The Faithful Shepherdess

Clo. Since I beheld yon shaggy man, my BreastDoth pant, each bush, methinks, should hide a Beast:Yet my desire keeps still above my fear,I would fain meet some Shepherd, knew I where:For from one cause of fear I am most free,It is impossible to ravish me,I am so willing. Here upon this groundI left my Love all bloody with his wound;Yet till that fearful shape made me be gone,Though he were hurt, I furnisht was of one,But now both lost. Alexis, speak or move,If thou hast any life, thou art yet my Love.He's dead, or else is with his little mightCrept from the Bank for fear of that ill Spright.Then where art thou that struck'st my love? O stay,Bring me thy self in change, and then I'll sayThou hast some justice, I will make thee trimWith Flowers and Garlands that were meant for him;I'll clip thee round with both mine arms, as fastAs I did mean he should have been embrac'd:But thou art fled. What hope is left for me?I'll run to Daphnis in the hollow tree,Whom I did mean to mock, though hope be small,To make him bold; rather than none at all,I'll try him; his heart, and my behaviour tooPerhaps may teach him what he ought to do. [Exit.

Enter Sullen Shepherd.

Sul. This was the place, 'twas but my feeble sight,Mixt with the horrour of my deed, and night,That shap't these fears, and made me run away,And lose my beauteous hardly gotten prey.Speak gentle Shepherdess, I am alone,And tender love for love: but she is goneFrom me, that having struck her Lover dead,For silly fear left her alone and fled.And see the wounded body is remov'dBy her of whom it was so well belov'd.

Enter Perigot and Amaryllis in the shape of Amoret.

But these fancies must be quite forgot,I must lye close. Here comes young PerigotWith subtile Amaryllis in the shapeOf Amoret. Pray Love he may not 'scape.Amar. Beloved Perigot, shew me some place,Where I may rest my limbs, weak with the ChaceOf thee, an hour before thou cam'st at least.Per. Beshrew my tardy steps: here shalt thou restUpon this holy bank, no deadly SnakeUpon this turf her self in folds doth make.Here is no poyson for the Toad to feed;Here boldly spread thy hands, no venom'd WeedDares blister them, no slimy Snail dare creepOver thy face when thou art fast asleep;Here never durst the babling Cuckow spit,No slough of falling Star did ever hitUpon this bank: let this thy Cabin be,This other set with Violets for me.Ama. Thou dost not love me Perigot.Per. Fair maid,You only love to hear it often said;You do not doubt.Amar. Believe me but I do.Per. What shall we now begin again to woo?'Tis the best way to make your Lover last,To play with him, when you have caught him fast.Amar. By Pan I swear, I loved Perigot,And by yon Moon, I think thou lov'st me not.Per. By Pan I swear, and if I falsely swear,Let him not guard my flocks, let Foxes tearMy earliest Lambs, and Wolves whilst I do sleepFall on the rest, a Rot among my Sheep.I love thee better than the careful EweThe new-yean'd Lamb that is of her own hew;I dote upon thee more than the young LambDoth on the bag that feeds him from his Dam.Were there a sort of Wolves got in my Fold,And one ran after thee, both young and oldShould be devour'd, and it should be my strifeTo save thee, whom I love above my life.Ama. How shall I trust thee when I see thee chuseAnother Bed, and dost my side refuse?Per. 'Twas only that the chast thoughts might be shewn'Twixt thee and me, although we were alone.Ama. Come, Perigot will shew his power, that heCan make his Amoret, though she weary be,Rise nimbly from her Couch, and come to his.Here take thy Amoret, embrace and kiss.Per. What means my Love?Ama. To do as lovers shou'd,That are to be enjoy'd, not to be woo'd.There's ne'r a Shepherdess in all the plainCan kiss thee with more Art, there's none can feignMore wanton tricks.Per. Forbear, dear Soul, to trieWhether my Heart be pure; I'll rather dieThan nourish one thought to dishonour thee.Amar. Still think'st thou such a thing as ChastitieIs amongst Women? Perigot there's none,That with her Love is in a Wood alone,And would come home a maid; be not abus'dWith thy fond first Belief, let time be us'd:Why dost thou rise?Per. My true heart thou hast slain.Ama. Faith Perigot, I'll pluck thee down again.Per. Let go, thou Serpent, that into my brestHast with thy cunning div'd; art not in Jest?Ama. Sweet love, lye down.Per. Since this I live to see,Some bitter North-wind blast my flocks and me.Ama. You swore you lov'd, yet will not do my will.Per. O be as thou wert once, I'll love thee still.Ama. I am, as still I was, and all my kind,Though other shows we have poor men to blind.Per. Then here I end all Love, and lest my vainBelief should ever draw me in again,Before thy face that hast my Youth misled,I end my life, my blood be on thy head.Ama. O hold thy hands, thy Amoret doth cry.Per. Thou counsel'st well, first Amoret shall dye,That is the cause of my eternal smart. [He runs after her.Ama. O hold.Per. This steel shall pierce thy lustful heart.[The Sullen Shepherd steps out and uncharms her.Sull. Up and down every where,I strew the herbs to purge the air:Let your Odour drive henceAll mists that dazel sence.Herbs and Springs whose hidden mightAlters Shapes, and mocks the sight,Thus I charge you to undoAll before I brought ye to:Let her flye, let her 'scape,Give again her own shape.

