Wayting his foe, it did her dead hart cheare,
And new life to her lent, in midst of deadly feare.
Like as a tender Rose in open plaine, xiii
That with vntimely drought nigh withered was,
And hung the head, soone as few drops of raine
Thereon distill, and deaw her daintie face,
Gins to looke vp, and with fresh wonted grace
Dispreds the glorie of her leaues gay;
Such was Irenas countenance, such her case,
When Artegall she saw in that array,