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in bravest sort,

       Her lips, where blooms naught but the single rose,

       Still blush, for still they kiss while still they close.

      XXXI

       Her breasts, two hills o'erspread with purest snow,

       Sweet, smooth and supple, soft and gently swelling,

       Between them lies a milken dale below,

       Where love, youth, gladness, whiteness make their dwelling,

       Her breasts half hid, and half were laid to show,

       So was the wanton clad, as if this much

       Should please the eye, the rest unseen, the touch.

      XXXII

       As when the sunbeams dive through Tagus' wave,

       To spy the store-house of his springtime gold,

       Love-piercing thought so through her mantle drave,

       And in her gentle bosom wandered bold;

       It viewed the wondrous beauty virgins have,

       And all to fond desire with vantage told,

       Alas! what hope is left, to quench his fire

       That kindled is by sight, blown by desire.

      XXXIII

       Thus passed she, praised, wished, and wondered at,

       Among the troops who there encamped lay,

       She smiled for joy, but well dissembled that,

       Her greedy eye chose out her wished prey;

       On all her gestures seeming virtue sat,

       Toward the imperial tent she asked the way:

       With that she met a bold and lovesome knight,

       Lord Godfrey's youngest brother, Eustace hight.

      XXXIV

       This was the fowl that first fell in the snare,

       He saw her fair, and hoped to find her kind;

       The throne of Cupid had an easy stair,

       His bark is fit to sail with every wind,

       The breach he makes no wisdom can repair:

       With reverence meet the baron low inclined,

       And thus his purpose to the virgin told,

       For youth, use, nature, all had made him bold.

      XXXV

       "Lady, if thee beseem a stile so low,

       In whose sweet looks such sacred beauty shine—

       For never yet did Heaven such grace bestow

       On any daughter born of Adam's line—

       Thy name let us, though far unworthy, know,

       Unfold thy will, and whence thou art in fine,

       Lest my audacious boldness learn too late

       What honors due become thy high estate."

      XXXVI

       "Sir Knight," quoth she, "your praises reach too high

       Above her merit you commenden so,

       A hapless maid I am, both born to die

       And dead to joy, that live in care and woe,

       A virgin helpless, fugitive pardie,

       My native soil and kingdom thus forego

       To seek Duke Godfrey's aid, such store men tell

       Of virtuous ruth doth in his bosom dwell.

      XXXVII

       "Conduct me then that mighty duke before,

       If you be courteous, sir, as well you seem."

       "Content," quoth he, "since of one womb ybore,

       We brothers are, your fortune good esteem

       To encounter me whose word prevaileth more

       In Godfrey's hearing than you haply deem:

       Mine aid I grant, and his I promise too,

       All that his sceptre, or my sword, can do."

      XXXVIII

       He led her easily forth when this was said,

       Where Godfrey sat among his lords and peers,

       She reverence did, then blushed, as one dismayed

       To speak, for secret wants and inward fears,

       It seemed a bashful shame her speeches stayed,

       At last the courteous duke her gently cheers;

       Silence was made, and she began her tale,

       They sit to hear, thus sung this nightingale:

      XXXIX

       "Victorious prince, whose honorable name

       Is held so great among our Pagan kings,

       That to those lands thou dost by conquest tame

       That thou hast won them some content it brings;

       Well known to all is thy immortal fame,

       The earth, thy worth, thy foe, thy praises sings,

       And Paynims wronged come to seek thine aid,

       So doth thy virtue, so thy power persuade.

      XL

       "And I though bred in Macon's heathenish lore,

       Which thou oppressest with thy puissant might,

       Yet trust thou wilt an helpless maid restore,

       And repossess her in her father's right:

       Others in their distress do aid implore

       Of kin and friends; but I in this sad plight

       Invoke thy help, my kingdom to invade,

       So doth thy virtue, so my need persuade.

      XLI

       "In thee I hope, thy succors I invoke,

       To win the crown whence I am dispossest;

       For like renown awaiteth on the stroke

       To cast the haughty down or raise the opprest;

       Nor greater glory brings a sceptre broke,

       Than doth deliverance of a maid distrest;

       And since thou canst at will perform the thing,

       More is thy praise to make, than kill a king.

      XLII

       "But if thou would'st thy succors due excuse,

       Because in Christ I have no hope nor trust,

       Ah yet for virtue's sake, thy virtue use!

       Who scorneth gold because it lies in dust?

       Be witness Heaven, if thou to grant refuse,

       Thou dost forsake a maid in cause most just,

       And for thou shalt at large my fortunes know,

       I will my wrongs and their great treasons show.

      XLIII

       "Prince Arbilan that reigned in his life

       On fair Damascus, was my noble sire,

       Born of mean race he was, yet got to wife

       The Queen Chariclia, such was the fire

       Of her hot love, but soon the fatal knife

       Had cut the thread that kept their joys entire,

       For so mishap her cruel lot had cast,

       My birth, her death; my first day, was her last.

      XLIV

       "And ere five

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