We implore thy powerful hand

To undo the charmed band

Of true virgin here distressed,

Through the force, and through the wile,

Of unblest enchanter vile.

SABRINA.

Shepherd, 'tis my office best
To help ensnared chastity:

Brightest lady, look on me;
Thus I sprinkle on thy breast
Drops, that from my fountain pure
I have kept, of precious cure;
Thrice upon thy finger's tip,

Thrice upon thy rubied lip;

Next this marble venomed seat,

Smeared with gums of glutinous heat,

I touch with chaste palms moist and cold:

Now the spell hath lost his hold;

And I must haste, ere morning hour,

To wait in Amphitrite's bower.

[SABRINA descends, and the LADY rises out of her seat.]

SPIRIT.

Virgin, daughter of Locrine, Sprung of old Anchises' line, 47

May thy brimméd 48 waves for this

Their full tribute never miss

From a thousand petty rills,

That tumble down the snowy hills:
Summer drouth, or singéd air,

Never scorch thy tresses fair,

Nor wet October's torrent flood

Thy molten crystal fill with mud :

May thy billows roll ashore

The beryl, and the golden ore;

May thy lofty head be crowned

With many a tower and terrace round,

And here and there thy banks 49 upon

With groves of myrrh and cinnamon.

Come, lady, while Heaven lends us grace,

Let us fly this curséd place,

Lest the sorcerer us entice

With some other new device.

Not a waste or needless sound

Till we come to holier ground;

Through this gloomy covert wide;

And not many furlongs thence

Is your father's residence,

Where this night are met in state

Many a friend to gratulate

His wished presence; and, beside,
All the swains that near abide,

With jigs and rural dance resort:

We shall catch them at their sport;

And our sudden coming there

Will double all their mirth and cheer.

Come, let us haste, the stars grow high,

But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.

[The scene changes, presenting Ludlow town and the PRESIDENT's castle; then come in country dancers; after them the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, with the two BROTHERS and the LADY.]

Song.

SPIRIT.

Back, shepherds, back! enough your play,

Till next sunshine holiday :