Amo. Immortal power, that rul’st this holy flood,
I know my self unworthy to be woo’d
By thee a god:  for e’re this, but for thee
I should have shown my weak Mortalitie: 
Besides, by holy Oath betwixt us twain,
I am betroath’d unto a Shepherd swain,
Whose comely face, I know the gods above
May make me leave to see, but not to love.

God. May he prove to thee as true. 
Fairest Virgin, now adieu,
I must make my waters fly,
Lest they leave their Channels dry,
And beasts that come unto the spring
Miss their mornings watering,
Which I would not; for of late
All the neighbour people sate
On my banks, and from the fold,
Two white Lambs of three weeks old
Offered to my Deitie: 
For which this year they shall be free
From raging floods, that as they pass
Leave their gravel in the grass: 
Nor shall their Meads be overflown,
When their grass is newly mown.

Amo. For thy kindness to me shown,
Never from thy banks be blown
Any tree, with windy force,
Cross thy streams, to stop thy course: 
May no beast that comes to drink,
With his horns cast down thy brink;
May none that for thy fish do look,
Cut thy banks to damm thy Brook;
Bare-foot may no Neighbour wade
In thy cool streams, wife nor maid,
When the spawns on stones do lye,
To wash their Hemp, and spoil the Fry.

God. Thanks Virgin, I must down again,
Thy wound will put thee to no pain: 
Wonder not so soon ’tis gone: 
A holy hand was laid upon.

Amo. And I unhappy born to be, Must follow him that flies from me.

Actus Quartus.  Scena Prima.

Enter Perigot.

Per. She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind,
She’s gone, she’s gone, blow high thou North-west wind,
And raise the Sea to Mountains, let the Trees
That dare oppose thy raging fury, leese
Their firm foundation, creep into the Earth,
And shake the world, as at the monstrous birth
Of some new Prodigy, whilst I constant stand,
Holding this trustie Boar-spear in my hand,
And falling thus upon it.

Enter Amaryllis, running.

Amar. Stay thy dead-doing hand, thou art too hot
Against thy self, believe me comely Swain,
If that thou dyest, not all the showers of Rain
The heavy clods send down can wash away
That foul unmanly guilt, the world will lay
Upon thee.  Yet thy love untainted stands: 
Believe me, she is constant, not the sands
Can be so hardly numbred as she won: 
I do not trifle, Shepherd, by the Moon,
And all those lesser lights our eyes do view,
All that I told thee Perigot, is true: 
Then be a free man, put away despair,
And will to dye, smooth gently up that fair
Dejected forehead:  be as when those eyes
Took the first heat.

Per. Alas he double dyes,
That would believe, but cannot; ’tis not well
Ye keep me thus from dying, here to dwell
With many worse companions:  but oh death,
I am not yet inamour’d of this breath
So much, but I dare leave it, ’tis not pain
In forcing of a wound, nor after gain
Of many dayes, can hold me from my will: 
’Tis not my self, but Amoret, bids kill.