Per.  Night do not steal away:  I woo thee yet
To hold a hard hand o’re the rusty bit
That guides the lazy Team:  go back again,
Bootes, thou that driv’st thy frozen Wain
Round as a Ring, and bring a second Night
To hide my sorrows from the coming light;
Let not the eyes of men stare on my face,
And read my falling, give me some black place
Where never Sun-beam shot his wholesome light,
That I may sit and pour out my sad spright
Like running water, never to be known
After the forced fall and sound is gone.

Enter Amoret looking for Perigot.

Amo.  This is the bottom:  speak if thou be here, My Perigot, thy Amoret, thy dear Calls on thy loved Name.

Per.  What art thou [dare] Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care Dwell on the face of darkness?

Amo.  ’Tis thy friend,
Thy Amoret, come hither to give end
To these consumings; look up gentle Boy,
I have forgot those Pains and dear annoy
I suffer’d for thy sake, and am content
To be thy love again; why hast thou rent
Those curled locks, where I have often hung
Riband and Damask-roses, and have flung
Waters distil’d to make thee fresh and gay,
Sweeter than the Nosegayes on a Bridal day? 
Why dost thou cross thine Arms, and hang thy face
Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace
From those two little Heavens upon the ground
Showers of more price, more Orient, and more round
Than those that hang upon the Moons pale brow? 
Cease these complainings, Shepherd, I am now
The same I ever was, as kind and free,
And can forgive before you ask of me. 
Indeed I can and will.

Per.  So spoke my fair. 
O you great working powers of Earth and Air,
Water and forming fire, why have you lent
Your hidden vertues of so ill intent? 
Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hue
Had Amoret; such words so smooth and new,
Came flying from her tongue; such was her eye,
And such the pointed sparkle that did flye
Forth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same,
The Robe and Buskins, painted Hook, and frame
Of all her Body.  O me, Amoret!

Amo.  Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath set
So strong a difference ’twixt my self and me
That I am grown another? look and see
The Ring thou gav’st me, and about my wrist
That curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twist
From those fair Tresses:  knowst thou Amoret? 
Hath not some newer love forc’d thee forget
Thy Ancient faith?

Per.  Still nearer to my love;
These be the very words she oft did prove
Upon my temper, so she still would take
Wonder into her face, and silent make
Signs with her head and hand, as who would say,
Shepherd remember this another day.

Amo.  Am I not Amaret? where was I lost? 
Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and most
Of these unconstant?  Faith where art thou fled? 
Are all the vows and protestations dead,
The hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart,
Is there not one remaining, not a part
Of all these to be found? why then I see
Men never knew that vertue Constancie.