Xxvii

She heard with patience all unto the end, And strove to maister sorrowfull assay,° Which greater grew, the more she did contend, And almost rent her tender hart in tway; And love fresh coles unto her fire did lay: For greater love, the greater is the losse. Was never Lady° loved dearer day, Then she did love the knight of the Redcrosse; For whose deare sake so many troubles her did tosse.