XLVI

With gentle wordes he can her fairely greet,
  And bad say on the secret of her hart. 
  Then sighing soft, I learne that litle sweet
  Oft tempred is (quoth she) with muchell smart: 
  For since my brest was launcht with lovely dart 410
  Of deare Sans foy, I never joyed howre,
  But in eternall woes my weaker hart
  Have wasted, loving him with all my powre,
And for his sake have felt full many an heavie stowre.

XLVII

At last when perils all I weened past, 415
  And hop’d to reape the crop of all my care,
  Into new woes unweeting I was cast,
  By this false faytor, who unworthy ware
  His worthy shield, whom he with guilefull snare
  Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull grave. 420
  Me silly maid away with him he bare,
  And ever since hath kept in darksome cave,
For that I would not yeeld, that to Sans foy I gave.

XLVIII

But since faire Sunne hath sperst that lowring clowd,
  And to my loathed life now shewes some light, 425
  Under your beames I will me safely shrowd,
  From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight: 
  To you th’ inheritance belongs by right
  Of brothers prayse, to you eke longs his love. 
  Let not his love, let not his restlesse spright, 430
  Be unreveng’d, that calles to you above
From wandring Stygian shores, where it doth endlesse move.

XLIX

Thereto said he, Faire Dame, be nought dismaid
  For sorrowes past; their griefe is with them gone: 
  Ne yet of present perill be affraid; 435
  For needlesse feare did never vantage none
  And helplesse hap[*] it booteth not to mone. 
  Dead is Sansfoy, his vitall paines are past,
  Though greeved ghost for vengeance deepe do grone: 
  He lives, that shall him pay his dewties last,[*] 440
And guiltie Elfin blood shall sacrifice in hast.

L

O but I feare the fickle freakes (quoth shee)
  Of fortune false, and oddes of armes[*] in field. 
  Why Dame (quoth he) what oddes can ever bee,
  Where both do fight alike, to win or yield? 445
  Yea but (quoth she) he beares a charmed shield,
  And eke enchaunted armes, that none can perce,
  Ne none can wound the man that does them wield. 
  Charmd or enchaunted (answerd he then ferce)
I no whit reck, ne you the like need to reherce. 450

LI

But faire Fidessa, sithens fortunes guile,
  Or enimies powre, hath now captived you,
  Returne from whence ye came, and rest a while
  Till morrow next, that I the Elfe subdew,
  And with Sansfoyes dead dowry you endew. 455
  Ay me, that is a double death (she said)
  With proud foes sight my sorrow to renew: 
  Where ever yet I be, my secret aid
Shall follow you.  So passing forth she him obaid.