Methinks it is not Night, I have no fear,
Walking this Wood, of Lions, or the Bear,
Whose Names at other times have made me quake,
When any Shepherdess in her tale spake
Of some of them, that underneath a Wood
Have torn true Lovers that together stood.
Methinks there are no Goblins, and mens talk,
That in these Woods the nimble Fairies walk,
Are fables; such a strong heart I have got,
Because I come to meet with _Perigot_.
My _Perigot_! who's that, my _Perigot_?
_Sull_. Fair maid.
_Amo_. Ay me, thou art not _Perigot_.
_Sull_. But I can tell ye news of _Perigot_:
An hour together under yonder tree
He sate with wreathed arms and call'd on thee,
And said, why _Amoret_ stayest thou so long?
Then starting up, down yonder path he flung,
Lest thou hadst miss'd thy way: were it day light,
He could not yet have born him out of sight.
_Amor_. Thanks, gentle Shepherd, and beshrew my stay,
That made me fearful I had lost my way:
As fast as my weak Legs (that cannot be
Weary with seeking him) will carry me,
I'll seek him out; and for thy Courtesie
Pray _Pan_ thy Love may ever follow thee. [_Exit_.
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