Like as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost, i Hauing spent all her mastes and her ground-hold, Now farre from harbour likely to be lost, At last some fisher barke doth neare behold, That giueth comfort to her courage cold. Such was the state of this most courteous knight Being oppressed by that faytour bold, That he remayned in most perilous plight, And his sad Ladie left in pitifull affright. Till that by fortune, passing all foresight, ii A saluage man, which in those woods did wonne, Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous shright, Toward the same incessantly did ronne, To vnderstand what there was to be donne. There he this most discourteous crauen found, As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne, Chasing the gentle _Calepine_ around, Ne sparing him the more for all his grieuous wound. The saluage man, that neuer till this houre iii Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew, Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure Was much emmoued at his perils vew, That euen his ruder hart began to rew, And feele compassion of his euill plight, Against his foe that did him so pursew: From whom he meant to free him, if he might, And him auenge of that so villenous despight. Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight, iv Ne knew the vse of warlike instruments, Saue such as sudden rage him lent to smite, But naked without needfull vestiments, To clad his corpse with meete habiliments, He cared not for dint of sword nor speere, No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents: For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare,[457] He was invulnerable made by Magicke leare. He stayed not t’aduize,[458] which way were best v His foe t’assayle, or how himselfe to gard, But with fierce fury and with force infest Vpon him ran; who being well prepard, His first assault full warily did ward, And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard, That forst him backe recoyle, and reele areare; Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare. With that the wyld man more enraged grew, vi Like to a Tygre that hath mist his pray, And with mad mood againe vpon him flew, Regarding neither speare, that mote him slay, Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay, The saluage nation doth all dread despize: Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay, And held the same so hard, that by no wize He could him force to loose, or leaue his enterprize.