Cant. VII.
the Faerie Queene.
95
His mightie Armour, missing most at need;His siluer shield, now idle maisterlesse;His poynant speare, that many made to bleed,The ruefull moniments of heauinesse,And with them all departes, to tell his great distresse.
He had not trauaild long, when on the wayHe wofull Lady, wofull Vna met,Fast flying from that Paynims greedy pray,Whilest Satyrane him from pursuit did let:Who when her eyes she on the Dwarf had set,And saw the signes, that deadly tydinges spake,She fell to ground for sorrowfull regret,And liuely breath her sad brest did forsake,Yet might her pitteous hart be seene to pant and quake.
The messenger of so vnhappie newes,Would faine haue dyde: dead was his hart within,Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes:At last recouering hart, he does beginTo rubb her temples, and to chaufe her chin,And euerie tender part does tosse and turne:So hardly he the flitted life does win,Vnto her natiue prison to retourne:Then gins her grieued ghost thus to lament & mourne.
Ye dreaty instruments of dolefull sight,That doe this deadly spectacle behold,Why do ye lenger feed on loathed light,Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould,Sith cruell fates the carefull threds vnfould,The which my life and loue together tyde?Now let the stony dart of sencelesse coldPerce to my hart, and pas through euerie side,And let eternall night so sad fro me hyde.
O
