And shall find friends, if need requireth soe.
So bids thee well to fare, Thy neither friend, nor foe, Fidessa.
XXIX
When he these bitter byting wordes had red,
The tydings straunge did him abashed make,
That still he sate long time astonished,
As in great muse, ne word to creature spake.
At last his solemne silence thus he brake,
With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his guest;