And downe him plucking, with his nailes and

teeth

Gan him to hale, and teare, and fcratch, and bite;

And from him taking his owne whip, therewith So fore him fcourgeth that the bloud downe followeth.

XXIX.

And fure I weene had not the ladies cry Procur'd the prince his cruell hand to stay, He would with whipping him have done to dye; But being checkt, he did abstaine ftreightway, And let him rife: then thus the prince gan fay; "Now, lady, fith your fortunes thus difpofe, "That if ye lift have liberty, ye may, "Unto yourfelfe I freely leave to chofe, "Whether I fhall you leave, or from thefe villaines " lofe."

ΧΧΧ.

"Ah! nay, Sir knight," said fhe, "it may not "be,

"But that I needes muft by all meanes fulfill
"This penaunce, which enioyned is to me,
"Leaft unto me betide a greater ill;

"Yet no leffe thankes to you for your good " will."

So humbly taking leave the turn'd afide;
But Arthure with the reft went onward ftill
On his first queft, in which did him betide
A great adventure, which did him from them
devide.

XXXI.

But firft it falleth me by courfe to tell · Of faire Serena, who as carft you heard, When first the gentle fquire at variaunce fell With thofe two carles, fled faft away, afcard Of villany to be to her inferd; So fresh the image of her former dread, Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeard, That every foote did tremble which did tread, And every body two, an two she foure did read,

XXXII.

Thro' hils and dales, through bushes and through breres,

Long thus the fled, till that at laft fhe thought
Herfelfe now paft the perill of her feares;
Then looking round about, and feeing nought,
Which doubt of daunger to her offer mought,
She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine;
And fitting downe herfelfe, a while bethought
Of her long travell and turmoyling paine,
And often did of love, and oft of lucke, com-
plaine.

XXXIII.

And evermore she blamed Calepine,
The good Sir Calepine, her owne true knight,
As th' only author of her wofull tine,
For being of his love to her fo light,
As her to leave in fuch a piteous plight;
Yet never turtle truer to his make
Then he stride unto his lady bright,
Who all this while endured for her fake
Great perill of his life, and restleffe paines did
take.

He first her bands beginneth to unbind,
And then to question of her present woe,
And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind;
Bur fhe, for nought that he could fay or doc,
One word durft fpeake, or answere him a whit
thereto.

LI.

So inward fhame of her uncomely cafe

She did conceive, through care of womanhood,

That though the night did cover her disgrace,
Yet the in fo unwomanly a mood
Would not bewray the ftate in which she stood,
So all that night to him unknown she past;
But day, that doth discover bad and good,
Enfewing, made her knowen to him at last,
The end whereof lle keepe untill another cast.
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