_Per_. Here will I wash it in this mornings 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 hands will not be cleans'd. My wronged 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 injur'd thee Make less a fault which I intended not, And let these dew drops wash away my spot. It will not cleanse. O to what sacred Flood Shall I resort to wash away this blood? Amid'st these Trees the holy _Clorin_ dwells In a low Cabin of cut Boughs, and heals All Wounds; to her I will my self address, And my rash faults repentantly confess; Perhaps she'll find a means by Art or Prayer, To make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair: That done, not far hence underneath some Tree, I'll have a little Cabin built, since she Whom I ador'd is dead, there will I give My self to strictness, and like _Clorin_ live. [_Exit_. _The Curtain is drawn_, Clorin _appears sitting in the Cabin,_ Amoret _sitting on the one side of her_, Alexis _and_ Cloe _on the other, the_ Satyr _standing by._ _Clo_. Shepherd, once more your blood is staid, Take example by this Maid, Who is heal'd ere you be pure, So hard it is lewd lust to cure. Take heed then how you turn your eye On each other lustfully: And Shepherdess take heed lest you Move his willing eye thereto; Let no wring, nor pinch, nor smile Of yours his weaker sense beguile. Is your Love yet true and chaste, And for ever so to last? _Alex_. I have forgot all vain desires, All looser thoughts, ill tempred fires, True Love I find a pleasant fume, Whose moderate heat can ne'r consume. _Clo_. And I a new fire feel in me, Whose chaste flame is not quencht to be. _Clor_. Join your hands with modest touch, And for ever keep you such. _Enter_ Perigot. _Per_. Yon is her Cabin, thus far off I'll stand, And call her forth; for my unhallowed hand I dare not bring so near yon sacred place. _Clorin_ come forth, and do a timely grace To a poor Swain. _Clo_. What art thou that dost call? _Clorin_ is ready to do good to all: Come near. _Peri_. I dare not. _Clor. Satyr_, see Who it is that calls on me. _Sat_. There at hand, some Swain doth stand, Stretching out a bloudy hand. _Peri_. Come _Clorin_, bring thy holy waters clear, To wash my hand. _Clo_. What wonders have been here To night? stretch forth thy hand young Swain, Wash and rub it whilest I rain Holy water. _Peri_. Still you pour, But my hand will never scower. _Clor. Satyr_, bring him to the Bower, We will try the Soveraign power Of other waters. _Satyr_. Mortal, sure 'Tis the Blood of Maiden pure That stains thee so. [_The_ Satyr _leadeth him to the Bower, where he spieth_ Amoret, _and kneeling down, she knoweth him_.