Cant. I.
the Faery Queene.
191
The knight approching nigh, thus to her said,Fayre Lady, through fowle sorrow ill bedight,Great pitty is to see you thus dismayd,And marre the blossom of your beauty bright:For thy appease your griefe and heauy plight,And tell the cause of your conceiued payne:For if he liue, that hath you doen despight,He shall you doe dew recompence agayne,Or els his wrong with greater puissance maintaine.
Which when she heard, as in despightfull wise,She wilfully her sorrow did augment,And offred hope of comfort did despise:Her golden lockes most cruelly she rent,And scratcht her face with ghastly dreriment,Ne would she speake, nesee, ne yet be seene,But hid her visage, and her head downe bent,Either for grieuous shame, or for great teene,As if her hart with sorow had transfixed beene.
Till her that Squyre bespake, Madame my life,For Gods deare loue be not so wilfull bent,But doe vouchsafe now to receiue reliefe,The which good fortune doth to you present.For what bootes it to weepe and to wayment,When ill is chaunst, but doth the ill increase,And the weake minde with double woe torment?When she her Squyre heard speake, she gan appeaseHer voluntarie paine, and feele some secret ease.
Eftsoone she said, Ah gentle trustie Squyre,What comfort can I wofull wretch conceaue,Or why should euer I henceforth desyre,To see faire heauens face, and life not leaue,
Sith
