For of most perfect metall it was made, x Tempred with Adamant amongst the same, And garnisht all with gold vpon the blade In goodly wise, whereof it tooke his name, And was of no lesse vertue, then of fame. For there no substance was so firme and hard, But it would pierce or cleaue, where so it came; Ne any armour could his dint out ward, But wheresoeuer it did light, it throughly shard. Now when the world with sinne gan to abound, xi _Astræa_ loathing lenger here to space Mongst wicked men, in whom no truth she found, Return’d to heauen, whence she deriu’d her race; Where she hath now an euerlasting place, Mongst those twelue signes, which nightly we doe see The heauens bright-shining baudricke to enchace; And is the _Virgin_, sixt in her degree, And next her selfe her righteous ballance hanging bee. But when she parted hence, she left her groome xii An yron man, which did on her attend Alwayes, to execute her stedfast doome, And willed him with _Artegall_ to wend, And doe what euer thing he did intend. His name was _Talus_, made of yron mould, Immoueable, resistlesse, without end. Who in his hand an yron flale did hould, With which he thresht out falshood, and did truth vnfould. He now went with him in this new inquest, xiii Him for to aide, if aide he chaunst to neede, Against that cruell Tyrant, which opprest The faire _Irena_ with his foule misdeede, And kept the crowne in which she should succeed. And now together on their way they bin, When as they saw a Squire in squallid weed, Lamenting sore his sorowfull sad tyne, With many bitter teares shed from his blubbred eyne. To whom as they approched, they espide xiv A sorie sight, as euer seene with eye; An headlesse Ladie lying him beside, In her owne blood all wallow’d wofully, That her gay clothes did in discolour die. Much was he moued at that ruefull sight; And flam’d with zeale of vengeance inwardly,[246] He askt, who had that Dame so fouly dight; Or whether his owne hand, or whether other wight? Ah woe is me, and well away[247] (quoth hee) xv Bursting forth teares, like springs out of a banke, That euer I this dismall day did see: Full farre was I from thinking such a pranke; Yet litle losse it were, and mickle thanke, If I should graunt that I haue doen the same, That I mote drinke the cup, whereof she dranke: But that I should die guiltie of the blame, The which another did, who now is fled with shame.