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Worthless are the prayers I make; Yet for thy sweet mercy's sake, Save me from the fiery lake.
Separate from the accursed band, Fold me with the sheep that stand, Pure and safe, at thy right hand.
XVI. When the lost, to silence driven, To devouring flames are given, Call me with the blest to Heaven.
end remember me.*
• The above translation has been formed from several sources. Mr. Williams's translation has supplied one or two of the best stanzas ; though, as a whole, it entirely fails to represent the force and pathos of the original, which may, indeed be considered absolutely untranslatable.
PART THE THIRD.
EXTRACTS FROM THE FAERIE QUEENE..
A GENTLE knight was pricking on the plaine,
And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
• The difference between the ancient and modern form of spelling will afford a useful exercise in orthography.
A lovely ladie rode him faire beside,
Thus, as they past,
Iove an hideous storme of raine
Enforst to seek some covert nigh at hand,
And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led
This wize did they each other entertaine
• Folded over.
Till towards night they came unto a plaine,
• Bid, or pray.