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Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599). The Complete Poetical Works. 1908.

The Faerie Queene

Book V. The Legend of Artegall. Canto XI

  • Prince Arthure overcomes the great
  • Gerioneo in fight:
  • Doth slay the monster, and restore
  • Belge unto her right.

  • I
    IT often fals in course of common life,

    That right long time is overborne of wrong,

    Through avarice, or powre, or guile, or strife,

    That weakens her, and makes her party strong:

    But Justice, though her dome she doe prolong,

    Yet at the last she will her owne cause right:

    As by sad Belge seemes, whose wrongs though long

    She suffred, yet at length she did requight,

    And sent redresse thereof by this brave Briton knight.

    Whereof when newes was to that tyrant brought,

    How that the Lady Belge now had found

    A champion, that had with his champion fought,

    And laid his seneschall low on the ground,

    And eke him selfe did threaten to confound,

    He gan to burne in rage, and friese in feare,

    Doubting sad end of principle unsound:

    Yet sith he heard but one that did appeare,

    He did him selfe encourage, and take better cheare.

    Nathelesse him selfe he armed all in hast,

    And forth he far’d with all his many bad,

    Ne stayed step, till that he came at last

    Unto the castle which they conquerd had.

    There with huge terrour, to be more ydrad,

    He sternely marcht before the castle gate,

    And with bold vaunts and ydle threatning bad

    Deliver him his owne, ere yet too late,

    To which they had no right, nor any wrongfull state.

    The Prince staid not his aunswere to devize,

    But opening streight the sparre, forth to him came,

    Full nobly mounted in right warlike wize;

    And asked him, if that he were the same,

    Who all that wrong unto that wofull dame

    So long had done, and from her native land

    Exiled her, that all the world spake shame.

    He boldly aunswerd him, he there did stand

    That would his doings justifie with his owne hand.

    With that so furiously at him he flew,

    As if he would have overrun him streight,

    And with his huge great yron axe gan hew

    So hideously uppon his armour bright,

    As he to peeces would have chopt it quight:

    That the bold Prince was forced foote to give

    To his first rage, and yeeld to his despight;

    The whilest at him so dreadfully he drive,

    That seem’d a marble rocke asunder could have rive.

    Thereto a great advauntage eke he has

    Through his three double hands thrise multiplyde,

    Besides the double strength which in them was:

    For stil when fit occasion did betyde,

    He could his weapon shift from side to syde,

    From hand to hand, and with such nimblesse sly

    Could wield about, that ere it were espide,

    The wicked stroke did wound his enemy,

    Behinde, beside, before, as he it list apply.

    Which uncouth use when as the Prince perceived,

    He gan to watch the wielding of his hand,

    Least by such slight he were unwares deceived;

    And ever ere he saw the stroke to land,

    He would it meete and warily withstand.

    One time, when he his weapon faynd to shift,

    As he was wont, and chang’d from hand to hand,

    He met him with a counterstroke so swift,

    That quite smit off his arme, as he it up did lift.

    Therewith, all fraught with fury and disdaine,

    He brayd aloud for very fell despight,

    And sodainely t’ avenge him selfe againe,

    Gan into one assemble all the might

    Of all his hands, and heaved them on hight,

    Thinking to pay him with that one for all:

    But the sad steele seizd not, where it was hight,

    Uppon the childe, but somewhat short did fall,

    And lighting on his horses head, him quite did mall.

    Downe streight to ground fell his astonisht steed,

    And eke to th’ earth his burden with him bare:

    But he him selfe full lightly from him freed,

    And gan him selfe to fight on foote prepare.

    Whereof when as the gyant was aware,

    He wox right blyth, as he had got thereby,

    And laught so loud, that all his teeth wide bare

    One might have seene enraung’d disorderly,

    Like to a rancke of piles, that pitched are awry.

    Eftsoones againe his axe he raught on hie,

    Ere he were throughly buckled to his geare,

    And can let drive at him so dreadfullie,

    That had he chaunced not his shield to reare,

    Ere that huge stroke arrived on him neare,

    He had him surely cloven quite in twaine.

    But th’ adamantine shield which he did beare

    So well was tempred, that, for all his maine,

    It would no passage yeeld unto his purpose vaine.

    Yet was the stroke so forcibly applide,

    That made him stagger with uncertaine sway,

    As if he would have tottered to one side.

    Wherewith full wroth, he fiercely gan assay

    That curt’sie with like kindnesse to repay;

    And smote at him with so importune might,

    That two more of his armes did fall away,

    Like fruitlesse braunches, which the hatchets slight

    Hath pruned from the native tree, and cropped quight.

    With that all mad and furious he grew,

    Like a fell mastiffe through enraging heat,

    And curst, and band, and blasphemies forth threw

    Against his gods, and fire to them did threat,

    And hell unto him selfe with horrour great.

    Thenceforth he car’d no more which way he strooke,

    Nor where it light, but gan to chaufe and sweat,

    And gnasht his teeth, and his head at him shooke,

    And sternely him beheld with grim and ghastly looke.

    Nought fear’d the childe his lookes, ne yet his threats,

    But onely wexed now the more aware,

    To save him selfe from those his furious heats,

    And watch advauntage, how to worke his care;

    The which good fortune to him offred faire.

    For as he in his rage him overstrooke,

    He, ere he could his weapon backe repaire,

    His side all bare and naked overtooke,

    And with his mortal steel quite throgh the body strooke.

    Through all three bodies he him strooke attonce,

    That all the three attonce fell on the plaine:

    Else should he thrise have needed for the nonce

    Them to have stricken, and thrise to have slaine.

    So now all three one sencelesse lumpe remaine,

    Enwallow’d in his owne blacke bloudy gore,

    And byting th’ earth for very deaths disdaine;

    Who, with a cloud of night him covering, bore

    Downe to the house of dole, his daies there to deplore.

    Which when the lady from the castle saw,

    Where she with her two sonnes did looking stand,

    She towards him in hast her selfe did draw,

    To greet him the good fortune of his hand:

    And all the people both of towne and land,

    Which there stood gazing from the citties wall

    Uppon these warriours, greedy t’ understand

    To whether should the victory befall,

    Now when they saw it falne, they eke him greeted all.

    But Belge with her sonnes prostrated low

    Before his feete, in all that peoples sight,

    Mongst joyes mixing some tears, mongst wele some wo,

    Him thus bespake: ‘O most redoubted knight,

    The which hast me, of all most wretched wight,

    That earst was dead, restor’d to life againe,

    And these weake impes replanted by thy might;

    What guerdon can I give thee for thy paine,

    But even that which thou savedst, thine still to remaine?’

    He tooke her up forby the lilly hand,

    And her recomforted the best he might,

    Saying: ‘Deare lady, deedes ought not be scand

    By th’ authors manhood, nor the doers might,

    But by their trueth and by the causes right:

    That same is it, which fought for you this day.

    What other meed then need me to requight,

    But that which yeeldeth vertues meed alway?

    That is the vertue selfe, which her reward doth pay.’

    She humbly thankt him for that wondrous grace,

    And further sayd: ‘Ah! sir, but mote ye please,

    Sith ye thus farre have tendred my poore case,

    As from my chiefest foe me to release,

    That your victorious arme will not yet cease,

    Till ye have rooted all the relickes out

    Of that vilde race, and stablished my peace.’

    ‘What is there else,’ sayd he, ‘left of their rout?

    Declare it boldly, dame, and doe not stand in dout.’

    ‘Then wote you, sir, that in this church hereby,

    There stands an idole of great note and name,

    The which this gyant reared first on hie,

    And of his owne vaine fancies thought did frame:

    To whom, for endlesse horrour of his shame,

    He offred up for daily sacrifize

    My children and my people, burnt in flame,

    With all the tortures that he could devize,

    The more t’ aggrate his god with such his blouddy guize.

    ‘And underneath this idoll there doth lie

    An hideous monster, that doth it defend,

    And feedes on all the carkasses that die

    In sacrifize unto that cursed feend:

    Whose ugly shape none ever saw, nor kend,

    That ever scap’d: for of a man they say

    It has the voice, that speaches forth doth send,

    Even blasphemous words, which she doth bray

    Out of her poysnous entrails, fraught with dire decay.’

    Which when the Prince heard tell, his heart gan earne

    For great desire, that monster to assay,

    And prayd the place of her abode to learne.

    Which being shew’d, he gan him selfe streight way

    Thereto addresse, and his bright shield display.

    So to the church he came, where it was told

    The monster underneath the altar lay;

    There he that idoll saw of massy gold

    Most richly made, but there no monster did behold.

