Or that your wisedome will direct my thought,
Or that your prowesse can me yield reliefe:
Then heare the storie sad, which I shall tell you briefe.
XLIII
The forlorne Maiden, whom your eyes have seene
The laughing stocke of fortunes mockeries,
Am th' only daughter[°] of a King and Queene,
Whose parents deare, whilest equal destinies[°]
Did runne about, and their felicities