Yet might her pitteous hart be seene to pant and quake.
XXI
The messenger of so unhappie newes,
Would faine have dyde: dead was his hart within,
Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes:
At last recovering hart, he does begin
To rub her temples, and to chaufe her chin,
And everie tender part does tosse and turne.
So hardly[°] he the flitted life does win,