Priest. Retire a while
Behind this bush, till we have known that vile
Abuser of young maidens.

[They retire.

Enter Sullen Shepherd.

Sull. Shep. Stay thy pace,
Most lovèed Amarillis; let the chase
Grow calm and milder; fly me not so fast:
I fear the pointed brambles have unlaced
Thy golden buskins. Turn again, and see
Thy shepherd follow, that is strong and free,
Able to give thee all content and ease:
I am not bashful, virgin; I can please
At first encounter, hug thee in mine arm,
And give thee many kisses, soft and warm
As those the sun prints on the smiling cheek
Of plums or mellow peaches; I am sleek
And smooth as Neptune when stern Æolus
Locks up his surly winds, and nimbly thus
Can show my active youth. Why dost thou fly?
Remember, Amarillis, it was I
That killed Alexis for thy sake, and set
An everlasting hate ’twixt Amoret
And her belovèed Perigot; ’twas I
That drowned her in the well, where she must lie
Till time shall leave to be. Then, turn again,
Turn with thy open arms, and clip the swain
That hath performed all this; turn, turn, I say;
I must not be deluded.

Priest. [Coming forward.] Monster, stay!
Thou that art like a canker to the state
Thou liv’st and breath’st in, eating with debate
Through every honest bosom, forcing still
The veins of any that may serve thy will;
Thou that hast offered with a sinful hand
To seize upon this virgin, that doth stand
Yet trembling here!

Sull. Shep. Good holiness, declare
What had the danger been, if being bare
I had embraced her; tell me, by your art,
What coming wonders would that sight impart.

Priest. Lust and a branded soul.

Sull. Shep. Yet, tell me more;
Hath not our mother Nature, for her store
And great encrease, said it is good and just,
And willed that every living creature must
Beget his like?

Priest. You’re better read than I,
I must confess, in blood and lechery.—
Now to the bower, and bring this beast along,
Where he may suffer penance for his wrong.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—Part of the Wood.

Enter Perigot, with his hand bloody.

Peri. Here will I wash it in the morning’s dew,
Which she on every little grass doth strew
In silver drops against the sun’s appear:
’Tis holy water, and will make me clear.
My hand will not be cleansed.—My wrongèed love,
If thy chaste spirit in the air yet move,
Look mildly down on him that yet doth stand
All full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand;
And though I struck thee undeservedly,
Let my revenge on her that injured thee
Make less a fault which I intended not,
And let these dew-drops wash away my spot!—
It will not cleanse. Oh, to what sacred flood
Shall I resort, to wash away this blood?
Amidst these trees the holy Clorin dwells,
In a low cabin of cut boughs, and heals
All wounds: to her I will myself address,
And my rash faults repentantly confess;
Perhaps she’ll find a means, by art or prayer,
To make my hand, with chaste blood stainèed, fair.
That done, not far hence, underneath some tree
I’ll have a little cabin built, since she
Whom I adored is dead; there will I give
Myself to strictness, and, like Clorin, live.

[Exit.

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

Clorin discovered sitting in the Bower, Amoret sitting on one side of her, Alexis and Cloe on the other; the Satyr standing by.