I will do it; were I set
To catch the nimble wind, or get
Shadows gliding on the green,
Or to steal from the great Queen
Of _Fayries_, all her beauty,
I would do it, so much duty
Do I owe those precious Eyes.

_Clor._ I thank thee honest _Satyr_, if the cryes
Of any other that be hurt or ill,
Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy will
To bring them hither.

_Satyr._ I will, and when the weather
Serves to Angle in the brook,
I will bring a silver hook,
With a line of finest silk,
And a rod as white as milk,
To deceive the little fish:
So I take my leave, and wish,
On this Bower may ever dwell
Spring, and Summer.

_Clo_. Friend farewel. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Amoret, _seeking her Love_.

_Amor_. This place is Ominous, for here I lost
My Love and almost life, and since have crost
All these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell,