Cant. I.
the Faery Queene:
197
In this faire wize they traueild long yfere,Through many hard assayes, which did betide,Of which he honour still away did beare,And spred his glory through all countryes wide.At last as chaunst them by a forest sideTo passe, for succour from the scorching ray,They heard a ruefull voice, that dearnly cride,With percing shriekes, and many a dolefull lay;Which to attend, awhile their forward steps they stay.
But if that carelesse heuens (qd she) despiseThe doome of iust reuenge, and take delightTo see sad pageaunts of mens miseries,As bownd by them to liue in liues despight,Yet can they not warne death from wretched wight.Come then, come soone, come sweetest death to me,And take away this long lent loathed light:Sharpe be thy wounds, but sweete the medicines be,That long captiued soules from weary thraldome free.
But thou, sweete Babe, whom frowning froward fateHath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall,Sith heuen thee deignes to hold in liuing state,Long maist thou liue, and better thriue withall,Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall:Liue thou, and to thy mother dead attest,That cleare she dide from blemish criminall;Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brestLoe I for pledges leaue. So giue me leaue to rest.
With that a deadly shrieke she forth did throw,That through the wood reechoed againe,And after gaue a grone so deepe and low,That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine,
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