y armes and shoulders with my theft.

_Gan._ I would haue a iewell for mine eare,
And a fine brouch to put in my hat,
And then Ile hugge with you an hundred times.

_Iup._ And shall haue _Ganimed_, if thou wilt be my loue.

_Enter Venus._

_Venus._ 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 euery billowes pride.
_Iuno_, false _Iuno_ in her Chariots pompe,
Drawne through the heauens 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 vp in armes:
Poore _Troy_ must now be sackt vpon the Sea,
And _Neptunes_ waues be enuious 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 saue thee my sweet boy?
When as the waues doe threat our Chrystall world,
And _Proteus_ raising hils of flouds on high,
Entends ere long to sport him in the skie.
False _Iupiter_, rewardst thou vertue so?
What? is not pietie exempt from woe?
Then dye _AEneas_ in thine innocence,
Since that religion hath no recompence.

_Iup._ Content thee _Cytherea_ in thy care,
Since thy _AEneas_ wandring fate is firme,
Whose wearie lims shall shortly make repose,
In those faire walles I promist him of yore:
But first in bloud must his good fortune bud,
Before he be the Lord of _Turnus_ towne,
Or force her smile that hetherto hath frownd:
Three winters shall he with the Rutiles warre,
And in the end subdue them with his sword,
And full three Sommers likewise shall he waste,
In mannaging those fierce barbarian mindes:
Which once performd, poore _Troy_ so long supprest,
From forth her ashes shall aduance her head,
And flourish once againe that erst was dead:
But bright _Ascanius_ beauties better worke,
Who with the Sunne deuides one radiant shape,
Shall build his throne amidst those starrie towers,
That