96
The first Booke of
Cant. VII.
O lightsome day, the lampe of highest Ioue,First made by him, mens wandring wayes to guyde,When darknesse he in deepest dongeon droue,Henceforth thy hated face for euer hyde,And shut vp heauens windowes shyning wyde:For earthly sight can nought but sorow breed,And late repentance, which shall long abyde.Mine eyes no more on vanitie shall feed,But seeled vp with death, shall haue their deadly meed.
Then downe againe she fell vnto the ground;But he her quickly reared vp againe:Thrise did she sinke adowne in deadly swownd,And thrise he her reviu'd with busie paine:At last when life recouer'd had the raine,And ouer-wrestled his strong enimy,With foltring tong, and trembling euerie vaine,Tell on (quoth she) the wofull Tragedy,The which these reliques sad present vnto mine eye.
Tempestuous fortune hath spent all her spight,And thrilling sorrow throwne his vtmost dart;Thy sad tong cannot tell more heauy plight,Then that I seele, and harbour in mine hart:Who hath endur'd the whole, can beare ech part.If death it be, it is not the first wound,That launched hath my brest with bleeding smartBegin, and end the bitter balefull stound;If lesse, then that I feare, more fauour I haue found.
Then gan the Dwarfe the whole discourse declare,The subtile traines of Archimago old;The wanton loues of false Fidessa fayre,Bought with the blood of vanquisht Paynim bold:
The
