Xii

But he the knight, whose semblaunt he did beare, The true Saint George, was wandred far away, Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare; Will was his guide, and griefe led him astray. At last him chaunst to meete upon the way A faithless Sarazin° all arm'd to point, In whose great shield was writ with letters gay Sans foy: full large of limbe and every joint He was, and cared not for God or man a point.