Iup. What ist sweet wagge I should deny thy youth? 
Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes,
As I exhal’d with thy fire darting beames,
Haue oft driuen backe the horses of the night. 
When as they would haue hal’d thee from my sight: 
Sit on my knee, and call for thy content,
Controule proud Fate, and cut the thred of time,
Why are not all the Gods at thy commaund,
And heauen and earth the bounds of thy delight?
Vulcan shall daunce to make thee laughing sport,
And my nine Daughters sing when thou art sad,
From Iunos bird Ile pluck her spotted pride,
To make thee fannes wherewith to coole thy face,
And Venus Swannes shall shed their siluer downe,
To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed: 
Hermes no more shall shew the world his wings,
If that thy fancie in his feathers dwell,
But as this one Ile teare them all from him,
Doe thou but say their colour pleaseth me: 
Hold here my little loue these linked gems,
My Iuno ware vpon her marriage day,
Put thou about thy necke my owne sweet heart,
And tricke thy armes and shoulders with my theft.

Gan. I would haue a iewell for mine eare, And a fine brouch to put in my hat, And then Ile hugge with you an hundred times.

Iup. And shall haue Ganimed, if thou wilt be my loue.

Enter Venus.

Venus. I this is it, you can sit toying there,
And playing with that female wanton boy,
Whiles my AEneas wanders on the Seas,
And rests a pray to euery billowes pride.
Iuno, false Iuno in her Chariots pompe,
Drawne through the heauens by Steedes of Boreas brood,
Made Hebe to direct her ayrie wheeles
Into the windie countrie of the clowdes,
Where finding AEolus intrencht with stormes,
And guarded with a thousand grislie ghosts,
She humbly did beseech him for our bane,
And charg’d him drowne my sonne with all his traine. 
Then gan the windes breake ope their brazen doores,
And all AEolia to be vp in armes: 
Poore Troy must now be sackt vpon the Sea,
And Neptunes waues be enuious men of warre,
Epeus horse to AEtnas hill transformd,
Prepared stands to wracke their woodden walles,
And AEolus like Agamemnon sounds
The surges, his fierce souldiers to the spoyle: 
See how the night Ulysses-like comes forth,
And intercepts the day as Dolon erst: 
Ay me! the Starres supprisde like Rhesus Steedes,
Are drawne by darknes forth Astraeus tents. 
What shall I doe to saue thee my sweet boy? 
When as the waues doe threat our Chrystall world,
And Proteus raising hils of flouds on high,
Entends ere long to sport him in the skie. 
False Iupiter, rewardst thou vertue so? 
What? is not pietie exempt from woe? 
Then dye AEneas in thine innocence,
Since that religion hath no recompence.