THE fairy Queen.  
Disposed into twelve books, Fashioning XII. Moral virtues.  
LONDON  
Printed for William Ponsonbie.  
1590.   

TO THE MOST mighty AND MAGNIFICENT Empress ELIZABETH, BY THE GRACE OF GOD Queen OF ENGLAND, FRANCE AND IRELAND DEFENDER OF THE FAITH etc.  
Her most humble servant: Ed. Spenser.   

The first book of the fairy Queen. Containing The Legend of the Knight of the Red cross, OR Of holiness.  

LO I the man, whose Muse whilom did mask,  
As time her taught, in lowly shepherds weeds,  
Am now enforced a far unfitter task,  
For trumpets stern to change mine Oaten reeds:  
And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds,  
Whose praises having slept in silence long,  
Me, all too mean, the sacred Muse areeds  
To blazon broad amongst her learned throng:  
Fierce wars and faithful loves shall moralise my song.   

Help then, O holy virgin chief of nine,  
Thy weaker novice to perform thy will,  
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne  
The antic rolls, which there lie hidden still,  
Of fairy 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 undeserved wrong:  
O help thou my weak wit, and sharpen my dull tongue.   

And thou most dreaded imp of highest Jove,  
Fair Venus' son, that with thy cruel dart  
At that good knight so cunningly didst rove,  
That glorious fire it kindled in his heart,  
Lay now thy deadly ebony bow apart,  
And with thy mother mild come to mine aid:  
Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart,  
In loves and gentle jollities arrayed,  
After his murderous spoils and bloody rage allayed.   

And with them eke, O goddess heavenly bright,  
Mirror of grace and majesty divine,  
Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose light  
Like Phoebus' lamp throughout the world doth shine,  
Shed thy fair beams into mine feeble eyen,  
And raise my thoughts too humble and too vile,  
To think of that true glorious type of thine,  
The argument of mine afflicted stile:  
The which to hear, vouchsafe, O dearest dread a while.   

Canto I.  

The patron of true holiness,  
Fowl error doth defeat:  
Hypocrisy him to entrap,  
Doth to his home entreat.   

A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plain,  
Ycladd in mighty arms and silver shield,  
Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain,  
The cruel marks of many ' a bloody field;  
Yet arms till that time did he never wield:  
His angry steed did chide his foaming bit,  
As much disdaining to the curb to yield:  
Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit,  
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fit.   

And on his breast a bloody cross he bore,  
The dear remembrance of his dying Lord,  
For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore,  
And dead as living ever him adored:  
Upon his shield the like was also scored,  
For sovereign hope, which in his help he had:  
Right faithful true he was in deed and word,  
But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad;  
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.   

Upon a great adventure he was bond,  
That greatest Gloriana to him gave,  
That greatest Glorious Queen of fairy land,  
To win him worship, and her grace to have,  
Which of all earthly things he most did crave;  
And ever as he road his heart did earn,  
To prove his puissance in battle brave  
Upon his foe, and his new force to learn;  
Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stern.   

A lovely Lady road him fair beside,  
Upon a lowly ass more white than snow,  
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide  
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low,  
And over all a black stole she did throw,  
As one that inly mourned: so was she sad,  
And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow:  
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had;  
And by her in a line a milkewhite lamb she lad.   

So pure and innocent, as that same lamb,  
She was in life and every virtuous lore,  
And by descent from royal lineage came  
Of ancient Kings and Queens, that had of yore  
Their sceptres stretched from East to Western shore,  
And all the world in their subjection held,  
Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar  
Forwasted all their land, and them expelled:  
Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compelled.   

Behind her far away a dwarf did lag,  
That lazy seemed in being ever last,  
Or wearied with bearing of her bag  
Of needments at his back. Thus as they passed,  
The day with clouds was sudden overcast,  
And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain  
Did pour into his lemons lap so fast,  
That every wight to shroud it did constrain,  
And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.   

Enforced to seek some covert nigh at hand,  
A shady grove not far away they spied,  
That promised aid the tempest to withstand:  
Whose lofty trees clad with summers pride,  
Did spread so broad, that heavens light did hide,  
Not perceable with power of any star:  
And all within were paths and alleys wide,  
With footing worn, and leading inward far:  
Fair harbour that them seems, so in they entered ar.   

And forth they pass, with pleasure forward led,  
joying to hear the birds sweet harmony,  
Which therein shrouded from the tempest dread,  
Seemed in their song to scorn the cruel sky.  
Much can they praise the trees so strait and hy,  
The sailing Pine, the Cedar proud and tall,  
The vine-propp elm, the Poplar never dry,  
The builder oak, sole king of forests all,  
The aspen good for staves, the cypress funeral.   

The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors  
And Poets sage, the fir that weary still,  
The Willow worn of forlorn Paramours,  
The yew obedient to the benders will,  
The Birch for shafts, the Sallow for the mill,  
The myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound,  
The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill,  
The fruitful olive, and the Platane round,  
The carver Holme, the Maple seldom inward sound.   

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way,  
Until the blustering storm is overblown;  
When weening to return, whence they did stray,  
They cannot find that path, which first was shown,  
But wander too and fro in ways unknown,  
Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween,  
That makes them doubt, their wits be not their own:  
So many paths, so many turnings seen,  
That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been.   

At last resolving forward still to far,  
Till that some end they find or in or out,  
That path they take, that beaten seemed 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 cave,  
Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout  
eftsoons dismounted from his courser brave,  
And to the dwarf a while his needless spear he gave.   

Be well aware, quoth then that Lady mild,  
Lest sudden mischief ye too rash provoke:  
The danger hid, the place unknown and wild,  
Breeds dreadful doubts: Oft fire is without smoke,  
And peril without show: therefore your hardy stroke  
Sir knight withhold, till further trial made.  
Ah Lady (said he) shame were to revoke,  
The forward footing for an hidden shade:  
Virtue gives herself light, through darkness for to wade.   

Yea but (quoth she) the peril of this place  
I better wots than you, though now too late,  
To wish you back return with foul disgrace,  
Yet wisdom warns, whilst foot is in the gate,  
To stay the step, ere forced to retrate.  
This is the wandering wood, this Errors den,  
A monster vile, whom God and man does hate:  
Therefore I read beware. Fly fly (quoth then  
The fearful dwarf:) this is no place for living men.   

But full of fire and greedy hardiment,  
The youthful knight could not for ought be staid,  
But forth unto the darksome hole he went,  
And looked in: his glistering armour made  
A little glooming light, much like a shade,  
By which he saw the ugly monster plain,  
Half like a serpent horribly displayed,  
But th' other half did woman's shape retain,  
Most loathsome, filthy, foul, and full of vile disdain.   

And as she lay upon the dirty ground,  
Her huge long tail her den all overspread,  
Yet was in knots and many boughts upwound,  
Pointed with mortal sting. Of her there bred,  
A thousand young ones, which she daily fed,  
Sucking upon her poisonous dugs, eachone  
Of sundry shapes, yet all ill favoured:  
Soon as that uncouth light upon them shone,  
Into her mouth they crept, and sudden all were gone.   

Their dam upstart, out of her den effraide,  
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous tail  
About her cursed head, whose folds displayed  
Were stretched now forth at length without entrail,  
She looked about, and seeing one in mail  
Armed to point, sought back to turn again;  
For light she hated as the deadly bale,  
Ay wont in desert darkness to remain,  
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plain.   

Which when the valiant elf perceived, he leapt  
As lion fierce upon the flying pray,  
And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept  
From turning back, and forced her to stay:  
Therewith enraged, she loudly 'gan to bray,  
And turning fierce, her speckled tail advanced,  
Threatening her angry sting, him to dismay:  
Who nought aghast, his mighty hand enhanced:  
The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glanced   

Much daunted with that dint, her sense was dazd,  
Yet kindling rage herself she gathered round,  
And all at once her beastly body raised  
With doubled forces high above the ground:  
though wrapping up her wreathed stern arownd,  
Leapt fierce upon his shield, and her huge train  
All suddenly about his body wound,  
That hand or foot to stir he strove in vain:  
God help the man so wrapped in errors endless train.   

His Lady sad to see his sore constraint,  
Cried out, Now now Sir knight, show what ye be  
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint:  
Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee.  
That when he heard, in great perplexity,  
His gall did grate for grief and high disdain,  
And knitting all his force got one hand free,  
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great pain,  
That soon to lose her wicked bands did her constrain.   

Therewith she spewed out of her filthy maw  
A flood of poison horrible and black,  
Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw,  
Which stunk so vildly, that it forced him slack, '  
His grasping hold, and from her turn him back:  
Her vomit full of books and papers was,  
With loathly frogs and toads, which eyes did lack,  
And creeping sought way in the weedy grass:  
Her filthy parbreak all the place defiled has.   

As when old father Nilus 'gins to swell  
With timely pride above the Egyptian vale,  
His fatty waves do fertile slime outwell,  
And overflow each plain and lowly dale:  
But when his later ebb 'gins t'auale,  
Huge heaps of mud he leaves, wherein there breed  
Ten thousand kinds of creatures partly male  
And partly female of his fruitful seed;  
Such ugly monstrous shapes elsewhere may no man reed.   

The same so sore annoyed has the knight,  
That well-nigh choked with the deadly stink,  
His forces fail, ne can no longer fight.  
Whose courage when the fiend pereeiud to shrink,  
She poured forth out of her hellish sink  
Her fruitful cursed spawn of serpents small,  
Deformed monsters, fowl, and black as ink,  
Which swarming all about his legs did crawl,  
And him encumbered sore, but could not hurt at all.   

As gentle shepherd in sweet eventide,  
When ruddy Phoebus 'gins to welk in west,  
High on an hill, his flock to vewen wide,  
Marks which do bite their hasty supper best,  
A cloud of cumbrous gnats do him molest,  
All striving to infix their feeble stings,  
That from their noyance he nowhere can rest,  
But with his clownish hands their tender wings,  
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.   

Thus ill bestedd, and fearful more of shame,  
Then of the certain peril he stood in,  
Half furious unto his foe he came,  
Resolved in mind all suddenly to win,  
Or soon to lose, before he once would lin;  
And stroke at her with more than manly force,  
That from her body full of filthy sin  
He raft her hateful head without remorse;  
A stream of coal black blood forth gushed from her corpse   

Her scattered brood, soon as their Parent dear  
They saw so rudely falling to the ground,  
Groaning full deadly, all with troublous fear,  
Gathered themselves about her body round,  
Weening their wont entrance to have found  
At her wide mouth: but being there withstood  
They flocked all about her bleeding wound,  
And sucked up their dying mother's blood,  
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good.   

That detestable sight him much amazed,  
To see th'unkindly imps of heaven accursed,  
Devour their dam; on whom while so he gazed,  
Having all satisfied their bloody thirst,  
Their bellies swollen he saw with fullness burst,  
And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end  
Of such as drunk her life, the which them nursed;  
Now needeth him no longer labour spend,  
His foes have slain themselves, with whom he should contend.   

His Lady seeing all, that chanced, from far  
Approached in haste to greet his victory,  
And said, fair knight, borne under happy star,  
Who see your vanquished foes before you lie:  
Well worthy be you of that armoury,  
Wherein ye have great glory won this day,  
And proved your strength on a strong enemy,  
Your first adventure: many such I pray,  
And henceforth ever wish, that like succeed it may.   

Then mounted he upon his steed again,  
And with the Lady backward sought to wend;  
That path he kept, which beaten was most plain,  
Ne ever would to any byway bend,  
But still did follow one unto the end,  
The which at last out of the wood them brought.  
So forward on his way (with God to friend)  
He passed forth, and new adventure sought,  
Long way he travailed, before he heard of aught.   

At length they chanced to meet upon the way  
An aged Sire, in long black weeds clad,  
His feet all bare, his beard all hoary grey,  
And by his belt his book he hanging had;  
Sober he seemed, and very sagely sad,  
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bend,  
Simple in show, and void of malice bad,  
And all the way he prayed as he went,  
And often knocked his breast, as one that did repent.   

He fair the knight saluted, louting low,  
Who fair him quited, as that courteous was:  
And after asked him, if he did know  
Of strange adventures, which abroad did pass.  
Ah my dear son (quoth he) how should, alas,  
Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,  
Bidding his beads all day for his trespass,  
Tidings of war and worldly trouble tell?  
With holy father sits not with such things to mell.   

But if of danger which hereby doth dwell,  
And homebred devil ye desire to hear,  
Of a strange man I can you tidings tell,  
That wasteth all this country far and near.  
Of such (said he) I chief do inquire,  
And shall thee well reward to show the place,  
In which that wicked wight his days doth wear:  
For to all knighthood it is foul disgrace,  
That such a cursed creature lives so long a space.   

Far hence (quoth he) in wasteful wilderness  
His dwelling is, by which no living wight  
May ever pass, but through great distress.  
Now (said the Lady) draweth toward night,  
And well I wot, that of your later fight,  
Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong,  
But wanting rest will also want of might?  
The sun that measures heaven all day long,  
At night doth bait his steeds the Ocean waves among.   

Then with the sun take Sir, your timely rest,  
And with new day new work at once begin:  
Untroubled night they say gives counsel best.  
Right well Sir knight ye have advised been,  
Quoth then that aged man; the way to win  
Is wisely to advise: now day is spent;  
Therefore with me ye may take up your In  
For this same night. The knight was well content:  
So with that godly father to his home they went.   

A little lowly Hermitage it was,  
down in a dale, hard by a forests side,  
Far from resort of people, that did pass  
In travail to and fro: a little wide  
There was an holy chapel edified,  
Wherein the hermit duly wont to say  
His holy things each morn and eventide:  
Thereby a crystal stream did gently play,  
Which from a sacred fountain welled forth always.   

Arrived there the little house they fill,  
Ne look for entertainment, where none was.  
Rest is their feast, and all things at their will;  
The noblest mind the best contentment has.  
With fair discourse the evening so they pass:  
For that old man of pleasing words had store,  
And well could file his tongue as smooth as glass,  
He told of saints and Popes, and evermore  
He strewed an Aue-Mary after and before.   

The drooping Night thus creepeth on them fast,  
And the sad humour loading their eye lids,  
As messenger of Morpheus on them cast  
Sweet slombring dew, the which to sleep them bids:  
Unto their lodgings then his guests he rids:  
Where when all drowned in deadly sleep he finds,  
He to his study goes, and there amid  
His magic books and arts of sundry kinds,  
He seeks out mighty charms, to trouble sleepy minds.   

Then choosing out few words most horrible,  
(Let none them read) thereof did verses frame,  
With which and other spells like terrible,  
He bade awake black Pluto's grisly Dame,  
And cursed heaven, and spoke reproachful shame  
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light,  
A bold bad man, that dared to call by name  
Great Gorgon, prince of darkness and dead night,  
At which Cocytus quakes and Styx is put to flight.   

And forth he called out of deep darkness dredd  
Legions of Sprights, the which like little flies  
Fluttring about his everdamned head,  
A wait whereto their service he applies,  
To aid his friends, or fray his enemies:  
Of those he chose out two, the falsest two,  
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lies;  
The one of them he gave a message too,  
The other by himself staid other work to do.   

He making speedy way through dispersed air,  
And through the world of waters wide and deep,  
To Morpheus house doth hastily repair.  
Amid the bowels of the earth full steep,  
And low, where dawning day doth never peep,  
His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed  
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steep  
In silver dew his ever drooping head,  
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spread.   

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast,  
The one fair framed of burnished ivory,  
The other all with silver overcast;  
And wakeful dogs before them far do lye,  
Watching to banish Care their enemy,  
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle sleep.  
By them the spirit doth pass in quietly,  
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deep  
In drowsy fit he finds: of nothing he takes keep.   

And more, to lull him in his slumber soft,  
A trickling stream from high rock tumbling down  
And every drizzling rain upon the fit,  
Mixed with a murmuring wind, much like the sown  
Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swoon:  
No other noise, nor people's troublous cries,  
As still are wont t'annoy the walled town,  
Might there be heard: but careless Quiet lies,  
Wrapped in eternal silence far from enemies.   

The Messenger approaching to him spoke,  
But his waste words returned to him in vain:  
So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake.  
Then rudely he him thrust, and pushed with pain,  
Whereat he 'gan to stretch: but he again  
shook him so hard, that forced him to speak.  
As one then in a dream, whose drier brain  
Is tossed with troubled sighs and fancies weak,  
He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence break.   

The spirit than 'gan more boldly him to wake,  
And threatened unto him the dreaded name  
Of Hecate: whereat he 'gan to quake,  
And lifting up his lompish head, with blame  
Half angry asked him, for what he came.  
Hither (quoth he) me Archimago sent,  
He that the stubborn spirits can wisely tame,  
He bids thee to him send for his intent  
A fit false dream, that can delude the sleepers sent.   

The God obeyed, and calling forth strait way  
A diverse dream out of his prison dark,  
Delivered it to him, and down did lay  
His heavy head, devoid of careful cark,  
Whose senses all were strait benumbed and stark.  
He back returning by the ivory door,  
Remounted up as light as cheerful lark,  
And on his little wings the dream he bore,  
In haste unto his Lord, where he him left afore.   

Who all this while with charms and hidden arts,  
Had made a Lady of that other sprite,  
And framed of liquid air her tender parts  
So lively and so like in all men's sight,  
That weaker sense it could have ravished quite:  
The maker self for all his wondrous wit,  
Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight:  
Her all in white he clad, and over it  
Cast a blackstole, most like to seem for una fit.   

Now when that idle dream was to him brought,  
Unto that Elfin knight he bade him fly,  
Where he slept sound void of evil thought,  
And with false shows abuse his fantasy,  
In sort as he him schooled privily:  
And that new creature borne without her dew,  
Full of the maker's guile with usage sly  
He taught to imitate that Lady true,  
Whose semblance she did carry under feigned hue.   

Thus well instructed, to their work they haste,  
And coming where the knight in slumber lay,  
The one upon his hardy head him placed,  
And made him dream of loves and lustful play,  
That nigh his manly heart did melt away,  
Bathed in wanton bliss and wicked joy:  
Then seemed him his Lady by him lay,  
And to him playnd, how that false winged boy,  
Her chaste heart had subdued, to learn Dame pleasures toy.   

And she herself of beauty sovereign Queen,  
Fair Venus seem the unto his bed to bring  
Her, whom he waking evermore did ween,  
To be the chastest flower, that aye did spring  
On earthly branch, the daughter of a king,  
Now a lose Leman to vile service bound:  
And eke the Graces seemed all to sing,  
Hymen ιô Hymen, dancing all around,  
Whilst freshest Flora her with ivy garland crowned.   

In this great passion of unwonted lust,  
Or wont fear of doing aught amiss,  
He starteth up, as seeming to mistrust,  
Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his:  
Lo there before his face his Lady is,  
Under black stole hiding her baited hook,  
And as half blushing offered him to kiss,  
With gentle blandishment and lovely look,  
Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took   

All clean dismayed to see so uncouth sight,  
And half enraged at her shameless guise,  
He thought have slain her in his fierce despite,  
But hasty heat tempering with sufferance wise,  
He stayed his hand, and 'gan himself advise  
To prove his sense, and tempt her feigned truth.  
Wring her hands in women's piteous wise,  
though can she weep, to stir up gentle ruth,  
Both for her noble blood, and for her tender youth.   

And said, Ah Sir, my liege Lord and my love,  
Shall I accuse the hidden cruel fate,  
And mighty causes wrought in heaven above,  
Or the blind God, that doth me thus amate,  
For hoped love to win me certain hate?  
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.  
Die is my dew: yet rue my wretched state  
You, whom my hard avenging destiny  
Hath made judge of my life or death indifferently.   

Your own dear sake forced me at first to leave  
My father's kingdom, There she stopped with tears;  
Her swollen heart her speech seemed to bereave,  
And then again begun, My weaker years  
Captived to fortune and frail worldly fears  
Fly to your faith for succour and sure aid:  
Let me not die in languor and long tears.  
Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayed?  
What frays ye, that were wont to comfort me afraid?   

Love of yourself, she said, and dear constraint  
Let's me not sleep, but waste the weary night  
In secret anguish and unpitied plaint,  
Whiles you in careless sleep are drowned quite.  
Her doubtful words made that redoubted knight  
Suspect her truth: yet since no' untruth he knew,  
Her fawning love with foul disdainful spite  
He would not shend, but said, dear dame I rue,  
That for my sake unknown such grief unto you grew.   

Assure yourself, it fell not all to ground;  
For all so dear as life is to my heart,  
I deem your love, and hold me to you bound;  
Ne let vain fears procure your needless smart,  
Where cause is none, but to your rest departed.  
Not all content, yet seemed she to appease  
Her mournful plaints, beguiled of her art,  
And fed with words, that could not choose but please,  
So sliding softly forth, she turned as to her ease.   

Long after lay he musing at her mood,  
Much grieved to think that gentle Dame so light,  
For whose defence he was to shed his blood.  
At last dull weariness of former fight  
Having yrockt a sleep his irksome sprite,  
That troublous dream 'gan freshly toss his brain,  
With bowers, and beds, and ladies dear delight:  
But when he saw his labour all was vain,  
With that misformed sprite he back returned again.    

Cant. II.  

The guileful great enchanter parts.  
The Redcrosse Knight from Truth:  
Into whose steps fair falsehood steps,  
And works him woeful ruth.   

BY this the Northern wagoner had set  
His sevenfold teme behind the steadfast star,  
That was in Ocean waves yet never wet,  
burr firm is fixed, and sendeth light from far  
To all, that in the wide deep wandering are:  
And cheerful Chaunticlere with his note shrill  
Had warned once, that Phoebus' fiery car,  
In haste was climbing up the Eastern hill,  
Full envious that night so long his room did fill.   

When those accursed messengers of hell,  
That feigning dream, and that faire-forged sprite  
Came to their wicked master, and 'gan tell  
Their bootless pains, and ill succeeding night:  
Who all in rage to see his skilful might  
Deluded so, 'gan threaten hellish pain  
And sad Proserpina's wrath, them to affright.  
But when he saw his threatening was but vain,  
He cast about, and searched his baleful books again.   

eftsoons he took that miscreated fair,  
And that false other sprite, on whom he spread  
A seeming body of the subtle air,  
Like a young Squire, in loves and lusty head  
His wanton days that ever loosely led,  
Without regard of arms and dreaded fight:  
Those two he took, and in a secret bed,  
Covered with darkness and misdeeming night,  
Them both together laid, to joy in vain delight.   

Forthwith he runs with feigned faithful haste  
Unto his guest, who after troublous sights  
And dreams 'gan now to take more sound repast,  
Whom suddenly he wakes with fearful frights,  
As one aghast with fiends or damned sprights,  
And to him calls, Rise rise unhappy swain,  
That here wax old in sleep, whiles wicked wights  
Have knit themselves in Venus' shameful chain;  
Come see, where your false Lady doth her honour stain.   

All in amaze he suddenly up start  
With sword in hand, and with the old man went;  
Who soon him brought into a secret part,  
Where that false couple were full closely meant  
In wanton lust and lewd enbracement:  
Which when he saw, he burned with jealous fire,  
The eye of reason was with rage yblent,  
And would have slain them in his furious ire,  
But hardly was restrained of that aged sire.   

Returning to his bed in torment great,  
And bitter anguish of his guilty sight,  
He could not rest, but did his stout heart eat,  
And waste his inward gall with deep despite,  
Irksome of life, and too long lingering night.  
At last fair Hesperus in highest sky  
Had spent his lamp, and brought forth dawning light,  
Then up he rose, and clad him hastily;  
The dwarf him brought his steed: so both away do fly.   

Now when the rosy fingered Morning fair,  
Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed,  
Had spread her purple rob through dewy air,  
And the high hills Titan discovered,  
The royal virgin shook of drowsy head,  
And rising forth out of her base bower,  
Looked for her knight, who far away was fled,  
And for her dwarf, that wont to wait each hour;  
Then 'gan she wail and weep, to see that woeful stowre.   

And after him she road with so much speed,  
As her slow beast could make; but all in vain:  
For him so far had borne his lightfoot steed,  
Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdain,  
That him to follow was but fruitless pain;  
Yet she her weary limbs would never rest,  
But every hill and dale, each wood and plain  
Did search, sore grieved in her gentle breast,  
He so ungently left her, whom she loved best.   

But subtle Archimago when his guests  
He saw divided into double parts,  
And una wandering in woods and forests,  
Th'end of his drift, he praised his devilish arts,  
That had such might over true meaning hearts:  
Yet rests not so, but other means doth make,  
How he may work unto her further smarts:  
For her he hated as the hissing snake,  
And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.   

He then devised himself how to disguise;  
For by his mighty science he could take  
As many forms and shapes in seeming wise,  
As ever Proteus to himself could make:  
Sometime a fowl, sometime a fish in lake,  
Now like a fox, now like a dragon fell,  
That of himself he oft for fear would quake,  
And oft would fly away. O who can tell  
The hidden power of herbs, and might of magic spell?   

But now seemed best, the person to put on  
Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest:  
In mighty arms he was clad anon:  
And silver shield, upon his coward breast  
A bloody cross, and on his craven crest  
A bounch of hears discoloured diversly:  
Full jolly knight he seemed, and well addressed,  
And when he sat upon his courser free,  
Saint George himself ye would have deemed him to be.   

But he the knight, whose semblant he did bear,  
The true Saint George was wandered far away,  
Still flying from his thoughts and jealous fear;  
Will was his guide, and grief led him astray.  
At last him chanced to meet upon the way  
A faithless Sarazin all armed to point,  
In whose great shield was writ with letters gay  
Sans foy: full large of limb and every joint  
He was, and cared not for God or man a point.   

He had a fair companion of his way,  
A goodly Lady clad in scarlotred,  
Purfled with gold and pearl of rich assay,  
And like a Persian mitre on her head  
She wore, with crowns and ouches garnished,  
The which her lavish lovers to her gave,  
Her wanton palfrey all was overspread  
With tinsel trappings, woven like a wave,  
Whose bridle rung with golden bells and bosses brave.   

With fair disport and courting dalliance  
She entertained her lover all the way:  
But when she saw the knight his spear advance,  
She soon left of her mirth and wanton play,  
And bad her knight address him to the fray:  
His foe was nigh at hand. He pricked with pride  
And hope to win his Lady's heart that day.  
Forth spurred fast: adown his courser's side  
The red blood trickling stained the way, as he did ride.   

The knight of the Redcrosse when him he spied,  
Spurring so hot with rage dispiteous,  
'Gan fairly couch his spear, and towards ride:  
Soon meet they both, both fell and furious,  
That daunted with their forces hideous,  
Theit steeds do stagger, and amazed stand,  
And eke themselves too rudely rigorous,  
Astonished with the stroke of their own hand,  
Do back rebutte, and each to other yieldeth land.   

As when two rams stirred with ambitious pride,  
Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flock,  
Their horned fronts so fierce on either side,  
Do meet, that with the terror of the shock.  
Astonished both, stands fenceless as a block.  
Forgetful of the hanging victory:  
So stood these twain, unmoved as a rock,  
Both staring fierce, and holding idly,  
The broken relics of their former cruelty.   

The Sarazin sore daunted with the buff  
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;  
Who well it wards, and quiteth cuff with cuff:  
Each others equal puissance envies,  
And through their iron sides with cruelties  
Does seek to pierce: repining courage yields  
No foot to foe. The flashing fire flies  
As from a forge out of their burning shields,  
And streams of purple blood new dies the verdant fields.   

Curse on that cross (qd. Than the Sarazin)  
That keeps thy body from the bitter fit;  
Dead long ago I wot thou hadst been,  
Had not that charm from thee forewarned itt:  
But yet I warn thee now assured sit,  
And hide thy head. Therewith upon his crest  
With rigor so outrageous he smit,  
That a large share it hewed out of the rest,  
And glancing down his shield, from blame him fairly blest.   

Who thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark  
Of native virtue 'gan eftsoons revive,  
And at his haughty helmet making mark,  
So hugely stroke, that it the steel did rive,  
And cloven his head. He tumbling down alive,  
With bloody mouth his mother earth did kiss,  
Greeting his grave: his grudging ghost did strive  
With the frail flesh; at last it flitted is,  
Whether the souls do fly of men, that live amiss.   

The Lady when she saw her champion fall,  
Like the old ruins of a broken tower,  
Stayed not to wail his woeful funeral,  
But from him fled away with all her power;  
Who after her as hastily 'gan scour,  
Bidding the dwarf with him to bring away  
The Saracens shield, sign of the conqueror,  
Her soon he overtook, and bad to stay,  
For present cause was none of dread her to dismay.   

She turning back with rueful countenance,  
Cried, Mercy mercy Sir vouchsafe to show  
On silly Dame, subject to hard mischance,  
And to your mighty wil Her humblesse low  
In so rich weeds and seeming glorious show,  
Did much emmove his stout heroïcke heart,  
And said, dear dame, your sudden overthrow  
Much ruth me; but now put fear apart,  
And tell, both who ye be, and who that took your part.   

Melting in tears, than 'gan she thus lament;  
The wretched woman, whom unhappy hour  
Hath now made thrall to your commandment,  
Before that angry heavens list to lower,  
And fortune false betrayed me to thy power,  
Was, (O what now availeth that I was?)  
Born the sole daughter of an Emperor,  
He that the wide West under his rule has,  
And high hath set his throne, where Tiberis doth pass.   

He in the first flower of my freshest age,  
Betrothed me unto the only hair  
Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;  
Was never Prince so faithful and so fair,  
Was never Prince so meek and debonair;  
But ere my hoped day of spousal shone,  
My dearest Lord fell from high honours stair,  
Into the hands of his accursed fone,  
And cruelly was slain, that shall I ever moan.   

His blessed body spoiled of lively breath,  
Was afterward, I know not how, conveyed  
And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death  
When tidings came to me unhappy maid,  
O how great sorrow my sad soulea ssaid.  
Then forth I went his woeful corpse to find,  
And many years throughout the world I strayed,  
A virgin widow, whose deep wounded mind  
With love, long time did languish as the stricken hind.   

At last it chanced this proud Sarazin,  
To meet me wandering, who perforce I led  
With him away, but yet could never win  
The Fort, that Ladies hold in sovereign dread.  
There lies he now with foul dishonour dead,  
Who whiles he lived, was called proud Sans foy,  
The eldest of three brethren, all three bred  
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansioy,  
And twixt them both was born the bloody bold Sansloy.   

In this sad plight, friendless, unfortunate,  
Now miserable I Fidessa dwell,  
Craving of you in pity 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 quick eyes, her face to view,  
Then his dull ears, to hear what she did tell,  
And said, fair Lady heart of flint would rue  
The undeserved woes and sorrows, which ye show.   

Henceforth in safe assurance may ye rest,  
Having 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 change of cheer the seeming simple maid  
Let fall her eyen, as shamefast to the earth,  
And yielding soft, in that she nought gain said,  
So forth they road, he feigning seemly mirth,  
And she coy looks: so dainty they say maketh dearth.   

Long time they thus together travailed,  
Till weary of their way, they came at last,  
Where grew two goodly trees, that fair did spread  
Their arms abroad, with grey moss overcast,  
And their green leaves trembling with every blast,  
Made a calm shadow far in compass round:  
The fearful shepherd often there aghast  
Under them never sat, ne wont there sound  
His merry oaten pipe, but shunned th'unlucky ground.   

But this good knight soon as he them can spy,  
For the cool shade him thither hastily got:  
For golden Phoebus now that mounted high,  
From fiery wheels of his fair chariot  
Hurled his beam so scorching cruel hot,  
That living creature moat it not abide;  
And his new Lady it endured not.  
There they alight, in hope themselves to hide  
From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide,   

Fair seemly pleasance each to other makes,  
With goodly purposes there as they sit:  
And in his falsed fancy he her takes  
To be the fairest wight, that lived yet;  
Which to express, he bends his gentle wit,  
And thinking of those branches green to frame  
A garland for her dainty forehead fit,  
He plucked a bough; out of whose rift there came  
Small drops of gory blood, that trickled down the same.   

Therewith a piteous yelling voice was heard,  
Crying, O spare with guilty hands to tear  
My tender sides in this rough rind embard,  
But fly, ah fly far hence away, for fear  
Lest to you hap, that happened to me hear,  
And to this wretched Lady, my dear love,  
O too dear love, love bought with death too dear.  
Aston'd he stood, and up his hear did hove,  
And with that sudden horror could no member move.   

At last whenas the dreadful passion  
Was overpast, and manhood well awake,  
Yet musing at the strange occasion,  
And doubting much his sense, he thus bespoke;  
What voice of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,  
Or guileful sprite wandering in empty air,  
Both which frail men do oftentimes mistake,  
Sends to my doubtful ears these speeches rare,  
And tuefull plants, me bidding guiltless blood to spare?   

Then groaning deep, Nor damned Ghost, (qd. he,)  
Nor guileful spirit to thee these words doth speak,  
But once a man Fradubio, now a tree,  
Wretched man, wretched tree; whose nature weak  
A cruel witch her cursed will to wreak,  
Hath thus transformed, and placed in open plains,  
Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleak,  
And scorching sun does dry my secret veins:  
For though a tree I seem, yet cold & heat me pains.   

Say on Fradubio then, or man, or tree,  
Qd. then the knight, by whose mischievous arts  
Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see?  
He oft finds medicine, who his grief imparts;  
But double griefs afflict concealing hearts,  
As raging flames who striveth to suppress.  
The author then (said he) of all my smarts,  
Is one Duessa a false sorceress,  
That many errand knights hath brought to wretchedness.   

In prime of youthly years, when courage hot  
The fire of love and joy of chevalree  
First kindled in my breast, it was my lot  
To love this gentle Lady, whom ye see,  
Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree;  
With whom as once I road accompanyde,  
Me chanced of a knight encountered be,  
That had a like fair Lady by his side,  
Like a fair Lady, but did fowl Duessa hide.   

Whose forged beauty he did take in hand,  
All other Dames to have exceeded far;  
I in defence of mine did likewise stand,  
Mine, that did then shine as the Morning star:  
So both to battle fierce arranged are,  
In which his harder fortune was to fall  
Under my spear: such is the die of war:  
His Lady left as a prize martial,  
Did yield her comely person, to be at my call.   

So doubly loved of ladies unlike fair,  
Th'one seeming such, the other such indeed,  
One day in doubt I cast for to compare,  
Whether in beauty's glory did exceed;  
A Rosy garland was the victor's meed:  
Both seemed to win, and both seemed won to be,  
So hard the discord was to be agreed.  
Fralissa was as fair, as fair moat be,  
And everfalse Duessa seemed as fair as she.   

The wicked witch now seeing all this while  
The doubtful balance equally to sway,  
What not by right, she cast to win by guile,  
And by her hellish science raised straight way  
A foggy mist, that overcast the day,  
And a dull blast, that breathing on her face,  
Dimmed her former beauties shining ray,  
And with foul ugly form did her disgrace:  
Then was she fair alone, when none was fair in place.   

Then cried she out, fie, fie, deformed wight,  
Whose borrowed beauty now appeareth plain  
To have before bewitched all men's sight;  
O leave her soon, or let her soon be slain.  
Her loathly visage viewing with disdain,  
eftsoons I thought her such, as she me told,  
And would have killed her; but with feigned pain,  
The false witch did my wrathful hand withhold:  
So left her, where she now is turned to treen mould.   

Then forth I took Duessa for my Dame,  
And in the witch unwitting joyed long time,  
Ne ever witted, but that she was the same,  
Till on a day (that day is every Prime,  
When Witches wont do penance for their crime)  
I chanced to see her in her proper hue,  
Bathing herself in origane and thyme:  
A filthy foul old woman I did view,  
That ever to have touched her, I did deadly rew.   

Her neither parts misshapen, monstrous,  
Were hid in water, that I could not see,  
But they did seem more foul and hideous,  
Then woman's shape man would believe to be.  
Then forth from her most beastly company  
I 'gan refrain, in mind to slip away,  
Soon as appeared safe opportunity:  
For danger great, if not assured decay  
I saw before mine eyes, if I were known to stray.   

The devilish hag by changes of my cheer  
perceived my thought; and drowned in sleepy night,  
With wicked herbs and ointments did besmear  
My body all, through charms and magic might,  
That all my senses were bereaved quite:  
Then brought she me into this desert waste,  
And by my wretched lovers side me pight,  
Where now enclosed in wooden walls full fast,  
Banished from living wights, our weary days we waste.   

But how long time, said then the Elfin knight,  
Are you in this misformed house to dwell?  
We may not change (quoth he) this evil plight,  
Till we be bathed in a living well;  
That is the term prescribed by the spell.  
O how, sayd'he, moat I that well out find,  
That may restore you to your wont well?  
Time and sufficed fates to former kind  
Shall us restore, none else from hence may us unbind.   

The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight,  
Herd how in vain Fradubio did lament,  
And knew well all was true, But the good knight  
Full of sad fear and ghastly dreariment,  
When all this speech the living tree had spent,  
The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground,  
That from the blood he might be innocent,  
And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound:  
Then turning to his Lady, dead with fear her found.   

Her seeming dead he found with feigned fear,  
As all unwitting of that well she knew,  
And paynd himself with busy care to rear  
Her out of careless swoon. Her eyelids blue  
And dimmed fight with pale and deadly hue  
At last she up 'gan lift: with trembling cheer  
Her up he took, too simple and too true,  
And oft her kissed. At length all passed fear,  
He set her on her steed, and forward forth did bear.    

Cant. III.  

Forsaken Truth long seeks her love,  
And makes the lion mild,  
Marres blind devotions mart, & falls  
In hand of leachour vylde.   

NOught is there under heavens wide hollowness,  
That moves more dear compassion of mind,  
Then beauty brought t'vnworthie wretchedness  
Through envies snares or fortunes freaks unkind:  
I, whether lately through her brightne blind,  
Or through allegiance and fast fealty,  
Which I do owe unto all womankind,  
Feel my heart pierced with so great agony,  
When such I see, that all for pity I could die.   

And now it is empassioned so deep,  
For fairest vna's sake, of whom I sing,  
That my frail eyes these lines with tears do steep,  
To think how she through guileful handling  
Though true as touch, though daughter of a king,  
Though fair as ever living wight was fair,  
Though nor in word nor deed ill meriting,  
Is from her knight divorced in despair  
And her dew loves derived to that vile witch's share.   

Yet she most faithful Lady all this while  
Forsaken, woeful, solitary maid  
Far from all people's press, as in exile,  
In wilderness and wasteful deserts strayed,  
To seek her knight; who subtilely betrayed  
Through that late vision, which th'enchanter wrought  
Had her abandoned. She of nought afraid,  
Through woods and wastness wide him daily sought;  
Yet wished tidings none of him unto her brought.   

One day nigh weary of the irksome way,  
From her unhastie beast she did alight,  
And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay  
In secret shadow, far from all men's sight:  
From her fair head her fillet she undight,  
And laid her stole aside. Her angel's face  
As the great eye of heaven shined bright,  
And made a sunshine in the shady place;  
Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace.   

It fortuned out of the thickest wood  
A ramping lion rushed suddenly,  
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood;  
Soon as the royal virgin he did spy,  
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,  
To have at once devoured her tender corpse:  
But to the pray when as he drew more nigh,  
His bloody rage assuaged with remorse,  
And with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force.   

In stead thereof he kissed her weary feet,  
And licked her lily hands with fawning tongue,  
As he her wronged innocence did weet.  
O how can beauty master the most strong,  
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong?  
Whose yielded pride and proud submission,  
Still dreading death, when she had marked long,  
Her heart 'gan melt in great compassion,  
And drizzling tears did shed for pure affection.   

The lion Lord of every beast in field  
Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate,  
And mighty proud to humble weak does yield,  
Forgetful of the hungry rage, which late  
Him pricked, in pity of my sad estate:  
But he my lion, and my noble Lord  
How does he find in cruel heart to hate  
Her that him loved, and ever most adored,  
As the God of my life? why hath he me abhorred?   

Redounding tears did choke th'end of her plaint,  
Which softly echoed from the neighbour wood;  
And sad to see her sorrowful constraint  
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood;  
With pity calmed, down fell his angry mood.  
At last in close heart shutting up her pain,  
Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood,  
And to her snowy Palfrey got again,  
To seek her strayed Champion, if she might attain.   

The lion would not leave her desolate,  
But with her went along, as a strong guard  
Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate  
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:  
Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward,  
And when she waked, he waited diligent,  
With humble service to her will prepared:  
From her fair eyes he took commandment,  
And ever by her looks conceived herintent.   

Long she thus travailed through deserts wide,  
By which she thought her wandering knight should pass,  
Yet never show of living wight espied;  
Till that at length she found the trodden grass,  
In which the tract of people's footing was,  
Under the steep foot of a mountain hoar;  
The same she follows, till at last she has  
A damsel spied slow footing her before,  
That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore.   

To whom approaching she to her 'gan call,  
To weet, if dwelling place were nigh at hand;  
But the rude wench her answered nought at all,  
She could not hear, nor speak, nor understand;  
Till seeing by her side the lion stand,  
With sudden fear her pitcher down she threw,  
And fled away: for never in that land  
Face of fair Lady she before did view,  
And that dredd lions look her cast in deadly hue.   

Full fast she fled, ne ever looked behind,  
As if her life upon the wager lay,  
And home she came, whereas her mother blind  
Sat in eternal night: nought could she say,  
But sudden catching hold did her dismay  
With quaking hands, and other signs of fear:  
Who full of ghastly fright and cold affray,  
'Gan shut the door. By this arrived there  
Dame una, weary Dame, and entrance did require.   

Which when none yielded, her unruly Page  
With his rude claws the wicket open rend,  
And let her in; where of his cruel rage  
Nigh dead with fear, and faint astonishment,  
She found them both in darkefome corner penned;  
Where that old woman day and night did pray  
Upon her beads devoutly penitent;  
Nine hundred Pater nosters every day,  
And thrice nine hundred aves she was wont to say.   

And to augment her painful penance more,  
Thrice every week in ashes she did sit,  
And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore,  
And thrice three times did fast from any bit:  
But now for fear her beads she did forget.  
Whose needless dread for to remove away,  
Fair una framed words and countenance fit:  
Which hardly done, at length she 'gan them pray,  
That in their cottage small that night she rest her may.   

The day is spent, and cometh drowsy night,  
When every creature shrouded is in sleep;  
Sad Una down her lays in weary plight,  
And at her feet the lion watch doth keep:  
In stead of rest, she does lament, and weep  
For the late losse of her dear loved knight,  
And , and evermore does steep  
Her tender breast in bitter tears all night,  
All night she thinks too long, and often looks for light.   

Now when Aldeboran was mounted high  
Above the shiny Cassiopeia's chair,  
And all in deadly sleep did drowned lie,  
One knocked at the door, and in would far;  
He knocked fast, and often cursed, and swore,  
That ready entrance was not at his call:  
For on his back a heavy load he bore  
Of nightly stealths and pillage several,  
Which he had got abroad by purchas criminal,   

He was to weet a stout and sturdy thief,  
Want to rob Churches of their ornaments,  
And poor men's boxes of their due relief,  
Which given was to them for good intents;  
The holy Saints of their rich vestments  
He did disrobe, when all men careless slept,  
And spoiled the Priests of their habiliments,  
Whiles none the holy things in safety kept;  
Then he by cunning sleights in at the window erept.   

And all that he by right or wrong could find,  
Unto this house he brought, and did bestow  
Upon the daughter of this woman blind,  
Abessa daughter of Corceca slow,  
With whom he whoredom used, that few did know,  
And fed her fat with feast of offerings,  
And plenty, which in all the land did grow;  
Ne spared he to give her gold and rings:  
And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.   

Thus long the door with rage and threats he bet,  
Yet of those fearful women none durst rize,  
The lion frayed them, him into let:  
He would no longer stay him to advise,  
But open breaks the door in furious wise,  
And entering is; when that disdainful beast  
Encountering fierce, him sudden doth surprise,  
And seizing cruel claws on trembling breast,  
Under his Lordly foot him proudly hath suppressed.   

Him booteth not resist, nor succour call,  
His bleeding heart is in the venger's hand,  
Who straight him rend in thousand pieces small,  
And quite dismembered hath: the thirsty land  
Drunk up his life, his corpse left on the 〈◊〉.  
His fearful friends we are out the woeful night,  
Ne dare to weep, nor seem to understand  
The heavy hap, which on them is alight,  
Afraid, least to themselves the like misshapen might.   

Now when broad day the world discovered has,  
Up una rose, up rose the lion eke,  
And on their former journey forward pass,  
In ways unknown, her wandering knight to seek,  
With pains far passing that long wandering Greek,  
That for his love refused deity;  
Such were the labours of this Lady meek,  
Still seeking him, that from her still did fly,  
Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nigh.   

Soon as she parted thence, the fearful twain,  
That blind old woman and her daughter dear  
Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slain,  
For anguish great they 'gan to rend their hear,  
And beat their breasts, and naked flesh to tear.  
And whcn they both had wept and wailed their fill,  
Then forth they ran like two amazed dear,  
Half mad through malice, and revenging will,  
To follow her, that was the causer of their ill.   

Whom overtaking, they 'gan loudly bray,  
With hollow howling, and lamenting cry,  
Shamefully at her railing all the way,  
And her accusing of dishonesty,  
That was the flower of faith and chastity;  
And still amidst her railing she did pray,  
That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery  
Might fall on her, and follow all the way,  
And that in endless error she might ever stray.   

But when she saw her prayers nought prevail,  
She back returned with some labour lost;  
And in the way, as she did weep and wail,  
A knight her met in mighty arms embossed,  
Yet knight was not for all his bragging boast,  
But subtle Archimag, that una sought  
By trains into new troubles to have toast:  
Of that old woman tidings he besought,  
If that of such a Lady she could tell aught.   

Therewith she 'gan her passion to renew,  
And cry, and curse, and rail, and rend her hear,  
Saying, that harlot she too lately knew,  
That caused her shed so many a bitter tear,  
And so forth told the story of her fear:  
Much seemed he to moon her hapless chance,  
And after for that Lady did inquire;  
Which being taught, he forward 'gan advance  
His fair enchanted steed, and eke his charmed lance.   

Ere long he came, where una traveild slow,  
And that wild Champion waiting her beside:  
Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show  
Himself too nigh at hand, but turned wide  
Unto an hill; from whence when she him spied,  
By his like seeming shield her knight by name  
She weaned it was, and towards him gan ride:  
Approaching nigh she witted, it was the same,  
And with fair fearful humblesse towards him she came.   

And weeping said, Ah my long lacked Lord,  
Where have ye been thus long out of my sight?  
Much feared I to have been quite abhorred,  
Or ought have done, that ye displeasen might,  
That should as death unto my dear heart light;  
For since mine eye your joyous sight did miss,  
My cheerful day is turned to cheerless night,  
And eke my night of death the shadow is;  
But welcome now my light, and shining lamp of bliss.   

He thereto meeting said, My dearest Dame,  
Far be it from your thought, and fro my will,  
To think that knighthood I so much should shame,  
As you to leave, that have me loved still,  
And chose in fairy court of mere goodwill,  
Where noblest knights were to be found on earth:  
The earth shall sooner leave her kindly skill  
To bring foth fruit, and make eternal dearth,  
Then I leave you, my lief, yborn of heavenly birth.   

And sooth to say, why I left you so long,  
Was for to seek adventure in strange place,  
Where Archimago said a fellow strong  
To many knights did daily work disgrace;  
But knight he now shall never more deface,  
Good cause of mine excuse, that mote ye please  
Well to accept, and ever more embrace  
My faithful service, that by land and seas  
Have vowed you to defend. Now than your plaint appease.   

His lovely words her seemed due recompense  
Of all her passed pains: one loving hour  
For many years of sorrow can dispense:  
A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sour:  
She has forgot, how many, a woeful stowre  
For him she late endured; she speaks no more  
Of past: true is, that true love hath no power  
To looken back; his eyes be fixed before.  
Before her stands her knight, for whom she toiled so sore.   

Much like, as when the beaten mariner.  
That long hath wandered in the Ocean wide,  
Oft soused in swelling Tethys' saltish tear,  
And long time having tanned his tawny hide,  
With blustering breath of heaven, that none can bide,  
And scorching flames of fierce Orion's hound,  
Soon as the port from far he has espied,  
His cheerful whistle merrily doth sound,  
And Nereus crowns with cups; his mates him pledge around.   

Such joy made una, when her knight she found;  
And eke th'enchanter joyous seemed no less,  
Then the glad merchant, that does view from ground  
His ship far come from watery wilderness,  
He hurls out vows, and Neptune oft doth bless:  
So forth they passed, and all the way they spent  
Discoursing of her dreadful late distress,  
In which he asked her, what the lion meant:  
Who told her all that fell in journey, as she went.   

They had not ridden far, when they might see  
One pricking towards them with hasty heat,  
Full strongly armed, and on a courser free,  
That through his fiersnesse foamed all with sweat,  
And the sharp iron did for anger eat,  
When his hot rider spurred his chauffed side;  
His look was stern, and seemed still to threat  
Cruel revenge, which he in heart did hide,  
And on his shield Sans loy in bloody lines was died.   

When nigh he drew unto this gentle pair  
And saw the red-cross, which the knight did bear,  
He burned in fire, and 'gan eftsoons prepare  
Himself to battle with his couched spear.  
Loath was that other, and did faint through fear,  
To taste th'untried dint of deadly steel;  
But yet his Lady did so well him cheer,  
That hope of new good hap he 'gan to feel;  
So bent his spear, and spurred his horse with iron heel.   

But that proud Paynim forward came so fierce,  
And full of wrath, that with his sharphead spear  
Through vainly crossed shield he quite did pierce,  
And had his staggering steed not shrunk for fear,  
Through shield and body eke he should him bear:  
Yet so great was the puissance of his push,  
That from his saddle quite he did him bear:  
He tumbling rudely down to ground did rush,  
And from his gored wound a well of blood did gush.   

Dismounting lightly from his lofty steed,  
He to him leapt, in mind to reave his life,  
And proudly said, Lo there the worthy meed  
Of him, that slew Sansfoy with bloody knife;  
Henceforth his ghost freed from repining strife,  
In peace may passen over Let he lake,  
When mourning altars purged with enemies life,  
The black infernal Furies done aslake:  
Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall from thee take.   

Therewith in haste his helmet 'gan unlace,  
Till una cried, O hold that heavy hand,  
Dear Sir, what ever that thou be in place:  
Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquished stand  
Now at thy mercy: Mercy not withstand:  
For he is one the truest knight alive,  
Though conquered now he lie on lowly land,  
And whilst him fortune favoured, fair did thrive  
In bloody field: therefore of life him noted eprive.   

Her piteous words might not abate his rage,  
But rudely rending up his helmet, would  
Have slain him straight: but when he sees his age,  
And hoary head of Archimago old,  
His hasty hand he doth amazed hold,  
And half ashamed, wondered at the sight:  
For the old man well knew he, though untold,  
In charms and magic to have wondrous might,  
Ne ever wont in field, ne in round lists to fight.   

And said, Why Archimago, luckless sire,  
What do I see? what hard mishap is this,  
That hath thee hither brought to taste mine ire?  
Or thine the fault, or mine the error is,  
Instead of foe to wound my friend amiss?  
He answered nought, but in a trance still lay,  
And on those guile full dazed eyes of his  
The cloud of death did sit. Which done away,  
He left him lying so, ne would no longer stay.   

But to the virgin comes, who all this while  
Amazed stands, herself so mocked to see  
By him, who has the guerdon of his guile,  
For so misfeigning her true knight to be:  
Yet is she now in more perplexity,  
Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold,  
From whom her booteth not at all to fly;  
Who by her cleanly garment catching hold,  
Her from her Palfrey plucked, her visage to behold.   

But her fires servant full of kingly awe  
And high disdain, whenas his sovereign Dame  
So rudely handled by her foe he saw,  
With gaping jaws full greedy at him came,  
And ramping on his shield, did ween the same  
Have reft away with his sharprending claws:  
But he was stout, and lust did now inflame  
His courage more, that from his griping paws  
He hath his shield redeemed, and forth his sword he draws.   

O then too weak and feeble was the force  
Of salvage beast, his puissance to withstand:  
For he was strong, and of so mighty corpse,  
As ever wielded spear in warlike hand,  
And feats of arms did wisely understand.  
eftsoon he pierced through his chafed chest  
With thrilling point of deadly iron brand,  
And launched his Lordly heart: with death oppressed  
He roared aloud, whiles life forsook his stubborn breast.   

Who now is left to keep the forlorn maid  
From raging spoil of law less victors will?  
Her faithful guard removed, her hope dismayed,  
Herself a yielded pray to save or spill.  
He now Lord of the field, his pride to fill,  
With foul reproaches, and disdainful spite  
Her vildly entertains, and will or nill,  
Bears her away upon his courser light:  
Her prayers nought prevail, his rage is more of might.   

And all the way, with great lamenting pain,  
And piteous plaints she filleth his dull ears,  
That stony heart could riven have in twain,  
And all the way she wetts with flowing tears:  
But he enraged with rancour, nothing hears.  
Her servile beast yet would not leave her so,  
But follows her far of, ne ought he fears,  
To be partaker of her wandering woe,  
More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe.    

Can. four  

To sinful house of pride, Duessa  
guides the faithful knight,  
Where brothers death to wreak Sansioy  
doth challenge him to fight.   

YOung knight, what ever that dost arms profess,  
And through long labours huntest after fame,  
Beware of fraud, beware of fickleness,  
In choice, and change of thy dear loved Dame,  
Lest thou of her believe too lightly blame,  
And rash misweening do thy heart remove:  
For unto knight there is no greater shame,  
Then lightness and inconstancy in love,  
That doth this Redcrosse knights ensample plainly prove   

Who after that he had fair una lost,  
Through light misdeeming of her loyalty,  
And false Duessa in her stead had borne,  
Called Fidess, and so supposed to be;  
Long with her traveild, till at last they see  
A goodly building, bravely garnished,  
The house of mighty Prince it seemed to be:  
And towards it a broad high way that led,  
All bare through people's feet, which thither travailed.   

Great troops of people traveild thitherward  
Both day and night, of each degree and place,  
But few returned, having scaped hard,  
With baleful beggary, or soul disgrace,  
Which ever after in most wretched care,  
Like loathsome lazars, by the hedges lay.  
Thither Duessa bad him bend his pace:  
For she is weary of the toilsome way,  
And also nigh consumed is the lingering day.   

A stately palace built of squared brick,  
Which cunningly was without mortar laid,  
Whose walls were high, but nothing strong, nor thick  
And golden foil all over them displayed,  
That purest sky with brightness they dismayed:  
High lifted up were many lofty towers,  
And goodly galleries far over laid,  
Full of fair windows, and delightful bowers;  
And on the top a dial told the timely hours.   

It was a goodly heap for to behold,  
And spoke the praises of the workman's wit;  
But full great pity, that so fair a mould  
Did on so weak foundation ever sit:  
For on a sandy hill, that still did flit,  
And fall away, it mounted was full high,  
That every breath of heaven shaked itt:  
And all the hinder parts, that few could spy,  
Were ruinous and old, but painted cunningly.   

Arrived there they passed in forth right;  
For still to all the gates stood open wide,  
Yet charge of them was to a Porter hight  
Called Maluenù, who entrance none denied:  
Thence to the hall, which was on every 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 palace bright.   

By them they pass, all gazing on them round,  
And to the Presence mount; whose glorious view  
Their frail amazed senses did confound:  
In living Princes court none ever knew  
Such endless richesse, and so sumptuous show;  
Ne Persia self, the nurse of pompous pride  
Like ever saw. And there a noble crew  
Of Lords and Ladies stood on every side,  
Which with their presence fair, the place much beautified.   

High above all a cloth of State was spread,  
And a rich throne, as bright as sunny day,  
On which there sat most brave embellished  
With royal robes and gorgeous array,  
A maiden Queen, that shone as Titan's ray,  
In glistering gold, and peerless precious stone;  
Yet her bright blazing beauty did assay  
To dim the brightness of her glorious throne,  
As envying herself, that too exceeding shone.   

Exceeding shone, like Phoebus' fairest child,  
That did presume his father's fiery wain,  
And flaming mouths of steeds unwonted wild  
Through highest heaven with weaker hand to rain;  
Proud of such glory and advancement vain,  
While flashing beams do daze his feeble eyen,  
He leaves the welkin way most beaten plain,  
And rapt with whirling wheels, inflames the skyens,  
With fire not made to burn, but fairly for to shine.   

So proud she shined in her princely state,  
Looking to heaven; for earth she did disdain,  
And sitting high; for lowly she did hate:  
Lo under neath her scornful feet, was lain  
A dreadful Dragon with an hideous train,  
And in her hand she held a mirror bright,  
Wherein her face she often viewed fain,  
And in her her selfe-loved semblance took delight;  
For she was wondrous fair, as any living wight.   

Of grisly Pluto she the daughter was,  
And sad Proserpina the Queen of hell;  
Yet did she think her peerless worth to pass  
That parentage, with pride so did she swell,  
And thundering Jove, that high in heaven doth dwell,  
And wield the world, she claimed for her sire,  
Or if that any else did Jove excel:  
For to the highest she did still aspire,  
Or if ought higher were then that, did it desire.   

And proud Lucifera men did her call,  
That made herself a Queen, and crowned to be,  
Yet rightful kingdom she had none at all,  
Ne heritage of native sovereignty,  
But did usurp with wrong and tyranny  
Upon the sceptre, which she now did hold;  
Ne ruled her realm with laws, but policy,  
And strong advizement of six wizards old,  
That with their counsels bade her kingdom did uphold.   

Soon as the Elfin knight in presence came,  
And false Duessa seeming Lady fair,  
A gentle Husher, vanity by name  
Made room, and passage for them did prepare:  
So goodly brought them to the lowest stair  
Of her high throne, where they on humble knee  
Making obeisance; did the cause declare,  
Why they were come, her royal state to see,  
To prove the wide report of her great majesty.   

With lofty eyes, half loath to look so low,  
She thanked them in her disdainful wise,  
Ne other grace vouchsafed them to show  
Of Princess worthy, scarce them bad arise.  
Her Lords and Ladies all this while devise  
Themselves to setten forth to strangers sight:  
Some frounce their curled hear in courtly guise,  
Some prank their ruffs, and others trimly dight  
Their gay attire: each others greater pride does spite.   

Goodly they all that knight do entertain,  
Right glad with him to have increased their crew;  
But to Duess' each one himself did pain  
All kindness and fair courtesy to show;  
For in that court whilom her well they knew:  
Yet the stout fairy 'mongst the midst crowd  
Thought all their glory vain in knightly view,  
And that great Princess too exceeding proud,  
That to strange knight no better countenance allowed.   

Sudden upriseth from her stately place  
The royal Dame, and for her coach doth call;  
All hurtlen forth, and she with princely pace,  
As fair Aurora in her purple pall,  
Out of the East the dawning day doth call:  
So forth she comes: her brightness broad doth blaze;  
The heaps of people thronging in the hall,  
Do ride each other, upon her to gaze:  
Her glorious glitter and light doth all men's eyes amaze.   

So forth she comes, and to her coach does climb,  
Adorned all with gold, and garlands gay,  
That seemed as fresh as Flora in her prime,  
And strove to match, in royal rich array,  
Great Juno's golden chair, the which they say  
The Gods stand gazing on, when she does ride  
To Jove's high house through heavens bras paved way  
Drawn of fair peacocks, that excel in pride,  
And full of Argus eyes their tails dispredden wide.   

But this was drawn of six unequal beasts,  
On which her six sage counsellors did ride,  
Taught to obey their bestial be hests,  
With like conditions to their kinds applied:  
Of which the first, that all the rest did guide,  
Was sluggish idleness the nurse of sin;  
Upon a slothful ass he chose to ride,  
Arrayed in habit black, and amiss thin,  
Like to an holy monk, the service to begin.   

And in his hand his Portesse still he bore,  
That much was worn, but therein little red,  
For of devotion he had little care,  
Still drowned in sleep, and most of his days dedd;  
Scarce could he once uphold his heavy head,  
To looken, whether it were night or day:  
May seem the wain was very evil led,  
When such an one had guiding of the way,  
That knew not, whether right he went, or else astray.   

From worldly cares himself he did esloyne,  
And greatly shunned manly exercise,  
From every work he challenged essoin,  
For contemplation sake: yet otherwise,  
His life he led in lawless riotise;  
By which he grew to grievous malady;  
For in his lustless limbs through evil guise  
A shaking fever reigned continually:  
Such one was idleness; first of this company.   

And by his side road loathsome Gluttony,  
Deformed creature, on a filthy swine,  
His belly was upblowne with luxury;  
And eke with fatness swollen were his eyen,  
And like a Crane his neck was long and fine,  
With which he swallowed up excessive feast,  
For want whereof poor people oft did pine,  
And all the way, most like a brutish beast,  
He spewed up his gorge, that all did him deteast.   

In green vine leaves he was right fitly clad;  
For other clothes he could not wear for heat,  
And on his head an ivy garland had,  
From under which fast trickled down the sweat:  
Still as he road, he somewhat still did eat,  
And in his hand did bear a bousing can,  
Of which he supped so oft, that on his seat  
His drunken course he scarce upholden can,  
In shape and life more like a monster, than a man.   

Unfit he was for any worldly thing,  
And eke unable once to stir or go,  
Not meet to be of counsel to a king,  
Whose mind in meat and drink was drowned so,  
That from his friend he seldom knew his fo:  
Full of diseases was his carcase blew,  
And a dry dropsy through his flesh did flow,  
Which by misdiet daily greater grew:  
Such one was Gluttony, the second of that crew.   

And next to him road lustful Lechery,  
Upon a bearded goat, whose rugged hear,  
And whally eyes (the sign of gelosy,)  
Was like the person self, whom he did bear:  
Who rough, and black, and filthy did appear,  
Unseemly man to please fair Lady's eye;  
Yet he of Ladies oft was loved dear,  
When fairer faces were bid standen by:  
O who does know the bent of women's fantasy?   

In a green gown he clothed was full fair,  
Which underneath did hide his filthiness,  
And in his hand a burning heart he bore,  
Full of vain follies, and new-fangledness;  
For he was false, and fraught with fickleness,  
And learned had to love with secret looks,  
And well could dance, and sing with ruefulnesse,  
And fortunes tell, and read in loving books,  
And thousand other ways, to bait his fleshly hooks.   

Inconstant man, that loved all he saw,  
And lusted after all, that he did love,  
Ne would his loser life be tied to law,  
But joyed weak women's hearts to tempt, and prove  
If from their loyal loves he might them move;  
Which lewdness filled him with reproachful pain  
Of that foul evil, which all men reprove,  
That rots the marrow, and consumes the brain:  
Such one was Lechery, the third of all this train.   

And greedy avarice by him did ride,  
Upon a camel loaden all with gold;  
Two iron coffers hung on either side,  
With precious metal full, as they might hold,  
And in his lap an heap of coin he told;  
For of his wicked pelpe his God he made,  
And unto hell himself for money sold;  
Accursed usury was all his trade,  
And right and wrong ylike in equal balance weighed.   

His life was nigh unto death's door yplaste,  
And threadbare cote, and cobbled shoes he ware,  
Ne scarce good morsel all his life did taste,  
But both from back and belly still did spare,  
To fill his bags, and richesses to compare;  
Yet child ne kinsman living had he none  
To leave them to; but through daily care  
To get, and nightly fear to lose his own,  
He led a wretched life unto himself unknown.   

Most wretched wight, whom nothing might suffice,  
Whose greedy lust did lack in greatest store,  
Whose need had end, but no end covetise,  
Whose wealth was want, whose plenty made him poor,  
Who had enough, yet wished ever more,  
A vile disease, and eke in foot and hand  
A grievous gout tormented him full sore,  
That well he could not touch, nor go, nor stand:  
Such one was avarice, the forth of this fair band.   

And next to him malicious envy road,  
Upon a ravenous wolf, and still did chaw  
Between his cankered teeth a venomous toad,  
That all the poison ran about his chaw;  
But inwardly he chawed his own maw  
At neighbour's wealth, that made him ever sad;  
For death it was, when any good he saw,  
And wept, that cause of weeping none he had,  
But when he heard of harm, he waxed wondrous glad.   

All in a kirtle of discoloured say  
He clothed was, ypaynted full of eyes;  
And in his bosom secretly there lay  
An hateful Snake, the which his tail uptyes  
In many folds, and mortal sting implies.  
Still as he road, he gnashed his teeth, to see  
Those heaps of gold with gripple covetise,  
And grudged at the great felicity  
Ofproud Lucifera, and his own company.   

He hated all good works and virtuous deeds,  
And him no less, that any like did use,  
And who with gracious bread the hungry feeds,  
His alms for want of faith he doth accuse;  
So every good to bad he doth abuse:  
And eke the verse of famous poet's wit  
He does backebite, and spiteful poison spews  
From leprous mouth on all, that ever writ:  
Such one vile envy was, that first in row did sit.   

And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath,  
Upon a Lion, loath for to be led;  
And in his hand a burning brand he hath,  
The which he brandisheth about his head;  
His eyes did hurl forth sparkles fiery red,  
And stared stern on all, that him beheld,  
As ashes pale of hue and seeming deed;  
And on his dagger still his hand he held,  
Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in him swelled.   

His ruffian raiment all was stained with blood,  
Which he had spilled; and all to rags rent,  
Through unaduized rashness waxed wood;  
For of his hands he had no government,  
Ne cared for blood in his avengement:  
But when the furious fit was overpast,  
His cruel facts he often would repent;  
Yet wilful man he never would forecast,  
How many mischiefs should ensue his heedless haste.   

Full many mischiefs follow cruel Wrath;  
Abhorred bloodshed, and tumultuous strife,  
un manly murder, and unthrifty scathe,  
Bitter despite, with rancours rusty knife,  
And fretting grief the enemy of life;  
All these, and many evils more haunt ire,  
The swelling spleen, and Frenzy raging rife,  
The shaking palsy, and Saint France's fire:  
Such one was Wrath, the last of this ungodly tire.   

And after all upon the waggon beam  
Rode Satan, with a smarting whip in hand,  
With which he forward lashed the laesy teme,  
So oft as sloth still in the mire did stand.  
Huge routs of people did about them band,  
Shouting for joy, and still before their way  
A foggy mist had covered all the land;  
And underneath their feet, all scattered lay  
Dead skulls & bones of men, whose life had gone astray.   

So forth they marchen in this goodly sort,  
To take the solace of the open air,  
And in fresh flowering fields themselves to sport;  
Amongst the rest road that false Lady fair,  
The foul Duessa, next unto the chair  
Ofproud Lucifer ', as one of the train:  
But that good knight would not so nigh repair,  
Himself estranging from their ioyaunce vain,  
Whose fellowship seemed far unfit for warlike swain.   

So having solaced themselves a spacen,  
With pleasance of the breathing fields yfed,  
They back returned to the princely Place;  
Whereas an errant knight in arms ycled,  
And heathenish shield, wherein with letters red  
Was writ Sans joy, they new arrived find:  
Inflamed with fury and fires hardy head,  
He seemed in heart to harbour thoughts unkind,  
And nourish bloody vengeance in his bitter mind.   

Who when the shamed shield of slain Sans foy  
He spied with that same fairy champions page,  
Bewraying him, that did of late destroy  
His eldest brother, burning all with rage  
He to him leapt, and that same envious gage  
Of victor's glory from him snatched away:  
But th'Elfin knight, which ought that warlike wage,  
Disdained to lose the meed he won in fray,  
And him rencountring fierce, rescued the noble prey.   

Therewith they 'gan to hurtlen greedily,  
Redoubted battle ready to darrayne,  
And clash their shields, and shake their swords on hy,  
That with their stir they troubled all the train;  
Till that great Queen upon eternal pain  
Of high displeasure, that ensewen might,  
Commanded them their fury to refrain,  
And if that either to that shield had right,  
In equal lists they should the morrow next it fight.   

Ah dearest Dame, qd. Than the Paynim bold,  
Pardon the error of enraged wight,  
Whom great grief made forget the rains to hold  
Of reason's rule, to see this recreant knight,  
No knight, but treachour full of false despite  
And shameful treason, who through guile hath slain  
The prowest knight, that ever field did fight,  
Even stout Sans foy (O who can then refrain?)  
Whose shield he bears renuerst, the more to heap disdain.   

And to augment the glory of his guile,  
His dearest love the fair Fidessa lo  
Is there possessed of the traitor vile,  
Who reaps the harvest sown by his foe,  
Sown in bloody field, and bought with woe:  
That brother's hand shall dearly well requite  
So be, O Queen, you equal favour show.  
Him little answered th'angry Elfin knight;  
He never meant with words, but swords to plead his right.   

But threw his gauntlet as a sacred pledge,  
His cause in combat the next day to try:  
So been they parted both, with hearts on edge,  
To be avenged each on his enemy.  
That night they pass in joy and jollity,  
Feasting and courting both in bower and hall;  
For Steward was excessive Gluttony,  
That of his plenty poured forth to all;  
Which done, the Chamberlain sloth did to rest them call.   

Now when as darksome night had all displayed  
Her coal-black curtain over brightest sky,  
The warlike youths on dainty couches laid,  
Did chase away sweet sleep from sluggish eye,  
To muse on means of hoped victory.  
But whenas Morpheus had with leaden mace,  
Arrested all that courtly company,  
uprose Duessa from her resting place,  
And to the Paynims lodging comes with silent pace.   

Whom broad awake she finds, in troublous fit,  
Forecasting, how his foe he might annoy,  
And him amoves with speeches seeming fit:  
Ah dear Sansioy, next dearest to Sansfoy,  
Cause of my new grief, cause of new joy,  
joyous, to see his image in mine eye,  
And grieved, to think how foe did him destroy,  
That was the flower of grace and chivalry;  
Lo his Fidessa to thy secret faith I fly.   

With gentle words he can her fairly greet,  
And bade say on the secret of her heart.  
Then sighing soft, I learn that little sweet  
Oft tempered is (quoth she) with muchell smart:  
For since my breast was launched with lovely dart  
Of dear Sanfoy, I never joyed hour,  
But in eternal woes my weaker hat  
Have wasted, loving him with all my power,  
And for his sake have felt full many an heavy stour.   

At last when perils all I weened past,  
And hoped to reap the crop of all my care,  
Into new woes unwitting I was cast,  
By this false faytor, who unworthy ware  
His worthy shield, whom he with guileful snare  
Entrapped slew, and brought to shameful grave.  
Me silly maid away with him he bore,  
And ever since hath kept in darksome cave,  
For that I would not yield, that to Sansfoy I gave.   

But since fair sun hath spersed that lowering cloud,  
And to my loathed life now shows some light,  
Under your beams I will me safely shroud,  
From dreaded storm of his disdainful spite:  
To you th'inheritance belongs by right  
Of brother's praise, to you eke longs his love.  
Let not his love, let not his restless sprite,  
Be unrevenged, that calls to you above  
From wandering Stygian shores, where it doth endless move.   

Thereto said he, fair Dame be nought dismayed  
For sorrows past; their grief is with them gone:  
Ne yet of present peril be afraid:  
For needless fear did never vantage none,  
And helpless hap it booteth not to moon.  
Dead is Sansfoy, his vital pains are past,  
Though grieved ghost for vengeance deep do groan  
He lives, that shall him pay his duties last,  
And guilty Elfin blood shall sacrifice in haste:   

O But I fear the fickle freaks (quoth she)  
Of fortune false, and odds of arms in field.  
Why dame (quoth he) what odds can ever be,  
Where both do fight alike, to win or yield?  
Yea but (quoth she) he bears a charmed shield,  
And eke enchanted arms, that none can pierce,  
Ne none can wound the man, that does them wield.  
Charmed or enchanted (answered he then fierce)  
I no whit reck, ne you the like need to rehearse.   

But fair Fidessa, sithence fortune's guile,  
Or enemies power hath now captived you,  
Return from whence ye came, and rest a while  
Till morrow next, that I the elf subdue,  
And with Sansfoyes dead dowry you endue.  
Ay me, that is a double death (she said)  
With proud foes sight my sorrow to renew:  
Where ever yet I be, my secret aid  
Shall follow you. So passing forth she him obeyed:    

Cant V.  

The faithful knight in equal field  
subdewes his faithless foe,  
Whom false Duessa saves, and for  
his cure to hell does go.   

THe noble heart, that harbours virtuous thought,  
And is with child of glorious great intent,  
Can never rest, until it forth have brought  
Th'eternal brood of glory excellent:  
Such restless passion did all night torment  
The flaming courage of that fairy knight,  
Devizing, how that doughty tournament  
With greatest honour he atchieven might;  
Still did he wake, and still did watch for dawning light,   

At last the golden oriental gate  
Of greatest heaven 'gan to open fair,  
And Phoebus' fresh, as bridegroom to his mate,  
Came dancing forth, shaking his dewy hair:,  
And hurls his glistering beams through gloomy air.  
Which when the wakeful elf perceived, straight way  
He started up, and did himself prepare,  
In sunbright arms, and battailous array:  
For with that Pagan proud he combat will that day.   

And forth he comes into the common hall,  
Where early wait him many a gazing eye,  
To weet what end to stranger knights may fall.  
There many Minstrales maken melody,  
To drive away the dull melancholy,  
And many bards, that to the trembling chord  
Can tune their timely voices cunningly,  
And many Chroniclers, that can record  
Old loves, and wars for Ladies done by many a Lord.   

Soon after comes the cruel Sarazin,  
In woven mail all armed warily,  
And sternly looks at him, who not a pin  
Does care for look of living creatures eye.  
They bring them wines of Greece and Araby,  
And dainty spices fetched from furthest Ynd,  
To kindle heat of courage privily:  
And in the wine a solemn oath they bind  
T'observe the sacred laws of arms, that are assigned.   

At last forth comes that far renowned Queen,  
With royal pomp and princely majesty;  
She is ybourhgt unto a paled green,  
And placed under stately canopy,  
The warlike feats of both thofe knights to see.  
On th'other side in all men's open view  
Duessa placed is, and on a tree  
Sansfoy his shield is hanged with bloody hue:  
Both those the laurel garlands to the victor dew.   

A shrilling trumpet sounded from on high,  
And unto battle bad themselves address:  
Their shining shields about their wrists they tie,  
And burning blades about their heads do bless,  
The instruments of wrath and heaviness:  
With greedy force each other doth assail,  
And strike so fiercely, that they do impress  
Deep dinted furrows in the battered mail:  
The iron walls to ward their blows are weak & frail.   

The Sarazin was stout and wondrous strong,  
And heaped blows like iron hammers great:  
For after blood and vengeance he did long.  
The knight was fires, and full of youthly heat,  
And doubled strokes, like dreaded thunders threat:  
For all for praise and honour he did fight.  
Both stricken strike, and beaten both do beat,  
That from their shields forth flieth fiery light,  
And hewn helmets deep show marks of either's might.   

So th'one for wrong, the other strives for right:  
As when a Gryfon seized of his prey,  
A Dragon fires encountereth in his flight,  
Through widest air making his idle way,  
That would his rightful ravin rend away:  
With hideous horror both together smite,  
And souse so sore, that they the heavens affray:  
The wise soothsayer seeing so sad sight,  
Th'amazed vulgar tells of wars and mortal fight.   

So th' one for wrong the other strives for right,  
And each to deadly shame would drive his foe:  
The cruel steel so greedily doth bite  
In tender flesh, that streams of blood down flow,  
With which the arms, that erst so bright did show  
Into a pure vermilion now are died:  
Great ruth in all the gazer's hearts did grow,  
Seeing the gored wounds to gape so wide,  
That victory they dare not wish to either side.   

At last the Paynim chanced to cast his eye,  
His sudden eye, flaming with wrathful fire,  
Upon his brother's shield, which hung thereby:  
There with redoubled was his raging ire,  
And said, Ah wretched son of woeful sire,  
Dost thou sit wailing by black Stygian lake,  
Whilst here thy shield is hanged for victor's hire,  
And sluggish german dost thy forces slake,  
To after-send his foe, that him may overtake?   

Go caitiff elf, him quickly overtake,  
And soon redeem from his long wandering woe,  
Go guilty ghost, to him my message make,  
That I his shield have quit from dying foe.  
Therewith upon his crest he struck him so,  
That twice he reeled, ready twice to fall;  
End of the doubtful battle deemed though  
The lookers on, and loud to him 'gan call  
The false Duessa, Thine the shield, and I, and all.   

Soon as the fairy heard his Lady speak,  
Out of his swooning dream he 'gan awake,  
And quickening faith, that erst was waxed weak,  
The creeping deadly cold away did shake:  
though moved with wrath, and shame, and Lady's sake,  
Of all at once he cast avengd to be,  
And with so ' exceeding fury at him struck,  
That forced him to stoop upon his knee;  
Had he not stooped so, he should have cloven be.   

And to him said, go now proud Miscreant,  
Thyself thy message do to german dear,  
Alone he wandering thee too long doth want:  
Go say, his foe thy shield with his doth bear.  
Therewith his heavy hand he high 'gan rear,  
Him to have slain; when lo a darksome cloud  
Upon him fell: he no where doth appear,  
But vanished is. The elf him calls aloud,  
But answer none receives: the darkness him does shroud   

In haste Duessa from her place arose,  
And to him running said, O prowest knight,  
That ever Lady to her love did chose,  
Let now abate the terror of your might,  
And quench the flame of furious despite,  
And bloody vengeance; lo th'infernal powers  
Covering your foe with cloud of deadly night,  
Have borne him hence to Pluto's baleful bowers.  
The conquest yours, I yours, the shield, and glory yours.   

Not all so satisfied, with greedy eye  
He sought all round about, his thirsty blade  
To bathe in blood of faithless enemy;  
Who all that while lay hid in secret shade:  
He stands amazed, how he thence should fade.  
At last the trumpets Triumph sound on high,  
And running Heralds humble homage made,  
Greeting him goodly with new victory,  
And to him brought the shield, the cause of enmity.   

Wherewith he goeth to that sovereign Queen,  
And falling her before on lowly knee,  
To her makes present of his service seen:  
Which she accepts, with thanks, and goodly gree,  
Greatly advancing his gay chevalree.  
So marcheth home, and by her takes the knight,  
Whom all the people follow with great glee,  
Shouting, and clapping all their hands on height,  
That all the air it fills, and flies to heaven bright.   

Home is he brought, and laid in sumptuous bed:  
Where many skilful leeches him abide,  
To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled.  
In wine and oil they wash his wounds wide,  
And softly 'gan embalm on every side.  
And all the while, most heavenly melody  
About the bed sweet music did divide,  
Him to beguile of grief and agony:  
And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly.   

As when a weary traveller that strays  
By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile,  
Unwitting of the perilous wandering ways,  
Doth meet a cruel crafty Crocodile,  
Which in false grief hiding his harmful guile,  
Doth weep full sore, and sheddeth tender tears:  
The foolish man, that pities all this while  
His mournful plight, is swallowed up unwares,  
Forgetful of his own, that minds an others cares.   

So wept Duessa until eventyde,  
That shining lamps in Jove's high house were light:  
Then forth she rose, ne longer would abide,  
But comes unto the place, where th'heathen knight  
In slombring swoon nigh void of vital sprite,  
Lay covered with enchanted cloud all day:  
Whom when she found, as she him left in plight,  
To wail his woeful case she would not stay,  
But to the Eastern coast of heaven makes speedy way.   

Where grisly Night, with visage deadly sad,  
That Phoebus' cheerful face durst never view,  
And in a foul black pitchy mantle clad,  
She finds forth coming from her darksome mew,  
Where she all day did hide her hated hue.  
Before the door her iron chariot stood,  
Already harnessed for journey new;  
And coal-black steeds yborn of hellish brood,  
That on their rusty bits did champ, as they were wood.   

Who when she saw Duessa sunny bright,  
Adorned with gold and jewels shining clear,  
She greatly grew amazed at the sight,  
And th'unacquainted light began to fear:  
For never did such brightness there appear,  
And would have back retired to her cave,  
Until the witch's speech she 'gan to hear,  
Saying, yet O thou dreaded Dame, I crave  
Abide, till I have told the message, which I have.   

She stayed, and forth Duessa 'gan proceed,  
O thou most ancient Grandmother of all,  
More old than Jove, whom thou at first didst breed,  
Or that great house of God's celestial,  
Which wast begot in Daemogorgons' hall,  
And sawst the secrets of the world unmade,  
Why suffered'st thou thy nephews dear to fall  
With Elfin sword, most shamefully betrade?  
Lo where the stout Sansioy doth sleep in deadly shade.   

And him before, I saw with bitter eyes  
The bold Sansfoy shrink underneath his spear;  
And now the pray of fowls in field he lies,  
Nor wailed of friends, nor laid on groaning bear,  
That whilom was to me too dearly dear.  
O what of Gods then boots it to be borne,  
If old Aveugles sons so evil hear?  
Or who shall not great nights children scorn,  
When two of three her Nephews are so fowl forlorn.   

up then, up dreary Dame, of darkness Queen,  
Go gather up the relics of thy race,  
Or else go them avenge, and let be seen,  
That dreaded Night in brightest day hath place,  
And can the children of fair light deface.  
Her feeling speeches some compassion moved  
In heart, and change in that great mother's face:  
Yet pity in her heart was never proved  
Till then: for evermore she hated, never loved.   

And said, dear daughter rightly may I rue  
The fall of famous children borne of me,  
And good successes, which their foes ensue:  
But who can turn the stream of destiny,  
Or break the chain of strong necessity,  
Which fast is tied to Jove's eternal seat.  
The sons of Day he favoureth, I see,  
And by my ruins thinks to make them great:  
To make one great by others loss, is bad excheat.   

Yet shall they not escape so freely all;  
For some shall pay the price of others guilt:  
And he the man that made Sansfoy to fall,  
Shall with his own blood price, that he hath spilled.  
But what art thou, that tellest of Nephews kilt?  
I that do seem not I, Duessa ame,  
Quoth she, how ever now in garments gilded,  
And gorgeous gold arrayed I to thee came;  
Duessa I, the daughter of deceit and Shame.   

Then bowing down her aged back, she kissed  
The wicked witch, saying, In that fair face  
The false resemblance of deceit, I witted  
Did closely lurk; yet so true-seeming grace  
It carried, that I scarce in darksome place  
Can it discern, though I the mother be  
Of falsehood, and root of duessa's race.  
O welcome child, whom I have longed to see,  
And now have seen unwares. Lo now I go with thee.   

Then to her iron waggon she betakes,  
And with her bears the fowl welfavourd witch:  
Through mirkesome air her ready way she makes.  
Her twofold Teme, of which two black as pitch,  
And two were brown, yet each to each unlich,  
Did softly swim away, ne ever stamp,  
Unless she chanced their stubborn mouths to twitch;  
Then foaming tar, their bridles they would champ,  
And trampling the fine element, would fiercely ramp.   

So well they sped, that they be come at length  
Unto the place, whereas the Paynim lay,  
Devoid of outward sense, and native strength,  
Covered with charmed cloud from view of day,  
And sight of men, since his late luckless fray.  
His cruel wounds with cruddy blood congealed,  
They binden up so wisely, as they may,  
And handle softly, till they can be healed:  
So lay him in her charet, close in night concealed.   

And all the while she stood upon the growd,  
The wakeful dogs did never cease to bay,  
As giving warning of th'unwonted sound,  
With which her iron wheels did them affray,  
And her dark grisly look them much dismay;  
The messenger of death, the ghastly owl  
With dreary shrieks did also her bewray;  
And hungry wolves continually did howl,  
At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowl.   

Thence turning back in silence soft they stole,  
And brought the heavy corpse with easy pace  
To yawning gulf of deep avernus hole.  
By that same hole an entrance dark and base  
With smoke and sulphur hiding all the place,  
Descends to hell: there creature never passed,  
That back returned without heavenly grace;  
But dreadful Furies, which their chains have braced,  
And damned sprights sent forth to make ill men aghast.   

By that same way the direful dames do drive  
Their mournful charet, filled with rusty blood,  
And down to Pluto's house are come bilive:  
Which passing through, on every side them stood  
The trembling ghosts with sad amazed mood,  
Chattering their iron teeth, and staring wide  
With stony eyes; and all the hellish brood  
Of fiends infernal flocked on every side,  
To gaze on earthly wight, that with the Night durst ride.   

They pass the bitter waves of Acheron,  
Where many souls sit wailing woefully,  
And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton,  
Whereas the damned ghosts in torments fry,  
And with sharp shrilling shrieks do bootless cry,  
Cursing high Jove, the which them thither sent.  
The house of endless pain is built thereby,  
In which ten thousand sorts of punishment  
The cursed creatures do eternally torment.   

Before the threshold dreadful Cerberus  
His three deformed heads did lay along,  
Curled with thousand adders venomous,  
And lilled forth his bloody flaming tongue:  
At them he 'gan to rear his bristles strong,  
And felly gnarre, until days enemy  
Did him appease; then down his tail he hung  
And suffered them to passen quietly:  
For she in hell and heaven had power equally.   

There was Ixion turned on a wheel,  
For daring tempt the Queen of heaven to sin;  
And Sisyphus an huge round stone did reel  
Against an hill, ne might from labour lin;  
There thirsty Tantalus hung by the chin;  
And Tityus fed a vulture on his maw;  
Typheous joints were stretched on a gin,  
Theseus condemned to endless sloth by law  
And fifty sister's water in let vessels draw.   

They all beholding worldly wights in place,  
Leave off their work, unmindful of their smart,  
To gaze on them; who forth by them do pace,  
Till they become unto the furthest part:  
Where was a cave ywrought by wondrous art,  
Deep, dark, uneasy, doleful, comfortless,  
In which sad Aesculapius far apart  
Emprisond was in chains remediless,  
For that Hippolytus rend corpse he did redress.   

Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was,  
That wont in charett chase the foaming bore;  
He all his peers in beauty did surpas,  
But Ladies love as loss of time forbore:  
His wanton stepdame loved him the more,  
But when she saw her offered sweets refused  
Her love she turned to hate, and him before  
His father fierce of treason false accused,  
And with her jealous terms his open ears abused.   

Who all in rage his Sea-god sire besought,  
Some cursed vengeance on his son to cast:  
From surging gulf two Monsters straight were brought,  
With dread whereof his chasing steeds aghast,  
Both charett swift and huntsman overcast.  
His goodly corpse on ragged cliffs rent,  
Was quite dismembered, and his members chaste  
Scattered on every mountain, as he went,  
That of Hippolytus was left no monument.   

His cruel stepdame seeing what was done,  
Her wicked days with wretched knife did end,  
In death avowing th'innocence of her son.  
Which hearing his rash sire, began to rend  
His hear, and hasty tongue, that did offend:  
though gathering up the relics of his smart  
By Diana's means, who was Hippolyts friend,  
Them brought to Aesculape, that by his art  
Did heal them all again, and joined every part.   

Such wondrous science in man's wit to rain  
When Jove avizd, that could the dead revive,  
And fates expired could renew again,  
Of endless life he might him not deprive,  
But unto hell did thrust him down alive,  
With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore:  
Where long remaining, he did always strive  
Himself with salves to health for to restore,  
And slake the heavenly sire, that raged evermore.   

There ancient Night arriving, did alight  
From her nigh weary wain, and in her arms  
To AEsculapius brought the wounded knight:  
Whom having softly disaraid of arms,  
though 'gan to him discover all his harms,  
Beseeching him with prayer, and with praise,  
If either salves, or oils, or herbs, or charms  
A for donne wight from door of death moat raise,  
He would at her request prolong her nephew's days.   

Ah Dame (qd. he) thou temptest me in vain,  
To dare the thing, which daily yet I rue,  
And the old cause of my continued pain  
With like attempt to like end to renew.  
Is not enough, that thrust from heaven dew  
Here endless penance for one fault I pay,  
But that redoubled crime with vengeance new  
Thou biddest me to eke? Can Night defray  
The wrath of thundering Jove, that rules both night and day?   

Not so (qd. she) but sith that heavens king  
From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quite,  
Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing,  
And fearest not, that more thee hurten might,  
Now in the power of everlasting Night?  
Go to then, O thou far renowned son  
Of great Apollo, show thy famous might  
In medicine, that else hath to thee won  
Great pains, and greater praise, both never to be done.   

Her words prevailed: And then the learned leech  
His cunning hand 'gan to his wounds to lay,  
And all things else, the which his art did teach:  
Which having seen, from thence arose away  
The mother of dredd darkness, and let stay  
Aueugles son there in the leeches cure,  
And back returning took her wont way,  
To run her timely race, whilst Phoebus' pure  
In Western waves his weary waggon did recure.   

The false Duessa leaving noyous Night,  
Returned to stately palace of Dame pride;  
Where when she came, she found the fairy knight  
Departed thence, albe his wounds wide  
Not thoroughly healed, unready were to ride.  
Good cause he had to hasten thence away;  
For on a day his wary dwarf had spied,  
Where in a dungeon deep huge numbers lay  
Of caitiff wretched thralls, that wailed night and day.   

A rueful sight, as could be seen with eye;  
Of whom he learned had in secret wise  
The hidden cause of their captivity,  
How mortgaging their lives to covetise,  
Through wasteful Pride, and wanton Riotise,  
They were by law of that proud tyranness  
Provoked with Wrath, and envies false surmise,  
Condemned to that dungeon merciless,  
Where they should live in woe, & die in wretchedness.   

There was that great proud king of Babylon,  
That would compel all nations to adore,  
And him as only God to call upon,  
Till through celestial doom thrown out of door,  
Into an ox he was transformed of yore:  
There also was king Croesus, that enhanced  
His heart too high through his great richesse store;  
And proud Antiochus, the which advanced  
His cursed hand 'gainst God, and on his altars danced.   

And them long time before, great Nimrod was,  
That first the world with sword and fire warrayd;  
And after him old Ninus far did pass  
In princely pomp, of all the world obeyed;  
There also was that mighty Monarch laid  
Low under all, yet above all in pride,  
That name of native sire did fowl upbraid,  
And would as Ammon's son be magnifide,  
Till scorned of God and man a shameful death he died.   

All these together in one heap were thrown,  
Like carcases of beasts in butcher's stall.  
And in another corner wide were strowne  
The antic ruins of the Romans fall:  
Great Romulus the grandsire of them all,  
Proud Tarquin, and too lordly Lentulus,  
Stout Scipio, and stubborn Hannibal,  
Ambitious Sylla, and stern Marius,  
High Caesar, great Pompey, and fires Antonius.   

Amongst these mighty men were women mixed,  
Proud women, vain, forgetful of their yoke:  
The bold Semiramis, whose sides transfixed  
With sons own blade, her fowl reproaches spoke;  
Fair Sthenoboea, that herself did choke  
With wilful chord, for wanting of her will;  
High minded Cleopatra, that with stroke  
Of asps sting herself did stoutly kill:  
And thousands more the like, that did that dungeon fill   

Besides the endless routs of wretched thralls,  
Which thither were assembled day by day,  
From all the world after their woeful falls,  
Through wicked pride, and wasted wealths decay.  
But most of all, which in the dungeon lay  
Fell from high Princes courts, or Lady's bowers,  
Where they in idle pomp, or wanton play,  
Consumed had their goods, and thriftless hours,  
And lastly thrown themselves into these heavy stowres.   

Whose case whenas the careful dwarf had told,  
And made ensample of their mournful sight  
Unto his master, he no longer would  
There dwell in peril of like painful plight,  
But early rose, and ere that dawning light  
Discovered had the world to heaven wide,  
He by a privy postern took his flight,  
That of no envious eyes he moat be spied:  
For doubtless death ensued, if any him descried.   

Scarce could he footing find in that fowl way,  
For many corpses, like a great Lay-stall  
Of murdered men which therein strewed lay,  
Without remorse, or decent funeral:  
Which all through that great Princess pride did fall  
And came to shameful end. And them beside  
Forth riding underneath the castle wall,  
A dunghill of dead carcases he spied,  
The dreadful spectacle of that sad house of pride.    

Can. vi  

From lawless lust by wondrous grace  
fair Una is released:  
Whom salvage nation does adore,  
and learns her wise behest.   

AS when a ship, that flies fair under sail,  
An hidden rock escaped hath unwares,  
That lay in wait her wrack for to bewail,  
The mariner yet half amazed stars  
At peril past, and yet it doubt ne dares  
To joy at his foolhappie oversight:  
So doubly is distressed twixt joy and cares  
The dreadless courage of this Elfin knight,  
Having escaped so sad ensamples in his sight.   

Yet sad he was, that his too hasty speed  
The fair Duess ' had forced him leave behind;  
And yet more sad, that una his dear dread  
Her truth had stained with treason so unkind:  
Yet crime in her could never creature find,  
But for his love, and for her own self sake,  
She wandered had from one to other Ynd,  
Him for to seek, ne ever would forsake,  
Till her unwares the fires Sansloy did overtake.   

Who after archimagoes' fowl defeat,  
Led her away into a forest wild,  
And turning wrathful fire to lustful heat,  
With beastly sin thought her to have defiled,  
And made the vassal of his pleasures wild.  
Yet first he cast by treaty, and by trains,  
Her to persuade, that stubborn fort to yilde:  
For greater conquest of hard love he gains,  
That works it to his will, than he that it constrains.   

With fawning words he courted her a while,  
And looking lovely, and oft sighing sore,  
Her constant heart did tempt with diverse guile:  
But words, and looks, and sighs she did abhor,  
As rock of Diamond steadfast evermore.  
Yet for to feed his fiery lustful eye,  
He snatched the vele, that hung her face before;  
Then 'gan her beauty shine, as brightest sky,  
And burned his beastly heart t'efforce her chastity.   

So when he saw his flattering arts to fail,  
And subtle engines bet from batteree,  
With greedy force he 'gan the fort assail,  
Whereof he weaned possess soon to be,  
And win rich spoil of ransacked chastity.  
Ah heavens, that do this hideous act behold,  
And heavenly virgin thus outraged see,  
How can ye vengeance just so long withhold,  
And hurl not flashing flames upon that Paynim bold?   

The piteous maiden careful comfortless,  
Does throw out thrilling shrieks, and shrieking cries,  
The last vain help of women's great distress,  
And with loud plaints importuneth the skies,  
That molten stars do drop like weeping eyes;  
And Phoebus flying so most shameful sight,  
His blushing face in foggy cloud implies,  
And hides for shame. What wit of mortal wight  
Can now devise to quit a thrall from such a plight?   

Eternal providence exceeding thought,  
Where none appears can make herself a way:  
A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought,  
From lions claws to pluck the griped pray.  
Her shrill outcries and shrieks so loud did bray,  
That all the woods and forests did resound;  
A troop of fauns and satires far a way  
Within the wood were dancing in a round,  
Whiles old Sylvanus slept in shady arbour sound,   

Who when they heard that piteous strained voice,  
In haste forsook their rural merriment,  
And ran towards the far rebownded noise,  
To weet, what wight so loudly did lament.  
Unto the place they come incontinent:  
Whom when the raging Sarazin espied,  
A rude, misshapen, monstrous rabblement,  
Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide,  
But got his ready steed, and fast away 'gan ride.   

The wild woodgods arrived in the place,  
There find the virgin doolfull desolate,  
With ruffled raiments, and fair blubbered face,  
As her outrageous foe had left her late,  
And trembling yet through fear of former hate;  
All stand amazed at so uncouth sight,  
And gi'en to pity her unhappy state,  
All stand astonished at her beauty bright,  
In their rude eyes unworthy of so woeful plight.   

She more amazed, in double dread doth dwell;  
And every tender part for fear does shake:  
As when a greedy wolf through hunger fell  
A silly Lamb far from the flock does take,  
Of whom he means his bloody feast to make,  
A lion spies fast running towards him,  
The innocent pray in hast he does forsake,  
Which quit from death yet quakes in every limb  
With change of fear, to see the lion look so grim.   

Such fearful fit assayed her trembling heart,  
Ne word to speak, ne joint to move she had:  
The salvage nation feel her secret smart,  
And read her sorrow in her countenance sad;  
Their frowning foreheads with rough horns clad,  
And rustic horror all a side do lay,  
And gently grinning, show a semblance glad  
To comfort her, and fear to put away,  
Their backward bend knees teach her humbly to obey.   

The doubtful damsel dare not yet commit,  
Her single person to their barbarous truth,  
But still twixt fear and hope amazed does sit,  
Late learned what harm to hasty trust ensu'th,  
They in compassion of her 〈◊〉 der youth,  
And wonder of her beauty so verayne,  
Are won with pity and unwonted ruth,  
And all prostrate upon the lowly plain,  
Do kiss her feet, and fawn on her with countenance fain.   

Their hearts she guesseth by their humble guise,  
And yields her to extremity of time;  
So from the ground she fearless doth arise,  
And walketh forth without suspect of crime:  
They all as glad, as birds of joyous prime,  
Thence lead her forth, about her dancing round,  
Shouting, and singing all a shepherds rhyme,  
And with green branches strowing all the ground,  
Do worship her, as Queen, with olive garland crowned.   

And all the way their merry pipes they sound,  
That all the woods with doubled echo ring,  
And with their horned feet do wear the ground,  
Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring.  
So towards old Sylvanus they her bring;  
Who with the noise awaked, cometh out,  
To weet the cause, his weak steps governing,  
And aged limbs on cypress stadle stout,  
And with an ivy twine his waste is girt about.   

Far off he wonders, what them makes so glad  
Or Bacchus' merry fruit they did invent,  
Or Cybele's frantic rites have made them mad;  
They drawing nigh, unto their God present  
That flower of faith and beauty excellent:  
The God himself viewing that mirror rare,  
Stood long amazed, and burnt in his intent;  
His own fair Dryope now he thinks not fair,  
And Pholoe fowl, when her to this he doth compare.   

The woodborne people fall before her flat,  
And worship her as goddess of the wood;  
And old Sylvanus self bethinks not, what  
To think of wight so fair, but gazing stood,  
In doubt to deem her borne of earthly brood;  
Sometimes Dame Venus' self he seems to see,  
But Venas never had so sober mood;  
Sometimes Diana he her takes to be,  
But misseth bow, and shafts, and buskins to her knee.   

By view of her he ginneth to revive  
His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse,  
And calls to mind his portraiture alive,  
How fair he was, and yet not fair to this,  
And how he slew with glancing dart amiss  
A gentle hind, the which the lovely boy  
Did love as life, above all worldly bliss;  
For grief whereof the lad n'ould after joy,  
But pynd away in anguish and selfewild annoy.   

The woody nymphs, fair Hamadryades  
Her to behold do thither run apace,  
And all the troop of light foot Naiades,  
Flock all about to see her lovely face:  
But when they viewed have her heavenly grace,  
They envy her in their malicious mind,  
And fly away for fear of foul disgrace:  
But all the satires scorn their woody kind,  
And henceforth nothing fair, but her on earth they find   

Glad of such luck, the luckless lucky maid,  
Did her content to please their feeble eyes,  
And long time with that salvage people stayed,  
To gather breath in many miseries.  
During which time her gentle wit she plies,  
To teach them truth, which worshipped her in vain,  
And made her th'Image of idolatries;  
But when their bootless zeal she did restrain  
From her own worship, they her ass would worship fain.   

It fortuned a noble warlike knight  
By just occasion to that forest came,  
To seek his kindred, and the lineage right,  
From whence he took his weldeserued name:  
He had in arms abroad won muchell fame,  
And filled far lands with glory of his might,  
Plain, faithful, true, and enemy of shame,  
And ever loved to fight for Ladies right,  
But in vain glorious frays he little did delight.   

A satires son yborn in forest wild,  
By strange adventure as it did betide,  
And there begotten of a Lady mild,  
Fair Thyamis the daughter of Labryde,  
That was in sacred bands of wedlock tied  
To Therion, a lose unruly swain;  
Who had more joy to range the forest wide,  
And chase the salvage beast with busy pain,  
Then serve his Lady's love, & waste in pleasures vain.   

The forlorn maid did with loves longing burn,  
And could not lack her lovers company,  
But to the wood shè goes, to serve her turn,  
And seek her spouse, that from her still does fly,  
And follows other game and venery:  
A satire chanced her wandering for to find,  
And kindling coals of lust in brutish eye,  
The loyal links of wedlock did unbind,  
And made her person thrall unto his beastly kind.   

So long in in secret there be held  
Her captive to his sensual desire,  
Till that with timely fruit her belly swelled,  
And bore a boy unto that salvage sire:  
Then home he suffered her for to retire,  
For ransom leaving him the late-born child;  
Whom till to riper years he 'gan aspire,  
He nuzzled up in life and manners wild,  
Amongst wild beasts and woods, from laws of men exiled.   

For all he taught the tender imp was but:  
To banish cowardice and bastard fear;  
His trembling hand he would him force to put  
Upon the lion and the rugged bear,  
And from the she bears teats her whelps to tear;  
And eke wild roaring bulls he would him make  
To tame, and ride their backs not made to bear;  
And the Robuckes in flight to overtake,  
That every beast for fear of him did fly and quake.   

Thereby so fearless, and so fell he grew,  
That his own sire and master of his guise  
Did often tremble at his horrid view,  
And oft for dread of hurt would him advise,  
The angry beasts not rashly to despise,  
Nor too much to provoke: for he would learn  
The lion stoup to him in lowly wife;  
(A lesson hard) and make the Libbard stern  
Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did earn.   

And for to make his power approved more,  
wild beasts in iron yokes he would compel;  
The spotted Panther, and the tusked Bore,  
The Pardale swift, and the tiger cruel;  
The Antelope, and wolf both swift and cruel;  
And them constrain in equal teme to draw.  
Such joy he had, their stubborn hearts to quell,  
And sturdy courage tame with dreadful awe,  
That his behest they feared, as a tyrants law.   

His loving mother came upon a day  
Unto the woods, to see her little son;  
And chanced unwares to meet him in the way,  
After his sports, and cruel pastime done,  
When after him a lioness did run,  
That roaring all with rage, did loud require  
Her children dear, whom he away had won:  
The lion whelps she saw how he did bear,  
And lull in rugged arms, withouten childish fear.   

The fearful Dame all quaked at the sight,  
And turning back, 'gan fast to fly away,  
Until with love revoked from vain affright,  
She hardly yet persuaded was to stay,  
And then to him these womanish words 'gan say;  
Ah Satyrane, my darling, and my joy,  
For love of me leave off this dreadful play;  
To dally thus with death, is no fit toy,  
Go find some other play-fellows, mine own sweet boy.   

In these and like delights of bloody game  
He trained was, till riper years he reached,  
And there abode, whilst any beast of name  
Walked in that forest, whom he had not taught,  
To fear his force: and then his courage haught  
Desyrd of foreign foemen to be known,  
And far abroad for strange adventures sought:  
In which his might was never overthrown,  
But through all fairy land his famous worth was blown   

Yet evermore it was his manner fair,  
After long labours and adventures spent,  
Unto those native woods for to repair,  
To see his sire and offspring ancient.  
And now he thither came for like intent;  
Where he unwares the fairest una sound,  
Sraunge Lady, in so strange habiliment,  
Teaching the satires, which her sat around  
True sacred lore, which from her sweet lips did redound.   

He wondered at her wisdom heavenly rare,  
Whose like in women's wit he never knew;  
And when her courteous deeds he did compare,  
'Gan her admire, and her sad sorrows rue,  
Blaming of Fortune, which such troubles threw,  
And joyed to make proof of her cruelty  
On gentle Dame, so hurtless, and so true:  
Thenceforth he kept her goodly company,  
And learned her discipline of faith and verity.   

But she all vowed unto the Redcrosse knight,  
His wandering peril closely did lament,  
Ne in this new acquaintance could delight,  
But her dear heart with anguish did torment,  
And all her wit in secret counsels spent,  
How to escape. At last in privy wise  
To Satyrane she showed her intent;  
Who glad to gain such favour, 'gan devise,  
How with that pensive Maid he best might thence arise.   

So on a day when satires all were gone,  
To do their service to Sylvanus old,  
The gentle virgin left behind alone  
He led away with courage stout and bold.  
Too late it was, to satires to be told,  
Or ever hope recover her again:  
In vain he seeks that having cannot hold.  
So fast he carried her with careful pain,  
That they the woods are past, & come now to the plain.   

The better part now of the lingering day,  
They traveild had, whenas they far espied  
A weary wight for wandering by the way,  
And towards him they 'gan in haste to ride,  
To weet of news, that did abroad betide,  
Or tidings of her knight of the Redcrosse.  
But he them spying, 'gan to turn aside,  
For fear as seemed, or for some feigned loss;  
More greedy they of news, fast towards him do cross.   

A silly man, in simple weeds forworn,  
And soiled with dust of the long dried way;  
His sandales were with to ilsome travel torn,  
And face all tanned with scorching sunny ray,  
As he had traveild many a summers day,  
Through boiling sands of Arabia and Ynde;  
And in his hand a jacob's staff, to stay  
His weary limbs upon: and eke behind,  
His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind.   

The knight approaching nigh, of him inquerd  
Tidings of war, and of adventures new;  
But wars, nor new adventures none he herd.  
Then una 'gan to ask, if ought he knew,  
Or heard abroad of that her champion true,  
That in his armour bore a croslet red.  
Ay me, dear dame (qd. he) well may I rue  
To tell the sad sight, which mine eyes have red:  
These eyes did see that knight both living, and eke ded.   

That cruel word her tender heart so thrilled,  
That sudden cold did run through every vain,  
And stony horror all her senses filled  
With dying fit, that down she fell for pain.  
The knight her lightly reared up again,  
And comforted with courteous kind relief:  
Then won from death, she bade him tell plain  
The further process of her hidden grief;  
The lesser pangs can bear, who hath endured the chief.   

Then 'gan the Pilgrim thus, I chanced this day,  
This fatal day, that shall I ever rue,  
To see two knights in travel on my way  
(A sorry sight) arranged in battle new,  
Both breathing vengeance, both of wrathful hue:  
My fearful flesh did tremble at their strife,  
To see their blades so greedily embrew,  
That drunk with blood, yet thrusted after life:  
What more? the Redcrosse knight was slain with Paynim knife.   

Ah dearest Lord (qd. she) how might that be,  
And he the stoutest knight, that ever won?  
Ah dearest dame (qd. He) how might I see  
The thing, that might not be, and yet was done?  
Where is (said Satyrane) that Paynims son,  
That him of life, and us of joy hath refte?  
Not far away (qd. she) he hence doth won  
forbye a fountain, where I late him left  
Washing his bloody wounds, that through the fteele were cleft.   

Therewith the knight thence marched forth in haste,  
Whiles una with huge heaviness oppressed,  
Can not for sorrow follow him so fast;  
And soon he came, as he the place had guest,  
Whereas that Pagan proud himself did rest,  
In secret shadow by a fountain side:  
Even he it was, that erst would have suppressed  
Fair una: whom when Satyrane espied,  
With foul reproachful words he boldly him defied.   

And said, Arise thou cursed miscreant,  
That hast with knightlesse guile and treacherous train  
Fair knighthood foully shamed, and dost vaunt  
That good knight of the Redcrosse to have slain:  
Arise, and with like treason now maintain  
Thy guilty wrong, or else thee guilty yield.  
The Sarazin this hearing, rose amain,  
And catching up in haste his three square shield,  
And shining helmet, soon him buckled to the field.   

And drawing nigh him said, Ah misborn elf,  
In evil hour thy foes thee hither sent,  
Another's wrongs to wreak upon thyself:  
Yet ill thou blamest me, for having blended  
My name with guile and traitorous intent;  
That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I never slew,  
But had he been, where erst his arms were lent,  
Th'enchanter vain his error should not rew:  
But thou his error shalt, I hope now proven true.   

Therewith they 'gan, both furious and fell,  
To thunder blows, and fiercely to assail  
Each other, bend his enemy to quell,  
That with their force they pierced both plate & mail,  
And made wide furrows in their flesh's frail,  
That it would pity any living eye.  
Large floods of blood adown their sides did rail;  
But floods of blood could not them satisfy:  
Both hungered after death: both chose to win, or die.   

So long they fight, and full revenge pursue,  
That fainting each, themselves to breathen let,  
And oft refreshed, battle oft renew:  
As when two boars with rancling malice met,  
Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely fret,  
Till breathless both themselves aside retire,  
Where foaming wrath, their cruel tusks they whet,  
And trample th'earth, the whiles they may respire;  
Then back to fight again, new breathed and entire.   

So fiercely, when these knights had breathed once,  
They 'gan to fight return, increasing more  
Their puissant force, and cruel rage at once,  
With heaped strokes more hugely, then before,  
That with their dreary wounds and bloody gore  
They both deformed, scarcely could be known.  
By this sad una fraught with anguish sore,  
Led with their noise, which through the air was thrown:  
Arrived, where they in earth their fruitless blood had sown.   

Whom all so soon as that proud Sarazin  
Espied, he 'gan revive the memory  
Of his lewd lusts, and late attempted sin,  
And left the doubtful battle hastily,  
To catch her, newly offered to his eic:  
But Satyrane with strokes him turning, stayed,  
And sternly bade him other business ply,  
Then hunt the steps of pure unspotted Maid:  
Wherewith he all enraged, these bitter speeches said.   

O foolish fairies son, what fury mad  
Hath thee incensed, to hast thy doleful fate?  
Were it not better, I that Lady had,  
Then that thou hadst repent it too late?  
Most senseless man he, that himself doth hate,  
To love another. Lo then for thine aid  
Here take thy lovers token on thy pate.  
So they to fight; the whiles the royal maid  
Fled far away, of that proud Paynim sore afraid   

But that false Pilgrim, which that leasing told,  
Being in deed old Archimage, did stay  
In secret shadow, all this to behold,  
And much rejoiced in their bloody fray:  
But when he saw the damsel pass away  
He left his stand, and her pursewd apace,  
In hope to bring her to her last decay.  
But for to tell her lamentable case,  
And eke this battles end, will need another place.    

Cant. VII.  

The Redcrosse knight is captive made  
By giant proud oppressed,  
Prince Arthure meets with Una great  
lie with those news distressed.   

WHat man so wise, what earthly wit so ware,  
As to descry the crafty cunning train,  
By which deceit doth mask in viso fair,  
And cast her colours died deep in grain,  
To seem like truth, whose shape she well can feign,  
And fitting gestures to her purpose frame;  
The guiltless man with guile to entertain?  
Great mistress of her art was that false Dame,  
The false Duessa, cloaked with fidessa's name.   

Who when returning from the dreary Night,  
She found not in that perilous house of pride,  
Where she had left, the noble Redcross knight,  
Her hoped prey; she would no longer bide,  
But forth she went, to seek him far and wide.  
Ere long she found, whereas he weary sat,  
To rest himself, soreby a fountain side,  
Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate,  
And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate.   

He feeds upon the cooling shade, and bays  
His sweaty forehead in the breathing wind,  
Which through the trembling leaves full gently plays  
Wherein the cheerful birds of sundry kind  
Do chant sweet music, to delight his mind,  
The witch approaching 'gan him fairly greet,  
And with reproach of carelessness unkind,  
upbraid, for leaving her in place unmeet,  
With fowl words tempering fair, sour gall with honey sweet.   

Unkindness past, they 'gan of solace treat,  
And bathe in pleasance of the joyous shade,  
Which shielded them against the boiling heat,  
And with green boughs decking a gloomy glade,  
About the fountain like a garland made;  
Whose bubbling wave did ever freshly well,  
Ne ever would through fervent summer fade  
The sacred Nymph, which therein wont to dwell,  
Was out of Diana's favour, as it then befell.   

The cause was this: one day when Phoebe fair  
With all her band was following the chase,  
This Nymph, quite tired with heat of scorching air  
Satt down to rest in midst of the race:  
The goddess wroth 'gan foully her disgrace,  
And bad the waters, which from her did flow,  
Be such as she herself was then in place.  
Thenceforth her waters waxed dull and slow,  
And all that drink thereof, do faint and feeble grow.   

Hereof this gentle knight unwitting was,  
And lying down upon the sandy grail,  
Drunk of the stream, as clear as crystal glass;  
eftsoons his manly forces 'gan to fail,  
And mighty strong was turned to feeble frail:  
His changed powers at first themselves not felt,  
Till curdled could his courage 'gan assail,  
And cheerful blood in faintness i'll did melt,  
Which like a fever fit through all his body swelled.   

Yet goodly court he made still to his Dame,  
Poured out in looseness on the grassy ground,  
Both careless of his health, and of his fame:  
Till at the last he heard a dreadful sound,  
Which through the wood loud bellowing, did rebownd,  
That all the earth for terror seemed to shake,  
And trees did tremble. Th'elf therewith astownd,  
Vpstarted lightly from his loser make,  
And his unready weapons 'gan in hand to take.   

But ere he could his armour on him dight,  
Or get his shield, his monstrous enemy  
With sturdy steps came stalking in his sight,  
An hideous giant horrible and high,  
That with his tallness seemed to threat the sky,  
The ground eke groaned under him for dread;  
His living like saw never living eye,  
Ne durst behold: his stature did exceed  
The height of three the tallest sons of mortal seed.   

The greatest Earth his uncouth mother was,  
And blustering AEolus his boasted sire,  
Who with his breath, which through the world doth pass,  
Her hollow womb did secretly inspire,  
And filled her hidden caves with stormy ire,  
That she conceived; and trebling the due time,  
In which the wombs of women do expire,  
Brought forth this monstrous mass of earthly slime,  
Puffed up with empty wind, and filled with sinful crime.   

So grown great through arrogant delight  
Of th'high descent, whereof he was yborn,  
And through presumption of his matchless might,  
All other powers and knighthood he did scorn.  
Such now he marcheth to this man forlorn,  
And left to loss: his stalking steps are stayed  
Upon a snaggy oak, which he had torn  
Out of his mother's bowels, and it made  
His mortal mace, wherewith his foemen he dismayed.   

That when the knight he spied, he 'gan advance  
With huge force and insupportable main,  
And towards him with dreadful fury prance;  
Who hapless, and eke hopeless; all in vain  
Did to him pace, sad battle to darrayne,  
Disarmed, disgraced, and inwardly dismayed,  
And eke so faint in every joint and vain,  
Through that frail fountain, which him feeble made,  
That scarcely could he wield his bootless single blade.   

The giant struck so mainly merciless,  
That could have overthrown a stony tower,  
And were not heavenly grace, that him did bless,  
He had been powdered all, as thin as flower:  
But he was wary of that deadly stowre,  
And lightly leapt from underneath the blow  
Yetso exceeding was the villains power  
That with the wind it did him overthrow,  
And all his senses stoond, that still he lay full low.   

As when that devilish iron engine wrought  
In deepest Hell,, and framed by Furies skill,  
With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur fraught,  
And ramd with bollet round, ordained to kill,  
Conceiveth fire, the heavens it doth fill  
With thundering noise, and all the air doth choke,  
That none can breathe, nor see, nor hear at will,  
Through smouldry cloud of duskish stinking smoke,  
That th'only breath him daunts, who hath escaped the stroke.   

So daunted when the giant saw the knight,  
His heavy hand he heaved upon high,  
And him to dust thought to have battered quite,  
Until Duessa loud to him 'gan cry;  
O great Orgoglio, greatest under sky,  
O hold thy mortal hand for Lady's sake,  
Hold for my sake, and do him not to die,  
But vanquished thine eternal bondflave make,  
And me thy worthy meed unto thy Leman take.   

He hearkened, and did stay from further harms,  
To gain so goodly guerdon, as she spoke:  
So willingly she came into his arms,  
Who her as willingly to grace did take,  
And was possessed of his new-found make.  
Then up he took the slumbered senseless corpse,  
And ere he could out of his swoon awake,  
Him to his castle brought with hasty force,  
And in a dungeon deep him threw without remorse.   

From that day forth Duessa was his dear,  
And highly honoured in his haughty eye,  
He gave her gold and purple pall to wear,  
And triple crown set on her head full high,  
And her endowd with royal majesty:  
Then for to make her dreaded more of men.  
And people's hearts with awful terror tie,  
A monstrous beast ybredd in filthy fen  
He chose, which he had kept long time in darksome den.   

Such one it was, as that renowned Snake  
Which great Alcides in Stremona slew,  
Long fostered in the filth of Lerna lake,  
Whose many heads out budding ever new,  
Did breed him endless labour to subdue:  
But this same Monster much more ugly was;  
For seven great heads out of his body grew,  
An iron breast, and back of scaly bras,  
And all imbrued in blood, his eyes did shine as glass.   

His tail was stretched out in wondrous length,  
That to the house of heavenly gods it reached,  
And with extorted power, and borrowed strength,  
The everburning lamps from thence it brought,  
And proudly threw to ground, as things of nought;  
And underneath his filthy feet did tread,  
The sacred things, and holy hests foretaught.  
Upon this dreadful Beast with seven fold head  
He set the false Duessa, for more awe and dread.   

The woeful dwarf, which saw his masters fall,  
Whiles he had keeping of his grazing steed,  
And valiant knight become a caitiff thrall,  
When all was past, took up his forlorn weed,  
His mighty Armour, missing most at need;  
His silver shield, now idle masterless;  
His poignant spear, that many made to bleed,  
The rueful monuments of heaviness,  
And with them all departs, to tell his great distress.   

He had not travailed long, when on the way  
He woeful Lady, woeful una met,  
Fast flying from that Paynims greedy pray,  
Whilst Satyrane him from pursuit did let:  
Who when her eyes she on the Dwarf had set,  
And saw the signs, that deadly tidings spoke,  
She fell to ground for sorrowful regret,  
And lively breath her sad breast did forsake,  
Yet might her pittcous heart be seen to pant and quake.   

The messenger of so unhappy news,  
Would feign have died: dead was his heart within,  
Yet outwardly some little comfort shows:  
At last recovering heart, he does begin  
To rub her temples, and to chaufe her chin,  
And every tender part does toss and turn:  
So hardly he the flitted life does win,  
Unto her native prison to return:  
Then 'gins her grieved ghost thus to lament & mourn.   

Ye dreaty instruments of doleful sight,  
That do this deadly spectacle behold,  
Why do ye longer feed on loathed light,  
Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould,  
Sith cruel fates the careful threads unfold,  
The which my life and love together tied?  
Now let the stony dart of senseless cold  
Perce to my heart, and pass through every side,  
And let eternal night so sad fro me hide.   

O light some day, the lamp of highest Jove,  
First made by him, men's wandering ways to guide,  
When darkness he in deepest dungeon drove,  
Henceforth thy hated face for ever hide,  
And shut up heavens windows shining wide:  
For earthly sight can nought but sorrow breed,  
And late repentance, which shall long abide.  
Mine eyes no more on vanity shall feed,  
But seeled up with death, shall have their deadly meed.   

Then down again she fell unto the ground;  
But he her quickly reared up again:  
Thrice did she sink adown in deadly swoon,  
And thrice he her revived with busy pain:  
At last when life recovered had the rain,  
And over-wrestled his strong enemy,  
With faltering tongue, and trembling every vain,  
Tell on (quoth she) the woeful Tragedy,  
The which these relics sad present unto mine eye.   

Tempestuous fortune hath spent all her spite,  
And thrilling sorrow thrown his utmost dart;  
Thy sad tongue cannot tell more heavy plight,  
Then that I seel, and harbour in mine heart:  
Who hath endured the whole, can bear each part.  
If death it be, it is not the first wound,  
That launched hath my breast with bleeding smart  
Begin, and end the bitter baleful stound;  
Iflesse, then that I fear, more favour I have found.   

Then 'gan the dwarf the whole discourse declare,  
The subtle trains of Archimago old;  
The wanton loves of false Fidessa fair,  
Bought with the blood of vanquished Paynim bold:  
The wretched pair transformed to treen mould;  
The house of pride, and perils round about;  
The combat, which he with Sansioy did hold;  
The luckless conflict with the giant stout,  
Wherein captived, of life or death he stood in doubt.   

She heard with patience all unto the end,  
And strove to master sorrowful assay,  
Which greater grew, the more she did contend,  
And almost rend her tender heart in twain;  
And love fresh coals unto her fire did jay:  
For greater love, the greater is the loss.  
Was never Lady loved dearer day,  
Then she did love the knight of the Redorosse;  
For whose dear sake so many troubles her did toss.   

At last when fervent sorrow slaked was,  
She up arose, resolving him to find  
Alive or dead: and forward forth doth pass,  
All as the dwarf the way to her assigned:  
And ever more in constant careful mind  
She fed her wound with fresh renewed bale;  
Long tossed with storms, and bet with bitter wind,  
High over hills, and low adown the dale,  
She wandered many a wood, and measured many a vale.   

At last she chanced by good hap to meet  
A goodly knight, fair marching by the way  
Together with his squire, arrayed meet  
His glitterand armour shined far away,  
Like glancing light of Phoebus brightest ray;  
From top to toe no place appeared bare,  
That deadly dint of steel endanger may  
Athwart his breast a baldric brave he wore.  
That shined, like twinkling stars, with stones most precious   

And in the midst thereof one precious stone  
Of wondrous worth, and eke of wondrous mights,  
Shaped like a Lady's head, exceeding shone,  
Like Hesperus amongst the lesser lights,  
And strove for to amaze the weaker sights;  
Thereby his mortal blade full comely hung  
In ivory sheath; ycarved with curious slights;  
Whose hilts were burnished gold, and handle strong  
Of mother pearl, and buckled with a golden tongue.   

His haughty Helmet, horrid all with gold,  
Both glorious brightness, and great terror bred,  
For all the crest a Dragon did enfold  
With greedy paws, and over all did spread  
His golden wings: his dreadful hideous head  
Close couched on the beaver, seemed to throw  
From flaming mouth bright sparkles fiery red,  
That sudden horror to faint hearts did show;  
And scaly tail was stretched adown his back full low.   

Upon the top of all his lofty crest,  
A bunch of hears discoloured diversly,  
With sprinkled pearl, and gold full richly dressed,  
Did shake, and seemed to dance for jollity,  
Like to an Almond tree ymounted high  
On top of green Selinis all alone,  
With blossoms brave bedecked daintily;  
Her tender locks do tremble every one  
At every little breath, that under heaven is blown.   

His warlike shield all closely covered was,  
Ne might of mortal eye be ever seen;  
Not made of steeled, nor of enduring bras,  
Such earthly metals soon consumed been:  
But all of Diamond perfect pure and clean  
It framed was, one massy entire mould,  
Hewn out of Adamant rock with engines keen,  
That point of spear it never percen could,  
Ne dint of direful sword divide the substance would.   

The same to wight he never want disclose,  
But when as monsters huge he would dismay,  
Or daunt unequal armies of his foes,  
Or when the flying heavens he would affray:  
For so exceeding shone his glistering ray,  
That Phoebus' golden face it did attaint,  
As when a cloud his beams doth over-lay  
And silver Cynthia waxed pale and faint,  
As when her face is stained with magic arts constraint.   

No magic arts hereof had any might,  
Nor bloody words of bold enchanters call,  
But all that was not such, as seemed in sight,  
Before that shield did fade, and sudden fall:  
And when him list the rascal routs appall,  
Men into stones therewith he could transmew,  
And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all;  
And when him list the prouder looks subdue  
He would them gazing blind, or turn to other hue.   

Ne let it seen that credence this exceeds,  
For he that made the same, was known right well  
To have done much more admirable deeds.  
It Merlin was, which whilom did excel  
All living wights in might of magic spell:  
Both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought  
For this young Prince, when first to arms he fell,  
But when he died, the fairy Queen it brought  
To fairy land, where yet it may be seen, if sought.   

A gentle youth, his dearly loved Squire  
His spear of heben wood behind him bare,  
Whose harmful head, thrice heated in the fire,  
Had riven many a breast with pikehead square;  
A goodly person, and could menage fair,  
His stubborn steed with kerbed canon bit,  
Who under him did amble as the air,  
And chaust, that any on his back should sit;  
The iron rowels into frothy foam he btt.   

When as this knight nigh to the Lady drew,  
With lovely court he 'gan her entertain;  
But when he heard her answers loath, he knew  
Some secret sorrow did her heart distrain:  
Which to allay and calm her storming pain,  
Fair feeling words he wisely 'gan display,  
And for her humour fitting purpose feign,  
To tempt the cause itself for to bewray;  
Wherewith enmoud, these bleeding words she 'gan to say.   

What worlds delight, or joy of living speech  
Can heart, so plunged in sea of sorrows deep,  
And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach?  
The careful cold beginneth for to creep,  
And in my heart his iron arrow steep,  
Soon as I think upon my bitter bale:  
Such helpless harms yts better hidden keep,  
Then rip up grief, where it may not avail,  
My last left comfort is, my woes to weep and wail.   

Ah Lady dear, qd then the gentle knight,  
Well may I ween, your grief is wondrous great;  
For wondrous great grief groaneth in my sprite,  
Whiles thus I hear you of your sorrows treat.  
But woeful Lady, let me you entreat,  
For to unfold the anguish of your heart:  
Mishaps are mastered by advice discrete,  
And counsel mitigates the greatest smart;  
Found never help, who never would his hurts impart.   

O but (qd. she) great grief will not be told,  
And can more easily be thought, then said.  
Right so (qd. he) but he, that never would,  
Can never: will to might gives greatest aid.  
But grief (qd. she) does greater grow displayed,  
If then it find not help, and breeds despair.  
Despair breeds not (qd. he) where faith is paid.  
No faith so fast (qd. she) but flesh does pair.  
Flesh may impair (qd. he) but reason can repair.   

His goodly reason, and well guided speech  
So deep did settle in her gracious thought,  
That her persuaded to disclose the breach,  
Which love and fortune in her heart had wrought,  
And said fair Sir, I hope good hap hath brought  
You to inquire the secrets of my grief,  
Or that your wisdom will direct my thought,  
Or that your prowess can me yield relief:  
Then hear the story sad, which I shall tell you brief.   

The forlorn Maiden, whom your eyes have seen  
The laughing stock of fortunes mockeries,  
Am th'only daughter of a King and Queen,  
Whose parents dear whiles equal destinies,  
Did come about, and their felicities  
The favourable heavens did not envy,  
Did spread their rule through all the territories,  
Which Phison and Euphrates floweth by,  
And Gehon's golden waves do wash continually.   

Till that their cruel cursed enemy,  
An huge great Dragon horrible in sight,  
Bred in the loathly lakes of Tartary,  
With murderous ravin, and devouring might  
Their kingdom spoiled, and country wasted quite:  
Themselves, for fear into his jaws to fall,  
He forced to castle strong to take their flight,  
Where fast embard in mighty brazen wall,  
He has them now four years besieged to make them thrall.   

Full many knights adventurous and stout  
Have enterprizd that Monster to subdue;  
From every coast that heaven walks about,  
Have thither come the noble Martial crew,  
That famous hard achievements still pursue,  
Yet never any could that garland win,  
But all still shrunk, and still he greater grew:  
All they for want of faith, or guilt of sin,  
The piteous prey of his ficrs' cruelty have been.   

At last yled with far reported praise,  
Which flying fame throughout the world had spread,  
Of doughty knights, whom fairy land did raise,  
That noble order hight of maidenhead,  
Forthwith to court of Gloriane I sped,  
Of Gloriane great Queen of glory bright,  
Whose kingdoms seat Cleopolis is red,  
There to obtain some such redoubted knight,  
That Parents dear from tyrant's power deliver might.   

It was my chance (my chance was fair and good)  
There for to find a fresh unproved knight,  
Whose manly hand imbrued in guilty blood  
Had never been, ne ever by his might  
Had thrown to gtound the unregarded right:  
Yet of his prowess proof he since hath made  
(I witness am) in many a cruel fight;  
The groaning ghosts of many one dismayed  
Have felt the bitter dint of his avenging blade.   

And ye the forlorn relics of his power,  
His biting sword, and his devouring spear,  
Which have endured many a dreadful stowre,  
Can speak his prowess, that did erst you bear,  
And well could rule: now he hath left you hear,  
To be the record of his rueful loss,  
And of my doleful disadventurous dear:  
O heavy record of the good Redcrosse,  
Where have ye left your lord, that could so well you toss?   

Well hoped I, and fair beginnings had,  
That he my captive languor should redeem,  
Till all unwitting, an enchanter bade  
His sense abused, and made him to misdeem  
My loyalty, not such as it did seem  
That rather death desire, than such despite.  
Be judge ye heavens, that all things right esteem,  
How I him loved, and love with all my might,  
So thought I eke of him, and think I thought aright.   

Thenceforth me desolate he quite forfooke,  
To wander, where wild fortune would me lead,  
And other by ways he himself betook,  
Where never foot of living wight did tread,  
That brought not back the baleful body dead;  
In which him chanced false Duessa meet,  
Mine only foe, mine only deadly dread,  
Who with her witchcraft and misseeming sweet,  
Inveigled him to follow her desires unmeet.   

At last by subtle sleights she him betrayed  
Unto his foe, a giant huge and tall,  
Who him disarmed, dissolute, dismayed,  
Unwares surprised, and with mighty mall  
The monster merciless him made to fall,  
Whose fall did never foe before behold;  
And now in darksome dungeon, wretched thrall,  
Remediless, for aye he doth him hold;  
This is my cause of grief, more great, then may be told.   

Ere she had ended all, she 'gan to faint:  
But he her comforted, and fair bespoke,  
Certes, Madame, ye have great cause of plaint,  
That stoutest heart, I ween, could cause to quake.  
But be of cheer, and comfort to you take:  
For till I have acquitt your captive knight,  
Assure yourself, I will you not forsake.  
His cheerful words revived her cheerless sprite,  
So forth they went, the dwarf then guiding ever right.    

Cant. VIII.  

Fair virgin to redeem her dear  
Brings Arthure to the fight:  
Who slays that giant, wounds the beast,  
And strips Duessa quite.   

AY me, how many perils do enfold  
The righteous man, to make him daily fall,  
Were not that heavenly grace doth him uphold,  
And steadfast truth acquit him out of all:  
Herlove is firm, her care continual,  
So oft as he through his own foolish pride,  
Or weakness is to sinful bands made thrall:  
Else should this Redcrosse knight in bands have died,  
For whose deliverance she this Prince doth thither guided.   

They sadly traveild thus, until they came  
Nigh to a castle builded strong and high:  
Then cried the dwarf, lo yonder is the same,  
In which my Lord my liege doth lucklessely,  
Thrall to that giants hateful tyranny:  
Therefore, dear Sir, your mighty powers assay.  
The noble knight alighted by and by  
From lofty steed, and bad the Lady stay,  
To see what end of fight should him befall that day.   

So with his Squire, th'admirer of his might,  
He marched forth towards that castle wall;  
Whose gates he found fast shut, ne living wight  
To ward the same, nor answer comers call.  
Then took that Squire an horn of bugle small,  
Which hung adown his side in twisted gold,  
And tenrils gay. Wide wonders over all  
Of that same horns great virtues weren told,  
Which had approved been in uses manifold.   

Was never wight, that heard that shrilling sound,  
But trembling fear did feel in every vain;  
Three miles it might be easy heard arownd,  
And echoes three answered itself again:  
No false enchantment, nor deceitful train  
Might once abide the terror of that blast,  
But presently was void and wholly vain:  
No gate so strong, no lock so firm and fast,  
But with that piercing noise flew open quite, or braced.   

The same before the Geaunts gate he blew,  
That all the castle quaked from the ground,  
And every door of free-will open flew:  
The giant self dismayed with that sound,  
Where he with his Duessa dalliance found.  
In haste came rushing forth from inner bower,  
With staring countenance stern, as one astownd,  
And staggering steps, to weet, what sudden stowre,  
Had wrought that horror strange, and dared his dreaded power.   

And after him the proud Duessa came,  
High mounted on her many headed beast,  
And every head with fiery tongue did flame,  
And every head was crowned on his crest,  
And bloody mouthed with late cruel feast.  
That when the knight beheld, his mighty shield  
Upon his manly arm he soon addressed,  
And at him fiercely flew, with courage filled,  
And eager greediness through every member thrilled.   

Therewith the giant buckled him to fight,  
Inflamed with scornful wrath and high disdain,  
And lifting up his dreadful club on height,  
All armed with ragged snubbes and knotty grain,  
Him thought at first encounter to have slain.  
But witted and wary was that noble Pere,  
And lightly leaping from so monstrous main,  
Did fair avoid the violence him near;  
It booted nought, to think, such thunderbolts to bear.   

Ne shame he thought to shun so hideous might,  
The idle stroke, enforcing furious way,  
Missing the mark of his misaymed sight  
Did fall to ground, and with his heavy sway  
So deeply dinted in the driven clay,  
That three yards deep a furrow up did throw:  
The sad earth wounded with so sore assay,  
Did groan full grievous underneath the blow,  
And trembling with strange fear, did like an earthquake show.   

As when almighty Jove in wrathful mood,  
To wreak the guilt of mortal sins is bend,  
Hurls forth his thundering dart with deadly food,  
Enrolled in flames, and smouldering dreariment,  
Through riven clouds and molten firmament;  
The fires threeforked engine making way,  
Both lofty towers and highest trees hath rend,  
And all that might his angry passage stay,  
And shooting in the earth, casts up a mount of clay.   

His boisterous club, so buried in the ground,  
He could not rearen up again so light,  
But that the knight him at advantage found,  
And whiles he strove his cumbered club to quite,  
Out of the earth, with blade all burning bright  
He smott of his left arm, which like a block  
Did fall to ground, deprived of native might;  
Large streams of blood out of the truncked stock  
Forth gushed, like fresh water stream from riven rock.   

Dismayed with so desperate deadly wound,  
And eke impatient of unwonted pain,  
He loudly brayed with beastly yelling sound,  
That all the fields rebellowed again,  
As great a noise, as when in Cymbrian plain  
An heard of bulls, whom kindly rage doth sting,  
Do for the milky mothers want complain,  
And fill the fields with troublous bellowing,  
The neighbour woods arownd with hollow murmuring.   

That when his dear Duessa heard, and saw  
The evil stound, that daungerd her estate,  
Unto his aid she hastily did draw  
Her dreadful beast, who swollen with blood of late  
Came ramping forth with proud presumptuous gate,  
And threatened all his heads like flaming brands.  
But him the Squire made quickly to retrate,  
Encountering fires with single sword in hand,  
And twixt him and his Lord did like a bulwark stand.   

The proud Duessa full of wrathful spite,  
And fires disdain, to be affronted so,  
Enforced her purple beast with all her might  
That stop out of the way to overthroe,  
Scorning the let of so unequal foe:  
But nathemore would that courageous swain  
To her yield passage, 'gainst his Lord to go,  
But with outrageous strokes did him restrain,  
And with his body barred the way atwixt them twain.   

Then took the angry witch her golden cup,  
Which still she bore, replete with magic arts;  
Death and despair did many thereof sup,  
And secret poison through their inner parts,  
Th'eternal bale of heavy wounded hearts;  
Which after charms and some enchantments said,  
She lightly sprinkled on his weaker parts;  
Therewith his sturdy courage soon was quayd,  
And all his senses were with sudden dread dismayed   

So down he fell before the cruel beast,  
Who on his neck his bloody claws did seize,  
That life nigh crushed out of his panting breast:  
No power he had to stir, nor will to rise.  
That when the careful knight 'gan well advise,  
He lightly left the foe, with whom he fought,  
And to the beast 'gan turn his enterprise;  
For wondrous anguish in his heart it wrought,  
To see his loved squire into such thraldom brought.   

And high advancing his blood-thirsty blade,  
Struck one of those deformed heads so sore,  
That of his puissance proud ensample made;  
His monstrous scalp down to his teeth it tore,  
And that misformed shape misshaped more:  
A sea of blood gushed from the gaping wownd,  
That her gay garments stained with filthy gore,  
And overflowed all the field arownd;  
That over shoes in blood he waded on the ground.   

There at he roared for exceeding pain,  
That to have heard, great horror would have bred,  
And scourging th'empty air with his long train,  
Through great impatience of his grieved head  
His gorgeous rider from her lofty stead  
Would have cast down, and trod in dirty mire,  
Had not the giant soon her succoured;  
Who all enraged with smartand frantic ire,  
Came hurtling in full fires, and forced the knight retire.   

The force, which want in two to be dispersed,  
In one alone left hand he now unites,  
Which is through rage more strong than both were erst;  
With which his hideous club aloft he dites,  
And at his foe with furious rigour smites,  
That strongest oak might seem to overthrow:  
The stroke upon his shield so heavy lights,  
That to the ground it doubleth him full low  
What mortal wight could ever beareso monstrous blow?   

And in his fall his shield, that covered was,  
Did lose his vele by chance, and open flew:  
The light whereof, that heavens light did pass,  
Such blazing brightness through the air threw,  
That eye moat not the same endure to view.  
Which when the giant spied with staring eye,  
He down let fall his arm, and softly withdrew  
His weapon huge, that heaved was on high,  
For to have slain the man, that on the ground did lie.   

And eke the fruitfull-headed beast, amazed  
At flashing beams of that sunshiny shield,  
Became stark blind, and all his senses dazd  
That down he tumbled on the dirty field,  
And seemed himself as conquered to yield.  
Whom when his mistress proud perceived to fall,  
Whiles yet his feeble feet for faintness reeled,  
Unto the giant loudly she 'gan call,  
O help Orgoglio, help, or else we perish all.   

At her so piteous cry was much amoved,  
Her champion stout, and for to aid his friend,  
Again his wont angry weapon proved:  
But all in vain: for he has red his end  
In that bright shield, and all their forces spend  
Themselves in vain: for since that glancing sight,  
He hath no power to hurt, nor to defend;  
As where th'Almighties lightning brand does light,  
It dims the dazed eyen, and daunts the senses quite.   

Whom when the Prince, to battle new addressed,  
And threatening high his dreadful stroke did see,  
His sparkling blade about his head he blest,  
And smote off quite his right leg by the knee,  
That down he tumbled; as an aged tree,  
High growing on the top of rocky cleft,  
Whose heartstrings with keen steel nigh hewn be,  
The mighty trunk half rend, with ragged rift  
Doth roll adown the rocks, and fall with fearful drift.   

Or as a Castle reared high and round,  
By subtle engines and malicious slight  
Is undermined from the lowest ground,  
And her foundation forced, and feebled quite,  
At last down falls, and with her heaped height  
Herhastie ruin does more heavy make,  
And yields itself unto the victors might;  
Such was this giants fall, that seemed to shake  
The steadfast globe of earth, as it for fear did quake.   

The knight then lightly leaping to the pray,  
With mortal steel him smote again so sore,  
That headless his unwieldy body lay,  
All wallowd in his own fowl bloody gore,  
Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous store.  
But soon as breathe out of her breast did pass,  
That huge great body, which the giant bore,  
Was vanished quite, and of that monstrous mass  
Was nothing left, but like an empty bladder was.   

Whose grievous fall, when false Duessa spied,  
Her golden cup she cast unto the ground,  
And crowned mitre rudely threw aside;  
Such piercing grief her stubborn heart did wound,  
That she could not endure that doleful stound,  
But leaving all behind her, fled away:  
The lightfoot squire her quickly turned around.  
And by hard means enforcing her to stay,  
So brought unto his Lord, as his deserved prey.   

The royal Virgin, which beheld from far,  
In pensive plight, and sad perplexity,  
The whole achievement of this doubtful war,  
Came running fast to greet his victory,  
With sôber gladness, and mild modesty,  
And with sweet joyous cheer him thus bespoke;  
Fair branch of noblesse, flower of chivalry,  
That with your worth the world amazed make,  
How shall I quite the pains, ye suffer for my sake?   

And you fresh bud of virtue springing fast,  
Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto death's door,  
What hath poor Virgin for such peril past,  
Where with you to reward? Accept therefore  
My simple self, and service evermore:  
And he that high does sit, and all things see  
With equal eye, their merits to restore,  
Behold what ye this day have done for me,  
And what I cannot quite, requite with usuree.   

But sith the heavens, and your fair handling  
Have made you master of the field this day,  
Your fortune master eke with governing,  
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 deep in dungeon lay,  
Where he his better days hath wasted all.  
O hear, how piteous he to you for aid does call.   

Forthwith he gave in charge unto his squire,  
That scarlot whore to keepen carefully;  
Whiles he himself with greedy great desire  
Into the Castle entered forcibly,  
Where living creature none he did espy;  
Then 'gan he loudly through the house to call:  
But no man cared to answer to his cry.  
There reigned a solemn silence over all,  
Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.   

At last with creeping crooked pace forth came  
An old old man, with beard as white as snow,  
That on a staff his feeble steps did frame,  
And guide his weary gate both too and fro;  
For his eye sight him failed long ago,  
And on his arm a bounch of keys he bore,  
The which unused rust did overgrow:  
Those were the keys of every inner door,  
But he could not them use, but kept them still in store.   

But very uncouth sight was to behold,  
How he did fashion his untoward pace,  
For as he forward moved his footing old,  
So backward still was turned his wrincled face,  
Unlike to men, who ever as they trace,  
Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.  
This was the ancient keeper of that place,  
And foster father of the giant dead;  
His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.   

His reverend hears and holy gravity  
The knight much honoured, as beseemed well,  
And gently asked, where all the people be,  
Which in that stately building wont to dwell.  
Who answered him full soft, he could not tell.  
Again he asked, where that same knight was laid,  
Whom great Orgoglio with his puissance fell  
Had made his caitiff thrall; again he said,  
He could not tell: ne ever other answer made.   

Then asked he, which way he in might pass:  
He could not tell, again he answered,  
Thereat the courteous knight displeased was,  
And said, Old sire, it seems thou hast not red  
How ill it sits with that same silver head,  
In vain to mock, or mocked in vain to be:  
But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed  
With nature's pen, in ages grave degree,  
Aread in graver wise, what I demand of thee.   

His answer likewise was, he could not tell.  
Whose senseless speech, and doted ignorance  
When as the noble Prince had marked well,  
He guest his nature by his countenance,  
And calmed his wrath with goodly temperance.  
Then to him stepping, from his arm did reach  
Those keys, and made himself free entrance.  
Each door he opened without any breach;  
There was no bar to stop, nor foe him to impeach.   

There all within full rich arrayed he found,  
With royal arras and resplendent gold,  
And did with store of every thing abound,  
That greatest Princes presence might behold.  
But all the floor (too filthy to be told)  
With blood of guiltless babes, and innocents true,  
Which there were slain, as sheep out of the fold,  
Defiled was, that dreadful was to view,  
And sacred ashes over it was strewed new.   

And there beside of marble stone was built  
An altar, carved with cunning imagery,  
On which true Christians blood was often spilled,  
And holy martyrs often done to die,  
With cruel malice and strong tyranny:  
Whose blessed spirits from underneath the stone  
To God for vengeance cried continually,  
And with great grief were often heard to groan,  
That hardest heart would bleed, to hear their piteous moan.   

Through every room he sought, and every bower,  
But nowhere could he find that woeful thrall:  
At last he came unto an iron door,  
That fast was locked, but key found not at all  
Amongst that bounch, to open it withal;  
But in the same a little grate was pight,  
Through which he sent his voice, and loud did call  
With all his power, to weet, if living wight  
Were housed therewithin, whom he enlargen might.   

Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voice  
These piteous plaints and dolours did resound;  
O who is that, which brings me happy choice  
Of death, that here lie dying every stound,  
Yet live perforce in baleful darkness bound?  
For now three moons have changed thrice their hue,  
And have been thrice hid underneath the ground,  
Since I the heavens cheerful face did view,  
O welcome thou, that dost of death bring tidings true.   

Which when that Champion heard, with piercing point  
Of pity dear his heart was thrilled sore,  
And trembling horror ran through every joint,  
For ruth of gentle knight so fowl forlore:  
Which shaking off, he rend that iron door,  
With furious force, and indignation fell;  
Where entered in, his foot could find no flore,  
But all a deep descent, as dark as hell,  
That breathed ever forth a filthy baneful smell.   

But nether darkness fowl, nor filthy bands,  
Nor noyous smell his purpose could withhold,  
(Entire affection hateth nicer hands)  
But that with constant zeal, and courage bold,  
After long pains and labours manifold,  
He found the means that Prisoner up to rear;  
Whose feeble thighs, unable to uphold  
His pined corpse, him scarce to light could bear,  
A rueful spectacle of death and ghastly drere.   

His sad dull eyes deep sunk in hollow pits,  
Can not endure th'unwonted sun to view;  
His bare thin cheeks for want of better bits,  
And empty sides deceived of their dew,  
Can make a stony heart his hap to rue;  
His rawbone arms, whose mighty brawned bowers  
Were wont to rive steel plates, and helmets hue,  
Were clean consumed, and all his vital powers  
Decayed, and all his flesh shrunk up like withered flowers.   

Whom when his Lady saw, to him she ran  
With hasty joy: to see him made her glad,  
And sad to view his visage pale and wan,  
Who erst in flowers of freshest youth was clad.  
though when her well of tears she wasted had,  
She said, Ah dearest Lord, what evil star  
On you hath frowned, and poured his influence bad,  
That of yourself ye thus berobbed are,  
And this misseeming hue your manly looks doth mar?   

But welcome now my Lord, in weal or woe,  
Whose presence I have lacked too long a day;  
And fie on Fortune mine avowed foe,  
Whose wrathful wreaks themselves do now allay.  
And for these wrongs shall triple penance pay  
Of triple good: good grows of evils proof.  
The cheerless man, whom sorrow did dismay,  
Had no delight to treaten of his grief;  
His long endured famine needed more relief.   

Fair Lady, than said that victorious knight,  
The things, that grievous were to do, or bear,  
Them to renew, I wot, breeds no delight;  
Best music breeds delight in loathing ear:  
But th'only good, that grows of passed fear,  
Is to be wise, and ware of like again.  
This days ensample hath this lesson dear  
Deep written in my heart with iron pen,  
That bliss may not abide in state of mortal men.   

Henceforth Sir knight, take to you wont strength,  
And master these mishaps with patiented might;  
Lo where your foe lies stretched in monstrous length,  
And lo that wicked woman in your sight,  
The root of all your care, and wretched plight,  
Now in your power, to let her live, or die.  
To do her die (qd. una) were despite,  
And shame t'avenge so weak an enemy;  
But spoil her of her scarlot rob, and let her fly.   

So as she bade, that witch they disaraid,  
And robbed of royal robes, and purple pall,  
And ornaments that richly were displayed;  
Ne spared they to strip her naked all.  
Then when they had despoilded her tire and call,  
Such as she was, their eyes might her behold,  
That her misshaped parts did them appall,  
A loathly, wrinkled hag; ill favoured, old,  
Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told,   

Her crafty head was altogether bald,  
And as in hate of honourable eld,  
Was overgrown with scurf and filthy scald;  
Her teeth out of her rotten gums were field,  
And her sour breath abominably smelled;  
Her dried dugs, like bladders lacking wind,  
Hung down, and filthy matter from them which eld;  
Her wrizled skin as rough, as maple rind,  
So scabby was, that would have loathed all womankind.   

Her neither parts, the shame of all her kind,  
My chaster Muse for shame doth blush to write;  
But at her rompe she growing had behind  
A fox's tail, with dung all foully dight;  
And eke her feet most monstrous were in sight;  
For one of them was like an eagle's claw,  
With griping talaunts armed to greedy fight,  
The other like a bears uneven paw:  
More ugly shape yet never living creature saw.   

Which when the knights beheld, amazed they were,  
And wondered at so fowl deformed wight.  
Such then (said una) as she seemeth here,  
Such is the face of falsehood, such the sight  
Of fowl Duessa, when her borrowed light  
Is laid away, and counterfesaunce known.  
Thus when they had the witch disrobed quite,  
And all her filthy feature open shown,  
They let her go at will, and wander ways unknown.   

She flying fast from heavens hated face,  
And from the world that her discovered wide,  
Fled to the wasteful wilderness apace,  
From living eyes her open shame to hide,  
And lurked in rocks and caves long unespide.  
But that fair crew of knights, and una fair  
Did in that castle afterwards abide,  
To rest themselves, and weary powers repair,  
Where store they found of all, that dainty was and rare.    

Cant. IX.  

His loves and lineage Arthure tells  
the knights knit friendly hands:  
Sir Trevisan flies from despair,  
Whom Redcros knight withstands.   

O goodly golden chain, wherewith yfere  
The virtues linked are in lovely wise:  
And noble minds of yore allied were,  
In brave poursuitt of chivalrous emprize,  
That none did others safety despize,  
Nor aid envy to him, in need that stands,  
But friendly each did others praise devise,  
How to advance with favourable hands,  
As this good Prince redeemed the Redcrosse knight from bands.   

Who when their powers empayrd through labour long,  
With due repast they had recured well,  
And that weak captive wight now waxed strong,  
Them list no longer there at leisure dwell,  
But forward far, as their adventures fell,  
But ere they parted, una fair besought  
That stranger knight his name and nation tell;  
Lest so great good, as he for her had wrought,  
Should die unknown, & buried be in thankless thought.   

Fair virgin (said the Prince) ye me require  
A thing without the compass of my wit:  
For both the lineage and the certain Sire,  
From which I sprung, from me are hidden yitt.  
For all so soon as life did me admit  
Into this world, and showed heavens light,  
From mother's pap I taken was unfit:  
And straight delivered to a fairy knight,  
To be upbrought in gentle thews and martial might.   

Unto old Timon he me brought bylive,  
Old Timon, who in youthly years hath been  
In warlike feats th'expertest man alive,  
And is the wisest now on earth I ween;  
His dwelling is low in a valley green,  
Under the foot of Rauran mossy hoar,  
From whence the river Dee as silver clean  
His tumbling dillowes rolls with gentle roar:  
There all my days he trained me up in virtuous lore.   

Thither the great magicien Merlin came,  
As was his use; ofttimes to visit me  
For he had charge my discipline to frame,  
And tutor's nurture to oversee.  
Him oft and oft I asked in privity,  
Of what loins and what lineage I did spring.  
Whose answer bade me still assured be,  
That I was son and heir unto a king,  
As time in her just term the truth to light should bring.   

Well worthy imp, said then the Lady gent,  
And pupil fit for such a tutor's hand.  
But what adventure, or what high intent  
Hath brought you hither into fairy land,  
Aread Prince Arthure, crown of martial band?  
Full hard it is (qd. he) to read aright  
The course of heavenly cause, or understand  
The secret meaning of th'eternal might,  
That rules men's ways, and rules the thoughts of living wight.   

For whether he through fatal deep foresight  
Me hither sent, for cause to me unghest,  
Or that fresh bleeding wound, which day and night  
Whilom doth rankle in my riven breast,  
With forced fury following his behest,  
Me hither brought by ways yet never found,  
You to have helped I hold myself yet blest.  
Ah courteous knight (quoth she) what secret wound  
Can ever find, to grieve the gentlest heart on ground?   

Dear Dame (quoth he) you sleeping sparks awake,  
Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow,  
Ne ever will their fervent fury slake,  
Till living moisture into smoke do flow,  
And wasted life do lie in ashes low.  
Yet sithence silence lesseneth not my fire,  
But told it flames, and hidden it does glow,  
I will reveal, what ye so much desire:  
Ah love, lay down thy bow, that whiles I may respire   

It was in freshest flower of youthly years,  
When courage first does creep in manly chest,  
Than first that coal of kindly heat appears  
To kindle love in every living breast;  
But me had warned old Cleon's wise behest,  
Those creeping flames by reason to subdue,  
Before their rage grew to so great unrest,  
As miserable lovers use to rue,  
Which still wax old in woe, whiles woe still waxeth new.   

That idle name of love, and lovers life,  
As loss of time, and virtues enemy  
I ever scormd, and joyed to stir up strife,  
In midst of their mournful Tragedy,  
Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry,  
And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent:  
Their God himself, grieved at my liberty,  
Shott many a dart at me with fires intent,  
But I them warded all with wary government.   

But all in vain: no fort can be so strong,  
Ne fleshly breast can armed be so sound,  
But will at last be won with battery long,  
Or unawares at disadvantage found:  
Nothing is sure, that grows on earthly ground:  
And who most trusts in arm of fleshly might,  
And boasts, in beauty's chain not to bebownd,  
Doth soon fall in disaventrous fight,  
And yields his caitiff neck to victors most despite.   

Ensample make of him your hapless joy,  
And of myself now mated, as ye see;  
Whose prouder vaunt that proud avenging boy  
Did soon pluck down, and curbed my liberty.  
For on a day pricked forth with jollity  
Of loser life, and heat of hardiment,  
Ranging the forest wide on courser free,  
The fields, the floods, the heavens with one consent  
Did seem to laugh at me, and favour mine intent.   

For wearied with my sports, I did alight  
From lofty steed, and down to sleep me laid;  
The verdant grass my couch did goodly dight,  
And pillow was my helmett fair displayed:  
Whiles every sense the humour sweet embayed,  
And slombring soft my heart did steal away  
Me seemed, by my side a royal maid  
Her dainty limbs full softly down did lay:  
So fair a creature yet saw never sunny day.   

Most goodly glee and lovely blandishment  
She to me made, and bad me love her dear;  
For dearly sure her love was to me bend,  
As when just time expired should appear.  
But whether dreams delude, or true it were,  
Was never heart so ravished with delight,  
Ne living man like words did ever hear,  
As she to me delivered all that night;  
And at her parting said, She Queen of Faries hight.   

When I awoke, and found her place devoid,  
And nought but pressed grass where she had lain,  
I sorrowed all so much, as erst I joyed,  
And washed all her place with watery eyen.  
From that day forth I loved that face divine;  
From that day forth I cast in careful mind,  
To seek her out with labour, and long tyne,  
And never vowed to rest, till her I find,  
Nine months I seek in vain yet ni'll that vow unbind.   

Thus as he spoke, his visage waxed pale,  
And change of hue great passion did bewray;  
Yet still he strove to cloak his inward bale,  
And hide the smoke, that did his fire display,  
Till gentle una thus to him 'gan say;  
O happy Queen of Faries, that hast found  
'mongst many, one that with his prowess may  
Defend thine honour, and thy foes confownd:  
True loves are often sown, but seldom grow on ground   

Thine, O then, said the gentle Redcrosse knight,  
Next to that Lady's love, shallbe the place,  
O fairest virgin, full of heavenly light,  
Whose wondrous faith, exceeding earthly race,  
Was firmest fixed in mine extremest case.  
And you, my Lord, the patron of my life,  
Of that great Queen may well gain worthy grace:  
For only worthy you through prows proof  
If living man might worthy be, to be her lief.   

So diversly discoursing of their loves,  
The golden sun his glistering head 'gan show,  
And sad remembrance now the Prince amoves,  
With fresh desire his voyage to pursue:  
Als una earned her trave ill to renew.  
Then those two knights, fast friendship for to bind,  
And love establish each to other true,  
Gave goodly gifts, the signs of grateful mind,  
And eke as pledges firm, right hands together joined.   

Prince Arthur gave a box of Diamond sure,  
Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament,  
Wherein were closed few drops of liquor pure,  
Of wondrous worth, and virtue excellent,  
That any wownd could heal incontinent:  
Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gave  
A book, wherein this saviours testament  
Was writ with golden letters rich and brave;  
A work of wondrous grace, and able souls to save.   

Thus been they parted, Arthur on his way  
To seek his love, and th'other for to fight  
With Una's foe, that all her realm did pray.  
But she now weighing the decayed plight,  
And shrunken sinews of her chosen knight,  
Would not a while her forward course pursue,  
Ne bring him forth in face of dreadful fight,  
Till he recovered had his former hue:  
For him to be yet weak and weary well she knew.   

So as they traveild, lo they 'gan espy  
An armed knight towards them gallop fast,  
That seemed from some feared foe to fly,  
Or other grisly thing, that him aghast.  
Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast,  
As if his fear still followed him behind;  
Als flew his steed, as he his bands had braced,  
And with his winged heels did tread the wind,  
As he had been a fool of Pegasus his kind.   

Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head  
To be unarmed, and curled uncombed hears  
Vpstaring stiff, dismayed with uncouth dread;  
Nor drop of blood in all his face appears  
Nor life in limb: and to increase his fears,  
In fowl reproach of knighthoods' fair degree,  
About his neck an hempen rope he wears,  
That with his glistering arms does ill agree;  
But he of rope or arms has now no memoree.   

The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast,  
To weet, what mister wight was so dismayed:  
There him he finds all senseless and aghast,  
That of himself he seemed to be afraid,  
Whom hardly he from flying forward stayed,  
Till he these words to him deliver might;  
Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arrayed,  
And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight:  
For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight.   

He answered nought at all, but adding new  
Fear to his first amazement, staring wide  
With stony eyes, and heartless hollow hue,  
Astonished stood, as one that had aspyde  
Infernal furies, with their chains untyde.  
Him yet again, and yet again bespoke  
The gentle knight, who nought to him replied,  
But trembling every joint did inly quake,  
And faltering tongue at last these words seemed forth to shake.   

For God's dear love, Sir knight, do me not stay;  
For lo he comes, he comes fast after me.  
Est looking back would feign have run away;  
But he him forced to stay, and tell free  
The secret cause of his perplexity,  
Yet nathemore by his bold hearty speech,  
Can his blood frozen heart emboldened be,  
But through his boldness rather fear did reach,  
Yet forced, at last he made through silence sudden breach.   

And am I now in safety sure (quoth he)  
From him, that would have forced me to die.  
And is the point of death now turned fro me,  
That I may tell this hapless history?  
Fear nought: (quoth he) no danger now is nigh?  
Then shall I you recount a rueful case,  
(Said he) the which with this unlucky eye  
I late beheld, and had not greater grace  
Me reft from it, had been partaker of the place.   

I lately chanced (Would I had never chanced)  
With a fair knight to keepen company,  
Sir Terwin hight, that well himself advanced  
In all affairs, and was both bold and free,  
But not so happy as might happy be:  
He loved, as was his lot, a Lady gent,  
That him again loved in the least degree:  
For she was proud, and of too high intent,  
And joyed to see her lover languish and lament.   

From whom returning sad and comfortless,  
As on the way together we did far,  
We met that villain (God from him I bless)  
That cursed wight, from whom I scaped whilere,  
A man of hell, that calls himself despair:  
Who first us greets, and after fair areedes  
Of tidings strange, and of adventures rare:  
So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weeds,  
Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deeds.   

Which when he knew, and felt our feeble hearts  
Embossed with bale, and bitter biting grief,  
Which love had launched with his deadly darts,  
With wounding words and terms of foul reprieve,  
He plucked from us all hope of due relief,  
That erst us held in love of lingering life;  
Then hopeless heartless, 'gan the cunning thief  
Persuade us die, to stint all further strife:  
To me he lent this rope, to him a rusty knife.   

With which sad instrument of hasty death,  
That woeful lover, loathing longer light,  
A wide way made to let forth living breath.  
But I more fearful, or more lucky wight,  
Dismayed with that deformed dismal sight,  
Fled fast away, half dead with dying fear;  
Ne yet assured of life by you, Sir knight,  
Whose like infirmity like chance may bear:  
But God you never let his charmed speeches hear.   

How may a man (said he) with idle speech  
Be won, to spoil the Castle of his health?  
I wot (quoth he) whom trial late did teach,  
That like would not for all this worlds wealth:  
His subtle tongue, like dropping honey, mealt'h  
Into the heart, and searcheth every vain,  
That ere one be aware, by secret stealth  
His power is reft, and weakness doth remain.  
O never Sir desire to try his guileful train.   

Certes (said he) hence shall I never rest,  
Till I that treachours art have heard and tried;  
And you Sir knight, whose name moat I request,  
Of grace do me unto his cabin guide.  
I that hight Trevisan (quoth he) will ride  
Against my liking back, to do you grace:  
But nor for gold nor glee will I abide  
By you, when ye arrive in that same place;  
For lever had I die, then see his deadly face.   

Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight  
His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave,  
Far underneath a craggy clifty plight,  
Dark, doleful, dreary, like a greedy grave,  
That still for carrion carcases doth crave:  
On top whereof I dwelled the ghastly owl,  
Shrieking his baleful note, which ever drove  
Far from that haunt all other cheerful fowl;  
And all about it wandering ghosts did wail & howl.   

And all about old stocks and stubs of trees,  
Whereon nor fruit, nor leaf was ever seen,  
Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees;  
On which had many wretches hanged been,  
Whose carcases were scattered on the green,  
And thrown about the cliffs. Arrived there,  
That barehead knight for dread and doleful teen,  
Would feign have fled, ne durst approach near,  
But th'other forced him stay, and comforted in fear.   

That darksome cave they enter, where they find  
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,  
Musing full sadly in his sullen mind;  
His griesie locks, long grown, and unbound,  
Disordered hung about his shoulders round,  
And hide his face; through which his hollow eyen  
Looked deadly dull, and stared as astounded;  
His rawbone cheeks through penury and pine,  
Were shrunk into his jaws, as he did never dine.   

His garment nought but many ragged clouts,  
With thorns together pinned and patched was,  
The which his naked sides he wrapped abouts;  
And him beside there lay upon the grass  
A dreary corpse, whose life away did pass,  
All wallowd in his own yet lukewarm blood,  
That from his wound yet welled fresh alas;  
In which a rusty knife fast fixed stood,  
And made an open passage for the gushing flood.   

Which piteous spectacle, approving true  
The woeful tale, that Trevisan had told,  
When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did view,  
With fiery zeal he burned in courage bold,  
Him to avenge, before his blood were cold,  
And to the villain said, Thou damned wight,  
The author of this fact, we here behold,  
What justice can but judge against thee right,  
With thine own blood to price his blood, here shed in sight.   

What frantic fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught  
Thee, foolish man, so rash a doom to give?  
What justice ever other judgement taught,  
But he should die, who merits not to live?  
None else to death this man despairing drive,  
But his own guilty mind deserving death.  
Is then unjust to each his dew to give?  
Or let him die, that loatheth living breath?  
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?   

Who travails by the weary wandering way,  
To come unto his wished home in haste,  
And meets a flood, that doth his passage stay,  
Is not great grace to help him over past,  
Or free his feet, that in the myresticke fast?  
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good,  
And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast,  
Why wilt not let him pass, that long hath stood  
Upon the bank, yet wilt thyself not pass the flood?   

He there does now enjoy eternal rest  
And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave,  
And further from it daily wanderest:  
What if some little pain the passage have,  
That makes frail flesh to fear the bitter wave?  
Is not short pain well borne, that brings long ease,  
And lays the soul to sleep in quiet grave?  
Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas,  
Ease after war, death after life does greatly pleafe.   

The knight much wondered at his sudden wit,  
And said, The term of life limited,  
Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it;  
The soldier may not move from watchful stead,  
Nor leave his stand, until his captain bed.  
Who life did limit by almighty doom,  
(Quoth he) knows best the terms established;  
And he, that points the Centonell his room,  
Doth licence him departed at sound of morning droome.   

Is not his deed, what ever thing is done,  
In heaven and earth? did not he all create,  
To die again? all ends that was begun.  
Their times in his eternal book of fate  
Are written sure, and have their certain date.  
Who then can strive with strong necessity,  
That holds the world in his still changing state,  
Or shun the death ordained by destiny?  
When hour of death is come, let none ask whence, nor why.   

The longer life, I wot the greater sin,  
The greater sin, the greater punishment:  
All those great battles, which thou boasts to win,  
Through strife, and bloodshed, and avengement,  
Now praised, hereafter dear thou shalt repent:  
For life must life, and blood must blood repay.  
Is not enough thy evil life forespent?  
For he, that once hath miss the right way.  
The further he doth go, the further he doth stray.   

Then do no further go, no further stray,  
But heresy down, and to thy rest betake,  
Th'ill to prevent, that life ensewen may.  
For what hath life, that may it loved make,  
And gives not rather cause it to forsake?  
Fear, sickness, age, loss, labour, sorrow, strife,  
pain, hunger, cold, that makes the heart to quake;  
And ever fickle fortune rageth rife,  
All which, and thousands more do make a loathsome life.   

Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need,  
If in true balance thou wilt weigh thy state:  
For never knight, that dared warlike deed,  
More luckless dissaventures did amate:  
Witness the dungeon deep, wherein of late  
Thy life shut up, for death so oft did call;  
And though good luck prolonged hath thy date,  
Yet death then, would the like mishaps forestall,  
Into the which hereafter thou Mayst happen fall.   

Why then dost thou, O man of sin, desire  
To draw thy days forth to their last degree?  
Is not the measure of thy sinful hire  
High heaped up with huge iniquity,  
Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?  
Is not enough, that to this Lady mild  
Thou falsest haste thy faith with periuree,  
And sold thyself to serve Duessa vild,  
With whom in all abuse thou hast thyself defiled?   

Is not he just, that all this doth behold  
From highest heaven, and bears an equal eye?  
Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold,  
And guilty be of thine impiety?  
Is not his law, Let every sinner die:  
Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be done,  
Is it not better to do willingly,  
Then linger, till the glass be all out run?  
Death is the end of woes: die soon, O fairies son.   

The knight was much enmoved with his speech,  
That as a swords point through his heart did pierce,  
And in his conscience made a secret breach,  
Well knowing true all, that he did rehearse,  
And to his fresh remembrance did reverse,  
The ugly view of his deformed crimes,  
That all his manly powers it did disperse,  
As he were charmed with enchanted rhymes,  
That oftentimes he quaked, and fainted oftentimes.   

In which amazement, when the miscreant  
Perceived him to waver weak and frail,  
Whiles trembling horror did his conscience daunt,  
And hellish anguish did his soul assail,  
To drive him to despair, and quite to quail,  
He showed him painted in a table plain,  
The damned ghosts, that do in torments wail,  
And thousand fiends that do them endless pain  
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remain.   

The sight whereof so thoroughly him dismayed,  
That nought but death before his eyes he saw,  
And ever burning wrath before him laid,  
By righteous sentence of th'Almighties law:  
Then 'gan the villain him to overcraw,  
And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, fire,  
And all that might him to perdition draw;  
And bade him choose, what death he would desire:  
For death was dew to him, that had provoked God's ire.   

But whenas none of them he saw him take,  
He to him reached a dagger sharp and keen,  
And gave it him in hand: his hand did quake,  
And tremble like a leaf of aspen green,  
And troubled blood through his pale face was seen  
To come, and go with tidings from the heart,  
As it a running messenger had been.  
At last resolved to work his final smart,  
He lifted up his hand, that back again did start.   

Which whenas una heard, through every vain  
The curdled cold ran to her well of life,  
As in a swoon: but so one relieved again,  
Out of his hand she snatched the cursed knife,  
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,  
And to him said, Fie fie, faint hearted knight,  
What meanest thou by this reproachful strife?  
Is this the battle, which thou vauntest to fight  
With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright?   

Come, come away, frail, feeble, fleshly wight,  
Ne let vain words bewitch thy manly heart,  
Ne devilish thoughts dismay thy constant sprite.  
In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part?  
Why shouldst thou then despair, that chosen art?  
Where justice grows, there grows eke greater grace,  
The which doth quench the brand of hellish smart,  
And that accursed hand-writing doth deface.  
Arise, Sir knight arise, and leave this cursed place.   

So up he rose, and thence amounted straight.  
Which when the carl beheld, and saw his guest  
Would safe departed, for all his subtle sleight,  
He chose an halter from among the rest,  
And with it hung himself, unbid unblessed.  
But death he could not work himself thereby;  
For thousand times he so himself had dressed,  
Yet nevertheless it could not do him die,  
Till he should die his last, that is eternally.    

Cant. X.  

Her faithful knight fair una brings  
To house of holiness,  
Where he is taught repentance, and  
The way to heavenly bless.   

What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might,  
And vain assurance of mortality,  
Which all so soon, as it doth come to fight,  
Against spiritual foes, yields by and by,  
Or from the field most cowardly doth fly?  
Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill,  
That through grace hath gained victory.  
If any strength we have, it is to ill,  
But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will.   

By that, which lately happened, una saw,  
That this her knight was feeble, and too faint;  
And all his sinews waxed weak and raw,  
Through long imprisonment, and hard constraint,  
Which he endured in his late restraint,  
That yet he was unfit for bloody fight:  
Therefore to cherish him with diets daint.  
She cast to bring him, where he chearen might,  
Till he recovered had his late decayed plight.   

There was an ancient house not far away,  
Renowned throughout the world for sacred lore,  
And pure unspotted life: so well they say  
It governed was, and guided evermore,  
Through wisdom of a matron grave and hoar;  
Whose only joy was to relieve the needs  
Of wretched souls, and help the helpless poor:  
All night she spent in bidding of her beads,  
And all the day in doing good and godly deeds.   

Dame Caelia men did her call, as thought  
From heaven to come, or thither to arise,  
The mother of three daughters, well upbrought  
In goodly thews, and godly exercise:  
The eldest two most sober, chaste, and wise,  
Fidelia and Speranza virgins were,  
Though spoused, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize;  
But fair Charissa to a lovely fere  
Was linked, and by him had many pledges dear.   

Arrived there, the door they find fast locked;  
For it was warily watched night and day,  
For fear of many foes: but when they knocked,  
The Porter opened unto them straight way:  
He was an aged sire, all hoary grey,  
With looks full lowly cast, and gate full slow,  
Want on a staff his feeble steps to stay,  
height Humiltá. They pass in stooping low;  
For straight & narrow was the way, which he did show.   

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin,  
But entered in a spacious court they see,  
Both plain, and pleasant to be walked in,  
Where them does meet a franklin fair and free,  
And entertains with comely courteous glee,  
His name was Zele, that him right well became,  
For in his speeches and behaviour he  
Did labour lively to express the same,  
And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came.   

There fairly them receives a gentle squire,  
Of mild demeanour, and rare courtesee,  
Right cleanly clad in comely sad attire;  
In word and deed that showed great modesty,  
And knew his good to all of each degree,  
hight reverence. He them with speeches meet  
Does fair entreat; no courting nicety,  
But simple true, and eke unfeigned sweet,  
As might become a squire so great persons to greet.   

And afterwards them to his Dame he leads,  
That aged Dame, the Lady of the place:  
Who all this while was busy at her beads:  
Which done, she up arose with seemly grace,  
And toward them full matronely did pace.  
Where when that fairest una she beheld,  
Whom well she knew to spring from heavenly race,  
Her heart with joy unwonted inly swelled,  
As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld.   

And her embracing said, O happy earth,  
Whereon thy innocent feet do ever tread,  
Most virtuous virgin borne of heavenly birth,  
That to redeem thy woeful parent's head,  
From tyrants rage, and ever-dying dread,  
Hast wandered through the world now long a day;  
Yet ceasest not thy weary soles to lead,  
What grace hath thee now hither brought this way?  
Or done thy feeble feet unwitting hither stray?   

Strange thing it is an errant knight to see  
Here in this place, or any other wight,  
That hither turns his steps. So few there be,  
That chose the narrow path, or seek the right:  
All keep the broad high way, and take delight  
With many rather for to go astray,  
And be partakers of their evil plight,  
Then with a few to walk the rightest way;  
O foolish men, why hast ye to your own decay?   

Thyself to see, and tired limbs to rest,  
O matron sage (quoth she) I hither came,  
And this good knight his way with me addressed,  
Led with thy praises and broad-blazed fame,  
That up to heaven is blown. The ancient Dame,  
Him goodly greeted in her modest guise,  
And enterteynd them both, as best became,  
With all the courtesies, that she could devise,  
Ne wanted aught, to show her bounteous or wise.   

Thus as they 'gan of sundry things devise,  
Lo two most goodly virgins came in place,  
Ylinked arm in arm in lovely wise,  
With countenance demure, and modest grace,  
They numbered even steps and equal pace:  
Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight,  
Like sunny beams threw from her crystal face,  
That could have dazd the rash beholder's sight,  
And round about her head did shine like heavens light.   

She was arrayed all in lily white,  
And in her right hand bore a cup of gold,  
With wine and water filled up to the height,  
In which a Serpent did himself enfold,  
That horror made to all, that did behold;  
But she no whit did change her constant mood:  
And in her other hand she fast did hold  
A book that was both signed and sealed with blood,  
Wherein dark things were writ, hard to be understood.   

Her younger Sister, that Speranza hight,  
Was clad in blue, that her beseemed well;  
Not all so cheerful seemed she of sight,  
As was her sister; whether dread did dwell,  
Or anguish in her heart, is hard to tell:  
Upon her arm a silver anchor lay,  
Whereon she leaned ener, as befell:  
And ever up to heaven, as she did pray,  
Her steadfast eyes were bend, ne swerved other way.   

They seeing una, towards her 'gan wend,  
Who them encounters with like courtesee;  
Many kind speeches they between them spend,  
And greatly joy each other for to see:  
Then to the knight with shamefast modesty  
They turn themselves, at Una's meek request,  
And him salute with well beseeming glee;  
Who fair them quites, as him beseemed best,  
And goodly 'gan discourse of many a noble gest.   

Then una thus; But she your sister dear,  
The dear Charissa where is she become?  
Or wants she health, or busy is elsewhere?  
Ah no, said they, but forth she may not come:  
For she of late is lightened of her womb,  
And hath increased the world with one son more,  
That her to see should be but troublesome.  
Indeed (quoth she) that should be trouble sore,  
But thanked be God, and her increase so evermore.   

Then said the aged Caelia, dear dame,  
And you good Sir, I wot that of your toil,  
And labours long, through which ye he there came,  
Ye both forwearied be: therefore a while.  
I read you rest, and to your bowers recoil.  
Then called she a groom, that forth him led  
Into a goodly lodge, and 'gan despoil.  
Of puissant arms, and laid in easy bed;  
His name was meek Obedience rightfully aredd.   

Now when their weary limbs with kindly rest,  
And bodies were refreshed with due repast,  
Fair una 'gan Fidelia fair request,  
To have her knight into her schoolehous placed,  
That of her heavenly learning he might taste,  
And hear the wisdom of her words divine.  
She granted, and that knight so much agraste,  
That she him taught celestial discipline,  
And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine.   

And that her sacred book, with blood ywritt,  
That none could read, except she did them teach.  
She unto him disclosed every whit,  
And heavenly documents thereout did preach,  
That weaker wit of man could never reach,  
Of God, of grace, of justice, of free will,  
That wonder was to hear her goodly speech:  
For she was able, with her words to kill,  
And raise again to life the heart, that she did thrill.   

And when she list pour out her larger sprite,  
She would command the hasty sun to stay,  
Or backward turn his course from heuen's height,  
Sometimes great hosts of men she could dismay,  
And eke huge mountains from their native seat  
She would command, themselves to bear away,  
And throw in raging sea with roaring threat.  
Almighty God her gave such power, and puissance great.   

The faithful knight now grew in little space,  
By hearing her, and by her sister's lore,  
To such perfection of all heavenly grace;  
That wretched world he 'gan for to abhor,  
And mortal life 'gan loath, as thing forlorn,  
Grieved with remembrance of his wicked ways,  
And pricked with anguish of his sins so sore,  
That he desired, to end his wretched days:  
So much the dart of sinful guilt the soul dismays,   

But wise Speranza gave him comfort sweet,  
And taught him how to take assured hold  
Upon her silver anchor, as was meet;  
Else had his sins so great, and manifold  
Made him forget all, that Fidelia told.  
In this distressed doubtful agony,  
When him his dearest una did behold,  
Disdeining life, desiring leave to die,  
She found herself assailed with great perplexity   

And came to Celia to declare her smart,  
Who well acquainted with that common plight,  
Which sinful horror works in wounded heart,  
Her wisely comforted all, that she might,  
With goodly counsel and advisement right;  
And straightway sent with careful diligence,  
To fetch a leech, the which had great insight  
In that disease of grieved conscience,  
And well could cure the same; His name was Patience.   

Who coming to that sowle-diseased knight,  
Can hardly him entreat, to tell his grief:  
Which known, and all that noyd his heavy sprite,  
Well searched, eftsoons he 'gan apply relief.  
Of salves and medicines, which had passing brief,  
And there to added words of wondrous might:  
By which to ease he him recured brief,  
And much aswaged the passion of his plight,  
That he his pain endured, as seeming now more light.   

But yet the cause and root of all his ill,  
Inward corruption, and infected sin,  
Not purged nor healed, behind remained still,  
And festering sore did rankle yet within,  
Close creeping twixt the marrow and the skin.  
Which to extirp, he laid him privily  
down in a darksome lowly place far in,  
Whereas he meant his corrosives to apply,  
And with straight diet tame his stubborn malady.   

In ashes and sackcloth he did array  
His dainty corpse, proud humours to abate,  
And dieted with fasting every day,  
The swelling of his wounds to mitigate,  
And made him pray both early and eke late:  
And ever as superfluous flesh did rot  
Amendment ready still at hand did wait,  
To pluck it out with pincers fiery whott,  
That soon in him was left no one corrupted jot.   

And bitter penance with an iron whip,  
Was wont him once to dispel every day:  
And sharp Remorse his heart did prick and nip,  
That drops of blood thence like a well did play;  
And sad Repentance used to embay,  
His blameful body in salt water sore,  
The filthy blots of sin to wash away.  
So in short space they did to health restore  
The man that would not live, but erst lay at deaths door.   

In which his torment often was so great,  
That like a lion he would cry and roar,  
And rend his flesh, and his own sinews eat.  
His own dear una hearing evermore  
His rueful shrieks and groanings, often tore  
Her guiltless garments, and her golden hear,  
For pity of his pain and anguish sore;  
Yet all with patience wisely she did bear;  
For well she witted, his crime could else be never clear.   

Whom thus recovered by wise Patience,  
And true repentance they to una brought;  
Who joyous of his cured conscience,  
Him dearly kissed, and fairly eke besought  
Himself to cherish, and consuming thought  
To put away out of his careful breast.  
By this Charissa, late in childbed brought,  
Was waxed strong, and left her fruitful nest;  
To her fair una brought this unacquainted guest.   

She was a woman in her freshest age,  
Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare,  
With goodly grace and comely parsonage,  
That was on earth not easy to compare;  
Full of great love, but Cupid's wanton snare  
As hell she hated, chaste in work and will;  
Her neck and breasts were ever open bare,  
That ay thereof her babes might suck their fill;  
The rest was all in yellow robes arrayed still.   

A multitude of babes about her hung,  
Playing their sports, that joyed her to behold;  
Whom still she fed, whiles they were weak & young,  
But thrust them forth still, as they waxed old:  
And on her head she wore a tire of gold,  
Adorned with gems and ouches wondrous fair,  
Whose passing price uneath was to be told;  
And by her side there sat a gentle pair  
Of turtle doves, she sitting in an ivory chair.   

The knight and una entering, fair her greet,  
And bid her joy of that her happy brood;  
Who them requites with courtesies seeming meet,  
And entertains with friendly cheerful mood.  
Then una her besought, to be so good,  
As in her virtuous rules to school her knight,  
Now after all his torment well withstood,  
In that sad house of penance, where his sprite  
Had past the pains of hell, and long enduring night.   

She was right joyous of her just request,  
And taking by the hand that fairy's son,  
'Gan him instruct in every good behest,  
Of love, and righteousness, and well to done,  
And wrath, and hatred warily to shun,  
That drew on men god's hatred, and his wrath,  
And many souls in dolours had fordone:  
In which when him she well instructed hath,  
From thence to heaven she teacheth him the ready path.   

Wherein his weaker wandering steps to guide,  
An ancient matron she to her does call,  
Whose sober looks her wisdom well descried:  
Her name was Mercy, well known over all,  
To be both gracious, and eke liberal:  
To whom the careful charge of him she gave,  
To lead aright, that he should never fall  
In all his ways through this wide worlds wave,  
That Mercy in the end his righteous soul might save.   

The godly matron by the hand him bears  
Forth from her presence, by a narrow way,  
Scattered with bushy thorns, and ragged breares,  
Which still before him she removed away,  
That nothing might his ready passage stay:  
And ever when his feet encumbered were,  
Or 'gan to shrink, or from the right to stray,  
She held him fast, and firmly did upbeare,  
As careful nurse her child from falling oft does rear.   

eftsoons unto an holy hospital,  
That was fore by the way, she did him bring,  
In which seven Bead-men that had vowed all  
Their life to service of high heavens king  
Did spend their days in doing godly thing:  
There gates to all were open evermore,  
That by the weary way were traveling,  
And one sat waiting ever them before,  
To call incommers by, that needy were and poor.   

The first of them that eldest was, and best,  
Of all the house had charge and government,  
As Guardian and Steward of the rest:  
His office was to give entertainment  
And lodging, unto all that came, and went:  
Not unto such, as could him feast again,  
And double quite, for that he on them spent,  
But such, as want of harbour did constrain:  
Those for God's sake his duty was to entertain.   

The second was as almoner of the place,  
His office was, the hungry for to feed,  
And thirsty give to drink, a work of grace:  
He feared not once himself to be in need,  
Ne cared to hoard for those, whom he did breed:  
The grace of God he laid up still in store,  
Which as a stock he left unto his seed;  
He had enough, what need him care for more?  
And had he less, yet some he would give to the poor.   

The third had of their wardrobe custody,  
In which were not rich tires, nor garments gay,  
The plumes of pride, and wings of vanity,  
But clothes meet to keep keen cold away,  
And naked nature seemly to array;  
With which bare wretched wights he daily clad,  
The images of God in earthly clay;  
And if that no spare clothes to give he had,  
His own cote he would cut, and it distribute glad.   

The fourth appointed by his office was,  
Poor prisoners to relieve with gracious aid,  
And captives to redeem with price of brass,  
From Turks and Saracens, which them had stayed;  
And though they faulty were, yet well he weighed,  
That God to us forgiveth every hour  
Much more than that, why they in bands were laid,  
And he that harrowd hell with heavy stowre,  
The faulty souls from thence brought to his heavenly bower.   

The fift had charge sick persons to attend,  
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 soul departing hence away.  
All is but lost, that living we bestow,  
If not well ended at our dying day.  
O man have mind of that last bitter throw;  
For as the tree does fall, so lies it ever low.   

The sixth had charge of them now being dead,  
In seemly sort their corpses to engrave,  
And deck with dainty flowers their bridal bed,  
That to their heavenly spouse both sweet and brave  
They might appear, when he their souls shall save.  
The wondrous workmanship of Gods own mould,  
Whose face he made, all beasts to fear, and gave  
All in his hand, even dead we honour should.  
Ah dearest God me grant, I dead be not defould.   

The seventh now after death and burial done,  
Had charge the tender Orphans of the dead  
And widows aid, lest they should be undone:  
In face of judgement he their right would plead,  
Ne ought the power of mighty men did dread  
In their defence, nor would for gold or fee  
Be won their rightful causes down to tread:  
And when they stood in most necessity,  
He did supply their want, and gave them ever free.   

There when the Elfin knight arrived was,  
The first and chiefest of the seven, whose care  
Was guests to welcome, towards him did pass:  
Where seeing mercy, that his steps upbare,  
And always led, to her with reverence rare  
He humbly louted in meek lowliness,  
And seemly welcome for her did prepare:  
For of their order she was patroness,  
Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.   

There she awhile him stays, himself to rest,  
That to the rest more able he might be:  
During which time, in every good behest  
And godly work of alms and charity  
She him instructed with great industry;  
Shortly therein so perfect he became,  
That from the first unto the last degree,  
His mortal life he learned had to frame  
In holy righteousness, without rebuke or blame.   

Thence forward by that painful way they pass,  
Forth to an hill, that was both steep and hy;  
On top whereof a sacred chapel was,  
And eke a little Hermitage thereby  
Wherein an aged holy man did lie,  
That day and night said his devotion,  
Ne other worldly business did apply;  
His name was heavenly Contemplation;  
Of God and goodness was his meditation.   

Great grace that old man to him given had;  
For God he often saw from heavens height,  
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 sprite,  
As eagle's eye, that can behold the sun:  
That hill they scale with all their power and might,  
That his frail thighs nigh weary, and fordone  
'Gan fail, but by her help the top at last he won.   

There they do find that godly aged Sire,  
With snowy locks adown his shoulders shed,  
As hoary frost with spangles doth attire  
The mossy branches of an oak half ded.  
Each bone might through his body well be red,  
And every sinew seen through his long fast:  
For nought he cared his carcase long unfed;  
His mind was full of spiritual repast,  
And pined his flesh, to keep his body low and chaste.   

Who when these two approaching he aspide,  
At their first presence grew aggrieved sore,  
That forced him lay his heavenly thoughts aside;  
And had he not that Dame respected more,  
Whom highly he did reverence and adore,  
He would not once have moved for the knight.  
They him saluted standing far afore;  
Who well them greeting, humbly did requite,  
And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height.   

What end (qd. she) should cause us take such pain,  
But that same end, which every living wight  
Should make his mark, high heaven to attain?  
Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right  
To that most glorious house, that glistreth bright  
With burning stars, and everliving fire,  
Where of the keys are to thy hand behight  
By wise Fidelia? She doth thee require,  
To show it to this knight, according his desire.   

Thrice happy man, said then the father grave,  
Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead,  
And shows the way, his sinful soul to save.  
Who better can the way to heaven aread,  
Then thou thyself, that was both borne and bred  
In heavenly throne, where thousand Angels shine?  
Thou do est the prayers of the righteous seed  
Present before the majesty divine,  
And his avenging wrath to clemency incline.   

Yet since thou bidst, thy pleasure shallbe done.  
Then come thou man of earth, and see the way,  
That never yet was seen of Faries son,  
That never leads the traveller astray,  
But after labours long, and sad delay,  
Bring them to joyous rest and endless bliss.  
But first thou must a season fast and pray,  
Till from her bands the sprite assoiled is,  
And have her strength recured from frail infirmitis.   

That done, he leads him to the highest Mount;  
Such one, as that same mighty man of God,  
That bloodred billows like a walled front  
On either side disparted with his rod,  
Till that his army dryfoot through them yod,  
Dwelled forty days upon; where writ in stone  
With bloody letters by the hand of God,  
The bitter doom of death and baleful moan  
He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone.   

Or like that sacred hill, whose head full high,  
Adorned with fruitful olives all arownd,  
Is, as it were for endless memory  
Of that dear Lord, who oft thereon was found,  
For ever with a flowering garland crowned:  
Or like that pleasant Mount, that is foray  
Through famous Poets verse each where renowned,  
On which the thrice three learned Ladies play  
Their heavenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.   

From thence, far off he unto him did show  
A little path, that was both steep and long,  
Which to a goodly city led his view;  
Whose walls and towers were builded high & strong  
Of pearl and precious stone, that earthly tongue  
Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell;  
Too high a ditty for my simple song:  
The city of the great king hight it well,  
Wherein eternal peace and happiness doth dwell.   

As he thereon stood gazing, he might see  
The blessed Angels to and fro descend.  
From highest heaven, in gladsome company,  
And with great joy into that city wend,  
As commonly as friend does with his friend.  
Whereat he wondered much, and 'gan inquire,  
What stately building durst so high extend  
Her lofty towers unto the starry sphere,  
And what unknown nation there empeopled were.   

Fair knight (qd. he) Hierusalem that is,  
The new Jerusalem, that God has built  
For those to dwell in, that are chosen his,  
His chosen people purged from sinful guilt,  
With piteous blood, which cruelly was spilled  
On cursed tree, of that unspotted lamb,  
That for the sins of all the world was kilt:  
Now are they Saints all in that city same,  
More dear unto their God, than younglings to their dam.   

Till now, said then the knight, I weened well,  
That great Cleopolis, where I have been,  
In which that fairest Fairy Queen doth dwell  
The fairest city was, that might be seen;  
And that bright tower all built of crystal clean,  
Panthea, seemed the brightest thing, that was:  
But now by proof all otherwise I ween;  
For this great city that does far surpas,  
And this bright Angels tower quite dims that tower of glass.   

Most true, then said the holy aged man;  
Yet is Gleopolis for earthly fame,  
The fairest piece, that eye beholden can:  
And well beseems all knights of noble name,  
That covett in th'immortal book of fame  
To be eternised, that same to haunt,  
And done their service to that sovereign Dame,  
That glory does to them for guerdon grant:  
For she is heavenly borne, and heaven may justly vaunt.   

And thou fair imp, sprung out from English race,  
How ever now accounted Elfins son,  
Well worthy dost thy service for her grace,  
To aid a virgin desolate foredonne.  
But when thou famous victory hast won,  
And high amongst all knights hast hung thy shield,  
Thenceforth the suitt of earthly conquest shun,  
And wash thy hands from guilt of bloody field:  
For blood can nought but sin, & wars but sorrows yield.   

Then seek this path, that I to thee presage,  
Which after all to heaven shall thee send;  
Then peaceably thy painful pilgrimage  
To yonder same Jerusalem do bend,  
Where is for thee ordained a blessed end:  
For thou amongst those Saints, whom thou dost see,  
Shalt be a Saint, and thine own nations friend  
And patron: thou Saint George shalt called be,  
Saint George of merry England, the sign of victoree.   

Unworthy wretch (qd. he) of so great grace,  
How dare I think such glory to attain;  
These that have it attained, were in like case  
As wretched men, and lived in like pain.  
But deeds of arms must I at last be feign,  
And Ladies love to leave so dearly bought?  
What need of arms, where peace doth ay remain,  
(Said he) and bitter battles all ate fought?  
As for lose loves theyare vain, & vanish into nought.   

O let me not (quoth he) then turn again  
Back to the world, whose joys so fruitless are,  
But let me hear for aye in peace remain,  
Or straight way on that last long voyage far,  
That nothing may my present hope empare.  
That may not be (said he) ne Mayst thou yitt  
forego that royal maids bequeathed care,  
Who did her cause into thy hand commit,  
Till from her cursed foe thou have her freely quit.   

Then shall I soon, (qd. he) so God me grace,  
abet that virgin's cause disconsolate,  
And shortly back return unto this place,  
To walk this way in Pilgrims poor estate.  
But now aread, old father, why of late  
Didst thou behight me borne of English blood,  
Whom all a fairy's son done nominate?  
That word shall I (said he) avouchen good,  
Sith to thee is unknown the cradle of thy brood.   

For well I wot, thou springst from ancient race  
Of Saxon Kings, that have with mighty hand  
And many bloody battles fought in face  
High reared their royal throne in Britan's land  
And vanquished them, unable to withstand:  
From thence a fairy thee unwitting reft,  
There as thou slepst in tender swaddling band,  
And her base Elfin brood there for thee left.  
Such men do changelings call, so changed by fairy's theft.   

Thence she thee brought into this fairy land,  
And in an heaped furrow did thee hide,  
Where thee a Ploughman all unwitting fond,  
As he his toilsome teme that way did guide,  
And btought thee up in ploughman's state to bide,  
Whereof Georgos he thee gave to name;  
Till pricked with courage, and thy forces pride,  
To fairy court thou cam'st to seek for fame,  
And prove thy puissant arms, as seems thee best became.   

O holy Sire (quoth he) how shall I quite  
The many favours I with thee have found,  
That hast my name and nation red aright,  
And taught the way that does to heaven bound?  
This said, adown he looked to the ground,  
To have returned, but dazed were his eyen,  
Through passing brightness, which did quite confounded  
His feeble sense, and too exceeding shine.  
So dark are earthly things compared to things divine.   

At last whenas himself he 'gan to find,  
To una back he cast him to retire;  
Who him awaited still with pensive mind.  
Great thanks and goodly meed to that good sire,  
He thence departing gave for his pains hire.  
So came to una, who him joyed to see,  
And after little rest, 'gan him desire,  
Of her adventure mindful for to be.  
So leave they take of Celia, and her daughters three.    

Cant XI.  

The knight with that old Dragon fights  
two days incessantly:  
The third him overthrows, and gayns  
most glorious victory.   

HIgh time now 'gan it wax for una fair,  
To think of those her captive Parents dear,  
And their for wasted kingdom to repair:  
Whereto whenas they now approached near,  
With hearty words her knight she 'gan to cheer,  
And in her modest manner thus bespoke;  
Dear knight, as dear, as ever knight was dear,  
That all these sorrows suffer for my sake,  
High heaven behold the tedious toil, ye for me take.   

Now are we come unto my native soil,  
And to the place, where all our perils dwell;  
Here haunts that fiend, and does his daily spoil,  
Therefore henceforth be it your keeping well,  
And ever ready for your foeman fell.  
The spark of noble courage now awake,  
And strive your excellent self to excel;  
That shall ye evermore renowned make,  
Above all knights on earth, that battle undertake.   

With that they heard a roaring hideous sound,  
That all the air with terror filled wide,  
And seemed uneath to shake the steadfast ground.  
eftsoons that dreadful Dragon they espied,  
Where stretched he lay upon the sunny side,  
Of a great hill, himself like a great hill.  
But all so soon, as he from far descried  
Those glistering arms, that heaven with light did fill,  
He rousd himself full blithe, and hastened them until.   

Then bad the knight this Lady go aloof,  
And to an hill herself withdraw aside,  
From whence she might behold that battles' proof  
And enke be safe from danger far descried:  
She him obeyed, and turned a little wide,  
Now O thou sacred Muse, most learned Dame,  
Fair imp of Phoebus, and his aged bride,  
The nurse of time, and everlasting fame,  
That warlike hands ennoblest with immortal name;   

O gently come into my feeble breast,  
Come gently, but not with that mighty rage,  
Wherewith the martial troops thou dost infest,  
And hearts of great Heroes dost enrage,  
That nought their kindled courage may assuage,  
Soon as thy dreadful trump gins to sound;  
The God of war with his fires equipage  
Thou dost awake, sleep never he so sound,  
And feared nations dost with horror stern astownd.   

Fair goddess lay that furious fit aside,  
Till I of wars and bloody Mars do sing,  
And Bryton fields with Sarazin blood bedyde,  
Twixt that great faery Queen and Paynim king,  
That with their horror heaven and earth did ring,  
A work of labour long, and endless praise:  
But now a while let down that haughty string,  
And to my tunes thy second tenor raise,  
That I this man of God his godly arms may blaze.   

By this the dreadful Beast drew nigh to hand,  
Half flying, and half footing in his haste,  
That with his largeness measured much land,  
And made wide shadow under his huge waste;  
As mountain doth the valley overcaste.  
Approaching nigh, he reared high afore  
His body monstrous, horrible, and vast,  
Which to increase his wondrous greatness more,  
Was swollen with wrath, & poison, & with bloody gore.   

And over, all with brazen scales was armed,  
Like plated cote of steel, so couched near,  
That nought moat pierce, ne might his corpse be harmed  
With dint of sword, nor push of pointed spear,  
Which as an Eagle, seeing pray appear,  
His airy plumes doth rouse, full rudely dight,  
So shaked he, that horror was to hear,  
For as the clashing of an armour bright,  
Such noise his roused scales did send unto the knight.   

His flaggy wings when forth he did display,  
Were like two sails, in which the hollow wind  
Is gathered full, and worketh speedy way:  
And eke the pens, that did his pinions bind,  
Were like mayne-yardes, with flying canvas kind,  
With which whenas him list the air to beat,  
And there by force unwonted passage find,  
The clouds before him fled for terror great,  
And all the heavens stood still amazed with his threat.   

His huge long tail wownd up in hundred folds,  
Does overspread his long bras-scaly back,  
Whose wreathed boughts when ever he unfoldes,  
And thick entangled knots adown does slack,  
Bespotted all with shields of red and black,  
It sweepeth all the land behind him far,  
And of three furlongs does but little lack;  
And at the point two stings in fixed are,  
Both deadly sharp, that sharpest steel exceeden far.   

But stings and sharpest steel did far exceed  
The sharpness of his cruel rending claws;  
Dead was it sure, as sure as death in deed,  
What ever thing does touch his ravenous paws,  
Or what within his reach he ever draws.  
But his most hideous head my tongue to tell,  
Does tremble: for his deep devouring jaws  
Wide gaped, like the grisly mouth of hell,  
Through which into his dark abyss all ravine fell.   

And that more wondrous was, in either jaw  
Three ranks of iron teeth enraunged were,  
In which yet trickling blood and gobbets raw  
Of late devoured bodies did appear,  
That sight thereof bred cold congealed fear:  
Which to increase, and all at once to kill,  
A cloud of smothering smoke and sulphur sear  
Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still,  
That all the air about with smoke and stench did fill.   

His blazing eyes, like two bright shining shields,  
Did burn with wrath, and sparkled living fire;  
As two broad Beacons, set in open fields,  
Send forth their flames far of to every shire,  
And warning give, that enemies conspire,  
With fire and sword the region to invade;  
So flamed his eyen with rage and rancorous ire:  
But far within, as in a hollow glade,  
Those glaring lamps were set, that made a dreadful shade.   

So dreadfully he towards him did pass,  
Forelifting up a fit his speckled breast,  
And often bounding on the bruised grass,  
As for great ioyaunce of his new come guest.  
eftsoons he 'gan advance his haughty crest,  
As chauff Bore his bristles doth uprear,  
And shaken his scales to battle ready dressed;  
That made the Redcrosse knight nigh quake for fear,  
As bidding bold defiance to his foeman near.   

The knight 'gan fairly couch his steady spear,  
And fiercely ran at him with rigorous might:  
The pointed steel arriving rudely there,  
His harder hide would neither pierce, nor bite,  
But glancing by forth passed forward right;  
Yet sore amoved with so puissant push,  
The wrathful beast about him turned light,  
And him so rudely passing by, did brush  
With his long tail, that horse and man to ground did rush.   

Both horse and man up lightly rose again,  
And fresh encounter towards him addressed:  
But th'idle struck yet back recoiled in vain,  
And found no place his deadly point to rest.  
Exceeding rage inflamed the furious beast,  
To be avenged of so great despite;  
For never felt his imperceable breast  
So wondrous force, from hand of living wight;  
Yet had he proved the power of many a puissant knight.   

Then with his waving wings displayed wide,  
Himself up high he lifted from the ground,  
And with strong flight did forcibly divide  
The yielding air, which nigh too feeble found  
Her flitting parts, and element unsound,  
To bear so great a weight: he cutting way  
With his broad sails, about him soared round:  
At last low stooping with unwieldy sway,  
Snatched up both horse & man, to bear them quite away.   

Long he them bore above the subject plain,  
So far as Ewghen bow a shaft may send,  
Till struggling strong did him at last constrain,  
To let them down before his flights end:  
As haggard hawk presuming to contend  
With hardy fowl, above his able might,  
His weary pounces all in vain doth spend,  
To truss the pray too heavy for his flight;  
Which coming down to ground, does free itself by fight.   

He so dizseized of his griping gross,  
The knight his thrillant spear again assayed  
In his bras-plated body to embosse,  
And three men's strength unto the stroke he jayd;  
Wherewith the stiff beam quaked, as afraid,  
And glancing from his scaly neck, did glide  
Close under his left wing, then broad displayed.  
The piercing steel there wrought a wound full wide,  
That with the uncouth smart the Monster loudly cried.   

He cried, as raging seas are wont to roar,  
When wintry storm his wrathful wreck does threat,  
The rolling billows beat the ragged shore,  
As they the earth would shoulder from her seat,  
And greedy gulf does gape, as he would eat  
His neighbour element in his revenge:  
Then gi'en the blustering brethren boldly threat,  
To move the world from off his steadfast hinge,  
And boisterous battle make, each other to avenge.   

The steely head stuck fast still in his flesh,  
Till with his cruel claws he snatched the wood,  
And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed fresh  
A gushing river of black gory blood,  
That drowned all the land, whereon he stood;  
The stream thereof would drive a water-mill.  
Trebly angmented was his furious mood  
With bitter sense of his deep rooted ill,  
That flames of fire he threw forth from his large nosethril.   

His hideous tail than hurled he about,  
And therewith all enwrapped the nimble thighs  
Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage stout  
Striving to lose the knot, that fast him ties,  
Himself in straighter bands too rash implies,  
That to the ground he is perforce constrained  
To throw his rider: who can quickly rise  
From of the earth, with dirty blood distained,  
For that reproachful fall right foully he disdained.   

And fiercely took his trenchand blade in hand,  
With which he struck so furious and so fell,  
That nothing seemed the puissance could withstand:  
Upon his crest the hardened iron fell,  
But his more hardened crest was armed so well,  
That deeper dint therein it would not make;  
Yet so extremely did the buff him quell,  
That from thenceforth he shunned the like to take,  
But when he saw them come, he did them still forsake.   

The knight was wroth to see his stroke beguiled,  
And smote again with more outrageous might;  
But back again the sparkling steel recoiled,  
And left not any mark, where it did light;  
As if in Adamant rock it had been pight,  
The beast impatient of his smarting wound,  
And of so fierce and forcible despite,  
Thought with his wings to sty above the ground;  
But his late wounded wing unserviceable found.   

Then full of grief and anguish vehement,  
He loudly brayed, that like was never heard,  
And from his wide devouring oven sent  
A flake of fire, that flashing in his beard,  
Him all amazed, and almost made afeard:  
The scorching flame sore swinged all his face,  
And through his armour all his body seared,  
That he could not endure so cruel case,  
But thought his arms to leave, and helmet to unlace.   

Not that great Champion of the antic world,  
Whom famous poets verse so much doth vaunt,  
And hath for twelve huge labours high extolled,  
So many furies and sharp fits did haunt,  
When him the poisoned garment did enchant  
With centaurs blood, and bloody verses charmed,  
As did this knight twelve thousand dolours daunt,  
Whom fiery steel now burnt, that erst him armed,  
That erst him goodly armed, now most of all him harmed.   

Faint, weary, sore, emboyled, grieved, brent  
With heat, toil, wounds, arms, smart, & inward fire  
That never man such mischiefs did torment;  
Death better were, death did he oft desire,  
But death will never come, when needs require.  
Whom so dismayed when that his foe beheld,  
He cast to suffer him no more respire,  
But 'gan his sturdy stern about to wield,  
And him so strongly struck, that to the ground him field.   

It fortuned (as fair it then befell,)  
Behind his back unwitting, where he stood,  
Of ancient time there was a springing well,  
From which fast trickled forth a silver flood,  
Full of great virtues, and for medicine good.  
Whilom, before that cursed Dragon got  
That happy land, and all with innocent blood  
Defyld those sacred waves, it rightly hot  
The well of life, ne yet his virtues had forgot.   

For unto life the dead it could restore,  
And guilt of sinful crimes clean wash away,  
Those that with sickness were infected sore,  
It could recure, and aged long decay  
Renew, as it were borne that very day.  
Both Silo this, and Jordan did excel,  
And th'English Bath, and eke the german Spau,  
Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus match this well:  
Into the same the knight back overthrown, fell.   

Now 'gan the golden Phoebus for to steep  
His fiery face in billows of the west;  
And his faint steeds watered in Ocean deep,  
Whiles from their journal labours they did rest,  
When that infernal Monster, having kest  
His weary foe into that living well,  
Can high advance his broad discoloured breast,  
Above his wont pitch, with countenance sell,  
And clapped his iron wings, as victor he did dwell.   

Which when his pensive Lady saw from far,  
Great woe and sorrow did her soul assay,  
As weening that the sad end of the war,  
And 'gan to highest God entirely pray,  
That feared chance from her to turn away;  
With folded hands and knees full lowly bent  
All night she watched, ne once adown would lay  
Her dainty limbs in her sad dreariment,  
But praying still did wake, and waking did lament.   

The morrow next 'gan early to appear,  
That Titan rose to run his daily tace;  
But early ere the morrow next 'gan rear  
Out of the sea fair Titan's dewy face,  
up rose the gentle virgin from her place,  
And looked all about, if she might spy  
Her loved knight to move his manly pace:  
For she had great doubt of his safety,  
Since late she saw him fall before his enemy.   

At last she saw, where he upstarted brave  
Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay;  
As Eagle fresh out of the Ocean wave,  
Where he hath left his plumes all hoary grey,  
And decked himself with feathers youthly gay,  
Like Eyas hawk up mounts unto the skies,  
His newly budded pinions to assay,  
And marvels at himself, still as he flies:  
So view this new-born knight to battle new did rise.   

Whom when the damned fiend so fresh did spy,  
No wonder, if he wondered at the sight,  
and doubted, whether his late enemy  
It were, or other new supplied knight.  
He, now to prove his late renewed might,  
High brandishing his bright deaw-burning blade,  
Upon his crested scalp so sore did smite,  
That to the skull a yawning wound it made:  
The deadly dint his dulled senses all dismayed.   

I wot not, whether the revenging steel  
Were hardened with that holy water dew,  
Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feel,  
Or his baptised hands now greater grew;  
Or other secret virtue did ensue;  
Else never could the force of fleshly arm,  
Ne molten metal in his blood imbrue:  
For till that stound could never wight him harm,  
By subtlety, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charm.   

The cruel wound enraged him so sore,  
That loud he yielded for exceeding pain;  
As hundred ramping Lions seemed to roar,  
Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constrain:  
Then 'gan he toss aloft his stretched train,  
And there with scourge the buxom air so sore,  
That to his force to yielden it was feign;  
Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore,  
That high trees overthrew, and rocks in pieces tore.   

The same advancing high above his head,  
With sharp intended sting so rude him smott,  
That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead,  
Ne living wight would have him life behott:  
The mortal sting his angry needle shot  
Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seized,  
Where fast it stuck, ne would thereout be got:  
The grief thereof him wondrous sore diseased,  
Ne might his rancling pain with patience be appeased.   

But yet more mindful of his honour dear,  
Then of the grievous smart, which him did wring,  
From loathed soil he can him lightly rear,  
And strove to lose the far infixed sting:  
Which when in vain he tried with struggling,  
Inflamed with wrath, his raging blade he hefte,  
And struck so strongly, that the knotty string  
Of his huge tail he quite a sunder cleft,  
Five joints thereof he hewed, & but the stump him left.   

Hart cannot think, what outrage, and what cries,  
With fowl enfouldred smoke and flashing fire,  
The hellbred beast threw forth unto the skies,  
That all was covered with darkness dire:  
Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire,  
He cast at once him to avenge for all,  
And gathering up himself out of the mire,  
With his uneven wings did fiercely fall,  
Upon his sunne-bright shield, and grypt it fast withal.   

Much was the man encumbered with his hold,  
In fear to lose his weapon in his paw,  
Ne witted yet, how his talaunts to unfold;  
For harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw  
To pluck a bone, then from his cruel claw  
To reave by strength, the gripped gage away:  
Thrice he assayed it from his foot to draw,  
And thrice in vain to draw it did assay,  
It booted nought to think, to rob him of his prey.   

though when he saw no power might prevail,  
His trusty sword he called to his last aid,  
Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assail,  
And double blows about him stoutly laid,  
That glancing fire out of the iron played;  
As sparkles from the Anduile use to fly,  
When heavy hammers on the wedg are swayed;  
Therewith at last he forced him to untie  
One of his grasping feet, him to defend thereby.   

The other foot, fast fixed on his shield  
Whenas no strength, nor strokes mote him constrain  
To lose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield,  
He smott thereat with all his might and main,  
That nought so wondrous puissance might sustain;  
Upon the joint the lucky steel did light,  
And made such way, that hewed it quite in twain;  
The paw yet miss not his minisht might,  
But hung still on the shield, as it at first was pight.   

For grief thereof, and devilish despite,  
From his infernal furnace forth he threw  
Huge flames, that dimmed all the heavens light,  
Enrolled in duskish smoke and brimstone blew;  
As burning Aetna from his boiling stew  
Doth belch out flames, and rocks in pieces broke,  
And ragged ribs of mountains melted new,  
enwrapped in coal-black clouds and filthy smoke,  
That all the land with stench, & heaven with horror choke.   

The heat whereof, and harmful pestilence  
So sore him noyd, that forced him to retire  
A little backward for his best defence,  
To save his body from the scorching fire,  
Which he from hellish entrails did expire.  
It chanced (eternal God that chance did guide)  
As he recoiled backward, in the mire  
His nigh foreweried feeble feet did slide,  
And down he fell, with dread of shame sore terrified.   

There grew a goodly tree him fair beside,  
Loaden with fruit and apples rosy red,  
As they in pure vermilion had been died,  
Whereof great virtues over all were red:  
For happy life to all, which thereon fed,  
And life eke everlasting did befall:  
Great God it planted in that blessed stedd  
With his Almighty hand, and did it call  
The tree of life, the crime of our first father's fall.   

In all the world like was not to be found,  
Save in that soil, where all good things did grow,  
And freely sprung out of the fruitful ground,  
As incorrupted Nature did them sow,  
Till that dredd Dragon all did overthrow.  
Another like fair tree eke grew thereby,  
Whereof who so did eat, eftsoons did know  
Both good and ill: O mournful memory:  
That tree through one man's fault hath done us all to die.   

From that first tree forth flowed, as from a well,  
A trickling stream of balm, most sovereign  
And dainty dear, which on the ground still fell,  
And overflowed all the fertile plain,  
As it had deawed been with timely rain:  
Life and long health that gracious ointment gave,  
And deadly wounds could heal, and rear again  
The senseless corpse appointed for the grave.  
Inio that same he fell: which did from death him save.   

For nigh thereto the ever damned Beast  
Durst not approach, for he was deadly made,  
And all that life preserved, did detest:  
Yet he it oft adventured to invade.  
By this the drooping daylight 'gan to fade,  
And yied his room to sad succeeding night,  
Who with her sable mantle 'gan to shade  
The face of earth, and ways of living wight,  
And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright.   

When gentle una saw the second fall  
Of her dear knight, who weary of long fight,  
And faint through loss of blood, moved not at all, might  
But lay as in a dream of deep delight,  
Besmeared with precious balm, whose virtuous  
Did heal his wounds, and scorching heat allay,  
Again she stricken was with sore affright,  
And for his safety 'gan devoutly pray;  
And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous day.   

The joyous day 'gan early to appear,  
And fair Aurora from the dewy bed  
Of aged Tithone 'gan herself to rear,  
With rosy cheeks, for shame as blushing red;  
Her golden locks for haste were loosely shed  
About her ears, when una her did mark  
Climb to her chariot, all with flowers spread;  
From heaven high to chase the cheerless dark,  
With merry note her loud salutes the mounting lark.   

Then freshly up arose the doughty knight,  
All healed of his hurts and wounds wide,  
And did himself to battle ready dight;  
Whose early foe awaiting him beside  
To have devoured, so soon as day he spied,  
When now he saw himself so freshly rear,  
As if late fight had nought him damnifyde,  
He wox dismayed, and 'gan his fate to fear;  
Nathlesse with wont rage he him advanced nearé.   

And in his first encounter, gaping wide,  
He thought at once him to have swallowed quite,  
And rushed upon him with outrageous pride;  
Who him rencountring fierce, as hawk in flight,  
Perforce rebutted back. The weapon bright  
Taking advantage of his open jaw,  
Ran through his mouth with so importune might,  
That deep emperst his darksome hollow maw,  
And back retyrd, his life blood forth with all did draw.   

So down he fell, and forth his life did breath;  
That vanished into smoke and clouds swift;  
So down he fell, that th'earth him underneath  
Did groan, as feeble so great load to lift;  
So down he fell, as an huge rocky cleft,  
Whose false foundation waves have washed away,  
With dreadful poised is from the mayneland rift,  
And rolling down, great Neptune doth dismay;  
So down he fell, and like an heaped mountain lay.   

The knight himself even trembled at his fall,  
So huge and horrible a mass it seemed;  
And his dear Lady, that beheld it all,  
Durst not approach for dread, which she misdeemd,  
But yet at last, whenas the direful fiend  
She saw not stir, of-shaking vain affright,  
She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end:  
Then God she praised, and thanked her faithful knight,  
That had achieved so great a conquest by his might.    

Cant. XII.  

Fair Una to the Redcrosse knight  
betrothed is with joy:  
Though false Duessa it to bar  
Her false sleights do employ.   

BEhold I see the haven nigh at hand,  
To which I mean my weary course to bend;  
Vere the main sheet, and bear up with the land,  
The which afore is fayrly to be kend,  
And seemeth safe from storms, that may offend;  
There this fair virgin weary of her way  
Must landed be, now at her journeys end:  
There eke my feeble bark a while may stay,  
Till merry wind and weather call her thence away.   

Scarcely had Phoebus in the glooming East  
Yet harnessed his fyrie-footed team,  
Ne reared above the earth his flaming crest,  
When the last deadly smoke aloft did steam,  
That sign of last outbreathed life did seem,  
Unto the watchman on the castle wall;  
Who thereby dead that baleful Beast did deem,  
And to his Lord and Lady loud 'gan call,  
To tell, how he had seen the dragon's fatal fall,   

uprose with hasty joy, and feeble speed  
That aged sire, the Lord of all that land,  
And looked forth, to weet, if true indeed  
Those tidings were, as he did understand,  
Which whenas true by try all he out fond,  
He bad to open wide his brazen gate,  
Which long time had been shut, and out of hand  
Proclaimed joy and peace through all his state;  
For dead now was their foe, which them forayed late.   

Then 'gan triumphant trumpets sound on high,  
That sent to heaven the echoed report  
Of their new joy, and happy victory  
'Gainst him, that had them long oppressed with tort,  
And fast imprisoned in sieged fort.  
Then all the people, as in solemn feast,  
To him assembled with one full consort,  
Rejoicing at the fall of that great beast,  
From whose eternal bondage now they were released.   

Forth came that ancient Lord and aged Queen,  
Arrayed in antic robes down to the ground,  
And sad habiliments right well beseen;  
A noble crew about them waited round  
Of sage and sober Peres, all gravely gownd;  
Whom far before did march a goodly band  
Of tall young men, all able arms to sound,  
But now they laurel branches bore in hand;  
Glad sign of victory and peace in all their land.   

Unto that doughty conqueror they came,  
And him before themselves prostrating low,  
Their Lord and patron loud did him proclaim,  
And at his feet their laurel boughs did throw.  
Soon after them all dancing on a row  
The comely virgins came, with garlands dight,  
As fresh as flowers in meadow green do grow,  
When morning dew upon their leaves doth light:  
And in their hands sweet Timbrels all upheld on height.   

And them before, the fry of children young  
Their wanton sports and childish mirth did play,  
And to the maidens sounding timbrels sung  
In well attuned notes, a joyous lay,  
And made delightful music all the way,  
Until they came, where that fair virgin stood;  
As fair Diana in fresh summers day,  
Beholds her nymphs, enranged in shady wood,  
Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in crystal flood,   

So she beheld those maidens merriment.  
With cheerful view; who when to her they came,  
Themselves to ground with gracious humblesse bent  
And her adored by honourable name,  
Lifting to heaven her everlasting fame:  
Then on her head they set agirlond green,  
And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game;  
Who in her self-resemblance well beseen,  
Did seem such, as she was, a goodly maiden Queen.   

And after all the rascal many ran,  
Heaped together in rude rabblement,  
To see the face of that victorious man:  
Whom all admired, as from heaven sent,  
And gazed upon with gaping wonderment,  
But when they came, where that dead Dragon jay,  
Stretched on the ground in monstrous large extent,  
The sight with idle fear did them dismay,  
Ne durst approach him nigh, to touch, or once assay.   

Some feared, and fled; some feared and well it saynd;  
One that would wiser seem, than all the rest,  
Warned him not touch, for yet perhaps remained  
Some lingering life within his hollow breast,  
Or in his womb might lurk some hidden nest  
Of many Dragonettes, his fruitful seed;  
Another said, that in his eyes did rest  
Yet sparkling fire, and bad thereof take heed;  
Another said, he saw him move his eyes indeed.   

One mother, whenas her foolehardy child  
Did come to near, and with his talons play  
Half dead through fear, her little babe revyld,  
And to her gossibs 'gan in counsel say;  
How can I tell, but that his talents may  
Yet scratch my son, or rend his tender hand.  
So diversly themselves in vain they fray;  
Whiles some more bold, to measure him nigh stand,  
To prove how many acres he did spread of land.   

Thus flocked all the folk him round about,  
The while that hoary king, with all his train,  
Being arrived, where that champion stout  
After his foe's defeasaunce did remain,  
Him goodly greets, and fair does entertain,  
With princely gifts of ivory and gold,  
And thousand thanks him yields for all his pain.  
Then when his daughter dear he does behold,  
Her dearly doth embrace, and kisseth manifold.   

And after to his palace he them brings,  
With shaumes, & trumpets, & with Clarions sweet;  
And all the way the joyous people singes,  
And with their garments strews the paved street  
Whence mounting up, they find purveyance meet  
Of all, that royal Prince's court became,  
And all the floor was underneath their feet  
Be spread with costly scarlott of great name,  
On which they lowly sit, and fitting purpose frame.   

What needs me tell their feast and goodly guise,  
In which was nothing riotous nor vain?  
What needs of dainty dishes to devise,  
Of comely services, or courtly train?  
My narrow leaves cannot in them untayne  
The large discourse of royal Prince's state.  
Yet was their manner then but bare and plain:  
For th'antic world excess and pride did hate;  
Such proud luxurious pomp is swollen up but late.   

Then when with meats and drinks of every kind  
Their fervent appetites they quenched had,  
That ancient Lord 'gan fit occasion find,  
Of strange adventures, and of perils sad,  
Which in his travel him befallen had,  
For to demand of his renowned guest:  
Who then with vtt'rance grave, and countenance sad,  
From point to point, as is before expressed,  
Discoursed his voyage long, according his request.   

Great pleasure mixed with pitiful regard,  
That godly King and Queen did passionate,  
Whiles they his pitiful adventures heard,  
That oft they did lament his luckless state,  
And often blame the too importune fate,  
That heapd on him so many wrathful wreaks:  
For never gentle knight, as he of late,  
So tossed was in fortunes cruel freaks;  
And all the while salt tears bedewed the hearers cheaks.   

Then said that royal Pere in sober wise;  
Dear son, great been the evils, which ye bore  
From first to last in your late enterprise,  
That I note, whether praise, or pity more:  
For never living man, I ween, so fore  
In sea of deadly dangers was distressed;  
But since now safe ye seized have the shore,  
And well arrived are, (high God be blest)  
Let us devise of ease and everlasting rest.   

Ah dearest Lord, said then that doughty knight,  
Of ease or rest I may not yet devise;  
For by the faith, which I to arms have plight,  
I bownden am straight after this emprize,  
As that your daughter can ye well advise,  
Back to return to that great fairy qweene,  
And her to serve six years in warlike wise,  
'Gainst that proud Paynim king, that works her teen:  
Therefore I ought crave pardon, till I there have been.   

Unhappy falls that hard necessity,  
(Quoth he) the troubler of my happy peace,  
And vowed foe of my felicity;  
Ne I against the same can justly press:  
But since that band ye cannot now release,  
Nor done undo; (for vows may not be vain)  
Soon as the term of those six years shall cease,  
Ye then shall hither back return again,  
The marriage to accomplish vowed betwixt you twain.   

Which for my part I covet to perform,  
In sort as through the world I did proclaim,  
That who so killed that monster most deform,  
And him in hardy battle overcame,  
Should have mine only daughter to his Dame,  
And of my kingdom heir apparent be:  
Therefore since now to thee perteynes the same,  
By due desert of noble chevalree,  
Both daughter and eke kingdom, lo I yield to thee.   

Then forth he called that his daughter fair,  
The fairest un ' his only daughter dear,  
His only daughter, and his only hair;  
Who forth proceeding with sad sober cheer,  
As bright as doth the morning star appear  
Out of the East, with flaming locks bedight,  
To tell that dawning day is drawing near,  
And to the world does bring long wished light;  
So fair and fresh that Lady showed herself in sight.   

So fair and fresh, as freshest flower in May;  
For she had laid her mournful stole aside,  
And widow-like sad wimple thrown away,  
Wherewith her heavenly beauty she did hide,  
Whiles on her weary journey she did ride;  
And on her now a garment she did wear,  
All lily white, withouten spot, or pride,  
That seemed like silk and silver woven near,  
But neither silk nor silver therein did appear.   

The blazing brightness of her beauty's beam,  
And glorious light of her sunshyny face  
To tell, were as to strive against the stream,  
My ragged rhymes are all too rude and base,  
Her heavenly lineaments for to enchase.  
Ne wonder; for her own dear loved knight,  
All were she daily with himself in place,  
Did wonder much at her celestial sight:  
Oft had he seen her fair, but never so fair dight.   

So fairly dight, when she in presence came,  
She to her sire made humble reverence,  
And bowed low, that her right well became,  
And added grace unto her excellence:  
Who with great wisdom, and grave eloquence  
Thus 'gan to say. But ear he thus had said,  
With flying speed, and seeming great pretence,  
Came running in, much like a man dismayed,  
A Messenger with letters, which his message said.   

All in the open hall amazed stood,  
At suddeinnesse of that unwary sight,  
And wondered at his breathless hasty 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 kissed the ground, whereon his foot was pight;  
Then to his hands that writ he did betake,  
Which he disclosing, read thus, as the paper spoke.   

To thee, most mighty king of Eden fair,  
Her greeting sends in these sad lines addressed,  
The woeful daughter, and forsaken heir  
Of that great Emperor of all the West;  
And bids thee be aduized for the best,  
Ere thou thy daughter link in holy band  
Of wedlock to that new unknown guest:  
For he already plighted his right hand  
Unto another love, and to another land.   

To me sad maid, or rather widow sad,  
He was affyaunced long time before,  
And sacred pledges he both gave, and had,  
False errant knight, infamous, and forswore:  
Witness the burning Altars, which he swore,  
And guilty heavens of his bold perjury,  
Which though he hath polluted oft of yore,  
Yet I to them for judgement just do fly,  
And them conjure t'avenge this shameful injury.   

Therefore since mine he is, or free or bond,  
Or false or true, or living or else dead,  
Withhold, O sovereign Prince, your hasty hand  
From knitting league with him, I you aread;  
Neweene my right with strength adown to tread,  
Through weakness of my widowhood, or woe:  
For truth is strong, her rightful cause to plead,  
And shall find friends, if need requireth so.  
So bids thee well to far, Thy neither friend, nor foe, Fidessa.   

When he these bitter biting words had red,  
The tidings strange did him abashed make,  
That still he sat long time astonished  
As in great muse, ne word to creature spoke.  
At last his solemn silence thus he broke,  
With doubtful eyes fast fixed on his guest;  
Redoubted knight, that for mine only sake  
Thy life and honor late adventurest,  
Let nought be hid from me, that aught to be expressed.   

What mean these bloody vows, and idle threats,  
Thrown out from womanish impatient mind?  
What heavens? what altars? what enraged heats  
Here heaped up with terms of love unkind,  
My conscience clear with guilty bands would bind?  
High God be witness, that I guiltless ame.  
But if yourself, Sir knight, ye faulty find,  
Or wrapped be in loves of former Dame,  
With crime do not it cover, but disclose the same.   

To whom the Redcrosse knight this answer sent,  
My Lord, my king, be nought hereat dismayed,  
Till well ye wot by grave intendiment,  
What woman, and wherefore doth me upbraid  
With breach of love, and loyalty betrayed.  
It was in my mishaps, as hitherward  
I lately traveild, that unwares I stayed  
Out of my way, through perils strange and hard;  
That day should fail me, ere I had them all declared.   

There did I find, or rather I was found  
Of this false woman, that Fidessa hight,  
Fidessa hight the falsest Dame on ground,  
Most false Duessa, royal richly dight,  
That easy was to inveigle weaker sight:  
Who by her wicked arts, and wiely skill,  
Too false and strong for earthly skill or might,  
Unwares me wrought unto her wicked will,  
And to my foe betrayed, when least I feared ill.   

Then stepped forth the goodly royal maid,  
And on the ground herself prostrating low,  
With sober countenance thus to him said;  
O pardon me, my sovereign Lord, to sheow  
The secret treasons, which of late I know  
To have been wrought by that false sorceress.  
She only she it is, that erst did throw  
This gentle knight into so great distress,  
That death him did await in daily wretchedness.   

And now it seems, that she suborned hath  
This crafty messenger with letters feign,  
To work new woe and improvided scath,  
By breaking of the band betwixt us twain;  
Wherein she used hath the practic pain  
Of this false footman, clokt with simpleness,  
Whom if ye please for to discover plain,  
Ye shall him Archimago find, I guess,  
The falsest man alive; woe tries shall find no less.   

The king was greatly moved at her speech,  
And all with sudden indignation freight,  
Bad on that Messenger rude hands to reach.  
eftsoons the guard, which on his state did wait,  
Attached that faytor false, and bound him straight:  
Who seeming sorely chauff at his band,  
As chained bear, whom cruel dogs do bait,  
With idle force did feign them to withstand,  
And often semblance made to scape out of their hand.   

But they him laid full low in dungeon deep,  
And bound him hand and foot with iron chains.  
And with continual watch did warily keep;  
Who then would think, that by his subtle trains  
He could escape fowl death or deadly pains?  
Thus when that Prince's wrath was pacified,  
He 'gan renew the late forbidden bains,  
And to the knight his daughter dear he tied,  
With sacred rites and vows for ever to abide.   

His own two hands the holy knots did knit,  
That none but death for ever can divide;  
His own two hands, for such a turn most fit,  
The housling fire did kindle and provide,  
And holy water thereon sprinkled wide;  
At which the bushy Teade a groom did light,  
And sacred lamp in secret chamber hide,  
Where it should not be quenched day nornight,  
For fear of evil fates, but burnen ever bright.   

Then 'gan they sprinkle all the posts with wine,  
And made great feast to solemnize that day;  
They all perfumed with frankincense divine,  
And precious odours fetched from far away,  
That all the house did sweat with great array:  
And all the while sweet music did apply  
Her curious skill, the warbling notes to play,  
To drive away the dull Melancholy;  
The whiles one sung a song of love and jollity.   

During the which there was an heavenly noise  
Herd sound through all the palace pleasantly,  
Like as it had been many an Angels voice,  
Singing before th'eternal majesty,  
In their trinall triplicitles on high;  
Yet witted no creature, whence that heavenly sweet  
Proceeded, yet each one felt secretly  
Himself thereby rest of his senses meet,  
And ravished with rare impression in his spirit.   

Great joy was made that day of young and old,  
And solemn feast proclaimed throughout the land,  
That their exceeding mirth may not be told:  
Snffice it hear by signs to understand  
The usual joys at knitting of loves band.  
Thrice happy man the knight himself did hold,  
Possessed of his Lady's heart and hand,  
And ever, when his eye did her behold,  
His heart did seem to melt in pleasures manifold.   

Her joyous presence and sweet company  
In full content there did long enjoy,  
Ne wicked envy, ne vile jealousy  
His dear delights were able to annoy:  
Yet swimming in that sea of blissful joy,  
He nought forgot, how he whilom had sworn,  
Incase he could that monstrous beast destroy,  
Unto his Faery Queen back to return:  
The which he shortly did, and una left to mourn.   

Now strike your sails ye jolly Mariners,  
For we be come unto a quiet road,  
Where we must land some of our passengers,  
And light this weary vessel of her load.  
Here she a while may make her safe abode,  
Till she repaired have her tackles spent,  
And wants supplied. And then again abroad  
On the long voyage whereto she is bend:  
Well may she speed and fairly finish her intent.    
Finis Lib. I.   

The second book of the fairy Queen. Containing The Legend of Sir Guyon. OR Of temperance.  
 

RIght well I wot most mighty sovereign,  
That all this famous antic history,  
Of some th'abundance of an idle brain  
Will judged be, and painted forgery,  
Rather than matter of just memory,  
Sith none, that breatheth living air, does know,  
Where is that happy land of fairy,  
Which I so much do vaunt, yet nowhere show,  
But vouch antiquities, which no body can know.   

But let that man with better sense advise,  
That of the world lest part to us is red:  
And daily how through hardy enterprise,  
Many great Regions are discovered,  
Which to late age were never mentioned,  
Who ever heard ofth'Indian Peru  
Or who in venturous vessel measured  
The Amarons huge river now found true  
Or fruitfullest Virginia who did ever view.   

Yet all these were when no man did them know  
Yet have from wisest ages hidden been  
And later times things more unknown shall show  
Why then should witless man so much misweene  
That nothing is but that which he hath seen?  
What if within the moons fair shining sphere  
What if in ever other star unseen  
Of other worlds he happily should hear  
He wonder would much more, yet such to some appear   

Of faery land yet if he more inquire  
By certain signs here set in sundry place  
He may it find; ne let him then admire  
But yield his sense to be too blunt and base  
That n'ote without an hound fine footing trace  
And then O fairest Princess under sky  
In this fair mirror Mayst behold thy face  
And thine own realms in land of fairy  
And in this antic image thy great ancestry.   

The which O pardon me thus to enfold  
In covert vele and wrap in shadows light  
That feeble eyes your glory may behold  
Which else could not endure those beams bright  
But would be dazzled with exceeding light  
O pardon and vouchsafe with patiented ear  
The brave adventures of this faery knight  
The good Sir Guyon graciously to hear  
In whom great rule of Temp'raunce goodly doth appear.   

Cant I.  

Guyon by Archimage abused,  
the Redcrosse kniggt awaits,  
finds Mordant and Amavia slain  
With pleasures poisoned baits.   

THat cunning Architect of cankered guile,  
Whom Princes late displeasure left in bands,  
For falsed letters and suborned wile,  
Soon as the Redcrosse knight he understands,  
To been departed out of Eden lands,  
To serve again his sovereign Elfin Queen,  
His arts he moves, and out of caitiffs hands  
Himself he frees by secret means unseen;  
His shackles empty left, himself escaped clean.   

And forth he fares full of malicious mind,  
To work mischief and avenging woe,  
Where ever he that godly knight may find,  
His only heart sore, and his only foe,  
Sith una now he algates must forego,  
Whom his victorious hands did erst restore  
To native crown and kingdom late ygone:  
Where she enjoys sure peace for evermore,  
As weather-beaten ship arrived on happy shore.   

Him therefore now the object of his spite  
And deadly food he makes: him to offend  
By forged treason, or by open fight  
He seeks, of all his drift the aimed end:  
Thereto his subtle engines he does bend  
His practic wit, and his fair filed tongue,  
With thousand other sleights: for well he kend,  
His credit now in doubt full balance hung;  
For hardly could be hurt, who was already stung.   

Still as he went, he crafty stales did lay.  
With cunning trains him to entrap unwares,  
And privy spyals placed in all his way,  
To weet what course he takes, and how he fares;  
To catch him at a vantage in his snares.  
But now so wise and wary was the knight  
By trial of his former harms and cares,  
That he descried, and shunned still his slight:  
The fish that once was caught, new bait will hardly bite.   

Natheless th'enchanter would not spare his pain,  
In hope to win occasion to his will;  
Which when he long awaited had in vain,  
He changed his mind from one to other ill:  
For to all good he enemy was still.  
Upon the way him fortuned to meet,  
Fair marching underneath a shady hill,  
A goodly knight, all armed in harness meet,  
That from his head no place appeared to his feet.   

His carriage was full comely and upright,  
His countenance demure and temperate,  
But yet so stern and terrible in sight,  
That cheered his friends, and did his foes amate:  
He was an Elfin borne of noble state,  
And much worship in his native land,  
Well could he tourney and in lists debate,  
And knighthood took of good Sir Huons hand,  
When with king Oberon he came to fairy land.   

Him als accompanied upon the way  
A comely Palmer, clad in black attire,  
Of ripest years, and hears all hoary grey,  
That with a staff his feeble steps did stir,  
Lest his long way his aged limbs should tyre:  
And if by looks one may the mind aread,  
He seemed to be a sage and sober sire,  
And ever with slow pace the knight did lead,  
Who taught his trampling steed with equal steps to tread.   

Such whenas Archimago them did view,  
He weened well to work some uncouth wile,  
eftsoons untwisting his deceitful clew,  
He 'gan to weave a web of wicked guile,  
And with fair countenance and flattering style,  
To them approaching, thus the knight bespoke:  
Fair son of Mars, that seek with warlike spoil.  
And great atchieu'ments great yourself to make,  
Vouchsafe to stay your steed for humble miser's sake.   

He stayed his steed for humble miser's sake,  
And bad tell on the tenor of his plaint;  
Who feigning then in every limb to quake,  
Through inward fear, and seeming pale and faint  
With piteous moan his piercing speech 'gan paint;  
Dear Lady how shall I declare thy case,  
Whom late I left in languorous constraint?  
Would God thyself now present were in place,  
To tell this rueful tale; thy sight could win thee grace.   

Or rather would, O would it so had chanced,  
That you, most noble Sir, had present been,  
When that lewd ribald with vile lust advanced  
Laid first his filthy hands on virgin clean,  
To spoil her dainty corpse so fair and sheen,  
As on the earth, great mother of us all,  
With living eye more fair was never seen,  
Of chastity and honour virginal:  
Witness ye heavens, whom she in vain to help did call.   

How may it be, sdyd then the knight half wroth,  
That knight should knighthood ever so have shent?  
None but that saw (qd. he) would ween for troth,  
How shamefully that maid he did torment.  
Her loser golden locks he rudely rend,  
And drew her on the ground, and his sharp sword,  
Against her snowy breast he fiercely bend,  
And threatened death with many a bloody word;  
Tongue hates to tell the rest, that eye to see abhorred.   

Therewith amoved from his sober mood,  
And lives he yet (said he) that wrought this act,  
And done the heavens afford him vital food?  
He lives, (quoth he) and boasteth of the fact,  
Ne yet hath any knight his courage cracked.  
Where may that treacher then (said he) be found,  
Or by what means may I his footing tract?  
That shall I show (said he) as sure, as hound  
The strike dear doth challenge by the bleeding wound.   

He stayed not longer talk, but with fierce ire  
And zealous haste away is quickly gone,  
To seek that knight, where him that crafty squire  
Supposed to be. They do arrive anon,  
Where sat a gentle Lady all alone,  
With garments rend, and hear disheveled,  
Wring her hands, and making piteous moan;  
Her swollen eyes were much disfigured,  
And her fair face with tears was foully blubbered.   

The knight approaching nigh, thus to her said,  
Fair Lady, through fowl sorrow ill bedight,  
Great pity is to see you thus dismayed,  
And mar the blossom of your beauty bright:  
For thy appease your grief and heavy plight,  
And tell the cause of your conceived pain:  
For if he live, that hath you done despite,  
He shall you do dew recompense again,  
Or else his wrong with greater puissance maintain.   

Which when she heard, as in despiteful wise,  
She wilfully her sorrow did augment,  
And offered hope of comfort did despise:  
Her golden locks most cruelly she rend,  
And scratched her face with ghastly dreariment,  
Ne would she speak, ne see, ne yet be seen,  
But hide her visage, and her head down bend,  
Either for grievous shame, or for great teen,  
As if her heart with sorrow had transfixed been.   

Till her that squire bespoke, Madame my life,  
For Gods dear love be not so wilful bent,  
But do vouchsafe now to receive relief,  
The which good fortune doth to you present.  
For what boots it to weep and to wayment,  
When ill is chanced, but doth the ill increase,  
And the weak mind with double woe torment?  
When she her squire heard speak, she 'gan appease  
Her voluntary pain, and feel some secret ease.   

eftsoon she said, Ah gentle trusty squire,  
What comfort can I woeful wretch conceive,  
Or why should ever I henceforth desire,  
To see fair heavens face, and life not leave,  
Sith that false traitor did my honour reave?  
False traitor certes (said the fairy knight)  
I read the man, that ever would deceive  
A gentle Lady, or her wrong through might:  
Death were too little pain for such a fowl despite.   

But now, fair Lady, comfort to you make,  
And read, who hath ye wrought this shameful plight.  
That short revenge the man may overtake,  
Where so he be, and soon upon him light.  
Certes (said she) I wot not, how he hight,  
But under him a grey steed he did wield,  
Whose sides with dapled circles weren dight;  
Upright he road, and in his silver shield  
He bore a bloody cross, that quartered all the field.   

Now by my head (said Guyon) much I muse,  
How that same knight should do so fowl amiss,  
Or ever gentle damsel so abuse:  
For may I boldly say, he surely is  
A right good knight, and true of word iwis:  
I present was, and can it witness well,  
When arms he swore, and straight did enterpris  
Th'adventure of the Errant damoiselle,  
In which he hath great glory won, as I hear tell.   

Nathlesse he shortly shall again be tried,  
And fairly quit him of th'imputed blame,  
Else be ye sure he dearly shall abide,  
Or make you good amendment for the same:  
All wrongs have mends, but no amends of shame.  
Now therefore Lady, rise out of your pain,  
And see the salving of your blotting name.  
Full loath she seemed thereto, but yet did feign,  
For she was inly glad her purpose so to gain.   

Her purpose was not such, as she did feign,  
Ne yet her person such, as it was seen,  
But under simple show and semblant plain  
Lurked false Duessa secretly unseen,  
As a chaste Virgin, that had wronged been:  
So had false Archimago her disguysd,  
To cloak her guile with sorrow and sad teen;  
And eke himself had craftily devised  
To be her Squire, and do her service well aguisd.   

Her late forlorn and naked he had found,  
Where she did wander in waste wilderness,  
Lurking in rocks and caves far under ground,  
And with green moss covering her nakedness,  
To hide her shame and loathly filthiness,  
Sith her Prince Arthur of proud ornaments  
And borrowed beauty spoiled. Her nevertheless  
Th'enchanter finding fit for his intents,  
Did thus revest, and decked with due habiliments.   

For all he did, was to deceive good knights,  
And draw them from pursuit of praise and fame,  
To slug in sloth and sensual delights,  
And end their days with irrenowmed shame.  
And now exceeding grief him overcame,  
To see the Redcrosse thus advanced high;  
Therefore this crafty engine he did frame,  
Against his praise to stir up enmity  
Of such, as virtues like mote unto him ally.   

So now he Guyon guides an uncouth way  
Through woods & mountains, till they came at last  
Into a pleasant dale, that low lay  
Betwixt two hills, whose high heads overplast,  
The valley did with cool shade overcast;  
Through midst thereof a little river rolled,  
By which there sat a knight with helm unlaste,  
Himself refreshing with the liquid cold,  
After his travel long, and labours manifold.   

Lo yonder he, cried Archimage aloud,  
That wrought the shameful fact, which I did show,  
And now he doth himself in secret shroud,  
To fly the vengeance for his outrage dew;  
But vain: for ye shall dearly do him rue,  
So God ye speed, and send you good success;  
Which we far off will here abide to view.  
So they him left, inflamed with wrathfulness,  
That straight against that knight his spear he did address.   

Who seeing him from far so fierce to prick,  
His warlike arms about him 'gan embrace,  
And in the rest his ready spear did stick;  
though when as still he saw him towards pace,  
He 'gan rencontre him in equal race:  
They been ymett, both ready to affrap,  
When suddenly that warrior 'gan abase  
His threatened spear, as if some new mishap  
Had him betide, or hidden danger did entrap.   

And cried, mercy Sir knight, and mercy Lord,  
For mine offence and heedless hardiment,  
That had almost committed crime abhorred,  
And with reproachful shame mine honour shent,  
Whiles cursed steel 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 steed could stay uneath,  
Who pricked with couragekene, did cruel battle breath   

But when he heard him speak, straight way he knew  
His error, and himself inclining said,  
Ah dear Sir Guyon, well becometh you,  
But me behoveth rather to upbraid,  
Whose hasty hand so fat from reason strayed,  
That almost it did heinous violence  
On that fair image of that heavenly maid,  
That decks and arms your shield with fair defence:  
Your curtsy takes on you another's dew offence,   

So been they both at one, and done upreare  
Their bevers bright, each other for to greet;  
Goodly comportaunce each to other bear,  
And entertain themselves with courtesies meet;  
Then said the Redcrosse knight, Now moat I weet,  
Sir Guyon, why with so fierce saliaunce,  
And fell intent ye did at erst me meet;  
For sith I know your goodly governance,  
Great cause, I ween, you guided, or some uncouth chance.   

Certes (said he) well moat I shame to tell  
The fond encheason, that me hither led.  
A false infamous faitour late befell  
Me for to meet, that seemed ill bestead,  
And playnd of grievous outrage, which he read  
A knight had wrought against a Ladiegent;  
Which to avenge, he to this place me led,  
Where you he made the mark of his intent,  
And now is fled, foul shame him follow, where he went.   

So can he turn his earnest unto game,  
Through goodly handling and wise temperance.  
By this his aged Guide in presence came,  
Who soon as one that knight his eye did glance,  
Eft 'zounds of him had perfect cognisance,  
Sith him in fairy court he late avizd;  
And said, fair son, God give you happy chance,  
And that dear cross upon your shield devizd,  
Wherewith above all knights ye goodly seem aguizd.   

joy may you have, and everlasting fame,  
Of late most hard atchieu'ment by you done,  
For which enroled is your glorious name  
In heavenly registers above the sun,  
Where you a Saint with Saints your seat have won:  
But wretched we, where ye have left your mark,  
Most now anew begin, like race to run;  
God guide thee, Guyon, well to end thy work,  
And to the wished haven bring thy weary bark.   

Palmer, him answered the Redcrosse knight,  
His be the praise, that this atchieu'ment wrought,  
Who made my hand the organ of his might;  
More than goodwill to me attribute nought:  
For all I did, I did but as I ought.  
But you fair Sir, whose pageant next ensues,  
Well moat ye thee, as well can wish your thought,  
That home ye may report these happy news;  
For well ye worthy been for worth and gentle thews.   

So courteous congee both did give and take,  
With right hands plighted, pledges of good will.  
Then Guyon forward 'gan his voyage make,  
With his black Palmer, that him guided still.  
Still he him guided over dale and hill,  
And with his steady staff did point his way:  
His race with reason, and with words his will,  
From fowl intemperance he oft did stay,  
And suffered not in wrath his hasty steps to stray.   

In this fair wise they traveild long yfere,  
Through many hard assays, which did betide,  
Of which he honour still away did bear,  
And spread his glory through all countries wide.  
At last as chanced them by a forest side  
To pass, for secure from the scorching ray,  
They heard a rueful voice, that dearnly cried,  
With piercing shrieks, and many a doleful lay;  
Which to attend, awhile their forward steps they stay.   

But if that careless heavens (qdshe) despise  
The doom of just revenge, and take delight  
To see sad pageants of men's miseries,  
As bound by them to live in lives despite,  
Yet can they not warn death from wretched wight.  
Come then, come soon, come sweetest death to me,  
And take away this long lent loathed light:  
Sharpe be thy wounds, but sweet the medicines be,  
That long captived souls from weary thraldom free.   

But thou, sweet Babe, whom frowning froward fate  
Hath made sad witness of thy father's fall,  
Sith heaven thee deigns to hold in living state,  
Long Mayst thou live, and better thrive withal,  
Then to thy luckless parents did befall:  
Live thou, and to thy mother dead attest,  
That clear she died from blemish criminal;  
Thy little hands imbrued in bleeding breast  
Lo I for pledges leave. So give me leave to rest.   

With that a deadly shriek she forth did throw,  
That through the wood reechoed again,  
And after gave a groan so deep and low,  
That seemed her tender heart was rend in twain,  
Or thrilled with point of thorough piercing pain;  
As gentle hind, whose sides with cruel steel  
Through launched, forth her bleeding life does rain,  
Whiles the sad pang approaching she does feel,  
Braies out her latest breath, and up her eyes doth seel.   

Which when that warrior heard, dismounting straight  
From his tall steed, he rushed into the thick,  
And soon arrived, where that sad portrait  
Of death and dolour lay, half dead, half quick,  
In whose white alabaster breast did stick  
A cruel knife, that made a grisly wownd,  
From which forth gushed a stream of goreblood thick,  
That all her goodly garments stained arownd,  
And into a deep sanguine died the grassy ground.   

Pitiful spectacle of deadly smart,  
Beside a bubbling fountain low she lay,  
Which she increased with her bleeding heart,  
And the clean waves with purple gore did ray;  
Als in her lap a lovely babe did play  
His cruel sport, in stead of sorrow dew;  
For in her streaming blood he did embay  
His little hands, and tender joints imbrue;  
Pitiful spectacle, as ever eye did view.   

Besides them both, upon the soiled grass  
The dead corpse of an armed knight was spread,  
Whose armour all with blood besprinkled was,  
His ruddy lips did smile, and rosy red  
Did paint his cheerful cheeks, yet being ded,  
Seemed to have been a goodly parsonage,  
Now in his freshest flower of lusty head,  
Fit to inflame fair Lady with loves rage,  
But that fires fate did crop the blossom of his age.   

Whom when the good Sir Guyou did behold,  
His heart 'gan wax as stark, as marble stone,  
And his fresh blood did frieze with fearful cold,  
That all his senses seemed bereft atone:  
At last his mighty ghost 'gan deep to groan,  
As Lion grudging in his great disdain,  
Mourns inwardly, and makes to himself moan,  
Till ruth and frail affection did constrain,  
His stout courage to stoop, and show his inward pain.   

Out of her gored wound the cruel steel  
He lightly snatched, and did the floodgate stop  
With his fair garment: then gansoftly feel  
Her feeble pulse, to prove if any drop  
Of living blood yet in her veins did hop;  
Which when he felt to move, he hoped fair  
To call back life to her forsaken shop;  
So well he did her deadly wounds repair,  
That at the last she 'gan to breath out living air.   

Which he perceiving greatly 'gan rejoice,  
And goodly counsel, that for wounded heart  
Is meetest medicine, tempered with sweet voice;  
Ay me, dear Lady, which the image art  
Of rueful pity, and impatient smart,  
What direful chance, armed with avenging fate,  
Or cursed hand hath played this cruel part,  
Thus fowl to hasten your untimely date;  
Speak, O dear Lady speak: help never comes too late.   

Therewith her dim eyelids she up 'gan rear,  
On which the dreary death did sit, as sad  
As lump oflead, and made dark clouds appear;  
But when as him all in bright armour clad  
Before her standing she espied had,  
As one out of a deadly dream affright,  
She weakly started, yet she nothing dread:  
Straight down again herself in great despite,  
She groveling threw to ground, as hating life and light.   

The gentle knight her soon with careful pain  
Uplifted light, and softly did uphold:  
Thrice he her reared, and thrice she sunk again,  
Till he his arms about her sides 'gan fold,  
And to her said; Yet if the stony cold  
Have not all seized on your frozen heart,  
Let one word fall that may your grief unfold,  
And tell the secret of your mortal smart;  
He oft finds present help, who does his grief impart.   

Then casting up a deadly look, full low  
She sight from bottom of her wounded breast,  
And after, many bitter throbs did throw  
With lips full pale and faltering tongue oppressed,  
These words she breathed forth from riven chest;  
Leave, ah leave of, what ever wight thou be,  
To let a weary wretch from her due rest,  
And trouble dying souls tranquillity.  
Take not away now got, which none would give to me.   

Ah far be it (said he) dear dame fro me,  
To hinder soul from her desired rest,  
Or hold sad life in long captivity:  
For all I seek, is but to have redressed  
The bitter pangs, that doth your heart infest.  
Tell then O Lady tell, what fatal proof  
Hath with so huge misfortune you oppressed:  
That I may cast to compass your relief,  
Or die with you in sorrow, and partake your grief,   

With feeble hands then stretched forth on high,  
As heaven accusing guilty of her death,  
And with dry drops congealed in her eye,  
In these sad words she spent her utmost breath:  
Hear then, O man, the sorrows that uneath  
My tongue can tell, so far all sense they pass:  
Lo this dead corpse, that lies here underneath,  
The gentlest knight, that ever on green grass  
Gay steed with spurs did prick, the good Sir Mortdant was.   

Was, (ay the while, that he is not so now)  
My Lord my love; my dear Lord, my dear love,  
So long as heavens just with equal brow,  
Vouchsafed to behold us from above,  
One day when him high courage did emmove,  
As wont ye knights to seek adventures wild,  
He pricked forth his puissant force to prove,  
Me than he left enwombed of this child,  
This luckless child, whom thus ye see with blood defiled.   

Him fortuned (hard fortune ye may guess)  
To come, where vile Acrasia does won,  
Acrasia a false enchaunteresse,  
That many errant knights hath fowl fordone:  
Within a wandering Island, that doth run  
And stray in perilous gulf, her dwelling is,  
Fair Sir, if ever there ye travel, shun  
The cursed land where many wend amiss,  
And know it by the name; it hight the Bower of bliss.   

Her bliss is all in pleasure and delight,  
Wherewith she makes her lovers drunken mad,  
And then with words & weeds of wondrous might,  
On them she works her will to uses bad:  
My liefest Lord she thus beguiled had  
For he was flesh: (all flesh doth frailty breed)  
Whom when I heard to been so ill bestead  
Weak wretch I wrapped myself in palmer's weed,  
And cast to seek him forth through danger & great dread   

Now had fair Cynthia by even turns  
Full measured three quarters of her year,  
And thrice three times had filled her crooked horns,  
Whenas my womb her burden would forbear,  
And bade me call Lucina to me near.  
Lucina came: a man-child forth I brought:  
The woods, the nymphs, my bowers, my midwives wear,  
Hard help at need. So dear thee babe I bought,  
Yet nought to dear I deemed, while so my dear I sought   

Him so I sought, and so at last I found  
Where him that witch had thralled to her will,  
In chains of lust and lewd desires ubownd  
And so transformed from his former skill,  
That me he knew not, nether his own ill;  
Till through wise handling and fair governance,  
I him recured to a better will,  
Purged from drugs of fowl intemperance:  
Then means I 'gan devise for his deliverance.   

Which when the vile Enchaunteresse perceived,  
How that my Lord from her I would reprieve,  
With cup thus charmed, him parting she deceived;  
Sad verse, give death to him that death does give,  
And loss of love, to her that loves to live,  
So soon as Bacchus with the nymph does link,  
So parted we and on our journey drive,  
Till coming to this well, he stooped to drink:  
The charm fulfilled, dead suddenly he down did sink.   

Which when I wretch, Not one word more she said  
But breaking of, the end for want of breath,  
And sliding soft, as down to sleep her laid,  
And ended all her woe in quiet death.  
That seeing good Sir Guyon, could uneath  
From tears abstain for grief his heart did grate,  
And from so heavy sight his head did wreath,  
Accusing fortune, and too cruel fate,  
Which plunged had fair Lady in so wretched state.   

Then turning to his Palmer said, Old sire  
Behold the image of mortality,  
And feeble nature clothed with fleshly tire  
When raging passion with fierce tyranny  
Robs reason of her due regality,  
And makes it servant to her basest part,  
The strong it weakens with infirmity:  
And with bold fury arms the weakest heart;  
The strong through pleasure soonest falls, the weak through smart.   

But temperance (said he) with golden squire  
Betwixt them both can measure out a mean,  
Nether to melt in pleasure's hot desire,  
Nor fry in heartless grief and doleful tene.  
Thrice happy man, who fares them both atween.  
But sith this wretched woman overcome  
Of anguish, rather than of crime hath been,  
Reserve her cause to her eternal doom,  
And in the mean vouchsafe her honourable tomb.   

Palmer, qd. he, death is an equal doom  
To good and bad, the comen In of rest;  
But after death the trial is to come,  
When best shall be to them, that lived best:  
But both alike, when death hath both suppressed,  
Religious reverence doth burial teen,  
Which who so wants, wants so much of his rest:  
For all so greet shame after death I ween,  
As self to dyen bad, unburied bad to been.   

So both agree their bodies to engrave;  
The great earths womb they open to the sky,  
And with sad cypress seemly it embrave,  
Then covering with a clod their closed eye,  
They lay therein those corpses tenderly,  
And bid them sleep in everlasting peace.  
But ere they did their utmost obsequy,  
Sir Guyon more affection to increase,  
Bynempt a sacred vow, which none should ay release.   

The dead knight's sword out of his sheath he drew,  
With which he cut a lock of all their hear,  
Which meddling with their blood & earth, he threw  
Into the grave, and 'gan devoutly swear;  
Such and such evil God on Gúyon rear,  
And worse and worse young orphan be thy pain,  
If I or thou due vengeance do forbear,  
Till guilty blood her guerdon do obtain:  
So shedding many tears, they closed the earth again.    

Cant II.  

Babes bloody hands may not be cleansed,  
the face of golden mean.  
Her sisters two Extremities:  
strive her to banish clean.   

THus when Sir Guyon with his faithful guide  
Had with due rites and dolorous lament  
The end of their sad tragedy uptyde,  
The little babe up in his arms he hent;  
Who with sweet pleasance and bold blandishment  
'Gan smile on them, that rather ought to weep,  
As careless of his woe, or innocent  
Of that was done, that ruth emperced deep  
In that knights heart, and words with bitter tears did steep.   

Ah luckless babe, borne under cruel star,  
And in dead parents baleful ashes bred,  
Full little weenest thou, what sorrows are  
Left thee for portion of thy livelyhed,  
Poor orphan in the wide world scattered,  
As budding branch rend from the native tree,  
And thrown forth, till it be withered:  
Such is the state of men: Thus enter we  
Into this life with woe and end with miseree.   

Then soft himself inclining on his knee  
down to that well, did in the water ween  
(So love does loath disdainful nicety.)  
His guilty hands from bloody gore to clean;  
He washed them oft and oft, yet nought they been  
For all his washing cleaner. Still he strove,  
Yet still the little hands were bloody seen,  
The which him into great amaz'ment drove,  
And into diverse doubt his wavering wonder clove.   

He witted not whether blot of fowl offence  
Might not be purged with water nor with bath;  
Or that high God, in am of innocence,  
Imprinted had that token of his wrath,  
To show how sore bloodguiltinesse he hat'h;  
Or that the charm and venom, which they drunk,  
Their blood with secret filth infected hath,  
Being diffused through the senseless tronck,  
That through the great contagion direful deadly stonck,   

Whom thus at gaze, the Palmer 'gan to board  
With goodly reason, and thus fair bespoke;  
Ye been right heart amated, gracious Lord,  
And of your ignorance great marvel make,  
Whiles cause not well conceived ye mistake.  
But know, that secret virtues are infused  
In every fountain, and in every lake,  
Which who hath skill them rightly to have choosed,  
To proof of passing wonders hath full often used.   

Of those some were so from their source indewd  
By great Dame Nature, from whose fruitful pap  
Their welheads spring, and are with moisture deawd;  
Which feeds each living plant with liquid sap,  
And fills with flowers fair Flora's painted lap:  
But other some by gift of later grace,  
Or by good prayers, or by other hap,  
Had virtue poured into their waters base,  
And thenceforth were renowned, and sought from place place.   

Such is this well, wrought by occasion strange,  
Which to her Nymph befell. Upon a day,  
As she the woods with bow and shafts did range,  
The heartless hind and Robucke to dismay,  
Dan Faunus chanced to meet her by the way,  
And kindling fire at her fair burning eye,  
Inflamed was to follow beauty's chase,  
And chased her, that fast from him did fly;  
As hind from her, so she fled from her enemy.   

At last when failing breath began to faint,  
And saw no means to scape, of shame afraid,  
She set her down to weep for sore constraint,  
And to Diana calling loud for aid,  
Her dear besought, to let her die a maid.  
The goddess heard, and sudden where she sat,  
Welling out streams of tears, and quite dismayed  
With stony fear of that rude rustic mate,  
Transformed her to a stone from steadfast virgin's state.   

Lo now she is that stone, from whose two heads,  
As from two weeping eyes, fresh streams do flow,  
Yet cold through fear, and old conceived dreads;  
And yet the stone her semblance seems to show,  
Shaped like a maid, that such ye may her know;  
And yet her virtues in her water bide:  
For it is chaste and pure, as purest snow,  
Ne lets her waves with any filth be died,  
But ever like herself unstained hath been tried.   

From thence it comes, that this babes bloody hand  
May not be cleansed with water of this well:  
Ne certes Sir strive you it to withstand,  
But let them still be bloody, as befell,  
That they his mother's innocence may tell,  
As she bequeathed in her last testament;  
That as a sacred symbol it may dwell  
In her sons flesh, to mind revengement,  
And be for all chaste Dames an endless monument.   

He hearkened to his reason, and the child  
Vptaking, to the Palmer gave to bear;  
But his sad father's arms with blood defiled,  
An heavy load himself did lightly rear,  
And turning to that place, in which whilere  
He left his lofty steed with golden sell,  
And goodly gorgeous barbs, him found not there.  
By other accident that erst befell,  
He is conveyed, but how or where, here fits not tell.   

Which when Sir Guyon saw, all were he wroth,  
Yet algates moat he soft himself appease,  
And fairly far on foot, how ever loath;  
His double burden did him sore disease.  
So long they travailed with little ease,  
Till that at last they to a Castle came,  
Built on a rock adjoining to the seas,  
It was an ancient work of antic frame,  
And wondrous strong by nature, and by skilful frame.   

Therein three sisters dwelled of sundry sort,  
The children of one sire by mother's three;  
Who dying whilom did divide this fort  
To them by equal shares in equal fee:  
But stryfull mind, and diverse quality  
Drew them in parts, and each made others foe:  
Still did they strive, and daily disagree;  
The eldest did against the youngest go,  
And both against the midst meant to work woe.   

Where when the knight arrived, he was right well  
Received, as knight of so much worth became,  
Of second sister, who did far excel  
The other two; Medina was her name,  
A sober sad, and comely courteous Dame;  
Who rich arrayed, and yet in modest guise,  
In goodly garments, that her well became,  
Fair marching forth in honourable wise,  
Him at the threshold met, and well did enterprise.   

She led him up into a goodly bower,  
And comely courted with meet modesty,  
Ne in her speech, ne in her haviour,  
Was lightness seen, or loser vanity,  
But gracious womanhood, and gravity,  
Above the reason of her youthly years:  
Her golden locks she roundly did uptye  
In breaded trammels, that no loser hears  
Did out of order stray about her dainty ears.   

Whilst she herself thus busily did frame,  
Seemly to entertain her newcome guest,  
News hereof to her other sisters came,  
Who all this while were at their wanton rest,  
Accourting each her friend with lavish fest:  
They were two knights of peerless puissance,  
And famous far abroad for warlike gest,  
Which to these Lady's love did countenance,  
And to his mistress each himself strove to advance.   

He that made love unto the eldest Dame,  
Was height Sir Huddibras, an hardy man;  
Yet not so good of deeds, as great of name,  
Which he by many rash adventures wan,  
Since errant arms to sew he first began;  
More huge in strength, then wise in works he was,  
And reason with foole-hardize over ran;  
Stern melancholy did his courage pass,  
And was for terror more, all armed in shining bras.   

But he that loved the youngest, was Sansloy,  
He that fair una late fowl outraged,  
The most unruly, and the boldest boy,  
That ever warlike weapons managed,  
And to all lawless lust encouraged,  
Through strong opinion of his matchless might:  
Ne ought he cared, whom he endamaged  
By tortuous wrong, or whom bereaved of right.  
He now this Lady's Champion chose for love to fight.   

These two gay knights, vowed to so diverse loves,  
Each other does envy with deadly hate,  
And daily war against his foeman moves,  
In hope to win more favour with his mate,  
And th'other's pleasing service to abate,  
To magnify his own. But when they heard,  
How in that place strange knight arrived late,  
Both knights and ladies forth right angry fared,  
And fiercely unto battle stern themselves prepared.   

But ere they could proceed unto the place,  
Where he abode, themselves at discord fell,  
And cruel combat joined in middle space:  
With horrible assault, and fury fell,  
They heaped huge strokes, the scorned life to quell,  
That all on uproar from her settled seat,  
The house was raised, and all that in did dwell;  
Seemed that loud thunder with amazement great  
Did rend the rattling skies with flames of fouldring heat.   

The noise thereof called forth that stranger knight,  
To weet, what dreadful thing was there in hand;  
Where when as two brave knights in bloody fight  
With deadly rancour he enraunged fond,  
His sunbroad shield about his wrist he bond,  
And shining blade unsheathd, with which he ran  
Unto that stead, their strife to understand;  
And at his first arrival, them began  
With goodly means to pacify, well as he can.   

But they him spying, both with greedy force  
At once upon him ran, and him beset  
With strokes of mortal steel without remorse,  
And on his shield like iron sledges bet:  
As when a bear and tiger being met  
In cruel fight on lybicke Ocean wide,  
Espy a traveller with feet surbet,  
Whom they in equal pray hope to divide,  
They stint their strife, and him assail on every side.   

But he, not like a weary traveilere,  
Their sharp assault right boldly did rebut,  
And suffered not their blows to bite him near,  
But with redoubled buffs them back did put:  
Whose grieved minds, which choler did englut,  
Against themselves turning their wrathful spite,  
'gan with new rage their shields to hue and cut;  
But still when Guyon came to part their fight,  
With heavy load on him they freshly 'gan to smite.   

As a tall ship tossed in troublous seas,  
Whom raging winds threatening to make the pray  
Of the rough rocks, do diversly disease,  
Meets two contrary billows by the way,  
That her on either side do sore assay,  
And boast to swallow her in greedy grave;  
She scorning both their spites, does make wide way,  
And with her breast breaking the foamy wave,  
Does ride on both their backs, & fair herself doth save.   

So boldly he him bears, and rusheth forth  
Between them both, by conduct of his blade.  
Wondrous great prowess and heroic worth  
He showed that day, and rare ensample made,  
When two so mighty warriors he dismade:  
At once he wards and strikes, he takes and pays,  
Now forced to yield, now forcing to invade,  
Before, behind, and round about him lays:  
So double was his pains, so double be his praise.   

Strange sort of fight, three valiant knights to see  
Three combats join in one, and to deraign  
A triple war with triple enmity,  
All for their Ladies froward love to gain,  
Which gotten was but hate. So love does rain  
In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous war;  
He maketh war, he maketh peace again,  
And yet his peace is but continual jar:  
O miserable men, that to him subject are.   

Whilst thus they mingled were in furious arms,  
The fair Medina with her tresses torn,  
And naked breast, in pity of their harms,  
Amongst them ran, and falling them before,  
Besought them by the womb, which them had born,  
And by the loves, which were to them most dear,  
And by the knighthood, which they sure had sworn,  
Their deadly cruel discord to forbear,  
And to her just conditions offaire peace to hear.   

But her two other sisters standing by,  
Her loud gainsaid, and both her champions bade  
Pursue the end of their strong enmity.  
As ever of their loves they would be glad.  
Yet she with pithy words and counsel sad,  
Still strove their stubborn rages to revoke,  
That at the last suppressing fury mad,  
They 'gan abstain from dint of direful stroke,  
And hearken to the sober speeches, which she spoke.   

Ah puissant Lords, what cursed evil sprite,  
Or fell Erinnys in your noble hearts,  
Her hellish brood hath kindled with despite,  
And stirred you up to work your wilful smarts?  
Is this the joy of arms? be these the parts  
Of glorious knighthood, after blood to thrust,  
And not regard dew right and just deserts?  
Vain is the vaunt, and victory unjust,  
That more to mighty hands, than rightful cause doth trust.   

And were their rightful cause of difference,  
Yet were not better, fair it to accord,  
Then with bloodguiltnesse to heap offence,  
And mortal vengeance join to crime abhorred?  
O fly from wrath, fly, O my liefest Lord:  
Sad be the sights, and bitter fruits of war,  
And thousand furies wait on wrathful sword;  
Ne ought the praise of prowess more doth mar,  
Then fowl revenging rage, and base contentious jar.   

But lovely concord, and most sacred peace  
Doth nourish virtue, and fast friendship breeds;  
Weak she make strong, & strong thing does increase,  
Till it the pitch of highest praise exceeds:  
Brave be her wars, and honourable deeds,  
By which she triumphs over ire and pride,  
And wins an olive garland for her meeds:  
Be therefore, O my dear Lords, pacified,  
And this misseeming discord meekly lay aside.   

Her gracious words their rancour did appall,  
And sunk so deep into their boiling breasts,  
That down they let their cruel weapons fall,  
And lowly did abase their lofty crests  
To her fair presence, and discrete behests.  
Then she began a treaty to procure,  
And establish terms betwixt both their requests,  
That as a law for ever should endure;  
Which to observe in word of knights they did assure.   

Which to confirm, and fast to bind their league,  
After their weary sweat and bloody toil,  
She them besought, during their quiet treague,  
Into her lodging to repair a while,  
To rest themselves, and grace to reconcile.  
They soon consent: so forth with her they far,  
Where they are well received, and made to spoil  
Themselves of soiled arms, and to prepare  
Their minds to pleasure, & their mouths to dainty fare.   

And those two froward sisters, their fair loves  
Came with them eke, all were they wondrous loath,  
And feigned cheer, as for the time behoves,  
But could not colour yet so well the troth,  
But that their natures bade appeared in both:  
For both did at their second sister grudge,  
And inly grieve, as doth an hidden moth  
The inner garment fret, not th'utter touch;  
One thought her cheer too little, th'other thought too much.   

Elissa (so the eldest height) did deem  
Such entertainment base, ne ought would eat,  
Ne ought would speak, but evermore did seem  
As discontent for want of metth or meat;  
No solace could her Paramour entreat  
Her once to show, ne court, nor dalliance,  
But with bend lowering brows, as she would threat,  
She scold, and frowned with froward countenance,  
Unworthy of fair Ladies comely governance.   

But young Perissa was of other mind,  
Full of disport, still laughing, loosely light,  
And quite contrary to her sister's kind;  
No measure in her mood, no rule of right,  
But poured out in pleasure and delight;  
In wine and meats she flowed above the bank,  
And in excess exceeded her own might;  
In sumptuous tire she joyed herself to prank,  
But of her love too lavish (little have she thank.)   

First by her side did sit the bold Sansloy,  
Fit mate for such a mincing minion,  
Who in her looseness took exceeding joy;  
Might not be found a francker franion,  
Of her lewd parts to make companion:  
But Huddibras, more like a malcontent,  
Did see and grieve at his bold fashion;  
Hardly could he endure his hardiment,  
Yet still he sat, and inly did himself torment.   

Betwixt them both the fair Medina sat  
With sober grace, and goodly carriage:  
With equal measure she did moderate  
The strong extremities of their outrage,  
That forward pair she ever would assuage,  
When they would strive due reason to exceed;  
But that same froward twain would accorage,  
And of her plenty add unto their need:  
So kept she them in order, and herself in heed.   

Thus fairly she attempered her feast,  
And pleased them all with meet satiety:  
At last when lust of meat and drink was ceased,  
She Guyon dear besought of courtesy,  
To tell from whence he came through jeopardy,  
And whether now on new adventure bound.  
Who with bold grace, and comely gravity,  
Drawing to him the eyes of all arownd,  
From lofty siege began these words aloud to sound.   

This thy demand, O Lady, doth revive  
Fresh memory in me of that great Queen,  
Great and most glorious virgin Queen alive,  
That with her sovereign power, and sceptre sheen  
All fairy land does peaceably sustain.  
In widest Ocean she her throne does rear,  
That over all the earth it may be seen;  
As morning sun her beams dispredden clear,  
And in her face fair peace, and mercy doth appear.   

In her the richesses of all heavenly grace,  
In chief degree are heaped up on high:  
And all that else this world's enclosure base,  
Hath great or glorious in mortal eye.  
Adorns the person of her majesty;  
That men beholding so great excellence,  
And rare perfection in mortality,  
Do her adore with sacred reverence,  
As th'idol of her makers great magnificence.   

To her I homage and my service own,  
In number of the noblest knights on ground,  
'mongst whom on me she deigned to bestow  
Order of maidenhead, the most renowned,  
That may this day in all the world be found,  
An yearly solemn feast she wonts to make  
The day that first doth lead the year around;  
To which all knights of worth and courage bold  
Resort, to hear of strange adventures to be told.   

There this old Palmer showed himself that day,  
And to that mighty Princess did complain  
Of grievous mischiefs, which a wicked fay  
Had wrought, and many whelmed in deadly pain,  
Whereof he craved redress. My sovereign,  
Whose glory is in gracious deeds, and joys  
Throughout the world her mercy to maintain,  
eftsoons devised redress for such annoys;  
Me all unfit for so great purpose she employs,   

Now hath fair Phebe with her silver face  
Thrice seen the shadows of the neither world,  
Sith last I left that honourable place,  
In which her royal presence is entrold;  
Ne ever shall I rest in house nor hold,  
Till I that false Acrasia have won;  
Of whose fowl deeds, too hideous to be told  
I witness am, and this their wretched son,  
Whose woeful parents she hath wickedly fordone,   

Tell on, fair Sir, said she, that doleful tale,  
From which sad ruth does seem you to restrain,  
That we may pity such unhappy bale,  
And learn from pleasure's poison to abstain:  
Ill by ensample good doth often gain.  
Then forward he his purpose 'gan pursue,  
And told the story of the mortal pain,  
Which Mordant and Amavia did rue;  
As with lamenting eyes himself did lately view.   

Night was far spent, and now in Ocean deep  
Orion, flying fast from hissing snake,  
His flaming head did hasten for to steep,  
When of his piteous tale he end did make;  
Whilst with delight of that he wisely spoke,  
Those guests beguiled, did beguile their eyes  
Of kindly sleep, that did them overtake.  
At last when they had marked the changed skies,  
They witted their hour was spent; them each to rest him hies    

Cant. III.  

Vain Braggadocchio getting Guyons  
horse is made the scorn  
Of knighthood true, and is of fair  
Belphoebe fowl forlorn.   

SO one as the morrow fair with purple beams  
Dispersed the shadows of the misty night,  
And Titan playing on the eastern streams,  
'Gan clear the dewy air with springing light,  
Sir Guyon mindful of his vow yplight,  
uprose from drowsy couch, and him addressed  
Unto the journey which he had behight:  
His puissant arms about his noble breast,  
And many-folded shield he bound about his wrist.   

Then taking Congè of that virgin pure,  
The bloody-handed babe unto her truth  
Did earnestly commit, and her conjure,  
In virtuous lore to train his tender youth,  
And all that gentle nurture ensueth:  
And that so soon as riper years he wrought,  
He might for memory of that days ruth,  
Be called Ruddymane, and thereby taught,  
T'avenge his parent's death on them, that had it wrought.   

So forth he fared, as now befell, on foot,  
Sith his good steed is lately from him gone;  
Patience perforce: helpless what may it boot  
To fret for anger, or for grief to moon?  
His Palmer now shall foot no more alone:  
So fortune wrought, as under green woods side  
He lately hard that dying Lady groan,  
He left his steed without, and spear beside,  
And rushed in on foot to aid her, ere she died.   

The whiles a lozel wandering by the way,  
One that to bounty never cast his mind,  
Ne thought of honour ever did assay  
His base breast, but in his kestrel kind  
A pleasing vain of glory he did find,  
To which his flowing tongue, and troublous sprite  
Gave him great aid, and made him more inclined:  
He that brave steed there finding ready dight,  
Purloined both steed and spear, and ran away full light.   

Now 'gan his heart all swell in jollity,  
And of himself great hope and help conceived,  
That puffed up with smoke of vanity,  
And with selfe-loved parsonage deceived,  
He 'gan to hope, of men to be received  
For such, as he him thought, or feign would be:  
But for in court gay portaunce he perceived,  
And gallant show to be in greatest gree,  
eftsoons to court he cast t'advance his first degree.   

And by the way he chanced to espy  
One sitting idle on a sunny bank,  
To whom avaunting in great bravery,  
As peacock, that his painted plumes doth prank,  
He smote his courser in the trembling flank,  
And to him threatened his hart-thrilling spear:  
The silly man seeing him ride so rank,  
And aim at him, fell flat to ground for fear,  
And crying Mercy loud, his piteous hands 'gan rear.   

Thereat the scarecrow waxed wondrous proud,  
Through fortune of his first adventure fair,  
And with big thundering voice revyld him loud;  
Vile caitiff, vassal of dread and despair,  
Unworthy of the common breathed air,  
Why livest thou, dead dog, a longer day,  
And dost not unto death thyself prepare.  
Die, or thyself my captive yield for ay;  
Great favour I thee grant, for answer thus to stay.   

Hold, O dear Lord, hold your dead-doing hand,  
Then loud he cried, I am your humble thrall.  
Ah wretch (qd. he) thy destinies withstand  
My wrathful will, and do for mercy call.  
I give thee life: therefore prostrated fall,  
And kiss my stirrup; that thy homage be.  
The Miser threw himself, as an offal,  
Straight at his foot in base humility,  
And cleped him his liege, to hold of him in fee,   

So happy peace they made and fair accord:  
eftsoons this liegeman 'gan to wax more bold,  
And when he felt the folly of his Lord,  
In his own kind he 'gan himself unfold:  
For he was wily witted, and grown old  
In cunning sleights and practic knavery.  
From that day forth he cast for to uphold  
His idle humour with fine slattery,  
And blow the bellows to his swelling vanity.   

Trompart fit man for Braggadochio,  
To serve at court in view of vaunting eye;  
Vainglorious man, when fluttring wind does blow  
In his light wings, is lifted up to sky:  
The scorn of knighthood and true chivalry,  
To think without desert of gentle deed,  
And noble worth to be advanced high:  
Such praise is shame; but honour virtues meed  
Doth bear the fairest flower in honourable seed.   

So forth they pass, a well consorted pair,  
Till that at length with Archimage they meet:  
Who seeing one that shone in armour fair,  
On goodly course thundering with his feet,  
eftsoons supposed him a person meet,  
Of his revenge to make the instrument:  
For since the Redcrosse knight he erst did weet,  
To been with Guyon knit in one consent,  
The ill, which erst to him, he now to Guyon meant.   

And coming close to Trompart 'gan inquire  
Of him, what mighty warrior that moat be,  
That road in golden sell with single spear,  
But wanted sword to wreak his enmity.  
He is a great adventurer, (said he)  
That hath his sword through hard assay foregone,  
And now hath vowed, till he avenged be,  
Of that despite, never to wearen none;  
That spear is him enough to done a thousand groan.   

Th'enchanter greatly joyed in the vaunt,  
And weened well ere long his will to win,  
And both his foes with equal foil to daunt.  
though to him louting lowly did begin  
To plain of wrongs, which had committed been  
By Guyon, and by that false Redcrosse knight,  
Which two through treason and deceitful gin,  
Had slain Sir Mordant, and his Lady bright:  
That more him honour win, to wreak so foul despite.   

Therewith all suddenly he seemed enraged,  
And threatened death with dreadful countenance,  
As if their lives had in his hand been gagd;  
And with stiff force shaking his mortal lance,  
To let him weet his doughty valiance,  
Thus said; Old man, great sure shallbe thy meed,  
If where those knights for fear of due vengeance  
Do lurk, thou certainly to me aread,  
That I may wreak on them their heinous hateful deed.   

Certes, my Lord, (said he) that shall I soon,  
And give you eke good help to their decay.  
But moat I wisely you advise to done;  
Give no odds to your foes, but do purvey  
Yourself of sword before that bloody day:  
For they be two the prowest knights on ground,  
And oft approved in many hard assay,  
And eke of surest steel, that may be found,  
Do arm yourself against that day, them to confownd.   

Dotard, (said he) let be thy deep advise;  
Seems that through many years thy wits thee fail,  
And that weak eld hath left thee nothing wise,  
Else never should thy judgement be so frail,  
To measure manhood by the sword or mail.  
Is not enough four quarters of a man,  
Withouten sword or shield, an host to quail?  
Thou little wottest, what this right-hand can:  
Speak they, which have beheld the battles, which it won.   

The man was much abashed at his boast;  
Yet well he witted, that who so would contend  
With either of those knights on even coast,  
Should need of all his arms, him to defend,  
Yet feared lest his boldness should offend,  
When Braggadocchio said, Once I did swear,  
When with one sword seven knights I brought to end,  
Thence forth in battle never sword to bear,  
But it were that, which noblest knight on earth doth wear.   

pardie Sir knight, said then th'enchanter bliue,  
That shall I shortly purchase to your hand:  
For now the best and noblest knight alive,  
Prince Arthur is, that wonnes in fairy land;  
He hath a sword, that flames like burning brand.  
The same by my device I undertake  
Shall by to morrow by thy side be fond.  
At which bold word that boaster 'gan to quake,  
And wondered in his mind, what moat that Monster make.   

He stayed not for more bidding, but away  
Was sudden vanished out of his sight:  
The Northern wind his wings did broad display  
At his command, and reared him up light  
From of the earth, to take his aery flight.  
They looked about, but nowhere could espy  
Tract of his foot: then dead through great affright  
They both nigh were, and each bad other fly:  
Both fled at once, ne ever back returned eye.   

Till that they come unto a forest green,  
In which they shroud themselves from causeless fear;  
Yet fear them follows still, where so they been,  
Each trembling leaf, and whistling wind they hear,  
As ghastly bug does unto them affeare:  
Yet both do strive their fearfulness to feign.  
At last they heard a horn, that shrilled clear  
Throughout the wood, that echoed again,  
And made the forest ring, as it would rive in twain.   

Eft through the thick they heard one rudely rush;  
With noise whereof he from his lofty steed  
down fell to ground, and crept into a bush,  
To hide his coward head from dying dread.  
But Trompart stoutly stayed to taken heed,  
Of what might hap. Eftsoon there stepped forth  
A goodly Lady clad in hunter's weed,  
That seemed to be a woman of great worth,  
And by her stately portance, borne of heavenly birth.   

Her face so fair as flesh it seemed not,  
But heavenly portrait of bright Angels hue,  
Clear as the sky, withouten blame or blot,  
Through goodly mixture of complexions dew;  
And in her cheeks the vermeill red did show  
Like roses in a bed of lilies shed,  
The which ambrosial odours from them threw,  
And gazer's sense with double pleasure fed,  
Able to heal the sick, and to revive the ded.   

In her fair eyes two living lamps did flame,  
Kindled above at th'heavenly makers light,  
And darted fiery beams out of the same,  
So passing perceant, and so wondrous bright,  
That quite bereaved the rash beholder's sight:  
In them the blinded god his lustful fire  
To kindle oft assayed, but had no might;  
For with dredd majesty, and awful ire,  
She broke his wanton darts, and quenched base desire.   

Her ivory forehead, full of bounty brave,  
Like a broad table did itself dispred,  
For love his lofty triumphs to engrave,  
And write the battles of his great godhead:  
All good and honour might therein be red:  
For there their dwelling was. And when she spoke,  
Sweet words, like dropping honey she did shed,  
And twixt the pearls and rubins softly broke  
A silver sound, that heavenly music seemed to make.   

Upon her eyelids many Graces sat,  
Under the shadow of her even brows,  
Working belgardes, and amorous retrate,  
And every one her with a grace endowes:  
And every one with meekness to her bows.  
So glorious mirror of celestial grace,  
And sovereign monument of mortal vows,  
How shall frail pen descrive her heavenly face,  
For fear through want of skill her beauty to disgrace?   

So fair, and thousand thousand times more fair  
She seemed, when she presented was to sight,  
And was clad, for heat of scorching air,  
All in a silken Camus lily white,  
Purfled upon with many a folded plight,  
Which all above besprinkled was throughout,  
With golden aygulets, that glistered bright,  
Like twinkling stars, and all the skirt about  
Was hemmed with golden fringe   

Below her ham her weed did somewhat train,  
And her straight legs most bravely were embayld  
Ingilden buskins of costly Cordwayne,  
All bard with golden bends, which were entailed  
With curious antics, and full fair amelled:  
Before they fastened were under her knee  
In a rich jewel, and therein entrayld  
The ends of all the knots, that none might see,  
How they within their fold close enwrapped be.   

Like two fair marble pillars they did seen,  
Which do the temple of the Gods support,  
Whom all the people deck with garlands green,  
And honour in their festival resort;  
Those same with stately grace, and princely port  
She taught to tread, when she herself would grace,  
But with the woody nymphs when she did play,  
Or when the flying Libbard she did chase,  
She could them nimbly move, and after fly apace.   

And in her hand a sharp boarspear she held,  
And at her back a bow and quiver gay,  
Stuffed with steeleheaded darts, wherewith she quelled  
The salvage beasts in her victorious play,  
Knit with a golden bauldricke, which forelay  
Athwart her snowy breast, and did divide  
Her dainty paps; which like young fruit in May  
Now little 'gan to swell, and being tide,  
Through her thin weed their places only signifide.   

Her yellow locks crisped, like golden wire,  
About her shoulders weren loosely shed,  
And when the wind amongst them did inspire,  
They waved like a penon wide dispred  
And low behind her back were scattered:  
And whether art it were, or heedless hap,  
As through the flowering forest rash she fled,  
In her rude hears sweet flowers themselves did lap,  
And flourishing fresh leaves and blossoms did enwrap.   

Such as Diana by the sandy shore  
Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus green,  
Where all the nymphs have her unwares forlorn,  
wandereth alone with bow and arrows keen,  
To seek her game: Or as that famous Queen  
Of Amazons, whom Pyrrhus did destroy,  
The day that first of Priam she was seen,  
Did show herself in great triumphant joy,  
To secure the weak state of sad afflicted Troy.   

Such when as heartless Trompart her did view,  
He was dismayed in his coward mind,  
And doubted, whether he himself should show,  
Or fly away, or bide alone behind:  
Both fear and hope he in her face did find,  
When she at last him spying thus bespoke;  
Hail groom; didst not thou see a bleeding hind,  
Whose right haunch erst my steadfast arrow struck?  
If thou didst, tell me, that I may her overtake.   

Wherewith revived, this answer forth he threw;  
O goddess, (for such I thee take to be)  
For nether doth thy face terrestrial show,  
Nor voice sound mortal; I avow to thee,  
Such wounded beast, as that, I did not see,  
Sith erst into this forest wild I came.  
burr mote thy goodly head forgive it me,  
To weet, which of the Gods I shall thee name,  
That unto thee due worship I may rightly frame.   

To whom she thus, but ere her words ensewd,  
Unto the bush her eye did sudden glance,  
In which vain Braggadocchio was mewed,  
And saw it stir: she left her piercing lance,  
And towards 'gan a deadly shaft advance,  
In mind to mark the beast. At which sad stowre,  
Trompart forth stepped, to stay the mortal chance,  
Out crying, O what ever heavenly power,  
Or earthly wight thou be, withhold this deadly hour.   

O stay thy hand, for yonder is no game  
For thy fires arrows, them to exercise,  
But lo my Lord, my liege, whose warlike name,  
Is far renowned through many bold emprize;  
And now in shade he shrouded yonder lies.  
She stayed: with that he crawled out of his nest,  
Forth creeping on his caitiff hands and thighs,  
And standing stoutly up, his lofty crest  
Did fiercely shake, and rouse, as coming late from rest.   

As fearful fowl, that long in secret cave  
For dread of soaring hawk herself hath hid,  
Not caring how her silly life to save,  
She her gay painted plumes disorderid,  
Seeing at last herself from danger rid,  
Peeps forth, and soon renews her native pride;  
She 'gins her feathers fowl disfigured  
Proudly to prune, and set on every side,  
So shakes off shame, ne thinks how erst she did her hide.   

So when her goodly visage he beheld,  
He 'gan himself to vaunt: but when he viewed  
Those deadly tools, which in her hand she held,  
Soon into other fits he was transmewd,  
Till she to him her gracious speech renewed;  
All hail, Sir knight, and well may thee befall,  
As all the like, which honour have pursewd  
Through deeds of arms and prowess martial;  
All virtue merits praise, but such the most of all.   

To whom he thus, O fairest under sky,  
true be thy words, and worthy of thy praise,  
That warlike feats dost highest glorify.  
Therein I have spent all my youthly days,  
And many battles fought, and many frays  
Throughout the world, where so they might be found,  
endeavouring my dreaded name to raise  
Above the moon, that fame may it resound  
In her eternal tromp, with laurel garland crowned.   

But what art thou, O Lady, which dost range  
In this wild forest, where no pleasure is,  
And dost not it for joyous court exchange,  
Amongst thine equal peers, where happy bliss  
And all delight does reign, much more than this?  
There thou Mayst love, and dearly loved be,  
And swim in pleasure, which thou here dost miss;  
There Mayst thou best be seen, and best Mayst see:  
The wood is fit for beasts, the court is fit for thee.   

Who so in pomp of proud estate (qd. she)  
Does swim, and baths himself in courtly bliss,  
Does waste his days in dark obscurity,  
And in oblivion ever buried is:  
Where ease abownds, yt's each to do amiss;  
But who his limbs with labours, and his mind  
Behaves with cares, cannot so easy mis.  
Abroad in arms, at home in studious kind  
Who seeks with painful toil, shall honour soon find.   

In woods, in waves, in wars she wonts to dwell,  
And willbe found with peril and with pain;  
Ne can the man, that moulds in idle cell,  
Unto her happy mansion attain:  
Before her gate high God did sweat ordain,  
And wakeful watches ever to abide:  
But easy is the way, and passage plain  
To pleasures palace; it may soon be spied,  
And day and night her doors to all stand open wide.   

In Prince's court. The rest she would have said,  
But that the foolish man, filled with delight  
Of her sweet words, that all his sense dismayed,  
And with her wondrous beauty ravished quite,  
'Gan burn in filthy lust, and leaping light,  
Thought in his bastard arms her to embrace.  
With that she swerving back, her javelin bright  
Against him bend, and fiercely did menace:  
So turned her about, and fled away apace.   

Which when the peasant saw, amazed he stood,  
And grieved at her flight; yet durst he not  
Pursue her steps, through wild unknown wood;  
Besides he feared her wrath, and threatened shot  
Whiles in the bush he lay, not yet forgot:  
Ne cared he greatly for her presence vain,  
But turning said to Trompart, What fowl blot  
Is this to knight, that Lady should again  
Departed to woods untouched, & leave so proud disdain?   

pardie (said Trompart) let her pass at will,  
Lest by her presence danger mote befall.  
For who can tell (and sure I fear it ill)  
But that she is some power celestial?  
For whiles she spoke, her great words did appall  
My feeble courage, and my heart oppress,  
That yet I quake and tremble over all.  
And I (said Braggadocchio) thought no less,  
When first I heard her horn found with such ghastliness.   

For from my mother's womb this grace I have  
Me given by eternal destiny,  
That earthly thing may not my courage brave  
Dismay with fear, or cause on foot to fly,  
But either hellish fiends, or powers on high:  
Which was the cause, when erst that horn I heard,  
Weening it had been thunder in the sky,  
I hide myself from it, as one afeard;  
But when I other knew, myself I boldly reared.   

But now for fear of worse, that may betide,  
Let us soon hence departed. They soon agree;  
So to his steed he got, and 'gan to ride,  
As one unfit therefore, that all might see  
He had not trained been in chevalree.  
Which well that valiant courser did discern;  
For he despised to tread in due degree,  
But chaufd and foamed, with courage fires and stern,  
And to be eased of that base burden still did earn.    

Cant. four  

Guyon does Furor bind in chains,  
And stops occasion:  
Delivers Phaon, and therefore  
By strife is railed upon.   

IN brave poursuitt of honourable deed,  
There is I know not (what) great difference  
Between the vulgar and the noble seed,  
Which unto things of valorours' pretence  
Seems to be borne by native influence;  
As feats of arms, and love to entertain,  
But chief skill to ride seems a science  
Proper to gentle blood; some others feign  
To menage steeds, as did this vaunter; but in vain.   

But he the rightful owner of that steed,  
Who well could menage and subdue his pride,  
The while on foot was forced for to yeed,  
With that black Palmer, his most trusty guide;  
Who suffered not his wandering feet to slide.  
But when strong passion or weak fleshliness,  
Would from the right way seek to draw him wide,  
He would through temperance and steadfastness,  
Teach him the weak to strengthen, & the strong suppress.   

It fortuned forth faring on his way,  
He saw from far, or seemed for to see  
Some troublous uproar or contentious fray,  
Whereto he drew in haste it to agree.  
A mad man, or that feigned mad to be,  
Drew by the hear along upon the ground,  
A handsome stripling with great cruelty,  
Whom sore he bet, and gored with many a wownd,  
That cheeks with tears, & sides with blood did all abownd.   

And him behind, a wicked Hag did stalk,  
In ragged robes, and filthy disarray,  
Her other leg was lame, that she no'te walk.  
But on a staff her feeble steps did stay;  
Her locks, that loathly were and hoary grey,  
Grew all afore, and loosely hung unrold,  
But all behind was bald, and worn away,  
That none thereof could ever taken hold,  
And eke her face ill favoured, full of wrinkles old.   

And ever as she went, her tongue did walk  
In fowl reproach, and terms of vile despite,  
Provoking him by her outrageous talk,  
To heap more vengeance on that wretched wight;  
Sometimes she reached him stones, wherewith to smite,  
Sometimes her staff, though it her one leg were,  
Withouten which she could not go upright;  
Ne any evil means she did forbear,  
That might him move to wrath, and in dignation rear.   

The noble Guyon moved with great remorse,  
Approaching, first the Hag did thrust away,  
And after adding more impetuous force,  
His mighty hands did on the madman lay,  
And plucked him back; who all on fire straight way,  
Against him turning all his fell intent,  
With beastly brutish rage 'gan him assay,  
And smott, and bit, and kicked, and scratched, and rend,  
And did he witted not what in his avengement.   

