"Great Jove, to whom our Moorish tribes, reclined On broidered couch, the votive wine-cup drain, See'st thou or, Father, are thy bolts but blind, Mere noise thy thunder, and thy lightnings vain?
This woman here, who, wandering on the main, Bought leave to build and govern as her own Her puny town, and till the sandy plain, Our proffered love hath ventured to disown, And takes a Trojan lord, AEneas, to her throne.
XXVIII.

"And now that Paris, tricked in Lydian guise, With perfumed locks and bonnet, and his crew Of men half-women, gloats upon the prize, While vainly at thy so-called shrines we sue, And nurse a faith as empty as untrue." He prayed and clasped the altar.

His request Jove heard, and to the city bent his view, And saw the guilty lovers, lapt in rest And lost to shame, and thus Cyllenius he addressed: XXIX.

"Go, son, the Zephyrs call, and wing thy flight To Carthage.

Call the Dardan chief away, Who, deaf to Fate, his destined walls doth slight.
This mandate through the wafting air convey, Not such fair Venus did her son pourtray, Nor twice for _this_ from Grecian swords reclaim One born to rule Italia, big with sway And fierce for war, and spread the Teucrian name Through Teucer's sons, and laws to conquered earth proclaim.
XXX.