No magicke arts hereof had any might, xxxv Nor bloudie wordes of bold Enchaunters call, But all that was not such, as seemd in sight, Before that shield did fade, and suddeine fall: And when him list the raskall routes appall, Men into stones therewith he could transmew, And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all; And when him list the prouder lookes subdew, He would them gazing blind, or turne to other hew. Ne let it seeme[252], that credence this exceedes, xxxvi For he that made the same, was knowne right well To haue done much more admirable deedes. It _Merlin_ was, which whylome did excell All liuing wightes in might of magicke spell: Both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought For this young Prince, when first to armes he fell; But when he dyde, the Faerie Queene it brought To Faerie lond, where yet it may be seene, if sought. A gentle youth, his dearely loued Squire xxxvii His speare of heben wood behind him bare, Whose harmefull head, thrice heated in the fire, Had riuen many a brest with pikehead square; A goodly person, and could menage faire[253] His stubborne steed with curbed canon bit, Who vnder him did trample[254] as the aire, And chauft[255], that any on his backe should sit; The yron rowels into frothy fome he bit. When as this knight nigh to the Ladie drew, xxxviii With louely court he gan her entertaine; But when he heard her answeres loth, he knew Some secret sorrow did her heart distraine: Which to allay, and calme her storming paine, Faire feeling words he wisely gan display, And for her humour fitting purpose faine, To tempt the cause it selfe for to bewray; Wherewith emmou’d[256], these bleeding words she gan to say. What worlds delight, or ioy of liuing speach xxxix Can heart, so plung’d in sea of sorrowes deepe, And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach? The carefull cold beginneth for to creepe, And in my heart his yron arrow steepe, Soone as I thinke vpon my bitter bale: Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden keepe, Then rip vp griefe, where it may not auaile, My last left comfort is, my woes to weepe and waile. Ah Ladie deare, quoth then the gentle knight, xl Well may I weene, your griefe is wondrous great; For wondrous great griefe groneth in my spright, Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat. But wofull Ladie let me you intrete, For to vnfold the anguish of your hart: Mishaps are maistred by aduice discrete, And counsell mittigates the greatest smart; Found neuer helpe, who neuer would his hurts impart.