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