_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 _Æneas_ face, Then would we hope to quite such friendly turnes, As shall surpasse the wonder of our speech. Actus 2. _Enter Æneas, Achates, and Ascanius._ _Æn._ Where am I now? these should be Carthage walles. _Acha._ Why stands my sweete _Æneas_ thus amazde? _Æn._ 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? _Æn._ O yet this stone doth make _Æneas_ weepe, And would my prayers (as _Pigmalions_ did) Could giue it life, that vnder his conduct We might saile backe to _Troy_ and be reuengde On these hard harted Grecians; which reioyce That nothing now is left of _Priamus_: O _Priamus_ is left and this is he, Come, come abourd, pursue the hatefull Greekes. _Acha._ What means _Æneas_? _Æn._ _Achates_ though mine eyes say this is stone, Yet thinkes my minde that this is _Priamus_: And when my grieued heart sighes and sayes no, Then would it leape out to giue _Priam_ life: O were I not at all so thou mightst be. _Achates_, see King _Priam_ wags his hand, He is aliue, _Troy_ is not ouercome. _Ach._ Thy mind _Æneas_ that would haue it so Deludes thy eye sight, _Priamus_ is dead. _Æn._ Ah _Troy_ is sackt, and _Priamus_ is dead, And why should poore _Æneas_ be aliue? _Asca._ Sweete father leaue to weepe, this is not he: For were it _Priam_ he would smile on me.