To which as they approcht, the cause to know, xliv They saw a Knight in daungerous[376] distresse Of a rude rout him chasing to and fro, That sought with lawlesse powre him to oppresse, And bring in bondage of their brutishnesse: And farre away, amid their rakehell bands, They spide a Lady left all succourlesse, Crying, and holding vp her wretched hands To him for aide, who long in vaine their rage withstands. Yet still he striues, ne any perill spares, xlv To reskue her from their rude violence, And like a Lion wood amongst them fares, Dealing his dreadfull blowes with large dispence, Gainst which the pallid death findes no defence. But all in vaine, their numbers are so great, That naught may boot to banishe them from thence: For soone as he their outrage backe doth beat, They turne afresh, and oft renew their former threat. And now they doe so sharpely him assay, xlvi That they his shield in peeces battred haue, And forced him to throw it quite away, Fro dangers dread his doubtfull life to saue; Albe that it most safety to him gaue, And much did magnifie his noble name. For from the day that he thus did it leaue, Amongst all Knights he blotted was with blame, And counted but a recreant Knight, with endles shame. Whom when they thus distressed did behold, xlvii They drew vnto his aide; but that rude rout Them also gan assaile with outrage bold, And forced them, how euer strong and stout They were, as well approu’d in many a doubt, Backe to recule; vntill that yron man With his huge flaile began to lay about, From whose sterne presence they diffused ran, Like scattred chaffe, the which the wind away doth fan. So when that Knight from perill cleare was freed, xlviii He drawing neare, began to greete them faire, And yeeld great thankes for their so goodly deed, In sauing him from daungerous despaire Of those, which sought his life for to empaire. Of whom Sir _Artegall_ gan then enquire[377] The whole occasion of his late misfare, And who he was, and what those villaines were, The which with mortall malice him pursu’d so nere. To whom he thus; My name is _Burbon_ hight, xlix Well knowne, and far renowmed heretofore, Vntill late mischiefe did vppon me light, That all my former praise hath blemisht sore; And that faire Lady, which in that vprore Ye with those caytiues saw, _Flourdelis_ hight, Is mine owne loue, though me she haue forlore, Whether withheld from me by wrongfull might, Or with her owne good will, I cannot read aright.