           subject
           to
           the
           statutes
           of
           our
           crown
           ,
        
         
           We
           license
           gave
           to
           plant
           and
           plow
           our
           land
           ,
        
         
           Our
           princely
           wedlock
           (
           now
           )
           doth
           stiffe
           withstand
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           her
           kingdome
           kindly
           entertains
        
         
           One
           sir
           Aeneas
           ,
           who
           her
           solely
           gains
           .
        
         
           This
           petty
           Paris
           and
           his
           stragling
           trains
        
         
           Of
           beardlesse
           boyes
           ,
           effeminately
           gay
        
         
           With
           coifs
           and
           perfum'd
           haire
           ,
           these
           steal
           the
           prey
           :
        
         
           But
           we
           who
           fill
           thy
           temples
           with
           oblations
           ,
        
         
           Seem
           onely
           fame
           to
           feed
           with
           vain
           frustrations
           .
        
         
           Iupiter
           heares
           him
           venting
           these
           events
        
         
           Before
           the
           altars
           ,
           views
           his
           discontents
           :
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           princely
           palace
           turns
           his
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           Sees
           how
           these
           lovers
           fairer
           fame
           despise
           :
        
         
           Mercurie
           therefore
           straight
           he
           call'd
           ,
           and
           said
           ;
        
         
           Be
           gone
           ,
           faire
           sonne
           ,
           with
           wings
           and
           windes
           swift
           aid
        
         
           Haste
           to
           the
           Trojan
           prince
           (
           who
           now
           at
           Tyre
        
         
           Wastes
           time
           ,
           and
           doth
           not
           fate-given
           crowns
           acquire
           )
        
         
           Haste
           through
           the
           aire
           ,
           and
           tell
           him
           this
           from
           me
           :
        
         
           His
           sacred
           mother
           promis'd
           not
           that
           he
        
         
           Should
           such
           a
           person
           prove
           ,
           nor
           for
           this
           cause
        
         
           Was
           he
           twice
           ransom'd
           from
           Greeks
           griping
           paws
           :
        
         
           But
           that
           he
           should
           once
           rule
           all
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Italie
           big
           with
           crowns
           ,
           with
           conquests
           high
           :
        
         
           And
           should
           advance
           brave
           Teucers
           noble
           race
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           whole
           world
           under
           his
           orders
           place
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           these
           glories
           great
           him
           nought
           inflame
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           he
           's
           loath
           to
           labour
           for
           such
           ,
           fame
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           shall
           the
           father
           envie's
           sonnes
           renown
           ?
        
         
           And
           must
           Asc●nius
           loose
           his
           Rom●ne
           crown
           ?
        
         
         
           What
           means
           he
           ?
           vvhat
           's
           his
           hope
           in
           a
           foes
           lands
           ?
        
         
           VVhy
           his
           Ausonian
           race
           ,
           Lavinian
           strands
        
         
           Neglects
           he
           thus
           ?
           Let
           him
           to
           sea
           :
           here
           's
           all
           ,
        
         
           For
           this
           I
           thee
           my
           messenger
           do
           call
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Iove
           .
           His
           sacred
           sire
           he
           straight
           obeyes
           ,
        
         
           His
           charge
           to
           discharge
           ,
           shakes
           off
           all
           delayes
           :
        
         
           His
           vvingy
           shoes
           of
           gold
           he
           buckles
           on
           ,
        
         
           Which
           with
           faire
           plumes
           ,
           for
           expedition
           ,
        
         
           Bare
           him
           aloft
           ,
           quite
           over
           sea
           and
           land
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           a
           swift
           gale
           .
           Then
           quick
           he
           takes
           his
           wand
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           which
           he
           calls
           the
           hideous
           soules
           from
           hell
           ,
        
         
           And
           others
           sends
           to
           Tartars
           dungeon
           fell
           :
        
         
           He
           gives
           ,
           bereaves
           sweet
           sleep
           ,
           from
           death
           preserves
           .
        
         
           Therewith
           he
           drives
           the
           windes
           ,
           and
           with
           wing'd
           nerves
        
         
           Swims
           through
           the
           clustring
           clouds
           :
           and
           now
           in
           's
           flight
           ,
        
         
           Of
           craggy
           Atlas
           tops
           and
           sides
           hath
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Atlas
           ,
           whose
           huge
           height
           the
           heavens
           doth
           prop
           ,
        
         
           On
           whose
           pine-bearing
           head
           black
           clouds
           do
           stop
           ,
        
         
           And
           daily's
           girt
           ,
           oft
           dasht
           with
           winde
           and
           rain
           .
        
         
           Thick
           drifts
           of
           snow
           do
           on
           his
           shoulders
           drain
           :
        
         
           Then
           down
           his
           aged
           chin
           quick
           flouds
           do
           flow
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           frosty
           ice
           his
           beard
           doth
           grisly
           grow
           .
        
         
           Cyllenius
           fluttering
           vvings
           first
           staid
           him
           here
           ,
        
         
           And
           headlong
           hence
           to
           th'
           vvaves
           his
           corps
           doth
           beare
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           bird
           ,
           vvhich
           'bout
           the
           shores
           and
           sides
        
         
           Of
           fishfull
           rocks
           ,
           vvith
           hoverings
           smoothly
           glides
        
         
           Above
           the
           vvaves
           ,
           about
           the
           banks
           :
           even
           so
        
         
           
             Cyllenian
             Mercurie
          
           did
           to
           and
           fro
        
         
           Flutter
           o're
           sea
           and
           land
           ,
           and
           vvindes
           did
           slice
           ,
        
         
           And
           Libya's
           sandy
           shores
           toucht
           in
           a
           trice
           .
        
         
           His
           vvingy
           feet
           no
           sooner
           did
           alight
        
         
           On
           Tyrian
           towers
           ,
           but
           straight
           he
           saw
           in
           sight
           ,
        
         
         
           Aeneas
           forts
           to
           raise
           ,
           rooms
           to
           repaire
           :
        
         
           And
           he
           himself
           girt
           vvith
           a
           hanger
           rare
           ,
        
         
           With
           yellow
           jasper
           stones
           like
           starres
           bedeckt
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           rich
           sword
           ,
           in
           cloaths
           of
           rich
           respect
           :
        
         
           A
           mantle
           on
           his
           corps
           cast
           carelesly
           ,
        
         
           Which
           rarely
           shew'd
           ,
           of
           Tyrian
           purple
           die
           :
        
         
           VVhich
           gorgeous
           gifts
           rich
           Dido's
           self
           had
           made
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           vveaving
           ,
           threads
           of
           gold
           in-laid
           .
        
         
           Him
           he
           encounters
           thus
           ;
           Dost
           thou
           build
           high
        
         
           Great
           Carthage
           towers
           ?
           dost
           thou
           uxoriously
        
         
           Settle
           this
           citie
           faire
           ?
           O
           carelesse
           minde
        
         
           Of
           thine
           affaires
           ,
           a
           promis'd
           crown
           to
           finde
           !
        
         
           The
           king
           of
           Gods
           ,
           vvhose
           power
           shakes
           earth
           and
           heaven
           ,
        
         
           Sent
           me
           from
           skies
           to
           thee
           ,
           this
           charge
           vvas
           given
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           now
           to
           say
           ;
           What
           buildings
           dost
           thou
           reare
           ?
        
         
           What
           loytring
           hopes
           in
           Libya's
           land
           appeare
           ?
        
         
           Though
           thou
           thy self
           neglect
           so
           glorious
           fates
           ,
        
         
           Though
           so
           high
           honour
           thee
           nought
           animates
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           for
           high
           springing
           young
           Asc●ni●●
           sake
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           hopefull
           heire
           Iülus
           ,
           some
           care
           take
           :
        
         
           To
           vvhom
           faire
           Iliums
           crown
           ,
           Romes
           royall
           fear
           ,
        
         
           As
           debt
           are
           due
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           Cylleni●●
           great
           ,
        
         
           Amidst
           these
           vvords
           ,
           from
           mortals
           view
           departed
           ,
        
         
           And
           farre
           from
           sight
           into
           the
           aire
           vvas
           darted
           .
        
         
           But
           yet
           this
           sight
           Aeneas
           mad
           amaz'd
           ,
        
         
           Made
           him
           stand
           mute
           ,
           his
           haire
           vvith
           horrour
           rais'd
           ,
        
         
           In
           staring
           state
           ,
           burnt
           vvith
           desire
           of
           flight
           ,
        
         
           And
           quick
           to
           leave
           this
           land
           of
           high
           delight
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           these
           fore-vvarnings
           and
           the
           Gods
           command
        
         
           Stunded
           .
           Alas
           ,
           vvhat
           should
           he
           take
           in
           hand
           ?
        
         
           VVith
           vvhat
           circumlocutions
           might
           he
           dare
           ,
        
         
           This
           to
           th'
           enamoured
           queen
           now
           to
           declare
           ?
        
         
         
           VVhere
           might
           he
           first
           begin
           to
           break
           his
           minde
           ?
        
         
           His
           thoughts
           now
           here
           now
           there
           vvere
           puft
           ,
           like
           winde
           ,
        
         
           In
           strict
           distractive
           parts
           turn'd
           all
           about
           :
        
         
           At
           last
           ,
           these
           vvrastling
           thoughts
           thus
           end
           the
           doubt
           :
        
         
           
             Mnestheus
             ,
             Sergestus
          
           ,
           and
           Cloanthus
           vvise
           ,
        
         
           He
           calls
           to
           him
           ,
           and
           closely
           did
           advise
           ,
        
         
           The
           fleet
           to
           fit
           ,
           his
           mates
           to
           send
           to
           shore
           ,
        
         
           Arms
           to
           provide
           ,
           and
           this
           to
           colour
           o're
        
         
           VVith
           some
           pr●text
           ,
           himself
           in
           the
           mean
           while
           ,
        
         
           Since
           his
           deare
           Dido
           knew
           not
           of
           this
           wile
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           fear'd
           least
           fraction
           in
           such
           settled
           loves
           ,
        
         
           Labours
           accesse
           to
           her
           ,
           fit
           seasons
           proves
           ,
        
         
           Kindely
           to
           treat
           vvith
           her
           ,
           a
           gladsome
           end
        
         
           To
           gain
           to
           his
           designes
           .
           They
           all
           them
           bend
        
         
           Swiftly
           and
           gladly
           their
           due
           tasks
           to
           tend
           .
        
         
           But
           Dido
           found
           (
           oh
           ,
           vvho
           can
           love
           delude
           ?
           )
        
         
           Foresaw
           these
           guiles
           ,
           and
           their
           first
           motions
           view'd
           ;
        
         
           All
           stillnes
           still
           mistrusts
           :
           That
           impious
           fame
        
         
           Blabbed
           to
           her
           th'
           increase
           of
           furies
           flame
           :
        
         
           Told
           her
           the
           ships
           vvere
           rig'd
           ,
           the
           voyage
           vow'd
           .
        
         
           Her
           deaded
           heart
           incens'd
           ,
           she
           raves
           aloud
           ,
        
         
           Doth
           madly
           through
           the
           citie
           drunkardize
           ,
        
         
           Even
           as
           it
           is
           the
           Bacchanalian
           guise
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           at
           great
           Bacchus
           his
           trienniall
           sport
        
         
           Rude
           troops
           in
           drunken
           dances
           do
           resort
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           solemnize
           every
           sacred
           rite
           ,
        
         
           Cithaeron
           echoning
           clamours
           loud
           by
           night
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           she
           thus
           ,
           even
           of
           her
           own
           accord
           ,
        
         
           Speaks
           to
           Aeneas
           ;
           Faithlesse
           ,
           oh
           ,
           abhor'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           didst
           thou
           hope
           to
           play
           the
           counterfeit
           ?
        
         
           And
           couldst
           thou
           vvork
           so
           great
           ,
           so
           grosse
           a
           cheat
           ?
        
         
           VVouldst
           thou
           so
           slily
           hence
           have
           stoln
           away
           ?
        
         
         
           Could
           neither
           our
           love
           ,
           nor
           plighted
           faith
           thee
           stay
           ?
        
         
           Nor
           wofull
           Dido
           dying
           stop
           thy
           flight
           ?
        
         
           But
           even
           in
           vvinter
           weathers
           dangerous
           plight
        
         
           Thou
           must
           to
           ship
           ,
           and
           (
           oh
           hard
           heart
           !
           )
           set
           sail
           ,
        
         
           Driven
           on
           vvith
           many
           a
           boystrous
           Northern
           gale
           ?
        
         
           What
           though
           thou
           sought'st
           no
           other
           unknown
           place
           ,
        
         
           Or
           forrain
           parts
           ?
           or
           Troy
           stood
           in
           best
           case
           ?
        
         
           Must
           thou
           thy
           Troy
           through
           furious
           vvaves
           procure
           ?
        
         
           Fly'st
           thou
           from
           me
           ?
           Ah
           ,
           now
           I
           thee
           adjure
        
         
           By
           these
           my
           teares
           ,
           and
           by
           thine
           own
           right
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Since
           I
           poore
           soule
           have
           nought
           else
           at
           command
           .
        
         
           O
           ,
           by
           our
           vvedlock
           nuptiall
           rites
           begun
           ,
        
         
           If
           I
           have
           well
           deserv'd
           by
           ought
           yet
           done
           ,
        
         
           Or
           ought
           of
           mine
           were
           ever
           sweet
           to
           thee
           ,
        
         
           O
           of
           my
           tottering
           state
           now
           tender
           be
           .
        
         
           If
           yet
           my
           prayers
           may
           penetrate
           thy
           heart
           ;
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           change
           thy
           minde
           ,
           oh
           do
           not
           hence
           depart
           .
        
         
           For
           thy
           sake
           Libyas
           land
           ,
           and
           tyrants
           fierce
        
         
           Of
           Africa
           ,
           vvould
           me
           vvith
           mischief
           pierce
           :
        
         
           For
           thee
           my
           Tyrians
           are
           vvith
           me
           offended
           ,
        
         
           For
           thee
           ,
           my
           shame
           ,
           my
           fame
           's
           extinct
           and
           blended
           :
        
         
           My
           fame
           ,
           by
           which
           I
           once
           was
           rais'd
           to
           th'
           skie
           .
        
         
           To
           vvhom
           dost
           thou
           me
           leave
           ,
           now
           like
           to
           die
           ?
        
         
           Ah
           unkinde
           guest
           .
           For
           now
           no
           more
           I
           may
        
         
           Thee
           husband
           call
           :
           Why
           longer
           do
           I
           stay
           ?
        
         
           What
           ?
           till
           Pygmalion
           all
           my
           towns
           destroy
           ?
        
         
           Or
           till
           Iarbas
           captiv'd-me
           annoy
           ?
        
         
           Oh
           yet
           at
           least
           had
           I
           before
           thy
           flight
           ,
        
         
           Enjoy'd
           a
           childe
           by
           thee
           :
           oh
           if
           I
           might
        
         
           Have
           had
           a
           young
           Aeneas
           fathers
           face
           ,
        
         
           To
           play
           withall
           in
           court
           ,
           't
           would
           ease
           my
           case
           .
        
         
           Then
           (
           sure
           )
           I
           should
           not
           altogether
           seem
        
         
         
           So
           wofull
           ,
           or
           my self
           forsaken
           deem
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           she
           ceast
           .
           He
           on
           the
           other
           side
           ,
        
         
           His
           eyes
           on
           Ioves
           command
           fast
           fixed
           tide
           ;
        
         
           And
           strenuously
           did
           strive
           his
           hearts
           great
           grief
        
         
           Close
           to
           suppresse
           ,
           and
           spake
           these
           words
           in
           brief
           :
        
         
           Faire
           queen
           ,
           what
           e're
           thou
           canst
           recount
           ,
           recall
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           and
           much
           more
           ,
           confesse
           I
           ever
           shall
        
         
           Thy
           merits
           infinite
           ,
           nor
           shall
           I
           shame
           ,
        
         
           Gladly
           to
           memorize
           Eliza's
           name
           :
        
         
           Whiles
           here
           I
           live
           ,
           whilst
           I
           my self
           may
           know
           ,
        
         
           The
           truth
           herein
           let
           me
           thee
           briefly
           show
           .
        
         
           I
           never
           hop'd
           to
           hide
           (
           feigne
           not
           )
           this
           flight
        
         
           Clandestinley
           ,
           nor
           minded
           marriage
           rite
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           hither
           came
           such
           vows
           and
           pacts
           to
           plight
           .
        
         
           Yet
           I
           ,
           if
           friendly
           fates
           had
           so
           decreed
           ,
        
         
           Aim'd
           at
           a
           life
           from
           all
           perturbance
           free'd
           ,
        
         
           In
           sweet
           repose
           t'
           accommodate
           all
           cares
           ,
        
         
           And
           chiefly
           to
           my
           Trojan
           towns
           affaires
           :
        
         
           To
           yet
           remaining
           friends
           to
           yeeld
           supply
           ,
        
         
           Priam's
           faire
           towers
           once
           to
           re-edifie
           ;
        
         
           And
           to
           my
           conquered
           kinne
           to
           re-advance
        
         
           Poore
           Pergams
           walls
           .
           But
           now
           such
           is
           my
           chance
           ,
        
         
           Commanded
           ,
           charg'd
           by
           Gods
           and
           great
           Apollo
           ,
        
         
           That
           Latium
           I
           ,
           faire
           Latium
           now
           must
           follow
           .
        
         
           O
           there
           's
           my
           love
           ,
           there
           is
           my
           countrey
           kinde
           :
        
         
           And
           since
           thou
           bear'st
           to
           Carthage
           such
           a
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Though
           a
           Phoenissian
           ,
           yet
           dost
           Libya
           like
           ,
        
         
           Why
           should
           pale
           envies
           dart
           thy
           heart
           so
           strike
           ,
        
         
           At
           Trojans
           liking
           ,
           loving
           Italie
           ?
        
         
           For
           us
           to
           seek
           forth
           ,
           't
           is
           like
           equitie
           .
        
         
           As
           oft
           as
           nights
           moist
           shades
           the
           earth
           doe
           hide
           ,
        
         
           And
           fierie
           twinkling
           starres
           in
           skies
           abide
           ,
        
         
         
           Anchises
           my
           deare
           fathers
           ghost
           appeares
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           my
           dreams
           me
           much
           afrights
           and
           feares
           .
        
         
           Yea
           my
           Ascanius
           young
           ,
           whose
           brows
           I
           wrong
           ,
        
         
           Keeping
           Hesperia's
           crown
           from
           him
           so
           long
           ,
        
         
           And
           fate-given
           lands
           call
           me
           to
           haste
           away
           ;
        
         
           Yea
           now
           of
           late
           Ioves
           messenger
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
        
         
           Sent
           from
           himself
           ,
           (
           all
           whom
           I
           here
           appeal
           )
        
         
           To
           me
           Ioves
           minde
           and
           message
           did
           reveal
           .
        
         
           And
           I
           the
           God
           in
           a
           cleare
           vision
           saw
           ,
        
         
           E
           ntring
           thy
           town
           ,
           and
           neare
           me
           quick
           to
           draw
           ;
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           eares
           I
           heard
           his
           voice
           and
           words
           .
        
         
           O
           then
           forbeare
           to
           wound
           me
           with
           tongue-swords
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           thy self
           with
           plaints
           :
           For
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           I
           seek
           not
           voluntarily
           .
        
         
           Him
           answering
           she
           did
           all
           this
           while
           behold
        
         
           With
           discontent
           :
           Here
           ,
           there
           her
           eyes
           she
           rold
           ,
        
         
           View'd
           him
           throughout
           vvith
           sullen
           silent
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           at
           last
           she
           vvrathfully
           replies
           :
        
         
           Thou
           art
           no
           Goddesse
           sonne
           ,
           perfidious
           thou
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           e're
           did
           Dardan
           thee
           his
           childe
           avow
           ;
        
         
           But
           thou
           on
           cruell
           Caucasus
           hard
           mounts
        
         
           Wast
           bred
           ;
           or
           suck'st
           some
           Tygers
           milky
           founts
           .
        
         
           For
           vvhy
           should
           I
           dissemble
           now
           vvith
           thee
           ?
        
         
           Or
           dream
           that
           better
           fates
           attend
           on
           me
           ?
        
         
           Didst
           thou
           once
           sigh
           at
           all
           my
           flouds
           of
           teares
           ?
        
         
           Didst
           thou
           vvith
           sorrowing
           eyes
           behold
           my
           feares
           ?
        
         
           Shew'dst
           thou
           teare-passion
           ,
           least
           compassion
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           O'recome
           vvith
           sorrow
           at
           my
           love-sick
           minde
           ?
        
         
           Which
           (
           first
           )
           may
           I
           say's
           vvorst
           ?
           Nor
           Iuno
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           father
           Saturn
           hath
           of
           me
           least
           care
           .
        
         
           Oh
           ,
           vvhere
           's
           firm
           faith
           ?
           I
           took
           him
           in
           adoores
           ,
        
         
           A
           stragling
           beggar
           ,
           out
           cast
           from
           his
           shores
           :
        
         
         
           And
           like
           a
           frantick
           fool
           ,
           my
           kingdome
           shar'd
        
         
           To
           unkinde
           him
           ,
           his
           navy
           naught
           repair'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           followers
           I
           from
           death
           set
           free
           .
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           with
           furie
           he
           hath
           fired
           me
           .
        
         
           Now
           fate-saying
           Phoeb
           ,
           now
           Lycian
           lots
           are
           cast
           ,
        
         
           Now
           Iove
           commands
           ,
           and
           thou
           must
           follow
           fast
        
         
           His
           messengers
           quick
           heels
           ,
           in
           his
           harsh
           hest
           .
        
         
           What
           else
           ?
           for
           thus
           the
           Gods
           do
           hold
           it
           best
           ;
        
         
           This
           toile
           perturbs
           poore
           silly
           soules
           at
           rest
           .
        
         
           I
           hold
           thee
           not
           ,
           nor
           do
           thy
           words
           withstand
           ,
        
         
           Go
           with
           the
           windes
           ,
           seek
           Italie
           thy
           land
           ,
        
         
           Away
           through
           flouds
           to
           finde
           thy
           kingdomes
           faire
           .
        
         
           But
           sure
           I
           hope
           (
           if
           Gods
           yet
           able
           are
           )
        
         
           Amidst
           the
           rocks
           thou
           due
           revenge
           shall
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           Dido's
           name
           invoke
           with
           frequent
           feare
           .
        
         
           Absent
           I
           'le
           thee
           pursue
           with
           frightfull
           fires
           :
        
         
           And
           when
           by
           chilling
           death
           lifes
           breath
           expires
           ,
        
         
           In
           every
           place
           my
           ghost
           thy
           guest
           shall
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           thus
           (
           vile
           wretch
           )
           I
           'le
           be
           reveng'd
           on
           thee
           .
        
         
           This
           I
           shall
           heare
           below
           ,
           fame
           will
           me
           show
           it
           ,
        
         
           And
           hearing
           ,
           I
           shall
           be
           most
           glad
           to
           know
           it
           .
        
         
           Abruptly
           here
           i'
           th'
           midst
           an
           end
           she
           makes
           ,
        
         
           And
           male-content
           ,
           to
           flight
           her self
           betakes
           :
        
         
           Out
           of
           his
           sight
           away
           she
           turns
           and
           windes
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           Aeneas
           in
           a
           thousand
           mindes
           :
        
         
           Stopping
           for
           feare
           ,
           striving
           to
           utter
           more
           ;
        
         
           Her
           damsels
           ,
           her
           ,
           faln
           in
           a
           sound
           ,
           in
           bore
           :
        
         
           And
           laid
           in
           princely
           bed
           ,
           with
           cloaths
           o're
           spread
           .
        
         
           But
           good
           Aeneas
           (
           though
           he
           laboured
        
         
           With
           consolation
           to
           allay
           her
           grief
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           kinde
           words
           to
           give
           her
           woes
           relief
           ;
        
         
           Much
           sighing
           ,
           much
           with
           love
           perplext
           in
           heart
           )
        
         
         
           Yet
           mindes
           Ioves
           charge
           ,
           fits
           his
           fleet
           to
           depart
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           busie
           be
           ,
           and
           hale
           to
           shore
        
         
           Their
           stately
           ships
           and
           barks
           ,
           well
           pitched
           o're
           ,
        
         
           Their
           leafy
           oares
           ,
           and
           oaks
           from
           woods
           unwrought
           ,
        
         
           Through
           haste
           to
           flie
           with
           expeditious
           thought
           .
        
         
           Thou
           might'st
           them
           see
           the
           citie
           skud
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           swarm
           in
           heaps
           much
           like
           a
           nimble
           rout
        
         
           Of
           prettie
           pismires
           ,
           when
           with
           strenuous
           pain
        
         
           They
           prey
           upon
           a
           mightie
           heap
           ofgrain
           ,
        
         
           (
           Mindefull
           of
           winters
           want
           )
           and
           up
           it
           pack
           ,
        
         
           Quick
           goes
           and
           comes
           i'th'field
           this
           armie
           black
           :
        
         
           And
           through
           the
           grasse
           ,
           by
           a
           straight
           path
           their
           prey
        
         
           They
           beare
           along
           ,
           some
           the
           great
           grains
           assay
        
         
           To
           shove
           before
           them
           with
           their
           shoulders
           stout
           :
        
         
           Some
           from
           delayes
           correct
           their
           lazie
           rout
           :
        
         
           Their
           lustie
           labour
           heats
           each
           hole
           about
           .
        
         
           What
           thoughts
           hadst
           thou
           ,
           poore
           Dido
           ,
           at
           this
           sight
           ?
        
         
           How
           didst
           thou
           sigh
           ,
           when
           from
           thy
           turrets
           height
        
         
           Thou
           sawest
           farre
           off
           hot
           toiles
           the
           wharfs
           to
           fill
           ,
        
         
           And
           'fore
           thy
           face
           shores
           stuft
           with
           clamours
           shrill
           ?
        
         
           Impudent
           love
           ,
           what
           is
           't
           thou
           'lt
           not
           inforce
           ?
        
         
           Sometimes
           to
           showre
           ou●
           teares
           of
           much
           remorse
           ,
        
         
           Sometimes
           to
           trie
           b'intreaties
           most
           demure
           ,
        
         
           Sometimes
           again
           to
           yeeld
           to
           loves
           allure
           :
        
         
           That
           nought
           (
           though
           all
           in
           vain
           )
           before
           she
           di'd
           ,
        
         
           Might
           be
           neglected
           ,
           might
           be
           left
           untri'd
           .
        
         
           See
           (
           sister
           Anne
           sayes
           she
           )
           what
           haste
           they
           make
        
         
           About
           the
           banks
           ,
           flocking
           us
           to
           forsake
           :
        
         
           And
           how
           their
           vessells
           wait
           but
           (
           now
           )
           for
           winde
           ,
        
         
           Their
           tacklings
           fit
           ,
           by
           marriners
           refin'd
        
         
           O
           had
           I
           at
           the
           first
           fear'd
           this
           great
           shame
           ,
        
         
           I
           ,
           sister
           ,
           better
           could
           have
           born
           the
           same
           .
        
         
         
           Onely
           this
           one
           thing
           
             (
             Anne
          
           )
           for
           my
           poore
           sake
           ,
        
         
           Let
           me
           intreat
           thee
           now
           to
           undertake
           :
        
         
           For
           faithlesse
           he
           was
           wont
           to
           wish
           thee
           well
           ,
        
         
           And
           his
           hearts
           secrets
           unto
           thee
           to
           tell
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           alone
           in
           him
           know'st
           well
           to
           finde
        
         
           Fit
           time
           and
           flexibilitie
           of
           minde
           .
        
         
           Go
           sister
           ,
           go
           ,
           humbly
           tell
           this
           fierce
           foe
           ;
        
         
           With
           Greeks
           at
           
             Aulis
             Troyes
          
           dire
           overthrow
        
         
           I
           ne're
           conspir'd
           ,
           nor
           sent
           a
           fleet
           to
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           old
           Anchises
           ashes
           did
           annoy
           .
        
         
           Why
           then
           turns
           he
           deaf
           eares
           to
           my
           request
           ?
        
         
           Where
           rashly
           runnes
           he
           ?
           Let
           this
           last
           bequest
        
         
           Be
           given
           to
           his
           poore
           love
           ;
           to
           watch
           faire
           flight
           ,
        
         
           And
           windes
           to
           sail
           away
           with
           smooth
           delight
           .
        
         
           I
           do
           not
           presse
           or
           pray
           sweet
           marriage
           rite
           ,
        
         
           Which
           he
           hath
           wrong'd
           ;
           nor
           would
           I
           him
           bereave
        
         
           Of
           's
           long'd-for
           Latium
           ,
           him
           of
           's
           crown
           deceive
           .
        
         
           I
           onely
           ask
           a
           little
           fruitlesse
           stay
           ,
        
         
           Some
           small
           repose
           ,
           repast
           ,
           for
           loves
           allay
           ,
        
         
           Untill
           my
           fate
           me
           vanquisht
           make
           to
           moan
           .
        
         
           Grant
           this
           last
           vote
           ,
           in
           this
           request
           alone
        
         
           Pitie
           thy
           sister
           ;
           which
           if
           thou
           me
           grant
           ,
        
         
           My
           death
           shall
           bid
           this
           wretched
           life
           avant
           .
        
         
           Thus
           did
           she
           treat
           ,
           intreat
           her
           sister
           sad
           ,
        
         
           Who
           to
           and
           fro
           beares
           weeping
           errands
           bad
           .
        
         
           But
           none
           of
           all
           her
           treats
           or
           bitter
           teares
        
         
           Remove
           his
           thoughts
           ,
           do
           move
           his
           dam'd-up
           eares
           :
        
         
           For
           fates
           forbade
           ,
           and
           Iove
           his
           eares
           had
           clos'd
           .
        
         
           As
           an
           old
           oak
           most
           furiously
           oppos'd
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Alpine
           pushing
           puffs
           now
           here
           now
           there
        
         
           Tossing
           and
           tumbling
           ,
           strive
           to
           over-beare
           ,
        
         
           The
           blast
           flies
           on
           ,
           bends
           the
           high
           boughs
           to
           ground
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           stock
           sticks
           fast
           on
           a
           rock
           firm
           and
           sound
           ;
        
         
           And
           as
           the
           more
           to
           th'winde
           top-branches
           bend
           ,
        
         
           The
           more
           the
           root
           doth
           ground-hold
           apprehend
           :
        
         
           No
           otherwise
           with
           words
           and
           woes
           this
           prince
        
         
           Is
           tost
           ,
           turmoil'd
           ,
           here
           ,
           there
           his
           heart
           t'evince
           :
        
         
           But
           he
           's
           unmov'd
           ,
           teare-flouds
           flow
           out
           in
           vain
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           poore
           Dido
           ,
           full
           of
           grief
           and
           pain
           ,
        
         
           Desires
           to
           die
           ;
           and
           hates
           the
           skies
           cleare
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Fitlier
           to
           slay
           herself
           ,
           and
           leave
           the
           light
           .
        
         
           Then
           laying
           gifts
           ,
           on
           incense-smoaking
           shrines
           ,
        
         
           She
           saw
           (
           fearefull
           to
           say
           )
           her
           sacred
           wines
           ,
        
         
           And
           pour'd-out
           liquors
           turn'd
           to
           putred
           bloud
           :
        
         
           Which
           none
           ,
           no
           not
           her
           sister
           ,
           understood
           .
        
         
           Beside
           ,
           there
           was
           within
           her
           palace
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Her
           former
           husbands
           marble
           temple
           rare
           ;
        
         
           Which
           she
           did
           honour
           with
           most
           high
           respect
           :
        
         
           And
           with
           white
           fleeces
           ,
           and
           gay
           garlands
           deckt
           .
        
         
           From
           whence
           she
           seem'd
           to
           heare
           her
           husbands
           call
           ;
        
         
           And
           that
           ,
           when
           nights
           dark
           curtain
           covered
           all
           ;
        
         
           Yea
           and
           to
           heare
           the
           scritch-owl
           all
           alone
        
         
           On
           houses
           tops
           ,
           oft
           times
           to
           make
           strange
           moan
           ,
        
         
           With
           fearefull
           fatall
           noates
           ,
           long
           screeks
           and
           cries
           ;
        
         
           Beside
           ,
           feare-threatning
           ancient
           prophesies
        
         
           Her
           terrify'd
           :
           in
           nightly
           visions
           she
        
         
           Aeneas
           cruell
           self
           doth
           seem
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           Pursuing
           her
           enrag'd
           .
           She
           (
           still
           )
           alone
        
         
           Left
           to
           herself
           ,
           not
           waited
           on
           by
           one
           ,
        
         
           Is
           seen
           to
           stragle
           farre
           in
           deserts
           strange
           ,
        
         
           To
           seek
           her
           Tyrians
           ,
           seems
           abroad
           to
           range
        
         
           Much
           like
           mad
           Pentheus
           ,
           scar'd
           with
           haggs
           of
           hell
           ,
        
         
           And
           oftwo
           suns
           ,
           two
           Thebes
           ,
           feign'd
           (
           then
           )
           to
           tell
           :
        
         
           Or
           like
           Orestes
           ,
           vext
           with
           furies
           dire
           ,
        
         
         
           When
           from
           his
           mother
           arm'd
           with
           ragefull
           fire
           ,
        
         
           And
           stinging
           serpents
           ,
           mad
           ,
           he
           made
           away
           ,
        
         
           Revengefull
           furies
           at
           the
           threshold
           lay
           :
        
         
           So
           she
           enrag'd
           ,
           o'recome
           with
           grief
           and
           woe
           ,
        
         
           Resolves
           to
           die
           ;
           how
           to
           this
           work
           to
           go
           ,
        
         
           Thinks
           with
           herself
           for
           fittest
           time
           and
           way
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           to
           her
           sad
           sister
           doth
           she
           say
           ;
        
         
           (
           Cheere
           in
           her
           cheeks
           ,
           her
           fact
           hid
           in
           her
           face
           )
        
         
           I
           have
           the
           way
           ,
           deare
           sister
           ,
           (
           in
           this
           case
        
         
           Now
           joy
           with
           me
           )
           either
           to
           keep
           him
           here
           ,
        
         
           Or
           from
           his
           love
           my self
           firmly
           to
           cleare
           .
        
         
           Neare
           th'
           oceans
           end
           ,
           upon
           the
           Western
           side
        
         
           Lies
           Aethiopa
           ,
           farre
           from
           us
           and
           wide
           :
        
         
           Where
           heaven-upholding
           mighty
           Atlas
           stands
           ,
        
         
           And
           ardent
           sun-shine
           scorcheth
           up
           the
           lands
           .
        
         
           A
           grave
           Massylian
           priest
           came
           hence
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           His
           sisters
           temples
           keeper
           said
           to
           be
           ;
        
         
           Who
           fed
           the
           dragons
           ,
           kept
           the
           fruit
           divine
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           humid
           honey
           doth
           to
           sleep
           incline
           ,
        
         
           Even
           soporiferous
           poppie
           .
           She
           assures
        
         
           By
           charms
           to
           love-sick
           mindes
           ,
           she
           cures
           procures
        
         
           In
           whom
           she
           lists
           ;
           and
           whom
           she
           lists
           ,
           makes
           love
        
         
           Extreamly
           ;
           stops
           swift
           streams
           ,
           yea
           starres
           above
        
         
           Turns
           retrograde
           ;
           she
           nightly
           ghosts
           can
           raise
           ,
        
         
           Can
           make
           the
           ground
           to
           groan
           with
           strange
           amaze
           ,
        
         
           And
           trees
           to
           run
           down
           hills
           ,
           she
           frights
           and
           frayes
           .
        
         
           Now
           by
           the
           Gods
           (
           deare
           sister
           )
           I
           protest
           ,
        
         
           By
           thee
           and
           thy
           sweet
           soule
           ,
           I
           am
           thus
           prest
        
         
           To
           use
           these
           magick
           spells
           against
           my
           will.
        
         
           Thou
           then
           ,
           good
           sister
           ,
           build
           up
           with
           best
           skill
           ,
        
         
           A
           pile
           of
           wood
           in
           th'inner
           court
           on
           high
           ,
        
         
           And
           lay
           thereon
           the
           sword
           ,
           which
           impiously
        
         
         
           He
           stuck
           up
           by
           our
           bed
           his
           garments
           all
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           my
           bride-bed
           ,
           where
           I
           took
           fatall
           fall
           :
        
         
           For
           so
           this
           priest
           bad
           me
           bring
           all
           I
           can
           ,
        
         
           Belonging
           to
           that
           false
           nefarious
           man
           ,
        
         
           And
           bad
           me
           burn
           them
           .
           This
           thus
           said
           ,
           she
           ceast
           ,
        
         
           And
           death-pale
           colour
           in
           her
           cheeks
           increast
           .
        
         
           Her
           sister
           Anne
           suspecting
           nought
           herein
           ,
        
         
           That
           she
           new
           sacred
           death
           dues
           did
           begin
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           could
           conceive
           she
           such
           rage
           did
           retain
           ,
        
         
           Or
           greater
           grief
           then
           for
           Sichaeus
           slain
           ,
        
         
           Does
           not
           therefore
           her
           sisters
           charge
           refrain
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           the
           queen
           (
           the
           pile
           in
           th'
           open
           aire
        
         
           In
           th'
           inner
           court
           erected
           ,
           fitted
           faire
           )
        
         
           Great
           boards
           and
           billets
           ,
           pitch
           and
           tarre
           layes
           on
           ,
        
         
           Flowers
           ,
           cypresse
           boughs
           and
           branches
           ties
           upon
        
         
           This
           fatall
           herse
           ,
           his
           cloaths
           ,
           sword
           ,
           left
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           His
           picture
           eke
           she
           to
           this
           bed
           doth
           binde
           ,
        
         
           Knowing
           the
           issue
           .
           Altars
           stand
           about
           ;
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           priest
           ,
           her
           haire-spread
           loose
           ,
           cries
           out
        
         
           On
           her
           three
           hundred
           Gods
           ,
           Erebus
           deep
           ,
        
         
           Chaos
           and
           threefold
           Hecates
           to
           weep
           ,
        
         
           And
           triple-fac'd
           Diana
           ,
           sprinkling
           wide
        
         
           The
           feigned
           liquors
           which
           in
           Styx
           abide
           .
        
         
           Then
           tender
           herbs
           are
           sought
           out
           by
           Moon-light
           ,
        
         
           And
           cropt
           and
           cut
           with
           sithes
           and
           sickles
           might
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           white
           milk
           ,
           black
           poisons
           pestilent
           ;
        
         
           Andfrom
           a
           young
           Foals
           front
           incontinent
        
         
           They
           pluck
           the
           Mares
           pois'nous
           beloved
           bit
           ,
        
         
           Before
           the
           mare
           from
           's
           brow
           devoureth
           it
           .
        
         
           Dido
           herself
           with
           sacred
           gifts
           in
           hands
           ,
        
         
           One
           foot
           unbound
           ,
           cloathes
           loose
           ,
           at
           th'
           altar
           stands
           ,
        
         
           Readie
           to
           die
           ,
           the
           Gods
           she
           obtestates
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           powerfull
           planets
           ,
           patrons
           of
           her
           fates
           :
        
         
           Yea
           whatsoever
           sacred
           power
           there
           were
           ,
        
         
           That
           just
           and
           tender
           mindefulnesse
           did
           beare
        
         
           To
           lovers
           ,
           which
           unequall
           yokes
           did
           weare
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           't
           was
           night
           ,
           when
           weary
           limbes
           at
           ease
        
         
           Slept
           sweetly
           ,
           woods
           were
           still
           ,
           and
           calm
           the
           seas
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           starres
           course
           came
           to
           their
           middle
           height
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           field
           and
           bird
           and
           beast
           ,
           by
           night
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           every
           liquid
           lake
           ,
           and
           whatso'ere
        
         
           The
           wide
           sharp
           thorny
           countrey
           coasts
           did
           beare
           ,
        
         
           Lay
           still
           ,
           all
           fast
           asleep
           ,
           devoid
           of
           cares
           ,
        
         
           Their
           slumbring
           hearts
           forgetfull
           of
           affaires
           .
        
         
           But
           wofull
           Didos
           heart
           no
           nap
           could
           take
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           all
           the
           night
           one
           nod
           or
           wink
           could
           make
           .
        
         
           Her
           cares
           increase
           ,
           her
           raging
           love
           reboiles
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           huge
           flames
           of
           furie
           her
           turmoiles
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           she
           stands
           ,
           and
           thus
           breathes
           out
           hearts
           wo
           ;
        
         
           What
           shall
           I
           do
           ?
           shall
           I
           derided
           go
        
         
           Back
           to
           my
           wonted
           wooers
           ?
           meek
           must
           I
        
         
           Marriage
           desire
           with
           those
           whom
           scornfully
        
         
           I
           oft
           refus'd
           ?
           or
           must
           I
           not
           apace
        
         
           Flie
           to
           the
           Trojans
           fleet
           ,
           quickly
           embrace
        
         
           Their
           last
           and
           worst
           commands
           ?
           will
           it
           not
           (
           sure
           )
        
         
           Do
           well
           ,
           help
           to
           their
           helper
           to
           inure
           ?
        
         
           Old
           favours
           ought
           with
           thankfulnesse
           be
           paid
           :
        
         
           But
           say
           I
           would
           ,
           who
           herein
           would
           me
           aid
           ?
        
         
           Or
           scorned
           me
           to
           their
           proud
           ships
           admit
           .
        
         
           Alas
           (
           fond
           fool
           )
           know'●t
           thou
           not
           fully
           yet
           ?
        
         
           See'st
           thou
           not
           sensibly
           the
           perjurie
        
         
           Of
           Trojans
           ?
           And
           what
           then
           ?
           shall
           onely
           I
        
         
           Fly
           to
           those
           jocond
           sailours
           ?
           shall
           I
           fall
        
         
           Upon
           them
           with
           my
           Tyrian
           armies
           all
           ?
        
         
         
           And
           cause
           them
           whom
           with
           me
           I
           scarce
           could
           force
        
         
           From
           their
           Sidonian
           city
           ,
           take
           recourse
        
         
           To
           sea
           again
           ?
           and
           make
           them
           sail
           with
           me
           ?
        
         
           No
           rather
           die
           ,
           as
           't
           is
           most
           fit
           for
           thee
           ,
        
         
           Thy self
           from
           sorrow
           with
           thy
           sword
           set
           free
           .
        
         
           You
           sister
           ,
           you
           o'recome
           by
           my
           first
           teares
           ,
        
         
           My
           love-pierc'd
           heart
           now
           load
           with
           these
           fierce
           feares
           ,
        
         
           And
           ●e
           expos'd
           unto
           my
           flying
           foe
           :
        
         
           Might
           I
           not
           well
           have
           liv'd
           unyoked
           ,
           so
        
         
           As
           do
           bruit
           beasts
           ,
           unstung
           with
           such
           sharp
           woe
           ?
        
         
           Not
           having
           kept
           faith
           to
           Sichaeus
           plighted
           ,
        
         
           With
           these
           complaints
           her
           heart
           she
           sore
           affrighted
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           in
           's
           tall
           ship
           resolv'd
           to
           sail
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           lies
           a
           sleep
           ;
           all
           fit
           for
           his
           avail
           .
        
         
           To
           him
           in
           sleep
           appear'd
           the
           Gods
           form
           right
        
         
           That
           formerly
           he
           saw
           ,
           the
           same
           face
           bright
           ;
        
         
           In
           all
           like
           Mercurie
           ,
           colour
           and
           voice
           ,
        
         
           With
           yellow
           haire
           ,
           his
           corps
           of
           youthfull
           choice
           .
        
         
           Who
           seemed
           thus
           him
           to
           advise
           again
           :
        
         
           Canst
           thou
           ,
           O
           Goddesse
           sonne
           ,
           asleep
           remain
        
         
           In
           such
           a
           state
           as
           this
           ?
           Dost
           thou
           not
           see
        
         
           How
           many
           dangers
           do
           environ
           thee
           ?
        
         
           O
           brain-sick
           man
           ,
           seest
           thou
           not
           friendly
           blasts
        
         
           Breathing
           abroad
           ?
           seest
           thou
           not
           how
           she
           casts
        
         
           In
           heart
           some
           impious
           part
           ,
           resolv'd
           to
           die
           ?
        
         
           And
           how
           she
           swels
           with
           furies
           tympanie
           ?
        
         
           Fly'st
           thou
           not
           hence
           in
           haste
           ,
           whiles
           thou
           mayst
           flie
           ?
        
         
           Soon
           thou
           shalt
           see
           to
           sea
           her
           sh●ps
           to
           hie
           .
        
         
           Bright
           burning
           brands
           ,
           fierce
           flames
           on
           shore
           shall
           be
           ,
        
         
           If
           morning
           sunne
           thee
           loytering
           here
           do
           see
           .
        
         
           Be
           gon
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
           shake
           off
           delay
           :
           for
           still
        
         
           Most
           light
           and
           loose
           thou'lt
           finde
           a
           womans
           will.
        
         
         
           This
           said
           ,
           i'
           th'
           dark
           he
           vanisht
           out
           of
           sight
           .
        
         
           VVhich
           vision
           did
           Aeneas
           much
           afright
           ,
        
         
           Who
           starts
           from
           sleep
           ,
           his
           mates
           in
           haste
           doth
           call
           ,
        
         
           Saying
           ,
           Rouse
           your selves
           ,
           brave
           sirs
           ,
           and
           closely
           fall
        
         
           To
           fluttering
           oares
           ,
           hoise
           up
           your
           sails
           amain
           ,
        
         
           The
           God
           was
           sent
           from
           heaven
           to
           me
           again
           .
        
         
           Quicken
           our
           flight
           ,
           cut
           knottie
           ropes
           with
           speed
           ,
        
         
           The
           God
           again
           urgeth
           me
           to
           proceed
           .
        
         
           Who
           e're
           thou
           art
           ,
           great
           God
           ,
           we
           follow
           thee
           ,
        
         
           To
           thy
           recharge
           we
           glad
           obedient
           be
           .
        
         
           Be
           friendly
           with
           us
           ,
           help
           us
           ,
           O
           we
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Grant
           us
           thy
           present
           aid
           ,
           a
           pleasant
           way
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           soon
           unsheath'd
           his
           glistring
           sword
           ,
        
         
           With
           his
           sharp
           blade
           he
           cuts
           each
           cutting
           cord
           .
        
         
           The
           rest
           ,
           as
           hotly
           prest
           ,
           do
           rush
           and
           run
           ,
        
         
           And
           shove
           from
           shore
           ,
           and
           leave
           not
           ought
           undone
           ,
        
         
           Untill
           they
           see
           their
           barks
           the
           billows
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Closely
           they
           winde
           the
           waves
           ,
           and
           swiftly
           glide
           .
        
         
           Aurora
           now
           left
           Tithons
           broidered
           bed
           ,
        
         
           And
           first
           with
           fresh
           faire
           light
           earth
           overspread
           .
        
         
           The
           queen
           as
           soon
           as
           through
           her
           glasse
           she
           spi'de
        
         
           Daylight
           cleare
           up
           ,
           and
           all
           the
           fleet
           to
           slide
        
         
           With
           smoothfull
           sails
           ,
           and
           saw
           the
           ports
           and
           shores
        
         
           Forsaken
           quite
           ,
           emptie
           of
           men
           and
           oares
           ;
        
         
           Her
           comely
           breast
           she
           strook
           ,
           and
           strook
           again
        
         
           With
           herwhite
           hand
           ,
           and
           in
           fierce
           grief
           and
           pain
        
         
           Tearing
           her
           tender
           yellow
           haire
           from
           head
           ,
        
         
           Cries
           out
           ,
           O
           Iove
           ,
           and
           shall
           he
           thus
           be
           fled
           ?
        
         
           And
           shall
           that
           stragler
           in
           my
           realm
           me
           flout
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           not
           mine
           armies
           help
           ,
           and
           all
           flie
           out
           ?
        
         
           And
           prosecute
           ,
           and
           persecute
           him
           flying
           ,
        
         
           And
           teare
           their
           ships
           ,
           ●nd
           burn
           them
           where
           th'
           are
           lying
           ?
        
         
         
           O
           follow
           ,
           follow
           ,
           bring
           ,
           bring
           forth
           fierce
           fire
           ,
        
         
           To
           ship
           set
           sail
           ,
           row
           on
           with
           restlesse
           ire
           .
        
         
           What
           say
           I
           ?
           where
           am
           I
           ?
           what
           mad
           mood's
           here
           ?
        
         
           Unhappy
           Dido
           ,
           now
           th'
           art
           stung
           most
           neare
        
         
           By
           furious
           fates
           :
           then
           it
           had
           better
           been
           ,
        
         
           When
           he
           was
           here
           ,
           and
           thou
           didst
           rule
           as
           queen
           .
        
         
           See
           now
           his
           hand
           ,
           his
           heart
           ,
           of
           whom
           men
           prate
           ,
        
         
           His
           countrey-Gods
           do
           him
           concomitate
           ;
        
         
           That
           he
           on
           's
           back
           his
           aged
           sire
           did
           beare
           .
        
         
           O
           could
           I
           not
           his
           corps
           in
           pieces
           teare
           ?
        
         
           And
           shatter
           them
           i'
           th'
           sea
           ?
           his
           mates
           destroy
           ?
        
         
           Yea
           even
           Ascanius
           that
           young
           Trojan
           boy
        
         
           Slay
           with
           the
           sword
           ,
           and
           mince
           in
           mamacks
           small
           ,
        
         
           And
           dish
           on
           's
           fathers
           board
           to
           feast
           withall
           ?
        
         
           O
           but
           the
           fortune
           of
           a
           fight
           's
           unsure
           :
        
         
           What
           then
           ?
           whom
           should
           I
           feare
           ?
           since
           death
           t'
           endure
        
         
           I
           have
           resolv'd
           ,
           I
           would
           have
           fire-brands
           cast
        
         
           Into
           their
           tents
           ,
           and
           fil'd
           with
           flames
           (
           at
           last
           )
        
         
           Their
           hatches
           ,
           and
           the
           father
           ,
           sonne
           ,
           and
           all
        
         
           Have
           burnt
           up
           ,
           and
           i'
           th'
           flames
           my self
           let
           fall
           .
        
         
           O
           thou
           cleare
           sunne
           ,
           which
           all
           mens
           facts
           dost
           view
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           faire
           Iuno
           ,
           sounder
           witnesse
           true
        
         
           Of
           these
           my
           woes
           !
           Hecate
           ,
           who
           by
           night
        
         
           In
           crosse
           paths
           ,
           howling
           noise
           dost
           make
           to
           fright
           ,
        
         
           Revengefull
           furies
           ,
           and
           you
           spirits
           all
        
         
           Of
           dying
           Dido
           ,
           heare
           my
           dying
           call
           .
        
         
           Poure
           out
           your
           power
           ,
           worthy
           such
           wicked
           men
           ,
        
         
           And
           entertain
           this
           my
           request
           ,
           that
           when
        
         
           (
           Ifthat
           vile
           wretch
           must
           needs
           )
           he
           doth
           obtain
        
         
           Harbour
           ,
           and
           sails
           to
           land
           ,
           if
           firm
           remain
        
         
           Ioves
           high
           decrees
           herein
           ;
           then
           here
           's
           an
           end
           :
        
         
           Yet
           let
           fierce
           warres
           of
           furious
           foes
           offend
        
         
         
           And
           vex
           him
           still
           ,
           and
           him
           ,
           an
           exile
           made
           ,
        
         
           Pull'd
           from
           Iülus
           sweet
           embrace
           ,
           beg
           aid
           ,
        
         
           And
           see
           his
           friends
           ignoble
           dire
           decease
           :
        
         
           Nor
           when
           he
           stoops
           to
           yokes
           of
           forced
           peace
           ,
        
         
           Let
           him
           enjoy
           or
           crown
           or
           joyes
           increase
           :
        
         
           And
           let
           him
           die
           untimely
           ,
           lie
           untomb'd
           ,
        
         
           In
           th'
           open
           aire
           ,
           of
           birds
           and
           beasts
           consum'd
           .
        
         
           This
           vvish
           ,
           these
           last
           words
           vvith
           my
           bloud
           I
           vent
           .
        
         
           And
           oh
           my
           Tyrians
           ,
           let
           your
           wrath
           be
           bent
           ,
        
         
           Even
           yours
           and
           all
           your
           future
           progenie
           ,
        
         
           'Gainst
           him
           and
           his
           :
           to
           my
           dead
           dust
           apply
        
         
           These
           pleasant
           presents
           :
           let
           there
           never
           be
        
         
           'Twixt
           you
           and
           them
           love
           or
           confederacie
           .
        
         
           Let
           some
           vindicative
           revenger
           rise
           ,
        
         
           Sprung
           from
           our
           loyns
           ,
           those
           Dardan
           enemies
        
         
           With
           sword
           and
           fire
           to
           vex
           now
           ,
           and
           full
           long
        
         
           Hereafter
           still
           ,
           as
           time
           shall
           make
           them
           strong
           .
        
         
           O
           may
           lands
           strive
           with
           lands
           ,
           vvaves
           warre
           with
           waves
           ,
        
         
           Friends
           fight
           vvith
           friends
           ,
           armies
           with
           arms
           outbraves
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           her
           heart
           to
           thousands
           thoughts
           did
           rowl
           ,
        
         
           From
           loathed
           life
           striving
           to
           snatch
           her
           soule
           .
        
         
           Then
           she
           Sichaeus
           nurse
           ,
           Barce
           bespake
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           in
           her
           own
           hand
           hers
           did
           her
           forsake
        
         
           By
           death
           )
           O
           my
           deare
           nurse
           ,
           call
           straight
           ,
           sayes
           she
           ,
        
         
           My
           sister
           Anne
           ,
           bid
           her
           come
           quick
           to
           me
           ;
        
         
           And
           vvater
           vvith
           her
           bring
           our
           limbes
           to
           lave
           ,
        
         
           And
           beasts
           and
           cleansing
           offrings
           ,
           as
           I
           gave
        
         
           Order
           therein
           .
           Thus
           let
           her
           come
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           thy self
           ,
           good
           nurse
           ,
           attir'd
           must
           be
        
         
           With
           holy
           headbands
           on
           thy
           head
           :
           for
           I
        
         
           To
           sacrifice
           to
           Pluto
           ,
           seriously
        
         
           Am
           minded
           ,
           as
           't
           is
           fit
           ,
           to
           end
           my
           vvoe
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           Trojans
           head
           in
           flames
           to
           burn
           up
           .
           So
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           with
           aged
           pace
           ,
           yet
           eager
           bent
           ,
        
         
           She
           hastens
           to
           climbe
           up
           the
           piles
           ascent
           .
        
         
           But
           trembling
           Dido
           mad
           ,
           full
           mischief-minded
           ,
        
         
           Her
           bloud-swoln
           eyes
           up
           and
           down
           rowld
           and
           winded
           ,
        
         
           Her
           shivering
           cheeks
           with
           brinish
           teares
           are
           spread
           ,
        
         
           And
           hastning
           death
           made
           her
           seem
           ,
           living
           ,
           dead
           .
        
         
           When
           through
           the
           doores
           to
           th'
           inner
           court
           she
           brake
           ,
        
         
           And
           ragefull
           haste
           ,
           to
           mount
           the
           fire
           ,
           did
           make
           :
        
         
           And
           being
           up
           ,
           unsheaths
           the
           Trojan
           blade
           ,
        
         
           A
           gift
           ,
           not
           for
           so
           wofull
           uses
           made
           .
        
         
           Here
           having
           view'd
           the
           Trojan
           garments
           gay
           ,
        
         
           And
           well-known
           bed
           ,
           a
           little
           pausing
           stay
        
         
           With
           teares
           and
           thoughts
           she
           made
           ,
           laid
           on
           the
           bed
           ,
        
         
           And
           these
           last
           words
           of
           woe
           she
           uttered
           :
        
         
           Sweet
           ornaments
           ,
           whiles
           Gods
           and
           fates
           did
           please
           ,
        
         
           Embrace
           this
           soule
           ,
           me
           from
           these
           sorrows
           ease
           .
        
         
           I
           liv'd
           ;
           now
           fortunes
           life-given
           course
           I
           end
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           my
           great
           ghost
           to
           earths
           cells
           doth
           bend
           .
        
         
           A
           brave
           town
           I
           have
           built
           ,
           strong
           vvalls
           erected
           ,
        
         
           Reveng'd
           my
           friend
           ,
           due
           punishment
           inflicted
        
         
           On
           a
           false
           brother
           .
           Blest
           ,
           ah
           too
           much
           blest
           ,
        
         
           Had
           Trojan
           barks
           ne're
           on
           our
           banks
           took
           rest
           .
        
         
           She
           ceast
           ;
           her
           face
           flat
           on
           the
           bed
           did
           lie
           ;
        
         
           And
           shall
           we
           (
           sayes
           she
           )
           unrevenged
           die
           ?
        
         
           Then
           let
           us
           die
           :
           Thus
           ?
           thus
           to
           go
           fits
           vvell
        
         
           To
           obscure
           shades
           .
           And
           let
           that
           Trojan
           fell
        
         
           See
           with
           his
           eyes
           at
           ●ea
           this
           dying
           fire
           ,
        
         
           And
           sail
           vvith
           all
           signes
           of
           our
           death
           most
           dire
           .
        
         
           Thus
           ended
           she
           ,
           and
           ending
           (
           thus
           )
           this
           vvord
           ,
        
         
           Her
           tendants
           saw
           her
           fal'n
           upon
           her
           sword
           ,
        
         
           The
           sword
           all
           smear'd
           vvith
           gore
           ,
           her
           hands
           spread
           out
           .
        
         
         
           Whereat
           they
           rais'd
           loud
           screeks
           the
           court
           about
           :
        
         
           The
           fame
           vvhereof
           through
           the
           sad
           citie
           flies
           ,
        
         
           And
           rudely
           ranging
           ,
           fills
           each
           house
           vvith
           cries
           ,
        
         
           With
           griefs
           and
           groans
           ,
           and
           vvomanish
           sad
           sounds
           ,
        
         
           Which
           th'
           echoing
           aire
           vvith
           yelling
           roares
           rebounds
           ▪
        
         
           Even
           as
           if
           foes
           let
           in
           had
           Carthage
           '
           stroy'd
           ;
        
         
           Or
           like
           old
           Tyre
           vvhose
           buildings
           faire
           ,
           employ'd
        
         
           To
           use
           of
           Gods
           and
           men
           ,
           vvith
           fires
           fierce
           flame
        
         
           Were
           quite
           con●●m'd
           .
           The
           noise
           vvhereof
           soon
           came
        
         
           To
           her
           death-daunted
           sister
           ,
           vvho
           in
           fright
        
         
           With
           panting
           pace
           ran
           thither
           vvith
           fierce
           flight
           .
        
         
           Her
           nails
           her
           cheeks
           do
           teare
           ,
           fists
           beat
           her
           breast
           ,
        
         
           Amidst
           the
           rout
           rushing
           ,
           screeks
           out
           (
           distrest
           )
        
         
           Her
           dying
           name
           .
           O
           sister
           ,
           was
           this
           it
           ?
        
         
           Hast
           thou
           me
           thus
           deceiv'd
           ?
           And
           did
           I
           fit
        
         
           This
           pile
           for
           this
           ?
           these
           fires
           and
           altars
           frame
           ?
        
         
           For
           what
           should
           I
           forsaken
           ,
           thee
           first
           blame
           ?
        
         
           Why
           didst
           thou
           me
           reject
           for
           thy
           deaths
           mate
           ?
        
         
           Thou
           might'st
           have
           me
           invited
           to
           like
           fate
           :
        
         
           That
           same
           smart
           ,
           with
           the
           same
           sword
           ,
           that
           houre
        
         
           Might
           both
           of
           us
           have
           griped
           in
           deaths
           power
           .
        
         
           These
           hands
           did
           also
           help
           to
           build
           this
           frame
           ,
        
         
           I
           call'd
           upon
           our
           countrey-Gods
           great
           name
           ;
        
         
           And
           yet
           could
           cruell
           I
           be
           absent
           hence
           ,
        
         
           And
           not
           behold
           thy
           fates
           fierce
           violence
           ?
        
         
           O
           sister
           ,
           sister
           ,
           thou
           hast
           quite
           undone
        
         
           Thy self
           ,
           my self
           ,
           and
           all
           renown
           ,
           begun
        
         
           In
           citie
           ,
           subjects
           ,
           Carthaginian
           lords
           :
        
         
           O
           vvho
           me
           now
           some
           cleansing
           streams
           affords
           ,
        
         
           That
           I
           may
           vvash
           her
           vvounds
           ?
           And
           if
           as
           yet
        
         
           Any
           last
           breath
           there
           stray
           ,
           that
           I
           may
           it
        
         
           Sup
           up
           at
           length
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           she
           soon
           ascends
        
         
         
           The
           steepy
           steps
           ,
           and
           in
           her
           heart
           contends
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           her
           breast
           ,
           to
           hug
           with
           many
           a
           teare
        
         
           The
           half
           dead
           body
           of
           her
           sister
           deare
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           her
           cloaths
           the
           black
           bloud
           wipes
           and
           dries
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           she
           seems
           to
           heave
           her
           heavy
           eyes
           .
        
         
           But
           down
           again
           the
           dead
           lids
           fall
           and
           fail
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           her
           heart
           the
           death-smart
           doth
           prevail
           .
        
         
           Thrice
           she
           her self
           rais'd
           up
           ,
           and
           strove
           to
           rest
        
         
           Upon
           her
           arm
           ;
           and
           thrice
           by
           pain
           opprest
           ,
        
         
           She
           sownding
           rolled
           back
           upon
           the
           bed
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvith
           her
           stragling
           sight
           endeavoured
        
         
           To
           see
           the
           skie-light
           ,
           groaning
           when
           't
           was
           found
           ;
        
         
           Then
           mighty
           Iuno
           pitying
           her
           deaths
           vvound
           ,
        
         
           Protracted
           vvoe
           ,
           difficultie
           to
           die
           ,
        
         
           Sent
           Iris
           quickly
           from
           Olympus
           high
           ,
        
         
           Her
           strugling
           soule
           ,
           and
           fast
           bound
           life
           t'
           unbinde
           ,
        
         
           (
           Because
           she
           not
           by
           fate
           ,
           nor
           deaths
           due
           kinde
        
         
           Did
           die
           ,
           but
           immaturely
           )
           she
           poore
           heart
        
         
           With
           sudden
           rage
           enflam'd
           ,
           wrought
           her
           own
           smart
           .
        
         
           As
           yet
           ,
           Proserpina
           took
           not
           away
        
         
           Her
           yellow
           locks
           ,
           which
           on
           her
           head
           grew
           gray
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           her
           designed
           to
           the
           Stygian
           lake
           .
        
         
           Dame
           Iris
           therefore
           from
           the
           clouds
           did
           take
        
         
           Quick
           flight
           to
           her
           ,
           with
           vvatrie
           colour'd
           plumes
           ,
        
         
           Which
           'gainst
           the
           opposite
           bright
           sunne
           assumes
        
         
           A
           thousand
           various
           curious
           colours
           cleare
           :
        
         
           And
           lighting
           on
           her
           head
           ,
           said
           ;
           Charg'd
           ,
           I
           beare
        
         
           Thy
           parted
           soule
           to
           Pluto
           dedicated
           ,
        
         
           And
           free
           thee
           from
           thy
           corps
           excruciated
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           she
           clipt
           her
           locks
           ;
           at
           once
           doth
           slip
        
         
           All
           vitall
           heat
           ,
           life
           into
           th'
           aire
           doth
           skip
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             fourth
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             fifth
             book
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             sails
             ,
             to
             Sicil
             hies
             ,
          
           
             Where
             he
             his
             fathers
             obsequies
          
           
             Doth
             celebrate
             :
             Acestes
             kinde
             ,
          
           
             About
             the
             grave
             brave
             games
             design'd
             ,
          
           
             A
             prodigie
             ,
             a
             fierie
             dart
             .
          
           
             Then
             Iris
             playes
             old
             Beroes
             part
             ,
          
           
             In
             old-wifes
             weeds
             the
             fleet
             doth
             flame
             ,
          
           
             But
             sudden
             showres
             doe
             quench
             the
             same
             .
          
           
             Anchises
             ghost
             in
             sleep
             doth
             show
          
           
             What
             warres
             his
             sonne
             must
             undergoe
             :
          
           
             And
             by
             whose
             guid
             to
             passe
             to
             hell
             .
          
           
             He
             builds
             a
             town
             ,
             wherein
             to
             dwell
          
           
             He
             leaves
             the
             wives
             and
             men
             unfit
             :
          
           
             For
             Palinure
             ,
             he
             'le
             steeres-man
             sit
             .
          
        
         
           MEeanwhile
           Aeneas
           half
           way
           keeps
           his
           course
           ;
        
         
           His
           ships
           with
           soft
           windes
           cut
           the
           waves
           black
           source
           ;
        
         
           Reviewng
           poore
           Eliza's
           walls
           on
           fire
           ,
        
         
           The
           cause
           unknown
           of
           such
           combustion
           dire
           :
        
         
           But
           bitter
           grief
           he
           fear'd
           for
           abrupt
           love
           ,
        
         
           Knowing
           how
           love-sick
           passions
           women
           move
        
         
           VVith
           these
           sad
           thoughts
           the
           Trojans
           forward
           sail
           ,
        
         
           Least
           sight
           of
           land
           at
           sea
           their
           fleet
           doth
           fail
           .
        
         
           On
           all
           sides
           sea
           ,
           on
           all
           sides
           onely
           skie
           :
        
         
           He
           o're
           his
           head
           a
           watry
           cloud
           doth
           spie
           ,
        
         
           Full
           stuft
           with
           storms
           ,
           whose
           blacknesse
           frights
           the
           seas
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           in
           his
           ship
           did
           Pal●nure
           displease
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           he
           cries
           ,
           A●as
           ,
           vvhat
           clouds
           o'respread
        
         
           The
           heavens
           ?
           What
           means
           God
           Neptune
           by
           this
           dread
           ?
        
         
           He
           bids
           them
           play
           the
           men
           ,
           their
           oares
           to
           plie
           ,
        
         
           Sails
           to
           the
           lee
           ,
           and
           thus
           aloud
           doth
           crie
           ;
        
         
           Dauntlesse
           Aeneas
           ,
           though
           great
           Iove
           our
           guide
           ,
        
         
           Should
           promise
           vve
           in
           Italie
           should
           '
           bide
           ;
        
         
           I
           could
           not
           in
           this
           case
           his
           words
           confide
           .
        
         
           Such
           counter-cuffs
           ,
           crosse
           puffs
           us
           turn
           and
           vvinde
           ,
        
         
           Such
           dark
           dim
           clouds
           arise
           ,
           as
           th'
           aire
           quite
           blinde
           .
        
         
           Nor
           do
           our
           reluctations
           us
           avail
           :
        
         
           Since
           fortune
           forceth
           ,
           let
           's
           vvith
           fortune
           sail
           ,
        
         
           And
           go
           wheres'ere
           she
           guides
           ;
           for
           sure
           think
           I
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           brother
           Eryx
           trusty
           towns
           are
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           And
           Sicils
           shores
           :
           for
           I
           have
           certain
           sight
        
         
           Of
           noted
           starres
           ,
           if
           I
           remember
           right
           .
        
         
           Surely
           ,
           sayes
           good
           Aeneas
           ,
           so
           I
           see
        
         
           The
           windes
           require
           ,
           thy
           labours
           all
           to
           be
        
         
           In
           vain
           I
           view
           .
           Then
           bend
           thy
           course
           that
           way
           :
        
         
           For
           a
           more
           pleasing
           place
           could
           I
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
        
         
           To
           rest
           our
           weary
           fleet
           ,
           vvish
           to
           attain
           ,
        
         
           Then
           whereas
           
             Troyes
             Acestes
          
           kinde
           doth
           reigne
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvhere
           my
           fathers
           buried
           bones
           remain
           ?
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           they
           fetch
           the
           haven
           ,
           a
           Western
           blast
        
         
           Stretching
           their
           sails
           ,
           the
           navie
           nimbly
           past
        
         
           The
           channell
           ,
           and
           at
           length
           vvith
           joy
           each
           one
        
         
           Gets
           to
           the
           shore
           ,
           unto
           them
           all
           well
           known
           .
        
         
           But
           from
           a
           loftie
           hill
           ,
           aloof
           in
           's
           eye
        
         
           Acestes
           ,
           wondring
           ,
           did
           their
           fleet
           espie
           ,
        
         
           Their
           friendly
           fleet
           :
           vvhich
           he
           runs
           down
           to
           meet
        
         
           Fierce
           with
           's
           beares
           hide
           and
           dart
           ,
           them
           (
           thus
           )
           to
           greet
           :
        
         
           VVhose
           mother
           Troy
           him
           at
           Crinisus
           floud
        
         
         
           Begat
           :
           He
           mindefull
           of
           's
           forefather
           good
           ,
        
         
           Them
           safe
           t'
           enjoy
           much
           joyes
           ,
           with
           countrey
           cates
        
         
           And
           friendly
           gif●s
           ,
           receives
           ,
           cheeres
           ,
           consolates
           .
        
         
           Next
           day
           ,
           so
           soon
           as
           Eastern
           Sols
           bright
           face
        
         
           Had
           banisht
           starres
           ,
           Aeneas
           from
           each
           place
        
         
           And
           part
           o'
           th'
           port
           assembles
           all
           his
           mates
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           a
           tombes
           top
           thus
           expostulates
           ;
        
         
           Renowned
           Dardans
           ,
           sprung
           from
           Ioves
           high
           race
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           now
           a
           full
           and
           compleat
           twelve-moneths
           space
           ,
        
         
           Since
           here
           our
           sacred
           parents
           bones
           were
           laid
           ,
        
         
           And
           reliques
           left
           ,
           and
           sad
           death-altars
           made
           .
        
         
           And
           this
           (
           if
           I
           mistake
           not
           )
           is
           the
           day
           ,
        
         
           The
           dolefull
           day
           which
           I
           resolve
           for
           aye
        
         
           To
           solemnize
           ,
           and
           sad
           to
           celebrate
           :
        
         
           (
           For
           so
           ,
           ye
           Fates
           ,
           ye
           do
           it
           destinate
           )
        
         
           Yea
           this
           ,
           though
           Africk
           me
           an
           exile
           hel'd
           ,
        
         
           Though
           Grecian
           seas
           or
           shores
           me
           captiv'd
           quel'd
           ,
        
         
           With
           annuall
           votes
           and
           due
           solemnities
           ,
        
         
           And
           altar-decking
           gifts
           ,
           I
           'd
           memorize
           .
        
         
           Now
           are
           we
           gladly
           (
           and
           ,
           as
           I
           conceive
           ,
        
         
           Not
           without
           heavens
           direction
           and
           good
           leave
           )
        
         
           Come
           to
           our
           fathers
           bones
           and
           sacred
           dust
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           t'
           a
           faire
           and
           friendly
           port
           have
           thrust
           .
        
         
           Come
           on
           then
           ,
           let
           's
           glad
           triumphs
           celebrate
           ,
        
         
           Let
           's
           get
           faire
           gales
           ;
           and
           when
           my
           cities
           state
        
         
           Is
           stablisht
           ,
           I
           'le
           my
           sacred
           rites
           each
           yeare
        
         
           To
           him
           ,
           in
           temples
           to
           him
           builded
           ,
           beare
           .
        
         
           Troy-born
           Acestes
           two
           fat
           bullocks
           great
        
         
           Bestows
           on
           every
           bark
           throughout
           the
           fleet
           .
        
         
           Then
           at
           the
           feast
           our
           countrey-Gods
           let
           's
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           those
           which
           kinde
           Acestes
           holds
           in
           grace
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           if
           Sol
           the
           ninth
           day
           with
           bright
           rayes
        
         
         
           His
           faire
           face
           o're
           the
           universe
           displayes
           .
        
         
           First
           ,
           for
           our
           Trojans
           flying-fleets
           sea-fight
        
         
           I
           'le
           prizes
           have
           :
           for
           him
           ,
           whose
           nimble
           flight
        
         
           Best
           runs
           a
           race
           :
           for
           him
           ,
           whose
           courage
           stout
        
         
           Wrastles
           most
           rare
           :
           who
           best
           flings
           darts
           about
           :
        
         
           Or
           ,
           fight
           with
           plummet-clubs
           doth
           best
           affect
           :
        
         
           Let
           all
           be
           prest
           ,
           and
           purchas'd
           palms
           expect
           .
        
         
           Lend
           us
           your
           clamours
           loud
           ,
           with
           bayes
           all
           crown'd
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           himself
           his
           brows
           with
           laurell
           bound
           :
        
         
           The
           like
           Helymus
           ,
           old
           Acestes
           doe
           ,
        
         
           Lively
           Ascanius
           ;
           all
           the
           youth
           so
           too
           :
        
         
           He
           leaves
           the
           parle
           ;
           with
           thousand
           tendants
           brave
        
         
           Environed
           ,
           he
           comes
           to
           's
           fathers
           grave
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           (
           as
           due
           )
           two
           bowls
           of
           wine
           most
           good
        
         
           He
           pour'd
           on
           ground
           ,
           and
           two
           of
           sacred
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           Two
           of
           new
           milk
           ,
           and
           strew'd
           blew
           flowers
           ,
           and
           said
           ,
        
         
           Hail
           ,
           sacred
           sire
           ,
           once
           more
           all
           hail
           ,
           safe
           laid
           ,
        
         
           You
           sacred
           bones
           ,
           sires
           soule
           ,
           sav'd
           all
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           Since
           Italie
           we
           could
           not
           both
           attain
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           see
           those
           fatall
           fields
           ,
           nor
           seek
           together
        
         
           
             Ausonian
             Tyber
          
           ▪
           flowing
           ,
           who
           knows
           whither
           ?
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           a
           mightie
           slipperie
           snake
           he
           spi'de
           ,
        
         
           With
           seven
           huge
           wreaths
           and
           foldings
           forth
           to
           glide
        
         
           From
           under
           th'
           earth
           ,
           and
           smoothly
           crawling
           by
        
         
           The
           altar
           ,
           girts
           the
           grave
           ,
           whose
           back
           like
           skie
        
         
           Was
           coloured
           right
           ,
           and
           full
           ofspecks
           like
           gold
           ,
        
         
           His
           glassie
           scales
           most
           bright
           for
           to
           behold
           ;
        
         
           Much
           like
           the
           rain-bow
           plac'd
           against
           Sols
           rayes
           ,
        
         
           Which
           thousand
           various
           colours
           then
           displayes
           .
        
         
           This
           sight
           amaz'd
           the
           man
           :
           the
           snake
           among
        
         
           The
           cups
           and
           platters
           crawling
           thus
           along
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           he
           tastes
           the
           dainties
           tenderly
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           back
           recoils
           to
           th'tombe
           most
           harmlesly
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           the
           full-fed
           shrines
           .
           Hence
           much
           the
           more
        
         
           He
           ply'd
           his
           father
           with
           oblations
           store
           ;
        
         
           Uncertain
           whether
           it
           were
           the
           Genius
           faire
        
         
           O'
           th'
           place
           ,
           or
           's
           fathers
           spirit
           did
           thus
           repaire
           .
        
         
           Five
           sheep
           ,
           five
           hogs
           ,
           five
           heifers
           black
           he
           slew
           ,
        
         
           And
           bowls
           of
           wine
           upon
           them
           forth
           he
           threw
           ,
        
         
           And
           invocates
           the
           soule
           of
           his
           great
           sire
           ,
        
         
           And
           ghosts
           now
           rais'd
           from
           th'
           Acherontine
           fire
           .
        
         
           His
           mates
           likewise
           bring
           copious
           costly
           gifts
           ,
        
         
           And
           lively
           each
           loads
           on
           the
           altars
           lifts
           ,
        
         
           And
           kill
           their
           kine
           ,
           and
           pots
           and
           pans
           they
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           spread
           on
           ground
           ,
           make
           fires
           to
           th'
           spits
           apace
           ,
        
         
           And
           roste
           their
           midriffs
           ,
           and
           to
           feasting
           fall
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           's
           the
           day
           long-lookt-for
           of
           them
           all
           :
        
         
           And
           Phäethons
           coursers
           drew
           Sols
           chariot
           bright
        
         
           Upon
           this
           ninth
           day
           ,
           with
           resplendent
           light
           .
        
         
           When
           fluttering
           fame
           and
           brave
           Acests
           renown
        
         
           Call'd
           neighbours
           in
           from
           each
           neare
           neighbouring
           town
           :
        
         
           Whose
           joyfull
           troops
           fill'd
           all
           the
           plains
           about
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           the
           Trojan
           lads
           ,
           and
           sport
           it
           out
           .
        
         
           But
           first
           faire
           prizes
           placed
           were
           on
           poles
        
         
           I'
           th'
           midst
           in
           open
           sight
           ;
           faire
           three-leg'd
           bowles
           ,
        
         
           And
           fragrant
           garlands
           bound
           in
           beauteous
           wise
           ,
        
         
           And
           costly
           crowns
           ,
           palmes
           for
           the
           victours
           prize
           ;
        
         
           And
           glistering
           arms
           ,
           wrought-coats
           ,
           rich
           to
           behold
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           talents
           both
           of
           silver
           and
           gold
           .
        
         
           Shrill
           trumpets
           sound
           amidst
           those
           thick
           consorts
           ,
        
         
           And
           summon
           them
           to
           those
           propounded
           sports
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           ,
           foure
           choice
           barks
           of
           the
           fleet
           begin
           ,
        
         
           With
           stiffe
           strong
           oares
           by
           sea-fight
           fame
           to
           win
           .
        
         
           First
           Mnestheus
           with
           his
           galleon
           ,
           Pristis
           swift
           ,
        
         
         
           With
           his
           couragious
           master
           makes
           first
           drift
           .
        
         
           Next
           him
           
             Italian
             Mnestheus
          
           ,
           from
           whom
           came
        
         
           The
           race
           of
           
             Memmius
             :
             Gyas
          
           ,
           next
           for
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Brought
           his
           huge
           bark
           ,
           the
           fierce
           Chimaera
           nam'd
           ,
        
         
           A
           town-like
           ship
           ,
           with
           treble-oare
           banks
           fram'd
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Trojan
           lads
           with
           three-rankt
           oares
           did
           guide
           .
        
         
           Next
           in
           's
           tall
           centaure
           Sergest
           forth
           did
           glide
           ,
        
         
           From
           whom
           the
           familie
           of
           Sergeus
           rose
           ,
        
         
           In
           skie-like
           Scylla
           fierce
           Cloanthus
           goes
           ,
        
         
           Whence
           ,
           Romane
           Cluent
           ,
           thy
           great
           kindred
           grows
           .
        
         
           Farre
           off
           ,
           i'
           th'
           sea
           ,
           just
           'gainst
           the
           foaming
           shore
           ,
        
         
           There
           lies
           a
           rock
           ,
           which
           oft
           is
           covered
           o're
        
         
           With
           swelling
           waves
           ;
           when
           Western
           Corus
           blows
           ,
        
         
           And
           hides
           the
           starres
           ,
           a
           calm
           it
           plainly
           shows
           :
        
         
           And
           in
           still
           tides
           't
           is
           all
           a
           shelfie
           plain
           ,
        
         
           Where
           sea-birds
           ,
           basking
           in
           the
           sun
           ,
           remain
           .
        
         
           Here
           grave
           Aeneas
           oaken
           boughs
           did
           place
           ,
        
         
           To
           shew
           the
           mariners
           their
           pointed
           race
           :
        
         
           How
           farre
           to
           rove
           ,
           and
           where
           to
           winde
           about
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           each
           one
           his
           station
           chooseth
           out
           .
        
         
           Each
           champion's
           on
           his
           hatches
           richly
           clad
           .
        
         
           Each
           youth
           on
           's
           head
           a
           poplar
           garland
           had
           ;
        
         
           His
           shoulders
           bare
           ,
           'nointed
           with
           glistring
           oyle
           ,
        
         
           Sitting
           on
           's
           bench
           ,
           his
           arms
           prest
           to
           the
           toile
        
         
           Of
           tugging
           oares
           :
           to
           th'wisht
           for
           signe
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           leaping
           joy
           and
           lumpish
           feare
           in
           breast
        
         
           Makes
           imbred
           broyles
           ,
           striving
           for
           masterie
           ,
        
         
           Prickt
           with
           the
           spurre
           of
           praise
           ,
           by
           victorie
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           trumpet
           sounds
           the
           shrill
           alarms
           ,
        
         
           Straight
           all
           the
           ships
           start
           out
           to
           sportive
           arms
           ,
        
         
           Hate
           least
           delay
           ,
           loud
           sea-shouts
           dash
           the
           skie
           ,
        
         
           Th'oares
           slicing
           strokes
           make
           folding
           waves
           run
           by
           .
        
         
         
           At
           once
           all
           furrows
           plow
           ,
           the
           strugling
           streams
        
         
           O're
           all
           the
           main
           gape
           wide
           ,
           boile
           foamie
           streams
           ,
        
         
           With
           flaly-oares
           and
           slicing
           foredecks
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           Which
           through
           the
           bustling
           billows
           proudly
           pierce
           .
        
         
           The
           furious
           duellizing
           chariots
           swift
        
         
           Burst
           from
           their
           bounds
           ,
           use
           not
           such
           headlong
           drift
        
         
           In
           field
           careeres
           :
           nor
           horseman
           half
           so
           fast
        
         
           Runs
           ,
           jets
           ,
           curvets
           ,
           or
           shakes
           the
           loose
           reins
           cast
        
         
           On
           's
           horses
           main
           ,
           nor
           loudlier
           jerks
           his
           whip
           .
        
         
           Then
           shouts
           ,
           clapt
           hands
           ,
           both
           from
           each
           shore
           and
           ship
        
         
           And
           siding
           partners
           acclamations
           shrill
           ,
        
         
           The
           woods
           ,
           fields
           ,
           shores
           ,
           with
           mightie
           clamours
           fill
           ;
        
         
           Whose
           quick
           redoubling
           echoes
           answer
           still
           .
        
         
           Thus
           (
           first
           )
           flies
           out
           ,
           before
           the
           rest
           ,
           i'
           th'
           rout
           ,
        
         
           Couragious
           Gyas
           ,
           whom
           Cloanthus
           stout
        
         
           Follows
           at
           heels
           ,
           with
           better
           oares
           indeed
           ,
        
         
           But
           slow-pac'd
           pinie
           barks
           make
           no
           great
           speed
           .
        
         
           After
           them
           ,
           nimble
           
             Pristis
             ,
             Centaure
          
           ,
           flie
        
         
           With
           equall
           struglings
           for
           prioritie
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           flies
           
             Pristis
             ,
             Centaure
          
           gets
           the
           best
           ,
        
         
           Now
           both
           are
           ma●cht
           ,
           and
           side
           to
           side
           addrest
           :
        
         
           With
           even
           foredecks
           ,
           they
           brinish
           billows
           plough
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           their
           barges
           to
           the
           bounding
           bough
           ,
        
         
           And
           regulating
           rock
           nimbly
           draw
           nigh
           ;
        
         
           Which
           when
           i'
           th'
           floudie
           field
           victoriously
        
         
           Gyas
           first
           spi'de
           ,
           he
           to
           his
           master
           cry'd
           ,
        
         
           Menoetes
           ,
           why
           to
           th'
           right
           hast
           thou
           so
           ply'de
           ?
        
         
           Hale
           in
           this
           way
           ,
           and
           quickly
           shove
           to
           shore
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           left
           hand
           clifts
           winde
           in
           thine
           oare
           :
        
         
           Let
           others
           move
           i'
           th'
           main
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           for
           us
           .
        
         
           But
           yet
           Menoetes
           too
           solicitous
        
         
           Of
           wave-hid
           rocks
           ,
           his
           foredeck
           windes
           to
           th'
           deep
           ,
        
         
         
           Whiles
           Gyas
           still
           cries
           out
           ,
           To
           land-ward
           keep
           ,
        
         
           Pull
           back
           
             (
             Menoetes
          
           )
           why
           dost
           still
           go
           wrong
           ?
        
         
           And
           now
           behold
           ,
           he
           spies
           Cloanthus
           strong
        
         
           Close
           at
           his
           heels
           ,
           and
           (
           next
           himself
           )
           the
           first
           ,
        
         
           Who
           stiffly
           'twixt
           the
           ratling
           rocks
           being
           burst
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           left
           inner
           way
           of
           Gyas
           ship
           ;
        
         
           Passing
           the
           best
           ,
           and
           bounds
           ,
           to
           sea
           doth
           whip
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           deep
           rage
           young
           Gyas
           did
           so
           flame
           ,
        
         
           That
           not
           without
           some
           chafing
           teares
           he
           came
        
         
           To
           slow
           Menoetes
           ,
           and
           (
           regardlesse
           quite
        
         
           Of
           his
           mates
           welfare
           ,
           or
           's
           own
           lustre
           bright
           )
        
         
           He
           casts
           him
           headlong
           o're
           th'board
           into
           th'deep
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           as
           master
           at
           the
           stern
           doth
           keep
           ,
        
         
           And
           cheeres
           his
           men
           ,
           and
           steeres
           the
           helm
           to
           shore
           .
        
         
           But
           from
           the
           bottome
           (
           now
           )
           Menoetes
           poore
           ,
        
         
           In
           sea-drencht
           cloaths
           ,
           floating
           above
           the
           floud
           ,
        
         
           Crawls
           up
           a
           rock
           ,
           and
           on
           a
           dry
           cliffe
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           on
           the
           shore
           the
           Trojans
           him
           deride
           ,
        
         
           And
           laught
           to
           see
           him
           swimme
           ,
           and
           slip
           and
           slide
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           his
           stomack
           did
           salt
           water
           spue
           .
        
         
           Here
           the
           two
           hindmost
           gamsters
           gladly
           view
           ,
        
         
           A
           spurre
           to
           prick
           them
           on
           ,
           Sergestus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           valiant
           Mnestheus
           nimbly
           cast
           about
           ,
        
         
           T'outstrip
           slow
           
             Gyas
             :
             Sergest
          
           gets
           prime
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           rock
           to
           get
           ,
           now
           rows
           a
           pace
           .
        
         
           But
           he
           's
           not
           firmly
           first
           ,
           though's
           barge
           go
           on
           ,
        
         
           For
           perking
           Pristis
           nose
           lies
           close
           upon
        
         
           His
           foredeck
           :
           Mnestheus
           trudging
           to
           and
           fro
        
         
           About
           the
           ship
           ,
           his
           men
           cheeres
           on
           to
           row
           :
        
         
           Now
           ,
           now
           ,
           Hectorean
           mates
           ,
           rowe
           close
           (
           cries
           he
           )
        
         
           For
           you
           from
           Troyes
           last
           lot
           I
           chose
           to
           be
        
         
           My
           faithfull
           followers
           :
           now
           power
           forth
           that
           might
           ,
        
         
         
           That
           courage
           brave
           ,
           which
           yerst
           in
           Grecians
           sight
        
         
           And
           Argine
           sturdie
           streams
           you
           have
           exprest
           .
        
         
           I
           strive
           not
           to
           be
           first
           ,
           nor
           get
           the
           best
           :
        
         
           (
           Yet
           O!
           )
           but
           let
           them
           win
           and
           weare
           it
           well
           :
        
         
           Whom
           thou
           ,
           great
           Neptune
           ,
           wilt
           ,
           shall
           beare
           the
           bell
           .
        
         
           Yet
           let
           it
           shame
           us
           to
           be
           last
           of
           all
           :
        
         
           Win
           this
           (
           brave
           lads
           )
           let
           not
           that
           shame
           be
           fall
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           they
           all
           most
           stiffely
           tug
           and
           pull
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           their
           oares
           strong
           strokes
           ,
           thick
           ,
           quick
           ,
           &
           full
           ,
        
         
           The
           brassy-poop
           they
           shake
           ,
           no
           land
           they
           see
           ,
        
         
           They
           gape
           for
           breath
           ,
           all
           o're
           most
           sweatie
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           friendly
           fortune
           grants
           wisht
           victorie
           .
        
         
           For
           while
           Sergestus
           frets
           and
           fumes
           in
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           ,
           inmost
           ,
           his
           foredeck
           to
           th'
           rock's
           inclinde
           ,
        
         
           Unhappie
           by
           desire
           of
           nearest
           cut
           ,
        
         
           On
           unseen
           cliffes
           his
           vessell
           fiercely
           put
           ;
        
         
           The
           rusht
           on
           rocks
           a
           ratling
           noise
           do
           make
           ,
        
         
           While
           on
           sharp
           snags
           ,
           cleft
           oares
           the
           foredeck
           strake
           .
        
         
           The
           boatmen
           bustle
           up
           ,
           with
           clamour
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           hooks
           and
           steel-tipt
           poles
           they
           snatch
           in
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Gathering
           their
           split
           oares
           floating
           on
           the
           waves
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           Mnestheus
           happi●i'de
           ,
           with
           bold
           out-braves
        
         
           For
           's
           good
           successe
           ,
           with
           nimble
           oares
           ,
           faire
           gales
           ,
        
         
           And
           full
           sea-room
           ,
           from
           sea
           to
           shore
           safe
           sails
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           dove
           soon
           startled
           from
           her
           nest
           ,
        
         
           That
           in
           some
           house
           or
           hollow
           roof
           took
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Flies
           forth
           to
           field
           ,
           fluttering
           her
           wings
           full
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Quick
           through
           the
           transient
           aire
           is
           nimbly
           past
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           smooth
           swooping
           flight
           doth
           glide
           along
           :
        
         
           So
           Mnestheus
           ,
           so
           his
           Pristis
           ,
           from
           among
        
         
           The
           utmost
           waves
           most
           clearely
           cuts
           his
           course
           ,
        
         
           And
           seems
           to
           flie
           with
           rushing
           furious
           force
           .
        
         
         
           And
           first
           forsakes
           Sergestus
           strugling
           hard
        
         
           Amongst
           the
           rocks
           ,
           by
           shallows
           ,
           shelfs
           ,
           debar'd
        
         
           Of
           vain
           desired
           help
           ,
           now
           taught
           to
           row
        
         
           With
           broken
           oares
           ,
           and
           now
           he
           does
           outgo
        
         
           Young
           Gyas
           ,
           and
           his
           huge
           Chimaera
           foil'd
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           soon
           gives
           way
           ,
           being
           of
           his
           master
           spoil'd
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           at
           last
           none
           but
           Cloanth
           remains
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           to
           o'retake
           he
           duplicates
           his
           pains
           ,
        
         
           Reduplicates
           loud
           clamours
           .
           All
           him
           cheere
        
         
           VVith
           their
           skie-cuffing
           votes
           ,
           as
           he
           draws
           neare
           :
        
         
           Those
           strive
           to
           keep
           their
           purchas'd
           praise
           and
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Vowing
           to
           loose
           their
           lives
           to
           keep
           the
           same
           :
        
         
           Good
           luck
           spurres
           these
           ;
           there
           's
           hope
           therefore
           they
           'le
           win
           ,
        
         
           And
           evenly
           matcht
           ,
           they
           (
           sure
           )
           had
           victours
           bin
           ,
        
         
           Had
           not
           Cloanthus
           fal'n
           to
           prayer
           devout
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           with
           heav'd-up
           hands
           to
           's
           Gods
           cry'd
           out
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Gods
           of
           sea
           ,
           whose
           liquid
           soils
           I
           sail
           ,
        
         
           If
           I
           be
           victour
           I
           'le
           without
           all
           fail
        
         
           On
           shore-built
           altars
           sacrifice
           a
           bull
           ,
        
         
           And
           your
           due
           debter
           ,
           forth
           his
           midriffe
           pull
           ,
        
         
           And
           poure
           on
           these
           salt
           seas
           ,
           with
           wine
           good
           store
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           the
           sea-nymphs
           whom
           he
           did
           implore
           ,
        
         
           All
           heard
           him
           from
           the
           bottome
           of
           the
           main
           ;
        
         
           
             Phorci
             ,
             Nereides
          
           ,
           the
           Mermaides
           train
           :
        
         
           Yea
           ,
           old
           Portunus
           self
           ,
           with
           his
           strong
           hand
        
         
           Shoving
           his
           ship
           (
           like
           blast
           ,
           bird-bolt
           )
           to
           land
           ,
        
         
           She
           flies
           full
           fast
           ,
           and
           safe
           i'
           th'
           haven
           doth
           stand
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           then
           (
           as
           custome
           )
           congregates
        
         
           His
           troops
           ,
           and
           by
           a
           crier
           demonstrates
           ,
        
         
           Cloanthus
           victour
           ,
           crowns
           his
           brows
           with
           bayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           gives
           large
           gifts
           ,
           true
           trophies
           of
           great
           praise
           :
        
         
           Three
           heifers
           to
           three
           ships
           ,
           and
           wine
           great
           store
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           a
           large
           silver
           talent
           thence
           they
           bore
           .
        
         
           But
           to
           the
           chieftains
           he
           chief
           prizes
           gave
           ,
        
         
           A
           golden
           mantle
           wrought
           about
           most
           brave
        
         
           With
           faire
           Meander-like
           rich
           purple
           plates
           ,
        
         
           And
           crinkling
           folds
           ,
           wherein
           art
           personates
           ,
        
         
           In
           curious
           work
           ,
           the
           princely
           lively
           lad
        
         
           Faire
           Ganimede
           ,
           like
           a
           young
           hunter
           clad
           ;
        
         
           In
           woody
           Ide
           chasing
           the
           skipping
           deere
        
         
           With
           dart
           in
           's
           hand
           ,
           breathing
           with
           swift
           careere
           .
        
         
           Whom
           (
           thus
           )
           in
           's
           hooky
           claws
           the
           eagle
           swift
        
         
           Soaring
           swoops
           up
           ,
           and
           quick
           to
           th'
           skie
           doth
           lift
           .
        
         
           His
           guardians
           grave
           to
           heaven
           heave
           hands
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           dogs
           bark
           at
           the
           clouds
           amain
           .
        
         
           But
           him
           ,
           whose
           worth
           deserv'd
           the
           second
           place
           ,
        
         
           He
           with
           a
           rich-wrought
           coat
           of
           arms
           did
           grace
           ,
        
         
           Set
           with
           gold
           hooks
           ,
           which
           he
           victoriously
        
         
           From
           Demoleus
           wan
           ,
           in
           Troy
           ,
           hard
           by
        
         
           Swift
           Simois
           :
           this
           he
           bestows
           most
           free
           ,
        
         
           A
           grace
           ,
           a
           guard
           to
           him
           in
           arms
           to
           be
           .
        
         
           VVhose
           pond'rous
           weight
           two
           servants
           scarce
           could
           beare
           ,
        
         
           But
           Demoleus
           did
           it
           eas'ly
           weare
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           it
           chas'd
           the
           Trojans
           in
           great
           feare
           .
        
         
           His
           third
           gifts
           were
           two
           cauldrons
           brave
           of
           brasse
           ,
        
         
           And
           silver
           bowls
           ,
           whose
           workmanship
           did
           passe
           ,
        
         
           For
           graven
           figures
           faire
           .
           Thus
           all
           rewarded
           ,
        
         
           All
           pleas'd
           with
           prizes
           to
           their
           worths
           afforded
           ,
        
         
           Their
           fronts
           with
           roseall
           headbands
           bound
           about
           ,
        
         
           Along
           they
           passe
           ,
           and
           passing
           spied
           out
        
         
           Sergestes
           ,
           whose
           best
           skill
           and
           utmost
           strength
           ,
        
         
           Hardly
           the
           hard
           rocks
           made
           him
           'scape
           at
           length
           ,
        
         
           His
           honour
           sharelesse
           ship
           full
           fraught
           with
           shame
           ,
        
         
           His
           oares
           all
           lost
           ,
           one
           rank
           of
           rowers
           lame
           .
        
         
         
           Much
           like
           a
           snake
           which
           crosse
           the
           way
           doth
           lie
           ,
        
         
           Crusht
           by
           a
           wheel
           suddenly
           passing
           by
           :
        
         
           Or
           by
           a
           passenger
           bruis'd
           with
           a
           stone
           ,
        
         
           Sore
           battered
           and
           half
           kill'd
           ,
           there
           left
           alone
           ;
        
         
           Long
           wrigling
           wreaths
           doth
           force
           ,
           in
           vain
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           One
           half
           stares
           up
           ,
           and
           puts
           forth
           furiouslie
        
         
           Its
           hissing
           neck
           :
           th'
           other
           half
           bruis'd
           with-holds
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           close
           knots
           and
           wreaths
           its
           members
           folds
           :
        
         
           With
           such
           weak
           work
           his
           slow
           ship
           forward
           past
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           still
           sail'd
           on
           ,
           and
           got
           to
           th'
           haven
           at
           last
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           glad
           to
           see
           his
           ship
           and
           mates
        
         
           Comen
           safe
           to
           shore
           ,
           Sergestus
           decorates
        
         
           With
           promis'd
           prize
           ,
           also
           a
           maiden
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Skilfull
           to
           spin
           ,
           of
           Cretian
           linage
           rare
           ,
        
         
           And
           'twixt
           her
           paps
           of
           sucking
           twins
           a
           paire
           .
        
         
           These
           sea-sports
           finisht
           ,
           good
           Aeneas
           went
        
         
           Into
           a
           grassie
           mead
           ,
           on
           all
           sides
           pent
        
         
           With
           groves
           and
           craggy
           banks
           ,
           i'
           th'
           midst
           of
           it
        
         
           A
           circled
           plain
           ,
           for
           theatre
           most
           fit
           ;
        
         
           Where
           he
           ,
           with
           many
           thousand
           gallants
           tended
           ,
        
         
           A
           rare
           erected
           throne
           prince-like
           ascended
           .
        
         
           Here
           all
           that
           could
           most
           swiftly
           run
           a
           race
           ,
        
         
           Invited
           were
           ,
           with
           praises
           ,
           prizes
           grace
           :
        
         
           VVhereat
           
             Sicilians
             ,
             Trojans
          
           ,
           all
           about
           ,
        
         
           Euryalus
           and
           Nisus
           first
           i'
           th'
           rout
           ,
        
         
           Do
           thither
           flock
           :
           Euryalus
           most
           faire
           ,
        
         
           A
           lovely
           lively
           youth
           ;
           and
           Nisus
           rare
           ,
        
         
           An
           honest
           modest
           lad
           :
           next
           comes
           apace
        
         
           Princely
           Diores
           ,
           of
           king
           Pri●●s
           race
           :
        
         
           After
           him
           Salius
           came
           ,
           and
           Patr●n
           good
           :
        
         
           Th'
           one
           of
           Epire
           ,
           th'
           others
           untainted
           bloud
        
         
           Sprang
           from
           Tegeus
           .
           Then
           two
           striplings
           came
           ,
        
         
         
           Panopes
           and
           Helymus
           ,
           of
           much
           fame
        
         
           For
           gallant
           huntsmen
           ,
           peeres
           to
           old
           Acest
           :
        
         
           And
           many
           more
           whom
           fame
           hath
           not
           exprest
           .
        
         
           To
           vvhom
           i'
           th'
           midst
           of
           them
           Aeneas
           said
           ;
        
         
           Heare
           me
           ,
           brave
           youths
           ,
           be
           sure
           ,
           and
           well
           apaid
           ▪
        
         
           Not
           one
           of
           all
           this
           rout
           but
           gifts
           shall
           have
           .
        
         
           I
           'le
           give
           two
           glistring
           Cretian
           arrows
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Headed
           vvith
           steel
           ,
           a
           silver
           damaskt
           bill
           :
        
         
           You
           all
           with
           equall
           gifts
           reward
           I
           vvill
           ;
        
         
           Save
           the
           three
           chief
           ,
           vvho
           three
           choice
           palmes
           shall
           have
           ,
        
         
           Their
           heads
           adorn'd
           vvith
           olive-branches
           brave
           .
        
         
           A
           gallant
           horse
           vvith
           trappings
           I
           'le
           bestow
        
         
           Upon
           the
           first
           :
           and
           on
           the
           next
           also
        
         
           An
           Amazonian
           quiver
           ,
           furnisht
           faire
        
         
           With
           Thracian
           shafts
           ,
           hung
           at
           a
           belt
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           And
           richly
           wrought
           with
           gold
           ,
           and
           buttened
           fast
        
         
           With
           a
           rich
           stone
           :
           The
           third
           reward
           and
           last
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           be
           a
           Grecian
           helmet
           .
           This
           being
           said
           ,
        
         
           They
           chose
           their
           stations
           ,
           and
           the
           signe
           being
           made
           ,
        
         
           They
           suddenly
           and
           swiftly
           forth
           do
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Most
           like
           a
           furious
           storm
           ,
           to
           th'
           goal
           they
           hie
           ,
        
         
           And
           first
           most
           fast
           ,
           leaving
           them
           all
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           Runnes
           nimble
           Nisus
           ,
           swifter
           then
           the
           vvinde
           ,
        
         
           Or
           flashy
           lightning
           .
           And
           to
           him
           the
           next
        
         
           Ran
           Salius
           swift
           ,
           but
           vvith
           large
           distance
           '
           twixt
           .
        
         
           Euryalus
           vvas
           third
           ,
           but
           with
           some
           space
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           Helymus
           pursu'd
           with
           rapid
           race
           .
        
         
           By
           vvhom
           ,
           behold
           ,
           Diores
           fiercely
           flies
           ,
        
         
           And
           foot
           by
           foot
           close
           at
           his
           shoulders
           lies
           ,
        
         
           And
           if
           enough
           space
           for
           the
           race
           remain
           ,
        
         
           Is
           like
           ,
           the
           best
           from
           all
           the
           rest
           to
           gain
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           vvell-nigh
           they
           to
           the
           goal
           were
           got
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           weary
           all
           ,
           when
           Nisus
           with
           hard
           lot
           ,
        
         
           (
           The
           grasse
           made
           slippery
           vvith
           an
           heifers
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           Which
           had
           been
           slain
           there
           ,
           and
           congealed
           stood
           )
        
         
           Suddenly
           slipt
           ,
           just
           as
           he
           skipt
           for
           joy
        
         
           Of
           hoped
           prize
           ,
           and
           could
           not
           right
           employ
        
         
           His
           staggering
           feet
           ,
           but
           fell
           flat
           on
           the
           flore
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           the
           slimy
           mud
           and
           sacred
           gore
           :
        
         
           Yet
           mindefull
           of
           the
           love
           he
           ever
           bore
        
         
           Euryalus
           ,
           he
           Salius
           doth
           oppose
           ,
        
         
           Trips
           up
           his
           heels
           ,
           just
           as
           himself
           up
           rose
           .
        
         
           Who
           groveling
           on
           the
           sand
           ,
           Euryalus
        
         
           Starts
           forward
           ,
           and
           by
           's
           friend
           ,
           victorious
           ,
        
         
           Gat
           the
           prime
           place
           ,
           vvith
           acclamations
           high
           ,
        
         
           And
           joyfull
           shouts
           ,
           and
           'fore
           them
           all
           doth
           flie
           .
        
         
           After
           whom
           Helym
           hastes
           ;
           and
           in
           third
           race
        
         
           Diores
           ran
           .
           Here
           in
           the
           open
           face
        
         
           And
           huge
           concourse
           of
           plebeians
           and
           of
           peeres
           ,
        
         
           Supplanted
           Salius
           mightie
           clamours
           reares
           ,
        
         
           And
           claims
           his
           prize
           ,
           forc'd
           from
           him
           by
           deceit
           .
        
         
           But
           bashfull
           teares
           and
           partiall
           favour
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           vertue
           in
           faire
           forms
           most
           gracious
           ,
        
         
           Plead
           and
           prevail
           for
           young
           E●ryal●s
           :
        
         
           Diores
           also
           with
           loud
           exclamation
        
         
           Craves
           his
           reward
           ,
           and
           feares
           his
           fames
           frustration
           ,
        
         
           In
           the
           last
           prize
           ,
           if
           Salius
           have
           the
           first
           .
        
         
           But
           grave
           Aeneas
           soon
           his
           feare
           off
           burst
           ,
        
         
           And
           sayes
           ,
           Brave
           youths
           ,
           your
           prizes
           are
           your
           own
           ,
        
         
           Your
           promis'd
           palmes
           shall
           altered
           be
           by
           none
           :
        
         
           Yet
           let
           me
           moan
           my
           innocent
           friends
           fate
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           his
           Salius
           he
           did
           munerate
        
         
           With
           a
           faire
           lions
           skin
           ,
           vvith
           haire
           most
           rough
           ,
        
         
           And
           goldy
           claws
           :
           vvhich
           Nisus
           took
           in
           s●uffe
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           said
           ;
           If
           vanquisht
           shall
           be
           thus
           rewarded
           ,
        
         
           If
           foil'd
           be
           favoured
           ;
           vvhat
           shall
           be
           afforded
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           proper
           prize
           to
           Nisus
           will
           you
           yeeld
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           did
           deserve
           first
           honour
           of
           the
           field
           ,
        
         
           Had
           not
           fierce
           fate
           ,
           as
           Salius
           ,
           thwarted
           me
           ?
        
         
           And
           at
           these
           words
           he
           stoutly
           lets
           them
           see
        
         
           His
           dirt-bedawbed
           cloaths
           ,
           besmeared
           face
           .
        
         
           VVhich
           made
           Aeneas
           loudly
           laugh
           apace
           .
        
         
           Then
           straight
           he
           called
           for
           the
           stately
           targe
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           Didymaon
           made
           ,
           both
           rich
           and
           large
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           once
           the
           Greeks
           to
           Neptune
           consecrated
           ,
        
         
           And
           was
           hung
           up
           :
           And
           then
           remunerated
        
         
           The
           noble
           youth
           with
           that
           most
           noble
           prize
           .
        
         
           The
           race
           thus
           run
           ,
           the
           palmes
           dispos'd
           likewise
           ,
        
         
           Now
           sayes
           Aeneas
           ,
           If
           there
           's
           any
           here
        
         
           Strong
           and
           couragious
           ,
           let
           him
           now
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           And
           his
           club-armed
           arms
           advance
           and
           lift
           ;
        
         
           To
           whom
           he
           did
           allot
           a
           twofold
           gift
           .
        
         
           The
           conquerour
           awarded
           was
           to
           have
        
         
           A
           bull
           aray'd
           with
           gold
           and
           garland●
           brave
           :
        
         
           The
           conquered
           ,
           a
           gallant
           h●●m
           and
           sword
           ,
        
         
           To
           him
           vvell
           beat●n
           comfort
           to
           afford
           .
        
         
           Delay
           laid
           by
           ,
           Dares
           dar●s
           first
           come
           forth
           ,
        
         
           A
           mighty
           man
           ,
           whom
           for
           his
           strength
           and
           worth
        
         
           The
           people
           much
           applaud
           :
           for
           single
           h●
        
         
           Antagonist
           to
           Paris
           us'd
           to
           be
           .
        
         
           And
           he
           victorious
           Buten
           gigantine
           ,
        
         
           (
           Who
           from
           
             B●bryoian
             Amycus
          
           great
           line
        
         
           Deriv'd
           his
           race
           )
           him
           he
           at
           Hectors
           grave
        
         
           Did
           fell
           and
           foile
           ,
           and
           's
           curelesse
           death-wound
           gave
           .
        
         
           Such
           dauntlesse
           Dares
           him
           i'
           th'
           forefront
           shows
           ,
        
         
           Advancing
           both
           his
           big
           arms
           ,
           as
           he
           goes
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           shoulders
           broad
           ,
           jerking
           the
           aire
           with
           blows
           .
        
         
           His
           like
           they
           look
           for
           ,
           but
           not
           one
           they
           finde
        
         
           In
           all
           the
           troops
           ,
           to
           fight
           with
           him
           inclin'd
           ,
        
         
           Or
           take
           the
           club
           in
           hand
           triumphant
           then
           ,
        
         
           Hoping
           to
           beare
           the
           prize
           from
           all
           the
           men
           ,
        
         
           Plac'd
           at
           Aeneas
           feet
           ,
           scorning
           delayes
           ,
        
         
           The
           bulls
           horn
           held
           in
           's
           left
           hand
           ,
           thus
           he
           sayes
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Goddesse
           sonne
           ,
           if
           none
           dares
           fight
           the
           field
           ,
        
         
           What
           means
           this
           stay
           ?
           why
           to
           me
           don
           't
           you
           yeeld
        
         
           The
           prize
           ?
           and
           bid
           me
           beare
           the
           palmes
           away
           ?
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           Trojan
           troops
           the
           same
           did
           say
           .
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Acestes
           calls
           Entellus
           great
           ,
        
         
           Who
           next
           him
           sate
           on
           a
           green
           grassy
           seat
           ,
        
         
           And
           chides
           him
           thus
           ;
           Entellus
           ,
           once
           esteem'd
        
         
           The
           stoutest
           of
           our
           peeres
           ,
           in
           vain
           so
           deem'd
           ,
        
         
           Canst
           thou
           be
           patient
           ,
           and
           without
           one
           blow
        
         
           Suffer
           such
           palmes
           so
           eas'ly
           hence
           to
           goe
           ?
        
         
           VVhere
           's
           now
           great
           Eryx
           ,
           our
           warre-master
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Vainly
           renown'd
           ?
           vvhere
           is
           thy
           fame
           ,
           spread
           out
        
         
           Through
           Sicilie
           ?
           and
           house
           adorning
           spoiles
           ?
        
         
           To
           whom
           he
           said
           ;
           No
           love
           of
           land
           recoiles
        
         
           In
           me
           ,
           nor
           thirst
           of
           fame
           ,
           enforc'd
           by
           feares
           :
        
         
           But
           my
           chill
           bloud
           and
           dull
           declining
           yeares
           ,
        
         
           VVhereby
           my
           youthfull
           powers
           exhausted
           be
           .
        
         
           But
           were
           it
           now
           as
           it
           was
           once
           with
           me
           ,
        
         
           And
           as
           't
           is
           with
           this
           Braggadocia
           bold
           ,
        
         
           VVere
           I
           so
           young
           again
           ,
           nought
           should
           with-hold
        
         
           Me
           from
           the
           fight
           ,
           no
           prize
           should
           prick
           me
           on
           ,
        
         
           No
           beauteous
           bull
           ;
           gifts
           I
           'd
           not
           stand
           upon
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           two
           clubs
           he
           threw
           down
           in
           their
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Heavy
           and
           huge
           ,
           wherewith
           in
           such
           like
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Fierce
           Eryx
           us'd
           to
           combat
           with
           strong
           hand
           .
        
         
         
           At
           sight
           whereof
           amaz'd
           they
           all
           did
           stand
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           them
           stuft
           with
           lead
           ,
           and
           lin'd
           besides
        
         
           With
           iron
           plates
           ,
           cover'd
           with
           seven
           bulls
           hides
           .
        
         
           Amongst
           the
           rest
           Dares
           being
           damped
           most
           ,
        
         
           Stiffely
           refus'd
           them
           (
           maugre
           former
           boast
           )
        
         
           Yea
           great
           Aeneas
           poysed
           with
           his
           hands
        
         
           Their
           weight
           ,
           and
           up
           and
           down
           rowl'd
           their
           huge
           bands
           ▪
        
         
           Whereat
           the
           aged
           champion
           thus
           did
           say
           ;
        
         
           What
           if
           you
           all
           had
           seen
           that
           furious
           fray
        
         
           Fought
           in
           these
           parts
           ,
           vvith
           great
           Alcides
           arms
           ,
        
         
           And
           these
           our
           clubs
           ?
           vvherewith
           in
           fierce
           alarms
        
         
           Thy
           kinsman
           Eryx
           formerly
           had
           fought
           ,
        
         
           Stain'd
           still
           thou
           seest
           with
           bloud
           and
           brains
           dasht
           out
           .
        
         
           Wherewith
           he
           haughty
           Hercules
           vvithstood
           :
        
         
           Which
           I
           my self
           have
           us'd
           in
           youthfull
           bloud
           ;
        
         
           VVhen
           yet
           gray
           haires
           in
           emulous
           old
           age
        
         
           Did
           not
           my
           head
           o'respread
           ,
           nor
           valour
           swage
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           
             Troyes
             Dares
          
           these
           our
           arms
           denie
           ,
        
         
           And
           good
           Aeneas
           and
           Acest
           complie
        
         
           Me
           to
           excuse
           ,
           who
           me
           first
           mov'd
           thereto
           ;
        
         
           Let
           's
           match
           our
           weapons
           ,
           I
           remit
           to
           you
        
         
           Eryx
           his
           clubs
           :
           feare
           not
           ,
           and
           lay
           you
           by
        
         
           Your
           Trojan
           clubs
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           immediately
        
         
           He
           doffs
           his
           double
           coat
           from
           's
           shoulders
           wide
           ,
        
         
           And
           his
           huge
           bodies
           bulk
           :
           all
           present
           ey'd
        
         
           His
           mightie
           bones
           ,
           strong
           sinews
           naked
           be
           :
        
         
           Thus
           giant-like
           ,
           most
           tall
           and
           stout
           stood
           he
           .
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Aeneas
           equall
           clubs
           chose
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvell-mach't
           vveapons
           ;
           bound
           their
           hands
           about
           .
        
         
           Straight
           hand
           to
           hand
           ,
           and
           foot
           to
           foot
           both
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           fearelesse
           ,
           each
           aloft
           lifts
           up
           his
           hand
           ,
        
         
           And
           banging
           blows
           make
           each
           ones
           head
           bend
           back
           :
        
         
         
           Fiercely
           they
           fight
           ,
           and
           each
           gives
           thwack
           for
           thwack
           .
        
         
           He
           nimbler
           skips
           about
           in
           youthfull
           heat
           ;
        
         
           This
           keeps
           his
           standing
           with
           his
           limbes
           most
           great
           :
        
         
           Yet
           moves
           his
           trembling
           legs
           ,
           but
           faint
           and
           slow
           ;
        
         
           And
           like
           one
           sick
           ,
           he
           thick
           doth
           breathe
           and
           blow
           .
        
         
           Thus
           (
           though
           in
           vain
           )
           with
           might
           and
           main
           they
           fight
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           toyling
           ,
           foiling
           cuffes
           each
           other
           smite
           ,
        
         
           And
           beat
           and
           bang
           about
           each
           others
           hides
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           redoubled
           thwacks
           sound
           on
           their
           sides
           :
        
         
           About
           their
           eares
           their
           hasty
           hands
           do
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           thumps
           their
           chaps
           make
           chatter
           gnashingly
           .
        
         
           Thus
           great
           Entellus
           stiffely
           stands
           it
           out
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           watchfull
           eyes
           observes
           the
           blows
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           viewing
           ,
           voids
           ▪
           Dares
           industriously
           ,
        
         
           Like
           one
           which
           scales
           a
           town
           with
           engines
           high
           ,
        
         
           Or
           with
           stout
           troops
           begirt
           ,
           a
           castle
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Now
           this
           way
           ,
           that
           way
           ,
           every
           way
           doth
           long
        
         
           By
           fraud
           or
           fierce
           assaults
           a
           breach
           to
           make
           :
        
         
           But
           all
           in
           vain
           he
           all
           this
           toile
           doth
           take
           .
        
         
           For
           strong
           Entellus
           roused
           up
           doth
           lift
        
         
           Aloft
           his
           rough
           right
           hand
           ,
           which
           Dares
           swift
        
         
           Foresees
           ,
           and
           shuns
           the
           furious
           falling
           blow
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           nimble
           skip
           avoids
           it
           so
           .
        
         
           Whereby
           Entellus
           ,
           frustrate
           ,
           beats
           the
           winde
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           mark
           thus
           mist
           ,
           his
           heavie
           corps
           inclinde
           ,
        
         
           Prone
           to
           the
           earth
           with
           furie
           of
           the
           stroak
           ,
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           hollow
           ,
           great
           ,
           and
           o're-grown
           oak
        
         
           In
           Erymanth
           or
           Ida's
           wood
           most
           great
           ,
        
         
           Even
           by
           the
           roots
           o'returned
           from
           its
           seat
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           and
           Trinacrian
           lads
           in
           zeal
        
         
           Start
           up
           hereat
           ,
           and
           raise
           a
           clamorous
           peal
           :
        
         
           Acestes
           first
           to
           's
           fallen
           old
           friend
           doth
           hie
           ,
        
         
         
           Grieves
           ,
           gets
           him
           up
           .
           Th'
           old
           champion
           speedily
        
         
           Rear'd
           ,
           nothing
           fear'd
           with
           this
           his
           sudden
           fall
           ,
        
         
           Flies
           to
           the
           fight
           more
           fierce
           ,
           rage
           feeds
           his
           gall
           .
        
         
           Disgrace
           gives
           fire
           to
           force
           ,
           and
           foreknown
           might
           :
        
         
           And
           fiercely
           he
           doth
           Dares
           headlong
           smite
           ,
        
         
           And
           bang
           about
           the
           field
           with
           both
           his
           hands
           ,
        
         
           Redoubling
           boystrous
           blows
           ;
           nor
           quiet
           stands
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           takes
           least
           rest
           :
           but
           as
           thick
           showers
           of
           hail
        
         
           With
           ratling
           noise
           do
           houses
           tops
           assail
           :
        
         
           Even
           so
           this
           chafing
           champion
           thrashes
           out
        
         
           With
           both
           his
           hands
           young
           Dares
           stomack
           stout
           .
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Aeneas
           hastens
           to
           allay
        
         
           Entellus
           furious
           rage
           ,
           his
           wrath
           to
           stay
           ,
        
         
           And
           ends
           the
           fight
           ,
           gives
           tired
           Dares
           rest
           ,
        
         
           And
           comfort
           in
           kinde
           words
           he
           thus
           exprest
           :
        
         
           Unfortunate
           !
           what
           phrenzie
           blindes
           thy
           minde
           ?
        
