XXXVII

The cruell wound enraged him so sore,

That loud he yelded for exceeding paine;

As hundred ramping Lyons seem'd to rore,

Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine:

Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine,

And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore,

That to his force to yeelden it was faine;

Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore,