XXIII

He in the first flowre of my freshest age,
  Betrothed me unto the onely haire[*] 200
  Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;
  Was never Prince so faithfull and so faire,
  Was never Prince so meeke and debonaire;
  But ere my hoped day of spousall shone,
  My dearest Lord fell from high honours staire 205
  Into the hands of his accursed fone,
And cruelly was slaine, that shall I ever mone.

XXIV

His blessed body spoild of lively breath,
  Was afterward, I know not how, convaid
  And fro me hid:  of whose most innocent death 210
  When tidings came to me, unhappy maid,
  O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid. 
  Then forth I went his woefull corse to find,
  And many yeares throughout the world I straid,
  A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind 215
With love long time did languish as the striken hind.

XXV

At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin
  To meete me wandring, who perforce me led
  With him away, but yet could never win
  The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread; 220
  There lies he now with foule dishonour dead,
  Who whiles he livde, was called proud Sansfoy,
  The eldest of three brethren, all three bred
  Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy;
And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold Sansloy. 225

XXVI

In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate,
  Now miserable I Fidessa dwell,
  Craving of you in pitty of my state,
  To do none ill, if please ye not do well. 
  He in great passion all this while did dwell, 230
  More busying his quicke eyes, her face to view,
  Then his dull eares, to heare what she did tell;
  And said, Faire Lady hart of flint would rew
The undeserved woes and sorrowes which ye shew.

XXVII

Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest, 235
  Having both found a new friend you to aid,
  And lost an old foe that did you molest: 
  Better new friend then an old foe is said. 
  With chaunge of cheare the seeming simple maid
  Let fall her eyen, as shamefast to the earth, 240
  And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain-said,
  So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth,
And she coy lookes:  so dainty they say maketh derth.[*]

XXVIII

Long time they thus together traveiled,
  Till weary of their way, they came at last 245
  Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred
  Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast,
  And their greene leaves trembling with every blast,
  Made a calme shadow far in compasse round: 
  The fearfull Shepheard often there aghast 250
  Under them never sat, ne wont there sound[*]
His mery oaten pipe, but shund th’ unlucky ground.