Enter Amaryllis in her own shape.

Amar. Forbear thou gentle Swain, thou dost mistake,She whom thou follow'dst fled into the brake,And as I crost thy way, I met thy wrath,The only fear of which near slain me hath.Per. Pardon fair Shepherdess, my rage and nightWere both upon me, and beguil'd my sight;But far be it from me to spill the bloodOf harmless Maids that wander in the Wood. [Ex. Ama.

Enter Amoret.

Amor. Many a weary step in yonder pathPoor hopeless Amoret twice trodden hathTo seek her Perigot, yet cannot hearHis Voice; my Perigot, she loves thee dearThat calls.Per. See yonder where she is, how fairShe shows, and yet her breath infefts the air.Amo. My Perigot.Per. Here.Amo. Happy.Per. Hapless first: It lights on thee, the next blow is the worst.Amo. Stay Perigot, my love, thou art unjust.Peri. Death is the best reward that's due to lust. [Exit Perigot.Sul. Now shall their love be crost, for being struck,I'le throw her in the Fount, lest being tookBy some night-travaller, whose honest careMay help to cure her. Shepherdess prepareYour self to die.Amo. No Mercy I do crave,Thou canst not give a worse blow than I have;Tell him that gave me this, who lov'd him too,He struck my soul, and not my body through,Tell him when I am dead, my soul shall beAt peace, if he but think he injur'd me.Sul. In this Fount be thy grave, thou wert not meantSure for a woman, thou art so innocent. [flings her into the wellShe cannot scape, for underneath the ground,In a long hollow the clear spring is bound,Till on yon side where the Morns Sun doth look,The strugling water breaks out in a Brook. [Exit.[The God of the River riseth with Amoret in his arms.God. What powerfull charms my streams do bringBack again unto their spring,With such force, that I their god,Three times striking with my Rod,Could not keep them in their ranks:My Fishes shoot into the banks,There's not one that stayes and feeds,All have hid them in the weeds.Here's a mortal almost dead,Faln into my River head,Hallowed so with many a spell,That till now none ever fell.'Tis a Female young and clear,Cast in by some Ravisher.See upon her breast a wound,On which there is no plaister bound.Yet she's warm, her pulses beat,'Tis a sign of life and heat.If thou be'st a Virgin pure,I can give a present cure:Take a drop into thy woundFrom my watry locks more roundThan Orient Pearl, and far more pureThan unchast flesh may endure.See she pants, and from her fleshThe warm blood gusheth out afresh.She is an unpolluted maid;I must have this bleeding staid.From my banks I pluck this flowerWith holy hand, whose vertuous powerIs at once to heal and draw.The blood returns. I never sawA fairer Mortal. Now doth breakHer deadly slumber: Virgin, speak.Amo. Who hath restor'd my sense, given me new breath,And brought me back out of the arms of death?God. I have heal'd thy wounds.Amo. Ay me!God. Fear not him that succour'd thee:I am this Fountains god; below,My waters to a River grow,And 'twixt two banks with Osiers set,That only prosper in the wet,Through the Meadows do they glide,Wheeling still on every side,Sometimes winding round about,To find the evenest channel out.And if thou wilt go with me,Leaving mortal companie,In the cool streams shalt thou lye,Free from harm as well as I:I will give thee for thy food,No Fish that useth in the mud,But Trout and Pike that love to swimWhere the gravel from the brimThrough the pure streams may be seen:Orient Pearl fit for a Queen,Will I give thy love to win,And a shell to keep them in:Not a Fish in all my BrookThat shall disobey thy look,But when thou wilt, come sliding by,And from thy white hand take a fly.And to make thee understand,How I can my waves command,They shall bubble whilst I singSweeter than the silver spring.The SONGDo not fear to put thy feetNaked in the River sweet;Think not Leach, or Newt or ToadWill bite thy foot, when thou hast troad;Nor let the water rising high,As thou wad'st in, make thee crieAnd sob, but ever live with me,And not a wave shall trouble thee._
Amo. Immortal power, that rul'st this holy flood,I know my self unworthy to be woo'dBy thee a god: for e're this, but for theeI should have shown my weak Mortalitie:Besides, by holy Oath betwixt us twain,I am betroath'd unto a Shepherd swain,Whose comely face, I know the gods aboveMay make me leave to see, but not to love.God. May he prove to thee as true.Fairest Virgin, now adieu,I must make my waters fly,Lest they leave their Channels dry,And beasts that come unto the springMiss their mornings watering,Which I would not; for of lateAll the neighbour people sateOn my banks, and from the fold,Two white Lambs of three weeks oldOffered to my Deitie:For which this year they shall be freeFrom raging floods, that as they passLeave their gravel in the grass:Nor shall their Meads be overflown,When their grass is newly mown.Amo. For thy kindness to me shown,Never from thy banks be blownAny tree, with windy force,Cross thy streams, to stop thy course:May no beast that comes to drink,With his horns cast down thy brink;May none that for thy fish do look,Cut thy banks to damm thy Brook;Bare-foot may no Neighbour wadeIn thy cool streams, wife nor maid,When the spawns on stones do lye,To wash their Hemp, and spoil the Fry.God. Thanks Virgin, I must down again,Thy wound will put thee to no pain:Wonder not so soon 'tis gone:A holy hand was laid upon.Amo. And I unhappy born to be,Must follow him that flies from me.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima

