Then taking _Congé_ of that virgin pure, ii The bloudy-handed babe vnto her truth Did earnestly commit, and her coniure, In vertuous lore to traine his tender youth, And all that gentle noriture ensu’th: And that so soone as ryper yeares he raught[525], He might for memorie of that dayes ruth, Be called _Ruddymane_, and thereby taught, T’auenge his Parents death on them, that had it wrought. So forth he far’d, as now befell, on foot, iii Sith his good steed is lately from him gone; Patience perforce; helpelesse what may it boot To fret for anger, or for griefe to mone? His Palmer now shall foot no more alone: So fortune wrought, as vnder greene woods syde He lately heard that dying Lady grone, He left his steed without, and speare besyde, And rushed in on foot to ayd her, ere she dyde. The whiles a losell wandring by the way, iv One that to bountie neuer cast his mind, Ne thought of honour euer did assay His baser brest, but in his kestrell kind A pleasing vaine of glory vaine[526] did find, To which his flowing toung, and troublous spright Gaue him great ayd, and made him more inclind: He that braue steed there finding ready dight, Purloynd both steed and speare, and ran away full light. Now gan his hart all swell in iollitie, v And of him selfe great hope and helpe conceiu’d, That puffed vp with smoke of vanitie, And with selfe-loued personage deceiu’d, He gan to hope, of men to be receiu’d For such, as he him thought, or faine would bee: But for in court gay portaunce he perceiu’d, And gallant shew to be in greatest gree, Eftsoones to court he cast t’auaunce[527] his first degree. And by the way he chaunced to espy vi One sitting idle on a sunny bancke, To whom auaunting in great brauery, As Peacocke, that his painted plumes doth prancke, He smote his courser in the trembling flancke, And to him threatned his hart-thrilling speare: The seely man seeing him ryde so rancke, And ayme at him, fell flat to ground for feare, And crying Mercy lowd, his pitious hands gan reare. Thereat the Scarcrow wexed wondrous prowd, vii Through fortune of his first aduenture faire, And with big thundring voyce reuyld him lowd; Vile Caytiue, vassall of dread and despaire, Vnworthie of the commune[528] breathed aire, Why liuest thou, dead dog, a lenger day, And doest not vnto death thy selfe prepaire. Dye, or thy selfe my captiue yield for ay; Great fauour I thee graunt, for aunswere thus to stay.