In this great passion of vnwonted lust, xlix Or wonted feare of doing ought amis, He started[64] vp, as seeming to mistrust[65] Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his: Lo there before his face his Lady is, Vnder blake stole hyding her bayted hooke, And as halfe blushing offred him to kis, With gentle blandishment and louely looke, Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took. All cleane dismayd to see so vncouth sight, l And halfe enraged at her shamelesse guise, He thought haue[66] slaine her in his fierce despight: But hasty heat tempring with sufferance wise, He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe aduise To proue his sense, and tempt her faigned truth. Wringing her hands in wemens[67] pitteous wise, Tho can she weepe, to stirre vp gentle ruth, Both for her noble bloud, and for her tender youth. And said, Ah Sir, my liege Lord and my loue, li Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate, And mightie causes wrought in heauen aboue, Or the blind God, that doth me thus amate, For hoped loue to winne me certaine hate? Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die. Die is my dew: yet rew my wretched state You, whom my hard auenging destinie Hath made iudge of my life or death indifferently. Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leaue lii My Fathers kingdome, There she stopt with teares; Her swollen hart her speach seemd to bereaue, And then againe begun[68], My weaker yeares Captiu’d to fortune and frayle worldly feares, Fly to your faith for succour and sure ayde: Let me not dye in languor and long teares. Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayd? What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd? Loue of your selfe, she said, and deare constraint liii Lets me not sleepe, but wast the wearie night In secret anguish and vnpittied plaint, Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight. Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight Suspect her truth: yet since no’vntruth[69] he knew, Her fawning loue with foule disdainefull spight He would not shend, but said, Deare dame I rew, That for my sake vnknowne such griefe vnto you grew. Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground; liv For all so deare as life is to my hart, I deeme your loue, and hold me to you bound; Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart, Where cause is none, but to your rest depart. Not all content, yet seemd she to appease Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art, And fed with words, that could not chuse[70] but please, So slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her ease.