_Ven._ How may I credit these thy flattering terms, When yet both sea and sands beset their ships, 110 And Phoebus, as in Stygian pools, refrains To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhene main? _Jup._ I will take order for that presently.-- Hermes, awake! and haste to Neptune's realm, Whereas the wind-god, warring now with fate, Besiege[s] th' offspring of our kindly loins: Charge him from me to turn his stormy powers, And fetter them in Vulcan's sturdy brass, That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsman's peace. [_Exit_ HERMES. Venus, farewell: thy son shall be our care.-- 120 Come, Ganymede, we must about this gear.[443] [_Exeunt_ JUPITER _and_ GANYMEDE. _Ven._[444] Disquiet seas, lay down your swelling looks, And court Æneas with your calmy cheer, Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud, Had not the heavens, conceiv'd with hell-born clouds, Veil'd his resplendent glory from your view: For my sake, pity him, Oceanus, That erst-while issu'd from thy watery loins, And had my being from thy bubbling froth. Triton, I know, hath filled his trump with Troy, 130 And therefore will take pity on his toil, And call both Thetis and Cymothoe[445] To succour him in this extremity. _Enter_ ÆNEAS, ASCANIUS, ACHATES, _and others._ What do I see? my son now come on shore? Venus, how art thou compassed with content, The while thine eyes attract their sought-for joys! Great Jupiter, still honoured mayst thou be For this so friendly aid in time of need! Here in this bush disguisèd will I stand, Whiles my Æneas spends himself in plaints, 140 And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints. _Æn._ You sons of care, companions of my course, Priam's misfortune follows us[2] by sea, And Helen's rape doth haunt us[446] at our heels. How many dangers have we overpass'd! Both barking Scylla,[447] and the sounding rocks, The Cyclops' shelves, and grim Ceraunia's seat, Have you o'ergone, and yet remain alive. Pluck up your hearts, since Fate still rests our friend, And changing heavens may those good days return, 150 Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride. _Ach._ Brave prince of Troy, thou only art our god, That by thy virtues free'st us from annoy, And makes our hopes survive to coming[448] joys: Do thou but smile, and cloudy heaven will clear, Whose night and day descendeth from thy brows. Though we be now in extreme misery, And rest the map of weather-beaten woe,[449] Yet shall the agèd sun shed forth his hair,[450] To make us live unto our former heat, 160 And every beast the forest doth send forth Bequeath her young ones to our scanted food.