XVIII

As when a wearie traveller that strayes
  By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile, 155
  Unweeting of the perillous wandring wayes,
  Doth meete a cruell craftie Crocodile,
  Which in false griefe hyding his harmefull guile,
  Doth weepe full sore, and sheddeth tender teares:[*]
  The foolish man, that pitties all this while 160
  His mournefull plight, is swallowed up unawares,
Forgetfull of his owne, that mindes anothers cares.

XIX

So wept Duessa untill eventide,
  That shyning lampes in Joves high house were light: 
  Then forth she rose, ne lenger would abide, 165
  But comes unto the place, where th’ Hethen knight
  In slombring swownd nigh voyd of vitall spright,
  Lay cover’d with inchaunted cloud all day: 
  Whom when she found, as she him left in plight,
  To wayle his woefull case she would not stay, 170
But to the easterne coast of heaven makes speedy way.

XX

Where griesly Night,[*] with visage deadly sad,
  That Phoebus chearefull face durst never vew,
  And in a foule blacke pitchie mantle clad,
  She findes forth comming from her darkesome mew, 175
  Where she all day did hide her hated hew. 
  Before the dore her yron charet stood,
  Alreadie harnessed for journey new;
  And coleblacke steedes yborne of hellish brood,
That on their rustie bits did champ, as they were wood. 180

XXI

Who when she saw Duessa sunny bright,
  Adornd with gold and jewels shining cleare,
  She greatly grew amazed at the sight,
  And th’ unacquainted light began to feare: 
  For never did such brightnesse there appeare, 185
  And would have backe retyred to her cave,
  Until the witches speech she gan to heare,
  Saying, Yet, O thou dreaded Dame, I crave
Abide, till I have told the message which I have.

XXII

She stayd, and foorth Duessa gan proceede 190
  O thou most auncient Grandmother of all,
  More old then Jove, whom thou at first didst breede,
  Or that great house of Gods caelestiall,
  Which wast begot in Daemogorgons hall,
  And sawst the secrets of the world unmade, 195
  Why suffredst thou thy Nephewes deare to fall
  With Elfin sword, most shamefully betrade? 
Lo where the stout Sansjoy doth sleepe in deadly shade.

XXIII

And him before, I saw with bitter eyes
  The bold Sansfoy shrinke underneath his speare; 200
  And now the pray of fowles in field he lyes,
  Nor wayld of friends, nor layd on groning beare,[*]
  That whylome was to me too dearely deare. 
  O what of Gods[*] then boots it to be borne,
  If old Aveugles sonnes so evill heare? 205
  Or who shall not great Nightes children scorne,
When two of three her Nephews are so fowle forlorne?