Which goodly order, and great workmans skill xxxiii Whenas those knights beheld, with rare delight, And gazing wonder they their minds did fill; For neuer had they seene so straunge a sight. Thence backe againe faire _Alma_ led them right, And soone into a goodly Parlour brought, That was with royall arras richly dight, In which was nothing pourtrahed, nor wrought, Not wrought, nor pourtrahed, but easie to be thought. And in the midst thereof vpon the floure, xxxiv A louely beuy of faire Ladies sate, Courted of many a iolly Paramoure, The which them did in modest wise amate, And eachone sought his Lady to aggrate: And eke emongst them litle _Cupid_ playd His wanton sports, being returned late From his fierce warres, and hauing from him layd His cruell bow, wherewith he thousands hath dismayd. Diuerse delights they found them selues to please; xxxv Some song in sweet consort, some laught for ioy, Some plaid with strawes, some idly sat at ease; But other some could not abide to toy, All pleasaunce was to them griefe and annoy: This fround, that faund, the third for shame did blush, Another seemed enuious, or coy, Another in her teeth did gnaw a rush: But at these straungers presence euery one did hush. Soone as the gracious _Alma_ came in place, xxxvi They all attonce out of their seates arose, And to her homage made, with humble grace: Whom when the knights beheld, they gan dispose Themselues to court, and each a Damsell chose: The Prince by chaunce did on a Lady light, That was right faire and fresh as morning rose, But somwhat sad, and solemne eke in sight, As if some pensiue thought constraind her gentle spright. In a long purple pall, whose skirt with gold[743] xxxvii Was fretted all about, she was arayd; And in her hand a Poplar braunch did hold: To whom the Prince in curteous manner said; Gentle Madame, why beene ye thus dismaid, And your faire beautie do with sadnesse spill? Liues any, that you hath thus ill apaid? Or doen you loue,[744] or doen you lacke your will? What euer be the cause, it sure beseemes you ill. Faire Sir, (said she halfe in disdainefull wise,) xxxviii How is it, that this mood[745] in me ye blame, And in your selfe do not the same aduise? Him ill beseemes, anothers fault to name, That may vnwares be blotted with the same: Pensiue I yeeld I am, and sad in mind, Through great desire of glory and of fame; Ne ought I weene are ye therein behind, That haue twelue moneths[746] sought one, yet no where can her find.