Xxix

But this good knight soone as he them can spie, For the cool shade° him thither hastly got: For golden Phoebus now ymounted hie, From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot, That living creature mote it not abide; And his new Lady it endured not. There they alight, in hope themselves to hide From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.