         
           Feel'st
           thou
           not
           mightier
           force
           and
           fates
           unkinde
           ?
        
         
           Submit
           to
           God.
           This
           said
           ,
           the
           combat
           ended
           ,
        
         
           But
           him
           (
           alas
           !
           )
           his
           faithfull
           mates
           attended
           ,
        
         
           Dragging
           his
           feeble
           feet
           ,
           and
           to
           and
           fro
        
         
           His
           weak
           head
           dangling
           ,
           vomiting
           also
        
         
           Much
           gore-bloud
           from
           his
           mouth
           ,
           his
           teeth
           dasht
           out
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           to
           the
           ships
           they
           bore
           him
           from
           the
           rout
           :
        
         
           Bidden
           to
           take
           the
           sword
           and
           helm
           away
           ,
        
         
           Entellus
           had
           the
           praise
           and
           prize
           o'
           th'
           day
           .
        
         
           He
           victour
           ,
           vanting
           of
           his
           bull
           for
           joy
           ,
        
         
           Sayes
           thus
           ,
           Faire
           prince
           ,
           and
           you
           rare
           troops
           of
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           Ye
           now
           may
           see
           what
           strength
           my
           young
           yeares
           had
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           ye
           sav'd
           Dares
           from
           death
           most
           sad
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           against
           the
           bull
           ,
           his
           prize
           he
           stands
           ,
        
         
           Ties
           it
           ,
           and
           takes
           his
           club
           in
           both
           his
           hands
           ,
        
         
           And
           'twixt
           the
           horns
           gives
           it
           a
           blow
           so
           fierce
           ,
        
         
         
           As
           made
           the
           broken
           bones
           the
           brains
           to
           pierce
           .
        
         
           The
           beast
           is
           slain
           ,
           lies
           groveling
           on
           the
           ground
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           these
           words
           he
           vents
           from
           's
           heart
           profound
           :
        
         
           This
           fitter
           soule
           ,
           then
           Dares
           death
           ,
           to
           thee
        
         
           Great
           Eryx
           ,
           I
           being
           victour
           ,
           offer
           free
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           my
           club
           and
           art
           relinquisht
           be
           .
        
         
           Then
           straight
           ,
           Aeneas
           those
           that
           would
           invites
        
         
           To
           shooting
           games
           ,
           and
           them
           with
           gifts
           incites
           :
        
         
           In
           Sergests
           ship
           erects
           a
           mightie
           mast
           .
        
         
           To
           th'
           top
           whereof
           he
           ties
           a
           pigeon
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Hung
           by
           a
           dangling
           rope
           ,
           their
           mark
           ,
           or
           white
           .
        
         
           The
           archers
           come
           ,
           and
           in
           t
           '
           a
           helmet
           bright
        
         
           The
           lots
           are
           cast
           ,
           and
           with
           a
           joyfull
           voice
           ,
        
         
           Hippoc'on
           had
           the
           first
           affected
           choice
           .
        
         
           Whom
           Mnestheus
           follows
           next
           ,
           at
           sea-fight
           best
           ;
        
         
           Mnestheus
           his
           brows
           with
           olive-branches
           drest
           .
        
         
           The
           third
           Eurytion
           was
           ,
           thy
           brother
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           Rare
           Pandarus
           ;
           who
           biddden
           ,
           with
           brave
           minde
        
         
           Didst
           first
           ,
           once
           charg'd
           the
           truce
           to
           terminate
           ,
        
         
           Through
           thickest
           Greeks
           thy
           dart
           make
           penetrate
           .
        
         
           The
           last
           and
           lowest
           in
           the
           harnesse-cap
           ,
        
         
           Fell
           out
           to
           be
           noble
           Acestes
           hap
           ;
        
         
           Even
           he
           himself
           would
           venture
           valiantly
        
         
           With
           those
           brave
           sparks
           this
           shooting-task
           to
           try
           .
        
         
           Then
           with
           stiffe
           strength
           they
           bend
           their
           crooked
           bows
           ,
        
         
           And
           each
           for
           's
           use
           shafts
           from
           his
           quiver
           choose
           .
        
         
           Hippoc'on
           first
           made
           from
           his
           clanging
           string
        
         
           His
           arrow
           cut
           the
           aire
           ,
           and
           flying
           ,
           sing
           ;
        
         
           And
           singing
           ,
           pierce
           ,
           and
           stick
           fast
           in
           the
           mast
           .
        
         
           The
           mast
           was
           shook
           ,
           the
           fluttering
           foule
           agast
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           them
           all
           loud
           acclamations
           past
           .
        
         
           Next
           Mnestheus
           stout
           stood
           with
           his
           bow
           full
           bent
           ,
        
         
         
           His
           eye
           and
           arrow
           aim
           at
           high
           intent
           .
        
         
           But
           yet
           (
           good
           man
           )
           he
           could
           not
           hit
           the
           white
           ,
        
         
           And
           yet
           the
           coard
           he
           did
           in
           sunder
           smite
           ,
        
         
           Wherewith
           the
           dove
           by
           's
           feet
           was
           ty'd
           to
           th'
           mast
           :
        
         
           Straight
           with
           the
           winde
           through
           th'
           aire
           the
           dove
           flies
           fast
           .
        
         
           Eurytion
           then
           alreadie
           readie
           prest
        
         
           With
           bow
           and
           shaft
           ,
           set
           to
           ,
           to
           shoot
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           His
           brother
           invocates
           for
           aid
           auspicious
           :
        
         
           In
           th'
           open
           aire
           spies
           the
           dove
           most
           conspicuous
           ,
        
         
           Cheerefully
           sporting
           with
           her
           wings
           for
           joy
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           his
           quick
           shaft
           did
           nimbly
           pierce
           ,
           destroy
           .
        
         
           Under
           a
           cloud
           the
           dove
           i'
           th'
           aire
           thus
           dead
           ,
        
         
           Falls
           down
           ,
           and
           fallen
           ,
           the
           shot-shaft
           rendered
           .
        
         
           Acestes
           onely
           fails
           of
           's
           palmes
           desert
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           into
           th'
           aire
           he
           shot
           his
           whisling
           dart
           ,
        
         
           Proud
           of
           his
           expert
           art
           ,
           and
           clanging
           bow
           .
        
         
           But
           here
           behold
           ,
           a
           most
           prodigious
           show
        
         
           And
           anxious
           augurie
           came
           soon
           in
           sight
           ,
        
         
           As
           the
           strange
           issue
           did
           demonstrate
           right
           ,
        
         
           And
           omens
           great
           which
           frighting
           prophets
           write
           .
        
         
           For
           i
           th'
           cleare
           aire
           the
           flying
           dart
           did
           flame
           ,
        
         
           Which
           gliding
           on
           ,
           a
           fire
           consumes
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           And
           wastes
           i
           th'
           fanning
           windes
           :
           just
           as
           we
           see
        
         
           The
           falling
           starres
           ,
           when
           as
           they
           gliding
           be
           ,
        
         
           To
           beare
           long
           fiery
           streams
           .
           Amaz'd
           they
           stand
           ,
        
         
           
             Trinacrians
             ,
             Trojans
          
           ,
           lift
           up
           heart
           and
           hand
           :
        
         
           And
           wise
           Aeneas
           marks
           the
           omen
           right
           ,
        
         
           And
           sweet
           Acestes
           greets
           with
           great
           delight
           ,
        
         
           Loads
           him
           with
           love-gifts
           ,
           and
           (
           thus
           )
           to
           him
           said
           ;
        
         
           Receive
           ,
           grave
           sir
           (
           for
           thee
           great
           Jove
           hath
           made
        
         
           By
           this
           strange
           signe
           ,
           though
           prizelesse
           ,
           worthy
           praise
           )
        
         
           Receive
           this
           gift
           ,
           in
           old
           Anchises
           dayes
           ,
        
         
         
           Bestow'd
           on
           him
           by
           Cisseus
           king
           of
           Thrace
           ,
        
         
           A
           pledge
           of
           his
           great
           love
           and
           friendly
           grace
           ,
        
         
           A
           goblet
           great
           ,
           engraven
           with
           figures
           faire
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           bindes
           his
           brows
           with
           garlands
           rare
           ,
        
         
           And
           doth
           Acest
           prime
           conquerour
           declare
           .
        
         
           Nor
           did
           Eurytion
           kinde
           this
           honour
           grudge
           ,
        
         
           Though
           he
           alone
           (
           as
           all
           might
           justly
           judge
           )
        
         
           The
           pigeon
           fell'd
           from
           skie
           :
           The
           next
           reward
        
         
           He
           therefore
           had
           ,
           for
           he
           't
           was
           cut
           the
           coard
           :
        
         
           He
           had
           the
           last
           ,
           whose
           dart
           the
           mast
           did
           cleave
           .
        
         
           But
           brave
           Aeneas
           ,
           e're
           the
           sport
           they
           leave
           ,
        
         
           
             Epitides
             Ascanius
          
           guardian
           there
        
         
           And
           mate
           ,
           he
           calls
           ,
           and
           whispers
           in
           his
           eare
           ,
        
         
           And
           sayes
           ,
           Go
           quick
           ,
           bid
           my
           sonne
           come
           away
        
         
           (
           If
           all
           the
           childrens
           troops
           be
           in
           aray
           ,
        
         
           And
           horse-race
           ready
           )
           with
           his
           bands
           to
           goe
        
         
           Unto
           his
           grandsire
           ,
           and
           in
           Martiall
           show
        
         
           To
           shew
           himself
           :
           Aeneas
           self
           mean
           space
        
         
           Commands
           the
           folk
           ,
           flocking
           about
           the
           place
           ,
        
         
           To
           gather
           in
           a
           ring
           ,
           the
           plain
           to
           cleare
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           lively
           striplings
           all
           draw
           neare
        
         
           Before
           their
           fathers
           ,
           on
           bright
           bridled
           steeds
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           the
           Trojans
           and
           Trinacrians
           breeds
        
         
           Great
           admiration
           ,
           exultation
           great
           .
        
         
           All
           had
           their
           haire
           (
           as
           custome
           was
           )
           cut
           neat
           ,
        
         
           And
           helmets
           on
           their
           heads
           :
           in
           's
           hand
           each
           kept
        
         
           A
           paire
           of
           horny
           speares
           with
           steel
           well
           tipt
           .
        
         
           Some
           at
           their
           backs
           wore
           quivers
           ,
           dainty
           ,
           light
           ,
        
         
           About
           their
           necks
           :
           gold
           chains
           their
           breasts
           bedight
           .
        
         
           Three
           coronets
           of
           horse
           three
           captains
           have
           ,
        
         
           Twelve
           children
           glistring
           in
           their
           arms
           most
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Attending
           them
           ,
           and
           masters
           ,
           them
           to
           guide
           ;
        
         
         
           One
           brave
           battalion
           ,
           which
           with
           Martiall
           pride
        
         
           Thy
           noble
           sonne
           
             Polites
             ,
             (
             Priam
          
           faire
           )
        
         
           VVho
           did
           his
           kingly
           grandsires
           sirname
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           must
           the
           bounds
           of
           Italie
           advance
           ;
        
         
           VVho
           on
           a
           stately
           Thracian
           steed
           did
           prance
           ,
        
         
           All
           partly
           colour'dwith
           faire
           specks
           o●
           white
           ,
        
         
           His
           forefeet
           so
           ,
           his
           proud
           head
           born
           upright
           ,
        
         
           A
           white
           starre
           on
           his
           brow
           ,
           a
           comely
           sight
           .
        
         
           Another
           band
           young
           Atys
           lively
           led
           :
        
         
           From
           whom
           the
           
             Romane
             Atyan
          
           race
           was
           spread
           :
        
         
           Young
           Atys
           ,
           to
           Iülus
           young
           most
           deare
           .
        
         
           The
           last
           and
           best
           for
           beauty
           without
           peere
           ,
        
         
           VVas
           faire
           Iülus
           ,
           on
           a
           courser
           brave
        
         
           Of
           Carthage
           ,
           vvhich
           to
           him
           queen
           Dido
           gave
           ,
        
         
           A
           signe
           and
           symbol
           of
           her
           love
           to
           him
           ;
        
         
           The
           rest
           being
           grave
           Acestes
           yonkers
           trim
           ,
        
         
           Come
           on
           Trinacrian
           steeds
           .
           The
           Trojan
           rout
        
         
           Receive
           them
           ,
           full
           of
           fame-affecting
           doubt
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           great
           applause
           ,
           and
           taking
           great
           delight
        
         
           In
           sweet
           conceipt
           of
           grave
           ancestours
           sight
           .
        
         
           Their
           stations
           (
           now
           )
           with
           joy
           all
           view'd
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           much
           affected
           vvith
           this
           friendly
           rout
           .
        
         
           Epitides
           seeing
           them
           all
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           a
           loud
           lash
           and
           sound
           the
           signe
           exprest
           .
        
         
           Straight
           all
           break
           out
           ,
           and
           three
           by
           three
           disperse
           ,
        
         
           And
           back
           again
           revoked
           their
           reverse
           :
        
         
           And
           at
           there
           breasts
           their
           nimble
           speares
           they
           set
           ,
        
         
           Fetching
           careeres
           ,
           and
           thence
           crosse
           courses
           met
           :
        
         
           And
           with
           crosse
           distance
           fetch
           crosse
           compasse
           round
           ,
        
         
           Rushing
           on
           adverse
           rings
           ,
           like
           vvarre
           profound
        
         
           In
           hottest
           skirmish
           ;
           now
           turn
           backs
           to
           flight
           .
        
         
           VVhereat
           enrag'd
           ,
           their
           darts
           they
           at
           them
           smite
           ;
        
         
         
           And
           yet
           (
           anon
           )
           in
           peacefull
           wise
           shake
           hands
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           the
           Laborynthick
           maze
           which
           stands
        
         
           In
           Creet
           ,
           enclos'd
           with
           walls
           most
           intricate
           ,
        
         
           With
           thousand
           anxious
           wayes
           to
           ambulate
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           unfound
           paths
           do
           wearie
           walkers
           tire
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           and
           out
           ,
           Meanders
           all
           admire
           :
        
         
           Even
           so
           the
           Trojan
           striplings
           skip
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           flights
           and
           fights
           by
           sporting
           in
           and
           out
        
         
           Neatly
           contrive
           :
           like
           Dolphins
           in
           the
           main
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           frisks
           and
           skips
           much
           sport
           i'
           th'
           waves
           maintain
           .
        
         
           These
           courses
           ,
           combats
           ,
           and
           this
           custome
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Ascanius
           first
           did
           found
           ,
           and
           new
           repaire
           ,
        
         
           When
           spacious
           Alba
           he
           with
           walls
           did
           frame
           ,
        
         
           And
           taught
           old
           Rome
           to
           celebrate
           the
           same
           :
        
         
           As
           he
           a
           childe
           ,
           as
           Trojan
           lads
           had
           shown
           ,
        
         
           The
           ancient
           Albanes
           they
           to
           theirs
           made
           known
           .
        
         
           This
           pretty
           sport
           from
           them
           the
           Romanes
           old
           ,
        
         
           Long
           after
           did
           forefathers
           honour
           hold
           :
        
         
           This
           children
           (
           now
           )
           call
           
             Troy
             ,
             Trojan
          
           troops
           name
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           farre
           (
           now
           )
           unto
           his
           fathers
           fame
           ,
        
         
           These
           pleasant
           sports
           perform'd
           and
           celebrated
           ,
        
         
           Here
           fortune
           her
           faire
           face
           first
           transmutated
           .
        
         
           For
           whiles
           they
           sport
           about
           his
           fathers
           tombe
           ,
        
         
           Iuno
           send
           Iris
           in
           a
           pelting
           fume
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           the
           Trojan
           fleets
           ,
           and
           gives
           her
           winde
           ,
        
         
           Much
           mov'd
           ,
           and
           (
           still
           )
           old
           grudges
           born
           in
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Iris
           i'
           th'
           rain-bows
           thousand
           colours
           speeds
           ,
        
         
           Unseen
           of
           any
           ,
           virgin-like
           proceeds
        
         
           With
           expeditious
           haste
           ,
           huge
           troops
           doth
           meet
           ,
        
         
           Sees
           the
           forsaken
           shores
           ,
           ports
           ,
           naked
           fleet
           .
        
         
           But
           yet
           the
           Trojan
           wives
           farre
           off
           did
           keep
        
         
           In
           private
           banks
           ,
           and
           for
           the
           losse
           did
           weep
        
         
         
           Of
           old
           Anchises
           ;
           weeping
           as
           they
           stood
           ,
        
         
           They
           all
           beheld
           the
           mightie
           ocean
           floud
           ,
        
         
           Crying
           ,
           Alas
           !
           what
           sea-toiles
           yet
           remain
        
         
           To
           us
           tyr'd
           soules
           ;
           all
           sighing
           ,
           in
           one
           strain
        
         
           Wishing
           a
           citie
           ,
           loathing
           more
           sea-pain
           .
        
         
           Dame
           Iris
           'mongst
           them
           slilie
           thrusts
           in
           place
           ,
        
         
           Suspectlesse
           of
           abuse
           ,
           her
           Goddesse
           face
           ,
        
         
           Gesture
           and
           vesture
           ,
           from
           her
           laid
           aside
           ,
        
         
           She
           's
           now
           
             Beröe
             ,
             Doryclus
          
           old
           bride
           ,
        
         
           Mother
           of
           children
           ,
           late
           of
           note
           and
           fame
           :
        
         
           And
           thus
           amongst
           them
           ,
           like
           a
           Trojan
           dame
           ,
        
         
           Speaks
           to
           the
           Trojan
           wives
           :
           O
           wofull
           we
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           Grecian
           power
           might
           not
           massacred
           see
        
         
           In
           bloudy
           warre
           under
           the
           walls
           of
           Troy
           !
        
         
           Unhappie
           nation
           !
           kept
           from
           more
           annoy
           .
        
         
           This
           now
           's
           the
           seventh
           yeare
           since
           our
           land
           was
           lost
           ,
        
         
           Since
           we
           strange
           seas
           ,
           lands
           ,
           rocks
           ,
           and
           sands
           have
           crost
           ,
        
         
           And
           stormie
           starres
           have
           scapt
           ,
           whiles
           through
           vast
           streams
        
         
           And
           tumbling
           waves
           ,
           we
           follow
           flying
           dreams
           ;
        
         
           We
           flie
           to
           fleeting
           Italie
           :
           yet
           here
        
         
           Our
           kinsman
           Eryx
           borders
           do
           us
           cheere
           ,
        
         
           And
           kinde
           Acest●s
           .
           who
           'le
           us
           then
           deny
        
         
           T'
           inhabit
           here
           ,
           a
           town
           to
           edifie
           ?
        
         
           O
           countrey
           ,
           O
           in
           vain
           sav'd
           deities
           !
        
         
           Shall
           no
           town
           yet
           old
           Troy
           rememorize
           ?
        
         
           O
           shall
           I
           ne're
           Hectorean
           rivers
           see
           ?
        
         
           No
           
             Xanthus
             ,
             Si●ois
          
           ?
           no
           ?
           come
           on
           with
           me
           ,
        
         
           With
           me
           come
           burn
           these
           ships
           inauspicate
           :
        
         
           For
           I
           Cassandra's
           ghost
           in
           sleep
           saw
           late
           ;
        
         
           Who
           gave
           me
           these
           incendiarie
           brands
           ,
        
         
           And
           said
           ,
           Here
           seek
           your
           Troy
           ,
           here
           in
           these
           lands
        
         
           Fix
           your
           abode
           :
           now
           's
           time
           the
           work
           to
           ply
           ,
        
         
         
           Why
           stay
           we
           ,
           since
           we
           see
           so
           great
           a
           tie
           ?
        
         
           Foure
           flaming
           altars
           unto
           Neptune
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           fates
           themselves
           give
           fire
           ,
           and
           valours
           heat
           .
        
         
           Thus
           speaking
           ,
           she
           ran
           first
           ,
           and
           snatcht
           a
           brand
        
         
           Of
           furious
           fire
           ,
           which
           flaming
           in
           her
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Into
           the
           fleet
           she
           flang
           it
           furiously
           :
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           wives
           much
           startled
           were
           hereby
           ,
        
         
           And
           '
           maz'd
           in
           minde
           :
           whereat
           one
           'mongst
           the
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Grave
           
             Pyrgo
             ,
             Priams
          
           nurse
           ,
           who
           had
           exprest
        
         
           Much
           loyaltie
           and
           love
           to
           's
           children
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Said
           ,
           Trust
           me
           (
           matrons
           )
           I
           dare
           boldly
           sweare
        
         
           This
           is
           not
           Beröe
           ,
           our
           late
           neighbours
           wife
           :
        
         
           For
           I
           see
           signes
           of
           sacred
           Godhead
           rise
           :
        
         
           Mark
           you
           her
           glistering
           eyes
           ,
           her
           spirit
           divine
           ,
        
         
           Her
           looks
           ,
           her
           voice
           ,
           her
           state
           and
           gate
           most
           fine
           :
        
         
           And
           I
           my self
           left
           Berö●
           sick
           of
           late
           ,
        
         
           Much
           griev'd
           ,
           that
           she
           was
           so
           unfortunate
        
         
           Not
           to
           be
           present
           ,
           horrours
           due
           t'
           have
           paid
        
         
           To
           old
           Anchis●s
           tombe
           .
           This
           though
           she
           said
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           at
           the
           first
           the
           women
           doubtfull
           be
           ,
        
         
           As
           blinde
           in
           eyes
           as
           minde
           ,
           their
           ships
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           And
           held
           with
           deep
           desire
           of
           this
           lands
           rest
           ,
        
         
           And
           fate-assigned
           realms
           ,
           which
           should
           b●
           best
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           they
           saw
           the
           winged
           Godd●ss●
           fli●
           ,
        
         
           And
           flying
           cut
           the
           cloudie
           bow
           in
           skie
           ,
        
         
           Provok'd
           by
           this
           prodigious
           accident
           ,
        
         
           With
           rage
           transpo●ted
           ,
           they
           loud
           clamo●rs
           vent
           ,
        
         
           And
           fires
           from
           ●orth
           the●r
           〈◊〉
           and
           chi●●eys
           snatch
           :
        
         
           Some
           th'
           altars
           teare
           ,
           some
           boughs
           and
           br●n●hes
           catch
           ,
        
         
           And
           ought
           combus●ible
           ,
           and
           fir●brands
           throw
        
         
           Into
           their
           ships
           :
           Vulcan
           the
           flame
           doth
           blow
        
         
           Of
           fierce
           unbridled
           spoile
           on
           planks
           and
           ●are●
           ,
        
         
         
           Hatches
           and
           painted
           decks
           .
           At
           these
           uproares
        
         
           Eumelus
           posteth
           to
           Anchises
           grave
           ,
        
         
           To
           beare
           sad
           tidings
           to
           those
           bands
           most
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Of
           this
           combustion
           :
           and
           the
           gamesters
           spie
        
         
           Black
           smoak
           and
           sparkling
           flames
           flie
           up
           to
           th'
           skie
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           first
           horse-careeres
           Ascanius
           led
           ,
        
         
           So
           fiercely
           first
           to
           th'troubled
           tents
           he
           fled
           :
        
         
           Nor
           could
           the
           m●zed
           masters
           make
           him
           stay
           ,
        
         
           But
           on
           he
           comes
           ,
           and
           thus
           to
           them
           doth
           say
           ;
        
         
           O
           what
           strange
           wrath
           is
           this
           ?
           what
           mean
           ye
           now
           ,
        
         
           O
           wretched
           women
           ?
           'gainst
           whom
           do
           ye
           vow
        
         
           This
           mischief
           great
           ?
           Here
           is
           no
           adverse
           foe
           ,
        
         
           No
           Grecian
           t●nts
           ;
           your
           hopes
           you
           'le
           burn
           up
           so
           .
        
         
           O
           see
           me
           your
           Ascanius
           ,
           your
           delight
           !
        
         
           Whereat
           he
           pulls
           off's
           helmet
           in
           their
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Wherewith
           in
           field
           his
           Martiall
           sports
           he
           ply'd
           :
        
         
           To
           whom
           Aeneas
           ,
           all
           the
           Trojans
           hy'de
           .
        
         
           But
           all
           the
           wives
           pursu'd
           with
           feare
           and
           dread
           ,
        
         
           To
           th'
           woods
           and
           groves
           all
           straglingly
           were
           fled
           ,
        
         
           And
           michingly
           to
           caves
           and
           rocks
           they
           run
           ,
        
         
           Hating
           the
           light
           ;
           sham'd
           of
           their
           work
           begun
           :
        
         
           And
           chang'd
           in
           minde
           ,
           in
           grief
           their
           friends
           they
           know
           ,
        
         
           And
           hate
           great
           Iuno
           ,
           cause
           of
           all
           this
           woe
           .
        
         
           But
           what
           of
           this
           ?
           hereby
           they
           quench
           no
           fire
           ,
        
         
           For
           flames
           increase
           with
           most
           represselesse
           ire
           ,
        
         
           And
           pitch
           and
           ●ow
           ,
           kindling
           a
           smoothering
           heat
           ,
        
         
           Sly
           fires
           increase
           ,
           and
           raise
           combustion
           great
           .
        
         
           Through
           th'
           ships
           great
           bulks
           ,
           nor
           by
           the
           peeres
           best
           power
           ,
        
         
           Or
           force
           of
           flouds
           ,
           do
           flames
           cease
           to
           devoure
           .
        
         
           Then
           good
           Aeneas
           rent
           his
           cloaths
           with
           grief
           ,
        
         
           With
           stretcht-out
           hands
           implores
           the
           Gods
           relief
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           prayes
           ▪
           Great
           Iove
           ,
           if
           Trojans
           all
        
         
         
           Thou
           hast
           not
           yet
           quite
           cast
           off
           ,
           left
           to
           thrall
           :
        
         
           If
           long
           devotion
           helps
           mens
           miseries
           ,
        
         
           O
           free
           our
           fleet
           from
           flame-calamities
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           from
           ruine
           raise
           Troyes
           tottering
           state
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           (
           great
           sire
           )
           if
           it
           be
           my
           due
           fate
           ,
        
         
           Strike
           me
           (
           all
           left
           )
           to
           death
           with
           lightning
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           thy
           hand
           my
           heart
           profoundly
           pierce
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           had
           he
           spoke
           ,
           when
           mightie
           showres
           of
           rain
        
         
           Most
           thick
           ,
           most
           quick
           ,
           came
           powdring
           down
           amain
           :
        
         
           A
           mightie
           storm
           ,
           and
           ratling
           roaring
           thunder
           ,
        
         
           Making
           earths
           most
           obdurate
           creatures
           wonder
           :
        
         
           All
           o're
           the
           skie
           the
           furious
           tempest
           grows
           ,
        
         
           And
           plenteous
           streams
           into
           the
           vessels
           throws
           ,
        
         
           Which
           washt
           the
           half-burnt
           wood
           ,
           stints
           all
           the
           flame
           ,
        
         
           All
           's
           ships
           but
           foure
           being
           saved
           by
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           But
           grave
           Aeneas
           dampt
           with
           this
           dire
           chance
           ,
        
         
           His
           thoughts
           now
           here
           now
           there
           in
           minde
           do
           glance
           ;
        
         
           Musing
           ,
           unmindfull
           of
           the
           fates
           decree
           ,
        
         
           Whether
           't
           were
           best
           in
           Sicil
           still
           to
           be
           ,
        
         
           Or
           bend
           his
           courses
           now
           for
           Italie
           .
        
         
           Then
           aged
           Nautes
           ,
           whom
           most
           expertly
        
         
           
             Tritonian
             Pallas
          
           made
           an
           artist
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Resolves
           him
           thus
           ;
           both
           what
           great
           Iuno
           faire
        
         
           Enrag'd
           would
           act
           ,
           and
           destinies
           dispose
           ,
        
         
           He
           kindely
           thus
           t'
           Aeneas
           doth
           disclose
           :
        
         
           Faire
           Goddesse
           sonne
           ,
           where
           fates
           us
           call
           ,
           re-call
           ,
        
         
           Thither
           let
           's
           go
           ,
           what
           ever
           us
           befall
           :
        
         
           Fortune
           by
           sufferance
           best
           is
           overthrown
           .
        
         
           
             Trojan
             Acestes
          
           is
           thy
           kinsman
           known
           ,
        
         
           Make
           him
           of
           counsel
           with
           thee
           ,
           to
           him
           cleave
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           burnt-ships
           surplusage
           of
           people
           leave
        
         
           Unto
           his
           care
           .
           Such
           as
           thy
           high
           designes
        
         
         
           Do
           disaffect
           ,
           whose
           heart
           to
           ease
           inclines
           ,
        
         
           Feeble
           old
           men
           ,
           sea-tyred
           maids
           and
           vvives
           ,
        
         
           All
           that
           are
           faint
           ,
           and
           fearfull
           of
           their
           lives
           ,
        
         
           Select
           them
           out
           ,
           a
           town
           here
           let
           them
           frame
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           from
           Acestes
           ,
           it
           Acesta
           name
           .
        
         
           Encourag'd
           thus
           by
           his
           grave
           friends
           advise
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           still
           one
           care
           doth
           on
           another
           rise
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           nights
           curtain
           black
           the
           skies
           did
           vail
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           from
           the
           heavens
           his
           fathers
           image
           pale
           ,
        
         
           Anchises
           ghost
           ,
           came
           down
           ,
           and
           suddenly
        
         
           Said
           thus
           to
           him
           ;
           Deare
           sonne
           ,
           to
           me
           more
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           More
           deare
           then
           life
           ,
           (
           whiles
           life
           vvith
           me
           did
           last
           )
        
         
           Deare
           sonne
           ,
           on
           various
           Troy-fates
           long
           time
           cast
           ;
        
         
           I
           come
           to
           thee
           from
           Iove
           ,
           who
           quencht
           the
           flame
        
         
           Of
           thy
           fir'd
           fleet
           ,
           pitying
           thee
           in
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           Obey
           old
           Nautes
           wholsome
           exhortations
           ,
        
         
           And
           take
           vvith
           thee
           in
           thy
           perambulations
        
         
           To
           Italie
           ,
           choice
           youths
           of
           courage
           stout
           :
        
         
           For
           vvith
           fierce
           people
           thou
           must
           fight
           it
           out
           ,
        
         
           A
           nation
           hard
           to
           tame
           .
           Yet
           before
           this
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           must
           descend
           the
           dungeons
           dark
           of
           Dis
           :
        
         
           Yea
           thou
           ,
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           must
           passe
           Avernus
           lake
        
         
           To
           come
           to
           me
           :
           yet
           no
           abode
           I
           make
        
         
           In
           torturing
           Tartar
           ,
           or
           in
           darknes
           sad
           :
        
         
           But
           in
           Elysium
           ,
           where
           delights
           make
           glad
        
         
           Sweet
           troops
           of
           sacred
           soules
           :
           hither
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           Sibyll
           shall
           thee
           by
           much
           bloud
           convay
        
         
           Of
           sacrific'd
           black
           beasts
           .
           Whence
           thou
           shalt
           know
        
         
           Thy
           citie
           sought
           ,
           and
           race
           from
           thee
           to
           flow
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           farewell
           ,
           moist
           midnight
           hastes
           away
           ,
        
         
           Sols
           puffing
           steeds
           begin
           to
           breath
           out
           day
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           like
           smoak
           he
           flies
           i'
           th'
           fleeting
           skie
           .
        
         
         
           To
           whom
           Aeneas
           ;
           Whither
           dost
           thou
           flie
           ?
        
         
           Why
           hastes
           thou
           hence
           ?
           From
           whom
           dost
           thou
           take
           flight
           ?
        
         
           Or
           ,
           who
           does
           thee
           from
           our
           embraces
           fright
           ?
        
         
           Which
           spoke
           ,
           he
           stirres
           the
           embers
           ,
           rakt
           up
           fire
           ,
        
         
           And
           worships
           with
           a
           reverend
           hearts
           desire
        
         
           His
           Trojan
           Gods
           ,
           and
           to
           them
           consecrates
        
         
           Pure
           floure
           and
           frankincense
           .
           Then
           calls
           his
           mates
           ,
        
         
           But
           chiefly
           grave
           Acestes
           speedily
           ,
        
         
           And
           Ioves
           command
           to
           them
           doth
           signifie
           ,
        
         
           And
           his
           deare
           fathers
           charge
           ,
           what
           he
           design'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           resolv'd
           .
           Whereto
           Acest
           inclin'd
           .
        
         
           And
           counsel
           straight
           they
           take
           ,
           and
           measure
           forth
        
         
           Towns
           for
           their
           vvives
           ,
           and
           men
           of
           meanest
           worth
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           most
           ignoble
           mindes
           regard
           not
           fame
           .
        
         
           But
           they
           new
           sailing
           barks
           begin
           to
           frame
           ,
        
         
           And
           half-burnt
           ship-planks
           ,
           oares
           and
           ropes
           repaire
           ;
        
         
           In
           number
           ,
           few
           ;
           in
           vvarre
           ,
           for
           service
           rare
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           Aeneas
           vvith
           a
           plough
           sets
           out
        
         
           The
           cities
           scope
           ,
           '
           points
           houses
           round
           about
           :
        
         
           Here
           Iliums
           towers
           ,
           there
           he
           sets
           Troyes
           faire
           gates
           :
        
         
           Thus
           his
           new
           realm
           Acest
           congratulates
           .
        
         
           Then
           courts
           and
           laws
           he
           gives
           the
           fathers
           grave
           ,
        
         
           And
           neare
           the
           starres
           ,
           on
           Eryx
           high
           would
           have
        
         
           A
           temple
           founded
           unto
           Venus
           faire
           ,
        
         
           A
           sacred
           grove
           ,
           and
           priest
           ,
           vvhose
           speciall
           care
        
         
           Should
           onely
           be
           ,
           Anchises
           tombe
           to
           tend
           :
        
         
           And
           novv
           the
           nations
           nine
           dayes
           feast
           had
           end
           ;
        
         
           And
           on
           their
           altars
           offrings
           all
           vvere
           made
           ,
        
         
           And
           fanning
           gales
           upon
           the
           ocean
           play'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           f●equent
           puffing
           blasts
           to
           sea
           invite
           .
        
         
           Then
           on
           the
           shore
           at
           their
           departing
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Full
           flouds
           of
           teares
           are
           shed
           ,
           and
           night
           and
           day
        
         
         
           In
           mutuall
           kinde
           embraces
           still
           they
           stay
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           those
           wives
           ,
           those
           folk
           effeminate
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           the
           sight
           of
           sea
           was
           frightfull
           late
           ,
        
         
           That
           toile
           intolerable
           ;
           now
           most
           fain
        
         
           Away
           they
           would
           to
           sea
           ,
           all
           toile
           sustain
           .
        
         
           Whom
           good
           Aeneas
           with
           kinde
           vvords
           doth
           cheere
           ,
        
         
           And
           vveeping
           leaves
           t'
           Acest
           his
           kinsman
           deare
           .
        
         
           To
           Eryx
           then
           three
           calves
           he
           bids
           them
           kill
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           storms
           a
           lambe
           he
           offer
           vvill
           .
        
         
           Bids
           them
           the
           cables
           loose
           ,
           and
           order
           right
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           with
           olive-boughs
           his
           head
           bedight
           ,
        
         
           In
           's
           hand
           a
           bowl
           ,
           aloof
           on
           ship-board
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Flasht
           out
           pure
           wines
           ,
           spread
           entralls
           on
           the
           floud
           .
        
         
           A
           whisking
           gale
           puffs
           on
           them
           as
           they
           sail
           :
        
         
           His
           men
           rowe
           close
           ,
           and
           thrash
           the
           flouds
           with
           flail
           ▪
        
         
           Meanwhile
           faire
           Venus
           ,
           full
           of
           tender
           care
           ,
        
         
           To
           Neptune
           speaks
           ,
           doth
           thus
           her
           plaints
           declare
           :
        
         
           Fierce
           Iuno's
           wrath
           ,
           and
           quenchlesse
           indignation
           ▪
        
         
           Force
           me
           (
           great
           Neptune
           )
           to
           prest
           supplication
           .
        
         
           Which
           rage
           of
           hers
           no
           length
           of
           time
           ,
           or
           dayes
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           piety
           or
           pity
           stops
           or
           stayes
           :
        
         
           Nor
           Ioves
           command
           ,
           or
           fates
           decree
           can
           still
        
         
           Her
           most
           unbrideled
           rage
           :
           nor
           Troyes
           great
           ill
           ,
        
         
           Bespoil'd
           of
           towns
           and
           nation
           ,
           vvith
           strange
           spight
           ,
        
         
           Can
           satisfie
           ,
           but
           with
           all
           rancourous
           might
        
         
           She
           plagues
           poore
           vvasted
           Troyes
           (
           as
           yet
           )
           remains
           ;
        
         
           Yea
           their
           dead
           bones
           and
           ashes
           she
           disdains
           .
        
         
           The
           cause
           of
           so
           great
           wrath
           her self
           can
           tell
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           she
           lately
           rais'd
           ,
           thou
           know'st
           it
           well
           ,
        
         
           Strange
           sudden
           storms
           o're
           all
           the
           Libyan
           seas
           ,
        
         
           Confounding
           heaven
           and
           sea
           with
           rough
           disease
           :
        
         
           All
           by
           her
           friend
           Aeolus
           puffs
           most
           vain
           ,
        
         
         
           All
           this
           she
           durst
           in
           thy
           vast
           realm
           ,
           the
           main
           .
        
         
           Behold
           ,
           beside
           the
           Trojan
           vvives
           (
           foule
           fact
           !
           )
        
         
           VVith
           rage
           enflam'd
           ,
           foulely
           (
           by
           her
           compact
           )
        
         
           Fired
           their
           fleet
           ,
           forc'd
           them
           ,
           their
           ships
           decay'd
           ,
        
         
           In
           a
           strange
           land
           to
           be
           detain'd
           and
           stay'd
           .
        
         
           This
           then
           remains
           ;
           I
           pray
           thee
           let
           them
           sail
        
         
           Thy
           vvatrie
           soil
           in
           safety
           ,
           with
           smooth
           gale
        
         
           Let
           them
           arive
           vvhere
           Tybers
           stream
           doth
           flow
           :
        
         
           If
           our
           desires
           thou
           grant
           ,
           if
           fates
           also
        
         
           Grant
           us
           our
           promis'd
           realms
           ,
           then
           speak
           ,
           I
           pray
           .
        
         
           Then
           Neptune
           ,
           seas
           great
           soveraigne
           ,
           thus
           did
           say
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           Venus
           ,
           thou
           mayst
           in
           my
           bounds
           be
           bold
           ,
        
         
           For
           thence
           thou
           dost
           thy
           bloud
           and
           linage
           hold
           :
        
         
           I
           alwayes
           also
           have
           been
           kinde
           to
           thine
           ,
        
         
           And
           heavens
           and
           seas
           joynt
           wrath
           ,
           vvhich
           did
           combine
           ,
        
         
           And
           fury
           fierce
           ,
           I
           have
           restrain'd
           for
           thee
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           have
           I
           (
           Xanth
           and
           Simois
           vvitnes
           be
           )
        
         
           Of
           thine
           Aeneas
           had
           lesse
           care
           on
           land
           :
        
         
           But
           when
           Achilles
           fierce
           with
           furious
           hand
        
         
           Did
           prosecute
           and
           execute
           with
           might
        
         
           Troyes
           troops
           ,
           and
           from
           safe
           vvalls
           forc'd
           them
           to
           flight
           ;
        
         
           When
           thousands
           dead
           did
           fall
           ,
           when
           flouds
           did
           groan
           ,
        
         
           Fill'd
           vvith
           kill'd
           bodies
           ;
           when
           no
           way
           was
           known
        
         
           For
           Xanthus
           course
           to
           sea
           ,
           being
           dam'd
           with
           dead
           :
        
         
           I
           then
           in
           misty
           clouds
           quite
           covered
        
         
           Aeneas
           ,
           cha●ed
           by
           Achilles
           strong
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           fates
           and
           force
           left
           him
           to
           hostile
           vvrong
           :
        
         
           Even
           then
           vvhen
           I
           could
           vvell
           have
           found
           in
           heart
           ,
        
         
           Mine
           own
           built
           faithlesse
           Troy
           quite
           to
           subvert
           .
        
         
           Then
           feare
           not
           ,
           for
           I
           have
           the
           same
           minde
           still
           :
        
         
           He
           and
           they
           all
           desir'd
           ,
           shall
           safely
           fill
        
         
           Avernus
           port
           :
           one
           onely
           shall
           be
           drown'd
           ,
        
         
         
           VVho
           sought
           for
           in
           the
           sea
           ,
           shall
           not
           be
           found
           :
        
         
           His
           life
           the
           rest
           shall
           ransome
           .
           Thus
           most
           kinde
        
         
           He
           stroaks
           and
           cheeres
           the
           Goddes●e
           cheerefull
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Then
           yokes
           his
           horses
           to
           his
           chariots
           drift
           ,
        
         
           And
           gives
           the
           foamy
           reins
           to
           's
           coursers
           swift
           ,
        
         
           The
           bridle
           laid
           most
           loose
           :
           and
           thus
           he
           slides
        
         
           In
           his
           blew
           chariot
           o're
           the
           surging
           tides
           :
        
         
           Down
           winde
           the
           vvaves
           ,
           ●ow
           the
           rough
           billows
           bend
           ,
        
         
           Under
           his
           thundring
           wheels
           clouds
           quick
           descend
           .
        
         
           Then
           various
           troops
           appeare
           above
           the
           main
           ,
        
         
           Leviathans
           most
           huge
           ,
           old
           Glaucus
           train
           ,
        
         
           Mankinde
           Palaemon
           ,
           nimble
           Tritons
           thick
           ,
        
         
           And
           foamy
           Phorcus
           his
           attendants
           quick
           .
        
         
           The
           left
           hand
           Thetis
           ,
           and
           the
           Mermaids
           keep
           ,
        
         
           
             Nisaeë
             ,
             Spio
          
           ,
           all
           sea-nymphs
           that
           sleep
           ,
        
         
           And
           love
           to
           live
           in
           waves
           .
           Aeneas
           here
        
         
           His
           drooping
           thoughts
           with
           joy
           doth
           now
           re-cheare
           ,
        
         
           And
           bids
           his
           men
           their
           masts
           to
           raise
           with
           speed
           ,
        
         
           To
           stretch
           their
           sails
           .
           Whereto
           they
           all
           proceed
           ,
        
         
           Their
           feet
           and
           force
           ,
           their
           hands
           and
           heart
           conjoyn
        
         
           To
           th'
           larboard
           ,
           or
           to
           th'
           starboard
           to
           incline
           :
        
         
           Their
           sail-yards
           then
           they
           winde
           ,
           unwinde
           again
           :
        
         
           All
           things
           concurre
           to
           make
           them
           sail
           amain
           .
        
         
           But
           primely
           Palinurus
           guides
           them
           all
           :
        
         
           All
           bend
           their
           course
           to
           his
           least
           beck
           or
           call
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           was
           midnight
           neare
           ,
           when
           all
           took
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Spread
           on
           hard
           hatches
           thus
           ,
           from
           toyling
           ceast
           ;
        
         
           VVhen
           as
           soft
           sleeps
           slipt
           down
           from
           starrie
           skies
           ,
        
         
           And
           glancing
           through
           th'
           aires
           darknes
           way
           discries
        
         
           To
           pitch
           on
           thee
           ,
           poore
           harmlesse
           Palinure
           ,
        
         
           On
           thee
           to
           force
           sad
           sleep
           who
           sat'st
           secure
           ,
        
         
           Presenting
           to
           thee
           thy
           friend
           Phorbas
           face
           ,
        
         
           And
           speaking
           thus
           to
           thee
           in
           dreaming
           case
           ;
        
         
         
           See
           
             Iasian
             Palinure
          
           ,
           the
           very
           tide
        
         
           Makes
           thy
           ship
           sail
           ,
           faire
           gales
           it
           friendly
           guide
           .
        
         
           Here
           's
           time
           to
           rest
           ,
           lay
           down
           thy
           head
           and
           sleep
           ,
        
         
           And
           I
           for
           thee
           thy
           stern
           will
           carefull
           keep
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           vvith
           drowsie
           eyes
           sayes
           Palinure
           ;
        
         
           Wouldst
           thou
           me
           make
           in
           calmie
           seas
           secure
           ?
        
         
           And
           in
           faire
           streams
           fallacious
           dreams
           to
           trust
           ?
        
         
           And
           great
           Aeneas
           on
           false
           blasts
           to
           thrust
           ?
        
         
           With
           skies
           faire
           face
           have
           I
           so
           oft
           been
           gull'd
           ?
        
         
           For
           this
           ?
           This
           said
           ,
           his
           helm
           more
           close
           he
           pull'd
           ,
        
         
           Keeps
           fast
           his
           hold
           ,
           on
           's
           starres
           fast
           fixt
           his
           eyes
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           behold
           ,
           this
           God
           of
           sleep
           from
           skies
        
         
           Whisks
           a
           vvet
           branch
           of
           soporiferous
           dew
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           Stygian
           strength
           he
           o're
           his
           eye-brows
           threw
           :
        
         
           Which
           soon
           his
           rowling
           eyes
           with
           sleep
           o'relaid
           .
        
         
           Whos
           's
           first
           loose
           lids
           on
           sudden
           nod
           scarce
           made
           ,
        
         
           When
           to
           himself
           the
           helm
           too
           closely
           stay'd
           ,
        
         
           He
           pulls
           the
           poop
           aside
           ,
           the
           rudder
           brast
           ,
        
         
           And
           over-board
           i'
           th'
           sea
           he
           's
           headlong
           cast
           ,
        
         
           Crying
           for
           help
           unto
           his
           mates
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           this
           sleep-god
           flies
           to
           th'
           skies
           again
           .
        
         
           The
           fleet
           ,
           for
           all
           this
           ,
           sails
           in
           safety
        
         
           By
           Neptunes
           promise
           ,
           in
           security
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           Sirenes
           rigid
           rocks
           drew
           neare
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           with
           huge
           heaps
           of
           bones
           did
           white
           appeare
           :
        
         
           And
           then
           farre
           off
           the
           rocks
           rough
           roares
           they
           heard
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           grave
           Aeneas
           from
           his
           sleep
           up-rear'd
           ,
        
         
           Perceiv'd
           their
           master
           lost
           ,
           the
           fleet
           to
           stray
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           by
           night
           the
           pilots
           part
           did
           play
           ,
        
         
           Lamenting
           much
           his
           old
           deare
           friends
           decay
           .
        
         
           Ah
           too
           too
           credulous
           of
           sea
           and
           skie
           !
        
         
           Deare
           Palinure
           in
           unknown
           sands
           must
           lie
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             fifth
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             sixth
             book
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             safe
             at
             Cuma's
             lands
             ,
          
           
             By
             Sibyll
             strange
             things
             understands
             :
          
           
             Misenus
             found
             ,
             and
             buried
             there
             ,
          
           
             From
             whom
             the
             hill
             its
             name
             doth
             beare
             .
          
           
             The
             Gods
             appeas'd
             ,
             a
             branch
             of
             gold
          
           
             He
             beares
             along
             :
             His
             course
             doth
             hold
             ,
          
           
             By
             Sibyls
             guide
             ,
             t'
             Avernus
             lake
             ;
          
           
             Knows
             Palmure
             ,
             great
             care
             does
             take
          
           
             To
             comfort
             Dido
             ,
             there
             being
             found
             .
          
           
             Sees
             Deïphobus
             cruell
             wound
             .
          
           
             Sibyll
             him
             shows
             the
             pains
             of
             hell
             ,
          
           
             Anchises
             meets
             him
             ,
             knows
             him
             well
             .
          
           
             Rare
             things
             of
             Rome
             to
             him
             relates
             :
          
           
             Which
             done
             ,
             he
             thence
             returns
             to
             's
             mates
             .
          
        
         
           THose
           weeping
           words
           so
           uttered
           ,
           swift
           he
           sails
           ,
        
         
           And
           gets
           to
           Cumas
           coasts
           with
           prosperous
           gales
           .
        
         
           Foredecks
           they
           winde
           from
           sea
           ,
           sharp
           anchours
           tie
        
         
           Their
           settled
           ships
           ,
           which
           'bout
           th●
           shores
           do
           lie
           :
        
         
           Out
           leap
           their
           nimble
           youth
           ,
           with
           high
           desire
        
         
           Of
           Latium
           land
           .
           Some
           seek
           for
           sparks
           of
           fire
        
         
           Hid
           in
           hard
           flints
           ;
           some
           range
           the
           woods
           about
           ,
        
         
           The
           wilde-beasts
           dennes
           ,
           fresh
           springs
           and
           flouds
           finde
           out
           ▪
        
         
           But
           good
           Aeneas
           to
           the
           towers
           did
           hie
           ,
        
         
         
           Where
           great
           Apollo
           hath
           supremacie
           ,
        
         
           The
           dungeon
           dark
           and
           cells
           of
           Sibyll
           grave
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           a
           heart
           and
           minde
           Apollo
           gave
        
         
           Inspir'd
           with
           wisedome
           ,
           future
           things
           to
           know
           ;
        
         
           Then
           to
           Diana's
           groves
           ,
           guilt
           rooms
           ,
           they
           go
           .
        
         
           Fame
           sayes
           ,
           when
           Daedalus
           from
           Creet
           did
           flie
        
         
           On
           wax-swift
           wings
           ,
           he
           boldly
           flew
           i'
           th'
           skie
           ,
        
         
           To
           the
           cold
           North
           gliding
           by
           uncouth
           way
           ,
        
         
           On
           Cumas
           turrets
           he
           at
           last
           did
           stay
           .
        
         
           Here
           first
           ariving
           safe
           ,
           great
           Phoebus
           ,
           he
        
         
           Offered
           his
           wings
           ,
           built
           temples
           faire
           to
           thee
           .
        
         
           Upon
           whose
           gates
           Androgeus
           death
           doth
           stand
           :
        
         
           And
           how
           (
           oh
           woe
           !
           )
           th'
           Athenians
           by
           command
        
         
           Seven
           sonnes
           and
           daughters
           yeare
           by
           yeare
           did
           slay
           :
        
         
           There
           pots
           for
           drawing
           lots
           behold
           we
           may
           .
        
         
           Above
           the
           sea
           ,
           their
           Candy
           countrey's
           seen
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           was
           pourtray'd
           Pasiphäe
           the
           queen
           :
        
         
           And
           by
           her
           stood
           her
           loathsome
           love
           ,
           a
           bull
           ;
        
         
           With
           whom
           by
           art
           her
           lust
           was
           serv'd
           at
           full
           :
        
         
           Whose
           monstrous
           mixture
           foulely
           did
           produce
        
         
           A
           two-form'd
           Minotaure
           ,
           of
           base
           abuse
           ,
        
         
           A
           monstrous
           monument
           .
           That
           house
           was
           here
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           Labyrinthick
           labour
           did
           appeare
        
         
           In
           its
           amazing
           maze
           .
           But
           Daedalus
        
         
           Pitying
           the
           queens
           love
           most
           notorious
           ,
        
         
           Found
           out
           the
           houses
           sleights
           ;
           Meanders
           strange
           ,
        
         
           Led
           by
           a
           threed
           ,
           through
           all
           the
           crooks
           did
           range
           .
        
         
           And
           thou
           ,
           O
           Icarus
           ,
           hadst
           had
           great
           share
        
         
           (
           Had
           not
           grief
           hindred
           )
           in
           this
           work
           so
           rare
           :
        
         
           Twice
           he
           assay'd
           thy
           fate
           in
           gold
           to
           paint
           ,
        
         
           And
           twice
           i'
           th'
           work
           thy
           fathers
           hand
           did
           faint
           .
        
         
           Yea
           all
           those
           famous
           facts
           they
           had
           survay'd
           ,
        
         
         
           Had
           not
           Achates
           ,
           sent
           before
           ,
           them
           stayd
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           him
           Deiphobe
           brought
           ,
           no
           lesse
           ,
        
         
           Apollo's
           and
           Diana's
           Prophetesse
           :
        
         
           Who
           thus
           sayes
           to
           the
           king
           ;
           This
           time
           requires
        
         
           No
           pleasing
           spectacles
           to
           th'
           eyes
           desires
           :
        
         
           But
           now
           out
           of
           thy
           droves
           seven
           heifers
           faire
        
         
           Go
           sacrifice
           ,
           and
           seven
           good
           sheep
           prepare
           ,
        
         
           According
           to
           old
           wont
           .
           This
           to
           him
           said
           ,
        
         
           Her
           holy
           hests
           Aeneas
           straight
           obey'd
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           then
           she
           to
           th'
           huge
           temple
           calls
           ,
        
         
           Into
           a
           cave
           cut
           out
           o'
           th'
           mightie
           walls
        
         
           Of
           Cumas
           mount
           :
           an
           hundred
           wayes
           most
           wide
        
         
           Leading
           thereto
           ,
           an
           hundred
           doores
           beside
           ,
        
         
           Where
           hundred
           voices
           roare
           Sibylls
           replies
           .
        
         
           To
           th'
           porch
           they
           came
           ,
           when
           as
           the
           virgin
           wise
        
         
           Sayes
           ,
           Now
           's
           the
           time
           the
           fates
           decrees
           to
           know
           :
        
         
           Here
           's
           God
           ,
           ah
           see
           the
           God!
           who
           saying
           so
           ,
        
         
           Her
           visage
           straight
           was
           changed
           at
           the
           doore
           ,
        
         
           And
           her
           complection
           was
           not
           as
           before
           :
        
         
           Her
           haire
           did
           stare
           ,
           her
           heart
           did
           pant
           with
           feare
           ,
        
         
           Strange
           extasies
           her
           swelling
           thoughts
           did
           reare
           ;
        
         
           She
           greater
           personage
           seems
           ,
           no
           voice
           humane
        
         
           She
           seems
           to
           have
           ,
           since
           she
           did
           neare
           remain
        
         
           Unto
           the
           Gods
           great
           power
           ,
           therewith
           inspir'd
           :
        
         
           And
           stand'st
           thou
           still
           (
           sayes
           she
           )
           when
           prayer
           's
           requir'd
           ,
        
         
           
             Trojan
             Aeneas
          
           ?
           stand'st
           thou
           still
           ,
           I
           say
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           not
           these
           fearefull
           rooms
           (
           till
           thou
           dost
           pray
           )
        
         
           Ope
           their
           wide
           mouths
           ?
           This
           having
           said
           ,
           she
           ceast
           .
        
         
           Straight
           on
           the
           Trojans
           trembling
           feare
           increast
           .
        
         
           Then
           thus
           the
           king
           humbly
           did
           supplicate
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Phoebus
           ,
           who
           dost
           still
           commiserate
        
         
           Troyes
           tedious
           toiles
           ,
           who
           Paris
           hand
           didst
           guide
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           mad'st
           his
           shaft
           to
           pierce
           Achilles
           side
           ;
        
         
           By
           whom
           so
           many
           land-enclosing
           seas
        
         
           I
           entred
           have
           ,
           and
           passed
           with
           sweet
           ease
           ;
        
         
           And
           through
           most
           farre
           remote
           Moroco
           lands
           ,
        
         
           Through
           many
           deep
           and
           dangerous
           quick-sands
           ;
        
         
           And
           now
           at
           last
           in
           shrinking
           Italie
        
         
           Have
           safe
           ariv'd
           ,
           and
           hitherto
           past
           by
        
         
           The
           various
           fortunes
           which
           have
           us
           still
           tended
           :
        
         
           O
           now
           't
           is
           time
           ,
           your
           indignation
           ended
           ,
        
         
           Great
           Gods
           and
           Goddesses
           ,
           whom
           Ilium
           brave
           ,
        
         
           And
           glorious
           Dardan
           much
           provoked
           have
           :
        
         
           And
           thou
           ,
           most
           sacred
           priest
           ,
           which
           dost
           foresee
        
         
           Future
           events
           ,
           grant
           (
           for
           I
           ask
           of
           thee
        
         
           But
           kingdomes
           due
           by
           destinies
           consent
           )
        
         
           Us
           Trojans
           rest
           in
           Latiums
           continent
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           Troyes
           wandring
           Gods
           ,
           who
           with
           us
           went.
        
         
           Then
           I
           'le
           to
           Phoebus
           and
           Diana
           raise
        
         
           Faire
           marble
           temples
           ,
           and
           t'
           Apollo's
           praise
        
         
           Make
           dayes
           of
           triumphs
           ;
           and
           within
           our
           state
           ,
        
         
           Thee
           as
           our
           God
           ,
           we
           all
           will
           venerate
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           thine
           anxious
           oracles
           I
           'le
           place
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           secret
           sacred
           rhymes
           ,
           my
           nations
           grace
           .
        
         
           To
           thee
           ,
           faire
           priest
           ,
           choice
           men
           I
           'le
           consecrate
           ;
        
         
           Onely
           in
           leaves
           do
           not
           thy
           rhymes
           relate
           ,
        
         
           Lest
           puft
           with
           windes
           ,
           they
           fluttering
           flie
           away
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           ends
           ;
           Speak
           thou
           thy self
           ,
           I
           pray
           .
        
         
           But
           here
           the
           priest
           pelting
           impatiently
           ,
        
         
           Wrathfully
           rag'd
           at
           Phoebus
           deity
        
         
           Within
           the
           cave
           :
           if
           she
           could
           from
           her
           breast
        
         
           Shake
           off
           the
           Gods
           great
           power
           ,
           which
           her
           supprest
           ,
        
         
           And
           which
           so
           much
           the
           more
           did
           curb
           and
           tame
        
         
           Her
           madding
           mouth
           ,
           her
           fierce
           heart
           fitly
           frame
           .
        
         
         
           And
           now
           the
           temples
           hundred
           mightie
           doores
        
         
           Ope
           of
           themselves
           ,
           by
           orizons
           ;
           the
           roares
        
         
           Of
           Sibylls
           answers
           thus
           the
           aire
           do
           beat
           ;
        
         
           O
           thou
           who
           hast
           escapt
           seas
           dangers
           great
           !
        
         
           Yet
           still
           on
           land
           farre
           greater
           thee
           attend
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           shall
           (
           then
           let
           this
           care
           here
           end
           )
        
         
           Into
           Lavinus
           realms
           arive
           ,
           but
           there
        
         
           They
           'le
           soon
           repent
           :
           warres
           ,
           warres
           full
           fraught
           with
           feare
           ,
        
         
           And
           Tyber
           foaming
           streams
           of
           bloud
           I
           see
           .
        
         
           Ah
           Simois
           and
           Xanthus
           there
           shall
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           second
           Grecian
           camps
           :
           there
           thou
           shalt
           finde
        
         
           A
           new
           Achilles
           of
           as
           fierce
           a
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Born
           of
           a
           Goddesse
           great
           :
           yea
           Iuno
           fierce
        
         
           Will
           still
           the
           Trojans
           with
           much
           anguish
           pierce
           .
        
         
           When
           thou
           in
           straits
           shalt
           be
           ,
           what
           nations
           great
           ,
        
         
           What
           Latian
           towns
           shalt
           not
           thou
           lowly
           entreat
           ?
        
         
           A
           nother
           harbour'd
           wife
           will
           cause
           this
           smart
           ,
        
         
           A
           forrain
           wedlock
           on
           the
           Trojans
           part
           .
        
         
           Yet
           shrink
           not
           for
           these
           ills
           ,
           but
           stouter
           be
           :
        
         
           For
           the
           first
           hope
           (
           thou
           'lt
           scarcely
           credit
           me
           )
        
         
           Of
           comfort
           ,
           wherewith
           fortune
           will
           thee
           crown
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           surely
           issue
           from
           a
           Grecian
           town
           .
        
         
           Thus
           from
           her
           cell
           
             Cumaean
             Sibyll
          
           sings
        
         
           Ambiguous
           ambages
           ,
           the
           cloyster
           rings
        
         
           With
           the
           shrill
           sound
           thereof
           ,
           in
           most
           dark
           strains
        
         
           Wrapping
           up
           truths
           with
           such
           o'reruling
           rains
           ,
        
         
           Apollo's
           spurres
           her
           furious
           stirres
           restrains
           .
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           ere
           her
           rage
           began
           to
           cease
           ,
        
         
           And
           her
           mad
           mouth
           began
           to
           be
           at
           peace
           ,
        
         
           Noble
           Aeneas
           thus
           begins
           to
           say
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           virgin
           ,
           no
           new
           stirres
           thou
           dost
           display
           ,
        
         
           No
           strange
           unheard
           of
           change
           ,
           unknown
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
         
           All
           these
           in
           heart
           long
           since
           I
           did
           foresee
           .
        
         
           This
           one
           thing
           I
           desire
           (
           since
           men
           relate
           ,
        
         
           That
           hard
           by
           is
           th'
           infernall
           kings
           wide
           gate
           ,
        
         
           And
           Acherontine
           darksome
           plashie
           lake
           )
        
         
           O
           may
           I
           enter
           ,
           for
           my
           fathers
           sake
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           his
           lovely
           face
           .
           Open
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Those
           dreadfull
           doores
           ,
           and
           lead
           me
           the
           right
           way
           .
        
         
           Him
           I
           through
           flames
           and
           thousand
           fluttering
           darts
        
         
           Bore
           on
           my
           back
           ,
           and
           sav'd
           from
           hostile
           smarts
           :
        
         
           With
           me
           he
           went
           ,
           with
           me
           all
           seas
           he
           sail'd
           ,
        
         
           All
           storms
           ,
           where
           with
           skies
           ,
           seas
           ,
           shores
           ,
           us
           assail'd
           ,
        
         
           Beyond
           his
           strength
           ,
           and
           lot
           he
           feebly
           bore
           .
        
         
           He
           when
           I
           hither
           came
           ,
           charg'd
           me
           before
           ,
        
         
           That
           humbly
           I
           should
           pray
           for
           free
           accesse
        
         
           Into
           thy
           courts
           :
           faire
           ladie
           ,
           now
           expresse
        
         
           Compassion
           to
           the
           father
           and
           the
           sonne
           :
        
         
           For
           by
           thy
           power
           what
           ere
           thou
           wilt
           is
           done
           .
        
         
           Nor
           thee
           in
           vain
           hath
           Hecate
           set
           thus
        
         
           Over
           Avernus
           groves
           :
           If
           Orpheus
        
         
           With
           's
           Thracian
           harp
           and
           rarely
           sounding
           voice
        
         
           His
           wifes
           soule
           could
           regain
           ,
           with
           longed
           choice
           :
        
         
           If
           Pollux
           could
           by
           death
           alternately
        
         
           His
           brother
           free
           ,
           go
           ,
           come
           most
           frequently
           :
        
         
           What
           talk
           I
           now
           of
           Hercules
           most
           strong
           ?
        
         
           Of
           Theseus
           stout
           ?
           even
           I
           my self
           belong
        
         
           To
           mightie
           Ioves
           high
           race
           .
           This
           being
           said
           ,
        
         
           He
           held
           the
           altar
           :
           then
           the
           priestly
           maid
        
         
           Did
           thus
           reply
           ;
           Brave
           Trojan
           ,
           born
           most
           high
           ,
        
         
           The
           way
           to
           hell
           is
           found
           most
           easily
           :
        
         
           Pluto's
           black
           gate
           stands
           open
           night
           and
           day
           :
        
         
           But
           to
           return
           ,
           and
           thence
           finde
           heavens
           hard
           way
           ,
        
         
           O
           here
           's
           the
           toile
           ,
           this
           is
           a
           work
           indeed
           ;
        
         
         
           ●ew
           can
           do
           this
           ,
           and
           they
           of
           heavenly
           breed
           ,
        
         
           And
           such
           as
           are
           belov'd
           of
           Iove
           most
           just
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           vertues
           rare
           to
           th'
           skies
           exalt
           them
           must
           :
        
         
           Dark
           woods
           ,
           black
           flouds
           ,
           the
           midwayes
           overspread
           :
        
         
           Yet
           if
           thy
           minde
           be
           with
           such
           longing
           led
           ,
        
         
           To
           swimme
           twice
           over
           Styx
           ,
           twice
           to
           behold
        
         
           Tartars
           dark
           dennes
           ,
           and
           that
           thou
           art
           so
           bold
           ,
        
         
           So
           hard
           a
           task
           ,
           so
           free
           to
           take
           in
           hand
           :
        
         
           Then
           what
           thou
           first
           must
           do
           now
           understand
           :
        
         
           In
           huge
           wood
           shades
           there
           is
           a
           golden
           tree
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           leaves
           and
           tender
           twigs
           all
           golden
           be
           ,
        
         
           To
           faire
           Proserpina
           being
           consecrated
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           by
           the
           whole
           thick
           wood
           is
           obumbrated
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           dark
           dikes
           and
           banks
           immur'd
           about
           :
        
         
           But
           none
           can
           under
           earth
           get
           in
           or
           out
           ,
        
         
           Till
           he
           a
           branch
           of
           that
           gold
           tree
           obtain
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           must
           to
           faire
           Proserpina
           remain
           ,
        
         
           As
           her
           choice
           gift
           .
           A
           first
           branch
           pull'd
           away
           ,
        
         
           Another
           sprig
           springs
           out
           of
           gold
           most
           gay
           :
        
         
           Then
           search
           it
           seriously
           ,
           which
           when
           you
           spie
           ,
        
         
           Carefully
           crop
           it
           ;
           for
           if
           destinie
        
         
           Intend
           thee
           to
           befriend
           ,
           't
           will
           follow
           faire
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           slight
           slip
           ;
           if
           not
           ,
           no
           toil
           or
           care
        
         
           Can
           break
           the
           branch
           ,
           no
           ax
           it
           loose
           or
           lop
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           there
           lies
           upon
           the
           earths
           bare
           top
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           friends
           unburied
           corps
           (
           alas
           ,
           thou
           sure
        
         
           Knowest
           it
           not
           )
           whose
           smell
           none
           can
           endure
        
         
           Through
           all
           thy
           fleet
           :
           then
           whiles
           thou
           here
           dost
           stay
        
         
           To
           ask
           deep
           counsell
           ,
           take
           his
           corps
           away
           ,
        
         
           And
           lay
           him
           in
           his
           grave
           ,
           and
           with
           thee
           take
        
         
           Fat
           beasts
           ,
           thy
           first
           black
           sacrifice
           to
           make
           .
        
         
           So
           shalt
           thou
           Sty●●●n
           groves
           behold
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           hard-found
           courts
           ,
           which
           (
           yet
           )
           no
           mortals
           past
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           to
           silence
           she
           her
           lips
           confin'd
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           ,
           he
           goes
           on
           with
           carefull
           minde
           ,
        
         
           His
           eyes
           fast
           fixt
           on
           ground
           ,
           the
           cave
           forsaken
           ,
        
         
           By
           thousand
           thoughts
           of
           strange
           events
           o'retaken
           .
        
         
           With
           whom
           his
           trustie
           kinde
           Achates
           went
           ,
        
         
           To
           share
           with
           him
           in
           all
           hard
           straits
           full
           bent
           .
        
         
           Thus
           as
           they
           passe
           ,
           much
           various
           talk
           they
           finde
           ;
        
         
           What
           corps
           t'interre
           she
           meant
           ;
           what
           dead
           friend
           kinde
           :
        
         
           And
           going
           on
           ,
           they
           on
           dry-land
           did
           spie
        
         
           Misenus
           good
           ,
           slain
           most
           unworthily
           :
        
         
           Misenus
           nobly
           born
           ,
           then
           whom
           was
           none
        
         
           A
           braver
           bolder
           trumpeter
           ere
           known
           .
        
         
           With
           expert
           art
           t'
           inflame
           mens
           hearts
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           In
           whom
           great
           Hector
           rarely
           did
           delight
           ,
        
         
           Made
           him
           his
           mate
           ;
           for
           in
           his
           battells
           brave
        
         
           With
           speare
           and
           trump
           he
           did
           him
           well
           behave
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           Achilles
           victour
           vanquished
        
         
           His
           Hector
           deare
           ,
           he
           forthwith
           followed
        
         
           
             Trojan
             Aeneas
          
           ,
           as
           his
           noble
           mate
           ,
        
         
           To
           no
           lesse
           fame
           himself
           t'
           associate
           .
        
         
           But
           (
           once
           )
           when
           on
           an
           hollow
           rock
           ,
           by
           chance
           ,
        
         
           He
           unadvis'dly
           did
           his
           trump
           advance
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           shrill
           notes
           did
           seem
           to
           vindicate
        
         
           The
           sea-nymphs
           ;
           Triton
           him
           did
           emulate
           ,
        
         
           And
           (
           if
           we
           may
           beleeve
           it
           )
           in
           disdain
        
         
           Precipitately
           in
           the
           foamy
           main
        
         
           Drown'd
           him
           amongst
           the
           rocks
           .
           They
           all
           therefore
        
         
           A
           bout
           the
           corps
           his
           fatall
           end
           deplore
           ,
        
         
           Chiefly
           Aeneas
           :
           then
           without
           delay
        
         
           They
           Sibylls
           charge
           to
           discharge
           haste
           away
           ,
        
         
           And
           weeping
           went
           to
           work
           ,
           to
           fell
           down
           trees
           ,
        
         
         
           A
           grave
           pile
           to
           erect
           ,
           which
           by
           degrees
        
         
           Should
           touch
           the
           skies
           .
           To
           an
           old
           wood
           they
           go
           ,
        
         
           Where
           fierce
           wilde
           beasts
           did
           lurk
           :
           there
           down
           they
           throw
        
         
           Firre-trees
           ,
           and
           beech
           resounding
           hatchets
           blow
           ,
        
         
           Ash-trees
           and
           oaks
           they
           cut
           and
           cleave
           with
           wedges
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           hills
           huge
           elms
           they
           rowl
           on
           sledges·
        
         
           Aeneas
           chiefly
           all
           their
           works
           o'reviews
           ,
        
         
           Prayes
           them
           to
           ply
           it
           ,
           nor
           doth
           he
           refuse
        
         
           To
           work
           with
           them
           ;
           yet
           whiles
           in
           his
           sad
           breast
        
         
           He
           ruminates
           these
           things
           ,
           his
           eyes
           addrest
        
         
           To
           the
           huge
           wood
           ,
           thus
           haply
           prayed
           he
           ;
        
         
           O
           that
           in
           this
           wide
           wood
           ,
           that
           golden
           tree
        
         
           So
           hard
           to
           finde
           ,
           it self
           would
           to
           me
           show
           ,
        
         
           For
           surely
           all
           the
           prophets
           said
           (
           I
           know
           )
        
         
           Is
           too
           too
           true
           of
           thee
           ,
           Misenus
           deare
           !
        
         
           Scarce
           said
           he
           thus
           ,
           when
           to
           him
           did
           appeare
        
         
           A
           paire
           of
           pigeons
           ,
           flying
           'fore
           his
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           grasse
           alighting
           from
           the
           skies
           .
        
         
           The
           noble
           prince
           his
           mothers
           birds
           did
           know
           ,
        
         
           And
           joyfull
           prayes
           ,
           O
           be
           my
           guides
           ,
           and
           show
        
         
           The
           way
           if
           any
           be
           ,
           and
           through
           the
           aire
        
         
           'Point
           me
           a
           path
           by
           which
           I
           may
           repaire
        
         
           Into
           the
           wood
           ,
           and
           finde
           the
           fertile
           ground
           ,
        
         
           Which
           with
           that
           rare
           rich
           golden
           branch
           is
           crown'd
           .
        
         
           And
           thou
           deare
           mother
           ,
           do
           me
           not
           forsake
        
         
           In
           such
           anxieties
           :
           as
           thus
           he
           spake
           ,
        
         
           He
           steady
           stands
           ,
           watching
           the
           doves
           aright
           ,
        
         
           What
           signes
           they
           'd
           show
           ,
           which
           way
           they
           'd
           take
           their
           flight
           .
        
         
           They
           onely
           pecking
           meat
           flew
           fast
           away
        
         
           As
           farre
           as
           e're
           mans
           sight
           could
           after
           stray
           .
        
         
           Thus
           flying
           o're
           Avernus
           stinking
           lake
           ,
        
         
           They
           swiftly
           hovering
           up
           ,
           their
           way
           do
           take
        
         
         
           Through
           the
           transparent
           aire
           ,
           and
           gliding
           sit
        
         
           Each
           on
           a
           tree
           ,
           upon
           their
           branches
           fit
           .
        
         
           Whence
           on
           the
           boughs
           gold
           glistering
           glimpses
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Like
           as
           when
           on
           a
           pinching
           winter
           day
        
         
           The
           mistle-tow
           doth
           flourish
           fresh
           and
           gay
        
         
           With
           new
           sprung
           leaves
           ,
           which
           ne're
           grew
           from
           the
           tree
           ,
        
         
           On
           which
           it
           hangs
           ,
           whose
           yellow
           berries
           be
        
         
           'Bout
           the
           tall
           trunk
           thereof
           ,
           a
           clinging
           shade
           :
        
         
           Even
           such
           a
           shew
           the
           golden
           branches
           made
           ,
        
         
           On
           adverse
           oaken
           boughs
           ,
           which
           a
           soft
           blast
        
         
           Made
           dangling
           leaves
           a
           twinkling
           lustre
           cast
           .
        
         
           At
           it
           straight
           leaps
           Aeneas
           ,
           pulls
           it
           quick
        
         
           Greedily
           ,
           thinking
           it
           too
           long
           did
           stick
           .
        
         
           Which
           to
           the
           Sibylls
           cell
           away
           he
           bore
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           the
           Trojans
           did
           lament
           on
           shore
        
         
           Misenus
           dead
           ,
           and
           his
           neglected
           dust
        
         
           They
           now
           adorn
           with
           funerall
           rites
           most
           just
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           ,
           fat-heart
           of
           oak
           in
           shivers
           cut
           ,
        
         
           And
           pitchie
           chips
           of
           wood
           together
           put
           ,
        
         
           They
           built
           a
           mightie
           pile
           ,
           and
           thereto
           adde
        
         
           In
           gracefull
           wise
           his
           arms
           and
           cypresse
           sad
           .
        
         
           Some
           get
           warm
           water
           ,
           some
           set
           on
           the
           flame
        
         
           Brasse
           boyling
           cauldrons
           ,
           some
           with
           ointments
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           wash
           and
           '
           noint
           his
           frozen
           body
           there
           ,
        
         
           And
           weeping
           much
           his
           wofull
           corps
           they
           beare
        
         
           Unto
           the
           bed
           ;
           then
           over
           him
           were
           thrown
        
         
           His
           purple
           robes
           ,
           rich
           vestures
           throughly
           known
           .
        
         
           Some
           on
           their
           shoulders
           beare
           the
           mightie
           beere
        
         
           (
           Sad
           piece
           of
           service
           )
           as
           to
           parents
           deare
        
         
           Young
           men
           do
           use
           ;
           their
           torches
           turn'd
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           Their
           frankincense
           and
           oyles
           ,
           given
           with
           free
           minde
           ,
        
         
           They
           heap
           together
           ,
           and
           together
           burn
           .
        
         
         
           Thus
           when
           his
           corps
           and
           all
           to
           ashes
           turn
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           flame
           slakes
           ;
           vvhat
           ever
           did
           remain
           ,
        
         
           His
           unburnt
           bones
           ,
           hot
           cinders
           ,
           up
           were
           ta'ne
           ,
        
         
           And
           washt
           vvith
           wine
           ,
           and
           by
           Chorineus
           laid
        
         
           Into
           a
           brazen
           coffin
           ,
           by
           him
           made
           :
        
         
           And
           thrice
           pure
           water
           on
           his
           mates
           he
           threw
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           an
           olive-branch
           sprinkles
           sweet
           dew
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           due
           expiation
           makes
           for
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           bids
           farewell
           ,
           last
           knell
           ,
           to
           th'
           funerall
           .
        
         
           But
           good
           Aeneas
           the
           sepulchre
           raises
        
         
           To
           a
           huge
           height
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           mans
           due
           praises
        
         
           Layes
           on
           his
           arms
           ,
           his
           oare
           ,
           and
           trump
           of
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           the
           skie-top
           mount
           ,
           which
           from
           his
           name
        
         
           Was
           call'd
           Misenus
           ,
           aye
           to
           beare
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           This
           done
           ,
           he
           speeds
           to
           do
           the
           Sibylls
           charge
           .
        
         
           There
           is
           a
           dungeon
           deep
           ,
           with
           mouth
           most
           large
           ,
        
         
           Lined
           with
           stones
           ,
           fenc'd
           with
           black
           pools
           ,
           boughs
           thick
           ,
        
         
           O're
           which
           no
           fowl
           dares
           flie
           ,
           though
           ne're
           so
           quick
           ,
        
         
           Without
           destruction
           ;
           such
           foul
           stinks
           arise
        
         
           Out
           of
           its
           mouth
           ,
           and
           putrifie
           the
           skies
           :
        
         
           Whence
           Greeks
           that
           place
           Avernus
           nominate
           .
        
         
           Here
           foure
           fat
           heifers
           he
           did
           ordinate
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           whose
           front
           the
           priest
           pure
           liquor
           threw
           ,
        
         
           And
           pul'd
           the
           haires
           ,
           which
           'twixt
           their
           horns
           thick
           grew
           ,
        
         
           And
           cast
           them
           in
           the
           fire
           ,
           first
           expiation
           ;
        
         
           Making
           to
           Hecate
           due
           invocation
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           soveraignty
           in
           heaven
           and
           hell
           was
           great
           .
        
         
           Some
           kill
           the
           beasts
           ,
           and
           in
           their
           basons
           neat
        
         
           Save
           the
           warm
           bloud
           :
           Aeneas
           self
           also
        
         
           A
           black-wool'd
           lambe
           to
           th'
           dam
           of
           hagges
           below
           ,
        
         
           And
           her
           great
           sister
           ,
           vvith
           his
           sword
           did
           slay
           ;
        
         
           And
           unto
           thee
           ,
           sacred
           Proserpina
           ,
        
         
         
           A
           barren
           cow
           .
           Then
           to
           the
           Stygian
           king
        
         
           He
           built
           night-altars
           ,
           and
           to
           them
           did
           bring
        
         
           Fat
           flesh
           of
           bulls
           ,
           to
           sacrifice
           i'
           th'
           flame
           ,
        
         
           Pouring
           on
           fatty
           oyle
           t'
           increase
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           ,
           behold
           ,
           before
           Sols
           first
           arise
           ,
        
         
           Under
           his
           feet
           the
           ground
           made
           muttering
           cries
           ,
        
         
           Wood-mountains
           mov'd
           ,
           dogs
           seem'd
           to
           howl
           i'
           th'
           shade
           ,
        
         
           Just
           as
           the
           Goddesse
           came
           ,
           foule
           stirre
           was
           made
           :
        
         
           The
           priest
           cries
           out
           ,
           Avaunt
           ,
           be
           gon
           ,
           profane
           ,
        
         
           And
           cleare
           these
           groves
           ,
           not
           one
           must
           here
           remain
           .
        
         
           Force
           thou
           thy
           way
           with
           naked
           sword
           in
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Be
           strong
           ,
           Aeneas
           ,
           stoutly
           to
           it
           stand
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           her self
           into
           the
           cave
           she
           cast
        
         
           Most
           furiously
           ;
           he
           stiffely
           follows
           fast
           ,
        
         
           So
           good
           a
           guide
           ,
           at
           heels
           ,
           and
           thus
           he
           pray'd
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Gods
           ,
           which
           rule
           each
           ghost
           and
           silent
           shade
           ,
        
         
           
             Phlegethon
             ,
             Chaos
          
           ,
           rooms
           dark
           ,
           dumbe
           and
           deep
           ;
        
         
           O
           let
           me
           not
           of
           these
           things
           silence
           keep
           :
        
         
           O
           let
           me
           with
           your
           leave
           speak
           what
           I
           heare
           ,
        
         
           Disclose
           hid
           secrets
           ,
           vvhich
           do
           here
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           Deep
           under
           ground
           ,
           and
           in
           black
           darknesse
           drown'd
           .
        
         
           Then
           in
           dark
           night
           ,
           black
           shades
           ,
           they
           ramble
           round
        
         
           Through
           Pluto's
           palaces
           ,
           and
           regions
           void
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           ,
           when
           men
           (
           the
           moon
           with
           clouds
           being
           cloyd
           )
        
         
           Walking
           in
           woods
           but
           by
           a
           glimmering
           light
           ,
        
         
           Iove
           having
           hid
           with
           fogs
           the
           skies
           cleare
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           colours
           faire
           being
           dampt
           by
           darksome
           night
           .
        
         
           Before
           the
           porch
           ,
           in
           the
           first
           gape
           of
           hell
           ,
        
         
           Foule
           mournings
           and
           tormenting
           cares
           did
           dwell
           ;
        
         
           Deadly
           diseases
           old-age
           anguishes
           ,
        
         
           Feare
           ,
           faultie
           famine
           ,
           vvants
           lean
           languishes
           ;
        
         
           Affrighting-forms
           ,
           fierce
           death
           ,
           and
           deadly
           toiles
           ,
        
         
         
           Deaths
           kinsman
           ,
           sleep
           ;
           false
           filthie
           joy
           ,
           that
           soiles
        
         
           Mens
           soules
           .
           On
           th'
           other
           side
           were
           deadly
           warres
           ,
        
         
           The
           Furies
           beds
           of
           steel
           ,
           and
           desperate
           jarres
           ,
        
         
           Her
           viperous
           haire
           tide
           up
           with
           bloudy
           bands
           .
        
         
           I'
           th'
           midst
           a
           mightie
           shadie
           elm
           there
           stands
           ,
        
         
           With
           weather-beaten
           boughs
           and
           aged
           arms
           ▪
        
         
           Where
           usually
           (
           they
           say
           )
           vain
           dreams
           and
           charms
        
         
           Made
           their
           abodes
           ,
           and
           'bout
           the
           leaves
           did
           '
           bide
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           furious
           fierce
           vvilde
           beasts
           beside
           .
        
         
           Two
           natur'd
           
             Scylla's
             ,
             Centaures
          
           stabled
           were
        
         
           About
           the
           doores
           ,
           monsters
           of
           hideous
           feare
           :
        
         
           Briareus
           hundreth-handed
           ,
           Hydra's
           ire
           ,
        
         
           Teeth-gnashing
           Chimaer's
           arm'd
           with
           flames
           of
           fire
           ;
        
         
           Gorgons
           ,
           and
           Harpyes
           ,
           hagges
           with
           shapes
           three-fold
           .
        
         
           Here
           sudden
           fright
           Aeneas
           forc'd
           to
           hold
           ,
        
         
           And
           shake
           his
           naked
           sword
           to
           all
           he
           met
           :
        
         
           And
           had
           not
           his
           vvise
           guides
           advisement
           let
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           him
           from
           those
           corps-lesse
           soules
           to
           fly
           ,
        
         
           And
           passe
           in
           peace
           ,
           those
           thin
           shapes
           subtiltie
        
         
           He
           had
           assail'd
           ,
           but
           vainly
           beat
           the
           aire
           .
        
         
           Thence
           then
           he
           to
           the
           right
           path
           did
           repaire
           ,
        
         
           Which
           leads
           to
           th'
           Acherontine
           filthie
           floud
           :
        
         
           Whose
           troublous
           stream
           boiles
           up
           vvith
           mire
           and
           mud
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           Cocytus
           sands
           evaporates
           .
        
         
           Charon
           ,
           hells
           frightfull
           ferryman
           ,
           there
           vvaits
           ,
        
         
           And
           plies
           the
           passage
           o're
           this
           filthie
           floud
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           crabbed
           countenance
           ,
           hoare
           haires
           ,
           which
           stood
        
         
           Most
           roughly
           over-grown
           o're
           all
           his
           chin
           ,
        
         
           His
           gogling
           eyes
           star'd
           ,
           as
           they
           flames
           had
           bin
           ;
        
         
           In
           ragged
           robes
           and
           tattered
           old
           attire
           .
        
         
           Thus
           ,
           a
           strong
           long
           pole
           thrust
           into
           the
           miro
           ,
        
         
           He
           drives
           his
           boat
           ,
           assisted
           vvith
           one
           sail
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           ,
           as
           his
           charge
           ,
           in
           's
           barge
           soules
           o're
           doth
           hale
           .
        
         
           Much
           grown
           in
           yeares
           ,
           yet
           lusty
           for
           his
           age
           ;
        
         
           To
           whom
           to
           th'
           shore
           soules
           flock
           for
           their
           passage
           ,
        
         
           Women
           and
           men
           ,
           yea
           all
           whom
           death
           destroyes
           ,
        
         
           Great
           potent
           peeres
           ,
           unmarried
           maids
           and
           boyes
           ,
        
         
           Compt
           youths
           ,
           vvhich
           die
           before
           their
           fathers
           face
           ,
        
         
           Like
           leaves
           in
           vvoods
           ,
           falling
           from
           trees
           apace
           ,
        
         
           Pincht
           off
           by
           autumnes
           chilling
           ,
           killing
           cold
           :
        
         
           Or
           like
           conglomerated
           birds
           that
           hold
        
         
           And
           flie
           together
           ,
           forced
           o're
           the
           main
           ,
        
         
           By
           vvinter
           vveather
           ,
           to
           some
           pleasant
           plain
           .
        
         
           Thus
           stand
           they
           striving
           ,
           first
           ,
           to
           be
           past
           o're
           ,
        
         
           With
           hands
           and
           hearts
           longing
           for
           th'
           other
           shore
           .
        
         
           The
           fuming
           ferryman
           takes
           these
           ,
           leaves
           those
           ,
        
         
           And
           others
           fiercely
           farre
           from
           shore
           o'rethrows
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           (
           with
           this
           noise
           much
           mov'd
           ,
           amaz'd
           )
        
         
           Sayes
           to
           the
           priestly
           maid
           ,
           Pray
           ,
           vvhence
           is
           rais'd
        
         
           This
           flocking
           to
           the
           floud
           ?
           vvhat
           seek
           these
           soules
           ?
        
         
           What
           strange
           adventure
           to
           these
           banks
           them
           toules
           ?
        
         
           And
           why
           do
           those
           the
           livid
           waves
           vvith
           oares
        
         
           So
           swiftly
           sweep
           ,
           to
           get
           unto
           you
           shores
           ?
        
         
           To
           whom
           the
           aged
           priest
           sayes
           briefly
           thus
           ▪
        
         
           Anchises
           ,
           and
           Ioves
           off-spring
           generous
           ,
        
         
           This
           is
           Cocytus
           deep
           black
           Styxes
           lake
           ,
        
         
           By
           which
           to
           sweare
           ,
           forsweare
           ,
           Gods
           conscience
           make
           ▪
        
         
           Unburied
           soules
           ,
           that
           ragged-rabble
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           the
           boatsman
           ,
           Charon
           ,
           whom
           you
           see
           .
        
         
           Those
           vvhom
           he
           rowes
           in
           's
           boat
           ,
           due
           buriall
           have
           ;
        
         
           Now
           may
           they
           ,
           till
           their
           bones
           do
           rest
           in
           grave
           ,
        
         
           O're
           those
           rough
           streams
           ,
           those
           banks
           have
           transportation
           ,
        
         
           But
           make
           about
           those
           shores
           perambulation
           ,
        
         
           And
           wandring
           walks
           ,
           at
           least
           ,
           an
           hundred
           yeares
           ,
        
         
         
           Then
           passe
           they
           o're
           those
           ponds
           ,
           which
           them
           re-cheeres
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           then
           with
           fixed
           feet
           stood
           still
           ,
        
         
           Full
           of
           deep
           thoughts
           ,
           pitying
           their
           case
           most
           ill
           :
        
         
           There
           he
           beheld
           Leucaspis
           'mongst
           them
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           brave
           Orontes
           ,
           his
           fleets
           admirall
           ,
        
         
           Mourning
           their
           vvant
           of
           honourable
           graves
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           boystrous
           blasts
           o'rewhelmed
           in
           the
           vvaves
           ,
        
         
           And
           sunk
           both
           ships
           and
           men
           ,
           sailing
           from
           Troy.
        
         
           Behold
           ,
           he
           now
           beheld
           ,
           vvith
           more
           annoy
           ,
        
         
           His
           ship-master
           ,
           his
           Palinure
           ,
           perplext
           :
        
         
           Who
           sailing
           Sicils
           seas
           ,
           his
           eyes
           fast
           fixt
        
         
           Upon
           his
           starres
           ,
           fell
           over-board
           ,
           was
           drown'd
           ;
        
         
           Whom
           scarce
           for
           mists
           ,
           his
           sad
           friend
           having
           found
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           he
           sayes
           to
           him
           ;
           My
           deare
           Palinure
           ,
        
         
           What
           God
           our
           losse
           of
           thee
           did
           thus
           procure
           ?
        
         
           And
           drench
           thee
           in
           the
           deep
           ?
           I
           pray
           thee
           tell
           ,
        
         
           For
           ne're
           till
           now
           did
           falshood
           with
           him
           dwell
           :
        
         
           Apollo
           with
           this
           one
           unsure
           reply
           ,
        
         
           Did
           much
           deceive
           my
           vain
           credulity
           ;
        
         
           Who
           told
           me
           ,
           thou
           seas
           safe
           shouldst
           passe
           ,
           and
           see
        
         
           Faire
           Italie
           ,
           and
           there
           shouldst
           landed
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           is
           this
           (
           now
           )
           the
           faithfull
           promise
           made
           ?
        
         
           But
           he
           on
           th'
           other
           side
           repli'de
           ,
           and
           said
           ;
        
         
           Brave
           Trojan
           prince
           ,
           nor
           Phoebus
           thee
           deluded
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           any
           God
           me
           to
           the
           seas
           obtruded
           :
        
         
           For
           I
           my self
           holding
           my
           helm
           too
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Where
           I
           sat
           pilot
           ,
           did
           me
           headlong
           cast
        
         
           Into
           the
           sea
           ,
           guiding
           the
           ship
           .
           I
           sweare
        
         
           By
           all
           rough
           seas
           ,
           nought
           did
           me
           so
           much
           feare
        
         
           As
           thy
           great
           ships
           and
           ship-masters
           decay
           ,
        
         
           Lest
           on
           thy
           bark
           rough
           swelling
           seas
           should
           prey
           .
        
         
           Three
           vvinter-nights
           ,
           fierce
           vvindes
           me
           blew
           about
        
         
         
           The
           ocean
           vast
           ;
           the
           fourth
           day
           I
           found
           out
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           much
           adoe
           ,
           the
           banks
           of
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Keeping
           my
           head
           still
           'bove
           the
           waves
           on
           high
           :
        
         
           At
           last
           ,
           by
           small
           degrees
           I
           got
           to
           land
           ,
        
         
           And
           thereon
           safely
           I
           a
           while
           did
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           had
           staid
           ,
           but
           for
           a
           barbarous
           crew
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           to
           me
           (
           dropping
           vvet
           )
           in
           fury
           drew
           :
        
         
           And
           as
           I
           crawled
           up
           on
           hands
           and
           feet
        
         
           A
           craggy
           bank
           ,
           vvith
           swords
           they
           did
           me
           meet
           ,
        
         
           Slew
           me
           ,
           and
           of
           me
           hop'd
           to
           make
           a
           prey
           :
        
         
           Now
           vvindes
           and
           vvaves
           me
           neare
           the
           shore
           do
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           keep
           i'
           th'
           sea
           .
           Wherefore
           by
           heavens
           light
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           By
           this
           faire
           aire
           ,
           and
           by
           thy
           father
           deare
           ,
        
         
           And
           young
           Iülus
           hopes
           ,
           I
           thee
           intreat
        
         
           Free
           me
           from
           this
           ill
           state
           ,
           thou
           captain
           great
           ;
        
         
           And
           either
           put
           me
           (
           as
           thou
           mayst
           )
           in
           ground
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           I
           in
           Velines
           haven
           may
           be
           found
           )
        
         
           Or
           else
           ,
           if
           means
           there
           be
           ,
           if
           Goddesse
           great
        
         
           Have
           shewn
           thee
           any
           supernat'rall
           fear
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           I
           beleeve
           ,
           not
           vvithout
           heav●nly
           aid
        
         
           Thou
           swam'st
           this
           floud
           ,
           this
           Stygia●
           lake
           didst
           vvade
           )
        
         
           Lend
           me
           poore
           wretch
           thy
           hand
           ,
           and
           help
           me
           o're
           ,
        
         
           That
           I
           ,
           at
           least
           ,
           may
           rest
           in
           you
           ●weet
           shore
           .
        
         
           Thus
           he
           ;
           and
           thus
           the
           priest
           her
           minde
           expres●
           ;
        
         
           Whence
           ,
           Palinure
           ,
           comes
           this
           thy
           rash
           request
           ?
        
         
           VVouldst
           thou
           unburied
           ,
           Styxes
           stream
           pa●●e
           o're
           ?
        
         
           The
           furies
           flouds
           ,
           unbidden
           ,
           leave
           thy
           shore
           ?
        
         
           Cease
           to
           expect
           by
           prayers
           to
           change
           heavens
           fates
           .
        
         
           But
           heare
           and
           mark
           what
           thy
           case
           consolates
           .
        
         
           The
           nearest
           neighbours
           ,
           bordering
           '
           bo●●
           those
           parts
           ,
        
         
           By
           heavens
           prodigious
           signes
           perplext
           in
           hearts
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           take
           thy
           bones
           ,
           and
           vvith
           solemnities
        
         
         
           Interre
           ,
           entombe
           thee
           :
           from
           which
           grave
           shall
           rise
        
         
           Unto
           that
           place
           an
           everlasting
           name
        
         
           Of
           Palinure
           .
           Hence
           he
           more
           glad
           became
           ,
        
         
           His
           care
           had
           cure
           ,
           his
           grief
           in
           part
           was
           past
           ,
        
         
           That
           that
           land
           should
           his
           name
           retain
           at
           last
           .
        
         
           Then
           on
           they
           passe
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           pool
           draw
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           Charon
           straight
           on
           Stygian
           streams
           doth
           spie
           ,
        
         
           How
           slily
           they
           the
           wood
           walk
           ,
           haste
           to
           land
           :
        
         
           Thus
           he
           with
           checks
           and
           taunts
           them
           takes
           in
           hand
           .
        
         
           Who
           e're
           thou
           art
           ,
           that
           arm'd
           wouldst
           sail
           this
           way
           ,
        
         
           Say
           ,
           what
           's
           thy
           will
           ?
           why
           com'st
           thou
           ?
           thou
           shalt
           stay
           .
        
         
           These
           be
           soules
           seats
           :
           here
           night
           and
           sleep
           do
           sit
           :
        
         
           In
           Styxes
           boat
           live
           bodies
           't
           is
           not
           fit
        
         
           To
           carry
           o're
           ,
           nor
           did
           it
           me
           well
           please
        
         
           To
           carry
           Theseus
           ,
           or
           great
           Hercules
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Pirithous
           ,
           though
           they
           were
           heavenly
           bred
           ,
        
         
           For
           strength
           and
           stomack
           most
           unconquered
           .
        
         
           Alcides
           bound
           fierce
           Cerberus
           in
           bands
           ,
        
         
           Hells
           great
           grim-porter
           ,
           and
           with
           his
           strong
           hands
        
         
           Him
           quaking
           drag'd
           from
           Pluto's
           princely
           seat
           ;
        
         
           The
           rest
           did
           plot
           our
           king
           of
           's
           queen
           to
           cheat
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           th'
           Amphrysian
           priest
           reply'd
           again
           ;
        
         
           Trust
           me
           ,
           here
           's
           no
           such
           tricks
           ;
           from
           rage
           refrain
           ;
        
         
           Our
           weapons
           wound
           not
           ,
           Cerberus
           may
           bark
           ,
        
         
           And
           ever
           fright
           poore
           soules
           in
           's
           dungeon
           dark
           :
        
         
           Proserpina
           may
           keep
           her
           uncles
           bed
           ;
        
         
           For
           this
           our
           Trojan
           prince
           much
           honoured
        
         
           For
           piety
           and
           prowesse
           ,
           but
           intends
        
         
           To
           go
           to
           's
           father
           ,
           to
           deep
           hell
           descends
           .
        
         
           If
           so
           great
           goodnesse
           in
           the
           man
           moves
           not
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           know
           this
           branch
           of
           gold
           ,
           which
           he
           hath
           got
           :
        
         
           (
           Which
           she
           pul'd
           forth
           ,
           being
           hid
           under
           his
           gown
           )
        
         
         
           Whereat
           his
           rage
           and
           wrath
           of
           heart
           sank
           down
           .
        
         
           Silent
           ,
           that
           sacred
           gift
           he
           did
           adore
           ,
        
         
           The
           fatall
           branch
           not
           seen
           long
           time
           before
           ,
        
         
           And
           shoves
           to
           shore
           the
           blew
           boat
           them
           to
           take
           ,
        
         
           And
           other
           soules
           which
           sate
           beside
           the
           lake
        
         
           He
           thrusts
           aside
           ,
           and
           layes
           the
           hatches
           fit
           ,
        
         
           And
           great
           Aeneas
           sits
           i
           th'
           bulk
           of
           it
           .
        
         
           The
           joynted
           barge
           groan'd
           with
           their
           pondrous
           weight
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           the
           chinks
           took
           in
           much
           puddle
           straight
           .
        
         
           At
           length
           the
           priest
           and
           prince
           pasto're
           the
           floud
           ,
        
         
           And
           scapt
           the
           flaggy
           gray-grasse
           ,
           myre
           and
           mud
           ;
        
         
           Hells
           porter
           Cerberus
           ,
           through
           his
           triple
           throat
        
         
           Through
           all
           those
           regions
           rais'd
           a
           barking
           note
           .
        
         
           Couching
           ,
           huge
           curre-like
           ,
           in
           his
           kennell
           by
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           snake-like
           swelling
           neck
           the
           priest
           did
           spie
           ,
        
         
           And
           cast●
           to
           him
           a
           soporiferous
           sop
           ,
        
         
           With
           drugs
           and
           honey
           mixt
           ,
           which
           he
           did
           slop
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           his
           treble
           throat
           it
           quickly
           snaps
           ,
        
         
           In
           dogged-hunger
           ,
           with
           his
           meager
           chaps
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           his
           mighty
           back
           croucht
           ,
           down
           he
           lies
           ,
        
         
           And
           spreads
           himself
           i
           th'
           cave
           ,
           with
           slumbring
           eyes
           .
        
         
           The
           porter
           laid
           ,
           Aeneas
           whipt
           in
           brave
           ,
        
         
           And
           got
           to
           shore
           from
           th'
           irregressive
           wave
           .
        
         
           Straight
           in
           's
           first
           entrance
           piteous
           cries
           he
           heares
           ,
        
         
           And
           loud
           laments
           of
           infants
           'bout
           his
           eares
           ,
        
         
           Of
           tender
           babes
           snatcht
           from
           their
           mothers
           breast
           ,
        
         
           Depriv'd
           of
           longer
           life
           by
           deaths
           arrest
           .
        
         
           Next
           these
           ,
           were
           those
           who
           by
           false
           sentence
           dy'd
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           lot
           and
           law
           these
           to
           their
           place
           apply'd
           .
        
         
           Minos
           th'
           inquisitour
           the
           lots
           doth
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           spies
           and
           tries
           their
           lives
           and
           follies
           past
           .
        
         
           Next
           ,
           they
           lie
           mourning
           ,
           who
           with
           guiltlesse
           smart
           ,
        
         
         
           Hating
           their
           lives
           ,
           their
           own
           hands
           pierce
           their
           heart
           :
        
         
           Then
           though
           they
           spilt
           their
           bloud
           ,
           yet
           now'd
           be
           glad
        
         
           To
           suffer
           earths
           worst
           toiles
           ,
           then
           hells
           pains
           bad
           .
        
         
           But
           fates
           forbid
           ,
           and
           hells
           most
           loathsome
           lake
           ,
        
         
           And
           Styxes
           nine-fold
           streams
           tie
           them
           to
           th'
           stake
           .
        
         
           Not
           farre
           from
           thence
           lie
           all
           the
           fields
           about
        
         
           (
           For
           so
           men
           call
           them
           )
           of
           the
           weeping
           rout
           .
        
         
           Here
           all
           ,
           whom
           tyrannizing
           love
           did
           slay
        
         
           With
           piercing
           passions
           ,
           these
           in
           by-paths
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Hid
           under
           myrtle
           boughs
           ,
           whose
           grief
           of
           heart
        
         
           Still
           stings
           them
           ,
           and
           in
           death
           doth
           not
           depart
           .
        
         
           Here
           he
           beheld
           Procris
           and
           Phaedra
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Eriphyle
           her
           sonnes
           wounds
           laying
           bare
           .
        
         
           Euadne
           he
           ,
           and
           Phasiphe
           did
           finde
           ,
        
         
           And
           Laodamia
           ,
           to
           her
           pheere
           most
           kinde
           :
        
         
           Caeneus
           now
           a
           woman
           ,
           once
           a
           lad
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           re-transfigur'd
           for
           her
           follies
           bad
           .
        
         
           'Mongst
           whom
           he
           spi'de
           
             Sidonian
             Dido
          
           there
           ,
        
         
           Wandring
           i
           th'
           wood
           her
           love-wound
           fresh
           t'
           appeare
           .
        
         
           Whō
           Troyes
           brave
           prince
           approaching
           near
           ,
           scarce
           knew
        
         
           Through
           the
           thick
           shade
           :
           (
           like
           Luna
           ,
           whose
           first
           view
        
         
           A
           man
           through
           clouds
           doth
           see
           ,
           or
           thinks
           he
           sees
           )
        
         
           He
           weeps
           ,
           and
           speaks
           such
           sugred
           words
           as
           these
           ;
        
         
           Distressed
           Dido
           ,
           ah
           ,
           that
           sad
           report
        
         
           Was
           too
           too
           true
           ,
           brought
           to
           me
           from
           thy
           court
           ;
        
         
           That
           thou
           wast
           dead
           ,
           and
           with
           a
           sharp
           sword
           slain
           .
        
         
           Alas
           !
           sweet
           lady
           ,
           I
           did
           cause
           thy
           bane
           .
        
         
           Yet
           I
           protest
           by
           starres
           and
           deities
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           firm
           faith
           ,
           if
           under
           ground
           it
           lies
           ,
        
         
           I
           left
           thy
           land
           (
           faire
           queen
           )
           against
           my
           minde
           ,
        
         
           And
           here
           the
           Gods
           commandments
           me
           do
           binde
        
         
           To
           traverse
           up
           and
           down
           these
           foggy
           shades
        
         
         
           Through
           thornie
           paths
           ,
           and
           deep
           ,
           dark
           ,
           dumpish
           glades
           :
        
         
           Nor
           could
           I
           e're
           beleeve
           that
           it
           could
           be
           ,
        
         
           That
           my
           departure
           could
           so
           cruciate
           thee
           .
        
         
           Ah
           st●y
           vvith
           me
           ,
           fly
           not
           away
           so
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           shun'st
           thou
           ?
           since
           this
           talk
           must
           be
           our
           last
           .
        
         
           Thus
           spake
           Aeneas
           ,
           thinking
           therewithall
        
         
           To
           swage
           their
           grief
           ,
           and
           flouds
           of
           teares
           let
           fall
           .
        
         
           She
           frowning
           fixt
           her
           angry
           eyes
           on
           ground
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           was
           more
           mov'd
           with
           all
           he
           could
           propound
           ,
        
         
           Then
           is
           hard
           flint
           ,
           or
           Parus
           rock
           obdure
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           she
           from
           him
           breaks
           into
           obscure
        
         
           And
           bushy
           vvoods
           ,
           flying
           most
           angrilie
           ,
        
         
           VVhere
           her
           first
           spouse
           Sich●●●
           courteously
        
         
           Answered
           ,
           her
           vvoes
           vvith
           equall
           love
           repayd
           .
        
         
           At
           this
           hard
           hap
           Aeneas
           vvas
           dismay'd
           :
        
         
           Yet
           vveeping
           follows
           her
           aloof
           ,
           apace
           ,
        
         
           Lamenting
           much
           her
           absent
           vvofull
           case
           .
        
         
           Thence
           on
           he
           goes
           ,
           and
           at
           the
           last
           they
           came
        
         
           To
           th'
           utmost
           fields
           ,
           where
           men
           of
           Martiall
           fame
        
         
           Did
           walk
           about
           :
           here
           he
           Tydeus
           meets
           ,
        
         
           And
           Mars-like
           Parthenopeus
           kindely
           greets
           ;
        
         
           Adrastus
           gastly
           ghost
           :
           and
           here
           he
           spies
        
         
           Such
           Trojan
           lords
           as
           caus'd
           full
           weeping
           eyes
           :
        
         
           They
           being
           slain
           in
           warre
           ,
           he
           knows
           them
           all
        
         
           In
           their
           rare
           ranks
           ,
           and
           many
           a
           teare
           le
           ts
           fall
           .
        
         
           
             Glaucus
             ,
             Thersilocus
             ,
             Medon
          
           ,
           all
           three
        
         
           Antenors
           sonnes
           ,
           he
           sadly
           there
           did
           see
           ,
        
         
           Polybetes
           ,
           great
           Ceres
           priest
           most
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Idaeus
           still
           in
           's
           chariot
           drawn
           about
           ,
        
         
           Still
           brandishing
           his
           blade
           :
           soules
           thick
           do
           flock
        
         
           On
           both
           sides
           ,
           making
           him
           their
           gazing-stock
           .
        
         
           One
           sight
           sufficeth
           not
           :
           they
           stay
           ,
           stand
           still
           ,
        
         
         
           Make
           neare
           approach
           ,
           and
           know
           the
           cause
           they
           will
        
         
           Why
           ,
           how
           he
           came
           .
           But
           Greeces
           peeres
           most
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           those
           of
           Agamemnons
           warre-like
           rout
           ,
        
         
           Spying
           the
           man
           ,
           and
           his
           drawn
           glistering
           blade
        
         
           Through
           the
           thick
           mists
           ,
           extreamly
           all
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           Some
           flie
           away
           ,
           as
           once
           to
           ship
           to
           get
           :
        
         
           Some
           gape
           to
           speak
           ,
           whose
           gapes
           their
           speech
           do
           let
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           at
           last
           he
           saw
           in
           wofull
           case
        
         
           King
           
             Priams
             Deïphobus
          
           mangled
           face
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           o're
           wounded
           corps
           most
           cruelly
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           ,
           his
           faire
           face
           defac'd
           uncomelily
           ;
        
         
           His
           broken
           brows
           ,
           both
           hands
           ,
           both
           eares
           ,
           and
           nose
           ,
        
         
           All
           quite
           cut
           off
           by
           his
           most
           barbarous
           foes
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           he
           him
           knew
           ,
           trembling
           in
           wofull
           wise
           ,
        
         
           Lab'ring
           to
           hide
           those
           dire
           deformities
           .
        
         
           Yet
           in
           a
           well
           known
           tone
           thus
           he
           cries
           out
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           Deïphobus
           ,
           valiant
           ,
           stern
           and
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Sprung
           from
           Troyes
           royall
           stemme
           ,
           what
           savage
           minde
        
         
           To
           take
           such
           foule
           revenge
           in
           's
           heart
           could
           finde
           ?
        
         
           O
           who
           had
           power
           to
           use
           ,
           abuse
           thee
           so
           ?
        
         
           Fame
           did
           report
           ,
           and
           I
           nought
           else
           did
           know
           ,
        
         
           But
           that
           in
           dead
           of
           night
           ,
           thou
           wearied
           ,
        
         
           With
           slaying
           Greeks
           didst
           fighting
           fall
           down
           dead
        
         
           On
           heaps
           of
           them
           .
           Then
           I
           in
           vain
           did
           frame
        
         
           On
           Rhetian
           shores
           a
           tombe
           unto
           thy
           fame
           :
        
         
           And
           to
           thy
           soule
           sent
           three
           salutes
           most
           deep
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           that
           place
           thy
           name
           and
           fame
           to
           keep
           :
        
         
           Thy
           body
           there
           (
           faire
           friend
           )
           I
           could
           not
           see
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           as
           I
           would
           (
           my
           countrey
           left
           )
           give
           thee
        
         
           A
           worthy
           buriall
           .
           Deïphobus
           here
        
         
           Sayes
           ,
           Nothing
           's
           left
           undone
           ,
           O
           friend
           most
           deare
           ;
        
         
           To
           Deïphobus
           thou
           all
           dues
           hast
           payd
           ,
        
         
         
           All
           buriall
           rites
           :
           but
           here
           alas
           I
           'm
           stayd
           ,
        
         
           And
           drown'd
           in
           this
           distresse
           by
           fates
           decree
           ,
        
         
           And
           base
           Lacaena's
           fatall
           villanie
           :
        
         
           She
           left
           me
           these
           sad
           monuments
           of
           woe
           .
        
         
           For
           as
           we
           all
           (
           you
           cannot
           choose
           but
           know
           ,
        
         
           And
           too
           too
           well
           remember
           )
           that
           last
           night
        
         
           Did
           spend
           in
           frolick
           ,
           but
           most
           false
           delight
           ;
        
         
           When
           first
           that
           fatall
           horrid
           horse
           o'releapt
        
         
           Our
           Trojan
           walls
           ,
           when
           from
           his
           paunch
           out
           stept
        
         
           His
           swelling
           troops
           of
           armed
           foot-men
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           She
           feigning
           votes
           in
           Bacchanalian
           verse
           ,
        
         
           Led
           up
           and
           down
           our
           quaffing
           Phrygian
           dames
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           her
           hand
           held
           forth
           bright
           burning
           flames
           :
        
         
           And
           from
           their
           camps
           call'd
           out
           the
           Grecians
           bold
           .
        
         
           Then
           cumbring
           cares
           and
           sleepinesse
           did
           hold
        
         
           Me
           prest
           to
           rest
           ,
           in
           my
           unhappie
           bed
           ,
        
         
           And
           sweet
           deep
           sleep
           had
           me
           (
           now
           )
           vanquished
           ,
        
         
           And
           laid
           like
           one
           quite
           dead
           .
           This
           worthy
           wife
        
         
           (
           Meanwhile
           )
           my
           arms
           ,
           the
           safegard
           of
           my
           life
           ,
        
         
           And
           trusty
           sword
           ,
           purloyn'd
           and
           stole
           away
           ,
        
         
           Set
           my
           doores
           ope
           ,
           call'd
           in
           without
           delay
        
         
           Her
           Menelaus
           ,
           hoping
           (
           thus
           )
           to
           endere
        
         
           His
           love
           to
           her
           ,
           and
           all
           past
           ills
           to
           cleare
           .
        
         
           What
           needs
           more
           words
           ,
           they
           burst
           into
           my
           bed
           ,
        
         
           Together
           with
           Vlysses
           ,
           mischiefs
           head
           .
        
         
           Great
           Gods
           ,
           repay
           those
           Greeks
           with
           vengeance
           due
           ,
        
         
           If
           it
           be
           just
           which
           I
           request
           of
           you
           .
        
         
           But
           what
           strange
           chance
           hath
           brought
           thee
           (
           thus
           )
           alive
        
         
           To
           us
           ?
           Tell
           me
           likewise
           ;
           what
           seas
           did
           drive
        
         
           Thee
           to
           these
           parts
           ?
           or
           was
           't
           the
           Gods
           decree
           ?
        
         
           Or
           to
           these
           toiles
           hath
           fortune
           forced
           thee
           ?
        
         
           To
           tread
           these
           sad
           and
           sunlesse
           wearying
           wayes
           ?
        
         
         
           Thus
           with
           this
           talk
           Aurora's
           radiant
           rayes
        
         
           Had
           guilded
           half-o're
           heavens
           huge
           axletree
           ,
        
         
           And
           haply
           all
           their
           time
           thus
           spent
           might
           be
           :
        
         
           But
           that
           the
           Sibyll
           his
           most
           watchfull
           mate
           ,
        
         
           Said
           ,
           Good
           Aeneas
           ,
           night
           doth
           properate
           ,
        
         
           And
           we
           with
           weeping
           waste
           the
           time
           in
           vain
           :
        
         
           Here
           see
           the
           way
           divides
           it self
           in
           twain
           .
        
         
           〈…〉
           way
           ,
           which
           leads
           by
           Pluto's
           gate
           ,
        
         
           Will
           bring
           us
           the
           right
           way
           t'
           Elysium
           straight
           :
        
         
           But
           the
           left
           leads
           to
           Tartars
           torturing
           cell
           ,
        
         
           The
           place
           where
           damned
           soules
           are
           plagu'd
           in
           hell
           .
        
         
           Then
           Deïphobus
           said
           ,
           Prime
           priest
           ,
           be
           still
           ,
        
         
           If
           I
           offend
           ,
           I
           'le
           back
           ;
           my
           number
           fill
           ,
        
         
           And
           shelter
           me
           in
           shades
           .
           Go
           thou
           ,
           O
           go
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           glorie
           of
           our
           land
           ,
           the
           heavens
           bestow
        
         
           Better
           good
           luck
           on
           thee
           .
           This
           having
           said
           ,
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           spoke
           away
           from
           them
           he
           made
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           quick
           lookt
           back
           ,
           and
           soon
           espi'de
        
         
           A
           spacious
           castle
           on
           a
           rocks
           left
           side
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           strong
           threefold
           mightie
           wall
           surrounded
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Phlegethons
           fierce
           fierie
           river
           bounded
           ;
        
         
           And
           did
           thick
           ratling
           stones
           evaporate
           .
        
         
           Before
           it
           stood
           a
           mightie
           open
           gate
           ,
        
         
           With
           adamantine
           pillars
           set
           in
           view
           ,
        
         
           Such
           as
           nor
           Gods
           nor
           men
           could
           cut
           or
           hew
        
         
           By
           strength
           or
           art
           :
           a
           brazen
           tovvre
           stood
           high
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Tisiphone
           fierce
           sate
           usually
        
         
           In
           bloudy
           robes
           ,
           and
           night
           and
           day
           did
           guard
        
         
           And
           watch
           the
           way
           .
           From
           hence
           was
           eas'ly
           heard
        
         
           Great
           groans
           and
           moans
           of
           screeking
           smart
           and
           pains
           ,
        
         
           And
           rumbling
           noise
           of
           shackling
           iron
           chains
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           stood
           amaz'd
           ,
           dampt
           with
           that
           din
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           said
           ;
           Faire
           lady
           ,
           tell
           me
           ,
           what
           's
           within
           ?
        
         
           What
           damned
           soules
           ?
           what
           plagues
           ?
           what
           hideous
           cries
        
         
           Are
           those
           I
           heare
           ?
           To
           whom
           she
           thus
           replies
           ;
        
         
           Brave
           Trojan
           prince
           ,
           no
           upright
           man
           may
           dwell
        
         
           In
           this
           nefarious
           nest
           of
           damned
           hell
           :
        
         
           But
           me
           ,
           when
           as
           Proserpina
           me
           made
        
         
           Hells
           governesse
           ,
           she
           taught
           ,
           and
           open
           layd
        
         
           The
           plagues
           which
           Gods
           inflict
           ,
           shew'd
           me
           them
           all
           :
        
         
           Here
           's
           (
           sayth
           she
           )
           Rhadamanthus
           horrid
           hall
           ,
        
         
           Where
           he
           corrects
           and
           findes
           out
           knaveries
           ,
        
         
           Forcing
           confession
           of
           all
           villanies
           :
        
         
           And
           when
           they
           hope
           to
           scape
           with
           foolish
           joy
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           in
           death
           he
           plagues
           them
           with
           annoy
           .
        
         
           Then
           Tisiphone
           ,
           in
           one
           hand
           a
           whip
           ,
        
         
           Revenge
           fully
           makes
           guiltie
           soules
           to
           skip
           ,
        
         
           With
           furious
           lashes
           ,
           holding
           stinging
           snakes
        
         
           In
           th'
           other
           hand
           ,
           which
           greater
           tortures
           makes
           ,
        
         
           Calling
           for
           all
           her
           furious
           sisters
           aid
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           the
           sacred
           gates
           huge
           screeking
           made
           ,
        
         
           And
           opened
           wide
           .
           Seest
           thou
           (
           sayes
           she
           to
           him
           )
        
         
           What
           looks
           look
           on
           us
           ?
           what
           a
           guard
           most
           grim
        
         
           Sits
           at
           the
           porch
           ?
           see
           horrid
           Hydra's
           seat
           ,
        
         
           With
           fiftie
           snaky
           heads
           and
           gape-mouths
           great
           :
        
         
           Then
           hell
           it self
           ,
           full
           twice
           as
           broad
           and
           deep
        
         
           Downward
           ,
           as
           heaven
           ,
           upward
           beheld
           ,
           is
           steep
           .
        
         
           Here
           Titans
           youthfull
           troop
           ,
           earths
           aged
           race
           ,
        
         
           By
           thunder
           thrown
           down
           ,
           sunk
           to
           th'
           deepest
           place
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           the
           bastard-giant
           twinnes
           I
           saw
           ,
        
         
           Which
           with
           their
           hands
           meant
           heaven
           to
           scale
           ,
           and
           draw
        
         
           Great
           Iupiter
           from
           his
           supernall
           seat
           .
        
