XVII

The Sarazin sore daunted with the buffe 145
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;
Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff:
Each others equall puissaunce envies,°
And through their iron sides° with cruell spies
Does seeke to perce: repining courage yields 150
No foote to foe. The flashing fier flies
As from a forge out of their burning shields,
And streams of purple bloud new dies the verdant fields.

XVIII

Curse on that Crosse (quoth then the Sarazin),
That keepes thy body from the bitter fit;° 155
Dead long ygoe I wote thou haddest bin,
Had not that charme from thee forwarned it:
But yet I warne thee now assured sitt,°
And hide thy head. Therewith upon his crest
With rigour so outrageous° he smitt, 160
That a large share° it hewd out of the rest,
And glauncing down his shield from blame him fairly blest.°

XIX

Who thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark
Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive,
And at his haughtie helmet making mark, 165