252
The second Booke of
Cant. V.
Tho gan that villein wex so fiers and strong,That nothing might sustaine his furious forse;He cast him downe to ground, and all alongDrew him through durt and myre without remorse,And fowly battered his comely corse,That Guyon much disdeignd so loathly sight.At last he was compeld to cry perforse,Help, O Sir Guyon; helpe most noble knight,To ridd a wretched man from handes of hellish wight.
The knight was greatly moued at his playnt,And gan him dight to succour his distresse,Till that the Palmer, by his graue restraynt,Him stayd from yielding pitifull redresse;And said, Deare sonne, thy causelesse ruth represse,Ne let thy stout hart melt in pitty vayne:He that his sorow sought through wilfulnesse,And his foe fettred would release agayne,Deserues to taste his follies fruit, repented payne.
Guyon obayd; So him away he drewFrom needlesse trouble of renewing fightAlready fought, his voyage to poursew.But rash Pyrrhochles varlett, Atin hight,When late he saw his Lord in heauie plight,Vnder Sir Guyons puissaunt stroke to fall,Him deeming dead, as then he seemd in sight,Fledd fast away, to tell his funerallVnto his brother, whom Cymochles men did call.
He was a man of rare redoubted might,Famous throughout the world for warlike prayse,And glorious spoiles, purchast in perilous fight:Full many doughtie knightes he in his dayes
Had