         
           I
           saw
           Salmone●s
           suffering
           tortures
           great
           :
        
         
           For
           he
           Ioves
           lightning
           needs
           would
           imitate
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           rattling
           thunder
           :
           being
           born
           in
           state
        
         
           Upon
           foure
           horses
           ,
           shaking
           flames
           of
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Making
           Greek
           towns
           and
           countreys
           him
           admire
           ,
        
         
           In
           triumph
           drawn
           ,
           in
           frantick
           arrogance
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           with
           Ioves
           due
           honour
           to
           advance
           ;
        
         
           Whiles
           he
           heaven
           ,
           inimitable
           fire
           ,
        
         
           By
           sounding
           brasse
           ,
           and
           horn-hooft
           steeds
           desire
        
         
           To
           counterfeit
           in
           their
           most
           swift
           careeres
           :
        
         
           But
           mighty
           Iove
           ,
           to
           whom
           this
           soon
           appeares
           ,
        
         
           Through
           thickest
           clouds
           dasht
           out
           a
           deadly
           dart
           ,
        
         
           (
           Nor
           could
           his
           torches
           ,
           nor
           bright
           fierie
           art
        
         
           Assist
           )
           and
           headlong
           in
           a
           storm
           him
           slew
           .
        
         
           There
           also
           might
           you
           mighty
           Tityus
           view
           ,
        
         
           Fructiferous
           Terra's
           sonne
           ,
           whose
           body
           great
        
         
           Stretcht
           out
           ,
           in
           breadth
           nine
           acres
           is
           compleat
           :
        
         
           A
           foule
           devouring
           vultures
           bending
           bill
           ,
        
         
           Gnawing
           upon
           his
           wastelesse
           intralls
           still
           :
        
         
           Whose
           guts
           him
           ever
           glut
           with
           horrid
           pains
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           feeding
           on
           his
           breast
           it
           still
           remains
           ,
        
         
           And
           restlessely
           pulls
           his
           regrowing
           veins
           .
        
         
           Why
           speak
           I
           of
           
             Lapitha
             ,
             Ixion
          
           ,
        
         
           And
           Pirithous
           ?
           on
           whom
           a
           huge
           flint-stone
        
         
           Doth
           alwayes
           hang
           ,
           and
           alwayes
           seem
           to
           fall
           ;
        
         
           Before
           whom
           stand
           rich
           lustfull
           beds
           most
           tall
           ;
        
         
           And
           costly
           cates
           to
           feed
           their
           luxurie
           ,
        
         
           Stand
           ready
           disht
           :
           but
           nestling
           o're
           them
           nigh
        
         
           Stands
           the
           prime
           Furie
           ,
           and
           them
           strict
           commands
        
         
           Not
           once
           to
           touch
           the
           table
           with
           their
           hands
           :
        
         
           And
           if
           they
           stirre
           ,
           she
           starts
           up
           in
           great
           ire
           ,
        
         
           Rattles
           them
           up
           ,
           bangs
           them
           with
           flames
           of
           fire
           .
        
         
           Here
           brother-haters
           whiles
           they
           liv'd
           ,
           I
           saw
           ;
        
         
           Parents
           despisers
           ,
           cheaters
           of
           just
           law
           :
        
         
         
           Rich
           churles
           who
           got
           great
           wealth
           ,
           but
           for
           themselves
           ;
        
         
           The
           greatest
           troops
           being
           of
           these
           impious
           elves
           )
        
         
           Such
           as
           for
           foule
           adulteries
           have
           been
           slain
           ;
        
         
           And
           who
           in
           jurious
           jarres
           do
           entertain
           ;
        
         
           Who
           rob
           their
           masters
           ,
           traitours
           are
           to
           th'
           state
           .
        
         
           All
           these
           with
           plagues
           hell
           doth
           incarcerate
           .
        
         
           Nor
           need'st
           thou
           ask
           ,
           what
           pains
           and
           tortures
           fierce
        
         
           These
           various
           vitious
           men
           do
           sting
           and
           pierce
           .
        
         
           Some
           '
           rowl
           huge
           stones
           ,
           so●e
           hang
           fast
           ty'de
           to
           wheels
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           wofull
           Theseus
           torments
           sits
           and
           feels
           ,
        
         
           And
           e're
           shall
           feel
           .
           Thus
           Phlegyas
           most
           of
           all
        
         
           With
           hortatorie
           cries
           in
           hell
           doth
           yaull
           ;
        
         
           Be
           warn'd
           ,
           be
           just
           ,
           the
           Gods
           do
           not
           despise
           :
        
         
           For
           gold
           of
           's
           countrey
           he
           made
           merchandize
           ,
        
         
           And
           brought
           in
           an
           usurping
           powerfull
           lord
           ,
        
         
           Old
           laws
           annull'd
           ,
           made
           new
           laws
           for
           reward
           .
        
         
           Another
           did
           his
           daughters
           bed
           defile
           ,
        
         
           Using
           forbidden
           copulation
           vile
           .
        
         
           All
           did
           foule
           deeds
           ,
           and
           what
           they
           will'd
           ,
           enjoy'd
           .
        
         
           Had
           I
           an
           hundred
           tongues
           to
           be
           employ'd
           ,
        
         
           An
           hundred
           mouths
           ,
           and
           iron
           elocution
           ,
        
         
           I
           could
           not
           shew
           the
           diverse
           distribution
        
         
           Of
           all
           the
           kindes
           of
           hells
           impieties
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           plague
           which
           on
           them
           heavy
           lies
           .
        
         
           This
           when
           
             Apollo's
             Sibyll
          
           sage
           had
           said
           ,
        
         
           Let
           's
           now
           go
           on
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           all
           stayes
           evade
           ,
        
         
           And
           our
           intended
           task
           begun
           conclude
           :
        
         
           Come
           ,
           let
           's
           make
           haste
           ;
           for
           I
           farre
           off
           have
           view'd
        
         
           The
           Cyclops
           shops
           ,
           strong
           walls
           ,
           high
           chimneys
           stand
           ,
        
         
           Where
           we
           to
           leave
           our
           present
           ,
           have
           command
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           together
           they
           blinde
           paths
           passe
           by
           ,
        
         
           Taking
           the
           midway
           ,
           to
           the
           gates
           drew
           nigh
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           first
           rusht
           in
           ,
           with
           water
           cleare
        
         
         
           Sprinckles
           himself
           ,
           and
           on
           a
           post
           most
           neare
        
         
           Unto
           the
           gate
           ,
           the
           branch
           of
           gold
           sticks
           fast
           ;
        
         
           Which
           done
           ,
           his
           gift
           given
           to
           the
           Goddesse
           ,
           past
           ;
        
         
           They
           came
           at
           length
           into
           these
           pleasant
           places
           ,
        
         
           Those
           fragrant
           fi●lds
           and
           groves
           of
           all
           the
           Graces
           ,
        
         
           Those
           sacred
           seats
           ,
           where's
           larger
           ,
           purer
           aire
           ,
        
         
           Bright
           light
           ,
           true
           sense
           of
           starres
           ,
           and
           Phoebus
           faire
           .
        
         
           Where
           some
           delight
           in
           grassy
           plains
           to
           sport
           ,
        
         
           To
           skip
           and
           leap
           in
           sand
           in
           wrastling
           sort
           ;
        
         
           Some
           dance
           and
           sing
           ,
           and
           trip
           it
           on
           their
           toes
           ,
        
         
           VVhiles
           Orpheus
           in
           his
           priest-like
           long
           gown
           goes
        
         
           About
           ,
           and
           playes
           on
           's
           seven-fold
           sounding
           lute
           ▪
        
         
           And
           strikes
           the
           strings
           with
           quill
           and
           skill
           acute
           .
        
         
           Here
           he
           beheld
           Troyes
           ancient
           noble
           race
           ,
        
         
           Her
           potent
           peeres
           ,
           born
           in
           more
           blis●efull
           case
           ;
        
         
           
             Ilus
             ,
             Assaracus
          
           ;
           first
           king
           of
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           Dardan
           ;
           their
           arms
           put
           off
           with
           peacefull
           joy
           .
        
         
           He
           uselesse
           chariots
           (
           wondring
           )
           sees
           set
           by
           ;
        
         
           Their
           speares
           fast
           fixt
           in
           ground
           ,
           and
           carelessely
        
         
           Their
           steeds
           let
           loose
           ,
           feeding
           in
           pastures
           wide
           ;
        
         
           And
           look
           ,
           what
           chariots
           love
           ,
           what
           Martiall
           pride
           ,
        
         
           They
           living
           had
           ,
           what
           care
           to
           feed
           and
           dresse
        
         
           Their
           gallant
           coursers
           ,
           now
           't
           was
           here
           no
           lesse
           .
        
         
           Again
           ,
           on
           's
           right
           and
           left
           hand
           he
           doth
           eye
        
         
           Some
           ,
           feeding
           on
           the
           grasse
           ,
           sing
           merrylie
        
         
           Rare
           panegyricks
           'mongst
           sweet
           lawrell
           trees
           ,
        
         
           VVhere
           fluent
           Po●
           through
           groves
           to
           flow
           he
           sees
           .
        
         
           Here
           patriots
           good
           ,
           who
           for
           their
           countrey
           dy'd
           ,
        
         
           Here
           priests
           ,
           who
           liv'd
           most
           modest
           lives
           ,
           did
           bide
           ;
        
         
           Here
           pious
           prophets
           ,
           who
           pure
           truths
           did
           preach
           ,
        
         
           Here
           expert
           artists
           ,
           who
           rare
           arts
           did
           teach
           ▪
        
         
           And
           here
           were
           they
           ,
           who
           ,
           mindefull
           of
           their
           state
           ,
        
         
         
           Made
           others
           their
           true
           goodnesse
           gratulate
           .
        
         
           All
           these
           were
           crown'd
           with
           fragrant
           garlands
           gay
           ,
        
         
           By
           whom
           environ'd
           ,
           thus
           did
           Sibyll
           say
           ;
        
         
           (
           But
           chiefly
           to
           Musaeus
           'mongst
           them
           all
           ,
        
         
           For
           he
           vvas
           in
           the
           midst
           ,
           and
           fa●re
           most
           tall
           )
        
         
           O
           say
           ,
           sweet
           soules
           ,
           and
           thou
           priest
           most
           divine
           ,
        
         
           What
           parts
           ,
           what
           place
           doth
           old
           Anchises
           shrine
           ?
        
         
           For
           for
           this
           cause
           this
           toile
           we
           undertake
           ,
        
         
           Are
           hither
           come
           ,
           have
           swumme
           hells
           mighty
           lake
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           this
           Heroë
           this
           reply
           did
           make
           ;
        
         
           No
           soule
           hath
           certain
           seat
           ,
           here
           we
           all
           dwell
        
         
           In
           shady
           groves
           ,
           flower-beds
           ,
           in
           fields
           that
           smell
        
         
           Most
           fresh
           and
           fragrant
           ,
           grac'd
           vvith
           rivers
           cleare
           :
        
         
           But
           ye
           (
           if
           thereunto
           such
           joy
           ye
           beare
           )
        
         
           Climbe
           o're
           this
           hill
           ,
           your
           vvay
           I
           'le
           easie
           make
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           by
           his
           good
           guide
           ,
           their
           way
           they
           take
           :
        
         
           And
           as
           they
           passe
           ,
           he
           shows
           them
           fields
           most
           faire
           ;
        
         
           Thus
           high
           hills
           left
           ,
           they
           to
           the
           plains
           repaire
           .
        
         
           But
           grave
           Anchises
           vvas
           most
           closely
           bent
        
         
           To
           see
           ,
           observe
           in
           valleys
           excellent
           ,
        
         
           The
           soules
           reserv'd
           for
           more
           supernall
           places
           ,
        
         
           Recogitates
           all
           his
           own
           kindreds
           cases
           :
        
         
           Their
           number
           ,
           nature
           ,
           fates
           ,
           and
           fortunes
           all
           ,
        
         
           Their
           customes
           ,
           courage
           ,
           he
           to
           minde
           doth
           call
           .
        
         
           And
           vvhen
           he
           saw
           Aeneas
           come
           to
           meet
           him
           ,
        
         
           Through
           the
           green
           grasse
           he
           joyfull
           runs
           to
           greet
           him
           ;
        
         
           Lifts
           up
           his
           hands
           ,
           le
           ts
           fall
           thick
           teares
           on
           's
           cheeks
           :
        
         
           Yet
           thus
           unto
           his
           sonne
           he
           cheerely
           speaks
           ;
        
         
           And
           art
           thou
           come
           ?
           by
           power
           and
           piety
           ?
        
         
           Hast
           thou
           (
           as
           I
           had
           hope
           )
           got
           victorie
        
         
           O're
           this
           hard
           task
           ?
           see
           I
           thy
           face
           again
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           I
           my
           sonne
           heare
           and
           reply
           most
           plain
           ?
        
         
         
           Thus
           truly
           I
           suppos'd
           ,
           and
           cast
           in
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Counting
           the
           times
           ,
           and
           now
           all
           true
           I
           finde
           .
        
         
           From
           vvhat
           strange
           parts
           (
           deare
           sonne
           )
           vvhat
           dangerous
           case
           !
        
         
           What
           seas
           turmoiles
           ,
           do
           I
           thee
           now
           embrace
           !
        
         
           O
           how
           I
           fear'd
           thy
           harm
           in
           Libya
           land
           !
        
         
           Straight
           he
           reply'd
           ;
           Deare
           father
           ,
           thy
           command
           ,
        
         
           And
           gastly
           ghost
           in
           visions
           oft
           beheld
           ,
        
         
           Hath
           ,
           for
           thy
           sake
           ,
           me
           to
           these
           parts
           compell'd
           .
        
         
           My
           fleet
           lies
           safe
           i'
           th'
           port
           ,
           on
           Tyrrhene
           sands
           :
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           grant
           good
           father
           vve
           may
           now
           joyn
           hands
           ,
        
         
           Grant
           me
           :
           ah
           flie
           not
           from
           our
           sweet
           embrace
           .
        
         
           At
           vvhich
           words
           teares
           ran
           down
           his
           cheeks
           apace
           .
        
         
           Thrice
           'bout
           his
           neck
           to
           clasp
           his
           arms
           he
           tries
           ,
        
         
           Thrice
           from
           his
           frustrate
           holds
           his
           image
           flies
           ,
        
         
           Like
           fleeting
           blasts
           ,
           or
           flashy
           dreams
           by
           night
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           Aeneas
           had
           full
           in
           his
           sight
           ,
        
         
           In
           a
           by-valley
           ,
           an
           enclosed
           wood
           ,
        
         
           With
           ratling
           boughs
           and
           sprigges
           ,
           where
           Lethe
           floud
        
         
           Ran
           through
           Elysian
           fields
           ;
           'bout
           vvhich
           did
           stand
        
         
           People
           and
           nations
           ,
           an
           innumerous
           band
           .
        
         
           Like
           bees
           ,
           when
           summers
           sun-shine
           does
           them
           warm
           ▪
        
         
           Who
           in
           faire
           meads
           'bout
           flowers
           and
           lilies
           swarm
           :
        
         
           So
           o're
           the
           field
           a
           muttering
           noise
           was
           rais'd
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           sudden
           sight
           Aeneas
           much
           amaz'd
           .
        
         
           Being
           ignorant
           ,
           he
           does
           the
           cause
           enquire
           ,
        
         
           What
           floud
           that
           vvas
           ,
           and
           vvhat
           so
           great
           desire
           ,
        
         
           About
           those
           banks
           did
           cause
           such
           troops
           of
           men
           .
        
         
           Then
           old
           Anchises
           answered
           thus
           again
           ;
        
         
           Those
           soules
           to
           whom
           new
           corps
           are
           due
           by
           fate
           ,
        
         
           About
           the
           banks
           of
           Lethe
           floud
           do
           vvait
        
         
           To
           drink
           deep
           draughts
           of
           dull
           forgetfulnes
           .
        
         
           Long
           since
           I
           long'd
           these
           things
           to
           thee
           t'
           expresse
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           ou●
           old
           stock
           to
           thee
           to
           numerate
           ,
        
         
           The
           more
           with
           me
           thee
           to
           exhilarate
           ,
        
         
           Latium
           once
           found
           .
           O
           father
           deare
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
        
         
           Can
           sacred
           soules
           from
           hence
           translated
           be
        
         
           To
           heaven
           ?
           and
           there
           resume
           dull
           corps
           again
           ?
        
         
           Can
           wretches
           such
           dire
           love
           t'
           earths
           light
           retain
           ?
        
         
           I
           'le
           tell
           thee
           sonne
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           and
           cleare
           thy
           doubt
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           began
           Anchises
           to
           set
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           punctually
           each
           circumstance
           t'
           explain
           :
        
         
           At
           first
           one
           abstruse
           spirit
           did
           maintain
        
         
           Heaven
           ,
           earth
           and
           seas
           ,
           bright
           moon
           and
           twinkling
           lights
           :
        
         
           That
           spirit
           infus'd
           through
           all
           parts
           ,
           moves
           ,
           incites
        
         
           The
           totall
           bulk
           ;
           diffus'd
           o're
           the
           whole
           frame
           .
        
         
           Hence
           men
           ,
           beasts
           ,
           birds
           ,
           and
           all
           sea-creatures
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           take
           life-feeding
           heat
           ;
           and
           to
           their
           seed
        
         
           Celestiall
           birth
           ,
           if
           corrupt
           bodies
           breed
        
         
           No
           obstacles
           ,
           nor
           terrene
           tumours
           ill
        
         
           The
           corps
           with
           dull
           and
           heavy
           humours
           fill
           .
        
         
           And
           hence
           they
           feare
           ,
           weep
           ,
           have
           a
           longing
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Regard
           not
           heaven
           ,
           clos'd
           in
           flesh
           prisons
           blinde
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           when
           they
           their
           lifes
           last
           breath
           forsake
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           death
           from
           them
           (
           poore
           soules
           )
           doth
           not
           quite
           take
        
         
           Each
           blot
           and
           blemish
           ,
           or
           all
           corp'rall
           ills
           ,
        
         
           Which
           long
           i'
           th'
           body
           grown
           ,
           it
           strangely
           fills
           .
        
         
           Wherefore
           they
           purging
           punishment
           endure
           ,
        
         
           To
           make
           them
           from
           old
           evils
           clean
           and
           pure
           .
        
         
           Some
           frisking
           soules
           i'
           th'
           whisking
           windes
           hang
           high
           ,
        
         
           Some
           in
           huge
           streams
           wash
           their
           impurity
           ,
        
         
           Or
           el●e
           are
           purged
           in
           refining
           flames
           :
        
         
           Thus
           these
           our
           pains
           each
           soule
           here
           fits
           and
           frames
           .
        
         
           Thence
           then
           we
           are
           to
           large
           Elysium
           sent
           ,
        
         
           Few
           are
           in
           those
           faire
           meadows
           resident
           ,
        
         
         
           Till
           times
           long
           progresse
           quite
           expired
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           we
           from
           imbred
           ,
           long-fed
           faults
           are
           free
           ;
        
         
           Our
           soules
           all
           simply
           pure
           in
           due
           degree
           .
        
         
           And
           then
           all
           these
           (
           a
           thousand
           yeares
           full
           spent
           )
        
         
           In
           troops
           to
           Lethe
           flouds
           by
           God
           are
           sent
           :
        
         
           There
           made
           unmindefull
           of
           their
           former
           state
           ,
        
         
           They
           long
           t'
           ascend
           corps
           to
           re-occupate
           ,
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           Anchises
           his
           Aeneas
           brings
        
         
           With
           Sibyll
           into
           th'
           midst
           o'
           th'
           troop
           ,
           which
           rings
        
         
           With
           ratling
           rumours
           :
           to
           a
           hill
           conducts
           him
           ,
        
         
           Whence
           all
           now
           coming
           ,
           he
           to
           know
           instructs
           him
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           go
           to
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           I
           'le
           to
           the
           show
        
         
           Our
           Albane
           peeres
           ,
           the
           glorie
           which
           shall
           flow
        
         
           In
           Italie
           ,
           on
           our
           faire
           families
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           imperiall
           princes
           which
           from
           us
           shall
           rise
           ;
        
         
           Yea
           all
           thy
           fates
           and
           fortunes
           I
           'le
           declare
           .
        
         
           Seest
           thou
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           that
           princely
           youth
           most
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Which
           leans
           on
           's
           headlesse
           lance
           ?
           He
           first
           shall
           spring
        
         
           From
           Latines
           bloud
           and
           Thyne
           ,
           and
           be
           first
           king
           ;
        
         
           Sylvius
           an
           Albane
           name
           ,
           thy
           posthume
           birth
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           thy
           Lavinia
           to
           thy
           long-lifes
           mirth
        
         
           Shall
           in
           the
           woods
           bring
           forth
           a
           royall
           king
           ,
        
         
           From
           whom
           a
           regall
           race
           of
           kings
           shall
           spring
           ,
        
         
           From
           whom
           our
           line
           o're
           Alba
           long
           shall
           reigne
           :
        
         
           And
           Procas
           next
           Troyes
           glorie
           shall
           maintain
           ,
        
         
           Capys
           and
           noble
           Numitor
           ,
           and
           he
        
         
           VVhose
           name
           shall
           personate
           ,
           re
           pattern
           thee
           ,
        
         
           
             Sylvius
             Aeneas
          
           ,
           rare
           for
           arms
           and
           arts
           ,
        
         
           If
           ever
           he
           reigne
           o're
           those
           Albane
           parts
           .
        
         
           Behold
           ,
           my
           sonne
           ,
           those
           youths
           ,
           what
           powers
           they
           show
           ,
        
         
           Those
           which
           with
           peacefull
           oaken
           garlands
           go
           ,
        
         
           These
           shall
           for
           thee
           
             Nomentum
             ,
             Gabi●
          
           ,
           tame
           ,
        
         
         
           Fidena
           faire
           ,
           Collatia's
           towers
           reclaim
           ;
        
         
           Towns
           famous
           for
           their
           chastities
           report
           :
        
         
           Potent
           
             Pometia
             ,
             Bola
             ,
             Cora's
          
           fort
           ,
        
         
           And
           Inuus
           camp
           ,
           towns
           once
           of
           noble
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Now
           onely
           lands
           ,
           but
           of
           no
           note
           or
           name
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           to
           's
           grandsire
           Martiall
           Romulus
        
         
           Shall
           be
           a
           prop
           ,
           whom
           from
           Assaracus
        
         
           His
           mother
           Ilia
           shall
           produce
           at
           last
           :
        
         
           Seest
           thou
           not
           on
           his
           head
           two
           crests
           stand
           fast
           ?
        
         
           And
           how
           great
           Iove
           on
           him
           his
           favours
           poures
           ?
        
         
           Behold
           (
           faire
           sonne
           )
           his
           high
           emperiall
           towres
           ,
        
         
           Renowned
           Rome
           ,
           vvhose
           magnanimity
        
         
           Shall
           rule
           the
           earth
           ,
           and
           raise
           their
           fame
           to
           th'
           skie
           :
        
         
           And
           on
           their
           vvall
           she
           shall
           seven
           towres
           erect
           ,
        
         
           Happie
           in
           famous
           peeres
           of
           high
           respect
           ;
        
         
           Such
           as
           from
           Berecynthia
           ,
           Gods
           faire
           queen
           ,
        
         
           In
           chariot
           drawn
           through
           Troy
           ,
           to
           spring
           were
           seen
           :
        
         
           Triumphant
           in
           her
           hundred
           God-births
           faire
           ,
        
         
           All
           heaven-inhabitants
           ,
           all
           starre-kings
           rare
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           look
           this
           vvay
           ,
           view
           this
           nation
           great
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           Romanes
           rare
           ,
           and
           
             Romane
             Caesars
          
           seat
           ,
        
         
           Iülus
           royall
           race
           ,
           the
           whole
           earths
           Keisar
           .
        
         
           There
           's
           ,
           there
           's
           the
           God-sprung
           man
           ,
           
             Augustus
             Caesar
          
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           I
           so
           oft
           have
           promis'd
           unto
           thee
           :
        
         
           By
           whom
           the
           golden
           age
           Latium
           shall
           see
           .
        
         
           As
           once
           by
           Saturn
           't
           was
           the
           whole
           earth
           o're
           ,
        
         
           His
           empire
           shall
           lie
           past
           the
           Indies
           shore
           ,
        
         
           And
           Garamants
           ,
           and
           where
           Sols
           prying
           eye
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           celestiall
           signes
           yet
           ne're
           past
           by
           :
        
         
           As
           farre
           as
           e're
           heaven-propping
           Atlas
           high
        
         
           Beares
           on
           his
           back
           the
           beauteous
           starrie
           skie
           .
        
         
           At
           his
           approach
           all
           Africk
           soon
           shall
           quake
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           at
           his
           God-decrees
           great
           Nile
           shall
           shake
           ,
        
         
           Maugre
           his
           seven-fold
           mouth
           .
           Nor
           so
           much
           ground
        
         
           As
           he
           shall
           win
           ,
           could
           Hercules
           surround
           ,
        
         
           Though
           light-foot
           hindes
           as
           windes
           he
           could
           outflie
           ,
        
         
           And
           boares
           and
           beares
           in
           Erymanth
           make
           die
           :
        
         
           Nor
           Bacchus
           that
           vine-victour
           with
           vine-chains
           ,
        
         
           Who
           tigres
           fierce
           to
           draw
           his
           coach
           constrains
        
         
           O're
           Nisa's
           steepie
           tops
           .
           Now
           then
           shall
           we
        
         
           To
           spread
           our
           fame
           by
           facts
           base
           cowards
           be
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           feare
           affright
           us
           from
           Ausonia
           land
           ?
        
         
           But
           what
           renowned
           prince
           doth
           yonder
           stand
           ,
        
         
           Crown'd
           with
           a
           sacred
           olive-branch
           ?
           oh
           now
        
         
           I
           know
           him
           by
           's
           gray
           haires
           on
           beard
           and
           brow
           ,
        
         
           Even
           noble
           Numa
           the
           first
           Romane
           king
           ;
        
         
           Who
           shall
           establish
           laws
           ,
           and
           make
           Rome
           spring
        
         
           From
           a
           poore
           land
           ,
           by
           simple
           Sabines
           aid
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           a
           mightie
           monarchie
           ,
           firm
           laid
           ;
        
         
           Whom
           Tullus
           shall
           succeed
           ,
           his
           men
           to
           make
        
         
           Their
           lazie
           lives
           to
           leave
           ,
           arms
           up
           to
           take
           ,
        
         
           And
           wonted
           triumphs
           now
           again
           to
           gain
           .
        
         
           Next
           him
           shall
           rise
           Ancus
           with
           ampler
           train
           ,
        
         
           Too
           much
           affecting
           popularity
           :
        
         
           And
           ,
           if
           thou
           wilt
           ,
           hither
           reflect
           thine
           eye
           ,
        
         
           And
           see
           the
           kingly
           Tarquines
           haughty
           heart
           ;
        
         
           And
           Brutus
           ,
           acting
           the
           revengers
           part
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           first
           accept
           the
           consuls
           dignity
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           bundles
           born
           ,
           and
           axes
           fatally
           .
        
         
           This
           father
           first
           his
           own
           sonnes
           shall
           destroy
           ,
        
         
           Raising
           rebellions
           to
           the
           states
           annoy
           ;
        
         
           And
           slay
           them
           ,
           for
           his
           countrey
           liberty
           ;
        
         
           Unhappie
           ,
           howsoe're
           posterity
        
         
           May
           elevate
           and
           much
           commend
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
         
           O'recome
           with
           's
           countreys
           love
           and
           thirst
           of
           fame
           .
        
         
           See
           there
           where
           
             Decii
             ,
             Drusi
          
           ,
           stately
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           fierce
           Torquatus
           with
           his
           ax
           in
           's
           hand
           ;
        
         
           And
           brave
           Camillus
           stoutly
           doth
           regain
        
         
           Romes
           ensignes
           lost
           .
           But
           that
           most
           royall
           twain
        
         
           Whom
           thou
           seest
           glistring
           in
           like-arms
           most
           plain
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           seem
           loving
           soules
           ,
           kept
           in
           deep
           shades
           ,
        
         
           Ah!
           what
           fierce
           warres
           ,
           with
           slicing
           bloudy
           blades
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           they
           raise
           up
           ,
           when
           once
           they
           rise
           to
           life
           ?
        
         
           What
           battells
           shall
           they
           fight
           ?
           what
           stintlesse
           strife
           ?
        
         
           The
           fath'r
           in
           law
           passing
           th'
           Alps
           altitude
           ;
        
         
           The
           sonne
           in
           law
           with
           's
           Eastern
           multitude
        
         
           In
           battell
           ray
           .
           Not
           so
           ,
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           not
           so
           ,
        
         
           Use
           not
           uncivil
           civil-warres
           of
           woe
           ,
        
         
           T'embrew
           your
           honour'd
           hands
           in
           countreys
           bloud
           .
        
         
           And
           thou
           ,
           O
           thou
           C●sarean
           sonne
           ,
           most
           good
           ,
        
         
           Great
           seed
           of
           Iove
           ▪
           sprung
           from
           a
           sacred
           line
           ,
        
         
           With
           such
           foule
           warres
           stain
           not
           those
           hands
           of
           thine
           :
        
         
           The
           Capitoll
           he
           shall
           triumphant
           take
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           hi●
           chariot
           make
           Corinthus
           quake
           .
        
         
           The
           Grecians
           slain
           ,
           he
           Argos
           shall
           subdue
           ,
        
         
           And
           trample
           down
           proud
           Agamemnons
           crew
           ,
        
         
           And
           victour
           ,
           vanquish
           Pyrrhus
           self
           most
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Armipotent
           Achilles
           lay
           along
           :
        
         
           And
           thus
           old
           Troyes
           great
           wrongs
           revenge
           shall
           have
           ,
        
         
           And
           Pallases
           polluted
           temple
           brave
           .
        
         
           And
           who
           can
           thee
           ,
           grave
           Cato
           ,
           here
           omit
           ?
        
         
           Or
           of
           couragious
           Cossus
           silent
           sit
           ?
        
         
           Of
           Gracchus
           great
           ?
           those
           two
           rare
           Scipios
           ,
        
         
           Warre
           wondrous
           thunder-bolts
           ,
           to
           Carthage
           woes
           ?
        
         
           Fabricius
           ,
           mightie
           in
           his
           mean
           estate
           ?
        
         
           Serranus
           ,
           plow-man
           ,
           yet
           Romes
           potentate
           ?
        
         
         
           VVhy
           am
           I
           tyr'd
           to
           tell
           of
           Fabius
           gr●●t
           ?
        
         
           That
           mightie
           man
           ,
           whose
           wisedome
           to
           retreat
           ,
        
         
           And
           grave
           cunctation
           shall
           Romes
           wrack
           repaire
           .
        
         
           Some
           for
           their
           skill
           in
           brazen
           statutes
           ,
           rare
           ;
        
         
           Some
           able
           (
           I
           think
           )
           hard
           marbles
           so
           to
           cut
        
         
           And
           carve
           ,
           as
           if
           they
           life
           had
           in
           them
           put
           :
        
         
           Some
           famous
           for
           facundous
           oratorie
           ,
        
         
           Some
           for
           the
           Math'maticks
           deserving
           glorie
           .
        
         
           But
           thou
           ,
           rare
           Romane
           ,
           rule
           with
           might
           and
           right
           :
        
         
           Let
           this
           be
           thy
           chief
           art
           ,
           thy
           choice
           delight
           ,
        
         
           To
           plant
           good
           laws
           in
           peace
           ,
           to
           use
           most
           kinde
        
         
           Good
           subjects
           ;
           but
           to
           curb
           the
           haughty
           minde
           .
        
         
           Thus
           grave
           Anchises
           :
           and
           ,
           to
           their
           more
           wonder
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           mightie
           Marcellus
           yonder
           :
        
         
           How
           he
           with
           spoiles
           most
           richly
           loaded
           goes
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           transcending
           ,
           him
           great
           victour
           shows
           .
        
         
           He
           ,
           he
           shall
           Rome
           from
           ruines
           re-advance
           ,
        
         
           Curb
           and
           crush
           Carthage
           ,
           and
           subdue
           all
           France
           ▪
        
         
           A
           third
           time
           shall
           to
           Iove
           ,
           in
           sacrifice
           ,
        
         
           Hang
           up
           the
           captive
           arms
           ,
           his
           Martiall
           prize
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           Aeneas
           (
           for
           he
           saw
           in
           's
           sight
        
         
           A
           lovely
           lively
           youth
           in
           armour
           bright
           ,
        
         
           But
           with
           a
           heavy
           look
           and
           cast-down
           eye
           )
        
         
           Sayes
           ,
           Father
           ,
           pray
           ,
           who
           's
           that
           in
           's
           company
           ?
        
         
           His
           sonne
           ?
           or
           some
           of
           his
           renowned
           race
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           noise
           they
           make
           ?
           see
           his
           most
           portly
           pace
           .
        
         
           VVhy
           do
           such
           dark
           black
           mists
           his
           head
           so
           hide
           ?
        
         
           To
           whom
           Anchises
           ,
           weeping
           ,
           thus
           repli'de
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           sonne
           ,
           long
           not
           to
           know
           thy
           countreys
           woe
           :
        
         
           The
           fates
           this
           childe
           to
           th'
           world
           will
           onely
           show
           ,
        
         
           And
           onely
           so
           :
           Rome
           (
           sure
           )
           seem'd
           too
           too
           great
        
         
           To
           you
           high
           Gods
           ,
           if
           her
           imperiall
           seat
        
         
         
           Had
           been
           perpetuall
           .
           O
           what
           sighs
           and
           cries
        
         
           Shall
           by
           his
           death
           unto
           great
           Rome
           arise
        
         
           I'
           th'
           field
           of
           Mars
           !
           what
           frequent
           funeralls
        
         
           Shalt
           thou
           ,
           swift
           Tyber
           ,
           in
           thy
           fluent
           falls
        
         
           Behold
           ,
           as
           thou
           dost
           by
           his
           new
           grave
           glide
           .
        
         
           N●'re
           shall
           a
           sprig
           sprung
           from
           our
           Trojan
           side
           ,
        
         
           Exalt
           Italian
           ancestours
           so
           fairely
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Rome
           triumph
           in
           any
           race
           so
           rarely
           .
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           for
           his
           connative
           pietie
           !
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           for
           faith
           spread
           by
           antiquitie
           ,
        
         
           And
           Martiall
           spirit
           !
           what
           do
           these
           avail
           ?
        
         
           Who
           ,
           unreveng'd
           ,
           durst
           him
           in
           arms
           assail
           ?
        
         
           And
           or
           on
           horse
           or
           foot
           durst
           him
           encounter
           ,
        
         
           But
           he
           was
           ever
           found
           his
           farre
           surmounter
           ?
        
         
           Ah
           prince
           to
           be
           deplor'd
           !
           if
           fates
           decree
        
         
           (
           Hard
           fates
           )
           thou
           scape
           ,
           thou
           shalt
           Marcellus
           be
           .
        
         
           O
           give
           me
           (
           now
           )
           handfulls
           of
           lilies
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           me
           strew
           ,
           with
           store
           of
           violets
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Those
           odoriferous
           gifts
           about
           the
           grave
        
         
           (
           Though
           all
           in
           vain
           )
           of
           this
           our
           kinsman
           brave
           .
        
         
           Thus
           in
           these
           sad
           complaints
           they
           stray
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           prie
           and
           spie
           all
           in
           those
           fields
           throughout
           .
        
         
           And
           when
           Anchises
           all
           to
           's
           sonne
           had
           shown
           ,
        
         
           And
           fire
           of
           future
           fame
           in
           's
           heart
           had
           blown
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           he
           shews
           what
           battells
           he
           must
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Latinus
           towns
           ,
           Italians
           warre-like
           might
           ;
        
         
           And
           how
           to
           beare
           ,
           or
           forbeare
           ,
           hazards
           all
           ,
        
         
           Which
           could
           or
           should
           i'
           th'
           future
           him
           befall
           .
        
         
           There
           are
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           two
           dormitive
           great
           gates
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           one
           made
           of
           horn
           (
           as
           fame
           to
           us
           relates
           )
        
         
           By
           which
           true
           spirits
           have
           a
           passage
           right
           :
        
         
           Th'
           other
           of
           elephantine
           ivorie
           bright
           :
        
         
         
           But
           false
           and
           fictious
           dreams
           soules
           this
           way
           send
           .
        
         
           When
           thus
           Anchises
           did
           his
           conference
           end
           ,
        
         
           Both
           to
           his
           sonne
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           Sibyll
           grave
           ,
        
         
           Through
           th'
           ivorie
           gate
           he
           them
           free
           passage
           gave
           .
        
         
           He
           hastes
           to
           's
           fleet
           ,
           revisits
           his
           old
           friends
           ;
        
         
           And
           to
           Cateta's
           port
           his
           course
           he
           bends
           .
        
         
           Where
           they
           with
           joy
           their
           anchours
           all
           do
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           the
           fleet
           at
           shore
           is
           fixed
           fast
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             sixth
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             seventh
             book
             .
          
           
             Caieta
             dead
             ,
             here
             buried
             lies
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             to
             Laurentum
             hies
             :
          
           
             Which
             he
             did
             plainly
             understand
             ,
          
           
             By
             his
             Ascanius
             ,
             was
             the
             land
          
           
             By
             fates
             assign'd
             .
             Then
             straight
             he
             sent
          
           
             An
             hundred
             legates
             eloquent
             ,
          
           
             With
             presents
             to
             Latinus
             great
             ,
          
           
             A
             peace
             and
             pardon
             to
             intreat
             .
          
           
             The
             king
             with
             peace
             doth
             them
             dispatch
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             his
             daughter
             makes
             a
             match
             .
          
           
             Juno
             displeas'd
             ,
             Alecto's
             sent
          
           
             From
             hell
             ,
             i'th'peace
             to
             make
             a
             rent
             .
          
           
             A
             wounded
             stagge
             breeds
             all
             the
             jarre
             :
          
           
             Confederates
             fit
             themselves
             for
             warre
             .
          
        
         
           ANd
           thy
           death
           ,
           nurse
           Caieta
           ,
           in
           this
           strand
           ,
        
         
           Eternally
           hath
           memoriz'd
           our
           land
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           thine
           honour
           there
           ,
           thy
           bones
           and
           name
           ,
        
         
           Great
           Italie
           maintains
           .
           (
           If
           this
           thy
           fame
        
         
           May
           ought
           enlarge
           )
           but
           her
           due
           obsequies
        
         
           Rightly
           perform'd
           ,
           her
           grave
           made
           high
           to
           rise
           ,
        
         
           Seas
           smooth
           and
           calm
           ,
           Aeneas
           hoyst
           up
           sails
           ,
        
         
           And
           left
           the
           port
           ,
           with
           prosperous
           nightly
           gales
           .
        
         
           Nor
           did
           dame
           Luna's
           light
           impeach
           their
           pace
           ,
        
         
           But
           made
           a
           shivering
           shine
           on
           seas
           surface
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Circes
           next
           adjacent
           shores
           they
           slice
           ,
        
         
         
           Where
           Sols
           rich
           daughters
           daily
           songs
           entice
           ,
        
         
           In
           groves
           unpassable
           :
           where
           she
           by
           night
        
         
           In
           her
           proud
           palace
           burneth
           fires
           most
           bright
        
         
           Of
           odoriferous
           cedar
           ,
           watchfully
        
         
           With
           nimble
           spindle
           spinning
           curiously
           .
        
         
           Hence
           we
           might
           heare
           by
           night
           fierce
           lions
           roare
           ,
        
         
           Strugling
           in
           rage
           against
           the
           bonds
           they
           bore
           :
        
         
           Wilde
           beares
           and
           bristly
           boares
           rage
           in
           their
           stie
           ,
        
         
           And
           shapes
           of
           mighty
           wolves
           howl
           hideously
           :
        
         
           Whom
           furious
           Circe
           by
           her
           sorcerie
        
         
           And
           potent
           potions
           ,
           metamorphis'd
           had
           ,
        
         
           Of
           comely
           men
           ,
           into
           wilde
           beasts
           most
           bad
           .
        
         
           Now
           that
           these
           honest
           Trojans
           might
           escape
        
         
           These
           havens
           ,
           and
           such
           prodigious
           bestiall
           shape
           ,
        
         
           And
           not
           approach
           that
           hurtfull
           hatefull
           shore
           ;
        
         
           Neptune
           with
           prosperous
           gales
           their
           sails
           up
           bore
           ,
        
         
           Forc'd
           them
           from
           thence
           ,
           them
           from
           those
           dangers
           ●●ave
           .
        
         
           Now
           Thetis
           breasts
           waxt
           red
           ,
           Aurora
           brave
        
         
           I'
           th'
           azure
           skie
           with
           golden
           rayes
           shone
           bright
           ,
        
         
           And
           suddenly
           the
           windes
           were
           calmed
           quite
           :
        
         
           The
           rocky
           seas
           their
           oares
           did
           nimbly
           smite
        
         
           And
           beat
           about
           .
           And
           here
           a
           mightie
           wood
        
         
           Aeneas
           spide
           ,
           through
           which
           faire
           Tybers
           floud
        
         
           With
           nimble
           goldie
           streams
           to
           sea
           did
           glide
           ,
        
         
           And
           yellow
           sands
           the
           current
           beautifi'de
           :
        
         
           And
           various
           birds
           ,
           which
           did
           those
           banks
           frequent
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           flouds
           bubling
           falls
           such
           notes
           did
           vent
        
         
           Above
           ,
           about
           ,
           as
           did
           delight
           the
           skie
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           woods
           with
           chirping
           chants
           did
           flie
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           he
           bids
           his
           mates
           their
           voyage
           stay
           ,
        
         
           To
           winde
           the
           fleet
           to
           land
           :
           then
           joyfull
           ,
           they
        
         
           Enter
           the
           shady
           river
           .
           Now
           relate
           ,
        
         
         
           Vrania
           faire
           ,
           what
           kings
           ,
           what
           times
           ,
           what
           state
           ,
        
         
           Old
           Italie
           retain'd
           ,
           when
           this
           thy
           fleet
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           new-come
           armie
           brought
           to
           Latium
           sweet
           :
        
         
           I
           'le
           all
           set
           forth
           ,
           and
           warres
           first
           grounds
           recite
           .
        
         
           Thou
           ,
           O
           thou
           Goddesse
           faire
           ,
           teach
           me
           to
           write
        
         
           Those
           bloudy
           broiles
           ,
           fierce
           troops
           ,
           warre-thirsty
           kings
           ,
        
         
           The
           Tyrrhean
           and
           Italian
           Martiall
           wings
           ,
        
         
           All
           in
           an
           uproare
           :
           here
           's
           new
           work
           indeed
           ,
        
         
           A
           mightie
           task
           ,
           to
           which
           I
           now
           proceed
           .
        
         
           Old
           king
           Latinus
           o're
           those
           realms
           did
           reigne
           ,
        
         
           And
           them
           in
           peace
           and
           plentie
           did
           maintain
           .
        
         
           Faunus
           and
           Marica
           (
           old
           writers
           gather
           )
        
         
           His
           parents
           were
           ,
           king
           
             Picus
             ,
             Faunus
          
           father
           ;
        
         
           And
           thou
           great
           Saturn
           ,
           thou
           art
           said
           to
           be
        
         
           The
           utmost
           basis
           of
           his
           progenie
           .
        
         
           No
           sonne
           ,
           or
           issue-male
           fates
           did
           him
           give
           ,
        
         
           Death
           on
           one
           s●az'd
           as
           soon
           as
           he
           gan
           live
           .
        
         
           One
           onely
           marriageable
           daughter
           faire
        
         
           Upheld
           his
           court
           and
           state
           :
           to
           whom
           repaire
        
         
           Many
           Italian
           peeres
           and
           potentates
           .
        
         
           All
           whom
           brave
           Turnus
           chiefly
           emulates
        
         
           For
           's
           famous
           ancestours
           most
           eminent
           ;
        
         
           And
           him
           the
           queen
           with
           love
           most
           vehement
        
         
           Did
           like
           and
           long
           to
           make
           her
           sonne
           in
           law
           ;
        
         
           But
           heaven-diverting
           prodigies
           she
           saw
        
         
           Crossing
           her
           thoughts
           .
           A
           spreading
           lawrell
           tree
        
         
           Grew
           in
           the
           midst
           o'
           th'
           court
           ,
           whose
           branches
           he
        
         
           Had
           many
           yeares
           preserv'd
           with
           reverend
           feare
           ,
        
         
           And
           whi●h
           Latinus
           ,
           when
           he
           first
           did
           reare
        
         
           His
           stately
           towres
           ,
           there
           found
           and
           consecrated
        
         
           To
           g●eat
           Apollo
           (
           as
           it
           is
           related
           )
        
         
           And
           from
           it
           did
           the
           land
           Laurentum
           name
           .
        
         
         
           A
           thick
           quick
           swarm
           of
           humming
           bees
           there
           came
        
         
           (
           Strange
           to
           be
           spoken
           )
           out
           o'
           th'
           open
           aire
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           this
           lawrells
           tops
           did
           all
           repaire
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           boughs
           close
           by
           their
           feet
           they
           hung
           ,
        
         
           All
           in
           a
           sudden
           swarm
           in
           clusters
           clung
           .
        
         
           Their
           augur
           straight
           cries
           out
           ,
           I
           plainly
           finde
        
         
           A
           forrain
           prince
           t'
           approach
           ;
           with
           him
           conjoyn'd
        
         
           Are
           strong
           confederates
           ,
           who
           with
           partners
           bold
        
         
           From
           these
           same
           parts
           this
           towre
           shall
           take
           and
           hold
           .
        
         
           Moreover
           ,
           as
           lady
           Lavinia
           good
           ,
        
         
           In
           sacrifice
           ,
           hard
           by
           her
           father
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Her
           haire
           (
           strange
           sight
           )
           was
           all
           on
           a
           light
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           cinging
           flames
           burnt
           all
           her
           rich
           attire
           :
        
         
           Her
           locks
           were
           burnt
           ;
           burnt
           was
           her
           diadem
           ,
        
         
           Beset
           with
           stones
           most
           rich
           ,
           and
           many
           a
           gemme
           :
        
         
           Up
           flies
           the
           fume
           ,
           abroad
           the
           flame
           extends
           ,
        
         
           And
           Vulcans
           violence
           to
           th'
           roof
           ascends
           .
        
         
           This
           was
           a
           hideous
           sight
           ,
           hard
           to
           endure
           :
        
         
           For
           fame
           and
           fates
           did
           glorious
           things
           assure
        
         
           From
           her
           ;
           yet
           that
           she
           should
           fierce
           battels
           breed
           .
        
         
           But
           these
           strange
           sights
           the
           carefull
           king
           with
           speed
        
         
           Brings
           to
           his
           father
           Faunus
           auguries
           ,
        
         
           In
           great
           Albuna's
           grove
           ,
           there
           to
           advise
           :
        
         
           In
           which
           wide
           wood
           a
           sacred
           spring
           did
           glide
           ,
        
         
           Misty
           mephitis
           with
           foule
           fogs
           doth
           bide
           .
        
         
           Hither
           all
           
             Italie
             ,
             Oenotria
          
           land
           ,
        
         
           Do
           still
           repaire
           ,
           dark
           doubts
           to
           understand
           .
        
         
           Here
           when
           the
           priest
           (
           the
           presents
           being
           paid
           )
        
         
           On
           slain
           sheeps
           skins
           by
           night
           to
           sleep
           is
           laid
           ,
        
         
           And
           falls
           asleep
           ,
           in
           sleep
           strange
           visions
           views
           ,
        
         
           Heares
           various
           voices
           ,
           conference
           does
           use
           ,
        
         
           And
           speech
           to
           sprites
           from
           th'
           Acherontine
           lake
           .
        
         
         
           Here
           ,
           when
           as
           grave
           Latinus
           prayers
           did
           make
        
         
           For
           faire
           replies
           ,
           and
           many
           sheep
           being
           slain
           ,
        
         
           Prostrate
           upon
           the
           skins
           he
           did
           remain
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           wood
           these
           words
           he
           heard
           most
           plain
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           sonne
           ,
           forbeare
           thy
           daughter
           deare
           to
           wed
        
         
           To
           native
           Latines
           ,
           shun
           their
           marri●ge
           bed
           :
        
         
           I
           have
           new
           forrain
           sonnes
           in
           law
           ,
           whose
           race
        
         
           Our
           name
           and
           fame
           unto
           the
           starres
           shall
           grace
           :
        
         
           Whose
           noble
           seed
           each
           sublunary
           thing
        
         
           Which
           Sol
           beholds
           ,
           shall
           to
           subjection
           bring
           ,
        
         
           And
           rule
           and
           over-rule
           .
           These
           plain
           replies
        
         
           Of
           's
           father
           Faunus
           ,
           and
           his
           counsel
           wise
           ,
        
         
           Latinus
           locks
           not
           up
           in
           silent
           sort
           ,
        
         
           But
           of
           it
           flying
           fame
           makes
           loud
           report
        
         
           Throughout
           all
           Italie
           .
           And
           now
           at
           last
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           youths
           their
           fleet
           made
           firmly
           fast
        
         
           Against
           the
           grassy
           banks
           .
           Aeneas
           then
           ,
        
         
           And
           faire
           Iulus
           flower
           of
           all
           his
           men
           ,
        
         
           With
           his
           couragious
           captains
           in
           degree
           ,
        
         
           Repose
           their
           bodies
           under
           a
           great
           tree
           .
        
         
           Then
           on
           the
           grasse
           they
           set
           their
           cheere
           ,
           and
           cakes
        
         
           Made
           of
           good
           meal
           ;
           whereof
           each
           one
           partakes
           :
        
         
           But
           (
           for
           so
           Iove
           by
           th'
           Harpyes
           had
           decreed
           )
        
         
           Were
           fain
           at
           last
           on
           mountain-fruits
           to
           feed
           .
        
         
           And
           this
           food
           failing
           ,
           they
           were
           forc'd
           to
           eat
        
         
           The
           crums
           and
           scraps
           of
           refuse
           bread
           and
           meat
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           their
           hands
           to
           break
           (
           all
           hungerbit
           )
        
         
           The
           sacred
           food
           ,
           for
           other
           use
           more
           fit
           :
        
         
           Nor
           spared
           they
           their
           trenchers
           broad
           :
           whereby
        
         
           Iulus
           said
           ,
           See
           ,
           sirs
           ,
           strange
           penurie
           ,
        
         
           Which
           even
           our
           tables
           hath
           devoured
           quite
           .
        
         
           Nor
           more
           did
           he
           allude
           :
           but
           with
           quick
           sight
           ,
        
         
         
           At
           his
           first
           words
           his
           father
           did
           foresee
           ,
        
         
           Of
           all
           his
           travells
           now
           an
           end
           to
           be
           .
        
         
           And
           intercepted
           the
           first
           words
           he
           spake
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           his
           fates
           amaz'd
           ,
           forth
           straight
           he
           brake
        
         
           Into
           these
           words
           ;
           Faire
           fate-given
           land
           ,
           all
           hail
           :
        
         
           And
           you
           Troyes
           Gods
           ,
           whose
           faith
           ne're
           yet
           did
           fail
           :
        
         
           Here
           's
           ,
           here
           's
           our
           countrey
           happy
           habitation
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           now
           I
           well
           remember
           )
           this
           relation
        
         
           Of
           these
           hid
           fates
           my
           father
           made
           to
           me
           :
        
         
           When
           thou
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           ariv'd
           shalt
           be
        
         
           On
           a
           strange
           land
           ,
           and
           famine
           thee
           shall
           force
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           meat
           all
           spent
           ,
           to
           have
           sharp-set
           recourse
        
         
           To
           sacred
           cates
           ;
           then
           there
           thou
           mayst
           expect
           ,
        
         
           To
           ease
           thy
           vvearie
           limbes
           ,
           there
           to
           erect
        
         
           Safe
           seats
           ,
           and
           with
           strong
           hand
           thy
           state
           protect
           .
        
         
           This
           was
           that
           dearth
           ,
           that
           last
           affrighting
           ill
           ,
        
         
           Which
           should
           all
           future
           feare
           and
           mischief
           kill
           .
        
         
           Be
           stirring
           (
           then
           )
           betimes
           by
           break
           of
           day
           ,
        
         
           And
           scout
           about
           ,
           each
           part
           and
           place
           survay
           ,
        
         
           What
           houses
           and
           inhabitants
           you
           finde
           :
        
         
           Thus
           from
           the
           port
           all
           severall
           vvayes
           let
           's
           winde
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           full
           cups
           to
           Iove
           let
           's
           drink
           ,
           and
           pray
        
         
           To
           old
           Anchises
           ,
           and
           in
           goblets
           gay
        
         
           Set
           wine
           upon
           the
           board
           .
           Thus
           having
           said
           ,
        
         
           With
           gallant
           garlands
           he
           his
           head
           aray'd
           ;
        
         
           Then
           invocates
           
             Apollo
             ,
             Tellus
          
           faire
           ,
        
         
           The
           mother
           of
           the
           Gods
           ,
           and
           nymphs
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           yet
           unknown
           flouds
           ,
           and
           obscure
           night
           ,
        
         
           And
           nightly
           rising
           starres
           ,
           by
           solemne
           rite
           ,
        
         
           And
           
             Ida's
             Iove
          
           ,
           and
           's
           Phrygian
           mother
           faire
           ,
        
         
           His
           parents
           both
           ,
           in
           hell
           and
           heaven
           which
           are
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           all-potent
           Iupiter
           on
           high
        
         
         
           From
           heaven
           thrice
           thundred
           ,
           but
           auspiciously
           :
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           hand
           a
           fierie
           cloud
           did
           shake
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           did
           a
           radiant
           golden
           lustre
           make
           .
        
         
           Here
           'mongst
           the
           Trojan
           troops
           (
           straight
           )
           rumours
           rofe
           ,
        
         
           That
           now
           's
           the
           time
           they
           cities
           should
           compose
           .
        
         
           Busily
           therefore
           banquets
           they
           prepare
           ,
        
         
           And
           full
           of
           vvine
           by
           th'
           sacred
           signes
           they
           are
           .
        
         
           Next
           day
           ,
           when
           Sols
           light
           lamp
           had
           earth
           made
           bright
           ,
        
         
           They
           stray'd
           abroad
           ,
           about
           them
           cast
           their
           sight
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           what
           confines
           ,
           cities
           ,
           shores
           these
           were
           ;
        
         
           And
           straight
           they
           found
           the
           river
           Numick
           there
           :
        
         
           Here
           current
           Tyber
           ,
           there
           the
           Latines
           stout
           .
        
         
           Anchises
           sonne
           then
           straight
           selected
           out
           ,
        
         
           Of
           all
           his
           troops
           ,
           an
           hundred
           legates
           vvise
           :
        
         
           Their
           brows
           with
           olive-boughs
           in
           most
           grave
           guise
        
         
           Adorn'd
           ,
           he
           to
           the
           kings
           great
           palace
           sent
           ,
        
         
           And
           gifts
           unto
           the
           king
           for
           to
           present
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           the
           Trojans
           peace
           to
           mediate
           .
        
         
           With
           this
           commission
           forth
           they
           properate
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           Aeneas
           meats
           his
           walls
           extent
           ,
        
         
           With
           shallow
           trenches
           fits
           its
           continent
           ;
        
         
           Most
           like
           a
           camp
           on
           first
           approached
           land
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           dikes
           ,
           forts
           ,
           bulwarks
           ,
           makes
           his
           citie
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           those
           Trojan
           youths
           so
           farre
           were
           past
           ,
        
         
           That
           they
           the
           Latines
           turret
           spi'de
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           their
           houses
           tops
           ,
           and
           quick
           they
           came
        
         
           To
           the
           town
           walls
           ,
           where
           they
           saw
           children
           game
           ;
        
         
           And
           lusty
           youths
           their
           prancing
           horses
           ride
           ,
        
         
           Some
           making
           chariots
           through
           the
           dust
           to
           glide
           ;
        
         
           Some
           were
           a
           shooting
           with
           their
           arrows
           swift
           ,
        
         
           Some
           slender
           lances
           brandish
           ,
           tosse
           and
           lift
           :
        
         
           Some
           were
           a
           wrastling
           ,
           running-matches
           making
           ,
        
         
         
           All
           of
           their
           best
           affected
           sports
           partaking
           .
        
         
           Straight
           to
           the
           aged
           king
           a
           post
           reports
           ,
        
         
           Brave
           strangers
           in
           strange
           cloaths
           came
           to
           his
           courts
           .
        
         
           He
           straight
           gave
           charge
           to
           entertain
           them
           all
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           on
           's
           kingly
           throne
           sat
           in
           his
           hall
           :
        
         
           A
           hall
           most
           faire
           and
           large
           ,
           born
           up
           most
           high
        
         
           With
           full
           an
           hundred
           pillars
           ,
           anciently
        
         
           The
           stately
           palace
           of
           king
           Picus
           grave
           ,
        
         
           For
           groves
           and
           parents
           piety
           ,
           most
           brave
           .
        
         
           Hence
           kings
           were
           wont
           their
           crowns
           and
           powers
           to
           take
           ,
        
         
           This
           they
           their
           temple
           ,
           court
           ,
           and
           hall
           did
           make
           :
        
         
           Here
           ,
           many
           sacred
           sacrifices
           slain
           ,
        
         
           The
           peeres
           were
           wont
           constantly
           to
           remain
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           here
           stood
           rare
           statues
           carv'd
           in
           vvood
           ,
        
         
           In
           solid
           cedar
           ,
           of
           ancestours
           good
           :
        
         
           Great
           Italus
           and
           grave
           Sabinus
           king
           ,
        
         
           Who
           first
           in
           Italie
           made
           vines
           to
           spring
           :
        
         
           Old
           Saturn
           also
           holding
           in
           his
           hand
        
         
           A
           crooked
           sicle
           ,
           pourtray'd
           there
           did
           stand
           :
        
         
           And
           two-fac'd
           Ianus
           at
           the
           entrie
           stood
           ,
        
         
           And
           other
           kings
           sprung
           from
           most
           royall
           bloud
           :
        
         
           Who
           vvarres
           deep
           wounds
           did
           for
           their
           countrey
           beare
           .
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           posts
           rich
           spoiles
           there
           hanged
           were
           ,
        
         
           And
           captives
           chariots
           ,
           axes
           us'd
           in
           warres
           ;
        
         
           And
           helmet-crests
           ,
           huge
           bolts
           and
           iron
           barres
           ,
        
         
           And
           shields
           and
           darts
           ,
           and
           ships
           foredecks
           most
           faire
           :
        
         
           King
           Picus
           self
           ,
           for
           horse-breaking
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Sate
           holding
           in
           's
           right
           hand
           his
           regal
           rod
           ,
        
         
           In
           's
           left
           a
           shield
           ,
           enthroniz'd
           like
           a
           God.
        
         
           Whom
           ,
           led
           vvith
           l●st
           ,
           Circes
           his
           wife
           so
           charm'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           her
           golden
           rod
           and
           druggs
           so
           harm'd
           ,
        
         
           That
           she
           into
           a
           bird
           transformed
           him
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           made
           a
           Jay
           with
           coloured
           feathers
           trim
           .
        
         
           Latinus
           sitting
           in
           that
           sacred
           seat
           ,
        
         
           And
           inmost
           parlours
           of
           ancestours
           great
           ,
        
         
           Bad
           them
           the
           Trojans
           to
           him
           to
           bring
           in
           :
        
         
           Who
           entred
           ,
           with
           these
           kinde
           words
           did
           begin
           ;
        
         
           Tell
           me
           ,
           brave
           Trojans
           (
           for
           we
           all
           do
           know
        
         
           Your
           land
           and
           linage
           ,
           and
           heard
           long
           ago
        
         
           Of
           your
           sea-voyage
           )
           tell
           me
           what
           you
           'd
           have
           :
        
         
           Or
           what
           hard
           straits
           your
           barks
           to
           Latium
           drave
           :
        
         
           Whether
           y
           'ave
           lost
           your
           way
           ,
           or
           weather-beaten
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           such
           like
           ills
           at
           sea
           do
           sea-men
           threaten
           )
        
         
           From
           other
           parts
           and
           ports
           hence
           farre
           remote
           ,
        
         
           You
           safely
           now
           'bout
           Latium
           banks
           do
           float
           .
        
         
           Shun
           not
           your
           safegard
           ,
           know
           that
           Latines
           all
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Saturn
           seed
           ,
           were
           never
           yet
           in
           thrall
        
         
           To
           laws
           or
           leagues
           ;
           but
           voluntarily
           ,
        
         
           By
           our
           Gods
           pattern
           ,
           we
           love
           equity
           .
        
         
           Indeed
           I
           think
           on
           't
           (
           time
           hath
           fame
           obscur'd
           )
        
         
           And
           Italies
           old
           men
           have
           thus
           assur'd
           ,
        
         
           That
           Dardan
           ,
           who
           did
           from
           our
           nation
           spring
           ,
        
         
           Was
           first
           
             Idaean
             Troyes
          
           victorious
           king
           .
        
         
           And
           
             Thracian
             Samo's
          
           streams
           did
           penetrate
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Samothracia
           now
           men
           nominate
           .
        
         
           Whom
           now
           deceast
           ,
           from
           
             Corits
             Tyrrhean
          
           seat
           ,
        
         
           Heavens
           regal
           court
           ,
           starre-canopie
           most
           neat
           ,
        
         
           Enthroniz'd
           hath
           ,
           and
           made
           a
           God
           most
           great
           .
        
         
           He
           ceast
           :
           And
           thus
           Ilioneus
           made
           replie
           ;
        
         
           Great
           king
           ,
           whose
           race
           did
           rise
           from
           Faunus
           high
           ,
        
         
           No
           tempest
           fierce
           did
           force
           us
           on
           your
           land
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           ignorance
           of
           starres
           ,
           or
           unknown
           strand
           ,
        
         
           Hath
           us
           misled
           ;
           but
           vve
           deliberately
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvith
           unanime
           votes
           did
           all
           apply
        
         
         
           Our
           thoughts
           unto
           these
           parts
           ,
           from
           realms
           expell'd
           ,
        
         
           Which
           all
           that
           Sols
           broad
           eye
           beheld
           ,
           excell'd
           .
        
         
           From
           Iove
           we
           sprang
           ,
           Iove
           was
           Troyes
           joyfull
           sire
           :
        
         
           From
           Iove
           our
           king
           himself
           doth
           kin
           acquire
           .
        
         
           
             Aeneas
             Troyes
          
           great
           prince
           us
           hither
           sent
           .
        
         
           O
           that
           stern
           storms
           did
           cruel
           Graecia
           vent
        
         
           On
           all
           our
           Trojan
           fields
           !
           what
           furious
           cloud
        
         
           Of
           angry
           fates
           did
           
             Europe
             ,
             Asia
          
           ,
           shroud
           ?
        
         
           I
           know
           ,
           fames
           trump
           these
           things
           hath
           sounded
           loud
           ,
        
         
           To
           utmost
           lands
           ,
           from
           sea
           the
           most
           remote
           ,
        
         
           And
           where
           the
           torrid
           zone
           (
           as
           writers
           note
           )
        
         
           By
           Sols
           intemperate
           heat
           doth
           much
           displease
        
         
           Our
           obvious
           world
           ,
           call'd
           the
           Antipodes
           .
        
         
           We
           ,
           driven
           about
           by
           that
           vvarre-inundation
           ,
        
         
           Humbly
           desire
           a
           peacefull
           petty-station
           :
        
         
           First
           ,
           for
           our
           countrey
           Gods
           a
           seat
           secure
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           our selves
           free
           aire
           and
           waters
           pure
           .
        
         
           VVe
           'le
           to
           your
           kingdome
           bring
           no
           foule
           disgrace
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           sleightly
           your
           deserving
           fame
           abase
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           this
           faire
           fact
           in
           foule
           oblivion
           smother
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Latines
           grieve
           ,
           that
           they
           did
           Trojans
           mother
           .
        
         
           I
           sweare
           by
           great
           Aeneas
           destinie
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           his
           Martiall
           hand
           ,
           who
           e're
           will
           trie
        
         
           His
           vertue
           ,
           valour
           ,
           or
           by
           faith
           or
           flight
           ,
        
         
           As
           many
           have
           ,
           and
           many
           (
           do
           not
           slight
        
         
           This
           voluntarie
           tender
           of
           true
           peace
           ,
        
         
           Or
           that
           we
           our
           submisse
           desires
           increase
           )
        
         
           Many
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
           to
           us
           have
           sought
           and
           su'de
           ,
        
         
           'Twixt
           them
           and
           us
           like
           friendship
           to
           conclude
           .
        
         
           But
           sacred
           secret
           fates
           ,
           and
           heavens
           command
           ,
        
         
           Hath
           us
           enforc'd
           to
           seek
           out
           thy
           faire
           land
           :
        
         
           Hence
           Dardan
           sprung
           ,
           hither
           doth
           us
           invite
           ;
        
         
         
           And
           grave
           Apollo's
           great
           commands
           incite
        
         
           To
           
             Tyrrhean
             Tyber
          
           ,
           sacred
           Numicks
           spring
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           I
           thee
           present
           ,
           from
           our
           great
           king
           ,
        
         
           With
           these
           small
           gifts
           ,
           of
           better
           former
           fate
        
         
           Remains
           ,
           reserv'd
           from
           Troyes
           combustive
           state
           .
        
         
           This
           bowl
           of
           gold
           Anchises
           sacred
           us'd
           :
        
         
           This
           Priams
           princely
           robe
           ,
           which
           still
           he
           chus'd
        
         
           To
           weare
           ,
           when
           he
           in
           councels
           ,
           laws
           wrote
           down
           ,
        
         
           A
           regall
           sceptre
           ,
           sacred
           priestly
           crown
           ,
        
         
           And
           royall
           robes
           ,
           the
           Trojan
           wives
           rare
           skill
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           Ilioneus
           ceast
           .
           The
           king
           sate
           still
        
         
           With
           settled
           count'nance
           ,
           eyes
           fixt
           firm
           on
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           rowling
           downward
           ,
           full
           of
           thoughts
           profound
           :
        
         
           Regardlesse
           of
           the
           gifts
           ,
           the
           robes
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           did
           the
           king
           for
           Priams
           sceptre
           care
        
         
           So
           much
           as
           for
           his
           daughters
           nuptiall
           state
           ,
        
         
           And
           Faunus
           foretold
           fate
           to
           ruminate
           :
        
         
           Strongly
           perswaded
           ,
           this
           was
           he
           should
           be
        
         
           His
           sonne
           in
           law
           ,
           sent
           by
           the
           fates
           decree
           ,
        
         
           From
           forrain
           parts
           ,
           to
           be
           his
           realms
           rel●ef
           ,
        
         
           To
           raise
           a
           famous
           race
           ,
           and
           be
           earths
           chief
           .
        
         
           Here
           at
           he
           joyfull
           sayes
           ,
           Heavens
           happifie
        
         
           Our
           high
           intents
           ,
           and
           their
           own
           augurie
           :
        
         
           Thou
           hast
           (
           brave
           Trojan
           )
           what
           thou
           dost
           desire
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           do
           I
           sleight
           thy
           gifts
           :
           till
           life
           expire
           ,
        
         
           And
           whiles
           Latinus
           reignes
           ,
           you
           shall
           enjoy
        
         
           A
           wealthie
           soile
           ,
           and
           fatnesse
           of
           rich
           Troy.
        
         
           As
           for
           your
           prince
           himself
           (
           if
           he
           desire
           ,
        
         
           And
           do
           our
           love
           and
           league
           so
           much
           require
           )
        
         
           Let
           him
           come
           hither
           ,
           nothing
           feare
           his
           friend
           :
        
         
           To
           peace
           ,
           in
           part
           ,
           we
           soon
           shall
           condescend
           ,
        
         
           If
           he
           ,
           your
           king
           ,
           and
           I
           ,
           kindely
           shake
           hands
           :
        
         
         
           You
           therefore
           shew
           your
           king
           these
           our
           demands
           .
        
         
           I
           have
           a
           daughter
           ,
           whom
           the
           whole
           consent
        
         
           Of
           our
           domestick
           oracles
           full
           bent
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           a
           fearefull
           heaven-shown
           prodigie
           ,
        
         
           Marriage
           with
           any
           native
           prince
           denie
           :
        
         
           But
           that
           faire
           sonne
           in
           law
           ,
           from
           forrain
           parts
           ,
        
         
           (
           Thus
           writers
           say
           to
           cheere
           Italian
           hearts
           )
        
         
           Whose
           bloud
           and
           birth
           our
           name
           should
           stellifie
           .
        
         
           And
           this
           your
           prince
           (
           if
           e're
           with
           verity
        
         
           I
           ought
           could
           augurate
           )
           I
           hope
           and
           pray
           ,
        
         
           May
           be
           the
           man.
           This
           said
           ,
           without
           delay
           ,
        
         
           Out
           of
           three
           hundred
           stately
           steeds
           that
           stood
        
         
           In
           faire-built
           stables
           ,
           at
           their
           manger-food
           ,
        
         
           To
           every
           Trojan
           he
           a
           choice
           horse
           gave
           ,
        
         
           Most
           swift
           of
           foot
           ,
           in
           purple
           trappings
           brave
           ,
        
         
           With
           dangling
           rich
           embroidred
           breast-plates
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           champing
           in
           their
           mouths
           gilt
           bits
           most
           rare
           .
        
         
           And
           to
           their
           absent
           prince
           he
           also
           sent
        
         
           A
           chariot
           ,
           with
           two
           coursers
           excellent
           ,
        
         
           Of
           heavenly
           breed
           ,
           who
           breath'd
           out
           flames
           of
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Engendred
           of
           that
           kinde
           ,
           celestiall
           sire
           ,
        
         
           Which
           quaint
           
             Daedalian
             Circe
          
           did
           contrive
           ,
        
         
           On
           mortall
           mares
           bastardly
           to
           derive
           .
        
         
           With
           these
           rare
           gifts
           and
           sweet
           words
           of
           the
           king
           ,
        
         
           They
           bravely
           mounted
           ,
           peace
           t'
           Aeneas
           bring
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           behold
           ,
           still
           jangling
           Iuno
           fierce
        
         
           From
           
             Grecian
             Inachus
          
           the
           aire
           doth
           pierce
           :
        
         
           And
           from
           
             Sicilian
             Pachyns
          
           parts
           espi'de
        
         
           Aeneas
           joyfull
           ,
           all
           his
           fleet
           to
           '
           bide
        
         
           In
           supine
           safety
           ,
           all
           his
           men
           intent
        
         
           'Bout
           buildings
           faire
           ,
           of
           confines
           confident
           ,
        
         
           His
           ships
           forsaken
           .
           Hereat
           angrily
        
         
         
           Shaking
           her
           head
           ,
           in
           sharp
           perplexitie
        
         
           These
           words
           she
           thundred
           from
           her
           boyling
           breast
           ;
        
         
           An
           hatefull
           brood
           !
           fates
           'gainst
           our
           fates
           addrest
           !
        
         
           What
           ,
           were
           not
           all
           in
           Troyes
           fierce
           battells
           slain
           ?
        
         
           And
           were
           they
           captiv'd
           ,
           yet
           could
           not
           be
           tane
           ?
        
         
           And
           was
           Troy
           fir'd
           ,
           yet
           could
           not
           burned
           be
           ?
        
         
           Could
           they
           through
           thickest
           troops
           and
           burnings
           flee
           ?
        
         
           Now
           (
           sure
           )
           my
           supreme
           power
           as
           tyr'd
           must
           lie
           ;
        
         
           And
           must
           I
           rest
           ,
           yet
           wrath
           not
           satisfie
           ?
        
         
           Yet
           I
           have
           them
           pursu'de
           ,
           quite
           chas'd
           from
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           those
           vagrants
           brought
           all
           seas
           annoy
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           them
           spent
           my
           spleen
           by
           sea
           and
           lands
           ;
        
         
           And
           yet
           ,
           alas
           ,
           what
           good
           do
           deep
           quick-sands
           ?
        
         
           What
           's
           Scylla
           sharp
           ?
           Charybdis
           vaste
           ,
           to
           me
           :
        
         
           Since
           they
           in
           their
           wisht
           Tyber
           lodged
           be
           ,
        
         
           In
           spight
           of
           seas
           and
           me
           ?
           Mars
           had
           the
           power
           ,
        
         
           The
           mightie
           Centaures
           nation
           to
           devoure
           .
        
         
           Diana
           could
           obtain
           my
           Ioves
           consent
           ,
        
         
           On
           ancient
           Calydone
           her
           rage
           to
           vent
           .
        
         
           What
           so
           foule
           fact
           could
           Centaures
           perpetrate
           ?
        
         
           Or
           Calydone
           ,
           such
           plagues
           to
           tolerate
           ?
        
         
           But
           I
           Ioves
           mightie
           spouse
           ,
           who
           all
           means
           try
           ,
        
         
           Which
           angry
           I
           could
           use
           ,
           or
           each
           way
           spie
           ,
        
         
           Am
           vanquisht
           by
           Aeneas
           .
           If
           my
           might
        
         
           Be
           still
           too
           weak
           ,
           I
           'le
           seek
           where-e're
           for
           right
           :
        
         
           If
           heaven
           refuse
           to
           heare
           ,
           I
           'le
           rouse
           all
           hell
           .
        
         
           And
           since
           from
           Italie
           (
           I
           see
           right
           well
           )
        
         
           I
           cannot
           keep
           him
           ,
           since
           fates
           firm
           decree
        
         
           Is
           ,
           that
           Lavinia
           shall
           t'
           him
           married
           be
           :
        
         
           Yet
           I
           all
           rubs
           and
           remoras
           will
           use
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           I
           fierce
           flames
           of
           discord
           will
           infuse
        
         
           'Twixt
           both
           those
           nations
           .
           With
           this
           precious
           prize
        
         
         
           The
           sonne
           and
           father
           in
           law
           shall
           sympathize
           ;
        
         
           And
           Trojans
           and
           Rutulians
           bloud
           shall
           be
        
         
           The
           damsells
           dowrie
           ,
           and
           Bellona
           she
        
         
           Shall
           be
           her
           bride-maid
           :
           nor
           fierce
           Cissean
           flames
        
         
           Shall
           onely
           be
           the
           birth
           of
           Trojan
           dames
           .
        
         
           But
           why
           may
           not
           dame
           Venus
           brat
           prove
           so
           ?
        
         
           A
           second
           Troy-novant
           with
           woe
        
         
           To
           set
           on
           fire
           .
           This
           said
           she
           angriely
        
         
           To
           earth
           descends
           ,
           and
           rais'd
           up
           instantly
        
         
           From
           deepest
           darks
           ,
           the
           furies
           fearefull
           seat
           ,
        
         
           The
           hag
           Alecto
           ,
           hell
           woe-worker
           great
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           bloudy
           battells
           chiefly
           do
           delight
           ,
        
         
           And
           impious
           acts
           ,
           snares
           ,
           slaunders
           ,
           and
           despight
           :
        
         
           Whom
           even
           her
           father
           Pluto
           loathes
           and
           hates
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           her
           hellish
           sisters
           ,
           for
           debates
           ;
        
         
           Such
           frowning
           faces
           and
           such
           mouths
           she
           makes
           ,
        
         
           So
           serpentine
           she
           seems
           ,
           full
           of
           foule
           snakes
           .
        
         
           VVhose
           madnes
           Iuno
           thus
           incites
           ,
           and
           sayes
           ;
        
         
           Great
           maid
           ,
           black
           midnights
           imp
           ,
           thy
           choice
           assayes
        
         
           And
           proper
           projects
           lend
           me
           straight
           thou
           must
           ,
        
         
           Lest
           my
           renown
           sore
           shaken
           lie
           i
           th'
           dust
           ;
        
         
           Lest
           Trojans
           work
           Latinus
           to
           a
           match
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           Italia's
           confines
           thereby
           catch
           .
        
         
           Thou
           canst
           belovedst
           brethren
           force
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           overturn
           whole
           families
           by
           spight
           ,
        
         
           And
           cast
           from
           house
           to
           house
           combustious
           flames
           ,
        
         
           Assume
           a
           thousand
           shapes
           ,
           false
           ,
           feigned
           names
           :
        
         
           And
           thou
           a
           thousand
           cheating
           tricks
           canst
           use
           :
        
         
           Then
           pump
           thy
           plenteous
           breast
           ,
           break
           off
           abuse
           .
        
         
           Their
           peace
           compacted
           ,
           sowe
           thick
           seeds
           of
           warres
           ,
        
         
           Their
           youths
           do
           look
           ,
           like
           ,
           long
           for
           Martiall
           jarres
           .
        
         
           Alecto
           straight
           swollen
           with
           Gorgonean
           spells
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           pest'lent
           poisons
           ,
           flies
           to
           L●tiums
           cells
           ,
        
         
           And
           Laurents
           kingly
           court
           ,
           and
           silent
           sits
        
         
           Close
           at
           Amata's
           doore
           ,
           which
           place
           best
           fits
           .
        
         
           Whose
           breast
           began
           to
           boyle
           with
           discontent
           ,
        
         
           With
           female
           feares
           and
           cares
           most
           vehement
           ,
        
         
           That
           Trojans
           and
           that
           Turnus
           wooers
           came
           .
        
         
           The
           hag
           that
           quickly
           did
           observe
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           From
           off
           her
           head
           one
           of
           her
           blew
           snakes
           drew
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           her
           breast
           into
           her
           heart
           it
           threw
           :
        
         
           By
           which
           this
           hag
           the
           whole
           house
           might
           molest
           .
        
         
           The
           snake
           slips
           slily
           'bout
           her
           tender
           breast
           ,
        
         
           Roules
           up
           unfelt
           ,
           and
           her
           with
           furie
           fills
           ,
        
         
           And
           viperous
           venome
           to
           heart
           burning
           ills
           .
        
         
           Then
           like
           a
           chain
           of
           gold
           her
           neck
           he
           twists
           ,
        
         
           And
           wreathes
           about
           her
           haire
           ,
           like
           hairelace
           lists
           ,
        
         
           And
           sliperily
           about
           her
           bodie
           frisks
           .
        
         
           But
           e're
           first
           power
           of
           pour'd-in
           poison
           had
        
         
           Soakt
           through
           her
           senses
           ,
           kindled
           flames
           most
           mad
           ,
        
         
           Or
           all
           her
           intellectualls
           quite
           possest
           ,
        
         
           With
           wonted
           motherly
           milde
           terms
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           She
           spake
           unto
           her
           spouse
           ,
           and
           much
           complain'd
           ,
        
         
           About
           her
           daughter
           ,
           that
           he
           entertain'd
        
         
           Those
           Trojan
           wooers
           .
           Must
           ,
           great
           king
           ,
           said
           she
           ,
        
         
           Our
           daughter
           deare
           Lavinia
           married
           be
        
         
           Unto
           those
           Trojan
           vagrants
           ?
           carest
           thou
           not
        
         
           For
           thine
           and
           mine
           ,
           and
           her
           more
           noble
           lot
           ?
        
         
           Whom
           that
           perfidious
           wretch
           will
           soon
           forsake
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           the
           first
           windes
           that
           blow
           ,
           and
           him
           betake
        
         
           To
           sea
           ,
           and
           like
           a
           pirate
           false
           make
           prey
        
         
           Of
           our
           deare
           daughter
           ?
           was
           not
           this
           the
           way
        
         
           That
           that
           base
           Trojan
           shepherd
           took
           ,
           when
           he
        
         
           VVith
           Helen
           did
           from
           Laced●mon
           flee
        
         
         
           To
           Troy
           ?
           And
           where
           's
           thy
           faith
           so
           often
           plighted
           ?
        
         
           Thy
           wonted
           care
           of
           kindred
           ?
           All
           now
           slighted
           ?
        
         
           Thy
           promise
           to
           our
           cousen
           Turnus
           great
           ?
        
         
           Say
           that
           the
           Gods
           bad
           thee
           from
           forrain
           seat
        
         
           To
           seek
           a
           sonne
           in
           law
           ;
           and
           say
           thou
           art
        
         
           By
           Faunus
           his
           commands
           much
           toucht
           in
           heart
           :
        
         
           Yet
           I
           suppose
           ,
           each
           state
           from
           our
           state
           free
           ,
        
         
           May
           be
           held
           strange
           ;
           and
           so
           it
           (
           sure
           )
           may
           be
        
         
           The
           Gods
           did
           mean.
           And
           if
           you
           please
           t'
           enquire
        
         
           For
           Turnus
           pedegree
           ,
           you
           'le
           finde
           his
           sire
        
         
           Acrisius
           and
           great
           
             Grecian
             Inacus
          
           .
        
         
           Whiles
           all
           these
           words
           in
           vain
           she
           vented
           thus
           ,
        
         
           To
           trie
           Latinus
           ,
           whom
           she
           found
           averse
           ;
        
         
           And
           that
           all
           o're
           wraths
           poison
           did
           her
           pierce
           :
        
         
           Then
           full
           of
           monstrous
           furie
           ,
           spight
           ,
           and
           spleen
           ,
        
         
           She
           madly
           'bout
           the
           streets
           to
           rage
           was
           seen
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           scourged
           gygge
           ,
           box-top
           ,
           or
           ball
           ,
        
         
           Which
           boyes
           are
           wont
           to
           scourge
           about
           a
           hall
        
         
           Or
           open
           yard
           ,
           with
           lashes
           whipt
           about
           ,
        
         
           Which
           with
           quick
           spinnings
           windes
           ,
           works
           in
           and
           out
           ,
        
         
           The
           boyes
           whip
           close
           ,
           the
           top
           about
           doth
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           roundly
           frisks
           ,
           and
           never
           still
           doth
           lie
           :
        
         
           The
           lively
           lads
           make
           sport
           and
           wonderment
           ,
        
         
           From
           hand
           to
           hand
           to
           see
           it
           nimbly
           sent
           :
        
         
           The
           more
           it
           spins
           ,
           the
           more
           they
           whip
           it
           on
           ,
        
         
           And
           laugh
           and
           leap
           to
           see
           it
           comne
           and
           gon
           :
        
         
           With
           such
           fierce
           flutterings
           up
           and
           down
           the
           streets
        
         
           She
           rangeth
           ,
           rageth
           ,
           as
           she
           people
           meets
           .
        
         
           Moreover
           ,
           fiercely
           to
           the
           woods
           she
           flies
           ,
        
         
           Doth
           feigned
           feasts
           of
           Bacchus
           enterprise
           ,
        
         
           (
           Attempts
           more
           frantick
           mischief
           ,
           playes
           mad
           pranks
           )
        
         
           And
           hides
           her
           daughter
           in
           the
           woodie
           banks
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           Trojans
           nuptiall
           rites
           (
           thus
           )
           to
           protract
           :
        
         
           And
           ,
           Ho
           ,
           ho
           ,
           Bacchus
           cries
           ,
           with
           rage
           distract
           ;
        
         
           Thou
           ,
           thou
           alone
           ,
           must
           wed
           thy
           virgine
           faire
           ,
        
         
           For
           unto
           thee
           small
           ivie
           javelings
           rare
        
         
           They
           beare
           about
           :
           thou
           lov'st
           (
           they
           say
           )
           to
           dance
           ,
        
         
           And
           sacred
           haires
           ,
           thine
           altars
           to
           advance
           .
        
         
           Like-furious
           madnesse
           does
           possesse
           the
           waves
           ,
        
         
           To
           leave
           their
           own
           ,
           to
           seek
           new
           dwelling
           drives
           .
        
         
           Their
           dangling
           haire
           ,
           necks
           bare
           ,
           they
           spread
           to
           th'
           windes
           ,
        
         
           And
           some
           loud
           howlings
           raise
           ,
           with
           trembling
           mindes
           ,
        
         
           And
           clad
           in
           skins
           ,
           vine-lances
           beare
           about
           .
        
         
           The
           queen
           her self
           ,
           in
           mid'st
           of
           all
           the
           rout
           ,
        
         
           Bearing
           a
           flaming
           pine-tree
           ,
           tunes
           her
           voice
        
         
           To
           Turnus
           ,
           and
           her
           daughters
           marriage
           choice
           :
        
         
           Yet
           suddenly
           ,
           with
           frowning
           bloud-red
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           Ho
           mothers
           ,
           maids
           and
           wives
           ,
           aloud
           she
           cries
           ,
        
         
           Who-e're
           she
           be
           ,
           that
           pity
           yet
           retains
           ,
        
         
           When
           poore
           unhappie
           Amata
           complains
           ,
        
         
           Who-ever
           tenders
           tender
           mothers
           grief
           ,
        
         
           Unlace
           your
           head-attires
           ,
           afford
           relief
           ,
        
         
           Advance
           with
           me
           my
           Bacchanalian
           rites
           .
        
         
           Thus
           in
           the
           woods
           with
           madded
           frantick
           frights
           ,
        
         
           Through
           damping
           deserts
           fierce
           Alecto
           had
        
         
           Stung
           and
           stirr'd
           up
           the
           queen
           with
           passions
           mad
           .
        
         
           Who
           ,
           for
           this
           first
           time
           now
           ,
           seem'd
           fir'd
           enough
           ,
        
         
           To
           give
           all
           first
           contracts
           a
           counter-cuffe
           .
        
         
           The
           hellish
           hag
           therefore
           with
           frightfull
           wings
           ,
        
         
           Straight
           to
           the
           walls
           of
           Rutuls
           kingdome
           flings
           :
        
         
           Which
           city
           first
           Danae
           was
           said
           to
           build
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           Acrision
           colonies
           it
           fill'd
           ,
        
         
           Driven
           there
           on
           land
           by
           tempests
           violent
           :
        
         
           Antiquitie
           did
           call
           that
           continent
        
         
         
           Ardea
           ,
           and
           still
           it
           is
           great
           Ardea
           nam'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           once
           it
           was
           by
           fortune
           much
           more
           fam'd
           :
        
         
           Here
           great
           king
           Turnus
           ,
           in
           his
           palace
           faire
           ,
        
         
           In
           the
           dark
           night
           slept
           sweetly
           ,
           void
           of
           care
           :
        
         
           And
           here
           Alecto
           doffes
           her
           frowning
           face
           ,
        
         
           And
           is
           transform'd
           into
           an
           old-wives
           case
           ;
        
         
           And
           her
           old
           brows
           with
           aged
           furrows
           plowes
           ,
        
         
           And
           weares
           white
           haires
           ,
           close
           coifs
           ,
           and
           olive-boughs
           :
        
         
           Seems
           Calybe
           ,
           great
           Iuno's
           sexton
           old
           ,
        
         
           And
           priest
           of
           her
           faire
           temple
           ,
           to
           behold
           :
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           princely
           youth
           thus
           comes
           ,
           and
           sayes
           ;
        
         
           Brave
           Turnus
           ,
           wilt
           thou
           suffer
           thy
           assayes
        
         
           And
           many
           labours
           to
           be
           spent
           in
           vain
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           Trojan
           strangers
           thee
           supplant
           ,
           and
           reigne
           ?
        
         
           The
           king
           denies
           thee
           marriage
           ,
           dowrie
           due
        
         
           By
           birth
           and
           bloud
           ,
           seeks
           a
           successour
           new
        
         
           To
           rule
           his
           realms
           .
           Go
           thou
           thus
           laught
           to
           scorn
           ,
        
         
           Now
           cast
           thy self
           on
           thanklesse
           dangers
           born
           ;
        
         
           Go
           slay
           the
           
             Tyrrheans
             ,
             Latines
          
           ,
           rule
           in
           rest
           .
        
         
           These
           things
           (
           since
           thou
           didst
           all
           in
           sleep
           digest
           )
        
         
           All-potent
           Iuno
           bid
           me
           tell
           thee
           plain
           .
        
         
           Rise
           therefore
           quick
           ,
           thy
           souldiers
           muster
           ,
           train
           :
        
         
           Arm
           ,
           arm
           them
           all
           ,
           to
           all
           thy
           havens
           make
           haste
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           those
           Trojan
           captains
           all
           be
           chas'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           burn
           their
           barks
           ,
           which
           '
           boutfaire
           Tyber
           lie
           :
        
         
           Thy
           warrant
           's
           good
           confirmed
           from
           on
           high
           .
        
         
           And
           let
           king
           Latines
           self
           (
           if
           he
           refuse
        
         
           To
           grant
           thee
           marriage
           ,
           kindely
           thee
           to
           chuse
           )
        
         
           Feel
           thy
           fierce
           force
           ,
           and
           utmost
           Martiall
           might
           .
        
         
           Here
           the
           brave
           spark
           the
           southsayer
           seem'd
           to
           sleght
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           reply'd
           ;
           I
           'm
           not
           (
           as
           you
           suppose
           )
        
         
           So
           unacquainted
           how
           this
           businesse
           goes
           :
        
         
         
           Their
           ships
           in
           Tyber
           left
           affright
           me
           not
           ,
        
         
           I
           know
           queen
           Iuno
           hath
           us
           not
           forgot
           .
        
         
           But
           over
           thee
           (
           old
           beldame
           )
           old-wives
           tales
           ,
        
         
           And
           doting
           doubts
           too
           much
           in
           vain
           prevails
           :
        
         
           And
           kings
           affaires
           thee
           with
           false
           feares
           do
           flout
           .
        
         
           There
           's
           work
           enough
           for
           thee
           to
           look
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           tend
           thy
           temple
           ,
           thy
           Gods
           image
           faire
           :
        
         
           Leave
           peace
           and
           warre
           unto
           the
           warriers
           care
           .
        
         
           These
           words
           Alecto
           made
           with
           rage
           to
           burn
           .
        
         
           But
           whiles
           the
           prince
           did
           him
           to
           prayers
           turn
           ,
        
         
           A
           sudden
           trembling
           all
           his
           joynts
           possest
           ,
        
         
           His
           sight
           grew
           dimme
           ,
           fierce
           snakes
           much
           din
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           With
           raging
           hissings
           ,
           frightfull
           visages
           ,
        
         
           Him
           staying
           ,
           praying
           her
           ,
           her
           wrath
           t'
           appease
           .
        
         
           She
           forced
           back
           ,
           with
           flames
           his
           eyes
           do
           stare
           ,
        
         
           And
           two
           choice
           snakes
           she
           plucked
           from
           her
           haire
           ,
        
         
           Lasht
           him
           therewith
           ,
           and
           thus
           in
           rage
           she
           rails
           ;
        
         
           Behold
           thy
           beldame
           ,
           with
           her
           old-wives
           tales
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           kings
           affaires
           do
           with
           false
           feares
           so
           flout
           .
        
         
           Mark
           these
           thy
           words
           .
           See
           me
           come
           from
           the
           rout
        
         
           Of
           hellish
           furies
           ,
           bearing
           in
           my
           hand
        
         
           Both
           warre
           and
           death
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           a
           flaming
           brand
        
         
           She
           at
           the
           prince
           with
           rage
           and
           furie
           flings
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           his
           heart
           with
           quenchlesse
           burning
           stings
           .
        
         
           Fierce
           feare
           did
           straightd
           isturbe
           the
           princes
           sleep
           ,
        
         
           A
           sudden
           sweat
           o're
           all
           his
           corps
           doth
           creep
           .
        
         
           Arms
           ,
           arms
           ,
           in
           rage
           he
           cries
           ,
           and
           strives
           to
           finde
           :
        
         
           Mad
           heat
           of
           warres
           and
           jarres
           enflame
           his
           minde
           :
        
         
           Furie
           foams
           up
           :
           much
           like
           a
           cauldron
           great
        
         
           Which
           makes
           huge
           bubling
           noise
           with
           boyling
           heat
        
         
           By
           store
           of
           flaming
           sticks
           ,
           whose
           crackling
           fire
        
         
           The
           seething
           liquor
           swells
           ,
           and
           boyles
           up
           higher
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           scumme
           about
           the
           cauldrons
           brims
           contends
           ,
        
         
           And
           into
           th'
           aire
           black
           foam
           and
           froth
           ascends
           .
        
         
           Choice
           youths
           therefore
           unto
           Latinus
           came
           ,
        
         
           Their
           peace-infringer
           ,
           warres
           for
           to
           proclaim
           ,
        
         
           To
           safegard
           Italie
           ,
           t'
           expell
           their
           foes
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           he
           would
           with
           potent
           power
           oppose
        
         
           Trojans
           and
           Latines
           both
           .
           These
           words
           thus
           spoke
           ,
        
         
           His
           Gods
           he
           did
           to
           his
           high
           votes
           invoke
           .
        
         
           Then
           straight
           the
           stout
           Rutulians
           to
           the
           fight
        
         
           Do
           one
           another
           readily
           incite
           .
        
         
           His
           beauty
           ,
           brav'ry
           ,
           this
           man
           stimulates
           ;
        
         
           His
           kingly
           kindred
           that
           man
           provocates
           :
        
         
           His
           former
           famous
           facts
           a
           third
           doth
           spurre
           .
        
         
           Whiles
           Turnus
           thus
           to
           arms
           his
           men
           doth
           stirre
           ,
        
         
           Alecto
           lewd
           to
           th'
           Trojans
           flies
           full
           fast
           ,
        
         
           For
           her
           new
           tricks
           fit
           place
           she
           spies
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
           Where
           brave
           Iülus
           was
           about
           the
           shore
           ,
        
         
           Busily
           hunting
           some
           wilde
           beare
           or
           bore
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           hells
           hagge
           a
           sudden
           foile
           infus'd
        
         
           Into
           the
           dogs
           ,
           and
           much
           their
           sent
           abus'd
           ,
        
         
           With
           fierce
           pursuit
           to
           prosecute
           that
           deere
           ,
        
         
           Which
           did
           the
           first
           cause
           of
           much
           ill
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           fierce
           broiles
           the
           rustick
           clowns
           did
           steere
           :
        
         
           A
           high-horn'd
           stately
           stagge
           was
           tamely
           bred
           ,
        
         
           By
           Tyrrhus
           children
           from
           the
           damme
           so
           fed
           .
        
         
           This
           Tyrrhus
           from
           Latinus
           had
           the
           charge
           ,
        
         
           To
           keep
           his
           deere
           in
           parks
           and
           forrests
           large
           .
        
         
           Their
           sister
           Sylvia
           deare
           that
           deere
           kept
           trim
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           his
           horns
           with
           flowres
           adorned
           him
           :
        
         
           And
           comb'd
           his
           locks
           ,
           and
           kept
           him
           clean
           and
           slick
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           to
           hand
           would
           come
           ,
           and
           meat
           would
           pick
        
         
           Out
           of
           his
           masters
           hand
           ,
           and
           forth
           would
           stray
        
         
         
           Into
           the
           woods
           ,
           yet
           finde
           the
           readie
           way
        
         
           Unto
           his
           masters
           house
           ,
           though
           late
           at
           night
           .
        
         
           Iülus
           dogs
           had
           of
           him
           sudden
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           him
           flew
           ,
           as
           he
           was
           wandring
           there
           ,
        
         
           Cooling
           his
           heat
           in
           woods
           and
           waters
           cleare
           .
        
         
           Ascanius
           also
           ,
           who
           did
           fame
           affect
           ,
        
         
           A
           sharp
           shaft
           from
           his
           bow
           did
           straight
           direct
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           did
           fate
           fail
           to
           help
           ,
           the
           mark
           to
           hit
           :
        
         
           But
           through
           his
           paunch
           the
           whistling
           arrow
           split
           .
        
         
           The
           hart
           pierc'd
           neare
           the
           heart
           ,
           homeward
           made
           haste
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           deep
           groans
           him
           in
           's
           known
           stable
           plac'd
           :
        
         
           And
           like
           one
           mourning
           ,
           seem'd
           much
           to
           complain
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           room
           his
           bleedings
           did
           retain
           .
        
         
           Sad
           Sylvia
           first
           the
           sister
           beats
           her
           breasts
        
         
           Cries
           out
           for
           help
           ,
           the
           rusticks
           rude
           requests
        
         
           To
           come
           together
           .
           They
           (
           for
           yet
           i'
           th'
           wood
        
         
           The
           mischief
           lurking
           lay
           ,
           not
           understood
           )
        
         
           Rashly
           run
           to
           her
           :
           this
           brings
           in
           his
           hands
        
         
           A
           knottie
           clubbe
           ;
           that
           with
           bright
           fier-brands
        
         
           Is
           stoutly
           arm'd
           ;
           each
           one
           what
           first
           he
           findes
        
         
           Snaps
           up
           :
           Wrath
           armeth
           peevish
           testy
           mindes
           .
        
         
           Tyrrhus
           calls
           troops
           also
           ,
           as
           he
           was
           cleaving
        
         
           Oaks
           in
           foure
           parts
           ,
           them
           with
           stiffe
           wedges
           reaving
           ,
        
         
           His
           ax
           snatcht
           up
           in
           furious
           puffe
           and
           snuffe
           .
        
         
           Here
           then
           the
           hellish
           hagge
           sate
           high
           enough
           ,
        
         
           To
           spie
           this
           mischiefs
           opportunitie
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           ridges
           of
           the
           stables
           high
           ,
        
         
           A
           past'rall
           summons
           on
           her
           horn
           she
           sounds
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           ratling
           noise
           i'
           th'
           trembling
           groves
           rebounds
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           the
           mounts
           and
           thickest
           woods
           to
           quake
           .
        
         
           Farre
           sounding
           shrill
           ,
           even
           to
           Diana's
           lake
           ,
        
         
           And
           Nars
           white
           floud
           ,
           sulphurous
           streams
           it
           heard
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           Velines
           fount
           :
           And
           mothers
           much
           affear'd
           ,
        
         
           Their
           tender
           infants
           hug'd
           close
           to
           their
           breast
           .
        
         
           Then
           to
           the
           call
           which
           the
           hags
           horn
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           The
           rigid
           Corydons
           ,
           unruly
           clowns
           ,
        
         
           With
           snatcht-up
           weapons
           flockt
           from
           all
           the
           towns
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           gallants
           also
           forth
           do
           flow
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           their
           camps
           to
           aid
           Ascanius
           go
           .
        
         
           Their
           armie
           they
           draw
           out
           ,
           but
           not
           to
           fight
        
         
           With
           countrey
           clownish
           clubs
           ,
           brands
           burning
           bright
           ;
        
         
           But
           with
           their
           slicing
           swords
           :
           and
           all
           the
           lands
        
         
           Tremble
           to
           see
           their
           glistring
           blades
           ,
           brave
           bands
           :
        
         
           Their
           brazen
           shields
           reflected
           lustre
           bright
        
         
           Against
           the
           sun
           ,
           which
           seem'd
           the
           clouds
           to
           smite
           .
        
         
           Like
           as
           when
           waves
           seem
           white
           by
           windes
           first
           blast
           ,
        
         
           But
           by
           degrees
           the
           sea
           swells
           up
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
           The
           waves
           work
           from
           the
           bottome
           up
           so
           high
           ,
        
         
           As
           that
           they
           seem
           fiercely
           to
           dash
           the
           skie
           .
        
         
           Here
           ,
           at
           first
           on-set
           ,
           Tyrrhus
           eldest
           sonne
           ,
        
         
           A
           lusty
           youth
           ,
           Al●on
           by
           name
           ,
           begun
        
         
           To
           taste
           of
           death
           ,
           by
           a
           swift
           arrows
           flight
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           stuck
           in
           's
           throat
           ,
           and
           did
           him
           deadly
           smite
           ,
        
         
           Stopping
           his
           vocall
           breath
           ,
           locking
           up
           fast
        
         
           His
           vitall
           spirits
           ,
           by
           much
           bloud
           forth
           cast
           .
        
         
           Many
           more
           bodies
           lay
           about
           him
           slain
           ,
        
         
           And
           grave
           Galesus
           ,
           striving
           to
           obtain
        
         
           And
           mediate
           peace
           between
           them
           ;
           one
           well
           known
           ,
        
         
           For
           's
           upright
           dealings
           ,
           to
           give
           place
           to
           none
           ,
        
         
           The
           richest
           landed
           man
           in
           Italie
           :
        
         
           Five
           flocks
           of
           sheep
           he
           kept
           most
           constantly
           ,
        
         
           Five
           herds
           of
           cattell
           ,
           and
           to
           till
           his
           land
        
         
           An
           hundred
           plows
           .
           Now
           whilest
           with
           equall
           hand
        
         
           The
           field
           they
           fought
           ,
           and
           that
           the
           hagge
           did
           finde
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           issue
           answerable
           to
           her
           minde
           ,
        
         
           The
           warre
           with
           both
           sides
           bloud
           initiated
           ,
        
         
           And
           mischief
           firmly
           at
           first
           machinated
           :
        
         
           She
           Italie
           forsakes
           ,
           mounts
           up
           to
           th'
           skie
           ,
        
         
           And
           like
           a
           conqueresse
           ,
           superciliously
        
         
           Speaks
           thus
           to
           Iuno
           ;
           See
           ,
           great
           madam
           ,
           see
           ,
        
         
           With
           deadly
           discord
           they
           so
           fired
           be
           ,
        
         
           That
           though
           thy self
           wouldst
           them
           reduce
           to
           peace
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           they
           from
           mutuall
           bloudshed
           would
           not
           cease
           .
        
         
           So
           soyl'd
           are
           Trojans
           with
           Italians
           bloud
           .
        
         
           Yet
           this
           I
           'le
           adde
           ,
           if
           so
           thou
           think'st
           it
           good
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           adjacent
           towns
           I
           'le
           so
           incense
           to
           warres
           ,
        
         
           By
           rumours
           rais'd
           ,
           and
           to
           most
           frantick
           jarres
           :
        
         
           So
           move
           ,
           promove
           their
           mindes
           ,
           that
           all
           about
        
         
           To
           auxiliarie
           broyles
           they
           shall
           burst
           out
           .
        
         
           O
           no
           ,
           sayes
           Iuno
           ,
           thou
           hast
           shown
           thy self
           ,
        
         
           With
           art
           and
           smart
           enough
           ,
           the
           furies
           elf
           .
        
         
           Warres
           seeds
           well
           sown
           ,
           well
           grown
           already
           be
           ,
        
         
           What
           chance
           had
           dipt
           ,
           fresh
           bloud
           hath
           dy'd
           ,
           I
           see
           .
        
         
           Such
           marriage
           matches
           may
           Latinus
           wise
           ,
        
         
           And
           Venus
           godly
           off-spring
           solemnize
           .
        
         
           But
           as
           for
           thee
           ,
           great
           Iupiter
           ,
           heavens
           Lord
           ,
        
         
           No
           longer
           liberty
           will
           thee
           afford
        
         
           To
           flie
           about
           the
           aire
           .
           Back
           to
           thy
           place
           :
        
         
           If
           any
           work
           remain
           in
           this
           like
           case
           ,
        
         
           I
           'le
           see
           to
           it
           my self
           .
           Thus
           Iuno
           spake
           .
        
         
           Alecto
           then
           her
           forthwith
           did
           betake
        
         
           To
           her
           snake-fluttering
           wings
           ,
           leaving
           the
           skie
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           Cocytus
           swiftly
           she
           doth
           flie
           .
        
         
           I'
           th'
           midst
           of
           Italie
           there
           is
           a
           place
           ,
        
         
           On
           mountains
           high
           ,
           of
           noble
           name
           and
           grace
           ,
        
         
           Deep
           sacred
           valleys
           with
           huge
           leafy
           shades
           ,
        
         
         
           Which
           woody
           banks
           upon
           both
           sides
           invades
           :
        
         
           In
           midst
           whereof
           a
           rough
           swift
           stream
           did
           glide
           ,
        
         
           Which
           did
           with
           ratling
           noise
           from
           rocks
           down
           slide
           .
        
         
           Here
           fearfull
           Pluto's
           gaping
           gulf
           was
           found
           ,
        
         
           A
           dungeon
           dark
           ,
           there
           'twixt
           deep
           cleaving
           ground
           ,
        
         
           Was
           a
           huge
           hellish
           hole
           ,
           whose
           chaps
           most
           wide
        
         
           Did
           fierce
           Alectos
           hatefull
           presence
           hide
           ;
        
         
           Where
           she
           ,
           to
           heavens
           and
           earths
           content
           ,
           did
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           queen
           ▪
           Iuno
           plies
           her
           helping
           hand
           ,
        
         
           T'
           increase
           the
           furious
           warre
           throughout
           the
           land
           :
        
         
           Great
           troops
           of
           shepherds
           to
           the
           citie
           throng
           ,
        
         
           And
           slain
           Galesus
           body
           bring
           along
           ,
        
         
           And
           youthfull
           Almons
           ;
           and
           their
           Gods
           for
           aid
           ,
        
         
           And
           king
           Latinus
           urgently
           they
           pray'd
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           was
           present
           at
           their
           exclamation
           ,
        
         
           Ingeminating
           threats
           ,
           makes
           protestation
           ,
        
         
           With
           fire
           and
           sword
           to
           ruinate
           them
           all
           ,
        
         
           Since
           into
           league
           he
           did
           the
           Trojans
           call
           ,
        
         
           And
           joyn
           himself
           unto
           the
           Phrygian
           race
           ,
        
         
           But
           him
           rejected
           ,
           with
           indigne
           disgrace
           .
        
         
           Those
           wives
           also
           ,
           whom
           Bacchus
           frantick
           dance
        
         
           (
           For
           they
           queen
           Amata
           did
           high
           advance
           )
        
         
           Led
           in
           mad
           measures
           ,
           through
           the
           woods
           most
           wide
           ,
        
         
           Flocking
           in
           troops
           ,
           would
           not
           be
           reconcil'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           urge
           for
           arms
           ,
           and
           instantly
           require
        
         
           VVith
           peevish
           spirits
           (
           'gainst
           the
           Gods
           desire
           ,
        
         
           And
           former
           fatall
           omens
           )
           bloudy
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           hedge
           in
           the
           kings
           court
           with
           fierce
           might
           .
        
         
           He
           like
           a
           rock
           resistlesse
           ,
           firm
           ,
           stood
           out
           ,
        
         
           Like
           a
           sea-rock
           ,
           when
           stiffe
           blasts
           blow
           about
           ,
        
         
           Making
           such
           mountain-waves
           with
           bellowing
           sound
           ,
        
         
           And
           ratling
           stones
           ,
           and
           boyling
           foam
           surround
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           wash
           and
           dash
           ,
           in
           vain
           ,
           the
           rocks
           hard
           sides
           ,
        
         
           And
           floating
           flags
           and
           weeds
           about
           it
           glides
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           no
           might
           might
           their
           blinde
           wills
           subdue
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           her
           beck
           fierce
           Iuno
           all
           things
           drew
           ;
        
         
           The
           king
           to
           's
           Gods
           and
           emptie
           aire
           complains
           :
        
         
           Alas
           !
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           we
           suffer
           piercing
           pains
           ,
        
         
           We
           run
           to
           ruine
           ,
           fatall
           storms
           us
           beat
           ,
        
         
           But
           fierce
           revenge
           does
           you
           ,
           vile
           wretches
           ,
           threat
           ;
        
         
           Your
           sacrilegious
           bloud
           shall
           for
           it
           pay
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvofull
           smart
           does
           for
           thee
           ,
           Turnus
           ,
           stay
           ;
        
         
           And
           thou
           in
           vain
           unto
           thy
           Gods
           shalt
           pray
           .
        
         
           But
           I
           ,
           at
           rest
           ,
           my
           house
           ,
           my
           haven
           ,
           vvho
           thought
           ,
        
         
           Am
           rob'd
           of
           rest
           ,
           to
           woes
           sepulchre
           brought
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           he
           ceast
           ,
           and
           him
           to
           's
           house
           betook
           ,
        
         
           And
           publick
           rule
           and
           regiment
           forsook
           .
        
         
           The
           custome
           was
           throughout
           all
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Which
           custome
           Albanes
           towns
           kept
           sacredly
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           great
           Rome
           conserves
           ,
           vvhen
           first
           they
           vvage
        
         
           Fierce
           vvarres
           ,
           and
           Mars
           in
           battels
           brave
           engage
           ,
        
         
           Either
           vvith
           Scythians
           or
           Arabians
           bold
           ,
        
         
           Or
           eastern
           lands
           ,
           or
           Indies
           fraught
           vvith
           gold
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Parthians
           proud
           to
           purchase
           glorious
           fame
           :
        
         
           There
           are
           two
           vvarre-gates
           (
           for
           so
           is
           their
           name
           )
        
         
           Of
           sacred
           use
           ,
           of
           Martiall
           terrour
           great
           ;
        
         
           An
           hundred
           brazen
           locks
           and
           bolts
           most
           neat
           ,
        
         
           And
           iron
           barres
           do
           shut
           them
           sure
           and
           straight
           ,
        
         
           And
           two-fac'd
           Ianus
           ,
           porter
           ,
           there
           doth
           wait
           :
        
         
           These
           gates
           ,
           vvhen
           once
           the
           peeres
           do
           vvarre
           declare
           ,
        
         
           The
           noble
           consuls
           self
           in
           robes
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           In
           princely
           pomp
           ,
           Gabinian
           garments
           tide
           ,
        
         
           With
           mighty
           screeking
           noise
           doth
           open
           wide
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvarre
           proclaims
           ;
           then
           troops
           of
           youths
           do
           follow
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           sound
           assent
           vvith
           brazen
           trumpets
           hollow
           .
        
         
           Latinus
           thus
           vvas
           charged
           urgently
           ,
        
         
           With
           furious
           vvarres
           Aeneas
           to
           defie
           ;
        
         
           To
           ope
           those
           fatall
           gates
           ;
           vvich
           he
           deni'de
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvould
           not
           that
           offensive
           office
           '
           bide
        
         
           But
           hid
           himself
           (
           good
           man
           )
           in
           discontent
           :
        
         
           In
           secret
           shades
           ,
           vvould
           give
           no
           such
           consent
           .
        
         
           Then
           jangling
           Iuno
           ,
           gliding
           from
           the
           skie
           ,
        
         
           With
           her
           own
           hands
           unlocked
           instantly
        
         
           The
           lazie
           doores
           ,
           and
           breaks
           the
           iron
           barres
           ,
        
         
           And
           turns
           the
           hinges
           ,
           and
           sets
           open
           vvarres
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Italie
           ,
           vvhich
           lately
           lay
           at
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Now
           unincited
           ,
           is
           to
           vvarre
           addrest
           .
        
         
           Some
           flock
           as
           footmen
           to
           the
           field
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Some
           hasty
           horsemen
           make
           dust
           dim
           the
           light
           .
        
         
           All
           ask
           for
           arms
           ,
           some
           take
           their
           speares
           and
           shields
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           fat
           tallow
           scoure
           them
           for
           the
           fields
           ;
        
         
           And
           vvhet
           their
           bills
           and
           blades
           on
           whetstones
           strong
           ,
        
         
           For
           ensignes
           spread
           ,
           and
           trumps
           alar'ms
           ,
           they
           long
           .
        
         
           Five
           powerfull
           cities
           do
           in
           forges
           frame
        
         
           New
           weapons
           for
           the
           vvarre
           :
           which
           five
           ,
           by
           name
           ,
        
         
           VVere
           potent
           Atina
           ,
           and
           Tybur
           bold
           ,
        
         
           
             Ardea
             ,
             Crustumer
          
           ,
           and
           Antemnae
           old
           ,
        
         
           Strong
           for
           its
           bulwarks
           brave
           .
           Some
           helmets
           make
           ,
        
         
           And
           buckler
           bosses
           wreath
           ,
           some
           corslets
           take
        
         
           Of
           strong-proofe
           steel
           ,
           light
           boots
           with
           silver
           lin'd
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           plough
           ,
           sicle
           and
           sythe
           declin'd
           ,
        
         
           No
           love
           ,
           delight
           in
           tillage
           ,
           countrey
           toile
           ,
        
         
           Their
           peacefull
           blades
           in
           fornace
           they
           reboyle
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           th'
           allarums
           sound
           ,
           vvarres
           signe
           is
           given
           ,
        
         
           This
           man
           ,
           his
           helm
           from
           home
           in
           haste
           is
           driven
        
         
           To
           snatch
           away
           :
           that
           man
           his
           horse
           constrains
        
         
         
           To
           weare
           his
           traces
           ,
           foamy
           bit
           and
           reins
           :
        
         
           A
           third
           ,
           his
           shield
           and
           treble
           coat
           of
           mail
        
         
           Put
           on
           ,
           and
           weares
           his
           trusty
           sword
           ,
           t'
           assail
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           ye
           sacred
           nine
           ,
           set
           ope
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Sweet
           Helicon
           ,
           and
           let
           my
           Muse
           display
        
         
           The
           mighty
           kings
           ,
           heroick
           captains
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           Martiall
           bands
           ,
           these
           bloudy
           fields
           that
           fought
           ;
        
         
           VVith
           what
           most
           potent
           peeres
           and
           armies
           great
           ,
        
         
           All
           Italie
           was
           fraught
           in
           Martiall
           heat
           .
        
         
           You
           ladies
           faire
           ,
           you
           best
           can
           shew
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           For
           scarce
           ▪
           fames
           whisperings
           to
           our
           knowledge
           came
           .
        
         
           The
           first
           that
           waged
           warre
           with
           Martiall
           bands
           ,
        
         
           VVas
           fierce
           Mezentius
           from
           his
           Tyrrhene
           lands
           ,
        
         
           A
           stout
           contemner
           of
           Troyes
           deities
           :
        
         
           And
           with
           him
           came
           Lausus
           his
           sonne
           likewise
           ,
        
         
           A
           compt
           ,
           accomplisht
           prince
           ,
           without
           compare
           ,
        
         
           Onely
           excell'd
           by
           
             Laurents
             Turnus
          
           faire
           :
        
         
           Lausus
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
           famous
           great
           horse
           to
           ride
           ,
        
         
           And
           tamelesse
           beasts
           to
           tame
           ,
           of
           peerelesse
           pride
           ,
        
         
           From
           Agylla
           unhappie
           troops
           he
           train'd
           ,
        
         
           VVorthy
           o're's
           fathers
           empire
           to
           have
           reign'd
           ,
        
         
           Unworthie
           to
           be
           call'd
           Mezentius
           sonne
           .
        
         
           Next
           these
           Aventine
           brave
           due
           honour
           wonne
           ,
        
         
           Sonne
           of
           Alcides
           ,
           victour-like
           proceeds
           ,
        
         
           Drawn
           in
           his
           chariot
           with
           his
           conquering
           steeds
           ;
        
         
           In
           's
           hand
           a
           shield
           with
           's
           fathers
           scutchion
           faire
           ,
        
         
           VVherein
           an
           hundred
           poisonous
           snakes
           he
           bare
           ,
        
         
           Environed
           with
           Hydra's
           serpentine
           .
        
         
           VVhom
           in
           Aventine
           mount
           ,
           the
           priest
           divine
           ,
        
         
           Rhea
           ,
           by
           bastard
           birth
           conceiv'd
           and
           bred
           ,
        
         
           The
           victour
           being
           vvith
           the
           priest
           coupled
           .
        
         
           VVhen
           Geryon
           was
           deceast
           ,
           and
           Laurents
           lands
        
         
         
           Hercules
           had
           obtain'd
           with
           conquering
           hands
           ,
        
         
           And
           Spanish
           spoils
           ,
           fat
           beeves
           ,
           had
           brought
           with
           him
           ,
        
         
           And
           them
           in
           Tyrrhene
           streams
           had
           washt
           most
           trim
           .
        
         
           His
           souldiers
           held
           in
           hand
           a
           Romane
           speare
           ,
        
         
           And
           hacking
           halberts
           to
           the
           field
           did
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           fought
           with
           rapiers
           and
           Italian
           dart
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           (
           to
           strike
           more
           terrour
           to
           the
           heart
        
         
           Of
           his
           beholders
           )
           wore
           a
           lions
           skin
        
         
           Full
           of
           rough
           haire
           ,
           whose
           fangs
           did
           seem
           to
           grin
        
         
           In
           manner
           of
           a
           helm
           above
           his
           head
           .
        
         
           Thus
           like
           his
           father
           fierce
           apparrelled
           ,
        
         
           Feare-smiting
           Hercules
           ,
           he
           stat●ly
           st●ulks
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           king
           Latines
           court
           on
           foot
           he
           walks
           .
        
         
           Two
           brethren
           then
           ,
           
             Catillus
             ,
             Coras
          
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Two
           gallant
           Grecian
           youths
           ,
           went
           bravely
           out
        
         
           From
           Tybur
           strong
           ,
           which
           from
           Tyburtus
           name
           ,
        
         
           Their
           brother
           ,
           was
           so
           call'd
           .
           They
           bravely
           came
        
         
           I'
           th'
           armies
           vantguard
           ,
           hedg'd
           with
           weapons
           thick
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           two
           cloud-begotten
           Centaures
           quick
           ,
        
         
           Running
           in
           rage
           from
           some
           hills
           steepie
           height
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           
             Thessalian
             Othrys
             ,
             Homol
          
           white
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           rapid
           race
           makes
           trees
           and
           woods
           give
           way
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           furious
           flight
           huge
           ratling
           boughs
           obey
           ;
        
         
           Strong
           
             Caeculus
             ,
             Praeneste's
          
           founder
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Was
           also
           there
           ,
           whom
           pristine
           times
           declare
        
         
           To
           be
           black
           Vulcans
           sonne
           ,
           a
           king
           of
           kine
           ,
        
         
           Found
           in
           the
           fire
           ,
           with
           whom
           huge
           bands
           combine
        
         
           Of
           countrey
           Corydons
           ,
           much
           men
           ,
           beside
           ,
        
         
           Of
           high
           Praeneste
           ,
           and
           of
           those
           which
           '
           bide
        
         
           About
           
             Gabinian
             Iuno's
          
           pleasant
           plains
           ,
        
         
           And
           icie
           Anio
           ,
           and
           the
           waterie
           trains
        
         
           Which
           Hernicks
           rocks
           inhabit
           .
           And
           the
           swains
        
         
         
           Whom
           rich
           
             Anagnia
             ,
             Amasenus
          
           fields
        
         
           Do
           feed
           :
           they
           had
           not
           all
           strong
           arms
           or
           shields
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           ratling
           chariots
           ;
           but
           the
           greatest
           part
        
         
           Fought
           with
           black
           leaden
           bags
           ,
           with
           swinging
           smart
           :
        
         
           Some
           others
           strong
           two-handed
           slings
           did
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           their
           heads
           rough
           wolfs-skin
           hats
           did
           weare
           .
        
