His name is _Crudor_, who through high disdaine xv And proud despight of his selfe pleasing mynd, Refused hath to yeeld her loue againe, Vntill a Mantle she for him doe fynd, With beards of Knights and locks of Ladies lynd. Which to prouide, she hath this Castle dight, And therein hath a Seneschall assynd, Cald _Maleffort_, a man of mickle might, Who executes her wicked will, with worse despight. He this same day, as I that way did come xvi With a faire Damzell, my beloued deare, In execution of her lawlesse doome, Did set vppon vs flying both for feare: For little bootes against him hand to reare. Me first he tooke, vnhable[405] to withstond; And whiles he her pursued euery where, Till his returne vnto this tree he bond: Ne wote I surely, whether her he yet haue fond. Thus whiles they spake, they heard a ruefull shrieke xvii Of one loud crying, which they streight way ghest, That it was she, the which for helpe did seeke. Tho looking vp vnto the cry to lest, They saw that Carle from farre, with hand vnblest Hayling that mayden by the yellow heare, That all her garments from her snowy brest, And from her head her lockes he nigh did teare, Ne would he spare for pitty, nor refraine for feare. Which haynous sight when _Calidore_ beheld, xviii Eftsoones he loosd that Squire, and so him left, With hearts dismay and inward dolour queld, For to pursue that villaine, which had reft That piteous spoile by so iniurious theft. Whom ouertaking, loude to him he cryde; Leaue faytor quickely that misgotten weft To him, that hath it better iustifyde, And turne thee soone to him, of whom thou art defyde. Who hearkning to that voice, him selfe vpreard, xix And seeing him so fiercely towardes make, Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard, But rather more enrag’d for those words sake; And with sterne count’naunce thus vnto him spake. Art thou the caytiue, that defyest me, And for this Mayd, whose party thou doest take, Wilt giue thy beard, though it but little bee? Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsome fro me free. With that he fiercely at him flew, and layd xx On hideous strokes with most importune might, That oft he made him stagger as vnstayd, And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe despight. But _Calidore_, that was well skild in fight, Him long forbore, and still his spirite spar’d, Lying in waite, how him he damadge might. But when he felt him shrinke, and come to ward, He greater grew, and gan to driue at him more hard.