For that same vile Enchauntour _Busyran_, iii The very selfe same day that she was wedded, Amidst the bridale feast, whilest euery man Surcharg’d with wine, were heedlesse and ill hedded, All bent to mirth before the bride was bedded, Brought in that mask of loue which late was showen: And there the Ladie ill of friends bestedded, By way of sport, as oft in maskes is knowen, Conueyed quite away to liuing wight vnknowen. Seuen moneths he so her kept in bitter smart, iv Because his sinfull lust she would not serue, Vntill such time as noble _Britomart_ Released her, that else was like to sterue, Through cruell knife that her deare heart did kerue. And now she is with her vpon the way, Marching in louely wise, that could deserue No spot of blame, though spite did oft assay To blot her with dishonor of so faire a pray. Yet should it be a pleasant tale, to tell v The diuerse vsage and demeanure daint, That each to other made, as oft befell. For _Amoret_ right fearefull was and faint, Lest she with blame her honor should attaint, That euerie word did tremble as she spake, And euerie looke was coy, and wondrous quaint, And euerie limbe that touched her did quake: Yet could she not but curteous countenance to her make. For well she wist, as true it was indeed, vi That her liues Lord and patrone of her health Right well deserued as his duefull meed, Her loue, her seruice, and her vtmost wealth. All is his iustly, that all freely dealth: Nathlesse her honor dearer then her life, She sought to saue, as thing reseru’d from stealth; Die had she leuer with Enchanters knife, Then to be false in loue, profest a virgine wife. Thereto her feare was made so much the greater vii Through fine abusion of that Briton mayd: Who for to hide her fained sex the better, And maske her wounded mind, both did and sayd Full many things so doubtfull to be wayd, That well she wist not what by them to gesse[6], For other whiles to her she purpos made Of loue, and otherwhiles of lustfulnesse, That much she feard his mind would grow to some excesse. His will she feard; for him she surely thought viii To be a man, such as indeed he seemed, And much the more, by that he lately wrought, When her from deadly thraldome he redeemed, For which no seruice she too much esteemed, Yet dread of shame, and doubt of fowle dishonor Made her not yeeld so much, as due she deemed. Yet _Britomart_ attended duly on her, As well became a knight, and did to her all honor.