Thence forth[125] she past into his dreadfull den, xxxiii Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found, Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then Some litle whispering, and soft groning sound. With that she askt, what ghosts there vnder ground Lay hid in horrour of eternall night? And bad them, if so be they were not bound, To come and shew themselues before the light, Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight. Then forth the sad[126] _Æmylia_ issewed, xxxiv Yet trembling euery ioynt through former feare; And after her the Hag, there with her mewed, A foule and lothsome creature did appeare; A leman fit for such a louer deare. That mou’d _Belphebe_ her no lesse to hate, Then for to rue the others heauy cheare; Of whom she gan enquire of her estate. Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate. Thence she them brought toward the place, where late xxxv She left the gentle Squire with _Amoret_: There she him found by that new louely mate, Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set, From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet, Which softly stild, and kissing them atweene, And handling soft the hurts, which she did get. For of that Carle she sorely bruz’d had beene, Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene. Which when she saw, with sodaine glauncing eye, xxxvi Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild With deepe disdaine, and great indignity, That in her wrath she thought them both haue thrild, With that selfe arrow, which the Carle had kild: Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore, But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld; Is this the faith,[127] she said, and said no more, But turnd her face, and fled away for euermore. He seeing her depart, arose vp light, xxxvii Right sore agrieued at her sharpe reproofe, And follow’d fast: but when he came in sight, He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe, For dread of her displeasures vtmost proofe. And euermore, when he did grace entreat, And framed speaches fit for his behoofe, Her mortall arrowes[128] she at him did threat, And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat. At last when long he follow’d had in vaine, xxxviii Yet found no ease of griefe, nor hope of grace, Vnto those woods he turned backe againe, Full of sad anguish, and in heauy case: And finding there fit solitary place For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade, Where hardly eye mote see bright heauens face, For mossy trees, which couered all with shade And sad melancholy:[129] there he his cabin made.