Enter Perigot.

Per. She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind,She's gone, she's gone, blow high thou North-west wind,And raise the Sea to Mountains, let the TreesThat dare oppose thy raging fury, leeseTheir firm foundation, creep into the Earth,And shake the world, as at the monstrous birthOf some new Prodigy, whilst I constant stand,Holding this trustie Boar-spear in my hand,And falling thus upon it.

Enter Amaryllis, running.

Amar. Stay thy dead-doing hand, thou art too hotAgainst thy self, believe me comely Swain,If that thou dyest, not all the showers of RainThe heavy clods send down can wash awayThat foul unmanly guilt, the world will layUpon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands:Believe me, she is constant, not the sandsCan be so hardly numbred as she won:I do not trifle, Shepherd, by the Moon,And all those lesser lights our eyes do view,All that I told thee Perigot, is true:Then be a free man, put away despair,And will to dye, smooth gently up that fairDejected forehead: be as when those eyesTook the first heat.Per. Alas he double dyes,That would believe, but cannot; 'tis not wellYe keep me thus from dying, here to dwellWith many worse companions: but oh death,I am not yet inamour'd of this breathSo much, but I dare leave it, 'tis not painIn forcing of a wound, nor after gainOf many dayes, can hold me from my will:'Tis not my self, but Amoret, bids kill.Ama. Stay but a little, little, but one hour,And if I do not show thee through the powerOf herbs and words I have, as dark as night,My self turn'd to thy Amoret, in sight,Her very figure, and the Robe she wears,With tawny Buskins, and the hook she bearsOf thine own Carving, where your names are set,Wrought underneath with many a curious fret,The Prim-Rose Chaplet, taudry-lace and Ring,Thou gavest her for her singing, with each thingElse that she wears about her, let me feelThe first fell stroke of that Revenging steel.Per. I am contented, if there be a hopeTo give it entertainment, for the scopeOf one poor hour; goe, you shall find me nextUnder yon shady Beech, even thus perplext,And thus believing.Ama. Bind before I goe,Thy soul by Pan unto me, not to doeHarm or outragious wrong upon thy life,Till my return.Per. By Pan, and by the strifeHe had with Phoebus for the Mastery,When Golden Midas judg'd their Minstrelcy,I will not. [Exeunt.

Enter Satyr, with Alexis, hurt.

