XXIII

O lightsome day, the lampe of highest Jove,
  First made by him, mens wandring wayes to guyde, 195
  When darkenesse he in deepest dongeon drove,
  Henceforth thy hated face for ever hyde,
  And shut up heavens windowes shyning wyde: 
  For earthly sight can nought but sorrow breed,
  And late repentance, which shall long abyde. 200
  Mine eyes no more on vanitie shall feed,
But seeled up with death,[*] shall have their deadly meed.

XXIV

Then downe againe she fell unto the ground;
  But he her quickly reared up againe: 
  Thrise did she sinke adowne in deadly swownd 205
  And thrise he her reviv’d with busie paine,
  At last when life recover’d had the raine,
  And over-wrestled his strong enemie,
  With foltring tong, and trembling every vaine,
  Tell on (quoth she) the wofull Tragedie, 210
The which these reliques sad present unto mine eie.

XXV

Tempestuous fortune hath spent all her spight,
  And thrilling sorrow throwne his utmost dart;
  Thy sad tongue cannot tell more heavy plight,
  Then that I feele, and harbour in mine hart:  215
  Who hath endur’d the whole, can beare each part. 
  If death it be, it is not the first wound,
  That launched hath my brest with bleeding smart. 
  Begin, and end the bitter balefull stound;[*]
If lesse then that I feare,[*] more favour I have found. 220

XXVI

Then gan the Dwarfe the whole discourse declare,
  The subtill traines of Archimago old;
  The wanton loves of false Fidessa faire,
  Bought with the blood of vanquisht Paynim bold;
  The wretched payre transformed to treen mould; 225
  The house of Pride, and perils round about;
  The combat, which he with Sansjoy did hould;
  The lucklesse conflict with the Gyant stout,
Wherein captiv’d, of life or death he stood in doubt.

XXVII

She heard with patience all unto the end, 230
  And strove to maister sorrowfull assay,[*]
  Which greater grew, the more she did contend,
  And almost rent her tender hart in tway;
  And love fresh coles unto her fire did lay: 
  For greater love, the greater is the losse. 235
  Was never Lady[*] loved dearer day,
  Then she did love the knight of the Redcrosse;
For whose deare sake so many troubles her did tosse.

XXVIII

At last when fervent sorrow slaked was,
  She up arose, resolving him to find 240
  Alive or dead:  and forward forth doth pas,
  All as the Dwarfe the way to her assynd: 
  And evermore, in constant carefull mind,
  She fed her wound with fresh renewed bale;
  Long tost with stormes, and bet with bitter wind, 245
  High over hills, and low adowne the dale,
She wandred many a wood, and measurd many a vale.