The Works of Christopher Marlowe Volume II Part 63

_Ven._ I, this is it: you can sit toying there, 50 And playing with that female wanton boy, Whiles my aeneas wanders on the seas, And rests a prey to every billow's pride.

Juno, false Juno, in her chariot's pomp, Drawn through the heavens by steeds of Boreas' brood, Made Hebe to direct her airy wheels; Into the windy country of the clouds; Where, finding aeolus entrenched with storms, And guarded with a thousand grisly ghosts, She humbly did beseech him for our bane, 60 And charged him drown my son with all his train.

Then gan the winds break ope their brazen doors, And all aeolia to be up in arms; Poor Troy must now be sacked upon the sea, And Neptune's waves be envious men of war; Epeus' horse, to aetna's hill transform'd, Prepared stands to wreck their wooden walls; And aeolus, like Agamemnon, sounds The surges, his fierce soldiers, to the spoil: See how the night, Ulysses-like, comes forth, 70 And intercepts the day, as Dolon erst!

Ay me! the stars supprised,[436] like Rhesus' steeds, Are drawn by darkness forth Astraeus' tents.[437]

What shall I do to save thee, my sweet boy?

Whenas the waves do threat our crystal world, And Proteus, raising hills of floods on high, Intends, ere long, to sport him in the sky.[438]

False Jupiter, reward'st thou virtue so?

What, is not piety exempt from woe?

Then die, aeneas, in thine innocence, 80 Since that religion hath no recompense.

_Jup._ Content thee, Cytherea, in thy care,

Since thy aeneas' wandering fate is firm,[439]

Whose weary limbs shall shortly make repose In those fair walls I promised him of yore.

But, first, in blood must his good fortune bud, Before he be the lord of Turnus' town, Or force her smile that hitherto hath frowned: Three winters shall he with the Rutiles war, And, in the end, subdue them with his sword; 90 And full three summers likewise shall he waste In managing those fierce barbarian minds; Which once performed, poor Troy, so long suppressed, From forth her ashes shall advance her head, And flourish once again, that erst was dead.

But bright Ascanius, beauty's better work, Who with the sun divides one radiant shape, Shall build his throne amidst those starry towers That earth-born Atlas, groaning, underprops: No bounds, but heaven, shall bound his empery, 100 Whose azured gates, enchased with his name, Shall make the Morning haste her grey uprise, To feed her eyes with his engraven fame.

Thus, in stout Hector's race, three hundred years[440]

The Roman sceptre royal shall remain, Till that a princess-priest,[441] conceived by Mars, Shall yield to dignity a double birth, Who will eternish[442] Troy in their attempts.

_Ven._ How may I credit these thy flattering terms, When yet both sea and sands beset their s.h.i.+ps, 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-G.o.d, 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 st.u.r.dy bra.s.s, 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 aeneas with your calmy cheer, Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud, Had not the heavens, conceiv'd with h.e.l.l-born clouds, Veil'd his resplendent glory from your view: For my sake, pity him, Ocea.n.u.s, 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_ aeNEAS, ASCANIUS, ACHATES, _and others._

What do I see? my son now come on sh.o.r.e?

Venus, how art thou compa.s.sed 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 disguised will I stand, Whiles my aeneas spends himself in plaints, 140 And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints.

_aen._ 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 overpa.s.s'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 G.o.d, 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 aged 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.

_Asc._ Father, I faint; good father, give me meat.

_aen._ Alas! sweet boy, thou must be still a while, Till we have fire to dress the meat we killed!

Gentle Achates, reach the tinder-box, That we may make a fire to warm us with, And roast our new-found victuals on this sh.o.r.e.

_Ven._ See, what strange arts necessity finds out!

How near, my sweet aeneas, art thou driven! [_Aside._

_aen._ Hold; take this candle, and go light a fire; 171 You shall have leaves and windfall boughs enow, Near to these woods, to roast your meat withal.-- Ascanius, go and dry thy drenched limbs, Whiles I with my Achates rove abroad, To know what coast the wind hath driven us on, Or whether men or beasts inhabit it.

[_Exeunt_ ASCANIUS _and others._

_Ach._ The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit For cities and society's supports; Yet much I marvel that I cannot find 180 No steps of men imprinted in the earth.

_Ven._ Now is the time for me to play my part.-- [_Aside._ Ho, young men! saw you, as you came,[451]

Any of all my sisters wandering here, Having a quiver girded to her side, And clothed in a spotted leopard's skin?

_aen._ I neither saw nor heard of any such.

But what may I, fair virgin, call your name, Whose looks set forth no mortal form to view, Nor speech bewrays aught human in thy birth? 190 Thou art a G.o.ddess that delud'st our eyes, And shrouds thy beauty in this borrow'd shape; But whether thou the Sun's bright sister be, Or one of chaste Diana's fellow-nymphs, Live happy in the height of all content, And lighten our extremes with this one boon, As to instruct us under what good heaven We breathe as now, and what this world is called On which by tempests' fury we are cast: Tell us, O, tell us, that are ignorant! 200 And this right hand shall make thy altars crack With mountain-heaps of milk-white sacrifice.

_Ven._ Such honour, stranger, do I not affect: It is the use for Tyrian[452] maids to wear Their bow and quiver in this modest sort, And suit themselves in purple for the nonce, That they may trip more lightly o'er the lawnds,[453]

And overtake the tusked boar in chase.

But for the land whereof thou dost inquire, It is the Punic kingdom, rich and strong, 210 Adjoining on Agenor's stately town, The kingly seat of Southern Libya, Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as queen.

But what are you that ask of me these things?

Whence may you come, or whither will you go?

_aen._ Of Troy am I, aeneas is my name; Who, driven by war from forth my native world, Put sails to sea to seek out Italy; And my divine descent from sceptred Jove: With twice twelve Phrygian s.h.i.+ps I plough'd the deep, 220 And made that way my mother Venus led; But of them all scarce seven do anchor safe, And they so wrecked and weltered by the waves, As every tide tilts 'twixt their oaken sides; And all of them, unburdened of their load, Are balla.s.sed with billows' watery weight.

But hapless I, G.o.d wot, poor and unknown, Do trace these Libyan deserts, all despised, Exiled forth Europe and wide Asia both, And have not any coverture but heaven. 230

_Ven._ Fortune hath favour'd thee, whate'er thou be, In sending thee unto this courteous coast.

A' G.o.d's name, on! and haste thee to the court, Where Dido will receive ye with her smiles; And for thy s.h.i.+ps, which thou supposest lost, Not one of them hath perish'd in the storm, But are arrived safe, not far from hence: And so I leave thee to thy fortune's lot, Wis.h.i.+ng good luck unto thy wandering steps. [_Exit._

_aen._ Achates, 'tis my mother that is fled; 240 I know her by the movings of her feet.-- Stay, gentle Venus, fly not from thy son!

Too cruel, why wilt thou forsake me thus, Or in these shades[454] deceiv'st mine eyes so oft?

Why talk we not together hand in hand, And tell our griefs in more familiar terms?

But thou art gone, and leav'st me here alone, To dull the air with my discoursive moan.

[_Exuent._

SCENE II.

_Enter_[455] IARBUS, _followed by_ ILIONEUS, CLOANTHUS,[456] SERGESTUS, _and others_.

_Ili._ Follow, ye Trojans, follow this brave lord, And plain to him the sum of your distress.

_Iar._ Why, what are you, or wherefore do you sue?

_Ili._ Wretches[457] of Troy, envied of the winds, That crave such favour at your honour's feet As poor distressed misery may plead: Save, save, O, save our s.h.i.+ps from cruel fire, That do complain the wounds of thousand waves, And spare our lives, whom every spite pursues!

We come not, we, to wrong your Libyan G.o.ds, 10 Or steal your household Lares from their shrines; Our hands are not prepared to lawless spoil.

Nor armed to offend in any kind; Such force is far from our unweapon'd thoughts Whose fading weal, of victory forsook, Forbids all hope to harbour near our hearts.

_Iar._ But tell me, Trojans, Trojans if you be, Unto what fruitful quarters were ye bound, Before that Boreas buckled with[458] your sails?

_Clo._ There is a place, Hesperia termed by us, 20 An ancient empire, famoused for arms, And fertile in fair 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, gloomy Orion rose, And led our s.h.i.+ps into the shallow sands, Whereas the southern wind with brackish breath Dispersed them all amongst the wreckful rocks: From thence a few of us escaped to land; 30 The rest, we fear, are folded in the floods.