128
The first Booke of
Cant. IX.
How may a man (said he) with idle speachBe wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health?I wote (quoth he) whom tryall late did teach,That like would not for all this worldes wealth:His subtile tong, like dropping honny, mealt'hInto the heart, and searcheth euery vaine,That ere one be aware, by secret stealthHis powre is reft, and weaknes doth remaine.O neuer Sir desire to try his guilefull traine.
Certes (sayd he) hence shall I neuer rest,Till I that treachours art haue heard and tryde;And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request,Of grace do me vnto his cabin guyde.I that hight Treuisan (quoth he) will rydeAgainst my liking backe, to doe you grace:But nor for gold nor glee will I abydeBy you, when ye arriue in that same place;For leuer had I die, then see his deadly face.
Ere long they come, where that same wicked wightHis dwelling has, low in an hollow caue,Far vnderneath a craggy clifty plight,Darke, dolefull, dreary, like a greedy graue,That still for carrion carcases doth craue:On top whereof ay dwelt the ghastly Owle,Shrieking his balefull note, which euer draueFar from that haunt all other chearefull fowle;Aud all about it wandring ghostes did wayle & howle.
And all about old stockes and stubs of trees,Whereon nor fruite, nor leafe was euer seene,Did hang vpon the ragged rocky knees;On which had many wretches hanged beene,
Whose
