Xxxiv

Say on Fradubio then, or man, or tree, Quoth then the knight, by whose mischievous arts Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see? He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to suppresse. The author then (said he) of all my smarts, Is one Duessa a false sorceresse, That many errant knights hath brought to wretchednesse.