STANZAS IN 1590 REPLACED IN 1596 WITH OTHERS.
[1]
At last she came vntounto the place, where late
She left Sir Scudamour in great distresse,
Twixt dolour and despight halfe desperate,
Of his louesloves succour, of his owne redresse,
And of the hardie Britomarts successe:
There on the cold earth him now thrown she found,
In wilfull anguish, and dead heauinesseheavinesse,
And to him cald; whose voices knowen sound
Soone as he heard, himself he reared light from ground.
[2]
There did he see, that most on earth him ioydjoyd,
His dearest louelove, the comfort of his dayes,
Whose too long absence him had sore annoyd,
And wearied his life with dull delayes:
Straight he vpstartedupstarted from the loathed layes,
And to her ran with hasty egernesse,
Like as a Deare, that greedily embayes
In the coole soile, after long thirstinesse,
Which he in chace endured hath, now nigh breathlesse.
[3]
Lightly he clipt her twixt his armes twaine,
And streightly did embrace her body bright,
Her body, late the prison of sad paine,
Now the sweet lodge of louelove and deare delight:
But she faire Lady ouercommenovercommen quight
Of huge affection, did in pleasure melt,
And in sweete rauishmentravishment pourd out her spright:
No word they spake, nor earthly thing they felt,
But like two senceles stocks in long embraceme[n]t dwelt.
[4]
Had ye them seene, ye would hauehave surely thought,
That they had beene that faire Hermaphrodite,
Which that rich Romane of white marble wrought,
And in his costly Bath causd to bee site:
So seemd those two, as growne together quite,
That Britomart halfe enuyingenvying their b[l]esse,
Was much empassiond in her gentle sprite,
And to her selfe oft wisht like happinesse,
In vaine she wisht, that fate n’ould let her yet possesse.
[5]
Thus doe those louerslovers with sweet counteruaylecountervayle,
Each other of louesloves bitter fruit despoile.
But now my teme begins to faint and fayle,
All woxen weary of their iournalljournall toyle:
Therefore I will their sweatie yokes assoyle,
At this same furrowes end, till a new day:
And ye faire swayns, after your long turmoyle,
Now cease your worke, and at your pleasure play:
Now cease your worke; to morrow is an holy day.
