Amie [asleep].  O Karol, Karol, call him back againe ... 
    O’, o.

    Marian. How is’t Amie?

    Melifleur. Wherefore start you?

    Amie. O’ Karol, he is faire, and sweet.

    Maud. What then? 
    Are there not flowers as sweet, and faire, as men? 
    The Lillie is faire! and Rose is sweet!

    Amie. I’, so! 
    Let all the Roses, and the Lillies goe: 
    Karol is only faire to mee!

    Mar. And why?

    Amie. Alas, for Karol, Marian, I could die. 
    Karol he singeth sweetly too!

    Maud. What then? 
    Are there not Birds sing sweeter farre, then Men?

    Amie. I grant the Linet, Larke, and Bul-finch sing,
    But best, the deare, good Angell of the Spring,
    The Nightingale.

    Maud. Then why? then why, alone,
    Should his notes please you? ...

Amie. This verie morning, but—­I did bestow—­ It was a little ’gainst my will, I know—­ A single kisse, upon the seelie Swaine, And now I wish that verie kisse againe.  His lip is softer, sweeter then the Rose, His mouth, and tongue with dropping honey flowes; The relish of it was a pleasing thing.

    Maud. Yet like the Bees it had a little sting.

    Amie. And sunke, and sticks yet in my marrow deepe
    And what doth hurt me, I now wish to keepe. (II. vi.)

After this exhibition of her malice the shepherds and huntsmen no longer doubt that it was Maudlin herself who deceived them in the shape of Marian, and they determine to pursue her through the forest.  The wise shepherd, Alken, undertakes the direction of this novel ’blast of venerie,’ and thus discourses of her unhallowed haunts:  p Within a gloomie dimble shee doth dwell, Downe in a pitt, ore-growne with brakes and briars, Close by the ruines of a shaken Abbey Torne, with an Earth-quake, down unto the ground; ’Mongst graves, and grotts, neare an old Charnell house, Where you shall find her sitting in her fourme, As fearfull, and melancholique, as that Shee is about; with Caterpillers kells, And knottie Cobwebs, rounded in with spells.  Thence shee steales forth to releif, in the foggs, And rotten Mistes, upon the fens, and boggs, Downe to the drowned Lands of Lincolneshire. .....[There] the sad Mandrake growes, Whose grones are deathfull! the dead-numming Night-shade!  The stupifying Hemlock!  Adders tongue!  And Martagan! the shreikes of lucklesse Owles, Wee heare! and croaking Night-Crowes in the aire!  Greene-bellied Snakes! blew fire-drakes in the skie!  And giddie Flitter-mice, with lether wings!  The scalie Beetles, with their habergeons, That make a humming Murmur as they flie!  There, in the stocks of trees, white Faies doe dwell, And span-long Elves, that dance about a poole, With each a little Changeling, in their armes!  The airie spirits play with falling starres, And mount the Sphere of fire, to kisse the Moone!  While, shee sitts reading by the Glow-wormes light, Or rotten wood, o’re which the worme hath crept, The banefull scedule of her nocent charmes. (II. viii.)