Well then him chaunst his heauy armes to want, xix Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed, And hinder him from libertie to pant: For hauing long time, as his daily weed, Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need, Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light, That like an Hauke, which feeling her selfe freed From bels and iesses, which did let her flight, Him seem’d his feet did fly, and in their speed delight. So well he sped him, that the wearie Beare xx Ere long he ouertooke, and forst to stay, And without weapon him assayling neare, Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay. Wherewith the beast enrag’d to loose[467] his pray, Vpon him turned, and with greedie force And furie, to be crossed in his way, Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse To be aueng’d on him, and to deuoure his corse. But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayd, xxi But catching vp in hand a ragged stone, Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde) Vpon him ran, and thrust it all attone Into his gaping throte, that made him grone And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was, Being vnable to digest that bone; Ne could it vpward come, nor downward passe, Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse. Whom when as he thus combred did behold, xxii Stryuing in vaine that nigh his bowels brast, He with him closd, and laying mightie hold Vpon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast, That wanting breath, him downe to ground he cast; And then oppressing him with vrgent paine, Ere long enforst to breath his vtmost blast, Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine, And threatning his sharpe clawes, now wanting powre to straine. Then tooke he vp betwixt his armes twaine xxiii The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray; Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine, From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away, And from his face the filth that did it ray, And euery litle limbe he searcht around, And euery part, that vnder sweathbands lay, Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found. So hauing all his bands againe vptyde, xxiv He with him thought backe to returne againe: But when he lookt about on euery syde, To weet which way were best to entertaine, To bring him to the place, where he would faine, He could no path nor tract of foot descry, Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme. For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye, That all about did close the compasse of his eye.