Spright

Well may I ween, your grief is wondrous great; / For wondrous great griefe groneth in my ſpright, / Whiles thus I heare you of your ſorrowes treat.

Who comming to that ſowle-diſeaſed knight, / Could hardly him intreat, to tell his grief: / Which knowne, and all that noyd his heauie ſpright, / Well ſearcht, eftſoones he gan apply relief.

And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd / Legions of Sprights, the which like litle flyes / Fluttring about his euerdamned hedd, [...]

To thee, O Father, Sonne, and ſacred Spright. / One true, eternall, euerlaſting king, / To Chriſtes deere mother Marie virgin bright, / Pſalmes of thankeſgiuing and of praiſe they ſing, [...]

I am sprighted with a fool ; Frighted , and anger'd worse