SOPHOS. Will heavens still smile at Sophos' miseries, And give no end to my incessant moans? These cypress shades are witness of my woes; The senseless trees do grieve at my laments; The leafy branches drop sweet Myrrha's tears: For love did scorn me in my mother's womb, And sullen Saturn, pregnant at my birth, With all the fatal stars conspir'd in one To frame a hapless constellation, Presaging Sophos' luckless destiny. Here, here doth Sophos turn Ixion's restless wheel, And here lies wrapp'd in labyrinths of love-- Of his sweet Lelia's love, whose sole idea still Prolongs the hapless date of Sophos' hopeless life. Ah! said I life? a life far worse than death-- Than death? ay, than ten thousand deaths. I daily die, in that I live love's thrall; They die thrice happy that once die for all. Here will I stay my weary wand'ring steps, And lay me down upon this solid earth, [_He lies down_. The mother of despair and baleful thoughts. Ay, this befits my melancholy moods. Now, now, methinks I hear the pretty birds With warbling tunes record Fair Lelia's name, Whose absence makes warm blood drop from my heart, And forceth wat'ry tears from these my weeping eyes. Methinks I hear the silver-sounding stream With gentle murmur summon me to sleep, Singing a sweet, melodious lullaby. Here will I take a nap, and drown my hapless hopes In the ocean seas of _Never like to speed_. [_He falls in a slumber, and music sounds_. _Enter_ SYLVANUS. 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_.