XLIV.

But to his Speech he aunswered no whit,
But ftood still mute, as if he had been dumb,
Ne Sign of Senfe did fhew, ne common Wit,
As one with Grief and Anguish over-come,
And unto every thing did answer Mum :
And ever when the Prince unto him spake,
He louted lowly, as did him become,

And humble Homage did unto him make,
Midft Sorrow fhewing joyous Semblance for his fake.
XLV.

At which his uncouth Guise and Usage quaint,
The Prince did wonder much, yet could not guess
The Cause of that his forrowful Conftraint;
Yet ween'd by fecret Signs of Manliness,
Which clofe appear'd in that rude Brutishness,
That he whilom fome gentle Swain had been,
Train'd up in Feats of Arms and Knightlinefs;"
Which he obferv'd, by that he him had feen
To wield his naked Sword, and try the Edges keen,
XLVI.

And eke by that he faw on every Tree,
How he the Name of one engraven had,
Which likely was his liefeft Love to be,
For whom he now fo forely was beftad;
Which was by him BELPHOEBE rightly rad.
Yet who was that Belpbabe, he ne wift;
Yet faw he often how he wexed glad,

When he it heard, and how the Ground he kiss'd,
Wherein it written was, and how himself he blift.
XLVII.

Tho when he long had marked his Demeanor, And faw that all he said and did, was vain, Ne ought mote make him change his wonted Tenor, Ne ought mote ease or mitigate his Pain, He left him there in Langour to remain, Till time for him should Remedy provide, And him reftore to former Grace again. Which, for it is too long here to abide, I will defer the End until another Tide.

The gentle Squire recovers Grace;
Slaunder her Guests doth ftain:
Corflambo chafeth Placidas,
And is by Arthur flain.

WE

I.

ELL faid the Wiseman, now prov'd true by this,
Which to this gentle Squire did happen late ;

That the Displeasure of the Mighty is

Than Death it felf more drad and defperate:
For nought the fame may calm, ne mitigate,
Till Time the Tempeft do thereof delay
With Suff'rance foft, which Rigour can abate,
And have the ftern Remembrance wip'd away
Of bitter Thoughts, which deep therein infixed lay,
II.

Like as it fell to this unhappy Boy,

Whose tender Heart the fair Belphebe had
With one ftern Look fo daunted, that no Joy
In all his Life, which afterwards he lad,
He ever tafted; but with Penaunce fad,
And penfive Sorrow, pin'd and wore away,
Ne ever laugh'd, ne once fhew'd Countenance glad,
But always wept and wailed night and day;

As blafted Blofm thro Heat doth languish and decay.
III.

Till on a day (as in his wonted wife

His Dole he made) there chaunc'd a Turtle-Dove
To come, where he his Dolours did devise,
That likewife late had loft her dearest Love;
Which Lofs her made like Paffion also prove.
Who feeing his fad Plight, her tender Heart
With dear Compaffion deeply did emmove,
That the 'gan moan his undeserved Smart,
And with her doleful Accent bear with him a part,

IV.

She fitting by him, as on ground he lay,
Her mournful Notes full piteously did frame,
And thereof made a lamentable Lay,

So fenfibly compil'd, that in the fame

Him feemed oft he heard his own right Name.
With that, he forth would pour fo plenteous Tears,
And beat his Breaft unworthy of fuch Blame,
And knock his Head, and rend his rugged Hairs,
That could have pierc'd the Hearts of Tygers and of Bears.
V.

Thus long this gentle Bird to him did ufe,
Withouten Dread of Peril to repair

Unto his Wonne; and with her mournful Mufe
Him to recomfort in his greatest Care,
That much did ease his Mourning and Misfare:
And every day, for Guerdon of her Song,
He part of his fmall Feaft to her would share;
That at the laft, of all his Woe and Wrong
Companion fhe became, and fo continu'd long.

VI.

