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Thenceforth she past into this dreadfull den,
Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found,
Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then
Some litle whispering, and soft-groning sound.
With that she askt, what ghosts there under ground
Lay hid in horrour of eternall night?
And bad them, if so be they were not bound,
To come and shew themselves before the light,
Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight.

Then forth the sad Aemylia issewed,
Yet trembling every ioynt through former feare;
And after her the bag, there with her mewed,
A foule and lothsome creature, did appeare,
A leman fit for such a lover deare;
That mov'd Belphabe her no lesse to hate,
Then for to rue the other's heavy cheare ;
Of whom she gan enquire of her estate;
Who all to her at large, as napned, did relate.

Thence shethem brought toward the place where late
She left the gentle squire with Amoret ;
There she him found by that new lovely mate,
Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set,
From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet,
Which softly stiid, and kissing them atweene,
And handiing soft the hurts which she did get;
For of that carle she sorely bruz'd had beene,
Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene.

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XXXVI. Which when she saw with sodaine glauncing eye, Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild With deepe disdaine and great indignity, That in her wrath she thought them both have thrild With that selfe arrow which the carle had kild; Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore; But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld, “ Is this the faith?”-she said, and said no more ; But turnd her face, and fled away for evermore.

He seeing her depart, arose up light,
Right sore agrieved at her sharpe reproofe,
And follow'd fast ; but when he came in sight,
He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe,
For dread of her displeasure's utmost proofe;
And evermore when he did grace entreat,
And framed speaches fit for his behoofe,
Her mortall arrowes she at him did threat,
And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat.

At last, when long he follow'd had in vaine,
Yet found no ease of griefe nor hope of grace,
Unto those woods he turned backe againe,
Full of sad anguish, and in heavy case;
And finding there fit solitary place
For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade,
Where hardly eye mote see bright heaven's face
For mossy trees, which covered all with shade
And sad melancholy, there he his cabin made.


His wonted warlike weapons all he broke,
And threw away, with vow to use no more,
Ne thenceforth ever strike in battell stroke,
Ne ever word to speake to woman more ;
But in that wildernesse, of men forlore,
And of the wicked world forgotten quight,
His hard mishap in dolor to deplore,
And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight;
So on himselfe to wreake his follies owne despight,

And eke his garment, to be thereto meet,
He wilfully did cut and shape anew,
And his faire lockes, that wont with oinment sweet
To be embaulm'd, and sweat out dainty dew,
He let to grow and griesly to concrew,
Uncomb’d, uncurl'd, and carelesly unshed,
Tha: in short time his face they over-grew,
And over all his shoulders did dispred,
That who he whilome was uneath was to be red,

There he continued in his carefull plight,
Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares,
Through wilfull penury consumed quight,
That like a pined ghost he soone appeares ;
For other food then that wilde forrest beares,
Ne other drinke there did he ever tast
Then running water, tempred with his teares,
The more his weakened body so to wast, [last.
That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at

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XLII. For on a day, by Fortune as it fell, His own deare lord, Prince Arthure, came that way, Seeking adventures where he mote heare tell; And as he through the wandring wood did stray, Having espide his cabin far away, He to it drew, to weet who there did wonne, Weening therein some holy hermit lay, That did resort of sinfull people shonne, Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorch.

XLIII. [ing sunne. Arriving there he found this wretched man, Spending his daies in dolour and despaire, And through long fasting woxen pale and wan, All over-growen with rude and rugged haire; That albeit his owne dear squire he were, Yet he him knew not, ne aviz'd at all, But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where, Saluting him, gan into speach to fall, [thral). And pitty much his plight, that liv'd like out-cast

XLIV. But to his speach he aunswered no whit, But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum, Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit, As one with griefe and anguishe over-cum, And unto every thing did aunswere-Mum; And ever when the prince unto him spake, He louted lowly, as did him becum, And humble homage did unto him make, Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake.


At which his uncouth guise and usage quaint
The prince did wonder much, yet could not ghesse
The cause of that his sorrowfull constraint;
Yet weend by secret signes of manlinesse,
Which close appeard in that rude brutishnesse,
That he whilone some gentle swaine had beene,
Traind up in feats of armes and knightlinesse,
Which he observ'd by that he him had seene
To weld his naked sword, and try the edges keene;

And eke by that he saw on every tree,
How he the name of one engraven had,
Which likly was his liefest love to be,
From whom he now so sorely was bestad,
Which was by him BelPHOEBE rightly rad;
Yet who was that Belphæbe he ne wist,
Yet saw he often how he wexed glad
When he it heard, and how the ground he kist,
Wherein it written was, and how himselfe he blist:

Tho when he long had marked his demeanor,
And saw that all he said and did was vaine,
Ne ought mote make him chaunge his wonted tenor,
Ne ought mote cease to mitigate his paine,
He left him there in languor to remaine,
Till time for him should remedy provide,
And him restore to former grace againe ;
Which, for it is too long here to abide,
I will defer the end untill another tide.

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