And sure he was a man of mickle might, vii Had he had gouernance, it well to guide: But when the franticke fit inflamd his spright, His force was vaine, and strooke more often wide, Then at the aymed marke, which he had eide: And oft himselfe he chaunst to hurt vnwares, Whilst reason blent through passion, nought descride, But as a blindfold Bull at randon fares, And where he hits, nought knowes, and whom he hurts, nought cares. His rude assault and rugged handeling viii Straunge seemed to the knight, that aye with foe In faire defence and goodly menaging Of armes was wont to fight, yet nathemoe Was he abashed now not fighting so, But more enfierced through his currish play, Him sternely grypt, and haling to and fro, To ouerthrow him strongly did assay, But ouerthrew himselfe vnwares, and lower lay. And being downe the villein sore did beat, ix And bruze with clownish fistes his manly face: And eke the Hag with many a bitter threat, Still cald vpon to kill him in the place. With whose reproch and odious menace The knight emboyling in his haughtie hart, Knit all his forces, and gan soone vnbrace His grasping hold: so lightly did vpstart, And drew his deadly weapon, to maintaine his part. Which when the Palmer saw, he loudly cryde, x Not so, O _Guyon_, neuer thinke that so That Monster can be maistred or destroyd: He is not[556], ah, he is not such a foe, As steele can wound, or strength can ouerthroe. That same is _Furor_, cursed cruell wight, That vnto knighthood workes much shame and woe; And that same Hag, his aged mother, hight _Occasion_, the root of all wrath and despight. With her, who so will raging _Furor_ tame, xi Must first begin, and well her amenage: First her restraine from her reprochfull blame, And euill meanes, with which she doth enrage Her franticke sonne, and kindles his courage, Then when she is withdrawen, or strong withstood, It’s eath his idle furie to asswage, And calme the tempest of his passion wood; The bankes are ouerflowen, when stopped is the flood. Therewith Sir _Guyon_ left his first emprise, xii And turning to that woman, fast her hent By the hoare lockes, that hong before her eyes, And to the ground her threw: yet n’ould she stent Her bitter rayling and foule reuilement, But still prouokt her sonne to wreake her wrong; But nathelesse he did her still torment, And catching hold of her vngratious tong[557], Thereon an yron lock[558] did fasten firme and strong.