Xvii

The Sarazin sore daunted with the buffe Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies; Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff: Each others equall puissaunce envies,° And through their iron sides° with cruell spies Does seeke to perce: repining courage yields No foote to foe. The flashing fier flies As from a forge out of their burning shields, And streams of purple bloud new dies the verdant fields.