XXXVI
I wote not, whether the revenging steele
Were hardned with that holy water dew,
Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele,
Or his baptized hands now greater grew;
Or other secret vertue did ensew;
Else never could the force of fleshly arme,
Ne molten mettall in his blood embrew[°];
For till that stownd could never wight him harme,
By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme.