And troubled bloud through his pale face was seene
To come, and goe with tydings from the hart,
As it a running messenger had beene.
At last resolu’d to worke his finall smart,
He lifted vp his hand, that backe againe did start.
Which when as Vna saw[321], through euery vaine lii
The crudled cold ran to her well of life,
As in a swowne: but soone reliu’d[322] againe,
Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife,
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,