"Friend, thou hast won; I pardon thee, nor save
This body, that all torments can endure,
But save my soul; baptism I dying crave,
Come, wash away my sins with waters pure."

His heart relenting nigh in sunder rave,
With woeful speech of that sweet creature;
So that his rage, his wrath and anger died,
And on his cheeks salt tears for ruth down slide.

With murmur loud down from the mountain's side
A little runnel tumbled near the place,
Thither he ran and filled his helmet wide,
And quick return'd to do that work of grace;

With trembling hands her beaver he untied,
Which done, he saw, and seeing knew her face,
And lost therewith his speech and moving quite;
O woeful knowledge! An unhappy sight!

He died not, but all his strength unites,
And to his virtues gave his heart in guard;
Bridling his grief, with water he requites
The life that he bereft with iron hard:

And while the sacred words the knight recites,
The nymph to heav'n with joy herself prepar'd;
And as her life decays her joys increase;
She smil'd and said "Farewell! I die in peace".