SYLVANUS. 
Thus hath Sylvanus left his leafy bowers,
Drawn by the sound of Echo’s sad reports,
That with shrill notes and high resounding voice
Doth pierce the very caverns of the earth,
And rings through hills and dales the sad laments
Of virtue’s loss and Sophos’ mournful plaints. 
Now, Morpheus, rouse thee from thy sable den,
Charm all his senses with a slumb’ring trance;
Whilst old Sylvanus send[s] a lovely train
Of satyrs, dryades, and water[149] nymphs
Out of their bowers to tune their silver strings,
And with sweet-sounding music sing
Some pleasing madrigals and roundelays,
To comfort Sophos in his deep distress.
                                [Exit SYLVANUS.

Enter the Nymphs and Satyrs singing.

THE SONG.

1.

Satyrs, sing, let sorrow keep her cell,
Let warbling Echoes ring,
And sounding music yell[150]
Through hills, through dales, sad grief and care to kill
In him long since, alas! hath griev’d his fill.

2.

      Sleep no more, but wake and live content,
        Thy grief the Nymphs deplore: 
      The Sylvan gods lament
    To hear, to see thy moan, thy loss, thy love,
    Thy plaints to tears the flinty rocks do move.

3.

      Grieve not, then; the queen of love is mild,
        She sweetly smiles on men,
      When reason’s most beguil’d;
    Her looks, her smiles are kind, are sweet, are fair: 
    Awake therefore, and sleep not still in care.

4.

Love intends to free thee from annoy,
His nymphs Sylvanus sends
To bid thee live in joy,
In hope, in joy, sweet love, delight’s embrace: 
Fair love herself will yield thee so much grace.

[Exeunt the Nymphs and Satyrs.

SOPHOS. 
What do I hear? what harmony is this,
With silver sound that glutteth Sophos’ ears. 
And drives sad passions from his heavy heart,
Presaging some good future hap shall fall,
After these blust’ring blasts of discontent? 
Thanks, gentle Nymphs, and Satyrs too, adieu;
That thus compassionate a loyal lover’s woe,
When heav’n sits smiling at his dire mishaps.

    Enter FORTUNATUS.

FORTUNATUS. 
With weary steps I trace these desert groves,
And search to find out Sophos’ secret walks,
My truest vowed friend and Lelia’s dearest love.

SOPHOS. 
What voice is this sounds Lelia’s sacred name? [He riseth. 
Is it some satyr that hath view’d her late,
And’s grown enamour’d of her gorgeous hue?

FORTUNATUS. 
No satyr, Sophos; but thy ancient friend,
Whose dearest blood doth rest at thy command: 
Hath sorrow lately blear’d thy wat’ry eyes,
That thou forgett’st the lasting league of love,
Long since was vowed betwixt thyself and me? 
Look on me, man; I am thy friend.