Upon a day, as he him fate befide,
By chance he certain Miniments forth drew,
Which yet with him as Reliques did abide
Of all the Bounty, which Belpbabe threw
On him, whilft goodly Grace fhe did him fhew:
Amongst the reft, a Jewel rich he found,"
That was a Ruby of Right perfect Hue,

Shap'd like a Heart, yet bleeding of the Wound,
And with a little golden Chain about it bound.
VII.

The fame he took, and with a Ribband new
(In which his Lady's Colours were) did bind
About the Turtle's Neck, that with the View
Did greatly folace his engrieved Mind.
All unawares the Bird, when fhe did find
Her felf fo deck'd, her nimble Wings display'd,
And flew away as lightly as the Wind:
Which fudden Accident him much difmay'd,

And looking after long, did mark which way the ftray'd.

VIII.

But when as long he looked had in vain,
Yet faw her forward ftill to make her flight,
His weary Eye return'd to him again,
Full of Discomfort and difquiet Plight,
That both his Jewel he had loft fo light,
And eke his dear Companion of his Care.
But that sweet Bird departing, flew forth right
Thro the wide Region of the wafteful Air,
Until she came where wonned his Belphœbe fair.
IX.

There found the her (as then it did betide)
Sitting in covert Shade of Arbours fweet,
After late weary Toil, which the had try'd
In falvage Chace, to reft as feem'd her meet.
There the alighting, fell before her feet,
And 'gan to her, her mournful Plaint to make,
As was her wont: thinking to let her weet
The great tormenting grief, that for her fake
Her gentle Squire thro her Displeasure did partake.
X..

She her beholding with attentive Eye,

At length did mark about her purple Breaft
That precious Jewel, which the formerly

Had known right well, with colour'd Ribband dref:'d: There-with the rofe in hafte, and her addrefs'd

With ready hand it to have reft away.

But the fwift Bird obey'd not her beheft,
But fwarv'd afide, and there again did stay;
She follow'd her, and thought again it to assay.
XI,

And ever when she nigh approach'd, the Dove
Would flit a little forward, and then stay
Till the drew near, and then again remove
So tempting her ftill to purfue the Prey,
And ftill from her escaping foft away:
Till that at length into that Foreft wide
She drew her far, and led with flow Delay.
In th' end, the her unto that place did guide,
Where-as that woeful Man in Languor did abide.
VOL, III,

I

XH.

XII.

Eftfoons fhe flew unto his fearless Hand, And there a piteous Ditty new deviz❜d, As if he would have made him understand, His Sorrow's Caufe to be of her despis'd. Whom when the faw in wretched Weeds difguis'd, With heary Glib deform'd, and meager Face, Like Ghoft late rifen from his Grave aggriz'd, She knew him not, but pitied much his Cafe, And wish'd it were in her to do him any Grace. XIII.

He her beholding, at her feet down fell,

And kifs'd the Ground on which her Sole did tread, And wash'd the fame with Water, which did well From his moist Eyes, and like two Streams proceed; Yet fpake no word, whereby the might aread What mifter Wight he was, or what he meant : But as one daunted with her Prefence dread, Only few rueful Looks unto her fent, As Meffengers of his true Meaning and Intent. XIV.

Yet nathemore, his Meaning the ared

But wonder'd much at his fo felcouth Cafe;
And by his Perfon's fecret Seemlihed

Well ween'd, that he had been fome Man of Place
Before Misfortune did his Hue deface:

That being mov'd with Ruth, fhe thus befpake; Ah! woeful Man, what Heaven's hard Difgrace, Or Wrath of cruel Wight on thee ywrake,

Or felf-disliked Life, doth thee thus wretched make?
XV.

If Heaven, then none may it redress or blame,
Sith to his Power we all are fubject born:

If wrathful Wight, then foul Rebuke and Shame
Be theirs, that have fo cruel thee forlorn:
But if thro inward Grief, or wilful Scorn,

Of Life it be, then better do advise.

For he whofe Days in wilful Woe are worn,
The Grace of his Creator doth despise,

That will not use his Gifts for thankless Nigardife,