His wonted warlike weapons all he broke, xxxix And threw away, with vow to vse no more, Ne thenceforth euer strike in battell stroke, Ne euer word to speake to woman more; But in that wildernesse, of men forlore, And of the wicked world forgotten quight, His hard mishap in dolor to deplore, And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight; So on him selfe to wreake his follies owne despight. And eke his garment, to be thereto meet, xl He wilfully did cut and shape anew; And his faire lockes, that wont with ointment sweet To be embaulm’d, and sweat out dainty dew, He let to grow and griesly to concrew, Vncomb’d, vncurl’d, and carelesly vnshed; That in short time his face they ouergrew, And ouer all his shoulders did dispred, That who he whilome was, vneath was to be red. There he continued in this carefull plight, xli Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares, Through wilfull penury consumed quight, That like a pined ghost he soone appeares. For other food then that wilde forrest beares, Ne other drinke there did he euer[130] tast, Then running water, tempred with his teares, The more his weakened body so to wast: That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at last. For on a day, by fortune as it fell, xlii His owne deare Lord Prince _Arthure_ came that way, Seeking aduentures, where he mote heare tell; And as he through the wandring wood did stray, Hauing espide this Cabin far away, He to it drew, to weet who there did wonne; Weening therein some holy Hermit lay, That did resort of sinfull people shonne; Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorching sunne. Arriuing there, he found this wretched man, xliii Spending his daies in dolour and despaire, And through long fasting woxen pale and wan, All ouergrowen with rude and rugged haire; That albeit his owne deare Squire he were, Yet he him knew not, ne auiz’d at all, But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where, Saluting him, gan into speach to fall, And pitty much his plight, that liu’d like outcast thrall. But to his speach he aunswered no whit, xliv But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum, Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit, As one with griefe and anguishe ouercum, And vnto euery thing did aunswere mum: And euer when the Prince vnto him spake, He louted lowly, as did him becum, And humble homage did vnto him make, Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake.