Ii

Helpe then, O holy Virgin chiefe of nine,° Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will; Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights° and fairest Tanaquill,° Whom that most noble Briton Prince° so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his undeserved wrong: O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong.