XXXVIII
Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce
These pitteous and dolours did resound; 335
O who is that, which brings me happy choyce
Of death, that here lye dying every stound,
Yet live perforce in balefull darkenesse bound?
Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce
These pitteous and dolours did resound; 335
O who is that, which brings me happy choyce
Of death, that here lye dying every stound,
Yet live perforce in balefull darkenesse bound?
Spenser - Faerie Queene - 1
