XLII

And drawing nigh him said, Ah misborne Elfe, 365
  In evill houre thy foes thee hither sent,
  Anothers wrongs to wreake upon thy selfe: 
  Yet ill thou blamest me, for having blent
  My name with guile and traiterous intent: 
  That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I never slew, 370
  But had he beene, where earst his arms were lent,[*]
  Th’ enchaunter vaine[*] his errour should not rew: 
But thou his errour shalt,[*] I hope, now proven trew.

XLIII

Therewith they gan, both furious and fell,
  To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile 375
  Each other bent his enimy to quell,
  That with their force they perst both plate and maile,
  And made wide furrowes in their fleshes fraile,
  That it would pitty any living eie. 
  Large floods of bloud adowne their sides did raile; 380
  But floods of bloud could not them satisfie: 
Both hungred after death:  both chose to win, or die.

XLIV

So long they fight, and fell revenge pursue,
  That fainting each, themselves to breathen let,
  And oft refreshed, battell oft renue:  385
  As when two Bores with rancling malice met,[*]
  Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely fret,
  Til breathlesse both them selves aside retire,
  Where foming wrath, their cruell tuskes they whet,
  And trample th’ earth, the whiles they may respire; 390
Then backe to fight againe, new breathed and entire.

XLV

So fiersly, when these knights had breathed once,
  They gan to fight returne, increasing more
  Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce. 
  With heaped strokes more hugely then before, 395
  That with their drerie wounds and bloudy gore
  They both deformed, scarsely could be known. 
  By this, sad Una fraught with anguish sore,
  Led with their noise, which through the aire was thrown: 
Arriv’d, wher they in erth their fruitles bloud had sown. 400

XLVI

Whom all so soone as that proud Sarazin
  Espide, he gan revive the memory
  Of his lewd lusts, and late attempted sin,
  And left the doubtfull battell hastily,
  To catch her, newly offred to his eie:  405
  But Satyrane with strokes him turning, staid,
  And sternely bad him other businesse plie,
  Then hunt the steps of pure unspotted Maid: 
Wherewith he all enrag’d, these bitter speaches said.

XLVII

O foolish faeries son, what fury mad 410
  Hath thee incenst, to hast thy doefull fate? 
  Were it not better I that Lady had,
  Then that thou hadst repented it too late? 
  Most senseless man he, that himselfe doth hate
  To love another.  Lo then for thine ayd 415
  Here take thy lovers token on thy pate.[*]
  So they two fight; the whiles the royall Mayd
Fledd farre away, of that proud Paynim sore afrayd.