XII.

Whom when Pyrochles faw, inflam'd with rage,
That fire he foul befpake; Thou dotard vile,
That with thy brutenefs fhendft thy comely age,
Abandon foon, I read, the caitive spoyl
Of that fame outcast carcass, that erewhile
Made itself famous through false treachery,
And crownd his coward creft with Knightly ftile
Lo where he now inglorious doth lye,

To prove he lived ill, that did thus fouly dye.
XIII.

To whom the Palmer fearlefs answered;

Certes, Sir Knight, ye been too much to blame,
Thus for to blot the honour of the dead.
And with foul cowardize his carcass fhame,
Whofe living hands immortaliz'd his name.
Vile is the vengeance on the afhes cold,
And envy bafe, to bark at fleeping fame:
Was never wight, that treason of him told;
Yourself his prowefs prov'd, and found him fierce and bold.
XIV.

Then faid Cymochles; Palmer thou dost dote,
Ne canft of prowefs, ne of Knighthood deem,
Save as thou feeft or hear'ft: But well I wote,
That of his puiffance tryal made extreem ;
Yet gold all is not, that doth golden feem,
Ne all good Knights, that fhake well fpear and fhield:
The worth of all men by their end esteem,

And then due praife, or due reproch them yield; Bad therefore I him deem, that thus lies dead on field. XV.

Good or bad ('gan his brother fierce reply)

What do I reck, fith that he dy'd entire ?
Or what doth his bad death now fatisfie
The greedy hunger of revenging ire,

Sith wrathful hand wrought not her own defire?
Yet fith no way is left to wreak my spight,

I will him reave of arms, the victors hire,

And of that fhield, more worthy of good Knight; For why should a dead dog be deckt in armour bright?

XVI.

Fair Sir, faid then the Palmer fuppliant,
For Knighthoods love do not fo foul a deed,
Ne blame your honour with fo fhameful vaunt
Of vile revenge. To fpoil the dead of weed
Is facrilege, and doth all fins exceed; '
But leave these reliques of his living might,
To deck his herse, and trap his tomb-black fteed.
What herse or steed (faid he) fhould he have dight,
But be entombed in the Raven or the Kite?

XVII.

With that, rude hand upon his fhield he laid,
And th❜other brother 'gan his helm unlace;
Both fiercely bent to have him difarraid;
Till that they spide, where towards them did pace
An armed Knight, of bold and bounteous grace,
Whofe Squire bore after him an heben launce,
And coverd fhield: well kend him fo far space
Th'enchaunter by his arms and amenaunce,
When under him he faw his Lybian fteed to praunce,
XVIII.

And to thofe brethren faid, Rife, rife bylive,
And unto battle do your felves addrefs;
For yonder comes the proweft Knight alive,
Prince Arthur, flowre of grace and nobilefs,
That hath to Paynim Knights wrought great diftrefs,
And thousand Sar'zins fouly done to dye.
That word fo deep did in their hearts inprefs,
That both eftfoons upftarted furiously,

And 'gan themselves prepare to battle greedily.
XIX.

But fierce Pyrochles, lacking his own fword,
The want thereof now greatly 'gan to plain,
And Archimage befought him that afford,
Which he had brought, for Braggadochio vain.
So would I, faid th'enchaunter, glad and fain
Beteem to you this fword, you to defend,
Or ought that elfe your honour might maintain,
But that this weapons powre I well have kend,
To be contrary to the work which ye intend.
VOL. I.

XX.

For that fame Knights own fword this is of yore,
Which Merlin made by his almighty art
For that his nourfling, when he Knighthood fwore,
Therewith to doen his foes eternal smart,
The metal first he mixt with Medawart,
That no enchauntment from his dint might fave;
Then it in flames of Etna wrought apart,
And feven times dipped in the bitter wave
Of hellish Styx, which hidden virtue to it gave.
XXI.

The virtue is, that neither steel nor ftone,
The ftroke thereof from entrance may defend;
Ne ever may be used by his fone,

Ne forct his rightful owner to offend,
Ne ever will it break, ne ever bend.
Wherefore Mordure it rightfully is hight.
In vain therefore, Pyrochles, fhould I lend
The fame to thee, against his Lord to fight,
For fure it would deceive thy labour, and thy might.
XXII.

