XLVIII

But that false Pilgrim, which that leasing told,
  Being in deed old Archimage, did stay 420
  In secret shadow, all this to behold,
  And much rejoiced in their bloudy fray: 
  But when he saw the Damsell passe away,
  He left his stond, and her pursewd apace,
  In hope to bring her to her last decay,[*] 425
  But for to tell her lamentable cace,[*]
And eke this battels end, will need another place.

* * * * *

CANTO VII

The Redcrosse knight is captive made
by Gyaunt proud opprest,
Prince Arthur meets with Una great-
ly with those newes distrest.

I

What man so wise, what earthly wit so ware,
  As to discry the crafty cunning traine,
  By which deceipt doth maske in visour faire,
  And cast her colours dyed deepe in graine,
  To seeme like Truth, whose shape she well can faine, 5
  And fitting gestures to her purpose frame;
  The guiltlesse man with guile to entertaine? 
  Great maistresse of her art was that false Dame,
The false Duessa, cloked with Fidessaes name.

II

Who when returning from the drery Night, 10
  She fownd not in that perilous house of Pryde,
  Where she had left, the noble Redcrosse knight,
  Her hoped pray; she would no lenger bide,
  But forth she went, to seeke him far and wide. 
  Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie sate 15
  To rest him selfe, foreby a fountaine side,
  Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate,
And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate.

III

He feedes upon[*] the cooling shade, and bayes
  His sweatie forehead in the breathing wind, 20
  Which through the trembling leaves full gently playes,
  Wherein the cherefull birds of sundry kind
  Do chaunt sweet musick, to delight his mind: 
  The Witch approaching gan him fairely greet,
  And with reproch of carelesnesse unkind 25
  Upbrayd, for leaving her in place unmeet,
With fowle words tempring faire, soure gall with hony sweet.

IV

Unkindnesse past, they gan of solace treat,
  And bathe in pleasaunce of the joyous shade,
  Which shielded them against the boyling heat, 30
  And with greene boughes decking a gloomy glade,
  About the fountaine like a girlond made;
  Whose bubbling wave did ever freshly well,
  Ne ever would through fervent sommer fade: 
  The sacred Nymph, which therein wont to dwell, 35
Was out of Dianes favour, as it then befell.

V