And sure he was a man of much might,  
Had he had governance, it well to guide:  
But when the frantic fit inflamed his sprite,  
His force was vain, and struck more often wide,  
Then at the aimed mark, which he had eyed:  
And oft himself he chanced to hurt unwares,  
Whilst reason blended through passion, nought descried  
But as a blindfold Bull at random fares,  
And where he hits, nought knows, & whom he hurts, nought cares.   

His rude assault and rugged handling  
Strange seemed to the knight, that aye with foe  
In fair defence and goodly managing  
Of arms was wont to fight, yet nathemoe  
Was he abashed now not fight so,  
But more enfierced through his currish play,  
Him sternly grypt, and hailing to and fro,  
To overthrow him strongly did assay,  
But overthrew himself unwares, and lowerlay.   

And being down the villain sore did beat,  
And bruise with clownish fists his manly face:  
And eke the Hag with many a bitter threat.  
Still called upon to kill him in the place.  
With whose reproach and odious menace  
The knight emboiling in his haughty heart,  
Knit all his forces, and 'gan soon unbrace  
His grasping hold: so lightly did upstart,  
And drew his deadly weapon, to maintain his part.   

Which when the Palmersaw, he loudly cried,  
Not so O Guyon, never think that so  
That Monster can be mastered or destroyed:  
He is no, ah, he is not such a foe,  
As steel can wound, or strength can overthroe.  
That same is Furor, cursed cruel wight,  
That unto knighthood works much shame & woe;  
And that same Hag, his aged mother, hight  
Occasion, the root of all wrath and despite,   

With her, who so will raging Furor tame,  
Must first begin, and well her amenage:  
First her restrain from her reproachful blame,  
And evil means, with which she doth enrage  
Her frantic son, and kindles his courage,  
Then when she is withdrawn, or strong withstood,  
It's each his idle fury to assuage,  
And calm the tempest of his passion wood;  
The banks are overflown, when stopped is the flood.   

Therewith Sir Guyon left his first emprise,  
And turning to that woman, fast her hent  
By the hoar locks, that hung before her eyes,  
And to the ground her threw: yet n'ould she stint  
Her bitter railing and foul revilement,  
But still provoked her son to wreak her wrong;  
But nevertheless he did her still torment,  
And catching hold of her ungracious tongue,  
Thereon an iron lock, did fasten firm and strong.   

Then whenas use of speech was from her reft,  
With her two crooked hands she signs did make,  
And beckoned him, the last help she had left:  
But he that last left help away did take,  
And both her hands fast bound unto a stake,  
That she note stir. Then 'gan her son to fly  
Full fast away, and did her quite forsake;  
But Guyon after him in haste did high,  
And soon him overtook in sad perplexity.   

In his strong arms he stiffly him embraced,  
Who him gainstriving, nought at all prevailed:  
For all his power was utterly defaced,  
And furious fits at erst quite weren quailed:  
Oft he re'nforst, and oft his forces failed,  
Yet yield he would not, nor his rancour slack.  
Then him to ground he cast, and rudely hailed,  
And both his hands fast bound behind his back,  
And both his feet in fetters to an iron rack.   

With hundred iron chains he did him bind,  
And hundred knots that did him sore constrain:  
Yet his great iron teeth he still did grind,  
And grimly gnash, threatening revenge in vain:  
His burning eyen, whom bloody streaks did stain,  
Stared full wide, and threw forth sparks offyre,  
And more for rank despite, then for great pain,  
Shaked his long locks, coloured like copper-wyre,  
And bit his tawny beard to show his raging ire.   

Thus whenas Guyon Furor had captived,  
Turning about he saw that wretched squire,  
Whom that mad man of life nigh late deprived,  
Lying on ground, all foiled with blood and mire:  
Whom when as he perceived to respire,  
He 'gan to comfort, and his wounds to dress.  
Being at last recured, he 'gan inquire,  
What hard mishap him brought to such distress,  
And made that caitiffs thrall, the thrall of wretchedness.   

With heart then throbbing, and with watery eyes,  
Fair Sir (qd. he) what man can shun the hap,  
That hidden lies unwares him to surprise  
Misfortune waits advantage to entrap  
The man most wary in her whelming lap,  
So me weak wretch, of many weakest wretch,  
Unwitting, and unware of such mishap,  
She brought to mischief through her guilful trech,  
Where this same wicked villain did me wandering catch.   

It was a faithless Squire, that was the source  
Of all my sorrow, and of these sad tears,  
With whom from tender dug of common nurse,  
At once I was upbrought, and eft when years  
More ripe us reason lent to choose our pears,  
Ourselves in league of vowed love we knit:  
In which we long time without jealous fears,  
Or faulty thoughts continued, as was fit;  
And for my part I vow, dissembled not a whit.   

It was my fortune, common to that age,  
To love a Lady fair of great degree,  
The which was borne of noble parentage,  
And set in highest seat of dignity,  
Yet seemed no less to love, than loved to be:  
Long I her served, and found her faithful still,  
Ne ever thing could cause us disagree:  
Love that two hearts makes one, makes eke one will:  
Each strove to please, and others pleasure to fulfil.   

My friend, hight Philemon, I did partake,  
Of all my love and all my privity;  
Who greatly joyous seemed for my sake,  
And gracious to that Lady, as to me,  
Ne ever wight, that more so welcome be,  
As he to her, withouten blot or blame,  
Ne ever thing, that she could think or see,  
But unto him she would impart the same:  
O wretched man, that would abuse so gentle Dame.   

At last such grace I found, and means I wrought,  
That I that Lady to my spouse had won;  
Accord of friends, consent of Parents sought,  
Affiance made, my happiness begun,  
There wanted nought but few rites to be done,  
Which marriage make; that day too far did seem:  
Most joyous man, on whom the shining sun,  
Did show his face, myself I did esteem,  
And that my falser friend did no less joyous deem.   

But ear that wished day his beam disclosed,  
He either envying my toward good,  
Or of himself to treason ill disposed  
One day unto me came in friendly mood,  
And told for secret how he understood  
That Lady whom I had to me assigned,  
Had both distained her honourable blood,  
And eke the faith, which she to me did bind;  
And therefore wished me stay, till I more truth should find.   

The gnawing anguish and sharp gelosy,  
Which his sad speech infixed in my breast,  
Rankled so sore, and festered inwardly,  
That my engreeved mind could find no rest,  
Till that the truth thereof I did out wrest,  
And him besought by that same sacred band  
Betwixt us both, to counsel me the best.  
He then with solemn oath and plighted hand  
Assured, ere long the truth to let me understand.   

Ere long with like again he boarded me,  
Saying, he now had bolted all the flower,  
And that it was a groom of base degree,  
Which of my love was partner paramour:  
Who used in a darksome inner bower  
Her oft to meet: which better to approve,  
He promised to bring me at that hour,  
When I should see, that would me nearer move,  
And drive me to withdraw my blind abused love.   

This graceless man for furtherance of his guile,  
Did court the handmaid of my Lady dear,  
Who glad t'embosome his affection vile,  
Did all she might, more pleasing to appear.  
One day to work her to his will more near,  
He wooed her thus: Pryene (so she hight)  
What great despite doth fortune to thee bear,  
Thus lowly to abase thy beauty bright,  
That it should not deface all others lesser light?   

But if she had her least help to thee lent,  
T'adorn thy form according thy desert,  
Their blazing pride thou wouldst soon have blended,  
And stained their praises with thy least good part;  
Ne should fair Claribell with all her art,  
Though she thy Lady be, approach thee near:  
For proof thereof, this evening, as thou art,  
Array thyself in her most gorgeous gear,  
That I may more delight in thy embracement dear.   

The maiden proud through praise, & mad through love  
Him hearkened to, and soon herself arrayed,  
The while to me the treachour did remove  
His crafty engine, and as he had said,  
Me leading, in a secret corner laid,  
The sad spectator of my tragedy;  
Where left, he went, and his own false part played,  
Disguised like that groom of base degree,  
Whom he had feigned th'abuser of my love to be.   

eftsoons he came unto th'appointed place,  
And with him brought Pryene, rich arrayed,  
In claribella's clothes. Her proper face  
I not discerned in that darksome shade,  
But weaned it was my love, with whom he played.  
All God, what horror and tormenting grief  
My heart, my hands, mine eyes, and all assayed:  
Me liefer were ten thousand deaths proof,  
Then wound of jealous worm, and shame of such reprieve.   

I home returning, fraught with fowl despite,  
And chawing vengeance all the way I went,  
Soon as my loathed love appeared in sight,  
With wrathful hand I slew her innocent;  
That after soon I dearly did lament:  
For when the cause of that outrageous deed  
Demanded, I made plain and evident,  
Her faulty handmaid, which that bale did breed,  
Confessed, how Philemon her wrought to change her weed.   

Which when I heard, with horrible affright  
And hellish fury all enraged, I sought  
Upon myself that vengeable despite  
To punish: yet it better first I thought,  
To wreak my wrath on him, that first it wrought.  
To Philemon, false faytour Philemon  
I cast to pay, that I so dearly bought;  
Of deadly drugs I gave him drink anon,  
And washed away his guilt with guilty potion.   

Thus heaping crime on crime, and grief on grief,  
To loss of love adjoining loss of friend,  
I meant to purge both with a third mischief,  
And in my woes beginner it to end:  
That was Pryene; she did first offend,  
She last should smart: with which cruel intent,  
When I at her my murderous blade did bend,  
She fled away with ghastly dreariment,  
And I poursewing my fell purpose, after went.   

Fear gave her wings, and rage enforced my flight;  
Through woods and plains so long I did her chase,  
Till this mad man, whom your victorious might  
Hath now fast bound, me met in middle space,  
As I her, so he me poursewd apace,  
And shortly overtook: I breathing ire,  
Sore chauff at my stay in such a case,  
And with my heat kindled his cruel fire;  
Which kindled once, his mother did more rage inspire.   

Betwixt them both, they have me done to die,  
Through wounds, & strokes, & stubborn handling,  
That death were better, than such agony,  
As grief and fury unto me did bring;  
Of which in me yet sticks the mortal sting,  
That during life will never be appeased.  
When he thus ended had his sorrowing,  
Said Guyon, squire, sore have ye been diseased;  
But all your hurts may soon through temperance be eased.   

Then 'gan the Palmer thus, most wretched man,  
That to affections does the bridle lend;  
In their beginning they are weak and wan,  
But soon through sufferance grow to fearful end;  
Whiles they are weak betimes with them contend:  
For when they once to perfect strength do grow,  
Strong wars they make, and cruel battery bend  
'Gainst fort of Reason, it to overthrow:  
Wrath, gelosy, grief, love this squire have laid thus low.   

Wrath, jealousy, grief, love do thus expel:  
Wrath is a fire, and jealousy a weed,  
Grief is a flood, and love a monster fell;  
The fire of sparks, the weed of little seed,  
The flood of drops, the Monster filth did breed:  
But sparks, feed, drops, and filth do thus delay;  
The sparks soon quench, the springing seed outweed  
The drops dry up, and filth wipe clean away:  
So shall wrath, gealosy, grief, love die and decay.   

Unlucky Squire (said Guyon) sith thou hast  
Fallen into mischief through intemperance,  
Henceforth take heed of that thou now hast passed,  
And guide thy ways with wary governance,  
Lest worse betid thee by some later chance.  
But read how art thou named, and of what kin.  
Phaon I hight (quoth he) and do advance  
Mine ancestry from famous Coradin,  
Who first to raise our house to honour did begin.   

Thus as he spoke, lo far away they spied  
A varlet running towards hastily,  
Whose flying feet so fast their way applied,  
That round about a cloud of dust did fly,  
Which mingled all with sweat, did dim his eye.  
He soon approached, panting, breathless, hot,  
And all so soiled, that none could him descry;  
His countenance was bold, and bashed not  
For Guyons looks, but scornful eyglaunce at him shot.   

Behind his back he bore a brazen shield,  
On which was drawn fair, in colours fit,  
A flaming fire in midst of bloody field,  
And round about the wreath this word was writ,  
Burnt I do burn. Right well beseemed it,  
To be the shield of some redoubted knight;  
And in his hand two darts exceeding flit,  
And deadly sharp he held, whose heads were dight  
In poison and in blood, of malice and despite.   

When he in presence came, to Guyon first  
He boldly spoke, Sir knight, if knight thou be,  
Abandon this forestalled place at erst,  
For fear of further harm, I counsel thee,  
Or bide the chance at thine own jeopardy.  
The knight at his great boldness wondered,  
And though he scorned his idle vanity,  
Yet mildly him to purpose answered;  
For not to grow of nought he it conjectured.   

Varlet, this place most due to me I deem,  
Yielded by him, that held it forcibly.  
But whence should come that harm, which thou dost seem  
To threat to him, that minds his chance t'abye?  
pardie (said he) here comes, and is hard by  
A knight of wondrous power, and great assay,  
That never yet encountered enemy,  
But did him deadly daunt, or fowl dismay;  
Ne thou for better hope, if thou his presence stay.   

How hight he then (said Guyon) and from whence?  
Pyrrhochles is his name, renowned far  
For his bold feats and hardy confidence,  
Full oft approud in many a cruel war,  
The brother of Cymochles, both which are  
The sons of old Acrates and despite,  
Acrates son of Phlegeton and jar;  
But Phlegeton is son of Herebus and Night;  
But Herebus son of eternity is height.   

So from immortal race he does proceed,  
That mortal hands may not withstand his might,  
Dread for his derring do, and bloody deed;  
For all in blood and spoil is his delight.  
His am I Atin, his in wrong and right,  
That matter make for him to work upon,  
And stir him up to strife and cruel fight.  
Fly therefore, fly this fearful stead anon,  
Lest thy foolhardize work thy sad confusion.   

His be that care, whom most it doth concern.  
(said he) but whether with such hasty flight  
Art thou now bound? for well moat I discern  
Great cause, that carries thee so swift and light.  
My Lord (qd. he) me sent, and straight behight  
To seek Occasion; where so she be:  
For he is all disposed to bloody fight,  
And breathes out wrath and heinous cruelty;  
Hard is his hap, that first falls in his jeopardy.   

Mad man (said then the Palmer) that does seek  
Occasion to wrath, and cause of strife;  
She comes unsought, and shunned follows eke.  
Happy, who can abstain, when rancour rife  
Kindles revenge, and threats his rusty knife;  
Woe never wants, where every cause is caught,  
And rash Occasion makes unquiet life.  
Then lo, where bond she sits, whom thou hast sought,  
Said Guyon, let that message to thy Lord be brought.   

That when the varlett heard and saw, straight way  
He waxed wondrous wroth, and said, Vile knight,  
That knights & knighthood dost with shame vpbray,  
And showst th'ensample of thy childish might,  
With silly weak old woman that did fight.  
Great glory and gay spoil sure hast thou got,  
And stoutly proved thy puissance here in sight;  
That shall Pyrrhochles well requite, I wot,  
And with thy blood abolish so reproachful blot.   

With that one of his thrillant darts he threw,  
Headed with ire and vengeable despite;  
The quivering steel his aimed end well knew,  
And to his breast itself intended right:  
But he was wary, and ere it empight  
In the meant mark, advanced his shield atween,  
On which it seizing, no way enter might,  
But back rebownding, left the forckhead keen;  
Eftsoons he fled away, and might nowhere be seen.    

Cant. V.  

Pyrrhochles does with Guyon fight,  
And Furors' chain untyes,  
Who him sore wounds, whiles Atin to  
Gymochles for aid flies.   

WHo ever doth to temperance apply  
His steadfast life, and all his actions frame,  
Trust me, shall find no greater enemy,  
Then stubborn perturbation, to the same;  
To which right well the wise do give that name,  
For it the goodly peace of stayed minds  
Does overthrow, and troublous war proclaim:  
His own woes author, who so bond it finds,  
As did Pirrhocles, and it wilfully unbindes.   

After that varlet's flight, it was not long,  
Ere on the plain fast pricking Guyon spied  
One in bright arms embatteiled full strong,  
That as the Sunny beams do glance and, glide  
Upon the trembling wave, so shined bright,  
And round about him threw forth sparkling fire,  
That seemed him to inflame on every side:  
His steed was bloody red, and foamed ire,  
When with the mastering spur he did him roughly stir.   

Approaching nigh, he never stayed to greet,  
Ne chaffar words, proud courage to provoke,  
But pricked so fires, that underneath his feet  
The smouldering dust did round about him smoke,  
Both horse and man nigh able for to choke;  
And fayrly couching his steeleheaded spear,  
Him first saluted with a sturdy stroke:  
It booted nought Sir Guyon coming near  
To think, such hideous puissance on foot to bear.   

But lightly shunned it, and passing by,  
With his bright blade did smite at him so fell,  
That the sharp steel arriving forcibly  
On his broad shield, hitnot, but glancing fell  
On his horse neck before the quilted sell,  
And from the head the body sundered quite.  
So him dismounted low, he did compel  
On foot with him to matchen equal fight;  
The truncked beast fast bleeding, did him foully dight.   

Sore bruised with the fall, he slow uprose,  
And all enraged, thus him loudly shent;  
Disloyal knight, whose coward courage chose  
To wreak itself on beast all innocent,  
And shunned the mark, at which it should be meant,  
Thereby thine arms seem strong, but manhood frail:  
So hast thou oft with guile thine honour blended;  
But little may such guile thee now avail,  
If wont force and fortune do me not much fail.   

With that he drew his flaming sword, and struck  
At him so fiercely, that the upper marge  
Of his sevenfolded shield away it took,  
And glancing on his helmet, made a large  
And open gash therein: were not his targe,  
That broke the violence of his intent,  
The weary soul from thence it would discharge,  
Nevertheless so sore a buff to him it lent,  
That made him reel, and to his breast his beaver bend.   

Exceeding wroth was Guyon at that blow,  
And much ashamed, that stroke of living arm  
Should him dismay, and make him stoop so low,  
Though otherwise it did him little harm:  
though hurling high his iron braced arm,  
He smote so manly on his shoulder plate,  
That all his left side it did quite disarm;  
Yet there the steel stayed not, but inly bate  
Deep in his flesh, and opened wide a red floodgate.   

Deadly dismayed, with horror of that dint  
Pyrrhochles was, and grieved eke entire;  
Yet nathemore did it his fury stint,  
But added flame unto his former fire,  
That well-nigh moult his heart in raging ire;  
Ne thenceforth his approved skill, to ward,  
Or strike, or hurtle round in warlike gyre,  
Remembered he, ne cared for his safeguard,  
But rudely raged, and like a cruel tiger fared.   

He hewed, and lashed, and foined, and thundered blows,  
And every way did seek into his life,  
Ne plate, ne male could ward so mighty throws,  
But yielded passage to his cruel knife.  
But Guyon, in the heat of all his strife,  
Was wary wise, and closely did await  
advantage, whilst his foe did rage's most rife;  
Sometimes athwart, sometimes he struck him straight,  
And falsed oft his blows, t'illude him with such bait.   

Like as a lion, whose imperial power  
A proud rebellious unicorn defies,  
T'avoid the rash assault and wrathful stowre  
Of his fires 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 horn, sought of his enemy  
Strikes in the stock, ne thence can be released,  
But to the mighty victor yields a bounteous feast.   

With such fair sleight him Guyon often failed,  
Till at the last all breathless, weary, faint  
Him spying, with fresh onsett he assailed,  
And kindling new his courage seeming quaint,  
Struck him so hugely, that through great constraint  
He made him stoop perforce unto his knee,  
And do unwilling worship to the Saint,  
That on his shield depainted he did see;  
Such homage till that instant never learned he.   

Whom Guyon seeing stoup, poursewed fast  
The present offer of fair victory,  
And soon his dreadful blade about he cast,  
Wherewith he smote his haughty crest so high,  
That straight on ground made him full low to lie;  
Then on his breast his victor foot he thrust,  
With that he cried, Mercy, do me not die,  
Ne deem thy force by fortune's doom unjust,  
That hath (maugre her spite) thus low me laid in dust.   

eftsoons his cruel hand Sir Guyon stayed,  
Tempering the passion with advizement slow,  
And mastering might on enemy dismayed:  
For th'equal die of war he well did know.  
Then to him said, live and allegiance owe,  
To him, that gives thee life and liberty,  
And henceforth by this days ensample trow,  
That hasty wrath, and heedless hazardry  
Do breed repentance late, and lasting infamy.   

So up he let him rise, who with grim look  
And countenance stern upstanding, 'gan to grind  
His grated teeth for great disdain, and shook  
His sandy locks, long hanging down behind,  
Knotted in blood and dust, for grief of mind,  
That he in odds of arms was conquered;  
Yet in himself some comfort he did find,  
That him so noble knight had mastered,  
Whose bounty more than might, yet both he wondered.   

Which Guyon marking said, Be nought aggrieved,  
Sir knight, that thus ye now subdued are:  
Was never man, who most conquests achieved  
But sometimes had the worse, and lost by war,  
Yet shortly gained, that loss exceeded far:  
Loss is no shame, nor to be less than foe,  
But to be lesser, than himself, doth mar  
Both losers lot, and victors praise alsoe.  
Vain others overthrows, who self doth overthrow.   

Fly, O Pyrrhochles, fly the dreadful war,  
That in thyself thy lesser parts do move,  
Outrageous anger, and woe working jar,  
Direful impatience, and hartmurdring love;  
Those, those thy foes, those warriors far remove,  
Which thee to endless bale captived lead.  
But sith in might thou didst my mercy prove,  
Of courtesy to me the cause aread,  
That thee against me drew with so impetuous dread.   

Dreadless (said he) that shall I soon declare:  
It was complained, that thou hadst done great tort  
Unto an aged woman, poor and bare,  
And thralled her in chains with strong effort,  
void of all succour and needful comfort:  
That ill beseems thee, such as I thee see,  
To work such shame. Therefore I thee exhort,  
To change thy will, and set occasion free,  
And to her captive son yield his first liberty.   

Thereat Sir Guyon smiled, And is that all  
(Said he) that thee so sore displeased hath?  
Great mercy sure, for to enlarge a thrall,  
Whose freedom shall thee turn to greatest scathe.  
Natheless now quench thy hot embayling wrath:  
Lo there they be; to thee I yield them free.  
Thereat he wondrous glad, out of the path  
Did lightly leap, where he them bound did see,  
And 'gan to break the bands of their captivity.   

Soon as Occasion felt herself untyde,  
Before her son could well assoiled be,  
She to her use returned, and straight defied  
Both Guyon and Pyrrhochles: th'one (said he)  
Because he won; the other because he  
Was won: So matter did she make of nought,  
To stir up strife, and garre them disagree:  
But soon as Furor was enlarged, she sought  
To kindle his quenched fire, & thousand causes wrought.   

It was not long, ere she inflamed him so,  
That he would algates with Pyrrhochles fight,  
And his redeemer challenged for his foe,  
Because he had not well mainteind his right,  
But yielded had to that same stranger knight:  
Now 'gan Pyrrhochles wax as wood, as he,  
And him affronted with impatient might:  
So both together fires engrasped be,  
Whiles Guyon standing by, their uncouth strife does see.   

Him all that while Occasion did provoke  
Against Pyrrhochles, and new matter framed  
Upon the old, him stirring to be wroke  
Of his late wrongs, in which she oft him blamed  
For suffering such abuse, as knighthood shamed,  
And him disabled quite. But he was wise,  
Ne would with vain occasions be inflamed;  
Yet others she more urgent did devise:  
Yet nothing could him to impatience entice.   

Their fell contention still increased more,  
And more thereby increased Furors might,  
That he his foe has hurt, and wounded sore,  
And him in blood and dirt deformed quite.  
His mother eke, more to augment his spite,  
Now brought to him a flaming fire brand,  
Which she in Stygian lake, ay burning bright  
Had kindled: that she gave into his hand,  
That armed with fire, more hardly he moat him withstood   

though 'gan that villain wax so fires and strong,  
That nothing might sustain his furious force;  
He cast him down to ground, and all along  
Drew him through dirt and mire without remorse,  
And foully battered his comely corpse,  
That Guyon much disdained so loathly sight.  
At last he was compelled to cry perforce,  
Help, O Sir Guyon; help most noble knight,  
To rid a wretched man from hands of hellish wight.   

The knight was greatly moved at his plaint,  
And 'gan him dight to secure his distress,  
Till that the Palmer, by his grave restraint,  
Him stayed from yielding pitiful redress;  
And said, dear son, thy causeless ruth repress,  
Ne let thy stout heart melt in pity vain:  
He that his sorrow sought through wilfulness,  
And his foe fettered would release again,  
Deserves to taste his follies fruit, repent pain.   

Guyon obeyed; So him away he drew  
From needless trouble of renewing fight  
Already fought, his voyage to pursue.  
But rash Pyrrhochles' varlett, Atin hight,  
When late he saw his Lord in heavy plight,  
Under Sir Guyons puissant stroke to fall,  
Him deeming dead, as than he seemed in sight,  
Fled fast away, to tell his funeral  
Unto his brother, whom Cymochles men did call.   

He was a man of rare redoubted might,  
Famous throughout the world for warlike praise,  
And glorious spoils, purchased in perilous fight:  
Full many doughty knights he in his days  
Had done to death, subdued in equal frays,  
Whose carcases, for 〈◊〉 of his name,  
Of fowls and beasts he made the piteous prays,  
And hung their conquered arms for more defame  
On gallow trees, in honour of his dearest Dame.   

His dearest Dame is that Enchaunteresse,  
The vile Acrasia, that with vain delights,  
And idle pleasures in her bower of bliss,  
Does charm her lovers, and the feeble spirits  
Can call out of the bodies offraile wights:  
Whom than she does transform to monstrous hews,  
And horribly misshapes with ugly sights,  
Captived eternally in iron mews,  
And darksome dens, where Titan his face never shows.   

There Atin found Cymochles sojourning,  
To serve his Lemans love: for he by kind,  
Was given all to dust and lose living,  
When ever his fires hands he free mote find:  
And now he has poured out his idle mind  
In dainty delices, and lavish joys,  
Having his warlike weapons cast behind,  
And flows in pleasures, and vain pleasing toys,  
Mingled amongst lose Ladies and lascivious boys.   

And over him, art striving to compayre,  
With nature, did an arbour green disored,  
Framed of want on ivy, flowering fair,  
Through which the fragrant Eglantine did spread  
His prickling arms, entrayld with roses red,  
Which dainty odours round about them threw,  
And all within with flowers was garnished,  
That when mild Zephyrus amongst them blew,  
Did breath out bounteous smells, & painted colours show   

And fast beside, there trickled softly down  
A gentle stream, whose murmuring wave did play  
Amongst the pumy stones, and made a sown,  
To lull him soft a sleep, that by it lay;  
The weary traveller, wandering that way,  
Therein did often quench his thirsty heat,  
And then by it his weary limbs display,  
Whiles creeping slumber made him to forget  
His former pain, and wypt away his toilsome sweat.   

And on the other side a pleasant grove  
Was shot up high, full of the stately tree,  
That dedicated is the Olympic Jove,  
And to his son Alcides, whenas he  
In Netmus gained goodly victory;  
Therein the merry birds of every sort  
Chanted aloud their cheerful harmony:  
And made amongst them selves a sweet consort,  
That quickened the dull sprite with musical comfort.   

There he him found all carelessly displayed,  
In secret shadow from the sunny ray,  
On a sweet bed of lilies softly laid,  
Amidst a flock of Damzelles fresh and gay,  
That round about him dissolute did play  
Their wanton follies, and light merriment;  
Every of which did loosely disarray  
Her upper parts of meet habiliments,  
And showed them naked, decked with many or naments.   

And every of them strove, with most delights,  
Him to aggrate, and greatest pleasures show;  
Some framed fair looks, glancing like evening lights  
Others sweet words, dropping like honey dew;  
Some bathed kisses, and did soft imbrue  
The sugared liquor through his melting lips:  
One boasts her beauty, and does yield to view  
Her dainty limbs above her tender hips;  
Another her out boasts, and all for try all strips.   

He, like an Adder, lurking in the weeds,  
His wandering thought in deep desire does steep,  
And his frail eye with spoil of beauty feeds;  
Sometimes he falsely feigns himself to sleep,  
Whiles through their lids his wanton eyes do peep,  
To steal a snatch of amorous conceit,  
Whereby close fire into his heart does creep:  
So, he them deceives, deceived in his deceit,  
Made drunk with drugs of dear voluptuous receipt.   

Attin arriving there, when him he spied,  
Thus in still waves of deep delight to wade,  
Fiercely approaching, to him loudly cried,  
Cymochles; oh no, but Cymochles shade,  
In which that manly person late did fade,  
What is become of great Acrates son?  
Or where hath he hung up his mortal blade,  
That hath so many haughty conquests won?  
Is all his force forlorn, and all his glory done?   

Then pricking him with his sharp pointed dart,  
He said; up, up, thou womanish weak knight,  
That here in Lady's lap entombed art,  
Unmindful of thy praise and prowest might,  
And weetlesse eke of lately wrought despite,  
Whiles sad Pyrrhochles lies on senseless ground,  
And groaneth out his utmost grudging sprite,  
Through many a stroke, & many a streaming wound,  
Calling thy help in vain, that here in joys art drowned.   

Suddenly out of his delightful dream  
The man a work, and would have questioned more;  
But he would not endure that woeful theme  
For to dilate at large, but urged sore  
With piercing words, and pitiful implore,  
Him hasty to arise. As one affright  
With hellish fiends, or Furies mad uproar,  
He than uprose, inflamed with fell despite,  
And called for his arms; for he would algates fight.   

They been ybrought; he quickly does him dight,  
And lightly mounted, passeth on his way,  
Ne Ladies loves, ne sweet entreaties might  
Appease his heat, or hasty passage stay,  
For he has vowed, to been avengd that day,  
(That day itself him seemed all too long:)  
On him, that did Pyrrhochles dear dismay:  
So proudly pricketh on his courser strong,  
And Attin ay him pricks with spurs of shame & wrong.    

Cant. vi  

Guyon is of immodest mirth,  
led into lose desire,  
Fights with Cymochles, whiles his bro  
there burns in furious fire.   

AHarder lesson, to learn Continence  
In joyous pleasure, then in grievous pain:  
For sweetness doth allure the weaker sense  
So strongly, that uneathes it can refrain  
From that, which feeble nature covets feign;  
But grief and wrath, that be her enemies,  
And foes of life, she better can abstain;  
Yet virtue vaunts in both her victories,  
And Guyon in them all shows goodly masteries.   

Whom bold Cymochles traveling to find,  
With cruel purpose bend to wreak on him  
The wrath, which Atin kindled in his mind,  
Came to a river, by whose utmost brim  
Waiting to pass, he saw whereas did swim  
A long the shore, as swift as glance of eye,  
A little Gondelay, bedecked trim  
With boughs and arbours woven cunningly,  
That like a little forest seemed outwardly.   

And therein sat a Lady fresh and fair,  
Making sweet solace to herself alone;  
Sometimes she song, as loud as lark in air,  
Sometimes she laughed, as merry as Pope Jone,  
Yet was there not with her else any one,  
That to her might move cause of merriment:  
Matter of mirth enough, though there were none  
She could devife, and thousand ways invent,  
To feed her foolish humour, and vain iolliment.   

Which when far of Cymochles heard, and saw,  
He loudly called to such, as were aboard,  
The little bark unto the shore to draw,  
And him to ferry over that deep ford:  
The merry mariner unto his word  
Soon hearkened, and her painted boat straightway  
Turned to the shore, where that same warlike Lord  
She in received; but Atin by no way  
She would admit, albe the knight her much did pray.   

eftsoons her shallow ship away did slide,  
More swift, than swallow shear the liquid sky,  
Withouten oar or Pilot it to guide,  
Or winged canvas with the wind to fly,  
Only she turned a pin, and by and by  
It cut away upon the yielding wave,  
Ne cared she her course for to apply:  
For it was taught the way, which she would have,  
And both from rocks and flats itself could wisely save.   

And all the way, the wanton damsel found  
New mirth, her passenger to entertain:  
For she in pleasant purpose did abound,  
And greatly joyed merry tales to feign,  
Of which a storehouse did with her remain,  
Yet seemed, nothing well they her became;  
For all her words she drowned with laughter vain,  
And wanted grace in uttering of the same,  
That turned all her pleasance to ascoffing game.   

And other whiles vain toys she would devise,  
As her fantastic wit did most delight,  
Sometimes her head she fond would aguize  
With gaudy garlands, or fresh flowrets dight  
About her neck, or rings of rushes plight;  
Sometimes to do him laugh, she would assay  
To laugh at shaking off the leaves light,  
Or to behold the water work, and play  
About her little frigate, therein making way.   

Her light behaviour, and lose dalliance  
Gave wondrous great contentment to the knight,  
That of his way he had no sovenance,  
Nor care of vowed revenge, and cruel fight,  
But to weak wench did yield his martial might.  
So easy was to quench his flamed mind  
With one sweet drop of sensual delight.  
So easy is, t'appease the stormy wind  
Of malice in the calm of pleasant womankind.   

diverse discourses in their way they spent,  
'mongst which Cymochles of her questioned,  
Both what she was, and what that usage ment,  
Which in her cott she daily practised.  
Vain man (said she) that wouldst be reckoned  
A stranger in thy home, and ignorant  
Of Phaedria (for so my name is red)  
Of Phaedria, thine own fellow servant;  
For thou to serve Acrasia thyself dost vaunt.   

In this wide Inland sea, that hight by name  
The Idle lake, my wandering ship I row,  
That knows her port, and thither sails by aim,  
Ne care, ne fear I, how the wind do blow,  
Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow:  
Both slow and swift a like do serve my turn,  
Ne swelling Neptune, ne loud thundering Jove  
Can change my cheer, or make me ever mourn;  
My little boat can safely pass this perilous bourn.   

Whiles thus she talked, and whiles thus she toyd,  
They were far past the passage, which he spoke,  
And come unto an Island, waste and void,  
That floated in the midst of that great lake,  
There her small Gondelay her port did make,  
And that gay pair issewing on the shore  
Disburdened her. Their way they forward take  
Into the land, that lay them fair before,  
Whose pleasance she him showed, and plentiful great store.   

It was a chosen plot of fertile land,  
Amongst wide waves set, like a little nest,  
As if it had by nature's cunning hand,  
Been choicely picked out from all the rest,  
And laid forth for ensample of the best:  
No dainty flower or herb, that grows on ground,  
No arborett with painted blossoms dressed,  
And smelling sweet, but there it might be found  
To bud out fair, & throw her sweet smells all arownd.   

No tree, whose branches did not bravely spring;  
No branch, whereon a fine bird did not sit:  
No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing;  
No song but did contain a lovely ditt:  
Trees, branches, birds, and songs were framed fit,  
For to allure frail mind to careless ease.  
Careless the man soon wox, and his weak wit  
Was overcome of thing, that did him please;  
So pleased, did his wrathful purpose fair appease.   

Thus when she had his eyes and senses fed  
With false delights, and filled with pleasures vain,  
Into a shady dale she soft him led,  
And laid him down upon a grassy plain;  
And her sweet self without dread, or disdain,  
She set beside, laying his head disarmed  
In her lose lap, it softly to sustain,  
Where soon he slumbered fearing not be harmed,  
The whiles with a love lay she thus him sweetly charmed.   

Behold, O man, that toilsome pains dost take  
The flowers, the fields, and all that pleasant grows,  
How they themselves do thine ensample make,  
Whiles nothing envious nature them forth throws  
Out of her fruitful lap; how noman knows,  
They spring, they bud, they blossom fresh and fair,  
And deck the world with their rich pompous shows;  
Yet no man for them taketh pains or care,  
Yet no man to them can his careful pains compare.   

The lily, Lady of the flowering field,  
The Flower deluce, her lovely paramour,  
Bid thee to them thy fruitless labours yield,  
And soon leave off this toilsome weary stoure;  
Lo lo how brave she decks her bounteous bower,  
With silken curtains and gold coverletts,  
Therein to shroud her sumptuous Belamoure,  
Yet nether spins nor cards, ne cares nor frets,  
But to her mother Nature all her care she lets.   

Why then dost thou, O man, that of them all  
Art Lord, and eke of nature sovereign,  
Wilfully make thyself a wretched thrall,  
And waste thy joyous hours in needless pain,  
Seeking for danger and adventures vain?  
What boots it all to have, and nothing use?  
Who shall him rue, that swimming in the main,  
Will die for thirst, and water doth refuse?  
Refuse such fruitless toil, and present pleasures choose.   

By this she had him lulled fast a sleep,  
That of no worldly thing he care did take;  
Then she with liquors strong his eyes did steep,  
That nothing should him hastily awake:  
So she him left, and did herself betake  
Unto her boat again, with which she cleft  
The slothful wave of that great griesy lake;  
Soon she that Island far behind her left,  
And now is come to that same place, where first she wefte.   

By this time was the worthy Guyon brought  
Unto the other side of that wide strand,  
Where she was rowing, and for passage sought:  
Him needed not long call, she soon to hon  
Her ferry brought, where him she biding fond,  
With his sad guide; himself she took a board,  
But the Black Palmer suffered still to stand,  
Ne would for price, or prayers once afford,  
To ferry that old man over the perilous ford.   

Guyon was loath to leave his guide behind,  
Yet being entered, might not back retire;  
For the flit bark, obeying to her mind,  
Forth launched quickly, as she did desire,  
Ne gave him leave to bid that aged sire  
Adieu, but nimbly ran her wont course  
Through the dull billows thick as troubled mire,  
Whom nether wind out of their seat could force,  
Nor timely tides did drive out of their sluggish source.   

And by the way, as was her wont guise,  
Her merry fit she freshly 'gan to rear,  
And did of joy and jollity devise,  
Herself to cherish, and her guest to cheer:  
The knight was courteous, and did not forbear  
Her honest mirth and pleasance to partake;  
But when he saw her toy, and gibe, and gear,  
And pass the bonds of modest merimake,  
Her dalliance he despised, and follies did forsake.   

Yet she still followed her former style,  
And said, and did all that mote him delight,  
Till they arrived in that pleasant I'll,  
Where sleeping late she left her other knight.  
But whenas Guyon of that land had fight,  
He witted himself amiss, and angry said;  
Ah Dame, pardie ye have not done me right,  
Thus to misled me, whiles I you obeyed:  
Me little needed from my right way to have strayed.   

Fair Sir (qd. she) be not displeased at all;  
Who fares on sea, may not command his way,  
Ne wind and weather at his pleasure call:  
The sea is wide, and easy for to stray;  
The wind unstable, and doth never stay.  
But here a while ye may in safety rest,  
Till season serve new passage to assay;  
Better safe port, then be in seas distressed.  
Therewith she laughed, and did her earnest end in jest.   

But he half discontent, mote nevertheless  
Himself appease, and issewd forth on shore:  
The joys whereof, and happy fuitfulnesse,  
Such as he saw, she 'gan him lay before,  
And all though pleasant, yet she made much more:  
The fields did laugh, the flowers did freshly spring,  
The trees did bud, and early blossoms bore,  
And all the choir of birds did sweetly sing,  
And told that gardens pleasures in their carolling.   

And she more sweet, than any bird on bough,  
Would oftentimes amongst them bear a part,  
And strive to pass (as she could well enough)  
Their native music by her skilful art:  
So did she all, that might his constant heart  
Withdraw from thought of warlike enterprise,  
And drown in dissolute delights apart,  
Where noise of arms, or view of martial guise  
Might not revive desire of knightly exercise.   

But he was wise, and wary of her will,  
And ever held his hand upon his heart:  
Yet would not seem so rude, and thewed ill,  
As to despise so courteous seeming part,  
That gentle Lady did to him impart,  
But fairly tempering fond desire subdued,  
And ever her desired to departed.  
She list not hear, but her disports poursewd,  
And ever bade him stay, till time the tide renewed.   

And now by this, Cymochles hour was spent,  
That he awoke out of his idle dream,  
And shaking off his drowsy dreariment,  
'Gan him avize, how ill did him beseem,  
In slothful sleep his molten heart to esteem,  
And quench the brand of his conceived ire.  
though up he started, stirred with shame extreme,  
Ne stayed for his damsel to inquire,  
But marched to the strand, their passage to require.   

And in the way he with Sir Guyon met,  
Accompanyde with Phaedria the fair,  
eftsoons he 'gan to rage, and inly fret,  
Crying, Let be that Lady debonair,  
Thou recreant knight, and soon thyself prepare  
To batteile, if thou mean her love to gain:  
Lo, lo already, how the fowls in air  
Do flock, awaiting shortly to obtain  
Thy carcase for their prey, the guerdon of thy pain.   

And therewith all he fiercely at him flew,  
And with importune outrage him assailed;  
Who soon prepared to field, his sword forth drew,  
And him with equal value countervailed:  
Their mighty strokes their haberieons dismayld,  
And naked made each others manly spalles;  
The mortal steel despiteously entailed  
Deep in their flesh, quite through the iron walls,  
That a large purple stream adown their giambeux falls.   

Cymocles, that had never met before,  
So puissant foe, with envious despite  
His proud presumed force increased more,  
Disdeigning to be held so long in fight;  
Sir Guyon grudging not so much his might,  
As those unknightly railings, which he spoke,  
With wrathful fire his courage kindled bright,  
Thereof devising shortly to be wroke,  
And doubling all his powers, redoubled every stroke.   

Both of them high at once their hands enhanced,  
And both at once their huge blows down did sway;  
Cymochles sword on Guyons shield yglaunst,  
And there of nigh one quarter sheared away;  
But Guyons angry blade so fires did play  
On th'other's helmett, which as Titan shone,  
That quite it clove his plumed crest in twain,  
And bared all his head unto the bone;  
Wherewith astonished, still he stood, as senseless stone.   

Still as he stood, fair Phaedria, that beheld  
That deadly danger, soon atween them ran;  
And at their feet herself most humbly field,  
Crying with piteous voice, and countenance wan;  
Ah well away, most noble Lords, how can  
Your cruel eyes endure so piteous sight,  
To shed your lives on ground? woe worth the man,  
That first did teach the cursed steel to bite  
In his own flesh, and make way to the living sprite.   

If ever love of Lady did empierce  
Your iron breasts, or pity could find place,  
Withhold your bloody hands from battle fierce,  
And sith for me ye fight, to me this grace  
Both yield, to stay your deadly strife a space.  
They stayed a while: and forth she 'gan proceed:  
Most wretched woman, and of wicked race,  
That am the author of this heinous deed,  
And cause of death between two doughty knights do breed.   

But if for me ye fight, or me will serve,  
Not this rude kind of battle, nor these arms  
Are meet, the which do men in bale to starve,  
And doleful sorrow heap with deadly harms:  
Such cruel game my scarmoges disarms:  
Another war, and other weapons I  
Do love, where love does give his sweet alarms,  
Without bloodshed, and where the enemy  
Does yield unto his foe a pleasant victory.   

debateful strife, and cruel enmity  
The famous name of knighthood foully shend;  
But lovely peace, and gentle amity,  
And in Amours the passing hours to spend,  
The mighty martial hands do most commend;  
Of love they ever greater glory bore,  
Then of their arms: Mars is Cupid's friend,  
And is for Venus loves renowned more,  
Then all his wars and spoils, the which he did of yore.   

Therewith she sweetly smyld. They though full bend,  
To prove extremities of bloody fight,  
Yet at her speech their rages 'gan relent,  
And calm the sea of their tempestuous spite,  
Such power have pleasing words: such is the might  
Of courteous clemency in gentle heart.  
Now after all was ceased, the fairy knight  
Besòught that damsel suffer him departed,  
And yield him ready passage to that other part.   

She no less glad, than he desirous was  
Of his departure thence; for of her joy  
And vain delight she saw he light did pass,  
A foe of folly and immodest toy,  
Still solemn sad, or still disdainful coy,  
Delighting all in arms and cruel war,  
That her sweet peace and pleasures did annoy,  
Troubled with terror and unquiet jar,  
That she well pleased was thence to amove him far.   

though him she brought aboard, and her swift boat  
Forthwith directed to that further strand;  
The which on the dull waves did lightly float  
And soon arrived on the shallow sand,  
Where gladsome Guyon sallied forth to land,  
And to that damsel thanks gave for reward.  
Upon that shore he spied Atin stand,  
Thereby his master left, when late he fared  
In Phaedrias flit bark over that perilous shared.   

Well could he him remember, sith of late  
He with Pyrrhochles sharp debatement made;  
Straight 'gan he him revile, and bitter rate,  
As shepherds cur, that in dark eveninges' shade  
Hath tracted forth some salvage beasts trade;  
Vile miscreant (said he) whether dost thou fly  
The shame and death, which will thee soon invade?  
What coward hand shall do thee next to die,  
That art thus foully fled from famous enemy?   

With that he stiffly shook his steelhead dart:  
But sober Guyon, hearing him so rail,  
Though somewhat moved in his mighty heart,  
Yet with strong reason mastered passion frail,  
And passed fairly forth. He turning tail,  
Back to the strand retyrd, and there still stayed,  
Awaiting passage, which him late did fail;  
The whiles Cymochles with that wanton maid  
The hasty heat of his avowd revenge delayed   

Whilst there the varlet stood, he saw from far  
An armed knight, that towards him fast ran,  
He ran on foot, as if in luckless war  
His forlorn steed from him the victor won;  
He seemed breathless, heartless, faint, and wan,  
And all his armour sprinkled was with blood,  
And soiled with dirty gore, that no man can  
Discern the hue thereof. He never stood,  
But bent his hasty course towards the idle flood.   

The varlett saw, when to the flood he came,  
How without stop or stay he fiercely leapt,  
And deep himself beducked in the same,  
That in the lake his lofty crest was stepped,  
Ne of his safety seemed care he kept,  
But with his raging arms he rudely flashed,  
The waves about, and all his armour swept,  
That all the blood and filth away was washed,  
Yet still he bet the water, and the billows dashed.   

Atin drew nigh, to weet, what it moat be;  
For much he wondered at that uncouth sight;  
Whom should he, but his own dear Lord, there see,  
His own dear Lord Pyrrhochles, in sad plight,  
Ready to drown himself for fell despite.  
Harrow now out, and well away, he cried,  
What dismal day hath lent but this his cursed light,  
To see my Lord so deadly damnifyde  
Pyrrhochles, O Pyrrhochles, what is thee betide?   

I burn, I burn, I burn, then loud he cried,  
O how I burn with implacable fire,  
Yet nought can quench mine inly flaming side,  
Nor sea of liquor cold, nor lake of mire,  
Nothing but death can do me to respire.  
Ah be it (said he) from Pyrrhochles far  
After pursuing death once to require,  
Or think, that aught those puissant hands may mar  
Death is for wretches borne under unhappy star.   

pardie, then is it fit for me (said he)  
That am, I ween, most wretched man alive,  
Burning in flames, yet no flames can I see,  
And dying daily, daily yet revive:  
O Atin, help to me last death to give.  
The varlet at his plaint was grieved so sore,  
That his deep wounded heart in two did rive,  
And his own health remembering now no more,  
Did follow that ensample, which he blamed afore.   

Into the lake he leapt, his Lord to aid,  
(So love the dread of danger doth despise)  
And of him catching hold him strongly stayed  
From drowning. But more happy he, then wise  
Of that seas nature did him not advise.  
The waves thereof so slow and sluggish were,  
Engrossed with mud, which did them fowl agrize,  
That every weighty thing they did upbeare,  
Ne ought mote ever sink down to the bottom there.   

Whiles thus they struggled in that idle wave,  
And strove in vain, the one himself to drown,  
The other both from drowning for to save,  
Lo, to that shore one in an ancient gown,  
Whose hoary locks great gravity did crown,  
Holding in hand a goodly arming sword,  
By fortune came, led with the troublous sown:  
Where drenched deep he found in that dull ford  
The careful servant, striving with his raging Lord.   

Him Atin spying, knew right well of yore,  
And loudly called, Help help, O Archimage,  
To save my Lord, in wretched plight forlorn;  
Help with thy hand, or with thy counsel sage:  
Weak hands, but counsel is most strong in age.  
Him when the old man, saw he wondered sore,  
To see Pyrrhochles there so rudely rage:  
Yet sithence help, he saw, he needed more  
Than pity, he in haste approached to the shore.   

And called, Pyrrhochles, what is this, I see?  
What hellish fury hath at erst thee hent?  
Furious ever I thee knew to be,  
Yet never in this strange astonishment.  
These flames, these flames (he cried) do me torment.  
What flames (qd. he) when I thee present see,  
In danger rather to be drent, then brent?  
Harrow, the flames, which I consume (said he)  
Ne can be quenched, within my secret bowels be.   

That cursed man, that cruel fiend of hell,  
Furor, oh Furor hath me thus bedight:  
His deadly wounds within my livers swell,  
And his whott fire burns in mine entrails bright,  
Kindled through his infernal brand of spite,  
Sith late with him I battle vain would boast,  
That now I ween Jove's dreaded thunder light  
Does scorch not half so sore, nor damned ghost  
In flaming Phlegeton does not so felly roast.   

Which when as Archimago heard, his grief  
He knew right well, and him at once disarmed:  
Then searched his secret wounds, and made a proof  
Of every place, that was with bruising harmed,  
Or with the hidden fire inly warmed.  
Which done, he balms and herbs thereto applied,  
And evermore with mighty spells them charmed,  
That in short space he has them qualifyde,  
And him restored to health, that would have algates died.    

Cant. VII.  

Guyon finds Mammon in a delve,  
sunning his treasure hore:  
Is by him tempted, & led down,  
To see his secret store.   

AS Pilot well expert in perilous wave,  
That to a steadfast star his course hath bend,  
When foggy mists, or cloudy tempests have  
The faithful light of that fair lamp yblent,  
And covered heaven with hideous dreariment,  
Upon his card and compass firmes his eye,  
The masters of his long experiment,  
And to them does the steady helm apply,  
Bidding his winged vessel fairly forward fly.   

So Guyon having lost his trusty guide,  
Late left beyond that Idle lake, proceeds  
Yet on his way, of none accompanyde;  
And evermore himself with comfort feeds,  
Of his own virtues, and praiseworthy deeds.  
So long he yode, yet no adventure found,  
Which fame of her shrill trumpet worthy reeds:  
For still he traveild through wide wasteful ground,  
That nought but desert wilderness showed all around.   

At last he came unto a gloomy glade,  
Covered with boughs & shrubs from heavens light,  
Whereas he sitting found in secret shade  
An uncouth, salvage, and uncivil wight,  
Of grisly hue, and fowl ill favoured sight;  
His face with smoke was tanned & eyes were bleared  
His head and beard with sout were ill bedight,  
His coal-black hands did seem to have been seared  
In smiths fire-spitting forge, and nails like claws appeared.   

His iron cote all overgrown with rust,  
Was underneath enueloped with gold,  
Whose glistering gloss darkened with filthy dust,  
Well yet appeared, to have been of old  
A work of rich entail, and curious mould,  
Woven with antics and wild imagery:  
And in his lap a mass of coin he told,  
And turned upside down, to feed his eye  
And covetous desire with his huge threasury.   

And round about him lay on every side  
Great heaps of gold, that never could be spent:  
Of which some were rude hour, not purified  
Of Malcibers' devouring element;  
Some others were new driven, and distent  
Into great Ingowes, and to wedges square;  
Some in round plates withouten monument:  
But most were stamped, and in their metal bore  
The antic shapes of kings and Caesars strange & rare.   

Soon as he Guyon saw, in great affright  
And haste he rose, for to remove aside  
Those precious hills from strangers envious sight,  
And down them poured through an hole full wide,  
Into the hollow earth, them there to hide.  
But Guyon lightly to him leaping, stayed  
His hand, that trembled, as one terrifyde;  
And though himself were at the sight dismayed,  
Yet him perforce restrained, and to him doubtful said.   

What art thou man, (if man at all thou art)  
That here in desert hast thine habitaunce,  
And these rich hills of wealth dost hide apart  
From the worlds eye, and from her right usance?  
Thereat with staring eyes fixed askance,  
In great disdain, he answered, Hardy elf,  
That darest view my direful countenance,  
I read thee rash, and heedless of thyself,  
To trouble my still seat, and heaps of precious pelf.   

God of the world and worldlings I me call,  
Great Mammon, greatest god below the sky,  
That of my plenty pour out unto all,  
And unto none my graces do envy:  
Riches, renown, and principality,  
Honour, estate, and all this worlds good,  
For which men swinck and sweat incessantly,  
Fro me do flow into an ample flood,  
And in the hollow earth have their eternal brood.   

Wherefore if I thou deign to serve and sew,  
At thy command lo all these mountains be;  
Or if to thy great mind, or greedy view  
All these may not suffice, there shall to thee  
Ten times so much be numbered frank and free.  
Mammon (said he) thy godheads vaunt is vain,  
And idle offers of thy golden fee;  
To them, that covet such eye-glutting gain,  
Proffer thy gifts, and fit servants entertain.   

Me ill besits, that in derdoing arms,  
And honour's suit my vowed days do spend,  
Unto thy bounteous baits, and pleasing charms,  
With which weak men thou witchest, to attend:  
Regard of worldly muck doth foully blend,  
And low abase the high heroic sprite,  
That joys for crowns and kingdoms to contend;  
Fair shields, gay steeds, bright arms be my delight:  
Those be the riches fit for an aduent'rous knight.   

Vain glorious elf (said he) dost not thou weet,  
That money can thy wants at will supply?  
Shields, steeds, and arms, and all things for thee meet  
It can purvay in twinkling of an eye;  
And crowns and kingdoms to thee multiply.  
Do not I kings create, and throw the crown  
Sometimes to him, that low in dust doth lie?  
And him that reigned, into his room thrust down,  
And whom I lust, do heap with glory and renown?   

All otherwise (said he) I riches read,  
And deem them root of all disquietness;  
First got with guile, and then preserved with dread,  
And after spent with pride and lavishness,  
Leaving behind them grief and heaviness.  
Infinite mischiefs of them do arise,  
Strife, and debate, bloodshed, and bitterness,  
Outrageous wrong, and hellish covetise,  
That noble heart in great dishonour doth despize.   

Ne thine be kingdoms, ne the sceptres thine;  
But realms and rulers thou dost both confound,  
And loyal truth to treason dost incline;  
Witness the guiltless blood poured oft on ground,  
The crowned often slain, the slayer crowned,  
The sacred diadem in pieces rend,  
And purple rob gored with many a wound;  
Castles surprised, great cities sacked and brent:  
So makest thou kings, & gainest wrongful government.   

Long were to tell the troublous storms, that toss  
The private state, and make the life unsweet:  
Who swelling sails in Caspian sea doth cross,  
And in frail wood on Adrian gulf doth fleet,  
Doth not, I ween, so many evils meet.  
Then Mammon waxing wroth, And why then, said,  
Are mortal men so fond and undiscreet,  
So evil thing to seek unto their aid,  
And having not complain, and having it upbraid?   

Indeed (quoth he) through fowl intemperance,  
Frail men are oft captived to covetise:  
But would they think, with how small allowance  
Untroubled Nature doth herself suffice,  
Such superfluities they would despise,  
Which with sad cares impeach our native joys:  
At the well head the purest streams arise:  
But mucky filth his branching arms annoys,  
And with uncomely weeds the gentle wave accloyes.   

The antic world, in his first flowering youth,  
Found no defect in his creator's grace,  
But with glad thanks, and unreproved truth,  
The gifts of sovereign bounty did embrace:  
Like angel's life was then men's happy case;  
But later ages pride, like cornfed steed,  
Abused her plenty, and fat swollen increase  
To all licentious lust, and 'gan exceed  
The measure of her mean, and natural first need.   

Then 'gan a cursed hand the quiet womb  
Of his great Grandmother with steel to wound,  
And the hid treasures in her sacred tomb,  
With sacrilege to dig. Therein he found  
Fountains of gold and silver to abownd,  
Of which the matter of his huge desire  
And pompous pride eftsoons he did compound;  
Then avarice 'gan through his veins inspire  
His greedy flames, and kindled life-devouring fire.   

Son (said he then) let be thy bitter scorn,  
And leave the rudeness of that antic age  
To them, that lived therein in state forlorn;  
Thou that dost live in later times, must wage  
Thy works for wealth, and life for gold engage.  
If then thee list my offered grace to use,  
Take what thou please of all this surplusage;  
If thee list not, leave have thou to refuse:  
But thing refused, do not afterward accuse.   

Me list not (said the Elfin knight) receive  
Thing offered, till I know it well be got,  
Ne wot I, but thou didst these goods bereave  
From rightful owner by unrighteous lot,  
Or that bloodguiltnesse or guile them blot.  
pardie (qd. he) yet never eye did view,  
Ne tongue did tell, ne hand these handled not,  
But safe I have them kept in secret mew,  
From heavens sight, and power of all which them poursew.   

What secret place (qd. he) can safely hold  
So huge a mass, and hide from heavens eye?  
Or where hast thou thy won, that somuch gold  
Thou canst preserve from wrong and robbery?  
Come thou (qd. he.) and see. So by and by.  
Through that thick covert he him led, and found  
A darksome way, which no man could descry,  
That deep descended through the hollow ground,  
And was with dread and horror compassed arownd.   

At length they came into a larger space,  
That stretched itself into an ample plain,  
Through which a beaten broad high way did trace,  
That straight did lead to Pluto's grisly rain:  
By that ways side, there sat internal pain,  
And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife:  
The one in hand an iron whip did strain,  
The other brandished a bloody knife,  
And both did gnash their teeth, & both did threaten life.   

On tother side in one consort there sat,  
Cruel revenge, and rancorous despite,  
Disloyal Treason, and hart-burning Hate,  
But gnawing Gealosy out of their sight  
Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bite,  
And trembling fear still to and fro did fly,  
And found no place, where safe he shrowded him might,  
Lamenting Sorrow did in darkness lie.  
And shame his ugly face did hide from living eye.   

And over them sad horror with grim hue,  
Did always sore, beating his iron wings;  
And after him owls and night-ravens flew,  
The hateful messengers of heavy things,  
Of death and dolour telling sad tidings;  
Whiles sad Celeno, sitting on a clift,  
A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings,  
That heart of flint a sunder could have rift:  
Which having ended, after him she flieth swift.   

All these before the gates of Pluto lay,  
By whom they passing, spoke unto them nought.  
But th'Elfin knight with wonder all the way  
Did feed his eyes, and filled his inner thought.  
At last him to a little door he brought,  
That to the gate of Hell, which gaped wide,  
Was next adjoining, ne them parted nought:  
Betwtxt them both was but a little stride,  
That did the house of Richesse from hellmouth divide.   

Before the door sat self-consuming Care,  
Day and night keeping wary watch and ward,  
For fear least Force or Fraud should unaware  
Break in, and spoil the treasure there in guard:  
Ne would he suffer sleep once thetherward  
Approach, albe his drowsy den were next;  
For next to death is sleep to be compared:  
Therefore his house is unto his annexed;  
Here Sleep, their Richesse, & Helgate them both betwixt.   

So soon as Mammon there arrived, the door  
To him did open, and afforded way;  
Him followed eke Sir Guy on evermore,  
Ne darkness him, ne danger might dismay.  
Soon as he entered was, the door straight way  
Did shut, and from behind it forth there leapt  
An ugly fiend, more fowl than dismal day,  
The which with monstrous stalk behind him stepped,  
And ever as he went, due watch upon him kept.   

Well hoped he, ere long that hardy guest,  
If ever covetous hand, or lustful eye,  
Or lips he laid on thing, that liked him best,  
Or ever sleep his eiestrings did untie,  
Should be his prey. And therefore still on high  
He over him did hold his cruel claws,  
Threatening with greedy gripe to do him die  
And rend in pieces with his ravenous paws,  
If ever he transgressed the fatal Stygian laws.   

That houses form within was rude and strong,  
Like an huge cave, hewn out of rocky clift,  
From whose rough vault the ragged breaches hung,  
Embossed with massy gold of glorious gift,  
And with rich metal loaded every rift,  
That heavy ruin they did seem to threatt;  
And over them Arachne high did lift  
Her cunning web, and spread her subtle net,  
Enwrapped in fowl smoke and clouds more black than jet.   

Both roof, and floor, and walls were all of gold,  
But overgrown with dust and old decay,  
And hid in darkness, that none could behold  
The hue thereof: for view of cheerful day  
Did never in that house itself display,  
But a faint shadow of uncertain light;  
Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away:  
Or as the moon clothed with cloudy night,  
Does show to him, that walks in fear and sad affright.   

In all that room was nothing to be seen,  
But huge great iron chests and coffers strong,  
All bard with double bends, that none could ween  
Them to efforce by violence or wrong:  
On every side they placed were along.  
But all the ground with skulls was scattered,  
And dead men's bones, which round about were flung,  
Whose lives, it seemed, whilom there were shed,  
And their vile carcases now leftunburied.   

They forward pass, ne Guyon yet spoke word,  
Till that they came unto an iron door,  
Which to them opened of his own accord,  
And showed of richesses such exceeding store,  
As eye of man did never see before,  
Ne ever could within one place be found,  
Though all the wealth, which is, or was of yore,  
Can gathered be through all the world arownd,  
And that above were added to that under ground.   

The charge thereof unto a covetous sprite  
Commanded was, who thereby did attend,  
And warily awaited day and night,  
From other covetous fiends it to defend,  
Who it to rob and ransack did intend.  
Then Hammon turning to that warrior, said;  
Lo here the worlds bliss, lo here the end,  
To which all men do aim, rich to be made:  
Such grace now to be happy, is before thee laid.   

Certes (said he) I n'ill thine offered grace,  
Ne to be made so happy do intend:  
Another bliss before mine eyes I place,  
Another happiness, another end.  
To them, that list, these base regards I lend:  
But I in arms, and in achievements brave,  
Do rather choose my flitting hours to spend,  
And to be Lord of those, that riches have,  
Then them to have myself, and be their servile slave.   

Thereat the fiend his gnashing teeth did grate,  
And grieved, so long to lack his greedy prey;  
For well he weened, that so glorious bait  
Would tempt his guest, to take thereof assay:  
Had he so done, he had him snatched away,  
More light than Culuer in the falcons fist.  
Eternal God thee save from such decay.  
But when as Mammon saw his purpose mist,  
Him to entrap unwares another way he witted.   

Thence forward he him led, and shortly brought  
Unto another room, whose door forthright,  
To him did open, as it had been taught:  
Therein an hundred ranges weren pight,  
And hundred fournaces all burning bright;  
By every furnace many fiends did bide,  
Deformed creatures, horrible in sight,  
And every fiend his busy pains applied.  
To melt the golden metal, ready to be tried.   

One with great bellows gathered filling air,  
And with forced wind the fuel did inflame;  
Another did the dying brands repair  
With dying tongues, and sprinkled oft the same  
With liquid waves, fires Vulcan's rage to tame,  
Who maystring them, renewed his former heat;  
Some scumd the dross, that from the metal came.  
Some stirred the molten hour with ladles great;  
And every one did swink, and every one did sweat.   

But when an earthly wight they present saw,  
Glistering in arms and battailous array,  
From their hot work they did themselves withdraw  
To wonder at the sight: for till that day,  
They never creature saw, that came that way.  
Their staring eyes sparkling with fervent fire,  
And ugly shapes did nigh the man dismay,  
That were it not for shame, he would retire,  
Till that him thus bespoke their sovereign Lord & sire.   

Behold, thou fairy's son, with mortal eye,  
That living eye before did never see:  
The thing, that thou didst crave so earnestly,  
To weet, whence all the wealth late showed by me,  
Proceeded, lo now is revealed to thee.  
Here is the fountain of the worlds good:  
Now therefore, if thou wilt enriched be,  
Advice thee well, and change thy wilful mood,  
Lest thou perhaps hereafter wish, and be withstood.   

Suffice it then, thou Money God (qd. He)  
That all thine idle offers I refuse.  
All that I need I have; what needeth me  
To covet more, than I have cause to use?  
With such vain shows thy worldlings vile abuse:  
But give me leave to follow mine emprise.  
Mammon was much displeased, yet no'te he choose,  
But bear the rigour of his bold mesprise,  
And thence him forward led, him further to entice.   

He brought him through a darksome narrow straight,  
To a broad gate, all built of beaten gold:  
The gate was open, but therein did wait  
A fturdie villain, striding stiff and bold,  
As if the highest God defy he would;  
In his right hand an iron club he held,  
And he himself was all of iron mould,  
Yet had both life and sense, and well could wield  
That cursed weapon, when his cruel foes he quelled.   

Disdain he called was, and did disdain  
To be so called, and who so did him call:  
Stern was his look, and full of stomach vain,  
His portaunce terrible, and stature tall,  
Far passing th'height of men terrestrial;  
Like an huge giant of the Titans race,  
That made him scorn all creatures great and small,  
And with his pride all others power deface:  
More fit amongst black fiends, than men to have his place.   

Soon as those glitterand arms he did espy,  
That with their brightness made that darkness light,  
His harmful club he 'gan to hurtle high,  
And threaten battle to the fairy knight;  
Who likewise 'gan himself to battle dight,  
Till Mammon did his hasty hand with hold,  
And counselled him abstain from perilous fight:  
For nothing might abash the villain bold,  
Ne mortal steel emperce his miscreated mould.   

So having him with reason pacified,  
And the fires carl commanding to forbear,  
He brought him in. The room was large and wide,  
As it some Gyeld or solemn Temple wear:  
Many great golden pillars did upbeare  
The massy roof, and riches huge sustain,  
And every pillar decked was full dear  
With crowns and diadems, & titles vain,  
Which mortal Princes wore, whiles they on earth did rain.   

A rout of people there assembled were,  
Of every sort and nation under sky,  
Which with great uproar preace to draw near  
To th'upper part, where was advanced high  
A stately siege of sovereign majesty,  
And thereon sat a woman gorgeous gay,  
And richly clad in robes of royalty,  
That never earthly Prince in such array  
His glory did enhance and pompous pride display.   

Her face right wondrous fair did seem to be,  
That her broad beauty's beam great brightness threw  
Through the dim shade, that all men might it see:  
Yet was not that same her own native hue,  
But wrought by art and counterfeited show,  
Thereby more lovers unto her to call;  
Natheless most heavenly fair in deed and view  
She by creation was, till she did fall,  
Thenceforth she sought for helps to cloak her crime withal.   

There as in glistering glory she did sit,  
She held a great gold chain ylincked well,  
Whose upper end to highest heaven was knit,  
And lower part did reach to lowest Hell,  
And all that press did round about her swell,  
To catchen hold of that long chain, thereby  
To climb aloft, and others to excel:  
That was Ambition, rash desire to sty,  
And every link thereof a step of dignity.   

Some thought to raise themselves to high degree,  
By riches and unrighteous reward,  
Some by close shouldering, some by flattery;  
Others through friends, others for base regard;  
And all by wrong ways for themselves prepared.  
Those that were up themselves, kept others low,  
Those that were low themselves held others hard,  
Ne suffered them to rise or greater grow,  
But every one did strive his fellow down to throw.   

Which whenas Guyon saw, he 'gan inquire,  
What meant that press about that Lady's throne,  
And what she was that did so high aspire,  
Him Mammon answered, That goodly one,  
Whom all that folk with such contention,  
Doeflock about, my dear my daughter is,  
Honour and dignity from her alone,  
Derived are, and all this worlds bliss  
For which ye men do strive: few get, but many mis.   

And fair Philotime she rightly hight,  
The fairest wight that woneth under sky,  
But that this darksome neither world her light  
Doth dim with horror and deformity,  
Worthy of heaven and high felicity,  
From whence the gods have her for envy thrust:  
But sith thou hast found favour in mine eye,  
Thy spouse I will her make, if that thou lust,  
That she may thee advance for works and merits just.   

Gramercy Mammom (said the gentle knight)  
For so great grace and offered high estate,  
But I, that am frail flesh and earthly wight,  
Unworthy match for such immortal mate,  
Myself well wot, and mine unequal fate,  
And were I not, yet is my troth yplight,  
And love avowed to other Lady late,  
That to remove the same I have no might:  
To change love causeless is reproach to warlike knight   

Mammon emmoved was with inward wrath;  
Yet forcing it to fayne, him forth thence led  
Through grisly shadows by a beaten path,  
Into a gardin goodly garnished  
With herbs & fruits, whose kinds moat not be red.  
Not such, as earth out of her fruitful woomb  
Throws forth to men sweet and well savored,  
But direful deadly black both leaf and bloom,  
Fit to adorn the dead and deck the dreary tomb.   

There mournful cypress grew in greatest store,  
And trees of bitter Gall, and ebony sad,  
Dead sleeping Poppy, and black Hellebore,  
Cold Coloquintida, and Tetra mad,  
Mortal Samnitis, and Cicuta bad,  
Which with th'unjust Athenians made to die  
Wise Socrates, who thereof quaffing glad  
Poured out his life, and last Philosophy  
To the fair Critias his dearest Belamy.   

The Gardin of Proserpina this height;  
And in the midst thereof a silver seat,  
With a thick arbour goodly overdight,  
In which she often used from open heat  
Herself to shroud, and pleasures to entreat.  
Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree,  
With branches broad dispredd and body great,  
Clothed with leaves, that none the wood moat see  
And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might be.   

Their fruit were golden apples glistering bright,  
That goodly was their glory to behold,  
On earth like never grew, ne living wight  
Like ever 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 the Euboean young man won  
Swift Atalanta, when through craft he her out ran.   

Here also sprung that goodly golden fruit,  
With which Acontius got his lover true,  
Whom he had long time sought with fruitless suit:  
Here eke that famous golden Apple grew,  
The which amongst the god's false Ate threw:  
For which th' Idaean Ladies disagreed,  
Till partial Paris deemed it Venus' dew,  
And had of her, fair Helen for his meed,  
That many noble Greeks and Troyans' made to bleed.   

The warlike elf, much wondered at this tree,  
So fair and great, that shadowed all the ground,  
And his broad branches, laden with rich fee,  
Did stretch themselves without the utmost bound  
Of this great gardin, compassed with a mound,  
Which over-hanging, they themselves did steep,  
In a black flood which flowed about it round,  
That is the river of Cocytus' deep,  
In which full many souls do endless wail and weep.   

Which to behold, he clomb up to the bank,  
And looking down, saw many damned wights,  
In those sad waves, which direful deadly stancke,  
plunged continually of cruel spirits,  
That with their piteous cries, and yelling shrightes,  
They made the further shore resounden wide:  
Amongst the rest of those same rueful sights,  
One cursed creature, he by chance espied,  
That drenched lay full deep, under the Garden side.   

Deep was he drenched to the upmost chin,  
Yet gaped still as coveting to drink,  
Of the cold liquor which he waded in,  
And stretching forth his hand, did often think  
To reach the fruit which grew upon the brink:  
But both the fruit from hand, and flood from mouth  
Did fly aback, and made him vainly swink:  
The whiles he starved with hunger, and with drought  
He daily died, yet never thoroughly dyen couth.   

The knight him seeing labour so in vain,  
Asked who he was, and what he meant thereby:  
Who groaning deep, thus answered him again;  
Most cursed of all creatures under sky,  
Lo Tantalus, I here tormented lie:  
Of whom high Jove want whilom feasted be,  
Lo here I now for want of food do die:  
But if that thou be such, as I thee see,  
Of grace I pray thee, give to eat and drink to me.   

Nay, nay, thou greedy Tantalus (quoth he)  
Abide the fortune of thy present fate,  
And unto all that live in high degree,  
Ensample be of mind more temperate,  
To teach them how to use their present state.  
Then 'gan the cursed wretch aloud to cry,  
Accusing highest Jove and gods ingrate,  
And eke blaspheming heaven bitterly,  
As author of unjustice, there to let him die.   

He looked a little further, and espied  
Another wretch, whose carcase deep was drent  
Within the river, which the same did hide:  
But both his hands most filthy feculent,  
Above the water were on high extent,  
And feigned to wash themselves incessantly,  
Yet nothing cleaner were for such intent,  
But rather fouler seemed to the eye,  
So lost his labour vain and idle industry.   

The knight him calling, asked who he was,  
Who lifting up his head, him answered thus:  
I Pilate am the falsest judge, alas,  
And most unjust that by unrighteous  
And wicked doom to Jews despiteous,  
Delivered up the Lord of life to die,  
And did acquit a murderer felonous,  
The whiles my hands I washed in purity,  
The whiles my soul was soiled with fowl iniquity.   

Infinite more, tormented in like pain  
He there beheld, too long here to be told:  
Ne Mammon would there let him long remain,  
For terror of the tortures manifold,  
In which the damned souls he did behold,  
But roughly him bespoke. Thou fearful fool  
Why takest not of that same fruit of gold,  
Ne sittest down on that same silver stool,  
To rest thy weary person, in the shadow cool.   

All which he did, to do him deadly fall,  
In frail intemperance through sinful bait,  
To which if he inclined had at all,  
That dreadful fiend, which did behind him wait,  
Would him have rend in thousand pieces strayt:  
But he was wary wise in all his way,  
And well perceived his deceitful sleight,  
Ne suffered lust his safety to betray;  
So goodly did beguile the Guyler of his prey.   

And now he has so long remained there,  
That vital powers 'gan wax both weak and wan,  
For want of food, and sleep, which two upbeare,  
Like mighty pillars, this frail life of man,  
That none without the same endurens can.  
For now three days of men were full outwrought,  
Since he this hardy enterprise began:  
For thy great Mammon fairly he besought,  
Into the world to guide him back, as he him brought.   

The God, though loath, yet was constrained t'obey,  
For longer time, then that, no living wight  
Below the earth, might suffered be to stay:  
So back again, him brought to living light.  
But all so soon as his enfeebled sprite,  
'Gan suck this vital air into his breast,  
As overcome with too exceeding might,  
The life did flit away out of her nest,  
And all his senses were with deadly fit oppressed.    

Cant. VIII.  

Sir Guyon laid in swoon is by  
Acrates sons despoilded,  
Whom Arthure soon hath rescued  
And Paynim brethren foiled.   

ANd is there care in heaven? and is their love  
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,  
That may compassion of their evils move?  
There is: else much more wretched were the case  
Of men than beasts. But O th'exceeding grace  
Of highest God, that loves his creatures so,  
And all his works with mercy doth embrace,  
That blessed Angels, he sends to and fro,  
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.   

How oft do they, their silver bowers leave,  
To come to secure us, that succour want,  
How oft do they with golden pinions, cleave  
The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,  
Against fowl fiends to aid us militant:  
They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,  
And their bright Squadrons round about us plant,  
And all for love, and nothing for reward:  
O why should heavenly God to men have such regard.   

During the while, that Guyon did abide  
In Mammon's house, the Palmer, whom whilere  
That wanton maid of passage had denied,  
By further search had passage found elsewhere,  
And being on his way, approached near,  
Where Guyon lay in trance, when suddenly  
He heard a voice, that called loud and clear,  
Come hither, come hither, O come hastily;  
That all the fields resounded with the rueful cry.   

The Palmer lent his ear unto the noise,  
To weet, who called so importunely:  
Again he heard a more efforced voice,  
That bade him come in haste. He by and by  
His feeble feet directed to the cry;  
Which to that shady delve him brought at last,  
Where Mammon erst did sun his threasury:  
There the good Guyon he found slumbering fast  
In senseless dream; which sight at first him sore aghast.   

Beside his head there sat a fair young man,  
Of wondtous beauty, and of freshest years,  
Whose tender bud to blossom new began,  
And flourish fair above his equal pears;  
His snowv front curled with golden hears,  
Like Phoebus' face adorned with sunny rays,  
Divinely shone, and two sharp winged shears,  
Decked with diverse plumes, like painted jays,  
Were fixed at his back, to cut his eyrie ways.   

Like as Cupid on Idaean hill,  
When having laid his cruel bow away,  
And mortal arrows, wherewith he doth fill  
The world with murderous spoils and bloody pray,  
With his fair mother he him dights to play,  
And with his goodly sisters, Graces three;  
The goddess pleased with his wanton play,  
Suffers herself through sleep beguiled to be,  
The whiles the other Lady's mind their merry glee.   

Whom when the Palmer saw, abashed he was  
Through fear and wonder, that he nought could say,  
Till him the child bespoke, Long lacked, alas,  
Hath been thy faithful aid in hard assay,  
Whiles deadly fit thy pupil doth dismay;  
Behold this heavy sight, thou reverend Sire,  
But dread of death and dolor do away;  
For life ere long shall to her home retire,  
And he that breathless seems, shall courage bold respire.   

The charge, which God doth unto me arrett,  
Of his dear safety, I to thee commend;  
Yet will I not forego, ne yet forget  
The care thereof myself unto the end,  
But evermore him secure, and defend  
Against his foe and mine: watch thou I pray;  
For evil is at hand him to offend.  
So having said, eftsoons he 'gan display  
His painted nimble wings, and vanished quite away.   

The Palmer seeing his left empty place,  
And his slow eyes beguiled of their sight,  
wox sore afraid, and standing still a space,  
Gazed after him, as fowl escaped by flight;  
At last him turning to his charge behight,  
With trembling hand his troubled pulse 'gan try,  
Where finding life not yet dislodged quite,  
He much rejoiced, and courd it tenderly,  
As chicken newly hatched, from dreaded destiny.   

At last he spied, where towards him did pace  
Two Paynim knights, all armed as bright as sky,  
And them beside an aged Sire did trace,  
And far before a lightfoot Page did fly,  
That breathed strife and troublous enmity;  
Those were the two sons of Acrates old,  
Who meeting erst with Archimago sly,  
forbye that idle strand, of him were told,  
That he, which erst them combated, was Guyon bold.   

Which to avenge on him they dearly vowed,  
Where ever that on ground they mote him find;  
False Archimage provoked their courage proud,  
And stryful Atin in their stubborn mind  
Coals of contention and hot vengeance tind.  
Now bene they come whereas the Palmer sat,  
Keeping that slombred corpse to him assind;  
Well knew they both his person, sith of late  
With him in bloody arms they rashly did debate.   

Whom when Pyrochles saw, inflamed with rage,  
That sire he fowl bespoke, Thou dotard vile,  
That with thy brutenesse shendst thy comely age,  
Abandon soon, I read, the caitiff spoil  
Of that same outcast carcase, that ere while  
Made it self famous through false treachery,  
And crowned his coward crest with knightly stile;  
Lo where he now inglorious doth lie,  
To prove he lived ill, that did thus foully die.   

To whom the Palmer fearless answered,  
Certes, Sir knight, ye been too much to blame,  
Thus for to blot the honour of the dead,  
And with fowl cowar dize his carcase shame,  
Whose living hands immortalized his name.  
Vile is the vengeance on the ashes cold,  
And envy base, to bark at sleeping fame:  
Was never wight, that treason of him told;  
Yourself his prowess proud & found him fires & bold.   

Then said Cymochles, Palmer, thou dost dote,  
Ne canst of prowess, ne of knighthood deem,  
Save as thou seest or hearst. But well I wot,  
That of his puissance try all made extreme;  
Yet gold all is not, that doth golden seem,  
Ne all good knights, that shake well spear & shield:  
The worth of all men by their end esteem,  
And then due praise, or due reproach them yield;  
Bad therefore I him deem, that thus lies dead on field.   

Good or bad, 'gan his brother fires reply,  
What do I reck, sith that he died entire?  
Or what doth his bad death now satisfy,  
The greedy hunger of revenging ire,  
Sith wrathful hand wrought not her own desire?  
Yet since no way is left to wreak my spite,  
I will him reave of arms, the victor's hire,  
And of that shield, more worthy of good knight;  
For why should a dead dog be decked in arm 〈◊〉 bright?   

Fair Sir, said then the Palmer suppliant,  
For knighthood's love, do not so fowl a deed,  
Ne blame your honour with so shame full vaunt  
Of vile revenge. To spoil the dead of weed  
Is sacrilege, and doth all sins exceed;  
But leave these relics of his living might,  
To deck his hearse, and trap his tomblack steed.  
What hearse or steed (said he) should he have dight,  
But be entombed in the raven or the kight?   

With that rude hand upon his shield he laid,  
And th'other brother 'gan his helm unlace,  
Both fiercely bent to have him disarrayed;  
Till that they spied, where towards them did place  
An armed knight, of bold and bounteous grace,  
Whose squire bore after him an heben lance,  
And covered shield. Well kend him so far space  
Th'enchanter by his arms and amenance,  
When under him he saw his Lybian steed to prance.   

And to those brethren said, Rise rise by live,  
And unto battle do yourselves address;  
For yonder comes the prowest knight alive,  
Prince Arthur, flower of grace and nobilesse,  
That hath to Paynim knights wrought great distress.  
And thousand Sar'zins foully done to die.  
That word so deep did in their heart's impress,  
That both eftsoons upstarted furiously,  
And 'gan themselves prepare to battle greedily.   

But fires Pyrrhochles, lacking his own sword,  
The want thereof now greatly 'gan to plain,  
And Archimage besought, him that afford,  
Which he had brought for Braggadochio vain.  
So would I (said th'enchanter) glad and feign  
Beteem to you this sword, you to defend,  
Or aught that else your honour might maintain,  
But that this weapons power I well have kend,  
To be contrary to the work, which ye intent.   

For that same knights own sword this is of yore,  
Which Merlin made by his almighty art,  
For that his noursling, when he knighthood swore,  
There with to do his foes eternal smart.  
The metal first he mixed with Medeawart,  
That no enchantment from his dint might save;  
Then it in flames of Aetna wrought apart,  
And seven times dipped in the bitter wave  
Of hellish Styx, which hidden virtue to it gave.   

The virtue is, that nether steel, nor stone  
The stroke there of from entrance may defend;  
Ne ever may be used by his fone,  
Ne forced his rightful owner to offend,  
Ne ever will it break, ne ever bend.  
Wherefore Morddure it rightfully is height.  
In vain therefore, Pyrhochles, should I lend  
The same to thee, against his lord to fight,  
For sure it would deceive thy labour, and thy might.   

Foolish old man, said then the Pagan wrath,  
That weenest words or charms may force withstand:  
Soon shalt thou see, and then believe for troth,  
That I can carve with this enchanted brand  
His Lords own flesh. Therewith out of his hand  
That virtuous steel he rudely snatched away,  
And Guyons shield about his wrist he bond;  
So ready dight, fierce battle to assay,  
And match his brother proud in battailous array.   

By this that stranger knight in presence came,  
And goodly salved them; who nought again  
Him answered, as courtesy became,  
But with stern looks, and stomachous disdain,  
Gave signs of grudge and discontentment vain:  
Then turning to the Palmer, he 'gan spy  
Where at his feet, with sorrowful demesne  
And deadly hue, an armed corpse did lie,  
In whose dead face he red great magnanimity.   

Said he then to the Palmer, reverend sire,  
What great misfortune hath betid this knight?  
Or did his life her fatal date expire,  
Or did he fall by treason, or by fight?  
How ever, sure I rue his piteous plight.  
Not one, nor other, said the Palmer grave,  
Hath him befallen, but clouds of deadly night  
A while his heavy eyelids covered have,  
And all his senses drowned in deep senseless wave.   

Which, those same foes, that stand hereby,  
Making advantage, to revenge their spite,  
Would him disarm, and treaten shamefully,  
Unworthy usage of redoubted knight.  
But you, fair Sir, whose honourable sight  
Doth promise hope of help, and timely grace,  
Mote I beseech to secure his sad plight,  
And by your power protect his feeble case.  
First praise of knighthood is, fowl outrage to deface.   

Palmer, (said he) no knight so rude, I ween,  
As to done outrage to a sleeping ghost:  
Ne was there ever noble courage seen,  
That in advantage would his puissance boast:  
Honour is least, where odds appeareth most.  
May be, that better reason will assuage,  
The rash revengers heat. Words well 〈◊〉  
Have secret power, t'appease inflamed rage:  
If not, leave unto me thy knights last patronage.   

though turning to those brethren, thus bespoke,  
Ye warlike pair, whose valorous great might  
It seems, just wrongs to vengeance do provoke,  
To wreak your wrath on this dead seeming knight,  
Moat ought allay the storm of your despite,  
And settle patience in so furious heat?  
Not to debate the challenge of your right,  
But for this carcase pardon I entreat,  
Whom fortune hath already laid in lowest seat.   

To whom Cymochles said, For what art thou,  
That makest thyself his dayman, to prolong  
The vengeance priest? Or who shall let me now,  
On this vile body from to wreak my wrong,  
And make his carcase as the outcast dung?  
Why should not that dead carrion satisfy  
The guilt, which if he lived had thus long,  
His life for dew revenge should dear abye?  
The trespass still doth live, albe the person die.   

Indeed, then said the Prince, the evil donne  
Dies not, when breath the body first doth leave,  
But from the grandsire to the nephews son,  
And all his seed the curse doth often cleave,  
Till vengeance utterly the guilt bereave:  
So straightly God doth judge. But gentle knight,  
That doth against the dead his hand uprear,  
His honour stains with rancour and despite,  
And great disparagement makes to his former might.   

Pyrrhochles 'gan reply the second time,  
And to him said, Now fellow sure I read,  
How that thou art partaker of his crime:  
Therefore by termagant thou shalt be dead.  
With that his hand, more sad than lomp of lead,  
Vplifting high, he weened with Morddure,  
His own good sword Morddure, to cleave his head.  
The faithful steel such treason no'uld endure,  
But swerving from the mark, his lords life did assure.   

Yet was the force so furious and so fell,  
That horse and man it made to reel aside;  
Natheless the Prince would not forsake his sell:  
For well of yore he learned had to ride,  
But full of anger fiercely to him cried;  
False traitor miscreant, thou broken haste  
The law of arms, to strike foe undefide.  
But thou thy treason's fruit, I hope, shalt taste  
Right sour, & feel the law, the which thou hast defaced   

With that his baleful spear, he fiercely bend  
Against the pagons' breast, and therewith thought  
His cursed life out of her lodge have rend:  
But ere the point arrived, where it ought,  
That seven fold shield, which he from Guyon brought  
He cast between toward the bitter stound:  
Through all those folds the steelhead passage wrought  
And through his shoulder pierced; where with to ground  
He groveling fell, all gored in his gushing wound.   

Which when his brother saw, fraught with great grief  
And wrath, he to him leapt furiously,  
And foully said, By mahounes, cursed thief,  
That direful stroke thou dearly shalt abye.  
Then hurling up his harmful blade on hy,  
Smote him so hugely on his haughty crest,  
That from his saddle forced him to fly:  
Else moat it needs down to his manly breast  
Have cleft his head in twain, and life thence dispossessed   

Now was the Prince in dangerous distress,  
Wanting his sword, when he on foot should fight:  
His single spear could do him small redress,  
Against two foes of so exceeding might,  
The least of which was match for any knight.  
And now the other, whom he erst did daunt,  
Had reared himself again to cruel fight,  
Three times more furious, and more puissant,  
Unmindful of his wound, of his fate ignorant.   

So both at once him charge on either side,  
With hideous strokes, and importable power,  
That forced him his ground to traverse wide,  
And wisely watch to ward that deadly stowre:  
For in his shield, as thick as stormy shower,  
Their strokes did rain, yet did he never quail,  
Ne backward shrink, but as a steadfast tower,  
Whom foe with doubly battery doth assail,  
Them on her bulwark bears, and bids them nought avail.   

So stoutly he withstood their strong assay,  
Till that at last, when he advantage spied,  
His poignant spear he thrust with puissant sway  
At proud Cymochles, whiles his shield was wide,  
That through his thigh the mortal steel did gryde:  
He swerving with the force, within his flesh  
Did break the lance, and let the head abide:  
Out of the wound the redblood flowed fresh,  
That underneath his feet soon made a purple plesh.   

Horribly then he 'gan to rage, and rail,  
Cursing his Gods, and himself damning deep:  
Alswhen his brother saw the redblood rail  
adown so fast and all his armour steep,  
For very felnesse loud he 'gan to weep,  
And said, caitiff, curse on thy cruel hand,  
That twice hath sped, yet shall it not thee keep  
From the third brunt of this my fatal brand:  
Lo where the dreadful Death behind thy back doth stand.   

With that he struck, and tother struck withal,  
That nothing seemed moat bear so monstrous might:  
The one upon his covered shield did fall,  
And glancing down would not his owner bite:  
But th'other did upon his truncheon smite,  
Which hewing quite a sunder, further way  
It made, and on his hacqueton did light,  
The which dividing with importune sway,  
It seized in his right side, and there the dint did stay.   

Wide was the wound, and a large lukewarm flood,  
Red as the Rose, thence gushed grievously,  
That when the Paynym spied the streaming blood,  
Gave him great heart, and hope of victory.  
On tother side, in huge perplexity,  
The Prince now stood, having his weapon broke;  
Nought could he hurt, but still at ward did lie:  
Yet with his troncheon he so rudely struck  
Cymochles twice, that twice him forced his foot revoke.   

Whom when the Palmer saw in such distress,  
Sir Guyons' sword he lightly to him reached,  
And said, fair son, great god thy right hand bless,  
To use that sword so well, as he it ought.  
Glad was the knight, & with fresh courage fraught,  
When as again he armed felt his hand;  
Then like a lion, which hath long time sought  
His rob whelps and at the last them fond  
Amongst the shepherd swains, then waxeth wood & yond.   

So fierce he laid about him, and dealt blows  
On either side, that neither mail could hold,  
Ne shield defend the thunder of his throws:  
Now to Pyrrhochles many strokes he told;  
Eft to Cymochles twice so many fold:  
Then back again turning his busy hand,  
Them both at once compelled with courage bold,  
To yield wide way to his hart-thrilling brand;  
And though they both stood stiff, yet could not both withstand.   

As salvage Bull, whom two fierce mastiffs bait,  
When rancour doth with rage him once engore,  
Forgets with wary ward them to await,  
But with his dreadful horns them drives afore,  
Or flings aloft or treads down in the flore,  
Breathing out wrath, and bellowing disdain,  
That all the forest quakes to hear him roar:  
So raged Prince Arthur twixt his foemen twain,  
That neither could his mighty puissance sustain.   

But ever at Pyrrhochles when he smit,  
Who Guyons shield cast ever him before.  
Whereon the fairy Queen's pourtract was writ,  
His hand relented, and the stroke forbore,  
And his dear heart the picture 'gan adore,  
Which oft the Paynim saved from deadly stowre.  
But him henceforth the same can save no more;  
For now arrived is his fatal hour,  
That no'te avoided be by earthly skill or power.   

For when Cymochles saw the fowl reproach,  
Which them appeached, pricked with guilty shame,  
And inward grief, he fiercely 'gan approach,  
Resolved to put away that loathly blame,  
Or die with honour and desert of fame;  
And on the haubergh struck the Prince so sore,  
That quite disparted all the linked frame,  
And pierced to the skin, but bitten not thore,  
Yet made him twice to reel, that never moved afore.   

Whereat renfierst with wrath and sharp regret,  
He struck so hugely with his borrowed blade,  
That it empiest the Pagans burganet,  
And cleaving the hard steel, did deep invade  
Into his head, and cruel passage made  
Quite through his brain. He tumbling down on ground,  
Breathed out his ghost, which to th'infernal shade  
Fast flying, there eternal torment found,  
For all the sins, wherewith his lewd life did abound.   

Which when his german saw, the stony fear,  
Ran to his heart, and all his sense dismayed,  
Ne thenceforth life ne courage did appear,  
But as a man, whom hellish fiends have frayed,  
Long trembling still he stood: at last thus said,  
Traitor what hast thou done? how ever may  
Thy cursed hand so cruelly have swayed  
Against that knight: Horrow and well away,  
After so wicked deed why liv'st thou longer day?   

With that all desperate as loathing light,  
And with revenge desiring soon to die,  
Assembling all his force and utmost might,  
With his own sword he fierce at him did fly,  
And struck, and foined, and lashed outrageously,  
Withouten reason or regard. Well knew  
The Prince, with patience and sufferance sly  
So hasty heat soon cooled to subdue:  
though when this breathless wox, that battle 'gan renew.   

As when a windy tempest bloweth high,  
That nothing may withstand his stormy stowre,  
The clouds, as things afraid, before him fly;  
But all so soon as his outrageous power  
Is laid, they fiercely then begin to shower,  
And as in scorn of his spent stormy spite,  
Now all at once their malice forth do pour;  
So did Sir Guyon bear himself in fight,  
And suffered rash Pyrrhochles waste his idle might.   

At last when as the Sarazin perceived,  
How that strange sword refused, to serve his need,  
But when he struck most strong, the dint deceived,  
He flung it from him, and devoid of dread,  
Upon him lightly leaping without heed,  
Twixt his two mighty arms engrasped fast,  
Thinking to overthrow and downe him tread:  
But him in strength and skill the Prince surpassed,  
And through his nimble sleight did under him down cast   

Nought booted it the Paynim then to strive;  
For as a Bittur in the eagle's claw,  
That may not hope by flight to scape alive,  
Still waits for death with dread and trembling awe,  
So he now fubiect to the victors law,  
Did not once move, nor upward cast his eye,  
For vile disdain and rancour, which did gnaw  
His heart in twain with sad melancholy,  
As one that loathed life, and yet despysd to die.   

But full of princely bounty and great mind,  
The conqueror nought cared him to slay,  
But casting wrongs and all revenge behind,  
More glory thought to give life, than decay,  
And said, Paynim, this is thy dismal day;  
Yet if thou wilt renounce thy miscreaunce,  
And my true liegeman yield thyself for ay,  
Life will I grant thee for thy valiance,  
And all thy wrongs will wipe out of my sovenance.   

Fool (said the Pagan) I thy gift defy,  
But use thy fortune, as it doth befall,  
And say, that I not overcome do die,  
But in despite of life, for death do call.  
Wroth was the Prince, and sorry yet withal,  
That he so wilfully refused grace;  
Yet sith his fate so cruelly did fall,  
His shining Helmet he 'gan soon unlace,  
And left his headless body bleeding all the place.   

By this Sir Guyon from his trance awaked,  
Life having mastered her senseless foe;  
And looking up, when as his shield he lakt,  
And sword saw not, he waxed wondrous woe:  
But when the Palmer, whom he long ago  
Had lost, he by him spied, right glad he grew,  
And said, dear sir, whom wandering to and fro  
I long have lacked, I joy thy face to view;  
Firm is thy faith, whom danger never fro me drew.   

But read, what wicked hand hath rob me  
Of my good sword and shield? The Palmer glad,  
With so fresh hue uprising him to see,  
Him answered; fair son, be no whit sad  
For want of weapons, they shall soon be had.  
So 'gan he to discourse the whole debate,  
Which that strange knight for him sustained had.  
And those two Saracens confounded late,  
Whose carcases on ground were horribly prostrate.   

Which when he heard, and saw the tokens true,  
His heart with great affection was embayed,  
And to the Prince bowing reverence dew,  
As to the patron of his life, thus said;  
My Lord, my liege, by whose most gracious aid  
I live this day, and see my foes subdued,  
What may suffice, to be for meed repaid  
Of so great graces, as ye have me showed,  
But to be ever bound   

To whom the Infant thus, fair Sir, what need  
Good turns be counted, as a servile bond,  
To bind their doers, to receive their meed?  
Are not all knights by oath bound, to withstand  
Oppreslours power by arms and puissant hand?  
Suffice, that I have done my dew in place.  
So goodly purpose they together fond,  
Of kindness and of courteous aggrace;  
The whiles false Archimage and Atin fled apace.    

Cant. IX.  

The house of Temperance, in which  
doth sober Alma dwell,  
Besieged of many foes, whom stranger  
knights to flight compel.   

OF all god's works, which do this world adorn,  
There is no one more fair and excellent,  
Then is man's body both for power and form,  
Whiles it is kept in sober government;  
But none than it, more fowl and incedent,  
Distempered through misrule and passions base:  
It grows a Monster, and incontinent  
Doth lose his dignity and native grace.  
Behold, who list, both one and other in this place.   

After the Paynim brethren conquered were,  
The Briton Prince recou'ring his stolen sword,  
And Guyon his lost shield, they both yfere  
Forth passed on their way in fair accord,  
Till him the Prince with gentle court did board;  
Sir knight, moat I of you this courtesy read,  
To weet why on your shield so goodly scored  
Bear ye the picture of that Lady's head?  
Full lively is the semblant, though the substance dead.   