Satyr. Softly gliding as I goe,With this burthen full of woe,Through still silence of the night,Guided by the Gloe-worms light,Hither am I come at last,Many a Thicket have I pastNot a twig that durst deny me,Not a bush that durst descry me,To the little Bird that sleepsOn the tender spray: nor creepsThat hardy worm with pointed tail,But if I be under sail,Flying faster than the wind,Leaving all the clouds behind,But doth hide her tender headIn some hollow tree or bedOf seeded Nettles: not a HareCan be started from his fare,By my footing, nor a wishIs more sudden, nor a fishCan be found with greater ease,Cut the vast unbounded seas,Leaving neither print nor sound,Than I, when nimbly on the ground,I measure many a league an hour:But behold the happy power,That must ease me of my charge,And by holy hand enlargeThe soul of this sad man, that yetLyes fast bound in deadly fit;Heaven and great Pan succour it!Hail thou beauty of the bower,Whiter than the ParamourOf my Master, let me craveThy vertuous help to keep from GraveThis poor Mortal that here lyes,Waiting when the destiniesWill cut off his thred of life:View the wound by cruel knifeTrencht into him.Clor. What art thou call'st me from my holy rites,And with thy feared name of death affrightsMy tender Ears? speak me thy name and will.Satyr. I am the Satyr that did fillYour lap with early fruit, and will,When I hap to gather more,Bring ye better and more store:Yet I come not empty now,See a blossom from the bow,But beshrew his heart that pull'd it,And his perfect sight that cull'd itFrom the other springing blooms;For a sweeter youth the GroomsCannot show me, nor the downs,Nor the many neighbouring towns;Low in yonder glade I found him,Softly in mine Arms I bound him,Hither have I brought him sleepingIn a trance, his wounds fresh weeping,In remembrance such youth maySpring and perish in a day.Clor. Satyr, they wrong thee, that do term thee rude,Though thou beest outward rough and tawny hu'd,Thy manners are as gentle and as fairAs his, who brags himself, born only heirTo all Humanity: let me see the wound:This Herb will stay the current being boundFast to the Orifice, and this restrainUlcers, and swellings, and such inward pain,As the cold air hath forc'd into the sore:This to draw out such putrifying goreAs inward falls.Satyr. Heaven grant it may doe good.Clor. Fairly wipe away the blood:Hold him gently till I flingWater of a vertuous springOn his temples; turn him twiceTo the Moon beams, pinch him thrice,That the labouring soul may drawFrom his great eclipse.Satyr. I saw His eye-lids moving.Clo. Give him breath,All the danger of cold deathNow is vanisht; with this Plaster,And this unction, do I masterAll the festred ill that mayGive him grief another day.Satyr. See he gathers up his sprightAnd begins to hunt for light;Now he gapes and breaths again:How the blood runs to the vein,That erst was empty!Alex. O my heart,My dearest, dearest Cloe, O the smartRuns through my side: I feel some pointed thingPass through my Bowels, sharper than the stingOf Scorpion.  Pan preserve me, what are you?  Do not hurt me, I am true  To my Cloe, though she flye,  And leave me to thy destiny.  There she stands, and will not lend  Her smooth white hand to help her friend:But I am much mistaken, for that faceBears more Austerity and modest grace,  More reproving and more awe  Than these eyes yet ever saw  In my Cloe. Oh my pain  Eagerly renews again.Give me your help for his sake you love best.Clor. Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest,Till thou hast laid aside all hearts desiresProvoking thought that stir up lusty fires,Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and willTo execute, these must be purg'd, untillThe vein grow whiter; then repent, and prayGreat Pan to keep you from the like decay,And I shall undertake your cure with ease.Till when this vertuous Plaster will displeaseYour tender sides; give me your hand and rise:Help him a little Satyr, for his thighsYet are feeble.Alex. Sure I have lost much blood.Satyr. 'Tis no matter, 'twas not good.Mortal you must leave your wooing,Though there be a joy in doing,Yet it brings much grief behind it,They best feel it, that do find it.Clor. Come bring him in, I will attend his soreWhen you are well, take heed you lust no more.Satyr. Shepherd, see what comes of kissing,By my head 'twere better missing.Brightest, if there be remainingAny service, without feigningI will do it; were I setTo catch the nimble wind, or getShadows gliding on the green,Or to steal from the great QueenOf Fayries, all her beauty,I would do it, so much dutyDo I owe those precious Eyes.Clor. I thank thee honest Satyr, if the cryesOf any other that be hurt or ill,Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy willTo bring them hither.Satyr. I will, and when the weatherServes to Angle in the brook,I will bring a silver hook,With a line of finest silk,And a rod as white as milk,To deceive the little fish:So I take my leave, and wish,On this Bower may ever dwellSpring, and Summer.Clo. Friend farewel. [Exit.

