, 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_.

_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,
Til