For she deare Ladie all the way was dead, ix Whilest he in armes her bore; but when she felt Her selfe downe soust, she waked out of dread Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh swelt, And eft gan into tender teares to melt. Then when she lookt about, and nothing found But darknesse and dread horrour, where she dwelt, She almost fell againe into a swound, Ne wist whether aboue she were, or vnder ground. With that she heard some one close by her side x Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine Her tender hart in peeces would diuide: Which she long listning, softly askt againe What mister wight it was that so did plaine? To whom thus aunswer’d was: Ah wretched wight That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine, Vnweeting of thine owne like haplesse plight: Selfe to forget to mind another, is ouersight[117]. Aye me (said she) where am I, or with whom? xi Emong the liuing, or emong the dead? What shall of me vnhappy maid become? Shall death be th’end, or ought else worse, aread. Vnhappy mayd (then answerd she) whose dread Vntride, is lesse then when thou shalt it try: Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead, Both grace and gaine; but he in hell doth lie, That liues a loathed life, and wishing cannot die. This dismall day hath thee a caytiue[118] made, xii And vassall to the vilest wretch aliue, Whose cursed vsage and vngodly trade The heauens abhorre, and into darkenesse driue. For on the spoile of women he doth liue, Whose bodies chast, when euer in his powre He may them catch, vnable to gainestriue, He with his shamefull lust doth first deflowre, And afterwards themselues doth cruelly deuoure. Now twenty daies, by which the sonnes of men xiii Diuide their works, haue past through heuen sheene, Since I was brought into this dolefull[119] den; During which space these sory eies haue seen Seauen women by him slaine, and eaten clene. And now no more for him but I alone, And this old woman here remaining beene; Till thou cam’st hither to augment our mone, And of vs three to morrow he will sure eate one. Ah dreadfull tidings which thou doest declare, xiv (Quoth she) of all that euer hath bene knowen: Full many great calamities and rare This feeble brest endured hath, but none Equall to this, where euer I haue gone. But what are you, whom like vnlucky lot Hath linckt with me in the same chaine attone? To tell (quoth she) that which ye see, needs not; A wofull wretched maid, of God and man forgot.