For that same knights owne sword this is of yore, xx Which _Merlin_ made by his almightie art For that his noursling, when he knighthood swore, Therewith to doen his foes eternall smart. The metall first he mixt with _Medæwart_, That no enchauntment from his dint might saue; Then it in flames of _Aetna_ wrought apart, And seuen times dipped in the bitter waue Of hellish _Styx_, which hidden vertue to it gaue. The vertue is, that neither steele, nor stone xxi The stroke thereof from entrance may defend; Ne euer may be vsed by his fone, Ne forst his rightfull owner to offend, Ne euer will it breake, ne euer bend. Wherefore _Morddure_ it rightfully is hight. In vaine therefore, _Pyrochles_, should I lend The same to thee, against his lord to fight, For sure it would deceiue thy labour, and thy might. Foolish old man, said then the Pagan wroth, xxii That weenest words or charmes may force withstond: Soone shalt thou see, and then beleeue for troth, That I can carue with this inchaunted brond His Lords owne flesh. Therewith out of his hond That vertuous steele he rudely snatcht away, And _Guyons_ shield about his wrest[697] he bond; So readie dight, fierce battaile to assay, And match his brother proud in battailous array. By this that straunger knight in presence came, xxiii And goodly salued them; who nought againe Him answered, as courtesie became, But with sterne lookes, and stomachous disdaine, Gaue signes of grudge and discontentment vaine: Then turning to the Palmer, he gan spy Where at his feete, with sorrowfull demaine And deadly hew, an armed corse did lye, In whose dead face he red great magnanimity. Said he then to the Palmer, Reuerend syre, xxiv What great misfortune hath betidd this knight? Or did his life her fatall date expyre, Or did he fall by treason, or by fight? How euer, sure I rew his pitteous plight. Not one, nor other, (said the Palmer graue) Hath him befalne, but cloudes of deadly night A while his heauie eylids couer’d haue, And all his senses drowned in deepe senselesse waue. Which, those his cruell[698] foes, that stand hereby, xxv Making aduantage, to reuenge their spight, Would him disarme, and treaten shamefully, Vnworthy vsage of redoubted knight. But you, faire Sir, whose honorable sight Doth promise hope of helpe, and timely grace, Mote I beseech to succour his sad plight, And by your powre protect his feeble cace. First praise of knighthood is, foule outrage to deface.