SOPHOS. 
O, now I know thee, now thou nam’st my friend;
I have no friend, to whom I dare
Unload the burden of my grief,
But only Fortunatus, he’s my second self: 
Mi Fortunate, ter fortunate venis.[151]

FORTUNATUS. 
How fares my friend? methinks you look not well;
Your eyes are sunk, your cheeks look pale and wan: 
What means this alteration?

SOPHOS. 
My mind, sweet friend, is like a mastless ship,
That’s hurl’d and toss’d upon the surging seas
By Boreas’ bitter blast and Ae’lus’ whistling winds,
On rocks and sands far from the wished port,
Whereon my silly ship desires to land: 
Fair Lelia’s love, that is the wished haven,
Wherein my wand’ring mind would take repose;
For want of which my restless thoughts are toss’d,
For want of which all Sophos’ joys are lost.

FORTUNATUS. 
Doth Sophos love my sister Lelia?

SOPHOS. 
She, she it is, whose love I wish to gain,
Nor need I wish, nor do I love in vain: 
My love she doth repay with equal meed—­
’Tis strange, you’ll say, that Sophos should not speed.

FORTUNATUS. 
Your love repaid with equal meed,
And yet you languish still in love? ’tis strange. 
From whence proceeds your grief,
Unfold unto your friend:  a friend may yield relief.

SOPHOS. 
My want of wealth is author of my grief;
Your father says, my state is too-too low: 
I am no hobby bred; I may not soar so high
As Lelia’s love,
The lofty eagle will not catch at flies. 
When I with Icarus would soar against the sun,
He is the only fiery Phaeton
Denies my course, and sears my waxen wings,
When as I soar aloft. 
He mews fair Lelia up from Sophos’ sight,
That not so much as paper pleads remorse. 
Thrice three times Sol hath slept in Thetis’ lap,
Since these mine eyes beheld sweet Lelia’s face: 
What greater grief, what other hell than this,
To be denied to come where my beloved is?

FORTUNATUS. 
Do you alone love Lelia? 
Have you no rivals with you in your love?

SOPHOS. 
Yes, only one; and him your father backs: 
’Tis Peter Plod-all, rich Plod-all’s son and heir,
One whose base, rustic, rude desert
Unworthy far to win so fair a prize;
Yet means your father for to make a match
For golden lucre with this Coridon,
And scorns at virtue’s lore:  hence grows my grief.

FORTUNATUS. 
If it be true I hear, there is one Churms beside
Makes suit to win my sister to his bride.

SOPHOS. 
That cannot be; Churms is my vowed friend,
Whose tongue relates the tenor of my love
To Lelia’s ears:  I have no other means.

FORTUNATUS. 
Well, trust him not:  the tiger hides his claws,
When oft he doth pretend[152] the greatest guiles. 
But stay:  here comes Lelia’s nurse.

    Enter NURSE.