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. 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 fortunaté 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.