The cruell wound enraged him so sore, 325 That loud he yelded for exceeding paine; As hundred ramping Lyons seem'd to rore, Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine: Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine, And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore, 330 That to his force to yeelden it was faine; Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore, That high trees overthrew, and rocks in peeces tore. XXXVIII The same advauncing high above his head, With sharpe intended sting[*] so rude him smot, 335 That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead, Ne living wight would have him life behot: The mortall sting his angry needle shot Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd, Where fast it stucke, ne would there out be got: 340 The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd, Ne might his ranckling paine with patience be appeasd. XXXIX But yet more mindfull of his honour deare, Then of the grievous smart, which him did wring, From loathed soile he can him lightly reare, 345 And strove to loose the far infixed sting: Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling, Inflam'd with wrath, his raging blade he heft, And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string Of his huge taile he quite a sunder cleft, 350 Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left. XL Hart cannot thinke, what outrage, and what cryes, With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire, The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skyes, That all was covered with darkenesse dire: 355 Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire, He cast at once him to avenge for all, And gathering up himselfe out of the mire, With his uneven wings did fiercely fall, Upon his sunne-bright shield, and gript it fast withall. 360 XLI Much was the man encombred with his hold, In feare to lose his weapon in his paw, Ne wist yet, how his talaunts to unfold; For harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw 365 To reave by strength the griped gage[*] away: Thrise he assayd it from his foot to draw, And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay, It booted nought to thinke to robbe him of his pray. XLII Tho when he saw no power might prevaile, 370 His trustie sword he cald to his last aid, Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assaile, And double blowes about him stoutly laid, That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid; As sparckles from the Andvile use to fly, 375 When heavy hammers on the wedge are swaid; Therewith at last he forst him to unty One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby. XLIII