And then about his shoulders broad he threw 65
An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom hee
In salvage forrest by adventure slew,
And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee;
Which, spredding all his backe with dreadfull vew,
Made all that him so horrible did see 70
Thinke him Alcides with the lyons skin,
When the Naemean conquest he did win.

Upon his head, his glistering burganet*,
The which was wrought by wonderous device
And curiously engraven, he did set:  75
The mettall was of rare and passing price;
Not Bilbo** steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet,
Nor costly oricalche from strange Phoenice;
But such as could both Phoebus arrowes ward,
And th’hayling darts of heaven beating hard. 80
[* Burganet, helmet.]
[** Bilbo, Bilboa.]

Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,
Strongly outlaunced towards either side,
Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore: 
Like as a warlike brigandine, applyde
To fight, layes forth her threatfull pikes afore, 85
The engines which in them sad death doo hyde,
So did this flie outstretch his fearefull hornes,
Yet so as him their terrour more adornes.

Lastly his shinie wings, as silver bright,
Painted with thousand colours passing farre 90
All painters skill, he did about him dight: 
Not halfe so manie sundrie colours arre
In Iris bowe; ne heaven doth shine so bright,
Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre;
Nor Iunoes bird, in her ey-spotted traine, 95
So manie goodly colours doth containe.

Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken)
The Archer-god, the sonne of Cytheree,
That ioyes on wretched lovers to be wroken*,
And heaped spoyles of bleeding harts to see, 100
Beares in his wings so manie a changefull token. 
Ah! my liege Lord, forgive it unto mee,
If ought against thine honour I have tolde;
Yet sure those wings were fairer manifolde.
[* Wroken, avenged.]

Full many a ladie faire, in court full oft 105
Beholding them, him secretly envide,
And wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft
And golden faire, her Love would her provide;
Or that, when them the gorgeous flie had doft,
Some one that would with grace be gratifide 110
From him would steale them privily away,
And bring to her so precious a pray.

Report is that Dame Venus on a day,
In spring when flowres doo clothe the fruitful ground,
Walking abroad with all her nymphes to play, 115
Bad her faire damzels flocking her arownd
To gather flowres, her forhead to array. 
Emongst the rest a gentle nymph was found,
Hight Astery, excelling all the crewe
In curteous usage and unstained hewe. 120