SOPHOS. 
I am not rich, I am not very poor;
I neither want, nor ever shall exceed: 
The mean is my content; I live ’twixt two extremes.

GRIPE.  Well, well; I tell ye I like not you should come to my house, and presume so proudly to match your poor pedigree with my daughter Lelia, and therefore I charge you to get off my ground, come no more at my house.  I like not this learning without living, I.

SOPHOS. 
He needs must go that the devil drives: 
Sic virtus sine censu languet. [Exit SOPHOS.

GRIPE.  O Master Churms, cry you mercy, sir; I saw not you.  I think I have sent the scholar away with a flea in his ear.  I trow, he’ll come no more at my house.

CHURMS.
No; for if he do, you may indict him for coming of your ground.

GRIPE.  Well, now I’ll home, and keep in my daughter.  She shall neither go to him nor send to him; I’ll watch her, I’ll warrant her.  Before God, Master Churms, it is the peevishest girl that ever I knew in my life; she will not be ruled, I doubt.  Pray ye, sir, do you endeavour to persuade her to take Peter Plod-all.

CHURMS.
I warrant ye, I’ll persuade her; fear not.

[Exeunt.

Enter LELIA and NURSE.

LELIA. 
What sorrow seizeth on my heavy heart! 
Consuming care possesseth ev’ry part: 
Heart-sad Erinnis keeps his mansion here
Within the closure of my woful breast;
And black Despair with iron sceptre stands,
And guides my thoughts down to his hateful cell. 
The wanton winds with whistling murmur bear
My piercing plaints along the desert plains;
And woods and groves do echo forth my woes: 
The earth below relents in crystal tears,
When heav’ns above, by some malignant course
Of fatal stars, are authors of my grief. 
Fond love, go hide thy shafts in folly’s den,
And let the world forget thy childish force;
Or else fly, fly, pierce Sophos’ tender breast,
That he may help to sympathise these plaints,
That wring these tears from Lelia’s weeping eyes.

NURSE.  Why, how now, mistress? what, is it love that makes you weep, and toss, and turn so a-nights, when you are in bed?  Saint Leonard grant you fall not love-sick.

LELIA. 
Ay, that’s the point that pierceth to the quick. 
Would Atropos would cut my vital thread,
And so make lavish of my loathed life: 
Or gentle heav’ns would smile with fair aspect,
And so give better fortunes to my love! 
Why, is’t not a plague to be a prisoner to mine own father?

NURSE. 
Yes, and ’t’s a shame for him to use you so too: 
But be of good cheer, mistress; I’ll go
To Sophos ev’ry day; I’ll bring you tidings
And tokens too from him, I’ll warrant ye;
And if he’ll send you a kiss or two, I’ll bring it. 
Let me alone; I am good at a dead lift: 
Marry, I cannot blame you for loving of Sophos;
Why, he’s a man as one should picture him in wax. 
But, mistress—­out upon’s! wipe your eyes,
For here comes another wooer.