Her ventayle shard away, and thence forth glaunst
A downe in vaine, ne harm’d her any more.
With that her angels face, vnseene afore,
Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight,
Deawed with siluer drops, through sweating sore,
But somewhat redder, then beseem’d aright,
Through toylesome heate and labour of her weary fight.
And round about the same, her yellow heare xx
Hauing through stirring loosd their wonted band,
Like to a golden border did appeare,