The yron charet, and the wheeles did teare,
And tost the Paynim without feare or awe;
From side to side they tost him here and there,
Crying to them in vaine that nould his crying heare.
Yet still the Prince pursew’d him close behind,
Oft making offer him to smite, but found
No easie meanes according to his mind:
At last they have all overthrowne to ground
Quite topside turvey, and the Pagan hound
Amongst the yron hookes and graples keene
Torne all to rags, and rent with many a wound;
That no whole peece of him was to be seene,
But scattred all about, and strow’d upon the greene.
Like as the cursed son of Thesëus,
That following his chace in dewy morne,
To fly his stepdames loves outrageous,
Of his owne steedes was all to peeces torne,
And his faire limbs left in the woods forlorne;
That for his sake Diana did lament,
And all the wooddy Nymphes did wayle and mourne:
So was this Souldan rapt and all to-rent,
That of his shape appear’d no litle moniment.
Onely his shield and armour, which there lay,
Though nothing whole, but all to-brusd and broken,
He up did take, and with him brought away,
That mote remaine for an eternall token
To all mongst whom this storie should be spoken,
How worthily, by heavens high decree,
Justice that day of wrong her selfe had wroken;
That all men, which that spectacle did see,
By like ensample mote for ever warned bee.
So on a tree before the Tyrants dore
He caused them be hung in all mens sight,
To be a moniment for evermore.
Which when his Ladie from the castles hight
Beheld, it much appald her troubled spright:
Yet not, as women wont, in dolefull fit
She was dismayd, or faynted through affright,
But gathered unto her her troubled wit,
And gan eftsoones devize to be aveng’d for it.
Streight downe she ranne, like an enraged cow
That is berobbed of her youngling dere,
With knife in hand, and fatally did vow
To wreake her on that mayden messengere,
Whom she had causd be kept as prisonere
By Artegall, misween’d for her owne Knight,
That brought her backe: And, comming present there,
She at her ran with all her force and might,
All flaming with revenge and furious despight.
Like raging Ino, when with knife in hand
She threw her husbands murdred infant out;
Or fell Medea, when on Colchicke strand
Her brothers bones she scattered all about;
Or as that madding mother, mongst the rout
Of Bacchus Priests, her owne deare flesh did teare:
Yet neither Ino, nor Medea stout,
Nor all the Mœnades so furious were,
As this bold woman when she saw that Damzell there.
But Artegall, being thereof aware,
Did stay her cruell hand ere she her raught;
And, as she did her selfe to strike prepare,
Out of her fist the wicked weapon caught:
With that, like one enfelon’d or distraught,
She forth did rome whether her rage her bore,
With franticke passion and with furie fraught;
And, breaking forth out at a posterne dore,
Unto the wyld wood ranne, her dolours to deplore.
As a mad bytch, when as the franticke fit
Her burning tongue with rage inflamed hath,
Doth runne at randon, and with furious bit
Snatching at every thing doth wreake her wrath
On man and beast that commeth in her path.
There they doe say that she transformed was
Into a Tygre, and that Tygres scath
In crueltie and outrage she did pas,
To prove her surname true, that she imposed has.
Then Artegall, himselfe discovering plaine,
Did issue forth gainst all that warlike rout
Of knights and armed men, which did maintaine
That Ladies part, and to the Souldan lout:
All which he did assault with courage stout,
All were they nigh an hundred knights of name,
And like wyld Goates them chaced all about,
Flying from place to place with cowheard shame;
So that with finall force them all he overcame.
Then caused he the gates be opened wyde;
And there the Prince, as victour of that day,
With tryumph entertayn’d and glorifyde,
Presenting him with all the rich array
And roiall pompe, which there long hidden lay,
Purchast through lawlesse powre and tortious wrong
Of that proud Souldan whom he earst did slay.
So both, for rest, there having stayd not long,
Marcht with that mayd; fit matter for another song.
Canto IX
Arthur and Artegall catch Guyle,
Whom Talus doth dismay;
They to Mercillaes Pallace come,
And see her rich array.
What Tygre, or what other salvage wight,
Is so exceeding furious and fell
As wrong, when it hath arm’d it selfe with might?
Not fit mongst men that doe with reason mell,
But mongst wyld beasts, and salvage woods, to dwell;
Where still the stronger doth the weake devoure,
And they that most in boldnesse doe excell
Are dreadded most, and feared for their powre;
Fit for Adicia there to build her wicked bowre.
There let her wonne, farre from resort of men,
Where righteous Artegall her late exyled;
There let her ever keepe her damned den,
Where none may be with her lewd parts defyled,
Nor none but beasts may be of her despoyled;
And turne we to the noble Prince, where late
We did him leave, after that he had foyled
The cruell Souldan, and with dreadfull fate
Had utterly subverted his unrighteous state.
Where having with Sir Artegall a space
Well solast in that Souldans late delight,
They both, resolving now to leave the place,
Both it and all the wealth therein behight
Unto that Damzell in her Ladies right,
And so would have departed on their way;
But she them woo’d, by all the meanes she might,
And earnestly besought to wend that day
With her, to see her Ladie thence not farre away.
By whose entreatie both they overcommen
Agree to goe with her; and by the way,
(As often falles) of sundry things did commen:
Mongst which that Damzell did to them bewray
A straunge adventure,
