Xlviii

And ye the forlorne reliques of his powre, His byting sword, and his devouring speare, Which have endured many a dreadfull stowre, Can speake his prowesse, that did earst you beare, And well could rule: now he hath left you heare To be the record of his ruefull losse, And of my dolefull disaventurous deare:° O heavie record of the good Redcrosse, Where have you left your Lord, that could so well you tosse?