Whom seeing flie, she speedily poursewed
With winged feete, as nimble as the winde,
And ever in her bow she ready shewed
The arrow, to his deadly marke desynde;
As when Latonaes daughter, cruell kynde,
In vengement of her mother's great disgrace,
With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde
Gainst wofull Niobe's unhappy race,
That all the gods did mone her miserable case.
XXXI.
So well she sped her, and so far she ventred,
That ere unto his hellish den he raught,
Even as he ready was there to have entred,
She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught,
That in the very dore him over-caught,
And in his nape arriving, through it thrild
His greedy throte, therewith in two distraught,
That all his vitall spirites thereby spild,
And all his hairy brest with gory bloud was fild.
XXXII.
Whom when on ground she groveling saw to rowle,
She ran in hast his life to have bereft ;
But ere she could him reach, the sinfull sowle,
Having his carrion corse quite sencelesse left,
Was fled to hell, surcharg'd with spoile and theft;
Yet over him she there long gazing stood,
And eft admir'd his monstrous shape, and eft
His mighty limbs, whilest all with filthy bloud
The place there over-flowne seemd like a sodaine
Thenceforth she past into this dreadfull den,
Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found,
Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then
Some litle whispering, and soft-groning sound.
With that she askt, what ghosts there under ground
Lay hid in horrour of eternall night?
And bad them, if so be they were not bound,
To come and shew themselves before the light,
Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight.
XXXIV.
Then forth the sad Aemylia issewed,
Yet trembling every ioynt through former feare;
And after her the bag, there with her mewed,
A foule and lothsome creature, did appeare,
A leman fit for such a lover deare;
That mov'd Belphoebe her no lesse to hate,
Then for to rue the other's heavy cheare;
Of whom she gan enquire of her estate;
Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate.
XXXV.
Thence she them brought toward the place where late
She left the gentle squire with Amoret ;
There she him found by that new lovely mate,
Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set,
From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet,
Which softly stild, and kissing them atweene,
And handling soft the hurts which she did get ;
For of that carle she sorely bruz'd had beene,
Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene.
Which when she saw with sodaine glauncing eye,
Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild
With deepe disdaine and great indignity,
That in her wrath she thought them both have thrild
With that selfe arrow which the carle had kild;
Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore;
But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld,
"Is this the faith?"-she said, and said no more; But turnd her face, and fled away for evermore. XXXVII.
He seeing her depart, arose up light,
Right sore agrieved at her sharpe reproofe,
And follow'd fast; but when he came in sight,
He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe,
For dread of her displeasure's utmost proofe;
And evermore when he did grace entreat,
And framed speaches fit for his behoofe,
Her mortall arrowes she at him did threat,
And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat.
XXXVIII.
At last, when long he follow'd had in vaine,
Yet found no ease of griefe nor hope of grace,
Unto those woods he turned backe againe,
Full of sad anguish, and in heavy case;
And finding there fit solitary place
For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade,
Where hardly eye mote see bright heaven's face
For mossy trees, which covered all with shade
And sad melancholy, there he his cabin made.
His wonted warlike weapons all he broke,
And threw away, with vow to use no more,
Ne thenceforth ever strike in battell stroke,
Ne ever word to speake to woman more;
But in that wildernesse, of men forlore,
And of the wicked world forgotten quight,
His hard mishap in dolor to deplore,
And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight;
So on himselfe to wreake his follies owne despight.
XL.
And eke his garment, to be thereto meet,
He wilfully did cut and shape anew,
And his faire lockes, that wont with oinment sweet
To be embaulm'd, and sweat out dainty dew,
He let to grow and griesly to concrew,
Uncomb'd, uncurl'd, and carelesly unshed,
Tha: in short time his face they over-grew,
And over all his shoulders did dispred,
That who he whilome was uneath was to be red.
XLI.
There he continued in his carefull plight,
Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares,
Through wilfull penury consumed quight,
That like a pined ghost he soone appeares ;
For other food then that wilde forrest beares,
Ne other drinke there did he ever tast
Then running water, tempred with his teares,
The more his weakened body so to wast, [last.
That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at
For on a day, by Fortune as it fell,
His own deare lord, Prince Arthure, came that way,
Seeking adventures where he mote heare tell;
And as he through the wandring wood did stray,
Having espide his cabin far away,
He to it drew, to weet who there did wonne,
Weening therein some holy hermit lay,
That did resort of sinfull people shonne,
Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorch
[ing sunne. Arriving there he found this wretched man, Spending his daies in dolour and despaire, And through long fasting woxen pale and wan, All over-growen with rude and rugged haire; That albeit his owne dear squire he were, Yet he him knew not, ne aviz'd at all,
But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where, Saluting him, gan into speach to fall,
[thrall. And pitty much his plight, that liv'd like out-cast
But to his speach he aunswered no whit,
But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum,
Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit,
As one with griefe and anguishe over-cum,
And unto every thing did aunswere-Mum;
And ever when the prince unto him spake,
He louted lowly, as did him becum,
And humble homage did unto him make,
Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake.
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