What art thou that dost call?
_Clorin_ is ready to do good to all:
Come near.
_Peri_. I dare not.
_Clor. Satyr_, see
Who it is that calls on me.
_Sat_. There at hand, some Swain doth stand,
Stretching out a bloudy hand.
_Peri_. Come _Clorin_, bring thy holy waters clear,
To wash my hand.
_Clo_. What wonders have been here
To night? stretch forth thy hand young Swain,
Wash and rub it whilest I rain
Holy water.
_Peri_. Still you pour,
But my hand will never scower.
_Clor. Satyr_, bring him to the Bower,
We will try the Soveraign power
Of other waters.
_Satyr_. Mortal, sure
'Tis the Blood of Maiden pure
That stains thee so.
[_The_ Satyr _leadeth him to the Bower, where he spieth_ Amoret, _and
kneeling down, she knoweth him_.
_Peri_. What e're thou be,
Be'st thou her spright, or some divinitie,
That in her shape thinks good to walk this grove,
Pardon poor _Perigot_.
_Amor_. I am thy love,
Thy _Amoret_, for evermore thy love:
Strike once more on my naked breast, I'le prove
As constant still. O couldst thou love me yet;
How soon should I my former griefs forget!
_Peri_.
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