XXIX

But this good knight soone as he them can spie,
  For the cool shade[*] him thither hastly got: 
  For golden Phoebus now ymounted hie, 255
  From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot
  Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,
  That living creature mote it not abide;
  And his new Lady it endured not. 
  There they alight, in hope themselves to hide 260
From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.

XXX

Faire seemely pleasaunce[*] each to other makes,
  With goodly purposes[*] there as they sit: 
  And in his falsed fancy he her takes
  To be the fairest wight that lived yit; 265
  Which to expresse he bends his gentle wit,
  And thinking of those braunches greene to frame
  A girlond for her dainty forehead fit,
  He pluckt a bough;[*] out of whose rift there came
Small drops of gory bloud, that trickled down the same. 270

XXXI

Therewith a piteous yelling voyce was heard,
  Crying, O spare with guilty hands[*] to teare
  My tender sides in this rough rynd embard,
  But fly, ah fly far hence away, for feare
  Least to you hap, that happened to me heare, 275
  And to this wretched Lady, my deare love,
  O too deare love, love bought with death too deare. 
  Astond he stood, and up his haire did hove,
And with that suddein horror could no member move.

XXXII

At last whenas the dreadfull passion 280
  Was overpast, and manhood well awake,
  Yet musing at the straunge occasion,
  And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake;
  What voyce of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,[*]
  Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire, 285
  Both which fraile men do oftentimes mistake,
  Sends to my doubtfull eares these speaches rare,
And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse bloud to spare?

XXXIII

Then groning deepe, Nor damned Ghost, (quoth he,)
  Nor guileful sprite to thee these wordes doth speake, 290
  But once a man Fradubio,[*] now a tree,
  Wretched man, wretched tree; whose nature weake
  A cruell witch her cursed will to wreake,
  Hath thus transformd, and plast in open plaines,
  Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake, 295
  And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines: 
For though a tree I seeme, yet cold and heat me paines.

XXXIV

Say on Fradubio then, or man, or tree,
  Quoth then the knight, by whose mischievous arts
  Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see? 300
  He oft finds med’cine, who his griefe imparts;
  But double griefs afflict concealing harts,
  As raging flames who striveth to suppresse. 
  The author then (said he) of all my smarts,
  Is one Duessa a false sorceresse, 305
That many errant knights hath brought to wretchednesse.