Act V

SCENE I.—A Village.

Enter Priest of Pan and Old Shepherd.

Priest. Shepherds, rise, and shake off sleep!
See, the blushing morn doth peep
Through the windows, whilst the sun
To the mountain-tops is run,
Gilding all the vales below
With his rising flames, which grow
Greater by his climbing still.
Up, ye lazy grooms, and fill
Bag and bottle for the field!
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter north-east wind.
Call the maidens up, and find.
Who lay longest, that she may
Go without a friend all day;
Then reward your dogs, and pray
Pan to keep you from decay:
So unfold, and then away!
What, not a shepherd stirring? Sure, the grooms
Have found their beds too easy, or the rooms
Filled with such new delight and heat, that they
Have both forgot their hungry sheep and day.
Knock, that they may remember what a shame
Sloth and neglect lays on a shepherd’s name.

Old Shep. [After knocking at several doors.] It is to little purpose; not a swain
This night hath known his lodging here, or lain
Within these cotes; the woods, or some near town
That is a neighbour to the bordering down,
Hath drawn them thither, ’bout some lusty sport,
Or spicèed wassail bowl, to which resort
All the young men and maids of many a cote,
Whilst the trim minstrel strikes his merry note.

Priest. God pardon sin!—Show me the way that leads
To any of their haunts.

Old Shep. This to the meads,
And that down to the woods.

Priest. Then, this for me.
Come, shepherd, let me crave your company.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The Wood before Clorin’s Bower.

Clorin and Alexis discovered in the bower; at the side of the stage, a hollow tree, in which are Cloe and Daphnis.

Clo. Now your thoughts are almost pure,
And your wound begins to cure;
Strive to banish all that’s vain,
Lest it should break out again.

Alex. Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid!
I find my former wandering thoughts well staid
Through thy wise precepts; and my outward pain
By thy choice herbs is almost gone again:
Thy sex’s vice and virtue are revealed
At once; for what one hurt another healed.

Clo. May thy grief more appease!
Relapses are the worst disease.
Take heed how you in thought offend;
So mind and body both will mend.

Enter Satyr, carrying Amoret.

Amo. Be’st thou the wildest creature of the wood,
That bear’st me thus away, drowned in my blood,
And dying, know I cannot injured be;
I am a maid; let that name fight for me.

Sat. Fairest virgin, do not fear
Me, that doth thy body bear,
Not to hurt, but healed to be;
Men are ruder far than we.—
See, fair goddess, in the wood
They have let out yet more blood:
Some savage man hath struck her breast,
So soft and white, that no wild beast
Durst have touched, asleep or ’wake;
So sweet, that adder, newt, or snake,
Would have lain, from arm to arm,
On her bosom to be warm
All a night, and, being hot,
Gone away, and stung her not.
Quickly clap herbs to her breast.
A man, sure, is a kind of beast.

Clo. With spotless hand on spotless breast
I put these herbs, to give thee rest:
Which till I heal thee, there will bide,
If both be pure; if not, off slide.—
See, it falls off from the wound!
Shepherdess, thou art not sound,
Full of lust.