Is one Duessa a false sorceresse,
That many errant knights hath brought to wretchednesse.
In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hot xxxv
The fire of loue and ioy of cheualree
First kindled in my brest, it was my lot
To loue this gentle Lady, whom ye see,
Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree;
With whom as once I rode accompanyde,
Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee,
That had a like faire Lady by his syde,