But sure to me her faith she first did plight, l To be my loue, and take me for her Lord, Till that a Tyrant, which _Grandtorto_ hight, With golden giftes and many a guilefull word Entyced her, to him for to accord. O who may not with gifts and words be tempted? Sith which she hath me euer since abhord, And to my foe hath guilefully consented: Ay me, that euer guyle in wemen was inuented. And now he hath this[378] troupe of villains sent, li By open force to fetch her quite away: Gainst whom my selfe I long in vaine haue bent, To rescue her, and daily meanes assay, Yet rescue her thence by no meanes I may: For they doe me with multitude oppresse, And with vnequall might doe ouerlay, That oft I driuen am to great distresse, And forced to forgoe th’attempt remedilesse. But why haue ye (said _Artegall_) forborne lii Your owne good shield in daungerous dismay? That is the greatest shame and foulest scorne, Which vnto any knight behappen may To loose the badge, that should his deedes display. To whom Sir _Burbon_, blushing halfe for shame, That shall I vnto you (quoth he) bewray; Least ye therefore mote happily me blame, And deeme it doen of will, that through inforcement came. True is, that I at first was dubbed knight liii By a good knight, the knight of the _Redcrosse_; Who when he gaue me armes, in field to fight, Gaue me a shield, in which he did endosse His deare Redeemers badge vpon the bosse: The same longwhile I bore, and therewithall Fought many battels without wound or losse; Therewith _Grandtorto_ selfe I did appall, And made him oftentimes in field before me fall. But for that many did that shield enuie, liv And cruell enemies increased more; To stint all strife and troublous enmitie, That bloudie scutchin being battered sore, I layd aside, and haue of late forbore, Hoping thereby to haue my loue obtayned: Yet can I not my loue haue nathemore; For she by force is still fro me detayned, And with corruptfull brybes is to vntruth mis-trayned. To whom thus _Artegall_; Certes Sir knight, lv Hard is the case, the which ye doe complaine; Yet not so hard (for nought so hard may light, That it to such a streight mote you constraine) As to abandon, that which doth containe Your honours stile, that is your warlike shield. All perill ought be lesse, and lesse all paine Then losse of fame in disauentrous[379] field; Dye rather, then doe ought, that mote dishonour yield.