Cant. VIII.
the Faery Queene.
107
So deepely dinted in the driuen clay,That three yardes deepe a furrow vp did throw:The sad earth wounded with so sore assay,Did grone full grieuous vnderneath the blow,And trembling with strange feare, did like an erthquake show.
As when almightie Ioue in wrathfull mood,To wreake the guilt of mortall sins is bent,Hurles forth his thundring dart with deadly food,Enrold in flames, and smouldring dreriment,Through riuen cloudes and molten firmament;The fiers threeforked engin making way,Both loftie towres and highest trees hath rent,And all that might his angry passage stay,And shooting in the earth, castes vp a mount of clay.
His boystrous club, so buried in the grownd,He could not rearen vp againe so light,But that the knight him at aduantage fownd,And whiles he stroue his combred clubbe to quight,Out of the earth, with blade all burning brightHe smott of his left arme, which like a blockDid fall to ground, depriu'd of natiue might;Large streames of blood out of the truncked stockForth gushed, like fresh water streame from riuen rocke.
Dismayed with so desperate deadly wound,And eke impatient of vnwonted payne,He lowdly brayd with beastly yelling sownd,That all the fieldes rebellowed againe,As great a noyse, as when in Cymbrian plaineAn heard of Bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting,Doe for the milky mothers want complaine,And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing,The neighbor woods arownd with hollow murmuring.
That
