h store of plums,
Browne Almonds, Seruises, ripe Figs and Dates,
Dewberries, Apples, yellow Orenges,
A garden where are Bee hiues full of honey,
Musk-roses, and a thousand sort of flowers,
And in the midst doth run a siluer streame,
Where thou shalt see the red gild fishes leape,
White Swannes, and many louely water fowles:
Now speake _Ascanius_, will ye goe or no?

_Cupid._ Come come Ile goe, how farre hence is your house?

_Nurse._ But hereby child, we shall get thither straight.

_Cupid._ Nurse I am wearie, will you carrie me?

_Nurse._ I, so youle dwell with me and call me mother.

_Cupid._ So youle loue me, I care not if I doe.

_Nurse._ That I might liue to see this boy a man,
How pretilie he laughs, goe ye wagge,
Youle be a twigger when you come to age.
Say _Dido_ what she will I am not old,
Ile be no more a widowe, I am young,
Ile haue a husband, or els a louer.

_Cupid._ A husband and no teeth!

_Nurse._ O what meane I to haue such foolish thoughts!
Foolish is loue, a toy, O sacred loue,
If there be any heauen in earth, tis loue:
Especially in women of your yeares.
Blush blush for shame, why shouldst thou thinke of loue?
A graue, and not a louer fits thy age:
A graue, why? I may liue a hundred yeares,
Fourescore is but a girles age, loue is sweete:
My vaines are withered, and my sinewes drie,
Why doe I thinke of loue now I should dye?

_Cupid._ Come Nurse.

_Nurse._ Well, if he come a wooing he shall speede,
O how vnwise was I to say him nay! _Exeunt._

Actus 5.

_Enter AEneas with a paper in his hand, drawing the platforme of the
citie, with him Achates, Cloanthus, and Illieneus._

_AEn._ Triumph my mates, our trauels are at end,
Here will _AEneas_ build a statelier _Troy_,
Then that which grim _Atrides_ ouerthrew:
_Carthage_ shall vaunt her pettie walles no more,
For I will grace them with a fairer frame,
And clad her in a Chrystall liuerie,
Wherein the day may euermore delight:
From golden _India Ganges_ will I fetch,
Whose wealthie streames may waite vpon her towers,
And triple wise intrench her round about:
The Sunne from Egypt shall rich odors bring,
Wherewith his burning beames like labouring Bees,
That loade their thighes with _Hyblas_ honeys spoyles,
Shall here vnburden their exhaled sweetes,
And plant our pleasant suburbes with her fumes.

_Acha._ What length or bredth shal this braue towne c[=o]taine?

_AEn._ Not past foure thousand paces at the most.

_Illio