For much he wondred at that vncouth sight;
Whom should he, but his owne deare Lord, there see,
His owne deare Lord Pyrochles, in sad plight,
Readie to drowne himselfe for fell despight.
Harrow now out, and well away, he cryde,
What dismall day hath lent this cursed light,[643]
To see my Lord so deadly damnifyde?[644]
Pyrochles, O Pyrochles, what is thee betyde?
I burne, I burne, I burne, then loud he cryde, xliv
O how I burne with implacable fire,