No magicke arts hereof had any might, Nor bloudie wordes of bold Enchaunters call; But all that was not such as seemd in sight,[*] Before that shield did fade, and suddeine fall; 305 And, when him list[*] the raskall routes appall, Men into stones therewith he could transmew, And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all; And when him list the prouder lookes subdew, He would them gazing blind, or turne to other hew. 310 XXXVI Ne let it seeme, that credence this exceedes, For he that made the same, was knowne right well To have done much more admirable deedes. It Merlin[*] was, which whylome did excell All living wightes in might of magicke spell: 315 Both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought For this young Prince, when first to armes he fell; But when he dyde, the Faerie Queene it brought To Faerie lond, where yet it may be seene, if sought. XXXVII A gentle youth, his dearely loved Squire, 320 His speare of heben wood behind him bare, Whose harmefull head, thrice heated in the fire, Had riven many a brest with pikehead square: A goodly person, and could menage faire His stubborne steed with curbed canon bit, 325 Who under him did trample[*] as the aire, And chauft, that any on his backe should sit; The yron rowels into frothy fome he bit. XXXVIII When as this knight nigh to the Ladie drew, With lovely court he gan her entertaine; 330 But when he heard her answeres loth, he knew Some secret sorrow did her heart distraine: Which to allay, and calme her storming paine, Faire feeling words he wisely gan display, And for her humour[*] fitting purpose faine, 335 To tempt the cause it selfe for to bewray; Wherewith emmov'd, these bleeding words she gan to say. XXXIX What worlds delight, or joy of living speach Can heart, so plung'd in sea of sorrowes deep, And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach? 340 The carefull cold beginneth for to creepe, And in my heart his yron arrow steepe, Soone as I thinke upon my bitter bale: Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden keepe, Then rip up griefe, where it may not availe, 345 My last left comfort is, my woes to weepe and waile. XL Ah Ladie deare, quoth then the gentle knight, Well may I weene your griefe is wondrous great; For wondrous great griefe groneth in my spright, Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat. 350 But wofull Ladie, let me you intrete For to unfold the anguish of your hart: Mishaps are maistred by advice discrete, And counsell mittigates the greatest smart; Found[*] never helpe who never would his hurts impart. 355 XLI