That nought but spoyle and vengeance did require. But to himselfe his felonous intent

Returning, disappointed his desire,

Whiles unawares his saddle he forwent,

And found himselfe on ground in great amazement.

Lightly he started up out of that stound,

And snatching forth his direfull deadly blade,
Did leape to her, as doth an eger hound
Thrust to an Hynd within some covert glade,
Whom without perill he cannot invade.
With such fell greedines he her assayled,

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That though she mounted were, yet he her made To give him ground, (so much his force prevayled) And shun his mightie strokes, gainst which no armes avayled.

So as they coursed here and there, it chaunst

That in her wheeling round, behind her crest
So sorely he her strooke, that thence it glaunst
Adowne her backe, the which it fairely blest
From foule mischance; ne did it ever rest,
Till on her horses hinder parts it fell;
Where byting deepe, so deadly it imprest,
That quite it chynd his backe behind the sell,
And to alight on foote her algates did compell.

Like as the lightning brond from riven skie,

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Throwne out by angry Jove in his vengeance, With dreadfull force falles on some steeple hie; Which battring, downe it on the church doth glance, And teares it all with terrible mischance. Yet she no whit dismayd, her steed forsooke, And casting from her that enchaunted lance, Unto her sword and shield her soone betooke; And therewithall at him right furiously she strooke.

So furiously she strooke in her first heat,
Whiles with long fight on foot he breathlesse was,
That she him forced backward to retreat,
And yeeld unto her weapon way to pas:
Whose raging rigour neither steele nor bras
Could stay, but to the tender flesh it went,
And pour'd the purple bloud forth on the gras ;
That all his mayle yriv'd, and plates yrent,
Shew'd all his bodie bare unto the cruell dent.

At length when as he saw her hastie heat
Abate, and panting breath begin to fayle,

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He through long sufferance growing now more great, Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh assayle, Heaping huge strokes, as thicke as showre of hayle, And lashing dreadfully at every part,

As if he thought her soule to disentrayle.

Ah cruell hand, and thrise more cruell hart,

That workst such wrecke on her, to whom thou dearest art.

What yron courage ever could endure,

To worke such outrage on so faire a creature?
And in his madnesse thinke with hands impure
To spoyle so goodly workmanship of nature,
The maker selfe resembling in her feature?
Certes some hellish furie, or some feend

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This mischiefe framd, for their first loves defeature, To bath their hands in bloud of dearest freend, Thereby to make their loves beginning, their lives end.

Thus long they trac'd, and traverst to and fro, xviii
Sometimes pursewing, and sometimes pursewed,

Still as advantage they espyde thereto :
But toward th'end Sir Arthegall renewed

His strength still more, but she still more decrewed.
At last his lucklesse hand he heav'd on hie,
Having his forces all in one accrewed,

And therewith stroke at her so hideouslie,

That seemed nought but death mote be her destinie.

The wicked stroke upon her helmet chaunst,

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And with the force, which in it selfe it bore, Her ventayle shard away, and thence forth glaunst A downe in vaine, ne harm'd her any more. With that her angels face, unseene afore, Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight, Deawed with silver drops, through sweating sore, But somewhat redder, then beseem'd aright, Through toylesome heate and labour of her weary fight.

And round about the same, her yellow heare
Having through stirring loosd their wonted band,
Like to a golden border did appeare,

Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning hand:
Yet goldsmithes cunning could not understand
To frame such subtile wire, so shinie cleare.
For it did glister like the golden sand,
The which Pactolus with his waters shere,

Throwes forth upon the rivage round about him nere.

And as his hand he up againe did reare,

Thinking to worke on her his utmost wracke,
His powrelesse arme benumbd with secret feare
From his revengefull purpose shronke abacke,
And cruell sword out of his fingers slacke
Fell downe to ground, as if the steele had sence,
And felt some ruth, or sence his hand did lacke,
Or both of them did thinke, obedience

To doe to so divine a beauties excellence.

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And he himselfe long gazing thereupon,
At last fell humbly downe upon his knee,
And of his wonder made religion,
Weening some heavenly goddesse he did see,
Or else unweeting, what it else might bee;
And pardon her besought his errour frayle,
That had done outrage in so high degree:
Whilest trembling horrour did his sense assayle,
And made ech member quake, and manly hart to quayle.

Nathelesse she full of wrath for that late stroke,
All that long while upheld her wrathfull hand,
With fell intent, on him to bene ywroke,
And looking sterne, still over him did stand,
Threatning to strike, unlesse he would withstand :
And bad him rise, or surely he should die.
But die or live for nought he would upstand
But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie,
Or wreake on him her will for so great injuric.

Which when as Scudamour, who now abrayd,
Beheld, whereas he stood not farre aside,
He was therewith right wondrously dismayd,
And drawing nigh, when as he plaine, descride
That peerlesse paterne of Dame natures pride,
And heavenly image of perfection,

He blest himselfe, as one sore terrifide,
And turning his feare to faint devotion,
Did worship her as some celestiall vision.

But Glauce, seeing all that chaunced there,
Well weeting how their errour to assoyle,
Full glad of so good end, to them drew nere,
And her salewd with seemely belaccoyle,
Joyous to see her safe after long toyle.

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Then her besought, as she to her was deare,

To graunt unto those warriours truce a whyle; Which yeelded, they their bevers up did reare, And shew'd themselves to her, such as indeed they were.

When Britomart with sharpe avizefull eye
Beheld the lovely face of Artegall,
Tempred with sternesse and stout majestie,
She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call,
To be the same which in her fathers hall
Long since in that enchaunted glasse she saw.
Therewith her wrathfull courage gan appall,

And haughtie spirits meekely to adaw,

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That her enhaunced hand she downe can soft withdraw.

Yet she it forst to have againe upheld,

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As fayning choler, which was turn'd to cold:
But ever when his visage she beheld,

Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold
The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold:
But when in vaine to fight she oft assayd,

She arm'd her tongue, and thought at him to scold;
Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd,

But brought forth speeches myld, when she would have missayd.

But Scudamour now woxen inly glad,

That all his gealous feare he false had found,

And how that Hag his love abused had

With breach of faith and loyaltie unsound,

The which long time his grieved hart did wound,

He thus bespake; Certes Sir Artegall,

I joy to see you lout so low on ground,

And now become to live a Ladies thrall,

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That whylome in your minde wont to despise them all.