Cant. I.
the Faery Queene
199
Whom when the good Sir Guyou did behold,His hart gan wexe as starke, as marblestone,And his fresh blood did frieze with fearefull cold,That all his sences seemd berefte attone:At last his mighty ghost gan deepe to grone,As Lion grudging in his great disdaine,Mournes inwardly, and makes to him selfe mone,Til ruth and fraile affection did constraine,His stout courage to stoupe, and shew his inward paine.
Out of her gored wound the cruell steelHe lightly snatcht, and did the floodgate stopWith his faire garment: then gansoftly feelHer feeble pulse, to proue if any dropOf liuing blood yet in her veynes did hop;Which when he felt to moue, he hoped faireTo call backe life to her forsaken shop;So well he did her deadly wounds repaire,That at the last shee gan to breath out liuing aire.
Which he perceiuing greatly gan reioice,And goodly counsell, that for wounded hartIs meetest med'cine, tempred with sweete voice;Ay me, deare Lady, which the ymage artOf ruefull pitty, and impatient smart,What direfull chaunce, armd with auenging fate,Or cursed hand hath plaid this cruell part,Thus fowle to hasten your vntimely date;Speake, O dear Lady speake: help neuer comes too late.
Therewith her dim eie-lids she vp gan reare,On which the drery death did sitt, as sadAs lump of lead, and made darke clouds appeare;But when as him all in bright armour clad
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