_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 dwell In horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell, Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid, That yet untainted _Amoret_, that plaid The careless prodigal, and gave away My soul to this young man, that now dares say I 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'd To win me, but this swain, and yet confess I have been woo'd by many with no less Soul of affection, and have often had Rings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the lad That feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and Doves By young _Alexis; Daphnis_ sent me gloves, All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor they That sent them did I smile on, or e're lay Up to my after-memory. But why Do 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 room Where every slave is free, and every brest That living breeds new care, now lies at rest, And thither will poor _Amoret_. _Per_. Thou must. Was ever any man so loth to trust His eyes as I? or was there ever yet Any so like as this to _Amoret_? For whose dear sake, I promise if there be A living soul within thee, thus to free Thy body from it. [_He hurts her again_. _Amo_. So, this work hath end: Farewel and live, be constant to thy friend That loves thee next. _Enter_ Satyr, Perigot _runs off_. _Satyr_. See the day begins to break, And the light shoots like a streak Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold, Whilst the morning doth unfold; Now the Birds begin to rouse, And the Squirril from the boughs Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit; The early Lark that erst was mute, Carrols to the rising day Many a note and many a lay: Therefore here I end my watch, Lest the wandring swain should catch Harm, or lose himself. _Amo_. Ah me! _Satyr_. Speak again what e're thou be, I am ready, speak I say: By the dawning of the day, By the power of night and _Pan_, I inforce thee speak again. _Amo_. O I am most unhappy. _Satyr_. Yet more blood! Sure these wanton Swains are wode. Can there be a hand or heart Dare commit so vile a part As this Murther? By the Moon That hid her self when this was done, Never was a sweeter face: I will bear her to the place Where my Goddess keeps; and crave Her to give her life, or grave. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ Clorin.