And yet the captiues poore no better are,
It rather helpes theyr payned hearts to kill.
To pittie one in griefe doth worke him ill.
Bemone his woe, and cannot ease his thrall,
It killes his heart, but comforts none[323] at all.
14.
Thus past wee through the prease: at length wee came
Into the presence of the gelous Queene,
Who nought at all the rascall rude did blame
That bare mee so, but askte if I had seene