Nathlesse he shortly shall againe be tryde, xx And fairely quite[456] him of th’imputed blame, Else be ye sure he dearely shall abyde, Or make you good amendment for the same: All wrongs haue mends, but no amends of shame. Now therefore Ladie, rise out of your paine, And see the saluing of your blotted[457] name. Full loth she seemd thereto, but yet did faine; For she was inly glad her purpose so to gaine. Her purpose was not such, as she did faine, xxi Ne yet her person such, as it was seene, But vnder simple shew and semblant plaine Lurckt false _Duessa_ secretly vnseene, As a chast Virgin, that had wronged beene: So had false _Archimago_ her disguisd, To cloke her guile with sorrow and sad teene; And eke himselfe had craftily deuisd To be her Squire, and do her seruice well aguisd. Her late forlorne and naked he had found, xxii Where she did wander in waste wildernesse, Lurking in rockes and caues farre vnder ground, And with greene mosse cou’ring her nakednesse, To hide her shame and loathly filthinesse; Sith her Prince _Arthur_ of proud ornaments And borrow’d beautie spoyld. Her nathelesse Th’enchaunter finding fit for his intents, Did thus reuest, and deckt with due habiliments. For all he did, was to deceiue good knights, xxiii And draw them from pursuit of praise and fame, To slug in slouth and sensuall delights, And end their daies with irrenowmed shame. And now exceeding griefe him ouercame, To see the _Redcrosse_ thus aduaunced hye; Therefore this craftie engine he did frame, Against his praise to stirre vp enmitye Of such, as vertues like mote vnto him allye. So now he _Guyon_ guides an vncouth way xxiv Through woods and mountaines, till they came at last Into a pleasant dale, that lowly lay Betwixt two hils, whose high heads ouerplast, The valley did with coole shade ouercast, Through midst thereof a little riuer rold, By which there sate a knight with helme vnlast, Himselfe refreshing with the liquid cold, After his trauell long, and labours manifold. Loe yonder he, cryde _Archimage_ alowd, xxv That wrought the shamefull fact, which I did shew; And now he doth himselfe in secret shrowd, To flie the vengeance for his outrage dew; But vaine: for ye shall dearely do him rew, So God ye speed, and send you good successe; Which we farre off will here abide to vew. So they him left, inflam’d with wrathfulnesse, That streight against that knight his speare he did addresse.