         
           Their
           left
           legs
           bare
           ,
           raw
           skinnes
           their
           right
           did
           hide
           .
        
         
           Messapus
           also
           ,
           famous
           horse
           to
           ride
           ,
        
         
           Great
           Neptunes
           sonne
           was
           there
           ;
           whose
           furie
           great
        
         
           None
           could
           with
           sword
           or
           fire
           abate
           or
           beat
           .
        
         
           His
           peacefull
           people
           ,
           unaccustomed
        
         
           To
           bloudy
           broiles
           ,
           he
           on
           a
           sudden
           led
        
         
           To
           battell
           ,
           and
           to
           handle
           sword
           instructs
           .
        
         
           One
           from
           Fescinium
           mightie
           troops
           conducts
           ,
        
         
           From
           just
           Haliscus
           and
           Soractes
           towers
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           Flavinium
           faire
           leads
           forth
           great
           powers
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           Cyminus
           mount
           and
           flowing
           spring
           ,
        
         
           Capenas
           woods
           ,
           who
           in
           array
           did
           sing
        
         
           Their
           princesse
           praise
           ,
           as
           snowy
           swans
           do
           use
           ,
        
         
           When
           in
           the
           aire
           themselves
           they
           broad
           diffuse
           ,
        
         
           Flying
           from
           pastures
           ,
           and
           with
           chattering
           shrill
           ,
        
         
           Through
           their
           long
           throats
           with
           notes
           the
           skies
           they
           fill
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           Cayster
           and
           moist
           moores
           to
           sound
           ,
        
         
           And
           Asia
           wide
           ,
           nor
           could
           a
           man
           be
           found
        
         
           To
           think
           the
           arms
           of
           so
           great
           bands
           would
           fail
           ,
        
         
           But
           that
           the
           airie
           clouds
           of
           swans
           prevail
           ,
        
         
           Singing
           and
           swooping
           from
           the
           sea
           to
           shore
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           ,
           behold
           ,
           great
           Clausus
           addes
           yet
           more
           ,
        
         
           Clausus
           from
           ancient
           Sabines
           sprung
           ,
           who
           brought
        
         
           Great
           troops
           ,
           himself
           a
           mighty
           troop
           being
           thought
           :
        
         
           From
           whom
           faire
           Claudias
           stock
           and
           race
           arose
        
         
           In
           Italie
           ,
           when
           
             Romanes
             Sabines
          
           chose
           .
        
         
         
           With
           him
           came
           troops
           from
           Amiternums
           town
           ,
        
         
           And
           antique
           Sabines
           ,
           all
           to
           reap
           renown
           ;
        
         
           Eretums
           powers
           ,
           Mutuscas
           might
           ,
           where
           spring
        
         
           Olives
           great
           store
           :
           Nomentum
           bands
           did
           bring
           .
        
         
           And
           Velines
           rosean
           regiments
           were
           there
           ▪
        
         
           And
           hilly
           Tetricus
           ,
           and
           high
           Severe
           :
        
         
           From
           
             Foruli
             ,
             Casperia
             Himell's
          
           floud
           ,
        
         
           From
           Tybers
           and
           Fabaris
           rivers
           good
           ,
        
         
           From
           frigid
           Nursia
           ,
           rigid
           Hortines
           bands
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           troops
           from
           utmost
           Latines
           lands
           .
        
         
           From
           Allia's
           odious
           streams
           great
           armies
           go
           ,
        
         
           As
           thick
           as
           Libyas
           marble
           flouds
           do
           flow
           ,
        
         
           When
           winter-waves
           do
           fierce
           Orion
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Or
           standing-corne
           by
           parching
           sun-shine
           dry'de
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Hermus
           flouds
           in
           field
           ,
           or
           Lycia's
           lands
        
         
           Fruitfully
           overflown
           :
           So
           martiall
           bands
           ,
        
         
           So
           clattering
           shields
           ,
           and
           souldiers
           confluence
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Make
           the
           ground
           grunt
           ,
           and
           dusty
           clouds
           up
           cast
           .
        
         
           Again
           ,
           great
           
             Agamemnons
             Halesus
          
           ,
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           ancient
           foe
           most
           furious
           ,
        
         
           Drawn
           in
           a
           chariot
           ,
           unto
           Turnus
           brought
        
         
           A
           thousand
           souldiers
           with
           warre-furie
           fraught
           :
        
         
           Who
           Bacchus
           his
           vine-bearing
           Massica
        
         
           With
           spades
           eradicate
           ,
           without
           delay
           :
        
         
           And
           souldiers
           from
           Arunca's
           hills
           most
           high
           ,
        
         
           From
           Sidicinums
           seas
           and
           Cales
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           Vulturnus
           adjacent
           faire
           floud
           ,
        
         
           And
           dwellers
           in
           Saticulus
           thick
           wood
           :
        
         
           And
           Hoscies
           powers
           ,
           who
           with
           short
           darts
           do
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Fitted
           with
           leather-holds
           ,
           more
           deep
           to
           smite
           ;
        
         
           Their
           left
           hand
           held
           a
           targe
           ,
           their
           right
           a
           blade
        
         
           Or
           faulchion
           faire
           ,
           much
           like
           a
           sicle
           made
           .
        
         
         
           Nor
           may
           our
           lines
           in
           silence
           pretermit
        
         
           Oebalus
           ,
           whom
           (
           as
           ancient
           times
           have
           writ
           )
        
         
           On
           Sebethis
           the
           nymph
           Telon
           begat
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           aged
           ,
           king
           of
           Caprea
           he
           sat
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           this
           sonne
           his
           fathers
           throne
           rejected
           ,
        
         
           And
           larger
           limits
           for
           his
           rule
           affected
           ,
        
         
           He
           over-ran
           Sarastes
           people
           strong
           ,
        
         
           And
           Sarnus
           ,
           which
           lies
           sea-ward
           all
           along
           ;
        
         
           And
           those
           which
           
             Rufae
             ,
             Batulum
          
           ,
           do
           hold
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           Celenna's
           fields
           and
           fertile
           mould
           ;
        
         
           Fruitfull
           Abella
           ,
           and
           her
           walls
           and
           plains
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           cast
           a
           kinde
           of
           dart
           much
           like
           Germanes
           ;
        
         
           Their
           heads
           ,
           for
           hat●
           ,
           cover'd
           with
           cork-bark
           light
           ,
        
         
           Armed
           with
           swords
           and
           shields
           of
           brasse
           most
           bright
           .
        
         
           Great
           Vfens
           also
           to
           this
           warfare
           came
           ,
        
         
           Mountanous
           Nursa
           left
           ,
           of
           matchlesse
           fame
           ,
        
         
           And
           fortunate
           in
           fight
           :
           whose
           natives
           brave
        
         
           Themselves
           to
           arms
           ,
           and
           hunt
           in
           forrests
           gave
           :
        
         
           Their
           Aequiculians
           arm'd
           ,
           would
           till
           their
           land
           ,
        
         
           Delighted
           most
           ,
           by
           furious
           force
           of
           hand
        
         
           To
           live
           by
           catching
           preyes
           and
           robberies
           vile
           .
        
         
           Moreover
           ,
           from
           Marrubia's
           ancient
           isle
           ,
        
         
           King
           Archippus
           renowned
           Vmbro
           sent
           ,
        
         
           A
           famous
           priest
           ,
           who
           as
           along
           he
           went
           ,
        
         
           VVore
           on
           his
           helm
           a
           branch
           of
           olive
           faire
           :
        
         
           He
           able
           was
           ,
           by
           skill
           and
           cunning
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Both
           with
           his
           hands
           and
           words
           to
           cast
           a
           sleep
        
         
           Vipers
           ,
           and
           poisonous
           snakes
           from
           hissings
           deep
           ,
        
         
           And
           tame
           their
           rage
           ,
           and
           heal
           their
           stingings
           fierce
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           the
           Trojans
           lance
           his
           heart
           did
           pierce
           ,
        
         
           He
           could
           not
           cure
           that
           wound
           ,
           nor
           to
           that
           grief
        
         
           His
           soporiferous
           charms
           could
           yeeld
           relief
           ,
        
         
         
           Nor
           herbs
           that
           grow
           on
           Marsian
           mountains
           high
           .
        
         
           For
           thee
           Angitias
           woods
           weep
           wofully
           ,
        
         
           For
           thee
           cleare
           flouds
           and
           lakes
           do
           mourn
           and
           crie
           ,
        
         
           Hippolytus
           brave
           sonne
           ,
           young
           Virbius
           came
        
         
           Unto
           these
           warres
           ,
           a
           man
           of
           Martiall
           fame
           :
        
         
           Whom
           full
           of
           glorie
           ,
           nurs'd
           in
           savage
           woods
        
         
           Of
           faire
           Aegeria
           ,
           neare
           Hymettia's
           flouds
           ,
        
         
           Where
           great
           Diana's
           full
           fraught
           altars
           are
           ,
        
         
           With
           pleasing
           and
           appeasing
           offrings
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Aritia
           his
           most
           a●gust
           mother
           sent
           :
        
         
           For
           thus
           't
           is
           said
           ,
           after
           with
           ill
           intent
        
         
           Hippolytus
           by
           's
           step-dame
           slaunderous
           train
           ,
        
         
           Being
           by
           his
           father
           most
           unjustly
           slain
           ,
        
         
           By
           horses
           drawn
           in
           pieces
           ,
           through
           the
           care
        
         
           Of
           great
           Diana
           ,
           and
           the
           cunning
           rare
        
         
           Of
           Aesculapius
           ,
           was
           reviv'd
           again
           .
        
         
           But
           mightie
           Iove
           hereat
           took
           high
           disdain
           ,
        
         
           That
           any
           mortall
           man
           such
           power
           should
           have
           ,
        
         
           To
           raise
           a
           man
           to
           life
           from
           's
           fatall
           grave
           :
        
         
           With
           thunder-smart
           he
           smote
           the
           authors
           rare
        
         
           Of
           such
           great
           art
           .
           Whereat
           Diana
           faire
        
         
           Hippolytus
           preserv'd
           ,
           him
           closely
           gave
        
         
           To
           faire
           Aegeria
           ,
           him
           i'
           th'
           woods
           to
           save
           ,
        
         
           Where
           he
           unknown
           ,
           i'
           th'
           groves
           of
           Italie
        
         
           Spent
           his
           remaining
           dayes
           in
           privacie
           :
        
         
           Him
           now
           therefore
           they
           fi●ly
           Virbius
           name
           ,
        
         
           As
           who
           should
           say
           ,
           he
           twice
           a
           man
           became
           .
        
         
           Hence
           therefore
           horn-hooft
           horses
           are
           deny'de
        
         
           About
           Diana's
           sacred
           groves
           to
           '
           bide
           ;
        
         
           For
           from
           those
           shores
           sea-monsters
           do
           affright
        
         
           Both
           horse
           and
           riders
           ,
           putting
           them
           to
           flight
           :
        
         
           But
           yet
           his
           sonne
           that
           us'd
           great
           horse
           to
           ride
           ,
        
         
         
           In
           's
           chariot
           came
           to
           th'
           warres
           with
           Martiall
           pride
           .
        
         
           But
           chiefly
           Turnus
           self
           amongst
           the
           best
           ,
        
         
           Of
           stately
           stature
           ,
           him
           to
           th'
           warres
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           Arm'd
           Capape
           ,
           by
           's
           head
           then
           all
           more
           tall
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           whose
           hairie
           helm
           did
           seem
           to
           crawl
           ,
        
         
           A
           fierce
           Chimaera
           ,
           breathing
           flames
           of
           fire
           .
        
         
           The
           more
           it
           rag'd
           ,
           and
           flashes
           did
           expire
           ,
        
         
           The
           more
           the
           field
           was
           fill'd
           with
           bloudy
           mire
           .
        
         
           Upon
           his
           shield
           in
           gold
           was
           pourtrayed
        
         
           Iö
           into
           an
           ox
           transfigured
           ,
        
         
           O'regrown
           with
           haire
           ,
           but
           no
           horns
           on
           her
           pate
           .
        
         
           The
           storie
           would
           be
           tedious
           to
           relate
        
         
           Of
           her
           and
           Argus
           ,
           with
           his
           hundred
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           Her
           keeper
           ,
           who
           did
           o're
           her
           tyrannize
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           her
           father
           Inachus
           pour'd
           out
        
         
           A
           floud
           from
           's
           golden
           pitcher
           all
           about
           .
        
         
           A
           cloud
           of
           clustring
           footmen
           followed
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           armed
           armies
           clouds
           of
           dust
           up
           cast
           :
        
         
           With
           them
           brave
           Grecian
           youth
           Aruncus
           bands
           ,
        
         
           Rutulus
           powers
           ,
           ancient
           Sicanus
           hands
           .
        
         
           Sacrana's
           troops
           ,
           Labicians
           all
           proof
           shields
           ,
        
         
           Tybers
           banks
           dwellers
           came
           into
           the
           fields
           :
        
         
           And
           they
           which
           dwell
           by
           Numacks
           sacred
           shores
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           Cir●aean
           hill
           ,
           and
           all
           the
           Bores
        
         
           Which
           plough
           Rutulian
           tops
           ,
           and
           Anxur's
           train
           ,
        
         
           Where
           mightie
           Iove
           doth
           ever
           Patron
           reigne
           :
        
         
           Woody
           Feronia
           ,
           where
           Satyra
           lyes
        
         
           With
           blackish
           streams
           ,
           where
           Vfens
           swiftly
           hies
        
         
           And
           hides
           it self
           in
           sea
           .
           And
           with
           these
           came
        
         
           Camilla
           queen
           of
           Volscia
           ,
           of
           rare
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Leading
           strong
           troops
           of
           horse
           ,
           and
           footmen
           brave
        
         
           Glistring
           in
           arms
           :
           her self
           she
           did
           behave
        
         
         
           Most
           like
           a
           warlike
           woman
           stout
           and
           stern
           :
        
         
           Nor
           did
           she
           of
           Minerva
           list
           to
           learn
        
         
           To
           handle
           flax
           and
           distaffe
           ,
           but
           was
           strong
        
         
           Warres
           to
           endure
           ,
           and
           in
           swift
           races
           long
        
         
           T'outstrip
           the
           rapid
           windes
           ,
           and
           nimbly
           she
        
         
           On
           tops
           of
           untoucht
           standing
           corn
           could
           flee
           ,
        
         
           And
           ne're
           presse
           down
           the
           tender
           eares
           i'
           th'
           race
           :
        
         
           Or
           o're
           the
           swelling
           waves
           could
           run
           a
           pace
        
         
           In
           midst
           o'
           th'
           sea
           ,
           yet
           scarcely
           should
           her
           heel
           ,
        
         
           Or
           sole
           o'
           th'
           foot
           seas
           superficies
           feel
           .
        
         
           All
           men
           and
           maids
           ran
           forth
           of
           doores
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           amazement
           to
           behold
           ,
           how
           she
        
         
           In
           most
           majestick
           and
           most
           Martiall
           guise
        
         
           Riding
           about
           her
           troops
           ,
           most
           bravely
           ties
        
         
           Her
           royall
           purple
           robes
           on
           shoulders
           light
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           gold
           buttons
           did
           her
           haire
           unite
           :
        
         
           And
           at
           her
           back
           a
           Lycian
           quiver
           wore
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           her
           hand
           a
           strong
           steel
           speare
           she
           bore
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             seventh
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             eighth
             book
             .
          
           
             King
             Turnus
             from
             Laurentums
             tower
          
           
             Sounds
             warres
             alarm
             :
             sends
             for
             more
             power
          
           
             To
             Diomede
             by
             Venulus
             ,
          
           
             Who
             shews
             the
             cause
             most
             hazardous
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             by
             advise
             divine
             ,
          
           
             With
             King
             Euander
             doth
             combine
             :
          
           
             Who
             lends
             him
             aid
             ,
             and
             sends
             his
             sonne
             ,
          
           
             By
             angrie
             fates
             ,
             in
             fight
             undone
             .
          
           
             And
             now
             Aeneas
             fitted
             faire
          
           
             For
             warre
             ,
             and
             with
             a
             harnesse
             rare
             ,
          
           
             Procured
             by
             his
             mother
             deare
             ,
          
           
             His
             fates
             and
             fortunes
             do
             him
             cheere
             .
          
           
             His
             arms
             do
             much
             delight
             his
             heart
             ,
          
           
             Chiefly
             his
             shields
             admired
             art
             .
          
        
         
           AS
           soon
           as
           Turnus
           from
           Laurentums
           fort
        
         
           Flags
           of
           defiance
           hung
           forth
           ,
           made
           report
        
         
           Of
           open
           warre
           ,
           with
           trumpets
           trembling
           sound
           :
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           horse
           and
           foot
           fierce
           arms
           had
           found
           :
        
         
           Their
           hearts
           forthwith
           are
           flam'd
           ,
           all
           Latium
           strong
        
         
           In
           hot
           spurr'd
           hasty
           troops
           together
           throng
           .
        
         
           Th'
           unbridled
           youths
           with
           hairebrain'd
           rage
           are
           led
           :
        
         
           Captain
           
             Messapus
             ,
             Vfens
          
           first
           makes
           head
           ,
        
         
           Mezentius
           great
           ,
           God-scorner
           ,
           next
           makes
           haste
           ,
        
         
           Collects
           his
           powers
           ,
           layes
           all
           the
           countrey
           waste
           :
        
         
         
           Venulus
           to
           great
           Diomede
           was
           sent
           ,
        
         
           To
           ask
           his
           aid
           to
           shew
           their
           discontent
           :
        
         
           Namely
           that
           Troy
           built
           nests
           in
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Aeneas
           and
           his
           conquered
           deitie
           ,
        
         
           With
           all
           his
           fleet
           ,
           was
           on
           their
           borders
           brought
           ,
        
         
           And
           must
           (
           forsooth
           )
           Italia's
           king
           be
           thought
           ;
        
         
           And
           that
           ,
           by
           fates
           decree
           .
           To
           which
           effect
        
         
           Great
           power
           to
           th'
           Trojans
           do
           themselves
           connect
           ,
        
         
           That
           his
           great
           fame
           o're-spread
           all
           Latiums
           land
           .
        
         
           And
           what
           strange
           structure
           may
           he
           take
           in
           hand
           ,
        
         
           If
           fates
           befriend
           him
           ?
           what
           event
           may
           he
        
         
           Expect
           from
           this
           great
           warre
           ?
           't
           is
           plain
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           That
           he
           through
           Turnus
           and
           Latinus
           lands
           ,
        
         
           At
           Diomedes
           crown
           spreads
           forth
           his
           hands
           .
        
         
           And
           these
           were
           now
           Italia's
           faire
           affaires
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Troyes
           brave
           prince
           o'rewhelm'd
           with
           flouds
           of
           cares
           ,
        
         
           Soundly
           survayes
           ,
           his
           thoughts
           here
           ,
           there
           ,
           revolving
           ,
        
         
           Distractively
           thinks
           this
           ,
           that
           ,
           nought
           resolving
           .
        
         
           Like
           as
           the
           quivering
           shadow
           of
           the
           sunne
           ,
        
         
           In
           a
           brasse
           pan
           of
           water
           quick
           doth
           run
           ,
        
         
           By
           sunnes
           or
           moons
           most
           radiant
           rayes
           inspection
           ,
        
         
           And
           flutters
           all
           about
           with
           quick
           reflection
           .
        
         
           Now
           high
           i'
           th'
           aire
           it
           nimbly
           leaps
           and
           skips
           ,
        
         
           And
           suddenly
           to
           tops
           of
           houses
           whips
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           't
           was
           night
           when
           toile-repelling
           rest
           ,
        
         
           O're
           all
           the
           earth
           ,
           men
           ,
           birds
           and
           beasts
           possest
           ;
        
         
           When
           grave
           Aeneas
           in
           the
           open
           aire
        
         
           Lay
           on
           a
           bank
           perplext
           with
           his
           warfare
           :
        
         
           Whom
           thus
           repos'd
           ,
           and
           laid
           in
           slumber
           sweet
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           Tybers
           God
           himself
           doth
           kindely
           greet
           .
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           poplar
           leaves
           the
           aged
           sire
        
         
           Seem'd
           to
           ascend
           ,
           cloath'd
           in
           gray
           grave
           attire
           ,
        
         
         
           Of
           a
           sail-vail
           ,
           his
           head
           array'd
           with
           reeds
        
         
           Thus
           courteously
           to
           comfort
           him
           proceeds
           .
        
         
           Great
           offspring
           of
           the
           Gods
           ,
           by
           whom
           old
           Troy
        
         
           And
           everlasting
           Pergame
           we
           enjoy
           ,
        
         
           From
           foes
           preserv'd
           .
           O
           thou
           long
           lookt
           for
           peere
           ,
        
         
           To
           all
           Laurentums
           land
           and
           Latines
           deare
           ;
        
         
           Here
           's
           thy
           sure
           seat
           ,
           here
           thou
           thy
           Gods
           shalt
           place
           ,
        
         
           Depart
           not
           hence
           ,
           nor
           feare
           foes
           threatning
           face
           .
        
         
           Heavens
           former
           furie
           now
           is
           laid
           aside
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           (
           think
           not
           vain
           dreams
           do
           thee
           deride
           )
        
         
           Thou
           shalt
           the
           mightie
           white
           sow
           great
           espie
           ,
        
         
           With
           thirrie
           pigs
           under
           the
           oak-roots
           lie
        
         
           Upon
           the
           ground
           ,
           sucking
           the
           sowes
           teats
           white
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           's
           thy
           cities
           seat
           ,
           thy
           toiles
           delight
           .
        
         
           And
           hence
           't
           is
           sure
           that
           thy
           Ascanius
           shall
        
         
           Within
           these
           thirtie
           yeares
           build
           Alba's
           wall
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           that
           noble
           name
           ,
           that
           countrey
           call
           .
        
         
           I
           speak
           but
           what
           I
           know
           :
           now
           by
           what
           course
           ,
        
         
           What
           yet
           remains
           ,
           thou
           victour
           mayst
           enforce
           ,
        
         
           Observe
           it
           ,
           and
           I
           will
           it
           briefly
           show
           .
        
         
           Th'
           Arcadians
           ,
           who
           from
           Pallas
           race
           do
           grow
           ▪
        
         
           Following
           their
           king
           Euanders
           ensignes
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Did
           in
           these
           parts
           a
           place
           select
           prepare
           ;
        
         
           And
           built
           a
           citie
           on
           the
           mountains
           small
           ,
        
         
           Which
           they
           ,
           from
           
             Pallant
             ,
             Palanteum
          
           call
           .
        
         
           These
           with
           the
           Latines
           warre
           continually
           ;
        
         
           Make
           these
           thy
           mates
           ,
           link
           in
           confederacie
           .
        
         
           My self
           will
           thee
           right
           through
           my
           streams
           conduct
           ,
        
         
           Ane
           with
           thine
           oares
           all
           stops
           to
           shun
           ,
           instruct
           .
        
         
           Then
           rise
           faire
           Goddesse
           sonne
           ,
           by
           peep
           of
           day
        
         
           So
           gentle
           Iuno
           then
           discreetly
           pray
           ,
        
         
           With
           submisse
           votes
           and
           treats
           her
           threats
           and
           rage
        
         
         
           Endeavour
           to
           evince
           or
           to
           asswage
           :
        
         
           Having
           thy
           hearts
           desire
           ,
           pay
           me
           my
           rite
           :
        
         
           I
           am
           even
           he
           ,
           whom
           there
           thou
           seest
           in
           sight
        
         
           O'reflowing
           fertile
           meads
           ,
           by
           banks
           ,
           smooth
           fleeting
        
         
           Skie-colour'd
           Tyber
           ,
           vvhom
           vvith
           kindely
           greeting
        
         
           The
           Gods
           embrace
           :
           Here
           's
           my
           large
           habitation
           ,
        
         
           Here
           to
           high
           towers
           my
           head
           hath
           first
           foundation
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           the
           river
           in
           the
           pool
           is
           hid
           ,
        
         
           Sunk
           to
           the
           bottome
           :
           night
           and
           sleep
           are
           slid
        
         
           From
           grave
           Aeneas
           .
           Up
           he
           starteth
           straight
           ,
        
         
           And
           Sols
           brave
           shining
           face
           doth
           contemplate
           :
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           stream
           his
           dipt
           hands
           lifting
           high
           ,
        
         
           These
           words
           he
           vented
           to
           the
           azure
           skie
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           nymphs
           ,
           rare
           Laurents
           nymphs
           ,
           whence
           springs
           do
           spring
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           deare
           Tyber
           ,
           rivers
           sacred
           king
           ;
        
         
           Accept
           Aeneas
           ,
           all
           his
           dangers
           end
           ,
        
         
           Where-e're
           thy
           pitying
           spring
           her
           streams
           extend
           ,
        
         
           Where-e're
           thy
           beauteous
           billows
           flow
           apace
           ,
        
         
           Ever
           ,
           oh
           ever
           shall
           my
           gifts
           thee
           grace
           .
        
         
           O
           thou
           horn-headed
           Italies
           faire
           floud
           ,
        
         
           O
           now
           propitious
           be
           ,
           streams
           guider
           good
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           thy
           power
           appeare
           .
           This
           having
           said
           ,
        
         
           Two
           ships
           out
           of
           his
           fleet
           he
           ready
           made
           ;
        
         
           His
           friends
           he
           fits
           with
           oares
           ,
           and
           arms
           his
           men
           .
        
         
           But
           here
           ,
           behold
           ,
           in
           sight
           appeared
           then
        
         
           A
           sudden
           and
           an
           unseen
           prodigie
           ,
        
         
           A
           white
           sow
           with
           her
           white
           piggs
           there
           did
           lie
        
         
           Upon
           the
           shore
           ,
           under
           roots
           of
           a
           tree
           :
        
         
           Which
           good
           Aeneas
           kill'd
           ,
           and
           said
           ,
           To
           thee
           ,
        
         
           To
           thee
           ,
           great
           Iuno
           ,
           this
           I
           sacrifice
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           brood
           bring
           as
           thine
           altars
           prize
           .
        
         
           Kinde
           Tyber
           all
           that
           night
           his
           flouds
           allay'd
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           all
           their
           swelling
           stirre
           most
           calmly
           stay'd
           ;
        
         
           And
           like
           a
           lake
           ,
           or
           standing-water
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Was
           a
           still
           sea
           ,
           fit
           for
           their
           oares
           affaire
           .
        
         
           A
           way
           they
           therefore
           haste
           with
           joyfull
           no●es
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           the
           banks
           the
           pitcht
           bark
           smoothly
           flo●ts
           .
        
         
           The
           waves
           and
           woods
           unus'd
           to
           such
           rare
           sights
           ,
        
         
           Admire
           the
           glistring
           shields
           o'
           th'
           Trojan
           knights
           ,
        
         
           And
           such
           rare
           carv'd
           and
           painted
           ships
           to
           see
        
         
           Float
           on
           the
           floud
           .
           Thus
           day
           and
           night
           they
           be
        
         
           All
           tyr'd
           with
           rowing
           ,
           and
           the
           reaches
           large
        
         
           They
           swiftly
           passe
           ,
           and
           boughs
           oft
           hide
           their
           barge
           ▪
        
         
           And
           thus
           they
           slice
           calm
           seas
           ,
           and
           passe
           woods
           green
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           i'
           th'
           midst
           of
           skie
           hot
           Sol
           was
           seen
        
         
           Swiftly
           ascend
           :
           and
           now
           they
           gladly
           spie
        
         
           Walls
           ,
           towers
           ,
           and
           tops
           of
           peeping
           houses
           high
           ,
        
         
           And
           Romane
           power
           ,
           vvhich
           now
           should
           equalize
        
         
           The
           starrie
           skie
           :
           but
           now
           in
           most
           vveak
           vvise
        
         
           Euanders
           realm
           and
           regal
           state
           did
           stand
           .
        
         
           They
           nimbly
           vvinde
           their
           vessels
           to
           the
           land
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           citie
           haste
           .
           By
           chance
           that
           day
        
         
           Euander
           unto
           Hercules
           did
           pay
        
         
           His
           honours
           due
           ,
           a
           solemne
           sacrifice
           ,
        
         
           In
           a
           great
           grove
           ,
           vvhich
           'bout
           the
           citie
           lies
           :
        
         
           Pallas
           his
           sonne
           vvas
           there
           ,
           and
           there
           were
           more
           ,
        
         
           All
           their
           choice
           young
           men
           ,
           and
           a
           senate
           poore
           ,
        
         
           Offring
           their
           incense
           ,
           and
           hot
           streaming
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           the
           altars
           in
           amaze
           they
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Fearefully
           frighted
           at
           the
           sudden
           sight
        
         
           Of
           such
           tall
           ships
           entring
           their
           harbours
           right
           ,
        
         
           With
           silent
           stroaks
           of
           oares
           ,
           and
           with
           great
           dread
        
         
           They
           in
           a
           fright
           ,
           all
           from
           their
           ●able●
           fl●d
           .
        
         
           Whom
           valliant
           Pallas
           did
           prohibit
           straigh●
        
         
         
           Those
           sacred
           rites
           not
           to
           contaminate
           .
        
         
           Himself
           with
           his
           drawn
           sword
           to
           shore
           doth
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           bank
           aloud
           aloof
           doth
           crie
           ;
        
         
           Young
           men
           ,
           what
           forc'd
           you
           to
           this
           unknown
           vvay
           ?
        
         
           Where
           vvould
           ye
           land
           ?
           vvhat
           is
           your
           nation
           ?
           say
           ,
        
         
           Where
           do
           you
           dwell
           ?
           What
           ?
           bring
           ye
           peace
           ,
           or
           warre
           ?
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Aeneas
           in
           his
           ship
           ,
           a
           farre
        
         
           Shew'd
           forth
           an
           olive
           peacefull
           branch
           in
           's
           hand
           ,
        
         
           And
           friendlily
           thus
           answered
           his
           demand
           ;
        
         
           Thou
           seest
           ,
           brave
           sire
           ,
           Trojans
           and
           weapons
           bent
        
         
           Against
           the
           Latines
           ,
           vvhom
           they
           insolent
        
         
           Have
           forc'd
           to
           flight
           ,
           by
           proud
           and
           unjust
           vvarre
           .
        
         
           VVe
           seek
           Euander
           :
           Favour
           us
           so
           farre
           ,
        
         
           As
           to
           relate
           and
           tell
           him
           what
           I
           say
           ,
        
         
           That
           Dardan
           peeres
           are
           come
           his
           aid
           to
           pray
           .
        
         
           Pallas
           amaz'd
           ,
           to
           heare
           that
           famous
           name
           ,
        
         
           Sayes
           straight
           ,
           Come
           forth
           who'ere
           ,
           whences'ere
           ye
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           speak
           your self
           before
           my
           fathers
           face
           ,
        
         
           A
           vvelcome
           guest
           you
           are
           unto
           this
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           our
           Gods.
           Then
           hands
           they
           shake
           and
           greet
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           shore
           with
           kinde
           embraces
           meet
           .
        
         
           The
           river
           left
           ,
           into
           the
           wood
           they
           vvalk
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           Aeneas
           to
           the
           king
           did
           talk
           ;
        
         
           O
           thou
           farre
           best
           of
           all
           the
           Grecian
           train
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           my
           fortunes
           do
           me
           now
           ordain
        
         
           Thy
           humble
           suiter
           ,
           with
           faire
           boughs
           of
           peace
        
         
           To
           seek
           to
           thee
           :
           and
           sure
           all
           feare
           did
           cease
           ,
        
         
           Although
           I
           knew
           thou
           wast
           a
           Grecian
           lord
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           in
           kindred
           thou
           didst
           ne're
           accord
        
         
           With
           both
           th'
           
             Atrida's
             ,
             Troyes
          
           two
           deadly
           foes
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           on
           mine
           own
           vvorth
           I
           did
           me
           repose
           ,
        
         
           And
           oracles
           divine
           of
           destinie
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           ancestours
           true
           consanguinitie
           ,
        
         
           And
           thy
           renown
           throughout
           all
           countreys
           found
           ,
        
         
           Have
           me
           to
           thee
           vvith
           vvisht
           good
           fortune
           bound
           .
        
         
           
             Dardan
             Troyes
          
           founder
           first
           ,
           and
           first
           great
           king
           ,
        
         
           (
           As
           Greeks
           relate
           )
           did
           from
           Electra
           spring
           ,
        
         
           Great
           Atlas
           daughter
           ,
           and
           to
           Trojans
           came
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           that
           most
           mightie
           Atlas
           ,
           who
           heavens
           frame
        
         
           Props
           on
           his
           back
           ,
           begat
           Electra
           faire
           .
        
         
           Mercurie
           was
           your
           sire
           ,
           whom
           Maia
           rare
        
         
           On
           Cyllens
           frigid
           tops
           did
           generate
           :
        
         
           And
           (
           if
           we
           may
           beleeve
           what
           men
           relate
           )
        
         
           Atlas
           ,
           even
           that
           same
           Atlas
           which
           doth
           stay
        
         
           Heavens
           twinckling
           starres
           ,
           begat
           faire
           Maia
           .
        
         
           Thus
           from
           one
           stemme
           our
           branches
           both
           do
           sprout
           .
        
         
           With
           these
           strong
           reasons
           arm'd
           ,
           I
           thus
           came
           out
           ,
        
         
           Sent
           not
           embassadours
           ,
           nor
           us'd
           quaint
           art
           ,
        
         
           To
           filch
           affection
           from
           thy
           friendly
           heart
           :
        
         
           But
           I
           ,
           even
           I
           my self
           unto
           thee
           came
        
         
           In
           mine
           own
           person
           ,
           submisse
           suits
           to
           frame
           .
        
         
           The
           same
           Rutulian
           bands
           which
           thee
           infest
        
         
           With
           cruell
           vvarres
           ,
           do
           us
           as
           much
           molest
           :
        
         
           If
           us
           they
           vanquish
           ,
           then
           they
           think
           all
           sure
           ,
        
         
           To
           make
           all
           Italie
           their
           yoke
           endure
           :
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           seas
           that
           East
           or
           West
           do
           lie
           .
        
         
           Then
           take
           ,
           and
           give
           us
           interchangeably
        
         
           Firm
           faith
           and
           furth'rance
           :
           We
           have
           valiant
           hearts
           ,
        
         
           Stout
           stomacks
           ,
           and
           brave
           sparks
           to
           act
           their
           parts
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           ceast
           .
           The
           king
           with
           stedfast
           eye
        
         
           Observ'd
           the
           speakers
           count'nance
           curiously
           ,
        
         
           His
           eyes
           ,
           and
           totall
           parts
           ;
           and
           briefly
           thus
        
         
           Replies
           ;
           O
           thou
           the
           most
           magnanimous
        
         
           Of
           Trojans
           brave
           ,
           O
           how
           I
           thee
           embrace
           !
        
         
         
           How
           glad
           I
           bid
           thee
           vvelcome
           to
           this
           place
           !
        
         
           O
           how
           thou
           dost
           thy
           parents
           personate
           !
        
         
           And
           great
           Anchises
           amply
           imitate
        
         
           In
           face
           and
           feature
           ,
           in
           thy
           words
           and
           voice
           !
        
         
           For
           I
           remember
           ,
           and
           therein
           rejoyce
           ,
        
         
           How
           when
           king
           Priam
           in
           his
           progresse
           vvent
        
         
           Unto
           his
           sister
           Hesions
           continent
           ,
        
         
           To
           visit
           her
           ,
           from
           Salamina
           past
           ,
        
         
           To
           cold
           Arcadia's
           confines
           came
           at
           last
           .
        
         
           My
           youthfull
           chin
           that
           time
           began
           to
           bud
        
         
           With
           hairie
           doun
           ,
           and
           then
           I
           wondring
           stood
        
         
           To
           see
           your
           Trojan
           peeres
           ,
           yea
           I
           admir'd
        
         
           Great
           Dardans
           self
           ,
           and
           was
           with
           joy
           even
           fir'd
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           Anchises
           taller
           then
           the
           rest
           .
        
         
           Youthfull
           affection
           boyled
           in
           my
           breast
        
         
           To
           talk
           with
           him
           ,
           and
           hands
           with
           him
           to
           shake
           .
        
         
           I
           to
           him
           vvent
           ,
           and
           joyfull
           did
           him
           take
        
         
           Along
           with
           me
           to
           my
           Pheneum
           faire
           :
        
         
           And
           he
           bestow'd
           on
           me
           a
           quiver
           rare
           ,
        
         
           At
           his
           departure
           ,
           fraught
           with
           Lycian
           shafts
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           faire
           mantle
           wrought
           with
           curious
           crafts
           ,
        
         
           Richly
           in
           gold
           ,
           two
           faire
           guilt
           bits
           with
           reins
           ;
        
         
           Both
           which
           my
           young
           sonne
           Pallas
           yet
           retains
           .
        
         
           The
           peace
           therefore
           desir'd
           ,
           I
           ratifie
           :
        
         
           And
           here
           's
           my
           hand
           for
           firm
           confederacie
           .
        
         
           And
           when
           to
           morrows
           sun
           renews
           earths
           light
           ,
        
         
           I
           'le
           you
           dismisse
           ,
           and
           aid
           with
           means
           and
           might
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           these
           annual
           rites
           (
           since
           here
           you
           are
        
         
           So
           friendly
           come
           )
           t'
           omit
           I
           may
           not
           dare
           .
        
         
           Pleaseth
           you
           them
           with
           us
           to
           celebrate
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           our
           tables
           us
           t'
           associate
           ?
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           bids
           bring
           back
           the
           cups
           and
           cates
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           on
           grasse
           seats
           ,
           sets
           down
           the
           Troj●●
           states
           .
        
         
           Chiefly
           Aeneas
           on
           a
           bed
           he
           seated
           ,
        
         
           Spread
           with
           a
           lions
           skin
           ,
           and
           him
           entreated
        
         
           Unto
           a
           stately
           throne
           .
           Then
           youths
           selected
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           and
           their
           altars
           priest
           their
           charge
           effected
           ;
        
         
           And
           busily
           brought
           in
           their
           bull-beef
           drest
           ,
        
         
           Baskets
           of
           vvell
           bak'd
           bread
           ,
           vvine
           of
           the
           best
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           and
           the
           Trojan
           peeres
           did
           dine
        
         
           Upon
           those
           entralls
           ,
           and
           bull-beef
           divine
           .
        
         
           Their
           stomacks
           staid
           ,
           and
           hunger
           qualifi'de
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           king
           Euander
           to
           them
           testifi'de
           ;
        
         
           This
           annual
           feast
           ,
           and
           this
           accustom'd
           cheere
           ,
        
         
           This
           great
           Gods
           altar
           ,
           vvhich
           we
           yeare
           by
           yeare
        
         
           Observe
           ,
           is
           not
           through
           silly
           super●tition
           ,
        
         
           Or
           errour
           of
           our
           antique
           Gods
           condition
           ;
        
         
           But
           we
           do
           this
           (
           most
           noble
           Trojan
           guest
           )
        
         
           And
           yearely
           these
           due
           honours
           are
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           Because
           we
           were
           preserv'd
           from
           dangers
           great
           .
        
         
           For
           proof
           whereof
           ,
           behold
           this
           rockie
           seat
        
         
           Hanging
           vvith
           craggy
           nooks
           ,
           whose
           ruin'd
           waight
           ,
        
         
           Of
           an
           old
           mount
           seems
           to
           precipitate
           .
        
         
           Here
           vvas
           a
           huge
           and
           large
           retiring
           cell
           ,
        
         
           Wherein
           inhumane
           Cacu●
           us'd
           to
           dwell
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           filthie
           face
           vvas
           in
           so
           black
           a
           plight
           ,
        
         
           As
           that
           Sols
           rayes
           could
           ne're
           afford
           it
           light
           :
        
         
           Fresh
           murthers
           still
           lay
           reaking
           on
           its
           flore
           ,
        
         
           And
           heads
           ofmurthered
           men
           besmear'd
           in
           gore
        
         
           VVith
           gastly
           looks
           hung
           on
           the
           odious
           gates
           .
        
         
           Black
           Vulcan
           father
           vvas
           (
           as
           fame
           relates
           )
        
         
           Unto
           this
           monster
           belching
           fumie
           fire
        
         
           From
           his
           foule
           mouth
           ,
           vvho
           seem'd
           then
           mounts
           much
           higher
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           ,
           as
           we
           desir'd
           ,
           heaven
           sent
           us
           aid
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           time
           thereto
           most
           fitly
           for
           us
           made
           :
        
         
           For
           why
           ?
           Alcides
           that
           revenger
           great
        
         
           Having
           perform'd
           his
           conquering
           retreat
        
         
           From
           treble-formed
           Geryons
           dire
           decay
           ,
        
         
           Enricht
           with
           spoiles
           ,
           his
           beasts
           all
           brought
           away
           ,
        
         
           And
           'bout
           our
           fields
           and
           flouds
           scarce
           had
           they
           fed
           ,
        
         
           But
           Cacus
           with
           his
           theevish
           furie
           led
           ,
        
         
           Whereby
           no
           fact
           most
           foule
           ,
           no
           cunning
           cheat
        
         
           He
           fear'd
           t'
           effect
           ,
           by
           force
           or
           sly
           deceit
           ,
        
         
           Foure
           of
           his
           fatted
           oxen
           stole
           from
           's
           stall
           ,
        
         
           And
           foure
           faire-horned
           heifers
           therewithall
           :
        
         
           And
           lest
           their
           feet
           the
           way
           to
           's
           den
           should
           show
           ,
        
         
           By
           th'
           tails
           he
           pul'd
           them
           backwards
           to
           and
           fro
           ,
        
         
           Into
           his
           den
           :
           the
           caves
           mouth
           with
           a
           stone
        
         
           He
           shut
           ,
           whsoe
           way
           could
           by
           no
           search
           be
           shown
           .
        
         
           Mean
           while
           ,
           when
           from
           those
           stalls
           great
           Hercules
        
         
           To
           move
           his
           full-fed
           herds
           of
           kine
           did
           please
           ,
        
         
           To
           other
           parts
           ,
           the
           beasts
           going
           on
           along
           ,
        
         
           Began
           i
           th'
           woods
           to
           bellow
           loud
           and
           strong
           .
        
         
           Where
           at
           the
           caves
           ,
           beasts
           lowed
           loud
           again
           ,
        
         
           And
           Cacus
           craft
           was
           thereby
           made
           most
           plain
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           Alcides
           ,
           full
           of
           furious
           gall
        
         
           And
           griping
           grief
           ,
           doth
           to
           his
           weapons
           fall
           :
        
         
           His
           tough
           and
           knotty
           club
           he
           fiercely
           takes
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           swift
           pace
           way
           to
           the
           mountain
           makes
           .
        
         
           Where
           first
           our
           men
           saw
           Cacus
           full
           of
           fright
           ,
        
         
           Swiftlier
           then
           winde
           to
           's
           den
           to
           take
           his
           flight
           .
        
         
           F●●re
           wing'd
           his
           feet
           .
           When
           he
           himself
           had
           clos'd
        
         
           Within
           his
           cave
           ,
           and
           the
           strong
           chain
           unlos'd
           ,
        
         
           The
           mightie
           stone
           fell
           down
           ,
           which
           by
           the
           chain
        
         
           And
           Vulcans
           art
           ,
           before
           did
           fast
           remain
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           strong
           bolts
           the
           gate
           did
           fortifie
           .
        
         
         
           Behold
           ,
           great
           Hercules
           did
           thither
           hie
           ;
        
         
           VVith
           rage
           enflam'd
           ,
           observing
           every
           nook
           ,
        
         
           He
           this
           way
           ,
           that
           way
           ,
           up
           and
           down
           did
           look
           ,
        
         
           Gnashing
           his
           teeth
           ,
           hot
           with
           intestine
           hate
           :
        
         
           Thrice
           through
           Aventines
           mount
           he
           doth
           lustrate
           ,
        
         
           Thrice
           at
           the
           stonie
           gate
           in
           vain
           he
           beats
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           hill
           ,
           thrice
           tired
           ,
           he
           retreats
           .
        
         
           A
           flintie
           rock
           ,
           cut
           sharp
           on
           every
           side
           ,
        
         
           With
           concave
           back
           ,
           rais'd
           high
           ,
           hard
           by
           he
           spi'de
           ;
        
         
           'Bout
           which
           were
           holes
           ,
           and
           rav'nous
           vultures
           nests
           .
        
         
           This
           on
           the
           streams
           left
           side
           ,
           he
           fierce
           infests
           ,
        
         
           As
           it
           lay
           bent
           unto
           the
           mountain
           side
           ,
        
         
           To
           loose
           it
           on
           the
           right
           ,
           he
           strongly
           try'd
           ;
        
         
           And
           shoving
           with
           his
           shoulders
           strenuously
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           it
           shook
           :
           whereat
           he
           by
           and
           by
        
         
           Put
           forth
           his
           strength
           ,
           and
           rous'd
           it
           from
           the
           root
           ,
        
         
           And
           it
           remov'd
           :
           whose
           movall
           with
           loud
           shout
        
         
           Did
           fill
           the
           echoing
           aire
           ,
           the
           rivers
           bank
           ,
        
         
           Leapt
           up
           and
           down
           ,
           and
           fearefull
           backward
           shrank
           .
        
         
           And
           then
           the
           den
           ,
           and
           Cacus
           court
           most
           wide
           ,
        
         
           Lay
           ope
           ,
           and
           all
           her
           duskie
           deeps
           were
           spide
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           the
           earth
           ,
           enforced
           deep
           to
           cleave
           ,
        
         
           His
           bowels
           dark
           do
           yawn
           ,
           in
           sunder
           reave
           ,
        
         
           And
           shew
           their
           shadie
           cells
           ,
           irksome
           to
           light
           ,
        
         
           And
           upward
           seems
           of
           horrid
           hell
           full
           sight
           :
        
         
           And
           soules
           ,
           the
           light
           let
           in
           ,
           are
           sore
           affright
           .
        
         
           By
           this
           unlookt
           for
           light
           Cacus
           thus
           caught
           ,
        
         
           And
           suddenly
           shut
           up
           i
           th'
           stonie
           vaut
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           to
           breathe
           and
           bray
           with
           unus'd
           waight
           ,
        
         
           Alcides
           still
           more
           loads
           doth
           congregate
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           trash
           and
           trump'ry
           there
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           boughs
           and
           blocks
           ,
           and
           mil-stones
           huge
           seeks
           out
           .
        
         
         
           He
           then
           (
           for
           hope
           of
           flight
           was
           quite
           expell'd
           )
        
         
           Belcht
           from
           his
           throat
           (
           most
           strange
           to
           be
           beheld
           )
        
         
           Huge
           smothering
           smoak
           ,
           which
           fill'd
           the
           rooms
           with
           fume
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           their
           eyes
           all
           light
           did
           quite
           absume
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           the
           cave
           throughout
           as
           dark
           as
           night
           ,
        
         
           Thick
           mists
           being
           mixt
           with
           fierie
           flashes
           bright
           .
        
         
           Which
           Hercules
           himself
           could
           not
           abide
           ,
        
         
           But
           through
           the
           flame
           in
           rage
           he
           headlong
           hi'de
           ,
        
         
           Where
           thickest
           flakes
           offume
           ,
           dark
           clouds
           of
           smoak
        
         
           Did
           belch
           and
           boile
           ,
           all
           in
           the
           den
           to
           choke
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Cacus
           in
           his
           cave
           evaporated
        
         
           Vain
           flashie
           vomits
           ,
           fast
           incarcerated
           ,
        
         
           Was
           by
           Alcides
           bound
           in
           griping
           bands
           ,
        
         
           His
           fierie
           eyes
           squeez'd
           out
           with
           his
           strong
           hands
           ,
        
         
           And
           cloddie
           bloud
           his
           chimney-throat
           did
           choke
           .
        
         
           Then
           straight
           the
           dens
           black
           doores
           being
           open
           broke
           ,
        
         
           All
           the
           stolne
           cattell
           and
           base
           theeveries
        
         
           VVere
           open
           laid
           to
           Sols
           all-seeing
           eyes
           .
        
         
           The
           uglie
           carcasse
           was
           by
           th'
           heels
           drawn
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           people
           ne're
           had
           done
           to
           prie
           about
        
         
           His
           odious
           eyes
           ,
           foule
           face
           ,
           and
           beastlike
           breast
           ,
        
         
           O'regrown
           with
           haire
           ,
           with
           flames
           his
           chaps
           opprest
           .
        
         
           E're
           since
           our
           joyfull
           youths
           did
           celebrate
        
         
           A
           day
           of
           triumph
           for
           this
           happie
           fate
           .
        
         
           Potitius
           was
           first
           founder
           of
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           And
           keeper
           of
           Pinarius
           sacred
           frame
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           him
           did
           t'
           Alcides
           sacrifice
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           this
           grove
           this
           altars
           edifice
        
         
           Did
           fairely
           frame
           ,
           thus
           stately
           as
           you
           see
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           is
           our
           best
           ,
           and
           so
           shall
           ever
           be
           .
        
         
           There●ore
           brave
           youths
           ,
           such
           honours
           due
           to
           pay
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           boughs
           dresse
           all
           your
           brows
           ,
           shunning
           delay
           ,
        
         
         
           Take
           your
           full
           bowls
           in
           hand
           ,
           poure
           wine
           most
           free
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           our
           Gods
           in
           common
           call'd
           on
           be
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           with
           Herculean
           poplar
           boughs
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           ,
           double-colour'd
           ,
           decks
           his
           head
           and
           brows
           :
        
         
           Whose
           branches
           dangled
           down
           ,
           and
           wine
           in
           's
           hand
           ,
        
         
           In
           sacred
           bowls
           ,
           all
           suddenly
           do
           stand
        
         
           About
           the
           altar
           ,
           pouring
           plenteous
           wine
           ,
        
         
           And
           joyfull
           votes
           vent
           to
           the
           powers
           divine
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           the
           evening
           drew
           on
           duskie
           skie
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           priests
           ,
           Potitius
           specially
           ,
        
         
           Went
           (
           as
           they
           're
           wont
           )
           in
           skins
           apparrelled
           ,
        
         
           With
           tapers
           in
           their
           hands
           ,
           and
           ordered
        
         
           The
           banquets
           brave
           ,
           with
           second
           courses
           meet
           ,
        
         
           And
           load
           the
           board
           with
           store
           of
           juncates
           sweet
           .
        
         
           The
           singing
           Salii
           then
           stood
           round
           about
           ,
        
         
           With
           poplar
           boughs
           their
           heads
           adorn'd
           ,
           set
           out
           :
        
         
           The
           young
           men
           here
           ,
           the
           old
           men
           there
           were
           seated
           ,
        
         
           And
           Hercules
           his
           praise
           in
           songs
           repeated
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           famous
           facts
           :
           First
           ,
           how
           with
           ease
        
         
           His
           stepdames
           snakes
           he
           with
           both
           hands
           did
           squease
           ,
        
         
           And
           strangle
           dead
           :
           And
           how
           he
           did
           destroy
        
         
           Brave
           cities
           strong
           ,
           Oechalia
           and
           old
           Troy
           :
        
         
           How
           in
           king
           Eurystheus
           troublous
           land
        
         
           A
           thousand
           toils
           ,
           by
           Iuno's
           fierce
           command
           ,
        
         
           He
           underwent
           .
           How
           thou
           ,
           unconquered
           knight
           ,
        
         
           Didst
           ruinate
           ,
           by
           thy
           resistlesse
           might
           ,
        
         
           Those
           cloud-begotten
           mongrell
           Cent●ures
           great
           ,
        
         
           Hylaeus
           and
           foule
           Pholus
           ,
           and
           didst
           beat
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           kill
           the
           
             Cretan
             Minotaure
          
           most
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           huge
           lion
           mortally
           didst
           pierce
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           Nemea's
           banks
           .
           Thou
           hideous
           hell
        
         
           Didst
           make
           to
           tremble
           ,
           and
           hells
           porter
           fell
           ,
        
         
         
           Lurking
           in
           's
           bloudy
           den
           ,
           on
           bones
           half
           gnawn
           ,
        
         
           Who
           by
           thy
           might
           was
           from
           his
           kennell
           drawn
           .
        
         
           Nor
           could
           mis-shapen
           shapes
           thee
           once
           affright
           ,
        
         
           No
           nor
           Typhoeus
           self
           with
           armed
           might
           .
        
         
           Nor
           wast
           thou
           then
           of
           wit
           and
           worth
           devoid
           ,
        
         
           When
           Lerna's
           dragon
           fiercely
           thee
           annoy'd
        
         
           With
           horrid
           heaps
           of
           heads
           .
           All
           hail
           therefore
        
         
           Thou
           sonne
           of
           Iove
           ,
           with
           Gods
           ,
           whom
           we
           adore
           ,
        
         
           Accept
           us
           and
           our
           gifts
           :
           propitious
           be
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           his
           praise
           in
           layes
           they
           sang
           most
           free
           .
        
         
           But
           Cacus
           den
           they
           chiefly
           memorize
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           from
           Cacus
           mouth
           the
           fire
           out
           flies
           ;
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           woods
           ,
           and
           hills
           and
           dales
           resound
        
         
           This
           famous
           fact
           of
           Hercules
           renown'd
           .
        
         
           These
           sacrifices
           done
           ,
           all
           now
           retreat
        
         
           Unto
           the
           town
           ,
           the
           king
           in
           state
           compleat
           ,
        
         
           Full
           of
           grave
           yeares
           ,
           went
           on
           ,
           and
           on
           each
           side
        
         
           Aeneas
           and
           his
           sonne
           with
           him
           abide
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           past
           ,
           and
           past
           the
           time
           in
           talk
           .
        
         
           And
           good
           Aeneas
           wonders
           ,
           as
           they
           walk
           ,
        
         
           And
           glanc'd
           his
           eyes
           about
           on
           every
           sight
           ;
        
         
           Affected
           with
           each
           place
           full
           of
           delight
           ,
        
         
           He
           questions
           every
           object
           ,
           and
           must
           know
        
         
           How
           every
           ancient
           monument
           did
           grow
           .
        
         
           Then
           king
           
             Euander
             ,
             Romes
          
           great
           founder
           ,
           said
           ,
        
         
           In
           these
           woods
           Pauni
           and
           faire
           wood-nymphs
           stay'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           kindes
           of
           men
           ,
           of
           trunks
           of
           trees
           begot
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           hard
           oaks
           ,
           whom
           nature
           did
           allot
        
         
           No
           nurture
           good
           ,
           nor
           customes
           commendable
           ,
        
         
           And
           working
           oxen
           how
           to
           use
           ,
           unable
           :
        
         
           Riches
           to
           get
           ,
           or
           got
           to
           keep
           ,
           unskill'd
           ;
        
         
           And
           heps
           and
           haws
           and
           hunted
           cheere
           them
           fill'd
           ;
        
         
         
           Old
           Saturn
           first
           came
           from
           Olympus
           high
           ,
        
         
           Shunning
           Ioves
           power
           ,
           banisht
           from
           's
           emperie
           .
        
         
           He
           those
           untutour'd
           people
           ,
           stragling
           wide
        
         
           About
           the
           woods
           and
           mountains
           ,
           beautifi'de
           :
        
         
           He
           gave
           them
           laws
           ,
           call'd
           their
           land
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           For
           there
           he
           liv'd
           in
           long
           securitie
           .
        
         
           Under
           whose
           rule
           and
           regiment
           most
           sage
           ,
        
         
           Was
           then
           (
           as
           men
           report
           )
           the
           golden
           age
           :
        
         
           In
           such
           sweet
           peace
           he
           did
           them
           regulate
        
         
           Till
           by
           degrees
           times
           did
           degenerate
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           more
           vitious
           age
           began
           to
           reigne
           ,
        
         
           And
           bloudie
           broiles
           ,
           and
           greedinesse
           of
           gain
           .
        
         
           Then
           came
           Ausonia's
           powers
           and
           nations
           strange
           ,
        
         
           And
           faire
           Saturnus
           lands
           name
           oft
           did
           change
           .
        
         
           Then
           kings
           came
           in
           ,
           and
           Tybers
           torrent
           main
           ,
        
         
           From
           whose
           surname
           ,
           the
           river
           did
           retain
        
         
           That
           name
           ,
           by
           us
           Italians
           having
           quite
        
         
           Lost
           the
           true
           name
           of
           Albula
           most
           white
           .
        
         
           I
           exil'd
           from
           my
           land
           ,
           did
           float
           along
        
         
           In
           seas
           extremities
           ,
           till
           fortune
           strong
           ,
        
         
           And
           fierce
           resistlesse
           fate
           did
           fix
           me
           here
           ,
        
         
           Mov'd
           by
           monitions
           of
           my
           mother
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Goddesse
           Carmenta
           ,
           and
           Apollo
           wise
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           oracles
           thereto
           did
           me
           advise
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           said
           he
           thus
           ,
           when
           walking
           on
           in
           state
           ,
        
         
           He
           shew'd
           her
           tombe
           ,
           and
           Romes
           Carmentall
           gate
           ;
        
         
           Which
           men
           in
           honour
           of
           Carmentis
           faire
           ,
        
         
           A
           Goddesse
           nymph
           ,
           and
           prophetesse
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Erected
           had
           ,
           who
           first
           did
           sing
           the
           praise
        
         
           Of
           famous
           Trojans
           ,
           to
           ensuing
           dayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           noble
           Pallant●u●
           .
           And
           shew'd
           us
        
         
           The
           mightie
           wood
           ,
           which
           warlike
           Romulus
        
         
         
           Made
           a
           safeguarding
           sanctuarie
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           a
           rock
           the
           Lupercall
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Of
           
             Lycean
             Pan
          
           ,
           unto
           him
           consecrated
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           th'
           Arcadian
           custome
           dedicated
           .
        
         
           Beside
           ,
           he
           shew'd
           Argilets
           cursed
           grove
           ,
        
         
           And
           'gainst
           the
           place
           ,
           disgrace
           (
           protest
           by
           Iove
           )
        
         
           Of
           faithlesse
           Argus
           his
           injurious
           guest
           .
        
         
           Hence
           to
           Tarpeia's
           towre
           he
           us
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           now
           rarely
           guilded
           Capitol
           ,
        
         
           Which
           once
           with
           shadie
           shrubs
           being
           covered
           all
           ,
        
         
           Excessive
           feare
           of
           that
           affrighting
           place
        
         
           Did
           terrifie
           the
           hearts
           o'
           th'
           Bores
           most
           base
           ;
        
         
           Even
           then
           they
           gave
           the
           rock
           and
           grove
           great
           grace
           .
        
         
           This
           grove
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           this
           bushie
           hill
           so
           steep
        
         
           Some
           God
           (
           but
           who
           ,
           uncertain
           't
           is
           )
           did
           keep
           .
        
         
           Th'
           Arcadians
           think
           they
           Iove
           himself
           did
           see
           ,
        
         
           When
           oft
           fierce
           storms
           and
           crackling
           thunder
           he
        
         
           Made
           flie
           about
           the
           skie
           .
           Besides
           ,
           behold
        
         
           These
           two
           demolisht
           towns
           ,
           the
           fragments
           old
        
         
           And
           rude
           remains
           of
           ancient
           men
           of
           fame
           :
        
         
           Old
           Ianus
           this
           ,
           Saturn
           did
           th'
           other
           frame
           .
        
         
           Ianiculum
           was
           this
           ,
           Saturnia
           that
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           along
           they
           past
           with
           this
           kinde
           chat
           ,
        
         
           To
           poore
           Euanders
           buildings
           ,
           where
           they
           view
        
         
           About
           the
           Romane
           courts
           a
           scattered
           crew
        
         
           Of
           cattell
           ,
           'bout
           the
           edifices
           faire
           .
        
         
           Thus
           when
           they
           did
           unto
           his
           court
           repaire
           ,
        
         
           This
           court
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           great
           Hercules
           did
           hold
           ,
        
         
           This
           palace
           him
           receiv'd
           .
           Brave
           guest
           ,
           be
           bold
        
         
           To
           spurn
           at
           worldly
           pelf
           ,
           thy self
           to
           show
        
         
           Like
           a
           great
           God
           ,
           not
           scorning
           fortunes
           low
           .
        
         
           He
           ceast
           :
           and
           brave
           Aeneas
           he
           brought
           in
        
         
         
           Into
           his
           court
           of
           princely
           state
           most
           thin
           ,
        
         
           Plac'd
           him
           upon
           a
           leafie
           quilted
           bed
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           fierce
           Libyan
           beere-skin
           overspread
           .
        
         
           Dark
           night
           rusht
           down
           ,
           whose
           black
           wings
           earth
           did
           hide
           :
        
         
           But
           Venus
           ,
           as
           a
           mother
           ,
           terrifi'de
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           Italia's
           troops
           sorely
           perplext
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           Laurentums
           threats
           in
           minde
           much
           vext
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           from
           her
           golden
           bed
           to
           Vulcan
           speaks
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           love-charming
           words
           thus
           silence
           breaks
           ;
        
         
           Whiles
           Grecian
           kings
           with
           warres
           well
           wasted
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           mens
           fires
           did
           her
           faire
           towres
           destroy
           ,
        
         
           I
           sought
           no
           succour
           for
           those
           wofull
           men
           ,
        
         
           No
           arms
           nor
           art
           of
           thine
           to
           help
           them
           then
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           thee
           (
           my
           dearest
           love
           )
           could
           I
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           thy
           rare
           skill
           ,
           to
           exercise
           constrain
           ,
        
         
           Though
           much
           I
           ought
           to
           Priams
           sonnes
           relief
           ,
        
         
           And
           my
           Aeneas
           toiles
           cost
           me
           much
           grief
           .
        
         
           Now
           Rutuls
           land
           by
           Ioves
           command
           him
           holds
           ,
        
         
           Me
           therefore
           now
           (
           sweet
           heart
           )
           thy
           love
           embolds
        
         
           To
           supplicate
           :
           I
           onely
           arms
           do
           crave
           ,
        
         
           A
           mother
           for
           her
           childe
           :
           Dame
           Thetis
           brave
        
         
           And
           faire
           Aurora
           could
           thee
           move
           with
           teares
           .
        
         
           My
           dearest
           heart
           ,
           see
           ,
           see
           ,
           what
           frighting
           feare
           ,
        
         
           What
           troops
           are
           mustred
           ,
           cities
           up
           are
           shut
           ,
        
         
           Sharpning
           their
           horns
           ,
           at
           me
           and
           mine
           to
           but.
        
         
           She
           ceast
           :
           and
           with
           her
           snowie
           arms
           most
           white
        
         
           About
           the
           neck
           she
           clasps
           him
           soft
           and
           light
           .
        
         
           He
           seems
           to
           shrink
           ,
           she
           clings
           and
           toyes
           the
           more
           :
        
         
           He
           on
           a
           sudden
           felt
           loves
           honey-rore
        
         
           Soak
           in
           ,
           and
           wonted
           flames
           to
           heat
           his
           heart
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           o'respread
           his
           bones
           and
           every
           part
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           fierce
           thunder
           from
           clouds
           rumbling
           ript
           ,
        
         
         
           VVhen
           flashie
           flames
           through
           th'
           aire
           have
           nimbly
           skipt·
        
         
           She
           gladlie
           found
           her
           fraud
           and
           face
           most
           faire
        
         
           T'
           have
           pierc'd
           her
           husbands
           heart
           ,
           and
           cur'd
           her
           care
           .
        
         
           Then
           father
           Vulcan
           bound
           in
           loves
           sweet
           chains
           ,
        
         
           Reply'd
           ,
           and
           said
           ,
           Sweet
           soule
           ,
           what
           thee
           constrains
        
         
           To
           use
           such
           farre
           fetcht
           phrases
           unto
           me
           ?
        
         
           Sweet
           Goddesse
           ,
           where
           's
           thy
           trust
           'twixt
           me
           and
           thee
           ?
        
         
           Alas
           deare
           heart
           ,
           had
           former
           care
           been
           so
           ,
        
         
           Even
           then
           we
           might
           have
           armed
           Troy
           from
           wo.
        
         
           Nor
           Iupiter
           ,
           nor
           fates
           Troyes
           blisse
           deny'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           Priam
           might
           yet
           other
           ten
           yeares
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           Now
           if
           thou
           wilt
           to
           warre
           ,
           if
           here
           th'
           art
           bent
           ,
        
         
           VVhat
           e're
           my
           art
           can
           adde
           for
           adjument
           ,
        
         
           What
           steel
           and
           iron
           ,
           brasse
           or
           silver
           plate
           ,
        
         
           VVhat
           fire
           and
           blasts
           can
           best
           consolidate
           ,
        
         
           (
           Cease
           needlesse
           prayers
           )
           distrust
           not
           thine
           own
           strength
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           all
           for
           thee
           .
           This
           having
           said
           ,
           at
           length
        
         
           He
           gave
           her
           long
           embraces
           ,
           loving
           greets
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           her
           bosome
           tasted
           all
           loves
           sweets
           .
        
         
           Thus
           when
           sweet
           midnights
           rest
           was
           past
           and
           spent
           ,
        
         
           Like
           a
           good
           huswife
           ,
           thriftie
           ,
           provident
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           timely
           rising
           closely
           cards
           and
           spins
           ,
        
         
           Her
           cinders
           builds
           ,
           to
           make
           her
           fire
           begins
           ,
        
         
           Blows
           the
           quick
           coals
           ,
           working
           ,
           turns
           night
           to
           day
           ,
        
         
           And
           makes
           her
           maids
           their
           bones
           to
           work
           to
           lay
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           toyling
           tasks
           ,
           her self
           well
           to
           maintain
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           her
           charge
           and
           children
           to
           sustain
           :
        
         
           Even
           so
           ,
           uxorious
           Vulcan
           ,
           iron-tamer
           ,
        
         
           Ignipotent
           ,
           most
           excellent
           arms
           framer
           ,
        
         
           Earely
           starts
           up
           ,
           his
           basking
           bed
           forsakes
           ,
        
         
           And
           him
           to
           's
           iron
           instruments
           betakes
           .
        
         
           Neare
           Sicili●
           an
           isle
           aloof
           there
           lies
           ,
        
         
         
           Lipara
           and
           Aeolia
           ;
           whence
           there
           flies
        
         
           Much
           fire
           and
           winde
           ,
           much
           fume
           and
           furious
           din
           ▪
        
         
           Under
           which
           lies
           a
           cave
           and
           deep
           within
           :
        
         
           The
           
             Cyclops
             Aetnaean
          
           forges
           grown
           i'
           th'
           rocks
           ,
        
         
           Do
           through
           the
           chimneys
           vent
           such
           thundring
           knocks
           ,
        
         
           And
           bouncing
           blows
           upon
           the
           anviles
           smit
           ,
        
         
           And
           tinkering
           strokes
           with
           nimble
           hammers
           hit
           ,
        
         
           As
           loudly
           echo
           out
           with
           clanging
           sound
        
         
           Of
           steel
           and
           iron
           ,
           batter'd
           long
           and
           round
        
         
           Upon
           the
           anviles
           shrill
           ,
           into
           broad
           plates
           ,
        
         
           The
           forge-fire
           sputtering
           puffes
           evaporates
           .
        
         
           Here
           's
           Vuloans
           house
           ,
           here
           's
           vaste
           Vulcania
           town
           ,
        
         
           Hither
           from
           heaven
           this
           fire-fierce
           god
           came
           down
           .
        
         
           In
           this
           large
           cave
           the
           Cyclops
           iron
           frame
           ;
        
         
           There
           brangling
           Brontes
           fast
           does
           file
           the
           same
           :
        
         
           There
           streporous
           Steropes
           makes
           sparks
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Naked
           Pyracmon
           does
           at
           th'
           anvile
           lie
           .
        
         
           A
           yet
           unfinisht
           fiery
           work
           they
           wrought
           ,
        
         
           But
           in
           some
           part
           ,
           to
           some
           perfection
           brought
           ,
        
         
           Some
           thunderbolt
           ,
           which
           Iove
           from
           heaven
           did
           smite
           ,
        
         
           (
           As
           on
           the
           earth
           do
           many
           of
           them
           light
           )
        
         
           Some
           part
           unpolisht
           was
           .
           Three
           clattering
           showres
        
         
           Of
           winter-hail
           upon
           the
           work
           he
           poures
           ,
        
         
           And
           three
           of
           spring-tide
           rain
           ,
           three
           flashes
           swift
        
         
           Of
           summer
           flames
           ,
           three
           puffes
           of
           autumne
           drift
           .
        
         
           Thus
           at
           their
           work
           fierce
           frightfull
           flashes
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Bright
           rapid
           lightning
           rage
           ,
           and
           by
           and
           by
        
         
           With
           fearfull
           rumbling
           ,
           thumping
           thwacks
           of
           art
        
         
           They
           beat
           about
           .
           Then
           on
           another
           part
        
         
           A
           chariot
           with
           swift
           wheels
           for
           Mars
           they
           made
           ,
        
         
           Wherewith
           he
           town
           and
           townsmen
           makes
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           A
           coat
           of
           arms
           for
           angry
           Pallas
           they
        
         
         
           With
           snake-like
           scales
           and
           gold
           did
           overlay
           :
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           breast-plate
           of
           the
           Goddesse
           faire
        
         
           Serpentine
           Gorgons
           heads
           in
           wreaths
           there
           are
           ,
        
         
           Chopt
           from
           the
           neck
           ,
           whose
           gogling
           glarie
           eyes
        
         
           Rouling
           in
           rage
           ,
           beholders
           stupifies
           .
        
         
           Away
           (
           sayes
           Vulca●
           )
           lay
           away
           with
           speed
        
         
           All
           other
           works
           ,
           you
           lads
           of
           Aetnaean
           breed
           ,
        
         
           And
           hither
           bend
           your
           thoughts
           ,
           rare
           arms
           to
           frame
           ,
        
         
           For
           a
           renowned
           prince
           of
           matchlesse
           fame
           .
        
         
           Now
           shew
           your
           strength
           ,
           your
           nimble
           hands
           ,
           rare
           art
           ,
        
         
           Come
           ,
           come
           ,
           make
           haste
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           each
           playes
           his
           part
           ,
        
         
           And
           fast
           they
           fall
           to
           work
           ,
           each
           takes
           his
           place
           ,
        
         
           Gold
           ,
           silver
           ,
           brasse
           ,
           steel-mettals
           ,
           boile
           apace
           :
        
         
           And
           being
           melted
           ,
           run
           like
           streams
           about
           .
        
         
           And
           first
           a
           goodly
           targe
           they
           forged
           out
           ,
        
         
           Even
           one
           'gainst
           all
           the
           adverse
           Latine
           shafts
           ,
        
         
           With
           fourteen
           folds
           and
           crosse-barre
           turning
           drafts
           :
        
         
           Some
           at
           the
           bellows
           put
           in
           ,
           puff
           out
           blasts
           ;
        
         
           Some
           hissing
           hot-iron
           into
           th'
           water
           casts
           :
        
         
           The
           whole
           shop
           rings
           with
           thick
           quick
           anvile
           blows
           ,
        
         
           And
           each
           his
           arms
           in
           order
           fiercely
           throws
           ,
        
         
           To
           give
           his
           stroke
           ,
           and
           with
           the
           tongs
           to
           turn
        
         
           The
           massie
           mettall
           ,
           which
           red-hot
           doth
           burn
           .
        
         
           Whiles
           Vulcan
           in
           Aeolian
           puffy
           plains
        
         
           Thus
           busie
           was
           ,
           the
           rising
           sun
           constrains
        
         
           Euander
           from
           his
           palace
           poore
           to
           rise
           ,
        
         
           Wakned
           by
           morning-chanting
           birds
           in
           skies
           :
        
         
           Who
           gravely
           risen
           ,
           and
           apparell'd
           meet
           ,
        
         
           And
           Tuscanes
           sandals
           laced
           on
           his
           feet
           :
        
         
           Then
           his
           Arcadian
           blade
           he
           hangs
           by
           's
           side
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           on
           his
           left
           hung
           by
           a
           panthers
           hide
           .
        
         
           A
           lease
           of
           lusty
           dogs
           did
           on
           him
           vvait
           ,
        
         
         
           Guarding
           their
           master
           from
           the
           palace
           gate
           .
        
         
           Thus
           to
           his
           guest
           Aeneas
           lodgings
           went
        
         
           This
           Heroë
           brave
           ,
           mindfull
           of
           's
           high
           intent
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           his
           promis'd
           aid
           .
           With
           no
           lesse
           care
        
         
           Aeneas
           in
           the
           morning
           doth
           prepare
           .
        
         
           With
           Pallas
           young
           the
           king
           associated
           ,
        
         
           Achates
           kinde
           Aeneas
           comitated
           .
        
         
           Met
           ,
           they
           shake
           hands
           ,
           and
           down
           together
           sit
           ,
        
         
           And
           having
           time
           for
           talk
           ,
           and
           leisure
           fit
           ,
        
         
           The
           king
           thus
           first
           began
           ;
           Great
           prince
           of
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           I
           ne're
           shall
           think
           (
           whiles
           thou
           dost
           life
           enjoy
           )
        
         
           Troyes
           crowns
           and
           comforts
           to
           be
           brought
           to
           thrall
           ▪
        
         
           Our
           forces
           ,
           I
           confesse
           ,
           are
           too
           too
           small
           ,
        
         
           To
           give
           so
           great
           a
           prince
           aid
           competent
           :
        
         
           On
           one
           side
           we
           by
           Tuscanes
           stream
           are
           pent
           ,
        
         
           On
           th'
           other
           side
           troops
           of
           Ru●ulians
           stout
           ,
        
         
           With
           clattering
           arms
           our
           walls
           do
           hedge
           about
           :
        
         
           But
           I
           am
           mustring
           for
           thee
           mightie
           bands
           ,
        
         
           A
           people
           strong
           ,
           and
           very
           rich
           in
           lands
           :
        
         
           VVhich
           happy
           hap
           ,
           unlookt
           for
           luck
           hath
           given
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           art
           come
           ,
           by
           fates
           decree
           ,
           from
           heaven
           .
        
         
           Not
           farre
           from
           hence
           the
           citie
           Agylla
           ,
        
         
           An
           ancient
           stony
           basis
           doth
           display
           ,
        
         
           Once
           Lydia
           call'd
           ,
           famous
           for
           battels
           bold
           ,
        
         
           Which
           once
           did
           all
           Etruria
           mountains
           hold
           .
        
         
           This
           land
           ,
           which
           fairely
           flourisht
           many
           yeares
           ,
        
         
           Proud
           king
           Mezentius
           rul'd
           with
           cruell
           feares
           .
        
         
           Why
           should
           I
           mention
           all
           his
           murthers
           fierce
           ?
        
         
           Or
           why
           this
           tyrants
           facts
           most
           foule
           rehearse
           ?
        
         
           The
           Gods
           repay
           it
           on
           his
           impious
           head
           !
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           he
           bound
           live
           bodies
           unto
           dead
           ,
        
         
           Coupling
           them
           hands
           to
           hands
           ,
           and
           face
           to
           face
           ,
        
         
         
           (
           Ah
           horrid
           torment
           )
           in
           which
           foule
           embrace
           ,
        
         
           Them
           all-besmear'd
           with
           putrefaction
           ill
           ,
        
         
           He
           with
           a
           lingring
           death
           thus
           us'd
           to
           kill
           .
        
         
           His
           people
           tired
           with
           this
           tyranny
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           in
           arms
           him
           and
           his
           familie
           ,
        
         
           Plotting
           more
           impious
           pranks
           ,
           they
           close
           surrounded
           ,
        
         
           Slew
           all
           his
           mates
           ,
           with
           fire
           his
           house
           confounded
           .
        
         
           He
           in
           these
           broiles
           to
           Rutuls
           realm
           did
           flie
           ,
        
         
           To
           Turnus
           harbour
           ,
           for
           securitie
           .
        
         
           Then
           all
           Etruria
           in
           just
           furie
           came
           ,
        
         
           Their
           king
           with
           arms
           ,
           for
           due
           revenge
           ,
           they
           claim
           .
        
         
           Thou
           great
           Aeneas
           ,
           of
           these
           thousands
           brave
        
         
           The
           leading
           and
           the
           Martiall
           guide
           shalt
           have
           .
        
         
           For
           all
           their
           ships
           stand
           ready
           ridg'd
           at
           shore
           ,
        
         
           And
           fluttering
           flags
           do
           hang
           the
           decks
           before
           :
        
         
           An
           aged
           southsayer
           singing
           secret
           fates
           ,
        
         
           Does
           them
           with-hold
           ,
           saying
           ,
           O
           choice
           Lydian
           mates
           ,
        
         
           Of
           pristine
           potentates
           the
           cream
           and
           flower
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           just
           revenge
           incenseth
           with
           strong
           power
        
         
           Against
           your
           foes
           ,
           and
           whom
           Mezentius
           base
        
         
           Hath
           stimulated
           ,
           with
           just
           wrath
           to
           chase
           :
        
         
           No
           native
           of
           Italia
           may
           such
           bands
        
         
           Conduct
           ;
           then
           seek
           a
           captain
           from
           strange
           lands
           .
        
         
           These
           things
           did
           all
           Etruria
           much
           dismay
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           still
           in
           field
           their
           ensignes
           they
           display
           :
        
         
           And
           troubled
           at
           these
           heavenly
           destinies
           ,
        
         
           Tarchon
           himself
           sent
           oratours
           most
           wise
        
         
           To
           me
           ▪
           with
           regal
           robes
           and
           presents
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Desiring
           I
           would
           to
           their
           tents
           repaire
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           great
           Tuscanes
           state
           take
           tutelage
           .
        
         
           But
           me
           ,
           my
           feeble
           and
           congeal'd
           old
           age
           ,
        
         
           And
           faint
           unfitnes
           to
           activity
           ,
        
         
         
           Denies
           that
           profered
           state
           and
           soveraignty
           .
        
         
           My
           sonne
           I
           would
           have
           sent
           :
           but
           mixed
           bloud
        
         
           With
           's
           mothers
           faire
           Sabella
           ,
           thus
           withstood
           ,
        
         
           By
           whom
           part
           of
           those
           parts
           to
           him
           enclin'd
           .
        
         
           But
           thou
           ,
           whose
           yeares
           ,
           and
           whose
           heroick
           minde
        
         
           The
           fates
           do
           favour
           ,
           and
           the
           Gods
           provide
           :
        
         
           O
           thou
           Troyes
           and
           Italia's
           valiant
           guide
           ,
        
         
           Do
           thou
           assume
           this
           charge
           .
           And
           here
           my
           boy
           ,
        
         
           Pallas
           my
           sonne
           ,
           my
           hope
           and
           future
           joy
           ,
        
         
           To
           thee
           I
           vvill
           commit
           ,
           to
           thee
           commend
           ,
        
         
           On
           thee
           his
           Martiall
           master
           to
           attend
           ;
        
         
           VVarres
           burthen
           great
           with
           thee
           to
           undergo
           ,
        
         
           Rare
           feats
           of
           arms
           from
           thee
           to
           see
           and
           know
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           his
           childehood
           thy
           rare
           parts
           t'
           admire
           .
        
         
           And
           (
           as
           the
           present
           case
           doth
           now
           require
           )
        
         
           Two
           hundred
           brave
           Arcadian
           horsemen
           strong
           ,
        
         
           All
           chosen
           youths
           ,
           I
           give
           to
           go
           along
           :
        
         
           Pallas
           in
           's
           own
           name
           likewise
           does
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           to
           an
           end
           of
           's
           words
           the
           king
           yet
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           Aeneas
           and
           Achates
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           Their
           eyes
           fixt
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
           their
           troubled
           minde
        
         
           Full
           of
           afflicting
           thoughts
           :
           vvhen
           suddenly
        
         
           Faire
           Cytherea
           in
           a
           serene
           skie
           ,
        
         
           Gave
           them
           a
           signe
           :
           for
           why
           ,
           a
           sudden
           sight
        
         
           In
           th'
           open
           aire
           of
           wondrous
           glistring
           light
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           rushing
           ratling
           noise
           ,
           quick
           o're
           them
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           seem'd
           to
           shake
           the
           universall
           frame
           :
        
         
           And
           they
           suppos'd
           the
           Tuscane
           trump
           they
           heard
           ,
        
         
           And
           more
           and
           more
           the
           ratling
           roare
           was
           rear'd
           .
        
         
           And
           then
           between
           the
           clouds
           in
           pleasant
           skie
        
         
           Bright-shining
           and
           loud-sounding
           arms
           they
           spie
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           thundring
           noise
           ,
           which
           did
           the
           rest
           affright
           :
        
         
         
           But
           Troyes
           brave
           prince
           discern'd
           the
           sound
           aright
           ,
        
         
           And
           thought
           on
           's
           sacred
           mothers
           promise
           made
           :
        
         
           And
           therefore
           to
           them
           thus
           at
           last
           he
           said
           ;
        
         
           Kinde
           hoste
           ,
           feare
           not
           ,
           nor
           seek
           what
           accident
        
         
           These
           signes
           fore-show
           ,
           for
           me
           heaven
           hath
           them
           sent
           .
        
         
           Venus
           ,
           divine
           creatrix
           of
           each
           thing
           ,
        
         
           Promis'd
           she
           would
           this
           signe
           upon
           me
           bring
           ,
        
         
           If
           warres
           were
           wag'd
           :
           and
           that
           for
           my
           protection
           ,
        
         
           She
           'd
           bring
           me
           Vulcans
           arms
           ,
           with
           sweet
           affection
           .
        
         
           Alas
           !
           vvhat
           woefull
           warres
           are
           imminent
        
         
           Unto
           Laurentums
           nation
           turbulent
           !
        
         
           What
           vengeance
           on
           thee
           ,
           Turnus
           ,
           shall
           I
           take
           !
        
         
           How
           many
           helms
           and
           targets
           shall
           I
           make
           ,
        
         
           And
           bodies
           of
           brave
           captains
           ,
           to
           be
           rould
        
         
           About
           thy
           banks
           and
           brims
           ,
           faire
           Tyber
           old
           !
        
         
           Thy
           armies
           making
           ,
           yet
           still
           marring
           peace
           :
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           from
           farther
           talk
           he
           now
           did
           cease
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           his
           seat
           himself
           he
           raised
           higher
           ;
        
         
           And
           first
           of
           all
           he
           kindled
           the
           sleep-fire
        
         
           On
           Hercules
           his
           altars
           ,
           and
           renews
           ,
        
         
           With
           joyfull
           heart
           ,
           yesterdayes
           sacred
           dues
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           the
           petty
           Gods
           ,
           and
           both
           the
           king
        
         
           And
           Trojan
           youths
           ,
           slain
           sacrifices
           bring
           .
        
         
           This
           done
           ,
           his
           ships
           and
           mates
           he
           goes
           to
           see
           :
        
         
           Amongst
           whose
           troops
           ,
           those
           whom
           he
           found
           most
           free
        
         
           VVith
           active
           hearts
           his
           warres
           to
           undertake
           ,
        
         
           He
           chose
           to
           him
           ;
           those
           that
           would
           him
           forsake
           ,
        
         
           Down
           the
           declining
           river
           thence
           he
           sent
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           without
           sails
           homeward
           most
           smoothly
           went
           ▪
        
         
           To
           carry
           to
           Ascanius
           future
           news
        
         
           Both
           of
           his
           father
           and
           his
           facts
           issues
           .
        
         
           Then
           horses
           to
           the
           Trojans
           given
           were
           ,
        
         
         
           To
           Tyrrhene
           territories
           them
           to
           beare
           ,
        
         
           But
           to
           Aeneas
           they
           a
           choice
           one
           gave
           ,
        
         
           Clad
           with
           a
           lions
           skin
           ,
           with
           gold
           claws
           brave
           .
        
         
           Fame
           quickly
           flew
           o're
           all
           the
           citie
           small
           ,
        
         
           That
           to
           the
           king
           ,
           through
           Tuscan●
           horsemen
           tall
           ,
        
         
           Did
           posting
           ri●e
           .
           Women
           with
           extream
           feare
        
         
           Did
           double
           their
           designes
           :
           in
           men
           appeare
        
         
           Doubts
           of
           the
           worst
           and
           warres
           more
           open
           face
           .
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Euander
           ,
           with
           a
           kinde
           embrace
           ,
        
         
           Teares
           gushing
           out
           ,
           his
           parting
           guest
           held
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           lovingly
           into
           these
           speeches
           brast
           ;
        
         
           O
           if
           my
           yeares
           of
           youth
           Iove
           would
           restore
           ,
        
         
           (
           As
           once
           when
           at
           Praeneste
           heretofore
        
         
           I
           routed
           my
           foes
           ranks
           ,
           and
           victour
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Burnt
           heaps
           of
           captains
           targets
           all
           about
           .
        
         
           This
           hand
           king
           Herils
           soule
           sent
           under
           earth
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           mother
           ,
           faire
           Feroni●
           ,
           at
           his
           birth
        
         
           Infus'd
           in
           him
           three
           soules
           (
           ho●rid
           to
           tell
           )
        
         
           By
           which
           three
           weapons
           he
           could
           handle
           well
           :
        
         
           And
           therefore
           must
           be
           three
           times
           vanquished
           ,
        
         
           Thrice
           slain
           ,
           and
           thrice
           of
           's
           arms
           disfurnished
           .
           )
        
         
           O
           then
           ,
           sweet
           sonne
           ,
           I
           'd
           ne're
           disjoyn'd
           have
           been
        
         
           From
           thy
           sweet
           greets
           ,
           nor
           have
           endur'd
           t'
           have
           seen
        
         
           Mezentius
           proud
           ,
           my
           bloudy
           borderer
           ,
        
         
           Such
           vaunts
           and
           villanies
           'bout
           me
           t'
           inferre
           ,
        
         
           Such
           murthers
           to
           have
           made
           ,
           a
           town
           so
           good
        
         
           By
           husba●ds
           losse
           to
           weep
           in
           widow-hood
           .
        
         
           But
           oh
           great
           Iove
           ,
           and
           ye
           the
           Gods
           on
           high
           ,
        
         
           Pi●ie
           Arcadia's
           kings
           great
           miserie
           ;
        
         
           And
           heare
           a
           parents
           prayers
           ,
           and
           your
           great
           love
        
         
           Let
           me
           in
           my
           poore
           Pallas
           safety
           prove
           :
        
         
           And
           if
           I
           live
           to
           see
           him
           safe
           again
           ,
        
         
         
           Life
           thus
           I
           crave
           ,
           for
           this
           I
           'le
           beare
           all
           pain
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           ,
           fierce
           fates
           ,
           you
           threaten
           dire
           distresse
           ,
        
         
           Now
           ,
           oh
           now
           end
           these
           dayes
           of
           wretchednesse
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           thoughts
           are
           doubtfull
           ,
           hope
           of
           hap
           's
           unknown
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           thee
           ,
           my
           childe
           ,
           my
           sole
           ,
           sure
           joy
           alone
           ,
        
         
           I
           yet
           may
           clasp
           in
           these
           mine
           aged
           arms
           ,
        
         
           Before
           sad
           news
           my
           heart
           pierce
           with
           thy
           harms
           .
        
         
           Thus
           this
           good
           father
           these
           sad
           words
           pour'd
           out
           ,
        
         
           At
           parting
           ;
           and
           his
           tendants
           round
           about
           ,
        
         
           Him
           ,
           fainting
           ,
           falling
           ,
           carried
           in
           with
           care
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           Aeneas
           on
           his
           courser
           rare
        
         
           Mounted
           ,
           rode
           foremost
           forth
           ,
           Achates
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           With
           all
           his
           Trojan
           peeres
           ,
           with
           cheerefull
           minde
           ,
        
         
           And
           princely
           Pallas
           in
           the
           midst
           of
           all
        
         
           In
           rich-wrought
           arms
           ,
           conspicuously
           tall
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           short
           coat
           :
           like
           Lucifer
           most
           bright
        
         
           Shining
           upon
           the
           oceans
           waves
           at
           night
           ,
        
         
           (
           Which
           Venus
           loves
           above
           each
           ignean
           starre
           )
        
         
           VVhose
           lustrous
           beams
           are
           the
           most
           bright
           .
           by
           farre
           .
        
         
           The
           women
           on
           the
           walls
           stood
           fearefully
           ,
        
         
           And
           clouds
           of
           dust
           ,
           and
           glistering
           arms
           did
           eye
           .
        
         
           The
           next
           way
           they
           through
           bush-paths
           armed
           ride
           ,
        
         
           The
           fields
           even
           quake
           with
           horse-hoofs
           prancing
           pride
           .
        
         
           Neare
           C●rits
           floud
           a
           mightie
           wood
           doth
           lie
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           ancients
           farre
           and
           neare
           religiously
        
         
           Held
           in
           great
           honour
           ,
           clos'd
           on
           evey
           side
        
         
           With
           hollow
           banks
           ,
           'bout
           which
           thick
           firre-woods
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           Fame
           sayes
           ,
           the
           ancient
           Greeks
           did
           sacred
           yeeld
        
         
           Unto
           Sylvanus
           ,
           God
           of
           beasts
           and
           field
           ,
        
         
           The
           grove
           and
           solemne-day
           ,
           that
           in
           old-time
        
         
           That
           they
           first
           held
           the
           Latines
           lands
           and
           clime
           .
        
         
           Not
           farre
           from
           hence
           brave
           Tarchons
           armie
           stout
           ,
        
         
         
           Of
           his
           Etruria
           troops
           lay
           campt
           about
           :
        
         
           And
           from
           a
           high
           hill
           he
           might
           see
           their
           bands
           ,
        
         
           How
           they
           lay
           spread
           about
           their
           fields
           and
           lands
           .
        
         
           Hither
           Aeneas
           with
           's
           choice
           youths
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           their
           wearie
           selves
           and
           horse
           they
           rest
           .
        
         
           But
           beauteous
           Goddesse
           Venus
           through
           the
           skies
        
         
           With
           her
           rare
           gifts
           unto
           Aeneas
           hies
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           a
           separate
           valley
           by
           a
           brook
           ,
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           on
           her
           sonne
           she
           cast
           a
           look
           ,
        
         
           She
           to
           him
           comes
           ,
           and
           these
           words
           uttered
           ▪
        
         
           See
           here
           ,
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           the
           gifts
           I
           promised
           ,
        
         
           By
           my
           kinde
           husbands
           art
           thus
           perfected
           :
        
         
           Now
           feare
           no
           Laurent
           strong
           ,
           nor
           Turnus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           In
           field
           to
           fight
           with
           ,
           and
           to
           single
           out
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           faire
           Venus
           did
           her
           sonne
           embrace
           ,
        
         
           And
           under
           an
           oak
           the
           glistering
           arms
           did
           place
           .
        
         
           He
           overjoy'd
           ,
           and
           wondrously
           affected
        
         
           With
           such
           the
           Goddesse
           gifts
           to
           be
           respected
           ,
        
         
           And
           highly
           honour'd
           ,
           gluts
           his
           gazing
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           strange
           wonder
           every
           parcell
           spies
           ,
        
         
           And
           turns
           and
           windes
           betwixt
           his
           arms
           and
           hands
           ,
        
         
           The
           horrour-striking
           helm
           ,
           like
           flaming
           brands
        
         
           Vomiting
           fire
           ,
           and
           the
           death-wounding
           blade
           ,
        
         
           A
           brazen
           breast-plate
           very
           richly
           made
           ,
        
         
           Big
           ,
           and
           bloud-red
           of
           hue
           :
           like
           Sols
           bright
           rayes
           ,
        
         
           When
           its
           faire
           shine
           abroad
           it self
           displayes
        
         
           Upon
           some
           rain-bow
           cloud
           ,
           full
           opposite
           .
        
         
           Then
           he
           admires
           his
           silver-boots
           most
           light
           ,
        
         
           With
           gold
           and
           ammell
           wrought
           ,
           and
           well
           refin'd
           ,
        
         
           His
           lance
           ●nd
           shield
           most
           strangely
           stuft
           and
           lin'd
           .
        
         
           For
           here
           Italian
           facts
           ,
           Romes
           victories
           ,
        
         
           Fire-furious
           Vulcan
           ,
           seen
           in
           prophesies
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           future
           strange
           events
           ,
           had
           graven
           faire
           :
        
         
           And
           here
           Ascanius
           issuing
           offspring
           rare
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           famous
           fights
           ,
           were
           pictured
           brave
           :
        
         
           How
           a
           great
           she-wolf
           in
           stout
           Mars
           his
           cave
        
         
           Brought
           forth
           her
           young
           ,
           and
           how
           two
           chopping
           boyes
        
         
           At
           mothers
           dugs
           lay
           dandling
           ,
           mothers
           joyes
           ;
        
         
           Who
           did
           her
           fearelesse
           twins
           ,
           most
           loving
           ,
           lick
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           her
           tongue
           make
           necks
           and
           bodies
           slick
           .
        
         
           Hard
           by
           stood
           Rome
           ,
           and
           ravisht
           Sabine
           dames
        
         
           By
           troops
           assembled
           at
           Circean
           games
           .
        
         
           And
           how
           new
           warres
           did
           suddenly
           arise
        
         
           Unto
           the
           
             Romanes
             ,
             Cures
             ,
             Tatius
          
           wise
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           (
           at
           last
           )
           contentions
           laid
           aside
           ,
        
         
           Those
           armed
           kings
           about
           Ioves
           shrine
           did
           '
           bide
           ,
        
         
           W●●h
           bowls
           in
           hand
           ,
           and
           having
           slain
           a
           swine
           ,
        
         
           As
           kinde
           confederates
           ,
           did
           in
           league
           combine
           .
        
         
           Not
           farre
           from
           thence
           Metius
           was
           pictured
           ,
        
         
           By
           horses
           torn
           ,
           and
           quit
           dismembered
           ;
        
         
           (
           But
           thou
           Albanus
           stoodst
           not
           to
           thy
           word
           )
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           bowels
           of
           that
           lying
           lord
        
         
           Tullus
           tore
           out
           ,
           and
           drag'd
           them
           through
           the
           wood
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           briers
           besprinckled
           with
           his
           bloud
           .
        
         
           How
           king
           Porsenna
           charg'd
           Rome
           to
           re-take
           .
        
         
           Their
           banisht
           Tarquine
           ,
           and
           how
           for
           his
           sake
        
         
           The
           citie
           with
           a
           hard
           siege
           he
           did
           crush
           ,
        
         
           When
           on
           their
           swords
           ,
           for
           freedome
           ,
           Romanes
           rush
           .
        
         
           There
           you
           might
           see
           him
           rage
           ,
           and
           threat
           and
           fret
           ,
        
         
           'Cause
           Cocles
           durst
           the
           bridge
           break
           down
           and
           get
           .
        
         
           How
           captiv'd
           Chlaelia
           ,
           having
           broke
           his
           bands
           ,
        
         
           Swamme
           o're
           the
           river
           stoutly
           with
           her
           hands
           .
        
         
           How
           on
           the
           top
           of
           high
           Tarpeia's
           tower
        
         
           Brave
           Manlius
           stood
           ,
           and
           with
           undanted
           power
        
         
         
           The
           temple
           and
           the
           Capitol
           defended
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           reed-thatcht
           palace
           that
           ascended
           ,
        
         
           Did
           tumble
           down
           ,
           and
           the
           white-feathered
           goose
        
         
           In
           the
           guilt
           gallery
           ,
           cackling
           ,
           fluttering
           loose
           ,
        
         
           Frighted
           the
           French
           ,
           and
           their
           approach
           discride
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           clambering
           up
           ,
           thick
           bushes
           did
           so
           hide
           ,
        
         
           And
           benefit
           of
           black
           night
           ,
           aid
           therein
           ,
        
         
           That
           they
           got
           up
           ,
           and
           so
           the
           towre
           did
           win
           :
        
         
           Whom
           goldy
           locks
           and
           golden
           garments
           decks
        
         
           With
           purple
           jackets
           ,
           and
           their
           milk-white
           necks
        
         
           With
           bracelets
           grac'd
           ,
           in
           hand
           two
           Alpine
           speares
           ,
        
         
           A
           long
           shield
           o're
           his
           corps
           each
           souldier
           beares
           .
        
         
           The
           dancing
           
             Salii
             ,
             P●ns
          
           priests
           ,
           naked
           quite
           ,
        
         
           VVool-wearing
           
             Flamines
             ,
             Numa's
          
           target
           slight
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           fell
           from
           heaven
           ,
           were
           curiously
           set
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           the
           modest
           matrons
           bare
           about
        
         
           In
           easie
           coaches
           ,
           their
           most
           sacred
           rites
           :
        
         
           Aloof
           from
           these
           were
           horrid
           hells
           affrights
           ,
        
         
           Black
           Pluto's
           gates
           ,
           and
           damned
           soules
           dire
           pains
           :
        
         
           And
           thou
           ,
           base
           Catiline
           ,
           hungst
           there
           in
           chains
           ,
        
         
           On
           a
           steep
           tumbling
           rock
           ,
           with
           Furies
           jaws
        
         
           Frighted
           :
           But
           Cato
           ,
           giving
           wholesome
           laws
           ,
        
         
           Sate
           'mongst
           the
           good
           :
           in
           a
           sequestred
           place
        
         
           Betwixt
           both
           these
           ,
           sea-waves
           with
           golden
           face
        
         
           Did
           run
           abroad
           ,
           and
           boyl'd-up
           froth
           most
           white
           ;
        
         
           About
           were
           dolphins
           grav'd
           in
           silver
           bright
           ,
        
         
           In
           circles
           with
           their
           tails
           the
           billows
           sweeping
           ,
        
         
           And
           cutting
           through
           the
           waves
           ,
           their
           course●
           keeping
           .
        
         
           In
           midst
           of
           whom
           you
           guilded
           ships
           might
           see
           :
        
         
           How
           Martiall
           sports
           yearely
           solemniz'd
           be
           :
        
         
           How
           all
           Leucates
           with
           fierce
           warres
           did
           sweat
           ,
        
         
           And
           waves
           of
           seas
           like
           gold
           to
           glister
           neat
           :
        
         
         
           And
           how
           
             Augustus
             Caesar
          
           by
           warres
           might
        
         
           With
           Latiums
           peeres
           and
           people
           ruled
           right
           ,
        
         
           His
           small
           and
           great
           Gods
           his
           tall
           ship
           ascending
           ,
        
         
           From
           his
           faire
           brows
           two
           glistring
           flames
           extending
           ,
        
         
           And
           o're
           his
           head
           his
           fathers
           starre
           most
           bright
           .
        
         
           On
           th'
           other
           side
           ,
           Agrippa
           with
           great
           might
        
         
           With
           friendly
           Gods
           and
           gales
           his
           armie
           led
           ,
        
         
           His
           Martiall
           ensignes
           being
           bravely
           spread
           ,
        
         
           Sea-conquest
           garlands
           garnishing
           his
           head
           .
        
         
           How
           with
           Barbarian
           aid
           Antonius
           great
        
         
           In
           various
           conquests
           did
           Romes
           foes
           defeat
           ,
        
         
           And
           'mongst
           the
           Indies
           black
           and
           Aegypt
           long
           ,
        
         
           By
           red-sea
           shores
           ,
           and
           orient
           forces
           strong
           ,
        
         
           T'
           increase
           his
           strength
           ,
           all
           Asia
           to
           him
           drew
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           Cleopatra
           (
           shamefull
           )
           did
           pursue
           .
        
         
           All
           rusht
           together
           ,
           the
           whole
           sea
           did
           seem
           ,
        
         
           Wrought
           up
           with
           winding
           oares
           ,
           thick
           froth
           to
           steam
           ;
        
         
           The
           foredecks
           one
           another
           dashing
           fast
           :
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           ocean
           thus
           they
           get
           at
           last
           .
        
         
           thou
           'dst
           think
           the
           isles
           rous'd
           up
           did
           swim
           and
           meet
           ,
        
         
           That
           mightie
           mountains
           did
           high
           mountains
           greet
           .
        
         
           With
           so
           great
           strength
           men
           strenuously
           did
           strive
           ,
        
         
           Their
           towering
           vessels
           close
           to
           force
           and
           drive
           .
        
         
           Wild-fire
           from
           hands
           ,
           steel-shafts
           from
           bows
           are
           sped
           :
        
         
           New
           broiles
           on
           Neptunes
           soiles
           do
           die
           seas
           red
           .
        
         
           The
           queen
           i'
           th'
           midst
           her
           troops
           with
           trump
           doth
           cheere
           ,
        
         
           As
           yet
           her
           fatall
           snakes
           do
           not
           appeare
           .
        
         
           But
           all
           the
           rout
           of
           monstrous
           Gods
           ,
           meere
           fiends
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           barking
           Anubis
           his
           weapons
           bends
        
         
           Against
           great
           
             Neptune
             ,
             Pallas
             ,
             Venus
          
           faire
           .
        
         
           Amidst
           their
           troops
           mad
           Mars
           doth
           stamp
           and
           stare
           ,
        
         
           Carv'd
           in
           a
           garbe
           of
           steel
           ,
           and
           horrid
           hagges
        
         
         
           Sent
           by
           great
           Iove
           ,
           and
           Discord
           in
           torn
           rags
        
         
           Skips
           jocand
           'mongst
           them
           :
           whom
           Bellona
           fierce
        
         
           Follows
           with
           bloudie
           whips
           their
           hearts
           to
           pierce
           .
        
         
           
             Actian
             Apollo
          
           these
           things
           well
           did
           eye
           ,
        
         
           Straight
           bent
           his
           bow
           ,
           at
           them
           from
           heaven
           let
           flie
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           in
           terrour
           all
           th'
           Aegyptian
           rout
           ,
        
         
           
             Arabians
             ,
             Indians
          
           ,
           and
           Sabaeans
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Turn'd
           backs
           and
           fled
           :
           the
           queen
           herself
           also
        
         
           Was
           heard
           to
           wish
           for
           windes
           ,
           hoise
           sails
           ,
           and
           go
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           flie
           full
           fast
           ,
           slackning
           the
           ropes
           and
           sail
           .
        
         
           The
           black-fire
           furious
           God
           with
           Western
           gale
        
         
           And
           tydie-waves
           ,
           her
           ,
           looking
           gastly
           white
        
         
           With
           feare
           of
           future
           death
           ,
           amidst
           the
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Did
           drive
           along
           :
           but
           yet
           against
           the
           same
        
         
           With
           mightie
           body
           weeping
           Nilus
           came
           ,
        
         
           Opening
           her
           bosome
           ,
           calling
           back
           again
        
         
           Her
           thus
           surprised
           and
           quite
           conquered
           men
        
         
           Into
           her
           livid
           lap
           and
           unfound
           springs
           .
        
         
           But
           Caesar
           ,
           conquerour
           of
           these
           adverse
           things
           ,
        
         
           Thrice
           born
           in
           triumph
           'bout
           Romes
           royall
           walls
           ,
        
         
           His
           everlasting
           vow
           to
           minde
           recalls
           ,
        
         
           To
           his
           Italian
           Gods
           doth
           sacrifice
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           the
           citie
           with
           great
           joy
           likewise
        
         
           Three
           hundred
           temples
           built
           :
           the
           streets
           throughout
        
         
           Do
           ring
           with
           sports
           and
           peoples
           joyfull
           shout
           :
        
         
           Each
           temple
           fill'd
           with
           dancing
           matrons
           faire
           ,
        
         
           About
           the
           altars
           singing
           songs
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           altar
           fraught
           with
           heifers
           slain
           .
        
         
           Caesar
           himself
           i'
           th'
           temple
           did
           remain
        
         
           Of
           pure
           Apollo
           ,
           in
           the
           porch
           most
           white
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           the
           nations
           gifts
           taking
           full
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Fits
           the
           rich
           posts
           with
           choice
           of
           royall
           spoiles
           .
        
         
         
           The
           captives
           conquer'd
           in
           the
           warres
           turmoiles
        
         
           Are
           led
           along
           ,
           in
           speech
           as
           different
           ,
        
         
           As
           in
           their
           habits
           ,
           arms
           and
           ornament
           .
        
         
           Here
           mudling
           Mulciber
           had
           cast
           in
           brasse
           ,
        
         
           Fierce
           Scythians
           and
           black
           Moores
           in
           gowns
           to
           passe
           :
        
         
           Here
           
             Caraeans
             ,
             Lelages
             ,
             Gelonians
          
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Skilfull
           in
           casting
           darts
           ,
           he
           pictur'd
           out
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           Euphrates
           streams
           did
           smoothly
           glide
           ,
        
         
           And
           
             French
             Morinians
          
           ,
           who
           remote
           reside
           :
        
         
           Two-corner'd
           Rhine
           ,
           undanted
           Daians
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Araxes
           swift
           o're
           his
           bridge
           swelling
           out
           .
        
         
           These
           rarities
           of
           Vulcan
           in
           his
           shield
           ,
        
         
           His
           mothers
           gift
           ,
           cause
           of
           much
           wonder
           yeeld
           :
        
         
           The
           things
           unknown
           ,
           the
           figures
           him
           affect
           ,
        
         
           Friends
           fame
           and
           fates
           he
           beares
           with
           choice
           respect
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             eighth
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             nineth
             book
             .
          
           
             Whiles
             on
             both
             sides
             the
             state
             thus
             stands
          
           
             Of
             their
             affaires
             ,
             Juno
             commands
          
           
             Turnus
             to
             hasten
             'gainst
             his
             foe
             ,
          
           
             The
             Trojans
             ships
             to
             overthrow
             ,
          
           
             By
             flinging
             fire
             into
             the
             fleet
             :
          
           
             But
             Jove
             does
             with
             their
             project
             meet
             ,
          
           
             And
             turns
             the
             ships
             into
             nymphs
             shapes
             .
          
           
             Two
             friends
             go
             forth
             ,
             but
             neither
             scapes
             .
          
           
             Trojans
             their
             camps
             do
             bravely
             hold
             ,
          
           
             
               A
               scanius
            
             kills
             Numanus
             bold
             .
          
           
             Pell-mell
             they
             fight
             ,
             but
             Turnus
             stout
          
           
             Bitias
             and
             Pandar
             puts
             to
             rout
             ,
          
           
             And
             Trojans
             from
             their
             trenches
             beats
             :
          
           
             But
             tyr'd
             with
             troops
             ,
             he
             thence
             retreats
             .
          
        
         
           ANd
           now
           ,
           whiles
           thus
           th'
           ●ffaires
           on
           both
           sides
           stand
           ,
        
         
           Iuno
           from
           heaven
           sent
           Iris
           out
           of
           hand
        
         
           To
           supine
           Turnus
           ,
           who
           took
           up
           his
           seat
        
         
           I'
           th'
           sacred
           dale
           of
           Pilumns
           grove
           most
           great
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           Thaumantias
           with
           faire
           face
           thus
           said
           ;
        
         
           Turnus
           ,
           behold
           ,
           what
           none
           o'
           th'
           Gods
           ,
           though
           pray'd
           ,
        
         
           Durst
           ere
           have
           promis'd
           ,
           time
           now
           profers
           free
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           leaving
           all
           behinde
           for
           thee
           ,
        
         
           C●mp
           ,
           mates
           ,
           and
           fleet
           ,
           to
           king
           Euander's
           gon
           :
        
         
           Yet
           rests
           not
           so
           ,
           but
           farther
           is
           past
           on
           ,
        
         
           To
           Corits
           utmost
           confines
           ,
           Lydians
           strong
        
         
         
           With
           rustick
           wrath
           in
           arms
           to
           lead
           along
           .
        
         
           What
           fear'st
           thou
           ?
           't
           is
           high
           time
           ,
           leave
           all
           delay
           ,
        
         
           With
           horse
           and
           chariots
           now
           to
           make
           thy
           prey
        
         
           On
           their
           confused
           camp
           .
           Thus
           having
           said
           ,
        
         
           With
           well-poys'd
           wings
           to
           th'
           heavens
           herway
           she
           made
           ;
        
         
           And
           in
           her
           flight
           she
           cuts
           her
           mightie
           bow
        
         
           Under
           a
           cloud
           .
           The
           young
           prince
           did
           her
           know
           ,
        
         
           And
           lifting
           both
           his
           hands
           up
           to
           the
           skies
        
         
           After
           her
           ,
           flying
           ,
           with
           these
           words
           he
           flies
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           Iris
           ,
           heavens
           great
           grace
           ,
           who
           did
           thee
           force
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           from
           the
           clouds
           to
           me
           to
           have
           recourse
           ?
        
         
           Whence
           is
           this
           sudden
           storm
           ,
           so
           bright
           and
           cleare
           ?
        
         
           Me
           thinks
           I
           see
           heaven
           cleft
           i'
           th'
           midst
           appeare
           ;
        
         
           And
           stragling
           starres
           from
           proper
           pole
           declines
           :
        
         
           Who
           e're
           me
           call●
           to
           arms
           ,
           so
           sacred
           signes
        
         
           I
           'le
           follow
           fast
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           to
           th'
           stream
           he
           hastes
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           the
           water
           a
           deep
           draught
           he
           tastes
           ,
        
         
           Loading
           his
           Gods
           with
           prayers
           and
           protestations
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           his
           troops
           to
           field
           made
           properations
           ,
        
         
           Rich
           of
           rare
           horse
           ,
           embroidered
           cloaths
           and
           gold
           .
        
         
           The
           valiant
           vantguard
           by
           Messapus
           bold
           ,
        
         
           The
           rereward
           by
           brave
           Tyrrhus
           youths
           was
           led
           ,
        
         
           The
           main
           battalion
           Turnus
           marshalled
           ,
        
         
           Advancing
           his
           brave
           arms
           farre
           'bove
           the
           rest
           :
        
         
           Like
           flowing
           Ganges
           with
           seven
           streams
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           And
           silent
           running
           ;
           or
           like
           fertile
           Nile
        
         
           O'reflowing
           fields
           ,
           yet
           couching
           close
           the
           while
           .
        
         
           A
           sudden
           black-dust
           cloud
           the
           Trojans
           spide
           ,
        
         
           Growing
           farre
           off
           ,
           darknesse
           the
           fields
           do
           hide
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           first
           Caicus
           from
           a
           crosse
           bank
           cries
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           friends
           ,
           what
           cloud-like
           troop
           doth
           yonder
           rise
           ?
        
         
           Flie
           to
           your
           swords
           and
           speares
           ,
           get
           up
           the
           walls
           :
        
         
         
           Alas
           !
           our
           foe
           on
           us
           already
           falls
           ,
        
         
           Hereat
           the
           Trojans
           raise
           a
           piteous
           crie
           ,
        
         
           But
           close
           about
           the
           wall
           and
           gates
           they
           lie
           .
        
         
           For
           so
           ,
           at
           's
           parting
           ,
           wise
           Aeneas
           had
        
         
           His
           armie
           charg'd
           ,
           if
           any
           fortune
           bad
        
         
           Should
           them
           befall
           ;
           and
           not
           in
           battell
           ray
        
         
           In
           field
           to
           trie
           the
           fortune
           of
           the
           day
           ,
        
         
           But
           keep
           their
           camp
           with
           forts
           and
           trenches
           strong
           .
        
         
           Though
           therefore
           shame
           and
           rage
           provoke
           them
           long
           ,
        
         
           Battell
           to
           joyn
           ;
           yet
           they
           do
           fortifie
        
         
           And
           guard
           the
           gates
           ,
           and
           do
           obsequiously
        
         
           As
           they
           were
           charg'd
           .
           Thus
           well
           prepar'd
           in
           arms
           ,
        
         
           They
           in
           their
           forts
           expect
           their
           foes
           alarms
           .
        
         
           Now
           Turnus
           all
           his
           tardie
           troops
           out-●iding
           ,
        
         
           Twentie
           choice
           knights
           about
           his
           body
           biding
           ,
        
         
           Was
           on
           a
           sudd●n
           to
           the
           citie
           nigh
           :
        
         
           Whom
           a
           white
           spotted
           steed
           most
           prancingly
        
         
           Of
           Thracian
           breed
           did
           beare
           ;
           upon
           his
           head
        
         
           A
           golden
           helm
           with
           a
           crest
           beauteous
           red
           .
        
         
           O
           who
           is
           he
           ,
           brave
           sparks
           ,
           amongst
           you
           all
           ,
        
         
           (
           Sayes
           he
           )
           with
           me
           first
           on
           our
           foes
           dares
           fall
           ?
        
         
           With
           that
           he
           cast
           a
           dart
           into
           the
           aire
           ,
        
         
           (
           The
           onset
           to
           the
           fight
           )
           with
           courage
           rare
           ;
        
         
           Entring
           the
           field
           himself
           ,
           his
           mates
           in
           arms
        
         
           Following
           him
           fast
           with
           clamorous
           loud
           alarms
           ,
        
         
           Wondring
           to
           see
           the
           Trojans
           cowardise
           ,
        
         
           (
           As
           they
           suppos'd
           )
           not
           daring
           t'enterprise
        
         
           To
           fight
           the
           field
           ,
           in
           arms
           to
           play
           the
           men
           ,
        
         
           But
           keep
           their
           camps
           :
           he
           in
           a
           furie
           then
        
         
           Doth
           gallop
           up
           and
           down
           the
           wall
           about
           ,
        
         
           For
           fierce
           assaults
           ,
           a
           fit
           place
           to
           spie
           out
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           a
           ravening
           wolf
           all
           hungerbit
           ,
        
         
         
           Doth
           roave
           and
           rave
           ,
           and
           'bout
           the
           sheep-fold
           sit
           ,
        
         
           At
           midnight
           dark
           enduring
           winde
           and
           weather
           ,
        
         
           To
           watch
           and
           catch
           the
           prey
           ;
           the
           lambes
           together
        
         
           Keep
           with
           their
           dammes
           ,
           and
           do
           securely
           bleat
           ;
        
         
           The
           wolf
           without
           rageth
           about
           for
           meat
           ,
        
         
           Extreamly
           vext
           to
           see
           the
           sheep
           so
           pent
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           so
           long
           to
           suck
           their
           bloud
           so
           bent
           :
        
         
           Even
           so
           
             Rutulian
             Turnus
          
           hunts
           about
        
         
           The
           walls
           and
           trenches
           ,
           extream
           rage
           flames
           out
           .
        
         
           Hate
           heats
           his
           heart
           ,
           to
           know
           by
           what
           means
           best
           ,
        
         
           To
           finde
           a
           way
           the
           Trojans
           to
           infest
           ▪
        
         
           And
           flying
           out
           of
           their
           forts
           ,
           compulsively
        
         
           To
           force
           them
           to
           the
           field
           :
           then
           does
           he
           spie
        
         
           Their
           fleet
           ,
           which
           did
           behinde
           their
           camp
           lie
           sure
           ,
        
         
           And
           which
           strong
           walls
           of
           waves
           did
           safe
           immure
           .
        
         
           This
           he
           assails
           ,
           and
           all
           his
           mates
           desires
           ,
        
         
           To
           bring
           in
           haste
           store
           of
           consuming
           fires
           :
        
         
           And
           first
           himself
           cast
           in
           a
           pine-board
           flame
           ;
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           souldiers
           forthwith
           do
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           Their
           princes
           presence
           stimulates
           their
           hearts
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           all
           the
           youth
           with
           fire-brands
           play
           their
           parts
           ,
        
         
           And
           fling
           about
           fierce
           flames
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           skies
        
         
           Made
           mightie
           fumes
           with
           pich
           and
           tarre
           arise
           .
        
         
           Tell
           me
           ,
           faire
           Muses
           ,
           what
           so
           mightie
           power
           ,
        
         
           Permitted
           not
           such
           fierce
           flames
           to
           devoure
           ?
        
         
           And
           turn'd
           to
           ashes
           all
           Troyes
           navy
           great
           ?
        
         
           Though
           future
           times
           may
           former
           facts
           repeat
        
         
           With
           hard
           belief
           ;
           this
           facts
           fame
           ne're
           shall
           die
           :
        
         
           When
           first
           in
           Phrygian
           isle
           most
           carefully
        
         
           Aeneas
           did
           a
           fleet
           for
           sea
           prepare
           ,
        
         
           The
           Gods
           great
           mother
           ,
           Berecynthia
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Is
           said
           ,
           her
           sonne
           great
           Iove
           thus
           to
           intreat
           ;
        
         
         
           Deare
           sonne
           ,
           since
           thou
           now
           rul'st
           olympus
           great
           ,
        
         
           Grant
           thy
           intreating
           mother
           this
           request
           ;
        
         
           A
           pine-tree
           wood
           long
           time
           I
           loved
           best
           ,
        
         
           I'
           th'
           height
           whereof
           a
           gallant
           grove
           there
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Whither
           were
           brought
           me
           sacrifices
           good
           ;
        
         
           Shadow'd
           it
           was
           with
           firres
           and
           maples
           brave
           :
        
         
           These
           to
           the
           Trojans
           use
           I
           freely
           gave
           ,
        
         
           When
           they
           to
           build
           them
           ships
           had
           speciall
           need
           :
        
         
           Now
           anxious
           feare
           much
           care
           doth
           in
           me
           breed
           .
        
         
           Of
           this
           feare
           free
           me
           :
           grant
           me
           this
           request
           ,
        
         
           That
           by
           no
           nimble
           course
           they
           be
           distrest
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           overthrown
           by
           fire
           or
           furious
           winde
           ,
        
         
           Let
           all
           that
           thence
           do
           grow
           this
           favour
           finde
           .
        
