Xix

The wofull Dwarfe, which saw his maisters fall, Whiles he had keeping of his grasing steed, And valiant knight become a caytive thrall, When all was past, tooke up his forlorne weed,° His mightie armour, missing most at need; His silver shield, now idle maisterlesse; His poynant speare, that many made to bleed, The rueful moniments° of heavinesse, And with them all departes, to tell his great distresse.