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The first Booke of
Cant. VIII.
At last by subtile sleights she him betraidVnto his foe, a Gyaunt huge and tall,Who him disarmed, dissolute, dismaid,Vnwares surprised, and with mighty mallThe monster mercilesse him made to fall,Whose fall did neuer foe before behold;And now in darkesome dungeon, wretched thrall,Remedilesse, for aie he doth him hold;This is my cause of griefe, more great, then may be told.
Ere she had ended all, she gan to faint:But he her comforted, and faire bespake,Certes, Madame, ye haue great cause of plaint,That stoutest heart, I weene, could cause to quake.But be of cheare, and comfort to you take:For till I haue acquitt your captiue knight,Assure your selfe, I will you not forsake.His chearefull words reviu'd her chearelesse spright,So forth they went, the Dwarfe thē guiding euer right.
Cant. VIII.
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Faire virgin to redeeme her deareBrings Arthure to the fight:Who slayes that Gyaunt, wounds the beast,And strips Duessa quight.
Ay me, how many perils doe enfoldThe righteous man, to make him daily fall,Were not that heauenly grace doth him vphold,And stedfast truth acquite him out of all:
Her
