To whom false _Turpine_ comming courteously, iv To cloke the mischiefe, which he inly ment, Gan to complaine of great discourtesie, Which a straunge knight, that neare afore him went, Had doen to him, and his deare Ladie shent: Which if they would afford him ayde at need For to auenge, in time conuenient, They should accomplish both a knightly deed, And for their paines obtaine of him a goodly meed. The knights beleeu’d, that all he sayd, was trew, v And being fresh and full of youthly spright, Were glad to heare of that aduenture new, In which they mote make triall of their might, Which neuer yet they had approu’d in fight; And eke desirous of the offred meed, Said then the one of them; Where[502] is that wight, The which hath doen to thee this wrongfull deed, That we may it auenge, and punish him with speed? He rides (said _Turpine_) there not farre afore, vi With a wyld man soft footing by his syde, That if ye list to haste a litle more, Ye may him ouertake in timely tyde.[503] Eftsoones they pricked forth with forward pryde, And ere that litle while they ridden had, The gentle Prince not farre away they spyde, Ryding a softly pace with portance sad, Deuizing of his loue more, then of daunger drad. Then one of them aloud vnto him cryde, vii Bidding him turne againe, false traytour knight, Foule womanwronger, for he him defyde. With that they both at once with equall spight Did bend their speares, and both with equall might Against him ran; but th’one did misse his marke, And being carried with his force forthright, Glaunst swiftly by; like to that heauenly sparke, Which glyding through the ayre lights all the heauens darke. But th’other ayming better, did him smite viii Full in the shield, with so impetuous powre, That all his launce in peeces shiuered quite, And scattered all about, fell on the flowre. But the stout Prince, with much more steddy stowre Full on his beuer did him strike so sore, That the cold steele through piercing, did deuowre His vitall breath, and to the ground him bore, Where still he bathed lay in his owne bloody gore. As when a cast of Faulcons make their flight ix At an Herneshaw, that lyes aloft on wing, The whyles they strike at him with heedlesse might, The warie foule his bill doth backward wring; On which the first, whose force her first doth bring, Her selfe quite through the bodie doth engore, And falleth downe to ground like senselesse thing, But th’other not so swift, as she before, Fayles of her souse, and passing by doth hurt no more.