    Upon the image with his naked blade

    Three times, as in defiance, there he strooke;

    And the third time, out of an hidden shade,

    There forth issewd, from under th’ altars smooke,

    A dreadfull feend, with fowle deformed looke,

    That stretcht it selfe, as it had long lyen still;

    And her long taile and fethers strongly shooke,

    That all the temple did with terrour fill;

    Yet him nought terrifide, that feared nothing ill.

    An huge great beast it was, when it in length

    Was stretched forth, that nigh fild all the place,

    And seem’d to be of infinite great strength;

    Horrible, hideous, and of hellish race,

    Borne of the brooding of Echidna base,

    Or other like infernall Furies kinde:

    For of a mayd she had the outward face,

    To hide the horrour which did lurke behinde,

    The better to beguile whom she so fond did finde.

    Thereto the body of a dog she had,

    Full of fell ravin and fierce greedinesse;

    A lions clawes, with powre and rigour clad,

    To rend and teare what so she can oppresse;

    A dragons taile, whose sting without redresse

    Full deadly wounds, where so it is empight;

    And eagles wings, for scope and speedinesse,

    That nothing may escape her reaching might,

    Whereto she ever list to make her hardy flight.

    Much like in foulnesse and deformity

    Unto that monster whom the Theban knight,

    The father of that fatall progeny,

    Made kill her selfe for very hearts despight,

    That he had red her riddle, which no wight

    Could ever loose, but suffred deadly doole.

    So also did this monster use like slight

    To many a one which came unto her schoole,

    Whom she did put to death, deceived like a foole.

    She comming forth, when as she first beheld

    The armed Prince, with shield so blazing bright,

    Her ready to assaile, was greatly queld,

    And much dismayd with that dismayfull sight,

    That backe she would have turnd for great affright.

    But he gan her with courage fierce assay,

    That forst her turne againe in her despight,

    To save her selfe, least that he did her slay:

    And sure he had her slaine, had she not turnd her way.

    Tho, when she saw that she was forst to fight,

    She flew at him, like to an hellish feend,

    And on his shield tooke hold with all her might,

    As if that it she would in peeces rend,

    Or reave out of the hand that did it hend.

    Strongly he strove out of her greedy gripe

    To loose his shield, and long while did contend:

    But when he could not quite it, with one stripe

    Her lions clawes he from her feete away did wipe.

    With that aloude she gan to bray and yell,

    And fowle blasphemous speaches forth did cast,

    And bitter curses, horrible to tell,

    That even the temple, wherein she was plast,

    Did quake to heare, and nigh asunder brast.

    Tho with her huge long taile she at him strooke,

    That made him stagger, and stand halfe agast

    With trembling joynts, as he for terrour shooke;

    Who nought was terrifide, but greater courage tooke.

    As when the mast of some well timbred hulke

    Is with the blast of some outragious storme

    Blowne downe, it shakes the bottome of the bulke,

    And makes her ribs to cracke, as they were torne,

    Whilest still she stands as stonisht and forlorne:

    So was he stound with stroke of her huge taile.

    But ere that it she backe againe had borne,

    He with his sword it strooke, that without faile

    He joynted it, and mard the swinging of her flaile.

    Then gan she cry much louder then afore,

    That all the people there without it heard,

    And Belge selfe was therewith stonied sore,

    As if the onely sound thereof she feard.

    But then the feend her selfe more fiercely reard

    Uppon her wide great wings, and strongly flew

    With all her body at his head and beard,

    That had he not foreseene with heedfull vew,

    And thrown his shield atween, she had him done to rew.

    But as she prest on him with heavy sway,

    Under her wombe his fatall sword he thrust,

    And for her entrailes made an open way

    To issue forth; the which, once being brust,

    Like to a great mill damb forth fiercely gusht,

    And powred out of her infernall sinke

    Most ugly filth, and poyson therewith rusht,

    That him nigh choked with the deadly stinke:

    Such loathly matter were small lust to speake, or thinke.

    Then downe to ground fell that deformed masse,

    Breathing out clouds of sulphure fowle and blacke,

    In which a puddle of contagion was,

    More loathd then Lerna, or then Stygian lake,

    That any man would nigh awhaped make.

    Whom when he saw on ground, he was full glad,

    And streight went forth his gladnesse to partake

    With Belge, who watcht all this while full sad,

    Wayting what end would be of that same daunger drad.

    Whom when she saw so joyously come forth,

    She gan rejoyce, and shew triumphant chere,

    Lauding and praysing his renowmed worth

    By all the names that honorable were.

    Then in he brought her, and her shewed there

    The present of his paines, that monsters spoyle,

    And eke that idoll deem’d so costly dere;

    Whom he did all to peeces breake, and foyle

    In filthy durt, and left so in the loathely soyle.

    Then all the people, which beheld that day,

    Gan shout aloud, that unto heaven it rong;

    And all the damzels of that towne in ray

    Came dauncing forth, and joyous carrols song:

    So him they led through all their streetes along,

    Crowned with girlonds of immortall baies,

    And all the vulgar did about them throng,

    To see the man, whose everlasting praise

    They all were bound to all posterities to raise.

    There he with Belgæ did a while remaine,

    Making great feast and joyous merriment,

    Untill he had her settled in her raine,

    With safe assuraunce and establishment.

    Then to his first emprize his mind he lent,

    Full loath to Belgæ and to all the rest:

    Of whom yet taking leave, thenceforth he went

    And to his former journey him addrest,

    On which long way he rode, ne ever day did rest.

    But turne we now to noble Artegall;

    Who, having left Mercilla, streight way went

    On his first quest, the which him forth did call,

    To weet, to worke Irenaes franchisement,

    And eke Grantortoes worthy punishment.

    So forth he fared as his manner was,

    With onely Talus wayting diligent,

    Through many perils and much way did pas,

    Till nigh unto the place at length approcht he has.

    There as he traveld by the way, he met

    An aged wight, wayfaring all alone,

    Who through his yeares long since aside had set

    The use of armes, and battell quite forgone:

    To whom as he approcht, he knew anone

    That it was he which whilome did attend

    On faire Irene in her affliction,

    When first to Faery court he saw her wend,

    Unto his Soveraine Queene her suite for to commend.

    Whom by his name saluting, thus he gan:

    ‘Haile, good Sir Sergis, truest knight alive,

    Well tride in all thy ladies troubles than

    When her that tyrant did of crowne deprive;

    What new ocasion doth thee hither drive,

    Whiles she alone is left, and thou here found?

    Or is she thrall, or doth she not survive?’

    To whom he thus: ‘She liveth sure and sound;

    But by that tyrant is in wretched thraldome bound.

    ‘For she, presuming on th’ appointed tyde,

    In which ye promist, as ye were a knight,

    To meete her at the Salvage Ilands syde,

    And then and there for triall of her right

    With her unrighteous enemy to fight,

    Did thither come, where she, afrayd of nought,

    By guilefull treason and by subtill slight

    Surprized was, and to Grantorto brought,

    Who her imprisond hath, and her life often sought.

    ‘And now he hath to her prefixt a day,

    By which if that no champion doe appeare,

    Which will her cause in battailous array

    Against him justifie, and prove her cleare

    Of all those crimes that he gainst her doth reare,

    She death shall sure aby.’ Those tidings sad

    Did much abash Sir Artegall to heare,

    And grieved sore, that through his fault she had

    Fallen into that tyrants hand and usage bad.

    Then thus replide: ‘Now sure and by my life,

    Too much am I too blame for that faire maide,

    That have her drawne to all this troublous strife,

    Through promise to afford her timely aide,

    Which by default I have not yet defraide.

    But witnesse unto me, ye heavens, that know

    How cleare I am from blame of this upbraide:

    For ye into like thraldome me did throw,

    And kept from complishing the faith which I did owe.

    ‘But now aread, Sir Sergis, how long space

    Hath he her lent, a champion to provide.’

    ‘Ten daies,’ quoth he, ‘he graunted hath of grace,

    For that he weeneth well, before that tide

    None can have tidings to assist her side.

    For all the shores, which to the sea accoste,

    He day and night doth ward both far and wide,

    That none can there arrive without an hoste:

    So her he deemes already but a damned ghoste.’

    ‘Now turne againe,’ Sir Artegall then sayd;

    ‘For if I live till those ten daies have end,

    Assure your selfe, sir knight, she shall have ayd,

    Though I this dearest life for her doe spend.’

    So backeward he attone with him did wend.

    Tho, as they rode together on their way,

    A rout of people they before them kend,

    Flocking together in confusde array,

    As if that there were some tumultuous affray.

