Till comming to this well, he stoupt to drincke:
The charme fulfild, dead suddenly he downe did sincke.
Which when I wretch, Not one word more she sayd lvi
But breaking off[484] the end for want of breath,
And slyding soft, as downe to sleepe her layd,
And ended all her woe in quiet death.
That seeing good Sir Guyon, could vneath
From teares abstaine, for griefe his hart did grate,
And from so heauie sight his head did wreath,
Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate,