From ‘broidered couches pour their offering of wine,
Dost thou regard th’ affairs of men? or is ‘t in vain
We tremble, father, when thou hurl’st thy thunderbolts?
And is it only aimless flashings that we fear,
And meaningless vain mutterings that fill the sky?
That vagrant queen to whom we gave within our bounds
A site whereon to build her town, a bit of shore
To till, and granted full possession of the place,
Hath this our suit disdained and to her realm received
Æneas as her lord. And now that puny prince,