228
The second Booke of
Cant. III.
Such wounded beast, as that, I did not see,Sith earst into this forrest wild I came.Bur mote thy goodly hed forgiue it mee,To weete, which of the Gods I shall thee name,That vnto thee dew worship I may rightly frame.
To whom she thus, but ere her words ensewd,Vnto the bush her eye did suddein glaunce,In which vaine Braggadocchio was mewd,And saw it stirre: she lefte her percing launce,And towards gan a deadly shafte aduaunce,In mind to marke the beast. At which sad stowre,Trompart forth stept, to stay the mortall chaunce,Out crying, O what euer heuenly powre,Or earthly wight thou be, withhold this deadly howre.
O stay thy hand, for yonder is no gameFor thy fiers arrowes, them to exercize,But loe my Lord, my liege, whose warlike name,Is far renowmd through many bold emprize;And now in shade he shrowded yonder lies.She staid: with that he crauld out of his nest,Forth creeping on his caitiue hands and thies,And standing stoutly vp, his lofty crestDid fiercely shake, and rowze, as comming late frō rest.
As fearfull fowle, that long in secret caueFor dread of soring hauke her selfe hath hid,Not caring how her silly life to saue,She her gay painted plumes disorderid,Seeing at last her selfe from daunger rid,Peepes forth, and soone renews her natiue pride;She gins her feathers fowle disfiguredProwdly to prune, and sett on euery side,So shakes off shame, ne thinks how erst she did her hide.
So
