Which he perceiuing greatly gan reioice, xliv And goodly counsell, that for wounded hart Is meetest med’cine, tempred with sweet voice; Ay me, deare Lady, which the image art Of ruefull pitie, and impatient smart, What direfull chance, armd with reuenging[475] fate, Or cursed hand hath plaid this cruell part, Thus fowle to hasten your vntimely date; Speake, O deare Lady speake: help neuer comes too late. Therewith her dim eie-lids she vp gan reare, xlv On which the drery death did sit, as sad As lump of lead, and made darke clouds appeare; But when as him all in bright armour clad Before her standing she espied had, As one out of a deadly dreame affright, She weakely started, yet she nothing drad: Streight downe againe her selfe in great despight[476] She groueling threw to ground, as hating life and light. The gentle knight her soone with carefull paine xlvi Vplifted light, and softly did vphold: Thrise he her reard, and thrise she sunke againe, Till he his armes about her sides gan fold, And to her said; Yet if the stony cold Haue not all seized on your frozen hart, Let one word fall that may your griefe vnfold, And tell the secret of your mortall smart; He oft finds present helpe, who does his griefe impart. Then casting vp a deadly looke, full low[477] xlvii Shee sight[478] from bottome of her wounded brest, And after, many bitter throbs did throw With lips full pale and foltring tongue opprest, These words she breathed forth from riuen chest; Leaue, ah leaue off, what euer wight thou bee, To let a wearie wretch from her dew rest, And trouble dying soules tranquilitee. Take not away now got, which none would giue to me. Ah farre be it (said he) Deare dame fro mee, xlviii To hinder soule from her desired rest, Or hold sad life in long captiuitee: For all I seeke, is but to haue redrest The bitter pangs, that doth your heart infest. Tell then, O Lady tell, what fatall priefe Hath with so huge misfortune you opprest? That I may cast to compasse your reliefe, Or die with you in sorrow, and partake your griefe. With feeble hands then stretched forth on hye, xlix As heauen accusing guiltie of her death, And with dry drops congealed in her eye, In these sad words she spent her vtmost breath: Heare then, O man, the sorrowes that vneath My tongue can tell, so farre all sense they pas: Loe this dead corpse, that lies here vnderneath, The gentlest knight, that euer on greene gras Gay steed with spurs did pricke, the good Sir _Mordant_[479] was.