NURSE. 
Sir, your father did trust him but too much; but I always thought he
would prove a crafty knave.

GRIPE. 
My trust’s betray’d, my joy’s exil’d: 
Grief kills the heart, my hope’s beguil’d.

FORTUNATUS. 
Where golden gain doth blear a father’s eyes,
That precious pearl, fetch’d from Parnassus’ mount,
Is counted refuse, worse than bull’on brass;
Both joys and hopes hang of a silly twine,
That still is subject unto flitting time,
That turns joy into grief, and hope to sad despair,
And ends his days in wretched worldly care. 
Were I the richest monarch under heaven,
And had one daughter thrice as fair
As was the Grecian Menelaus’ wife,
Ere I would match her to an untaught swain,
Though one whose wealth exceeded Croesus’ store,
Herself should choose, and I applaud her choice
Of one more poor than ever Sophos was,
Were his deserts but equal unto his. 
If I might speak without offence,
You were to blame to hinder Lelia’s choice;
As she in nature’s graces doth excel,
So doth Minerva grace him full as well.

NURSE.  Now, by cock and pie, you never spake a truer word in your life.  He’s a very kind gentleman, for, last time he was at our house, he gave me three-pence.

WILL CRICKET.  O, nobly spoken:  God send Peg to prove as wise a woman as her mother, and then we shall be sure to have wise children.  Nay, if he be so liberal, old grandsire, you shall give him the goodwill of your daughter.

GRIPE. 
She is not mine, I have no daughter now: 
That I should say—­I had, thence comes my grief. 
My care of Lelia pass’d a father’s love;
My love of Lelia makes my loss the more;
My loss of Lelia drowns my heart in woe;
My heart’s woe makes this life a living death: 
Care, love, loss, heart’s woe, living death,
Join all in one to stop this vital breath. 
Curs’d be the time I gap’d for golden gain,
I curse the time I cross’d her in her choice;
Her choice was virtuous, but my will was base: 
I sought to grace her from the Indian mines,
But she sought honour from the starry mount. 
What frantic fit possess’d my foolish brain? 
What furious fancy fired so my heart,
To hate fair virtue, and to scorn desert?

FORTUNATUS. 
Then, father, give desert his due;
Let nature’s graces and fair virtue’s gifts
One sympathy and happy consort make
‘Twixt Sophos’ and my sister Lelia’s love: 
Conjoin their hands, whose hearts have long been one. 
And so conclude a happy union.

GRIPE. 
Now ’tis too late: 
What fates decree can never be recall’d;
Her luckless love is fall’n to Churms his lot,
And he usurps fair Lelia’s nuptial bed.

FORTUNATUS. 
That cannot be; fear of pursuit
Must needs prolong his nuptial rights: 
But if you give your full consent,
That Sophos may enjoy his long-wish’d love,
And have fair Lelia to his lovely bride,
I’ll follow Churms whate’er betide;
I’ll be as swift as is the light-foot roe,
And overtake him ere his journey’s end,
And bring fair Lelia back unto my friend.