Like as a water streame, whose swelling sourse xxi Shall driue a Mill, within strong bancks is pent, And long restrayned of his ready course; So soone as passage is vnto him lent, Breakes forth, and makes his way more violent. Such was the fury of Sir _Calidore_, When once he felt his foeman to relent; He fiercely him pursu’d, and pressed sore, Who as he still decayd, so he encreased more. The heauy burden of whose dreadfull might xxii When as the Carle no longer could sustaine, His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke his flight Toward the Castle, where if need constraine, His hope of refuge vsed to remaine. Whom _Calidore_ perceiuing fast to flie, He him pursu’d and chaced through the plaine, That he for dread of death gan loude to crie Vnto the ward, to open to him hastilie. They from the wall him seeing so aghast, xxiii The gate soone opened to receiue him in, But _Calidore_ did follow him so fast, That euen in the Porch he him did win, And cleft his head asunder to his chin. The carkasse[406] tumbling downe within the dore, Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin, That it could not be shut, whilest _Calidore_ Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore. With that the rest, the which the Castle kept, xxiv About him flockt, and hard at him did lay; But he them all from him full lightly swept, As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers day,[407] With his long taile the bryzes brush away. Thence passing forth, into the hall he came, Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay He was ymett, who with vncomely shame Gan him salute, and fowle vpbrayd with faulty blame. False traytor Knight, (sayd she) no Knight at all, xxv But scorne of armes that hast with guilty hand Murdred my men, and slaine my Seneschall; Now comest thou to rob my house vnmand, And spoile my selfe, that can not thee withstand? Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight Then thou, that shall thy treason vnderstand, Will it auenge, and pay thee with thy right: And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame requight.[408] Much was the Knight abashed at that word; xxvi Yet answerd thus; Not vnto me the shame, But to the shamefull doer it afford. Bloud is no blemish; for it is no blame To punish those, that doe deserue the same; But they that breake bands of ciuilitie, And wicked customes make, those doe defame Both noble armes and gentle curtesie. No greater shame to man then inhumanitie.