_Venus._ Fortune hath fauord thee what ere thou be,
In sending thee vnto this curteous Coast:
A Gods name on and hast thee to the Court,
Where _Dido_ will receiue ye with her smiles:
And for thy ships which thou supposest lost,
Not one of them hath perisht in the storme,
But are ariued safe not farre from hence:
And so I leaue thee to thy fortunes lot,
Wishing good lucke vnto thy wandring steps. _Exit_.

_Æn._ _Achates_, tis my mother that is fled,
I know her by the mouings of her feete:
Stay gentle _Venus_, flye not from thy sonne,
Too cruell, why wilt thou forsake me thus?
Or in these shades deceiu'st mine eye so oft?
Why talke we not together hand in hand?
And tell our griefes in more familiar termes:
But thou art gone and leau'st me here alone,
To dull the ayre with my discoursiue moane. _Exit_.

_Enter Illioneus, and Cloanthes._

_Illio._ Follow ye Troians, follow this braue Lord,
And plaine to him the summe of your distresse.

_Iar._ Why, what are you, or wherefore doe you sewe?

_Illio._ Wretches of _Troy_, enuied of the windes,
That craue such fauour at your honors feete,
As poore distressed miserie may pleade: