ay those good daies returne,
Which _Pergama_ did vaunt in all her pride.

_Acha._ Braue Prince of _Troy_, thou onely art our God,
That by thy vertues freest vs from annoy,
And makes our hopes suruiue to cunning ioyes:
Doe thou but smile, and clowdie heauen will cleare,
Whose night and day descendeth from thy browes:
Though we be now in extreame miserie,
And rest the map of weatherbeaten woe:
Yet shall the aged Sunne shed forth his aire,
To make vs liue vnto our former heate,
And euery beast the forrest doth send forth,
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted foode.

_Asca._ Father I faint, good father giue me meate.

_AEn._ Alas sweet boy, thou must be still a while,
Till we haue fire to dresse the meate we kild:
Gentle _Achates_, reach the Tinder boxe,
That we may make a fire to warme vs with,
And rost our new found victuals on this shoare.

_Venus._ See what strange arts necessitie findes out,
How neere my sweet _AEneas_ art thou driuen?

_AEn._ Hold, take this candle and goe light a fire,
You shall haue leaues and windfall bowes enow
Neere to these woods, to rost your meate withall:
_Ascanius_, goe and drie thy drenched lims,
Whiles I with my _Achates_ roaue abroad,
To know what coast the winde hath driuen vs on,
Or whether men or beasts inhabite it.

_Acha._ The ayre is pleasant, and the soyle most fit
For Cities, and societies supports:
Yet much I maruell that I cannot finde,
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.

_Venus._ Now is the time for me to play my part:
Hoe yong men, saw you as you came
Any of all my Sisters wandring here?
Hauing a quiuer girded to her side,
And cloathed in a spotted Leopards skin.

_AEn._ I neither saw nor heard of any such:
But what may I faire Virgin call your name?
Whose lookes set forth no mortall forme to view,
Nor speech bewraies ought humaine in thy birth,
Thou art a Goddesse that delud'st our eyes,
And shrowdes thy beautie in this borrowd shape;
But whether thou the Sunnes bright Sister be,
Or one of chast _Dianas_ fellow Nimphs,
Liue happie in the height of all content,
And lighten our extreames with this one boone,
As to instruct us vnder what good heauen
We breathe as now, and what this world is calde,
On which by tempests furie we are cast,
Tell vs, O tell vs that are ignorant,
And this right hand shall make thy Altars crack
With mountaine heapes of milke white Sacrifize.

_Venus._ Such honour, stranger, doe I not affect:
It is the vse for Turen maid