Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro, vii And euery way did try, but all in vaine: For he would not his greedie grype forgoe, But hayld and puld with all his might, and maine, That from his steed him nigh he drew againe. Who hauing now no vse of his long speare, So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine, Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were, He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare. But after him the wyld man ran apace, viii And him pursewed with importune speed, (For he was swift as any Bucke in chace) And had he not in his extreamest need, Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed, He had him ouertaken in his flight. Who euer, as he saw him nigh succeed, Gan cry aloud with horrible affright, And shrieked out, a thing vncomely for a knight. But when the Saluage saw his labour vaine, ix In following of him, that fled so fast, He wearie woxe, and backe return’d againe With speede vnto the place, whereas he last Had left that couple, nere their vtmost cast. There he that knight full sorely bleeding found, And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast, Both for the perill of the present stound, And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound. For though she were right glad, so rid to bee x From that vile lozell, which her late offended, Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see, And perill by this saluage man pretended; Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended, By reason that her knight was wounded sore. Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore, To send her succour, being of all hope forlore. But the wyld man, contrarie to her feare, xi Came to her creeping like a fawning hound, And by rude tokens made to her appeare His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound, Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground; For other language had he none nor speach, But a soft murmure, and confused sound Of senselesse words, which nature did him teach, T’expresse his passions, which his reason did empeach. And comming likewise to the wounded knight, xii When he beheld the streames of purple blood Yet flowing fresh, as moued with the sight, He made great mone after his saluage mood, And running streight into the thickest wood, A certaine herbe from thence vnto him brought, Whose vertue he by vse well vnderstood: The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought, And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched thought.