Fair Sir (said he) if in that picture dead  
Such life ye read, and virtue in vain show,  
What moat ye ween, if the true lively-head  
Of that most glorious visage ye did view?  
But if the beauty of her mind ye knew,  
That is her bounty, and imperial power,  
Thousand times fairer than her mortal hue,  
O how great wonder would your thoughts devour,  
And infinite desire into your spirit pour.   

She is the mighty Queen of fairy,  
Whose fair retraitt I in my shield do bear;  
She is the flower of grace and ehastity,  
Throughout the world renowned far and near,  
My lief, my liege, my sovereign, my dear,  
Whose glory shineth as the morning star,  
And with her light the earth enlumines clear;  
Far reach her mercies, and her praises far,  
As well in state of peace, as puissance in war.   

Thrice happy man, (said then the Briton knight)  
Whom gracious lot, and thy great valiance  
Have made thee soldier of that Princess bright,  
Which with her bounty and glad countenance  
Doth bless her servants, and them high advance.  
How may strange knight hope ever to aspire,  
By faithful service, and meet amenaunce,  
Unto such bliss? sufficient were that hire  
For loss of thousand lives, to die at her desire.   

Said Guyon, Noble Lord, what meed so great,  
Or grace of earthly Prince so sovereign,  
But by your wondrous worth add warlike feat  
Ye well may hope, and easily attain?  
But were your will, her sold to entertain,  
And numbered be 'mongst knights of Maydenhcd,  
Great guerdon, well I wore, should you remain,  
And in her favour high be reckoned,  
As Arthogall, and Sophy now been honoured.   

Certes (than said the Prince) I God avow,  
That sith I arms and knighthood first did plight,  
My whole desire hath been, and yet is now,  
To serve that Queen with all my power and might.  
Seven times the sun with his lamp-burning light,  
Hath walked about the world, and I no less,  
Sith of that goddess I have sought the sight,  
Yet nowhere can her find: such happiness  
Heaven doth to me envy, and fortune favourless.   

Fortune, the foe of famous chevisance  
Seldom (said Guyon) yields to virtue aid,  
But in her way throws mischief and mischance,  
Whereby her course is stopped, and passage stayed.  
But you, fair Sir, be not herewith dismayed,  
But constant keep the way, in which ye stand;  
Which were it not, that I am else delayed  
With hard adventure, which I have in hand,  
I labour would to guide you through all fairy land.   

Gramercy Sir (said he) but moat I wot,  
What strange adventure do ye now pursue?  
Perhaps my succour, or advisement meet  
might stead you much your purpose to subdue.  
Then 'gan Sir Guyon all the story show  
Of false Acrasia, and her wicked wiles,  
Which to avenge, the Palmer him forth drew  
From fairy court. So talked they, the whiles  
They wasted had much way, and measured many miles.   

And now fair Phoebus 'gan decline in haste  
His weary waggon to the Western vale,  
Whenas they spied a goodly castle, placed  
forbye a river in a pleasant dale,  
Which choosing for that evenings hospitale,  
They thither Marched: but when they came in sight,  
And from their sweaty Coursers did avail,  
They found the gates fast barred long ere night,  
And every loup fast locked, as fearing foes despite.   

Which when they saw, they weened fowl reproach  
Was to them done, their entrance to forstall,  
Till that the Squire 'gan migher to approach,  
And wind his horn under the castle wall,  
That with the noise it shook; as it would fall.  
eftsoons forth looked from the highest spire  
The watch, and loud unto the knights did call,  
To weet, what they so rudely did require.  
Who gently answered, They entrance did desire.   

Fly fly, good knights, (said he) fly fast away  
If that your lives ye love, as meet ye should;  
Fly fast, and save yourselves from near decay,  
Here may ye not have entrance, though we would:  
We would and would again, if that we could;  
But thousand enemies about us rave,  
And with long siege us in this castle hold:  
Seven years this wise they us besieged have,  
And many good knights slain, that have us sought to save.   

Thus as he spoke, lo with outrageous cry  
A thousand villains round about them swarmed  
Out of the rocks and 〈◊〉 adjoining nigh,  
Vile caitiff wretches, ragged, rude, deformed,  
All threaning death, all in strange manner armed,  
Some with unwieldy clubs, some with long spears,  
Some rusty knives, some staves in fire warmed.  
Stern was their look, like wild amazed steers,  
Staring with hollow eyes, and stiff upstanding hears.   

Fiercely at first those knights they did assail,  
And drove them to recoil: but when again  
They gave fresh charge, their forces 'gan to fail,  
Unable their encounter to sustain;  
For with such puissance and impetuous main  
Those Champions broke on them, that forced them fly,  
Like scattered sheep, whenas the shepherd's swain  
A lion and a tiger doth espy,  
With greedy pace forth rushing from the forest nigh.   

A while they fled, but soon returned again  
With greater fury, than before was found;  
And evermore their cruel captain  
Sought with his rascal routs t'enclose them round,  
And overronne to tread them to the ground.  
But soon the knights with their bright-burning blades  
Broke their rude troops, and orders did confownd,  
Hewing and slashing at their idle shades;  
For though they bodies seem, yet substance from them fades.   

As when a swarm of Gnats at eventide  
Out of the fens of Allan do arise,  
Their murmuring small trumpets sownden wide,  
Whiles in the air their clustering army flies,  
That as a cloud doth seem to dim the skies;  
Ne man nor beast may rest, or take repast,  
For their sharp wounds, and noyous injuries,  
Till the fierce Northern wind with blustering blast  
Doth blow them quite away, and in the Ocean cast.   

Thus when they had that troublous rout dispersed,  
Unto the castle gate they come again,  
And entrance craved, which was denied erst.  
Now when report of that their perilous pain,  
And cumbrous conflict, which they did sustain,  
Came to the Lady's ear, which there did dwell,  
She forth issewed with a goodly train  
Of Squires and Ladies equipaged well,  
And entertained them right fairly, as befell.   

Alma she called was, a virgin bright;  
That had not yet felt Cupid's wanton rage,  
Yet was she wooed of many a gentle knight,  
And many a Lord of noble parentage,  
That sought with her to link in marriage:  
For she was fair, as fair might ever be,  
And in the flower now of her freshest age;  
Yet full of grace and goodly modesty,  
That even heaven rejoiced her sweet face to see.   

In rob of lily white she was arrayed,  
That from her shoulder to her heel down reached,  
The train where of lose far behind her strayed,  
Branched with gold & pearl, most richly wrought,  
And borne of two fair Damsels, which were taught  
That service well. Her yellow golden hear  
Was trimly woven, and in tresses wrought,  
Ne other tire she on her head did wear,  
But crowned with a garland of sweet Rosiere.   

Goodly she entertained those noble knights,  
And brought them up into her castle hall;  
Where gentle court and gracious delight  
She to them made, with mildness virginal,  
Showing herself both wise and liberal:  
Then when they rested had a season dew,  
They her besought of favour special,  
Of that fair Castle to afford them view;  
She granted, & them leading forth, the same did show.   

First she him led up to the Castle wall,  
That was so high, as foe might not it climb,  
And all so fair, and sensible withal,  
Not built of brick, ne yet of stone and lime,  
But of thing like to that Egyptian slime,  
Where of king Nine whilom built Babel tower,  
But O great pity, that no longer a time  
So goodly workmanship should not endure:  
Soon it must turn to earth; no earthly thing is sure.   

The frame thereof seemed partly circular,  
And part triangular, O work divine;  
Those two the first and last proportions are,  
The one imperfect, mortal, feminine;  
Th'other immortal, perfect, masculine,  
And twixt them both a quadrate was the base,  
Proportioned equally by seven and nine;  
Nine was the circle set in heavens place,  
All which compacted made a goodly Dyapase.   

Therein two gates were placed seemly well:  
The one before, by which all in did pass,  
Did th'other far in workmanship excel;  
For not of wood, nor of enduring bras,  
But of more worthy substance framed it was;  
Doubly disparted, it did lock and close,  
That when it locked, none might thorough pass,  
And when it opened, no man might it close,  
Still open to their friends, and closed to their foes.   

Of hewn stone the porch was fairly wrought,  
Stone more of value, and more smooth and fine,  
Then jet or Marble far from Ireland brought;  
Over the which was cast a wandering vine,  
enchased with a wanton ivy twine.  
And over it a fair Portcullis hung,  
Which to the gate directly did incline,  
With comely compass, and compacture strong,  
Nether unseemly short, nor yet exceeding long.   

Within the Barbican a Porter sat,  
Day and night duly keeping watch and ward,  
Nor wight, nor word moat pass out of the gate,  
But in good order, and with due regard;  
Vtterers of secrets he from thence debarred,  
Babblers of folly, and blazers of crime.  
His larumbell might loud and wide be hard,  
When cause requyrd, but never out of time;  
Early and late it rung, at evening and at prime.   

And round about the porch on every side.  
Twice sixteen warders sat, all armed bright,  
In glistering steel, and strongly fortifyde:  
Tallyeomen seemed they, and of great might,  
And were enraunged ready, still for fight.  
By them as Alma passed with her guests,  
They did obeisance, as beseemed right,  
And then again returned to their rests:  
The Porter eke to her did lout with humble gests.   

Thence she them brought into a stately Hall,  
Wherein were many tables fair dispred,  
And ready dight with drapets festival,  
Against the viaundes should be ministered.  
At th'upper end there sat, clad in red  
down to the ground, a comely parsonage,  
That in his hand a white rod managed,  
He Steward was height Diet; ripe of age,  
And in demeanour sober, and in counsel sage.   

And through the Hall there walked to and fro  
A jolly yeoman, marshal of the same,  
Whose name was Appetite; he did bestow  
Both guests and meat, when ever in they came,  
And knew them how to order without blame,  
As him the Steward bad. They both atone  
Did duty to their Lady, as became;  
Who passing by, forth led her guests anon  
Into the kitchen room, nespard for niceness none.   

It was a vault ybuilt for great dispense,  
With many ranges reared 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 cauldron wide and tall,  
Upon a mighty furnace, burning whott,  
More whott, than Aetn ', or flaming Mongiball:  
For day and night it brent, ne ceased not,  
So long as any thing it in the cauldron got.   

But to delay the heat, least by mischance  
It might break out, and set the whole on fire,  
There added was by goodly ordinance,  
An huge great pair of bellows, which did stir  
Continually, and cooling breath inspire.  
About the cauldron many cooks accoyld,  
With hooks and ladles, as need did require;  
The whiles the viaundes in the vessel boiled  
They did about their business sweat, and sorely toiled.   

The Master Cook was called Concoction,  
A careful man, and full of comely guise:  
The kitchen clerk, that hight Digestion,  
Did order all th'Achates in seemly wise,  
And set them forth, as well he could devise.  
The rest had several offices assigned,  
Some to remove the scum, as it did rise;  
Others to bear the same away did mind;  
And others it to use according to his kind.   

But all the liquor, which was fowl and waste,  
Not good nor serviceable else for aught,  
They in another great round vessel placed,  
Till by a conduit pipe it thence were brought:  
And all the rest, that noyous was, and nought,  
By secret ways, that none might it espy,  
Was close conveyed, and to the backgate brought,  
That cleped was Port Esquiline, whereby  
It was avoided quite, and thrown out privily.   

Which goodly order, and great workman's skill  
Whenas those knights beheld, with rare delight,  
And gazing wonder they their minds did fill;  
For never had they seen so strange a sight.  
Thence back again fair Alma led them right,  
And soon into a goodly Parlour brought,  
That was with royal arras richly dight,  
In which was nothing pourtrahed, nor wrought,  
Not wrought, nor pourtrahed, but easy to be thought.   

And in the midst thereof upon the flower,  
A lovely bevy of fair Ladies sat,  
Courted of many a jolly paramour,  
The which them did in modest wise amate,  
And each one sought his Lady to aggrate:  
And eke amongst them little Cupid played  
His wanton sports, being returned late  
From his fierce wars, and having from him laid  
His cruel bow, wherewith he thousands hath dismayed.   

diverse delights they found themselves to please;  
Some song in sweet consort, some laughed for joy,  
Some played with straws, some ydly sat at ease,  
But other some could not abide to toy,  
All pleasance was to them grief and annoy:  
This frowned, that faund, the third for shame did blush,  
Another seemed envious, or coy,  
Another in her teeth did gnaw a rush:  
But at these strangers presence every one did hush.   

Soon as the gracious Alma came in place,  
They all at once out of their seats arose,  
And to her homage made, with humble grace:  
Whom when the knights beheld, they 'gan dispose  
Themselves to court, and each a damsel chose:  
The Prince by chance did on a Lady light,  
That was right fair and fresh as morning rose,  
But somewhat sad, and solemn eke in sight,  
As if some pensive thought constrained her gentle sprite   

In a long purple pall, whose skirt with gold,  
Was fretted all about, she was arrayed;  
And in her hand a Poplar branch did hold:  
To whom the prince in courteous manner said,  
Gentle Madame, why been ye thus dismayed,  
And your fair beauty do with sadness spill?  
lives any, that you hath thus ill apaid?  
Or done your love, or done you lack your will?  
What ever be the cause, it sure beseems you ill.   

Fair Sir, said she half in disdainful wise,  
How is it, that this word in me ye blame,  
And in yourself do not the same advise.  
Him ill beseems, another's fault to name,  
That may unwares be blotted with the same:  
Pensive I yield I am, and sad in mind,  
Through great desire of glory and of fame;  
Ne ought I ween are ye therein behind,  
That have three years sought one, yet nowhere can her find.   

The Prince was inly moved at her speech,  
Well weeting true, what she had rashly told,  
Yet with fair semblant sought to hide the breach,  
Which change of colour did perforce unfold,  
Now seeming flaming whott, now stony cold.  
though turning soft aside, he did inquire  
What wight she was, that Poplar branch did hold:  
It answered was, her name was Praysdesire,  
That by well doing sought to honour to aspire.   

The whiles, the fairy knight did entertain  
Another damsel of that gentle crew,  
That was right fair, and modest of demesne,  
But that too oft she changed her native hue:  
Strange was her tire, and all her garment blew,  
Close round about her tucked with many a plight:  
Upon her fist the bird, which shonneth view  
And keeps in coverts close from living wight,  
Did sit, as yet ashamed, how rude Pan did her dight.   

So long as Guyon with her commoned,  
Unto the ground she cast her modest eye,  
And ever and anon with rosy red  
The bashful blood her snowy cheeks did die,  
That her became, as polished ivory,  
Which cunning craftsman hand hath overlaid  
With fair vermilion or pure lastery  
Great wonder had the knight, to see the maid  
So strangely passioned, and to her gently said.   

Fair damsel, seemeth, by your troubled clear,  
That either me too bold ye ween, this wise  
You to molest, or other ill to fear  
That in the secret of your heart close lies,  
From whence it doth, as cloud from sea arise.  
If it be I, of pardon I you pray;  
But if ought else that I more not devise,  
I will, if please you it discover, assay,  
To ease you of that ill, so wisely as I may.   

She answered nought, but more abashed for shame,  
Held down her head, the whiles her lovely face,  
The flashing blood with blushing did inflame,  
And the strong passion marred her modest grace,  
That Guyon marveled at her uncouth case;  
Till Alma him bespoke, why wonder ye  
Fair Sir at that, which ye so much embrace?  
She is the fountain of your modesty;  
You shamefast are, but shamefastness itself is she.   

Thereat the elf did blush in privity,  
And turned his face away; but she the same  
Dissembled fair, and feigned to oversee.  
Thus they awhile with court and goodly game,  
Themselves did solace each one with his Dame,  
Till that great Lady thence away them sought,  
To view her Castles other wondrous frame.  
up to a stately Turret she them brought,  
Ascending by ten steps of alabaster wrought.   

That Turrets frame most admirable was,  
Like highest heaven compassed around,  
And lifted high above this earthly mass,  
Which it suruewd, as hills done lower ground;  
But not on ground mote like to this be found,  
Not that, which antic Cadmus whilom built  
In Thebes, which Alexander did confound;  
Nor that proud tower of Troy, though richly guilt,  
From which young Hector's blood by cruel Greeks was spilled.   

The roof hereof was arched over head,  
And decked with flowers and herbars daintily;  
Two goodly Beacons, set in watches stead,  
Therein gave light, and flamed continually:  
For they of living fire most subtly,  
Were made, and set in silver sockets bright,  
Covered with lids devised of substances,  
That readily they shut and open might.  
O who can tell the praises of that makers might?   

Ne can I tell, ne can I stay to tell  
This parts great workmanship, & wondrous power,  
That all this other worlds work doth excel,  
And likest is unto that heavenly tower,  
That God hath built for his own blessed bower.  
Therein were divers rooms, and divers stages,  
But three the chiefest, and of greatest power,  
In which there dwelled three honourable sages,  
The wisest men, I ween, that lived in their ages.   

Not he, whom Greece, the nurse of all good arts,  
By Phoebus' doom, the wisest thought alive,  
Might be compared to this by many parts:  
Nor that sage Pylian sire, which did survive  
Three ages, such as mortal men contrive,  
By whose advise old Priam's city fell,  
With these in praise of policies moat strive.  
These three in these three rooms did sundry dwell,  
And counseled fair Alma, how to govern well.   

The first of them could things to come foresee:  
The next could of things present best advise;  
The third things past could keep in memoree,  
So that no time, nor reason could arise,  
But that the same could one of these comprise.  
For thy the first did in the forepart sit,  
That nought moat hinder his quick prejudice:  
He had a sharp foresight, and working wit,  
That never idle was, ne once would rest a whit.   

His chamber was dispainted all with in,  
With sundry colours, in the which were writ  
Infinite shapes of things dispersed thin;  
Some such as in the world were never yet,  
Ne can devised be of mortal wit;  
Some daily seen, and known by their names,  
Such as in idle fantasies do flit:  
Infernal Hags, Centaurs, fiends, Hippodames,  
Apes, lions, Aegle, owls, fools, lovers, children, Dames.   

And all the chamber filled was with flies,  
Which buzzed all about, and made such sound,  
That they encumbered all men's ears and eyes,  
Like many swarms of Bees assembled round,  
After their hives with honey do abound:  
All those were idle thoughts and fantasies,  
Devices, dreams, opinions unsound,  
Shows, visions, sooth-sayes, and prophecies;  
And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies.   

Amongst them all sat he, which wonned there,  
That hight Phantastes by his nature true,  
A man of years yet fresh, as mote appear,  
Of swarth-complexion, and of crabbed hue,  
That him full of melancholy did show;  
Bend hollow beetle brows, sharp staring eyes,  
That mad or foolish seemed: one by his view  
might deem him borne with ill disposed skies,  
When obliqne Saturn sat in the house of agonies.   

Whom Alma having showed to her guests,  
Thence brought them to the second room, whose walls  
Were painted fair with memorable gests,  
Of famous wizards, and with picturals  
Of Magistrates, of courts, of tribunals,  
Of comen wealths, of states, of policy,  
Of laws, of judgements, and of decretals;  
All arts, all science, all Philosophy,  
And all that in the world was ay thought wittily.   

Of those that room was full, and them among  
There sat a man of ripe and perfect age,  
Who did them meditate all his life long,  
That through continual practice and usage,  
He now was grown right wise, and wondrous sage.  
Great pleasure had those stranger knights, to see  
His goodly reason, and grave parsonage,  
That his disciples both desyrd to be;  
But Alma thence them led to th'hindmost room of three.   

That chamber seemed ruinous and old,  
And therefore was removed far behind,  
Yet were the walls, that did the same uphold,  
Right firm & strong, though somewhat they declind;  
And therein sat an old oldman, half blind,  
And all decrepit in his feeble corpse,  
Yet lively vigour rested in his mind,  
And recompensed him with a better scorse:  
Weak body welis changed for minds redoubled force.   

This man of infinite remembrance was,  
And things foregone through many ages held,  
Which he recorded still, as they did pass,  
Ne suffered them to perish through long eld,  
As all things else, the which this world doth wield,  
But laid them up in his immortal scrine,  
Where they for ever incorrupted dwelled:  
The wars he well remembered of king Nine,  
Of old Assaracus, and Inachus divine.   

The years of Nestor nothing were so his,  
Ne yet Mathusalem though longest lived;  
For he remembered both their infancis:  
Ne wonder then, if that he were deprived  
Of native strength now, that he them survived.  
His chamber all was hanged about with rolls,  
And old records from ancient times derived,  
Some made in books, some in long parchment scrolls,  
That were all wormeaten, and full of canker holes.   

Amidst them all he in a chair was set,  
Tossing and turning them withouten end;  
But for he was unable them to fett,  
A little boy did on him still attend,  
To reach, when ever he for aught did send;  
And oft when things were lost, or laid amiss,  
That boy them sought, and unto him did lend.  
Therefore he Anamnestes cleped is,  
And that old man Eumnestes, by their propertis.   

The knights there entering, did him reverence dew  
And wondered at his endless exercise,  
Then as they 'gan his Library to view,  
And antic registers for to advise,  
There chanced to the Prince's hand to rise,  
An ancient book, hight Briton monuments,  
That of this lands first conquest did devise,  
And old division into Regiments,  
Till it reduced was to one man's governments.   

Sir Guyon chanced eke on another book,  
That hight, antiquity of fairy land.  
In which when as he greedily did look,  
Th'offspring of elves and fairies there he fond,  
As it delivered was from hand to hon:  
Whereat they burning both with fervent fire,  
Their countries ancestry to understand;  
Craved leave of Alma, and that aged sire,  
To read those books; who gladly granted their desire.    

Cant. X.  

A chronicle of Briton kings,  
From Brute to Uthers' rain.  
And rolls of Elfin Emperors,  
Till time of Gloriane.   

WHo now shall give unto me words and sound,  
Equal unto this haughty enterprise?  
Or who shall lend me wings, with which from ground  
My lowly verse may loftily arise,  
And lift itself unto the highest skies?  
More ample spirit, than hitherto was wont,  
Here needs me, whiles the famous auncestryes  
Of my most dreaded sovereign I recount,  
By which all earthly Princes she doth far surmount.   

Ne under sun, that shines so wide and fair,  
Whence all that lives, does borrow life and light,  
lives aught, that to her lineage may compare,  
Which though from earth it be derived right,  
Yet doth itself stretch forth to heavens hight,  
And all the world with wonder overspread;  
A labour huge, exceeding far my might:  
How shall frail pen, with fear disparaged,  
Conceive such sovereign glory, and great bountyhed?   

Argument worthy of Moeonian quill,  
Or rather worthy of great Phoebus' rote,  
Whereon the ruins of great Ossa hill,  
And triumphs of Phlegraean Jove he wrote,  
That all the Gods admired his lofty note.  
But if some relish of that heavenly lay  
His learned daughters would to me report,  
To deck my song withal, I would assay,  
Thy name, O sovereign Queen, to blazon far away.   

Thy name O sovereign Queen, thy realm and race,  
From this renowned Prince derived are,  
Whom mightily upheld that royal mace,  
Which now thou bearest, to thee descended far  
From mighty kings and conquerors in war,  
Thy fathers and thy great Grandfathers of gold,  
Whose noble deeds above the Northern star  
Immortal fame for ever hath enrolled;  
As in that old man's book they were in order told.   

The land, which warlike Britons now possess,  
And therein have their mighty empire raised,  
In antic times was salvage wilderness,  
Unpeopled, unmannurd, unproud, unpraysd,  
Ne was it Island then, ne was it paysd  
Amid the Ocean waves, ne was it sought  
Of merchants far, for profits therein praised,  
But was all desolate, and of some thought  
By sea to have been from the Celticke maynland brought.   

Ne did it then deserve a name to have,  
Till that the venturous Mariner that way  
Learning his ship from those white rocks to save,  
Which all along the Southern sea-coast lay,  
Threatening unheedy wreck and rash decay,  
For safety that same his sea-mark made,  
And named it Albion. But later day  
Finding in it fit ports for fisher's trade,  
'Gan more the same frequent, and further to invade.   

But far in land a salvage nation dwelled,  
Of hideous giants, and half beastly men,  
That never tasted grace, nor goodness felt,  
But like wild beasts lurking in loathsome den,  
And flying fast as roebuck through the fen,  
All naked without shame, or care of cold,  
By hunting and by spoiling liveden;  
Of stature huge, and eke of courage bold,  
That sons of men amazed their sternness to behold.   

But whence they sprung, or how they were begot,  
Uneath is to assure, uneath to ween  
That monstrous error, which doth some assott,  
That Dioclesian's fifty daughter's sheen  
Into this land by chance have driven been,  
Where companing with fiends and filthy Sprights  
Through vain illusion of their lust unclean,  
They brought forth Geaunts & such dreadful wights,  
As far exceeded men in their immeasurd mights.   

They held this land, and with their filthiness  
Polluted this same gentle soil long time:  
That their own mother loathed their beastliness,  
And 'gan abhor her broods unkindly crime,  
All were they borne of her own native slime;  
Until that Brutus anciently derived  
From royal stock of old Assaracs' line,  
Driven by fatal error, here arrived,  
And them of their unjust possession deprived.   

But ere he had established his throne,  
And spread his empire to the utmost shore,  
He fought great batteils with his salvage fone;  
In which he them defeated evermore,  
And many giants left on groaning flore,  
That well can witness yet unto this day  
The Western Hogh, besprinkled with the gore  
Of mighty Goemot, whom in stout fray  
Corineus conquered, and cruelly did slay.   

And eke that ample pit, yet far renowned,  
For the large leap, which Debon did compel  
Coulin to make, being eight lugs of ground;  
Into the which returning back, he fell,  
But those three monstrons stones do most excel  
Which that huge son of hideous Albion,  
Whose father Hercules in France did quell,  
Great Codmer threw, in fierce contention,  
At bold Canutus; but of him was slain anon.   

In meed of these great conquests by them got,  
Corineus had that province utmost west,  
To him assigned for his worthy lot,  
Which of his name and memorable gest  
He called Cornwaile, yet so called best:  
And Debons' shayre was, that is Devonshyre:  
But Canute had his portion from the rest,  
The which he called Canutium, for his hire;  
Now Cantium, which Kent we commonly inquire.   

Thus Brute this realm unto his rule subdued,  
And reigned long in great felicity,  
Loved of his friends, and of his foes eschewd,  
He left three sons, his famous progeny,  
Borne of fair Inogen of Italy;  
'mongst whom he parted his imperial state,  
And Locrine left chief Lord of Britain.  
At last ripe age bade him surrender late  
His life, and long good fortune unto final fate.   

Locrine was left the sovereign Lord of all;  
But Albanact had all the Northern part,  
Which of himself Albania he did call;  
And Camber did possess the Western quart,  
Which Severn now from Logris doth departed:  
And each his portion peaceably enjoyed,  
Ne was there outward breach, nor grudge in heart,  
That once their quiet government annoyed,  
But each his pains to others profit still employed.   

Until a nation strange, with visage swart,  
And courage fierce, that all men did affray,  
Which through the world the swarmed in every part,  
And overflowed all countries far away,  
Like Noyes great flood, with their importune sway,  
This land invaded with like violence,  
And did themselves through all the North display:  
Until that Locrine for his realms defence,  
Did head against them make, and strong munificence.   

He them encountered, a confused rout,  
forbye the river, that whilom was height  
The ancient Abus, where with courage stout  
He them defeated in victorious fight,  
And chaste so fiercely after fearful flight,  
That forced their Chiefetain, for his safety's sake,  
(Their Chiefetain Humber named was aright,)  
Unto the mighty stream him to betake,  
Where he an end of battle, and of life did make.   

The king returned proud of victory,  
And insolent wox through unwonted case,  
That shortly he forgot the jeopardy,  
Which in his land he lately did appease,  
And fell to vain voluptuous disease:  
He loved fair Lady Estrild, lewdly loved,  
Whose wanton pleasures him too much did please,  
That quite his heart from Guendolene removed,  
From Guendolene his wife, though always faithful proved.   

The noble daughter of Corineus  
Would not endure to be so vile disdained,  
But gathering force, and courage valorous,  
Encountered him in battle well ordained,  
In which him vanquished she to fly constrained:  
But she so fast pursewd, that him she took,  
And threw in bands, where he till death remained  
Als his fair Leman, flying through a brook,  
She overhent, nought moved with her piteous look.   

But both herself, and eke her daughter dear,  
Begotten by her kingly paramour,  
The fair Sabrina almost dead with fear,  
She there attached, far from all succour;  
The one she slew upon the present flower,  
But the sad virgin innocent of all,  
adown the rolling river she did pour,  
Which of her name now Severne men do call:  
Such was the end, that to disloyal love did fall.   

Then for her son, which she to Locrine bore,  
Madan was young, unmeet the rule to sway,  
In her own hand the crown she kept in store,  
Till riper years he reached, and stronger stay:  
During which time her power she did display  
Through all this realm, the glory of her sex,  
And first taught men a woman to obey:  
But when her son to man's estate did wax,  
She it surrendered, ne herself would longer vex.   

though Madan reigned, unworthy of his race:  
For with all shame that sacred throne he filled:  
Next Memprise, as unworthy of that place,  
In which being consorted with Manild,  
For thirst of single kingdom him he killed.  
But Ebranck salved both their infamies  
With noble deeds, and warreyd on Brunchild  
In Henault, where yet of his victories  
Brave monuments remain, which yet that land envies.   

An happy man in his first days he was,  
And happy father of fair progeny:  
For all so many weeks, as the year has,  
So many children he did multiply;  
Of which were twenty sons, which did apply,  
Their minds to praise, and chivalrous desire:  
Those germane did subdue all Germany,  
Of whom it hight; but in the end their sire  
With foul repulse from France was forced to retire,   

Which blot his son succeeding in his seat,  
The second Brute, the second both in name,  
And eke in semblance of his puissance great,  
Right well recured, and did away that blame  
With recompense of everlasting fame.  
He with his victor sword first opened,  
The bowels of wide France, a forlorn Dame,  
And taught her first how to be conquered;  
Since which, with sundry spoils she hath been ransacked.   

Let Scaldis tell, and let tell Hania,  
And let the marsh of Estham bruges tell,  
What colour were their waters that same day,  
And all the more twixt Eluersham and del,  
With blood of Henalois, which therein fell.  
How oft that day did sad Brunchildis see  
The green shield died in dolorous vermell?  
That not Sevith guiridh he moat seem to be.  
But rather y Sevith gogh, sign of sad cruelty.   

His son king Leill by father's labour long,  
Enjoyed an heritage of lasting peace,  
And built Cairleill, and built Cairleon strong.  
Next Huddibras his realm did not increase,  
But taught the land from weary wars to cease.  
Whose footsteps Bladud following, in arts  
Excelled at Athens all the learned press,  
From whence he brought them to these salvage parts  
And with sweet science mollifide their stubborn hearts.   

Ensample of his wondrous faculty,  
Behold the boiling baths at Cairbadon,  
Which seethe with secret fire eternally,  
And in their entrails, full of quick Brimston,  
Nourish the flames, which they are warmed upon,  
That to her people wealth they forth do well,  
And health to every foreign nation:  
Yet he at last contending to excel  
The reach of men, through flight into fond mischieffell.   

Next him king Leyr in happy peace long reigned,  
But had no issue male him to succeed,  
But three fair daughters, which were well uptraind,  
In all that seemed fit for kingly seed:  
'mongst whom his realm he equally decreed  
To have divided. though when feeble age  
Nigh to his utmost date he saw proceed,  
He called his daughters; and with speeches sage  
inquired, which of them most did love her parentage.   

The eldest Goneril 'gan to protest,  
That she much more than her own life him loved:  
And Regan greater love to him professed,  
Then all the world, when ever it were proved;  
But Cordeill said she loved him, as behooved:  
Whose simple answer, wanting colours fair  
To paint it forth,, him to displeasance moved,  
That in his crown he counted her no hair,  
But twixt the other twain his kingdom whole did share.   

So wedded th'one to Maglan king of Scots,  
And tother to the king of Cambria,  
And twixt them shayrd his realm by equal lots:  
But without dower the wise Cordelia,  
Was sent to Aggannip of Celtica  
Their aged sire, thus eased of his crown,  
A private life led in Albania,  
With Goneril, long had in great renown,  
That nought him grieved to been from rule deposed down.   

But true it is that when the oil is spent,  
The light goes out, and week is thrown away;  
So when he had resigned his regiment,  
His daughter 'gan despise his drooping day,  
And weary wax of his continual stay.  
though to his daughter Regan he repayrd,  
Who him at first well used every way;  
But when of his departure she despayrd,  
Her bounty she abated, and his cheer empayrd.   

The wretched man 'gan then advise to late,  
That love is not, where most it is professed,  
Too truly tried in his extremest state;  
At last resolved likewise to prove the rest,  
He to Cordelia himself addressed,  
Who with entire affection him received,  
As for her sire and king her seemed best;  
And after all au army strong she leaved,  
To war on those, which him had of his realm bereaved   

So to his crown she him restored again,  
In which he died, made ripe for death by eld,  
And after wild, it should to her remain:  
Who peaceably the same long time did wield:  
And all men's hearts in due obedience held:  
Till that her sister's children, waxed strong,  
Through proud ambition against her rebelled,  
And overcome kept in prison long,  
Till weary of that wretched life, herself she hung.   

Then 'gan the bloody brethren both to rain:  
But fierce Cundah 'gan shortly to envy  
His brother Morgan, pricked with proud disdain,  
To have a peer in part of sovereignty,  
And kindling coals of cruel enmity,  
Raised war, and him in battle overthrew:  
Whence as he to those woody hills did fly,  
Which hight of him Glamorgan, there him slew:  
Then did he reign alone, when he none equal knew.   

His son Rival ' his dead room did supply,  
In whose sad time blood did from heaven rain:  
Next great Gurgustus, then fair Coecily,  
In constant peace their kingdoms did contain,  
After whom Lago, and Kinmarke did rain;  
And Gorbogud, till far in years he grew:  
Then his Ambitious sons unto them twain,  
Arraught the rule, and from their father drew,  
Stout Ferrex and stern Porrex him in prison threw.   

But O, the greedy thirst of royal crown,  
That knows no kindred, nor regards no right,  
Stirred Porrex up to put his brother down;  
Who unto him assembling foreign might,  
Made war on him, and fell himself in fight:  
Whose death t'avenge, his mother merciless,  
Most merciless of women, Wyden hight,  
Her other son fast sleeping did oppress,  
And with most cruel hand him murdered pitiless.   

Here ended Brutus sacred progeny,  
Which had seven hundred years this sceptre borne,  
With high renown, and great felicity;  
The noble branch from th'antic stock was torn  
Through discord, and the royal throne forlorn:  
Thenceforth this realm was into factions rend,  
Whilst each of Brutus boasted to be borne,  
That in the end was left no monument  
Of Brutus, nor of Britons glory ancient.   

Then up arose a man of matchless might,  
And wondrous wit to menage high affairs,  
Who stirred with pity of the stressed plight  
Of this sad realm, cut into sundry shayres  
By such, as claimed themselves Brutus' rightful hairs,  
Gathered the Princes of the people lose,  
To taken counsel of their common cares;  
Who with his wisdom won, him straight did choose  
Their king, and swore him fealty to win or lose.   

Then made he head against his enemies,  
And Ymner slew, of Logris miscreate;  
Then Ruddoc and proud Stater, both allies,  
This of Albany newly nominate,  
And that of Cambry king confirmed late,  
He overthrew through his own valiance;  
Whose countries he reduced to quiet state,  
And shortly brought to civil governance,  
Now one, which erst were many, made through variance.   

Then made he sacred laws, which some men say  
Were unto him revealed in vision,  
By which he freed the traveilers high way,  
The church's part, and ploughman's portion,  
Restraining stealth, and strong extortion;  
The gracious Numa of great Britain:  
For till his days, the chief dominion  
By strength was wielded without policy;  
Therefore he first wore crown of gold for dignity.   

Donwallo died (for what may live for ay?)  
And left two sons, of peerless prowess both;  
That sacked Rome too dearly did assay,  
The recompense of their perjured oath,  
And ransacked Greece well tried, when they were wroth;  
Besides subjecteth France, and Germany,  
Which yet their praises speak, all be they loth,  
And inly tremble at the memory  
Of Brennus and Belinus, Kings of Britain.   

Next them did Gurgiunt, great Belinus' son  
In rule succeed and eke in father's praise;  
He Easterland subdued, and Denmark won,  
And of them both did foy and tribute raise,  
The which was dew in his dead father's days:  
He also gave to fugitives of Spain,  
Whom he at sea found wandering from their ways,  
A seat in Ireland safely to remain,  
Which they should hold of him, as subject to Britain.   

After him reigned Guitheline his hair,  
The justest man and truest in his days,  
Who had to wife Dame Mertia the fair,  
A woman worthy of immortal praise,  
Which for this realm found many goodly lays,  
And wholesome Statutes to her husband brought:  
Her many deemed to have been of the Fayes,  
As was Aegerie, that Numa taught:  
Those yet of her be mertian laws both named & thought.   

Her son Sifillus after her did rain,  
And then Kimarus, and then Danius;  
Next whom Morindus did the crown sustain,  
Who, had he not with wrath outrageous,  
And cruel rancour dimmed his valorous  
And mighty deeds, should matched have the best:  
As well in that same field victorious  
Against the foreign Morands he expressed;  
Yet lives his memory, though carcase sleep in rest.   

Five sons he left begotten of one wife,  
All which successively by turns did rain;  
First Gorboman a man of virtuous life;  
Next Archigald, who for his proud disdain,  
Deposed was from princedom sovereign,  
And piteous Elidure put in his stead;  
Who shortly it to him restored again,  
Till by his death he it recovered;  
But Peridure and Vigent him disthronized.   

In wretched prison long he did remain,  
Till they outraigned had their utmost date,  
And then therein reseized was again,  
And ruled long with honourable state,  
Till he surrendered realm and life to fate.  
Then all the sons of these five brethren reigned  
By due success, and all their nephews late,  
Even thrice eleven descents the crown retained,  
Till aged Hely by due heritage it gained.   

He had two sons, whose eldest called Lud  
Left of his life most famous memory,  
And endless monuments of his great good:  
The ruin'd walls he did reaedifye  
Of Troynovant, 'gainst force of enemy,  
And built that gate, which of his name is height,  
By which he lies entombed solemnly.  
He left two sons, too young to rule aright,  
Androgeus and Tenantius, pictures of his might.   

Whilst they were young, Cassibalane their Eme  
Was by the people chosen in their stead,  
Who on him took the royal diadem,  
And goodly well long time it governed,  
Till the proud Romans him disquieted,  
And warlike Caesar, tempted with the name  
Of this sweet Island, never conquered,  
And envying the Britons blazed fame,  
(O hideous hunger of dominion) hither came.   

Yet twice they were repulsed back again,  
And twice renforst, back to their ships to fly,  
The while with blood they all the shore did stain,  
And the grey Ocean into purple die:  
Ne had they footing found at last perdie,  
Had not Androgeus, false to native soil,  
And envious of uncles sovereignty,  
Betrayed his country unto foreign spoil:  
Nought else, buttreason, from the first this land did foil   

So by him Caesar got the victory,  
Through great bloodshed, and many a sad assay,  
In which himself was charged heavily  
Of hardy Nennius, whom he yet did slay,  
But lost his sword, yet to be seen this day.  
Thenceforth this land was tributary made  
T'ambitious Rome, and did their rule obey,  
Till Arthur all that reckoning defrayed;  
Yet oft the Briton kings against them strongly swayed.   

Next him Tenantius reigned, than Kimbeline,  
What time th'eternal Lord in fleshly slime  
Enwombed was, from wretched Adam's line  
To purge away the guilt of sinful crime:  
O joyous memory of happy time,  
That heavenly grace so plenteously displayed;  
(O too high ditty for my simple rhyme.)  
Soon after this the Romans him warrayd;  
For that their tribute he refused to let be paid.   

Good Claudius, that next was Emperor,  
An army brought, and with him batteile fought,  
In which the king was by a Treachetour  
Disguised slain, ere any thereof thought:  
Yet ceased not the bloody fight for aught;  
For Aruirage his brother's place supplied,  
Both in his arms, and crown, and by that draft  
Did drive the Romans to the weaker side,  
That they to peace agreed. So all was pacified.   

Was never king more highly magnifide,  
Nor dredd of Romans, than was Aruirage,  
For which the Emperor to him allied  
His daughter Genuiss ' in marriage:  
Yet shortly he renounst the vassalage  
Of Rome again, who hither hastily sent  
Vespasian, that with great spoil and rage's  
Forwasted all, till Genuissa gent  
Persuaded him to cease, and her lord to relent.   

He died; and him succeeded Marius,  
Who joyed his days in great tranquillity.  
Then coil, and after him good Lucius,  
That first received Christianity,  
The sacred pledge of Christ's evangely:  
Yet true it is, that long before that day  
Hither came Joseph of Arimathy,  
Who brought with him the holy grayle, (they say)  
And preached the truth; but since it greatly did decay.   

This good king shortly without issue died,  
Whereof great trouble in the kingdom grew,  
That did herself in sundry parts divide,  
And with her power her own self overthrew,  
Whilst Romans daily did the weak subdue:  
Which seeing stout Bunduca, up arose,  
And taking arms, the Britons to her drew;  
With whom she marched straight against her foes,  
And them unwares besides the Severne did enclose.   

There she with them a cruel battle tried,  
Not with so good success, as she deserved;  
By reason that the captains on her side,  
Corrupted by Paulinus, from her swerved:  
Yet such as were through former flight preserved,  
Gathering again, her Host she did renew,  
And with fresh courage on the victor served:  
But being all defeated, save a few,  
Rather than fly, or becaptiued, herself she slew.   

O famous monument of women's praise,  
Matchable either to Semiramis,  
Whom antic history so high doth raise,  
Or to Hypsiphil ', or to Thomiris:  
Her Host two hundred thousand numbered is;  
Who whiles good fortune favoured her might,  
Triumphed oft against her enemis;  
And yet though overcome in hapless fight,  
She triumphed on death, in enemy's despite.   

Her relics Fulgent having gathered,  
Fought with Severus, and him overthrew;  
Yet in the chase was slain of them, that fled:  
So made them victors, whom he did subdue.  
Then 'gan Carausius tyrannize anew,  
And 'gainst the Romans bent their proper power,  
But him alectus treacherously slew,  
And took on him the rob of Emperor:  
Natheless the same enjoyed but short happy hour:   

For Asclepiodate him overcame,  
And left inglorious on the vanquished plain,  
Without or rob, or rag, to hide his shame.  
Then afterwards he in his stead did reign;  
But shortly was by coil in battle slain:  
Who after long debate, since Lucy's time,  
Was of the Britons first crowned sovereign:  
Then 'gan this realm renew her passed prime;  
He of his name Coylchester built of stone and lime.   

Which when the Romans heard, they hither sent  
Constantius, a man of much might,  
With whom king Coyll made an agreement,  
And to him gave for wife his daughter bright.  
Fair Helena, the fairest living wight;  
Who in all godly thews, and goodly praise,  
Did far excel, but was most famous height  
For skill in music of all in her days,  
Aswell in curious instruments as cunning lays.   

Of whom he did great Constantine beget,  
Who afterward was Emperor of Rome;  
To which while absent he his mind did set,  
Octavius here leapt into his room,  
And it usurped by unrighteous doom:  
But he his title justified by might,  
Slaying Traherne, and having overcome  
The Roman legion in dreadful fight:  
So settled he his kingdom, and confirmed his right.   

But wanting issue male, his daughter dear,  
He gave in wedlock to Maximian,  
And him with her made of his kingdom heir,  
Who soon by means thereof the Empire won,  
Till murdered by the friends of Gratian,  
Then 'gan the Huns and Picts invade this land,  
During the reign of Maximinian;  
Who dying left none heir them to withstand.  
But that they overran all parts with easy hand.   

The weary Britons, whose war-hable youth  
Was by Maximian lately led away,  
With wretched miseries, and woeful ruth,  
Were to those Pagans made an open pray,  
And daily spectacle of sad decay:  
Whom Roman wars, which now four hundred years,  
And more had wasted, could no whit dismay;  
Till by consent of Commons and of pears,  
They crowned the second Constantine with joyous tears,   

Who having oft in battle vanquished  
Those spoylefull Picts, and swarming Easterlings,  
Long time in peace his realm established,  
Yet oft annoyed with sundry bordragings.  
Of neighbour Scots, and foreign Scatterlings,  
With which the world did in those days abound:  
Which to outbarre, with painful pyoning  
From sea to sea he heaped a mighty mound,  
Which from Alcluid to Panwelt did that border bound.   

Three sons he dying left, all under age;  
By means whereof, their uncle Vortigere  
Usurped the crown, during their pupillage;  
Which th'infant's tutor's gathering to fear,  
Them closely into Armorick did bear:  
For dread of whom, and for those Picts annoys,  
He sent to Germany, strange aid to rear,  
From whence eftsoons arrived here three hoys  
Of Saxons, whom he for his safety employs.   

Two brethren were their captains, which hight  
Hengist and Horsus, well approved in war,  
And both of them men of renowned might;  
Who making vantage of their civil jar,  
And of those foreigners, which came from far,  
Grew great, and got large portions of land,  
That in the realm ere long they stronger are,  
Then they which sought at first their helping hand,  
And Vortiger have forced the kingdom to aband.   

But by the help of Vortimere his son,  
He is again unto his rule restored,  
And Hengist seeming sad, for that was done,  
Received is to grace and new accord,  
Through his fair daughter's face, & flattering word,  
Soon after which, three hundred Lords he slew  
Of British blood,, all sitting at his board;  
Whose doleful monuments who list to rue,  
Th'eternal marks of treason may at Stonheng view.   

By this the sons of Constantine, which fled,  
Ambrose and Uther did ripe years attain,  
And here arriving, strongly challenged  
The crown, which Vortiger did long detain:  
Who flying from his guilt, by them was slain,  
And Hengist eke soon brought to shameful death.  
Thenceforth Aurelius peaceably did rain,  
Till that through poison stopped was his breath;  
So now entombed lies at Stoneheng by the heath.   

After him Uther, which Pendragon hight,  
Succeeding There abruptly it did end,  
Without full point, or other caesura right,  
As if the rest some wicked hand did rend,  
Or th'Author self could not at least attend  
To finish it: that so untimely breach  
The Prince himself half seemed to offend,  
Yet secret pleasure did offence impeach,  
And wonder of antiquity long stopped his speech.   

At last quite ravished with delight, to hear  
The royal offspring of his native land,  
Cried out, dear country, O how dearly dear  
Ought thy remembrance, and perpetual band  
Be to thy foster child, thàt from thy hand  
Did commun breath and nurture receive?  
How brutish is it not to understand,  
How much to her we own, that all us gave,  
That gave unto us all, what ever good we have.   

But Guyon all this while his book did read,  
Ne yet has ended: for it was a great  
And ample volume, that doth far excead  
My leisure, so long leaves here to repeat:  
It told, how first Prometheus did create  
A man, of many parts from beasts derived,  
And then stole fire from heaven, to animate  
His work, for which he was by Jove deprived  
Of life himself, and heartstrings of an eagle rived.   

That man so made, he called elf, to weet  
Quick, the first author of all Elfin kind:  
Who wandering through the world with weary feet,  
Did in the gardens of Adonis find  
A goodly creature, whom he deemed in mind  
To be no earthly wight, but either sprite,  
Or-Angell, th'author of all woman kind;  
Therefore a Fay he her according hight,  
Of whom all fairies spring, & fetch their lineage right.   

Of these a mighty people shortly grew,  
And puissant Kings, which all the world warrayd,  
And to themselves all Nations did subdue:  
The first and eldest, which that sceptre swayed,  
Was Elfin; him all India obeyed,  
And all that now America men call:  
Next him was noble Elfinan, who laid  
Cleopolis foundation first of all:  
But Elfiline enclosed it with a golden wall.   

His son was Elfinell, who overcame  
The wicked Gobbelines in bloody field:  
But Elfant was of most renowned fame,  
Who all of crystal did Panthea build:  
Then Elfar, who two brethren giants killed,  
The one of which had two heads, th'other three:  
Then Elfinor, who was in magic skilled;  
He built by art upon the glassy See  
A bridge of brass, whose sound heavens thunder seemed to be.   

He left three sons, the which in order reigned,  
And all their offspring, in their due descents,  
Even seven hundred Princes, which maintained  
With mighty deeds their sundry governments;  
That were too long their infinite contents  
Here to record, ne much material:  
Yet should they be most famous monuments,  
And brave ensample, both of martial,  
And civil rule to Kings and states imperial.   

After all these Elficleos did rain,  
The wise Elficleos in great majesty,  
Who mightily that sceptre did sustain,  
And with rich spoils and famous victory,  
Did high advance the crown of fairy:  
He left two sons, of which fair Elferon  
The eldest brother did untimely die;  
Whose empty place the mighty Oberon  
Doubly supplied, in spousal, and dominion.   

Great was his power and glory over all,  
Which him before, that sacred seat did fill,  
That yet remains his wide memorial:  
He dying left the fairest Tanaquill,  
Him to succeed therein, by his last will:  
Fairer and nobler liveth none this hour,  
Ne like in grace, ne like in learned skill;  
Therefore they Glorian call that glorious flower,  
Long mayst thou Glorian live, in glory & great power.   

Beguiled thus with delight of novelties,  
And natural desire of countries state,  
So long they red in those antiquities,  
That how the time was fled, they quite forgot,  
Till gentle Alma seeing it so late,  
Perforce their studies broke, and them besought  
To think, how supper did them long await.  
So half unwilling from their books them brought,  
And fairly feasted, as so noble knights she ought.    

Cant XI  

The enemies of T emperaunce  
besiege her dwelling place:  
Prince Arthure them repelles, and fowl  
Maleger doth deface.   

WHat war so cruel, or what siege so sore,  
As that, which strong affections do apply  
Against the fort of reason evermore,  
To bring the soul into captivity:  
Their force is fiercer through infirmity  
Of the frail flesh, relenting to their rage,  
And exercise most bitter tyranny  
Upon the parts, brought into their bondage:  
No wretchedness is like to sinful vellenage.   

But in a body which doth freely yield  
His parts to reasons rule obedient,  
And letteth her that ought the sceptre wield,  
All happy peace and goodly government  
Is settled there in sure establishment,  
There Alma like a virgin Queen most bright,  
Doth flourish in all beauty excellent:  
And to her guests doth bounteous banquet dight,  
Attempered goodly well for health and for delight.   

Early before the morn with cremosin ray,  
The windows of bright heaven opened had,  
Through which into the world the dawning day  
Might look, that maketh every creature glad,  
uprose Sir Guyon, in bright armour clad,  
And to his purposed journey him prepared:  
With him the Palmer eke in habit sad,  
Himself addressed to that adventure hard:  
So to the rivers side they both together fared.   

Where them awaited ready at the ford  
The ferry-man, as Alma had behight,  
With his well rigged bore: They go aboard,  
And he eftsoons 'gan launch his bark forthright.  
Ere long they rowed were quite out of sight,  
And fast the land behind them fled away.  
But let them pass, whiles wind and wether right  
Do serve their turns: here I a while must stay,  
To see a cruel fight done by the prince this day.   

For all so soon, as Guyon thence was gone  
Upon his voyage with his trusty guide,  
That wicked band of villains fresh begun  
That castle to assail on every side,  
And lay strong siege about it far and wide.  
So huge and infinite their numbers were,  
That all the land they under them did hide;  
So fowl and ugly, that exceeding fear  
Their visages impressed, when they approached near.   

Them in twelve troops their Captein did dispart,  
And round about in fittest steads did place,  
Where each might best offend his proper part,  
And his contrary object most deface,  
As every one seemed meetest in that case.  
Seven of the same against the Castle gate,  
In strong entrenchments he did closely place,  
Which with incessant force and endless hate,  
They battered day and night, and entrance did awate.   

The other fine, five sundry ways he set,  
Against the five great bulwarks of that pile,  
And unto each a bulwark did arrett,  
T'assail with open force or hidden guile,  
In hope thereof to win victorious spoil.  
They all that charge did fervently apply,  
With greedy malice and importune toil,  
And planted there their huge artillery,  
With which they daily made most dreadful battery.   

The first troop was a monstrous rabblement  
Of fowl misshapen wights, of which some were  
Headed like owls, with becks uncomely bend,  
Others like Dogs, others like griffins drear,  
And some had wings, and some had claws to tear,  
And every one of them had lynxes eyes,  
And every one did bow and arrows bear:  
All those were lawless lusts, corrupt envies,  
And covetous aspects, all cruel enemies.   

Those same against the bulwark of the Sight  
Did lay strong siege, and battailous assault,  
Ne once did yield it respitt day nor night,  
But soon as Titan 'gan his head exalt,  
And soon again as he his light withhault,  
Their wicked engines they against it bend:  
That is each thing, by which the eyes may fault,  
But two then all more huge and violent,  
Beauty, and money they against that bulwark lent.   

The second bulwark was the Hearing sense,  
'Gainst which the second troop assignment makes,  
Deformed creatures, in strange difference,  
Some having heads like hearts, some like to Snakes,  
Some like wild boars late rouzd out of the brakes,  
Slanderous reproaches, and fowl infamies,  
leasings, backbitings, and vainglorious cracks,  
Bad counsels, praises, and false flatteries,  
All those against that fort did bend their batteries.   

Likewise that same third Fort, that is the Smell  
Of that third troop was cruelly assayed:  
Whose hideous shapes were like to fiends of hell,  
Some like to hounds, some like to Apes, dismayed,  
Some like to puttocks, all in plumes arrayed:  
All shaped according their conditions,  
For by those ugly forms weren portrayed,  
Foolish delights and fond abusions,  
Which do that sense besiege with light illusions.   

And that fourth band which cruel battery bend,  
Against the fourth bulwark, that is the Taste,  
Was as the rest a grysie rabblement,  
Some mouthed like greedy Oystriges, some fast  
Like loathly toads, some fashioned in the waste  
Like swine; for so deformed is luxury,  
Surfeat, misdiet, and unthrifty waste,  
Vain feasts, and idle superfluity:  
All those this senses Fort assail incessantly.   

But the fift troop most horrible of hue,  
And fierce of force, is dreadful to report:  
For some like snails, some did like spiders show,  
And some like ugly urchins thick and short:  
Cruelly they assayed that fift Fort,  
Armed with darts of sensual delight,  
With stings of carnal lust, and strong effort  
Of feeling pleasures, with which day and night  
Against that same fift bulwark they continued fight.   

Thus these twelve troops with dreadful puissance  
Against that Castle restless siege did lay,  
And evermore their hideous ordinance  
Upon the bulwarks cruelly did play,  
That now it 'gan to threaten near decay.  
And evermore their wicked capitain  
Provoked them the breaches to assay,  
Sometimes with threats, sometimes with hope of gain,  
Which by the ransack of that piece they should attain.   

On th'other side, th'assieged Castles ward  
Their steadfast stonds did mightily maintain,  
And many bold repulse, and many hard  
Achievement wrought with peril and with pain,  
That goodly frame from ruin to sustain:  
And those two brethren giants did defend  
The walls so stoutly with their sturdy main,  
That never entrance any durst pretend,  
But they to direful death their groaning ghosts did send.   

The noble Virgin, Lady of the Place,  
Was much dismayed with that dreadful sight:  
For never was she in so evil case,  
Till that the Prince seeing her woeful plight,  
'Gan her recomfort from so sad affright,  
Offering his service, and his dearest life  
For her defence, against that carl to fight,  
Which was their chief and th'author of that strife:  
She him remercied as the patron of her life.   

Eftsoons himself in glitterand arms he dight,  
And his well proved weapons to him hent;  
So taking courteous congee he behight,  
Those gates to be unbarred, and forth he went.  
Fair mote he thee, the prowest and most gent,  
That ever brandished bright steel on high:  
Whom soon as that unruly rabblement,  
With his gay squire issewing did espy,  
They reared a most outrageous dreadful yelling cry.   

And therewithal at once at him let fly  
Their fluttring arrows, thick as flakes of snow,  
And round about him Hocke impetuously,  
Like a great water flood, that tumbling low  
From the high mountains, threats to overflow  
With sudden fury all the fertile plain,  
And the sad husbandman's long hope doth throw,  
A down the stream and all his vows make vain,  
Nor bounds nor banks his headlong ruin may sustain.   

Upon his shield their heaped hail he bore,  
And with his sword dispersed the rascal flocks,  
Which fled a sunder, and him fell before,  
As withered leaves drop from their dried stocks,  
When the wroth Western wind does reave their locks,  
And under neath him his courageous steed,  
The fierce Spumador trod them down like docks,  
The fierce Spumador borne of heavenly seed:  
Such as Laomedon of Phoebus' race did breed   

Which sudden horror and confused cry,  
When as their captain heard, in haste he yode,  
The cause to weet, and fault to remedy,  
Upon a tiger swift and fierce he road,  
That as the wind ran underneath his load,  
Whiles his long legs nigh reached unto the ground,  
Full large he was of limb, and shoulders broad,  
But of such subtle substance and unsound,  
That like a ghost he seemed, whose grave-clothes were unbound.   

And in his hand a bended bow was seen,  
And many arrows under his right side,  
All deadly dangerous, all cruel keen,  
Headed with flint, and feathers bloody died,  
Such as the Indians in their quivers hide,  
Those could he well direct and straight as line,  
And bid them strike the mark, which he had eyed,  
Ne was their salve ne was their medicine,  
That moat recure their wounds: so inly they did tine.   

As pale and wan as ashes was his look,  
His body lean and meager as a rake,  
And skin all withered like a dried rook,  
Thereto as cold and dreary as a Snake,  
That seemed to tremble evermore, and quake:  
All in a canvas thin he was bedight,  
And girded with a belt of twisted brake,  
Upon his head he wore an Helmet light,  
Made of a dead man's skull, that seemed a ghastly sight.   

Maleger was his name, and after him,  
There followed fast at hand two wicked Hags,  
With hoary locks all lose, and visage grim;  
Their feet unshod, their bodies wrapped in rags,  
And both as swift on foot, as chased Stags,  
And yet the one her other leg had lame,  
Which with a staff, all full of little snags  
She did support, and Impotence her name:  
But th'other was Impatience, armed with raging flame.   

Soon as the carl from far the Prince espied,  
Glistering in arms and warlike ornament,  
His Beast he felly pricked on either side,  
And his mischievous bow full ready bent,  
With which at him a cruel shaft he sent:  
But he was wary, and it warded well  
Upon his shield, that it no further went,  
But to the ground the idle quarrel fell:  
Then he another and another did expel.   

Which to prevent, the Prince his mortal spear  
Soon to him reached, and fierce at him did ride,  
To be avenged of that shot whilere:  
But he was not so hardy to abide  
That bitter stound, but turning quick aside  
His lightfoot beast, fled fast away for fear:  
Whom to poursue, the Infant after hide,  
So fast as his good Courser could him bear,  
But labour lost it was, to ween approach him near.   

For as the winged wind his tiger fled,  
That view of eye could scarce him overtake,  
Ne scarce his feet on ground were seen to tread;  
Through hills and dales he speedy way did make,  
Ne hedge ne ditch his ready passage broke,  
And in his flight the villain turned his face,  
(As wonts the Tartar by the Caspian lake,  
When as the Russian him in fight does chase)  
Unto his tiger's tail, and shot at him apace.   

Apace he shot, and yet he fled apace,  
Still as the greedy knight nigh to him drew,  
And oftentimes he would relent his pace,  
That him his foe more fiercely should poursew:  
But when his uncouth manner he did view,  
He 'gan avize to follow him no more,  
But keep his standing, and his shafts eschew,  
Until he quite had spent his perilous store,  
And then assail him fresh, ere he could shift for more.   

But that lame Hag, still as abroad he strew  
His wicked arrows, gathered them again,  
And to him brought fresh battle to renew:  
Which he espying, cast her to restrain  
From yielding succour to that cursed swain,  
And her attaching, thought her hands to tie;  
But soon as him dismounted on the plain,  
That other Hag did far away espy  
Binding her sister, she to him ran hastily.   

And catching hold of him, as down he lent,  
Him backward overthrew, and down him stayed  
With their rude hands and gryesly graplement,  
Till that the villain coming to their aid,  
Upon him fell, and load upon him laid;  
Full little wanted, but he had him slain,  
And of the battle baleful end had made,  
Had not his gentle Squire beheld his pain,  
And comen to his rescue, ere his bitter bane.   

So greatest and most glorious thing on ground  
May often need the help of weaker hand;  
So feeble is man's state, and life unsound,  
That in assurance it may never stand,  
Till it dissolved be from earthly band.  
Proof be thou Prince, the prowest man alive,  
And noblest borne of all in Britom land,  
Yet thee fierce Fortune did so nearly drive,  
That had not grace thee blest, thou shouldest not revive.   

The squire arriving, fiercely in his arms  
Snatched first the one, and then the other jade,  
His chiefest lets and authors of his harms,  
And them perforce withheld with threatened blade,  
Lest that his Lord they should behind invade;  
The whiles the Prince pricked with reproachful shame,  
As one awaked out of long slombring shade,  
reviving thought of glory and of fame,  
United all his powers to purge himself from blame.   

Like as a fire, the which in hollow cave  
Hath long been underkept, and down suppressed,  
With murmurous disdain doth inly rave,  
And grudge, in so straight prison to be priest,  
At last breaks forth with furious infested,  
And strives to mount unto his native seat;  
All that did erst it hinder and molest,  
It now devours with flames and scorching heat,  
And carries into smoke with rage and horror great.   

So mightily the Briton Prince him rouzd  
Out of his hold, and broke his caitiff bands,  
And as a bear whom angry curs have touzd,  
Having off-shakt them, and escaped their hands,  
Becomes more fell, and all that him with stands  
Treads down and overthrows. Now had the carl  
Alighted from his tiger, and his hands  
Discharged of his bow and deadly quar'le,  
To seize upon his foe flat lying on the marvel.   

Which now him turned to disadvantage dear,  
For neither can he fly, nor other harm,  
But trust unto his strength and manhood mere,  
Sith now he is far from his monstrous swarm,  
And of his weapons did himself disarm.  
The knight yet wrathful for his late disgrace,  
Fiercely advanced his valorous right arm,  
And him so sore smott with his iron mace,  
That groveling to the ground he fell, and filled his place.   

Well weened he, that field was then his own,  
And all his labour brought to happy end,  
When sudden up the villeine overthrown,  
Out of his swoon arose, fresh to contend,  
And 'gan himself to second battle bend,  
As hurt he had not been. Thereby there lay  
An huge great stone, which stood upon one end,  
And had not been removed many a day;  
Some landmark seemed to be, or sign of sundry way.   

The same he snatched, and with exceeding sway  
Threw at his foe, who was right well aware  
To shun the engine of his meant decay;  
It booted not to think that throw to bear,  
But ground he gave, and lightly leapt areare:  
Eft fierce returning, as a falcon fair  
That once hath failed of her sauce full near,  
Remounts again into the open air,  
And unto better fortune doth herself prepare.   

So brave returning, with his brandished blade,  
He to the carl himself again addressed,  
And struck at him so sternly, that he made  
An open passage through his riven breast,  
That half the steel behind his back did rest;  
Which drawing back, he looked ever more  
When the heart blood should gush out of his chest,  
Or his dead corpse should fall upon the flore;  
But his dead corpse upon the flore fell nathemore.   

Ne drop of blood appeared shed to be,  
All were the wownd so wide and wondrous,  
That through his carcase one might plainly see:  
Half in amaze with horror hideous,  
And half in rage, to be deluded thus,  
Again through both the sides he struck him quite,  
That made his sprite to groan full piteous:  
Yet nathemore forth fled his groaning sprite,  
But freshly as at first, prepared himself to fight.   

Thereat he smitten was with great affright,  
And trembling terror did his heart appall,  
Ne witted he, what to think of that same sight,  
Ne what to say, ne what to do at all;  
He doubted, lest it were some magical  
Illusion, that did beguile his sense,  
Or wandering ghost, that wanted funeral,  
Or airy spirit under false pretence,  
Or hellish fiend raised up through devilish science.   

His wonder far exceeded reasons reach,  
That he began to doubt his dazzled sight,  
And oft of error did himself appeach:  
Flesh without blood, a person without sprite,  
Wounds without hurt, a body without might,  
That could do harm, yet could not harmed be,  
That could not die, yet seemed a mortal wight,  
That was most strong in most infirmity;  
Like did he never hear, like did he never see.   

A while he stood in this astonishment,  
Yet would he not for all his great dismay  
Give over to effect his first intent,  
And th'utmost means of victory assay,  
Or th'utmost issue of his own decay.  
His own good sword Mordure, that never failed  
At need, till now he lightly threw away,  
And his bright shield, that nought him now avayld,  
And with his naked hands him forcibly assailed.   

Twixt his two mighty arms him up he snatched,  
And crushed his carcase so against his breast,  
That the disdainful soul he thence dispatched,  
And th'idle breath all utterly expressed:  
though when he felt him dead, adown he kest  
The lumpish corpse unto the senseless ground,  
adown he kest it with so puissant wrest,  
That back again it did aloft rebownd,  
And gave against his mother earth a gronefull sound.   

As when Jove's harnesse-bearing Bird from high  
Stoops at a flying heron with proud disdain,  
The stone-dead quarry falls so forcibly,  
That it rebownds against the lowly plain,  
A second fall redoubling back again.  
Then thought the Prince all peril sure was past,  
And that he victor only did remain;  
No sooner thought, then that the carl as fast  
'Gan heap huge strokes on him, as ere he down was cast.   

Nigh his wits end then wox th'amazed knight,  
And thought his labour lost and travel vain,  
Against his lifeless shadow so to fight:  
Yet life he saw, and felt his mighty main,  
That whiles he marveled still, did still him pain:  
For thy he 'gan some other ways advise,  
How to take life from that dead-living swain,  
Whom still he marked freshly to arise  
From th'earth, & from her womb new spirits to reprize.   

He then remembered well, that had been said,  
How th'Earth his mother was, and first him bore,  
She eke so often, as his life decayed,  
Did life with usury to him restore,  
And reysd him up much stronger than before,  
So soon as he unto her womb did fall;  
Therefore to ground he would him cast no more,  
Ne him commit to grave terrestrial,  
But bear him far from hope of succour usual.   

though up he caught him twixt his puissant hands,  
And having scruized out of his carrion corpse  
The lothful full life, now loofd from sinful bands,  
Upon his shoulders carried him perforce  
Above three furlongs, taking his full course,  
Until he came unto a standing lake;  
Him thereinto he threw without remorse,  
Ne stirred, till hope of life did him forsake;  
So end of that carls days, and his own pains did make.   

Which when those wicked Hags from far did spy,  
Like two mad dogs they ran about the lands,  
And th'one of them with dreadful yelling cry,  
Throwing away her broken chains and bands,  
And having quenched her burning fire brands,  
Headlong herself did cast into that lake;  
But Impotenee with her own wilful hands,  
One of Malegers cursed darts did take,  
So rived her trembling heart, and wicked end did make.   

Thus now alone he conqueror remains;  
though coming to his squire, that kept his steed,  
Thought to have mounted, but his feeble veins  
Him failed thereto, and served not his need,  
Through loss of blood, which from his wounds did bleed,  
That he began to faint, and life decay:  
But his good squire him helping up with speed,  
With steadfast hand upon his horse did stay,  
And led him to the Castle by the beaten way.   

Where many grooms and squires ready were,  
To take him from his steed full tenderly,  
And eke the fairest Alma met him there  
With balm and wine and costly spicery,  
To comfort him in his infirmity;  
Eftsoons she caused him up to be conveyed,  
And of his arms despoiled easily,  
In sumptuons bed she made him to be laid,  
And all the while his wounds were dressing, by him stayed    

Cant. XII.  

Guyon through palmer's governance,  
through passing perils great,  
Doth overthrow the bower of bliss,  
and Acrasy defeat.   

NOw gins this goodly frame of temperance  
Fairly to rise, and her adorned head  
To prick of highest praise forth to advance,  
Formerly grounded, and fast settled  
On firm foundation of true bountyhed;  
And this brave knight, that for this virtue fights,  
Now comes to point of that same perilous stead,  
Where Pleasure dwells in sensual delights,  
'mongst thousand daggers, & ten thousand magic mights.   

Two days now in that sea he sailed has,  
Ne ever land beheld, ne living wight,  
Ne ought save peril, still as he did pass:  
though when appeared the third Morrow bright,  
Upon the waves to spread her trembling light,  
An hideous roaring far away they heard,  
That all their senses filled with affright,  
And straight they saw the raging surges reared  
up to the skies, that them of drowning made afeard.   

Said then the boatman, Palmer steer aright,  
And keep an even course; for yonder way  
We needs must pass (God do us well acquight,)  
That is the Gulf of greediness, they say,  
That deep engorgeth all this worlds pray:  
Which having swallowed up excessively,  
He soon in vomit up again doth lay,  
And belcheth forth his superfluity,  
That all the seas for fear did seem away to fly.   

On tother side an hideous Rock is pight,  
Of mighty Magnes stone, whose craggy cleft  
Depending from on high, dreadful to sight,  
Over the waves his rugged arms doth lift,  
And threateneth down to throw his ragged rift,  
On whoso cometh nigh; yet nigh it draws  
All passengers, that none from it can shift:  
For whiles they fly that gulfs devouring jaws,  
They on this Rock are rend, and sunk in helpless wawes.   

Forward they pass, and strongly he them rows,  
Until they nigh unto that gulf arrive,  
Where stream more violent and greedy grows:  
Then he with all his puisance doth strive  
To strike his oars, and mightily doth drive  
The hollow vessel through the threatfull wave,  
Which gaping wide, to swallow them alive,  
In th'huge abyss of his engulfing grave,  
Doth roar at them in vain, and with great terror rave.   

They passing by, that grisly mouth did see,  
Sucking the seas into his entrails deep,  
That seemed more horrible than hell to be,  
Or that dark dreadful hole of Tartarus steep,  
Through which the damned ghosts done often creep  
Back to the world, bad livers to torment:  
But nought that falls into this direful deep,  
Ne that approacheth nigh the wide descent,  
May back return, but is condemned to be drent.   

On tother side, they saw that perilous rock,  
Threatening itself on them to ruinated,  
On whose sharp cliffs the ribs of vessels broke,  
And shivered ships, which had been wrecked late,  
Yet stuck, with carcases exanimate  
Of such, as having all their substance spent  
In wanton joys, and lusts intemperate,  
Did after wards make shipwreck violent,  
Both of their life, and fame for ever foully blended.   

For thy this hight The Rock of vile reproach,  
A dangerous and detestable place,  
To which nor fish nor fowl did once approach,  
But yelling Meawes, with Seagulles hoars and base,  
And Cormoyraunts, with birds of ravenous race,  
Which still sat weiting on that wasteful cleft,  
For spoil of wretches, whose unhappy case,  
After lost credit and consumed thrift,  
At last them driven hath to this despairful drift,   

The Palmer seeing them in safety past,  
Thus said, behold th'ensamples in our sights,  
Of lustful luxury and thriftless waist:  
What now is left of miserable wights,  
Which spent their loser days in lewd delights,  
But shame and sad reproach, here to be red,  
By these rend relics, speaking their ill plights?  
Let all that live, hereby be counseled,  
To shun Rock of Reproach and it as death to dread.   

So forth they rowed, and that Ferryman  
With his stiff oars did brush the sea so strong,  
That the hoar waters from his frigotran,  
And the light bubbles danced all along,  
Whiles the salt brine out of the billows sprung.  
At last far off they many islands spy,  
On every side floating the floods among:  
Then said the knight, Lo I the land descry,  
Therefore old sire thy course do thereunto apply.   

That may not be, said then the Ferryman  
Lest we unwitting hap to be fordone:  
For those same Islands, seeming now and than,  
Are not firm land, nor any certain won,  
But straggling plots, which to and fro do run  
In the wide waters: therefore are they hight  
The wandering Islands. Therefore do them shun;  
For they have oft drawn many a wandering wight  
Into most deadly danger and distressed plight.   

Yet well they seem to him, that far doth view,  
Both fair and fruitful, and the ground dispred,  
With grassy green of delectable hue,  
And the tall trees with leaves apparelled,  
Are decked with blossoms died in white and red,  
That moat the passengers thereto allure;  
But whosoever once hath fastened  
His foot thereon, may never it recure,  
But wandereth ever more uncertain and unsure.   

As th'Isle of Delos whilom men report  
Amid th' Aegean sea long time did stray,  
Ne made for shipping any certain port,  
Till that Latona traveling that way,  
Flying from Juno's wrath and hard assay,  
Of her fair twins was there delivered,  
Which afterwards did rule the night and day;  
Thenceforth it firmly was established,  
And for Apollo's temple highly heried.   

They to him hearken, as beseemeth meet,  
And pass on forward: so their way does lie,  
That one of those same Islands, which do fleet  
In the wide sea, they needs must passen by,  
Which seemed so sweet and pleasant to the eye,  
That it would tempt a man to touchen there:  
Upon the bank they sitting did espy  
A dainty damsel, dressing of her hear,  
By whom a little skippet floating did appear.   

She them espying, loud to them can call,  
Bidding them nigher draw unto the shore;  
For she had cause to busy them withal;  
And therewith loudly laughed: But nathemore  
Would they once turn, but kept on as afore:  
Which when she saw, she left her locks undight,  
And running to her boat wihtouten over,  
From the departing land it launched light,  
And after them did drive with all her power and might.   

Whom overtaking, she in merry sort  
Them 'gan to board, and purpose diversly,  
Now feigning dalliance and wanton sport,  
Now throwing forth lewd words immodestly;  
Till that the Palmer 'gan full bitterly  
Her to rebuke, for being lose and light:  
Which not abiding, but more scornfully  
Scoffing at him, that did her justly wit,  
She turned her boat about, and from them rowed quite.   

That was the wanton Phoedria, which late  
Did ferry him over the Idle lake:  
Whom nought regarding, they kept on their gate,  
And all her vain allurements did forsake,  
When them the wary boatman thus bespoke;  
Here now behoveth us well to advise,  
And of our safety good heed to take;  
For here before a perilous passage lies,  
Where many mermaid's haunt, making false melodies.   

But by the way, there is a great Quicksand,  
And a whirlpool of hidden jeopardy,  
Therefore, Sir Palmer, keep an even hand;  
For twixt them both the narrow way doth lie.  
Scarce had he said, when hard at hand they spy  
That quicksand nigh with water covered;  
But by the checked wave they did descry  
It plain, and by the sea discoloured:  
It called was the quickesand of Vnthriftyhed.   

They passing by, a goodly Ship did see,  
Laden from far with precious merchandise,  
And bravely furnished, as ship might be,  
Which through great disaventure, or mesprize,  
Herself had run into that hazardize;  
Whose mariners and merchants with much toil,  
Laboured in vain, to have recured their prize,  
And the rich wares to save from piteous spoil,  
But neither toil nor travail might her back recoil.   

On th'other side they see that perilous pool,  
That called was the Whirlpool of decay,  
In which full many had with hapless dole  
Been sunk, of whom no memory did stay:  
Whose circled waters rapt with whirling sway,  
Like to a restless wheel, still running round,  
Did covet, as they passed by that way,  
To draw their boat within the utmost bound  
Of his wide Labyrinth, and then to have them drowned.   

But th'earnest boatman strongly forth did stretch  
His brawny arms, and all his body strain,  
That th'utmost sandy breach they shortly fetch,  
Whiles the dredd danger does behind remain.  
Sudden they see from midst of all the main,  
The surging waters like a mountain rise,  
And the great sea puffed up with proud disdain,  
To swell above the measure of his guise,  
As threatening to devour all, that his power despise.   

The waves come rolling, and the billows roar  
Outrageously, as they enraged were,  
Or wrathful Neptune did them drive before  
His whirling chariot, for exceeding fear:  
For not one puff of wind there did appear,  
That all the three thereat wox much afraid,  
Unwitting, what such horror strange did rear.  
eftsoons they saw an hideous host arrayed,  
Of huge Sea monsters, such as living sense dismayed.   

Most ugly shapes, and horrible aspects,  
Such as Dame Nature self moat fear to see,  
Or shame, that ever should so fowl defects  
From her most cunning hand escaped be;  
All dreadful portraits of deformity:  
Spring-headed Hydres, and sea-shouldring Whales,  
Great whirlpooles, which all fishes make to flee,  
Bright scolopendra's, armed with silver scales,  
Mighty Monoceros, with immeasured tails.   

The dreadful Fish, that hath deserved the name  
Of Death, and like him looks in dreadful hue,  
The grisly Wasserman, that makes his game  
The flying ships with swiftness to pursue,  
The horrible Sea-satyre, that doth show  
His fearful face in time of greatest storm,  
Huge Ziffius, whom Mariners eschew  
No less, than rocks, (as travelers inform,)  
And greedy Rosmarines with visages deform.   

All these, and thousand thousands many more,  
And more deformed Monsters thousand fold,  
With dreadful noise, and hollow rambling roar,  
Came rushing in the foamy waves enrolled,  
Which seemed to fly for fear, them to behold:  
Ne wonder, if these did the knight appall;  
For all that here on earth we dreadful hold,  
Be but as bugs to fearen babes withal,  
Compared to the creatures in the seas entrall.   

Fear nought, then said the Palmer well advised;  
For these same Monsters are not these in deed,  
But are into these fearful shapes disguised  
By that same wicked witch, to work us dread,  
And draw from on this journey to proceed.  
though lifting up his virtuous staff on high,  
He smote the sea, which calmed was with speed,  
And all that dreadful army fast 'gan fly  
Into great Tethys' bosom, where they hidden lie.   

Quit from that danger, forth their course they kept,  
And as they went, they heard a rueful cry  
Of one, that wailed and pitifully wept,  
That through the sea the resounding plaints did fly:  
At last they in an Island did espy  
A seemly Maiden, sitting by the shore,  
That with great sorrow and sad agony,  
Seemed some great misfortune to deplore,  
And loud to them for secure called evermore.   

Which Guyon hearing, straight his Palmer bad,  
To steer the boat towards that doleful maid,  
That he might know, and ease her sorrow sad:  
Who him avizing better, to him said;  
Fair Sir, be not displeased if disobeyed:  
For ill it were to hearken to her cry;  
For she is inly nothing ill apaid,  
But only womanish fine forgery,  
Your stubborn heart t'affect with frail infirmity.   

To which when she your courage hath inclined  
Through foolish pity, than her guileful bait  
She will embosomed deeper in your mind,  
And for your ruin at the last await.  
The Knight was ruled, and the boatman straight  
Held on his course with stayed steadfastness,  
Ne ever shroncke, ne ever sought to bait  
His tired arms for toilsome weariness,  
But with his oars did sweep the watery wilderness.   

And now they nigh approached to the stead,  
Where as those mermaids dwelled: it was a still  
And calmy bay, on th'one side sheltered  
With the broad shadow of an hoary hill,  
On th'other side an high rock toured still,  
That twixt them both a pleasant port they made,  
And did like an half Theatre fulfil:  
There those five sisters had continual trade,  
And used to bathe themselves in that deceitful shade.   

They were fair Ladies, till they fond strived  
With th' Heliconian maids for mastery;  
Of whom they overcomen, were deprived  
Of their proud beauty, and th'one moyity  
Transformed to fish, for their bold surquedry,  
But th'upper half their hue retained still,  
And their sweet skill in wont melody;  
Which ever after they abused to ill,  
T'allure weak traveilers, whom gotten they did kill.   

So now to Guyon, as he passed by,  
Their pleasant tunes they sweetly thus applied;  
O thou fair son of gentle fairy,  
That art in mighty arms most magnifyde  
Above all knights, that ever battle tried,  
O turn thy rudder hitherward a while:  
Here may thy storme-bett vessel safely ride;  
This is the Port of rest from troublous toil,  
The worlds sweet In, from pain & wearisome turmoil.   

With that the rolling sea resounding soft,  
In his big base them fitly answered,  
And on the rock the waves breaking aloft,  
A solemn mean unto them measured,  
The whiles sweet Zephyrus loud whistled  
His treble, a strange kind of harmony;  
Which Guyons senses softly tickled,  
That he the boatman bad row easily,  
And let him hear some part of their rare melody.   

But him the Palmer from that vanity,  
With temperate advice discounselled,  
That they it past, and shortly 'gan descry  
The land, to which their course they leveled;  
When suddenly a gross fog over spread  
With his dull vapour all that desert has,  
And heavens cheerful face enueloped,  
That all things one, and one as nothing was,  
And this great universe seemed one confused mass.   

Thereat they greatly were dismayed, ne witted  
How to direct their way in darkness wide,  
But feared to wander in that wasteful mist,  
For tumbling into mischief unespide.  
Worse is the danger hidden, then descried.  
Suddenly an innumerable flight  
Of harmful fowls about them fluttering, cried,  
And with their wicked wings them oft did smite,  
And sore annoyed, groping in that grisly night.   

Even all the nation of unfortunate  
And fatal birds about them flocked were,  
Such as by nature men abhor and hate,  
The ill-faste owl, deaths dreadful messengere,  
The hoars night-raven, trump of doleful drere,  
The lether-winged Batt, days enemy,  
The rueful Strich, still waiting on the bear,  
The whistler shrill, that who so hears, doth die,  
The hellish harpies, prophets of sad destiny.   

All those, and all that else does horror breed,  
About them flew, and filled their sails with fear:  
Yet stayed they not, but forward did proceed,  
Whiles th'one did row, and th'other stiffly steer;  
Till that at last the weather 'gan to clear,  
And the fair land itself did plainly sheow.  
Said then the Palmer Lo where does appear  
The sacred soil, where all our perils grow;  
Therefore, Sir knight, your ready arms about you throw.   

He hearkened, and his arms about him took,  
The whiles the nimble boat so well her sped,  
That with her crooked keel the land she struck,  
Then forth the noble Guyou sallied,  
And his sage Palmer, that him governed;  
But th'other by his boat behind did stay.  
They marched fayrly forth, of nought ydred,  
Both firmly armed for every hard assay,  
With constancy and care, 'gainst danger and dismay.   

Ere long they heard an hideous bellowing  
Of many beasts, that roared outrageously,  
As if that hunger's point, or Venus' sting  
Had them enraged with fell surquedry;  
Yet nought they feared, but past on hardily,  
Until they came in view of those wild beasts:  
Who all at once, gaping full greedily,  
And rearing fiercely their upstaring crests,  
Ran towards, to devour those unexpected guests.   

But soon as they approached with deadly threat,  
The Palmer over them his staff upheld,  
His mighty staff, that could all charms defeat:  
Eftsoons their stubborn courages were quelled,  
And high advanced crests down meekly field,  
Instead of fraying, they themselves did fear,  
And trembled, as them passing they beheld:  
Such wondrous power did in that staff appear,  
All monsters to subdue to him, that did it bear.   

Of that same wood it framed was cunningly,  
Of which Caduceus whilom was made,  
Caduceus the rod of Mercury,  
With which he wonts the Stygian realms invade,  
Through ghastly horror, and eternal shade;  
Th'infernal fiends with it he can assuage,  
And Orcus' tame, whom nothing can persuade,  
And rule the furies, when they most do rage:  
Such virtue in his staff had eke this Palmer sage.   

Thence passing forth, they shortly do arrive,  
Whereas the bower of bliss was situate;  
A place picked out by choice of best alive,  
That nature's work by art can imitate:  
In which what ever in this worldly state  
Is sweet, and pleasing unto living sense,  
Or that may dayntest fantasy aggrate,  
Was poured forth with plentiful dispense,  
And made there to abound with lavish affluence.   

Goodly it was enclosed round about,  
Aswell iheir entered guests to keep within,  
As those unruly beasts to hold without;  
Yet was the fence thereof but weak and thin;  
Nought feared their force, that fortilage to win,  
But wisdoms power, and temperaunces might,  
By which the migtest things efforced been:  
And eke the gate was wrought of substance light,  
Rather for pleasure, then for battery or fight.   

It framed was of precious ivory,  
That seemed a work of admirable wit;  
And therein all the famous history  
Of Jason and Medea was ywritt;  
Her mighty charms, her furious loving fit,  
His goodly conquest of the golden fleece,  
His falsed faith, and love too lightly flit,  
The wondered Argo, which in venturous piece  
First through the Euxine seas bore all the flower of Greece.   

Ye might have seen the frothy billows fry  
Under the ship, as through them she went,  
That seemed the waves were into ivory,  
Or ivory into the waves were sent;  
And otherwhere the snowy substance sprent  
With vermell, like the boy's blood therein shed,  
A piteous spectacle did represent,  
And otherwhiles with gold besprinkeled;  
It seemed then chanted flame, which did Creusa wed.   

All this, and more might in that goodly gate  
Be red; that ever open stood to all,  
Which thither came: but in the Porch their sat  
A comely parsonage of stature tall,  
And semblance pleasing, more than natural,  
That traveilers to him seemed to entize;  
His loser garment to the ground did fall,  
And flew about his heels in wanton wise,  
Not fit for speedy pace, or manly exercise.   

They in that place him Genius did call:  
Not that celestial power, to whom the care  
Of life, and generation of all  
That lives, pertains in charge particular,  
Who wondrous things concerning our welfare,  
And strange phantomes doth let us oft foresee,  
And oft of secret ill bids us beware:  
That is ourself, whom though we do not see,  
Yet each doth in himself it well perceive to be.   

Therefore a God him sage Antiquity  
Did wisely make, and good Agdistes call:  
But this same was to that quite contrary,  
The foe of life, that good envies to all,  
That secretly doth us procure to fall,  
Through guileful semblants, which he makes us see.  
He oft his Gardin had the governal,  
And pleasure's porter was devizd to be,  
Holding a stafle in hand for more formality   

With diverse flowers he daintily was decked,  
And strewed round about, and by his side  
A mighty Mazer bowl of wine was set,  
As if it had to him been sacrifide;  
Wherewith all newcome guests he gratyfide:  
So did he eke Sir Guyon passing by:  
But he his idle courtesy defied,  
And overthrew his bowl disdainfully;  
And broke his staff, with which he charmed semblantssly.   

Thus being entered, they behold arownd  
A large and spacious plain, on every side  
Strewed with pleasauns, whose fair grassy ground  
Mantled with green, and goodly beautified  
With all the ornaments of Flora's pride,  
Wherewith her mother Art, as half in scorn  
Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride  
Did deck her, and too lavishly adorn,  
When forth from virgin bout she comes in th'early morn.   

Therewith the heavens always jovial,  
looked on them lovely, still in steadfast state,  
Ne suffered storm nor frost on them to fall,  
Their tender buds or leaves to violate,  
Nor scorching heat, nor cold intemperate  
T'afflict the creatures, which therein did dwell,  
But the mild air with season moderate  
Gently attempered, and disposed so well,  
That still it breathed forth sweet spirit & wholesome smell.   

More sweet and wholesome, than the pleasant hill  
Of Rhodope, on which the nymph, that bore  
A giant babe, herself for grief did kill:  
Or the Thessalian Tempe, where of yore  
Fair Daphne Phoebus' heart with love did gore;  
Or Ida, where the Gods loved to repair,  
When ever they their heavenly bowers forlore;  
Or sweet Parnasse, the haunt of Muses fair;  
Or Eden self, if ought with Eden moat compayre.   

Much wondered Guyon at the fair aspect  
Of that sweet place, yet suffered no delight  
To sink into his sense, nor mind affect,  
But passed forth, and looked still forward right,  
Bridling his will, and maystering his might:  
Till that he came unto another gate,  
No gate, but like one, being goodly dight  
With bows and branches, which did broad dilate  
Their clasping arms, in wanton wreathe intricate.   

So fashioned a Porch with rare device,  
Arched over head with an embracing vine,  
Whose bounches hanging down, seemed to entice  
All passers by, to taste their luscious wine,  
And did themselves into their hands incline,  
As freely offering to be gathered:  
Some deep empurpled as the Hyacine,  
Some as the Rubine, laughing sweetly red,  
Some like fair emeralds, not yet well ripened.   

And them amongst, some were of burnished gold,  
So made by art, to beautify the rest,  
Which did themselves amongst the leaves enfold,  
As lurking from the view of covetous guest,  
That the weak boughs, with so rich load oppressed,  
Did bow adown, as overburdened.  
Under that Porch a comely dame did rest,  
Clad in fair weeds, but fowl disordered,  
And garments lose, that seemed unmeet for womanhood.   

In her left hand a Cup of gold she held,  
And with her right the riper fruit did reach,  
Whose sappy liquor, that with fullness swelled,  
Into her cup she scruzd, with dainty breach  
Of her fine fingers, without fowl impeach,  
That so fair winepress made the wine more sweet:  
Thereof she used to give to drink to each,  
Whom passing by she happened to meet:  
It was her guise, all strangers goodly so to greet.   

So she to Guyon offered it to taste,  
Who taking it out of her tender hand,  
The cup to ground did violently cast,  
That all in pieces it was broken fond,  
And with the liquor stained all the land:  
Whereat excess exceedinly was wroth,  
Yet no'te the same amend, ne yet withstand,  
But suffered him to pass, all were she loath;  
Who nought regarding her displeasure forward goth.   

There the most dainty Paradise on ground,  
Itself doth offer to his sobcr eye,  
In which all pleasures plenteously abownd,  
And none does others happiness ennye:  
The painted flowers, the trees upshooting high,  
The dales for shade, the hills for breathing space,  
The trembling groves, the christ all running by;  
And that, which all fair works doth most aggrace,  
The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place.   

One would have thought, (so cunningly, the rude  
And scorned parts were mingled with the fine,)  
That nature had for wantonness ensued  
Art, and that Art at nature did repine;  
So striving each th'other to undermine,  
Each did the others work more beautify;  
So differing both in wills, agreed in fine:  
So all agreed through sweet diversity,  
This Gardin to adorn with all variety.   

And in the midst of all, a fountain stood,  
Of richest substance, that on earth might be,  
So pure and shiny, that the silver flood  
Through every channel running one might see;  
Most goodly it with curious ymageree  
Was overwrought, and shapes of naked boys,  
Of which some seemed with lively jollity,  
To fly about, playing their wanton toys,  
Whilst others did themselves embay in liquid joys,   

And over all, of purest gold was spread,  
A trail of ivy in his native hue:  
For the rich metal was so coloured,  
That wight, who did not well advised it view.  
Would surely deem it to be ivy true:  
Low his lascivious arms adown did creep,  
That themselves dipping in the silver dew,  
Their fleecy flowers they fearfully did steep,  
Which drops of crystal seemed for wantonness to weep.   

Infinit streams continually did well  
Out of this fountain, sweet and fair to see,  
The which into an ample laver fell,  
And shortly grew to so great quantity,  
That like a little lake it seemed to be;  
Whose depth exceeded not three cubit's height,  
That through the waves one might the bottom see,  
All paved beneath with jasper shining bright,  
That seemed the fountain in that sea did sail upright.   

And all the margin round about was set,  
With shady laurel trees, thence to defend  
The sunny beams, which on the billows bet,  
And those which therein bathed, moat offend:  
As Guyon happened by the same to wend,  
Two naked Damzelles he therein espied,  
Which therein bathing, seemed to contend,  
And wrestle wanton, ne cared to hide,  
Their dainty parts from view of any, which them eyed.   

Sometimes the one would lift the other quite  
Above the waters, and then down again  
Her plong, as over mastered by might,  
Where both awhile would covered remain,  
And each the other from to rise restrain;  
The whiles their snowy limbs, as through a vele,  
So through the crystal waves appeared plain:  
Then suddenly both would themselves unhele,  
And th'amorous ' sweet spoils to greedy eyes reveal.   

As that fair star, the messenger of morn,  
His dewy face out of the sea doth rear:  
Or as the Cyprian goddess, newly borne  
Of th'ocean's fruitful froth, did first appear:  
Such seemed they, and so their yellow hear  
Crystalline humour dropped down apace.  
Whom such when Guyon saw, he drew him near,  
And some what 'gan relent his earnest pace;  
His stubborn breast 'gan sccret pleasance to embrace.   

The wanton Maidens him espying, stood  
Gazing a while at his unwonted guise;  
Than th'one herself low ducked in the flood,  
Abashed, that her a stranger did advise:  
But tother rather higher did arise,  
And her two lily paps aloft displayed,  
And all, that might his melting heart entice  
To her delights, she unto him bewrayed:  
The rest hid underneath, him more desirous made.   

With that, the other likewise up arose,  
And her fair locks, which formerly were bound  
up in one knot, she low adown did lose:  
Which flowing long and thick, her clothed arownd,  
And th'ivory in golden mantle gownd:  
So that fair spectacle from him was reft,  
Yet that, which reft it, no less fair was found:  
So hid in locks and waves from looker's theft,  
Nought but her lovely face she for his looking left.   

Withal she laughed, and she blushed withal,  
That blushing to her laughter gave more grace,  
And laughter to her blushing, as did fall:  
Now when they spied the knight to slack his pace,  
Them to behold, and in his sparkling face  
The secret signs of kindled lust appear,  
Their wanton merriments they did increase,  
And to him beckoned, to approach more near,  
And showed him many sights, that courage cold could rear.   

On which when gazing him the Palmer saw,  
He much rebuked those wandering eyes of his,  
And counselled well, him forward thence did draw.  
Now are they come nigh to the Bower of bliss  
Of her fond favourites so named amiss:  
When thus the Palmer, Now Sir, well advise;  
For here the end of all our travail is:  
Here wonnes Acrasia, whom we must surprise,  
Else she will slip away, and all our drift despise.   

eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound,  
Of all that more delight a dainty ear,  
Such as at once might not on living ground,  
Save in this Paradise, be heard elsewhere:  
Right hard it was, for wight, which did it hear,  
To read, what manner music that moat be:  
For all that pleasing is to living ear,  
Was there consorted in one harmony,  
Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree.   

The joyous birds shrouded in cheerful shade,  
Their notes unto the voice attempered sweet;  
Th'angelical soft trembling voices made  
To th'instruments divine respondence meet:  
The silver sounding instruments did meet  
With the base murmur of the waters fall:  
The waters fall with difference discreet,  
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call:  
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.   

There, whence that music seemed heard to be,  
Was the fair Witch herself now solacing,  
With a new lover, whom through sorcery  
And witchcraft, she from far did thither bring:  
There she had him now laid a slombering,  
In secret shade, after long wanton joys:  
Whilst round about them pleasantly did sing  
Many fair Ladies, and lascivious boys,  
That ever mixed their song with light licentious toys.   

And all that while, right over him she hung,  
With her false eyes fast fixed in his sight,  
As seeking medicine, whence she was stung,  
Or greedily depasturing delight:  
And oft inclining down with kisses light,  
For fear of waking him, his lips bedewed,  
And through his humid eyes did suck his sprite,  
Quite melted into lust and pleasure lewd;  
Wherewith she sighed soft, as if his case she rued.   

The whiles some one did chant this lovely lay;  
Ah see, who so fair thing dost feign to see,  
In springing flower the image of thy day;  
Ah see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly she  
Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty,  
That fairer seems, the less ye see her may;  
Lo see soon after, how more bold and free  
Her bared bosom she doth broad display;  
Lo see soon after, how she fades, and falls away.   

So passeth, in the passing of a day,  
Of mortal life the leaf, the bud, the flower,  
Ne more doth flourish after first decay,  
That erst was sought to deck both bed and bower,  
Of many a Lady, and many a paramour:  
Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime,  
For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower:  
Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time,  
Whilst loving thou mayst loved be with equal crime.   

He ceased, and then 'gan all the choir of birds  
Their diverse notes t'attune unto his lay,  
As in approvaunce of his pleasing words.  
The constant pair heard all, that he did say,  
Yet swerved not, but kept their forward way,  
Through many covert groves, and thickets close,  
In which they creeping did at last display  
Thot wanton Lady, with her lover lose,  
Whose sleepy head she in her lap did soft dispose.   

Upon a bed of Roses she was laid,  
As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin,  
And was arrayed, or rather disarrayed,  
All in a vele of silk and silver thin,  
That hide no whit her alabaster skin,  
But rather showed more white, if more might be:  
More subtle web Arachne cannot spin,  
Not the fine nets, which oft we woven see  
Of scorched dew, do not in th'air more lightly flee.   

