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Co: She fables not, I feel that I do fear 800
Her words set off by som superior power;
And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddring dew
Dips me all o’re, as when the wrath of Jove
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus
To som of Saturns crew. I must dissemble,
And try her yet more strongly. Com, no more,
This is meer moral babble, and direct
Against the canon laws of our foundation;
I must not suffer this, yet ’tis but the lees
And setlings of a melancholy blood; 810
But this will cure all streight, one sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.–

The brothers rush in with Swords drawn, wrest his Glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground; his rout make signe of resistance, but are all driven in; The attendant Spirit comes in.

 

 Spir: What, have you let the false enchanter scape?
 

 O ye mistook, ye should have snatcht his wand
 

 And bound him fast; without his rod revers't,
 

 And backward mutters of dissevering power,
 

 We cannot free the Lady that sits here
 

 In stony fetters fixt, and motionless;
 

 Yet stay, be not disturb'd, now I bethink me   820
 

 Som other means I have which may he us'd
 

 Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt
 

 The soothest Shepherd that ere pip't on plains.
 

 There is a gentle Nymph not farr from hence,
 

 That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream,
 

 Sabrina is her name, a Virgin pure,
 

 Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,
 

 That had the Scepter from his father Brute.
 

 The guiltless damsel flying the mad pursuit
 

 Of her enraged stepdam Guendolen, 830
 

 Commended her fair innocence to the flood
 

 That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course,
 

 The water Nymphs that in the bottom plaid,
 

 Held up their pearled wrists and took her in,
 

 Bearing her straight to aged Nereus Hall,
 

 Who piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head,
 

 And gave her to his daughters to imbathe
 

 In nectar'd lavers strew'd with Asphodil,
 

 And through the porch and inlet of each sense
 

 Dropt in Ambrosial Oils till she reviv'd,    840
 

 And underwent a quick immortal change
 

 Made Goddess of the River; still she retains
 

 Her maid'n gentlenes, and oft at Eeve
 

 Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,
 

 Helping all urchin blasts, and ill luck signes
 

 That the shrewd medling Elfe delights to make,
 

 Which she with pretious viold liquors heals.
 

 For which the Shepherds at their festivals
 

 Carrol her goodnes lowd in rustick layes,
 

 And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream 850
 

 Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy Daffadils.
 

 And, as the old Swain said, she can unlock
 

 The clasping charms, and thaw the numming spell,
 

 If she be right invok't in warbled Song,
 

 For maid'nhood she loves, and will be swift
 

 To aid a Virgin, such as was her self
 

 In hard besetting need, this will I try
 

 And adde the power of som adjuring verse.