_Peri_. What e're thou be, Be'st thou her spright, or some divinitie, That in her shape thinks good to walk this grove, Pardon poor _Perigot_. _Amor_. I am thy love, Thy _Amoret_, for evermore thy love: Strike once more on my naked breast, I'le prove As constant still. O couldst thou love me yet; How soon should I my former griefs forget! _Peri_. So over-great with joy, that you live, now I am, that no desire of knowing how Doth seize me; hast thou still power to forgive? _Amo_. Whilest thou hast power to love, or I to live; More welcome now than hadst thou never gone Astray from me. _Peri_. And when thou lov'st alone And not I, death, or some lingring pain That's worse, light on me. _Clor_. Now your stain This perhaps will cleanse again; See the blood that erst did stay, With the water drops away. All the powers again are pleas'd, And with this new knot appeas'd. Joyn your hands, and rise together, _Pan_ be blest that brought you hither. _Enter_ Priest, _and_ Old Shephe[rd]. _Clor_. Go back again what ere thou art, unless Smooth Maiden thoughts possess thee, do not press This hallowed ground. Go _Satyr_, take his hand, And give him present trial. _Satyr_. Mortal stand, Till by fire I have made known Whether thou be such a one, That mayst freely tread this place. Hold thy hand up; never was More untainted flesh than this. Fairest, he is full of bliss. _Clor_. Then boldly speak, why dost thou seek this place? _Priest_. First, honour'd Virgin, to behold thy face Where all good dwells that is: Next for to try The truth of late report was given to me: Those Shepherds that have met with foul mischance, Through much neglect, and more ill governance, Whether the wounds they have may yet endure The open Air, or stay a longer cure. And lastly, what the doom may be shall light Upon those guilty wretches, through whose spight All this confusion fell: For to this place, Thou holy Maiden, have I brought the race Of these offenders, who have freely told, Both why, and by what means they gave this bold Attempt upon their lives. _Clor_. Fume all the ground, And sprinkle holy water, for unsound And foul infection 'gins to fill the Air: It gathers yet more strongly; take a pair Of Censors fill'd with Frankincense and Mirrh, Together with cold Camphyre: quickly stir Thee, gentle _Satyr_, for the place begins To sweat and labour with the abhorred sins Of those offenders; let them not come nigh, For full of itching flame and leprosie Their very souls are, that the ground goes back, And shrinks to feel the sullen weight of black And so unheard of venome; hie thee fast Thou holy man, and banish from the chast These manlike monsters, let them never more Be known upon these downs, but long before The next Suns rising, put them from the sight And memory of every honest wight. Be quick in expedition, lest the sores Of these weak Patients break into new gores. [_Ex_. Priest.