Her snowy breast was bare to ready spoil  
Of hungry eyes, which n'ote therewith be filled,  
And yet through languour of her late sweet toil,  
Few drops, more clear than Nectar, forth distilled,  
That like pure Orient pearls adown it trilled,  
And her fair eyes sweet smile in delight,  
Moistened their fiery beams, with which she thrilled  
Frail hearts, yet quenched not; like starry light  
Which sparkling on the silent waves, does seem more bright.   

The young man sleeping by her, seemed to be  
Some goodly swain of honourable place,  
That certes it great pity was to see  
Him his nobility so fowl deface;  
A sweet regard, and amiable grace,  
Mixed with manly sternness did appear  
Yet sleeping, in his well proportioned face,  
And on his tender lips the downy hear  
Did now but freshly spring, and silken blossoms bear.   

His warlike arms, the idle instruments  
Of sleeping praise, were hung upon a tree,  
And his brave shield, full of old monuments,  
Was foully ra'st; that none the signs might see,  
Ne for them, ne for honour cared he,  
Ne ought, that did to his advancement tend,  
But in lewd loves, and wasteful luxuree,  
His days, his goods, his body he did spend:  
O horrible enchantment, that him so did blend.   

The noble elf, and careful Palmer drew  
So nigh them, minding nought, but lustful game,  
That sudden forth they on them rushed, and threw  
A subtle net, which only for that same  
The skilful Palmer formally did frame.  
So held them under fast, the whiles the rest  
Fled all away for fear of fouler shame.  
The fair enchantress, so unwares oppressed,  
Tried all her arts, & all her sleights, thence out to wrest.   

And eke her lover strove: but all in vain;  
For that same net so cunningly was wound,  
That neither guile, nor force might it distrain.  
They took them both, & both them strongly bound  
In captive bands, which there they ready found:  
But her in chains of adamant he tied;  
For nothing else might keep her safe and sound;  
But Verdant (so he hight) he soon untyde,  
And counsel sage in steed thereof to him applied,   

But all those pleasant bowers and palace brave,  
Guyon broke down, with rigour pitiless;  
Ne ought their goodly workmanship might save  
Them from the tempest of his wrathfulness,  
But that their bliss he turned to balefulnesse:  
Their groves he field, their gardens did deface,  
Their arbers' spoil, their Cabinets suppress,  
Their banquet houses burn, their buildings race,  
And of the fairest late, now made the foulest place.   

Then led they her away, and cke that knight  
They with them led, both sorrowful and sad:  
The way they came, the same returned they right,  
Till they arrived, where they lately had  
Charmed those wildbeasts, that raged with fury mad.  
Which now awaking, fierce at them 'gan fly,  
As in their mistress rescue, whom they lad;  
But them the Palmer soon did pacify.  
Then Guyon asked, what meant those beasts, which there did ly.   

Said he, these seeming beasts are men indeed,  
Whom this enchantress hath transformed thus,  
Whilom her lovers, which her lusts did feed,  
Now turned into figures hideous,  
According to their minds like monstrous.  
Sad end (quoth he) of life intemperate,  
And mournful meed of joys delicious:  
But Palmer, if it moat thee so aggrate,  
Let them returned be unto their former state.   

Straight way he with his virtuous staff them struck,  
And straight of beasts they comely men became;  
Yet being men they did unmanly look,  
And stared ghastly, some for inward shame,  
And some for wrath, to see their captive Dame:  
But one above the rest in special,  
That had an hog been late, hight Grylle by name,  
repined greatly, and did him miscall,  
That had from hoggish form him brought to natural.   

Said Guyon, See the mind of beastly man,  
That hath so soon forgot the excellence  
Of his creation, when he life began,  
That now he chooseth, with vile difference,  
To be a beast, and lack intelligence.  
To whom the Palmer thus, The dunghill kind  
Delights in filth and fowl incontinence:  
Let Gryll be Gryll, and have his hoggish mind;  
But let us hence departed, whilst wether serves & wind.     

The third book of the fairy Queen. Containing The Legend of Britomartis. OR Of Chastity.  

IT falls me here to write of Chastity.  
The fairest virtue, far above the rest;  
For which what needs me fetch from fairy  
Foreign ensamples, it to have expressed?  
Sith it is shrined in my sovereign's breast,  
And formed so lively in each perfect part,  
That to all Ladies, which have it professed,  
Need but behold the portrait of her heart,  
If portrayed it might be by any living art.   

But living art may not least part express,  
Nor life-resembling pencil it can paint,  
All were it Zeuxis or Praxitcles:  
His daedale hand would fail, and greatly faint,  
And her perfections with his error taint:  
Ne Poets wit, that passeth Painter far  
In picturing the parts of beauty dainty,  
So hard a workmanship adventure dare,  
For fear through want of words her excellence to mar.   

How then shall I, Apprentice of the skill,  
That whilom in divinest wits did rain,  
Presume so high to stretch mine humble quill?  
Yet now my luckless lot doth me constrain  
Hereto perforce. But O dredd sovereign  
Thus far forth pardon, sith that choicest wit  
Cannot your glorious portrait figure plain,  
That I in coloured shows may shadow itt,  
And antic praises unto present persons fit.   

But if in living colours, and right hue,  
Thyself thou covet to see pictured,  
Who can it do more lively, or more true,  
Then that sweet verse, with Nectar sprinkled,  
In which a gracious servant pictured  
His Cynthia, his heavens fairest light?  
That with his melting sweetness ravished,  
And with the wonder of her beams bright,  
My senses lulled are in slumber of delight.   

But let that same delicious Poet lend  
A little leave unto a rustic Muse  
To sing his mistress praise, and let him mend,  
If ought amiss her liking may abuse:  
Ne let his fairest Cynthia refuse,  
In mirrors more than one herself to see,  
But either Glorian a let her choose,  
Or in Belphoebe fashioned to be:  
In th'one her rule, in th'other her rare chastity.   

Cant. I.  

Guyon encountereth Britomart,  
Fair Florimell is chased:  
duessa's trains and materasta's  
champions are defaced.   

THe famous Briton Prince and fairy knight,  
After long ways and perilous pains endured,  
Having their weary limbs to perfect plight  
Restored, and sorry wounds right well recured,  
Of the fair Alma greatly were procured,  
To make there longer sojourn and abode;  
But when thereto they might not be allured,  
From seeking praise, and deeds of arms abroad,  
They courteous congee took, and forth together yode.   

But the captived Acrasia he sent,  
Because of travail long, a nigher way,  
With a strong guard, all rescue to prevent,  
And her to fairy court safe to convey,  
That her for witness of his hard assay,  
Unto his fairy Queen he might present:  
But he himself betook another way,  
To make more trial of his hardiment,  
And seek adventures, as he with Prince Arthure went.   

Long so they travailed through wasteful ways,  
Where dangers dwelled, and perils most did won,  
To hunt for glory and renowned praise;  
Full many countries they did overronne,  
From the uprising to the setting sun,  
And many hard adventures did achieve;  
Of all the which they honour ever won,  
Seeking the weak oppressed to relieve,  
And to recover right for such, as wrong did grieve.   

At last as through an open plain they yode,  
They spied a knight, that towards pricked fair,  
And him beside an aged Squire there road,  
That seemed to couch under his shield threesquare,  
As if that age bad him that burden spare,  
And yield it those, that stouter could it wield:  
He them espying, 'gan himself prepare,  
And on his arm address his goodly shield  
That bore a Lion passant in a golden field.   

Which seeing good Sir Guyon, dear besought  
The Prince of grace, to let him run that turn.  
He granted: then the fairy quickly reached  
His poignant spear, and sharply 'gan to spurn  
His foamy steed, whose fiery feet did burn  
The verdant grass, as he thereon did tread;  
Ne did the other back his foot return,  
But fiercely forward came withouten dread,  
And bent his dreadful spear against the others head.   

They been ymett, and both their points arrived,  
But Guyon drove so furious and fell,  
That seemed both shield and plate it would have rived;  
Nevertheless it bore his foe not from his cell,  
Rutilio made him stagger, as he were not well:  
But Guyon self, ere well he was aware,  
Nigh a spears length behind his crupper fell,  
Yet in his fall so well himself he bore,  
That mischievous mischance his life & limbs did spare.   

Great shame and sorrow of that fall he took;  
For never yet, sith warlike arms he bore,  
And shivering spear in bloody field first shook,  
He found himself dishonoured so sore.  
Ah gentlest knight, that ever armour bore,  
Let not the grieve dismounted to have been,  
And brought to ground, that never wast before;  
For not thy fault, but secret power unseen,  
That spear enchanted was, which laid thee on the green.   

But weenedst thou, what wight thee overthrew,  
Much greater grief and shamefuller regrett  
For thy hard fortune than thou wouldst renew,  
That of a single damsel thou wert met  
On equal plain, and there so hard beset;  
Even the famous Britomart it was,  
Whom strange adventnre did from Britain fett,  
To seek her lover (love far sought alas,)  
Whose image she had seen in Venus looking glass.   

Full of disdainful wrath, he fierce uprose,  
For to revenge that fowl reproachful shame,  
And snatching his bright sword began to close  
With her on foot, and stoutly forward came;  
die rather would he, then endure that same.  
Which when his Palmer saw, he 'gan to fear  
His toward peril and untoward blame,  
Which by that new rencontre he should rear:  
For death sat on the point of that enchanted spear.   

And hasting towards him 'gan fair persuade,  
Not to provoke misfortune, nor to ween  
His spears default to mend with cruel blade;  
For by his mighty Science he had seen  
The secret virtue of that weapon keen,  
That mortal puissance moat not withstand:  
Nothing on earth moat always happy been.  
Great hazard were it, and adventure fond,  
To lose long gotten honour with one evil hand.   

By such good means he him discounselled,  
From prosecuting his revenging rage;  
And eke the Prince like treaty handled,  
His wrathful will with reason to assuage,  
And laid the blame, not to his carriage,  
But to his starting steed, that swerved aside,  
And to the ill purveyance of his page,  
That had his furnitures not firmly tied:  
So is his angry courage fayrly pacified.   

Thus reconcilement was between them knit,  
Through goodly temperance, and affection chaste,  
And either vowed with all their power and wit,  
To let not others honour be defaced,  
Offriend or foe, who ever it embaste,  
Ne arms to bear against the others side:  
In which accord the Prince was also placed,  
And with that golden chain of concord tide.  
So goodly all agreed, they forth yfere did ride,   

O goodly usage of those antic times,  
In which the sword was servant unto right;  
When not for malice and contentious crimes,  
But all for praise, and proof of manly might,  
The martial brood accustomed to fight:  
Then honour was the meed of victory,  
And yet the vanquished had no despite:  
Let later age that noble use envy,  
Vile rancour to avoid, and cruel surquedry.   

Long they thus travailed in friendly wise,  
Through countries waste, and eke well edified,  
Seeking adventures hard, to exercise  
Their puissance, whilom full dernly tried:  
At length they came into a forest wide,  
Whose hideous horror and sad trembling sound  
Full grisly seemed: Therein they long did ride,  
Yet tract of living creature none they found,  
Save bears, lions, & bulls, which rome them arownd.   

All suddenly out of the thickest brush,  
Upon a milk-white Palfrey all alone,  
A goodly Lady did forbye them rush,  
Whose face did seem as clear as crystal stone,  
And eke through fear as white as whales bone:  
Her garments all were wrought of beaten gold,  
And all her steed with tinsel trappings shone,  
Which fled so fast, that nothing moat him hold,  
And scarce them leisure gave, her passing to behold.   

Still as she fled, her eye she backward threw,  
As fearing evil, that poursewd her fast;  
And her fair yellow locks behind her flew,  
Loosely dispersed with puff of every blast:  
All as a blazing star doth far outcast  
His hairy beams, and flaming locks dispredd,  
At sight whereof the people stand aghast:  
But the sage wizard tells, as he has red,  
That it importunes death and doleful dreryhedd.   

So as they gazed after her a while,  
Lo where a grisly foster forth did rush,  
Breathing out beastly lust her to defile:  
His tyreling jade he fiercely forth did push,  
Through thick and thin, both over bank and bush  
In hope her to attain by hook or crook,  
That from his gory sides the blood did gush:  
Large were his limbs, and terrible his look,  
And in his clownish hand a sharp bore spear he shook.   

Which outrage when those gentle knights did see,  
Full of great envy and fell gealosy,  
They stayed not to advise, who first should be,  
But all spurred after fast, as they moat fly,  
To rescue her from shameful villainy.  
The Prince and Guyon equally bylive  
Herself pursewd, in hope to win thereby  
Most goodly meed, the fairest Dame alive:  
But after the foul foster Timias did strive.   

The whiles fair Britomart, whose constant mind,  
Would not so lightly follow beauty's chase,  
Ne recked of Lady's love, did stay behind,  
And them awaited there a certain space,  
To weet if they would turn back to that place:  
But when she saw them gone, she forward went,  
As lay her journey, through that perilous Pace,  
With steadfast courage and stout hardiment;  
Ne evil thing she feared, ne evil thing she meant.   

At last as nigh out of the wood she came,  
A stately Castle far away she spied,  
To which her steps directly she did frame.  
That Castle was most goodly edifyde,  
And placed for pleasure nigh that forest side:  
But fair before the gate a spacious plain,  
Mantled with green, itself did spredden wide,  
On which she saw six knights, that did darrayne  
Fires battle against one, with cruel might and main.   

Mainly they all at once upon him laid,  
And sore beset on every side arownd,  
That nigh he breathless grew, yet nought dismayed,  
Ne ever to them yielded foot of ground  
All had he lost much blood through many a wownd,  
But stoutly dealt his blows, and every way  
To which he turned in his wrathful stound,  
Made them recoil, and fly from dredd decay,  
That none of all the six before, him durst assay.   

Like dastard curs, that having at a bay  
The salvage beast embossed in weary chase,  
Dare not adventure on the stubborn prey,  
Ne bite before, but room from place to place,  
To get a snatch, when turned is his face.  
In such distress and doubtful jeopardy,  
When Britomart him saw, she ran apace  
Unto his rescue, and with earnest cry,  
Bad those same six forbear that single enemy.   

But to her cry they list not lenden ear,  
Ne ought the more their mighty strokes surcease,  
But gathering him round about more near,  
Their direful rancour rather did increase;  
Till that she rushing through the thickest press,  
Perforce disparted their compacted gyre,  
And soon compelled to hearken unto peace:  
though 'gan she mildly of them to inquire  
The cause of their dissension and outrageous ire.   

Whereto that single knight did answer frame;  
These six would I enforce by odds of might,  
To change my lief, and love another Dame,  
That death me liefer were, than such despite,  
So unto wrong to yield my wrested right:  
For I love one, the truest one on ground,  
Ne list me change; she th' Errant damsel hight,  
For whose dear sake full many a bitter stound,  
I have endured, and tasted many a bloody wownd.   

Certes (said she) then been ye six to blame,  
To ween your wrong by force to justify:  
For knight to leave his Lady were great shame,  
That faithful is, and better were to die.  
All loss is less, and less the infamy,  
Then loss of love to him, that loves but one;  
Ne may love be compelled by mastery;  
For soon as mastery comes, sweet love anon  
Taketh his nimble wings, and soon away is gone.   

Then spoke one of those six, There dwelleth here  
Within this castle wall a Lady fair,  
Whose sovereign beauty hath no living peer,  
Thereto so bounteous and so debonair,  
That never any mote with her compayre.  
She hath ordained this law, which we approve,  
That every knight, which doth this way repair,  
In case he have no Lady, nor no love,  
Shall do unto her service never to remove.   

But if he have a Lady or a love,  
Then must he her forego with fowl defame,  
Or else with us by dint of sword approve,  
That she is fairer, than our fairest Dame,  
As did this knight, before ye hither came.  
pardie (said Britomart) the choice is hard:  
But what reward had he, that overcame?  
He should advanced be to high regard,  
(Said they) and have our Lady's love for his reward.   

Therefore a read Sir, if thou have a love.  
Love have I sure, (quoth she) but Lady none;  
Yet will I not fro mine own love remove,  
Ne to your Lady will I service done,  
But wreak your wrongs wrought to this knight alone,  
And prove his cause. With that her mortal spear  
She mightily aventred towards one,  
And down him smote, ere well aware he wear,  
Then to the next she road, & down the next did bear.   

Ne did she stay, till three on ground she laid,  
That none of them himself could rear again;  
The fourth was by that other knight dismayed,  
All were he weary of his former pain,  
That now there do but two of six remain;  
Which two did yield, before she did them smite.  
Ah (said she then) now may ye all see plain,  
That truth is strong, and true love most of might,  
That for his trusty servants doth so strongly fight,   

Too well we see, (said they) and prove too well  
Our faulty weakness, and your matchless might:  
For thy, fair Sir, yours be the Damozell,  
Which by her own law to your lot doth light,  
And we your liegemen faith unto you plight.  
So underneath her feet their swords they shared,  
And after her besought, well as they might,  
To enter in, and reap the due reward:  
She granted, and then in they all together fared.   

Long were it to describe the goodly frame,  
And stately port of Castle joyeous,  
(For so that Castle hight by common name)  
Where they were entertained with courteous  
And comely glee of many gracious  
Fair Ladies, and of many a gentle knight,  
Who through a Chamber long and spacious,  
eftsoons them brought unto their Lady's sight,  
That of them cleped was the Lady of delight.   

But for to tell the sumptuous array  
Of that great chamber, should be labour lost:  
For living wit, I ween, cannot display  
The royal riches and exceeding cost,  
Of every pillar and of every post;  
Which all of purest bullion framed were,  
And with great pearls and precious stones embossed,  
That the bright glister of their beams clear  
Did sparkle forth great light, and glorious did appear.   

These stranger knights through passing, forth were led  
Into an inner room, whose royalty  
And rich purveyance might uneath be red;  
Moat princes' place be seem so decked to be.  
Which stately manner when as they did see,  
The image of superstitious riotize,  
Exceeding much the state of mean degree,  
They greatly wondered, whence so sumptuous guise  
Might be maintained, and each 'gan diversely devise.   

The walls were round about appareled  
With costly clothes of Arras and of tour,  
In which with cunning hand was pourtrahed  
The love of Venus and her paramour,  
The fair Adonis, turned to a flower,  
A work of rare device, and wondrous wit.  
First did it show the bitter baleful stowre,  
Which her assayed with many a fervent fit,  
When first her tender heart was with his beauty smit.   

Then with what sleights and sweet allurements she  
Entyst the Boy, as well that art she knew,  
And wooed him her paramour to be;  
Now making garlands of each flower that grew,  
To crown his golden locks with honour dew;  
Now leading him into a secret shade  
From his Beauperes, and from bright heavens view,  
Where him to sleep she gently would persuade,  
Or bathe him in a fountain by some covert glade.   

And whilst he slept, she over him would spread  
Her mantle, coloured like the starry skies,  
And her soft arm lay underneath his head,  
And with ambrosial kisses bathe his eyes;  
And whilst he bathed, with her two crafty spies,  
She secretly would search each dainty limb,  
And throw into the well sweet Rosemaryes,  
And fragrant violets, and pances trim,  
And ever with sweet Nectar she did sprinkle him.   

So did she steal his heedless heart away,  
And joyed his love in secret unespyde.  
But for she saw him bend to cruel play,  
To hunt the salvage beast in forest wide,  
Dreadful of danger, that mote him betide,  
She oft and oft advised him to refrain  
From chase of greater beasts, whose brutish pride  
might breed him scathe unwares: but all in vain;  
For who can shun the chance, that destiny doth ordain?   

Lo, where beyond he lieth languishing,  
Deadly engored of a great wild boar,  
And by his side the goddess groveling  
Makes for him endless moan, and evermore  
With her soft garment wipes away the gore,  
Which stains his snowy skin with hateful hue:  
But when she saw no help might him restore,  
Him to a dainty flower she did transmew,  
Which in that cloth was wrought, as if it lively grew.   

So was that chamber clad in goodly wise,  
And round about it many beds were dight,  
As whilom was the antic worlds guise,  
Some for untimely ease, some for delight,  
As pleased them to use, that use it might:  
And all was full of damsels, and of squires,  
Dancing and reveling both day and night,  
And swimming deep in sensual desires,  
And Cupid still amongst them kindled lustful fires.   

And all the while sweet music did divide  
Her loser notes with Lydian harmony;  
And all the while sweet birds thereto applied  
Their dainty lays and dulcet melody,  
Ay carolling of love and jollity,  
That wonder was to hear their trim consort.  
Which when those knights beheld, with scornful eye,  
They sdeigned such lascivious disport,  
And loathed the lose demeanour of that wanton sort.   

Thence they were brought to that great Ladies view,  
Whom they found sitting on a sumptuous bed,  
That glistered all with gold and glorious show,  
As the proud Persian Queens accustomed:  
She seemed a woman of great bountihed,  
And of rare beauty, saving that askance  
Her wanton eyes, ill signs of womanhood,  
Did roll too highly, and too often glance,  
Without regard of grace, or comely amenaunce.   

Long work it were, and needless to devise  
Their goodlv entertainment and great glee:  
She caused them be led in courteous wise  
Into a bower, disarmed for to be,  
And cheered well with wine and spicery:  
The Redcrosse Knight was soon disarmed there,  
But the brave maid would not disarmed be,  
But only vented up her umbriere,  
And so did let her goodly visage to appear.   

Asn when fair Cynthia, in darksome night,  
Is in a noyous cloud enueloped,  
Where she may find the substance thin and light,  
Breaks forth her silver beams, and her bright head  
Discovers to the world discomfited;  
Of the poor traveller, that went astray,  
With thousand blessings she is heried;  
Such was the beauty and the shining ray,  
With which fair Britomart gave light unto the day.   

And eke those six, which lately with her fought,  
Now were disarmed, and did themselves present  
Unto her view, and company unsought;  
For they all seemed courteous and gent,  
And all six brethren, borne of one parent,  
Which had them trained in all civility,  
And goodly taught to tilt and tournament;  
Now were they liegemen to this Lady free,  
And her knight's service ought, to hold of her in see.   

The first of them by name Gardante hight,  
A jolly person, and of comely view;  
The second was Parlante, a bold knight,  
And next to him Jocante did ensue;  
Basciante did himself most courteous show;  
But fierce Bacchante seemed too fell and keen;  
And yet in arms Noctante greater grew:  
All were fair knights, and goodly well beseen,  
But to fair Britomart they all but shadows been.   

For she was full of amiable grace,  
And manly terror mixed therewithal,  
That as the one stirred up affections base,  
So th'other did men's rash desires appall,  
And hold them back, that would in error fall;  
As he, that hath espied a vermeill Rose,  
To which sharp thorns and briars the way forstall,  
Dare not for dread his hardy hand expose,  
But wishing it far off, his idle wish doth lose.   

Whom when the Lady saw so fair a wight.  
All ignorant of her contrary sex,  
(For she her weaned a fresh and lusty knight)  
She greatly 'gan enamoured to wax,  
And with vain thoughts her falsed fancy vex:  
Her fickle heart conceived hasty fire,  
Like sparks of fire, that fall in slender flex,  
That shortly brent into extreme desire,  
And ransacked all her veins with passion entire.   

eftsoons she grew to great impatience  
And into terms of open outrage burst,  
That plain discovered her incontinence,  
Ne recked she, who her meaning did mistrust;  
For she was given all to fleshly lust,  
And poured forth in sensual delight,  
That all regard of shame she had discussed,  
And meet respect of honour put to flight:  
So shameless beauty soon becomes a loathly sight.   

Fair Ladies, that to love captived are,  
And chaste desires do nourish in your mind,  
Let not her fault your sweet affections mar,  
Ne blot the bounty of all womankind;  
Amongst thousands good one wanton Dame to find:  
Amongst the Roses grow some wicked weeds;  
For this was not to love, but lust inclined;  
For love does always bring forth bounteous deeds,  
And in each gentle heart desire of honour breeds.   

Nought so of love this loser Dame did skill,  
But as a coal to kindle fleshly flame,  
Giving the bridle to her wanton will,  
And treading under foot her honest name:  
Such Jove is hate, and such desire is shame.  
Still did she rove at her with crafty glance  
Of her false eyes, that at her heart did aim,  
And told her meaning in her countenance;  
But Britomart dissembled it with ignorance.   

Supper was shortly dight and down they sat,  
Where they were served with all sumptuous fare,  
Whiles fruitful Ceres, and Lyaeus fat  
Poured out their plenty, without spite or spare:  
Nought wanted there, that dainty was and rare;  
And aye the cups their banks did overflow,  
And aye between the cups, she did prepare  
Way to her love, and secret darts did throw;  
But Britomart would not such guileful message know.   

So when they slaked had the fervent heat  
Of appetite with meats of every sort,  
The Lady did fair Britomart entreat,  
Her to disarm, and with delightful sport  
To lose her warlike limbs and strong effort,  
But when she moat not thereunto be won,  
(For she her sex under that strange purport  
Did use to hide, and plain appearance shun:)  
In plainer wise to tell her grievance she begun.   

And all at once discovered her desire  
With sighs, and sobs, and plaints, & piteous grief  
The outward sparks of her inburning fire;  
Which spent in vain, at last she told her brief,  
That but if she did lend her short relief,  
And do her comfort, she moat algates die.  
But the chaste damsel, that had never proof  
Of such malengine and fine forgery,  
Did easily believe her strong extremity.   

Full easy was for her to have belief,  
Who by self-feeling of her feeble sex,  
And by long trial of the inward grief,  
Where with imperious love her heart did vex,  
Can judge what pains do loving hearts perplex.  
Who means no guile, beguiled soonest shall,  
And to fair semblance doth light faith annex;  
The bird, that knows not the false fowlers call,  
Into his hidden net full easily doth fall.   

For thy she would not in discourteise wise,  
Scorn the fair offer of good will professed;  
For great rebuke it is, loan to despise,  
Or rudely fdeigne a gentle heart's request;  
But with fair countenance, as beseemed best,  
Her entertained; nath'less she inly deemed  
Her love too light, to woo a wandering guest:  
Which she misconstruing, thereby esteemed  
That from like inward fire that outward smoke had steemd.   

Therewith a while she her flit fancy fed,  
Till she moat win fit time for her desire,  
But yet her wound still inward freshly bled,  
And through her bones the false instilled fire  
Did spread itself, and venom close inspire.  
though were the tables taken all away,  
And every knight, and every gentle Squire  
'Gan choose his dame with Basciano gay,  
With whom he meant to make his sport & courtly play.   

Some fell to dance, some fell to hazardry,  
Some to make love, some to make merriment,  
As diverse wits to diverse things apply;  
And all the while fair Malecasta bent  
Her crafty engines to her close intent.  
By this th'eternal lamps, wherewith high Jove  
Doth light the lower world, were half yspent,  
And the moist daughters of huge Atlas strove  
Into the Ocean deep to drive their weary drove.   

High time it seemed then for every wight  
Them to betake unto their kindly rest;  
Eftsoons long waxed torches weren light,  
Unto their bowers to guyden every guest:  
though when the Britonesse saw all the rest  
Avoided quite, she 'gan herself despoil,  
And safe commit to her soft feathered nest,  
Where through long watch, & late days weary toil,  
She sound slept, & careful thoughts did quite assoil.   

Now whenas all the world in silence deep  
Y shrouded was, and every mortal wight  
Was drowned in the depth of deadly sleep,  
Fair Malecasta, whose engrieved sprite  
Can find no rest in such perplexed plight,  
Lightly arose out of her weary bed,  
And under the black vele of guilty Night,  
Her with a scatlott mantle covered,  
That was with gold and Ermines fair enueloped.   

Then panting soft, and trembling every joint,  
Her fearful feet towards the bower she moved.  
Where she for secret purpose did appoint  
To lodge the warlike maid unwisely loved,  
And to her bed approaching, first she proved,  
Whether she slept or waked, with her soft hand  
She softly felt, if any member moved,  
And lent her weary ear to understand,  
If any puff of breath, or sign of sense she fond.   

Which whenas none she fond, with easy shift,  
For fear least her unwares she should abraid,  
Th'embroidered quilt she lightly up did lift,  
And by her side herself she softly laid,  
Of every finest fingers touch afraid;  
Ne any noise she made, ne word she spoke.  
But inly sighed. At last the royal maid  
Out of her quiet slumber did awake,  
And changed her weary side, the better ease to take.   

Where feeling one close couched by her side,  
She lightly leapt out of her filled bed,  
And to her weapon ran, in mind to gride  
The loathed leachour. But the Dame half dedd  
Through sudden fear and ghastly drerihedd,  
Did shriek aloud, that through the house it rung,  
And the whole family there with adredd,  
Rashly out of their roused couches sprung,  
And to the troubled chamber all in arms did throng.   

And those six knights that ladies Champions,  
And eke the Redcrosse knight ran to the stound,  
Half armed and half unarmed, with them at once:  
Where when confusedly they came, they found  
Their lady lying on the senseless ground;  
On tother side, they saw the warlike maid  
Al in her snowwhite smock, with locks unbownd,  
Threatening the point of her avenging blaed,  
That with so troublous terror they were all dismayed.   

About their Lady first they flocked arownd,  
Whom having laid in comfortable couch,  
Shortly they reared out of her frozen swoon;  
And after wards they 'gan with fowl reproach  
To stir up strife and troublous contecke broach:  
But by ensample of the last days loss,  
None of them rashly durst to her approach,  
Ne in so glorious spoil themselves embosse,  
Her succoured eke the Champion of the bloody Crosse.   

But one of those six knights, Gardante hight,  
Drew out a deadly bow and arrow keen,  
Which forth he sent with felonous despite,  
And fell intent against the virgin sheen:  
The mortal steel stayed not, till it was seen  
To gore her side, yet was the wound not deep,  
But lightly razed her soft silken skin,  
That drops of purple blood thereout did weep,  
Which did her lily smock with stains of vermilion steep.   

Where with enraged, she fiercely at them flew,  
And with her flaming sword about her laid,  
That none of them foul mischief could eschew,  
But with her dreadful strokes were all dismayed:  
Here, there, and every where about her swayed  
Her wrathful steel, that none moat it abide;  
And eke the Redcrosse knight gave her good aid,  
Ayjoining foot to foot, and side to side,  
That in short space their foes they have quite terrifyde.   

though whenas all were put to shameful flight,  
The noble Britomartis her arrayed,  
And her bright arms about her body dight:  
For nothing would she longer there be stayed,  
Where so lose life, and so ungentle trade  
Was used of knighcs and Ladies seeming gent:  
So early ere the gross earths gryesy shade,  
Was all dispersed out of the firmament,  
They took their steeds, & forth upon their journey went    

Cant. II.  

The Redcrosse knight to Britomart  
describeth Artegall:  
The wondrous myrrhour, by which she  
in love with him did fall.   

HEre have I cause in men just blame to find,  
That in their proper praise too partial be,  
And not indifferent to woman kind,  
To whom no share in arms and chivalry,  
They do impart, ne maken memory  
Of their brave gests and prowess martial;  
Scarce do they spare to one or two or three,  
Room in their writs; yet the same writing small  
Does all their deeds deface, and dims their glories all,   

But by record of antic times I find,  
That women wont in wars to bear most sway,  
And to all great exploits themselves inclined:  
Of which they still the garland bore away,  
Till envious Men fearing their rules decay,  
'Gan coin straight laws to curb their liberty,  
Yet sith they warlike arms have laid away,  
They have excelled in arts and policy,  
That now we foolish men that praise gi'en eke t'envy.   

Of warlike puissance in ages spent,  
Be thou fair Britomart, whose praise I write,  
But of all wisdom be thou precedent,  
O sovereign Queen, whose praise I would indite,  
Indite I would as duty doth excite;  
But ah my rhymes to rude and rugged are,  
When in so high an object they do light,  
And striving, fit to make, I fear do mar:  
Thyself thy praises tell, and make them known far.   

She traveling with Guyon by the way,  
Of sundry things fair purpose 'gan to find,  
T'abridg their journey long, and lingering day;  
'mongst which it fell into that fairy's mind,  
To ask this Briton Maid, what uncouth wind,  
Brought her into those parts, and what inquest  
Made her dissemble her disguised kind:  
Fair Lady she him seemed, like Lady dressed,  
But fairest knight alive, when armed was her breast.   

Thereat she sighing softly, had no power  
To speak a while, ne ready answer make,  
But with hart-thrilling throbs and bitter stowre,  
As if she had a fever fit, did quake,  
And every dainty limb with horror shake,  
And ever and anon the rosy red,  
Flashed through her face, as it had been a flake  
Of lightning, through bright heaven fulmined;  
At last the passion passed she thus him answered.   

Fair Sir, I let you weete, that from the hour  
I taken was from nurses tender pap,  
I have been trained up in warlike stowre,  
To tossen spear and shield, and to affrap  
The warlike rider to his most mishap;  
Sithence I loathed have my life to lead,  
As Ladies wont, in pleasures wanton lap,  
To finger the fine needle and nice thread,  
Me liefer were with point of foeman's spear be dead.   

All my delight on deeds of arms is set,  
To hunt out perils and adventures hard,  
By sea, by land, where so they may be met,  
Only for honour and for high regard,  
Without respect of richesses or reward.  
For such intent into these parts I came,  
Withouten compass, or withouten card,  
Far fro my native soil, that is by name  
The greater britain, here to seek for praise and fame.   

Fame blazed hath, that here in fairy land  
Do many famous knights and Ladies won,  
And many strange adventures to be fond,  
Of which great worth and worship may be won;  
Which to prove, I this voyage have begun.  
But moat I weet of you, right courteous knight,  
Tidings of one, that hath unto me done  
Late foul dishonour and reproachful spite,  
The which I seek to wreak, and Arthegall he hight.   

The word gone out, she back again would call,  
As her repenting so to have missayd,  
But that he it uptaking ere the fall,  
Her shortly answered; fair martial maid  
Certes ye misavised been, t'vpbrayd,  
A gentle knight with so unknightly blame:  
For weet ye well of all, that ever played  
At tilt or tourney, or like warlike game,  
The noble Arthegall hath ever borne the name.   

For thy great wonder were it, if such shame  
Should ever enter in his bounteous thought,  
Or ever do, that moat deserven blame:  
The noble courage never weeneth aught,  
That may unworthy of itself be thought.  
Therefore, fair damsel, be ye well aware,  
Lest that too far ye have your sorrow sought:  
You and your country both I wish welfare,  
And honour both; for each of other worthy are.   

The royal Maid woxeinly wondrous glad,  
To hear her love so highly magnifyde,  
And joyed that ever she affixed had,  
Her heart on knight so goodly glorifyde,  
How ever finely she it feigned to hide:  
The loving mother, that nine months did bear,  
In the dear closet of her painful side,  
Her tender babe, it seeing safe appear,  
Doth not so much rejoice, as she rejoiced there.   

But to occasion him to further talk,  
To feed her humour with his pleasing style,  
Her list in stryfull terms with him to baulk,  
And thus replied, How ever, Sir, ye file  
Your courteous tongue, his praises to compile,  
It ill beseems a knight of gentle sort,  
Such as ye have him boasted, to beguile  
A simple maid, and work so heinous tort,  
In shame of knighthood, as I largely can report.   

Let be therefore my vengeance to dissuade,  
And read, where I that faytour false may find.  
Ah, but if reason fair might you persuade,  
To slake your wrath, and mollify your mind,  
(Said he) perhaps ye should it better find:  
For hardy thing it is, to ween by might,  
That man to hard conditions to bind,  
Or ever hope to match in equal fight,  
Whose prowess paragon saw never living wight.   

Ne soothlich is it easy for to read,  
Where now on earth, or how he may be found;  
For he ne woneth in one certain stead,  
But restless walketh all the world arownd,  
Ay doing things, that to his fame redound,  
Defending Lady's cause, and Orphans right,  
Where so he hears, that any doth confownd  
Them comfortless, through tyranny or might;  
So is his sovereign honour raised to heavens hight.   

His feeling words her feeble sense much pleased,  
And softly sunk into her molten heart;  
heart that is inly hurt, is greatly eased  
With hope of thing, that may allegge his smart,  
For pleasing words are like to magic art,  
That doth the charmed Snake in slumber lay:  
Such secret ease felt gentle Britomart,  
Yet list the same efforce with feigned gainsay;  
So dischord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.   

And said, Sir knight, these idle terms forbear,  
And sith it is uneath to find his haunt,  
Tell me some marks, by which he may appear,  
If chance I him encounter paravaunt;  
For pardie one shall other slay, or daunt:  
What shape, what shield, what arms, what steed, what stedd,  
And what so else his person most may vaunt?  
All which the Redcrosse knight to point aredd,  
And him in every part before her fashioned.   

Yet him in every part before she knew,  
How ever list her now her knowledge fain,  
Sith him whilom in britain she did view,  
To her revealed in a mirror plain,  
Whereof did grow her first engrafted pain,  
Whose root and stalk so bitter yet did taste,  
That but the fruit more sweetness did contain,  
Her wretched days in dolour she moat waste,  
And yield the pray of love to loathsome death at last.   

By strange occasion she did him behold,  
And much more strangely 'gan to love his sight,  
As it in books hath written been of old.  
In Deheubarth that now South-wales is height,  
What time king Ryence reigned, and dealt right,  
The great Magitien Merlin had devised,  
By his deep science, and hell-dreaded might,  
A looking glass, right wondrously aguized,  
Whose virtues through the wide world soon were solemnized.   

It virtue had, to show in perfect sight,  
What ever thing was in the world contained,  
Betwixt the lowest earth and heavens hight,  
So that it to the looker appertaynd;  
What ever foe had wrought, or friend had feigned,  
Therein discovered was, ne ought moat pass,  
Ne ought in secret from the same remained;  
For thy it round and hollow shaped was,  
Like to the world itself, and seemed a world of glass.   

Who wonders not, that reads so wondrous work?  
But who does wonder, that has red the tower,  
Wherein th'Aegyptian Phao long did lurk  
From all men's view, that none might her discover,  
Yet she might all men view out of her bower?  
Great Ptolomaee it for his lemons sake  
Ybuilded all of glass, by magic power,  
And also it impregnable did make;  
Yet when his love was false, he with a pease it broke.   

Such was the glassy globe that Merlin made,  
And gave unto king Ryence for his guard,  
That never foes his kingdom might invade,  
But he it knew at home before he hard  
Tidings thereof, and so them still debarred.  
It was a famous Present for a Prince,  
And worthy work of infinite reward,  
That treasons could bewray and foes convince;  
Happy this realm, had it remained ever since.   

One day it fortuned, fair Britomart  
Into her father's closet to repair;  
For nothing he from her reserved apart,  
Being his only daughter and his hair:  
Where when she had espied that mirror fair,  
Herself awhile therein she viewed in vain;  
though her avizing of the virtues rare,  
Which thereof spoken were, she 'gan again  
Her to bethink of, that mote to herself pertain.   

But as it falleth, in the gentlest hearts  
Imperious love hath highest set his throne,  
And tyrannizeth in the bitter smarts  
Of them, that to him buxom are and prone:  
So thought this maid (as maidens use to done)  
Whom fortune for her husband would allot,  
Not that she lusted after any one;  
For she was pure from blame of sinful blot,  
Yet witted her life at last must link in that same knot.   

eftsoons there was presented to her eye  
A comely knight, all armed in complete wise,  
Through whose bright ventayle lifted up on high  
His manly face, that did his foes agrize,  
And friends to terms of gentle truce entize,  
Looked forth, as Phoebus' face out of the east,  
Betwixt two shady mountains doth arise;  
Portly his person was, and much increased  
Through his heroic grace, and honourable gest.   

His crest was covered with a couchant hound,  
And all his armour seemed of antic mould,  
But wondrous massy and assured sound,  
And round about yfretted all with gold,  
In which there written was with ciphers old,  
Achilles' arms, which Arthogall did win.  
And on his shield enueloped sevenfold  
He bore a crowned little Ermilin,  
That decked the azure field with her fair powdered skin.   

The damsel well did view his parsonage,  
And liked well, ne further fastened not,  
But went her way; ne her unguilty age  
Did ween, unwares, that her unlucky lot  
Lay hidden in the bottom of the pot;  
Of hurt unwist most danger doth redound:  
But the false Archer, which that arrow shot  
So slily, that she did not feel the wound,  
Did smile full smoothly at her weetlesse woeful stound.   

Thenceforth the feather in her lofty crest,  
Ruffed of love, 'gan lowly to avail,  
And her proud portaunce, and her princely gest,  
With which she erst triumphed, now did quail:  
Sad, solemn, sour, and full of fancies frail  
She wox; yet witted she nether how, nor why,  
She witted not, silly maid, what she did ail,  
Yet witted, she was not well at ease pardie,  
Yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy.   

So soon as Night had with her pallid hue  
Defaced the beauty of the shining sky,  
And reft from men the worlds desired view,  
She with her nurse adown to sleep did lie;  
But sleep full far away from her did fly:  
In stead thereof sad sighs, and sorrows deep  
Kept watch and ward about her warily,  
That nought she did but wail, and often steep  
Her dainty couch with tears, which closely she did weep.   

And if that any drop of slombring rest  
Did chance to still into her weary sprite,  
When feeble nature felt herself oppressed,  
Straight way with dreams, and with fantastic sight  
Of dreadful things the same was put to flight,  
That oft out of her bed she did astart,  
As one with view of ghastly fiends affright:  
though 'gan she to renew her former smart,  
And think of that fair visage, written in her heart.   

One night, when she was tossed with such unrest,  
Her aged nurse, whose name was Glauce hight,  
Feeling her leap out of her loathed nest,  
Betwixt her feeble arms her quickly keight,  
And down again her in her warm bed dight,  
Ah my dear daughter, ah my dearest dread,  
What uncouth fit (said she) what evil plight  
Hath thee oppressed, and with sad dreary head  
Changed thy lively cheer, & living made thee dead?   

For not of nought these sudden ghastly fears  
All night afflict thy natural repose,  
And all the day, when as thine equal pears  
Their fit disports with fair delight do chose,  
Thou in dull corners dost thyself enclose,  
Ne tastest Princes pleasures, ne dost spread  
Abroad thy fresh youths fairest flower, but lose  
Both leaf and fruit, both too untimely shed,  
As one in wilful bale for ever buried.   

The time, that mortal men their weary cares  
Do lay away, and all wild beasts do rest,  
And every river eke his course forbears,  
Then doth this wicked evil thee infest,  
And rive with thousand throbs thy thrilled breast;  
Like an huge Aetn ' of deep engulfed grief,  
Sorrow is heaped in thy hollow chest,  
Whence forth it breaks in sighs and anguish rife,  
As smoke and sulphur mingled with confufed strife.   

Ay me, how much I fear, lest love it be,  
But if that love it be, as sure I read  
By known signs and passions, which I see,  
Be it worthy of thy race and royal seed,  
Then I avow by this most sacred head  
Of my dear foster child, to ease thy grief,  
And win thy will: Therefore away do dread;  
For death nor danger from thy due relief  
Shall me debar. tell me therefore my liefest lief.   

So having said, her twixt her arms twain  
She straightly strained, and colled tenderly,  
And every trembling joint, and every vain  
She softly felt, and rubbed busily,  
To do the frozen cold away to fly;  
And her fair dewy eyes with kisses dear  
She oft did bathe, and oft again did dry;  
And ever her importuned, not to fear  
To let the secret of her heart to her appear.   

The damsel paused, and then thus fearfully;  
Ah Nurse, what needeth thee to eke my pain?  
Is not enough, that I alone do die.  
But it must doubled be with death of twain?  
For nought for me, but death there doth remain.  
O daughter dear (said she) despeire no whit,  
For never sore, but might a salve obtain:  
That blinded God, which hath ye blindly smit,  
Another arrow hath your lovers heart to hit.   

But mine is not (quoth she) like other wownd;  
For which no reason can find remedy.  
Was never such, but mote the like be found,  
(Said she) and though no reason may apply  
Salve to your sore, yet love can higher sty,  
Then reasons reach, and oft hath wonders done.  
But neither God of love, nor God of sky  
Can do (said she) that, which cannot be done.  
Things oft impossible (quoth she) seem ere begun.   

These idle words (said she) do nought assuage  
My stubborn smart, but more annoyance breed.  
For no no usual fire, no usual rage  
It is, O nurse, which on my life doth feed,  
And sucks the blood, which from my heart doth bleed.  
But since thy faithful zeal lets me not hide  
My crime, (if crime it be) I will it reed.  
Nor Prince, nor peer it is, whose love hath gryde  
My feeble breast of late, and launched this wound wide.   

Nor man it is, nor other living wight;  
For then some hope I might unto me draw,  
But th'only shade and semblant of a knight,  
Whose shape or person yet I never saw,  
Hath me subjecteth to loves cruel law:  
The same one day, as me misfortune led,  
I in my father's wondrous mirror saw,  
And pleased with that seeming goodlyhed,  
Unwares the hidden hook with bait I swallowed.   

sithence it hath infixed faster hold  
Within my bleeding bowels, and so sore  
Now rankleth in this same frail fleshly mould,  
That all mine entrails flow with poisonous gore,  
And th'ulcer groweth daily more and more;  
Ne can my running sore find remedy,  
Other than my hard fortune to deplore,  
And languish as the leaf fallen from the tree,  
Till death make one end of my days and miseree.   

Daughter (said she) what needy be dismayed,  
Or why make ye such Monster of your mind?  
Of much more uncouth thing I was afraid;  
Of filthy lust, contrary unto kind:  
But this affection nothing strange I fi nde;  
For who with reason can you aye reprove,  
To love the semblant pleasing most your mind,  
And yield your heart, whence ye cannot remove?  
No guilt in you, but in the tyranny of love.   

Not so th' Arabian myrrh did set her mind,  
Not so did Biblis spend her pining heart,  
But loved their native flesh against all kind,  
And to their purpose used wicked art:  
Yet played Pasiphaë a more monstrous part,  
That loved a bull, and learned a beast to be;  
Such shameful lusts who loathes not, which depart  
From course of nature and of modesty?  
Sweet love such lewdness bands from his fair company.   

But thine my dear (welfare thy heart my dear)  
Though strange beginning had, yet fixed is  
On one, that worthy may perhaps appear;  
And certes seems bestowed not amiss:  
joy there of have thou and eternal bliss.  
With that upleaning on her elbow weak,  
Her alabaster breast she soft did kiss,  
Which all that while she felt to pant and quake,  
As it an earthquake were, at last she thus bespoke.   

Beldame, your words do work me little ease;  
For though my love be not so lewdly bend,  
As those ye blame, yet may it nought appease  
My raging smart, ne ought my flame relent,  
But rather doth my helpless grief augment.  
Fòr they, how ever shameful and unkind,  
Yet did possess their horrible intent:  
Short end of sorrows they thereby did find;  
So was their fortune good, though wicked were their mind.   

But wicked fortune mine, though mind be good,  
Can have no end, nor hope of my desire,  
But feed on shadows, whiles I die for food,  
And like a shadow wax, whiles with entire  
Affection, I do languish and expire.  
I fonder, than Cephisus foolish child,  
Who having viewed in a fountain shear  
His face, was with the love thereof beguiled;  
I fonder love a shade, the body far exyld.   

Nought like (quoth she) for that same wretched boy  
Was of himself the idle paramour;  
Both love and lover, without hope of joy,  
For which he faded to a watery flower.  
But better fortune thine, and better hour,  
Which lov'st the shadow of a warlike knight;  
No shadow, but a body hath in power:  
That body, wheresoever that it light,  
May learned be by ciphers, or by magic might.   

But if thou may with reason yet repress  
The growing evil, ere it strength have got,  
And thee abandoned wholly do possess,  
Against it strongly strive, and yield thee not,  
Till thou in open field adown be smott.  
But if the passion master thy frail might,  
So that needs love or death must be thy lot,  
Then I avow to thee, by wrong or right  
To compass thy desire, and find that loved knight.   

Her cheerful words much cheered the feeble sprite  
Of the sick virgin, that her down she laid  
In her warm bed to sleep, if that she might;  
And the old-woman carefully displayed  
The clothes about her round with busy aid,  
So that at last a little creeping sleep  
Surprised her sense: she therewith well apaid,  
The drunken lamp down in the oil did steep,  
And set her by to watch, and set her by to weep.   

Early the morrow next, before that day  
His joyous face did to the world reveal,  
They both uprose, and took their ready way  
Unto the Church, their prayers to appeal,  
With great devotion, and with little zel e:  
For the fair damsel from the holy hearse  
Her lovesick heart to other thoughts did steal;  
And that old Dame said many an idle verse,  
Out of her daughter's heart fond fancies to reverse.   

Returned home, the royal Infant fell  
Into her former fit; for why no power,  
Nor guidance of herself in her did dwell.  
But th'aged nurse her calling to her bower,  
Had gathered Rew, and savin, and the flower  
Of Camphora, and Calamint, and Dill,  
All which she in a earthen Pot did pour,  
And to the brim with Colt wood did it fill,  
And many drops of milk and blood through it did spill.   

Then taking thrice three hears from of her head,  
Then trebly breaded in a threefold lace,  
And round about the Pots mouth, bound the thread,  
And after having whispered a space  
Certain sad words, with hollow voice and base,  
She to the virgin said; thrice said she itt;  
Come daughter come, come; spit upon my face,  
Spit thrice upon me, thrice upon me spit;  
Th'uneven number for this business is most fit.   

That said, her round about she from her turned,  
She turned her contrary to the sun,  
Thrife she her turned contrary, and returned,  
All contrary, for she the right did shun,  
And ever what she did, was straight undone.  
So thought she to undo her daughter's love:  
But love, that is in gentle breast begun,  
No idle charms so lightly may remove,  
That well can witness, who by trial it does prove.   

Ne ought it moat the noble maid avail,  
Ne slake the fury of her cruel flame,  
But that she still did waste, and still did wail,  
That through long languour, & hart-burning brame  
She shortly like a pined ghost became,  
Which long hath waited by the Stygian strand.  
That when old Glauce saw, for fear least blame  
Of her miscarriage should in her be fond,  
She witted not how t'amend, nor how it to withstand.    

Cant. III.  

Merlin bewrays to Britomart,  
The state of Arthegall.  
And shows the famous Progeny  
Which from them springen shall.   

MOst sacred fire, that burnest mightily  
In living breasts, ykindled first above,  
Amongst th'eternal spheres and lamping sky,  
And thence poured into men, which men call love;  
Not that same, which doth base affections move  
In brutish minds, and filthy just inflame,  
But that sweet fit, that doth true beauty love,  
And chooseth virtue for his dearest Dame.  
Whence spring all noble deeds and never dying same:   

Well did Antiquity a God thee deem,  
That over mortal minds hast so great might,  
To order them, as best to thee doth seem,  
And all their actions to direct aright;  
The fatal purpose of divine foresight,  
Thou dost effect in destined descents,  
Through deep impression of thy secret might,  
And stirredst up th'Heroes high intents,  
Which the late world admyres for wondrous monuments   

But thy dredd darts in none do triumph more,  
Ne braver proof in any, of thy power  
Showd'st thou, then in this royal Maid of yore,  
Making her seek an unknown paramour,  
From the world's end, through many a bitter stowre:  
From whose two loins thou afterwards did raise  
Most famous fruits of matrimonial bower,  
Which through the earth have spread their living praise,  
That fame in tromp of gold eternally displays.   

Begin then, O my dearest sacred Dame,  
Daughter of Phoebus and of memory,  
That dost ennoble with immortal name  
The warlike Worthies, from antiquity,  
In thy great volume of eternity:  
Begin, O Clio, and recount from hence  
My glorious sovereign's goodly ancestroy,  
Till that by due degrees and long protense,  
Thou have it lastly brought unto her Excellence.   

Full many ways within her troubled mind,  
Old Glauce cast, to cure this Lady's grief:  
Full many ways she sought, but none could find,  
Nor herbs, nor charms, nor counsel that is chief,  
And choicest medicine for sick heart's relief:  
For thy great care she took, and greater fear,  
Lest that it should her turn to fowl repriese,  
And sore reproach, when so her father dear  
Should of his dearest daughters hard misfortune hear.   

At last she her avisde, that he, which made  
That mirror, wherein the sick damosel  
So strangely viewed her strange lovers shade,  
To weet, the learned Merlin, well could tell,  
Under what coast of heaven the man did dwell,  
And by what means his love might best be wrought:  
For though beyond the Africa Ishmael,  
Or th'Indian Peru he were, she thought  
Him forth through infinite endeavour to have sought.   

Forth with themselves disguising both in strange  
And base attire, that none might them bewray,  
To Maridunum, that is now by change  
Of name Cayr-Merdin called, they took their way:  
There the wise Merlin whilom wont (they say)  
To make his won, low underneath the ground,  
In a deep delve, far from the view of day,  
That of no living wight he moat be found,  
When so he counselled with his sprights encompassed round.   

And if thou ever happen that same way  
To travail, go to see that dreadful place:  
It is an hideous hollow cave (they say)  
Under a Rock that lies a little space  
From the swift, Barry, tumbling down apace,  
Amongst the woody hills of dynevowre:  
But dare thou not, I charge, in any case,  
To enter into that same baleful bower,  
For fear the cruel fiends should thee unwares devour.   

But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear,  
And there such ghastly noise of iron chains,  
And brazen Caudrons thou shalt rambling hear,  
Which thousand sprights with long enduring pains  
Do toss, that it will stonn thy feeble brains,  
And oftentimes great groans, & grievous stownds,  
When too huge toil and labour them constrains:  
And oftentimes loud strokes, and ringing sounds  
From under that deep Rock most horribly rebowndes.   

The cause some say is this: A little while  
Before that Merlin died, he did intend,  
A brazen wall in compass to compile  
About Cairmardin, and did it commend  
Unto these Sprights, to bring to perfect end.  
During which work the Lady of the Lake,  
Whom long he loved, for him in haste did send,  
Who thereby forced his workmen to forsake,  
Them bound till his return, their labour not to slake.   

In the mean time through that false Lady's train,  
He was surprised, and buried under bear,  
Ne ever to his work returned again:  
Natheless those fiends may not their work forbear,  
So greatly his commandment they fear,  
But there do toil and travail day and night,  
Until that brazen wall they up do rear:  
For Merlin had in magic more insight,  
Then ever him before or after living wight.   

For he by words could call out of the sky  
Both sun and moon, and make them him obey:  
The Land to sea, and sea to maineland dry,  
And darksome night he eke could turn to day:  
Huge hosts of men he could alone dismay,  
And hosts of men of meanest things could frame,  
When so him list his enemies to fray:  
That to this day for terror of his fame,  
The fiends do quake, when any him to them does name.   

And sooth, men say that he was not the son  
Of mortal sire, or other living wight,  
But wondrously begotten, and begun  
By false illusion of a guileful sprite,  
On a fair Lady nun, that whilom hight  
Matilda, daughter to Pubidius,  
Who was the Lord of Mathraual by right,  
And cousin unto king Ambrose:  
Whence he endued was with skill so marvelous.   

They here arriving, stayed a while without,  
Ne durst adventure rashly in to wend,  
But of their first intent 'gan make new doubt  
For dread of danger, which it might portend:  
Until the hardy maid (with love to friend)  
First entering, the dreadful Mage there found  
Deep busied 'bout work of wondrous end,  
And writing strange characters in the ground,  
With which the stubborn seendes he to his service bound.   

He nought was moved at their entrance bold:  
For of their coming well he witted afore,  
Yet list them bid their business to unfold,  
As if ought in this world in secret store  
Were from him hidden, or unknown of yore.  
Then Glauce thus, let not it thee offend,  
That we thus rashly through thy darksome door,  
Unwares have priest: for either fatal end,  
Or other mighty cause us two did hither send.   

He bade tell on; And then she thus began.  
Now have three moons with borrowed brother's light,  
Thrice shined fair, and thrice seemed dim and wan,  
Sith a sore evil, which this virgin bright  
Tormenteth, and doth plunge in doleful plight,  
First rooting took; but what thing it moat be,  
Or whence it sprung, I can not read aright:  
But this I read, that but if remedee,  
Thou her afford, full shortly I her dead shall see.   

Therewith th'enchanter softly 'gan to smile  
At her smooth speeches, weeting inly well,  
That she to him dissembled womanish guile,  
And to her said, Beldame, by that ye tell,  
More need of leechcraft hath your Damozell,  
Then of my skill: who help may have elsewhere,  
In vain seeks wonders out of magic spell.  
Th'old woman wox half blank, those words to hear;  
And yet was loath to let her purpose plain appear.   

And to him said, if any leeches skill,  
Or other learned means could have redressed  
This my dear daughters deep engrafted ill,  
Certes I should be loath thee to molest:  
But this sad evil, which doth her infest,  
Doth course of natural cause far exceed,  
And housed is within her hollow breast,  
That either seems some cursed witches deed,  
Or evil sprite, that in her doth such torment breed.   

The wizard could no longer bear her board,  
But bursting forth in laughter, to her said;  
Glauce, what needs this colourable word,  
To cloak the cause, that hath itself bewrayed?  
Ne ye fair Britomartis, thus arrayed,  
More hidden are, than sun in cloudy vele;  
Whom thy good fortune, having fate obeyed,  
Hath hither brought, for secure to appeal:  
The which the powers to thee are pleased to reveal.   

The doubtful maid, seeing herself descried,  
Was all abashed, and her pure ivory  
Into a clear Carnation sudden died;  
As fair Aurora rising hastily,  
Doth by her blushing tell, that she did lie  
All night in old Tithonus frozen bed,  
Whereof she seems ashamed inwardly.  
But her old nurse was nought dishartened,  
But vantage made of that, which Merlin had ared.   

And said, Sith than thou knowest all our grief,  
(For what dost not thou know?) of grace I pray,  
Pity our plaint, and yield us meet relief.  
With that the Prophet still awhile did stay,  
And then his spirit thus 'gan forth display;  
Most noble Virgin, that by fatal lore  
Hast learned to love, let no whit thee dismay  
The hard begin, that meets thee in the door,  
And with sharp fits thy tender heart oppresseth sore.   

For so must all things excellent begin,  
And eke enrooted deep must be that Tree,  
Whose big embodied branches shall not lin,  
Till they to heavens hight forth stretched be.  
For from thy womb a famous Progenee  
Shall spring, out of the ancient Trojan blood,  
Which shall revive the sleeping memoree  
Of those same antic Peres, the heavens brood,  
Which Greeke & Asian rivers stained with their blood.   

Renowned kings, and sacred Emperors,  
Thy fruitful offspring, shall from thee descend;  
Brave captains, and most mighty warriors,  
That shall their conquests through all lands extend,  
And their decayed kingdoms shall amend:  
The feeble Britons, broken with long war,  
They shall uprear, and mightily defend  
Against their foreign foe, that comes from far,  
Till universal peace compound all civil jar.   

It was not, Britomart, thy wandering eye,  
Glancing unwares in charmed looking glass,  
But the straight course of heavenly destiny,  
Led with eternal providence, that has  
Guided thy glance, to bring his will to pass:  
Ne is thy fate, ne is thy fortune ill,  
To louc the prowest knight, that ever was.  
Therefore submit thy ways unto his will,  
And do by all'dew means thy destiny fulfil.   

But read (said Glauce) thou magician  
What means shall she out seek, or what ways take?  
How shall she know, how shall she find the man?  
Or what needs her to toil, sith fates can make  
Way for themselves, their purpose to partake?  
Then Merlin thus, indeed the fates are firm,  
And may not shrink, though all the world do shake:  
Yet aught men's good endeavours them confirm,  
And guide the heavenly causes to their constant term.   

The man whom heavens have ordained to be  
The spouse of Britomart, is Arthegall:  
He woneth in the land of Fayeree,  
Yet is no fairy borne, ne sib at all  
To elves, but sprung of seed terrestrial,  
And whilom by false fairies stolen away,  
Whiles yet in infant cradle he did crawl;  
Ne other to himself is known this day,  
But that he by an elf was gotten of a Fay.   

But sooth he is the son of Gorlois,  
And brother unto Cador Cornish king,  
And for his warlike feats renowned is,  
From where the day out of the sea doth spring,  
Until the closure of the evening.  
From thence, him firmly bound with faithful band,  
To this his native soil thou back shalt bring,  
Strongly to aid his country, to withstand  
The power of foreign Paynims, which invade thy land.   

Great aid thereto his mighty puissance,  
And dreaded name shall give in that sad day:  
Where also proof of thy prow valiance  
Thou then shalt make, t'increase thy lovers pray.  
Long time ye both in arms shall bear great sway,  
Till thy wombs burden thee from them do call,  
And his last fate him from thee take away,  
Too rather cut off by practise criminal,  
Of secret foes, that him shall make in mischief fall.   

With thee yet shall he leave for memory  
Of his late puissance, his image dead,  
That living him in all activity  
To thee shall represent. He from the head  
Of his cousin Constantius without dread  
Shall take the crown, that was his father's right,  
And therewith crown himself in th'other's stead:  
Then shall he issue forth with dreadful might,  
Against his Saxon foes in bloody field to fight.   

Like as a lion, that in drowsy cave  
Hath long time slept, himself so shall he shake,  
And coming forth, shall spread his banner brave  
Over the troubled South, that it shall make  
The warlike Mertians for fear to quake:  
Thrice shall he fight with them, and twice shall win,  
But the third time shall fair accordance make:  
And if he then with victory can lin,  
He shall his days with peace bring to his earthly In.   

His son, hight Vortipore, shall him succeed  
In kingdom, but not in felicity;  
Yet shall he long time war with happy speed,  
And with great honour many batteills try:  
But at the last to th' importunity  
Of froward fortune shall be forced to yield.  
But his son Malgo shall full mightily  
Avenge his father's loss, with spear and shield,  
And his proud foes discomfit in victorious field.   

Behold the man, and tell me Britomart,  
If ay more goodly creature thou didst see;  
How like a giant in each manly part  
Bears he himself with portly majesty,  
That one of th'old Heroes seems to be:  
He the six Islands, comprovincial  
In ancient times unto great Britainee,  
Shall to the same reduce, and to him call  
Their sundry kings to do their homage several.   

All which his son Careticus awhile  
Shall well defend, and Saxons power suppress,  
Until a stranger king from unknown soil  
Arriving, him with multitude oppress;  
Great Gormond, having with huge mightiness  
Ireland subdued, and therein fixed his throne,  
Like a swift Otter, fell through emptiness,  
Shall overswim the sea with many one  
Of his Norueyses, to assist the Britons fone.   

He in his fury all shall overronne,  
And holy Church with faithless hands deface,  
That thy sad people utterly fordone,  
Shall to the utmost mountains fly apace:  
Was never so great waste in any place,  
Nor so fowl outrage done by living men:  
For all thy cities they shall sack and race,  
And the green grass, that groweth, they shall bren,  
That even the wild beast shall die in starved den.   

Whiles thus thy Britons do in languour pine,  
Proud Etheldred shall from the North arise,  
Serving th'ambitious will of Augustine,  
And passing Dee with hardy enterprise,  
Shall back repulse the valiant Brockwell twice,  
And Bangor with massacred Martyrs fill;  
But the third time shall rue his foolhardise:  
For Cadwan pitying his people's ill,  
Shall stoutly him defeat, and thousand Saxons kill.   

But after him, Cadwallin mightily  
On his son Edwin all those wrongs shall wreak;  
Ne shall avail the wicked sorcery  
Of false Pellite, his purposes to break,  
But him shall slay, and on a gallows bleak  
Shall give th'enchanter his unhappy hire:  
Then shall the Britons, late dismayed and weak,  
From their long vassalage gi'en to respire,  
And on their Paynim foes avenge their rankled ire.   

Ne shall he yet his wrath so mitigate,  
Till both the sons of Edwin he have slain,  
Offricke and Osric, twins unfortunate,  
Both slain in battle upon Layburne plain,  
Together with the king of Louthiane,  
height Adin, and the king of Orkeny,  
Both joint partakers of their fatal pain:  
But Penda, fearful of like destiny,  
Shall yield himself his liegeman, and swear fealty.   

Him shall he make his fatal Instrument,  
T'afflict the other Saxons unsubdued;  
He marching forth with fury insolent  
Against the good king Oswald, who indewd  
With heavenly power, and by Angels rescued,  
All holding crosses in their hands on high,  
Shall him defeat without blood imbrued:  
Of which, that field for endless memory,  
Shall Hevenfield be called to all posterity.   

Whereat Cadwallin wroth, shall forth issue,  
And an huge host into Northumber lead,  
With which he godly Oswald shall subdue,  
And crown with martyrdom his sacred head.  
Whose brother Oswin, daunted with like dread,  
With price of silver shall his kingdom buy,  
And Penda seeking him adown to tread,  
Shall tread adown, and do him foully die,  
But shall with jousts his Lord Cadwallin pacify.   

Then shall Cadwallin die, and then the rain  
Of Britons eke with him at once shall die;  
Ne shall the good Cadwallader with pain,  
Or power, be able it to remedy,  
When the full time prefixed by destiny,  
shallbe expired of Britons regiment.  
For heaven itself shall their success envy,  
And them with plagues and murrins pestilent  
Consume, till all their warlike puissance be spent.   

Yet after all these sorrows, and huge hills  
Of dying people, during eight years space,  
Cadwallader not yielding to his ills,  
From Armoricke, where long in wretched case  
He lived, returning to his native place,  
shallbe by vision staid from his intent:  
Forth'heauens have decreed, to displace  
The Britons, for their sins due punishment,  
And to the Saxons over-give their government.   

Then woe, and woe, and everlasting woe,  
Be to the Briton babe, that shallbe borne,  
To live in thraldom of his father's foe;  
Late king, now captive, late lord, now forlorn,  
The world's reproach, the cruel victor's scorn,  
Banished from princely bower to wasteful wood:  
O who shall help me to lament, and mourn  
The royal seed, the antic Trojan blood,  
Whose empire longer here, then ever any stood.   

The damsel was full deep empassioned,  
Both for his grief, and for her people's sake,  
Whose future woes so plain he fashioned,  
And sighing sore, at length him thus bespoke;  
Ah but will heavens fury never slake,  
Nor vengeance huge relent itself at last?  
Will not long misery late mercy make,  
But shall their name for ever be defaced,  
And quite from th'earth their memory be razed?   

Nay but the term (said he) is limited,  
That in this thraldom Britons shall abide,  
And the just revolution measured,  
That they as strangers shallbe notifide.  
For twice four hundredth years shallbe supplied,  
Ere they unto their former rule restored shallbe.  
And their importune fates all satisfied:  
Yet during this their most obscurity,  
Their beams shall oft break forth, that men them fair may see.   

For Rhodcricke, whose surname shallbe Great,  
Shall of himself a brave ensample show,  
That Saxon kings his friendship shall entreat;  
And Howell Dha shall goodly well indew  
The salvage minds with skill of just and true;  
Then Griffyth Conan also shall up rear  
His dreaded head, and the old sparks renew  
Of native courage, that his foes shall fear,  
Lest back again the kingdom he from them should bear.   

Ne shall the Saxons selves all peaceably  
Enjoy the crown, which they from Britons won  
First ill, and after ruled wickedly:  
For ere two hundred years be full outronne,  
There shall a raven far from rising sun,  
With his wide wings upon them fiercely fly,  
And bid his faithless chickens overonne  
The fruitful plains, and with fell cruelty,  
In their avenge, tread down the victor's surquedry.   

Yet shall a third both these, and thine subdue;  
There shall a Lion from the sea-bord wood  
Of Neustria come roaring, with a crew  
Of hungry whelps, his battailous bold brood,  
Whose claws were newly dipped in cruddy blood,  
That from the Daniske tyrant's head shall rend  
Th'usurped crown, as if that he were wood,  
And the spoil of the country conquered  
Amongst his young ones shall divide with bountyhed.   

though when the term is full accomplished,  
There shall a spark of fire, which hath longwhile  
Been in his ashes raked up, and hid,  
Be freshly kindled in the fruitful I'll  
Of Mona, where it lurked in exile;  
Which shall break forth into bright burning flame,  
And reach into the house, that bears the stile  
Of royal majesty and sovereign name;  
So shall the Briton blood their crown again reclaim.   

Thenceforth eternal union shall be made  
Between the nations different afore,  
And sacred Peace shall lovingly persuade  
The warlike minds, to learn her goodly lore,  
And civil arms to exercise no more:  
Then shall a royal Virgin rain, which shall  
Stretch her white rod over the Belgic shore,  
And the great Castle smite so sore with all,  
That it shall make him shake, and shortly learn to fall.   

But yet the end is not. There Merlin stayed,  
As overcomen of the spirits power,  
Or other ghastly spectacle dismayed,  
That secretly he saw, yet note discover:  
Which sudden fit, and half ecstatic stoure  
When the two fearful women saw, they grew  
Greatly confused in behaviour;  
At last the fury past, to former hue  
She turned again, and cheerful looks did show.   

Then, when themselves they well instructed had  
Of all, that needed them to be enquired,  
They both conceiving hope of comfort glad,  
With lighter hearts unto their home retired;  
Where they in secret counsel close conspired,  
How to effect so hard an enterprise,  
And to possess the purpose they desired:  
Now this, now that twixt them they did devise,  
And diverse plots did frame, to mask in strange disguise.   

At last the nurse in her foolhardy wit  
Conceived a bold devise, and thus bespoke;  
Daughter, I deem that counsel aye most fit,  
That of the time doth due advantage take;  
Ye see that good king Uther now doth make  
Strong war upon the Paynim brethren, hight  
Octa and Oza, whom he lately broke  
Beside Cayr Verolam, in victorious fight,  
That now all Britain doth burn in arms bright.   

That therefore nought our passage may impeach,  
Let us in feigned arms ourselves disguise,  
And our weak hands (need makes good scholars) teach.  
The dreadful spear and shield to exercise:  
Ne certes daughter that same warlike wise  
I ween, would you misseeme; for ye been tall,  
And large of limb, t'achieve an hard emprize,  
Ne ought ye want, but skill, which practise small  
Will bring, and shortly make you a maid martial.   

And sooth, it ought your courage much inflame,  
To hear so often, in that royal house,  
From whence to none inferior ye came:  
Bards tell of many women valorous,  
Which have full many feats adventurous,  
Performed, in paragon of proudest men:  
The bold Bunduca, whose victorious  
Exploits made Rome to quake, stout Gwendolyn,  
Renowned Martia, and redoubted Emmilen.   

And that, which more than all the rest may sway  
Late days ensample, which these eyes beheld,  
In the last field before menevia  
Which Uther with those foreign Pagans held,  
I saw a Saxon Virgin, the which field  
Great Vlfin thrice upon the bloodly plain,  
And had not Carados her hand withheld  
From rash revenge, she had him surely slain,  
Yet Carados himself from her escaped with pain.   

Ah read, (quoth Britomart) how is she hight?  
Fair Angela (quoth she) men do her call,  
No whit less fair, then terrible in fight:  
She hath the leading of a martial  
And mighty people, dreaded more than all  
The other Saxons, which do for her sake  
And love, themselves of her name Angles call.  
Therefore fair Infant her ensample make  
Unto thyself, and equal courage to thee take.   

Her hearty words so deep into the mind  
Of the young damsel sunk, that great desire  
Of warlike arms in her forth with they tynd,  
And generous stout courage did inspire,  
That she resolved, unwitting to her sire,  
Aduent'rous knighthood on herself to don,  
And counselled with her nurse, her maids attire  
To turn into a massy habergeon,  
And bade her all things put in readiness anon.   

Th'old woman nought, that needed, did omit;  
But all things did conveniently purvey:  
It fortuned (so time their turn did fit)  
A band of Britons riding on foray  
Few days before, had gotten a great pray  
Of Saxon goods, amongst the which was seen  
A goodly Armour, and full rich array,  
Which longed to Angela, the Saxon Queen,  
All fretted round with gold, and goodly well beseen.   

The same, with all the other ornaments,  
King Ryence caused to be hanged high  
In his chief Church, for endless monuments  
Of his success and gladfull victory:  
Of which herself avising readily,  
In th'evening late old Glauce thither led  
Fair Britomart, and that same armoury  
Down taking, her therein apparelled,  
Well as she might, & with brave bauldrick garnished.   

Beside those arms there stood a mighty spear,  
Which Bladud made by magic art of yore,  
And used the same in battle aye to bear;  
Sith which it had been here preserved in store,  
For his great virtues proved long afore:  
For never wight so fast in sell could sit,  
But him perforce unto the ground it bore:  
Both spear she took, and shield, which hung by it;  
Both spear & shield of great power, for her purpose fit   

Thus when she had the virgin all arrayed,  
Another harness, which did hang thereby,  
About herself she dight, that the young maid  
She might in equal arms accompany,  
And as her squire attend her carefully:  
though to their ready steeds they climbed full light,  
And through back ways, that none might them espy,  
Covered with secret cloud of silent night,  
Themselves they forth conveyed, & passed forward right.   

Ne rested they, till that to fairy land  
They came, as Merlin them directed late:  
Where meeting with this Redcrosse knight, she fond  
Of diverse things discourses to dilate,  
But most of Arthegall, and his estate.  
At last their ways so fell, that they moat part:  
Then each to other well affectionate,  
Friendship professed with unfeigned heart,  
The Redcrosse knight diverst, but forth road Britomart.    

Cant. four  

Bold Marinell of Britomart,  
Is thrown on the Rich strand:  
Fair Florimell of Arthure is  
Long followed, but not fond.   

WHere is the antic glory now become,  
That whilom wont in women to appear?  
Where be the brave achievements done by some?  
Where be the batteilles, where the shield & spear,  
And all the conquests, which them high did rear,  
That matter made for famous Poets verse,  
And boastful men so oft abashed to hear?  
Been they all dead, and laid in doleful hearse?  
Or done they only sleep, and shall again reverse?   

If they be dead, than woe is me therefore:  
But if they sleep, O let them soon awake:  
For all too long I burn with envy sore,  
To hear the warlike feats, which Homer spoke  
Of bold Penthesilee, which made a lake  
Of Greekish blood so oft in Trojan plain;  
But when I read, how stout Deborah struck  
Proud Sisera, and how Camill ' hath slain  
The huge Orsilochus, I swell with great disdain.   

Yet these, and all that else had puissance,  
Cannot with noble Britomart compare,  
Aswell for glory of great valiance,  
As for pure chastity and virtue rare,  
That all her goodly deeds do well declare.  
Well worthy stock, from which the branches sprung,  
That in late years so fair a blossom bare,  
As thee, O Queen, the matter of my song,  
Whose lineage from this Lady I derive along.   

Who when through speeches with the Redcrosse knight,  
She learned had th'estate of Arthegall,  
And in each point herself informed aright,  
A friendly league of love perpetual  
She with him bound, and Congé took withal.  
Then he forth on his journey did proceed,  
To seek adventures, which moat him befall,  
And win him worship through his warlike deed,  
Which always of his pains he made the chiefest meed   

But Britomart kept on her former course,  
Ne ever dofte her arms, but all the way  
Grew pensive through that amorous discourse,  
By which the Redcrosse knight did erst display  
Her lovers shape, and chivalrous array;  
A thousand thoughts she fashioned in her mind,  
And in her feigning fancy did portray  
Him such, as fittest he for love could find,  
Wise, warlike, personable, courteous, and kind.   

With such self-pleasing thoughts her wound she fed,  
And thought so to beguile her grievous smart;  
But so her smart was much more grievous bred,  
And the deep wound more deep engord her heart,  
That nought but death her dolour moat departed.  
So forth she road without repose or rest,  
Searching all lands and each remotest part,  
Following the guy dance of her blinded guest,  
Till that to the sea-coast at length she her addressed.   

There she alighted from her lightfoot beast,  
And sitting down upon the rocky shore,  
Bad her old squire unlace her lofty crest;  
though having viewed a while the surges hoar,  
That 'gainst the craggy cliffs did loudly roar,  
And in their raging surquedry disdained,  
That the fast earth affronted them so sore,  
And their devouring covetise restrained,  
Thereat she sighed deep, and after thus complained.   

Huge sea of sorrow, and tempestuous grief,  
Wherein my feeble bark is tossed long,  
Far from the hoped haven of relief,  
Why do thy cruel billows beat so strong,  
And thy moist mountains each on others throng,  
Threatening to swallow up my fearful life?  
O do thy cruel wrath and spiteful wrong  
At length allay, and stint thy stormy strife,  
Which in thy troubled bowels reigns, & rageth rife.   

For else my feeble vessel crazd, and cracked  
Through thy strong buffets and outrageous blows,  
Cannot endure, but needs it must be wracked  
On the rough rocks, or on the sandy shallows,  
The while that love it steres, and fortune rows;  
Love my lewd pilot hath a restless mind  
And fortune boatswain no assurance knows,  
But sail withouten stars, 'gainst tide and wind:  
How can they other do, sith both are bold and blind?   

Thou God of winds, that reignest in the seas,  
That reignest also in the Continent,  
At last blow up some gentle gale of ease,  
The which may bring my ship, ere it be rend,  
Unto the gladsome port of her intent:  
Then when I shall myself in safety see,  
A table for eternal monument  
Of thy great grace, and my great jeopardy,  
Great Neptune, I avow to hollow unto thee.   

Then sighing softly sore, and inly deep,  
She shut up all her plaint in privy grief;  
For her great courage would not let her weep,  
Till that old Glauce 'gan with sharp reprieve,  
Her to restrain, and give her good relief,  
Through hope of those, which Merlin had her told  
Should of her name and nation be chief,  
And fetch their being from the sacred mould  
Of her immortal womb, to be in heaven enrolled.   

Thus as she her recomforted, she spied,  
Where far away one all in armour bright,  
With hasty gallop towards her did ride;  
Her dolour soon she ceased, and on her dight  
Her Helmet, to her Courser mounting light:  
Her former sorrow into sudden wrath,  
Both cousin passions of distroubled sprite,  
Converting, forth she beats the dusty path;  
Love and despite at once her courage kindled hath.   

As when a foggy mist hath overcast  
The face of heaven, and the clear air engroste,  
The world in darkness dwells, till that at last  
The watery southwind from the seabord cost  
Vpblowing, doth disperse the vapour lo'ste,  
And pours itself forth in a stormy shower;  
So the fair Britomart having disclo'ste  
Her cloudy care into a wrathful stowre,  
The mist of grief dissolved, did into vengeance power.   

eftsoons her goodly shield addressing fair,  
That mortal spear she in her hand did take,  
And unto battle did herself prepare.  
The knight approaching, sternly her bespoke;  
Sir knight, that dost thy voyage rashly make  
By this forbidden way in my despite,  
Ne dost by others death ensample take,  
I read thee soon retire, whiles thou hast might,  
Lest afterwards it be too late to take thy flight.   

Ythrild with deep disdain of his proud threat,  
She shortly thus; Fly they, that need to fly;  
Words fearen babes. I mean not thee entreat  
To pass; but maugre thee will pass or die.  
Ne longer stayed forth'other to reply,  
But with sharp spears the rest made dearly known.  
Strongly the strange knight ran, and sturdily  
Struck her full on the breast, that made her down  
Decline her head, & touch her crupper with her crown.   

But she again him in the shield did smite  
With so fierce fury and great puissance,  
That through his three square scuchin piercing quite,  
And through his mailed hauberque, by mischance  
The wicked steel through his left side did glance;  
Him so transfixed she before her bore  
Beyond his croupe, the length of all her lance,  
Till sadly sousing on the sandy shore,  
He tumbled on an heap, and wallowd in his gore.   

Like as the sacred ox, that careless stands,  
With gilded horns, and flowery garlands crowned,  
Proud of his dying honour and dear bands,  
Whiles th'altars fume with frankincense around,  
All suddenly with mortal stroke astownd,  
Doth groveling fall, and with his streaming gore  
Distaines the pillars, and the holy ground,  
And the fair flowers, that decked him afore;  
So fell proud Marinell upon the precious shore.   

The martial maid stayed not him to lament,  
But forward road, and kept her ready way  
Along the strand, which as she over-went,  
She saw bestrowed all with rich array  
Of pearls and precious stones of great assay,  
And all the gravel mixed with golden hour;  
Whereat she wondered much, but would not stay  
For gold, or pearls, or precious stones an hour,  
But them despised all; for all was in her power.   

Whiles thus he lay in deadly stonishment,  
Tidings hereof came to his mother's ear;  
His mother was the black-browed Cymocnt,  
The daughter of great Nereus, which did bear  
This warlike son unto an earthly pear,  
The famous Dumarin; who on a day  
Finding the Nymph a sleep in secret where,  
As he by chance did wander that same way,  
Was taken with her love, and by her closely lay.   

There he this knight of her begot, whom borne  
She of his father Marinell did name,  
And in a rocky cave as wight forlorn,  
Long time she fostered up, till he became  
A mighty man at arms, and much fame  
Did get through great adventures by him done:  
For never man he suffered by that same  
Rich strand to travel, whereas he did won,  
But that he must do battle with the sea-nymphs son   

An hundred knights of honourable name  
He had subdued, and them his vassals made,  
That through all fairy land his noble fame  
Now blazed was, and fear did all invade,  
That none durst passen through that perilous glade.  
And to advance his name and glory more,  
Her Sea-god sire she dearly did persuade,  
T'endow her son with treasure and rich store,  
'Bove all the sons, that were of earthly wombesybore.   

The God did grant his daughters dear demand,  
To done his Nephew in all riches flow;  
eftsoons his heaped waves he did command,  
Out of their hollow bosom forth to throw  
All the huge treasure, which the sea below  
Had in his greedy gulf devoured deep,  
And him enriched through the overthrow  
And wrecks of many wretches, which did weep,  
And often wail their wealth, which he from them did keep.   

Shortly upon that shore there heaped was,  
Exceeding riches and all precious things,  
The spoil of all the world, that it did pass  
The wealth of th'East, and pomp of Persian kings;  
Gold, amber, ivory, pearls, ouches, rings,  
And all that else was precious and dear,  
The sea unto him voluntary brings,  
That shortly he a great Lord did appear,  
As was in all the land of fairy, or else where.   

Thereto he was a doughty dreaded knight,  
Tried often to the scathe of many dear,  
That none in equal arms him matchen might,  
The which his mother seeing, 'gan to fear  
Lest his too haughty hardiness might rear  
Some hard mishap, in hazard of his life:  
For thy she oft him counselled to forbear  
The bloody battle, and to stir up strife,  
But after all his war, to rest his weary knife.   

And for his more assurance, she enquired  
One day of Proteus by his mighty spell,  
(For Proteus was with prophecy inspired)  
Her dear sons destiny to her to tell,  
And the sad end of her sweet Marinell.  
Who through foresight of his eternal skill,  
Bade her from womankind to keep him well:  
For of a woman he should have much ill,  
A virgin strange and stout him should dismay, or kill.   

For thy she gave him warning every day,  
The love of women not to entertain;  
A lesson too too hard for living clay,  
From love in course of nature to refrain:  
Yet he his mother's lore did well retain,  
And ever from fair Lady's love did fly;  
Yet many Ladies fair did oft complain,  
That they for love of him would algates die:  
Die, who so list for him, he was loves enemy.   

But ah, who can deceive his destiny,  
Or ween by warning to avoid his fate?  
That when he sleeps in most security,  
And safest seems, him soon doth amate,  
And findeth due effect or soon or late.  
So feeble is the power of fleshy arm.  
His mother bade him wemen love to hate,  
For she of woman's force did fear no harm;  
So weening to have armed him, she did quite disarm.   

This was that woman, this thar deadly wownd,  
That Proteus prophecide should him dismay,  
The which his mother vainly did expound,  
To be heart-wounding love, which should assay  
To bring her son unto his last decay.  
So tickle be the tetmes of mortal state,  
And full of subtle sophisms, which do play  
With double senses, and with false debate,  
T approve the unknown purpose of eternal fate.   

Too true the famous Marinell it found,  
Who through late trial, on that wealthy strand  
Inglorious now lies in senseless swoon,  
Through heavy stroke of Britomartis hand.  
Which when his mother dear did understand,  
And heavy tidings heard, whereas she played  
Amongst her watery sisters by a pond,  
Gathering sweet daffodils, to have made  
Gay garlands, from the Sun their foreheads fair to shade.   

Eftsoons both flowers and garlands far away  
She flung, and her fair dewy locks rent,  
To sorrow huge she turned her former play,  
And gameson mirth to grievous dreariment:  
She threw herself down on the Continent,  
Ne word did speak, but lay as in aswownd,  
Whiles all her sisters did for her lament,  
With yelling outcries, and with shrieking sown;  
And every one did tear her gitlond from her crown.   

Soon as she up out of her deadly fit  
Arose, she bade her charet to be brought,  
And all her sisters, that with her did sit,  
Bad eke at once their charetts to be sought;  
though full of bitter grief and pensive thought,  
She to her waggon climbed; climbed all the rest,  
And forth together went, with sorrow fraught.  
The waves obedient to their behest,  
Them yielded ready passage, and their rage surceased.   

Great Neptune stood amazed at their sight,  
Whiles on his broad round back they softly slid  
And eke himself mourned at their mournful plight,  
Yet witted not what their wailing meant, yet did  
For great compassion of their sorrow, bid  
His mighty waters to them buxom be:  
Estesoones the roaring billows still abide,  
And all the grisly Monstes of the See  
Stood gaping at their gate, and wondered them to see.   

A teme of Dolphins ranged in array,  
Drew the smooth charet of sad Cymoent;  
They were all taught by Triton, to obey  
To the long reins, at her commandment:  
As swift as swallows, on the waves they went,  
That their broad flaggy fins no foam did rear,  
Ne bubbling rowndell they behind them sent;  
The rest of other fishes drawn wear,  
Which with their finny oars the swelling sea did shear.   

Soon as they been arrived upon the brim  
Of the Rich strand, their charets they forlore,  
And let their temed fishes softly swim  
Along the margin of the foamy shore,  
Lest they their fins should bruise, and surbate sore  
Their tender feet upon the stony ground:  
And coming to the place, where all in gore  
And cruddy blood enwallowed they found  
The luckless Marinell, lying in deadly swoon;   

His mother swooned thrice, and the third time  
Can scarce recovered be out of her pain;  
Had she not been devoid of mortal slime,  
She should not then have been relived again;  
But soon as life recovered had the rain,  
She made so piteous moan and dear wayment,  
That the hard rocks could scarce from tears refrain,  
And all her sister nymphs with one consent  
Supplied her sobbing breaches with sad complement.   

Dear image of myself, (she said) that is,  
The wretched son of wretched mother borne,  
Is this thine high advancement, O is this  
Th'immortal name, with which thee yet unborn  
Thy grandsire Nereus promised to adorn?  
Now liest thou of life and honour refte;  
Now liest thou a lump of earth forlorn,  
Ne of thy late life memory is left,  
Ne can thy irrevocable destiny be wefte?   

Fond Proteus, father of false prophecis,  
And they more fond, that credit to thee give,  
Not this the work of woman's hand iwis,  
That so deep wound through these dear members drive.  
I feared love: but they that love do live,  
But they that die, do nether love nor hate.  
Natheless to thee thy folly I forgive,  
And to myself, and to accursed fate  
The guilt I do ascribe: dear wisdom bought too late.   

O what avails it of immortal seed  
To been ybredd and never borne to die?  
far better I it deem to die with speed,  
Then waste in woe and waylfull misery.  
Who dies the utmost dolour doth abye,  
But who that lives, is left to wail his loss:  
So life is loss, and death felicity.  
Sad life worse than glad death: and greater cross  
To see friends grave, them dead the grave self to engross.   

But if the heavens did his days envy,  
And my short bliss malign, yet moat they well  
Thus much afford me, ere that he did die  
That the dim eyes of my dear Marinell  
I moat have closed, and him bed farewell,  
Sith other offices for mother meet  
They would not grant.  
Yet maugre them farewell, my sweetest sweet;  
Farewell my sweetest son, till we again may meet.   

Thus when they all had sorrowed their fill,  
They softly 'gan to search his grisly wownd:  
And that they might him handle more at will,  
They him disarmed, and spreading on the ground  
Their watcher mantles frindgd with silver round,  
They softly wiped away the jelly blood  
From th'orifice; which having well upbownd,  
They poured in sovereign balm, and Nectar good,  
Good both for earthly medicine, and for heavenly food.   

though when the lily handed Liagore,  
(This Liagore whilom had learned skill  
In leeches craft, by great Apollo's lore,  
Sith her whilom upon high Pindus' hill,  
He loved, and at last her womb did fill  
With heavenly seed, whereof wise Paeon sprung)  
Did feel his pulse, she knew their stayed still  
Some little life his feeble spirits among;  
Which to his mother told, despair she from her flung.   

though up him taking in their tender hands,  
They easily unto her charet bear:  
Her teme at her commandment quiet stands,  
Whiles they the corpse into her waggon rear,  
And strow with flowers the lamentable bear:  
Then all the rest into their coaches climb,  
And through the brackish waves their passage shear;  
Upon great Neptune's neck they softly swim,  
And to her watery chamber swiftly carry him.   

Deep in the bottom of the sea, her bower  
Is built of hollow billows heaped high,  
Like to thick clouds, that threat a stormy shower,  
And vaunted all within, like to the sky,  
In which the Gods do dwell eternally:  
There they him laid in easy couch well dight;  
And sent in haste for Tryphon, to apply  
Salves to his wounds, and medicines of might:  
For Tryphon of sea gods the sovereign leech is height.   

The whiles the nymphs sit all about him round,  
Lamenting his mishap and heavy plight;  
And oft his mother viewing his wide wownd,  
Cursed the hand, that did so deadly smite  
Her dearest son, her dearest hearts delight.  
But none of all those curses overtook  
The warlike maid, th'ensample of that might,  
But fairly well she thryud, and well did brook  
Her noble deeds, ne her right course for aught forsook.   

Yet did false Archimage her still pursue,  
To bring to pass his mischievous intent,  
Now that he had her singled from the crew  
Of courteous knights, the Prince, and fairy gent,  
Whom late in chase of beauty excellent  
She left, pursuing that same foster strong;  
Of whose fowl outrage they impatient,  
And full of fiery zeal, him followed long,  
To rescue her from shame, and to revenge her wrong.   

Through thick and thin, through mountains & through plains,  
Those two great champions did at once pursue  
The fearful damsel, with incessant pains:  
Who from them fled, as lightfoot hare from view  
Of hunter swift, and sent of hounds true.  
At last they came unto a double way,  
Where, doubtful which to take, her to rescue,  
Themselves they did dispart, each to assay,  
Whether more happy were, to win so goodly prey.   

But Timias, the Prince's gentle squire,  
That Lady's love unto his Lord forlent,  
And with proud envy, and indignant ire,  
After that wicked foster fiercely went.  
So been they three three sundry ways ybent.  
But fairest fortune to the Prince befell,  
Whose chance it was, that soon he did repent,  
To take that way, in which that Damozell  
Was fled afore, afraid of him, as fiend of hell.   

At last of her far of he gained view:  
Then 'gan he freshly prick his foamy steed,  
And ever as he nigher to her drew,  
So evermore he did increase his speed,  
And of each turning still kept wary heed:  
Aloud to her he oftentimes did call,  
To do away vain doubt, and needless dread:  
Full mild to her he spoke, and oft let fall  
Many meek words, to stay and comfort her withal.   

But nothing might relent her hasty flight;  
So deep the deadly fear of that foul swain  
Was erst impressed in her gentle sprite:  
Like as a fearful dove, which through the rain,  
Of the wide air her way does cut amain,  
Having far off espied a tassel gent,  
Which after her his nimble wings doth strain,  
Doubleth her haste for fear to be for-hent,  
And with her pinions cleaves the liquid firmament.   

With no less haste, and eke with no less dread,  
That fearful Lady fled from him, that meant  
To her no evil thought, nor evil deed;  
Yet former fear of being foully shent,  
Carried her forward with her first intent:  
And though oft looking backward, well she viewed,  
Herself freed from that foster insolent,  
And that it was a knight, which now her sewde,  
Yet she no less the knight feared, than that villain rude.   

His uncouth shield and strange arms her dismayed,  
Whose like in fairy land were seldom seen,  
That fast she from him fled, no less afraid,  
Then of wild beasts if she had chased been:  
Yet he her followed still with courage keen,  
So long that now the golden Hesperus  
Was mounted high in top of heaven sheen,  
And warned his other brethren joyous,  
To light their blessed lamps in loves eternal house.   

All suddenly dim wox the dampish air,  
And grisly shadows covered heaven bright,  
That now with thousand stars was decked fair;  
Which when the Prince beheld, a lothfull sight,  
And that perforce, for want of longer light,  
He motesurceasse his suit, and lose the hope  
Of his long labour, he 'gan foully wite  
His wicked fortune, that had turned aslope,  
And cursed night, that reft from him so goodly scope.   

though when her ways he could no more descry,  
But to and fro at disaventure strayed;  
Like as a ship, whose Lodestar suddenly  
Covered with clouds, her pilot hath dismayed,  
His wearisome pursuit perforce he stayed,  
And from his lofty steed dismounting low,  
Did let him forage. Down himself he laid  
Upon the grassy ground, to sleep a throw;  
The cold earth was his couch, the hard steel his pillow.   

But gentle sleep envied him any rest;  
In stead thereof sad sorrow, and disdain  
Of his hard hap did vex his noble breast,  
And thousand fancies bet his idle brain  
With their light wings, the sights of semblants vain:  
Oft did he wish, that Lady fair might be  
His faery Queen, for whom he did complain:  
Or that his fairy Queen were such, as she:  
And ever hasty Night he blamed bitterly.   

Night thou foul Mother of annoyance sad,  
Sister of heavy death, and nurse of woe,  
Which wast be got in heaven, but for thy bad  
And brutish shape thrust down to hell below,  
Where by the grim flood of Cocytus' slow  
Thy dwelling is, in Herebus black house,  
(Black Herebus thy husband is the foe  
Of all the Gods) where thou ungracious,  
Half of thy days dost lead in horror hideous.   

What had th'eternal Maker need of thee,  
The world in his continual course to keep,  
That dost all things deface, ne lettest see  
The beauty of his work? Indeed in sleep  
The slothful body, that doth love to steep  
His lustlefse limbs, and drown his base mind,  
Doth praise thee oft, and oft from Stygian deep  
Calls thee, his goddess in his error blind,  
And great Dame nature's handmaid, cheering every kind.   

But well I wot, that to an heavy heart  
Thou art the root and nurse of bitter cares,  
Breeder of new, renewer of old smarts:  
In stead of rest thou lendest railing tears,  
In stead of sleep thou sendest troublous fears,  
And dreadful visions, in the which alive  
The dreary image of sad death appears:  
So from the weary spirit thou dost drive  
Desired rest, and men of happiness deprive.   

Under thy mantle black there hidden lie,  
Light-shonning theft, and traitorous intent,  
Abhorred bloodshed, and vile felony,  
Shameful deceit, and danger imminent;  
Fowl horror, and eke hellish dreariment:  
All these I wot in thy protection be,  
And light do shun, for fear of being shent:  
For lighty like is loathed of them and thee,  
And all that lewdness love, do hate the light to see.   

For day discovers all dishonest ways,  
And showeth each thing, as it is in deed:  
The praises of high God he fair displays,  
And his large bounty rightly doth aread.  
The children of day be the blessed seed,  
Which darkness shall subdue, and heaven win:  
Truth is his daughter; he her first did breed,  
Most sacred virgin, without spot of sin.  
Our life is day, but death with darkness doth begin.   

O when will day then turn to me again,  
And bring with him his long expected light?  
O Titan, hast to rear thy joyous wain:  
Speed thee to spread abroad thy beams bright?  
And chase away this too long lingering night,  
Chase her away, from whence she came, to hell.  
She, she it is, that hath me done despite:  
There let her with the damned spirits dwell,  
And yield her room to day, that can it govern well.   

Thus did the Prince that weary night outwear,  
In restless anguish and unquiet pain:  
And early, ere the morrow did uprear  
His dewy head out of the Ocean main,  
He up arose, as half in great disdain,  
And climbed unto his steed. So forth he went,  
With heavy look and lumpish pace, that plain  
In him bewrayed great grudge and maltalent:  
His steed eke seemed t'apply his steps to his intent.    

Cant. V.  

Prince Arthur hears of Florimell:  
three fosters Timias wound,  
Belphebe finds him almost dead,  
and reareth out of sound.   

WOnder it is to see, in diverse minds,  
How diversly love doth his pageants play,  
And shows his power in variable kinds:  
The base wit, whose idle thoughts always  
Are wont to cleave unto the lowly clay,  
It stirreth up to sensual desire,  
And in lewd sloth to waste his careless day:  
But in brave spirit it kindles goodly fire,  
That to all high desert and honour doth aspire.   

