Act 5, Scene II

Scene: The Wood before Clorin's Bower.

CLORIN and ALEXIS discovered in the bower; at the side of the stage, a hollow tree, in which are CLOE and DAPHNIS.

Now your thoughts are almost pure,
And your wound begins to cure;
Strive to banish all that's vain,
Lest it should break out again.
Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid!
I find my former wandering thoughts well staid
Through thy wise precepts; and my outward pain
By thy choice herbs is almost gone again:
Thy sex's vice and virtue are revealed
At once; for what one hurt another healed.
May thy grief more appease!
Relapses are the worst disease.
Take heed how you in thought offend;
So mind and body both will mend.

Enter Satyr, carrying AMORET.

Be'st thou the wildest creature of the wood,
That bear'st me thus away, drowned in my blood,
And dying, know I cannot injured be;
I am a maid; let that name fight for me.
Fairest virgin', do not fear
Me, that doth thy body bear,
Not to hurt, but heated to be;
Men are ruder far than we.—
See, fair goddess, in the wood
They have let out yet more blood:
Some savage man hath struck her breast,
So soft and white, that no wild beast
Durst have touched, asleep or 'wake;
So sweet, that adder, newt, or snake,
Would have lain, from arm to arm,
On her bosom to be warm
All a night, and, being hot,
Gone away, and stung her not.
Quickly clap herbs to her breast.
A man, sure, is a kind of beast.
With spotless hand on spotless breast
I put these herbs, to give thee rest:
Which till I heal thee, there will bide,
If both be pure; if not, off slide.—
See, it falls off from the wound!
Shepherdess, thou art not sound,
Full of lust.
Full of lust. Who would have thought it?
So fair a face!
So fair a face! Why, that hath brought it.
For aught I know or think, these words my last,
Yet, Pan so help me as my thoughts are chaste!
And so may Pan bless this my cure,
As all my thoughts are just and pure!
Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk,
That will not let my medicines work.—
Satyr, search if thou canst find it.
Here away methinks I wind it:
Stronger yet.—Oh, here they be;
Here, here, in a hollow tree,
Two fond mortals have I found.
Bring them out; they are unsound.
Satyr. [Bringing out Cloe and Daphnis.]
By the fingers thus I wring ye,
To my goddess thus I bring ye;
Strife is vain, come gently in.—
I scented them; they're full of sin.
Hold, Satyr; take this glass,
Sprinkle over all the place,
Purge the air from lustful breath,
To save this shepherdess from death:
And stand you still whilst I do dress
Her wound, for fear the pain increase.
From this glass I throw a drop
Of crystal water on the top
Of every grass, on flowers a pair:
Send a fume, and keep the air
Pure and wholesome, sweet and blest,
Till this virgin's wound be drest.
Satyr, help to bring her in.
By Pan, I think she hath no sin,
[Carrying Amoret into the bower.
She is so light.—Lie on these leaves.
Sleep, that mortal sense deceives,
Crown thine eyes and case thy pain;
May'st thou soon be well again!
Satyr, bring the shepherd near;
Try him, if his mind be clear.
Shepherd, come.
Shepherd, come. My thoughts are pure.
The better trial to endure.
In this flame his finger thrust,
Which will burn him if he lust;
But if not, away will turn,
As loath unspotted flesh to burn.—
[Satyr applies Daphnis's finger to the taper.
See, it gives back; let him go.
Farewell, mortal: keep thee so.
[Exit Daphnis.
Stay, fair nymph; fly not so fast;
We must try if you be chaste.—
Here's a hand that quakes for fear;
Sure, she will not prove so clear.
Hold her finger to the flame;
That will yield her praise or shame.
To her doom she dares not stand,
[Applies Cloe's finger to the taper.
But plucks away her tender hand;
And the taper darting sends
His hot beams at her fingers' ends.—
Oh, thou art foul within, and hast
A mind, if nothing else, unchaste!
ls not that Cloe? 'Tis my love, 'tis she!
Cloe, fair Cloe!
My Alexis!
My Alexis! He.
My Alexis! He. Let me embrace thee.
Take her hence,
Lest her sight disturb his sense.
Take not her; take my life first!
See, his wound again is burst:
Keep her near, here in the wood,
Till I have stopt these streams of blood.
[Satyr leads off Cloe.
Soon again he case shall find,
If I can but still his mind.
This curtain thus I do display,
To keep the piercing air away.
[Draws a curtain before the bower. Scene closes.