The morrow next gan early to appeare, xxxiii That _Titan_ rose to runne his daily race; But early ere the morrow next gan reare Out of the sea faire _Titans_ deawy face, Vp rose the gentle virgin from her place, And looked all about, if she might spy Her loued knight to moue his manly pace: For she had great doubt of his safety, Since late she saw him fall before his enemy. At last she saw, where he vpstarted braue xxxiv Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay; As Eagle fresh out of the Ocean waue, Where he hath left his plumes all hoary gray, And deckt himselfe with feathers youthly gay, Like Eyas hauke vp mounts vnto the skies, His newly budded pineons to assay, And marueiles[384] at himselfe, still as he flies: So new this new-borne knight to battell new did rise. Whom when the damned feend so fresh did spy, xxxv No wonder if he wondred at the sight, And doubted, whether his late enemy It were, or other new supplied knight. He, now to proue his late renewed might, High brandishing his bright deaw-burning blade, Vpon his crested scalpe so sore did smite, That to the scull a yawning wound it made: The deadly dint his dulled senses all dismaid. I wote not, whether the reuenging steele xxxvi Were hardned with that holy water dew, Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele, Or his baptized hands now greater grew; Or other secret vertue did ensew; Else neuer could the force of fleshly arme, Ne molten mettall in his bloud embrew: For till that stownd could neuer wight him harme, By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme. The cruell wound enraged him so sore, xxxvii That loud he yelded[385] for exceeding paine; As hundred ramping Lyons seem’d to rore, Whom rauenous hunger did thereto constraine: Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine, And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore, That to his force to yeelden it was faine; Ne ought his sturdie strokes might stand afore, That high trees ouerthrew, and rocks in peeces tore. The same aduauncing high aboue his head, xxxviii With sharpe intended sting so rude him smot, That to the earth him droue, as stricken dead, Ne liuing wight would haue him life behot: The mortall sting his angry needle shot Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd, Where fast it stucke, ne would there out be got: The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd, Ne might his ranckling paine with patience be appeasd.