Enter Amoret, seeking her Love.

Amor. This place is Ominous, for here I lostMy Love and almost life, and since have crostAll these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell,Where any little Bird, or Beast doth dwell,But I have sought him, never a bending browOf any Hill or Glade, the wind sings through,Nor a green bank, nor shade where Shepherds useTo sit and Riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuseTheir Valentines, that I have mist, to findMy love in. Perigot, Oh too unkind,Why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone?How have I wrong'd thee? was my love aloneTo thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well,I am content to feel it: but I tellThee Shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear,Forsaken Amoret is yet as clearOf any stranger fire, as Heaven isFrom foul corruption, or the deep AbysseFrom light and happiness; and thou mayst knowAll this for truth, and how that fatal blowThou gav'st me, never from desert of mine,Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine,Or fury more than madness; therefore, here,Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear,Upon this cursed place, and on this green,That first divorc'd us, shortly shall be seenA sight of so great pity, that each eyeShall dayly spend his spring in memoryOf my untimely fall.

Enter Amaryllis.

Amar. I am not blind,Nor is it through the working of my mind,That this shows Amoret; forsake me allThat dwell upon the soul, but what men callWonder, or more than wonder, miracle,For sure so strange as this the OracleNever gave answer of, it passeth dreams,Or mad-mens fancy, when the many streamsOf new imaginations rise and fall:'Tis but an hour since these Ears heard her callFor pity to young Perigot; whilest he,Directed by his fury bloodilyLanc't up her brest, which bloodless fell and cold;And if belief may credit what was told,After all this, the Melancholy SwainTook her into his arms being almost slain,And to the bottom of the holy wellFlung her, for ever with the waves to dwell.'Tis she, the very same, 'tis Amoret,And living yet, the great powers will not letTheir vertuous love be crost. Maid, wipe awayThose heavy drops of sorrow, and allayThe storm that yet goes high, which not deprest,Breaks heart and life, and all before it rest:Thy Perigot—Amor. Where, which is Perigot?Amar. Sits there below, lamenting much, god wot,Thee [and thy] fortune, go and comfort him,And thou shalt find him underneath a brimOf sailing Pines that edge yon Mountain in.Amo. I go, I run, Heaven grant me I may winHis soul again. [Exit Amoret.

Enter Sullen.

Sull. Stay Amaryllis, stay,Ye are too fleet, 'tis two hours yet to day.I have perform'd my promise, let us sitAnd warm our bloods together till the fitCome lively on us.Amar. Friend you are too keen,The morning riseth and we shall be seen, Forbear a little.Sull. I can stay no longer.Amar. Hold Shepherd hold, learn not to be a wrongerOf your word, was not your promise laid,To break their loves first?Sull. I have done it Maid.Amar. No, they are yet unbroken, met again,And are as hard to part yet as the stainIs from the finest Lawn.Sull. I say they areNow 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. You do but holdOff with delayes and trifles; farewell coldAnd frozen bashfulness, unfit for men;Thus I salute thee Virgin.Amar. And thus then, I bid you follow, catch me if you can. [Exit.Sull. And if I stay behind I am no man. [Exit running after her.

Enter Perigot.

Per. Night do not steal away: I woo thee yetTo hold a hard hand o're the rusty bitThat guides the lazy Team: go back again,Bootes, thou that driv'st thy frozen WainRound as a Ring, and bring a second NightTo 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 placeWhere never Sun-beam shot his wholesome light,That I may sit and pour out my sad sprightLike running water, never to be knownAfter the forced fall and sound is gone.

Enter Amoret looking for Perigot.

