Full of lust.

_Satyr_, Who would have thought it,
So fair a face?

_Clor_. Why that hath brought it.

_Amo_. For ought I know or think, these words, my last:
Yet _Pan_ so help me as my thoughts are chast.

_Clor_. 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.

_Satyr_. Here away methinks I wind it,
Stronger yet: Oh here they be,
Here, here, in a hollow tree,
Two fond mortals have I found.

_Clor_. Bring them out, they are unsound.

_Enter_ Cloe, _and_ Daphnis.

_Satyr_. 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.