There wayting for the Tyrant, till it was farre day.
Who came at length, with proud presumpteous[390] gate, xiv
Into the field, as if he fearelesse were,
All armed in a cote of yron plate,
Of great defence to ward the deadly feare,
And on his head a steele cap he did weare
Of colour rustie browne, but sure and strong;
And in his hand an huge Polaxe did beare,
Whose steale[391] was yron studded, but not long,
With which he wont to fight, to iustifie his wrong.