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XXXIX

What worlds delight, or joy of living speach
Can heart, so plung'd in sea of sorrowes deep,
And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach? 340
The carefull cold beginneth for to creepe,
And in my heart his yron arrow steepe,
Soone as I thinke upon my bitter bale:
Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden keepe,
Then rip up griefe, where it may not availe, 345
My last left comfort is, my woes to weepe and waile.

XL

Ah Ladie deare, quoth then the gentle knight,
Well may I weene your griefe is wondrous great;
For wondrous great griefe groneth in my spright,
Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat. 350
But wofull Ladie, let me you intrete
For to unfold the anguish of your hart:
Mishaps are maistred by advice discrete,
And counsell mittigates the greatest smart;
Found? never helpe who never would his hurts impart. 355

XLI

O but (quoth she) great griefe will not be tould,?
And can more easily be thought then said.
Right so (quoth he), but he that never would,
Could never: will to might gives greatest aid.
But griefe (quoth she) does greater grow displaid, 360
If then it find not helpe, and breedes despaire.
Despaire breedes not (quoth he) where faith is staid.
No faith? so fast (quoth she) but flesh does paire.
Flesh may empaire (quoth he) but reason can repaire.

XLII

His goodly reason, and well guided speach, 365
So deepe did settle in her gracious thought,
That her perswaded to disclose the breach,
Which love and fortune in her heart had wrought,
And said; Faire Sir, I hope good hap hath brought
You to inquire the secrets of my griefe, 370
Or that your wisedome will direct my thought,
Or that your prowesse can me yield reliefe:
Then heare the storie sad, which I shall tell you briefe.

XLIII

The forlorne Maiden, whom your eyes have seene
The laughing stocke of fortunes mockeries, 375
Am th' only daughter?
of a King and Queene,
Whose parents deare, whilest equal destinies?
Did runne about, and their felicities
The favourable heavens did not envy,
Did spread their rule through all the territories, 380
Which Phison? and Euphrates floweth by,
And Gehons golden waves doe wash continually.

XLIV

Till that their cruell cursed enemy,
An huge great Dragon horrible in sight,
Bred in the loathly lakes of Tartary,? 385
With murdrous ravine, and devouring might
Their kingdome spoild, and countrey wasted quight:
Themselves, for feare into his jawes to fall,
He forst to castle strong to take their flight,
Where fast embard in mighty brasen wall, 390
He has them now foure yeres besiegd to make them thrall. ?

XLV

Full many knights adventurous and stout
Have enterpriz'd that Monster to subdew;
From every coast that heaven walks about,?
Have thither come the noble Martiall crew, 395
That famous hard atchievements still pursew;
Yet never any could that girlond win,
But all still shronke, and still he greater grew:
All they for want of faith, or guilt of sin,
The pitteous pray of his fierce crueltie have bin. 400

XLVI

At last yledd with farre reported praise,
Which flying fame throughout the world had spred,
Of doughty knights, whom Faery land did raise,
That noble order? hight of Maidenhed,
Forthwith to court of Gloriane? I sped 405
Of Gloriane great Queene of glory bright,
Whose Kingdomes seat Cleopolis? is red,
There to obtaine some such redoubted knight,
The Parents deare from tyrants powre deliver might.

XLVII

It was my chance (my chance was faire and good) 410
There for to find a fresh unproved knight,
Whose manly hands imbrew'd in guiltie blood
Had never bene, ne ever by his might
Had throwne to ground the unregarded right:
Yet of his prowesse proofe he since hath made 415
(I witnesse am) in many a cruell fight;
The groning ghosts of many one dismaide
Have felt the bitter dint of his avenging blade.

XLVIII

And ye the forlorne reliques of his powre,
His byting sword, and his devouring speare, 420
Which have endured many a dreadfull stowre,
Can speake his prowesse, that did earst you beare,
And well could rule: now he hath left you heare
To be the record of his ruefull losse,
And of my dolefull disaventurous deare:? 425
O heavie record of the good Redcrosse,
Where have you left your Lord, that could so well you tosse?

XLIX

Well hoped I, and faire beginnings had,
That he my captive languor?