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].