Ven. Ay, this is it: you can sit toying there, And playing with that female wanton boy, Whiles my Eneas wanders on the seas, And rests a prey to every billow's pride. Juno, false Juno, in her chariot's pomp,

Drawn through the heavens by steeds of Boreas' brood,

Made Hebe to direct her airy wheels
Into the windy country of the clouds;
Where, finding olus entrench'd with storms,
And guarded with a thousand grisly ghosts,
She humbly did beseech him for our bane,
And charg'd him drown my son with all his
train.

Then gan the winds break ope their brazen doors,

And all Æolia to be up in arms:

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

Ay, me the stars suppris'd, like Rhesus' steeds,

Are drawn by darkness forth Astræus' tents.§
What shall I do to save thee, my sweet boy?
Whenas || the waves do threat our crystal world,
And Proteus, raising hills of floods on high,
Intends, ere long, to sport him in the sky.
False Jupiter, reward'st thou virtue so?
What, is not piety exempt from woe?

Then die, Eneas, in thine innocence, Since that religion hath no recompense.

Jup. Content thee, Cytherea, in thy care,
Since thy Eneas' wandering fate is firm,
Whose weary limbs shall shortly make repose
In those fair walls I promis'd him of yore.
But, first, in blood must his good fortune bud,
Before he be the lord of Turnus' town,
Or force her smile that hitherto hath frown'd:
Three winters shall he with the Rutiles war,
And, in the end, subdue them with his sword;
And full three summers likewise shall he waste
In managing those fierce barbarian minds;
Which once perform'd, poor Troy, so long sup-
press'd,

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

That earth-born Atlas, groaning, underprops:
No bounds, but heaven, shall bound his empery,
Whose azur'd gates, enchasèd with his name,
Shall make the Morning haste her grey uprise,
To feed her eyes with his engraven fame.
Thus, in stout Hector's race, three hundred years
The Roman sceptre royal shall remain,
Till that a princess-priest, conceiv'd* by Mars,
Shall yield to dignity a double birth,
Who will eternish Troy in their attempts.

Ven. How may I credit these thy flattering
terms,

When yet both sea and sands beset their ships,
And Phoebus, as in Stygian pools, refrains
To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhene main †?

Jup. I will take order for that presently.— Hermes, awake! and haste to Neptune's realm, Whereas the wind-god, warring now with fate,

* conceiv'd] i. e. become pregnant. (So in the fourth line of the next speech but two, "the heavens, conceiv'd with hell-born clouds.")

"Donec regina sacerdos Marte gravis geminam partu dabit Ilia prolem." Virgil,-En. i. 273.

(Here the modern editors print,

"Till that a princess, priest-conceiv'd by Mars"!!)

To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhene main] Here taint does not mean-stain, sully, but is equivalent to-dip, bathe. In Sylvester's Du Bartas we meet with nearly as violent an expression;

"In Rhines fair streams to rinse his amber tresses.” The Colonies, p. 129, ed. 1641; where the original French has merely,

"Va dans les eaux du Rhin ses blonds cheveux lauant." Whereas] i. e. where.