    To which as they approcht, the cause to know,

    They saw a knight in daungerous distresse

    Of a rude rout him chasing to and fro,

    That sought with lawlesse powre him to oppresse,

    And bring in bondage of their brutishnesse:

    And farre away, amid their rakehell bands,

    They spide a lady left all succourlesse,

    Crying, and holding up her wretched hands

    To him for aide, who long in vaine their rage withstands.

    Yet still he strives, ne any perill spares,

    To reskue her from their rude violence,

    And like a lion wood amongst them fares,

    Dealing his dreadfull blowes with large dispence,

    Gainst which the pallid death findes no defence.

    But all in vaine; their numbers are so great,

    That naught may boot to banishe them from thence:

    For soone as he their outrage backe doth beat,

    They turne afresh, and oft renew their former threat.

    And now they doe so sharpely him assay,

    That they his shield in peeces battred have,

    And forced him to throw it quite away,

    Fro dangers dread his doubtfull life to save;

    Albe that it most safety to him gave,

    And much did magnifie his noble name:

    For from the day that he thus did it leave,

    Amongst all knights he blotted was with blame,

    And counted but a recreant knight, with endles shame.

    Whom when they thus distressed did behold,

    They drew unto his aide; but that rude rout

    Them also gan assaile with outrage bold,

    And forced them, how ever strong and stout

    They were, as well approv’d in many a doubt,

    Backe to recule; untill that yron man

    With his huge flaile began to lay about,

    From whose sterne presence they diffused ran,

    Like scattred chaffe, the which the wind away doth fan.

    So when that knight from perill cleare was freed,

    He, drawing neare, began to greete them faire,

    And yeeld great thankes for their so goodly deed,

    In saving him from daungerous despaire

    Of those which sought his life for to empaire.

    Of whom Sir Artegall gan then enquire

    The whole occasion of his late misfare,

    And who he was, and what those villaines were,

    The which with mortall malice him pursu’d so nere.

    To whom he thus: ‘My name is Burbon hight,

    Well knowne, and far renowmed heretofore,

    Untill late mischiefe did uppon me light,

    That all my former praise hath blemisht sore;

    And that faire lady, which in that uprore

    Ye with those caytives saw, Flourdelis hight,

    Is mine owne love, though me she have forlore,

    Whether withheld from me by wrongfull might,

    Or with her owne good will, I cannot read aright.

    ‘But sure to me her faith she first did plight,

    To be my love, and take me for her lord,

    Till that a tyrant, which Grandtorto hight,

    With golden giftes and many a guilefull word

    Entyced her, to him for to accord.

    O who may not with gifts and words be tempted?

    Sith which she hath me ever since abhord,

    And to my foe hath guilefully consented:

    Ay me, that ever guyle in wemen was invented!

    ‘And now he hath this troupe of villains sent,

    By open force to fetch her quite away:

    Gainst whom my selfe I long in vaine have bent

    To rescue her, and daily meanes assay,

    Yet rescue her thence by no meanes I may:

    For they doe me with multitude oppresse,

    And with unequall might doe overlay,

    That oft I driven am to great distresse,

    And forced to forgoe th’ attempt remedilesse.’

    ‘But why have ye,’ said Artegall, ‘forborne

    Your owne good shield in daungerous dismay?

    That is the greatest shame and foulest scorne,

    Which unto any knight behappen may,

    To loose the badge that should his deedes display.’

    To whom Sir Burbon, blushing halfe for shame,

    ‘That shall I unto you,’ quoth he, ‘bewray;

    Least ye therefore mote happily me blame,

    And deeme it doen of will, that through inforcement came.

    ‘True is, that I at first was dubbed knight

    By a good knight, the Knight of the Redcrosse;

    Who when he gave me armes, in field to fight,

    Gave me a shield, in which he did endosse

    His deare Redeemers badge upon the bosse:

    The same long while I bore, and therewithall

    Fought many battels without wound or losse;

    Therewith Grandtorto selfe I did appall,

    And made him oftentimes in field before me fall.

    ‘But for that many did that shield envie,

    And cruell enemies increased more;

    To stint all strife and troublous enmitie,

    That bloudie scutchin being battered sore,

    I layd aside, and have of late forbore,

    Hoping thereby to have my love obtayned:

    Yet can I not my love have nathemore;

    For she by force is still fro me detayned,

    And with corruptfull brybes is to untruth mis-trayned.’