Amo. This is the bottom: speak if thou be here,My Perigot, thy Amoret, thy dearCalls on thy loved Name.Per. What art thou [dare]Tread these forbidden paths, where death and careDwell on the face of darkness?Amo. 'Tis thy friend,Thy Amoret, come hither to give endTo these consumings; look up gentle Boy,I have forgot those Pains and dear annoyI suffer'd for thy sake, and am contentTo be thy love again; why hast thou rentThose curled locks, where I have often hungRiband and Damask-roses, and have flungWaters distil'd to make thee fresh and gay,Sweeter than the Nosegayes on a Bridal day?Why dost thou cross thine Arms, and hang thy faceDown to thy bosom, letting fall apaceFrom those two little Heavens upon the groundShowers of more price, more Orient, and more roundThan those that hang upon the Moons pale brow?Cease these complainings, Shepherd, I am nowThe same I ever was, as kind and free,And can forgive before you ask of me.Indeed I can and will.Per. So spoke my fair.O you great working powers of Earth and Air,Water and forming fire, why have you lentYour hidden vertues of so ill intent?Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hueHad Amoret; such words so smooth and new,Came flying from her tongue; such was her eye,And such the pointed sparkle that did flyeForth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same,The Robe and Buskins, painted Hook, and frameOf all her Body. O me, Amoret!Amo. Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath setSo strong a difference 'twixt my self and meThat I am grown another? look and seeThe Ring thou gav'st me, and about my wristThat curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twistFrom those fair Tresses: knowst thou Amoret?Hath not some newer love forc'd thee forgetThy Ancient faith?Per. Still nearer to my love;These be the very words she oft did proveUpon my temper, so she still would takeWonder into her face, and silent makeSigns with her head and hand, as who would say,Shepherd remember this another day.Amo. Am I not Amaret? where was I lost?Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and mostOf these unconstant? Faith where art thou fled?Are all the vows and protestations dead,The hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart,Is there not one remaining, not a partOf all these to be found? why then I seeMen never knew that vertue Constancie.Per. Men ever were most blessed, till crass fateBrought Love and Women forth, unfortunateTo all that ever tasted of their smiles,Whose actions are all double, full of wiles:Like to the subtil Hare, that 'fore the HoundsMakes many turnings, leaps and many rounds,This way and that way, to deceive the scentOf her pursuers.Amo. 'Tis but to preventTheir speedy coming on that seek her fall,The hands of cruel men, more Bestial,And of a nature more refusing goodThan Beasts themselves, or Fishes of the Flood.Per. Thou art all these, and more than nature meant,When she created all, frowns, joys, content;Extream fire for an hour, and presentlyColder than sleepy poyson, or the Sea,Upon whose face sits a continual frost:Your actions ever driven to the most,Then down again as low, that none can findThe rise or falling of a Womans mind.Amo. Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time,Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crimeAs wronging simple Maid? O Perigot,Thou that wast yesterday without a blot,Thou that wast every good, and every thingThat men call blessed; thou that wast the springFrom whence our looser grooms drew all their best;Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blestIn faith and promise; thou that hadst the nameOf Vertuous given thee, and made good the sameEv'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that allThat men delighted in; Oh what a fallIs this, to have been so, and now to beThe only best in wrong and infamie,And I to live to know this! and by meThat lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or thatWhich we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state;Dearer than Swallows love the early morn,Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn;Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hastAnother, and far dearer than the last;Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though allThe self love were within thee that did fallWith that coy Swain that now is made a flower,For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower.And am I thus rewarded for my flame?Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name?Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head,And noise it to the world my Love is dead:I am forsaken, I am cast away.And left for every lazy Groom to say,I was unconstant, light, and sooner lostThan the quick Clouds we see, or the chill FrostWhen the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet,Canst thou not love again thy Amoret?Per. Thou art not worthy of that blessed name,I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flameUpon some lighter blood, that may be hotWith words and feigned passions: PerigotWas ever yet unstain'd, and shall not nowStoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.Amo. Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right,And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night;And hear me woods, and silence of this place,And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace;Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwellIn horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell,Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid,That yet untainted Amoret, that plaidThe careless prodigal, and gave awayMy soul to this young man, that now dares sayI am a stranger, not the same, more wild;And thus with much belief I was beguil'd.I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd,And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'dTo win me, but this swain, and yet confessI have been woo'd by many with no lessSoul of affection, and have often hadRings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the ladThat feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and DovesBy young Alexis; Daphnis sent me gloves,All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor theyThat sent them did I smile on, or e're layUp to my after-memory. But whyDo I resolve to grieve, and not to dye?Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home;By this time had I found a quiet roomWhere every slave is free, and every brestThat living breeds new care, now lies at rest,And thither will poor Amoret.Per. Thou must.Was ever any man so loth to trustHis eyes as I? or was there ever yetAny so like as this to Amoret?For whose dear sake, I promise if there beA living soul within thee, thus to freeThy body from it. [He hurts her again.Amo. So, this work hath end:Farewel and live, be constant to thy friendThat loves thee next.

Enter Satyr, Perigot runs off.