         
           Her
           sonne
           ,
           which
           rules
           the
           world
           and
           starrie
           skie
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           his
           mother
           made
           this
           brief
           replie
           ;
        
         
           Whither
           (
           deare
           mother
           )
           wouldst
           thou
           fates
           incline
           ?
        
         
           Or
           what
           request
           for
           them
           is
           this
           of
           thine
           ?
        
         
           Can
           mortall
           things
           immortall
           states
           possesse
           ?
        
         
           Or
           can
           Aeneas
           sail
           free
           from
           distresse
           ?
        
         
           What
           God
           so
           great
           can
           in
           this
           case
           be
           free
           ?
        
         
           Nay
           ,
           when
           Troyes
           princes
           sailings
           finisht
           be
           ,
        
         
           When
           
             Trojans
             Latiums
          
           ports
           and
           parts
           have
           gain'd
           ;
        
         
           Whats'ever
           ships
           from
           storms
           shall
           have
           remain'd
           ,
        
         
           I
           'le
           take
           from
           them
           their
           mortall
           shape
           and
           form
           ,
        
         
           And
           them
           into
           sea-nymphs
           I
           will
           transform
           ;
        
         
           Like
           
             Nerean
             Clotho
             ,
             Galatea
          
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Cutting
           the
           foamy
           waves
           with
           breast
           most
           bare
           .
        
         
           He
           said
           it
           ,
           swore
           it
           ,
           for
           more
           confirmation
           ,
        
         
           By
           's
           brother
           Styxes
           foule
           flouds
           inundation
           ;
        
         
           By
           pichy
           streams
           ,
           and
           Pluto's
           black
           gulfs
           banks
           ,
        
         
           And
           nods
           ,
           whose
           nods
           whole
           heaven
           affrights
           &
           blanks
           .
        
         
           The
           promis'd
           day
           wa●
           come
           ,
           fates
           now
           fulfill
        
         
         
           The
           due
           designed
           time
           to
           Ioves
           great
           will
           ;
        
         
           VVhen
           Turnus
           turbulent
           ,
           injurious
           deed
           ,
        
         
           Mov'd
           the
           great
           mother
           of
           the
           Gods
           ,
           with
           speed
        
         
           To
           free
           her
           sacred
           ships
           from
           his
           fierce
           flame
           .
        
         
           Here
           first
           to
           sight
           a
           sudden
           brightnes
           came
           ,
        
         
           A
           mightie
           cloud
           from
           th'
           Eastern
           skie
           did
           glide
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           th'
           Idaean
           damsells
           were
           discride
           .
        
         
           Then
           from
           the
           skies
           a
           thundring
           voice
           was
           heard
           ,
        
         
           Deare
           Trojans
           ,
           of
           my
           ships
           be
           not
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           struggle
           ye
           to
           shield
           them
           with
           strong
           arm
           .
        
         
           Ere
           Turnus
           does
           my
           sacred
           ships
           least
           harm
           ,
        
         
           He
           sooner
           shall
           with
           fire
           burn
           up
           the
           seas
           :
        
         
           Go
           sea-nymphs
           ,
           go
           (
           sayes
           she
           )
           swimme
           loose
           at
           ease
           ,
        
         
           Your
           mother
           bids
           you
           .
           Straight
           at
           her
           commands
        
         
           Each
           ship
           from
           shore
           most
           nimbly
           brake
           their
           bands
           ;
        
         
           And
           presently
           ,
           like
           dolphins
           ,
           duck
           and
           dive
           ,
        
         
           And
           like
           so
           many
           virgins
           faire
           alive
           ,
        
         
           (
           Strange
           to
           behold
           )
           in
           sea
           they
           all
           appeare
           ;
        
         
           So
           many
           ships
           ,
           so
           many
           nymphs
           were
           here
           .
        
         
           All
           the
           Rutulians
           hereat
           stood
           amaz'd
           ,
        
         
           Messapus
           self
           hereat
           with
           terrour
           gaz'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           frighted
           horse
           :
           the
           stream
           stands
           still
           ,
        
         
           Tyber
           retreats
           ,
           and
           vents
           out
           voices
           shrill
           .
        
         
           Yet
           for
           all
           this
           Turnus
           turns
           all
           to
           th'
           best
           ,
        
         
           His
           courage
           and
           his
           confidence
           are
           prest
           :
        
         
           Boldly
           he
           cheeres
           them
           ,
           boldly
           chides
           them
           thus
           ;
        
         
           These
           monstrous
           signes
           are
           surely
           ominous
        
         
           Unto
           the
           
             Trojans
             :
             Iove
          
           himself
           ,
           you
           see
           ,
        
         
           Takes
           from
           them
           thus
           all
           hope
           and
           help
           ,
           to
           flee
           :
        
         
           Rutulians
           need
           not
           sword
           or
           fire
           t'
           infest
           ,
        
         
           From
           sea-fight
           ,
           sea-flight
           Trojans
           are
           distrest
           .
        
         
           Thus
           part
           of
           their
           protections
           from
           them
           ta'ne
           ,
        
         
         
           All
           the
           land-power
           doth
           in
           our
           hands
           remain
           .
        
         
           For
           many
           thousands
           arm'd
           in
           Italie
        
         
           We
           have
           :
           Troyes
           scarre-crows
           can't
           us
           terrifie
           .
        
         
           If
           Trojans
           of
           the
           great
           Gods
           answers
           boast
           ,
        
         
           The
           fates
           and
           Venus
           have
           them
           given
           the
           most
        
         
           They
           can
           de●ire
           ,
           Latiums
           faire
           land
           to
           see
           :
        
         
           On
           th'
           other
           side
           ,
           are
           not
           my
           fates
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           That
           cursed
           stock
           with
           sword
           to
           ruinate
           ,
        
         
           Which
           would
           a
           wife
           perforce
           praeoccupate
           .
        
         
           Nor
           Agamemnons
           kinne
           this
           sole
           concerns
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Greeks
           alone
           this
           grief
           due
           caution
           learns
           ,
        
         
           To
           arm
           themselves
           :
           Enough
           one
           wrack
           had
           been
           ,
        
         
           If
           they
           enough
           had
           held
           it
           ,
           once
           to
           sinne
           .
        
         
           Should
           not
           all
           women
           to
           them
           hatefull
           be
           ?
        
         
           What
           trust
           in
           triviall
           trenches
           can
           they
           see
           ?
        
         
           Delayes
           by
           ditches
           ,
           thus
           to
           pride
           their
           minde
           ?
        
         
           Which
           they
           small
           distances
           from
           death
           shall
           finde
           .
        
         
           Have
           they
           not
           seen
           Troyes
           walls
           ,
           by
           Neptune
           wrought
           ,
        
         
           (
           Maugre
           their
           might
           )
           to
           ashes
           to
           be
           brought
           ?
        
         
           But
           oh
           brave
           sparks
           !
           who
           of
           you
           will
           with
           me
        
         
           Break
           through
           their
           trenches
           ,
           and
           most
           fiercely
           flee
        
         
           Upon
           their
           quaking
           camps
           ?
           I
           have
           no
           need
        
         
           Of
           Vulcans
           arms
           ,
           or
           thousand
           ships
           ofspeed
        
         
           Against
           these
           trembling
           Trojans
           :
           Let
           them
           get
        
         
           All
           their
           Etrurian
           mates
           with
           them
           t'
           abet
           :
        
         
           I
           'le
           seek
           no
           shades
           ,
           no
           shelters
           of
           dark
           night
           ,
        
         
           No
           theevish
           horses
           paunch
           ,
           by
           Pallas
           slight
           ;
        
         
           Let
           them
           not
           feare
           their
           watch-towers
           to
           be
           slain
           :
        
         
           For
           we
           by
           day
           most
           stoutly
           will
           maintain
        
         
           The
           battell
           brave
           ,
           and
           girt
           their
           walls
           with
           fire
           .
        
         
           I
           'le
           make
           them
           know
           ,
           that
           now
           with
           Grecian
           ire
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Greekish
           spirits
           they
           do
           not
           contest
           ,
        
         
         
           VVhom
           their
           great
           Hector
           ten
           yeares
           did
           molest
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           since
           more
           then
           half
           the
           day
           is
           past
           ,
        
         
           VVhat
           yet
           remains
           ,
           but
           that
           with
           sweet
           repast
        
         
           Every
           one
           fit
           himself
           to
           play
           the
           man
           ,
        
         
           Bravely
           to
           end
           what
           he
           so
           well
           began
           ?
        
         
           Meanwhile
           the
           care
           of
           keeping
           watch
           and
           ward
        
         
           By
           Sentinels
           ,
           with
           vigilant
           regard
        
         
           About
           the
           gates
           ,
           is
           to
           Messapus
           granted
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           ●bout
           the
           walls
           with
           sword
           and
           fire
           is
           planted
           .
        
         
           Fourteen
           Rutulian
           captains
           were
           chose
           out
           ,
        
         
           Each
           guarded
           with
           his
           hundred
           souldiers
           stout
        
         
           In
           glistring
           azure
           arms
           ,
           adorn'd
           with
           gold
           :
        
         
           And
           these
           their
           quarters
           'bout
           the
           trench
           must
           hold
           .
        
         
           They
           spread
           themselves
           ,
           change
           turns
           ,
           laid
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           wine
           in
           bowls
           they
           all
           carouse
           profound
           ,
        
         
           Making
           huge
           fires
           ,
           in
           mirth
           and
           much
           delight
        
         
           Breaking
           their
           sleep
           ,
           and
           wasting
           (
           thus
           )
           the
           night
           .
        
         
           These
           things
           the
           Trojans
           from
           their
           trenches
           spie
           ,
        
         
           And
           armed
           ,
           all
           do
           keep
           themselves
           on
           high
           :
        
         
           Yet
           with
           great
           care
           and
           feare
           the
           gates
           they
           guard
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           bridges
           and
           strong
           barricadoes
           bar'd
           ,
        
         
           Still
           arm'd
           :
           brave
           Mnestheus
           and
           Serestus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           in
           all
           straits
           and
           cases
           of
           great
           doubt
           ,
        
         
           Aeneas
           o're
           his
           youth
           chief
           guidance
           gave
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           commanders
           bravely
           them
           behave
           .
        
         
           Each
           band
           abode
           in
           watch
           upon
           the
           wall
           ,
        
         
           And
           took
           his
           turn
           as
           dangers
           did
           them
           call
           .
        
         
           Couragious
           Nisus
           strongly
           kept
           one
           gate
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           Ida's
           huntresse
           sent
           ,
           Aeneas
           mate
           ,
        
         
           By
           Hyrtacus
           his
           father
           bravely
           bred
           ,
        
         
           At
           bow
           and
           arrows
           well
           experienced
           .
        
         
           Next
           him
           Euryalus
           ,
           his
           faithfull
           friend
           ,
        
         
         
           VVhose
           beauteous
           countenance
           did
           him
           commend
        
         
           Past
           all
           the
           Trojans
           ,
           but
           no
           arms
           did
           beare
           ,
        
         
           For
           yet
           smooth
           unshaven
           doun
           his
           chin
           did
           weare
           .
        
         
           Each
           lov'd
           alike
           ,
           and
           each
           for
           other
           fought
           ,
        
         
           Each
           kept
           the
           gate
           by
           course
           with
           courage
           stout
           .
        
         
           Thus
           then
           sayes
           Nisus
           to
           Euryalus
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           brother
           ,
           have
           the
           Gods
           enflamed
           thus
        
         
           Our
           hearts
           with
           love
           ?
           or
           is
           mans
           genius
           high
        
         
           A
           God
           unto
           himself
           ?
           Long
           time
           have
           I
        
         
           Been
           mov'd
           in
           minde
           ,
           some
           fight
           or
           fact
           most
           great
        
         
           To
           enterprise
           ;
           nor
           can
           I
           quench
           this
           heat
           .
        
         
           Thou
           seest
           those
           proud
           Rutulians
           hopes
           most
           high
           ,
        
         
           Their
           various
           fires
           ,
           how
           they
           even
           buried
           lie
        
         
           In
           wine
           and
           sleep
           ,
           how
           all
           all-o're
           is
           still
           :
        
         
           Now
           mark
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
           what
           doubts
           my
           heart
           do
           fill
           ,
        
         
           And
           whereon
           now
           I
           muse
           and
           meditate
           :
        
         
           Does
           not
           our
           armie
           now
           expost●late
           ?
        
         
           Both
           peeres
           and
           people
           ,
           with
           a
           joynt
           consent
           ,
        
         
           To
           call
           Aeneas
           home
           incontinent
           ,
        
         
           Send
           men
           and
           messages
           of
           our
           estate
           ,
        
         
           Him
           to
           enform
           .
           If
           they
           'le
           remunerate
        
         
           Thee
           for
           the
           fact
           which
           now
           I
           'le
           undertake
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           to
           my self
           fame
           shall
           requitall
           make
           )
        
         
           Me
           thinks
           I
           could
           break
           through
           our
           enemies
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           that
           bank
           a
           passage
           enterprise
        
         
           To
           Pallanteum
           .
           Faire
           Euryalus
        
         
           Hereat
           astonisht
           ,
           yet
           most
           valourous
           ,
        
         
           With
           love
           of
           la●d
           enflam'd
           ,
           sayes
           with
           brave
           minde
        
         
           To
           his
           endeered
           friend
           ;
           My
           Nisus
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           Wouldst
           thou
           thy
           mate
           in
           great
           facts
           leave
           behinde
           ?
        
         
           Should
           I
           in
           such
           great
           straits
           leave
           thee
           alone
           ?
        
         
           No
           sure
           ,
           my
           father
           (
           as
           it
           is
           well
           known
           )
        
         
         
           Opheltes
           ,
           well
           in
           warres
           experienced
           ,
        
         
           Hath
           me
           not
           therein
           so
           absurdly
           bred
           ,
        
         
           In
           all
           our
           Grecian
           terrours
           ,
           Trojan
           toiles
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           hath
           mine
           honour
           yet
           receiv'd
           such
           foiles
           ,
        
         
           Following
           Aeneas
           brave
           in
           's
           utmost
           ill
           .
        
         
           I
           want
           not
           courage
           ,
           no
           ,
           I
           want
           not
           will
           ,
        
         
           To
           scorn
           this
           light
           ,
           yea
           life
           it self
           for
           thee
           ,
        
         
           To
           welcome
           death
           ,
           that
           thou
           mayst
           honour'd
           be
           .
        
         
           Surely
           ,
           sayes
           Nisus
           ,
           never
           did
           I
           feare
        
         
           Such
           things
           in
           thee
           :
           oh
           no
           ,
           it
           impious
           were
        
         
           So
           to
           suspect
           .
           O
           may
           great
           Iove
           above
        
         
           So
           link
           me
           firmly
           to
           thy
           faithfull
           love
           :
        
         
           Or
           any
           equall-sighted
           deity
           ,
        
         
           Observing
           herein
           my
           sinceritie
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           there
           should
           (
           as
           such
           things
           oft
           fall
           out
           )
        
         
           If
           there
           should
           happen
           any
           adverse
           doubt
        
         
           Or
           fatall
           danger
           ;
           oh
           mayst
           thou
           survive
        
         
           Rather
           then
           I
           !
           worthier
           to
           rest
           alive
           :
        
         
           May
           one
           remain
           to
           snatch
           me
           from
           the
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Or
           to
           redeem
           me
           to
           a
           funerall
           rite
           :
        
         
           Or
           ,
           if
           this
           favour
           fortune
           me
           denie
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           to
           me
           dead
           to
           frame
           an
           elegie
           ,
        
         
           My
           herse
           with
           some
           death-dues
           to
           dignifie
           :
        
         
           Oh
           never
           may
           I
           to
           thy
           mother
           bring
        
         
           Cause
           of
           such
           woe
           ,
           her
           wretched
           hands
           to
           wring
           :
        
         
           Thy
           mother
           deare
           ,
           of
           many
           matrons
           best
           ,
        
         
           Who
           durst
           for
           thee
           (
           faire
           youth
           )
           refuse
           sweet
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Neglect
           the
           welcome
           of
           Troyes
           kinde
           Acest
           .
        
         
           Euryalus
           reply'd
           ,
           Thou
           ply'st
           in
           vain
        
         
           These
           vain
           excuses
           ,
           constant
           I
           remain
           .
        
         
           Let
           's
           then
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           make
           haste
           ;
           and
           therewithall
        
         
           They
           stirre
           about
           ,
           and
           the
           next
           watchmen
           call
           ;
        
         
         
           Who
           straight
           gave
           way
           ,
           chang'd
           turns
           ,
           and
           left
           their
           station
           ;
        
         
           And
           thus
           with
           Nisus
           he
           makes
           properation
        
         
           To
           call
           their
           king
           .
           Now
           all
           the
           rest
           took
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Their
           day-toiles
           (
           thus
           )
           with
           sweet
           sleep
           were
           redrest
           .
        
         
           Now
           Troyes
           prime
           peeres
           ,
           and
           youths
           of
           best
           respect
           ,
        
         
           In
           councel
           sate
           ,
           state-businesse
           to
           direct
           ;
        
         
           Consulting
           what
           to
           do
           ,
           who
           news
           should
           beare
        
         
           Unto
           Aeneas
           .
           Leaning
           on
           their
           speare
           ,
        
         
           They
           carefully
           do
           stand
           ,
           in
           hand
           their
           shields
           ,
        
         
           Just
           in
           the
           midst
           both
           of
           their
           camp
           and
           fields
           .
        
         
           Then
           Nisus
           and
           Euryalus
           most
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Hast'ned
           unto
           them
           ,
           and
           admittance
           crave
           ,
        
         
           Saying
           they
           had
           a
           businesse
           great
           t'
           impart
           ,
        
         
           Delay
           whereof
           might
           turn
           unto
           th●ir
           smart
           :
        
         
           Ascanius
           first
           them
           carefull
           did
           receive
           ,
        
         
           And
           unto
           Nisus
           to
           begin
           ,
           gave
           leave
           .
        
         
           Thus
           then
           he
           spake
           ;
           Attend
           ,
           brave
           Trojan
           peeres
           ,
        
         
           With
           moderate
           mindes
           ,
           and
           judge
           not
           by
           our
           yeares
        
         
           The
           motion
           we
           now
           make
           .
           Our
           Rutule
           foes
        
         
           O'recome
           with
           wine
           and
           sleep
           ,
           do
           them
           repose
        
         
           All
           snorting
           on
           the
           ground
           :
           and
           we
           have
           spi'de
        
         
           A
           place
           where
           we
           an
           ambush
           safe
           may
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Open
           to
           th'
           gate
           which
           to
           the
           two-paths
           guides
           ,
        
         
           The
           gate
           I
           say
           ,
           neare
           which
           the
           sea
           resides
           .
        
         
           Their
           scattered
           fires
           ,
           huge
           fume
           and
           smoak
           up-cast
           ,
        
         
           Shew
           that
           this
           happy
           hap
           may
           not
           be
           past
        
         
           Or
           pretermitted
           :
           and
           if
           you
           give
           way
           ,
        
         
           T'
           Aeneas
           to
           Pallant'um
           passe
           we
           may
           :
        
         
           And
           this
           brave
           youth
           you
           'le
           see
           return
           again
        
         
           Enricht
           with
           spoiles
           of
           foes
           defeated
           ,
           slain
           :
        
         
           Nor
           can
           we
           (
           by
           this
           means
           )
           misse
           of
           our
           way
           .
        
         
           We
           saw
           and
           knew
           ,
           by
           hunting
           every
           day
        
         
         
           I'
           th'
           bottome
           of
           deep
           dales
           ,
           the
           river
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           much
           o'
           th'
           town
           to
           which
           we
           would
           repaire
           .
        
         
           Alethes
           ,
           ripe
           in
           yeares
           ,
           both
           grave
           and
           wise
           ,
        
         
           Said
           ,
           O
           our
           Gods
           ,
           who
           Troy
           do
           patronize
           ,
        
         
           As
           yet
           I
           see
           ye
           minde
           not
           to
           blot
           out
        
         
           Poore
           Trojans
           name
           ,
           since
           such
           brave
           youths
           ,
           so
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Such
           valiant
           hearts
           ye
           still
           unto
           us
           raise
           .
        
         
           Thus
           speaking
           ,
           on
           their
           necks
           his
           hands
           he
           layes
           ,
        
         
           And
           holding
           both
           their
           hands
           ,
           with
           teares
           of
           joy
        
         
           He
           thus
           sayes
           on
           ;
           What
           praise
           ,
           what
           prize
           can
           Troy
        
         
           Repay
           to
           you
           brave
           youths
           ,
           of
           so
           rare
           parts
           ?
        
         
           The
           Gods
           will
           best
           requi●e
           your
           due
           deserts
           :
        
         
           And
           good
           Aeneas
           will
           not
           be
           behinde
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           ripe
           Ascanius
           blot
           out
           of
           his
           minde
        
         
           Such
           meritorious
           deeds
           :
           yea
           and
           I
           will
           ,
        
         
           (
           Sayes
           young
           Ascanius
           )
           for
           my
           joyes
           ye
           fill
           ,
        
         
           In
           my
           deare
           fathers
           safe
           return
           to
           me
           :
        
         
           By
           our
           great
           Gods
           (
           Nisus
           )
           I
           sweare
           to
           thee
           ,
        
         
           And
           thy
           kinde
           mate
           ,
           by
           all
           our
           sacred
           kinne
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           the
           aged
           Vesta's
           rites
           within
           ,
        
         
           That
           whatsoever
           fate
           or
           fortune's
           mine
           ,
        
         
           Into
           your
           bosomes
           it
           shall
           full
           incline
           :
        
         
           Call
           back
           my
           father
           ;
           let
           me
           see
           his
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           nothing
           then
           can
           me
           molest
           ,
           affright
           .
        
         
           Two
           silver
           bowls
           richly
           engraven
           and
           wrought
           ,
        
         
           Both
           which
           my
           father
           from
           Arisba
           brought
           ,
        
         
           When
           it
           was
           ruin'd
           by
           Achilles
           bold
           :
        
         
           Two
           three-leg'd
           cups
           ,
           two
           talents
           of
           pure
           gold
           ,
        
         
           A
           bason
           brave
           ,
           given
           by
           queen
           Dido
           faire
           :
        
         
           And
           if
           Italia
           chance
           to
           be
           our
           share
           ,
        
         
           And
           we
           by
           conquest
           do
           enjoy
           that
           crown
           ,
        
         
           And
           'mongst
           us
           part
           the
           prey
           with
           high
           renown
           ,
        
         
         
           Thou
           saw'st
           what
           horse
           ,
           what
           arms
           ,
           rich
           Turnus
           had
           :
        
         
           All
           those
           thou
           saw'st
           ,
           thy
           valiant
           heart
           to
           glad
           :
        
         
           Assure
           thy self
           ,
           brave
           Nisus
           shall
           be
           thine
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           my
           father
           hath
           twelve
           matrons
           fine
           ,
        
         
           And
           captives
           twelve
           ,
           with
           all
           their
           ornaments
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           king
           Latines
           lands
           and
           continents
           :
        
         
           All
           these
           my
           father
           shall
           bestow
           on
           thee
           .
        
         
           For
           thee
           ,
           faire
           youth
           ,
           whose
           yeares
           come
           nearest
           me
           ,
        
         
           Thee
           in
           my
           bosome
           of
           best
           love
           I
           take
           ,
        
         
           Thee
           my
           companion
           in
           all
           states
           I
           'le
           make
           .
        
         
           No
           fame
           by
           facts
           will
           I
           without
           thee
           gain
           ,
        
         
           In
           peace
           or
           warre
           thy
           counsel
           shall
           be
           ta'ne
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           Euryalus
           made
           this
           replie
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           sir
           ,
           no
           time
           shall
           finde
           me
           falsifie
        
         
           My
           promise
           in
           such
           high
           designes
           as
           these
           :
        
         
           Yet
           fortune
           good
           or
           bad
           (
           as
           heaven
           shall
           please
           )
        
         
           May
           on
           us
           fall
           .
           But
           thee
           ,
           this
           one
           thing
           I
           ,
        
         
           'Bove
           all
           thy
           gifts
           ,
           intreat
           most
           earnestly
           :
        
         
           I
           have
           a
           mother
           sprung
           from
           Priams
           race
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           neither
           Troy
           through
           its
           now
           captiv'd
           case
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           kinde
           Acestes
           realm
           (
           poore
           heart
           )
           could
           stay
           ,
        
         
           But
           with
           me
           she
           hath
           travel'd
           all
           our
           way
           .
        
         
           Her
           I
           (
           alas
           !
           )
           now
           unsaluted
           leave
           ,
        
         
           Ignorant
           what
           dire
           fate
           may
           to
           me
           cleave
           :
        
         
           By
           this
           dark
           night
           ,
           and
           thy
           right
           hand
           I
           sweare
           ,
        
         
           That
           I
           could
           not
           her
           tender
           weeping
           beare
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           our
           parting
           .
           I
           thee
           therefore
           pray
           ,
        
         
           In
           her
           distresse
           to
           be
           her
           staffe
           and
           stay
           ,
        
         
           To
           help
           her
           in
           her
           need
           .
           If
           this
           request
        
         
           Thou
           to
           me
           grant
           ,
           my
           heart
           will
           be
           at
           rest
           ,
        
         
           And
           I
           the
           boldlier
           shall
           all
           hazards
           trie
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           hearts
           hereat
           melt
           instantly
           ,
        
         
         
           Who
           fell
           aweeping
           :
           but
           Iülus
           chief
           ,
        
         
           Toucht
           at
           the
           heart
           ,
           between
           great
           joy
           and
           grief
           ,
        
         
           At
           this
           rare
           copie
           of
           connative
           love
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           's
           affection
           this
           reply
           did
           move
           ;
        
         
           I
           promise
           and
           protest
           ,
           all
           said
           and
           done
           ,
        
         
           Is
           highly
           worthy
           such
           an
           honour'd
           sonne
           .
        
         
           Thy
           mother
           shall
           be
           mine
           ,
           in
           all
           the
           same
        
         
           With
           my
           Creüsa
           ,
           save
           alone
           in
           name
           :
        
         
           Nor
           such
           a
           sonne
           to
           have
           is
           honour
           small
           ,
        
         
           Whats'ever
           issue
           do
           this
           fact
           befall
           .
        
         
           Now
           by
           this
           head
           I
           sweare
           ,
           by
           which
           before
           ,
        
         
           My
           father
           upon
           oft
           occasions
           swore
           ,
        
         
           What
           I
           thee
           promis'd
           ,
           safe
           return'd
           again
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           to
           thy
           mother
           and
           thy
           kinne
           remain
           .
        
         
           Thus
           weeping
           spake
           he
           ,
           and
           from
           's
           neck
           did
           take
        
         
           A
           rare
           gilt
           sword
           ,
           which
           Lycaon
           did
           make
        
         
           With
           curious
           art
           ,
           in
           ivorie
           scabbert
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Which
           he
           bestow'd
           upon
           Eury'lus
           faire
           .
        
         
           To
           
             Nisus
             Mnestheus
          
           gave
           a
           lions
           skin
           ,
        
         
           Huge
           rough
           with
           haire
           ,
           which
           had
           a
           conquest
           bin
           :
        
         
           Friendly
           Alethes
           did
           his
           helm
           exchange
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           they
           armed
           ,
           valiantly
           forth
           range
           :
        
         
           Whom
           to
           the
           gates
           the
           Trojan
           gallants
           guide
        
         
           Both
           young
           and
           old
           ,
           and
           them
           with
           prayers
           plide
           ;
        
         
           Chiefly
           Ascanius
           ,
           grave
           beyond
           green
           yeares
           ,
        
         
           Expressing
           wisely
           manly
           filiall
           feares
           ,
        
         
           Follows
           them
           fast
           ,
           with
           prayers
           and
           messages
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           his
           father
           in
           their
           passages
           :
        
         
           But
           all
           (
           alas
           !
           they
           spake
           )
           flew
           into
           th'
           aire
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           clouds
           in
           vain
           they
           vented
           are
           .
        
         
           Thus
           (
           then
           )
           gone
           forth
           ,
           they
           o're
           the
           trenches
           past
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           dark
           night
           to
           foes
           camp
           came
           at
           last
           ;
        
         
         
           To
           many
           of
           them
           (
           first
           )
           dire
           death
           to
           bring
           .
        
         
           There
           all-about
           neglected
           lies
           each
           thing
           ,
        
         
           The
           men
           laid
           on
           the
           grasse
           ,
           with
           wine
           and
           sleep
        
         
           O're
           whelmed
           all
           ,
           no
           watch
           their
           carts
           do
           keep
           .
        
         
           Men
           'mongst
           horse-harnesse
           lay
           :
           here
           wine-pots
           stood
           ,
        
         
           There
           armour
           lay
           :
           nothing
           in
           order
           good
           .
        
         
           Nisus
           hereat
           first
           to
           Euryalus
           said
           ,
        
         
           Deare
           friend
           ,
           our
           way
           must
           now
           with
           blows
           be
           made
           :
        
         
           This
           way
           we
           must
           ;
           and
           lest
           assaults
           behinde
        
         
           Do
           us
           infest
           ,
           have
           thou
           a
           watchfull
           minde
           ,
        
         
           And
           keep
           a
           distance
           off
           ,
           wide
           way
           I
           'le
           make
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           these
           vast
           impediments
           hence
           take
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           silent
           was
           ;
           and
           instantly
        
         
           Upon
           proud
           Rhamnes
           he
           set
           furiously
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           a
           rich
           wrought
           Arras
           carpet
           stretcht
           :
        
         
           Who
           in
           a
           deep-drunk
           sleep
           ,
           his
           last
           breath
           fetch
           't
           :
        
         
           A
           king
           and
           southsayer
           ,
           which
           king
           Turnus
           joy'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           southsaying
           could
           not
           this
           great
           mischief
           void
           .
        
         
           Three
           of
           whose
           servants
           lying
           neare
           were
           slain
           ,
        
         
           And
           Rhemus
           page
           and
           coachman
           quickly
           ta'ne
           ,
        
         
           Under
           his
           horses
           .
           Both
           whom
           he
           left
           dead
           ,
        
         
           Cut
           both
           their
           throats
           ,
           cut
           off
           their
           masters
           head
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           his
           headlesse
           trunk
           tumbling
           i'
           th'
           mire
           ,
        
         
           Soil'd
           with
           black
           bloud
           his
           soule
           and
           breath
           t'
           expire
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           sigh
           out
           :
           the
           beds
           and
           ground
           about
           ,
        
         
           Reaking
           warm
           fumes
           ,
           with
           gore
           that
           gushed
           out
           :
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           
             Lamirus
             ,
             Lamus
             ,
             Serranus
          
        
         
           A
           brave
           young
           spark
           ,
           that
           night
           most
           riotous
           ,
        
         
           With
           Bacchus
           drunken
           bands
           his
           body
           bound
           :
        
         
           Happy
           ,
           had
           he
           all
           night
           been
           playing
           found
           ,
        
         
           Even
           untill
           day
           .
           But
           rav'ning
           lion-like
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           famine
           fierce
           made
           him
           the
           sheepfold
           strike
           )
        
         
         
           Infesting
           all
           the
           flock
           ,
           he
           teares
           and
           spoiles
        
         
           The
           silly
           sheep
           ,
           and
           chaps
           with
           blood
           besoiles
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           they
           lie
           mute
           for
           feare
           :
           no
           lesse
           also
        
         
           Euryalus
           with
           slaughter
           on
           doth
           go
           :
        
         
           And
           he
           in
           wrath
           raging
           ,
           about
           him
           layes
           .
        
         
           And
           numbers
           of
           the
           namelesse
           vulgars
           slayes
           :
        
         
           Hebesus
           ,
           Fadus
           ,
           Rhoetus
           ,
           Abaris
           ,
        
         
           He
           unawares
           did
           cause
           deaths
           cup
           to
           kisse
           .
        
         
           But
           Rhoetus
           was
           awake
           ,
           and
           all
           this
           ey'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           (
           base
           )
           behinde
           a
           huge
           bowl
           did
           him
           hide
        
         
           From
           his
           fierce
           foe
           :
           who
           seen
           ,
           was
           follow'd
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           fierce
           full
           wound
           his
           weapon
           past
        
         
           Into
           his
           sheathing
           corps
           ,
           with
           which
           deep
           blow
        
         
           His
           crimson
           gory
           soule
           doth
           belching
           flow
           ,
        
         
           And
           flie
           away
           ,
           mixing
           his
           bloud
           and
           wine
           :
        
         
           Thus
           hotly
           he
           by
           stealth
           doth
           on
           incline
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           unto
           Messapus
           mates
           he
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           found
           their
           fires
           lifting
           their
           latest
           flame
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           their
           horse
           at
           grasse
           about
           them
           ty'd
           .
        
         
           Then
           briefly
           thus
           sayes
           Nisus
           (
           for
           he
           spi'de
        
         
           Euryalus
           to
           too
           much
           wrath
           inclinde
           ,
        
         
           And
           nought
           but
           bloud
           and
           slaughter
           still
           to
           minde
           )
        
         
           Let
           's
           now
           surcease
           ,
           sayes
           he
           ,
           for
           tell-tale
           day
        
         
           Hastens
           upon
           us
           ,
           and
           we
           must
           away
           .
        
         
           Enough
           revenge
           we
           now
           exhausted
           have
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           our
           foes
           our
           passage
           purchas'd
           brave
           .
        
         
           Much
           wealth
           they
           left
           behinde
           ,
           silver
           and
           gold
           ,
        
         
           Rich
           arms
           ,
           rare
           bowls
           ,
           faire
           carpets
           to
           behold
           .
        
         
           Euryalus
           had
           from
           king
           Rhamnes
           ta'ne
        
         
           Rich
           gold-bost
           trappings
           ,
           when
           he
           had
           him
           slain
           ,
        
         
           And
           golden
           girts
           ,
           which
           wealthie
           Caedicus
        
         
           At
           the
           league
           linking
           ,
           sent
           to
           Remulus
           ,
        
         
         
           As
           friendly
           gifts
           ;
           and
           which
           he
           dying
           gave
        
         
           Unto
           his
           nephew
           ,
           after
           death
           to
           have
           :
        
         
           But
           he
           being
           dead
           ,
           the
           Rutuls
           got
           that
           prey
        
         
           In
           warre
           :
           Euryalus
           took
           these
           away
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           but
           in
           vain
           ,
           upon
           his
           shoulders
           strong
        
         
           With
           courage
           brave
           bare
           them
           with
           him
           along
           ;
        
         
           Messapus
           handsome
           helm
           ,
           with
           comely
           crest
           ,
        
         
           Fitting
           him
           well
           ,
           he
           wore
           .
           Thus
           then
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           They
           past
           the
           camp
           ,
           and
           on
           securely
           went.
        
         
           Meanwhile
           a
           troop
           of
           horse
           ,
           which
           forth
           were
           sent
        
         
           Out
           of
           Latinus
           town
           ,
           whiles
           all
           the
           rest
        
         
           Of
           th'
           armed
           bands
           stayd
           in
           the
           camp
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           Past
           on
           unto
           king
           Turnus
           ,
           to
           declare
        
         
           The
           message
           sent
           :
           three
           hundred
           men
           there
           were
           ,
        
         
           All
           bravely
           arm'd
           ,
           Volscens
           their
           Generall
           .
        
         
           Who
           now
           drew
           neare
           the
           camp
           approacht
           the
           wall
           ,
        
         
           When
           those
           farre
           off
           did
           both
           those
           two
           perceive
           ,
        
         
           Hastily
           them
           on
           the
           left
           hand
           to
           leave
           :
        
         
           And
           young
           Euryalus
           his
           helmet
           gay
        
         
           By
           the
           nights
           glimmering
           light
           did
           them
           betray
           .
        
         
           He
           most
           unmindefull
           of
           the
           glist'ring
           brightnesse
           ,
        
         
           The
           helmet
           did
           reflect
           against
           least
           lightnesse
           .
        
         
           VVhich
           fairely
           seen
           ,
           Volscens
           aloud
           did
           say
           ;
        
         
           Stay
           ,
           masters
           ,
           stay
           ,
           why
           passe
           ye
           on
           this
           way
           ?
        
         
           VVhy
           are
           ye
           arm'd
           ?
           and
           whither
           are
           ye
           bound
           ?
        
         
           They
           answered
           nought
           ,
           but
           swift
           away
           they
           wound
           ,
        
         
           And
           scud
           into
           the
           wood
           ,
           hoping
           dark
           night
        
         
           VVould
           them
           advantage
           ,
           thus
           to
           scape
           by
           flight
           .
        
         
           The
           horsemen
           'bout
           known-turning
           paths
           do
           lie
           ,
        
         
           And
           here
           and
           there
           each
           passage
           fortifie
        
         
           VVith
           a
           strong
           guard
           .
           The
           wood
           was
           wide
           ,
           o're-grown
           ,
        
         
           Full
           of
           great
           oaks
           and
           prickly
           bushes
           known
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           scratching
           briers
           and
           brambles
           :
           and
           thereby
        
         
           VVayes
           were
           shut
           up
           ,
           and
           paths
           most
           hard
           to
           spie
           ,
        
         
           And
           shade
           of
           trees
           and
           heavy
           weight
           of
           spoiles
        
         
           Molest
           Euryalus
           with
           tedious
           toiles
           ,
        
         
           And
           ignorance
           o'
           th'
           way
           did
           him
           delude
           .
        
         
           But
           Nisus
           got
           away
           ,
           his
           foes
           eschew'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           unadvised
           had
           escapt
           that
           place
           ,
        
         
           (
           Not
           thinking
           on
           Euryalus
           his
           case
           )
        
         
           Which
           afterward
           was
           call'd
           from
           Alba
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Albanus
           ,
           where
           king
           Latines
           stables
           rare
        
         
           Were
           situated
           .
           Nisus
           here
           made
           stay
           ,
        
         
           And
           (
           but
           in
           vain
           )
           finding
           his
           friend
           away
           ,
        
         
           O
           where
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           Euryalus
           ,
           have
           I
           ,
        
         
           Unhappie
           I
           ,
           thee
           left
           in
           miserie
           ?
        
         
           O
           whither
           should
           I
           go
           to
           follow
           thee
           ?
        
         
           Straight
           hereupon
           ,
           away
           he
           back
           doth
           flee
        
         
           Through
           those
           perplexed
           paths
           ,
           pries
           all
           about
        
         
           The
           crooked
           woods
           false
           creeks
           and
           nooks
           throughout
           :
        
         
           Observes
           each
           passage
           as
           he
           backward
           goes
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           thick
           thickets
           ,
           where
           no
           way
           he
           knows
           .
        
         
           Horses
           he
           heares
           ,
           he
           heares
           a
           noise
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
           And
           signes
           of
           some
           at
           heels
           him
           following
           fast
           .
        
         
           Nor
           was
           it
           long
           ere
           clamours
           came
           to
           's
           eares
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           ere
           Euryalus
           poore
           case
           appeares
           ;
        
         
           VVhom
           all
           the
           band
           (
           through
           errour
           of
           the
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           darksome
           night
           ,
           and
           coming-on
           apace
           ▪
        
         
           Of
           th'
           enemie
           swiftly
           and
           suddenly
           )
        
         
           Had
           now
           surpriz'd
           ,
           yet
           fighting
           valiantly
           .
        
         
           And
           what
           should
           he
           do
           now
           ?
           what
           strength
           expresse
           ?
        
         
           What
           force
           to
           free
           the
           young
           man
           from
           distresse
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           ?
           should
           he
           dying
           rush
           i'
           th'
           midst
           of
           's
           foes
           ?
        
         
           By
           honour'd
           death
           make
           haste
           his
           life
           to
           lose
           ?
        
         
         
           Advancing
           straight
           his
           arm
           ,
           shaking
           his
           lance
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           to
           the
           Moon
           he
           did
           his
           votes
           advance
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           Goddesse
           ,
           thou
           ,
           thou
           seest
           our
           present
           woe
           ,
        
         
           Help
           us
           this
           danger
           great
           to
           undergo
           ;
        
         
           O
           thou
           starres
           state
           ,
           woods
           warder
           ,
           daughter
           faire
        
         
           Of
           Titan
           bright
           !
           if
           on
           thine
           altars
           rare
        
         
           My
           father
           Hyrtacus
           did
           e're
           for
           me
        
         
           Presents
           present
           ;
           if
           I
           my self
           to
           thee
        
         
           In
           hunting
           have
           augmented
           thine
           oblations
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           thy
           scutchion
           hung
           due
           adornations
           ,
        
         
           Great
           gracefull
           gifts
           on
           sacred
           posts
           made
           fast
           :
        
         
           Grant
           then
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
           I
           may
           (
           at
           least
           )
           at
           last
        
         
           Vex
           and
           perplex
           this
           troop
           most
           turbulent
           ,
        
         
           Do
           thou
           my
           darts
           direct
           to
           that
           intent
           .
        
         
           Thus
           having
           said
           and
           pray'd
           ,
           with
           all
           his
           might
        
         
           He
           cast
           a
           dart
           ,
           which
           pierc'd
           black
           shades
           of
           night
           ,
        
         
           And
           flying
           ,
           lighted
           on
           and
           brake
           in
           twain
        
         
           Great
           Solmons
           targe
           ,
           piercing
           with
           mortall
           pain
        
         
           His
           vitall
           part
           ,
           his
           heart
           ,
           he
           's
           overthrown
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           deep
           ▪
           and
           heart-string-breaking
           groan
        
         
           Disgorg'd
           a
           floud
           of
           luke-warm
           bloud
           ,
           and
           straight
        
         
           He
           waxed
           cold
           ,
           because
           inanimate
           .
        
         
           The
           souldiers
           diverse
           wayes
           do
           look
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           see
           a
           fiercer
           then
           the
           first
           flie
           out
           :
        
         
           For
           he
           by
           's
           eare
           levell'd
           another
           dart
           ;
        
         
           Which
           ,
           whiles
           they
           troubled
           stood
           ,
           with
           fatall
           smart
        
         
           Whistlingly
           flying
           ,
           Tagus
           temples
           twain
        
         
           Did
           penetrate
           ,
           and
           stuck
           fast
           in
           his
           brain
           .
        
         
           Volscens
           hereat
           grew
           violent
           and
           mad
           ,
        
         
           Not
           knowing
           th'
           author
           of
           these
           facts
           so
           bad
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           upon
           whom
           deserv'd
           revenge
           to
           take
           .
        
         
           But
           as
           for
           thee
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           I
           'le
           surely
           make
        
         
         
           Thy
           bloud
           requite
           the
           death
           of
           both
           my
           friends
           :
        
         
           Thus
           at
           Euryalus
           his
           sword
           he
           bends
           .
        
         
           Straight
           noble
           Nisus
           thereat
           much
           molested
           ,
        
         
           In
           rage
           cries
           out
           (
           seeing
           his
           friend
           infested
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           not
           willing
           longer
           now
           to
           hide
           ,
        
         
           Or
           so
           great
           sorrow
           in
           his
           friend
           to
           '
           bide
           )
        
         
           'T
           was
           I
           ,
           Rutulians
           ,
           I
           that
           did
           the
           deed
           :
        
         
           Here
           ,
           here
           I
           am
           ,
           against
           me
           ,
           me
           proceed
           ,
        
         
           And
           set
           your
           swords
           on
           me
           ,
           revenge
           to
           take
           ,
        
         
           My
           hand
           and
           heart
           did
           all
           this
           mischief
           make
           :
        
         
           He
           durst
           not
           do
           this
           deed
           ,
           alas
           not
           he
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           could
           he
           do
           it
           (
           by
           these
           heavens
           you
           see
           ,
        
         
           And
           testifying
           starres
           ,
           I
           truth
           protest
           )
        
         
           Onely
           his
           love
           he
           hath
           too
           much
           exprest
        
         
           Unto
           his
           friend
           ,
           me
           his
           unhappy
           friend
           .
        
         
           These
           words
           he
           spake
           ,
           but
           they
           their
           swords
           do
           bend
        
         
           With
           utmost
           force
           against
           Euryalus
           :
        
         
           And
           through
           his
           sides
           vvith
           rancour
           venomous
        
         
           They
           pierce
           his
           heart
           ,
           and
           he
           falls
           down
           stark
           dead
           :
        
         
           Whose
           hearts
           gore-bloud
           doth
           all
           his
           parts
           o'respread
           .
        
         
           His
           neck
           between
           his
           shoulders
           doubled
           lay
           :
        
         
           Even
           as
           the
           plow
           ,
           to
           make
           his
           furrowed
           way
           ,
        
         
           Cuts
           down
           a
           violet
           faire
           ,
           which
           withering
           dies
           ;
        
         
           Or
           like
           tall
           poppy
           ,
           which
           by
           showres
           from
           skies
        
         
           O're-laid
           ,
           from
           its
           weak
           neck
           hangs
           down
           the
           head
           .
        
         
           But
           Nisus
           nobly
           shaking
           off
           all
           dread
           ,
        
         
           Burst
           into
           thickest
           foes
           ,
           and
           singles
           out
           ,
        
         
           From
           all
           the
           rest
           ,
           their
           leader
           Volscens
           stout
           .
        
         
           With
           whom
           alone
           he
           would
           the
           combate
           trie
           :
        
         
           About
           both
           whom
           the
           totall
           troop
           doth
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           neare
           at
           hand
           ,
           still
           Nisus
           they
           molest
           ,
        
         
           Who
           nimbly
           still
           stomack
           and
           strength
           exprest
           :
        
         
         
           And
           bravely
           whiskt
           about
           his
           bloudy
           blade
           ,
        
         
           Till
           this
           Rutulian
           crying
           loud
           ,
           dismayd
           ,
        
         
           He
           sheath'd
           his
           sword
           in
           's
           mouth
           ,
           thrust
           down
           his
           throat
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           his
           soule
           sing
           a
           harsh
           dying
           note
           .
        
         
           Himself
           being
           wounded
           mortally
           also
           ,
        
         
           O're
           his
           friends
           body
           he
           himself
           did
           throw
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           at
           last
           in
           pleasing
           rest
           expir'd
           ,
        
         
           Both
           fortunate
           ,
           both
           in
           their
           love
           admir'd
           .
        
         
           If
           my
           poore
           layes
           their
           praise
           could
           dignifie
           ,
        
         
           No
           age
           should
           e're
           blot
           out
           their
           memorie
           ,
        
         
           As
           long
           as
           brave
           Aeneas
           kin
           remain
           ,
        
         
           And
           Rome
           her
           Capitol
           shall
           firm
           sustain
           ,
        
         
           And
           Romanes
           o're
           the
           world
           have
           emperie
           ;
        
         
           So
           long
           my
           lines
           their
           loves
           should
           magnifie
           .
        
         
           The
           sad
           Rutulians
           with
           their
           spoiles
           and
           prey
           ,
        
         
           (
           Though
           ●onquerours
           )
           unto
           their
           camp
           convay
        
         
           Their
           Volscens
           slain
           ,
           with
           many
           a
           weeping
           eye
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           king
           Rhamnes
           fatall
           destinie
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           Serranus
           and
           stout
           Numa
           slain
           ,
        
         
           As
           they
           the
           first
           assault
           did
           well
           maintain
           :
        
         
           A
           mightie
           confluence
           of
           people
           came
        
         
           About
           the
           corps
           ,
           flocking
           to
           see
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           their
           half-dead
           friends
           ,
           the
           bloudy
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           streams
           of
           foamy
           gore
           flowing
           apace
           .
        
         
           They
           know
           the
           spoiles
           ,
           Messapus
           helmet
           bright
           ,
        
         
           The
           trappings
           faire
           re-gain'd
           with
           sweaty
           fight
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           Aurora
           rare
           relinquished
        
         
           Her
           earthly
           Tithons
           saffron-colour'd
           bed
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           fresh
           light
           the
           earth
           had
           garnisht
           gay
           ,
        
         
           And
           Sol
           ,
           now
           up
           ▪
           all
           hid
           things
           did
           display
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           compleatly
           arm'd
           ,
           his
           men
           i●cites
        
         
           To
           arms
           ,
           and
           to
           fierce
           skirmishes
           invites
           .
        
         
         
           Each
           souldier
           calls
           his
           mate
           ,
           and
           various
           words
        
         
           Of
           those
           last
           facts
           whet
           both
           their
           hearts
           and
           swords
           .
        
         
           The
           heads
           besides
           (
           a
           woefull
           sight
           to
           see
           )
        
         
           Of
           Nisus
           and
           Euryalus
           fastned
           be
        
         
           To
           th'
           tops
           of
           two
           tall
           poles
           ,
           and
           carried
           high
        
         
           With
           mighty
           clamours
           of
           the
           armies
           crie
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           indefatigabely
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           citie-walls
           to
           the
           left
           hand
        
         
           They
           bend
           their
           armed
           bands
           (
           for
           on
           the
           right
        
         
           The
           river
           running
           hedg'd
           them
           in
           with
           might
           )
        
         
           The
           ditches
           they
           defend
           ,
           and
           on
           high
           towers
        
         
           In
           mournfull
           manner
           stood
           their
           Martiall
           powers
           ,
        
         
           Before
           their
           eyes
           the
           mens
           two-heads
           being
           plac'd
           ,
        
         
           (
           Sorrows
           too
           well
           known
           signes
           )
           both
           much
           defac'd
        
         
           With
           filth
           and
           bloud
           .
           Meanwhile
           doth
           winged
           fame
        
         
           Throughout
           the
           trembling
           town
           divulge
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           mother
           of
           Euryalus
        
         
           Relates
           these
           things
           :
           she
           most
           calamitous
        
         
           Straight
           fell
           into
           cold
           sweats
           and
           shivering
           feares
           ,
        
         
           Let
           fall
           her
           wheel
           and
           spindle
           ,
           le
           ts
           fall
           teares
           ,
        
         
           And
           woefully
           flies
           out
           ,
           cries
           out
           apace
        
         
           With
           womanish
           loud
           screeks
           ,
           in
           piteous
           case
        
         
           Tearing
           her
           haire
           ,
           and
           frantickly
           ascending
        
         
           The
           citie-walls
           ,
           her
           hastie
           courses
           bending
        
         
           To
           the
           first
           watch
           ,
           regardlesse
           of
           whats'ere
           ,
        
         
           She
           neither
           men
           ,
           nor
           darts
           ,
           nor
           death
           doth
           feare
           .
        
         
           But
           thus
           she
           fills
           the
           heavens
           with
           plaints
           and
           cries
           ;
        
         
           On
           thee
           ,
           Euryalus
           ,
           cast
           I
           mine
           eyes
           ?
        
         
           And
           art
           thou
           he
           should'st
           be
           the
           staffe
           and
           stay
        
         
           Of
           mine
           old
           age
           ?
           and
           could'st
           thou
           run
           away
           ,
        
         
           (
           Hard-hearted
           boy
           )
           and
           leave
           me
           all
           alone
           ?
        
         
           Might
           not
           thy
           woefull
           mother
           first
           have
           known
        
         
         
           Thy
           parting
           hence
           ,
           and
           ta'ne
           last
           sad
           farewell
           ,
        
         
           Before
           such
           bitter
           dangers
           thee
           befell
           ?
        
         
           Alas
           !
           thou
           unknown
           land
           ,
           alas
           for
           thee
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           a
           prey
           to
           birds
           and
           beasts
           shouldst
           be
           :
        
         
           I
           brought
           thee
           not
           to
           this
           sad
           funerall
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           shed
           salt
           teares
           to
           rensh
           thy
           corps
           withall
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           body
           in
           pure
           linen
           cloaths
           to
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Which
           thriftily
           I
           wrought
           on
           night
           and
           day
           ,
        
         
           My
           aged
           dayes
           and
           cares
           to
           passe
           away
           .
        
         
           Whither
           ,
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           shall
           I
           now
           follow
           thee
           ?
        
         
           Tell
           me
           where
           thy
           dismembred
           members
           be
           .
        
         
           Where
           are
           thy
           parted
           parts
           ,
           thy
           joynts
           disjoyn'd
           ?
        
         
           Where
           ,
           in
           what
           land
           may
           I
           thee
           buried
           finde
           ?
        
         
           Bring'st
           thou
           (
           my
           sonne
           )
           this
           woefull
           news
           to
           me
           ?
        
         
           Have
           I
           for
           this
           ,
           through
           sea
           ,
           land
           ,
           followed
           thee
           ?
        
         
           You
           rough
           Rutulians
           ,
           if
           least
           love
           you
           have
           ,
        
         
           Least
           pity
           you
           possesse
           ,
           on
           me
           ,
           I
           crave
           ,
        
         
           On
           me
           ,
           I
           pray
           you
           ,
           showre
           out
           all
           your
           darts
           :
        
         
           Let
           all
           your
           swords
           end
           all
           my
           living
           smarts
           .
        
         
           Or
           else
           do
           thou
           ,
           great
           Iove
           ,
           now
           stand
           my
           friend
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvith
           thy
           stroke
           ,
           my
           hatefull
           life
           now
           end
           ,
        
         
           Since
           I
           no
           otherwise
           can
           end
           these
           vvoes
           .
        
         
           From
           her
           great
           grief
           ,
           o're
           all
           the
           camp
           arose
        
         
           An
           universall
           sorrow
           ,
           loud
           lament
           ,
        
         
           Their
           former
           courage
           now
           seems
           dull
           and
           spent
           .
        
         
           As
           thus
           her
           sorrows
           did
           incense
           their
           grief
           ,
        
         
           
             Actor
             ,
             Idae●s
          
           ,
           two
           brave
           Trojans
           chief
           ,
        
         
           Advis'd
           thereto
           by
           vvise
           Ilioneus
           ,
        
         
           And
           sorely
           vveeping
           young
           Ascanius
           ,
        
         
           Took
           her
           up
           straight
           ,
           and
           in
           their
           arms
           her
           bare
        
         
           Into
           the
           house
           ,
           and
           there
           of
           her
           took
           care
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           brasse
           trumpets
           sounded
           shrill
           alarms
           ,
        
         
         
           Cries
           flie
           to
           th'
           skies
           ,
           and
           blustering
           stirre
           to
           arms
           ,
        
         
           The
           Volscians
           close
           their
           shields
           together
           knit
           ,
        
         
           To
           hide
           their
           heads
           ;
           and
           hastily
           them
           fit
        
         
           To
           fill
           the
           dikes
           ,
           the
           trenches
           down
           to
           teare
           :
        
         
           For
           passage
           ,
           some
           to
           th'
           vvalls
           their
           ladders
           reare
           ,
        
         
           On
           that
           side
           vvhere
           the
           armie
           vvas
           not
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvhere
           their
           troops
           vvere
           thin
           ,
           and
           not
           compleat
           .
        
         
           The
           nimble
           Trojans
           ,
           on
           the
           other
           side
           ,
        
         
           Accustom'd
           long
           besieged
           br●nts
           to
           '
           bide
           ,
        
         
           Do
           all
           their
           engines
           and
           their
           arms
           retort
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvith
           strong
           pikes
           thrust
           them
           from
           vvalls
           and
           fort
           .
        
         
           And
           vvith
           huge
           ponderous
           stones
           tumble
           them
           back
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           ,
           if
           they
           might
           ,
           their
           pendhouse
           shields
           to
           crack
           ,
        
         
           And
           break
           in
           sunder
           ,
           they
           now
           having
           tride
        
         
           All
           hazards
           ,
           under
           their
           thick
           shields
           to
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           But
           all
           too
           vveak
           :
           for
           vvhere
           most
           heaps
           collected
           ,
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           there
           a
           poudering
           pile
           dejected
           :
        
         
           Which
           rouling
           ,
           rumbling
           down
           ,
           with
           vvondrous
           waight
           ,
        
         
           Did
           beat
           and
           batter
           the
           Rutulians
           straight
           ,
        
         
           Their
           targets
           tou●h
           and
           strong
           unbound
           and
           brake
           ;
        
         
           Forcing
           Rutulians
           (
           maugre
           former
           crake
           )
        
         
           To
           feare
           ,
           forbeare
           sight
           under
           blind-fold
           shields
           :
        
         
           And
           leaving
           stratagems
           ,
           i'
           th'
           open
           fields
           ,
        
         
           With
           vvingy
           shafts
           ,
           they
           now
           vvith
           courage
           stout
        
         
           Contend
           ,
           and
           from
           their
           trench
           to
           beat
           them
           out
           .
        
         
           On
           one
           side
           ,
           proud
           Mezentius
           ,
           vvith
           fierce
           look
           ,
        
         
           His
           huge
           Etruscan
           flaming
           pine-lance
           shook
           :
        
         
           On
           th'
           other
           side
           ,
           Messapus
           ,
           rider
           rare
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           royall
           race
           sprang
           from
           great
           Neptune
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Brake
           into
           th'trench
           ,
           for
           scaling
           ladders
           calls
           ,
        
         
           To
           keep
           his
           hold
           ,
           and
           to
           ascend
           the
           vvalls
           .
        
         
           O
           see
           faire
           Nine
           ,
           Calliope
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
         
           Grace
           with
           your
           gracefull
           aid
           my
           warbled
           lay
           ,
        
         
           That
           ●
           may
           sing
           and
           shew
           what
           slaughters
           great
           ,
        
         
           What
           grave
           heaps
           Turnus
           made
           in
           Martiall
           heat
           ,
        
         
           What
           soules
           he
           sent
           to
           hell
           :
           help
           me
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           These
           mightie
           battells
           issues
           to
           display
           .
        
         
           For
           ye
           ,
           faire
           ladies
           ,
           can
           them
           promptly
           tell
           ,
        
         
           And
           ye
           have
           power
           to
           expresse
           them
           well
           .
        
         
           There
           was
           a
           skie-topt
           fort
           ,
           with
           scaffolds
           high
           ,
        
         
           And
           situated
           adventagiously
           ,
        
         
           Which
           the
           Italians
           with
           their
           utmost
           strength
        
         
           Assaulted
           fiercely
           ,
           to
           o'rethrow
           at
           length
           ;
        
         
           And
           which
           the
           Trojans
           on
           the
           other
           side
           ,
        
         
           With
           thrown-down
           stones
           to
           safeguard
           did
           provide
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           the
           loop-holes
           shooted
           showres
           of
           darts
           .
        
         
           But
           Turnus
           chiefly
           ,
           and
           his
           Martiall
           hearts
           ,
        
         
           Fierce
           fire-balls
           threw
           ,
           which
           'gainst
           the
           walls
           did
           stick
           ,
        
         
           And
           help'd
           with
           windes
           ,
           burnt
           up
           the
           boards
           most
           quick
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           weather-beaten
           posts
           took
           hold
           .
        
         
           The
           troubled
           Trojans
           hearts
           vvithin
           vvaxt
           cold
           ,
        
         
           And
           fain
           they
           vvould
           these
           pressing
           ills
           have
           fled
           ,
        
         
           But
           savv
           in
           vain
           they
           all
           endeavoured
           .
        
         
           They
           drew
           up
           then
           in
           heaps
           ,
           retreating
           straight
           ,
        
         
           Whereas
           no
           fire
           was
           flung
           ;
           then
           with
           huge
           weight
        
         
           The
           thus
           assaulted
           fort
           praecipitate
           ,
        
         
           Came
           tumbling
           down
           with
           thundring
           noise
           to
           th'
           skie
           ,
        
         
           In
           whose
           fierce
           fall
           with
           extream
           miserie
        
         
           Men
           were
           dasht
           down
           half
           dead
           ,
           unto
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           their
           own
           weapons
           did
           themselves
           confound
           ,
        
         
           And
           wooden
           splinters
           did
           them
           pierce
           and
           vvound
           :
        
         
           Helenor
           onely
           and
           Lycus
           likevvise
        
         
           Did
           hardly
           scape
           ,
           and
           from
           that
           mischief
           rise
           ;
        
         
           Helenors
           yeares
           him
           eldership
           allot
           ,
        
         
         
           King
           Maeons
           sonne
           ,
           upon
           his
           maid
           begot
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           her
           nurs'd
           in
           secret
           ;
           after
           ,
           sent
        
         
           To
           Troy
           to
           th'
           warres
           ,
           without
           allow'd
           consent
           :
        
         
           He
           scapt
           (
           I
           say
           )
           with
           's
           naked
           sword
           ,
           most
           poore
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           his
           arm
           a
           shield
           ignobly
           bore
           .
        
         
           Who
           when
           he
           saw
           himself
           surrounded
           quite
        
         
           With
           Turnus
           troops
           and
           Latine
           bands
           ,
           in
           bright
        
         
           And
           glistring
           arms
           ,
           on
           both
           sides
           spread
           about
           :
        
         
           Like
           a
           wilde-beast
           ,
           whom
           huntsmen
           with
           great
           shout
        
         
           Do
           hedge
           in
           round
           ,
           seeing
           himself
           beset
           ,
        
         
           Against
           their
           tools
           and
           toils
           doth
           rage
           and
           fret
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           expected
           death
           doth
           rudely
           lip
           ,
        
         
           And
           desp'rately
           on
           snares
           and
           grins
           doth
           skip
           :
        
         
           So
           this
           (
           now
           )
           lustie
           lad
           ,
           fearelesse
           to
           die
           ,
        
         
           Into
           the
           midst
           of
           's
           foes
           doth
           fiercely
           flie
           ;
        
         
           Even
           where
           he
           saw
           their
           swords
           and
           shields
           most
           thick
           .
        
         
           But
           Lycus
           being
           of
           foot
           more
           light
           and
           quick
           ,
        
         
           Betook
           him
           to
           his
           heels
           ,
           through
           thickest
           bands
        
         
           Fled
           to
           the
           walls
           ,
           strove
           there
           with
           feet
           and
           hands
        
         
           To
           clamber
           up
           ,
           hopefull
           of
           help
           from
           's
           friends
           :
        
         
           Whom
           Turnus
           following
           ,
           at
           him
           fiercely
           bends
        
         
           A
           deadly
           dart
           :
           and
           like
           a
           conquerour
           stout
        
         
           With
           these
           like
           chafing
           terms
           to
           him
           cries
           out
           ;
        
         
           Thou
           frantick
           fool
           ,
           think'st
           thou
           our
           hands
           to
           flee
           ?
        
         
           Supposest
           thou
           from
           us
           secure
           to
           be
           ?
        
         
           And
           with
           those
           words
           (
           as
           he
           did
           upward
           crawl
           )
        
         
           He
           pull'd
           him
           down
           ,
           and
           with
           him
           ,
           part
           o
           th'
           wall
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           an
           eagle
           preying
           on
           a
           hare
           ,
        
         
           Or
           some
           white
           swan
           rising
           up
           into
           th'
           aire
           ,
        
         
           Fiercely
           pull'd
           down
           by
           th'
           eagles
           tallons
           strong
           :
        
         
           Or
           like
           a
           rav'ning
           wolf
           ,
           whose
           chaps
           do
           long
        
         
           To
           lick
           the
           bloud
           of
           the
           poore
           bleating
           lambe
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           therefore
           in
           the
           stall
           pulls
           him
           from
           's
           damme
           .
        
         
           From
           all
           parts
           clamours
           rise
           ,
           assaults
           are
           made
           ,
        
         
           With
           rubbish
           heaps
           the
           dikes
           are
           levell
           laid
           .
        
         
           Fierce
           flaming
           brands
           to
           houses
           tops
           are
           cast
           .
        
         
           But
           as
           Leucetius
           to
           the
           gates
           came
           fast
           .
        
         
           To
           fire
           the
           same
           ,
           
             Troyes
             Ilioneus
          
           brave
        
         
           With
           a
           huge
           stone
           a
           deadly
           pelt
           him
           gave
           :
        
         
           When
           valiantly
           
             Liger
             Emathion
          
           slew
           :
        
         
           Asylas
           made
           death
           Chorineus
           due
           ;
        
         
           The
           one
           at
           darts
           ,
           th'
           other
           at
           shafts
           excell'd
           :
        
         
           Caeneus
           stout
           by
           death
           Ortygius
           quel'd
           :
        
         
           Turnus
           ,
           the
           victour
           Caeneui
           did
           slay
           ;
        
         
           Clonius
           and
           Itys
           he
           with
           death
           did
           pay
           :
        
         
           Dioxippus
           and
           Promulus
           most
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           Sagaris
           and
           Ida
           holding
           out
        
         
           Worthilie
           on
           the
           wall
           :
           but
           Capys
           brave
        
         
           Privernus
           kill'd
           :
           and
           him
           Themilla
           gave
        
         
           A
           light
           wound
           with
           his
           lance
           ,
           who
           instantly
        
         
           Threw
           his
           shield
           from
           him
           ,
           and
           most
           foolishly
        
         
           Claps
           his
           hand
           on
           the
           wound
           ;
           whereat
           most
           fierce
        
         
           A
           winged
           shaft
           his
           left-side
           ribs
           did
           pierce
           ,
        
         
           And
           nail'd
           his
           hand
           unto
           his
           wounded
           side
           ,
        
         
           And
           bor'd
           his
           breathing
           lights
           ,
           wherewith
           he
           dy'd
           .
        
         
           Brave
           Arcens
           sonne
           stood
           there
           in
           battell
           ray
           ,
        
         
           Clad
           in
           a
           coat
           of
           needle-work
           most
           gay
           ,
        
         
           Of
           a
           dark
           Spanish-purple
           colour
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           of
           lovely
           look
           and
           countnance
           faire
           :
        
         
           Whom
           Arcens
           ,
           his
           great
           sire
           ,
           to
           warres
           had
           sent
           ,
        
         
           Bred
           up
           in
           Mars
           his
           grove
           ,
           neare
           the
           current
        
         
           Of
           Sym●ths
           floud
           ,
           where
           is
           the
           altar
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           full
           of
           presents
           ,
           of
           Palicus
           rare
           .
        
         
           Mezentius
           bold
           ,
           his
           lance
           being
           laid
           aside
           ,
        
         
         
           A
           whisling
           sling
           up
           took
           ,
           with
           Martiall
           pride
           ,
        
         
           And
           swung
           it
           thrice
           most
           fiercely
           'bout
           his
           head
           :
        
         
           The
           leaden
           bullet
           ,
           as
           it
           swiftly
           fled
           ,
        
         
           Melted
           i'
           th'
           aire
           ,
           and
           dasht
           him
           on
           the
           pate
           ,
        
         
           And
           dead
           ,
           upon
           the
           sands
           laid
           him
           prostrate
           .
        
         
           Ascanius
           then
           for
           his
           first
           enterprise
           ,
        
         
           Is
           said
           to
           fling
           a
           shaft
           in
           Martiall
           wise
           ,
        
         
           Who
           formerly
           wilde-beasts
           was
           wont
           to
           fright
           ,
        
         
           Wherewith
           Numanus
           he
           did
           deadly
           smite
           ,
        
         
           Who
           was
           surnamed
           Remulus
           :
           this
           same
           ,
        
         
           Turnus
           his
           younger
           sister
           ,
           a
           faire
           dame
           ,
        
         
           Did
           lately
           wed
           :
           he
           in
           the
           forefront
           loud
        
         
           Vanting
           vain
           and
           vile
           things
           with
           spirit
           proud
           ,
        
         
           Unworthie
           our
           relation
           ,
           strook
           with
           feare
        
         
           Of
           kindred
           new
           ,
           the
           kingdomes
           rule
           to
           beare
           ,
        
         
           Went
           up
           and
           down
           ,
           boasting
           with
           haughtie
           din
           ,
        
         
           As
           if
           some
           princely
           pers'nage
           he
           had
           bin
           :
        
         
           Twitting
           the
           Trojans
           thus
           ;
           Base
           cowards
           all
           ,
        
         
           Shame
           ye
           not
           to
           sit
           mew'd
           up
           in
           a
           wall
           ?
        
         
           To
           be
           immur'd
           in
           trenches
           now
           again
           ,
        
         
           Twice
           captiv'd
           Phrygians
           ?
           think
           ye
           (
           but
           in
           vain
           )
        
         
           By
           walls
           to
           scape
           from
           death
           ?
           I
           pray
           behold
           ,
        
         
           What
           gallant
           lads
           are
           these
           ,
           that
           dare
           be
           bold
        
         
           By
           warres
           to
           get
           our
           wives
           !
           what
           destinie
           ?
        
         
           What
           madnesse
           great
           drave
           you
           to
           Italie
           ?
        
         
           Here
           are
           not
           
             Greeks
             Atrides
          
           tired
           rout
           ,
        
         
           No
           false
           Vlysses
           tongues
           to
           feigne
           and
           flout
           .
        
         
           We
           are
           a
           people
           tough
           from
           rough
           stocks
           stemme
           :
        
         
           Our
           children
           at
           the
           first
           we
           make
           to
           swimme
        
         
           In
           frozen
           flouds
           ,
           and
           harden
           them
           thereby
           :
        
         
           Our
           boyes
           are
           bred
           to
           rare
           activitie
           ;
        
         
           In
           hunting
           beasts
           ,
           and
           them
           i'
           th'
           woods
           to
           tire
           ,
        
         
         
           To
           ride
           great
           horse
           ,
           is
           sport
           which
           they
           desire
           ;
        
         
           And
           horny
           darts
           to
           cast
           they
           much
           affect
           .
        
         
           But
           constant
           at
           their
           work
           without
           neglect
           ,
        
         
           Small
           wealth
           our
           youth
           contents
           ;
           and
           either
           they
        
         
           With
           rakes
           and
           plowes
           do
           make
           the
           ground
           obey
        
         
           Their
           thriftie
           wills
           ,
           or
           towns
           with
           warre
           suppresse
           .
        
         
           Thus
           every
           age
           doth
           it
           to
           steel
           addresse
           :
        
         
           Yea
           even
           in
           peace
           our
           speares
           we
           hold
           in
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Working
           our
           cattell
           plowing
           up
           our
           land
           :
        
         
           Nor
           does
           weak
           old-age
           weaken
           our
           stout
           mindes
           ,
        
         
           Make
           valour
           vanish
           :
           but
           each
           gray-haires
           bindes
        
         
           His
           helm
           unto
           his
           head
           ,
           fresh
           spoiles
           and
           prey
        
         
           With
           sword
           and
           shield
           daily
           to
           beare
           away
           .
        
         
           But
           as
           for
           you
           ,
           your
           cloathsare
           rich
           and
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Of
           purple
           hues
           ,
           embroidered
           all
           most
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Signes
           of
           your
           lazie
           mindes
           ▪
           and
           your
           delights
        
         
           In
           wanton
           dancings
           are
           ,
           fond
           carpet-knights
           :
        
         
           In
           jackets
           short
           ,
           with
           sleeves
           most
           delicate
           ,
        
         
           And
           hairelace
           ,
           bongrace
           ,
           most
           effeminate
           .
        
         
           Fond
           Phrygian
           females
           (
           masculines
           y'
           are
           none
           )
        
         
           Gad
           to
           your
           Dindyms
           high
           hills
           every
           one
           ,
        
         
           Whereas
           your
           various-vain
           pipes
           sounds
           do
           call
        
         
           You
           to
           your
           wonted
           wanton
           dancings
           all
           :
        
         
           Your
           Idaean
           mother
           ,
           Berecynthia
           faire
           ,
        
         
           To
           make
           you
           sport
           ,
           doth
           taber
           and
           pipe
           prepare
           :
        
         
           Let
           arms
           alone
           to
           men
           ,
           touch
           not
           steel-swords
           .
        
         
           Him
           vaunting
           thus
           with
           bold
           and
           bitter
           words
        
         
           Ascanius
           brave
           no
           longer
           could
           forbeare
           ,
        
         
           But
           he
           his
           horse-hide
           bow
           straight
           up
           doth
           reare
           ,
        
         
           His
           shaft
           set
           ready
           :
           and
           his
           arms
           stretcht
           out
           ,
        
         
           To
           Iupiter
           he
           prayes
           with
           courage
           stout
           ;
        
         
           All-potent
           Iove
           ,
           my
           bold
           beginnings
           aid
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           on
           thine
           altar
           shall
           vow'd
           gifts
           be
           paid
           ;
        
         
           A
           faire
           fat
           bull
           with
           gilded
           horns
           most
           high
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           young
           calf
           like
           his
           damme
           ,
           lustily
        
         
           Bearing
           his
           head
           ,
           whose
           pace
           makes
           dust
           to
           flie
           .
        
         
           Iove
           heard
           from
           heaven
           ,
           and
           from
           a
           skie
           most
           cleare
        
         
           Ascanius
           did
           a
           prosperous
           thunder
           heare
           .
        
         
           Whose
           bow
           therewith
           set
           ready
           at
           full
           bent
           ,
        
         
           A
           deadly
           arrow
           fiercely
           forth
           he
           sent
           :
        
         
           The
           whistling
           shaft
           through
           th'
           aire
           took
           nimble
           flight
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           proud
           Remulus
           his
           pate
           did
           light
           ,
        
         
           Piercing
           his
           brains
           :
           Go
           (
           sayes
           the
           young
           prince
           stout
           )
        
         
           Go
           on
           ,
           true
           vertue
           with
           vain
           brags
           to
           flout
           .
        
         
           Twice-captiv'd
           Phrygians
           send
           Rutulians
           thus
        
         
           This
           answer
           .
           Thus
           did
           brave
           Ascanius
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           with
           loud
           cries
           second
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           Fiercely
           flie
           on
           ,
           spurr'd
           with
           affected
           fame
           .
        
         
           As
           then
           it
           hapt
           ,
           Apollo
           sagely
           sitting
        
         
           Upon
           a
           cloud
           i'
           th'
           open
           aire
           befitting
           ,
        
         
           Beheld
           th'
           Italian
           troops
           and
           Trojan
           town
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           t'
           Iülus
           said
           ,
           to
           's
           high
           renown
           ;
        
         
           Go
           on
           ,
           brave
           spark
           ,
           rare
           vertues
           to
           augment
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           fame
           shall
           raise
           thee
           to
           heavens
           firmament
           :
        
         
           Faire
           sonne
           ,
           and
           future
           sire
           of
           Gods
           most
           great
           ,
        
         
           All
           following
           bloudie
           broiles
           most
           boistrous
           heat
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           by
           the
           fates
           most
           due
           decree
           decrease
        
         
           Under
           great
           Dardans
           line
           ,
           and
           end
           in
           peace
           :
        
         
           Troy
           can
           thee
           not
           contain
           .
           And
           this
           being
           said
           ,
        
         
           Down
           from
           the
           skies
           his
           way
           he
           smoothly
           made
           :
        
         
           And
           doffing
           all
           aire-puffing
           vapours
           quite
           ,
        
         
           He
           kindely
           came
           into
           Ascanius
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           him
           took
           old
           Butes
           shape
           and
           face
           ,
        
         
           (
           He
           heretofore
           enjoy'd
           the
           honour'd
           place
        
         
         
           Of
           
             Troyes
             Anchises
          
           page
           ,
           and
           guardian
           just
        
         
           Of
           temple
           rites
           )
           and
           as
           a
           mate
           of
           trust
        
         
           The
           aged
           sire
           Ascanius
           sociates
           .
        
         
           In
           every
           thing
           Apollo
           imitates
        
         
           An
           old-man
           right
           ,
           as
           he
           along
           did
           go
           ,
        
         
           In
           count'nance
           ,
           colour
           ,
           and
           gray
           locks
           also
           ,
        
         
           In
           ratling
           Martiall
           armour
           drest
           ;
           and
           thus
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           spake
           t'enflam'd
           Ascanius
           ;
        
         
           Let
           it
           suffice
           thee
           ,
           brave
           Aeneas
           sonne
           ,
        
         
           What
           thou
           hast
           freely
           on
           Numanus
           done
           ;
        
         
           He
           slain
           ,
           thou
           safe
           :
           now
           then
           for
           thy
           first
           praise
           ,
        
         
           Apollo
           great
           doth
           crown
           thee
           with
           due
           bayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           envies
           not
           thy
           imitating
           arms
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           wills
           thee
           ,
           warre
           forbeare
           ,
           from
           future
           harms
           .
        
         
           Thus
           spake
           Apollo
           ;
           having
           spoke
           ,
           departed
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           mans
           fight
           into
           th'cleare
           aire
           he
           darted
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           peeres
           knew
           him
           a
           God
           to
           be
           ,
        
         
           When
           they
           his
           arms
           divine
           and
           shafts
           did
           see
        
         
           In
           's
           ratling
           quiver
           ,
           as
           he
           flew
           away
           .
        
         
           Wherefore
           Apollo's
           words
           and
           will
           t'
           obey
           ,
        
         
           Ascanius
           ,
           fierce
           to
           fight
           ,
           they
           all
           restrain
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           th'
           encounter
           they
           return
           again
           ,
        
         
           Trusting
           their
           lives
           in
           dangers
           imminent
           .
        
         
           A
           mightie
           clamour
           through
           their
           trenches
           went
           ,
        
         
           They
           bend
           their
           trustie
           bows
           ,
           fierce
           arrows
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           thick
           upon
           the
           ground
           they
           strewed
           lie
           :
        
         
           And
           shields
           and
           hollow
           helms
           make
           clanging
           sound
        
         
           With
           clattering
           shafts
           ,
           whose
           blows
           from
           them
           rebound
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           fierce
           fight
           begins
           ,
           like
           mightie
           showres
        
         
           Which
           boedean
           Western
           starres
           upon
           earth
           poures
           ,
        
         
           And
           thick
           as
           clouds
           of
           hail
           ,
           quick
           ratling
           down
           ,
        
         
           When
           Iupiter
           with
           winter
           storms
           doth
           frown
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           with
           a
           thunder-clap
           the
           clouds
           doth
           pierce
           .
        
         
           Even
           so
           the
           Trojans
           showre
           out
           shafts
           most
           fierce
           ;
        
         
           Bitias
           and
           Pandarus
           ,
           whom
           Hiera
           faire
        
         
           A
           wood
           nymph
           ,
           to
           
             Idaean
             Alcnor
          
           bare
           ,
        
         
           In
           Ioves
           great
           grove
           ,
           two
           brethren
           strong
           and
           stout
           ,
        
         
           As
           tall
           as
           trees
           ;
           as
           mounts
           ,
           hard
           to
           hold
           out
           .
        
         
           These
           two
           were
           set
           the
           gate
           to
           guard
           ,
           set
           ope
           ,
        
         
           And
           both
           well
           arm'd
           ,
           they
           voluntarily
        
         
           Their
           foes
           with
           them
           t'
           encounter
           did
           defie
           .
        
         
           They
           on
           the
           right
           and
           left
           hand
           stoutly
           stood
           ,
        
         
           In
           stead
           of
           two
           great
           bulwarks
           strong
           and
           good
           ,
        
         
           Arm'd
           with
           their
           swords
           and
           glistring
           helms
           on
           head
           ,
        
         
           Like
           two
           most
           mightie
           oaks
           with
           boughs
           o'respread
           ▪
        
         
           Whose
           unlopt
           tops
           ascend
           up
           into
           th'
           aire
           ,
        
         
           About
           moist
           Padus
           banks
           ,
           Athesis
           faire
           .
        
         
           No
           sooner
           saw
           Rutulians
           open
           way
           ,
        
         
           But
           rashly
           they
           rush
           in
           without
           delay
           .
        
         
           Querceus
           and
           faire
           Equicolus
           ,
           all
           arm'd
           ,
        
         
           Tmarus
           ,
           stout
           Haemon
           ,
           but
           all
           sorely
           harm'd
           ,
        
         
           Headlong
           they
           haste
           with
           all
           their
           troops
           and
           strength
           :
        
         
           But
           either
           were
           all
           beaten
           back
           ,
           at
           length
           ,
        
         
           Or
           at
           the
           gate
           did
           gasp
           their
           latest
           breath
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           maugre
           all
           their
           might
           ,
           were
           prest
           to
           death
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           their
           rage
           increast
           ,
           so
           Trojans
           stout
        
         
           Did
           valiantly
           assemble
           thereabout
           ,
        
         
           And
           bravely
           skirmish
           ,
           and
           adventure
           farre
           :
        
         
           And
           as
           elsewhere
           stout
           Turnus
           hot
           did
           warre
           ,
        
         
           Fretting
           ,
           affrighting
           them
           ,
           news
           was
           him
           brought
           ,
        
         
           That
           with
           fresh
           slaughters
           Trojan
           foes
           were
           fraught
           ,
        
         
           And
           flesht
           ,
           and
           had
           their
           gate
           set
           ope
           to
           fight
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           his
           work
           in
           hand
           forsaking
           quite
           ,
        
         
           Enflam'd
           with
           quenchlesse
           rage
           ,
           he
           thither
           flies
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           to
           the
           Trojan
           open
           gate
           he
           hies
           ,
        
         
           And
           those
           proud
           brethren
           both
           but
           first
           of
           all
        
         
           (
           For
           he
           first
           met
           him
           )
           Antiphates
           tall
           ,
        
         
           Born
           of
           a
           Thebane
           dame
           ,
           but
           the
           base
           sonne
        
         
           Of
           great
           Sarpedon
           ,
           on
           whom
           he
           did
           run
           ,
        
         
           And
           smote
           him
           with
           his
           dart
           ,
           th'
           Italian
           horn
        
         
           Whistling
           through
           th'
           aire
           ,
           pierc'd
           through
           his
           corps
           forlorn
           :
        
         
           Whose
           hollow
           wound
           vented
           much
           black
           gore-bloud
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           heart
           the
           warm
           dart
           fixed
           stood
           .
        
         
           Then
           Meropes
           and
           Erymantha
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Aphidnus
           stout
           ,
           by
           death
           he
           laid
           along
           ▪
        
         
           Bitias
           ,
           with
           frightfull
           face
           and
           fretfull
           heart
           ,
        
         
           He
           then
           did
           make
           to
           taste
           deaths
           direfull
           smart
           ,
        
         
           Not
           with
           a
           sha●t
           (
           a
           shaft
           could
           him
           not
           kill
           )
        
         
           But
           with
           a
           mightie
           dart
           ,
           thrown
           with
           strong
           skill
           ;
        
         
           Which
           stuft
           with
           wilde-fire
           ,
           flew
           like
           lightning
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           two
           tough
           buls
           hides
           would
           stiffely
           pierce
           ,
        
         
           And
           penetrate
           double
           steel-folds
           ,
           in
           shields
           ,
        
         
           Though
           lin'd
           with
           gold
           :
           herewith
           to
           death
           he
           yeelds
           .
        
         
           His
           mightie
           members
           ruinated
           fall
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           the
           earth
           to
           tremble
           therewithall
           ,
        
         
           And
           crusht
           his
           target
           with
           a
           thundring
           din
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           the
           stony
           pile
           ,
           when
           men
           begin
        
         
           To
           build
           the
           Baian
           banks
           by
           Cuma's
           town
           ,
        
         
           Which
           suddenly
           all
           tumbles
           headlong
           down
           :
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           former
           frame
           and
           mightie
           heap
        
         
           Fal'n
           plump
           i'
           th'
           sea
           ▪
           makes
           the
           waves
           dance
           and
           leap
           ▪
        
         
           And
           thus
           sunk
           down
           i'
           th'
           waves
           ,
           it
           sticks
           and
           stands
           ,
        
         
           Rowls
           billows
           up
           ,
           and
           cleaves
           and
           heaves
           the
           sands
           .
        
         
           The
           noise
           whereof
           Prochyta's●sle
           ●sle
           made
           shake
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           adjacent
           huge
           mounts
           to
           quake
           .
        
         
           Here
           Mars
           armipotent
           pour'd
           courage
           great
        
         
         
           Into
           the
           Latines
           hearts
           ,
           and
           Martiall
           heat
           ;
        
         
           And
           fill'd
           the
           Trojans
           mindes
           with
           feare
           and
           flight
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           they
           flock
           together
           to
           the
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           God
           of
           warre
           and
           Martiall
           spight
        
         
           Reignes
           in
           their
           hearts
           .
           But
           now
           ,
           when
           Pandarus
        
         
           Saw
           his
           deare
           brother
           to
           be
           conquer'd
           thus
           ,
        
         
           How
           their
           affaires
           and
           fortune
           ticklish
           stood
           ;
        
         
           With
           all
           the
           haste
           and
           strugling
           strength
           he
           cu'd
           ,
        
         
           Shoving
           with
           's
           shoulders
           ,
           close
           he
           locks
           the
           gate
           ,
        
         
           And
           bolts
           and
           barres
           it
           fast
           ;
           and
           many
           a
           mate
        
         
           He
           thus
           lockt
           out
           ,
           and
           left
           to
           fatall
           fight
           :
        
         
           But
           others
           he
           lockt
           in
           ,
           safe-guarded
           quite
        
         
           From
           rage
           of
           foes
           .
           But
           O
           how
           mad
           was
           he
        
         
           Which
           could
           not
           Turnus
           fiercely
           entring
           see
        
         
           Amongst
           them
           clos'd
           ,
           not
           with
           an
           armie
           great
           ,
        
         
           But
           singly
           shut
           up
           in
           the
           thronging
           heat
           ,
        
         
           Like
           a
           fierce
           tiger
           ,
           feeble
           flocks
           to
           eat
           !
        
         
           But
           suddenly
           bright
           light
           their
           eyes
           did
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           And
           who
           he
           was
           did
           speedily
           appeare
        
         
           By
           his
           rough
           ratling
           arms
           ,
           his
           bloud-red
           crest
           ,
        
         
           And
           shield
           ,
           which
           bright
           fire-flaming
           shines
           exprest
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           hereat
           stupifi'de
           ,
           did
           know
        
         
           His
           hatefull
           face
           ,
           and
           limbes
           that
           hugely
           grow
           .
        
         
           Then
           great
           Pandarus
           unto
           him
           drew
           neare
           ,
        
         
           Vext
           for
           the
           slaughter
           of
           his
           brother
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           to
           him
           said
           ;
           Nay
           sir
           ,
           good
           sir
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           This
           is
           no
           dowre
           of
           your
           queen
           Amata
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           do
           thy
           native
           Ardean
           walls
           thee
           close
           ,
        
         
           But
           here
           thou
           seest
           th'
           art
           fenc'd
           in
           by
           thy
           foes
           ,
        
         
           Imprison'd
           in
           their
           camps
           and
           custodie
           :
        
         
           Whence
           there
           's
           no
           hope
           of
           re-deliverie
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           ,
           with
           haughtie
           heart
           upon
           him
           smiling
           ,
        
         
         
           Sayes
           ,
           Sir
           ,
           leave
           off
           thy
           brags
           and
           proud
           reviling
           ▪
        
         
           Do
           thou
           begin
           :
           if
           any
           heart
           thou
           hast
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           spight
           and
           spirit
           now
           declare
           thou
           may'st
           :
        
         
           Here
           thou
           shalt
           tell
           to
           thy
           king
           Priamus
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           hast
           found
           Achilles
           valorous
           .
        
         
           Pandarus
           hereat
           took
           a
           knottie
           lance
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           his
           utmost
           strength
           did
           it
           advance
        
         
           Against
           king
           Turnus
           ;
           which
           winde
           turn'd
           aside
           :
        
         
           (
           For
           from
           least
           wounding
           Iuno
           did
           it
           guide
           )
        
         
           And
           missing
           him
           ,
           it
           stuck
           fast
           in
           the
           gate
           .
        
         
           But
           thou
           (
           sayes
           Turnus
           )
           shalt
           not
           finde
           the
           fate
        
         
           To
           scape
           the
           force
           of
           my
           fierce
           slicing
           blade
           :
        
         
           This
           wound
           and
           weapon
           thou
           shalt
           not
           evade
           .
        
         
           And
           herewithall
           he
           rais'd
           his
           sword
           on
           high
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           his
           sword
           ,
           himself
           ,
           and
           furiously
        
         
           In
           sunder
           cut
           his
           brain-pan
           ,
           with
           the
           blow
           ,
        
         
           And
           chops
           his
           chaps
           ,
           where
           yet
           no
           haire
           did
           grow
           .
        
         
           With
           a
           huge
           gash
           .
           A
           noise
           was
           rais'd
           to
           th'
           aire
           ,
        
         
           The
           earth
           even
           trembled
           with
           the
           weight
           it
           bare
           .
        
         
           His
           fal'n-down
           limbes
           and
           arms
           all-soil'd
           with
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           O'respread
           the
           ground
           ,
           besmear'd
           with
           brainy
           mud
           ▪
        
         
           And
           in
           two
           equall
           parts
           lay
           his
           cleft
           head
           ,
        
         
           This
           way
           and
           that
           way
           on
           each
           shoulder
           spread
           .
        
         
           The
           trembling
           Trojans
           hereat
           fled
           for
           feare
           :
        
         
           And
           had
           this
           victours
           vigilance
           been
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           T'
           have
           broke
           the
           barred
           doores
           ,
           let
           in
           his
           mates
           ,
        
         
           That
           day
           had
           been
           the
           last
           for
           fight
           and
           fates
        
         
           To
           Trojans
           .
           But
           rough
           rage
           and
           rash
           desire
        
         
           Of
           slaughter
           ,
           did
           so
           set
           his
           heart
           on
           fire
           ,
        
         
           That
           he
           fell
           on
           his
           foes
           .
           And
           first
           of
           all
           ,
        
         
           He
           Phalaris
           and
           Gyges
           forc'd
           to
           fall
           :
        
         
           And
           gathering
           up
           the
           darts
           from
           foes
           that
           fell
           ,
        
         
         
           He
           did
           them
           at
           their
           flying
           backs
           repell
           :
        
         
           For
           (
           Iuno
           did
           his
           minde
           and
           might
           augment
           )
        
         
           'Gainst
           Halys
           next
           and
           Phegeus
           both
           he
           bent
        
         
           His
           Martiall
           rage
           ,
           and
           those
           that
           on
           the
           wall
        
         
           Were
           fighting
           fierce
           ,
           not
           knowing
           ought
           at
           all
        
         
           What
           he
           had
           done
           below
           ,
           there
           dead
           he
           laid
           ;
        
         
           
             Alcander
             ,
             Halius
             ,
             Prytanis
          
           ,
           he
           made
        
         
           Deaths
           underlings
           :
           and
           whiles
           that
           Lynceus
           stout
        
         
           Did
           bravely
           fight
           ,
           and
           recollect
           the
           rout
        
         
           Of
           flying
           mates
           ,
           and
           o're
           the
           trenches
           vvent
           ,
        
         
           He
           him
           with
           brandisht
           sword
           did
           soon
           prevent
           ,
        
         
           And
           hand
           to
           hand
           fighting
           ,
           with
           one
           fierce
           blow
        
         
           Cut
           off
           his
           head
           ,
           and
           helm
           and
           corps
           laid
           low
           :
        
         
           Then
           valiant
           Amycus
           he
           set
           upon
           ,
        
         
           A
           hunter
           brave
           ,
           then
           whom
           there
           was
           not
           one
        
         
           More
           fortunate
           ,
           or
           of
           more
           art
           and
           skill
           ,
        
         
           Who
           us'd
           wilde-beasts
           with
           pois'ned
           darts
           to
           kill
           .
        
         
           And
           Clytius
           and
           Aeolides
           he
           slew
           ,
        
         
           And
           Cretea
           ,
           friend
           unto
           Parnassus
           crew
           ;
        
         
           The
           Muses
           mate
           Cretea
           ,
           whose
           delight
        
         
           VVas
           on
           rare
           instruments
           his
           layes
           t'
           indite
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           his
           harp
           melodious
           songs
           to
           sing
        
         
           Of
           steeds
           ,
           of
           warres
           ,
           and
           facts
           of
           many
           a
           king
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           at
           last
           the
           Trojan
           lord
           did
           heare
        
         
           The
           slaughters
           great
           which
           'mongst
           the
           souldiers
           were
           ;
        
         
           Mnesth●us
           and
           stout
           Serestus
           thither
           went
           ,
        
         
           And
           saw
           their
           men
           with
           frights
           and
           feares
           nigh
           spent
           ,
        
         
           And
           yet
           their
           foe
           enclos'd
           .
           Straight
           Mnestheus
           said
           ;
        
         
           Sirs
           ,
           whither
           flie
           ye
           ,
           scud
           ye
           ,
           thus
           afraid
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           better
           walls
           or
           bulwarks
           would
           ye
           have
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           ?
           shall
           one
           single
           man
           you
           thus
           outbrave
           ?
        
         
           And
           even
           within
           your
           citie-walls
           surrounded
           ,
        
         
         
           Shall
           so
           many
           by
           slaughter
           be
           confounded
        
         
           Within
           your
           town
           ,
           and
           he
           unpunisht
           go
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           he
           so
           many
           choice
           youths
           overthrow
           ?
        
         
           Shame
           ye
           not
           thus
           extreamly
           to
           disgrace
        
         
           Your
           most
           unhappie
           woefull
           countrey●
           case
           !
        
         
           Your
           houshold
           Gods
           and
           your
           Aeneas
           great
           !
        
         
           Do
           you
           not
           blush
           at
           such
           a
           base
           retreat
           ?
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           fired
           with
           these
           words
           ,
           stand
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           great
           heaps
           conglomerate
           at
           last
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           thereat
           shrinks
           backward
           by
           degrees
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           that
           side
           retreats
           ,
           on
           which
           he
           sees
        
         
           The
           fluent
           floud
           to
           run
           .
           The
           Trojans
           ,
           they
        
         
           So
           much
           the
           fiercelier
           force
           him
           on
           that
           way
           ;
        
         
           And
           with
           great
           shouts
           their
           companies
           augment
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           troop
           of
           men
           ,
           vvho
           having
           pent
        
         
           A
           furious
           lion
           ,
           and
           vvith
           swords
           beset
           ,
        
         
           He
           therewith
           terrifi'de
           doth
           rage
           and
           f●e●
           :
        
         
           Shielding
           all
           sharp
           assaults
           ,
           he
           back
           doth
           stride
           ,
        
         
           But
           neither
           rage
           nor
           courage
           can
           abide
        
         
           To
           turn
           the
           back
           and
           flie
           ,
           nor
           yet
           t'
           oppose
        
         
           (
           Being
           over-charg'd
           with
           troops
           )
           he
           hardly
           knows
           .
        
         
           This
           though
           he
           would
           and
           could
           ,
           yet
           may
           't
           not
           be
           ;
        
         
           Therefore
           through
           foes
           and
           swords
           way
           forceth
           he
           :
        
         
           Directly
           thus
           doth
           Turnus
           back
           retire
           ,
        
         
           With
           doubtfull
           ,
           yet
           undaunted
           steps
           ;
           with
           ire
        
         
           His
           heart
           is
           heated
           :
           as
           thus
           slow
           he
           goes
           ,
        
         
           He
           twice
           assaults
           the
           thickest
           of
           his
           foes
           :
        
         
           And
           twice
           by
           flight
           about
           the
           walls
           them
           frighted
           :
        
         
           But
           now
           from
           all
           their
           tents
           the
           troops
           united
           ,
        
         
           Against
           whose
           force
           not
           Iuno's
           self
           suffic'd
           :
        
         
           Iove
           therefore
           airie
           Iri●
           straight
           advis'd
        
         
           With
           taunting
           terms
           to
           tell
           his
           sister
           faire
           ,
        
         
         
           That
           some
           should
           smart
           ,
           if
           she
           took
           not
           quick
           care
           ,
        
         
           To
           hasten
           Turnus
           from
           the
           Trojan
           towers
           .
        
         
           With
           targe
           therefore
           he
           could
           not
           shield
           the
           showers
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           with
           his
           hand
           resist
           the
           Trojans
           blows
           ,
        
         
           So
           thick
           flew
           shafts
           about
           :
           so
           hotly
           grows
        
         
           The
           fight
           ,
           that
           arrows
           seem
           him
           to
           o'rewhelm
           ,
        
         
           And
           tinckling
           tangs
           make
           on
           his
           hollow
           helm
           :
        
         
           And
           storms
           of
           stones
           his
           brazen
           cap
           so
           batter
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           plumy
           crest
           so
           teare
           and
           shatter
           ,
        
         
           That
           all
           the
           brazen
           bosses
           prove
           too
           weak
           ,
        
         
           But
           that
           their
           thick
           quick
           blows
           it
           bruise
           and
           break
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           still
           their
           rage
           ingeminate
           :
        
         
           With
           speare
           and
           shield
           Mnestheus
           do●h
           fulminate
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           body
           o're
           is
           on
           a
           sweat
           .
        
         
           Hence
           Turnus
           takes
           no
           breath
           from
           toiles
           most
           great
           ▪
        
         
           But
           clammy
           drops
           of
           pichy
           sweat
           distill
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           tired
           joynts
           with
           fainting
           fill
           :
        
         
           So
           that
           at
           last
           himself
           he
           headlong
           throws
        
         
           Into
           the
           river
           (
           spight
           of
           all
           his
           foes
           )
        
         
           VVhose
           flouds
           him
           friendly
           took
           ,
           and
           smoothly
           glide
           ,
        
         
           And
           set
           him
           safe
           with
           's
           mates
           on
           th'
           other
           side
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             nineth
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             tenth
             book
             .
          
           
             The
             Gods
             convoke
             a
             parliament
             ,
          
           
             'Bout
             mans
             affaires
             their
             cares
             are
             bent
             .
          
           
             Rutulians
             do
             the
             fight
             maintain
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             now
             returns
             again
          
           
             Vnto
             his
             mates
             ,
             with
             ample
             aid
             .
          
           
             On
             both
             sides
             fierce
             assaults
             are
             made
             ▪
          
           
             In
             battell
             
               Turnus
               Pallas
            
             slayes
             ,
          
           
             And
             numbers
             dead
             about
             him
             layes
             .
          
           
             But
             Juno
             snatcheth
             Turnus
             thence
             ,
          
           
             Endanger'd
             by
             his
             violence
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             with
             most
             Martiall
             might
          
           
             Doth
             with
             Mezentius
             fiercely
             fight
             .
          
           
             Lausus
             his
             sonne
             him
             rescuing
             ,
             dies
             :
          
           
             Mezentius
             self
             is
             slain
             likewise
             .
          
        
         
           MEanwhile
           olympus
           day-light
           doores
           stand
           wide
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           great
           Iove
           ,
           Gods
           sire
           ,
           and
           mans
           grave
           guide
           ,
        
         
           A
           councel
           calls
           in
           his
           stelliferous
           seat
           .
        
         
           From
           whence
           he
           views
           vast
           earth
           and
           trenches
           great
        
         
           Of
           Trojans
           ,
           and
           the
           lofty
           Latines
           rout
           ,
        
         
           As
           i'
           th'
           two-gated
           hall
           they
           sate
           about
           .
        
         
           Iove
           thus
           begins
           ;
           Great
           Gods
           ,
           what
           mean
           ye
           so
        
         
           Against
           your
           own
           decrees
           thus
           crosse
           to
           go
           ?
        
         
           VVhy
           strive
           ye
           partially
           against
           our
           fates
           ?
        
         
           I
           had
           forbidden
           Latium
           all
           debates
        
         
           Against
           the
           Trojans
           :
           then
           ,
           vvhat
           discontent
        
         
         
           Is
           this
           ,
           thus
           rais'd
           'gainst
           our
           commandement
           ?
        
         
           What
           fretfull
           feare
           does
           those
           ,
           or
           these
           incense
           ,
        
         
           To
           use
           their
           swords
           and
           shields
           with
           violence
           ?
        
         
           A
           time
           will
           come
           (
           you
           need
           not
           call
           for
           it
           )
        
         
           For
           just
           provoked
           battells
           farre
           more
           fit
           :
        
         
           When
           as
           curst
           Carthage
           shall
           Rome
           sore
           infest
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           her
           Alpean
           powers
           her
           much
           molest
           ;
        
         
           Then
           may
           your
           rage
           rush
           out
           ,
           with
           bloud
           embrew'd
           :
        
         
           But
           now
           forbeare
           ,
           and
           kindely
           peace
           conclude
           .
        
         
           Thus
           briefly
           Iove
           :
           but
           golden
           Venus
           faire
        
         
           Replies
           more
           largely
           ,
           being
           full
           of
           care
           .
        
         
           Great
           fire
           of
           mortalls
           and
           of
           Gods
           supernall
           ,
        
         
           The
           mightie
           moderatour
           ,
           wise
           ,
           eternall
           ;
        
         
           (
           For
           ,
           but
           thy
           power
           ,
           what
           else
           may
           more
           be
           had
           ?
           )
        
         
           Thou
           seest
           how
           Rutuls
           rage
           ,
           Turnus
           growes
           mad
           ,
        
         
           Amidst
           fierce
           troops
           of
           horse
           made
           proudly
           glad
        
         
           In
           his
           successefull
           warre
           :
           the
           Trojans
           all
        
         
           Scarcely
           secure
           in
           their
           enclosing
           wall
           :
        
         
           Nay
           even
           within
           their
           walls
           and
           trenches
           strong
        
         
           Their
           foes
           fight
           safely
           ,
           fiercely
           on
           them
           throng
           ,
        
         
           Making
           their
           ditches
           gore-bloud
           inundations
           :
        
         
           Absent
           Aeneas
           ,
           of
           these
           desolations
        
         
           Utterly
           ignorant
           .
           Ah
           ,
           shall
           they
           ever
        
         
           In
           strict
           besiegements
           restlessely
           persever
           ?
        
         
           And
           must
           their
           foes
           again
           spoile
           springing
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           Another
           Grecian
           armie
           them
           annoy
           ?
        
         
           And
           must
           a
           second
           Diomedes
           rise
        
         
           Against
           my
           Trojans
           ?
           Sure
           (
           I
           think
           )
           thine
           eyes
        
         
           Behold
           my
           wounds
           :
           yet
           I
           thy
           heaven-born
           childe
           ,
        
         
           With
           mortall
           battells
           am
           still
           much
           turmoil'd
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           without
           thy
           leave
           or
           fates
           consent
        
         
           To
           Italie
           they
           came
           ,
           as
           insolent
           ;
        
         
         
           Then
           let
           them
           smart
           ,
           and
           strip
           them
           of
           all
           aid
           :
        
         
           But
           if
           they
           have
           the
           oracles
           obey'd
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           Gods
           and
           ghosts
           unto
           them
           oft
           have
           given
           ;
        
         
           VVhy
           then
           hath
           any
           thus
           against
           them
           striven
        
         
           To
           crosse
           thy
           great
           decrees
           ?
           new
           fates
           to
           finde
           ?
        
         
           O
           why
           should
           I
           our
           fir'd
           fleet
           call
           to
           minde
        
         
           In
           Sicils
           shore
           ?
           or
           how
           that
           blustring
           king
        
         
           Did
           from
           Aeolia
           windes
           and
           tempests
           bring
           ,
        
         
           And
           painted
           ladie
           Iris
           forc'd
           from
           skies
           ?
        
         
           And
           now
           at
           last
           she
           made
           hells
           hags
           to
           rise
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           this
           way
           onely
           unattempted
           stay'd
           )
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           heavens
           Alecto
           rise
           she
           made
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           on
           a
           sudden
           through
           all
           Italie
        
         
           Did
           madly
           rage
           ,
           and
           rouse
           up
           crueltie
           .
        
         
           I
           'm
           not
           much
           mov'd
           at
           's
           empire
           :
           that
           's
           well
           ta'ne
           ,
        
         
           VVhiles
           fortune
           smil'd
           :
           Whom
           thou
           wilt
           ,
           let
           him
           reigne
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           thy
           froward
           wife
           no
           land
           can
           spare
        
         
           Unto
           my
           Trojans
           ;
           yet
           great
           father
           faire
           ,
        
         
           By
           Troyes
           yet
           smoaky
           cinders
           I
           thee
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Grant
           that
           my
           nephew
           ,
           my
           Ascanius
           ,
           may
        
         
           Survive
           in
           safety
           ,
           free
           from
           piercing
           arms
           :
        
         
           As
           for
           Aeneas
           ,
           let
           him
           feel
           the
           harms
        
         
           Of
           unknown
           tossing
           waves
           and
           billowing
           seas
           ,
        
         
           And
           wander
           where
           thou
           wilt
           ,
           if
           so
           thou
           please
           :
        
         
           But
           let
           me
           save
           his
           sonne
           from
           warres
           dire
           woes
           .
        
         
           I
           have
           faire
           cities
           fit
           for
           safe
           repose
           ,
        
         
           Paphos
           and
           Amathus
           ,
           and
           Cythera
           ,
        
         
           Idalia
           faire
           ,
           thither
           repaire
           he
           may
           ;
        
         
           There
           leaving
           arms
           ,
           lead
           an
           ignoble
           life
           :
        
         
           Then
           may'st
           thou
           Carthage
           cause
           with
           Martiall
           strife
        
         
           To
           vex
           all
           Italie
           :
           nought
           can
           oppose
        
         
           (
           If
           this
           may
           be
           )
           their
           Carthaginian
           foes
           .
        
         
         
           To
           what
           end
           hath
           he
           scapt
           warres
           mischiefs
           past
           ?
        
         
           Why
           hath
           he
           fled
           through
           Grecian
           flames
           at
           last
           ?
        
         
           Why
           hath
           he
           shun'd
           so
           many
           dangers
           great
           ,
        
         
           Which
           lands
           and
           swallowing
           seas
           did
           to
           him
           threat
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           he
           and
           his
           poore
           
             Trojans
             Latium
          
           sought
           ,
        
         
           And
           Pergams
           walls
           t'
           have
           re-erected
           thought
           ?
        
         
           Had
           it
           not
           better
           been
           t'
           have
           stay'd
           in
           Troy
           ,
        
         
           And
           seen
           their
           countreys
           burning
           ,
           last
           annoy
           ?
        
         
           Sweet
           fire
           ,
           let
           me
           thee
           for
           my
           Trojans
           pray
           ,
        
         
           That
           they
           to
           Xanthus
           streams
           ,
           and
           Simois
           may
        
         
           Return
           again
           :
           revert
           ,
           I
           thee
           Intreat
           ,
        
         
           To
           Trojans
           poore
           their
           toils
           and
           travells
           great
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           queen
           Iuno
           grew
           most
           passionate
           ,
        
         
           And
           unto
           Venus
           thus
           she
           burst
           out
           straight
           ;
        
         
           Why
           from
           deep
           silence
           do
           you
           me
           constrain
           ,
        
         
           And
           force
           me
           my
           hid
           griefs
           rip
           up
           again
           ?
        
         
           Did
           any
           ,
           either
           God
           or
           man
           ,
           compell
        
         
           Your
           sonne
           Aeneas
           unto
           battells
           fell
           ?
        
         
           Or
           for
           to
           make
           king
           Latine
           thus
           his
           foe
           ?
        
         
           The
           fates
           (
           you
           say
           )
           to
           Latium
           forc'd
           you
           go
           :
        
         
           VVell
           ,
           be
           it
           so
           ;
           yet
           I
           say
           otherwise
           ,
        
         
           Cassandra
           forc'd
           him
           with
           mad
           fooleries
           .
        
         
           And
           yet
           did
           we
           him
           from
           his
           tents
           entice
           ?
        
         
           Endanger'd
           he
           his
           life
           through
           our
           advise
           ,
        
         
           By
           windes
           ,
           at
           sea
           ?
           did
           we
           his
           sonne
           incite
        
         
           Fierce
           warre
           to
           wage
           ,
           or
           on
           town-walls
           to
           fight
           ?
        
         
           To
           make
           a
           league
           with
           adverse
           Tuscanes
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Or
           peacefull
           nations
           ,
           thus
           with
           warres
           burst
           out
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           God
           enforc'd
           this
           fraud
           ?
           what
           did
           our
           might
           ?
        
         
           VVhere
           now
           was
           
             Iuno
             ?
             Iris
          
           cloudie
           flight
           ?
        
         
           You
           say
           't
           is
           pitie
           Italie
           should
           fire
        
         
           Your
           Trojan
           town
           ,
           which
           did
           new
           life
           acquire
           ;
        
         
         
           That
           Turnus
           should
           his
           native
           land
           maintain
           ,
        
         
           Where
           's
           granfather
           Pilumnus
           once
           did
           reigne
           ▪
        
         
           And
           where
           his
           mother
           ,
           faire
           Venilia
        
         
           The
           Goddesse
           ,
           dwelt
           .
           And
           why
           is
           't
           not
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           As
           great
           a
           pity
           that
           with
           bloudy
           broile
        
         
           Your
           Trojans
           should
           infest
           our
           Latines
           soile
           ?
        
         
           To
           plow
           in
           others
           fields
           ,
           to
           catch
           the
           prey
           ?
        
         
           From
           mothers
           bosomes
           thus
           to
           steal
           a
           way
        
         
           Betrothed
           virgins
           ,
           wives
           by
           force
           t'
           obtain
           ?
        
         
           Pray
           peace
           ,
           by
           legates
           ,
           yet
           warres
           prae-ordain
           ?
        
         
           You
           could
           Aeneas
           from
           Greeks
           arms
           protect
           ,
        
         
           Put
           for
           a
           man.
           a
           cloud
           ;
           slight
           aire
           inject
           ;
        
         
           And
           to
           so
           many
           nymphs
           transform
           your
           fleet
           :
        
         
           Yet
           must
           it
           be
           supposed
           most
           unmeet
        
         
           For
           ours
           also
           your
           way
           ,
           their
           weal
           to
           meet
           ?
        
         
           Your
           sonne
           Aeneas
           ,
           absent
           ,
           knowes
           not
           ought
           ;
        
         
           Still
           may
           he
           absent
           be
           ,
           and
           still
           know
           nought
           :
        
         
           You
           have
           a
           Paphos
           and
           Cythera
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Why
           do
           you
           not
           then
           our
           fierce
           people
           spare
           ?
        
         
           Whose
           hearts
           and
           homes
           are
           big
           with
           bloudy
           broiles
           ,
        
         
           And
           once
           spurr'd
           up
           will
           hardly
           cease
           from
           spoiles
           .
        
         
           Was
           't
           we
           that
           first
           o'return'd
           Troyes
           triviall
           treasure
           ?
        
         
           Was
           't
           we
           ,
           or
           he
           ,
           that
           for
           his
           lustfull
           pleasure
        
         
           Brought
           Greeks
           to
           your
           poore
           Trojans
           ?
           what
           's
           the
           cause
           ,
        
         
           That
           
             Europe
             ,
             Asia
          
           ,
           with
           warres
           greedy
           jaws
        
         
           Devoure
           each
           other
           ,
           marriage-rites
           being
           broke
        
         
           By
           filtching
           filthie
           lust
           ?
           did
           I
           provoke
        
         
           Th'
           adulterer
           of
           Troy
           the
           Spartane
           dame
        
         
           To
           force
           with
           him
           ?
           did
           I
           incense
           the
           flame
        
         
           Of
           warre
           with
           violence
           and
           venerie
           ?
        
         
           Then
           had
           it
           fitter
           been
           thus
           fearefullie
        
         
           Their
           cases
           to
           condole
           :
           now
           't
           is
           too
           late
        
         
         
           To
           use
           such
           coyn'd
           complaints
           ,
           t'
           ejaculate
        
         
           Such
           unjust
           janglings
           .
           Iuno
           thus
           reply'd
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           words
           the
           sacred
           synod
           did
           divide
        
         
           In
           various
           votes
           :
           much
           like
           the
           bustling
           winde
           ,
        
         
           First
           puffing
           in
           a
           wood
           ,
           by
           boughs
           confin'd
           ,
        
         
           Makes
           a
           close
           rumbling
           murmure
           ;
           whence
           ,
           unknown
           :
        
         
           Whereby
           fierce
           following
           storms
           are
           sea-men
           shown
           .
        
         
           Iupiter
           then
           ,
           who
           had
           prime
           power
           to
           speak
           ,
        
         
           From
           further
           silence
           now
           began
           to
           break
           .
        
         
           Who
           speaking
           ,
           all
           the
           court
           of
           Gods
           was
           still
           :
        
         
           Earth
           trembled
           ,
           aire
           did
           cease
           all
           echoing
           shrill
           :
        
         
           Fierce
           VVestern-windes
           ,
           rough
           ocean-waves
           were
           laid
           .
        
         
           Mark
           well
           therefore
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           what
           now
           is
           said
           .
        
         
           Since
           Trojans
           and
           Italians
           may
           not
           be
        
         
           VVith
           links
           of
           love
           ,
           in
           one
           made
           to
           agree
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           any
           hope
           we
           have
           to
           end
           your
           jarres
           :
        
         
           What-ever
           hope
           or
           hap
           ye
           have
           in
           warres
           ,
        
         
           Enjoy
           the
           same
           on
           both
           sides
           :
           but
           to
           me
        
         
           
             Trojans
             ,
             Rutulians
          
           ,
           both
           alike
           shall
           be
           :
        
         
           So
           't
           shall
           be
           seen
           ,
           whether
           by
           destinie
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           get
           firm
           ground
           in
           Italie
           ;
        
         
           Or
           whether
           by
           an
           impious
           errour
           led
           ,
        
         
           And
           sinister
           conceipts
           they
           ventured
           .
        
         
           I
           'le
           neither
           Trojans
           nor
           Rutulians
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           For
           either
           side
           shall
           his
           own
           travells
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           follow
           his
           own
           fortunes
           ,
           shame
           or
           fame
           :
        
         
           Great
           Iove
           their
           king
           will
           be
           to
           both
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           The
           fates
           will
           finde
           a
           way
           .
           This
           here
           I
           vow
           ,
        
         
           By
           my
           beloved
           brothers
           Stygian
           slow
           ,
        
         
           By
           all
           those
           pichy
           flouds
           and
           banks
           most
           black
           .
        
         
           VVhereat
           he
           beckt
           ,
           and
           with
           a
           thunder-crack
        
         
           Olympus
           totall
           frame
           extreamly
           trembled
           .
        
         
         
           Here
           ceast
           the
           parle
           of
           all
           the
           Gods
           assembled
           .
        
         
           Then
           mightie
           Iove
           rose
           from
           his
           golden
           throne
           ,
        
         
           By
           all
           the
           Gods
           to
           's
           station
           tended
           on
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           the
           Rutules
           'bout
           the
           gates
           were
           spread
           ,
        
         
           Much
           men
           were
           slain
           ,
           the
           walls
           were
           oft
           fired
           :
        
         
           VVithin
           theirtrenches
           Trojan
           bands
           were
           bound
           ,
        
         
           And
           hard
           besieg'd
           :
           no
           hope
           of
           flight
           was
           found
           :
        
         
           And
           poorely
           on
           their
           forts
           in
           vain
           they
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           fence
           their
           walls
           with
           a
           thin
           thrivelesse
           band
           .
        
         
           
             Asius
             Imbrasius
          
           sonne
           ,
           Thymaetes
           stout
        
         
           Hictaons
           sonne
           ,
           two
           Trojans
           stood
           about
           ;
        
         
           Two
           of
           king
           Tros
           his
           sonnes
           ,
           and
           Caster
           old
           ,
        
         
           The
           forefront
           kept
           ,
           with
           the
           two
           brothers
           bold
        
         
           Of
           great
           Sarpedon
           ;
           and
           Ethimon
           brave
        
         
           From
           Lycia
           land
           :
           these
           them
           attendance
           gave
           .
        
         
           Then
           
             Phrygian
             Acmon
          
           ,
           sonne
           of
           Clytius
           great
           ,
        
         
           Brother
           to
           Mnestheus
           ,
           for
           his
           Martiall
           heat
        
         
           Equall
           to
           either
           ,
           with
           huge
           might
           and
           art
        
         
           Took
           up
           a
           mightie
           stone
           ,
           a
           mounts
           best
           part
           .
        
         
           These
           strive
           with
           stones
           those
           to
           defend
           with
           shafts
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           wilde-fire
           balls
           ,
           and
           bow-mens
           sinowy
           drafts
           .
        
         
           Himself
           i'
           th'
           midst
           ,
           faire
           Venus
           darling
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Ascanius
           young
           ,
           bare-headed
           did
           appeare
           ;
        
         
           (
           Much
           like
           a
           precious
           pearle
           fast
           fixt
           in
           gold
           ,
        
         
           Gracing
           ones
           head
           or
           neck
           ,
           rare
           to
           behold
           :
        
         
           Or
           as
           white
           ivorie
           in
           black
           ebonie
           ,
        
         
           Inlaid
           by
           art
           ,
           glisters
           resplendentlie
           )
        
         
           His
           milk-white
           neck
           with
           dangling
           locks
           o're-spread
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           wreathed
           up
           in
           folds
           with
           golden
           thred
           .
        
         
           The
           noble
           nations
           
             (
             Ismarus
          
           )
           thee
           saw
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           poysoned
           shafts
           mens
           hearts-bloud
           out
           to
           draw
           .
        
         
           Thou
           peerelesse
           prince
           ,
           sprung
           from
           faire
           Lydia's
           land
           ,
        
         
         
           Where
           Pactolus
           yeelds
           gold
           ,
           a
           fruitfull
           strand
           .
        
         
           Mnestheus
           was
           also
           there
           ,
           whose
           grace
           was
           great
           ,
        
         
           Who
           from
           their
           forts
           did
           Turnus
           lately
           beat
           .
        
         
           And
           Capys
           from
           Capua's
           town
           took
           name
           ,
        
         
           They
           by
           fierce
           blows
           contending
           thus
           for
           fame
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           crost
           the
           foamy
           seas
           by
           night
           .
        
         
           For
           when
           he
           parted
           from
           Euanders
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           Etruria
           came
           ,
           he
           met
           the
           king
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           king
           related
           every
           thing
           ;
        
         
           His
           name
           and
           nation
           ,
           whence
           and
           why
           he
           came
           ,
        
         
           What
           strength
           Mezentius
           did
           unto
           him
           frame
           ,
        
         
           King
           Turnus
           turbulence
           ;
           mans
           fickle
           state
           ;
        
         
           To
           shun
           delayes
           ,
           he
           then
           doth
           supplicate
           .
        
