Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling,
Inflam’d with wrath, his raging blade he heft,
And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string[387]
Of his huge taile he quite a sunder[388] cleft,
Fiue ioynts thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left.
Hart cannot thinke, what outrage, and what cryes, xl
With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire,
The hell-bred beast threw forth vnto the skyes,
That all was couered with darknesse dire:
Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire,