Lxxx

After so long a race as I have run Through Faery land, which those six books compile, Give leave to rest me being half foredonne, And gather to my selfe new breath awhile. Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle, Out of my prison I will break anew, And stoutly will that second work assoyle*, With strong endevour and attention dew. Till then give leave to me in pleasant mew** To sport my Muse, and sing my Loves sweet praise, The contemplation of whose heavenly hew My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse. But let her prayses yet be low and meane, Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene. [* Assoyle, discharge.] [** Mew, prison, retreat.]

LXXXI.

Fayre is my Love, when her fayre golden haires With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke; Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes appeares, Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke; Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke, With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay; Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away. But fayrest she, when so she doth display The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight, Throgh which her words so wise do make their way, To beare the message of her gentle spright. The rest be works of Natures wonderment; But this the worke of harts astonishment.

LXXXII.

Ioy of my life! full oft for loving you I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed: But then the more your owne mishap I rew, That are so much by so meane love embased. For had the equall hevens so much you graced In this as in the rest, ye mote invent* Some hevenly wit, whose verse could have enchased Your glorious name in golden moniment. But since ye deignd so goodly to relent To me your thrall, in whom is little worth, That little that I am shall all be spent In setting your immortal prayses forth: Whose lofty argument, uplifting me, Shall lift you up unto an high degree. [* Invent, light upon, find.]