Xxvii

Then bowing downe her aged backe, she kist The wicked witch, saying; In that faire face The false resemblance of Deceipt I wist Did closely lurke; yet so true-seeming grace It carried, that I scarce in darkesome place Could it discerne, though I the mother bee Of falshood, and roote of Duessaes race. O welcome child, whom I have longd to see, And now have seene unwares. Lo now I go with thee.