Edmund Spenser

“ He hath his shield redeem'd, and foorth his swerd he drawes.
XLII
O then too weake and feeble was the forse
⁠Of salvage beast, his puissance to withstand:
⁠For he was strong, and of so mightie corse,
⁠As ever wielded speare in warlike hand,
⁠And feates of armes did wisely understand.
⁠Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest
⁠With thrilling point of deadly yron brand,
⁠And launcht his Lordly hart: with death opprest
He roar'd aloud, whiles life forsooke his stubborne brest.
XLIII
Who now is left to keepe the forlorne maid
⁠From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will? ”

“ Thus long the dore with rage and threats he bet,
⁠Yet of those fearfull women none durst rize,
⁠The Lyon frayed them, him in to let:
⁠He would no longer stay him to advize,^
⁠But open breakes the dore in furious wize,
⁠And entring is; when that disdainfull beast
⁠Encountring fierce, him suddaine doth surprize,
⁠And seizing cruell clawes on trembling brest,
Under his Lordly foot him proudly hath supprest. ”

“ The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night,
⁠When every creature shrowded is in sleepe;
⁠Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight,
⁠And at her feete the Lyon watch doth keepe:
⁠In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe
⁠For the late losse of her deare loved knight,
⁠And sighes, and grones, and ever more does steepe
⁠Her tender brest in bitter teares all night,
All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light. ”