For tackling, let him take the chaines of gold, Which I bestowd vpon his followers: In steed of oares, let him vse his hands, And swim to _Italy_, Ile keepe these sure: Come beare them in. _Exit._ _Enter the Nurse with Cupid for Ascanius._ _Nurse._ My Lord _Ascanius_, ye must goe with me. _Cupid._ Whither must I goe? Ile stay with my mother. _Nurse._ No, thou shalt goe with me vnto my house, I haue an Orchard that hath 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 Æneas with a paper in his hand, drawing the platforme of the citie, with him Achates, Cloanthus, and Illieneus._ _Æn._ Triumph my mates, our trauels are at end, Here will _Æneas_ 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 cōtaine? _Æn._ Not past foure thousand paces at the most. _Illio._ But what shall it be calde, _Troy_ as before? _Æn._ That haue I not determinde with my selfe. _Cloan._ Let it be term'd _Ænea_ by your name.