But that proud Paynim forward came so fierce, And full of wrath, that with his sharp-head speare, Through vainly crossed shield° he quite did pierce, And had his staggering steede not shrunke for feare, 310 Through shield and bodie eke he should him beare: Yet so great was the puissance of his push, That from his saddle quite he did him beare: He tombling rudely downe to ground did rush, And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush. 315
Dismounting lightly from his loftie steed, He to him lept, in mind to reave his life, And proudly said, Lo there the worthie meed Of him that slew Sansfoy with bloudie knife; Henceforth his ghost freed from repining strife, 320 In peace may passen over Lethe lake,° When mourning altars purgd with enemies life, The blacke infernall Furies° doen aslake: Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall from thee take.
Therewith in haste his helmet gan unlace,° 325 Till Una cried, O hold that heavie hand, Deare Sir, what ever that thou be in place: Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht stand Now at thy mercy: Mercie not withstand: For he is one the truest knight alive, 330 Though conquered now he lie on lowly land, And whilest him fortune favourd, faire did thrive In bloudie field: therefore of life him not deprive.
Her piteous words might not abate his rage, But rudely rending up his helmet, would 335 Have slaine him straight: but when he sees his age, And hoarie head of Archimago old, His hasty hand he doth amazed hold, And halfe ashamed, wondred at the sight: For that old man well knew he, though untold, 340 In charmes and magicke to have wondrous might, Ne ever wont in field,° ne in round lists to fight;
And said, Why Archimago, lucklesse syre, What doe I see? what hard mishap is this, That hath thee hither brought to taste mine yre? 345 Or thine the fault, or mine the error is, Instead of foe to wound my friend amis? He answered nought, but in a traunce still lay, And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his The cloude of death did sit. Which doen away, 350 He left him lying so, ne would no lenger stay:
But to the virgin comes, who all this while Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see By him, who has the guerdon of his guile, For so misfeigning her true knight to bee: 355 Yet is she now in more perplexitie, Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold, From whom her booteth not at all to flie; Who, by her cleanly garment catching hold, Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage to behold. 360