    To whom thus Artegall: ‘Certes, sir knight,

    Hard is the case the which ye doe complaine;

    Yet not so hard (for nought so hard may light,

    That it to such a streight mote you constraine)

    As to abandon that which doth containe

    Your honours stile, that is your warlike shield.

    All perill ought be lesse, and lesse all paine,

    Then losse of fame in disaventrous field:

    Dye rather, then doe ought that mote dishonour yield.’

    ‘Not so,’ quoth he; ‘for yet, when time doth serve,

    My former shield I may resume againe:

    To temporize is not from truth to swerve,

    Ne for advantage terme to entertaine,

    When as necessitie doth it constraine.’

    ‘Fie on such forgerie,’ said Artegall,

    ‘Under one hood to shadow faces twaine!

    Knights ought be true, and truth is one in all:

    Of all things, to dissemble fouly may befall.’

    ‘Yet let me you of courtesie request,’

    Said Burbon, ‘to assist me now at need

    Against these pesants which have me opprest,

    And forced me to so infamous deed,

    That yet my love may from their hands be freed.’

    Sir Artegall, albe he earst did wyte

    His wavering mind, yet to his aide agreed,

    And buckling him eftsoones unto the fight,

    Did set upon those troupes with all his powre and might.

    Who flocking round about them, as a swarme

    Of flyes upon a birchen bough doth cluster,

    Did them assault with terrible allarme,

    And over all the fields themselves did muster,

    With bils and glayves making a dreadfull luster;

    That forst at first those knights backe to retyre:

    As when the wrathfull Boreas doth bluster,

    Nought may abide the tempest of his yre;

    Both man and beast doe fly, and succour doe inquyre.

    But when as overblowen was that brunt,

    Those knights began a fresh them to assayle,

    And all about the fields like squirrels hunt;

    But chiefly Talus with his yron flayle,

    Gainst which no flight nor rescue mote avayle,

    Made cruell havocke of the baser crew,

    And chaced them both over hill and dale:

    The raskall manie soone they overthrew,

    But the two knights themselves their captains did subdew.

    At last they came whereas that ladie bode,

    Whom now her keepers had forsaken quight,

    To save themselves, and scattered were abrode:

    Her halfe dismayd they found in doubtfull plight,

    As neither glad nor sorie for their sight;

    Yet wondrous faire she was, and richly clad

    In roiall robes, and many jewels dight,

    But that those villens through their usage bad

    Them fouly rent and shamefully defaced had.

    But Burbon, streight dismounting from his steed,

    Unto her ran with greedie great desyre,

    And catching her fast by her ragged weed,

    Would have embraced her with hart entyre.

    But she, backstarting with disdainefull yre,

    Bad him avaunt, ne would unto his lore

    Allured be, for prayer nor for meed.

    Whom when those knights so froward and forlore

    Beheld, they her rebuked and upbrayded sore.

    Sayd Artegall: ‘What foule disgrace is this

    To so faire ladie as ye seeme in sight,

    To blot your beautie, that unblemisht is,

    With so foule blame as breach of faith once plight,

    Or change of love for any worlds delight!

    Is ought on earth so pretious or deare,

    As prayse and honour? Or is ought so bright

    And beautifull as glories beames appeare,

    Whose goodly light then Phebus lampe doth shine more cleare?

    ‘Why then will ye, fond dame, attempted bee

    Unto a strangers love, so lightly placed,

    For guiftes of gold or any worldly glee,

    To leave the love that ye before embraced,

    And let your fame with falshood be defaced?

    Fie on the pelfe for which good name is sold,

    And honour with indignitie debased!

    Dearer is love then life, and fame then gold;

    But dearer then them both your faith once plighted hold.’

    Much was the ladie in her gentle mind

    Abasht at his rebuke, that bit her neare,

    Ne ought to answere thereunto did find;

    But hanging downe her head with heavie cheare,

    Stood long amaz’d, as she amated weare.

    Which Burbon seeing, her againe assayd,

    And clasping twixt his armes, her up did reare

    Upon his steede, whiles she no whit gainesayd;

    So bore her quite away, nor well nor ill apayd.

    Nathlesse the yron man did still pursew

    That raskall many with unpittied spoyle,

    Ne ceassed not, till all their scattred crew

    Into the sea he drove quite from that soyle,

    The which they troubled had with great turmoyle.

    But Artegall, seeing his cruell deed,

    Commaunded him from slaughter to recoyle,

    And to his voyage gan againe proceed:

    For that the terme, approching fast, required speed.