e not we to wrong your Libian Gods,
Or steale your houshold lares from their shrines:
Our hands are not prepar'd to lawles spoyle,
Nor armed to offend in any kind:
Such force is farre from our vnweaponed thoughts,
Whose fading weale of victorie forsooke,
Forbids all hope to harbour neere our hearts.

_Iar._ But tell me Troians, Troians if you be,
Vnto what fruitfull quarters were ye bound,
Before that _Boreas_ buckled with your sailes?

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

_Iar._ Braue men at armes, abandon fruitles feares,
Since Carthage knowes to entertaine distresse.

_Serg._ I but the barbarous sort doe threat our ships,
And will not let vs lodge vpon the sands:
In multitudes they swarme vnto the shoare,
And from the first earth interdict our feete.

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

_Serg._ Thankes gentle Lord for such vnlookt for grace,
Might we but once more see _AEneas_ face,
Then would we hope to quite such friendly turnes,
As shall surpasse the wonder of our speech.

Actus 2.

_Enter AEneas, Achates, and Ascanius._

_AEn._ Where am I now? these should be Carthage walles.

_Acha._ Why stands my sweete _AEneas_ thus amazde?

_AEn._ O my _Achates_, Theban _Niobe_,
Who for her sonnes death wept out life and breath,
And drie with griefe was turnd into a stone,
Had not such passions in her head as I.
Me thinkes that towne there should be _Troy_, yon _Idas_ hill,
There _Zanthus_ streame, because here's _Priamus_,
And when I know it is not, then I dye.

_Ach._ And in this humor is _Achates_ to,
I cannot choose but fall vpon my knees,
And kisse his hand: O where is _Hecuba_,
Here she was wont to sit, but sauing ayre
Is nothing here, and what is this but stone?

_AEn._ O yet this stone doth make