Not that great Champion of the antique world, xxvii Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth vaunt[382], And hath for twelue huge labours high extold, So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt, When him the poysoned garment did enchaunt With _Centaures_ bloud, and bloudie verses charm’d, As did this knight twelue thousand dolours daunt, Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that earst him arm’d, That erst him goodly arm’d, now most of all him harm’d. Faint, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieued, brent xxviii With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire That neuer man such mischiefes did torment; Death better were, death did he oft desire, But death will neuer come, when needes require. Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld, He cast to suffer him no more respire, But gan his sturdie sterne about to weld, And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld. It fortuned (as faire it then befell) xxix Behind his backe vnweeting, where he stood, Of auncient time there was a springing well, From which fast trickled forth a siluer flood, Full of great vertues, and for med’cine good. Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got That happie land, and all with innocent blood Defyld those sacred waues, it rightly hot _The well of life_, ne yet his vertues had forgot. For vnto life the dead it could restore, xxx And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away, Those that with sicknesse were infected sore, It could recure, and aged long decay Renew, as one[383] were borne that very day. Both _Silo_ this, and _Iordan_ did excell, And th’English _Bath_, and eke the german _Spau_, Ne can _Cephise_, nor _Hebrus_ match this well: Into the same the knight backe ouerthrowen, fell. Now gan the golden _Phœbus_ for to steepe xxxi His fierie face in billowes of the west, And his faint steedes watred in Ocean deepe, Whiles from their iournall labours they did rest, When that infernall Monster, hauing kest His wearie foe into that liuing well, Can high aduance his broad discoloured brest, Aboue his wonted pitch, with countenance fell, And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell. Which when his pensiue Ladie saw from farre, xxxii Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay, As weening that the sad end of the warre, And gan to highest God entirely pray, That feared chance from her to turne away; With folded hands and knees full lowly bent All night she watcht, ne once adowne would lay Her daintie limbs in her sad dreriment, But praying still did wake, and waking did lament.