Ne suffereth it uncomely idleness,  
In his free thought to build her sluggish nest:  
Ne suffereth it thought of ungentleness,  
Ever to creep into his noble breast,  
But to the highest and the worthiest  
Lifteth it up, that else would lowly fall:  
It lets not fall, it lets it not to rest:  
It lets not scarce this Prince to breath at all,  
But to his first poursuit him forward still doth call.   

Who long time wandered through the forest wide,  
To find some issue thence, till that at last  
He met a dwarf, that seemed terrifyde  
With some late peril, which he hardly past,  
Or other accident, which him aghast;  
Of whom he asked, whence he lately came,  
And whether now he travailed so fast:  
For sore he swat, and running through that same  
Thick forest, was bescracht, & both his feet nigh lame.   

Panting for breath, and almost out of heart,  
The dwarf him answered, Sir, ill mote I stay  
To tell the same. I lately did departed  
From fairy court, where I have many a day  
Served a gentle Lady of greatsway,  
And high account through out all Elfin land,  
Who lately left the same, and took this way:  
Her now I seek, and if ye understand  
Which way she fared hath, good Sir tell out of hand.   

What mister wight, (said he) and how arrayed?  
Royally clad (quoth he) in cloth of gold,  
As meetest may beseem a noble maid;  
Her fair locks in rich circlet be enrolled,  
A fairer wight did never sun behold,  
And on a Palfrey rides more white than snow,  
Yet she herself is whiter manifold:  
The surest sign, whereby ye may her know,  
Is, that she is the fairest wight alive, I trow.   

Now certes swain (said he) such one I ween,  
Fast flying through this forest from her foe,  
A foul ill favoured foster, I have seen;  
Herself, well as I might, I rescued tho,  
But could not stay; so fast she did forego,  
Carried away with wings of speedy fear.  
Ah dearest God (quoth he) that is great woe,  
And wondrous ruth to all, that shall it hear.  
But can ye read Sir, how I may her find, or where.   

pardie me liefer were to weeten that,  
(said he) than ransom of the richest knight,  
Or all the good that ever yet I got:  
But froward fortune, and too forward Night  
Such happiness did, maugre, to me spite,  
And fro me reft both life and light atone.  
But dwarf aread, what is that Lady bright,  
That through this forest wandereth thus alone;  
For of her error strange I have great ruth and moan.   

That Lady is (quoth he) where so she be,  
The bountiest virgin, and most debonair,  
That ever living eye I ween did see;  
lives none this day, that may with her compare  
In steadfast chastity and virtue rare,  
The goodly ornaments of beauty bright;  
And is cleped Florimell the fair,  
Fair Florimell beloved of many a knight,  
Yet she loves none but one, that Marinell is height.   

A sea-nymphs son, that Marinell is height,  
Of my dear Dame is loved dearly well;  
In other none, but him, she sets delight,  
All her delight is set on Marinell;  
But he sets nought at all by Florimell:  
For Ladies love his mother long ago  
Did him, they say, forewarn through sacred spell.  
But fame now flies, that of a foreign foe  
He is yslain, which is the ground of all our woe.   

Five days there be, since he (they say) was slain,  
And four, since Florimell the Court forewent,  
And vowed never to return again,  
Till him alive or dead she did invent.  
Therefore, fair Sir, for love of knighthood gent,  
And honour of true Ladies, if ye may  
By your good counsel, or bold hardiment,  
Or secure her, or me direct the way,  
Do one, or other good, I you most humbly pray.   

So may ye gain to you full great renown,  
Of all good Ladies through the world so wide,  
And haply in her heart find highest room,  
Of whom ye seek to be most magnifide:  
At least eternal meed shall you abide.  
To whom the Prince; dwarf, comfort to thee take,  
For till thou tidings learn, what her betide,  
I here avow thee never to forsake.  
Ill wears he arms, that nill them use for Lady's sake.   

So with the dwarf he back returned again,  
To seek his Lady, where he moat her find;  
But by the way he greatly 'gan complain  
The want of his good Squire late left behind,  
For whom he wondrous pensive grew in mind,  
For doubt of danger, which moat him betide;  
For him he loved above all mankind,  
Having him true and faithful ever tried,  
And bold, as ever squire that waited by knight's side.   

Who all this while full hardly was assayed  
Of deadly danger, which to him betidd;  
For whiles his Lord pursewd that noble maid,  
After that foster fowl he fiercely rid,  
To been avenged of the shame, he did  
To that fair damsel: Him he chased long  
Through the thick woods, wherein he would have hid  
His shameful head from his avengement strong,  
And oft him threatened death for his outrageous wrong.   

Nathlesse the villain sped himself so well,  
Whether through swiftness of his speedy beast;  
Or knowledge of those woods, where he did dwell,  
That shortly he from danger was released,  
And out of fight escaped at the least;  
Yet not escaped from the due reward  
Of his bad deeds, which daily he increased,  
Ne ceased not, till him oppressed hard  
The heavy plague, that for such leachours is prepared.   

For soon as he was vanished out of sight,  
His coward courage 'gan emboldened be,  
And cast t'avenge him of that fowl despite,  
Which he had borne of his bold enemy.  
though to his brethren came: for they were three  
Ungracious children of one graceless sire,  
And unto them complained, how that he  
Had used been of that foolhardy squire;  
So them with bitter words he stirred to bloody ire.   

Forthwith themselves with their sad instruments  
Of spoil and murder they 'gan arm bylive,  
And with him forth into the forest went,  
To wreak the wrath, which he did erst revive  
In their stern breasts, on him which late did drive  
Their brother to reproach and shameful flight:  
For they had vowed, that never he alive  
Out of that forest should escape their might;  
Vile rancour their rude hearts had filled with such despite   

Within that wood there was a covert glade,  
forbye a narrow ford, to them well known,  
Through which it was uneath for wight to made,  
And now by fortune it was overflown:  
By that same way they knew that squire unknown  
might algates pass; for thy themselves they set  
There in await, with thick woods over grown,  
And all the while their malice they did whet  
With cruel threats, his passage through the ford to let.   

It fortuned, as they devised had,  
The gentle squire came riding that same way,  
Unwitting of their wile and treason bad,  
And through the ford to passen did assay;  
But that fierce foster, which late fled away,  
Stoutly forth stepping on the further shore,  
Him boldly bade his passage there to stay,  
Till he had made amends, and full restore  
For all the damage, which he had him done afore.   

With that at him a quivering dart he threw,  
With so fell force and villeinous despite,  
That through his haberieon the forkehead flew,  
And through the linked mails empierced quite,  
But had now power in his soft flesh to bite:  
That struck the hardy Squire did sore displease,  
But more that him he could not come to smite;  
For by no means the high bank he could seize,  
But laboured long in that deep ford with vain disease.   

And still the foster with his long boarspear  
Him kept from landing at his wished will,  
Anon one sent out of the thicket near  
A cruel shaft, headed with deadly ill,  
And feathered with an unlucky quill;  
The wicked steel stayed not, till it did light  
In his left thigh, and deeply did it thrill:  
Exceeding grief that wound in him empight,  
But more that with his foes he could not come to fight.   

At last through wrath and vengeance making way,  
He on the bank arryud with much pain,  
Where the third brother him did sore assay,  
And drove at him with all his might and main  
A forest bill, which both his hands did strain,  
But warily he did avoid the blow,  
And with his spear requited him again,  
That both his sides were thrilled with the throw,  
And a large stream of flood out of the wound did flow.   

He tumbling down, with gnashing teeth did bite  
The bitter earth, and bad to let him in  
Into the baleful house of endless night,  
Where wicked ghosts do wail their former sin.  
though 'gan the battle freshly to begin;  
For nathemore for that spectacle bad,  
Did th'other two their cruel vengeance blind,  
But both at once on both sides him bestead,  
And load upon him laid, his life for to have had.   

though when that villain he advised, which late  
Affrighted had the fairest Florimell,  
Full of fires fury, and indignant hate,  
To him he turned, and with rigour fell  
Smote him so rudely on the Pannikell,  
That to the chin he cleft his head in twain:  
down on the ground his carcase groveling fell;  
His sinful soul with desperate disdain,  
Out of her fleshly farm fled to the place of pain.   

That seeing now the only last of three,  
Who with that wicked shaft him wounded had,  
Trembling with horror, as that did foresee  
The fearful end of his avengement sad,  
Through which he follow should his brethren bad,  
His bootless bow in feeble hand upcaught,  
And therewith shot an arrow at the lad;  
Which faintly fluttring, scarce his helmet reached,  
And glancing fell to ground, but him annoyed nought.   

With that he would have fled into the wood;  
But Timias him lightly overhent,  
Right as he entering was into the flood,  
And struck at him with force so violent,  
That headless him into the ford he sent:  
The carcase with the stream was carried down,  
But th' head fell backward on the Continent.  
So mischief fell upon the meaners crown;  
They three be dead with shame, the Squire lives with renown.   

He lives, but takes small joy of his renown;  
For of that cruel wound he bled so sore,  
That from his steed he fell in deadly swoon;  
Yet still the blood forth gushed in so great store,  
That he lay wallowd all in his own gore.  
Now God thee keep, thou gentlest squire alive,  
Else shall thy loving Lord thee see no more,  
But both of comfort him thou shalt deprive,  
And eke thyself of honour, which thou didst achieve.   

Providence heavenly passeth living thought,  
And doth for wretched men's relief make way;  
For lo great grace or fortune thither brought  
Comfort to him, that comfortless now lay.  
In those same woods, ye well remember may,  
How that a noble hunteresse did won,  
She, that base Braggadochio did affray,  
And made him fast out of the forest run;  
Belphoebe was her name, as fair as Phoebus sun.   

She on a day, as she pursewd the chase  
Of some wild beast, which with her arrows keen  
She wounded had, the same along did trace  
By tract of blood, which she had freshly seen,  
To have besprinkled all the grassy green,  
By the great pursue, which she there perceived,  
Well hoped she the beast engored had been,  
And made more haste, the life to have bereaved:  
But ah, her expectation greatly was deceived.   

Shortly she came, whereas that woeful Squire  
With blood deforwed; lay in deadly swoon:  
In whose fair eyes, like lamps of quenched fire,  
The crystal humour stood congealed round;  
His locks, like faded leaves fallen to ground,  
Knotted with blood, in bounches rudely ran,  
And his sweet lips, on which before that stound  
The bud of youth to blossom fair began,  
spoiled of their rosy red, were waxed pale and wan.   

Saw never living eye more heavy sight,  
That could have made a rock of stone to rue,  
Or rive in twain: which when that Lady bright  
Besides all hope with melting eyes did view,  
All suddenly abashed she changed hue,  
And with stern horror backward 'gan to start:  
But when she bitter him beheld she grew  
Full of soft passion and unwonted smart:  
The point of pity pierced through her tender heart.   

Meekly she bowed down, to weet if life  
Yet in his frozen members did remain,  
And feeling by his pulses beating rife,  
That the weak soul her seat did yet retain,  
She cast to comfort him with busy pain:  
His double folded neck she reared upright,  
And rubbed his temples, and each trembling vain;  
His mayled haberieon she did undight,  
And from his head his heavy burganet did light.   

Into the woods thence forth in haste she went,  
To seek for herbs, that mote him remedy;  
For she of herbs had great intendment,  
Taught of the nymph, which from her infancy  
Her nursed had in true Nobility:  
There, whether it divine Tobacco were,  
Or Panachaea, or Polygony,  
She found, and brought it to her patiented dear  
Who all this while lay bleeding out his hartblood near.   

The sovereign weed betwixt two marbles plain  
She pownded small, and did in peeees bruise,  
And then atween her lily hands twain,  
Into his wound the juice thereof did scruze,  
And round about, as she could well it uze,  
The flesh therewith she suppled and did steep,  
T'abate all spasm, and soak the swelling bruise,  
And after having searched the intuse deep,  
She with her scarf did bind the wound from cold to keep.   

By this he had sweet life recured again,  
And groaning inly deep, at last his eyes,  
His watery eyes, drizzling like deawy rain,  
He up 'gan lift toward the azure skies,  
From whence descend all hopeless remedies;  
Therewith he sighed, and turning him aside,  
The goodly maid full of divinities,  
And gifts of heavenly grace he by him spied,  
Her bow and gilded quiver lying him beside.   

Mercy dear Lord (said he) what grace is this,  
That thou hast showed to me sinful wight,  
To send thine angel from her bower of bliss,  
To comfort me in my distressed plight?  
Angel, or goddess do I call thee right?  
What service may I do unto thee meet,  
That hast from darkness me returned to light,  
And with thy heavenly salves and medicines sweet,  
Hast dressed my sinful wounds? I kiss thy blessed feet.   

Thereat she blushing said, Ah gentle Squire,  
Nor goddess I, nor angel, but the maid,  
And daughter of a woody nymph, desire  
No service, but thy safety and aid,  
Which if thou gain, I shallbe well apaid.  
We mortal wights, whose lives and fortunes be  
To commun accidents still open laid,  
Are bound with common bond of frailty,  
To succour wretched wights, whom we captived see.   

By this her Damzells, which the former chase  
Had undertaken after her, arrived,  
As did Belphoebe, in the bloody place,  
And thereby deemed the beast had been deprived  
Of life, whom late their Lady's arrow rived:  
For thy the bloody tract they followed fast,  
And every one to run the swiftest strived;  
But two of them the rest far overpast,  
And where their Lady was, arrived at the last.   

Where when they saw that goodly boy, wlth blood  
defouled, and their Lady dress his wownd,  
They wondered much, and shortly understood,  
How him in deadly case their Lady found,  
And rescued out of the heavy stound.  
eftsoons his warlike courser, which was strayed  
far in the woods, whiles that he lay in swoon,  
She made those damsels search, which being stayed,  
They did him set thereon, and forth with them conveyed.   

Into that forest far they thence him led,  
Where was their dwelling, in a pleasant glade,  
With mountains round about environed,  
And mighty woods, which did the valley shade,  
And like a stately Theatre it made,  
Spreading itself into a spacious plain.  
And in the midst a little river played  
Amongst the pumy stones, which seemed to plain  
With gentle mnrmure, that their course they did restrain   

Beside the same a dainty place there lay,  
Planted with myrtle trees and laurels green,  
In which the birds song many a lovely lay  
Of gods high praise, and of their sweet loves teen,  
As it an earthly paradise had been:  
In whose enclosed shadow there was pight  
A fair pavilion, scarcely to be seen,  
The which was all within most richly dight,  
That greatest Princes liking it moat well delight.   

Thither they brought that wounded squire, and laid  
In easy couch his feeble limbs to rest,  
He rested him a while, and then the maid  
His ready wound with better salves new dressed,  
Daily she dressed him, and did the best  
His grievous hurt to guarish, that she might,  
That shortly she his dolour hath redressed.  
And his foul sore reduced to fair plight:  
It she reduced, but himself destroyed quite.   

O foolish physic, and unfruitful pain,  
That heals up one and makes another wound:  
She his hurt thigh to him recured again,  
But hurt his heart, the which before was sound,  
Through an unwary dart, which did rebownd  
From her fair eyes and gracious countenance.  
What boots it him from death to be unbownd,  
To be captived in endless durance  
Of sorrow and despair without aleggeaunce?   

Still as his wound did gather, and grow hole,  
So still his heart wox sore, and health decayed:  
Madness to save a part, and lose the whole.  
Still whenas he beheld the heavenly maid,  
Whiles daily plasters to his wownd she laid,  
So still his Malady the more increased,  
The whiles her matchless beauty him dismayed.  
Ah God, what other could he do at least,  
But love so fair a Lady, that his life released?   

Long while he strove in his courageous breast,  
With reason dew the passion to subdue,  
And love for to dislodge out of his nest:  
Still when her excellencies he did view,  
Her sovereign bounty, and celestial hue,  
The same to love he strongly was constrained:  
But when his mean estate he did renew,  
He from such hardy boldness was restrained,  
And of his luckless lot and cruel love thus playnd.   

Unthankful wretch (said he) is this the meed,  
With which her sovereign mercy thou do est quite?  
Thy life she saved by her gracious deed,  
But thou do est ween with villeinous despite,  
To blot her honour, and her heavenly light.  
die rather, die, than so disloyally  
Deem of her high desert, or seem so light:  
Fair death it is to shun more shame, to die:  
die rather, die, than ever love disloyally.   

But if to love disloyalty it be,  
Shall I then hate her, that from deaths door  
Me brought? ah far be such reproach fro me.  
What can I less do, than her love therefore,  
Sith I her due reward cannot restore:  
die rather, die, and dying do her serve,  
Dying her serve, and living her adore;  
Thy life she gave, thy life she doth deserve:  
die rather, die, than ever from her service swerver.   

But foolish boy, what boots thy service base  
To her, to whom the heavens do serve and sew?  
Thou a mean squire, of meek and lowly place,  
She heavenly borne, and of celestial hue.  
How then? of all love taketh equal view:  
And doth not highest God vouchsafe to take  
The love and service of the basest crew?  
If she will not, die meekly for her sake;  
die rather, die, than ever so fair love forsake.   

Thus warreid he long time against his will,  
Till that through weakness he was forced at last,  
To yield himself unto the mighty ill:  
Which as a victor proud, 'gan ransack fast  
His inward parts, and all his entrails waste,  
That neither blood in face, nor life in heart  
It left, but both did quite dry up, and blast;  
As piercing levin, which the inner part  
Of every thing consumes, and calcineth by art.   

Which seeing fair Belphoebe, 'gan to fear,  
Lest that his wound were inly well not healed,  
Or that the wicked steel empoysned were:  
Little she weaned, that love he close concealed;  
Yet still he wasted, as the snow congealed,  
When the bright sun his beams thereon doth beat;  
Yet never he his heart to her revealed,  
But rather chose to die for sorrow great,  
Then with dishonourable terms her to entreat.   

She gracious Lady, yet no pains did spare,  
To do him ease, or do him remedy:  
Many restoratives of virtues rare,  
And costly cordials she did apply,  
To mitigate his stubborn malady:  
But that sweet cordial, which can restore  
A lovesick heart, she did to him envy;  
To him, and to all th'unworthy world forlore  
She did envy that sovereign salve, in secret store.   

That dainty Rose, the daughter of her morn,  
More dear than life she tendered, whose flower  
The garland of her honour did adorn:  
Ne suffered she the midday's scorching power,  
Ne the sharp Northern wind thereon to shower,  
But lapped up her silken leaves most chair,  
When so the froward sky began to lower;  
But soon as calmed was the crystal air,  
She did it fair dispred, and let to flourish fair.   

Eternal God in his almighty power,  
To make ensample of his heavenly grace,  
In paradise whilom did plant this flower;  
Whence he it fetched out of her native place,  
And did in stock of earthly flesh enrace,  
That mortal men her glory should admire  
In gentle Lady's breast, and bounteous race  
Of woman kind it fairest flower doth spire,  
And beareth fruit of honour and all chaste desire.   

Fair imps of beauty, whose bright shining beams  
Adorn the world with like to heavenly light,  
And to your wills both royalties and reams  
Subdue, through conquest of your wondrous might,  
With this fair flower your goodly garlands dight,  
Of chastity and virtue virginal,  
That shall embellish more your beauty bright,  
And crown your heads with heavenly coronal,  
Such as the Angels were before God's tribunal.   

To your fair selves a fair ensample frame,  
Of this fair virgin, this Belphebe fair,  
To whom in perfect love, and spotless fame  
Of chastity, none living may compayre:  
Ne poisonous envy justly can impair  
The praise of her fresh flowering May denhead;  
For thy she standeth on the highest stair  
Of th'honourable stage of womanhood,  
That Ladies all may follow her ensample dead.   

In so great praise of steadfast chastity,  
Nathlesse she was so courteous and kind,  
Tempered with grace, and goodly modesty,  
That seemed those two virtues strove to find  
The higher place in her heroic mind:  
So striving each did other more augment,  
And both increased the praise of woman kind,  
And both increased her beauty excellent;  
So all did make in her a perfect complement;    

Cant. vi  

The birth of fair Belphoebe and  
Of Amorett is told.  
The gardens of Adonis fraught  
With pleasures manifold.   

WEll may I ween, fair Ladies, all this while  
Ye wonder, how this noble Damozell  
So great perfections did in her compile,  
Sith that in salvage forests she did dwell,  
So far from court and royal citadel,  
The great schoolmaistresse of all courtesy:  
Seemeth that such wild woods should far expel  
All civil usage and gentility,  
And gentle spirit deform with rude rusticity.   

But to this fair Belphoebe in her birth  
The heavens so favourable were and free,  
Looking with mild aspect upon the earth,  
In th' Horoscope of her nativity,  
That all the gifts of grace and chastity  
On her they poured forth of plenteous horn;  
jove laughed on Venus from his sovereign see,  
And Phoebus with fair beams did her adorn,  
And all the Graces rocked her cradle being borne.   

Her birth was of the womb of Morning dew,  
And her conception of the joyous Prime,  
And all her whole creation did her show  
Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime,  
That is ingenerate in fleshly slime.  
So was this virgin borne, so was she bred,  
So was she trained up from time to time,  
In all chaste virtue, and true bountihed  
Till to her due perfection she were ripened.   

Her mother was the fair Chrysogonee,  
The daughter of Amphisa, who by race  
A fairy was, yborn of high degree,  
She bore Belphaebe, she bore in like case  
Fair Amoretta in the second place:  
These two were twins, & twixt them two did share  
The heritage of all celestial grace.  
That all the rest it seemed they rob bare  
Of bounty, and of beauty, and all virtues rare.   

It were a goodly story, to declare,  
By what strange accident fair Chrysogone  
Conceived these infants, and how them she bore,  
In this wild forest wandering all alone,  
After she had nine months fulfilled and gone:  
For not as other women's common brood,  
They were enwombed in the sacred throne  
Of her chaste body, nor with common food,  
As other women's babes, they sucked vital blood.   

But wondrously they were begot, and bred  
Through influence of th'heavens fruitful ray,  
As it in antic books is mentioned.  
It was upon a summers shiny day,  
When Titan fair his beams did display,  
In a fresh fountain, far from all men's view,  
She bathed her breast, the boiling heat t'allay;  
She bathed with roses red, and violets blue,  
And all the sweetest flowers, that in the forest grew.   

Till faint through irksome weariness, adown  
Upon the grassy ground herself she laid  
To sleep, the whiles a gentle slombring swoon  
Upon her fell all naked bare displayed;  
The sunbeams bright upon her body played,  
Being through former bathing mollifide,  
And pierced into her womb, where they embayed  
With so sweet sense and secret power unspied,  
That in her pregnant flesh they shortly fructifide.   

Miraculous may seem to him, that reads  
So strange ensample of conception,  
But reason teacheth that the fruitful seeds  
Of all things living, through impression  
Of the sunbeams in moist complexion,  
Do life conceive and quickened are by kind:  
So after Nilus' inundation,  
Infinite shapes of creatures men do find,  
Informed in the mud, on which the sun hath shynd.   

Great father he of generation  
Is rightly called, th'author of life and light;  
And his fair sister for creation  
Ministereth matter fit, which tempered right  
With heat and humour, breeds the living wight.  
So sprung these twins in womb of Chrysogone,  
Yet witted she nought thereof, but sore affright,  
Wondered to see her belly so upblone,  
Which still increased, till she her term had full outgone.   

Whereof conceiving shame and foul disgrace,  
Albe her guiltless conscience her cleared,  
She fled into the wilderness a space,  
Till that unweeldy burden she had reared,  
And shunned dishonour, which as death she feared:  
Where weary of long travail, down to rest  
Herself she set, and comfortably cheered;  
There a sad cloud of sleep her overkest,  
And seized every sense with sorrow sore oppressed.   

It fortuned, fair Venus having lost  
Her little son, the winged god of love,  
Who for some light displeasure, which him crossed,  
Was from her fled, as flit as eyrie dove,  
And left her blissful bower of joy above,  
(So from her often he had fled away,  
When she for aught him sharply did reprove,  
And wandered in the world in strange array,  
Disguised in thousand shapes, that none might him bewray.)   

Him for to seek, she left her heavenly house,  
The house of goodly forms and fair aspects,  
Whence all the world derives the glorious  
Features of beauty, and all shapes select,  
With which high God his workmanship hath decked;  
And searched every way, through which his wings  
Had borne him, or his tract she moat detect:  
She promised kisses sweet, and sweeter things,  
Unto the man, that of him tidings to her brings.   

First she him sought in Court, where most he used  
Whilom to haunt, but there she found him not;  
But many there she found, which sore accused  
His falsehood, and with fowl infamous blot  
His cruel deeds and wicked wiles did spot:  
Ladies and Lords she every where moat hear  
Complaining, how with his empoysned shot  
Their woeful hearts he wounded had whilere,  
And so had left them languishing twixt hope and fear.   

She than the Cities sought from gate to gate,  
And every one did ask did he him see;  
And every one her answered, that too late  
He had him seen, and felt the cruelty  
Of his sharp darts and hot artilleree;  
And every one threw forth reproaches rife  
Of his mischievous deeds, and said, That he  
Was the disturber of all civil life,  
The enemy of peace, and author of all strife.   

Then in the country she abroad him sought,  
And in the rural cottages enquired,  
Where also many plaints to her were brought,  
How he their heedless hearts with love had fired,  
And his false venom through their veins inspired;  
And eke the gentle shepherd swains, which sat  
Keeping their fleecy flocks, as they were hired,  
She sweetly heard complain, both how and what  
Her son had to them done; yet she did smile thereat.   

But when in none of all these she him got,  
She 'gan avize, where else he moat him hide:  
At last she her bethought, that she had not  
Yet sought the salvage woods and forests wide,  
In which full many lovely nymphs abide,  
'mongst whom might be, that he did closely lie,  
Or that the love of some of them him tied:  
For thy she thither cast her course t'apply,  
To search the secret haunts of Diana's company.   

Shortly unto the wasteful woods she came,  
Whereas she found the goddess with her crew,  
After late chase of their imbrued game,  
Sitting beside a fountain in a rew,  
Some of them washing with the liquid dew  
From of their dainty limbs the dusty sweat,  
And soil which did deform their lively hue,  
Others lay shaded from the scorching heat;  
The rest upon her person gave attendance great.   

She having hung upon a bough on high  
Her bow and painted quiver, had unlaste  
Her silver buskins from her nimble thigh,  
And her lank loins ungirt, and breasts unbraste,  
After her heat the breathing cold to taste;  
Her golden locks, that late in tresses bright  
Embreaded were for hindering of her haste,  
Now lose about her shoulders hung undight,  
And were with sweet Ambrosia all besprinkled light.   

Soon as she Venus saw behind her back,  
She was ashamed to be so lose surprised  
And wox half wroth against her damsels slack,  
That had not her there of before advised,  
But suffered her so carelessly disguised  
Be overtaken. Soon her garments lose  
Vpgath'ring, in her bosom she comprised,  
Well as she might, and to the goddess rose,  
Whiles all her nymphs did like a garland her enclose.   

Goodly she 'gan fair Cytherea greet,  
And shortly asked her, what cause her brought  
Into that wilderness for her unmeet,  
From her sweet bowers, and beds with pleasures fraught:  
That sudden change she strange adventure thought.  
To whom half weeping, she thus answered,  
That she her dearest son Cupid sought,  
Who in his frowardness from her was fled;  
That she repent sore, to have him angered.   

Thereat Diana 'gan to smile, in scorn  
Of her vain plaint, and to her scoffing said;  
Great pity sure, that ye be so forlorn  
Of your gay son, that gives ye so good aid  
To your disports: ill might ye been apaid,  
But she was more engrieved, and replied;  
Fair sister, ill beseems it to upbraid  
A doleful heart with so disdainful pride;  
The like that mine, may be your pain another tide.   

As you in woods and wanton wilderness  
Your glory set, to chase the salvage beasts,  
So my delight is all in joyfulness,  
In beds, in bowers, in banckets, and in feasts:  
And ill becomes you with your lofty crests,  
To scorn the joy, that Jove is glad to seek;  
We both are bound to follow heavens behests,  
And tend our charges with obeisance meek:  
Spare, gentle sister, with reproach my pain to eke.   

And tell me, if that ye my son have heard,  
To lurk amongst your nymphs in secret wise;  
Or keep their cabins: much I am afeard,  
Lest he like one of them himself disguise,  
And turn his arrows to their exercise:  
So may he long himself full easy hide:  
For he is fair and fresh in face and guise,  
As any nymph (let not it be envied.)  
So saying every nymph full narrowly she eide.   

But Phoebe therewith sore was angered,  
And sharply said, go Dame, go seek your boy,  
Where you him lately left, in Mars his bed;  
He comes not here, we scorn his foolish joy,  
Ne lend we leisure to his idle toy:  
But if I catch him in this company,  
By Stygian lake I vow, whose sad annoy  
The Gods do dread, he dearly shall abye:  
I'll clip his wanton wings, that he no more shall fly.   

Whom whenas Venus saw so sore displeased,  
She inly sorry was, and 'gan relent,  
What she had said: so her she soon appeased,  
With sugared words and gentle blandishment,  
From which a fountain from her sweet lips went,  
And welled goodly forth, that in short space  
She was well pleased, and forth her damzells sent  
Thtough all the woods, to search from place to place.  
If any tract of him or tidings they moat trace.   

To search the God of love her nymphs she sent,  
Throughout the wandering forest every where:  
And after them herself eke with her went  
To seek the fugitive.  
So long they sought, till they arrived were  
In that same shady covert, whereas lay  
Fair Crysogone in slombry trance whilere:  
Who in her sleep (a wondrous thing to say)  
Unwares had borne two babes, as fair as springing day.   

Unwares she them conceived, unwares she bore:  
She bore withouten pain, that she conceived  
Withouten pleasure: ne her need implore  
Lucina's aid: which when they both perceived,  
They were through wonder nigh of sense bereaved,  
And gazing each on other, nought bespoke:  
At last they both agreed, her seeming grieved  
Out of her heavy swoon not to awake,  
But from her loving side the tender babes to take.   

up they them took, eachone a babe uptooke,  
And with them carried, to be fostered;  
Dame Phoebe to a nymph her babe betook,  
To be upbrought in perfect Maydenhed,  
And of herself her name Belphoebe red:  
But Venus hers thence far away conveyed,  
To be upbrought in goodly womanhed,  
And in her little loves stead, which was strayed,  
Her Amorettae called, to comfort her dismayed.   

She brought her to her joyous paradise,  
Where most she wonnes, when she on earth does dwell.  
So fair a place, as Nature can devise:  
Whether in Paphos, or Cithaeron hill,  
Or it in Gnidas' Bee, I wot not well;  
But well I wot by trial, that this same  
All other pleasant places doth excel,  
And called is by her lost lovers name,  
The Gardin of Adonis, far renowned by fame.   

In that same Gardin all the goodly slowres,  
Wherewith dame Nature doth her beautify,  
And decks the garlands of her Paramoures,  
Are fetched: there is the first seminary  
Of all things, that are borne to live and die,  
According to their kinds. Long work it were,  
Here to account the endless progeny  
Of all the weeds, that bud and blossom there;  
But so much as doth need, must needs be counted here.   

It sited was in fruitful soil of old,  
And girt in with two walls on either side;  
The one of iron, the other of bright gold,  
That none might thorough break, nor over-stride:  
And double gates it had, which opened wide,  
By which both in and out men moten pas;  
Th'one fair and fresh, the other old and dried:  
Old Genius the porter of them was,  
Old Genius, the which a double nature has.   

He letteth in, he letteth out to wend,  
All that to come into the world desire;  
A thousand thousand naked babes attend  
About him day and night, which do require,  
That he with fleshly weeds would them attire:  
Such as him list, such as eternal fate  
Ordained hath, he clothes with sinful mire,  
And sendeth forth to live in mortal state,  
Till they again return back by the hinder gate.   

After that they again returned been,  
They in that Gardin planted be again;  
And grow afresh, as they had never seen  
Fleshly corruption, nor mortal pain.  
Some thousand years so done they there remain,  
And then of him are clad with other hue,  
Orsent into the chaungefull world again,  
Till thither they return, where first they grew:  
So like a wheel arownd they run from old to new.   

Ne needs there gardener to set, or sow,  
To plant or prune: for of their own accord  
All things, as they created were, do grow,  
And yet remember well the mighty word,  
Which first was spoken by th' Almighty lord,  
That bade them to increase and multiply:  
Ne do they need with water of the ford,  
Or of the clouds to moisten their roots dry;  
For in themselves eternal moisture they imply.   

Infinite shapes of creatures there are bred,  
And uncouth forms, which none yet ever knew,  
And every sort is in a sundry bed  
Sett by itself, and ranked in comely rue:  
Some fit for reasonable ,  
Some made for beasts, some made for birds to wear,  
And all the fruitful spawn of fishes hue  
In endless ranks along enraunged were,  
That seemed the Ocean could not contain them there.   

Daily they grow, and daily forth are sent  
Into the world, it to replenish more,  
Yet is the stock not lessened, nor spent,  
But still remains in everlasting store,  
As it at first created was of yore.  
For in the wide womb of the world therelyes,  
In hateful darkness and in deep horrore,  
An huge eternal Chaos, which supplies  
The substances of natures fruitful progenyes.   

All things from thence do their first being fetch,  
And borrow matter, where of they are made,  
Which whenas form and feature it does catch,  
Becomes a body, and doth then invade  
The state of life, out of the grisly shade.  
That substance is eterne, and bideth so,  
Ne when the life decays, and form does fade,  
Doth it consume, and into nothing go,  
But changed is, and often altered to and fro.   

The substance is not changed, nor altered,  
But th' only form and outward fashion;  
For every substance is conditioned  
To change her hue, and sundry forms to don  
Meet for her temper and complexion:  
For forms are variable and decay,  
By course of kind, and by occasion;  
And that fair flower of beauty fades away,  
As doth the lily fresh before the sunny ray.   

Great enemy to it, and to all the rest,  
That in the Gardin of Adonis' springs,  
Is wicked time, who with his scyth addressed,  
Does mow the flowering herbs and goodly things,  
And all their glory to the ground down flings,  
Where they do whither, and are foully marred:  
He flies about, and with his flaggy wings  
Beats down both leaves and buds without regard,  
Ne ever pity may relent his malice hard.   

Yet pity often did the gods relent,  
To see so fair things marred, and spoiled quite:  
And their great mother Venus did lament  
The loss of her dear brood, her dear delight:  
Her heart was pierced with pity at the sight,  
When walking through the Gardin, them she spied,  
Yet no'te she find redress for such despite:  
For all that lives, is subject to that law:  
All things decay in time, and to their end do draw.   

But were it not, that Time their troubler is,  
All that in this delightful Gardin grows,  
Should happy be, and have immortal bliss:  
For here all plenty, and all pleasure flows,  
And sweet love gentle fits amongst them throws,  
Without fell rancour, or fond gealosy;  
Frankly each Paramor his leman knows,  
Each bird his mate, ne any does envy  
Their goodly merriment, and gay felicity.   

There is continual Spring, and harvest there  
Continual, both meeting at one time:  
For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear,  
And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime,  
And eke at once the heavenly trees they climb,  
Which seem to labour under their fruits load:  
The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime  
Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode,  
And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.   

Right in the midst of that Paradise,  
There stood a stately Mount, on whose round top  
A gloomy grove of myrtle trees did rise,  
Whose shady boughs sharp steel did never lop,  
Nor wicked beasts their tender buds did crop,  
But like a garland compassed the height,  
And from their fruitful sides sweet gum did drop,  
That all the ground with precious dew bedight,  
Threw forth most dainty odours, & most sweet delight.   

And in the thickest covert of that shade,  
There was a pleasant Arbor, not by art,  
But of the trees own inclination made,  
Which knitting their rank branches part to part,  
With wanton ivy twine entrayld athwart,  
And Eglantine, and Caprifole among,  
Fashioned above within their inmost part,  
That nether Phoebus' beams could through them throng,  
Nor Aeolus sharp blast could work them any wrong.   

And all about grew every sort of flower,  
To which sad lovers were transformed of yore;  
Fresh Hyacinthus, Phoebus' paramour,  
Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watery shore,  
Sad Amaranthus, made a flower but late,  
Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple gore  
Me seems I see Amintas wretched fate,  
To whom sweet poet's verse hath given endless date.   

There wont fair Venus often to enjoy  
Her dear Adonis joyous company,  
And reap sweet pleasure of the wanton boy:  
There yet, some say, in secret he does lie,  
Lapped in flowers and precious spicery,  
By her hid from the world, and from the skill  
Of Stygian Gods, which do her love envy;  
But she herself, when ever that she will,  
Possesseth him, and of his sweetness takes her fill.   

And soothe it seems they say: for he may not  
For ever die, and ever buried be  
In baleful night, where all things are forgot;  
All be he subject to mortality,  
Yet is eterne in mutability,  
And by succession made perpetual,  
Transformed oft, and changed diversly:  
For him the Father of all forms they call;  
Therefore needs moat he live, that living gives to all.   

There now he liveth in eternal bliss,  
joying his goddess, and of her enjoyed:  
Ne feareth he henceforth that foe of his,  
Which with his cruel tusk him deadly cloyed:  
For that wild boar, the which him once annoyed,  
She firmly hath imprisoned for ay,  
That her sweet love his malice moat avoid,  
In a strong rocky cave, which is they say,  
He wen underneath that Mount, that none him loosen may.   

There now he lives in everlasting joy,  
With many of the Gods in company,  
Which thither haunt, and with the winged boy  
Sporting himself in safe felicity:  
Who when he hath with spoils and cruelty  
Ransacked the world, and in the woeful hearts  
Of many wretches set his triumphs high,  
Thither resorts, and laying his sad darts  
Aside, with fair Adonis plays his wanton parts.   

And his true love fair Psyche with him plays,  
Fair Psyche to him lately reconcyld,  
After long troubles and unmeet upbrayes,  
With which his mother Venus her revyld,  
And eke himself her cruelly exyld:  
But now in steadfast love and happy state  
She with him lives, and hath him borne a child,  
Pleasure, that doth both gods and men aggrate,  
Pleasure, the daughter of Cupid and Psyche late.   

Hither great Venus brought this infant fair,  
The younger daughter of Chrysogonee,  
And unto Psyche with great trust and care  
Committed her, yfostered to be,  
And trained up in true feminity:  
Who no less carefully her tendered,  
Then her own daughter Pleasure, to whom she  
Made her companion, and her lessoned  
In all the lore of love, and goodly womanhood.   

In which when she to perfect ripeness grew,  
Of grace and beauty noble paragon,  
She brought her forth into the worlds view,  
To be th'ensample of true love alone,  
And Lodestarre of all chaste affection,  
To all fair Ladies, that do live on ground.  
To fairy court she came, where many one  
Admyrd her goodly haveour, and found  
His feeble heart wide launch with loves cruel wownd.   

But she to none of them her love did cast,  
Save to the noble knight Sir Scudamore,  
To whom her loving heart she linked fast  
In faithful love, t'abide for evermore,  
And for his dearest sake endured sore,  
Sore trouble of an heinous enemy,  
Who her would forced have to have for lore  
Her former love, and stead fast loyalty,  
As ye may elsewhere read that rueful history.   

But well I ween, ye first desire to learn,  
What end unto that fearful Damozell,  
Which fled so fast from that same foster stern,  
Whom with his brethren Timias slew, befell:  
That was to weet, the goodly Florimell,  
Who wandering for to seek her lover dear,  
Her lover dear, her dearest Marinell,  
Into misfortune fell, as ye did hear,  
And from Prince Arthure fled with wings of idle fear.    

Cant. VII.  

The witch's son loves Florimell:  
She flies, he feigns to die.  
Satyrane saves the Sqnyre of Dames  
From Gynunt, tyranny.   

LIke as an hind forth singled from the heard,  
That hath escaped from a ravenous beast,  
Yet flies away of her own feet afeard,  
And every leaf, that shaketh with the least  
Murmur of wind, her terror hath increased;  
So fled fair Florimell from her vain fear,  
Long after she from peril was released:  
Each shade she saw, and each noise he did hear,  
Did seem to be the same, which she eseapt whilere.   

All that same evening she in flying spent,  
And all that night her course continued:  
Ne did she let dull sleep once to relent,  
Nor weariness to slack her haste, but fled  
Ever alike, as if her former dread  
Were hard behind, her ready to arrest:  
And her white Palfrey having conquered  
The mastering rains out of her weary wrist,  
Perforce her carried, where ever he thought best.   

So long as breath, and able puissance  
Did native courage unto him supply,  
His pace he freshly forward did advance,  
And carried her beyond all jeopardy,  
But nought that wanteth rest, can long abye.  
He having through incessant travail spent  
His force, at last perforce adown did lie,  
Ne foot could further move: The Lady gent  
Thereat was sudden struck with great astonishment.   

And forced t'alight, on foot moat algates far,  
A traveller unwonted to such way:  
Need teacheth her this lesson hard and rare,  
That fortune all in equal lance doth sway,  
And mortal miseries doth make her play.  
So long she traveild, till at length she came  
To an hills side, which did to her bewray  
A little valley, subject to the same,  
All covered with thick woods, that quite it overcame.   

Through the tops of the high trees she did descry  
A little smoke, whose vapour thin and light,  
Reeking aloft, uprolled to the sky:  
Which, cheerful sign did send unto her sight,  
That in the same did won some living wight.  
eftsoons her steps she thereunto applied,  
And came at last in weary wretched plight  
Unto the place, to which her hope did guide,  
To find some refuge there, and rest her weary side.   

There in a gloomy hollow glen she found  
A little cottage, built of sticks and reeds  
In homely wise, and walled with sods around,  
In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weeds,  
And wilful want, all careless of her needs,  
So choosing solitary to abide,  
Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds  
And hellish arts from people she might hide,  
And hurt far off unknown, whom ever she envied.   

The damsel there arriving entered in;  
Where sitting on the flore the Hag she found,  
Busy (as seeined) about some wicked gin:  
Who soon as she beheld that sudden stound,  
Lightly upstarted from the dusty ground,  
And with fell look and hollow deadly gaze  
Stared on her awhile, as one astounded,  
Ne had one word to speak, for great amaze,  
But showed by outward signs, that dread her sense did daze,   

At last turning her fear to foolish wrath,  
She asked, what devil had her thither brought,  
And who she was, and what unwonted path  
Had guided her, unwelcomed, unsought.  
To which the damsel full of doubtful thought,  
Her mildly answered; Beldame be not wroth  
With silly Virgin by adventure brought  
Unto your dwelling, ignorant and loath,  
That crave but room to rest, while tempest ouerblo'th.   

With that adown out of her crystal eyen  
Few trickling tears she softly forth let fall,  
That like two orient pearls, did purely shine  
Upon her snowy cheek; and therewithal  
She sighed soft, that none so bestial,  
Nor salvage heart, but ruth of her sad plight  
Would make to melt, or piteously appall;  
And that vile Hag, all were her whole delight  
In mischief, was much moved at so piteous fight.   

And 'gan recomfort her in her rude wise,  
With womanish compassion of her plaint,  
Wiping the tears from her suffused eyes,  
And bidding her sit down, to rest her faint  
And weary limbs a while. She nothing acquaint  
Nors deignfull of so homely fashion,  
Sith brought she was now to so hard constraint,  
Sat down upon the dusty ground anon,  
As glad of that small rest, as Bird of tempest gone.   

though 'gan she gather up her garments rend,  
And her lose locks to dight in order dew,  
With golden wreath and gorgeous ornament;  
Whom such whenas the wicked Hag did view,  
She was astonished at her heavenly hue,  
And doubted her to deem an earthly wight,  
But or some goddess, or of Diana's crew,  
And thought her to adore with humble sprite;  
T'adore thing so divine as beauty, were but right.   

This wicked woman had a wicked son,  
The comfort of her age and weary days,  
A laesy Lord, for nothing good to done,  
But stretched forth in idleness always,  
Ne ever cast his mind to covet praise,  
Or ply himself to any honest trade,  
But all the day before the sunny rays  
He used to slug, or sleep in slothful shade:  
Such laesinesse both lewd and poor at once him made.   

He coming home at undertime, there found  
The fairest creature, that he ever saw,  
Sitting beside his mother on the ground;  
The sight whereof did greatly him adaw,  
And his base thought with terror and with awe  
So inly smote, that as one, which hath gazed  
On the bright sun unwares, doth soon withdraw  
His feeble eyen, with too much brightness dazed,  
So stared he on her, and stood long while amazed.   

Softly at last he 'gan his mother ask,  
What mister wight that was, and whence derived,  
That in so strange disguizement there did mask,  
And by what accident she there arrived:  
But she, as one nigh of her wits deprived,  
With nought but ghastly looks him answered,  
Like to a ghost, that lately is reviv'd  
From Stygian shores, where late it wandered;  
So both at her, and each at other wondered.   

But the fair Virgin was so meek and mild,  
That she to them vouchsafed to embace  
Her goodly port, and to their senses vild,  
Her gentle speech applied, that in short space  
She grew familiar in that desert place.  
During which time, the Chorle through her so kind  
And courteise use conceived affection base,  
And cast to love her in his brutish mind,  
No love, but brutish lust, that was so beastly tind.   

Closely the wicked flame his bowels brent,  
And shortly grew into outrageous fire;  
Yet had he not the heart, nor hardiment,  
As unto her to utter his desire;  
His caitiff thought durst not so high aspire,  
But with soft sighs, and lovely semblances,  
He weened that his affection entire  
She should aread; many resemblances  
To her he made, and many kind remembrances.   

Oft from the forest wildings he did bring,  
Whose sides empurpled were with smile red,  
And oft young birds, which he had taught to sing  
His mistress praises, sweetly caroled,  
Garlands of flowers sometimes for her fair head  
He fine would dight; sometimes the squirrel wild  
He brought to her in bands, as conpuered  
To be her thrall, his fellow servant vild;  
All which, she of him took with countenance meek & mild.   

But past awhile, when she fit season saw  
To leave that desert mansion, she cast  
In secret wise herself thence to withdraw,  
For fear of mischief, which she did forecast  
Might by the witch or by her son compassed:  
Her weary Palfrey closely, as she might,  
Now well recovered after long repast,  
In his proud furnitures she freshly dight,  
His late miswandred ways now to remeasure right.   

And early ere the dawning day appeared,  
She forth issewed, and on her journey went;  
She went in peril, of each noise afeard,  
And of each shade, that did itself present;  
For still she feared to be overhent,  
Of that vile hag, or her uncivil son:  
Who when too late awaking, well they kent,  
That their fair guest was gone, they both begun  
To make exceeding moan, as they had been undone.   

But that lewd lover did the most lament  
For her departed, that ever man did hear;  
He knocked his breast with desperate intent,  
And scratched his face, and with his teeth did tear  
His rugged flesh, and rend his ragged hear:  
That his sad mother seeing his sore plight,  
Was greatly woe begun, and 'gan to fear,  
Lest his frail senses were emperisht quite,  
And love to frenzy turned, sith love is frantic height.   

All ways she sought, him to restore to plight,  
With herbs, with charms, with counsel, & with tears,  
But tears, nor charms, nor herbs, nor counsel might  
Assuage the fury, which his entrails tears:  
So strong is passion, that no reason hears.  
though when all other helps she saw to fail,  
She turned herself back to her wicked leers  
And by her devilish arts thought to prevail,  
To bring her back again, or work her final bale.   

Estesoones out of her hidden cave she called  
An hideous beast, of horrible aspect,  
That could the stoutest courage have paid;  
Monstrous, misshaped, and all his back was spect  
With thousand spots of colours quaint elect,  
Thereto so swift, that it all beasts did pass:  
Like never yet did living eye detect;  
But likest it to an Hyena was,  
That feeds on women's flesh, as others feed on grass.   

It forth she called, and gave it straight in charge,  
Through thick and thin her to poursew apace,  
Ne once to stay to rest, or breath at large,  
Till her she had attained, and brought in place,  
Or quite devoured her beauty's scornful grace.  
The Monster swift as word, that from her went,  
Went forth in haste, and did her footing trace  
So sure and swiftly, through his perfect scent,  
And passing speed, that shortly he her overhent.   

Whom when the fearful damsel nigh espied,  
No need to bid her fast away to fly;  
That ugly shape so sore her terrified,  
That it she shunned no less, then dread to die,  
And her flit Palfrey did so well apply  
His nimble feet to her conceived fear,  
That whilst his breath did strength to him supply,  
From peril free he her away did bear:  
But when his force 'gan fail, his pace 'gan wax areare.   

Which whenas she perceived, she was dismayed  
At that same last extremity full sore,  
And of her safety greatly grew afray d;  
And now she 'gan approach to the sea shore,  
As it befell, that she could fly no more,  
But yield herself to spoil of greediness.  
Lightly she leapt, as a wight forlorn,  
From her dull horse, in desperate distress,  
And to her feet betook her doubtful sickernesse.   

Not half so fast the wicked Myrrah fled  
From dread of her revenging father's hand:  
Nor half so fast to save her maydenhed,  
Fled fearful Daphne on th' AEgaean strand,  
As Florimell fled from that Monster yond,  
To reach the sea, ere she of him were reached:  
For in the sea to drown herself she fond,  
Rather than of the tyrant to be caught:  
Thereto fear gave her wings, & need her courage taught.   

It fortuned (high God did so ordain)  
As she arrived on the roaring shore,  
In mind to leap into the mighty main,  
A little boat lay hoving her before,  
In which there slept a fisher old and poor,  
The whiles his nets were drying on the sand:  
Into the same she leapt, and with the over  
Did thrust the shallop from the floating strand:  
So safety found at sea, which she found not at land.   

The Monster ready on the pray to seize,  
Was of his forward hope deceived quite,  
Ne durst assay to wade the parlous seas,  
But greedily long gaping at the sight,  
At last in vain was forced to turn his flight,  
And tell the idle tidings to his Dame:  
Yet to avenge his devilish despite,  
He set upon her Palfrey tired lame,  
And slew him cruelly, ere any any rescue came.   

And after having him emboweled,  
To fill his hellish gorge, it chanced a knight  
To pass that way, as forth he travailed;  
It was a goodly swain, and of great might,  
As ever man that bloody field did fight;  
But in vain sheows, that wont young knights bewitch,  
And courtly services took no delight,  
But rather joyed to be, than seemen sich:  
For both to be and seem to him was labour lich.   

It was to weet the good Sir Satyrane,  
That ranged abroad to seek adventures wild,  
As was his wont in forest, and in plain;  
He was all armed in rugged steel unfilde,  
As in the smoky forge it was compiled,  
And in his Scutchin bore a satires head:  
He coming present, where the Monster wild  
Upon that milk-white palfrey's carcase fed,  
Unto his rescue ran, and greedily him sped.   

There well perceived he, that it was the horse,  
Whereon fair Florimell was wont to ride,  
That of that fiend was rend without remorse:  
Much feared he, lest aught did ill betide  
To that fair maid, the flower of women's pride;  
For her he dearly loved, and in all  
His famous conquests highly magnifide:  
Besides her golden girdle, which did fall  
From her in flight, he found, that did him sore appall.   

Full of sad fear, and doubtful agony,  
Fiercely he flew upon that wicked fiend,  
And with huge strokes, and cruel battery  
Him forced to leave his prey, for to attend  
Himself from deadly danger to defend:  
Full many wounds in his corrupted flesh  
He did engrave, and much ell blood did spend,  
Yet might not do him die, but aye more fresh  
And fierce he still appeared, the more he did him thrash.   

He witted not, how him to despoil of life,  
Ne how to win the wished victory,  
Sith him he saw still stronger grow through strife,  
And himself weaker through infirmity;  
Greatly he grew enraged, and furiously  
Hurling his sword away, he lightly leapt  
Upon the beast, that with great cruelty  
Roared, and raged to be underkept:  
Yet he perforce him held, and strokes upon him heaped.   

As he that strives to stop a sudden flood,  
And in strong banks his violence enclose,  
Forceth it swell above his wont mood,  
And largely overflow the fruitful plain,  
That all the country seems to be a main,  
And the rich furrows float, all quite fordone:  
The woeful husbandman doth loud complain,  
To see his whole years labour lost so soon,  
For which to God he made so many an idle boon.   

So him he held, and did through might amate:  
So long he held him, and him bet so long.  
That at the last his fierceness 'gan abate,  
And meekly stoop unto the victor strong:  
Who to avenge the implacable wrong,  
Which he supposed done to Florimell,  
Sought by all means his dolour to prolong,  
Sith dint of steel his carcase could not quell:  
His maker with her charms had framed him so well.   

The golden ribbon, which that virgin wore  
About her slender waste, he took in hand,  
And with it bound the beast. that loud did roar  
For great despite of that unwonted band,  
Yet dared not his victor to withstand,  
But trembled like a lamb, fled from the pray,  
And all the way him followed on the strand,  
As he had long been learned to obey;  
Yet never learned he such service, till that day.   

Thus as he led the Beast along the way,  
He spied far of a mighty Giauntesse,  
Fast flying on a Courser dapled grey,  
From a bold knight, that with great hardiness  
Her hard pursewd, and sought for to suppress;  
She bore before her lap a doleful Squire,  
Lying athwart her horse in great distress,  
Fast bounden hand and foot with cords of wire,  
Whom she did mean to make the thrall of her desire.   

Which whenas Satyrane beheld, in haste  
He left his captive Beast at liberty,  
And crossed the nearest way, by which he cast  
Her to encounter, ere she passed by:  
But she the way shunned nathemore for thy,  
But forward galloped fast, which when he spied,  
His mighty spear he couched warily,  
And at her ran: she having him descried,  
Herself to fight addressed, and threw her load aside.   

Like as a goshawk, that in foot doth bear  
A trembling Culuer, having spied on hight  
An Eagle, that with plumy wings doth shear  
The subtle air, stooping with all his might,  
The quarry throws to ground with fell despite,  
And to the battle doth herself prepare:  
So ran the Geauntesse unto the fight;  
Her fiery eyes with furious sparks did stare,  
And with blasphemous bannes high God in pieces tore   

She caught in hand an huge great iron mace,  
Wherewith she many had of life deprived;  
But ere the stroke could seize his aimed place,  
His spear amids her sun-brode shield arrived,  
Yet nathemore the steel a sunder rived,  
All were the beam in bigness like a mast,  
Ne her out of the steadfast saddle drived,  
But glancing on the tempered metal, braced  
In thousand shivers, and so forth beside her past.   

Her Steed did stagger with that puissant struck,  
But she no more was moved with that might,  
Than it had lighted on an aged oak;  
Or on the marble Pillour, that is pight  
Upon the top of Mount Olympus hight,  
For the brave youthly Champions to assay,  
With burning chariot wheels it night to smite:  
But who that smites it, mars his joyous play,  
And is the spectacle of ruinous decay.   

Yet there with sore enraged, with stern regard  
Her dreadful weapon she to him addressed,  
Which on his helmet martelled so hard,  
That made him low incline his lofty crest,  
And bowed his battered viso to his breast:  
Wherewith she was so stuned, that he n'ote ride  
But reeled to and fro from east to west:  
Which when his cruel enemy espied,  
She lightly unto him adjoined side to side;   

And on his collar laying puissant hand,  
Out of his wavering seat him plucked perforce,  
Perforce him plucked, unable to withstand,  
Or help himself, and laying thwart her horse,  
In loathly wise like to a carrion corpse,  
She bore him fast away. Which when the knight,  
That her pursued, saw with great remorse,  
He were was touched in his noble sprite,  
And 'gan increase his speed, as she increased her flight.   

Whom when as nigh approaching she espied,  
She threw away her burden angrily;  
For she list not the battle to abide,  
But made herself more light, away to fly:  
Yet her the hardy knight pursewd so nigh  
That almost in the back he oft her struck:  
But still when him at hand she did espy,  
She turned, and semblance of fair fight did make;  
But when he stayed, to flight again she did her take.   

By this the good Sir Satyrane 'gan wake  
Out of his dream, that did him long entrance,  
And seeing none in place, he 'gan to make  
Exceeding moan, and cursed that cruel chance,  
Which reft from him so fair a chevisance:  
At length he spied, whereas that woeful squire,  
Whom he had rescued from captivaunce  
Of his strong foe, lay tumbled in the mire,  
Unable to arise, or foot or hand to stir.   

To whom approaching, well he more perceive  
In that fowl plight a comely parsonage,  
And lovely face, made fit for to deceive  
Frail Lady's heart with loves consuming rage,  
Now in the blossom of his freshest age:  
He reared him up, and loosed his iron bands,  
And after 'gan inquire his parentage,  
And how he fell into the giants hands,  
And who that was, which chased her along the lands.   

Then trembling yet through fear, the Squire bespoke,  
That Geauntesse Argante is behight,  
A daughter of the Titans which did make  
War against heaven, and heaped hills on height,  
To scale the skies, and put Jove from his right:  
Her sire Typheous was, who mad through mirth,  
And drunk with blood of men, slain by his might,  
Through incest, her of his own mother Earth  
Whilom begot, being but half twin of that birth.   

For at that birth another Babe she bore,  
To weet the mighty Ollyphant, that wrought  
Great wreak to many errant knights of yore,  
Till him child Thopas to confusion brought.  
These twins, men say, (a thing far passing thought)  
Whiles in their mother's womb enclosed they were,  
Ere they into the lightsome world were brought,  
In fleshly lust were mingled both yfere,  
And in that monstrous wise did to the world appear.   

So lived they ever after in like sin,  
'Gainst nature's law, and good behaviour:  
But greatest shame was to that maiden twin,  
Who not content so foully to devour:  
Her native flesh, and stain her brother's bower,  
Did wallow in all other fleshly mire,  
And suffered beasts her body to deflower:  
So hot she burned in that lustful fire,  
Yet all that might not slake her sensual desire.   

But over all the country she did range,  
To seek young men, to quench her flaming thrust,  
And feed her fancy with delightful change:  
Whom so she fittest finds to serve her lust,  
Through her main strength, in which she most doth trust,  
She with her brings into a secret I'll,  
Where in eternal bondage die he must,  
Orb the vassal of her pleasures vile,  
And in all shameful sort himself with her defile.   

Me silly wretch she so at vantage caught,  
After she long in wait for me did lie,  
And meant unto her prison to have brought,  
Her loathsome pleasure there to satisfy;  
That thousand deaths me liefer were to die,  
Then break the vow, that to fair Columbell  
I plighted have, and yet keep steadfastly:  
As for my name, it mistreth not to tell;  
Call me the Squire of Dames that me beseemeth well.   

But that bold knight, whom ye pursuing saw  
That Geauntesse, is not such, as she seemed,  
But a fair virgin, that in martial law,  
And deeds of arms above all Dames it deemed,  
And above many knights is eke esteemed,  
For her great worth; She Palladine is height:  
She you from death, you me from dread redeemed.  
Ne any may that Monster match in fight,  
But she, or such as she, that is so chaste a wight.   

Her well beseems that Quest (quoth Satyrane)  
But read, thou Squire of Dames, what vow is this,  
Which thou upon thyself hast lately ta'en,  
That shall I you recount (quoth he) iwis,  
So be ye pleased to pardon all amis,  
That gentle Lady, whom I love and serve,  
After long suit and weary seruicis,  
Did ask me, how I could her love deserve,  
And how she might be sure, that I would never swerver.   

I glad by any means her grace to gain,  
Bad her command my life to save, or spill.  
eftsoons she bad me, with incessant pain  
To wander through the world abroad at will,  
And every where, where with my power or skill  
I might do service unto gentle Dames,  
That I the same should faithfully fulfil,  
And at the twelve months end should bring their names  
And pledges; as the spoils of my victorious games.   

So well I to fair Lady's service did,  
And found such favour in their loving hearts,  
That ere the year his course had compassid,  
Three hundred pledges for my good deserts,  
And thrice three hundred thanks for my good parts  
I with me brought, and did to her present:  
Which when she saw, more bend to eke my smarts,  
Then to reward my trusty true intent,  
She 'gan for me devise a grievous punishment.   

To weet, that I my travail should resume,  
And with like labour walk the world arownd,  
Ne ever to her presence should presume,  
Till I so many other Dames had found,  
The which, for all the suit I could propownd,  
Would me refuse their pledges to afford,  
But did abide for ever chaste and sound.  
Ah gentle squire (quoth he) tell at one word,  
How many foundst thou such to put in thy record?   

In deed Sir knight (said he) one word may tell  
All, that I ever found so wisely stayed;  
For only three they were disposed so well,  
And yet three years I now abroad have strayed,  
To find them out. Moat I (then laughing said  
The knight) inquire of thee, what were those three,  
The which thy proffered courtesy denayed?  
Or ill they seemed sure avizd to be,  
Or brutishly brought up, that ne'er did fashions see.   

The first which then refused me (said he)  
Certes was but a common Courtisane,  
Yet flat refused to have ado with me,  
Because I could not give her many a jane.  
(Thereat full heartily laughed Satyrane)  
The second was an holy nun to choose,  
Which would not let me be her Chappellane,  
Because she knew, she said, I would disclose  
Her counsel, if she should her trust in me repose.   

The third a damsel was of low degree,  
Whom I in country cottage found by chance;  
Full little weened I, that chastity  
Had lodging in so mean a maintenance,  
Yet was she fair, and in her countenance  
Dwelled simple truth in seemly fashion.  
Long thus I wooed her with due observance,  
In hope unto my pleasure to have won,  
But was as far at last, as when I first begun.   

Safe her, I never any woman found,  
That chastity did for itself embrace,  
But were for other causes firm and sound,  
Either for want of handsome time and place,  
Or else for fear of shame and fowl disgrace.  
Thus am I hopeless ever to attain  
My Lady's love, in such a desperate case,  
But all my days am like to waste in vain,  
Seeking to match the chaste with th'unchaste Lady's train.   

pardie, (said Satyrane) thou Squire of Dames,  
Great labour fond hast thou hent in hand,  
To get small thanks, and there with many blames,  
That may amongst Alcides' labours stand.  
Thence base returning to the former land,  
Where late he left the Beast, he overcame,  
He found him not; for he had broke his band,  
And was returned again unto his Dame,  
To tell what tidings of fair Florimell became.    

Cant. VIII.  

The Witch creates a snowy Lady,  
like to Florimell,  
Who wronged by carl by Proteus saved,  
is sought by Paridell.   

SO oft as I this history record,  
My heart doth melt with mere compassion,  
To think, how causeless of her own accord  
This gentle damsel, whom I writ upon,  
Should plunged be in such affliction,  
Without all hope of comfort or relief,  
That sure I ween, the hardest heart of stone,  
Would hardly find to aggravate her grief;  
For misery craves rather mercy, than reprieve.   

But that accursed Hag, her hostess late,  
Had so enranckled her malicious heart,  
That she desyrd th'abridgement of her fate,  
Or long enlargement of her painful smart.  
Now when the Beast, which by her wicked art  
Late forth she sent, she back returning spied,  
Tied with her golden girdle, it a part  
Of her rich spoils, whom he had erst destroyed,  
She weaned, & wondrous gladness to her heart applied.   

And with it running hast'ly to her son,  
Thought with that sight him much to have relieved;  
Who thereby deeming sure the thing as done,  
His former grief with fury fresh reviv'd,  
Much more than erst, and would have algates rived  
The heart out of his breast: for sith her dedd  
He surely deemed, himself he thought deprived  
Quite of all hope, wherewith he long had fed  
His foolish malady, and long time had misledd.   

With thought whereof, exceeding mad he grew,  
And in his rage his mother would have slain,  
Had she not fled into a secret mew,  
Where she was wont her spirits to entertain  
The masters of her art: there was she feign  
To call them all in order to her aid,  
And them conjure upon eternal pain,  
To counsel her so carefully dismayed,  
How she might heal her son, whose senses were decayed.   

By their device, and her own wicked wit,  
She there devised a wondrous work to frame,  
Whose like on earth was never framed yet,  
That even Nature self envied the same,  
And grudged to see the counterfeit should shame  
The thing itself: In hand she boldly took  
To make another like the former Dame,  
Another Florimell, in shape and look  
So lively and so like, that many it mistook.   

The substance, whereof she the body made,  
Was purest snow in massy mould congealed,  
Which she had gathered in a shady glade  
Of the Riphoean hills, to her revealed  
By errant Sprights, but from all men concealed:  
The same she tempered with fine Mercury,  
And virgin wax, that never yet was sealed,  
And mingled them with perfect vermily,  
That like a lively sanguine it seemed to the eye.   

In stead of eyes two burning lamps she set  
In silver sockets, shining like the skies,  
And a quick moving Spirit did arret  
To stir and roll them, like to women's eyes;  
In stead of yellow locks she did devise,  
With golden wire to weave her curled head;  
Yet golden wire was not so yellow thrice  
As Florimells fair hear: and in the stead  
Of life, she put a sprite to rule the carcase dead.   

A wicked sprite yfraught with fawning guile,  
And fair resemblance above all the rest,  
Which with the Prince of darkness fell some while;  
From heavens bliss and everlasting rest,  
Him needed not instruct, which way were best  
Himself to fashion likest Florimell,  
Ne how to speak, ne how to use his gest,  
For he in counterfesaunce did excel,  
And all the wiles of women's wits knew passing well.   

Him shaped thus, she decked in garments gay,  
Which Florimell had left behind her late,  
That who so then her saw, would surely say,  
It was herself, whom it did imitate,  
Or fairer than herself, if ought algate  
Might fairer be. And then she forth her brought  
Unto her son, that lay in feeble state;  
Who seeing her 'gan straight upstart, and thought  
She was the Lady self, who he so long had sought.   

though fast her clipping twixt his arms twain,  
Extremely joyed in so happy sight,  
And soon forgot his former sickly pain;  
But she, the more to seem such as she hight,  
Coily rebutted his embracement light;  
Yet still with gentle countenance retained,  
Enough to hold a fool in vain delight:  
Him long she so with shadows entertained,  
As her Creatresse had in charge to her ordained.   

Till on a day, as he disposed was  
To walk the woods with that his idol fair,  
Her to disport, and idle time to pass,  
In th'open freshness of the gentle air,  
A knight that way there chanced to repair;  
Yet knight he was not, but a boastful swain,  
That deeds of arms had ever in despair,  
Proud Braggadocchio, that in vaunting vain  
His glory did repose, and credit did maintain.   

He seeing with that Chorle so fair a wight,  
Decked with many a costly ornament,  
Much marveled thereat, as well he might,  
And thought that match a fowl disparagement:  
His bloody spear eftsoons he boldly bend  
Against the silly clown, who dead through fear,  
Fell straight to ground in great astonishment;  
Villain (said he) this Lady is my dear,  
Die, if thou it gainsay: I will away her bear.   

The fearful Chorle durst not gainsay, nor do,  
But trembling stood, and yielded him the pray;  
Who finding little leisure her to woo,  
On Tromparts steed her mounted without stay,  
And without rescue led her quite away.  
Proud man himself then Braggadochio deemed,  
And next to none, after that happy day,  
Being possessed of that spoil, which seemed  
The fairest wight on ground, and most of men esteemed.   

But when he saw himself free from pursuit,  
He 'gan make gentle purpose to his Dame,  
With terms of love and lewdness dissolute;  
For he could well his glozing speeches frame  
To such vain uses, that him best became:  
But she thereto would lend but light regard,  
As seeming sorry, that she ever came  
Into his power, that used her so hard,  
To reave her honour, which she more than life preferred.   

Thus as they two of kindness treated long,  
There them by chance encountered on the way  
An armed knight, upon a courser strong,  
Whose trampling feet upon the hollow lay  
Seemed to thunder, and did nigh affray  
That capon's courage: yet he looked grim,  
And feigned to cheer his lady in dismay,  
Who seemed for fear to quake in every limb,  
And her to save from outrage, meekly prayed him.   

Fiercely that stranger forward came, and nigh  
Approaching, with bold words and bitter threat,  
Bad that same boaster, as he moat, on high  
To leave to him that lady for excheat,  
Or bide him battle without further treat.  
That challenge did too peremptory seem,  
And filled his senses with abashment great;  
Yet seeing nigh him jeopardy extreme,  
He it dissembled well, and light seemed to esteem.   

Saying, Thou foolish knight, that weenst with words  
To steal away, that I with blows have won,  
And brought through points of many perilous swords:  
But if thee list to see thy Courser run,  
Or prove thyself, this sad encounter shun,  
And seek else without hazard of thy head.  
At those proud words that other knight begun  
To wax exceeding wroth, and him aredd  
To turn his steed about, or sure he should be dedd.   

Sith then (said Braggadochio) needs thou wilt  
Thy days abridge, through proof of puissance,  
Turn we our steeds, that both in equal tilt  
May meet again, and each take happy chance.  
This said they both a furlongs mountenance  
Retired their steeds, to run in even race:  
But Braggadochio with his bloody lance  
Once having turned, no more returned his face,  
But left his love to loss, and fled himself apace.   

The knight him seeing fly, had no regard  
Him to poursew, but to the lady road,  
And having her from Trompart lightly reared,  
Upon his Courser set the lovely load,  
And with her fled away without abode.  
Well weened he, that fairest Florimell  
It was, with whom in company he yode,  
And so herself did always to him tell;  
So made him think himself in heaven, that was in hell.   

But Florimell herself was far away,  
Driven to great distress by fortune strange,  
And taught the careful Mariner to play,  
Sith late mischance had her compelled to change  
The land for sea, at random there to range:  
Yet there that cruel Queen avengeresse,  
Not satisfied so far her to estrange  
From courtly bliss and wont happiness,  
Did heap on her new waves of weary wretchedness.   

For being fled into the fisher's boat,  
For refuge from the monster's cruelty,  
Long so she on the mighty main did float,  
And with the tide drove forward carelessly,  
For th'air was mild, and cleared was the sky,  
And all his winds Dan Aeolus did keep,  
From stirring up their stormy enmity,  
As pitying to see her wail and weep;  
But all the while the fisher did securely sleep.   

At last when drunk with drowsiness, he work,  
And saw his drover drive along the stream,  
He was dismayed, and thrice his breast he struck,  
For marvel of that accident extreme;  
But when he saw, that blazing beauties beam,  
Which with rare light his boat did beautify,  
He marveled more, and thought he yet did dream  
Not well awaked, or that some extasye  
Assotted had his sense, or dazed was his eye.   

But when her well avizing, he peceiued  
To be no vision, nor fantastic sight,  
Great comfort of her presence he conceived,  
And felt in his old courage new delight  
To gi'en awake, and stir his frozen sprite:  
though rudely asked her, how she thither came.  
Ah (said she) father I note read aright,  
What hard misfortune brought me to this same;  
Yet am I glad that here I now in safety ame.   

But thou good man, sith far in sea we be,  
And the great waters gi'en apace to swell,  
That now no more we can the maynland see,  
Have care, I pray, to guide the cockbote well,  
Lest worse on sea then us on land befell,  
Thereat th'old man did nought but fond grin,  
And said, his boat the way could wisely tell:  
But his deceitful eyes did never lin,  
To look on her fair face, and mark her snowy skin.   

The sight whereof in his congealed flesh,  
Infixed such secret sting of greedy lust,  
That the dry withered stock it 'gan refresh,  
And kindled heat, that soon in flame forth burst:  
The driest wood is soon burnt to dust.  
Rudely to her he leapt, and his rough hand  
Where ill became him, rashly would have thrust,  
But she with angry scorn him did withstand,  
And shamefully reproved for his rudeness fond.   

But he, that never good nor manners knew,  
Her sharp rebuke full little did esteem;  
Hard is to teach an old horse amble true.  
The inward smoke, that did before but steam,  
Broke into open fire and rage's extreme,  
And now he strength 'gan add unto his will,  
Forcing to do, that did him fowl misseeme:  
Beastly he threw her down, ne cared to spill  
Her garments gay with scales of fish, that all did fill.   

The silly virgin strove him to withstand,  
All that she might, and him in vain revild:  
Sheestrugled strongly both with foot and hand,  
To save her honour from that villain wild,  
And cried to heaven, from human help exiled.  
O ye brave knights, that boast this Lady's love,  
Where be ye now, when she is nigh defiled  
Of filthy wretch? well may she you reprove  
Of falsehood or of sloth, when most it may behove.   

But if that thou, Sir Satyran, didst weet,  
Or thou, Sir Peridure, her sorry state,  
How soon would ye assemble many a fleet,  
To fetch from sea, that ye at land lost late;  
Towers, cities, kingdoms ye would ruinated,  
In your avengement and dispiteous rage,  
Ne ought your burning fury moat abate;  
But if Sir Calidore could it presage,  
No living creature could his cruelty assuage.   

But sith that none of all her knights is nigh,  
See how the heavens of voluntary grace,  
And sovereign favour towards chastity,  
do succour send to her distressed case:  
So much high God doth innocence embrace.  
It fortuned, whilst thus she stiffly strove,  
And the wide sea importuned long space  
With shrilling shrieks, Proteus abroad did rove,  
Along the foamy waves driving his finny drove.   

Proteus is shepherd of the seas of yore,  
And hath the charge of Neptune's mighty heard,  
An aged sire with head all frowy hoar,  
And sprinkled frost upon his dewy beard:  
Who when those pitiful outcries he heard,  
Through all the seas so ruefully resound,  
His charett swift in haste he thither steered,  
Which with a team of scaly Phocas bound  
Was drawn upon the waves, that foamed him arownd.   

And coming to that fisher's wandering boat,  
That went at will, withouten card or sail,  
He therein saw that irksome sight, which smote  
Deep indignation and compassion frail  
Into his heart at once: straight did he hail  
The greedy villain from his hoped prey,  
Of which he now did very little fail,  
And with his staff, that drives his herd astray,  
Him bet foe sore, that life and sense did much dismay.   

The whiles the piteous Lady up did rise,  
Ruffled and foully raid with filthy soil,  
And blubbered face with tears of her fair eyes.  
Her heart nigh broken was with weary toil,  
To save herself from that outrageous spoil,  
But when she looked up, to weet, what wight  
Had her from so infamous fact assoyld,  
For shame, but more for fear of his grim sight,  
down in her lap she hid her face, and loudly shright.   

Herself not saved yet from danger dredd  
She thought, but changed from one to other fear;  
Like as a fearful partridge, that is fled  
From the sharp hawk, which her attached near,  
And falls to ground, to seek for succour there,  
Whereas the hungry spaniels she does spy,  
With greedy jaws her ready for to tear;  
In such distress and sad perplexity  
Was Florimell, when Proteus she did see her by.   

But he endeavoured with speeches mild  
Her to recomfort, and accourage bold,  
Bidding her fear no more her foeman wild,  
Nor doubt himself; and who he was her told.  
Yet all that could not from affright her hold,  
Ne to recomfort her at all prevailed;  
For her faint heart was with the frozen cold  
Benumbed so inly, that her wits nigh failed,  
And all her senses with abashment quite were quailed.   

Her up betwixt his rugged hands he reared,  
And with his frory lips full softly kissed,  
Whiles the cold ysickles from his rough beard,  
Dropped adown upon her ivory breast:  
Yet he himself so busily addressed,  
That her out of astonishment he wrought,  
And out of that same fisher's filthy nest  
Removing her, into his chariot brought,  
And there with many gentle terms her fair besought.   

But that old leachour, which with bold assault  
That beauty durst presume to violate,  
He cast to punish for his heinous fault;  
Then took he him yet trembling sith of late,  
And tied behind his chariot, to aggrate  
The virgin, whom he had abused so sore:  
So dragged him through the waves in scornful state,  
And after cast him up, upon the shore;  
But Florimell with him unto his bower he bore.   

His bower is in the bottom of the main,  
Under a mighty rock, 'gainst which do rave  
The roaring billows in their proud disdain,  
That with the angry working of the wave,  
Therein is eaten out an hollow cave,  
That seems rough mason's hand with engines keen  
Had long while laboured it to engrave:  
There was his won, ne living wight was seen,  
Save one old Nymph, high Panope to keep it clean.   

Thither he brought the sorry Florimell,  
And entertained her the best he might  
And Panope her entertained eke well,  
As an immortal mote a mortal wight,  
To win her liking unto his delight:  
With flattering words he sweetly wooed her,  
And offered fair gifts, t'allure her sight,  
But she both offers and the offerer  
Despised, and all the fawning of the flatterer.   

Daily he tempted her with this or that,  
And never suffered her to be at rest:  
But evermore she him refused flat,  
And all his feigned kindness did detest.  
So firmly she had sealed up her breast.  
Sometimes he boasted, that a God he hight:  
But she a mortal creature loved best:  
Then he would make himself a mortal wight;  
But than she said she loved none, but a fairy knight.   

Then like a fairy knight himself he dressed;  
For every shape on him he could endue:  
Then like a king he was to her expressed,  
And offered kingdoms unto her in view,  
To be his Leman and his Lady true:  
But when all this he nothing saw prevail,  
With harder means he cast her to subdue,  
And with sharp threats her often did assail,  
So thinking for to make her stubborn courage quail.   

To dreadful shapes he did himself transform,  
Now like a giant, now like to a fiend,  
Then like a centaur, then like to a storm,  
Raging within the waves: thereby he weaned  
Her will to win unto his wished end.  
But when with fear, nor favour, nor with all  
He else could do, he saw himself esteemed,  
down in a dungeon deep he let her fall,  
And threatened there to make her his eternal thrall.   

Eternal thraldom was to her more lief,  
Then loss of chastity, or change of love:  
die had she rather in tormenting grief,  
Then any should of falseness her reprove,  
Or looseness, that she lightly did remove.  
Most virtuous virgin, glory be thy meed,  
And crown of heavenly praise with saints above,  
Where most sweet hymns of this thy famous deed  
Are still amongst them song, that far my rhymes exceed.   

Fit song of Angels caroled to be,  
But yet what so my feeble Muse can frame,  
Shall be t'advance thy goodly chastity,  
And to enrol thy memorable name,  
In th'heart of every honourable Dame,  
That they thy virtuous deeds may imitate,  
And be partakers of thy endless fame.  
It irks me, leave thee in this woeful state,  
To tell of Satyrane, where I him left of late.   

Who having ended with that Squire of Dames  
A long discourse of his adventures vain,  
The which himself, than Ladies more defames,  
And finding not th' Hyena to be slain,  
With that same squire, returned back again  
To his first way. And as they forward went,  
They spied a knight fair pricking on the plain,  
As if he were on some adventure bend,  
And in his port appeared manly hardiment.   

Sir Satyrane him towards did address,  
To weet, what wight he was, and what his quest:  
And coming nigh, eftsoons he 'gan to guess  
Both by the burning heart, which on his breast  
He bore, and by the colours in his crest,  
That Paridell it was. though to him yode,  
And him saluting, as beseemed best,  
'Gan first inquire of tidings far abroad;  
And afterwards, on what adventure now he road.   

Who thereto answering said, The tidings bad,  
Which now in fairy court all men do tell,  
Which turned hath great mirth, to mourning sad,  
Is the late ruin of proud Marinell,  
And sudden parture of fair Florimell,  
To find him forth: and after her are gone  
All the brave knights, that done in arms excel,  
To safeguard her, ywandred all alone;  
Amongst the rest my lot (unworthy ') is to be one.   

Ah gentle knight (said then Sir Satyrane)  
Thy labour all is lost, I greatly dread,  
That hast a thankless service on thee ta'en,  
And offerest sacrifice unto the dead:  
For dead, I surely doubt, thou Mayst aread  
Henceforth for ever Florimell to be,  
That all the noble knights of maidenhead,  
Which her adored, may sore repent with me,  
And all fair Ladies may for ever sorry be.   

Which words when Paridell had heard, his hue  
'Gan greatly change and seemed dismayed to be,  
Then said, fair Sir, how may I ween it true,  
That ye do tell in such uncertainty?  
Or speak ye of report, or did ye see  
Just cause of dread, that makes ye doubt so sore?  
For perdie else how moat it ever be,  
That ever hand should dare for to engore  
Her noble blood? the heavens such cruelty abhor.   

These eyes did see, that they will ever rue  
To have seen, (quoth he) when as a monstrous beast  
The Palfrey, whereon she did travel, slew,  
And of his bowels made his bloody feast:  
Which speaking token showeth at the least  
Her certain loss, if not her sure decay:  
Besides, that more suspicion increased,  
I found her golden girdle cast astray,  
Distained with dirt and blood, as relic of the pray.   

Ay me, (said pavidell) the signs be sad,  
And but God turn the same to good sooth say,  
That Lady's safety is sore to be dradd:  
Yet will I not forsake my forward way,  
Till trial do more certain truth bewray.  
Fair Sir (qd. he) well may it you succeed,  
Ne long shall Satyrane behind you stay,  
But to the rest, which in this Quest proceed  
My labour add, and be partaker of their speed.   

Ye noble knights (said then the Squire of Dames)  
Well may ye speed in so praise worthy pain:  
But sith the sun now gins to slake his beams,  
In dewy vapours of the Western main,  
And lose the teme out of his weary wain,  
might not mislike you also to abate  
Your zealous haste, till morrow next again  
Both light of heaven, and strength of men relate:  
Which if ye please, to yonder castle turn your gate.   

That counsel pleased well; so all yfere  
Forth marched to a Castle them before,  
Where soon arriving, they restrained were  
Of ready entrance, which ought evermore  
To errant knights be commune: wondrous fore  
Thereat displeased they were, till that young squire  
'Gan them inform the cause, why that same door  
Was shut to all, which lodging did desire:  
The which to let you weet, will further time require.    

Cant. IX.  

Malbecco will no strange knight's host,  
For peevish gealosy:  
Paridell giusts with Britomart:  
both show their ancestry.   

REdoubted knights, and honourable Dames,  
To whom I level all my labours end,  
Right sore I fear, least with unworthy blames  
This odious argument my rhymes should shend,  
Or ought your goodly patience offend,  
Whiles of a wanton Lady I do write,  
Which with her lose incontinence doth blend  
The shining glory of your sovereign light;  
And knighthood fowl defaced by a faithless knight.   

But never let th'ensample of the bad  
Offend the good: for good by paragon  
Of evil, may more notably be rad,  
As white seems fairer, matched with black at once;  
Ne all are shamed by the fault of one:  
For lo in heaven, whereas all goodness is,  
Amongst the Angels, a whole legione  
Of wicked spirits did fall from happy bliss;  
What wonder then, if one of women all did miss?   

Then listen Lordings, if ye list to weet  
The cause, why Satyrane and Paridell  
Mote not be entertained, as seemed meet,  
Into that Castle (as that squire does tell.)  
Therein a cankered crabbed carl does dwell,  
That has no skill of Court nor courtesy,  
Ne cares, what men say of him ill or well;  
For all his days he drowns in privity,  
Yet has full large to live, and spend at liberty.   

But all his mind is set on mucky pelf,  
To hoard up heaps of evil gotten mass,  
For which he others wrongs and wrecks himself;  
Yet is he linked to a lovely lass,  
Whose beauty doth her bounty far surpass,  
The which to him both far unequal years,  
And also far unlike conditions has;  
For she does joy to play amongst her pears,  
And to be free from hard restraint and jealous fears.   

But he is old, and withered like hay,  
Unfit fair Lady's service to supply,  
The privy guilt whereof makes him always  
Suspect her truth, and keep continual spy  
Upon her with his other blincked eye;  
Ne suffereth he resort of living wight  
Approach to her, ne keep her company,  
But in close bower her mews from all men's sight,  
deprived of kindly joy and natural delight.   

Malbecco he, and Hellenore she hight,  
Unfitly yoked together in one team,  
That is the cause, why never any knight  
Is suffered here to enter, but he seem  
Such, as no doubt of him he need misdeem.  
Thereat Sir Satyrane 'gan smile, and say;  
Extremely mad the man I surely deem,  
That weens with watch and hard restraint to stay  
A woman's will, which is disposed to go astray.   

In vain he fears that, which he cannot shun:  
For who wots not, that woman's subtleties  
Can guylen Argus, when she list disdonne?  
It is not iron bands, nor hundred eyes,  
Nor brazen walls, nor many wakeful spies,  
That can withhold her wilful wandering feet,  
But fast goodwill with gentle courtesies,  
And timely service to her pleasures meet  
May her perhaps contain, that else would algates fleet.   

Then is he not more mad (said Paridell)  
That hath himself unto such service sold,  
In doleful thraldom all his days to dwell?  
For sure a fool I do him firmly hold,  
That loves his fetters, though they were of gold.  
But why do we devise of others ill,  
Whiles thus we suffer this same dotard old,  
To keep us out, in scorn of his own will,  
And rather do not ransack all, and himself kill?   

Nay let us first (said Satyrane) entreat  
The man by gentle means, to let us in,  
And afterwards affray with cruel threat,  
Ere that we to efforce it do begin:  
Then if all fail, we will by force it win,  
And eke reward the wretch for his mesprise,  
As may be worthy of his heinous sin.  
That counsel pleased: then Paridell did rise,  
And to the Castle gate approached in quiet wise.   

Where at soft knocking, entrance he desyrd.  
The good man self, which then the Porter played,  
Him answered, that all were now retyrd  
Unto their rest, and all the keys conveyed  
Unto then master, who in bed was laid,  
That none him durst awake out of his dream;  
And therefore them of patience gently prayed.  
Then Paridell began to change his theme,  
And threatened him with force & punishment extreme.   

But all in vain; for nought moat him relent,  
And now so long before the wicket fast  
They waited, that the night was forward spent,  
And the fair welkin foully overcast,  
'Gan blown up a bitter stormy blast,  
With shower and hail so horrible and dread,  
That this fair many were compelled at last,  
To fly for succour to a little shed,  
The which beside the gate for sivyne was ordered.   

It fortuned, soon after they were gone,  
Another knight, whom tempest thither brought,  
Came to that Castle, and with earnest moan,  
Like as the rest, late entrance dear besought;  
But like so as the rest he prayed for nought,  
For flatly he of entrance was refused.  
Sorely thereat he was displeased, and thought  
How to avenge himself so sore abused,  
And evermore the carl of courtesy accused.   

But to avoid th'intolerable stowre,  
He was compelled to seek some refuge near,  
And to that shed, to shroud him from the shower,  
He came, which full of guests he found whilere,  
So as he was not let to enter there:  
Whereat he 'gan to wax exceeding wroth,  
And swore, that he would lodge with them yfere,  
Or them dislodg, all were they lief or loath;  
And so defied them each, and so desyde them both.   

Both were full loath to leave that needful tent,  
And both full loath in darkness to debate;  
Yet both full lief him lodging to have lent,  
And both full lief his boasting to abate;  
But chiefly Paridell his heart did grate,  
To hear him threaten so despitefully,  
As if he did a dog in kennel rate,  
That durst not bark; and rather had he die,  
Then when he was defied, in coward corner lie.   

though hastily remounting to his steed,  
He forth issewed; like as a boisterous wind,  
Which in th'earths hollow caves hath long been hid,  
And shut up fast within her prisons blind,  
Makes the huge element against her kind  
To move, and tremble as it were aghast,  
Until that it an issue forth may find;  
Then forth it breaks, and with his furious blast  
Confounds both land & seas, and skies doth overcast.   

Their steel-head spears they strongly couched, and met  
Together with impetuous rage and force,  
That with the terror of their fierce affret,  
They rudely drove to ground both man and horse,  
That each a while lay like a senseless corpse.  
But Paridell sore bruised with the blow,  
Can not arise, the counterchaunge to scorse,  
Till that young squire him reared from below;  
Then drew he his bright sword, & 'gan about him throw   

But Saiyrane forth stepping, did them stay  
And with fair treaty pacified their ire;  
Then when they were accorded from the fray,  
Against that castle's Lord they 'gan conspire,  
To heap on him due vengeance for his hire.  
They been agreed, and to the gates they go  
To burn the same with unquenchable fire,  
And that uncourteous carl their common foe  
To do fowl death to die, or wrap in grievous woe.   

Malbecco seeing them resolved in deed  
To flame the gates, and hearing them to call  
For fire in earnest, ran with fearful speed,  
And to them calling from the castle wall,  
Besought them humbly, him to bear with all,  
As ignorant of servants bad abuse,  
And slack attendance unto strangers call,  
The knights were willing all things to excuse,  
Though nought believed, & entrance late did not refuse.   

They been ybourhgt into a comely bower,  
And served of all things that mote needful be;  
Yet secretly their hoste did on them lower,  
And welcomed more for fear, than charity;  
But they dissembled, what they did notsee,  
And welcomed themselves. Each 'gan undight  
Their garments wet, and weary armour free,  
To dry themselves by Vulcan's flaming light,  
And eke their lately bruised parts to bring in plight.   

And eke that stranger knight amongst the rest;  
Was for like need enforced to disarray:  
though whenas veiled was her lofty crest,  
Her golden locks, that were in trammels gay  
Vpbounden, did themselves adown display,  
And reached unto her heels; like sunny beams,  
That in a cloud their light did long time stay,  
Their vapour vaded, show their golden gleams,  
And through the persant air shoot forth their azure streams.   

She also doffed her heavy haberieon,  
Which the fair feature of her limbs did hide,  
And her well plighted frock, which she did won  
To tuck about her short, when she did ride,  
She low let fall, that flowed from her lank side  
down to her foot, with careless modesty.  
Then of them all she plainly was espied,  
To be a woman wight, unwist to be,  
The fairest woman wight, that ever eye did see.   

Like as Bellona, being late returned  
From slaughter of the giants conquered;  
Where proud Encelade, whose wide nostrils burnt  
With breathed flames, like to a furnace red,  
Transfixed with her spear, down tumbled dedd  
From top of Hemus, by him heaped high;  
Hath loosed her helmet from her lofty head,  
And her Gorgonian shield 'gins to untie  
From her left arm, to rest in glorious victory.   

Which whenas they beheld, they smitten were  
With great amazement of so wondrous sight,  
And each on other, and they all on her  
Stood gazing, as if sudden great affright  
Had them surprised. At last avizing right,  
Her goodly parsonage and glorious hue,  
Which they so much mistook, they took delight  
In their first error, and yet still anew  
With wonder of her beauty fed their hungry view.   

Yet note their hungry view be satisfied,  
But seeing still the more desired to see,  
And ever firmly fixed did abide  
In contemplation of divinity:  
But most they marveled at her chevalree,  
And noble prowess, which they had approved,  
That much they feigned to know, who she moat be;  
Yet none of all them her thereof amoved,  
Yet every one her liked, and every one her loved.   

And Paridell though partly discontent  
With his late fall, and fowl indignity,  
Yet was soon won his malice to relent,  
Through gracious regard of her fair eye,  
And knightly worth, which he too late did try,  
Yet tried did adore. Supper was dight;  
Then they Malbecco prayed of courtesy,  
That of his lady they might have the sight,  
And company at meat, to do them more delight.   

But he to shift their curious request,  
'Gan causen, why she could not come in place;  
Her crazed health, her late recourse to rest,  
And humid evening ill for sick folks case,  
But none of those excuses could take place;  
Ne would they eat, till she in presence came.  
She came in presence with right comely, grace,  
And fairly them saluted, as became,  
And showed herself in all a gentle courteous Dame.   

They sat to meat, and Satyrane his chance,  
Was her before, and Paridell beside;  
But he himself sat looking still askance,  
'Gainst Britomart, and ever closely eide  
Sir Satyrane, with glances might not glide:  
But his blind eye, that sided Paridell,  
All his demeasnure from his sight did hide:  
On her fair face so did he feed his fill,  
And sent close messages of love to her at will.   

And ever and anon, when none was ware,  
With speaking looks, that close embassage bore,  
He roved at her, and told his secret care:  
For all that art he learned had of yore.  
Ne was she ignorant of that lewd lore,  
But in his eye his meaning wisely red,  
And with the like him answered evermore:  
She sent at him one fiery dart, whose head  
Empoisned was with privy lust, and jealous dredd.   

He from that deadly throw made no defence,  
But to the wound his weak heart opened wide;  
The wicked engine through false influence,  
Past through his eyes, and secretly did glide  
Into his heart, which it did sorely gryde.  
But nothing new to him was that same pain,  
Ne pain at all; for he so oft had tried  
The power thereof, and loved so oft in vain,  
That thing of course he counted, love to entertain.   

Thenceforth to her he sought to intimate  
His inward grief, by means to him well known,  
Now Bacchus' fruit out of the silver plate  
He on the table dashed, as overthrown,  
Or of the fruitful liquor overflown,  
And by the dancing bubbles did divine,  
Or therein write to let his love be shown;  
Which well she red out of the learned line,  
A sacrament profane in mystery of wine.   

And when so of his hand the pledge she reached,  
The guilty cup she feigned to mistake,  
And in her lap did shed her idle draft,  
Showing desire her inward flame to slake:  
By such close signs they secret way did make  
Unto their wills, and one eyes watch escape;  
Two eyes him needeth, for to watch and wake,  
Who lovers will deceive. Thus was the ape,  
By their fair handling, put into malbecco's cape.   

Now when of meats and drinks they had their fill,  
Purpose was moved by that gentle Dame,  
Unto those knights adventurous, to tell  
Of deeds of arms, which unto them became,  
And every one his kindred, and his name.  
Then Paridell, in whom a kindly pride  
Of gracious speech, and skill his words to frame  
Abounded, being yglad osso fit tied  
Him to commend to her, thus spoke, of all well eide.   

Troy, that art now nought, but an idle name,  
And in thine ashes buried low dost lie,  
Though whilom far much greater than thy fame,  
Before that angry Gods, and cruel sky  
Upon thee heaped a direful destiny,  
What boots it boast thy glorious descent,  
And fetch from heaven thy great genealogy,  
Sith all thy worthy praises being blended,  
Their offspring hath embaste, and later glory shent.   

Most famous Worthy of the world, by whom  
That war was kindled, which did Troy inflame,  
And stately towers of Ilium whilom  
Brought unto baleful ruin, was by name  
Sir Paris far renowned through noble fame,  
Who through great prowesle and bold hardiness,  
From Lacedaemon fetched the fairest Dame,  
That ever Greece did boast, or knight possess,  
Whom Venus to him gave for meed of worthiness.   

Fair Helen, flower of beauty excellent,  
And garland of the mighty conquerors,  
That madest many Lady's dear lament  
The heavy loss of their brave Paramours,  
Which they far off beheld from Trojan towers,  
And saw the fields of fair Scamander strowne  
With carcases of noble warriors,  
Whose fruitless lives were under furrow sown,  
And Xanthus' sandy banks with blood all overslowne.   

From him my lineage I derive aright,  
Who long before the ten years siege of Troy;  
Whiles yet on Ida he a shepherd hight,  
On fair Oenone got a lovely boy;  
Whom for remembrance of her passed joy,  
She of his Father Parius did name;  
Who, after Greeks did Priam's realm destroy,  
Gathered the Trojan relics saved from flame,  
And with them sailing thence, to th'Isle of Paros came.   

That was by him called Paros, which before  
Hight Nausa, there he many years did rain,  
And built Nausicle by the Pontic shore,  
The which he dying left next in remain  
To Paridas his son.  
From whom I Paridell by kin descend;  
But for fair ladies love, and glories gain,  
My native soil have left, my days to spend  
In seewing deeds of arms, my lives and labours end.   

Whenas the noble Britomart heard tell  
Of Trojan wars, and Priam's city sacked,  
The rueful story of Sir Paridell,  
She was empassiond at that piteous act,  
With zealous envy of Greeks cruel fact,  
Against that nation, from whose race of old  
She heard, that she was lineally extract:  
For noble Britons sprung from Troyans' bold,  
And Troynovant was built of old Troy's ashes cold.   

Then sighing soft awhile, at last she thus:  
O lamentable fall of famous town,  
Which reigned so many years victorious,  
And of all Asie bore the sovereign crown,  
In one sad night consumed, and thrown down:  
What stony heart, that hears thy hapless fate,  
Is not empierst with deep compassiowne,  
And makes ensample of man's wretched state,  
That flowers so fresh at morn, & fades at evening late?   

Behold, Sir, how your pitiful complaint  
Hath found another partner of your pain:  
For nothing may impress so dear constraint,  
As country's cause, and common foes disdain.  
But if it should not grieve you, back again  
To turn your course, I would to hear desire,  
What to Aeneas fell; sith that men say  
He was not in the cities woeful fire  
Consumed, but did himself to safety retire.   

