Who all that piteous storie, which befell xxxi About that wofull couple, which were slaine, And their young bloodie babe to him gan tell; With whom whiles he did in the wood remaine, His horse purloyned was by subtill traine: For which he chalenged the thiefe to fight. But he for nought could him thereto constraine. For as the death he hated such despight, And rather had to lose, then trie in armes his right. Which _Artegall_ well hearing, though no more xxxii By law of armes there neede ones right to trie, As was the wont of warlike knights of yore, Then that his foe should him the field denie, Yet further right by tokens to descrie, He askt, what priuie tokens he did beare. If that (said _Guyon_) may you satisfie, Within his mouth a blacke spot doth appeare, Shapt like a horses shoe, who list to seeke it there. Whereof to make due tryall, one did take xxxiii The horse in hand, within his mouth to looke: But with his heeles so sorely he him strake, That all his ribs he quite in peeces broke, That neuer word from that day forth he spoke. Another that would seeme to haue more wit, Him by the bright embrodered hedstall tooke: But by the shoulder him so sore he bit, That he him maymed quite, and all his shoulder split. Ne he his mouth would open vnto wight, xxxiv Vntill that _Guyon_ selfe vnto him spake, And called _Brigadore_ (so was he hight) Whose voice so soone as he did vndertake, Eftsoones he stood as still as any stake, And suffred all his secret marke to see: And when as he him nam’d, for ioy he brake His bands, and follow’d him with gladfull glee, And friskt, and flong aloft, and louted low on knee. Thereby Sir _Artegall_ did plaine areed, xxxv That vnto him the horse belong’d, and sayd; Lo there Sir _Guyon_, take to you the steed, As he with golden saddle is arayd; And let that losell, plainely now displayd, Hence fare on foot, till he an horse haue gayned. But the proud boaster gan his doome vpbrayd, And him reuil’d, and rated, and disdayned, That iudgement so vniust against him had ordayned. Much was the knight incenst with his lewd word, xxxvi To haue reuenged that his villeny; And thrise did lay his hand vpon his sword, To haue him slaine, or dearely doen aby. But _Guyon_ did his choler pacify, Saying, Sir knight, it would dishonour bee To you, that are our iudge of equity, To wreake your wrath on such a carle as hee:[273] It’s punishment enough, that all his shame doe see.