Not caring his long labours to deface,
And fiercely ronning to that Lady trew,
A murdrous knife out of his pocket drew,
The which he thought, for villeinous despight,
In her tormented bodie to embrew:
But the stout Damzell to him leaping light,
His cursed hand withheld, and maistered his might.
From her, to whom his fury first he ment, xxxiii
The wicked weapon rashly he did wrest,
And turning to her selfe[1186] his fell intent,