Yet she it forst to haue againe vpheld, xxvii As fayning choler, which was turn’d to cold: But euer when his visage she beheld, Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold: But when in vaine to fight she oft assayd, She arm’d her tongue, and thought at him to scold; Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd, But brought forth speeches myld, when she would haue missayd. But _Scudamour_ now woxen inly glad, xxviii That all his gealous feare he false had found, And how that Hag his loue abused had With breach of faith and loyaltie vnsound, The which long time his grieued hart did wound, He[106] thus bespake; Certes[107] Sir _Artegall_, I ioy to see you lout so low on ground, And now become to liue a Ladies thrall, That whylome in your minde wont to despise them all. Soone as she heard the name of _Artegall_, xxix Her hart did leape, and all her hart-strings tremble, For sudden ioy, and secret feare withall, And all her vitall powres with motion nimble, To succour it, themselues gan there assemble, That by the swift recourse of flushing blood Right plaine appeard, though she it would dissemble, And fayned still her former angry mood, Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood. When _Glauce_ thus gan wisely all vpknit; xxx Ye gentle Knights, whom fortune here hath brought, To be spectators of this vncouth fit, Which secret fate hath in this Ladie wrought, Against the course of kind, ne meruaile nought, Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hethertoo Hath troubled both your mindes with idle thought, Fearing least she your loues away should woo, Feared in vaine, sith meanes ye see there wants theretoo. And you Sir _Artegall_, the saluage knight, xxxi Henceforth may not disdaine, that womans hand Hath conquered you anew in second fight: For whylome they haue conquerd sea and land, And heauen it selfe, that nought may them withstand.[108] Ne henceforth be rebellious vnto loue, That is the crowne of knighthood, and the band Of noble minds deriued from aboue, Which being knit with vertue, neuer will remoue. And you faire Ladie knight, my dearest Dame, xxxii Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will, Whose fire were better turn’d to other flame; And wiping out remembrance of all ill, Graunt him your grace, but so that he fulfill The penance, which ye shall to him empart: For louers heauen must passe by sorrowes hell. Thereat full inly blushed _Britomart_; But _Artegall_ close smyling ioy’d in secret hart.