3230The woodwards green with Tyrian dye was dight
Who now desires a minute's space to breath.
Albino gave the truce, yet but to breath;
His valour scorned to crowd into the sheath.
Then did his nimble sleight and courage show,
Feigning a stroke, but pointed at his breast,
Which oped a door whereat his spirits flew,
And wellnigh set his fainting soul at rest.
With that th' enfeebled Sylvan weakly cries
'Hold, hold thy hand! or else Sylvanus dies.'