         
           Tarchon
           conjoynes
           his
           powers
           ,
           firm
           league
           doth
           make
           ;
        
         
           Then
           they
           a
           forrain
           captain
           to
           them
           take
           ,
        
         
           Freed
           from
           all
           fault
           therein
           ,
           by
           destinie
           :
        
         
           And
           so
           a
           ship-board
           went
           immediately
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           ships
           the
           vantguard
           led
           along
           ,
        
         
           The
           foredecks
           deckt
           with
           Phrygian
           lions
           strong
           :
        
         
           Whose
           poop
           with
           Ida's
           painted
           mount
           was
           graced
           ,
        
         
           A
           gratefull
           guarding
           signe
           to
           Trojans
           chased
           .
        
         
           There
           great
           Aeneas
           sate
           ,
           casting
           in
           minde
           ,
        
         
           Warres
           various
           events
           he
           's
           like
           to
           finde
           .
        
         
           Prince
           Pallas
           with
           him
           sate
           on
           his
           left
           side
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           night
           starres
           he
           gaz'd
           ,
           their
           ships
           to
           guide
           :
        
         
           Thinking
           what
           land
           and
           sea-toiles
           he
           did
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           set
           ope
           (
           ye
           sacred
           Muses
           nine
           )
        
         
           Sweet
           Helicons
           faire
           fount
           ,
           with
           power
           divine
           ,
        
         
           To
           raise
           my
           layes
           to
           sing
           and
           shew
           the
           might
        
         
           Which
           in
           Aeneas
           aid
           came
           now
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           From
           faire
           Etruria
           bravely
           armed
           all
           ,
        
         
           Transported
           over
           sea
           in
           ships
           most
           tall
           .
        
         
         
           Prince
           Massicus
           in
           's
           golden
           tiger
           sails
           :
        
         
           With
           him
           a
           thousand
           youths
           from
           Clusus
           dales
           ,
        
         
           And
           Cosa's
           confines
           ,
           skilfull
           at
           the
           bow
           ,
        
         
           Death-wounding
           shafts
           to
           shoot
           ,
           and
           darts
           to
           throw
           .
        
         
           Fierce
           Abas
           in
           another
           vessell
           went
           ,
        
         
           VVhereon
           Apollo's
           figure
           excellent
        
         
           Glistered
           with
           golden
           rayes
           .
           His
           totall
           rout
        
         
           VVas
           full
           six
           hundred
           Martiall
           souldiers
           stout
           ,
        
         
           From
           Populonia
           their
           faire
           native
           soile
           :
        
         
           All
           expert
           youths
           ,
           and
           fit
           for
           fight
           and
           spoile
           .
        
         
           From
           Ilva
           faire
           three
           hundred
           gallants
           came
           ,
        
         
           A
           fertile
           countrey
           ,
           mettals
           strong
           to
           frame
           .
        
         
           Asylas
           a
           southsayer
           the
           third
           place
           had
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           divinations
           ,
           birds
           and
           beasts
           were
           glad
           ,
        
         
           And
           starres
           above
           ,
           obediently
           to
           heare
           ,
        
         
           And
           rapid
           lightnings
           all
           his
           votes
           to
           cleare
           .
        
         
           An
           armie
           of
           a
           thousand
           thick
           he
           led
           ,
        
         
           At
           lances
           long
           and
           strong
           experienced
           .
        
         
           All
           these
           from
           fluent
           
             Alphins
             Pisas
          
           came
           ,
        
         
           A
           Tuscane
           town
           ,
           readie
           to
           purchase
           fame
           :
        
         
           Next
           whom
           came
           on
           renowned
           Astur
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Astur
           ,
           for
           riding
           horses
           ,
           expert
           ,
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Arm'd
           with
           most
           curious
           ,
           various
           colour'd
           arms
           .
        
         
           Three
           hundred
           of
           them
           (
           prompt
           for
           fierce
           alarms
           )
        
         
           Bred
           up
           in
           Caerets
           soil
           by
           Minions
           lands
           ,
        
         
           Old
           Pyrgus
           and
           ill-air'd
           Gravisca's
           strands
           .
        
         
           Nor
           may
           I
           thee
           omit
           ,
           great
           Cycnus
           strong
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           bravely
           thy
           Ligurians
           led'st
           along
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           thee
           ,
           Cupavo
           ,
           with
           thy
           armie
           small
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           helmets
           height
           was
           rais'd
           with
           swans-plumes
           ;
           tall
        
         
           Your
           love
           your
           guilt
           began
           ,
           and
           cognizance
           .
        
         
           For
           Cycnus
           (
           as
           't
           is
           said
           )
           the
           dire
           mischance
        
         
         
           Of
           his
           beloved
           Phaëthon
           bewailing
           ,
        
         
           Among
           the
           poplars
           and
           the
           shades
           him
           vailing
        
         
           Of
           his
           deare
           leafie-sisters
           :
           as
           thus
           he
        
         
           Sate
           warbling
           out
           love-sighing
           melodie
           ,
        
         
           He
           turned
           was
           into
           a
           milk-white
           swan
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           the
           land
           and
           companie
           of
           man
           ,
        
         
           And
           flying
           up
           i'
           th'
           aire
           with
           chattering
           voice
           .
        
         
           His
           sonne
           in
           's
           ships
           led
           troops
           of
           equall
           choice
           ,
        
         
           And
           forc'd
           along
           with
           oares
           his
           centaure
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           thwacks
           the
           waves
           ,
           and
           seems
           huge
           rocks
           to
           threat
           ,
        
         
           Furrowing
           the
           mightie
           main
           with
           's
           vessell
           strong
           .
        
         
           VVhom
           Ocnus
           followed
           with
           an
           armie
           strong
        
         
           From
           's
           fathers
           realm
           ,
           esteem'd
           a
           southsayer
           wise
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           birth
           from
           Tuscane
           river
           did
           arise
           ,
        
         
           And
           Manto
           faire
           ;
           and
           to
           his
           mothers
           fame
        
         
           The
           town
           and
           towres
           he
           Mantua
           did
           name
           ;
        
         
           Mantua
           mightie
           in
           progenitours
           ,
        
         
           But
           yet
           not
           all
           from
           lineall
           ancestours
           .
        
         
           This
           nation
           rul'd
           three
           tribes
           ,
           and
           under
           them
        
         
           Foure
           mightie
           states
           made
           up
           that
           diadem
           :
        
         
           But
           this
           was
           the
           metropolis
           of
           all
           ,
        
         
           From
           Tuscanes
           bloud
           came
           their
           originall
           .
        
         
           And
           hence
           Mezentius
           'gainst
           himself
           did
           arm
        
         
           ●●ve
           hundred
           valiant
           sparks
           his
           pride
           to
           charm
           ;
        
         
           VVhom
           
             Mincius
             Benacs
          
           sonne
           ,
           cloath'd
           in
           ripe
           reeds
           ,
        
         
           In
           piercing
           pine-ships
           through
           rough
           seas
           proceeds
           ,
        
         
           And
           leads
           along
           .
           Next
           went
           Auletes
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           hundred
           branchie
           trees
           so
           slice
           each
           wave
           ,
        
         
           And
           roule
           the
           rising
           flouds
           with
           restlesse
           roare
           ,
        
         
           As
           that
           they
           boile
           with
           foam
           at
           rocky
           shore
           .
        
         
           Him
           terrifying
           Triton
           strongly
           bare
           ,
        
         
           Set
           in
           's
           sea-frighting
           coerule
           shelly
           chaire
           ,
        
         
         
           Whose
           upper
           parts
           from
           face
           unto
           the
           breast
           ,
        
         
           Though
           rough
           and
           hairie
           ,
           yet
           mans
           form
           exprest
           :
        
         
           From
           belly
           downward
           ,
           a
           sea-monster
           foule
           ,
        
         
           Who
           as
           he
           swims
           with
           fins
           ,
           the
           waves
           doth
           roule
        
         
           Under
           his
           half-wilde
           breast
           ,
           with
           rumbling
           roares
           ,
        
         
           And
           foule
           slime-foamie
           billows
           to
           the
           shores
           .
        
         
           So
           many
           peeres
           in
           thirtie
           ships
           did
           sail
           ,
        
         
           And
           plow
           the
           liquid
           soile
           ,
           for
           Troyes
           avail
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           day
           spent
           ,
           and
           night
           comne
           on
           apace
           ,
        
         
           Night-gadding
           Cynthia
           with
           her
           whitely
           face
        
         
           Having
           past
           half
           the
           heavens
           in
           chariot
           faire
           ;
        
         
           Aeneas
           (
           for
           he
           takes
           no
           rest
           for
           care
           )
        
         
           Sitting
           himself
           ,
           the
           helm
           holds
           ,
           sails
           does
           tend
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           they
           now
           i'
           th'
           midway
           onward
           bend
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           the
           troop
           of
           sea-nymphs
           ,
           once
           ship-mates
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           faire
           Berecy●thi●
           ordinates
        
         
           Seas
           soveraigntie
           ,
           of
           ships
           ,
           them
           having
           made
        
         
           So
           many
           nymphs
           :
           these
           swimming
           to
           him
           ,
           stayd
           ;
        
         
           As
           many
           as
           at
           shore
           (
           when
           ships
           )
           did
           stand
           ,
        
         
           So
           many
           know
           their
           king
           ,
           and
           hand
           in
           hand
        
         
           About
           them
           dancing
           swimme
           :
           of
           all
           which
           train
           ,
        
         
           Cymodocea
           ,
           ablest
           to
           explain
        
         
           And
           speak
           their
           mindes
           ,
           coming
           behinde
           them
           all
           ,
        
         
           With
           her
           right
           hand
           holds
           fast
           the
           ship
           most
           tall
        
         
           I'
           th'
           poop
           thereof
           ,
           raising
           herself
           up●ight
           ,
        
         
           With
           her
           left
           hand
           fleering
           her
           passage
           s●ight
           .
        
         
           Thus
           to
           him
           then
           unknown
           the
           sea-nymph
           spake
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           Goddesse
           sonne
           ,
           Aeneas
           ,
           art
           th'awake
           ?
        
         
           Awake
           then
           still
           ,
           slacken
           thy
           ropes
           to
           sails
           ,
        
         
           Give
           way
           to
           winde
           ,
           enjoy
           these
           goodly
           gales
           .
        
         
           We
           once
           were
           sacred
           Ida's
           pine-trees
           faire
           ,
        
         
           But
           now
           to
           nymphs
           we
           metamorphiz'd
           are
           :
        
         
         
           We
           were
           thy
           fleet
           ,
           till
           thy
           perfidious
           foe
           ,
        
         
           Rutulian
           rough
           ,
           sought
           us
           to
           overthrow
        
         
           With
           fire
           and
           sword
           ;
           whereat
           (
           though
           'gainst
           our
           minde
           )
        
         
           We
           brake
           our
           bonds
           ,
           our
           safety
           so
           to
           finde
           ;
        
         
           And
           now
           thus
           through
           the
           sea
           we
           thee
           have
           sought
           :
        
         
           Thy
           tender
           mother
           on
           us
           this
           form
           wrought
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           us
           (
           thus
           )
           sea-nymphs
           ,
           to
           spend
           our
           dayes
        
         
           Amongst
           the
           rocks
           in
           Neptunes
           watery
           wayes
           .
        
         
           As
           for
           thy
           childe
           Ascanius
           ,
           he
           is
           well
           ,
        
         
           And
           safe
           immur'd
           ,
           i'
           th'
           town
           and
           trench
           doth
           dwell
        
         
           '
           Midst
           deadly
           darts
           and
           Martiall
           Latines
           stout
           .
        
         
           Th'
           Arcadian
           troop
           of
           horsemen
           stirres
           not
           out
        
         
           From
           station
           set
           .
           One
           half
           of
           Turnus
           bands
        
         
           (
           Lest
           to
           the
           town
           they
           power
           unite
           )
           now
           stands
        
         
           Firmly
           resolv'd
           thee
           herein
           to
           prevent
           .
        
         
           Arise
           therefore
           ,
           in
           haste
           thy
           mates
           convent
           ,
        
         
           And
           set
           in
           battell-ray
           before
           sun-rise
           ;
        
         
           Thy
           all-proof
           target
           take
           to
           thee
           likewise
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           the
           ignipotent
           black
           Vulcan
           gave
           ,
        
         
           Impenetrable
           ,
           edg'd
           with
           gold
           most
           brave
           :
        
         
           For
           this
           next
           morning
           (
           if
           thou
           trust
           for
           true
        
         
           VVhat
           now
           I
           say
           )
           shall
           see
           thee
           to
           embrew
        
         
           Thy
           sword
           in
           bloud
           of
           thick
           Rutulians
           slain
           .
        
         
           Thus
           having
           said
           ,
           she
           shov'd
           with
           might
           and
           main
        
         
           His
           mightie
           ship
           ,
           at
           her
           departure
           thence
           ,
        
         
           In
           her
           known
           way
           ,
           which
           with
           fierce
           violence
        
         
           Flew
           through
           the
           floud
           ,
           more
           swift
           than
           shaft
           from
           bow
           ,
        
         
           Or
           nimble
           dart
           ,
           equalling
           windes
           that
           blow
           .
        
         
           And
           therewithall
           the
           ships
           fast
           after
           flie
           :
        
         
           This
           fact
           did
           
             Troyes
             Aeneas
          
           stupifie
           :
        
         
           The
           omen
           yet
           his
           heart
           exhilarates
           .
        
         
           Thus
           then
           to
           th'
           heavens
           he
           briefly
           supplicates
           ;
        
         
         
           Faire
           Ida's
           mother
           of
           Gods
           ,
           to
           whom
           poore
           Troy
        
         
           To
           save
           and
           shield
           is
           thy
           delight
           and
           joy
           ;
        
         
           Who
           towns
           and
           towres
           ,
           and
           lions
           fierce
           and
           strong
        
         
           Dost
           make
           to
           yeeld
           to
           yokes
           ;
           to
           thee
           belong
        
         
           The
           praises
           of
           my
           facts
           ,
           of
           this
           great
           fight
           ;
        
         
           Order
           this
           augure
           prosperously
           aright
           ;
        
         
           Stand
           to
           thy
           Trojans
           with
           auspicious
           aid
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           Goddesse
           ,
           I
           thee
           pray
           .
           This
           having
           said
           ,
        
         
           Meanwhile
           day
           light
           began
           now
           to
           wax
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           And
           night
           quite
           banisht
           ,
           all
           did
           bright
           appeare
           .
        
         
           First
           he
           his
           mates
           commands
           warres
           signes
           to
           watch
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           their
           harnesse
           strong
           their
           hearts
           to
           match
           ,
        
         
           To
           fit
           them
           for
           the
           fight
           .
           And
           now
           he
           had
        
         
           His
           Trojans
           and
           their
           camp
           in
           's
           sight
           ,
           most
           glad
           ,
        
         
           Standing
           aloof
           in
           's
           ship
           :
           whereat
           he
           rais'd
        
         
           With
           his
           left
           hand
           his
           shield
           ,
           which
           brightly
           blaz'd
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           from
           their
           walls
           ,
           who
           this
           did
           spie
           ,
        
         
           Do
           raise
           a
           clamour
           echoing
           to
           the
           skie
           :
        
         
           Hope
           kindlesse
           courage
           ,
           darts
           i'
           th'
           aire
           they
           fling
           ,
        
         
           Like
           Thracian
           cranes
           descending
           with
           strong
           wing
        
         
           From
           the
           high
           clouds
           ,
           all
           soaring
           in
           a
           train
        
         
           With
           cackling
           noise
           ,
           fierce
           tempests
           to
           refrain
           .
        
         
           But
           to
           the
           Rutuls
           king
           ,
           Italian
           state
           ,
        
         
           These
           wonders
           seem
           ,
           and
           them
           exanimate
           ;
        
         
           Untill
           at
           last
           to
           sea
           they
           cast
           their
           eye
           ,
        
         
           And
           see
           the
           ships
           fast
           to
           the
           shore
           to
           hie
           ;
        
         
           And
           with
           tall
           barks
           the
           sea
           all-over
           spread
           ,
        
         
           And
           burning
           crests
           and
           helm
           upon
           his
           head
           ,
        
         
           The
           golden
           bosses
           belching
           flames
           of
           fire
           :
        
         
           Much
           l●ke
           i'
           th'
           dewy
           night
           a
           comet
           dire
        
         
           Of
           hurtfull
           bloud-red
           hue
           ;
           or
           dog-starres
           heat
           ,
        
         
           Which
           drought
           and
           sicknesse
           sore
           to
           men
           doth
           threat
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           makes
           the
           skie
           to
           lowre
           ,
           and
           dimmes
           the
           light
           .
        
         
           But
           none
           of
           these
           stout
           Turnus
           heart
           could
           fright
           .
        
         
           But
           he
           must
           first
           the
           shore
           anticipate
           ,
        
         
           And
           these
           his
           foes
           from
           landing
           profligate
           .
        
         
           Whereto
           he
           cheeres
           the
           hearts
           ,
           he
           chides
           the
           stayes
        
         
           Of
           all
           his
           troops
           ,
           and
           freely
           thus
           he
           sayes
           ;
        
         
           What
           ye
           your selves
           desir'd
           ,
           now
           here
           ye
           have
           :
        
         
           Now
           use
           your
           hands
           therefore
           with
           courage
           brave
           ;
        
         
           For
           Mars
           himself
           the
           prey
           puts
           in
           your
           hands
           ,
        
         
           Remember
           now
           your
           vvives
           ,
           your
           goods
           ,
           your
           lands
           .
        
         
           The
           famous
           facts
           of
           ancestours
           recount
           ,
        
         
           And
           praises
           due
           ;
           let
           yours
           now
           theirs
           surmount
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           us
           freely
           them
           at
           shore
           assail
           ,
        
         
           Before
           they
           land
           ,
           now
           whiles
           their
           hearts
           them
           fail
           .
        
         
           Fortune
           befriends
           bold
           spirits
           .
           These
           words
           he
           spake
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvhom
           with
           him
           to
           lead
           ,
           great
           care
           doth
           take
           ,
        
         
           His
           sea-foes
           to
           invade
           ,
           to
           vvhom
           to
           leave
        
         
           The
           hedg'd-in
           town
           ,
           their
           hopes
           thus
           to
           deceive
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           Aeneas
           ,
           vvith
           ship-bridges
           faire
           ,
        
         
           To
           land
           his
           souldiers
           takes
           all
           speedie
           care
           :
        
         
           But
           many
           stay'd
           till
           calm
           seas
           flouds
           did
           flow
           ;
        
         
           Some
           leapt
           on
           studs
           and
           stakes
           ,
           thus
           out
           to
           go
        
         
           Upon
           their
           oares
           ;
           some
           to
           the
           shore
           make
           haste
           .
        
         
           Great
           Tarchon
           up
           and
           down
           the
           sea-banks
           trac'd
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           if
           he
           could
           spie
           fit
           place
           to
           land
           ,
        
         
           Secure
           from
           shallow
           shelves
           ,
           or
           swallowing
           sand
           .
        
         
           And
           vvhere
           no
           rigid
           surges
           did
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           But
           a
           smooth
           sea
           vvith
           swelling
           flouds
           made
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           A
           harmlesse
           passage
           ,
           there
           he
           suddenly
        
         
           Winding
           his
           ship
           ,
           thus
           to
           his
           mates
           did
           crie
           ;
        
         
           Now
           noble
           youths
           ,
           plie
           close
           your
           slicing
           oares
           ,
        
         
           Beare
           up
           your
           barks
           ,
           cut
           through
           these
           adverse
           shores
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           let
           our
           ship
           plow
           furrows
           deep
           in
           sand
           ,
        
         
           And
           break
           my
           bark
           ,
           so
           we
           may
           gain
           the
           land
           .
        
         
           Tarchon
           thus
           having
           said
           ,
           his
           ma●es
           with
           oares
           ,
        
         
           Through
           frothy
           seas
           ,
           their
           ships
           to
           Latine
           shores
        
         
           Do
           bravely
           bring
           ,
           so
           that
           their
           noses
           kisse
        
         
           Drie-land
           :
           and
           all
           secure
           ,
           their
           aims
           none
           misse
           ,
        
         
           Except
           thy
           ship
           ,
           great
           Tarchon
           ,
           which
           neare
           land
           ,
        
         
           Was
           so
           assail'd
           with
           stubborn
           shelves
           and
           sand
           ,
        
         
           As
           that
           it
           wavering
           both
           wayes
           ,
           deep
           stuck
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           strugling
           long
           ,
           in
           pieces
           split
           at
           last
           ,
        
         
           Exposing
           all
           his
           men
           unto
           the
           waves
           :
        
         
           VVhereat
           each
           one
           himself
           on
           splinters
           saves
           ,
        
         
           Pieces
           of
           oares
           ,
           and
           planks
           ,
           and
           floating
           boards
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           safe
           assistance
           unto
           them
           affords
           :
        
         
           But
           oft
           the
           flowing
           streams
           their
           heels
           did
           trip
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           thus
           at
           last
           they
           safe
           on
           land
           do
           skip
           .
        
         
           But
           all
           this
           while
           T●rnus●uns
           ●uns
           off
           delayes
           ,
        
         
           His
           totall
           troops
           'gainst
           Trojans
           he
           arayes
           ,
        
         
           At
           shore
           them
           to
           assail
           the
           trumpets
           sound
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           Aeneas
           firmly
           set
           on
           ground
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           first
           set
           upon
           the
           rurall
           bands
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           first
           hansell
           ,
           with
           his
           valiant
           hands
        
         
           Slaughters
           the
           
             Latines
             ,
             Ther●n
          
           bold
           being
           slain
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           stoutly
           durst
           a
           bickering
           short
           maintain
        
         
           Against
           Aeneas
           ,
           whom
           he
           quickly
           foil'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           through's
           gilt
           arms
           with
           his
           heart-bloud
           him
           foil'd
           ▪
        
         
           Lucas
           likewise
           he
           flew
           ;
           who
           when
           a
           childe
           ,
        
         
           Was
           cut
           out
           of
           the
           wombe
           of
           's
           mother
           milde
           ,
        
         
           Whereof
           she
           dy'd
           ;
           though
           to
           thee
           ,
           P●oebus
           faire
           ,
        
         
           He
           ,
           yet
           a
           young
           man
           ,
           consecrated
           were
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           could
           not
           scape
           this
           princes
           ●licing
           blade
           :
        
         
           Hard
           by
           he
           Cysseus
           also
           slaughtered
           laid
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           mightie
           Gyas
           ,
           who
           with
           clubs
           did
           fight
           ,
        
         
           But
           both
           he
           slew
           ;
           Alcides
           arms
           too
           slight
        
         
           Did
           prove
           ,
           to
           save
           their
           lives
           ,
           their
           hands
           too
           weak
           ,
        
         
           And
           sire
           Melampus
           ,
           though
           he
           bold
           did
           break
        
         
           Through
           hazards
           great
           ,
           being
           Hercules
           his
           mate
           ▪
        
         
           And
           Pharon
           ,
           as
           he
           fondly
           much
           did
           prate
           ,
        
         
           He
           through
           his
           gaping
           throat
           pierc'd
           with
           a
           dart
           .
        
         
           And
           thou
           stout
           Cydon
           tasted
           hadst
           deaths
           smart
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           thou
           faire
           Clytius
           ,
           with
           young
           douny
           chin
        
         
           Unfortunately
           followedst
           ,
           him
           to
           win
        
         
           To
           new
           ,
           but
           nought
           delights
           of
           love
           unchaste
           ,
        
         
           This
           Trojan
           prince
           had
           made
           thee
           death
           to
           taste
           ,
        
         
           Foulely
           affecting
           love
           of
           youths
           impure
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           hadst
           been
           deaths
           woefull
           subject
           sure
           ,
        
         
           Had
           not
           a
           troop
           of
           armed
           brothers
           stout
           ,
        
         
           All
           sonnes
           of
           Phorcus
           ,
           met
           him
           in
           the
           rout
           ,
        
         
           Being
           seven
           in
           number
           ,
           who
           seven
           darts
           did
           throw
           ,
        
         
           But
           to
           no
           end
           ,
           which
           partly
           clattered
           so
        
         
           Upon
           his
           shield
           and
           helmet
           back
           rebounding
           ,
        
         
           And
           Venus
           partly
           from
           his
           corps
           least
           wounding
        
         
           Putting
           them
           off
           .
           Aeneas
           herewithall
        
         
           Unto
           his
           kinde
           Achates
           thus
           did
           call
           ;
        
         
           Bring
           me
           those
           darts
           (
           for
           none
           in
           vain
           he
           threw
        
         
           At
           the
           Rutulians
           )
           which
           proud
           Grecians
           slew
        
         
           In
           Trojan
           fields
           .
           Then
           a
           great
           speare
           he
           took
           ,
        
         
           Which
           darted
           ,
           flew
           ;
           and
           flying
           ,
           fiercely
           strook
           ;
        
         
           And
           penetrating
           Maeons
           brazen
           shield
           ,
        
         
           Through
           corps
           and
           corslet
           ,
           he
           to
           death
           did
           yeeld
           .
        
         
           Whose
           brother
           Alcanor
           unto
           him
           hies
           ,
        
         
           And
           held
           him
           up
           as
           he
           thus
           falling
           dies
           :
        
         
           Whose
           arm
           that
           stayd
           him
           pierced
           was
           also
           ,
        
         
           The
           bloudy
           speare
           through's
           brauny
           arm
           did
           go
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           's
           right
           hand
           dangling
           did
           his
           deaths
           wound
           show
           .
        
         
           Numitor
           then
           pulls
           out
           the
           deadly
           dart
        
         
           From
           's
           brothers
           bodie
           ,
           and
           with
           wrathfull
           heart
        
         
           Retorted
           it
           at
           
             Troyes
             Aeneas
          
           brave
           :
        
         
           But
           there
           it
           could
           not
           the
           least
           entrance
           have
           ;
        
         
           And
           yet
           it
           wounded
           his
           Achates
           thigh
           .
        
         
           Here
           Lausus
           ,
           full
           of
           juvenility
           ,
        
         
           And
           bold
           ,
           there
           by
           with
           troops
           attended
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           throws
           at
           Dryopes
           vvith
           Martiall
           flame
           ,
        
         
           Standing
           aloof
           ,
           a
           deadly
           vvounding
           lance
           ,
        
         
           Which
           underneath
           his
           chin
           did
           fiercely
           glance
           ,
        
         
           And
           pierce
           his
           throat
           ,
           snatching
           thence
           voice
           and
           soule
           :
        
         
           Whose
           face
           fell
           first
           to
           ground
           in
           's
           gore
           most
           foule
           .
        
         
           Three
           Thracians
           more
           ,
           of
           utmost
           Northern
           race
           ,
        
         
           And
           three
           of
           Ida's
           sonnes
           and
           Ismar's
           place
           ,
        
         
           By
           diverse
           deaths
           he
           furiously
           did
           slay
           .
        
         
           Thither
           Halesus
           came
           in
           battell-ray
        
         
           With
           his
           Auruncian
           bands
           :
           and
           thither
           came
        
         
           Messapus
           bold
           ,
           sprung
           from
           great
           Neptunes
           name
           ,
        
         
           Famous
           for
           riding
           horse
           :
           All
           close
           contend
           ,
        
         
           Now
           these
           ,
           then
           those
           ,
           each
           other
           to
           offend
           ,
        
         
           I'
           th'
           edge
           of
           Italie
           .
           Like
           two
           fierce
           vvindes
        
         
           I'
           th'
           open
           aire
           ,
           contending
           in
           their
           kindes
           ,
        
         
           With
           crosse
           contrarious
           blasts
           in
           equall
           might
           ,
        
         
           And
           neither
           they
           ,
           nor
           clouds
           ,
           nor
           sea
           in
           sight
        
         
           Yeeld
           to
           each
           other
           ,
           doubtfull
           ,
           long
           they
           jarre
           ,
        
         
           And
           stiffely
           ,
           crossely
           ,
           all
           maintain
           the
           warre
           :
        
         
           Thus
           Trojan
           troops
           and
           Latine
           bands
           contend
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           foot
           to
           foot
           ,
           thus
           hand
           to
           hand
           ,
           they
           bend
        
         
           Their
           furious
           force
           .
           But
           on
           another
           part
           ,
        
         
           Where
           pebble-stones
           lay
           all
           abroad
           most
           smart
           ,
        
         
           Roul'd
           up
           by
           vvaves
           ,
           and
           boughs
           and
           bushes
           thick
        
         
         
           About
           the
           banks
           ,
           most
           apt
           their
           feet
           to
           prick
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           unfit
           for
           horsemen
           there
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           such
           th'
           Arcadians
           were
           ,
           not
           footmen
           light
           ,
        
         
           Who
           to
           foot-battells
           unaccustomed
           ,
        
         
           They
           to
           the
           Latines
           turn'd
           their
           backs
           and
           fled
           .
        
         
           Which
           Pallas
           spying
           (
           th'
           onely
           staffe
           in
           straits
           )
        
         
           He
           cries
           to
           them
           ;
           some
           prayes
           ,
           and
           some
           he
           rates
        
         
           With
           bitter
           words
           ,
           their
           hearts
           to
           re-incite
           ,
        
         
           Saying
           ,
           Sirs
           ,
           what
           mean
           ye
           ?
           whither
           take
           ye
           flight
           ?
        
         
           Now
           by
           your selves
           ,
           and
           by
           your
           valiant
           acts
           ,
        
         
           By
           your
           commanders
           great
           Euanders
           facts
           ,
        
         
           And
           conquering
           name
           and
           fame
           ,
           and
           my
           hopes
           great
           ,
        
         
           Which
           emulates
           our
           countreys
           praise
           compleat
           ;
        
         
           I
           you
           adjure
           ,
           trust
           not
           base
           flying
           feet
           ,
        
         
           But
           break
           through
           thickest
           troops
           your
           foes
           to
           meet
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           your
           swords
           assail
           them
           :
           for
           this
           way
        
         
           Your
           countrey
           wills
           us
           all
           our
           parts
           to
           play
           .
        
         
           No
           angry
           Gods
           ,
           but
           mortall
           foes
           you
           force
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           have
           as
           many
           hands
           and
           hearts
           to
           course
        
         
           And
           chase
           our
           foes
           ;
           behold
           the
           seas
           also
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           waves
           so
           block
           us
           up
           and
           'bout
           us
           flow
           ,
        
         
           That
           there
           's
           no
           hope
           by
           land
           away
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           will
           ye
           back
           to
           Troy
           by
           sea
           now
           hie
           ?
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           words
           ,
           himselfi'th
           '
           midst
           of
           all
        
         
           Doth
           on
           the
           thickest
           ranks
           of
           Rutuls
           fall
           ;
        
         
           VVhom
           Lagus
           first
           by
           fate
           unhappie
           meets
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           as
           a
           mightie
           stone
           he
           pull'd
           ,
           he
           greets
        
         
           VVith
           deadly
           dart
           ,
           which
           ribs
           and
           back
           did
           pierce
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           sticking
           in
           the
           bones
           ,
           he
           pulls
           out
           fierce
           .
        
         
           But
           over
           him
           he
           did
           not
           Hisbon
           slay
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           this
           he
           hop't
           t'
           have
           done
           without
           delay
           :
        
         
           For
           as
           he
           rusht
           and
           rag'd
           ,
           regardlesse
           quite
        
         
         
           Of
           his
           mates
           death
           ,
           him
           Pallas
           deep
           did
           smite
           ,
        
         
           And
           sheath'd
           his
           sword
           in
           's
           heart
           ,
           and
           life
           forth
           drew
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           
             Helen●s
             ,
             Anchemolus
          
           ,
           he
           slew
           ,
        
         
           From
           Rhoetus
           ancient
           offspring
           sprung
           ;
           who
           durst
        
         
           Defile
           his
           step-dames
           bed
           with
           most
           accurst
        
         
           Incestuous
           lust
           .
           You
           Rutuls
           twins
           most
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Daucius
           two
           sonnes
           ,
           vvho
           valiantly
           had
           fought
           ,
        
         
           Both
           you
           he
           slew
           ,
           Tymber
           and
           Larides
           ,
        
         
           So
           like
           by
           birth
           they
           were
           ,
           that
           'twixt
           both
           these
           ,
        
         
           None
           ,
           even
           their
           parents
           could
           no
           difference
           see
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           by
           their
           persons
           sweet
           deceived
           be
           :
        
         
           But
           Pallas
           'twixt
           them
           made
           a
           difference
           great
           ,
        
         
           Even
           'twixt
           you
           both
           :
           for
           in
           his
           Martiall
           heat
        
         
           His
           sword
           cut
           off
           thy
           head
           ,
           O
           Tymber
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           thy
           right
           hand
           par'd
           off
           ,
           Larides
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           half-dead
           hand
           ,
           sprawling
           ,
           his
           sword
           le
           ts
           go
           .
        
         
           Th'
           Arcadians
           ,
           vvho
           but
           late
           retyred
           ,
           so
        
         
           With
           Pallas
           vvords
           and
           vvorthie
           deeds
           spurr'd
           on
           ,
        
         
           Now
           rage
           and
           shame
           arms
           them
           to
           set
           upon
        
         
           Their
           fiercest
           foes
           .
           Then
           Pallas
           prosecutes
           ,
        
         
           And
           Rhoeteus
           swiftly
           flying
           executes
           .
        
         
           Like
           tariance
           and
           delay
           he
           Ilus
           sent
           :
        
         
           For
           as
           at
           Ilus
           he
           his
           strong
           speare
           bent
           ,
        
         
           It
           Rhoeteus
           intercepts
           and
           slayes
           by
           th'
           vvay
           :
        
         
           And
           there
           faire
           Teuthra
           ,
           flying
           ,
           it
           doth
           slay
           ;
        
         
           And
           's
           brother
           Tyres
           who
           from
           chariot
           reels
           ,
        
         
           And
           being
           half
           dead
           beats
           the
           ground
           vvith's
           heels
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           the
           shepherd
           ,
           vvhen
           vvisht
           vvindes
           do
           ●low
        
         
           In
           summer
           ,
           does
           i'
           th'
           woods
           his
           fires
           bestow
           ,
        
         
           Which
           by
           their
           nearenesse
           fire
           do
           quickly
           take
           ,
        
         
           And
           o're
           the
           fields
           a
           vast
           combustion
           make
           :
        
         
           And
           vvhiles
           thus
           Vulcans
           armie
           spreads
           about
           ,
        
         
         
           He
           like
           a
           victour
           glad
           ,
           at
           flames
           doth
           flout
           :
        
         
           Thus
           all
           their
           mates
           their
           powers
           in
           one
           unite
           ,
        
         
           Which
           sight
           to
           see
           ,
           thee
           ,
           Pallas
           ,
           did
           delight
           .
        
         
           But
           Martiall
           Halesus
           all
           foes
           defies
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           his
           shield
           'gainst
           them
           his
           power
           applies
           .
        
         
           And
           Ladon
           soon
           he
           slayes
           ,
           and
           Phaeretus
           ,
        
         
           Demodocus
           ;
           and
           of
           Strymon●us
           ,
        
         
           With
           his
           bright
           blade
           ,
           he
           cut
           off
           the
           right
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Threatning
           Halesus
           throat
           ;
           nor
           still
           doth
           stand
           ,
        
         
           But
           Thoas
           brains
           he
           dasht
           out
           with
           a
           stone
           ,
        
         
           And
           mixt
           together
           bloud
           and
           brains
           and
           bone
           .
        
         
           Halesus
           father
           his
           sonnes
           fate
           foresaw
           ,
        
         
           Him
           therefore
           to
           a
           wood
           he
           did
           withdraw
           :
        
         
           But
           when
           old-age
           his
           life
           for
           death
           did
           fit
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           impartiall
           Parcae
           from
           their
           hands
           commit
        
         
           Him
           to
           Euanders
           darts
           :
           whom
           Pallas
           thus
        
         
           Assails
           ;
           but
           first
           thus
           prayes
           ;
           Grant
           now
           to
           us
           ,
        
         
           Grave
           father
           Tyber
           ,
           that
           this
           dart
           I
           throw
           ,
        
         
           May
           finde
           good
           fortune
           ,
           and
           the
           right
           way
           go
           ,
        
         
           Through
           haughtie
           Halesus
           obdurate
           breast
           :
        
         
           So
           shall
           thy
           aged
           oak
           be
           deckt
           and
           drest
        
         
           With
           this
           mans
           arms
           and
           spoils
           .
           The
           God
           did
           heare
           ;
        
         
           And
           whiles
           Halesus
           hop't
           away
           to
           beare
        
         
           Imaons
           spoils
           ,
           a
           strong
           Arcadian
           dart
        
         
           Through
           's
           open
           breast
           pierct
           his
           unhapppie
           heart
           .
        
         
           But
           lusty
           Lausus
           did
           least
           feare
           disdain
           ,
        
         
           At
           slaughter
           of
           so
           rare
           a
           prince
           ,
           thus
           slain
           ,
        
         
           A
           prime
           part
           of
           the
           warre
           ;
           nor
           would
           admit
        
         
           His
           Rutuls
           to
           be
           thereat
           dampt
           a
           whit
           .
        
         
           For
           first
           confronting
           Abas
           strong
           he
           slayes
           ,
        
         
           The
           bolt
           and
           barre
           of
           these
           most
           furious
           frayes
           .
        
         
           Down
           fall
           Arcadians
           ,
           down
           Etrurians
           fall
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           Trojans
           thick
           which
           scap't
           from
           Grecian
           thrall
           .
        
         
           Both
           armies
           meet
           ,
           captains
           and
           souldiers
           fight
        
         
           With
           equall
           force
           ,
           the
           reeres
           with
           utmost
           might
        
         
           Presse
           forward
           ,
           making
           their
           approach
           so
           thick
           ,
        
         
           That
           the
           whole
           armie
           seems
           stone-still
           to
           stick
           ,
        
         
           Without
           least
           motion
           .
           Pallas
           hereupon
        
         
           His
           souldiers
           urgeth
           and
           inciteth
           on
           .
        
         
           Here
           Lausus
           laboureth
           on
           the
           other
           side
           ,
        
         
           Neither
           much
           different
           in
           their
           youthfull
           pride
           ,
        
         
           Both
           bravely
           beautifull
           ;
           but
           both
           gain-said
        
         
           Into
           their
           countrey
           to
           make
           retrograde
           ,
        
         
           And
           hereunto
           Iove
           would
           not
           condescend
           ,
        
         
           That
           they
           in
           single
           duell
           should
           contend
           :
        
         
           But
           for
           a
           greater
           foe
           their
           fate
           now
           waits
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           Iuturna
           moves
           and
           instigates
        
         
           Her
           brother
           
             Turnus
             ,
             Lausus
          
           straight
           to
           aid
           .
        
         
           Who
           in
           a
           wingy-chariot
           swiftly
           made
        
         
           Through
           thickest
           of
           their
           troops
           :
           and
           when
           he
           saw
        
         
           Both
           Time
           ,
           and
           's
           Martiall
           mates
           from
           fight
           withdraw
           ,
        
         
           I
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           I
           alone
           must
           Pallas
           finde
           ,
        
         
           To
           me
           alone
           I
           see
           his
           death
           assign'd
           .
        
         
           I
           wish
           his
           father
           now
           spectatour
           were
           .
        
         
           And
           hereupon
           his
           mates
           the
           field
           forbeare
           ,
        
         
           Being
           charged
           thereunto
           .
           The
           princely
           spark
           ,
        
         
           As
           he
           the
           captains
           pride
           and
           power
           did
           mark
        
         
           In
           's
           Rutuls
           quick
           withdrawing
           ,
           stood
           amaz'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           ●tupifi'de
           ,
           on
           Turnus
           stature
           gaz'd
           ,
        
         
           With
           envying
           eyes
           viewing
           his
           limbes
           most
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           part
           about
           him
           most
           compleat
           .
        
         
           Thus
           then
           unto
           the
           kings
           words
           he
           replies
           ;
        
         
           Sure
           I
           shall
           now
           get
           praise
           by
           this
           rich
           prize
           ,
        
         
           Or
           by
           a
           noble
           death
           .
           My
           father
           (
           sure
           )
        
         
         
           Is
           just
           and
           wise
           ,
           what
           fates
           will
           ,
           to
           endure
           .
        
         
           Spare
           then
           thy
           brags
           and
           threats
           .
           Thus
           having
           said
           ,
        
         
           〈◊〉
           the
           midst
           o'
           th'
           Martiall
           list
           he
           made
           :
        
         
           Th'
           Arcadians
           hearts
           were
           fill'd
           with
           chilling
           feare
           ,
        
         
           Turnus
           from
           's
           chariot
           then
           descending
           there
           ;
        
         
           And
           now
           on
           foot
           was
           stately
           seen
           draw
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           Like
           a
           fierce
           lion
           ,
           who
           from
           's
           den
           doth
           spie
        
         
           A
           stout
           big
           bull
           fitting
           himself
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Farre
           off
           i'
           th'
           field
           ,
           he
           to
           him
           takes
           his
           flight
           :
        
         
           Even
           such
           is
           Turnus
           in
           his
           fierce
           accesse
           .
        
         
           VVhom
           Pallas
           now
           within
           the
           reach
           doth
           guesse
        
         
           Ofhis
           darts-cast
           ,
           Pallas
           doth
           first
           advance
           ,
        
         
           Unmatcht
           in
           might
           ,
           but
           hoping
           happie
           chance
           .
        
         
           First
           thus
           he
           prayes
           ;
           O
           thou
           Alcides
           great
           ,
        
         
           I
           by
           my
           fathers
           kindenesse
           thee
           intreat
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           thee
           a
           stranger
           took
           to
           bed
           and
           board
           ,
        
         
           To
           my
           designes
           thy
           mightie
           aid
           afford
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           my
           adversarie
           half-dead
           see
        
         
           Himself
           of
           's
           bloudy
           arms
           bespoil'd
           to
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           let
           proud
           Turnus
           see
           with
           dying
           eye
           ,
        
         
           Me
           winne
           the
           field
           with
           valiant
           victorie
           .
        
         
           Hercules
           heard
           the
           youth
           ,
           and
           (
           but
           in
           vain
           )
        
         
           Fetcht
           a
           deep
           sigh
           ,
           which
           did
           even
           teares
           constrain
           .
        
         
           Then
           mightie
           Iove
           to
           's
           sonne
           most
           kindely
           sayes
           ;
        
         
           To
           each
           man
           's
           given
           his
           appointed
           dayes
           ;
        
         
           Mans
           life
           is
           short
           ,
           his
           time
           irrevocable
           ,
        
         
           But
           fame
           by
           facts
           to
           make
           most
           memorable
           ,
        
         
           Is
           vertues
           work
           indeed
           .
           Under
           the
           wall
        
         
           Of
           stately
           Troy
           how
           many
           sonnes
           did
           fall
           ,
        
         
           Even
           sonnes
           of
           Gods
           !
           yea
           my
           Sarpedon
           faire
           ,
        
         
           My
           sonne
           〈◊〉
           slain
           ,
           the
           fates
           would
           him
           not
           spare
           :
        
         
           And
           Turnus
           hath
           a
           term
           and
           certain
           fate
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           his
           lifes
           period
           hastes
           to
           terminate
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           on
           Rutuls
           fields
           his
           eyes
           he
           bent
           .
        
         
           And
           Pallas
           now
           wi●h
           all
           his
           force
           forth
           sent
        
         
           A
           nimble
           speare
           ,
           and
           from
           his
           scabbard
           drew
        
         
           His
           glistring
           blade
           .
           The
           speare
           most
           fi●rcely
           ●lew
        
         
           To
           Turnus
           shoulder
           on
           his
           armour
           blue
           ;
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           brim
           of
           's
           shield
           did
           glance
           along
           ,
        
         
           And
           gave
           a
           clattering
           blow
           on
           's
           bodie
           strong
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           hereat
           shaking
           a
           speare
           of
           oak
           ,
        
         
           Tipt
           with
           sharp
           steel
           ,
           darts
           it
           ,
           and
           thus
           he
           spoke
        
         
           To
           Pallas
           as
           it
           flew
           ;
           Go
           now
           and
           see
        
         
           Whether
           more
           penetrable
           now
           ours
           be
        
         
           Then
           his
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           through
           his
           most
           mightie
           targe
        
         
           Lined
           with
           plates
           of
           brasse
           and
           iron
           large
           ,
        
         
           And
           cover'd
           o're
           with
           many
           bulls
           hides
           thick
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           brandisht
           blow
           the
           speare
           did
           enter
           quick
        
         
           Piercing
           his
           corslet
           ,
           wounded
           deep
           his
           breast
           .
        
         
           He
           straight
           the
           bloud-w●rm'd
           speare
           in
           vain
           doth
           wrest
           ;
        
         
           Striving
           to
           pluck
           it
           out
           ,
           plucks
           out
           withall
        
         
           Life
           ,
           bloud
           and
           soule
           ,
           and
           straight
           down
           dead
           does
           fall
        
         
           Flat
           on
           his
           face
           :
           in
           's
           fall
           his
           ●rms
           do
           clatter
           ,
        
         
           The
           ground
           his
           gore-bloud-gushing
           mouth
           doth
           batter
           .
        
         
           Over
           whom
           T●rnus
           trampling
           ,
           thus
           doth
           say
           ;
        
         
           Go
           now
           Arc●di●ns
           ,
           minde
           my
           words
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Go
           tell
           Euander
           ,
           This
           sonne
           re-send
        
         
           Unto
           him
           with
           a
           well-deserving
           end
           .
        
         
           VVhat-ever
           buriall-honour
           he
           can
           crave
           ,
        
         
           Or
           full
           content
           and
           comfort
           in
           a
           grave
           ,
        
         
           I
           will
           bestow
           on
           him
           ,
           his
           ●●rborous
           cheere
        
         
           To
           his
           Ae●e●s
           ,
           now
           doth
           cost
           him
           deare
           .
        
         
           Thus
           saying
           ,
           standing
           on
           the
           corps
           now
           dead
           ,
        
         
           Spoiling
           him
           ofhis
           belt
           embroidered
        
         
         
           With
           the
           whole
           storie
           of
           the
           impious
           act
           ,
        
         
           How
           Danaies
           daughter
           foulely
           did
           compact
        
         
           Upon
           the
           wedding
           night
           in
           marriage-bed
        
         
           To
           murther
           their
           young
           bridegrooms
           there
           left
           dead
           :
        
         
           Which
           things
           Eurytion
           had
           wrought
           thick
           in
           gold
           ,
        
         
           This
           prize
           most
           rich
           Turnus
           doth
           joy
           to
           hold
           .
        
         
           Mans
           minde
           is
           ignorant
           of
           future
           fate
           ,
        
         
           Knows
           not
           a
           mean
           ,
           is
           puft
           with
           prosperous
           state
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           shall
           see
           the
           time
           when
           he
           'd
           be
           glad
        
         
           This
           prize
           most
           dearely
           bought
           ,
           he
           never
           had
        
         
           Once
           toucht
           ,
           and
           when
           ,
           this
           day
           and
           Pallas
           spoiles
        
         
           Shall
           prove
           most
           hatefull
           ,
           and
           his
           hearts
           turmoiles
           .
        
         
           But
           Pallas
           mates
           with
           sighs
           and
           feares
           all
           fraught
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           a
           shield
           his
           corps
           in
           troops
           thence
           brought
           .
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           the
           great
           grief
           ,
           yet
           grace
           thy
           sire
           will
           have
           ,
        
         
           This
           day
           the
           first
           and
           last
           to
           battells
           gave
           :
        
         
           And
           yet
           about
           thee
           thou
           didst
           make
           remain
        
         
           A
           mightie
           heap
           of
           fierce
           Rutulians
           slain
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           now
           did
           flying
           fame
           this
           mischief
           shew
           ;
        
         
           'T
           was
           brought
           t'
           Aeneas
           by
           a
           poste
           too
           true
           ,
        
         
           Who
           told
           him
           how
           distrest
           his
           souldiers
           were
           ,
        
         
           How
           't
           was
           high
           time
           to
           help
           them
           fled
           for
           feare
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           Aeneas
           mowes
           all
           down
           with
           's
           blade
           ,
        
         
           And
           like
           a
           mad
           man
           he
           wide
           path-wayes
           made
        
         
           Through
           thickest
           troops
           ,
           thee
           ,
           Turnus
           proud
           ,
           to
           finde
           ,
        
         
           With
           slaughters
           fresh
           ,
           having
           still
           in
           his
           minde
        
         
           (
           All
           came
           to
           's
           sight
           )
           
             Pallas
             ,
             Euander
          
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           The
           table
           spread
           ,
           where
           first
           he
           was
           a
           guest
           ,
        
         
           All
           ,
           though
           a
           stranger
           ,
           right-hand
           loves
           exprest
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           before
           him
           he
           foure
           youths
           espies
           ,
        
         
           All
           born
           at
           Sulmo
           ,
           and
           foure
           more
           likewise
        
         
           Train'd
           up
           by
           Vfens
           ,
           all
           alive
           he
           snatches
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           as
           a
           sacrifice
           ,
           them
           all
           dispatches
        
         
           To
           the
           dead
           ashes
           of
           his
           dearest
           friend
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           fires
           their
           captive
           bloud
           doth
           spend
           .
        
         
           Thence
           passing
           on
           ,
           when
           he
           next
           dart
           did
           throw
        
         
           At
           Mago
           stout
           ,
           he
           slyly
           stooping
           low
           ,
        
         
           Escapt
           the
           quivering
           dart
           ,
           which
           flew
           away
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           his
           knees
           he
           clasping
           ,
           thus
           did
           pray
           ;
        
         
           Now
           by
           thy
           fathers
           ghost
           ,
           and
           hopefull
           state
        
         
           Of
           thy
           Iülus
           ,
           I
           thee
           supplicate
           ,
        
         
           Preserve
           my
           life
           both
           to
           my
           sonne
           and
           me
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           my
           stately
           house
           thou
           hid
           shalt
           see
           ,
        
         
           Deep
           in
           the
           ground
           ,
           great
           store
           of
           silver
           coyn'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           much
           good
           gold
           ,
           some
           fin'de
           ,
           some
           unrefin'de
           .
        
         
           My
           life
           (
           alas
           !
           )
           stayes
           not
           Troyes
           victorie
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           can
           I
           onely
           work
           such
           jeopardie
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           Aeneas
           presently
           replies
           ;
        
         
           Those
           heaps
           of
           gold
           which
           thou
           so
           high
           dost
           prize
           ,
        
         
           Keep
           for
           thy
           children
           ;
           Turnus
           took
           away
        
         
           This
           quarter
           ,
           when
           my
           Pallas
           he
           did
           slay
           .
        
         
           Thus
           thinks
           Iülus
           and
           Anchises
           dead
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           words
           ,
           upon
           his
           helm
           and
           head
        
         
           He
           layes
           fast
           hold
           ;
           and
           as
           he
           so
           did
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Up
           to
           the
           hilts
           his
           sword
           in
           's
           soule
           made
           way
           .
        
         
           Hard
           by
           he
           met
           Emonides
           most
           brave
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           Phoebus
           and
           Diana's
           priest
           most
           grave
           :
        
         
           His
           head
           a
           sacred
           hood
           and
           head-bands
           tie
           ,
        
         
           Glistring
           all-o're
           in
           arms
           most
           gorgeously
           .
        
         
           Whom
           chas'di'th
           '
           field
           ,
           and
           overcome
           i'
           th'
           fight
           ,
        
         
           He
           sacrific'd
           ,
           and
           on
           him
           stood
           upright
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           mightie
           shade
           him
           hid
           :
           Serestus
           stout
        
         
           Upon
           his
           shoulders
           bare
           his
           armour
           out
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           trophie
           ,
           mightie
           Mars
           .
           Then
           C●culus
        
         
         
           Black
           Vulcanes
           brood
           ,
           and
           Vmbro
           valourous
        
         
           Of
           Marsies
           mounts
           ,
           the
           fight
           afresh
           ingage
           .
        
         
           But
           Dardanes
           prince
           doth
           on
           them
           fiercely
           rage
           :
        
         
           And
           Anxures
           arm
           his
           sword
           slic'd
           off
           so
           round
           ,
        
         
           That
           arm
           and
           shield
           straight
           fell
           down
           on
           the
           ground
           .
        
         
           This
           gallant
           had
           some
           loftie
           words
           given
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           thought
           perhaps
           time
           would
           it
           bring
           about
           :
        
         
           His
           heart
           was
           high
           as
           heaven
           ,
           perswaded
           ,
           sure
           ,
        
         
           Ofhoarie
           haires
           ,
           and
           life
           ,
           long
           to
           endure
           .
        
         
           Tarquitus
           proud
           in
           glistring
           arms
           him
           met
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           Faunus
           did
           on
           Driope
           beget
           ,
        
         
           Who
           furiously
           a
           strong
           speare
           at
           him
           throws
           ,
        
         
           Which
           through
           his
           harnesse
           and
           huge
           target
           goes
           .
        
         
           His
           head
           (
           he
           craving
           life
           ,
           but
           to
           no
           end
           ,
        
         
           And
           much
           about
           to
           speak
           )
           he
           soon
           did
           send
        
         
           From
           's
           shoulders
           to
           the
           ground
           ,
           on'strunck
           he
           stood
           ,
        
         
           And
           o're
           him
           thus
           he
           spake
           ,
           in
           heat
           of
           bloud
           ;
        
         
           Lie
           there
           ,
           thou
           frighter
           fierce
           ,
           thy
           mother
           deare
        
         
           Shall
           never
           thee
           unto
           thy
           buriall
           beare
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           in
           thy
           native
           soile
           entombe
           :
           wilde-beasts
        
         
           Or
           fish
           i'
           th'
           sea
           shall
           on
           thee
           make
           them
           feasts
           .
        
         
           Antheus
           then
           and
           Lycas
           stout
           ,
           who
           led
        
         
           King
           Turnus
           voward
           ,
           he
           encountered
           ,
        
         
           And
           Numa
           strong
           ,
           sworthy
           Camertes
           stout
        
         
           Sprung
           from
           renowned
           Volscens
           race
           and
           rout
           :
        
         
           A
           mightie
           landed
           man
           in
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Who
           o're
           th'
           Amyclians
           had
           the
           soveraigntie
           ;
        
         
           Men
           for
           their
           sparing
           speech
           of
           speciall
           name
           .
        
         
           And
           like
           Aegaeon
           ,
           who
           (
           as
           blazeth
           fame
           )
        
         
           Had
           full
           an
           hundred
           arms
           and
           active
           hands
           ,
        
         
           And
           fiftie
           mouthes
           ;
           whence
           ,
           as
           from
           firebrands
           ,
        
         
           And
           firie
           breasts
           ,
           he
           flames
           of
           fire
           forth
           threw
           ,
        
         
         
           As
           many
           shields
           held
           up
           and
           swords
           he
           drew
        
         
           Against
           Ioves
           lightnings
           :
           so
           Aenea●
           stout
        
         
           Victoriously
           did
           fret
           and
           fume
           about
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           once
           his
           sword
           waxt
           warm
           with
           blows
           :
        
         
           But
           then
           (
           behold
           !
           )
           most
           furiously
           he
           goes
        
         
           Against
           Niphaeus
           and
           his
           coach
           horse
           swift
           ,
        
         
           And
           'gainst
           his
           breast
           his
           fatall
           blade
           did
           lift
           :
        
         
           But
           they
           farre
           off
           ,
           as
           soon
           as
           ere
           they
           saw
        
         
           Him
           rushing
           ,
           fiercely
           raging
           ,
           'gainst
           them
           draw
           ,
        
         
           For
           feare
           they
           flie
           ,
           and
           backward
           madly
           go
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           their
           race
           their
           rider
           overthrow
           ,
        
         
           Whurrying
           the
           chariot
           with
           them
           to
           the
           shore
           .
        
         
           Mean
           while
           Lucagus
           also
           prest
           on
           sore
        
         
           With
           his
           white
           coach-horse
           ,
           then
           accomitated
        
         
           With
           's
           brother
           Lig●r
           ,
           who
           thus
           regulated
        
         
           The
           coach-horse
           reins
           ,
           Lucagus
           brandishing
        
         
           His
           glistring
           blade
           .
           Troyes
           prince
           not
           suffering
        
         
           Their
           bold
           out-braves
           ,
           unto
           them
           rusheth
           straight
           ,
        
         
           And
           against
           both
           did
           quick
           accommodate
        
         
           A
           mightie
           speare
           :
           to
           whom
           thus
           Liger
           bold
           ;
        
         
           Thou
           dost
           not
           here
           Ac●illes
           coach
           behold
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Diomedes
           horse
           ,
           nor
           P●rygi●n
           field
           ,
        
         
           But
           in
           these
           plains
           thy
           life
           to
           death
           must
           yeeld
           ,
        
         
           And
           end
           these
           broiles
           .
           Thus
           madly
           loud
           hespake
           :
        
         
           But
           Troyes
           brave
           ●erö●
           no
           reply
           would
           make
        
         
           In
           words
           ,
           but
           casts
           a
           dart
           at
           hisfierce
           foe
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           Luc●gus
           reaching
           out
           a
           blow
        
         
           With
           stiffe
           intent
           did
           fetch
           his
           horse
           about
           ▪
        
         
           And
           his
           left
           foot
           unto
           thefight
           set
           out
           ,
        
         
           The
           fly
           ing
           speare
           piercing
           hist●●get
           bright
           ,
        
         
           On
           his
           left
           groin
           did
           penetrating
           light
           ,
        
         
           Which
           did
           him
           over●hr●●
           and
           deadly
           ●ound
           ;
        
         
         
           Where
           he
           lay
           groveling
           dead
           upon
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           in
           these
           tart
           terms
           Aeneas
           said
           ;
        
         
           No
           ghost
           ,
           Lucagus
           ,
           made
           thy
           horse
           afraid
        
         
           And
           flie
           thy
           foe
           ,
           nor
           did
           their
           paces
           slow
        
         
           Thee
           and
           thy
           coach
           betray
           unto
           thy
           foe
           :
        
         
           But
           thou
           thy self
           ,
           leaping
           down
           from
           the
           wheels
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           coach
           forsook'st
           ,
           and
           triptst
           up
           thine
           own
           heels
           .
        
         
           Thus
           having
           said
           ,
           the
           coach
           in
           hand
           he
           takes
           :
        
         
           Th'
           unhappie
           brother
           prostrate
           fall'ne
           down
           quakes
           ,
        
         
           Holds
           up
           his
           trembling
           hands
           ,
           thus
           does
           intreat
           ;
        
         
           Now
           by
           thy self
           and
           by
           thy
           parents
           great
        
         
           Who
           thee
           begat
           (
           Troyes
           prince
           )
           so
           great
           so
           good
           ,
        
         
           O
           spare
           thy
           suppliants
           life
           ,
           spill
           not
           his
           bloud
           .
        
         
           O
           sir
           ,
           sayes
           he
           ,
           these
           words
           you
           us'd
           not
           late
           ;
        
         
           Die
           then
           ,
           let
           brothers
           brothers
           sociate
           .
        
         
           Then
           with
           his
           sword
           his
           breast
           he
           opened
           wide
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           's
           hearts
           hollow
           caves
           his
           soule
           did
           glide
           .
        
         
           Thus
           through
           the
           fields
           this
           Trojan
           victour
           made
        
         
           Great
           slaughters
           :
           like
           fierce
           flouds
           which
           banks
           invade
           ,
        
         
           Or
           blustring
           windes
           ,
           so
           did
           he
           rage
           about
           :
        
         
           Th'enclosed
           Trojans
           now
           also
           break
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           leave
           their
           camps
           ,
           and
           young
           Ascanius
           brave
        
         
           VVith
           his
           green
           sparks
           ,
           them
           valiantly
           behave
           ,
        
         
           Though
           late
           (
           in
           vain
           )
           besieg'd
           .
           Things
           resting
           so
           ,
        
         
           Iove
           of
           himself
           does
           to
           his
           Iuno
           go
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           sayes
           to
           her
           ;
           See
           ,
           my
           sister
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           And
           speciall
           spouse
           ,
           most
           gratefull
           to
           my
           minde
           ;
        
         
           Venus
           ,
           thou
           seest
           (
           even
           as
           thou
           didst
           suppose
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           art
           deceiv'd
           )
           supports
           thy
           Trojan
           foes
           :
        
         
           Their
           boldest
           hearts
           ,
           strong
           hands
           ,
           nor
           patience
           stout
        
         
           VVarres
           woes
           t'
           endure
           ,
           could
           not
           alone
           hold
           out
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           thus
           humbly
           Iuno
           did
           reply
           ;
        
         
         
           Why
           ,
           O
           my
           Pheere
           most
           deare
           ,
           ah
           tell
           me
           ,
           why
        
         
           Dost
           thou
           my
           grieved
           heart
           more
           grieve
           ;
           which
           quakes
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           thy
           bitter
           piercing
           words
           even
           akes
           ?
        
         
           O
           if
           thou
           lov'd'st
           me
           now
           as
           formerly
           ,
        
         
           If
           (
           as
           't
           were
           fit
           )
           thou
           hadst
           first
           fervencie
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Iove
           ,
           thou
           this
           request
           wouldst
           grant
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           My
           Turnus
           from
           the
           fight
           withdrawn
           to
           see
           :
        
         
           That
           to
           his
           father
           Daunus
           him
           I
           might
        
         
           Safely
           restore
           .
           But
           let
           him
           fall
           i'
           th'
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           be
           a
           pious
           prey
           to
           Trojans
           base
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           is
           he
           sprung
           from
           our
           celestiall
           race
           .
        
         
           Pilumnus
           was
           his
           sire
           ,
           i'
           th'
           fourth
           descent
           ,
        
         
           Thine
           altars
           he
           with
           hand
           munificent
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           gallant
           gifts
           enriched
           hath
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           olympus
           king
           thus
           briefly
           saith
           ;
        
         
           If
           thou
           desirest
           present
           deaths
           delay
           ,
        
         
           And
           the
           death-marked
           youths
           dire
           fall
           to
           stay
           ,
        
         
           And
           think'st
           I
           may
           the
           same
           procrastinate
           ;
        
         
           Let
           Turnus
           flie
           then
           from
           his
           present
           fate
           .
        
         
           This
           onely
           distance
           must
           thy
           minde
           suffice
           :
        
         
           But
           if
           thy
           prayers
           to
           higher
           hopes
           arise
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           thou
           think'st
           he
           may
           be
           wholly
           freed
        
         
           From
           chance
           of
           warre
           ,
           or
           what
           fates
           have
           decreed
        
         
           May
           altered
           be
           ;
           thou
           but
           vain
           hopes
           dost
           feed
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           thus
           Iuno
           full
           of
           teares
           replies
           ;
        
         
           But
           what
           if
           Iove
           ,
           what
           he
           in
           words
           denies
           ,
        
         
           Would
           grant
           in
           heart
           ,
           and
           T●rnus
           life
           make
           sure
           ?
        
         
           Now
           he
           most
           guiltlesse
           ,
           must
           hard
           hap
           endure
           ,
        
         
           Or
           I
           no
           truth
           do
           know
           :
           but
           rather
           I
        
         
           Could
           wish
           thou
           wouldst
           my
           fond
           feare
           fals●fie
           ,
        
         
           And
           (
           as
           thou
           canst
           )
           convert
           all
           to
           the
           best
           .
        
         
           Thus
           having
           now
           each
           way
           her
           votes
           exprest
           ,
        
         
         
           From
           heaven
           she
           forthwith
           flies
           ,
           to
           earth
           descends
           :
        
         
           Storms
           flie
           before
           her
           ,
           clouds
           she
           'bout
           her
           bends
           .
        
         
           Thus
           through
           the
           aire
           to
           Trojan
           bands
           she
           flew
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           th'
           Italian
           tents
           she
           nearer
           drew
           .
        
         
           The
           Goddesse
           then
           in
           concave
           cloud
           did
           frame
        
         
           A
           forcelesse
           shade
           most
           thin
           to
           seem
           ,
           the
           same
        
         
           With
           brave
           Aeneas
           shape
           (
           a
           most
           strange
           sight
           )
        
         
           And
           fraught
           it
           faire
           with
           Trojan
           arms
           most
           bright
           ,
        
         
           A
           plumy
           helm
           fit
           for
           his
           sacred
           head
           ,
        
         
           A
           shield
           which
           his
           most
           nearely
           patterned
           :
        
         
           Yea
           gives
           it
           windie
           words
           ,
           a
           senselesse
           sound
           ,
        
         
           And
           goodly
           gate
           ,
           like
           one
           walking
           profound
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           those
           shapes
           which
           walk
           (
           they
           say
           )
           being
           dead
           ,
        
         
           Or
           those
           fallacious
           dreams
           in
           snorting
           bed
           .
        
         
           The
           frolick
           figure
           brags
           before
           the
           bands
           ,
        
         
           And
           Turnus
           tempts
           to
           shew
           the
           strength
           of
           's
           hands
           ,
        
         
           And
           him
           with
           speech
           provokes
           :
           whom
           Turnus
           straight
        
         
           Assails
           aloof
           ,
           and
           with
           represselesse
           hate
        
         
           A
           whisling
           dart
           casts
           at
           it
           ;
           instantly
        
         
           The
           shadow
           turns
           its
           back
           ,
           away
           doth
           flie
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           supposing
           now
           Aeneas
           fled
           ,
        
         
           Nourisht
           vain
           hope
           ,
           which
           thus
           he
           uttered
           ;
        
         
           Aeneas
           ,
           whither
           fly'st
           thou
           ?
           do
           n't
           forsake
        
         
           Thy
           spouse
           betroth'd
           ,
           to
           whom
           thou
           vows
           didst
           make
           :
        
         
           This
           hand
           of
           mine
           shall
           give
           thee
           lands
           so
           sought
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           follows
           him
           in
           word
           as
           thought
           ,
        
         
           Brandishing
           his
           bright
           blade
           ;
           but
           could
           not
           finde
           ,
        
         
           How
           these
           vain
           joyes
           were
           but
           puffe
           toyes
           of
           winde
           .
        
         
           As
           thus
           he
           past
           ,
           by
           chance
           a
           ship
           he
           spi'de
           ,
        
         
           To
           a
           rocks
           rigid
           bank
           most
           fitly
           ty'de
           ,
        
         
           Whereto
           a
           ladder
           for
           ascent
           did
           stand
           ,
        
         
           For
           a
           sea-voyage
           fitted
           out
           of
           hand
           .
        
         
         
           In
           which
           Osinius
           king
           from
           Clusium
           came
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           fearfull
           figure
           in
           this
           same
        
         
           Cast
           it self
           quickly
           ,
           there
           it
           hidden
           lay
           :
        
         
           Which
           Turnus
           following
           ,
           cuts
           off
           every
           stay
           ,
        
         
           Nimbly
           ascends
           the
           top
           :
           scarce
           did
           he
           take
        
         
           Footing
           i'
           th'
           ship
           ,
           but
           Iuno
           quickly
           brake
        
         
           The
           fastning
           cable
           ,
           launcht
           the
           ship
           from
           shore
           ,
        
         
           Which
           with
           full
           sail
           into
           the
           ocean
           bore
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           Aeneas
           with
           a
           bloudy
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Seeks
           up
           and
           down
           his
           foe
           thus
           out
           of
           sight
           ;
        
         
           And
           multitudes
           of
           men
           him
           meeting
           slayes
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           the
           nimble
           shade
           no
           longer
           stayes
           ,
        
         
           Hid
           in
           its
           holes
           ,
           but
           vanisht
           into
           th'
           aire
           ;
        
         
           And
           when
           to
           th'
           midst
           o
           th'
           sea
           storms
           Turnus
           bare
           ,
        
         
           Ignorant
           of
           these
           things
           ,
           for
           's
           life
           ingrate
           ;
        
         
           He
           looks
           about
           ,
           to
           th'
           heavens
           doth
           elevate
        
         
           (
           After
           this
           manner
           )
           both
           his
           hands
           and
           heart
           ;
        
         
           Almightie
           Iove
           ,
           deem'st
           thou
           it
           my
           desert
           ,
        
         
           To
           suffer
           such
           a
           shame
           ,
           a
           scourge
           so
           great
           ?
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           whither
           go
           I
           ?
           vvhence
           make
           I
           retreat
           ?
        
         
           What
           flight
           is
           this
           ?
           vvhom
           do
           I
           thus
           forsake
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           I
           not
           once
           more
           yet
           my self
           betake
        
         
           To
           Laurents
           walls
           and
           warres
           ?
           What
           now
           (
           alas
           !
           )
        
         
           VVill
           to
           my
           troops
           of
           souldiers
           come
           to
           passe
           ,
        
         
           VVhich
           followed
           me
           in
           fight
           ?
           vvhom
           impious
           I
        
         
           Have
           left
           alone
           ,
           a
           thousand
           deaths
           to
           die
           ?
        
         
           For
           now
           ,
           me
           thinks
           ,
           I
           heare
           and
           see
           them
           all
        
         
           Dying
           and
           crying
           as
           they
           wounded
           fall
           ▪
        
         
           VVhat
           shall
           I
           do
           ?
           vvhat
           land
           me
           live
           can
           swallow
           ?
        
         
           But
           oh
           ye
           windes
           ,
           do
           ye
           me
           rather
           follow
        
         
           VVith
           pitying
           puffs
           :
           (
           this
           Turnus
           does
           you
           pray
        
         
           VVith
           gladsome
           minde
           )
           O
           cast
           this
           bark
           away
        
         
         
           On
           rocks
           or
           sands
           ,
           where
           Rutuls
           may
           not
           see
           ,
        
         
           Or
           tainted
           fame
           may
           never
           follow
           me
           .
        
         
           Thus
           moaning
           up
           and
           down
           ,
           thoughts
           ebbe
           and
           flow
           ,
        
         
           What
           to
           resolve
           to
           do
           ,
           he
           does
           not
           know
           ;
        
         
           Or
           madly
           slay
           himself
           ,
           for
           such
           disgrace
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           corps
           his
           bloudy
           blade
           to
           case
           ;
        
         
           Or
           headlong
           into
           th'
           sea
           himself
           to
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           by
           swimming
           to
           get
           land
           at
           last
           :
        
         
           And
           landing
           ,
           to
           the
           Trojan
           troops
           to
           hie
           .
        
         
           Thrice
           both
           these
           wayes
           he
           did
           attempt
           to
           trie
           ;
        
         
           And
           thrice
           great
           Iuno
           his
           attempts
           did
           hinder
           ,
        
         
           Pitying
           the
           young
           prince
           with
           indulgence
           tender
           .
        
         
           Thus
           on
           he
           sails
           with
           prosperous
           winde
           and
           tide
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           at
           's
           father
           Daunus
           town
           did
           '
           bide
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           by
           Ioves
           advise
           ,
           Mezentius
           stout
        
         
           Comes
           forth
           to
           fight
           ,
           and
           (
           Trojans
           all
           about
        
         
           Joyning
           in
           good
           successe
           )
           does
           now
           invade
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           troops
           ,
           who
           to
           him
           joyntly
           made
           .
        
         
           And
           all
           at
           once
           at
           one
           alone
           they
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Their
           hands
           and
           hate
           do
           this
           one
           man
           defie
           .
        
         
           But
           he
           ,
           much
           like
           a
           rock
           'gainst
           mightie
           waves
           ,
        
         
           Withstands
           the
           furie
           of
           windes
           bigge
           outbraves
           ,
        
         
           Layes
           ope
           his
           rigid
           fides'gainst
           billows
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           rage
           that
           seas
           or
           skies
           can
           threat
           ,
        
         
           It self
           unmov'd
           remains
           :
           he
           's
           even
           so
           .
        
         
           And
           Dolichaons
           sonne
           did
           overthrow
           ,
        
         
           Hebrus
           ;
           with
           whom
           he
           Latagus
           did
           slay
           ,
        
         
           And
           Palmus
           ,
           as
           he
           from
           him
           ran
           away
           :
        
         
           But
           Latagus
           he
           with
           a
           stone
           most
           great
           ,
        
         
           Even
           with
           a
           mountains
           part
           ,
           his
           brains
           out
           beat
           .
        
         
           Palmus
           his
           hammes
           and
           legs
           he
           cut
           off
           quite
           ,
        
         
           And
           left
           him
           there
           to
           roule
           in
           piteous
           plight
           .
        
         
         
           His
           arms
           he
           Lausus
           gave
           ,
           on
           's
           back
           to
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           his
           head
           his
           plumy
           helm
           to
           weare
           .
        
         
           
             Phrygian
             Euantes
             ,
             Mimas
             ,
             Paris
          
           mate
           ,
        
         
           And
           Coaetanean
           ,
           he
           did
           ruinate
           :
        
         
           Whom
           to
           Amycus
           ,
           milde
           Thebano
           bare
           ,
        
         
           Paris
           being
           born
           of
           Hecuba
           most
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Who
           dreamt
           she
           had
           a
           firebrand
           begot
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           to
           die
           in
           's
           countrey
           had
           the
           lot
           :
        
         
           But
           Mimas
           ,
           ignorant
           of
           this
           his
           hap
           ,
        
         
           Did
           finde
           his
           grave
           here
           in
           Laurentums
           lap
           .
        
         
           Now
           as
           a
           boare
           hunted
           from
           mountains
           high
        
         
           By
           barking
           ,
           biting
           dogs
           ,
           (
           which
           long
           did
           lie
        
         
           Shelter'd
           in
           wide
           pine-bearing
           Vesulus
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           Laurentums
           fields
           most
           copious
           ,
        
         
           Of
           wood-like
           reeds
           ,
           having
           been
           long
           time
           fed
           :
           )
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           he
           's
           i'
           th'
           nets
           intangled
           ,
        
         
           He
           stands
           and
           stares
           about
           ,
           his
           tusks
           does
           whet
           ,
        
         
           And
           fretting
           ,
           fiercely
           brissels
           up
           doth
           set
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           is
           it
           wit
           or
           worth
           for
           any
           there
           ,
        
         
           To
           be
           too
           busie
           to
           him
           to
           draw
           neare
           ,
        
         
           But
           off
           to
           stand
           ,
           and
           at
           him
           darts
           to
           throw
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           loud
           clamorous
           shouts
           to
           tire
           him
           so
           :
        
         
           So
           those
           that
           to
           Mezentius
           bare
           just
           spight
           ,
        
         
           Durst
           not
           come
           neare
           him
           hand
           to
           hand
           to
           fight
           ;
        
         
           But
           with
           their
           darts
           farre
           off
           and
           clamours
           shrill
           ,
        
         
           They
           him
           provoke
           :
           the
           boare
           sits
           boldy
           still
           ,
        
         
           Gnashing
           with
           foamy
           chaps
           his
           tusks
           most
           keen
           ,
        
         
           And
           shaking
           off
           the
           darts
           from
           's
           back
           is
           seen
           .
        
         
           From
           Cerits
           ancient
           coasts
           came
           Acron
           stout
           ,
        
         
           A
           Grecian
           forc'd
           from
           's
           countrey
           to
           flie
           out
        
         
           For
           breach
           of
           marriage
           ;
           whom
           ,
           when
           as
           remote
           ,
        
         
           Mezentius
           saw
           ,
           and
           seriously
           did
           note
           ,
        
         
         
           Amid'st
           the
           troops
           moving
           his
           mates
           to
           fi●ht
           ,
        
         
           Adorn'd
           with
           purple
           plumes
           and
           scarlet
           bright
           ,
        
         
           His
           kinde
           contracted
           spouses
           goodly
           gift
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           hungry
           lion
           rambling
           swift
        
         
           About
           the
           mightie
           woods
           (
           for
           so
           indeed
        
         
           Fierce
           hunger
           forceth
           madly
           to
           proceed
           )
        
         
           If
           haply
           he
           some
           well-grown
           goat
           may
           spie
           ,
        
         
           Or
           bravely
           headed
           stagge
           that
           way
           to
           flie
           ,
        
         
           He
           gapes
           for
           joy
           ,
           his
           brissels
           rough
           erects
           ,
        
         
           Falls
           close
           unto
           the
           prey
           he
           so
           affects
           ,
        
         
           Washing
           his
           ravenous
           chaps
           in
           bloud
           luke-warm
           .
        
         
           Thus
           thickest
           foes
           Mezentius
           fierce
           doth
           charm
           :
        
         
           And
           quickly
           he
           unhappie
           Acron
           slayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           him
           with
           's
           heels
           beating
           the
           ground
           he
           layes
        
         
           Low
           on
           the
           earth
           ,
           his
           bloudy
           speare
           unsplit
           .
        
         
           But
           he
           Orodes
           flying
           scorn'd
           to
           hit
           ,
        
         
           Or
           smite
           to
           death
           by
           casting
           his
           strong
           dart
           ,
        
         
           And
           coward-like
           to
           wound
           him
           in
           's
           back-part
           :
        
         
           But
           he
           must
           meet
           his
           foes
           all
           face
           to
           face
           ,
        
         
           And
           man
           to
           man
           by
           dreadfull
           duells
           chase
           ,
        
         
           Not
           pleas'd
           with
           pilfering
           ,
           but
           with
           powerfull
           blows
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           great
           Orodes
           overthrows
           ,
        
         
           His
           foot
           set
           on
           his
           corps
           ,
           his
           speare
           at
           's
           heart
           ,
        
         
           A
           man
           of
           no
           small
           worth
           ,
           this
           warres
           best
           part
           .
        
         
           His
           mates
           him
           following
           ,
           panegyricks
           sing
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           his
           conquests
           make
           the
           aire
           to
           ring
           .
        
         
           But
           he
           expiring
           ,
           ere
           quite
           dead
           ,
           thus
           said
           ;
        
         
           Proud
           conquerour
           ,
           thou
           shalt
           not
           passe
           unpaid
           ,
        
         
           Who
           e're
           thou
           art
           ,
           my
           death
           reveng'd
           shall
           be
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           shalt
           thou
           long
           from
           this
           revenge
           be
           free
           :
        
         
           My
           fate
           thee
           follows
           ,
           thee
           these
           plains
           shall
           hold
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           Mezentius
           with
           a
           spirit
           bold
           ,
        
         
         
         
         
         
         
           Yet
           smilingly
           reply'de
           ;
           But
           thou
           shalt
           die
           :
        
         
           But
           as
           for
           me
           ,
           Iove
           ,
           king
           of
           earth
           and
           skie
           ,
        
         
           Will
           see
           to
           me
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           the
           speare
           he
           pulls
        
         
           Out
           of
           his
           corps
           :
           then
           fatall
           rest
           him
           lulls
        
         
           Into
           a
           deadly
           sleep
           ,
           which
           clos'd
           his
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Shutting
           his
           eyes
           up
           in
           eternall
           night
           .
        
         
           Stout
           Caedicus
           in
           fight
           slayes
           Alcath'us
           ,
        
         
           Sacrator
           kills
           
             Hidaspis
             ;
             Parthen'us
          
        
         
           And
           mightie
           Orsis
           do
           by
           Rapo
           die
           ;
        
         
           Messapus
           fierce
           slayes
           Clodius
           valiantly
           ,
        
         
           And
           Lyaconius
           and
           Ericates
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           from
           his
           skittish
           jade
           fallen
           with
           small
           ease
        
         
           Unto
           the
           ground
           ,
           on
           foot
           a
           footman
           slew
           :
        
         
           Then
           
             Lycian
             Agis
          
           hotly
           to
           them
           drew
           ,
        
         
           VVhom
           yet
           Valerius
           ,
           not
           a
           jot
           unfraught
        
         
           VVith
           sires
           connative
           noblenesse
           ,
           soon
           taught
        
         
           The
           way
           to
           's
           grave
           :
           
             Salius
             Atronius
          
           slayes
           ;
        
         
           Nealces
           nimble
           dart
           ends
           Salius
           dayes
           ;
        
         
           Nealces
           ,
           expert
           both
           at
           speare
           and
           dart
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           like
           heavie
           hap
           was
           on
           each
           part
           ,
        
         
           And
           mightie
           Mars
           made
           equall
           funeralls
           :
        
         
           Alike
           they
           fight
           ,
           alike
           catch
           fatall
           falls
           :
        
         
           These
           conquer
           now
           ,
           anon
           are
           conquered
           :
        
         
           But
           neither
           these
           nor
           those
           from
           foes
           have
           fled
           .
        
         
           The
           Gods
           from
           Ioves
           high
           hall
           pity
           the
           plight
        
         
           Of
           both
           parts
           ,
           thus
           o'rewhelm'd
           with
           fruitlesse
           spight
           ,
        
         
           And
           tyr'd
           with
           troubles
           .
           This
           way
           ,
           Venus
           faire
           ;
        
         
           Iuno
           looks
           that
           way
           with
           contrarious
           care
           .
        
         
           Pale-peevish
           Tisiphon
           with
           frantick
           heat
        
         
           Doth
           rage
           and
           rave
           between
           the
           armies
           great
           .
        
         
           And
           still
           Mezentius
           shakes
           his
           mightie
           lance
           ,
        
         
           And
           furiously
           does
           to
           the
           field
           advance
           .
        
         
         
           Like
           great
           Orion
           ,
           when
           with
           staulking
           feet
        
         
           He
           walks
           moyst
           Nereus
           pools
           and
           flouds
           that
           fleet
           ,
        
         
           Slicing
           his
           wavy
           way
           ,
           whose
           shoulders
           white
        
         
           O're-top
           the
           streams
           :
           or
           when
           he
           does
           delight
           ,
        
         
           Walking
           the
           woods
           ,
           a
           huge
           old
           oak
           to
           beare
           ,
        
         
           On
           mountains-tops
           his
           head
           to
           th'
           clouds
           to
           reare
           :
        
         
           Even
           thus
           Mezentius
           to
           the
           armie
           goes
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           seen
           farre
           off
           ,
           Aeneas
           to
           oppose
        
         
           Prepares
           himself
           .
           He
           dauntlessely
           doth
           stay
           ,
        
         
           Waiting
           his
           mightie
           foes
           approach
           that
           way
           .
        
         
           In
           's
           strength
           he
           stands
           ,
           watching
           the
           distance
           right
        
         
           Sufficient
           for
           his
           lances
           fatall
           flight
           .
        
         
           Assist
           me
           now
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           my
           right
           hand
           brave
           ,
        
         
           And
           brandisht
           lance
           ;
           none
           other
           Gods
           I
           have
           :
        
         
           And
           here
           I
           vow
           ,
           the
           spoiles
           which
           I
           shall
           gain
        
         
           From
           this
           great
           theef
           Aeneas
           ,
           shall
           remain
        
         
           To
           thee
           ,
           brave
           Lausus
           ,
           as
           thy
           trophie
           due
           .
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           words
           at
           him
           farre-off
           he
           threw
        
         
           A
           whistling
           speare
           ,
           which
           flying
           fierce
           did
           glance
        
         
           Upon
           his
           shield
           ;
           whence
           ,
           by
           unhappie
           chance
           ,
        
         
           It
           pierced
           Anthors
           noble
           breast
           and
           heart
           ;
        
         
           
             Anthor
             ,
             Alcides
          
           mate
           ,
           who
           would
           not
           part
        
         
           From
           king
           Euander
           ,
           once
           from
           Argos
           sent
           ,
        
         
           But
           made
           abode
           in
           Latines
           continent
           .
        
         
           Unhappie
           he
           dy'd
           by
           anothers
           wound
           ,
        
         
           His
           eyes
           to
           th'
           skies
           ,
           he
           thinks
           on
           's
           native
           ground
           .
        
         
           Then
           brave
           Aeneas
           cast
           a
           dart
           at
           him
           ,
        
         
           Which
           flying
           ,
           pierc'd
           the
           hollow
           edge
           or
           brimme
        
         
           Of
           's
           three-fold
           brazen
           arms
           with
           linen
           lin'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           his
           treble
           bulls
           hides
           way
           did
           finde
           ,
        
         
           Or
           forced
           through
           into
           his
           groin
           most
           deep
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           could
           his
           strength
           the
           paining
           wound
           out
           keep
           .
        
         
         
           Whereat
           Aeneas
           joy'd
           to
           see
           the
           bloud
        
         
           Of
           his
           proud
           foe
           ,
           draws
           out
           his
           fauchion
           good
        
         
           Which
           hung
           by
           's
           side
           ,
           wherewith
           he
           furiously
        
         
           Assails
           his
           trembling
           foe
           ,
           which
           with
           quick
           eye
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           Lausus
           sees
           ,
           due
           filiall
           love
        
         
           Doth
           in
           him
           ,
           for
           his
           sire
           ,
           much
           mourning
           move
           ,
        
         
           And
           brinish
           teares
           provoke
           .
           Here
           cannot
           I
        
         
           In
           silence
           burie
           thy
           dire
           destinie
           ,
        
         
           And
           famous
           facts
           (
           if
           future
           times
           will
           trust
        
         
           And
           credit
           what
           of
           him
           relate
           I
           must
           )
        
         
           Most
           memorable
           youth
           !
           Mezentius
           maim'd
        
         
           Unfit
           for
           fight
           ,
           the
           battell
           ,
           slow
           ,
           disclaim'd
           ;
        
         
           And
           in
           's
           retreat
           the
           wounding
           speare
           he
           bare
           ,
        
         
           Sticking
           in
           's
           shield
           .
           Then
           straight
           the
           young
           man
           rare
        
         
           Steps
           in
           between
           ,
           i'
           th'
           midst
           maintains
           the
           fight
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           Aeneas
           rais'd
           his
           hand
           to
           smite
           ,
        
         
           Lausus
           his
           sword
           crosse
           underneath
           it
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           brake
           the
           force
           o'
           th'
           blow
           ,
           and
           stopt
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           His
           mates
           him
           follow
           with
           a
           mightie
           shout
           ,
        
         
           And
           whiles
           the
           sire
           ,
           guarded
           by
           's
           sonne
           ,
           got
           out
           ,
        
         
           They
           throw
           thick
           darts
           ,
           incense
           their
           foe
           to
           fight
           :
        
         
           Aeneas
           frets
           ,
           hid
           under
           's
           target
           bright
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           black
           clouds
           pouring
           down
           showers
           of
           hail
           ,
        
         
           The
           lowns
           and
           plow-men
           all
           without
           all
           fail
        
         
           Scud
           from
           the
           fields
           apace
           ,
           themselves
           to
           hide
           ,
        
         
           With
           cunning
           tricks
           ,
           under
           some
           rivers
           side
           ,
        
         
           Or
           in
           some
           rocks
           deep
           hole
           ,
           whiles
           it
           doth
           rain
           ;
        
         
           That
           i'
           th'
           sun-shine
           they
           may
           to
           work
           again
           :
        
         
           Even
           so
           Aeneas
           ,
           showr'd
           on
           round
           about
        
         
           VVith
           shafts
           ,
           this
           cloud
           of
           warre
           strongly
           beares
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           '
           bides
           all
           brunts
           ,
           and
           chides
           young
           Lausus
           sore
           ,
        
         
           And
           bitterly
           thus
           threatens
           Lausus
           poore
           ;
        
         
         
           VVhither
           ,
           weak
           childe
           of
           death
           ,
           dost
           rush
           so
           fast
           ?
        
         
           VVhy
           dost
           thou
           on
           facts
           past
           thy
           strength
           thee
           cast
           ?
        
         
           Thy
           filiall
           zeal
           doth
           flout
           thee
           most
           unwise
           ;
        
         
           Lausus
           no
           lesse
           doth
           madly
           him
           despise
           ;
        
         
           VVhich
           makes
           this
           Trojan
           captains
           rage
           break
           out
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           fatall
           sisters
           had
           spun
           out
        
         
           Lausus
           last
           thred
           of
           life
           ;
           for
           now
           with
           ruth
        
         
           Aeneas
           through
           the
           bodie
           of
           the
           youth
        
         
           Made
           his
           bright
           blade
           to
           enter
           instantly
           ,
        
         
           There
           wholly
           hid
           :
           his
           shield
           and
           arms
           do
           flie
        
         
           In
           parts
           ,
           and
           slasht
           his
           coat
           wrought
           curiously
           ,
        
         
           His
           mothers
           work
           ;
           and
           fill'd
           his
           breast
           with
           gore
           :
        
         
           VVherewith
           his
           soule
           into
           the
           aire
           did
           soare
           ,
        
         
           And
           left
           his
           corps
           .
           But
           when
           with
           ruthfull
           eye
        
         
           Aeneas
           did
           his
           dying
           count'nance
           spie
           ,
        
         
           His
           count'nance
           which
           waxt
           wondrous
           pale
           and
           wan
           ,
        
         
           He
           deeply
           sigh'd
           ,
           greatly
           to
           grieve
           began
           ,
        
         
           Embrac'd
           him
           in
           his
           arms
           ,
           and
           call'd
           to
           minde
        
         
           The
           tender
           love
           to
           sonnes
           in
           parents
           kinde
           ;
        
         
           And
           sonnes
           reciprocall
           to
           sires
           ,
           and
           said
           ;
        
         
           VVhat
           honour
           now
           may
           worthily
           be
           paid
           ,
        
         
           (
           Belov'd
           and
           much
           lamented
           youth
           )
           to
           thee
           ?
        
         
           VVhat
           gift
           may
           to
           thy
           goodnesse
           congruent
           be
        
         
           From
           kinde
           Aeneas
           ?
           all
           thy
           arms
           most
           rare
        
         
           VVherein
           thou
           joy'dst
           ,
           not
           mine
           ,
           but
           thine
           they
           are
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           corps
           also
           for
           buriall
           ,
           I
           commit
        
         
           Unto
           thy
           sire
           (
           if
           he
           have
           care
           of
           it
           )
        
         
           Yet
           let
           this
           thee
           unhappie
           happifie
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           by
           great
           Aeneas
           hands
           didst
           die
           .
        
         
           Then
           freely
           he
           his
           friends
           checks
           tauntinglie
        
         
           For
           their
           delay
           ;
           himself
           lifts
           him
           from
           ground
           ,
        
         
           His
           lovely
           locks
           (
           i'
           th'
           fashion
           )
           comptly
           bound
           ,
        
         
         
           Being
           all-besmear'd
           with
           bloud
           .
           In
           this
           mean
           space
        
         
           His
           father
           dry'd
           his
           wounds
           at
           a
           fit
           place
           ,
        
         
           About
           faire
           Tybers
           floud
           ,
           his
           bodie
           he
        
         
           Makes
           clean
           with
           water
           ,
           and
           against
           a
           tree
        
         
           Refresht
           himself
           ,
           his
           helmet
           strong
           of
           brasse
        
         
           Hung
           on
           the
           boughs
           ,
           his
           huge
           arms
           lay
           i'
           th'
           grasse
           .
        
         
           Chief
           gallants
           'bout
           him
           stood
           ;
           he
           faint
           ,
           takes
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Eas'd
           his
           tyr'd
           neck
           ,
           his
           beard
           spread
           on
           his
           breast
           ,
        
         
           Often
           enquiring
           for
           his
           Lausus
           deare
           ,
        
         
           And
           sending
           oft
           ,
           that
           he
           of
           him
           might
           heare
           .
        
         
           They
           quickly
           do
           the
           mournfull
           fathers
           will
           ;
        
         
           And
           on
           their
           shields
           ,
           lamenting
           loud
           and
           shrill
           ,
        
         
           Brought
           mightie
           Lausus
           dead
           ,
           with
           mightie
           wound
        
         
           Woefully
           slain
           .
           Which
           when
           the
           father
           found
           ,
        
         
           His
           mournfull
           minde
           farre-off
           foreseeing
           woe
           ,
        
         
           On
           his
           gray-haires
           much
           dust
           he
           straight
           does
           throw
           ,
        
         
           And
           both
           his
           hands
           unto
           the
           heavens
           doth
           heave
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           words
           to
           th'
           corps
           doth
           cling
           and
           cleave
           ;
        
         
           Oh
           my
           deare
           sonne
           ,
           had
           I
           such
           love
           to
           live
           ,
        
         
           That
           thee
           for
           me
           I
           to
           my
           foe
           should
           give
           ?
        
         
           Even
           thee
           whom
           I
           begat
           ?
           must
           I
           by
           thee
        
         
           Survive
           secure
           ,
           and
           thou
           thus
           murthered
           be
           ?
        
         
           Must
           I
           live
           by
           thy
           death
           ?
           Unhappie
           I
           ,
        
         
           What
           now
           remains
           ,
           but
           exiles
           miserie
           ?
        
         
           O
           wound
           most
           deeply
           driven
           ,
           O
           my
           deare
           sonne
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           I
           have
           sham'd
           thee
           ,
           and
           thy
           fame
           undone
           !
        
         
           Even
           I
           ,
           whom
           home-bred
           hatred
           hath
           disthron'd
           ,
        
         
           I
           should
           have
           dy'd
           ,
           through
           envy
           ,
           unbemoan'd
           .
        
         
           I
           by
           all
           kindes
           of
           death
           most
           guiltily
        
         
           Should
           to
           my
           realm
           have
           paid
           this
           penaltie
           ▪
        
         
           Yet
           live
           I
           still
           :
           nor
           men
           ,
           nor
           light
           yet
           leave
           .
        
         
           Well
           ,
           now
           I
           will
           me
           of
           them
           all
           bereave
           .
        
         
         
           And
           with
           these
           words
           ,
           up
           on
           's
           weak
           limbes
           he
           stood
           ,
        
         
           And
           though
           his
           strength
           was
           dull'd
           through
           want
           of
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           By
           his
           deep
           wound
           ,
           yet
           not
           a
           jot
           dejected
           ,
        
         
           He
           calls
           for
           's
           horse
           ,
           his
           horse
           most
           high
           affected
           ,
        
         
           His
           crown
           and
           comfort
           ,
           wherewith
           evermore
        
         
           In
           all
           his
           battels
           he
           the
           conquest
           bore
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           to
           his
           mourning
           horse
           did
           say
           ;
        
         
           Brave
           Rhebus
           ,
           we
           now
           long
           (
           if
           long
           I
           may
        
         
           Say
           ought
           'mongst
           men
           continues
           )
           lived
           have
           ,
        
         
           And
           either
           we
           'le
           this
           day
           be
           victours
           brave
        
         
           With
           bloudie
           spoiles
           and
           proud
           Aeneas
           head
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           my
           Lausus
           losse
           be
           thus
           well
           sped
           ;
        
         
           Or
           else
           ,
           if
           force
           no
           way
           can
           force
           or
           finde
           ,
        
         
           My
           death
           and
           thine
           shall
           be
           in
           one
           combin'de
           .
        
         
           For
           sure
           I
           think
           ,
           stout
           steed
           ,
           thou
           never
           yet
        
         
           To
           others
           didst
           ,
           or
           Trojan
           lords
           submit
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           mounted
           ;
           and
           i'
           th'
           saddle
           set
           ,
        
         
           Into
           both
           hands
           sharp
           shafts
           he
           straight
           doth
           get
           ;
        
         
           His
           glistring
           brazen
           helm
           on
           's
           head
           ,
           and
           crest
        
         
           Fast
           fixt
           ,
           and
           with
           most
           rigid
           horse-haire
           drest
           .
        
         
           Thus
           'mongst
           them
           with
           a
           fierce
           careere
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           He
           rushed
           in
           :
           his
           heart
           with
           shame
           did
           boile
           :
        
         
           Madnesse
           and
           mourning
           for
           his
           Lausus
           foile
           ,
        
         
           Outragious
           love
           ,
           and
           secret
           sense
           o'
           th'
           might
        
         
           Of
           his
           fierce
           foe
           ,
           do
           spurre
           him
           to
           the
           fight
           .
        
         
           Aloud
           three
           times
           he
           now
           Aeneas
           calls
           ,
        
         
           Aeneas
           knows
           him
           ,
           glad
           ,
           to
           prayers
           falls
           ;
        
         
           So
           grant
           great
           Iove
           ,
           so
           grant
           Apollo
           high
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           mayst
           now
           begin
           the
           fight
           to
           trie
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           with
           a
           piercing
           speare
           him
           met
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           Mezentius
           ,
           in
           a
           ragefull
           fret
           ,
        
         
           Cries
           out
           ,
           Fierce
           wretch
           ,
           why
           dost
           thou
           thus
           in
           vain
        
         
         
           Me
           vex
           ,
           perplex
           ?
           thou
           having
           my
           sonne
           slain
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           hast
           the
           way
           me
           now
           to
           ruinate
           .
        
         
           And
           surely
           now
           to
           die
           I
           do
           not
           hate
           :
        
         
           None
           of
           thy
           Gods
           regard
           or
           spare
           will
           I.
        
         
           Leave
           off
           thy
           threats
           ,
           for
           here
           I
           come
           to
           die
           ,
        
         
           But
           first
           of
           all
           ,
           these
           gifts
           to
           thee
           I
           bring
           .
        
         
           Which
           said
           ,
           a
           dart
           he
           at
           his
           foe
           did
           fling
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           another
           and
           another
           ,
           thick
        
         
           He
           flings
           ,
           which
           flies
           as
           in
           a
           circle
           quick
           .
        
         
           But
           yet
           the
           gold-bost
           shield
           them
           all
           abides
           .
        
         
           Then
           'bout
           Aeneas
           standing
           fast
           ,
           he
           rides
        
         
           Three
           light
           careeres
           ,
           still
           at
           him
           throwing
           darts
           ,
        
         
           And
           thrice
           Troyes
           prince
           with
           his
           brasse
           target
           thwarts
        
         
           The
           seeming
           wood
           of
           shafts
           .
           But
           when
           he
           saw
           ,
        
         
           And
           seeing
           sham'd
           so
           many
           darts
           to
           draw
        
         
           Out
           of
           his
           shield
           ,
           such
           long
           delayes
           to
           use
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           he
           was
           constrain'd
           not
           to
           refuse
        
         
           The
           combate
           ,
           though
           unequall
           ,
           musing
           thus
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           with
           valour
           most
           magnanimous
        
         
           He
           rusheth
           on
           ,
           and
           with
           resistlesse
           force
        
         
           He
           threw
           a
           dart
           which
           hit
           the
           warriours
           horse
        
         
           Between
           his
           hollow
           temples
           ,
           with
           which
           blow
        
         
           The
           horse
           mounts
           up
           an
           end
           ,
           kicks
           to
           o'rethrow
        
         
           His
           rider
           ;
           and
           at
           last
           does
           backward
           fall
           ,
        
         
           Fastning
           his
           master
           under
           him
           withall
           :
        
         
           He
           groveling
           headlong
           ,
           out
           of
           joynt
           his
           arm
           ,
        
         
           Trojans
           and
           Latines
           raise
           a
           loud
           alarm
        
         
           And
           clamorous
           noise
           .
           Aeneas
           to
           him
           flew
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           his
           scabbard
           his
           bright
           fauchion
           drew
           ,
        
         
           And
           o're
           him
           said
           ;
           Where
           's
           now
           ,
           Mezentius
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Where
           's
           thy
           proud
           strength
           and
           stomack
           ?
           all
           flown
           out
           ?
        
         
           To
           whom
           the
           Tuscane
           ,
           having
           ta'ne
           some
           breath
           ,
        
         
         
           Fierce
           bitter
           foe
           ,
           why
           so
           dost
           threaten
           death
           ?
        
         
           Why
           so
           insult'st
           thou
           ?
           't
           is
           no
           crime
           to
           die
           :
        
         
           Nor
           came
           I
           to
           the
           field
           so
           cowardly
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           for
           me
           with
           thee
           would
           my
           Lausus
           have
        
         
           Such
           base
           conditions
           :
           Onely
           this
           I
           crave
           ,
        
         
           (
           If
           any
           favour
           vanquisht
           ones
           may
           get
        
         
           From
           victours
           )
           I
           thee
           earnestly
           intreat
           ,
        
         
           Permit
           my
           body
           to
           have
           buriall-rite
           :
        
         
           For
           why
           ?
           I
           know
           my
           peoples
           hate
           and
           spight
        
         
           Stand
           round
           about
           me
           ;
           keep
           me
           ,
           I
           thee
           pray
           ,
        
         
           From
           their
           great
           rage
           ,
           and
           with
           me
           my
           sonne
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Consorting
           in
           one
           grave
           .
           And
           with
           this
           word
        
         
           Expectedly
           his
           throat
           receives
           the
           sword
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           upon
           his
           arms
           gusht
           out
           his
           gore
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           his
           body
           forth
           his
           soule
           did
           soare
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             tenth
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             eleventh
             book
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             ,
             for
             these
             victories
             ,
          
           
             To
             Mars
             doth
             trophies
             solemnize
             .
          
           
             Pallas
             dead
             corps
             is
             sent
             thence
             straight
          
           
             To
             king
             Euander
             ,
             in
             great
             state
             .
          
           
             Truce
             made
             ,
             to
             burie
             both
             their
             slain
             :
          
           
             Euanders
             grief
             ,
             paternall
             pain
          
           
             For
             his
             dead
             sonne
             .
             The
             souldiers
             dead
          
           
             Are
             gather'd
             ,
             burn'd
             ,
             and
             buried
             .
          
           
             From
             Diomedes
             message
             came
             ,
          
           
             That
             he
             these
             warres
             did
             quite
             disclaim
             .
          
           
             Drances
             and
             Turnus
             'twixt
             them
             chide
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             to
             Laurentum
             hy'de
             .
          
           
             Fierce
             fight
             :
             the
             day
             the
             Trojans
             gain
             :
          
           
             Vnwares
             ,
             Camilla
             there
             is
             slain
             .
          
        
         
           AVrora
           rising
           now
           the
           sea
           forsook
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           (
           though
           especiall
           care
           he
           took
           ,
        
         
           And
           time
           ,
           for
           buriall
           of
           his
           slaughtered
           mates
        
         
           With
           sedulous
           intents
           he
           meditates
           )
        
         
           Yet
           first
           ,
           like
           victour
           brave
           ,
           by
           break
           of
           day
        
         
           He
           to
           the
           Gods
           his
           Martiall
           votes
           will
           pay
           .
        
         
           Upon
           a
           hill
           a
           mightie
           oak
           he
           plac'd
           ,
        
         
           Which
           lopt
           all
           o're
           ,
           with
           glistring
           arms
           he
           grac'd
           ,
        
         
           Mezentius
           spoiles
           (
           great
           Mars
           ,
           thy
           trophies
           good
           )
        
         
           And
           fitly
           fixt
           the
           crest
           ,
           yet
           dropping
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           Speares
           broken
           splinters
           ,
           and
           his
           corslet
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Which
           twelve
           times
           dig'd
           with
           darts
           ,
           scarce
           took
           least
           wrong
           .
        
         
         
           His
           brazen
           shield
           to
           th'left
           hand
           up
           was
           tide
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           his
           neck
           ,
           his
           ivorie
           sheath
           beside
           .
        
         
           Then
           thus
           his
           mates
           (
           for
           all
           his
           Martiall
           Peeres
        
         
           Had
           hedg'd
           him
           in
           )
           he
           with
           these
           speeches
           cheeres
           ;
        
         
           Brave
           sirs
           ,
           our
           main
           work
           done
           ,
           avaunt
           base
           feare
           ,
        
         
           A
           rush
           for
           what
           remains
           :
           the
           spoiles
           see
           here
           ,
        
         
           And
           first-fruits
           of
           our
           joy
           ,
           from
           that
           proud
           king
        
         
           Mezentius
           ,
           whom
           these
           hands
           to
           ground
           did
           bring
           .
        
         
           Now
           to
           the
           King
           we
           must
           ,
           to
           Laurents
           wall
           .
        
         
           Prepare
           your
           hearts
           for
           warre
           ,
           yet
           hope
           withall
        
         
           For
           good
           successe
           ;
           and
           let
           not
           least
           delay
        
         
           (
           So
           soon
           as
           th'
           ensignes
           thence
           to
           pluck
           away
        
         
           The
           Gods
           permit
           ,
           and
           tents
           their
           youth
           forsake
           )
        
         
           In
           ignorance
           or
           sloth
           ,
           force
           you
           to
           take
        
         
           Feare-caused
           counsell
           .
           In
           the
           meanwhile
           we
        
         
           Our
           mates
           unburied
           corps
           interr'd
           will
           see
           :
        
         
           This
           rite
           alone
           departed
           soules
           desire
           .
        
         
           Go
           then
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           and
           carefully
           enquire
           ,
        
         
           And
           search
           out
           all
           those
           worthy
           wights
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Who
           this
           faire
           land
           to
           purchase
           ,
           did
           not
           spare
        
         
           Their
           deare
           hearts
           bloud
           ,
           for
           us
           :
           finde
           them
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           And
           hang
           their
           hearses
           with
           last
           gifts
           most
           gay
           :
        
         
           And
           first
           unto
           Euanders
           city
           sad
        
         
           Let
           princely
           Pallas
           noble
           corps
           be
           had
           :
        
         
           Whom
           ,
           full
           of
           valour
           ,
           fatall
           destinie
        
         
           And
           bitter
           death
           drencht
           in
           extremitie
           .
        
         
           These
           weeping
           words
           he
           spake
           ,
           and
           went
           his
           way
        
         
           Unto
           the
           place
           where
           Pallas
           body
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Watcht
           by
           Acetes
           old
           ,
           Euanders
           page
           ,
        
         
           But
           not
           by
           happie
           fate
           to
           such
           ripe
           age
        
         
           Admitted
           his
           sons
           mate
           .
           His
           servants
           all
        
         
           About
           him
           stand
           ,
           mourning
           their
           masters
           fall
           .
        
         
         
           The
           Trojan
           troops
           ,
           and
           Phrygian
           matrons
           faire
        
         
           Stood
           weeping
           (
           as
           th'
           are
           wont
           )
           with
           unbound
           haire
           .
        
         
           But
           soon
           as
           e're
           Aeneas
           entred
           in
           ,
        
         
           There
           straight
           was
           rais'd
           a
           mightie
           mourning
           din
           ,
        
         
           With
           loud
           laments
           ,
           their
           breasts
           they
           often
           beat
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           ruthfull
           roares
           fill'd
           all
           the
           palace
           great
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           he
           saw
           Pallas
           white
           face
           and
           head
           ,
        
         
           And
           th'
           open
           wound
           which
           this
           just
           sorrow
           bred
           ,
        
         
           Through
           which
           th'
           Italian
           dart
           dire
           entrance
           made
           ,
        
         
           With
           trickling
           teares
           these
           wofull
           words
           he
           said
           ;
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           wofull
           youth
           ,
           must
           lot
           thus
           lucklesse
           be
           ,
        
         
           Even
           then
           when
           't
           smil'd
           to
           envie
           thee
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           Lest
           thou
           our
           conquer'd
           kingdomes
           should'st
           behold
           ,
        
         
           And
           brought
           triumphant
           to
           thy
           father
           old
           ?
        
         
           I
           promis'd
           not
           to
           him
           these
           things
           of
           thee
           ,
        
         
           When
           at
           our
           parting
           he
           dismissed
           me
        
         
           With
           sweet
           embraces
           ,
           to
           an
           empire
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           advise
           did
           fearfully
           repeat
        
         
           What
           furious
           foes
           we
           had
           ,
           what
           people
           stout
        
         
           To
           fight
           withall
           .
           And
           now
           fond
           hopes
           do
           flout
        
         
           The
           good
           old
           king
           ,
           who
           now
           (
           sure
           )
           hopes
           and
           prayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           his
           childe
           heapt-gifts
           on
           altars
           layes
           .
        
         
           But
           we
           esteem
           no
           gifts
           to
           th'
           Gods
           now
           due
           ,
        
         
           The
           dead
           young
           man
           we
           vainly
           '
           tend
           and
           rue
           .
        
         
           Unhappie
           old
           man
           ,
           thou
           with
           grief
           shalt
           see
        
         
           Thy
           sonne
           by
           cruell
           fate
           return'd
           to
           thee
           .
        
         
           Here
           's
           our
           returns
           of
           love
           ,
           our
           spoiles
           expected
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           thy
           great
           trust
           in
           me
           seems
           quite
           neglected
           .
        
         
           Yet
           ,
           grave
           Euander
           ,
           this
           some
           joy
           may
           be
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           wilt
           not
           him
           by
           base
           wounds
           conquer'd
           see
           :
        
         
           Nor
           him
           alive
           ,
           for
           cowardise
           ,
           wish
           dead
           .
        
         
           Ah!
           woe
           is
           me
           ,
           what
           fence
           is
           from
           me
           fled
        
         
           For
           Italie
           ,
           and
           what
           a
           noble
           mate
        
         
         
           Hast
           thou
           Iülus
           lost
           by
           his
           dire
           fate
           ?
        
         
           Thus
           having
           wept
           ,
           he
           bids
           them
           beare
           away
        
         
           The
           woefull
           corps
           ,
           choosing
           without
           delay
        
         
           A
           thousand
           gallants
           brave
           from
           all
           his
           bands
           ,
        
         
           To
           wait
           upon
           the
           corps
           he
           these
           commands
           ,
        
         
           As
           his
           last
           honour
           ,
           and
           at
           hand
           to
           be
           ,
        
         
           With
           his
           sad
           father
           ,
           whom
           still
           as
           they
           see
        
         
           Shedding
           salt
           teares
           ,
           to
           yeeld
           him
           comfort
           sweet
        
         
           (
           Although
           but
           small
           )
           to
           so
           great
           sorrows
           meet
           .
        
         
           Then
           straightway
           some
           long
           reeds
           do
           quickly
           get
           ,
        
         
           Some
           make
           a
           beere
           whereon
           the
           corps
           to
           set
           ,
        
         
           With
           twisted
           twigs
           and
           oaken
           sprigs
           most
           tender
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           hearse-like
           bended
           boughs
           thick
           shades
           do
           render
           ▪
        
         
           Here
           the
           young
           prince
           high
           on
           the
           reeds
           they
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           flower
           by
           damsells
           cropt
           in
           May
           :
        
         
           Or
           withering
           hyacinth
           ,
           or
           violet
           sweet
           ,
        
         
           Not
           yet
           quite
           stript
           of
           sent
           and
           semblance
           meet
           ,
        
         
           Though
           now
           its
           mother
           earth
           affords
           no
           sap
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           yeelds
           such
           strength
           ,
           as
           hugged
           in
           her
           lap
           .
        
         
           Then
           two
           rare
           robes
           of
           purple
           ,
           thick
           with
           gold
           ,
        
         
           Aeneas
           straight
           brought
           forth
           ,
           rich
           to
           behold
           ,
        
         
           Queen
           Dido's
           art
           ,
           which
           in
           her
           prosperous
           state
        
         
           She
           for
           him
           wrought
           ,
           with
           gold-twist
           accurate
           .
        
         
           One
           of
           these
           robes
           he
           in
           most
           mournfull
           wise
        
         
           Puts
           on
           the
           prince
           ,
           last
           due
           to
           's
           obsequies
           ;
        
         
           And
           therewith
           hides
           his
           locks
           for
           fire
           prepar'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           nought
           of
           all
           these
           warres
           rich
           spoiles
           he
           spar'd
           ,
        
         
           But
           heaps
           them
           on
           ,
           which
           in
           a
           long
           array
        
         
           Were
           born
           in
           state
           :
           great
           horses
           made
           a
           prey
           ,
        
         
           And
           speares
           and
           darts
           all
           taken
           from
           their
           foes
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           a
           captive
           chained
           with
           them
           goes
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           bloud
           in
           flames
           must
           sacrificed
           be
           :
        
         
         
           Truncheons
           of
           broken
           speares
           commanded
           he
        
         
           His
           captains
           in
           their
           hands
           to
           beare
           along
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           their
           tops
           to
           beare
           foes
           arms
           most
           strong
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           them
           every
           adversaries
           name
           .
        
         
           Then
           aged
           sad
           Acetes
           onward
           came
           ,
        
         
           Beating
           his
           breasts
           ,
           tearing
           his
           aged
           face
           ,
        
         
           Fal'ne
           faintly
           on
           the
           ground
           in
           piteous
           case
           .
        
         
           Along
           they
           led
           chariots
           besmear'd
           with
           bloud
        
         
           Of
           Rutuls
           slain
           .
           Aetho●
           ,
           his
           courser
           good
           ,
        
         
           His
           warre-horse
           brave
           ,
           came
           after
           all
           his
           train
           ,
        
         
           Stript
           of
           his
           trappings
           ;
           nor
           could
           he
           refrain
        
         
           To
           weep
           ,
           as
           on
           he
           went
           ,
           full
           flouds
           of
           teares
           :
        
         
           Then
           one
           his
           speare
           ,
           and
           one
           his
           helmet
           beares
           .
        
         
           The
           rest
           of
           's
           arms
           the
           conquerour
           Turnus
           had
           :
        
         
           Then
           followed
           all
           the
           troops
           and
           Trojans
           sad
           ,
        
         
           The
           Tuscane
           and
           Arcadian
           captains
           strong
           ,
        
         
           The
           wrong
           end
           of
           their
           speares
           trailing
           along
        
         
           Upon
           the
           ground
           .
           Thus
           as
           in
           Martiall
           b●nds
        
         
           These
           gallants
           passe
           ,
           Aeneas
           here
           still
           stands
           ;
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           deep-fetcht
           sigh
           does
           to
           them
           say
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           mates
           ,
           warres
           self-same
           fates
           call
           us
           away
        
         
           To
           weep
           for
           others
           :
           then
           my
           Pallas
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Rest
           safe
           for
           ever
           ,
           never
           to
           be
           here
        
         
           Re-visited
           ,
           for
           ever
           then
           adew
           .
        
         
           His
           speech
           here
           stopt
           .
           Then
           he
           his
           troops
           withdrew
        
         
           Unto
           the
           town
           and
           tents
           ;
           where
           soon
           they
           saw
        
         
           King
           Latines
           legates
           toward
           them
           to
           draw
           ,
        
         
           With
           olive-boughs
           adorn'd
           ,
           leave
           to
           intreat
           ,
        
         
           The
           scattered
           bodies
           by
           that
           battell
           great
        
         
           Slain
           in
           the
           fields
           ,
           that
           they
           might
           seek
           and
           have
           ,
        
         
           And
           gathered
           up
           ,
           bestow
           on
           them
           a
           grave
           .
        
         
           Adding
           ,
           No
           fight
           ought
           be
           with
           conquered
           slain
           ;
        
         
         
           Praying
           ,
           his
           once
           kinde
           hoasts
           he
           'd
           not
           disdain
           ,
        
         
           Fathers
           in
           law
           ,
           once
           call'd
           .
           To
           whose
           request
        
         
           Aeneas
           kinde
           him
           flexible
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           And
           gives
           them
           leave
           ;
           adding
           these
           words
           beside
           ,
        
         
           Tell
           me
           (
           you
           Latines
           )
           what
           unworthie
           guide
           ,
        
         
           What
           blinde-fold
           fortune
           hath
           involv'd
           you
           thus
        
         
           Into
           this
           warre
           ?
           Why
           have
           ye
           flown
           from
           us
        
         
           Your
           vowed
           friends
           ?
           ask
           ye
           peace
           for
           your
           slain
           ?
        
         
           Intreat
           ye
           for
           your
           dead
           ?
           Truely
           I
           'd
           fain
        
         
           Farre
           rather
           to
           your
           living
           grant
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           And
           to
           this
           place
           ,
           these
           parts
           ,
           I
           onely
           came
        
         
           By
           fates
           decree
           .
           Nor
           warre
           I
           with
           your
           land
           :
        
         
           Your
           king
           our
           love
           and
           friendship
           does
           withstand
           ,
        
         
           And
           rather
           trusts
           himself
           to
           Turnus
           might
           :
        
         
           Whereas
           for
           Turnus
           it
           had
           been
           more
           right
        
         
           His
           life
           to
           hazard
           .
           If
           he
           do
           intend
        
         
           By
           force
           to
           force
           us
           hence
           ,
           this
           warre
           to
           end
           ;
        
         
           'T
           were
           fit
           he
           onely
           were
           to
           me
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           should
           live
           ,
           whom
           fates
           or
           facts
           made
           best
           .
        
         
           But
           go
           ,
           poore
           citizens
           ,
           your
           slain
           interre
           .
        
         
           Thus
           spake
           Aeneas
           :
           they
           amazed
           were
           ,
        
         
           And
           silent
           stood
           ,
           gazing
           as
           men
           agast
        
         
           On
           one
           anothers
           faces
           ,
           till
           at
           last
        
         
           Drances
           the
           gravest
           of
           them
           ,
           evermore
        
         
           Who
           to
           young
           Turnus
           wrath
           and
           envie
           bore
           ,
        
         
           Set
           forth
           himself
           ,
           and
           thus
           his
           words
           did
           frame
           ;
        
         
           Brave
           Trojan
           prince
           ,
           great
           by
           illustrious
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Greater
           by
           vertuous
           facts
           ;
           vvith
           what
           due
           praise
        
         
           May
           I
           thy
           worth
           unto
           the
           heavens
           now
           raise
           ?
        
         
           I
           know
           not
           which
           ,
           or
           first
           ,
           or
           most
           t'
           admire
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           justice
           great
           ,
           or
           quenchlesse
           Martiall
           fire
           .
        
         
           But
           we
           ,
           thy
           gratefull
           friends
           ,
           these
           things
           will
           show
        
         
         
           To
           all
           our
           mates
           ,
           and
           towns
           where-e're
           we
           go
           :
        
         
           And
           if
           successe
           do
           smile
           ,
           vve
           hope
           to
           make
        
         
           King
           Latine
           thee
           into
           his
           love
           to
           take
           :
        
         
           Let
           Turnus
           somewhere
           else
           go
           seek
           him
           vvives
           ,
        
         
           But
           vvhen
           thy
           fate-given
           vvalls
           and
           building
           thrives
           ,
        
         
           We
           all
           shall
           be
           most
           glad
           Troyes
           stones
           to
           beare
        
         
           Upon
           our
           shoulders
           ,
           that
           great
           work
           to
           reare
           .
        
         
           He
           ceast
           ;
           and
           what
           he
           said
           ,
           all
           hum'd
           assent
           .
        
         
           Then
           for
           full
           twelve
           dayes
           they
           a
           truce
           indent
           ,
        
         
           And
           peace
           a
           space
           to
           hold
           .
           Then
           up
           and
           down
        
         
           Trojans
           and
           Latines
           stray
           about
           the
           town
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvoods
           and
           fields
           ,
           vvithout
           controll
           or
           strife
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           to
           fell
           ash-trees
           strokes
           sound
           most
           rife
           ;
        
         
           Cloud-kissing
           pines
           and
           good
           old
           oaks
           to
           cleave
           ,
        
         
           To
           chop
           down
           cedars
           ,
           which
           sweet
           sents
           do
           leave
           :
        
         
           And
           having
           fell'd
           them
           ,
           never
           cease
           ,
           till
           they
        
         
           In
           carts
           have
           carried
           them
           thence
           all
           away
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           fame
           ,
           hastie
           sorrows
           harbinger
           ,
        
         
           Sad
           tidings
           told
           to
           old
           king
           Euander
           ,
        
         
           And
           fill'd
           Euanders
           court
           and
           countrey
           round
        
         
           With
           crosse
           bad
           news
           ,
           to
           that
           vvhich
           late
           did
           sound
           ,
        
         
           That
           Pallas
           conquerour
           was
           in
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           Arcadians
           (
           as
           old
           custome
           was
           )
           do
           flie
        
         
           Unto
           their
           gates
           ,
           vvith
           buriall-burning
           light
           ,
        
         
           Tall
           torches
           ,
           vvhich
           in
           long
           ranks
           shone
           most
           bright
           ▪
        
         
           Whose
           shine
           dark
           fields
           abroad
           distinguisht
           plain
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           they
           meeting
           with
           the
           Trojan
           train
           ,
        
         
           Unite
           their
           mourning
           troops
           :
           which
           instantly
        
         
           The
           maids
           and
           matrons
           spying
           ,
           they
           drew
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           the
           citie
           sad
           raise
           piteous
           cries
           .
        
         
           But
           for
           Euander
           ,
           nothing
           could
           suffice
        
         
           To
           hold
           him
           back
           ,
           but
           to
           the
           midst
           he
           makes
           :
        
         
         
           His
           Pallas-bearing
           beere
           quick
           down
           he
           takes
           ,
        
         
           And
           falling
           ,
           fastning
           on
           it
           ,
           weeps
           and
           vvails
           ,
        
         
           And
           scarce
           his
           voice
           ,
           (
           vvhich
           him
           vvith
           grief
           yet
           fails
           )
        
         
           At
           last
           he
           thus
           unlocks
           ,
           thus
           vveeping
           spake
           ;
        
         
           O
           my
           deare
           Pallas
           ,
           ah
           ,
           didst
           thou
           not
           make
        
         
           This
           promise
           to
           thy
           parent
           ,
           that
           vvith
           heed
        
         
           And
           warienesse
           thou
           wouldst
           to
           warre
           proceed
           ?
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           I
           know
           my self
           ,
           how
           farre
           new
           fame
           ,
        
         
           And
           honyed
           honour
           (
           therefore
           I
           too
           blame
           )
        
         
           I'
           th'
           first
           assault
           would
           spurre
           young
           spirits
           free
           .
        
         
           Ah
           ,
           most
           unhappie
           youths
           first-fruits
           in
           thee
           ,
        
         
           Most
           rigid
           rudiments
           of
           too
           soon
           vvarre
           ,
        
         
           For
           vvhom
           my
           votes
           and
           vows
           all
           frustrate
           are
           !
        
         
           And
           thou
           ,
           most
           sacred
           spouse
           ,
           in
           death
           now
           blest
           ,
        
         
           Not
           kept
           to
           be
           by
           this
           great
           grief
           distrest
           :
        
         
           But
           I
           ,
           contrariwise
           ,
           by
           life
           too
           long
           ,
        
         
           My
           fates
           do
           vanquish
           ,
           but
           my self
           do
           wrong
           ;
        
         
           The
           father
           living
           ,
           and
           the
           sonne
           thus
           dead
           ,
        
         
           The
           Rutuls
           should
           me
           first
           have
           slaughtered
           ,
        
         
           Following
           the
           Trojan
           troops
           :
           my
           bloud
           should
           I
        
         
           Have
           sacrific'd
           ,
           then
           this
           solemnity
        
         
           Had
           been
           for
           me
           ,
           not
           for
           my
           Pallas
           deare
           .
        
         
           But
           neither
           blame
           I
           you
           ,
           brave
           Trojans
           here
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           yet
           the
           league
           vvhich
           I
           with
           you
           did
           make
           ,
        
         
           Then
           ratifi'd
           ,
           vvhen
           as
           vve
           hands
           did
           shake
           ;
        
         
           This
           grief
           (
           I
           see
           )
           to
           my
           gray
           haires
           vvas
           lotted
           :
        
         
           But
           since
           the
           fates
           untimely
           death
           had
           plotted
        
         
           Against
           my
           sonne
           ,
           some
           comfort
           it
           had
           been
           ,
        
         
           If
           Volscian
           thousands
           first
           he
           slain
           had
           seen
           ,
        
         
           And
           Trojans
           by
           him
           led
           victoriously
           ,
        
         
           Ere
           he
           had
           died
           ,
           into
           Italie
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           poore
           Pallas
           ,
           I
           can
           give
           to
           thee
        
         
         
           No
           better
           buriall-rites
           ,
           then
           here
           I
           see
        
         
           Done
           by
           Aeneas
           kinde
           and
           Phrygians
           brave
           ,
        
         
           By
           Tuscane
           Peeres
           and
           troops
           ;
           thus
           to
           thy
           grave
        
         
           Who
           bring
           rich
           spoiles
           ,
           which
           thou
           from
           slain
           didst
           win
           :
        
         
           And
           thou
           i'
           th'
           fight
           a
           mightie
           trunck
           hadst
           bin
           ,
        
         
           If
           so
           his
           yeares
           (
           proud
           Turnus
           )
           unto
           thine
        
         
           Had
           equall
           been
           :
           but
           why
           do
           I
           confine
        
         
           You
           noble
           Trojans
           ,
           and
           from
           fight
           detain
           ?
        
         
           Go
           with
           this
           message
           to
           your
           king
           again
           :
        
         
           Tell
           him
           ,
           whereas
           I
           live
           ,
           my
           Pallas
           dead
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           by
           his
           hand
           to
           be
           re-comforted
           ,
        
         
           In
           making
           Turnus
           pay
           the
           debt
           he
           owes
           ,
        
         
           Both
           to
           the
           fathers
           and
           the
           sonnes
           great
           woes
           .
        
         
           This
           honour
           fates
           (
           I
           hope
           )
           reserve
           for
           thee
           ,
        
         
           That
           by
           thy
           worth
           I
           may
           revenged
           be
           .
        
         
           I
           seek
           not
           sweets
           of
           life
           ,
           nor
           fit
           I
           should
           ,
        
         
           But
           that
           the
           death
           of
           Turnus
           may
           be
           told
        
         
           By
           me
           to
           my
           dead
           sonne
           .
           In
           this
           mean
           space
        
         
           Aurora
           rare
           shew'd
           forth
           her
           shining
           face
        
         
           To
           night-tyr'd
           wretches
           ,
           day-toiles
           to
           renew
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           Aeneas
           grave
           and
           Tarchon
           drew
        
         
           Neare
           to
           the
           shore
           ;
           when
           fires
           they
           build
           apace
           ,
        
         
           On
           which
           slain
           souldiers
           carcases
           they
           place
           ,
        
         
           (
           As
           custome
           was
           )
           kindling
           black
           fuming
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           smoak
           hid
           heaven
           ,
           as
           it
           did
           up
           aspire
           .
        
         
           And
           thrice
           in
           arms
           they
           ran
           about
           the
           flames
           ,
        
         
           And
           thrice
           they
           rode
           about
           with
           loud
           exclaims
           ,
        
         
           And
           trickling
           teares
           on
           arms
           and
           earth
           they
           spill
           ,
        
         
           And
           w●th
           loud
           sounds
           of
           Martiall
           musick
           shrill
           .
        
         
           Some
           spoiles
           from
           Latines
           slain
           obtain'd
           ,
           do
           throw
        
         
           Into
           the
           fires
           ▪
           helmets
           ,
           brave
           blades
           also
           ,
        
         
           Bridles
           ,
           and
           chariot-wheels
           warm
           with
           quick
           turning
           :
        
         
         
           And
           some
           cast
           in
           their
           gallant
           gifts
           ,
           thus
           burning
        
         
           Their
           shields
           most
           strong
           ,
           weapons
           too
           weak
           to
           save
           :
        
         
           And
           many
           oxen
           fat
           to
           slaughter
           gave
           :
        
         
           And
           briefly
           ,
           boares
           and
           sheep
           ,
           about
           the
           plain
           ;
        
         
           And
           threw
           them
           into
           th'
           fire
           ,
           the
           first
           being
           slain
           :
        
         
           And
           thus
           about
           the
           shore
           they
           see
           the
           stares
        
         
           Of
           those
           their
           slaughtered
           souldiers
           burning
           mates
           ;
        
         
           Whose
           half-burnt
           urns
           and
           ashes
           they
           retain
           :
        
         
           Nor
           hardly
           could
           be
           thence
           reduc'd
           again
           ,
        
         
           Till
           night
           came
           on
           ,
           and
           twinckling
           starres
           appeare
           .
        
         
           On
           th'
           other-side
           ,
           with
           like
           lamenting
           cheere
           ,
        
         
           The
           wofull
           Latines
           many
           heaps
           do
           frame
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           corps
           they
           partly
           burn
           i'
           th'
           flame
           ,
        
         
           And
           partly
           burie
           in
           the
           fields
           about
           :
        
         
           And
           some
           they
           to
           next
           fields
           do
           carry
           out
        
         
           Unto
           towns
           adjacent
           :
           the
           rest
           ,
           collected
        
         
           Into
           huge
           heaps
           ,
           and
           of
           them
           lesse
           respected
           ,
        
         
           As
           numberlesse
           ,
           so
           honourlesse
           were
           burn'd
           ,
        
         
           Promiscuously
           thus
           into
           ashes
           turn'd
           .
        
         
           Then
           all
           the
           fields
           with
           crackling
           flames
           did
           shine
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           third
           dayes
           light
           did
           cleare
           decline
           ,
        
         
           And
           utterly
           expell
           nights
           darknesse
           chill
           :
        
         
           And
           sadly
           they
           their
           urns
           and
           pots
           do
           fill
        
         
           With
           ashes
           of
           their
           bodies
           burned
           so
           ,
        
         
           Ta'ne
           from
           the
           bones
           ,
           on
           which
           hot
           dust
           they
           throw
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           in
           rich
           king
           Latines
           town
           throughout
           ,
        
         
           Farre
           greatest
           grief
           ,
           most
           moan
           ,
           was
           heard
           about
           .
        
         
           Here
           woefull
           wives
           ,
           daughters
           in
           law
           most
           sad
           ,
        
         
           Here
           sisters
           sweet
           do
           beat
           their
           breasts
           ,
           too
           bad
           ;
        
         
           And
           children
           fatherlesse
           do
           execrate
        
         
           The
           day
           of
           that
           fierce
           warre
           unfortunate
           ,
        
         
           And
           Turnus
           troublous
           match
           ,
           wishing
           withall
           ,
        
         
         
           That
           he
           alone
           which
           would
           be
           principall
        
         
           And
           sole
           commander
           of
           all
           Italie
           ,
        
         
           Should
           solely
           with
           his
           sword
           the
           battell
           trie
           .
        
         
           Old
           testie
           Drances
           these
           things
           aggravates
           ,
        
         
           And
           testifies
           'gainst
           him
           alone
           ,
           to
           's
           mates
           ,
        
         
           And
           counsells
           and
           encourages
           (
           as
           right
           )
        
         
           That
           Turnus
           onely
           should
           be
           call'd
           to
           fight
           .
        
         
           Much
           altercation
           was
           both
           con
           and
           pro
           ,
        
         
           But
           yet
           the
           queens
           great
           presence
           crost
           it
           so
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           protected
           Turnus
           Martiall
           fame
           ,
        
         
           That
           to
           her
           bent
           she
           made
           their
           mindes
           to
           frame
           .
        
         
           In
           midst
           of
           these
           commotions
           ,
           tumults
           great
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           ,
           th'
           embassadours
           sent
           (
           late
           )
           to
           treat
        
         
           With
           Diomedes
           ,
           sadly
           bring
           back
           news
           ,
        
         
           That
           ,
           notwithstanding
           all
           means
           they
           could
           use
           ,
        
         
           All
           cost
           and
           pains
           ,
           they
           nothing
           could
           effect
        
         
           With
           gold
           or
           gifts
           ,
           but
           us'd
           with
           disrespect
           ,
        
         
           No
           prayes
           prevail'd
           ▪
           Latines
           must
           look
           elsewhere
        
         
           For
           Martiall
           help
           ,
           or
           else
           they
           all
           did
           feare
           ,
        
         
           With
           Troyes
           great
           prince
           they
           must
           a
           peace
           request
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           king
           Latines
           heart
           great
           grief
           exprest
           .
        
         
           The
           Gods
           great
           wrath
           ,
           and
           graves
           fresh
           'fore
           their
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           Made
           them
           conclude
           ,
           Aeneas
           enterprise
        
         
           Fatall
           to
           be
           ,
           and
           with
           heavens
           cleare
           consent
           ;
        
         
           Therefore
           in
           haste
           they
           call
           a
           parliament
           .
        
         
           Straight
           all
           the
           empires
           Peeres
           are
           call'd
           to
           court
           ,
        
         
           And
           thither
           with
           huge
           confluence
           resort
           :
        
         
           The
           aged
           king
           Latinus
           ,
           with
           sad
           look
           ,
        
         
           In
           honour
           chief
           ,
           chief
           place
           amongst
           them
           took
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           he
           bade
           th'
           embassadours
           ,
           comne
           late
        
         
           From
           faire
           Aetolia's
           town
           ,
           to
           promulgate
        
         
           What
           news
           they
           brought
           ,
           all
           plainly
           to
           explain
           :
        
         
         
           And
           all
           ,
           to
           heare
           them
           ,
           silent
           do
           remain
           .
        
         
           Venulus
           then
           with
           due
           observance
           spake
           ;
        
         
           Grave
           patriots
           ,
           we
           a
           perfect
           view
           did
           take
        
         
           Of
           Diomedes
           and
           his
           Grecian
           plains
           ,
        
         
           And
           safe
           have
           past
           all
           our
           great
           journeys
           pains
           :
        
         
           We
           kist
           that
           hand
           which
           Troy
           did
           ruinate
           ,
        
         
           And
           saw
           his
           citie
           ,
           Argiripa's
           state
           ,
        
         
           So
           nam'd
           from
           native
           soile
           ,
           which
           ,
           victour
           ,
           he
        
         
           In
           Gargan-Iapyx
           plains
           would
           built
           should
           be
           .
        
         
           We
           being
           entred
           ,
           having
           audience
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Present
           our
           gifts
           ,
           our
           nation
           ,
           name
           ,
           declare
           ;
        
         
           Who
           on
           us
           warr'd
           ;
           what
           us
           to
           Argos
           drave
           .
        
         
           These
           things
           thus
           heard
           ,
           he
           ,
           with
           a
           count'nance
           grave
        
         
           And
           sweet
           ,
           reply'd
           ;
           O
           nation
           fortunate
           ,
        
         
           Once
           Saturns
           throne
           ,
           ancient
           Ausonians
           state
           :
        
         
           What
           froward
           fate
           your
           peacefull
           mindes
           molests
           ?
        
         
           And
           you
           with
           unknown
           warres
           so
           much
           infests
           ?
        
         
           All
           we
           ,
           who-e're
           ,
           that
           Troyes
           faire
           fields
           did
           spoile
           ,
        
         
           (
           I
           speak
           not
           of
           those
           woes
           which
           Martiall
           toile
        
         
           Under
           her
           walls
           didwrack
           ,
           but
           those
           rare
           spirits
        
         
           In
           Simois
           slain
           )
           we
           all
           have
           our
           due
           merits
           ,
        
         
           Now
           soundly
           smart
           for
           those
           impieties
           ,
        
         
           Such
           as
           even
           Priam
           sure
           would
           sympathize
           :
        
         
           Witnesse
           Minerva's
           most
           tempestuous
           starre
           ,
        
         
           Euböian
           rocks
           ,
           which
           did
           against
           us
           warre
           ,
        
         
           Caphares
           conquering
           banks
           .
           That
           warfare
           fierce
        
         
           Did
           us
           to
           diverse
           seas
           and
           shores
           disperse
           .
        
         
           For
           
             Menelaus
             ,
             Atreus
          
           sonne
           most
           stout
           ,
        
         
           To
           Proteus
           pillars
           hurried
           was
           about
           ;
        
         
           Vlysses
           saw
           the
           
             Aetnean
             Cyclops
          
           fierce
           .
        
         
           Why
           should
           I
           Neoptolems
           realms
           rehearse
           ?
        
         
           Idomeneus
           towns
           ,
           and
           Gods
           destroy'd
           ?
        
         
         
           And
           
             Libyck
             Locrians
          
           woefully
           annoy'd
           ?
        
         
           Yea
           
             Agamemnon
             ,
             Greeks
          
           great
           Generall
           ,
        
         
           Had
           by
           his
           wicked
           wife
           his
           fatall
           fall
           ,
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           e're
           come
           home
           ;
           and
           Asia
           ta'ne
           ,
        
         
           Adulterous
           Aegisthus
           in
           's
           throne
           did
           reigne
           .
        
         
           Yea
           and
           even
           me
           the
           Gods
           did
           plainly
           hate
           ,
        
         
           As
           my
           returning
           home
           did
           intimate
           ;
        
         
           When
           I
           had
           hope
           my
           loving
           wife
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           And
           Calidonia
           from
           all
           mischief
           free
           :
        
         
           Now
           with
           prodigious
           visions
           I
           am
           vext
           ,
        
         
           And
           my
           deare
           mates
           (
           vvhich
           hath
           my
           heart
           perplext
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           their
           vvoefull
           state
           )
           are
           flown
           away
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvith
           birds
           vvings
           ,
           as
           birds
           about
           do
           stray
        
         
           In
           vvoods
           and
           flouds
           ,
           filling
           the
           rocks
           vvith
           cries
           ,
        
         
           And
           I
           e're
           since
           feare
           such
           like
           miseries
           :
        
         
           For
           frantick
           I
           have
           vvounded
           vvith
           my
           blade
        
         
           Celestiall
           bodies
           ,
           and
           a
           vvound
           have
           made
        
         
           In
           Venus
           hand
           .
           Move
           me
           not
           then
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           To
           more
           such
           fights
           ,
           vvhich
           me
           thus
           mischief
           may
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           vvith
           the
           Trojans
           ;
           since
           Troyes
           fall
           in
           fight
        
         
           I
           never
           vvill
           attempt
           ,
           nor
           take
           delight
        
         
           To
           think
           upon
           their
           ancient
           miserie
           .
        
         
           As
           for
           the
           gifts
           which
           ye
           have
           brought
           to
           me
           ,
        
         
           Let
           them
           to
           prince
           Aene●s
           carried
           be
           ;
        
         
           For
           vve
           have
           fought
           and
           bickered
           hand
           to
           hand
           .
        
         
           And
           (
           trust
           me
           who
           have
           try'd
           )
           most
           stout
           he
           'le
           stand
        
         
           Upon
           his
           shield
           ,
           and
           fiercely
           whirling
           darts
           .
        
         
           If
           Ida
           had
           bred
           two
           more
           such
           stout
           hearts
           ,
        
         
           Dardan
           through
           Graecia
           clearely
           pierced
           had
           ,
        
         
           And
           vve
           in
           woe
           bewail'd
           our
           fates
           as
           bad
           .
        
         
           For
           vvhatsoever
           stout
           procrastination
        
         
           Was
           in
           Troyes
           furious
           warres
           continuation
           ,
        
         
         
           'T
           was
           Hectors
           and
           Aeneas
           Martiall
           hand
           ,
        
         
           That
           ten
           yeares
           made
           our
           conquest
           anxious
           stand
           .
        
         
           Both
           stout
           of
           heart
           ,
           both
           were
           in
           arms
           most
           strong
           :
        
         
           But
           unto
           this
           did
           worthily
           belong
        
         
           Prime
           praise
           for
           's
           pietie
           :
           as
           for
           you
           then
           ,
        
         
           By
           all
           means
           make
           ye
           peace
           with
           these
           great
           men
           :
        
         
           But
           if
           ye
           will
           to
           arms
           ,
           stand
           on
           your
           guard
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           ,
           most
           mightie
           prince
           ,
           thou
           hast
           both
           heard
        
         
           The
           answer
           and
           advises
           to
           thee
           sent
           ,
        
         
           Touching
           this
           mightie
           warres
           most
           dire
           event
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           had
           th'
           embassadours
           thus
           made
           an
           end
           ,
        
         
           But
           that
           their
           muttering
           mouths
           forth
           forthwith
           send
        
         
           Vast
           various
           humming
           noise
           confusedly
           ;
        
         
           Like
           stones
           which
           'gainst
           a
           rivers
           current
           lie
           ,
        
         
           The
           bubling
           streams
           'gainst
           them
           rough
           ratlings
           make
           ,
        
         
           And
           neighbouring
           banks
           of'ts
           dashing
           din
           partake
           .
        
         
           But
           soon
           as
           e're
           their
           mouthes
           and
           mindes
           were
           still
           ,
        
         
           The
           king
           ,
           first
           having
           pray'd
           ,
           thus
           vents
           his
           will
        
         
           From
           his
           rich
           throne
           ;
           At
           first
           (
           as
           't
           was
           most
           fit
           ,
        
         
           And
           I
           ,
           great
           Latines
           ,
           most
           desired
           it
           )
        
         
           I
           would
           have
           settled
           these
           affaires
           of
           state
           ;
        
         
           And
           not
           a
           councel
           now
           necessitate
           ,
        
         
           When
           foes
           besiege
           our
           walls
           .
           Beleeve
           me
           ,
           sirs
           ,
        
         
           We
           have
           begun
           represselesse
           ,
           helplesse
           stirres
           .
        
         
           Against
           God-guarded
           ,
           war-like
           men
           we
           fight
           ,
        
         
           In
           battells
           undefatigable
           quite
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           hearts
           ,
           though
           vanquisht
           ,
           cannot
           banisht
           be
        
         
           From
           sword
           and
           shield
           .
           If
           hope
           of
           help
           ye
           see
        
         
           In
           stout
           Aetolians
           troops
           ,
           entreated
           late
           ,
        
         
           Let
           who
           s'
           will
           trust
           that
           hope
           ;
           for
           't
           is
           most
           strait
           ,
        
         
           And
           small
           ,
           or
           none
           at
           all
           ,
           as
           't
           is
           too
           plain
           .
        
         
           For
           other
           things
           ,
           ye
           see
           how
           they
           remain
        
         
         
           In
           tottering
           state
           ,
           't
           is
           open
           in
           your
           eyes
           :
        
         
           And
           fast
           and
           loose
           in
           your
           own
           hands
           it
           lies
           .
        
         
           I
           tax
           not
           any
           ,
           all
           have
           done
           their
           best
           ,
        
         
           What
           might
           be
           ,
           hath
           been
           valiantly
           exprest
           .
        
         
           But
           give
           me
           leave
           ,
           and
           I
           will
           briefly
           show
           ,
        
         
           What
           thwarting
           thoughts
           within
           my
           heart
           do
           flow
           .
        
         
           There
           is
           an
           ancient
           land
           which
           large
           doth
           lie
        
         
           Toward
           the
           West
           ,
           to
           our
           faire
           Tyber
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           Sicilia's
           boarders
           butting
           out
           ;
        
         
           Which
           the
           Aruncians
           and
           Rutulians
           stout
        
         
           Do
           plow
           and
           sow
           ,
           and
           though
           much
           out
           of
           heart
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           into
           pastures
           they
           do
           it
           convert
           :
        
         
           All
           this
           large
           land
           ,
           and
           piny
           mountains
           high
        
         
           Let
           us
           give
           to
           the
           Trojans
           instantly
           ,
        
         
           And
           peace
           compound
           ,
           and
           faire
           conditions
           make
           ,
        
         
           And
           them
           our
           friends
           and
           fellows
           to
           us
           take
           .
        
         
           And
           let
           them
           (
           if
           themselves
           do
           like
           it
           well
           )
        
         
           Amongst
           us
           build
           ,
           amongst
           us
           friendly
           dwell
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           they
           minde
           to
           seek
           some
           other
           land
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           they
           will
           relinquish
           this
           our
           strand
           ;
        
         
           Let
           's
           furnish
           them
           with
           twentie
           ships
           most
           tall
           ,
        
         
           Of
           strong
           Italian
           oak
           :
           or
           if
           they
           shall
        
         
           Have
           need
           of
           more
           ;
           then
           more
           we
           may
           them
           spare
           ,
        
         
           For
           all
           materialls
           by
           the
           river
           are
        
         
           Already
           ready
           :
           let
           themselves
           also
        
         
           Their
           vessels
           number
           ,
           and
           their
           fashions
           show
           :
        
         
           But
           workmanship
           ,
           and
           brasse
           ,
           and
           tacklings
           strong
           ,
        
         
           We
           will
           them
           give
           ,
           and
           that
           to
           ships
           belong
           .
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           I
           think
           it
           fit
           what
           we
           should
           send
        
         
           An
           hundred
           legates
           ,
           these
           affaires
           to
           tend
           ;
        
         
           And
           those
           also
           of
           noblest
           birth
           and
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           To
           shew
           our
           mindes
           ,
           and
           make
           conditions
           good
           :
        
         
         
           And
           olive-boughs
           of
           peace
           to
           hold
           in
           hand
           ,
        
         
           And
           precious
           presents
           of
           our
           wealthie
           land
           ,
        
         
           And
           talents
           of
           good
           gold
           and
           ivorie
           ,
        
         
           A
           chaire
           of
           state
           ,
           and
           robe
           of
           majestie
           ,
        
         
           Rites
           of
           our
           realm
           .
           Then
           let
           me
           heare
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Your
           counsel
           ,
           our
           declining
           state
           to
           stay
           .
        
         
           Then
           forenam'd
           wrathfull
           Drances
           ,
           whom
           deep
           spight
        
         
           And
           oblique
           envie
           at
           great
           Turnus
           hight
        
         
           Did
           vex
           with
           bitter
           bites
           ,
           most
           rich
           in
           state
           ,
        
         
           Richer
           in
           words
           ;
           but
           warres
           to
           animate
        
         
           Most
           cold
           and
           cowardly
           ;
           yet
           held
           to
           be
        
         
           For
           solid
           counsel
           ,
           in
           a
           prime
           degree
           ;
        
         
           A
           seedsman
           of
           dissension
           (
           puft
           with
           pride
        
         
           Of
           his
           nobilitie
           by
           th'mothers
           side
           ,
        
         
           His
           fathers
           stock
           unknown
           )
           he
           up
           does
           rise
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           poures
           out
           words
           ,
           and
           puts
           in
           enmities
           ;
        
         
           Good
           king
           ,
           thou
           counsellest
           things
           throughly
           known
           ,
        
         
           Such
           as
           will
           want
           best
           suffrages
           of
           none
           :
        
         
           Such
           as
           even
           all
           do
           know
           they
           feel
           and
           finde
           ,
        
         
           But
           what
           they
           wish
           ,
           they
           winde
           up
           close
           in
           minde
           .
        
         
           Let
           him
           then
           give
           me
           libertie
           to
           speak
           ,
        
         
           Let
           him
           lay
           by
           his
           pride
           ,
           whose
           dealings
           weak
           ,
        
         
           If
           not
           most
           wicked
           ,
           and
           unhappie
           deeds
        
         
           (
           For
           though
           he
           death
           and
           danger
           threat
           ,
           I
           needs
        
         
           Must
           speak
           my
           minde
           )
           so
           many
           peeres
           have
           slain
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           our
           citie
           made
           in
           teares
           complain
           :
        
         
           And
           whiles
           that
           he
           assayes
           ,
           scarcely
           assails
        
         
           The
           Trojan
           trenches
           ,
           and
           us
           therein
           fails
           ,
        
         
           Trusting
           his
           heels
           ,
           thrusting
           all
           else
           in
           arms
           ,
        
         
           Even
           frighting
           heaven
           and
           earth
           with
           fierce
           alarms
           .
        
         
           Let
           one
           thing
           more
           be
           added
           ,
           I
           thee
           pray
           ,
        
         
           To
           all
           those
           gifts
           which
           thou
           to
           send
           didst
           say
           ,
        
         
         
           Adde
           this
           one
           more
           ,
           great
           king
           ;
           Let
           not
           the
           heat
        
         
           Of
           any's
           rage
           make
           thee
           from
           this
           retreat
           ;
        
         
           But
           give
           thy
           daughter
           (
           to
           conclude
           all
           strife
           )
        
         
           To
           such
           a
           sonne
           ,
           most
           worthy
           such
           a
           wife
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           mayst
           thou
           tie
           this
           peace
           with
           endlesse
           bands
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           thy
           heart
           on
           feare
           and
           trembling
           stands
           ,
        
         
           We
           'le
           him
           intreat
           ,
           and
           for
           this
           to
           him
           sue
           ,
        
         
           To
           yeeld
           our
           king
           his
           right
           ,
           our
           state
           its
           due
           .
        
         
           And
           why
           shouldst
           thou
           so
           oftentimes
           expose
        
         
           Our
           wretched
           natives
           to
           such
           certain
           woes
           ?
        
         
           Thou
           head
           and
           heart
           of
           Latiums
           miserie
           ,
        
         
           Even
           thou
           ,
           O
           Turnus
           !
           no
           securitie
        
         
           Can
           be
           in
           battells
           :
           therefore
           peace
           we
           crave
           ,
        
         
           Therefore
           we
           all
           firm
           pledge
           of
           peace
           would
           have
           .
        
         
           I
           first
           ,
           whom
           thou
           indeed
           do●t
           think
           thy
           foe
           ,
        
         
           (
           And
           much
           I
           care
           not
           ,
           if
           I
           sure
           be
           so
           )
        
         
           I
           humbly
           pray
           thee
           pitie
           our
           poore
           plight
           ,
        
         
           Doffe
           thy
           high
           thoughts
           ,
           be
           gone
           ,
           since
           put
           to
           flight
           .
        
         
           For
           we
           have
           seen
           too
           many
           bodies
           slain
           ,
        
         
           Too
           many
           ,
           and
           too
           great
           lands
           spoil'd
           and
           ta'ne
           .
        
         
           But
           ,
           if
           thee
           fame
           so
           spurre
           ,
           strength
           so
           incite
           ▪
        
         
           If
           in
           the
           princesse
           thou
           so
           much
           delight
           ,
        
         
           Venture
           thy self
           to
           combate
           with
           thy
           foe
           ,
        
         
           That
           Turnus
           may
           a
           queen
           for
           's
           wife
           ,
           get
           so
           .
        
         
           We
           pessants
           unbewail'd
           ,
           unburied
           train
           ,
        
         
           About
           the
           fields
           will
           silently
           remain
           .
        
         
           Thou
           then
           ,
           if
           any
           Martiall
           spirit
           thou
           have
           ,
        
         
           Shew
           it
           'gainst
           him
           ,
           who
           now
           does
           thee
           out-brave
           .
        
         
           This
           speech
           young
           T●rnus
           rage
           exasperat●s
           :
        
         
           He
           sighs
           ,
           and
           then
           these
           words
           evaporate●
           ;
        
         
           Drances
           ,
           thou
           ever
           drayn'st
           out
           flouds
           of
           words
        
         
           Even
           then
           when
           there
           's
           farre
           greater
           need
           of
           swords
           :
        
         
         
           Thou
           wilt
           be
           foremost
           at
           a
           parliament
           ;
        
         
           But
           talk
           is
           not
           for
           court
           convenient
           ,
        
         
           Which
           (
           thou
           being
           safe
           )
           with
           full
           mouth
           from
           thee
           flies
           ,
        
         
           While
           there
           's
           a
           wall
           'twixt
           thee
           and
           th'
           enemies
           ,
        
         
           And
           whiles
           with
           bloud
           dikes
           do
           not
           overflow
           ▪
        
         
           Thunder
           (
           as
           't
           is
           thy
           wont
           )
           with
           babling
           so
           ,
        
         
           And
           taunt
           and
           tax
           me
           then
           of
           cowardize
           ,
        
         
           When
           Drances
           also
           hath
           heapt
           in
           a
           trice
        
         
           So
           many
           Trojan
           bodies
           ,
           by
           him
           slain
           ,
        
         
           And
           bravely
           can
           the
           field
           about
           maintain
           ,
        
         
           Triumphant
           with
           rich
           trophies
           .
           Then
           thou
           mayst
        
         
           Thy
           vigorous
           valour
           trie
           ,
           if
           ought
           thou
           hast
           :
        
         
           Nor
           needst
           thou
           look
           farre
           off
           to
           finde
           thy
           foes
           ,
        
         
           They
           stand
           about
           us
           ,
           and
           our
           walls
           enclose
           .
        
         
           Let
           's
           out
           against
           them
           ,
           why
           dost
           thou
           delay
           ?
        
         
           What
           ,
           wilt
           thou
           still
           Mars
           in
           thy
           mouth
           display
           ?
        
         
           Or
           in
           those
           heels
           of
           thine
           flying
           like
           winde
           ?
        
         
           Did
           I
           e're
           flie
           ?
           O
           thou
           of
           most
           base
           minde
           !
        
         
           Can
           any
           truely
           tax
           me
           so
           ,
           whose
           blade
        
         
           With
           Trojan
           bloud
           Tyber
           o'r●flow
           hath
           made
           ;
        
         
           Who
           ruined
           have
           Euanders
           stock
           and
           state
           ,
        
         
           And
           strongly
           did
           th'
           Arcadians
           denudate
        
         
           Of
           all
           their
           arms
           ?
           Bitias
           and
           Pandarus
           ,
        
         
           Though
           e're
           so
           strong
           ,
           (
           I
           think
           )
           ne're
           found
           it
           thus
           ;
        
         
           And
           all
           those
           mul●itudes
           whom
           in
           one
           day
        
         
           (
           Clos'd
           in
           their
           town
           ,
           and
           hedg'd
           in
           every
           way
           )
        
         
           I
           to
           black
           Tartar
           sent
           victoriously
           .
        
         
           In
           war-fare
           (
           sure
           )
           there
           is
           no
           safetie
           .
        
         
           But
           ,
           frantick
           fool
           ▪
           go
           sing
           thy
           slanderous
           song
        
         
           To
           
             Troyes
             Aeneas
          
           ,
           it
           does
           best
           belong
        
         
           To
           him
           and
           thy
           base
           state
           :
           Proceed
           then
           still
        
         
           All
           things
           with
           thy
           most
           impious
           feares
           to
           fill
           :
        
         
         
           Extoll
           the
           strength
           of
           a
           twice
           vanquisht
           nation
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           on
           th'
           other
           side
           ,
           vile
           valuation
        
         
           Of
           Latines
           powers
           .
           And
           now
           it
           must
           be
           said
           ,
        
         
           That
           Greeks
           great
           peeres
           of
           Trojans
           are
           afraid
           .
        
         
           And
           Diomedes
           and
           Achilles
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           Aufidus
           fierce
           turns
           back
           in
           doubt
           ,
        
         
           Into
           the
           Adriatick
           sea
           to
           fall
           .
        
         
           This
           arts-master
           of
           lies
           and
           envious
           gall
           ,
        
         
           Feignes
           himself
           fearfull
           ,
           all
           because
           of
           me
           ,
        
         
           My
           fault
           must
           by
           his
           feare
           imbittered
           be
           .
        
         
           But
           (
           feare
           not
           ,
           fool
           )
           such
           base
           bloud
           ne're
           shall
           stain
        
         
           This
           hand
           of
           mine
           ;
           safe
           to
           thy self
           remain
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           to
           thee
           (
           great
           fire
           )
           and
           thine
           affaires
           ,
        
         
           I
           glad
           return
           .
           If
           in
           our
           coasts
           and
           cares
        
         
           And
           future
           force
           all
           hope
           be
           past
           and
           spent
           ,
        
         
           If
           so
           forlorn
           for
           one
           poore
           hard
           event
           ,
        
         
           If
           one
           repulse
           hath
           us
           quite
           ruinated
           ,
        
         
           And
           fortune
           never
           can
           be
           restaurated
           :
        
         
           Let
           's
           then
           pray
           peace
           in
           submisse
           trembling
           feare
           ;
        
         
           Though
           O
           ,
           I
           wish
           there
           yet
           some
           reliques
           were
        
         
           Of
           wonted
           valour
           !
           O
           ,
           'bove
           all
           the
           rest
        
         
           I
           him
           admire
           ,
           most
           fortunate
           and
           blest
           ,
        
         
           For
           all
           his
           toiles
           ,
           for
           his
           renowned
           might
           ,
        
         
           In
           that
           he
           liv'd
           not
           of
           these
           woes
           t'
           have
           fight
           ;
        
         
           He
           bravely
           stoopt
           to
           death
           ,
           fear'd
           not
           his
           wound
           ,
        
         
           But
           dying
           ,
           conquer'd
           ,
           when
           he
           bit
           the
           ground
           .
        
         
           But
           if
           we
           have
           both
           wealth
           and
           worth
           ,
           and
           hearts
        
         
           Unstain'd
           with
           cowardize
           to
           flie
           from
           darts
           :
        
         
           If
           Latiums
           towns
           and
           people
           can
           bring
           aid
           ;
        
         
           If
           Trojans
           pride
           hath
           been
           with
           much
           bloud
           paid
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           their
           slain
           ,
           and
           warre-tempestuous
           showers
        
         
           Have
           (
           if
           not
           more
           )
           been
           equall
           full
           with
           ours
           :
        
         
         
           Why
           faint
           we
           at
           the
           first
           ?
           i'
           th'
           doore
           fall
           dead
           ?
        
         
           Why
           for
           th'
           alarm
           ,
           seem
           we
           thus
           basely
           fled
           ?
        
         
           Much
           toile
           and
           times
           various
           vicissitude
           ,
        
         
           Mans
           mutable
           estate
           do
           oft
           conclude
        
         
           In
           sweet
           content
           ;
           Fortune
           re-smiles
           on
           them
        
         
           Whom
           she
           before
           threw
           from
           a
           diadem
           .
        
         
           Will
           neither
           Greeks
           nor
           Arpians
           us
           aid
           ?
        
         
           But
           yet
           Messapus
           will
           ,
           he
           's
           not
           afraid
           :
        
         
           Nor
           fortunate
           Tolumnius
           ,
           that
           brave
           king
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           all
           those
           lords
           which
           mightie
           troops
           do
           bring
           :
        
         
           Nor
           is
           't
           a
           petty
           praise
           to
           have
           choice
           bands
        
         
           From
           Italie
           and
           stout
           Laurentums
           lands
           .
        
         
           Then
           from
           the
           nation
           of
           the
           Volscians
           brave
           ,
        
         
           The
           princesse
           rare
           ,
           Camilla
           faire
           ,
           we
           have
           ,
        
         
           Leading
           her
           troops
           of
           horse
           in
           armour
           bright
           :
        
         
           But
           if
           with
           me
           alone
           Trojans
           would
           fight
           ,
        
         
           If
           this
           will
           please
           ,
           if
           I
           alone
           withstand
        
         
           The
           publicke
           good
           ,
           I
           ne're
           yet
           found
           this
           hand
        
         
           So
           void
           of
           victorie
           ,
           that
           I
           should
           e're
        
         
           For
           so
           great
           hope
           the
           greatest
           task
           forbeare
           .
        
         
           I
           full
           of
           courage
           ,
           will
           my
           foe
           go
           finde
           ;
        
         
           And
           though
           he
           had
           Achilles
           mightie
           minde
           ,
        
         
           And
           had
           such
           arms
           as
           he
           ,
           by
           Vulcan
           drest
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           I
           ,
           even
           Turnus
           ,
           equall
           to
           my
           best
        
         
           Of
           ancestours
           ,
           am
           here
           most
           ready
           prest
           ,
        
         
           This
           life
           and
           soule
           of
           mine
           to
           consecrate
        
         
           To
           you
           my
           father
           in
           law
           ,
           great
           Latines
           state
           .
        
         
           'T
           is
           me
           (
           you
           say
           )
           Aeneas
           does
           defie
           :
        
         
           I
           wish
           it
           so
           ,
           and
           pray
           it
           may
           be
           I.
        
         
           Yet
           ,
           whether
           I
           survive
           or
           end
           my
           life
        
         
           By
           heavens
           displeasure
           or
           my
           Martiall
           strife
           ,
        
         
           I
           this
           could
           wish
           ,
           that
           Drances
           neither
           may
        
         
         
           Insult
           or
           boast
           i'
           th'
           gain
           or
           losse
           o'
           th'
           day
           .
        
         
           Whiles
           they
           these
           things
           contending
           agitate
           ,
        
         
           Aeneas
           tents
           and
           troops
           do
           prop●rate
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           behold
           ,
           a
           poste
           comes
           rushing
           in
           ,
        
         
           Filling
           the
           court
           vvith
           most
           tumultuous
           din
           ,
        
         
           Frighting
           the
           citie
           vvith
           amazement
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           eagerly
           this
           news
           doth
           oft
           repeat
           ,
        
         
           That
           Trojans
           were
           by
           Tybers
           stream
           array'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           Tuscane
           troops
           o're
           all
           those
           plains
           display'd
           .
        
         
           The
           peoples
           hearts
           were
           dampt
           and
           much
           perplext
           ,
        
         
           And
           vvith
           deep
           wrath
           and
           rage
           provokt
           and
           vext
           ,
        
         
           Arms
           tremblingly
           they
           crie
           ,
           arms
           sparks
           do
           crave
           ;
        
         
           Much
           mourning
           ,
           muttering
           is
           'mongst
           old
           men
           grave
           ▪
        
         
           And
           hereupon
           doth
           clamourous
           noise
           arise
           ,
        
         
           With
           various
           votes
           in
           most
           contentious
           vvise
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           when
           i●
           a
           wood
           a
           mightie
           flight
        
         
           Of
           chattering
           birds
           on
           boughs
           and
           branches
           light
           ;
        
         
           Or
           cackling
           swans
           by
           fishy
           Path●s
           lake
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           notes
           the
           banks
           about
           loud
           echoing
           make
           .
        
         
           Then
           Turnus
           taking
           th'
           opportunity
           ,
        
         
           Cries
           out
           ,
           Well
           done
           ,
           my
           friends
           ,
           well
           done
           say
           I
           ,
        
         
           Sit
           ye
           in
           councel
           ,
           praise
           peace
           on
           your
           seat
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           foes
           your
           kingdome
           foile
           and
           ruine
           threat
           .
        
         
           Without
           more
           words
           ,
           forth
           from
           them
           all
           he
           flings
           ,
        
         
           And
           swiftly
           leaves
           them
           treating
           on
           those
           things
           .
        
         
           And
           forthwith
           bids
           Volusus
           arm
           his
           bands
        
         
           Of
           Volscians
           brave
           ;
           and
           instantly
           commands
           ,
        
         
           And
           orders
           stout
           Messapus
           to
           lead
           forth
        
         
           His
           fierce
           Rutulian
           horsemen
           of
           brave
           worth
           :
        
         
           With
           him
           his
           brother
           Coras
           to
           bring
           on
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           field
           forthwith
           for
           to
           be
           gone
           .
        
         
           Some
           he
           bids
           block
           the
           wayes
           ,
           some
           guard
           the
           towers
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           rest
           ,
           as
           I
           think
           best
           ,
           shall
           strength
           my
           powers
           .
        
         
           Straight
           through
           the
           citie
           to
           the
           walls
           they
           scud
           .
        
         
           Then
           from
           the
           councel
           ,
           king
           Latinus
           good
           ,
        
         
           And
           great
           negotiations
           ,
           doth
           arise
           ,
        
         
           Deferring
           them
           in
           discontented
           wise
           ;
        
         
           Taxing
           himself
           ,
           that
           voluntarily
        
         
           He
           took
           not
           into
           his
           affinity
           ,
        
         
           As
           his
           deare
           sonne
           in
           law
           ,
           the
           prince
           of
           Troy.
        
         
           Some
           busily
           their
           best
           aid
           do
           employ
        
         
           About
           the
           walls
           and
           gates
           ,
           deep
           dikes
           to
           cast
           ,
        
         
           With
           stones
           and
           blocks
           the
           gates
           to
           dam
           up
           fast
           .
        
         
           The
           Martiall
           trump
           now
           gives
           the
           bloudy
           sound
           ,
        
         
           And
           wives
           and
           children
           'bout
           the
           walls
           stood
           round
           ,
        
         
           All
           at
           a
           pinch
           to
           help
           the
           work
           are
           bound
           .
        
         
           Then
           to
           great
           Pallas
           towre
           and
           temple
           rare
           ,
        
         
           The
           queen
           was
           born
           with
           troops
           of
           ladies
           faire
           ,
        
         
           With
           sacrificing
           gifts
           :
           and
           in
           great
           state
        
         
           Virgin
           Lavinia
           did
           her
           sociate
           ,
        
         
           (
           Cause
           of
           these
           ills
           )
           her
           comely
           eyes
           down
           cast
           :
        
         
           After
           ,
           whom
           orderly
           the
           ladies
           past
           ,
        
         
           The
           temple
           they
           perfume
           with
           frankincense
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           praying
           sadly
           ,
           at
           ingredience
           ;
        
         
           Tritonian
           maid
           ,
           arms
           potent
           patronesse
           ,
        
         
           Do
           thou
           this
           Phrygian
           filchers
           power
           suppresse
        
         
           With
           thy
           strong
           arm
           ,
           and
           cast
           him
           to
           the
           ground
           ▪
        
         
           And
           from
           our
           gates
           do
           thou
           his
           force
           confound
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           fierce
           Turnus
           fits
           him
           to
           the
           fight
           ,
        
         
           His
           rough
           Rutulian
           arms
           with
           buckles
           bright
        
         
           Fastned
           about
           him
           ,
           vvith
           gold
           buskins
           clad
           ,
        
         
           Not
           yet
           upon
           his
           head
           his
           helm
           he
           had
           ;
        
         
           But
           at
           his
           side
           ,
           his
           sword
           .
           Thus
           gorgeously
        
         
           In
           glistering
           gold
           he
           from
           the
           towre
           doth
           flie
           ▪
        
         
         
           His
           heart
           with
           hope
           of
           hap
           his
           foe
           outstrips
           ,
        
         
           As
           when
           a
           pampered
           courser
           nimbly
           skips
           ,
        
         
           Broke
           out
           o'
           th'
           stable
           ,
           now
           at
           libertie
           ,
        
         
           Fiercely
           does
           to
           faire
           fields
           and
           meadows
           flie
           ;
        
         
           And
           frisks
           about
           ,
           and
           leaps
           amongst
           the
           mares
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           wonted
           waters
           washt
           ,
           he
           stares
           ,
        
         
           And
           snorts
           and
           snuffs
           ,
           and
           shakes
           his
           rough-haire
           main
           ▪
        
         
           Which
           bolt-upright
           starts
           up
           ,
           and
           falls
           again
        
         
           In
           wanton
           wise
           ,
           about
           his
           neck
           and
           breast
           .
        
         
           Whom
           thus
           to
           meet
           ,
           Camilla
           her
           addrest
           ,
        
         
           Leading
           along
           her
           troops
           of
           Volscians
           stout
           ,
        
         
           The
           queen
           alighted
           at
           the
           gates
           without
           :
        
         
           Whom
           all
           her
           troops
           do
           forthwith
           imitate
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           their
           horses
           ,
           were
           dismounted
           straight
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           she
           first
           began
           ;
           O
           Turnus
           brave
           ,
        
         
           If
           for
           true
           valour
           ,
           one
           may
           duely
           have
        
         
           Hope
           of
           good
           hap
           ,
           I
           dare
           adventure
           now
           ,
        
         
           And
           Trojan
           troops
           I
           first
           t'
           affront
           do
           vow
           ▪
        
         
           Yea
           I
           alone
           dare
           deal
           with
           Tuscane
           bands
           .
        
         
           Let
           warres
           first
           fortune
           fall
           upon
           my
           hand●
           ▪
        
         
           Whiles
           thou
           on
           foot
           stay'st
           here
           ,
           the
           gatesto
           guar●
           .
        
         
           To
           whom
           thus
           Turnus
           with
           all
           due
           regard
           ,
        
         
           (
           His
           eyes
           fast
           fixt
           on
           this
           admired
           maid
           )
        
         
           Replies
           ;
           Faire
           virgin
           ,
           who
           hast
           full
           displayd
        
         
           Thy self
           the
           glorie
           of
           all
           Italie
           !
        
         
           What
           can
           I
           say
           ,
           or
           do
           ,
           to
           gratifie
        
         
           So
           great
           desert
           ?
           But
           now
           (
           since
           all
           I
           may
        
         
           Comes
           short
           of
           thy
           brave
           heart
           )
           let
           's
           part
           the
           prey
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           now
           (
           since
           fame
           and
           scouts
           forth
           sent
           ,
        
         
           Had
           made
           the
           truth
           of
           things
           most
           evident
           )
        
         
           A
           troop
           of
           light-horse
           fiercely
           first
           sent
           out
           ,
        
         
           His
           foe
           t'
           outbrave
           ,
           and
           scoure
           the
           fields
           about
           .
        
         
         
           Himself
           ascends
           a
           craggie
           steepie
           hill
           ,
        
         
           Through
           uncouth
           combring
           way
           ,
           with
           Martiall
           skill
           ,
        
         
           And
           bends
           to
           th'
           citie
           .
           I
           'le
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           here
           lay
        
         
           An
           ambush
           strong
           close
           in
           this
           woods
           crosse
           way
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           block
           up
           both
           passages
           most
           strong
           ,
        
         
           With
           armed
           troops
           :
           do
           thou
           then
           lead
           along
        
         
           Against
           the
           Tuscane
           horse
           ,
           thy
           bands
           combin'de
           ,
        
         
           And
           fierce
           Messapus
           unto
           thee
           conjoyn'd
           ,
        
         
           Together
           with
           our
           Latine
           companies
           ,
        
         
           And
           strong
           Tyburtus
           troops
           ,
           our
           brave
           allies
           ;
        
         
           And
           of
           a
           stout
           commander
           take
           the
           charge
           .
        
         
           And
           like
           encouragements
           he
           did
           enlarge
        
         
           Unto
           Messapus
           ,
           him
           to
           th'
           warre
           t'
           incite
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           captains
           ;
           and
           proceeds
           to
           th'
           fight
           .
        
         
           Between
           two
           hills
           a
           crooked
           valley
           lies
           ,
        
         
           Fit
           for
           defeat
           and
           Martiall
           policies
           ,
        
         
           On
           both
           sides
           with
           thick
           shady
           boughs
           beset
           ,
        
         
           Passage
           through
           which
           't
           was
           difficult
           to
           get
           ,
        
         
           By
           narrow
           entrance
           ,
           and
           dark
           rigid
           wayes
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           mountain-top
           on
           high
           ,
           abroad
           displayes
        
         
           An
           unknown
           plain
           ,
           which
           safe
           holds
           for
           retreat
           ,
        
         
           For
           left
           or
           right
           hands
           shifting
           the
           warres
           seat
           ,
        
         
           Either
           to
           skirmish
           stiffely
           on
           the
           top
           ,
        
         
           Or
           from
           on
           high
           great
           stones
           on
           pates
           to
           pop
           .
        
         
           To
           this
           vantageous
           place
           ,
           by
           wayes
           well
           known
           ,
        
         
           Doth
           Turnus
           haste
           ,
           to
           get
           possession
        
         
           Of
           the
           said
           seat
           ,
           and
           settles
           secretly
        
         
           VVithin
           those
           woods
           ,
           his
           foes
           to
           damnifie
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           Diana
           nimble
           Ops
           doth
           call
           ,
        
         
           One
           of
           her
           mated
           maids
           celestiall
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           the
           modest
           crew
           ;
           and
           sadly
           said
        
         
           To
           this
           faire
           nymph
           her
           most
           officious
           maid
           ;
        
         
         
           Faire
           
             Ops
             ,
             Camilla
          
           ,
           whom
           I
           much
           affect
           ,
        
         
           Goes
           to
           this
           furious
           warre
           vainly
           bedeckt
        
         
           With
           our
           acoutrements
           :
           nor
           is
           this
           love
        
         
           Which
           your
           Diana's
           heart
           thus
           neare
           doth
           move
           ,
        
         
           A
           new
           affection
           ,
           or
           an
           up-start
           sweet
           .
        
         
           For
           when
           as
           Metabus
           ,
           by
           undiscreet
        
         
           And
           impious
           envie
           ,
           and
           insulting
           might
           ,
        
         
           Was
           from
           Privernus
           forc'd
           to
           take
           his
           flight
           ,
        
         
           Scaping
           through
           thickest
           of
           his
           fiercest
           foes
           ,
        
         
           With
           his
           poore
           exil'd
           infant
           thence
           he
           goes
           ,
        
         
           And
           her
           Camilla
           ,
           from
           Casmilla's
           name
           ,
        
         
           Her
           mother
           ,
           nam'd
           ;
           a
           little
           chang'd
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           He
           in
           his
           arms
           his
           daughter
           with
           him
           bare
        
         
           Through
           long
           unwonted
           woods
           ,
           with
           carking
           care
           :
        
         
           At
           whom
           thick
           storms
           of
           arrows
           fiercely
           flew
           ,
        
         
           And
           troops
           of
           Volscian
           souldiers
           neare
           him
           drew
           .
        
         
           In
           whose
           fierce
           flight
           ,
           behold
           ,
           Amasenus
           ,
        
         
           Swiftly
           o'reswells
           his
           banks
           most
           copious
           ,
        
         
           So
           mightie
           showres
           of
           rain
           gusht
           down
           before
           ,
        
         
           That
           he
           prepared
           swiftly
           to
           swimme
           o're
           :
        
         
           But
           tender
           love
           unto
           his
           infant
           tender
           ,
        
         
           And
           feare
           of
           this
           deare
           burthen
           ,
           did
           him
           hinder
           .
        
         
           As
           he
           a
           thousand
           thoughts
           in
           minde
           did
           cast
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           much
           adoe
           ,
           he
           thus
           resolv'd
           at
           last
           ;
        
         
           A
           mightie
           speare
           of
           oak
           in
           his
           strong
           fist
        
         
           By
           chance
           he
           caught
           ,
           strengthned
           with
           knotty
           twist
           ,
        
         
           And
           scorcht
           about
           ;
           wherein
           the
           childe
           he
           layd
           ,
        
         
           And
           it
           with
           bark
           and
           cork
           closely
           up
           made
           :
        
         
           And
           her
           conveniently
           to
           th'
           staffe
           thus
           ties
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           strong
           hand
           it
           grasping
           ,
           thus
           to
           th'
           skies
        
         
           He
           vents
           his
           votes
           ;
           Diana
           ,
           virgin
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Goddesse
           of
           woods
           ,
           I
           this
           my
           childe
           ,
           my
           care
           ,
        
         
         
           Do
           here
           thy
           servant
           to
           thee
           dedicate
           ,
        
         
           Who
           in
           her
           hands
           thy
           speare
           doth
           elevate
           ;
        
         
           And
           by
           me
           humbly
           prayes
           (
           flying
           her
           foe
           )
        
         
           That
           as
           thine
           own
           ,
           thou
           wouldst
           receive
           her
           so
           ,
        
         
           Who
           now
           is
           left
           unto
           uncertain
           fate
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           his
           arms
           laid
           ope
           ,
           he
           casteth
           straight
        
         
           The
           twisted
           speare
           into
           the
           streams
           ,
           and
           they
        
         
           Making
           a
           dashing-sound
           ,
           swift
           floats
           away
        
         
           Unfortunate
           Camilla
           .
           But
           her
           father
        
         
           Metabus
           ,
           seeing
           foes
           him
           nearer
           gather
        
         
           In
           mightie
           heaps
           ,
           commits
           himself
           to
           th'
           waves
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           by
           swimming
           ,
           both
           himself
           he
           saves
           ,
        
         
           And
           (
           victour
           in
           his
           votes
           )
           the
           childe
           ;
           and
           speare
           ,
        
         
           Diana's
           gift
           ,
           from
           a
           grasse-turffe
           doth
           teare
           .
        
         
           No
           harbourous
           house
           he
           had
           ,
           nor
           town
           wall'd
           in
           ,
        
         
           (
           Nor
           would
           have
           had
           though
           they
           had
           profered
           bin
           )
        
         
           But
           liv'd
           a
           shepherds
           life
           i'
           th'
           woods
           alone
           ,
        
         
           And
           here
           in
           groves
           and
           beasts
           dark-dens
           unknown
        
         
           His
           daughter
           he
           nurs'd
           up
           with
           a
           mares
           dugge
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           with
           her
           lips
           milk
           from
           the
           teats
           did
           tugge
           :
        
         
           And
           when
           the
           babe
           began
           to
           go
           and
           stand
           ,
        
         
           He
           her
           enur'd
           to
           hold
           a
           speare
           in
           hand
           ,
        
         
           To
           beare
           a
           bow
           and
           quiver
           at
           her
           back
           :
        
         
           And
           for
           a
           cawle
           of
           gold
           ,
           (
           which
           she
           did
           lack
           )
        
         
           And
           a
           long
           lovely
           robe
           ,
           she
           wore
           behinde
        
         
           A
           tigers
           skin
           ,
           loose
           dangling
           in
           the
           winde
           :
        
         
           And
           prettie
           childish
           darts
           she
           us'd
           to
           fling
           ,
        
         
           And
           'bout
           her
           head
           would
           nimbly
           whisk
           her
           sling
           ;
        
         
           VVherewith
           sometime
           a
           fat
           Strymonian
           crane
           ,
        
         
           Sometime
           a
           milk-white
           swan
           were
           smote
           and
           slair
           .
        
         
           Great
           Tuscane
           dames
           ,
           as
           she
           their
           towns
           past
           by
           ,
        
         
           VVisht
           her
           their
           daughter
           in
           law
           ,
           but
           frustrately
           ,
        
         
         
           Her
           sole
           delight
           being
           in
           Diana's
           grace
           ,
        
         
           In
           pure
           virginitie
           to
           end
           her
           race
           :
        
         
           O
           that
           she
           had
           not
           warre
           so
           much
           affected
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           to
           provoke
           the
           Trojans
           been
           addicted
           !
        
         
           Then
           had
           she
           liv'd
           one
           of
           my
           damsells
           deare
           ,
        
         
           But
           now
           ,
           since
           she
           her
           bitter
           fates
           must
           beare
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           nymph
           descend
           ,
           view
           Latines
           land
           throughout
           ,
        
         
           Where
           with
           unhappie
           hap
           the
           field
           is
           fought
           .
        
         
           Take
           these
           with
           thee
           ,
           and
           from
           this
           quiver
           pull
        
         
           A
           dart
           vindicative
           of
           vengeance
           full
           ;
        
         
           Which
           ,
           whosoe're
           her
           sacred
           bodie
           harms
           ,
        
         
           
             Trojan
             ,
             Italian
          
           ,
           fatally
           it
           charms
           ,
        
         
           And
           gives
           me
           full
           revenge
           .
           Afterwards
           I
        
         
           Will
           in
           a
           hollow
           cloud
           immediately
        
         
           Take
           up
           her
           woefull
           corps
           ,
           arms
           free
           from
           spoile
           ,
        
         
           And
           her
           interre
           in
           her
           own
           native
           soile
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           she
           fluttering
           flies
           down
           through
           the
           aire
           ,
        
         
           A
           black
           thick
           stormie
           cloud
           her
           body
           bare
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           meanwhile
           Troyes
           troops
           the
           walls
           drew
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           Etrurian-leaders
           bands
           of
           horsemen
           hie
           ,
        
         
           In
           well-compos'd
           arrayes
           :
           the
           steeds
           most
           stout
        
         
           Curvet
           ,
           and
           fret
           ,
           and
           range
           the
           field
           about
           ,
        
         
           Churlishly
           champing
           (
           still
           )
           the
           curbing
           reins
           ,
        
         
           And
           here
           and
           there
           prancing
           about
           the
           plains
           :
        
         
           Steel-glistring
           speares
           the
           very
           fields
           affright
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           camp
           seems
           fir'd
           with
           armour
           bright
           .
        
         
           Messapus
           also
           ,
           on
           the
           other
           side
           ,
        
         
           And
           lusty
           Latines
           shine
           in
           Martiall
           pride
           :
        
         
           Coras
           and
           's
           brother
           and
           Camilla's
           wing
           ,
        
         
           Their
           adverse
           armies
           brave
           to
           field
           do
           bring
           ;
        
         
           And
           in
           their
           right
           hands
           they
           their
           speares
           do
           shake
           ▪
        
         
           And
           in
           their
           rests
           ,
           their
           lances
           charges
           make
           .
        
         
         
           And
           now
           both
           horse
           and
           men
           with
           fervour
           fret
        
         
           To
           meet
           :
           and
           both
           sides
           now
           together
           set
        
         
           In
           distance
           of
           a
           darts
           cast
           ,
           both
           stand
           still
           ,
        
         
           And
           suddenly
           burst
           out
           in
           clamours
           shrill
           ,
        
         
           And
           cheere
           their
           snorting
           steeds
           ,
           and
           thick
           darts
           throw
        
         
           From
           both
           sides
           ,
           all
           parts
           like
           huge
           drifts
           of
           snow
           ,
        
         
           Which
           darkly
           dimme
           the
           aire
           .
           Then
           instantly
        
         
           Tyrrhenus
           and
           Aconteus
           furiously
        
         
           With
           piercing
           speares
           begin
           a
           combate
           strong
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           first
           affront
           ,
           with
           overthrowing
           throng
           ,
        
         
           Made
           mightie
           noise
           :
           the
           horses
           breast
           to
           breast
        
         
           Batter'd
           each
           other
           as
           they
           forward
           prest
           :
        
         
           And
           down
           Aconteus
           fell
           unto
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           Much
           li●●
           a
           thunder-bolt
           with
           clattering
           sound
           .
        
         
           Or
           like
           ●
           pondrous
           stone
           from
           engine
           thrown
           ,
        
         
           Headlong
           he
           fell
           ,
           and
           falling
           gave
           last
           groan
           .
        
         
           The
           ranks
           are
           straight
           disrank'd
           ,
           the
           Latines
           flie
           ,
        
         
           Turn
           back
           their
           bucklers
           and
           horse-heads
           ,
           and
           hie
        
         
           Unto
           the
           citie
           .
           Trojans
           drive
           them
           on
           ,
        
         
           Asylas
           makes
           prime
           prosecution
           ,
        
         
           And
           execution
           on
           the
           enemie
           ,
        
         
           And
           chas'd
           the
           Latines
           to
           the
           citie
           nigh
           ;
        
         
           There
           suddenly
           with
           clamours
           loud
           and
           great
        
         
           Rein
           back
           their
           horses
           ,
           back
           their
           foes
           they
           beat
           .
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           ▪
           straight
           ,
           re-rein
           their
           horse
           and
           flie
           .
        
         
           Like
           as
           i'
           th'
           sea
           ,
           when
           subalternately
        
         
           Now
           on
           each
           other
           ,
           billows
           backward
           rush
        
         
           Fast
           to
           the
           shore
           ,
           and
           with
           foam-waves
           do
           brus●
        
         
           And
           overtop
           rough
           rocks
           and
           bounding
           sands
           ;
        
         
           And
           now
           again
           with
           furious
           countermands
        
         
           And
           boyling
           foam
           re-sups
           roll'd-pebbles
           small
           ,
        
         
           Ebbing
           and
           flowing
           ,
           to
           and
           fro
           does
           fall
           :
        
         
         
           Thus
           Tuscanes
           twice
           to
           th'
           walls
           do
           Rutuls
           force
           ;
        
         
           And
           twice
           beat
           back
           ,
           their
           backs
           hid
           ,
           foes
           they
           course
           .
        
         
           But
           after
           third
           encounters
           skirmishing
           ,
        
         
           The
           whole
           battalions
           furiously
           begin
        
         
           Promiscuously
           to
           fight
           it
           out
           pel-mell
           ,
        
         
           And
           closely
           to
           it
           ,
           man
           to
           man
           ,
           they
           fell
           .
        
         
           Then
           groans
           of
           dying
           men
           drencht
           deep
           in
           gore
           ,
        
         
           Corslets
           and
           corps
           of
           souldiers
           more
           and
           more
        
         
           Tumbling
           down
           dead
           ,
           mingled
           with
           half-dead
           horse
           ,
        
         
           Wallowing
           in
           bloud
           ,
           loud
           screeks
           and
           cries
           do
           force
           :
        
         
           The
           fight
           grows
           fierce
           .
           Thus
           then
           Orsilochus
        
         
           (
           Fearing
           to
           set
           upon
           fierce
           Remulus
           )
        
         
           Darted
           a
           speare
           at
           's
           horse
           ,
           which
           stuck
           in
           's
           care
           ,
        
         
           VVhereat
           the
           furious
           beast
           could
           not
           forbeare
           ,
        
         
           But
           stamps
           and
           stares
           ,
           impatient
           of
           his
           wound
           ,
        
         
           And
           ne're
           left
           kicking
           ,
           mounting
           ,
           till
           to
           th'
           ground
        
         
           His
           rider
           he
           did
           headlong
           tumble
           down
           .
        
         
           Catillus
           then
           slew
           ,
           to
           his
           high
           renown
           ,
        
         
           Iöla
           fierce
           ,
           and
           bold
           Herminius
           ,
        
         
           In
           corps
           and
           courage
           most
           magnanimous
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           with
           his
           yellow
           locks
           bare-headed
           fought
           ,
        
         
           Bare-neck'd
           ,
           not
           fearing
           wounds
           or
           weapons
           stout
           ,
        
         
           So
           great
           he
           was
           in
           warre
           ;
           yet
           through
           his
           neck
        
         
           A
           piercing
           speare
           did
           his
           bare-boldnes●e
           check
           :
        
         
           VVhich
           in
           his
           mightie
           shoulders
           stuck
           most
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           into
           deadly
           pangs
           this
           warriour
           cast
           .
        
         
           Black
           flouds
           of
           bloud
           on
           both
           sides
           flow
           amain
           ;
        
         
           By
           steel
           they
           die
           ,
           by
           death
           they
           fame
           obtain
           .
        
         
           But
           through
           the
           thickest
           of
           these
           slaughters
           fierce
        
         
           The
           manly
           Amaz●●ian
           dame
           doth
           pierce
           ,
        
         
           Rare
           quiver-bearing
           faire
           Camilla
           stout
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           with
           one
           breast
           cut
           off
           ,
           most
           fiercely
           fought
           .
        
         
         
           Sometimes
           she
           grasps
           her
           darts
           or
           whistling
           speares
           ,
        
         
           Sometime
           her
           untyr'd
           hand
           a
           battle-ax
           beares
           .
        
         
           Still
           'bout
           her
           neck
           her
           golden
           bow
           hangs
           fast
           ,
        
         
           Diana's
           arms
           .
           And
           if
           by
           chance
           at
           last
        
         
           She
           forced
           be
           to
           flie
           ,
           pursu'd
           in
           chace
           ,
        
         
           Her
           bow
           turn'd
           back
           ,
           she
           shoots
           in
           followers
           face
           .
        
         
           And
           still
           about
           her
           her
           choice
           virgins
           fight
           ,
        
         
           
             Larina
             ,
             Tulla
          
           ,
           and
           Tarpëia
           bright
           ,
        
         
           Her
           brazen
           bill
           brandishing
           valiantly
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           Latium
           lasses
           ,
           whom
           especially
        
         
           Camilla
           rare
           chose
           both
           for
           guard
           and
           grace
           ,
        
         
           Affaires
           of
           peace
           or
           warre
           t'
           appoint
           a
           place
           .
        
         
           Like
           th'
           Amazonian
           dames
           of
           Thracia
           land
           ,
        
         
           When
           warring
           'bout
           Thermodoon
           flouds
           they
           stand
        
         
           In
           rich
           wrought
           arms
           :
           or
           'bout
           Hippolyta
           ,
        
         
           Or
           in
           her
           coach
           war-like
           Penthesil'a
           .
        
         
           Shewing
           herself
           victour
           with
           voices
           shrill
           ,
        
         
           And
           feminine
           out-cries
           ,
           the
           skies
           that
           fill
           ,
        
         
           And
           stately
           strutting
           with
           their
           half-moon
           shields
           .
        
         
           O
           whom
           (
           fierce
           ladie
           )
           didst
           thou
           slay
           i'
           th'
           fields
           ,
        
         
           Both
           first
           and
           last
           ?
           How
           many
           bodies
           slain
        
         
           And
           gasping
           soules
           did
           at
           thy
           feet
           remain
           ?
        
         
           
             Eumenius
             ,
             Clytius
          
           sonne
           ,
           she
           first
           did
           slay
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           naked
           breast
           ope
           to
           her
           anger
           lay
           :
        
         
           Which
           with
           her
           speare
           she
           pierc'd
           ,
           who
           flouds
           of
           gore
        
         
           Straight
           vomiting
           ,
           with
           teeth
           the
           ground
           he
           tore
           ,
        
         
           And
           dy'd
           in
           his
           own
           bloud
           .
           On
           whom
           she
           slew
        
         
           Liris
           and
           Pegasus
           ;
           the
           one
           who
           drew
        
         
           His
           reins
           too
           strait
           ,
           curbing
           his
           floundring
           horse
           ;
        
         
           Th'
           other
           ,
           too
           weakly
           aiding
           ,
           she
           did
           force
        
         
           To
           follow
           him
           ,
           and
           headlong
           both
           do
           rush
           :
        
         
           Next
           with
           a
           speare
           ,
           farre-off
           ,
           she
           fierce
           doth
           push
        
         
         
           At
           Hippodates
           sonne
           ,
           Amaster
           strong
           :
        
         
           Tereus
           and
           Harpalycus
           ere
           long
           ,
        
         
           Stout
           Demoph'on
           and
           Chromis
           ,
           all
           she
           slew
           .
        
         
           And
           look
           how
           many
           shafts
           this
           ladie
           threw
           ,
        
         
           So
           many
           Trojans
           dy'd
           .
           Ornitus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           In
           arms
           most
           strange
           ,
           did
           flie
           the
           fields
           about
           ,
        
         
           On
           an
           Apulian
           beast
           ,
           in
           hunters
           pride
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           shoulders
           broad
           an
           oxes
           hyde
           did
           hide
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           an
           helm
           on
           's
           head
           a
           fierce
           wolfs
           head
           ,
        
         
           With
           grinning
           jaws
           ,
           white
           teeth
           discovered
           :
        
         
           He
           in
           his
           hand
           a
           clownish
           club
           did
           weld
           ,
        
         
           In
           thickest
           troops
           'bove
           all
           the
           rest
           beheld
           .
        
         
           Him
           she
           assailed
           (
           nor
           was
           this
           brave
           fact
        
         
           Effected
           when
           the
           troops
           retired
           back
           )
        
         
           Assaulting
           ,
           slew
           :
           and
           wrathfully
           thus
           said
           ;
        
         
           Proud
           Tuscane
           ,
           didst
           thou
           (
           false
           )
           thy self
           perswade
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           wast
           hunting
           wilde-beasts
           in
           a
           wood
           ?
        
         
           This
           day
           shall
           teach
           thee
           thou
           hast
           understood
        
         
           Erroniously
           ,
           and
           that
           ,
           by
           female
           force
           :
        
         
           Yet
           tell
           thy
           fathers
           ghost
           ,
           't
           is
           no
           mean
           course
           ,
        
         
           No
           common
           death
           ,
           thus
           by
           Camilla's
           lance
        
         
           To
           die
           .
           This
           said
           ,
           forthwith
           she
           did
           advance
        
         
           Both
           at
           Orsilachus
           and
           Butes
           bold
           ,
        
         
           Two
           Trojans
           huge
           of
           body
           to
           behold
           :
        
         
           But
           fiercely
           she
           at
           B●tes
           her
           speare
           strake
           ,
        
         
           Which
           'twixt
           his
           helm
           and
           corslet
           way
           did
           make
           ,
        
         
           Glistring
           about
           his
           neck
           :
           his
           target
           strong
        
         
           By
           his
           left
           side
           hung
           danglingly
           along
           :
        
         
           Orsilochus
           she
           subt'ly
           seems
           to
           flie
        
         
           On
           th'inner-side
           ,
           circling
           ,
           with
           policie
           ,
        
         
           Her
           foolified
           foe
           ;
           who
           thus
           again
        
         
           Her
           close
           pursues
           ,
           that
           chases
           him
           amain
           .
        
         
         
           Then
           raising
           up
           her self
           ,
           with
           battle-ax
           great
        
         
           Together
           armour
           ,
           flesh
           ,
           and
           all
           she
           beat
           :
        
         
           And
           on
           him
           praying
           ,
           prating
           ,
           double
           blows
        
         
           Nimbly
           redoubles
           ,
           till
           at
           head
           and
           nose
        
         
           Warm
           brains
           gush
           out
           ,
           and
           all-besmeare
           his
           face
           .
        
         
           Then
           unawares
           arrived
           in
           this
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           first
           sudden
           sight
           somewhat
           afraid
           ,
        
         
           The
           war-like
           sonne
           of
           Aunus
           ,
           who
           long
           made
        
         
           Abode
           in
           Apenine
           ▪
           none
           of
           the
           worst
        
         
           Of
           Ligures
           lying
           race
           ,
           whiles
           fates
           (
           from
           first
           )
        
         
           Permitted
           him
           to
           cheat
           :
           who
           when
           he
           saw
           ,
        
         
           He
           by
           no
           slight
           nor
           flight
           could
           now
           withdraw
        
         
           From
           a
           sharp
           fight
           ,
           nor
           turn
           th'affronting
           dame
           ;
        
         
           He
           thought
           how
           he
           by
           craft
           some
           trick
           might
           frame
           ;
        
         
           And
           thus
           begins
           ;
           What
           so
           renown'd
           a
           fact
        
         
           Is
           it
           ,
           if
           thou
           ,
           a
           woman
           ,
           having
           backt
        
         
           So
           brave
           a
           beast
           ,
           dost
           boast
           and
           trust
           him
           so
           ?
        
         
           Leave
           thy
           swift
           horse
           ,
           alight
           to
           me
           below
           ,
        
         
           And
           hand
           to
           hand
           let
           's
           bicker
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           fight
           on
           foot
           ;
           then
           shall
           it
           soon
           be
           found
           ,
        
         
           How
           fond
           thy
           flash
           of
           praise
           is
           ,
           who
           'le
           best
           merit
           .
        
         
           He
           ceas'd
           .
           But
           she
           with
           hot
           enraged
           spirit
           ,
        
         
           Enflam'd
           with
           deep
           disdain
           ,
           her
           horse
           forsakes
           ,
        
         
           Commits
           him
           to
           her
           mate
           ,
           her self
           betakes
        
         
           To
           equall
           arms
           on
           ground
           ,
           her
           sword
           in
           hand
        
         
           And
           nimble
           shield
           ,
           thus
           stoutly
           she
           doth
           stand
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           the
           lying
           lad
           ,
           thinking
           his
           cheat
        
         
           Succeeded
           right
           ,
           flies
           thence
           in
           frightfull
           heat
           ;
        
         
           He
           makes
           no
           stay
           ,
           but
           turns
           his
           reins
           with
           speed
           ,
        
         
           Sets
           spurres
           to
           's
           nimble
           nagge
           ,
           hopes
           (
           thus
           )
           he
           's
           freed
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           sayes
           she
           ,
           Vain
           Ligur
           ,
           't
           is
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           thy
           pride
           of
           heart
           would'st
           thus
           maintain
           :
        
         
         
           In
           vain
           's
           (
           I
           say
           )
           thy
           countrey
           cousenage
           base
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           shall
           thy
           fraud
           thee
           shufle
           in
           safe
           case
           ,
        
         
           To
           thy
           fallacious
           father
           Annus
           vile
           .
        
         
           Thus
           spake
           the
           ladie
           ,
           who
           in
           this
           meanwhile
        
         
           With
           light-heel'd
           flashy
           haste
           the
           horse
           o'retook
           ,
        
         
           Layes
           hold
           on
           's
           bridle
           ,
           at
           him
           fiercely
           strook
           :
        
         
           And
           thus
           in
           's
           bloud
           reveng'd
           his
           knavish
           wrong
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           great
           Mars
           his
           bird
           ,
           the
           faulcon
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Flown
           from
           a
           loftie
           rock
           ,
           having
           in
           chace
        
         
           A
           swift
           aire-piercing
           dove
           in
           quivering
           case
           :
        
         
           Which
           caught
           ,
           he
           keeps
           ,
           and
           does
           with
           's
           tallons
           teare
           ,
        
         
           Forcing
           both
           bloud
           and
           feathers
           flie
           i'th'aire
           .
        
         
           But
           Iove
           ,
           great
           founder
           both
           of
           Gods
           and
           men
           ,
        
         
           With
           watchfull
           eye
           looks
           from
           olympus
           then
           ;
        
         
           And
           
             Tuscane
             Tarchon
          
           to
           this
           fight
           invites
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           sharp
           spurres
           of
           rage
           him
           soon
           incites
           .
        
         
           Then
           into
           th'midst
           o'
           th'
           fight
           and
           failing
           bands
        
         
           Tarchon
           doth
           rush
           ,
           and
           stout
           on
           horse-back
           stands
           ,
        
         
           With
           various
           votes
           encouraging
           his
           wings
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           one
           by
           name
           about
           he
           brings
           ,
        
         
           Re-cheering
           those
           that
           fled
           to
           th'fight
           to
           fall
           .
        
         
           And
           thus
           he
           sayes
           ;
           What
           feare
           surrounds
           you
           all
           ,
        
         
           O
           still
           dull
           Tyrrhons
           ,
           ne're
           to
           be
           lamented
           ?
        
         
           What
           so
           great
           sloth
           hath
           you
           so
           circumvented
           ?
        
         
           What
           ,
           shall
           a
           woman
           force
           you
           to
           pale
           face
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           she
           you
           up
           and
           down
           so
           hunt
           and
           chase
           ?
        
         
           Why
           beare
           ye
           blades
           ?
           why
           weare
           ye
           weapons
           vain
           ?
        
         
           Ye
           stand
           not
           thus
           ,
           fond
           cour●esie
           to
           strain
           :
        
         
           Nor
           dreaming
           thus
           at
           Venus
           wanton
           sport
           ,
        
         
           At
           nightly
           warres
           :
           or
           when
           with
           thick
           resort
        
         
           Bacchus
           his
           bag-pipe
           calls
           in
           companies
           :
        
         
           Or
           when
           with
           beere
           and
           cheere
           ye
           g●rmandize
           !
        
         
         
           O
           here
           's
           your
           love
           ,
           here
           your
           delight
           most
           lies
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           in
           high
           groves
           your
           priest
           glad
           tidings
           sings
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           your
           sacrifice
           fat
           offrings
           brings
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           his
           horse
           into
           the
           midst
           he
           spurres
           ,
        
         
           Himself
           much
           vext
           in
           heart
           ,
           fate
           first
           him
           stirres
        
         
           To
           set
           on
           Venulus
           most
           furiously
           :
        
         
           Whom
           from
           his
           horse
           he
           pulls
           down
           instantly
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           main
           force
           squeez'd
           him
           on
           his
           own
           breast
           .
        
         
           Then
           mightie
           clamours
           were
           to
           heaven
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           him
           all
           the
           Latines
           cast
           their
           eyes
           :
        
         
           Thus
           lightning
           flashing
           Tarchon
           forward
           flies
           ,
        
         
           Bearing
           down
           men
           and
           arms
           :
           and
           as
           he
           past
           ,
        
         
           The
           iron
           of
           his
           speare
           brake
           off
           at
           last
           .
        
         
           Yet
           still
           death-wounds
           to
           give
           all
           parts
           he
           pries
           :
        
         
           And
           fighting
           ,
           he
           himself
           doth
           shield
           likewise
        
         
           From
           bloudie
           blades
           ,
           and
           force
           by
           force
           defies
           :
        
         
           And
           as
           the
           lustie
           eagle
           loftie
           flies
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           claws
           a
           snatcht
           up
           dragon
           holds
           ,
        
         
           Which
           fast
           in
           's
           feet
           he
           with
           sharp
           tallons
           folds
           ;
        
         
           But
           yet
           the
           pinching
           serpent
           wrigling
           wreathes
           ,
        
         
           His
           folding
           limbes
           and
           scales
           with
           hideous
           breathes
           ,
        
         
           And
           poys'nous
           hissings
           ,
           strugling
           sturdilie
           :
        
         
           Yet
           ne're
           the
           lesse
           ,
           the
           eagle
           eagerlie
        
         
           Him
           pulls
           and
           pinches
           with
           his
           beak
           most
           strong
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           the
           aire
           forcibly
           flies
           along
           :
        
         
           Even
           so
           great
           Tarchon
           from
           Tyburtum
           bands
        
         
           Triumphantly
           beares
           the
           prey
           in
           his
           hands
           .
        
         
           The
           Lydians
           likewise
           gladly
           imitate
        
         
           Their
           brave
           commanders
           pattern
           and
           good
           fate
           .
        
         
           Then
           Aruns
           ,
           full
           of
           craft
           and
           subtiltie
           ,
        
         
           Subject
           himself
           to
           fatall
           destinie
           ,
        
         
           Rides
           round
           about
           Camilla
           with
           his
           lance
           ,
        
         
         
           His
           fortunes
           fitliest
           lab'ring
           to
           advance
           .
        
         
           And
           wheresoe're
           in
           thickest
           troops
           she
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Thither
           doth
           Aruns
           slylie
           prying
           scud
           :
        
         
           Where
           she
           from
           foes
           retreats
           a
           conqueresse
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Thither
           by
           stealth
           quick
           runs
           he
           ,
           wreathes
           about
           :
        
         
           And
           this
           way
           ,
           that
           way
           ,
           every
           way
           doth
           trance
           ,
        
         
           And
           round
           he
           runs
           ,
           and
           shakes
           his
           death-sure
           lance
           .
        
         
           By
           chance
           Choreus
           ,
           once
           a
           priest
           divine
           ,
        
         
           In
           Phrygian
           arms
           'bove
           all
           the
           rest
           did
           shine
           ,
        
         
           Prancing
           his
           foaming
           horse
           ,
           adorned
           faire
        
         
           With
           rich
           caparisons
           ,
           brasse
           scales
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Garnisht
           with
           gold
           ,
           himself
           most
           richly
           clad
        
         
           In
           fine
           outlandish
           scarlet
           ,
           purple
           sad
           .
        
         
           His
           Cretian
           shafts
           he
           shot
           in
           Lycian
           bow
           ,
        
         
           His
           bow
           all
           gilt
           ,
           his
           shoulders
           hung
           below
           .
        
         
           A
           priests
           gilt
           helm
           ,
           rich
           yellow
           coat
           he
           wore
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           dangling
           flaps
           gold
           buttons
           ty'de
           before
           ,
        
         
           A
           rare
           embroidered
           jacket
           ,
           robe
           to
           's
           thighs
           .
        
         
           The
           ladie
           him
           no
           sooner
           thus
           espies
           ,
        
         
           But
           (
           either
           that
           she
           might
           her
           temple
           grace
           ,
        
         
           And
           Trojan
           armour
           hang
           in
           speciall
           place
           ;
        
         
           Or
           cloath
           her self
           in
           captive
           cloaths
           of
           gold
           )
        
         
           This
           hot-spurr'd
           huntresse
           greedily
           blindfold
        
         
           Through
           all
           the
           fight
           follows
           him
           eagerly
           ;
        
         
           And
           fir'd
           with
           feminine
           aviditie
        
         
           And
           longing
           lust
           of
           that
           rich
           spoile
           and
           prey
        
         
           Aruns
           ,
           who
           long
           in
           watchfull
           ambush
           lay
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           layes
           hold
           of
           fit
           time
           offered
           ,
        
         
           And
           casts
           his
           dart
           ,
           and
           these
           votes
           uttered
           ;
        
         
           Great
           Iove
           ,
           and
           thou
           Soracte's
           grave
           Apollo
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           chiefly
           we
           with
           sacrifices
           follow
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           a
           pile
           of
           oylie
           pines
           still
           flame
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           we
           ,
           assisted
           by
           thy
           sacred
           name
           ,
        
         
           Through
           midst
           of
           flames
           can
           walk
           and
           passe
           most
           free
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           even
           bare-footed
           ,
           yet
           unhurt
           are
           we
           :
        
         
           O
           grant
           ,
           great
           Iove
           ,
           my
           weapon
           may
           wipe
           out
        
         
           Our
           foule
           disgrace
           ,
           too
           long
           thus
           born
           about
           .
        
         
           No
           trophies
           from
           the
           damsell
           I
           desire
           ,
        
         
           No
           prey
           nor
           spoiles
           in
           conquest
           I
           require
           ,
        
         
           By
           other
           facts
           I
           will
           advance
           my
           fame
           :
        
         
           So
           I
           may
           but
           subdue
           this
           pest'lent
           shame
           ,
        
         
           I
           passe
           not
           ,
           though
           I
           passe
           ingloriously
        
         
           Unto
           my
           home
           ,
           and
           honourlesse
           there
           die
           .
        
         
           Apollo
           partly
           his
           request
           respects
           ,
        
         
           Partly
           as
           airie
           stuffe
           he
           it
           rejects
           :
        
         
           He
           grants
           Camilla
           by
           dire
           death
           shall
           die
           ,
        
         
           But
           his
           return
           safe
           home
           he
           does
           denie
           :
        
         
           And
           these
           his
           words
           like
           windes
           he
           made
           to
           flie
           .
        
         
           Wherefore
           as
           soon
           as
           e're
           the
           whisling
           lance
        
         
           Flung
           from
           his
           hand
           ,
           did
           through
           the
           aire
           advance
           ,
        
         
           The
           eyes
           and
           thoughts
           of
           all
           the
           hoast
           throughout
           ,
        
         
           Towards
           the
           Volscian
           queen
           were
           cast
           about
           .
        
         
           But
           she
           ,
           nor
           aire
           ,
           nor
           sound
           ,
           nor
           singing
           dart
           ,
        
         
           Heard
           or
           regarded
           ,
           till
           it
           pierc'd
           her
           heart
           :
        
         
           Untill
           the
           speare
           on
           her
           sear'd
           breast
           fast
           lights
           ,
        
         
           And
           drunk
           with
           damsells
           bloud
           her
           heart
           it
           smites
           .
        
         
           Her
           maiden-mates
           made
           all
           about
           her
           straight
           ,
        
         
           To
           stay
           their
           falling
           queen
           ,
           in
           dying
           state
           .
        
         
           But
           Aruns
           chiefly
           makes
           away
           with
           speed
           ,
        
         
           In
           whom
           much
           feare
           mixt
           with
           much
           joy
           doth
           breed
           :
        
         
           Nor
           longer
           durst
           he
           linger
           ,
           more
           to
           trie
        
         
           The
           damsells
           dart
           and
           speare
           ,
           but
           fast
           doth
           flie
           .
        
         
           And
           like
           a
           wolf
           ,
           who
           ere
           the
           adverse
           darts
        
         
         
           Do
           him
           assault
           ,
           fearfully
           flies
           and
           starts
           ,
        
         
           And
           hides
           himself
           in
           uncouth
           mountains
           high
           ,
        
         
           (
           Some
           shepherd
           by
           him
           slain
           most
           ravenously
           ,
        
         
           ●r
           some
           brave
           bullock
           )
           conscious
           of
           the
           deed
           ,
        
         
           Does
           with
           the
           tail
           between
           his
           legs
           proceed
           ,
        
         
           And
           haste
           into
           the
           woods
           with
           feare
           and
           fright
           :
        
         
           So
           Aruns
           full
           of
           feare
           gets
           out
           of
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Well
           pleas'd
           with
           flight
           ,
           him
           in
           the
           armie
           hides
           .
        
         
           The
           dying
           queen
           the
           speare
           ,
           which
           in
           her
           '
           bides
           ,
        
         
           Strives
           to
           pluck
           out
           ;
           but
           in
           her
           bones
           and
           breast
        
         
           The
           steely
           weapon
           fast
           did
           stick
           and
           rest
           ;
        
         
           She
           wanting
           bloud
           ,
           sinks
           down
           ,
           her
           dying
           eyes
        
         
           Shut
           down
           their
           lids
           :
           her
           red
           ,
           which
           beautifies
        
         
           Late
           cherry
           cheeks
           ,
           is
           lost
           .
           With
           dying
           voice
        
         
           To
           Acca
           ,
           one
           of
           her
           chief
           maids
           of
           choice
           ,
        
         
           (
           Whom
           'fore
           the
           rest
           for
           her
           fidelity
        
         
           Camilla
           us'd
           in
           deep
           anxiety
           ,
        
         
           With
           her
           her
           sorrows
           to
           communicate
           )
        
         
           Thus
           she
           her
           minde
           doth
           dying
           demonstrate
           ;
        
         
           Hitherto
           ,
           sister
           Acca
           ,
           I
           was
           able
           ;
        
         
           But
           now
           my
           mortall
           wound
           doth
           me
           disable
           .
        
         
           All
           things
           (
           me
           thinks
           )
           'bout
           me
           seem
           dark
           and
           dim
           ▪
        
         
           Haste
           hence
           to
           Turnus
           ,
           and
           relate
           to
           him
        
         
           My
           last
           advise
           ;
           wish
           him
           in
           any
           case
        
         
           To
           come
           to
           th'
           fight
           ,
           Trojans
           from
           's
           town
           to
           chase
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           farewell
           .
           And
           with
           those
           words
           her
           rein
        
         
           Fell
           from
           her
           hand
           ,
           and
           with
           her
           wounds
           great
           pain
        
         
           She
           fiercely
           falls
           to
           ground
           ;
           then
           by
           degrees
           ,
        
         
           Her
           corps
           all
           naturall
           heat
           doth
           softly
           leese
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           growes
           cold
           ,
           and
           then
           her
           limber
           neck
        
         
           Le
           ts
           loose
           her
           helplesse
           head
           ,
           to
           bow
           and
           beck
           :
        
         
         
           And
           from
           her
           hands
           her
           weapons
           letting
           fall
           ,
        
         
           With
           a
           great
           groan
           ,
           her
           strugling
           soule
           withall
        
         
           Flies
           to
           the
           seat
           of
           soules
           .
           Then
           instantly
        
         
           A
           wondrous
           clamour
           clambers
           up
           to
           th'
           skie
           .
        
         
           Camilla
           thus
           cast
           down
           ,
           more
           bloudy
           growes
        
         
           The
           furious
           fight
           ,
           and
           thick
           the
           confluence
           flowes
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Trojan
           and
           of
           Tuscane
           captains
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           Euanders
           brave
           Arcadian
           rout
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           ,
           faire
           
             Ops
             ,
             Diana's
          
           maid
           ,
           sate
           high
           ,
        
         
           Mounted
           upon
           a
           mount
           ,
           undauntedly
           ,
        
         
           To
           view
           the
           fight
           .
           As
           she
           among
           the
           sparks
           ,
        
         
           Furiously
           fighting
           sees
           farre
           off
           and
           marks
        
         
           Camilla
           most
           unworthily
           thus
           slain
           ,
        
         
           A
           hearty
           sigh
           these
           words
           pump
           out
           amain
           ;
        
         
           Too
           deare
           (
           alas
           faire
           ladie
           !
           )
           ah
           ,
           too
           deare
        
         
           Thou
           now
           hast
           paid
           ,
           by
           cruell
           death
           laid
           here
           ,
        
         
           By
           warre
           thus
           labouring
           Trojans
           to
           provoke
           .
        
         
           In
           vain
           thou
           wor'st
           in
           woods
           Diana's
           yoke
           ,
        
         
           In
           vain
           thou
           didst
           our
           shafts
           and
           quiver
           weare
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           no
           disgrace
           (
           faire
           queen
           )
           there
           shall
           appeare
        
         
           In
           this
           thy
           death
           ;
           nor
           shall
           it
           without
           praise
        
         
           Passe
           through
           the
           world
           :
           Fame
           thee
           reveng'd
           shall
           blaze
           :
        
         
           For
           whosoe're
           thy
           corps
           thus
           violated
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           surely
           be
           by
           death
           retaliated
           .
        
         
           Under
           a
           steepie
           hill
           there
           was
           the
           grave
        
         
           Of
           king
           Dercennus
           rais'd
           aloft
           most
           brave
           ,
        
         
           With
           heaps
           of
           earth
           from
           ancient
           Laurent
           ta'ne
           ,
        
         
           Cover'd
           with
           oaken
           boughs
           and
           branches
           main
           :
        
         
           Here
           the
           faire
           nymph
           first
           swiftly
           did
           alight
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           this
           hill
           on
           Aruns
           cast
           her
           sight
           .
        
         
           Whom
           spying
           richly
           arm'd
           puft
           up
           with
           pride
           ,
        
         
         
           Why
           fly'st
           thou
           hence
           (
           sayes
           she
           )
           and
           turn'st
           aside
           ?
        
         
           Make
           this
           thy
           way
           ,
           come
           hither
           to
           thy
           bane
           ,
        
         
           Take
           thy
           just
           guerdion
           for
           Camilla
           slain
           .
        
         
           Shalt
           not
           thou
           by
           Diana's
           dart
           now
           die
           ?
        
         
           And
           at
           these
           words
           ,
           like
           Thracian
           huntresse
           high
           ,
        
         
           From
           her
           gilt
           quiver
           she
           a
           sharp
           shaft
           takes
           ,
        
         
           And
           fiercely
           bends
           her
           bow
           ,
           and
           fitly
           makes
        
         
           The
           nock
           stand
           to
           the
           string
           :
           so
           strong
           she
           drew
           ,
        
         
           That
           both
           the
           horn-ends
           meet
           ;
           out
           swiftly
           flew
        
         
           The
           shaft
           from
           both
           her
           hands
           .
           Aruns
           at
           last
        
         
           Heare
           's
           the
           darts
           din
           ,
           as
           through
           the
           aire
           it
           past
           :
        
         
           The
           steel
           stuck
           in
           his
           breast
           ,
           he
           gasping
           lay
           ,
        
         
           His
           mates
           unmindefull
           of
           him
           ,
           gone
           away
           ,
        
         
           Left
           him
           expiring
           in
           an
           unknown
           ground
           :
        
         
           Ops
           for
           Olympus
           with
           her
           wings
           is
           bound
           .
        
         
           Lady
           Camilla
           slain
           ,
           her
           left
           wing
           first
        
         
           Flies
           fast
           away
           ,
           their
           faire
           array
           quite
           burst
           :
        
         
           The
           routed
           Rutuls
           run
           ,
           Atinas
           flies
           ,
        
         
           Their
           ensignes
           lost
           by
           captains
           cow●rdize
           ,
        
         
           Seeking
           for
           shelter
           ,
           horsemen
           haste
           to
           th'
           town
           ,
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           fierce
           by
           death
           do
           all
           beat
           down
           .
        
         
           None
           them
           withstands
           ,
           none
           can
           their
           darts
           resist
           ,
        
         
           Foes
           unbent
           bows
           fall
           from
           their
           fainting
           fist
           :
        
         
           Flying
           horse-hoofs
           shake
           the
           bemired
           fields
           ,
        
         
           The
           way
           to
           th'
           town
           rais'd-clouds
           of
           thick
           dust
           yeelds
           ▪
        
         
           Wives
           from
           the
           walls
           behold
           it
           ,
           beat
           their
           breast
           ,
        
         
           Womanish
           cries
           to
           th'
           skies
           their
           woes
           exprest
           .
        
         
           And
           those
           which
           first
           by
           flight
           got
           ope
           the
           gate
           ,
        
         
           Promiscuous
           might
           of
           foes
           doth
           perturbate
           .
        
         
           Nor
           scape
           they
           bitter
           death
           ,
           even
           at
           the
           doore
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           their
           house
           and
           homes
           they
           gasp
           in
           gore
           .
        
         
         
           Some
           shut
           the
           gates
           ,
           shut
           out
           their
           mates
           for
           feare
           ,
        
         
           And
           though
           they
           pray
           ,
           to
           ope
           are
           forc'd
           forbeare
           .
        
         
           A
           mightie
           slaughter
           here
           defendance
           found
           ,
        
         
           And
           fierce
           assailants
           finde
           their
           fatall
           wound
           ,
        
         
           And
           some
           shut
           out
           ,
           'fore
           weeping
           parents
           eye
           ,
        
         
           Constrain'd
           ,
           run
           headlong
           into
           th'
           ditch
           and
           die
           .
        
         
           Some
           fury-blinded
           ,
           set
           spurres
           to
           their
           horse
           ,
        
         
           And
           headlong
           butt
           the
           barres
           and
           gates
           by
           force
           .
        
         
           The
           women
           on
           the
           walls
           made
           so
           fierce
           fight
           ,
        
         
           When
           dead
           Camilla
           came
           into
           their
           sight
           ,
        
         
           (
           Such
           to
           their
           countrey
           was
           their
           zeal
           and
           love
           )
        
         
           That
           fearfull
           fast
           they
           fling
           darts
           from
           above
           ,
        
         
           And
           steely
           staves
           of
           oak
           ,
           ●peares
           burnt
           at
           th'
           end
           ,
        
         
           Fearlesse
           to
           die
           ,
           their
           countrey
           to
           defend
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           a
           message
           sad
           as
           bad
           flies
           out
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           the
           woods
           fills
           Turnus
           heart
           with
           doub●
           ▪
        
         
           By
           flying
           Acca
           to
           this
           young
           prince
           brought
           ;
        
         
           How
           their
           affaires
           were
           with
           confusion
           fraught
           :
        
         
           How
           Volscians
           vanquisht
           were
           ,
           Camilla
           slain
           :
        
         
           How
           furious
           foes
           upon
           them
           prest
           amain
           :
        
         
           How
           they
           in
           all
           with
           prosperous
           warre
           proceed
           :
        
         
           How
           feare
           within
           ,
           without
           the
           town
           did
           breed
           .
        
         
           He
           fury-fill'd
           (
           for
           so
           Ioves
           fierce
           decree
        
         
           Ordained
           had
           )
           the
           immur'd
           mounts
           doth
           free
           ,
        
         
           Leaves
           the
           sharp
           thickets
           ,
           scarce
           was
           out
           of
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Hardly
           had
           pitcht
           his
           camp
           in
           Martiall
           rite
           ;
        
         
           When
           brave
           Aeneas
           entred
           had
           the
           wood
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           late
           forsaken
           mountain
           stood
           ,
        
         
           And
           got
           out
           of
           the
           grove
           :
           when
           both
           in
           haste
        
         
           With
           all
           their
           troops
           unto
           the
           citie
           pas'd
           ,
        
         
           From
           one
           another
           not
           farre
           distant
           lying
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           also
           vigilantly
           eying
        
         
         
           The
           dusty
           fields
           and
           faire
           Laurentine
           bands
           :
        
         
           And
           Turnus
           saw
           where
           stout
           Aeneas
           stands
           ,
        
         
           His
           footmens
           fierce
           approach
           ,
           his
           neighing
           horses
           :
        
         
           Immediately
           they
           had
           conjoyn'd
           their
           forces
           ,
        
         
           And
           fough●●he
           field
           ,
           had
           not
           Sols
           roseall
           face
        
         
           VVith
           tyred
           ●●eeds
           been
           vail'd
           in
           th'
           end
           of
           's
           race
           ,
        
         
           In
           Western
           waves
           ,
           and
           dayes
           decay
           brought
           night
           ;
        
         
           Before
           the
           town
           they
           therefore
           plant
           their
           might
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             eleventh
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïs
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           
             THE
             ARGUMENT
             of
             the
             twelfth
             book
             .
          
           
             King
             Turnus
             ,
             now
             the
             Latines
             tyr'd
          
           
             With
             adverse
             arms
             ,
             once
             more
             desir'd
          
           
             By
             single
             combate
             fates
             to
             try
             .
          
           
             Latinus
             labouring
             urgently
          
           
             A
             peace
             to
             make
             ,
             the
             peace
             is
             had
             .
          
           
             
               Juturna
               ,
               Turnus
            
             sister
             sad
             ,
          
           
             Disturbs
             the
             same
             ,
             Camertes
             feignes
             ,
          
           
             Both
             th'
             adverse
             bands
             to
             fight
             constrains
             .
          
           
             Aeneas
             wounded
             with
             a
             dart
             ,
          
           
             His
             mother
             Venus
             cures
             the
             smart
             .
          
           
             The
             town
             is
             ta'ne
             :
             queen
             Amata
          
           
             Then
             hangs
             herself
             .
             Turnus
             straightway
          
           
             The
             combate
             with
             Aeneas
             tries
             ,
          
           
             Is
             slain
             :
             Aeneas
             wins
             the
             prize
             .
          
        
         
           WHen
           Turnus
           saw
           his
           Latines
           tired
           quite
           ,
        
         
           And
           much
           perplext
           with
           this
           unfriendly
           fight
           ,
        
         
           His
           promise
           now
           requir'd
           ,
           himself
           the
           but
        
         
           On
           whom
           the
           eyes
           of
           all
           themselves
           did
           glut
           .
        
         
           VVith
           self-incensed
           rage
           he
           burns
           and
           blazes
           ,
        
         
           Fury
           implacably
           his
           spirit
           raises
           :
        
         
           Much
           like
           the
           Libyan
           lion
           hunted
           sore
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           with
           a
           mortall
           wound
           molested
           more
           ,
        
         
           Prepares
           to
           fight
           ,
           insultingly
           doth
           shake
        
         
           His
           curled
           locks
           ,
           hoping
           revenge
           to
           take
        
         
           On
           the
           sly-hunter
           ,
           snaps
           the
           speare
           in
           's
           paws
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           furious
           ,
           fearelesse
           ,
           roares
           with
           bloudy
           jaws
           :
        
         
           So
           wrath
           vindicative
           fierce
           Turnus
           swells
           .
        
         
           Thus
           then
           to
           th'
           king
           his
           troubled
           thoughts
           he
           tells
           ;
        
         
           In
           Turnus
           (
           sure
           )
           there
           can
           be
           no
           delayes
           ,
        
         
           Why
           turn-coat
           Trojans
           should
           use
           stops
           and
           stayes
           ,
        
         
           Eating
           their
           words
           ,
           refuse
           their
           promise
           past
           .
        
         
           I
           'le
           meet
           him
           :
           then
           (
           grave
           sir
           )
           about
           you
           cast
           ,
        
         
           Secure
           conditions
           for
           your
           peace
           to
           make
           ,
        
         
           For
           with
           this
           hand
           I
           'le
           either
           undertake
        
         
           That
           Asian
           fugitive
           to
           send
           to
           hell
           ,
        
         
           (
           Let
           Latines
           sit
           and
           see
           ,
           and
           note
           it
           well
           )
        
         
           And
           with
           my
           sword-salve
           heal
           this
           publick
           ill
           :
        
         
           Or
           he
           shall
           conquer
           us
           ,
           and
           with
           good
           will
        
         
           My
           faire
           Lavinia
           in
           due
           marriage
           have
           .
        
         
           The
           king
           with
           settled
           thoughts
           and
           count'nance
           grave
           ,
        
         
           Makes
           this
           reply
           ;
           O
           most
           accomplisht
           prince
           ,
        
         
           By
           how
           much
           thou
           all
           others
           dost
           evince
        
         
           In
           vertue
           ,
           valour
           ;
           the
           more
           seriously
        
         
           Must
           I
           consult
           with
           circumspective
           eye
           ,
        
         
           And
           cast
           all
           courses
           how
           to
           free
           our
           feare
           .
        
         
           Thou
           hast
           faire
           realms
           held
           from
           thy
           father
           deare
           ,
        
         
           Faire
           warre-won
           towns
           :
           Lati●us
           still
           inherits
        
         
           Plentie
           of
           gold
           ,
           but
           most
           and
           best
           ,
           brave
           spirits
           :
        
         
           And
           Latium
           and
           Laurentum
           doth
           pos●esse
        
         
           More
           vertuous
           virgins
           ,
           full
           of
           noblenesse
           .
        
         
           Then
           give
           me
           leave
           to
           speak
           the
           truth
           ,
           though
           tart
           ,
        
         
           Plain
           without
           flash
           ,
           and
           fix
           my
           words
           in
           heart
           :
        
         
           To
           no
           old
           suiter
           I
           my
           daughter
           may
        
         
           In
           wedlock
           joyn
           :
           this
           fates
           and
           all
           men
           say
           :
        
         
           Yet
           won
           with
           love
           of
           thee
           ,
           won
           by
           thy
           race
           ,
        
         
           And
           flouds
           of
           teares
           on
           my
           sad
           spouses
           face
           ,
        
         
           I
           brake
           all
           bands
           ,
           infring'd
           my
           promise
           plighted
        
         
         
           Unto
           my
           sonne
           in
           law
           ,
           vile
           warre
           invited
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           thou
           seest
           (
           brave
           Turnus
           )
           what
           befalls
        
         
           Both
           thee
           and
           me
           ;
           what
           broiles
           even
           to
           our
           walls
           ,
        
         
           How
           many
           tyring
           troubles
           ,
           chiefly
           thee
        
         
           Have
           overtaken
           :
           whereby
           we
           now
           see
        
         
           Our selves
           in
           two
           set-battells
           vanquished
           ,
        
         
           And
           we
           within
           our
           town
           scarce
           free
           from
           dread
           ,
        
         
           The
           strength
           and
           hope
           of
           famous
           Italie
           :
        
         
           And
           to
           this
           day
           our
           bloud
           doth
           tepefie
        
         
           Swift
           Tybers
           torrent
           ,
           still
           our
           fields
           look
           white
        
         
           With
           mightie
           heaps
           of
           bones
           .
           O
           why
           so
           light
        
         
           Turn
           I
           so
           oft
           ?
           what
           phrenzie
           moves
           my
           minde
           ?
        
         
           If
           (
           Turnus
           slain
           )
           I
           make
           these
           foes
           friends
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           Why
           rather
           do
           I
           not
           ,
           while
           he
           's
           alive
           ,
        
         
           An
           end
           of
           these
           fierce
           fights
           with
           speed
           contrive
           ?
        
         
           What
           will
           our
           kinsmen
           the
           Rutulians
           say
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           and
           all
           Italie
           ,
           if
           I
           betray
        
         
           (
           Fates
           falsifie
           my
           words
           )
           his
           life
           to
           grave
           ,
        
         
           Whiles
           he
           our
           daughter
           his
           choice
           spouse
           doth
           crave
           ?
        
         
           Warres
           various
           events
           respect
           ,
           I
           pray
           ;
        
         
           With
           pitie
           thy
           old
           parents
           grief
           allay
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           ,
           full
           of
           grief
           ,
           Ardea's
           land
           separates
           .
        
         
           This
           speech
           no
           whit
           stout
           Turnus
           rage
           abates
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           salve
           doth
           more
           and
           more
           the
           sore
           infest
           ▪
        
         
           Who
           soon
           as
           he
           could
           speak
           ,
           it
           thus
           exprest
           ;
        
         
           Your
           care
           of
           me
           (
           grave
           sire
           )
           pray
           put
           aside
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           me
           death
           for
           dignitie
           abide
           .
        
         
           VVe
           yet
           cast
           darts
           ,
           draw
           swords
           with
           Martiall
           hands
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           wound
           we
           give
           ,
           life-bloud
           commands
           .
        
         
           His
           Goddesse
           mother
           will
           be
           absent
           farre
           ,
        
         
           VVho
           in
           a
           cloud
           that
           fugitive
           from
           warre
        
         
           VVith
           feminine
           affection
           us'd
           to
           hide
           ,
        
         
         
           In
           pain
           shall
           he
           in
           cloudy
           vails
           abide
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           the
           queen
           with
           this
           new-purpos'd
           fight
        
         
           Sorely
           perplext
           ,
           showres
           teares
           in
           piteous
           plight
           ,
        
         
           Her
           firie
           sonne
           in
           law
           ,
           ready
           to
           die
           ,
        
         
           Embracing
           in
           her
           arms
           ,
           with
           plaints
           doth
           plie
           ;
        
         
           Deare
           Turnus
           ,
           by
           these
           teares
           I
           thee
           intreat
           ,
        
         
           (
           By
           that
           ,
           if
           any
           love
           o'
           th'
           honour
           great
        
         
           Of
           Amata
           ,
           warms
           thy
           late
           loving
           heart
           :
        
         
           For
           of
           our
           old
           age
           thou
           the
           sole
           staffe
           art
           ,
        
         
           Our
           sorrows
           solace
           ,
           Latines
           lovely
           crown
           ,
        
         
           That
           prop
           ,
           which
           fa●ling
           ,
           all
           our
           state
           falls
           down
           )
        
         
           This
           one
           thing
           I
           thee
           pray
           ,
           Cease
           warres
           with
           Troy
           ;
        
         
           For
           whatsoever
           chance
           doth
           thee
           annoy
           ,
        
         
           The
           very
           same
           (
           my
           Turnus
           )
           me'le
           destroy
           :
        
         
           And
           life
           I
           'le
           leave
           ,
           ere
           captiv'd
           I
           will
           see
        
         
           Aeneas
           base
           ,
           my
           sonne
           in
           law
           to
           be
           .
        
         
           Her
           mothers
           tongue
           ,
           with
           teares
           ,
           Lavinia
           knew
           ,
        
         
           Straight
           crystall
           drops
           her
           blushing
           cheeks
           bedew
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           corrall
           colour
           seem'd
           her
           face
           to
           flame
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           much
           heat
           to
           overspread
           the
           same
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           white
           ivorie
           with
           vermilion
           stain'd
           ,
        
         
           Or
           lilies
           faire
           with
           much
           red-roses
           drain'd
           ;
        
         
           Such
           was
           the
           damsels
           daintie
           coloured
           face
           .
        
         
           Love
           straight
           turns
           Turnus
           to
           more
           amourous
           case
           :
        
         
           VVhose
           eyes
           fast
           fixed
           on
           her
           count'nance
           faire
           ,
        
         
           More
           eagerly
           for
           arms
           he
           does
           prepare
           .
        
         
           Thus
           therefore
           briefly
           to
           queen
           Amata
        
         
           He
           makes
           reply
           ;
           Forbeare
           ,
           forbeare
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Deare
           mother
           ,
           with
           your
           teares
           me
           to
           molest
           ,
        
         
           To
           urge
           me
           from
           a
           lot
           which
           I
           love
           best
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           which
           I
           will
           bloudiest
           battells
           try
           :
        
         
           Nor
           is
           't
           in
           Turnus
           ,
           life
           or
           death
           to
           fly
           .
        
         
         
           Go
           therefore
           Idmon
           ,
           tell
           that
           Phrygian
           king
           ,
        
         
           Shew
           the
           unsavoury
           message
           thou
           dost
           bring
           ;
        
         
           That
           earely
           the
           next
           morn
           ,
           so
           soon
           as
           e're
        
         
           Ruddy
           Aurora
           with
           a
           count'●●nce
           cleare
        
         
           In
           purple
           chariot
           ushers
           in
           day
           ●ight
           ,
        
         
           His
           Trojans
           should
           not
           Rutule●
           〈…〉
           fight
           ,
        
         
           But
           both
           might
           rest
           ,
           and
           both
           desist
           from
           arms
           ,
        
         
           And
           their
           two's
           bloud
           determine
           these
           alarms
           .
        
         
           This
           message
           sent
           ,
           to
           's
           home
           he
           fiercely
           flies
           ,
        
         
           Calls
           for
           hir
           horses
           ▪
           which
           ,
           before
           his
           eyes
        
         
           Champing
           with
           foaming
           mouths
           ,
           him
           much
           delight
           :
        
         
           Even
           those
           which
           of
           a
           faire
           and
           prancing
           sprite
        
         
           Faire
           Orithyia
           to
           Pilumnus
           gave
           ,
        
         
           For
           snowie
           colour
           and
           swift
           course
           most
           brave
           .
        
         
           The
           horse-keepers
           about
           them
           busie
           stand
           ,
        
         
           Slicking
           their
           breasts
           ,
           clapping
           them
           with
           their
           hand
           ,
        
         
           To
           cheere
           them
           up
           ,
           and
           combe
           their
           mains
           rough
           haire
           .
        
         
           Himself
           puts
           on
           his
           corslet
           ,
           shining
           faire
        
         
           With
           glistring
           gold
           and
           streaks
           of
           tinne
           most
           bright
           :
        
         
           His
           sword
           and
           shield
           and
           helmet
           ,
           fits
           to
           th'fight
           .
        
         
           His
           sword
           (
           I
           say
           )
           which
           ignean
           Vulcane
           gave
        
         
           Unto
           his
           father
           Daunus
           ,
           dipt
           most
           brave
        
         
           I'
           th'
           Stygian
           stream
           ,
           to
           make
           it
           strong
           and
           bright
        
         
           Then
           from
           a
           pillar
           standing
           bolt-upright
           ,
        
         
           I'
           th'
           midst
           o'
           th'
           room
           a
           mightie
           lance
           he
           takes
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           hand
           it
           furiously
           he
           shakes
           ,
        
         
           
             Actor
             Aruncus
          
           spoile
           :
           thus
           then
           he
           said
           ;
        
         
           O
           thou
           my
           speare
           ,
           which
           ne're
           deny'dst
           me
           aid
        
         
           When
           I
           desir'd
           ,
           the
           time
           is
           now
           at
           hand
           :
        
         
           Once
           mightie
           Actor
           us'd
           thee
           to
           command
           ,
        
         
           But
           Turnus
           now
           thee
           in
           his
           hand
           doth
           hold
           :
        
         
           O
           grant
           ,
           with
           thee
           I
           may
           his
           carcase
           cold
        
         
         
           Lay
           low
           on
           ground
           ,
           and
           by
           thee
           ,
           my
           brave
           speare
           ,
        
         
           With
           my
           strong
           hand
           ,
           the
           pull'd
           off
           corslet
           teare
        
         
           Of
           that
           hen●hearted
           Phrygian
           ,
           and
           most
           just
           ,
        
         
           Smeare
           his
           perfumed
           smelling
           locks
           i'th'dust
           ,
        
         
           Curled
           and
           crisp'd
           with
           heated
           irons
           neat
           .
        
         
           Thus
           up
           and
           down
           with
           rage
           and
           furie
           great
        
         
           He
           breathes
           outbraves
           ,
           and
           makes
           wrath-sparkles
           ●lie
           ,
        
         
           And
           flames
           of
           indignation
           flash
           in
           's
           eye
           .
        
         
           As
           when
           a
           bull
           a
           furious
           fight
           intends
           ,
        
         
           Aire-frighting
           bellows
           forth
           he
           forthwith
           sends
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           madhead
           his
           horns
           whets
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           Buts
           truncks
           of
           trees
           ,
           to
           fight
           with
           windes
           turns
           round
           ,
        
         
           Playes
           with
           the
           dust
           ,
           plowes
           up
           the
           earth
           in
           spight
           :
        
         
           Aeneas
           also
           fits
           him
           for
           the
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Arm'd
           in
           his
           mothers
           arms
           ,
           Mars
           invocates
           ,
        
         
           And
           him
           to
           th'combate
           ,
           wrath
           exasperates
           ,
        
         
           Rejoycing
           that
           by
           this
           thus
           offered
           truce
           ,
        
         
           There
           was
           good
           hope
           to
           peace
           warre
           to
           reduce
           .
        
         
           Then
           sad
           Iülus
           feares
           ,
           and
           all
           his
           mates
        
         
           He
           comforts
           by
           discovering
           all
           his
           fates
           :
        
         
           And
           bids
           the
           messengers
           shew
           to
           their
           king
        
         
           The
           rules
           for
           peace
           ,
           and
           truth
           of
           every
           thing
           .
        
         
           Next
           morn
           ,
           when
           day
           with
           light
           scarce
           sprinkled
           had
        
         
           The
           mountain
           tops
           ,
           so
           soon
           as
           Sol
           most
           glad
        
         
           Gave
           reins
           to
           's
           coursers
           ,
           with
           a
           full
           careere
        
         
           Mounting
           from
           sea
           ,
           snorting
           out
           day
           most
           cleare
        
         
           From
           their
           light-breathing
           nostrills
           :
           when
           with
           speed
        
         
           
             Trojans
             ,
             Rutulians
          
           ,
           busily
           proceed
        
         
           To
           bound
           the
           limits
           of
           their
           field
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Under
           the
           citie-walls
           ,
           i'th'cities
           sight
           :
        
         
           And
           'twixt
           them
           both
           ,
           they
           fire
           and
           water
           brought
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           their
           Gods
           they
           grassie
           altars
           fraught
           ,
        
         
         
           In
           linen
           cloath'd
           ,
           with
           sacred
           vervine
           crown'd
           .
        
         
           Thus
           first
           come
           forth
           the
           Latine
           bands
           renown'd
           :
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           then
           and
           Tuscanes
           follow
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           troops
           with
           various
           weapons
           ,
           with
           them
           past
           .
        
         
           As
           comptly
           ,
           promptly
           arm'd
           with
           blades
           most
           bright
           ,
        
         
           As
           if
           they
           all
           were
           instantly
           to
           fight
           .
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           midst
           of
           these
           their
           thousands
           bold
           ,
        
         
           Their
           captains
           praunce
           in
           scarlet
           and
           in
           gold
           .
        
         
           And
           Trojans
           brave
           ,
           
             Mnestheus
             ,
             Asyla's
          
           forces
           ,
        
         
           And
           stout
           Messapus
           rider
           rare
           of
           horses
           ,
        
         
           Great
           Neptunes
           offspring
           .
           All
           then
           ,
           at
           the
           signe
        
         
           Now
           given
           ,
           to
           their
           set-stations
           do
           incline
           .
        
         
           Their
           speares
           i'th'ground
           they
           pitch
           ,
           their
           shields
           let
           fall
           .
        
         
           Then
           with
           desire
           to
           see
           ,
           the
           women
           all
        
         
           Flock
           forth
           ,
           and
           young
           and
           old
           ,
           and
           weak
           and
           strong
        
         
           Climbe
           turrets
           high
           ,
           and
           up
           and
           down
           they
           throng
           :
        
         
           Some
           o're
           house
           ridges
           stride
           ,
           some
           on
           high
           gates
           :
        
         
           To
           all
           high
           standings
           each
           one
           properates
           .
        
         
           But
           Iun●
           from
           a
           mountain
           steep
           and
           tall
           ,
        
         
           Which
           now
           adayes
           ,
           Albanus
           men
           do
           call
           ,
        
         
           (
           But
           then
           was
           namelesse
           ,
           famelesse
           ,
           quite
           neglected
           )
        
         
           Survayes
           the
           Martiall
           field
           ,
           being
           much
           affected
           ,
        
         
           Views
           both
           the
           Laurent
           and
           the
           Trojan
           bands
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           what
           state
           the
           Latines
           citie
           stands
           .
        
         
           Then
           to
           
             Iuturna
             ,
             Turnus
          
           sister
           ,
           she
        
         
           Thus
           said
           ,
           Faire
           nymph
           ,
           to
           whom
           is
           granted
           free
        
         
           Authoritie
           o're
           roaring
           rivers
           swift
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           from
           above
           great
           Iove
           gave
           her
           this
           gift
           ,
        
         
           When
           she
           was
           stript
           of
           her
           virginitie
           )
        
         
           Rare
           nymph
           ,
           of
           flouds
           the
           lustrous
           braverie
           ,
        
         
           To
           us
           most
           neare
           and
           deare
           ;
           thou
           well
           dost
           know
        
         
           Of
           all
           the
           Latine
           ladies
           which
           do
           go
        
         
         
           To
           mightie
           Iupiters
           ungratefull
           bed
           ,
        
         
           That
           thee
           alone
           I
           kindely
           suffered
           ,
        
         
           And
           lovingly
           in
           heaven
           gave
           thee
           a
           place
           :
        
         
           Learn
           then
           of
           me
           thy
           present
           piteous
           case
           ,
        
         
           And
           do
           not
           me
           ,
           Iuturna
           ,
           henceforth
           blame
           :
        
         
           For
           I
           ,
           as
           farre
           as
           fates
           would
           grant
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           And
           destinies
           decreed
           ,
           have
           still
           protected
        
         
           Latiums
           affaires
           ,
           Turnus
           and
           's
           towns
           affected
           :
        
         
           But
           now
           I
           see
           the
           young
           prince
           overmatcht
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           fates
           frowning
           day
           decreed
           ,
           quite
           catcht
        
         
           In
           snares
           ofhastning
           death
           :
           nor
           can
           mine
           eyes
        
         
           Endure
           this
           fight
           ,
           and
           curs'd
           confederacies
           .
        
         
           If
           therefore
           now
           thou
           any
           good
           canst
           do
           ,
        
         
           Then
           for
           thy
           brother
           ,
           it
           with
           speed
           ensue
           ,
        
         
           As
           't
           is
           most
           fit
           :
           perhaps
           fates
           may
           afford
        
         
           Better
           successe
           .
           Scarce
           had
           she
           said
           that
           word
           ,
        
         
           When
           from
           her
           eyes
           Iuturna
           showr'd
           out
           teares
           ,
        
         
           And
           twice
           or
           thrice
           her
           breast
           she
           beat
           with
           feares
           .
        
         
           Cease
           (
           straight
           sayes
           Iuno
           )
           now
           's
           no
           time
           to
           weep
           ,
        
         
           Make
           haste
           ,
           thy
           brother
           (
           if
           thou
           canst
           )
           to
           keep
        
         
           From
           speedie
           death
           ;
           and
           or
           with
           Martiall
           broile
        
         
           Enflame
           them
           ;
           or
           ,
           their
           peace
           begun
           go
           spoile
           .
        
         
           Be
           bold
           ,
           I
           'le
           beare
           thee
           out
           .
           With
           these
           perswasions
        
         
           She
           leaves
           her
           cumbred
           with
           most
           fierce
           invasions
        
         
           Of
           wounding
           thoughts
           .
           Meanwhile
           the
           kings
           proceed
           ;
        
         
           (
           Latinus
           in
           a
           chariot
           with
           swift
           speed
        
         
           Drawn
           by
           foure
           horses
           gallantly
           bedeckt
        
         
           With
           twelve-fold
           golden
           wreathes
           ,
           whose
           rare
           aspect
        
         
           Shone
           like
           his
           gransires
           glorious
           sun-beam
           bright
           ;
        
         
           Turnus
           goes
           next
           ,
           drawn
           with
           two
           horses
           white
           ,
        
         
           Grasping
           in
           's
           hand
           two
           steelie-lances
           strong
           :
        
         
           Then
           grave
           Ae●eas
           bravely
           goes
           along
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           basis
           of
           Romes
           regall
           progenie
           ,
        
         
           With
           's
           starrie
           shield
           glistring
           refulgently
           ,
        
         
           And
           heaven-given
           arms
           ;
           with
           whom
           Ascanius
           came
           ,
        
         
           The
           second
           hope
           ,
           Romes
           empire
           fast
           to
           frame
           )
        
         
           Thus
           on
           (
           I
           say
           )
           they
           to
           the
           camp
           proceed
           :
        
         
           Their
           priest
           aray'd
           in
           pure
           and
           spotlesse
           weed
           ,
        
         
           Drawes
           forth
           a
           brislie
           sowes
           young
           porker
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           unshorn
           sheep
           ,
           to
           th'burning
           altars
           rare
        
         
           Bringing
           the
           beasts
           .
           They
           then
           their
           faces
           bent
        
         
           To
           the
           ascending
           sunne
           ,
           on
           the
           beasts
           spent
        
         
           Their
           salt
           and
           bran
           ,
           and
           with
           their
           sizers
           keen
        
         
           They
           clip
           the
           haire
           ,
           and
           wooll
           their
           brows
           between
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           their
           altars
           poure
           out
           bowles
           of
           wine
           .
        
         
           Then
           with
           drawn
           sword
           Aeneas
           grave
           ,
           divine
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           vents
           his
           votes
           ;
           Bright
           Sol
           ,
           my
           witnesse
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           thou
           O
           Latium
           ,
           who
           both
           heare
           and
           see
        
         
           Me
           praying
           ,
           and
           for
           whom
           I
           undergo
        
         
           These
           mightie
           toiles
           :
           and
           thou
           great
           Iove
           also
           ,
        
         
           Yea
           and
           
             Saturnian
             Iuno
          
           ,
           whom
           I
           pray
        
         
           A
           kinder
           Goddesse
           be
           ,
           wrath
           laid
           away
           :
        
         
           And
           thou
           renowned
           Mars
           ,
           who
           at
           thy
           will
        
         
           All
           warres
           dost
           regulate
           and
           order
           still
           :
        
         
           And
           springs
           and
           rivers
           all
           I
           invocate
           ,
        
         
           And
           whatsoe're
           heavens
           power
           do
           venerate
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           that
           in
           the
           azure
           flouds
           do
           go
           .
        
         
           If
           on
           
             Italian
             Turnus
          
           chance
           bestow
        
         
           The
           victorie
           ,
           we
           vanquisht
           ,
           will
           depart
        
         
           Unto
           Euanders
           town
           with
           readie
           heart
           .
        
         
           Iülus
           also
           shall
           your
           land
           quite
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           shall
           our
           Trojans
           arms
           against
           you
           beare
           ,
        
         
           Or
           ever
           after
           give
           you
           least
           distaste
           ,
        
         
           Or
           with
           their
           swords
           your
           territories
           waste
           .
        
         
         
           But
           if
           to
           us
           Mars
           grant
           the
           victorie
           ,
        
         
           (
           Which
           I
           much
           rather
           hope
           by
           destinie
           ,
        
         
           And
           pray
           the
           Gods
           would
           rather
           ratifie
           )
        
         
           I
           neither
           will
           Latines
           subjection
           crave
        
         
           Unto
           us
           Trojans
           ,
           nor
           your
           kingdomes
           have
           :
        
         
           But
           that
           both
           Trojans
           and
           Italians
           be
        
         
           Link'd
           by
           one
           law
           in
           endlesse
           amitie
           :
        
         
           I
           'le
           guide
           you
           to
           the
           Gods
           and
           sacred
           rites
           .
        
         
           Have
           power
           (
           great
           father
           in
           law
           )
           in
           Martiall
           fights
           .
        
         
           Have
           and
           enjoy
           (
           grave
           sire
           )
           thy
           soveraigntie
           :
        
         
           My
           Trojans
           onely
           shall
           me
           edifie
        
         
           A
           setled
           town
           ,
           and
           call
           it
           by
           the
           name
        
         
           Of
           thy
           Lavinia
           ,
           to
           her
           datelesse
           fame
           .
        
         
           Thus
           first
           Aeneas
           ,
           then
           Latinus
           grave
           ,
        
         
           His
           hands
           and
           eyes
           lift
           up
           ,
           this
           answer
           gave
           ;
        
         
           The
           self
           same
           things
           I
           (
           great
           Aeneas
           )
           sweare
           ,
        
         
           Let
           sea
           and
           land
           and
           starres
           true
           witnesse
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           both
           Latona's
           broods
           ,
           and
           Ianus
           old
        
         
           With
           his
           two
           brows
           ,
           and
           hells
           force
           uncontrold
           ,
        
         
           And
           dues
           divine
           of
           plaguie
           Plutoes
           seat
           :
        
         
           And
           let
           great
           Iove
           heare
           thus
           ,
           whose
           thunders
           great
        
         
           Do
           truces
           tie
           ;
           fright
           the
           fedifragous
           :
        
         
           And
           hereupon
           our
           shrines
           I
           handle
           thus
           ,
        
         
           And
           midst
           o'
           th'
           flames
           I
           touch
           ,
           and
           Gods
           I
           call
           ,
        
         
           Of
           what
           I
           speak
           and
           vow
           ,
           to
           witnesse
           all
           .
        
         
           No
           day
           shall
           Latines
           make
           this
           peace
           t'
           impeach
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           of
           these
           coards
           of
           concord
           to
           make
           breach
           .
        
         
           Nor
           (
           whatsoever
           chance
           betide
           )
           will
           I
        
         
           By
           any
           force
           fall
           backward
           wilfully
           :
        
         
           No
           ,
           though
           the
           seas
           hide
           earth
           with
           inundation
           ,
        
         
           Or
           heaven
           with
           hell
           should
           force
           fierce
           desolation
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           this
           mace
           (
           for
           in
           his
           hand
           by
           hap
        
         
         
           A
           mace
           he
           bare
           )
           quite
           void
           of
           native
           sap
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           never
           sprout
           or
           spring
           with
           branches
           tender
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           ever
           any
           cooling
           shadows
           render
           ,
        
         
           Cut
           out
           o'
           th'
           wood
           ,
           and
           from
           the
           stock
           quite
           rent
           ,
        
         
           VVanting
           its
           root
           ,
           and
           boughs
           and
           bark
           all
           spent
           .
        
         
           And
           cut
           away
           with
           tools
           ,
           but
           once
           a
           tree
           ,
        
         
           Though
           now
           with
           gold
           it
           garnished
           you
           see
           ,
        
         
           By
           cunning
           artists
           skill
           ,
           and
           thus
           made
           fit
        
         
           For
           Latine
           kings
           to
           hold
           ,
           in
           thrones
           that
           sit
           .
        
         
           VVith
           such
           like
           words
           their
           peace
           they
           did
           conclude
        
         
           Amidst
           the
           princely
           peeres
           and
           multitude
           :
        
         
           And
           then
           ,
           as
           custome
           was
           ,
           their
           beasts
           they
           slay
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           fire
           their
           sprawling
           inwards
           lay
           .
        
         
           But
           all
           this
           while
           ,
           this
           match
           seems
           much
           amisse
        
         
           To
           all
           the
           Rutuls
           ,
           muttering
           much
           at
           this
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           various
           votes
           and
           thoughts
           ,
           and
           so
           much
           rather
           ,
        
         
           By
           how
           much
           their
           unequall
           strength
           they
           gather
           .
        
         
           And
           Turnus
           his
           slow
           walks
           and
           paces
           sad
           ,
        
         
           And
           low
           dejected
           looks
           much
           feare
           do
           adde
           ,
        
         
           As
           he
           was
           humbly
           sacrificing
           there
           ,
        
         
           VVith
           hollow
           cheeks
           and
           childish
           totall
           feare
           .
        
         
           VVhich
           muttering
           whiles
           Iuturna
           notes
           right
           well
           ,
        
         
           And
           how
           the
           peoples
           hearts
           both
           rose
           and
           fell
           ;
        
         
           Camertes
           count'nance
           counterfeiting
           ,
           she
           ,
        
         
           (
           Famous
           for
           grandsires
           ancient
           pedigree
           ,
        
         
           And
           fathers
           fortitude
           ,
           which
           farre
           was
           blown
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           himself
           valiant
           in
           arms
           was
           known
           )
        
         
           She
           mixt
           her self
           amidst
           the
           thickest
           wings
           ,
        
         
           And
           craftily
           acquainted
           with
           all
           things
           ,
        
         
           Spread
           rambling
           rumours
           'mongst
           them
           all
           ,
           and
           said
           ,
        
         
           O
           Rutuls
           ,
           are
           ye
           not
           with
           shame
           o'relaid
           ?
        
         
           Thus
           one
           mans
           life
           for
           many's
           to
           expose
        
         
         
           To
           danger
           great
           ?
           Equall
           me
           not
           our
           foes
        
         
           In
           number
           and
           in
           magnanimitie
           ?
        
         
           See
           here
           the
           Trojans
           and
           Arcadians
           lie
           ,
        
         
           And
           fatall
           troop
           
             Etrurians
             ,
             Turnus
          
           foes
           ;
        
         
           And
           if
           in
           fight
           we
           bravely
           them
           oppose
           ,
        
         
           They
           scarce
           have
           man
           for
           man.
           He
           shall
           indeed
        
         
           To
           th'
           Gods
           (
           whose
           altars
           he
           adores
           )
           proceed
           ,
        
         
           And
           live
           by
           fame
           in
           all
           mens
           mouthes
           ,
           though
           dead
           :
        
         
           But
           we
           (
           our
           countrey
           lost
           )
           live
           in
           dire
           dread
           ,
        
         
           Be
           slav'd
           to
           supercilious
           lords
           ,
           whiles
           we
        
         
           Lie
           lazing
           and
           permit
           it
           thus
           to
           be
           .
        
         
           With
           these
           like
           words
           the
           youths
           hot
           thoughts
           she
           fires
           ,
        
         
           And
           more
           and
           more
           the
           murmure
           might
           acquires
        
         
           Through
           all
           the
           armie
           .
           Now
           the
           Laurents
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           Latines
           wheel
           their
           thoughts
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           they
           which
           lately
           lookt
           for
           rest
           from
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           safely
           from
           their
           sorrows
           ,
           now
           down-right
        
         
           Addicted
           are
           to
           arms
           ,
           wish
           the
           peace
           mar'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           great
           grief
           ,
           Turnus
           hard
           hap
           regard
           .
        
         
           And
           to
           all
           this
           Iuturna
           jugles
           more
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           heavens
           sends
           a
           signe
           them
           before
           ,
        
         
           Which
           more
           effectually
           than
           ought
           else
           yet
           ,
        
         
           Did
           mould
           th'
           Italians
           mindes
           for
           her
           most
           fit
           ,
        
         
           To
           foolifie
           them
           with
           a
           prodigie
           .
        
         
           For
           as
           Ioves
           bird
           ,
           the
           eagle
           ,
           in
           cleare
           skie
        
         
           Soaring
           along
           ,
           drives
           little
           birds
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           frights
           the
           chattering
           flock
           and
           wingie
           rout
           ,
        
         
           When
           with
           a
           sudden
           swoop
           and
           serious
           watch
        
         
           H●
           gliding
           down
           ,
           a
           gallant
           swan
           doth
           catch
           ,
        
         
           And
           teares
           in'stallons
           ;
           (
           hereat
           instantly
        
         
           Th'
           Italians
           courage
           take
           )
           then
           cherpingly
           ,
        
         
           All
           the
           birds
           back
           do
           flie
           (
           a
           most
           strange
           sight
           )
        
         
         
           And
           with
           their
           wings
           do
           dim
           the
           skies
           cleare
           light
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           clustring
           cloud
           o're
           all
           the
           aire
           ,
        
         
           Their
           foe
           so
           much
           infest
           an
           over-beare
           ,
        
         
           That
           forc'd
           at
           last
           by
           force
           and
           ponderous
           waight
           ,
        
         
           He
           lets
           his
           prey
           fall
           into
           th'
           water
           straight
           ,
        
         
           And
           swiftly
           flutters
           from
           them
           into
           th'
           skie
           .
        
         
           The
           Rutuls
           their
           auspicuous
           augurie
        
         
           With
           clamours
           loud
           adore
           ,
           to
           fight
           prepare
           :
        
         
           Tolumnius
           specially
           ,
           a
           southsayer
           rare
           ,
        
         
           Stands
           forth
           and
           cries
           ;
           This
           ,
           this
           is
           it
           indeed
           ,
        
         
           Which
           I
           long
           looking
           for
           ,
           wish
           might
           succeed
           .
        
         
           The
           Gods
           great
           power
           I
           know
           ,
           and
           glad
           embrace
           .
        
         
           Brave
           Rutuls
           ,
           come
           ,
           come
           follow
           me
           apace
           ,
        
         
           Even
           me
           your
           captain
           ,
           let
           your
           swords
           take
           place
           :
        
         
           Even
           you
           ,
           whom
           this
           base
           stragler
           by
           fierce
           broiles
           ,
        
         
           Would
           as
           those
           weak
           birds
           fright
           from
           native
           soiles
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           your
           shores
           with
           fire
           and
           sword
           invade
           ;
        
         
           But
           he
           shall
           flie
           ,
           and
           with
           base
           retrograde
        
         
           Hoise
           sailes
           from
           hence
           ,
           and
           haste
           into
           the
           main
           :
        
         
           You
           then
           with
           one
           consent
           your
           troops
           maintain
           ,
        
         
           Double
           your
           files
           ,
           and
           with
           your
           Martiall
           arm
        
         
           Defend
           your
           forlorn
           king
           from
           fatall
           harm
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           he
           running
           forth
           at
           's
           enemies
        
         
           Casts
           a
           strong
           dart
           ,
           which
           whisling
           fiercely
           flies
        
         
           Clean
           through
           the
           aire
           ,
           piercing
           all
           opposites
           :
        
         
           And
           this
           and
           more
           a
           doubled
           din
           incites
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           the
           armies
           startles
           and
           provokes
           ,
        
         
           And
           heats
           their
           hearts
           to
           fierce
           tumultuous
           strokes
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           the
           speare
           flew
           on
           with
           furious
           chance
           ,
        
         
           Against
           nine
           brethrens
           bodies
           it
           did
           glance
           :
        
         
           All
           whom
           one
           modest
           Tuscane
           mother
           bred
        
         
           ●o
           her
           Gylippus
           in
           chaste
           marriage-bed
           .
        
         
         
           One
           of
           which
           nine
           standing
           i'
           th'
           midst
           ,
           it
           hits
        
         
           Just
           on
           the
           place
           whereon
           his
           brave
           belt
           fits
           ,
        
         
           And
           where
           a
           button
           clasps
           his
           clothes
           aside
           ,
        
         
           A
           lovely
           lad
           ,
           and
           full
           of
           Martiall
           pride
           :
        
         
           And
           through
           his
           ribs
           it
           quickly
           perforated
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           sands
           his
           life
           soon
           terminated
           .
        
         
           Hereat
           the
           other
           brethrens
           valiant
           band
        
         
           Enflam'd
           with
           grief
           ,
           take
           some
           their
           swords
           in
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Some
           deadly
           darts
           ,
           and
           furiously
           flie
           on
           :
        
         
           Whom
           to
           oppose
           and
           fiercely
           set
           upon
           ,
        
         
           Laurentum
           troops
           flie
           out
           :
           hence
           instantly
        
         
           The
           Trojans
           ,
           like
           an
           inundation
           high
           ,
        
         
           Break
           out
           ,
           and
           
             Agyllines
             ,
             Arcadians
          
           bold
           ,
        
         
           In
           gallant
           arms
           embroidered
           rich
           with
           gold
           .
        
         
           Thus
           all
           had
           one
           hot
           heart
           to
           fight
           it
           out
           :
        
         
           Their
           shrines
           snatcht
           up
           ,
           fierce
           tempests
           flie
           about
        
         
           Through
           all
           the
           aire
           ,
           and
           storms
           of
           deadly
           darts
           ,
        
         
           And
           showres
           of
           slicing
           swords
           to
           wound
           their
           hearts
           .
        
         
           Their
           sacrificing
           censers
           thence
           they
           beare
           ,
        
         
           And
           flaming
           fires
           .
           Latinus
           in
           great
           feare
        
         
           Makes
           haste
           away
           ,
           unto
           the
           Gods
           complaining
        
         
           Of
           their
           dishonour
           and
           the
           peace
           profaning
           .
        
         
           Some
           from
           the
           chariots
           take
           their
           horses
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           nimbly
           backing
           them
           ,
           do
           range
           about
           ,
        
         
           With
           naked
           swords
           in
           hand
           approach
           the
           fight
           .
        
         
           Martiall
           Messapus
           full
           of
           war-like
           spight
           ,
        
         
           This
           late
           compacted
           peace
           now
           to
           confound
        
         
           Against
           Aulestes
           king
           ,
           and
           kingly
           crown'd
           :
        
         
           Over
           the
           Tuscanes
           ran
           with
           full
           careere
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           the
           ground
           him
           straight
           did
           over-beare
           .
        
         
           And
           headlong
           him
           on
           head
           and
           shoulders
           cast
        
         
           Flat
           on
           his
           back
           ,
           upon
           an
           altar
           fast
           :
        
         
         
           Whereat
           Messapus
           fiercely
           to
           him
           flies
        
         
           With
           speare
           in
           's
           hand
           ;
           and
           as
           for
           life
           he
           cries
        
         
           And
           much
           intreats
           ,
           he
           with
           his
           beamie
           lance
           ,
        
         
           On
           horse-back
           strongly
           'gainst
           him
           doth
           advance
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           mortall
           blow
           ,
           thus
           to
           him
           spake
           ;
        
         
           So
           ,
           so
           ,
           't
           is
           well
           ,
           thou'lt
           a
           good
           offring
           make
           .
        
         
           Th'
           Italians
           close
           him
           ,
           mangle
           him
           all-o're
           ,
        
         
           Whereat
           stout
           Chorineus
           vext
           full
           sore
           ,
        
         
           Snatcht
           up
           an
           altar
           fire-brand
           ,
           bravely
           met
        
         
           Ebusus
           coming
           in
           a
           furious
           fret
           ,
        
         
           And
           smiting
           at
           him
           ;
           whom
           he
           swift
           doth
           chase
           ,
        
         
           And
           thrusts
           the
           flaming
           fire-brand
           in
           his
           face
           :
        
         
           Which
           cing'd
           his
           haire
           and
           broad
           beard
           all
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           sent
           a
           mightie
           stench
           and
           savour
           out
           .
        
         
           Then
           this
           his
           trembling
           foe
           doth
           with
           him
           close
           ,
        
         
           Lugs
           him
           by
           's
           locks
           ,
           and
           gives
           him
           more
           full
           blows
           ,
        
         
           Forcing
           him
           on
           his
           knees
           ,
           fells
           him
           to
           th'
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           through
           his
           side
           his
           sword
           his
           heart
           doth
           wound
           .
        
         
           Then
           Podalirius
           with
           a
           slicing
           blade
           ,
        
         
           Alsus
           a
           famous
           shepherd
           did
           invade
           ,
        
         
           Pressing
           on
           forward
           in
           the
           vantguard
           brave
           :
        
         
           Whom
           Alsus
           such
           a
           knock
           with
           's
           battle-ax
           gave
           ,
        
         
           As
           cleft
           his
           head
           to
           th'
           chin
           ,
           sprinkling
           all-o're
           ,
        
         
           With
           his
           deep
           broached
           and
           out-gushing
           gore
           .
        
         
           Rough
           rest
           and
           steel-given
           sleep
           do
           shut
           his
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           close
           his
           eyes
           up
           in
           eternall
           night
           .
        
         
           But
           great
           Aeneas
           stretcht
           his
           unarm'd
           hand
           ,
        
         
           As
           he
           bare-headed
           without
           helm
           did
           stand
           ,
        
         
           And
           calls
           aloud
           to
           's
           mates
           ;
           O
           whither
           flock
           y●
           ?
        
         
           Why
           with
           this
           creeping
           jarre
           our
           peace
           thus
           mock
           ye
           ?
        
         
           O
           pacifie
           your
           rage
           ;
           conditions
           faire
           ,
        
         
           And
           good
           conclusions
           for
           us
           fixed
           are
           :
        
         
         
           'T
           is
           I
           alone
           must
           now
           the
           battell
           trie
           .
        
         
           O
           then
           give
           way
           to
           me
           ,
           all
           false
           feares
           flie
           :
        
         
           For
           with
           this
           hand
           I
           will
           corroborate
        
         
           This
           peace
           ,
           and
           Turnus
           troubles
           terminate
           .
        
         
           As
           he
           thus
           spake
           ,
           ere
           he
           had
           ended
           all
           ,
        
         
           Behold
           a
           whisling
           dart
           did
           fiercely
           fall
        
         
           And
           light
           upon
           the
           prince
           ,
           uncertain
           whence
           ,
        
         
           From
           whose
           strong
           hand
           ,
           what
           stormie
           violence
           ,
        
         
           What
           fate
           ,
           what
           fortune
           should
           the
           Rutuls
           raise
        
         
           To
           such
           high
           honour
           ,
           unexpected
           praise
           .
        
         
           The
           glorie
           of
           the
           fact
           lies
           rak't
           up
           ,
           yet
        
         
           Not
           one
           dares
           bragge
           that
           he
           Aeneas
           hit
           .
        
         
           When
           Turnus
           saw
           Aeneas
           leave
           the
           field
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           his
           troubled
           troops
           much
           ground
           to
           yeeld
           ,
        
         
           With
           hastie
           hope
           his
           heart
           begins
           to
           flame
           ,
        
         
           He
           calls
           for
           horses
           ,
           longs
           to
           fight
           for
           fame
           :
        
         
           And
           proudly
           prauncing
           in
           his
           chariot
           high
           ,
        
         
           To
           his
           loose
           reins
           gives
           ample
           libertie
           .
        
         
           And
           many
           a
           valiant
           souldier
           fiercely
           flying
           ,
        
         
           He
           sends
           to
           Styx
           ,
           and
           many
           leaves
           half
           dying
           :
        
         
           And
           either
           teares
           them
           with
           his
           chariot-wheel
           ,
        
         
           Or
           bores
           their
           flying
           backs
           with
           darts
           of
           steel
           .
        
         
           Like
           as
           when
           bloudy
           Mars
           with
           his
           strong
           shield
        
         
           Doth
           check
           cold
           Hebers
           flouds
           ,
           and
           makes
           them
           yeeld
           ;
        
         
           And
           waging
           warre
           ,
           his
           furious
           steeds
           sends
           out
           ,
        
         
           Who
           swifte●
           then
           West-windes
           flies
           all
           about
        
         
           The
           Martiall
           field
           ,
           and
           with
           their
           trampling
           strong
        
         
           Do
           shake
           large
           Thraces
           confines
           all
           along
           ,
        
         
           Frighted
           about
           with
           shapes
           of
           damping
           dread
           ,
        
         
           Wrath
           ,
           rage
           and
           plots
           ,
           the
           God
           accompanied
           :
        
         
           Thus
           agile
           Turnus
           ,
           '
           midst
           of
           all
           the
           fight
           ,
        
         
           His
           sweatie
           smoaking
           steeds
           drives
           on
           ,
           a
           sight
        
         
         
           Wofull
           to
           see
           ,
           how
           he
           insulting
           goes
           ,
        
         
           And
           gluts
           his
           sword
           with
           his
           thick
           slaughtered
           foes
           :
        
         
           Dying
           their
           horrid
           hoofs
           with
           dews
           of
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           Mixing
           both
           sand
           and
           gore
           like
           morter-mud
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           he
           slew
           
             Sthenelus
             ,
             Thamyris
          
           ,
        
         
           And
           Polus
           fierce
           to
           death
           he
           doth
           dismisse
           :
        
         
           Meeting
           now
           this
           ,
           now
           that
           resisting
           foe
        
         
           Fighting
           farre-off
           ;
           farre-off
           he
           meets
           also
        
         
           Imbrasus
           sonnes
           ,
           Lades
           ,
           and
           Glaucus
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           Imbrasus
           himself
           had
           nurs'd
           up
           long
        
         
           In
           Lycia
           ,
           and
           alike
           with
           arms
           them
           fraught
           ,
        
         
           And
           horse
           or
           foot-fight
           expertly
           them
           taught
           .
        
         
           Upon
           another
           part
           Eumedes
           stout
        
         
           Amidst
           the
           thickest
           ranks
           flies
           all
           about
           ,
        
         
           Famous
           in
           warre
           ,
           by
           kindred
           of
           great
           fame
           ,
        
         
           Stout
           Dolons
           sonne
           ,
           right
           of
           his
           grandsires
           name
        
         
           In
           strength
           and
           courage
           parents
           paralell
           ,
        
         
           Who
           once
           in
           valour
           did
           so
           farre
           excell
           ,
        
         
           That
           he
           a
           scout
           to
           th'
           Grecian
           camp
           would
           go
           ,
        
         
           If
           they
           'd
           on
           him
           Achilles
           coach
           bestow
           .
        
         
           But
           Diomedes
           did
           his
           boldnesse
           pay
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           another
           price
           sent
           him
           away
           ,
        
         
           Of
           great
           Achilles
           chariot
           frustrate
           quite
           :
        
         
           Whom
           Turnus
           spying
           a
           farre-off
           in
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Ere
           he
           went
           farre
           ,
           pursu'd
           him
           at
           the
           heel
           ,
        
         
           And
           stopt
           his
           passage
           with
           his
           nimble
           steel
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           he
           stayes
           his
           steeds
           ,
           from
           's
           coach
           descends
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           his
           half-dead
           falne-down
           foe
           he
           bends
           :
        
         
           Sets
           his
           foot
           on
           his
           neck
           ,
           drawes
           out
           his
           blade
           ,
        
         
           Dy'd
           it
           in
           's
           throat
           ;
           and
           this
           moreover
           said
           ;
        
         
           See
           ,
           Trojan
           ,
           see
           the
           land
           so
           long
           time
           sought
           ,
        
         
           See
           Italie
           ,
           which
           thou
           with
           bloud
           hast
           bought
           ,
        
         
         
           Now
           lie
           and
           meat
           it
           out
           .
           Here
           's
           all
           their
           gain
           ,
        
         
           Which
           me
           to
           warre
           thus
           boldly
           dare
           constrain
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           to
           themselves
           a
           citie
           they
           erect
           .
        
         
           A
           dart
           he
           then
           did
           furiously
           direct
        
         
           Against
           his
           mate
           
             Asbustes
             ,
             Chlores
          
           next
           ,
        
         
           Sybaris
           and
           Daretes
           he
           perplext
           ;
        
         
           Thersilochus
           ,
           with
           him
           Thymoetes
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           starting
           jade
           on
           ground
           laid
           him
           along
           .
        
         
           As
           when
           Aedonian
           Northern
           blasts
           do
           blow
           ,
        
         
           Aegean
           roaring
           surges
           do
           o'reflow
           ,
        
         
           VVave
           following
           wave
           ,
           thick
           rolling
           to
           the
           shore
           ,
        
         
           As
           puffes
           do
           push
           them
           ,
           and
           i'
           th'
           skies
           all-o're
        
         
           Clouds
           sleet
           about
           ▪
           so
           Turnus
           turbulent
        
         
           Makes
           armies
           flie
           ,
           which
           way
           soe're
           he
           went
           ,
        
         
           And
           turns
           troops
           headlong
           back
           ;
           force
           makes
           him
           stout
           ,
        
         
           And
           blasts
           his
           fluttering
           plumes
           do
           puffe
           about
           .
        
         
           But
           Phegeus
           fierce
           no
           longer
           could
           abide
        
         
           His
           sturdie
           stomack
           and
           insulting
           pride
           ,
        
         
           But
           to
           the
           coach
           he
           comes
           with
           courage
           bold
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           his
           hand
           upon
           the
           reins
           layes
           hold
           ,
        
         
           To
           stay
           the
           foamie
           horses
           furious
           pace
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           divert
           them
           to
           some
           other
           place
           .
        
         
           As
           thus
           he
           's
           drawn
           ,
           and
           on
           his
           horse-main
           hangs
           ,
        
         
           A
           mightie
           speare
           upon
           his
           armour
           clangs
           ;
        
         
           And
           pierc'd
           his
           double
           plated
           corslet
           brave
           ,
        
         
           And
           on
           the
           top
           of
           's
           skin
           a
           wound
           him
           gave
           .
        
         
           He
           hereupon
           safe
           cover'd
           with
           his
           shield
           ,
        
         
           Makes
           at
           his
           foe
           ,
           pursues
           him
           in
           the
           field
        
         
           VVith
           his
           drawn-sword
           ,
           for
           surerer
           safetie
           ;
        
         
           VVho
           with
           the
           chariot
           wheels
           velocitie
        
         
           And
           swift
           driven
           axle-tree
           ,
           was
           headlong
           cast
        
         
           Down
           to
           the
           ground
           ,
           whom
           Turnus
           follows
           fast
           ,
        
         
         
           A
           lights
           ,
           and
           'twixt
           his
           helm
           and
           gorgets
           brim
        
         
           With
           his
           sharp
           sword
           straight
           way
           beheaded
           him
           ,
        
         
           Leaving
           his
           headlesse
           carcase
           on
           the
           sand
           .
        
         
           As
           thus
           i'th'field
           Turnus
           doth
           victour
           stand
           ,
        
         
           
             Mnestheus
             ,
             Achates
          
           kinde
           ,
           Ascanius
           faire
           ,
        
         
           Bleeding
           Aeneas
           bring
           with
           grief
           and
           care
        
         
           Into
           his
           tent
           ,
           who
           walking
           with
           weak
           strides
           ,
        
         
           And
           resting
           on
           a
           strong
           staffe
           which
           him
           guides
           ,
        
         
           He
           's
           sorely
           vext
           ,
           strives
           with
           all
           urgencie
        
         
           The
           speare
           and
           head
           to
           pluck
           forth
           totally
           .
        
         
           Which
           since
           he
           could
           not
           ,
           he
           desires
           their
           aid
        
         
           To
           take
           the
           nearest
           way
           ,
           cure
           might
           be
           made
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           blade
           the
           flesh
           to
           lance
           more
           wide
           ,
        
         
           Which
           did
           the
           arrows
           head
           so
           deeply
           hide
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           to
           get
           it
           out
           ,
           and
           him
           again
        
         
           To
           send
           to
           th'field
           ,
           the
           combate
           to
           maintain
           ▪
        
         
           And
           now
           Iäpix
           came
           ,
           old
           Iasus
           sonne
           ,
        
         
           Who
           with
           Apollo
           from
           all
           others
           won
        
         
           The
           praise
           and
           prize
           ,
           in
           his
           most
           deep
           affection
           ,
        
         
           Once
           taken
           with
           his
           love
           ,
           by
           kinde
           aspection
           ;
        
         
           And
           thereupon
           upon
           him
           did
           bestow
           ,
        
         
           Accurate
           arts
           and
           sciences
           to
           know
           ,
        
         
           Hid
           auguries
           ,
           rare
           musick
           ,
           archers
           praise
           ;
        
         
           But
           he
           his
           bed-red-fathers
           wasting
           dayes
        
         
           Long
           to
           prolong
           ,
           himself
           did
           most
           apply
        
         
           To
           studie
           physick
           ,
           and
           plants
           secrecie
           ,
        
         
           And
           such
           like
           silent
           and
           lesse
           honoured
           art
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           still
           extreamly
           vext
           at
           heart
           ,
        
         
           Leans
           on
           a
           mightie
           lance
           ,
           with
           many
           a
           youth
           ,
        
         
           And
           young
           Iülus
           full
           of
           feare
           and
           ruth
           ,
        
         
           All
           shedding
           teares
           :
           but
           he
           unmoved
           stood
           .
        
         
           Then
           old
           Iäpix
           ,
           like
           a
           surgeon
           good
           ,
        
         
         
           Tying
           a
           linen
           apron
           him
           before
           ,
        
         
           Of
           salves
           and
           physick
           herbes
           he
           brings
           forth
           store
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           power
           Apollo
           had
           unto
           him
           taught
           ,
        
         
           These
           faintly
           he
           appli'de
           ;
           but
           none
           well
           wrought
           ,
        
         
           All
           prov'd
           in
           vain
           ,
           in
           vain
           he
           trialls
           made
           ,
        
         
           With
           hand
           ,
           with
           pinching
           pinsers
           to
           give
           aid
           ,
        
         
           And
           get
           the
           iron
           out
           .
           No
           chance
           findes
           way
           ,
        
         
           And
           Phoebus
           physick
           serves
           him
           for
           no
           stay
           :
        
         
           But
           more
           and
           more
           increase
           fierce
           clamours
           high
        
         
           About
           the
           field
           ,
           and
           mis●hef
           drawes
           more
           nigh
           .
        
         
           They
           see
           dust
           flie
           i'
           th'
           aire
           ,
           horsemen
           make
           speed
           ,
        
         
           And
           numerous
           darts
           amongst
           them
           cast
           ,
           exceed
           :
        
         
           And
           clamourous
           noise
           and
           cries
           of
           souldiers
           fighting
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           fierce
           Mars
           ,
           dead
           bodies
           headlong
           smiting
           .
        
         
           Then
           Venus
           vext
           at
           her
           sonnes
           piteous
           pain
           ,
        
         
           To
           cure
           the
           wound
           and
           make
           him
           well
           again
           ,
        
         
           From
           
             Cretian
             Ide
          
           straight
           gathers
           dittanie
           ,
        
         
           VVhose
           stalk
           has
           little
           leaves
           ,
           and
           to
           the
           eye
        
         
           Beares
           purple
           blossomes
           .
           To
           this
           well-known
           plant
        
         
           VVilde
           beasts
           repaire
           ,
           when
           cure
           of
           wounds
           they
           want
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           in
           their
           flesh
           fierce
           digging
           darts
           do
           stick
           .
        
         
           This
           Venus
           ,
           hidden
           in
           a
           cloud
           most
           thick
           ,
        
         
           Brought
           quickly
           thither
           with
           all
           secrecy
           ,
        
         
           Steeps
           it
           in
           pans
           of
           water
           standing
           by
           ,
        
         
           Compounds
           it
           with
           Ambrosian
           juyce
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           And
           odoriferous
           P●nax
           plants
           most
           faire
           .
        
         
           Iapis
           old
           not
           knowing
           what
           was
           done
           ,
        
         
           The
           wound
           to
           supple
           now
           again
           begun
        
         
           VVith
           this
           compounded
           water
           ;
           instantly
        
         
           All
           wonted
           pain
           and
           smart
           from
           's
           wound
           did
           flie
           ,
        
         
           All
           putred
           bloud
           into
           the
           wound
           collected
           ,
        
         
           And
           out
           o
           th'
           sore
           was
           carefully
           ejected
           :
        
         
         
           And
           then
           the
           steel
           without
           least
           molestation
        
         
           Smoothly
           came
           forth
           ;
           and
           to
           their
           admiration
           ,
        
         
           He
           instantly
           new
           strength
           and
           vigour
           feels
           ,
        
         
           And
           old
           Iapis
           now
           his
           courage
           steels
           ,
        
         
           And
           cries
           out
           ,
           Come
           ,
           come
           bring
           the
           prince
           his
           arms
           :
        
         
           Why
           stand
           ye
           ,
           stay
           ye
           him
           from
           fierce
           alarms
           ?
        
         
           Know
           (
           brave
           Aeneas
           )
           't
           was
           not
           humane
           will
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           arts
           best
           parts
           that
           freed
           thee
           from
           this
           ill
           :
        
         
           Nor
           power
           or
           practise
           of
           mine
           own
           right
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Some
           greater
           God
           did
           thus
           propitious
           stand
        
         
           By
           thee
           ,
           and
           thee
           reserve
           to
           greater
           deeds
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           (
           for
           his
           zeal
           to
           th'fight
           exceeds
           )
        
         
           Plucks
           on
           his
           buskins
           overspread
           with
           gold
           ,
        
         
           Cuts
           off
           delayes
           ,
           his
           glistring
           lance
           doth
           hold
           ,
        
         
           His
           shield
           and
           corslet
           on
           ,
           arm'd
           capa-pee
           ,
        
         
           His
           young
           Ascanius
           in
           his
           bosome
           ,
           he
        
         
           Hugging
           within
           his
           arms
           ,
           with
           kisses
           sweet
           ,
        
         
           His
           beaver
           rais'd
           ,
           thus
           he
           his
           sonne
           doth
           greet
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           sonne
           ,
           from
           me
           thy
           father
           vertue
           learn
           ,
        
         
           And
           of
           true
           industrie
           the
           gain
           discern
           ;
        
         
           And
           fortunes
           power
           by
           others
           und●rstand
           .
        
         
           As
           yet
           I
           'le
           thee
           safeguard
           with
           my
           strong
           hand
           ,
        
         
           And
           thee
           exalt
           unto
           great
           dignitie
           :
        
         
           But
           when
           th'
           art
           grown
           to
           full
           maturitie
           ,
        
         
           And
           strength
           of
           yeares
           ,
           then
           use
           thou
           famous
           facts
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           remember
           me
           and
           my
           great
           acts
           :
        
         
           Recogitate
           and
           ruminate
           with
           spirit
        
         
           Thy
           fathers
           and
           thine
           uncle
           Hectors
           merit
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           their
           patterns
           stirre
           and
           spurre
           thee
           on
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           in
           haste
           he
           through
           the
           gates
           is
           gon
           ,
        
         
           Brandishing
           in
           his
           hand
           his
           mightie
           lance
           :
        
         
           And
           with
           huge
           troops
           ,
           along
           with
           him
           advance
        
         
         
           
             Anteus
             ,
             Mnestheus
          
           ,
           and
           even
           all
           the
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           their
           camps
           were
           for
           the
           fight
           addrest
           .
        
         
           Black
           clouds
           of
           dust
           o're
           all
           the
           field
           o'respread
           ,
        
         
           And
           trampling
           thick
           the
           ground
           even
           harrowed
           .
        
         
           The
           adverse
           armie
           Turnus
           marching
           saw
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           th'
           Italians
           ▪
           how
           they
           nearer
           draw
           :
        
         
           Cold
           fearefull
           quakings
           on
           them
           straight
           do
           fall
           ,
        
         
           Chiefly
           Iuturna
           ,
           'mongst
           the
           Latines
           all
           ,
        
         
           Observes
           and
           knowes
           their
           noise
           ,
           and
           frighted
           flies
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           with
           wingie
           ●peed
           to
           th'battell
           hies
           ,
        
         
           Rushing
           on
           with
           his
           dust-hid
           armies
           strong
           .
        
         
           As
           when
           a
           blustring
           storm
           is
           for●'d
           along
           ,
        
         
           Dissolving
           furious
           drops
           from
           sea
           to
           land
           ,
        
         
           (
           Which
           the
           poore
           swains
           ,
           alas
           !
           pre-understand
           ,
        
         
           And
           tremblingly
           foresee
           ;
           fore●eeing
           ,
           flie
           ,
        
         
           As
           knowing
           what
           rough
           ruine
           by
           and
           by
        
         
           'T
           will
           make
           amongst
           the
           trees
           and
           fields
           of
           corn
           :
        
         
           And
           all
           before
           it
           will
           be
           overborn
           ,
        
         
           Before
           its
           blustring
           blasts
           flie
           to
           the
           shores
        
         
           With
           mightie
           huffring
           ,
           puf●ing
           ,
           rumbling
           roares
           ,
        
         
           Even
           so
           
             Rhoeteius
             ,
             Trojan
          
           captain
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Against
           his
           foes
           most
           fiercely
           flies
           about
           :
        
         
           In
           doubled
           files
           they
           all
           conglomerated
           ,
        
         
           Thymbraeus
           stout
           Osiris
           trucidated
           ,
        
         
           
             Mnestheus
             Archetius
          
           slew
           ,
           Achates
           brave
        
         
           To
           Epulo
           a
           most
           deep
           death-wound
           gave
           ;
        
         
           Stout
           
             Gyas
             Vfens
          
           slayes
           ;
           Tolum●ius
           ,
           he
        
         
           The
           southsayer
           which
           first
           made
           them
           disagree
           ,
        
         
           By
           throwing
           first
           his
           dart
           against
           his
           foes
           ,
        
         
           Even
           he
           was
           slain
           A
           mightie
           clamour
           rose
           ,
        
         
           And
           Rutuls
           now
           were
           put
           to
           dustie
           flight
        
         
           But
           brave
           Aeneas
           will
           not
           dain
           to
           fight
        
         
         
           With
           all
           he
           meets
           ,
           nor
           horse
           or
           foot
           will
           slay
           ,
        
         
           No
           nor
           on
           armed
           foe
           his
           hands
           will
           lay
           .
        
         
           But
           in
           the
           thickest
           throngs
           seeks
           seriously
        
         
           For
           Turnus
           ;
           he
           alone
           his
           strength
           must
           trie
           .
        
         
           Jollie
           Iuturna
           a
           Virago
           stout
           ,
        
         
           In
           feare
           of
           this
           perplexed
           with
           great
           doubt
           ,
        
         
           Stept
           to
           
             Metiscus
             ,
             Turnus
          
           wagoner
           ,
        
         
           And
           'twixt
           the
           horses
           reins
           o'returns
           him
           there
           ,
        
         
           And
           leaves
           him
           fal'ne
           farre
           from
           the
           beam
           o'
           th'
           wain
           ,
        
         
           And
           takes
           his
           place
           ,
           and
           checks
           the
           loos'ned
           rein
           ;
        
         
           And
           rightly
           she
           resembles
           every
           way
        
         
           Metiscus
           ,
           both
           in
           shape
           ,
           words
           ,
           weapons
           gay
           .
        
         
           Like
           swallows
           black
           which
           princes
           courts
           frequent
           ,
        
         
           And
           fluttering
           'bout
           the
           yards
           seek
           aliment
        
         
           For
           their
           young
           chattering
           birds
           left
           in
           the
           nest
           ,
        
         
           Spiders
           ,
           gnats
           ,
           flies
           ,
           as
           they
           can
           catch
           them
           best
           ;
        
         
           Sometimes
           in
           galleries
           large
           ,
           or
           standing
           lakes
           :
        
         
           So
           diverse
           wayes
           through
           foes
           Iuturna
           takes
           ,
        
         
           And
           drives
           the
           coach
           through
           every
           part
           and
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           fiercely
           flies
           ,
           and
           here
           and
           there
           does
           trace
           ,
        
         
           And
           bring
           her
           bragging
           brother
           to
           and
           fro
           ,
        
         
           But
           will
           by
           no
           means
           let
           him
           fight
           with
           's
           foe
           ;
        
         
           And
           farre
           enough
           flies
           from
           him
           out
           o'th'way
           .
        
         
           No
           lesse
           ,
           Aeneas
           does
           by-paths
           assay
        
         
           To
           finde
           his
           foe
           ,
           and
           through
           the
           stragling
           bands
        
         
           Calls
           him
           with
           words
           and
           becknings
           of
           his
           hands
           ;
        
         
           And
           still
           as
           he
           on
           's
           foe
           his
           sight
           doth
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           thinks
           with
           's
           wing'd-heel'd
           steeds
           to
           meet
           at
           last
           ;
        
         
           So
           oft
           Iuturna
           turns
           the
           coach
           a
           wry
           .
        
         
           Alas
           !
           what
           should
           he
           do
           ?
           what
           must
           he
           trie
           ?
        
         
           In
           vain
           with
           various
           rage
           his
           heart
           doth
           burn
           ,
        
         
           And
           diverse
           doubts
           his
           thoughts
           distractive
           turn
           .
        
         
         
           Messapus
           meets
           him
           ,
           in
           his
           hand
           two
           speares
        
         
           Well
           tipt
           with
           steel
           ,
           which
           he
           by
           fortune
           beares
           ,
        
         
           Both
           light
           of
           flight
           ,
           one
           of
           which
           darts
           most
           swift
        
         
           Griping
           ,
           he
           flings
           with
           straight
           and
           sturdie
           drift
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           stands
           ,
           to
           him
           his
           target
           takes
           ,
        
         
           Shrinks
           down
           ,
           but
           yet
           the
           speare
           impression
           makes
        
         
           Upon
           his
           helm
           ,
           and
           teares
           the
           top
           of
           's
           crest
        
         
           Hereat
           Aeneas
           much
           fierce
           rage
           exprest
           ,
        
         
           And
           much
           incens'd
           by
           this
           vile
           treacherie
           ,
        
         
           Seeing
           the
           horse
           flie
           back
           ,
           coach
           turn'd
           awry
           ,
        
         
           Great
           Iove
           ,
           and
           th'
           altars
           he
           to
           witnesse
           brings
        
         
           Of
           their
           peace
           broke
           ,
           and
           many
           wrongfull
           things
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           at
           last
           invades
           foes
           thickest
           bands
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           successefull
           warre
           and
           conquering
           hands
        
         
           Makes
           all
           without
           all
           difference
           fall
           and
           die
           ,
        
         
           And
           unto
           rage
           give
           reins
           implacably
           .
        
         
           My
           Muse
           cannot
           ,
           O
           then
           ,
           what
           supreme
           might
        
         
           Can
           help
           me
           here
           to
           set
           down
           and
           indite
        
         
           The
           many
           bitt●r
           bickerings
           ,
           slaughters
           fierc●
           ,
        
         
           And
           captains
           slain
           to
           sing
           in
           solemne
           verse
           ?
        
         
           Which
           now
           by
           turns
           (
           as
           't
           were
           )
           stout
           Turnus
           slayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           Troyes
           prince
           ,
           wounded
           ,
           confounded
           layes
           .
        
         
           Great
           Iove
           ,
           was
           this
           thy
           will
           that
           with
           such
           rage
        
         
           Those
           men
           should
           meet
           ,
           which
           in
           ensuing
           age
        
         
           Should
           in
           eternall
           peace
           spend
           all
           their
           dayes
           ?
        
         
           Aeneas
           now
           endures
           no
           long
           delayes
           ,
        
         
           But
           strikes
           
             Rutulian
             Sucro
          
           through
           the
           side
        
         
           (
           And
           that
           first
           blow
           made
           flying
           Trojans
           '
           bide
        
         
           And
           bid
           fresh
           battels
           )
           and
           through's
           vitall
           part
        
         
           Under
           his
           short-ribs
           wounds
           him
           to
           the
           heart
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           o'returns
           Amycus
           from
           his
           horse
           ,
        
         
           And
           meets
           on
           foot
           Diores
           with
           great
           force
           ;
        
         
         
           Two
           Trojan
           brethren
           brave
           ,
           one
           with
           a
           lance
           ,
        
         
           The
           other
           with
           a
           sword
           by
           fatall
           chance
        
         
           He
           slaughtered
           straight
           ,
           cut
           both
           their
           heads
           off
           quite
           ,
        
         
           And
           hung
           them
           on
           his
           chariot
           in
           full
           sight
           .
        
         
           The
           chariot
           sprinkled
           with
           thick
           drops
           of
           bloud
           ,
        
         
           Then
           slew
           he
           Talo
           and
           Tanais
           good
           ,
        
         
           And
           stout
           Cethegus
           ;
           all
           three
           met
           at
           once
           ,
        
         
           And
           brave
           Onytes
           venting
           gasping
           groans
           ,
        
         
           A
           Thebane
           peere
           ,
           sprung
           from
           Peridia
        
         
           His
           mother
           deare
           .
           Here
           doth
           he
           also
           slay
        
         
           Two
           brothers
           sent
           from
           Lacia
           and
           the
           plains
        
         
           Of
           great
           Apollo
           ,
           and
           here
           dead
           remains
        
         
           Arcadian
           young
           Menoetes
           ,
           who
           in
           vain
        
         
           To
           go
           to
           warre
           did
           feare
           and
           much
           refrain
           :
        
         
           Whose
           speciall
           skill
           and
           will
           was
           fish
           to
           catch
        
         
           By
           Lerna's
           fishie
           banks
           ,
           in
           house
           of
           thatch
        
         
           He
           poorely
           liv'd
           ,
           his
           coyn
           could
           never
           swarm
           .
        
         
           His
           father
           also
           hired
           a
           plow-farm
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           huge
           burnings
           made
           in
           diverse
           wayes
           ,
        
         
           Amongst
           drie
           trees
           and
           squib-like
           crackling
           bayes
           :
        
         
           Or
           like
           fierce
           frothie
           streams
           which
           down
           do
           shrill
        
         
           With
           rapid
           roaring-race
           ,
           from
           some
           high
           hill
           ,
        
         
           And
           scud
           to
           sea
           ,
           and
           finde
           or
           force
           their
           way
           :
        
         
           With
           no
           lesse
           force
           both
           these
           their
           parts
           do
           play
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           brave
           and
           Turnus
           with
           great
           might
        
         
           Most
           furiously
           do
           rush
           about
           and
           fight
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           ,
           just
           now
           ,
           their
           imbred
           rage
           enflames
           them
           ,
        
         
           Least
           thought
           of
           being
           foil'd
           ,
           with
           envie
           shames
           them
           .
        
         
           Therefore
           with
           utmost
           force
           they
           fight
           and
           fell
           .
        
         
           Murrhanus
           here
           Aeneas
           sends
           to
           hell
           ,
        
         
           Proud
           of
           his
           parentage
           and
           grandsires
           great
           ,
        
         
           And
           regall
           race
           of
           Latine
           kings
           compleat
           ;
        
         
         
           He
           dasht
           him
           headlong
           down
           with
           rockie
           stone
           ,
        
         
           By
           which
           fierce
           stonie
           storm
           he
           's
           overthrown
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           his
           coach-wheels
           crusht
           and
           trampled
           hard
           ,
        
         
           By
           's
           horse
           ,
           who
           nought
           their
           master
           do
           regard
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           assails
           stout
           Hilus
           ,
           rushing
           fast
        
         
           With
           courage
           bold
           at
           's
           gilt-arm'd
           temples
           ,
           cast
        
         
           A
           digging
           dart
           ,
           which
           furiously
           straight
           ran
        
         
           Clean
           through
           his
           helm
           ,
           and
           stuck
           in
           his
           brain-pan
           .
        
         
           Nor
           could
           thine
           arm
           ,
           
             Creteus
             ,
             Greeks
          
           brave
           knight
           ,
        
         
           From
           Turnus
           thee
           protect
           ,
           in
           furious
           fight
           :
        
         
           Nor
           could
           thy
           Gods
           ,
           Cupentus
           ,
           ease
           thy
           case
           ,
        
         
           When
           'gainst
           thee
           great
           Aeneas
           came
           in
           place
           ▪
        
         
           When
           at
           his
           breast
           his
           steelie
           speare
           he
           sent
           ,
        
         
           Which
           (
           spight
           of
           's
           brazen
           shield
           )
           through's
           bodie
           went.
        
         
           And
           thee
           ,
           great
           
             Aeolus
             ,
             Laurentines
          
           spide
        
         
           Slain
           in
           the
           field
           ,
           on
           's
           back
           the
           ground
           to
           hide
           .
        
         
           There
           thou
           lay'st
           slain
           ,
           whom
           Grecians
           could
           not
           slay
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           great
           
             Achilles
             ,
             Priams
          
           crowns
           decay
           .
        
         
           This
           was
           thy
           fate-given
           date
           ,
           neare
           Ida
           born
        
         
           Of
           gr●at
           Lyrnessus
           line
           ,
           now
           laid
           forlorn
        
         
           In
           La●rents
           field
           ,
           a
           sepulchre
           to
           finde
           ,
        
         
           And
           ●ow
           the
           totall
           troops
           together
           winde
           ,
        
         
           All
           L●tines
           bands
           ,
           and
           all
           Troyes
           valiant
           rout
           :
        
         
           Renowned
           Mnestheus
           and
           Serestus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Messapus
           ,
           rare
           horse-rider
           ,
           and
           his
           mate
        
         
           Asylas
           strong
           ,
           'gainst
           whom
           do
           properate
        
         
           All
           Tuscane
           troops
           and
           brave
           Arcadian
           wings
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           one
           his
           best
           assistance
           brings
           .
        
         
           No
           rest
           they
           take
           ,
           no
           stay
           they
           make
           from
           fight
           .
        
         
           And
           here
           Aeneas
           mother
           ,
           Venus
           bright
           ,
        
         
           Promps
           her
           sonnes
           thoughts
           ,
           that
           to
           the
           citie-wall
        
         
           He
           should
           make
           haste
           ,
           and
           all
           his
           forces
           call
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           vex
           the
           Latines
           with
           a
           sudden
           fight
           :
        
         
           Who
           whiles
           for
           Turnus
           he
           doth
           cast
           his
           sight
        
         
           On
           every
           troop
           ,
           still
           prying
           here
           and
           there
           ,
        
         
           Seeks
           up
           and
           down
           ,
           but
           could
           him
           finde
           no
           where
           .
        
         
           He
           spies
           the
           citie
           ,
           sitting
           still
           ,
           at
           rest
           ,
        
         
           Untouch'd
           ,
           unstirr'd
           ,
           no
           warre
           did
           it
           molest
           .
        
         
           Straight
           hotter
           brands
           of
           broiles
           in
           's
           breast
           flame
           out
           .
        
         
           
             Mnestheus
             ,
             Sergestus
          
           ,
           and
           Serestus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           His
           captains
           brave
           ,
           he
           to
           him
           quick
           doth
           call
           ,
        
         
           And
           takes
           a
           hill
           ;
           to
           which
           the
           Trojans
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           valiant
           troops
           thickly
           and
           quickly
           they
        
         
           Assemble
           close
           ,
           cast
           not
           their
           shields
           away
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           nimble
           speares
           ;
           then
           mounted
           on
           a
           hill
           ,
        
         
           Standing
           i'
           th'
           midst
           he
           thus
           declares
           his
           will
           ;
        
         
           Let
           no
           delay
           (
           faire
           mates
           )
           clog
           my
           designes
           ,
        
         
           Ioves
           friendly
           face
           I
           see
           now
           on
           us
           shines
           .
        
         
           Though
           I
           be
           sudden
           ,
           yet
           let
           none
           be
           slow
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           emperiall
           citie
           ,
           cause
           of
           all
           this
           woe
           ,
        
         
           King
           Latines
           throne
           ,
           this
           day
           I
           'le
           ruinate
           ,
        
         
           And
           houses
           tops
           to
           th'
           ground
           aequiparate
           ,
        
         
           Unlesse
           they
           take
           our
           yoke
           ,
           and
           to
           us
           yeeld
           ▪
        
         
           Shall
           I
           (
           forsooth
           )
           stand
           waiting
           in
           the
           field
           ,
        
         
           Till
           Turnus
           please
           to
           meet
           me
           ?
           and
           again
        
         
           Attend
           him
           ,
           when
           he
           vanquisht
           doth
           remain
           ?
        
         
           Here
           is
           the
           head
           (
           brave
           sirs
           )
           the
           seat
           and
           seed
           ,
        
         
           Which
           all
           these
           toiles
           and
           bloudy
           broiles
           did
           breed
           .
        
         
           Quickly
           bring
           brands
           ,
           with
           flames
           your
           peace
           demand
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           they
           readily
           do
           his
           command
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           a
           warre-like
           wedge
           ,
           and
           wondrous
           quick
        
         
           They
           to
           the
           citie
           flock
           in
           clusters
           thick
           .
        
         
           The
           scaling
           ladders
           suddenly
           they
           rais●
           ,
        
         
           And
           sudden
           fires
           to
           mightie
           flames
           do
           blaze
           ;
        
         
         
           Some
           get
           to
           th'
           gate
           ,
           and
           kill
           the
           first
           they
           meet
           ;
        
         
           Some
           dart
           their
           shafts
           ,
           which
           flie
           so
           thick
           and
           fleet
           ,
        
         
           As
           dims
           the
           aire
           .
           Aeneas
           first
           of
           all
        
         
           Holds
           up
           his
           hand
           ,
           standing
           hard
           by
           the
           wall
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           loud
           voice
           Latinus
           he
           doth
           blame
           ,
        
         
           And
           calls
           the
           Gods
           to
           testifie
           the
           same
           ;
        
         
           That
           he
           unwillingly
           was
           forc'd
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           th'
           Italians
           twice
           us'd
           hostile
           might
           ,
        
         
           And
           twice
           had
           cov'nant
           broke
           .
           Then
           'mongst
           their
           foe
           ▪
        
         
           And
           fearfull
           citizens
           great
           discord
           rose
           .
        
         
           Some
           bad
           them
           ope
           the
           gates
           ,
           let
           Trojans
           in
           ,
        
         
           And
           some
           the
           king
           himself
           to
           th'
           walls
           do
           win
           :
        
         
           Some
           bring
           their
           arms
           their
           citie
           to
           defend
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           swarm
           of
           bees
           in
           dark
           rock
           pend
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           a
           shepherd
           found
           ,
           who
           joyfully
        
         
           Fills
           it
           with
           choaking
           smoak
           all
           inwardly
           :
        
         
           The
           bees
           afraid
           ,
           flie
           'bout
           their
           waxen
           ●ell
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           huge
           humming
           wax
           most
           fierce
           and
           fell
           :
        
         
           Black
           fumie
           stench
           flies
           out
           from
           forth
           the
           hive
           ,
        
         
           The
           stones
           within
           make
           crackling
           noise
           ,
           and
           drive
        
         
           Smoak
           into
           th'
           emptie
           aire
           .
           Besides
           all
           this
           ,
        
         
           A
           woefull
           chance
           fell
           out
           i'
           th'
           town
           amisse
           ,
        
         
           Amongst
           the
           tired
           Latines
           ,
           which
           procur'd
        
         
           Most
           loud
           laments
           ,
           wofull
           to
           be
           endur'd
           ,
        
         
           Through
           all
           the
           citie
           :
           for
           so
           soon
           as
           e're
        
         
           The
           queen
           beheld
           the
           enemie
           draw
           neare
           ,
        
         
           The
           town-walls
           scal'd
           ,
           the
           houses
           all
           on
           flame
           ,
        
         
           No
           Rutuls
           bands
           ,
           no
           Turnus
           neare
           to
           tame
        
         
           Their
           insolence
           ;
           she
           thought
           (
           poore
           wretch
           )
           again
        
         
           Her
           young
           prince
           Turnus
           in
           the
           fight
           was
           slain
           .
        
         
           Her
           heart
           o'rewhelm'd
           with
           sudden
           feare
           and
           grief
           ,
        
         
           She
           straight
           cries
           out
           ,
           that
           she
           's
           the
           cause
           and
           chief
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           head
           and
           heart
           of
           all
           these
           miseries
           .
        
         
           Thus
           in
           much
           sad
           and
           mad
           perplexities
        
         
           Exclaiming
           ,
           with
           her
           nails
           she
           rends
           and
           teares
        
         
           Her
           royall
           robes
           ,
           ready
           to
           die
           with
           feares
           :
        
         
           And
           to
           a
           beam
           ,
           a
           cord
           made
           fast
           on
           high
           ,
        
         
           She
           hang'd
           herself
           with
           foule
           indignitie
           .
        
         
           Whereof
           when
           wofull
           Latines
           ladies
           heard
           ,
        
         
           Chiefly
           Lavinia
           ,
           mightie
           schreeks
           she
           rear'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           her
           nails
           all
           teares
           her
           yellow
           locks
           ,
        
         
           Scratcheth
           her
           face
           ,
           the
           folk
           in
           mightie
           flocks
        
         
           Rage
           up
           and
           down
           ,
           their
           houses
           fills
           with
           cries
           :
        
         
           Hence
           through
           the
           town
           the
           fame
           thereof
           soon
           flies
           .
        
         
           Mens
           courage
           sinks
           ,
           Latinus
           rent
           and
           torn
           ,
        
         
           In
           's
           regall
           robes
           goes
           up
           and
           down
           fo●lorn
           ,
        
         
           Mightily
           frighted
           at
           his
           qu●ens
           foule
           fate
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           his
           cities
           ruinated
           state
           ,
        
         
           With
           dirt
           and
           soile
           his
           grave
           gray
           haires
           he
           smeares
           ,
        
         
           Blames
           himself
           much
           ,
           drencht
           deep
           in
           thousand
           feares
           ▪
        
         
           In
           that
           at
           first
           he
           Dardans
           prince
           rejected
           ,
        
         
           And
           as
           his
           sonne
           in
           law
           had
           not
           affected
           .
        
         
           Now
           all
           this
           while
           stout
           Turnus
           in
           the
           fields
        
         
           Follows
           a
           few
           ,
           whose
           face
           small
           conquest
           yeelds
           ,
        
         
           Poore
           and
           pale
           scatter'd
           straglers
           ,
           and
           besides
        
         
           He
           sees
           ,
           how
           more
           and
           more
           ,
           more
           slow
           he
           rides
           ,
        
         
           His
           horses
           waxing
           tir'd
           .
           Again
           a
           noise
        
         
           He
           heares
           i'
           th'
           troubled
           aire
           ,
           which
           him
           annoyes
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           he
           stands
           and
           listens
           to
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           the
           citie
           various
           clamours
           came
           ,
        
         
           And
           most
           distastfull
           stirres
           :
           hereat
           he
           cries
           ,
        
         
           Alas
           ,
           alas
           !
           what
           wofull
           miseries
        
         
           Are
           to
           this
           citie
           come
           ,
           thus
           to
           molest
           it
           ?
        
         
           And
           that
           strange
           turmoiles
           variously
           infest
           i●
           ?
        
         
         
           This
           said
           ▪
           enrag'd
           ,
           his
           horse
           rein'd-in
           ,
           he
           stayes
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           his
           sister
           who
           her
           old
           pranks
           playes
           ,
        
         
           Seeming
           Metiscus
           ,
           still
           i'
           th'
           coach
           remains
           ,
        
         
           Guiding
           his
           coach
           and
           horse
           ,
           ruling
           the
           reins
           ,
        
         
           Sayes
           thus
           to
           him
           ;
           Brave
           brother
           ,
           this
           way
           haste
           ,
        
         
           This
           way
           the
           Trojans
           first
           and
           best
           thou
           may'st
        
         
           Fully
           subdue
           ,
           here
           conquest
           gate
           stands
           ope
           ,
        
         
           The
           town
           has
           troops
           enough
           with
           them
           to
           cope
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           close
           on
           our
           Italians
           lies
           ,
        
         
           And
           fiercely
           fights
           with
           all
           his
           companies
           .
        
         
           Let
           us
           then
           also
           ,
           with
           our
           furie
           fell
           ,
        
         
           Go
           send
           those
           Trojans
           soules
           in
           post
           to
           hell
           :
        
         
           So
           shalt
           thou
           part
           in
           equall
           parity
           ,
        
         
           No
           lesse
           in
           number
           ,
           nor
           in
           dignity
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           reply'de
           ;
           O
           sister
           ,
           now
           I
           know
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           by
           craft
           at
           first
           didst
           overthrow
           ,
        
         
           Our
           treated
           truce
           ,
           these
           warres
           didst
           work
           again
           .
        
         
           But
           now
           ,
           faire
           Goddesse
           ,
           all
           thy
           craft's
           in
           vain
           :
        
         
           But
           pray
           thee
           tell
           me
           ,
           who
           from
           heaven
           thee
           sent
        
         
           To
           undergo
           these
           troubles
           turbulent
           !
        
         
           Was
           it
           to
           see
           thy
           wofull
           brothers
           bane
           ?
        
         
           For
           ,
           what
           do
           I
           ?
           what
           help
           can
           hap
           me
           gain
           ?
        
         
           I
           saw
           before
           mine
           eyes
           ,
           Murrhanus
           kinde
           ,
        
         
           Than
           whom
           to
           me
           more
           deare
           earth
           none
           can
           finde
           .
        
         
           I
           heard
           him
           call
           me
           ,
           one
           of
           mightie
           merit
           ,
        
         
           Who
           ,
           though
           now
           dead
           ,
           yet
           dy'd
           with
           dauntlesse
           spirit
           .
        
         
           Unhappie
           Vfens
           also
           slain
           doth
           lie
           ,
        
         
           That
           he
           might
           not
           survive
           our
           infamie
           :
        
         
           And
           Trojans
           now
           his
           corps
           and
           arms
           enjoy
           .
        
         
           And
           shall
           I
           suffer
           (
           't
           is
           the
           last
           annoy
        
         
           Which
           onely
           yet
           remains
           )
           our
           buildings
           flame
           ,
        
         
           And
           not
           resist
           dire
           Drances
           foretold
           shame
           ?
        
         
         
           And
           shall
           I
           flie
           ?
           and
           shall
           this
           nation
           see
           ,
        
         
           Turnus
           a
           turn-coat
           fugitive
           to
           be
           ?
        
         
           And
           should
           it
           now
           be
           shame
           in
           me
           to
           die
           ?
        
         
           O
           ye
           the
           ghastly
           ghosts
           ,
           which
           low
           do
           lie
           ,
        
         
           Be
           ye
           propitious
           ,
           for
           the
           heavens
           do
           frown
           ,
        
         
           To
           you
           my
           sacred
           soule
           shall
           now
           go
           down
           ,
        
         
           Untainted
           and
           unspotted
           of
           this
           blame
           .
        
         
           And
           still
           m
           ost
           worthie
           that
           my
           linag●
           came
        
         
           From
           ancestours
           of
           such
           renowned
           fame
        
         
           Scarce
           had
           he
           said
           ,
           when
           Sages
           foamy
           horse
           ,
        
         
           Hurrying
           him
           through
           his
           foes
           with
           windie
           force
           ,
        
         
           His
           face
           all
           bloudy
           with
           an
           arrows
           wound
           ,
        
         
           And
           rushing
           on
           ,
           at
           last
           he
           Turnus
           found
           :
        
         
           And
           calling
           him
           by
           name
           ,
           Turnus
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
        
         
           Our
           last
           and
           best
           help
           now
           consists
           in
           thee
           ;
        
         
           Pitie
           our
           plight
           ,
           for
           
             Troyes
             Aeneas
          
           thunders
           ,
        
         
           In
           bloudy
           broiles
           unto
           our
           woes
           and
           wonders
           ,
        
         
           And
           threatens
           ruine
           to
           our
           Latian
           towers
           ,
        
         
           And
           dire
           destruction
           ,
           by
           his
           conquering
           powers
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           ,
           even
           now
           flames
           'bout
           our
           houses
           flie
           ,
        
         
           In
           thee
           the
           Latines
           hope
           of
           help
           doth
           lie
           ;
        
         
           On
           thee
           Italians
           all
           do
           cast
           their
           sight
           ,
        
         
           The
           king
           himself
           mutters
           in
           much
           despight
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           he
           his
           sonne
           in
           law
           might
           now
           ordain
           ,
        
         
           And
           whom
           in
           love
           and
           league
           to
           entertain
           .
        
         
           The
           queen
           beside
           ,
           they
           e're
           most
           faithfull
           friend
           ,
        
         
           With
           her
           own
           hands
           her
           wofull
           life
           did
           end
           ,
        
         
           In
           fright
           hath
           fled
           the
           light
           :
           now
           at
           the
           gate
        
         
           Onely
           Messapus
           and
           Atinas
           wait
           ,
        
         
           And
           animate
           the
           armie
           yet
           remaining
           :
        
         
           But
           round
           about
           them
           are
           thick
           foes
           ,
           maintaining
        
         
           A
           furious
           fight
           ,
           like
           standing-corn
           in
           fields
           ,
        
         
         
           Which
           to
           steel
           sickles
           helplessely
           straight
           yeelds
           .
        
         
           And
           yet
           dost
           there
           alone
           in
           this
           left
           plain
           ,
        
         
           Tracing
           thy
           coach
           about
           ,
           here
           still
           remain
           ?
        
         
           Turnus
           astonisht
           at
           the
           tottering
           state
        
         
           Of
           these
           affaires
           ,
           like
           one
           inanimate
        
         
           Stands
           mute
           ,
           his
           eyes
           fast
           fixed
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           inward
           shame
           his
           boiling
           heart
           did
           wound
           ;
        
         
           And
           what
           with
           sadnesse
           ,
           madnesse
           ,
           raging
           love
           ,
        
         
           Conscious
           of
           adverse
           power
           ,
           which
           he
           must
           prove
           ,
        
         
           The
           mistie
           vails
           of
           his
           dull
           thoughts
           put
           by
           ,
        
         
           And
           sunne-shine
           of
           discretion
           shining
           high
           ,
        
         
           His
           angrie
           eyes
           to
           th'
           citie-walls
           he
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           views
           the
           citie
           as
           in
           's
           coach
           he
           past
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           behold
           ,
           with
           flames
           the
           rafters
           flie
           ,
        
         
           And
           boards
           between
           burn
           up
           unto
           the
           skie
           ,
        
         
           Which
           caught
           hold
           of
           the
           tower
           ,
           that
           tower
           ,
           I
           say
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Turnus
           self
           erected
           rich
           and
           gay
           ,
        
         
           With
           brave
           crosse-beams
           and
           wheels
           and
           bridges
           high
           .
        
         
           Now
           ,
           now
           ,
           deare
           sister
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           readily
        
         
           My
           fates
           attend
           me
           ,
           use
           no
           further
           stay
           ;
        
         
           For
           where
           my
           fate
           and
           fortune
           point
           the
           way
           ,
        
         
           Thither
           I
           'le
           go
           ,
           my
           resolution
           stands
        
         
           To
           trie
           the
           strength
           of
           proud
           Aeneas
           hands
           ,
        
         
           To
           '
           bide
           worst
           bitternesse
           of
           deaths
           dire
           smart
           .
        
         
           Nor
           shalt
           thou
           henceforth
           see
           me
           play
           the
           part
        
         
           Of
           an
           ignoble
           coward
           .
           This
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
        
         
           Good
           sister
           suffer
           me
           ,
           that
           now
           I
           may
        
         
           Be
           mad
           ,
           e're
           I
           be
           mad
           :
           which
           having
           said
           ,
        
         
           Leap●ng
           from
           's
           coach
           ,
           most
           swift
           away
           he
           made
        
         
           Into
           the
           field
           ,
           through
           thickest
           of
           his
           foes
           ,
        
         
           And
           leaves
           his
           sister
           full
           of
           feares
           and
           woes
           :
        
         
           And
           with
           swift
           flight
           breaks
           into
           thickest
           bands
           .
        
         
         
           And
           as
           a
           rockie
           mount
           which
           headlong
           stands
           ,
        
         
           And
           tumbles
           from
           the
           top
           ,
           broke
           down
           by
           winde
           ;
        
         
           Or
           by
           strong
           sowcing
           showres
           quite
           undermin'd
           ,
        
         
           Or
           rotted
           with
           long
           yeares
           antiquity
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           slips
           down
           with
           huge
           velocity
           ,
        
         
           In
           broken
           fragments
           mounting
           on
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           woods
           and
           herds
           and
           people
           doth
           confound
           ,
        
         
           And
           roule
           and
           wrap
           with
           it
           :
           Turnus
           even
           thus
        
         
           Through
           his
           dispersed
           troops
           most
           furious
        
         
           Runs
           to
           the
           citie-walls
           ▪
           where
           all
           with
           bloud
        
         
           The
           ground
           like
           pools
           and
           ponds
           bedrenched
           stood
           ,
        
         
           And
           whirling
           arrows
           clattered
           to
           the
           aire
           ;
        
         
           With
           hand
           and
           voice
           his
           minde
           he
           does
           declare
        
         
           Unto
           them
           thus
           ;
           Forbeare
           Rutulians
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           Latines
           now
           your
           swords
           and
           shields
           recall
           ;
        
         
           What
           ever
           fortune
           falls
           ,
           't
           is
           mine
           own
           due
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           fitter
           farre
           for
           me
           alone
           ,
           then
           you
           ,
        
         
           To
           pay
           the
           price
           of
           this
           thus
           broken
           peace
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           my
           sword
           this
           quarrell
           quite
           to
           cease
           .
        
         
           All
           straight
           gave
           back
           ,
           for
           him
           i'
           th'
           midst
           made
           way
           :
        
         
           But
           brave
           Aeneas
           without
           all
           delay
           ,
        
         
           Hearing
           but
           Turnus
           nam'd
           ,
           leaves
           towers
           and
           town
           ,
        
         
           Breaks
           off
           all
           businesse
           ,
           and
           comes
           nimbly
           down
           :
        
         
           Leaping
           for
           joy
           ,
           thundring
           in
           arms
           most
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Like
           Athos
           mount
           ,
           or
           Eryx
           ste●p
           and
           long
           .
        
         
           Or
           like
           old
           Apennius
           rais'd
           on
           high
        
         
           Into
           the
           aire
           ,
           kissing
           the
           starrie
           skie
           ,
        
         
           Ratling
           with
           leaves
           on
           trees
           ,
           glistring
           in
           sight
           ,
        
         
           Proud
           of
           his
           tops
           ,
           clothed
           with
           snow
           most
           bright
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           Rutulians
           and
           the
           Trojans
           stout
           ,
        
         
           Seriously
           bend
           their
           eyes
           and
           look
           about
           :
        
         
           Italians
           ,
           and
           all
           those
           that
           kept
           the
           town
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           those
           which
           would
           with
           rams
           the
           walls
           butt
           down
           .
        
         
           All
           arms
           they
           lay
           aside
           ,
           king
           Latine
           stands
        
         
           Amaz'd
           to
           see
           two
           men
           so
           strong
           of
           hands
           ,
        
         
           Of
           diverse
           nations
           ,
           now
           to
           meet
           and
           fight
           .
        
         
           The
           champions
           both
           beholding
           in
           their
           sight
        
         
           The
           lists
           made
           void
           ,
           and
           space
           t'
           encounter
           in
        
         
           With
           rapid
           race
           ,
           the
           combate
           straight
           begin
           ;
        
         
           And
           now
           farre
           off
           darts
           at
           each
           other
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           their
           swords
           and
           shields
           they
           come
           as
           fast
           :
        
         
           With
           dashing
           clashing
           bangs
           the
           ground
           even
           groans
           ,
        
         
           And
           doubled
           trebled
           blows
           they
           give
           at
           once
           ,
        
         
           With
           their
           bright
           blades
           :
           vertue
           and
           valour
           brave
        
         
           Seem
           mixt
           in
           one
           ,
           in
           one
           their
           seat
           to
           have
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           two
           angrie
           bulls
           in
           furious
           fight
           ,
        
         
           With
           butting
           horns
           encountring
           with
           deep
           spight
           ,
        
         
           On
           mightie
           Syla's
           mount
           ,
           Taburnus
           high
           ,
        
         
           Their
           fearfull
           keepers
           keep
           close
           ,
           covertly
           ,
        
         
           The
           other
           cattell
           ,
           cows
           and
           calves
           ,
           stand
           mute
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           soft
           muttering
           hold
           a
           still
           dispute
           ,
        
         
           Who
           shall
           their
           leader
           be
           ,
           whom
           they
           shall
           tend
           .
        
         
           The
           bulls
           meanwhile
           each
           other
           wounds
           do
           lend
           ,
        
         
           And
           gore
           each
           others
           sides
           ,
           whose
           bloud
           spurts
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           head
           and
           shoulders
           all
           be
           bathes
           about
           :
        
         
           Whose
           bloudy
           blows
           the
           echoing
           woods
           resound
           :
        
         
           No
           otherwise
           is
           this
           fierce
           duell
           found
           ,
        
         
           'Twixt
           
             Troyes
             Aeneas
          
           and
           great
           Daunus
           prince
           ,
        
         
           Lab'ring
           each
           other
           strongly
           to
           evince
           ,
        
         
           With
           swords
           and
           shields
           the
           aire
           with
           clanging
           filling
           .
        
         
           Then
           Iove
           himself
           ,
           to
           poise
           their
           fortune
           willing
        
         
           In
           equall
           balance
           ,
           for
           some
           distance
           stayes
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           them
           both
           their
           severall
           fortune
           layes
           :
        
         
           Which
           should
           with
           toiles
           triumph
           ,
           which
           ,
           fighting
           ,
           die
           .
        
         
         
           Turnus
           himself
           rouz'd
           up
           ,
           his
           sword
           rais'd
           high
           ,
        
         
           Hoping
           (
           untoucht
           )
           to
           do
           what
           he
           did
           aim
           :
        
         
           With
           all
           his
           might
           he
           smote
           ,
           the
           blow
           home
           came
           ▪
        
         
           Whereat
           the
           Trojans
           crie
           ,
           the
           Latines
           tremble
           ,
        
         
           And
           both
           the
           bands
           in
           much
           amaze
           assemble
        
         
           To
           eye
           the
           issue
           :
           But
           the
           bastard
           blade
        
         
           In
           pieces
           brake
           ,
           the
           blow
           thus
           frustrate
           made
           .
        
         
           Who
           ,
           had
           he
           not
           straight
           fled
           ,
           had
           dead
           there
           lain
           .
        
         
           As
           swift
           as
           winde
           he
           therefore
           flies
           amain
           ,
        
         
           Finding
           in
           's
           hand
           a
           hilt
           ,
           to
           him
           unknown
           ,
        
         
           His
           hand
           now
           weaponlesse
           .
           Fame
           thus
           hath
           blown
           ,
        
         
           That
           when
           he
           first
           to
           fight
           his
           coach
           ascended
           ,
        
         
           And
           furiously
           him
           to
           the
           battell
           bended
           ,
        
         
           'Twixt
           feare
           and
           furie
           ,
           left
           his
           fathers
           blade
           ,
        
         
           And
           snatcht
           Metiscus
           sword
           for
           it
           ▪
           and
           made
        
         
           Indifferent
           shift
           therewith
           ,
           wh●les
           frightfully
        
         
           The
           scattered
           Trojans
           did
           before
           him
           flie
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           he
           mindes
           Vulcanes
           strong
           tempered
           blade
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           this
           si●lie
           sword
           by
           mortalls
           made
           ,
        
         
           Brake
           straight
           ,
           as
           brittle
           glasse
           the
           shivers
           small
           ,
        
         
           Glistring
           upon
           the
           ground
           as
           down
           they
           fall
           :
        
         
           Then
           like
           a
           mad
           man
           Turnus
           flies
           about
        
         
           Through
           all
           the
           field
           ,
           here
           ,
           there
           windes
           in
           and
           out
           :
        
         
           For
           all
           the
           Trojan
           bands
           had
           hedg'd
           him
           round
           ,
        
         
           And
           citie-walls
           and
           mightie
           moorish
           ground
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           also
           (
           though
           his
           late
           wounds
           pain
           ,
        
         
           Pinching
           his
           knees
           ,
           did
           swift
           pursuit
           restrain
           )
        
         
           Followes
           ,
           and
           foot
           to
           foot
           ,
           keeps
           to
           him
           nigh
           .
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           huntsman
           ,
           who
           with
           course
           and
           crie
        
         
           Of
           eager
           hounds
           ,
           a
           deere
           hath
           close
           i'
           th
           '
           flouds
           ;
        
         
           Or
           girt
           with
           feare
           o'th'bloudie
           dart
           ,
           he
           scuds
           :
        
         
           But
           frighted
           at
           the
           toiles
           and
           banks
           most
           high
           ,
        
         
         
           A
           thousand
           wayes
           does
           turn
           and
           winde
           and
           flie
           ;
        
         
           But
           yet
           the
           noble
           nimble
           Vmbrian
           hound
           ,
        
         
           With
           breathing
           chaps
           ,
           keeps
           close
           ,
           doth
           loose
           noground
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           ,
           even
           now
           ,
           snaps
           him
           ,
           yet
           lets
           him
           slip
           ,
        
         
           Who
           from
           his
           cheated
           chaps
           doth
           quickly
           skip
           :
        
         
           Loud
           cries
           are
           rais'd
           ,
           the
           brooks
           and
           banks
           about
        
         
           Re-echo
           ,
           thunder
           from
           the
           skies
           breaks
           out
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           thus
           flying
           blam●s
           his
           Rutul●s
           all
        
         
           For
           his
           try'd
           sword
           ,
           by
           name
           doth
           each
           one
           call
           .
        
         
           On
           th'
           other
           side
           Aeneas
           ruine
           threats
           ,
        
         
           And
           present
           death
           ,
           if
           any
           at
           his
           treats
        
         
           Dares
           him
           approach
           ,
           whose
           feare
           does
           them
           afright
           :
        
         
           Menacing
           much
           to
           raze
           their
           citie
           quite
           ;
        
         
           And
           thus
           (
           though
           wounded
           )
           he
           his
           foe
           draws
           nigh
           ,
        
         
           And
           five
           round
           circling
           courses
           ,
           eagerly
           ,
        
         
           They
           finisht
           had
           ,
           leaping
           back
           here
           and
           there
           :
        
         
           And
           for
           no
           pettie
           prize
           thus
           earnest
           were
           ,
        
         
           Even
           for
           no
           lesse
           then
           Turnus
           life
           and
           bloud
           .
        
         
           By
           chance
           ,
           a
           sowre-leav'd
           olive-tree
           there
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Devoted
           to
           God
           Faunus
           ,
           venerable
           ,
        
         
           To
           mariners
           once
           ,
           when
           it
           stood
           ,
           most
           stable
           ,
        
         
           When
           they
           did
           shipwrack
           scape
           ;
           whereon
           they
           plac'd
        
         
           The
           gift
           wherewith
           they
           L●●rents
           Gods
           had
           grac'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           gar●ents
           to
           the
           God
           were
           consecrated
           :
        
         
           This
           tree
           the
           Trojans
           had
           eradicated
           ,
        
         
           Regardlesse
           of
           its
           use
           ,
           that
           so
           they
           might
        
         
           Prepare
           a
           full
           and
           faire
           field
           for
           the
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Here
           stuck
           Aeneas
           speare
           ,
           by
           force
           there
           cast
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           tender
           root
           was
           setled
           fast
           :
        
         
           Aeneas
           stayes
           ▪
           ●ssayes
           with
           his
           strong
           hand
        
         
           To
           pluck
           it
           out
           ,
           with
           's
           speare
           to
           make
           him
           stand
           :
        
         
           Whom
           he
           in
           running
           could
           not
           overt●●e
           .
        
         
         
           Turnus
           in
           rage
           and
           feare
           this
           prayer
           did
           make
           ;
        
         
           Favour
           me
           ,
           Faunus
           ,
           and
           this
           goodly
           ground
           ,
        
         
           Keep
           fast
           the
           speare
           ,
           since
           alwayes
           ye
           have
           found
        
         
           My
           sacred
           worship
           to
           your
           deitie
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Trojans
           wrong
           most
           sacrilegiously
           .
        
         
           This
           said
           ,
           thus
           pray'd
           ,
           his
           prayers
           were
           not
           in
           vai
           ;
        
         
           For
           why
           ?
           Aeneas
           labouring
           with
           long
           pain
           ▪
        
         
           And
           strugling
           at
           the
           stock
           ,
           yet
           by
           no
           might
        
         
           Could
           make
           the
           stump
           let
           go
           his
           fastned
           bite
           .
        
         
           As
           thus
           he
           stirres
           and
           struggles
           all
           in
           vain
           ,
        
         
           The
           Daunian
           Goddesse
           did
           assume
           again
        
         
           Metiscus
           shape
           ,
           the
           wagoner
           before
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           her
           brother
           doth
           his
           sword
           restore
           .
        
         
           Venus
           being
           vext
           ,
           to
           see
           this
           nymph
           so
           bold
           ,
        
         
           Hastes
           to
           the
           speare
           ,
           and
           plucks
           it
           from
           its
           hold
           .
        
         
           Thus
           both
           these
           warriours
           arm'd
           with
           sword
           and
           spea●
        
         
           Them●elves
           most
           bloudily
           ,
           bravely
           ,
           now
           they
           beare
           :
        
         
           This
           proud
           of
           's
           blade
           ,
           that
           joyfull
           for
           his
           lance
           ,
        
         
           With
           breathlesse
           blows
           to
           th'fight
           they
           readvance
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           great
           
             Iove
             ,
             olympus
          
           soveraign
           high
           ,
        
         
           From
           's
           yellow
           cloud
           casting
           his
           all-seeing
           eye
        
         
           Upon
           the
           combatants
           ,
           to
           Iuno
           spake
           ;
        
         
           Faire
           spouse
           ,
           when
           meanest
           thou
           an
           end
           to
           make
           ?
        
         
           What
           yet
           remains
           ?
           thou
           know'st
           and
           dost
           confesse
        
         
           Aeneas
           for
           to
           be
           a
           God
           ,
           no
           lesse
           ,
        
         
           That
           he
           belongs
           to
           heaven
           ,
           starres
           must
           him
           hold
           .
        
         
           What
           dost
           thou
           build
           ?
           what
           hope
           in
           clouds
           thus
           cold
        
         
           Makes
           thee
           stay
           here
           ?
           think'st
           thou
           it
           fit
           to
           be
           ,
        
         
           A
           sacred
           God
           with
           mortall
           wounds
           to
           see
           ▪
        
         
           Or
           that
           his
           sword
           (
           for
           but
           by
           onely
           thee
           ,
        
         
           Iuturna
           nought
           could
           do
           )
           should
           gotten
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           brought
           to
           Turnus
           ,
           vanquisht
           hearts
           to
           cheer●
           ,
        
         
         
           O
           now
           at
           length
           ,
           faire
           Iuno
           ,
           cease
           ,
           forbeare
        
         
           To
           presse
           me
           with
           thy
           prayers
           ,
           thy self
           to
           fret
        
         
           With
           tart
           intestine
           grief
           ,
           me
           to
           beset
        
         
           With
           carking
           cares
           ,
           to
           give
           thee
           sweet
           content
           ;
        
         
           'T
           is
           now
           come
           to
           the
           period
           of
           event
           .
        
         
           Thou
           know'st
           I
           let
           thee
           both
           by
           sea
           and
           land
        
         
           Infest
           the
           Trojans
           ,
           and
           ,
           at
           thy
           command
           ,
        
         
           To
           wage
           fierce
           warres
           ,
           his
           house
           quite
           to
           deface
           ,
        
         
           And
           marriages
           to
           make
           in
           mournfull
           case
           .
        
         
           Farther
           I
           now
           forbid
           to
           enterprise
           .
        
         
           Iupiter
           ceast
           .
           Iuno
           in
           submisse
           wise
        
         
           On
           th'
           other
           side
           reply'de
           ;
           All-sacred
           pheere
           ,
        
         
           Since
           first
           I
           knew
           thy
           mightie
           minde
           most
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           My
           Turnus
           and
           the
           world
           unwillingly
        
         
           I
           have
           relinquisht
           ;
           nor
           so
           sorrily
        
         
           Shouldst
           thou
           me
           see
           on
           this
           cold
           cloud
           to
           sit
           ,
        
         
           Suffring
           so
           many
           things
           fit
           and
           unfit
           ;
        
         
           But
           cloath'd
           in
           flames
           ,
           standing
           my
           troops
           about
           ,
        
         
           And
           fiercely
           firing
           all
           the
           Trojans
           out
           .
        
         
           And
           as
           for
           poore
           Iuturna
           ,
           I
           confesse
           ,
        
         
           I
           bad
           her
           help
           her
           brother
           in
           distresse
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           his
           life
           bad
           her
           all
           hazards
           trie
           :
        
         
           But
           bow
           to
           bend
           or
           weapons
           to
           supplie
           ,
        
         
           This
           I
           ne're
           bad
           ,
           and
           to
           this
           truth
           I
           sweare
        
         
           By
           Styxes
           muddie
           peacelesse
           spring
           ,
           the
           feare
           ,
        
         
           And
           onely
           sacred
           oath
           the
           Gods
           do
           take
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           I
           cease
           ,
           and
           all
           these
           fights
           forsake
           .
        
         
           Yet
           this
           one
           thing
           (
           which
           fates
           do
           not
           gainsay
           )
        
         
           For
           Italie
           ,
           grant
           me
           I
           humbly
           pray
           ,
        
         
           And
           for
           the
           grace
           and
           honour
           of
           thine
           own
           ;
        
         
           That
           when
           they
           to
           a
           peacefull
           passe
           are
           grown
        
         
           By
           marriage
           made
           (
           well
           ,
           be
           it
           so
           )
           and
           when
        
         
         
           All
           rites
           and
           rules
           of
           peace
           are
           fixt
           by
           men
           ,
        
         
           That
           thou
           'lt
           not
           change
           ancient
           Italians
           name
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           Troy
           or
           Trojans
           to
           weare
           out
           the
           same
           ;
        
         
           Let
           then
           their
           language
           and
           their
           weeds
           retain
           ,
        
         
           Let
           Italie
           and
           Albane
           peeres
           remain
           :
        
         
           Let
           Romes
           rare
           offspring
           spread
           by
           Latian
           might
           :
        
         
           Troy
           now
           is
           dead
           ,
           O
           let
           Troyes
           name
           die
           quite
           .
        
         
           Iupiter
           smiling
           on
           her
           ,
           said
           ,
           most
           milde
           ,
        
         
           Thou
           art
           Ioves
           sister
           and
           Saturnus
           childe
           :
        
         
           Yet
           can
           thy
           breast
           enchest
           such
           anger
           still
           ?
        
         
           Well
           ,
           go
           to
           then
           ;
           yet
           now
           subject
           thy
           will
           ,
        
         
           Cease
           thy
           vane
           rage
           begun
           :
           I
           grant
           thy
           motion
           ,
        
         
           Willingly
           won
           herein
           to
           thy
           devotion
           .
        
         
           Italians
           shall
           old
           kindes
           and
           customes
           keep
           ,
        
         
           And
           ,
           as
           't
           is
           now
           ,
           their
           name
           in
           fame
           as
           deep
        
         
           Still
           stand
           and
           grow
           ;
           Trojans
           shall
           onely
           be
        
         
           A
           mixed
           body
           'mongst
           them
           ▪
           thou
           shalt
           see
           ,
        
         
           That
           I
           religious
           rites
           will
           teach
           them
           all
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           land
           shall
           them
           Italians
           call
           .
        
         
           The
           offspring
           which
           from
           Latian
           bloud
           shall
           rise
           ,
        
         
           All
           men
           on
           earth
           ,
           yea
           and
           the
           Gods
           i'th'skies
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           passe
           in
           pietie
           ;
           and
           than
           this
           nation
           ,
        
         
           None
           shall
           bring
           thee
           so
           copious
           adoration
           .
        
         
           This
           tickled
           Iuno
           passing-well
           at
           heart
           ,
        
         
           And
           from
           her
           cloud
           to
           heaven
           she
           did
           depart
           .
        
         
           This
           thus
           perform'd
           ,
           great
           Iove
           doth
           now
           contrive
        
         
           How
           he
           Iuturna
           might
           from
           Turnus
           drive
           .
        
         
           Two
           hellish
           hags
           there
           are
           call'd
           Furies
           fell
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           dreadfull
           night
           begat
           in
           horrid
           hell
        
         
           Both
           at
           a
           birth
           ,
           upon
           Megaera
           black
           ,
        
         
           Both
           with
           like
           serpents
           stings
           and
           wreathed
           back
           ,
        
         
           And
           wings
           like
           windes
           .
           These
           at
           Ioves
           footstool
           lay
        
         
         
           Under
           his
           throne
           ,
           their
           angrie
           king
           t'
           obey
           :
        
         
           These
           feares
           and
           frights
           ,
           kindle
           in
           ●ale-contents
           ,
        
         
           When
           direfull
           death
           or
           vexing
           punishments
        
         
           Iupiter
           pleaseth
           on
           the
           bad
           t'
           impart
           ,
        
         
           Or
           towns
           will
           terrifie
           with
           warres
           desert
           .
        
         
           One
           of
           these
           furies
           fierce
           Iove
           from
           him
           send●
           ,
        
         
           Who
           to
           
             Iuturna
             ,
             Turnus
          
           death
           portends
           .
        
         
           She
           flies
           away
           to
           earth
           ,
           whirlewindes
           fast
        
         
           Much
           like
           a
           shaft
           from
           Parthian
           quiver
           cast
        
         
           All
           dipt
           in
           poyson
           curable
           by
           none
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           some
           Parthian
           ,
           or
           stout
           Cydon
           thrown
           ;
        
         
           The
           dart
           unseen
           whisling
           through
           shadows
           ,
           flies
           :
        
         
           Thus
           this
           night-imp
           hastes
           on
           ,
           to
           earth
           now
           hies
           .
        
         
           Who
           having
           spi'de
           Troyes
           troops
           and
           Tur●us
           hands
           ,
        
         
           I'
           th'
           figure
           of
           a
           little
           bird
           she
           stands
           ▪
        
         
           As
           screech-owles
           ,
           who
           are
           wont
           on
           graves
           to
           sit
        
         
           And
           dark-night
           walks
           ,
           to
           screech
           and
           hollow
           it
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           this
           owlie
           shape
           ,
           this
           furie
           fierce
           ,
        
         
           In
           Turnus
           sight
           doth
           up
           and
           down
           traverse
           ,
        
         
           Making
           much
           noise
           ,
           fluttring
           her
           wings
           about
        
         
           His
           shield
           ,
           which
           lets
           in
           feare
           ,
           sets
           courage
           out
           .
        
         
           Trembling
           ,
           his
           haire
           doth
           stare
           ,
           speechlesse
           he
           stood
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           farre
           off
           ,
           Iuturna
           understood
        
         
           The
           furies
           fluttering
           wings
           and
           screeching
           stirre
           ,
        
         
           Poore
           sister
           ,
           ah
           ,
           how
           it
           bemadded
           her
           !
        
         
           Her
           face
           she
           scratches
           with
           her
           bloudie
           nails
           ,
        
         
           With
           fists
           she
           beat
           her
           breasts
           ,
           and
           thus
           she
           wails
           ;
        
         
           Alas
           poore
           Turnus
           !
           pray
           thee
           speak
           ,
           which
           way
           ?
        
         
           What
           means
           remains
           whereby
           thy
           sister
           may
        
         
           Shield
           or
           assist
           thee
           ?
           or
           ●hy
           life
           prolong
           ?
        
         
           Ah!
           how
           can
           I
           resist
           this
           omen
           strong
           ?
        
         
           Now
           ,
           now
           foul
           fowles
           I
           from
           these
           armies
           flie
           .
        
         
         
           Cease
           then
           me
           trembling
           more
           to
           terrifie
           ;
        
         
           I
           know
           your
           plaguing
           plumes
           and
           deadly
           din
           ,
        
         
           I
           know
           Ioves
           proud
           prescripts
           ;
           do
           I
           this
           win
        
         
           And
           nought
           but
           this
           ,
           for
           lost
           virginitie
           ?
        
         
           Why
           gave
           he
           me
           lifes
           immortalitie
           ?
        
         
           Why
           am
           I
           freed
           thus
           from
           a
           dying
           state
           ,
        
         
           Whereby
           I
           might
           these
           great
           griefs
           terminate
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           hels
           depth
           with
           thee
           poore
           brother
           range
           ?
        
         
           Am
           I
           immortall
           ?
           ah
           ,
           I
           would
           it
           change
           !
        
         
           For
           without
           thee
           ,
           deare
           brother
           ,
           nought
           can
           please
           me
           ,
        
         
           Oh
           ,
           if
           some
           earth
           could
           swallow
           me
           't
           would
           ease
           me
           !
        
         
           Sending
           a
           Goddesse
           down
           to
           Limbo's
           lake
           ,
        
         
           These
           words
           with
           many
           teares
           and
           sighs
           she
           spake
           ;
        
         
           And
           straight
           her
           head
           waterie
           gray
           weeds
           hid
           ,
        
         
           And
           deep
           into
           the
           river
           down
           she
           slid
           .
        
         
           Meanwhile
           ,
           Aeneas
           strongly
           doth
           oppose
           ,
        
         
           His
           tree-like
           lance
           brandishing
           as
           he
           goes
           ,
        
         
           And
           angrily
           thus
           cries
           ;
           Now
           Turnus
           stout
           ,
        
         
           What
           stayes
           ,
           delayes
           ,
           make
           thee
           still
           time
           it
           out
           ?
        
         
           Why
           draw'st
           thou
           back
           ?
           we
           must
           not
           fight
           by
           flight
           ,
        
         
           But
           hand
           to
           hand
           with
           furious
           blows
           down-right
           .
        
         
           Transform
           thy self
           to
           shapes
           most
           variously
           ,
        
         
           Collect
           thy self
           with
           magnanimitie
           .
        
         
           To
           fight
           or
           by
           arts
           slight
           to
           soare
           i'th'aire
           ,
        
         
           Or
           hid
           i'th'ground
           to
           cover
           all
           thy
           care
           .
        
         
           Turnus
           in
           rage
           shaking
           his
           head
           ,
           replies
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           tongue
           ,
           proud
           Trojan
           ,
           nothing
           terrifies
        
         
           My
           troubled
           breast
           ,
           but
           th'
           angry
           fatall
           Gods
        
         
           And
           Iupiter
           himself
           ,
           with
           me
           at
           ods
           .
        
         
           And
           with
           these
           words
           he
           spide
           a
           mightie
           stone
           ,
        
         
           A
           huge
           old
           stone
           ,
           by
           which
           lands
           bounds
           were
           shown
        
         
           All
           difference
           to
           decide
           ,
           left
           long
           i'th'field
           :
        
         
         
           VVhich
           twelve
           men
           scarce
           upon
           their
           necks
           could
           weld
           :
        
         
           Such
           proper
           men
           (
           I
           mean
           )
           as
           now
           adayes
        
         
           Times
           do
           produce
           .
           This
           he
           with
           ease
           doth
           raise
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           his
           trembling
           hand
           cast
           at
           his
           foe
           :
        
         
           And
           yet
           this
           noble
           prince
           doth
           scarcely
           know
        
         
           That
           he
           himself
           rais'd
           high
           ,
           did
           swiftly
           run
           ,
        
         
           Took
           up
           the
           stone
           ,
           or
           what
           else
           he
           had
           done
           :
        
         
           His
           knees
           began
           to
           faint
           ,
           his
           bloud
           grew
           chill
           ;
        
         
           Then
           on
           i'th'emptie
           a●re
           ,
           the
           stone
           went
           still
           ,
        
         
           But
           went
           not
           its
           full
           way
           ,
           nor
           hit
           its
           mark
           .
        
         
           Like
           as
           ,
           when
           in
           our
           dreams
           ,
           at
           midnight
           dark
           ,
        
         
           VVhen
           lazie
           sleep
           tyr'd
           eye-lids
           down
           doth
           force
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           seem
           sometimes
           to
           run
           an
           eager
           course
           :
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           midst
           of
           many
           a
           seeming
           act
           ,
        
         
           VVe
           faintly
           fail
           ,
           and
           vainly
           cease
           the
           fact
           ;
        
         
           VVe
           talk
           sometimes
           in
           sleep
           ,
           but
           faultringly
        
         
           Our
           forces
           fail
           ,
           nor
           words
           ,
           nor
           works
           comply
           :
        
         
           Thus
           't
           was
           with
           Turnus
           ,
           where
           his
           power
           was
           bent
           ,
        
         
           Fierce
           fates
           made
           all
           his
           facts
           in
           vain
           be
           spent
           :
        
         
           Then
           diverse
           doubtfull
           thoughts
           in
           's
           heart
           arise
           .
        
         
           Upon
           his
           Rutuls
           casting
           now
           his
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           Now
           on
           the
           town
           ,
           fright
           stayes
           him
           ,
           and
           deep
           feare
        
         
           (
           Even
           every
           moment
           )
           of
           his
           foes
           strong
           speare
           :
        
         
           Nor
           findes
           he
           means
           to
           flie
           ,
           nor
           means
           to
           fight
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           sees
           his
           coach
           ,
           nor
           sister-coachmans
           sight
           .
        
         
           Aeneas
           having
           in
           his
           nimble
           eyes
        
         
           Faire
           fortune
           offer'd
           ,
           doth
           not
           sluggardize
           ,
        
         
           But
           brandishing
           his
           dart
           at
           's
           doubting
           foe
           ,
        
         
           Farre
           distant
           ,
           at
           him
           doth
           it
           fiercely
           throw
        
         
           VVith
           all
           his
           might
           :
           never
           flew
           stones
           so
           fast
        
         
           To
           batter
           walls
           from
           war-like
           engine
           cast
        
         
           VVith
           battering
           din
           ,
           nor
           thunder
           makes
           more
           roare
           ▪
        
         
         
           Like
           a
           black
           storm
           ,
           hurrying
           destruction
           sore
           ,
        
         
           So
           flies
           the
           speare
           ,
           and
           through
           his
           corslet
           strong
           ,
        
         
           And
           seven-fold
           lined
           shields
           brim
           glanc'd
           along
        
         
           With
           clanging
           noise
           ,
           sticking
           fast
           in
           his
           thigh
           ,
        
         
           Which
           strake
           down
           mightie
           Turnus
           instantly
           ,
        
         
           Doubling
           his
           knees
           to
           th'ground
           .
           The
           Rutuls
           straight
        
         
           Raise
           a
           huge
           crie
           ,
           which
           hills
           reverberate
           ,
        
         
           With
           mightie
           echoes
           ,
           round
           about
           the
           plain
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           abroad
           the
           woods
           beat
           back
           again
           .
        
         
           He
           meek
           and
           lowly
           raising
           hands
           and
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           O
           now
           (
           sayes
           he
           )
           I
           beare
           my
           most
           just
           prize
           .
        
         
           I
           ask
           no
           favour
           ,
           use
           thy
           happie
           fate
           ,
        
         
           Onely
           I
           pray
           thee
           to
           commiserate
        
         
           My
           aged
           father
           Daunus
           (
           if
           in
           thee
        
         
           Least
           pietie
           to
           parents
           harboured
           be
           ,
        
         
           And
           thy
           Anchises
           once
           was
           such
           an
           one
           )
        
         
           And
           me
           (
           if
           so
           much
           favour
           may
           be
           shown
           ,
        
         
           If
           die
           I
           must
           )
           restore
           my
           corps
           to
           mine
           .
        
         
           The
           victorie
           to
           thee
           I
           now
           resigne
           :
        
         
           Our
           Latines
           see
           my
           conquered
           hands
           extended
           ,
        
         
           La●inia
           is
           thy
           wife
           ,
           thus
           fates
           intended
           ,
        
         
           Let
           farther
           furie
           cease
           .
           Aeneas
           stands
        
         
           Fierce
           in
           his
           arms
           ,
           yet
           still
           he
           holds
           his
           hands
           ,
        
         
           Gazing
           with
           's
           eyes
           ,
           and
           now
           even
           now
           began
        
         
           His
           speech
           to
           work
           compassion
           in
           the
           man
           ,
        
         
           Till
           that
           unhappie
           belt
           he
           did
           espie
        
         
           Upon
           his
           shoulders
           hanging
           broad
           and
           high
           :
        
         
           Whose
           buckles
           known
           ,
           and
           glistring
           rarely
           cleare
           ,
        
         
           To
           be
           young
           Pallases
           did
           plain
           appeare
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           Turnus
           with
           a
           conquering
           wound-had
           slain
           ▪
        
         
           And
           'bout
           him
           did
           that
           fatall
           prize
           retain
           .
        
         
           But
           when
           his
           eye
           did
           seriously
           survey
        
         
         
           That
           badge
           of
           griping
           grief
           ,
           that
           piteous
           prey
           ,
        
         
           Enflam'd
           with
           furie
           ,
           all
           with
           rage
           possest
           ,
        
         
           Ah!
           dos●
           thou
           hope
           to
           scape
           my
           hands
           thus
           drest
        
         
           With
           my
           deare
           Pallas
           spoiles
           ?
           for
           Pallas
           sake
        
         
           This
           wound
           shall
           thee
           his
           due
           oblation
           make
           .
        
         
           And
           with
           that
           word
           ,
           he
           sheath'd
           his
           sword
           in
           's
           heart
           .
        
         
           Whereat
           death
           seazing
           on
           his
           vitall
           part
           ,
        
         
           His
           members
           bursen
           ,
           loathed
           life
           out
           flies
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           deep-fetcht
           groan
           to
           Charon
           hies
           .
        
         
           
             An
             end
             of
             the
             twelfth
             book
             of
          
           Virgils
           Aeneïds
           .
        
         
           Trin-uni
           Deo
           soli
           sit
           omnis
           gloria
           .
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           ERRATA
           .
        
         
           COurteous
           Reader
           ,
           The
           large
           distance
           of
           place
           ,
           and
           inevitable
           duties
           of
           my
           calling
           hindring
           my
           presence
           from
           the
           ▪
           Printers-presse
           ▪
           divers
           faults
           have
           escaped
           ,
           which
           I
           heartily
           desire
           may
           with
           thy
           patience
           and
           pen
           be
           corrected
           ,
           as
           here
           is
           directed
           .
        
         
           IN
           the
           life
           of
           Virgil
           ,
           pag
           :
           3.
           lin
           .
           12.
           for
           shallow
           ,
           read
           sallow
           ▪
           Aeneids
           .
           p.
           5.
           l.
           22.
           for
           Orentes
           ,
           read
           Orontes
           .
           p.
           28.
           l.
           8.
           for
           I
           ,
           read
           By.
           p.
           29.
           l.
           13.
           for
           sheep-shelter
           ,
           read
           ship
           shelter
           .
           p.
           35.
           l.
           11
           ▪
           for
           wraths
           ,
           read
           wreaths
           .
           p.
           39.
           l.
           21.
           for
           hiddie
           ,
           read
           hideous
           .
           p.
           40.
           l.
           2.
           for
           wag
           ,
           read
           way
           .
           p.
           45.
           l.
           3.
           for
           Automedon
           ▪
           read
           Antomedon
           .
           p.
           46.
           l.
           26.
           for
           they
           ,
           read
           for
           ●he
           .
           p.
           53.
           l.
           24
           for
           Frame
           .
           read
           From
           's
           .
           p.
           61.
           l.
           27.
           for
           saue
           ,
           read
           leaue
           ▪
           p.
           66.
           l.
           8.
           for
           could
           ,
           read
           cold
           .
           p.
           68.
           l.
           18.
           for
           grew
           ,
           read
           drew
           .
           p.
           72.
           l.
           1.
           for
           siecie
           ,
           read
           feirce
           .
           p.
           73.
           l.
           25.
           for
           to
           th'
           Sea
           by
           Gods
           ,
           read
           by
           Sea
           to
           th'
           Gods.
           p.
           77.
           l.
           14.
           for
           Achilles
           ,
           read
           Anchises
           .
           p.
           79.
           l.
           10.
           for
           a
           station
           ,
           read
           our
           station
           p.
           81.
           l.
           22.
           for
           sigh's
           ,
           read
           fights
           .
           p.
           8●
           .
           l.
           17.
           for
           on
           ,
           read
           on
           's
           .
           p.
           83.
           l.
           24.
           for
           au-all
           ,
           read
           ouall
           .
           p.
           93.
           l.
           30.
           for
           long
           ,
           read
           longs
           .
           p.
           95.
           l.
           2.
           for
           fiction
           ,
           read
           fictious
           .
           l.
           6.
           for
           The
           ,
           read
           That
           .
           l.
           10.
           for
           these
           mens
           ,
           read
           these
           in
           mens
           .
           l
           28.
           for
           right
           ,
           read
           rich
           .
           p.
           111.
           l.
           14.
           for
           cutting
           ,
           read
           crossing
           .
           p.
           113.
           l.
           20.
           for
           thousands
           ,
           read
           thousand
           .
           p.
           115.
           l.
           20.
           for
           That
           same
           ,
           read
           ,
           That
           the
           same
           .
           p.
           118.
           l.
           20.
           for
           a
           more
           ,
           read
           no
           more
           .
           p.
           121.
           l.
           16.
           for
           Phaethons
           ,
           read
           Phactons
           .
           p.
           124.
           l.
           12.
           for
           or'eth
           '
           board
           ,
           read
           o're-board
           .
           l.
           32.
           for
           power
           ,
           read
           poure
           .
           p.
           132.
           l.
           21.
           for
           land
           ,
           read
           laud.
           p.
           134.
           l.
           16.
           for
           begirt
           ,
           read
           begirts
           .
           p
           139.
           l.
           6.
           for
           partly
           ,
           read
           party
           .
           p.
           140.
           
           ●
           .
           2.
           for
           Laborynthicke
           ,
           read
           Labyrinthicke
           .
           l.
           25.
           for
           fleets
           ,
           read
           fleet
           .
           p.
           141.
           l.
           15.
           for
           from
           ,
           read
           for
           .
           p.
           164.
           l.
           29.
           for
           Now
           ,
           read
           Nor.
           p.
           175.
           l.
           6.
           for
           hee
           heauen
           ,
           read
           he
           did
           heauen
           .
           p.
           177.
           l.
           4.
           for
           these
           ,
           read
           those
           .
           pag.
           185.
           lin
           .
           4.
           for
           Statutes
           ,
           read
           Statues
           .
           pag.
           194.
           lin
           .
           25.
           for
           turret
           ,
           read
           turrets
           .
           pag.
           197.
           lin
           .
           6.
           for
           O
           that
           ,
           read
           O
           what
           .
           l.
           24.
           for
           flight
           ,
           read
           fight
           .
           pag.
           200.
           l.
           3.
           for
           An
           ,
           read
           Ah.
           p.
           204.
           l
           7.
           
           for
           waues
           ,
           read
           wiues
           .
           p.
           205.
           l.
           21.
           for
           bid
           ,
           read
           bad
           .
           p.
           210.
           l.
           21.
           for
           godly
           ,
           read
           goodly
           .
           p.
           214.
           l.
           3.
           for
           Put-on
           ,
           read
           Puts-on
           .
           p.
           217.
           l.
           18.
           for
           grunt
           ,
           read
           groane
           .
           p.
           220.
           l.
           23.
           for
           Numacks
           ▪
           read
           Numicks
           .
           p.
           224.
           l.
           29.
           for
           Ane
           ,
           read
           And.
           l.
           31.
           for
           So
           ,
           read
           To.
           p.
           227.
           l.
           10.
           for
           sire
           ,
           read
           Sir.
           p.
           237.
           l.
           6.
           for
           protest
           ,
           read
           protests
           .
           p.
           238.
           l.
           11.
           for
           for-mens
           ,
           read
           foemens
           .
           p.
           ●57
           .
           l.
           12.
           for
           flying
           ,
           read
           fling
           .
           p.
           259.
           l.
           9.
           for
           afraid
           ,
           read
           afear'd
           .
           p.
           262.
           l.
           28.
           for
           land
           ,
           read
           laud.
           p.
           265.
           l.
           30.
           for
           Italie
           ,
           read
           Italia
           .
           p.
           277.
           l.
           20.
           for
           touch
           ,
           read
           tough
           .
           p.
           298.
           l.
           10.
           for
           Asius
           ,
           read
           Iasius
           .
           p.
           323.
           l.
           17.
           for
           Ioyning
           ,
           read
           Ioying
           .
           p.
           346.
           l.
           5
           for
           Adulterous
           ,
           read
           Adultrous
           .
           p.
           352.
           l.
           14.
           for
           coasts
           ,
           read
           costs
           .
           p.
           353.
           l.
           2.
           for
           forth
           '
           alarum
           ,
           read
           ,
           fore
           th'
           alarm
           .
           p.
           361.
           l.
           23
           for
           There
           ,
           read
           They.
           p.
           372.
           l.
           12.
           for
           her
           ,
           read
           his
           .
           p.
           373.
           l.
           3.
           for
           defendance
           ,
           read
           defendants
           .
           l.
           9.
           for
           made
           fight
           so
           feirce
           ,
           read
           make
           furious
           fight
           .
           p.
           379.
           l.
           8.
           for
           And
           their
           ,
           read
           Let
           our
           .
           p.
           384
           l.
           21.
           for
           thus
           ,
           read
           this
           .
           p.
           386.
           l.
           1.
           for
           me
           ,
           read
           we
           .
           p.
           392.
           l.
           13.
           for
           sleet
           ,
           read
           fleet
           .
           p.
           398.
           l.
           16.
           for
           giue
           ,
           read
           giues
           .
           p.
           399.
           l.
           2●
           .
           for
           shrill
           ,
           read
           thrill
           .
           p.
           403.
           l.
           11.
           for
           fills
           ,
           read
           fill
           .
           l.
           32.
           for
           that
           ,
           read
           what
           .
           p.
           405.
           l.
           26.
           for
           they
           ,
           read
           thy
           .
           p.
           406.
           l.
           2.
           for
           there
           ,
           read
           thou
           .
           p.
           411.
           l.
           17.
           for
           bloudily
           ,
           read
           bouldly
           .
           p.
           413.
           l.
           4.
           for
           then
           ,
           read
           them
           .
           p.
           418.
           l.
           8.
           for
           bursen
           .
           read
           loosen
           .