The.  Thou hast not ventur’d, but bought certain shame, Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall, I see, once in your lives, light on you all.  I hate thee now:  yet turn.

Clor.  Be just to me:  Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?

The.  Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good,
Was but thy appetite that sway’d thy blood
For that time to the best:  for as a blast
That through a house comes, usually doth cast
Things out of order, yet by chance may come,
And blow some one thing to his proper room;
So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,
Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well. 
Yet turn.

Clor.  Thou dost but try me if I would Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old Love’s, though he were alive:  but do not fear.

The.  I do contemn thee now, and dare come near,
And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace,
Austeritie, which sate upon that face
Is gone, and thou like others:  false maid see,
This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [Exit.

Clor.  ’Tis done, great Pan I give thee thanks for it, What art could not have heal’d, is cur’d by wit.

Enter Thenot, again.

The.  Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove Into the Cabin to your buried Love?

Clor.  No let me die, but by thy side remain.

The.  There’s none shall know that thou didst ever stain
Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour’d be,
And I will lye again under this tree,
And pine and dye for thee with more delight,
Than I have sorrow now to know the light.

Clor.  Let me have thee, and I’le be where thou wilt.

The.  Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt. 
Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thought
There was one good, I fear’d to find one naught: 
But since their minds I all alike espie,
Henceforth I’le choose as others, by mine eye.

Clor.  Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress,
And for my labours sent so good success. 
I rather choose, though I a woman be,
He should speak ill of all, than die for me.

Actus Quintus.  Scena Prima.

Enter Priest, and old Shepherd.

Priest.  Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep,
See the blushing Morn doth peep
Through the window, whilst the Sun
To the mountain tops is run,
Gilding all the Vales below
With his rising flames, which grow
Greater by his climbing still. 
Up ye lazie grooms, and fill
Bagg and Bottle for the field;
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter North-east wind. 
Call the Maidens up, and find
Who lay longest, that she may
Goe without a friend all day;
Then reward your Dogs, and pray
Pan to keep you from decay: 
So unfold and then away. 
What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the grooms
Have found their beds too easie, or the rooms
Fill’d with such new delight, and heat, that they
Have both forgot their hungry sheep, and day;
Knock, that they may remember what a shame
Sloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name.