Onely his shield and armour, which there lay, xliv Though nothing whole, but all to brusd and broken, He vp did take, and with him brought away, That mote remaine for an eternall token To all, mongst whom this storie should be spoken, How worthily, by heauens high decree, Iustice that day of wrong her selfe had wroken, That all men which that spectacle did see, By like ensample mote for euer warned bee. So on a tree, before the Tyrants dore, xlv He caused them be hung in all mens sight, To be a moniment for euermore. Which when his Ladie from the castles hight Beheld, it much appald her troubled spright: Yet not, as women wont in dolefull fit, She was dismayd, or faynted through affright, But gathered vnto her her troubled wit, And gan eftsoones deuize to be aueng’d for it. Streight downe she ranne, like an enraged cow, xlvi That is berobbed of her youngling dere, With knife in hand, and fatally did vow, To wreake her on that mayden messengere, Whom she had causd be kept as prisonere, By _Artegall_, misween’d for her owne Knight, That brought her backe. And comming present there, She at her ran with all her force and might, All flaming with reuenge and furious despight. Like raging _Ino_, when with knife in hand xlvii She threw her husbands murdred infant out, Or fell _Medea_, when on _Colchicke_ strand Her brothers bones she scattered all about; Or as that madding mother, mongst the rout Of _Bacchus_ Priests her owne deare flesh did teare. Yet neither _Ino_, nor _Medea_ stout, Nor all the _Mœnades_ so furious were, As this bold woman, when she saw that Damzell there. But _Artegall_ being thereof aware, xlviii Did stay her cruell hand, ere she her raught, And as she did her selfe to strike prepare, Out of her fist the wicked weapon caught: With that like one enfelon’d or distraught, She forth did rome, whether[329] her rage her bore, With franticke passion, and with furie fraught; And breaking forth out at a posterne dore, Vnto the wyld wood ranne, her dolours to deplore. As a mad[330] bytch, when as the franticke fit xlix Her burning tongue with rage inflamed hath, Doth runne at randon, and with furious bit Snatching at euery thing, doth wreake her wrath On man and beast, that commeth in her path. There they doe say, that she transformed was Into a Tygre, and that Tygres scath In crueltie and outrage she did pas, To proue her surname true, that she imposed has.