O What an easie thing is to descry i The gentle bloud, how euer it be wrapt[476] In sad misfortunes foule deformity, And wretched sorrowes, which haue often hapt? For howsoeuer it may grow mis-shapt, Like this wyld man, being vndisciplynd, That to all vertue it may seeme vnapt, Yet will it shew some sparkes of gentle mynd, And at the last breake forth in his owne proper kynd. That plainely may in this wyld man be red, ii Who though he were still in this desert wood, Mongst saluage beasts, both rudely borne and bred, Ne euer saw faire guize, ne learned good, Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood, By gentle vsage of that wretched Dame. For certes he was borne of noble blood, How euer by hard hap he hether came; As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same. Who when as now long time he lacked had iii The good Sir _Calepine_, that farre was strayd, Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad, As he of some misfortune were afrayd: And leauing there this Ladie all dismayd, Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde, To seeke, if he perchance a sleepe were layd, Or what so else were vnto him betyde: He sought him farre and neare, yet him no where he spyde. Tho backe returning to that sorie Dame, iv He shewed semblant of exceeding mone, By speaking signes, as he them best could frame; Now wringing both his wretched hands in one, Now beating his hard head vpon a stone, That ruth it was to see him so lament. By which she well perceiuing, what was done, Gan teare her hayre, and all her garments rent, And beat her breast, and piteously her selfe torment. Vpon the ground her selfe she fiercely threw, v Regardlesse of her wounds, yet bleeding rife, That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew, As if her breast new launcht[477] with murdrous knife, Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie life. There she long groueling, and deepe groning lay, As if her vitall powers were at strife With stronger death, and feared their decay, Such were this Ladies pangs and dolorous assay. Whom when the Saluage saw so sore distrest, vi He reared her vp from the bloudie ground, And sought by all the meanes, that he could best Her to recure out of that stony swound, And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound. Yet nould she be recomforted for nought, Ne cease her sorrow and impatient stound, But day and night did vexe her carefull thought, And euer more and more her owne affliction wrought.