Enter Sullen Shepherd.

Sull. Shep. Stay, Amarillis, stay!
You are too fleet; ’tis two hours yet to day.
I have performed my promise; let us sit
And warm our bloods together, till the fit
Come lively on us.

Amar. Friend, you are too keen;
The morning riseth, and we shall be seen;
Forbear a little.

Sull. Shep. I can stay no longer.

Amar. Hold, shepherd, hold! learn not to be a wronger
Of your word. Was not your promise laid,
To break their loves first?

Sull. Shep. I have done it, maid.

Amar. No; they are yet unbroken, met again,
And are as hard to part yet as the stain
Is from the finest lawn.

Sull. Shep. I say, they are
Now at this present parted, and so far
That they shall never meet.

Amar. Swain, ’tis not so;
For do but to yon hanging mountain go,
And there believe your eyes.

Sull. Shep. You do but hold
Off with delays and trifles.—Farewell, cold
And frozen bashfulness, unfit for men!—
Thus I salute thee, virgin!

[Attempts to seize her.

Amar. And thus, then,
I bid you follow: catch me if you can!

[Exit running.

Sull. Shep. And, if I stay behind, I am no man!

[Exit, running after her.

SCENE IV.—A Dale in the Wood.

Enter Perigot.

Peri. Night, do not steal away; I woo thee yet
To hold a hard hand o’er the rusty bit
That guides thy lazy team. Go back again,
Boötes, thou that driv’st thy frozen wain
Round as a ring, and bring a second night,
To hide my sorrows from the coming light;
Let not the eyes of men stare on my face,
And read my falling; give me some black place,
Where never sunbeam shot his wholesome light,
That I may sit and pour out my sad sprite
Like running water, never to be known
After the forcèed fall and sound is gone.

Enter Amoret.

Amo. This is the bottom.—Speak, if thou be here,
My Perigot! Thy Amoret, thy dear,
Calls on thy lovèed name.

Peri. What art thou dare
Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care
Dwell on the face of darkness?

Amo. ’Tis thy friend,
Thy Amoret, come hither, to give end
To these consumings. Look up, gentle boy:
I have forgot those pains and dear annoy
I suffered for thy sake, and am content
To be thy love again. Why hast thou rent
Those curlèed locks, where I have often hung
Ribbons and damask-roses, and have flung
Waters distilled, to make thee fresh and gay,
Sweeter than nosegays on a bridal day?
Why dost thou cross thine arms, and hang thy face
Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace
From those two little heavens, upon the ground,
Showers of more price, more orient, and more round,
Than those that hang upon the