And passage bard to all, that thither came,
Was vanisht quite, as it were not the same,
And gaue her leaue at pleasure forth to passe.
Th’Enchaunter selfe, which all that fraud did frame,
To haue efforst the loue of that faire lasse,
Seeing his worke now wasted deepe engrieued was.
But when the victoresse arriued there, xliv
Where late she left the pensife[1192] Scudamore,
With her owne trusty Squire, both full of feare,
Neither of them she found where she them lore: