In a russet banner on the sixt heade There was wrytten this worde, Detraction, That can open in a covert stede His subtile male replete with treason, To cause a lady to have suspection Unto her true lover wyth his bytter tale, That she her love from him than dyd hale. On the vii. hede, in a baner of ryches, Was wrytten, with letters all of Grewe, My name truly is called Doublenes, Whyche I do owe unto all ladyes true, At a tyme unware my dette shal be dewe, To Graunde Amoure for to make him repente, That he his love on La Bell Pucell spente. Whan in my minde I had well agregate Every thinge that I in hym had sene, Bothe of his head and of his hye estate, I called for helpe unto the heaven quene. The day was fayre, the sunne was bright and shene; Besyde a ryver and a craggy roche This gyaunt was whyche spyed me approche. He hurtled aboute, and kest his shelde afore, And toke his axe of myghty fortytude, That was of length xx. fote and more, Whiche he had used by longe consuetude To daunte true lovers and theyr power exclude. I toke my spere and did it well charge, And with hardines I made my force enlarge. I toke my course and to the gyaunt ranne, On his seconde head brekyng than asunder My mighty spere, that he to rore began Wyth so base a crye that I had great wonder; His seven heades so rored lyke the thunder. Ryght frome my stede I light to the grounde, And drewe Clara Prudence, that was hole and sounde. The mighty gyaunte his axe did up lyfte, Upon my head that the stroke should fall. But I of him was ful ware, and swyfte; I lept asyde, so that the stroke wythall In the grounde lyghted besyde a stone wall, Thre fote and more, and anone than I Dyd lepe unto hym, strykinge full quyckly. But above me he had suche altytude That I at him coulde have no ful stroke. He stroke at me with many strokes rude, And called me boye, and gave me many a mocke. At the last he sayd: I shall geve the a knocke That wyth thy braynes I shall the trees depaynte. Abyde, quod I, thou shalt be fyrst ful faynte. And right anone I bye me spyed On the rockes syde xii. steppes ful sure, And than right fast I uppon theim hyed That we were bothe about one stature: My strength I doubled, and put so in ure The great strokes, that I cut of anone Syxe of his heades, levynge him but one. Whan he felt him selfe hurt so grevously, He stretched hym up and lyft his axe a lofte, Strikinge at me with strokes wondersly; But I ful swyftly dyd geve backe ful oft. For to devoyde his great strokes unsoft. When he sawe thys, he thought him forlore; Wyth a hedious voyce he began to rore.