Foolish old man, faid then the Pagan wroth,

That weeneft words or charms may force withftond:
Soon fhalt thou fee, and then believe for troth,
That I can carve with this enchaunted brond
His Lords own flefh. Therewith out of his hond
That vertuous fteel he rudely fnacht away,
And Guyons fhield about his wrift he bond;
So ready dight fierce battle to affay,

And match his brother proud in battailons array.
XXIII.

By this, that ftranger Knight in prefence came,
And goodly falved them: who nought again
Him anfwered, as courtefie became ;

But with ftern looks, and ftomachous difdain,
Gave figns of grudge and difcontentment vain.
Then turning to the Palmer, he 'gan fpy,
Where at his feet, with forrowful demain
And deadly hue, an armed corfe did lye,
In whofe dead face he read great magnanimity.

XXIV.

Said he then to the Palmer, Reverend fyre,
What great misfortune hath betid this Knight?
Or did his life her fatal date expire,

Or did he fall by treafon, or by fight?
However, fure I rew his pitious plight.
Nor one, nor other, faid the Palmer grave,
Hath him befaln, but clouds of deadly night
Awhile his heavy eyelids cover'd have,

And all his fenfes drowned in deep fenfelefs wave.
XXV.

Which those his cruel foes that ftand hereby,
Making advantage, to revenge their spight,
Would him difarm, and treaten fhamefully;
(Unworthy ufage of redoubted Knight.)
But you, fair Sir, whofe honourable fight
Doth promise hope of help, and timely grace,
Mote I befeech to fuccour his fad plight,
And by your powre protect his feeble cafe.
First praife of Knighthood is, foul outrage to deface.

XXVI.

Palmer, faid he, no Knight fo rude (I ween)
As to doen outrage to a fleeping ghost:
Ne was there ever noble courage feen,
That in advantage would his puiffance boaft:
Honour is least, where odds appeareth most.
May be, that better reason will affuage
The rafh revengers heat. Words well difpoft
Have fecret powre, t'appeafe inflamed rage:
If not, leave unto me thy Knights last patronage.
XXVII.

Tho turning to thofe brethren, thus bespoke ;
Ye warlike pair, whofe valorous great might,
It seems, just wrongs to vengeance do provoke,
To wreak your wrath on this dead-feeming Knight,
Mote ought allay the ftorm of your defpight,
And fettle patience in fo furious heat;
Not to debate the challenge of your right,
But for this carcafs pardon I entreat,

Whom fortune hath already laid in loweft feat.

XXVIII.

To whom Cymochles faid; For what art thou,
That mak'ft thy felf his days-man, to prolong
The vengeance preft? Or who fhall let me now
On this vile body from to wreak my wrong,
And make his carcaffe as the outcaft dong?
Why fhould not that dead carrion fatisfy
The guilt, which if he lived had thus long,
His life for due revenge fhould dear aby?
The trefpafs ftill doth live, albe the perfon dye.
XXIX.

Indeed, then faid the Prince, the evil done

Dies not, when breath the body firft doth leave; But from the grandfire to the Nephews Son, And all his feed the curfe doth often cleave, Till vengeance utterly the guilt bereave: So ftraightly God doth judge. But gentle Knight, That doth against the dead his hand uprear, His honour ftains with rancour and defpight, And great difparagement makes to his former might. XXX.

Pyrochles 'gan reply the fecond time,

And to him faid, Now felon fure I read,
How that thou art partaker of his crime:
Therefore by Termagaunt thou shalt be dead.
With that, his hand (more fad than lump of lead)
Uplifting high, he weened with Mordure,

His own good fword Mordure to cleave his head.
The faithful fteel fuch treafon no'uld endure,
But fwarving from the mark, his Lords life did affure.
XXXI.

Yet was the force fo furious and fo fell,

That horfe and man it made to reel afide :
Nath'lefs the Prince would not forfake his fell
(For well of yore he learned had to ride)
But full of anger fiercely to him cride;
Falfe traitor, mifcreant, thou broken haft
The law of arms to ftrike foe undefide:
But thou thy treafons fruit (I hope) fhalt tafte.

Right fowre, and feel the law, the which thou haft defast.