Cant. XI.
the Faery Queene.
167
The other foote, fast fixed on his shieldWhenas no strength, nor stroks mote him constraineTo loose, ne yet the warlike pledg to yield,He smott thereat with all his might and maine,That nought so wōdrous puissaunce might sustaine;Vpon the ioint the lucky steele did light,And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine;The paw yett missed not his minisht might,But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight.
For griefe thereof, and diuelish despight,From his infernall fournace forth he threwHuge flames, that dimmed all the heuens light,Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew;As burning Aetna from his boyling stewDoth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces broke,And ragged ribs of mountaines molten new,Enwrapt in coleblacke clowds and filthy smoke,That al the land with stēch, & heuen with horror choke.
The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilenceSo sore him noyd, that forst him to retireA litle backeward for his best defence,To saue his body from the scorching fire,Which he from hellish entrailes did expire.It chaunst (eternall God that chaunce did guide)As he recoiled backeward, in the mireHis nigh foreweried feeble feet did slide,And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrifide.
There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,Loaden with fruit and apples rosy redd,As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,Whereof great vertues ouer all were redd:
For
