The Lady when she saw her champion fall, xx Like the old ruines of a broken towre, Staid not to waile his woefull funerall, But from him fled away with all her powre; Who after her as hastily gan scowre, Bidding the Dwarfe with him to bring away The _Sarazins_ shield, signe of the conqueroure. Her soone he ouertooke, and bad to stay, For present cause was none of dread her to dismay. She turning backe with ruefull countenaunce, xxi Cride, Mercy mercy Sir vouchsafe to show On silly Dame, subiect to hard mischaunce, And to your mighty will. Her humblesse low In so ritch weedes and seeming glorious show, Did much emmoue his stout heroïcke heart, And said, Deare dame, your suddein ouerthrow Much rueth me; but now put feare apart, And tell, both who ye be, and who that tooke your part. Melting in teares, then gan she thus lament; xxii The wretched[92] woman, whom vnhappy howre Hath now made thrall to your commandement, Before that angry heauens list to lowre, And fortune false betraide me to your[93] powre, Was, (O what now auaileth that I was![94]) Borne the sole daughter of an Emperour, He that the wide West vnder his rule has, And high hath set his throne, where _Tiberis_ doth pas. He in the first flowre of my freshest age, xxiii Betrothed me vnto the onely haire Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage; Was neuer Prince so faithfull and so faire, Was neuer Prince so meeke and debonaire; But ere my hoped day of spousall shone, My dearest Lord fell from high honours staire, Into the hands of his accursed fone, And cruelly was slaine, that shall I euer mone. His blessed body spoild of liuely breath, xxiv Was afterward, I know not how, conuaid And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death When tidings came to me vnhappy maid, O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid. Then forth I went his woefull corse to find, And many yeares throughout the world I straid, A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind With loue, long time did languish as the striken hind. At last it chaunced this proud _Sarazin_[95] xxv To meete me wandring, who perforce me led With him away, but yet could neuer win The Fort, that Ladies hold in soueraigne dread. There lies he now with foule dishonour dead, Who whiles he liu’de, was called proud _Sans foy_, The eldest of three brethren, all three bred Of one bad sire, whose youngest is _Sans ioy_, And twixt them both was borne the bloudy bold _Sans loy_.