Can shew my active Youth; why dost thou flye? 
Remember Amaryllis, it was I
That kill’d Alexis for thy sake, and set
An everlasting hate ’twixt Amoret
And her beloved Perigot:  ’twas I
That drown’d her in the Well, where she must lye
Till Time shall leave to be; then turn again,
Turn with thy open arms, and clip the Swain
That hath perform’d all this, turn, turn I say: 
I must not be deluded.

Pri.  Monster stay,
Thou that art like a Canker to the State
Thou liv’st and breath’st in, eating with debate
Through every honest bosome, forcing still
The Veins of any that may serve thy Will,
Thou that hast offer’d with a sinful hand
To seize upon this Virgin that doth stand
Yet trembling here.

Sull.  Good holiness declare,
What had the danger been, if being bare
I had embrac’d her, tell me by your Art,
What coming wonders would that sight impart?

Pri.  Lust, and a branded Soul.

Sull.  Yet tell me more,
Hath not our Mother Nature for her store
And great encrease, said it is good and just,
And wills that every living Creature must
Beget his like?

Pri.  Ye are better read than I,
I must confess, in blood and Lechery. 
Now to the Bower, and bring this Beast along,
Where he may suffer Penance for his wrong. [Exeunt.

Enter Perigot with his hands bloody.

Per.  Here will I wash it in this mornings dew,
Which she on every little grass doth strew
In silver drops against the Sun’s appear: 
’Tis holy water, and will make me clear. 
My hands will not be cleans’d.  My wronged Love,
If thy chaste spirit in the air yet move,
Look mildly down on him that yet doth stand
All full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand,
And though I struck thee undeservedly,
Let my revenge on her that injur’d thee
Make less a fault which I intended not,
And let these dew drops wash away my spot. 
It will not cleanse.  O to what sacred Flood
Shall I resort to wash away this blood? 
Amid’st these Trees the holy Clorin dwells
In a low Cabin of cut Boughs, and heals
All Wounds; to her I will my self address,
And my rash faults repentantly confess;
Perhaps she’ll find a means by Art or Prayer,
To make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair: 
That done, not far hence underneath some Tree,
I’ll have a little Cabin built, since she
Whom I ador’d is dead, there will I give
My self to strictness, and like Clorin live. [Exit.

The Curtain is drawn, Clorin appears sitting in the Cabin, Amoret sitting on the one side of her, Alexis and Cloe on the other, the Satyr standing by.