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XXXIII

They had not ridden farre, when they might see
One pricking towards them with hastie heat, 290
Full strongly armd, and on a courser free,
That through his fiercenesse fomed all with sweat,
And the sharpe yron did for anger eat,
When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side;
His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat 295
Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde,
And on his shield Sans loy[*] in bloudie lines was dyde.

XXXIV

When nigh he drew unto this gentle payre
And saw the Red-crosse, which the knight did beare,
He burnt in fire, and gan eftsoones prepare 300
Himselfe to battell with his couched speare.
Loth was that other, and did faint through feare,
To taste th’ untryed dint of deadly steele;
But yet his Lady did so well him cheare,
That hope of new goodhap he gan to feele; 305
So bent his speare, and spurd his horse with yron heele.

XXXV

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

XXXVI

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.

XXXVII

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.

XXXVIII

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;