And bad tell on the tenor of his plaint;
Who feigning then in euery limbe to quake,
Through inward feare, and seeming pale and faint
With piteous mone his percing speach gan paint;
Deare Lady how shall I declare thy cace,
Whom late I left in langourous[448] constraint?
Would God thy selfe now present were in place,
To tell this ruefull tale; thy sight could win thee grace.
Or rather would, O would it so had chaunst, x
That you, most noble Sir, had present beene,