Sapho. Nay then, I despair of help, if our disease be not all one.
Phao. I would our diseases were all one!
Sapho. It goes hard with the patient, when the physician is desperate.
Phao. Yet Medea made the ever-waking dragon to snort, when she (poor soul) could not wink.
Sapho. Medea was in love, and nothing could cause her rest but Jason.
Phao. Indeed I know no herb to make lovers sleep but Heart’s Ease: which, because it groweth so high, I cannot reach, for—
Sapho. For whom?
Phao. For such as love—
Sapho. It stoopeth very low, and I can never stoop to it, that——
Phao. That what?