Anchyses son begot of Venus' fair,  
Said he, out of the flames for safeguard fled,  
And with a remnant did to sea repair,  
Where he through fatal error long was led  
Full many years, and weetlesse wandered  
From shore to shore, amongst the Lybick sands,  
Ere rest he found. Much there he suffered,  
And many perils passed in foreign lands,  
To save his people sad from victors vengeful hands.   

At last in Latium he did arrive,  
Where he with cruel war was entertained  
Of th'inland folk, which sought him back to drive,  
Till he with old Latinus was constrained,  
To contract wedlock: (so the fates ordained.)  
Wedlock contract in blood, and eke in blood  
Accomplished, that many dear complained:  
The rival slain, the victor through the flood  
Escaped hardly, hardly praised his wedlock good.   

Yet after all, he victor did survive,  
And with Latinus did the kingdom. part.  
But after, when both nations 'gan to strive,  
Into their names the title to convert,  
His son Iülus did from thence departed,  
With all the warlike youth of Troyans' blood,  
And in long Alba placed his throne apart,  
Where fair it flourished, and long time stoud,  
Till Romulus renewing it, to Rome removed.   

There there (said Britomart) a fresh appoard  
The glory of the later world to spring,  
And Troy again out of her dust was reared,  
To sit in second seat of sovereign king,  
Of all the world under her governing.  
But a third kingdom yet is to arise,  
Out of the Troyans' scattered of spring,  
That in all glory and great enterprise,  
Both first and second Troy shall dare to equalise.   

It Troynovant is height, that with the waves  
Of wealthy Thamis washed is along,  
Upon whose stubborn necks whereat he raves  
With roaring rage, and sore himself does throng,  
That all men fear to tempt his billows strong,  
She fastened hath her foot, which stands so hy,  
That it a wonder of the world is song  
In foreign lands, and all which passen by,  
Beholding it from far, do think it threats the sky.   

The Trojan Brute did first that city found,  
And Highgate made the mere thereof by west,  
And overt gate by North: that is the bound  
Toward the land; two rivers bound the rest.  
So huge a scope at first him seemed best,  
To be the compass of his kingdoms seat:  
So huge a mind could not in lesser rest,  
Ne in small meres contain his glory great,  
That Albion had conquered first by warlike feat.   

Ah fairest Lady knight, (said Paridell)  
Pardon I pray my heedless oversight,  
Who had forgot, that whilom I hard tell  
From aged Mnemon; for my wits been light.  
Indeed he said (if I remember right,)  
That of the antic Trojan stock, there grew  
Another plant, that reached to wondrous height,  
And far abroad his mighty branches threw,  
Into the utmost Angle of the world he knew.   

For that same Brute, whom much he did advance  
In all his speech, was Silvius his son,  
Whom having slain, through luckless arrows glance  
He fled for fear of that he had misdonne,  
Or else for shame, so fowl reproach to shun,  
And with him led to sea an youthly train,  
Where weary wandering they long time did won,  
And many fortunes proved in th' Ocean main,  
And great adventures found, that now were long to say   

At last by fatal course they driven were  
Into an Island spacious and broad,  
The furthest North, that did to them appear:  
Which after rest they seeking far abroad,  
Found it the fittest soil for their abode,  
Fruitful of all things fit for living food,  
But wholly waste, and void of peoples trod,  
Save an huge nation of the Geaunts brood,  
That fed on living flesh, & drunk men's vital blood.   

Whom he through weary wars and labours long,  
Subdued with loss of many Britons bold:  
In which the great Goemagot of strong  
Corineus, and Coulin of Debon old  
Were overthrown, and laid on th'earth full cold,  
Which quaked under their so hideous mass,  
A famous history to be enrolled  
In everlasting monuments of brass,  
That all the antic worthy's merits far did pass.   

His work great Troynovant, his work is eke  
Fair Lincoln, both renowned far away,  
That who from East to West will endlong seek,  
Cannot two fairer Cities find this day,  
Except Cleopolis: so heard I say  
Old Mnemon. Therefore Sir, I greet you well  
Your country kin, and you entirely pray  
Of pardon for the strife, which late befell  
Betwixt us both unknown. So ended Paridell.   

But all the while, that he these speeches spent,  
Upon his lips hung fair Dame Hellenore,  
With vigilant regard, and dew attended,  
Fashioning worlds of fancies evermore  
In her frail wit, that now her quite forlorn:  
The whiles unwares away her wondering eye,  
And greedy ears her weak heart from her bore:  
Which he perceiving, ever privily  
In speaking, many false belgardes at her let fly.   

So long these knights discoursed diverfly,  
Of strange affairs, and noble hardiment,  
Which they had passed with much jeopardy,  
That now the humid night was farforth spent,  
And heavenly lamps were halfendeale ybrent:  
Which th'old man seeing well, who too long though:  
Every discourse and every argument,  
Which by the hours he measured, besought  
Them go to rest. So all unto their bowers were brought.    

Cant. X.  

Paridell rapeth Hellenore:  
Malbceco her poursewes:  
findeth amongst satires, whence with him  
To turn she doth refuse.   

THe morrow next, so soon as Phoebus' Lamp  
Bewrayed had the world with early light,  
And fresh Aurora had the shady damp  
Out of the goodly heaven amoved quite,  
Fair Britomart and that same fairy knight  
uprose, forth on their journey for to wend:  
But Paridell complained, that his late fight  
With Britomart, so sore did him offend,  
That ride he could not, till his hurts he did amend.   

So forth they fared, but he behind them stayed,  
Maulgre his host, who grudged grivously,  
To house a guest, that would be needs obeyed,  
And of his own him left not liberty:  
Might wanting measure moveth surquedry.  
Two things he feared, but the third was death;  
That fires youngman's unruly mastery;  
His money, which he loved as living breath;  
And his fair wife, whom honest long he kept uneath.   

But patience perforce he must abye,  
What fortune and his fate on him will lay,  
Fond is the fear, that finds no remedy;  
Yet warily he watcheth every way,  
By which he feareth evil happen may:  
So th'evil thinks by watching to prevent;  
Ne doth he suffer her, nor night, nor day,  
Out of his sight herself once to absent.  
So doth he punish her and eke himself torment.   

But Paridell kept better watch, than he,  
A fit occasion for his turn to find:  
False love, why do men say, thou canst not see,  
And in their foolish fancy feign thee blind,  
That with thy charms the sharpest sight dost bind,  
And to thy will abuse? Thou walkest free,  
And seest every secret of the mind;  
Thou seest all, yet none at all sees thee;  
All that is by the working of thy deity.   

So perfect in that art was Paridell,  
That he malbecco's halfen eye did wile,  
His halfen eye he wiled wondrous well,  
And Hellenors' both eyes did eke beguile,  
Both eyes and heart at once, during the whylc  
That he there sojourned his wounds to heal,  
That Cupid self it seeing, close did smile,  
To weet how he her love away did steal,  
And bad, that none their joyous treason should reveal.   

The learned lover lost no time nor tide,  
That least advantage mote to him afford,  
Yet bore so fair a sail, that none espied  
His secret drift, till he herlayd aboard.  
When so in open place, and common board,  
He fortuned her to meet, with common speech  
He courted her, yet baited every word,  
That his ungentle host n'ote him appeach  
Of vile ungentleness, or hospitages' breach.   

But when apart (if ever her apart)  
He found, than his false engines fast he plied,  
And all the flights unbosomd in his heart;  
He sighed, he sobbed, he swoon, he pardie died,  
And cast himself on ground her fast beside:  
though when again he him bethought to live,  
He wept, and wailed, and false laments belyde,  
Saying, but if she mercy would him give  
That he moat algates die, yet did his death forgive.   

And otherwiles with amorous delights,  
And pleasing toys he would her entertain,  
Now singing sweetly, to surprise her sprights,  
Now making lays of love and lovers pain,  
Bransles, Ballads, virelayes, and verses vain;  
Oft purposes, oft riddles he devysd,  
And thousands like, which flowed in his brain,  
With which he said her fancy, and entysd  
To take with his new love, and leave her old despysd.   

And every where he might, and every while  
He did her service dewtifull, and sewd  
At hand with humble pride, and pleasing guile,  
So closely yet, that none but she it viewed,  
Who well perceived all, and all indewd.  
Thus finely did he his false nets dispred,  
With which he many weak hearts had subdued,  
Of yore, and many had ylike misled:  
What wonder then, if she were likewise carried?   

No fort so fensible, no walls so strong,  
But that continual battery will rive,  
Or daily siege through dispuruayaunce long,  
And lack of rescues will to parley drive,  
And piece, that unto parley ear will give,  
Will shortly yield itself, and will be made  
The vassal of the victors will bylive:  
That stratagem had oftentimes assayed  
This crafty paramour, and now it plain displayed.   

For through his trains he her entrapped hath,  
That she her love and hat hath wholly sold  
To him, without regard of gain, or scathe,  
Or care of credit, or of husband old,  
Whom she hath vowed to dub a fair Cucquold.  
Nought wants but time & place, which shortly she  
devised hath, and to her lover told,  
It pleased well. So well they both agree;  
So ready ripe to ill, ill women's counsels be.   

Dark was the evening, fit for lovers stealth,  
When chanced Maelbecco busy be else where,  
She to his closet went, where all his wealth  
Lay hid: thereof she countless sums did rear,  
The which she meant away with her to bear;  
The rest she fired for sport, or for despite;  
As Helen, when she saw aloft appear  
The Trojan flames, and reach to heavens hight  
Did clap her hands, and joyed at that doleful sight.   

This second Helen, fair Dame Hcllenore,  
The whiles her husband ran with sorry haste,  
To quench the flames, which she had tyned before.  
Laughed at his foolish labour spent in waste;  
And ran into her lovers arms right fast;  
Where straight embraced, she to him did cry,  
And call aloud for help, ere help were passed,  
For lo that Guest did bear her forcibly,  
And meant to ravish her, that rather had to die.   

The wretched man hearing her call for aid,  
And ready seeing him with her to fly,  
In his disquiet mind was much dismayed:  
But when again he backward cast his eye,  
And saw the wicked fire so furiously  
Consume his heart, and scorch his idols face,  
He was therewith distressed diversely,  
Ne witted he how to turn, nor to what place,  
Was never wretched man in such a woeful case.   

Ay when to him she cried, to her he turned,  
And left the fire; love money overcame:  
But when he marked, how his money burnt,  
He left his wife; money did love disclaim:  
Both was he loath to lose his loved Dame,  
And loath to leave his liefest pelf behind,  
Yet sith he n'ote save both, he saved that same,  
Which was the dearest to his dunghill mind,  
The God of his desire, the joy of miser's blind.   

Thus whilst all things in troublous uproar were,  
And all men busy to suppress the flame,  
The loving couple need no rescue fear,  
But leisure had, and liberty to frame  
Their purpost flight, free from all men's reclaim;  
And Night, the patroness of love-stealth fair,  
Gave them safe conduct, till to end they came:  
So been they gone yfere, a wanton pair  
Of lovers loosely knit, where list them to repair.   

Soon as the cruel flames slaked were,  
Malbecco seeing, how his loss did lie,  
Out of the flames, which he had quenched whilere  
Into huge waves of grief and gealosye  
Full deep emplonged was, and drowned nigh,  
Twixt inward dole and felonous despite,  
He raved, he wept, he stamped, he loud did cry,  
And all the passions, that in man may light,  
Did him at once oppress, and vex his caitiff sprite.   

Long thus he chawd the cud of inward grief,  
And did consume his gall with anguish sore,  
Still when he mused on his late mischief,  
So still the smart thereof increased more,  
And seemed more grievous, than it was before:  
At last when sorrow he saw booted nought,  
Ne grief might not his love to him restore,  
He 'gan devise, how her he rescue mought,  
Ten thousand ways he cast in his confused thought.   

At last resolving, like a Pilgrim poor,  
To search her forth, where so she might be fond,  
And bearing with him treasure in close store,  
The rest he leaves in ground: So takes in hand  
To seek her endlong, both by sea and land.  
Long he her sought, he sought her far and near,  
And every where that he moat understand,  
Of knights and ladies any meetings were,  
And of eachone he met, he tidings did inquire.   

But all in vain, his woman was too wise,  
Ever to come into his clouch again,  
And he too simple ever to surprise  
The jolly Paridell, for all his pain.  
One day, as he forpassed by the plain  
With weary pace, he far away espied  
A couple, seeming well to be his twain,  
Which hoved close under a forest side,  
As if they lay in wait, or else themselves did hide.   

Well weened he, that those the same more be,  
And as he better did their shape avize,  
Him seemed more their manner did agree;  
For th'one was armed all in warlike wise,  
Whom, to be Paridell he did devise;  
And th'other alyclad in garments light,  
Discoloured like to womanish disguise,  
He did resemble to his lady bright,  
And ever his faint heart much earned at the sight.   

And ever feign he towards them would go,  
But yet durst not for dread approach nigh,  
But stood aloof, unwitting what to do,  
Till that pricked forth with loves extremity,  
That is the father of fowl gealosy,  
He closely nearer crept, the truth to weet:  
But, as he nigher drew, he easily  
Might scerne, that it was not his sweetest sweet,  
Ne yet her Belamour, the partner of his sheet.   

But it was scornful Braggadochio,  
That with his servant Trompart hoverd there,  
Sith late he fled from his too earnest foe:  
Whom such whenas Malbecco spied clear,  
He turned back, and would have fled arere;  
Till Trompart running hastily, him did stay,  
And bad before his sovereign Lord appear:  
That was him loath, yet durst he not gainsay,  
And coming him before, low louted on the lay.   

The Boaster at him sternly bend his brow,  
As if he could have killed him with his look,  
That to the ground him meekly made to bow,  
And awful terror deep into him struck,  
That every member of his body quooke.  
Said he, thou man of nought, what dost thou here,  
unfitly furnished with thy bag and book,  
Where I expected one with shield and spear,  
To prove some deeds of arms upon an equal pere.   

The wretched man at his imperious speech,  
Was all abashed, and low prostrating, said;  
Good Sir, let not my rudeness be no breach  
Unto your patience, ne be ill ypaid;  
For I unwares this way by fortune strayed,  
A silly Pilgrim driven to distress,  
That seek a Lady There he sudden stayed,  
And did the rest with grievous sighs suppress,  
While tears stood in his eyes, few drops of bitterness.   

What Lady, man? (said Trompart) take good heart,  
And tell thy grief, if any hidden lie;  
Was never better time to show thy smart,  
Then now, that noble succour is thee by,  
That is the whole world's common remedy.  
That cheerful word his weak heart much did cheer,  
And with vain hope his spirits faint supply,  
That bold he said, O most redoubted Pere,  
Vouchsafe with mild regard a wretch's case to hear.   

Then sighing sore, It is not long (said he)  
Sith I enjoyed the gentlest Dame alive;  
Of whom a knight, no knight at all pardie  
But shame of all, that do for honour strive,  
By treacherous deceit did me deprive;  
Through open outrage he her bore away,  
And with fowl force unto his will did drive,  
Which all good knights, that arms do bear this day,  
Are bound for to revenge, and punish if they may:   

And you most noble Lord, that can and dare  
Redress the wrong of miserable wight,  
Cannot employ your most victorious spear  
In better quarrel, than defence of right,  
And for a Lady 'gainst a faithless knight,  
So shall your glory be advanced much,  
And all fair Ladies magnify your might,  
And eke my self, albe I simple such,  
Your worthy pain shall well reward with guerdon rich.   

With that out of his bouget forth he drew  
Great store of treasure, therewith him to tempt;  
But he on it looked scornfully askew,  
As much disdaining to be so misdempt,  
Or a war-monger to be basely nempt;  
And said, thy offers base I greatly loath,  
And eke thy words uncourteous and unkempt;  
I tread in dust thee and thy money both,  
That, were it not for shame, So turned from him wroth.   

But Trompart, that his mistress's humour knew,  
In lofty looks to hide an humble mind,  
Was inly tickled with that golden view,  
And in his ear him rownded close behind:  
Yet stooped he not, but lay still in the wind,  
Waiting advantage on the pray to seize;  
Till Trompart lowly to the ground inclined,  
Besought him his great courage to appease,  
And pardon simple man, that rash did him displease.   

Big looking like a doughty Doucepere,  
At last he thus, Thou clod of vilest clay,  
I pardon yield, and that with rudeness bear;  
But weet henceforth, that all that golden prey,  
And all that else the vain world vaunten may,  
I loathe as dung, ne deem my dew reward:  
Fame is my meed, and glory virtuous prey.  
But minds of mortal men are muchell marred,  
And moved amiss with massy mucks unmeet regard.   

And mote, I grant to thy great misery  
Gracious respect, thy wife shall back be sent,  
And that vile knight, who ever that he be,  
Which hath thy lady rest, and knighthood shent,  
By Sanglamort my sword, whose deadly dent  
The blood hath of so many thousands shed,  
I swear, ere long shall dearly it repent;  
Ne he twixt heaven and earth shall hide his head,  
But soon he shallbe found, and shortly done be dedd.   

The foolish man thereat wox wondrous blithe,  
As if the word so spoken, were half done,  
And humbly thanked him a thousand sith,  
That had from death to life him newly won.  
though forth the Boaster marching, brave begun  
His stolen steed to thunder furiously,  
As if he heaven and hell would overonne,  
And all the world confound with cruelty,  
That much Malbecco joyed in his jollity.   

Thus long they three together travailed,  
Through many a wood, and many an uncouth way,  
To seek his wife, that was far wandered:  
But those two sought nought, but the present pray,  
To weet the treasure, which he did bewray,  
On which their eyes and hearts were wholly set,  
With purpose, how they might it best betray,  
For sith the hour, that first he did them let  
The same behold, therewith their keen desires were whet.   

It fortuned as they together fared,  
They spied, where Paridell came pricking fast  
Upon the plain, the which himself prepared  
To giust with that brave stranger knight a cast,  
As on adventure by the way he passed:  
Alone he road without his paragon;  
For having filched her bells, her up he cast  
To the wide world, and let her fly alone,  
He nould be clogged. So had he served many one.   

The gentle Lady. Lose at random left,  
The green-wood long did walk, and wander wide  
At wild adventure, like a forlorn wefte,  
Till on a day the satires her espied  
Straying alone withouten groom or guide;  
Her up they took, and with them home her led,  
With them as house wife ever to abide,  
To milk their goats, and make them cheese & bred,  
And every one as commune good her handled.   

That shortly she Malbecco has forgot,  
And eke Sir Paridel, all were he dear;  
Who from her went to seek another lot,  
And now by fortune was arrived here,  
Where those two guilers with Malbecco were:  
Soon as the oldman saw Sir Paridell,  
He fainted, and was almost dead with fear,  
Ne word he had to speak, his grief to tell,  
But to him louted low, and greeted goodly well.   

And after asked him for Hellenore,  
I take no keep of her (said Paridell)  
She woneth in the forest there before.  
So forth he road, as his adventure fell;  
The whiles the Boaster from his lofty sell  
Feigned to alight, something amiss to mend;  
But the fresh swain would not his leisure dwell,  
But went his way; whom when he passed kend,  
He up remounted light, and after feigned to wend.   

Per dy nay (said Malbecco) shall ye not:  
But let him pass as lightly, as he came:  
For little good of him is to be got,  
And much peril to be put to shame.  
But let us go to seek my dearest Dame,  
Whom he hath left in yonder forest wild:  
For of her safety in great doubt I am,  
Lest salvage beasts her person have despoilded:  
Then all the world is lost, and we in vain have toiled.   

They all agree, and forward them addressed:  
Ah but (said crafty Trompart) weet ye well,  
That yonder in that faithful wilderness  
Huge monsters haunt, and many dangers dwell;  
Dragons, and Minotaures, and fiends of hell,  
And many wild woodmen, which rob & rend  
All traveilers; therefore advise ye well,  
Before ye enterprise that way to wend:  
One may his journey bring too soon to evil end.   

Malbecco stopped in great astonishment,  
And with pale eyes fast fixed on the rest,  
Their counsel craved, in danger imminent.  
Said Trompart, you that are the most oppressed  
With burden of great treasure, I think best  
Here for to stay in safety behind;  
My Lord and I will search the wide forest.  
That counsel pleased not malbecco's mind;  
For he was much afraid, himself alone to find.   

Then is it best (said he) that ye do leave  
Your treasure here in some security,  
Either fast closed in some hollow greave,  
Or buried in the ground from jeopardy,  
Till we return again in safety:  
As for us two, lest doubt of us ye have,  
Hence far away we will blindfolded lie,  
Ne privy be unto your treasure's grave.  
It pleased: so he did. Then they march forward brave.   

Now when amid the thickest woods they were,  
They heard a noise of many bagpipes shrill,  
And shrieking Hububs them approaching near,  
Which all the forest did with horror fill:  
That dreadful sound the boaster's heart did thrill,  
With such amazement, that in hast he fled,  
Ne ever looked back for good or ill,  
And after him eke fearful Trompart sped;  
The old man could not fly, but fell to ground half dedd.   

Yet afterwards close creeping, as he might,  
He in a bush did hide his fearful head,  
The jolly satires full of fresh delight,  
Came dancing forth, and with them nimbly led  
Fair Helenore, with garlands all bespredd,  
Whom their May-lady they had newly made:  
She proud of that new honour, which they red,  
And of their lovely fellowship full glade,  
Danced lively, and her face did with a laurel shade.   

The silly man that in the thickett lay  
Saw all this goodly sport, and grieved sore,  
Yet durst he not against it do or say,  
But did his heart with bitter thoughts engore,  
To see th'unkindness of his Hèllenore.  
All day they danced with great lusty head,  
And with their horned feet the green grass wore,  
The whiles their goats upon the brouzes fed.  
Till drooping Phoebus 'gan to hide his golden head.   

though up they 'gan their merry pipes to truss,  
And all their goodly herds did gather round,  
But every satire first did give a buss  
To Hellenore: so busses did abound.  
Now 'gan the humid vapour shed the ground.  
With perly dew, and th'earths gloomy shade  
Did dim the brightness of the welkin round,  
That every bird and beast awarned made,  
To shroud themselves, whiles sleep their senses did invade.   

Which when Malbecco saw, out of his bush  
Upon his hands and feet he crept full light,  
And like a goat amongst the goats did rush,  
That through the help of his fair horns on height,  
And misty damp of misconceyving night,  
And eke through likeness of his goatish beard,  
He did the better counterfeit aright:  
So home he Marched amongst the horned heard,  
That none of all the satires him espied or heard.   

At night, when all they went to sleep, he viewed,  
Whereas his lovely wife amongst them lay,  
Embraced of a satire rough and rude,  
Who all the night did mind his joyous play:  
Nine times he heard him come aloft ere day,  
That all his heart with gealosy did swell;  
But yet that night's ensample did bewray,  
That not for nought his wife them loved so well,  
When one so oft a night did ring his matins bell.   

So closely as he could, he to them crept,  
When weary of their sport to sleep they fell,  
And to his wife, that now full sound slept,  
He whispered in her ear, and did her tell,  
That it was he, which by her side did dwell,  
And therefore prayed her wake, to hear him plain.  
As one out of a dream not waked well,  
She turned her, and returned back again:  
Yet her for to awake he did the more constrain.   

At last with irkesom trouble she abraid;  
And then perceiving, that it was indeed  
Her old Malbecco, which did her upbraid,  
With looseness of her love, and loathly deed,  
She was astonished with exceeding dread,  
And would have waked the satire by he r side;  
But he her prayed, for mercy, or for meed,  
To save his life, ne let him be descried,  
But hearken to his lore, and all his counsel hide.   

though 'gan he her persuade, to leave that lewd  
And loathsome life, of God and man abhorred,  
And home return, where all should be renewed  
With perfect peace, and bands of fresh accord,  
And she received again to bed and board,  
As if no trespass ever had been done:  
But she it all refused at one word,  
And by no means would to his will be won,  
But chose amongst the jolly satires still to won   

He wooed her, till day spring he espied;  
But all in vain: and then turned to the heard,  
Who butted him with horns on every side,  
And trod down in the dirt, where his door beard  
Was foully dight, and he of death afeard.  
Early before the heavens fairest light  
Out of the ruddy East was fully reared,  
The herds out of their folds were loosed quite,  
And he amongst the rest crept forth in sorry plight.   

So soon as he the Prison door did pass,  
He ran as fast, as both his fear could bear,  
And never looked, who behind him was,  
Ne scarcely who before: like as a bear  
That creeping close, amongst the hives to rear  
An honey comb, the wakeful dogs espy,  
And him assailing, sore his carcase tear,  
That hardly he with life away does fly,  
Ne stays, till safe himself he see from jeopardy.   

Ne stayed he, till he came unto the place,  
Where late his treasure he entombed had,  
Where when he found it not (for Trompart base  
Had it purloined for his master bad:)  
With extreme fury he became quite mad,  
And ran away, ran with himself away:  
That who so strangely had him seen bestadd,  
With upstart hair, and staring eyes dismay,  
From Limbo lake him late escaped sure would say.   

High over hills and over dales he fled,  
As if the wind him on his wings had borne,  
Ne bank nor bush could stay him, when he sped  
His nimble feet, as treading still on thorn:  
Grief, and despite, and gealofy, and scorn  
Did all the way him follow hard behind,  
And he himself himself loathed so forlorn,  
So shamefully forlorn of womankind;  
That as a Snake, still lurked in his wounded mind.   

Still fled he forward, looking backward still,  
Ne stayed his flight, nor fearful agony,  
Till that he came unto a rocky hill,  
Over the sea, suspended dreadfully,  
That living creature it would terrify,  
To look adown, or upward to the height:  
From thence he threw himself dispiteously,  
All desperate of his fore-damned sprite,  
That seemed no help for him was left in living sight.   

But through long anguish, and selfe-murdring thought  
He was so wasted and forpined quite,  
That all his substance was consumed to nought,  
And nothing left, but like an airy sprite,  
That on the rocks he fell so flit and light,  
That he thereby received no hurt at all,  
But chanced on a craggy cliff to light;  
Whence he with crooked claws so long did crawl,  
That àt the last he found a cave with entrance small.   

Into the same he creeps, and thenceforth there  
Resolved to build his baleful mansion,  
In dreary darkness, and continual fear  
Of that rocks fall, which ever and anon  
Threats with huge ruin him to fall upon,  
That he dare never sleep, but that one eye  
Still open he keeps for that occasion;  
Ne ever rests he in tranquillity,  
The roaring billows beat his bower so boisterously.   

Ne ever is he wont on aught to feed,  
But toads and frogs, his pasture poisonous,  
Which in his cold complexion do breed  
A filthy blood, or humour rancorous,  
Matter of doubt and dread suspicious,  
That doth with cureless care consume the heart,  
Corrupts the stomach with gall vicious,  
Croscuts the liver with internal smart,  
And doth transfix the soul with deaths eternal dart.   

Yet can he never die, but dying lives,  
And doth himself with sorrow new sustain,  
That death and life at once unto him gives.  
And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.  
There dwells he ever, miserable swain,  
Hateful both to himself, and every wight;  
Where he through privy grief, and horror vain,  
Is waxed so deformed, that he has quite  
Forgot he was a man, and Gelosy is height.    

Cant. XI.  

Britomart chaseth Ollyphant,  
finds Scudamour distressed:  
Assays the house of Busyrane,  
where loves spoils are expressed,   

O hateful hellish Snake, what fury furst  
Brought thee from baleful house of Proserpina,  
Where in her bosom she thee long had nursed,  
And fostered up with bitter milk of tine,  
Fowl Gealosy, that turnest love divine  
To joyless dread, and makest the loving heart  
With hateful thoughts to languish and to pine,  
And feed itself with self-consuming smart?  
Of all the passions in the mind thou vilest art.   

O let him far be banished away,  
And in his stead let love for ever dwell,  
Sweet love, that doth his golding wings embay  
In blessed Nectar, and pure Pleasures well,  
Untroubled of vile fear, or bitter fell.  
And ye fair Ladies, that your kingdoms make  
In th'hearts of men, them govern wisely well,  
And of fair Britomart ensample take,  
That was as true in love, as Turtle to her make.   

Who with Sir Satyrane, as erst ye red,  
Forth riding from malbecco's hostlesse house,  
Far off aspyde a young man, the which fled  
From an huge giant, that with hideous  
And hateful outrage long him chased thus;  
It was that Ollyphant, the brother dear  
Of that Argante vile and vicious,  
From whom the Squire of Dames was reft whilere;  
This all as bad as she, and worse, if worse ought were.   

For as the sister did in feminine  
And filthy lust exceed all woman kind,  
So he surpassed his sex masculine,  
In beastly use all, that I ever find:  
Whom when as Britomart beheld behind  
The fearful boy so greedily poursew,  
She was emmoved in her noble mind,  
T'employ her puissance to his rescue,  
And pricked fiercely forward, where she did him view.   

Ne was Sir Satyrane her far behind,  
But with like fierceness did ensue the chase:  
Whom when the giant saw, he soon resinde  
His former suit, and from them fled apace;  
They after both, and boldly bade him base,  
And each did strive the other to outgo;  
But he them both outran a wondrous space,  
For he was long, and swift as any Roe,  
And now made better speed, t'escape his feared foe.   

It was not Satyrane, whom he did fear,  
But Britomart the flower of chastity;  
For he the power of chaste hands might not bear,  
But always did their dread encounter fly:  
And now so fast his feet he did apply,  
That he has gotten to a forest near,  
Where he is shrouded in security.  
The wood they enter, and search everywhere,  
They searched diversely, so both divided were.   

Fair Britomart so long him followed,  
That she at last came to a fountain shear,  
By which there lay a knight all wallowed  
Upon the grassy ground, and by him near  
His haberieon, his helmet, and his spear;  
A little of his shield was rudely thrown,  
On which the winged boy in colours clear  
Depeincted was, full easy to be known,  
And he thereby, where ever it in field was shown.   

His face upon the ground did groveling lie,  
As if he had been slombring in the shade,  
That the brave maid would not for courtesy,  
Out of his quiet slumber him abraid,  
Nor seem too suddenly him to invade:  
Still as she stood, she heard with grievous throb  
Him groan, as if his heart were pieces made,  
And with most painful pangs to sigh and sob,  
That pity did the virgin's heart of patience rob.   

At last forth breaking into bitter plaints  
He said, O sovereign Lord that sittest on high,  
And raignst in bliss amongst thy blessed saints,  
How sufferest thou such shameful cruelty,  
So long unwreaked of thine enemy?  
Or hast, thou Lord, of good men's cause no heed?  
Or doth thy justice sleep, and silently?  
What booteth then the good and righteous deed,  
If goodness find no grace, nor righteousness no meed?   

If good find grace, and righteousness reward,  
Why then is Amoretta in caitiff band,  
Sith that more bounteous creature never fared  
On foot, upon the face of living land?  
Or if that heavenly justice may withstand  
The wrongful outrage of unrighteous men,  
Why then is Busirane with wicked hand  
Suffered, these seven months day in secret den  
My Lady and my love so cruelly to pen?   

My Lady and my love is cruelly penned  
In doleful darkness from the view of day,  
Whilst deadly torments do her chaste breast rend,  
And the sharp steel doth rive her heart in twain,  
All for she Scudamore will not denay.  
Yet thou vile man, vile Scudamore art sound,  
Ne canst her aid, ne canst her foe dismay;  
Unworthy wretch to tread upon the ground,  
For whom so fair a Lady feels so sore a wound.   

There an huge heap of singulfes did oppress  
His struggling soul, and swelling throbs impeach  
His faltering tongue with pangs of dreariness,  
Choking the remnant of his plaintiff speech,  
As if his days were come to their last reach.  
Which when she heard, and saw the ghastly fit,  
Threatening into his life to make a breach,  
Both with great ruth and terror she was smit,  
Fearing least from her cage the weary soul would flit.   

though stooping down she him amoved light;  
Who therewith somewhat starting, up 'gan look,  
And seeing him behind a stranger knight,  
Whereas no living creature he mistook,  
With great indignaunce he that sight forsook,  
And down again himself disdainfully  
abjecting, th'earth with his fair forehead struck:  
Which the bold Virgin seeing, 'gan apply  
Fit medicine to his grief, and spoke thus courtly.   

Ah gentle knight, whose deep conceived grief  
Well seemest'exceede the power of patience,  
Yet if that heavenly gracesome good relief  
You send, submit you to high providence,  
And ever in your noble heart prepense,  
That all the sorrow in the world is less,  
Then virtues might, and values confidence.  
For who nill bide the burden of distress,  
Must not here think to live: for life is wretchedness.   

Therefore, fair Sir, do comfort to you take,  
And freely read, what wicked fellow so  
Hath outraged you, and thralled your gentle make.  
Perhaps this hand may help to ease your woe,  
And wreak your sorrow on your cruel foe,  
At least it fair endeavour will apply.  
Those feeling words so near the quick did go,  
That up his head he reared easily,  
And leaning on his elbow, these few words let fly.   

What boots it plain, that cannot be redressed,  
And sow vain sorrow in a fruitless ear,  
Sith power of hand, nor skill of learned breast,  
Ne worldly price cannot redeem my dear,  
Out of her thraldom and continual fear?  
For he the tyrant, which her hath in ward  
By strong enchantments and black magic lere,  
Hath in a dungeon deep her close embard,  
And many dreadful fiends hath pointed to her guard.   

There he tormenteth her most terribly,  
And day and night afflicts with mortal pain,  
Because to yield him love she doth deny,  
Once to me yold, not to be yold again:  
But yet by torture he would her constrain  
Love to conceive in her disdainful breast;  
Till so she do, she must in dole remain,  
Ne may by living means be thence released:  
What boots it then to plain, that cannot be redressed?   

With this sad hersall of his heavy stress,  
The warlike damsel was empassiond sore,  
And said, Sir knight, your cause is nothing less,  
Then is your sorrow, certes if not more;  
For nothing so much pity doth implore,  
As gentle Ladies helpless misery.  
But yet, if please ye listen to my lore,  
I will with proof of last extremity,  
Deliver her fro thence, or with her for you dy.   

Ah gentlest knight alive, (said Scudamore)  
What huge heroic magnanimity  
Dwells in thy bounteous breast? what couldst thou more,  
If she were thine, and thou as now am I?  
O spare thy happy days, and them apply  
To better boot, but let me die, that aught;  
More is more loss: one is enough to die,  
Life is not lost, (said she) for which is bought  
Endless renown, that more than death is to be sought.   

Thus she at length persuaded him to rise,  
And with her wend, to see what new success  
might him befall upon new enterprise:  
His arms, which he had vowed to disprofesse,  
She gathered up and did about him dress,  
And his forwandred steed unto him got:  
So forth they both yfere make their progress,  
And march not past the mountenance of a shot,  
Till they arrived, whereas their purpose they did plot.   

There they dismounting, drew their weapons bold  
And stoutly came unto the Castle gate;  
Whereas no gate they found, them to withhold,  
Nor ward to wait at morn and evening late,  
But in the Porch, that did them sore amate,  
A flaming fire, ymixt with smouldry smoke,  
And stinking sulphur, that with grisly hate  
And dreadful horror did all entrance choke,  
Enforced them their forward footing to revoke.   

Greatly thereat was Britomart dismayed,  
Ne in that stound witted, how herself to bear;  
For danger vain it were to have assayed  
That cruel element, which all things fear,  
Ne none can suffer to approach near:  
And turning back to Scudamour, thus said;  
What monstrous enmity provoke we here,  
Foolhardy, as the earths children, which made  
battle against the Gods? so we a God invade.   

Danger without discretion to attempt,  
Inglorious and beastlike is: therefore Sir knight,  
Aread what course of you is safest deemed.  
And how we with our foe may come to fight.  
This is (quoth he) the dolorous despite,  
Which erst to you I playnd: for neither may  
This fire be quenched by any wit or might,  
Ne yet by any means removed away;  
So mighty be th'enchantments, which the same do stay.   

What is there else, but cease these fruitless pains,  
And leave me to my former languishing?  
Fair Amorett must dwell in wicked chains,  
And Scudamore here die with sorrowing.  
pardie not so; (said she) for shameful thing  
It were t'abandon noble chevisance,  
For show of peril, without venturing:  
Rather let try extremities of chance,  
Then enterprised praise for dread to disavaunce.   

Therewith resolved to prove her utmost might,  
Her ample shield she threw before her face,  
And her swords point directing forward right,  
Assailed the flame, the which eftsoons gave place,  
And did itself divide with equal space,  
That through she passed, as a thunder bolt  
Pierceth the yielding air, and doth displace  
The soaring clouds into sad showers ymolt;  
So to her yold the flames, and did their force revolt.   

Whom whenas Scudam our saw past the fire,  
Safe and untouched, he likewise 'gan assay,  
With greedy will, and envious desire,  
And bade the stubborn flames to yield him way:  
But cruel Mulciber would not obey  
His threatfull pride, but did the more augment  
His mighty rage, and with imperious sway  
Him forced (maugre) his fierceness to relent,  
And back retire, all scorched and pitifully brent.   

With huge impatience he inly swelled,  
More for great sorrow, that he could not pass,  
Then for the burning torment, which he felt,  
That with fell woodness he effierced was,  
And wilfully him throwing on the grass,  
Did beat and bounce his head and brestful sore;  
The whiles the championess now decked has  
The utmost room, and past the formest door,  
The utmost room, abounding with all precious store.   

For round about, the walls yclothed were  
With goodly arras of great majesty,  
Woven with gold and silk so close and near,  
That the rich metal lurked privily,  
As feigning to be hid from envious eye;  
Yet here, and there, and every where unwares  
It showed itself, and shone unwillingly;  
Like to a discoloured Snake, whose hidden snares  
Through the green grass his long bright burnished back declares.   

And in those Tapets weren fashioned  
Many fair pourtraicts, and many a fair feat,  
And all of love, and all of lusty-hed,  
As seemed by their semblant did entreat;  
And eke all Cupids wars they did repeat,  
And cruel battles, which he whilom fought  
'Gainst all the Gods, to make his empire great;  
Besides the huge massacres, which he wrought  
On mighty kings and kesars, into thraldom brought.   

Therein was writ, how often thundering Jove  
Had felt the point of his heart piercing dart,  
And leaving heavens kingdom, here did rove  
In strange disguise, to slake his scalding smart;  
Now like a Ram, fair Helle to pervart,  
Now like a Bull, Europa to withdraw:  
Ah, how the fearful Ladies tender heart  
Did lively seem to tremble, when she saw  
The huge seas under her t'obey her servants law.   

Soon after that into a golden shower  
Himself he changed, fair Danaë to view,  
Ant through the roof of her strong brazen tower  
Did rain into her lap an honey dew,  
The whiles her foolish guard, that little knew  
Of such deceit, kept th'iron door fast bard,  
And watched, that none should enter nor issue;  
Vain was the watch, and bootless all the ward,  
Whenas the God to golden hue himself transfard.   

Then was he turned into a fnowy Swan,  
To win fair Leda to his lovely trade:  
O wondrous skill, and sweet wit of the man,  
That her in daffadillies sleeping made,  
From scorching heat her dainty limbs to shade:  
Whiles the proud Bird ruffling his feathers wide,  
And brushing his fair breast, did her invade;  
She slept, yet twixt her eyelids closely spied,  
How towards her he rushed, and smiled at his pride.   

Then showed it, how the Theban Semelee  
Deceived of jealous Juno, did require  
To see him in his sovereign majesty,  
Armed with his thunderbolts and lightning fire,  
Whence dearly she with death bought her desire.  
But fair Alcmena better match did make,  
joying his love in likeness more entire,  
Three nights in one, they say, that for her sake  
He then did put, her pleasures longer to partake.   

Twice was he seen in soaring Eagles shape,  
And with wide wings to beat the buxom air,  
Once, when he with Asterie did scape,  
Again, when as the Trojan boy so fair  
He snatched from Ida hill, and with him bare:  
Wondrous delight it was, there to behold,  
How the rude shepherds after him did stare,  
Trembling through fear, lest down he fallen should  
And often to him calling, to take surer hold.   

In satires shape Antiopa he snatched:  
And like a fire, when he Aegin ' assayed:  
A shepherd, when Mnemosyne he catched:  
And like a Serpent to the Thracian maid.  
Whiles thus on earth great Jove these pageants played,  
The winged boy did thrust into his throne,  
And scoffing, thus unto his mother said,  
Lo now the heavens obey to me alone,  
And take me for their Jove, whiles Jove to earth is gone.   

And thou, fair Phoebus, in thy colours bright  
Waste there enwoven, and the sad distress,  
In which that boy thee plunged, for despite,  
That thou bewray'dst his mother's wantonness,  
When she with Mars was meint in joyfulness:  
For thy he thrilled thee with a leaden dart,  
To love fair Daphne, which the loved less:  
Less she thee loved, then was thy just desert,  
Yet was thy love her death, & her death was thy smart.   

So lovedst thou the lusty Hyacinct,  
So lovedst thou the fair Coronis dear:  
Yet both are of thy hapless hand extinct,  
Yet both in flowers do live, and love thee bear,  
The one a pance, the other a sweetbriar:  
For grief whereof, ye moat have lively seen  
The God himself rending his golden hear,  
And breaking quite his garland ever green,  
With other signs of sorrow and impatient teen.   

Both for those two, and for his own dear son,  
The son of Climene he did repent,  
Who bold to guide the chariot of the sun,  
Himself in thousand pieces fond rend,  
And all the world with flashing fire brent:  
So like, that all the walls did seem to flame.  
Yet cruel Cupid, not herewith content,  
Forced him eftsoons to follow other game,  
And love a shepherds daughter for his dearest Dame.   

He loved Isse for his dearest Dame,  
And for her sake her cattle fed a while,  
And for her sake a cowherd vile became,  
The servant of Admetus' cowherd vile,  
Whiles that from heaven he suffered exile.  
Long were to tell his other lovely fit,  
Now like a lion, hunting after spoil,  
Now like a Hag, now like a falcon flit:  
All which in that fair arras was most lively writ.   

Next unto him was Neptune pictured,  
In his divine resemblance wondrous like:  
His face was rugged, and his hoary head  
Dropped with brackish dew; his threeforkt pike  
He stearnly shook, and there with fierce did strike  
The raging billows, that on every side  
They trembling stood, and made a long broad dyke,  
That his swift chariot might have passage wide,  
Which four great Hippodames did draw in temewise tied.   

His seahorses did see ne to snort amain,  
And from their nostrils blow the brynie stream,  
That made the sparkling waves to smoke again,  
And flame with gold, but the white foamy cream,  
Did shine with silver, and shoot forth his beam.  
The God himself did pensive seem and sad,  
And hung adown his head, as he did dream:  
For privy love his breast empierced had,  
Ne ought but dear Bisaltis ay could make him glad.   

He loved eke Iphimedia dear,  
And Aeolus fair daughter Arne hight,  
For whom he turned himself into a steer,  
And fed on fodder, to beguile her sight.  
Also to win Deucalion's daughter bright,  
He turned himself into a Dolphin fair;  
And like a winged horse he took his flight,  
To snaky-locke Medusa to repair,  
On whom he got fair Pegasus, that flitteth in the air.   

Next Saturn was, (but who would ever ween,  
That sullen Saturn ever weaned to love?  
Yet love is sullen, and Saturnlike seen,  
As he did for Erigone it prove.  
That to a centaur did himself transmove.  
So proved it eke that gracious God of wine,  
When for to compass Philliras' hard love,  
He turned himself into a fruitful vine,  
And into her fair bosom made his grapes decline.   

Long were to tell the amorous assays,  
And gentle pangs, with which he maked meek  
The mighty Mars, to learn his wanton plays:  
How oft for Venus, and how often eek  
For many other nymphs hesore did shriek,  
With womanish tears, and with unwarlike smarts,  
Privily moistening his horrid cheek.  
There was he painted full of burning darts,  
And many wide wounds launched through his inner parts.   

Ne did he spare (so cruel was the elf)  
His own dear mother, (ah why should he so?)  
Ne did he spare sometime to prick himself,  
That he might taste the sweet consuming woe,  
Which he had wrought to many others more.  
But to declare the mournful tragedies,  
And spoils, wherewith he all the ground did strew,  
More each to number, with how many eyes  
High heaven beholds sad lovers nightly theeveryes.   

King's Queens, Lords Ladies, knights & Damsels gent  
Were heaped together with the vulgar sort,  
And mingled with the rascal rabblement,  
Without respect of person or of port,  
To show Dan Cupid's power and great effort:  
And round about a border was entrayld,  
Of broken bows and arrows shivered short,  
And a long bloody river through them railed,  
So lively and so like, that living sense it failed.   

And at the upper end of that fair room,  
There was an Altar built of precious stone,  
Of passing value, and of great renown,  
On which there stood an Image all alone,  
Of massy gold, which with his own light shone;  
And wings it had with sundry colours dight,  
More sundry colours, than the proud pavone  
bears in his boasted fan, or Iris bright,  
When her discoloured bow she spreads through heaven bright.   

blindfold he was, and in his cruel fist  
A mortal bow and arrows keen did hold,  
With which he shot at random, when him list,  
Some headed with sad lead, some with pure gold;  
(Ah man beware, how thou those darts behold)  
A wounded Dragon under him did lie,  
Whose hideous tail his left foot did enfold,  
And with a shaft was shot through either eye,  
That no man forth might draw, ne no man remedy.   

And underneath his feet was written thus,  
Unto the Victor of the Gods this be:  
And all the people in that ample house  
Did to that image bow their humble knee,  
And oft committed fowl Idolatree.  
That wondrous sight fair Britomart amazed,  
Ne seeing could her wonder satisfy,  
But evermore and more upon it gazed,  
The whiles the passing brightness her frail senses dazd.   

though as she backward cast her busy eye,  
To search each secret of that goodly stead  
Over the door thus written she did spy  
Bee bold: she oft and oft it over-red  
Yet could not find what sense it figured:  
But what so were therein, or writ or meant,  
She was no whit thereby discouraged,  
From prosecuting of her first intent,  
But forward with bold steps into the next room went.   

Much fairer, than the former, was that room,  
And richlier by many parts arrayed:  
For not with arras made in painful loom,  
But with pure gold it all was overlaid,  
Wrought with wild antics, which their follies played,  
In the rich metal, as they living were:  
A thousand monstrous forms therein were made,  
Such as false love doth oft upon him wear,  
For love in thousand monstrous forms doth oft appear.   

And all about, the glistering walls were hung  
With warlike spoils, and with victorious prays,  
Of mighty conquerors and captains strong,  
Which were whilom captived in their days,  
To cruel love, and wrought their own decays:  
Their swords & spears were broke, & hauberques rend  
And their proud garlands of triumphant bays,  
Trodden in dust with fury insolent,  
To show the victor's might and merciless intent.   

The warlike maid beholding earnestly  
The goodly ordinance of this rich Place,  
Did greatly wonder, ne could satisfy  
Her greedy eyes with gazing a long space,  
But more she marveled that no footings 〈◊〉,  
Nor wight appeared, but wasteful emptiness,  
And solemn silence over all that place:  
Strange thing it seemed, that none was to possess  
So rich purveyance, ne them keep with carefulness.   

And as she looked about, she did behold,  
How over that same door was likewise writ,  
Be bold, be bold, and every where Be bold,  
That much she mused, yet could not construe it  
By any riddling skill, or commune wit.  
At last she spied at that rooms upper end,  
Another iron door, on which was writ,  
Be not too bold; whereto though she did bend  
Her earnest mind, yet witted not what it might intend.   

Thus she there waited until eventyde,  
Yet living creature none she saw appear:  
And now sad shadows 'gan the world to hide  
From mortal view, and wrap in darkness drear;  
Yet nould she d'off her weary arms, for fear  
Of secret danger, ne let sleep oppress  
Her heavy eyes with nature's burden dear,  
But drew herself aside in sickernesse,  
And her welpointed weapons did about her dress.    

Cant. XII.  

The mask of Cupid, and th'enchanted  
Chamber are displayed,  
Whence Britomart redeems fair  
Amoretta, through charms decayed.   

Tho' when as cheerless Night ycouered had  
Fair heaven with an universal cloud,  
That every wight dismayed with darkness sad,  
In silence and in sleep themselves did shroud,  
She heard a shrilling trumpet sound aloud,  
Sign of nigh battle, or got victory;  
Nought therewith daunted was her courage proud,  
But rather stirred to cruel enmity,  
Expecting ever, when some foe she might descry.   

With that, an hideous storm of wind arose,  
With dreadful thunder and lightning atwixt,  
And an earthquake, as if it straight would lose  
The world's foundations from his centre fixed;  
A direful stench of smoke and sulphur mixed  
Ensewd, whose noyance filled the fearful stead,  
From the fourth hour of night until the sixth;  
Yet the bold Britonesse was nought ydred,  
Though much emmoued, but steadfast still persevered.   

All suddenly a stromy whirlwind blew  
Throughout the house, that clapped every door,  
With which that iron wicket open flew,  
As it with mighty levers had been tore:  
And forth yssewd, as on the ready flore  
Of some Theatre, a grave parsonage,  
That in his hand a branch of laurel bore,  
With comely haveour and countenance sage,  
Clad in costly garments, fit for tragic Stage.   

Proceeding to the midst, he still did stand,  
As if in mind he somewhat had to say,  
And to the vulgar beckoning with his hand,  
In sign of silence, as to hear a play,  
By lively actions he 'gan bewray  
Some argument of matter passioned;  
Which done, he back retired soft away,  
And passing by, his name discovered,  
Ease, on his rob in golden letters cyphered.   

The noble maid, still standing all this viewed,  
And merueild at his strange intendiment;  
With that a joyous fellowship issewd  
Of Minstrales, making goodly merriment,  
With wanton bards, and Rymers impudent,  
All which together song full cheerfully  
A lay of loves delight, with sweet consent:  
After whom Marched a jolly company,  
In manner of a mask, enranged orderly.   

The whiles a most delicious harmony,  
In full strange notes was sweetly heard to sound,  
That the rare sweetness of the melody  
The feeble senses wholly did confound,  
And the frail soul in deep delight nigh drowned:  
And when it ceased, shrill trumpets loud did bray,  
That their report did far away rebound,  
And when they ceased, it 'gan again to play,  
The whiles the maskers marched forth in trim array.   

The first was fancy, like a lovely Boy,  
Of rare aspect, and beauty without pear,  
Matchable either to that imp of Troy,  
Whom Jove did love, and chose his cup to bear,  
Or that same dainty lad, which was so dear  
To great Alcides, that when as he died,  
He wailed womanlike with many a tear,  
And every word, and every valley wide  
He filled with Hylas' name; the nigh mphes eke Hylas cried.   

His garment nether was of silk nor say,  
But painted plumes, in goodly order dight,  
Like as the sunburnt Indians do array  
Their tawny bodies, in their proudest plight:  
As those same plumes, so seemed he vain and light,  
That by his gate might easily appear;  
For still he fared as dancing in delight,  
And in his hand a windy fan did beat,  
That in the idle air he moved still here and there.   

And him beside Marched amorous desire,  
Who seemed of riper years, than th'other swain,  
Yet was that others swain this elders sire,  
And gave him being, common to them twain:  
His garment was disguised very vain,  
And his embroidered bonnet sat awry;  
Twixt both his hands few sparks he close did strain,  
Which still he blew, and kindled busily,  
That soon they life conceived, and forth in flames did fly.   

Next after him went Doubt, who was clad  
In a discoloured cote, of strange disguise,  
That at his back a broad Capuccio had,  
And sleeves dependaunt Albanese-wyse:  
He looked askew with his mistrustful eyes,  
And nicely trod, as thorns lay in his way  
Or that the flore to shrink he did avyse  
And on a broken reed he still did stay,  
His feeble steps, which shrunk, when hard thereon he lay.   

With him went danger, clothed in ragged weed,  
Made of bears skin, that him more dreadful made,  
Yet his own face was dreadful, ne did need  
Strange horror, to deform his grisly shade,  
A net in th'one hand, and a rusty blade  
In th'other was, this mischief, that mishap;  
With th'one his foes he threatened to invade,  
With th'other he his friends meant to enwrap:  
For whom he could not kill, he practised to entrap.   

Next him was fear, all armed from top to toe,  
Yet thought himself not safe enough thereby,  
But feared each shadow moving too or fro,  
And his own arms when glittering he did spy,  
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly,  
As ashes pale of hue, and winged heeled;  
And evermore on danger fixed his eye,  
'Gainst whom he always bent a brazen shield,  
Which his right hand unarmed fearfully did wield.   

With him went Hope in rank, a handsome maid,  
Of cheerful look and lovely to behold;  
In silken samite she was light arrayed,  
And her fair locks were woven up in gold;  
She always smyld, and in her hand did hold  
An holy water sprinkle, dipped in deowe,  
With which sly sprinkled favours manifold,  
On whom she list, and did great liking sheowe,  
Great liking unto many, but true love to feowe.   

And after them dissemblance, and Suspect  
Marched in one rank, yet an unequal pair:  
For she was gentle, and of mild aspect,  
Courteous to all, and seeming debonair,  
Goodly adorned, and exceeding fair:  
Yet was that all but painted, and pourloynd,  
And her bright brows were decked with borrowed hair:  
Her deeds were forged, and her words false coined,  
And always in her hand two clews of silk she twynd.   

But he was fowl, ill favoured, and grim,  
Under his eiebrowes looking still askance;  
And ever as Dissemblaunce laughed on him,  
He lowered on her with dangerous eyeglaunce;  
Showing his nature in his countenance;  
His rolling eyes did never rest in place,  
But walked each where, for fear of hid mischance,  
Holding a lattice still before his face,  
Through which he still did peep, as forward he did pace.   

Next him went grief, and Fury matched yfere;  
Grief all in sable sorrowfully clad,  
Down hanging his dull head, with heavy cheer,  
Yet inly being more, then seeming sad:  
A pair of Pincers in his hand he had,  
With which he pinched people to the heart,  
That from thenceforth a wretched life they lad,  
In wilful languor and consuming smart,  
Dying each day with in ward wounds of dolours dart.   

But Fury was full ill appareled,  
In rags, that naked nigh she did appear,  
With ghastly looks and dreadful drerihed;  
For from her back her garments she did tear,  
And from her head ofte rent her snarled hear:  
In her right hand a firebrand she did toss  
About her head, still roaming here and there;  
As a dismayed dear in chase emhost,  
Forgetful of his safety, hath his right way lost.   

After them went Displeasure and pleasance,  
He looking lompish and full sullen sad,  
And hanging down his heavy countenance;  
She cheerful fresh and full of ioyaunce glad,  
As if no sorrow she ne felt ne dread;  
That evil matched pair they seemed to be:  
An angry Wasp th'one in a vial had  
Th'other in hers an hony-lady Bee,  
Thus marched these six couples forth in fair degree   

After all these there Marched a most fair Dame,  
Led of two grysie villains, th'one despite,  
The other cleped Cruelty by name:  
She doleful Lady, like a dreary sprite,  
Called by strong charms out of eternal night,  
Had deaths own image figured in her face,  
Full of sad signs, fearful to living sight,  
Yet in that horror showed a seemly grace,  
And with her feeble feet did move a comely pace.   

Her breast all naked, as net ivory,  
Without adorn of gold or silver bright,  
Wherewith the craftsman wonts it beautify,  
Of her due honour was despoiled quite,  
And a wide wound therein (O rueful sight)  
Entrenched deep with knife accursed keen,  
Yet freshly bleeding forth her fainting sprite,  
(The work of cruel hand) was to be seen,  
That died in sanguine red her skin all snowy clean.   

At that wide orifice her trembling heart  
Was drawn forth, and in silver basin laid,  
Quite through transfixed with a deadly dart,  
And in her blood yet steaming fresh embayed:  
And those two villains, which her steps upstayd,  
When her weak feet could scarcely her sustain,  
And fading vital powers 'gan to fade,  
Her forward skill with torture did constrain,  
And evermore increased her consuming pain.   

Next after her, the winged God himself  
Cameriding on a Lion ravenous,  
Taught to obey the menage of that elf,  
That man and beast with power imperious  
Subdeweth to his kingdom tyrannous:  
His blindfold eyes he bade a while unbind,  
That his proud spoil of that same dolorous  
Fair Dame he might behold in perfect kind,  
Which seen, he much rejoiced in his cruel mind.   

Of which full proud, himself up rearing high,  
He looked round about with stern disdain;  
And did survey his goodly company:  
And marshalling the evil ordered train,  
With that the darts which his right did strain,  
Full dreadfully he shook that all did quake,  
And clapped on high his coloured wings twain,  
That all his many it afraid did make:  
though blinding him again, his way he forth did take.   

Behind him was Reproach, repentance, Shame;  
Reproach the first, Shame next, Repent behind:  
repentance feeble, sorrowful, and lame:  
reproach despiteful, careless, and unkind;  
Shame most illfavourd, bestial, and blind:  
Shame lowered, repentance sighed, Reproach did scold;  
Reproach sharp stings, repentance whips entwinde,  
Shame burning brond-yrons in her hand did hold:  
All three to each unlike, yet all made in one mould.   

And after them a rude confused rout  
Of persons flocked, whose names is hard to read:  
Amongst them was stern Strife, and Anger stout,  
Unquiet Care, and fond Vnthriftyhead,  
Lewd Loss of Time,, and Sorrow seeming dead,  
Inconstant change, and false Dislòyalty,  
Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread  
Of heavenly vengeance, faint Infirmity,  
Vile poverty, and lastly Death with infamy.   

There were full many more like maladies,  
Whose names and natures I note readen well;  
So many more, as there be fantasies  
In wavering women's wit, that none can tell,  
Or pains in love, or punishments in hell;  
All which disguise Marched in masking wise,  
About the chamber by the Damozell,  
And then returned, having marched thrice,  
Into the inner room, from whence they first did rise.   

So soon as they were in, the door straight way  
Fast locked, driven with that stormy blast,  
Which first it opened; nothing did remain.  
Then the brave Maid, which all this while was placed,  
In secret shade, and saw both first and last,  
Issewed forth, and went unto the door,  
To enter in, but found it locked fast:  
It vain she thought with rigorous uproar  
For to efforce, when charms had closed it afore.   

Where force might not avail, their sleights and art  
She cast to use, both fit for hard emprize;  
For thy from that same row me not to departed  
Till morrow next, she did herself avize,  
When that same mask again should forth arise.  
The morrow next appeared with joyous cheer,  
Calling men to their daily ezercize,  
Then she, as morrow fresh, herself did rear  
Out of her secret stand, that day for to outwear.   

All that day she outwore in wandering,  
And gazing on that Chambers ornament,  
Till that again the second evening  
Her covered with her sable vestiment,  
Wherewith the world's fair beauty she hath blended:  
Then when the second watch was almost past,  
That brazen door flew open, and in went  
Bold Britomart, as she had late forecast,  
Nether of idle shows, nor of false charms aghast.   

So soon as she was entered, round about  
She cast her eyes, to see what was become  
Of all those persons, which she saw without:  
But lo, they straight were vanished all and some,  
Ne living wight she saw in all that room,  
Save that same woeful Lady, both whose hands  
Were bounden fast, that did her ill become,  
And her small waste girt round with iron bands,  
Unto a brazen pillar, by the which she stands.   

And her before the vile enchanter sat,  
Figuring strange characters of his art,  
With living blood he those characters wrote,  
Dreadfully dropping from her dying heart,  
Seeming transfixed with a cruel dart,  
And all perforce to make her him to love.  
Ah who can love the worker of her smart?  
A thousand charms he formerly did prove;  
Yet thousand charms could not her steadfast heart remove.   

Soon as that virgin knight he saw in place,  
His wicked books in hast he overthrew,  
Not caring his long labours to deface,  
And fiercely running to that Lady true,  
A murderous knife out of his pocket drew,  
The which he thought, for villeinous despite,  
In her tormented body to imbrue:  
But the stout damsel to him leaping light,  
His cursed hand withheld, and mastered his might.   

From her, to whom his fury first he meant,  
The wicked weapon rashly he did wrest,  
And turning to the next his fell intent.  
Unwares it struck into her snowy chest,  
That little drops empurpled her fair breast.  
Exceeding wroth therewith the virgin grew,  
Albe the wound were nothing deep impressed,  
And fiercely forth her mortal blade she drew,  
To give him the reward for such vile outrage dew.   

So mightily she smote him, that to ground  
He fell half dead; next struck him should have slain,  
Had not the Lady, which by him stood bound,  
Dernly unto him called to abstain,  
From doing him to die. For else her pain  
Should be remediless, sith none but he,  
Which wrought it, could the same recure again.  
Therewith she stayed her hand, loath stayed to be;  
For life she him envied, and longed revenge to see.   

And to him said, Thou wicked man, whose meed  
For so huge mischief, and vile villainy  
Is death, or if that ought do death exceed,  
Be sure, that nought may save thee from to die,  
But if that thou this Dame do presently  
Restore unto her health, and former state;  
This do and live, else die undoubtedly.  
He glad of life, that looked for death but late,  
Did yield himself right willing to prolong his date.   

And rising up, 'gan straight to overlook  
Those cursed leaves, his charms back to reverse;  
Full dreadful things out of that baleful book  
He red, and measured many a sad verse,  
That horror 'gan the virgin's heart to pierce,  
And her fair locks up stared stiff on end,  
Hearing him those same bloody lines rehearse;  
And all the while he red, she did extend  
Her sword high over him, if ought he did offend.   

Anon she 'gan perceive the house to quake,  
And all the doors to rattle round about;  
Yet all that did not her dismayed make,  
Nor slack her threatfull hand for dangers doubt,  
But still with steadfast eye and courage stout,  
Abode to weet, what end would come of all.  
At last that mighty chain, which round about  
Her tender waste was wound, adown 'gan fall,  
And that great brazen pillar broke in pieces small.   

The cruel steel, which thrilled her dying heart,  
Fell softly forth, as of his own accord,  
And the wide wound, which lately did dispart  
Her bleeding breast, and riven bowels gored,  
Was closed up, as it had not been sor'd,  
And every part to safety full sound,  
As she were never hurt, was soon restored:  
though when she felt herself to be unbownd,  
And perfect hole, prostrate she fell unto the ground,   

Before fair Britomart, she fell prostrate,  
Saying, Ah noble knight, what worthy meed  
Can wretched Lady, quit from woeful state,  
Yield you in am of this your gracious deed;  
Your virtue self her own reward shall breed,  
Even immortal praise, and glory wide  
Which I your vassal, by your prowess freed,  
Shall through the world make to be notifyde,  
And goodly well advance that goodly well was tried.   

But Britomart uprearing her from ground,  
Said, Gentle Dame, reward enough I ween  
For many labours more, than I have found,  
This, that in safety now I have you seen,  
And mean of your deliverance have been:  
Henceforth fair Lad comfort to you take,  
And put away remembrance of late teen;  
Instead thereof know, that your loving Make,  
Hath no less grief endured for your gentle sake.   

She much was cheered to hear him mentioned,  
Whom of all living wights she loved best.  
Then laid the noble championess strong hand  
Upon th'enchanter, which had her distressed  
So sore, and with foul outrages oppressed:  
With that great chain, wherewith not long ygoe  
He bound that piteous Lady prisoner, now released,  
Himself she bound, more worthy to be so,  
And captive with her led to wretchedness and wo.   

Returning back, those goodly rooms, which erst  
He saw so rich and royally arrayed,  
Now vanished utterly, and clean subverst  
He found, and all their glory quite decayed,  
That sight of such a change him much dismayed.  
Thenceforth descending to that perilous Porch,  
Those dreadful flames she also found delayed,  
And quenched quite, like a consumed torch,  
That erst all entrers' wont so cruelly to scorch.   

At last she came unto the place, where late  
She left Sir Scudamour in great distress,  
Twixt dolour and despite half desperate,  
Of his loves succour, of his own redress,  
And of the hardy Britomarts success:  
There on the cold earth him now thrown she found,  
In wilful anguish, and dead heaviness,  
And to him called; whose voices known sound  
Soon as he heard, himself he reared light from ground.   

There did he see, that most on earth him joyed,  
His dearest love, the comfort of his days,  
Whose too long absence him had sore annoyed,  
And wearied his life with dull delays:  
Strait he up started from the loathed lays,  
And to her ran with hasty eagerness,  
Like as a dear, that greedily embayes  
In the cool soil, after long thirstiness,  
Which he in chase endured hath, now nigh breathless.   

Lightly he clipped her twixt his arms twain,  
And straightly did embrace her body bright,  
Her body, late the prison of sad pain,  
Now the sweet lodge of love and dear delight:  
But she fair Lady overcome quite  
Of huge affection, did in pleasure melt,  
And in sweet ravishment poured out her sprite:  
No word they spoke, nor earthly thing they felt,  
But like two senseless stocks in long embracement dwelled.   

Had ye them seen, ye would have surely thought,  
That they had been that fair Hermaphrodite,  
Which that rich Roman of white marble wrought,  
And in his costly Bath caused to be site:  
So seemed those two, as grown together quite,  
That Britomart half envying their bliss,  
Was much empassiond in her gentle spirit,  
And to herself oft wished like happiness,  
In vain she wished, that fate n'ould let her yet possess.   

Thus do those lovers with sweet countervail,  
Each other of loves bitter fruit despoil.  
But now my teme gins to faint and fail,  
All waxed weary of their journal toil:  
Therefore I will their sweaty yokes assoil  
At this same furrows end, till a new day:  
And ye fair swains, after your long turmoil,  
Now cease your work, and at your pleasure play;  
Now cease your work; to morrow is an holy day.    
FINIS.   

A Letter of the Authors expounding his whole intention in the course of this work: which for that it giveth great light to the Reader, for the better understanding is hereunto annexed.  
To the Right noble, and Valorous, Sir Walter Raleigh knight, Lo. Wardein of the stanneries, and her majesties lieutenant of the County of cornwall.  
SIr knowing how doubtfully all Allegories may be construed, and this book of mine, which I have entitled the fairy Queen, being a continued Allegory, or dark conceit, I have thought good aswell for avoiding of jealous opinions and misconstructions, as also for your better light in reading thereof, (being so by you commanded,) to discover unto you the general intention & meaning, which in the whole course thereof I have fashioned, without expressing of any particular purposes or by accidents therein occasioned. The general end therefore of all the book is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in virtuous and gentle discipline: Which for that I conceived should be most plausible and pleasing, being coloured with an historical fiction, the which the most part of men delight to read, rather for variety of matter, then for profit of the example: I chose the history of king Arthure, as most fit for the excellency of his person, being made famous by many men's former works, and also furthest from the danger of envy, and suspicion of present time. In which I have followed all the antic Poets historical, first Homer, who in the Persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses hath ensampled a good governor and a virtuous man, the one in his Ilias, the other in his Odysseis: then Virgil, whose like intention was to do in the person of Aeneas: after him Ariosto comprised them both in his Orlando: and lately Tasso dissevered them again, and form both parts in two persons, namely that part which they in Philosophy call Ethice, or virtues of a private man, coloured in his Rinaldo: The other named Politice in his Godfredo. By ensample of which excellent Poets, I labour to portrait in Arthure, before he was king, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve private moral virtues, as Aristotle hath devised, the which is the purpose of these first twelve books: which if I find to be well accepted, I may be perhaps encouraged, to frame the other part of politic virtues in his person, after that he came to be king. To some I know this method will seem displeasant, which had rather have good discipline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at large, as they use, than thus clowdily enwrapped in Allegorical devices. But such, me seem, should be satisfied with the use of these days, seeing all things accounted by their shows, and nothing esteemed of, that is not delightful and pleasing to common sense. For this cause is Xenophon preferred before Plato, for that the one in the exquisite depth of his judgement, form a Commune wealth such as it should be, but the other in the person of Cyrus and the Persians fashioned a government such as might best be: So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by ensample, then by rule. So have I laboured to do in the person of Arthure: whom I conceive after his long education by Timon, to whom he was by Merlin delivered to be brought up, so soon as he was borne of the Lady Igrayne, to have seen in a dream or vision the fairy Queen, with whose excellent beauty ravished, he awaking resolved to seek her out, and so being by Merlin armed, and by Timon thoroughly instructed, he went to seek her forth in Faerye land. In that fairy Queen I mean glory in my general intention, but in my particular I conceive the most excellent and glorious person of our sovereign the Queen, and her kingdom in fairy land. And yet in some places el, I do otherwise shadow her. For considering she beareth two persons, the one of a most royal Queen or Empress, the other of a most virtuous and beautiful Lady, this latter part in some places I do ezpresse in Belphoebe, fashioning her name according to your own excellent conceit of Cynthia, (Phoebe and Cynthia being both names of Diana.) So in the person of Prince Arthure I set forth magnificence in particular, which virtue for that (according to Aristotle and the rest) it is the perfection of all the rest, and containeth in it them all, therefore in the whole course I mention the deeds of Arthure app'yable to that virtue, which I writ of in that book. But of the xii. other virtues, I make xii. other knight the patrons, for the more variety of the history: Of which these three books contain three. The first of the knight of the Redcrosse, in whom I express holiness: The second of Sir Guyon, in whom I set forth temperance: The third of Britomartis a Lady knight, in whom I picture Chastity. But because the beginning of the whole work seemeth abrupt and as depending upon other antecedents, it needs that ye know the occasion of these three knights several adventures. For the method of a Poet historical is not such, as of an Historiographer. For an Historiographer discourseth of affairs orderly as they were done, accounting as well the times as the actions, but a Poet thrusteth into the midst, even where it most concerneth him, and there recoursing to the things forepast, and divining of things to come, maketh a pleasing Analysis of all. The beginning therefore of my history, if it were to be told by an Historiographer should be the twelfth book which is the last, where I devise that the fairy Queen kept her annual feast xii. Days, upon which xii. Several days, the occasions of the xii. Several adventures happened, which being undertaken by xii. Several knights, are in these xii books severally handled and discoursed. The first was this. In the beginning of the feast, there presented himself a tall clownish young man, who falling before the Queen of Faries desired a boon (as the manner than was) which during that feast she might not refuse: which was that he might have the achievement of any adventure, which during that feast should hapmpen, that being granted, he rested him on the floor, unfit through his rusticity for a better place. soon after entered a fair Lady in mourning weeds, riding on a white ass, with a dwarf behind her leading a warlike steed, that bore the arms of a knight, and his spear in the dwarves hand. She falling before the Queen of fairies, complained that her father and mother an ancient King and Queen, had been by an huge dragon many years shut up in a brazen Castle, who thence suffered them not to issue: and therefore besought the fairy Queen to assign her some one of her knights to take on him that exploit. Presently that clownish person upstarting, desired that adventure: whereat the Queen much wondering, and the Lady much gainsaying, yet he earnestly importuned his desire. In the end the Lady told him that unless that armour which she brought, would serve him (that is the armour of a Christian man specified by Saint Paul v. Ephes.) that he could not succeed in that enterprise, which being forthwith put upon him with dew furnitures thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in all that company, and was well liked of the Lady. And eftsoons taking on him knighthood, and mounting on that strange Courser, he went forth with her on that adventure: where beginneth the first book, uz.  
A gentle knight was pricking on the plain. etc.  
The second day there came in a Palmer bearing an Infant with bloody hands, whose Parents he complained to have been slain by an Enchaunteresse called Acrasia: and therefore craved of the fairy Queen, to appoint him some knight, to perform that adventure, which being assigned to Sir Guyon, he presently went forth with that same Palmer: which is the beginning of the second book and the whole subject thereof. The third day there came in, a groom who complained before the fairy Queen, that a vile enchanter called Busirane had in hand a most fair Lady called Amoretta, whom he kept in most grievous torment, because she would not yield him the pleasure of her body. Whereupon Sir Scudamour the lover of that Lady presently took on him that adventure. But being unable to perform it by reason of the hard enchantments, after long sorrow, in the end met with Britomartis, who succoured him, and rescued his love.  
But by occasion hereof, many other adventures are intermeddled, but rather as Accidents, than intendments. As the love of Britomart, the overthrow of Marinell, the misery of Florimell, the virtuousness of Belphoebe, the lasciviousness of Hellenora, and many the like.  
Thus much Sir, I have briefly overronne to direct your understanding to the wel-head of the History, that from thence gathering the whole intention of the conceit, ye may as in a handful gripe all the discourse, which otherwise may happily seem tedious and confused. So humbly craving the continuance of your honourable favour towards me, and th'eternal establishment of your happiness, I humbly take leave.  
23. January. 1589. Yours most humbly affectionate. Ed. Spenser.   

¶ A Vision upon this conceit of the fairy Queen.  
ME thought I saw the grave, where Laura lay,  
Within that Temple, where the vestal flame  
Was wont to burn, and passing by that way,  
To see that buried dust of living fame,  
Whose tomb fair love, and fairer virtue kept,  
All suddenly I saw the fairy Queen:  
At whose approach the soul of Petrarke wept,  
And from thenceforth those graces were not seen.  
For they this Queen attended, in whose steed  
Oblivion laid him down on Lauras hearse:  
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,  
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce.  
Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief,  
And cursed th'access of that celestial thief.   

Another of the fame.  
THe praise of meaner wits this work like profit brings,  
As doth the cuckoos song delight when Philumena sings.  
If thou hast form right true virtues face herein:  
Virtue herself can best discern, to whom they written been.  
If thou hast beauty praised, let her sole looks divine  
judge if ought therein be amiss, and mend it by her eine.  
If chastity want aught, or temperance her dew,  
Behold her Princely mind aright, and write thy Queen anew.  
Mean while she shall perceive, how far her virtues sore  
Above the reach of all that live, or such as wrote of yore:  
And thereby will excuse and favour thy good will:  
Whose virtue can not be expressed, but by an angel's quill.  
Of me no lines are loved, nor letters are of price,  
Of all which speak our English tongue, but those of thy device.  W. R.  

To the learned shepherd.  

COllyn I see by thy new taken task,  
some sacred fury hath enriched thy brains,  
That leads thy muse in haughty verse to mask,  
and loath the lays that longs to lowly swains.  
That lifts thy notes from shepherds unto Kings,  
So like the lively lark that mounting singes.   

Thy lovely Rosolinde seems now forlorn,  
and all thy gentle flocks forgotten quite,  
Thy changed heart now holds thy pipes in scorn,  
those pretty pipes that did thy mates delight.  
Those trusty mates, that loved thee so well,  
Whom thou gav'st mirth: as they gave thee the bell.   

Yet as thou erst with thy sweet roundelays,  
didst stir to glee our lads in homely bowers:  
So moughtst thou now in these refined lays,  
delight the dainty ears of higher powers.  
And so mought they in their deep scanning skill  
Allow and grace our Collyns flowing quill.   

And far befall that Fairy Queen of thine,  
in whose fair eyes love linked with virtue sits:  
Enfusing by those beauties fierce divine,  
such high conceits into thy humble wits,  
As raised hath poor pastors oaten reed,  
From rustic tunes, to chant heroic deeds.   

So mought thy Redcrosse knight with happy hand  
victorious be in that fair islands right:  
Which thou dost veil in Type of fairy land  
Elyzas blessed field, that Albion hight.  
That shields her friends, and wars her mighty foes,  
Yet still with people, peace, and plenty flows.   

But (jolly shepherd) though with pleasing style,  
thou feast the humour of the Courtly train:  
Let not conceit thy settled sense beguile,  
ne daunted be through envy or disdain.  
Subject thy doom to her empiring sprite,  
From whence thy Muse, and all the world takes light.   Hobynoll.  

Fair Thamis stream, that from Ludds stately town,  
Run'st paying tribute to the Ocean seas,  
Let all thy nymphs and Sirens of renown  
Besilent, while this Bryttane Orpheus plays:  
Near thy sweet banks, there lives that sacred crown,  
Whose hand strews palm and never-dying bays,  
Let all at once, with thy soft murmuring sown  
Present her with this worthy Poets prays.  
For he hath taught high drifts in shepherd's weeds,  
And deep conceits now singes in fairy's deeds.  R. S.  

Grave Muses march in triumph and with praises,  
Our goddess here hath given you leave to land:  
And bids this rare dispenser of your graces  
Bow down his brow unto her sacred hand.  
Deserts finds dew in that most princely doom,  
In whose sweet breast are all the Muses bred:  
So did that great Augustus erst in room  
With leaves of fame adorn his poet's head.  
Fair be the guerdon of your Fairy Queen,  
Even of the fairest that the world hath seen.  H. B.  


WHen stout Achilles heard of Helen's rape  
And what revenge the States of Greece devised:  
Thinking by sleight the fatal wars to scape,  
In woman's weeds himself he then disguised:  
But this devise Ulysses soon did spy,  
And brought him forth, the chance of war to try.   

When Spencer saw the fame was spread so large,  
Through fairy land of their renowned Queen:  
Loth that his Muse should take so great a charge,  
As in such haughty matter to be seen,  
To seem a shepherd than he made his choice,  
But Sidney heard him sing, and knew his voice.   

And as Ulysses brought fair Thetis son  
From his retired life to menage arms:  
So Spencer was by Sidneys speeches won,  
To blaze her fame not fearing future harms:  
For well he knew, his Muse would soon be tired  
In her high praise, that all the world admired.   

Yet as Achilles in those warlike srayes,  
Did win the palm from all the Grecian peers:  
So Spencer now to his immortal praise,  
Hath won the laurel quite from all his seres.  
What though his task exceed a humane wit,  
He is excused, sith Sidney thought it fit.   W. L.  


To look upon a work of rare devise  
The which a workman setteth out to view,  
And not to yield it the deserved prize,  
That unto such a workmanship is dew.  
Doth either prove the judgement to be nought  
Or else doth show amind with envy fraught.   

To labour to commend a piece of work,  
Which no man goes about to discommend,  
Would raise a jealous doubt that there did lurk,  
Some secret doubt, whereto the praise did tend.  
For when men know the goodness of the wine,  
'tis needless for the host to have a sign.   

Thus then to show my judgement to be such  
As can discern of colours black, and white,  
As all's to free my mind from envies tuch,  
That never gives to any man his right,  
I here pronounce this workmanship is such,  
As that no pen can set it forth too much.   

And thus I hang a garland at the door,  
Not for to show the goodness of the ware:  
But such hath been the custom heretofore,  
And customs very hardly broken are.  
And when your taste shall tell you this is true,  
Then look you give your host his utmost dew.   Ignoto.  

To the right honourable Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord high chancellor of England etc.  
THose prudent heads, that with their counsels wise  
Whilom the Pillours of th' earth did sustain,  
And taught ambitious Rome to tyrannize,  
And in the neck of all the world to rain,  
Oft from those grave affairs were wont abstain,  
With the sweet Lady Muses for to play:  
So Ennius the elder African,  
So Maro oft did Caesar's cares allay.  
So you great Lord, that with your counsel sway  
The burdeine of this kingdom mightily,  
With like delights sometimes may eke delay,  
The rugged brow of careful Policy:  
And to these idle rhymes lend little space,  
Which for their titles sake may find more grace.   

To the most honourable and excellent Lo. the Earl of Essex. Great master of the Horse to her highness, and knight of the Noble order of the Garter. etc.  
Magnific Lord, whose virtues excellent  
Do merit a most famous poet's wit,  
To be thy living praises instrument,  
Yet do not sdeigne, to let thy name be writ  
In this base poem, for thee far unfit.  
Nought is thy worth disparaged thereby,  
But when my Muse, whose feathers nothing flit  
Do yet but flag, and lowly learn to fly  
With bolder wing shall dare aloft to sty  
To the last praises of this fairy Queen,  
Then shall it make more famous memory  
Of thine heroic parts, such as they been:  
Till then vouch safe thy noble countenance,  
To these first labours needed furtherance,   

To the right Honourable the Earl of Oxenford, Lord high chamberlain of England. etc.  
Receive most Noble Lord in gentle gree,  
The unripe fruit of an unready wit:  
Which by thy countenance doth crave to be  
Defended from foul envies poisonous bit.  
Which so to do may thee right well besit,  
Sith th'antic glory of thine ancestry  
Under a shady vele is therein writ,  
And eke thine own long living memory,  
Succeeding them in true nobility:  
And also for the love, which thou dost bear  
To th' Heliconian ymps, and they to thee,  
They unto thee, and thou to them most dear:  
Dear as thou art unto thyself, so love  
That loves & honours thee, as doth behove.   

To the right honourable the Earl of Northumberland.  
THe sacred Muses have made always claim  
To be the nurses of nobility,  
And Registres of everlasting fame,  
To all that arms profess and chivalry.  
Then by like right the noble Progeny,  
Which them succeed in fame and worth, are tied  
T'embrace the service of sweet Poetry,  
By whose endeavours they are glorified,  
And eke from all, of whom it is envied,  
To patronize the author of their praise,  
Which gives them life, that else would soon have died,  
And crowns their ashes with immortal bay.  
To thee therefore right noble Lord I send  
This present of my pains, it to defend.   

To the right Honourable the Earl of Ormond and Ossory.  
Receive most noble Lord a simple taste  
Of the wild fruit, which salvage soil hath bred,  
Which being through long wars left almost waste,  
With brutish barbarism is overspredd:  
And in so fair a land, as may be red,  
Not one Parnassus, nor one Helicone  
Left for sweet Muses to be harboured,  
But where thyself hast thy brave mansion;  
There in deed dwell fair Graces many one.  
And gentle nymphs, delights of learned wits,  
And in thy person without paragon  
All goodly bounty and true honour sits,  
Such therefore, as that wasted soil doth yield,  
Receive dear Lord in worth, the fruit of barren field.   

To the right honourable the Lo. Ch. Howard, Lo. high Admiral of England, knight of the noble order of the Garter, and one of her majesties privy Counsel. etc.  
ANd ye, brave Lord, whose goodly parsonage,  
And noble deeds each other garnishing,  
Make you ensample to the present age,  
Of th'old Heroes, whose famous offspring  
The antic Poets wont so much to sing,  
In this same pageant have a worthy place,  
Sith those huge castles of Castilian king,  
That vainly threatened kingdoms to displace,  
Like flying doves ye did before you chase;  
And that proud people waxed insolent  
Through many victories, didst first deface:  
Thy praises ever lasting monument  
Is in this verse engraven semblably,  
That it may live to all posterity.   

To the most renowned and valiant Lord, the Lord Grey of Wilton, knight of the Noble order of the Garter, etc.  
MOst Noble Lord the pillar of my life,  
And patron of my muse's pupillage,  
Through whose large bounty poured on me rife,  
In the first season of my feeble age,  
I now do live, bound yours by vassalage:  
Sith nothing ever may redeem, nor reave  
Out of your endless debt so sure a gage,  
Vouchsafe in worth this small gift to receive,  
Which in your noble hands for pledge I leave,  
Of all the rest, that I am tied t'account:  
Rude rhymes, the which a rustic Muse did weave  
In savage soil, far from Parnassus mount,  
And roughly wrought in an unlearned loom:  
The which vouchsafe dear Lord your favourable doom.   

To the right noble and valorous knight, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lo. Wardein of the stanneries, and liefenaunt of Cornwall.  
TO thee that art the summers Nightingale,  
Thy sovereign Goddesses most dear delight,  
Why do I send this rustic Madrigale,  
That may thy tuneful ear unseason quite?  
Thou only fit this Argument to write,  
In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her bower,  
And dainty love learned sweetly to indite.  
My rhymes I know unsavoury and sour,  
To taste the streams, that like a golden shower  
Flow from thy fruitful head, of thy loves praise,  
Fit perhaps to thunder martial stowre,  
When so thee list thy lofty Muse to raise:  
Yet till that thou thy poem wilt make known,  
Let thy fair Cinthia's praises be thus rudely shown.   

To the most virtuous, and beautiful Lady, the Lady Carew.  
NE may I, without blot of endless blame,  
You fairest Lady leave out of this place,  
But with remembrance of your gracious name,  
Where with that courtly garland most ye grace,  
And deck the world, adorn these verses base:  
Not that these few lines can in them comprise  
Those glorious ornaments of heavenly grace,  
Wherewith ye triumph over feeble eyes,  
And in subdued hearts do tyranyse:  
For thereunto doth need a golden quill,  
And silver leaves, them rightly to devise,  
But to make humble present of good will:  
Which whenas timely means it purchase may,  
In ampler wise itself will forth display.  E. S.  

To all the gracious and beautiful Ladies in the Court.  
THe Chian Peincter, when he was required  
To portrait Venus in her perfect hue,  
To make his work more absolute, desired  
Of all the fairest maids to have the view.  
Much more me needs to draw the semblant true,  
Of beauty's Queen, the world's sole wonderment,  
To sharp my sense with sundry beauties view,  
And steal from each some part of ornament.  
If all the world to seek I overwent,  
A fairer crew yet nowhere could I see,  
Then that brave court doth to mine eye present,  
That the world's pride seems gathered there to be.  
Of each a part I stole by cunning theft:  
Forgive it me fair Dames, sith less ye have not lefie.  
FINIS.  E. S.  

Faults escaped in the Print.  
Glorius glorîous Page 3. Hardy deal Page 6. ebb t'auale spring to avail 9 every ever 14 sighs sights 15, steps stead 19 stands fenceless stand senseless 23. cruelties cruel spies 24. that mounted y mounted 27. tuefull rueful 28. Then thence 30. Then thence 30. brighten brightness 32. The that 43. care case 46. course corpse 51. pelpe pelf 52. first fift 54. of new of my new 50. hurls hurled 60. let leek 70. cliffts cliffs 71. sire fire ibid. renowned renowned 72. the that 74. it in 75. swift and cruel fires and fell 85. steeled steel 98. seen seem 99 chanced chauft 100 comeronne 101. hand hands 102. that the 104. witted wise 106. murmuring murmur ring 107. sie fie 116. hands bands 119. that the 121. Cleon's Timon's ibid. at on 122. this his 124. cliffs cliffs 129. life imited life is limited 130. be her 139. 〈◊〉 precious 150. fame frame 151. it at 155. this his 156. feared scared ib. all as 158. it one 163. talents talants 170. untayne contain 175. stayed strayed 180. to t'ibid feign vain ibid. woe who ibid. Amarons Amazon 186. these thrice 196. place to place 206. make makes 213. First Fast 215. ronght reached 219. unto greatly 224. did were 226. no not 234. tongue tongue 235. Pyrrhocles Pyrochles 243. embayling emboyling 250. Netmus Nemus 254. man, saw man saw, 270. Hammon Mammon 280. the that 283. the th' 287. fame his cruel 297. pagons Pagans 299. doubly double 300. empieste empierst 303. Horrow harrow ibid. with bowing bowing 306. incedent indecent 307. crowned crowned 312. longer a time longer time 313. Dyapase diapase 313. lastery Castory 318. welis well is 322. whom who 326. and thy great and great ibid. gold old ibid. Sevith Scuith 332. her their ibid. Britom Britain 356. revive survive ibid. his this 359. this that 362. did do 363. weiting waiting 364. materasta's malecasta's 391. shared marred 399. Not nor 422. Then Them 424. from th'earth from of the earth 438. She he 440. made Wade 466. she he stuned stunned 500 were near ibid. right right hand 502. fuccour secure 588. He shc ibid. him her ibid.   

To the right honourable Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord high chancellor of England. &c.  
THose prudent heads, that with their counsels wise  
Whilom the Pillours of th' earth did sustain,  
And taught ambitious Rome to tyrannize,  
And in the neck of all the world to rain,  
Oft from those grave affairs were wont abstain,  
With the sweet Lady Muses for to play:  
So Ennius the elder African,  
So Maro oft did Caesar's cares allay.  
So you great Lord, that with your counsel sway  
The burdeine of this kingdom mightily,  
With like delights sometimes may eke delay,  
The rugged brow of careful Policy:  
And to these idle rhymes lend little space,  
Which for their titles sake may find more grace.   

To the right honourable the Lo. Burleigh Lo. high Threasurer of England.  
TO you right noble Lord, whose careful breast.  
To menage of most grave affairs is bend,  
And on whose mighty shoulders most doth rest  
The burden of this kingdoms government,  
As the wide compass of the firmament,  
On Atlas' mighty shoulders is upstayd;  
Unfitly I these idle rhymes present,  
The labour of lost time, and wit vnstayd:  
Yet if their deeper sense be inly weighed,  
And the dim veil, with which from common view  
Their fairer parts are hid, aside be laid.  
Pethaps not vain they may appear to you.  
Such as they be, vouchsafe them, to receive,  
And wipe their faults out of your censure grave.  E. S.  

To the right Honourable the Earl of Oxenford, Lord high chamberlain of England. etc.  
Receive most Noble Lord in gentle gree,  
The unripe fruit of an unready wit:  
Which by thy countenance doth crane to be  
Defended from foul envies poisonous bit.  
Which so to do may thee right well besit.  
Sith th'antic glory of thine ancestry  
Under a shady vele is therein writ,  
And eke thine own long living memory,  
Succeeding them in true nobility:  
And also for the love, which thou dost bear  
To th' Heliconian ymps, and they to thee,  
They unto thee, and thou to them most dear:  
Dear as thou art unto thyself, so love  
That loves & honours thee, as doth behove.   

To the right honourable the Earl of Northumberland.  
THe sacred Muses have made always claim  
To be the nurses of nobility,  
And Registres of ever lasting fame,  
To all that arms profess and chivalry.  
Then by like right the noble Progeny,  
Which them succeed in fame and worth, are tied  
T'embrace the service of sweet Poetry,  
By whose endeavours they are glorified,  
And eke from all, of whom it is envied,  
To patronize the author of their praise,  
Which gives them life, that else would soon have died,  
And crowns their ashes with immortal bay.  
To thee therefore right noble Lord I send  
This present of my pains, it to defend.   

To the right honourable the Earl of Cumberland.  
REdoubted Lord, in whose courageous mind  
The flower of chivalry now bloosming fair,  
Doth promise fruit worthy the noble kind,  
Which of their praises have left you the hair;  
To you this humble present I prepare,  
For love of virtue and of martial praise,  
To which though nobly ye inclined are,  
As goodly well ye show'd in late assays,  
Yet brave ensample of long passed days,  
In which true honour ye may fashioned see,  
To like desire of honour may ye raise,  
And fill your mind with magnanimity.  
Receive it Lord therefore as it was meant,  
For honour of your name and high descent.  E. S.  

To the most honourable and excellent Lo. the Earl of Essex. Great master of the Horse to her highness, and knight of the Noble order of the Garter. etc.  
Magnific Lord, whose virtues excellent  
Do merit a most famous poet's wit,  
To be thy living praises instrument,  
Yet do not sdeigne, to let thy name be writ  
In this base poem, for thee far unfit.  
Nought is thy worth disparaged thereby,  
But when my Muse, whose feathers nothing flit  
Do yet but flag, and lowly learn to fly  
With bolder wing shall dare aloft to sty  
To the last praises of this fairy Queen,  
Then shall it make more famous memory  
Of thine heroic parts, such as they been:  
Till then vouch safe thy noble count enaunce,  
To these first labours needed furtherance,   

To the right Honourable the Earl of Ormond and Ossory.  
Receive most noble Lord a simple taste  
Of the wild fruit, which salvage soil hath bred,  
Which being through long wars left almost waste,  
With brutish barbarism is overspredd:  
And in so fair a land, as may be red,  
Not one Parnassus, nor one Helicone  
Left for sweet Muses to be harboured,  
But where thyself hast thy brave mansion,  
There in deed dwell fair Graces many one.  
And gentle nymphs; delights of learned wits,  
And in thy person without paragon  
All goodly bounty and true honour sits,  
Such therefore, as that wasted soil doth yield,  
Receive dear Lord in worth, the fruit of barren field.   

To the right honourable the Lo. Ch. Howard, Lo. high Admiral of England, knight of the noble order of the Garter, and one of her majesties privy Counsel. etc.  
ANdye, brave Lord, whose goodly parsonage,  
And noble deeds each other garnishing,  
Make you ensample to the present age,  
Of th'old Heroes, whose famous of spring  
The antic Poets wont so much to sing,  
In this same pageant have a worthy place,  
Sith those huge castles of Castilian king,  
That vainly threatened kingdoms to displace,  
Like flying doves ye did before you chase;  
And that proud people woxen insolent  
Through many victories, didst first deface.  
Thy praises everlasting monument  
Is in this verse engraven semblably,  
That it may live to all posterity.   

To the right honourable the Lord of Hunsdon, high Chamber lain to her majesty.  
Renowned Lord, that for your worthiness  
And noble deeds have your deserved place,  
High in the favour of that Empress.  
The world's sole glory and her sex's grace,  
Here eke of right have you a worthy place,  
Both for your nearnes to that fairy Queen,  
And for your own high merit in like case,  
Of which, apparent proof was to be seen,  
When that tumultuous rage and fearful deene  
Of Northern rebels ye did pacify,  
And their distoiall power defaced clean,  
The record of enduring memory.  
Live Lord for ever in this lasting verse,  
That all posterity thy honour may rehearse.  E. S.  

To the most renowned and valiant Lord, the Lord Grey of Wilton, knight of the Noble order of the Garter, etc.  
MOst Noble Lord the pillar of my life,  
And patron of my muse's pupillage,  
Through whose large bounty poured on me rife,  
In the first season of my feeble age,  
I now do live, bound yours by vassalage:  
Sith nothing ever may redeem, nor reave  
Out of your endless debt so sure a gage,  
Vouchsafe in worth this small gift to receive,  
Which in your noble hands for pledge I leave,  
Of all the rest, that I am tied t'account:  
Rude rhymes, the which a rustic Muse did weave  
In favadge soil, far from Parnassus mount,  
And roughly wrought in an unlearned loom:  
The which vouchsafe dear Lord your favourable doom   

To the right honourable the Lord of Buckhurst, one of her majesty's privy counsel.  
IN vain I think right honourable Lord,  
By this rude rhyme to memorise thy name;  
Whose learned Muse hath writ her own record,  
In golden verse, worthy immortal fame:  
Thou much more fit (were leisure to the same)  
Thy gracious sovereign praises to compile.  
And her imperial majesty to frame,  
In lofty numbers and heroic stile.  
But sith thou Mayst not so, give leave a while  
To base wit his power therein to spend,  
Whose gross defaults thy dainty pen may file,  
And unadvised oversights amend.  
But evermore vouchsafe it to maintain  
Against vile Zoilus backbitings vain.   

To the right honourable Sir Fr. Walsingham knight, principal Secretary to her majesty, and of her honourable privy counsel.  
THat Mantuane poets incompared spirit,  
Whose garland now is set in highest place,  
Had not Maecenas for his worthy merit,  
It first advanced to great Augustus' grace,  
Might long perhaps have lain in silence base,  
Ne been so much admired of later age.  
This lowly Muse, that learns like steps to trace,  
Flies for like aid unto your Patronage;  
That are the great Maecenas of this age,  
As well to all that civil arts profess  
As those that are inspired with Martial rage,  
And craves protection of her feebleness:  
Which if ye yield, perhaps ye may her raise  
In bigger tunes to sound your living praise.  E. S.  

To the right noble Lord and most valiant captain, Sir John Norris knight, Lord precedent of monster,  
WHo ever gave more honourable prize  
To the sweet Muse, than did the martial crew;  
That their brave deeds she might immortalize  
In her shrill tromp, and sound their praises dew?  
Who than aught more to favour her, than you  
Most noble Lord, the honour of this age,  
And Precedent of all that arms ensue?  
Whose warlike prowess and manly courage,  
Tempered with reason and advizement sage  
Hath filled sad Belgic with victorious spoil,  
In France and Ireland left a famous gage,  
And lately shaked the Lusitanian soil.  
Sith then each where thou hast dispredd thy fame,  
Love him, that hath eternised your name.  E. S.  

To the right noble and valorous knight, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lo. Wardein of the stanneries, and lieutenant of Cornwall.  
TO thee that art the summers Nightingale,  
Thy sovereign Goddesses most dear delight,  
Why do I send this rustic Madrigale,  
That may thy tuneful ear unseason quite?  
Thou only fit this Argument to write,  
In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her bower,  
And dainty love learned sweetly to indite.  
My rhymes I know unsavoury and sour,  
To taste the streams, that like a golden shower  
Flow from thy fruitful bead, of thy loves praise,  
Fit perhaps to thunder martial stowre,  
When so thee list thy lofty Muse to raise:  
Yet till that thou thy poem wilt make known,  
Let thy fair Cinthia's praises be thus rudely shown.  E. S.