_Satyr_. See the day begins to break,
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold,
Whilst the morning doth unfold;
Now the Birds begin to rouse,
And the Squirril from the boughs
Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit;
The early Lark that erst was mute,
Carrols to the rising day
Many a note and many a lay:
Therefore here I end my watch,
Lest the wandring swain should catch
Harm, or lose himself.

_Amo_. Ah me!

_Satyr_. Speak again what e're thou be,
I am ready, speak I say:
By the dawning of the day,
By the power of night and _Pan_,
I inforce thee speak again.

_Amo_. O I am most unhappy.

_Satyr_. Yet more blood!
Sure these wanton Swains are wode.
Can there be a hand or heart
Dare commit so vile a part
As this Murther? By the Moon
That hid her self when this was done,