Whom broad awake she finds, in troublous fit, xlv Forecasting, how his foe he might annoy, And him amoues with speaches seeming fit: Ah deare _Sans ioy_[167], next dearest to _Sans foy_, Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new ioy[168], Ioyous, to see his ymage in mine eye, And greeu’d, to thinke how foe did him destroy, That was the flowre of grace and cheualrye; Lo his _Fidessa_ to thy secret faith I flye. With gentle wordes he can her fairely greet, xlvi And bad say on the secret[169] of her hart. Then sighing soft, I learne that litle sweet Oft tempred is (quoth she) with muchell smart: For since my brest was launcht with louely dart Of deare _Sansfoy_, I neuer ioyed howre, But in eternall woes my weaker hart Haue wasted, louing him with all my powre, And for his sake haue felt full many an heauie stowre. At last when perils all I weened past, xlvii And hop’d to reape the crop of all my care, Into new woes vnweeting I was cast, By this false faytor, who vnworthy ware His worthy shield, whom he with guilefull snare Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull graue. Me silly maid away with him he bare, And euer since hath kept in darksome caue, For that I would not yeeld, that to _Sans-foy_ I gaue. But since faire Sunne hath sperst that lowring clowd, xlviii And to my loathed life now shewes some light, Vnder your beames I will me safely shrowd, From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight: To you th’inheritance belongs by right Of brothers prayse, to you eke longs his loue. Let not his loue, let not his restlesse spright Be vnreueng’d, that calles to you aboue From wandring _Stygian_ shores, where it doth endlesse moue. Thereto said he, Faire[170] Dame be nought dismaid xlix For sorrowes past; their griefe is with them gone: Ne yet of present perill be affraid; For needlesse feare did neuer vantage none, And helplesse hap it booteth not to mone. Dead is _Sans-foy_, his vitall paines are past, Though greeued ghost for vengeance deepe do grone: He liues, that shall him pay his dewties last, And guiltie Elfin bloud shall sacrifice in hast. O but I feare the fickle freakes (quoth shee) l Of fortune false, and oddes of armes in field. Why dame (quoth he) what oddes can euer bee, Where both do fight alike, to win or yield? Yea but (quoth she) he beares a charmed shield, And eke enchaunted armes, that none can perce, Ne none can wound the man, that does them wield. Charmd or enchaunted (answerd he then ferce) I no whit reck, ne you the like need to reherce.