Xxxii

At last whenas the dreadfull passion Was overpast, and manhood well awake, Yet musing at the straunge occasion, And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake; What voyce of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,° Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire, Both which fraile men do oftentimes mistake, Sends to my doubtfull eares these speaches rare, And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse bloud to spare?