And in his fall misfortune him[320] mistooke; viii For on his head vnhappily he pight, That his owne waight his necke asunder broke, And left there dead. Meane while the other Knight Defeated had the other faytour quight, And all his bowels in his body brast: Whom leauing there in that dispiteous[321] plight, He ran still on, thinking to follow fast His other fellow Pagan, which before him past. In stead of whom finding there ready prest ix Sir _Artegall_, without discretion He at him ran, with ready speare in rest: Who seeing him come still so fiercely on, Against him made againe. So both anon Together met, and strongly either strooke And broke their speares; yet neither has forgon His horses backe, yet to and fro long shooke, And tottred like two towres, which through a tempest quooke. But when againe they had recouered sence, x They drew their swords, in mind to make amends For what their speares had fayld of their pretence. Which when the Damzell, who those deadly ends Of both her foes had seene, and now her frends For her beginning a more fearefull fray, She to them runnes in hast, and her haire rends, Crying to them their cruell hands to stay, Vntill they both doe heare, what she to them will say. They stayd their hands, when she thus gan to speake; xi Ah gentle Knights, what meane ye thus vnwise Vpon your selues anothers wrong to wreake? I am the wrong’d, whom ye did enterprise Both to redresse, and both redrest likewise: Witnesse the Paynims both, whom ye may see There dead on ground. What doe ye then deuise Of more reuenge? if more, then I am shee, Which was the roote of all, end your reuenge on mee. Whom when they heard so say, they lookt about, xii To weete if it were true, as she had told; Where when they saw their foes dead out of doubt, Eftsoones they gan their wrothfull hands to hold, And Ventailes reare, each other to behold. Tho when as _Artegall_ did _Arthure_ vew, So faire a creature, and so wondrous bold, He much admired both his heart and hew, And touched with intire affection, nigh him drew. Saying, Sir[322] Knight, of pardon I you pray, xiii That all vnweeting haue you wrong’d thus sore, Suffring my hand against my heart to stray: Which if ye please forgiue, I will therefore Yeeld for amends my selfe yours euermore, Or what so penaunce shall by you be red. To whom the Prince; Certes me needeth more To craue the same, whom errour so misled, As that I did mistake the liuing for the ded.