Thought sure haue pownded[524] him to powder soft,
Or deepe emboweld in the earth entyre:
But Fortune did not with his will conspire.
For ere his stroke attayned his intent,
The noble childe preuenting his desire,
Vnder his club with wary boldnesse went,
And smote him on the knee, that neuer yet was bent.
It neuer yet was bent, ne bent it now, xvi
Albe the stroke so strong and puissant were,
That seem’d a marble pillour it could bow,