No Hopes to chear their Grief.
Thus Hand in Hand they walk'd, 'till
At last this Wood they spy'd;
And when they saw the Night grow dark,
They here lay down and cry'd.
At this the Duke was inly mov'd,
His Breast soft Pity beat;
And so he straightway ordered
His Men for to Retreat.
And now, but that my Pen is blunt,