Amo.  Thus Shepherd with a kiss all envy dyes.

Enter Priest.

Priest.  Bright Maid, I have perform’d your will, the Swain
In whom such heat and black rebellions raign
Hath undergone your sentence, and disgrace: 
Only the Maid I have reserv’d, whose face
Shews much amendment, many a tear doth fall
In sorrow of her fault, great fair recal
Your heavy doom, in hope of better daies,
Which I dare promise; once again upraise
Her heavy Spirit that near drowned lyes
In self consuming care that never dyes.

Clor.  I am content to pardon, call her in;
The Air grows cool again, and doth begin
To purge it self, how bright the day doth show
After this stormy Cloud! go Satyr, go,
And with this Taper boldly try her hand,
If she be pure and good, and firmly stand
To be so still, we have perform’d a work
Worthy the Gods themselves. [Satyr brings Amaryllis in.

Satyr.  Come forward Maiden, do not lurk
Nor hide your face with grief and shame,
Now or never get a name
That may raise thee, and recure
All thy life that was impure: 
Hold your hand unto the flame,
If thou beest a perfect dame,
Or hast truely vow’d to mend,
This pale fire will be thy friend. 
See the Taper hurts her not. 
Go thy wayes, let never spot
Henceforth seize upon thy blood. 
Thank the Gods and still be good.

Clor.  Young Shepherdess now ye are brought again
To Virgin state, be so, and so remain
To thy last day, unless the faithful love
Of some good Shepherd force thee to remove;
Th[e]n labour to be true to him, and live
As such a one, that ever strives to give
A blessed memory to after time. 
Be famous for your good, not for your crime. 
Now holy man, I offer up again
These patients full of health, and free from pain: 
Keep them from after ills, be ever near
Unto their actions, teach them how to clear
The tedious way they pass through, from suspect,
Keep them from wronging others, or neglect
Of duty in themselves, correct the bloud
With thrifty bits and labour, let the floud,
Or the next neighbouring spring give remedy
To greedy thirst, and travel not the tree
That hangs with wanton clusters, [let] not wine,
Unless in sacrifice, or rites divine,
Be ever known of Shepherd, have a care
Thou man of holy life.  Now do not spare
Their faults through much remissness, nor forget
To cherish him, whose many pains and swet
Hath giv’n increase, and added to the downs. 
Sort all your Shepherds from the lazy clowns
That feed their Heifers in the budded Brooms: 
Teach the young Maidens strictness, that the grooms
May ever fear to tempt their blowing youth;
Banish all complements, but single truth
From every tongue, and every Shepherds heart,
Let them still use perswading, but no Art: 
Thus holy Priest, I wish to thee and these,
All the best goods and comforts that may please.