Xiv

And to augment her painefull pennance more, Thrise every weeke in ashes she did sit, And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore, And thrise three times did fast from any bit: But now for feare her beads she did forget. Whose needlesse dread for to remove away, Faire Una framed words and count'nance fit: Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray, That in their cotage small that night she rest her may.