Monsieur Æneas went his waies;
For which I con him little praise,
To leave a Lady, not i' th' Mire,
But which was worser, in the Fire.
He Neuter-like, had no great aim,
To kindle or put out the flame.
He had what he would have, the Wind;
More than ten Dido's to his mind.
The merry gale was all in Poop,
Which made the Trojans all cry Hoop!