Clor. Satyr, bring the Shepherd near, Try him if his mind be clear.
Sat. Shepherd come.
Daph. My thoughts are pure.
Sat. The better trial to endure.
Clor. In this flame his finger thrust,
Which will burn him if he lust;
But if not, away will turn,
As loth unspotted flesh to burn:
See, it gives back, let him go,
Farewel mortal, keep thee so.
Sat. Stay fair Nymph, flye not so fast,
We must try if you be chaste:
Here's a hand that quakes for fear,
Sure she will not prove so clear.
Clor. Hold her finger to the flame, That will yield her praise or shame.
Sat. To her doom she dares not stand,
But plucks away her tender hand,
And the Taper darting sends
His hot beams at her fingers ends:
O thou art foul within, and hast
A mind, if nothing else, unchaste.
Alex. Is not that Cloe? 'tis my Love, 'tis she! Cloe, fair Cloe.
Clo. My Alexis.