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The first Booke of
Cant. VII.
Who when returning from the drery Night,She fownd not in that perilous hous of Pryde,Where she had left, the noble Redcross knight,Her hoped pray; she would no lenger byde,But forth she went, to seeke him far and wide.Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie sate,To rest him selfe, soreby a fountaine syde,Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate,And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate.
Hee feedes vpon the cooling shade, and bayesHis sweatie forehead in the breathing wynd,Which through the trēbling leaues full gently playesWherein the chearefull birds of sundry kyndDoe chaunt sweet musick, to delight his mynd,The witch approching gan him fayrely greet,And with reproch of carelesnes vnkynd,Vpbrayd, for leauing her in place vnmeet,With fowle words tempring faire, soure gall with hony sweet.
Vnkindnesse past, they gan of solace treat,And bathe in pleasaunce of the ioyous shade,Which shielded them against the boyling heat,And with greene boughes decking a gloomy glade,About the fountaine like a girlond made;Whose bubbling waue did euer freshly well,Ne euer would through feruent sommer fadeThe sacred Nymph, which therein wont to dwell,Was out of Dianes fauor, as it then befell.
The cause was this: one day when Phœbe fayreWith all her band was following the chace,This Nymph, quite tyr'd with heat of scorching ayreSatt downe to rest in middest of the race:
The
