|
Spenser's Faerie Queene Books I, II, and IV
Source: Edmund Spenser. The Faerie Queene, The Complete Works in Verse and Prose. Ed. Grosart, London, 1882. Originally prepared for the web by Richard Bear at the University of Oregon. Available for downloading at www.english.cam.ac.uk/spenser/main.htm. Before using any portion of this text in any theme, essay, research paper, thesis, or dissertation, please read the disclaimer. Transcription conventions: Book, canto, and stanza numbers appear in angle brackets at the head of each verse and refer to the edition cited as the source. Words or phrases singled out for indexing are marked by plus signs. In the index, numbers in parentheses indicate how many times the item appears. I have allowed Greek passages to stand as the scanner read them, in unintelligible strings of characters. Archaic spellings: If you are puzzled by the spelling of a word, try these remedies.
TABLE OF CONTENTS: BOOK I OF HOLINESSE+ | BOOK II OF TEMPERAUNCE+ | BOOK VI OF COVRTESIE+ INDEX: action+(1) | affection+(2) | ambition+(1) | anger+(1) | Antonius+(1) | Auarice+(1) | benefits+(1) | Caesar+(1) | calm+(1) | chaine+(1) | Chastity+(1) | cheare+(1) | choler+(1) | Ciuility+(1) | clemencie+(1) | Cleopatra+(1) | Clergy+(1) | common+(1) | compassion+(1) | constant+(2) | contemplation+(1) | Contemplation+(1) | content+(2) | contented+(1) | contract+(1) | coquette+(1) | Cordelia+(1) | counterfeit+(1) | courage+(1) | courage_shame+(1) | courteous+(1) | courteous_glee+(1) | courtesie+(3) | court'sie+ | courtesies+(1) | courting_fooles+(1) || cowardize+(1) | cowherd_feare+(1) | curtesie+(1) | Curtesie+(1) | curt'sie+(1) | deceipt+(1) | Deceipt+(1) | deede+(1) | deeds+(2) | degree+(1) | desire+(1) | discourtesie+(2) | discourtesy+(2) | Duessa+(2) | Dwarfe+(1) | effeminacy+(4) | entertaine+(1) | entrap+(1) | error_many+(1) | Errour+(1) | faith+(2) | faithfull+(1) | falshood+(1) | Falstaff+(1) | fauours+(1) | flattery+(1) | fortune+(2) | fortune_brave+(1) | forty_to_one+(1) | friend+(1) | friendly+(1) | friendship+(1) | gentle+(5) | gentle_hart+(1) | gift+(4) | gifts+(4) | Gloriana+(1) | glorie+(3) | glorious+(1) | glory+(5) | gold+(1) | good+(1) | gouernaunce+(1) | grace+(4) | Grace+(1) | Graces+(1) | gratefull+(1) | gratious+(1) | guest+(1) | guifts+(1) | Hal+(4) | Harfleur+(3) | hempen+(1) | hempen_rope+(1) | honour+(1) | host+(3) | Host+(1) | humanity+(1) | humility+(1) | Hydra+(1) | Hypocrisie+(1) | hypocrisy+(1) | hyre+(1) | Ignaro+(1) | impatience+(1) | inconstancie+(1) | Inconstant+(1) | Infamy+(1) | ingrate+(1) | inhumanitie+(1) | intemperance+(1) | ire+(1) | iustice+(1) | justice+(2) | Kent+(1) | lambe+(1) | Lechery+(1) | loue+(1) | love_lust+(1) | lust+(1) | lustfull+(1) | luxury+(1) | manhood+(1) | manly+(1) | many_headed_beast+(1) | marchants+(1) | Marius+(1) | merchants+(2) | mercie+(1) | merrily+(1) | merriment+(2) | merry+(3) | moralize+(1) | morrow+(1) | musicke+(1) | Musicke+(1) |non_nobis+(2) | offices+(1) | Orgoglio+(1) | passion+(1) | Patience+(1) | peasant+(1) | Philosophy+(1) | PlainDealer+(5) | plaine+(2) | pleasure+(1) | pollicie+(1) | Pompey+(1) | posteritie+(1) | posterity+(4) | promises+(1) | Prospero+(1) | prude+(1) | Puritan+(1) | rage+(1) | reason+(4) | reciproca+(1) | reciprocal+(1) | reciprocate+(1) | reuenge+(1) | righteousnesse+(1) | ring+(1) | rope+(1) | rude+(1) | rude_speach+(1) | saluage+(1) | Scipio+(1) | self_love+(1) | seruice+(1) | Shylock+(4) | simple+(1) | simplicity+(1) | Sin+(1) | sleeper+(1) | smile+(1) | stranger+(1) | sung+(1) | Sylla+(1) | thanke+(1) | thanklesse+(1) | three_agst_one+(1) | Three_other_Ladies+(1) | treason+(1) | trust+(1) | truth_shines+(1) | tuning+(1) | two+(1) | vengeance+(1) | virtue_shines+(3) | Vna+(1) | Vnarm'd+(1) | vsurie+(1) | wordes+(1) | wrath+(3) | wrathfulnesse+(1) | THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QVEENE.
Contayning
LO I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske,
< 1.1.ii> Thy weaker Nouice to performe thy will, Lay forth out of thine euerlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights and fairest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his vndeserued wrong: O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong. < 1.1.ii> Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart At that good knight so cunningly didst roue, That glorious fire it kindled in his hart, Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart, And with thy mother milde come to mine ayde: Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart, In loues and gentle iollities arrayd, After his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd. < 1.1.iii> Mirrour of grace and Maiestie diuine, Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose light Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world doth shine, Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne, And raise my thoughts too humble and too vile, To thinke of that true glorious type of thine, The argument of mine afflicted stile: The which to heare, vouchsafe, O dearest dred a-while. < 1.1.1> Canto I. The Patron of true Holinesse,
A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine,
< 1.1.2> The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, And dead as liuing euer him ador'd: Vpon his shield the like was also scor'd, For soueraine hope, which in his helpe he had: Right faithfull+ true he was in deede+ and word, But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; Yet nothing did he dread, but euer was ydrad. < 1.1.3> That greatest Gloriana to him gaue, That greatest Glorious Queene of Faerie lond, To winne him worship, and her grace to haue, Which of all earthly things he most did craue; And euer as he rode, his hart did earne To proue his puissance in battell braue Vpon his foe, and his new force to learne; Vpon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne. < 1.1.4> Vpon a lowly Asse {humility+} more white then snow, Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide Vnder a vele, that wimpled was full low, And ouer all a blacke stole she did throw, As one that inly mournd: so was she sad, And heauie sat vpon her palfrey slow: Seemed in heart some hidden care she had, And by her in a line a milke white lambe she lad. < 1.1.5> She was in life and euery vertuous lore, And by descent from Royall lynage came Of ancient Kings and Queenes, that had of yore Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne shore, And all the world in their subiection held; Till that infernall feend with foule vprore Forwasted all their land, and them expeld: Whom to auenge, she had this Knight from far c"peld. < 1.1.6> That lasie seemd in being euer last, Or wearied with bearing of her bag Of needments at his backe. Thus as they The day with cloudes was suddeine ouercast, And angry Ioue an hideous storme of raine Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast, That euery wight to shrowd it did constrain, And this faire couple eke to shroud th&etilde;selues were fain.some couert nigh at hand, A shadie groue not far away they spide, That promist ayde the tempest to withstand: Whose loftie trees yclad with sommers pride, Did spred so broad, that heauens light did hide, Not perceable with power of any starre: And all within were pathes and alleies wide, With footing worne, and leading inward farre: Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they entred arre. < 1.1.7> Ioying to heare the birdes sweete harmony, Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred, Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. Much can they prayse the trees so straight and hy, The sayling Pine, the Cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop Elme, the Poplar neuer dry, The builder Oake, sole king of forrests all, The Aspine good for staues, the Cypresse funerall. < 1.1.8> And Poets sage, the Firre that weepeth still, The Willow worne of forlorne Paramours, The Eugh obedient to the benders will, The Birch for shaftes, the Sallow for the mill, The Mirrhe sweete bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill, The fruitfull Oliue, and the Platane round, The caruer Holme, the Maple seeldom inward sound. < 1.1.9> Vntill the blustring storme is ouerblowne; When weening to returne, whence they did stray, They cannot finde that path, which first was showne, But wander too and fro in wayes vnknowne, Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, That makes them doubt, their wits be not their owne: So many pathes, so many turnings seene, That which of them to take, in diuerse doubt they been. < 1.1.10> Till that some end they finde or in or out, That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare, And like to lead the labyrinth about; Which when by tract they hunted had throughout, At length it brought them to a hollow caue, Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout Eftsoones dismounted from his courser braue, And to the Dwarfe a while his needlesse spere he gaue. < 1.1.11> Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash prouoke: The danger hid, the place vnknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadfull doubts: Oft fire is without smoke, And perill without show: therefore your stroke Sir knight with-hold, till further triall made. Ah Ladie (said he) shame were to reuoke The forward footing for an hidden shade: Vertue giues her selfe light, {virtue_shines+} through darkenesse for to wade. < 1.1.12> I better wot then you, though now too late To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace, Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate, To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: Therefore I read beware. Fly fly (quoth then The fearefull Dwarfe:) this is no place for liuing men. < 1.1.13> The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide, But forth vnto the darksome hole he went, And looked in: his glistring armor made A litle glooming light, much like a shade, By which he saw the vgly monster plaine, Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide, But th'other halfe did womans shape retaine, Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine. < 1.1.14> Her huge long taile her den all ouerspred, Yet was in knots and many boughtes vpwound, Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred A thousand yong ones, {many_headed_beast+} {error_many+} which she dayly fed, Sucking vpon her poisonous dugs, each one Of sundry shapes, yet all ill fauored: Soone as that vncouth light {virtue_shines+} vpon them shone, Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone. < 1.1.15> And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile About her cursed head, whose folds displaid Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile. She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe; For light {virtue_shines+} she hated as the deadly bale, Ay wont in desert darknesse to remaine, Where plaine none might her see, nor she see any plaine. < 1.1.16> As Lyon fierce vpon the flying pray, And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept From turning backe, and forced her to stay: Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray, And turning fierce, her speckled taile aduaunst, Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay: Who nought aghast, his mightie hand enhaunst: The stroke down from her head vnto her shoulder glaunst. < 1.1.17> Yet kindling rage, her selfe she gathered round, And all attonce her beastly body raizd With doubled forces high aboue the ground: Tho wrapping vp her wrethed sterne arownd, Lept fierce vpon his shield, and her huge traine All suddenly about his body wound, That hand or foot to stirre he stroue in vaine: God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine. < 1.1.18> Cride out, Now now Sir knight, shew what ye bee, Add faith vnto your force, and be not faint: Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee. That when he heard, in great perplexitie, His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine, And knitting all his force got one hand free, Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine, That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine. < 1.1.19> A floud of poyson horrible and blacke, Full of great lumpes of flesh and gobbets raw, Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe: Her vomit full of bookes and papers was, With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke, And creeping sought way in the weedy gras: Her filthy parbreake all the place defiled has. < 1.1.20> With timely pride aboue the Aegyptian vale, His fattie waues do fertile slime outwell, And ouerflow each plaine and lowly dale: But when his later spring gins to auale, Huge heapes of mudd he leaues, wherein there breed Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male And partly female of his fruitfull seed; Such vgly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man reed. < 1.1.21> That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke, His forces faile, ne can no longer fight. Whose corage when the feend perceiu'd to shrinke, She poured forth out of her hellish sinke Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke, Which swarming all about his legs did crall, And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all. < 1.1.22> When ruddy Phoebus gins to welke in west, High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, Markes which do byte their hasty supper best; A cloud of combrous gnattes do him molest, All striuing to infixe their feeble stings, That from their noyance he no where can rest, But with his clownish hands their tender wings He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings. < 1.1.23 > Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame, {courage_shame+}
< 1.1.24> They saw so rudely falling to the ground, Groning full deadly, all with troublous feare, Gathred themselues about her body round, Weening their wonted entrance to haue found At her wide mouth: but being there withstood They flocked all about her bleeding wound, And sucked vp their dying mothers blood, Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good. < 1.1.25> To see th'vnkindly Impes of heauen accurst, Deuoure their dam; on whom while so he gazd, Hauing all satisfide their bloudy thurst, Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst, And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst; Now needeth him no lenger labour spend, His foes haue slaine themselues, with whom he should contend. < 1.1.26> Approcht in hast to greet his victorie, And said, Faire knight, borne vnder happy starre, {fortune+} Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye: Well worthy be you of that Armorie, Wherein ye haue great glory+ wonne this day, And proou'd your strength on a strong enimie, Your first aduenture: many such I pray, And henceforth euer wish, that like succeed it may. < 1.1.27> And with the Lady backward sought to wend; That path he kept, which beaten was most plaine, {PlainDealer+} Ne euer would to any by-way bend, But still did follow one vnto the end, The which at last out of the wood them brought. So forward on his way (with God to frend) He passed forth, and new aduenture sought; Long way he trauelled, before he heard of ought. < 1.1.28> An aged Sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray, And by his belt his booke he hanging had; Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, Simple in shew, and voyde of malice bad, And all the way he prayed, as he went, And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent. < 1.1.29> Who faire him quited, as that courteous was: And after asked him, if he did know Of straunge aduentures, which abroad did pas. Ah my deare Sonne (quoth he) how should, alas, Silly old man, that liues in hidden cell, Bidding his beades all day for his trespas, Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell? With holy father sits not with such things to mell. < 1.1.30> And homebred euill ye desire to heare, Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell, That wasteth all this countrey farre and neare. Of such (said he) I chiefly do inquere, And shall you well reward to shew the place, In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare: For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, That such a cursed creature liues so long a space. < 1.1.31> His dwelling is, by which no liuing wight May euer passe, but thorough great distresse. Now (sayd the Lady) draweth toward night, And well I wote, that of your later fight Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong, But wanting rest will also want of might? The Sunne that measures heauen all day long, At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean waues emong. < 1.1.32> And with new day new worke at once begin: Vntroubled night they say giues counsell best. Right well Sir knight ye haue aduised bin, (Quoth then that aged man;) the way to win Is wisely to aduise: now day is spent; Therefore with me ye may take vp your In For this same night. The knight was well content: So with that godly father to his home they went. < 1.1.33> Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side, Far from resort of people, that did pas In trauell to and froe: a little wyde There was an holy Chappell edifyde, Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say His holy things each morne and euentyde: Thereby a Christall streame did gently play, Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway. < 1.1.34> Ne looke for entertainement, where none was: Rest is their feast, and all things at their will; The noblest mind the best contentment has. {calm+} With faire discourse the euening so they pas: For that old man of pleasing wordes had store, And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas; He told of Saintes and Popes, and euermore He strowd an Aue-Mary after and before. < 1.1.35> And the sad humour loading their eye liddes, As messenger of Morpheus on them cast Sweet slobring deaw, the which to sleepe them biddes. Vnto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, He to his study goes, and there amiddes His Magick bookes and artes of sundry kindes, {Prospero+} {hypocrisy+} He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble sleepy mindes < 1.1.36> (Let none them read) thereof did verses frame, With which and other spelles like terrible, He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly Dame, And cursed heauen, and spake reprochfull shame Of highest God, the Lord of life and light; A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, Prince of darknesse and dead night, At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight. < 1.1.37> Legions of Sprights, the which like little flyes Fluttring about his euer damned hed, A-waite whereto their seruice he applyes, To aide his friends, or fray his enimies: Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo, And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes; The one of them he gaue a message too, The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo. < 1.1.38> And through the world of waters wide and deepe, To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire. Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, And low, where dawning day doth neuer peepe, His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed Doth euer wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe In siluer deaw his euer-drouping hed, Whiles sad Night ouer him her mãtle black doth spred < 1.1.39> The one faire fram'd of burnisht Yuory, The other all with siluer ouercast; And wakefull dogges before them farre do lye, Watching to banish Care their enimy, Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe. By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly, And vnto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he takes keepe. < 1.1.40> A trickling streame from high rocke tumbling downe And euer-drizling raine vpon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne: No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne, Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes, Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enemyes. < 1.1.41> But his wast wordes returnd to him in vaine: So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine, Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake. As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake, He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake. < 1.1.42> And threatned vnto him the dreaded name Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake, And lifting vp his lompish head, with blame Halfe angry asked him, for what he came. Hither (quoth he) me Archimago sent, He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame, He bids thee to him send for his intent A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent. < 1.1.43> A diuerse dreame out of his prison darke, Deliuered it to him, and downe did lay His heauie head, deuoide of carefull carke, Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke. He backe returning by the Yuorie dore, Remounted vp as light as chearefull Larke, And on his litle winges the dreame he bore In hast vnto his Lord, where he him left afore. < 1.1.44> Had made a Lady of that other Spright, And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes So liuely, and so like in all mens sight, That weaker sence it could haue rauisht quight: The maker selfe for all his wondrous witt, Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight: Her all in white he clad, and ouer it Cast a blacke stole, most like to seeme for Vna+ fit. < 1.1.45> Vnto that Elfin knight he bad him fly, Where he slept soundly void of euill thought, And with false shewes abuse his fantasy, In sort as he him schooled priuily: And that new creature borne without her dew, Full of the makers guile, with vsage sly He taught to imitate that Lady trew, Whose semblance she did carrie vnder feigned hew. < 1.1.46> And comming where the knight in slomber lay, The one vpon his hardy head him plast, And made him dreame of loues and lustfull+ play, That nigh his manly hart did melt away, Bathed in wanton blis and wicked ioy: Then seemed him his Lady by him lay, And to him playnd, how that false winged boy, Her chast hart had subdewd, to learne Dame pleasures toy. < 1.1.47> Faire Venus seemde vnto his bed to bring Her, whom he waking euermore did weene, To be the chastest flowre, that ay did spring On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king, Now a loose Leman to vile seruice bound: And eke the Graces seemed all to sing, Hymen iô Hymen, dauncing all around, Whilst freshest Flora her with Yuie girlond crownd. < 1.1.48> Or wonted feare of doing ought amis, He started vp, as seeming to mistrust, Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his: Lo there before his face his Lady is, Vnder blake stole hyding her bayted hooke, And as halfe blushing offred him to kis, With gentle blandishment and louely looke, Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took. < 1.1.49> And halfe enraged at her shamelesse guise, He thought haue slaine her in his fierce despight: But hasty heat tempring with sufferance wise, He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe aduise To proue his sense, and tempt her faigned truth. Wringing her hands in wemens pitteous wise, Tho can she weepe, to stirre vp gentle ruth, Both for her noble bloud, and for her tender youth. < 1.1.50> Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate, And mightie causes wrought in heauen aboue, Or the blind God, that doth me thus amate, For hoped loue to winne me certaine hate? Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die. Die is my dew: yet rew my wretched state You, whom my hard auenging destinie Hath made iudge of my life or death indifferently. < 1.1.51> My Fathers kingdome,--There she stopt with teares; Her swollen hart her speach seemd to bereaue, And then againe begun, My weaker yeares Captiu'd to fortune+ and frayle worldly feares, Fly to your faith for succour and sure ayde: Let me not dye in languor and long teares. Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayd? What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd? < 1.1.52> Lets me not sleepe, but wast the wearie night In secret anguish and vnpittied plaint, Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight. Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight Suspect her truth: yet since no' vntruth he knew, Her fawning loue with foule disdainefull spight He would not shend, but said, Deare dame I rew, That for my sake vnknowne such griefe vnto you grew. < 1.1.53> For all so deare as life is to my hart, I deeme your loue, and hold me to you bound; Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart, Where cause is none, but to your rest depart. Not all content, yet seemd she to appease Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art, And fed with words, that could not chuse but please, So slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her ease. < 1.1.54> Much grieu'd to thinke that gentle Dame so light, For whose defence he was to shed his blood. At last dull wearinesse of former fight Hauing yrockt a sleepe his irkesome spright, That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine, With bowres, and beds, and Ladies deare delight: But when he saw his labour all was vaine, With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe. < 1.2.1> Cant. II. The guilefull great Enchaunter parts
BY this the Northerne wagoner had set
< 1.2.2> That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged Spright Came to their wicked maister, and gan tell Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeeding night: Who all in rage to see his skilfull might Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright. But when he saw his threatning was but vaine, He cast about, and searcht his balefull bookes againe. < 1.2.3> And that false other Spright, on whom he spred A seeming body of the subtile aire, Like a young Squire, in loues and lusty-hed His wanton dayes that euer loosely led, Without regard of armes and dreaded fight: {effeminacy+} Those two he tooke, and in a secret bed, Couered with darknesse and misdeeming night, Them both together laid, to ioy in vaine delight. < 1.2.4> Vnto his guest, who after troublous sights And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast, Whom suddenly he wakes with fearefull frights, As one aghast with feends or damned sprights, And to him cals, Rise rise vnhappy Swaine, That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights Haue knit themselues in Venus shamefull chaine; Come see, where your false Lady doth her honour staine. < 1.2.5> With sword in hand, and with the old man went; Who soone him brought into a secret part, Where that false couple were full closely ment In wanton lust and lewd embracement: Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire, The eye of reason was with rage+ yblent, And would haue slaine them in his furious ire, But hardly was restreined of that aged sire. < 1.2.6> And bitter anguish of his guiltie sight, He could not rest, but did his stout heart eat, And wast his inward gall with deepe despight, Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring night. At last faire Hesperus in highest skie Had spent his lampe, and brought forth dawning light, Then vp he rose, and clad him hastily; The Dwarfe him brought his steed: so both away do fly. < 1.2.7> Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed, Had spred her purple robe through deawy aire, And the high hils Titan discouered, The royall virgin shooke off drowsy-hed, And rising forth out of her baser bowre, Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled, And for her Dwarfe, that wont to wait each houre; Then gan she waile and weepe, to see that woefull stowre. < 1.2.8> As her slow beast could make; but all in vaine: For him so far had borne his light-foot steede, Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdaine, That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine; Yet she her weary limbes would neuer rest, But euery hill and dale, each wood and plaine Did search, sore grieued in her gentle brest, He so vngently left her, whom she loued best. < 1.2.9> He saw diuided into double parts, And Vna wandring in woods and forrests, Th'end of his drift, he praisd his diuelish arts, That had such might ouer true meaning harts; Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make, How he may worke vnto her further smarts: For her he hated as the hissing snake, And in her many troubles did most pleasure take. < 1.2.10> For by his mightie science he could take As many formes and shapes in seeming wise, As euer Proteus to himselfe could make: Sometime a fowle, sometime a fish in lake, Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell, That of himselfe he oft for feare would quake, And oft would flie away. O who can tell The hidden power of herbes, and might of Magicke spell? < 1.2.11> Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest: In mighty armes he was yclad anon, And siluer shield vpon his coward brest A bloudy crosse, and on his crauen crest A bounch of haires discolourd diuersly: Full iolly knight he seemde, and well addrest, And when he sate vpon his courser free, Saint George himself ye would haue deemed him to be. < 1.2.12> The true Saint George was wandred far away, Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare; Will {anger+} was his guide, and griefe led him astray. At last him chaunst to meete vpon the way A faithlesse Sarazin all arm'd to point, In whose great shield was writ with letters gay Sans foy: {trust+} full large of limbe and euery ioint He was, and cared not for God or man a point. < 1.2.13> A goodly Lady clad in scarlot red, Purfled with gold and pearle of rich assay, And like a Persian mitre on her hed She wore, with crownes and owches garnished, The which her lauish louers to her gaue; Her wanton palfrey all was ouerspred With tinsell trappings, wouen like a waue, Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses braue. < 1.2.14> She intertainde her louer all the way: But when she saw the knight his speare aduaunce, She soone left off her mirth and wanton play, And bad her knight addresse him to the fray: His foe was nigh at hand. He prickt with pride And hope to winne his Ladies heart that day, Forth spurred fast: adowne his coursers side The red bloud trickling staind the way, as he did ride. < 1.2.15> Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous, Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards ride: Soone meete they both, both fell and furious, That daunted with their forces hideous, Their steeds do stagger, and amazed stand, And eke themselues too rudely rigorous, Astonied with the stroke of their owne hand, Do backe rebut, and each to other yeeldeth land. < 1.2.16> Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flocke, Their horned fronts so fierce on either side Do meete, that with the terrour of the shocke Astonied both, stand sencelesse as a blocke, Forgetfull of the hanging victory: So stood these twaine, vnmoued as a rocke, Both staring fierce, and holding idely The broken reliques of their former cruelty. < 1.2.17> Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies; Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff: Each others equall puissaunce enuies, And through their iron sides with cruell spies Does seeke to perce: repining courage yields No foote to foe. The flashing fier flies As from a forge out of their burning shields, And streames of purple bloud new dies the verdant fields. < 1.2.18> That keepes thy body from the bitter fit; Dead long ygoe I wote thou haddest bin, Had not that charme from thee forwarned it: But yet I warne thee now assured sitt, And hide thy head. Therewith vpon his crest With rigour so outrageous he smitt, That a large share it hewd out of the rest, And glauncing downe his shield, from blame him fairely blest. < 1.2.19> Of natiue vertue gan eftsoones reuiue, And at his haughtie helmet making mark, So hugely stroke, that it the steele did riue, And cleft his head. He tumbling downe aliue, With bloudy mouth his mother earth did kis, Greeting his graue: his grudging ghost did striue With the fraile flesh; at last it flitted is, Whither the soules do fly of men, that liue amis. < 1.2.20> Like the old ruines of a broken towre, Staid not to waile his woefull funerall, But from him fled away with all her powre; Who after her as hastily gan scowre, Bidding the Dwarfe with him to bring away The Sarazins shield, signe of the conqueroure. Her soone he ouertooke, and bad to stay, For present cause was none of dread her to dismay. < 1.2.21> Cride, Mercy mercy Sir vouchsafe to show On silly Dame, subiect to hard mischaunce, And to your mighty will. Her humblesse low In so ritch weedes and seeming glorious show, Did much emmoue his stout hero¨icke heart, And said, Deare dame, your suddein ouerthrow Much rueth me; but now put feare apart, And tell, both who ye be, and who that tooke your part. < 1.2.22> The wretched woman, whom vnhappy howre Hath now made thrall to your commandement, Before that angry heauens list to lowre, And fortune false betraide me to your powre, Was, (O what now auaileth that I was!) Borne the sole daughter of an Emperour, He that the wide West vnder his rule has, And high hath set his throne, where Tiberis doth pas. < 1.2.23> Betrothed me vnto the onely haire Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage; Was neuer Prince so faithfull and so faire, Was neuer Prince so meeke and debonaire; But ere my hoped day of spousall shone, My dearest Lord fell from high honours staire, Into the hands of his accursed fone, And cruelly was slaine, that shall I euer mone. < 1.2.24> Was afterward, I know not how, conuaid And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death When tidings came to me vnhappy maid, O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid. Then forth I went his woefull corse to find, And many yeares throughout the world I straid, A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind With loue, long time did languish as the striken hind. < 1.2.25> To meete me wandring, who perforce me led With him away, but yet could neuer win The Fort, that Ladies hold in soueraigne dread. There lies he now with foule dishonour dead, Who whiles he liu'de, was called proud Sans foy, The eldest of three brethren, all three bred Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sans ioy, And twixt them both was borne the bloudy bold Sans loy. < 1.2.26> Now miserable I Fidessa dwell, Crauing of you in pitty of my state, To do none ill, if please ye not do well. He in great passion all this while did dwell, More busying his quicke eyes, her face to view, Then his dull eares, to heare what she did tell; And said, Faire Lady hart of flint would rew The vndeserued woes and sorrowes, which ye shew. < 1.2.27> Hauing both found a new friend you to aid, And lost an old foe, that did you molest: Better new friend then an old foe is said. With chaunge of cheare the seeming simple maid Let fall her eyen, as shamefast to the earth, And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain-said, So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth, And she coy lookes: so dainty they say maketh derth. < 1.2.28> Till weary of their way, they came at last, Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred Their armes abroad, with gray mosse ouercast, And their greene leaues trembling with euery blast, Made a calme shadow far in compasse round: The fearefull Shepheard often there aghast Vnder them neuer sat, ne wont there sound His mery oaten pipe, but shund th'vnlucky ground. < 1.2.29> For the coole shade him thither hastly got: For golden Phoebus now ymounted hie, From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot, That liuing creature mote it not abide; And his new Lady it endured not. There they alight, in hope themselues to hide From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide. < 1.2.30> With goodly purposes there as they sit: And in his falsed fancy he her takes To be the fairest wight, that liued yit; Which to expresse, he bends his gentle wit, And thinking of those braunches greene to frame A girlond for her dainty forehead fit, He pluckt a bough; out of whose rift there came Small drops of gory bloud, that trickled downe the same. < 1.2.31> Crying, O spare with guilty hands to teare My tender sides in this rough rynd embard, But fly, ah fly far hence away, for feare Least to you hap, that happened to me heare, And to this wretched Lady, my deare loue, O too deare loue, loue bought with death too deare. Astond he stood, and vp his haire did houe, And with that suddein horror could no member moue. < 1.2.32> Was ouerpast, and manhood well awake, Yet musing at the straunge occasion, And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake; What voyce of damned Ghost from Limbo lake, Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire, Both which fraile men do oftentimes mistake, Sends to my doubtfull eares these speaches rare, And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse bloud to spare? < 1.2.33> Nor guilefull sprite, to thee these wordes doth speake, But once a man Fradubio, now a tree, Wretched man, wretched tree; whose nature weake, A cruell witch her cursed will to wreake, Hath thus transformd, and plast in open plaines, Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake, And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines: For though a tree I seeme, yet cold and heat me paines. < 1.2.34> Quoth then the knight, by whose mischieuous arts Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see? He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striueth to suppresse. The author then (said he) of all my smarts, Is one Duessa a false sorceresse, That many errãt knights hath brought to wretchednesse. < 1.2.35> The fire of loue and ioy of cheualree First kindled in my brest, it was my lot To loue this gentle Lady, whom ye see, Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree; With whom as once I rode accompanyde, Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee, That had a like faire Lady by his syde, Like a faire Lady, but did fowle Duessa hyde. < 1.2.36> All other Dames to haue exceeded farre; I in defence of mine did likewise stand, Mine, that did then shine as the Morning starre: So both to battell fierce arraunged arre, In which his harder fortune was to fall Vnder my speare: such is the dye of warre: His Lady left as a prise martiall, Did yield her comely person, to be at my call. < 1.2.37> Th'one seeming such, the other such indeede, One day in doubt I cast for to compare, Whether in beauties glorie did exceede; A Rosy girlond was the victors meede: Both seemde to win, and both seemde won to bee, So hard the discord was to be agreede. Frælissa was as faire, as faire mote bee, And euer false Duessa seemde as faire as shee. < 1.2.38> The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway, What not by right, she cast to win by guile, And by her hellish science raisd streightway A foggy mist, that ouercast the day, And a dull blast, that breathing on her face, Dimmed her former beauties shining ray, And with foule vgly forme did her disgrace: Then was she faire alone, when none was faire in place. < 1.2.39> Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine To haue before bewitched all mens sight; O leaue her soone, or let her soone be slaine. Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine, Eftsoones I thought her such, as she me told, And would haue kild her; but with faigned paine, The false witch did my wrathfull hand with-hold; So left her, where she now is turnd to treen mould. < 1.2.40> And in the witch vnweeting ioyd long time, Ne euer wist, but that she was the same, Till on a day (that day is euery Prime, When Witches wont do penance for their crime) I chaunst to see her in her proper hew, Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme: A filthy foule old woman I did vew, That euer to haue toucht her, I did deadly rew. < 1.2.41> Were hidd in water, that I could not see, But they did seeme more foule and hideous, Then womans shape man would beleeue to bee. Thensforth from her most beastly companie I gan refraine, in minde to slip away, Soone as appeard safe opportunitie: For danger great, if not assur'd decay I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray. < 1.2.42> Perceiu'd my thought, and drownd in sleepie night, With wicked herbes and ointments did besmeare My bodie all, through charmes and magicke might, That all my senses were bereaued quight: Then brought she me into this desert waste, And by my wretched louers side me pight, Where now enclosd in wooden wals full faste, Banisht from liuing wights, our wearie dayes we waste. < 1.2.43> Are you in this misformed house to dwell? We may not chaunge (quoth he) this euil plight, Till we be bathed in a liuing well; That is the terme prescribed by the spell. O how, said he, mote I that well out find, That may restore you to your wonted well? Time and suffised fates to former kynd Shall vs restore, none else from hence may vs vnbynd. < 1.2.44> Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament, And knew well all was true. But the good knight Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment, When all this speech the liuing tree had spent, The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground, That from the bloud he might be innocent, And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound: Then turning to his Lady, dead with feare her found. < 1.2.45> As all vnweeting of that well she knew, And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eylids blew And dimmed sight with pale and deadly hew At last she vp gan lift: with trembling cheare Her vp he tooke, too simple and too trew, And oft her kist. At length all passed feare, He set her on her steede, and forward forth did beare. < 1.3.1 > Forsaken Truth long seekes her loue,
NOught there vnder heau'ns wilde hollownesse,
< 1.3.2> For fairest Vnaes sake, of whom I sing, That my fraile eyes these lines with teares do steepe, To thinke how she through guilefull handeling, Though true as touch, though daughter of a king, Though faire as euer liuing wight was faire, Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, Is from her knight diuorced in despaire And her due loues deriu'd to that vile witches share. < 1.3.3> Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd Farre from all peoples prease, as in exile, In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd, To seeke her knight; who subtilly betrayd Through that late vision, which th'Enchaunter wrought, Had her abandond. She of nought affrayd, Through woods and wastnesse wide him daily sought; Yet wished tydings none of him vnto her brought. < 1.3.4> From her vnhastie beast she did alight, And on the grasse her daintie limbes did lay In secret shadow, farre from all mens sight: From her faire head her fillet she vndight, And laid her stole aside. Her angels face As the great eye of heauen shyned bright, And made a sunshine {truth_shines+} in the shadie place; Did neuer mortall eye behold such heauenly grace. < 1.3.5> A ramping Lyon rushed suddainly, Hunting full greedie after saluage blood; Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, To haue attonce deuour'd her tender corse: But to the pray when as he drew more ny, His bloudie rage asswaged with remorse, And with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. < 1.3.6> And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong, As he her wronged innocence did weet. O how can beautie maister the most strong, And simple truth subdue auenging wrong? Whose yeelded pride and proud submission, Still dreading death, when she had marked long, Her hart gan melt in great compassion, And drizling teares did shed for pure affection. < 1.3.7> Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate, And mightie proud to humble weake does yield, Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate: But he my Lyon, and my noble Lord, How does he find in cruell hart to hate Her that him lou'd, and euer most adord, As the God of my life? why hath he me abhord? < 1.3.8> Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint The kingly beast vpon her gazing stood; With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood. At last in close hart shutting vp her paine, Arose the virgin borne of heauenly brood, And to her snowy Palfrey got againe, To seeke her strayed Champion, if she might attaine. < 1.3.9> But with her went along, as a strong gard Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward, And when she wakt, he waited diligent, With humble seruice {Kent+} to her will prepard: From her faire eyes he tooke commaundement, And euer by her lookes conceiued her intent. < 1.3.10> By which she thought her wandring knight shold pas, Yet neuer shew of liuing wight espyde; Till that at length she found the troden gras, In which the tract of peoples footing was, Vnder the steepe foot of a mountaine hore; The same she followes, till at last she has A damzell spyde slow footing her before, That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore. < 1.3.11> To weet, if dwelling place were nigh at hand; But the rude wench her answer'd nought at all, She could not heare, nor speake, nor vnderstand; Till seeing by her side the Lyon stand, With suddaine feare her pitcher downe she threw, And fled away: for neuer in that land Face of faire Ladie she before did vew, And that dread Lyons looke her cast in deadly hew. < 1.3.12> As if her life vpon the wager lay, And home she came, whereas her mother blynd Sate in eternall night: nought could she say, But suddaine catching hold, did her dismay With quaking hands, and other signs of feare: Who full of ghastly fright and cold affray, Gan shut the dore. By this arriued there Dame Vna, wearie Dame, and entrance did requere. < 1.3.13> With his rude clawes the wicket open rent, And let her in; where of his cruell rage Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment, She found them both in darkesome corner pent; Where that old woman day and night did pray Vpon her beades deuoutly penitent; Nine hundred Pater nosters euery day, And thrise nine hundred Aues she was wont to say. < 1.3.14> Thrise euery weeke in ashes she did sit, And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore, And thrise three times did fast from any bit: But now for feare her beads she did forget. Whose needlesse dread for to remoue away, Faire Vna framed words and count'nance fit: Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray, That in their cotage small, that night she rest her may. < 1.3.15> When euery creature shrowded is in sleepe; Sad Vna downe her laies in wearie plight, And at her feet the Lyon watch doth keepe: In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe For the late losse of her deare loued knight, And sighes, and grones, and euermore does steepe Her tender brest in bitter teares all night, All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light. < 1.3.16> Aboue the shynie Cassiopeias chaire, And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lie, One knocked at the dore, and in would fare; He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware, That readie entrance was not at his call: For on his backe a heauy load he bare Of nightly stelths and pillage seuerall, Which he had got abroad by purchase criminall. < 1.3.17> Wont to robbe Churches of their ornaments, And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe, Which giuen was to them for good intents; The holy Saints of their rich vestiments He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept, And spoild the Priests of their habiliments, Whiles none the holy things in safety kept; Then he by cunning sleights in at the window crept. < 1.3.18> Vnto this house he brought, and did bestow Vpon the daughter of this woman blind, Abessa daughter of Corceca slow, With whom he whoredome vsd, that few did know, And fed her fat with feast of offerings, And plentie, which in all the land did grow; Ne spared he to giue her gold and rings: And now he to her brought part of his stolen things. < 1.3.19> Yet of those fearefull women none durst rize, The Lyon frayed them, him in to let: He would no longer stay him to aduize, 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, Vnder his Lordly foot him proudly hath supprest. < 1.3.20> His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand, Who streight him rent in thousand peeces small, And quite dismembred hath: the thirstie land Drunke vp his life; his corse left on the strand. His fearefull friends weare out the wofull night, Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to vnderstand The heauie hap, which on them is alight, Affraid, least to themselues the like mishappen might. < 1.3.21> Vp Vna rose, vp rose the Lyon eke, And on their former iourney forward pas, In wayes vnknowne, her wandring knight to seeke, With paines farre passing that long wandring Greeke, That for his loue refused deitie; Such were the labours of this Lady meeke, Still seeking him, that from her still did flie, Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nie. < 1.3.22> That blind old woman and her daughter deare Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slaine, For anguish great they gan to rend their heare, And beat their brests, and naked flesh to teare. And when they both had wept and wayld their fill, Then forth they ranne like two amazed deare, Halfe mad through malice, and reuenging will, To follow her, that was the causer of their ill. < 1.3.23> With hollow howling, and lamenting cry, Shamefully at her rayling all the way, And her accusing of dishonesty, That was the flowre of faith and chastity; And still amidst her rayling, she did pray, That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery Might fall on her, and follow all the way, And that in endlesse error she might euer stray. < 1.3.24> She backe returned with some labour lost; And in the way as she did weepe and waile, A knight her met in mighty armes embost, Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost, But subtill Archimag, that Vna sought By traynes into new troubles to haue tost: Of that old woman tydings he besought, If that of such a Ladie she could tellen ought. < 1.3.25> And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend her heare, Saying, that harlot she too lately knew, That causd her shed so many a bitter teare, And so forth told the story of her feare: Much seemed he to mone her haplesse chaunce, And after for that Ladie did inquere; Which being taught, he forward gan aduaunce His fair enchaunted steed, and eke his charmed launce. < 1.3.26> And that wilde Champion wayting her besyde: Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show Himselfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde Vnto an hill; from whence when she him spyde, By his like seeming shield, her knight by name She weend it was, and towards him gan ryde: Approching nigh, she wist it was the same, And with faire fearefull humblesse towards him shee came. < 1.3.27> Where haue ye bene thus long out of my sight? Much feared I to haue bene quite abhord, Or ought haue done, that ye displeasen might, That should as death vnto my deare hart light: For since mine eye your ioyous sight did mis, My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night, And eke my night of death the shadow is; But welcome now my light, and shining lampe of blis. < 1.3.28> Farre be it from your thought, and fro my will, To thinke that knighthood I so much should shame, As you to leaue, that haue me loued still, And chose in Faery court of meere goodwill, Where noblest knights were to be found on earth: The earth shall sooner leaue her kindly skill To bring forth fruit, and make eternall derth, Then I leaue you, my liefe, yborne of heauenly berth. < 1.3.29> Was for to seeke aduenture in strange place, Where Archimago said a felon strong To many knights did daily worke disgrace; But knight he now shall neuer more deface: Good cause of mine excuse; that mote ye please Well to accept, and euermore embrace My faithfull seruice, that by land and seas Haue vowd you to defend. Now then your plaint appease. < 1.3.30> Of all her passed paines: one louing howre For many yeares of sorrow can dispence: A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre: She has forgot, how many a wofull stowre For him she late endur'd; she speakes no more Of past: true is, that true loue hath no powre To looken backe; his eyes be fixt before. Before her stands her knight, for whom she toyld so sore. < 1.3.31> That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide, Oft soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare, And long time hauing tand his tawney hide With blustring breath of heauen, that none can bide, And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound, Soone as the port from farre he has espide, His chearefull whistle merrily doth sound, And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him pledg around. < 1.3.32> And eke th'enchaunter ioyous seemd no lesse, Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground His ship farre come from watrie wildernesse, He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse: So forth they past, and all the way they spent Discoursing of her dreadfull late distresse, In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment: Who told her all that fell in iourney as she went. < 1.3.33> One pricking towards them with hastie heat, Full strongly armd, and on a courser free, That through his fiercenesse fomed all with sweat, And the sharpe yron did for anger eat, When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side; His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat Cruell reuenge, which he in hart did hyde, And on his shield Sans loy {justice+} in bloudie lines was dyde. < 1.3.34> And saw the Red-crosse, which the knight did beare, He burnt in fire, and gan eftsoones prepare Himselfe to battell with his couched speare. Loth was that other, and did faint through feare, To taste th'vntryed dint of deadly steele; But yet his Lady did so well him cheare, That hope of new good hap he gan to feele; So bent his speare, and spurnd his horse with yron heele. < 1.3.35> And full of wrath, that with his sharp-head speare Through vainely crossed shield he quite did pierce, And had his staggering steede not shrunke for feare, Through shield and bodie eke he should him beare: Yet so great was the puissance of his push, That from his saddle quite he did him beare: He tombling rudely downe to ground did rush, And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush. < 1.3.36> He to him lept, in mind to reaue his life, And proudly said, Lo there the worthie meed Of him, that slew Sansfoy with bloudie knife; Henceforth his ghost freed from repining strife, In peace may passen ouer Lethe lake, When morning altars purgd with enemies life, The blacke infernall Furies doen aslake: Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall frõ thee take. < 1.3.37> Till Vna cride, O hold that heauie hand, Deare Sir, what euer that thou be in place: Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht stand Now at thy mercy: Mercie not withstand: For he is one the truest knight aliue, Though conquered now he lie on lowly land, And whilest him fortune fauourd, faire did thriue In bloudie field: therefore of life him not depriue. < 1.3.38> But rudely rending vp his helmet, would Haue slaine him straight: but when he sees his age, And hoarie head of Archimago old, His hastie hand he doth amazed hold, And halfe ashamed, wondred at the sight: For the old man well knew he, though vntold, In charmes and magicke to haue wondrous might, Ne euer wont in field, ne in round lists to fight. < 1.3.39> What doe I see? what hard mishap is this, That hath thee hither brought to taste mine yre? Or thine the fault, or mine the error is, In stead of foe to wound my friend amis? He answered nought, but in a traunce still lay, And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his The cloud of death did sit. Which doen away, He left him lying so, ne would no lenger stay. < 1.3.40> Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see By him, who has the guerdon of his guile, For so misfeigning her true knight to bee: Yet is she now in more perplexitie, Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold, From whom her booteth not at all to flie; Who by her cleanly garment catching hold, Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage to behold. < 1.3.41> And high disdaine, whenas his soueraine Dame So rudely handled by her foe he sawe, With gaping iawes full greedy at him came, And ramping on his shield, did weene the same Haue reft away with his sharpe rending clawes: But he was stout, and lust did now inflame His corage more, that frõ his griping pawes He hath his shield redeem'd, and foorth his sword he drawes. < 1.3.42> Of saluage beast, his puissance to withstand: For he was strong, and of so mightie corse, As euer wielded speare in warlike hand, And feates of armes did wisely vnderstand. 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. < 1.3.43> From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will? Her faithfull gard remou'd, her hope dismaid, Her selfe a yeelded pray to saue or spill. He now Lord of the field, his pride to fill, With foule reproches, and disdainfull spight Her vildly entertaines, and will or nill, Beares her away vpon his courser light: Her prayers nought preuaile, his rage is more of might. < 1.3.44> And piteous plaints she filleth his dull eares, That stony hart could riuen haue in twaine, And all the way she wets with flowing teares: But he enrag'd with rancor, nothing heares. Her seruile beast yet would not leaue her so, But followes her farre off, ne ought he feares, To be partaker of her wandring woe, < 1.4.1> Cant. IIII. To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa
YOung knight, what euer that dost armes professe,
< 1.4.2> Through light misdeeming of her loialtie, And false Duessa in her sted had borne, Called Fidess', and so supposd to bee; Long with her traueild, till at last they see A goodly building, brauely garnished, The house of mightie Prince it seemd to bee: And towards it a broad high way that led, All bare through peoples feet, which thither traueiled. < 1.4.3> Both day and night, of each degree and place, But few returned, hauing scaped hard, With balefull beggerie, or foule disgrace, Which euer after in most wretched case, Like loathsome lazars, by the hedges lay. Thither Duessa bad him bend his pace: For she is wearie of the toilesome way, And also nigh consumed is the lingring day. < 1.4.4> Which cunningly was without morter laid, Whose wals were high, but nothing strong, nor thick, And golden foile all ouer them displaid, That purest skye with brightnesse they dismaid: High lifted vp were many loftie towres, And goodly galleries farre ouer laid, Full of faire windowes, and delightfull bowres; And on the top a Diall told the timely howres. < 1.4.5> And spake the praises of the workmans wit; But full great pittie, that so faire a mould Did on so weake foundation euer sit: For on a sandie hill, that still did flit, And fall away, it mounted was full hie, That euery breath of heauen shaked it: And all the hinder parts, that few could spie, Were ruinous and old, but painted cunningly. < 1.4.6> For still to all the gates stood open wide, Yet charge of them was to a Porter hight Cald Maluenú, who entrance none denide: Thence to the hall, which was on euery side With rich array and costly arras dight: Infinite sorts of people did abide There waiting long, to win the wished sight Of her, that was the Lady of that Pallace bright. < 1.4.7> And to the Presence mount; whose glorious vew Their frayle amazed senses did confound: In liuing Princes court none euer knew Such endlesse richesse, and so sumptuous shew; Ne Persia selfe, the nourse of pompous pride Like euer saw. And there a noble crew Of Lordes and Ladies stood on euery side Which with their presence faire, the place much beautifide. < 1.4.8> And a rich throne, as bright as sunny day, On which there sate most braue embellished With royall robes and gorgeous array, A mayden Queene, that shone as Titans ray, In glistring gold, and peerelesse pretious stone: Yet her bright blazing beautie did assay To dim the brightnesse of her glorious throne, As enuying her selfe, that too exceeding shone. < 1.4.9> That did presume his fathers firie wayne, And flaming mouthes of steedes vnwonted wilde Through highest heauen with weaker hand to rayne; Proud of such glory and aduancement vaine, While flashing beames do daze his feeble eyen, He leaues the welkin way most beaten plaine, And rapt with whirling wheeles, inflames the skyen, With fire not made to burne, but fairely for to shyne. < 1.4.10> Looking to heauen; for earth she did disdayne, And sitting high; for lowly she did hate: Lo vnderneath her scornefull feete, was layne A dreadfull Dragon with an hideous trayne, And in her hand she held a mirrhour bright, {self_love+} Wherein her face she often vewed fayne, And in her selfe-lou'd semblance tooke delight; For she was wondrous faire, as any liuing wight. < 1.4.11> And sad Proserpina the Queene of hell; Yet did she thinke her pearelesse wroth to pas That parentage, with pride so did she swell, And thundring Ioue, that high in heauen doth dwell, And wield the world, she claymed for her syre, Or if that any else did Ioue excell: For to the highest she did still aspyre, Or if ought higher were then that, did it desyre. < 1.4.12> That made her selfe a Queene, and crownd to be, Yet rightfull kingdome she had none at all, Ne heritage of natiue soueraintie, But did vsurpe with wrong and tyrannie Vpon the scepter, which she now did hold: Ne ruld her Realmes with lawes, but pollicie+, {justice+} And strong aduizement of six wisards old, That with their counsels bad her kingdome did vphold. < 1.4.13> And false Duessa seeming Lady faire, A gentle Husher, Vanitie by name Made rowme, and passage for them did prepaire: So goodly brought them to the lowest staire Of her high throne, where they on humble knee Making obeyssance, did the cause declare, Why they were come, her royall state to see, To proue the wide report of her great Maiestee. < 1.4.14> She thanked them in her disdainefull wise, Ne other grace+ vouchsafed them to show Of Princesse worthy, scarse them bad arise. Her Lordes and Ladies all this while deuise Themselues to setten forth to straungers sight: Some frounce their curled haire in courtly guise, Some prancke their ruffes, and others trimly dight Their gay attire: each others greater pride does spight. < 1.4.15> Right glad with him to haue increast their crew: But to Duess' each one himselfe did paine All kindnesse and faire courtesie to shew; For in that court whylome her well they knew: Yet the stout Faerie mongst the middest crowd Thought all their glorie vaine in knightly vew, And that great Princesse too exceeding prowd, That to strange knight no better countenance allowd. < 1.4.16> The royall Dame, and for her coche doth call: All hurtlen forth, and she with Princely pace, As faire Aurora in her purple pall, Out of the East the dawning day doth call: So forth she comes: her brightnesse brode doth blaze; The heapes of people thronging in the hall, Do ride each other, vpon her to gaze: Her glorious glitterand light doth all mens eyes amaze. < 1.4.17> Adorned all with gold, and girlonds gay, That seemd as fresh as Flora in her prime, And stroue to match, in royall rich array, Great Iunoes golden chaire, the which they say The Gods stand gazing on, when she does ride To Ioues high house through heauens bras-paued way Drawne of faire Pecocks, that excell in pride, And full of Argus eyes their tailes dispredden wide. < 1.4.18> On which her six sage Counsellours did ryde, Taught to obay their bestiall beheasts, With like conditions to their kinds applyde: Of which the first, that all the rest did guyde, Was sluggish Idlenesse {Puritan+} the nourse of sin; Vpon a slouthfull Asse he chose to ryde, Arayd in habit blacke, and amis thin, Like to an holy Monck, the seruice to begin. < 1.4.19> That much was worne, but therein little red, For of deuotion he had little care, Still drownd in sleepe, and most of his dayes ded; Scarse could he once vphold his heauie hed, To looken, whether it were night or day: May seeme the wayne was very euill led, When such an one had guiding of the way, That knew not, whether right he went, or else astray. < 1.4.20> And greatly shunned manly exercise, {Falstaff+} From euery worke he chalenged essoyne, For contemplation+ sake: yet otherwise, His life he led in lawlesse riotise; By which he grew to grieuous malady; For in his lustlesse limbs through euill guise A shaking feuer raignd continually: Such one was Idlenesse, first of this company. < 1.4.21> Deformed creature, on a filthie swyne, His belly was vp-blowne with luxury+, And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne, And like a Crane his necke was long and fyne, With which he swallowd vp excessiue feast, For want whereof poore people oft did pyne; And all the way, most like a brutish beast, He spued vp his gorge, that all did him deteast. < 1.4.22> For other clothes he could not weare for heat, And on his head an yuie girland had, From vnder which fast trickled downe the sweat: Still as he rode, he somewhat still did eat, And in his hand did beare a bouzing can, Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat His dronken corse he scarse vpholden can, In shape and life more like a monster, then a man. < 1.4.23> And eke vnhable once to stirre or go, Not meet to be of counsell to a king, Whose mind in meat and drinke was drowned so, That from his friend he seldome knew his fo: Full of diseases was his carcas blew, And a dry dropsie through his flesh did flow: Which by misdiet daily greater grew: Such one was Gluttony, the second of that crew. < 1.4.24> Vpon a bearded Goat, whose rugged haire, And whally eyes (the signe of gelosy,) Was like the person selfe, whom he did beare: Who rough, and blacke, and filthy did appeare, Vnseemely man to please faire Ladies eye; Yet he of Ladies oft was loued deare, When fairer faces were bid standen by: O who does know the bent of womens fantasy? < 1.4.25> Which vnderneath did hide his filthinesse, And in his hand a burning hart he bare, Full of vaine follies, and new fanglenesse: For he was false, and fraught with ficklenesse, And learned had to loue with secret lookes, And well could daunce, and sing with ruefulnesse, And fortunes tell, and read in louing bookes, And thousand other wayes, to bait his fleshly hookes. < 1.4.26> And lusted after all, that he did loue, Ne would his looser life be tide to law, But ioyd weake wemens hearts to tempt, and proue If from their loyall loues he might then moue; Which lewdnesse fild him with reprochfull paine Of that fowle euill, which all men reproue, That rots the marrow, and consumes the braine: Such one was Lecherie, the third of all this traine. < 1.4.27> Vpon a Camell loaden all with gold; Two iron coffers hong on either side, With precious mettall full, as they might hold, And in his lap an heape of coine he told; For of his wicked pelfe his God he made, And vnto hell him selfe for money sold; Accursed vsurie+ was all his trade, And right and wrong ylike in equall ballaunce wayde. {contract+} < 1.4.28> And thred-bare cote, and cobled shoes he ware, Ne scarse good morsell all his life did tast, But both from backe and belly still did spare, To fill his bags, and richesse to compare; Yet chylde ne kinsman liuing had he none {Shylock+} To leaue them to; but thorough daily care To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne, He led a wretched life vnto him selfe vnknowne. < 1.4.29> Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest store, Whose need had end, but no end couetise, Whose wealth was want, {Shylock+} whose plenty made him pore, Who had enough, yet wished euer more; A vile disease, and eke in foote and hand A grieuous gout tormented him full sore, That well he could not touch, nor go, nor stand: Such one was Auarice, the fourth of this faire band. < 1.4.30> Vpon a rauenous wolfe, and still did chaw Betweene his cankred teeth a venemous tode, That all the poison ran about his chaw; But inwardly he chawed his owne maw At neighbours wealth, that made him euer sad; For death it was, when any good he saw, And wept, that cause of weeping none he had, But when he heard of harme, he wexed wondrous glad. < 1.4.31> He clothed was, ypainted full of eyes; And in his bosome secretly there lay An hatefull Snake, the which his taile vptyes In many folds, and mortall sting implyes. Still as he rode, he gnasht his teeth, to see Those heapes of gold with griple Couetyse, And grudged at the great felicitie Of proud Lucifera, and his owne companie. < 1.4.32> And him no lesse, that any like did vse, And who with gracious bread the hungry feeds, His almes for want of faith he doth accuse; So euery good to bad he doth abuse: And eke the verse of famous Poets witt He does backebite, and spightfull poison spues From leprous mouth on all, that euer writt: Such one vile Enuie was, that fift in row did sitt. < 1.4.33> Vpon a Lion, loth for to be led; And in his hand a burning brond he hath, The which he brandisheth about his hed; His eyes did hurle forth sparkles fiery red, And stared sterne on all, that him beheld, As ashes pale of hew and seeming ded; And on his dagger still his hand he held, Trembling through hasty rage, wh&etilde; choler+ in him sweld. < 1.4.34> Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent, Through vnaduized rashnesse woxen wood; For of his hands he had no gouernement, Ne car'd for bloud in his auengement: But when the furious fit was ouerpast, His cruell facts he often would repent; Yet wilfull man he neuer would forecast, How many mischieues should ensue his heedlesse hast. < 1.4.35> Abhorred bloudshed, and tumultuous strife, Vnmanly murder, and vnthrifty scath, Bitter despight, with rancours rusty knife, And fretting griefe the enemy of life; All these, and many euils moe haunt ire, The swelling Splene, and Frenzy raging rife, The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces fire: Such one was VVrath, the last of this vngodly tire. < 1.4.36> Rode Sathan, with a smarting whip in hand, With which he forward lasht the laesie teme, So oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand. Huge routs of people did about them band, Showting for ioy, and still before their way A foggy mist had couered all the land; And vnderneath their feet, all scattered lay Dead sculs & bones of men, whose life had gone astray. < 1.4.37> To take the solace of the open aire, And in fresh flowring fields themselues to sport; Emongst the rest rode that false Lady faire, The fowle Duessa, next vnto the chaire Of proud Lucifer', as one of the traine: But that good knight would not so nigh repaire, Him selfe estraunging from their ioyaunce vaine, Whose fellowship seemd far vnfit for warlike swaine. < 1.4.38> With pleasaunce of the breathing fields yfed They backe returned to the Princely Place; Whereas an errant knight in armes ycled, And heathnish shield, wherein with letters red Was writ Sans ioy, they new arriued find: Enflam'd with fury and fiers hardy-hed, He seemd in hart to harbour thoughts vnkind, And nourish bloudy vengeaunce in his bitter mind. < 1.4.39> He spide with that same Faery champions page, Bewraying him, that did of late destroy His eldest brother, burning all with rage He to him leapt, and that same enuious gage Of victors glory from him snatcht away: But th'Elfin knight, which ought that warlike wage, Disdaind to loose the meed he wonne in fray, And him rencountring fierce, reskewd the noble pray. < 1.4.40> Redoubted battaile ready to darrayne, And clash their shields, and shake their swords on hy, That with their sturre they troubled all the traine; Till that great Queene vpon eternall paine Of high displeasure, that ensewen might, Commaunded them their fury to refraine, And if that either to that shield had right, In equall lists they should the morrow next it fight. < 1.4.41> Pardon the errour of enraged wight, Whom great griefe made forget the raines to hold Of reasons rule, to see this recreant knight, No knight, but treachour full of false despight And shamefull treason, who through guile hath slayn The prowest knight, that euer field did fight, Euen stout Sans foy (O who can then refrayn?) Whose shield he beares renuerst, the more to heape disdayn. < 1.4.42> His dearest loue the faire Fidessa loe Is there possessed of the traytour vile, Who reapes the haruest sowen by his foe, Sowen in bloudy field, and bought with woe: That brothers hand shall dearely well requight So be, ô Queene, you equall fauour showe. Him litle answerd th'angry Elfin knight; He neuer meant with words, but swords {Cordelia+} to plead his right. < 1.4.43> His cause in combat the next day to try: So been they parted both, with harts on edge, To be aueng'd each on his enimy. That night they pas in ioy and iollity, Feasting and courting both in bowre and hall; For Steward was excessiue Gluttonie, That of his plenty poured forth to all: Which doen, the Chamberlain Slowth did to rest them call. < 1.4.44> Her coleblacke curtein ouer brightest skye, The warlike youthes on dayntie couches layd, Did chace away sweet sleepe from sluggish eye, To muse on meanes of hoped victory. But whenas Morpheus had with leaden mace Arrested all that courtly company, Vp-rose Duessa from her resting place, And to the Paynims lodging comes with silent pace. < 1.4.45> Forecasting, how his foe he might annoy, And him amoues with speaches seeming fit: Ah deare Sans ioy, next dearest to Sans foy, Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new ioy, Ioyous, to see his ymage in mine eye, And greeu'd, to thinke how foe did him destroy, That was the flowre of grace and cheualrye; Lo his Fidessa to thy secret faith I flye. < 1.4.46> And bad say on the secret of her hart. Then sighing soft, I learne that litle sweet Oft tempred is (quoth she) with muchell smart: For since my brest was launcht with louely dart Of deare Sansfoy, I neuer ioyed howre, But in eternall woes my weaker hart Haue wasted, louing him with all my powre, And for his sake haue felt full many an heauie stowre. < 1.4.47> And hop'd to reape the crop of all my care, Into new woes vnweeting I was cast, By this false faytor, who vnworthy ware His worthy shield, whom he with guilefull snare Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull graue. Me silly maid away with him he bare, And euer since hath kept in darksome caue, For that I would not yeeld, that to Sans-foy I gaue. < 1.4.48> And to my loathed life now shewes some light, Vnder your beames I will me safely shrowd, From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight: To you th'inheritance belongs by right Of brothers prayse, to you eke longs his loue. Let not his loue, let not his restlesse spright Be vnreueng'd, that calles to you aboue From wandring Stygian shores, where it doth endlesse moue. < 1.4.49> For sorrowes past; their griefe is with them gone: Ne yet of present perill be affraid; For needlesse feare did neuer vantage none, And helplesse hap it booteth not to mone. Dead is Sans-foy, his vitall paines are past, Though greeued ghost for vengeance deepe do grone: He liues, that shall him pay his dewties last, And guiltie Elfin bloud shall sacrifice in hast. < 1.4.50> Of fortune false, and oddes of armes in field. Why dame (quoth he) what oddes can euer bee, Where both do fight alike, to win or yield? Yea but (quoth she) he beares a charmed shield, And eke enchaunted armes, that none can perce, Ne none can wound the man, that does them wield. Charmd or enchaunted (answerd he then ferce) I no whit reck, ne you the like need to reherce. < 1.4.51> Or enimies powre hath now captiued you, Returne from whence ye came, and rest a while Till morrow next, that I the Elfe subdew, And with Sans-foyes dead dowry you endew. Ay me, that is a double death (she said) With proud foes sight my sorrow to renew: Where euer yet I be, my secrete aid Shall follow you. So passing forth she him obaid. < 1.5.1> The faithfull knight in equall field
THe noble hart, that harbours vertuous thought,
< 1.5.2> Of greatest heauen gan to open faire, And Phoebus fresh, as bridegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie haire: And hurld his glistring beames through gloomy aire. Which when the wakeful Elfe perceiu'd, streight way He started vp, and did him selfe prepaire, In sun-bright armes, and battailous array: For with that Pagan proud he combat will that day. < 1.5.3> Where earely waite him many a gazing eye, To weet what end to straunger knights may fall. There many Minstrales maken melody, To driue away the dull melancholy, And many Bardes, that to the trembling chord Can tune their timely voyces cunningly, And many Chroniclers, that can record Old loues, and warres for Ladies doen by many a Lord. < 1.5.4> In wouen maile all armed warily, And sternly lookes at him, who not a pin Does care for looke of liuing creatures eye. They bring them wines of Greece and Araby, And daintie spices fetcht from furthest Ynd, To kindle heat of corage priuily: And in the wine a solemne oth they bynd T'obserue the sacred lawes of armes, that are assynd. < 1.5.5> With royall pomp and Princely maiestie; She is ybrought vnto a paled greene, And placed vnder stately canapee, The warlike feates of both those knights to see. On th'other side in all mens open vew Duessa placed is, and on a tree Sans-foy his shield is hangd with bloudy hew: Both those the lawrell girlonds to the victor dew. < 1.5.6> And vnto battaill bad them selues addresse: Their shining shieldes about their wrestes they tye, And burning blades about their heads do blesse, The instruments of wrath and heauinesse: With greedy force each other doth assayle, And strike so fiercely, that they do impresse Deepe dinted furrowes in the battred mayle; The yron walles to ward their blowes are weake & fraile. < 1.5.7> And heaped blowes like yron hammers great: For after bloud and vengeance+ he did long. The knight was fiers, and full of youthly heat: And doubled strokes, like dreaded thunders threat: For all for prayse and honour+ he did fight. Both stricken strike, and beaten both do beat, That from their shields forth flyeth firie light, And helmets hewen deepe, shew marks of eithers might. < 1.5.8> As when a Gryfon seized of his pray, A Dragon fiers encountreth in his flight, Through widest ayre making his ydle way, That would his rightfull rauine rend away: With hideous horrour both together smight, And souce so sore, that they the heauens affray: The wise Southsayer seeing so sad sight, Th'amazed vulgar tels of warres and mortall fight. < 1.5.9> And each to deadly shame would driue his foe: The cruell steele so greedily doth bight In tender flesh, that streames of bloud down flow, With which the armes, that earst so bright did show, Into a pure vermillion now are dyde: Great ruth in all the gazers harts did grow, Seeing the gored woundes to gape so wyde, That victory they dare not wish to either side. < 1.5.10> His suddein eye, flaming with wrathfull fyre, Vpon his brothers shield, which hong thereby: Therewith redoubled was his raging yre, And said, Ah wretched sonne of wofull syre, Doest thou sit wayling by black Stygian lake, Whilest here thy shield is hangd for victors hyre, And sluggish german doest thy forces slake, To after-send his foe, that him may ouertake? < 1.5.11> And soone redeeme from his long wandring woe; Goe guiltie ghost, to him my message make, That I his shield haue quit from dying foe. Therewith vpon his crest he stroke him so, That twise he reeled, readie twise to fall; End of the doubtfull battell deemed tho The lookers on, and lowd to him gan call The false Duessa, Thine the shield, and I, and all. < 1.5.12> Out of his swowning dreame he gan awake, And quickning faith, that earst was woxen weake, The creeping deadly cold away did shake: Tho mou'd with wrath, and shame, and Ladies sake, Of all attonce he cast auengd to bee, And with so'exceeding furie at him strake, That forced him to stoupe vpon his knee; Had he not stouped so, he should haue clouen bee. < 1.5.13> Thy selfe thy message doe to german deare, Alone he wandring thee too long doth want: Goe say, his foe thy shield with his doth beare. Therewith his heauie hand he high gan reare, Him to haue slaine; when loe a darkesome clowd Vpon him fell: he no where doth appeare, But vanisht is. The Elfe him cals alowd, But answer none receiues: the darknes him does shrowd. < 1.5.14> And to him running said, O prowest knight, That euer Ladie to her loue did chose, Let now abate the terror of your might, And quench the flame of furious despight, And bloudie vengeance; lo th'infernall powres Couering your foe with cloud of deadly night, Haue borne him hence to Plutoes balefull bowres. The conquest yours, I yours, the shield, and glory yours. < 1.5.15> He sought all round about, his thirstie blade To bath in bloud of faithlesse enemy; Who all that while lay hid in secret shade: He standes amazed, how he thence should fade. At last the trumpets Triumph sound on hie, And running Heralds humble homage made, Greeting him goodly with new victorie, And to him brought the shield, the cause of enmitie. < 1.5.16> And falling her before on lowly knee, To her makes present of his seruice seene: Which she accepts, with thankes, and goodly gree, Greatly aduauncing his gay cheualree. So marcheth home, and by her takes the knight, Whom all the people follow with great glee, Shouting, and clapping all their hands on hight, That all the aire it fils, and flyes to heauen bright. < 1.5.17> Where many skilfull leaches him abide, To salue his hurts, that yet still freshly bled. In wine and oyle they wash his woundes wide, And softly can embalme on euery side. And all the while, most heauenly melody About the bed sweet musicke did diuide, Him to beguile of griefe and agony: And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly. < 1.5.18> By muddy shore of broad seuen-mouthed Nile, Vnweeting of the perillous wandring wayes, Doth meet a cruell craftie Crocodile, Which in false griefe hyding his harmefull guile, Doth weepe full sore, and sheddeth tender teares: The foolish man, that pitties all this while His mournefull plight, is swallowd vp vnwares, Forgetfull of his owne, that mindes anothers cares. < 1.5.19> That shyning lampes in Ioues high house were light: Then forth she rose, ne lenger would abide, But comes vnto the place, where th'Hethen knight In slombring swownd nigh voyd of vitall spright, Lay couer'd with inchaunted cloud all day: Whom when she found, as she him left in plight, To wayle his woefull case she would not stay, But to the easterne coast of heauen makes speedy way. < 1.5.20> That Phoebus chearefull face durst neuer vew, And in a foule blacke pitchie mantle clad, She findes forth comming from her darkesome mew, Where she all day did hide her hated hew. Before the dore her yron charet stood, Alreadie harnessed for iourney new; And coleblacke steedes yborne of hellish brood, That on their rustie bits did champ, as they were wood. < 1.5.21> Adornd with gold and iewels shining cleare, She greatly grew amazed at the sight, And th'vnacquainted light began to feare: For neuer did such brightnesse there appeare, And would haue backe retyred to her caue, Vntill the witches speech she gan to heare, Saying, Yet ô thou dreaded Dame, I craue Abide, till I haue told the message, which I haue. < 1.5.22> O thou most auncient Grandmother of all, More old then Ioue, whom thou at first didst breede, Or that great house of Gods cælestiall, Which wast begot in Dæmogorgons hall, And sawst the secrets of the world vnmade, Why suffredst thou thy Nephewes deare to fall With Elfin sword, most shamefully betrade? Lo where the stout Sansioy doth sleepe in deadly shade. < 1.5.23> The bold Sansfoy shrinke vnderneath his speare; And now the pray of fowles in field he lyes, Nor wayld of friends, nor laid on groning beare, That whylome was to me too dearely deare. O what of Gods then boots it to be borne, If old Aveugles sonnes so euill heare? Or who shall not great Nightes children scorne, When two of three her Nephews are so fowle forlorne? < 1.5.24> Go gather vp the reliques of thy race, Or else goe them auenge, and let be seene, That dreaded Night in brightest day hath place, And can the children of faire light deface. Her feeling speeches some compassion moued In hart, and chaunge in that great mothers face: Yet pittie in her hart was neuer proued Till then: for euermore she hated, neuer loued. < 1.5.25> The fall of famous children borne of mee, And good successes, which their foes ensew: But who can turne the streame of destinee, Or breake the chayne of strong necessitee, Which fast is tyde to Ioues eternall seat? The sonnes of Day he fauoureth, I see, And by my ruines thinkes to make them great: To make one great by others losse, is bad excheat. < 1.5.26> For some shall pay the price of others guilt: And he the man that made Sansfoy to fall, Shall with his owne bloud price that he hath spilt. But what art thou, that telst of Nephews kilt? I that do seeme not I, Duessa am, (Quoth she) how euer now in garments gilt, And gorgeous gold arayd I to thee came; Duessa I, the daughter of Deceipt+ and Shame. < 1.5.27> The wicked witch, saying; In that faire face The false resemblance of Deceipt, I wist Did closely lurke; yet so true-seeming grace It carried, that I scarse in darkesome place Could it discerne, though I the mother bee Of falshood+, and root of Duessaes race. O welcome child, whom I haue longd to see, And how haue seene vnwares. Lo now I go with thee. < 1.5.28> And with her beares the fowle welfauourd witch: Through mirkesome aire her readie way she makes. Her twyfold Teme, of which two blacke as pitch, And two were browne, yet each to each vnlich, Did softly swim away, ne euer stampe, Vnlesse she chaunst their stubborne mouths to twitch; Then foming tarre, their bridles they would champe, And trampling the fine element, would fiercely rampe. < 1.5.29> Vnto the place, whereas the Paynim lay, Deuoid of outward sense, and natiue strength, Couerd with charmed cloud from vew of day, And sight of men, since his late luckelesse fray. His cruell wounds with cruddy bloud congealed, They binden vp so wisely, as they may, And handle softly, till they can be healed: So lay him in her charet, close in night concealed. < 1.5.30> The wakefull dogs did neuer cease to bay, As giuing warning of th'vnwonted sound, With which her yron wheeles did them affray, And her darke griesly looke them much dismay; The messenger of death, the ghastly Owle With drearie shriekes did also her bewray; And hungry Wolues continually did howle, At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowle. < 1.5.31> And brought the heauie corse with easie pace To yawning gulfe of deepe Auernus hole. By that same hole an entrance darke and bace With smoake and sulphure hiding all the place, Descends to hell: there creature neuer past, That backe returned without heauenly grace; But dreadfull Furies, which their chaines haue brast, And damned sprights sent forth to make ill men aghast. < 1.5.32> Their mournefull charet, fild with rusty blood, And downe to Plutoes house are come biliue: Which passing through, on euery side them stood The trembling ghosts with sad amazed mood, Chattring their yron teeth, and staring wide With stonie eyes; and all the hellish brood Of feends infernall flockt on euery side, To gaze on earthly wight, that with the Night durst ride. < 1.5.33> Where many soules sit wailing woefully, And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton, Whereas the damned ghosts in torments fry, And with sharpe shrilling shriekes doe bootlesse cry, Cursing high Ioue, the which them thither sent. The house of endlesse paine is built thereby, In which ten thousand sorts of punishment The cursed creatures doe eternally torment. < 1.5.34> His three deformed heads did lay along, Curled with thousand adders venemous, And lilled forth his bloudie flaming tong: At them he gan to reare his bristles strong, And felly gnarre, vntill dayes enemy Did him appease; then downe his taile he hong And suffered them to passen quietly: For she in hell and heauen had power equally. < 1.5.35> For daring tempt the Queene of heauen to sin; And Sisyphus an huge round stone did reele Against an hill, ne might from labour lin; There thirstie Tantalus hong by the chin; And Tityus fed a vulture on his maw; Typhoeus ioynts were stretched on a gin, Theseus condemned to endlesse slouth by law, And fifty sisters water in leake vessels draw. < 1.5.36> Leaue off their worke, vnmindfull of their smart, To gaze on them; who forth by them doe pace, Till they be come vnto the furthest part: Where was a Caue ywrought by wondrous art, Deepe, darke, vneasie, dolefull, comfortlesse, In which sad Æsculapius farre a part Emprisond was in chaines remedilesse, For that Hippolytus rent corse he did redresse. < 1.5.37> That wont in charet chace the foming Bore; He all his Peeres in beautie did surpas, But Ladies loue as losse of time forbore: His wanton stepdame loued him the more, But when she saw her offred sweets refused Her loue she turnd to hate, and him before His father fierce of treason false accused, And with her gealous termes his open eares abused. < 1.5.38> Some cursed vengeance on his sonne to cast: From surging gulf two monsters straight were brought, With dread whereof his chasing steedes aghast, Both charet swift and huntsman ouercast. His goodly corps on ragged cliffs yrent, Was quite dismembred, and his members chast Scattered on euery mountaine, as he went, That of Hippolytus was left no moniment. < 1.5.39> Her wicked dayes with wretched knife did end, In death auowing th'innocence of her sonne. Which hearing his rash Syre, began to rend His haire, and hastie tongue, that did offend: Tho gathering vp the relicks of his smart By Dianes meanes, who was Hippolyts frend, Them brought to Æsculape, that by his art Did heale them all againe, and ioyned euery part. < 1.5.40> When Ioue auizd, that could the dead reuiue, And fates expired could renew againe, Of endlesse life he might him not depriue, But vnto hell did thrust him downe aliue, With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore: Where long remaining, he did alwaies striue Himselfe wilth salues to health for to restore, And slake the heauenly fire, that raged euermore. < 1.5.41> From her nigh wearie waine, and in her armes To Æsculapius brought the wounded knight: Whom hauing softly disarayd of armes, Tho gan to him discouer all his harmes, Beseeching him with prayer, and with praise, If either salues, or oyles, or herbes, or charmes A fordonne wight from dore of death mote raise, He would at her request prolong her nephews daies. < 1.5.42> To dare the thing, which daily yet I rew, And the old cause of my continued paine With like attempt to like end to renew. Is not enough, that thrust from heauen dew Here endlesse penance for one fault I pay, But that redoubled crime with vengeance new Thou biddest me to eeke? Can Night defray The wrath of thundring Ioue, that rules both night and day? < 1.5.43> From hope of heauen hath thee excluded quight, Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing, And fearest not, that more thee hurten might, Now in the powre of euerlasting Night? Goe to then, ô thou farre renowmed sonne Of great Apollo, shew thy famous might In medicine, that else hath to thee wonne Great paines, & greater praise, both neuer to be donne. < 1.5.44> His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay, And all things else, the which his art did teach: Which hauing seene, from thence arose away The mother of dread darknesse, and let stay Aueugles sonne there in the leaches cure, And backe returning tooke her wonted way, To runne her timely race, whilst Phoebus pure In westerne waues his wearie wagon did recure. < 1.5.45> Returnd to stately pallace of dame Pride; Where when she came, she found the Faery knight Departed thence, albe his woundes wide Not throughly heald, vnreadie were to ride. Good cause he had to hasten thence away; For on a day his wary Dwarfe had spide, Where in a dongeon deepe huge numbers lay Of caytiue wretched thrals, that wayled night and day. < 1.5.46> Of whom he learned had in secret wise The hidden cause of their captiuitie, How mortgaging their liues to Couetise, Through wastfull Pride, and wanton Riotise, They were by law of that proud Tyrannesse Prouokt with VVrath, and Enuies false surmise, Condemned to that Dongeon mercilesse, Where they should liue in woe, & die in wretchednesse. < 1.5.47> That would compell all nations to adore, And him as onely God to call vpon, Till through celestiall doome throwne out of dore, Into an Oxe he was transform'd of yore: There also was king Croesus, that enhaunst His heart too high through his great riches store; And proud Antiochus, the which aduaunst His cursed hand gainst God, and on his altars daunst. < 1.5.48> That first the world with sword and fire warrayd; And after him old Ninus farre did pas In princely pompe, of all the world obayd; There also was that mightie Monarch layd Low vnder all, yet aboue all in pride, That name of natiue syre did fowle vpbrayd, And would as Ammons sonne be magnifide, Till scornd of God and man a shamefull death he dide. < 1.5.49> Like carkases of beasts in butchers stall. And in another corner wide were strowne The antique ruines of the Romaines fall: Great Romulus the Grandsyre of them all, Proud Tarquin, and too lordly Lentulus, Stout Scipio+, and stubborne Hanniball, Ambitious Sylla+, and sterne Marius+, High Caesar+, great Pompey+, and fierce Antonius+. < 1.5.50> Proud wemen, vaine, forgetfull of their yoke: The bold Semiramis, whose sides transfixt With sonnes owne blade, her fowle reproches spoke; Faire Sthenoboea, that her selfe did choke With wilfull cord, for wanting of her will; High minded Cleopatra+, that with stroke Of Aspes sting her selfe did stoutly kill: And thousands moe the like, that did that dongeon fill. < 1.5.51> Which thither were assembled day by day, From all the world after their wofull falles, Through wicked pride, and wasted wealthes decay. But most of all, which in the Dongeon lay Fell from high Princes courts, or Ladies bowres, Where they in idle pompe, or wanton play, Consumed had their goods, and thriftlesse howres, And lastly throwne themselues into these heauy stowres. < 1.5.52> And made ensample of their mournefull sight Vnto his maister, he no lenger would There dwell in perill of like painefull plight, But early rose, and ere that dawning light Discouered had the world to heauen wyde, He by a priuie Posterne tooke his flight, That of no enuious eyes he mote be spyde: For doubtlesse death ensewd, if any him descryde. < 1.5.53> For many corses, like a great Lay-stall Of murdred men which therein strowed lay, Without remorse, or decent funerall: Which all through that great Princesse pride did fall And came to shamefull end. And them beside Forth ryding vnderneath the castell wall, A donghill of dead carkases he spide, The dreadfull spectacle of that sad house of Pride. < 1.6.1> From lawlesse lust by wondrous grace
AS when a ship, that flyes faire vnder saile,
< 1.6.2> The faire Duess' had forst him leaue behind; And yet more sad, that Vna his deare dreed Her truth had staind with treason so vnkind; Yet crime in her could neuer creature find, But for his loue, and for her owne selfe sake, She wandred had from one to other Ynd, Him for to seeke, ne euer would forsake, Till her vnwares the fierce Sansloy did ouertake. < 1.6.3> Led her away into a forrest wilde, And turning wrathfull fire to lustfull heat, With beastly sin thought her to haue defilde, And made the vassall of his pleasures vilde. Yet first he cast by treatie, and by traynes, Her to perswade, that stubborne fort to yilde: For greater conquest of hard loue he gaynes, That workes it to his will, then he that it constraines. < 1.6.4> And looking louely, and oft sighing sore, Her constant hart did tempt with diuerse guile: But wordes+, and lookes, and sighes she did abhore, As rocke of Diamond stedfast euermore. Yet for to feed his fyrie lustfull eye, He snatcht the vele, that hong her face before; Then gan her beautie shine, as brightest skye, And burnt his beastly hart t'efforce her chastitye. < 1.6.5> And subtile engines bet from batteree, With greedy force he gan the fort assayle, Whereof he weend possessed soone to bee, And win rich spoile of ransackt chastetee. Ah heauens, that do this hideous act behold, And heauenly virgin thus outraged see, How can ye vengeance iust so long withhold, And hurle not flashing flames vpon that Paynim bold? < 1.6.6> Does throw out thrilling shriekes, & shrieking cryes, The last vaine helpe of womens great distresse, And with loud plaints importuneth the skyes, That molten starres do drop like weeping eyes; And Phoebus flying so most shamefull sight, His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes, And hides for shame. What wit of mortall wight Can now deuise to quit a thrall from such a plight? < 1.6.7> Where none appeares can make her selfe a way: A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought, From Lyons clawes to pluck the griped pray. Her shrill outcryes and shriekes so loud did bray, That all the woodes and forestes did resownd; A troupe of Faunes and Satyres far away Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd, Whiles old Syluanus slept in shady arber sownd. < 1.6.8> In hast forsooke their rurall meriment, And ran towards the far rebownded noyce, To weet, what wight so loudly did lament. Vnto the place they come incontinent: Whom when the raging Sarazin espide, A rude, misshapen, monstrous rablement, Whose like he neuer saw, he durst not bide, But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ride. < 1.6.9> There find the virgin dolefull desolate, With ruffled rayments, and faire blubbred face, As her outrageous foe had left her late, And trembling yet through feare of former hate; All stand amazed at so vncouth sight, And gin to pittie her vnhappie state, All stand astonied at her beautie bright, In their rude eyes vnworthie of so wofull plight. < 1.6.10> And euery tender part for feare does shake: As when a greedie Wolfe through hunger fell A seely Lambe farre from the flocke does take, Of whom he meanes his bloudie feast to make, A Lyon spyes fast running towards him, The innocent pray in hast he does forsake, Which quit from death yet quakes in euery lim With chaunge of feare, to see the Lyon looke so grim. < 1.6.11> Such fearfull fit assaid her trembling hart,
< 1.6.12> Her single person to their barbarous truth, But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sit, Late learnd what harme to hastie trust ensu'th, They in compassion of her tender youth, And wonder of her beautie soueraine, Are wonne with pitty and vnwonted ruth, And all prostrate vpon the lowly plaine, Do kisse her feete, and fawne on her with count'nance faine. < 1.6.13> And yieldes her to extremitie of time; So from the ground she fearelesse doth arise, And walketh forth without suspect of crime: They all as glad, as birdes of ioyous Prime, Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing round, Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme, And with greene braunches strowing all the ground, Do worship her, as Queene, with oliue girlond cround. < 1.6.14> That all the woods with doubled Eccho ring, And with their horned feet do weare the ground, Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring. So towards old Syluanus they her bring; Who with the noyse awaked, commeth out, To weet the cause, his weake steps gouerning, And aged limbs on Cypresse stadle stout, And with an yuie twyne his wast is girt about. < 1.6.15> If Bacchus merry fruit they did inuent, Or Cybeles franticke rites haue made them mad; They drawing nigh, vnto their God present That flowre of faith and beautie excellent. The God himselfe vewing that mirrhour rare, Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent; His owne faire Dryope now he thinkes not faire, And Pholoe fowle, when her to this he doth compaire. < 1.6.16> And worship her as Goddesse of the wood; And old Syluanus selfe bethinkes not, what To thinke of wight so faire, but gazing stood, In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood; Sometimes Dame Venus selfe he seemes to see, But Venus neuer had so sober mood; Sometimes Diana he her takes to bee, But misseth bow, and shaftes, and buskins to her knee. < 1.6.17> His ancient loue, and dearest Cyparisse, And calles to mind his pourtraiture aliue, How faire he was, and yet not faire to this, And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse A gentle Hynd, the which the louely boy Did loue as life, aboue all worldly blisse; For griefe whereof the lad n'ould after ioy, But pynd away in anguish and selfe-wild annoy. < 1.6.18> Her to behold do thither runne apace, And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades, Flocke all about to see her louely face: But when they vewed haue her heauenly grace, They enuie her in their malitious mind, And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace: But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind, And henceforth nothing faire, but her on earth they find. < 1.6.19> Did her content to please their feeble eyes, And long time with that saluage people staid, To gather breath in many miseries. During which time her gentle wit she plyes, To teach them truth, which worshipt her in vaine, And made her th'Image of Idolatryes; But when their bootlesse zeale she did restraine Frõ her own worship, they her Asse would worship fayn. < 1.6.20> By iust occasion to that forrest came, To seeke his kindred, and the lignage right, From whence he tooke his well deserued name: He had in armes abroad wonne muchell fame, And fild far landes with glorie of his might, Plaine, {PlainDealer+} faithfull, true, and enimy of shame, And euer lou'd to fight for Ladies right, But in vaine glorious frayes he litle did delight. < 1.6.21> By straunge aduenture as it did betyde, And there begotten of a Lady myld, Faire Thyamis the daughter of Labryde, That was in sacred bands of wedlocke tyde To Therion, a loose vnruly swayne; Who had more ioy to raunge the forrest wyde, And chase the saluage beast with busie payne, Then serue his Ladies loue, and wast in pleasures vayne. < 1.6.22> And could not lacke her louers company, But to the wood she goes, to serue her turne, And seeke her spouse, that from her still does fly, And followes other game and venery: A Satyre chaunst her wandring for to find, And kindling coles of lust in brutish eye, The loyall links of wedlocke did vnbind, And made her person thrall vnto his beastly kind. < 1.6.23> Her captiue to his sensuall desire, Till that with timely fruit her belly sweld, And bore a boy vnto that saluage sire: Then home he suffred her for to retire, For ransome leauing him the late borne childe; Whom till to ryper yeares he gan aspire, He noursled vp in life and manners wilde, Emongst wild beasts and woods, from lawes of men exilde. < 1.6.24> To banish cowardize and bastard feare; His trembling hand he would him force to put Vpon the Lyon and the rugged Beare, And from the she Beares teats her whelps to teare; And eke wyld roring Buls he would him make To tame, and ryde their backes not made to beare; And the Robuckes in flight to ouertake, That euery beast for feare of him did fly and quake. < 1.6.25> That his owne sire and maister of his guise Did often tremble at his horrid vew, And oft for dread of hurt would him aduise, The angry beasts not rashly to despise, Nor too much to prouoke; for he would learne The Lyon stoup to him in lowly wise, (A lesson hard) and make the Libbard sterne Leaue roaring, when in rage he for reuenge did earne. < 1.6.26> Wyld beasts in yron yokes he would compell; The spotted Panther, and the tusked Bore, The Pardale swift, and the Tigre cruell; The Antelope, and Wolfe both fierce and fell; And them constraine in equall teme to draw. Such ioy he had, their stubborne harts to quell, And sturdie courage tame with dreadfull aw, That his beheast they feared, as tyrans law, < 1.6.27> Vnto the woods, to see her little sonne; And chaunst vnwares to meet him in the way, After his sportes, and cruell pastime donne, When after him a Lyonesse did runne, That roaring all with rage, did lowd requere Her children deare, whom he away had wonne: The Lyon whelpes she saw how he did beare, And lull in rugged armes, withouten childish feare. < 1.6.28> And turning backe, gan fast to fly away, Vntill with loue reuokt from vaine affright, She hardly yet perswaded was to stay, And then to him these womanish words gan say; Ah Satyrane, my dearling, and my ioy, For loue of me leaue off this dreadfull play; To dally thus with death, is no fit toy, Go find some other play-fellowes, mine own sweet boy. < 1.6.29> He trayned was, till ryper yeares he raught, And there abode, whilst any beast of name Walkt in that forest, whom he had not taught To feare his force: and then his courage haught Desird of forreine foemen to be knowne, And far abroad for straunge aduentures sought: In which his might was neuer ouerthrowne, But through all Faery lond his famous worth was blown. < 1.6.30> After long labours and aduentures spent, Vnto those natiue woods for to repaire, To see his sire and offspring auncient. And now he thither came for like intent; Where he vnwares the fairest Vna found, Straunge Lady, in so straunge habiliment, Teaching the Satyres, which her sat around, Trew sacred lore, which from her sweet lips did redound. < 1.6.31> Whose like in womens wit he neuer knew; And when her curteous deeds he did compare, Gan her admire, and her sad sorrowes rew, Blaming of Fortune, which such troubles threw, And ioyd to make proofe of her crueltie On gentle Dame, so hurtlesse, and so trew: Thenceforth he kept her goodly company, And learnd her discipline of faith and veritie. < 1.6.32> His wandring perill closely did lament, Ne in this new acquaintaunce could delight, But her deare heart with anguish did torment, And all her wit in secret counsels spent, How to escape. At last in priuie wise To Satyrane she shewed her intent: Who glad to gain such fauour, gan deuise, How with that pensiue Maid he best might thence arise. < 1.6.33> To do their seruice to Syluanus old, The gentle virgin left behind alone He led away with courage stout and bold. Too late it was, to Satyres to be told, Or euer hope recouer her againe: In vaine he seekes that hauing cannot hold. So fast he carried her with carefull paine, That they the woods are past, & come now to the plaine. < 1.6.34> They traueild had, when as they farre espide A wearie wight forwandring by the way, And towards him they gan in hast to ride, To weet of newes, that did abroad betide, Or tydings of her knight of the Redcrosse. But he them spying, gan to turne aside, For feare as seemd, or for some feigned losse; More greedy they of newes, fast towards him do crosse. < 1.6.35> And soild with dust of the long dried way; His sandales were with toilesome trauell torne, And face all tand with scorching sunny ray, As he had traueild many a sommers day, Through boyling sands of Arabie and Ynde; And in his hand a Iacobs staffe, to stay His wearie limbes vpon: and eke behind, His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind. < 1.6.36> Tydings of warre, and of aduentures new; But warres, nor new aduentures none he herd. Then Vna gan to aske, if ought he knew, Or heard abroad of that her champion trew, That in his armour bare a croslet red. Aye me, Deare dame (quoth he) well may I rew To tell the sad sight, which mine eies haue red: These eyes did see that knight both liuing and eke ded. < 1.6.37> That suddein cold did runne through euery vaine, And stony horrour all her sences fild With dying fit, that downe she fell for paine. The knight her lightly reared vp againe, And comforted with curteous kind reliefe: Then wonne from death, she bad him tellen plaine The further processe of her hidden griefe; The lesser pangs can beare, who hath endur'd the chiefe. < 1.6.38> This fatall day, that shall I euer rew, To see two knights in trauell on my way (A sory sight) arraung'd in battell new, Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrathfull hew: My fearefull flesh did tremble at their strife, To see their blades so greedily imbrew, That drunke with bloud, yet thristed after life: What more? the Redcrosse knight was slaine with Paynim knife. < 1.6.39> And he the stoutest knight, that euer wonne? Ah dearest dame (quoth he) how might I see The thing, that might not be, and yet was donne? Where is (said Satyrane) that Paynims sonne, That him of life, and vs of ioy hath reft? Not far away (quoth he) he hence doth wonne Foreby a fountaine, where I late him left Washing his bloudy wounds, that through the steele were cleft. < 1.6.40> Whiles Vna with huge heauinesse opprest, Could not for sorrow follow him so fast; And soone he came, as he the place had ghest, Whereas that Pagan proud him selfe did rest, In secret shadow by a fountaine side: Euen he it was, that earst would haue supprest Faire Vna: whom when Satyrane espide, With fowle reprochfull words he boldly him defide. < 1.6.41> That hast with knightlesse guile and trecherous train Faire knighthood fowly shamed, and doest vaunt That good knight of the Redcrosse to haue slain: Arise, and with like treason now maintain Thy guilty wrong, or else thee guilty yield. The Sarazin this hearing, rose amain, And catching vp in hast his three square shield, And shining helmet, soone him buckled to the field. < 1.6.42> In euill houre thy foes thee hither sent, Anothers wrongs to wreake vpon thy selfe: Yet ill thou blamest me, for hauing blent My name with guile and traiterous intent; That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I neuer slew, But had he beene, where earst his armes were lent, Th'enchaunter vaine his errour should not rew: But thou his errour shalt, I hope now prouen trew. < 1.6.43> To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile Each other bent his enimy to quell, That with their force they perst both plate and maile, And made wide furrowes in their fleshes fraile, That it would pitty any liuing eie. Large floods of bloud adowne their sides did raile; But floods of bloud could not them satisfie: Both hungred after death: both chose to win, or die. < 1.6.44> That fainting each, themselues to breathen let, And oft refreshed, battell oft renue: As when two Bores with rancling malice met, Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely fret, Til breathlesse both them selues aside retire, Where foming wrath, their cruell tuskes they whet, And trample th'earth, the whiles they may respire; Then backe to fight againe, new breathed and entire. < 1.6.45> They gan to fight returne, increasing more Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce, With heaped strokes more hugely, then before, That with their drerie wounds and bloudy gore They both deformed, scarsely could be known. By this sad Vna fraught with anguish sore, Led with their noise, which through the aire was thrown: Arriu'd, where they in erth their fruitles bloud had sown. < 1.6.46> Espide, he gan reuiue the memory Of his lewd lusts, and late attempted sin, And left the doubtfull battell hastily, To catch her, newly offred to his eie: But Satyrane with strokes him turning, staid, And sternely bad him other businesse plie, Then hunt the steps of pure vnspotted Maid: Wherewith he all enrag'd, these bitter speaches said. < 1.6.47> Hath thee incenst, to hast thy dolefull fate? Were it not better, I that Lady had, Then that thou hadst repented it too late? Most sencelesse man he, that himselfe doth hate, To loue another. Lo then for thine ayd Here take thy louers token on thy pate. So they to fight; the whiles the royall Mayd Fled farre away, of that proud Paynim sore afrayd. < 1.6.48> Being in deed old Archimage, did stay In secret shadow, all this to behold, And much reioyced in their bloudy fray: But when he saw the Damsell passe away He left his stond, and her pursewd apace, In hope to bring her to her last decay. But for to tell her lamentable cace, And eke this battels end, will need another place. < 1.7.1> The Redcrosse knight is captiue made
WHat man so wise, what earthly wit so ware,
< 1.7.2> She fownd not in that perilous house of Pryde, Where she had left, the noble Redcrosse knight, Her hoped pray, she would no lenger bide, But forth she went, to seeke him far and wide. Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie sate, To rest him selfe, foreby a fountaine side, Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate, And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate. < 1.7.3> His sweatie forehead in the breathing wind, Which through the tr&etilde;bling leaues full gently playes Wherein the cherefull birds of sundry kind Do chaunt sweet musick, to delight his mind: The Witch approching gan him fairely greet, And with reproch of carelesnesse vnkind Vpbrayd, for leauing her in place vnmeet, With fowle words tempring faire, soure gall with hony sweet. < 1.7.4> And bathe in pleasaunce of the ioyous shade, Which shielded them against the boyling heat, And with greene boughes decking a gloomy glade, About the fountaine like a girlond made; Whose bubbling waue did euer freshly well, Ne euer would through feruent sommer fade: The sacred Nymph, which therein wont to dwell, Was out of Dianes fauour, as it then befell. < 1.7.5> With all her band was following the chace, This Nymph, quite tyr'd with heat of scorching ayre, Sat downe to rest in middest of the race: The goddesse wroth gan fowly her disgrace, And bad the waters, which from her did flow, Be such as she her selfe was then in place. Thenceforth her waters waxed dull and slow, And all that drunke thereof, did faint and feeble grow. < 1.7.6> And lying downe vpon the sandie graile, Drunke of the streame, as cleare as cristall glas; Eftsoones his manly+ forces gan to faile, And mightie strong was turnd to feeble fraile. His chaunged powres at first them selues not felt, Till crudled cold his corage gan assaile, And chearefull bloud in faintnesse chill did melt, Which like a feuer fit through all his body swelt. < 1.7.7> Pourd out in loosnesse on the grassy grownd, Both carelesse of his health, and of his fame: Till at the last he heard a dreadfull sownd, Which through the wood loud bellowing, did rebownd, That all the earth for terrour seemd to shake, And trees did tremble. Th'Elfe therewith astownd, Vpstarted lightly from his looser make, And his vnready weapons gan in hand to take. < 1.7.8> Or get his shield, his monstrous enimy With sturdie steps came stalking in his sight, An hideous Geant horrible and hye, That with his talnesse seemd to threat the skye, The ground eke groned vnder him for dreed; His liuing like saw neuer liuing eye, Ne durst behold: his stature did exceed The hight of three the tallest sonnes of mortall seed. < 1.7.9> And blustring AEolus his boasted sire, Who with his breath, which through the world doth pas, Her hollow womb did secretly inspire, And fild her hidden caues with stormie yre, That she conceiu'd; and trebling the dew time, In which the wombes of women do expire, Brought forth this monstrous masse of earthly slime, Puft vp with emptie wind, and fild with sinfull crime. < 1.7.10> Of th'high descent, whereof he was yborne, And through presumption of his matchlesse might, All other powres and knighthood he did scorne. Such now he marcheth to this man forlorne, And left to losse: his stalking steps are stayde Vpon a snaggy Oke, which he had torne Out of his mothers bowelles, and it made His mortall mace, wherewith his foemen he dismayde. < 1.7.11> With huge force and insupportable mayne, And towardes him with dreadfull fury praunce; Who haplesse, and eke hopelesse, all in vaine Did to him pace, sad battaile to darrayne, Disarmd, disgrast, and inwardly dismayde, And eke so faint in euery ioynt and vaine, Through that fraile fountaine, which him feeble made, That scarsely could he weeld his bootlesse single blade. < 1.7.12> That could haue ouerthrowne a stony towre, And were not heauenly grace, that him did blesse, He had beene pouldred all, as thin as flowre: But he was wary of that deadly stowre, And lightly lept from vnderneath the blow: Yet so exceeding was the villeins powre, That with the wind it did him ouerthrow, And all his sences stound, that still he lay full low. < 1.7.13> In deepest Hell, and framd by Furies skill, With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur fraught, And ramd with bullet round, ordaind to kill, Conceiueth fire, the heauens it doth fill With thundring noyse, and all the ayre doth choke, That none can breath, nor see, nor heare at will, Through smouldry cloud of duskish stincking smoke, That th'onely breath him daunts, who hath escapt the stroke. < 1.7.14> His heauie hand he heaued vp on hye, And him to dust thought to haue battred quight, Vntill Duessa loud to him gan crye; O great Orgoglio+, greatest vnder skye, O hold thy mortall hand for Ladies sake, Hold for my sake, and do him not to dye, But vanquisht thine eternall bondslaue make, And me thy worthy meed vnto thy Leman take. < 1.7.15> To gayne so goodly guerdon, as she spake: So willingly she came into his armes, Who her as willingly to grace did take, And was possessed of his new found make. Then vp he tooke the slombred sencelesse corse, And ere he could out of his swowne awake, Him to his castle brought with hastie forse, And in a Dongeon deepe him threw without remorse. < 1.7.16> And highly honourd in his haughtie eye, He gaue her gold and purple pall to weare, And triple crowne set on her head full hye, And her endowd with royall maiestye: Then for to make her dreaded more of men, And peoples harts with awfull terrour tye, A monstrous beast ybred in filthy fen He chose, which he had kept long time in darksome den. < 1.7.17> Which great Alcides in Stremona slew, Long fostred in the filth of Lerna lake, Whose many heads out budding euer new, Did breed him endlesse labour to subdew: But this same Monster much more vgly was; For seuen great heads out of his body grew, An yron brest, and backe of scaly bras, And all embrewd in bloud, his eyes did shine as glas. < 1.7.18> That to the house of heauenly gods it raught, And with extorted powre, and borrow'd strength, The euer-burning lamps from thence it braught, And prowdly threw to ground, as things of naught; And vnderneath his filthy feet did tread The sacred things, and holy heasts foretaught. Vpon this dreadfull Beast with seuenfold head He set the false Duessa, for more aw and dread. < 1.7.19> Whiles he had keeping of his grasing steed, And valiant knight become a caytiue thrall, When all was past, tooke vp his forlorne weed, His mightie armour, missing most at need; His siluer shield, now idle maisterlesse; His poynant speare, that many made to bleed, The ruefull moniments of heauinesse, And with them all departes, to tell his great distresse. < 1.7.20> He wofull Ladie, wofull Vna met, Fast flying from the Paynims greedy pray, Whilest Satyrane him from pursuit did let: Who when her eyes she on the Dwarf had set, And saw the signes, that deadly tydings spake, She fell to ground for sorrowfull regret, And liuely breath her sad brest did forsake, Yet might her pitteous hart be seene to pant and quake. < 1.7.21> Would faine haue dyde: dead was his hart within, Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes: At last recouering hart, he does begin To rub her temples, and to chaufe her chin, And euery tender part does tosse and turne: So hardly he the flitted life does win, Vnto her natiue prison to retourne: Then gins her grieued ghost thus to lament and mourne. < 1.7.22> That doe this deadly spectacle behold, Why do ye lenger feed on loathed light, Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould, Sith cruell fates the carefull threeds vnfould, The which my life and loue together tyde? Now let the stony dart of senselesse cold Perce to my hart, and pas through euery side, And let eternall night so sad [sight] fro me hide. < 1.7.23> First made by him, mens wandring wayes to guyde, When darknesse he in deepest dongeon droue, Henceforth thy hated face for euer hyde, And shut vp heauens windowes shyning wyde: For earthly sight can nought but sorow breed, And late repentance, which shall long abyde. Mine eyes no more on vanitie shall feed, But seeled vp with death, shall haue their deadly meed. < 1.7.24> But he her quickly reared vp againe: Thrise did she sinke adowne in deadly swownd, And thrise he her reviu'd with busie paine: At last when life recouer'd had the raine, And ouer-wrestled his strong enemie, With foltring tong, and trembling euery vaine, Tell on (quoth she) the wofull Tragedie, The which these reliques sad present vnto mine eie. < 1.7.25> And thrilling sorrow throwne his vtmost dart; Thy sad tongue cannot tell more heauy plight, Then that I feele, and harbour in mine hart: Who hath endur'd the whole, can beare each part. If death it be, it is not the first wound, That launched hath my brest with bleeding smart. Begin, and end the bitter balefull stound; If lesse, then that I feare, more fauour I haue found. < 1.7.26> The subtill traines of Archimago old; The wanton loues of false Fidessa faire, Bought with the bloud of vanquisht Paynim bold: The wretched payre transform'd to treen mould; The house of Pride, and perils round about; The combat, which he with Sansioy did hould; The lucklesse conflict with the Gyant stout, Wherein captiu'd, of life or death he stood in doubt. < 1.7.27> And stroue to maister sorrowfull assay, Which greater grew, the more she did contend, And almost rent her tender hart in tway; And loue fresh coles vnto her fire did lay: For greater loue, the greater is the losse. Was neuer Ladie loued dearer day, Then she did loue the knight of the Redcrosse; For whose deare sake so many troubles her did tosse. < 1.7.28> She vp arose, resoluing him to find A liue or dead: and forward forth doth pas, All as the Dwarfe the way to her assynd: And euermore in constant carefull mind She fed her wound with fresh renewed bale; Long tost with stormes, and bet with bitter wind, High ouer hils, and low adowne the dale, She wandred many a wood, and measurd many a vale. < 1.7.29> A goodly knight, faire marching by the way Together with his Squire, arayed meet: His glitterand armour shined farre away, Like glauncing light of Phoebus brightest ray; From top to toe no place appeared bare, That deadly dint of steele endanger may: Athwart his brest a bauldrick braue he ware, That shynd, like twinkling stars, with stons most pretious rare. < 1.7.30> Of wondrous worth, and eke of wondrous mights, Shapt like a Ladies head, exceeding shone, Like Hesperus emongst the lesser lights, And stroue for to amaze the weaker sights; Thereby his mortall blade full comely hong In yuory sheath, ycaru'd with curious slights; Whose hilts were burnisht gold, and handle strong Of mother pearle, and buckled with a golden tong. < 1.7.31> Both glorious brightnesse, and great terrour bred; For all the crest a Dragon did enfold With greedie pawes, and ouer all did spred His golden wings: his dreadfull hideous hed Close couched on the beuer, seem'd to throw From flaming mouth bright sparkles fierie red, That suddeine horror to faint harts did show; And scaly tayle was stretcht adowne his backe full low. < 1.7.32> A bunch of haires discolourd diuersly, With sprincled pearle, and gold full richly drest, Did shake, and seem'd to daunce for iollity, Like to an Almond tree ymounted hye On top of greene Selinis all alone, With blossomes braue bedecked daintily; Whose tender locks do tremble euery one At euery little breath, that vnder heauen is blowne. < 1.7.33> Ne might of mortall eye be euer seene; Not made of steele, nor of enduring bras, Such earthly mettals soone consumed bene: But all of Diamond perfect pure and cleene It framed was, one massie entire mould, Hewen out of Adamant rocke with engines keene, That point of speare it neuer percen could, Ne dint of direfull sword diuide the substance would. < 1.7.34> But when as monsters huge he would dismay, Or daunt vnequall armies of his foes, Or when the flying heauens he would affray; For so exceeding shone his glistring ray, That Phoebus golden face it did attaint, As when a cloud his beames doth ouer-lay; And siluer Cynthia wexed pale and faint, As when her face is staynd with magicke arts constraint. < 1.7.35> Nor bloudie wordes of bold Enchaunters call, But all that was not such, as seemd in sight, Before that shield did fade, and suddeine fall: And when him list the raskall routes appall, Men into stones therewith he could transmew, And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all; And when him list the prouder lookes subdew, He would them gazing blind, or turne to other hew. < 1.7.36> For he that made the same, was knowne right well To haue done much more admirable deedes. It Merlin was, which whylome did excell All liuing wightes in might of magicke spell: Both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought For this young Prince, when first to armes he fell; But when he dyde, the Faerie Queene it brought To Faerie lond, where yet it may be seene, if sought. < 1.7.37> His speare of heben wood behind him bare, Whose harmefull head, thrice heated in the fire, Had riuen many a brest with pikehead square; A goodly person, and could menage faire His stubborne steed with curbed canon bit, Who vnder him did trample as the aire, And chauft, that any on his backe should sit; The yron rowels into frothy fome he bit. < 1.7.38> With louely court he gan her entertaine; But when he heard her answeres loth, he knew Some secret sorrow did her heart distraine: Which to allay, and calme her storming paine, Faire feeling words he wisely gan display, And for her humour fitting purpose faine, To tempt the cause it selfe for to bewray; Wherewith emmou'd, these bleeding words she gan to say. < 1.7.39> Can heart, so plung'd in sea of sorrowes deepe, And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach? The carefull cold beginneth for to creepe, And in my heart his yron arrow steepe, Soone as I thinke vpon my bitter bale: Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden keepe, Then rip vp griefe, where it may not auaile, My last left comfort is, my woes to weepe and waile. < 1.7.40> Well may I weene, your griefe is wondrous great; For wondrous great griefe groneth in my spright, Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat. But wofull Ladie let me you intrete, For to vnfold the anguish of your hart: Mishaps are maistred by aduice discrete, And counsell mittigates the greatest smart; Found neuer helpe, who neuer would his hurts impart. < 1.7.41> And can more easily be thought, then said. Right so; (quoth he) but he, that neuer would, Could neuer: will to might giues greatest aid. But griefe (quoth she) does greater grow displaid, If then it find not helpe, and breedes despaire. Despaire breedes not (quoth he) where faith+ is staid. No faith so fast (quoth she) but flesh does paire. Flesh may empaire (quoth he) but reason+ can repaire. < 1.7.42> So deepe did settle in her gratious thought, That her perswaded to disclose the breach, Which loue and fortune in her heart had wrought, And said; faire Sir, I hope good hap hath brought You to inquere the secrets of my griefe, Or that your wisedome will direct my thought, Or that your prowesse can me yield reliefe: Then heare the storie sad, which I shall tell you briefe. < 1.7.43> The laughing stocke of fortunes mockeries, Am th'only daughter of a King and Queene, Whose parents deare, whilest equall destinies Did runne about, and their felicities The fauourable heauens did not enuy, Did spread their rule through all the territories, Which Phison and Euphrates floweth by, And Gehons golden waues doe wash continually. < 1.7.44> An huge great Dragon horrible in sight, Bred in the loathly lakes of Tartary, With murdrous rauine, and deuouring might Their kingdome spoild, and countrey wasted quight: Themselues, for feare into his iawes to fall, He forst to castle strong to take their flight, Where fast embard in mightie brasen wall, He has them now foure yeres besiegd to make th&etilde; thrall. < 1.7.45> Haue enterprizd that Monster to subdew; From euery coast that heauen walks about, Haue thither come the noble Martiall crew, That famous hard atchieuements still pursew, Yet neuer any could that girlond win, But all still shronke, and still he greater grew: All they for want of faith+, or guilt of sin, The pitteous pray of his fierce crueltie haue bin. < 1.7.46> Which flying fame throughout the world had spred, Of doughtie knights, whom Faery land did raise, That noble order hight of Maidenhed, Forthwith to court of Gloriane I sped, Of Gloriane great Queene of glory bright, Whose kingdomes seat Cleopolis is red, There to obtaine some such redoubted knight, That Parents deare from tyrants powre deliuer might. < 1.7.47> There for to find a fresh vnproued knight, Whose manly hands imbrew'd in guiltie blood Had neuer bene, ne euer by his might Had throwne to ground the vnregarded right: Yet of his prowesse proofe he since hath made (I witnesse am) in many a cruell fight; The groning ghosts of many one dismaide Haue felt the bitter dint of his auenging blade. < 1.7.48> His byting sword, and his deuouring speare, Which haue endured many a dreadfull stowre, Can speake his prowesse, that did earst you beare, And well could rule: now he hath left you heare, To be the record of his ruefull losse, And of my dolefull disauenturous deare: O heauie record of the good Redcrosse, Where haue you left your Lord, that could so well you tosse? < 1.7.49> That he my captiue langour should redeeme, Till all vnweeting, an Enchaunter bad His sence abusd, and made him to misdeeme My loyalty, not such as it did seeme; That rather death desire, then such despight. Be iudge ye heauens, that all things right esteeme, How I him lou'd, and loue with all my might, So thought I eke of him, and thinke I thought aright. < 1.7.50> To wander, where wilde fortune would me lead, And other bywaies he himselfe betooke, Where neuer foot of liuing wight did tread, That brought not backe the balefull body dead; In which him chaunced false Duessa+ meete, Mine onely foe, mine onely deadly dread, Who with her witchcraft and misseeming sweete, Inueigled him to follow her desires vnmeete. < 1.7.51> Vnto his foe, a Gyant huge and tall, Who him disarmed, dissolute, dismaid, Vnwares surprised, and with mightie mall The monster mercilesse him made to fall, Whose fall did neuer foe before behold; And now in darkesome dungeon, wretched thrall, Remedilesse, for aie he doth him hold; This is my cause of griefe, more great, then may be told. < 1.7.52> But he her comforted and faire bespake, Certes, Madame, ye haue great cause of plaint, That stoutest heart, I weene, could cause to quake. But be of cheare, and comfort to you take: For till I haue acquit your captiue knight, Assure your selfe, I will you not forsake. His chearefull words reuiu'd her chearelesse spright, So forth they went, the Dwarfe them guiding euer right. < 1.8.1Cant. VIII. > Faire virgin to redeeme her deare
AY me, how many perils doe enfold
< 1.8.2> Nigh to a castle builded strong and hie: Then cryde the Dwarfe, lo yonder is the same, In which my Lord my liege doth lucklesse lie, Thrall to that Gyants hatefull tyrannie: Therefore, deare Sir, your mightie powres assay. The noble knight alighted by and by From loftie steede, and bad the Ladie stay, To see what end of fight should him befall that day. < 1.8.3> He marched forth towards that castle wall; Whose gates he found fast shut, ne liuing wight To ward the same, nor answere commers call. Then tooke that Squire an horne of bugle small, Which hong adowne his side in twisted gold, And tassels gay. Wyde wonders ouer all Of that same hornes great vertues weren told, Which had approued bene in vses manifold. < 1.8.4> But trembling feare did feele in euery vaine; Three miles it might be easie heard around, And Ecchoes three answerd it selfe againe: No false enchauntment, nor deceiptfull traine Might once abide the terror of that blast, But presently was voide and wholly vaine: No gate so strong, no locke so firme and fast, But with that percing noise flew open quite, or brast. < 1.8.5> That all the castle quaked from the ground, And euery dore of freewill open flew. The Gyant selfe dismaied with that sownd, Where he with his Duessa dalliance fownd, In hast came rushing forth from inner bowre, With staring countenance sterne, as one astownd, And staggering steps, to weet, what suddein stowre Had wrought that horror strange, and dar'd his dreaded powre. < 1.8.6> High mounted on her manyheaded beast, And euery head with fyrie tongue did flame, And euery head was crowned on his creast, And bloudie mouthed with late cruell feast. That when the knight beheld, his mightie shild Vpon his manly arme he soone addrest, And at him fiercely flew, with courage fild, And eger greedinesse through euery member thrild. < 1.8.7> Inflam'd with scornefull wrath and high disdaine, And lifting vp his dreadfull club on hight, All arm'd with ragged snubbes and knottie graine, Him thought at first encounter to haue slaine, But wise and warie was that noble Pere, And lightly leaping from so monstrous maine, Did faire auoide the violence him nere; It booted nought, to thinke, such thunderbolts to beare. < 1.8.8> The idle stroke, enforcing furious way, Missing the marke of his misaymed sight Did fall to ground, and with his heauie sway So deepely dinted in the driuen clay, That three yardes deepe a furrow vp did throw: The sad earth wounded with so sore assay, Did grone full grieuous vnderneath the blow, And trembling with strange feare, did like an earthquake show. < 1.8.9> To wreake the guilt of mortall sins is bent, Hurles forth his thundring dart with deadly food, Enrold in flames, and smouldring dreriment, Through riuen cloudes and molten firmament; The fierce threeforked engin making way, Both loftie towres and highest trees hath rent, And all that might his angrie passage stay, And shooting in the earth, casts vp a mount of clay. < 1.8.10> He could not rearen vp againe so light, But that the knight him at auantage found, And whiles he stroue his combred clubbe to quight Out of the earth, with blade all burning bright He smote off his left arme, which like a blocke Did fall to ground, depriu'd of natiue might; Large streames of bloud out of the truncked stocke Forth gushed, like fresh water streame from riuen rocke. < 1.8.11> And eke impatient of vnwonted paine, He loudly brayd with beastly yelling sound, That all the fields rebellowed againe; As great a noyse, as when in Cymbrian plaine An heard of Bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting, Do for the milkie mothers want complaine, And fill the fields with troublous bellowing, The neighbour woods around with hollow murmur ring. < 1.8.12> The euill stownd, that daungerd her estate, Vnto his aide she hastily did draw Her dreadfull beast, who swolne with bloud of late Came ramping forth with proud presumpteous gate, And threatned all his heads like flaming brands. But him the Squire made quickly to retrate, Encountring fierce with single sword in hand, And twixt him and his Lord did like a bulwarke stand. < 1.8.13> And fierce disdaine, to be affronted so, Enforst her purple beast with all her might That stop out of the way to ouerthroe, Scorning the let of so vnequall foe: But nathemore would that courageous swayne To her yeeld passage, gainst his Lord to goe, But with outrageous strokes did him restraine, And with his bodie bard the way atwixt them twaine. < 1.8.14> Which still she bore, replete with magick artes; Death and despeyre did many thereof sup, And secret poyson through their inner parts, Th'eternall bale of heauie wounded harts; Which after charmes and some enchauntments said, She lightly sprinkled on his weaker parts; Therewith his sturdie courage soone was quayd, And all his senses were with suddeine dread dismayd. < 1.8.15> Who on his necke his bloudie clawes did seize, That life nigh crusht out of his panting brest: No powre he had to stirre, nor will to rize. That when the carefull knight gan well auise, He lightly left the foe, with whom he fought, And to the beast gan turne his enterprise; For wondrous anguish in his hart it wrought, To see his loued Squire into such thraldome brought. < 1.8.16> Stroke one of those deformed heads so sore, That of his puissance proud ensample made; His monstrous scalpe downe to his teeth it tore, And that misformed shape mis-shaped more: A sea of bloud gusht from the gaping wound, That her gay garments staynd with filthy gore, And ouerflowed all the field around; That ouer shoes in bloud he waded on the ground. < 1.8.17> That to haue heard, great horror would haue bred, And scourging th'emptie ayre with his long traine, Through great impatience of his grieued hed His gorgeous ryder from her loftie sted Would haue cast downe, and trod in durtie myre, Had not the Gyant soone her succoured; Who all enrag'd with smart and franticke yre, Came hurtling in full fierce, and forst the knight retyre. < 1.8.18> In one alone left hand he now vnites, Which is through rage more strong then both were erst; With which his hideous club aloft he dites, And at his foe with furious rigour smites, That strongest Oake might seeme to ouerthrow. The stroke vpon his shield so heauie lites, That to the ground it doubleth him full low What mortall wight could euer beare so monstrous blow? < 1.8.19> Did loose his vele by chaunce, and open flew: The light whereof, that heauens light did pas, Such blazing brightnesse through the aier threw, That eye mote not the same endure to vew. Which when the Gyaunt spyde with staring eye, He downe let fall his arme, and soft withdrew His weapon huge, that heaued was on hye For to haue slaine the man, that on the ground did lye. < 1.8.20> At flashing beames of that sunshiny shield, Became starke blind, and all his senses daz'd, That downe he tumbled on the durtie field, And seem'd himselfe as conquered to yield. Whom when his maistresse proud perceiu'd to fall, Whiles yet his feeble feet for faintnesse reeld, Vnto the Gyant loudly she gan call, O helpe Orgoglio, helpe, or else we perish all. < 1.8.21> Her champion stout, and for to ayde his frend, Againe his wonted angry weapon proou'd: But all in vaine: for he has read his end In that bright shield, and all their forces spend Themselues in vaine: for since that glauncing sight, He hath no powre to hurt, nor to defend; As where th'Almighties lightning brond does light, It dimmes the dazed eyen, and daunts the senses quight. < 1.8.22> And threatning high his dreadfull stroke did see, His sparkling blade about his head he blest, And smote off quite his right leg by the knee, That downe he tombled; as an aged tree, High growing on the top of rocky clift, Whose hartstrings with keene steele nigh hewen be, The mightie trunck halfe rent, with ragged rift Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift. < 1.8.23> By subtile engins and malitious slight Is vndermined from the lowest ground And her foundation forst, and feebled quight, At last downe falles, and with her heaped hight Her hastie ruine does more heauie make, And yields it selfe vnto the victours might; Such was this Gyaunts fall, that seemd to shake The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake. < 1.8.24> With mortall steele him smot againe so sore, That headlesse his vnweldy bodie lay, All wallowd in his owne fowle bloudy gore, Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous store, But soone as breath out of his breast did pas, That huge great body, which the Gyaunt bore, Was vanisht quite, and of that monstrous mas Was nothing left, but like an emptie bladder was. < 1.8.25> Her golden cup she cast vnto the ground, And crowned mitre rudely threw aside; Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did wound, That she could not endure that dolefull stound, But leauing all behind her, fled away: The light-foot Squire her quickly turnd around, And by hard meanes enforcing her to stay, So brought vnto his Lord, as his deserued pray. < 1.8.26> In pensiue plight, and sad perplexitie, The whole atchieuement of this doubtfull warre, Came running fast to greet his victorie, With sober gladnesse, and myld modestie, And with sweet ioyous cheare him thus bespake; Faire braunch of noblesse, flowre of cheualrie, That with your worth the world amazed make, How shall I quite the paines, ye suffer for my sake? {reciprocate+} < 1.8.27> Whom these sad eyes saw nigh vnto deaths dore, What hath poore Virgin for such perill past, Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore My simple selfe, and seruice euermore; And he that high does sit, and all things see With equall eyes, their merites to restore, Behold what ye this day haue done for mee, And what I cannot quite, requite with vsuree. < 1.8.28> Haue made you maister of the field this day, Your fortune maister eke with gouerning, And well begun end all so well, I pray, Ne let that wicked woman scape away; For she it is, that did my Lord bethrall, My dearest Lord, and deepe in dongeon lay, Where he his better dayes hath wasted all. O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does call. < 1.8.29> That scarlot whore to keepen carefully; Whiles he himselfe with greedie great desire Into the Castle entred forcibly, Where liuing creature none he did espye; Then gan he lowdly through the house to call: But no man car'd to answere to his crye. There raignd a solemne silence ouer all, Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene in bowre or hall. < 1.8.30> An old old man, with beard as white as snow, That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame, And guide his wearie gate both too and fro: For his eye sight him failed long ygo, And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore, The which vnused rust did ouergrow: Those were the keyes of euery inner dore, But he could not them vse, but kept them still in store. < 1.8.31> How he did fashion his vntoward pace, For as he forward moou'd his footing old, So backward still was turnd his wrincled face, Vnlike to men, who euer as they trace, Both feet and face one way are wont to lead. This was the auncient keeper of that place, And foster father of the Gyant dead; His name Ignaro+ did his nature right aread. < 1.8.32> The knight much honord, as beseemed well, And gently askt, where all the people bee, Which in that stately building wont to dwell. Who answerd him full soft, he could not tell. Againe he askt, where that same knight was layd, Whom great Orgoglio with his puissaunce fell Had made his caytiue thrall; againe he sayde, He could not tell: ne euer other answere made. < 1.8.33> He could not tell, againe he answered. Thereat the curteous knight displeased was, And said, Old sire, it seemes thou hast not red How ill it sits with that same siluer hed In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee: But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed With natures pen, in ages graue degree, Aread in grauer wise, what I demaund of thee. < 1.8.34> Whose senceless speach, and doted ignorance When as the noble Prince had marked well, He ghest his nature by his countenance, And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance. Then to him stepping, from his arme did reach Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance. Each dore he opened without any breach; There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to empeach. < 1.8.35> With royall arras and resplendent gold. And did with store of euery thing abound, That greatest Princes presence might behold. But all the floore (too filthy to be told) With bloud of guiltlesse babes, and innocents trew, Which there were slaine, as sheepe out of the fold, Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew, And sacred ashes ouer it was strowed new. < 1.8.36> An Altare, caru'd with cunning imagery, On which true Christians bloud was often spilt, And holy Martyrs often doen to dye, With cruell malice and strong tyranny: Whose blessed sprites from vnderneath the stone To God for vengeance cryde continually, And with great griefe were often heard to grone, That hardest heart would bleede, to heare their piteous mone. < 1.8.37> But no where could he find that wofull thrall: At last he came vnto an yron doore, That fast was lockt, but key found not at all Emongst that bounch, to open it withall; But in the same a little grate was pight, Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd did call With all his powre, to weet, if liuing wight Were housed therewithin, whom he enlargen might. < 1.8.38> These piteous plaints and dolours did resound; O who is that, which brings me happy choyce Of death, that here lye dying euery stound, Yet liue perforce in balefull darkenesse bound? For now three Moones haue chãged thrice their hew, And haue beene thrice hid vnderneath the ground, Since I the heauens chearefull face did vew, O welcome thou, that doest of death bring tydings trew. < 1.8.39> Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore, And trembling horrour ran through euery ioynt, For ruth of gentle knight so fowle forlore: Which shaking off, he rent that yron dore, With furious force, and indignation fell; Where entred in, his foot could find no flore, But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell, That breathed euer forth a filthie banefull smell. < 1.8.40> Nor noyous smell his purpose could withhold, (Entire affection+ hateth nicer hands) But that with constant+ zeale, and courage bold, After long paines and labours manifold, He found the meanes that Prisoner vp to reare; Whose feeble thighes, vnhable to vphold His pined corse, him scarse to light could beare, A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere. < 1.8.41> Could not endure th'vnwonted sunne to view; His bare thin cheekes for want of better bits, And empty sides deceiued of their dew, Could make a stony hart his hap to rew; His rawbone armes, whose mighty brawned bowrs Were wont to riue steele plates, and helmets hew, Were cleane consum'd, and all his vitall powres Decayd, and all his flesh shronk vp like withered flowres. < 1.8.42> With hasty ioy: to see him made her glad, And sad to view his visage pale and wan, Who earst in flowres of freshest youth was clad. Tho when her well of teares she wasted had, She said, Ah dearest Lord, what euill starre On you hath fround, and pourd his influence bad, That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre, And this misseeming hew your manly looks doth marre? < 1.8.43> Whose presence I haue lackt too long a day; And fie on Fortune mine auowed foe, Whose wrathfull wreakes them selues do now alay. And for these wrongs shall treble penaunce pay Of treble good: good growes of euils priefe. The chearelesse man, whom sorrow did dismay, Had no delight to treaten of his griefe; His long endured famine needed more reliefe. < 1.8.44> The things, that grieuous were to do, or beare, Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight: Best musicke+ breeds delight in loathing eare: But th'onely good, that growes of passed feare, Is to be wise, and ware of like agein. This dayes ensample hath this lesson deare Deepe written in my heart with yron pen, That blisse may not abide in state of mortall men. < 1.8.45> And maister these mishaps with patient might; Loe where your foe lyes stretcht in monstrous length, And loe that wicked woman in your sight, The roote of all your care, and wretched plight, Now in your powre, to let her liue, or dye. To do her dye (quoth Vna) were despight, And shame t'auenge so weake an enimy; But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her fly. < 1.8.46> And robd of royall robes, and purple pall, And ornaments that richly were displaid; Ne spared they to strip her naked all. Then when they had despoild her tire and call, Such as she was, their eyes might her behold, That her misshaped parts did them appall, A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill fauoured, old, Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told. < 1.8.47> And as in hate of honorable eld, Was ouergrowne with scurfe and filthy scald; Her teeth out of her rotten gummes were feld, And her sowre breath abhominably smeld; Her dried dugs, like bladders lacking wind, Hong downe, and filthy matter from them weld; Her wrizled skin as rough, as maple rind, So scabby was, that would haue loathd all womankind. < 1.8.48> My chaster Muse for shame doth blush to write; But at her rompe she growing had behind A foxes taile, with dong all fowly dight; And eke her feete most monstrous were in sight; For one of them was like an Eagles claw, With griping talaunts armd to greedy fight, The other like a Beares vneuen paw: More vgly shape yet neuer liuing creature saw. < 1.8.49> And wondred at so fowle deformed wight. Such then (said Vna) as she seemeth here, Such is the face of falshood, such the sight Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light Is laid away, and counterfesaunce knowne. Thus when they had the witch disrobed quight, And all her filthy feature open showne, They let her goe at will, and wander wayes vnknowne. < 1.8.50> And from the world that her discouered wide, Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace, From liuing eyes her open shame to hide, And lurkt in rocks and caues long vnespide. But that faire crew of knights, and Vna faire Did in that castle afterwards abide, To rest them selues, and weary powres repaire, Where store they found of all, that dainty was and rare. < 1.9.1> His loues and lignage Arthur tells
O Goodly golden chaine+, {ring+}
wherewith yfere
< 1.9.2> With dew repast they had recured well, And that weake captiue wight now wexed strong, Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell, But forward fare, as their aduentures fell, But ere they parted, Vna faire besought That straunger knight his name and nation tell; Least so great good, as he for her had wrought, Should die vnknown, & buried be in thanklesse+ thought. < 1.9.3> A thing without the compas of my wit: For both the lignage and the certain Sire, From which I sprong, from me are hidden yit. For all so soone as life did me admit Into this world, and shewed heauens light, From mothers pap I taken was vnfit: And streight deliuered to a Faery knight, To be vpbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might. < 1.9.4> Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath beene In warlike feates th'expertest man aliue, And is the wisest now on earth I weene; His dwelling is low in a valley greene, Vnder the foot of Rauran mossy hore, From whence the riuer Dee as siluer cleene His tombling billowes rolls with gentle rore: There all my dayes he traind me vp in vertuous lore. < 1.9.5> As was his vse, ofttimes to visit me: For he had charge my discipline to frame, And Tutours nouriture to ouersee. Him oft and oft I askt in priuitie, Of what loines and what lignage I did spring: Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee, That I was sonne and heire vnto a king, As time in her iust terme the truth to light should bring. < 1.9.6> And Pupill fit for such a Tutours hand. But what aduenture, or what high intent Hath brought you hither into Faery land, Aread Prince Arthur, crowne of Martiall band? Full hard it is (quoth he) to read aright The course of heauenly cause, or vnderstand The secret meaning of th'eternall might, That rules mens wayes, and rules the thoughts of liuing wight. < 1.9.7> Me hither sent, for cause to me vnghest, Or that fresh bleeding wound, which day and night Whilome doth rancle in my riuen brest, With forced fury following his behest, Me hither brought by wayes yet neuer found, You to haue helpt I hold my selfe yet blest. Ah curteous knight (quoth she) what secret wound Could euer find, to grieue the gentlest hart on ground? < 1.9.8> Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow, Ne euer will their feruent fury slake, Till liuing moysture into smoke do flow, And wasted life do lye in ashes low. Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire, But told it flames, and hidden it does glow, I will reuele, what ye so much desire: Ah Loue, lay downe thy bow, the whiles I may respire. < 1.9.9> When courage first does creepe in manly chest, Then first the coale of kindly heat appeares To kindle loue in euery liuing brest; But me had warnd old Timons wise behest, Those creeping flames by reason to subdew, Before their rage grew to so great vnrest, As miserable louers vse to rew, Which still wex old in woe, whiles woe still wexeth new. < 1.9.10> As losse of time, and vertues enimy I euer scornd, and ioyd to stirre vp strife, In middest of their mournfull Tragedy, Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry, And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent: Their God himselfe, grieu'd at my libertie, Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent, But I them warded all with wary gouernment. < 1.9.11> Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sound, But will at last be wonne with battrie long, Or vnawares at disauantage found; Nothing is sure, that growes on earthly ground: And who most trustes in arme of fleshly might, And boasts, in beauties chaine not to be bound, Doth soonest fall in disauentrous fight, And yeeldes his caytiue neck to victours most despight. < 1.9.12> And of my selfe now mated, as ye see; Whose prouder vaunt that proud auenging boy Did soone pluck downe, and curbd my libertie. For on a day prickt forth with iollitie Of looser life, and heat of hardiment, Raunging the forest wide on courser free, The fields, the floods, the heauens with one consent Did seeme to laugh on me, and fauour mine intent. < 1.9.13> From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd; The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight, And pillow was my helmet faire displayd: Whiles euery sence the humour sweet embayd, And slombring soft my hart did steale away, Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd Her daintie limbes full softly down did lay: So faire a creature yet saw neuer sunny day. < 1.9.14> She to me made, and bad me loue her deare, For dearely sure her loue was to me bent, As when iust time expired should appeare. But whether dreames delude, or true it were, Was neuer hart so rauisht with delight, Ne liuing man like words did euer heare, As she to me deliuered all that night; And at her parting said, She Queene of Faeries hight. < 1.9.15> And nought but pressed gras, where she had lyen, I sorrowed all so much, as earst I ioyd, And washed all her place with watry eyen. From that day forth I lou'd that face diuine; From that day forth I cast in carefull mind, To seeke her out with labour, and long tyne, And neuer vow to rest, till her I find, Nine monethes I seeke in vaine yet ni'll that vow vnbind. < 1.9.16> And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray; Yet still he stroue to cloke his inward bale, And hide the smoke, that did his fire display, Till gentle Vna thus to him gan say; O happy Queene of Faeries, that hast found Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may Defend thine honour, and thy foes confound: True Loues are oft&etilde; sown, but seldom grow on ground. < 1.9.17> Next to that Ladies loue, shalbe the place, O fairest virgin, full of heauenly light, Whose wondrous faith, exceeding earthly race, Was firmest fixt in mine extremest case, And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life, Of that great Queene may well gaine worthy grace: For onely worthy you through prowes priefe Yf liuing man mote worthy be, to be her liefe. < 1.9.18> The golden Sunne his glistring head gan shew, And sad remembraunce now the Prince amoues, With fresh desire his voyage to pursew: Als Vna earnd her traueill to renew. Then those two knights, fast friendship+ for to bynd, And loue establish each to other trew, Gaue goodly gifts+, the signes of gratefull+ mynd, And eke as pledges firme, right hands together ioynd. < 1.9.19> Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament, Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure, Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent, That any wound could heale incontinent: Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gaue A booke, wherein his Saueours testament Was writ with golden letters rich and braue; A worke of wondrous grace, and able soules to saue. < 1.9.20> To seeke his loue, and th'other for to fight With Vnaes foe, that all her realme did pray. But she now weighing the decayed plight, And shrunken synewes of her chosen knight, Would not a while her forward course pursew, Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull fight, Till he recouered had his former hew: For him to be yet weake and wearie well she knew. < 1.9.21> An armed knight towards them gallop fast, That seemed from some feared foe to fly, Or other griesly thing, that him agast. Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast, As if his feare still followed him behind; Als flew his steed, as he his bands had brast, And with his winged heeles did tread the wind, As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his kind. < 1.9.22> To be vnarmd, and curld vncombed heares Vpstaring stiffe, dismayd with vncouth dread; Nor drop of bloud in all his face appeares Nor life in limbe: and to increase his feares, In fowle reproch of knighthoods faire degree, About his neck an hempen_rope+ he weares, That with his glistring armes does ill agree; But he of rope or armes has now no memoree. < 1.9.23> To weet, what mister wight was so dismayd: There him he finds all sencelesse and aghast, That of him selfe he seemd to be afrayd; Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd, Till he these wordes to him deliuer might; Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd, And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight: For neuer knight I saw in such misseeming plight. < 1.9.24> Feare to his first amazment, staring wide With stony eyes, and hartlesse hollow hew, Astonisht stood, as one that had aspide Infernall furies, with their chaines vntide. Him yet againe, and yet againe bespake The gentle knight; who nought to him replide, But trembling euery ioynt did inly quake, And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake. < 1.9.25> For loe he comes, he comes fast after mee. Eft looking backe would faine haue runne away; But he him forst to stay, and tellen free The secret cause of his perplexitie: Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach, Could his bloud-frosen hart emboldned bee, But through his boldnesse rather feare did reach, Yet forst, at last he made through silence suddein breach. < 1.9.26> From him, that would haue forced me to dye? And is the point of death now turnd fro mee, That I may tell this haplesse history? Feare nought: (quoth he) no daunger now is nye? Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace, (Said he) the which with this vnlucky eye I late beheld, and had not greater grace Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the place. < 1.9.27> With a faire knight to keepen companee, Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe aduaunst In all affaires, and was both bold and free, But not so happie as mote happie bee: He lou'd, as was his lot, a Ladie gent, That him againe lou'd in the least degree: For she was proud, and of too high intent, And ioyd to see her louer languish and lament. {prude+} < 1.9.28> As on the way together we did fare, We met that villen (God from him me blesse) That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare, A man of hell, that cals himselfe Despaire: Who first vs greets, and after faire areedes Of tydings strange, and of aduentures rare: So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes, Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes. < 1.9.29> Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe, Which loue had launched with his deadly darts, With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe He pluckt from vs all hope of due reliefe, That earst vs held in loue of lingring life; Then hopelesse hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe Perswade vs die, to stint all further strife: To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife. < 1.9.30> That wofull louer, loathing lenger light, A wide way made to let forth liuing breath. But I more fearefull, or more luckie wight, Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight, Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare: Ne yet assur'd of life by you, Sir knight, Whose like infirmitie like chaunce may beare: But God you neuer let his charmed speeches heare. < 1.9.31> Be wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health? I wote (quoth he) whom triall late did teach, That like would not for all this worldes wealth: His subtill tongue, like dropping honny, mealt'th Into the hart, and searcheth euery vaine, That ere one be aware, by secret stealth His powre is reft, and weaknesse doth remaine. O neuer Sir desire to try his guilefull traine. < 1.9.32> Till I that treachours art haue heard and tride; And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request, Of grace do me vnto his cabin guide. I that hight Treuisan (quoth he) will ride Against my liking backe, to doe you grace: But nor for gold nor glee will I abide By you, when ye arriue in that same place; For leuer had I die, then see his deadly face. < 1.9.33> His dwelling has, low in an hollow caue, Farre vnderneath a craggie clift ypight, Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedie graue, That still for carrion carcases doth craue: On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle, Shrieking his balefull note, which euer draue Farre from that haunt all other chearefull fowle; And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle. < 1.9.34> Whereon nor fruit, nor leafe was euer seene, Did hang vpon the ragged rocky knees; On which had many wretches hanged beene, Whose carcases were scattered on the greene, And throwne about the cliffs. Arriued there, That bare-head knight for dread and dolefull teene, Would faine haue fled, ne durst approchen neare, But th'other forst him stay, and comforted in feare. < 1.9.35> That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind; His griesie lockes, long growen, and vnbound, Disordred hong about his shoulders round, And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound; His raw-bone cheekes through penurie and pine, Were shronke into his iawes, as he did neuer dine. < 1.9.36> With thornes together pind and patched was, The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts; And him beside there lay vpon the gras A drearie corse, whose life away did pas, All wallowd in his owne yet luke-warme blood, That from his wound yet welled fresh alas; In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood, And made an open passage for the gushing flood. < 1.9.37> The wofull tale that Treuisan had told, When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew, With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold, Him to auenge, before his bloud were cold, And to the villein said, Thou damned wight, The author of this fact, we here behold, What iustice can but iudge against thee right, With thine owne bloud to price his bloud, here shed in sight. < 1.9.38> Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to giue? What iustice euer other iudgement taught, But he should die, who merites not to liue? None else to death this man despayring driue, But his owne guiltie mind deseruing death. Is then vniust to each his due to giue? Or let him die, that loatheth liuing breath? Or let him die at ease, that liueth here vneath? < 1.9.39> To come vnto his wished home in haste, And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay, Is not great grace to helpe him ouer past, Or free his feet, that in the myre sticke fast? Most enuious man, that grieues at neighbours good, And fond, that ioyest in the woe thou hast, Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood Vpon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood? < 1.9.40> And happie ease, which thou doest want and craue, And further from it daily wanderest: What if some litle paine the passage haue, That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter waue? Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet graue? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please. < 1.9.41> And said, The terme of life is limited, Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it; The souldier may not moue from watchfull sted, Nor leaue his stand, vntill his Captaine bed. {duty Who life did limit by almightie doome, (Quoth he) knowes best the termes established; And he, that points the Centonell his roome, Doth license him depart at sound of morning droome. < 1.9.42> In heauen and earth? did not he all create To die againe? all ends that was begonne. Their times in his eternall booke of fate Are written sure, and haue their certaine date. Who then can striue with strong necessitie, That holds the world in his still chaunging state, Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie? Wh&etilde; houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why. < 1.9.43> The greater sin, the greater punishment: All those great battels, which thou boasts to win, Through strife, and bloud-shed, and auengement, Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent: For life must life, and bloud must bloud repay. Is not enough thy euill life forespent? For he, that once hath missed the right way, The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray. < 1.9.44> But here lie downe, and to thy rest betake, Th'ill to preuent, that life ensewen may. For what hath life, that may it loued make, And giues not rather cause it to forsake? Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife, Paine, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake; And euer fickle fortune rageth rife, All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life. < 1.9.45> If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state: For neuer knight, that dared warlike deede, More lucklesse disauentures did amate: Witnesse the dongeon deepe, wherein of late Thy life shut vp, for death so oft did call; And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date, Yet death then, would the like mishaps forestall, Into the which hereafter thou maiest happen fall. < 1.9.46> To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree? Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire High heaped vp with huge iniquitie, Against the day of wrath, to burden thee? Is not enough, that to this Ladie milde Thou falsed hast thy faith with periurie, And sold thy selfe to serue Duessa vilde, With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde? < 1.9.47> From highest heauen, and beares an equall eye? Shall he thy sins vp in his knowledge fold, And guiltie be of thine impietie? Is not his law, Let euery sinner die: Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be donne, Is it not better to doe willinglie, Then linger, till the glasse be all out ronne? Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faeries sonne. < 1.9.48> That as a swords point through his hart did perse, And in his conscience made a secret breach, Well knowing true all, that he did reherse, And to his fresh remembrance did reuerse The vgly vew of his deformed crimes, That all his manly powres it did disperse, As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes, That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes. < 1.9.49> Perceiued him to wauer weake and fraile, Whiles trembling horror did his conscience dant, And hellish anguish did his soule assaile, To driue him to despaire, and quite to quaile, He shew'd him painted in a table plaine, The damned ghosts, that doe in torments waile, And thousand feends that doe them endlesse paine With fire and brimstone, which for euer shall remaine. < 1.9.50> That nought but death before his eyes he saw, And euer burning wrath before him laid, By righteous sentence of th'Almighties law: Then gan the villein him to ouercraw, And brought vnto him swords, ropes, poison, fire, And all that might him to perdition draw; And bad him choose, what death he would desire: For death was due to him, that had prouokt Gods ire. < 1.9.51> He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene, And gaue it him in hand: his hand did quake, And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene, And troubled bloud through his pale face was seene To come, and goe with tydings from the hart, As it a running messenger had beene. At last resolu'd to worke his finall smart, He lifted vp his hand, that backe againe did start. < 1.9.52> The crudled cold ran to her well of life, As in a swowne: but soone reliu'd againe, Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife, And threw it to the ground, enraged rife, And to him said, Fie, fie, faint harted knight, What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife? Is this the battell, which thou vauntst to fight With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright? < 1.9.53> Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart, Ne diuelish thoughts dismay thy constant spright. In heauenly mercies hast thou not a part? Why shouldst thou then despeire, that chosen art? Where iustice growes, there grows eke greater grace, The which doth quench the brond of hellish smart, And that accurst hand-writing doth deface, Arise, Sir knight arise, and leaue this cursed place. < 1.9.54> Which when the carle beheld, and saw his guest Would safe depart, for all his subtill sleight, He chose an halter from among the rest, And with it hung himselfe, vnbid vnblest. But death he could not worke himselfe thereby; For thousand times he so himselfe had drest, Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die, Till he should die his last, that is eternally. < 1.10.1> Cant. X. Her faithfull knight faire Vna brings
WHat man is he, that boasts of fleshly might,
< 1.10.2> That this her knight was feeble, and too faint; And all his sinews woxen weake and raw, Through long enprisonment, and hard constraint, Which he endured in his late restraint, That yet he was vnfit for bloudie fight: Therefore to cherish him with diets daint, She cast to bring him, where he chearen might, Till he recouered had his late decayed plight. < 1.10.3> Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore, And pure vnspotted life: so well they say It gouernd was, and guided euermore, Through wisedome of a matrone graue and hore; Whose onely ioy was to relieue the needes Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore: All night she spent in bidding of her bedes, And all the day in doing good and godly deedes. {benefits+} < 1.10.4> From heauen to come, or thither to arise, The mother of three daughters, well vpbrought In goodly thewes, and godly exercise: The eldest two most sober, chast, and wise, Fidelia and Speranza virgins were, Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize; But faire Charissa to a louely fere Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere. < 1.10.5> For it was warely watched night and day, For feare of many foes: but when they knockt, The Porter opened vnto them streight way: He was an aged syre, all hory gray, With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full slow, Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay, Hight Humiltá. They passe in stouping low; For streight & narrow was the way, which he did show. < 1.10.6> But entred in a spacious court they see, Both plaine, and pleasant to be walked in, Where them does meete a francklin faire and free, And entertaines with comely courteous glee, His name was Zele, that him right well became, For in his speeches and behauiour hee Did labour liuely to expresse the same, And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came. < 1.10.7> Of milde demeanure, and rare courtesie, Right cleanly clad in comely sad attire; In word and deede that shew'd great modestie, And knew his good to all of each degree, Hight Reuerence. He them with speeches meet Does faire entreat; no courting nicetie, But simple true, and eke vnfained sweet, As might become a Squire so great persons to greet. < 1.10.8> That aged Dame, the Ladie of the place: Who all this while was busie at her beades: Which doen, she vp arose with seemely grace, And toward them full matronely did pace. Where when that fairest Vna she beheld, Whom well she knew to spring from heauenly race, Her hart with ioy vnwonted inly sweld, As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld. < 1.10.9> Whereon thy innocent feet doe euer tread, Most vertuous virgin borne of heauenly berth, That to redeeme thy woefull parents head, From tyrans rage, and euer-dying dread, Hast wandred through the world now long a day; Yet ceasest not thy wearie soles to lead, What grace hath thee now hither brought this way? Or doen thy feeble feet vnweeting hither stray? < 1.10.10> Here in this place, or any other wight, That hither turnes his steps. So few there bee, That chose the narrow path, or seeke the right: All keepe the broad high way, and take delight With many rather for to go astray, And be partakers of their euill plight, Then with a few to walke the rightest way; O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay? < 1.10.11> O matrone sage (quoth she) I hither came, And this good knight his way with me addrest, Led with thy prayses and broad-blazed fame, That vp to heauen is blowne. The auncient Dame Him goodly greeted in her modest guise, And entertaynd them both, as best became, With all the court'sies, that she could deuise. Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise. < 1.10.12> Loe two most goodly virgins came in place, Ylinked arme in arme in louely wise, With countenance demure, and modest grace, They numberd euen steps and equall pace: Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight, Like sunny beames threw from her Christall face, That could haue dazd the rash beholders sight, And round about her head did shine like heauens light. < 1.10.13> And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, With wine and water fild vp to the hight, In which a Serpent did himselfe enfold, That horrour made to all, that did behold; But she no whit did chaunge her constant+ mood: And in her other hand she fast did hold A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood, Wherein darke things were writ, hard to be vnderstood. < 1.10.14> Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well; Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight, As was her sister; whether dread did dwell, Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell: Vpon her arme a siluer anchor lay, Whereon she leaned euer, as befell: And euer vp to heauen, as she did pray, Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarued other way. < 1.10.15> Who them encounters with like courtesie; Many kind speeches they betwene them spend, And greatly ioy each other well to see: Then to the knight with shamefast modestie They turne themselues, at Vnaes meeke request, And him salute with well beseeming glee: Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best, And goodly gan discourse of many a noble gest. < 1.10.16> The deare Charissa where is she become? Or wants she health, or busie is elsewhere? Ah no, said they, but forth she may not come: For she of late is lightned of her wombe, And hath encreast the world with one sonne more, That her to see should be but troublesome. Indeede (quoth she) that should her trouble sore, But thankt be God, and her encrease so euermore. < 1.10.17> And you good Sir, I wote that of your toyle, And labours long, through which ye hither came, Ye both forwearied be: therefore a whyle I read you rest, and to your bowres recoyle. Then called she a Groome, that forth him led Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bed; His name was meeke Obedience rightfully ared. < 1.10.18> And bodies were refresht with due repast, Faire Vna gan Fidelia faire request, To haue her knight into her schoolehouse plaste, That of her heauenly learning he might taste, And heare the wisedome of her words diuine. She graunted, and that knight so much agraste, That she him taught celestiall discipline, And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine. < 1.10.19> That none could read, except she did them teach, She vnto him disclosed euery whit, And heauenly documents thereout did preach, That weaker wit of man could neuer reach, Of God, of grace, of iustice+, of free will, That wonder was to heare her goodly speach: For she was able, with her words to kill, And raise againe to life the hart, that she did thrill. < 1.10.20> She would commaund the hastie Sunne to stay, Or backward turne his course from heauens hight; Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay, Dry-shod to passe, she parts the flouds in tway; And eke huge mountaines from their natiue seat She would commaund, themselues to beare away, And throw in raging sea with roaring threat. Almightie God her gaue such powre, and puissance great. < 1.10.21> By hearing her, and by her sisters lore, To such perfection of all heauenly grace, That wretched world he gan for to abhore, And mortall life gan loath, as thing forlore, Greeu'd with remembrance of his wicked wayes, And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so sore, That he desirde to end his wretched dayes: So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes. < 1.10.22> And taught him how to take assured hold Vpon her siluer anchor, as was meet; Else had his sinnes so great, and manifold Made him forget all that Fidelia told. In this distressed doubtfull agonie, When him his dearest Vna did behold, Disdeining life, desiring leaue to die, She found her selfe assayld with great perplexitie. < 1.10.23> Who well acquainted with that commune plight, Which sinfull horror workes in wounded hart, Her wisely comforted all that she might, With goodly counsell and aduisement right; And streightway sent with carefull diligence, To fetch a Leach, the which had great insight In that disease of grieued conscience, And well could cure the same; His name was Patience+. < 1.10.24> Could hardly him intreat, to tell his griefe: Which knowne, and all that noyd his heauie spright Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply reliefe Of salues and med'cines, which had passing priefe, And thereto added words of wondrous might: By which to ease he him recured briefe, And much asswag'd the passion of his plight, That he his paine endur'd, as seeming now more light. < 1.10.25> Inward corruption, and infected sin, Not purg'd nor heald, behind remained still, And festring sore did rankle yet within, Close creeping twixt the marrow and the skin. Which to extirpe, he laid him priuily Downe in a darkesome lowly place farre in, Whereas he meant his corrosiues to apply, And with streight diet tame his stubborne malady. < 1.10.26> His daintie corse, proud humors to abate, And dieted with fasting euery day, The swelling of his wounds to mitigate, And made him pray both earely and eke late: And euer as superfluous flesh did rot Amendment readie still at hand did wayt, To pluck it out with pincers firie whot, That soone in him was left no one corrupted iot. < 1.10.27> Was wont him once to disple euery day: And sharpe Remorse his hart did pricke and nip, That drops of bloud thence like a well did play; And sad Repentance vsed to embay His bodie in salt water smarting sore, The filthy blots of sinne to wash away. So in short space they did to health restore The man that would not liue, but earst lay at deathes dore. < 1.10.28> That like a Lyon he would cry and rore, And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes eat. His owne deare Vna hearing euermore His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often tore Her guiltlesse garments, and her golden heare, For pitty of his paine and anguish sore; Yet all with patience wisely she did beare; For well she wist, his crime could else be neuer cleare. < 1.10.29> And trew Repentance they to Vna brought: Who ioyous of his cured conscience, Him dearely kist, and fairely eke besought Himselfe to chearish, and consuming thought To put away out of his carefull brest. By this Charissa, late in child-bed brought, Was woxen strong, and left her fruitfull nest; To her faire Vna brought this vnacquainted guest. < 1.10.30> Of wondrous beauty, and of bountie rare, With goodly grace and comely personage, That was on earth not easie to compare; Full of great loue, but Cupids wanton snare {love_lust+} As hell she hated, chast in worke and will; Her necke and breasts were euer open bare, That ay thereof her babes might sucke their fill; The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still. < 1.10.31> Playing their sports, that ioyd her to behold, Whom still she fed, whiles they were weake & young, But thrust them forth still, as they wexed old: And on her head she wore a tyre of gold, Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous faire, Whose passing price vneath was to be told; And by her side there sate a gentle paire Of turtle doues, she sitting in an yuorie chaire. < 1.10.32> And bid her ioy of that her happie brood; Who them requites with court'sies seeming meet, And entertaines with friendly chearefull mood. Then Vna her besought, to be so good, As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight, Now after all his torment well withstood, In that sad house of Penaunce, where his spright Had past the paines of hell, and long enduring night. < 1.10.33> And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne, Gan him instruct in euery good behest, Of loue+, and righteousnesse+, and well to donne, And wrath+, and hatred warely to shonne, That drew on men Gods hatred, and his wrath, And many soules in dolours had fordonne: In which when him she well instructed hath, From thence to heauen she teacheth him the ready path. < 1.10.34> An auncient matrone she to her does call, Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descride: Her name was Mercie, well knowne ouer all, To be both gratious, and eke liberall: To whom the carefull charge of him she gaue, To lead aright, that he should neuer fall In all his wayes through this wide worldes waue, That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might saue. < 1.10.35> Forth from her presence, by a narrow way, Scattred with bushy thornes, and ragged breares, Which still before him she remou'd away, That nothing might his ready passage stay: And euer when his feet encombred were, Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to stray, She held him fast, and firmely did vpbeare, As carefull Nourse her child from falling oft does reare. < 1.10.36> That was fore by the way, she did him bring, In which seuen Bead-men that had vowed all Their life to seruice of high heauens king Did spend their dayes in doing godly thing: Their gates to all were open euermore, That by the wearie way were traueiling, And one sate wayting euer them before, To call in-commers by, that needy were and pore. < 1.10.37> Of all the house had charge and gouernement, As Guardian and Steward of the rest: His office was to giue entertainement And lodging, vnto all that came, and went: Not vnto such, as could him feast againe, And double quite, for that he on them spent, But such, as want of harbour did constraine: Those for Gods sake his dewty was to entertaine. {guest+} < 1.10.38> His office was, the hungry for to feed, And thristy giue to drinke, a worke of grace: He feard not once him selfe to be in need, Ne car'd to hoord for those, whom he did breede: The grace of God he layd vp still in store, Which as a stocke he left vnto his seede; He had enough, what need him care for more? {morrow+} And had he lesse, yet some he would giue to the pore. < 1.10.39> In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay, The plumes of pride, and wings of vanitie, But clothes meet to keepe keene could away, And naked nature seemely to aray; With which bare wretched wights he dayly clad, The images of God in earthly clay; And if that no spare cloths to giue he had, His owne coate he would cut, and it distribute glad. < 1.10.40> Poore prisoners to relieue with gratious ayd, And captiues to redeeme with price of bras, From Turkes and Sarazins, which them had stayd; And though they faultie were, yet well he wayd, That God to vs forgiueth euery howre Much more then that, why they in bands were layd, And he that harrowd hell with heauie stowre, The faultie soules from thence brought to his heauenly bowre. < 1.10.41> And comfort those, in point of death which lay; For them most needeth comfort in the end, When sin, and hell, and death do most dismay The feeble soule departing hence away. All is but lost, that liuing we bestow, If not well ended at our dying day. {posterity] O man haue mind of that last bitter throw; For as the tree does fall, so lyes it euer low. < 1.10.42> In seemely sort their corses to engraue, And deck with dainty flowres their bridall bed, That to their heauenly spouse both sweet and braue They might appeare, when he their soules shall saue. The wondrous workemanship of Gods owne mould, Whose face he made, all beasts to feare, and gaue All in his hand, euen dead we honour should. Ah dearest God me graunt, I dead be not defould. < 1.10.43> Had charge the tender Orphans of the dead And widowes ayd, least they should be vndone: In face of iudgement he their right would plead, Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread In their defence, nor would for gold or fee Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread: And when they stood in most necessitee, He did supply their want, and gaue them euer free. < 1.10.44> The first and chiefest of the seuen, whose care Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas: Where seeing Mercie, that his steps vp bare, And alwayes led, to her with reuerence rare He humbly louted in meeke lowlinesse, And seemely welcome for her did prepare: For of their order she was Patronesse, Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse. < 1.10.45> That to the rest more able he might bee: During which time, in euery good behest And godly worke of Almes and charitee She him instructed with great industree; Shortly therein so perfect he became, That from the first vnto the last degree, His mortall life he learned had to frame In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame. < 1.10.46> Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy; On top whereof a sacred chappell was, And eke a litle Hermitage thereby, Wherein an aged holy man did lye, That day and night said his deuotion, Ne other worldly busines did apply; His name was heauenly Contemplation+; Of God and goodnesse was his meditation. < 1.10.47> For God he often saw from heauens hight, All were his earthly eyen both blunt and bad, And through great age had lost their kindly sight, Yet wondrous quick and persant was his spright, As Eagles eye, that can behold the Sunne: That hill they scale with all their powre and might, That his frayle thighes nigh wearie and fordonne Gan faile, but by her helpe the top at last he wonne. < 1.10.48> With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed, As hoarie frost with spangles doth attire The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded. Each bone might through his body well be red, And euery sinew seene through his long fast: For nought he car'd his carcas long vnfed; His mind was full of spirituall repast, And pyn'd his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast. < 1.10.49> At their first presence grew agrieued sore, That forst him lay his heauenly thoughts aside; And had he not that Dame respected more, Whom highly he did reuerence and adore, He would not once haue moued for the knight. They him saluted standing far afore; Who well them greeting, humbly did requight, And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height. < 1.10.50> But that same end, which euery liuing wight Should make his marke, high heauen to attaine? Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right To that most glorious house, that glistreth bright With burning starres, and euerliuing fire, Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight By wise Fidelia? she doth thee require, To shew it to this knight, according his desire. < 1.10.51> Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead, And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to saue. Who better can the way to heauen aread, Then thou thy selfe, {reason+?} that was both borne and bred In heauenly throne, where thousand Angels shine? Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead Present before the maiestie diuine, And his auenging wrath to clemencie+ incline. < 1.10.52> Then come thou man of earth, and see the way, That neuer yet was seene of Faeries sonne, That neuer leads the traueiler astray, But after labours long, and sad delay, Brings them to ioyous rest and endlesse blis. But first thou must a season fast and pray, Till from her bands the spright assoiled is, And haue her strength recur'd from fraile infirmitis. < 1.10.53> Such one, as that same mighty man of God, That bloud-red billowes like a walled front On either side disparted with his rod, Till that his army dry-foot through them yod, Dwelt fortie dayes vpon; where writ in stone With bloudy letters by the hand of God, The bitter doome of death and balefull mone He did receiue, whiles flashing fire about him shone. < 1.10.54> Adornd with fruitfull Oliues all arownd, Is, as it were for endlesse memory Of that deare Lord, who oft thereon was fownd, For euer with a flowring girlond crownd: Or like that pleasaunt Mount, that is for ay Through famous Poets verse each where renownd, On which the thrise three learned Ladies play Their heauenly notes, and make full many a louely lay. < 1.10.55> A litle path, that was both steepe and long, Which to a goodly Citie led his vew; Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell; Too high a ditty for my simple song; The Citie of the great king hight it well, Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell. < 1.10.56> The blessed Angels to and fro descend From highest heauen, in gladsome companee, And with great ioy into that Citie wend, As commonly as friend+ does with his frend. Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere, What stately building durst so high extend Her loftie towres vnto the starry sphere, And what vnknowen nation there empeopled were. < 1.10.57> The new Hierusalem, that God has built For those to dwell in, that are chosen his, His chosen people purg'd from sinfull guilt, With pretious bloud, which cruelly was spilt On cursed tree, of that vnspotted lam, That for the sinnes of all the world was kilt: Now are they Saints all in that Citie sam, More deare vnto their God, then yoũglings to their dam. < 1.10.58> That great Cleopolis, where I haue beene, In which that fairest Faerie Queene doth dwell, The fairest Citie was, that might be seene; And that bright towre all built of christall cleene, Panthea, seemd the brightest thing, that was: But now by proofe all otherwise I weene; For this great Citie that does far surpas, And this bright Angels towre quite dims that towre of glas. < 1.10.59> Yet is Cleopolis for earthly frame, The fairest peece, that eye beholden can: And well beseemes all knights of noble name, That couet in th'immortall booke of fame {posterity+} To be eternized, that same to haunt, And doen their seruice to that soueraigne Dame, That glorie does to them for guerdon graunt: For she is heauenly borne, and heauen may iustly vaunt. < 1.10.60> How euer now accompted Elfins sonne, Well worthy doest thy seruice for her grace, To aide a virgin desolate foredonne. {glory+} But when thou famous victorie hast wonne, And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield, Thenceforth the suit of earthly conquest shonne, And wash thy hands from guilt of bloudy field: For bloud can nought but sin, & wars but sorrowes yield. < 1.10.61> Which after all to heauen shall thee send; Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage To yonder same Hierusalem do bend, Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end: For thou emongst those Saints, whom thou doest see, Shalt be a Saint, and thine owne nations frend And Patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee, Saint George of mery England, the signe of victoree. < 1.10.62> How dare I thinke such glory to attaine? These that haue it attaind, were in like cace (Quoth he) as wretched, and liu'd in like paine. But deeds of armes must I at last be faine, And Ladies loue to leaue so dearely bought? What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine, (Said he) and battailes none are to be fought? As for loose loues they are vaine, and vanish into nought. < 1.10.63> Backe to the world, whose ioyes so fruitlesse are; But let me here for aye in peace remaine, Or streight way on that last long voyage fare, That nothing may my present hope empare. That may not be (said he) ne maist thou yit Forgo that royall maides bequeathed care, Who did her cause into thy hand commit, Till from her cursed foe thou haue her freely quit. < 1.10.64> Abet that virgins cause disconsolate, And shortly backe returne vnto this place, To walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate. But now aread, old father, why of late Didst thou behight me borne of English blood, Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate? That word shall I (said he) auouchen good, Sith to thee is vnknowne the cradle of thy brood. < 1.10.65> Of Saxon kings, that haue with mightie hand And many bloudie battailes fought in place High reard their royall throne in Britane land, And vanquisht them, vnable to withstand: From thence a Faerie thee vnweeting reft, There as thou slepst in tender swadling band, And her base Elfin brood there for thee left. Such men do Chaungelings call, so chaungd by Faeries theft. < 1.10.66> And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde, Where thee a Ploughman all vnweeting fond, As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde, And brought thee vp in ploughmans state to byde, Whereof Georgos he thee gaue to name; Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde, To Faery court thou cam'st to seeke for fame, {glory And proue thy puissaunt armes, as seemes thee best became. < 1.10.67> The many fauours+ I with thee haue found, That hast my name and nation red aright, And taught the way that does to heauen bound? This said, adowne he looked to the ground, To haue returnd, but dazed were his eyne, Through passing brightnesse, which did quite cõfound His feeble sence, and too exceeding shyne. So darke are earthly things compard to things diuine. < 1.10.68> To Vna back he cast him to retire; Who him awaited still with pensiue mind. Great thankes and goodly meed to that good syre, He thence departing gaue for his paines hyre. So came to Vna, who him ioyd to see, And after litle rest, gan him desire, Of her aduenture mindfull for to bee. So leaue they take of Coelia, and her daughters three. < 1.11.1> The knight with that old Dragon fights
HIgh time now gan it wex for Vna faire,
< 1.11.2> And to the place, where all our perils dwell; Here haunts that feend, and does his dayly spoyle, Therefore henceforth be at your keeping well, And euer ready for your foeman fell. The sparke of noble courage now awake, And striue your excellent selfe to excell; That shall ye euermore renowmed {glory+} make, Aboue all knights on earth, that batteill vndertake. < 1.11.3> The brasen towre in which my parents deare For dread of that huge feend emprisond be Whom I from far see on the walles appeare Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly cheare: And on the top of all I do espye The watchman wayting tydings glad to heare, That ô my parents might I happily Vnto you bring, to ease you of your misery. < 1.11.4> That all the ayre with terrour filled wide, And seemd vneath to shake the stedfast ground. Eftsoones that dreadfull Dragon they espide, Where stretcht he lay vpon the sunny side Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill. But all so soone, as he from far descride Those glistring armes, that heauen with light did fill, He rousd himselfe full blith, and hastned them vntill. < 1.11.5> And to an hill her selfe with draw aside, From whence she might behold that battailles proof And eke be safe from daunger far descryde: She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde. Now O thou sacred Muse, most learned Dame, Faire ympe of Phoebus, and his aged bride, The Nourse of time, and euerlasting fame, That warlike hands ennoblest with immortall name; {posterity+} < 1.11.6> Come gently, but not with that mighty rage, Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest, And harts of great Heroës doest enrage, That nought their kindled courage may aswage, Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to sownd; The God of warre with his fiers equipage Thou doest awake, sleepe neuer he so sownd, And scared nations doest with horrour sterne astownd. < 1.11.7> Till I of warres and bloudy Mars do sing, And Briton fields with Sarazin bloud bedyde, Twixt that great faery Queene and Paynim king, That with their horrour heauen and earth did ring, A worke of labour long, and endlesse prayse: But now a while let downe that haughtie string, And to my tunes thy second tenor rayse, That I this man of God his godly armes may blaze. < 1.11.8> Halfe flying, and halfe footing in his hast, That with his largenesse measured much land, And made wide shadow vnder his huge wast; As mountaine doth the valley ouercast. Approching nigh, he reared high afore His body monstrous, horrible, and vast, Which to increase his wondrous greatnesse more, Was swolne with wrath+, & poyson, & with bloudy gore. < 1.11.9> Like plated coate of steele, so couched neare, That nought mote perce, ne might his corse be harmd With dint of sword, nor push of pointed speare; Which as an Eagle, seeing pray appeare, His aery plumes doth rouze, full rudely dight, So shaked he, that horrour was to heare, For as the clashing of an Armour bright, Such noyse his rouzed scales did send vnto the knight. < 1.11.10> Were like two sayles, in which the hollow wynd Is gathered full, and worketh speedy way: And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd, Were like mayne-yards, with flying canuas lynd, With which whenas him list the ayre to beat, And there by force vnwonted passage find, The cloudes before him fled for terrour great, And all the heauens stood still amazed with his threat. < 1.11.11> Does ouerspred his long bras-scaly backe, Whose wreathed boughts when euer he vnfoldes, And thicke entangled knots adown does slacke. Bespotted all with shields of red and blacke, It sweepeth all the land behind him farre, And of three furlongs does but litle lacke; And at the point two stings in-fixed arre, Both deadly sharpe, that sharpest steele exceeden farre. < 1.11.12> The sharpnesse of his cruell rending clawes; Dead was it sure, as sure as death in deed, What euer thing does touch his rauenous pawes, Or what within his reach he euer drawes. But his most hideous head my toung to tell Does tremble: for his deepe deuouring iawes Wide gaped, like the griesly mouth of hell, Through which into his darke abisse all rauin fell. < 1.11.13> Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged were, In which yet trickling bloud and gobbets raw Of late deuoured bodies did appeare, That sight thereof bred cold congealed feare: Which to increase, and as atonce to kill, A cloud of smoothering smoke and sulphur seare Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still, That all the ayre about with smoke and stench did fill. < 1.11.14> Did burne with wrath, and sparkled liuing fyre; As two broad Beacons, set in open fields, Send forth their flames farre off to euery shyre, And warning giue, that enemies conspyre, With fire and sword the region to inuade; So flam'd his eyne with rage and rancorous yre: But farre within, as in a hollow glade, Those glaring lampes were set, that made a dreadfull shade. < 1.11.15> Forelifting vp aloft his speckled brest, And often bounding on the brused gras, As for great ioyance of his newcome guest. Eftsoones he gan aduance his haughtie crest, As chauffed Bore his bristles doth vpreare, And shoke his scales to battell readie drest; That made the Redcrosse knight nigh quake for feare, As bidding bold defiance to his foeman neare. < 1.11.16> And fiercely ran at him with rigorous might: The pointed steele arriuing rudely theare, His harder hide would neither perce, nor bight, But glauncing by forth passed forward right; Yet sore amoued with so puissant push, The wrathfull beast about him turned light, And him so rudely passing by, did brush With his long tayle, that horse and man to ground did rush. < 1.11.17> And fresh encounter towards him addrest: But th'idle stroke yet backe recoyld in vaine, And found no place his deadly point to rest. Exceeding rage enflam'd the furious beast, To be auenged of so great despight; For neuer felt his imperceable brest So wondrous force, from hand of liuing wight; Yet had he prou'd the powre of many a puissant knight. < 1.11.18> Himselfe vp high he lifted from the ground, And with strong flight did forcibly diuide The yielding aire, which nigh too feeble found Her flitting partes, and element vnsound, To beare so great a weight: he cutting way With his broad sayles, about him soared round: At last low stouping with vnweldie sway, Snatcht vp both horse & man, to beare them quite away. < 1.11.19> So farre as Ewghen bow a shaft may send, Till struggling strong did him at last constraine, To let them downe before his flightes end: As hagard hauke presuming to contend With hardie fowle, aboue his hable might, His wearie pounces all in vaine doth spend, To trusse the pray too heauie for his flight; Which comming downe to ground, does free it selfe by fight. < 1.11.20> The knight his thrillant speare againe assayd In his bras-plated body to embosse, And three mens strength vnto the stroke he layd; Wherewith the stiffe beame quaked, as affrayd, And glauncing from his scaly necke, did glyde Close vnder his left wing, then broad displayd. The percing steele there wrought a wound full wyde, That with the vncouth smart the Monster lowdly cryde. < 1.11.21> When wintry storme his wrathfull wreck does threat, The rolling billowes beat the ragged shore, As they the earth would shoulder from her seat, And greedie gulfe does gape, as he would eat His neighbour element in his reuenge: Then gin the blustring brethren boldly threat, To moue the world from off his stedfast henge, And boystrous battell make, each other to auenge. < 1.11.22> Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the wood, And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed fresh A gushing riuer of blacke goarie blood, That drowned all the land, whereon he stood; The streame thereof would driue a water-mill. Trebly augmented was his furious mood With bitter sense of his deepe rooted ill, That flames of fire he threw forth frõ his large nosethrill. < 1.11.23> And therewith all enwrapt the nimble thyes Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage stout Striuing to loose the knot, that fast him tyes, Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash implyes, That to the ground he is perforce constraynd To throw his rider: who can quickly ryse From off the earth, with durty bloud distaynd, For that reprochfull fall right fowly he disdaynd. < 1.11.24> With which he stroke so furious and so fell, That nothing seemd the puissance could withstand: Vpon his crest the hardned yron fell, But his more hardned crest was armd so well, That deeper dint therein it would not make; Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell, That from thenceforth he shund the like to take, But when he saw them come, he did them still forsake. < 1.11.25> And smote againe with more outrageous might; But backe againe the sparckling steele recoyld, And left not any marke, where it did light; As if in Adamant rocke it had bene pight. The beast impatient of his smarting wound, And of so fierce and forcible despight, Thought with his wings to stye aboue the ground; But his late wounded wing vnseruiceable found. < 1.11.26> He lowdly brayd, that like was neuer heard, And from his wide deuouring ouen sent A flake of fire, that flashing in his beard, Him all amazd, and almost made affeard: The scorching flame sore swinged all his face, And through his armour all his bodie seard, That he could not endure so cruell cace, But thought his armes to leaue, and helmet to vnlace. < 1.11.27> Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth vaunt, And hath for twelue huge labours high extold, So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt, When him the poysoned garment did enchaunt With Centaures bloud, and bloudie verses charm'd, As did this knight twelue thousand dolours daunt, Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that earst him arm'd, That erst him goodly arm'd, now most of all him harm'd. < 1.11.28> With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, & inward fire That neuer man such mischiefes did torment; Death better were, death did he oft desire, But death will neuer come, when needes require. Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld, He cast to suffer him no more respire, But gan his sturdie sterne about to weld, And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld. < 1.11.29> Behind his backe vnweeting, where he stood, Of auncient time there was a springing well, From which fast trickled forth a siluer flood, Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good. Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got That happie land, and all with innocent blood Defyld those sacred waues, it rightly hot The well of life, ne yet his vertues had forgot. < 1.11.30> And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away, Those that with sicknesse were infected sore, It could recure, and aged long decay Renew, as one were borne that very day. Both Silo this, and Iordan did excell, And th'English Bath, and eke the german Spau, Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus match this well: Into the same the knight backe ouerthrowen, fell. < 1.11.31> His fierie face in billowes of the west, And his faint steedes watred in Ocean deepe, Whiles from their iournall labours they did rest, When that infernall Monster, hauing kest His wearie foe into that liuing well, Can high aduance his broad discoloured brest, Aboue his wonted pitch, with countenance fell, And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell. < 1.11.32> Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay, As weening that the sad end of the warre, And gan to highest God entirely pray, That feared chance from her to turne away; With folded hands and knees full lowly bent All night she watcht, ne once adowne would lay Her daintie limbs in her sad dreriment, But praying still did wake, and waking did lament. < 1.11.33> That Titan rose to runne his daily race: But early ere the morrow next gan reare Out of the sea faire Titans deawy face, Vp rose the gentle virgin from her place, And looked all about, if she might spy Her loued knight to moue his manly pace: For she had great doubt of his safety, Since late she saw him fall before his enemy. < 1.11.34> Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay; As Eagle fresh out of the Ocean waue, Where he hath left his plumes all hoary gray, And deckt himselfe with feathers youthly gay, Like Eyas hauke vp mounts vnto the skies, His newly budded pineons to assay, And marueiles at himselfe, still as he flies: So new this new-borne knight to battell new did rise. < 1.11.35> No wonder if he wondred at the sight, And doubted, whether his late enemy It were, or other new supplied knight. He, now to proue his late renewed might, High brandishing his bright deaw-burning blade, Vpon his crested scalpe so sore did smite, That to the scull a yawning wound it made: The deadly dint his dulled senses all dismaid. < 1.11.36> 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 neuer could the force of fleshly arme, Ne molten mettall in his bloud embrew: For till that stownd could neuer wight him harme, By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme. < 1.11.37> That loud he yelded for exceeding paine; As hundred ramping Lyons seem'd to rore, Whom rauenous 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 sturdie strokes might stand afore, That high trees ouerthrew, and rocks in peeces tore. < 1.11.38> With sharpe intended sting so rude him smot, That to the earth him droue, as stricken dead, Ne liuing wight would haue him life behot: The mortall sting his angry needle shot Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd, Where fast it stucke, ne would there out be got: The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd, Ne might his ranckling paine with patience be appeasd. < 1.11.39> Then of the grieuous smart, which him did wring, From loathed soile he can him lightly reare, And stroue to loose the farre infixed sting: Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling. Inflam'd with wrath, his raging blade he heft, And.strooke so strongly, that the knotty string Of his huge taile he quite a sunder cleft, Fiue ioynts thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left. < 1.11.40> With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire, The hell-bred beast threw forth vnto the skyes, That all was couered with darknesse dire: Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire, He cast at once him to auenge for all, And gathering vp himselfe out of the mire, With his vneuen wings did fiercely fall Vpon his sunne-bright shield, and gript it fast withall. < 1.11.41> In feare to lose his weapon in his paw, Ne wist yet, how his talants to vnfold; Nor harder was from Cerberus greedie iaw To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw To reaue by strength the griped gage away: Thrise he assayd it from his foot to draw, And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay, It booted nought to thinke, to robbe him of his pray. < 1.11.42> His trustie sword he cald to his last aid, Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assaile, And double blowes about him stoutly laid, That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid; As sparckles from the Anduile vse to fly, When heauie hammers on the wedge are swaid; Therewith at last he forst him to vnty One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby. < 1.11.43> Whenas no strength, nor stroks mote him constraine To loose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield, He smot thereat with all his might and maine, That nought so wondrous puissance might sustaine; Vpon the ioynt the lucky steele did light, And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine; The paw yet missed not his minisht might, But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight. < 1.11.44> From his infernall fournace forth he threw Huge flames, that dimmed all the heauens light, Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew; As burning Aetna from his boyling stew Doth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces broke, And ragged ribs of mountaines molten new, Enwrapt in coleblacke clouds and filthy smoke, That all the land with stench, and heauen with horror choke. < 1.11.45> So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire A little backward for his best defence, To saue his bodie from the scorching fire, Which he from hellish entrailes did expire. It chaunst (eternall God that chaunce did guide) As he recoyled backward, in the mire His nigh forwearied feeble feet did slide, And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrifide. < 1.11.46> Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red, As they in pure vermilion had beene dide, Whereof great vertues ouer all were red: For happie life to all, which thereon fed, And life eke euerlasting did befall: Great God it planted in that blessed sted With his almightie hand, and did it call The tree of life, the crime of our first fathers fall. < 1.11.47> Saue in that soile, where all good things did grow, And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground, As incorrupted Nature did them sow, Till that dread Dragon all did ouerthrow. Another like faire tree eke grew thereby, Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did know Both good and ill: O mornefull memory: That tree through one mans fault hath doen vs all to dy. < 1.11.48> A trickling streame of Balme, most soueraine And daintie deare, which on the ground still fell, And ouerflowed all the fertill plaine, As it had deawed bene with timely raine: Life and long health that gratious ointment gaue, And deadly woundes could heale, and reare againe The senselesse corse appointed for the graue. Into that same he fell: which did from death him saue. < 1.11.49> Durst not approch, for he was deadly made, And all that life preserued, did detest: Yet he it oft aduentur'd to inuade. By this the drouping day-light gan to fade And yeeld his roome to sad succeeding night, Who with her sable mantle gan to shade The face of earth, and wayes of liuing wight, And high her burning torch set vp in heauen bright. < 1.11.50> Of her deare knight, who wearie of long fight, And faint through losse of bloud, mou'd not at all, But lay as in a dreame of deepe delight, Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose vertuous might Did heale his wounds, and scorching heat alay, Againe she stricken was with sore affright, And for his safetie gan deuoutly pray; And watch the noyous night, and wait for ioyous day. < 1.11.51> And faire Aurora from the deawy bed Of aged Tithone gan her selfe to reare, With rosie cheekes, for shame as blushing red; Her golden lockes for haste were loosely shed About her eares, when Vna her did marke Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred; From heauen high to chase the chearelesse darke, With merry note her loud salutes the mounting larke. < 1.11.52> All healed of his hurts and woundes wide, And did himselfe to battell readie dight; Whose early foe awaiting him beside To haue deuourd, so soone as day he spyde, When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare, As if late fight had nought him damnifyde, He woxe dismayd, and gan his fate to feare; Nathlesse with wonted rage he him aduaunced neare. < 1.11.53> He thought attonce him to haue swallowd quight, And rusht vpon him with outragious pride; Who him r'encountring fierce, as hauke in flight, Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright Taking aduantage of his open iaw, Ran through his mouth with so importune might, That deepe emperst his darksome hollow maw, And back retyrd, his life bloud forth with all did draw. < 1.11.54> That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift; So downe he fell, that th'earth him vnderneath Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift; So downe he fell, as an huge rockie clift, Whose false foundation waues haue washt away, With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift, And rolling downe, great Neptune doth dismay; So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay. < 1.11.55> So huge and horrible a masse it seem'd; And his deare Ladie, that beheld it all, Durst not approch for dread, which she misdeem'd, But yet at last, when as the direfull feend She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright, She nigher drew, and saw that ioyous end: Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull knight, That had atchieu'd so great a conquest by his might. < 1.12.1> Faire Vna to the Redcrosse knight
BEhold I see the hauen nigh at hand,
< 1.12.2> Yet harnessed his firie-footed teeme, Ne reard aboue the earth his flaming creast, When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme, That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme, Vnto the watchman on the castle wall; Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did deeme, And to his Lord and Ladie lowd gan call, To tell, how he had seene the Dragons fatall fall. < 1.12.3> That aged Sire, the Lord of all that land, And looked forth, to weet, if true indeede Those tydings were, as he did vnderstand, Which whenas true by tryall he out fond, He bad to open wyde his brazen gate, Which long time had bene shut, and out of hond Proclaymed ioy and peace through all his state; For dead now was their foe, which them forrayed late. < 1.12.4> That sent to heauen the ecchoed report Of their new ioy, and happie victorie Gainst him, that had them long opprest with tort, And fast imprisoned in sieged fort. Then all the people, as in solemne feast, To him assembled with one full consort, Reioycing at the fall of that great beast, From whose eternall bondage now they were releast. < 1.12.5> Arayd in antique robes downe to the ground, And sad habiliments right well beseene; A noble crew about them waited round Of sage and sober Peres, all grauely gownd; Whom farre before did march a goodly band Of tall young men, all hable armes to sownd, But now they laurell braunches bore in hand; Glad signe of victorie and peace in all their land. < 1.12.6> And him before themselues prostrating low, Their Lord and Patrone loud did him proclame, And at his feet their laurell boughes did throw. Soone after them all dauncing on a row The comely virgins came, with girlands dight, As fresh as flowres in medow greene do grow, When morning deaw vpon their leaues doth light: And in their hands sweet Timbrels all vpheld on hight. < 1.12.7> Their wanton sports and childish mirth did play, And to the Maydens sounding tymbrels sung In well attuned notes, a ioyous lay, And made delightfull musicke all the way, Vntill they came, where that faire virgin stood; As faire Diana in fresh sommers day Beholds her Nymphes, enraung'd in shadie wood, Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in christall flood. < 1.12.8> With chearefull vew; who when to her they came, Themselues to ground with gratious humblesse bent, And her ador'd by honorable name, Lifting to heauen her euerlasting fame: Then on her head they set a girland greene, And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game; Who in her selfe-resemblance well beseene, Did seeme such, as she was, a goodly maiden Queene. < 1.12.9> Heaped together in rude rablement To see the face of that victorious {glory+} man: Whom all admired, as from heauen sent, And gazd vpon with gaping wonderment. But when they came, where that dead Dragon lay, Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large extent, The sight with idle feare did them dismay, Ne durst approch him nigh, to touch, or once assay. < 1.12.10> One that would wiser seeme, then all the rest, Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps remaynd Some lingring life within his hollow brest, Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden nest Of many Dragonets, his fruitfull seed; Another said, that in his eyes did rest Yet sparckling fire, and bad thereof take heed; Another said, he saw him moue his eyes indeed. < 1.12.11> Did come too neare, and with his talants play, Halfe dead through feare, her litle babe reuyld, And to her gossips gan in counsell say; How can I tell, but that his talants may Yet scratch my sonne, or rend his tender hand? So diuersly themselues in vaine they fray; Whiles some more bold, to measure him nigh stand, To proue how many acres he did spread of land. < 1.12.12> The whiles that hoarie king, with all his traine, Being arriued, where that champion stout After his foes defeasance did remaine, Him goodly greetes, and faire does entertaine, With princely gifts+ of yuorie and gold, And thousand thankes him yeelds for all his paine. Then when his daughter deare he does behold, Her dearely doth imbrace, and kisseth manifold. < 1.12.13> With shaumes, & trompets, & with Clarions sweet; And all the way the ioyous people sings, And with their garments strowes the paued street: Whence mounting vp, they find purueyance meet Of all, that royall Princes court became, And all the floore was vnderneath their feet Bespred with costly scarlot of great name, On which they lowly sit, and fitting purpose frame. < 1.12.14> In which was nothing riotous nor vaine? What needs of daintie dishes to deuize, Of comely seruices, or courtly trayne? My narrow leaues cannot in them containe The large discourse of royall Princes state. Yet was their manner then but bare and plaine: {PlainDealer+} For th'antique world excesse and pride did hate; Such proud luxurious pompe is swollen vp but late. < 1.12.15> Their feruent appetites they quenched had, That auncient Lord gan fit occasion finde, Of straunge aduentures, and of perils sad, Which in his trauell him befallen had, For to demaund of his renowmed guest: Who then with vtt'rance graue, and count'nance sad From point to point, as is before exprest, Discourst his voyage long, according his request. < 1.12.16> That godly King and Queene did passionate, Whiles they his pittifull aduentures heard, That oft they did lament his lucklesse state, And often blame the too importune fate, That heapd on him so many wrathfull wreakes: For neuer gentle knight, as he of late, So tossed was in fortunes cruell freakes; And all the while salt teares bedeawd the hearers cheaks. < 1.12.17> Deare Sonne, great beene the euils, which ye bore From first to last in your late enterprise, That I note, whether prayse, or pitty more: For neuer liuing man, I weene, so sore In sea of deadly daungers was distrest; But since now safe ye seised haue the shore, And well arriued are, (high God be blest) Let vs deuize of ease and euerlasting rest. < 1.12.18> Of ease or rest I may not yet deuize; For by the faith, which I to armes haue plight, I bounden am streight after this emprize, As that your daughter can ye well aduize, Backe to returne to that great Faerie Queene, And her to serue six yeares in warlike wize, Gainst that proud Paynim king, that workes her teene: Therefore I ought craue pardon, till I there haue beene. < 1.12.19> (Quoth he) the troubler of my happie peace, And vowed foe of my felicitie; Ne I against the same can iustly preace: But since that band ye cannot now release, Nor doen vndo; (for vowes {promises+} may not be vaine) Soone as the terme of those six yeares shall cease, Ye then shall hither backe returne againe, The marriage to accomplish vowd betwixt you twain. < 1.12.20> In sort as through the world I did proclame, That who so kild that monster most deforme, And him in hardy battaile ouercame, Should haue mine onely daughter to his Dame, And of my kingdome heire apparaunt bee: Therefore since now to thee perteines the same, By dew desert of noble cheualree, Both daughter and eke kingdome, lo I yield to thee. {reciproca+} < 1.12.21> The fairest Vn' his onely daughter deare, His onely daughter, and his onely heyre; Who forth proceeding with sad sober cheare, As bright as doth the morning starre appeare Out of the East, with flaming lockes bedight, To tell that dawning day is drawing neare, And to the world does bring long wished light; So faire and fresh that Lady shewd her selfe in sight. < 1.12.22> For she had layd her mournefull stole aside, And widow-like sad wimple throwne away, Wherewith her heauenly beautie she did hide, Whiles on her wearie iourney she did ride; And on her now a garment she did weare, All lilly white, withoutten spot, or pride, That seemd like silke and siluer wouen neare, But neither silke nor siluer therein did appeare. < 1.12.23> And glorious light of her sunshyny face To tell, were as to striue against the streame. My ragged rimes are all too rude and bace, Her heauenly lineaments for to enchace. Ne wonder; for her owne deare loued knight, All were she dayly with himselfe in place, Did wonder much at her celestiall sight: Oft had he seene her faire, but neuer so faire dight. < 1.12.24> She to her Sire made humble reuerence, And bowed low, that her right well became, And added grace vnto her excellence: Who with great wisedome, and graue eloquence Thus gan to say. But eare he thus had said, With flying speede, and seeming great pretence, Came running in, much like a man dismaid, A Messenger with letters, which his message said. < 1.12.25> At suddeinnesse of that vnwarie sight, And wondred at his breathlesse hastie mood. But he for nought would stay his passage right, Till fast before the king he did alight; Where falling flat, great humblesse he did make, And kist the ground, whereon his foot was pight; Then to his hands that writ he did betake, Which he disclosing, red thus, as the paper spake. < 1.12.26> Her greeting sends in these sad lines addrest, The wofull daughter, and forsaken heire Of that great Emperour of all the West; And bids thee be aduized for the best, Ere thou thy daughter linck in holy band Of wedlocke to that new vnknowen guest: For he already plighted his right hand Vnto another loue, and to another land. < 1.12.27> He was affiaunced long time before, And sacred pledges he both gaue, and had, False erraunt knight, infamous, and forswore: Witnesse the burning Altars, which he swore, And guiltie heauens of his bold periury, Which though he hath polluted oft of yore, Yet I to them for iudgement iust do fly, And them coniure t'auenge this shamefull iniury. < 1.12.28> Or false or trew, or liuing or else dead, Withhold, O soueraine Prince, your hasty hond From knitting league with him, I you aread; Ne weene my right with strength adowne to tread, Through weakenesse of my widowhed, or woe: For truth is strong, her rightfull cause to plead, And shall find friends, if need requireth soe, So bids thee well to fare, Thy neither friend, nor foe, Fidessa. < 1.12.29> The tydings straunge did him abashed make, That still he sate long time astonished As in great muse, ne word to creature spake. At last his solemne silence thus he brake, With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his guest; Redoubted knight, that for mine onely sake Thy life and honour late aduenturest, Let nought be hid from me, that ought to be exprest. < 1.12.30> Throwne out from womanish impatient mind? What heauens? what altars? what enraged heates Here heaped vp with termes of loue vnkind, My conscience cleare with guilty bands would bind? High God be witnesse, that I guiltlesse ame. But if your selfe, Sir knight, ye faultie find, Or wrapped be in loues of former Dame, With crime do not it couer, but disclose the same. < 1.12.31> My Lord, my King, be nought hereat dismayd, Till well ye wote by graue intendiment, What woman, and wherefore doth me vpbrayd With breach of loue, and loyalty betrayd. It was in my mishaps, as hitherward I lately traueild, that vnwares I strayd Out of my way, through perils straunge and hard; That day should faile me, ere I had them all declard. < 1.12.32> Of this false woman, that Fidessa hight, Fidessa hight the falsest Dame on ground, Most false Duessa, royall richly dight, That easie was t'inuegle weaker sight: Who by her wicked arts, and wylie skill, Too false and strong for earthly skill or might, Vnwares me wrought vnto her wicked will, And to my foe betrayd, when least I feared ill. < 1.12.33> And on the ground her selfe prostrating low, With sober countenaunce thus to him sayd; O pardon me, my soueraigne Lord, to show The secret treasons, which of late I know To haue bene wroght by that false sorceresse. She onely she it is, that earst did throw This gentle knight into so great distresse, That death him did awaite in dayly wretchednesse. < 1.12.34> This craftie messenger with letters vaine, To worke new woe and improuided scath, By breaking of the band betwixt vs twaine; Wherein she vsed hath the practicke paine Of this false footman, clokt with simplenesse, Whom if ye please for to discouer plaine, Ye shall him Archimago find, I ghesse, The falsest man aliue; who tries shall find no lesse. < 1.12.35> And all with suddein indignation fraight, Bad on that Messenger rude hands to reach. Eftsoones the Gard, which on his state did wait, Attacht that faitor false, and bound him strait: Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band, As chained Beare, whom cruell dogs do bait, With idle force did faine them to withstand, And often semblaunce made to scape out of their hand. < 1.12.36> And bound him hand and foote with yron chains. And with continuall watch did warely keepe; Who then would thinke, that by his subtile trains He could escape fowle death or deadly paines? Thus when that Princes wrath was pacifide, He gan renew the late forbidden banes, And to the knight his daughter deare he tyde, With sacred rites and vowes for euer to abyde. < 1.12.37> That none but death for euer can deuide; His owne two hands, for such a turne most fit, The housling fire did kindle and prouide, And holy water thereon sprinckled wide; At which the bushy Teade a groome did light, And sacred lampe in secret chamber hide, Where it should not be quenched day nor night, For feare of euill fates, but burnen euer bright. < 1.12.38> And made great feast to solemnize that day; They all perfumde with frankincense diuine, And precious odours fetcht from far away, That all the house did sweat with great aray: And all the while sweete Musicke+ did apply Her curious skill, the warbling notes to play, To driue away the dull Melancholy; The whiles one sung a song of loue and iollity. {merriment+} < 1.12.39> Heard sound through all the Pallace pleasantly, Like as it had bene many an Angels voice, Singing before th'eternall maiesty, In their trinall triplicities on hye; Yet wist no creature, whence that heauenly sweet Proceeded, yet each one felt secretly Himselfe thereby reft of his sences meet, And rauished with rare impression in his sprite. < 1.12.40> And solemne feast proclaimd throughout the land, That their exceeding merth may not be told: Suffice it heare by signes to vnderstand The vsuall ioyes at knitting of loues band. Thrise happy man the knight himselfe did hold, Possessed of his Ladies hart and hand, And euer, when his eye did her behold, His heart did seeme to melt in pleasures manifold. < 1.12.41> In full content he there did long enioy, Ne wicked enuie, ne vile gealosy His deare delights were able to annoy: Yet swimming in that sea of blisfull ioy, He nought forgot, how he whilome had sworne, In case he could that monstrous beast destroy, Vnto his Farie Queene backe to returne: The which he shortly did, and Vna left to mourne. < 1.12.42> For we be come vnto a quiet rode, Where we must land some of our passengers, And light this wearie vessell of her lode. Here she a while may make her safe abode, Till she repaired haue her tackles spent, And wants supplide. And then againe abroad On the long voyage whereto she is bent: Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent. FINIS LIB. I. < THE SECOND BOOKE OF THE
Contayning
< 2.1.i> That all this famous antique history, Of some th'aboundance of an idle braine Will iudged be, and painted forgery, Rather then matter of iust memory, Sith none, that breatheth liuing aire, does know, Where is that happy land of Faery, Which I so much do vaunt, yet no where show, But vouch antiquities, which no body can know. < 2.1.ii> That of the world least part to vs is red: And dayly how through hardy enterprize, Many great Regions are discouered, Which to late age were neuer mentioned. Who euer heard of th'Indian Peru? Or who in venturous vessell measured The Amazon huge riuer now found trew? Or fruitfullest Virginia who did euer vew? < 2.1.iii> Yet haue from wisest ages hidden beene: And later times things more vnknowne shall show. Why then should witlesse man so much misweene That nothing is, but that which he hath seene? What if within the Moones faire shining spheare? What if in euery other starre vnseene Of other worldes he happily should heare? He wonder would much more: yet such to some appeare. < 2.1.iv> By certaine signes here set in sundry place He may it find; ne let him then admire, But yield his sence to be too blunt and bace, That no'te without an hound fine footing trace. And thou, O fairest Princesse vnder sky, In this faire mirrhour maist behold thy face, And thine owne realmes in lond of Faery, And in this antique Image thy great auncestry. < 2.1.v> In couert vele, and wrap in shadowes light, That feeble eyes your glory may behold, Which else could not endure those beames bright, But would be dazled with exceeding light. O pardon, and vouchsafe with patient eare The braue aduentures of this Faery knight The good Sir Guyon gratiously to heare, In whom great rule of Temp'raunce goodly doth appeare. < 2.1.1> Canto I. Guyon by Archimage abusd,
THat cunning Architect of cancred guile,
< 2.1.2> To worken mischiefe and auenging woe, Where euer he that godly knight may find, His onely hart sore, and his onely foe, Sith Vna now he algates must forgoe, Whom his victorious hands did earst restore To natiue crowne and kingdome late ygoe: Where she enioyes sure peace for euermore, As weather-beaten ship arriu'd on happie shore. < 2.1.3> And deadly food he makes: him to offend By forged treason, or by open fight He seekes, of all his drift the aymed end: Thereto his subtile engins he does bend His practick wit, and his faire filed tong, With thousand other sleights: for well he kend, His credit now in doubtfull ballaunce hong; For hardly could be hurt, who was already stong. < 2.1.4> With cunning traines him to entrap vnwares. And priuie spials plast in all his way, To weete what course he takes, and how he fares; To ketch him at a vantage in his snares. But now so wise and warie was the knight By triall of his former harmes and cares, That he descride, and shonned still his slight: The fish that once was caught, new bait will hardly bite. < 2.1.5> In hope to win occasion to his will; Which when he long awaited had in vaine, He chaungd his minde from one to other ill: For to all good he enimy was still. Vpon the way him fortuned to meet, Faire marching vnderneath a shady hill, A goodly knight, all armd in harnesse meete, That from his head no place appeared to his feete. < 2.1.6> His countenaunce demure and temperate, But yet so sterne and terrible in sight, That cheard his friends, and did his foes amate: He was an Elfin borne of noble state, And mickle worship in his natiue land; Well could he tourney and in lists debate, And knighthood tooke of good Sir Huons hand, When with king Oberon he came to Faerie land. < 2.1.7> A comely Palmer, clad in blacke attire, Of ripest yeares, and haires all hoarie gray, That with a staffe his feeble steps did stire, Least his long way his aged limbes should tire: And if by lookes one may the mind aread, He seemd to be a sage and sober sire, And euer with slow pace the knight did lead, Who taught his trampling steed with equall steps to tread. < 2.1.8> He weened well to worke some vncouth wile, Eftsoones vntwisting his deceiptfull clew, He gan to weaue a web of wicked guile, And with faire countenance and flattring stile, To them approching, thus the knight bespake: Faire sonne of Mars, that seeke with warlike spoile. And great atchieu'ments great {posterity+} your selfe to make, Vouchsafe to stay your steed for humble misers sake. < 2.1.9> And bad tell on the tenor of his plaint; Who feigning then in euery limbe to quake, Through inward feare, and seeming pale and faint With piteous mone his percing speach gan paint; Deare Lady how shall I declare thy cace, Whom late I left in langourous constraint? Would God thy selfe now present were in place, To tell this ruefull tale; thy sight could win thee grace. < 2.1.10> That you, most noble Sir, had present beene, When that lewd ribauld with vile lust aduaunst Layd first his filthy hands on virgin cleene, To spoile her daintie corse so faire and sheene, As on the earth, great mother of vs all, With liuing eye more faire was neuer seene, Of chastitie and honour virginall: Witnesse ye heauens, whom she in vaine to helpe did call. < 2.1.11> That knight should knighthood euer so haue shent? None but that saw (quoth he) would weene for troth, How shamefully that Maid he did torment. Her looser golden lockes he rudely rent, And drew her on the ground, and his sharpe sword, Against her snowy brest he fiercely bent, And threatned death with many a bloudie word; Toung hates to tell the rest, that eye to see abhord. < 2.1.12> And liues he yet (said he) that wrought this act, And doen the heauens afford him vitall food? He liues, (quoth he) and boasteth of the fact, Ne yet hath any knight his courage crackt. Where may that treachour then (said he) be found, Or by what meanes may I his footing tract? That shall I shew (said he) as sure, as hound The stricken Deare doth chalenge by the bleeding wound. < 2.1.13> And zealous hast away is quickly gone To seeke that knight, where him that craftie Squire Supposd to be. They do arriue anone, Where sate a gentle Lady all alone, With garments rent, and haire discheueled, Wringing her hands, and making piteous mone; Her swollen eyes were much disfigured, And her faire face with teares was fowly blubbered. < 2.1.14> Faire Ladie, through foule sorrow ill bedight, Great pittie is to see you thus dismaid, And marre the blossome of your beautie bright: For thy appease your griefe and heauie plight, And tell the cause of your conceiued paine. For if he liue, that hath you doen despight, He shall you doe due recompence againe, Or else his wrong with greater puissance maintaine. < 2.1.15> She wilfully her sorrow did augment, And offred hope of comfort did despise: Her golden lockes most cruelly she rent, And scratcht her face with ghastly dreriment, Ne would she speake, ne see, ne yet be seene, But hid her visage, and her head downe bent, Either for grieuous shame, or for great teene, As if her hart with sorrow had transfixed beene. < 2.1.16> For Gods deare loue be not so wilfull bent, But doe vouchsafe now to receiue reliefe, The which good fortune doth to you present. For what bootes it to weepe and to wayment, When ill is chaunst, but doth the ill increase, And the weake mind with double woe torment? When she her Squire heard speake, she gan appease Her voluntarie paine, and feele some secret ease. < 2.1.17> What comfort can I wofull wretch conceaue, Or why should euer I henceforth desire, To see faire heauens face, and life not leaue, Sith that false Traytour did my honour reaue? False traytour certes (said the Faerie knight) I read the man, that euer would deceaue A gentle Ladie, or her wrong through might: Death were too little paine for such a foule despight. < 2.1.18> And read, who hath ye wrought this shamefull plight. That short reuenge the man may ouertake, Where so he be, and soone vpon him light. Certes (saide she) I wote not how he hight, But vnder him a gray steede did he wield, Whose sides with dapled circles weren dight; Vpright he rode, and in his siluer shield He bore a bloudie Crosse, that quartred all the field. < 2.1.19> How that same knight should do so foule amis, Or euer gentle Damzell so abuse: For may I boldly say, he surely is A right good knight, and true of word ywis: I present was, and can it witnesse well, When armes he swore, and streight did enterpris Th'aduenture of the Errant damozell, In which he hath great glorie wonne, as I heare tell. < 2.1.20> And fairly quite him of th'imputed blame, Else be ye sure he dearely shall abyde, Or make you good amendment for the same: All wrongs haue mends, but no amends of shame. Now therefore Ladie, rise out of your paine, And see the saluing of your blotted name. Full loth she seemd thereto, but yet did faine; For she was inly glad her purpose so to gaine. < 2.1.21> Ne yet her person such, as it was seene, But vnder simple shew and semblant plaine Lurckt false Duessa+ secretly vnseene, As a chast Virgin, that wronged beene: So had false Archimago her disguisd, To cloke her guile with sorrow and sad teene; And eke himselfe had craftily deuisd To be her Squire, and do her seruice well aguisd. < 2.1.22> Where she did wander in waste wildernesse, Lurking in rockes and caues farre vnder ground, And with greene mosse cou'ring her nakednesse, To hide her shame and loathly filthinesse; Sith her Prince Arthur of proud ornaments And borrow'd beautie spoyld. Her nathelesse Th'enchaunter finding fit for his intents, Did thus reuest, and deckt with due habiliments. < 2.1.23> And draw them from pursuit of praise and fame, To slug in slouth and sensuall delights, {effeminacy+} And end their daies with irrenowmed shame. And now exceeding griefe him ouercame, To see the Redcrosse thus aduaunced hye; Therefore this craftie engine he did frame, Against his praise to stirre vp enmitye Of such, as vertues like mote vnto him allye. < 2.1.24> Through woods & mountaines, till they came at last Into a pleasant dale, that lowly lay Betwixt two hils, whose high heads ouerplast, The valley did with coole shade ouercast, Through midst thereof a little riuer rold, By which there sate a knight with helme vnlast, Himselfe refreshing with the liquid cold, After his trauell long, and labours manifold. < 2.1.25> That wrought the shamefull fact, which I did shew; And now he doth himselfe in secret shrowd, To flie the vengeance for his outrage dew; But vaine: for ye shall dearely do him rew, So God ye speed, and send you good successe; Which we farre off will here abide to vew. So they him left, inflam'd with wrathfulnesse+, That streight against that knight his speare he did addresse. < 2.1.26> His warlike armes about him gan embrace, And in the rest his readie speare did sticke; Tho when as still he saw him towards pace, He gan rencounter him in equall race. They bene ymet, both readie to affrap, When suddenly that warriour gan abace His threatned speare, as if some new mishap Had him betidde, or hidden daunger did entrap. < 2.1.27> For mine offence and heedlesse hardiment, That had almost committed crime abhord, And with reprochfull shame mine honour shent, Whiles cursed steele against that badge I bent, The sacred badge of my Redeemers death, Which on your shield is set for ornament: But his fierce foe his steede could stay vneath, Who prickt with courage kene, did cruell battell breath. < 2.1.28> His error, and himselfe inclyning sayd; Ah deare Sir Guyon, well becommeth you, But me behoueth rather to vpbrayd, Whose hastie hand so farre from reason+ strayd, That almost it did haynous violence On that faire image of that heauenly Mayd, That decks and armes your shield with faire defence: Your court'sie+ takes on you anothers due offence. < 2.1.29> Their beuers bright, each other for to greete; Goodly comportance each to other beare, And entertaine themselues with court'sies meet, Then said the Redcrosse knight, Now mote I weet, Sir Guyon, why with so fierce saliaunce, And fell intent ye did at earst me meet; For sith I know your goodly gouernaunce+, Great cause, I weene, you guided, or some vncouth chaunce. < 2.1.30> The fond encheason, that me hither led. A false infamous faitour late befell Me for to meet, that seemed ill bested, And playnd of grieuous outrage, which he red A knight had wrought against a Ladie gent; Which to auenge, he to this place me led, Where you he made the marke of his intent, And now is fled; foule shame him follow, where he went. < 2.1.31> Through goodly handling and wise temperance. By this his aged guide in presence came; Who soone as on that knight his eye did glance, Eft soones of him had perfect cognizance, Sith him in Faerie court he late auizd; And said, Faire sonne, God giue you happie chance, And that deare Crosse vpon your shield deuizd, Wherewith aboue all knights ye goodly seeme aguizd. < 2.1.32> Of late most hard atchieu'ment by you donne, For which enrolled is your glorious+ name In heauenly Registers aboue the Sunne, Where you a Saint with Saints {posterity+} your seat haue wonne: But wretched we, where ye haue left your marke, Must now anew begin, like race to runne; God guide thee, Guyon, well to end thy warke, And to the wished hauen bring thy weary barke. < 2.1.33> His be the praise, that this atchieu'ment wrought, {non_nobis+} Who made my hand the organ of his might; More then goodwill to me attribute nought: For all I did, I did but as I ought. But you, faire Sir, whose pageant next ensewes, Well mote yee thee, as well can wish your thought, That home ye may report thrise happie newes; For well ye worthie bene for worth and gentle thewes. < 2.1.34> With right hands plighted, pledges of good will. Then Guyon forward gan his voyage make, With his blacke Palmer, that him guided still. Still he him guided ouer dale and hill, And with his steedie staffe did point his way: His race with reason+, and with words his will, From foule intemperance+ he oft did stay, And suffred not in wrath+ his hastie steps to stray. < 2.1.35> Through many hard assayes, which did betide; Of which he honour still away did beare, And spred his glorie+ through all countries wide. At last as chaunst them by a forest side To passe, for succour from the scorching ray, They heard a ruefull voice, that dearnly cride With percing shriekes, and many a dolefull lay; Which to attend, a while their forward steps they stay. < 2.1.36> The doome of iust reuenge+, and take delight To see sad pageants of mens miseries, As bound by them to liue in liues despight, Yet can they not warne death from wretched wight. Come then, come soone, come sweetest death to mee, And take away this long lent loathed light: Sharpe by thy wounds, but sweet the medicines bee, That long captiued soules from wearie thraldome free. < 2.1.37> Hath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall, Sith heauen thee deignes to hold in liuing state, Long maist thou liue, and better thriue withall, Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall: Liue thou, and to thy mother dead attest, That cleare she dide from blemish criminall; Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brest Loe I for pledges leaue. So giue me leaue to rest. < 2.1.38> That through the wood reecchoed againe, And after gaue a grone so deepe and low, That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine, Or thrild with point of thorough piercing paine; As gentle Hynd, whose sides with cruell steele Through launched, forth her bleeding life does raine, Whiles the sad pang approching she does feele, Brayes out her latest breath, and vp her eyes doth seele. < 2.1.39> From his tall steed, he rusht into the thicke, And soone arriued, where that sad pourtraict Of death and labour lay, halfe dead, halfe quicke, In whose white alabaster brest did sticke A cruell knife, that made a griesly wound, From which forth gusht a streme of gorebloud thick, That all her goodly garments staind around, And into a deepe sanguine dide the grassie ground. < 2.1.40> Beside a bubbling fountaine low she lay, Which she increased with her bleeding hart, And the cleane waues with purple gore did ray; Als in her lap a louely babe did play His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew; For in her streaming blood he did embay His litle hands, and tender ioynts embrew; Pitifull spectacle, as euer eye did view. < 2.1.41> The dead corse of an armed knight was spred, Whose armour all with bloud besprinckled was; His ruddie lips did smile, and rosy red Did paint his chearefull cheekes, yet being ded, Seemd to haue beene a goodly personage, Now in his freshest flowre of lustie hed, Fit to inflame faire Lady with loues rage, But that fiers fate did crop the blossome of his age. < 2.1.42> His hart gan wexe as starke, as marble stone, And his fresh bloud did frieze with fearefull cold, That all his senses seemd bereft attone: At last his mightie ghost gan deepe to grone, As Lyon grudging in his great disdaine, Mournes inwardly, and makes to himselfe mone: Till ruth and fraile affection did constraine, His stout courage to stoupe, and shew his inward paine. < 2.1.43> He lightly snatcht, and did the floudgate stop With his faire garment: then gan softly feele Her feeble pulse, to proue if any drop Of liuing bloud yet in her veynes did hop; Which when he felt to moue, he hoped faire To call backe life to her forsaken shop; So well he did her deadly wounds repaire, That at the last she gan to breath out liuing aire. < 2.1.44> And goodly counsell, that for wounded hart Is meetest med'cine, tempred with sweet voice; Ay me, deare Lady, which the image art Of ruefull pitie, and impatient smart, What direfull chance, armd with reuenging fate, Or cursed hand hath plaid this cruell part, Thus fowle to hasten your vntimely date; Speake, O deare Lady speake: help neuer comes too late. < 2.1.45> On which the drery death did sit, as sad As lump of lead, and made darke clouds appeare; But when as him all in bright armour clad Before her standing she espied had, As one out of a deadly dreame affright, She weakely started, yet she nothing drad: Streight downe againe her selfe in great despight She groueling threw to ground, as hating life and light. < 2.1.46> Vplifted light, and softly did vphold: Thrise he her reard, and thrise she sunke againe, Till he his armes about her sides gan fold, And to her said; Yet if the stony cold Haue not all seized on your frozen hart, Let one word fall that may your griefe vnfold, And tell the secret of your mortall smart; He oft finds present helpe, who does his griefe impart. < 2.1.47> Shee sight from bottome of her wounded brest, And after, many bitter throbs did throw With lips full pale and foltring tongue opprest, These words she breathed forth from riuen chest; Leaue, ah leaue off, what euer wight thou bee, To let a wearie wretch from her dew rest, And trouble dying soules tranquilitee. Take not away now got, which none would giue to me. < 2.1.48> To hinder soule from her desired rest, Or hold sad life in long captiuitee: For all I seeke, is but to haue redrest The bitter pangs, that doth your heart infest. Tell then, O Lady tell, what fatall priefe Hath with so huge misfortune you opprest? That I may cast to compasse your reliefe, Or die with you in sorrow, and partake your griefe. < 2.1.49> As heauen accusing guiltie of her death, And with dry drops congealed in her eye, In these sad words she spent her vtmost breath: Heare then, O man, the sorrowes that vneath My tongue can tell, so farre all sense they pas: Loe this dead corpse, that lies here vnderneath, The gentlest knight, that euer on greene gras Gay steed with spurs did pricke, the good Sir Mortdant was. < 2.1.50> My Lord my loue; my deare Lord, my deare loue, So long as heauens iust with equall brow Vouchsafed to behold vs from aboue, One day when him high courage did emmoue, As wont ye knights to seeke aduentures wilde, He pricked forth, his puissant force to proue, Me then he left enwombed of this child, This lucklesse child, whom thus ye see with bloud defild. < 2.1.51> To come, where vile Acrasia does wonne, Acrasia a false enchaunteresse, That many errant knights hath foule fordonne: Within a wandring Island, that doth ronne And stray in perilous gulfe, her dwelling is: Faire Sir, if euer there ye trauell, shonne The cursed land where many wend amis, And know it by the name; it hight the Bowre {lust+} of blis. < 2.1.52> Wherewith she makes her louers drunken mad, And then with words & weedes of wondrous might, On them she workes her will to vses bad: My lifest Lord she thus beguiled had; For he was flesh: (all flesh doth frailtie {effeminacy+} breed.) Whom when I heard to beene so ill bestad, Weake wretch I wrapt my selfe in Palmers weed, And cast to seeke him forth through daunger and great dreed. < 2.1.53> Full measured three quarters of her yeare, And thrise three times had fild her crooked hornes, Whenas my wombe her burdein would forbeare, And bad me call Lucina to me neare. Lucina came: a manchild forth I brought: The woods, the Nymphes, my bowres, my midwiues weare, Hard helpe at need. So deare thee babe I bought, Yt nought too deare I deemd, while so my dear I sought. < 2.1.54> Where him that witch had thralled to her will, In chaines of lust and lewd desires ybound, And so transformed from his former skill, That me he knew not, neither his owne ille; Till through wise handling and faire gouernance, I him recured to a better will, Purged from drugs of foule intemperance: Then meanes I gan deuise for his deliuerance. < 2.1.55> How that my Lord from her I would repriue, With cup thus charmd, him parting she deceiu'd; Sad verse, giue death to him that death does giue, And losse of loue, to her that loues to liue, So soone as Bacchus with the Nymphe does lincke: So parted we and on our iourney driue, Till comming to this well, he stoupt to drincke: The charme fulfild, dead suddenly he downe did sincke. < 2.1.56> But breaking off, the end for want of breath, And slyding soft, as downe to sleepe her layd, And ended all her woe in quiet death. That seeing good Sir Guyon, could vneath From teares abstaine, for griefe his hart did grate, And from so heauie sight his head did wreath, Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate, Which plunged had faire Ladie in so wretched state. < 2.1.57> Behold the image of mortalitie, And feeble nature cloth'd with fleshly tyre, When raging passion with fierce tyrannie Robs reason of her due regalitie And makes it seruant to her basest part: The strong it weakens with infirmitie, And with bold furie armes the weakest hart; The strong through pleasure soonest falles, the weake through smart. < 2.1.58> Betwixt them both can measure out a meane, Neither to melt in pleasures whot desire, Nor fry in hartlesse griefe and dolefull teene. Thrise happie man, who fares them both atweene: But sith this wretched woman ouercome Of anguish, rather then of crime hath beene, Reserue her cause to her eternall doome, And in the meane vouchsafe her honorable toombe. < 2.1.59> To good and bad, the common Inne of rest; But after death the tryall is to come, When best shall be to them, that liued best: But both alike, when death hath both supprest, Religious reuerence doth buriall teene, Which who so wants, wants so much of his rest; For all so great shame after death I weene, As selfe to dyen bad, vnburied bad to beene. < 2.1.60> The great earthes wombe they open to the sky, And with sad Cypresse seemely it embraue, Then couering with a clod their closed eye, They lay therein those corses tenderly, And bid them sleepe in euerlasting peace. But ere they did their vtmost obsequy, Sir Guyon more affection to increace, Bynempt a sacred vow, which none should aye releace. < 2.1.61> With which he cut a locke of all their heare, Which medling with their bloud and earth, he threw Into the graue, and gan deuoutly sweare; Such and such euill God on Guyon reare, And worse and worse young Orphane be thy paine, If I or thou dew vengeance doe forbeare, Till guiltie bloud her guerdon doe obtaine: So shedding many teares, they closd the earth againe. < 2.2.1> Cant. II. Babes bloudie hands may not be clensd,
T Hus when Sir Guyon with his faithfull guide
< 2.2.2> And in dead parents balefull ashes bred, Full litle weenest thou, what sorrowes are Left thee for portion of thy liuelihed, Poore Orphane in the wide world scattered, As budding braunch rent from the natiue tree, And throwen forth, till it be withered: Such is the state of men: thus enter wee Into this life with woe, and end with miseree. < 2.2.3> Downe to that well, did in the water weene (So loue does loath disdainfull nicitee) His guiltie hands from bloudie gore to cleene, He washt them oft and oft, yet nought they beene For all his washing cleaner. Still he stroue, Yet still the litle hands were bloudie seene; The which him into great amaz'ment droue, And into diuerse doubt his wauering wonder cloue. < 2.2.4> Might not be purgd with water nor with bath; Or that high God, in lieu of innocence, Imprinted had that token of his wrath, To shew how sore bloudguiltinesse he hat'th; Or that the charme and venim, which they druncke, Their bloud with secret filth infected hath, Being diffused through the senselesse truncke, That through the great contagion direfull deadly stunck. < 2.2.5> With goodly reason, and thus faire bespake; Ye bene right hard amated, gratious Lord, And of your ignorance great maruell make, Whiles cause not well conceiued ye mistake. But know, that secret vertues are infusd In euery fountaine, and in euery lake, Which who hath skill them rightly to haue chusd, To proofe of passing wonders hath full often vsd. < 2.2.6> By great Dame Nature, from whose fruitfull pap Their welheads spring, and are with moisture dewd; Which feedes each liuing plant with liquid sap, And filles with flowres faire Floraes painted lap: But other some by gift of later grace, Or by good prayers, or by other hap, Had vertue pourd into their waters bace, And thenceforth were renowmd, & sought from place to place. < 2.2.7> Which to her Nymph befell. Vpon a day, As she the woods with bow and shafts did raunge, The hartlesse Hind and Robucke to dismay, Dan Faunus chaunst to meet her by the way, And kindling fire at her faire burning eye, Inflamed was to follow beauties chace, And chaced her, that fast from him did fly; As Hind from her, so she fled from her enimy. < 2.2.8> And saw no meanes to scape, of shame affrayd, She set her downe to weepe for sore constraint, And to Diana calling lowd for ayde, Her deare besought, to let her dye a mayd. The goddesse heard, and suddeine where she sate, Welling out streames of teares, and quite dismayd With stony feare of that rude rustick mate, Transformd her to a stone from stedfast virgins state. < 2.2.9> As from two weeping eyes, fresh streames do flow, Yet cold through feare, and old conceiued dreads; And yet the stone her semblance seemes to show, Shapt like a maid, that such ye may her know; And yet her vertues in her water byde: For it is chast and pure, as purest snow, Ne lets her waues with any filth be dyde, But euer like her selfe vnstained hath beene tryde. < 2.2.10> May not be clensd with water of this well: Ne certes Sir striue you it to withstand, But let them still be bloudy, as befell, That they his mothers innocence may tell, As she bequeathd in her last testament; That as a sacred Symbole it may dwell In her sonnes flesh, to minde reuengement, And be for all chast Dames an endlesse moniment. < 2.2.11> Vptaking, to the Palmer gaue to beare; But his sad fathers armes with bloud defilde, An heauie load himselfe did lightly reare, And turning to that place, in which whyleare He left his loftie steed with golden sell, And goodly gorgeous barbes, him found not theare. By other accident that earst befell, He is conuaide, but how or where, here fits not tell. < 2.2.12> Yet algates mote he soft himselfe appease, And fairely fare on foot, how euer loth; His double burden did him sore disease. So long they traueiled with litle ease, Till that at last they to a Castle came, Built on a rocke adioyning to the seas: It was an auncient worke of antique fame, And wondrous strong by nature, and by skilfull frame. < 2.2.13> The children of one sire by mothers three; Who dying whylome did diuide this fort To them by equall shares in equall fee: But strifull minde, and diuerse qualitee Drew them in parts, and each made others foe; Still did they striue, and dayly disagree; The eldest did against the youngest goe, And both against the middest meant to worken woe. < 2.2.14> Receiu'd, as knight of so much worth became, Of second sister, who did far excell The other two; Medina was her name, A sober sad, and comely curteous Dame; Who rich arayd, and yet in modest guize, In goodly garments, that her well became, Faire marching forth in honorable wize, Him at the threshold met, and well did enterprize. < 2.2.15> And comely courted with meet modestie, Ne in her speach, ne in her hauiour, Was lightnesse seene, or looser vanitie, But gratious womanhood, and grauitie, Aboue the reason of her youthly yeares: Her golden lockes she roundly did vptye In breaded tramels, that no looser heares Did out of order stray about her daintie eares. < 2.2.16> Seemely to entertaine her new-come guest, Newes hereof to her other sisters came, Who all this while were at their wanton rest, Accourting each her friend with lauish fest: They were two knights of perelesse puissance, And famous far abroad for warlike gest, Which to these Ladies loue did countenaunce, And to his mistresse each himselfe stroue to aduaunce. < 2.2.17> Was hight Sir Huddibras, an hardy man; Yet not so good of deedes, as great of name, Which he by many rash aduentures wan, Since errant armes to sew he first began; More huge in strength, then wise in workes he was, And reason with foole-hardize ouer ran; Sterne melancholy did his courage pas, And was for terrour more, all armd in shyning bras. < 2.2.18> He that faire Vna late fowle outraged, The most vnruly, and the boldest boy, That euer warlike weapons menaged, And to all lawlesse lust encouraged, Through strong opinion of his matchlesse might: Ne ought he car'd, whom he endamaged By tortious wrong, or whom bereau'd of right. He now this Ladies champion chose for loue to fight. < 2.2.19> Each other does enuie with deadly hate, And dayly warre against his foeman moues, In hope to win more fauour with his mate, And th'others pleasing seruice to abate, To magnifie his owne. But when they heard, How in that place straunge knight arriued late, Both knights and Ladies forth right angry far'd, And fiercely vnto battell sterne themselues prepar'd. < 2.2.20> Where he abode, themselues at discord fell, And cruell combat ioynd in middle space: With horrible assault, and furie fell, They heapt huge strokes, the scorned life to quell, That all on vprore from her settled seat The house was raysd, and all that in did dwell; Seemd that lowde thunder with amazement great Did rend the ratling skyes with flames of fouldring heat. < 2.2.21> To weet, what dreadfull thing was there in hand; Where when as two braue knights in bloudy fight With deadly rancour he enraunged fond, His sunbroad shield about his wrest he bond, And shyning blade vnsheathd, with which he ran Vnto that stead, their strife to vnderstond; And at his first arriuall, them began With goodly meanes to pacifie, well as he can. < 2.2.22> Attonce vpon him ran, and him beset With strokes of mortall steele without remorse, And on his shield like yron sledges bet: As when a Beare and Tygre being met In cruell fight on lybicke Ocean wide, Espye a traueiler with feet surbet, Whom they in equall pray hope to deuide, They stint their strife, and him assaile on euery side. < 2.2.23> Their sharpe assault right boldly did rebut, And suffred not their blowes to byte him nere But with redoubled buffes them backe did put: Whose grieued mindes, which choler did englut, Against themselues turning their wrathfull spight, Gan with new rage their shields to hew and cut; But still when Guyon came to part their fight, With heauie load on him they freshly gan to smight. < 2.2.24> Whom raging windes threatning to make the pray Of the rough rockes, do diuersly disease, Meetes two contrary billowes by the way, That her on either side do sore assay, And boast to swallow her in greedy graue; She scorning both their spights, does make wide way, And with her brest breaking the fomy waue, Does ride on both their backs, & faire her selfe doth saue. < 2.2.25> Betweene them both, by conduct of his blade. Wondrous great prowesse and heroick worth He shewd that day, and rare ensample made, When two so mighty warriours he dismade: Attonce he wards and strikes, he takes and payes, Now forst to yield, now forcing to inuade, Before, behind, and round about him layes: So double was his paines, so double be his prayse. < 2.2.26> Three combats ioyne in one, and to darraine A triple warre with triple enmitee, All for their Ladies froward loue to gaine, Which gotten was but hate. So loue does raine In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous warre; He maketh warre, he maketh peace againe, And yet his peace is but continuall iarre: O miserable men, that to him subiect arre. < 2.2.27> The faire Medina with her tresses torne, And naked brest, in pitty of their harmes, Emongst them ran, and falling them beforne, Besought them by the womb, which them had borne, And by the loues, which were to them most deare, And by the knighthood, which they sure had sworne, Their deadly cruell discord to forbeare, And to her iust conditions of faire peace to heare. < 2.2.28> Her lowd gainsaid, and both their champions bad Pursew the end of their strong enmity, As euer of their loues they would be glad. Yet she with pitthy words and counsell sad, Still stroue their stubborne rages to reuoke, That at the last suppressing fury mad, They gan abstaine from dint of direfull stroke, And hearken to the sober speaches, which she spoke. < 2.2.29> Or fell Erinnys, in your noble harts Her hellish brond hath kindled with despight, And stird you vp to worke your wilfull smarts? Is this the ioy of armes? be these the parts Of glorious knighthood, after bloud to thrust, And not regard dew right and iust desarts? Vaine is the vaunt, and victory vniust, That more to mighty hãds, th&etilde; rightfull cause doth trust. < 2.2.30> Yet were not better, faire it to accord, Then with bloud guiltinesse to heape offence, And mortall vengeaunce ioyne to crime abhord? O fly from wrath, fly, O my liefest Lord: Sad be the sights, and bitter fruits of warre, And thousand furies wait on wrathfull sword; Ne ought the prayse of prowesse more doth marre, Then fowle reuenging rage, and base contentious iarre. < 2.2.31> Doth nourish vertue, and fast friendship breeds; Weake she makes strõg, & strõg thing does increace, Till it the pitch of highest prayse exceeds: Braue be her warres, and honorable deeds, By which she triumphes ouer ire and pride, And winnes an Oliue girlond for her meeds: Be therefore, O my deare Lords, pacifide, And this misseeming discord meekely lay aside. < 2.2.32> And suncke so deepe into their boyling brests, That downe they let their cruell weapons fall, And lowly did abase their loftie crests To her faire presence, and discrete behests. Then she began a treatie to procure, And stablish termes betwixt both their requests, That as a law for euer should endure; Which to obserue in word of knights they did assure. < 2.2.33> After their wearie sweat and bloudy toile, She them besought, during their quiet treague, Into her lodging to repaire a while, To rest themselues, and grace to reconcile. They soone consent: so forth with her they fare, Where they are well receiu'd, and made to spoile Themselues of soiled armes, and to prepare Their minds to pleasure, & their mouthes to dainty fare. < 2.2.34> Came with them eke, all were they wondrous loth, And fained cheare, as for the time behoues, But could not colour yet so well the troth, But that their natures bad appeard in both: For both did at their second sister grutch, And inly grieue, as doth an hidden moth The inner garment fret, not th'vtter touch; One thought their cheare too litle, th'other thought too mutch. < 2.2.35> Such entertainment base, ne ought would eat, Ne ought would speake, but euermore did seeme As discontent for want of merth or meat; No solace could her Paramour intreat, Her once to show, ne court, nor dalliance, But with bent lowring browes, as she would threat, She scould, and frownd with froward countenaunce, Vnworthy of faire Ladies comely gouernaunce. < 2.2.36> Full of disport, still laughing, loosely light, And quite contrary to her sisters kind; No measure in her mood, no rule of right, But poured out in pleasure and delight; In wine and meats she flowd aboue the bancke, And in excesse exceeded her owne might; In sumptuous tire she ioyd her selfe to prancke, But of her loue too lauish (litle haue she thancke.) < 2.2.37> Fit mate for such a mincing mineon, Who in her loosenesse tooke exceeding ioy; Might not be found a franker franion, Of her lewd parts to make companion; But Huddibras, more like a Malecontent, Did see and grieue at his bold fashion; Hardly could he endure his hardiment, Yet still he sat, and inly did him selfe torment. < 2.2.38> With sober grace, and goodly carriage: With equall measure she did moderate The strong extremities of their outrage; That forward paire she euer would asswage, When they would striue dew reason to exceed; But that same froward twaine would accourage, And of her plenty adde vnto their need: So kept she them in order, and her selfe in heed. < 2.2.39> And pleasd them all with meete satietie, At last when lust of meat and drinke was ceast, She Guyon deare besought of curtesie, To tell from whence he came through ieopardie, And whither now on new aduenture bound. Who with bold grace, and comely grauitie, Drawing to him the eyes of all around, From lofty siege began these words aloud to sound. < 2.2.40> Fresh memory in me of that great Queene, Great and most glorious virgin Queene aliue, That with her soueraigne powre, and scepter shene All Faery lond does peaceable sustene. In widest Ocean she her throne does reare, That ouer all the earth it may be seene; As morning Sunne her beames dispredden cleare, And in her face faire peace, and mercy doth appeare. < 2.2.41> In chiefe degree are heaped vp on hye: And all that else this worlds enclosure bace, Hath great or glorious in mortall eye. Adornes the person of her Maiestie; That men beholding so great excellence, And rare perfection in mortalitie, Do her adore with sacred reuerence, As th'Idole of her makers great magnificence. < 2.2.42> In number of the noblest knights on ground, Mongst whom on me she deigned to bestowe Order of Maydenhead, the most renownd, That may this day in all the world be found: An yearely solemne feast she wontes to make The day that first doth lead the yeare around; To which all knights of worth and courage bold Resort, to heare of straunge aduentures to be told. < 2.2.43> And to that mighty Princesse did complaine Of grieuous mischiefes, which a wicked Fay Had wrought, and many whelmd in deadly paine, Whereof he crau'd redresse. My Soueraine, Whose glory is in gracious deeds, and ioyes Throughout the world her mercy to maintaine, Eftsoones deuisd redresse for such annoyes; Me all vnfit for so great purpose she employes. < 2.2.44> Thrise seene the shadowes of the neather world, Sith last I left that honorable place, In which her royall presence is introld; Ne euer shall I rest in house nor hold, Till I that false Acrasia haue wonne; Of whose fowle deedes, too hideous to be told I witnesse am, and this their wretched sonne, Whose wofull parents she hath wickedly fordonne. < 2.2.45> From which sad ruth does seeme you to restraine, That we may pitty such vnhappy bale, And learne from pleasures poyson to abstaine: Ill by ensample good doth often gayne. Then forward he his purpose gan pursew, And told the storie of the mortall payne, Which Mordant and Amauia did rew; As with lamenting eyes him selfe did lately vew. < 2.2.46> Orion, flying fast from hissing snake, His flaming head did hasten for to steepe, When of his pitteous tale he end did make; Whilest with delight of that he wisely spake, Those guestes beguiled, did beguile their eyes Of kindly sleepe, that did them ouertake. At last when they had markt the chaunged skyes, They wist their houre was sp&etilde;t; th&etilde; each to rest him hyes. < 2.3.1> Cant. III. Vaine Braggadocchio getting Guyons
SOone as the morrow faire with purple beames
< 2.3.2> The bloudy-handed babe vnto her truth Did earnestly commit, and her coniure, In vertuous lore to traine his tender youth, And all that gentle noriture ensu'th: And that so soone as ryper yeares he raught, He might for memorie of that dayes ruth, Be called Ruddymane, and thereby taught, T'auenge his Par&etilde;ts death on them, that had it wrought. < 2.3.3> Sith his good steed is lately from him gone; Patience perforce; helpelesse what may it boot To fret for anger, or for griefe to mone? His Palmer now shall foot no more alone: So fortune wrought, as vnder greene woods syde He lately heard that dying Lady grone, He left his steed without, and speare besyde, And rushed in on foot to ayd her, ere she dyde. < 2.3.4> One that to bountie neuer cast his mind, Ne thought of honour euer did assay His baser brest, but in his kestrell kind A pleasing vaine of glory vaine did find, To which his flowing toung, and troublous spright Gaue him great ayd, and made him more inclind: He that braue steed there finding ready dight, Purloynd both steed and speare, and ran away full light. < 2.3.5> And of him selfe great hope and helpe conceiu'd, That puffed vp with smoke of vanitie, And with selfe-loued personage deceiu'd, He gan to hope, of men to be receiu'd For such, as he him thought, or faine would bee: But for in court gay portaunce he perceiu'd, And gallant shew to be in greatest gree, Eftsoones to court he cast t'auaunce his first degree. < 2.3.6> One sitting idle on a sunny bancke, To whom auaunting in great brauery, As Peacocke, that his painted plumes doth prancke, He smote his courser in the trembling flancke, And to him threatned his hart-thrilling speare: The seely man seeing him ryde so rancke, And ayme at him, fell flat to ground for feare, And crying Mercy lowd, his pitious hands gan reare. < 2.3.7> Through fortune of his first aduenture faire, And with big thundring voyce reuyld him lowd; Vile Caytiue, vassall of dread and despaire, Vnworthie of the commune breathed aire, Why liuest thou, dead dog, a lenger day, And doest not vnto death thy selfe prepaire. Dye, or thy selfe my captiue yield for ay; Great fauour I thee graunt, for aunswere thus to stay. < 2.3.8> Then loud he cryde, I am your humble thrall. Ah wretch (quoth he) thy destinies withstand My wrathfull will, and do for mercy call. I giue thee life: therefore prostrated fall, And kisse my stirrup; that thy homage bee. The Miser threw him selfe, as an Offall, Streight at his foot in base humilitee, And cleeped him his liege, to hold of him in fee. < 2.3.9> Eftsoones this liege-man gan to wexe more bold, And when he felt the folly of his Lord, In his owne kind he gan him selfe vnfold: For he was wylie witted, and growne old In cunning sleights and practick knauery. From that day forth he cast for to vphold His idle humour with fine flattery, And blow the bellowes to his swelling vanity. < 2.3.10> To serue at court in view of vaunting eye; Vaine-glorious man, when fluttring wind does blow In his light wings, is lifted vp to skye: The scorne of knighthood and trew cheualrye, To thinke without desert of gentle deed, And noble worth to be aduaunced hye: Such prayse is shame; but honour vertues meed Doth beare the fairest flowre in honorable seed. < 2.3.11> Till that at length with Archimage they meet: Who seeing one that shone in armour faire, On goodly courser thundring with his feet, Eftsoones supposed him a person meet, Of his reuenge to make the instrument: For since the Redcrosse knight he earst did weet, To beene with Guyon knit in one consent, The ill, which earst to him, he now to Guyon ment. < 2.3.12> Of him, what mighty warriour that mote bee, That rode in golden sell with single spere, But wanted sword to wreake his enmitee. He is a great aduenturer, (said he) That hath his sword through hard assay forgone, And now hath vowd, till he auenged bee, Of that despight, neuer to wearen none; That speare is him enough to doen a thousand grone. < 2.3.13> And weened well ere long his will to win, And both his foen with equall foyle to daunt. Tho to him louting lowly, did begin To plaine of wrongs, which had committed bin By Guyon, and by that false Redcrosse knight, Which two through treason and deceiptfull gin, Had slaine Sir Mordant, and his Lady bright: That mote him honour win, to wreake so foule despight. < 2.3.14> And threatned death with dreadfull countenaunce, As if their liues had in his hand beene gaged; And with stiffe force shaking his mortall launce, To let him weet his doughtie valiaunce, Thus said; Old man, great sure shalbe thy meed, If where those knights for feare of dew vengeaunce Do lurke, thou certainly to me areed, That I may wreake on them their hainous hatefull deed. < 2.3.15> And giue you eke good helpe to their decay, But mote I wisely you aduise to doon; Giue no ods to your foes, but do puruay Your selfe of sword before that bloudy day: For they be two the prowest knights on ground, And oft approu'd in many hard assay, And eke of surest steele, that may be found, Do arme your selfe against that day, them to confound. < 2.3.16> Seemes that through many yeares thy wits thee faile, And that weake eld hath left thee nothing wise, Else neuer should thy iudgement be so fraile, To measure manhood by the sword or maile. Is not enough foure quarters of a man, Withouten sword or shield, an host to quaile? Thou little wotest, what this right hand can: Speake they, which haue beheld the battailes, which it wan. < 2.3.17> Yet well he wist, that who so would contend With either of those knights on euen coast, Should need of all his armes, him to defend; Yet feared least his boldnesse should offend, When Braggadocchio said, Once I did sweare, When with one sword seuen knights I brought to end, Thence forth in battell neuer sword to beare, But it were that, which noblest knight on earth doth weare. < 2.3.18> That shall I shortly purchase to your hond: For now the best and noblest knight aliue Prince Arthur is, that wonnes in Faerie lond; He hath a sword, that flames like burning brond. The same by my deuice I vndertake Shall by to morrow by thy side be fond. At which bold word that boaster gan to quake, And wondred in his mind, what mote that monster make. < 2.3.19> Was suddein vanished out of his sight: The Northerne wind his wings did broad display At his commaund, and reared him vp light From off the earth to take his aerie flight. They lookt about, but no where could espie Tract of his foot: then dead through great affright They both nigh were, and each bad other flie: Both fled attonce, ne euer backe returned eie. < 2.3.20> In which they shrowd th&etilde;selues from causelesse feare; Yet feare them followes still, where so they beene, Each trembling leafe, and whistling wind they heare, As ghastly bug their haire on end does reare: Yet both doe striue their fearfulnesse to faine. At last they heard a horne, that shrilled cleare Throughout the wood, that ecchoed againe, And made the forrest ring, as it would riue in twaine. < 2.3.21> With noyse whereof he from his loftie steed Downe fell to ground, and crept into a bush, To hide his coward head from dying dreed. But Trompart stoutly stayd to taken heed, Of what might hap. Eftsoone there stepped forth A goodly Ladie clad in hunters weed, That seemd to be a woman of great worth, And by her stately portance, borne of heauenly birth. < 2.3.22> But heauenly pourtraict of bright Angels hew, Cleare as the skie, withouten blame or blot, Through goodly mixture of complexions dew; And in her cheekes the vermeill red did shew Like roses in a bed of lillies shed, The which ambrosiall odours from them threw, And gazers sense with double pleasure fed, Hable to heale the sicke, and to reuiue the ded. < 2.3.23> Kindled aboue at th'heauenly makers light, And darted fyrie beames out of the same, So passing persant, and so wondrous bright, That quite bereau'd the rash beholders sight: In them the blinded god his lustfull fire To kindle oft assayd, but had no might; For with dredd Maiestie, and awfull ire, She broke his wanton darts, and quenched base desire. < 2.3.24> Like a broad table did it selfe dispred, For Loue his loftie triumphes to engraue, And write the battels of his great godhed: All good and honour might therein be red: For there their dwelling was. And when she spake, Sweet words, like dropping honny she did shed, And twixt the perles and rubins softly brake A siluer sound, that heauenly musicke seemd to make. < 2.3.25> Vnder the shadow of her euen browes, Working belgards, and amorous retrate, And euery one her with a grace endowes: And euery one with meekenesse to her bowes. So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace, And soueraine moniment of mortall vowes, How shall fraile pen descriue her heauenly face, For feare through want of skill her beautie to disgrace? < 2.3.26> She seemd, when she presented was to sight, And was yclad, for heat of scorching aire, All in a silken Camus lylly whight, Purfled vpon with many a folded plight, Which all aboue besprinckled was throughout, With golden aygulets, that glistred bright, Like twinckling starres, and all the skirt about Was hemd with golden fringe < 2.3.27> And her streight legs most brauely were embayld In gilden buskins of costly Cordwaine, All bard with golden bendes, which were entayld With curious antickes, and full faire aumayld: Before they fastned were vnder her knee In a rich Iewell, and therein entrayld The ends of all their knots, that none might see, How they within their fouldings close enwrapped bee. < 2.3.28> Which doe the temple of the Gods support, Whom all the people decke with girlands greene, And honour in their festiuall resort; Those same with stately grace, and princely port She taught to tread, when she her selfe would grace, But with the wooddie Nymphes when she did play, Or when the flying Libbard she did chace, She could them nimbly moue, and after fly apace. < 2.3.29> And at her backe a bow and quiuer gay, Stuft with steele-headed darts, wherewith she queld The saluage beastes in her victorious play, Knit with a golden bauldricke, which forelay Athwart her snowy brest, and did diuide Her daintie paps; which like young fruit in May Now little gan to swell, and being tide, Through her thin weed their places only signifide. < 2.3.30> About her shoulders weren loosely shed, And when the winde emongst them did inspyre, They waued like a penon wide dispred, And low behinde her backe were scattered: And whether art it were, or heedlesse hap, As through the flouring forrest rash she fled, In her rude haires sweet flowres themselues did lap, And flourishing fresh leaues and blossomes did enwrap. < 2.3.31> Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus greene, Where all the Nymphes haue her vnwares forlore, Wandreth alone with bow and arrowes keene, To seeke her game: Or as that famous Queene Of Amazons, whom Pyrrhus did destroy, The day that first of Priame she was seene, Did shew her selfe in great triumphant ioy, To succour the weake state of sad afflicted Troy. < 2.3.32> He was dismayed in his coward mind, And doubted, whether he himselfe should shew, Or fly away, or bide alone behind: Both feare and hope he in her face did find, When she at last him spying thus bespake; Hayle Groome; didst not thou see a bleeding Hind, Whose right haunch earst my stedfast arrow strake? If thou didst, tell me, that I may her ouertake. < 2.3.33> O Goddesse, (for such I thee take to bee) For neither doth thy face terrestriall shew, Nor voyce sound mortall; I auow to thee, Such wounded beast, as that, I did not see, Sith earst into this forrest wild I came. But mote thy goodlyhed forgiue it mee, To weet, which of the Gods I shall thee name, That vnto thee due worship I may rightly frame. < 2.3.34> Vnto the bush her eye did suddein glaunce, In which vaine Braggadocchio was mewed, And saw it stirre: she left her percing launce, And towards gan a deadly shaft aduaunce, In mind to marke the beast. At which sad stowre, Trompart forth stept, to stay the mortall chaunce, Out crying, ô what euer heauenly powre, Or earthly wight thou be, withhold this deadly howre. < 2.3.35> For thy fierce arrowes, them to exercize, But loe my Lord, my liege, whose warlike name, Is farre renowmd through many bold emprize; And now in shade he shrowded yonder lies. She staid: with that he crauld out of his nest, Forth creeping on his caitiue hands and thies, And standing stoutly vp, his loftie crest Did fiercely shake, and rowze, as comming late from rest. < 2.3.36> For dread of soaring hauke her selfe hath hid, Not caring how, her silly life to saue, She her gay painted plumes disorderid, Seeing at last her selfe from daunger rid, Peepes foorth, and soone renewes her natiue pride; She gins her feathers foule disfigured Proudly to prune, and set on euery side, So shakes off shame, ne thinks how erst she did her hide. < 2.3.37> He gan himselfe to vaunt: but when he vewed Those deadly tooles, which in her hand she held, Soone into other fits he was transmewed, Till she to him her gratious speach renewed; All haile, Sir knight, and well may thee befall, As all the like, which honour haue pursewed Through deedes of armes and prowesse martiall; All vertue merits praise, but such the most of all < 2.3.38> True be thy words, and worthy of thy praise, That warlike feats doest highest glorifie. Therein haue I spent all my youthly daies, And many battailes fought, and many fraies Throughout the world, wher so they might be found, Endeuouring my dreadded name to raise Aboue the Moone, that fame may it resound In her eternall trompe, with laurell girland cround. < 2.3.39> In this wilde forrest, where no pleasure is, And doest not it for ioyous court exchaunge, Emongst thine equall peres, where happie blis And all delight does raigne, much more then this? There thou maist loue, and dearely loued bee, And swim in pleasure, which thou here doest mis; There maist thou best be seene, and best maist see: The wood is fit for beasts, the court is fit for thee. < 2.3.40> Does swim, and bathes himselfe in courtly blis, Does waste his dayes in darke obscuritee, And in obliuion euer buried is: Where ease abounds, yt's eath to doe amis; But who his limbs with labours, and his mind Behaues with cares, cannot so easie mis. Abroad in armes, at home in studious kind Who seekes with painfull toile, shall honour soonest find. < 2.3.41> And will be found with perill and with paine; Ne can the man, that moulds in idle cell, Vnto her happie mansion attaine: Before her gate high God did Sweat ordaine, And wakefull watches euer to abide: But easie is the way, and passage plaine To pleasures pallace; it may soone be spide, And day and night her dores to all stand open wide. < 2.3.42> But that the foolish man, fild with delight Of her sweet words, that all his sence dismaid, And with her wondrous beautie rauisht quight, Gan burne in filthy lust, and leaping light, Thought in his bastard armes her to embrace. With that she swaruing backe, her Iauelin bright Against him bent, and fiercely did menace: So turned her about, and fled away apace. < 2.3.43> And grieued at her flight; yet durst he not Pursew her steps, through wild vnknowen wood; Besides he feard her wrath, and threatned shot Whiles in the bush he lay, not yet forgot: Ne car'd he greatly for her presence vaine, But turning said to Trompart, What foule blot Is this to knight, that Ladie should againe Depart to woods vntoucht, & leaue so proud disdaine? < 2.3.44> Least by her presence daunger mote befall. For who can tell (and sure I feare it ill) But that she is some powre celestiall? For whiles she spake, her great words did apall My feeble courage, and my hart oppresse, That yet I quake and tremble ouer all. And I (said Braggadocchio) thought no lesse, When first I heard her horne sound with such ghastlinesse. < 2.3.45> Me giuen by eternall destinie, That earthly thing may not my courage braue Dismay with feare, or cause one foot to flie, But either hellish feends, or powres on hie: Which was the cause, when earst that horne I heard, Weening it had beene thunder in the skie, I hid my selfe from it, as one affeard; But when I other knew, my selfe I boldly reard. < 2.3.46> Let vs soone hence depart. They soone agree; So to his steed he got, and gan to ride, As one vnfit therefore, that all might see He had not trayned bene in cheualree. Which well that valiant courser did discerne; For he despysd to tread in dew degree, But chaufd and fom'd, with courage fierce and sterne, And to be easd of that base burden still did erne. < 2.4.1> Cant. IIII. Guyon does Furor bind in chaines,
IN braue pursuit of honorable deed,
< 2.4.2> But he the rightfull owner of that steed,
< 2.4.3> He saw from farre, or seemed for to see Some troublous vprore or contentious fray, Whereto he drew in haste it to agree. A mad man, or that feigned mad to bee, Drew by the haire along vpon the ground, A handsome stripling with great crueltee, Whom sore he bett, and gor'd with many a wound, That cheekes with teares, and sides with bloud did all abound. < 2.4.4> In ragged robes, and filthy disaray, Her other leg was lame, that she no'te walke, But on a staffe her feeble steps did stay; Her lockes, that loathly were and hoarie gray, Grew all afore, and loosely hong vnrold, But all behind was bald, and worne away, That none thereof could euer taken hold, And eke her face ill fauourd, full of wrinckles old. < 2.4.5> In foule reproch, and termes of vile despight, Prouoking him by her outrageous talke, To heape more vengeance on that wretched wight; Sometimes she raught him stones, wherwith to smite, Sometimes her staffe, though it her one leg were, Withouten which she could not go vpright; Ne any euill meanes she did forbeare, That might him moue to wrath, and indignation reare. < 2.4.6> Approching, first the Hag did thrust away, And after adding more impetuous forse, His mightie hands did on the madman lay, And pluckt him backe; who all on fire streightway, Against him turning all his fell intent, With beastly brutish rage gan him assay, And smot, and bit, and kickt, and scratcht, and rent, And did he wist not what in his auengement. < 2.4.7> Had he had gouernance, it well to guide: But when the franticke fit inflamd his spright, His force was vaine, and strooke more often wide, Then at the aymed marke, which he had eide: And oft himselfe he chaunst to hurt vnwares, Whilst reason blent through passion, nought descride, But as a blindfold Bull at randon fares, And where he hits, nought knowes, & whom he hurts, nought cares. < 2.4.8> Straunge seemed to the knight, that aye with foe In faire defence and goodly menaging Of armes was wont to fight, yet nathemoe Was he abashed now not fighting so, But more enfierced through his currish play, Him sternely grypt, and haling to and fro, To ouerthrow him strongly did assay, But ouerthrew himselfe vnwares, and lower lay. < 2.4.9> And bruze with clownish fistes his manly face: And eke the Hag with many a bitter threat, Still cald vpon to kill him in the place. With whose reproch and odious menace The knight emboyling in his haughtie hart, Knit all his forces, and gan soone vnbrace His grasping hold: so lightly did vpstart, And drew his deadly weapon, to maintain his part. < 2.4.10> Not so, ô Guyon, neuer thinke that so That Monster can be maistred or destroyd: He is not, ah, he is not such a foe, As steele can wound, or strength can ouerthroe. That same is Furor, cursed cruell wight, That vnto knighthood workes much shame and woe; And that same Hag, his aged mother, hight Occasion, the root of all wrath and despight. < 2.4.11> Must first begin, and well her amenage: First her restraine from her reprochfull blame, And euill meanes, with which she doth enrage Her franticke sonne, and kindles his courage, Then when she is withdrawen, or strong withstood, It's eath his idle furie to asswage, And calme the tempest of his passion wood; The bankes are ouerflowen, when stopped is the flood. < 2.4.12> And turning to that woman, fast her hent By the hoare lockes, that hong before her eyes, And to the ground her threw: yet n'ould she stent Her bitter rayling and foule reuilement, But still prouokt her sonne to wreake her wrong; But nathelesse he did her still torment, And catching hold of her vngratious tong, Thereon an yron lock did fasten firme and strong. < 2.4.13> With her two crooked handes she signes did make, And beckned him, the last helpe she had left: But he that last left helpe away did take, And both her hands fast bound vnto a stake, That she note stirre. Then gan her sonne to flie Full fast away, and did her quite forsake; But Guyon after him in haste did hie, And soone him ouertooke in sad perplexitie. < 2.4.14> Who him gainstriuing, nought at all preuaild: For all his power was vtterly defaste, And furious fits at earst quite weren quaild: Oft he re'nforst, and oft his forces fayld, Yet yield he would not, nor his rancour slacke. Then him to ground he cast, and rudely hayld, And both his hands fast bound behind his backe, And both his feet in fetters to an yron racke. < 2.4.15> And hundred knots that did him sore constraine: Yet his great yron teeth he still did grind, And grimly gnash, threatning reuenge in vaine: His burning eyen, whom bloudie strakes did staine, Stared full wide, and threw forth sparkes of fire, And more for ranck despight, then for great paine, Shakt his long lockes, colourd like copper-wire, And bit his tawny beard to shew his raging ire. < 2.4.16> Turning about he saw that wretched Squire, Whom that mad man of life nigh late depriu'd, Lying on ground, all soild with bloud and mire: Whom when as he perceiued to respire, He gan to comfort, and his wounds to dresse. Being at last recured, he gan inquire, What hard mishap him brought to such distresse, And made that caitiues thral, the thral of wretchednesse. < 2.4.17> Faire Sir (quoth he) what man can shun the hap, That hidden lyes vnwares him to surpryse? Misfortune waites aduantage to entrap The man most warie in her whelming lap. So me weake wretch, of many weakest one, Vnweeting, and vnware of such mishap, She brought to mischiefe through occasion, Where this same wicked villein did me light vpon. < 2.4.18> Of all my sorrow, and of these sad teares, With whom from tender dug of commune nourse, Attonce I was vpbrought, and eft when yeares More rype vs reason lent to chose our Peares, Our selues in league of vowed loue we knit: In which we long time without gealous feares, Or faultie thoughts continewd, as was fit; And for my part I vow, dissembled not a whit. < 2.4.19> To loue a Ladie faire of great degree, The which was borne of noble parentage, And set in highest seat of dignitee, Yet seemd no lesse to loue, then loued to bee: Long I her seru'd, and found her faithfull still, Ne euer thing could cause vs disagree: Loue that two harts makes one, makes eke one will: Each stroue to please, and others pleasure to fulfill. < 2.4.20> Of all my loue and all my priuitie; Who greatly ioyous seemed for my sake, And gratious to that Ladie, as to mee, Ne euer wight, that mote so welcome bee, As he to her, withouten blot or blame, Ne euer thing, that she could thinke or see, But vnto him she would impart the same: O wretched man, that would abuse so gentle Dame. < 2.4.21> That I that Ladie to my spouse had wonne; Accord of friends, consent of parents sought, Affiance made, my happinesse begonne, There wanted nought but few rites to be donne, Which mariage make; that day too farre did seeme: Most ioyous man, on whom the shining Sunne, Did shew his face, my selfe I did esteeme, And that my falser friend did no lesse ioyous deeme. < 2.4.22> He either enuying my toward good, Or of himselfe to treason ill disposd One day vnto me came in friendly mood, And told for secret how he vnderstood That Ladie whom I had to me assynd, Had both distaind her honorable blood, And eke the faith, which she to me did bynd; And therfore wisht me stay, till I more truth should fynd. < 2.4.23> Which his sad speech infixed in my brest, Ranckled so sore, and festred inwardly, That my engreeued mind could find no rest, Till that the truth thereof I did outwrest, And him besought by that same sacred band Betwixt vs both, to counsell me the best. He then with solemne oath and plighted hand Assur'd, ere long the truth to let me vnderstand. < 2.4.24> Saying, he now had boulted all the floure, And that it was a groome of base degree, Which of my loue was partner Paramoure: Who vsed in a darksome inner bowre Her oft to meet: which better to approue, He promised to bring me at that howre, When I should see, that would me nearer moue, And driue me to withdraw my blind abused loue. < 2.4.25> Did court the handmayd of my Lady deare, Who glad t'embosome his affection vile, Did all she might, more pleasing to appeare. One day to worke her to his will more neare, He woo'd her thus: Pryene (so she hight) What great despight doth fortune to thee beare, Thus lowly to abase thy beautie bright, That it should not deface all others lesser light? < 2.4.26> T'adorne thy forme according thy desart, Their blazing pride thou wouldest soone haue blent, And staynd their prayses with thy least good part; Ne should faire Claribell with all her art, Though she thy Lady be, approch thee neare; For proofe thereof, this euening, as thou art, Aray thy selfe in her most gorgeous geare, That I may more delight in thy embracement deare. < 2.4.27> Him hearkned to, and soone her selfe arayd, The whiles to me the treachour did remoue His craftie engin, and as he had sayd, Me leading, in a secret corner layd, The sad spectatour of my Tragedie; Where left, he went, and his owne false part playd, Disguised like that groome of base degree, Whom he had feignd th'abuser of my loue to bee. < 2.4.28> And with him brought Priene, rich arayd, In Claribellaes clothes. Her proper face I not descerned in that darkesome shade, But weend it was my loue, with whom he playd. Ah God, what horrour and tormenting griefe My hart, my hands, mine eyes, and all assayd? Me liefer were ten thousand deathes priefe, Then wound of gealous worme, and shame of such repriefe. < 2.4.29> And chawing vengeance all the way I went, Soone as my loathed loue appeard in sight, With wrathfull hand I slew her innocent; That after soone I dearely did lament: For when the cause of that outrageous deede Demaunded, I made plaine and euident, Her faultie Handmayd, which that bale did breede, Confest, how Philemon her wrought to chaunge her weede. < 2.4.30> And hellish fury all enragd, I sought Vpon my selfe that vengeable despight To punish: yet it better first I thought, To wreake my wrath on him, that first it wrought. To Philemon, false faytour Philemon I cast to pay, that I so dearely bought; Of deadly drugs I gaue him drinke anon, And washt away his guilt with guiltie potion. < 2.4.31> To losse of loue adioyning losse of frend, I meant to purge both with a third mischiefe, And in my woes beginner it to end: That was Pryene; she did first offend, She last should smart: with which cruell intent, When I at her my murdrous blade did bend, She fled away with ghastly dreriment, And I pursewing my fell purpose, after went. < 2.4.32> Through woods and plaines so long I did her chace, Till this mad man, whom your victorious might Hath now fast bound, me met in middle space, As I her, so he me pursewd apace, And shortly ouertooke: I breathing yre, Sore chauffed at my stay in such a cace, And with my heat kindled his cruell fyre; Which kindled once, his mother did more rage inspyre. < 2.4.33> Through wounds, & strokes, & stubborne handeling, That death were better, then such agony, As griefe and furie vnto me did bring; Of which in me yet stickes the mortall sting, That during life will neuer be appeasd. When he thus ended had his sorrowing, Said Guyon, Squire, sore haue ye beene diseasd; But all your hurts may soone through t&etilde;perance be easd. < 2.4.34> That to affections does the bridle lend; In their beginning they are weake and wan, But soone through suff'rance grow to fearefull end; Whiles they are weake betimes with them contend: For when they once to perfect strength do grow, Strong warres they make, and cruell battry bend Gainst fort of Reason, it to ouerthrow: Wrath, gelosie, griefe, loue this Squire haue layd thus low. < 2.4.35> Wrath is a fire, and gealosie a weede, Griefe is a flood, and loue a monster fell; The fire of sparkes, the weede of little seede, The flood of drops, the Monster filth did breede: But sparks, seed, drops, and filth do thus delay; The sparks soone quench, the springing seed outweed, The drops dry vp, and filth wipe cleane away: So shall wrath, gealosie, griefe, loue dye and decay. < 2.4.36> Falne into mischiefe through intemperaunce, Henceforth take heede of that thou now hast past, And guide thy wayes with warie gouernaunce, Least worse betide thee by some later chaunce. But read how art thou nam'd, and of what kin. Phedon I hight (quoth he) and do aduaunce Mine auncestry from famous Coradin, Who first to rayse our house to honour did begin. < 2.4.37> A varlet running towards hastily, Whose flying feet so fast their way applyde, That round about a cloud of dust did fly, Which mingled all with sweate, did dim his eye. He soone approched, panting, breathlesse, whot, And all so soyld, that none could him descry; His countenaunce was bold, and bashed not For Guyons lookes, but scornefull eyglaunce at him shot. < 2.4.38> On which was drawen faire, in colours fit, A flaming fire in midst of bloudy field, And round about the wreath this word was writ, Burnt I do burne. Right well beseemed it, To be the shield of some redoubted knight; And in his hand two darts exceeding flit, And deadly sharpe he held, whose heads were dight In poyson and in bloud, of malice and despight. < 2.4.39> He boldly spake, Sir knight, if knight thou bee, Abandon this forestalled place at erst, For feare of further harme, I counsell thee, Or bide the chaunce at thine owne ieoperdie. The knight at his great boldnesse wondered, And though he scornd his idle vanitie, Yet mildly him to purpose answered; For not to grow of nought he it coniectured. < 2.4.40> Yielded by him, that held it forcibly. But whence should come that harme, which thou doest seeme To threat to him, that minds his chaunce t'abye? Perdy (said he) here comes, and is hard by A knight of wondrous powre, and great assay, That neuer yet encountred enemy, But did him deadly daunt, or fowle dismay; Ne thou for better hope, if thou his presence stay. < 2.4.41> Pyrrhochles is his name, renowmed farre For his bold feats and hardy confidence, Full oft approu'd in many a cruell warre, The brother of Cymochles, both which arre The sonnes of old Acrates and Despight, Acrates sonne of Phlegeton and Iarre; But Phlegeton is sonne of Herebus and Night; But Herebus sonne of Aeternitie is hight. < 2.4.42> That mortall hands may not withstand his might, Drad for his derring do, and bloudy deed; For all in bloud and spoile is his delight. His am I Atin, his in wrong and right, That matter make for him to worke vpon, And stirre him vp to strife and cruell fight. Fly therefore, fly this fearefull stead anon, Least thy foolhardize worke thy sad confusion. < 2.4.43> (Said he) but whither with such hasty flight Art thou now bound? for well mote I discerne Great cause, that carries thee so swift and light. My Lord (quoth he) me sent, and streight behight To seeke Occasion, where so she bee: For he is all disposd to bloudy fight, And breathes out wrath and hainous crueltie; Hard is his hap, that first fals in his ieopardie. < 2.4.44> Occasion to wrath, and cause of strife; She comes vnsought, and shonned followes eke. Happy, who can abstaine, when Rancour rife Kindles Reuenge, and threats his rusty knife; Woe neuer wants, where euery cause is caught, And rash Occasion makes vnquiet life. Then loe, where bound she sits, whõ thou hast sought, (Said Guyon,) let that message to thy Lord be brought. < 2.4.45> He wexed wondrous wroth, and said, Vile knight, That knights & knighthood doest with shame vpbray, And shewst th'ensãple of thy childish might, With silly weake old woman thus to fight. Great glory and gay spoile sure hast thou got, And stoutly prou'd thy puissaunce here in sight; That shall Pyrrochles well requite, I wot, And with thy bloud abolish so reprochfull blot. < 2.4.46> Headed with ire and vengeable despight; The quiuering steele his aymed end well knew, And to his brest it selfe intended right: But he was warie, and ere it empight In the meant marke, aduaunst his shield atweene, On which it seizing, no way enter might, But backe rebounding, left the forckhead keene; Eftsoones he fled away, and might no where be seene. < 2.5.1> Cant. V. Pyrrochles does with Guyon fight,
WHo euer doth to temperaunce apply
< 2.5.2> Ere on the plaine fast pricking Guyon spide One in bright armes embatteiled full strong, That as the Sunny beames do glaunce and glide Vpon the trembling waue, so shined bright, And round about him threw forth sparkling fire, That seemd him to enflame on euery side: His steed was bloudy red, and fomed ire, When with the maistring spur he did him roughly stire. < 2.5.3> Ne chaffar words, prowd courage to prouoke, But prickt so fiers, that vnderneath his feete The smouldring dust did round about him smoke, Both horse and man nigh able for to choke; And fairly couching his steele-headed speare, Him first saluted with a sturdy stroke; It booted nought Sir Guyon comming neare To thinke, such hideous puissaunce on foot to beare. < 2.5.4> With his bright blade did smite at him so fell, That the sharpe steele arriuing forcibly On his broad shield, bit not, but glauncing fell On his horse necke before the quilted sell, And from the head the body sundred quight. So him dismounted low, he did compell On foot with him to matchen equall fight; The truncked beast fast bleeding, did him fowly dight. < 2.5.5> And all enraged, thus him loudly shent; Disleall knight, whose coward courage chose To wreake it selfe on beast all innocent, And shund the marke, at which it should be ment, Thereby thine armes seeme strõg, but manhood fraile; So hast thou oft with guile thine honour blent; But litle may such guile thee now auaile, If wonted force and fortune do not much me faile. < 2.5.6> At him so fiercely, that the vpper marge Of his seuenfolded shield away it tooke, And glauncing on his helmet, made a large And open gash therein: were not his targe, That broke the violence of his intent, The weary soule from thence it would discharge; Nathelesse so sore abuff to him it lent, That made him reele, and to his brest his beuer bent. < 2.5.7> And much ashamd, that stroke of liuing arme Should him dismay, and make him stoup so low, Though otherwise it did him litle harme: Tho hurling high his yron braced arme, He smote so manly on his shoulder plate, That all his left side it did quite disarme; Yet there the steele stayd not, but inly bate Deepe in his flesh, and opened wide a red floodgate. < 2.5.8> Pyrrochles was, and grieued eke entyre; Yet nathemore did it his fury stint, But added flame vnto his former fire, That welnigh molt his hart in raging yre, Ne thenceforth his approued skill, to ward, Or strike, or hurle, round in warelike gyre, Remembred he, ne car'd for his saufgard, But rudely rag'd, and like a cruell Tygre far'd. < 2.5.9> And euery way did seeke into his life, Ne plate, ne male could ward so mighty throwes, But yielded passage to his cruell knife. But Guyon, in the heat of all his strife, Was warie wise, and closely did awayt Auauntage, whilest his foe did rage most rife; Sometimes a thwart, sometimes he strooke him strayt, And falsed oft his blowes, t'illude him with such bayt. < 2.5.10> A prowd rebellious Vnicorne defies, T'auoide the rash assault and wrathfull stowre Of his fiers foe, him to a tree applies, And when him running in full course he spies, He slips aside; the whiles that furious beast His precious horne, sought of his enimies Strikes in the stocke, ne thence can be rel[e]ast, But to the mighty victour yields a bounteous feast. < 2.5.11> Till at the last all breathlesse, wearie, faint Him spying, with fresh onset he assaild, And kindling new his courage seeming queint, Strooke him so hugely, that through great constraint He made him stoup perforce vnto his knee, And do vnwilling worship to the Saint, That on his shield depainted he did see; Such homage till that instant neuer learned hee. < 2.5.12> The present offer of faire victory. And soone his dreadfull blade about he cast, Wherewith he smote his haughty crest so hye, That streight on ground made him full low to lye; Then on his brest his victour foote he thrust: With that he cryde, Mercy, do me not dye, Ne deeme thy force by fortunes doome vniust, That hath (maugre her spight) thus low me laid in dust. < 2.5.13> Tempring the passion with aduizement slow, And maistring might on enimy dismayd: For th'equall dye of warre he well did know; Then to him said, Liue and allegaunce owe, To him that giues thee life and libertie, And henceforth by this dayes ensample trow, That hasty wroth, and heedlesse hazardrie, Do breede repentaunce late, and lasting infamie. < 2.5.14> And count'naunce sterne vpstanding, gan to grind His grated teeth for great disdeigne, and shooke His sandy lockes, long hanging downe behind, Knotted in bloud and dust, for griefe of mind, That he in ods of armes was conquered; Yet in himselfe some comfort he did find, That him so noble knight had maistered, Whose bounty more then might, yet both he wondered. < 2.5.15> Sir Knight, that thus ye now subdewed arre: Was neuer man, who most conquestes atchieu'd But sometimes had the worse, and lost by warre, Yet shortly gaynd, that losse exceeded farre: Losse is no shame, nor to be lesse then foe, But to be lesser, then himselfe, doth marre Both loosers lot, and victours prayse alsoe. Vaine others ouerthrowes, who selfe doth ouerthrowe. < 2.5.16> That in thy selfe thy lesser parts do moue, Outrageous anger, and woe-working iarre, Direfull impatience, and hart murdring loue; Those, those thy foes, those warriours far remoue, Which thee to endlesse bale captiued lead. But sith in might thou didst my mercy proue, Of curtesie to me the cause a read, That thee against me drew with so impetuous dread. < 2.5.17> It was complaind, that thou hadst done great tort Vnto an aged woman, poore and bare, And thralled her in chaines with strong effort, Voide of all succour and needfull comfort: That ill beseemes thee, such as I thee see, To worke such shame. Therefore I thee exhort, To chaunge thy will, and set Occasion free, And to her captiue sonne yield his first libertee. < 2.5.18> (Said he) that thee so sore displeased hath? Great mercy sure, for to enlarge a thrall, Whose freedome shall thee turne to greatest scath. Nath'lesse now quench thy whot emboyling wrath: Loe there they be; to thee I yield them free. Thereat he wondrous glad, out of the path Did lightly leape, where he them bound did see, And gan to breake the bands of their captiuitee. < 2.5.19> Before her sonne could well assoyled bee, She to her vse returnd, and streight defyde Both Guyon and Pyrrochles: th'one (said shee) Bycause he wonne; the other because hee Was wonne: So matter did she make of nought, To stirre vp strife, and do them disagree; But soone as Furor was enlargd, she sought To kindle his quencht fire, and thousand causes wrought. < 2.5.20> That he would algates with Pyrrochles fight, And his redeemer chalengd for his foe, Because he had not well mainteind his right, But yielded had to that same straunger knight: Now gan Pyrrochles wex as wood, as hee, And him affronted with impatient might: So both together fiers engrasped bee, Whiles Guyon standing by, their vncouth strife does see. < 2.5.21> Against Pyrrochles, and new matter framed Vpon the old, him stirring to be wroke Of his late wrongs, in which she oft him blamed For suffering such abuse, as knighhood shamed, And him dishabled quite. But he was wise Ne would with vaine occasions be inflamed; Yet others she more vrgent did deuise: Yet nothing could him to impatience entise. < 2.5.22> And more thereby increased Furors might, That he his foe has hurt, and wounded sore, And him in bloud and durt deformed quight. His mother eke, more to augment his spight, Now brought to him a flaming fire brond, Which she in Stygian lake, ay burning bright, Had kindled: that she gaue into his hond, That armd with fire, more hardly he mote him withstõd. < 2.5.23> That nothing might sustaine his furious forse; He cast him downe to ground, and all along Drew him through durt and myre without remorse, And fowly battered his comely corse, That Guyon much disdeignd so loathly sight. At last he was compeld to cry perforse, Helpe, ô Sir Guyon, helpe most noble knight, To rid a wretched man from hands of hellish wight. < 2.5.24> And gan him dight to succour his distresse, Till that the Palmer, by his graue restraint, Him stayd from yielding pitifull redresse; And said, Deare sonne, thy causelesse ruth represse, Ne let thy stout hart melt in pitty vayne: He that his sorrow sought through wilfulnesse, And his foe fettred would release agayne, Deserues to tast his follies fruit, repented payne. < 2.5.25> From needlesse trouble of renewing fight Already fought, his voyage to pursew. But rash Pyrrochles varlet, Atin hight, When late he saw his Lord in heauy plight, Vnder Sir Guyons puissaunt stroke to fall, Him deeming dead, as then he seemd in sight, Fled fast away, to tell his funerall Vnto his brother, whom Cymochles men did call. < 2.5.26> Famous throughout the world for warlike prayse, And glorious spoiles, purchast in perilous fight: Full many doughtie knights he in his dayes Had doen to death, subdewde in equall frayes, Whose carkases, for terrour of his name, Of fowles and beastes he made the piteous prayes, And hong their conquered armes for more defame On gallow trees, in honour of his dearest Dame. < 2.5.27> The vile Acrasia, that with vaine delightes, And idle pleasures in his[her] Bowre of Blisse, Does charme her louers, and the feeble sprightes Can call out of the bodies of fraile wightes: Whom then she does transforme to mõstrous hewes, And horribly misshapes with vgly sightes, Captiu'd eternally in yron mewes, And darksom dens, where Titan his face neuer shewes. < 2.5.28> To serue his Lemans loue: for he, by kind, Was giuen all to lust and loose liuing, When euer his fiers hands he free mote find: And now he has pourd out his idle mind In daintie delices, and lauish ioyes, Hauing his warlike weapons cast behind, And flowes in pleasures, and vaine pleasing toyes, Mingled emongst loose Ladies and lasciuious boyes. < 2.5.29> With nature, did an Arber greene dispred, Framed of wanton Yuie, flouring faire, Through which the fragrant Eglantine did spred His pricking armes, entrayld with roses red, Which daintie odours round about them threw, And all within with flowres was garnished, That when myld Zephyrus emongst them blew, Did breath out bounteous smels, & painted colors shew. < 2.5.30> A gentle streame, whose murmuring waue did play Emongst the pumy stones, and made a sowne, To lull him soft a sleepe, that by it lay; The wearie Traueiler, wandring that way, Therein did often quench his thristy heat, And then by it his wearie limbes display, Whiles creeping slomber made him to forget His former paine, and wypt away his toylsoms weat. < 2.5.31> Was shot vp high, full of the stately tree, That dedicated is t'Olympicke Ioue, And to his sonne Alcides, whenas hee Gaynd in Nemea goodly victoree; Therein the mery birds of euery sort Chaunted alowd their chearefull harmonie: And made emongst them selues a sweet consort, That quickned the dull spright with musicall comfort. < 2.5.32> In secret shadow from the sunny ray, On a sweet bed of lillies softly layd, Amidst a flocke of Damzels fresh and gay, That round about him dissolute did play Their wanton follies, and light meriment; Euery of which did loosely disaray Her vpper parts of meet habiliments, And shewd them naked, deckt with many ornaments. < 2.5.33> Him to aggrate, and greatest pleasures shew; Some framd faire lookes, glancing like euening lights, Others sweet words, dropping like honny dew; Some bathed kisses, and did soft embrew, The sugred licour through his melting lips: One boastes her beautie, and does yeeld to vew Her daintie limbes aboue her tender hips, Another her out boastes, and all for tryall strips. < 2.5.34> His wandring thought in deepe desire does steepe, And his fraile eye with spoyle of beautie feedes; Sometimes he falsely faines himselfe to sleepe, Whiles through their lids his wanton eies do peepe, To steale a snatch of amorous conceipt, Whereby close fire into his heart does creepe: So, them deceiues, deceiu'd in his deceipt, Made drunke with drugs of deare voluptuous receipt. < 2.5.35> Thus in still waues of deepe delight to wade, Fiercely approching, to him lowdly cride, Cymochles; oh no, but Cymochles shade, In which that manly person late did fade, What is become of great Acrates sonne? Or where hath he hong vp his mortall blade, That hath so many haughtie conquests wonne? Is all his force forlorne, and all his glory donne? < 2.5.36> He said? Vp, vp, thou womanish weake knight, That here in Ladies lap entombed art, Vnmindfull of thy praise and prowest might, And weetlesse eke of lately wrought despight, Whiles sad Pyrrochles lies on senselesse ground, And groneth out his vtmost grudging spright, Through many a stroke, & many a streaming wound, Calling thy helpe in vaine, that here in ioyes art dround. < 2.5.37> The man awoke, and would haue questiond more; But he would not endure that wofull theame For to dilate at large, but vrged sore With percing words, and pittifull implore, Him hastie to arise. As one affright With hellish feends, or Furies mad vprore, He then vprose, inflam'd with fell despight, And called for his armes; for he would algates fight. < 2.5.38> And lightly mounted, passeth on his way, Ne Ladies loues, ne sweete entreaties might Appease his heat, or hastie passage stay; For he has vowd, to beene aueng'd that day, (That day it selfe him seemed all too long:) On him, that did Pyrrochles deare dismay: So proudly pricketh on his courser strong, And Atin aie him pricks with spurs of shame & wrong. < 2.6.1> Guyon is of immodest Merth,
A harder lesson, to learne Continence
< 2.6.2> With cruell purpose bent to wreake on him The wrath, which Atin kindled in his mind, Came to a riuer, by whose vtmost brim Wayting to passe, he saw whereas did swim A long the shore, as swift as glaunce of eye, A litle Gondelay, bedecked trim With boughes and arbours wouen cunningly, That like a litle forrest seemed outwardly. < 2.6.3> Making sweet solace to her selfe alone; Sometimes she sung, as loud as larke in aire, Sometimes she laught, that nigh her breth was gone, Yet was there not with her else any one, That might to her moue cause of meriment: Matter of merth enough, though there were none She could deuise, and thousand waies inuent, To feede her foolish humour, and vaine iolliment. < 2.6.4> He loudly cald to such, as were a bord, The little barke vnto the shore to draw, And him to ferrie ouer that deepe ford: The merry marriner vnto his word Soone hearkned, and her painted bote streightway Turnd to the shore, where that same warlike Lord She in receiu'd; but Atin by no way She would admit, albe the knight her much did pray. < 2.6.5> More swift, then swallow sheres the liquid skie, Withouten oare or Pilot it to guide, Or winged canuas with the wind to flie, Only she turn'd a pin, and by and by It cut away vpon the yielding waue, Ne cared she her course for to apply: For it was taught the way, which she would haue, And both from rocks and flats it selfe could wisely saue. < 2.6.6> New merth, her passenger to entertaine: For she in pleasant purpose did abound, And greatly ioyed merry tales to faine, Of which a store-house did with her remaine, Yet seemed, nothing well they her became; For all her words she drownd with laughter vaine, And wanted grace in vtt'ring of the same, That turned all her pleasance to a scoffing game. < 2.6.7> As her fantasticke wit did most delight, Sometimes her head she fondly would aguize With gaudie girlonds, or fresh flowrets dight About her necke, or rings of rushes plight; Sometimes to doe him laugh, she would assay To laugh at shaking of the leaues light, Or to behold the water worke, and play About her litle frigot, therein making way. < 2.6.8> Gaue wondrous great contentment to the knight, That of his way he had no souenaunce, Nor care of vow'd reuenge, and cruell fight, But to weake wench did yeeld his martiall might. So easie was to quench his flamed mind With one sweet drop of sensuall delight: So easie is, t'appease the stormie wind Of malice in the calme of pleasant womankind. < 2.6.9> Mongst which Cymochles of her questioned, Both what she was, and what that vsage ment, Which in her cot she daily practised. Vaine man (said she) that wouldest be reckoned A straunger in thy home, and ignoraunt Of Phædria (for so my name is red) Of Phædria, thine owne fellow seruaunt; For thou to serue Acrasia thy selfe doest vaunt. < 2.6.10> The Idle lake, my wandring ship I row, That knowes her port, and thither sailes by ayme, Ne care, ne feare I, how the wind do blow, Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow: Both slow and swift a like do serue my tourne, Ne swelling Neptune, ne loud thundring Ioue Can chaunge my cheare, or make me euer mourne; My litle boat can safely passe this perilous bourne. < 2.6.11> They were farre past the passage, which he spake, And come vnto an Island, waste and voyd, That floted in the midst of that great lake: There her small Gondelay her port did make, And that gay paire issuing on the shore Disburdned her. Their way they forward take Into the land, that lay them faire before, Whose pleasaunce she him shew'd, and plentifull great store. < 2.6.12> Emongst wide waues set, like a litle nest, As if it had by Natures cunning hand, Bene choisely picked out from all the rest, And laid forth for ensample of the best: No daintie flowre or herbe, that growes on ground, No arboret with painted blossomes drest, And smelling sweet, but there it might be found To bud out faire, and her sweet smels throw all around. < 2.6.13> No braunch, whereon a fine bird did not sit: No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing; No song but did containe a louely dit: Trees, braunches, birds, and songs were framed fit, For to allure fraile mind to carelesse ease. Carelesse the man soone woxe, and his weake wit Was ouercome of thing, that did him please; So pleased, did his wrathfull purpose faire appease. < 2.6.14> With false delights, and fild with pleasures vaine, Into a shadie dale she soft him led, And laid him downe vpon a grassie plaine; And her sweet selfe without dread, or disdaine, She set beside, laying his head disarm'd In her loose lap, it softly to sustaine, Where soone he slumbred, fearing not be harm'd, The whiles with a loue lay she thus him sweetly charm'd. < 2.6.15> The flowres, the fields, and all that pleasant growes, How they themselues doe thine ensample make, Whiles nothing enuious nature them forth throwes Out of her fruitfull lap; how, no man knowes, They spring, they bud, they blossome fresh and faire, And deck the world with their rich pompous showes; Yet no man for them taketh paines or care, Yet no man to them can his carefull paines compare. < 2.6.16> The Flowre-deluce, her louely Paramoure, Bid thee to them thy fruitlesse labours yield, And soone leaue off this toylesome wearie stoure; Loe loe how braue she decks her bounteous boure, With silken curtens and gold couerlets, Therein to shrowd her sumptuous Belamoure, Yet neither spinnes nor cardes, ne cares nor frets, But to her mother Nature all her care she lets. < 2.6.17> Art Lord, and eke of nature Soueraine, Wilfully make thy selfe a wretched thrall, And wast thy ioyous houres in needlesse paine, Seeking for daunger and aduentures vaine? What bootes it all to haue, and nothing vse? Who shall him rew, that swimming in the maine, Will die for thirst, and water doth refuse? Refuse such fruitlesse toile, and present pleasures chuse. < 2.6.18> That of no wordly thing he care did take; Then she with liquors strong his eyes did steepe, That nothing should him hastily awake: So she him left, and did her selfe betake Vnto her boat againe, with which she cleft The slouthfull waue of that great griesly lake; Soone she that Island farre behind her left, And now is come to that same place, where first she weft. < 2.6.19> Vnto the other side of that wide strond, Where she was rowing, and for passage sought: Him needed not long call, she soone to hond Her ferry brought, where him she byding fond, With his sad guide; himselfe she tooke a boord, But the Blacke Palmer suffred still to stond, Ne would for price, or prayers once affoord, To ferry that old man ouer the perlous foord. < 2.6.20> Yet being entred, might not backe retyre; For the flit barke, obaying to her mind, Forth launched quickly, as she did desire, Ne gaue him leaue to bid that aged sire Adieu, but nimbly ran her wonted course Through the dull billowes thicke as troubled mire, Whom neither wind out of their seat could forse, Nor timely tides did driue out of their sluggish sourse. < 2.6.21> Her merry fit she freshly gan to reare, And did of ioy and iollitie deuize, Her selfe to cherish, and her guest to cheare: The knight was courteous, and did not forbeare Her honest merth and pleasaunce to partake; But when he saw her toy, and gibe, and geare, And passe the bonds of modest merimake, Her dalliance he despisd, and follies did forsake. < 2.6.22> And said, and did all that mote him delight, Till they arriued in that pleasant Ile, Where sleeping late she left her other knight. But when as Guyon of that land had sight, He wist himselfe amisse, and angry said; Ah Dame, perdie ye haue not doen me right, Thus to mislead me, whiles I you obaid: Me litle needed from my right way to haue straid. < 2.6.23> Who fares on sea, may not commaund his way, Ne wind and weather at his pleasure call: The sea is wide, and easie for to stray; The wind vnstable, and doth neuer stay. But here a while ye may in safety rest, Till season serue new passage to assay; Better safe port, then be in seas distrest. Therewith she laught, and did her earnest end in iest. < 2.6.24> Himselfe appease, and issewd forth on shore: The ioyes whereof, and happie fruitfulnesse, Such as he saw, she gan him lay before, And all though pleasant, yet she made much more: The fields did laugh, the flowres did freshly spring, The trees did bud, and earely blossomes bore, And all the quire of birds did sweetly sing, And told that gardins pleasures in their caroling. < 2.6.25> Would oftentimes emongst them beare a part, And striue to passe (as she could well enough) Their natiue musicke by her skilfull art: So did she all, that might his constant hart Withdraw from thought of warlike enterprize, And drowne in dissolute delights apart, Where noyse of armes, or vew of martiall guize Might not reuiue desire of knightly exercize. < 2.6.26> And euer held his hand vpon his hart: Yet would not seeme so rude, and thewed ill, As to despise so courteous seeming part, That gentle Ladie did to him impart, But fairely tempring fond desire subdewd, And euer her desired to depart. She list not heare, but her disports poursewd, And euer bad him stay, till time the tide renewd. < 2.6.27> That he awoke out of his idle dreme, And shaking off his drowzie dreriment, Gan him auize, how ill did him beseeme, In slouthfull sleepe his molten hart to steme, And quench the brond of his conceiued ire. Tho vp he started, stird with shame extreme, Ne staied for his Damzell to inquire, But marched to the strond, their passage to require. < 2.6.28> Accompanyde with Phædria the faire, Eftsoones he gan to rage, and inly fret, Crying, Let be that Ladie debonaire, Thou recreant knight, and soone thy selfe prepaire To battell, if thou meane her loue to gaine: Loe, loe alreadie, how the fowles in aire Doe flocke, awaiting shortly to obtaine Thy carcasse for their pray, the guerdon of thy paine. < 2.6.29> And with importune outrage him assayld; Who soone prepard to field, his sword forth drew, And him with equall value counteruayld: Their mightie strokes their haberieons dismayld, And naked made each others manly spalles; The mortall steele despiteously entayld Deepe in their flesh, quite through the yron walles, That a large purple streme adown their giambeux falles. < 2.6.30> So puissant foe, with enuious despight His proud presumed force increased more, Disdeigning to be held so long in fight; Sir Guyon grudging not so much his might, As those vnknightly raylings, which he spoke, With wrathfull fire his courage kindled bright, Thereof deuising shortly to be wroke, And doubling all his powres, redoubled euery stroke. < 2.6.31> And both attonce their huge blowes downe did sway; Cymochles sword on Guyons shield yglaunst, And thereof nigh one quarter sheard away; But Guyons angry blade so fierce did play On th'others helmet, which as Titan shone, That quite it cloue his plumed crest in tway, And bared all his head vnto the bone; Wherewith astonisht, still he stood, as senselesse stone. < 2.6.32> That deadly daunger, soone atweene them ran; And at their feet her selfe most humbly feld, Crying with pitteous voice, and count'nance wan; Ah well away, most noble Lords, how can Your cruell eyes endure so pitteous sight, To shed your liues on ground? wo worth the man, That first did teach the cursed steele to bight In his owne flesh, and make way to the liuing spright. < 2.6.33> Your yron brestes, or pittie could find place, Withhold your bloudie hands from battell fierce, And sith for me ye fight, to me this grace Both yeeld, to stay your deadly strife a space. They stayd a while: and forth she gan proceed: Most wretched woman, and of wicked race, That am the author of this hainous deed, And cause of death betweene two doughtie knights doe breed. < 2.6.34> Not this rude kind of battell, nor these armes Are meet, the which doe men in bale to sterue, And dolefull sorrow heape with deadly harmes: Such cruell game my scarmoges disarmes: Another warre, and other weapons I Doe loue, where loue does giue his sweet alarmes, Without bloudshed, and where the enemy Does yeeld vnto his foe a pleasant victory. < 2.6.35> The famous name of knighthood fowly shend; But louely peace, and gentle amitie, And in Amours the passing houres to spend, The mightie martiall hands doe most commend; Of loue they euer greater glory bore, Then of their armes: Mars is Cupidoes frend, And is for Venus loues renowmed more, Then all his wars and spoiles, the which he did of yore. < 2.6.36> To proue extremities of bloudie fight, Yet at her speach their rages gan relent, And calme the sea of their tempestuous spight, Such powre haue pleasing words: such is the might Of courteous clemencie in gentle hart. Now after all was ceast, the Faery knight Besought that Damzell suffer him depart, And yield him readie passage to that other part. < 2.6.37> Of his departure thence; for of her ioy And vaine delight she saw he light did pas, A foe of folly and immodest toy, Still solemne sad, or still disdainfull coy, Delighting all in armes and cruell warre, That her sweet peace and pleasures did annoy, Troubled with terrour and vnquiet iarre, That she well pleased was thence to amoue him farre. < 2.6.38> Forthwith directed to that further strand; The which on the dull waues did lightly flote And soone arriued on the shallow sand, Where gladsome Guyon salied forth to land, And to that Damzell thankes gaue for reward. Vpon that shore he spied Atin stand, There by his maister left, when late he far'd In Phædrias flit barke ouer that perlous shard. < 2.6.39> He with Pyrrochles sharp debatement made; Streight gan he him reuile, and bitter rate, As shepheards curre, that in darke euenings shade Hath tracted forth some saluage beastes trade; Vile Miscreant (said he) whither doest thou flie The shame and death, which will thee soone inuade? What coward hand shall doe thee next to die, That art thus foully fled from famous enemie? < 2.6.40> But sober Guyon, hearing him so raile, Though somewhat moued in his mightie hart, Yet with strong reason maistred passion fraile, And passed fairely forth. He turning taile, Backe to the strond retyrd, and there still stayd, Awaiting passage, which him late did faile; The whiles Cymochles with that wanton mayd The hastie heat of his auowd reuenge delayd. < 2.6.41> An armed knight, that towards him fast ran, He ran on foot, as if in lucklesse warre His forlorne steed from him the victour wan; He seemed breathlesse, hartlesse, faint, and wan, And all his armour sprinckled was with bloud, And soyld with durtie gore, that no man can Discerne the hew thereof. He neuer stood, But bent his hastie course towards the idle flood. < 2.6.42> How without stop or stay he fiercely lept, And deepe him selfe beduked in the same, That in the lake his loftie crest was steept, Ne of his safetie seemed care he kept, But with his raging armes he rudely flasht, The waues about, and all his armour swept, That all the bloud and filth away was washt, Yet still he bet the water, and the billowes dasht. < 2.6.43> For much he wondred at that vncouth sight; Whom should he, but his owne deare Lord, there see, His owne deare Lord Pyrrochles, in sad plight, Readie to drowne himselfe for fell despight. Harrow now out, and well away, he cryde, What dismall day hath lent this cursed light, To see my Lord so deadly damnifyde Pyrrochles, ô Pyrrochles, what is thee betyde? < 2.6.44> O how I burne with implacable fire, Yet nought can quench mine inly flaming syde, Nor sea of licour cold, nor lake of mire, Nothing but death can doe me to respire. Ah be it (said he) from Pyrrochles farre After pursewing death once to require, Or think, that ought those puissant hands may marre: Death is for wretches borne vnder vnhappie starre. < 2.6.45> That am, I weene, most wretched man aliue, Burning in flames, yet no flames can I see, And dying daily, daily yet reuiue: O Atin, helpe to me last death to giue. The varlet at his plaint was grieu'd so sore, That his deepe wounded hart in two did riue, And his owne health remembring now no more, Did follow that ensample, which he blam'd afore. < 2.6.46> (So Loue the dread of daunger doth despise) And of him catching hold him strongly stayd From drowning. But more happie he, then wise Of that seas nature did him not auise. The waues thereof so slow and sluggish were, Engrost with mud, which did them foule agrise, That euery weightie thing they did vpbeare, Ne ought mote euer sinke downe to the bottome there. < 2.6.47> And stroue in vaine, the one himselfe to drowne, The other both from drowning for to saue, Lo, to that shore one in an auncient gowne, Whose hoarie locks great grauitie did crowne, Holding in hand a goodly arming sword, By fortune came, led with the troublous sowne: Where drenched deepe he found in that dull ford The carefull seruant, striuing with his raging Lord. < 2.6.48> And loudly cald, Helpe helpe, ô Archimage; To saue my Lord, in wretched plight forlore; Helpe with thy hand, or with thy counsell sage: Weake hands, but counsell is most strong in age. Him when the old man saw, he wondred sore, To see Pyrrochles there so rudely rage: Yet sithens helpe, he saw, he needed more Then pittie, he in hast approched to the shore. < 2.6.49> What hellish furie hath at earst thee hent? Furious euer I thee knew to bee, Yet neuer in this straunge astonishment. These flames, these flames (he cryde) do me torment. What flames (quoth he) when I thee present see, In daunger rather to be drent, then brent? Harrow, the flames, which me consume (said hee) Ne can be quencht, within my secret bowels bee. < 2.6.50> Furor, oh Furor hath me thus bedight: His deadly wounds within my liuers swell, And his whot fire burnes in mine entrails bright, Kindled through his infernall brond of spight, Sith late with him I batteil vaine would boste; That now I weene Ioues dreaded thunder light Does scorch not halfe so sore, nor damned ghoste In flaming Phlegeton does not so felly roste. < 2.6.51> He knew right well, and him attonce disarmd: Then searcht his secret wounds, and made a priefe Of euery place, that was with brusing harmd, Or with the hidden fire too inly warmd. Which done, he balmes and herbes thereto applyde, And eue[r]more with mighty spels them charmd, That in short space he has them qualifyde, And him restor'd to health, that would haue algates dyde. < 2.7.1> Cant. VII. Guyon findes Mammon in a delue,
AS Pilot well expert in perilous waue,
< 2.7.2> Late left beyond that Ydle lake, proceedes Yet on his way, of none accompanide; And euermore himselfe with comfort feedes, Of his owne vertues, and prayse-worthy deedes. So long he yode, yet no aduenture found, Which fame of her shrill trompet worthy reedes: For still he traueild through wide wastfull ground, That nought but desert wildernesse shew'd all around. < 2.7.3> Couer'd with boughes & shrubs from heauens light, Whereas he sitting found in secret shade An vncouth, saluage, and vnciuile wight, Of griesly hew, and fowle ill fauour'd sight; His face with smoke was tand, and eyes were bleard, His head and beard with sout were ill bedight, His cole-blacke hands did seeme to haue beene seard In smithes fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes appeard. < 2.7.4> Was vnderneath enueloped with gold, Whose glistring glosse darkned with filthy dust, Well it appeared, to haue beene of old A worke of rich entayle, and curious mould, Wouen with antickes and wild Imagery: And in his lap a masse of coyne he told, And turned vpsidowne, to feede his eye A couetous desire with his huge threasury. < 2.7.5> Great heapes of gold, that neuer could be spent: Of which some were rude owre, not purifide Of Mulcibers deuouring element; Some others were new driuen, and distent Into great Ingoes, and to wedges square; Some in round plates withouten moniment; But most were stampt, and in their metall bare The antique shapes of kings and kesars straunge & rare. < 2.7.6> And hast he rose, for to remoue aside Those pretious hils from straungers enuious sight, And downe them poured through an hole full wide, Into the hollow earth, them there to hide. But Guyon lightly to him leaping, stayd His hand, that trembled, as one terrifyde; And though him selfe were at the sight dismayd, Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull sayd. < 2.7.7> That here in desert hast thine habitaunce, And these rich heapes of wealth doest hide apart From the worldes eye, and from her right vsaunce? Thereat with staring eyes fixed askaunce, In great disdaine, he answerd; Hardy Elfe, That darest vew my direfull countenaunce, I read thee rash, and heedlesse of thy selfe, To trouble my still seate, and heapes of pretious pelfe. < 2.7.8> Great Mammon, greatest god below the skye, That of my plenty poure out vnto all, And vnto none my graces do enuye: Riches, renowme, and principality, Honour, estate, and all this worldes good, For which men swinck and sweat incessantly, Fro me do flow into an ample flood, And in the hollow earth haue their eternall brood. < 2.7.9> At thy commaund lo all these mountaines bee; Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew All these may not suffise, there shall to thee Ten times so much be numbred francke and free. Mammon (said he) thy godheades vaunt is vaine, And idle offers of thy golden fee; To them, that couet such eye-glutting gaine, Proffer thy giftes, and fitter seruaunts entertaine. < 2.7.10> And honours suit my vowed dayes do spend, Vnto thy bounteous baytes, and pleasing charmes, With which weake men thou witchest, to attend: Regard of worldly mucke doth fowly blend, And low abase the high heroicke spright, That ioyes for crownes and kingdomes to contend; Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes be my delight: Those be the riches fit for an aduent'rous knight. < 2.7.11> That money can thy wantes at will supply? Sheilds, steeds, and armes, & all things for thee meet It can puruay in twinckling of an eye; And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply. Do not I kings create, and throw the crowne Sometimes to him, that low in dust doth ly? And him that raignd, into his rowme thrust downe, And whom I lust, do heape with glory and renowne? < 2.7.12> And deeme them roote of all disquietnesse; First got with guile, and then preseru'd with dread, And after spent with pride and lauishnesse, Leauing behind them griefe and heauinesse. Infinite mischiefes of them do arize, Strife; and debate, bloudshed, and bitternesse, Outrageous wrong, and hellish couetize, That noble heart as great dishonour doth despize. < 2.7.13> But realmes and rulers thou doest both confound, And loyall truth to treason doest incline; Witnesse the guiltlesse bloud pourd oft on ground, The crowned often slaine, the slayer cround, The sacred Diademe in peeces rent, And purple robe gored with many a wound; Castles surprizd, great cities sackt and brent: So mak'st thou kings, & gaynest wrongfull gouernement. < 2.7.14> The priuate state, and make the life vnsweet: Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth crosse, And in frayle wood on Adrian gulfe doth fleet, Doth not, I weene, so many euils meet. Then Mammon wexing wroth, And why then, said, Are mortall men so fond and vndiscreet, So euill thing to seeke vnto their ayd, And hauing not complaine, and hauing it vpbraid? < 2.7.15> Frayle men are oft captiu'd to couetise: But would they thinke, with how small allowaunce Vntroubled Nature doth her selfe suffise, Such superfluities they would despise, Which with sad cares empeach our natiue ioyes: At the well head the purest streames arise: But mucky filth his braunching armes annoyes, And with vncomely weedes the gentle waue accloyes. < 2.7.16> Found no defect in his Creatours grace, But with glad thankes, and vnreproued truth, The gifts of soueraigne bountie did embrace: Like Angels life was then mens happy cace; But later ages pride, like corn-fed steed, Abusd her plenty, and fat swolne encreace To all licentious lust, and gan exceed The measure of her meane, and naturall first need. < 2.7.17> Of his great G[r]andmother with steele to wound, And the hid treasures in her sacred tombe, With Sacriledge to dig. Therein he found Fountaines of gold and siluer to abound, Of which the matter of his huge desire And pompous pride eftsoones he did compound; Then auarice gan through his veines inspire His greedy flames, and kindled life-deuouring fire. < 2.7.18> And leaue the rudenesse of that antique age To them, that liu'd therein in state forlorne; Thou that doest liue in later times, must wage Thy workes for wealth, and life for gold engage. If then thee list my offred grace to vse, Take what thou please of all this surplusage; If thee list not, leaue haue thou to refuse: But thing refused, do not afterward accuse. < 2.7.19> Thing offred, till I know it well be got, Ne wote I, but thou didst these goods bereaue From rightfull owner by vnrighteous lot, Or that bloud guiltinesse or guile them blot. Perdy (quoth he) yet neuer eye did vew, Ne toung did tell, ne hand these handled not, But safe I haue them kept in secret mew, From heauens sight, and powre of all which th&etilde; pursew. < 2.7.20> So huge a masse, and hide from heauens eye? Or where hast thou thy wonne, that so much gold Thou canst preserue from wrong and robbery? Come thou (quoth he) and see. So by and by Through that thicke couert he him led, and found A darkesome way, which no man could descry, That deepe descended through the hollow ground, And was with dread and horrour compassed around. < 2.7.21> That stretcht it selfe into an ample plaine, Through which a beaten broad high way did trace, That streight did lead to Plutoes griesly raine: By that wayes side, there sate infernall Payne, And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife: The one in hand an yron whip did straine, The other brandished a bloudy knife, And both did gnash their teeth, & both did threaten life. < 2.7.22> Cruell Reuenge, and rancorous Despight, Disloyall Treason, and hart-burning Hate, But gnawing Gealosie out of their sight Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bight, And trembling Feare still to and fro did fly, And found no place, where safe he shroud him might, Lamenting Sorrow did in darknesse lye, And Shame his vgly face did hide from liuing eye. < 2.7.23> Did alwayes sore, beating his yron wings; And after him Owles and Night-rauens flew, The hatefull messengers of heauy things, Of death and dolour telling sad tidings; Whiles sad Celeno, sitting on a clift, A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings, That hart of flint a sunder could haue rift: Which hauing ended, after him she flyeth swift. < 2.7.24> By whom they passing, spake vnto them nought. But th'Elfin knight with wonder all the way Did feed his eyes, and fild his inner thought. At last him to a litle dore he brought, That to the gate of Hell, which gaped wide, Was next adioyning, ne them parted ought: Betwixt them both was but a litle stride, That did the house of Richesse from hell-mouth diuide. < 2.7.25> Day and night keeping wary watch and ward, For feare least Force or Fraud should vnaware Breake in, and spoile the treasure there in gard: Ne would he suffer Sleepe once thither-ward Approch, albe his drowsie den were next; For next to death is Sleepe to be compard: Therefore his house is vnto his annext; Here Sleep, there Richesse, & Hel-gate th&etilde; both betwext. < 2.7.26> To him did open, and affoorded way; Him followed eke Sir Guyon euermore, Ne darkenesse him, ne daunger might dismay. Soone as he entred was, the dore streight way Did shut, and from behind it forth there lept An vgly feend, more fowle then dismall day, The which with monstrous stalke behind him stept, And euer as he went, dew watch vpon him kept. < 2.7.27> If euer couetous hand, or lustfull eye, Or lips he layd on thing, that likt him best, Or euer sleepe his eye-strings did vntye, Should be his pray. And therefore still on hye He ouer him did hold his cruell clawes, Threatning with greedy gripe to do him dye And rend in peeces with his rauenous pawes, If euer he transgrest the fatall Stygian lawes. < 2.7.28> Like an huge caue, hewne out of rocky clift, From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong, Embost with massy gold of glorious gift, And with rich metall loaded euery rift, That heauy ruine they did seeme to threat; And ouer them Arachne high did lift Her cunning web, and spred her subtile net, Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more blacke then Iet. < 2.7.29> But ouergrowne with dust and old decay, And hid in darkenesse, that none could behold The hew thereof: for vew of chearefull day Did neuer in that house it selfe display, But a faint shadow of vncertain light; Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away: Or as the Moone cloathed with clowdy night, Does shew to him, that walkes in feare and sad affright. < 2.7.30> But huge great yron chests and coffers strong, All bard with double bends, that none could weene Them to efforce by violence or wrong; On euery side they placed were along. But all the ground with sculs was scattered, And dead mens bones, which round about were flong, Whose liues, it seemed, whilome there were shed, And their vile carcases now left vnburied. < 2.7.31> Till that they came vnto an yron dore, Which to them opened of his owne accord, And shewd of richesse such exceeding store, As eye of man did neuer see before; Ne euer could within one place be found, Though all the wealth, which is, or was of yore, Could gathered be through all the world around, And that aboue were added to that vnder ground. < 2.7.32> Commaunded was, who thereby did attend, And warily awaited day and night, From other couetous feends it to defend, Who it to rob and ransacke did intend. Then Mammon turning to that warriour, said; Loe here the worldes blis, loe here the end, To which all men do ayme, rich to be made: Such grace now to be happy, is before thee laid. < 2.7.33> Ne to be made so happy do intend: Another blis before mine eyes I place, Another happinesse, another end. To them, that list, these base regardes I lend: But I in armes, and in atchieuements braue, Do rather choose my flitting houres to spend, And to be Lord of those, that riches haue, Then them to haue my selfe, and be their seruile sclaue. < 2.7.34> And grieu'd, so long to lacke his greedy pray; For well he weened, that so glorious bayte Would tempt his guest, to take thereof assay: Had he so doen, he had him snatcht away, More light then Culuer in the Faulcons fist. Eternall God thee saue from such decay. But whenas Mammon saw his purpose mist, Him to entrap vnwares another way he wist. < 2.7.35> Vnto another rowme, whose dore forthright, To him did open, as it had beene taught: Therein an hundred raunges weren pight, And hundred fornaces all burning bright; By euery fornace many feends did bide, Deformed creatures, horrible in sight, And euery feend his busie paines applide, To melt the golden metall, ready to be tride. < 2.7.36> And with forst wind the fewell did inflame; Another did the dying bronds repaire With yron toungs, and sprinckled oft the same With liquid waues, fiers Vulcans rage to tame, Who maistring them, renewd his former heat; Some scumd the drosse, that from the metall came; Some stird the molten owre with ladles great; And euery one did swincke, and euery one did sweat. < 2.7.37> Glistring in armes and battailous aray, From their whot worke they did themselues withdraw To wonder at the sight: for till that day, They neuer creature saw, that came that way. Their staring eyes sparckling with feruent fire, And vgly shapes did nigh the man dismay, That were it not for shame, he would retire, Till that him thus bespake their soueraigne Lord & sire. < 2.7.38> That liuing eye before did neuer see: The thing, that thou didst craue so earnestly, To weet, whence all the wealth late shewd by mee, Proceeded, lo now is reueald to thee. Here is the fountaine of the worldes good: Now therefore, if thou wilt enriched bee, Auise thee well, and chaunge thy wilfull mood, Least thou perhaps hereafter wish, and be withstood. < 2.7.39> That all thine idle offers I refuse. All that I need I haue; what needeth mee To couet more, then I haue cause to vse? With such vaine shewes thy worldlings vile abuse: But giue me leaue to follow mine emprise. Mammon was much displeasd, yet no'te he chuse, But beare the rigour of his bold mesprise, And thence him forward led, him further to entise. < 2.7.40> To a broad gate, all built of beaten gold: The gate was open, but therein did wait A sturdy villein, striding stiffe and bold, As if that highest God defie he would; In his right hand an yron club he held, But he himselfe was all of golden mould, Yet had both life and sence, and well could weld That cursed weapon, when his cruell foes he queld. < 2.7.41> To be so cald, and who so did him call: Sterne was his looke, and full of stomacke vaine, His portaunce terrible, and stature tall, Far passing th'hight of men terrestriall; Like an huge Gyant of the Titans race, That made him scorne all creatures great and small, And with his pride all others powre deface: More fit amongst blacke fiendes, then men to haue his place. < 2.7.42> That with their brightnesse made that darknesse light, His harmefull club he gan to hurtle hye, And threaten batteill to the Faery knight; Who likewise gan himselfe to batteill dight, Till Mammon did his hasty hand withhold, And counseld him abstaine from perilous fight: For nothing might abash the villein bold, Ne mortall steele emperce his miscreated mould. < 2.7.43> And the fiers Carle commaunding to forbeare, He brought him in. The rowme was large and wide, As it some Gyeld or solemne Temple weare: Many great golden pillours did vpbeare The massy roofe, and riches huge sustayne, And euery pillour decked was full deare With crownes and Diademes, & titles vaine, Which mortall Princes wore, whiles they on earth did rayne. < 2.7.44> Of euery sort and nation vnder skye, Which with great vprore preaced to draw nere To th'vpper part, where was aduaunced hye A stately siege of soueraigne maiestye; And thereon sat a woman gorgeous gay, And richly clad in robes of royaltye, That neuer earthly Prince in such aray His glory did enhaunce, and pompous pride display. < 2.7.45> That her broad beauties beam great brightnes threw Through the dim shade, that all men might it see: Yet was not that same her owne natiue hew, But wrought by art and counterfetted shew, Thereby more louers vnto her to call; Nath'lesse most heauenly faire in deed and vew She by creation was, till she did fall; Thenceforth she sought for helps, to cloke her crime withall. < 2.7.46> She held a great gold chaine ylincked well, Whose vpper end to highest heauen was knit, And lower part did reach to lowest Hell; And all that preace did round about her swell, To catchen hold of that long chaine, thereby To clime aloft, and others to excell: That was Ambition, rash desire to sty, And euery lincke thereof a step of dignity. < 2.7.47> By riches and vnrighteous reward, Some by close shouldring, some by flatteree; Others through friends, others for base regard; And all by wrong wayes for themselues prepard. Those that were vp themselues, kept others low, Those that were low themselues, held others hard, Ne suffred them to rise or greater grow, But euery one did striue his fellow downe to throw. < 2.7.48> What meant that preace about that Ladies throne, And what she was that did so high aspire. Him Mammon answered; That goodly one, Whom all that folke with such contention, Do flocke about, my deare my daughter is; Honour and dignitie from her alone, Deriued are, and all this worldes blis For which ye men do striue: few get, but many mis. < 2.7.49> The fairest wight that wonneth vnder skye, But that this darksome neather world her light Doth dim with horrour and deformitie, Worthy of heauen and hye felicitie, From whence the gods haue her for enuy thrust: But sith thou hast found fauour in mine eye, Thy spouse I will her make, if that thou lust, That she may thee aduance for workes and merites iust. < 2.7.50> For so great grace and offred high estate; But I, that am fraile flesh and earthly wight, Vnworthy match for such immortall mate My selfe well wote, and mine vnequall fate; And were I not, yet is my trouth yplight, And loue auowd to other Lady late, That to remoue the same I haue no might: To chaunge loue causelesse is reproch to warlike knight. < 2.7.51> Yet forcing it to faine, him forth thence led Through griesly shadowes by a beaten path, Into a gardin goodly garnished With hearbs and fruits, whose kinds mote not be red: Not such, as earth out of her fruitfull woomb Throwes forth to men, sweet and well sauoured, But direfull deadly blacke both leafe and bloom, Fit to adorne the dead, and decke the drery toombe. < 2.7.52> And trees of bitter Gall, and Heben sad, Dead sleeping Poppy, and blacke Hellebore, Cold Coloquintida, and Tetra mad, Mortall Samnitis, and Cicuta bad, With which th'vniust Atheniens made to dy Wise Socrates, who thereof quaffing glad Pourd out his life, and last Philosophy To the faire Critias his dearest Belamy. < 2.7.53> And in the midst thereof a siluer seat, With a thicke Arber goodly ouer dight, In which she often vsd from open heat Her selfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat. Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree, With braunches broad dispred and body great, Clothed with leaues, that none the wood mote see And loaden all with fruit as thicke as it might bee. < 2.7.54> That goodly was their glory to behold, On earth like neuer grew, ne liuing wight Like euer saw, but they from hence were sold; For those, which Hercules with conquest bold Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began, And planted there, did bring forth fruit of gold: And those with which th'Eubæan young man wan Swift Atalanta, when through craft he her out ran. < 2.7.55> With which Acontius got his louer trew, Whom he had long time sought with fruitlesse suit: Here eke that famous golden Apple grew, The which emongst the gods false Ate threw; For which th'Idæan Ladies disagreed, Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew, And had of her, faire Helen for his meed, That many noble Greekes and Troians made to bleed. < 2.7.56> So faire and great, that shadowed all the ground, And his broad braunches, laden with rich fee, Did stretch themselues without the vtmost bound Of this great gardin, compast with a mound, Which ouer-hanging, they themselues did steepe, In a blacke flood which flow'd about it round; That is the riuer of Cocytus deepe, In which full many soules do endlesse waile and weepe. < 2.7.57> And looking downe, saw many damned wights, In those sad waues, which direfull deadly stanke, Plonged continually of cruell Sprights, That with their pitteous cryes, and yelling shrights, They made the further shore resounden wide: Emongst the rest of those same ruefull sights, One cursed creature, he by chaunce espide, That drenched lay full deepe, vnder the Garden side. < 2.7.58> Yet gaped still, as coueting to drinke Of the cold liquor, which he waded in, And stretching forth his hand, did often thinke To reach the fruit, which grew vpon the brincke: But both the fruit from hand, and floud from mouth Did flie abacke, and made him vainely swinke: The whiles he steru'd with hunger and with drouth He daily dyde, yet neuer throughly dyen couth. < 2.7.59> Askt who he was, and what he ment thereby: Who groning deepe, thus answerd him againe; Most cursed of all creatures vnder skye, Lo Tantalus, I here tormented lye: Of whom high Ioue wont whylome feasted bee, Lo here I now for want of food doe dye: But if that thou be such, as I thee see, Of grace I pray thee, giue to eat and drinke to mee. < 2.7.60> Abide the fortune of thy present fate, And vnto all that liue in high degree, Ensample be of mind intemperate, To teach them how to vse their present state. Then gan the cursed wretch aloud to cry, Accusing highest Ioue and gods ingrate, And eke blaspheming heauen bitterly, As authour of vniustice, there to let him dye. < 2.7.61> Another wretch, whose carkasse deepe was drent Within the riuer, which the same did hyde: But both his hands most filthy feculent, Aboue the water were on high extent, And faynd to wash themselues incessantly; Yet nothing cleaner were for such intent, But rather fowler seemed to the eye; So lost his labour vaine and idle industry. < 2.7.62> Who lifting vp his head, him answerd thus: I Pilate am the falsest Iudge, alas, And most vniust, that by vnrighteous And wicked doome, to Iewes despiteous Deliuered vp the Lord of life to die, And did acquite a murdrer felonous; The whiles my hands I washt in puritie, The whiles my soule was soyld with foule iniquitie. < 2.7.63> He there beheld, too long here to be told: Ne Mammon would there let him long remaine, For terrour of the tortures manifold, In which the damned soules he did behold, But roughly him bespake. Thou fearefull foole, Why takest not of that same fruit of gold, Ne sittest downe on that same siluer stoole, To rest thy wearie person, in the shadow coole. < 2.7.64> In frayle intemperance through sinfull bayt; To which if he inclined had at all, That dreadfull feend, which did behind him wayt, Would him haue rent in thousand peeces strayt: But he was warie wise in all his way, And well perceiued his deceiptfull sleight, Ne suffred lust his safetie to betray; So goodly did beguile the Guyler of the pray. < 2.7.65> That vitall powres gan wexe both weake and wan, For want of food, and sleepe, which two vpbeare, Like mightie pillours, this fraile life of man, That none without the same enduren can. For now three dayes of men were full outwrought, Since he this hardie enterprize began: For thy great Mammon fairely he besought, Into the world to guide him backe, as he him brought. < 2.7.66> For lenger time, then that, no liuing wight Below the earth, might suffred be to stay: So backe againe, him brought to liuing light. But all so soone as his enfeebled spright Gan sucke this vitall aire into his brest, As ouercome with too exceeding might, The life did flit away out of her nest, And all his senses were with deadly fit opprest. < 2.8.1> Sir Guyon laid in swowne is by
ANd is there care in heauen? and is there loue
< 2.8.2> To come to succour vs, that succour want? How oft do they with golden pineons, cleaue The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuiuant, Against foule feends to aide vs millitant? They for vs fight, they watch and dewly ward, And their bright Squadrons round about vs plant, And all for loue, and nothing for reward: O why should heauenly God to man haue such regard? < 2.8.3> In Mammons house, the Palmer, whom whyleare That wanton Mayd of passage had denide, By further search had passage found elsewhere, And being on his way, approched neare, Where Guyon lay in traunce, when suddenly He heard a voice, that called loud and cleare, Come hither, come hither, ô come hastily; That all the fields resounded with the ruefull cry. < 2.8.4> To weet, who called so importunely: Againe he heard a more efforced voyce, That bad him come in haste. He by and by His feeble feet directed to the cry; Which to that shadie delue him brought at last, Where Mammon earst did sunne his threasury: There the good Guyon he found slumbring fast In senselesse dreame; which sight at first him sore aghast. < 2.8.5> Of wondrous beautie, and of freshest yeares, Whose tender bud to blossome new began, And flourish faire aboue his equall peares; His snowy front curled with golden heares, Like Phoebus face adornd with sunny rayes, Diuinely shone, and two sharpe winged sheares, Decked with diuerse plumes, like painted Iayes, Were fixed at his backe, to cut his ayerie wayes. < 2.8.6> When hauing laid his cruell bow away, And mortall arrowes, wherewith he doth fill The world with murdrous spoiles and bloudie pray, With his faire mother he him dights to play, And with his goodly sisters, Graces three; The Goddesse pleased with his wanton play, Suffers her selfe through sleepe beguild to bee, The whiles the other Ladies mind their merry glee. < 2.8.7> Through fear and wonder, that he nought could say, Till him the child bespoke, Long lackt, alas, Hath bene thy faithfull aide in hard assay, Whiles deadly fit thy pupill doth dismay; Behold this heauie sight, thou reuerend Sire, But dread of death and dolour doe away; For life ere long shall to her home retire, And he that breathlesse seemes, shal corage bold respire. < 2.8.8> Of his deare safetie, I to thee commend; Yet will I not forgoe, ne yet forget The care thereof my selfe vnto the end, But euermore him succour, and defend Against his foe and mine: watch thou I pray; For euill is at hand him to offend. So hauing said, eftsoones he gan display His painted nimble wings, and vanisht quite away. < 2.8.9> And his slow eyes beguiled of their sight, Woxe sore affraid, and standing still a space, Gaz'd after him, as fowle escapt by flight; At last him turning to his charge behight, With trembling hand his troubled pulse gan try; Where finding life not yet dislodged quight, He much reioyst, and courd it tenderly, As chicken newly hatcht, from dreaded destiny. < 2.8.10> Two Paynim knights, all armd as bright as skie, And them beside an aged Sire did trace, And farre before a light-foot Page did flie, That breathed strife and troublous enmitie; Those were the two sonnes of Acrates old Who meeting earst with Archimago slie, Foreby that idle strond, of him were told, That he, wich earst them combatted, was Guyon bold. < 2.8.11> Where euer that on ground they mote him fynd; False Archimage prouokt their courage prowd, And stryfull Atin in their stubborne mynd Coles of contention and whot vengeance tynd. Now bene they come, whereas the Palmer sate, Keeping that slombred corse to him assynd; Well knew they both his person, sith of late With him in bloudie armes they rashly did debate. < 2.8.12> That sire he foule bespake, Thou dotard vile, That with thy brutenesse shendst thy comely age, Abandone soone, I read, the caitiue spoile Of that same outcast carkasse, that erewhile Made it selfe famous through false trechery, And crownd his coward crest with knightly stile; Loe where he now inglorious doth lye, To proue he liued ill, that did thus foully dye. < 2.8.13> Certes, Sir knight, ye bene too much to blame, Thus for to blot the honour of the dead, And with foule cowardize his carkasse shame, Whose liuing hands immortalizd his name. Vile is the vengeance on the ashes cold, And enuie base, to barke at sleeping fame: Was neuer wight, that treason of him told; Your selfe his prowesse prou'd & found him fiers & bold. < 2.8.14> Ne canst of prowesse, ne of knighthood deeme, Saue as thou seest or hearst. But well I wote, That of his puissance tryall made extreeme; Yet gold all is not, that doth golden seeme, Ne all good knights, that shake well speare and shield: The worth of all men by their end esteeme, And then due praise, or due reproch them yield; Bad therefore I him deeme, that thus lies dead on field. < 2.8.15> What doe I recke, sith that he dyde entire? Or what doth his bad death now satisfy The greedy hunger of reuenging ire, Sith wrathfull hand wrought not her owne desire? Yet since no way is left to wreake my spight, I will him reaue of armes, the victors hire, And of that shield, more worthy of good knight; For why should a dead dog be deckt in armour bright? < 2.8.16> For knighthoods loue, do not so foule a deed, Ne blame your honour with so shamefull vaunt Of vile reuenge. To spoile the dead of weed Is sacrilege, and doth all sinnes exceed; But leaue these relicks of his liuing might, To decke his herce, and trap his tomb-blacke steed. What herce or steed (said he) should he haue dight, But be entombed in the rauen or the kight? < 2.8.17> And th'other brother gan his helme vnlace, Both fiercely bent to haue him disaraid; Till that they spide, where towards them did pace An armed knight, of bold and bounteous grace, Whose squire bore after him an heben launce, And couerd shield. Well kend him so farre space Th'enchaunter by his armes and amenaunce, When vnder him he saw his Lybian steed to praunce. < 2.8.18> And vnto battell doe your selues addresse; For yonder comes the prowest knight aliue, Prince Arthur, flowre of grace and nobilesse, That hath to Paynim knights wrought great distresse, And thousand Sar'zins foully donne to dye. That word so deepe did in their harts impresse, That both eftsoones vpstarted furiously, And gan themselues prepare to battell greedily. < 2.8.19> The want thereof now greatly gan to plaine, And Archimage besought, him that afford, Which he had brought for Braggadocchio vaine. So would I (said th'enchaunter) glad and faine Beteeme to you this sword, you to defend, Or ought that else your honour might maintaine, But that this weapons powre I well haue kend, To be contrarie to the worke, which ye intend. < 2.8.20> Which Merlin made by his almightie art For that his noursling, when he knighthood swore, Therewith to doen his foes eternall smart. The metall first he mixt with Medæwart, That no enchauntment from his dint might saue; That it in flames of Aetna wrought apart, And seuen times dipped in the bitter waue Of hellish Styx, which hidden vertue to it gaue. < 2.8.21> The stroke thereof from entrance may defend; Ne euer may be vsed by his fone, Ne forst his rightfull owner to offend, Ne euer will it breake, ne euer bend. Wherefore Morddure it rightfully is hight. In vaine therefore, Pyrrochles, should I lend The same to thee, against his lord to fight, For sure it would deceiue thy labour, and thy might. < 2.8.22> That weenest words or charmes may force withstond: Soone shalt thou see, and then beleeue for troth, That I can carue with this inchaunted brond His Lords owne flesh. Therewith out of his hond That vertuous steele he rudely snatcht away, And Guyons shield about his wrest he bond; So readie dight, fierce battaile to assay, And match his brother proud in battailous array. < 2.8.23> And goodly salued them; who nought againe Him answered, as courtesie became, But with sterne lookes, and stomachous disdaine, Gaue signes of grudge and discontentment vaine: Then turning to the Palmer, he gan spy Where at his feete, with sorrowfull demaine And deadly hew, an armed corse did lye, In whose dead face he red great magnanimity. < 2.8.24> What great misfortune hath betidd this knight? Or did his life her fatall date expyre, Or did he fall by treason, or by fight? How euer, sure I rew his pitteous plight. Not one, nor other, (said the Palmer graue) Hath him befalne, but cloudes of deadly night A while his heauie eylids couer'd haue, And all his senses drowned in deepe senselesse waue. < 2.8.25> Making aduantage, to reuenge their spight, Would him disarme, and treaten shamefully, Vnworthy vsage of redoubted knight. But you, faire Sir, whose honorable sight Doth promise hope of helpe, and timely grace, Mote I beseech to succour his sad plight, And by your powre protect his feeble cace. First praise of knighthood is, foule outrage to deface. < 2.8.26> As to doen outrage to a sleeping ghost: Ne was there euer noble courage seene, That in aduauntage would his puissance bost: Honour is least, where oddes appeareth most. May be, that better reason will asswage The rash reuengers heat. Words well dispost Haue secret powre, t'appease inflamed rage: If not, leaue vnto me thy knights last patronage. < 2.8.27> Ye warlike payre, whose valorous great might It seemes, iust wrongs to vengeance doe prouoke, To wreake your wrath on this dead seeming knight, Mote ought allay the storme of your despight, And settle patience in so furious heat? Not to debate the chalenge of your right, But for this carkasse pardon I entreat, Whom fortune hath alreadie laid in lowest seat. < 2.8.28> That mak'st thy selfe his dayes-man, to prolong The vengeance prest? Or who shall let me now, On this vile bodie from to wreake my wrong, And make his carkasse as the outcast dong? Why should not that dead carrion satisfie The guilt, which if he liued had thus long, His life for due reuenge should deare abie? The trespasse still doth liue, albe the person die. < 2.8.29> Dyes not, when breath the bodie first doth leaue, But from the grandsyre to the Nephewes sonne, And all his seed the curse doth often cleaue, Till vengeance vtterly the guilt bereaue: So streightly God doth iudge. But gentle knight, That doth against the dead his hand vpreare, His honour staines with rancour and despight, And great disparagment makes to his former might. < 2.8.30> And to him said, Now felon sure I read, How that thou art partaker of his crime: Therefore by Termagaunt thou shalt be dead. With that his hand, more sad then lomp of lead, Vplifting high, he weened with Morddure, His owne good sword Morddure, to cleaue his head. The faithfull steele such treason no'uld endure, But swaruing from the marke, his Lords life did assure. < 2.8.31> That horse and man it made to reele aside; Nath'lesse the Prince would not forsake his sell: For well of yore he learned had to ride, But full of anger fiercely to him cride; False traitour miscreant, thou broken hast The law of armes, to strike foe vndefide. But thou thy treasons fruit, I hope, shalt taste Right sowre, & feele the law, the which thou hast defast. < 2.8.32> Against the Pagans brest, and therewith thought His cursed life out of her lodge haue rent: But ere the point arriued, where it ought, That seuen-fold shield, which he from Guyon brought He cast betwene to ward the bitter stound: Through all those foldes the steelehead passage wrought And through his shoulder pierst; wherwith to groũd He groueling fell, all gored in his gushing wound. < 2.8.33> And wrath, he to him leaped furiously, And fowly said, By Mahoune, cursed thiefe, That direfull stroke thou dearely shalt aby. Then hurling vp his harmefull blade on hye, Smote him so hugely on his haughtie crest, That from his saddle forced him to fly: Else mote it needes downe to his manly brest Haue cleft his head in twaine, and life thence dispossest. < 2.8.34> Wanting his sword, when he on foot should fight: His single speare could doe him small redresse, Against two foes of so exceeding might, The least of which was match for any knight. And now the other, whom he earst did daunt, Had reard himselfe againe to cruell fight, Three times more furious, and more puissaunt, Vnmindfull of his wound, of his fate ignoraunt. < 2.8.35> With hideous strokes, and importable powre, That forced him his ground to trauerse wide, And wisely watch to ward that deadly stowre: For in his shield, as thicke as stormie showre, Their strokes did raine, yet did he neuer quaile, Ne backward shrinke, but as a stedfast towre, Whom foe with double battry doth assaile, Them on her bulwarke beares, and bids them nought auaile. < 2.8.36> Till that at last, when he aduantage spyde, His poinant speare he thrust with puissant sway At proud Cymochles, whiles his shield was wyde, That through his thigh the mortall steele did gryde: He swaruing with the force, within his flesh Did breake the launce, and let the head abyde: Out of the wound the red bloud flowed fresh, That vnderneath his feet soone made a purple plesh. < 2.8.37> Cursing his Gods, and himselfe damning deepe: Als when his brother saw the red bloud rayle Adowne so fast, and all his armour steepe, For very felnesse lowd he gan to weepe, And said, Caytiue, cursse on thy cruell hond, That twise hath sped; yet shall it not thee keepe From the third brunt of this my fatall brond: Loe where the dreadfull Death behind thy backe doth stond. < 2.8.38> That nothing seem'd mote beare so monstrous might: The one vpon his couered shield did fall, And glauncing downe would not his owner byte: But th'other did vpon his troncheon smyte, Which hewing quite a sunder, further way It made, and on his hacqueton did lyte, The which diuiding with importune sway, It seizd in his right side, and there the dint did stay. < 2.8.39> Red as the Rose, thence gushed grieuously; That when the Paynim spyde the streaming blood, Gaue him great hart, and hope of victory. On th'other side, in huge perplexity, The Prince now stood, hauing his weapon broke; Nought could he hurt, but still at ward did ly: Yet with his troncheon he so rudely stroke Cymochles twise, that twise him forst his foot reuoke. < 2.8.40> Sir Guyons sword he lightly to him raught, And said; Faire Son, great God thy right hand blesse, To vse that sword so wisely as it ought. Glad was the knight, & with fresh courage fraught, When as againe he armed felt his hond; Then like a Lion, which hath long time saught His robbed whelpes, and at the last them fond Emongst the shepheard swaynes, then wexeth wood & yond. < 2.8.41> On either side, that neither mayle could hold, Ne shield defend the thunder of his throwes: Now to Pyrrochles many strokes he told; Eft to Cymochles twise so many fold: Then backe againe turning his busie hond, Them both attonce compeld with courage bold, To yield wide way to his hart-thrilling brond; And though they both stood stiffe, yet could not both withstond. < 2.8.42> When rancour doth with rage him once engore, Forgets with warie ward them to awayt, But with his dreadfull hornes them driues afore, Or flings aloft, or treads downe in the flore, Breathing out wrath, and bellowing disdaine, That all the forrest quakes to heare him rore: So rag'd Prince Arthur twixt his foemen twaine, That neither could his mightie puissance sustaine. < 2.8.43> Who Guyons shield cast euer him before, Whereon the Faery Queenes pourtract was writ, His hand relented, and the stroke forbore, And his deare hart the picture gan adore, Which oft the Paynim sau'd from deadly stowre. But him henceforth the same can saue no more; For now arriued is his fatall howre, That no'te auoyded be by earthly skill or powre. < 2.8.44> Which them appeached, prickt with guilty shame, And inward griefe, he fiercely gan approch, Resolu'd to put away that loathly blame, Or dye with honour and desert of fame; And on the hauberk stroke the Prince so sore, That quite disparted all the linked frame, And pierced to the skin, but bit no more, Yet made him twise to reele, that neuer moou'd afore. < 2.8.45> He stroke so hugely with his borrowd blade, That it empierst the Pagans burganet, And cleauing the hard steele, did deepe inuade Into his head, and cruell passage made Quite through his braine. He tombling downe on ground, Breathd out his ghost, which to th'infernall shade Fast flying, there eternall torment found, For all the sinnes, wherewith his lewd life did abound. < 2.8.46> Ran to his hart, and all his sence dismayd, Ne thenceforth life ne courage did appeare, But as a man, whom hellish feends haue frayd, Long trembling still he stood: at last thus sayd; Traytour what hast thou doen? how euer may Thy cursed hand so cruelly haue swayd Against that knight: Harrow and well away, After so wicked deed why liu'st thou lenger day? < 2.8.47> And with reuenge desiring soone to dye, Assembling all his force and vtmost might, With his owne sword he fierce at him did flye, And strooke, and foynd, and lasht outrageously, Withouten reason or regard. Well knew The Prince, with patience and sufferaunce sly So hasty heat soone cooled to subdew: Tho when this breathlesse woxe, that batteil gan renew. < 2.8.48> That nothing may withstand his stormy stowre, The cloudes, as things affrayd, before him flye; But all so soone as his outrageous powre Is layd, they fiercely then begin to shoure, And as in scorne of his spent stormy spight, Now all attonce their malice forth do poure; So did Sir Guyon[Prince Arthur] beare himselfe in fight, And suffred rash Pyrrochles wast his idle might. < 2.8.49> How that straunge sword refusd, to serue his need, But when he stroke most strong, the dint deceiu'd, He flong it from him, and deuoyd of dreed, Vpon him lightly leaping without heed, Twixt his two mighty armes engrasped fast, Thinking to ouerthrow and downe him tred: But him in strength and skill the Prince surpast, And through his nimble sleight did vnder him down cast. < 2.8.50> For as a Bittur in the Eagles claw, That may not hope by flight to scape aliue, Still waites for death with dread and trembling aw; So he now subiect to the victours law, Did not once moue, nor vpward cast his eye, For vile disdaine and rancour, which did gnaw His hart in twaine with sad melancholy, As one that loathed life, and yet despisd to dye. < 2.8.51> The Conquerour nought cared him to slay, But casting wrongs and all reuenge behind, More glory thought to giue life, then decay, And said, Paynim, this is thy dismall day; Yet if thou wilt renounce thy miscreaunce, And my trew liegeman yield thy selfe for ay, Life will I graunt thee for thy valiaunce, And all thy wrongs will wipe out of my souenaunce. < 2.8.52> But vse thy fortune, as it doth befall, And say, that I not ouercome do dye, But in despight of life, for death do call. Wroth was the Prince, and sory yet withall, That he so wilfully refused grace; Yet sith his fate so cruelly did fall, His shining Helmet he gan soone vnlace, And left his headlesse body bleeding all the place. < 2.8.53> Life hauing maistered her sencelesse foe; And looking vp, when as his shield he lakt, And sword saw not, he wexed wondrous woe: But when the Palmer, whom he long ygoe Had lost, he by him spide, right glad he grew, And said, Deare sir, whom wandring to and fro I long haue lackt, I ioy thy face to vew; Firme is thy faith, whom daunger neuer fro me drew. < 2.8.54> Of my good sword and shield? The Palmer glad, With so fresh hew vprising him to see, Him answered; Faire sonne, be no whit sad For want of weapons, they shall soone be had. So gan he to discourse the whole debate, Which that straunge knight for him sustained had, And those two Sarazins confounded late, Whose carcases on ground were horribly prostrate. < 2.8.55> His hart with great affection was embayd, And to the Prince bowing with reuerence dew, As to the Patrone of his life, thus sayd; My Lord, my liege, by whose most gratious ayd I liue this day, and see my foes subdewd, What may suffise, to be for meede repayd Of so great graces, as ye haue me shewd, But to be euer bound < 2.8.56> Good turnes be counted, as a seruile bond, To bind their doers, to receiue their meede? Are not all knights by oath bound, to withstond Oppressours powre by armes and puissant hond? Suffise, that I haue done my dew in place. So goodly purpose they together fond, Of kindnesse and of curteous aggrace; The whiles false Archimarge and Atin fled apace. < 2.9.1> Cant. IX. The house of Temperance, in which
OF all Gods workes, which do this world adorne,
< 2.9.2> The Briton Prince recou'ring his stolne sword, And Guyon his lost shield, they both yfere Forth passed on their way in faire accord, Till him the Prince with gentle court did bord; Sir knight, mote I of you this curt'sie read, To weet why on your shield so goodly scord Beare ye the picture of that Ladies head? Full liuely is the semblaunt, though the substance dead. < 2.9.3> Such life ye read, and vertue in vaine shew, What mote ye weene, if the trew liuely-head Of that most glorious visage ye did vew? But if the beautie of her mind ye knew, That is her bountie, and imperiall powre, Thousand times fairer then her mortall hew, O how great wonder would your thoughts deuoure, And infinite desire into your spirite poure! < 2.9.4> Whose faire retrait I in my shield do beare; She is the flowre of grace and chastitie, Throughout the world renowmed far and neare, My liefe, my liege, my Soueraigne, my deare, Whose glory shineth as the morning starre, And with her light the earth enlumines cleare; Far reach her mercies, and her prayses farre, As well in state of peace, as puissaunce in warre. < 2.9.5> Whom gracious lot, and thy great valiaunce Haue made thee souldier of that Princesse bright, Which with her bounty and glad countenance Doth blesse her seruaunts, and them high aduaunce. How may straunge knight hope euer to aspire, By faithfull seruice, and meet amenance, Vnto such blisse? sufficient were that hire For losse of thousand liues, to dye at her desire. < 2.9.6> Or grace of earthly Prince so soueraine, But by your wondrous worth and warlike feat Ye well may hope, and easely attaine? But were your will, her sold to entertaine, And numbred be mongst knights of Maydenhed, Great guerdon, well I wote, should you remaine, And in her fauour high be reckoned, As Arthegall, and Sophy now beene honored. < 2.9.7> That sith I armes and knighthood first did plight, My whole desire hath beene, and yet is now, To serue that Queene with all my powre and might. Now hath the Sunne with his lamp-burning light, Walkt round about the world, and I no lesse, Sith of that Goddesse I haue sought the sight, Yet no where can her find: such happinesse Heauen doth to me enuy, and fortune fauourlesse. < 2.9.8> Seldome (said Guyon) yields to vertue aide, But in her way throwes mischiefe and mischaunce, Whereby her course is stopt, and passage staid. But you, faire Sir, be not herewith dismaid, But constant keepe the way, in which ye stand; Which were it not, that I am else delaid With hard aduenture, which I haue in hand, I labour would to guide you through all Faery land. < 2.9.9> What straunge aduenture do ye now pursew? Perhaps my succour, or aduizement meete Mote stead you much your purpose to subdew. Then gan Sir Guyon all the story shew Of false Acrasia, and her wicked wiles, Which to auenge, the Palmer him forth drew From Faery court. So talked they, the whiles They wasted had much way, and measurd many miles. < 2.9.10> His weary wagon to the Westerne vale, Whenas they spide a goodly castle, plast Foreby a riuer in a pleasaunt dale, Which choosing for that euenings hospitale, They thither marcht: but when they came in sight, And from their sweaty Coursers did auale, They found the gates fast barred long ere night, And euery loup fast lockt, as fearing foes despight. < 2.9.11> Was to them doen, their entrance to forstall, Till that the Squire gan nigher to approch; And wind his horne vnder the castle wall, That with the noise it shooke, as it would fall: Eftsoones forth looked from the highest spire The watch, and lowd vnto the knights did call, To weete, what they so rudely did require. Who gently answered, They entrance did desire. < 2.9.12> If that your liues ye loue, as meete ye should; Fly fast, and saue your selues from neare decay, Here may ye not haue entraunce, though we would: We would and would againe, if that we could; But thousand enemies about vs raue, And with long siege vs in this castle hould: Seuen yeares this wize they vs besieged haue, And many good knights slaine, that haue vs sought to saue. < 2.9.13> A thousand villeins round about them swarmd Out of the rockes and caues adioyning nye, Vile caytiue wretches, ragged, rude, deformd, All threatning death, all in straunge manner armd, Some with vnweldy clubs, some with long speares, Some rusty kniues, some staues in fire warmd. Sterne was their looke, like wild amazed steares, Staring with hollow eyes, and stiffe vpstanding heares. < 2.9.14> And droue them to recoile: but when againe They gaue fresh charge, their forces gan to faile, Vnhable their encounter to sustaine; For with such puissaunce and impetuous maine Those Champions broke on them, that forst them fly, Like scattered Sheepe, whenas the Shepheards swaine A Lyon and a Tigre doth espye, With greedy pace forth rushing from the forest nye. < 2.9.15> With greater fury, then before was found; And euermore their cruell Capitaine Sought with his raskall routs t'enclose them round, And ouerrun to tread them to the ground. But soone the knights with their bright-burning blades Broke their rude troupes, and orders did confound, Hewing and slashing at their idle shades; For though they bodies seeme, yet substance from them fades. < 2.9.16> Out of the fennes of Allan do arise, Their murmuring small trompets sounden wide, Whiles in the aire their clustring army flies, That as a cloud doth seeme to dim the skies; Ne man nor beast may rest, or take repast, For their sharpe wounds, and noyous iniuries, Till the fierce Northerne wind with blustring blast Doth blow them quite away, and in the Ocean cast. < 2.9.17> Vnto the castle gate they come againe, And entraunce crau'd, which was denied erst. Now when report of that their perilous paine, And combrous conflict, which they did sustaine, Came to the Ladies eare, which there did dwell, She forth issewed with a goodly traine Of Squires and Ladies equipaged well, And entertained them right fairely, as befell. < 2.9.18> That had not yet felt Cupides wanton rage, Yet was she woo'd of many a gentle knight, And many a Lord of noble parentage, That sought with her to lincke in marriage: For she was faire, as faire mote euer bee, And in the flowre now of her freshest age; Yet full of grace and goodly modestee, That euen heauen reioyced her sweete face to see. < 2.9.19> That from her shoulder to her heele downe raught, The traine whereof loose far behind her strayd, Braunched with gold & pearle, most richly wrought, And borne of two faire Damsels, which were taught, That seruice well. Her yellow golden heare Was trimly wouen, and in tresses wrought, Ne other tyre she on her head did weare, But crowned with a garland of sweet Rosiere. < 2.9.20> And brought them vp into her castle hall; Where gentle court and gracious delight She to them made, with mildnesse virginall, Shewing her selfe both wise and liberall: There when they rested had a season dew, They her besought of fauour speciall, Of that faire Castle to affoord them vew; She graunted, & them leading forth, the same did shew. < 2.9.21> That was so high, as foe might not it clime, And all so faire, and fensible withall, Not built of bricke, ne yet of stone and lime, But of thing like to that AEgyptian slime, Whereof king Nine whilome built Babell towre; But ˆo; great pitty, that no lenger time So goodly workemanship should not endure: Soone it must turne to earth; no earthly thing is sure. < 2.9.22> And part triangulare, ô: worke diuine; Those two the first and last proportions are, The one imperfect, mortall, foeminine; Th'other immortall, perfect, masculine, And twixt them both a quadrate was the base, Proportioned equally by seuen and nine; Nine was the circle set in heauens place, All which compacted made a goodly Diapase. < 2.9.23> The one before, by which all in did pas, Did th'other far in workmanship excell; For not of wood, nor of enduring bras, But of more worthy substance fram'd it was; Doubly disparted, it did locke and close, That when it locked, none might thorough pas, And when it opened, no man might it close, Still open to their friends, and closed to their foes. < 2.9.24> Stone more of valew, and more smooth and fine, Then Iet or Marble far from Ireland brought; Ouer the which was cast a wandring vine, Enchaced with a wanton yuie twine. And ouer it a faire Portcullis hong, Which to the gate directly did incline, With comely compasse, and compacture strong, Neither vnseemely short, nor yet exceeding long. < 2.9.25> Day and night duely keeping watch and ward, Nor wight, nor word mote passe out of the gate, But in good order, and with dew regard; Vtterers of secrets he from thence debard, Bablers of folly, and blazers of crime. His larumbell might lowd and wide be hard, When cause requird, but neuer out of time; Early and late it rong, at euening and at prime. < 2.9.26> Twise sixteen warders sat, all armed bright In glistring steele, and strongly fortifide: Tall yeomen seemed they, and of great might, And were enraunged ready, still for fight. By them as Alma passed with her guestes, They did obeysaunce, as beseemed right, And then againe returned to their restes: The Porter eke to her did lout with humble gestes. < 2.9.27> Wherein were many tables faire dispred, And ready dight with drapets festiuall, Against the viaundes should be ministred. At th'upper end there sate, yclad in red Downe to the ground, a comely personage, That in his hand a white rod menaged, He Steward was hight Diet; rype of age, And in demeanure sober, and in counsell sage. < 2.9.28> A iolly yeoman, Marshall of the same, Whose name was Appetite; he did bestow Both guestes and meate, when euer in they came, And knew them how to order without blame, As him the Steward bad. They both attone Did dewty to their Lady, as became; Who passing by, forth led her guestes anone Into the kitchin rowme, ne spard for nicenesse none. < 2.9.29> With many raunges reard along the wall; And one great chimney, whose long tonnell thence, The smoke forth threw. And in the midst of all There placed was a caudron wide and tall, Vpon a mighty furnace, burning whot, More whot, then Aetn', or flaming Mongiball: For day and night it brent, ne ceased not, So long as any thing it in the caudron got. < 2.9.30> It might breake out, and set the whole on fire, There added was by goodly ordinaunce, An huge great paire of bellowes, which did styre Continually, and cooling breath inspyre. About the Caudron many Cookes accoyld, With hookes and ladles, as need did require; The whiles the viandes in the vessell boyld They did about their businesse sweat, and sorely toyld. < 2.9.31> A carefull man, and full of comely guise: The kitchin Clerke, that hight Digestion, Did order all th'Achates in seemely wise, And set them forth, as well he could deuise. The rest had seuerall offices assind, Some to remoue the scum, as it did rise; Others to beare the same away did mind; And others it to vse according to his kind. < 2.9.32> Not good nor seruiceable else for ought, They in another great round vessell plast, Till by a conduit pipe it thence were brought: And all the rest, that noyous was, and nought, By secret wayes, that none might it espy, Was close conuaid, and to the back-gate brought, That cleped was Port Esquiline, whereby It was auoided quite, and throwne out priuily. < 2.9.33> Whenas those knights beheld, with rare delight, And gazing wonder they their minds did fill; For neuer had they seene so straunge a sight. Thence backe againe faire Alma led them right, And soone into a goodly Parlour brought, That was with royall arras richly dight, In which was nothing pourtrahed, nor wrought, Not wrought, nor pourtrahed, but easie to be thought. < 2.9.34> A louely beuy of faire Ladies sate, Courted of many a iolly Paramoure, The which them did in modest wise amate, And each one sought his Lady to aggrate: And eke emongst them litle Cupid playd His wanton sports, being returned late From his fierce warres, and hauing from him layd His cruell bow, wherewith he thousands hath dismayd. < 2.9.35> Some song in sweet consort, some laught for ioy, Some plaid with strawes, some idly sat at ease; But other some could not abide to toy, All pleasaunce was to them griefe and annoy: This fround, that faund, the third for shame did blush, Another seemed enuious, or coy, Another in her teeth did gnaw a rush: But at these straungers presence euery one did hush. < 2.9.36> They all attonce out of their seates arose, And to her homage made, with humble grace: Whom when the knights beheld, they gan dispose Themselues to court, and each a Damsell chose: The Prince by chaunce did on a Lady light, That was right faire and fresh as morning rose, But somwhat sad, and solemne eke in sight, As if some pensiue thought cõstraind her gentle spright. < 2.9.37> Was fretted all about, she was arayd; And in her hand a Poplar braunch did hold: To whom the Prince in curteous manner said; Gentle Madame, why beene ye thus dismaid, And your faire beautie do with sadnesse spill? Liues any, that you hath thus ill apaid? Or doen you loue, or doen you lacke your will? What euer be the cause, it sure beseemes you ill. < 2.9.38> How is it, that this mood in me ye blame, And in your selfe do not the same aduise? Him ill beseemes, anothers fault to name, That may vnwares be blotted with the same: Pensiue I yeeld I am, and sad in mind, Through great desire of glory and of fame: Ne ought I weene are ye therein behind, That haue twelue moneths sought one, yet no where can her find. < 2.9.39> Well weeting trew, what she had rashly told; Yet with faire semblaunt sought to hide the breach, Which chaunge of colour did perforce vnfold, Now seeming flaming whot, now stony cold. Tho turning soft aside, he did inquire, What wight she was, that Poplar braunch did hold: It answered was, her name was Prays-desire, That by well doing sought to honour to aspire. < 2.9.40> Another Damsell of that gentle crew, That was right faire, and modest of demaine, But that too oft she chaung'd her natiue hew: Straunge was her tyre, and all her garment blew, Close round about her tuckt with many a plight: Vpon her fist the bird, which shonneth vew, And keepes in couerts close from liuing wight, Did sit, as yet ashamd, how rude Pan did her dight. < 2.9.41> Vnto the ground she cast her modest eye, And euer and anone with rosie red The bashfull bloud her snowy cheekes did dye, That her became, as polisht yuory, Which cunning Craftesman hand hath ouerlayd With faire vermilion or pure Castory. Great wonder had the knight, to see the mayd So straungely passioned, and to her gently sayd, < 2.9.42> That either me too bold ye weene, this wise You to molest, or other ill to feare That in the secret of your hart close lyes, From whence it doth, as cloud from sea arise. If it be I, of pardon I you pray; But if ought else that I mote not deuise, I will, if please you it discure, assay, To ease you of that ill, so wisely as I may. < 2.9.43> Held downe her head, the whiles her louely face The flashing bloud with blushing did inflame, And the strong passion mard her modest grace, That Guyon meruayld at her vncouth cace: Till Alma him bespake, Why wonder yee Faire Sir at that, which ye so much embrace? She is the fountaine of your modestee; You shamefast are, but Shamefastnesse it selfe is shee. < 2.9.44> And turnd his face away; but she the same Dissembled faire, and faynd to ouersee. Thus they awhile with court and goodly game, Themselues did solace each one with his Dame, Till that great Ladie thence away them sought, To vew her castles other wondrous frame. Vp to a stately Turret she them brought, Ascending by ten steps of Alablaster wrought. < 2.9.45> Like highest heauen compassed around, And lifted high aboue this earthly masse, Which it suruew'd, as hils doen lower ground; But not on ground mote like to this be found, Not that, which antique Cadmus whylome built In Thebes, which Alexander did confound; Nor that proud towre of Troy, though richly guilt, From which young Hectors bloud by cruell Greekes was spilt. < 2.9.46> And deckt with flowers and herbars daintily; Two goodly Beacons, set in watches stead, Therein gaue light, and flam'd continually: For they of liuing fire most subtilly Were made, and set in siluer sockets bright, Couer'd with lids deuiz'd of substance sly, That readily they shut and open might. O who can tell the prayses of that makers might! < 2.9.47> This parts great workmanship, & wondrous powre, That all this other worlds worke doth excell, And likest is vnto that heauenly towre, That God hath built for his owne blessed bowre. Therein were diuerse roomes, and diuerse stages, But three the chiefest, and of greatest powre, In which there dwelt three honorable sages, The wisest men, I weene, that liued in their ages. < 2.9.48> By Phoebus doome, the wisest thought aliue, Might be compar'd to these by many parts: Nor that sage Pylian syre, which did suruiue Three ages, such as mortall men contriue, By whose aduise old Priams cittie fell, With these in praise of pollicies mote striue. These three in these three roomes did sundry dwell, And counselled faire Alma, how to gouerne well. < 2.9.49> The next could of things present best aduize; The third things past could keepe in memoree, So that no time, nor reason could arize, But that the same could one of these comprize. For thy the first did in the forepart sit, That nought mote hinder his quicke preiudize: He had a sharpe foresight, and working wit, That neuer idle was, ne once could rest a whit. < 2.9.50> With sundry colours, in the which were writ Infinite shapes of things dispersed thin; Some such as in the world were neuer yit, Ne can deuized be of mortall wit; Some daily seene, and knowen by their names, Such as in idle fantasies doe flit: Infernall Hags, Centaurs, feendes, Hippodames, Apes, Lions, Ægles, Owles, fooles, louers, children, Dames. < 2.9.51> Which buzzed all about, and made such sound, That they encombred all mens eares and eyes, Like many swarmes of Bees assembled round, After their hiues with honny do abound: All those were idle thoughts and fantasies, Deuices, dreames, opinions vnsound, Shewes, visions, sooth-sayes, and prophesies; And all that fained is, as leasings, tales, and lies. < 2.9.52> That hight Phantastes by his nature trew; A man of yeares yet fresh, as mote appere, Of swarth complexion, and of crabbed hew, That him full of melancholy did shew; Bent hollow beetle browes, sharpe staring eyes, That mad or foolish seemd: one by his vew Mote deeme him borne with ill disposed skyes, When oblique Saturne sate in the house of agonyes. < 2.9.53> Thence brought th&etilde; to the second roome, whose wals Were painted faire with memorable gestes, Of famous Wisards, and with picturals Of Magistrates, of courts, of tribunals, Of commen wealthes, of states, of pollicy, Of lawes, of iudgements, and of decretals; All artes, all science, all Philosophy, And all that in the world was aye thought wittily. < 2.9.54> There sate a man of ripe and perfect age, Who did them meditate all his life long, That through continuall practise and vsage, He now was growne right wise, and wondrous sage. Great pleasure had those stranger knights, to see His goodly reason, and graue personage, That his disciples both desir'd to bee; But Alma thence th&etilde; led to th'hindmost roome of three. < 2.9.55> And therefore was remoued farre behind, Yet were the wals, that did the same vphold, Right firme & strong, though somewhat they declind; And therein sate an old old man, halfe blind, And all decrepit in his feeble corse, Yet liuely vigour rested in his mind, And recompenst him with a better scorse: Weake body well is chang'd for minds redoubled forse. < 2.9.56> And things foregone through many ages held, Which he recorded still, as they did pas, Ne suffred them to perish through long eld, As all things else, the which this world doth weld, But laid them vp in his immortall scrine, Where they for euer incorrupted dweld: The warres he well remembred of king Nine, Of old Assaracus, and Inachus diuine. < 2.9.57> Ne yet Mathusalem, though longest liu'd; For he remembred both their infancies: Ne wonder then, if that he were depriu'd Of natiue strength now, that he them suruiu'd. His chamber all was hangd about with rolles, And old records from auncient times deriu'd, Some made in books, some in long parchm&etilde;t scrolles, That were all worme-eaten, and full of canker holes. < 2.9.58> Tossing and turning them withouten end; But for he was vnhable them to fet, A litle boy did on him still attend, To reach, when euer he for ought did send; And oft when things were lost, or laid amis, That boy them sought, and vnto him did lend. Therefore he Anamnestes cleped is, And that old man Eumnestes, by their propertis. < 2.9.59> And wondred at his endlesse exercise, Then as they gan his Librarie to vew, And antique Registers for to auise, There chaunced to the Princes hand to rize, An auncient booke, hight Briton moniments, That of this lands first conquest did deuize, And old diuision into Regiments, Till it reduced was to one mans gouernments. < 2.9.60> That hight Antiquitie of Faerie lond. In which when as he greedily did looke; Th'off-spring of Elues and Faries there he fond, As it deliuered was from hond to hond: Whereat they burning both with feruent fire, Their countries auncestry to vnderstond, Crau'd leaue of Alma, and that aged sire, To read those bookes; who gladly graunted their desire. < 2.10.1.> Cant. X. A chronicle of Briton kings,
WHo now shall giue vnto me words and sound,
< 2.10.2.> Whence all that liues, does borrow life and light, Liues ought, that to her linage may compaire, Which though from earth it be deriued right, Yet doth it selfe stretch forth to heauens hight, And all the world with wonder ouerspred; A labour huge, exceeding farre my might: How shall fraile pen, with feare disparaged, Conceiue such soueraine glory, and great bountihed? < 2.10.3.> Or rather worthy of great Phoebus rote, Whereon the ruines of great Ossa hill, And triumphes of Phlegræan Ioue he wrote, That all the Gods admird his loftie note. But if some relish of that heauenly lay His learned daughters would to me report, To decke my song withall, I would assay, Thy name, ô: soueraine Queene, to blazon farre away. < 2.10.4.> From this renowmed Prince deriued arre, Who mightily vpheld that royall mace, Which now thou bear'st, to thee descended farre From mightie kings and conquerours in warre, Thy fathers and great Grandfathers of old, Whose noble deedes aboue the Northerne starre Immortall fame for euer hath enrold; As in that old mans booke they were in order told. < 2.10.5.> And therein haue their mightie empire raysd, In antique times was saluage wildernesse, Vnpeopled, vnmanurd, vnprou'd, vnpraysd, Ne was it Island then, ne was it paysd Amid the Ocean waues, ne was it sought Of marchants farre, for profits therein praysd, But was all desolate, and of some thought By sea to haue bene frõ the Celticke mayn-land brought. < 2.10.6.> Till that the venturous Mariner that way Learning his ship from those white rocks to saue, Which all along the Southerne sea-coast lay, Threatning vnheedie wrecke and rash decay, For safeties sake that same his sea-marke made, And named it Albion. But later day Finding in it fit ports for fishers trade, Gan more the same frequent, and further to inuade. < 2.10.7.> Of hideous Giants, and halfe beastly men, That neuer tasted grace, nor goodnesse felt, But like wild beasts lurking in loathsome den, And flying fast as Roebucke through the fen, All naked without shame, or care of cold, By hunting and by spoiling liued then; Of stature huge, and eke of courage bold, That sonnes of men amazd their sternnesse to behold. < 2.10.8.> Vneath is to assure; vneath to wene That monstrous error, which doth some assot, That Dioclesians fiftie daughters shene Into this land by chaunce haue driuen bene, Where companing with feends and filthy Sprights, Through vaine illusion of their lust vnclene, They brought forth Giants and such dreadfull wights, As farre exceeded men in their immeasurd mights. < 2.10.9.> Polluted this same gentle soyle long time: That their owne mother loathd their beastlinesse, And gan abhorre her broods vnkindly crime, All were they borne of her owne natiue slime, Vntill that Brutus anciently deriu'd From royall stocke of old Assaracs line, Driuen by fatall error, here arriu'd, And them of their vniust possession depriu'd. < 2.10.10.> And spred his empire to the vtmost shore, He fought great battels with his saluage fone; In which he them defeated euermore, And many Giants left on groning flore; That well can witnesse yet vnto this day The westerne Hogh, besprincled with the gore Of mightie Göemot, whom in stout fray Corineus conquered, and cruelly did slay. < 2.10.11.> For the large leape, which Debon did compell Coulin to make, being eight lugs of grownd; Into the which returning backe, he fell: But those three monstrous stones doe most excell Which that huge sonne of hideous Albion, Whose father Hercules in Fraunce did quell, Great Godmer threw, in fierce contention, At bold Canutus; but of him was slaine anon. < 2.10.12.> Corineus had that Prouince vtmost west, To him assigned for his worthy lot, Which of his name and memorable gest He called Cornewaile, yet so called best: And Debons shayre was, that is Deuonshyre: But Canute had his portion from the rest, The which he cald Canutium, for his hyre; Now Cantium, which Kent we commenly inquire. < 2.10.13.> And raigned long in great felicitie, Lou'd of his friends, and of his foes eschewd, He left three sonnes, his famous progeny, Borne of faire Inogene of Italy; Mongst whom he parted his imperiall state, And Locrine left chiefe Lord of Britany. At last ripe age bad him surrender late His life, and long good fortune vnto finall fate. < 2.10.14.> But Albanact had all the Northrene part, Which of himselfe Albania he did call; And Camber did possesse the Westerne quart, Which Seuerne now from Logris doth depart: And each his portion peaceably enioyd, Ne was there outward breach, nor grudge in hart, That once their quiet gouernment annoyd, But each his paines to others profit still employd. < 2.10.15.> And courage fierce, that all men did affray, Which through the world th&etilde; swarmd in euery part, And ouerflow'd all countries farre away, Like Noyes great flood, with their importune sway, This land inuaded with like violence, And did themselues through all the North display: Vntill that Locrine for his Realmes defence, Did head against them make, and strong munificence. < 2.10.16.> Foreby the Riuer, that whylome was hight The auncient Abus, where with courage stout He them defeated in victorious fight, And chaste so fiercely after fearfull flight, That forst their Chieftaine, for his safeties sake, (Their Chieftaine Humber named was aright) Vnto the mightie streame him to betake, Where he an end of battell, and of life did make. < 2.10.17.> And insolent wox through vnwonted ease, That shortly he forgot the ieopardie, Which in his land he lately did appease, And fell to vaine voluptuous disease: He lou'd faire Ladie Estrild, lewdly lou'd, Whose wanton pleasures him too much did please. That quite his hart from Guendolene remou'd, Frõ Guendolene his wife, though alwaies faithfull prou'd. < 2.10.18.> Would not endure to be so vile disdaind, But gathering force, and courage valorous, Encountred him in battell well ordaind, In which him vanquisht she to fly constraind: But she so fast pursewd, that him she tooke, And threw in bands, where he till death remaind; Als his faire Leman, flying through a brooke, She ouerhent, nought moued with her piteous looke. < 2.10.19.> Begotten by her kingly Paramoure, The faire Sabrina almost dead with feare, She there attached, farre from all succoure; The one she slew in that impatient stoure, But the sad virgin innocent of all, Adowne the rolling riuer she did poure, Which of her name now Seuerne men do call: Such was the end, that to disloyall loue did fall. < 2.10.20.> Madan was young, vnmeet the rule of sway, In her owne hande the crowne she kept in store, Till ryper yeares he raught, and stronger stay: During which time her powre she did display Through all this realme, the glorie of her sex, And first taught men a woman to obay: But when her sonne to mans estate did wex, She it surrendred, ne her selfe would lenger vex. < 2.10.21.> For with all shame that sacred throne he fild: Next Memprise, as vnworthy of that place, In which being consorted with Manild, For thirst of single kingdome him he kild. But Ebranck salued both their infamies With noble deedes, and warreyd on Brunchild In Henault, where yet of his victories Braue moniments remaine, which yet that land enuies. < 2.10.22.> And happie father of faire progeny: For all so many weekes as the yeare has, So many children he did multiply; Of which were twentie sonnes, which did apply, Their minds to praise, and cheualrous desire: Those germans did subdew all Germany, Of whom it hight; but in the end their Sire With foule repulse from Fraunce was forced to retire. < 2.10.23.> The second Brute, the second both in name, And eke in semblance of his puissance great, Right well recur'd, and did away that blame With recompence of euerlasting fame. He with his victour sword first opened, The bowels of wide Fraunce, a forlorne Dame, And taught her first how to be conquered; Since which, with sundrie spoiles she hath beene ransacked. < 2.10.24.> And let the marsh of Estham bruges tell, What colour were their waters that same day, And all the moore twixt Eluersham and Dell, With bloud of Henalois, which therein fell. How oft that day did sad Brunchildis see The greene shield dyde in dolorous vermell? That not Scuith guiridh it mote seeme to bee But rather y Scuith gogh, signe of sad crueltee. < 2.10.25.> Enioyd an heritage of lasting peace, And built Cairleill, and built Cairleon strong. Next Huddibras his realme did not encrease, But taught the land from wearie warres to cease. Whose footsteps Bladud following in arts Exceld at Athens all the learned preace, From whence he brought them to these saluage parts, And with sweet science mollifide their stubborne harts. < 2.10.26.> Behold the boyling Bathes at Cairbadon, Which seeth with secret fire eternally, And in their entrails, full of quicke Brimston, Nourish the flames, which they are warm'd vpon, That to their people wealth they forth do well, And health to euery forreine nation: Yet he at last contending to excell The reach of men, through flight into fond mischief fell. < 2.10.27.> But had no issue male him to succeed, But three faire daughters, which were well vptraind, In all that seemed fit for kingly seed: Mongst whom his realme he equally decreed To have diuided. Tho when feeble age Nigh to his vtmost date he saw proceed, He cald his daughters; and with speeches sage Inquyrd, which of them most did loue her parentage. < 2.10.28.> That she much more then her owne life him lou'd: And Regan greater loue to him profest, Then all the world, when euer it were proou'd; But Cordeill said she lou'd him, as behoou'd: Whose simple answere, wanting colours faire To paint it forth, him to displeasance moou'd, That in his crowne he counted her no haire, But twixt the other twaine his kingdome whole did shaire. < 2.10.29.> And th'other to the king of Cambria, And twixt them shayrd his realme by equall lots: But without dowre the wise Cordelia Was sent to Aganip of Celtica. Their aged Syre, thus eased of his crowne, A priuate life led in Albania, With Gonorill, long had in great renowne, That nought him grieu'd to bene from rule deposed downe. < 2.10.30.> The light goes out, and weeke is throwne away; So when he had resigned his regiment, His daughter gan despise his drouping day, And wearie waxe of his continuall stay. Tho to his daughter Rigan he repayrd, Who him at first well vsed euery way; But when of his departure she despayrd, Her bountie she abated, and his cheare empayrd. < 2.10.31.> That loue is not, where most it is profest, Too truely tryde in his extreamest state; At last resolu'd likewise to proue the rest, He to Cordelia him selfe addrest, Who with entire affection him receau'd, As for her Syre and king her seemed best; And after all an army strong she leau'd, To war on those, which him had of his realme bereau'd. < 2.10.32.> In which he dyde, made ripe for death by eld, And after wild, it should to her remaine: Who peaceably the same long time did weld: And all mens harts in dew obedience held: Till that her sisters children, woxen strong Through proud ambition, against her rebeld, And ouercommen kept in prison long, Till wearie of that wretched life, her selfe she hong. < 2.10.33.> But fierce Cundah gan shortly to enuie His brother Morgan, prickt with proud disdaine, To haue a pere in part of soueraintie, And kindling coles of cruell enmitie, Raisd warre, and him in battell ouerthrew: Whence as he to those woodie hils did flie, Which hight of him Glamorgan, there him slew: Then did he raigne alone, when he none equall knew. < 2.10.34.> In whose sad time bloud did from heauen raine: Next great Gurgustus, then faire Cæcily In constant peace their kingdomes did containe, After whom Lago, and Kinmarke did raine, And Gorbogud, till farre in yeares he grew: Then his ambitious sonnes vnto them twaine Arraught the rule, and from their father drew, Stout Ferrex and sterne Porrex him in prison threw. < 2.10.35.> That knowes no kinred, nor regardes no right, Stird Porrex vp to put his brother downe; Who vnto him assembling forreine might, Made warre on him, and fell him selfe in fight: Whose death t'auenge, his mother mercilesse, Most mercilesse of women, VVyden hight, Her other sonne fast sleeping did oppresse, And with most cruell hand him murdred pittilesse. < 2.10.36.> Which had seuen hundred yeares this scepter borne, With high renowme, and great felicitie? The noble braunch from th'antique stocke was torne Through discord, and the royall throne forlorne: Thenceforth this Realme was into factions rent, Whilest each of Brutus boasted to be borne, That in the end was left no moniment Of Brutus, nor of Britons glory auncient. < 2.10.37.> And wondrous wit to menage high affaires, Who stird with pitty of the stressed plight Of this sad Realme, cut into sundry shaires By such, as claymd themselues Brutes rightfull haires, Gathered the Princes of the people loose, To taken counsell of their common cares; Who with his wisedom won, him streight did choose Their king, and swore him fealty to win or loose. < 2.10.38.> And Ymner slew, or Logris miscreate; Then Ruddoc and proud Stater, both allyes, This of Albanie newly nominate, And that of Cambry king confirmed late, He ouerthrew through his owne valiaunce; Whose countreis he redus'd to quiet state, And shortly brought to ciuill gouernaunce, Now one, which earst were many, made through variaunce. < 2.10.39.> Were vnto him reueald in vision, By which he freed the Traueilers high way, The Churches part, and Ploughmans portion, Restraining stealth, and strong extortion; The gracious Numa of great Britanie: For till his dayes, the chiefe dominion By strength was wielded without pollicie; Therefore he first wore crowne of gold for dignitie. < 2.10.40.> And left two sonnes, of pearelesse prowesse both; That sacked Rome too dearely did assay, The recompence of their periured oth, And ransackt Greece well tryde, wh&etilde; they were wroth; Besides subiected Fraunce, and Germany, Which yet their prayses speake, all be they loth, And inly tremble at the memory Of Brennus and Bellinus, kings of Britany. < 2.10.41.> In rule succeede, and eke in fathers prayse; He Easterland subdewd, and Danmarke wonne, And of them both did foy and tribute raise, The which was dew in his dead fathers dayes: He also gaue to fugitiues of Spayne, Whom he at sea found wandring from their wayes, A seate in Ireland safely to remayne, Which they should hold of him, as subiect to Britayne. < 2.10.42.> The iustest man and trewest in his dayes, Who had to wife Dame Mertia the fayre, A woman worthy of immortall prayse, Which for this Realme found many goodly layes, And wholesome Statutes to her husband brought; Her many deemd to haue beene of the Fayes, As was Aegerie, that Numa tought; Those yet of her be Mertiã lawes both nam'd & thought. < 2.10.43.> And then Kimarus, and then Danius; Next whom Morindus did the crowne sustaine, Who, had he not with wrath outrageous, And cruell rancour dim'd his valorous And mightie deeds, should matched haue the best: As well in that same field victorious Against the forreine Morands he exprest; Yet liues his memorie, though carcas sleepe in rest. < 2.10.44.> All which successiuely by turnes did raine; First Gorboman a man of vertuous life; Next Archigald, who for his proud disdaine, Deposed was from Princedome soueraine, And pitteous Elidure put in his sted; Who shortly it to him restord againe, Till by his death he it recouered; But Peridure and Vigent him disthronized. < 2.10.45.> Till they outraigned had their vtmost date, And then therein reseized was againe, And ruled long with honorable state, Till he surrendred Realme and life to fate. Then all the sonnes of these fiue brethren raynd By dew successe, and all their Nephewes late, Euen thrise eleuen descents the crowne retaynd, Till aged Hely by dew heritage it gaynd. < 2.10.46.> Left of his life most famous memory, And endlesse moniments of his great good: The ruin'd wals he did reædifye Of Troynouant, gainst force of enimy, And built that gate, which of his name is hight, By which he lyes entombed solemnly. He left two sonnes, too young to rule aright, Androgeus and Tenantius, pictures of his might. < 2.10.47.> Was by the people chosen in their sted, Who on him tooke the royall Diademe, And goodly well long time it gouerned, Till the prowd Romanes him disquieted, And warlike Caesar, tempted with the name Of this sweet Island, neuer conquered, And enuying the Britons blazed fame, (O hideous hunger of dominion) hither came. < 2.10.48.> And twise renforst, backe to their ships to fly, The whiles with bloud they all the shore did staine, And the gray Ocean into purple dy: Ne had they footing found at last perdie, Had not Androgeus, false to natiue soyle, And enuious of Vncles soueraintie, Betrayd his contrey vnto forreine spoyle: Nought else, but treason, from the first this lãd did foyle. < 2.10.49.> Through great bloudshed, and many a sad assay, In which him selfe was charged heauily Of hardy Nennius, whom he yet did slay, But lost his sword, yet to be seene this day. Thenceforth this land was tributarie made T'ambitious Rome, and did their rule obay, Till Arthur all that reckoning did defray; Yet oft the Briton kings against them strongly swayd. < 2.10.50.> What time th'eternall Lord in fleshly slime Enwombed was, from wretched Adams line To purge away the guilt of sinfull crime: O ioyous memorie of happy time, That heauenly grace so plenteously displayd; (O too high ditty for my simple rime.) Soone after this the Romanes him warrayd; For that their tribute he refusd to let be payd. < 2.10.51.> An army brought, and with him battell fought, In which the king was by a Treachetour Disguised slaine, ere any thereof thought: Yet ceased not the bloudy fight for ought; For Aruirage his brothers place supplide, Both in his armes, and crowne, and by that draught Did driue the Romanes to the weaker side, That they to peace agreed. So all was pacifide. < 2.10.52.> Nor dred of Romanes, then was Aruirage, For which the Emperour to him allide His daughter Genuiss' in marriage: Yet shortly he renounst the vassalage Of Rome againe, who hither hastly sent Vespasian, that with great spoile and rage Forwasted all, till Genuissa gent Perswaded him to ceasse, and her Lord to relent. < 2.10.53.> Who ioyd his dayes in great tranquillity, Then Coyll, and after him good Lucius, That first receiued Christianitie, The sacred pledge of Christes Euangely; Yet true it is, that long before that day Hither came Ioseph of Arimathy, Who brought with him the holy grayle, (they say) And preacht the truth, but since it greatly did decay. < 2.10.54.> Whereof great trouble in the kingdome grew, That did her selfe in sundry parts diuide, And with her powre her owne selfe ouerthrew, Whilest Romanes dayly did the weake subdew: Which seeing stout Bunduca, vp arose, And taking armes, the Britons to her drew; With whom she marched streight against her foes, And them vnwares besides the Seuerne did enclose. < 2.10.55.> Not with so good successe, as she deseru'd; By reason that the Captaines on her side, Corrupted by Paulinus, from her sweru'd: Yet such, as were through former flight preseru'd, Gathering againe, her Host she did renew, And with fresh courage on the victour seru'd: But being all defeated, saue a few, Rather then fly, or be captiu'd her selfe she slew. < 2.10.56.> Matchable either to Semiramis, Whom antique history so high doth raise, Or to Hypsiphil' or to Thomiris: Her Host two hundred thousand numbred is; Who whiles good fortune fauoured her might, Triumphed oft against her enimis; And yet though ouercome in haplesse fight, She triumphed on death, in enemies despight. < 2.10.57.> Fought with Seuerus, and him ouerthrew; Yet in the chace was slaine of them, that fled: So made them victours, whom he did subdew. Then gan Carausius tirannize anew, And gainst the Romanes bent their proper powre, But him Allectus treacherously slew, And took on him the robe of Emperoure: Nath'lesse the same enioyed but short happy howre: < 2.10.58.> And left inglorious on the vanquisht playne, Without or robe, or rag, to hide his shame. Then afterwards he in his stead did rayne; But shortly was by Coyll in battell slaine: Who after long debate, since Lucies time, Was of the Britons first crownd Soueraine: Then gan this Realme renewe her passed prime: He of his name Coylchester built of stone and lime. < 2.10.59.> Constantius, a man of mickle might, With whom king Coyll made an agreement, And to him gaue for wife his daughter bright, Faire Helena, the fairest liuing wight; Who in all godly thewes, and goodly prayse Did far excell, but was most famous hight For skill in Musicke of all in her dayes, Aswell in curious instruments, as cunning layes. < 2.10.60.> Who afterward was Emperour of Rome; To which whiles absent he his mind did set, Octauius here lept into his roome, And it vsurped by vnrighteous doome: But he his title iustifide by might, Slaying Traherne, and hauing ouercome The Romane legion in dreadfull fight: So settled he his kingdome, and confirmd his right. < 2.10.61.> He gaue in wedlocke to Maximian, And him with her made of his kingdome heyre, Who soone by meanes thereof the Empire wan, Till murdred by the friends of Gratian; Then gan the Hunnes and Picts inuade this land, During the raigne of Maximinian; Who dying left none heire them to withstand, But that they ouerran all parts with easie hand. < 2.10.62.> Was by Maximian lately led away, With wretched miseries, and woefull ruth, Were to those Pagans made an open pray, And dayly spectacle of sad decay: Whom Romane warres, which now foure hundred yeares, And more had wasted, could no whit dismay; Till by consent of Commons and of Peares, They crownd the second Constantine with ioyous teares, < 2.10.63.> Those spoilefull Picts, and swarming Easterlings, Long time in peace his Realme established, Yet oft annoyd with sundry bordragings Of neighbour Scots, and forrein Scatterlings, With which the world did in those dayes abound: Which to outbarre, with painefull pyonings From sea to sea he heapt a mightie mound, Which from Alcluid to Panwelt did that border bound. < 2.10.64.> By meanes whereof, their vncle Vortigere Vsurpt the crowne, during their pupillage; Which th'Infants tutors gathering to feare, Them closely into Armorick did beare: For dread of whom, and for those Picts annoyes, He sent to Germanie, straunge aid to reare, From whence eftsoones arriued here three hoyes Of Saxons, whom he for his safetie imployes. < 2.10.65.> Hengist and Horsus, well approu'd in warre, And both of them men of renowmed might; Who making vantage of their ciuill iarre, And of those forreiners, which came from farre, Grew great, and got large portions of land, That in the Realme ere long they stronger arre, Then they which sought at first their helping hand, And Vortiger enforst the kingdome to aband. < 2.10.66.> He is againe vnto his rule restord, And Hengist seeming sad, for that was donne, Receiued is to grace and new accord, Through his faire daughters face, & flattring word; Soone after which, three hundred Lordes he slew Of British bloud, all sitting at his bord; Whose dolefull moniments who list to rew, Th'eternall markes of treason may at Stonheng vew. < 2.10.67.> Ambrose and Vther did ripe years attaine, And here arriuing, strongly challenged The crowne, which Vortiger did long detaine: Who flying from his guilt, by them was slaine, And Hengist eke soone brought to shamefull death. Thenceforth Aurelius peaceably did rayne, Till that through poyson stopped was his breath; So now entombed lyes at Stoneheng by the heath. < 2.10.68.> Succeding There abruptly it did end, Without full point, or other Cesure right, As if the rest some wicked hand did rend, Or th'Authour selfe could not at least attend To finish it: that so vntimely breach The Prince him selfe halfe seemeth to offend, Yet secret pleasure did offence empeach, And wonder of antiquitie long stopt his speach. < 2.10.69.> The royall Ofspring of his natiue land, Cryde out, Deare countrey, ô: how dearely deare Ought thy remembraunce, and perpetuall band Be to thy foster Childe, that from thy hand Did commun breath and nouriture receaue? How brutish is it not to vnderstand, How much to her we owe, that all vs gaue, That gaue vnto vs all, what euer good we haue. < 2.10.70.> Ne yet has ended: for it was a great And ample volume, that doth far excead My leasure, so long leaues here to repeat: It told, how first Prometheus did create A man, of many partes from beasts deriued, And then stole fire from heauen, to animate His worke, for which he was by Ioue depriued Of life him selfe, and hart-strings of an Ægle riued. < 2.10.71.> Quick, the first authour of all Elfin kind: Who wandring through the world with wearie feet, Did in the gardins of Adonis find A goodly creature, whom he deemd in mind To be no earthly wight, but either Spright, Or Angell, th'authour of all woman kind; Therefore a Fay he her according hight, Of whom all Faeryes spring, and fetch their lignage right. < 2.10.72.> And puissaunt kings, which all the world warrayd, And to them selues all Nations did subdew: The first and eldest, which that scepter swayd, Was Elfin; him all India obayd, And all that now America men call: Next him was noble Elfinan, who layd Cleopolis foundation first of all: But Elfiline enclosd it with a golden wall. < 2.10.73.> The wicked Gobbelines in bloudy field: But Elfant was of most renowmed fame, Who all of Christall did Panthea build: Then Elfar, who two brethren gyants kild, The one of which had two heads, th'other three: Then Elfinor, who was in Magick skild; He built by art vpon the glassy See A bridge of bras, whose sound heau&etilde;s thunder seem'd to bee. < 2.10.74.> And all their Ofspring, in their dew descents, Euen seuen hundred Princes, which maintaynd With mightie deedes their sundry gouernments; That were too long their infinite contents Here to record, ne much materiall: Yet should they be most famous moniments, And braue ensample, both of martiall, And ciuill rule to kings and states imperiall. < 2.10.75.> The wise Elficleos in great Maiestie, Who mightily that scepter did sustayne, And with rich spoiles and famous victorie, Did high aduaunce the crowne of Faery: He left two sonnes, of which faire Elferon The eldest brother did vntimely dy; Whose emptie place the mightie Oberon Doubly supplide, in spousall, and dominion. < 2.10.76.> Which him before, that sacred seate did fill, That yet remaines his wide memoriall: He dying left the fairest Tanaquill, Him to succeede therein, by his last will: Fairer and nobler liueth none this howre, Ne like in grace, ne like in learned skill; Therefore they Glorian call that glorious flowre, Long mayst thou Glorian liue, in glory and great powre. < 2.10.77.> And naturall desire of countreys state, So long they red in those antiquities, That how the time was fled, they quite forgate, Till gentle Alma seeing it so late, Perforce their studies broke, and them besought To thinke, how supper did them long awaite. So halfe vnwilling from their bookes them brought, And fairely feasted, as so noble knights she ought. < 2.11.1.> Cant. XI. The enimies of Temperaunce
WHat warre so cruell, or what siege so sore,
< 2.11.2.> His partes to reasons rule obedient, And letteth her that ought the scepter weeld, All happy peace and goodly gouernment Is setled there in sure establishment; There Alma like a virgin Queene most bright, Doth florish in all beautie excellent: And to her guestes doth bounteous banket dight, Attempred goodly well for health and for delight. < 2.11.3.> The windowes of bright heauen opened had, Through which into the world the dawning day Might looke, that maketh euery creature glad, Vprose Sir Guyon, in bright armour clad, And to his purposd iourney him prepar'd: With him the Palmer eke in habit sad, Him selfe addrest to that aduenture hard: So to the riuers side they both together far'd. < 2.11.4.> The Ferriman, as Alma had behight, With his well rigged boate: They go abord, And he eftsoones gan launch his barke forthright. Ere long they rowed were quite out of sight, And fast the land behind them fled away. But let them pas, whiles wind and weather right Do serue their turnes: here I a while must stay, To see a cruell fight doen by the Prince this day. < 2.11.5.> Vpon his voyage with his trustie guide, That wicked band of villeins fresh begon That castle to assaile on euery side, And lay strong siege about it far and wide. So huge and infinite their numbers were, That all the land they vnder them did hide; So fowle and vgly, that exceeding feare Their visages imprest, when they approched neare. < 2.11.6.> And round about in fittest steades did place, Where each might best offend his proper part, And his contrary obiect most deface, As euery one seem'd meetest in that cace. Seuen of the same against the Castle gate, In strong entrenchments he did closely place, Which with incessaunt force and endlesse hate, They battred day and night, and entraunce did awate. < 2.11.7.> Against the fiue great Bulwarkes of that pile, And vnto each a Bulwarke did arret, T'assayle with open force or hidden guile, In hope thereof to win victorious spoile. They all that charge did feruently apply, With greedie malice and importune toyle, And planted there their huge artillery, With which they dayly made most dreadfull battery. < 2.11.8.> Of fowle misshapen wights, of which some were Headed like Owles, with beckes vncomely bent, Others like Dogs, others like Gryphons dreare, And some had wings, and some had clawes to teare, And euery one of them had Lynces eyes, And euery one did bow and arrowes beare: All those were lawlesse lustes, corrupt enuies, And couetous aspectes, all cruell enimies. < 2.11.9.> Did lay strong siege, and battailous assault, Ne once did yield it respit day nor night, But soone as Titan gan his head exault, And soone againe as he his light withhault, Their wicked engins they against it bent: That is each thing, by which the eyes may fault: But two then all more huge and violent, Beautie, and money, they that Bulwarke sorely rent. < 2.11.10.> Gainst which the second troupe dessignment makes; Deformed creatures, in straunge difference, Some hauing heads like Harts, some like to Snakes, Some like wild Bores late rouzd out of the brakes; Slaunderous reproches, and fowle infamies, Leasings, backbytings, and vaine-glorious crakes, Bad counsels, prayses, and false flatteries. All those against that fort did bend their batteries. < 2.11.11.> Of that third troupe was cruelly assayd: Whose hideous shapes were like to feends of hell, Some like to hounds, some like to Apes, dismayd, Some like to Puttockes, all in plumes arayd: All shap't according their conditions, For by those vgly formes weren pourtrayd, Foolish delights and fond abusions, Which do that sence besiege with light illusions. < 2.11.12.> Against the fourth Bulwarke, that is the Tast, Was as the rest, a grysie rablement, Some mouth'd like greedy Oystriges, some fast Like loathly Toades, some fashioned in the wast Like swine; for so deformd is luxury, Surfeat, misdiet, and vnthriftie wast, Vaine feasts, and idle superfluity: All those this sences Fort assayle incessantly. < 2.11.13.> And fierce of force, was dreadfull to report: For some like Snailes, some did like spyders shew, And some like vgly Vrchins thicke and short: Cruelly they assayled that fift Fort, Armed with darts of sensuall delight, With stings of carnall lust, and strong effort Of feeling pleasures, with which day and night Against that same fift bulwarke they continued fight. < 2.11.14.> Against that Castle restlesse siege did lay, And euermore their hideous Ordinance Vpon the Bulwarkes cruelly did play, That now it gan to threaten neare decay: And euermore their wicked Capitaine Prouoked them the breaches to assay, Somtimes with threats, somtimes with hope of gaine, Which by the ransack of that peece they should attaine. < 2.11.15.> Their stedfast stonds did mightily maintaine, And many bold repulse, and many hard Atchieuement wrought with perill and with paine, That goodly frame from ruine to sustaine: And those two brethren Giants did defend The walles so stoutly with their sturdie maine, That neuer entrance any durst pretend, But they to direfull death their groning ghosts did send. < 2.11.16.> Was much dismayed with that dreadfull sight: For neuer was she in so euill cace, Till that the Prince seeing her wofull plight, Gan her recomfort from so sad affright, Offring his seruice, and his dearest life For her defence, against that Carle to fight, Which was their chiefe and th'author of that strife: She him remercied as the Patrone of her life. < 2.11.17.> And his well proued weapons to him hent; So taking courteous conge he behight, Those gates to be vnbar'd, and forth he went. Faire mote he thee, the prowest and most gent, That euer brandished bright steele on hye: Whom soone as that vnruly rablement, With his gay Squire issuing did espy, They reard a most outrageous dreadfull yelling cry, < 2.11.18.> Their fluttring arrowes, thicke as flakes of snow, And round about him flocke impetuously, Like a great water flood, that tombling low From the high mountaines, threats to ouerflow With suddein fury all the fertile plaine, And the sad husbandmans long hope doth throw A downe the streame, and all his vowes make vaine, Nor bounds nor banks his headlong ruine may sustaine. < 2.11.19.> And with his sword disperst the raskall flockes, Which fled a sunder, and him fell before, As withered leaues drop from their dried stockes, Wh&etilde; the wroth Western wind does reaue their locks; And vnder neath him his courageous steed, The fierce Spumador trode them downe like docks, The fierce Spumador borne of heauenly seed: Such as Laomedon of Phoebus race did breed. < 2.11.20.> When as their Captaine heard, in haste he yode, The cause to weet, and fault to remedy; Vpon a Tygre swift and fierce he rode, That as the winde ran vnderneath his lode, Whiles his long legs nigh raught vnto the ground; Full large he was of limbe, and shoulders brode, But of such subtile substance and vnsound, That like a ghost he seem'd, whose graue-clothes were vnbound. < 2.11.21.> And many arrowes vnder his right side, All deadly daungerous, all cruell keene, Headed with flint, and feathers bloudie dide, Such as the Indians in their quiuers hide; Those could he well direct and streight as line, And bid them strike the marke, which he had eyde, Ne was their salue, ne was their medicine, That mote recure their wounds: so inly they did tine. < 2.11.22.> His bodie leane and meagre as a rake, And skin all withered like a dryed rooke, Thereto as cold and drery as a Snake, That seem'd to tremble euermore, and quake: All in a canuas thin he was bedight, And girded with a belt of twisted brake, Vpon his head he wore an Helmet light, Made of a dead mans skull, that seem'd a ghastly sight. < 2.11.23.> There follow'd fast at hand two wicked Hags, With hoarie lockes all loose, and visage grim; Their feet vnshod, their bodies wrapt in rags, And both as swift on foot, as chased Stags; And yet the one her other legge had lame, Which with a staffe, all full of litle snags She did support, and Impotence her name: But th'other was Impatience, arm'd with raging flame. < 2.11.24.> Glistring in armes and warlike ornament, His Beast he felly prickt on either syde, And his mischieuous bow full readie bent, With which at him a cruell shaft he sent: But he was warie, and it warded well Vpon his shield, that it no further went, But to the ground the idle quarrell fell: Then he another and another did expell. < 2.11.25.> Soone to him raught, and fierce at him did ride, To be auenged of that shot whyleare: But he was not so hardie to abide That bitter stownd, but turning quicke aside His light-foot beast, fled fast away for feare: Whom to pursue, the Infant after hide, So fast as his good Courser could him beare, But labour lost it was, to weene approch him neare. < 2.11.26.> That vew of eye could scarse him ouertake, Ne scarse his feet on ground were seene to tred; Through hils and dales he speedie way did make, Ne hedge ne ditch his readie passage brake, And in his flight the villein turn'd his face, (As wonts the Tartar by the Caspian lake, When as the Russian him in fight does chace) Vnto his Tygres taile, and shot at him apace. < 2.11.27.> Still as the greedy knight nigh to him drew, And oftentimes he would relent his pace, That him his foe more fiercely should pursew: Who when his vncouth manner he did vew, He gan auize to follow him no more, But keepe his standing, and his shaftes eschew, Vntill he quite had spent his perlous store, And then assayle him fresh, ere he could shift for more. < 2.11.28.> His wicked arrowes, gathered them againe, And to him brought, fresh battell to renew: Which he espying, cast her to restraine From yielding succour to that cursed Swaine, And her attaching, thought her hands to tye; But soone as him dismounted on the plaine, That other Hag did farre away espy Binding her sister, she to him ran hastily. < 2.11.29.> Him backward ouerthrew, and downe him stayd With their rude hands and griesly graplement, Till that the villein comming to their ayd, Vpon him fell, and lode vpon him layd; Full litle wanted, but he had him slaine, And of the battell balefull end had made, Had not his gentle Squire beheld his paine, And commen to his reskew, ere his bitter bane. < 2.11.30.> May often need the helpe of weaker hand; So feeble is mans state, and life vnsound, That in assurance it may neuer stand, Till it dissolued be from earthly band. Proofe be thou Prince, the prowest man aliue, And noblest borne of all in Britayne land; Yet thee fierce Fortune did so nearely driue, That had not grace thee blest, thou shouldest not suruiue. < 2.11.31.> Snatcht first the one, and then the other Iade, His chiefest lets and authors of his harmes, And them perforce withheld with threatned blade, Least that his Lord they should behind inuade; The whiles the Prince prickt with reprochfull shame, As one awakt out of long slombring shade, Reuiuing thought of glorie and of fame, Vnited all his powres to purge himselfe from blame. < 2.11.32.> Hath long bene vnderkept, and downe supprest, With murmurous disdaine doth inly raue, And grudge, in so streight prison to be prest, At last breakes forth with furious vnrest, And striues to mount vnto his natiue seat; All that did earst it hinder and molest, It now deuoures with flames and scorching heat, And carries into smoake with rage and horror great. < 2.11.33.> Out of his hold, and broke his caitiue bands, And as a Beare whom angry curres haue touzd, Hauing off-shakt them, and escapt their hands, Becomes more fell, and all that him withstands Treads downe and ouerthrowes. Now had the Carle Alighted from his Tigre, and his hands Discharged of his bow and deadly quar'le, To seize vpon his foe flat lying on the marle. < 2.11.34.> For neither can he fly, nor other harme, But trust vnto his strength and manhood meare, Sith now he is farre from his monstrous swarme, And of his weapons did himselfe disarme. The knight yet wrothfull for his late disgrace, Fiercely aduaunst his valorous right arme, And him so sore smote with his yron mace, That groueling to the ground he fell, and fild his place. < 2.11.35.> And all his labour brought to happie end, When suddein vp the villein ouerthrowne, Out of his swowne arose, fresh to contend, And gan himselfe to second battell bend, As hurt he had not bene. Thereby there lay An huge great stone, which stood vpon one end, And had not bene remoued many a day; Some land-marke seem'd to be, or signe of sundry way. < 2.11.36.> Threw at his foe, who was right well aware To shunne the engin of his meant decay; It booted not to thinke that throw to beare, But ground he gaue, and lightly leapt areare: Eft fierce returning, as a Faulcon faire That once hath failed of her souse full neare, Remounts againe into the open aire, And vnto better fortune doth her selfe prepaire. < 2.11.37.> He to the Carle himselfe againe addrest, And strooke at him so sternely, that he made An open passage through his riuen brest, That halfe the steele behind his back did rest; Which drawing backe, he looked euermore When the hart bloud should gush out of his chest, Or his dead corse should fall vpon the flore; But his dead corse vpon the flore fell nathemore. < 2.11.38.> All were the wounde so wide and wonderous, That through his carkasse one might plainely see: Halfe in a maze with horror hideous, And halfe in rage, to be deluded thus, Againe through both the sides he strooke him quight, That made his spright to grone full piteous: Yet nathemore forth fled his groning spright, But freshly as at first, prepard himselfe to fight. < 2.11.39.> And trembling terror did his hart apall, Ne wist he, what to thinke of that same sight, Ne what to say, ne what to doe at all; He doubted, least it were some magicall Illusion, that did beguile his sense, Or wandring ghost, that wanted funerall, Or aerie spirit vnder false pretence, Or hellish feend raysd vp through diuelish science. < 2.11.40.> That he began to doubt his dazeled sight, And oft of error did himselfe appeach: Flesh without bloud, a person without spright, Wounds without hurt, a bodie without might, That could doe harme, yet could not harmed bee, That could not die, yet seem'd a mortall wight, That was most strong in most infirmitee; Like did he neuer heare, like did he neuer see. < 2.11.41.> Yet would he not for all his great dismay Giue ouer to effect his first intent, And th'vtmost meanes of victorie assay, Or th'vtmost issew of his owne decay. His owne good sword Morddure, that neuer fayld At need, till now, he lightly threw away, And his bright shield, that nought him now auayld, And with his naked hands him forcibly assayld. < 2.11.42.> And crusht his carkasse so against his brest, That the disdainfull soule he thence dispatcht, And th'idle breath all vtterly exprest: Tho when he felt him dead, a downe he kest The lumpish corse vnto the senselesse grownd; Adowne he kest it with so puissant wrest, That backe againe it did aloft rebownd, And gaue against his mother earth a gronefull sownd. < 2.11.43.> Stoupes at a flying heron with proud disdaine, The stone-dead quarrey fals so forciblie, That it rebounds against the lowly plaine, A second fall redoubling backe againe. Then thought the Prince all perill sure was past, And that he victor onely did remaine; No sooner thought, then that the Carle as fast Gan heap huge strokes on him, as ere he downe was cast. < 2.11.44.> And thought his labour lost and trauell vaine, Against this lifelesse shadow so to fight: Yet life he saw, and felt his mightie maine, That whiles he marueild still, did still him paine: For thy he gan some other wayes aduize, How to take life from that dead-liuing swaine, Whom still he marked freshly to arize From th'earth, & from her wombe new spirits to reprize. < 2.11.45.> How th'Earth his mother was, and first him bore; She eke so often, as his life decayd, Did life with vsury to him restore, And raysd him vp much stronger then before, So soone as he vnto her wombe did fall; Therefore to ground he would him cast no more, Ne him commit to graue terrestriall, But beare him farre from hope of succour vsuall. < 2.11.46.> And hauing scruzd out of his carrion corse The lothfull life, now loosd from sinfull bands, Vpon his shoulders carried him perforse Aboue three furlongs, taking his full course, Vntill he came vnto a standing lake; Him thereinto he threw without remorse, Ne stird, till hope of life did him forsake; So end of that Carles dayes, and his owne paines did make. < 2.11.47.> Like two mad dogs they ran about the lands, And th'one of them with dreadfull yelling cry, Throwing away her broken chaines and bands, And hauing quencht her burning fier brands, Hedlong her selfe did cast into that lake; But Impotence with her owne wilfull hands, One of Malegers cursed darts did take, So riu'd her trembling hart, and wicked end did make. < 2.11.48.> Tho comming to his Squire, that kept his steed, Thought to haue mounted, but his feeble vaines Him faild thereto, and serued not his need, Through losse of bloud, which from his wounds did bleed, That he began to faint, and life decay: But his good Squire him helping vp with speed, With stedfast hand vpon his horse did stay, And led him to the Castle by the beaten way. < 2.11.49.> To take him from his steed full tenderly, And eke the fairest Alma met him there With balme and wine and costly spicery, To comfort him in his infirmity; Eftsoones she causd him vp to be conuayd, And of his armes despoyled easily, In sumptuous bed she made him to be layd, And all the while his wounds were dressing, by him stayd. < 2.12.1.> Cant. XII. Guyon, by Palmers gouernance,
NOw gins this goodly frame of Temperance
< 2.12.2.> Ne euer land beheld, ne liuing wight, Ne ought saue perill, still as he did pas: Tho when appeared the third Morrow bright, Vpon the waues to spred her trembling light, An hideous roaring farre away they heard, That all their senses filled with affright, And streight they saw the raging surges reard Vp to the skyes, that them of drowning made affeard. < 2.12.3.> And keepe an euen course; for yonder way We needes must passe (God do vs well acquight,) That is the Gulfe of Greedinesse, they say, That deepe engorgeth all this worldes pray: Which hauing swallowd vp excessiuely, He soone in vomit vp againe doth lay, And belcheth forth his superfluity, That all the seas for feare do seeme away to fly. < 2.12.4.> Of mightie Magnes stone, whose craggie clift Depending from on high, dreadfull to sight, Ouer the waues his rugged armes doth lift, And threatneth downe to throw his ragged rift On who so commeth nigh; yet nigh it drawes All passengers, that none from it can shift: For whiles they fly that Gulfes deuouring iawes, They on this rock are rent, and sunck in helplesse wawes. < 2.12.5.> Vntill they nigh vnto that Gulfe arriue, Where streame more violent and greedy growes: Then he with all his puissance doth striue To strike his oares, and mightily doth driue The hollow vessell through the threatfull waue, Which gaping wide, to swallow them aliue, In th'huge abysse of his engulfing graue, Doth rore at them in vaine, and with great terror raue. < 2.12.6.> Sucking the seas into his entralles deepe, That seem'd more horrible then hell to bee, Or that darke dreadfull hole of Tartare steepe, Through which the damned ghosts doen often creepe Backe to the world, bad liuers to torment: But nought that falles into this direfull deepe, Ne that approcheth nigh the wide descent, May backe returne, but is condemned to be drent. < 2.12.7.> Threatning it selfe on them to ruinate, On whose sharpe clifts the ribs of vessels broke, And shiuered ships, which had bene wrecked late, Yet stuck, with carkasses exanimate Of such, as hauing all their substance spent In wanton ioyes, and lustes intemperate, Did afterwards make shipwracke violent, Both of their life, and fame for euer fowly blent. < 2.12.8.> A daungerous and detestable place, To which nor fish nor fowle did once approch, But yelling Meawes, with Seagulles hoarse and bace, And Cormoyrants, with birds of rauenous race, Which still sate waiting on that wastfull clift, For spoyle of wretches, whose vnhappie cace, After lost credite and consumed thrift, At last them driuen hath to this despairefull drift. < 2.12.9.> Thus said; Behold th'ensamples in our sights, Of lustfull luxurie and thriftlesse wast: What now is left of miserable wights, Which spent their looser daies in lewd delights, But shame and sad reproch, here to be red, By these rent reliques, speaking their ill plights? Let all that liue, hereby be counselled, To shunne Rocke of Reproch, and it as death to dred. < 2.12.10.> With his stiffe oares did brush the sea so strong, That the hoare waters from his frigot ran, And the light bubbles daunced all along, Whiles the salt brine out of the billowes sprong. At last farre off they many Islands spy, On euery side floting the floods emong: Then said the knight, Loe I the land descry, Therefore old Syre thy course do thereunto apply. < 2.12.11.> Least we vnweeting hap to be fordonne: For those same Islands, seeming now and than, Are not firme land, nor any certein wonne, But straggling plots, which to and fro do ronne In the wide waters: therefore are they hight The wandring Islands. Therefore doe them shonne; For they haue oft drawne many a wandring wight Into most deadly daunger and distressed plight. < 2.12.12.> Both faire and fruitfull, and the ground dispred With grassie greene of delectable hew, And the tall trees with leaues apparelled, Are deckt with blossomes dyde in white and red, That mote the passengers thereto allure; But whosoeuer once hath fastened His foot thereon, may neuer it recure, But wandreth euer more vncertein and vnsure. < 2.12.13.> Amid th'Aegæan sea long time did stray, Ne made for shipping any certaine port, Till that Latona traueiling that way, Flying from Iunoes wrath and hard assay, Of her faire twins was there deliuered, Which afterwards did rule the night and day; Thenceforth it firmely was established, And for Apolloes honor highly herried. < 2.12.14.> And passe on forward: so their way does ly, That one of those same Islands, which doe fleet In the wide sea, they needes must passen by, Which seemd so sweet and pleasant to the eye, That it would tempt a man to touchen there: Vpon the banck they sitting did espy A daintie damzell, dressing of her heare, By whom a litle skippet floting did appeare. < 2.12.15.> Bidding them nigher draw vnto the shore; For she had cause to busie them withall; And therewith loudly laught: But nathemore Would they once turne, but kept on as afore: Which when she saw, she left her lockes vndight, And running to her boat withouten ore, From the departing land it launched light, And after them did driue with all her power and might. < 2.12.16.> Them gan to bord, and purpose diuersly, Now faining dalliance and wanton sport, Now throwing forth lewd words immodestly; Till that the Palmer gan full bitterly Her to rebuke, for being loose and light: Which not abiding, but more scornefully Scoffing at him, that did her iustly wite, She turnd her bote about, and from them rowed quite. < 2.12.17.> Did ferry him ouer the Idle lake: Whom nought regarding, they kept on their gate, And all her vaine allurements did forsake, When them the wary Boateman thus bespake; Here now behoueth vs well to auyse, And of our safetie good heede to take; For here before a perlous passage lyes, Where many Mermayds haunt, making false melodies. < 2.12.18.> And a whirlepoole of hidden ieopardy, Therefore, Sir Palmer, keepe an euen hand; For twixt them both the narrow way doth ly. Scarse had he said, when hard at hand they spy That quicksand nigh with water couered; But by the checked waue they did descry It plaine, and by the sea discoloured: It called was the quicksand of Vnthriftyhed. < 2.12.19.> Laden from far with precious merchandize, And brauely furnished, as ship might bee, Which through great disauenture, or mesprize, Her selfe had runne into that hazardize; Whose mariners and merchants with much toyle, Labour'd in vaine, to haue recur'd their prize, And the rich wares to saue from pitteous spoyle, But neither toyle nor trauell might her backe recoyle. < 2.12.20.> That called was the VVhirlepoole of decay, In which full many had with haplesse doole Beene suncke, of whom no memorie did stay: Whose circled waters rapt with whirling sway, Like to a restlesse wheele, still running round, Did couet, as they passed by that way, To draw their boate within the vtmost bound Of his wide Labyrinth, and then to haue them dround. < 2.12.21.> His brawnie armes, and all his body straine, That th'vtmost sandy breach they shortly fetch, Whiles the dred daunger does behind remaine. Suddeine they see from midst of all the Maine, The surging waters like a mountaine rise, And the great sea puft vp with proud disdaine, To swell aboue the measure of his guise, As threatning to deuoure all, that his powre despise. < 2.12.22.> Outragiously, as they enraged were, Or wrathfull Neptune did them driue before His whirling charet, for exceeding feare: For not one puffe of wind there did appeare, That all the three thereat woxe much afrayd, Vnweeting, what such horrour straunge did reare. Eftsoones they saw an hideous hoast arrayd, Of huge Sea monsters, such as liuing sence dismayd. < 2.12.23.> Such as Dame Nature selfe mote feare to see, Or shame, that euer should so fowle defects From her most cunning hand escaped bee; All dreadfull pourtraicts of deformitee: Spring-headed Hydraes, and sea-shouldring Whales, Great whirlpooles, which all fishes make to flee, Bright Scolopendraes, arm'd with siluer scales, Mighty Monoceroses, with immeasured tayles. < 2.12.24.> Of Death, and like him lookes in dreadfull hew, The griesly Wasserman, that makes his game The flying ships with swiftnesse to pursew, The horrible Sea-satyre, that doth shew His fearefull face in time of greatest storme, Huge Ziffius, whom Mariners eschew No lesse, then rockes, (as trauellers informe,) And greedy Rosmarines with visages deforme. < 2.12.25.> And more deformed Monsters thousand fold, With dreadfull noise, and hollow rombling rore, Came rushing in the fomy waues enrold, Which seem'd to fly for feare, them to behold: Ne wonder, if these did the knight appall; For all that here on earth we dreadfull hold, Be but as bugs to fearen babes withall, Compared to the creatures in the seas entrall. < 2.12.26.> For these same Monsters are not these in deed, But are into these fearefull shapes disguiz'd By that same wicked witch, to worke vs dreed, And draw from on this iourney to proceede. Tho lifting vp his vertuous staffe on hye, He smote the sea, which calmed was with speed, And all that dreadfull Armie fast gan flye Into great Tethys bosome, where they hidden lye. < 2.12.27.> And as they went, they heard a ruefull cry Of one, that wayld and pittifull[y] wept, That through the sea the resounding plaints did fly: At last they in an Island did espy A seemely Maiden, sitting by the shore, That with great sorrow and sad agony, Seemed some great misfortune to deplore, And lowd to them for succour called euermore. < 2.12.28.> To stere the boate towards that dolefull Mayd, That he might know, and ease her sorrow sad: Who him auizing better, to him sayd; Faire Sir, be not displeasd, if disobayd: For ill it were to hearken to her cry; For she is inly nothing ill apayd, But onely womanish fine forgery, Your stubborne hart t'affect with fraile infirmity. < 2.12.29.> Through foolish pitty, then her guilefull bayt She will embosome deeper in your mind, And for your ruine at the last awayt. The knight was ruled, and the Boateman strayt Held on his course with stayed stedfastnesse, Ne euer shruncke, ne euer sought to bayt His tyred armes for toylesome wearinesse, But with his oares did sweepe the watry wildernesse. < 2.12.30.> Where as those Mermayds dwelt: it was a still And calmy bay, on th'one side sheltered With the brode shadow of an hoarie hill, On th'other side an high rocke toured still, That twixt them both a pleasaunt port they made, And did like an halfe Theatre fulfill: There those fiue sisters had continuall trade, And vsd to bath themselues in that deceiptfull shade. < 2.12.31.> With th'Heliconian maides for maistery; Of whom they ouer-comen, were depriu'd Of their proud beautie, and th'one moyity Transform'd to fish, for their bold surquedry, But th'vpper halfe their hew retained still, And their sweet skill in wonted melody; Which euer after they abusd to ill, T'allure weake trauellers, whom gotten they did kill. < 2.12.32.> Their pleasaunt tunes they sweetly thus applide; O thou faire sonne of gentle Faery, That art in mighty armes most magnifide Aboue all knights, that euer battell tride, O turne thy rudder hither-ward a while: Here may thy storme-bet vessell safely ride; This is the Port of rest from troublous toyle, The worlds sweet In, from paine & wearisome turmoyle. < 2.12.33.> In his big base them fitly answered, And on the rocke the waues breaking aloft, A solemne Meane vnto them measured, The whiles sweet Zephirus lowd whisteled His treble, a straunge kinde of harmony; Which Guyons senses softly tickeled, That he the boateman bad row easily, And let him heare some part of their rare melody. < 2.12.34.> With temperate aduice discounselled, That they it past, and shortly gan descry The land, to which their course they leueled; When suddeinly a grosse fog ouer spred With his dull vapour all that desert has, And heauens chearefull face enueloped, That all things one, and one as nothing was, And this great Vniuerse seemd one confused mas. < 2.12.35.> How to direct their way in darkenesse wide, But feard to wander in that wastfull mist, For tombling into mischiefe vnespide. Worse is the daunger hidden, then descride. Suddeinly an innumerable flight Of harmefull fowles about them fluttering, cride, And with their wicked wings them oft did smight, And sore annoyed, groping in that griesly night. < 2.12.36.> And fatall birds about them flocked were, Such as by nature men abhorre and hate, The ill-faste Owle, deaths dreadfull messengere, The hoars Night-rauen, trump of dolefull drere, The lether-winged Bat, dayes enimy, The ruefull Strich, still waiting on the bere, The Whistler shrill, that who so heares, doth dy, The hellish Harpies, prophets of sad destiny. < 2.12.37.> About them flew, and fild their sayles with feare: Yet stayd they not, but forward did proceed, Whiles th'one did row, and th'other stifly steare; Till that at last the weather gan to cleare, And the faire land it selfe did plainly show. Said then the Palmer, Lo where does appeare The sacred soile, where all our perils grow; Therefore, Sir knight, your ready armes about you throw. < 2.12.38.> The whiles the nimble boate so well her sped, That with her crooked keele the land she strooke, Then forth the noble Guyon sallied, And his sage Palmer, that him gouerned; But th'other by his boate behind did stay. They marched fairly forth, of nought ydred, Both firmely armd for euery hard assay, With constancy and care, gainst daunger and dismay. < 2.12.39.> Of many beasts, that roard outrageously, As if that hungers point, or Venus sting Had them enraged with fell surquedry; Yet nought they feard, but past on hardily, Vntill they came in vew of those wild beasts: Who all attonce, gaping full greedily, And rearing fiercely their vpstarting crests, Ran towards, to deuoure those vnexpected guests. < 2.12.40.> The Palmer ouer them his staffe vpheld, His mighty staffe, that could all charmes defeat: Eftsoones their stubborne courages were queld, And high aduaunced crests downe meekely feld, In stead of fraying, they them selues did feare, And trembled, as them passing they beheld: Such wondrous powre did in that staffe appeare, All monsters to subdew to him, that did it beare. < 2.12.41.> Of which Caduceus whilome was made, Caduceus the rod of Mercury, With which he wonts the Stygian realmes inuade, Through ghastly horrour, and eternall shade; Th'infernall feends with it he can asswage, And Orcus tame, whom nothing can perswade, And rule the Furyes, when they most do rage: Such vertue in his staffe had eke this Palmer sage. < 2.12.42.> Whereas the Bowre of Blisse was situate; A place pickt out by choice of best aliue, That natures worke by art can imitate: In which what euer in this worldly state Is sweet, and pleasing vnto liuing sense, Or that may dayntiest fantasie aggrate, Was poured forth with plentifull dispence, And made there to abound with lauish affluence. < 2.12.43.> Aswell their entred guestes to keepe within, As those vnruly beasts to hold without; Yet was the fence thereof but weake and thin; Nought feard their force, that fortilage to win, But wisedomes powre, and temperaunces might, By which the mightiest things efforced bin: And eke the gate was wrought of substaunce light, Rather for pleasure, then for battery or fight. < 2.12.44.> That seemd a worke of admirable wit; And therein all the famous history Of Iason and Medæa was ywrit; Her mighty charmes, her furious louing fit, His goodly conquest of the golden fleece, His falsed faith, and loue too lightly flit, The wondred Argo, which in venturous peece First through the Euxine seas bore all the flowr of Greece. < 2.12.45.> Vnder the ship, as thorough them she went, That seemd the waues were into yuory, Or yuory into the waues were sent; And other where the snowy substaunce sprent With vermell, like the boyes bloud therein shed, A piteous spectacle did represent, And otherwhiles with gold besprinkeled; Yt seemd th'enchaunted flame, which did Creüsa wed. < 2.12.46.> Be red; that euer open stood to all, Which thither came: but in the Porch there sate A comely personage of stature tall, And semblaunce pleasing, more then naturall, That trauellers to him seemd to entize; His looser garment to the ground did fall, And flew about his heeles in wanton wize, Not fit for speedy pace, or manly exercize. < 2.12.47.> Not that celestiall powre, to whom the care Of life, and generation of all That liues, pertaines in charge particulare, Who wondrous things concerning our welfare, And straunge phantomes doth let vs oft forsee, And oft of secret ill bids vs beware: That is our Selfe, whom though we do not see, Yet each doth in him selfe it well perceiue to bee. < 2.12.48.> Did wisely make, and good Agdistes call: But this same was to that quite contrary, The foe of life, that good enuyes to all, That secretly doth vs procure to fall, Through guilefull semblaunts, which he makes vs see. He of this Gardin had the gouernall, And Pleasures porter was deuizd to bee, Holding a staffe in hand for more formalitee. < 2.12.49.> And strowed round about, and by his side A mighty Mazer bowle of wine was set, As if it had to him bene sacrifide; Wherewith all new-come guests he gratifide: So did he eke Sir Guyon passing by: But he his idle curtesie defide, And ouerthrew his bowle disdainfully; And broke his staffe, with which he charmed semblants sly. < 2.12.50.> A large and spacious plaine, on euery side Strowed with pleasauns, whose faire grassy ground Mantled with greene, and goodly beautifide With all the ornaments of Floraes pride, Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in scorne Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride Did decke her, and too lauishly adorne, When forth from virgin bowre she comes in th'early morne. < 2.12.51.> Lookt on them louely, still in stedfast state, Ne suffred storme nor frost on them to fall, Their tender buds or leaues to violate, Nor scorching heat, nor cold intemperate T'afflict the creatures, which therein did dwell, But the milde air with season moderate Gently attempred, and disposd so well, That still it breathed forth sweet spirit & holesome smell. < 2.12.52.> Of Rhodope, on which the Nimphe, that bore A gyaunt babe, her selfe for griefe did kill; Or the Thessalian Tempe, where of yore Faire Daphne Phoebus hart with loue did gore; Or Ida, where the Gods lou'd to repaire, When euer they their heauenly bowres forlore; Or sweet Parnasse, the haunt of Muses faire; Or Eden selfe, if ought with Eden mote compaire. < 2.12.53.> Of that sweet place, yet suffred no delight To sincke into his sence, nor mind affect, But passed forth, and lookt still forward right, Bridling his will, and maistering his might: Till that he came vnto another gate, No gate, but like one, being goodly dight With boughes and braunches, which did broad dilate Their clasping armes, in wanton wreathings intricate. < 2.12.54.> Archt ouer head with an embracing vine, Whose bounches hanging downe, seemed to entice All passers by, to tast their lushious wine, And did themselues into their hands incline, As freely offering to be gathered: Some deepe empurpled as the Hyacint, Some as the Rubine, laughing sweetly red, Some like faire Emeraudes, not yet well ripened. < 2.12.55.> So made by art, to beautifie the rest, Which did themselues emongst the leaues enfold, As lurking from the vew of couetous guest, That the weake bowes, with so rich load opprest, Did bow adowne, as ouer-burdened. Vnder that Porch a comely dame did rest, Clad in faire weedes, but fowle disordered, And garments loose, that seemd vnmeet for womanhed. < 2.12.56.> And with her right the riper fruit did reach, Whose sappy liquor, that with fulnesse sweld, Into her cup she scruzd, with daintie breach Of her fine fingers, without fowle empeach, That so faire wine-presse made the wine more sweet: Thereof she vsd to giue to drinke to each, Whom passing by she happened to meet: It was her guise, all Straungers goodly so to greet. < 2.12.57.> Who taking it out of her tender hond, The cup to ground did violently cast, That all in peeces it was broken fond, And with the liquor stained all the lond: Whereat Excesse exceedingly was wroth, Yet no'te the same amend, ne yet withstond, But suffered him to passe, all were she loth; Who nought regarding her displeasure forward goth. < 2.12.58.> It selfe doth offer to his sober eye, In which all pleasures plenteously abound, And none does others happinesse enuye: The painted flowres, the trees vpshooting hye, The dales for shade, the hilles for breathing space, The trembling groues, the Christall running by; And that, which all faire workes doth most aggrace, The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place. < 2.12.59.> And scorned parts were mingled with the fine,) That nature had for wantonesse ensude Art, and that Art at nature did repine; So striuing each th'other to vndermine, Each did the others worke more beautifie; So diff'ring both in willes, agreed in fine: So all agreed through sweete diuersitie, This Gardin to adorne with all varietie. < 2.12.60.> Of richest substaunce, that on earth might bee, So pure and shiny, that the siluer flood Through euery channell running one might see; Most goodly it with curious imageree Was ouer-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes, Of which some seemd with liuely iollitee, To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, Whilest others did them selues embay in liquid ioyes. < 2.12.61.> A trayle of yuie in his natiue hew: For the rich mettall was so coloured, That wight, who did not well auis'd it vew, Would surely deeme it to be yuie trew: Low his lasciuious armes adown did creepe, That themselues dipping in the siluer dew, Their fleecy flowres they tenderly did steepe, Which drops of Christall seemd for wantones to weepe. < 2.12.62.> Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see, The which into an ample lauer fell, And shortly grew to so great quantitie, That like a little lake it seemd to bee; Whose depth exceeded not three cubits hight, That through the waues one might the bottom see, All pau'd beneath with Iaspar shining bright, That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle vpright. < 2.12.63.> With shady Laurell trees, thence to defend The sunny beames, which on the billowes bet, And those which therein bathed, mote offend. As Guyon hapned by the same to wend, Two naked Damzelles he therein espyde, Which therein bathing, seemed to contend, And wrestle wantonly, ne car'd to hyde, Their dainty parts from vew of any, which them eyde. < 2.12.64.> Aboue the waters, and then downe againe Her plong, as ouer maistered by might, Where both awhile would couered remaine, And each the other from to rise restraine; The whiles their snowy limbes, as through a vele, So through the Christall waues appeared plaine: Then suddeinly both would themselues vnhele, And th'amarous sweet spoiles to greedy eyes reuele. < 2.12.65.> His deawy face out of the sea doth reare: Or as the Cyprian goddesse, newly borne Of th'Oceans fruitfull froth, did first appeare: Such seemed they, and so their yellow heare Christalline humour dropped downe apace. Whom such when Guyon saw, he drew him neare, And somewhat gan relent his earnest pace, His stubborne brest gan secret pleasaunce to embrace. < 2.12.66.> Gazing a while at his vnwonted guise; Then th'one her selfe low ducked in the flood, Abasht, that her a straunger did avise: But th'other rather higher did arise, And her two lilly paps aloft displayd, And all, that might his melting hart entise To her delights, she vnto him bewrayd: The rest hid vnderneath, him more desirous made. < 2.12.67.> And her faire lockes, which formerly were bownd Vp in one knot, he low adowne did lose: Which flowing long and thick, her cloth'd arownd, And th'yuorie in golden mantle gownd: So that faire spectacle from him was reft, Yet that, which reft it, no lesse faire was fownd: So hid in lockes and waues from lookers theft, Nought but her louely face she for his looking left. < 2.12.68.> That blushing to her laughter gaue more grace, And laughter to her blushing, as did fall: Now when they spide the knight to slacke his pace, Them to behold, and in his sparkling face The secret signes of kindled lust appeare, Their wanton meriments they did encreace, And to him beckned, to approch more neare, And shewd him many sights, that courage cold could reare. < 2.12.69.> He much rebukt those wandring eyes of his, And counseld well, him forward thence did draw. Now are they come nigh to the Bowre of blis Of her fond fauorites so nam'd amis: When thus the Palmer; Now Sir, well auise; For here the end of all our trauell is: Here wonnes Acrasia, whom we must surprise, Else she will slip away, and all our drift despise. < 2.12.70.> Of all that mote delight a daintie eare, Such as attonce might not on liuing ground, Saue in this Paradise, be heard elswhere: Right hard it was, for wight, which did it heare, To read, what manner musicke that mote bee: For all that pleasing is to liuing eare, Was there consorted in one harmonee, Birdes, voyces, instruments, windes, waters, all agree. < 2.12.71.> Their notes vnto the voyce attempred sweet; Th'Angelicall soft trembling voyces made To th'instruments diuine respondence meet: The siluer sounding instruments did meet With the base murmure of the waters fall: The waters fall with difference discreet, Now soft, now loud, vnto the wind did call: The gentle warbling wind low answered to all. < 2.12.72.> Was the faire Witch her selfe now solacing, With a new Louer, whom through sorceree And witchcraft, she from farre did thither bring: There she had him now layd a slombering, In secret shade, after long wanton ioyes: Whilst round about them pleasauntly did sing Many faire Ladies, and lasciuious boyes, That euer mixt their song with light licentious toyes. < 2.12.73.> With her false eyes fast fixed in his sight, As seeking medicine, whence she was stong, Or greedily depasturing delight: And oft inclining downe with kisses light, For feare of waking him, his lips bedewd, And through his humid eyes did sucke his spright, Quite molten into lust and pleasure lewd; Wherewith she sighed soft, as if his case she rewd. < 2.12.74.> Ah see, who so faire thing doest faine to see, In springing flowre the image of thy day; Ah see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly shee Doth first peepe forth with bashfull modestee, That fairer seemes, the lesse ye see her may; Lo see soone after, how more bold and free Her bared bosome she doth broad display; Loe see soone after, how she fades, and falles away. < 2.12.75.> Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre, Ne more doth flourish after first decay, That earst was sought to decke both bed and bowre, Of many a Ladie, and many a Paramowre: Gather therefore the Rose, whilest yet is prime, For soone comes age, that will her pride deflowre: Gather the Rose of love, whilest yet is time, Whilest louing thou mayst loued be with equall crime. < 2.12.76.> Their diuerse notes t'attune vnto his lay, As in approuance of his pleasing words. The constant paire heard all, that he did say, Yet swarued not, but kept their forward way, Through many couert groues, and thickets close, In which they creeping did at last display That wanton Ladie, with her louer lose, Whose sleepie head she in her lap did soft dispose. < 2.12.77.> As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin, And was arayd, or rather disarayd, All in a vele of silke and siluer thin, That hid no whit her alablaster skin, But rather shewd more white, if more might bee: More subtile web Arachne can not spin, Nor the fine nets, which oft we wouen see Of scorched deaw, do not in th'aire more lightly flee. < 2.12.78.> Of hungry eies, which n'ote therewith be fild, And yet through languour of her late sweet toyle, Few drops, more cleare then Nectar, forth distild, That like pure Orient perles adowne it trild, And her faire eyes sweet smyling in delight, Moystened their fierie beames, with which she thrild Fraile harts, yet quenched not; like starry light Which sparckling on the silent waues, does seeme more bright. < 2.12.79.> Some goodly swayne of honorable place, That certes it great pittie was to see Him his nobilitie so foule deface; A sweet regard, and amiable grace, Mixed with manly sternnesse did appeare Yet sleeping, in his well proportiond face, And on his tender lips the downy heare Did now but freshly spring, and silken blossomes beare. < 2.12.80.> Of sleeping praise, were hong vpon a tree, And his braue shield, full of old moniments, Was fowly ra'st, that none the signes might see; Ne for them, ne for honour cared hee, Ne ought, that did to his aduauncement tend, But in lewd loues, and wastfull luxuree, His dayes, his goods, his bodie he did spend: O horrible enchantment, that him so did blend. < 2.12.81.> So nigh them, minding nought, but lustfull game, That suddein forth they on them rusht, and threw A subtile net, which onely for the same The skilfull Palmer formally did frame. So held them vnder fast, the whiles the rest Fled all away for feare of fowler shame. The faire Enchauntresse, so vnwares opprest, Tryde all her arts, & all her sleights, thence out to wrest. < 2.12.82.> For that same net so cunningly was wound, That neither guile, nor force might it distraine. They tooke them both, & both them strongly bound In captiue bandes, which there they readie found: But her in chaines of adamant he tyde; For nothing else might keepe her safe and sound; But Verdant (so he hight) he soone vntyde, And counsell sage in steed thereof to him applyde. < 2.12.83.> Guyon broke downe, with rigour pittilesse; Ne ought their goodly workmanship might saue Them from the tempest of his wrathfulnesse, But that their blisse he turn'd to balefulnesse: Their groues he feld, their gardins did deface, Their arbers spoyle, their Cabinets suppresse, Their banket houses burne, their buildings race, And of the fairest late, now made the fowlest place. < 2.12.84.> They with them led, both sorrowfull and sad: The way they came, the same retourn'd they right, Till they arriued, where they lately had Charm'd those wild-beasts, that rag'd with furie mad. Which now awaking, fierce at them gan fly, As in their mistresse reskew, whom they lad; But them the Palmer soone did pacify. Then Guyon askt, what meant those beastes, which there did ly. < 2.12.85.> Whom this Enchauntresse hath transformed thus, Whylome her louers, which her lusts did feed, Now turned into figures hideous, According to their mindes like monstruous. Sad end (quoth he) of life intemperate, And mournefull meed of ioyes delicious: But Palmer, if it mote thee so aggrate, Let them returned be vnto their former state. < 2.12.86.> And streight of beasts they comely men became; Yet being men they did vnmanly looke, And stared ghastly, some for inward shame, And some for wrath, to see their captiue Dame: But one aboue the rest in speciall, That had an hog beene late, hight Grille by name, Repined greatly, and did him miscall, That had from hoggish forme him brought to naturall. < 2.12.87.> That hath so soone forgot the excellence Of his creation, when he life began, That now he chooseth, with vile difference, To be a beast, and lacke intelligence. To whom the Palmer thus, The donghill kind Delights in filth and foule incontinence: Let Grill be Grill, and haue his hoggish mind, But let vs hence depart, whilest wether serues and wind. < > THE SIXTH
Contayning
< 6.i> In this delightfull land of Faery, Are so exceeding spacious and wyde, And sprinckled with such sweet variety, Of all that pleasant is to eare or eye, That I nigh rauisht with rare thoughts delight, My tedious trauell doe forget thereby; And when I gin to feele decay of might, It strength to me supplies, & chears my dulled spright. < 6.ii> Ye sacred imps, that on Parnasso dwell, And there the keeping haue of learnings threasures, Which doe all worldly riches farre excell, Into the mindes of mortall men doe well, And goodly fury into them infuse; Guyde ye my footing, and conduct me well In these strange waies, where neuer foote did vse, Ne none can find, but who was taught them by the Muse. < 6.iii> Of vertue, which with you doth there remaine, Where it in siluer bowre does hidden ly From view of men, and wicked worlds disdaine. Since it at first was by the Gods with paine Planted in earth, being deriu'd at furst From heauenly seedes of bounty soueraine, And by them long with carefull labour nurst, Till it to ripenesse grew, and forth to honour burst. < 6.v> Then is the bloosme of comely courtesie, Which though it on a lowly stalke doe bowre, Yet brancheth forth in braue nobilitie, And spreds it selfe through all ciuilitie: Of which though present age doe plenteous seeme, Yet being matcht with plaine Antiquitie, Ye will them all but fayned showes esteeme, Which carry colours faire, that feeble eies misdeeme. < 6.vi> Its now so farre from that, which then it was, That it indeed is nought but forgerie, Fashion'd to please the eies of them, that pas, Which see not perfet things but in a glas: Yet is that glasse so gay, that it can blynd The wisest sight, to thinke gold that is bras. But vertues seat is deepe within the mynd, And not in outward shows, but inward thoughts defynd. < 6.vii> But where shall I in all Antiquity
< 6.viii> That from your selfe I doe this vertue bring, And to your selfe doe it returne againe: So from the Ocean all riuers spring, And tribute backe repay as to their King. Right so from you all goodly vertues well Into the rest, which round about you ring, Faire Lords and Ladies, which about you dwell, And doe adorne your Court, where courtesies+ excell. < 6.1.1 Canto I.> Calidore saues from Maleffort,
OF Court it seemes, men Courtesie doe call,
< 6.1.2> Then Calidore, beloued ouer all, In whom it seemes, that gentlenesse of spright And manners mylde were planted naturall; To which he adding comely guize withall, And gracious speach, did steale mens hearts away. Nathlesse thereto he was full stout and tall, And well approu'd in batteilous affray, That him did much renowme, and far his fame display. < 6.1.3> In Faery court, but him did deare embrace, For his faire vsage and conditions sound, The which in all mens liking gayned place, And with the greatest purchast greatest grace: Which he could wisely vse, and well apply, To please the best, and th'euill to embase. For he loathd leasing, and base flattery+, And loued simple truth and stedfast honesty. {PlainDealer+} < 6.1.4> Vppon an hard aduenture sore bestad, Whenas by chaunce he met vppon a day With Artegall, returning yet halfe sad From his late conquest, which he gotten had. Who whenas each of other had a sight, They knew them selues, and both their persons rad: When Calidore thus first; Haile noblest Knight Of all this day on ground, that breathen liuing spright. < 6.1.5> Which ye haue had in your late enterprize. To whom Sir Artegall gan to expresse His whole exploite, and valorous emprize, In order as it did to him arize. Now happy man (sayd then Sir Calidore) Which haue so goodly, as ye can deuize, Atchieu'd so hard a quest, as few before; That shall you most renowmed make for euermore. < 6.1.6> To tread an endlesse trace, withouten guyde, Or good direction, how to enter in, Or how to issue forth in waies vntryde, In perils strange, in labours long and wide; In which although good Fortune me befall, Yet shall it not by none be testifyde. What is that quest (quoth then Sir Artegall) That you into such perils presently doth call? < 6.1.7> And through the world incessantly doe chase, Till I him ouertake, or else subdew: Yet know I not or how, or in what place To find him out, yet still I forward trace. What is that Blattant Beast? (then he replide) It is a Monster bred of hellishe race, (Then answerd he) which often hath annoyd Good Knights and Ladies true, and many else destroyd. < 6.1.8> And fell Chimaelig;ra in her darkesome den, Through fowle commixture of his filthy blot; Where he was fostred long in Stygian fen, Till he to perfect ripenesse grew, and then Into this wicked world he forth was sent, To be the plague and scourge of wretched men: Whom with vile tongue and venemous intent He sore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly torment. < 6.1.9> Sayd Artegall, I such a Beast did see, The which did seeme a thousand tongues to haue, That all in spight and malice did agree, With which he bayd and loudly barkt at mee, As if that he attonce would me deuoure. But I that knew my selfe from perill free, Did nought regard his malice nor his powre, But he the more his wicked poyson forth did poure. < 6.1.10> Which I pursue, of whom I am right glad To heare these tidings, which of none afore Through all my weary trauell I haue had: Yet now some hope your words vnto me add. Now God you speed (quoth then Sir Artegall) And keepe your body from the daunger drad: For ye haue much adoe to deale withall. So both tooke goodly leaue, and parted seuerall. < 6.1.11> When as by chaunce a comely Squire he found, That thorough some more mighty enemies wrong, Both hand and foote vnto a tree was bound: Who seeing him from farre, with piteous sound Of his shrill cries him called to his aide. To whom approching, in that painefull stound When he him saw, for no demaunds he staide, But first him losde, and afterwards thus to him saide. {deeds+} < 6.1.12> Into this bay of perill and disgrace? What cruell hand thy wretched thraldome wrought, And thee captyued in this shamefull place? To whom he answerd thus; My haplesse case Is not occasiond through my misdesert, But through misfortune, which did me abase Vnto this shame, and my young hope subuert, Ere that I in her guilefull traines was well expert. < 6.1.13> Hard by a streight there stands a castle strong, Which doth obserue a custome lewd and ill, And it hath long mayntaind with mighty wrong: For may no Knight nor Lady passe along That way, (and yet they needs must passe that way), By reason of the streight, and rocks among, But they that Ladies lockes doe shaue away, And that knights berd for toll, which they for passage pay. < 6.1.14> Sayd Calidore, and to be ouerthrowne. But by what meanes did they at first it reare, And for what cause, tell if thou haue it knowne. Sayd then that Squire: The Lady which doth owne This Castle, is by name Briana hight. Then which a prouder Lady liueth none: She long time hath deare lou'd a doughty Knight, And sought to win his loue by all the meanes she might. < 6.1.15> And proud despight of his selfe pleasing mynd, Refused hath to yeeld her loue againe, Vntill a Mantle she for him doe fynd, With beards of Knights and locks of Ladies lynd. Which to prouide, she hath this Castle dight, And therein hath a Seneschall assynd, Cald Maleffort, a man of mickle might, Who executes her wicked will, with worse despight. < 6.1.16> With a faire Damzell, my beloued deare, In execution of her lawlesse doome, Did set vppon vs flying both for feare: For little bootes against him hand to reare. Me first he tooke, vnhable to withstond; And whiles he her pursued euery where, Till his returne vnto this tree he bond: Ne wote I surely, whether her he yet haue fond. < 6.1.17> Of one loud crying, which they streight way ghest, That it was she, the which for helpe did seeke. Tho looking vp vnto the cry to lest, They saw that Carle from farre, with hand vnblest Hayling that mayden by the yellow heare, That all her garments from her snowy brest, And from her head her lockes he nigh did teare, Ne would he spare for pitty, nor refraine for feare. < 6.1.18> Eftsoones he loosd that Squire, and so him left, With hearts dismay and inward dolour queld, For to pursue that villaine, which had reft That piteous spoile by so iniurious theft. Whom ouertaking, loude to him he cryde; Leaue faytor quickely that misgotten weft To him, that hath it better iustifyde, And turne thee soone to him, of whom thou art defyde. < 6.1.19> And seeing him so fiercely towardes make, Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard, But rather more enrag'd for those words sake; And with sterne count'naunce thus vnto him spake. Art thou the caytiue, that defyest me, And for this Mayd, whose party thou doest take, Wilt giue thy beard, though it but little bee? Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsome fro me free. < 6.1.20> On hideous strokes with most importune might, That oft he made him stagger as vnstayd, And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe despight. But Calidore, that was well skild in fight, Him long forbore, and still his spirite spar'd, Lying in waite, how him he damadge might. But when he felt him shrinke, and come to ward, He greater grew, and gan to driue at him more hard. < 6.1.21> Shall driue a Mill, within strong bancks is pent, And long restrayned of his ready course; So soone as passage is vnto him lent, Breakes forth, and makes his way more violent. Such was the fury of Sir Calidore, When once he felt his foeman to relent; He fiercely him pursu'd, and pressed sore, Who as he still decayd, so he encreased more. < 6.1.22> When as the Carle no longer could sustaine, His heart gan faint, and streight he tooke his flight Toward the Castle, where if need constraine, His hope of refuge vsed to remaine. Whom Calidore perceiuing fast to flie, He him pursu'd and chaced through the plaine, That he for dread of death gan loude to crie Vnto the ward, to open to him hastilie. < 6.1.23> The gate soone opened to receiue him in, But Calidore did follow him so fast, That euen in the Porch he him did win, And cleft his head asunder to his chin. The carkasse tumbling downe within the dore, Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin, That it could not be shut, whilest Calidore Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore. < 6.1.24> About him flockt, and hard at him did lay; But he them all from him full lightly swept, {Harfleur+?} As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers day, With his long taile the bryzes brush away. Thence passing forth, into the hall he came, Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay He was ymett, who with vncomely shame Gan him salute, and fowle vpbrayd with faulty blame. < 6.1.25> But scorne of armes that hast with guilty hand Murdred my men, and slaine my Seneschall; Now comest thou to rob my house vnmand, And spoile my selfe, that can not thee withstand? Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight Then thou, that shall thy treason vnderstand, Will it auenge, and pay thee with thy right: And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame requight. < 6.1.26> Yet answerd thus; Not vnto me the shame, But to the shamefull doer it afford. Bloud is no blemish; for it is no blame To punish those, that doe deserue the same; But they that breake bands of ciuilitie, And wicked customes make, those doe defame Both noble armes and gentle curtesie. No greater shame to man then inhumanitie+. < 6.1.27> This euill manner, which ye here maintaine, And doe in stead thereof mild curt'sie+ showe To all, that passe. That shall you glory+ gaine More then his loue, which thus ye seeke t'obtaine. Wherewith all full of wrath, she thus replyde; Vile recreant, know that I doe much disdaine Thy courteous lore, that doest my loue deride, Who scornes thy ydle scoffe, and bids thee be defyde. < 6.1.28> (Quoth he) I hold it no indignity; But were he here, that would it with his sword Abett, perhaps he mote it deare aby. Cowherd (quoth she) were not, that thou wouldst fly, Ere he doe come, he should be soone in place. If I doe so, (sayd he) then liberty I leaue to you, for aye me to disgrace With all those shames, that erst ye spake me to deface. < 6.1.29> And taking from her hand a ring of gould, A priuy token, which betweene them past, Bad him to flie with all the speed he could, To Crudor, and desire him that he would Vouchsafe to reskue her against a Knight, Who through strõg powre had now her self in hould, Hauing late slaine her Seneschall in fight, And all her people murdred with outragious might. {Harfleur+} < 6.1.30> But Calidore did with her there abyde The comming of that so much threatned Knight, Where that discourteous Dame with scornfull pryde, And fowle entreaty him indignifyde, That yron heart it hardly could sustaine: Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde, Did well endure her womanish disdaine, And did him selfe from fraile impatience+ refraine. < 6.1.31> Aboue the earth vpreard his flaming head, The Dwarfe, which bore that message to her knight, Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted bread, He would her succour, and aliue or dead Her foe deliuer vp into her hand: Therefore he wild her doe away all dread; And that of him she mote assured stand, He sent to her his basenet, as a faithfull band. < 6.1.32> And gan t'augment her bitternesse much more: Yet no whit more appalled for the same, Ne ought dismayed was Sir Calidore, But rather did more chearefull seeme therefore. And hauing soone his armes about him dight, Did issue forth, to meete his foe afore; Where long he stayed not, when as a Knight He spide come pricking on with al his powre and might. < 6.1.33> Which tooke in hand her quarrell to maintaine; Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name, But coucht his speare, and ran at him amaine. They bene ymett in middest of the plaine, With so fell fury, and dispiteous forse, That neither could the others stroke sustaine, But rudely rowld to ground both man and horse, Neither of other taking pitty nor remorse. < 6.1.34> Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse sound, Yet would he not him hurt, although he might: For shame he weend a sleeping wight to wound. {courtesie+} But when Briana saw that drery stound, br> There where she stood vppon the Castle wall, She deem'd him sure to haue bene dead on ground, And made such piteous mourning therewithall, That from the battlements she ready seem'd to fall. < 6.1.35> In lustlesse wise, as if against his will, Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were, And gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill Of his late fall, a while he rested still: But when he saw his foe before in vew, He shooke off luskishnesse, and courage chill Kindling a fresh, gan battell to renew, To proue if better foote then horsebacke would ensew. < 6.1.36> Betwixt them two, for maystery of might. For both were wondrous practicke in that play, And passing well expert in single fight, And both inflam'd with furious despight: Which as it still encreast, so still increast Their cruell strokes and terrible affright; Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast, Ne once to breath a while their angers tempest ceast. < 6.1.37> And tryde all waies, how each mote entrance make Into the life of his malignant foe; They hew'd their helmes, and plates asunder brake, As they had potshares bene; for nought mote slake Their greedy vengeaunces, but goary blood, That at the last like to a purple lake Of bloudy gore congeal'd about them stood, Which from their riuen sides forth gushed like a flood. < 6.1.38> At once did heaue, with all their powre and might, Thinking the vtmost of their force to trie, And proue the finall fortune of the fight: But Calidore, that was more quicke of sight, And nimbler handed, then his enemie, Preuented him before his stroke could light, And on the helmet smote him formerlie, That made him stoupe to ground with meeke humilitie. < 6.1.39> He following that faire aduantage fast, His stroke redoubled with such might and maine, That him vpon the ground he groueling cast; And leaping to him light, would haue vnlast His Helme, to make vnto his vengeance way. Who seeing, in what daunger he was plast, Cryde out, Ah mercie Sir, doe me not slay, But saue my life, which lot before your foot doth lay. < 6.1.40> And hauing somewhat calm'd his wrathfull heat With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd; And is the boast of that proud Ladies threat, That menaced me from the field to beat, Now brought to this? By this now may ye learne, Strangers no more so rudely to intreat, But put away proud looke, and vsage sterne, The which shal nought to you but foule dishonor yearne. < 6.1.41> That court'sie doth as well as armes professe, How euer strong and fortunate in fight, Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse. In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse, Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew: All flesh is frayle, and full of ficklenesse, Subiect to fortunes chance, still chaunging new; What haps to day to me, to morrow may to you. {common+} < 6.1.42> How can he mercy euer hope to haue? To pay each with his owne is right and dew. Yet since ye mercie now doe need to craue, I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to saue; With these conditions, which I will propound: First, that ye better shall your selfe behaue Vnto all errant knights, whereso on ground; Next that ye Ladies ayde in euery stead and stound. < 6.1.43> In dread of death, his heasts did gladly heare, And promist to performe his precept well, And whatsoeuer else he would requere. So suffring him to rise, he made him sweare By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon, To take Briana for his louing fere, Withouten dowre or composition; But to release his former foule condition. < 6.1.44> Bynding himselfe most firmely to obay, He vp arose, how euer liefe or loth, And swore to him true fealtie for aye. Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay The sad Briana, which all this beheld: Who comming forth yet full of late affray, Sir Calidore vpcheard, and to her teld All this accord, to which he Crudor had compeld. < 6.1.45> All ouercome with infinite affect, For his exceeding courtesie+, that pearst Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect, Before his feet her selfe she did proiect, And him adoring as her liues deare Lord, With all due thankes, and dutifull respect, Her selfe acknowledg'd bound for that accord, By which he had to her both life and loue restord. < 6.1.46> Most ioyfully she them did entertaine, Where goodly glee {merriment+} and feast to them she made, To shew her thankefull mind and meaning faine, By all the meanes she mote it best explaine: And after all, vnto Sir Calidore She freely gaue that Castle {gift+} for his paine, And her selfe bound to him for euermore; So wondrously now chaung'd, from that she was afore. < 6.1.47> Nor land nor fee, for hyre of his good deede, But gaue them streight {Hal+} vnto that Squire againe, Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed, And to his damzell as their rightfull meed, For recompence of all their former wrong: There he remaind with them right well agreed, Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong, And then to his first quest he passed forth along. < 6.2.1> Calidore sees young Tristram slay
VV Hat vertue is so fitting for a knight,
< 6.2.2> For some so goodly gratious+ are by kind, That euery action doth them much commend, And in the eyes of men great liking find; Which others, that haue greater skill in mind, Though they enforce themselues, cannot attaine. For euerie thing, to which one is inclin'd, Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gaine: Yet praise likewise deserue good thewes, enforst with paine. < 6.2.3> Whose euery act and word, that he did say, Was like enchantment, that through both the eares, And both the eyes did steale the hart away. He now againe is on his former way, To follow his first quest, when as he spyde A tall young man from thence not farre away, Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde, Against an armed knight, that did on horsebacke ryde. < 6.2.4> Standing alone on foot, in foule array: To whom himselfe he hastily did draw, To weet the cause of so vncomely fray, And to depart them, if so be he may. But ere he came in place, that youth had kild That armed knight, that low on ground he lay; Which when he saw, his hart was inly child With great amazement, & his thought with wonder fild. < 6.2.5> A goodly youth of amiable grace, Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see Yet seuenteene yeares, but tall and faire of face That sure he deem'd him borne of noble race. All in a woodmans iacket he was clad Of Lincolne greene, belayd with siluer lace; And on his head an hood with aglets sprad, And by his side his hunters horne he hanging had. < 6.2.> < 6> Pinckt vpon gold, and paled part per part, As then the guize was for each gentle swayne; In his right hand he held a trembling dart, Whose fellow he before had sent apart; And in his left he held a sharpe borespeare, With which he wont to launch the saluage hart Of many a Lyon, and of many a Beare That first vnto his hand in chase did happen neare. < 6.2.7> At length bespake; What meanes this, gentle swaine? Why hath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed In blood of knight, the which by thee is slaine, By thee no knight; which armes impugneth plaine? Certes (said he) loth were I to haue broken The law of armes; yet breake it should againe, Rather then let my selfe of wight be stroken, So long as these two armes were able to be wroken. < 6.2.8> May witnesse well, did offer first to wrong, Ne surely thus vnarm'd I likely were; But he me first, through pride and puissance strong Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long. Perdie great blame, (then said Sir Calidore) For armed knight a wight vnarm'd to wrong. But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne vprore. < 6.2.9> I whose vnryper yeares are yet vnfit For thing of weight, or worke of greater care, Doe spend my dayes, and bend my carelesse wit To saluage chace, where I thereon may hit In all this forrest, and wyld wooddie raine: Where, as this day I was enraunging it, I chaunst to meete this knight, who there lyes slaine, Together with this Ladie, passing on the plaine. < 6.2.10> And this his Ladie, (that him ill became,) On her faire feet by his horse side did pas Through thicke and thin, vnfit for any Dame. Yet not content, more to increase his shame, When so she lagged, as she needs mote so, He with his speare, that was to him great blame, Would thumpe her forward, and inforce to goe, Weeping to him in vaine, and making piteous woe. < 6.2.11> Much was I moued in indignant mind, And gan to blame him for such cruelty Towards a Ladie, whom with vsage kind He rather should haue taken vp behind. Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdaine, Tooke in foule scorne, that I such fault did find, And me in lieu thereof reuil'd againe, Threatning to chastize me, as doth t'a chyld pertaine. < 6.2.12> His scornefull taunts vnto his teeth againe, That he streight way with haughtie choler burned, And with his speare strooke me one stroke or twaine; Which I enforst to beare though to my paine, Cast to requite, and with a slender dart, Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine, Strooke him, as seemeth, vnderneath the hart, That through the wound his spirit shortly did depart. < 6.2.13> Tempred so well, but more admyr'd the stroke That through the mayles had made so strong a breach Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke His wrath on him, that first occasion broke. Yet rested not, but further gan inquire Of that same Ladie, whether what he spoke, Were soothly so, and that th'vnrighteous ire Of her owne knight, had giuen him his owne due hire. < 6.2.14> But cleard that stripling of th'imputed blame, Sayd then Sir Calidore; Neither will I Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite clame: For what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame; And what he did, he did him selfe to saue: Against both which that knight wrought knightlesse shame. For knights and all men this by nature haue, Towards all womenkind them kindly to behaue. < 6.2.15> Please it you Ladie, to vs to aread, What cause could make him so dishonourable, To driue you so on foot vnfit to tread, And lackey by him, gainst all womanhead? Certes Sir knight (sayd she) full loth I were To rayse a lyuing blame against the dead: But since it me concernes, my selfe to clere, I will the truth discouer, as it chaunst whylere. < 6.2.1> < 6> Vpon our way, to which we weren bent, We chaunst to come foreby a couert glade Within a wood, whereas a Ladie gent Sate with a knight in ioyous iolliment Of their franke loues, free from all gealous spyes: Faire was the Ladie sure, that mote content An hart, not carried with too curious eyes, And vnto him did shew all louely courtesyes. < 6.2.17> He inly gan her louer to enuy, And wish, that he part of his spoyle might share. Whereto when as my presence he did spy To be a let, he bad me by and by For to alight: but when as I was loth, My loues owne part to leaue so suddenly, He with strong hand down frõ his steed me throw'th, And with presumpteous powre against that knight streight go'th. < 6.2.18> For Ladies seruice, and for loues delight, Then fearing any foeman there to meete: Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him dight Himselfe to yeeld his loue, or else to fight. Whereat the other starting vp dismayd, Yet boldly answer'd, as he rightly might; To leaue his loue he should be ill apayd, In which he had good right gaynst all, that it gainesayd. < 6.2.19> Her to defend, or his to iustifie, He him requested, as he was a knight, To lend him day his better right to trie, Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby, Might lightly fetch. But he was fierce and whot, Ne time would giue, nor any termes aby, But at him flew, and with his speare him smot; From which to thinke to saue himselfe, it booted not. < 6.2.20> Whilest they together for the quarrey stroue, Into the couert did her selfe withdraw, And closely hid her selfe within the groue. My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger droue And left sore wounded: but when her he mist, He woxe halfe mad, and in that rage gan roue And range through all the wood, where so he wist She hidden was, and sought her so long, as him list. < 6.2.21> After long search and chauff, he turned backe Vnto the place, where me he left behind: There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong. Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe, Stroue to appease him, and perswaded long: But still his passion grew more violent and strong. < 6.2.22> When forward we should fare, he flat refused To take me vp (as this young man did see) Vpon his steed, for no iust cause accused, But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused, Pounching me with the butt end of his speare, In vaine complayning, to be so abused. For he regarded neither playnt nor teare, But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints to heare. < 6.2.23> And being moou'd with pittie of my plight, Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret: Whereof befell, what now is in your sight. Now sure (then said Sir Calidore) and right Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault: Who euer thinkes through confidence of might, Or through support of count'nance proud and hault To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne assault. < 6.2.24> Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit; Seeing his face so louely sterne and coy, And hearing th'answeres of his pregnant wit, He praysd it much, and much admyred it; That sure he weend him borne of noble blood, With whom those graces did so goodly fit: And when he long had him beholding stood, He burst into these words, as to him seemed good. < 6.2.25> That in these woods amongst the Nymphs dost wonne, Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre, As they are wont vnto Latonaes sonne, After his chace on woodie Cynthus donne: Well may I certes such an one thee read, As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne, Or surely borne of some Heroicke sead, That in thy face appeares and gratious goodlyhead. < 6.2.26> (Vnlesse thou in these woods thy selfe conceale, For loue amongst the woodie Gods to dwell;) I would thy selfe require thee to reueale, For deare affection and vnfayned zeale, Which to thy noble personage I beare, And wish thee grow in worship and great weale. For since the day that armes I first did reare, I neuer saw in any greater hope appeare. < 6.2.27> Sir knight, that by discouering my estate, Harme may arise vnweeting vnto me; Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late, To you I will not feare it to relate. Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne, Sonne of a King, how euer thorough fate Or fortune I my countrie haue forlorne, And lost the crowne, which should my head by right adorne. < 6.2.28> Of good king Meliogras which did rayne In Cornewale, till that he through liues despeire Vntimely dyde, before I did attaine Ripe yeares of reason, my right to maintaine. After whose death, his brother seeing mee An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine, Vpon him tooke the roiall high degree, And sent me, where him list, instructed for to bee. < 6.2.29> Faire Emiline, conceiuing then great feare Of my fraile safetie, resting in the might Of him, that did the kingly Scepter beare, Whose gealous dread induring not a peare, Is wont to cut off all, that doubt may breed, Thought best away me to remoue somewhere Into some forrein land, where as no need Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull humour feed. < 6.2.30> She was by him aduiz'd, to send me quight Out of the countrie wherein I was bred, The which the fertile Lionesse is hight, Into the land of Faerie, where no wight Should weet of me, nor worke me any wrong. To whose wise read she hearkning, sent me streight Into this land, where I haue wond thus long, Since I was ten yeares old, now growen to stature strong. < 6.2.31> Nor spilt the blossome of my tender yeares In ydlesse, but as was conuenient, Haue trayned bene with many noble feres In gentle thewes, and such like seemely leres. Mongst which my most delight hath alwaies been, To hunt the saluage chace amongst my peres, Of all that raungeth in the forrest greene; Of which none is to me vnknowne, that eu'r was seene. < 6.2.32> Whether high towring, or accoasting low, But I the measure of her flight doe search, And all her pray, and all her diet know. Such be our ioyes, which in these forrests grow: Onely the vse of armes, which most I ioy, And fitteth most for noble swayne to know, I haue not tasted yet, yet past a boy, And being now high time these strong ioynts to imploy. < 6.2.33> Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome may, Let me this craue, vnworthy though of it, That ye will make me Squire without delay, That from henceforth in batteilous array I may beare armes, and learne to vse them right; The rather since that fortune hath this day Giuen to me the spoile of this dead knight, These goodly gilden armes, which I haue won in fight. < 6.2.34> Him much more now, then earst he gan admire, For the rare hope which in his yeares appear'd, And thus replide; Faire chyld, the high desire To loue of armes, which in you doth aspire, I may not certes without blame denie; But rather wish, that some more noble hire, (Though none more noble then is cheualrie,) I had, you to reward with greater dignitie. < 6.2.35> Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies all, And neuer to be recreant, for feare Of perill, or of ought that might befall: So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call. Full glad and ioyous then young Tristram grew, Like as a flowre, whose silken leaues small, Long shut vp in the bud from heauens vew, At length breakes forth, and brode displayes his smyling hew. < 6.2.3> < 6> And Calidore betooke him to depart, Chyld Tristram prayd, that he with him might goe On his aduenture, vowing not to start, But wayt on him in euery place and part. Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight, And greatly ioy'd at his so noble hart, In hope he sure would proue a doughtie knight: Yet for the time this answere he to him behight. < 6.2.37> To haue thy presence in my present quest, That mote thy kindled courage set on fire, And flame forth honour in thy noble brest: But I am bound by vow, which I profest To my dread Soueraine, when I it assayd, That in atchieuement of her high behest, I should no creature ioyne vnto mine ayde, For thy I may not graunt, that ye so greatly prayde. < 6.2.38> And needeth safegard now vpon her way, Ye may doe well in this her needfull state To succour her, from daunger of dismay; That thankfull guerdon may to you repay. The noble ympe of such new seruice fayne, It gladly did accept, as he did say. So taking courteous leaue, they parted twayne, And Calidore forth passed to his former payne. < 6.2.39> Of all those goodly implements of prayse, Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight Of the bright mettall, shyning like Sunne rayes; Handling and turning them a thousand wayes. And after hauing them vpon him dight, He tooke that Ladie, and her vp did rayse Vpon the steed of her owne late dead knight: So with her marched forth, as she did him behight. < 6.2.40> And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore; Who ere he thence had traueild many a mile, Came to the place, whereas ye heard afore This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore Another knight in his despiteous pryde; There he that knight found lying on the flore, With many wounds full perilous and wyde, That all his garments, and the grasse in vermeill dyde. < 6.2.41> His wofull Ladie, piteously complayning With loud laments that most vnluckie stound, And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayning To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter payning. Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew With heauie eyne, from teares vneath refrayning, His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew, And for their better comfort to them nigher drew. < 6.2.42> Ye dolefull Dame, let not your griefe empeach To tell, what cruell hand hath thus arayd This knight vnarm'd, with so vnknightly breach Of armes, that if I yet him nigh may reach, I may auenge him of so foule despight. The Ladie hearing his so courteous speach, Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light, And from her sory hart few heauie words forth sigh't. < 6.2.43> (Whom Tristram slew) them in that shadow found, Ioying together in vnblam'd delight, And him vnarm'd, as now he lay on ground, Charg'd with his speare and mortally did wound, Withouten cause, but onely her to reaue From him, to whom she was for euer bound: Yet when she fled into that couert greaue, He her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leaue. < 6.2.44> Well vnderstood, he gan of her demand, What manner wight he was, and how yclad, Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand. She then, like as she best could vnderstand, Him thus describ'd, to be of stature large, Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe A Ladie on rough waues, row'd in a sommer barge. < 6.2.45> By many signes, which she described had, That this was he, whom Tristram earst did slay, And to her said; Dame be no longer sad: For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestad, Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight; These eyes him saw vpon the cold earth sprad, The meede of his desert for that despight, Which to your selfe he wrought, & to your loued knight. < 6.2.46> Which ye haue gathered to your gentle hart, For that displeasure; and thinke what reliefe Were best deuise for this your louers smart, And how ye may him hence, and to what part Conuay to be recur'd. She thankt him deare, Both for that newes he did to her impart, And for the courteous care, which he did beare Both to her loue; and to her selfe in that sad dreare. < 6.2.47> How thence she might conuay him to some place. For him to trouble she it thought vnfit, That was a straunger to her wretched case; And him to beare, she thought it thing too base. Which when as he perceiu'd, he thus bespake; Faire Lady let it not you seeme disgrace, To beare this burden on your dainty backe; My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your packe. < 6.2.48> Vpon the ground, like to an hollow beare; And powring balme, which he had long puruayd, Into his wounds, him vp thereon did reare, And twixt them both with parted paines did beare, Twixt life and death, not knowing what was donne. Thence they him carried to a Castle neare, In which a worthy auncient Knight did wonne: Where what ensu'd, shall in next Canto be begonne. < 6.3.1> Calidore brings Priscilla home,
True is, that whilome that good Poet sayd,
< 6.3.2> That gentle+ bloud will gentle manners breed; As well may be in Calidore descryde, By late ensample of that courteous deed, Done to that wounded Knight in his great need, Whom on his backe he bore, till he him brought Vnto the Castle where they had decreed. There of the Knight, the which that Castle ought, To make abode that night he greatly was besought. < 6.3.3> That in his youth had beene of mickle might, And borne great sway in armes amongst his peares: But now weake age had dimd his candle light. Yet was he courteous+ still to euery wight, And loued all that did to armes incline. And was the father of that wounded Knight, Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine, And Aldus was his name, and his sonnes Aladine. < 6.3.4> With bleeding wounds, brought home vpon a Beare By a faire Lady, and a straunger Knight, Was inly touched with compassion deare, And deare affection of so dolefull dreare, That he these words burst forth; Ah sory boy, Is this the hope that to my hoary heare Thou brings? aie me, is this the timely ioy, Which I expected long, now turnd to sad annoy? < 6.3.5> So tickle is the state of earthly things, That ere they come vnto their aymed scope, They fall too short of our fraile reckonings, And bring vs bale and bitter sorrowings, In stead of comfort, which we should embrace: This is the state of Keasars and of Kings. Let none therefore, that is in meaner place, Too greatly grieue at any his vnlucky case. < 6.3.6> Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare+, To cheare his guests, whom he had stayd that night, And make their welcome to them well appeare: That to Sir Calidore was easie geare; But that faire Lady would be cheard for nought, But sigh't and sorrow'd for her louer deare, And inly did afflict her pensiue thought, With thinking to what case her name should now be brought. < 6.3.7> Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to affy To a great pere; but she did disaccord, Ne could her liking to his loue apply, But lou'd this fresh young Knight, who dwelt her ny, The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne, And of lesse liuelood and hability, Yet full of valour, the which did adorne His meanesse much, & make her th'others riches scorne. < 6.3.8> They met together in that luckelesse glade; Where that proud Knight in his presumption The gentle Aladine did earst inuade, Being vnarm'd, and set in secret shade. Whereof she now bethinking, gan t'aduize, How great a hazard she at earst had made Of her good fame, and further gan deuize, How she the blame might salue with coloured disguize. < 6.3.9> Fain'd her to frolicke, and to put away The pensiue fit of her melancholie; And that old Knight by all meanes did assay, To make them both as merry+ as he may. So they the euening past, till time of rest, When Calidore in seemly good array Vnto his bowre was brought, and there vndrest, Did sleepe all night through weary trauell of his quest. < 6.3.10> Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe, But by her wounded loue did watch all night, And all the night for bitter anguish weepe, And with her teares his wounds did wash and steepe. So well she washt them, and so well she watcht him, That of the deadly swound, in which full deepe He drenched was, she at the length dispacht him, And droue away the stound, which mortally attacht him. < 6.3.11> He also gan vplooke with drery eye, Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke: Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by, He deepely sigh't, and groaned inwardly, To thinke of this ill state, in which she stood, To which she for his sake had weetingly Now brought her selfe, and blam'd her noble blood: For first, next after life, he tendered her good. < 6.3.12> His care more then her owne compassionate, Forgetfull of her owne, to minde his feares: So both conspiring, gan to intimate Each others griefe with zeale affectionate, And twixt them twaine with equall care to cast, How to saue hole her hazarded estate; For which the onely helpe now left them last Seem'd to be Calidore: all other helpes were past. < 6.3.13> A courteous Knight, and full of faithfull trust: Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed Whole to commit, and to his dealing iust. Earely, so soone as Titans beames forth brust Through the thicke clouds, in which they steeped lay All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust, Calidore rising vp as fresh as day, Gan freshly him addresse vnto his former way. < 6.3.14> To visite, after this nights perillous passe, And to salute him, if he were in plight, And eke that Lady his faire louely lasse. There he him found much better then he was, And moued speach to him of things of course, The anguish of his paine to ouerpasse: Mongst which he namely did to him discourse, Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked sourse. < 6.3.15> Gan breake to him the fortunes of his loue, And all his disaduentures to vnfold; That Calidore it dearly deepe did moue. In th'end his kyndly courtesie to proue, He him by all the bands of loue besought, And as it mote a faithfull friend behoue, To safeconduct his loue, and not for ought To leaue, till to her fathers house he had her brought. < 6.3.16> It to performe: so after little stay, That she her selfe had to the iourney dight, He passed forth with her in faire array, Fearelesse, who ought did thinke, or ought did say, Sith his own thought he knew most cleare from wite. So as they past together on their way, He can deuize this counter-cast of slight, To giue faire colour to that Ladies cause in sight. < 6.3.17> The cause of all this euill, who was slaine The day before by iust auengement Of noble Tristram, where it did remaine: There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine, And tooke with him the head, the signe of shame. So forth he passed thorough that daies paine, Till to that Ladies fathers house he came; Most pensiue man, through feare, what of his childe became. < 6.3.18> The fearefull Lady to her father deare, Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent Of blame, as he did on his Knighthood sweare, Since first he saw her, and did free from feare Of a discourteous Knight, who her had reft, And by outragious force away did beare: Witnesse thereof he shew'd his head there left, And wretched life forlorne for vengement of his theft. < 6.3.19> And heare th'aduenture of her late mischaunce; And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee Of his large paines in her deliueraunce Did yeeld; Ne lesse the Lady did aduaunce. Thus hauing her restored trustily, As he had vow'd, some small continuaunce He there did make, and then most carefully Vnto his first exploite he did him selfe apply. < 6.3.20> He chaunst to come whereas a iolly Knight, In couert shade him selfe did safely rest, To solace with his Lady in delight: His warlike armes he had from him vndight: For that him selfe he thought from daunger free, And far from enuious eyes that mote him spight. And eke the Lady was full faire to see, And courteous withall, becomming her degree. < 6.3.21> Ere they were well aware of liuing wight, Them much abasht, but more him selfe thereby, That he so rudely did vppon them light, And troubled had their quiet loues delight. Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault, Him selfe thereof he labour'd to acquite, And pardon crau'd for his so rash assault, That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default. < 6.3.22> He soone allayd that Knights conceiu'd displeasure, That he besought him downe by him to sit, That they mote treat of things abrode at leasure; And of aduentures, which had in his measure Of so long waies to him befallen late. So downe he sate, and with delightfull pleasure His long aduentures gan to him relate, Which he endured had through daungerous debate. < 6.3.23> The faire Serena (so his Lady hight) Allur'd with myldnesse of the gentle wether, And pleasaunce of the place, the which was dight With diuers flowres distinct with rare delight, Wandred about the fields, as liking led Her wauering lust after her wandring sight, To make a garland to adorne her hed, Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dred. < 6.3.24> The Blatant Beast forth rushing vnaware, Caught her thus loosely wandring here and there, And in his wide great mouth away her bare, Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare Vnto the Knights, and calling oft for ayde; Who with the horrour of her haplesse care Hastily starting vp, like men dismayde, Ran after fast, to reskue the distressed mayde. < 6.3.25> Into the wood was bearing her apace For to haue spoyled her, when Calidore Who was more light of foote and swift in chace, Him ouertooke in middest of his race: And fiercely charging him with all his might, Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place, And to betake him selfe to fearefull flight; For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight. < 6.3.26> There left on ground, though in full euill plight, Yet knowing that her Knight now neare did draw, Staide not to succour her in that affright, But follow'd fast the Monster in his flight: Through woods and hils he follow'd him so fast, That he nould let him breath nor gather spright, But forst him gape and gaspe, with dread aghast, As if his lungs and lites were nigh a sunder brast. < 6.3.27> Came to the place, where he his Lady found In dolorous dismay and deadly plight, All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground, Hauing both sides through grypt with griesly wound. His weapons soone from him he threw away, And stouping downe to her in drery swound, Vprear'd her from the ground whereon she lay, And in his tender armes her forced vp to stay. < 6.3.28> That the faint sprite he did reuoke againe, To her fraile mansion of mortality. Then vp he tooke her twixt his armes twaine, And setting on his steede, her did sustaine With carefull hands soft footing her beside, Till to some place of rest they mote attaine, Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide, Till she recured were of those her woundes wide. < 6.3.29> Vnto his Inne began to draw apace; Tho wexing weary of that toylesome paine, In trauelling on foote so long a space, Not wont on foote with heauy armes to trace, Downe in a dale forby a riuers syde, He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place, To which he meant his weary steps to guyde, In hope there for his loue some succour to prouyde. < 6.3.30> That hardly passable on foote it was: Therefore there still he stood as in a stound, Ne wist which way he through the foord mote pas. Thus whilest he was in this distressed case, Deuising what to doe, he nigh espyde An armed Knight approaching to the place, With a faire Lady lincked by his syde, The which themselues prepard thorough the foord to ride. < 6.3.31> Besought of courtesie in that his neede, For safe conducting of his sickely Dame, Through that same perillous foord with better heede, To take him vp behinde vpon his steed: To whom that other did this taunt returne. Perdy thou peasant+ Knight, mightst rightly reed Me then to be full base and euill borne, If I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne. < 6.3.32> So fare on foote till thou another gayne, And let thy Lady likewise doe the same. Or beare her on thy backe with pleasing payne, And proue thy manhood on the billowes vayne. With which rude_speach+ his Lady much displeased, Did him reproue, yet could him not restrayne, And would on her owne Palfrey him haue eased, For pitty of his Dame, whom she saw so diseased. < 6.3.33> Against her Knight, her gentlenesse refused, And carelesly into the riuer goth, As in despight to be so fowle abused Of a rude churle, whom often he accused Of fowle discourtesie+, vnfit for Knight; And strongly wading through the waues vnused, With speare in th'one hand, stayd him selfe vpright, With th'other staide his Lady vp with steddy might. < 6.3.34> Stood on the further bancke beholding him, At whose calamity, for more despight He laught, and mockt to see him like to swim. But when as Calepine came to the brim, And saw his carriage past that perill well, Looking at that same Carle with count'nance grim, His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell, And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe and fell. < 6.3.35> And blot of all that armes vppon them take, Which is the badge of honour and of fame, Loe I defie thee, and here challenge make, That thou for euer doe those armes forsake, And be for euer held a recreant Knight, Vnlesse thou dare for thy deare Ladies sake, And for thine owne defence on foote alight, To iustifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight. < 6.3.36> Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words at all, But laught them out, as if his greater pryde Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall: Or had no courage, or else had no gall. So much the more was Calepine offended, That him to no reuenge he forth could call, But both his challenge and him selfe contemned, Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned. < 6.3.37> Turned his steede about another way, And with his Lady to the Castle rid, Where was his won; ne did the other stay, But after went directly as he may, For his sicke charge some harbour there to seeke; Where he arriuing with the fall of day, Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke, And myld entreaty lodging did for her beseeke. < 6.3.38> Did shut the gate against him in his face, And entraunce boldly vnto him forbad. Nathelesse the Knight now in so needy case, Gan him entreat euen with submission base, And humbly praid to let them in that night: Who to him aunswer'd, that there was no place Of lodging fit for any errant Knight, Vnlesse that with his Lord he formerly did fight. < 6.3.39> When day is spent, and rest vs needeth most, And that this Lady, both whose sides are pearst With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost: Ne would I gladly combate with mine host, That should to me such curtesie afford, Vnlesse that I were thereunto enforst. But yet aread to me, how hight thy Lord, That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the ford. < 6.3.40> Is hight Sir Turpine, one of mickle might, And manhood rare, but terrible and stearne In all assaies to euery errant Knight, Because of one, that wrought him fowle despight. Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiaunt be, That he should be so sterne to stranger+ wight: For seldome yet did liuing creature see, That curtesie and manhood+ euer disagree. < 6.3.41> That here is at his gate an errant Knight, That house-rome craues, yet would be loth t'assay The proofe of battell, now in doubtfull night, Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite: Yet if he needes will fight, craue leaue till morne, And tell withall, the lamentable plight, In which this Lady languisheth forlorne, That pitty craues, as he of woman was yborne. < 6.3.42> Declar'd the message, which that Knight did moue; Who sitting with his Lady then at bord, Not onely did not his demaund [ap]proue, But both himselfe reuil'd, and eke his loue; Albe his Lady, that Blandina hight, Him of vngentle vsage did [re]proue And earnestly entreated that they might Finde fauour to be lodged there for that same night. < 6.3.43> Ne from his currish will awhit reclame. Which answer when the groome returning, brought To Calepine, his heart did inly flame With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame, That he could not thereof auenged bee: But most for pitty of his dearest Dame, Whom now in deadly daunger he did see; Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her glee. < 6.3.44> He saw, the present mischiefe to redresse, But th'vtmost end perforce for to aby, Which that nights fortune would for him addresse. So downe he tooke his Lady in distresse, And layd her vnderneath a bush to sleepe, Couer'd with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse, Whiles he him selfe all night did nought but weepe, And wary watch about her for her safegard keepe. < 6.3.45> Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight, Serena full of dolorous dismay, Twixt darkenesse dread, and hope of liuing light, Vprear'd her head to see that chearefull sight. Then Calepine, how euer inly wroth, And greedy to auenge that vile despight, Yet for the feeble Ladies sake, full loth To make there lenger stay, forth on his iourney goth. < 6.3.46> Vpstaying still her selfe vppon her steede, Being vnhable else alone to ride; So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleede: Till that at length, in his extreamest neede, He chaunst far off an armed Knight to spy, Pursuing him apace with greedy speede, Whom well he wist to be some enemy, That meant to make aduantage of his misery. < 6.3.47> To weet what issue would thereof betyde, Tho whenas he approched nigh in vew, By certaine signes he plainely him descryde, To be the man, that with such scornefull pryde Had him abusde, and shamed yesterday; Therefore misdoubting, least he should misguyde His former malice to some new assay, He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he may. < 6.3.48> And couching close his speare and all his powre, As bent to some malicious enterprise, He bad him stand, t'abide the bitter stoure Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make auoure Of the lewd words and deedes, which he had done: With that ran at him, as he would deuoure His life attonce; who nought could do, but shun The perill of his pride, or else be ouerrun. < 6.3.49> Will full intent him cruelly to kill; And like a wilde goate round about did chace, Flying the fury of his bloudy will. But his best succour and refuge was still Behinde his Ladies backe, who to him cryde, And called oft with prayers loud and shrill, As euer he to Lady was affyde, To spare her Knight, and rest with reason pacifyde. < 6.3.50> And with more eager felnesse him pursew'd: So that at length, after long weary chace, Hauing by chaunce a close aduantage vew'd, He ouer raught him, hauing long eschew'd His violence in vaine, and with his spere Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood ensew'd In great aboundance, as a well it were, That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appere. < 6.3.51> But chaste him still, for all his Ladies cry; Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground He saw his life powrd forth dispiteously: The which was certes in great ieopardy, Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue wrought, And saued from his cruell villany. Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought: That in another Canto shall to end be brought. < 6.4.1> Calepine by a saluage man
LIke as a ship with dreadfull storme long tost,
< 6.4.2> A saluage man, which in those woods did wonne, Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous shright, Toward the same incessantly did ronne, To vnderstand what there was to be donne. There he this most discourteous crauen found, As fiercely yet, as when he first begonne, Chasing the gentle Calepine around, Ne sparing him the more for all his grieuous wound. < 6.4.3> Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew, Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure Was much emmoued at his perils vew, That euen his ruder hart began to rew, And feele compassion+ of his euill plight Against his foe that did him so pursew: From whom he meant to free him, if he might, And him auenge of that so villenous despight. < 6.4.4> Ne knew the vse of warlike instruments, Saue such as sudden rage him lent to smite, But naked without needfull vestiments, To clad his corpse with meete habiliments, He cared not for dint of sword nor speere, No more then for the stroke of strawes or bents: For from his mothers wombe, which him did beare He was invulnerable made by Magicke leare. < 6.4.5> His foe t'assayle, or how himselfe to gard, But with fierce fury and with force infest Vpon him ran; who being well prepard, His first assault full warily did ward, And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and hard, That forst him backe recoyle, and reele areare; Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud appeare. < 6.4.6> Like to a Tygre that hath mist his pray, And with mad mood againe vpon him flew, Regarding neither speare, that mote him flay, Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay, The saluage nation doth all dread despize: Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay, And held the same so hard, that by no wize He could him force to loose, or leaue his enterprize. < 6.4.7> And euery way did try, but all in vaine: For he would not his greedie grype forgoe, But hayld and puld with all his might and maine, That from his steed him nigh he drew againe. Who hauing now no vse of his long speare, So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine, Both speare and shield, as things that needlesse were, He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for feare. < 6.4.8> And him pursewed with importune speed, (For he was swift as any Bucke in chace) And had he not in his extreamest need, Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his steed, He had him ouertaken in his flight. Who euer, as he saw him nigh succeed, Gan cry aloud with horrible affright, And shrieked {discourtesy+} out, a thing vncomely for a knight. < 6.4.9> In following of him, that fled so fast, He wearie woxe, and backe return'd againe With speede vnto the place, whereas he last Had left that couple, nere their vtmost cast. There he that knight full sorely bleeding found And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast, Both for the perill of the present stound, And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling wound. < 6.4.10> From that vile lozell, which her late offended, Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see, And perill by this saluage man pretended; Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be defended, By reason that her knight was wounded sore. Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore, To send her succour, being of all hope forlore. < 6.4.11> Came to her creeping like a fawning hound, And by rude tokens made to her appeare His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound, Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground; For other language had he none nor speach, But a soft murmure, and confused sound Of senselesse words, which nature did him teach, T'expresse his passions, which his reason did empeach. < 6.4.12> When he beheld the streames of purple blood Yet flowing fresh, as moued with the sight, He made great mone after his saluage mood: And running streight into the thickest wood, A certaine herbe from thence vnto him brought, Whose vertue he by vse well vnderstood: The iuyce whereof into his wound he wrought, And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it staunched thought. < 6.4.13> Which earst he left, he signes vnto them made, With him to wend vnto his wonning neare: To which he easily did them perswade. Farre in the forrest by a hollow glade, Couered with mossie shrubs, which spredding brode Did vnderneath them make a gloomy shade; Where foot of liuing creature neuer troade, Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there was this wights abode. < 6.4.14> To whom faire semblance, as he could, he shewed By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests. But the bare ground, with hoarie mosse bestrowed, Must be their bed, their pillow was vnsowed, And the frutes of the forrest was their feast: For their bad Stuard neither plough'd nor sowed, Ne fed on flesh, ne euer of wyld beast Did taste the bloud, obaying natures first beheast. < 6.4.15> They tooke it well, and thanked God for all, Which had them freed from that deadly feare, And sau'd from being to that caitiue thrall. Here they of force (as fortune now did fall) Compelled were themselues a while to rest, Glad of that easement, though it were but small; That hauing there their wounds awhile redrest, They mote the abler be to passe vnto the rest. < 6.4.16> His best endeuour, {host+} and his daily paine, In seeking all the woods both farre and nye For herbes to dresse their wounds; still seeming faine, When ought he did, that did their lyking gaine. So as ere long he had that knightes wound Recured well, and made him whole againe: But that same Ladies hurts no herbe he found, Which could redresse, for it was inwardly vnsound. < 6.4.17> Vpon a day he cast abrode to wend, To take the ayre, and heare the thrushes song, Vnarm'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend, And without sword his person to defend. There him befell, vnlooked for before, An hard aduenture with vnhappie end; A cruell Beare, the which an infant bore Betwixt his bloodie iawes, besprinckled all with gore. < 6.4.18> And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill, As if his cry did meane for helpe to call To Calepine, whose eares those shrieches shrill Percing his hart with pities point did thrill; That after him he ran with zealous haste, To rescue th'infant, ere he did him kill: Whom though he saw now somewhat ouerpast, Yet by the cry he follow'd, and pursewed fast. < 6.4.19> Whose burden mote empeach his needfull speed, And hinder him from libertie to pant: For hauing long time, as his daily weed, Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for need, Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light, That like an Hauke, which feeling her selfe freed From bels and iesses, which did let her flight, Him seem'd his feet did fly, and in their speed delight. < 6.4.20> Ere long he ouertooke, and forst to stay, And without weapon him assayling neare, Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay. Wherewith the beast enrag'd to loose his pray, Vpon him turned, and with greedie force And furie, to be crossed in his way, Gaping full wyde, did thinke without remorse To be aueng'd on him, and to deuoure his corse. < 6.4.21> But catching vp in hand a ragged stone, Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde) Vpon him ran, and thrust it all attone Into his gaping throte, that made him grone And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was, Being vnable to digest that bone; Ne could it vpward come, nor downward passe, Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony masse. < 6.4.22> Stryuing in vaine that nigh his bowels brast, He with him closd, and laying mightie hold Vpon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast, That wanting breath, him downe to ground he cast; And then oppressing him with vrgent paine, Ere long enforst to breath his vtmost blast, Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine, And threatning his sharpe clawes, now wanting powre to straine. < 6.4.23> The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray; Whom pitying to heare so sore complaine, From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away, And from his face the filth that did it ray, And euery litle limbe he searcht around, And euery part, that vnder sweathbands lay, Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any wound Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found. < 6.4.24> He with him thought backe to returne againe: But when he lookt about on euery syde, To weet which way were best to entertaine, To bring him to the place, where he would faine, He could no path nor tract of foot descry, Ne by inquirie learne, nor ghesse by ayme. For nought but woods and forrests farre and nye, That all about did close the compasse of his eye. < 6.4.25> Which way to take: now West he went a while, Then North; then neither, but as fortune fell. So vp and downe he wandred many a mile, With wearie trauell and vncertaine toile, Yet nought the nearer to his iourneys end; And euermore his louely litle spoile Crying for food, did greatly him offend. So all that day in wandring vainely he did spend. < 6.4.26> Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd, And by good fortune the plaine champion wonne: Where looking all about, where he mote fynd Some place of succour to content his mynd, At length he heard vnder the forrests syde A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd, Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde, And oft complayn'd of fate, and Fortune oft defyde. < 6.4.27> A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayd, As if she doubted to haue bene deceiued, Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd. Whom when as Calepine saw so dismayd, He to her drew, and with faire blandishment Her chearing vp, thus gently to her sayd; What be you wofull Dame, which thus lament, And for what cause declare, so mote ye not repent? < 6.4.28> That which your selfe haue earst ared so right? A wofull dame ye haue me termed well; So much more wofull, as my wofull plight Cannot redressed be by liuing wight. Nathlesse (quoth he) if need doe not you bynd, Doe it disclose, to ease your grieued spright: Oftimes it haps, that sorrowes of the mynd Find remedie vnsought, which seeking cannot fynd. < 6.4.29> Sith then ye needs will know the griefe I hoord, I am th'vnfortunate Matilde by name, The wife of bold Sir Bruin, who is Lord Of all this land, late conquer'd by his sword From a great Gyant, called Cormoraunt; Whom he did ouerthrow by yonder foord, And in three battailes did so deadly daunt, That he dare not returne for all his daily vaunt. < 6.4.30> As in his fee, with peaceable estate, And quietly doth hold it in his hand, Ne any dares with him for it debate. But to these happie fortunes, cruell Fate Hath ioyn'd one euill, which doth ouerthrow All these our ioyes, and all our blisse abate; And like in time to further ill to grow, And all this land with endlesse losse to ouerflow. < 6.4.31> Haue not vouchsaft to graunt vnto vs twaine The gladfull blessing of posteritie+, Which we might see after our selues remaine In th'heritage of our vnhappie paine: So that for want of heires it to defend, All is in time like to returne againe To that foule feend, who dayly doth attend To leape into the same after our liues end. < 6.4.32> And makes exceeding mone, when he does thinke That all this land vnto his foe shall fall, For which he long in vaine did sweat and swinke, That now the same he greatly doth forthinke. Yet was it sayd, there should to him a sonne Be gotten, not begotten, which should drinke And dry vp all the water, which doth ronne In the next brooke, by whom that feend shold be fordonne. < 6.4.33> That from his sides some noble chyld should rize, The which through fame should farre be magnifide, And this proud gyant should with braue emprize Quite ouerthrow, who now ginnes to despize The good Sir Bruin, growing farre in yeares; Who thinkes from me his sorrow all doth rize. Lo this my cause of griefe to you appeares; For which I thus doe mourne, and poure forth ceaselesse teares. < 6.4.34> With tender ruth for her vnworthy griefe: And when he had deuized of her case, He gan in mind conceiue a fit reliefe For all her paine, if please her make the priefe. And hauing cheared her, thus said; faire Dame, In euils counsell is the comfort chiefe, Which though I be not wise enough to frame, Yet as I well it meane, vouchsafe it without blame. < 6.4.35> Be lacke of children, to supply your place, Lo how good fortune doth to you present This litle babe, of sweete and louely face, And spotlesse spirit, in which ye may enchace What euer formes ye list thereto apply, Being now soft and fit them to embrace; Whether ye list him traine in cheualry, Or noursle vp in lore of learn'd Philosophy+. < 6.4.36> That of the like, whose linage was vnknowne, More braue and noble knights haue raysed beene, As their victorious deedes haue often showen, Being with fame through many Nations blowen, Then those, which haue bene dandled in the lap. Therefore some thought, that those braue imps were sowen Here by the Gods, and fed with heauenly sap, That made them grow so high t'all honorable hap. < 6.4.37> Found nothing that he said, vnmeet nor geason, Hauing oft seene it tryde, as he did teach. Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason, Agreeing well both with the place and season, She gladly did of that same babe accept, As of her owne by liuerey and seisin, And hauing ouer it a litle wept, She bore it thence, and euer as her owne it kept. < 6.4.38> Of his young charge, whereof he skilled nought: Ne she lesse glad; for she so wisely did, And with her husband vnder hand so wrought, That when that infant vnto him she brought, She made him thinke it surely was his owne, And it in goodly thewes so well vpbrought, That it became a famous knight well knowne, And did right noble deedes, the which elswhere are showne. < 6.4.39> Vnder the greenewoods side in sorie plight, Withouten armes or steede to ride vpon, Or house to hide his head from heauens spight, Albe that Dame by all the meanes she might, Him oft desired home with her to wend, And offred him, his courtesie to requite, Both horse and armes, and what so else to lend, Yet he them all refusd, though thankt her as a frend. < 6.4.40> That he his loue so lucklesse now had lost, On the cold ground, maugre himselfe he threw, For fell despight, to be so sorely crost; And there all night himselfe in anguish tost, Vowing, that neuer he in bed againe His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease embost, Till that his Ladies sight he mote attaine, Or vnderstand, that she in safetie did remaine. < 6.5.1> The saluage serues Matilda well
O What an easie thing is to descry
< 6.5.2> Who though he were still in this desert wood, Mongst saluage beasts, both rudely borne and bred, Ne euer saw faire guize, ne learned good, Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood, By gentle vsage of that wretched Dame. For certes he was borne of noble blood, How euer by hard hap he hether came; As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same. < 6.5.3> The good Sir Calepine, that farre was strayd, Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad, As he of some misfortune were afrayd: And leauing there this Ladie all dismayd, Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde, To seeke, if he perchance a sleepe were layd, Or what so else were vnto him betyde: He sought him farre and neare, yet him no where he spyde. < 6.5.4> He shewed semblant of exceeding mone, By speaking signes, as he them best could frame; Now wringing both his wretched hands in one, Now beating his hard head vpon a stone, That ruth it was to see him so lament. By which she well perceiuing, what was done, Gan teare her hayre, and all her garments rent, And beat her breast, and piteously her selfe torment. < 6.5.5> Regardlesse of her wounds, yet bleeding rife, That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew, As if her breast new launcht with murdrous knife, Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie life. There she long groueling, and deepe groning lay, As if her vitall powers were at strife With stronger death, and feared their decay, Such were this Ladies pangs and dolorous assay. < 6.5.6> He reared her vp from the bloudie ground, And sought by all the meanes, that he could best, Her to recure out of that stony swound, And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound. Yet nould she be recomforted for nought, Ne cease her sorrow and impatient stound, But day and night did vexe her carefull thought, And euer more and more her owne affliction wrought. < 6.5.7> She saw now left, she cast to leaue the place, And wend abrode, though feeble and forlorne, To seeke some comfort in that sorie case. His steede now strong through rest so long a space, Well as she could, she got, and did bedight, And being thereon mounted, forth did pace, Withouten guide, her to conduct aright, Or gard her to defend from bold oppressors might. < 6.5.8> He would not suffer her alone to fare, But gan himselfe addresse to take her part. Those warlike armes, which Calepine whyleare Had left behind, he gan eftsoones prepare, And put them all about himselfe vnfit, His shield, his helmet, and his curats bare. But without sword vpon his thigh to sit: Sir Calepine himselfe away had hidden it. < 6.5.9> That mote to all men seeme an vncouth sight; A saluage man matcht with a Ladie fayre, That rather seem'd the conquest of his might, Gotten by spoyle, then purchaced aright. But he did her attend most carefully, And faithfully did serue both day and night, Withouten thought of shame or villeny, Ne euer shewed signe of foule disloyalty. < 6.5.10> It chaunst some furniture about her steed To be disordred by some accident: Which to redresse, she did th'assistance need Of this her groome, which he by signes did reede; And streight his combrous armes aside did lay Vpon the ground, withouten doubt or dreed, And in his homely wize began to assay T'amend what was amisse, and put in right aray. < 6.5.11> Lo where a knight together with his squire, All arm'd to point came ryding thetherward, Which seemed by their portance and attire, To be two errant knights, that did inquire After aduentures, where they mote them get. Those were to weet (if that ye it require) Prince Arthur and young Timias, which met By straunge occasion, that here needs forth be set. < 6.5.12> The fauour of Belphebe, (as ye heard) And of her grace did stand againe assured, To happie blisse he was full high vprear'd, Nether of enuy, nor of chaunge afeard, Though many foes did him maligne therefore, And with vniust detraction him did beard; Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore, That in her soueraine lyking he dwelt euermore. < 6.5.13> Three mightie en'mies did him most despight, Three mightie ones, and cruell minded eeke, That him not onely sought by open might To ouerthrow, but to supplant by slight. The first of them by name was cald Despetto, Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight; The second not so strong but wise, Decetto; The third nor strong nor wise, but spightfullest Defetto. {Shylock+} < 6.5.14> And seuerall deceipts, but all in vaine: For neither they by force could him destroy, Ne yet entrap+ in treasons subtill traine. Therefore conspiring all together plaine, They did their counsels now in one compound; Where singled forces faile, conioynd may gaine. The Blatant Beast the fittest meanes they found, To worke his vtter shame, and throughly him confound. < 6.5.15> When he did raunge the wood for saluage game, They sent that Blatant Beast to be a baite, To draw him from his deare beloued dame, Vnwares into the daunger of defame. For well they wist, that Squire to be so bold, That no one beast in forrest wylde or tame, Met him in chase, but he it challenge would, And plucke the pray oftimes out of their greedy hould. < 6.5.16> Seeing the vgly Monster passing by, Vpon him set, of perill nought adrad, Ne skilfull of the vncouth ieopardy; And charged him so fierce and furiously, That his great force vnable to endure, He forced was to turne from him and fly: Yet ere he fled, he with his tooth impure Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was thereof secure. < 6.5.17> Thinking by speed to ouertake his flight; Who through thicke woods and brakes & briers him drew, To weary him the more, and waste his spight, So that he now has almost spent his spright. Till that at length vnto a woody glade He came, whose couert stopt his further sight,
< 6.5.18> Burning with inward rancour and despight, And heaped strokes did round about him haile With so huge force, that seemed nothing might Beare off their blowes, from percing thorough quite. Yet he them all so warily did ward, That none of them in his soft flesh did bite, And all the while his backe for best safegard, He lent against a tree, that backeward onset bard. < 6.5.19> Is bayted of a mastiffe, and a hound, And a curre-dog; that doe him sharpe assay On euery side, and beat about him round; But most that curre barking with bitter sownd, And creeping still behinde, doth him incomber, That in his chauffe he digs the trampled ground, And threats his horns, and bellowes like the thonder, So did that Squire his foes disperse, and driue asonder. < 6.5.20> Sought to encompasse him on euery side, And dangerously did round about enclose. But most of all Defetto him annoyde, Creeping behinde him still to haue destroyde: {Shylock+} So did Decetto eke him circumuent, But stout Despetto in his greater pryde, Did front him face to face against him bent, Yet he them all withstood, and often made relent. < 6.5.21> And weary now with carefull keeping ward, He gan to shrinke, and somewhat to giue place, Full like ere long to haue escaped hard; When as vnwares he in the forrest heard A trampling steede, that with his neighing fast Did warne his rider be vppon his gard; With noise whereof the Squire now nigh aghast, Reuiued was, and sad dispaire away did cast. < 6.5.22> Who seeing one in so great daunger set Mongst many foes, him selfe did faster hye; To reskue him, and his weake part abet, For pitty so to see him ouerset. Whom soone as his three enemies did vew, They fled, and fast into the wood did get: Him booted not to thinke them to pursew, The couert was so thicke, that did no passage shew. < 6.5.23> To be his Timias, his owne true Squire, Whereof exceeding glad, he to him drew, And him embracing twixt his armes entire, Him thus bespake; My liefe, my lifes desire, Why haue ye me alone thus long yleft? Tell me what worlds despight, or heauens yre Hath you thus long away from me bereft? Where haue ye all this while bin wandring, where bene weft? < 6.5.24> To whom the Squire nought aunswered againe, But shedding few soft teares from tender eyne, His deare affect with silence did restraine, And shut vp all his plaint in priuy paine. There they awhile some gracious speaches spent, As to them seemed fit time to entertaine. After all which vp to their steedes they went, And forth together rode a comely couplement. < 6.5.25> Of this wyld man, whom they full busie found About the sad Serena things to dight, With those braue armours lying on the ground, That seem'd the spoile of some right well renownd. Which when that Squire beheld, he to them stept, Thinking to take them from that hylding hound: But he it seeing, lightly to him lept, And sternely with strong hand it from his handling kept. < 6.5.26> And sparkling fire out of his furious eyne, Him with his fist vnwares on th'head he strooke, That made him downe vnto the earth encline; Whence soone vpstarting much he gan repine, And laying hand vpon his wrathfull blade, Thought therewithall forthwith him to haue slaine, Who it perceiuing, hand vpon him layd, And greedily him griping, his auengement stayd. < 6.5.27> Vnto the Knight, them to dispart in twaine: Who to them stepping did them soone diuide, And did from further violence restraine, Albe the wyld-man hardly would refraine. Then gan the Prince, of her for to demand, What and from whence she was, and by what traine She fell into that saluage villaines hand, And whether free with him she now were, or in band. < 6.5.28> The wretchedst Dame, that liue this day on ground; Who both in minde, the which most grieueth me, And body haue receiu'd a mortall wound, That hath me driuen to this drery stound. I was erewhile, the loue of Calepine: Who whether he aliue be to be found, Or by some deadly chaunce be done to pine, Since I him lately lost, vneath is to define. < 6.5.29> Where I had surely long ere this bene dead, Or else remained in most wretched state, Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead Kept, and deliuered me from deadly dread. In such a saluage wight, of brutish kynd, Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred, It is most straunge and wonderfull to fynd So milde humanity+, and perfect gentle+ mynd. < 6.5.30> That ye will not your wrath vpon him wreake, Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde, Ne yours conceiue, ne but by tokens speake: Small praise to proue your powre on wight so weake. With such faire words she did their heate asswage, And the strong course of their displeasure breake, That they to pitty turnd their former rage, And each sought to supply the office of her page. < 6.5.31> She on her way cast forward to proceede, And they her forth conducted, where they might Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede. For now her wounds corruption gan to breed; And eke this Squire, who likewise wounded was Of that same Monster late, for lacke of heed, Now gan to faint, and further could not pas Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes oppressed has. < 6.5.32> To seeke some place, the which mote yeeld some ease To these sicke twaine, that now began to droupe, And all the way the Prince sought to appease The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease, By all the courteous meanes he could inuent; Somewhile with merry+ purpose fit to please, And otherwhile with good encouragement, To make them to endure the pains, did them torment. < 6.5.33> The foule discourt'sies and vnknightly parts, Which Turpine had vnto her shewed late, Without compassion of her cruell smarts: Although Blandina did with all her arts Him otherwise perswade, all that she might; Yet he of malice, without her desarts, Not onely her excluded late at night, {host+} But also trayterously did wound her weary Knight. < 6.5.34> That soone as he returned backe againe, He would auenge th'abuses of that proud And shamefull Knight, of whom she did complaine. This wize did they each other entertaine, To passe the tedious trauell of the way; Till towards night they came vnto a plaine, By which a little Hermitage there lay, Far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may. < 6.5.35> Which being all with Yuy ouerspred, Deckt all the roofe, and shadowing the roode, Seem'd like a groue faire braunched ouer hed: Therein the Hermite, which his life here led In streight obseruaunce of religious vow, Was wont his howres and holy things to bed; And therein he likewise was praying now, Whenas these Knights arriu'd, they wist not where nor how. < 6.5.36> Whom when the Hermite present saw in place, From his deuotion streight he troubled was; Which breaking of he toward them did pace, With stayed steps, and graue beseeming grace: For well it seem'd, that whilome he had beene Some goodly person, and of gentle+ race, That could his good to all, and well did weene, How each to entertaine with curt'sie well beseene, < 6.5.37> So long as age enabled him thereto, That he had bene a man of mickle name, Renowmed much in armes and derring doe: But being aged now and weary to Of warres delight, and worlds contentious toyle, The name of knighthood he did disauow, And hanging vp his armes and warlike spoyle, From all this worlds incombraunce did himselfe assoyle. < 6.5.38> Letting their steedes to graze vpon the Green: Small was his house, and like a little cage, For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene, Deckt with greene boughes, and flowers gay beseene. Therein he them full faire did entertaine Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene For courting_fooles+, that curtesies would faine, But with entire affection+ and appearaunce plaine+. < 6.5.39> Did vse, his feeble body to sustaine; The which full gladly they did take in glee, Such as it was, ne did of want complaine, But being well suffiz'd, them rested faine. But faire Serene all night could take no rest, Ne yet that gentle Squire, for grieuous paine Of their late woundes, the which the Blatant Beast Had giuen them, whose griefe through suffraunce sore increast. < 6.5.40> Till that the morning, bringing earely light To guide mens labours, brought them also ease, And some asswagement of their painefull plight. Then vp they rose, and gan them selues to dight Vnto their iourney; but that Squire and Dame So faint and feeble were, that they ne might Endure to trauell, nor one foote to frame: Their hearts were sicke, their sides were sore, their feete were lame. < 6.5.41> Would not permit, to make their lenger stay, Was forced there to leaue them both behynd, In that good Hermits charge, whom he did pray To tend them well. So forth he went his way, And with him eke the saluage, that whyleare Seeing his royall vsage and array, Was greatly growne in loue of that braue pere, Would needes depart, as shall declared be elsewhere. < 6.6.1> The Hermite heales both Squire and dame
NO wound, which warlike hand of enemy
< 6.6.2> Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame; And being such, were now much more increast, For want of taking heede vnto the same, That now corrupt and curelesse they became. Howbe that carefull Hermite did his best, With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame The poysnous humour, which did most infest Their ranckling wounds, & euery day them duely drest. < 6.6.3> And through the long experience of his dayes, Which had in many fortunes tossed beene, And past through many perillous assayes, He knew the diuerse went of mortall wayes, And in the mindes of men had great insight; Which with sage counsell, when they went astray, He could enforme, and them reduce aright, And al the passions heale, which wound the weaker spright. < 6.6.4> As any one, that liued in his daies, And proued oft in many perillous fight, Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies, And in all battels bore away the baies. But being now attacht with timely age, And weary of this worlds vnquiet waies, He tooke him selfe vnto this Hermitage, In which he liu'd alone, like carelesse bird in cage. < 6.6.5> He found that they had festred priuily, And ranckling inward with vnruly stounds, The inner parts now gan to putrify, That quite they seem'd past helpe of surgery, And rather needed to be disciplinde With holesome reede of sad sobriety, To rule the stubborne rage of passion+ blinde: Giue salues to euery sore, but counsell to the minde. < 6.6.6> He to that point fit speaches gan to frame, As he the art of words knew wondrous well, And eke could doe, {deeds+} as well as say the same, And thus he to them sayd; Faire daughter Dame, And you faire sonne, which here thus long now lie In piteous languor, since ye hither came, In vaine of me ye hope for remedie, And I likewise in vaine doe salues to you applie. < 6.6.7> To heale your selues, and must proceed alone From your owne will, to cure your maladie. Who can him cure, that will be cur'd of none? If therefore health ye seeke, obserue this one. First learne your outward sences to refraine From things, that stirre vp fraile affection; Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talk restraine From that they most affect, and in due termes containe. < 6.6.8> The seede of all this euill first doth spring, Which at the first before it had infected, Mote easie be supprest with little thing: But being growen strong, it forth doth bring Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient paine In th'inner parts, and lastly scattering Contagious poyson close through euery vaine, It neuer rests, till it haue wrought his finall bane. < 6.6.9> Are so exceeding venemous and keene, Made all of rusty yron, ranckling sore, That where they bite, it booteth not to weene With salue, or antidote, or other mene It euer to amend: ne maruaile ought; For that same beast was bred of hellish strene, And long in darksome Stygian den vpbrought, Begot of foule Echidna, as in bookes is taught. < 6.6.10> Whom Gods doe hate, and heauens abhor to see; So hideous is her shape, so huge her hed, That euen the hellish fiends affrighted bee At sight thereof, and from her presence flee: Yet did her face and former parts professe A faire young Mayden, {Sin+} full of comely glee; But all her hinder parts did plaine expresse A monstrous Dragon, full of fearefull vglinesse. < 6.6.11> In fearefull darkenesse, furthest from the skie, And from the earth, appointed haue her place, Mongst rocks and caues, where she enrold doth lie In hideous horrour and obscurity, Wasting the strength of her immortall age. There did Typhaon with her company; Cruell Typhaon, whose tempestuous rage Make th'heauens tremble oft, & him with vowes asswage. < 6.6.12> This hellish Dog, that hight the Blatant Beast; A wicked Monster, that his tongue doth whet Gainst all, both good and bad, both most and least, And poures his poysnous gall forth to infest The noblest wights with notable defame: Ne euer Knight, that bore so lofty creast, Ne euer Lady of so honest name, But he them spotted with reproch, or secrete shame. < 6.6.13> To goe about to salue such kynd of sore, That rather needes wise read and discipline, Then outward salues, that may augment it more. Aye me (sayd then Serena sighing sore) What hope of helpe doth then for vs remaine, If that no salues may vs to health restore? But sith we need good counsell (sayd the swaine) Aread good sire, some counsell, that may vs sustaine. < 6.6.14> Is to auoide the occasion of the ill: For when the cause, whence euill doth arize, Remoued is, th'effect surceaseth still. Abstaine from pleasure+, and restraine your will, Subdue desire+, and bridle loose delight, Vse scanted diet, and forbeare your fill, Shun secresie, {PlainDealer+} and talke in open sight: So shall you soone repaire your present euill plight. < 6.6.15> Did gladly hearken to his graue beheast, And kept so well his wise commaundements, That in short space their malady was ceast, And eke the biting of that harmefull Beast Was throughly heal'd. Tho when they did perceaue Their wounds recur'd, and forces reincreast, Of that good Hermite both they tooke their leaue, And went both on their way, ne ech would other leaue. < 6.6.16> The Lady, for that she was much in dred, Now left alone in great extremity, The Squire, for that he courteous was indeed, Would not her leaue alone in her great need. So both together traueld, till they met With a faire Mayden clad in mourning weed, Vpon a mangy iade vnmeetely set, And a lewd foole her leading thorough dry and wet. < 6.6.17> And how thereof her selfe she did acquite, I must a while forbeare to you to tell; Till that, as comes by course, I doe recite, What fortune to the Briton Prince did lite, Pursuing that proud Knight, the which whileare Wrought to Sir Calidore so foule despight; And eke his Lady, though she sickely were, So lewdly had abusde, as ye did lately heare. < 6.6.18> Which faire Serene to him deliuered had, Pursu'd him streight, in mynd to bene ywroken Of all the vile demeane, and vsage bad, With which he had those two so ill bestad: Ne wight with him on that aduenture went, But that wylde man, whom though he oft forbad, Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent, Would he restrayned be from his attendement. < 6.6.19> He found the gate wyde ope, and in he rode, Ne stayd, till that he came into the hall: Where soft dismounting like a weary lode, Vpon the ground with feeble feete he trode, As he vnable were for very neede To moue one foote, but there must make abode; The whiles the saluage man did take his steede, And in some stable neare did set him vp to feede. < 6.6.20> That in rude wise him asked, what he was, That durst so boldly, without let or shame, Into his Lords forbidden hall to passe. {host+} To whom the Prince, him fayning to embase, Mylde answer made; he was an errant Knight, The which was fall'n into this feeble case, Through many wounds, which lately he in fight Receiued had, and prayd to pitty his ill plight. < 6.6.21> Sternely did bid him quickely thence auaunt, Or deare aby, for why his Lord of old Did hate all errant Knights, which there did haunt, Ne lodging would to any of them graunt: And therefore lightly bad him packe away, Not sparing him with bitter words to taunt; And therewithall rude+ hand on him did lay. To thrust him out of dore, doing his worst assay. < 6.6.22> Beheld, eftsoones he all enraged grew, And running streight vpon that villaine base, Like a fell Lion at him fiercely flew, And with his teeth and nailes, in present vew, Him rudely rent, and all to peeces tore: So miserably him all helpelesse slew, That with the noise, whilest he did loudly rore, The people of the house rose forth in great vprore. < 6.6.23> And that same Knight and Saluage standing by, Vpon them two they fell with might and maine, And on them layd so huge and horribly, As if they would haue slaine them presently. But the bold Prince defended him so well, And their assault withstood so mightily, That maugre all their might, he did repell, And beat them back, whilest many vnderneath him fell. < 6.6.24> That few of them he left aliue, which fled, {Harfleur+} Those euill tidings to their Lord to shew. Who hearing how his people badly sped, Came forth in hast: where when as with the dead He saw the ground all strow'd, and that same Knight And saluage with their bloud fresh steeming red, He woxe nigh mad with wrath and fell despight, And with reprochfull words him thus bespake on hight; < 6.6.25> Hast slaine my men in this vnmanly maner, And now triumphest in the piteous spoile Of these poore folk, whose soules with black dishonor And foule defame doe decke thy bloudy baner? The meede whereof shall shortly be thy shame, And wretched end, which still attendeth on her. With that him selfe to battell he did frame; So did his forty yeomen, which there with him {forty_to_one+} came. < 6.6.26> And round about with boystrous strokes oppresse, That on his shield did rattle like to haile In a great tempest; that in such distresse, He wist not to which side him to addresse. And euermore that crauen cowherd Knight Was at his backe with heartlesse heedinesse, Wayting if he vnwares him murther might: For cowardize+ doth still in villany delight. < 6.6.27> He to him turnd with furious intent, And him against his powre gan to prepare; Like a fierce Bull, that being busie bent To fight with many foes about him ment, Feeling some curre behinde his heeles to bite, Turnes him about with fell auengement; So likewise turnde the Prince vpon the Knight, And layd at him amaine with all his will and might. < 6.6.28> Durst not the furie of his force abyde, But turn'd abacke, and to retyre him hasted Through the thick prease, there thinking him to hyde. But when the Prince had once him plainely eyde, He foot by foot him followed alway, Ne would him suffer once to shrinke asyde, But ioyning close, huge lode at him did lay: Who flying still did ward, and warding fly away. < 6.6.29> Vnto his heeles himselfe he did betake, Hoping vnto some refuge to withdraw: Ne would the Prince him euer foot forsake, Where so he went, but after him did make. He fled from roome to roome, from place to place, Whylest euery ioynt for dread of death did quake, Still looking after him, that did him chace; That made him euermore increase his speedie pace. < 6.6.30> Whereas his loue was sitting all alone, Wayting what tydings of her folke became. There did the Prince him ouertake anone, Crying in vaine to her, him to bemone; And with his sword him on the head did smyte, That to the ground he fell in senselesse swone: Yet whether thwart or flatly it did lyte, The tempred steele did not into his braynepan byte. < 6.6.31> She starting vp, began to shrieke aloud, And with her garment couering him from sight, Seem'd vnder her protection him to shroud; And falling lowly at his feet, her bowd Vpon her knee, intreating him for grace, And often him besought, and prayd, and vowd; That with the ruth of her so wretched case, He stayd his second strooke, and did his hand abase. < 6.6.32> Who now come to himselfe, yet would not rize, But still did lie as dead, and quake, and quiuer, That euen the Prince his basenesse did despize, And eke his Dame him seeing in such guize, Gan him recomfort, and from ground to reare. Who rising vp at last in ghastly wize, Like troubled ghost did dreadfully appeare, As one that had no life him left through former feare. < 6.6.33> He for such basenesse shamefully him shent, And with sharpe words did bitterly vpbrayd; Vile cowheard dogge, now doe I much repent, That euer I this life vnto thee lent, Whereof thou caytiue so vnworthie art; That both thy loue, for lacke of hardiment, And eke thy selfe, for want of manly hart, And eke all knights hast shamed with this knightlesse part. < 6.6.34> And crime to crime, by this thy cowheard feare. For first it was to thee reprochfull blame, To erect this wicked custome, which I heare, Gainst errant Knights and Ladies thou dost reare, Whom when thou mayst, thou dost of arms despoile, Or of their vpper garment, which they weare: Yet doest thou not with manhood, but with guile Maintaine this euill vse, thy foes thereby to foile. < 6.6.35> To shew such faintnesse and foule cowardize, Is greatest shame: for oft it falles, that strong And valiant knights doe rashly enterprize, Either for fame, or else for exercize, A wrongfull quarrell to maintaine by fight; Yet haue, through prowesse and their braue emprize, Gotten great worship in this worldes sight. For greater force there needs to maintaine wrong, then right. < 6.6.36> I giuen haue, liue in reproch and scorne; Ne euer armes, ne euer knighthood dare Hence to professe: for shame is to adorne With so braue badges one so basely borne; But onely breath sith that I did forgiue. So hauing from his crauen bodie torne Those goodly armes, he them away did giue And onely suffred him this wretched life to liue. < 6.6.37> Atwene that Ladie myld and recreant knight, To whom his life he graunted for her loue, He gan bethinke him, in what perilous plight He had behynd him left that saluage wight, Amongst so many foes, whom sure he thought By this quite slaine in so vnequall fight: Therefore descending backe in haste, he sought If yet he were aliue, or to destruction brought. < 6.6.38> With slaughtred bodies, which his hand had slaine, And laying yet a fresh with courage stout Vpon the rest, that did aliue remaine; Whom he likewise right sorely did constraine, Like scattred sheepe, to seeke for safetie, After he gotten had with busie paine Some of their weapons, which thereby did lie, With which he layd about, and made them fast to flie. < 6.6.39> Approching to him neare, his hand he stayd, And sought, by making signes, him to asswage: Whom them perceiuing, streight to him obayd, As to his Lord, and downe his weapons layd, As if he long had to his heasts bene trayned. Thence he him brought away, and vp conuayd Into the chamber, where that Dame remayned With her vnworthy knight, who ill him entertayned. < 6.6.40> Sitting beside his Ladie there at ease, He well remembred, that the same was hee, Which lately sought his Lord for to displease: Tho all in rage, he on him streight did seaze, As if he would in peeces him haue rent; And were not, that the Prince did him appeaze, He had not left one limbe of him vnrent: But streight he held his hand at his commaundement. < 6.6.41> The Prince himselfe there all that night did rest, Where him Blandina fayrely entertayned, With all the courteous_glee+ and goodly feast, The which for him she could imagine best. For well she knew the wayes to win good will Of euery wight, that were not too infest, And how to please the minds of good and ill, Through tempering of her words & lookes by wondrous skill. < 6.6.42> To some hid end to make more easie way, Or to allure such fondlings, whom she trayned Into her trap vnto their owne decay: Thereto, when needed, she could weepe and pray, And when her listed, she could fawne and flatter; Now smyling smoothly, like to sommers day, Now glooming sadly, so to cloke her matter; Yet were her words but wynd, & all her teares but water. < 6.6.43> As women wont their guilefull wits to guyde; Or learn'd the art to please, I doe not fynd. This well I wote, that she so well applyde Her pleasing tongue, that soone she pacifyde The wrathfull Prince, & wrought her husbands peace, Who nathelesse not therewith satisfyde, His rancorous despight did not releasse, Ne secretly from thought of fell reuenge surceasse. < 6.6.44> In carelesse couch, not weeting what was ment, He watcht in close awayt with weapons prest, Willing to worke his villenous intent On him, that had so shamefully him shent: Yet durst he not for very cowardize Effect the same, whylest all the night was spent. The morrow next the Prince did early rize, And passed forth, to follow his first enterprise. < 6.7.1> Cant. VII. Turpine is baffuld, his two knights
LIke as the gentle_hart+ it selfe
bewrayes,
< 6.7.2> The coward Turpine, whereof now I treat; Who notwithstanding that in former fight He of the Prince his life receiued late, Yet in his mind malitious and ingrate+ He gan deuize, to be aueng'd anew For all that shame, which kindled inward hate. Therefore so soone as he was out of vew, Himselfe in hast he arm'd, and did him fast pursew. < 6.7.3> Yet would not neare approch in daungers eye, But kept aloofe for dread to be descryde, Vntill fit time and place he mote espy, Where he mote worke him scath and villeny. At last he met two knights to him vnknowne, The which were armed both agreeably, And both combynd, what euer chaunce were blowne, Betwixt them to diuide, and each to make his owne. < 6.7.4> To cloke the mischiefe, which he inly ment, Gan to complaine of great discourtesie, Which a straunge knight, that neare afore him went, Had doen to him, and his deare Ladie shent: Which if they would afford him ayde at need For to auenge, in time conuenient, They should accomplish both a knightly deed, And for their paines obtaine of him a goodly meed. < 6.7.5> And being fresh and full of youthly spright, Were glad to heare of that aduenture new, In which they mote make triall of their might, Which neuer yet they had approu'd in fight; And eke desirous of the offred meed, Said then the one of them; Where is that wight, The which hath doen to thee this wrongfull deed, That we may it auenge, and punish him with speed? < 6.7.6> With a wyld man soft footing by his syde, That if ye list to haste a litle more, Ye may him ouertake in timely tyde: Eftsoones they pricked forth with forward pryde, And ere that litle while they ridden had, The gentle Prince not farre away they spyde, Ryding a softly pace with portance sad, Deuizing of his loue more, then of daunger drad. < 6.7.7> Bidding him turne againe, false traytour knight, Foule womanwronger, for he him defyde. With that they both at once with equall spight Did bend their speares, and both with equall might Against him ran; but th'one did misse his marke, And being carried with his force forthright, Glaunst swiftly by; like to that heauenly sparke, Which glyding through the ayre lights all the heauens darke. < 6.7.8> Full in the shield, with so impetuous powre, That all his launce in peeces shiuered quite, And scattered all about, fell on the flowre. But the stout Prince, with much more steddy stowre Full on his beuer did him strike so sore, That the cold steele through piercing, did deuowre His vitall breath, and to the ground him bore, Where still he bathed lay in his owne bloody gore. < 6.7.9> At an Herneshaw, that lyes aloft on wing, The whyles they strike at him with heedlesse might, The warie foule his bill doth backward wring; On which the first, whose force her first doth bring, Her selfe quite through the bodie doth engore, And falleth downe to ground like senselesse thing, But th'other not so swift, as she before, Fayles of her souse, and passing by doth hurt no more. < 6.7.10> Himselfe recouering, was return'd to fight; Where when he saw his fellow lifelesse ly, He much was daunted with so dismall sight; Yet nought abating of his former spight, Let driue at him with so malitious mynd, As if he would haue passed through him quight: But the steele-head no stedfast hold could fynd, But glauncing by, deceiu'd him of that he desynd. < 6.7.11> Tooke surer hould, and from his horses backe Aboue a launces length him forth did beare, And gainst the cold hard earth so sore him strake, That all his bones in peeces nigh he brake. Where seeing him so lie, he left his steed, And to him leaping, vengeance thought to take Of him, for all his former follies meed, With flaming sword in hand his terror more to breed. < 6.7.12> Cryde out aloud for mercie him to saue; In lieu whereof he would to him descrie, Great treason to him meant, his life to reaue. The Prince soone hearkned, and his life forgaue. Then thus said he, There is a straunger knight, The which for promise of great meed, vs draue To this attempt, to wreake his hid despight, For that himselfe thereto did want sufficient might. < 6.7.13> And sayd; Now sure ye well haue earn'd your meed, For th'one is dead, and th'other soone shall die, Vnlesse to me thou hether bring with speed The wretch, that hyr'd you to this wicked deed. He glad of life, and willing eke to wreake The guilt on him, which did this mischiefe breed, Swore by his sword, that neither day nor weeke He would surceasse, but him, where so he were, would seeke. < 6.7.14> Backe to the place, where Turpine late he lore; There he him found in great astonishment, To see him so bedight with bloodie gore, And griesly wounds that him appalled sore. Yet thus at length he said, How now Sir Knight? What meaneth this, which here I see before? How fortuneth this foule vncomely plight, So different from that, which earst ye seem'd in sight? < 6.7.15> That euer I for meed did vndertake So hard a taske, as life for hyre+ to sell; The which I earst aduentur'd for your sake. Witnesse the wounds, and this wyde bloudie lake, Which ye may see yet all about me steeme. Therefore now yeeld, as ye did promise make, My due reward, the which right well I deeme I yearned haue, that life so dearely did redeeme. < 6.7.16> Where is the bootie, which therefore I bought, That cursed caytiue, my strong enemy, That recreant knight, whose hated life I sought? And where is eke your friend, which halfe it ought? He lyes (said he) vpon the cold bare ground, Slayne of that errant knight, with whom he fought; Whom afterwards my selfe with many a wound Did slay againe, as ye may see there in the stound. < 6.7.17> And needs with him streight to the place would ryde, Where he himselfe might see his foeman slaine; For else his feare could not be satisfyde. So as they rode, he saw the way all dyde With streames of bloud; which tracting by the traile, Ere long they came, whereas in euill tyde That other swayne, like ashes deadly pale, Lay in the lap of death, rewing his wretched bale. < 6.7.18> That for his sake his deare life had forgone; And him bewayling with affection base, Did counterfeit+ kind pittie, where was none: For wheres no courage, theres no ruth nor mone. Thence passing forth, not farre away he found, Whereas the Prince himselfe lay all alone, Loosely displayd vpon the grassie ground, Possessed of sweete sleepe, that luld him soft in swound. < 6.7.19> He there in shade himselfe had layd to rest, Hauing his armes and warlike things vndight, Fearelesse of foes that mote his peace molest; The whyles his saluage page, that wont be prest, Was wandred in the wood another way, To doe some thing, that seemed to him best, The whyles his Lord in siluer slomber lay, Like to the Euening starre adorn'd with deawy ray. < 6.7.20> He weened well, that he in deed was dead, Like as that other knight to him had sayd: But when he nigh approcht, he mote aread Plaine signes in him of life and liuelihead. Whereat much grieu'd against that straunger knight, That him too light of credence did mislead, He would haue backe retyred from that sight, That was to him on earth the deadliest despight. < 6.7.21> But plainely gan to him declare the case Of all his mischiefe, and late lucklesse smart; How both he and his fellow there in place Were vanquished, and put to foule disgrace, And how that he in lieu of life him lent, Had vow'd vnto the victor, him to trace And follow through the world, where so he went, Till that he him deliuered to his punishment. < 6.7.22> Began to tremble euery limbe and vaine; And softly whispering him, entyrely prayd, T'aduize him better, then by such a traine Him to betray vnto a straunger swaine: Yet rather counseld him contrarywize, Sith he likewise did wrong by him sustaine, To ioyne with him and vengeance to deuize, Whylest time did offer meanes him sleeping {two agst sleeper+} to surprize. < 6.7.23> Would not be tempted to such villenie, Regarding more his faith, which he did plight, All were it to his mortall enemie, Then to entrap him by false treacherie: Great shame in lieges blood to be embrew'd. Thus whylest they were debating diuerslie, The Saluage forth out of the wood issew'd Backe to the place, whereas his Lord he sleeping vew'd. < 6.7.24> He doubted much what mote their meaning bee, And throwing downe his load out of his hand, To weet great store of forrest frute, which hee Had for his food late gathered from the tree, Himselfe vnto his weapon he betooke, That was an oaken plant, which lately hee Rent by the root; which he so sternely shooke, That like an hazell wand, it quiuered and quooke. < 6.7.25> The traytour Turpin with that other knight, He started vp, and snatching neare his syde His trustie sword, the seruant of his might, Like a fell Lyon leaped to him light, And his left hand vpon his collar layd. Therewith the cowheard deaded with affright, Fell flat to ground, ne word vnto him sayd, But holding vp his hands, with silence mercie prayd. < 6.7.26> That to his prayer nought he would incline, But as he lay vpon the humbled gras, His foot he set on his vile necke, in signe Of seruile yoke, that nobler harts repine. Then letting him arise like abiect thrall, He gan to him obiect his haynous crime, And to reuile, and rate, and recreant call, And lastly to despoyle of knightly bannerall. < 6.7.27> He by the heeles him hung vpon a tree, And baffuld so, that all which passed by, The picture of his punishment might see, And by the like ensample warned bee, How euer they through treason+ doe trespasse. But turne we now backe to that Ladie free, Whom late we left ryding vpon an Asse, Led by a Carle and foole, which by her side did passe. < 6.7.28> And lifted vp to honorable place, Famous through all the land of Faerie, Though of meane parentage and kindred base, Yet deckt with wondrous giftes of natures grace, That all men did her person much admire, And praise the feature of her goodly face, The beames whereof did kindle louely fire In th'harts of many a knight, and many a gentle squire. < 6.7.29> That none she worthie thought to be her fere, But scornd them all, that loue vnto her ment: Yet was she lou'd of many a worthy pere; Vnworthy she to be belou'd so dere, That could not weigh of worthinesse aright. For beautie is more glorious bright and clere, The more it is admir'd of many a wight, And noblest she, that serued is of noblest knight. < 6.7.30> That such proud looks would make her praysed more; And that the more she did all loue despize, The more would wretched louers her adore. What cared she, who sighed for her sore, Or who did wayle or watch the wearie night? Let them that list, their lucklesse lot deplore; She was borne free, not bound to any wight, And so would euer liue, and loue her owne delight. < 6.7.31> Many a wretch, for want of remedie, Did languish long in lifeconsuming smart, And at the last through dreary dolour die: Whylest she, the Ladie of her libertie, Did boast her beautie had such soueraine might, That with the onely twinckle of her eye, She could or saue, or spill, whom she would hight. What could the Gods doe more, but doe it more aright? < 6.7.32> Did worthily reuenge this maydens pride; And nought regarding her so goodly hew, Did laugh at her, that many did deride, Whilest she did weepe, of no man mercifide. For on a day, when Cupid kept his court, As he is wont at each Saint Valentide, Vnto the which all louers doe resort, That of their loues successe they there may make report. < 6.7.33> In wich the names of all loues folke were fyled, That many there were missing, which were ded, Or kept in bands, or from their loues exyled, Or by some other violence despoyled. Which when as Cupid heard, he wexed wroth, And doubting to be wronged, or beguyled, He bad his eyes to be vnblindfold both, That he might see his men, and muster them by oth. < 6.7.34> Which wont doe suit and seruice to his might; Of whom what was becomen, no man knew. Therefore a Iurie was impaneld streight, T'enquire of them, whether by force, or sleight, Or their owne guilt, they were away conuayd. To whom foule Infamie, and fell Despight Gaue euidence, that they were all betrayd, And murdred cruelly by a rebellious Mayd. < 6.7.35> Of all those crymes she there indited was: All which when Cupid heard, he by and by In great displeasure, wild a Capias Should issue forth, t'attach that scornefull lasse. The warrant straight was made, and therewithall A Baylieffe errant forth in post did passe, Whom they by name there Portamore did call; He which doth summon louers to Loues iudgement hall. < 6.7.36> Vnto the barre, whereas she was arrayned: But she thereto nould plead, nor answere ought Euen for stubborne pride, which her restrayned. So iudgement past, as is by law ordayned In cases like, which when at last she saw, Her stubborne hart, which loue before disdayned, Gan stoupe, and falling downe with humble awe, Cryde mercie, to abate the extremitie of law. < 6.7.37> But where he is prouokt with peeuishnesse, Vnto her prayers piteously enclynd, And did the rigour of his doome represse; Yet not so freely, but that nathelesse He vnto her a penance did impose: Which was, that through this worlds wyde wildernes She wander should in companie of those, Till she had sau'd so many loues, as she did lose. < 6.7.38> Throughout the world, in this vncomely case, Wasting her goodly hew in heauie teares, And her good dayes in dolorous disgrace: Yet had she not in all these two yeares space, Saued but two, yet in two yeares before, Through her dispiteous pride, whilest loue lackt place, She had destroyed two and twenty more. Aie me, how could her loue make half amends therefore. < 6.7.39> When as the gentle Squire, with faire Serene, Met her in such misseeming foule array; The whiles that mighty man did her demeane With all the euill termes and cruell meane, That he could make; And eeke that angry foole Which follow'd her, with cursed hands vncleane Whipping her horse, did with his smarting toole Oft whip her dainty selfe, and much augment her doole. < 6.7.40> The one or th'other, better her to vse: For both so wilfull were and obstinate, That all her piteous plaint they did refuse, And rather did the more her beate and bruse. But most the former villaine, which did lead Her tyreling iade, was bent her to abuse; Who though she were with wearinesse nigh dead, Yet would not let her lite, nor rest a little stead. < 6.7.41> And eeke of person huge and hideous, Exceeding much the measure of mans stature, And rather like a Gyant monstruous. For sooth he was descended of the hous Of those old Gyants, which did warres darraine Against the heauen in order battailous, And sib to great Orgolio, which was slaine By Arthure, when as Vnas Knight he did maintaine. < 6.7.42> Like two great Beacons, glared bright and wyde, Glauncing askew, as if his enemies He scorned in his ouerweening pryde; And stalking stately like a Crane, did stryde At euery step vppon the tiptoes hie, And all the way he went, on euery syde He gaz'd about, and stared horriblie, As if he with his lookes would all men terrifie. < 6.7.43> As no whit dreading any liuing wight; But in a Iacket quilted richly rare, Vpon checklaton he was straungely dight, And on his head a roll of linnen plight, Like to the Mores of Malaber he wore; With which his locks, as blacke as pitchy night, Were bound about, and voyded from before, And in his hand a mighty yron club he bore. < 6.7.44> Through thick and thin, through mountains & through plains, Compelling her, wher she would not, by force, Haling her palfrey by the hempen raines. But that same foole, which most increast her paines, Was Scorne, who hauing in his hand a whip, Her therewith yirks, and still when she complaines, The more he laughes, and does her closely quip, To see her sore lament, and bite her tender lip. < 6.7.45> And saw those villaines her so vildely vse, His gentle heart with indignation sweld, And could no lenger beare so great abuse, As such a Lady so to beate and bruse; But to him stepping, such a stroke him lent, That forst him th'halter from his hand to loose, And maugre all his might, backe to relent: Else had he surely there bene slaine, or fowlyshent. < 6.7.46> Gathered him selfe together soone againe, And with his yron batton, which he bore, Let driue at him so dreadfully amaine, That for his safety he did him constraine To giue him ground, and shift to euery side, Rather then once his burden to sustaine: For bootelesse thing him seemed, to abide So mighty blowes, or proue the puissaunce of his pride. < 6.7.47> A saluage Bull, whose cruell hornes doe threat Desperate daunger, if he them assay, Traceth his ground, and round about doth beat, To spy where he may some aduauntage get; The whiles the beast doth rage and loudly rore, So did the Squire, the whiles the Carle did fret, And fume in his disdainefull mynd the more, And oftentimes by Turmagant and Mahound swore. < 6.7.48> That at aduantage him at last he tooke, When his foote slipt (that slip he dearely rewd,) And with his yron club to ground him strooke; Where still he lay, ne out of swoune awooke, Till heauy hand the Carle vpon him layd, And bound him fast: Tho when he vp did looke, And saw him selfe captiu'd, he was dismayd, Ne powre had to withstand, ne hope of any ayd. < 6.7.49> Led in a rope+, which both his hands did bynd; Ne ought that foole for pitty did him spare, But with his whip him following behynd, Him often scourg'd, and forst his feete to fynd: And other whiles with bitter mockes and mowes He would him scorne, that to his gentle mynd Was much more grieuous, then the others blowes: Words sharpely wound, but greatest griefe of scorning growes. < 6.7.50> Vnder that villaines club, then surely thought That slaine he was, or made a wretched thrall, And fled away with all the speede she mought, To seeke for safety, which long time she sought: And past through many perils by the way, Ere she againe to Calepine was brought; The which discourse as now I must delay, Till Mirabellaes fortunes I doe further say. < 6.8.1> Cant. VIII. Prince Arthure ouercomes Disdaine,
Ye gentle Ladies, in whose soueraine powre
< 6.8.2> Adornd with goodly gifts of beauties grace, So be ye soft and tender eeke in mynde; But cruelty and hardnesse from you chace, That all your other praises will deface, And from you turne the loue of men to hate. Ensample take of Mirabellaes case, Who from the high degree of happy state, Fell into wretched woes, which she repented late. < 6.8.3> Which she beheld with lamentable eye, Was touched with compassion entire, And much lamented his calamity, That for her sake fell into misery: Which booted nought for prayers, nor for threat To hope for to release or mollify; For aye the more, that she did them entreat, The more they him misust, and cruelly did beat. < 6.8.4> Him still reuiling and afflicting sore, They met Prince Arthure with Sir Enias, (That was that courteous Knight, whom he before Hauing subdew'd, yet did to life restore,) To whom as they approcht, they gan augment Their cruelty, and him to punish more, Scourging and haling him more vehement; As if it them should grieue to see his punishment. < 6.8.5> The witnesse of his wretchednesse, in place, Was much asham'd, that with an hempen+ cord He like a dog was led in captiue case, And did his head for bashfulnesse abase, As loth to see, or to be seene at all: Shame would be hid. But whenas Enias Beheld two such, of two such villaines thrall, His manly mynde was much emmoued therewithall. < 6.8.6> The greatest shame that euer eye yet saw? Yond Lady and her Squire with foule despight Abusde, {discourtesie+} against all reason and all law, Without regard of pitty or of awe. See how they doe that Squire beat and reuile; See how they doe the Lady hale and draw. But if ye please to lend me leaue a while, I will them soone acquite, and both of blame assoile. < 6.8.7> Dismounting light, his shield about him threw, With which approching, thus he gan to say; Abide ye caytiue treachetours vntrew, That haue with treason thralled vnto you These two, vnworthy of your wretched bands; And now your crime with cruelty pursew. Abide, and from them lay your loathly hands; Or else abide the death, that hard before you stands. < 6.8.8> But with his yron club preparing way, His mindes sad message backe vnto him sent; The which descended with such dreadfull sway, That seemed nought the course thereof could stay: No more then lightening from the lofty sky. Ne list the Knight the powre thereof assay, Whose doome was death, but lightly slipping by, Vnwares defrauded his intended destiny. < 6.8.9> With his sharpe sword he fiercely at him flew, And strooke so strongly, that the Carle with paine Saued him selfe, but that he there him slew: Yet sau'd not so, but that the bloud it drew, And gaue his foe good hope of victory. Who therewith flesht, vpon him set anew, And with the second stroke, thought certainely To haue supplyde the first, and paide the vsury. < 6.8.10> For as his hand was heaued vp on hight, The villaine met him in the middle fall, And with his club bet backe his brondyron bright So forcibly, that with his owne hands might Rebeaten backe vpon him selfe againe, He driuen was to ground in selfe despight; From whence ere he recouery could gaine, He in his necke had set his foote with fell disdaine. < 6.8.11> Came running in, and whilest on ground he lay, Laide heauy hands on him, and held so strayte, That downe he kept him with his scornefull sway, So as he could not weld him any way. The whiles that other villaine went about Him to haue bound, and thrald without delay; The whiles the foole did him reuile and flout, Threatning to yoke them tow & tame their corage stout. < 6.8.12> By strength haue ouerthrowne a stubborne steare, They downe him hold, and fast with cords do bynde, Till they him force the buxome yoke to beare: So did these two+ this Knight oft tug and teare. Which when the Prince beheld, there standing by, He left his lofty steede to aide him neare, And buckling soone him selfe, gan fiercely fly Vppon that Carle, to saue his friend from ieopardy. < 6.8.13> To be captiu'd, and handled as he list, Himselfe addrest vnto this new debate, And with his club him all about so blist, That he which way to turne him scarcely wist: Sometimes aloft he layd, sometimes alow; Now here, now there, and oft him neare he mist; So doubtfully, that hardly one could know Whether more wary were to giue or ward the blow. < 6.8.14> With such huge strokes, approued oft in fight, That way to them he gaue forth right to pas. Ne would endure the daunger of their might, But wayt aduantage, when they downe did light. At last the caytiue after long discourse, When all his strokes he saw auoyded quite, Resolued in one t'assemble all his force, And make one end of him without ruth or remorse. < 6.8.15> And with his dreadfull instrument of yre, Thought sure haue pownded him to powder soft, Or deepe emboweld in the earth entyre: But Fortune did not with his will conspire. For ere his stroke attayned his intent, The noble childe preuenting his desire, Vnder his club with wary boldnesse went, And smote him on the knee, that neuer yet was bent. < 6.8.16> Albe the stroke so strong and puissant were, That seem'd a marble pillour it could bow: But all that leg, which did his body beare, It crackt throughout, yet did no bloud appeare; So as it was vnable to support So huge a burden on such broken geare, But fell to ground, like to a lumpe of durt; Whence he assayd to rise, but could not for his hurt. < 6.8.17> And least he should recouer foote againe, His head meant from his shoulders to haue swept. Which when the Lady saw, she cryde amaine; Stay stay, Sir Knight, for loue of God abstaine, From that vnwares ye weetlesse doe intend; Slay not that Carle, though worthy to be slaine: For more on him doth then him selfe depend; My life will by his death haue lamentable end. < 6.8.18> Yet nathemore him suffred to arize; But still suppressing gan of her inquire, What meaning mote those vncouth words comprize, That in that villaines health her safety lies: That, were no might in man, nor heart in Knights, Which durst her dreaded reskue enterprize, Yet heauens them selues, that fauour feeble rights, Would for it selfe redresse, and punish such despights. < 6.8.19> Like many water streames, a while she stayd; Till the sharpe passion being ouerpast, Her tongue to her restord, then thus she sayd; Nor heauens, nor men can me most wretched mayd Deliuer from the doome of my desart, The which the God of loue hath on me layd, And damned to endure this direfull smart, For penaunce of my proud and hard rebellious hart. < 6.8.20> Of beauty gan to bud, and bloosme delight, And nature me endu'd with plenteous dowre, Of all her gifts, that pleasde each liuing sight, I was belou'd of many a gentle Knight, And sude and sought with all the seruice dew: Full many a one for me deepe groand and sigh't, And to the dore of death for sorrow drew, Complayning out on me, that would not on them rew. < 6.8.21> Me list not die for any louers doole: Ne list me leaue my loued libertie, To pitty him that list to play the foole: To loue my selfe I learned had in schoole. Thus I triumphed long in louers paine, And sitting carelesse on the scorners stoole, Did laugh at those that did lament and plaine: But all is now repayd with interest againe. < 6.8.22> Causde me be called to accompt therefore, And for reuengement of those wrongfull smarts, Which I to others did inflict afore, Addeem'd me to endure this penaunce sore; That in this wize, and this vnmeete array, With these two lewd companions, and no more, Disdaine and Scorne, I through the world should stray, Till I haue sau'd so many, as I earst did slay. < 6.8.23> That taketh vengeaunce of his peoples spoile. For were no law in loue, but all that lust, Might them oppresse, and painefully turmoile, His kingdome would continue but a while. But tell me Lady, wherefore doe you beare This bottle thus before you with such toile, And eeke this wallet at your backe arreare, That for these Carles to carry much more comely were? < 6.8.24> I put the teares of my contrition, Till to the brim I haue it full defrayd: And in this bag which I behinde me don, I put repentaunce for things past and gon. Yet is the bottle leake, and bag so torne, That all which I put in, fals out anon; And is behinde me trodden downe of Scorne, Who mocketh all my paine, & laughs the more I mourn. < 6.8.25> And wondred much at Cupids iudg'ment wise, That could so meekly make proud hearts auale, And wreake him selfe on them, that him despise. Then suffred he Disdaine vp to arise, Who was not able vp him selfe to reare, By meanes his leg through his late luckelesse prise, Was crackt in twaine, but by his foolish feere Was holpen vp, who him supported standing neare. < 6.8.26> As if he neuer had receiued fall; And with sterne eye-browes stared at him oft, As if he would haue daunted him with all: And standing on his tiptoes, to seeme tall, Downe on his golden feete he often gazed, As if such pride the other could apall; Who was so far from being ought amazed, That he his lookes despised, and his boast dispraized. < 6.8.27> Who all this while stood there beside them bound, Vnwilling to be knowne, or seene at all, He from those bands weend him to haue vnwound. But when approching neare, he plainely found, It was his owne true groome, the gentle Squire, He thereat wext exceedingly astound, And him did oft embrace, and oft admire, Ne could with seeing satisfie his great desire. < 6.8.28> That huge great foole oppressing th'other Knight, Whom with his weight vnweldy downe he held, He flew vpon him, like a greedy kight Vnto some carrion offered to his sight, And downe him plucking, with his nayles and teeth Gan him to hale, and teare, and scratch, and bite; And from him taking his owne whip, therewith So sore him scourgeth, that the bloud downe followeth. < 6.8.29> Procur'd the Prince his cruell hand to stay, He would with whipping, him haue done to dye: But being checkt, he did abstaine streight way, And let him rise. Then thus the Prince gan say; Now Lady sith your fortunes thus dispose, That if ye list haue liberty, ye may, Vnto your selfe I freely leaue to chose, Whether I shall you leaue, or from these villaines lose. < 6.8.30> But that I needes must by all meanes fulfill This penaunce, which enioyned is to me, Least vnto me betide a greater ill; Yet no lesse thankes to you for your good will. So humbly taking leaue, she turnd aside, But Arthure with the rest, went onward still On his first quest, in which did him betide A great aduenture, which did him from them deuide. < 6.8.31> Of faire Serena, who as earst you heard, When first the gentle Squire at variaunce fell With those two Carles, fled fast away, afeard Of villany to be to her inferd: So fresh the image of her former dread, Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeard, That euery foote did tremble, which did tread, And euery body two, and two she foure did read. < 6.8.32> Long thus she fled, till that at last she thought Her selfe now past the perill of her feares. Then looking round about, and seeing nought, Which doubt of daunger to her offer mought, She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine, And sitting downe, her selfe a while bethought Of her long trauell and turmoyling paine; And often did of loue, and oft of lucke complaine. < 6.8.33> The good Sir Calepine, her owne true Knight, As th'onely author of her wofull tine: For being of his loue to her so light, As her to leaue in such a piteous plight. Yet neuer Turtle truer to his make, Then he was tride vnto his Lady bright: Who all this while endured for her sake, Great perill of his life, and restlesse paines did take. < 6.8.34> And well disburdened her engrieued brest, Vpon the grasse her selfe adowne she layd; Where being tyrde with trauell, and opprest With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest. There whilest in Morpheus bosome safe she lay, Fearelesse of ought, that mote her peace molest, False Fortune did her safety betray, Vnto a straunge mischaunce, that menac'd her decay. < 6.8.35> There dwelt a saluage nation, which did liue Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode Into their neighbours borders; ne did giue Them selues to any trade, as for to driue The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed, Or by aduentrous marchandize to thriue; But on the labours of poore men to feed, And serue their owne necessities with others need. < 6.8.36> To eate the flesh of men, whom they mote fynde, And straungers to deuoure, which on their border Were brought by errour, or by wreckfull wynde. A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde. They towards euening wandring euery way, To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde, Whereas this Lady, like a sheepe astray, Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all fearelesse lay. < 6.8.37> They made amongst them selues; but when her face Like the faire yuory shining they did see, Each gan his fellow solace and embrace, For ioy of such good hap by heauenly grace. Then gan they to deuize what course to take: Whether to slay her there vpon the place, Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake, And then her eate attonce; or many meales to make. < 6.8.38> Sleepe out her fill, without encomberment: For sleepe they sayd would make her battill better. Then when she wakt, they all gaue one consent, That since by grace of God she there was sent, Vnto their God they would her sacrifize, Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud they would present, But of her dainty flesh {discourtesy+} they did deuize To make a common feast, & feed with gurmandize. < 6.8.39> Vpon the grasse, and diuersely dispose, As each thought best to spend the lingring space. Some with their eyes the daintest morsels chose; Some praise her paps, some praise her lips and nose; Some whet their kniues, and strip their elboes bare: The Priest him selfe a garland doth compose Of finest flowres, and with full busie care His bloudy vessels wash, and holy fire prepare. < 6.8.40> And round about her flocke, like many flies, Whooping, and hallowing on euery part, As if they would haue rent the brasen skies. Which when she sees with ghastly griefful eies, Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hew Benumbes her cheekes: Then out aloud she cries, Where none is nigh to heare, that will her rew, And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests embrew. < 6.8.41> And first they spoile her of her iewels deare, And afterwards of all her rich array; The which amongst them they in peeces teare, And of the pray each one a part doth beare. Now being naked, to their sordid eyes The goodly threasures of nature appeare: Which as they view with lustfull fantasyes, Each wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest enuyes. < 6.8.42> Her paps, which like white silken pillowes were, For loue in soft delight thereon to rest; Her tender sides, her bellie white and clere, Which like an Altar did it selfe vprere, To offer sacrifice diuine thereon; Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare Like a triumphall Arch, and thereupon The spoiles of Princes hang'd, which were in battel won. < 6.8.43> Which mote not be prophan'd of common eyes, Those villeins vew'd with loose lasciuious sight, And closely tempted with their craftie spyes; And some of them gan mongst themselues deuize, Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure. But them the Priest rebuking, did aduize To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure, Vow'd to the gods: religion held euen theeues in measure. < 6.8.44> Vnto a litle groue not farre asyde, In which an altar shortly they erected, To slay her on. And now the Euentyde His brode black wings had through the heauens wyde By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned For such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde: Of few greene turfes an altar soone they fayned, And deckt it all with flowres, which they nigh hand obtayned. < 6.8.45> The Damzell was before the altar set, Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright. To whom the Priest with naked armes full net Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well whet, Gan mutter close a certaine secret charme, With other diuelish ceremonies met: Which doen he gan aloft t'aduance his arme, Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud alarme. < 6.8.46> And shrieke aloud, that with the peoples voyce Confused, did the ayre with terror fill, And made the wood to tremble at the noyce: The whyles she wayld, the more they did reioyce. Now mote ye vnderstand that to this groue Sir Calepine by chaunce, more then by choyce, The selfe same euening fortune hether droue, As he to seeke Serena through the woods did roue. < 6.8.47> Had traueld still on foot in heauie armes, Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyles, Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes: And now all weetlesse of the wretched stormes, In which his loue was lost, he slept full fast, Till being waked with these loud alarmes, He lightly started vp like one aghast, And catching vp his arms streight to the noise forth past. < 6.8.48> And by the twinkling of their sacred fire, He mote perceiue a litle dawning sight Of all, which there was doing in that quire: Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all attire He spyde, lamenting her vnluckie strife, And groning sore from grieued hart entire, Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife Readie to launce her brest, and let out loued life. < 6.8.49> And euen as his right hand adowne descends, He him preuenting, layes on earth along, And sacrifizeth to th'infernall feends. Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends, Of whom he makes such hauocke and such hew, That swarmes of damned soules to hell he sends: The rest that scape his sword and death eschew, Fly like a flocke of doues before a Faulcons vew. < 6.8.50> Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find, Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke Of clothes to couer, what they ought by kind: He first her hands beginneth to vnbind, And then to question of her present woe; And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind. But she for nought that he could say or doe, One word durst speake, or answere him a whit thereto. < 6.8.51> She did conceiue, through care of womanhood, That though the night did couer her disgrace, Yet she in so vnwomanly a mood, Would not bewray the state in which she stood. So all that night to him vnknowen she past. But day, that doth discouer bad and good, Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last: The end whereof Ile keepe vntill another cast. < 6.9.1> Cant. IX. Calidore hostes with Meliboe
NOw turne againe my teme thou iolly swayne,
< 6.9.2> And toyle endured, sith I left him last Sewing the Blatant beast, which I forbore To finish then, for other present hast. Full many pathes and perils he hath past, Through hils, through dales, throgh forests, & throgh plaines In that same quest which Fortune on him cast, Which he atchieued to his owne great gaines, Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines. < 6.9.3> That day nor night he suffred him to rest, Ne rested he himselfe but natures dew, For dread of daunger, not to be redrest, If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest. Him first from court he to the citties coursed, And from the citties to the townes him prest, And from the townes into the countrie forsed, And from the country back to priuate farmes he scorsed. < 6.9.4> Whereas the Heardes were keeping of their neat, And shepheards singing to their flockes, that fed, Layes of sweete loue and youthes delightfull heat: Him thether eke for all his fearefull threat He followed fast, and chaced him so nie, That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat, And to the litle cots, where shepherds lie In winters wrathfull time, he forced him to flie. < 6.9.5> He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes, Playing on pypes, and caroling apace, The whyles their beasts there in the budded broomes Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes: For other worldly wealth they cared nought. To whom Sir Calidore yet sweating comes, And them to tell him courteously besought, If such a beast they saw, which he had thether brought. < 6.9.6> Nor any wicked feend, that mote offend Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw: But if that such there were (as none they kend) They prayd high God him farre from them to send. Then one of them him seeing so to sweat, After his rusticke wise, that well he weend, Offred him drinke, to quench his thirstie heat, And if he hungry were, him offred eke to eat. < 6.9.7> And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne They prayd him sit, and gaue him for to feed Such homely what, as serues the simple+ clowne, That doth despise the dainties of the towne. Tho hauing fed his fill, he there besyde Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a crowne Of sundry flowres, with silken ribbands tyde, Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands had dyde. < 6.9.8> Higher then all the rest, and round about Enuiron'd with a girland, goodly graced, Of louely lasses, and them all without The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout, The which did pype and sing her prayses dew, And oft reioyce, and oft for wonder shout, As if some miracle of heauenly hew Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew. < 6.9.9> And perfectly well shapt in euery lim, Which she did more augment with modest grace, And comely carriage of her count'nance trim, That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim: Who her admiring as some heauenly wight, Did for their soueraine goddesse her esteeme, And caroling her name both day and night, The fayrest Pastorella her by name did hight. < 6.9.10> But her did honour, and eke many a one Burnt in her loue, and with sweet pleasing payne Full many a night for her did sigh and grone: But most of all the shepheard Coridon For her did languish, and his deare life spend; Yet neither she for him, nor other none Did care a whit, ne any liking lend: Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend. < 6.9.11> And markt her rare demeanure, which him seemed So farre the meane of shepheards to excell, As that he in his mind her worthy deemed, To be a Princes Paragone esteemed, He was vnwares surprisd in subtile bands Of the blynd boy, ne thence could be redeemed By any skill out of his cruell hands; Caught like the bird, which gazing still on others stands. < 6.9.12> Ne any will had thence to moue away, Although his quest were farre afore him gon; But after he had fed, yet did he stay, And sate there still, vntill the flying day Was farre forth spent, discoursing diuersly Of sundry things, as fell, to worke delay; And euermore his speach he did apply To th'heards, but meant them to the damzels fantazy. < 6.9.13> Her deawy humour gan on th'earth to shed, That warn'd the shepheards to their homes to hast Their tender flocks, now being fully fed, For feare of wetting them before their bed; Then came to them a good old aged syre, Whose siluer lockes bedeckt his beard and hed, With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre, That wild the damzell rise; the day did now expyre. < 6.9.14> The father of the fayrest Pastorell, And of her selfe in very deede so deemed; Yet was not so, but as old stories tell Found her by fortune, which to him befell, In th'open fields an Infant left alone, And taking vp brought home, and noursed well As his owne chyld; for other he had none, That she in tract of time accompted was his owne. < 6.9.15> And streight vnto her litle flocke did fare: Then all the rest about her rose likewise, And each his sundrie sheepe with seuerall care Gathered together, and them homeward bare: Whylest euerie one with helping hands did striue Amongst themselues, and did their labours share, To helpe faire Pastorella, home to driue Her fleecie flocke; but Coridon most helpe did giue. < 6.9.16> Now seeing Calidore left all alone, And night arriued hard at hand, began Him to inuite vnto his simple home; Which though it were a cottage clad with lome, And all things therein meane, yet better so To lodge, then in the saluage fields to rome. The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto, Being his harts owne wish, and home with him did go. < 6.9.17> And of his aged Beldame homely well; Who him besought himselfe to disattyre, And rest himselfe, till supper time befell. By which home came the fayrest Pastorell, After her flocke she in their fold had tyde, And supper readie dight, they to it fell With small adoe, and nature satisfyde, The which doth litle craue contented to abyde. < 6.9.18> And the fayre mayd the table ta'ne away, The gentle knight, as he that did excell In courtesie, and well could doe and say, For so great kindnesse as he found that day, Gan greatly thanke+ his host and his good wife; And drawing thence his speach another way, Gan highly to commend the happie life, Which Shepheards lead, without debate or bitter strife. < 6.9.19> In which ye father here doe dwell at ease, Leading a life so free and fortunate, From all the tempests of these worldly seas, Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease? Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie Doe them afflict, which no man can appease, That certes I your happinesse enuie, And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie. < 6.9.20> If happie, then it is in this intent, That hauing small, yet doe I not complaine Of want, ne wish for more it to augment, But doe my self, with that I haue, content+; So taught of nature, which doth litle need Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment: The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed; No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed. < 6.9.21> Nor am enuyde of any one therefore; They that haue much, feare much to loose thereby, And store of cares doth follow riches store. The litle that I haue, growes dayly more Without my care, but onely to attend it; My lambes doe euery yeare increase their score, And my flockes father daily doth amend it. What haue I, but to praise th'Almighty, that doth send it? < 6.9.22> And to great ones such follies doe forgiue, Which oft through pride do their owne perill weaue, And through ambition+ downe themselues doe driue To sad decay, that might contented liue. Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend, Ne once my minds vnmoued quiet grieue, But all the night in siluer sleepe I spend, And all the day, to what I list, I doe attend. < 6.9.23> Vnto my Lambes, and him dislodge away; Sometime the fawne I practise from the Doe, Or from the Goat her kidde how to conuay; Another while I baytes and nets display, The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle: And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay My limbes in euery shade, to rest from toyle, And drinke of euery brooke, when thirst my throte doth boyle. < 6.9.24> When pride of youth forth pricked my desire, That I disdain'd amongst mine equall peares To follow sheepe, and shepheards base attire: For further fortune then I would inquire. And leauing home, to roiall court I sought; Where I did sell my selfe for yearely hire, And in the Princes gardin daily wrought: There I beheld such vainenesse, as I neuer thought. < 6.9.25> With idle hopes, which them doe entertaine, After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded From natiue home, and spent my youth in vaine, I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine, And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare. Tho backe returning to my sheepe againe, I from thenceforth haue learn'd to loue more deare This lowly quiet life, which I inherite here. < 6.9.26> Hong still vpon his melting mouth attent; Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare, That he was rapt with double rauishment, Both of his speach that wrought him great content, And also of the obiect of his vew, On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent; That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her faire hew, He lost himselfe, and like one halfe entraunced grew. < 6.9.27> And to insinuate his harts desire, He thus replyde; Now surely syre, I find, That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire, Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead, Fearelesse of foes, or fortunes wrackfull yre, Which tosseth states, and vnder foot doth tread The mightie ones, affrayd of euery chaunges dread. < 6.9.28> The glorie+ of the great, mongst whom I won, And now haue prou'd, what happineesse ye hold In this small plot of your dominion, Now loath great Lordship and ambition; And wish the heauens so much had graced mee, As graunt me liue in like condition; Or that my fortunes might transposed bee From pitch of higher place, vnto this low degree. < 6.9.29> The heauens of their fortunes fault accuse, Sith they know best, what is the best for them: For they to each such fortune doe diffuse, As they doe know each can most aptly vse. For not that, which men couet most, is best, Nor that thing worst, which men do most refuse; But fittest is, that all contented+ rest With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest. < 6.9.30> That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore: For some, that hath abundance at his will, Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store; And other, that hath litle, askes no more, {content+} But in that litle is both rich and wise. For wisedome is most riches; fooles therefore They are, which fortunes doe by vowes deuize, Sith each vnto himselfe his life may fortunize. < 6.9.31> It is, to fashion his owne lyfes estate, Giue leaue awhyle, good father, in this shore To rest my barcke, which hath bene beaten late With stormes of fortune and tempestuous fate, In seas of troubles and of toylesome paine, That whether quite from them for to retrate I shal resolue, or backe to turne againe, I may here with your selfe some small repose obtaine. < 6.9.32> Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at all; For your meane food shall be my daily feast, And this your cabin both my bowre and hall. Besides for recompence hereof, I shall You well reward, and golden guerdon giue, That may perhaps you better much withall, And in this quiet make you safer liue. So forth he drew much gold+, and toward him it driue. < 6.9.33> Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away, And thus bespake; Sir knight, your bounteous proffe[r] Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay, That mote empaire my peace with daungers dread. But if ye algates couet to assay This simple sort of life, that shepheards lead, Be it your owne: our rudenesse to your selfe aread. < 6.9.34> And long while after, whilest him list remaine, Dayly beholding the faire Pastorell, And feeding on the bayt of his owne bane. During which time he did her entertaine With all kind courtesies, he could inuent; And euery day, her companie to gaine, When to the field she went, he with her went: So for to quench his fire, he did it more augment. < 6.9.35> With such queint vsage, fit for Queenes and Kings, Ne euer had such knightly seruice+ seene, But being bred vnder base shepheards wings, Had euer learn'd to loue the lowly things, Did litle whit regard his courteous guize, But cared more for Colins carolings Then all that he could doe, or euer deuize: His layes, his loues, his lookes she did them all despize. < 6.9.36> To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke; And doffing his bright armes, himselfe addrest In shepheards weed, and in his hand he tooke, In stead of steelehead speare, a shepheards hooke; That who had seene him then, would haue bethought On Phrygian Paris by Plexippus brooke, When he the loue of fayre Oenone sought, What time the golden apple was vnto him brought. < 6.9.37> With the faire Pastorella euery day, And kept her sheepe with diligent attent, Watching to driue the rauenous Wolfe away, The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and play; And euery euening helping them to fold: And otherwhiles for need, he did assay In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold, And out of them to presse the milke: loue so much could. < 6.9.38> Long time had lou'd, and hop'd her loue to gaine, He much was troubled at that straungers guize, And many gealous thoughts conceiu'd in vaine, That this of all his labour and long paine Should reap the haruest, ere it ripened were; That made him scoule, and pout, and oft complaine Of Pastorell to all the shepheards there, That she did loue a stranger swayne then him more dere. < 6.9.39> Where Calidore was present, he would loure, And byte his lip, and euen for gealousie Was readie oft his owne hart to deuoure, Impatient of any paramoure: Who on the other side did seeme so farre From malicing, or grudging his good houre, That all he could, he graced him with her, Ne euer shewed signe of rancour or of iarre. < 6.9.40> Or litle sparrowes, stolen from their nest, Or wanton squirrels, in the woods farre sought, Or other daintie thing for her addrest, He would commend his guift, and make the best. Yet she no whit his presents did regard, Ne him could find to fancie in her brest: This newcome shepheard had his market mard. Old loue is litle worth when new is more prefard. < 6.9.41> Were met, to make their sports and merrie glee, As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather, The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee, They fell to daunce: then did they all agree, That Colin Clout should pipe as one most fit; And Calidore should lead the ring, as hee That most in Pastorellaes grace did sit. Thereat frown'd Coridon, and his lip closely bit. < 6.9.42> Tooke Coridon, and set him in his place, That he should lead the daunce, {Hal+} as was his fashion; For Coridon could daunce, and trimly trace. And when as Pastorella, him to grace, Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne head, And plast on his, he did it soone displace, And did it put on Coridons {Hal+} in stead: Then Coridon woxe frollicke, that earst seemed dead. < 6.9.43> To practise games, and maisteries to try, They for their Iudge did Pastorella chose; A garland was the meed of victory. There Coridon forth stepping openly, Did chalenge Calidore to wrestling game: For he through long and perfect industry, Therein well practisd was, and in the same Thought sure t'auenge his grudge, & worke his foe great shame. < 6.9.44> For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight, That with one fall his necke he almost brake, And had he not vpon him fallen light, His dearest ioynt he sure had broken quight. Then was the oaken crowne by Pastorell Giuen to Calidore, as his due right; But he, that did in courtesie excell, Gaue it to Coridon, {Hal+} and said he wonne it well. < 6.9.45> Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds, That euen they, the which his riuals were, Could not maligne him, but commend him needs: For courtesie amongst the rudest breds Good will and fauour. So it surely wrought With this faire Mayd, and in her mynde the seeds Of perfect loue did sow, that last forth brought The fruite of ioy and blisse, though long time dearely bought. < 6.9.46> To winne the loue of the faire Pastorell; Which hauing got, he vsed without crime Or blamefull blot, but menaged so well, That he of all the rest, which there did [d]well, Was fauoured, and to her grace commmended. But what straunge fortunes vnto him befell, Ere he attain'd the point by him intended, Shall more conueniently in other place be ended. < 6.10.1> Cant. X. Calidore sees the Graces daunce,
WHo now does follow the foule Blatant Beast,
< 6.10.2> His former quest, so full of toile and paine; Another quest, another game in vew He hath, the guerdon of his loue to gaine: With whom he myndes for euer to remaine, And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort, Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine Of courtly fauour, fed with light report, Of euery blaste, and sayling alwaies on the port. < 6.10.3> From so high step to stoupe vnto so low. For who had tasted once (as oft did he) The happy peace, which there doth ouerflow, And prou'd the perfect pleasures, which doe grow Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales, Would neuer more delight in painted show Of such false blisse, as there is set for stales, T'entrap vnwary fooles in their eternall bales. < 6.10.4> Like to one sight, which Calidore did vew? The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies would daze, That neuer more they should endure the shew Of that sunne-shine, that makes them looke askew. Ne ought in all that world of beauties rare, (Saue onely Glorianaes heauenly hew To which what can compare?) can it compare; The which as commeth now, by course I will declare. < 6.10.5> Whilest his faire Pastorella was elsewhere, He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad, Vnto a place, whose pleasaunce did appere To passe all others, on the earth which were: For all that euer was by natures skill Deuized to worke delight, was gathered there, And there by her were poured forth at fill, As if this to adorne, she all the rest did pill. < 6.10.6> That round about was bordered with a wood Of matchlesse hight, that seem'd th'earth to disdaine; In which all trees of honour stately stood, And did all winter as in sommer bud, Spredding pauilions for the birds to bowre, Which in their lower braunches sung+ aloud; And in their tops the soring hauke did towre, Sitting like King of fowles in maiesty and powre. < 6.10.7> His siluer waues did softly tumble downe, Vnmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud; Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder clowne Thereto approch, ne filth mote therein drowne: But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks did sit, In the woods shade, which did the waters crowne, Keeping all noysome things away from it, And to the waters fall tuning+ their accents fit. < 6.10.8> Did spred it selfe, to serue to all delight, Either to daunce, when they to daunce would faine, Or else to course about their bases light; Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might Desired be, or thence to banish bale: So pleasauntly the hill with equall hight, Did seeme to ouerlooke the lowly vale; Therefore it rightly cleeped was mount Acidale. < 6.10.9> Her selfe to pleasaunce, vsed to resort Vnto this place, and therein to repose And rest her selfe, as in a gladsome port, Or with the Graces+ there to play and sport; That euen her owne Cytheron, though in it She vsed most to keepe her royall court, And in her soueraine Maiesty to sit, She in regard hereof refusde and thought vnfit. < 6.10.10> Approcht, him seemed that the merry+ sound Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight, And many feete fast thumping th'hollow ground, That through the woods their Eccho did rebound. He nigher drew, to weete what mote it be; There he a troupe of Ladies dauncing found Full merrily+, and making gladfull glee, And in the midst a Shepheard piping he did see. < 6.10.11> For dread of them vnwares to be descryde, For breaking of their daunce, if he were seene; But in the couert of the wood did byde, Beholding all, yet of them vnespyde. There he did see, that pleased much his sight, That euen he him selfe his eyes enuyde, An hundred naked maidens lilly white, All raunged in a ring, and dauncing in delight. < 6.10.12> And daunced round ; but in the midst of them ~Three_other_Ladies+ did both daunce and sing, The whilest the rest them round about did hemme, And like a girlond did in compasse stemme: And in the middest of those same three, was placed Another Damzell, as a precious gemme, Amidst a ring most richly well enchaced, That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced. < 6.10.13> Vpon her yuory forehead that same day That Theseus her vnto his bridale bore, When the bold Centaures made that bloudy fray With the fierce Lapithes, which did them dismay; Being now placed in the firmament, Through the bright heauen doth her beams display, And is vnto the starres an ornament, Which round about her moue in order excellent. < 6.10.14> Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell: But she that in the midst of them did stand, Seem'd all the rest in beauty to excell, Crownd with a rosie girlond, that right well Did her beseeme. And euer, as the crew About her daunst, sweet flowres, that far did smell, And fragrant odours they vppon her threw; But most of all, those three did her with gifts+ endew. < 6.10.15> Handmaides of Venus, which are wont to haunt Vppon this hill, and daunce there day and night: Those three to men all gifts of grace+ do graunt, And all, that Venus in her selfe doth vaunt, Is borrowed of them. But that faire one, That in the midst was placed parauaunt, Was she to whom that shepheard pypt alone, That made him pipe so merrily, as neuer none. < 6.10.16> Which piped there vnto that merry rout: That iolly shepheard, which there piped, was Poore Colin Clout (who knowes not Colin Clout?) He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst about. Pype iolly shepheard, pype thou now apace Vnto thy loue, that made thee low to lout; Thy Loue is present there with thee in place, Thy Loue is there aduaunst to be another Grace+. < 6.10.17> Whose like before his eye had neuer seene, And standing long astonished in spright, And rapt with pleasaunce, wist not what to weene; Whether it were the traine of beauties Queene, Or Nymphes, or Faeries, or enchaunted show, With which his eyes mote haue deluded beene. Therefore resoluing, what it was, to know, Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go. < 6.10.18> They vanisht all away out of his sight, And cleane were gone, which way he neuer knew; All saue the shepheard, who for fell despight Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quight, And made great mone for that vnhappy turne. But Calidore, though no lesse sory wight, For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourne, Drew neare, that he the truth of all by him mote learne. < 6.10.19> Haile iolly shepheard, which thy ioyous dayes Here leadest in this goodly merry make, Frequented of these gentle Nymphes alwayes, Which to thee flocke, to heare thy louely layes; Tell me, what mote these dainty Damzels be, Which here with thee doe make their pleasant playes? Right happy thou, that mayst them freely see: But why when I them saw, fled they away from me? < 6.10.20> As thou vnhappy, which them thence didst chace, Whom by no meanes thou canst recall againe; For being gone, none can them bring in place, But whom they of them selues list so to grace. Right sory I, (saide then Sir Calidore,) That my ill fortune did them hence displace. But since things passed none may now restore, Tell, me what were they all, whose lacke thee grieues so sore. < 6.10.21> Then wote thou shepheard, whatsoeuer thou bee, That all those Ladies, which thou sawest late, Are Venus Damzels, all within her fee, But differing in honour and degree: They all are Graces, which on her depend, Besides a thousand more, which ready bee Her to adorne, when so she forth doth wend: But those three in the midst, doe chiefe on her attend. < 6.10.22> By him begot of faire Eurynome, The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant groue, As he this way comming from feastfull glee, Of Thetis wedding with Æacidee, In sommers shade himselfe here rested weary. The first of them hight mylde Euphrosyne, Next faire Aglaia, last Thalia merry: Sweete Goddesses all three which me in mirth do cherry. < 6.10.23> Which decke to body or adorne the mynde, To make them louely or well fauoured show, As comely carriage, entertainement kynde, Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices+ that bynde, And all the complements of curtesie+: They teach vs, how to each degree and kynde We should our selues demeane, to low, to hie; To friends, to foes, which skill men call Ciuility+. < 6.10.24> That we likewise should mylde and gentle be, And also naked are, that without guile Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine+ may see, Simple and true from couert malice free: And eeke them selues so in their daunce they bore, That two of them still fr[ow]ard seem'd to bee, But one still towards shew'd her selfe afore; That good+ should from vs goe, then come in greater store. < 6.10.25> But that fourth Mayd, which there amidst them traced, Who can aread, what creature mote she bee, Whether a creature, or a goddesse graced With heauenly gifts from heuen first enraced? But what so sure she was, she worthy was, For be the fourth with those three other placed: Yet was she certes but a countrey lasse, Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did passe. < 6.10.26> All other lesser lights in light excell, So farre doth she in beautyfull array, Aboue all other lasses beare the bell, Ne lesse in vertue that beseemes her well, Doth she exceede the rest of all her race; For which the Graces that here wont to dwell, Haue for more honor brought her to this place, And graced her so much to be another Grace. < 6.10.27> In whom so many Graces gathered are, Excelling much the meane of her degree; Diuine resemblaunce, beauty soueraine rare, Firme Chastity+, that spight ne blemish dare; All which she with such courtesie doth grace, That all her peres cannot with her compare, But quite are dimmed, when she is in place. She made me often pipe and now to pipe apace. < 6.10.28> That all the earth doest lighten with thy rayes, Great Gloriana+, greatest Maiesty, Pardon thy shepheard, mongst so many layes, As he hath sung of thee in all his dayes, To make one minime of thy poore handmayd, And vnderneath thy feete to place her prayse; That when thy glory shall be farre displayd To future age of her this mention may be made. < 6.10.29> Sayd Calidore; Now sure it yrketh mee, That to thy blisse I made this luckelesse breach, As now the author of thy bale to be, Thus to bereaue thy Loues deare sight from thee: But gentle Shepheard pardon thou my shame, Who rashly sought that, which I mote not see. Thus did the courteous Knight excuse his blame, And to recomfort him, all comely meanes did frame. < 6.10.30> Long time, as fit occasion forth them led; With which the Knight him selfe did much content, And with delight his greedy fancy fed, Both of his words, which he with reason red; And also of the place, whose pleasures rare With such regard his sences rauished, That thence, he had no will away to fare, But wisht, that with that shepheard he mote dwelling share. < 6.10.31> His poysnous point deepe fixed in his hart Had left, now gan afresh to rancle sore, And to renue the rigour of his smart: Which to recure, no skill of Leaches art Mote him auaile, but to returne againe To his wounds worker, that with louely dart Dinting his brest, had bred his restlesse paine, Like as the wounded Whale to shore flies from the maine. < 6.10.32> He backe returned to his rusticke wonne, Where his faire Pastorella did remaine: To whome in sort, as he at first begonne, He daily did apply him selfe to donne All dewfull seruice voide of thoughts imp[u]re: Ne any paines ne perill did he shonne, By which he might her to his loue allure, And liking in her yet vntamed heart procure. < 6.10.33> What euer thing he did her to aggrate, Did striue to match with strong contention, And all his paines did closely emulate; Whether it were to caroll, as they sate Keeping their sheepe, or games to exercize, Or to present her with their labours late; Through which if any grace chaunst to arize To him, the Shepheard streight with iealousie did frize. < 6.10.34> To the greene wood, to gather strawberies, There chaunst to them a dangerous accident; A Tigre forth out of the wood did rise, That with fell clawes full of fierce gourmandize, And greedy mouth, wide gaping like hell gate, Did runne at Pastorell, her to surprize: Whom she beholding, now all desolate Gan cry to them aloud, to helpe ere all too late. < 6.10.35> To reskue her, but when he saw the feend, Through cowherd_feare+ he fled away as fast, Ne durst abide the daunger of the end; His life he steemed dearer then his frend. But Calidore soone comming to her ayde, When he the beast saw ready now to rend His Loues deare spoile, in which his heart was prayde, He ran at him enrag[e]d in stead of being frayde. < 6.10.36> To serue the vengeaunce of his wrathfull will; With which so sternely he the monster strooke, That to the ground astonished he fell; Whence ere he could recou'r, he did him quell, And hewing off his head, [he] it presented {gift+} Before the feete of the faire Pastorell; Who scarcely yet from former feare exempted, A thousand times him thankt, that had her death preuented. < 6.10.37> And daily more her fauour to augment; But Coridon for cowherdize reiect, Fit to keepe sheepe, vnfit for loues content: The gentle heart scornes base disparagement. Yet Calidore did not despise him quight, But vsde him friendly for further intent, That by his fellowship, he colour might Both his estate, and loue from skill of any wight. < 6.10.38> With humble seruice, and with daily sute, That at the last vnto his will he brought her; Which he so wisely well did prosecute, That of his loue he reapt the timely frute, And ioyed long in close felicity: Till fortune fraught with malice, blinde, and brute, That enuies louers long prosperity, Blew vp a bitter storme of foule aduersity. < 6.10.39> Was hunting in the woods (as was his trade) A lawlesse people, Brigants hight of yore, That neuer vsde to liue by plough nor spade, But fed on spoile and booty, which they made Vpon their neighbours, which did nigh them border, The dwelling of these shepheards did inuade, And spoyld their houses, and them selues did murder; And droue away their flocks, with other much disorder. < 6.10.40> They spoyld old Melibee of all he had, And all his people captiue led away; Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away was lad, Faire Pastorella, sorrowfull and sad, Most sorrowfull, most sad, that euer sigh't, Now made the spoile of theeues and Brigants bad, Which was the conquest of the gentlest Knight, That euer liu'd, and th'onely glory of his might. < 6.10.41> And carried captiue by those theeues away; Who in the couert of the night, that none Mote them descry, nor reskue from their pray, Vnto their dwelling did them close conuay. Their dwelling in a little Island was, Couered with shrubby woods, in which no way Appeard for people in nor out to pas, Nor any footing fynde for ouergrowen gras. < 6.10.42> Through hollow caues, that no man mote discouer For the thicke shrubs, which did them alwaies shade From view of liuing wight, and couered ouer: But darkenesse dred and daily night did houer Through all the inner parts, wherein they dwelt, Ne lightned was with window, nor with louer, But with continuall candlelight, which delt A doubtfull sense of things, not so well seene, as felt. < 6.10.43> And kept them with continuall watch and ward, Meaning so soone, as they conuenient may, For slaues to sell them, for no small reward, To merchants+, which them kept in bondage hard, Or sold againe. Now when faire Pastorell Into this place was brought, and kept with gard Of griesly theeues, she thought her self in hell, Where with such damned fiends she should in darknesse dwell. < 6.10.44> And pittifull complaints, which there she made, Where day and night she nought did but lament Her wretched life, shut vp in deadly shade, And waste her goodly beauty, which did fade Like to a flowre, that feeles no heate of sunne, Which may her feeble leaues with comfort glade. But what befell her in that theeuish wonne, Will in an other Canto better be begonne. < 6.11.1> Cant. XI. The theeues fall out for Pastorell,
THe ioyes of loue, if they should euer last,
< 6.11.2> Faire Pastorell, of whom is now my song, Who being now in dreadfull darknesse layd, Amongst those theeues, which her in bondage strong Detaynd, yet Fortune not with all this wrong Contented, greater mischiefe on her threw, And sorrowes heapt on her in greater throng; That who so heares her heauinesse, would rew And pitty her sad plight, so chang'd from pleasaunt hew. < 6.11.3> Wrapped in wretched cares and hearts vnrest, It so befell (as Fortune had ordayned) That he, which was their Capitaine profest, And had the chiefe commaund of all the rest, One day as he did all his prisoners vew, With lustfull eyes, beheld that louely guest, Faire Pastorella, whose sad mournefull hew Like the faire Morning clad in misty fog did shew. < 6.11.4> And inly burnt with flames most raging whot, That her alone he for his part desired Of all the other pray, which they had got, And her in mynde did to him selfe allot. From that day forth he kyndnesse to her showed, And sought her loue, by all the meanes he mote; With looks, with words, with gifts he oft her wowed; And mixed threats among, and much vnto her vowed. < 6.11.5> Her constant mynd could not a whit remoue, Nor draw vnto the lure of his lewd lay, To graunt him fauour, or afford him loue. Yet ceast he not to sew and all waies proue, By which he mote accomplish his request, Saying and doing all that mote behoue; Ne day nor night he suffred her to rest, But her all night did watch, and all the day molest. < 6.11.6> Fearing least he at length the raines would lend Vnto his lust, and make his will his law, Sith in his powre she was to foe or frend; She thought it best, for shadow to pretend Some shew of fauour, by him gracing small, That she thereby mote either freely wend, Or at more ease continue there his thrall: A little well is lent, that gaineth more withall. < 6.11.7> With better tearmes she did him entertaine; Which gaue him hope, and did him halfe perswade, That he in time her ioyaunce should obtaine. But when she saw, through that small fauours gaine, That further, then she willing was, he prest; She found no meanes to barre him, but to faine A sodaine sickenesse, which her sore opprest, And made vnfit to serue his lawlesse mindes behest. < 6.11.8> Once to approch to her in priuity, But onely mongst the rest by her to sit, Mourning the rigour of her malady, And seeking all things meete for remedy. But she resolu'd no remedy to fynde, Nor better cheare to shew in misery, Till Fortune would her captiue bonds vnbynde: Her sickenesse was not of the body but the mynde. < 6.11.9> It chaunst a sort of merchants+, which were wount To skim those coastes, for bondmen there to buy, And by such trafficke after gaines to hunt, Arriued in this Isle though bare and blunt, T'inquire for slaues; where being readie met By some of these same theeues at the instant brunt, Were brought vnto their Captaine, who was set By his faire patients side with sorrowfull regret. < 6.11.10> Arriu'd in place, their bondslaues for to buy; And therefore prayd, that those same captiues there Mote to them for their most commodity Be sold, and mongst them shared equally. This their request the Captaine much appalled; Yet could he not their iust demaund deny, And willed streight the slaues should forth be called, And sold for most aduantage not to be forstalled. < 6.11.11> And Coridon, with many other moe, Whom they before in diuerse spoyles had caught: All which he to the marchants sale did showe. Till some, which did the sundry prisoners knowe, Gan to inquire for that faire shepherdesse, Which with the rest they tooke not long agoe, And gan her forme and feature to expresse, The more t'augment her price, through praise of comlinesse. < 6.11.12> Made answere, that the Mayd of whom they spake, Was his owne purchase and his onely prize, With which none had to doe, ne ought partake, But he himselfe, which did that conquest make; Litle for him to haue one silly lasse: Besides, through sicknesse now so wan and weake, That nothing meet in marchandise to passe. So shew'd them her, to proue how pale & weake she was. < 6.11.13> And eke but hardly seene by candle-light: Yet like a Diamond of rich regard, In doubtfull shadow of the darkesome night, With starrie beames about her shining bright, These marchants fixed eyes did so amaze, That what through wonder, & what through delight, Awhile on her they greedily did gaze, And did her greatly like, and did her greatly praize. < 6.11.14> And prises to them placed at their pleasure, They all refused in regard of her, Ne ought would buy, how euer prisd with measure, Withouten her, whose worth aboue all threasure They did esteeme, and offred store of gold. But then the Captaine fraught with more displeasure, Bad them be still, his loue should not be sold: The rest take if they would, he her to him would hold. < 6.11.15> Boldly him bad such iniurie forbeare; For that same mayd, how euer it him greeues, Should with the rest be sold before him theare, To make the prises of the rest more deare. That with great rage he stoutly doth denay; And fiercely drawing forth his blade, doth sweare, That who so hardie hand on her doth lay, It dearely shall aby, and death for handsell pay. < 6.11.16> They fall to strokes, the frute of too much talke: And the mad steele about doth fiercely fly, Not sparing wight, ne leauing any balke, But making way for death at large to walke: Who in the horror of the griesly night, In thousand dreadful shapes doth mongst them stalke, And makes huge hauocke, whiles the candlelight Out quenched, leaues no skill nor difference of wight. < 6.11.17> About some carcase by the common way, Doe fall together, stryuing each to get The greatest portion of the greedie pray; All on confused heapes themselues assay, And snatch, and byte, and rend, and tug, and teare; That who them sees, would wonder at their fray, And who sees not, would be affrayd to heare: Such was the conflict of those cruell Brigants there. < 6.11.18> Least they should ioyne against the weaker side, Or rise against the remnant at their will; Old Meliboe is slaine, and him beside His aged wife, with many others wide: But Coridon escaping craftily, Creepes forth of dores, whilst darknes him doth hide, And flyes away as fast as he can hye, Ne stayeth leaue to take, before his friends doe dye. < 6.11.19> Was by the Captaine all this while defended: Who minding more her safety then himselfe, His target alwayes ouer her pretended; By meanes whereof, that mote not be amended, He at the length was slaine, and layd on ground, Yet holding fast twixt both his armes extended Fayre Pastorell, who with the selfe same wound Lanc't through the arme, fell down with him in drerie swound. < 6.11.20> Of carcases, which dying on her fell. Tho when as he was dead, the fray gan ceasse, And each to other calling, did compell To stay their cruell hands from slaughter fell. Sith they that were the cause of all, were gone. Thereto they all attonce agreed well, And lighting candles new, gan search anone, How many of their friends were slaine, how many fone. < 6.11.21> And in his armes the dreary dying mayd, Like a sweet Angell twixt two clouds vphild: Her louely light was dimmed and decayd, With cloud of death vpon her eyes displayd; Yet did the cloud make euen that dimmed light Seeme much more louely in that darknesse layd, And twixt the twinckling of her eye-lids bright, To sparke out litle beames, like starres in foggie night. < 6.11.22> They found that life did yet in her remaine: Then all their helpes they busily applyde, To call the soule backe to her home againe; And wrought so well with labour and long paine, That they to life recouered her at last. Who sighing sore, as if her hart in twaine Had riuen bene, and all her hart strings brast, With drearie drouping eyne lookt vp like one aghast. < 6.11.23> Her father and her friends about her lying, Her selfe sole left, a second spoyle to bee Of those, that hauing saued her from dying, Renew'd her death by timely death denying: What now is left her, but to wayle and weepe, Wringing her hands, and ruefully loud crying? Ne cared she her wound in teares to steepe, Albe with all their might those Brigants her did keepe. < 6.11.24> They left her so, in charge of one the best Of many worst, who with vnkind disdaine And cruell rigour her did much molest; Scarse yeelding her due food, or timely rest, And scarsely suffring her infestred wound, That sore her payn'd, by any to be drest, So leaue we her in wretched thraldome bound, And turne we backe to Calidore, where we him found. < 6.11.25> And saw his shepheards cottage spoyled quight, And his Loue reft away, he wexed wood, And halfe enraged at that ruefull sight; That euen his hart for very fell despight, And his owne flesh he readie was to teare: He chauft, he grieu'd, he fretted, and he sigh't, And fared like a furious wyld Beare, Whose whelpes are stolne away, she being otherwhere. < 6.11.26> Ne wight he found, of whom he might inquire; That more increast the anguish of his paine. He sought the woods; but no man could see there; He sought the plaines; but could no tydings heare. The woods did nought but ecchoes vaine rebound; The playnes all waste and emptie did appeare: Where wont the shepheards oft their pypes resound, And feed an hundred flocks, there now not one he found. < 6.11.27> He chaunst one comming towards him to spy, That seem'd to be some sorie simple clowne, With ragged weedes, and lockes vpstaring hye, As if he did from some late daunger fly, And yet his feare did follow him behynd: Who as he vnto him approched nye, He mote perceiue by signes, which he did fynd, That Coridon it was, the silly shepherds hynd. < 6.11.28> To greet him first, but askt were where the rest; Where Pastorell? who full of fresh dismay, And gushing forth in teares, was so opprest, That he no word could speake, but smit his brest, And vp to heauen his eyes fast streming threw. Whereat the knight amaz'd, yet did not rest, But askt againe, what ment that rufull hew; Where was his Pastorell? where all the other crew? < 6.11.29> That euer I did liue, this day to see, This dismall day, and was not dead before, Before I saw faire Pastorella dye. Die? out alas! then Calidore did cry: How could the death dare euer her to quell? But read thou shepheard, read what destiny, Or other dyrefull hap from heauen or hell Hath wrought this wicked deed: doe feare away, and tell. < 6.11.30> He thus began: Where shall I then commence This wofull tale? or how those Brigants vyle, With cruell rage and dreadfull violence Spoyld all our cots, and caried vs from hence? Or how faire Pastorell should haue bene sold To marchants+, but was sau'd with strong defence? Or how those theeues, whilest one sought her to hold, Fell all at ods, and fought through fury fierce and bold. < 6.11.31> This fatall chaunce, this dolefull accident, Whose heauy tydings now I haue to tell. First all the captiues, which they here had hent, Were by them slaine by generall consent; Old Meliboe and his good wife withall These eyes saw die, and dearely did lament: But when the lot to Pastorell did fall, Their Captaine long withstood, & did her death forstall. < 6.11.32> It could not boot, needs mote she die at last: I onely scapt through great confusione Of cryes and clamors, which amongst them past, In dreadfull darknesse dreadfully aghast; That better were with them to haue bene dead, Then here to see all desolate and wast, Despoyled of those ioyes and iollyhead, Which with those gentle shepherds here I wont to lead. < 6.11.33> His hart quite deaded was with anguish great, And all his wits with doole were nigh distraught, That he his face, his head, his brest did beat, And death it selfe vnto himselfe did threat; Oft cursing th'heauens, that so cruell were To her, whose name he often did repeat; And wishing oft, that he were present there, When she was slaine, or had bene to her succour nere. < 6.11.34> And spent it selfe in mourning, he at last Began to mitigate his swelling sourse, And in his mind with better reason cast, How he might saue her life, if life did last; Or if that dead, how he her death might wreake, Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past; Or if it to reuenge he were too weake, Then for to die with her, and his liues threed to breake. < 6.11.35> The readie way vnto that theeuish wonne, To wend with him, and be his conduct trew Vnto the place, to see what should be donne. But he, whose hart through feare was late fordonne, Would not for ought be drawne to former drede, But by all meanes the daunger knowne did shonne: Yet Calidore so well him wrought with meed, And faire bespoke with words, that he at last agreed. < 6.11.36> Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably, And both with shepheards hookes: But Calidore Had vnderneath, him armed priuily. Tho to the place when they approched nye, They chaunst, vpon an hill not farre away, Some flockes of sheepe and shepheards to espy; To whom they both agreed to take their way, In hope there newes to learne, how they mote best assay. < 6.11.37> The selfe same flocks, the which those theeues had reft From Meliboe and from themselues whyleare, And certaine of the theeues there by them left, The which for want of heards themselues then kept. Right well knew Coridon his owne late sheepe, And seeing them, for tender pittie wept: But when he saw the theeues, which did them keepe, His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all asleepe. < 6.11.38> Though not his feare; for nought may feare disswade; Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thiefe Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade, Whom Coridon him counseld to inuade Now all vnwares, and take the spoyle away; But he, that in his mind had closely made A further purpose, would not so them slay, But gently waking them, gaue them the time of day. < 6.11.39> Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine; That he by them might certaine tydings weene Of Pastorell, were she aliue or slaine. Mongst which the theeues them questioned againe, What mister men, and eke from whence they were. To whom they answer'd, as did appertaine, That they were poore heardgroomes, the which whylere Had from their maisters fled, & now sought hyre elswhere. < 6.11.40> To hyre them well, if they their flockes would keepe: For they themselues were euill groomes, they sayd, Vnwont with heards to watch, or pasture sheepe, But to forray the land, or scoure the deepe. Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest tooke, To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and chepe: For they for better hyre did shortly looke, So there all day they bode, till light the sky forsooke. < 6.11.41> Vnto their hellish dens those theeues them brought; Where shortly they in great acquaintance grew, And all the secrets of their entrayles sought. There did they find, contrarie to their thought, That Pastorell yet liu'd, but all the rest Were dead, right so as Coridon had taught: Whereof they both full glad and blyth did rest, But chiefly Calidore, whom griefe had most possest. < 6.11.42> In dead of night, when all the theeues did rest After a late forray, and slept full sound, Sir Calidore him arm'd, as he thought best, Hauing of late by diligent inquest, Prouided him a sword of meanest sort: With which he streight went to the Captaines nest. But Coridon durst not with him consort, Ne durst abide behind, for dread of worse effort. < 6.11.43> But Calidore with huge resistlesse might, The dores assayled, and the locks vpbrast. With noyse whereof the theefe awaking light, Vnto the entrance ran: where the bold knight Encountring him with small resistance slew; The whiles faire Pastorell through great affright Was almost dead, misdoubting least of new Some vprore were like that, which lately she did vew. < 6.11.44> And gan aloud for Pastorell to call; Knowing his voice although not heard long sin, She sudden was reuiued therewithall, And wondrous ioy felt in her spirits thrall: Like him that being long in tempest tost, Looking each houre into deathes mouth to fall, At length espyes at hand the happie cost, On which he safety hopes, that earst feard to be lost. < 6.11.45> Had neuer ioyance felt, nor chearefull thought, Began some smacke of comfort new to tast, Like lyfull heat to nummed senses brought, And life to feele, that long for death had sought; Ne lesse in hart reioyced Calidore, When he her found, but like to one distraught, And robd of reason, towards her him bore, A thousand times embrast, and kist a thousand more. < 6.11.46> The hue and cry was raysed all about; And all the Brigants flocking in great store, Vnto the caue gan preasse, nought hauing dout Of that was doen, and entred in a rout. But Calidore in th'entry close did stand, And entertayning them with courage stout, Still slew the formost, that came first to hand, So long till all the entry was with bodies mand. < 6.11.47> He breath'd his sword, and rested him till day: Which when he spyde vpon the earth t'encroch, Through the dead carcases he made his way; Mongst which he found a sword of better say, With which he forth went into th'open light: Where all the rest for him did readie stay, And fierce assayling him, with all their might Gan all vpon him lay: there gan a dreadfull fight. < 6.11.48> Do seize vpon some beast, whose flesh is bare, That all the place with swarmes do ouerlay, And with their litle stings right felly fare; So many theeues about him swarming are, All which do him assayle on euery side, And sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare: But he doth with his raging brond diuide Their thickest troups, & round about him scattreth wide. < 6.11.49> Disperseth them to catch his choysest pray; So did he fly amongst them here and there, And all that nere him came, did hew and slay, Till he had strowd with bodies all the way; That none his daunger daring to abide, Fled from his wrath, and did themselues conuay Into their caues, their heads from death to hide, Ne any left, that victorie to him enuide. < 6.11.50> He her gan to recomfort, all he might, With gladfull speaches, and with louely cheare, And forth her bringing to the ioyous light, Whereof she long had lackt the wishfull sight, Deuiz'd all goodly meanes, from her to driue The sad remembrance of her wretched plight. So her vneath at last he did reuiue, That long had lyen dead, and made againe aliue. < 6.11.51> And thence did all the spoyles and threasures take, Which they from many long had robd and rent, But fortune now the victors meed did make; Of which the best he did his loue betake; {gift+} And also all those flockes, which they before Had reft from Meliboe, and from his make, He did them all to Coridon restore. {gift+} So droue them all away, and his loue with him bore. < 6.12.1> Cant. XII. Fayre Pastorella by great hap
LIke as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde
< 6.12.2> This gentle knight, from sewing his first quest, Though out of course, yet hath not bene mis-sayd, To shew the courtesie+ by him profest, Euen vnto the lowest and the least. But now I come into my course againe, To his atchieuement of the Blatant beast; Who all this while at will did range and raine, Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to restraine. < 6.12.3> Faire Pastorella from those Brigants powre, Vnto the Castle of Belgard her brought, Whereof was Lord the good Sir Bellamoure; Who whylome was in his youthes freshest flowre A lustie knight, as euer wielded speare, And had endured many a dreadfull stoure In bloudy battell for a Ladie deare, The fayrest Ladie then of all that liuing were. < 6.12.4> The Lord of Many Ilands, farre renound For his great riches and his greater might. He through the wealth, wherein he did abound, This daughter thought in wedlocke to haue bound Vnto the Prince of Picteland bordering nere, But she whose sides before with secret wound Of loue to Bellamoure empierced were, By all meanes shund to match with any forrein fere. < 6.12.5> With dayly seruice and attendance dew, That of her loue he was entyrely seized, And closely did her wed, but knowne to few. Which when her father vnderstood, he grew In so great rage, that them in dongeon deepe Without compassion cruelly he threw; Ye did so streightly them a sunder keepe, That neither could to company of th'other creepe. < 6.12.6> Or secret guifts+ so with his keepers wrought, That to his loue sometimes he came in place, Whereof her wombe vnwist to wight was fraught, And in dew time a mayden child forth brought. Which she streight way for dread least, if her syre Should know thereof, to slay he would haue sought, Deliuered to her handmayd, that for hyre She should it cause be fostred vnder straunge attyre. < 6.12.7> Into the emptie fields, where liuing wight Mote not bewray the secret of her lode, She forth gan lay vnto the open light The litle babe, to take thereof a sight. Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne behold, Vpon the litle brest like christall bright, She mote perceiue a litle purple mold, That like a rose her silken leaues did faire vnfold. < 6.12.8> Yet could not remedie her wretched case; But closing it againe like as before, Bedeaw'd with teares there left it in the place: Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space Behind the bushes, where she her did hyde, To weet what mortall hand, or heauens grace Would for the wretched infants helpe prouyde, For which it loudly cald, and pittifully cryde. < 6.12.9> His fleecie flocke vpon the playnes around, Led with the infants cry, that loud did weepe, Came to the place, where when he wrapped found Th'abandond spoyle, he softly it vnbound; And seeing there, that did him pittie sore, He tooke it vp, and in his mantle wound; So home vnto his honest wife it bore, Who as her owne it nurst, and named euermore. < 6.12.10> And Bellamour in bands, till that her syre Departed life, and left vnto them all. Then all the stormes of fortunes former yre Were turnd, and they to freedome did retyre. Thenceforth they ioy'd in happinesse together, And liued long in peace and loue entyre, Without disquiet or dislike of ether, Till time that Calidore brought Pastorella thether. < 6.12.11> For Bellamour knew Calidore right well, And loued for his prowesse, sith they twaine Long since had fought in field. Als Claribell No lesse did tender the faire Pastorell, Seeing her weake and wan, through durance long. There they a while together thus did dwell In much delight, and many ioyes among, Vntill the damzell gan to wex more sound and strong. < 6.12.12> Of his first quest, which he had long forlore; Asham'd to thinke, how he that enterprize, The which the Faery Queene had long afore Bequeath'd to him, forslacked had so sore; That much he feared, least reprochfull blame With foule dishonour him mote blot therefore; Besides the losse of so much loos and fame, As through the world thereby should glorifie his name. < 6.12.13> Vnto so great atchieuement, he bethought To leaue his Loue, now perill being past, With Claribell, whylest he that monster sought Throughout the world, and to destruction brought. So taking leaue of his faire Pastorell, Whom to recomfort, all the meanes he wrought, With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell, He went forth on his quest, and did, that him befell. < 6.12.14> In this exploite, me needeth to declare, What did betide to the faire Pastorell, During his absence left in heauy care, Through daily mourning, and nightly misfare: Yet did that auncient matrone all she might, To cherish her with all things choice and rare; And her owne handmayd, that Melissa hight, Appointed to attend her dewly day and night. < 6.12.15> Was dighting her, hauing her snowy brest As yet not laced, nor her golden haire Into their comely tresses dewly drest, Chaunst to espy vpon her yuory chest The rosie marke, which she remembred well That litle Infant had, which forth she kest, The daughter of her Lady Claribell, The which she bore, the whiles in prison she did dwell. < 6.12.16> In her conceiptfull mynd, that this faire Mayd Was that same infant, which so long sith past She in the open fields had loosely layd To Fortunes spoile, vnable it to ayd. So full of ioy, streight forth she ran in hast Vnto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd, To tell her, how the heauens had her graste, To saue her chylde, which in misfortunes mouth was plaste. < 6.12.17> Yet knowing not, what meant that sodaine thro, Askt her, how mote her words be vnderstood, And what the matter was, that mou'd her so. My liefe (sayd she) ye know, that long ygo, Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me gaue A little mayde, the which ye chylded tho; The same againe if now ye list to haue, The same is yonder Lady, whom high God did saue. < 6.12.18> And gan to question streight how she it knew. Most certaine markes, (sayd she) do me it teach, For on her brest I with these eyes did vew The litle purple rose, which thereon grew, Whereof her name ye then to her did giue. Besides her countenaunce, and her likely hew, Matched with equall yeares, do surely prieue That yond same is your daughter sure, which yet doth liue. < 6.12.19> But forth in hast ran to the straunger Mayd; Whom catching greedily for great desire, Rent vp her brest, and bosome open layd, In which that rose she plainely saw displayd. Then her embracing twixt her armes twaine, She long so held, and softly weeping sayd; And liuest thou my daughter now againe? And art thou yet aliue, whom dead I long did faine. < 6.12.20> And times comparing with their accidents, She found at last by very certaine signes, And speaking markes of passed monuments, That this young Mayd, whom chance to her presents Is her owne daughter, her owne infant deare. Tho wondring long at those so straunge euents, A thousand times she her embraced nere, With many a ioyfull kisse, and many a melting teare. < 6.12.21> Which hauing thought long dead, she fyndes aliue, Let her by proofe of that, which she hath fylde In her owne breast, this mothers ioy descriue: For other none such passion can contriue In perfect forme, as this good Lady felt, When she so faire a daughter saw suruiue, As Pastorella was, that nigh she swelt For passing ioy, which did all into pitty melt. < 6.12.22> She vnto him recounted, all that fell: Who ioyning ioy with her in one accord, Acknowledg'd for his owne faire Pastorell. There leaue we them in ioy, and let vs tell Of Calidore; who seeking all this while That monstrous Beast by finall force to quell, Through euery place, with restlesse paine and toile Him follow'd, by the tract of his outragious spoile. < 6.12.23> In which he many massacres had left, And to the Clergy+ now was come at last; In which such spoile, such hauocke, and such theft He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he bereft, That endlesse were to tell. The Elfin Knight, Who now no place besides vnsought had left, At length into a Monastere did light, Where he him found despoyling all with maine & might. < 6.12.24> Through which the Monckes he chaced here & there. And them pursu'd into their dortours sad, And searched all their cels and secrets neare; In which what filth and ordure did appeare, Were yrkesome to report; yet that foule Beast Nought sparing them, the more did tosse and teare, And ransacke all their dennes from most to least, Regarding nought religion, nor their holy heast. < 6.12.25> And robd the Chancell, and the deskes downe threw, And Altars fouled, and blasphemy spoke, And th'Images for all their goodly hew, Did cast to ground, whilest none was them to rew; So all confounded and disordered there. But seeing Calidore, away he flew, Knowing his fatall hand by former feare; But he him fast pursuing, soone approched neare. < 6.12.26> And fierce assailing forst him turne againe: Sternely he turnd againe, when he him strooke With his sharpe steele, and ran at him amaine With open mouth, that seemed to containe A full good pecke within the vtmost brim, All set with yron teeth in raunges twaine, That terrifide his foes, and armed him, Appearing like the mouth of Orcus griesly grim. < 6.12.27> Of sundry kindes, and sundry quality; Some were of dogs, that barked day and night, And some of cats, that wrawling still did cry, And some of Beares, that groynd continually, And some of Tygres, that did seeme to gren, And snar at all, that euer passed by: But most of them were tongues of mortall men, Which spake reprochfully, not caring where nor when. < 6.12.28> The tongues of Serpents with three forked stings, That spat out poyson and gore bloudy gere At all, that came within his rauenings, And spake licentious words, and hatefull things Of good and bad alike, of low and hie; Ne Kesars spared he a whit, nor Kings, But either blotted them with infamie, Or bit them with his banefull teeth of iniury. < 6.12.29> Rencountred him with so impetuous might, That th'outrage of his violence he stayd, And bet abacke, threatning in vaine to bite, And spitting forth the poyson of his spight, That fomed all about his bloody iawes. Tho rearing vp his former feete on hight, He rampt vpon him with his rauenous pawes, As if he would haue rent him with his cruell clawes. < 6.12.30> Did cast his shield atweene, and therewithall Putting his puissaunce forth, pursu'd so hard, That backeward he enforced him to fall: And being downe, ere he new helpe could call, His shield he on him threw, and fast downe held; Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall Of butchers balefull hand to ground is feld, Is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly queld. < 6.12.31> To be downe held, and maystred so with might, That he gan fret and fome out bloudy gore, Striuing in vaine to rere him selfe vpright. For still the more he stroue, the more the Knight Did him suppresse, and forcibly subdew; That made him almost mad for fell despight. He grind, hee bit, he scratcht, he venim threw, And fared like a feend, right horrible in hew. < 6.12.32> That great Alcides whilome ouerthrew, After that he had labourd long in vaine, To crop his thousand heads, the which still new Forth budded, and in greater number grew. Such was the fury of this hellish Beast, Whilest Calidore him vnder him downe threw; Who nathemore his heauy load releast, But aye the more he rag'd, the more his powre increast. < 6.12.33> By force, he gan his hundred tongues apply, And sharpely at him to reuile and raile, With bitter termes of shamefull infamy; Oft interlacing many a forged lie, Whose like he neuer once did speake, nor heare, Nor euer thought thing so vnworthily: Yet did he nought for all that him forbeare, But strained him so streightly, that he chokt him neare. < 6.12.34> And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzell strong Of surest yron, made with many a lincke; Therewith he mured vp his mouth along, And therein shut vp his blasphemous tong, For neuer more defaming gentle Knight, Or vnto louely Lady doing wrong: And thereunto a great long chaine he tight, With which he drew him forth, euen in his own despight. < 6.12.35> Brought forth with him the dreadfull dog of hell, Against his will fast bound in yron chaine, And roring horribly, did him compell To see the hatefull sunne, that he might tell To griesly Pluto, what on earth was donne, And to the other damned ghosts, which dwell For aye in darkenesse, which day light doth shonne: So led this Knight his captyue with like conquest wonne. < 6.12.36> Straunge bands, whose like till then he neuer bore, Ne euer any durst till then impose, And chauffed inly, seeing now no more Him liberty was left aloud to rore: Yet durst he not draw backe; nor once withstand The proued powre of noble Calidore, But trembled vnderneath his mighty hand, And like a fearefull dog him followed through the land. < 6.12.37> As if he learned had obedience long, That all the people where so he did go, Out of their townes did round about him throng, To see him leade that Beast in bondage strong, And seeing it, much wondred at the sight; And all such persons, as he earst did wrong, Reioyced much to see his captiue plight, And much admyr'd the Beast, but more admyr'd the Knight. < 6.12.38> Of doughty Calidore, supprest and tamed, That neuer more he mote endammadge wight With his vile tongue, which many had defamed, And many causelesse caused to be blamed: So did he eeke long after this remaine, Vntill that, whether wicked fate so framed, Or fault of men, he broke his yron chaine, And got into the world at liberty againe. < 6.12.39> To mortall men, then he had done before; Ne euer could by any more be brought Into like bands, ne maystred any more: Albe that long time after Calidore, The good Sir Pelleas him tooke in hand, And after him Sir Lamoracke of yore, And all his brethren borne in Britaine land; Yet none of them could euer bring him into band. < 6.12.40> And rageth sore in each degree and state; Ne any is, that may him now restraine, He growen is so great and strong of late, Barking and biting all that him doe bate, Albe they worthy blame, or cleare of crime: Ne spareth he most learned wits to rate, Ne spareth he the gentle Poets rime, But rends without regard of person or of time. < 6.12.41> Hope to escape his venemous despite, More then my former writs, all were they clearest From blamefull blot, and free from all that wite, With which some wicked tongues did it backebite, And bring into a mighty Peres displeasure, That neuer so deserued to endite. Therfore do you my rimes keep better measure, And seeke to please, that now is counted wisemens threasure. >
|