Either for grieuous shame, or for great teene,
As if her hart with sorrow had transfixed beene.
Till her that Squire bespake, Madame my liefe[452], xvi
For Gods deare loue be not so wilfull bent,
But doe vouchsafe now to receiue reliefe,
The which good fortune doth to you present.
For what bootes it to weepe and to wayment,
When ill is chaunst, but doth the ill increase,
And the weake mind with double woe torment?
When she her Squire heard speake, she gan appease