Virg. 
   It will be thought a thing ridiculous
   To present eyes, and to all future times
   A gross untruth, that any poet, void
   Of birth, or wealth, or temporal dignity,
   Should, with decorum, trauscend Caesar’s chair. 
   Poor virtue raised, high birth and wealth set under,
   Crosseth heaven’s courses, and makes worldlings wonder.

Caes. 
   The course of heaven, and fate itself, in this,
   Will Ceasar cross; much more all worldly custom.

Hor. 
   Custom, in course of honour, ever errs;
   And they are best whom fortune least prefers.

Caes. 
   Horace hath but more strictly spoke our thoughts. 
   The vast rude swing of general confluence
   Is, in particular ends, exempt from sense: 
   And therefore reason (which in right should be
   The special rector of all harmony)
   Shall shew we are a man distinct by it,
   From those, whom custom rapteth in her press. 
   Ascend then, Virgil; and where first by chance
   We here have turn’d thy book, do thou first read.

Virg. 
   Great Caesar hath his will; I will ascend. 
   ’Twere simple injury to his free hand,
   That sweeps the cobwebs from unused virtue,
   And makes her shine proportion’d to her worth,
   To be more nice to entertain his grace,
   Than he is choice, and liberal to afford it.

Caes. 
   Gentlemen of our chamber, guard the doors,
   And let none enter;
                                                [Exeunt Equites.]
                       peace.  Begin, good Virgil.

Virg. 
   Meanwhile the skies ’gan thunder, and in tail
   Of that, fell pouring storms of sleet and hail: 
   The Tyrian lords and Trojan youth, each where
   With Venus’ Dardane nephew, now, in fear,
   Seek out for several shelter through the plain,
   Whilst floods come rolling from the hills amain. 
   Dido a cave, the Trojan prince the same
   Lighted upon.  There earth and heaven’s great dame,
   That hath the charge of marriage, first gave sign
   Unto his contract; fire and air did shine,
   As guilty of the match; and from the hill
   The nymphs with shriekings do the region fill. 
   Here first began their bane; this day was ground
   Of all their ills; for now, nor rumour’s sound,
   Nor nice respect of state, moves Dido ought;
   Her love no longer now by stealth is sought: 
   She calls this wedlock, and with that fair name
   Covers her fault.  Forthwith the bruit and fame,
   Through all the greatest Lybian towns is gone;
   Fame, a fleet evil, than which is swifter none,
   That moving grows, and flying gathers strength,
   Little at first, and fearful; but at length
   She dares attempt the skies, and stalking proud
   With feet on ground, her head doth pierce a cloud! 
   This child, our parent earth, stirr’d