THE FAIRY QUEEN.  
Disposed into twelve books, Fashioning XII. Moral virtues.  
ANCHORA SPEI   printer's or publisher's device 
LONDON Printed for William Ponsonbie. 1596.   

TO THE MOST HIGH, MIGHTY And MAGNIFICENT EMPRESS RENOWNED FOR PIETY, VIRTUE, AND ALL GRACIOUS GOVERNMENT ELIZABETH BY THE GRACE OF GOD QUEEN OF ENGLAND france AND IRELAND AND OF VIRGINIA, DEFENDOUR OF THE FAITH, etc. HER MOST HUMBLE SERVAUNT EDMUND SPENSER DOTH IN ALL HUMILITY DEDICATE, PRESENT AND CONSECRATE THESE HIS LABOURS TO LIVE WITH THE ETERNITY OF HER FAME.   

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE FAIRY QUEEN. Containing THE legend OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CROSS, OR OF HOLINESS.  


LOI 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 my 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 awhile.    

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,  
Y clad 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.   

But 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 fat upon her palfrey slow;  
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had,  
And by her in a line a milk white lamb she lad.   

So pure an 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 are.   

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-prop 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 seeldom inward sound.   

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way,  
Until the blustering storm is overblown;  
When weening to return, whence they did stray,  
The 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 boughtes 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 perceiu'ed, 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 attonce 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 to avail,  
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 perceived 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 welke 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 struck at her with more than manly force,  
That from her body full of filthy sin  
He rafther 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 armory,  
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 by-way 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 passeth forth, and new adventure sought;  
Long way he traveled, 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 knock 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 evil evil 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 you 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 lining 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 for wearied 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 travel to and fro: a little wide  
There was an holy Chapel edifyde,  
Wherein the Hermit duly wont to say  
His holy things each morn and eventide:  
Thereby a crystal stream did genlty 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 evemore  
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 dread  
Legions of Sprights, the which like little flies  
Fluttring about his ever damned head,  
Await 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-drouping 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 lie,  
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 ever-drizling 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 trust, 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 sights 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 lumpish 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 black stole, 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 fly  
He taught to imitate that Lady true,  
Whose semblance she did carry under feigned hue.   

Thus well instructed, to their work they hast,  
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 seemed 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 ιο̃ Hymen, dancing all around,  
Whilst freshest Flora her Ivy garland crowned.   

In this great passion of unwonted lust,  
Or wont fear of doing aught amiss,  
He started 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 wast 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 stead fair falsehood steps,  
And works him woeful ruth.  

BY this the Northern waggoner had set  
His sevenfold teme behind the steadfast star,  
That was in Ocean waves yet never wet,  
But 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-hed  
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 embracement:  
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, & 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-fingred 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 off drowsy-hed,  
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 & 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 lovest 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 hairs 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 scarlot red,  
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 off 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,  
Their steeds do stagger, and amazed stand,  
And eke themselves too rudely rigorous,  
Astonished with the stroke of their own hand,  
Do back rebut, 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, stand senseless as ablocke,  
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 (quoth then the Sarazin)  
That keeps thy body from the bitter fit;  
Dead long ygoe I wot thou hadst been,  
Had not that charm from thee forewarned it:  
But yet I warn thee now assured sit,  
And hide thy head. Therewith upon his crest  
With rigour 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,  
Wither 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 will. 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 lift to lower,  
And fortune false betrayed me to your 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 soul assayed.  
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 me 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 Sans joy,  
And twixt them both was borne the bloody bold Sans loy.   

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 gainsaid,  
So forth they road, he feigning seemly mirth,  
And she coy looks: so dainty they say maketh dearth.   

Longtime 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 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 hair 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 rueful plaints, me bidding guiltless blood to spare?   

Then groaning deep, Nor damned Ghost, (quoth 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 Bore as doth blow full bitter bleak,  
And scorching Sun does dry my secret veins:  
For though a tree I seem, yet cold and heat me pains.   

Say on Fradubio then, or man, or tree,  
Quoth 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 arraunged 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.  
Fraelissa was as fair, as fair moat be,  
And ever false 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 unweening 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, monstruous,  
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 lining well;  
That is the term prescribed by the spell.  
O how, said 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 unbynd.   

The false Duessa, now Fidessa height,  
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 sight 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, and falls  
In hand of leachour vylde.  

NOught is there under heavens wide hollowness,  
That moves more dear compassion of mind,  
Then beauty brought t'vnworthy wretchedness  
Through envies snares or fortunes freaks unkind:  
I, whether lately through her brightness blind,  
Or through allegiance and fast fealty,  
Which I do owe unto all woman kind,  
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: Vnaes' 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 due 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 subtly betrayed  
Through that late vision, which th'enchanter wrought,  
Had her abandoned. She of nought afraid,  
Through woods and wasteness 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 attonce 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 her intent.   

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 hore;  
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 dread 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 reqire.   

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 darksome 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 loss of her dear loved knight,  
And sighs, and groans, 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 shynie 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 purchase 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 crept.   

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 rise,  
The Lion frayed them, him in to let:  
He would no longer stay him to advise,  
But open breaks the door in furious wize,  
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 strand.  
His fearful friends wear 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 weenednie.   

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 when 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 tossed:  
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 forth 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 moat ye please  
Well to accept, and evermore 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 fierceness foamed all with swear,  
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-crosse, which the knight did bear,  
He burned in fire, and 'gan eftsoons prepare  
Himself to battle with his couched spear.  
Lo thwas that other, and did faint through sea,  
To taste th'untried dint of deadly steel;  
But yet his Lady did so well him cheer,  
That hope of new goodhap he 'gan to feel;  
So bent his spear, and spurned 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 Lethe lake,  
When morning altars purged with enemy's 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 not deprive.   

Her piteous words might not abate his rage,  
But rudely rending up his helmet, would  
Have slain him strait: 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 mineyre?  
Or thine the fault, or mine the error is,  
In stead of foe to wound my friend amiss?  
He answered nought, but in a trance still lay,  
And on those guileful 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 fierce 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 sharp rending 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.  
eftsoons he pierced through his chaufed 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 lawless victors will?  
Her faithful guard removed, her hope dismayed,  
Herself a yielded pray to save or spill.  
He now Lord of the fied, 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 wets with flowing tears:  
But he enraged with rancour, nothing hears.  
Her servile beast yet would not leave her so,  
But follows her far off, ne ought he fears,  
To be partaker of her wandering woe,  
More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe.    

Cant. IIII  
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 foul disgrace,  
Which ever after in most wretched case,  
Like loathsome lazars, by the hedges lay.  
Thither Duessa bade 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 it:  
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 height  
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 underneath 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 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 wrath 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 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 Realms with laws, but policy,  
And strong advizement of six wizards old,  
That with their counsels bade her kingdom did uphold.   

Soon as the Elfing 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 obeissance, 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 hair 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 behests,  
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 ded;  
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,  
For 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 corpse 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 so:  
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 hair,  
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 fangleness:  
For he was false, and fraught with sickleness,  
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 fowl 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 pelf 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 yplast,  
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 fourth 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, ypainted 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 griple covetise,  
And grudged at the great felicity  
Of proud 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,  
Unmanly 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 lazy 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 fowl Duessa, next unto the chair  
Of proud Lucifera, 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 space  
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 hardyhed,  
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, (quoth then 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 whenas 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 Sans joy, next dearest to Sans foy,  
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 Sansfoy, I never joyed hour,  
But in eternal woes my weaker heart  
Have wasted, loving him with all my power,  
And for his sake have felt full many an heavy stowre.   

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 Sans foy, his vital pains are past,  
Though grieved ghost for vengeance deep do groan:  
He lives, that shall him pay his duties last,  
And guilty Elsin 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 endew.  
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 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 canapee,  
The warlike feats of both those 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 sownded 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 helmets hewn 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:  
Therewith 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 attonce he cast avengd to be,  
And with so'exceeding fury at him strake,  
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 can 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 traveler 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 another's cares.   

So wept Duessa until eventide,  
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: and 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 destinee,  
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 am,  
(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 Duessaes' 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 twyfold 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 become 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 chariot, close in night concealed.   

And all the while she stood upon the ground,  
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 filtey 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 chariot, 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 leak 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 be come unto the furthest part:  
Where was a Cave ywrought by wondrous art,  
Deep, dark, uneasy, doleful, comfortless,  
In which sad Aesculapius far a part  
Emprisond was in chains remediless,  
For that Hippolytus rend corpse he did redress.   

Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was,  
That wont in chariot chase the foaming Boar;  
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 fire besought,  
Some cursed vengeance on his son to cast:  
From surging gulf two monsters strait were brought,  
With dread whereof his chase steeds aghast,  
Both chariot 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 hair, 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 fire, that raged evermore.   

There ancient Night arriving, did alight  
From her high weary wain, and in her arms  
To Aesculapius brought the wounded knight:  
Whom having softly disarrayed 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 fordone wight from door of death moat raise,  
He would at her request prolong her nephew's days.   

Ah Dame (quoth 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 (quoth 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, & 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 dread 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 riches 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 fierce 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 cord, 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 when as 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 ensewd, 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.    

Cant. 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 foole-happie 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 fierce 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 possessed soon to be,  
And with rich spoil of ransacked chastetee.  
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, & 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 gripped pray.  
Her shrill outcries and shrieks so loud did bray,  
That all the woods and forestes did resound;  
A troop of Fauns and satires far away  
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 doleful 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 tender youth,  
And wonder of her beauty sovereign,  
Are won with pity and unwonted ruth,  
And all prostrate upon the lowly plain,  
Do kiss her feet, and fawn on her with countenance feign.   

Their hearts she ghesseth 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 waist is girt about.   

Far off he wonders, what them makes so glad,  
Of Bacchus' merry fruit they did invent,  
Or Cybeles' 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 Venus 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 self-willed annoy.   

The woody Nymphs, fair Hamadryades  
Her to behold do thither run apace,  
And all the troop of lightfoot Naiads,  
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 fowl 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 Idoiatryes;  
But when their bootless zeal she did restrain  
From her own worship, they her Ass would worship fayn.   

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 well deserved name:  
He had in arms abroad won muchell same,  
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, and waste in pleasures vain.   

The forlorn maid did with loves longing burn,  
And could not lack her lovers company,  
But to the wood she 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 lustin brutish eye,  
The loyal links of wedlock did unbind,  
And made her person thrall unto his beastly kind.   

So long in secret cabin there he held  
Her captive to his sensual desire,  
Till that with timely fruit her belly swelled,  
And bore a boy unto that salvage fire:  
Then home he suffered her for to retire,  
For ransom leaving him the late borne child;  
Whom till to riper years he 'gan aspire,  
He nursled 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 wise,  
(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 Boar,  
The Pardale swift, and the Tiger cruel;  
The Antelope, and Wolf both fierce and fell;  
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 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 reqire  
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  
Desired 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 fire and offspring ancient.  
And now he thither came for like intent;  
Where he unwares the fairest una sound,  
Strange 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, when as they far espied  
A weary wight forwandring 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 foworn,  
And soiled with dust of the long dried way;  
His sandales were with toilsome 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 (quoth 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 fight) arraunged 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 (quoth she) how might that be,  
And he the stoutest knight, that ever won?  
Ah dearest dame (quoth 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 rest?  
Not far away (quoth he) he hence doth won  
Foreby a fountain, where I late him left  
Washing his bloody wounds, that through the steel 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 fowl 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 misborne 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 rue:  
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 bent his enemy to quell,  
That with their force they pierced both plate and 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 fell 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 attonce,  
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 eye:  
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 feet?  
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 two 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 capture made  
By Giant proud oppressed,  
Prince Arthur meets with una greatly with those news distressed.  

WHat man so wise, what earthly wit so aware,  
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 Fidessaes' name.   

Who when returning from the dreary Night,  
She found not in that perilous house of Pride,  
Where she had left, the noble Redcrosse 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, foreby a fountain side,  
Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate,  
And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate.   

He seeds upon the cooling shade, and bays  
His sweaty forehead in the breathing wind,  
Which through the trembling leaves full gently play  
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  
Sat down to rest in midst of the race:  
The goddess wroth 'gan foully he disgrace,  
And bade 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 drunk thereof, did faint and feeble grow.   

Hereof this gentle knight unwitting was,  
And lying down upon the sandy graile,  
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 Geant 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 dot● 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:  
Yet so exceeding was the villeins power,  
That with the wind it did him overthrow,  
And all his senses stound, 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 bullet 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 up on 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 bondslave 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 ybred 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 sevenfoldhead  
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 the 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 piteous 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 chause 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 and mourn.   

Ye dreary 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 sight fro me hide.   

O lightsome 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 feel, 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;  
If less, 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 lay:  
For greater love, the greater is the loss.  
Was never Lady loved dearer day,  
Then she did love the knight of the Redcrosse;  
For whose dear sake so many troubles her did toss.   

At last when fervent sorrow slaked was,  
She up arose, resolving him to find  
A live or dead: and forward forth doth pass,  
All as the Dwarf the way to her assigned:  
And evermore in constant care full 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 bauldrick brave he ware,  
That shynd, like twinkling stars, with stones most precious rare.   

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, ycarued 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 hairs 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;  
Whose 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 steel, nor of enduring bras,  
Such earthlymettals 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 seem, 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 trample as the air,  
And chauft, that any on his back should sit;  
The iron rowels into frothy some he bitten.   

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 emmoued, these bleeding words she 'gan to say.   

What worlds delight, or joy of lining 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, quoth 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 intrete,  
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 (quoth she) great grief will not be told,  
And can more easily be thought, then said.  
Right so; (quoth he) but he, that never would,  
Can never: will to might gives greatest aid.  
But grief (quoth she) does greater grow displayed,  
If then it find not help, and breeds despair.  
Despair breeds not (quoth he) where faith is stayed.  
No faith so fast (quoth she) but flesh does pair.  
Flesh may impair (quoth 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, whilst equal destinies  
Did run 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 Gebons' golden waves do wash continually.   

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 acquit your captive knight,  
Assure yourself, I will you not forsake.  
His cheerful words reviv'd her cheerless sprite  
So forth they went, the Dwarf them guiding ever right    

Cant. VIII.  
Fair virgin to redeem her dear  
brings Arthur 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.  
Her love 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 guide.   

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 luckless lie,  
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 the Squire, th'admirer of his might,  
He marched forth towards that castle wall;  
Whose gates he found fast shut, ne lining wight  
To ward the same, nor answer comers call.  
Then took that Squire an home of bugle small,  
Which hung adown his side in twisted gold,  
And tassels 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 around,  
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 Geants' 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 wise 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 love 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 fierce 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 smote off 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 around 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 fierce with single sword in hand,  
And twixt him and his Lord did like a bulwark stand.   

The proud Duessa full of wrathful spite,  
And fierce 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 night crushed out of his panting breast:  
No power he had to stir, nor will to rise.  
That when the careful knight 'gan well avise,  
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 mis-shaped more:  
A sea of blood gushed from the gaping wound,  
That her gay garments stained with filthy gore,  
And overflowed all the field around;  
That over shoes in blood he waded on the ground.   

Thereat 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 smart and frantic ire,  
Came hurtling in full fierce, 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 bear so 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 soft 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 dazed,  
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 amooued,  
Her champion stout, and for to aid his friend,  
Again his wont angry weapon proved:  
But all in vain: for he has read 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  
Her hasty 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 his 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,  
●…o 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 sober 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,  
Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore  
My simple self, and service evermore;  
And he that high does sit, and all things see  
With equal eyes, 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  
And 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 ygo,  
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 hairs 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,  
●e 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 fits 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 there within, whom he enlargen might.   

●herewith 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,  
●●at breathed ever forth a filthy baneful smell.   

But neither 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, 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 kave 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 priefe.  
The cheerless man, whom sorrow did dismay,  
Had no delight to treaten of his grief;  
●is long endured famine needed more relief.   

●●ire 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,  
●hat 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 (quoth una) were despite,  
And shame t'avenge so weak an enemy;  
●ut spoil her of her scarlot rob, and let her fly.   

●o 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 despoiled 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,  
●hose 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 wield;  
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 lurket 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 Arthur tells  
The knights knit friendly bands:  
Sir Trevisan flies from Despair,  
Whom Redcrosse knight withstands.  

O Goodly golden chain, wherewith yfere  
The virtues linked are in lovely wize:  
And noble minds of yore allied were,  
In brave poursuit 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 empaird through labour long,  
With due repast they had recured well,  
And that weak captive wight now waxed s trong,  
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 yet.  
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 by live,  
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 hore,  
From whence the river Dee as silver clean  
His tumbling billows 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 tutors nouriture 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 Pupili fit for such a tutors hand.  
But what adventure, or what high intent  
Hath brought you hither into Fairy land,  
Aread Prince Arthur, crown of Martial band?  
Full hard it is (quoth he) to read aright  
The course of heavenly cause, or understand  
The secret meaning or th'eternal might,  
That rules men's ways, and rules the thoughts of living wight.   

For whither 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, the whiles I may respire.   

It was in freshest flower of youthly years,  
When courage first does creep in manly chest,  
Than first the coal of kindly heat appears  
To kindle love in every living breast;  
But me had warned old Timon'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 scorned, 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,  
Shot 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,  
Orunwares 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 be bound,  
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 courserfree,  
The fields, the floods, the heavens with one consent  
Did seem to laugh at me, and favour mine intent.   

Forwearied 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 helmet fair displayed:  
Whiles every sense the humour sweet embayd,  
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 bade 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 Fairy's height.   

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 vow 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 Fairies, that hast found  
'mongst many, one that with his prowess may  
Defend thine honour, and thy foes confound:  
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 priefe  
If living man mote 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 travail 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 the 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 wound could heal incontinent:  
Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gave  
A book, wherein his Saveours 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 Vnaes' 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 knighthood's 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 aspide  
Infernal furies, with their chains untied.  
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 Gods dear love, Sir knight, do me not stay;  
For lo he comes, he comes fast after me.  
Eft 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 bloud-frosen 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 height, that well himself advanced  
In all affairs, and was both bold and free,  
But not so happy as mote 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 me 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 rest, 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 height: 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 cleft ypight,  
Dark, doleful, dreary, like a greedy grave,  
That still for carrion carcases doth crave:  
On top whereof aye 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 and 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 sulle in mind;  
His griesie locks, long grown, and unbound,  
Disordered hung about his shoulders round,  
And hide his face; through which his hollow eyen  
Look deadly dull, and stared as astounded;  
His rawbone cheeks through penury and pine,  
Where 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 due to give?  
Or let him die, that loatheth liniug breath?  
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?   

Who travels 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 mire stick fast?  
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good  
And fond, that ioyest in the woe thou hast,  
Why wilt not let him pass, that long hath stood  
Upon the bank, yet will't 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 please.   

The knight much wondered at his sudden wit,  
And said, The term of life is 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 here lie 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 disaventures 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 mayest 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 falsed hast thy faith with perjury,  
And sold thyself to serve Duessa wild,  
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 show'd 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 due to him, that had provoked God's ire.   

But when as 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 listed up his hand, that back again did start.   

Which when as una saw, through every vain  
The curdled cold ran to her well of life,  
As in a swoon: but soon 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, silly, 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 handwriting 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 enprisonment, 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 hore;  
Whose only joy was to relieve the needs  
Of wretched souls, and help the helpless poor:  
All night she spent in bidding of her bedes,  
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 Humilta. 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 courtesy,  
Right cleanly clad in comely sad attire;  
In word and deed that show'd great modesty,  
And knew his good to all of each degree,  
height 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 happic 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 haste 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 entertained 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 height,  
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 height,  
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 ever, 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 courtesy;  
Many kind speeches they between them spend,  
And greatly joy each other well to see:  
Then to the knight with shamefast modesty  
They turn themselves, at Vnaes' 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 Celia, Dear dame,  
And you good Sir, I wot that of your toil,  
And labours long, through which ye hither 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 ared.   

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 schoolhouse 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 bloody writ,  
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 heavens 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 forlese,  
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 soule-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 priefe,  
And thereto added words of wondrous might:  
By which to ease he him recured brief,  
And much assuaged 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 hot,  
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 body in salt water smarting 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   

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;  
or 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.   

He 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,  
Organ 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 could 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 coat 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 up bare,  
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 industree;  
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 perceant 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 (quoth he) 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,  
Whereof 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 dost 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 Fairy's 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 blood-red 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 for ay  
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 and 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 height 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.  
Whereathe 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 (quoth he) Jerusalem 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 Cleopolis for earthly fame,  
The fairest piece, that eye beholden can:  
And well beseems all knights of noble name,  
That covet 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 Elsins 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 suit 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 to 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 (quoth he) ofso great grace,  
How dare I think such glory to attain?  
These that have it attained, were in like case  
(Quoth he) as wretched, 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 battles none are to be fought?  
As for lose loves are vain, and vanish into nought.   

O let me not (quoth he) then turn again  
Back to the world, whose joys so fruitless are;  
But let me here 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 yet  
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, (quoth 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 then 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 place  
High reared their royal throne in Britain land,  
And vanquished them, unable to withstand:  
From thence a Fairy thee unwitting rest,  
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 brought 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 confoun  
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 forwasted 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 at 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 batteill undertake.   

And pointing forth, lo yonder is (said she)  
The brazen tower in which my parents dear  
For dread of that huge fiend emprisond be  
Whom I from far, see on the walls appear  
Whose sight my feeble soul doth greatly cheer:  
And on the top of all I do espy  
The watchman waiting tidings glad to hear,  
That o my parents might I happily  
Unto you bring, to ease you of your misery.   

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 stretch 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 with draw aside,  
From whence she might behold that battles' proof  
And eke 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 Briton 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 waist;  
As mountain doth the valley overcast.  
Approaching nigh, he reared high afore  
His body monstrous, horrible, and waste,  
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 coat 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-yards, with flying canvas lynd,  
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 wound 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 atonce 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 off 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 aloft his speckled breast,  
And often bounding on the bruised grass,  
As for great joyance of his newcome 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 stroke 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 unfound,  
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 flight's 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 laid;  
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 woundfull 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 augmented was his furious mood  
With bitter sense of his deep rooted ill,  
That flames of fire he threw forth from his large nosethrill.   

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 off the earth, with dirty blood distained,  
For that reproachful fall right foully he disdained.   

And fiercely took his trench and 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 wrath 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 daunt,  
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 fell,  
And clapped his iron wings, as victor he did dwell.   

Which when his penfive 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 race;  
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 new 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 therewith scourge the buxom air so sore,  
That to his force to yeelden 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 smote,  
That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead,  
Ne living wight would have him life behot:  
The mortal sting his angry needle shot  
Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seized,  
Where fast it stuck, ne would there out be got:  
The grief thereof him wondrous sore diseased,  
Ne might his rankling 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 string:  
Which when in vain he tried with struggling,  
Inflamed with wrath, his raging blade he heft,  
And struck so strongly, that the knotty sting  
Of his huge tail he quite a sunder cleft,  
Five joints thereof he hewed, and but the stump him left.   

heart cannot think, what outrage, and what cries,  
With foul 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 gripped 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 talants 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 wedge 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 moat him constrain  
To lose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield,  
He smote 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, and 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 forwearied 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 stead  
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 dread 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.  
Into 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 yield 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 blond, moved not at all,  
But lay as in a dream of deep delight,  
Besmeared with precious Balm, whose virtuous might  
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 her 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 near.   

And in his first encounter, gaping wide,  
He thought attonce him to have swallowed quite,  
And rushed upon him with outrageous pride;  
Who him rencountering 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 misdeemed,  
But yet at last, when as the direful fiend  
She saw not stir, off-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 fairly 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 firie-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 trial he out found,  
He bade 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 forrayed 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, enraunged 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 a garland 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 lay,  
Stretched on the ground in monstrons 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 feigned;  
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 Dragonets, 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, when as her foolhardy child  
Did come too near, and with his talants play,  
Half dead through fear, her little babe revyld,  
And to her gossips '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 defeasance 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 sings,  
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  
Bespread with costly scarlot 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 contain  
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 pleasures 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 the 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 sore  
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 bounden am straight after this emprize,  
As that your daughter can ye well advise,  
Back to return to that great Fairy Queen,  
And her to serve six years in warlike wize,  
'Gainst that proud Pynim 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 perteines 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 heir;  
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 the dawning day is dawning 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 heaunnly 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, red 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 affianced 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 and 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;  
Ne ween my right with strength adown to tread,  
Through weakness of my widowhood, or woe:  
For truth is strong, his 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 honour 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 strayed  
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 height,  
Fidessa height the falsest Dame on ground,  
Most false Duessa, royal richly dight.  
That easy was to inveigle weaker sight:  
Who by her wicked arts, and wily skill,  
Too false and strong for earthly skill or might,  
Vmwares me wrought'vnto 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 show  
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 vain,  
To work new woe and improvided scathe,  
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 Card, which on his state did wait,  
Attached that faitor 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 banes,  
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 nor night,  
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 triplicities on high;  
Yet witted no creature, whence that heavenly sweet  
Proceeded, yet eachone felt secretly  
Himself thereby reft 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:  
Suffice 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,  
Her heart did seem to melt in pleasures manifold.   

Her joyous presence and sweet company  
In full content he there did long enjoy,  
Ne wicked envy, ne vile gealosy  
His dear delights were able to annoy:  
Yet swimming in that sea of blissful joy,  
He nought forgot, how he whilom had sworn,  
In case he could that monstrous beast destroy,  
Unto his Fairy 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 GVYON, 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 uàunt, 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 of th'Indian Peru?  
Or who in venturous vessel measured  
The Amazons 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 every other star unseen  
Of other worlds he happily should hear?  
He wonder would much more: yet such to some appear.   

Of Fairy 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 note without an hound fine footing trace.  
And thou, 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 auncestry.   

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 vonchsafe with patiented ear  
The brave adventures of this Fairy 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 knight 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 natives crown and kingdom late ygoe:  
Where she enjoys sure peace for evermore,  
As weatherbeaten 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 filled tongue,  
With thousand other sleights: for well he kend,  
His credit now in doubtful 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 spials placed in all his way,  
To weet what course he takes, and how he fares;  
To catch him at a vantage in his snares.  
By trial of his former harms and cares,  
But now so wise and wary was the knight  
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 Elsin 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 hairs 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 a fair countenance and flattering stile,  
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 bade 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 langourous 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, (said then the knight half wroth,)  
That knight should knighthood ever so have shent?  
None but that saw (quoth 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 be 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 treachour 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 hair 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 foul 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 due 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 lief,  
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 foul 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 height,  
But under him a grey steed did he 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 foul 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 damozell,  
In which he hath great glory won, as I hear tell.   

Nathlesse he shortly shall again be tried,  
And fairly quite 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 saluing of your blotted 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 disguised,  
To cloak her guile with sorrow and sad teen;  
And eke himself had craftily devisd  
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 mode 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  
Ofsuch, 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 lowly 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 unlast,  
Himself refreshing with the liquid cold,  
After his travel long, and labours manifold.   

Lo yonder he, cried Archimage aloud,  
That wrought the shameful fast, 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 ymet, both ready to affrap,  
When suddenly that warrriour 'gan abase  
His threatened spear, as if some new mishap  
Had him betidde, 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 courage keen, 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 far 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 due offence.   

So been they both atone, and done upreare  
Their bevers bright, each other for to greet;  
Goodly comportance 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 Lady gent;  
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 handing and wise temperance.  
By this his aged guide in presence came;  
Who soon as on that knight his eye did glance,  
Eft 'zounds of him had perfect cognizance,  
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,  
Must 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 steedie staff did point his way:  
His race with reason, and with words his will,  
From foul intemperance he oft did stay,  
And suffered not in wrath his hasty steps to stray.   

In this fair wize 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 country's 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, a while their forward steps they stay.   

But if that careless heavens (quoth she) 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 shrieke she forth did throw,  
That through the wood reecchoed 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,  
Brays 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 labour lay, half dead, half quick,  
In whose white alabaster breast did stick  
A cruel knife, that made a grisly wound,  
From which forth gushed a stream of gorebloud thick,  
That all her goodly garments stained around,  
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 gold 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 Guyon 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 moon;  
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 floudgate stop  
With his fair garment: then 'gan softly 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 revenging 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 of lead, 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 off, what ever wight thou be,  
To let a weary wretch from her due rest,  
And trouble dying souls tranquilitee.  
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 priefe  
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 foul 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 height 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 lifest 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 and 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,  
When as my womb her burden would forbear,  
And bade me call Lucina to me near.  
Lucina came: a manchild forth I brought:  
The woods, the Nymphs, my bowers, my midwives wear,  
Hard help at need. So dear thee babe I bought,  
Yet nought too 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 ybound,  
And so transformed from his former skill,  
That me he knew not, neither his own ill;  
Till through wise handling and fair governance,  
I him recured to a better will,  
Purged from drugs of foul 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 off, 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 soon falls, the weak through smart.   

But temperance (said he) with golden squire  
Betwixt them both can measure out a mean,  
Neither to melt in pleasures hot desire,  
Nor fry in heartless grief and doleful teen.  
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 (quoth he) death is an evil doom  
To good and bad, the common Inn 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 great 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 aye 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 and earth, he threw  
Into the grave, and 'gan devoutly swear;  
Such and such evil Godon Guyon 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 knight's 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 livelihed,  
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 nicitee)  
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 foul 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 bloudguiltinesse he hat'th;  
Or that the charm and venom, which they drunk,  
Their blood with secret filth infected hath,  
Being diffused through the senseless trunk,  
That through the great contagion direful deadly stunk.   

Whom thus at gaze, the Palmer 'gan to board  
With goodly reason, and thus fair bespoke;  
Ye been right hard 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, & sought from place to 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 those 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 semmes 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 he 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 blond 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 fame,  
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 strifull 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 wize,  
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'others 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 calth 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  
Attonce 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 bloody 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 tallship 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:  
Attonce 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 darraine  
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 borne,  
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 of fair peace to hear.   

But her two other sisters standing by,  
Her loud gainsaid, and both their champion 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 brand 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 blood guiltness 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 makes 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 their 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 mirth 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 franker 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 accourage,  
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 whither now on new adventure bound.  
Who with bold grace, and comely gravity,  
Drawing to him the eyes of all around,  
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 peaceable 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 devisd redress for such annoys;  
Me all unfit for so great purpose she employs.   

Now hath fair Phoebe 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 introld;  
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 Guyon's  
horse is made the scorn  
Of knighthood true, and is of fair  
Belphoebe fowl forlorn.  

Soon 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 Congé of that virgin pure,  
The bloudy-handed babe unto her truth  
Did earnestly commit, and her conjure,  
In virtuous lore to train his tender youth,  
And all that gentle nurture ensu'th:  
And that so soon as riper years he reached,  
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 heard 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 vain 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'auaunce 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 (quoth 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.  
For that day forth he cast for to uphold  
His idle humour with fine flattery,  
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 courser 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 mote 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 gauged;  
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 confound.   

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.   

Perdie Sir knight, said then th'enchanter believe,  
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 advise 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 off the earth to take his aery flight.  
They look 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 attonce, 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 their hair on end does rear:  
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 maker's 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 belgards, 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 descriue 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  
In gilded buskins of costly Cordwaine,  
All bard with golden bends, which were entailed  
With curious antics, and full fair aumayld:  
Before they fastened were under her knee  
In a rich jewel, and therein entrayld  
The ends of all their knots, that none might see,  
How they within their fold close enwrapped be.   

Like two fair marble pillours they were 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 boar-spear 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 hairs 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 forlese,  
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 strake?  
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 neither 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.  
But mote thy goodlyhed 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 ensued,  
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 fierce 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 caitive 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 foul 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 transmewed,  
Till she to him her gracious speech renewed;  
All hail, Sir knight, and well may thee befall,  
As all the like, which honour have pursued  
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 have I spent all my youthly days,  
And many battles fought, and many frays  
Throughout the world, where so they might be found,  
Endeavouring my dreadded name to raise  
Above the Moon, that fame may it resound  
In her eternal trump, 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 (quoth she)  
Does swim, and baths himself in courtly bliss,  
Does waste his days in dark obscurity,  
And in oblivion ever buried is:  
Where ease abounds, 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 will be 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 foul blot  
Is this to knight, that Lady should again  
Departed to woods untouched, & leave so proud disdain?   

Perdie (said Trompart) let her pass at will,  
Lest by her presence danger moat 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 a pall  
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 sound 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 home 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 despysd to tread in due degree,  
But chaufd and foamed, with courage fierce 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 Phedon, and therefore  
by strife is railed upon.  

IN brave pursuit of honourable deed,  
There is I know not what great difference  
Between the vulgar and the noble seed,  
Which unto things of valorous 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 hair along upon the ground,  
A handsome stripling with great cruelty,  
Whom sore he bet, and gored with many a wound,  
That cheeks with tears, and sides with blood did all abound.   

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 foul 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 indignation 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 smote, 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 eide:  
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 haling to and fro,  
To overthrow him strongly did assay,  
But overthrew himself unwares, and lower lay.   

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 emboyling 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 Palmer saw, 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 and woe;  
And that same Hag, his aged mother, height  
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 when as 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 strakes did stain,  
Stared full wide, and threw forth sparks of fire,  
And more for rank despite, then for great pain,  
Shaked his long locks, coloured like copper-wire,  
And bitten his tawny beard to show his raging ire.   

Thus when as Guyon Furor had captived,  
Turning about he saw that wretched Squire,  
Whom that mad man of life nigh late deprived,  
Lying on ground, all soiled 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 (quoth 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 one,  
Unwitting, and unware of such mishap,  
She brought to mischief through occasion,  
Where this same wicked villain did me light upon.   

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,  
Attonce 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.   

Is was my fortune commune 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, height 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 moat 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 ere 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 outwrest,  
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 height)  
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, and 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 Priene, rich arrayed,  
In Claribellaes' clothes. Her proper face  
I not discerned in that darksome shade,  
But weaned it was my love, with whom he played.  
Ah God, what horror and tormenting grief  
My heart, my hands, mine eyes, and all assayed?  
Me liefer were ten thousand deaths priefe,  
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 pursewing 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 pursewd 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, jealousy, 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, seed, 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, jealousy, grief, love die and decay.   

Unlucky Squire (said Guyon) sith thou hast  
Fallen unto 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.  
Phedon I height (quoth he) and do advance  
Mine auncestry 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 Guyon's 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 fore stalled 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 height he then (said Guyon) and from whence?  
Pyrrhochles is his name, renowned far  
For his bold feats and hardy confidence,  
Full oft approved 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 whither with such hasty flight  
Art thou now bound? for well moat I discern  
Great cause, that carries thee so swift and light.  
My Lord (quoth 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.   

Madman (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 fits, whom thou hast sought,  
(Said Guyon,) let that message to thy Lord be brought.   

That when the varlet 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 migbt,  
With silly weak old woman thus to fight.  
Great glory and gay spoil sure hast thou got,  
And stoutly proved thy puissance here in sight;  
That shall Pyrrhochles well requite, I wots,  
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 rebounding, left the forckhead keen;  
eftsoons he fled away, and might nowhere be seen.    

Cant. V.  
Pyrrhochles does with Guyon fight,  
And Furors' chain unbinds  
Of whom sore hurt, for his revenge  
Attin Gymochles finds.  

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 Pyrrhochles, 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 fomedire,  
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 flers, that underneath his feet  
The smouldering dust did round about him smoke,  
Both horse and man nigh able for to choke;  
And fairly 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 braod shield, bitten not, 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;  
Disleall 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 not much me 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 hurl, round in warelike 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 a thwart, 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 enemies  
Strikes in the stock, ne thence can be relast,  
But to the mighty victor yields a bounteous feast.   

With such fair slight him Guyon often failed,  
Till at the last all breathless, weary, faint  
Him spying, with fresh onset 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, pursued 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 dye of war he well did know;  
Then to him said, Live and allegaunce owe,  
To him that gives thee life and liberty,  
And henceforth by this days ensample trow,  
That hasty wrath, and heedless hazardrie  
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 heart murdering 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 a read,  
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 emboyling 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 do them disagree:  
But soon as Furor was enlarged, she sought  
To kindle his quenched fire, and 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 dishabled 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 folly's 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 varlet, Atin height,  
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 terror 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 his Bower of Bliss,  
Does charm her lovers, and the feeble spirits  
Can call out of the bodies of frail 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 Lemons love: for he by kind,  
Was given all to lust 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 compare  
With nature, did an Arbour green dispred,  
Framed of wanton Ivy, flowering fair,  
Through which the fragrant Eglantine did spread  
His pricking 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  
Gained in Nemea goodly victoree;  
Therein the merry birds of every sort  
Chanted aloud their cheerful harmony:  
And made amongst themselves 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 Damsels 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 ornaments.   

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 trial 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.   

Atin 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 sharpe-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 awoke, 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 ybourhgt; 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 avenged 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 Atin aye him pricks with spurs of shame & wrong.    

Cant. VI  
Guyon is of immodest Mirth,  
led into lose desire,  
Fights with Cymochles, whiles his brother burns infurious fire.  

A Harder 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 restrain;  
Yet virtue vaunts in both their 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 sung, as loud as lark in air,  
Sometimes she laughed, that nigh her breath was gone,  
Yet was there not with her else any one,  
That might to her move cause of merriment:  
Matter of mirth enough, though there were none  
She could devise, and thousand ways invent,  
To feed her foolish humour, and vain iolliment.   

Which when far off Cymochles heard, and saw,  
He loudly called to such, as were a board,  
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, then 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 a scoffing 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 of 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 sovenaunce,  
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 cot 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 height 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 issuing on the shore  
Disburdued her. Their way they forward take  
Into the land, that lay them fair before,  
Whose pleasance she him show'd, 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 arboret with painted blossoms dressed,  
And smelling sweet, but there it might be found  
To bud out fair, and her sweet smells throw all around.   

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 dit:  
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 while with a loud 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, no man 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-de-luce, 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 coverlets,  
Therein to shroud her sumptuous Belamoure,  
Yet neither 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 cloven  
The slothful wave of that great grisly lake;  
Soon she that Island far behind her left,  
And now is come to that same place, where first she waif.   

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 fire  
Adieu, but nimbly ran her wont course  
Through the dull billows thick as troubled mire,  
Whom neither 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 stile,  
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 when as Guyon that land had sight,  
He witted himself amiss, and angry said;  
Ah Dame, perdie 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 (quoth 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, moat nevertheless  
Himself appease, and issewd forth on shore:  
The joys whereof, and happy fruitfulness,  
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 wife, 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 battle, 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 therewithal he fiercely at him flew,  
And with importance outrage him assailed;  
Who soon prepared to field, his sword forth drew,  
And him with equal value counteruayld:  
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 a down their giambeux falls.   

Cymochles, 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 attonce their hands enhanced,  
And both attonce their huge, blows down did sway;  
Cymochles sword on Guyon's shield yglaunst,  
And thereof nigh one quarter sheared away;  
But Guyon's angry blade so fierce did play  
On th'others helmet, 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 oursed 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 shent;  
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  
Besought 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 Phadrias 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 evenings shade  
Hath tracted forth some salvage beasts trade;  
Vile Miscreant (said he) whither 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 victourwan;  
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 varlet saw, when to the flood he came,  
How without stop or stay he fiercely leapt,  
And deep himself beduked in the same,  
That in the lake his lofty crest was steeped,  
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 this 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 pursewing death once to require,  
Or think, that aught those puissant hands may mar:  
Death is for wretches borne under unhappy star.   

Perdie, then is it fit for me (said he)  
That am, I ween, most wretched man alive,  
But 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 avise.  
The waves thereof so slow and sluggish were,  
Engrossed with mud, which did them foul 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 forlese;  
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 metorment.  
What flames (quoth he) when I thee present see,  
In danger rather to be drow, then brent?  
Harrow, the flames, which me 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 hot fire burns in mine entrails bright,  
Kindled through his infernal brand of spite,  
Sith late with him I batteil 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 attonce disarmed:  
Then searched his secret wounds, and made a priefe  
Of every place, that was with bruising harmed,  
Or with the hidden fire too inly warmed.  
Which done, he balms and herbs thereto applied,  
And evemore 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 accompanied;  
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 show'd 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 unciulle wight,  
Of grisly hue, and fowl ill favoured sight;  
His face with smoke was tanned, and 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 coat all overgrown with rust,  
Was underneath enueloped with gold,  
Whose glistering gloss darkened with filthy dust,  
Well it 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 upsidowne, to feed his eye  
A 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 Mulciber's devouring element;  
Some others were new driven, and distent  
Into great Ingoes, 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 kesars strange & rare.   

Soon as he Guyon saw, in great affright  
And hast 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 heaps 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 me 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 godheades 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 der-doing 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, & all things for thee meet  
It can purvey in twinkling of an eye;  
And crowns and kingdoms to thee multiply.  
Do not I kings create, 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 as 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 braunching arms annoys,  
And with uncomely weeds the gentle wave accloyes.   

The antic world, in his first flowering youth,  
Found no defect in his creators grace,  
But with gladthankes, and unreproved truth,  
Tne 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 Gandmother 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 abound,  
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 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 blood guiltness or guile them blot.  
pardie (quoth 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 pursue.   

What secret place (quoth he) can safely hold  
So huge a mass, and hide from heavens eye?  
Or where hast thou thy won, that so much gold  
Thou canst preserve from wrong and robbery?  
Come thou (quoth 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 around.   

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 griefly rain:  
By that ways side, there fate infernal 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 jealousy 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 cleft,  
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 aught:  
Betwixt them both was but a little stride,  
That did the house of Richesse from hell-mouth 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 thitherward  
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, there Richesse, & Helgate them both betwixt.   

So soon as Mammon there arrived, the door  
To him did open, and afforded way;  
Him followed eke Sir Guyon 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 eyestrings 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 cleft,  
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 threat;  
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 left unburied.   

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 around,  
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 Mammon 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 whenas 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 furnaces 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 iron tongues, and sprinkled oft the same  
With liquid waves, fires Vulcan's rage to tame,  
Who mastering 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 as 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 (quoth 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 mespise,  
And thence him forward led, him further to entice.   

He brought him through a darksome narrow strait,  
To a broad gate, all built of beaten gold:  
The gate was open, but therein did wait  
A sturdy villain, striding stiff and bold,  
As the highest God defy he would;  
In his right hand an iron club he held,  
But he himself was all of golden 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 to 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 batteill to the Fairy knight;  
Who likewise 'gan himself to batteill dight,  
Till Mammon did his hasty hand withhold,  
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 pillours 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 a ray  
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 shouldrihg, some by flatteree;  
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 when as 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,  
Do flock 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 height,  
The fairest wight that wonneth 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 Mammon (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 avowd 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 feign, him forth thence led  
Through grisly shadows by a beaten path,  
Into a gardin goodly garnished  
With herbs and fruits, whose kinds moat not be red:  
Not such, as earth out of her fruitful woomb  
Throws forth to men, sweet and well savoured,  
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 Gordin of Proserpina this height;  
And in the midst thereof a silver seat,  
With a thick Arbour goodly over dight,  
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 dispred 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 th' 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 gods false Ate threw;  
For which th' Idaean Ladies disagreed,  
Till partial Paris dempt 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 stank,  
plunged continually of cruel Sprights,  
That with their piteous cries, and yelling shrights,  
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 intemperate,  
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 drow  
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 foul 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 straight:  
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 the pray.   

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 pillours, 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 Arthur soon hath rescued  
And Paynim brethren foiled.  

ANd is there care in heaven? and is there 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 foul 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 wondrous beauty, and of freshest years,  
Whose tender bud to blossom new began,  
And flourish fair above his equal pears;  
His snowy 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 airy 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 prey,  
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 dolour 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 arret,  
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 fore 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,  
Foreby 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 moat him find;  
False Archimage provoked their courage proud,  
And stryfull Atin in their stubborn mind  
Coals of contention and hot vengeance tynd.  
Now been they come, whereas the Palmer sat,  
Keeping that slombred corpse to him assigned;  
Well knew they both his person, sith of late  
With him in bloody arms they rashly did debate.   

Whom when Pyrrhochles saw, inflamed with rage,  
That sire he soul bespoke, Thou dotard vile,  
That with thy brutenesse shendst thy comely age,  
Abandon soon, I read, the caitive spoil  
Of that same outcast carcase, that erewhile  
Made itself 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 foul cowardice 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 proved & 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 trial made extreme;  
Yet gold all is not, that doth golden seem,  
Ne all good knights, that shake well spear and 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 fierce 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 armour bright?   

Fair Sir, said then the Palmer suppliant,  
For knighthood's love, do not so foul a deed,  
Ne blame your honour with so shameful 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 tomb-black steed.  
What hearse or steed (said he) should he have dight,  
But be entombed in the raven or the kite?   

With that, rude hand upon his shield he laid,  
And th'other brother 'gan his helm unlace,  
Both fiercely bend to have him disaraid;  
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 amenaunce,  
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 fierce Pyrrhochles, lacking his own sword,  
The want thereof now greatly 'gan to plain,  
And Archimage besought, him that afford,  
Which he had brought for Braggadocchio vain.  
So would I (said th'enchanter) glad and feign  
Beteeme 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,  
Therewith to done his foes eternal smart.  
The metal first he mixed with Medaewart,  
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 neither steel, nor stone  
The stroke thereof 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, Pyrrhochles, 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 Guyon's 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 demain  
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 betidd this knight?  
Or did his life her fatal date expyre,  
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, foul 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 disposed  
Have secret power, t'appease inflamed rage:  
If not, leave unto me thy knights last patonage.   

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 due revenge should dear abye?  
The trespass still doth live, albe the person die.   

Indeed (than 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 Lord's 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 Pagan's breast, and therewith thought  
His cursed life out of her lodge have rend:  
But ere the point arrived, where it ought,  
That sevenfold shield, which he from Guyon brought  
He cast between to ward the bitter stound:  
Through all those folds the steelhead passage wrought  
And through his shoulder pierced; wherewith 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 high,  
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 attonce 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 double 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 red blood 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:  
Als when his brother saw the red blood rail  
adown so fast, and all his armour steep,  
For very felnesse loud he 'gan to weep,  
And said, Caitiff, curffe 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 th'other 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 troncheon 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 Paynim spied the streaming blood,  
Gave him great heart, and hope of victory.  
On th'other 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 wisely as 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 attonce 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 hauberk struck the Prince so sore,  
That quite disparted all the linked frame,  
And pierced to the skin, but bitten no more,  
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 empierst 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 has 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 batteil '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 attonce their malice forth do pour;  
So did Sir Guyon bear himself in fight,  
And suffered rash Pyrrhochles waist 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 subject to the victors law,  
Did not once move, nor upward cast his eye,  
Forvile disdain and rancour, which did gnaw  
His heart in twain with sad melancholy,  
As one that loathed life, and yet despised 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 sovenaunce.   

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 ygoe  
Hast 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 rend 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 embayd,  
And to the Prince with 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 Insant 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  
Oppressors 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 Almadwell,  
Besieged of many foes, whom stranger  
knights to fight compel.  

O Fall 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 indecent,  
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 curtsy 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 retreat I in my shield do bear;  
She is the flower of grace and chastity,  
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 amenance,  
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 and warlike feat  
Ye well may hope, and easily attain?  
But were your will, her sold to entertain,  
And numbered be 'mongst knights of Maydenhed,  
Great guerdon, well I wot, should you remain,  
And in her favour high be reckoned,  
As Arthegall, 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.  
Now hath the Sun with his lamp-burning light,  
Walked round 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 advizement meet  
Mote 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  
Foreby 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 nigher 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 wize 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 villeins round about them swarmed  
Out of the rocks and caves adjoining nigh,  
Vile caitiff wretches, ragged, rude, deformed,  
All threatening 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 Speepe, whenas the shepherds 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 overrun to tread them to the ground.  
But soon the knights with their bright-burning blades  
Broke their rude troops, and orders did confound,  
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 sounden 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 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 comflict, 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 mote 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 whereof 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:  
There when they rested had a season dew,  
They her be sought of favour special,  
Of that fair Castle to afford them view;  
She granted, & them leading forth, the same did show.   

First she them 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,  
Whereof king Nine whilom built Babel tower;  
But o great pity, that no longer 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 let 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,  
Neither 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 required, 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 fortified:  
Tall yeomen seemed they, and of great might,  
And were enraunged ready, still for sight.  
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, ne spared 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 hot,  
More hot, 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 viands 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 height Digestion,  
Did order all th'Achates in seemly wise,  
And set them forth, as well he could devise.  
The rest had several offices assind,  
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 waist,  
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 back-gate brought,  
That cleped was Port Esquiline, whereby  
It was avoided quite, and thrown out privily.   

Which goodly order, and great workman's skill  
When as 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 idly 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 attonce 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 paid?  
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 twelve months 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 samblaunt sought to hide the breach,  
Which change of colour did perforce unfold,  
Now seeming flaming hot, 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 while, the Fairy knight did entertain  
Another Damsel of that gentle crew,  
That was right fair, and modest of demain,  
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 cheer,  
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 moat not devise,  
I will, if please you it discure, 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 meruayld 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 privitee,  
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 suruewed, as hills done lower ground;  
But not on Ground moat 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 substance sly,  
That readily they shut and open might.  
O who can tell the praises of that maker's might!   

Ne can I tell, ne can I stay to tell  
This parts great workmanship, & wondrous power,  
That all this other world's work doth excel,  
And likest is unto that heavenly tower,  
That God hath built for his own blessed bower.  
Therein were diverse rooms, and diverse 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 these 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 preiudize:  
He had a sharp foresight, and working wit,  
That never idle was, ne once could rest a whit.   

His chamber was dispainted all within,  
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 devized 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 height Phantastes by his nature true;  
A man of years yet fresh, as moat 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  
More deem him borne with ill disposed skies,  
When obliqne Saturn sat in the house of agonyes.   

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 aye 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 desired 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 well is 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 to his,  
Ne yet Mathusalem, though longest lived;  
For he remembered both their infancies:  
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 worm-eaten, 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 set,  
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 auise,  
There chanced to the Prince's hand to rise,  
An ancient book, height 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 height 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 country's auncestry 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 Uther's 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 auncestries  
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 height,  
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 bountihed?   

Argument worthy of Moenian quill,  
Or rather worthy of great Phoebus' rote,  
Whereon the ruins of great, Ossa hill,  
And triumphs of Phelegraean 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 bear'st, to thee descended far  
From mighty kings and conquerors in war,  
Thy fathers and great Grandfathers of old,  
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, unmanurd, vnprou'd, 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 Celtioke 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 unheedie wreck and rash decay,  
For safeties sake 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 lived then;  
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 assot,  
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 Giants and 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 Assaraos' 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 battles 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 monstrous stones do most excel  
Which that huge son of hideous Albion,  
Whose father Hercules in France did quell,  
Great Godmer 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 Cornwall, 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 Inogene 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 Northrenes part,  
Which of himself Albania, he did call;  
And Camber did possess the Western quart,  
Which Severne 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 then 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 munifience.   

He them encountered, a confused rout,  
Foreby 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 Chieftain, for his safety's sake,  
(Their Chieftain 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 ease,  
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 in that impatient stoure,  
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 of 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 height; 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 Scuith guiridh it moat seem to be.  
But rather y Scuith 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 mischief fell.   

Next him king Leyr in happy peace long rained,  
But had no issue male him to succeed,  
But three fair daughters, which were well uptraind,  
In all that seemed sit 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  
Inquyrd, 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 th'other to the king of Cambria,  
And twixt them shayrd his realm by equal lots:  
But without dower the wise Cordelia,  
Was sent to Aganip of Celtica.  
Their aged Sire, thus cased 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 Rigan 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 avise too 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 an 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 height of him Glamorgan, there him slew:  
Then did he reign alone, when he none equal knew.   

His son Rivallo his dead room did supply,  
In whose sad time blood did from heaven rain:  
Next great Gurgustus, then fair Caecily  
In constant peace their kingdoms did contain,  
After whom Lago, and Kinmarke did rain,  
And Gorbogud, till far in years he grew:  
Till 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 height,  
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 up pity of the stressed plight  
Of this sad Realm, cut into sundry shaires  
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, or 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 Brittany:  
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 loath,  
And inly tremble at the memory  
Of Brennus and belinus, kings of Britain.   

Next them did Gurgunt, great belinus son  
In rule succeed, and eke in father's praise;  
He Easterland subdued, and Danmarke 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 husbahd 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 sons 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 son 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 or uncles sovereignty,  
Betrayed his country unto foreign spoil:  
Nought else, but treason, from the first this land did foil.   

So by him Caesar got the victory,  
Through great bloushed, 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 did defray;  
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 happytime,  
That heavenly grace so plenteously displayed;  
(O too high ditty for my simple rhyme.)  
Soon after this the Romans him wrrayd;  
For that their tribute he refused to let be paid.   

Good Claudius, that next was Emperor,  
An army brought, and with him battle 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 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 dread 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 coyl, 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 be captived herself she slew.   

O famous monument of women's praise,  
Matchable either to Semiramis,  
Whom antic history so high doth raise,  
Or to Hysiphil ' or to Thomiris:  
Her Host two hundred thousand numbered is;  
Who whiles good fortune favoured her might,  
Triumphed oft against her enimis;  
And yet though overcome in hapless fight,  
She triumphed on death, in enemy's despite.   

Her relics Fulgent having gathered,  
Fought with Scuerus, 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 rain;  
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 coyl 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 spoilefull Picts, and swarming Easterlings,  
Long time in peace his Realm established,  
Yet oft annoyed with sundry bordraging  
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 height  
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 enforced 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,  
Ambrise 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 height,  
Succeeding There abruptly it did end,  
Without full point, or other Cesure 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 seemeth 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, that from thy hand  
Did commun breath and nouriture 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 love 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 beno earthly wight, but either sprite,  
Or Angel, th'author of all woman kind;  
Therefore a Fay he her according height,  
Of whom all Fairies' spring, and 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 bratie 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 and 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 geutle 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 nobles knights she ought.    

Cant. XI.  
The enemies of Temperance  
besiege her dwelling place:  
Prince Arthur 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,  
Attempted goodly well for health and 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 boat: They go aboard,  
And 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 weather 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 villeins 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 Captain did dispart  
And round about in sittest 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 five, five sundry ways he set,  
Against the five great Bulwarks of that pile.  
And unto each a Bulwark did arret,  
T'assail with open force or hidden guile,  
In hope thereof to win victorious spoil.  
They all that charge did servantly 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 respite day nor night,  
But soon as Titan 'gan his head exalt.  
And soon again as he his light with haut,  
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 that Bulwark sorely rend.   

The second Bulwark was the Hearing sense,  
'Gainst which the second troop dessignment 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, backbyting, and vainglorious cracks,  
Bad counsels, praises, and false flatteries.  
All those a 'gainst 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 waist  
Like swine; for so deformed is luxury,  
Surfeat, misdiet, and unthrifty waist,  
Vain feasts, and idle superfluity:  
All those this senses Fort assail incessantly.   

But the fift troop most horrible of hue,  
And fierce or force, was dreadful to report:  
For some like Snails, some did like spiders show,  
And some like ugly Urchins thick and short:  
Cruelly they assailed 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 captain  
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 vnbared, 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 issuing did espy,  
They reared a most outrageous dreadful yelling cry.   

And therewith all attonce at him let fly  
Their fluttring arrows, thick as flakes of snow,  
And round about him flock 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 graue-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 disport, 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 pursue, 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 pursue:  
Who 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 griefly graplement,  
Till that the ville in coming to their aye,  
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 Briton 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 unrest,  
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 caitive 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 withstands  
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 smote 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 villain 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 evermore  
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 wound so wide and wondrous,  
That through his carcase one might plainly see:  
Half in a maze 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 aery 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 rebounds 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 this lifeless shadow so to fight:  
Yet life he saw, and felt his mighty main,  
That whiles he marueild 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 raised 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 scruzd out of his carrion corpse  
The lothfull life, now loosed 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 Impotence 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 sumptuous bed she made him to be laid,  
And all the while his wounds were dressing, by him stayed.    

Cant. XII.  
Guyon by Palmer's governance,  
passing through perils great,  
Doth overthrow the Bower of bliss,  
and Acrasie 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 bountihed;  
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 dangers, & 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 do seem away to fly.   

On th'other 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 who so 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 puissance 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 drow.   

On th'other 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 subtance spent  
In wanton joys, and lusts intemperate,  
Did afterwards make shipwreck violent,  
Both of their life, and fame for ever foully blended.   

For thy, this height The Rock of vile Reproach,  
A dangerous and detestable place,  
To which nor fish nor fowl did once approach,  
But yelling Meawes, with Seagulles hoarse and base,  
And Cormoyrants, with birds of ravenous race,  
Which still sat waiting 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 frigate ran,  
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 height  
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 appareled,  
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' Aegaean 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 honour highly herried.   

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 withouten ore,  
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;  
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 quicksand 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 travel 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 doole  
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 the boat within the utmost bound  
Of his wide Labyrinth, and then to have them drowned.   

But th'heedful Boatman strongly forth did stretch  
His brawny arms, and all his body strain,  
That th'utmost sandy breach they shortly fetch,  
Whiles the dread 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 pourtraicts of deformity:  
Spring-headed Hydra's, and sea-shouldring Whales,  
Great whirlpools, which all fishes make to flee,  
Bright Scolopendraes', 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 griefly 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, (than said the Palmer well auized;)  
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 pitiful 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 disobayd:  
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 shrunk, 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 peasant 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 travelers, 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,  
Thou art in mighty arms most magnifide  
Above all knights, that ever battle tried,  
O turn thy rudder hither-ward a while:  
Here may thy storme-bet vessel safely ride;  
This is the Port of rest from troublous toil,  
The world's sweet In, from pain & wearisome turmoil.   

With that the rolling sea resounding soft,  
In his big base them sitly answered,  
And on the rock the waves breaking aloft,  
A solemn Mean unto them measured,  
The whiles sweet Zephyrus loud whisteled  
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 Bat, days enemy,  
The rueful Strich, still waiting on the bear,  
The Whistler shrill, that who so hears, doth die,  
The hellisn 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 show.  
Said then the Palmer, Lo where does appear  
The sacred soil, where all our perils grow;  
Therefore, Sirknight, 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 Guyon sallied,  
And his sage Palmer, that him governed;  
But th'other by his boat behind did stay.  
They marched fairly 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 attonce, gaping full greedily,  
And rearing fiercely their upstarting 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,  
In stead 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 pick 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 daintiest fantasy aggrate,  
Was poured forth with plentiful dispense,  
And made there to abound with lavish affluence.   

Goodly it was enclosed round about,  
Aswell their 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 mightiest 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 ywrit;  
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 other where 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 th'enchanted flame, which did Creiisa 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 there sat  
A comely parsonage of stature tall,  
And semblance pleasing, more than natural,  
That travelers to him seemed to entize;  
His loser garment to the ground did fall,  
And flew about his heels in wanton wize,  
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 semblaunts, which he makes us see.  
He of this Gardin had the governal,  
And Pleasure's porter was devizd to be,  
Holding a staff in hand for more formalitee.   

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 gratified:  
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 semblants sly.   

Thus being entered, they behold around  
A large and spacious plain, on every side  
Strewed with, pleasauns, whose fair grassy ground  
Mantled with grenee, and goodly beautified  
With all the ornaments of Flora's pride,  
Wherewith her mother Art, as half in scum  
Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride  
Did deck her, and too lavishly adorn,  
When forth from virgin bower she comes in th'early morn.   

Thereto 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  
Tafflict the crearures, 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 ha unt of Muse's fair;  
Of Eden, if ought with Eden moat compare.   

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 mastering his might:  
Till that he came unto another gate,  
No gate, but like one, being goodly dight  
With boughs 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 Hyacint,  
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 bows, with so rich load oppressed,  
Did bow adown, as over-burdened.  
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 Gayon offered it to taste;  
Who taking it out of her tender hand,  
The cup to ground did violently cast,  
That all in pecces it was broken fond,  
And with the liquor stained all the land:  
Whereat Excess exceedingly was wroth,  
Yet no'te the same amend, ne yet withstand,  
But suffered him to pass, all were she loath;  
Who not regarding her displeasure forward goth.   

There the mod dainty Paradise on ground,  
Itself doth offer to his sober eye,  
In which all pleasures plenteously abound,  
And none does others happiness envy:  
The painted flowers, the trees upshooting high,  
The dales for shade, the hills for breathing space,  
The trembling groves, the Crystal 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 imageree  
Was overwrought, and shapes of naked boys,  
Of which some seemed with lively iollitee,  
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 tenderly did steep,  
Which drops of Crystal seemed for wantoness to weep.   

Infinite 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 bortom 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 somewhat 'gan relent his earnest pace,  
His stubborn breast 'gan secret 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 a vice:  
But th'other 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 rest,  
Yet that, which rest 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 avise;  
For here the end of all our travel 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 moat delight a dainty ear,  
Such as attonce 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 harmonee,  
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 sorceree  
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 approvance 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  
That 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 can not spin,  
Nor 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 foul 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 the 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 height) 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 spoiled, 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 eke 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 didly.   

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 monstruous.  
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, height Grille 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 foul incontinence:  
Let Grill be Grill, and have his hoggish mind,  
But let us hence departed, whilst wether serves and wind.     

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE FAIRY QUEEN. Containing, THE LEGEND OF BRITOMARTIS. OR Of Chastity.  


IT falls me here to write of Chastity,  
That 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 Soveraines 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 Praxiteles:  
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 daint,  
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 dread Sovereign  
Thus far forth pardon, sith that choicest wit  
Cannot your glorious portrait figure plain  
That I in coloured shows may shadow it,  
And antic praises unto present persons fit.   

But if in living colours, and right hue,  
Yourself you 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 Gloriana 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:  
Duessaes' trains and Materastaes'  
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 alured,  
From seeking praise, and deeds of arms abroad,  
They courteous congee took, and forth together yode.   

But the captived Acrasia he sent,  
Because of travel 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 Arthur went.   

Long so they traveled 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 bade 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 ymet, and both their points arrived,  
But Guyon drove so furious and fell,  
That seemed both shield & plate it would have rived;  
Nevertheless it bore his foe not from his cell,  
But 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 thee 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 regret  
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 adventure did from Britain fet,  
To seek her lover (love far sought alas,)  
Whose image she had feene in Venus looking glass.   

Full of disdainful wrath, he fierce uprose,  
For to revenge that foul 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 fairly 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,  
Of friend 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 traveled in friendly wise,  
Through country's waste, and eke well edifyde,  
Seeking adventures hard, to exercise  
Their puissance, whilom full dernely 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 creatures none they found,  
Save Bears, Lions, & Bulls, which rome them around.   

All suddenly out of the thickest brush,  
Upon a milk-white Palfrey all alone,  
A goodly Lady did foreby 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 pursewd 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 dispred,  
At sight whereof the people stand aghast:  
But the sage wizard tells, as he has red,  
That it importunes death and doleful drerihed.   

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 auise, 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 darraine  
Fierce battle against one, with cruel might and main.   

Mainly they all attonce upon him laid,  
And sore beset on every side around,  
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 wound,  
But stoutly dealt his blows, and every way  
To which he turned in his wrathful stound,  
Made them recoil, and fly from dread 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 a pace  
Unto his rescue, and with earnest cry,  
Bade 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 me 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 height,  
For whose dear sake full many a bitter stound,  
I have endured, and tasted many a bloody wound.   

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 compare.  
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 foul 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.  
Perdie (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 liege men 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 height by common name)  
Where they were entertained with courteous  
And comely glee of many gracious  
Fair Ladies, and 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 superfluous 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 Pansies 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  
Mote 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 wize,  
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 goodly entertainment and great glee:  
She caused them be led in courteous wize  
Into a bower, disarmed for to be,  
And cheered well with wine and spiceree:  
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.   

As when fair Cynthia, in dark some 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 traveler, 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 unsoght;  
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 fee.   

The first of them by name Gardante height,  
Aiolly 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 amies 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, which 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 loathy 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;  
'mongst 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 love 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 sat  
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 grievaunce she begun.   

And all attonce discovered her desire  
With sighs, and sobs, and plaints, & piteous grief,  
The outward sparks of her in burning 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 priefe  
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,  
Wherewith imperious love her heart did vex,  
Can judge what pains do loving hearts perplex.  
Who means no guile, beguiled soon 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, love to despise,  
Or rudely sdeigne a gentle heart's request;  
But with fair countenance, as beseemed best,  
Her entertained; natheless 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  
Can choose his dame with Basciomani 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 divers things apply;  
And all the while fair Malecasta bent  
Her crafty engines to her close intent.  
By this th'eternal lamps, wherewith high love  
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 waxen torches weren light,  
Unto their bowers to guiden every guest:  
though when the Britonesse saw all the rest  
Avoided quite, she 'gan herself despoil,  
And safe commit to her soft fetherednest,  
Where through long watch, & late days weary toil,  
She sound slept, & careful thoughts did quite assoil.   

Now when as all the world in silence deep  
Yshrowded 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 scarlot 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 snift,  
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 ded  
Through sudden fear and ghastly drerihed,  
Did shrieke aloud, that through the house it rung,  
And the whole family therewith dreaded,  
Rashly out of their roused couches sprung,  
And to the troubled chamber all in arms did throng.   

And those six Knights that Lady's Champions,  
And eke the Redcrosse knight ran to the stound,  
Half armed and half unarmed, with them attons:  
Where when confusedly they came, they found  
Their Lady lying on the senseless ground;  
On th'other side, they saw the warlike Maid  
All in her snowwhite smock, with locks unbownd,  
Threatening the point of her avenging blade,  
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 afterwards 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 Cross.   

But one of those six knights, Gardante height,  
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.   

Wherewith 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 a bide;  
And eke the Redcrosse knight gave her good aid,  
Ay joining foot to foot, and side to side,  
That in short space their foes they have quite terrified.   

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 Knights 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 maked memory  
Of their brave gests and prowese 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 anqique times I find,  
That women wont in wars to bear most sway,  
And to all great exploits them selue 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 eker'enuy.   

Of warlike puissance in ages spent,  
Be thou fair Britomart, whose praise I writ  
But of all wisdom be thou precedent,  
Indite I would as duty doth excite;  
But ah my rhymes too 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,  
Made her dissemble her disguised kind:  
Fair Lady she him seemed, like Lady dressed,  
But fairest knight alive, when armed washer 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  
Oflightning, 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 lever were with point of foeman's spear be dead.   

All my delights 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 I to prove, 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 height.   

The word gone out, she back again would call,  
As her repenting so to have missayd,  
But that he it up-taking ere the fall,  
Her shortly answered; Fair martial Maid  
Certes ye misa vised 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 wox inly wondrous glad,  
To hear her Love so highly magnifide,  
And joyed that ever she affixed had,  
Her heart on knight so goodly glorified,  
How ever finely she it feigned to hide:  
The loving mother, that nine months did bear,  
In the dear closet of her pain full 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 stile,  
Her list in strifull 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 wonneth in one certain stead,  
But restless walketh all the world around,  
Ay doing things, that to his same redound,  
Defending Lady's cause, and Orphans right,  
Where so he hears, that any doth confound  
Them comfortless, through tyranny or might;  
So is his sovereign honour raised to heaven's height.   

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 paravant;  
For perdie one shall other slay, or daunt:  
What shape, what shield, what arms, what steed, what stead,  
And what so else his person most may vaunt?  
All which the Redcrosse knight to point ar,  
And him in every part before her fashioned.   

Yet him in every part before she knew,  
How ever list her now her knowledge feign,  
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 Magician 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 height,  
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' Egyptian Phaeo 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 a while therein she viewed in vain;  
though her avizing of the virtues rare,  
Which thereof spoken were, she 'gan again  
Her to be think 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 wize,  
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 cyphers old,  
Achilles' arms, which Arthegall 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 like 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 unwift 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 portance, 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 neither 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 world's desired view,  
She with her Nurse adown to sleep did lie;  
But sleep full far away from her did fly:  
In stead there of 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 height,  
Feeling her leap out of her loathed nest,  
Betwixt her feeble arms her quickly keight,  
And down again in her warm bed her dight;  
Ah my dear daughter, ah my dearest dread,  
What uncouth fit (said she) what evil plight  
Hath thee oppressed, and with sad drearyhead  
Changed thy lively cheer, and 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 confused 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 coled 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 bath, and oft again did dry;  
And ever her importuned, not to fear  
To let the secret of her heart to her appear.   

The Damsel pauzd, 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) despair 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 others wound;  
For which no reason can find remedy.  
Was never such, but moat 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 misery.   

Daughter (said she) what need ye 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 find;  
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 mostrous 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 thereof have thou and eternal bliss.  
With that upleaning on her elbow weak,  
Her alablasted 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.  
For 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 exiled.   

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 cyphers, 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 smote.  
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 zeal:  
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 Sauine, and the flower  
Of Camphara, 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 hairs from off her head,  
Them 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 it;  
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,  
Thrice 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 laugour, and 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 Artegall.  
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 lust 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 fame:   

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 dread 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 trump 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 Soveraines goodly auncestie,  
Till that by due degrees and long pretence,  
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 hearts relief:  
For thy great care she took, and greater fear,  
Lest that it should her turn to foul reprieve,  
And sore reproach, when so her father dear  
Should of his dearest daughters hard misfortune hear.   

At last she her advised, 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.   

Forthwith 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 travel, 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 stone thy feeble brains,  
And oftentimes great groans, and grievous stounds,  
When too huge toil and labour them constrains:  
And oftentimes loud strokes, and ringing sounds  
From under that deep Rock most horribly rebounds.   

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 travel 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 height  
Matilda, daughter to Pubidius,  
Who was the Lord of Mathravall 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 fiends 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 cannot 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 leach-craft 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 a while 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 height forth stretched be.  
For from thy womb a famous Progeny  
Shall spring, out of the ancient Trojan blood,  
Which shall revive the sleeping memory  
Of those same antic Peres, the heavens brood,  
Which Greece and 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 love 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 wonneth 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.   

Where 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'others stead:  
Then shall he issue forth with dreadful mighty,  
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, height Vortipore, shall him succeed  
In kingdom, but not in felicity;  
Yet shall he long time war with happy speed,  
And with great honour many battles 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 overrun,  
And holy Church with faithless hands deface,  
That thy sad people utterly fordone,  
Shall to the utmost mountains fly apace:  
Was never so great waist in any place,  
Nor so fowl autrage done by living men:  
For all thy Cities they shall sack and race,  
And the green grass, that groweth, they shall brens,  
That even the wild beast shall die in starved den.   

Whiles thus the 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 the 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 unsubdewd;  
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 withouten 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 gifts his Lord Cadwallin pacify.   

Then shall Cadwallin die, and then the rain  
Of Britons eke with him attonce shall die;  
Ne shall the good Cadwallader with pain,  
Or power, behable 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 stayed from his intent:  
For th'heavens 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 victors 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 shallbe supplied,  
Ere they to 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 Rhodoric, 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 overronne,  
There shall a Raven far from rising Sun,  
With his wide wings upon them fiercely fly,  
And bid his faithless chickens overronne  
The fruitful plains, and with fell cruelty,  
In their avenge, tread down the victors 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 devise.   

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, height  
Octa and Oza, whom he lately broke  
Beside Cayr Verolam, in victorious fight,  
That now all Brittany doth burn in arms bright.   

That therefore nought our passage may impeach,  
Let us in feigned arms ourselves disguise,  
And our weak hands (whom need new strength shall teach  
The dreadful spear and shield to exercise:  
Ne certes daughter that same warlike wize  
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 bloody 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 height?  
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 forthwith they tynd,  
And generous stout courage did inspire,  
That she resolved, unmeeting 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 conviently purvey:  
It fortuned (so time their turn did fit)  
A band of Britons riding on forray  
Few dries 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 hy  
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, and 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 Arthur 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 battles, where the shield and 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 Panthesilee, which made a lake  
Of Greekish blood so oft in Trojan plain;  
But when I read, how stout Deborah strake  
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 she 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 guidance of her blinded guest,  
Till that to the sea-coast at length she her address   

There she a lighted 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 hore,  
That 'gainst the craggy cliffs did loudly roar,  
And in their raging surquedry disdained,  
That the fast earth affronted them so sore,  
And their devoring 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,  
Who 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 these 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 ieopardee,  
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 attonce her courage kindled hath.   

As when a foggy mist hath overcast  
The face of heaven, and the clear air engrossed,  
The world in darkness dwells, till that at last  
The watery southwind from the seabord cost  
Vpblowing, doth disperse the vapour lo'st,  
And pours itself forth in a stormy shower;  
So the fair Britomart having disclo'st  
Her cloudy care into a wrathful stowre,  
The mist of grief dissolved, 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 for th'other to reply,  
But with sharp spears the rest made dearly known.  
Srongly 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 threesquare scuchin piercing quite,  
And through his mayled 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 arownd,  
All suddenly with mortal stroke astownd,  
Doth groveling fall, and with his streaming gore  
Distaines the pillours, 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 Cymoent,  
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 wombs ybore.   

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 elsewhere.   

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 fleshly arm.  
His mother bade him women's 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 that deadly wound,  
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 terms of mortal state,  
And full of subtle sophisms, which do play  
With double senses, and with false debate,  
Tapprove 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 a swoon,  
Whiles all her sisters did for her lament,  
With yelling outcries, and with shrieking sown;  
And every one did tear her garland from her crown.   

Soon as she up out of her deadly fit  
Arose, she bade her chariot to be brought,  
And all her sisters, that with her did sit,  
Bad eke attonce their charets 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:  
eftsoons the roaring billows still abide,  
And all the griefly Monsters of the See  
Stood gaping at their gate, and wondered them to see.   

A teme of Dolphins ranged in array,  
Drew the smooth chariot of sad Cymoent;  
They were all taught by Triton, to obey  
To the long trains, at her commandment:  
As swift as swallows, on the waves they went,  
That their broad flaggie fins no foam did rear,  
Ne bubbling roundel 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 swound;   

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 relieved 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 reft;  
Now liest thou a lump of earth forlorn,  
Ne of thy late life memory is left,  
Ne can thy irrevocable destiny be waif?   

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 neither 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 ybred and never borne to die?  
far better I it deem to die with speed,  
Then waste in woe and wailful 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, sith we no more shall meet.   

Thus when they all had sorrowed their fill,  
They softly 'gan to search his grisly wound:  
And that they might him handle more at will,  
They him disarmed, and spreading on the ground  
Their watchet mantles frindgd with silver round,  
They softly wiped away the jelly blood  
From th'orifice; which having well upbound,  
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 chariot bear:  
Her teme at her commandment quiet stands,  
Whiles they the corpse into her waggon rear,  
And strew 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 wound,  
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 thrived, 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, pursewing that same foster strong;  
Of whose foul 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 attonce 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 off 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 sewd,  
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 Jove's 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 moat surcease 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 Lodestarre 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 mote be  
His Fairy 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 begot 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 lustless 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 lightylike 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 indeed:  
The praises of high God he fair displays,  
And his large bounty rightly doth aread.  
days dearest children 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, haste 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 bafer 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 whither now he traveled so fast:  
For sore he swat, and running through that same  
Thick forest, was be scratched, & 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 great sway,  
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,  
And 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 lever 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 rest 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 a 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 ygoe  
Did him, they say, forewarn through sacred spell.  
But fame now flies, that of a foreign foe  
He is yslaine, which is the ground of all our woe.   

Five days there be, since he (they say) was slain,  
And four, since Florimell the Court for-went,  
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 you 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 douht of danger, which moat him betide;  
For him he loved above all mankind,  
Having him true and faithfall 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 betided;  
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 sight 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 enimee.  
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 foolehardy 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,  
Foreby a narrow ford, to them well known,  
Through which it was uneath for wight to wade;  
And now by fortune it was overflown:  
By that same way they knew that Squire unknown  
Mote 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 devized 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 no 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 boar-spear  
Him kept from landing at his wished will;  
Anon one sent out of the thicket near  
Acruell 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 arrived 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 blood 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 attonce on both sides him bestead,  
And load upon him laid, his life for to have had.   

though when that villain he auized, 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 cloven 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 mischieffel 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 be sprinkled 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 deformed, 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 better 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 thenceforth in hast she went,  
To seek for herbs, that mote him remedy;  
For she of herbs had great intendiment,  
Taught of the Nymph, which from her infancy  
Her nourced had in true Nobility:  
There, whether it divine Tobacco were,  
Or Fanachaea, or Polygony,  
She found, and brought it to her patiented dear  
Who all this while lay bleeding out his hart-bloud near.   

The sovereign weed betwixt two marbles plain  
She pownded small, and did in pieces 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 spasme, 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 dewy 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 frailtee,  
To secure wretched wights, whom we captived see.   

By this her Damsels, 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 follow fast,  
And every one to run the swiftest stryued;  
But two of them the rest far overpast,  
And where their Lady was, arrived at the last.   

Where when they saw that goodly boy, with 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 forthwith 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 murmur, that his 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 loves sweet 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 living 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 garish, 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 rebound  
From her fair eyes and gracious countenance.  
What boots it him from death to be unbound,  
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 wound 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 plained.   

Unthankful wretch (said he) is this the meed,  
With which her sovereign mercy thou dost quite?  
Thy life she saved by her gracious deed,  
But thou dost 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 Middayes 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 Realms  
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 wear before God's tribunal.   

To your fair selves a fair ensample frame,  
Of this fair virgin, this Belphoebe fair,  
To whom in perfect love, and spotless fame  
Of chastity, none living may compare:  
Ne poisonous Envy justly can impair  
The praise of her fresh flowering Maidenhead;  
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 Amoretta 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 schoolmistresse 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 was 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' shynie 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 embayd  
With so sweet sense and secret power unspide,  
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 creature 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 travel, 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 airy 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 beauties, 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 foul 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 artillery;  
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 inquired,  
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 off 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 be sprinkled 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 nother thereof before avized,  
But suffered her so carelessly disguise  
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 mote 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 wize;  
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 eyed.   

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 when as 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 damsels sent,  
Through 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, both far and near,  
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, each one 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 hence far away conveyed,  
To be upbrought in goodly womanhed,  
And in her little loves stead, which was strayed,  
Her Amoretta 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 Gnidus be, 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 flowers,  
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 pregenie  
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 a fresh, as they had never seen  
Fleshly corruption, nor mortal pain.  
Some thousand years so done they there remaire;  
And then of him are clad with other hue,  
Or sent into the chaungefull world again,  
Till thither they return, where first they grew:  
So like a wheel around they run from old to new.   

Ne needs there Gardener to set, or sow,  
To plant of 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  
Set by itself, and ranked in comely rue:  
Some fit for reasonable souls t'indew,  
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 there lies,  
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, whereof they are made,  
Which when as form and feature it does catch,  
Becomes a body, and doth then invade  
The state of life, out of the griefly 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 subtance 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 jealousy;  
Frankly each paramour 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 attonce the heavy 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 arbour, 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 slowre 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,  
Hewn underneath that Mount, that none him losen 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 feminitee.  
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 affectione,  
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 launched with loves cruel wound.   

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 forlese  
Her former love, and steadfast 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 Arthur fled with wings of idle fear.    

Cant. VII.  
The witch's son loves Florimell:  
she flies, he feigns to die.  
Satyrane saves the Squire of Dames  
from giants 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 she did hear,  
Did seem to be the same, which she escaped 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 travel spent  
His force, at last perforce a down 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 traveler 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 traveled, 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 wize, 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 seemed) about some wicked gin:  
Who soon as she beheld that sudde in 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 sight.   

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  
Nor s'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 lazy 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 attonce 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 had 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 revived  
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 curteise 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 smiling 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 conquered  
To be her thrall, his fellow servant vild;  
All which, she of him took with countenance meek and mild.   

But past awhile, when she fit season saw  
To leave that desert mansion, she cast  
In secret wize herself thence to withdraw,  
For fear of mischief, which she did forecast  
Might be the witch or that 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.   

eftsoons 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 pursue apace,  
Ne once to stay to rest, or breath at large,  
Till her he had attained, and brought in place,  
Or quite devoured her beauties 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 afraid;  
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 forlese,  
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 maidenhed,  
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, and 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 perilous 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 rescue came.   

And after having him emboweled,  
To fill his bellish gorge, it chanced a knight  
To pass that way, as forth he traveled;  
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 fich:  
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 Scutcheon bore a satires head:  
He coming present, where the Monster wild  
Upon that milk-white Palfreyes' 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 muchell 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 waist, he took in hand,  
And with it bond 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 off a mighty Giauntesle,  
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 hast  
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 height  
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 sunbroad 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 height,  
For the brave youthly Champions to assay,  
With burning chariot wheels it nigh 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 he was so stunned, 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 pursewed, saw with great remorse,  
He near 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 strake:  
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 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 moat perceive  
In that foul 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 that 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 Typhaeus 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,  
And many hath to foul 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 strain 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 thirst,  
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,  
Or be 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 lever 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 is 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,  
Bade her command my life to save, or spill.  
eftsoons she bade 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 thirse 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 travel should resume,  
And with like labour walk the world around,  
Ne ever to her presence should presume,  
Till I so many other Dames had found,  
The which, for all the suit I could propound,  
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 a do 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 begon.   

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 therewith many blames,  
That may amongst Alcides' labours stand.  
Thence back 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 broken girdle, it a part  
Of her rich spoils, whom he had erst destroyed,  
She weaned, and wondrous gladness to her heart applied.   

And with it running hast'ly to her son,  
Thought with that sight him much to have reliued;  
Who thereby deeming sure the thing as done,  
His former grief with fury fresh revived,  
Much more than erst, and would have algates rived  
The heart out of his breast: for sith her ded  
He surely dempt, himself he thought deprived  
Quite of all hope, where with he long had fed  
His foolish malady, and long time had misled.   

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 Sprights 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 advise, 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 a woman'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 hair: and in the stead  
Of life, she put a sprite to rule the carcase dead.   

A wicked Sprightyfraught with fawning guile,  
And fair resemblance above all the rest,  
Which with the Prince of Darkness fell lomewhile,  
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 counterfeisance 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 height,  
Coily rebutted his embracement light;  
Yet still with gentle countenant 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 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 fouled 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 Braggadocchio 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 poursute,  
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 ar  
To turn his steed about, or sure he should be ded.   

Sith then (said Braggadocchio) 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 maintenance  
Retyrd their steeds, to run in even race:  
But Braggadocchio 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 marueild more, and thought he yet did dream  
Not well awaked, or that some ecstasy  
Assotted had his sense, or dazed was his eye.   

But when her well avizing, he perceived  
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 the same;  
Yet am I glad that here I now in safety am.   

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 maine-land 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:  
She struggled strongly both with foot and hand,  
To save her honour from that villain vild,  
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 hore,  
And sprinkled frost upon his dewy beard:  
Who when those pitiful outcries he heard,  
Through all the seas so ruefully resound,  
His chariot swift in haste he thither steered,  
Which with a team of scaly Phocas bound  
Was drawn upon the waves, that foamed him around.   

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 attonce: 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 so 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 dread  
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 secure 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 thereby.   

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, height 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 height:  
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 uncertaintee?  
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  
T'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 Paridell) the signs be sad,  
And but God turn the same to good soothsay,  
That Lady's safety is sore to be dread:  
Yet will I not forsake my forward way,  
Till trial do more certain truth bewray.  
Fair Sir (quoth 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 praiseworthy 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,  
More 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,  
●here soon arriving, they restrained were  
Of ready entrance, which ought evermore  
To errant knights be commun: wondrous sore  
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 jealousy:  
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 atone;  
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 Sprights 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 height,  
Unfitly yoked together in one team,  
That is the cause, why never any knight  
It 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 weenes 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 subtiltyes  
Can guilen Argus, when she list misdonne?  
It is not iron bands, nor hundred eyes,  
Nor brazen walls, nor many wakeful spies,  
That can withhold her wilful wandering feet;  
But fast good will with gentle curtesyes,  
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.   

Whereat 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 their 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 swine 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 why lere,  
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 dislodge, all were they lief orloth;  
And defied them each, and so defied 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 chief Paridell his heart did grate,  
To hear him threaten so despitefully,  
As if he did a dog to kennel rate,  
That durst not bark; and rather had he die,  
Then when he was decide, in coward cornerly.   

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 steelhed 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 awhile 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 Satyrane 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 host did on them lower,  
And welcomed more for fear, than charity;  
But they dissembled, what they did not see,  
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 perceant air shoot forth their azure streams.   

She also dofte 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 Minerva, 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 the spear, down tumbled ded  
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 they meruaild 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 eyed  
Sir Satyrane, that glances might not glide:  
But his blind eye, that syded 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 ofyore.  
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 dread.   

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 Malbeccoes' 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 glad of so fit tied  
Him to commend to her, thus spoke, of all well eyed.   

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 prowess 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 warrioures,  
Whose fruitless lives were under furrow sown,  
And Xanthus' sandy banks with blood all overflown.   

From him my lineage I derive aright,  
Who long before the ten years siege of Troy,  
Whiles yet on Ida he a shepherd height,  
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  
Height 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.   

When as 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, and 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 City's 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 Lybicke 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 appeared  
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 offspring,  
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 neck, 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 gate 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 heard 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 the 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 forlese:  
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 diversly,  
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 thought  
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:  
Malbecco her purs●wes:  
Finds 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 grievously,  
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 fierce youngmans' 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 Melbeccoes' halfen eye did wile,  
His halfen eye he wiled wondrous well,  
And Hellenors' both eyes did eke beguile,  
Both eyes and heart attonce, during the while  
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 her laid 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 sleights 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 otherwhiles 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 fed her fancy, and entysd  
To take to his new love, and leave her old despysd.   

And every where he might, and every while  
He did her service dewtifull, and sewed  
At hand with humble pride, and pleasing guile,  
So closely yet, that none but she it viewed,  
Who well perceived all, and all endued.  
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 sensible, no walls so strong,  
But that continual battery will rive,  
Or daily siege through dispuruayance long,  
And lack of rescues will to parley drive;  
And Peace, that unto parley ear will give,  
Will shortly yield itself, and will be made  
The vassal of the victors will by live:  
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 heart 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 and place, which shortly she  
Devized 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 Melbecco busy be elsewhere,  
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 height  
Did clap her hands, and joyed at that doleful sight.   

This second Helen, fair Dame Hellenore,  
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 would 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 diversly,  
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 yfeare, 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 whylere  
Into huge waves of grief and gealosye  
Full deep emplonged was, and drowned nigh,  
Twixt inward doole and felonous despite;  
He raved, he wept, he stamped, he loud did cry,  
And all the passions, that in man may light,  
Did him attonce 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,  
Then 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 moat be,  
And as he better did their shape avize,  
Him seemed more their manner did agree;  
For th'one was armed all in warlike wize,  
Whom, to be Paridell he did devise;  
And th'other all clad 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 foul 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 Braggadocchio,  
That with his servant Trompart hoverd there,  
Sith late he fled from his too earnest foe:  
Whom such when as Malbecco spied clear,  
He turned back, and would have fled arere;  
Till Trompart ronning 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 rudedesse 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 perdee,  
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 myself, 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 disdeigning 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 masters humour knew,  
In lofty looks to hide an humble mind,  
Was inly tickled with that golden view,  
And in his ear him grounded 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 with thy 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 virtues pray.  
But minds of mortal men are muchell marred,  
And moved amiss with massy mucks unmeet regard.   

And more, 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 shall be found, and shortly done be ded.   

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 overronne,  
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 greene-wood long did walk, and wander wide  
At wild adventure, like a forlorn west,  
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 housewife ever to abide,  
To milk their goats, and make them cheese and bred,  
And every one as commune good her handled.   

That shortly she Malbecco has forgot,  
And eke Sir Paridell, 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 wonneth 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 faindto wend.   

pardie 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.   

The all agree, and forward them addressed:  
Ah but (said crafty Trompart) weet ye well,  
That yonder in that wasteful wilderness  
Huge monsters haunt, and many dangers dwell;  
Dragons, and Minotaures, and fiends of hell,  
And many wild woodmen, which rob and rend  
All travelers; 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 Malbeccoes' 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 boasters heart did thrill,  
With such amazement, that in haste 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 ded.   

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 bespread,  
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 thicket 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 Hellenore.  
All day they danced with great lustihed,  
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 Melbecco saw, out of his bush  
Upon his hand 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 misconceiving 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 jealousy 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 irksome 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 her side;  
But he her prayed, for mercy, or for meed,  
To save his life, ne let him be descried,  
But harken 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 springs 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 feet 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 bestead,  
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 jealousy, 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 at 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 attonce 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 jealousy 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 jealousy, 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 Malbeccoes' 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 rest why lere;  
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 that I did ever find;  
Whom when as Britomart beheld behind  
The fearful boy so greedily pursue,  
She was emmoved in her noble mind,  
T'employ her puissance to his rescue,  
And pricked fiercely forward, where she him did view.   

Ne was Sir Satyrane her far behind,  
But with like fierceness did ensue the chase:  
Whom when the Giant saw, he sooone 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 every where,  
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 off, 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 abrade,  
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 silent lie?  
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 heavily 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  
Abiecting 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 cenceived grief  
Well seems t'exceed the power of patience,  
Yet if that heavenly grace some 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,  
And lest 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 fruilesse care,  
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 doole 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  
Mote him befall upon new enterprise;  
His arms, which he had vowed to disprofesse,  
She gathered up and did about him dress,  
And his for wandered 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 hear,  
Foolhardy as th'earths children, the which made  
Battle against the Gods? so we a God invade.   

Danger without discretion to attempt,  
Inglorious and beastlike is: therefore Sir knight,  
A read what course of you is safest dempt,  
And how we with our foe may come to fight.  
This (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 Amoretta 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 prone 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 throng 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 Scudamour 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 imperious sway  
Him forced (maugre) his fierceness 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 breast full sore;  
The whiles the Championess now entered 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 it sfelfe, and shone unwillingly;  
Like 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 hart-percing 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,  
And 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 snowy Swan,  
To win fair Leda to his lovely trade:  
O wondrous skill, and sweet wit of the man,  
That her in daffodils sleeping made,  
From scorching heat her dainty limbs to shade:  
Whiles the proud Bird ruffing 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 Alcmene 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 meynt in joyfulness:  
For thy he thrilled thee with a leaden dart,  
To love fair Daphne, which thee 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 Coroxis' 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 sweet breare:  
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 each 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 three-forkt Pike  
He stearnly shook, and therewith 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 sea-horses did seem 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 height.  
For whom he turned himself into a steer,  
And fed on fodder, to beguile her sight.  
Also to win Deucalion's daughter bright,  
Her turned himself into a Dolphin fair;  
And like a winged horse he took his flight,  
To snaly-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 he sore 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 Trage dies,  
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 ensold,  
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 Idola tree.  
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 dazed.   

though as she backward cast her busy eye,  
To search each secret of that goodly stead  
Over the door thus written she did spy  
Be hold: 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 swerds & 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 meruaild that no footings trace,  
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 ycovered 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 stormy 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 issewd, 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 Minstrals, making goodly merriment,  
With wanton Bards, and Rymers impudent,  
All which together sungfull 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 wood, and every valley wide  
He filled with Hylas' name; the Nymphs eke Hylas cried.   

His garment neither 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 bear,  
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, & 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 dependent 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 advise,  
And on a broken reed he still did stay  
His feeble steps, which shrunk, when hard thereon he lay.   

With him went Danger, cloth ' 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 to and fro,  
And his own arms when glittering he did spy,  
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly,  
As ashes pale of hue, and wingyheeld;  
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 she 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 purloined,  
And her bright brows were decked with borrowed hair:  
Her deeds were forged, and her words false coined,  
And always in her hand two clewes of silk she twynd.   

But he was foul, ill favoured, and grim,  
Under his eyebrows looking still askance;  
And ever as Dissemblance 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 inward 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 oft rend 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 embossed,  
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 joyance 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 villeins, 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 orisice 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 embayd:  
And those two villeins, which her steps upstayd,  
When her weak feet could scarcely her sustain,  
And fading vital powers 'gan to fade,  
Her forward still with torture did constrain,  
And evermore increased her consuming pain.   

Next after her the winged God himself  
Came riding on a Lion ravenous,  
Taught to obey the menage of that Elf,  
That man and beast with power imperious  
Subdeweth to his knigdome 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 ill favoured, bestial, and blind:  
Shame lowered, Repentance sighed, Reproach did scold;  
Reproach sharp stings, Repentance whips entwind,  
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 Vnthriftihead,  
Lewd Loss of Time, and Sorrow seeming dead,  
Inconstant Change, and false Disloyalty,  
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;  
And which disguise marched in masking wise,  
About the chamber with that 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; and bore all away  
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 room 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 exercise,  
Then she, as morrow fresh, herself did rear  
Out of her secret stand, that day for to out wear.   

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,  
Neither 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 waist 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 ronning 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 herself 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,  
Dernely 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 line, 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 bored,  
And every part to safety full sound,  
As she were never hurt, was soon restored:  
though when she felt herself to be unbound,  
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 lieu 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 Lady comfort to you take,  
And put away remembrance of late teen;  
In stead 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 ygo  
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  
She saw so rich and royally arrayed,  
Now vanished utterly, and clean subverst  
She found, and all their glory quite decayed,  
That sight of such a change her much dismayed.  
Thence forth 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.   

More easy issue now, then entrance late  
She found: for now that feigned dreadful flame,  
Which choked the porch of that enchanted gate,  
And passage bard to all, that thither came,  
Was vanished quite, as it were not the same,  
And gave her leave at pleasure forth to pass.  
Th'enchanter self, which all that fraud did frame,  
To have efforst the love of that fair lass,  
Seeing his work now wasted deep engrieved was.   

But when the victoresse arrived there,  
Where late she left the pensive Scudamore,  
With her own trusty Squire, both full of fear,  
Neither of them she found where she them lore:  
There at her noble heart was stonisht sore;  
But most fair Amoretta, whose gentle sprite  
Now 'gan to feed on hope, which she before  
Conceived had, to see her own dear knight,  
Being thereof beguiled was filled with new affright.   

But he sad man, when he had long in dread  
Awaited there for Britomarts return,  
Yet saw her not nor sign of her good speed,  
His expectation to despair did turn,  
Misdeeming sure that her those flames did burn;  
And therefore 'gan advise with her old Squire,  
Who her dear nourslings loss no less did mourn,  
Thence to departed for further aid t'inquire:  
Where let them wend at will, whilst here I do respire.     

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 same.  

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 sings.   

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 fires 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 Hands right:  
Which thou dost vail in Type of Fairy land  
Elyzas blessed field, that Albion height.  
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 Empyring sprite,  
From whence thy Muse, and all the world takes light.   
Hobynoll.   

THE SECOND PART OF THE FAIRY QUEEN.  
Containing THE FOURTH, FIFTH, AND SIXTH BOOKS.  
By Ed. Spenser.  
ANCHORA SPEI   printer's or publisher's device 
Imprinted at London for William Ponsonby. 1596.   

THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE FAIRY QUEEN. Containing The Legend of CAMBEL and TELAMOND, OR OF FRIENDSHIP.  


THe rugged forehead that with grave foresight  
Wields kingdoms causes, & affairs of state,  
My loser rhymes (I wot) doth sharply wit,  
For praising love, as I have done of late,  
And magnifying lovers dear debate;  
By which frail youth is oft to folly led,  
Through false allurement of that pleasing bait,  
That better were in virtues discipled,  
Then with vain poems weeds to have their fancies fed.   

Such once ill judge of love, that cannot love,  
Ne in their frozen hearts feel kindly flame:  
For thy they ought not thing unknown reprove,  
Ne natural affection faultless blame,  
For fault of few that have abused the same.  
For it of honour and all virtue is  
The root, and brings forth glorious flowers of fame,  
That crown true lovers with immortal bliss,  
The meed of them that love, and do not live amiss.   

Which who so list look back to former ages,  
And call to count the things that then were done,  
Shall find, that all the works of those wise sages,  
And brave exploits which great Heroes won,  
In love were either ended or begun:  
Witness the father of Philosophy,  
Which to his Critias, shaded oft from sun,  
Of love full many lessons did apply,  
The which these Stoic censors cannot well deny.   

To such therefore I do not sing at all,  
But to that sacred Saint my sovereign Queen,  
In whose chaste breast all bounty natural,  
And treasures of true love enlocked been,  
'Bove all her sex that ever yet was seen;  
To her I sing of love, that loveth best,  
And best is loved of all alive I ween:  
To her this song most fitly is addressed,  
The Queen of love, & Prince of peace from heaven blest.   

Which that she may the better deign to hear,  
Do thou dread infant, Venus' darling dove,  
From her high spirit chase imperious fear,  
And use of awful Majesty remove:  
In stead thereof with drops of melting love,  
Deawd with ambrosial kisses, by thee gotten  
From thy sweet smile mother from above,  
Sprinkle her heart, and haughty courage soften,  
That she may hark to love, and read this lesson often.    

Cant. I.  
Fair Britomart saves Amoretta,  
Duessa discord breeds  
Twixt Scudamour and Blandamour:  
Their fight and warlike deeds.  

OF lovers sad calamities of old,  
Full many piteous stories do remain,  
But none more piteous ever was ytold,  
Then that of Amorets hart-binding chain,  
And this of Florimels' unworthy pain:  
The dear compassion of whose bitter fit  
My softened heart so sorely doth constrain,  
That I with tears full oft do pity it,  
And oftentimes do wish it never had been writ.   

For from the time that Scudamour her bought  
In perilous fight, she never joyed day,  
A perilous fight when he with force her brought  
From twenty Knights, that did him all assay:  
Yet fairly well he did them all dismay:  
And with great glory both the shield of love,  
And eke the Lady self he brought away,  
Whom having wedded as did him behove,  
A new unknown mischief did from him remove.   

For that same vile enchanter Busyran,  
The very self same day that she was wedded,  
Amidst the bridal feast, whilst every man  
Surcharged with wine, were heedless and ill headed,  
All bend to mirth before the bride was bedded,  
Brought in that mask of love which late was shown:  
And there the Lady ill of friends bestedded,  
By way of sport, as oft in masks is known,  
Conveyed quite away to living wight unknown.   

Seven months he so her kept in bitter smart,  
Because his sinful lust she would not serve,  
Until such time as noble Britomart  
Released her, that else was like to starve,  
Through cruel knife that her dear heart did carve.  
And now she is with her upon the way,  
Marching in lovely wise, that could deserve  
No spot of blame, though spite did oft assay  
To blot her with dishonour of so fair a prey.   

Yet should it be a pleasant tale, to tell  
The diverse usage and demeanour daint,  
That each to other made, as oft befell.  
For Amoretta right fearful was and faint,  
Lest she with blame her honour should attaint,  
That every word did tremble as she spoke,  
And every look was coy, and wondrous acquaint,  
And every limb that touched her did quake:  
Yet could she not but courteous countenance to her make.   

For well she witted, as true it was indeed,  
That her lives Lord and patron of her health  
Right well deserved as his duefull meed,  
Her love, her service, and her utmost wealth.  
All is his justly, that all freely dealt:  
Nathlesse her honour dearer than her life,  
She sought to save, as thing reserved from stealth;  
Die had she lever with Enchanters knife,  
Then to be false in love, professed a virgin wife.   

Thereto her fear was made so much the greater  
Through fine abusion of that Briton maid:  
Who for to hide her feigned sex the better,  
And mask her wounded mind, both did and said  
Full many things so doubtful to be weighed,  
That well she witted not what by them to guess,  
For other while to her she purpose made  
Of love, and otherwhiles of lustfulness,  
That much she feared his mind would grow to some excess   

His will she feared; for him she surely thought  
To be a man, such as indeed he seemed,  
And much the more, by that he lately wrought,  
When her from deadly thraldom he redeemed,  
For which no service she too much esteemed,  
Yet dread of shame, and doubt of fowl dishonour  
Made her not yield so much, as due she deemed.  
Yet Britomart attended duly on her,  
As well became a knight, and did to her all honour.   

It so befell one evening, that they came  
Unto a Castle, lodged there to be,  
Where many a knight, and many a lovely Dame  
Was then assembled, deeds of arms to see:  
Amongst all which was none more fair than she,  
That many of them moved to eye her sore.  
The custom of that place was such, that he  
Which had no love nor leman there in store,  
Should either win him one, or lie without the door.   

Amongst the rest there was a jolly knight,  
Who being asked for his love, avowed  
That fairest Amoretta was his by right,  
And offered that to justify aloud.  
The warlike virgin seeing his so proud  
And boastful challenge, waxed inly wrath,  
But for the present did her anger shroud;  
And said, her love to lose she was full loath,  
But either he should neither of them have, or both.   

So forth they went, and both together giusted;  
But that same younker soon was overthrown,  
And made repent, that he had rashly lusted  
For thing unlawful, that was not his own:  
Yet since he seemed valiant, though unknown,  
She that no less was courteous then stout,  
Cast how to salve, that both the custom shown  
Were kept, and yet that Knight not locked out,  
That seemed full heard t'accord two things so far in doubt.   

The Seneschal was called to deem the right,  
Whom she required, that first fair Amoretta  
Might be to her allowed, as to a Knight,  
That did her win and free from challenge set:  
Which strait to her was yielded without let.  
Then since that strange Knights love from him was quitted,  
She claimed that to herself, as Lady's det  
He as a Knight might justly be admitted;  
So none should be out shut, sith all of loves were fitted.   

With that her glistering helmet she unlaced;  
Which doffed, her golden locks, that were up bound  
Still in a knot, unto her heels down traced,  
And like a silken veil in compass round  
About her back and all her body wound:  
Like as the shining sky in summer's night,  
What time the days with scorching heat abound,  
Is creasted all with lines of fiery light,  
That it prodigious seems in common people's sight.   

Such when those Knights and Ladies all about  
Beheld her, all were with amazement smit,  
And every one 'gan grow in secret doubt  
Of this and that, according to each wit:  
Some thought that some enchantment feigned it;  
Some, that Bellona in that warlike wise  
To them appeared, with shield and armour fit;  
Some, that it was a mask of strange disguise:  
So diversely each one did sundry doubts devise.   

But that young Knight, which through her gentle deed  
Was to that goodly fellowship restored,  
Ten thousand thanks did yield her for her meed,  
And doubly overcome, her adored:  
So did they all their former strife accord;  
And eke fair Amoretta now freed from fear,  
More frank affection did to her afford,  
And to her bed, which she was wont forbear,  
Now freely drew, and found right safe assurance there.   

Where all that night they of their loves did treat,  
And hard adventures twixt themselves alone,  
That each the other 'gan with passion great,  
And grieffull pity privately bemoan.  
The morrow next so soon as Titan shone,  
They both uprose, and to their ways them dight:  
Long wandered they, yet never met with none,  
That to their wills could them direct aright,  
Or to them tidings tell, that mote their heart's delight.   

Lo thus they road, till at the last they spied  
Two armed Knights, that toward them did pace,  
And each of them had riding by his side  
A Lady, seeming in so far a space,  
But Ladies none they were, albe in face  
And outward show fair semblance they did bear;  
For under mask of beauty and good grace,  
Vile treason and fowl falsehood hidden were,  
That mote to none but to the wary wise appear.   

The one of them the false Duessa height,  
That now had changed her former wont hue:  
For she could don so many shapes in sight,  
As ever could chameleon colours new;  
So could she forge all colours, save the true.  
The other no whit better was than she,  
But that such as she was, she plain did show;  
Yet otherwise much worse, if worse might be,  
And daily more offensive unto each degree.   

Her name was Ate, mother of debate,  
And all dissension, which doth daily grow  
Amongst frail men, that many a public state  
And many a private oft doth overthrow.  
Her false Duessa who full well did know,  
To be most fit to trouble noble knights,  
Which hunt for honour, raised from below,  
Out of the dwellings of the damned sprights,  
Where she in darkness wastes her cursed days & nights.   

Hard by the gates of hell her dwelling is,  
There whereas all the plagues and harms abound,  
Which punish wicked men, that walk amiss,  
It is a darksome delve far under ground,  
With thorns and barren brakes environed round,  
That none the same may easily out win;  
Yet many ways to enter may be found,  
But none to issue forth when one is in:  
For discord harder is to end then to begin.   

And all within the riven walls were hung  
With ragged monuments of times forepast,  
All which the sad effects of discord sung:  
There were rend robes, and broken sceptres placed,  
Altars defiled, and holy things defaced,  
Disshivered spears, and shields ytorne in twain,  
Great cities ransacked, and strong castles razed,  
Nations captived, and huge armies slain:  
Of all which ruins there some relics did remain.   

There was the sign of antic Babylon,  
Of fatal Thebes, of Rome that reigned long,  
Of sacred Salem, and sad Ilium,  
For memory of which on high there hung  
The golden Apple, cause of all their wrong,  
For which the three fair Goddesses did strive:  
There also was the name of Nimrod strong,  
Of Alexander, and his Princes five,  
Which shared to them the spoils that he had got alive.   

And there the relics of the drunken fray,  
The which amongst the Lapithees befell,  
And of the bloody feast, which sent away  
So many centaurs drunken souls to hell,  
That under great Alcides' fury fell:  
And of the dreadful discord, which did drive  
The noble Argonauts to outrage fell,  
That each of life sought others to deprive,  
All mindless of the Golden fleece, which made them strive.   

And eke of private persons many more,  
That were too long a work to count them all;  
Some of sworn friends, that did their faith forego;  
Some of borne brethren, proved unnatural;  
Some of dear lovers, foes perpetual:  
Witness their broken bands there to be seen,  
Their garlands rend, their bowers despoiled all;  
The monuments whereof there biding been,  
As plain as at the first, when they were fresh and green.   

Such was her house within; but all without,  
The barren ground was full of wicked weeds,  
Which she herself had sown all about,  
Now grown great, at first of little seeds,  
The seeds of evil words, and factious deeds;  
Which when to ripeness due they grown are,  
Bring forth an infinite increase, that breeds  
Tumultuous trouble and contentious jar,  
The which most often end in bloodshed and in war.   

And those same cursed seeds do also serve  
To her for bread, and yield her living food:  
For life it is to her, when others starve  
Through mischievous debate, and deadly feood,  
That she may suck their life, and drink their blood,  
With which she from her childhood had been fed.  
For she at first was borne of hellish brood,  
And by infernal furies nourished,  
That by her monstrous shape might easily be red.   

Her face most fowl and filthy was to see,  
With squinted eyes contrary ways intended,  
And loathly mouth, unmeet a mouth to be,  
That nought but gall and venom comprehended,  
And wicked words that God and man offended:  
Her lying tongue was in two parts divided,  
And both the parts did speak, and both contended;  
And as her tongue, so was her heart decided,  
That never thought one thing, but doubly still was guided.   

Als as she double spoke, so heard she double,  
With matchless ears deformed and distort,  
Filled with false rumours and seditios trouble,  
Bred in assemblies of the vulgar sort,  
That still are led with every light report.  
And as her ears so eke her feet were odd,  
And much unlike, th'one long, the other short,  
And both misplast; that when th'one forward yode,  
The other back retired, and contrary trod.   

Likewise unequal were her hands twain,  
That one did reach, the other pushed away,  
That one did make, the other marred again,  
And sought to bring all things unto decay;  
Whereby great riches gathered many a day,  
She in short space did often bring to nought,  
And their possessors often did dismay.  
For all her study was and all her thought,  
How she might overthrow the things that Concord wrought.   

So much her malice did her might surpas,  
That even th'almighty self she did malign,  
Because to man so merciful he was,  
And unto all his creatures so benign,  
Sith she herself was of his grace indign:  
For all this world's fair workmanship she tried,  
Unto his last confusion to bring,  
And that great golden chain quite to divide,  
With which it blessed Concord hath together tied.   

Such was that hag, which with Duessa road,  
And serving her in her malicious use,  
To hurt good knights, was as it were her bawd,  
To sell her borrowed beauty to abuse.  
For though like withered tree, that wanteth juice,  
She old and crooked were, yet now of late,  
As fresh and fragrant as the floure deluce  
She was become, by change of her estate,  
And made full goodly joyance to her new found mate.   

Her mate he was a jolly youthful knight,  
That bore great sway in arms and chivalry,  
And was indeed a man of much might:  
His name was Blandamour, that did descry  
His fickle mind full of inconstancy.  
And now himself he fitted had right well,  
With two companions of like quality,  
Faithless Duessa, and false Paridell,  
That whether were more false, full hard it is to tell.   

Now when this gallant with his goodly crew,  
From far espied the famous Britomart,  
Like knight adventurous in outward view,  
With his fair paragon, his conquest's part,  
Approaching nigh, eftsoons his wanton heart  
Was tickled with delight, and jesting said;  
Lo there Sir Paridel, for your desert,  
Good luck presents you with yond lovely maid,  
For pity that ye want a fellow for your aid.   

By that the lovely pair drew nigh to hon:  
Whom when as Paridel more plain beheld,  
Albe in heart he like affection fond,  
Yet mindful how he late by one was field,  
That did those arms and that same scutcheon wield,  
He had small lust to buy his love so dear,  
But answered, Sir him wise I never held,  
That having once escaped peril near,  
Would afterwards afresh the sleeping evil rear.   

This knight too late his manhood and his might,  
I did assay, that me right dearly cost,  
Ne list I for revenge provoke new fight,  
Ne for light Ladies love, that soon is lost.  
The hotspur youth so scorning to be crossed,  
Take then to you this Dame of mine (quoth he)  
And I without your peril or your cost,  
Will challenge yond same other for my fee:  
So forth he fiercely pricked, that one him scare could see.   

The warlike Britonesse her soon addressed,  
And with such uncouth welcome did receive  
Her feigned Paramour, her forced guest,  
That being forced his saddle soon to leave,  
Himself he did of his new love deceive:  
And made himself then sample of his folly.  
Which done, she passed forth not taking leave,  
And left him now as sad, as whilom jolly,  
Well warned to beware with whom he dared to dally.   

Which when his other company beheld,  
They to his succour ran with ready aid:  
And finding him unable once to wield,  
They reared him on horse back, and upstayd,  
Till on his way they had him forth conveyed:  
And all the way with wondrous grief of mind,  
And shame, he showed himself to be dismayed,  
More for the love which he had left behind,  
Then that which he had to Sir Paridel resynd.   

Nathlesse he forth did march well as he might,  
And made good semblance to his company,  
Dissembling his disease and evil plight;  
Till that ere long they chanced to espy  
Two other knights, that towards them did ply.  
With speedy course, as bend to charge them new.  
Whom when as Blandamour approaching nigh,  
Perceived to be such as they seemed in view,  
He was full woe, and 'gan his former grief renew.   

For th'one of them he perfectly descried,  
To be Sir Scudamour, by that he bore  
The God of love, with wings displayed wide,  
Whom mortally he hated evermore,  
Both for his worth, that all men did adore,  
And eke because his love he won by right:  
Which when he thought, it grieved him full sore,  
That through the bruises of his former fight,  
He now unable was to wreak his old despite.   

For thy he thus to Paridel bespoke,  
Fair Sir, offriendship let me now you pray,  
That as I late adventured for your sake,  
The hurts whereof me now from battle stay,  
Ye will me now with like good turn repay,  
And justify my cause on yonder knight.  
Ah Sir (said Paridel) do not dismay  
Yourself for this, myself will for you fight,  
As ye have done for me: the left hand rubs the right.   

With that he put his spurs unto his steed,  
With spear in rest, and toward him did far,  
Like shaft out of a bow preventing speed.  
But Scudamour was shortly well aware  
Of his approach, and 'gan himself prepare  
Him to receive with entertainment meet.  
So furiously they met, that either bare  
The other down under their horses feet,  
That what of them became, themselves did scarcely weet.   

As when two billows in the Irish sounds,  
Forcibly driven with contrary tides  
Do meet together, each aback rebowndes  
With roaring rage; and dashing on all sides,  
That filleth all the sea with some, divydes  
The doubtful current into divers ways:  
So fell those two in spite of both their prides,  
But Scudamour himself did soon uprayse,  
And mounting light his foe for lying long upbrayes.   

Who rolled on an heap lay still in swound,  
All careless of his taunt and bitter rail,  
Till that the rest him seeing lie on ground,  
Ran hastily, to weet what did him ail.  
Where finding that the breath 'gan him to fail,  
With busy care they strove him to awake,  
And doffed his helmet, and undid his mail:  
So much they did, that at the last they broke  
His slumber, yet so mazed, that he nothing spoke.   

Which when as Blandamour beheld, he said,  
False faitour Scudamour, that hast by slight  
And foul advantage this good Knight dismayed,  
A Knight much better than thyself behight,  
Well falls it thee that I am not in plight  
This day, to wreak the damage by thee done:  
Such is thy wont, that still when any Knight  
Is weakened, than thou dost him overronne:  
So hast thou to thyself false honour often won.   

He little answered, but in manly heart  
His mighty indignation did forbear,  
Which was not yet so secret, but some part  
Thereof did in his frowning face appear:  
Like as a gloomy cloud, the which doth bear  
An hideous storm, is by the Northern blast  
Quite overblown, yet doth not pass so clear,  
But that it all the sky doth overcast  
With darkness dread, and threatens all the world to waste.   

Ah gentle knight then false Duessa said,  
Why do ye strive for Ladies love so sore,  
Whose chief desire is love and friendly aid  
'mongst gentle Knights to nourish evermore?  
Ne be ye wroth Sir Scudamour therefore,  
That she your love list love another knight,  
Ne do yourself dislike a whit the more;  
For Love is free, and led with self delight,  
Ne will enforced be with maisterdome or might.   

So false Duessa, but vile Ate thus;  
Both foolish knights, I can but laugh at both,  
That strive and storm with stir outrageous,  
For her that each of you alike doth loath,  
And loves another, with whom now she goth  
In lovely wise, and sleeps, and sports, and plays;  
Whilst both you here with many a cursed oath,  
Swear she is yours, and stir up bloody frays,  
To win a willow bough, whilst other wears the bays.   

Vile hag (said Scudamour) why dost thou lie?  
And falsely seek'st a virtuous wight to shame?  
Fond knight (said she) the thing that with this eye  
I saw, why should I doubt to tell the same?  
Then tell (quoth Blandamour) and fear no blame,  
Tell what thou saw'st, maugre who so it hears.  
I saw (quoth she) a stranger knight, whose name  
I wot not well, but in his shield he bears  
(That well I wot) the heads of many broken spears.   

I saw him have your Amoretta at will,  
I saw him kiss, I saw him her embrace,  
I saw him sleep with her all night his fill,  
All many nights, and many by in place,  
That present were to testify the case.  
Which when as Scudamour did hear, his heart  
Was thrilled with inward grief, as when in chase  
The Parthian strikes a stag with shivering dart,  
The beast astonished stands in midst of his smart.   

So stood Sir Scudamour, when this he heard,  
Ne word he had to speak for great dismay,  
But looked on Glauce grim, who wox afeard  
Of outrage for the words, which she heard say,  
Albe untrue she witted them by assay.  
But Blandamour, whenas he did espy  
His change of cheer, that anguish did bewray,  
He wox full blithe, as he had got thereby,  
And 'gan thereat to triumph without victory.   

Lo recreant (said he) the fruitless end  
Of thy vain boast, and spoil of love misgotten,  
Whereby the name of knighthood thou dost shend,  
And all true lovers with dishonour blotten,  
All things not rooted well, will soon be rotten,  
Fie fie false knight (than false Duessa cried)  
Unworthy life that love with guile hast gotten,  
Be thou, where ever thou do go or ride,  
Loathed of ladies all, and of all knights defied.   

But Scudamour for passing great despite  
Stayed not to answer, scarcely did refrain,  
But that in all those knights and ladies sight,  
He for revenge had guiltless Glauce slain:  
But being past, he thus began amain;  
False traitor squire, false squire, of falsest knight,  
Why doth mine hand from thine avenge abstain,  
Whose Lord hath done my love this soul despite?  
Why do I not it wreak, on thee now in my might?   

Discourteous, disloyal Britomart,  
Untrue to God, and unto man unjust,  
What vengeance due can equal thy desert,  
That hast with shameful spot of sinful lust  
Defiled the pledge committed to thy trust?  
Let ugly shame and endless infamy  
Colour thy name with foul reproaches rust.  
Yet thou false Squire his fault shalt dear abye,  
And with thy punishment his penance shalt supply.   

The aged Dame him seeing so enraged,  
Was dead with fear, nathlesse as need required,  
His flaming fury sought to have assuaged  
With sober words, that sufferance desired,  
Till time the trial of her truth expired:  
And evermore sought Britomart to clear.  
But he the more with furious rage was fired,  
And thrice his hand to kill her did uprear,  
And thrice he drew it back: so did at last forbear.    

Cant. II.  
Blandamour wins false Florimell,  
Paridell for her strives,  
They are accorded: Agape  
doth lengthen her sons lives.  

FIrebrand of hell first tynd in Phlegeton,  
By thousand furies, and from thence out thrown  
Into this world, to work confusion,  
And set it all on fire by force unknown,  
Is wicked discord, whose small sparks once blown  
None but a God or godlike man can slake;  
Such as was Orpheus, that when strife was grown  
Amongst those famous imps of Greece, did take  
His silver Harp in hand, and shortly friends them make.   

Or such as that celestial Psalmist was,  
That when the wicked fiend his Lord tormented,  
With heavenly notes, that did all other pas,  
The outrage of his furious sit relented.  
Such Music is wise words with time concented,  
To moderate stiff minds, disposed to strive:  
Such as that prudent Roman well invented,  
What time his people into parts did ruie,  
Them reconcyld again, and to their homes did drive.   

Such used wise Glauce to that wrathful knight,  
To calm the tempest of his troubled thought:  
Yet Blandamour with terms of foul despite,  
And Paridell her scorned, and set at nought,  
As old and crooked and not good for aught.  
Both they unwise, and warelesse of the evil,  
That by themselves unto themselves is wrought,  
Through that false witch, and that foul aged drevill,  
The one a fiend, the other an incarnate devil.   

With whom as they thus road accompanied,  
They were encountered of a lusty Knight,  
That had a goodly Lady by his side,  
To whom he made great dalliance and delight.  
It was to weet the bold Sir Ferraugh height,  
He that from Braggadocchio whilom reft  
The snowy Florimell, whose beauty bright  
Made him seem happy for so glorious theft;  
Yet was it in due trial but a wandering waif.   

Which when as Blandamour, whose fancy light  
Was always flitting as the wavering wind,  
After each beauty, that appeared in sight,  
Beheld, eft 'zounds it pricked his wanton mind  
With sting of lust, that reason's eye did blind,  
That to Sir Paridell these words he sent;  
Sir knight why ride ye dampish thus behind,  
Since so good fortune doth to you present  
So fair a spoil, to make you joyous merriment?   

But Paridell that had too late a trial  
Of the bad issue of his counsel vain,  
List not to hark, but made this fair denial;  
Last turn was mine, well proved to my pain,  
This now be yours, God send you better gain.  
Whose scoffed words he taking half in scorn,  
Fiercely forth pricked his steed as in disdain,  
Against that Knight, ere he him well could torn  
By means whereof he hath him lightly overborne.   

Who with the sudden stroke astonished sore,  
Upon the ground a while in slumber lay;  
The whiles his love away the other bore,  
And showing her, did Paridell vpbray;  
Lo sluggish Knight the victor's happy pray:  
So fortune friends the bold: whom Paridell  
Seeing so fair indeed, as he did say,  
His heart with secret envy 'gan to swell,  
And inly grudge at him, that he had sped so well.   

Nathlesse proud man himself the other deemed,  
Having so peerless paragon ygot:  
For sure the fairest Florimell him seemed,  
To him was fallen for his happy lot,  
Whose like alive on earth he weened not:  
Therefore he her did court, did serve, did woo,  
With humblest suit that he imagine mot,  
And all things did devise, and all things do,  
That might her love prepare, and liking win thereto.   

She in regard thereof him recompensed  
With golden words, and goodly countenance,  
And such fond favours sparingly dispensed:  
Sometimes him blessing with alight eye-glance,  
And coy looks tempering with lose dalliance;  
Sometimes estranging him in sterner wise,  
That having cast him in a foolish trance,  
He seemed brought to bed in Paradise,  
And proved himself most fool, in what he seemed most wise.   

So great a mistress of her art she was,  
And perfectly practised in woman's craft,  
That though therein himself he thought to pass,  
And by his false allurements wily draft,  
Had thousand women of their love bereft,  
Yet now he was surprised: for that false sprite,  
Which that same witch had in this form engraffed,  
Was so expert in every subtle slight,  
That it could overreach the wisest earthly wight.   

Yet he to her did daily service more,  
And daily more deceived was thereby;  
Yet Paridell him envied therefore,  
As seeming placed in sole felicity:  
So blind is lust, false colours to descry.  
But Ate soon discovering his desire,  
And finding now fit opportunity  
To stir up strife, twixt love and spite and ire,  
Did privily put coals unto his secret fire.   

By sundry means thereto she pricked him forth,  
Now with remembrance of those spiteful speeches,  
Now with opinion of his own more worth,  
Now with recounting of like former breaches  
Made in their friendship, as that Hag him teaches:  
And ever when his passion is allayed,  
She it revives and new occasion reaches:  
That on a time as they together weighed,  
He made him open challenge, and thus boldly said.   

Too boastful Blandamour, too long I bear  
The open wrongs, thou dost me day by day,  
Well knowst thou, when we friendship first did swear,  
The covenant was, that every spoil or pray  
Should equally be shared betwixt us twain:  
Where is my part then of this Lady bright,  
Whom to thyself thou takest quite away?  
Render therefore therein to me my right,  
Or answer for thy wrong, as shall fall out in fight.   

Exceeding wroth thereat was Blandamour,  
And 'gan this bitter answer to him make;  
Too foolish Paridell, that fairest flower  
Wouldst gather feign, and yet no pains wouldst take:  
But not so easy will I her forsake;  
This hand her won, this hand shall her defend.  
With that they 'gan their shivering spears to shake,  
And deadly points at either's breast to bend,  
Forgetful each to have been ever others friend.   

Their fiery Steeds with so untamed force  
Did bear them both to fell avenges' end,  
That both their spears with pitiless remorse,  
Through shield and mail, and haberieon did wend,  
And in their flesh a grisly passage rend,  
That with the fury of their own affret,  
Each other horse and man to ground did send;  
Where lying still a while, both did forget  
The perilous present stound, in which their lives were set.   

As when two warlike Brigandines at sea,  
With murderous weapons armed to cruel fight,  
Do meet together on the watery lee,  
They stem each other with so fell despite,  
That with the shock of their own heedless might,  
Their wooden ribs are shaken nigh a sunder;  
They which from shore behold the dreadful sight  
Of flashing fire, and hear the ordinance thunder,  
Do greatly stand amazed at such unwonted wonder.   

At length they both upstarted in amaze;  
As men awaked rashly out of dream,  
And round about themselves a while did gaze,  
Till seeing her, that Florimell did seem,  
In doubt to whom she victory should deem,  
Therewith their dulled sprights they edged a new,  
And drawing both their swords with rage extreme,  
Like two mad mastiffs each on other flew,  
And shields did share, & nails did rash, and helms did hue.   

So furiously each other did assail,  
As if their souls they would attonce have rend  
Out of their breasts, that streams of blood did rail  
adown, as if their springs of life were spent;  
That all the ground with purple blood was sprent,  
And all their armours stained with bloody gore,  
Yet scarcely once to breath would they relent,  
So mortal was their malice and so sore,  
Become of feigned friendship which they vowed afore.   

And that which is for Ladies most besitting,  
To stint all strife, and foster friendly peace,  
Was from those Dames so far and so unfitting,  
As that in stead of praying them surcease,  
They did much more their cruelty increase;  
Bidding them fight for honour of their love,  
And rather die than Lady's cause release.  
With which vain terms so much they did them move,  
That both resolved the last extremities to prove.   

There they I ween would fight until this day,  
Had not a Squire, even he the Squire of Dames,  
By great adventure traveled that way;  
Who seeing both bend to so bloody games,  
And both of old well knowing by their names,  
Drew nigh, to weet the cause of their debate:  
And first laid on those Ladies thousand blames,  
That did not fseke t'appease their deadly hate,  
But gazed on their harms, not pitying their estate.   

And then those Knights he humbly did beseech,  
To stay their hands, till he a while had spoken:  
Who looked a little up at that his speech,  
Yet would not let their battle so be broken,  
Both greedy fires on other to be wroken.  
Yet he to them so earnestly did call,  
And them conjured by some well known token,  
That they at last their wrathful hands let fall,  
Content to hear him speak, and glad to rest withal.   

First he desired their cause of strife to see:  
They said, it was for love of Florimell,  
Ah gentle knights (quoth he) how may that be,  
And she so far astray, as none can tell,  
Fond Squire, full angry then said Paridell,  
Seest not the Lady there before thy face?  
He looked back, and her aduizing well,  
Weaned as he said, by that her outward grace,  
That fairest Florimell was present there in place.   

Glad man was he to see that joyous sight,  
For none alive but joyed in Florimell,  
And lowly to her lowting thus behight;  
Fairest of fair, that fairness dost excel,  
This happy day I have to greet you well,  
In which you safe I see, whom thousand late,  
Misdoubted lost through mischief that befell;  
Long may you live in health and happy state,  
She little answered him, but lightly did aggrate.   

Then turning to those Knights, he 'gan a new;  
And you Sir Blandamour and Paridell,  
That for this Lady present in your view,  
Have raised this cruel war and outrage fell,  
Certes me seems been not advised well,  
But rather aught in friendship for her sake  
To join your force, their forces to repel,  
That seek perforce her from you both to take,  
And of your got spoil their own triumph to make.   

Thereat Sir Blandamour with countenance stern,  
All full of wrath, thus fiercely him bespoke;  
A read thou Squire, that I the man may learn,  
That dare fro me think Florimell to take.  
Not one (quoth he) but many do partake  
Herein, as thus. It lately so befell,  
That Satyran a girdle did uptake,  
Well known to appertain to Florimell,  
Which for her sake he wore, as him beseemed well.   

But when as she herself was lost and gone,  
Full many knights, that loved her like dear,  
Thereat did greatly grudge, that he alone  
That lost fair Lady's ornament should wear,  
And 'gan therefore close spite to him to bear:  
Which he to shun, and stop vile envies sting,  
Hath lately caused to be proclaimed each where  
A solemn feast, with public turneying,  
To which all knights with them their Ladies are to bring.   

And of them all she that is fairest found,  
Shall have that golden girdle for reward,  
And of those Knights who is most stout on ground,  
Shall to that fairest Lady be preferred.  
Since therefore she herself is now your ward,  
To you that ornament of hers pertains,  
Against all those, that challenge it to guard,  
And save her honour with your venturous pains;  
That shall you win more glory, than ye here find gains.   

When they the reason of his words had hard,  
They 'gan abate the rancour of their rage,  
And with their honours and their loves regard,  
The furious flames of malice to assuage.  
though each to other did his faith engage,  
Like faithful friends thenceforth to join in one  
With all their force, and battle strong to wage  
'Gainst all those knights, as their professed fone,  
That challenged aught in Florimell, save they alone.   

So well accorded forth they road together  
In friendly sort, that lasted but a while;  
And of all old dislikes they made fair weather,  
Yet all was forged and spread with golden foil,  
That under it hid hate and hollow guile.  
Ne certes can that friendship long endure,  
How ever gay and goodly be the style,  
That doth ill cause or evil end enure:  
For virtue is the band, that bindeth hearts most sure.   

Thus as they marched all in close disguise,  
Of feigned love, they chanced to overtake  
Two knights, that linked road in lovely wise,  
As if they secret counsels did partake;  
And each not far behind him had his make,  
To weet, two Ladies of most goodly hue,  
That twixt themselves did gentle purpose make,  
Unmindful both of that discordfull crew,  
The which with speedy pace did after them pursue.   

Who as they now approached nigh at hand,  
Deeming them doughty as they did appear,  
They sent that Squire afore, to understand,  
What moat they be: who viewing them more near  
Returned ready news, that those same wear  
Two of the prowest Knights in Fairy land;  
And those two Ladies their two lovers dear,  
Courageous Cambell, and stout Triamond,  
With Canacee and Cambine linked in lovely bond.   

Whilom as antic stories tell us,  
Those two were foes the fellonest on ground,  
And battle made the dreddest dangerous,  
That ever shrilling trumpet did resound;  
Though now their acts be no where to be found,  
As that renowned Poet them compiled,  
With warlike numbers and Heroic sound,  
Dan Chaucer, well of English undefiled.  
On Fame's eternal beadroll worthy to be filed.   

But wicked Time that all good thoughts doth waste,  
And works of noblest wits to nought out wear,  
That famous monument hath quite defaced,  
And robbed the world of treasure endless dear,  
The which moat have enriched all us hear.  
O cursed Eld the cankerworm of writs,  
How may these rhymes, so rude as doth appear,  
Hope to endure, sith works of heavenly wits  
Are quite devoured, and brought to nought by little bits?   

Then pardon, O most sacred happy spirit,  
That I thy labours lost may thus revive,  
And steal from thee the meed of thy due merit,  
That none durst ever whilst thou wast alive,  
And being dead in vain yet many strive:  
Ne dare I like, but through infusion sweet  
Of thine own spirit, which doth in me survive,  
I follow here the footing of thy feet,  
That with thy meaning so I may the rather meet.   

Cambelloes' sister was fair Canacee,  
That was the learnedst Lady in her days,  
Well seen in every science that moat be,  
And every secret work of nature's ways,  
In witty riddles, and in wise soothsayes,  
In power of herbs, and tunes of beasts and burds;  
And, that augmented all her other praise,  
She modest was in all her deeds and words,  
And wondrous chaste of life, yet loved of Knights & Lords.   

Full many Lords, and many Knights her loved,  
Yet she to none of them her liking lent,  
Ne ever was with fond affection moved,  
But ruled her thoughts with goodly government,  
For dread of blame and honour's blemishment;  
And eke unto her looks a law she made,  
That none of them once out of order went,  
But like to wary Sentinels well stayed,  
Still watched on every side, of secret foes afraid.   

So much die more as she refused to love,  
So much the more she loved was and sought,  
That oftentimes unquiet strife did move  
Amongst her lovers, and great quarrels wrought,  
That oft for her in bloody arms they fought.  
Which whenas Cambell, that was stout and wise,  
Perceived would breed great mischief, he bethought  
How to prevent the peril that moat rise,  
And turn both him and her to honour in this wise.   

One day, when all that troop of warlike wooers  
Assembled were, to weet whose she should be,  
All mighty men and dreadful derring doers,  
(The harder it to make them well agree)  
Amongst them all this end he did decree;  
That of them all, which love to her did make,  
They by consent should choose the stoutest three,  
That with himself should combat for her sake,  
And of them all the victor should his sister take.   

Bold was the challenge, as himself was bold,  
And courage full of haughty hardiment,  
Approved oft in perils manifold,  
Which he achieved to his great ornament:  
But yet his sister's skill unto him lent  
Most confidence and hope of happy speed,  
Conceived by a ring, which she him sent,  
That 'mongst the many virtues, which we read,  
Had power to staunch all wounds, that mortally did bleed.   

Well was that rings great virtue known to all,  
That dread thereof, and his redoubted might  
Did all that youthly rout so much appall,  
That none of them durst undertake the fight;  
More wise they weaned to make of love delight,  
Then life to hazard for fair Ladies look,  
And yet uncertain by such outward sight,  
Though for her sake they all that peril took,  
Whether she would them love, or in her liking brook.   

Amongst those knights there were three brethren bold,  
Three bolder brethren never were yborn,  
Borne of one mother in one happy mould,  
Borne at one burden in one happy morn,  
Thrice happy mother, and thrice happy morn,  
That bore three such, three such not to be fond;  
Her name was Agape whose children werne  
All three as one, the first height Priamond,  
The second Diamond, the youngest Triamond.   

Stout Priamond, but not so strong to strike,  
Strong Diamond, but not so stout a knight,  
But Triamond was stout and strong alike:  
On horseback used Triamond to fight,  
And Priamond on foot had more delight,  
But horse and foot knew Diamond to wield:  
With curtle-axe used Diamond to smite,  
And Triamond to handle spear and shield,  
But spear and curtle-axe both used Priamond in field.   

These three did love each other dearly well,  
And with so firm affection were allied,  
As if but one soul in them all did dwell,  
Which did her power into three parts divide;  
Like three fair branches budding far and wide,  
That from one root derived their vital sap:  
And like that root that doth her life divide,  
Their mother was, and had full blessed hap,  
These three so noble babes to bring forth at one clap.   

Their mother was a Fay, and had the skill  
Of secret things, and all the powers of nature,  
Which she by art could use unto her will,  
And to her service bind each living creature:  
Through secret understanding of their feature.  
Thereto she was right fair, when so her face  
She list discover, and of goodly stature;  
But she as Fayes are wont, in privy place  
Did spend her days, and loved in forests wild to space.   

There on a day a noble youthly knight  
Seeking adventures in the salvage wood,  
Did by great fortune get of her the sight;  
As she sat careless by a crystal flood,  
Combing her golden locks, as seemed her good:  
And unawares upon her laying hold,  
That strove in vain him long to have withstood,  
Oppressed her, and there (as it is told)  
Got these three lovely babes, that proved three champions bold.   

Which she with her long fostered in that wood,  
Till that to ripeness of man's state they grew:  
Then showing forth signs of their father's blood,  
They loved arms, and knighthood did ensue,  
Seeking adventures, where they any knew.  
Which when their mother saw, she 'gan to doubt  
Their safety, lest by searching dangers new,  
And rash provoking perils all about,  
Their days moat be abridged through their courage stout   

Therefore desirous th'end of all their days  
To know, and them t'enlarge with long extent,  
By wondrous skill, and many hidden ways,  
To the three fatal sister's house she went,  
far under ground from tract of living went,  
down in the bottom of the deep Abyss,  
Where Demogorgon in dull darkness penned,  
far from the view of Gods and heavens bliss,  
The hideous Chaos keeps, their dreadful dwelling is.   

There she them found, all sitting round about  
The direful distaff standing in the mid,  
And with unwearied fingers drawing out  
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.  
Sad Clotho held the rock, the whiles the third  
By grisly Lachesis was spun with pain,  
That cruel Atropos eftsoons undid,  
With cursed knife cutting the twist in twain:  
Most wretched men, whose days depend on thirds so vain.   

She them saluting, there by them sat still,  
Beholding how the thirds of life they span:  
And when at last she had beheld her fill,  
Trembling in heart, and looking pale and wan,  
Her cause of coming she to tell began.  
To whom fierce Atropos, Bold Fay, that durst  
Come see the secret of the life of man,  
Well worthy thou to be of jove accursed,  
And eke thy children's thirds to be a sunder burst.   

Whereat she sore afraid, yet her besought  
To grant her boon, and rigour to abate,  
That she might see her children's thirds forth brought,  
And know the measure of their utmost date,  
To them ordained by eternal fate.  
Which Clotho granting, showed her the same:  
That when she saw, it did her much amate,  
To see their thirds so thin, as spider's frame,  
And eke so short, that seemed their ends out shortly came   

She then began them humbly to entreat,  
To draw them longer out, and better twine,  
That so their lives might be prolonged late.  
But Lachesis thereat 'gan to repine,  
And said, fond dame that deemest of things divine  
As of human, that they may altered be,  
And changed at pleasure for those imps of thine.  
Not so; for what the Fates do once decree,  
Not all the gods can change, nor jove himself can free.   

Then since (quoth she) the term of each man's life  
For nought may lessened nor enlarged be,  
Grant this, that when ye shred with fatal knife  
His line, which is the eldest of the three,  
Which is of them the shortest, as I see,  
eftsoons his life may pass into the next;  
And when the next shall likewise ended be,  
That both their lives may likewise be annexed  
Unto the third, that his may so be trebly wext.   

They granted it; and then that careful Fay  
Departed thence with full contented mind;  
And coming home, in warlike fresh array  
Them found all three according to their kind.  
But unto them what destiny was assigned,,  
Or how their lives were eekt, she did not tell;  
But evermore, when she fit time could find,  
She warned them to tend their safeties well,  
And love each other dear, what ever them befell.   

So did they surely during all their days,  
And never discord did amongst them fall;  
Which much augmented all their other praise.  
And now t'increase affection natural,  
In love of Canacee they joined all:  
Upon which ground this same great battle grew,  
Great matter growing of beginning small;  
The which for length I will not here pursue,  
But rather will reserve it for a Canto new.    

Cant. III.  
The battle twixt three brethren with  
Cambell for Canacee  
Cambina with true friendship's bond  
doth their long strife agree.  

O Why do wretched men so much desire,  
To draw their days unto the utmost date,  
And do not rather wish them soon expire,  
Knowing the misery of their estate,  
And thousand perils which them still awate,  
Tossing them like a boat amid the main,  
That every hour they knock at deaths gate?  
And he that happy seems and lest in pain,  
Yet is as nigh his end, as he that most doth plain.   

Therefore this Fay I hold but fond and vain,  
The which in seeking for her children three  
Long life, thereby did more prolong their pain.  
Yet whilst they lived none did eversee  
More happy creatures, than they seemed to be,  
Nor more ennobled for their courtesy,  
That made them dearly loved of each degree;  
Ne more renowned for their chivalry,  
That made them dreaded much of all men far and nigh.   

These three that hardy challenge took in hand,  
For Canacee with Cambell for to fight:  
The day was set, that all might understand,  
And pledges pawned the same to keep a right,  
That day, the dreddest day that living wight  
Did ever see upon this world to shine,  
So soon as heavens window showed light,  
These warlike Champions all in armour shine,  
Assembled were in field, the challenge to define.   

The field with lists was all about enclosed,  
To bar the press of people far away;  
And at th'one side six judges were disposed,  
To view and deem the deeds of arms that day;  
And on the other side in fresh array,  
Fair Canacee upon a stately stage  
Was set, to see the fortune of that fray,  
And to be seen, as his most worthy wage,  
That could her purchase with his lives adventured gage.   

Then entered Cambell first into the list,  
With stately steps, and fearless countenance,  
As if the conquest his he surely witted.  
Soon after did the brethren three advance,  
In brave array and goodly amenance,  
With scutchins gilded and banners broad displayed:  
And marching thrice in warlike ordinance,  
Thrice lowted lowly to the noble Maid,  
The whiles shrill trumpets & loud clarions sweetly played.   

Which done the doughty challenger came forth,  
All armed to point his challenge to abet:  
'Gainst whom Sir Priamond with equal worth:  
And equal arms himself did forward set.  
A trumpet blue; they both together met,  
With dreadful force, and furious intent,  
Careless of peril in their fires affret,  
As if that life to loss they had forelent,  
And cared not to spare, that should be shortly spent.   

Right practic was Sir Priamond in fight,  
And thoroughly skilled in use of shield and spear;  
Ne less approved was Cambelloes' might,  
Ne less his skill in weapons did appear,  
That hard it was to ween which harder were.  
Full many mighty strokes on either side  
Were sent, that seemed death in them to bear,  
But they were both so watchful and well eyed,  
That they avoided were, and vainly by did slide.   

Yet one of many was so strongly bend  
By Priamond, that with unlucky glance  
Through Cambels' shoulder it unwarely went,  
That forced him his shield to disaduaunce,  
Much was he grieved with that graceless chance,  
Yet from the wound no drop of blood there fell,  
But wondrous pain, that did the more enhance  
His haughty courage to advengement fell:  
Smart daunts not mighty hearts, but makes them more to swell.   

With that his poignant spear he fierce aventred,  
With doubled force close underneath his shield,  
That through the mails into his thigh it entered;  
And there arresting, ready way did yield,  
For blood to gush forth on the grassy field;  
That he for pain himself not right uprear,  
But too and fro in great amazement reeled,  
Like an old Oak whose pith and sap is sear,  
At puff of every storm doth stagger here and there.   

Whom so dismayed when Cambell had espied,  
Again he drove at him with double might,  
That nought moat stay the steel, till in his side  
The mortal point most cruelly empight:  
Where fast infixed, whilst he sought by slight  
It forth to wrest, the staff a sunder brake,  
And left the head behind: with which despite  
He all enraged, his shivering spear did shake,  
And charging him a fresh thus felly him bespoke.   

Lo faitour there thy meed unto thee take,  
The meed of thy mischalenge and abet:  
Not for thine own, but for thy sister's sake,  
Have I thus long thy life unto thee let:  
But to forbear doth not forgive the det.  
The wicked weapon heard his wrathful vow,  
And passing forth with furious affret,  
Pierced through his beaver quite into his brow,  
That with the force it backward forced him to bow.   

Therewith a sunder in the midst it braced,  
And in his hand nought but the troncheon left,  
The other half behind yet sticking fast,  
Out of his headpiece Cambell fiercely rest,  
And with such fury back at him it heft,  
That making way unto his dearest life,  
His wezand pipe it through his gorget cleft:  
Thence streams of purple blood issuing rife,  
Let forth his weary ghost and made an end of strife.   

His weary ghost assoyld from fleshly band,  
Did not as others wont, directly fly  
Unto her rest in Pluto's grisly land,  
Ne into air did vanish presently,  
Ne changed was into a star in sky:  
But through traduction was eftsoons derived,  
Like as his mother prayed the Destiny,  
Into his other brethren, that survived,  
In whom he lived a new, of former life deprived.   

Whom when on ground his brother next beheld,  
Though sad and sorry for so heavy sight,  
Yet leave unto his sorrow did not yield,  
But rather stirred to vengeance and despite,  
Through secret feeling of his generous sprite,  
Rushed fiercely forth, the battle to renew,  
As in reversion of his brothers right;  
And challenging the Virgin as his dew.  
His foe was soon addressed: the trumpets freshly blue.   

With that they both together fiercely met,  
As if that each meant other to devour;  
And with their axes both so sorely bet,  
That neither plate nor mail, whereas their power  
They felt, could once sustain the hideous stowre,  
But rived were like rotten wood a sunder,  
Whilst through their rifts the ruddy blood did shower  
And fire did flash, like lightning after thunder,  
That filled the lookers on attonce with ruth and wonder.   

As when two Tigers pricked with hunger's rage,  
Have by good fortune found some beasts fresh spoil,  
On which they ween their famine to assuage,  
And gain a feastful guerdon of their toil,  
Both falling out do stir up strifefull broil,  
And cruel battle twixt themselves do make,  
Whiles neither lets the other touch the soil,  
But either sdeignes with other to partake:  
So cruelly these Knights strove for that Lady's sake.   

Full many strokes, that mortally were meant,  
The whiles were enterchaunged twixt them two;  
Yet they were all with so good wariment  
Or warded, or avoided and let go,  
That still the life stood fearless of her foe:  
Till Diamond disdeigning long delay  
Of doubtful fortune wavering to and fro,  
Resolved to end it one or other way;  
And heaved his murderous axe at him with mighty sway.   

The dreadful stroke in case it had arrived,  
Where it was meant, (so deadly it was meant)  
The soul had sure out of his body rived,  
And stinted all the strife incontinent.  
But Cambels' fate that fortune did prevent:  
For seeing it at hand, he swerved aside,  
And so gave way unto his fell intent:  
Who missing of the mark which he had eyed,  
Was with the force nigh field whilst his right foot did slide.   

As when a Vulture greedy of his prey,  
Through hunger long, that heart to him doth lend,  
Strikes at an Heron with all his body's sway,  
That from his force seems nought may it defend;  
The wary fowl that spies him toward bend  
His dreadful sauce, avoids it shunning light,  
And maketh him his wing in vain to spend;  
That with the weight of his own weeldlesse might,  
He falleth nigh to ground, and scarce recovereth flight.   

Which fair adventure when Cambello spied,  
Full lightly, ere himself he could recower,  
From dangers dread to ward his naked side,  
He can let drive at him with all his power,  
And with his axe him smote in evil hour,  
That from his shoulders quite his head he rest:  
The headless trunk, as heedless of that stour,  
Stood still a while, and his fast footing kept,  
Till feeling life to fail, it fell, and deadly slept.   

They which that piteous spectacle beheld,  
Were much amazed the headless trunk to see  
Stand up so long, and weapon vain to wield,  
Unwitting of the Fates divine decree,  
For life's succession in those brethren three.  
For notwithstanding that one soul was reft,  
Yet, had the body not dismembered be,  
It would have lived, and revived eft;  
But finding no fit seat, the lifeless corpse it left.   

It left; but that same soul, which therein dwelled,  
Straight entering into Triamond, him filled  
With double life, and grief, which when he felt,  
As one whose inner parts had been ythrild  
With point of steel, that close his hartbloud spilled,  
He lightly leapt out of his place of rest,  
And rushing forth into the empty field,  
Against Cambello fiercely him addressed;  
Who him affronting soon to fight was ready priest.   

Well mote ye wonder how that noble Knight,  
After he had so often wounded been,  
Can stand on foot, now to renew the fight.  
But had ye then him forth advancing seen,  
Some newborn wight ye would him surely ween:  
So fresh he seemed and so fierce in sight;  
Like as a Snake, whom weary winter's teen,  
Hath worn to nought, now feeling summers might,  
Casts off his ragged skin and freshly doth him dight.   

All was through virtue of the ring he wore,  
The which not only did not from him let  
One drop of blood to fall, but did restore  
His weakened powers, and dulled spirits whet,  
Through working of the stone therein yset.  
Else how could one of equal might with most,  
Against so many no less mighty met,  
Once think to match three such on equal cost,  
Three such as able were to match a puissant host.   

Yet nought thereof was Triamond adredde,  
Ne desperate of glorious victory,  
But sharply him assailed, and sore bestedde,  
With heaps of strokes, which he at him let fly,  
As thick as hail forth poured from the sky:  
He struck, he soused, he foined, he hewed, he lashed,  
And did his iron brand so fast apply,  
That from the same the fiery sparkles flashed,  
As fast as water-sprinkles 'gainst a rock are dashed.   

Much was Cambello daunted with his blows,  
So thick they fell, and forcibly were sent,  
That he was forced from danger of the throws  
Back to retire, and somewhat to relent,  
Till th'heat of his fierce fury he had spent:  
Which when for want of breath 'gan to abate,  
He then afresh with new encouragement  
Did him assail, and mightily amate,  
As fast as forward erst, now backward to retrate.   

Like as the tide that comes fro th'Ocean main,  
Flows up the Shenan with contrary force,  
And overruling him in his own rain,  
Drives back the current of his kindly course,  
And makes it seem to have some other source:  
But when the flood is spent, then back again  
His borrowed waters forced to redisbourse,  
He sends the sea his own with double gain,  
And tribute eke withal, as to his Sovereign.   

Thus did the battle vary to and fro,  
With diverse fortune doubtful to be deemed:  
Now this the better had, now had his foe;  
Then he half vanquished, than the other seemed,  
Yet victors both themselves always esteemed.  
And all the while the disentrayled blood  
adown their sides like little rivers stremed,  
That with the wasting of his vital flood,  
Sir Triamond at last full faint and feeble stood.   

But Cambell still more strong and greater grew,  
Ne felt his blood to waste, ne powers emperisht,  
Through that ring's virtue, that with vigour new,  
Still when as he enfeebled was, him cherished,  
And all his wounds, and all his bruises guarisht,  
Like as a withered tree through husband's toil  
Is often seen full freshly to have flourished,  
And fruitful apples to have borne awhile,  
As fresh as when it first was planted in the soil.   

Through which advantage, in his strength he rose,  
And smote the other with so wondrous might,  
That through die seam, which did his hauberk close,  
Into his throat and life it pierced quite,  
That down he fell as dead in all men's sight:  
Yet dead he was not, yet he sure did die,  
As all men do, that lose the living sprite:  
So did one soul out of his body fly  
Unto her native home from mortal misery.   

But nevertheless whilst all the lookers on  
Him dead behight, as he to all appeared,  
All unawares he started up anon,  
As one that had out of a dream been reared,  
And fresh assailed his foe, who half afeard  
Of th'uncouth sight, as he some ghost had seen,  
Stood still amazed, holding his idle sword;  
Till having often by him stricken been,  
He forced was to strike, and save himself from teen.   

Yet from thenceforth more warily he fought,  
As one in fear the Stygian gods t'offend,  
Ne followed on so fast, but rather sought  
Himself to save, and danger to defend,  
Then life and labour both in vain to spend.  
Which Triamond perceiving, weened sure  
He 'gan to faint, toward the battles end,  
And that he should not long on foot endure,  
A sign which did to him the victory assure.   

Whereof full blithe, eftsoons his mighty hand  
He heaved on high, in mind with that same blow  
To make an end of all that did withstand:  
Which Cambell seeing come, was nothing slow  
Himself to save from that so deadly throw;  
And at that instant reaching forth his sword  
Close underneath his shield, that scarce did show,  
Struck him, as he his hand to strike upreard,  
In th'arm-pit full, that through both sides the wound appeared.   

Yet still that direful stroke kept on his way,  
And falling heavy on Cambelloes' crest,  
Struck him so hugely, that in swoon he lay,  
And in his head an hideous wound impressed:  
And sure had it not happily found rest  
Upon the brim of his broad plated shield,  
It would have cleft his brain down to his breast.  
So both at once fell dead upon the field,  
And each to other seemed the victory to yield.   

Which when as all the lookers on beheld,  
They weened sure the war was at an end,  
And judges rose, and Marshals of the field  
Broke up the lists, their arms away to rend;  
And Canacee 'gan wail her dearest friend.  
All suddenly they both upstarted light,  
The one out of the swoon, which him did blend,  
The other breathing now another sprite,  
And fiercely each assailing, 'gan afresh to fight.   

Long while they then continued in that wize,  
As if but then the battle had begun:  
Strokes, wounds, wards, weapons, all they did despise,  
Ne either cared to ward, or peril shun,  
Desirous both to have the battle donne;  
Ne either cared life to save or spill,  
Ne which of them did win, ne which were won.  
So weary both of fight had their fill,  
That life itself seemed loathsome, and long safety ill.   

Whilst thus the case in doubtful balance hung,  
Unsure to whether side it would incline,  
And all men's eyes and hearts, which there among  
Stood gazing, filled were with rueful tine,  
And secret fear, to see their fatal fine,  
All suddenly they heard a troublous 'noys,  
That seemed some perilous tumult to desine,  
Confused with women's cries, and shouts of boys,  
Such as the troubled theatres oftimes annoys.   

Thereat the Champions both stood still a space,  
To weeten what that sudden clamour meant;  
Lo where they spied with speedy whirling pace,  
One in a chariot of strange furniment,  
Towards them driving like a storm out sent.  
The chariot decked was in wondrous wize,  
With gold and many a gorgeous ornament,  
After the Persian monarchs antic guise,  
Such as the maker self could best by art devise.   

And drawn it was (that wonder is to tell)  
Of two grim lions, taken from the wood,  
In which their power all others did excel;  
Now made forget their former cruel mood,  
T'obey their rider's hest, as seemed good.  
And therein sat a Lady passing fair  
And bright, that seemed borne of Angel's brood,  
And with her beauty bounty did compare,  
Whether of them in her should have the greater share.   

Thereto she learned was in Magic lere,  
And all the arts, that subtle wits discover,  
Having therein been trained many a year,  
And well instructed by the Fay her mother,  
That in the same she far excelled all other.  
Who understanding by her mighty art,  
Of th'evil plight, in which her dearest brother  
Now stood, came forth in haste to take his part,  
And pacify the strife, which caused so deadly smart.   

And as she passed through th'unruly press  
Of people, thronging thick her to behold,  
Her angry team breaking their bonds of peace,  
Great heaps of them, like sheep in narrow fold,  
For haste did overrun, in dust enrolled,  
That through rude confusion of the rout,  
Some fearing shrieked, some being harmed hold,  
Some laughed for sport, some did for wonder shout,  
And some that would seem wise, their wonder turned to doubt.   

In her right hand a rod of peace she bore,  
About the which two Serpents weren wound,  
Entrayled mutually in lovely lore,  
And by the tails together firmly bound,  
And both were with one olive garland crowned,  
Like to the rod which Maia's son doth wield,  
Wherewith the hellishfiends he doth confound.  
And in her other hand a cup she held,  
The which was with Nepenthe to the brim upfild.   

Nepenthe is a drink of sovereign grace,  
Devized by the Gods, for to assuage  
Heart's grief, and bitter gall away to chase,  
Which stirs up anguish and contentious rage:  
In stead thereof sweet peace and quiet age  
It doth establish in the troubled mind.  
Few men, but such as sober are and sage,  
Are by the Gods to drink thereof assigned;  
But such as drink, eternal happiness do find.   

Such famous men, such worthies of the earth,  
As love will have advanced to the sky,  
And there made gods, though borne of mortal birth,  
For their high merits and great dignity,  
Are wont, before they may to heaven fly,  
To drink hereof, whereby all cares forepast  
Are washed away quite from their memory.  
So did those old Heroes hereof taste,  
Before that they in bliss amongst the Gods were placed.   

Much more of price and of more gracious power  
Is this, then that same water of Ardenne,  
The which Rinaldo drunk in happy hour,  
Described by that famous Tuscan pen:  
With whom he led a long and happy life;  
And Cambel took Cambina to his fere,  
The which as life were each to other lief.  
So all alike did love, and loved were,  
That since their days such lovers were not found elswere.    

Cant. four  
Satyrane makes a Turneyment  
For love of Florimell:  
Britomart wins the prize from all,  
And Artegall doth quell.  

IT often falls, (as here it erst befell)  
That mortal foes do turn to faithful friends,  
And friends professed are changed to foemen fell:  
The cause of both, of both their minds depends.  
And th'end of both likewise of both their ends.  
For enmity, that of no ill proceeds,  
But of occasion, with th'occasion ends;  
And friendship, which a faint affection breeds  
Without regard of good, dies like ill grounded seeds.   

That well (me seems) appears, by that oflate  
Twixt Camhell and Sir Triamond befell,  
As else by this, that now a new debate  
Stirred up twixt Scudamour and Paridell,  
The which by course befalls me here to tell:  
Who having those two other Knights espied  
Marching afore, as ye remember well,  
Sent forth their Squire to have them both descried,  
And eke those masked Ladies riding them beside.   

Who back returning, told as he had seen,  
That they were doughty knights of dreaded name;  
And those two Ladies, their two loves unseen;  
And therefore wished them without blot or blame,  
To let them pass at will, for dread of shame.  
But Blandamour full of vainglorious sprite,  
And rather stirred by his discordfull Dame,  
Upon them gladly would have proved his might,  
But that he yet was sore of his late luckless fight.   

Yet nigh approaching, he them fowl bespoke,  
Disgracing them, himself thereby to grace,  
As was his wont, so weening way to make  
To Lady's love, where so he came in place,  
And with lewd terms their lovers to deface.  
Whose sharp provokement them incensed so sore,  
That both were bend t'avenge his usage base,  
And 'gan their shields address themselves afore:  
For evil deeds may better than bad words be boar.   

But fair Cambina with persuasions mild,  
Did mitigate the fierceness of their mode,  
That for the present they were reconcyld,  
And 'gan to treat of deeds of arms abroad,  
And strange adventures, all the way they road:  
Amongst the which they told, as then befell,  
Of that great tourney, which was blazed broad,  
For that rich girdle of fair Florimell,  
The prize of her, which did in beauty most excel.   

To which folkemote they all with one consent,  
Sith each of them his Lady had him by,  
Whose beauty each of them thought excellent,  
Agreed to travel, and their fortunes try.  
So as they passed forth, they did espy  
One in bright arms, with ready spear in rest,  
That toward them his course seemed to apply,  
'Gainst whom Sir Paridell himself addressed,  
Him weening, ere he nigh approached to have repressed.   

Which th'other seeing, 'gan his course relent,  
And vaunted spear eftsoons to disaduaunce,  
As if he nought but peace and pleasure meant,  
Now fallen into their fellowship by chance,  
Whereat they showed courteous countenance.  
So as he road with them accompanied,  
His roving eye did on the Lady glance,  
Which Blandamour had riding by his side:  
Whom sure he weaned, that he some where tofore had eide.   

It was to weet that snowy Florimell,  
Which Ferrat late from Braggadochio won,  
Whom he now seeing, her remembered well,  
How having reft her from the witch's son,  
He soon her lost: wherefore he now begun  
To challenge her anew, as his own prize,  
Whom formerly he had in battle won,  
And proffer made by force her to reprize,  
Which scornful offer, Blandamour 'gan soon despize.   

And said, Sir Knight, sith ye this Lady claim,  
Whom he that hath, were loath to lose so light,  
(For so to lose a Lady, were great shame)  
Ye shall her win, as I have done in fight:  
And lo she shall be placed here in sight.  
Together with this Hag beside her set,  
That who so wins her, may her have by right:  
But he shall have the Hag that is ybet,  
And with her always ride, till he another get.   

That offer pleased all the company,  
So Florimell with Ate forth was brought,  
At which they all 'gan laugh full merrily:  
But Braggadochio said, he never thought  
For such an Hag, that seemed worst then nought,  
His person to emperill so in fight.  
But if to match that Lady they had sought  
Another like, that were like fair and bright,  
His life he then would spend to justify his right.   

At which his vain excuse they all 'gan smile,  
As scorning his unmanly cowardice:  
And Florimell him foully 'gan revile,  
That for her sake refused to enterprise  
The battle, offered in so knightly wize.  
And Ate eke provoked him privily,  
With love of her, and shame of such mesprize.  
But nought he cared for friend or enemy,  
For in base mind nor friendship dwells nor enmity.   

But Cambell thus did shut up all in jest,  
Brave Knights and Ladies, certes ye do wrong  
To stir up strife, when most us needeth rest,  
That we may us reserve both fresh and strong,  
Against the Turneiment which is not long.  
When who so list to fight, may fight his fill,  
Till than your challenges ye may prolong;  
And than it shall be tried, if ye will,  
Whether shall have the Hag, or hold the Lady still.   

They all agreed, so turning all to game,  
And pleasant board, they passed forth on their way,  
And all that while, where so they road or came,  
That masked Mock-knight was their sport and play.  
Till that at length upon th'appointed day,  
Unto the place of turneyment they came;  
Where they before them found in fresh array  
Many a brave knight, and many a dainty dame  
Assembled, for to get the honour of that game.   

There this fair crew arriving, did divide  
Themselves asunder: Blandamour with those  
Of his, on th'one; the rest on th'other side.  
But boastful Braggadocchio rather chose,  
For glory vain their fellowship to lose,  
That men on him the more might gaze alone.  
The rest themselves in troops did else dispose,  
Like as it seemed best to every one;  
The knights in couples marched, with ladies linked atone.   

Then first of all forth came Sir Satyrane,  
Bearing that precious relic in an ark  
Of gold, that bad eyes might it not profane:  
Which drawing softly forth out of the dark,  
He open showed, that all men it moat mark.  
A gorgeous girdle, curiously embossed  
With pearl & precious stone, worth many a mark;  
Yet did the workmanship far pass the cost:  
It was the same, which lately Florimell had lost.   

That same aloft he hung in open view,  
To be the prize of beauty and of might;  
The which eftsoons discovered, to it drew  
The eyes of all, allured with close delight,  
And hearts quite rob with so glorious sight,  
That all men threw out vows and wishes vain.  
Thrice happy Lady, and thrice happy knight,  
Them seemed that could so goodly riches gain,  
So worthy of the peril, worthy of the pain.   

Then took the bold Sir Satyrane in hand  
An huge great spear, such as he want to wield,  
And vauncing forth from all the other band  
Of knights, addressed his maiden-headed shield,  
Showing himself all ready for the field.  
'Gainst whom there singled from the other side  
A Painim knight, that well in arms was skilled,  
And had in many a battle oft been tried,  
Height Bruncheval the bold, who fiercely forth did ride.   

So furiously they both together met,  
That neither could the others force sustain;  
As two fierce Bulls, that strive the rule to get  
Of all the heard, meet with so hideous main,  
That both rebutted, tumble on the plain:  
So these two champions to the ground were field,  
Where in a maze they both did long remain,  
And in their hands their idle troncheons held,  
Which neither able were to wag, or once to wield.   

Which when the noble Ferramont espied,  
He pricked forth in aid of Satyran;  
And him against Sir Blandamour did ride  
With all the strength and stiffness that he can.  
But the more strong and stiffly that he ran,  
So much more sorely to the ground he fell,  
That on an heap were tumbled horse and man.  
Unto whose rescue forth road Paridell;  
But him likewise with that same spear he eke did quell.   

Which Braggadocchio seeing, had no will  
To hasten greatly to his party's aid,  
Albe his turn were next; but stood there still,  
As one that seemed doubtful or dismayed.  
But Triamond half wroth to see him stayed,  
Sternly stepped forth, and reached away his spear,  
With which so sore he Ferramont assayed,  
That horse and man to ground he quite did bear,  
That neither could in haste themselves again uprear.   

Which to avenge, Sir Devon him did dight,  
But with no better fortune than the rest:  
For him likewise he quickly down did smite,  
And after him Sir Douglas him addressed,  
And after him Sir Faliumord forth priest,  
But none of them against his strokes could stand,  
But all the more, the more his praise increase.  
For either they were left upon the land,  
Or went away sore wounded of his hapless hand.   

And now by this, Sir Satyrane abraid,  
Out of the swoon, in which too long he lay;  
And looking round about, like one dismayed,  
When as he saw the merciless affray.  
Which doughty Triamond had wrought that day,  
Unto the noble Knights of Maidenhead.  
His mighty heart did almost rend in twain,  
For very gall, that rather wholly dead  
Himself he wished have been, then in so bad a stead.   

eftsoons he 'gan to gather up around  
His weapons, which lay scattered all abroad,  
And as it fell, his steed he ready found.  
On whom remounting, fiercely forth he road,  
Like spark of fire that from the anduile glode.  
There where he saw the valiant Triamond  
Chase, and laying on them heavy load.  
That none his force were able to withstand,  
So dreadful were his strokes, so deadly was his hand.   

With that at him his bravelike spear he aimed,  
And thereto all his power and might applied:  
The wicked steel for mischief first ordained,  
And having now misfortune got for guide.  
Stayed not, till it arrived in his side.  
And therein made a very grisly wound,  
That streams of blood his armour all bedide.  
Much was he daunted with that direful stound,  
That scarce he him upheld from falling in a sound.   

Yet as he might, himself he soft withdrew  
Out of the field, that none perceived it plain,  
Then 'gan the part of Challengers anew  
To range the field, and victorlike to rain,  
That none against them battle durst maintain.  
By that the gloomy evening on them fell,  
That forced them from fight to refrain,  
And trumpets sound to cease did them compel,  
So Satyrane that day was judged to bear the bell.   

The morrow next the Turney 'gan anew,  
And with the first the hardy Satyrane  
Appeared in place, with all his noble crew,  
On th'other side, full many a warlike swain,  
Assembled were, that glorious prize to gain.  
But 'mongst them all, was not Sir Triamond,  
Unable he new battle to darraine,  
Through grievaunce of his late received wound,  
That doubly did him grieve, when so himself he found.   

Which Cambell seeing, though he could not salve,  
Ne done undo, yet for to salve his name,  
And purchase honour in his friends behalue.  
This goodly counterfesaunce he did frame.  
The shield and arms well known to be the same,  
Which Triamond had worn, unwares to wight,  
And to his friend unwist, for doubt of blame,  
If he misdid; he on himself did dight,  
That none could him discern, and so went forth to fight   

There Satyrane Lord of the field he found,  
Triumphing in great joy and jollity;  
'Gainst whom none able was to stand on ground;  
That much he 'gan his glory to envy,  
And cast t'avenge his friend's indignity.  
A mighty spear eftsoons at him he bent;  
Who seeing him come on so furiously,  
Met him midway with equal hardiment,  
That forcibly to ground they both together went.   

They up again themselves can lightly rear,  
And to their tried swords themselves betake;  
With which they wrought such wondrous marvels there,  
That all the rest it did amazed make,  
Ne any dared their peril to partake;  
Now cuffling close, now chasing to and fro,  
Now hurtling round advantage for to take:  
As two wild Boars together grappling go,  
Chaufing and foaming choler each against his fo.   

So as they coursed, and turneyd here and there,  
It chanced Sir Satyrane his steed at last,  
Whether through foundering or through sudden fear  
To stumble, that his rider nigh he cast;  
Which vantage Cambell did pursue so fast,  
That ere himself he had recovered well,  
So sore he soused him on the compassed crest,  
That forced him to leave his lofty sell,  
And rudely tumbling down under his horse feet fell.   

Lightly Cambello leapt down from his steed,  
For to have rend his shield and arms away,  
That whilom wont to be the victor's meed;  
When all unwares he felt an hideous sway  
Of many swords, that load on him did lay.  
An hundred knights had him enclosed round,  
To rescue Satyrane out of his prey;  
All which at once huge strokes on him did pound,  
In hope to take him prisoner, where he stood on ground.   

He with their multitude was nought dismayed,  
But with stout courage turned upon them all,  
And with his brondiron round about him laid;  
Of which he dealt large alms, as did befall:  
Like as a Lion that by chance doth fall  
Into the hunter's toil, doth rage and roar,  
In royal heart disdaining to be thrall.  
But all in vain: for what might one do more?  
They have him taken captive, though it grieve him sore.   

Whereof when news to Triamond was brought,  
There as he lay, his wound he soon forgot,  
And starting up, straight for his armour sought:  
In vain he sought; for there he found it not;  
Cambello it away before had got:  
Cambelloes arms therefore he on him threw,  
And lightly issewd forth to take his lot.  
There he in troop found all that warlike crew,  
Leading his friend away, full sorry to his view.   

Into the thickest of that knightly press  
He thrust, and smote down all that was between,  
Carried with fervent zeal, ne did he cease,  
Till that he came, where he had Cambell seen,  
Like captive thrall two other Knight's atween,  
There he amongst them cruel havoc makes.  
That they which lead him, soon enforced been  
To let him lose, to save their proper stakes,  
Who being freed, from one a weapon fiercely takes.   

With that he drives at them with dreadful might,  
Both in remembrance of his friends late harm,  
And in revengement of his own despite,  
So both together give a new alarm,  
As if but now the battle waxed warm.  
As when two greedy Wolves do break by force  
Into an herd, far from the husband farm,  
They spoil and ravin without all remorse,  
So did these two through all the field their foes enforce.   

Fiercely they followed on their bold emprize,  
Till trumpets sound did warn them all to rest;  
Then all with one consent did yield the prize  
To Triamond and Cambell as the best.  
But Triamond to Cambell it released.  
And Cambell it to Triamond transferred;  
Each labouring t'advance the others gest,  
And make his praise before his own preferred:  
So that the doom was to another day differed.   

The last day came, when all those knights again  
Assembled were their deeds of arms to show.  
Full many deeds that day were showed plain:  
But Satyrane 'bove all the other crew,  
His wondrous worth declared in all men's view.  
For from the first he to the last endured,  
And though some while Fortune from him withdrew,  
Yet evermore his honour he recured,  
And with unwearied power his party still assured.   

Ne was there Knight that ever thought of arms,  
But that his utmost prowess there made known,  
That by their many wounds, and careless harms,  
By shivered spears, and swords all under strowen,  
By scattered shields was easy to be shown.  
There might ye see lose steeds at random run,  
Whose luckless riders late were overthrown;  
And squires make haste to help their Lords fordone,  
But still the Knights of Maidenhead the better won.   

Till that there entered on the other side,  
A stranger knight, from whence no man could read,  
In quyent disguise, full hard to be descried.  
For all his armour was like salvage weed,  
With woody moss bedight, and all his steed  
With oaken leaves attrapt, that seemed fit  
For salvage wight, and thereto well agreed  
His word, which on his ragged shield was writ,  
Saluagesse sans finesse, showing secret wit.   

He at his first incomming, charged his spear  
At him, that first appeared in his sight:  
That was to weet, the stout Sir Sangliere,  
Who well was known to be a valiant Knight,  
Approved oft in many a perilous fight.  
Him at the first encounter down he smote,  
And overbore beyond his crupper quite,  
And after him another Knight, that hot  
Sir Brianor, so sore, that none him life behote.   

Then ere his hand he reared, he overthrew  
Seven Knights one after other as they came:  
And when his spear was burst, his sword he drew,  
The instrument of wrath, and with the same  
Fared like a lion in his bloody game,  
Hewing, and slashing shields, and helmets bright,  
And beating down, what ever nigh him came,  
That every one 'gan shun his dreadful sight,  
No less than death itself, in dangerous affright.   

Much wondered all men, what, or whence he came,  
That did amongst the troops so tyrannize;  
And each of other 'gan inquire his name.  
But when they could not learn it by no wize,  
Most answerable to his wild disguise  
It seemed, him to term the salvage knight.  
But certes his right name was otherwize,  
Though known to few, that Arthegall he height,  
The doughtiest knight that lived that day, and most of might.   

Thus was Sir Satyrane with all his band  
By his fool manhood and achievement stout  
Dismayed, that none of them in field durst stand,  
But beaten were, and chased all about.  
So he continued all that day throughout,  
Till evening, that the Sun 'gan downward bend.  
Then rushed forth out of the thickest rout  
A stranger knight, that did his glory shend:  
So nought maybe esteemed happy till the end.   

He at his entrance charged his powerful spear  
At Artegall, in midst of his pride,  
And therewith smote him on his Vmbriere  
So sore, that tumbling back, he down did slide  
Over his horse's tail above a strided;  
Whence little lust he had to rise again.  
Which Cambell seeing, much the same envied,  
And ran at him with all his might and main;  
But shortly was likewise seen lying on the plain.   

Whereat full inly wrath was Triamond,  
And cast t'euenge the shame done to his friend:  
But by his friend himself eke soon he fond,  
In no less need of help, then him he weaned.  
All which when Blandamour from end to end  
Beheld, he wox therewith displeased sore,  
And thought in mind it shortly to amend:  
His spear he feutred, and at him it bore;  
But with no better fortune, than the rest afore.   

Full many others at him likewise ran:  
But all of them likewise dismounted were,  
Ne certes wonder; for no power of man  
Can bide the force of that enchanted spear,  
The which this famous Britomart did bear;  
With which she wondrous deeds of arms achieved,  
And overthrew, what ever came her near,  
That all those stranger knights full sore aggrieved,  
And that late weaker band of challengers relieved.   

Like as in summers day when raging heat  
Doth burn the earth, and boiled rivers dry,  
That all brute beasts forced to refrain fro meat,  
Do hunt for shade, where shrouded they may lie,  
And missing it, feign from themselves to fly;  
All travelers tormented are with pain:  
A watery cloud doth overcast the sky,  
And poureth forth a sudden shower of rain,  
That all the wretched world recomforteth again.   

So did the warlike Britomart restore  
The prize, to knights of Maidenhead that day,  
Which else was like to have been lost, and bore  
The praise of prowess from them all away.  
Then shrilling trumpets loudly 'gan to bray,  
And bade them leave their labours and long toil,  
To joyous feast and other gentle play,  
Where beauties prise should win that precious spoil:  
Where I with sound of trump will also rest a while.    

Cant. V.  
The Ladies for the girdle sirive  
of famous Florimell:  
Scudumour coming to Cares house,  
doth sleep from him expel.  

IT hath been through all ages ever seen,  
That with the praise of arms and chivalry,  
The prize of beauty still hath joined been;  
And that for reasons special privity:  
For either doth on other much rely.  
For he me seems most fit the fair to serve,  
That can her best defend from villainy;  
And she most fit his service doth deserve,  
That fairest is and from her faith will never swerver.   

So fitly now here cometh next in place,  
After the proof of prowess ended well,  
The controverse of beauties sovereign grace;  
In which to her that doth the most excel,  
Shall fall the girdle of fair Florimell:  
That many wish to win for glory vain,  
And not for virtuous use, which some do tell  
That glorious belt did in itself contain,  
Which Ladies ought to love, and seek for to obtain.   

That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love,  
And wivehood true, to all that did it bear;  
But whosoever contrary doth prove,  
Might not the same about her middle wear,  
But it would lose, or else a sunder tear.  
Whilom it was (as Fairies wont report)  
Dame Venus' girdle, by her steemed dear,  
What time she used to live in wively sort;  
But laid aside, when so she used her loser sport.   

Her husband Vulcan whilom for her sake,  
When first he loved her with heart entire,  
This precious ornament they say did make,  
And wrought in Lemno with unquenched fire:  
And afterwards did for her loves first hire,  
Give it to her, for ever to remain,  
Therewith to bind lascivious desire,  
And lose affections straightly to restrain;  
Which virtue it for ever after did retain.   

The same one day, when she herself disposed  
To visit her beloved Paramour,  
The God of war, she from her middle loosed,  
And left behind her in her secret bower,  
On Aridalian mount, where many an hour  
She with the pleasant Graces wont to play.  
There Florimell in her first age's flower  
Was fostered by those Graces, (as they say)  
And brought with her from thence that goodly belt away.   

That goodly belt was Cestas height by name,  
And as her life by her esteemed dear.  
No wonder then, if that to win the same  
So many Ladies sought, as shall appear;  
For peerless she was thought, that did it bear.  
And now by this their feast all being ended,  
The judges which thereto selected were,  
Into the Martian field adown descended,  
To deem this doubtful case, for which they all contended.   

But first was question made, which of those Knights  
That lately turneyd, had the wager won:  
There was it judged by those worthy wights,  
That Satyrane the first day best had done:  
For he last ended, having first begun.  
The second was to Triamond behight,  
For that he saved the victor from fordone:  
For Cambell victor was in all men's sight,  
Till by mishap he in his foeman's hand did light.   

The third days prize unto that stranger Knight,  
Whom all men termed Knight of the Hebene spear,  
To Britomart was given by good right;  
For that with puissant stroke she down did bear  
The Salvage Knight, that victor was whileare,  
And all the rest, which had the best afore,  
And to the last unconquered did appear;  
For last is deemed best. To her therefore  
The fairest Lady was adjudged for Paramore.   

But thereat greatly grudged Arthegall,  
And much repynd, that both of victor's meed,  
And eke of honour she did him forestall.  
Yet moat he not withstand, what was decreed;  
But inly thought of that despiteful deed  
Fit time t'awaite avenged for to be.  
This being ended thus, and all agreed,  
Then next ensewed the Paragon to see  
Of beauty's praise, and yield the fairest her due fee.   

Then first Cambello brought unto their view  
His fair Cambina, covered with a veal;  
Which being once withdrawn, most perfect hue  
And passing beauty did eftsoons reveal,  
That able was weak hearts away to steal.  
Next did Sir Triamond unto their sight  
The face of his dear Canacee unheale;  
Whose beauties beam eftsoons did shine so bright,  
That dazed the eyes of all, as with exceeding light.   

And after her did Paridell produce  
His false Duessa, that she might be seen,  
Who with her forged beauty did seduce  
The hearts of some, that fairest her did ween;  
As diverse wits affected divers been.  
Then did Sir Ferramont unto them show  
His Lucida, that was full fair and sheen,  
And after these an hundred Ladies more  
Appeared in place, the which each other did outgo.   

All which who so dare think for to enchase,  
Him needeth sure a golden pen I ween,  
To tell the feature of each goodly face.  
For since the day that they created been,  
So many heavenly faces were not seen  
Assembled in one place: ne he that thought  
For Chian folk to portrait beauty's Queen,  
By view of all the fairest to him brought,  
So many fair did see, as here he might have sought.   

At last the most redoubted Britonesse,  
Her lovely Amoretta did open show;  
Whose face discovered, plainly did express  
The heavenly portrait of bright Angels hue.  
Well weened all, which her that time did view,  
That she should surely bear the bell away,  
Till Blandamour, who thought he had the true  
And very Florimell, did her display:  
The sight of whom once seen did all the rest dismay.   

For all afore that seemed fair and bright,  
Now base and contemptible did appear,  
Compared to her, that shone as Phebe's light,  
Amongst the lesser stars in evening clear.  
All that her saw with wonder ravished wear,  
And weaned no mortal creature she should be,  
But some celestial shape, that flesh did bear:  
Yet all were glad there Florimell to see;  
Yet thought that Florimell was not so fair as she.   

As guileful Goldsmith that by secret skill,  
With golden foil doth finely over spread  
Some base metal, which commend he will  
Unto the vulgar for good gold instead,  
He much more goodly gloss thereon doth shed,  
To hide his falsehood, then if it were true:  
So hard, this Idol was to be ar,  
That Florimell herself in all men's view  
She seemed to pass: so forged things do fairest show.   

Then was that golden belt by doom of all  
Granted to her, as to the fairest Dame.  
Which being brought, about her middle small  
They thought to gird, as best it her became;  
But by no means they could it thereto frame.  
For ever as they fastened it, it loosed  
And fell away, as feeling secret blame.  
Full oft about her waist she it enclosed;  
And it as oft was from about her waist disclosed.   

That all men wondered at the uncouth sight,  
And each one thought, as to their fancies came.  
But she herself did think it done for spite,  
And touched was with secret wrath and shame  
Therewith, as thing devised her to defame.  
Then many other Ladies likewise tried,  
About their tender loins to knit the same;  
But it would not on none of them abide,  
But when they thought it fast, eftsoons it was untied.   

Which when that scornful Squire of Dames did view,  
He loudly 'gan to laugh, and thus to jest;  
Alas for pity that so fair a crew,  
As like can not be seen from East to West,  
Cannot find one this girdle to invest.  
Fie on the man, that did it first invent,  
To shame us all with this, Ungirt unblessed.  
Let never Lady to his love assent,  
That hath this day so many so unmanly shent.   

Thereat all Knights 'gan laugh, and Ladies lower:  
Till that at last the gentle Amoretta  
Likewise assayed, to prove that girdles power;  
And having it about her middle set,  
Did find it fit, withouten breach or let.  
Whereat the rest 'gan greatly to envy:  
But Florimell exceedingly did fret,  
And snatching from her hand half angrily  
The belt again, about her body 'gan it tie.   

Yet nathemore would it her body fit;  
Yet nevertheless to her, as her dew right,  
It yielded was by them, that judged it:  
And she herself adjudged to the Knight,  
That bore the Hebene spear, as won in fight.  
But Britomart would not thereto assent,  
Ne her own Amoretta forego so light  
For that strange Dame, whose beauties wonderment  
She less esteemed, then th'others virtuous government.   

Whom when the rest did see her to refuse,  
They were full glad, in hope themselves to get her:  
Yet at her choice they all did greatly muse.  
But after that the judges did arret her  
Unto the second best, that loved her better;  
That was the Salvage Knight: but he was gone  
In great displeasure, that he could not get her.  
Then was she judged Triamond his one;  
But Triamond loved Canacee, and other none.   

though unto Satyran she was adjudged,  
Who was right glad to gain so goodly meed:  
But Blandamour thereat full greatly grudged,  
And little praised his labours evil speed,  
That for to win the saddle, lost the steed.  
Ne less thereat did Paridell complain,  
And thought t'appeal from that, which was decreed,  
To single combat with Sir Satyrane.  
Thereto him Ate stirred, new discord to maintain.   

And eke with these, full many other Knights  
She through her wicked working did incense,  
Her to demand, and challenge as their rights,  
Deserved for their perils recompense.  
Amongst the rest with boastful vain pretence  
Stepped Braggadochio forth, and as his thrall  
Her claimed, by him in battle won long since:  
Whereto herself he did to witness call;  
Who being asked, accordingly confessed all.   

Thereat exceeding wrath was Satyran;  
And wroth with Satyran was Blandamour;  
And wroth with Blandamour was Erivan;  
And at them both Sir Paridell did louvre.  
So all together stirred up strifull stoure,  
And ready were new battle to darraine.  
Each one professed to be her paramour,  
And vowed with spear and shield it to maintain;  
Ne judges power, ne reasons rule mote them restrain.   

Which troublous stir when Satyrane auized:  
He 'gan to cast how to appease the same,  
And to accord them all, this means devised:  
First in the midst to set that fairest Dame,  
To whom each once his challenge should disclaim,  
And he himself his right would eke release:  
Then look to whom she voluntary came,  
He should without disturbance her possess:  
Sweet is the love that comes alone with willingness.   

They all agreed, and then that snowy Maid  
Was in the midst placed among them all;  
All on her gazing wished, and vowed, and prayed,  
And to the Queen of beauty close did call,  
That she unto their portion might befall.  
Then when she long had looked upon each one,  
As though she wished to have pleased them all,  
At last to Braggadochio self alone  
She came of her accord, in spite of all his fone.   

Which when they all beheld they chafed and raged,  
And wox nigh mad for very heart's despite,  
That from revenge their wills they scarce assuaged:  
Some thought from him her to have reft by might;  
Some proffer made with him for her to fight.  
But he nought cared for all that they could say:  
For he their words as wind esteemed light.  
Yet not fit place he thought it there to stay,  
But secretly from thence that night her bore away.   

They which remained, so soon as they perceived,  
That she was gone, departed thence with speed,  
And followed them, in mind her to have reaved  
From wight unworthy of so noble meed.  
In which poursuit how each one did succeed,  
Shall else be told in order, as it fell.  
But now of Britomart it here doth need,  
The hard adventures and strange haps to tell;  
Since with the rest she went not after Florimell.   

For soon as she them saw to discord set,  
Her list no longer in that place abide;  
But taking with her lovely Amoretta,  
Upon her first adventure forth did ride,  
To seek her loved, making blind love her guide.  
Unlucky Maid to seek her enemy,  
Unlucky Maid to seek him far and wide,  
Whom, when he was unto herself most nigh,  
She through his late disguizement could him not descry.   

So much the more her grief, the more her toil:  
Yet neither toil nor grief she once did spare,  
In seeking him, that should her pain assoil;  
Whereto great comfort in her sad misfare  
Was Amoretta, companion of her care:  
Who likewise sought her lover long miswent,  
The gentle Scudamour, whose heart whileare  
That stryfull hag with jealous discontent  
Had filled, that he to fell revenge was fully bend.   

Bend to revenge on blameless Britomart  
The crime, which cursed Ate kindled erst,  
The which like thorns did prick her jealous heart,  
And through his soul like poisoned arrow pierced,  
That by no reason it might be reversed,  
For aught that Glauce could or do or say.  
For aye the more that she the same rehearsed,  
The more it galled, and grieved him night and day,  
That nought but dire revenge his anger moat defray.   

So as they traveled, the drooping night  
Covered with cloudy storm and bitter shower,  
That dreadful seemed to every living wight,  
Upon them fell, before her timely hour;  
That forced them to seek some covert bower,  
Where they might hide their heads in quiet rest,  
And shroud their persons from that stormy stowre.  
Not far away, not meet for any guest  
They spied a little cottage, like some poor man's nest.   

Under a steep hills side it placed was,  
There where the mouldered earth had caved the bank;  
And fast beside a little brook did pass  
Of muddy water, that like puddle stank,  
By which few crooked sallowes grew in rank:  
Whereto approaching nigh, they heard the sound  
Of many iron hammers beating rank,  
And answering their weary turns around,  
That seemed some blacksmith dwelled in that desert ground.   

There entering in, they found the goodman self  
Full busily unto his work ybent;  
Who was to weet a wretched wearish elf,  
With hollow eyes and rawbone cheeks forspent,  
As if he had in prison long been penned:  
Full black and grisly did his face appear,  
Besmeared with smoke that nigh his eyesight blended;  
With rugged beard, and hoary shagged hear,  
The which he never want to comb, or comely sheare.   

Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent,  
Ne better had he, ne for better cared:  
With blistered hands amongst the cinders brent,  
And fingers filthy, with long nails unpared,  
Right fit to rend the food, on which he fared.  
His name was Care; a blacksmith by his trade,  
That neither day nor night, from working spared,  
But to small purpose iron wedges made;  
Those be unquiet thoughts, that careful minds invade.   

In which his work he had six servants priest,  
About the Andvile standing evermore,  
With huge great hammers, that did never rest  
From heaping strokes, which thereon soused sore:  
All six strong grooms, but one than other more;  
For by degrees they all were disagreed;  
So likewise did the hammers which they bore,  
Like bells in greatness orderly succeed,  
That he which was the last, the first did far exceed.   

He like a monstrous Giant seemed in sight,  
far passing Bronteus, or Pynacmon great,  
The which in Lipari do day and night  
Frame thunderbolts for Jove's avengefull threat.  
So dreadfully he did the anduile beat,  
That seemed to dust he shortly would it drive:  
So huge his ham mer and so fierce his heat,  
That seemed a rock of Diamond it could rive,  
And rend a sunder quite, if he thereto list strive.   

Sat Scudamour there entering, much admired  
The manner of their work and weary pain;  
And having long beheld, at last inquired  
The cause and end thereof: but all in vain;  
For they for nought would from their work refrain,  
Ne let his speeches come unto their ear.  
And eke the breathfull bellows blew amain,  
Like to the Northern wind, that none could hear,  
Those pensiveness did move; & Sighs the bellows wear.   

Which when that warrior saw, he said no more,  
But in his armour laid him down to rest:  
To rest he laid him down upon the flore,  
(Whilom for venturous Knights the bedding best)  
And thought his weary limbs to have redressed.  
And that old aged Dame, his faithful Squire,  
Her feeble joints laid eke a down to rest;  
That needed much her weak age to desire,  
After so long a travel, which them both did tyre.   

There lay Sir Scudamour long while expecting,  
When gentle sleep his heavy eyes would close;  
Oft changing sides, and oft new place electing,  
Where better seemed he moat himself repose;  
And oft in wrath he thence again uprose;  
And oft in wrath he laid him down again.  
But wheresoever he did himself dispose,  
He by no means could wished ease obtain:  
So every place seemed painful, and each changing vain.   

And evermore, when he to sleep did think,  
The hammers sound his senses did molest;  
And evermore, when he began to wink,  
The bellows noise disturbed his quiet rest,  
Ne suffered sleep to settle in his breast.  
And all the night the dogs did bark and howl  
About the house, at sent of stranger guest:  
And now the crowing Cock, and now the Owl  
Loud shrieking him afflicted to the very soul.   

And if by fortune any little nap  
Upon his heavy eyelids chanced to fall,  
eftsoons one of those villeins him did rap  
Upon his headpiece with his iron maul;  
That he was soon awaked therewithal,  
And lightly started up as one afraid;  
Or as if one him suddenly did call.  
So oftentimes he out of sleep abraid,  
And then lay musing long, on that him ill apaid.   

So long he mused, and so long he lay,  
That at the last his weary spirit oppressed  
With fleshly weakness, which no creature may  
Long time resist, gave place to kindly rest,  
That all his senses did full soon arrest:  
Yet in his soundest sleep, his daily fear  
His idle brain 'gan busily molest,  
And made him dream those two disloyal were:  
The things that day most minds, at night do most appear.   

With that, the wicked carl the master Smith  
A pair of redwhot iron tongs did take  
Out of the burning cinders, and therewith,  
Under his side him nipped, that forced to wake,  
He felt his heart for very pain to quake,  
And started up avenged for to be  
On him, the which his quiet slumber broke:  
Yet looking round about him none could see;  
Yet did the smart remain, though he himself did flee.   

In such disquiet and hartfretting pain,  
He all that night, that too long night did pass.  
And now the day out of the Ocean main  
Began to peep above this earthly mass,  
With pearly dew sprinkling the morning grass:  
Then up he rose like heavy lump of lead,  
That in his face, as in a looking glass,  
The signs of anguish one mote plainly read,  
And guess the man to be dismayed with jealous dread.   

Unto his lofty steed he climbed anon,  
And forth upon his former voyage fared,  
And with him eke that aged Squire atone;  
Who whatsoever peril was prepared,  
Both equal pains and equal peril shared:  
The end whereof and dangerous event  
Shall for another canticle be spared.  
But here my weary team nigh over spent  
Shall breathe itself awhile, after so long a went.    

Cant. VI  
Both Scadamour and Arthegall  
Do fight with Britomart,  
He sees her face; doth fall in love,  
and soon from her depart.  

WHat equal torment to the grief of mind,  
And pining anguish hid in gentle heart,  
That inly feeds itself with thoughts unkind,  
And nourisheth her own consuming smart?  
What medicine can any Leeches art  
Yield such a sore, that doth her grievance hide,  
And will to none her malady impart?  
Such was the wound that Scudamour did gride;  
For which Dan Phoebus' self cannot a salve provide.   

Who having left that restless house of Care,  
The next day, as he on his way did ride,  
Full of melancholy and sad misfare,  
Through misconceipt; all unawares espied  
An armed Knight under a forest side,  
Sitting in shade beside his grazing steed;  
Who soon as them approaching he descried,  
'Gan towards them to prick with eager speed,  
That seemed he was full bend to some mischievous deed.   

Which Scudamour perceiving, forth issewed  
To have rencountred him in equal race;  
But soon as th'other nigh approaching, viewed  
The arms he bore, his spear he 'gan abase,  
And void his course: at which so sudden case  
He wondered much. But th'other thus can say;  
Ah gentle Scudamour, unto your grace  
I me submit, and you of pardon pray,  
That almost had against you trespassed this day.   

Whereto thus Scudamour, Small harm it were  
For any knight, upon a venturous knight  
Without displeasance for to prove his spear.  
But read you Sir, sith ye my name have height,  
What is your own, that I moat you requite.  
Certes (said he) ye moat as now excuse  
Me from discovering you my name aright:  
For time yet serves that I the same refuse,  
But call ye me the Salvage Knight, as others use.   

Then this, Sir Salvage Knight (quoth he) aread;  
Or do you here within this forest won,  
That seemeth well to answer to your weed?  
Or have ye it for some occasion done?  
That rather seems, sith known arms ye shun.  
This other day (said he) a stranger knight  
Shame and dishonour hath unto me done;  
On whom I wait to wreak that foul despite,  
When ever he this way shall pass by day or night.   

Shame be his meed (quoth he) that meaneth shame.  
But what is he, by whom ye shamed were?  
A stranger knight, said he, unknown by name,  
But known by fame, and by an Hebene spear,  
With which he all that met him, down did bear.  
He in an open Turney lately held,  
Fro me the honour of that game did rear;  
And having me all weary erst, down field,  
The fairest Lady reft, and ever since withheld.   

When Scudamour heard mention of that spear,  
He witted right well, that it was Britomart,  
The which from him his fairest love did bear.  
though 'gan he swell in every inner part,  
For fell despite, and gnaw his jealous heart,  
That thus he sharply said; Now by my head,  
Yet is not this the first unknightly part,  
Which that same knight, whom by his lance I read,  
Hath done to noble knights, that many makes him dread.   

For lately he my love hath fro me rest,  
And eke defiled with foul villainy  
The sacred pledge, which in his faith was left,  
In shame of knighthood and fidelity;  
The which ere long full dear he shall abye.  
And if to that avenge by you decreed  
This hand may help, or succour ought supply,  
It shall not fail, when so ye shall it need.  
So both to wreak their wraths on Britomart agreed.   

Whiles thus they communed, lo far away  
A Knight soft riding towards them they spied,  
Attired in foreign arms and strange array:  
Whom when they nigh approached, they plain descried  
To be the same, for whom they did abide.  
Said then Sir Scudamour, Sir Salvage knight  
Let me this crave, sith first I was defied,  
That first I may that wrong to him requite:  
And if I hap to fail, you shall recure my right.   

Which being yielded, he his threatfull spear  
'Gan feature, and against her fiercely ran.  
Who soon as she him saw approaching near  
With so fell rage, herself she lightly 'gan  
To dight, to welcome him, well as she can:  
But entertained him in so rude a wise,  
That to the ground she smote both horse and man;  
Whence neither greatly hasted to arise,  
But on their common harms together did devise.   

But Artegall beholding his mischance,  
New matter added to his former fire;  
And eft aventring his steeleheaded lance,  
Against her road, full of despiteous ire,  
That nought but spoil and vengeance did require,  
But to himself his felonous intent  
Returning, disappointed his desire,  
Whiles unawares his saddle he forwent,  
And found himself on ground in great amazement.   

Lightly he started up out of that stound,  
And snatching forth his direful deadly blade,  
Did leap to her, as doth an eager hound  
Thrust to an Hind within some covert glade,  
Whom without peril he cannot invade.  
With such fell greediness he her assailed,  
That though she mounted were, yet he her made  
To give him ground, (so much his force prevailed)  
And shun his mighty strokes, 'gainst which no arms availed.   

So as they coursed here and there, it chanced  
That in her wheeling round, behind her crest  
So sorely he her struck, that thence it glanced  
adown her back, the which it fairly blest  
From foul mischance; ne did it ever rest,  
Till on her horses hinder parts it fell;  
Where biting deep, so deadly it impressed,  
That quite it chynd his back behind the sell,  
And to alight on foot her algates did compel.   

Like as the lightning brand from riven sky,  
Thrown out by angry jove in his vengeance,  
With dreadful force falls on some steeple high;  
Which battering, down it on the church doth glance,  
And tears it all with terrible mischance.  
Yet she no whit dismayed, her steed forsook,  
And casting from her that enchanted lance,  
Unto her sword and shield her soon betook;  
And therewithal at him right furiously she struck.   

So furiously she struck in her first heat,  
Whiles with long fight on foot he breathless was,  
That she him forced backward to retreat,  
And yield unto her weapon way to pass:  
Whose raging rigour neither steel nor bras  
Could stay, but to the tender flesh it went,  
And poured the purple blood forth on the grass;  
That all his mail yrived, and plates rent,  
show'd all his body bare unto the cruel dent.   

At length when as he saw her hasty heat  
Abate, and panting breath begin to fail,  
He through long sufferance growing now more great,  
Rose in his strength, and 'gan her fresh assail,  
Heaping huge strokes, as thick as shower of hail,  
And lashing dreadfully at every part,  
As if he thought her soul to disentrayle.  
Ah cruel hand, and thrice more cruel heart,  
That workest such wreck on her, to whom thou dearest art.   

What iron courage ever could endure,  
To work such outrage on so fair a creature?  
And in his madness think with hands impure  
To spoil so goodly workmanship of nature,  
The maker self resembling in her feature?  
Certes some hellish fury, or some fiend  
This mischief framed, for their first loves defeature,  
To bathe their hands in blood of dearest friend,  
Thereby to make their loves beginning, their lines end.   

Thus long they traced, and traversed to and fro,  
Sometimes pursewing, and sometimes pursued,  
Still as advantage they espied thereto:  
But toward th'end Sir Arthegall renewed  
His strength still more, but she still more decrewed.  
At last his luckless hand he heaved on high,  
Having his forces all in one accrued,  
And therewith struck at her so hideouslie,  
That seemed nought but death moat be her destiny.   

The wicked stroke upon her helmet chanced,  
And with the force, which in itself it bore,  
Her ventayle shared away, and thence forth glanced  
A down in vain, ne harmed her any more.  
With that her angel's face, unseen afore,  
Like to the ruddy morn appeared in sight,  
Deawed with silver drops, through sweeting sore,  
But somewhat redder, than beseemed aright,  
Through toilsome heat and labour of her weary fight.   

And round about the same, her yellow hear  
Having through stirring loosed their wont band,  
Like to a golden border did appear,  
Framed in goldsmiths forge with cunning hand:  
Yet goldsmiths cunning could not understand  
To frame such subtle wire, so shinie clear.  
For it did glister like the golden sand,  
The which Pactolus with his waters shear,  
Throws forth upon the rivage round about him near.   

And as his hand he up again did rear,  
Thinking to work on her his utmost wrack,  
His powerless arm benumbed with secret fear  
From his revengeful purpose shrunk aback,  
And cruel sword out of his fingers slack  
Fell down to ground, as if the steel had sense,  
And felt some ruth, or sense his hand did lack,  
Or both of them did think, obedience  
To do to so divine a beauty's excellence.   

And he himself long gazing thereupon,  
At last fell humbly down upon his knee,  
And of his wonder made religion,  
Weening some heavenly goddess he did see,  
Or else unwitting, what it else might be;  
And pardon her besought his error frail,  
That had done outrage in so high degree:  
Whilst trembling horror did his sense assail,  
And made each member quake, and manly heart to quail.   

Nevertheless she full of wrath for that late stroke,  
All that long while upheld her wrathful hand,  
With fell intent, on him to been ywroke,  
And looking stern, still over him did stand,  
Threatening to strike, unless he would withstand:  
And bade him rise, or surely he should die.  
But die or live for nought he would upstand  
But her of pardon prayed more earnestly,  
Or wreak on him her will for so great injury.   

Which when as Scudamour, who now abraid,  
Beheld, whereas he stood not far aside,  
He was therewith right wondrously dismayed,  
And drawing nigh, when as he plain descried  
That peerless pattern of Dame nature's pride,  
And heavenly image of perfection,  
He blest himself, as one sore terrified,  
And turning his fear to faint devotion,  
Did worship her as some celestial vision.   

But Glauce, seeing all that chanced there,  
Well weeting how their error to assoil,  
Full glad of so good end, to them drew near,  
And her salewd with seemly belaccoyle,  
joyous to see her safe after long toil.  
Then her besought, as she to her was dear,  
To grant unto those warriors truce a while;  
Which yielded, they their bevers up did rear,  
And show'd themselves to her, such as indeed they were.   

When Britomart with sharp avizefull eye  
Beheld the lovely face of Artegall,  
Tempered with sternness and stout majesty,  
She 'gan eftsoons it to her mind to call,  
To be the same which in her father's hall  
Long since in that enchanted glass she saw.  
Therewith her wrathful courage 'gan appall,  
And haughty spirits meekly to adaw,  
That her enhanced hand she down can soft withdraw.   

Yet she it forced to have again upheld,  
As feigning choler, which was turned to cold:  
But ever when his visage she beheld,  
Her hand fell down, and would no longer hold  
The wrathful weapon 'gainst his countenance bold:  
But when in vain to fight she oft assayed,  
She armed her tongue, and thought at him to scold;  
Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obeyed,  
But brought forth speeches mild, when she would have missayd.   

But Scudamour now waxed inly glad,  
That all his jealous fear he false had found,  
And how that Hag his love abused had  
With breach of faith and loyalty unsound,  
The which long time his grieved heart did wound,  
Her thus bespoke; certes Sir Artegall,  
I joy to see you lout so low on ground,  
And now become to live a Lady's thrall,  
That whilom in your mind wont to despise them all.   

Soon as she heard the name of Artegall,  
Her heart did leap, and all her heartstrings tremble,  
For sudden joy, and secret fear withal,  
And all her vital powers with motion nimble,  
To secure it, themselves 'gan there assemble,  
That by the swift recourse of flushing blood  
Right plain appeared, though she it would dissemble,  
And feigned still her former angry mood,  
Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood.   

When Glauce thus 'gan wisely all upknit;  
Ye gentle Knights, whom fortune here hath brought,  
To be spectators of this uncouth fit,  
Which secret fate hath in this Lady wrought,  
Against the course of kind, ne marvel nought,  
Ne thenceforth fear the thing that hethertoo  
Hath troubled both your minds with idle thought,  
Fearing lest she your loves away should woe,  
Feared in vain, sith means ye see there wants thereto.   

And you Sir Artegall, the salvage knight,  
Henceforth may not disdain, that woman's hand  
Hath conquered you anew in second fight:  
For whilom they have conquered sea and land,  
And heaven itself, that nought may them withstand  
Ne henceforth be rebellious unto love,  
That is the crown of knighthood, and the band  
Of noble minds derived from above,  
Which being knit with virtue, never will remove.   

And you fair Lady knight, my dearest Dame,  
Relent the rigour of your wrathful will,  
Whose fire were better turned to other flame;  
And wiping out remembrance of all ill,  
Grant him your grace, but so that he fulfil  
The penance, which ye shall to him impart:  
For lovers heaven must pass by sorrows hell.  
Thereat full inly blushed Britomart;  
But Artegall close smile joyed in secret heart.   

Yet durst he not make love so suddenly,  
Ne think th'affection of her heart to draw  
From one to other so quite contrary:  
Besides her modest countenance he saw  
So goodly grave, and full of princely awe,  
That it his ranging fancy did refrain,  
And loser thoughts to lawful bounds withdraw;  
Whereby the passion grew more fierce and feign,  
Like to a stubborn steed whom strong hand would restrain.   

But Scudamour whose heart twixt doubtful fear  
And feeble hope hung all this while suspense,  
Desiring of his Amoretta to hear  
Some gladfull news and sure intelligence,  
Her thus bespoke; But Sir without offence  
Mote I request you tidings of my love,  
My Amoretta, sith you her freed fro thence,  
Where she captived long, great woes did prove;  
That where ye left, I may her seek, as doth behove.   

To whom thus Britomart, certes Sir knight,  
What is of her become, or whether rest,  
I can not unto you aread a right.  
For from that time I from enchanters theft  
Her freed, in which ye her all hopeless left,  
I her preserved from peril and from fear,  
And evermore from villainy her kept:  
Ne ever was there wight to me more dear  
Than she, ne unto whom I more true love did bear.   

Till on a day as through a desert wild  
We traveled, both weary of the way  
We did alight, and sat in shadow mild;  
Where fearless I to sleep me down did lay.  
But when as I did out of sleep abray,  
I found her not, where I her left whilere,  
But thought she wandered was, or gone astray.  
I called her loud, I so ught her far and near;  
But nowhere could her find, nor tidings of her hear.   

When Scudamour those heavy tidings heard,  
His heart was thrilled with point of deadly fear;  
Ne in his face or blood or life appeared,  
But senseless stood, like to a mazed steer,  
That yet of mortal stroke the stound doth bear.  
Till Glauce thus; Fair Sir, be nought dismayed  
With needless dread, till certainty ye hear:  
For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayed;  
It's best to hope the best, though of the worst afraid.   

Nathlesse he hardly of her cheerful speech  
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight  
show'd change of better cheer: so sore a breach  
That sudden news had made into his sprite;  
Till Britomart him fairly thus behight;  
Great cause of sorrow certes Sir ye have:  
But comfort take: for by this heavens light  
I vow, you dead or living not to leave,  
Till I her find, and wreak on him that her did reave.   

Therewith he rested, and well pleased was.  
So peace being confirmed amongst them all,  
They took their steeds, and forward thence did pass  
Unto some resting place, which moat befall,  
All being guided by Sir Artegall.  
Where goodly solace was unto them made,  
And daily feasting both in bower and hall,  
Until that they their wounds well healed had,  
And weary limbs recured after late usage bad.   

In all which time, Sir Artegall made way  
Unto the love of noble Britomart,  
And with meek service and much suit did lay  
Continual siege unto her gentle heart,  
Which being whilom launched with lovely dart,  
More each was new impression to receive,  
How ever she her paynd with womanish art  
To hide her wound, that none might it perecive:  
Vain is the art that seeks itself for to deceive.   

So well he wooed her, and so well he wrought her,  
With fair entreaty and sweet blandishment,  
That at the length unto a bay he brought her,  
So as she to his speeches was content  
To lend an ear, and softly to relent.  
At last through many vows which forth he poured,  
And many oaths, she yielded her consent  
To be his love, and take him for her Lord,  
Till they with marriage meet might finish that accord.   

though when they had long time there taken rest,  
Sir Artegall, who all this while was bound  
Upon an hard adventure yet in quest,  
Fit time for him thence to departed it found,  
To follow that, which he did long propound;  
And unto her his congee came to take.  
But her therewith full sore displeased he found,  
And loath to leave her late betrothed make,  
Her dearest love full loath so shortly to forsake.   

Yet he with strong persuasions her assuaged,  
And won her will to suffer him departed;  
For which his faith with her he fast engaged,  
And thousand vows from bottom of his heart,  
That all so soon as he by wit or art  
Can that achieve, whereto he did aspire,  
He unto her would speedily revert:  
No longer space thereto he did desire,  
But till the horned moon three courses did expire.   

With which she for the present was appeased,  
And yielded leave, how ever malcontent  
She inly were, and in her mind displeased.  
So early in the morrow next he went  
Forth on his way, to which he was ybent.  
Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,  
As whilom was the custom ancient  
'mongst Knights, when on adventures they did ride,  
Save that she algates him a while accompanied.   

And by the way she sundry purpose found  
Of this or that, the time for to delay,  
And of the perils whereto he was bound,  
The fear whereof seemed much her to affray:  
But all she did was but to wear out day.  
Full oftentimes she leave of him did take;  
And eft again devised some what to say,  
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make:  
So loath she was his company for to forsake.   

At last when all her speeches she had spent,  
And new occasion failed her more to find,  
She left him to his fortune's government,  
And back returned with right heavy mind.  
To Scudamour, who she had left behind,  
With whom she went to seek fair Amoretta,  
Her second care, though in another kind;  
For virtues only sake, which doth beget  
True love and faithful friendship, she by her did set.   

Back to that desert forest they retired,  
Where sorry Britomart had lost her late;  
There they her sought, and every where inquired,  
Where they might tidings get of her estate;  
Yet found they none. But by what hapless fate,  
Or hard misfortune she was thence conveyed,  
And stolen away from her beloved mate,  
Were long to tell; therefore I here will stay  
Until another tide, that I it finish may.    

Cant. VII.  
Amoretta rapt by greedy lust  
Belphebe saves from dread,  
The Squire her loves, and being blamed  
his days in dole doth lead.  

GReat God of love, that with thy cruel dart  
Dost conquer greatest conquerors on ground,  
And setst thy kingdom in the captive hearts  
Of Kings and Keasars', to thy service bound,  
What glory, or what guerdon hast thou found  
In feeble Ladies tyranning so sore;  
And adding anguish to the bitter wound,  
With which their lives thou lanchedst long afore,  
By heaping storms of trouble on them daily more?   

So whilom didst thou to fair Florimell;  
And so and so to noble Britomart:  
So dost thou now to her, of whom I tell,  
The lovely Amoretta, whose gentle heart  
Thou martyrest with sorrow and with smart,  
In salvage forests, and in deserts wide,  
With Bears and Tigers taking heavy part,  
Withouten comfort, and withouten guide,  
That pity is to hear the perils, which she tried.   

So soon as she with that brave Britonesse  
Had left that Turneyment for beauty's prize,  
They travelled long, that now for weariness,  
Both of the way, and warlike exercise,  
Both through a forest riding did devise  
T'alight, and rest their weary limbs awhile.  
There heavy sleep the eyelids did surprise  
Of Britomart after long tedious toil,  
That did her passed pains in quiet rest assoil.   

The whiles fair Amoretta, of nought afeard,  
Walked through the wood, for pleasure, or for need;  
When suddenly behind her back she heard  
One rushing forth out of the thickest weed,  
That ere she back could turn to taken heed,  
Had unawares her snatched up from ground.  
Feebly she shrieked, but so feebly indeed,  
That Britomart heard not the shrilling sound,  
There where through weary travel she lay sleeping sound.   

It was to weet a wild and salvage man,  
Yet was no man, but only like in shape,  
And eke in stature higher by a span,  
All over grown with hair, that could awhape  
An hardy heart, and his wide mouth did gape  
With huge great teeth, like to a Boar:  
For he lived all on ravine and on rape  
Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore,  
The sign whereof yet stained his bloody lips afore.   

His neither lip was not like man nor beast,  
But like a wide deep poke, down hanging low,  
In which he want the relics of his feast,  
And cruel spoil, which he had spared, to stow:  
And over it his huge great nose did grow,  
Full dreadfully empurpled all with blood;  
And down both sides two wide long ears did glow,  
And reached down to his waste, when up he stood,  
More great than th'ears of Elephants by Indus flood.   

His waist was with a wreath of ivy green  
Engirt about, ne other garment wore:  
For all his hair was like a garment seen;  
And in his hand a tall young oak he bore,  
Whose knotty snags were sharpened all afore,  
And beathed in fire for steel to be in stead.  
But whence he was, or of what womb ybore,  
Of beasts, or of the earth, I have not red:  
But certes was with milk of Wolves and Tigers fed.   

This ugly creature in his arms her snatched,  
And through the forest bore her quite away,  
With briars and bushes all to rend and scratched;  
Ne care he had, ne pity of the pray,  
Which many a knight had sought so many a day.  
He stayed not, but in his arms her bearing  
Ran, till he came to th'end of all his way,  
Unto his cave far from all people's hearing,  
And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought fearing.   

For she dear Lady all the way was dead,  
Whilst he in arms her bore; but when she felt  
Herself down soused, she waked out of dread  
Straight into grief, that her dear heart nigh swelled,  
And eft 'gan into tender tears to melt.  
Then when she looked about, and nothing found  
But darkness and dread horror, where she dwelled,  
She almost fell again into a swound,  
Ne witted whether above she were, or under ground.   

With that she heard some one close by her side  
Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the pain  
Her tender heart in pieces would divide:  
Which she long listening, softly asked again  
What mister wight it was that so did plain?  
To whom thus answered was: Ah wretched wight  
That seeks to know another's grief in vain,  
Unwitting of thine own like hapless plight:  
Self to forget to mind another, is oversight.   

Ay me (said she) where am I, or with whom?  
Among the living, or among the dead?  
What shall of me unhappy maid become?  
Shall death be th'end, or aught else worse, aread.  
Unhappy maid (than answered she) whose dread  
Untried, is less than when thou shalt it try:  
Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead,  
Both grace and gain; but he in hell doth lie,  
That lives a loathed life, and wishing cannot die.   

This dismal day hath thee a caitiff made,  
And vassal to the vilest wretch alive,  
Whose cursed usage and ungodly trade  
The heavens abhor, and into darkness drive.  
For on the spoil of women he doth live,  
Whose bodies chaste, when ever in his power  
He may them catch, unable to gainestrive,  
He with his shameful lust doth first deflower,  
And afterwards themselves doth cruelly devour.   

Now twenty days, by which the sons of men  
Divide their works, have passed through heaven sheen,  
Since I was brought into this doleful den;  
During which space these sorry eyes have seen  
Seven women by him slain, and eaten clean.  
And now no more for him but I alone,  
And this old woman here remaining been;  
Till thou cam'st hither to augment our moan,  
And of us three to morrow he will sure eat one.   

Ah dreadful tidings which thou dost declare,  
(Quoth she) of all that ever hath been known:  
Full many great calamities and rare  
This feeble breast endured hath, but none  
Equal to this, where ever I have gone.  
But what are you, whom like unlucky lot  
Hath linked with me in the same chain atone?  
To tell (quoth she) that which ye see, needs not;  
A woeful wretched maid, of God and man forgot.   

But what I was, it irks me to rehearse;  
Daughter unto a Lord of high degree;  
That joyed in happy peace, till fates perverse  
With guileful love did secretly agree,  
To overthrow my state and dignity.  
It was my lot to love a gentle swain,  
Yet was he but a Squire of low degree;  
Yet was he meet, unless mine eye did feign,  
By any Lady's side for Leman to have lain.   

But for his meanness and disparagement,  
My Sire, who me too dearly well did love,  
Unto my choice by no means would assent,  
But often did my folly fowl reprove.  
Yet nothing could my fixed mind remove,  
But whether willed or nilled friend or foe,  
I me resolved the utmost end to prove,  
And rather than my love abandon so,  
Both sire, and friends, and all for ever to forego.   

Thenceforth I sought by secret means to work  
Time to my will, and from his wrathful sight  
To hide th'intent, which in my heart did lurk,  
Till I thereto had all things ready dight.  
So on a day unwitting unto wight,  
I with that Squire agreed away to flit,  
And in a privy place, betwixt us height,  
Within a grove appointed him to meet;  
To which I boldly came upon my feeble feet.   

But ah unhappy hour me thither brought:  
For in that place where I him thought to find,  
There was I found, contrary to my thought,  
Of this accursed Carl of hellish kind,  
The shame of men, and plague of womankind,  
Who trussing me, as Eagle doth his prey,  
Me hither brought with him, as swift as wind,  
Where yet untouched till this present day,  
I rest his wretched thrall, the sad AEmylia.   

Ah sad AEmylia (then said Amoretta,)  
Thy rueful plight I pity as mine own.  
But read to me, by what devise or wit,  
Hast thou in all this time, from him unknown  
Thine honour saved, though into thraldom thrown.  
Through help (quoth she) of this old woman here  
I have so done, as she to me hath shown.  
For ever when he burnt in lustful fire,  
She in my stead supplied his bestial desire.   

Thus of their evils as they did discourse,  
And each did other much bewail and moon;  
Lo where the villain self, their sorrows source,  
Came to the cave, and rolling thence the stone,  
Which want to stop the mouth thereof, that none  
Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in,  
And spreading over all the flore alone,  
'Gan dight himself unto his wont sin;  
Which ended, than his bloody banquet should begin.   

Which when as fearful Amoretta perceived,  
She stayed not the utmost end thereof to try,  
But like a ghastly Gelt, whose wits are reaved,  
Ran forth in haste with hideous outcry,  
For horror of his shameful villainy.  
But after her full lightly he uprose,  
And her pursued as fast as she did fly:  
Full fast she flies, and far afore him goes,  
Ne feels the thorns and thickets prick her tender toes.   

Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale she stays,  
But overleapes them all, like Robucke light,  
And through the thickest makes her nighest ways;  
And evermore when with regardful sight  
She looking back, espies that grisly wight  
Approaching nigh, she 'gins to mend her pace,  
And makes her fear a spur to hast her flight:  
More swift than Myrrh ' or Daphne in her race,  
Or any of the Thracian Nymphs in salvage chase.   

Long so she fled, and so he followed long,  
Ne living aid for her on earth appears,  
But if the heavens help to redress her wrong,  
Moved with pity of her plenteous tears.  
It fortuned Belphebe with her pears  
The woody Nymphs, and with that lovely boy,  
Was hunting then the Leopard's and the Bears,  
In these wild woods, as was her wont joy,  
To banish sloth, that oft doth noble minds annoy.   

It so befell, as oft it falls in chase,  
That each of them from other sundered were,  
And that same gentle Squire arrived in place,  
Where this same cursed caitiff did appear,  
Pursuing that fair Lady full of fear,  
And now he her quite overtaken had;  
And now he her away with him did bear  
Under his arm, as seeming wondrous glad,  
That by his grinning laughter moat far off be rad.   

With dreary sight the gentle Squire espying,  
Doth haste to cross him by the nearest way,  
Led with that woeful Ladies piteous crying,  
And him assails with all the might he may,  
Yet will not he the lovely spoil down lay,  
But with his craggy club in his right hand,  
Defends himself, and saves his got prey.  
Yet had it been right hard him to withstand,  
But that he was full light and nimble on the land.   

Thereto the villain used craft in fight;  
For ever when the Squire his javelin shook,  
He held the Lady forth before him right,  
And with her body, as a buckler, broke  
The puissance of his intended stroke.  
And if it chanced, (as needs it must in fight)  
Whilst he on him was greedy to be wroke,  
That any little blow on her did light,  
Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight.   

Which subtle sleight did him encumber much,  
And made him oft, when he would strike, forbear;  
For hardly could he come the carl to touch,  
But that he her must hurt, or hazard near:  
Yet he his hand so carefully did bear,  
That at the last he did himself attain,  
And therein left the pike head of his spear.  
A stream of coal-black blood thence gushed amain,  
That all her silken garments did with blood bestaine.   

With that he threw her rudely on the flore,  
And laying both his hands upon his glaive,  
With dreadful strokes let drive at him so sore,  
That forced him fly aback, himself to save:  
Yet he therewith so felly still did rave,  
That scarce the Squire his hand could once uprear,  
But for advantage ground unto him gave,  
Tracing and traversing, now here, now there;  
For bootless thing it was to think such blows to bear.   

Whilst thus in battle they embusied were,  
Belphebe ranging in that forest wide,  
The hideous noise of their huge strokes did hear,  
And drew thereto, making her ear her guide.  
Whom when that thief approaching nigh espied,  
With bow in hand, and arrows ready bent,  
He by his former combat would not bide,  
But fled away with ghastly dreariment,  
Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instrument.   

Whom seeing fly, she speedily poursewed  
With winged feet, as nimble as the wind,  
And ever in her bow she ready showed,  
The arrow, to his deadly mark desind.  
As when Latona's daughter cruel kind,  
In vengement of her mother's great disgrace,  
With fell despite her cruel arrows tind  
'Gainst woeful Niobes unhappy race,  
That all the gods did moon her miserable case.   

So well she sped her and so far she ventured,  
That ere unto his hellish den he reached,  
Even as he ready was there to have entered,  
She sent an arrow forth with mighty draft,  
That in the very door him overcaught,  
And in his nape arriving, through it thrilled  
His greedy throat, therewith in two distraught,  
That all his vital spirits thereby spilled,  
And all his hairy breast with gory blood was filled.   

Whom when on ground she groveling saw to roll,  
She ran in hast his life to have bearest:  
But ere she could him reach, the sinful soul  
Having his carrion corpse quite senseless left,  
Was fled to hell, surcharged with spoil and theft.  
Yet over him she there long gazing stood,  
And oft admired his monstrous shape, and oft  
His mighty limbs, whilst all with filthy blood  
The place there overflown, seemed like a sudden flood.   

Thenceforth she passed into his dreadful den,  
Where nought but darksome dreariness she found,  
Ne creature saw, but hearkened now and then  
Some little whispering, and soft groaning sound.  
With that she asked, what ghosts there under ground  
Lay hid in horror of eternal night?  
And bade them, if so be they were not bound,  
To come and show themselves before the light,  
Now freed from fear and danger of that dismal wight.   

Then forth the said AEmylia issewed,  
Yet trembling every joint through former fear;  
And after her the Hag, there with her mewed,  
A foul and loathsome creature did appear;  
A leman fit for such a lover dear.  
That moved Belphebe her no less to hate,  
Then for to rue the others heavy cheer;  
Of whom she 'gan inquire of her estate.  
Who all to her at large, as happened, did relate.   

Thence she them brought toward the place, where late  
She left the gentle Squire with Amoretta:  
There she him found by that new lovely mate,  
Who lay the while in swoon, full sadly set,  
From her fair eyes wiping the dewy wet,  
Which softly stilled, and kissing them atween,  
And handling soft the hurts, which she did get.  
For of that Carl she sorely bruised had been,  
Als of his own rash hand one wound was to be seen.   

Which when she saw, with sudden glancing eye,  
Her noble heart with sight thereof was filled  
With deep disdain, and great indignity,  
That in her wrath she thought them both have thrilled,  
With that self arrow, which the Carl had killed:  
Yet held her wrathful hand from vengeance sore,  
But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld;  
Is this the faith she said, and said no more,  
But turned her face, and fled away for evermore.   

He seeing her depart, arose up light,  
Right sore aggrieved at her sharp reproof,  
And followed fast: but when he came in sight,  
He durst not nigh approach, but kept aloof,  
For dread of her displeasures utmost proof.  
And evermore, when he did grace entreat,  
And framed speeches fit for his behoof,  
Her mortal arrows, she at him did threat,  
And forced him back with fowl dishonour to retreat.   

At last when long he followed had in vain,  
Yet found no ease of grief, nor hope of grace,  
Unto those woods he turned back again,  
Full of sad anguish, and in heavy case:  
And finding there fit solitary place  
For woeful wight, chose out a gloomy glade,  
Where hardly eye moat see bright heavens face,  
For mossy trees, which covered all with shade  
And sad melancholy, there he his cabin made.   

His wont warlike weapons all he broke,  
And threw away, with vow to use no more,  
Ne thenceforth ever strike in battle stroke,  
Ne ever word to speak to woman more;  
But in that wilderness, of men forlese,  
And of the wicked world forgotten quite,  
His hard mishap in dolour to deplore,  
And waste his wretched days in woeful plight;  
So on himself to wreak his follies own despite.   

And eke his garment, to be thereto meet,  
He wilfully did cut and shape anew;  
And his fair locks, that wont with ointment sweet  
To be embalmed, and sweat out dainty dew,  
He let to grow and grisly to concrew,  
Uncombed, vncurled, and carelessly unshed;  
That in short time his face they overgrew,  
And over all his shoulders did dispred,  
That who he whilom was, uneath was to be red.   

There he continued in this careful plight,  
Wretchedly wearing out his youthly years,  
Through wilful penury consumed quite,  
That like a pined ghost he soon appears.  
For other food than that wild forest bears,  
Ne other drink there did he ever taste,  
Then running water, tempered with his tears,  
The more his weakened body so to waste:  
That out of all men's knowledge he was worn at last.   

For on a day, by fortune as it fell,  
His own dear Lord Prince Arthure came that way,  
Seeking adventures, where he moat hear tell;  
And as he through the wandering wood did stray,  
Having espied this Cabin far away,  
He to it drew, to weet who there did won;  
Weening therein some holy Hermit lay,  
That did resort of sinful people shun;  
Or else some woodman shrouded there from scorching sun.   

Arriving there, he found this wretched man,  
Spending his days in dolour and despair,  
And through long fasting waxed pale and wan,  
All overgrown with rude and rugged hair;  
That albeit his own dear Squire he were,  
Yet he him knew not, ne auized at all,  
But like strange wight, whom he had seen no where,  
Saluting him, 'gan into speech to fall,  
And pity much his plight, that lived like outcast thrall.   

But to his speech he answered no whit,  
But stood still mute, as if he had been dumb,  
Ne sign of sense did show, ne common wit,  
As one with grief and anguish overcum,  
And unto every thing did answer mum:  
And ever when the Prince unto him spoke,  
He louted lowly, as did him becum,  
And humble homage did unto him make,  
Midst sorrow showing joyous semblance for his sake.   

At which his uncouth guise and usage acquaint  
The Prince did wonder much, yet could not guess  
The cause of that his sorrowful constraint;  
Yet weaned by secret signs of manliness,  
Which close appeared in that rude brutishness,  
That he whilom some gentle swain had been,  
Trained up in feats of arms and knightlinesse;  
Which he observed, by that he him had seen  
To wield his naked sword, and try the edges keen.   

And eke by that he saw on every tree,  
How he the name of one engraven had,  
Which likely was his liefest love to be,  
For whom he now so sorely was bestead;  
Which was by him BELPHEBE rightly rad.  
Yet who was that Belphebe, he ne witted;  
Yet saw he often how he waxed glad,  
When he it heard, and how the ground he kissed,  
Wherein it written was, and how himself he blessed:   

though when he long had marked his demeanour,  
And saw that all he said and did, was vain,  
Ne aught moat make him change his wont tenor,  
Ne aught moat ease or mitigate his pain,  
He left him there in languor to remain,  
Till time for him should remedy provide,  
And him restore to former grace again.  
Which for it is too long here to abide,  
I will defer the end until another tide.    

Cant. VIII.  
The gentle Squire recovers grace,  
Slander her guests doth stain:  
Corflambo chaseth Placidas,  
And is by Arthure slain.  

WEll said the wiseman, now proved true by this,  
Which to this gentle Squire did happen late,  
That the displeasure of the mighty is  
Then death itself more dread and desperate.  
Fornaught the same may calm ne mitigate,  
Till time the tempest do thereof delay  
With sufferance soft, which rigour can abate,  
And have the stern remembrance wypt away  
Of bitter thoughts, which deep therein infixed lay.   

Like as it fell to this unhappy boy,  
Whose tender heart the fair Belphebe had,  
With one stern look so daunted, that no joy  
In all his life, which afterwards he lad,  
He ever tasted, but with penance sad  
And pensive sorrow pinned and wore away,  
Ne ever laughed, ne once show'd countenance glad;  
But always wept and wailed night and day,  
As blasted bloosme through heat doth languish & decay   

Till on a day, as in his wont wise  
His doole he made, there chanced a turtle Dove  
To come, where he his dolours did devise,  
That likewise late had lost her dearest love,  
Which loss her made like passion also prove.  
Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart  
With dear compassion deeply did emmove,  
That she 'gan moon his undeserved smart,  
And with her doleful accent bear with him a part.   

She sitting by him as on ground he lay,  
Her mournful notes full piteously did frame,  
And thereof made a lamentable lay,  
So sensibly compyld, that in the same  
Him seemed oft he heard his own right name.  
With that he forth would pour so plenteous tears,  
And beat his breast unworthy of such blame,  
And knock his head, and rend his rugged hears,  
That could have pierced the hearts of Tigers & of Bears.   

Thus long this gentle bird to him did use,  
Withouten dread of peril to repair  
Unto his won, and with her mournful muse  
Him to recomfort in his greatest care,  
That much did ease his mourning and misfare:  
And every day for guerdon of her song,  
He part of his small feast to her would share;  
That at the last of all his woe and wrong  
Companion she became, and so continued long.   

Upon a day as she him sat beside,  
By chance he certain miniments forth drew,  
Which yet with him as relics did abide  
Of all the bounty, which Belphebe threw  
On him, whilst goodly grace she did him show:  
Amongst the rest a jewel rich he found,  
That was a Ruby of right perfect hue,  
Shaped like a heart, yet bleeding of the wound,  
And with a little golden chain about it bound.   

The same he took, and with a ribbon new,  
In which his Lady's colours were, did bind  
About the turtles neck, that with the view  
Did greatly solace his engrieved mind.  
All unawares the bird, when she did find  
Herself so decked, hernimble wings displayed,  
And flew away, as lightly as the wind:  
Which sudden accident him much dismayed,  
And looking after long, did mark which way she strayed.   

But when as long he looked had in vain,  
Yet saw her forward still to make her flight,  
His weary eye returned to him again,  
Full of discomfort and disquiet plight,  
That both his jewel he had lost so light,  
And eke his dear companion of his care.  
But that sweet bird departing, flew forth right  
Through the wideregion of the wasteful air,  
Until she came where wonned his Belphebe fair.   

There found she her (as then it did betide)  
Sitting in covert shade of arbours sweet,  
After late weary toil, which she had tried  
In salvage chase, to rest as seemed her meet.  
There she alighting, fell before her feet,  
And 'gan to her her mournful plaint to make,  
As was herwont, thinking to let her weet  
The great tormenting grief, that for her sake  
Her gentle Squire through her displeasure did partake.   

She her beholding with attentive eye,  
At length did mark about her purple breast  
That precious jewel, which she formerly  
Had known right well with coloured ribbons dressed:  
Therewith she rose in haste, and her addressed  
With ready hand it to have rest away.  
But the swift bird obeyed not her behest,  
But swerved aside, and there again did stay;  
She followed her, and thought again it to assay.   

And ever when she nigh approached, the Dove  
Would flit a little forward, and then stay,  
Till she drew near, and then again remove;  
So tempting her still to pursue the prey,  
And still from her escaping soft away:  
Till that at length into that forest wide,  
She drew her far, and led with slow delay.  
In th'end she her unto that place did guide,  
Whereas that woeful man in languor did abide.   

eftsoons she flew unto his fearless hand,  
And there a piteous ditty new devised,  
As if she would have made him understand,  
His sorrows cause to be of her despised.  
Whom when she saw in wretched weeds disguised,  
With hairy glib deformed, and meiger face,  
Like ghost late risen from his grave agryzed,  
She knew him not, but pitied much his case,  
And wished it were in her to do him any grace.   

He her beholding, at her feet down fell,  
And kissed the ground on which her sole did tread,  
And washed the same with water, which did well  
From his moist eyes, and like two streams proceed,  
Yet spoke no word, whereby she might aread  
What mister wight he was, or what he meant,  
But as one daunted with her presence dread,  
Only few rueful looks unto her sent,  
As messengers of his true meaning and intent.   

Yet nathemore his meaning she ar,  
But wondered much at his so selcouth case,  
And by his persons secret seemlyhed  
Well weaned, that he had been some man of place,  
Before misfortune did his hue deface:  
That being moved with ruth she thus bespoke.  
Ah woeful man, what heavens hard disgrace,  
Or wrath of cruel wight on thee ywrake?  
Or self disliked life doth thee thus wretched make?   

If heaven, than none may it redress or blame,  
Sith to his power we all are subject borne:  
If wrathful wight, then fowl rebuke and shame  
Be theirs, that have so cruel thee forlorn;  
But if through inward grief or wilful scorn  
Of life it be, than better do advise.  
For he whose days in wilful woe are worn,  
The grace of his Creator doth despise,  
That will not use his gifts for thankless nigardise.   

When so he heard her say, eftsoons he broke  
His sudden silence, which he long had penned,  
And sighing inly deep, her thus bespoke;  
Then have they all themselves against me bend:  
For heaven, first author of my languishment,  
Envying my too great felicity,  
Did closely with a cruel one consent,  
To cloud my days in doleful misery,  
And make me loathe this life, still longing for to die.   

Ne any but yourself, o dearest dread,  
Hath done this wrong, to wreak on worthless wight  
Your high displeasure, through misdeeming bred:  
That when your pleasure is to deem aright,  
Ye may redress, and me restore to light.  
Which sorry words her mighty heart did mate  
With mild regard, to see his rueful plight,  
That her inburning wrath she 'gan abate,  
And him received again to former favours state.   

In which he long time afterwards did lead  
An happy life with grace and good accord,  
Fearless of fortune's change or envies dread,  
And eke all mindless of his own dear Lord  
The noble Prince, who never heard one word  
Of tidings, what did unto him betide,  
Or what good fortune did to him afford,  
But through the endless world did wander wide,  
Him seeking evermore, yet nowhere him descried.   

Till on a day as through that wood he road,  
He chanced to come where those two Ladies late,  
Aemylia and Amoretta abode,  
Both in full sad and sorrowful estate;  
The one right feeble through the evil rate  
Of food, which in her duresse she had found:  
The other almost dead and desperate  
Through her late hurts, and through that hapless wound,  
With which the Squire in her defence her sore astounded.   

Whom when the Prince beheld, he 'gan to rue  
The evil case in which those Ladies lay;  
But most was moved at the piteous view  
Of Amoretta, so near unto decay,  
That her great danger did him much dismay.  
eftsoons that precious liquor forth he drew,  
Which he in store about him kept always,  
And with few drops thereof did softly due  
Her wounds, that unto strength restored her soon anew.   

though when they both recovered were right well,  
He 'gan of them inquire, what evil guide  
Them thither brought, and how their harms befell.  
To whom they told all, that did them betide,  
And how from thraldom vile they were untied  
Of that same wicked Carl, by Virgin's hand;  
Whose bloody corpse they show'd him there beside,  
And eke his cave, in which they both were bond:  
At which he wondered much, when all those signs he fond.   

And evermore he greatly did desire  
To know, what Virgin did them thence unbind;  
And oft of them did earnestly inquire,  
Where was her won, and how he moat her find.  
But when as nought according to his mind  
He could outlearne, he them from ground did rear:  
No service loathsome to a gentle kind;  
And on his warlike beast them both did bear,  
Himself by them on foot, to secure them from fear.   

So when that forest they had passed well,  
A little cottage far away they spied,  
To which they drew, ere night upon them fell;  
And entering in, found none therein abide,  
But one old woman sitting there beside,  
Upon the ground in ragged rude attire,  
With filthy locks about her scattered wide,  
Gnawing her nails for felnesse and for ire,  
And there out sucking venom to her parts entire.   

A foul and loathly creature sure in sight,  
And in conditions to be loathed no less:  
For she was stuffed with rancour and despite  
up to the throat, that oft with bitterness  
It forth would break, and gush in great excess,  
Pouring out streams of poison and of gall  
'Gainst all, that truth or virtue do profess,  
Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall,  
And wickedly backbite: Her name men Slander call.   

Her nature is all goodness to abuse,  
And causeless crimes continually to frame,  
With which she guiltless persons may accuse,  
And steal away the crown of their goodname;  
Ne ever Knight so bold, ne ever Dame  
So chaste and loyal lived, but she would strive  
With forged cause them falsely to defame;  
Ne ever thing so well was done alive,  
But she with blame would blot, & of due praise deprive.   

Her words were not, as common words are meant,  
T'express the meaning of the inward mind,  
But noisome breath, and poisonous spirit sent  
From inward parts, with cankered malice lined,  
And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind;  
Which passing through the ears, would pierce the heart,  
And wound the soul itself with grief unkind:  
For like the stings of Asps, that kill with smart,  
Her spiteful words did prick, & wound the inner part.   

Such was that Hag, unmeet to host such guests,  
Whom greatest Princes court would welcome fain,  
But need, that answers not to all requests,  
Bade them not look for better entertain;  
And eke that age despised niceness vain,  
Enured to hardness and to homely fare,  
Which them to warlike discipline did train,  
And manly limbs endured with little care  
Against all hard mishaps and fortunelesse misfare.   

Then all that evening welcomed with cold,  
And cheerless hunger, they together spent;  
Yet found no fault, but that the Hag did scold  
And rail at them with grudgefull discontent,  
For lodging there without her own consent:  
Yet they endured all with patience mild,  
And unto rest themselves all only lent,  
Regardless of that quean so base and wild,  
To be unjustly blamed, and bitterly reviled.   

Here well I ween, when as these rhymes be red  
With misregard, that some rash witted wight,  
Whose loser thought will lightly be misled,  
These gentle Ladies will misdeem too light,  
For thus conversing with this noble Knight;  
Sith now of days such temperance is rare  
And hard to find, that heat of youthful sprite  
For aught will from his greedy pleasure spare,  
More hard for hungry steed t'abstain from pleasant lare.   

But antic age yet in the infancy  
Of time, did live then like an innocent,  
In simple truth and blameless chastity,  
Ne them of guile had made experiment,  
But void of vile and treacherous intent,  
Held virtue for itself in sovereign awe:  
Then loyal love had royal regiment,  
And each unto his lust did make a law,  
From all forbidden things his liking to withdraw.   

The Lion there did with the Lamb consort,  
And eke the Dove sat by the falcons side,  
Ne each of other feared fraud or tort,  
But did in safe security abide,  
Withouten peril of the stronger pride:  
But when the world wox old, it wox war old  
(Whereof it height) and having shortly tried  
The trains of wit, in wickedness wox bold,  
And dared of all sins the secrets to unfold.   

Then beauty, which was made to represent  
The great Creators own resemblance bright,  
Unto abuse of lawless lust was lent,  
And made the bait of bestial delight:  
Then fair grew foul, and foul grew fair in sight,  
And that which want to vanquish God and man,  
Was made the vassal of the victor's might;  
Then did her glorious flower wax dead and wan,  
Despised and trodden down of all that overran.   

And now it is so utterly decayed,  
That any bud thereof doth scarce remain,  
But if few plants preserved through heavenly aid,  
In Prince's Court do hap to sprout again,  
Dewed with her drops of bounty Sovereign,  
Which from that goodly glorious flower proceed,  
Sprung of the ancient stock of Prince's strain,  
Now th'only remnant of that royal breed,  
Whose noble kind at first was sure of heavenly seed.   

though soon as day discovered heavens face  
To sinful men with darkness overdight,  
This gentle crew 'gan from their eyelids chase  
The drowsy humour of the dampish night,  
And did themselves unto their journey dight.  
So forth they yode, and forward softly paced,  
That them to view had been an uncouth sight;  
How all the way the Prince on footpace traced,  
The Ladies both on horse, together fast embraced.   

Soon as they thence departed were afore,  
That shameful Hag, the slander of her sex,  
Them followed fast, and them reviled sore,  
Him calling these, them whores; that much did vex  
His noble heart; thereto she did annex  
False crimes and facts, such as they never meant,  
That those two Ladies much ashamed did wax:  
The more did she pursue her lewd intent,  
And railed and raged, till she had all her poison spent.   

At last when they were passed out of sight,  
Yet she did not her spiteful speech forbear,  
But after them did bark, and still backbite,  
Though there were none her hateful words to hear:  
Like as a cur doth felly bite and tear  
The stone, which passed stranger at him threw;  
So she them seeing past the reach of ear,  
Against the stones and trees did rail anew,  
Till she had dulled the sting, which in her tongue's end grew.   

They passing forth kept on their ready way,  
With easy steps so soft as foot could strided,  
Both for great feeblesse, which did oft assay  
Fair Amoretta, that scarcely she could ride,  
And eke through heavy arms, which sore annoyed  
The Prince on foot, not wont so to far;  
Whose steady hand was feign his steed to guide,  
And all the way from trotting hard to spare,  
So was his toil the more, the more that was his care.   

At length they spied, where towards them with speed  
A Squire came galloping, as he would fly  
Bearing a little Dwarf before his steed,  
That all the way full loud for aid did cry,  
That seemed his shrieks would rend the brazen sky:  
Whom after did a mighty man pursue,  
Riding upon a Dromedare on high,  
Of stature huge, and horrible of hue,  
That would have mazed a man his dreadful face to view.   

For from his fearful eyes two fiery beams,  
More sharp than points of needles did proceed,  
Shooting forth far away two flaming streams,  
Full of sad power, that poisonous bale did breed  
To all, that on him looked without good heed,  
And secretly his enemies did slay:  
Like as the Basilisk of serpent's seed,  
From powerful eyes close venom doth convey  
Into the looker's heart, and killeth far away.   

He all the way did rage at that same Squire,  
And after him full many threatenings threw,  
With curses vain in his avengefull ire:  
But none of them (so fast away he flew)  
Him overtook, before he came in view.  
Where when he saw the Prince in armour bright,  
He called to him aloud, his case to rue,  
And rescue him through succour of his might,  
From that his cruel foe, that him pursewd in sight.   

eftsoons the Prince took down those Ladies twain  
From lofty steed, and mounting in their stead  
Came to that Squire, yet trembling every vain:  
Of whom he 'gan inquire his cause of dread;  
Who as he 'gan the same to him aread,  
Lo hard behind his back his foe was priest,  
With dreadful weapon aimed at his head,  
That unto death had done him unredrest,  
Had not the noble Prince his ready stroke repressed.   

Who thrusting boldly twixt him and the blow,  
The burden of the deadly brunt did bear  
Upon his shield, which lightly he did throw  
Over his head, before the harm came near.  
Nathlesse it fell with so despiteous drear  
And heavy sway, that hard unto his crown  
The shield it drove, and did the covering rear,  
Therewith both Squire and dwarf did tumble down  
Unto the earth, and lay long while in senseless swoon.   

Whereat the Prince full wrath, his strong right hand  
In full avengement heaved up on high,  
And struck the Pagan with his steely brand  
So sore, that to his saddle bow thereby  
He bowed low, and so a while did lie:  
And sure had not his massy iron mace  
Betwixt him and his hurt been happily,  
It would have cleft him to the girding place,  
Yet as it was, it did astonish him long space.   

But when he to himself returned again,  
All full of rage he 'gan to curse and swear,  
And vow by Mahounes that he should be slain.  
With that his murderous mace he up did rear,  
That seemed nought the sauce thereof could bear,  
And therewith smote at him with all his might.  
But ere that it to him approached near,  
The royal child with ready quick foresight,  
Did shun the proof thereof and it avoided light.   

But ere his hand he could recure again,  
To ward his body from the baleful stound,  
He smote at him with all his might and main,  
So furiously, that ere he witted, he found  
His head before him tumbling on the ground.  
The whiles his babbling tongue did yet blaspheme  
And curse his God, that did him so confound;  
The whiles his life ran forth in bloody stream,  
His soul descended down into the Stygian ream.   

Which when that Squire beheld, he wox full glad  
To see his foe breath out his sprite in vain:  
But that same dwarf right sorry seemed and sad,  
And howld aloud to see his Lord there slain,  
And rend his hair and scratched his face for pain.  
Then 'gan the Prince at leisure to inquire  
Of all the accident, there happened plain,  
And what he was, whose eyes did flame with fire;  
All which was thus to him declared by that Squire.   

This mighty man (quoth he) whom you have slain,  
Of an huge Geauntesse whilom was bred;  
And by his strength rule to himself did gain  
Of many Nations into thraldom led,  
And mighty kingdoms of his force dreaded;  
Whom yet he conquered not by bloody fight,  
Ne hosts of men with banners broad dispred,  
But by the power of his infectious sight,  
With which he killed all, that came within his might.   

Ne was he ever vanquished afore,  
But ever vanquished all, with whom he fought;  
Ne was there man so strong, but he down bore,  
Ne woman yet so fair, but he her brought  
Unto his bay, and captived her thought.  
For most of strength and beauty his desire  
Was spoil to make, and waste them unto nought,  
By casting secret flakes of lustful fire  
From his false eyes, into their hearts and parts entire.   

Therefore Corflambo was he called aright,  
Though nameless there his body now doth lie,  
Yet hath he left one daughter that is height  
The fair Poeana; who seems outwardly  
So fair, as ever yet saw living eye:  
And were her virtue like her beauty bright,  
She were as fair as any under sky.  
But ah she given is to vain delight,  
And eke too lose of life, and eke of love too light.   

So as it fell there was a gentle Squire,  
That loved a Lady of high parentage,  
But for his mean degree might not aspire  
To match so high, her friends with counsel sage,  
Dissuaded her from such a disparaged.  
But she, whose heart to love was wholly lent,  
Out of his hands could not redeem her gage,  
But firmly following her first intent,  
Resolved with him to wend, 'gainst all her friends consent.   

So twixt themselves they pointed time and place,  
To which when he according did repair,  
An hard mishap and disaventrous case  
Him chanced; in stead of his Aemylia fair  
This giants son, that lies there on the lair  
An headless heap, him unawares there caught,  
And all dismayed through merciless despair,  
Him wretched thrall unto his dungeon brought,  
Where he remains, of all vnsuccoured and unsought.   

This giants daughter came upon a day  
Unto the prison in her joyous glee,  
To view the thralls, which there in bondage lay:  
Amongst the rest she chanced there to see  
This lovely swain the Squire of low degree;  
To whom she did her liking lightly cast,  
And wooed him her paramour to be:  
From day to day she wooed and prayed him fast,  
And for his love him promised liberty at last.   

He though affide unto a former love,  
To whom his faith he firmly meant to hold,  
Yet seeing not how thence he moat remove,  
But by that means, which fortune did unfold,  
Her granted love, but with affection cold  
To win her grace his liberty to get.  
Yet she him still detains in captive hold,  
Fearing lest if she should him freely set,  
He would her shortly leave, and former love forget.   

Yet so much favour she to him hath height,  
Above the rest, that he sometimes may space  
And walk about her gardens of delight,  
Having a keeper still with him in place,  
Which keeper is this Dwarf, her darling base,  
To whom the keys of every prison door  
By her committed be, of special grace,  
And at his will may whom he list restore,  
And whom he list reserve, to be afflicted more.   

Whereof when tidings came unto mine ear,  
Full inly sorry for the fervent zeal,  
Which I to him as to my soul did bear;  
I thither went where I did long conceal  
Myself, till that the Dwarf did me reveal,  
And told his Dame, her Squire of low degree  
Did secretly out of her prison steal;  
For me he did mistake that Squire to be;  
For never too so like did living creature see.   

Then was I taken and before her brought,  
Who through the likeness of my outward hue,  
Being likewise beguiled in her thought,  
'Gan blame me much for being so untrue,  
To seek by flight her fellowship t'eschew,  
That loved me dear, as dearest thing alive.  
Thence she commanded me to prison new;  
Whereof I glad did not gainsay nor strive,  
But suffered that same Dwarf me to her dungeon drive.   

There did I find mine only faithful friend  
In heavy plight and sad perplexity;  
Whereof I sorry, yet myself did bend,  
Him to recomfort with my company.  
But him the more aggrieved I found thereby:  
For all his joy, he said, in that distress  
Was mine and his Aemylias liberty.  
Aemylia well he loved, as I moat guess;  
Yet greater love to me then her he did profess.   

But I with better reason him auized,  
And show'd him how through error and mis-thought  
Of our like persons each to be disguised,  
Or his exchange, or freedom might be wrought.  
Whereto full loath was he, ne would for ought  
Consent, that I who stood all fearless free,  
Should wilfully be into thraldom brought,  
Till fortune did perforce it so decree.  
Yet overruled at last, he did to me agree.   

The morrow next about the wont hour,  
The Dwarf called at the door of Amyas,  
To come forthwith unto his Lady's bower.  
In steed of whom forth came I Placidas,  
And undiscerned, forth with him did pass.  
There with great joyance and with gladsome glee,  
Of fair Poeana I received was,  
And oft embraced, as if that I were he,  
And with kind words accoyd, vowing great love to me.   

Which I, that was not bend to former love,  
As was my friend, that had her long refused,  
Did well accept, as well it did behove,  
And to the present need it wisely used.  
My former hardness first I fair excused;  
And after promised large amends to make.  
With such smooth terms her error I abused,  
To my friends good, more than for mine own sake,  
For whose sole liberty I love and life did stake.   

Thenceforth I found more favour at her hand,  
That to her Dwarf, which had me in his charge,  
She bade to lighten my too heavy band,  
And grant more scope to me to walk at large.  
So on a day as by the flowery marge  
Of a fresh stream I with that Elf did play,  
Finding no means how I might us enlarge,  
But if that Dwarf I could with me convey,  
I lightly snatched him up, and with me bore away.   

Thereat he shrieked aloud, that with his cry  
The Tyrant self came forth with yelling bray,  
And me pursewed; but nathemore would I  
forego the purchase of my got prey,  
But have perforce him hither brought away.  
Thus as they talked, lo where nigh at hand  
Those Ladies two yet doubtful through dismay  
In presence came, desirous t'understand  
Tidings of all, which there had happened on the land.   

Where soon as sad Aemylia did espy  
Her captive lovers friend, young Placidas;  
All mindless of her wont modesty,  
She to him ran, and him with straight embras  
Enfolding said, and lives yet Amyas?  
He lives (quoth he) and his Aemylia loves.  
Then less (said she) by all the woe I pas,  
With which my weaker patience fortune proves.  
But what mishap thus long him fro myself removes?   

Then 'gan he all this story to renew,  
And tell the course of his captivity;  
That her dear heart full deeply made to rue,  
And sigh full sore, to hear the misery,  
In which so long he merciless did lie.  
Then after many tears and sorrows spent,  
She dear besought the Prince of remedy:  
Who thereto did with ready will consent,  
And well performed, as shall appear by his event.    

Cant. IX.  
The Squire of low degree released  
Poeana takes to wife:  
Britomart fights with many Knight's  
Prince Arthur stints their strife.  

Heard is the doubt, and difficult to deem,  
When all three kinds of love together meet,  
And do dispart the heart with power extreme,  
Whether shall weigh the balance down; to weet  
The dear affection unto kindred sweet,  
Or raging fire of love to woman kind,  
Or zeal of friends combynd with virtues meet.  
But of them all the band of virtues mind  
Me seems the gentle heart, should most assured bind.   

For natural affection soon doth cease,  
And quenched is with Cupid's greater flame:  
But faithful friendship doth them both suppress,  
And them with maystring discipline doth tame,  
Through thoughts aspiring to eternal fame.  
For as the soul doth rule the earthly mass,  
And all the service of the body frame,  
So love of soul doth love of body pass,  
No less than perfect gold surmounts the meanest brass.   

All which who list by trial to assay,  
Shall in this story find approved plain;  
In which these Squires true friendship more did sway,  
Then either care of parents could refrain,  
Or love of fairest Lady could constrain.  
For though Poeana were as fair as morn,  
Yet did this Trusty squire with proud disdain  
For his friend's sake her offered favours scorn,  
And she herself her sire, of whom she was yborn.   

Now after that Prince Arthur granted had,  
To yield strong succour to that gentle swain,  
Who now long time had lain in prison sad,  
He 'gan advise how best he moat darrayne  
That enterprise, for greatest glories gain.  
That headless tyrant's trunk he reared from ground,  
And having imped the head to it again,  
Upon his usual beast it firmly bound,  
And made it so to ride, as it alive was found.   

Then did he take that chased Squire, and laid  
Before the rider, as he captive were,  
And made his Dwarf, though with unwilling aid,  
To guide the beast, that did his master bear,  
Till to his castle they approached near.  
Whom when the watch, that kept continual ward  
Saw coming home; all void of doubtful fear,  
He running down, the gate to him unbard;  
Whom strait the Prince ensuing, in together fared.   

There he did find in her delicious bower  
The fair Poeana playing on a Rote,  
Complaining of her cruel Paramour,  
And singing all her sorrow to the note,  
As she had learned readily by rote.  
That with the sweetness of her rare delight,  
The Prince half rapt, began on her to dote:  
Till better him bethinking of the right,  
He her unwares attached, and captive held by might.   

Whence being forth produced, when she perceived  
Her own dear sire, she called to him for aid.  
But when of him no answer she received,  
But saw him senseless by the Squire upstaide,  
She weened well, that then she was betrayed:  
Then 'gan she loudly cry, and weep, and wail,  
And that same Squire of treason to upbraid.  
But all in vain, her plaints might not prevail,  
Ne none there was to rescue her, ne none to bail.   

Then took he that same Dwarf, and him compelled  
To open unto him the prison door,  
And forth to bring those thralls, which there he held.  
Thence forth were brought to him above a score  
Of Knights and Squires to him unknown afore:  
All which he did from bitter bondage free,  
And unto former liberty restore.  
Amongst the rest, that Squire of low degree  
Came forth full weak and wan, not like himself to be.   

Whom soon as fair Aemylia beheld,  
And Placidas, they both unto him ran,  
And him embracing fast betwixt them held,  
Striving to comfort him all that they can,  
And kissing oft his visage pale and wan.  
That fair Paeana them beholding both,  
'Gan both envy, and bitterly to ban;  
Through jealous passion weeping inly wroth,  
To see the sight perforce, that both her eyes were loath.   

But when a while they had together been,  
And diversly conferred of their case,  
She, though full oft she both of them had seen  
Asunder, yet not ever in one place,  
Began to doubt, when she them saw embrace,  
Which was the captive Squire she loved so dear,  
Deceived through great likeness of their face,  
For they so like in person did appear,  
That she uneath discerned, whether whether wear.   

And eke the Prince, when as he them avized,  
Their like resemblance much admired there,  
And mazed how nature had so well disguise  
Her work, and counterfeit herself so near,  
As if that by one pattern seen somewhere,  
She had them made a paragon to be,  
Or whether it through skill, or error were.  
Thus gazing long, at them much wondered he,  
So did the other knights and Squires, which him did see.   

Then 'gan they ransack that same Castle strong,  
In which he found great store of hoardward treasure,  
The which that tyrant gathered had by wrong  
And tortuous power, without respect or measure.  
Upon all which the Briton Prince made seizure,  
And afterwards continued there a while,  
To rest himself, and solace in soft pleasure  
Those weaker Ladies after weary toil;  
To whom he did divide part of his purchased spoil.   

And for more joy, that captive Lady fair  
The fair Paeana he enlarged free;  
And by the rest did set in sumptuous chair,  
To feastand frolic; nathemore would she  
Show gladsome countenance nor pleasant glee:  
But grieved was for loss both of her sire,  
And eke of Lordship, with both land and fee:  
But most she touched was with grief entire,  
For loss of her new love, the hope of her desire.   

But her the Prince through his well wont grace,  
To better terms of mildness did entreat,  
From that fowl rudeness, which did her deface;  
And that same bitter corsive, which did eat  
Her tender heart, and made refrain from meat,  
He with good thews and speeches well applied,  
Did mollify, and calm her raging heat.  
For though she were most fair, and goodly died,  
Yet she it all did mar with cruelty and pride.   

And for to shut up all in friendly love,  
Sith love was first the ground of all her grief,  
That trusty Squire he wisely well did move  
Not to despise that dame, which loved him lief,  
Till he had made of her some better priefe,  
But to accept her to his wedded wife.  
Thereto he offered for to make him chief  
Of all her land and lordship during life:  
He yielded, and her took; so stinted all their strife.   

From that day forth in peace and joyous bliss,  
They lived together long without debate,  
Ne private jar, ne spite of enemis  
Can shake the safe assurance of their state.  
And she whom Nature did so fair create,  
That she moat match the fairest of her days,  
Yet with lewd loves and lust intemperate  
Had it defaced; thenceforth reformed her ways,  
That all men much admired her change, and spoke her praise.   

Thus when the Prince had perfectly compylde  
These pairs of friends in peace and settled rest,  
Himself, whose mind did travel as with child,  
Of his old love, conceived in secret breast,  
Resolved to pursue his former guest;  
And taking leave of all, with him did bear  
Fair Amoretta, whom Fortune by bequest  
Had left in his protection whileare,  
Exchanged out of one into an other fear.   

Fear of her safety did her not constrain,  
For well she witted now in a mighty hand,  
Her person late in peril, did remain,  
Who able was all dangers to withstand.  
But now in fear of shame she more did stand,  
Seeing herself all solely succourless,  
Left in the victor's power, like vassal bond;  
Whose will her weakness could no way repress.  
In case his burning lust should break into excess.   

But cause of fear sure had she none at all  
Of him, who goodly learned had of yore  
The course of lose affection to forstall,  
And lawless lust to rule with reason's lore;  
That all the while he by his side her bore,  
She was as safe as in a Sanctuary;  
Thus many miles they two together wore,  
To seek their loves dispersed diversly,  
Yet neither showed to other their heart's privity.   

At length they came, whereas a troop of Knights  
They saw together skirmishing, as seemed:  
Six they were all, all full offell despite,  
But four of them the battle best beseemed,  
That which of them was best, moat not be deemed.  
Those four were they, from whom false Florimell  
By Braggadochio lately was redeemed.  
To weet, stern Druon, and lewd Claribell,  
Love-lavish Blandamour, and lustful Paridell.   

Druons delight was all in single life,  
And unto Lady's love would lend no leisure:  
The more was Claribell enraged rise  
With fervent flames, and loved out of measure:  
So eke loved Blandamour, but yet at pleasure  
Would change his liking, and new Lemons prove:  
But Paridell of love did make no treasure,  
But lusted after all, that him did move.  
So diversly these four disposed were to love.   

But those two other which beside them stood,  
Were Britomart, and gentle Scudamour,  
Who all the while beheld their wrathful mood,  
And wondered at their impacable stoure,  
Whose like they never saw till that same hour:  
So dreadful strokes each did at other drive,  
And laid on load with all their might and power,  
As if that every dint the ghost would rive  
Out of their wretched corpses, and their lives deprive.   

As when Dan AEolus in great displeasure,  
For loss of his dear love by Neptune hent,  
Sends forth the winds out of his hidden treasure,  
Upon the sea to wreak his fell intent;  
They breaking forth with rude unruliment,  
From all four parts of heaven do rage full sore,  
And toss the deeps, and tear the firmament,  
And all the world confound with wide uproar,  
As if in stead thereof they Chaos would restore.   

Cause of their discord, and so fell debate,  
Was for the love of that same snowy maid,  
Whom they had lost in Turneyment of late,  
And seeking long, to weet which way she strayed  
Met here together, where through lewd upbraid  
Of Ate and Duessa they fell out,  
And each one taking part in others aid,  
This cruel conflict raised thereabout,  
Whose dangerous success depended yet in doubt.   

For sometimes Paridell and Blandamour  
The better had, and bet the others back,  
eftsoons the others did the field recover,  
And on their foes did work full cruel wrack:  
Yet neither would their fiendlike fury slack,  
But evermore their malice did augment;  
Till that uneath they forced were for lack  
Of breath, their raging rigour to relent,  
And rest themselves for to recover spirits spent.   

Their 'gan they change their sides, and new parts take;  
For Paridell did take to Druons side,  
For old despite, which now forth newly broke  
'Gainst Blandamour, whom always he envied:  
And Blandamour to Claribell relied.  
So all afresh 'gan former fight renew.  
As when two Barks, this carried with the tide,  
That with the wind, contrary courses sew,  
If wind and tide do change, their courses change anew.   

Thenceforth they much more furiously 'gan far,  
As if but then the battle had begun,  
Ne helmets bright, ne hawberks strong did spare,  
That through the cliffs the vermilion blood out spun,  
And all adown their riven sides did run.  
Such mortal malice, wonder was to see  
In friends professed, and so great outrage done:  
But sooth is said, and tried in each degree,  
Faint friends when they fall out, most cruel foemen be.   

Thus they long while continued in fight,  
Till Scudamour, and that same Briton maid,  
By fortune in that place did chance to light:  
Whom soon as they with wrathful eye bewrayed,  
They 'gan remember of the fowl upbraid,  
The which that Britonesse had to them done,  
In that late Turney for the snowy maid;  
Where she had them both shamefully fordone,  
And eke the famous prize of beauty from them won.   

eftsoons all burning with a fresh desire  
Of fell revenge, in their malicious mood  
They from themselves 'gan turn their furious ire,  
And cruel blades yet steaming with hot blood,  
Against those two let drive, as they were wood:  
Who wondering much at that so sudden fit,  
Yet nought dismayed, them stoutly well withstood;  
Ne yielded foot, ne once aback did flit,  
But being doubly smitten likewise doubly smit.   

The warlike Dame was on her part assayed,  
Of Claribell and Blandamour atone;  
And Paridell and Druon fiercely laid  
At Scudamour, both his professed fone.  
Four charged two, and two surcharged one;  
Yet did those two themselves so bravely bear,  
That the other little gained by the lone,  
But with their own repaired duly wear,  
And usury withal: such gain was gotten dear.   

Full oftentimes did Britomart assay  
To speak to them, and some emparlance move;  
But they for nought their cruel hands would stay,  
Ne lend an ear to aught, that might behove,  
As when an eager mastiff once doth prove  
The taste of blood of some engored beast,  
No words may rate, nor rigour him remove  
From greedy hold of that his bloody feast:  
So little did they hearken to her sweet behest.   

Whom when the Briton Prince a far beheld  
With odds of so unequal match oppressed,  
His mighty heart with indignation fweld,  
And inward grudge filled his heroic breast:  
eftsoons himself he to their aid addressed,  
And thrusting fierce into the thickest press,  
Divided them, how ever loath to rest,  
And would them feign from battle to surcease,  
With gentle words persuading them to friendly peace.   

But they so far from peace or patience were,  
That all at once at him 'gan fiercely fly,  
And lay on load, as they him down would bear;  
Like to astorme, which hovers under sky  
Long here and there, and round about doth sty,  
At length breaks down in rain, and hail, and sleet,  
First from one coast, till nought thereof be dry;  
And then another, till that likewise fleet;  
And so from side to side till all the world it weet.   

But now their forces greatly were decayed,  
The Prince yet being fresh untouched afore;  
Who them with speeches mild 'gan first dissuade  
From such foul outrage, and them long forbore:  
Till seeing them through sufferance heartened more,  
Himself he bent their furies to abate,  
And laid at them so sharply and so sore,  
That shortly them compelled to retrate,  
And being brought in danger, to relent too late.   

But now his courage being thoroughly fired,  
He meant to make them know their folly's prize,  
Had not those two him instantly desired  
T'assuage his wrath, and pardon their mesprise.  
At whose request he 'gan himself advise  
To stay his hand, and of a truce to treat  
In milder terms, as list them to devise:  
'mongst which the cause of their so cruel heat  
He did them ask, who all that passed 'gan repeat.   

And told at large how that same errant Knight,  
To weet fair Britomart, them late had foiled  
In open tourney, and by wrongful fight  
Both of their public praise had them despoiled,  
And also of their private loves beguiled,  
Of two full hard to read the harder theft.  
But she that wrongful challenge soon assoiled,  
And show'd that she had not that Lady reft,  
(As they supposed) but her had to her liking left.   

To whom the Prince thus goodly well replied;  
Certes sir Knight, ye seemen much to blame,  
To rip up wrong, that battle once hath tried;  
Wherein the honour both of Arms ye shame,  
And eke the love of Ladies foul defame;  
To whom the world this franchise ever yielded,  
That of their loves choice they might freedom claim,  
And in that right should by all knights be shielded:  
'Gainst which me seems this war ye wrongfully have wielded.   

And yet (quoth she) a greater wrong remains:  
For I thereby my former love have lost,  
Whom seeking ever since with endless pains,  
Hath me much sorrow and much travel cost;  
Ay me to see that gentle maid so tossed.  
But Scudamour then sighing deep, thus said,  
Certes her loss ought me to sorrow most,  
Whose right she is, where ever she be strayed,  
Through many perils won, and many fortunes weighed.   

For from the first that I her love professed,  
Unto this hour, this present luckless hour,  
I never joyed happiness nor rest,  
But thus turmoild from one to other stowre,  
I wast my life, and do my days devour  
In wretched anguish and incessant woe,  
Passing the measure of my feeble power,  
That living thus, a wretch I and loving so,  
I neither can my love, ne yet my life forego.   

Then good sir Claribell him thus bespoke,  
Now were it not sir Scudamour to you,  
Dislikefull pain, so sad a task to take,  
Moat we entreat you, sith this gentle crew  
Is now so well accorded all anew;  
That as we ride together on our way,  
Ye will recount to us in order dew  
All that adventure, which ye did assay  
For that fair Lady's love: past perils well apay.   

So 'gan the rest him likewise to require,  
But Britomart did him importune hard,  
To take on him that pain: whose great desire  
He glad to satisfy, himself prepared  
To tell through what misfortune he had fared,  
In that achievement, as to him befell.  
And all those dangers unto them declared,  
Which sith they cannot in this Canto well  
Comprised be, I will them in another tell.    

Cant. X.  
Scudamour doth his conqust tell,  
Of virtuous Amoretta:  
Great Venus' Temple is described,  
And lovers life forth set.  

TRue he it said, what ever man it said,  
That love with gall and honey doth abound,  
But if the one be with the other weighed,  
For every dram of honey therein found,  
A pound of gall doth over it redound.  
That I too true by trial have approved:  
For since the day that first with deadly wound  
My heart was launched, and learned to have loved,  
I never joyed hour, but still with care was moved.   

And yet such grace is given them from above,  
That all the cares and evil which they meet,  
May nought at all their settled minds remove,  
But seem 'gainst common sense to them most sweet;  
As boasting in their martyrdom unmeet.  
So all that ever yet I have endured,  
I count as nought, and tread down under feet,  
Since of my love at length I rest assured,  
That to disloyalty she will not be alured.   

Long were to tell the travel and long toil,  
Through which this shield of love I late have won,  
And purchased this peerless beauty's spoil,  
That harder may be ended, then begun.  
But since ye so desire, your will be done.  
Then hark ye gentle knights and Ladies free,  
My hard mishaps, that ye may learn to shun;  
For though sweet love to conquer glorious Bee,  
Yet is the pain thereof much greater than the fee.   

What time the fame of this renowned prize  
Flew first abroad, and all men's ears possessed,  
I having arms then taken, 'gan avise  
To win me honour by some noble gest,  
And purchase me some place amongst the best.  
I boldly thought (so young men's thoughts are bold)  
That this same brave emprize for me did rest,  
And that both shield and she whom I behold,  
Might be my lucky lot; sith all by lot we hold.   

So on that hard adventure forth I went,  
And to the place of peril shortly came.  
That was a temple fair and ancient,  
Which of great mother Venus bore the name,  
And far renowned through exceeding fame;  
Much more than that, which was in Paphos built,  
Or that in Cyprus, both long since this same,  
Though all the pillours of the one were guilt,  
And all the others pavement were with ivory spilled.   

And it was seated in an Island strong,  
Abounding all with delices most rare,  
And walled by nature 'gainst invaders wrong,  
That none moat have access, nor inward fare,  
But by one way, that passage did prepare.  
It was a bridge ybuilt in goodly wize,  
With curious Corbes and pendants graven fair,  
And arched all with porches, did arise  
On stately pillours, framed after the Doric guise.   

And for defence thereof, on th'other end  
There reared was a castle fair and strong,  
That warded all which in or out did wend,  
And flanked both the bridges sides along,  
'Gainst all that would it feign to force or wrong.  
And therein wonned twenty valiant Knights;  
All twenty tried in wars experience long;  
Whose office was, against all nanner wights  
By all means to maintain, that castles ancients rights.   

Before that Castle was an open plain,  
And in the midst thereof a pillar placed;  
On which this shield, of many sought in vain,  
The shield of Love, whose guerdon me hath graced,  
Was hanged on high with golden ribbons laced;  
And in the marble stone was written this,  
With golden letters goodly well enchased,  
Blessed the man that well can use his bliss:  
Whose ever be the shield, fair Amoretta be his.   

Which when I red, my heart did inly earn,  
And pant with hope of that adventures hap:  
Ne stayed further news thereof to learn,  
But with my spear upon the shield did rap,  
That all the castle ringed with the clap.  
Straight forth issewd a Knight all armed to proof,  
And bravely mounted to his most mishap:  
Who staying nought to question from aloof,  
Ran fierce at me, that fire glanced from his horse's hoof.   

Whom boldly I encountered (as I could)  
And by good fortune shortly him unseated.  
eftsoons out sprung two more of equal mould;  
But I them both with equal hap defeated:  
So all the twenty I likewise entreated,  
And left them groaning there upon the plain.  
Then preacing to the pillar I repeated  
The read thereof for guerdon of my pain,  
And taking down the shield, with me did it retain.   

So forth without impediment I passed,  
Till to the Bridges utter gate I came:  
The which I found sure locked and chained fast.  
I knocked, but no man aunswred me by name;  
I called, but no man answered to my claim.  
Yet I persevered still to knock and call,  
Till at the last I spied within the same,  
Where one stood peeping through a crevice small,  
To whom I called aloud, half angry therewithal.   

That was to weet the Porter of the place,  
Unto whose trust the charge thereof was lent:  
His name was Doubt, that had a double face,  
Th'one forward looking, th'other backward bent,  
Therein resembling janus ancient,  
Which hath in charge the ingate of the year:  
And evermore his eyes about him went,  
As if some proved peril he did fear,  
Or did misdoubt some ill, whose cause did not appear.   

On th'one side he, on th'other sat Delay,  
Behind the gate, that none her might espy;  
Whose manner was all passengers to stay,  
And entertain with her occasions sly,  
Through which some lost great hope unheedily,  
Which never they recover might again;  
And others quite excluded forth, did lie  
Long languishing there in unpitied pain,  
And seeking often entrance, afterwards in vain.   

Me when as he had privily espied,  
Bearing the shield which I had conquered late,  
He kend it straight, and to me opened wide.  
So in I passed, and straight he closed the gate.  
But being in, Delay in close await  
Caught hold on me, and thought my steps to stay,  
Feigning full many a fond excuse to prate,  
And time to steal, the treasure of man's day,  
Whose smallest minute lost, no riches render may.   

But by no means my way I would foreslow,  
For aught that ever she could do or say,  
But from my lofty steed dismounting low,  
Past forth on foot, beholding all the way  
The goodly works, and stones of rich assay,  
Cast into sundry shapes by wondrous skill,  
That like on earth no where I reckon may:  
And underneath, the river rolling still  
With murmur soft, that seemed to serve the workman's will.   

Thence forth I passed to the second gate,  
The Gate of good desert, whose goodly pride  
And costly frame, were long here to relate.  
The same to all stood always open wide:  
But in the Porch did evermore abide  
An hideous Giant, dreadful to behold,  
That stopped the entrance with his spacious stride,  
And with the terror of his countenance bold  
Full many did affray, that else feign enter would.   

His name was Danger dreaded over all,  
Who day and night did watch and duly ward,  
From fearful cowards, entrance to forstall,  
And faint-heart-fooles, whom show of peril hard  
Can terrify from Fortune's fair adward:  
For oftentimes faint hearts at first espial  
Of his grim face, were from approaching scared;  
Unworthy they of grace, whom one denial  
Excludes from fairest hope, withouten further trial.   

Yet many doughty warriors, often tried  
In greater perils to bestout and bold,  
Durst not the sternness of his look abide,  
But soon as they his countenance did behold,  
Began to faint, and feel their courage cold.  
Again some other, that in hard assays  
Were cowards known, and little count did hold,  
Either through gifts, or guile, or such like ways,  
Crept in by stooping low, or stealing of the keys.   

But I though nearest man of many more,  
Yet much disdaining unto him to lout,  
Or creep between his legs, so in to go,  
Resolved him to assault with manhood stout,  
And either beat him in, or drive him out.  
eftsoons advancing that enchanted shield,  
With all my might I 'gan to lay about:  
Which when he saw, the glaive which he did wield  
He 'gan forthwith t'auale, and way unto me yield.   

So as I entered, I did backward look,  
For fear of harm, that might lie hidden there;  
And lo his hindparts, whereof heed I took,  
Much more deformed fearful ugly were,  
Then all his former parts did erst appear.  
For hatred, murder, treason, and despite,  
With many more lay in ambushment there,  
Awaiting to entrap the warelesse wight,  
Which did not them prevent with vigilant foresight.   

Thus having past all peril, I was come  
Within the compass of that Islands space;  
The which did seem unto my simple doom,  
The only pleasant and delightful place,  
That ever trodden was of footings trace.  
For all that nature by her mother wit  
Can frame in earth, and form of substance base,  
Was there, and all that nature did omit,  
Art playing second nature's part, supplied it.   

No tree, that is of count, in greenewood grows,  
From lowest juniper to Cedar tall,  
No flower in field, that dainty odour throws,  
And decks his branch with blossoms over all,  
But there was planted, or grew natural:  
Nor sense of man so coy and curious nice,  
But there moat find to please itself withal;  
Nor heart could wish for any quaint device,  
But there it present was, and did frail sense entice.   

In such luxurious plenty of all pleasure,  
It seemed a second paradise to be,  
So lavishly enriched with nature's treasure,  
That if the happy souls, which do possess  
Th'Elysian fields, and live in lasting bliss,  
Should happen this with living eye to see,  
They soon would loathe their lesser happiness,  
And wish to life returned again to guess,  
That in this joyous place they moat have joyance free.   

Fresh shadows, fit to shroud from sunny ray;  
Fair lands, to take the sun in season dew;  
Sweet springs, in which a thousand Nymphs did play;  
Soft rambling brooks, that gentle slumber drew;  
High reared mounts, the lands about to view;  
Low looking dales, disloignd from common gaze;  
Delightful bowers, to solace lovers true;  
False Labyrinths, fond runners eyes to daze;  
All which by nature made did nature self amaze.   

And all without were walks and all eyes dight,  
With divers trees, enranged in even ranks;  
And here and there were pleasant arbours pight,  
And shady seats, and sundry flowering banks,  
To sit and rest the walkers weary shanks,  
And therein thousand pairs of lovers walked,  
Praising their god, and yielding him great thanks,  
Ne ever ought but of their true loves talked,  
Ne ever for rebuke or blame of any balked.   

All these together by themselves did sport  
Their spotless pleasures, and sweet loves content.  
But far away from these, another sort  
Of lovers linked in true heart's consent;  
Which loved not as these, for like intent,  
But on chaste virtue grounded their desire,  
far from all fraud, or feigned blandishment;  
Which in their spirits kindling zealous fire,  
Brave thoughts and noble deeds did evermore aspire.   

Such were great Hercules, and Hyllus dear;  
True jonathan, and David trusty tried;  
Stout Theseus, and Pirithous his fear;  
Pylades and Orestes by his side;  
Mild Titus and Gesippus without pride;  
Damon and Pythias whom death could not sever:  
All these and all that ever had been tied,  
In bands of friendship there did live for ever,  
Whose lives although decayed, yet loves decayed never.   

Which when as I, that never tasted bliss,  
Nor happy hour, beheld with gazefull eye,  
I thought there was none other heaven than this;  
And 'gan their endless happiness envy,  
That being free from fear and gealosye,  
Might frankly there their loves desire possess;  
Whilst I through pains and perilous jeopardy,  
Was forced to seek my life's dear patroness:  
Much dearer be the things, which come through hard distress.   

Yet all those sights, and all that else I saw,  
Might not my steps withhold, but that forthright  
Unto that purposed place I did me draw,  
Where as my love was lodged day and night:  
The temple of great Venus, that is height  
The Queen of beauty, and of love the mother,  
There worshipped of every living wight;  
Whose goodly workmanship far past all other  
That ever were on earth, all were they set together.   

Not that same famous Temple of Diane,  
Whose height all Ephesus did oversee,  
And which all Asia sought with vows profane,  
One of the world's seven wonders said to be,  
Might match with this by many a degree:  
Nor that, which that wise King of jury framed,  
With endless cost, to be th'Almighties see;  
Nor all that else through all the world is named  
To all the heathen Gods, might like to this be claimed.   

I much admiring that so goodly frame,  
Unto the porch approached, which open stood;  
But therein sat an amiable Dame,  
That seemed to be of very sober mood,  
And in her semblant showed great womanhood:  
Strange was her tire; for on her head a crown  
She wore much like unto a Danisk hood,  
Powdered with pearl and stone, and all her gown  
Enwoven was with gold, that taught full low a down.   

On either side of her, two young men stood,  
Both strongly armed, as fearing one another;  
Yet were they brethren both of half the blood,  
Begotten by two fathers of one mother,  
Though of contrary natures each to other:  
The one of them height Love, the other Hate,  
Hate was the elder, Love the younger brother;  
Yet was the younger stronger in his state  
Then th'elder, and him mastered still in all debate.   

Nathlesse that Dame so well them tempted both,  
That she them forced hand to join in hand,  
Albe that Hatred was thereto full loath,  
And turned his face away, as he did stand,  
Unwilling to behold that lovely band.  
Yet she was of such grace and virtuous might,  
That her commandment he could notwithstand,  
But bitten his lip for felonous despite,  
And gnashed his iron tusks at that displeasing sight.   

Concord she cleped was in common reed,  
Mother of blessed Peace, and Friendship true;  
They both her twins, both borne of heavenly seed,  
And she herself likewise divinely grew;  
The which right well her works divine did snew:  
For strength, and wealth, and happiness she lends,  
And strife, and war, and anger does subdue:  
Of little much, of foes she maketh friends,  
And to afflicted minds sweet rest and quiet sends.   

By her the heaven is in his course contained,  
And all the world in state unmoved stands,  
As their Almighty maker first ordained,  
And bound them with inviolable bands;  
Else would the waters overflow the lands,  
And fire devour the air, and hell them quite,  
But that she holds them with her blessed hands.  
She is the nurse of pleasure and delight,  
And unto Venus' grace the gate doth open right.   

By her I entering half dismayed was,  
But she in gentle wise me entertained,  
And twixt herself and love did let me pass;  
But Hatred would my entrance have restrained,  
And with his club me threatened to have brained,  
Had not the Lady with her powerful speech  
Him from his wicked will uneath refrained;  
And th'other eke his malice did impeach,  
Till I was thoroughly past the peril of his reach.   

Into the inmost Temple thus I came,  
Which fuming all with frankincense I found,  
And odours rising from the altars flame.  
Upon an hundred marble pillars round  
The roof up high was reared from the ground,  
All decked with crowns, & chains, and garlands gay,  
And thousand precious gifts worth many a pound,  
The which sad lovers for their vows did pay;  
And all the ground was strowed with flowers, as fresh as may.   

An hundred Altars round about were set,  
All flaming with their sacrifices fire,  
That with the esteem thereof die Temple sweat,  
Which rolled in clouds to heaven did aspire,  
And in them bore true lovers vows entire:  
And eke an hundred brazen caudrons bright,  
To bathe in joy and amorous desire,  
Every of which was to a damsel height;  
For all the Priests were damsels, in soft linen dight.   

Right in the midst the Goddess self did stand  
Upon an altar of some costly mass,  
Whose substance was uneath to understand:  
For neither precious stone, nor durefull brass,  
Nor shining gold, nor mouldering clay it was;  
But much more rare and precious to esteem,  
Pure in aspect, and like to crystal glass,  
Yet glass was not, if one did rightly deem,  
But being fair and brickle, likest glass did seem.   

But it in shape and beauty did excel  
All other Idols, which the heathen adore,  
far passing that, which by surpassing skill  
Phidias did make in Paphos' Isle of yore,  
With which that wretched Greek, that life forlore  
Did fall in love: yet this much fairer shined,  
But covered with a slender veil afore;  
And both her feet and legs together twined  
Were with a snake, whose head & tail were fast combined.   

The cause why she was covered with a vele,  
Was hard to know, for that her Priests the same  
From people's knowledge laboured to conceal.  
But soothe it was not sure for womanish shame,  
Nor any blemish, which the work moat blame;  
But for, they say, she hath both kinds in one,  
Both male and female, both under one name:  
She sire and mother is herself alone,  
Begets and eke conceives, ne needeth other none.   

And all about her neck and shoulders flew  
A flock of little loves, and sports, and joys,  
With nimble wings of gold and purple hue;  
Whose shapes seemed not like to terrestrial boys,  
But like to Angels playing heavenly toys;  
The whilst their eldest brother was away,  
Cupid their eldest brother; he enjoys  
The wide kingdom of love with Lordly sway,  
And to his law compels all creatures to obey.   

And all about her altar scattered lay  
Great sorts of lovers piteously complaining,  
Some of their loss, some of their loves delay,  
Some of their pride, some paragons disdaining,  
Some fearing fraud, some fraudulently feigning,  
As every one had cause of good or ill.  
Amongst the rest some one through loves constraining,  
Tormented sore, could not contain it still,  
But thus broke forth, that all the temple it did fill.   

Great Venus, Queen of beauty and of grace,  
The joy of Gods and men, that under sky  
Dost fairest shine, and most adorn thy place,  
That with thy smile look dost pacify  
The raging seas, and mak'st the storms to fly;  
Thee goddess, thee the winds, the clouds do fear,  
And when thou spredst thy mantle forth on high,  
The waters play and pleasant lands appear,  
And heavens laugh, & all the world shows joyous cheer.   

Then doth the daedale earth throw forth to thee  
Out of her fruitful lap abundant flowers,  
And then all living wights, soon as they see  
The spring break forth out of his lusty bowers,  
They all do learn to play the Paramours;  
First do the merry birds, thy pretty pages  
Privily pricked with thy lustful powers,  
Chirp loud to thee out of their levy cages,  
And thee their mother call to cool their kindly rages.   

Then do the salvage beasts begin to play  
Their pleasant frisks, and loath their wanted food;  
The lions roar, the Tigers loudly bray,  
The raging Bulls rebellow through the wood,  
And breaking forth, dare tempt the deepest flood,  
To come where thou dost draw them with desire:  
So all things else, that nourish vital blood,  
Soon as with fury thou dost them inspire,  
In generation seek to quench their inward fire.   

So all the world by thee at first was made,  
And daily yet thou dost the same repair:  
Ne ought on earth that merry is and glad,  
Ne ought on earth that lovely is and fair,  
But thou the same for pleasure didst prepare.  
Thou art the root of all that joyous is,  
Great God of men and women, queen of th'air,  
Mother of laughter, and wellspring of bliss,  
O grant that of my love at last I may not miss.   

So did he say: but I with murmur soft,  
That none might hear the sorrow of my heart,  
Yet inly groaning deep and sighing oft,  
Besought her to grant ease unto my smart,  
And to my wound her gracious help impart.  
Whilst thus I spoke, behold with happy eye  
I spied, where at the Idols feet apart  
A bevie of fair damsels close did lie,  
Waiting when as the Anthem should be sung on high.   

The first of them did seem of riper years,  
And graver countenance than all the rest;  
Yet all the rest were eke her equal pears,  
Yet unto her obeyed all the best.  
Her name was Womanhood, that she expressed  
By her sad semblant and demeanour wise:  
For steadfast still her eyes did fixed rest,  
Ne roved at random after gazer's guise,  
Whose luring baits oftimes do heedless hearts entice.   

And next to her sat goodly Shamefastness,  
Ne ever durst her eyes from ground upreare,  
Ne ever once did look up from her desk,  
As if some blame of evil she did fear,  
That in her cheeks made roses oft appear:  
And her against sweet Cheerfulness was placed,  
Whose eyes like twinkling stars in evening clear,  
Were decked with smiles, that all sad humours chased,  
And darted forth delights, the which her goodly graced.   

And next to her sat sober Modesty,  
Holding her hand upon her gentle heart;  
And her against sat comely Courtesy,  
That unto every person knew her part;  
And her before was seated overthwart  
Soft Silence, and submiss Obedience,  
Both linked together never to dispart,  
Both gifts of God not gotten but from thence,  
Both garlands of his Saints against their foe's offence.   

Thus sat they all a round in seemly rate:  
And in the midst of them a goodly maid,  
Even in the lap of Womanhood there sat,  
The which was all in lily white arrayed,  
With silver streams amongst the linen strayed;  
Like to the Morn, when first her shining face  
Hath to the gloomy world itself bewrayed,  
That same was fairest Amoretta in place,  
Shining with beauty's light, and heavenly virtues grace.   

Whom soon as I beheld, my heart 'gan throb,  
And wade in doubt, what best were to be done:  
For sacrilege me seemed the Church to rob,  
And folly seemed to leave the thing undone,  
Which with so strong attempt I had begun.  
though shaking off all doubt and shamefast fear,  
Which Ladies love I heard had never won  
Monest men of worth, I to her stepped near,  
And by the lily hand her laboured up to rear.   

Thereat that foremost matron me did blame,  
And sharp rebuke, for being over bold;  
Saying it was to Knight unseemly shame,  
Upon a recluse Virgin to lay hold,  
That unto Venus' services was sold.  
To whom I thus, Nay but it fitteth best,  
For Cupid's man with Venus' maid to hold,  
For ill your goddess services are dressed  
By virgins, and her sacrifices let to rest.   

With that my shield I forth to her did show,  
Which all that while I closely had conceld;  
On which when Cupid with his kill bow  
And cruel shafts emblazond she beheld,  
At sight thereof she was with terror quelled,  
And said no more: but I which all that while  
The pledge of faith, her hand engaged held,  
Like wary Hind within the weedy soil,  
For no entreaty would forego so glorious spoil.   

And evermore upon the Goddess face  
Mine eye was fixed, for fear of her offence,  
Whom when I saw with amiable grace  
To laugh at me, and favour my pretence,  
I was emboldened with more confidence,  
And nought for niceness nor for envy sparing,  
In presence of them all forth led her thence,  
All looking on, and like astonished staring,  
Yet to lay hand on her, not one of all them daring.   

She often prayed, and often me besought,  
Sometime with tender tears to let her go,  
Sometime with witching smiles: but yet for nought,  
That ever she to me could say or do,  
Can she her wished freedom fro me woo;  
But forth I led her through the Temple gate,  
By which I hardly past with much ado:  
But that same Lady which me friended late  
In entrance, did me also friend in my retrate.   

No less did danger threaten me with dread,  
When as he saw me, maugre all his power,  
That glorious spoil of beauty with me lead,  
Then Cerberus, when Orpheus did recover  
His Leman from the Stygian Princes bower.  
But evermore my shield did me defend,  
Against the storm of every dreadful stoure:  
Thus safely with my love I thence did wend.  
So ended he his tale, where I this Canto end.    

Cant. XI.  
Marinells' former wound is healed,  
he comes to Proteus hall,  
Where Thames doth the Medway wed,  
and feasts the Sea-gods all.  

But ah for pity that I have thus long  
Left a fair Lady languishing in pain:  
Now well away, that I have done such wrong,  
To let fair Florimell in bands remain,  
In bands of love, and in sad thraldom's chain;  
From which unless some heavenly power her free  
By miracle, not yet appearing plain,  
She longer yet is like captived to be:  
That even to think thereof, it inly pities me.   

Here need you to remember, how erewhile  
Vnlovely Proteus, missing to his mind  
That Virgin's love to win by wit or wile,  
Her threw into a dungeon deep and blind,  
And there in chains her cruelly did bind,  
In hope thereby her to his bent to draw:  
For when as neither gifts nor graces kind  
Her constant mind could move at all he saw,  
He thought her to compel by cruelty and awe.   

Deep in the bottom of an huge great rock  
The dungeon was, in which her bound he left,  
That neither iron bars, nor brazen lock  
Did need to guard from force, or secret theft  
Of all her lovers, which would her have rest.  
For walled it was with waves, which raged and roared  
As they the cliff in pieces would have cleft;  
Besides ten thousand monsters foul abhorred  
Did wait about it, gaping grisly all begored.   

And in the midst thereof did horror dwell,  
And darkness dredd, that never viewed day,  
Like to the baleful house of lowest hell,  
In which old Styx her aged bones always,  
Old Styx the Gramdame of the Gods, doth lay.  
There did this luckless maid three months abide,  
Ne ever evening saw, ne morning's ray,  
Ne ever from the day the night descried,  
But thought it all one night, that did no hours divide.   

And all this was for love of Marinell,  
Who her despysd (ah who would her despise?)  
And women's love did from his heart expel,  
And all those joys that weak mankind entice.  
Nathlesse his pride full dearly he did prise;  
For of a woman's hand it was ywroke,  
That of the wound he yet in languor lies,  
Ne can be cured of that cruel stroke  
Which Britomart him gave, when he did her provoke.   

Yet far and near the Nymph his mother sought,  
And many salves did to his sore apply,  
And many herbs did use. But when as nought  
She saw could ease his rankling malady,  
At last to Tryphon she for help did high,  
(This Tryphon is the seagods surgeon height)  
Whom she besought to find some remedy:  
And for his pains a whistle him behight  
That of a fishes shell was wrought with rare delight.   

So well that Leach did hark to her request,  
And did so well employ his careful pain,  
That in short space his hurts he had redressed,  
And him restored to healthful state again:  
In which he long time after did remain  
There with the Nymph his mother, like her thrall;  
Who sore against his will did him retain,  
For fear of peril, which to him moat fall,  
Through his too venturous prowess proved over all.   

It fortuned then, a solemn feast was there  
To all the Sea-gods and their fruitful seed,  
In honour of the spousalls, which then were  
Betwixt the Medway and the Thames agreed.  
Long had the Thames (as we in records reed)  
Before that day her wooed to his bed;  
But the proud Nymph would for no worldly meed,  
Nor no entreaty to his love be led;  
Till now at last relenting, she to him was wed.   

So both agreed, that this their bridal feast  
Should for the Gods in Proteus house be made;  
To which they all repaired, both most and least,  
Aswell which in the mighty Ocean trade,  
As that in rivers swim, or brooks do wade.  
All which not if an hundred tongues to tell,  
And hundred mouths, and voice of brass I had,  
And endless memory, that moat excel,  
In order as they came, could I recount them well.   

Help therefore, O thou sacred imp of jove,  
The noursling of Dame Memory his dear,  
To whom those rolls, laid up in heaven above,  
And records of antiquity appear,  
To which no wit of man may comen near;  
Help me to tell the names of all those floods,  
And all those Nymphs, which then assembled were  
To that great banquet of the watery Gods,  
And all their sundry kinds, and all their hid abodes.   

First came great Neptune with his threeforkt mace,  
That rules the Seas, and makes them rise or fall;  
His dewy locks did drop with brine apace,  
Under his Diadem imperial:  
And by his side his Queen with coronal,  
Fair Amphitrite, most divinely fair,  
Whose ivory shoulders weren covered all,  
As with a rob, with her own silver hair,  
And decked with pearls, which th'Indian seas for her prepare.   

These marched far afore the other crew;  
And all the way before them as they went,  
Triton his trumpet shrill before them blue,  
For goodly triumph and great iollyment,  
That made the rocks to roar, as they were rend.  
And after them the royal issue came,  
Which of them sprung by lineal descent:  
First the Sea-gods, which to themselves do claim  
The power to rule the billows, and the waves to tame.   

Phorcys, the father of that fatal brood,  
By whom those old Heroes won such fame;  
And Glaucus, that wise southsayes understood;  
And tragic Ino's son, the which became  
A God of seas through his mad mother's blame,  
Now height Palemon, and is sailors friend;  
Great Brontes, and Astraeus, that did shame  
Himself with incest of his kin unkend;  
And huge Orion, that doth tempests still portend.   

The rich Cteatus, and Eurytus long;  
Neleus and Pelias lovely brethren both;  
Mighty Chrysaor, and Caïcus strong;  
Eurypulus, that calms the waters wroth;  
And fair Euphoemus, that upon them goth  
As on the ground, without dismay or dread:  
Fierce Eryx, and Alebius that knoweth  
The water's depth, and doth their bottom tread;  
And sad Asopus, comely with his hoary head.   

There also some most famous founders were  
Of puissant Nations, which the world possessed;  
Yet sons of Neptune, now assembled here:  
Ancient Ogyges, even th'ancientest,  
And Inachus renowned above the rest;  
Phoenix, and Aon, and Pelasgus old,  
Great Belus, Phoeax, and Agenor best;  
And mighty Albion, father of the bold  
And warlike people, which the Britain Islands hold.   

For Albion the son of Neptune was,  
Who for the proof of his great puissance,  
Out of his Albion did on dryfoot pass  
Into old Gall, that now is cleped France,  
To fight with Hercules, that did advance  
To vanquish all the world with matchless might,  
And there his mortal part by great mischance  
Was slain: but that which is th'immortal sprite  
lives still: and to this feast with Neptune's seed was dight.   

But what do I their names seek to rehearse,  
Which all the world have with their issue filled?  
How can they all in this so narrow verse  
Contained be, and in small compass held?  
Let them record them, that are better skilled,  
And know the monuments of passed times:  
Only what needeth, shall be here fulfilled,  
T'express some part of that great equipage,  
Which from great Neptune do derive their parentage.   

Next came the aged Ocean, and his Dame,  
Old Tethys, th'oldest two of all the rest,  
For all the rest of those two parents came,  
Which afterward both sea and land possessed:  
Of all which Nereus th'eldest, and the best,  
Did first proceed, than which none more upright,  
Ne more sincere in word and deed professed;  
Most void of guile, most free from fowl despite,  
Doing himself, and teaching others to do right.   

Thereto he was expert in prophecies,  
And could the leaden of the Gods unfold,  
Through which, when Paris brought his famous prize  
The fair Tindarid lass, he him foretold,  
That her all Greece with many a champion bold  
Should fetch again, and finally destroy  
Proud Priam's town. So wise is Nereus' old,  
And so well skilled; nathlesse he takes great joy  
Oft-times amongst the wanton Nymphs to sport and toy.   

And after him the famous rivers came,  
Which do the earth enrich and beautify:  
The fertile Nile, which creatures new doth frame;  
Long Rhodanus, whose source springs from the sky;  
Fair Ister, flowing from the mountains hie;  
Divine Seaman der, purpled yet with blood  
Of Greeks and Troyans', which therein did die;  
Pactolus glistering with his golden flood,  
And Tigris fierce, whose streams of none may be withstood.   

Great Ganges, and immortal Euphrates,  
Deep Indus, and Maeander intricate,  
Slow Peneus, and tempestuous Phasides,  
Swift Rhine, and Alpheus still immaculate:  
Ooraxes, feared for great Cyrus' fate;  
Tiber, renowned for the Romans' fame,  
Rich Oranochy, though but known late;  
And that huge River, which doth bear his name  
Of warlike Amazons, which do possess the same.   

joy on those warlike women, which so long  
Can from all men so rich a kingdom hold;  
And shame on you, o men, which boast your strong  
And valiant hearts, in thoughts less hard and bold,  
Yet quail in conquest of that land of gold.  
But this to you, o Britons, most pertains,  
To whom the right hereof itself hath sold;  
The which for sparing little cost or pains,  
Lose so immortal glory, and so endless gains.   

Then was there heard a most celestial sound,  
Of dainty music, which did next ensue  
Before the spouse: that was Arion crowned;  
Who playing on his harp, unto him drew  
The ears and hearts of all that goodly crew,  
That even yet the Dolphin, which him bore  
Through the Agaean seas from Pirate's view,  
Stood still by him astonished at his lore,  
And all the raging seas for joy forgot to roar.   

So went he playing on the watery plain.  
Soon after whom the lovely Bridegroom came,  
The noble Thamis, with all his goodly train,  
But him before there went, as best became;  
His ancient parents, namely th'ancient Thame.  
But much more aged was his wife then he,  
The Ouze, whom men do Isis rightly name;  
Full weak and crooked creature seemed she,  
And almost blind through eld, that scarce her way could see.   

Therefore on either side she was sustained  
Of two small grooms, which by their names were height  
The Churn, and Charwell, two small streams, which pained  
Themselves her footing to direct aright,  
Which failed oft through faint and feeble plight:  
But Thame was stronger, and of better stay;  
Yet seemed full aged by his outward sight,  
With head all hoary, and his beard all grey,  
Deawed with silver drops, that trickled down always.   

And eke he somewhat seemed to stoop afore  
With bowed back, by reason of the load,  
And ancient heavy burden, which he bore  
Of that fair City, wherein make abode  
So many learned imps, that shoot abroad,  
And with their branches spread all Britain,  
No less than do her elder sister's brood.  
joy to you both, ye double nursery,  
Of Arts, but Oxford thine doth Thame most glorify.   

But he their son full fresh and jolly was,  
All decked in a rob of watchet hue,  
On which the waves, glittering like crystal glass,  
So cunningly enwoven were, that few  
Can weenen, whether they were false or true.  
And on his head like to a Coronet  
He wore, that seemed strange to common view,  
In which were many towers and castles set,  
Than it encompassed round as with a golden fret.   

Like as the mother of the Gods, they say,  
In her great iron chariot wonts to ride,  
When to loves palace she doth take her way;  
Old Cybele, arrayed with pompous pride,  
Wearing a Diadem embattild wide  
With hundred turrets, like a Turribant.  
With such an one was Thamis beautified;  
That was to weet the famous Troynovant,  
In which her kingdoms throne is chief resiant.   

And round about him many a pretty Page  
Attended duly, ready to obey;  
All little Rivers, which own vassalage  
To him, as to their Lord, and tribute pay:  
The chalky Kenet, and the Thetis grey,  
The morish Cole, and the soft sliding Breane,  
The wanton Lee, that oft doth lose his way,  
And the still Darent, in whose waters clean  
Ten thousand fishes play, and deck his pleasant stream.   

Then came his neighbour floods, which nigh him dwell,  
And water all the English soil throughout;  
They all on him this day attended well;  
And with meet service waited him about;  
Ne none disdained low to him to lout:  
No not the stately Severne grudged at all,  
Ne storming Humber, though he looked stout;  
But both him honoured as their principal,  
And let their swelling waters low before him fall.   

There was the speedy Tamar, which divides  
The Cornish and the Devonish confines;  
Through both whose borders swiftly down it glides,  
And meeting Plim, to Plymouth thence declines:  
And Dart, nigh choked with sands of tinny mines.  
But avon marched in more stately path,  
Proud of his Adamants, with which he shines  
And glisters wide, as als of wondrous Bath,  
And Bristol fair, which on his waves he builded hath.   

And there came Stoure with terrible aspect,  
Bearing his six deformed heads on high,  
That doth his course through Blandford plains direct,  
And washeth Winborne meads in season dry.  
Next him went Wylibourne with passage sly,  
That of his wiliness his name doth take,  
And of himself doth name the shire thereby:  
And Mole, that like a nuzzling Mole doth make  
His way still under ground, till Thamis he overtake.   

Then came the Rother, decked all with woods  
Like a wood God, and flowing fast to Rhy:  
And Stir, that parteth with his pleasant floods  
The Eastern Saxons from the Southern ny,  
And Clare, and Harwitch both doth beautify:  
Him followed you're, soft washing Norwitch wall,  
And with him brought a present joyfully  
Of his own fish unto their festival,  
Whose like none else could show, the which they Ruffians call.   

Next these the plenteous Ouse came far from land,  
By many a city, and by many a town,  
And many rivers taking under hand  
Into his waters, as he passeth down,  
The Cle, the Were, the Guant, the Stir, the Rowne.  
Thence doth by Huntingdon and Cambridge flit,  
My mother Cambridge, whom as with a Crown  
He doth adorn, and is adorned of it  
With many a gentle Muse, and many a learned wit.   

And after him the fatal Welland went,  
That if old saws prove true (which God forbidden)  
Shall drown all Holland with his excrement,  
And shall see Stamford, though now homely hid,  
Then shine in learning, more than ever did  
Cambridge or Oxford, England's goodly beams.  
And next to him the Nene down softly slid;  
And bounteous Trent, that in himself enseames  
Both thirty sorts of fish, and thirty sundry streams.   

Next these came Tyne, along whose stony bank  
That Roman Monarch built a brazen wall,  
Which moat the feebled Britons strongly flank  
Against the Picts, that swarmed over all,  
Which yet thereof Gualsever they do call:  
And Twede the limit betwixt Logris land  
And Albany: And Eden though but small,  
Yet often stained with blood of many a band  
Of Scots and English both, that tyned on his strand.   

Then came those six sad brethren, like forlorn,  
That whilom were (as antic fathers tell)  
Six valiant Knights, of one fair Nymph yborn,  
Which did in noble deeds of arms excel,  
And wonned there, where now York people dwell;  
Still Vre, swift Werfe, and Oze the most of might,  
High Small, unquiet Nide, and troublous Skell;  
All whom a Scythian king, that Humber height,  
Slew cruelly, and in the river drowned quite.   

But passed not long, ere Brutus warlike son  
Locrine's them avenged, and the same date,  
Which the proud Humber unto them had done,  
By equal doom repaid on his own pate:  
For in the self same river, where he late  
Had drenched them, he drowned him again;  
And named the river of his wretched fate;  
Whose bad condition yet it doth retain,  
Oft tossed with his storms, which therein still remain.   

These after, came the stony shallow Loan,  
That to old Loncaster his name doth lend;  
And following Dee, which Britons longygone  
Did call divine, that doth by Chester tend;  
And Conway which out of his stream doth send  
Plenty of pearls to deck his dames withal,  
And Lindus that his pikes doth most commend,  
Of which the ancient Lincoln men do call,  
All these together marched toward Proteus hall.   

Ne thence the Irish Rivers absent were,  
Sith no less famous than the rest they be,  
And join in neighbourhood of kingdom near,  
Why should they not likewise in love agree,  
And joy likewise this solemn day to see.  
They saw it all, and present were in place;  
Though I them all according their degree,  
Cannot recount, nor tell their hidden race,  
Nor read the salvage cuntreis, through which they place.   

There was the Liffy rolling down the lee,  
The sandy Slain, the stony Aubrian,  
The spacious Shenan spreading like a sea,  
The pleasant Boyne, the fishy fruitful Ban,  
Swift Awniduff, which of the English man  
Is called Black water, and the Liffar deep,  
Sad Trowiss, that once his people overran,  
Strong Allo tumbling from Slewlogher steep,  
And Mulla mine, whose waves I whilom taught to weep.   

And there the three renowned brethren were,  
Which that great Giant Blomius begot,  
Of the fair Nymph Rheusa wandering there.  
One day, as she to shun the season hot,  
Under Slewbloome in shady grove was got,  
This Giant found her, and by force deflowered,  
Whereof conceiving, she in time forth brought  
These three fair sons, which being thence forth powered  
In three great rivers ran, and many countries scowrd.   

The first, the gentle Sure that making way  
By sweet clonmel, adorns rich Waterford;  
The next, the stubborn Newre, whose waters grey  
By fair Kilkenny and Rosseponte board,  
The third, the goodly Barow, which doth hoard  
Great heaps of Salmon in his deep bosom:  
All which long sundered, do at last accord  
To join in one, ere to the sea they come,  
So flowing all from one, all one at last become.   

There also was the wide embayed Mayre,  
The pleasant Bandon crowned with many a wood,  
The spreading Lee, that like an Island fair  
Encloseth Cork with his divided flood;  
And baleful Our, late stained with English blood:  
With many more, whose names no tongue can tell.  
All which that day in order seemly good  
Did on the Thamis attend, and waited well  
To do their duefull service, as to them befell.   

Then came the Bride, the lovely Medua came,  
Clad in a vesture of unknown gear,  
And uncouth fashion, yet her well became;  
That seemed like silver, sprinkled here and there  
With glittering spangs, that did like stars appear,  
And waved upon, like water Chamelot,  
To hide the metal, which yet every where  
Bewrayed itself, to let men plainly wots,  
It was no mortal work, that seemed and yet was not.   

Her goodly locks adown her back did flow  
Unto her waste, with flowers bescattered,  
The which ambrosial odours forth did throw  
To all about, and all her shoulders spread  
As a new spring; and likewise on her head  
A Chapelet of sundry flowers she wore,  
From under which the dewy humour shed,  
Did trickle down her hair, like to the hore  
Congealed little drops, which do the morn adore.   

On her two pretty handmaids did attend,  
One called the These, the other called the Crane;  
Which on her waited, things amiss to mend,  
And both behind upheld her spreading train;  
Under the which, her feet appeared plain,  
Her silver feet, fair washed against this day:  
And her before there paced Pages twain,  
Both clad in colours like, and like array,  
The Down & eke the Frith, both which prepared her way.   

And after these the Sea Nymphs marched all,  
All goodly damsels, decked with long green hair,  
Whom of their sire Nereids men call,  
All which the Ocean's daughter to him bore  
The grey eyed Doris: all which fifty are;  
All which she there on her attending had.  
Swift Proto, mild Eucrate, Thetis fair,  
Soft Spio, sweet Endore, Sao sad,  
Light Doto, wanton Glauce, and Galene glad.   

White hand Eunica, proud Dynamene,  
joyous Thalia, goodly Amphitrite,  
Lovely Pasithee, kind Eulimene,  
Light foot Cymothoe, and sweet Melite,  
Fairest Pherusa, Phao lily white,  
Wondered Agave, Poris, and Nesaea,  
With Erato that doth in love delight,  
And Panopae, and wise Protomedaea,  
And snowy neckd Doris, and milkewhite Galathaea.   

Speedy Hippothoe, and chaste Actea,  
Large Lisianassa, and Pronaea sage,  
Euagore, and light Pontoporea,  
And she, that with her least word can assuage  
The surging seas, when they do sorest rage,  
Cymodoce, and stout Autonoe,  
And Neso, and Eione well in age,  
And seeming still to smile, Glauconome,  
And she that height of many hests Polynome.   

Fresh Alimeda, decked with garland green;  
Hyponeo, with salt bedewed wrists:  
Laomedia, like the crystal sheen;  
Liagore, much praised for wise behests;  
And Psamathe, for her broad snowy breasts;  
Cymo, Eupompe, and Themiste just;  
And she that virtue loves and vice detests  
Euarna, and Menippe true in trust,  
And Nemertea learned well to rule her lust.   

All these the daughters of old Nereus were,  
Which have the sea in charge to them assigned,  
To rule his tides, and surges to uprere,  
To bring forth storms, or fast them to upbinde.  
And sailors save from wrecks of wrathful wind.  
And yet besides three thousand more there were  
Of th'ocean's seed, but Jove's and Phoebus' kind;  
The which in floods and fountains do appear,  
And all mankind do nourish with their waters clear.   

The which, more each it were for mortal wight,  
To tell the sands, or count the stars on high,  
Or aught more hard, then think to reckon right.  
But well I wot, that these which I descry,  
Were present at this great solemnity:  
And there amongst the rest, the mother was  
Of luckless Marinell Cymodoce,  
Which, for my Muse herself now tired has,  
Unto an other Canto I will overpay.    

Cant. XII.  
Marin for love of Florimell,  
In languor wastes his life:  
The Nymph his mother getteth her,  
And gives to him for wife.  

O What an endless work have I in hand,  
To count the seas abundant progeny,  
Whose fruitful seed far passeth those in land,  
And also those which won in th'azure sky?  
For much more each to tell the stars on hy,  
Albe they endless seem in estimation,  
Then to recount the Seas posterity:  
So fertile be the floods in generation,  
So huge their numbers, and so numberless their nation.   

Therefore the antic wizards well invented,  
That Venus of the foamy sea was bred;  
For that the seas by her are most augmented.  
Witness th'exceeding fry, which there are fed,  
And wondrous shoals, which may of none be red.  
Then blame me not, if I have erred in count  
Of Gods, of Nymphs, Of rivers yet unred:  
For though their numbers do much more surmount,  
Yet all those same were there, which erst I did recount.   

All those were there, and many other more,  
Whose names and nations were too long to tell,  
That Proteus house they filled even to the door;  
Yet were they all in order, as befell,  
According their degrees disposed well.  
Amongst the rest, was fair Cymodoce,  
The mother of unlucky Marinell,  
Who thither with her came, to learn and see  
The manner of the Gods when they at banquet be.   

But for he was half mortal, being bred  
Of mortal sire, though of immortal womb,  
He might not with immortal food be fed,  
Ne with th'eternal Gods to banquet come;  
But walked abroad, and round about did room,  
To view the building of that uncouth place,  
That seemed unlike unto his earthly home:  
Where, as he to and fro by chance did trace,  
There unto him betided a disaventrous case.   

Under the hanging of an hideous clieffe,  
He heard the lamentable voice of one,  
That piteously complained her careful grief,  
Which never she before disclosed to none.  
But to herself her sorrow did bemoan,  
So feelingly her case she did complain,  
That ruth it moved in the rocky stone,  
And made it seem to feel her grievous pain,  
And oft to groan with billows beating from the main.   

Though vain I see my sorrows to unfold,  
And count my cares, when none is nigh to hear,  
Yet hoping grief may lessen being told,  
I will them tell though unto no man near:  
For heaven that unto all lends equal ear,  
Is far from hearing of my heavy plight;  
And lowest hell, to which I lie most near,  
Cares not what evils hap to wretched wight;  
And greedy seas do in the spoil of life delight.   

Yet lo the seas I see by often beating,  
Do pierce the rocks, and hardest marble wears;  
But his hard rocky heart for no entreating  
Will yield, but when my piteous plaints he hears,  
Is hardened more with my abundant tears.  
Yet though he never list to me relent,  
But let me waste in woe my wretched years,  
Yet will I never of my love repent,  
But joy that for his sake I suffer prisonment.   

And when my weary ghost with grief outworn,  
By timely death shall win her wished rest,  
Let then this plaint unto his ears be borne,  
That blame it is to him, that arms professed,  
To let her die, whom he might have redressed.  
There did she pause, enforced to give place,  
Unto the passion, that her heart oppressed,  
And after she had wept and wailed a space,  
She 'gan afresh thus to renew her wretched case.   

Ye Gods of seas, if any Gods at all  
Have care of right, or ruth of wretches wrong,  
By one or other way me woeful thrall,  
Deliver hence out of this dungeon strong,  
In which I daily dying am too long.  
And if ye deem me death for loving one,  
That loves not me, then do it not prolong,  
But let me die and end my days atone,  
And let him live vnloued, or love himself alone.   

But if that life ye unto me decree,  
Then let me live, as lovers ought to do,  
And of my life's dear love beloved be:  
And if he shall through pride your doom undo,  
Do you by duresse him compel thereto,  
And in this prison put him here with me:  
One prison fittest is to hold us two:  
So had I rather to be thrall, then free;  
Such thraldom or such freedom let it surely be.   

But o vain judgement, and conditions vain,  
The which the prisoner points unto the free,  
The whiles I him condemn, and deem his pain,  
He where he list goes lose, and laughs at me.  
So ever lose, so ever happy be.  
But where so lose or happy that thou art,  
Know Marinell that all this is for thee.  
With that she wept and wailed, as if her heart  
Would quite have burst through great abundance of her smart.   

All which complaint when Marinell had heard,  
And understood the cause of all her care  
To come of him, for using her so hard,  
His stubborn heart, that never felt misfare  
Was touched with soft remorse and pity rare;  
That even for grief of mind he oft did groan,  
And inly wish, that in his power it wear  
Her to redress: but since he means found none  
He could no more but her great misery bemoan.   

Thus whilst his stony heart with tender ruth  
Was touched, and mighty courage mollifide,  
Dame Venus' son that tameth stubborn youth  
With iron bit, and maketh him abide,  
Till like a victor on his back he ride,  
Into his mouth his maystring bridle threw,  
That made him stoop, till he did him bestride:  
Then 'gan he make him tread his steps anew,  
And learn to love, by learning lovers pains to rue.   

Now 'gan he in his grieved mind devise,  
How from that dungeon he might her enlarge;  
Some while he thought, by fair and humble wise  
To Proteus self to sue for her discharge:  
But then he feared his mother's former charge  
'Gainst women's love, long given him in vain.  
Then 'gan he think, perforce with sword and targe  
Her forth to fetch, and Proteus to constrain:  
But soon he 'gan such folly to forethink again.   

Then did he cast to steal her thence away,  
And with him bear, where none of her might know.  
But all in vain: for why he found no way  
To enter in, or issue forth below:  
For all about that rock the sea did flow.  
And though unto his will she given were,  
Yet without ship or boat her thence to row,  
He witted not how her thence away to bear;  
And danger well he witted long to continue there.   

At last when as no means he could invent,  
Back to himself, he 'gan return the blame,  
That was the author of her punishment;  
And with vile curses, and reproachful shame  
To damn himself by every evil name;  
And deem unworthy or of love or life,  
That had despised so chaste and fair a dame,  
Which him had sought through trouble & long strife;  
Yet had refused a God that her had sought to wife.   

In this sad plight he walked here and there,  
And rome round about the rock in vain,  
As he had lost himself, he witted not where;  
Oft listening if he moat her hear again;  
And still bemoaning her unworthy pain.  
Like as an Hind whose calf is fallen unwares  
Into some pit, where she him hears complain,  
An hundred times about the pit side fares,  
Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaved cares.   

And now by this the feast was thoroughly ended,  
And every one 'gan homeward to resort.  
Which seeing Marinell, was sore offended,  
That his departure thence should be so short,  
And leave his love in that sea-walled for't.  
Yet durst he not his mother disobey,  
But her attending in full seemly sort,  
Did march amongst the many all the way:  
And all the way did inly mourn, like one astray.   

Being returned to his mother's bower,  
In solitary silence far from wight,  
He 'gan record the lamentable stowre,  
In which his wretched love lay day and night,  
For his dear sake, that ill deserved that plight:  
The thought whereof empierst his heart so deep,  
That of no worldly thing he took delight;  
Ne daily food did take, ne nightly sleep,  
But pined, & mourned, & languished, and alone did weep.   

That in short space his wont cheerful hue  
'Gan fade, and lively spirits deadened quite:  
His cheek bones raw, and eie-pits hollow grew,  
And brawney arms had lost their known might,  
That nothing like himself he seemed in sight.  
Ere long so weak of limb, and sick of love  
He wox, that longer he note stand upright,  
But to his bed was brought, and laid above,  
Like rueful ghost, unable once to stir or move.   

Which when his mother saw, she in her mind  
Was troubled sore, ne witted well what to ween,  
Ne could by search nor any means out find  
The secret cause and nature of his teen,  
Whereby she might apply some medicine;  
But weeping day and night, did him attend,  
And mourned to see her loss before her eyen,  
Which grieved her more, that she it could not mend.  
To see an helpless evil, double grief doth lend.   

Nought could she read the root of his disease,  
Ne ween what mister malady it is,  
Whereby to seek some means it to appease.  
Most did she think, but most she thought amiss,  
That that same former fatal wound of his  
Whilere by Tryphon was not thoroughly healed,  
But closely rankled under th'orifice:  
Lest did she think, that which he most concealed,  
That love it was, which in his heart lay unrevealed.   

Therefore to Tryphon she again doth haste,  
And him doth chide as false and fraudulent,  
That failed the trust, which she in him had placed,  
To cure her son, as he his faith had lent:  
Who now was fallen into new languishment  
Of his old hurt, which was not thoroughly cured.  
So back he came unto her patiented,  
Where searching every part, her well assured,  
That it was no old sore, which his new pain procured.   

But that it was some other malady,  
Or grief unknown, which he could not discern:  
So left he her withouten remedy.  
Then 'gan her heart to faint, and quake, and earn,  
And inly troubled was, the truth to learn.  
Unto himself she came, and him besought,  
Now with fair speeches, now with threatenings stern,  
If ought lay hidden in his grieved thought,  
It to reveal: who still her answered, there was nought.   

Nathlesse she rested not so satisfied,  
But leaving watery gods, as booting nought,  
Unto the shinie heaven in haste she hide,  
And thence Apollo King of Leaches brought.  
Apollo came; who soon as he had sought  
Through his disease, did by and by out find,  
That he did languish of some inward thought,  
The which afflicted his engrieved mind;  
Which love he red to be, that leads each living kind.   

Which when he had unto his mother told,  
She 'gan thereat to fret, and greatly grieve.  
And coming to her son, 'gan first to scold,  
And chide at him, that made her misbelieve:  
But afterwards she 'gan him soft to shrieve,  
And woo with fair entreaty, to disclose,  
Which of the Nymphs his heart so sore did mieve.  
For sure she weaned it was some one of those,  
Which he had lately seen, that for his love he chose.   

Now less she feared that same fatal read,  
That warned him of women's love beware:  
Which being meant of mortal creatures seed,  
For love of Nymphs she thought she need not care,  
But promised him, what ever wight she wear,  
That she her love, to him would shortly gain:  
So he her told: but soon as she did hear  
That Florimell it was, which wrought his pain,  
She 'gan a fresh to chafe, and grieve in every vain.   

Yet since she saw the straight extremity,  
In which his life unluckily was laid,  
It was no time to scan the prophecy,  
Whether old Proteus true or false had said,  
That his decay should happen by a maid.  
It's late in death of danger to advise,  
Or love forbidden him, that is life denayed:  
But rather 'gan in troubled mind devise,  
How she that Lady's liberty might enterprise.   

To Proteus' self to sew she thought it vain,  
Who was the root and worker of her woe:  
Nor unto any meaner to complain,  
But unto great king Neptune self did go,  
And on her knee before him falling low,  
Made humble suit unto his Majesty,  
To grant to her, her sons life, which his foe  
A cruel Tyrant had presumpteouslie  
By wicked doom condemned, a wretched death to die.   

To whom God Neptune softly smile, thus;  
Daughter me seems of double wrong ye plain,  
'Gainst one that hath both wronged you, and us:  
For death t'adward I weened did appertain  
To none, but to the seas sole Sovereign.  
Read therefore who it is, which this hath wrought,  
And for what cause; the truth discover plain.  
For never wight so evil did or thought,  
But would some rightful cause pretend, though rightly nought.   

To whom she answered, Then it is by name  
Proteus, that hath ordained my son to die;  
For that a waist, the which by fortune came  
Upon your seas, he claimed as property:  
And yet nor his, nor his in equity,  
But yours the waift by high prerogative.  
Therefore I humbly crave your Majesty,  
It to replevie, and my son reprieve:  
So shall you by one gift save all us three alive.   

He granted it: and straight his warrant made,  
Under the Sea-gods seal authentical,  
Commanding Proteus strait t'enlarge the maid,  
Which wandering on his seas imperial,  
He lately took, and since kept as thrall.  
Which she receiving with meet thankfulness,  
Departed strait to Proteus therewithal:  
Who reading it with inward loathfulnesse,  
Was grieved to restore the pledge, he did possess.   

Yet durst he not the warrant to withstand,  
But unto her delivered Florimell.  
Whom she receiving by the lily hand,  
Admired her beauty much, as she moat well:  
For she all living creatures did excel;  
And was right joyous, that she gotten had  
So fair a wife for her son Marinell.  
So home with her she straight the virgin lad,  
And showed her to him, then being sore bestead.   

Who soon as he beheld that angel's face,  
Adorned with all divine perfection,  
His cheered heart eftsoons away 'gan chase  
Sad death, revived with her sweet inspection,  
And feeble spirit inly felt refection;  
As withered weed through cruel winter's tine,  
That feels the warmth of sunny beams reflection,  
Lifts up his head, that did before decline  
And gins to spread his leaf before the fair sunshine.   

Right so himself did Marinell uprear,  
When he in place his dearest love did spy;  
And though his limbs could not his body bear,  
Ne former strength return so suddenly,  
Yet cheerful signs he showed outwardly.  
Ne less was she in secret heart affected,  
But that she masked it with modesty,  
For fear she should of lightness be detected:  
Which to another place I leave to be perfected.     

THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE FAIRY QUEEN. Containing, THE LEGEND OF ARTEGALL OR OF JUSTICE.  


SO oft as I with state of present time,  
The image of the antic world compare,  
When as man's age was in his freshest prime.  
And the first blossom of fair virtue bare,  
Such odds I find twixt those, and these which are,  
As that, through long continuance of his course,  
Me seems die world is run quite out of square,  
From the first point of his appointed source,  
And being once amiss grows daily worse and worse.   

For from the golden age, that first was named,  
It's now at erst become a stony one;  
And men themselves, the which at first were framed  
Of earthly mould, and formed of flesh and bone,  
Are now transformed into hardest stone:  
Such as behind their backs (so backward bred)  
Were thrown by Pyrrha and Deucalione:  
And if than those may any worse be red,  
They into that ere long will be degendered.   

Let none then blame me, if in discipline  
Of virtue and of civil uses lore,  
I do not form them to the common line  
Of present days, which are corrupted sore,  
But to the antic use, which was of yore,  
When good was only for itself desired,  
And all men sought their own, and none no more;  
When justice was not for most meed outhyred,  
But simple Truth did rain, and was of all admired.   

For that which all men than did virtue call,  
Is now called vice; and that which vice was height,  
Is now height virtue, and so used of all:  
Right now is wrong, and wrong that was is right,  
As all things else in time are changed quite.  
Ne wonder; for the heavens revolution  
Is wandered far from, where it first was pight,  
And so do make contrary constitution  
Of all this lower world, toward his dissolution.   

For who so list into the heavens look,  
And search the courses of the rolling spheres,  
Shall find that from the point, where they first took  
Their setting forth, in these few thousand years  
They all are wandered much; that plain appears.  
For that same golden fleecy Ram, which bore  
Phrixus and Helle from their stepdame's fears,  
Hath now forgot, where he was placed of yore,  
And shouldered hath the Bull, which fair Europa bore.   

And eke the Bull hath with his bow-bent horn  
So hardly butted those two twins of jove,  
That they have crushed the Crab, and quite him borne  
Into the great Nemoean lions grove.  
So now all range, and do at random rove  
Out of their proper places far away,  
And all this world with them amiss do move,  
And all his creatures from their course astray,  
Till they arrive at their last ruinous decay.   

Ne is that same great glorious lamp of light,  
That doth enlumine all these lesser fires,  
In better case, ne keeps his course more right,  
But is miscarried with the other Spheres.  
For since the term of fourteen hundred years,  
That learned Ptolomaee his height did take,  
He is declined from that mark of theirs,  
Nigh thirty minutes to the Southern lake;  
That makes me fear in time he will us quite forsake.   

And if to those Egyptian wizards old,  
Which in Star-read were wont have best insight,  
Faith may be given, it is by them told,  
That since the time they first took the suns height,  
Four times his place he shifted hath in sight,  
And twice hath risen, where he now doth West,  
And wested twice, where he ought rise aright.  
But mostis Mars amiss of all the rest,  
And next to him old Saturn, that was wont be best.   

For during Saturn's ancient reign it's said,  
That all the world with goodness did abound:  
All loved virtue, no man was afraid  
Of force, ne fraud in wight was to be found:  
No war was known, no dreadful trumpets sound,  
Peace universal rained 'mongst men and beasts,  
And all things freely grew out of the ground:  
justice sat high adored with solemn feasts,  
And to all people did divide her dread behests.   

Most sacred virtue she of all the rest,  
Resembling God in his imperial might;  
Whose sovereign power is herein most expressed,  
That both to good and bad he dealeth right,  
And all his works with justice hath bedight.  
That power he also doth to Princes lend,  
And makes then like himself in glorious sight,  
To sit in his own seat, his cause to end,  
And rule his people right, as he doth recommend.   

Dread sovereign Goddess, that dost highest sit  
In seat of judgement, in th'Almighties place,  
And with magnific might and wondrous wit  
Dost to thy people righteous doom aread,  
That furthest Nations fills with awful dread,  
Pardon the boldness of thy basest thrall,  
That dare discourse of so divine a read,  
As thy great justice praised over all:  
The instrument whereof lo here thy Artegall.    

Cant. I.  
Artegall trained in justice lore  
Irenaes' quest pursued,  
He doth avenge on Sanglier  
his Lady's blood imbrued.  

THough virtue than were held in highest price,  
In those old times, of which I do entreat,  
Yet then likewise the wicked seed of vice  
Began to spring which shortly grew full great,  
And with their boughs the gentle plants did beat.  
But evermore some of the virtuous race  
Rose up, inspired with heroic heat,  
That cropped the branches of the sient base,  
And with strong hand their fruitful rankness did deface.   

Such first was Bacchus, that with furious might  
All th'East before untamed did overronne,  
And wrong repressed, and established right,  
Which lawless men had formerly fordone.  
There justice first her princely rule begun.  
Next Hercules his like ensample showed,  
Who all the West with equal conquest won,  
And monstrous tyrants with his club subdued;  
The club of justice dread, with kingly power endued.   

And such was he, of whom I have to tell,  
The Champion of true justice Artegall.  
Whom (as ye lately moat remember well)  
An hard adventure, which did then befall,  
Into redoubted peril forth did call;  
That was to secure a distressed Dame,  
Whom a strong tyrant did unjustly thrall,  
And from the heritage, which she did claim,  
Did with strong hand withhold: Grantorto was his name.   

Wherefore the Lady, which Eirena height,  
Did to the Fairy Queen her way address,  
To whom complaining her afflicted plight,  
She her besought of gracious redress.  
That sovereign Queen, that mighty Empress,  
Whose glory is to aid all suppliants poor,  
And of weak Princes to be Patroness,  
Chose Artegall to right her to restore;  
For that to her he seemed best skilled in righteous lore.   

For Artegall in justice was upbrought  
Even from the cradle of his infancy,  
And all the depth of rightful doom was taught  
By fair Astraea, with great industry,  
Whilst here on earth the lived mortally.  
For till the world from his perfection fell  
Into all filth and foul iniquity,  
Astraea here 'mongst earthly men did dwell,  
And in the rules of justice them instructed well.   

Whiles through the world she walked in this sort,  
Upon a day she found this gentle child,  
Amongst his peers playing his childish sport:  
Whom seeing fit, and with no crime defiled,  
She did allure with gifts and speeches mild,  
To wend with her. So thence him far she brought  
Into a cave from company exiled,  
In which she nursled him, till years he reached,  
And all the discipline of justice there him taught.   

There she him taught to weigh both right and wrong  
In equal balance with due recompense,  
And equity to measure out along,  
According to the line of conscience,  
When so it needs with rigour to dispense.  
Of all the which, for want there of mankind,  
She caused him to make experience  
Upon wild beasts, which she in woods did find,  
With wrongful power oppressing others of their kind.   

Thus she him trained, and thus she him taught,  
In all the skill of deeming wrong and right,  
Until the ripeness of man's years he reached;  
That even wild beasts did fear his awful sight,  
And men admired his overruling might;  
Ne any lived on ground, that durst withstand  
His dreadful hest, much less him match in fight,  
Or bide the horror of his wreakful hand,  
When so he list in wrath lift up his steely brand.   

Which steely brand, to make him dreaded more,  
She gave unto him, gotten by her slight  
And earnest search, where it was kept in store  
In Jove's eternal house, unwist of wight,  
Since he himself it used in that great fight  
Against the Titans, that whilom rebelled  
'Gainst highest heaven; Chrysaor it was height;  
Chrysaor that all other swords excelled,  
Well proved in that same day, when jove those Giants quelled.   

For of most perfect metal it was made,  
Tempered with Adamant amongst the same,  
And garnished all with gold upon the blade  
In goodly wise, whereof it took his name,   

And was of no less virtue, then of fame.  
For there no substance was so firm and hard,  
But it would pierce or cleave, where so it came;  
Ne any armour could his dint out ward,  
But wheresoever it did light, it thoroughly shared.   

Now when the world with sin 'gan to abound,  
Astraea loathing longer here to space  
'mongst wicked men, in whom no truth she found,  
Returned to heaven, whence she derived her race;  
Where she hath now an everlasting place,  
'mongst those twelve signs, which nightly we do see  
The heavens bright-shining baldric to enchase;  
And is the Virgin, sixth in her degree,  
And next herself her righteous balance hanging be.   

But when she parted hence, she left her groom  
An iron man, which did on her attend  
Always, to execute her steadfast doom,  
And willed him with Artegall to wend,  
And do what ever thing he did intend.  
His name was Talus, made of iron mould,  
immovable, resistless, without end.  
Who in his hand an iron flale did hold,  
With which he threshed out falsehood, and did truth unfold.   

He now went with him in this new inquest,  
Him for to aid, if aid he chanced to need,  
Against that cruel Tyrant, which oppressed  
The fair Irena with his foul misdeed,  
And kept the crown in which she should succeed.  
And now together on their way they been,  
When as they saw a Squire in squalid weed,  
Lamenting sore his sorrowful sad tyne,  
With many bitter tears shed from his blubbered eyen.   

To whom as they approached, they espied  
A sorry sight, as ever seen with eye;  
An headless Lady lying him beside,  
In her own blood all wallowed woefully,  
That her gay clothes did in discolour die.  
Much was he moved at that rueful sight;  
And flamed with zeal of vengeance inwardly,  
He asked, who had that Dame so foully dight;  
Or whether his own hand, or whether other wight?   

Ah woe is me, and well away (quoth he)  
Bursting forth tears, like springs out of a bank,  
That ever I this dismal day did see:  
Full far was I from thinking such a prank;  
Yet little loss it were, and much thank,  
If I should grant that I have done the same,  
That I moat drink the cup, whereof she drank:  
But that I should die guilty of the blame,  
The which another did, who now is fled with shame.   

Who was it then (said Artegall) that wrought?  
And why, do it declare unto me true.  
A knight (said he) if knight he may be thought,  
That did his hand in Lady's blood imbrue,  
And for no cause, but as I shall you show.  
This day as I in solace sat hereby  
With a fair love, whose loss I now do rue,  
There came this knight, having in company  
This luckless Lady, which now here doth headless lie.   

He, whether mine seemed fairer in his eye,  
Or that he waxed weary of his own,  
Would change with me; but I did it deny;  
So did the Ladies both, as may be known,  
But he, whose spirit was with pride upblowne,  
Would not so rest contented with his right,  
But having from his courser her down thrown,  
Fro me rest mine away by lawless might,  
And on his steed her set, to bear her out of sight.   

Which when his Lady saw, she followed fast,  
And on him catching hold, 'gan loud to cry  
Not so to leave her, nor away to cast,  
But rather of his hand besought to die.  
With that his sword he drew all wrathfully,  
And at one stroke cropped off her head with scorn,  
In that same place, whereas it now doth lie.  
So he my love away with him hath borne,  
And left me here, both his & mine own love to morn.   

Aread (said he) which way then did he make?  
And by what marks may he be known again?  
To hope (quoth he) him soon to overtake,  
That hence so long departed, is but vain:  
But yet he pricked over yonder plain,  
And as I marked, bore upon his shield,  
By which its easy him to know again,  
A broken sword within a bloody field;  
Expressing well his nature, which the same did wield.   

No sooner said, but straight he after sent  
His iron page, who him pursewed so light,  
As that it seemed above the ground he went:  
For he was swift as swallow in her flight,  
And strong as Eyon in his Lordly might.  
It was not long, before he overtook  
Sir Sanglier; (so cleped was that Knight)  
Whom at the first he guessed by his look,  
And by the other marks, which of his shield he took.   

He bade him stay, and back with him retire;  
Who full of scorn to be commanded so,  
The Lady to alight did est require,  
Whilst he reform that uncivil so:  
And straight at him with all his force did go.  
Who moved no more therewith, then when a rock  
Is lightly stricken with some stones throw;  
But to him leaping, lent him such a knock,  
That on the ground he laid him like a senseless block.   

But ere he could himself recure again,  
Him in his iron paw he seized had;  
That when he waked out of his warelesse pain,  
He found himself unwist, so ill bestead,  
That limb he could not wag. Thence he him lad,  
Bound like a beast appointed to the stall:  
The sight whereof the Lady sore adread,  
And feigned to fly for fear of being thrall;  
But he her quickly stayed, and forced to wend withal.   

When to the place they came, where Artegall  
By that same careful Squire did then abide,  
He gently 'gan him to demand of all,  
That did betwixt him and that Squire betide.  
Who with stern countenance and indignant pride  
Did answer, that of all he guiltless stood,  
And his accuser thereupon defied:  
For neither he did shed that Lady's blood,  
Nor took away his love, but his own proper good.   

Well did the Squire perceive himself too weak,  
To answer his defiance in the field,  
And rather chose his challenge off to break,  
Then to approve his right with spear and shield.  
And rather guilty chose himself to yield.  
But Artegall by signs perceiving plain,  
That he it was not, which that Lady killed,  
But that strange Knight, the fairer love to gain,  
Did cast about by sleight the truth thereout to strain.   

And said, now sure this doubtful causes right  
Can hardly but by Sacrament be tried,  
Or else by ordele, or by bloody fight;  
That ill perhaps moat fall to either side.  
But if ye please, that I your cause decide,  
Perhaps I may all further quarrel end,  
So ye will swear my judgement to abide.  
Thereto they both did frankly condescend,  
And to his doom with listful ears did both attend.   

Sith then (said he) ye both the dead deny,  
And both the living Lady claim your right,  
Let both the dead and living equally  
Divided be betwixt you here in sight,  
And each of either take his share aright.  
But look who does dissent from this my read,  
He for a twelve months day shall in despite  
Bear for his penance that same Lady's head;  
To witness to the world, that she by him is dead.   

Well pleased with that doom was Sangliere,  
And offered straight the Lady to be slain.  
But that same Squire, to whom she was more dear,  
When as he saw she should be cut in twain,  
Did yield, she rather should with him remain  
Alive, then to himself be shared dead;  
And rather than his love should suffer pain,  
He chose with shame to bear that Lady's head.  
True love despiseth shame, when life is called in dread.   

Whom when so willing Artegall perceived;  
Not so thou Squire, (he said) but thine I deem  
The living Lady, which from thee he reaved:  
For worthy thou of her dost rightly seem.  
And you, Sir Knight, that love so light esteem,  
As that ye would for little leave the same,  
Take here your own, that doth you best beseem,  
And with it bear the burden of defame;  
Your own dead Lady's head, to tell abroad your shame.   

But Sangliere disdained much his doom,  
And sternly 'gan repine at his behest;  
Ne would for ought obey, as did become,  
To bear that Lady's head before his breast.  
Until that Talus had his pride repressed,  
And forced him, maugre, it up to rear.  
Who when he saw it bootless to resist,  
He took it up, and thence with him did bear,  
As rated Spaniel takes his burden up for fear.   

Much did that Squire Sir Artegall adore,  
For his great justice, held in high regard;  
And as his Squire him offered evermore  
To serve, for want of other meet reward,  
And wend with him on his adveuture hard.  
But he thereto would by no means consent;  
But leaving him forth on his journey fared:  
Ne wight with him but only Talus went.  
They too enough t'encounter an whole Regiment.    

Cant. II.  
Artegall hears of Florimell,  
Does with the Pagan fight:  
Him slays, drowns Lady Momera,  
Does race her castle quite.  

NOught is more honourable to a knight,  
Ne better doth beseem brave chivalry,  
Then to defend the feeble in their right,  
And wrong redress in such as wend awry.  
Whilom those great Heroes got thereby  
Their greatest glory, for their rightful deeds,  
And place deserved with the Gods on hy.  
Herein the noblesse of this knight exceeds,  
Who now to perils great for justice sake proceeds.   

To which as he now was upon the way,  
He chanced to meet a Dwarf in hasty course;  
Whom he required his forward haste to stay,  
Till he of tidings mote with him discourse.  
Loath was the Dwarf, yet did he stay perforce,  
And 'gan of sundry news his store to tell,  
And to his memory they had recourse:  
But chiefly of the fairest Florimell,  
How she was found again, and spoused to Marinell.   

For this was Dony, Florimels' own Dwarf,  
Whom having lost (as ye have heard whilere)  
And finding in the way the scattered scarf,  
The fortune of her life long time did fear.  
But of her health when Artegall did hear,  
And safe return, he was full inly glad,  
And asked him where, and when her bridal cheer  
Should be solemnized: for if time he had,  
He would be there, and honour to her spousal ad.   

Within three days (quoth she) as I do here,  
It will be at the Castle of the strand;  
What time if nought me let, I will be there  
To do her service, so as I am bond.  
But in my way a little here beyond  
A cursed cruel Sarazin doth won,  
That keeps a Bridge's passage by strong hand,  
And many errant Knights hath there fordone;  
That makes all men for fear that passage for to shun.   

What mister wight (quoth he) and how far hence  
Is he, that doth to travelers such harms?  
He is (said he) a man of great defence;  
Expert in battle and in deeds of arms;  
And more emboldened by the wicked charms,  
With which his daughter doth him still support;  
Having great Lordships got and goodly farms,  
Through strong oppression of his power extort;  
By which he still them holds, & keeps with strong effort.   

And daily he his wrongs increaseth more,  
For never wight he lets to pass that way;  
Over his Bridge, albe he rich or poor,  
But he him makes his passage-penny pay:  
Else he doth hold him back or beat away.  
Thereto he hath a groom of evil guise,  
Whose scalp is bare, that bondage doth bewray,  
Which polls and pills the poor in piteous wize;  
But he himself upon the rich doth tyrannize.   

His name is height Pollente, rightly so  
For that he is so puissant and strong,  
That with his power he all doth overgo,  
And makes them subject to his mighty wrong;  
And some by sleight he eke doth underfong.  
For on a Bridge he custometh to fight,  
Which is but narrow, but exceeding long;  
And in the same are many trap falls pight,  
Through which the rider down doth fall through oversight   

And underneath the same a river flows,  
That is both swift and dangerous deep withal;  
Into the which whom so he overthrows,  
All destitute of help doth headlong fall,  
But he himself, through practice usual,  
Leaps forth into the flood, and there assays  
His foe confused through his sudden fall,  
That horse and man he equally dismays,  
And either both them drowns, or traitorously slays.   

Then doth he take the spoil of them at will,  
And to his daughter brings, that dwells thereby:  
Who all that comes doth take, and therewith fill  
The coffers of her wicked threasury;  
Which she with wrongs hath heaped up so hy,  
That many Princes she in wealth exceeds,  
And purchased all the country lying nigh  
With the revenue of her plenteous medes,  
Her name is Munera, agreeing with her deeds.   

Thereto she is full fair, and rich attired,  
With golden hands and silver feet beside,  
That many Lords have her to wife desired:  
But she them all despiseth for great pride.  
Now by my life (said he) and God to guide,  
None other way will I this day betake,  
But by that Bridge, whereas he doth abide:  
Therefore me thither lead. No more he spoke,  
But thitherward forthright his ready way did make.   

Unto the place he came within a while,  
Where on the Bridge he ready armed saw  
The Sarazin, awaiting for some spoil.  
Who as they to the passage 'gan to draw,  
A villain to them came with skull all raw,  
That passage money did of them require,  
According to the custom of their law.  
To whom he answered wroth, lo there thy hire;  
And with that word him struck, that straight he did expire.   

Which when the Pagan saw, he waxed wroth,  
And straight himself unto the fight addressed,  
Ne was Sir Artegall behind: so both  
Together ran with ready spears in rest.  
Right in the midst, whereas they breast to breast  
Should meet, a trap was let down to fall  
Into the flood; straight leapt the Carl unblessed,  
Well weening that his foe was fallen withal:  
But he was well aware, and leapt before his fall.   

There being both together in the flood,  
They each at other tyrannousty flew;  
Ne ought the water cooled their hot blood,  
But rather in them kindled choler new.  
But there the Paynim, who that use well knew  
To fight in water, great advantage had,  
That oftentimes him nigh he overthrew:  
And eke the courser, whereupon he rad,  
Can swim like to a fish, whiles he his back bestrad.   

Which odds when as Sir Artegall espied,  
He saw no way, but close with him in haste;  
And to him driving strongly down the tide,  
Upon his iron collar gripped fast,  
That with the straint his weasand nigh he braced.  
There they together strove and struggled long,  
Either the other from his steed to cast;  
Ne ever Artegall his griple strong  
For any thing would slack, but still upon him hung.   

As when a Dolphin and a Sele are met,  
In the wide champain of the Ocean plain:  
With cruel chause their courages they whet,  
The maysterdome of each by force to gain,  
And dreadful battle twixt them do darraine:  
They snuff, they snort, they bounce, they rage, they roar,  
That all the sea disturbed with their train,  
Doth fry with some above the surges hore.  
Such was betwixt these two the troublesome uproar.   

So Artegall at length him forced forsake  
His horses back, for dread of being drowned,  
And to his handy swimming him betake.  
eftsoons himself he from his hold unbownd,  
And then no odds at all in him he found:  
For Artegall in swimming skilful was,  
And durst the depth of any water sound.  
So ought each Knight, that use of peril has,  
In swimming be expert through waters force to pass.   

Then very doubtful was the wars event,  
Uncertain whether had the better side.  
For both were skildin that experiment,  
And both in arms well trained and thoroughly tried.  
But Art equal was better breathed beside,  
And towards th'end, grew greater in his might,  
That his faint foe no longer could abide  
His puissance, ne bear himself upright,  
But from the water to the land betook his flight.   

But Artegall pursewd him still so near,  
With bright Chrysaor in his cruel hand,  
That as his head he 'gan a little rear  
Above the brink, to tread upon the land,  
He smote it off, that tumbling on the strand  
It bitten the earth for very fell despite,  
And gnashed with his teeth, as if he band  
High God, whose goodness he despaired quite,  
Or cursed the hand, which did that vengeance on him dight   

His corpse was carried down along the Lee,  
Whose waters with his filthy blood it stained:  
But his blasphemous head, that all might see,  
He pitched upon a pole on high ordained;  
Where many years it afterwards remained,  
To be a mirror to all mighty men,  
In whose right hands great power is contained,  
That none of them the feeble overren,  
But always do their power within just compass pen.   

That done, unto the Castle he did wend,  
In which the Paynims daughter did abide,  
Guarded of many which did her defend:  
Of whom he entrance sought, but was denied,  
And with reproachful blasphemy defied,  
Beaten with stones down from the battilment,  
That he was forced to withdraw aside;  
And bade his servant Talus to invent  
Which way he enter might, without endangerment.   

eftsoons his Page drew to the Castle gate,  
And with his iron flale at it let fly,  
That all the warders it did sore amate,  
The which erewhile spoke so reproachfully,  
And made them stoop, that looked erst so high.  
Yet still he bet, and bounced upon the door,  
And thundered strokes thereon so hideouslie,  
That all the piece he shaked from the flore,  
And filled all the house with fear and great uproar.   

With noise whereof the Lady forth appeared  
Upon the Castle wall, and when she saw  
The dangerous state, in which she stood, she feared  
The sad effect of her near overthrow;  
And 'gan entreat that iron man below,  
To cease his outrage, and him fair besought,  
Sith neither force of stones which they did throw,  
Nor power of charms, which she against him wrought,  
Might otherwise prevail, or make him cease for aught.   

But when as yet she saw him to proceed,  
Unmoved with prayers, or with piteous thought,  
She meant him to corrupt with goodly meed;  
And caused great sacks with endless riches fraught,  
Unto the battilment to be upbrought,  
And powered forth over the Castle wall,  
That she might win some time, though dearly bought  
Whilst he to gathering of the gold did fall.  
But he was nothing moved, nor tempted therewithal.   

But still continued his assault the more,  
And laid on load with his huge iron flail,  
That at the length he has rent the door,  
And made way for his master to assail.  
Who being entered, nought did then avail  
For wight, against his power themselves to rear:  
Each one did fly; their hearts began to fail,  
And hide themselves in corners here and there;  
And eke their dame half dead did hide herself for fear.   

Long they her sought, yet nowhere could they find her,  
That sure they weened she was escaped away:  
But Talus, that could like a limehound wind her,  
And all things secret wisely could bewray,  
At length found out, whereas she hidden lay  
Under an heap of gold. Thence he her drew  
By the fair locks, and foully did array,  
Withouten pity of her goodly hue,  
That Artegall himself her seemelesse plight did rue.   

Yet for no pity would he change the course  
Of justice, which in Talus hand did lie;  
Who rudely hailed her forth without remorse,  
Still holding up her suppliant hands on high,  
And kneeling at his feet submissively.  
But he her suppliant hands, those hands of gold,  
And eke her feet, those feet of silver try,  
Which sought unrighteousness, and justice sold,  
Chopped off, and nailed on high, that all might then behold.   

Herself then took he by the slender waist,  
In vain loud crying, and into the flood  
Over the Castle wall adown her cast,  
And there her drowned in the dirty mud:  
But the stream washed away her guilty blood.  
Thereafter all that mucky pelf he took,  
The spoil of people's evil gotten good,  
The which her sire had scraped by hook and crook,  
And burning all to ashes, poured it down the brook.   

And lastly all that Castle quite he razed,  
Even from the sole of his foundation,  
And all the hewn stones thereof defaced,  
That there moat be no hope of reparation,  
Nor memory thereof to any nation.  
All which when Talus thoroughly had performed,  
Sir Artegall undid the evil fashion,  
And wicked customs of that Bridge reformed.  
Which done, unto his former journey he returned.   

In which they measured much weary way,  
Till that at length nigh to the sea they drew;  
By which as they did travel on a day,  
They saw before them, far as they could view,  
Full many people gathered in a crew;  
Whose great assembly they did much admire.  
For never there the like resort they knew.  
So towards them they coasted, to inquire  
What thing so many nations met, did there desire.   

There they beheld a mighty Giant stand  
Upon a rock, and holding forth on high  
An huge great pair of balance in his hand,  
With which he boasted in his surquedry,  
That all the world he would weigh equally,  
If ought he had the same to counterpoys.  
For want whereof he weighed vanity,  
And filled his balance full of idle toys:  
Yet was admired much of fools, women, and boys.   

He said that he would all the earth uptake,  
And all the sea, divided each from either:  
So would he of the fire one balance make,  
And one of th'air, without or wind, or wether:  
Then would he balance heaven and hell together,  
And all that did within them all contain;  
Of all whose weight, he would not miss a feather.  
And look what surplus did of each remain,  
He would to his own part restore the same again.   

For why, he said they all unequal were,  
And had encroached upon others share,  
Like as the sea (which plain he showed there)  
Had worn the care, so did the fire the air,  
So all the rest did others parts impair.  
And so were realms and nations run awry.  
All which he undertook for to repair,  
In sort as they were form anciently;  
And all things would reduce unto equality.   

Therefore the vulgar did about him flock,  
And cluster thick unto his leasings vain,  
Like foolish flies about an honey crock,  
In hope by him great benefit to gain,  
And uncontrolled freedom to obtain.  
All which when Artegall did see, and hear,  
How he misled the simple people's train,  
In sdeignfull wize he drew unto him near,  
And thus unto him spoke, without regard or fear.   

Thou that presum'st to weigh the world anew,  
And all things to an equal to restore,  
In stead of right me seems great wrong dost show,  
And far above thy forces pitch to sore.  
For ere thou limit what is less or more  
In every thing, thou oughtest first to know,  
What was the poised of every part of yore:  
And look then how much it doth overflow,  
Or fail thereof, so much is more than just to trow.   

For at the first they all created were  
In goodly measure, by their Maker's might,  
And weighed out in balances so near,  
That not a dram was missing of their right,  
The earth was in the middle centre pight,  
In which it doth immovable abide,  
Hemmed in with waters like a wall in sight;  
And they with air, that not a drop can slide:  
All which the heavens contain, & in their courses guide.   

Such heavenly justice doth among them rain,  
That every one do know their certain bound,  
In which they do these many years remain,  
And 'mongst them all no change hath yet been found.  
But if thou now shouldst weigh them new in pound,  
We are not sure they would so long remain:  
All change is perilous, and all chance unsound.  
Therefore leave off to weigh them all again,  
Till we may be assured they shall their course retain.   

Thou foolish Elf (said then the Giant wroth)  
Seest not, how badly all things present be,  
And each estate quite out of order goth?  
The sea itself dost thou not plainly see  
Encroach upon the land there under thee;  
And th'earth itself how daily it's increased,  
By all that dying to it turned be.  
Were it not good that wrong were then surceased,  
And from the most, that some were given to the least?   

Therefore I will throw down these mountains hie,  
And make them level with the lowly plain:  
These towering rocks, which reach unto the sky,  
I will thrust down into the deepest main,  
And as they were, them equalize again.  
Tyrants that make men subject to their law,  
I will suppress, that they no more may rain;  
And Lordings curb, that commons ouer-aw;  
And all the wealth of rich men to the poor will draw.   

Of things unseen how canst thou deem aright,  
Then answered the righteous Artegall,  
Sith thou misdeem'st so much of things in sight?  
What though the sea with waves continual  
Do eat the earth, it is no more at all:  
Ne is the earth the less, or loseth aught,  
For whatsoever from one place doth fall,  
Is with the tide unto an other brought:  
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.   

Likewise the earth is not augmented more,  
By all that dying into it do fade.  
For of the earth they form were of yore,  
How ever gay their blossom or their blade  
Do flourish now, they into dust shall vade.  
What wrong then is it, if that when they die,  
They turn to that, whereof they first were made?  
All in the power of their great Maker lie:  
All creatures must obey the voice of the most high.   

They live, they die, like as he doth ordain,  
Ne ever any asketh reason why.  
The hills do not the lowly dales disdain;  
The dales do not the lofty hills envy.  
He maketh Kings to sit in sovereignty;  
He maketh subjects to their power obey;  
He pulleth down, he setteth up on hy;  
He gives to this, from that he takes away.  
For all we have is his: what he list do, he may.   

What ever thing is done, by him is done,  
Ne any may his mighty will withstand;  
Ne any may his sovereign power shun,  
Ne lose that he hath bound with steadfast band.  
In vain therefore dost thou now take in hand,  
To call to count, or weigh his works anew,  
Whose counsels depth thou canst not understand,  
Sith of things subject to thy daily view  
Thou dost not know the causes, nor their courses dew.   

For take thy balance, if thou be so wise,  
And weigh the wind, that under heaven doth blow;  
Or weigh the light, that in the East doth rise;  
Or weigh the thought, that from man's mind doth flow.  
But if the weight of these thou canst not show,  
Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall.  
For how canst thou those greater secrets know,  
That dost not know the least thing of them all?  
Ill can he rule the great, that cannot reach the small.   

Therewith the Giant much abashed said;  
That he of little things made reckoning light,  
Yet the least word that ever could be laid  
Within his balance, he could way aright.  
Which is (said he) more heavy then in weight,  
The right or wrong, the false or else the true?  
He answered, that he would try it straight,  
So he the words into his balance threw,  
But straight the winged words out of his balance flew.   

Wroth wext he then, and said, that words were light,  
Ne would within his balance well abide.  
But he could justly weigh the wrong or right.  
Well then, said Artegall, let it be tried.  
First in one balance set the true aside.  
He did so first; and then the false he laid  
In th'other scale; but still it down did slide,  
And by no mean could in the weight be stayed.  
For by no means the false will with the truth be weighed.   

Now take the right likewise, said Artegale,  
And counterpoise the same with so much wrong.  
So first the right he put into one scale;  
And then the Giant strove with puissance strong  
To fill the other scale with so much wrong.  
But all the wrongs that he therein could lay,  
Might not it poise; yet did he labour long,  
And swat, and chaufed, and proved every way:  
Yet all the wrongs could not a little right down way.   

Which when he saw, he greatly grew in rage,  
And almost would his balances have broken:  
But Artegall him fairly 'gan assuage,  
And said; be not upon thy balance wroken:  
For they do nought but right or wrong betoken;  
But in the mind the doom of right must be;  
And so likewise of words, the which be spoken,  
The ear must be the balance, to decree  
And judge, whether with truth or falsehood they agree.   

But set the truth and set the right aside,  
For they with wrong or falsehood will not far;  
And put two wrongs together to be tried,  
Or else two falses, of each equal share;  
And then together do them both compare.  
For truth is one, and right is ever one.  
So did he, and then plain it did appear,  
Whether of them the greater were atone.  
But right sat in the midst of the beam alone.   

But he the right from thence did thrust away,  
For it was not the right, which he did seek;  
But rather strove extremities to way,  
Th'one to diminish, th'other for to eke.  
For of the mean he greatly did misleeke.  
Whom when so lewdly minded Talus found,  
Approaching nigh unto him cheek by cheek,  
He shouldered him from off the higher ground,  
And down the rock him throwing, in the sea him drowned.   

Like as a ship, whom cruel tempest drives  
Upon a rock with horrible dismay,  
Her shattered ribs in thousand pieces rives,  
And spoiling all her gears and goodly ray,  
Does makes herself misfortunes piteous pray.  
So down the cliff the wretched Giant tumbled;  
His battered balances in pieces lay,  
His timbered bones all broken rudely rumbled,  
So was the high aspiring with huge ruin humbled.   

That when the people, which had there about  
Long waited, saw his sudden desolation,  
They 'gan to gather in tumultuous rout,  
And mutining, to stir up civil faction,  
For certain loss of so great expectation.  
For well they hoped to have got great good;  
And wondrous riches by his innovation.  
Therefore resolving to revenge his blood,  
They rose in arms, and all in battle order stood.   

Which lawless multitude him coming too  
In warlike wise, when Artegall did view,  
He much was troubled, ne witted what to do.  
For loath he was his noble hands t'embrew  
In the base blood of such a rascal crew;  
And otherwise, if that he should retire,  
He feared lest they with shame would him pursue.  
Therefore he Talus to them sent, t'inquire  
The cause of their array, and truce for to desire.   

But soon as they him nigh approaching spied,  
They 'gan with all their weapons him assay,  
And rudely stroke at him on every side:  
Yet nought they could him hurt, ne ought dismay.  
But when at them he with his flail 'gan lay,  
He like a swarm of flies them overthrew;  
Ne any of them durst come in his way,  
But here and there before his presence flew,  
And hide themselves in holes and bushes from his view.   

As when a Falcon hath with nimble flight  
Flown at a flush of Ducks, foreby the brook,  
The trembling foul dismayed with dreadful sight  
Of death, the which them almost overtook,  
Do hide themselves from her astonying look,  
Amongst the flags and covert round about.  
When Talus saw they all the field forsook  
And none appeared of all that rascal rout,  
To Artegall he turned, and went with him throughout.    

Cant. III.  
The spousals of fair Florimell,  
where tourney many knights:  
There Braggadochio is uncased  
in all the Lady's sights.  

AFter long storms and tempests overblown,  
The sun at length his joyous face doth clear:  
So when as fortune all her spite hath shown,  
Some blissful hours at last must needs appear;  
Else should afflicted wights oftimes despair.  
So comes it now to Florimell by turn,  
After long sorrows suffered whilere,  
In which captived she many months did mourn,  
To taste of joy, and to wont pleasures to return.   

Who being freed from Proteus cruel band  
By Marinell, was unto him affide,  
And by him brought again to Fairy land;  
Where be her spoused, and made his joyous bride.  
The time and place was blazed far and wide;  
And solemn feasts and giusts ordained therefore.  
To which there did resort from every side  
Of Lords and Ladies infinite great store;  
Ne any Knight was absent, that brave courage bore.   

To tell the glory of the feast that day,  
The goodly service, the devicefull sights,  
The bridegrooms state, the brides most rich array,  
The pride of Ladies, and the worth of knights,  
The royal banquets, and the rare delights  
Were work fit for an Herald, not for me:  
But for so much as to my lot here lights,  
That with this present treatise doth agree,  
True virtue to advance, shall here recounted be.   

When all men had with full satiety  
Of meats and drinks their appetites sufficed,  
To deeds of arms and proof of chivalry  
They 'gan themselves address, full rich aguized,  
As each one had his furnitures devised.  
And first of all issued Sir Marinell,  
And with him six knights more, which enterprised  
To challenge all in right of Florimell,  
And to maintain, that she all others did excel.   

The first of them was height Sir Orimont,  
A noble Knight, and tried in hard assays:  
The second had to name Sir Bellisont,  
But second unto none in prowess praise;  
The third was Brunell, famous in his days;  
The fourth Ecastor, of exceeding might;  
The fift Armeddan, skilled in lovely lays;  
The sixth was Lansack, a redoubted Knight:  
All six well seen in arms, and proved in many a fight.   

And them against came all that list to giust,  
From every coast and country under sun:  
None was debarred, but all had leave that lust.  
The trumpets sound; then all together run.  
Full many deeds of arms that day were done,  
And many knights unhorsed, and many wounded,  
As fortune fell; yet little lost or won:  
But all that day the greatest praise redounded  
To Marinell, whose name the Heralds loud resounded.   

The second day, so soon as morrow light  
Appeared in heaven, into the field they came,  
And there all day continued cruel fight,  
With divers fortune fit for such a game,  
In which all strove with peril to win fame.  
Yet whether side was victor, note be guest:  
But at the last the trumpets did proclaim  
That Marinell that day deserved best.  
So they disparted were, and all men went to rest.   

The third day came, that should due trial lend  
Of all the rest, and then this warlike crew  
Together met, of all to make an end.  
There Marinell great deeds of arms did show;  
And through the thickest like a Lion flew,  
Rashing oft helms, and ryving plates a sunder,  
That every one his danger did eschew.  
So terribly his dreadful strokes did thunder,  
That all men stood amazed, & at his might did wonder.   

But what on earth can always happy stand?  
The greater prowess greater perils find.  
So far he passed amongst his enemy's band,  
That they have him enclosed so behind,  
As by no means he can himself outwind.  
And now perforce they have him prisoner taken;  
And now they do with captive bands him bind;  
And now they lead him thence, of all forsaken,  
Unless some succour had in time him overtaken.   

It fortuned whilst they were thus ill beset,  
Sir Artegall into the Tiltyard came,  
With Braggadochio, whom he lately met  
Upon the way, with that his snowy Dame.  
Where when he understood by common fame,  
What evil hap to Marinell betided,  
He much was moved at so unworthy shame,  
And straight that boaster prayed, with whom he rid,  
To change his shield with him, to be the better hid.   

So forth he went, and soon them over hent,  
Where they were leading Marinell away,  
Whom he assailed with dreadless hardiment,  
And forced the burden of their prize to stay.  
They were an hundred knights of that array;  
Of which th'one half upon himself did set,  
Th'other stayed behind to guard the prey.  
But he ere long the former fifty bet;  
And from th'other fifty soon the prisoner fet.   

So back he brought Sir Marinell again;  
Whom having quickly armed again anew,  
They both together joined might and main,  
To set afresh on all the other crew.  
Whom with sore havoc soon they overthrew,  
And chased quite out of the field, that none  
Against them durst his head to peril show.  
So were they left Lords of the field alone:  
So Marinell by him was rescued from his fone.   

Which when he had performed, then back again  
To Braggadochio did his shield restore:  
Who all this while behind him did remain,  
Keeping there close with him in precious store  
That his false Lady, as ye heard afore.  
Then did the trumpets sound, and judges rose,  
And all these knights, which that day armour bore,  
Came to the open hall, to listen whose  
The honour of the prize should be adjudged by those.   

And thither also came in open sight  
Fair Florimell, into the common hall,  
To greet his guerdon unto every knight,  
And best to him, to whom the best should fall.  
Then for that stranger knight they loud did call,  
To whom that day they should the garland yield.  
Who came not forth: but for Sir Artegall  
Came Braggadochio, and did show his shield,  
Which bore the Sun broad blazed in a golden field.   

The sight whereof did all with gladness fill:  
So unto him they did addeeme the prize  
Of all that Triumph. Then the trumpets shrill  
Don Braggadochios' name resounded thrice:  
So courage lent a cloak to cowardice.  
And then to him came fairest Florimell,  
And goodly 'gan to greet his brave emprise,  
And thousand thanks him yield, that had so well  
Approved that day, that she all others did excel.   

To whom the boaster, that all knights did blot,  
With proud disdain did scornful answer make;  
That what he did that day, he did it not  
For her, but for his own dear Lady's sake,  
Whom on his peril he did undertake,  
Both her and eke all others to excel:  
And further did uncomely speeches crack.  
Much did his words the gentle Lady quell,  
And turned aside for shame to hear, what he did tell.   

Then forth he brought his snowy Florimele,  
Whom Trompart had in keeping there beside,  
Covered from people's gazement with a vele.  
Whom when discovered they had thoroughly eide,  
With great amazement they were stupefide;  
And said, that surely Florimell it was,  
Or if it were not Florimell so tried,  
That Florimell herself she then did pass.  
So feeble skill of perfect things the vulgar has.   

Which when as Marinell beheld likewise,  
He was therewith exceedingly dismayed;  
Ne witted he what to think, or to devise,  
But like as one, whom fiends had made afraid,  
He long astonished stood, ne ought he said,  
Ne ought he did, but with fast fixed eyes  
He gazed still upon that snowy maid;  
Whom ever as he did the more avize,  
The more to be true Florimell he did surmise.   

As when two suns appear in the azure sky,  
Mounted in Phoebus' chariot fiery bright,  
Both darting forth fair beams to each man's eye,  
And both adorned with lamps of flaming light,  
All that behold so strange prodigious sight,  
Not knowing nature's work, nor what to ween,  
Are rapt with wonder, and with rare affright.  
So stood Sir Marinell, when he had seen  
The semblant of this false by his fair beauty's Queen.   

All which when Artegall, who all this while  
Stood in the press close covered, well advewed,  
And saw that boasters pride and graceless guile,  
He could no longer bear, but forth issewed,  
And unto all himself there open showed,  
And to the boaster said; Thou lozel base,  
That hast with borrowed plumes thyself endued,  
And others worth with leasings dost deface,  
When they are all restored, thou shalt rest in disgrace.   

That shield, which thou dost bear, was it indeed,  
Which this days honour saved to Marinell;  
But not that arm, nor thou the man I reed,  
Which didst that service unto Florimell.  
For proof show forth thy sword, and let it tell,  
What strokes, what dreadful stoure it stirred this day:  
Or show the wounds, which unto thee befell;  
Or show the sweat, with which thou didst sway  
So sharp a battle, that so many did dismay.   

But this the sword, which wrought those cruel stounds,  
And this the arm, the which that shield did bear,  
And these the signs, (so showed forth his wounds)  
By which that glory gotten doth appear.  
As for this Lady, which he showeth here,  
Is not (I wager) Florimell at all;  
But some fair Franion, fit for such a fere,  
That by misfortune in his hand did fall.  
For proof whereof, he bade them Florimell forth call.   

So forth the noble Lady was ybourhgt,  
Adorned with honour and all comely grace:  
Whereto her bashful shamefastness ywrought  
A great increase in her fair blushing face;  
As roses did with lilies interlace.  
For of those words, the which that boaster threw,  
She inly yet conceived great disgrace.  
Whom when as all the people such did view,  
They shouted loud, and signs of gladness all did show.   

Then did he set her by that snowy one,  
Like the true saint beside the image set,  
Of both their beauties to make paragon,  
And trial, whether should the honour get.  
Straight way so soon as both together met,  
Th'enchanted Damsel vanished into nought:  
Her snowy substance melted as with heat,  
Ne of that goodly hue remained aught,  
But th'empty girdle, which about her waist was wrought.   

As when the daughter of Thaumantes fair,  
Hath in a watery cloud displayed wide  
Her goodly bow, which paints the liquid air;  
That all men wonder at her colours pride;  
All suddenly, ere one can look aside,  
The glorious picture vanisheth away,  
Ne any token doth thereof abide:  
So did this Ladies goodly form decay,  
And into nothing go, ere one could it bewray.   

Which when as all that present were, beheld,  
They stricken were with great astonishment,  
And their faint hearts with senseless horror quelled,  
To see the thing, that seemed so excellent,  
So stolen from their fancy's wonderment;  
That what of it became, none understood.  
And Braggadochio self with dreariment  
So daunted was in his despeyring mood,  
That like a lifeless corpse immovable he stood.   

But Artegall that golden belt uptooke,  
The which of all her spoil was only left;  
Which was not hers, as many it mistook,  
But Florimells own girdle, from her reft,  
While she was flying, like a weary waif,  
From that foul monster, which did her compel  
To perils great; which he unbuckling eft,  
Presented to the fairest Florimell;  
Who round about her tender waist it fitted well.   

Full many Ladies often had assayed,  
About their middles that fair belt to knit;  
And many a one supposed to be a maid:  
Yet it to none of all their loins would fit,  
Till Florimell about her fastened it.  
Such power it had, that to no woman's waist  
By any skill or labour it would sit,  
Unless that she were continent and chaste,  
But it would lose or break, that many had disgraced.   

Whilst thus they busied were 'bout Florimell,  
And boastful Braggadochio to defame,  
Sir Guyon as by fortune than befell,  
Forth from the thickest press of people came,  
His own good steed, which he had stolen, to claim;  
And th'one hand seizing on his golden bit,  
With th'other drew his sword: for with the same  
He meant the thief there deadly to have smit:  
And had he not been held, he nought had failed of it.   

Thereof great hurly burly moved was  
Throughout the hall, for that same warlike horse.  
For Braggadochio would not let him pass;  
And Guyon would him algates have perforce,  
Or it approve upon his carrion corpse.  
Which troublous stir when Artegall perceived,  
He nigh them drew to stay th'avengers force,  
And 'gan inquire, how was that steed bereaved,  
Whether by might extort, or else by slight deceived.   

Who all that piteous story, which befell  
About that woeful couple, which were slain,  
And their young bloody babe to him 'gan tell;  
With whom whiles he did in the wood remain,  
His horse purloined was by subtle train:  
For which he challenged the thief to fight.  
But he for nought could him thereto constrain.  
For as the death he hated such despite,  
And rather had to lose, then try in arms his right.   

Which Artegall well hearing, though no more  
By law of arms there need ones right to try,  
As was the wont of warlike knights of yore,  
Then that his foe should him the field deny,  
Yet further right by tokens to descry,  
He asked, what privy tokens he did bear.  
If that (said Guyon) may you satisfy,  
Within his mouth a black spot doth appear,  
Shaped like a horse's shoe, who list to seek it there.   

Whereof to make due trial, one did take  
The horse in hand, within his mouth to look:  
But with his heels so sorely he him strake,  
That all his ribs he quite in pieces broke,  
That never word from that day forth he spoke.  
Another that would seem to have more wit,  
Him by the bright embroidered hedstall took:  
But by the shoulder him so sore he bitten,  
That he him maimed quite, and all his shoulder split.   

Ne he his mouth would open unto wight,  
Until that Guyon self unto him spoke,  
And called Brigadore (so was he height)  
Whose voice so soon as he did undertake,  
eftsoons he stood as still as any stake,  
And suffered all his secret mark to see:  
And when as he him named, for joy he broke  
His bands, and followed him with gladfull glee,  
And friskt, and flung aloft, and louted low on knee.   

Thereby Sir Artegall did plain aread,  
That unto him the horse belonged, and said;  
Lo there Sir Guyon, take to you the steed,  
As he with golden saddle is arrayed;  
And let that lozel, plainly now displayed,  
Hence far on foot, till he an horse have gained.  
But the proud boaster 'gan his doom upbraid,  
And him reviled, and rated, and disdained,  
That iudegement so unjust against him had ordained.   

Much was the knight incensed with his lewd word,  
To have revenged that his villainy;  
And thrice did lay his hand upon his sword,  
To have him slain, or dearly done abye.  
But Guyon did his choler pacify,  
Saying, Sir knight, it would dishonour be  
To you, that are our judge of equity,  
To wreak your wrath on such a carl as he  
Its punishment enough, that all his shame do see.   

So did he mitigate Sir Artegall,  
But Talus by the back the boaster hent,  
And drawing him out of the open hall,  
Upon him did inflict this punishment.  
First he his beard did shave, and foully shent:  
Then from him reft his shield, and it renuerst,  
And blotted out his arms with falsehood blended,  
And himself baffled, and his arms unherst,  
And broke his sword in twain, and all his armour spersed.   

The whiles his guileful groom was fled away:  
But vain it was to think from him to fly.  
Who overtaking him did disarray,  
And all his face deformed with infamy,  
And out of court him scourged openly.  
So ought all faitors, that true knighthood shame,  
And arms dishonour with base villainy,  
From all brave knights be banished with defame:  
For oft their lewdness blotteth good deserts with blame.   

Now when these counterfeits were thus uncased  
Out of the foreside of their forgery,  
And in the sight of all men clean disgraced,  
All 'gan to jest and gibe full merrily  
At the remembrance of their knavery.  
Lady's can laugh at Ladies, Knights at Knights,  
To think with how great vaunt of bravery  
He them abused, through his subtle slights,  
And what a glorious show he made in all their sights.   

There leave we them in pleasure and repast,  
Spending their joyous days and gladfull nights,  
And taking usury of time forepast,  
With all dear delices and rare delights,  
Fit for such Ladies and such lovely knights:  
And turn were here to this fair furrows end  
Our weary yokes, to gather fresher sprights,  
That when as time to Artegall shall tend,  
We on his first adventure may him forward send.    

Cant. IIII  
Artegall dealeth right betwixt  
two brethren that do strive,  
Saves Terpine from the gallow tree,  
and doth from death reprine.  

WHo so upon himself will take the skill  
True justice unto people to divide,  
Had need have mighty hands, for to fulfil  
That, which he doth with righteous doom decide,  
And for to master wrong and puissant pride.  
For vain it is to deem of things aright,  
And makes wrong doers justice to deride,  
Unless it be performed with dreadless might.  
For power is the right hand of justice truly height.   

Therefore whilom to knights of great emprise  
The charge of justice given was in trust,  
That they might execute her judgements wise,  
And with their might beat down licentious lust,  
Which proudly did impugn her sentence just.  
Whereof no braver precedent this day  
Remains on earth, preserved from iron rust  
Of rude oblivion, and long times decay,  
Then this of Artegall, which here we have to say.   

Who having lately left that lovely pair,  
Enlincked fast in wedlocks loyal bond,  
Bold Marinell with Florimell the fair,  
With whom great feast and goodly glee he fond,  
Departed from the Castle of the strand,  
To follow his adventures first intent,  
Which long ago he taken had in hand:  
Ne wight with him for his assistance went,  
But that great iron groom, his guard and government.   

With whom as he did pass by the sea shore,  
He chanced to come, whereas two comely Squires,  
Both brethren, whom one womb together bore,  
But stirred up with different desires,  
Together strove, and kindled wrathful fires:  
And them beside two seemly damsels stood,  
By all means seeking to assuage their ires,  
Now with fair words; but words did little good,  
Now with sharp threats; but threats the more increased their mood.   

And there before them stood a Coffer strong,  
Fast bound on every side with iron bands,  
But seeming to have suffered much wrong,  
Either by being wrecked upon the sands,  
Or being carried far from foreign lands.  
Seemed that for it these Squires at odds did fall,  
And bend against themselves their cruel hands.  
But evermore, those Damsels did forestall  
Their furious encounter, and their fierceness pall.   

But firmly fixed they were, with dint of sword,  
And battles doubtful proof their rights to try,  
Ne other end their fury would afford,  
But what to them Fortune would justify.  
So stood they both in readiness; thereby  
To join the combat with cruel intent;  
When Artegall arriving happily,  
Did stay a while their greedy bickerment,  
Till he had questioned the cause of their dissent.   

To whom the elder did this answer frame;  
Then weet ye Sir, that we two brethren be,  
To whom oursire, Milesio by name,  
Did equally bequeath his lands in fee,  
Two islands, which ye there before you see  
Not far in sea; of which the one appears  
But like a little Mount of small degree;  
Yet was as great and wide ere many years,  
As that same other Isle, that greater breadth now bears.   

But tract of time, that all things doth decay,  
And this devouring Sea, that nought doth spare,  
The most part of my land hath washed away,  
And thrown it up unto my brother's share:  
So his increased, but mine did impair.  
Before which time I loved, as was my lot,  
That further maid, height Philtera the fair,  
With whom a goodly dour I should have got,  
And should have joined been to her in wedlock's knot.   

Then did my younger brother Amidas  
Love that same other Damsel, Lucy bright,  
To whom but little dower allotted was;  
Her virtue was the dower, that did delight.  
What better dower can to a dame be height?  
But now when Philtra saw my lands decay,  
And former livelihood fail, she left me quite,  
And to my brother did ellope straight way:  
Who taking her from me, his own love left astray.   

She seeing then herself forsaken so,  
Through dolorous despair, which she conceived,  
Into the Sea herself did headlong throw,  
Thinking to have her grief by death bereaved.  
But see how much her purpose was deccaved.  
Whilst thus amidst the billows beating of her  
Twixt life and death, long to and fro she woven,  
She chanced unwares to light upon this coffer,  
Which to her in that danger hope of life did offer.   

The wretched maid that erst desired to die,  
When as the pain of death she tasted had,  
And but half seen his ugly physiognomy,  
'Gan to repent, that she had been so mad,  
For any death to change life though most bad:  
And catching hold of this Seabeaten chest,  
The lucky Pilot of her passage sad,  
After long tossing in the seas distressed,  
Her weary bark at last upon mine Isle did rest.   

Where I by chance then wandering on the shore,  
Did her espy, and through my good endeavour  
From dreadful mouth of death, which threatened sore  
Her to have swallowed up, did help to save her.  
She then in recompense of that great favour,  
Which I on her bestowed, bestowed on me  
The portion of that good, which Fortune gave her,  
Together with herself in dowry free;  
Both goodly portions, but of both the better she.   

Yet in this coffer, which she with her brought,  
Great treasure sithence we did find contained;  
Which as our own we took, and so it thought.  
But this same other Damsel since hath feigned,  
That to herself that treasure appertained;  
And that she did transport the same by sea,  
To bring it to her husband new ordained,  
But suffered cruel shipwreck by the way.  
But whether it be so or no, I can not say.   

But whether it indeed be so or no,  
This do I say, that what so good or ill  
Or God or Fortune unto me did throw,  
Not wronging any other by my will,  
I hold mine own, and so will hold it still.  
And though my land he first did win away,  
And then my love (though now it little skill,)  
Yet my good luck he shall not likewise pray;  
But I will it defend, whilst ever that I may.   

So having said, the younger did ensue;  
Full true it is, what so about our land  
My brother here declared hath to you:  
But not for it this odds twixt us doth stand,  
But for this treasure thrown upon his strand;  
Which well I prove, as shall appear by trial,  
To be this maids, with whom I fastened hand,  
Known by good marks, and perfect good espial,  
Therefore it ought be rendered her without denial.   

When they thus ended had, the Knight began;  
Certes your strife were easy to accord,  
Would ye remit it to some righteous man.  
Unto yourself, said they, we give our word,  
To bide what judgement ye shall us afford.  
Then for assurance to my doom to stand,  
Under my foot let each lay down his sword,  
And then you shall my sentence understand.  
So each of them laid down his sword out of his hand.   

Then Artegall thus to the younger said;  
Now tell me Amidas, if that ye may,  
Your brother's land the which the sea hath laid  
Unto your part, and plucked from his away,  
By what good right do you withhold this day?  
What other right (quoth he) should you esteem,  
But that the sea it to my share did lay?  
Your right is good (said he) and so I deem,  
That what the sea unto you sent, your own should seem.   

Then turning to the elder thus he said;  
Now Bracidas let this likewise be shown.  
Your brother's treasure, which from him is strayed,  
Being the dowry of his wife well known,  
By what right do you claim to beyour own?  
What other right (quoth he) should you esteem,  
But that the sea hath it unto me thrown?  
Your right is good (said he) and so I deem,  
That what the sea unto you sent, your own should seem.   

For equal right in equal things doth stand,  
For what the mighty Sea hath once possessed,  
And plucked quite from all possessors hand,  
Whether by rage of waves, that never rest,  
Or else by wrack, that wretches hath distressed,  
He may dispose by his imperial might,  
As thing at random left, to whom he list.  
So Amidas, the land was yours first height,  
And so the treasure yours is Bracidas by right.   

When he his sentence thus pronounced had,  
Both Amidas and Philtra were displeased:  
But Bracidas and Lucy were right glad,  
And on the treasure by that judgement seized.  
So was their discord by this doom appeased,  
And each one had his right. Then Artegall  
When as their sharp contention he had ceased,  
Departed on his way, as did befall,  
To follow his old quest, the which him forth did call.   

So as he traveled upon the way,  
He chanced to come, where happily he spied  
A rout of many people far away;  
To whom his course he hastily applied,  
To weet the cause of their assemblaunce wide.  
To whom when he approached near in sight,  
(An uncouth sight) he plainly then descried  
To be a troop of women warlike dight,  
With weapons in their hands, as ready for to fight.   

And in the midst of them he saw a Knight,  
With both his hands behind him pinnoed hard,  
And round about his neck an halter tied,  
As ready for the gallow tree prepared:  
His face was covered, and his head was barred,  
That who he was, uneath was to descry;  
And with full heavy heart with them he fared,  
Grieved to the soul, and groaning inwardly,  
That he of women's hands so base a death should die.   

But they like tyrants, merciless the more,  
Rejoiced at his miserable case,  
And him reviled, and reproached sore  
With bitter taunts, and terms of vile disgrace.  
Now when as Artegall arrived in place,  
Did ask, what cause brought that man to decay,  
They round about him 'gan to swarm apace,  
Meaning on him their cruel hands to lay,  
And to have wrought unwares some villainous assay.   

But he was soon aware of their ill mind,  
And drawing back deceived their intent;  
Yet though himself did shame on womankind  
His mighty hand to shend, he Talus sent  
To wreck on them their folly's hardiment:  
Who with few sowces of his iron flale,  
Dispersed all their troop incontinent,  
And sent them home to tell a piteous tale,  
Of their vain prowess, turned to their proper bale.   

But that same wretched man, ordained to die,  
They left behind them, glad to be so quit:  
Him Talus took out of perplexity,  
And horror of fowl death for Knight unfit,  
Who more than loss of life ydreaded it;  
And him restoring unto living light,  
So brought unto his Lord, where he did sit,  
Beholding all that womanish weak fight;  
Whom soon as he beheld, he knew, and thus behight.   

Sir Turpine, hapless man, what make you here?  
Or have you lost yourself, and your discretion,  
That ever in this wretched case ye were?  
Or have ye yielded you to proud oppression  
Of women's power, that boast of men's subjection?  
Or else what other deadly dismal day  
Is fallen on you, by heavens hard direction,  
That ye were run so fond far astray,  
As for to lead yourself unto your own decay?   

Much was the man confounded in his mind,  
Partly with shame, and partly with dismay,  
That all astonished he himself did find,  
And little had for his excuse to say,  
But only thus; Most hapless well ye may  
Me justly term, that to this shame am brought,  
And made the scorn of Knighthod this same day.  
But who can scape, what his own fate hath wrought?  
The work of heavens will surpasseth humane thought.   

Right true: but faulty men use oftentimes  
To attribute their folly unto fate,  
And lay on heaven the guilt of their own crimes.  
But tell, Sir Terpin, ne let you amate  
Your misery, how fell ye in this state.  
Then sith ye needs (quoth he) will know my shame,  
And all the ill, which chanced to me of late,  
I shortly will to you rehearse the same,  
In hope ye will not turn misfortune to my blame.   

Being desirous (as all Knights are wont)  
Through hard adventures deeds of arms to try,  
And after fame and honour for to hunt,  
I heard report that far abroad did fly,  
That a proud Amazon did late defy  
All the brave Knights, that hold of Maidenhead,  
And unto them wrought all the villainy,  
That she could forge in her malicious head,  
Which some hath put to shame, and many done be dead.   

The cause, they say, of this her cruel hate,  
Is for the sake of Bellodant the bold,  
To whom she bore most fervent love of late,  
And wooed him by all the ways she could:  
But when she saw at last, that he ne would  
For aught or nought be won unto her will,  
She turned her love to hatred manifold,  
And for his sake vowed to do all the ill  
Which she could do to Knights, which now she doth fulfil.   

For all those Knights, the which by force or guile  
She doth subdue, she foully doth entreat.  
First she doth them of warlike arms despoil,  
And cloth in women's weeds: And then with threat  
Doth them compel to work, to earn their meat,  
To spin, to carded, to sew, to wash, to wring;  
Ne doth she give them other thing to eat,  
But bread and water, or like feeble thing,  
Them to disable from revenge adventuring.   

But if through stout disdain of manly mind,  
Any her proud observance will withstand,  
Upon that gibbet, which is there behind,  
She causeth them be hanged up out of hand;  
In which condition I right now did stand.  
For being overcome by her in fight,  
And put to that base service of her band,  
I rather chose to die in lines despite,  
Then lead that shameful life, unworthy of a Knight.   

How height that Amazon (said Artegall?)  
And where, and how far hence does she abide?  
Her name (quoth he) they Radigund do call,  
A Princess of great power, and greater pride,  
And Queen of Amazons, in arms well tried,  
And sundry battles, which she hath achieved  
With great success, that her hath glorified,  
And made her famous, more than is believed;  
Ne would I it have weened, had I not late it prieved.   

Now sure (said he) and by the faith that I  
To Maidenhead and noble knighthood owe,  
I will not rest, till I her might do try,  
And venge the shame, that she to Knights doth show.  
Therefore Sir Terpin from you lightly throw  
This squalid weed, the pattern of despair;  
And wend with me, that ye may see and know,  
How Fortune will your ruin'd name repair,  
And knights of Maidenhead, whose praise she would impair.   

With that, like one that hopeless was repry'ud  
From deaths door, at which he lately lay,  
Those iron fetters, wherewith he was gyued,  
The badges ofreproch, he threw away,  
And nimbly did him dight to guide the way  
Unto the dwelling of that Amazon.  
Which was from thence not past a mile or twain:  
A goodly city and a mighty one,  
The which of her own name she called Radegone.   

Where they arriving, by the watchmen were  
Descried straight, who all the city warned,  
How that three warlike persons did appear,  
Of which the one him seemed a Knight all armed,  
And th'other two well likely to have harmed.  
Eftsoons the people all to harness ran,  
And like a sort of Bees in clusters swarmed:  
Ere long their Queen herself half, like a man  
Came forth into the rout, and them t'array began.   

And now the Knights being arrived near,  
Did beat upon the gates to enter in,  
And at the Porter, scorning them so few,  
Threw many threats, if they the town did win,  
To tear his flesh in pieces for his sin.  
Which when as Radigund there coming heard,  
Her heart for rage did grate, and teeth did grin:  
She bade that straight the gates should be unbard,  
And to them way to make, with weapons well prepared.   

Soon as the gates were open to them set,  
They pressed forward, entrance to have made.  
But in the middle way they were ymet  
With a sharp shower of arrows, which them stayed,  
And better bad advise, ere they assayed  
Unknown peril of bold women's pride.  
Then all that rout upon them rudely laid,  
And heaped strokes so fast on every side,  
And arrows hailed so thick, that they could not abide.   

But Radigund herself, when she espied  
Sir Terpin, from her direful doom acquit,  
So cruel doile amongst her maids davide,  
T'avenge that shame, they did on him commit,  
All suddenly inflamed with furious fit,  
Like a fell Lioness at him she flew,  
And on his headpiece him so fiercely smit,  
That to the ground him quite she overthrew,  
Dismayed so with the stroke, that he no colours knew.   

Soon as she saw him on the ground to grovel,  
She lightly to him leapt, and in his neck  
Her proud foot setting, at his head did level,  
Weening at once her wrath on him to wreak,  
And his contempt, that did her iudg'ment break.  
As when a Bear hath seized her cruel claws  
Upon the carcase of some beast too weak,  
Proudly stands over, and a while doth pause,  
To hear the piteous beast pleading her plaintiff cause.   

Whom when as Artegall in that distress  
By chance beheld, he left the bloody slaughter,  
In which he swum, and ran to his redress.  
There her assailing fiercely fresh, he reached her  
Such an huge stroke, that it of sense distraught her:  
And had she not it warded warily,  
It had deprived her mother of a daughter.  
Nathlesse for all the power she did apply,  
It made her stagger oft, and stare with ghastly eye.   

Like to an Eagle in his kingly pride,  
Soaring through his wide Empire of the air,  
To weather his broad sails, by chance hath spied  
A goshawk, which hath seized for her share  
Upon some fowl, that should her feast prepare;  
With dreadful force he flies at her bylive,  
That with his souse, which none enduren dare,  
Her from the quarry he away doth drive,  
And from her griping pounce the greedy prey doth rive.   

But soon as she her sense recovered had,  
She fiercely towards him herself 'gan dight,  
Through vengeful wrath & sdeignfull pride half mad:  
For never had she suffered such despite.  
But ere she could join hand with him to fight,  
Her warlike maids about her flocked so fast,  
That they disparted them, maugre their might,  
And with their troops did far a sunder cast:  
But 'mongst the rest the fight did until evening last.   

And every while that mighty iron man,  
With his strange weapon, never wont in war,  
Them sorely vexed, and coursed, and overran,  
And broke their bows, and did their shooting mar,  
That none of all the many once did dare  
Him to assault, nor once approach him nigh,  
But like a sort of sheep dispersed far  
For dread of their devouring enemy,  
Through all the fields and valleys did before him fly.   

But when as days fair shinie-beame, yclowded  
With fearful shadows of deformed night,  
Warned man and beast in quiet rest be shrouded,  
Bold Radigund with sound of trump on height,  
Caused all her people to surcease from fight,  
And gathering them unto her cities gate,  
Made them all enter in before her sight,  
And all the wounded, and the weak in state,  
To be conveyed in, ere she would once retrate.   

When thus the field was voided all away,  
And all things quieted, the Elfin Knight  
Weary of toil and travel of that day,  
Caused his pavilion to be richly pight  
Before the city gate, in open sight;  
Where he himself did rest in safety,  
Together with sir Terpin all that night:  
But Talus used in times of jeopardy  
To keep a nightly watch, for dread of treachery.   

But Radigund full of heart-gnawing grief,  
For the rebuke, which she sustained that day,  
Can take no rest, ne would receive relief,  
But tossed in her troublous mind, what way  
She moat revenge that blot, which on her lay.  
There she resolved herself in single fight  
To try her Fortune, and his force assay,  
Rather than see her people spoiled quite,  
As she had seen that day a disaventerous sight.   

She called forth to her a trusty maid,  
Whom she thought fittest for that business,  
Her name was Clarin, and thus to her said;  
Go damsel quickly, do thyself address,  
To do the message, which I shall express.  
Go thou unto that stranger Fairy Knight,  
Who yeester day drove us to such distress,  
Tell, that to morrow I with him will fight,  
And try in equal field, whether hath greater might.   

But these conditions do to him propound,  
That if I vanquish him, he shall obey  
My law, and ever to my lore be bound,  
And so will I, if me he vanquish may;  
What ever he shall like to do or say.  
Go straight, and take with thee, to witness it,  
Six of thy fellows of the best array,  
And bear with you both wine and iuncates fit,  
And bid him eat, henceforth he oft shall hungry sit.   

The Damsel straight obeyed, and putting all  
In readiness, forth to the Towne-gate went,  
Where sounding loud a Trumpet from the wall,  
Unto those warlike Knights she warning sent.  
Then Talus forth issuing from the tent,  
Unto the wall his way did fearless take,  
To weeten what that trumpets sounding meant:  
Where that same Damsel loudly him bespoke,  
And show'd, that with his Lord she would emparlaunce make.   

So he them straight conducted to his Lord,  
Who, as he could, them goodly well did greet,  
Till they had told their message word by word:  
Which he accepting well, as he could weet,  
Them fairly entertained with curtsies meet,  
And gave them gifts and things of dear delight.  
So back again they homeward turned their feet.  
But Artegall himself to rest did dight,  
That he moat fresher be against the next days fight.    

Cant. V.  
Artegall fights with Radigund  
And is subdued by guile:  
He is by her imprisoned,  
But wrought by Clarins' wile.  

SO soon as day forth dawning from the East,  
Night's humid curtain from the heavens withdrew,  
And early calling forth both man and beast,  
Commanded them their daily works renew,  
These noble warriors, mindful to pursue  
The last days purpose of their vowed fight,  
Themselves thereto prepared in order dew;  
The Knight, as best was seeming for a Knight,  
And th'amazon, as best it liked herself to dight.   

All in a Camis light of purple silk  
Woven upon with silver, subtly wrought,  
And quilted upon satin white as milk,  
Trailed with ribbons diversly distraught  
Like as the workman had their courses taught;  
Which was short tucked for light motion  
up to her ham, but when she list, it reached  
down to her lowest heel, and thereupon  
She wore for her defence a mayled habergeon.   

And on her legs she painted buskins wore,  
Basted with bends of gold on every side,  
And nails between, and laced close afore:  
Upon her thigh her Cemitare was tied,  
With an embroidered belt of mickell pride;  
And on her shoulder hung her shield, bedecked  
Upon the boss with stones, that shined wide,  
As the fair Moon in her most full aspect,  
That to the Moon it moat be like in each respect.   

So forth she came out of the city gate,  
With stately port and proud magnificence,  
Guarded with many damsels, that did wait  
Upon her person for her sure defence,  
Playing on shaumes and trumpets, that from hence  
Their sound did reach unto the heavens height.  
So forth into the field she marched thence,  
Where was a rich Pavilion ready pight,  
Her to receive, till time they should begin the fight.   

Then forth came Artegall out of his tent,  
All armed to point, and first the Lists did enter:  
Soon after eke came she, with fell intent,  
And countenance fierce, as having fully bend her,  
That battles utmost trial to adventure.  
The Lists were closed fast, to bar the rout  
From rudely pressing to the middle centre;  
Which in great heaps them circled all about,  
Waiting, how Fortune would resolve that dangerous doubt.   

The Trumpets sounded, and the field began;  
With bitter strokes it both began, and ended.  
She at the first encounter on him ran  
With furious rage, as if she had intended  
Out of his breast the very heart have rended:  
But he that had like tempests often tried,  
From that first flaw himself right well defended.  
The more she raged, the more he did abide;  
She hewed, she foined, she lashed, she laid on every side.   

Yet still her blows he bore, and her forbore,  
Weening at last to win advantage new;  
Yet still her cruelty increased more,  
And though power failed, her courage did accrue,  
Which failing he 'gan fiercely her pursue.  
Like as a Smith that to his cunning feat  
The stubborn metal seeketh to subdue,  
Soon as he feels it mollifide with heat,  
With his great iron sledge doth strongly on it beat.   

So did Sir Artegall upon her lay,  
As if she had an iron anduile been,  
That flakes of fire, bright as the sunny ray,  
Out of her steely arms were flashing seen,  
That all on fire ye would her surely ween.  
But with her shield so well herself she warded,  
From the dread danger of his weapon keen,  
That all that while her life she safely guarded:  
But he that help from her against her will discarded.   

For with his trenchant blade at the next blow  
Half of her shield he shared quite away,  
That half her side itself did naked show,  
And thenceforth unto danger opened way.  
Much was she moved with the mighty sway  
Of that sad stroke, that half enraged she grew,  
And like a greedy Bear unto her prey,  
With her sharp Cemitare at him she flew,  
That glancing down his thigh, the purple blood forth drew.   

Thereat she 'gan to triumph with great boast,  
And to upbraid that chance, which him misfell,  
As if the prize she gotten had almost,  
With spiteful speeches, fitting with her well;  
That his great heart 'gan inwardly to swell  
With indignation, at her vaunting vain,  
And at her struck with puissance fearful fell;  
Yet with her shield she warded it again,  
That shattered all to pieces round about the plain.   

Having her thus disarmed of her shield,  
Upon her helmet he again her struck,  
That down she fell upon the grassy field,  
In senseless swoon, as if her life forsook,  
And pangs of death her spirit overtook.  
Whom when he saw before his foot prostrated,  
He to her leapt with deadly dreadful look,  
And her sunshynie helmet soon unlaced,  
Thinking at once both head and helmet to have razed.   

But when as he discovered had her face,  
He saw his senses strange astonishment,  
A miracle of nature's goodly grace,  
In her fair visage void of ornament,  
But bathed in blood and sweat together meant;  
Which in the rudeness of that evil plight,  
Bewrayed the signs of feature excellent:  
Like as the Moon in foggy winter's night,  
Doth seem to be herself, though darkened be her light.   

At sight thereof his cruel minded heart  
Empierced was with pitiful regard,  
That his sharp sword he threw from him apart,  
Cursing his hand that had that visage marred:  
No hand so cruel, nor no heart so hard,  
But ruth of beauty will it mollify.  
By this upstarting from her swoon, she stared  
A while about her with confused eye;  
Like one that from his dream is waked suddenly.   

Soon as the knight she there by her did spy,  
Standing with empty hands all weaponless,  
With fresh assault upon him she did fly,  
And 'gan renew her former cruelness:  
And though he still retyted, yet nevertheless  
With huge redoubled strokes she on him laid;  
And more increased her outrage merciless,  
The more that he with meek entreaty prayed,  
Her wrathful hand from greedy vengeance to have stayed.   

Like as a Puttock having spied in sight  
A gentle Falcon sitting on an hill,  
Whose other wing, now made unmeet for flight,  
Was lately broken by some fortune ill;  
The foolish Kite, led with licentious will,  
Doth beat upon the gentle bird in vain,  
With many idle stoups her troubling still:  
Even so did Radigund with bootless pain  
Annoy this noble Knight, and sorely him constrain.   

Nought could he do, but shun the dread despite  
Of her fierce wrath, and backward still retire,  
And with his single shield, well as he might,  
Bear off the burden of her raging ire;  
And evermore he gently did desire,  
To stay her strokes, and he himself would yield:  
Yet nould she hark, ne let him once respyre,  
Till he to her delivered had his shield,  
And to her mercy him submitted in plain field.   

So was he overcome, not overcome,  
But to her yielded of his own accord;  
Yet was he justly damned by the doom  
Of his own mouth, that spoke so warelesse word,  
To be her thrall, and service her afford.  
For though that he first victory obtained,  
Yet after by abandoning his sword,  
He wilful lost, that he before attained.  
No fairer conquest, then that with goodwill is gained.   

though with her sword on him she flatling struck,  
In sign of true subjection to her power,  
And as her vassal him to thraldom took.  
But Terpine borne to'a more unhappy hour,  
As he, on whom the luckless stars did lower,  
She caused to be attached, and forthwith led  
Unto the crook t'abide the baleful stowre,  
From which he lately had through rescue fled:  
Where he full shamefully was hanged by the head.   

But when they thought on Talus hands to lay,  
He with his iron flail amongst them thundered,  
That they were fain to let him scape away,  
Glad from his company to be so sundered;  
Whose presence all their troops so much encumbered  
That th'heaps of those, which he did wound and slay,  
Besides the rest dismayed, might not be numbered:  
Yet all that while he would not once assay,  
To rescue his own Lord, but thought it just t'obey.   

Then took the Amazon this noble knight,  
Left to her will by his own wilful blame,  
And caused him to be disarmed quite,  
Of all the ornaments of knightly name,  
With which whilom he gotten had great fame:  
In stead whereof she made him to be dight  
In woman's weeds, that is to manhood shame,  
And put before his lap a napron white,  
In stead of Curiets and bases fit for fight.   

So being clad, she brought him from the field,  
In which he had been trained many a day,  
Into a long large chamber, which was seld  
With monuments of many knight's decay,  
By her subdued in victorious fray:  
Amongst the which she caused his warlike arms  
Be hanged on high, that mote his shame bewray;  
And broke his sword, or fear of further harms,  
With which he want to stir up battailous alarms.   

There entered in, he round about him saw  
Many brave knights, whose names right well he knew,  
There bound t'obey that Amazon's proud law,  
Spinning and carding all in comely rue,  
That his big heart loathed so uncomely view.  
But they were forced through penury and pine,  
To do those works, to them appointed dew:  
For nought was given them to sup or dine,  
But what their hands could earn by twisting linen twine.   

Amongst them all she placed him most low,  
And in his hand a distaff to him gave,  
That he thereon should spin both flax and tow;  
A sordid office for a mind so brave.  
So hard it is to be a woman's slave.  
Yet he it took in his own selves despite,  
And thereto did himself right well behave,  
Her to obey, sith he his faith had plight,  
Her vassal to become, if she him won in fight.   

Who had him seen, imagine mote thereby,  
That whilom hath of Hercules been told,  
How for jolas' sake he did apply  
His mighty hands, the distaff vile to hold,  
For his huge club, which had subdued of old  
So many monsters, which the world annoyed;  
His lions skin changed to a pall of gold,  
In which forgetting wars, he only joyed  
In combats of sweet love, and with his mistress toyed.   

Such is the cruelty of women kind,  
When they have shaken off the shamefast band,  
With which wise Nature did them strongly bind,  
Tobay the hests of man's well ruling hand,  
That then all rule and reason they withstand,  
To purchase a licentious liberty.  
But virtuous women wisely understand,  
That they were borne to base humility,  
Unless the heavens them lift to lawful sovereignty.   

Thus there long while continued Artegall,  
Serving proud Radigund with true subjection;  
How ever it his noble heart did gall,  
Tobay a woman's tyrannous direction,  
That might have had of life or death election:  
But having chosen, now he might not change.  
During which time, the warlike Amazon,  
Whose wandering fancy after lust did range,  
'Gan cast a secret liking to this captive strange.   

Which long concealing in her covert breast,  
She chawed the cud of lovers careful plight;  
Yet could it not so thoroughly digest,  
Being fast fixed in her wounded sprite,  
But it tormented her both day and night:  
Yet would she not thereto yield free accord,  
To serve the lowly vassal of her might,  
And of her servant make her sovereign Lord:  
So great her pride, that she such baseness much abhorred.   

So much the greater still her anguish grew,  
Through stubborn handling of her lovesick heart;  
And still the more she strove it to subdue,  
The more she still augmented her own smart,  
And wider made the wound of th'hidden dart.  
At last when long she struggled had in vain,  
She 'gan to stoop, and her proud mind convert  
To meek obeisance of loves mighty rain,  
And him entreat for grace, that had procured her pain.   

Unto herself in secret she did call  
Her nearest handmaid, whom she most did trust,  
And to her said; Clarinda whom of all  
I trust a live, sith I thee fostered first;  
Now is the time, that I untimely must  
Thereof make trial, in my greatest need:  
It is so happened, that the heavens unjust,  
Spiting my happy freedom, have agreed,  
To thrall my loser life, or my last bale to breed.   

With that she turned her head, as half abashed,  
To hide the blush which in her visage rose,  
And through her eyes like sudden lightning flashed,  
Decking her cheek with a vermilion rose:  
But soon she did her countenance compose,  
And to her turning, thus began again;  
This griefs deep wound I would to thee disclose,  
Thereto compelled through hartmurdring pain,  
But dread of shame my doubtful lips doth still restrain.   

Ah my dear dread (said then the faithful Maid)  
Can dread of aught your dreadless heart withhold,  
That many hath with dread of death dismayed,  
And dare even deaths most dreadful face behold?  
Say on my sovereign Lady, and be bold;  
Doth not your handmayds' life at your foot lie?  
Therewith much comforted, she 'gan unfold  
The cause of her conceived malady,  
As one that would confess, yet feign would it deny.   

Clarin (said she) thou seest yond Fairy Knight,  
Whom not my valour, but his own brave mind  
subjecteth hath to my unequal might;  
What right is it, that he should thraldom find,  
For lending life to me a wretch unkind;  
That for such good him recompense with ill?  
Therefore I cast, how I may him unbind,  
And by his freedom get his free goodwill;  
Yet so, as bound to me he may continue still.   

Bound unto me, but not with such hard bands  
Of strong compulsion, and straight violence,  
As now in miserable state he stands;  
But with sweet love and sure benevolence,  
Void of malicious mind, or foul offence.  
To which if thou canst win him any way,  
Without discovery of my thoughts pretence,  
Both goodly meed of him it purchase may,  
And eke with grateful service me right well apay.   

Which that thou mayst the better bring to pass,  
Lo here this ring, which shall thy warrant be,  
And token true to old Eumenias,  
From time to time, when thou it best shalt see,  
That in and out thou mayst have passage free.  
Go now, Clarinda, well thy wits advise,  
And all thy forces gather unto thee;  
Armies of lovely looks, and speeches wise,  
With which thou canst even jove himself to love entice.   

The trusty Maid, conceiving her intent,  
Did with sure promise of her good endeavour,  
Give her great comfort, and some heart's content.  
So from her parting, she thenceforth did labour  
By all the means she might, to curry favour  
With th'Elfin Knight, her Ladies best beloved;  
With daily show of courteous kind behaviour,  
Even at the markewhite of his heart she roved,  
And with wide glancing words, one day she thus him proved.   

Unhappy Knight, upon whose hopeless state  
Fortune envying good, hath felly frowned,  
And cruel heavens have heaped an heavy fate;  
I rue that thus thy better days are drowned  
In sad despair, and all thy senses swooned  
In stupid sorrow, sith thy juster merit  
Might else have with felicity been crowned:  
Look up at last, and wake thy dulled spirit,  
To think how this long death thou mightest disinherit.   

Much did he marvel at her uncouth speech,  
Whose hidden drift he could not well perceive;  
And 'gan to doubt, lest she him sought t'appeach  
Of treason, or some guileful train did weave,  
Through which she might his wretched life bereave.  
Both which to bar, he with this answer met her;  
Fair Damsel, that with ruth (as I perceive)  
Of my mishaps, art moved to wish me better,  
For such your kind regard, I can but rest your debtor.   

Yet weet ye well, that to a courage great  
It is no less beseeming well, to bear  
The storm of fortune's frown, or heavens threat,  
Then in the sunshine of her countenance clear  
Timely to joy, and carry comely cheer.  
For though this cloud have now me overcast,  
Yet do I not of better times despair;  
And, though unlike, they should for ever last,  
Yet in my truths assurance I rest fixed fast.   

But what so stony mind (she then replied)  
But if in his own power occasion lay,  
Would to his hope a window open wide,  
And to his fortunes help make ready way?  
Unworthy sure (quoth he) of better day,  
That will not take the offer of good hope,  
And eke pursue, if he attain it may.  
Which speeches she applying to the scope  
Of her intent, this further purpose to him shaped.   

Then why dost not, thou ill aduized man,  
Make means to win thy liberty forlorn,  
And try if thou by fair entreaty, can  
Move Radigund? who though she still have worn  
Her days in war, yet (weet thou) was not borne  
Of Bears and Tigers, nor so salvage minded,  
As that, albe all love of men she scorn,  
She yet forgets, that she of men was kynded:  
And sooth oft seen, that proudest hearts base love hath blinded.   

Certes Clarinda, not of cankered will,  
(Said he) nor obstinate disdainful mind,  
I have forbore this duty to fulfil:  
For well I may this ween, by that I find,  
That she a Queen, and come of Princely kind,  
Both worthy is for to be sewd unto,  
Chiefly by him, whose life her law doth bind,  
And eke of power her own doom to undo,  
And als of princely grace to be inclined thereto.   

But want of means hath been mine only let,  
From seeking favour, where it doth abound;  
Which if I might by your good office get,  
I to yourself should rest for ever bound,  
And ready to deserve, what grace I found.  
She feeling him thus bite upon the bait,  
Yet doubting lest his hold was but unsound,  
And not well fastened, would not strike him straight,  
But drew him on with hope, fit leisure to await.   

But foolish Maid, whiles heedless of the hook,  
She thus oft times was beating off and on,  
Through slippery footing, fell into the brook,  
And there was caught to her confusion.  
For seeking thus to salve the Amazon,  
She wounded was with her deceits own dart,  
And 'gan thenceforth to cast affection,  
Conceived close in her beguiled heart,  
To Artegall, through pity of his causeless smart.   

Yet durst she nop disclose her fancy's wound,  
Ne to himself, for doubt of being sdayned,  
Ne yet to any other wight on ground,  
For fear her mistress should have knowledge gained,  
But to herself it secretly retained,  
Within the closet of her covert breast:  
The more thereby her tender heart was pained.  
Yet to await fit time she weened best,  
And fairly did dissemble her sad thoughts unrest.   

One day her Lady, calling her apart,  
Can to demand of her some tidings good,  
Touching her loves success, her lingering smart.  
Therewith she 'gan at first to change her mood,  
As one adawed, and half confused stood;  
But quickly she it overpast, so soon  
As she her face had wypt, to fresh her blood:  
though 'gan she tell her all, that she had done,  
And all the ways she sought, his love for to have won.   

But said, that he was obstinate and stern,  
Scorning her offers and conditions vain;  
Ne would be taught withany terms, to learn  
So fond a lesson, as to love again.  
Die rather would he in penurious pain,  
And his abridged days in dolour waste,  
Then his foes love or liking entertain:  
His resolution was both first and last,  
His body was her thrall, his heart was freely placed.   

Which when the cruel Amazon perceived,  
She 'gan to storm, and rage, and rend her gall,  
For very fell despite, which she conceived,  
To be so scorned of a base borne thrall,  
Whose life did lie in her least eyelids fall;  
Of which she vowed with many a cursed threat,  
That she therefore would him ere long forstall.  
Nathlesse when calmed was her furious heat,  
She changed that threatfull mood, & mildly 'gan entreat.   

What now is left Clarinda? what remains,  
That we may compass this our enterprise?  
Great shame to lose so long employed pains,  
And greater shame t'abide so great misprise,  
With which he dares our offers thus despize.  
Yet that his guilt the greater may appear,  
And more my gracious mercy by this wize,  
I will a while with his first folly bear,  
Till thou have tried again, & tempted him more near.   

Say, and do all, that may thereto prevail;  
Leave nought unpromist, that may him persuade,  
Life, freedom, grace, and gifts of great avail,  
With which the Gods themselves are milder made:  
Thereto add art, even women's witty trade,  
The art of mighty words, that men can charm;  
With which in case thou canst him not invade,  
Let him feel hardness of thy heavy arm:  
Who will not stoop with good, shall be made stoup with harm.   

Some of his diet do from him withdraw;  
For I him find to be too proudly fed.  
Give him more labour, and with straighter law,  
That he with work may be forwearied.  
Let him lodge hard, and lie in strawen bed,  
That may pull down the courage of his pride;  
And lay upon him, for his greater dread,  
Cold iron chains, with which let him be tide;  
And let, what ever he desires, be him denied.   

When thou hast all this done, then bring me news  
Of his demean: thenceforth notlike a lover,  
But like a rebel stout I will him use.  
For I resolve this siege not to give over,  
Till I the conquest of my will recover.  
So she departed, full of grief and sdaine,  
Which inly did to great impatience move her.  
But the false maiden shortly turned again  
Unto the prison, where her heart did thrall remain.   

There all her subtle nets she did unfold,  
And all the engines of her wit display;  
In which she meant him warelesse to enfold,  
And of his innocence to make her pray.  
So cunnningly she wrought her craft's assay,  
That both her Lady, and herself withal,  
And eke the knight attonce she did betray:  
But most the knight, whom she with guileful call  
Did cast for to allure, into her trap to fall.   

As a bad Nurse, which feigning to receive  
In her own mouth the food, meant for her child,  
Withholds it to herself, and doth deceive  
The infant, so for want of nurture spoiled:  
Even so Clarinda her own Dame beguiled,  
And turned the trust, which was in her affyde,  
To feeding of her private fire, which boiled  
Her inward breast, and in her entrails fried,  
The more that she it sought to cover and to hide.   

For coming to this knight, she purpose feigned,  
How earnest suit she erst for him had made  
Unto her Queen, his freedom to have gained;  
But by no means could her thereto persuade:  
But that in stead thereof, she sternly bade  
His misery to be augmented more,  
And many iron bands on him to lad.  
All which nathlesse she for his love forbore:  
So praying him t'accept her service evermore.   

And more than that, she promised that she would,  
In case she might find favour in his eye,  
Devise how to enlarge him out of hold.  
The Fairy glad to gain his liberty,  
Can yield great thanks for such her courtesy,  
And with fair words, fit for the time and place,  
To feed the humour of her malady;  
Promised, if she would free him from that case,  
He would by all good means he might, deserve such grace.   

So daily he fair semblant did her show,  
Yet never meant he in his noble mind,  
To his own absent love to be untrue:  
Ne ever did deceitful Clarin find  
In her false heart, his bondage to unbind;  
But rather how she moat him faster tie.  
Therefore unto her mistress most unkind  
She daily told, her love he did defy,  
And him she told, her Dame his freedom did deny.   

Yet thus much friendship she to him did show,  
That his scarce diet somewhat was amended,  
And his work lessened, that his love moat grow:  
Yet to her Dame him still she discommended,  
That she with him moat be the more offended.  
Thus he long while in thraldom there remained,  
Of both beloved well, but little friended;  
Until his own true love his freedom gained,  
Which in an other Canto will be best contained.    

Cant. VI  
Talus brings news to Britomart,  
of Artegals' mishap,  
She goes to seek him, Dolon meets,  
who seeks her to entrap.  

SOme men, I wot, will deem in Artegall  
Great weakness, and report of him much ill,  
For yielding so himself a wretched thrall,  
To th'insolent command of women's will;  
That all his former praise doth foully spill.  
But he the man, that say or do so dare,  
Be well advised, that he stand steadfast still:  
For never yet was wight so well aware,  
But he at first or last was trapped in women's snare.   

Yet in the straightness of that captive state,  
This gentle knight himself so well behaved,  
That notwithstanding all the subtle bait,  
With which those Amazons his love still craved,  
To his own love his loyalty he saved:  
Whose character in th'Adamantine mould  
Of his true heart so firmly was engraved,  
That no new loves impression ever could  
Bereave it thence: such blot his honour blemish should.   

Yet his own love, the noble Britomart,  
Scarce so conceived in her jealous thought,  
What time sad tidings of his baleful smart  
In woman's bondage, Talus to her brought;  
Brought in untimely hour, ere it was sought.  
For after that the utmost date, assigned  
For his return, she waited had for nought,  
She 'gan to cast in her misdoubtfull mind  
A thousand fears, that lovesick fancies feign to find.   

Sometime she feared, lest some hard mishap  
Had him misfalne in his adventurous quest;  
Sometime lest his false foe did him entrap  
In traitorous train, or had unwares oppressed:  
But most she did her troubled mind molest,  
And secretly afflict with jealous fear,  
Lest some new love had him from her possessed;  
Yet loath she was, since she no ill did hear,  
To think of him so ill: yet could she not forbear.   

One while she blamed herself; another while  
She him condemned, as trustless and untrue:  
And then, her grief with error to beguile,  
She feigned to count the time again anew,  
As if before she had not counted true.  
For hours but days; for weeks, that passed were,  
She told but months, to make them seem more few:  
Yet when she reckoned them, still drawing near,  
Each hour did seem a month, & every month a year.   

But when as yet she saw him not return,  
She thought to send some one to seek him out;  
But none she found so fit to serve that turn,  
As her own self, to ease herself of doubt.  
Now she devised amongst the warlike rout  
Of errant Knights, to seek her errant Knight;  
And then again resolved to hunt him out  
Amongst lose Ladies, lapped in delight:  
And then both Knights envied, & Ladies eke did spite.   

One day, when as she long had sought for ease  
In every place, and every place thought best,  
Yet found no place, that could her liking please,  
She to a window came, that opened West,  
Towards which coast her love his way addressed.  
There looking forth, she in her heart did find  
Many vain fancies, working her unrest;  
And sent her winged thoughts, more swift than wind,  
To bear unto her love the message of her mind.   

There as she looked long, at last she spied  
One coming towards her with hasty speed:  
Well weaned she then, ere him she plain descried,  
That it was one sent from her love indeed.  
Who when he nigh approached, she moat arede  
That it was Talus, Artegall his groom;  
Whereat her heart was filled with hope and dread;  
Ne would she stay, till he in place could come,  
But ran to meet him forth, to know his tidings some.   

Even in the door him meeting, she begun;  
And where is he thy Lord, and how far hence?  
Declare at once; and hath he lost or won?  
The iron man, albe he wanted sense  
And sorrows feeling, yet with conscience  
Of his ill news, did inly i'll and quake,  
And stood still mute, as one in great suspense,  
As if that by his silence he would make  
Her rather read his meaning, than himself it spoke.   

Till she again thus said; Talus be bold,  
And tell what ever it be, good or bad,  
That from thy tongue thy heart's intent doth hold.  
To whom he thus at length. The tidings sad,  
That I would hide, will needs, I see, be rad.  
My Lord, your love, by hard mishap doth lie  
In wretched bondage, woefully bestead.  
Ay me (quoth she) what wicked destiny?  
And is he vanquished by his tyrant enemy?   

Not by that Tyrant, his intended foe;  
But by a Tyranness (he then replied,)  
That him captived hath in hapless woe.  
Cease thou bad newesman, badly dost thou hide  
Thy masters shame, in harlot's bondage tide.  
The rest myself too readily can spell.  
With that in rage she turned from him aside,  
Forcing in vain the rest to her to tell,  
And to her chamber went like solitary cell.   

There she began to make her moanful plaint  
Against her Knight, for being so untrue;  
And him to touch with falsehoods fowl attaint,  
That all his other honour overthrew.  
Oft did she blame herself, and often rue,  
For yielding to a strangers love so light,  
Whose life and manners strange she never knew;  
And evermore she did him sharply twight  
For breach of faith to her, which he had firmly plight.   

And then she in her wrathful will did cast,  
How to revenge that blot of honour blended;  
To fight with him, and goodly die her last:  
And then again she did herself torment,  
Inflicting on herself his punishment.  
A while she walked, and chauft; a while she threw  
Herself upon her bed, and did lament:  
Yet did she not lament with loud alew,  
As women wont, but with deep sighs, and singulfs few.   

Like as a wayward child, whose sounder sleep  
Is broken with some fearful dreams affright,  
With froward will doth set himself to weep;  
Ne can be stilled for all his nurse's might,  
But kicks, and sqalls, and shrieks for fell despite:  
Now scratching her, and her lose locks misusing;  
Now seeking darkness, and now seeking light;  
Then craving suck, and then the suck refusing.  
Such was this Ladies fit, in her loves fond accusing.   

But when she had with such unquiet fits  
Herself there close afflicted long in vain,  
Yet found no easement in her troubled wits,  
She unto Talus forth returned again,  
By change of place seeking to ease her pain;  
And 'gan inquire of him, with milder mood,  
The certain cause of Artegals detain;  
And what he did, and in what state he stood,  
And whether he did woe, or whether he were wooed.   

Ah wellaway (said then the iron man,)  
That he is not the while in state to woe;  
But lies in wretched thraldom, weak and wan,  
Not by strong hand compelled thereunto,  
But his own doom, that none can now undo.  
Said I not then (quoth she) erwhile aright,  
That this is things compact betwixt you two,  
Me to deceive of faith unto me plight,  
Since that he was not forced, nor overcome in fight?   

With that he 'gan at large to her dilate  
The whole discourse of his captivance sad,  
In sort as ye have heard the same of late.  
All which when she with hard endurance had  
Here to the end, she was right sore bestead,  
With sudden stounds of wrath and grief atone:  
Ne would abide, till she had answer made,  
But straight herself did dight, and armour done;  
And mounting to her steed, bad Talus guide heron.   

So forth she road upon her ready way,  
To seek her Knight, as Talus her did guide:  
Sadly she road, and never word did say,  
Nor good nor bad, ne ever looked aside,  
But still right down, and in her thought did hide  
The felnesse of her heart, right fully bend  
To fierce avengement of that woman's pride,  
Which had her Lord in her base prison penned,  
And so great honour with so fowl reproach had blended.   

So as she thus melancholic did ride,  
Chawing the cud of grief and inward pain,  
She chanced to meet toward th'eventide  
A Knight, that softly paced on the plain,  
As if himself to solace he were feign.  
Well shot in years he seemed, and rather bend  
To peace, then needless trouble to constrain.  
As well by view of that his vestiment,  
As by his modest semblant, that no evil meant.   

He coming near, 'gan gently her salute.  
With courteous words, in the most comely wize;  
Who though desirous rather to rest mute,  
Then terms to entertain of common guise,  
Yet rather than she kindness would despize,  
She would herself displease, so him requite.  
Then 'gan the other further to devise  
Of things abroad, as next to hand did light,  
And many things demand, to which she answered light.   

For little lust had she to talk of aught,  
Or aught to hear, that mote delightful be;  
Her mind was whole possessed of one thought,  
That gave none other place. Which when as he  
By outward signs, (as well he might) did see,  
He list no longer to use lothfull speech,  
But her besought to take it well in gree,  
Sith shady damp had dimmed the heavens reach,  
To lodge with him that night, unless good cause impeach   

The Championess, now seeing night at door,  
Was glad to yield unto his good request:  
And with him went without gainsaying more.  
Not far away, but little wide by West,  
His dwelling was, to which he him addressed;  
Where soon arriving they received were  
In seemly wise, as them beseemed best:  
For he their host them goodly well did cheer,  
And talked of pleasant things, the night away to wear.   

Thus passing th'evening well, till time of rest,  
Then Britomart unto a bower was brought;  
Where grooms awaited her to have undressed.  
But she ne would undressed be for aught,  
Ne doff her arms, though he her much besought.  
For she had vowed, she said, not to forego  
Those warlike weeds, till she revenge had wrought  
Of a late wrong upon a mortal foe;  
Which she would sure perform, betid her weal or wo.   

Which when their Host perceived, right discontent  
In mind he grew, for fear least by that art  
He should his purpose miss, which close he meant:  
Yet taking leave of her, he did departed.  
There all that night remained Britomart,  
Restless, recomfortlesse, with heart deep grieved,  
Not suffering the least twinkling sleep to start  
Into her eye, which th'heart moat have relieved,  
But if the least appeared, her eyes she straight reprieved.   

Ye guilty eyes (said she) the which with guile  
My heart at first betrayed, will ye betray  
My life now to, for which a little while  
Ye will not watch? false watches, wellaway,  
I wot when ye did watch both night and day  
Unto your loss: and now needs will ye sleep?  
Now ye have made my heart to wake always,  
Now will ye sleep? ah wake, and rather weep,  
To think of your night's want, that should ye waking keep.   

Thus did she watch, and wear the weary night  
In waylfull plaints, that none was to appease;  
Now walking soft, now sitting still upright,  
As sundry change her seemed best to ease.  
Ne less did Talus suffer sleep to seize  
His eyelids sad, but watched continually,  
Lying without her door in great disease;  
Like to a Spaniel waiting carefully  
Lest any should betray his Lady treacherously.   

What time the native Bellman of the night,  
The bird, that warned Peter of his fall,  
First ring's his silver Bell t'each sleepy wight,  
That should their minds up to devotion call,  
She heard a wondrous noise below the hall.  
All suddenly the bed, where she should lie,  
By a false trap was let adown to fall  
Into a lower room, and by and by  
The lost was raised again, that no man could it spy.   

With sight whereof she was dismayed right sore,  
Perceiving well the treason, which was meant:  
Yet stirred not at all for doubt of more,  
But kept her place with courage confident,  
Waiting what would ensue of that event.  
It was not long, before she heard the sound  
of armed men, coming with close intent  
Towards her chamber; at which dreadful stound  
She quickly caught her sword, & shield about her bound.   

With that there came unto her chamber door  
Two Knights, all armed ready for to fight,  
And after them full many other more,  
A rascal rout, with weapons rudely dight.  
Whom soon as Talus spied by glims of night,  
He started up, there where on ground he lay,  
And in his hand his thresher ready keight.  
They seeing that, let drive at him straight way,  
And round about him press in riotous array.   

But soon as he began to lay about  
With his rude iron flail, they 'gan to fly,  
Both armed Knights, and eke unarmed rout:  
Yet Talus after them apace did ply,  
Where ever in the dark he could them spy;  
That here and there like scattered sheep they lay.  
Then back returning, where his Dame did lie,  
He to her told the story of that fray,  
And all that treason there intended did bewray.   

Wherewith though wondrous wrath, and inly burning,  
To be avenged for so fowl a deed,  
Yet being forced to abide the days returning,  
She there remained, but with right wary heed,  
Lest any more such practice should proceed.  
Now moat ye know (that which to Britomart  
Unknown was) whence all this did proceed,  
And for what cause so great mischievous smart  
Was meant to her, that never evil meant in heart.   

The goodman of this house was Dolon height,  
A man of subtle wit and wicked mind,  
That whilom in his youth had been a Knight,  
And arms had borne, but little good could find,  
And much less honour by that warlike kind  
Of life: for he was nothing valorous,  
But with sly shifts and wiles did undermined  
All noble Knights, which were adventurous,  
And many brought to shame by treason treacherous.   

He had three sons, all three like father's sons,  
Like treacherous, like full of fraud and guile,  
Of all that on this earthly compass wonnes:  
The eldest of the which was slain erewhile  
By Artegall, through his own guilty wile;  
His name was Guizor, whose untimely fate  
For to avenge, full many treasons vile  
His father Dolon had devised of late  
With these his wicked sons, and showed his cankered hate.   

For sure he weaned, that this his present guest  
Was Artegall, by many tokens plain;  
But chief by that iron page he guest,  
Which still was wont with Artegall remain;  
And therefore meant him surely to have slain.  
But by God's grace, and her good heediness,  
She was preserved from their traitorous train.  
Thus she all night wore out in watchfulness,  
Ne suffered slothful sleep her eyelids to oppress.   

The morrow next, so soon as dawning hour  
Discovered had the light to living eye,  
She forth yssewed out of her loathed bower,  
With full intent t'avenge that villainy,  
On that wild man, and all his family  
And coming down to seek them, where they word,  
Nor sire, nor sons, nor any could she spy:  
Each room she sought, but them all empty fond;  
They all were fled for fear, but whether, nether kond.   

She saw it vain to make there longer stay,  
But took her steed, and thereon mounting light,  
'Gan her address unto her former way.  
She had not rid the maintenance of a flight,  
But that she saw there present in her sight,  
Those two false brethren, on that perilous Bridge,  
On which Pollente with Artegall did fight.  
Straight was the passage like a ploughed ridge,  
That if two met, the one mote needs fall over the lidge.   

There they did think themselves on her to wreak:  
Who as she nigh unto them drew, the one  
These vile reproaches 'gan unto her speak;  
Thou recreant false traitor, that with lone  
Of arms hast knighthood stolen, yet Knight art none,  
No more shall now the darkness of the night  
Defend thee from the vengeance of thy fone,  
But with thy blood thou shalt appease the sprite  
Of Guizor, by thee slain, and murdered by thy slight.   

Strange were the words in Britomartis ear;  
Yet stayed she not for them, but forward fared,  
Till to the perilous Bridge she came, and there  
Talus desired, that he might have prepared  
The way to her, and those two losels scared.  
But she thereat was wroth, that for despite  
The glancing sparkles through her beaver glared,  
And from her eyes did flash out fiery light,  
Like coals, that through a silver Censer sparkle bright.   

She stayed not to advise which way to take;  
But putting spurs unto her fiery beast,  
Through the midst of them she way did make.  
The one of them, which most her wrath increased,  
Upon her spear she bore before her breast,  
Till to the Bridges further end she passed,  
Where falling down, his challenge he released:  
The other over side the Bridge she cast  
Into the river, where he drunk his deadly last.   

As when the flashing Levin haps to light  
Upon two stubborn oaks, which stand so near,  
That way betwixt them none appears in sight;  
The Engine fiercely flying forth, doth tear  
Th'one from the earth, & through the air doth bear;  
The other it withforce doth overthrow,  
Upon one side, and from his roots doth rear.  
So did the Championess those two there strew,  
And to their sire their carcases left to bestow.    

Cant. VII  
Britomart comes to Isis' Church,  
Where she strange visions sees:  
She fights with Radigund, her slases,  
And Artegall thence frees.  

NOught is on earth more sacred or divine,  
That Gods and men do equally adore,  
Then this same virtue, that doth right define:  
For th'heavens themselves, whence mortal men implore  
Right in their wrongs, are ruled by righteous lore  
Of highest jove, who doth true justice deal  
To his inferior Gods, and evermore  
Therewith contains his heavenly Commonweal:  
The skill whereof to Prince's hearts he doth reveal.   

Well therefore did the antic world invent,  
That justice was a God of sovereign grace,  
And altars unto him, and temples lent,  
And heavenly honours in the highest place;  
Calling him great Osiris, of the race  
Of th'old Egyptian Kings, that whilom were;  
With feigned colours shading a true case:  
For that Osiris, whilst he lived here,  
The justest man alive, and truest did appear.   

His wife was Isis, whom they likewise made  
A Goddess of great power and sovereignty,  
And in her person cunningly did shade  
That part of justice, which is Equity,  
Whereof I have to treat here presently.  
Unto whose temple when as Britomart  
Arrived, she with great humility  
Did enter in, ne would that night departed;  
But Talus moat not be admitted to her part.   

There she received was in goodly wize  
Of many Priests, which duly did attend  
Upon the rites and daily sacrifice,  
All clad in linen robes with silver hemmed;  
And on their heads with long locks comely combed,  
They wore rich Mitres shaped like the Moon,  
To show that Isis doth the Moon portend;  
Like as Osiris signifies the Sun.  
For that they both like race in equal justice run.   

The Championess them greeting, as she could,  
Was thence by them into the Temple led;  
Whose goodly building when she did behold,  
Borne upon stately pillours, all dispred  
With shining gold, and arched over head,  
She wondered at the workman's passing skill,  
Whose like before she never saw nor red;  
And thereupon long while stood gazing still,  
But thought, that she thereon could never gaze her fill.   

Thence forth unto the Idol they her brought,  
The which was framed all of silver fine,  
So well as could with cunning hand be wrought,  
And clothed all in garments made of line,  
Hemmed all about with fringe of silver twine.  
Upon her head she wore a Crown of gold,  
To show that she had power in things divine;  
And at her feet a Crocodile was rolled,  
That with her wreathed tail her middle did enfold.   

One foot was set upon the Crocodile,  
And on the ground the other fast did stand,  
So meaning to suppress both forged guile,  
And open force: and in her other hand  
She stretched forth a long white slender wand.  
Such was the Goddess, whom when Britomart  
Had long beheld, herself upon the land  
She did prostrate, and with right humble heart,  
Unto herself her silent prayers did impart.   

To which the Idol as it were inclining,  
Her wand did move with amiable look,  
By outward show her inward sense desining.  
Who well perceiving, how her wand she shook,  
It as a token of good fortune took.  
By this the day with damp was overcast,  
And joyous light the house of jove forsook:  
Which when she saw, her helmet she unlaste,  
And by the altars side herself to slumber placed.   

For other beds the Priests there used none,  
But on their mother Earth's dear lap did lie,  
And bake their sides upon the cold hard stone,  
T'enure themselves to sufferance thereby  
And proud rebellious flesh to mortify.  
For by the vow of their religion  
They tied were to steadfast chastity,  
And continence of life, that all foregone,  
They moat the better tend to their devotion.   

Therefore they moat not taste of fleshly food,  
Ne feed on aught, the which doth blood contain,  
Ne drink of wine, for wine they say is blood,  
Even the blood of Giants, which were slain,  
By thundering jove in the Phlegraean plain.  
For which the earth (as they the story tell)  
Wroth with the Gods, which to perpetual pain  
Had damned her sons, which 'gainst them did rebel,  
With inward grief and malice did against them swell.   

And of their vital blood, the which was shed  
Into her pregnant bosom, forth she brought  
The fruitful vine, whose liquor bloody red  
Having the minds of men with fury fraught,  
Mote in them stir up old rebellious thought,  
To make new war against the Gods again:  
Such is the power of that same fruit, that nought  
The fell contagion may thereof restrain,  
Ne within reasons rule, her madding mood contain.   

There did the warlike Maid herself repose,  
Under the wings of Isis all that night,  
And with sweet rest her heavy eyes did close,  
After that long days toil and weary plight.  
Where whilst her earthly parts with soft delight  
Of senseless sleep did deeply drowned lie,  
There did appear unto her heavenly sprite  
A wondrous vision, which did close imply  
The course of all her fortune and posterity.   

Her seem ', das she was doing sacrifice  
To Isis, decked with Mitre on her head,  
And linen stole after those priests guise,  
All suddenly she saw transfigured  
Her linen stole to rob of scarlet red.  
And Moon-like Mitre to a Crown of gold,  
That even she herself much wondered  
At such a change, and joyed to behold  
Herself, adorned with gems and jewels manifold.   

And in the midst of her felicity,  
An hideous tempest seemed from below,  
To rise through all the Temple suddenly,  
That from the Altar all about did blow  
The holy fire, and all the embers strew  
Upon the ground, which kindled privily,  
Into outrageous flames unwares did grow,  
That all the Temple put in jeopardy  
Of flaming, and herself in great perplexity.   

With that the Crocodile, which sleeping lay  
Under the Idols feet in fearless bower,  
Seemed to awake in horrible dismay,  
As being troubled with that stormy stowre;  
And gaping greedy wide, did straight devour  
Both flames and tempest: with which grown great,  
And swollen with pride of his own peerless power,  
He 'gan to threaten her likewise to eat;  
But that the Goddess with her rod him back did beat.   

though turning all his pride to humblesse meek,  
Himself before her feet he lowly threw,  
And 'gan for grace and love of her to seek:  
Which she accepting, he so near her drew,  
That of his game she soon enwombed grew,  
And forth did bring a Lion of great might;  
That shortly did all other beasts subdue.  
With that she waked, full of fearful fright,  
And doubtfully dismayed through that so uncouth sight.   

So thereupon long while she musing lay,  
With thousand thoughts feeding her fantasy,  
Until she spied the lamp of lightsome day,  
Uplifted in the porch of heaven high.  
Then up she rose fraught with melancholy,  
And forth into the lower parts did pass;  
Whereas the Priests she found full busily  
About their holy things for morrow Mas:  
Whom she saluting fair, fair resaluted was.   

But by the change of her unchearefull look,  
They might perceive, she was not well in plight;  
Or that some pensiveness to heart she took.  
Therefore thus one of them, who seemed in sight  
To be the greatest, and the gravest wight,  
To her bespoke; Sir Knight it seems to me,  
That through evil rest of this last night,  
Or ill apaid, or much dismayed ye be,  
That by your change of cheer is easy for to see.   

Certes (said she) sith ye so well have spied  
The troublous passion of my pensive mind,  
I will not seek the same from you to hide,  
But will my cares unfold, in hope to find  
Your aid, to guide me out of error blind.  
Say on (quoth he) the secret of your heart:  
For by the holy vow, which me doth bind,  
I am adiured, best counsel to impart  
To all, that shall require my comfort in their smart.   

Then 'gan she to declare the whole discourse  
Of all that vision, which to her appeared,  
As well as to her mind it had recourse.  
All which when he unto the end had heard,  
Like to a weak fainthearted man he fared,  
Through great astonishment of that strange sight;  
And with long locks up-standing, stiffly stared  
Like one adawed with some dreadful sprite.  
So filled with heavenly fury, thus he her behight.   

Magnific Virgin, that in quaint disguise  
Of British arms dost mask thy royal blood,  
So to pursue a perilous emprize,  
How couldst thou ween, through that disguise hood,  
To hide thy state from being understood?  
Can from th'immortal Gods ought hidden be?  
They do thy lineage, and thy Lordly brood;  
They do thy sire, lamenting sore for thee;  
They do thy love, forlorn in women's thraldom see.   

The end whereof, and all the long event,  
They do to thee in this same dream discover.  
For that same Crocodile doth represent  
The righteous Knight, that is thy faithful lover,  
Like to Osiris in all just endeavour.  
For that same Crocodile Osiris is,  
That under Isis' feet doth sleep tor ever:  
To show that clemence oft in things amiss,  
Restrains those stern behests, and cruel dooms of his.   

That Knight shall all the troublous storms assuage,  
And raging flames, that many foes shall rear,  
To hinder thee from the just heritage  
Of thy sire's Crown, and from thy country dear.  
Then shalt thou take him to thy loved fere,  
And join in equal portion of thy realm:  
And afterwards a son to him shalt bear,  
That Lion-like shall show his power extreme.  
So bless thee God, and give thee joyance of thy dream.   

All which when she unto the end had heard,  
She much was eased in her troublous thought,  
And on those Priests bestowed rich reward:  
And royal gifts of gold and silver wrought,  
She for a present to their Goddess brought.  
Then taking leave of them, she forward went,  
To seek her love, where he was to be sought;  
Ne rested till she came without relent  
Unto the land of Amazons, as she was bend.   

Whereof when news to Radigund was brought,  
Not with amaze, as women wont be,  
She was confused in her troublous thought,  
But filled with courage and with joyous glee,  
As glad to hear of arms, the which now she  
Had long surceased, she bade to open bold,  
That she the face of her new foe might see.  
But when they of that iron man had told,  
Which late her folk had slain, she bade them forth to hold   

So there without the gate (as seemed best)  
She caused her Pavilion be pight;  
In which stout Britomart herself did rest,  
Whiles Talus watched at the door all night.  
All night likewise, they of the town in fright,  
Upon their wall good watch and ward did keep.  
The morrow next, so soon as dawning light  
Bade do away the damp of drowsy sleep,  
The warlike Amazon out of her bower did peep.   

And caused straight a Trumpet loud to shrill,  
To warn her foe to battle soon be priest:  
Who long before awoke (for she full ill  
Can sleep all night, that in unquiet breast  
Did closely harbour such a jealous guest)  
Was to the battle whilom ready dight.  
eftsoons that warriouresse with haughty crest  
Did forth issue, all ready for the fight:  
On th'other side her foe appeared soon in sight.   

But ere they reared hand, the Amazon  
Began the straight conditions to propound,  
With which she used still to tie her fone;  
To serve her so, as she the rest had bound.  
Which when the other heard, she sternly frowned  
For high disdain of such indignity,  
And would no longer treat, but bade them sound.  
For her no other terms should ever tie.  
Then what prescribed were by laws of chivalry.   

The Trumpets sound, and they together run  
With greedy rage, and with their faulchins smote;  
Ne either sought the others strokes to shun,  
But through great fury both their skill forgot,  
And practic use in arms: ne spared not  
Their dainty parts, which nature had created  
So fair and tender, without stain or spot,  
For other uses, than they them translated;  
Which they now hacked & hewed, as if such use they hated,   

As when a Tiger and a Lioness  
Are met at spoiling of some hungry prey,  
Both challenge it with equal greediness:  
But first the Tiger claws thereon did lay;  
And therefore loath to lose her right away,  
Doth in defence thereof full stoutly stand:  
To which the Lion strongly doth gainsay,  
That she to hunt the beast first took in hand;  
And therefore ought it have, where ever she it fond.   

Full fiercely laid the Amazon about,  
And dealt her blows unmercifully sore:  
Which Britomart withstood with courage stout,  
And them repaid again with double more.  
So long they fought, that all the grassy flore  
Was filled with blood, which from their sides did flow,  
And gushed through their arms, that all in gore  
They trod, and on the ground their lives did strew,  
Like fruitless seed, of which untimely death should grow.   

At last proud Radigund with fell despite,  
Having by chance espied advantage near,  
Let drive at her with all her dreadful might,  
And thus upbraiding said; This token bear  
Unto the man, whom thou dost love so dear;  
And tell him for his sake thy life thou gavest.  
Which spiteful words she sore engrieued to hear,  
Thus answered; Lewdly thou my love depravest,  
Who shortly must repent that now so vainly bravest.   

Natheless that stroke so cruel passage found,  
That glancing on her shoulder plate, it bitten  
Unto the bone, and made a grisly wound,  
That she her shield through raging smart of it  
Can scarce uphold; yet soon she it requited.  
For having force increased through furious pain,  
She her so rudely on the helmet smit,  
That it empierced to the very brain,  
And her proud person low prostrated on the plain.   

Where being laid, the wrathful Britonesse  
Stayed not, till she came to herself again,  
But in revenge both of her loves distress,  
And her late vile reproach, though vaunted vain,  
And also of her wound, which sore did pain,  
She with one stroke both head and helmet cleft.  
Which dreadful sight, when all her warlike train  
There present saw, each one of sense bereft,  
Fled fast into the town, and her sole victor left.   

But yet so fast they could not home retrate,  
But that swift Talus did the foremost win;  
And pressing through the press unto the gate,  
Pelmell with them attonce did enter in.  
There than a piteous slaughter did begin:  
For all that ever came within his reach,  
He with his iron flale did thrash so thin,  
That he no work at all left for the leech:  
Like to an hideous storm, which nothing may impeach.   

And now by this the noble Conqueress  
Herself came in, her glory to partake;  
Where though revengeful vow she did profess,  
Yet when she saw the heaps, which he did make,  
Of slaughtered carcases, her heart did quake  
For very ruth, which did it almost rive,  
That she his fury willed him to slake:  
For else he sure had left not one alive,  
But all in his revenge of spirit would deprive.   

though when she had his execution stayed,  
She for that iron prison did inquire,  
In which her wretched love was captive laid:  
Which breaking open with indignant ire,  
She entered into all the parts entire.  
Where when she saw that loathly uncouth sight,  
Of men disguised in womanish attire,  
Her heart 'gan grudge, for very deep despite  
Of so unmanly mask, in misery misdight.   

At last when as to her own Love she came,  
Whom like disguise no less deformed had,  
At sight thereof abashed with secret shame,  
She turned her head aside, as nothing glad,  
To have beheld a spectacle so bad:  
And then too well believed, that which tofore  
jealous suspect as true untruly dread,  
Which vain conceit now nourishing no more,  
She sought with ruth to salve his sad misfortunes sore.   

Not so great wonder and astonishment,  
Did the most chaste Penelope possess,  
To see her Lord, that was reported drow,  
And dead long since in dolorous distress,  
Come home to her in piteous wretchedness,  
After long travel of full twenty years,  
That she knew not his favours likeliness,  
For many scars and many hoary hears,  
But stood long staring on him, 'mongst uncertain fears.   

Ah my dear Lord, what sight is this (quoth she)  
What May-game hath misfortune made of you?  
Where is that dreadful manly look? where be  
Those mighty palms, the which ye want t'embrew  
In blood of Kings, and great hosts to subdue?  
Can aught on earth so wondrous change have wrought,  
As to have robbed you of that manly hue?  
Can so great courage stooped have to aught?  
Then farewell fleshly force; I see thy pride is nought.   

Thenceforth she straight into a bower him brought,  
And caused him those uncomely weeds undight;  
And in their steed for other raiment sought,  
Whereof there was great store, and armours bright,  
Which had been reft from many a noble Knight;  
Whom that proud Amazon subdued had,  
Whilst Fortune favoured her success in fight,  
In which when as she him anew had clad,  
She was reviv'd, and joyed much in his semblance glad.   

So there a while they afterwards remained,  
Him to refresh, and her late wounds to heal:  
During which space she there as Princes reigned,  
And changing all that form of common weal,  
The liberty of women did repeal,  
Which they had long usurped; and them restoring  
To men's subjection, did true justice deal:  
That all they as a Goddess her adoring,  
Her wisdom did admire, and hearkened to her loring.   

For all those Knights, which long in captive shade  
Had shrouded been, she did from thraldom free;  
And magistrates of all that city made,  
And gave to them great living and large fee:  
And that they should for ever faithful be,  
Made them swear fealty to Artegall.  
Who when himself now well recured did see,  
He purposed to proceed, what so be fall,  
Upon his first adventure, which him forth did call.   

Full sad and sorrowful was Britomart  
For his departure, her new cause of grief;  
Yet wisely moderated her own smart,  
Seeing his honour, which she tendered chief,  
Consisted much in that adventures priefe.  
The care whereof, and hope of his success  
Gave unto her great comfort and relief,  
That womanish complaints she did repress,  
And tempered for the time her present heaviness.   

There she continued for a certain space,  
Till through his want her woe did more increase:  
Then hoping that the change of air and place  
Would change her pain, and sorrow somewhat ease,  
She parted thence, her anguish to appease.  
Mean while her noble Lord sir Artegall  
Went on his way, ne ever hour did cease,  
Till he redeemed had that Lady thrall:  
That for another Canto will more fitly fall.    

Cant. VIII.  
Prince Arthure and Sir Artegall,  
Free Samient from fear:  
They slay the Sultan, drive his wife,  
A dicia to despair.  

NOught under heaven so strongly doth allure  
The sense of man, and all his mind possess,  
As beauties lonely bait, that doth procure  
Great warriors oft their rigour to repress,  
And mighty hands forget their manliness;  
Drawn with the power of an heart-robbing eye,  
And wrapped in fetters of a golden tress,  
That can with melting pleasance mollify  
Their hardened hearts, enured to blood and cruelty.   

So whilom learned that mighty jewish swain,  
Each of whose locks did match a man in might,  
To lay his spoils before his lemons train:  
So also did that great Octean Knight  
For his loves sake his Lion's skin undight:  
And so did warlike Antony neglect  
The world's whole rule for Cleopatra's sight.  
Such wondrous power hath women's fair aspect,  
To captive men, and make them all the world reject.   

Yet could it not stern Artegall retain,  
Nor hold from suit of his avowed quest,  
Which he had undertaken to Gloriane;  
But left his love, albe her strong request,  
Fair Britomart in languor and unrest,  
And road himself upon his first intent:  
Ne day nor night did ever idly rest;  
Ne wight but only Talus with him went,  
The true guide of his way and virtuous government.   

So traveling, he chanced far off to heed  
A Damsel, flying on a palfrey fast  
Before two Knights, that after her did speed  
With all their power, and her full fiercely chaste  
In hope to have her overhent at last:  
Yet fled she fast, and both them far outwent,  
Carried with wings of fear, like fowl aghast,  
With locks all lose, and raiment all to rend;  
And ever as she road, her eye was backward bend.   

Soon after these he saw another Knight,  
That after those two former road apace,  
With spear in rest, and pricked with all his might:  
So ran they all, as they had been at base,  
They being chased, that did others chase.  
At length he saw the hindmost overtake  
One of those two, and force him turn his face;  
How ever loath he were his way to slake,  
Yet moat he algates now abide, and answer make.   

But th'other still pursued the fearful Maid;  
Who still from him as fast away did fly,  
Ne once for aught her speedy passage stayed,  
Till that at length she did before her spy  
Sir Artegall, to whom she straight did high  
With gladfull haste, in hope of him to get  
Succour against her greedy enemy:  
Who seeing her approach 'gan forward set,  
To save her from her fear, and him from force to let.   

But he like hound full greedy of his prey,  
Being impatient of impediment,  
Continued still his course, and by the way  
Thought with his spear him quite have overwent.  
So both together ylike felly bend,  
Like fiercely met. But Artegall was stronger,  
And better skilled in Tilt and Tournament,  
And bore him quite out of his saddle, longer  
Than two spears length; So mischief ouermatcht the wronger.   

And in his fall misfortune him mistook;  
For on his head unhappily he pight,  
That his own weight his neck asunder broke,  
And left there dead. Mean while the other Knight  
Defeated had the other faytour quite,  
And all his bowels in his body braced:  
Whom leaving there in that dispiteous plight,  
He ran still on, thinking to follow fast  
His other fellow Pagan, which before him past.   

In stead of whom finding there ready priest  
Sir Artegall, without discretion  
He at him ran, with ready spear in rest:  
Who seeing him come still so fiercely on,  
Against him made again. So both anon  
Together met, and strongly either struck  
And broke their spears; yet neither has foregone  
His horses back, yet to and fro long shook,  
And tottered like two towers, which through a tempest quooke.   

But when again they had recovered sense,  
They drew their swords, in mind to make amends  
For what their spears had failed of their pretence.  
Which when the Damsel, who those deadly ends  
Of both her foes had seen, and now her friends  
For her beginning a more fearful fray,  
She to them runs in haste, and her hair rends,  
Crying to them their cruel hands to stay,  
Until they both do hear, what she to them will say.   

They stayed their hands, when she thus 'gan to speak;  
Ah gentle Knights, what mean ye thus unwise  
Upon yourselves another's wrong to wreak?  
I am the wronged, whom ye did enterprise  
Both to redress, and both redressed likewise:  
Witness the Paynims both, whom ye may see  
There dead on ground. What do ye then devise  
Of more revenge? if more, than I am she,  
Which was the root of all, end your revenge on me.   

Whom when they heard so say, they looked about,  
To weet if it were true, as she had told;  
Where when they saw their foes dead out of doubt,  
eftsoons they 'gan their wrathful hands to hold,  
And Ventailes rear, each other to behold.  
though when as Artegall did Arthure view,  
So fair a creature, and so wondrous bold,  
He much admired both his heart and hue,  
And touched with entire affection, nigh him drew.   

Saying, sir Knight, of pardon I you pray,  
That all unwitting have you wronged thus sore,  
Suffering my hand against my heart to stray:  
Which if ye please forgive, I will therefore  
Yield for amends myself yours evermore,  
Or what so penance shall by you be red.  
To whom the Prince; Certes me needeth more  
To crave the same, whom error so misled,  
As that I did mistake the living for the ded.   

But sith ye please, that both our blames shall die,  
Amends may for the trespass soon be made,  
Since neither is endamadged much thereby.  
So can they both themselves full each persuade  
To fair accordance, and both faults to shade,  
Either embracing other lovingly,  
And swearing faith to either on his blade,  
Never thenceforth to nourish enmity,  
But either others cause to maintain mutually.   

Then Artegall 'gan of the Prince inquire,  
What were those knights, which there on ground were laid,  
And had received their follies worthy hire,  
And for what cause they chased so that Maid.  
Certes I wot not well (the Prince then said)  
But by adventure found them faring so,  
As by the way unweetingly I strayed,  
And lo the Damsel self, whence all did grow,  
Of whom we may at will the whole occasion know.   

Then they that Damsel called to then nigh,  
And asked her, what were those two her fone,  
From whom she erst so fast away did fly;  
And what was she herself so woe begun,  
And for what cause pursued of them atone.  
To whom she thus; Then wot ye well, that I  
Do serve a Queen, that not far hence doth won,  
A Princess of great power and majesty,  
Famous through all the world, and honoured far and nigh.   

Her name Mercilla most men use to call;  
That is a maiden Queen of high renown,  
For her great bounty known over all,  
And sovereign grace, with which her royal crown  
She doth support, and strongly beateth down  
The malice of her foes, which her envy,  
And at her happiness do fret and frown:  
Yet she herself the more doth magnify,  
And even to her foes her mercies multiply.   

'mongst many which malign her happy state,  
There is a mighty man, which wonnes here by  
That with most fell despite and deadly hate,  
Seeks to subvert her Crown and dignity,  
And all his power doth thereunto apply:  
And her good Knights, of which so brave a band  
Serves her, as any Princess under sky,  
He either spoils, if they against him stand,  
Or to his part allures, and bribeth under hand.   

Ne him sufficeth all the wrong and ill,  
Which he unto her people does each day,  
But that he seeks by traitorous trains to spill  
Her person, and her sacred self to slay:  
That o ye heavens defend, and turn away  
From her, unto the miscreant himself,  
That neither hath religion nor faith,  
But makes his God of his ungodly pelf,  
And Idols serves; so let his Idols serve the Elf.   

To all which cruel tyranny they say,  
He is provoked, and stirred up day and night  
By his bad wife, that height Adicia,  
Who counsels him through confidence of might,  
To break all bonds of law, and rules of right.  
For she herself professeth mortal foe  
To justice, and against her still doth fight,  
Working to all, that love her, deadly woe,  
And making all her Knights and people to do so.   

Which my liege Lady seeing, thought it best,  
With that his wife in friendly wise to deal,  
For stint of strife, and establishment of rest  
Both to herself, and to her common weal,  
And all forepast displeasures to repeal.  
So me in message unto her she sent,  
To treat with her by way of enterdeale,  
Of final peace and fair atonement,  
Which might concluded be by mutual consent.   

All times have wont safe passage to afford  
To messengers, that come for causes just:  
But this proud Dame disdaining all accord,  
Not only into bitter terms forth burst,  
Reviling me, and railing as she Just,  
But lastly to make proof of utmost shame,  
Me like a dog she out of doors did thrust,  
Miscalling me by many a bitter name,  
That never did her ill, ne once deserved blame.   

And lastly, that no shame might wanting be,  
When I was gone, soon after me she sent  
These two false Knights, whom there ye lying see,  
To be by them dishonoured and shent:  
But thanked be God, and your good hardiment,  
They have the price of their own folly paid.  
So said this Damsel, that height Samient,  
And to those knights, for their so noble aid,  
Herself most grateful show'd, & heaped thanks repaid.   

But they now having thoroughly heard, and seen  
All those great wrongs, the which that maid complained.  
To have been done against her Lady Queen,  
By that proud dame, which her so much disdained,  
Were moved much thereat, and twixt them feigned,  
With all their force to work avengement strong  
Upon the Souldanselfe, which it maintained,  
And on his Lady, th'author of that wrong,  
And upon all those Knights, that did to her belong.   

But thinking best by counterfeit disguise  
To their design to make the easier way,  
They did this complot twixt themselves devise,  
First that sir Artegall should him array,  
Like one of those two Knights, which dead there lay.  
And then that Damsel, the sad Samient,  
Should as his purchased prize with him convey  
Unto the Souldan's court, her to present  
Unto his scornful Lady, that for her had sent.   

So as they had devised, sir Artegall  
Him clad in th'armour of a Pagan knight,  
And taking with him, as his vanquished thrall,  
That Damsel, led her to the Souldan's right.  
Where soon as his proud wife of her had sight,  
Forth of her window as she looking lay,  
She weened straight, it was her Paynim Knight,  
Which brought that Damsel, as his purchased prey;  
And sent to him a Page, that moat direct his way.   

Who bringing them to their appointed place,  
Offered his service to disarm the Knight;  
But he refusing him to let unlace,  
For doubt to be discovered by his sight,  
Kept himself still in his strange armour dight.  
Soon after whom the Prince arrived there,  
And sending to the soldan in despite  
A bold defiance, did of him reqire  
That Damsel, whom he held as wrongful prisonere.   

Wherewith the soldan all with fury fraught,  
Swearing, and banning most blasphemously,  
Commanded strait his armour to be brought,  
And mounting strait upon a charet high,  
With iron wheels and hooks armed dreadfully,  
And drawn of cruel steeds, which he had fed  
With flesh of men, whom through fell tyranny  
He slaughtered had, and ere they were half ded,  
Their bodies to his beasts for provender did spread.   

So forth he came all in a cote of plate,  
Burnished with bloody rust, whiles on the green  
The Briton Prince him ready did await,  
In glistering arms right goodly well beseen,  
That shone as bright, as doth the heaven sheen;  
And by his stirrup Talus did attend,  
Playing his page's part, as he had been  
Before directed by his Lord; to th'end  
He should his flale to final execution bend.   

Thus go they both together to their gear,  
With like fierce minds, but meanings different:  
For the proud soldan with presumptuous cheer,  
And countenance sublime and insolent,  
Sought only slaughter and avengement:  
But the brave Prince for honour and for right,  
'Gainst tortuous power and lawless regiment,  
In the behalf of wronged weak did fight:  
More in his causes truth he trusted then in might.   

Like to the Thracian Tyrant, who they say  
Unto his horses gave his guests for meat,  
Till he himself was made their greedy prey,  
And torn in pieces by Alcides great.  
So thought the soldan in his follies threat,  
Either the Prince in pieces to have torn  
With his sharp wheels, in his first rages heat,  
Or under his fierce horses feet have borne  
And trampled down in dust his thoughts disdained scorn.   

But the bold child that peril well espying,  
If he too rashly to his chariot drew,  
Gave way unto his horses speedy flying,  
And their resistless rigour did eschew.  
Yet as he passed by, the Pagan threw  
A shivering dart with so impetuous force,  
That had he not it shunned with heedful view,  
It had himself transfixed, or his horse,  
Or made them both one mass withouten more remorse.   

Oft drew the Prince unto his charet nigh,  
In hope some stroke to fasten on him near;  
But he was mounted in his seat so high,  
And his wingfooted coursers him did bear  
So fast away, that ere his ready spear  
He could advance, he far was gone and passed.  
Yet still he him did follow every where,  
And followed was of him likewise full fast;  
So long as in his steeds the flaming breath did last.   

Again the Pagan threw another dart,  
Of which he had with him abundant store,  
On every side of his embatteld cart,  
And of all other weapons less or more,  
Which warlike uses had devised of yore.  
The wicked shaft guided through th'airy wide,  
By some bad spirit, that it to mischief bore,  
Stayed not, till through his curate it did glide,  
And made a grisly wound in his enriven side.   

Much was he grieved with that hapless throe,  
That opened had the wellspring of his blood;  
But much the more that to his hateful foe  
He moat not come, to wreak his wrathful mood.  
That made him rave, like to a Lion wood,  
Which being wounded of the huntsman's hand  
Can not come near him in the covert wood,  
Where he with boughs hath built his shady stand,  
And fenced himself about with many a flaming brand.   

Still when he sought t'approach unto him ny,  
His charet wheels about him whirled round,  
And made him back again as fast to fly;  
And eke his steeds like to an hungry hound,  
That hunting after game hath carrion found,  
So cruelly did him pursue and chase,  
That his good steed, all were he much renowned  
For noble courage, and for hardy race,  
Durst not endure their sight, but fled from place to place.   

Thus long they trast, and traversed to and fro,  
Seeking by every way to make some breach,  
Yet could the Prince not nigh unto him go,  
That one sure stroke he might unto him reach,  
Whereby his strengths assay he might him teach.  
At last from his victorious shield he drew  
The vail, which did his powerful light impeach;  
And coming full before his horses view,  
As they upon him priest, it plain to them did show.   

Like lightning flash, that hath the gazette burned,  
So did the sight thereof their sense dismay,  
That back again upon themselves they turned,  
And with their rider ran perforce away:  
Ne could the soldan them from flying stay,  
With reins, or wont rule, as well he knew.  
Nought feared they, what he could do, or say,  
But th'only fear, that was before their view;  
From which like mazed dear, dismayfully they flew.   

Fast did they fly, as them their feet could bear,  
High over hills, and lowly over dales,  
As they were followed of their former fear.  
In vain the Pagan bannes, and swears, and rails,  
And back with both his hands unto him hails  
The resty reins, regarded now no more:  
He to them calls and speaks, yet nought avails;  
They hear him not, they have forgot his lore,  
But go, which way they list, their guide they have forlore.   

As when the firie-mouthed steeds, which drew  
The suns bright wain to Phaeton's decay,  
Soon as they did the monstrous Scorpion view,  
With ugly craples crawling in their way,  
The dreadful sight did them so sore affray,  
That their well known courses they forwent,  
And leading th'everburning lamp astray,  
This lower world nigh all to ashes brent,  
And left their scorched path yet in the firmament.   

Such was the fury of these headstrong steeds,  
Soon as the infants sunlike shield they saw,  
That all obedience both to words and deeds  
They quite forgot, and scorned all former law;  
Through woods, and rocks, and mountains they did draw  
The iron chariot, and the wheels did tear,  
And tossed the Paynim, without fear or awe;  
From side to side they tossed him here and there,  
Crying to them in vain, that nould his crying hear.   

Yet still the Prince pursewed him close behind,  
Oft making offer him to smite, but found  
No easy means according to his mind.  
At last they have all overthrown to ground  
Quite topside turvey, and the pagan hound  
Amongst the iron hooks and grapples keen,  
Torn all to rags, and rend with many a wound,  
That no whole piece of him was to be seen,  
But scattered all about, and strowed upon the green.   

Like as the cursed son of Theseus,  
That following his chase in dewy morn,  
To fly his stepdame's loves outrageous,  
Of his own steeds was all to pieces torn,  
And his fair limbs left in the woods forlorn;  
That for his sake Diana did lament,  
And all the woody Nymphs did wail and mourn.  
So was this soldan rapt and all to rend,  
That of his shape appeared no little monument.   

Only his shield and armour, which there lay,  
Though nothing whole, but all to brusd and broken,  
He up did take, and with him brought away,  
That moat remain for an eternal token  
To all, 'mongst whom this story should be spoken,  
How worthily, by heavens high decree,  
justice that day of wrong herself had wroken,  
That all men which that spectacle did see,  
By like ensample mote for ever warned be.   

So on a tree, before the Tyrant's door,  
He caused them be hung in all men's sight,  
To be a monument for evermore.  
Which when his Lady from the castles height  
Beheld, it much paid her troubled sprite:  
Yet not, as women wont in doleful fit,  
She was dismayed, or fainted through affright,  
But gathered unto her her troubled wit,  
And 'gan eftsoons devise to be avenged for it.   

Straight down she ran, like an enraged cow,  
That is berobbed of her youngling dear,  
With knife in hand, and fatally did vow,  
To wreak her on that maiden messengere,  
Whom she had caused be kept as prisonere,  
By Artegall, misweened for her own Knight,  
That brought her back. And coming present there,  
She at her ran with all her force and might,  
All flaming with revenge and furious despite.   

Like raging Ino, when with knife in hand  
She threw her husband's murdered infant out,  
Or fell Medea, when on Colchicke strand  
Her brother's bones she scattered all about;  
Or as that madding mother, 'mongst the rout  
Of Bacchus' Priests her own dear flesh did tear.  
Yet neither Ino, nor Medea stout,  
Nor all the Moenades so furious were,  
As this bold woman, when she saw that Damsel there.   

But Artegall being thereof aware,  
Did stay her cruel hand, ere she her reached,  
And as she did herself to strike prepare,  
Out of her fist the wicked weapon caught:  
With that like one enfeloned or distraught,  
She forth did room, whether her rage her bore,  
With frantic passion, and with fury fraught;  
And breaking forth out at a postern door,  
Unto the wild wood ran, her dolours to deplore.   

As a mad bitch, when as the frantic fit  
Her burning tongue with rage inflamed hath,  
Doth run at random, and with furious bit  
Snatching at every thing, doth wreak her wrath  
On man and beast, that cometh in her path.  
There they do say, that she transformed was  
Into a Tiger, and that Tiger's scathe  
In cruelty and outrage she did pass,  
To prove her surname true, that she imposed has.   

Then Artegall himself discovering plain,  
Did issue forth 'gainst all that warlike rout  
Of knights and armed men, which did maintain  
That Lady's part, and to the soldan lout:  
All which he did assault with courage stout,  
All were they nigh an hundred knights of name,  
And like wild Goats them chased all about,  
Flying from place to place with cowherd shame,  
So that with final force them all he overcame.   

Then caused he the gates be opened wide,  
And there the Prince, as victor of that day,  
With triumph entertained and glorifyde,  
Presenting him with all the rich array,  
And royal pomp, which there long hidden lay,  
Purchased through lawless power and tortuous wrong  
Of that proud soldan, whom he erst did slay.  
So both for rest there having stayed not long,  
Marched with that maid, fit matter for another song.    

Cant. IX.  
Arthur and Artegall catch Guile  
whom Talus doth dismay,  
They to Mercillaes' palace come,  
and see her rich array.  

WHat Tiger, or what other salvage wight  
Is so exceeding furious and fell,  
As wrong, when it hath armed itself with might?  
Not fit 'mongst men, that do with reason mell,  
But 'mongst wild beasts and salvage woods to dwell;  
Where still the stronger doth the weak devour,  
And they that most in boldness do excel,  
Are dreadded most, and feared for their power:  
Fit for Adicia, there to build her wicked bower.   

There let her won far from resort of men,  
Where righteous Artegall her late exiled;  
There let her ever keep her damned den,  
Where none may be with her lewd parts defiled,  
Nor none but beasts may be of her despoiled:  
And turn we to the noble Prince, where late  
We did him leave, after that he had foiled  
The cruel soldan, and with dreadful fate  
Had utterly subverted his unrighteous state.   

Where having with Sir Artegall a space  
Well solast in that Souldan's late delight,  
They both resolving now to leave the place,  
Both it and all the wealth therein behight  
Unto that Damsel in her Ladies right,  
And so would have departed on their way.  
But she them wooed by all the means she might,  
And earnestly besought, to wend that day  
With her, to see her Lady thence not far away.   

By whose entreaty both they overcome,  
Agree to go with her, and by the way,  
(As often falls) of sundry things did comen.  
'mongst which that Damsel did to them bewray  
A strange adventure, which not far thence lay;  
To weet a wicked villain, bold and stout,  
Which wonned in a rock not far away,  
That rob all the country there about,  
And brought the pillage home, whence none could get it out,   

Thereto both his own wily wit, (she said)  
And eke the fastness of his dwelling place,  
Both unassaylable, gave him great aid:  
For he so crafty was to forge and face,  
So light of hand, and nimble of his pace,  
So smooth of tongue, and subtle in his tale,  
That could deceive one looking in his face;  
Therefore by name Malengin they him call,  
Well known by his feats, and famous over all.   

Through these his slights he many doth confound,  
And eke the rock, in which he wonts to dwell,  
Is wondrous strong, and hewn far under ground  
A dreadful depth, how deep no man can tell;  
But some do say, it goeth down to hell.  
And all within, it full of windings is,  
And hidden ways, that scarce an hound by smell  
Can follow out those false footsteps of his,  
Ne none can back return, that once are gone amiss.   

Which when those knights had heard, their hearts 'gan earn,  
To understand that villeins dwelling place,  
And greatly it desired of her to learn,  
And by which way they towards it should trace.  
Were not (said she) that it should let your pace  
Towards my Lady's presence by you meant,  
I would you guide directly to the place.  
Then let not that (said they) stay your intent;  
For neither will one foot, till we that carl have hent.   

So forth they passed, till they approached nigh  
Unto the rock, where was the villains won,  
Which when the Damsel near at hand did spy,  
She warned the knights thereof: who thereupon  
'Gan to advise, what best were to be done.  
So both agreed, to send that maid afore,  
Where she might sit nigh to the den alone,  
Wailing, and raising pitiful uproar,  
As if she did some great calamity deplore.   

With noise whereof when as the caitiff carl  
Should issue forth, in hope to find some spoil,  
They in await would closely him ensnarle,  
Ere to his den he backward could recoil,  
And so would hope him easily to foil.  
The Damsel strait went, as she was directed,  
Unto the rock, and there upon the soil  
Having herself in wretched wize abjected,  
'Gan weep and wail, as if great grief had her affected.   

The cry whereof entering the hollow cave,  
eftsoons brought forth the villain, as they meant,  
With hope of her some wishful boot to have.  
Full dreadful wight he was, as ever went  
Upon the earth, with hollow eyes deep penned,  
And long curled locks, that down his shoulders shagged,  
And on his back an uncouth vestiment  
Made of strange stuff, but all to worn and ragged,  
And underneath his breech was all to torn and jagged.   

And in his hand an huge long staff he held,  
Whose top was armed with many an iron hook,  
Fit to catch hold of all that he could wield,  
Or in the compass of his clutches took;  
And ever round about he cast his look.  
Als at his back a great wide net he bore,  
With which he seldom fished at the brook,  
But used to fish for fools on the dry shore,  
Of which he in fair weather wont to take great store.   

Him when the damsel saw fast by her side,  
So ugly creature, she was nigh dismayed,  
And now for help aloud in earnest cried.  
But when the villain saw her so afraid,  
He 'gan with guileful words her to persuade,  
To banish fear, and with Sardonian smile  
Laughing on her, his false intent to shade,  
'Gan forth to lay his bait her to beguile,  
That from herself unwares he might her steal the while.   

Like as the fouler on his guileful pipe  
Charms to the birds full many a pleasant lay,  
That they the while may take less heedy keep,  
How he his nets doth for their ruin lay:  
So did the villain to her prate and play,  
And many pleasant tricks before her show,  
To turn her eyes from his intent away:  
For he in slights and juggling feats did flow,  
And of legierdemayne the mysteries did know.   

To which whilst she lent her intentive mind,  
He suddenly his net upon her threw,  
That oversprad her like a puff of wind;  
And snatching her soon up, ere well she knew,  
Ran with her fast away unto his mew,  
Crying for help aloud. But when as nigh  
He came unto his cave, and there did view  
The armed knights stopping his passage by,  
He threw his burden down, and fast away did fly.   

But Artegall him after did pursue,  
The whiles the Prince there kept the entrance still:  
up to the rock he ran, and thereon flew  
Like a wild Goat, leaping from hill to hill,  
And dancing on the craggy cliffs at will;  
That deadly danger seemed in all men's sight,  
To tempt such steps, where footing was so ill:  
Ne ought availed for the armed knight,  
To think to follow him, that was so swift and light.   

Which when he saw, his iron man he sent,  
To follow him; for he was swift in chase.  
He him pursewd, where ever that he went,  
Both over rocks, and hills, and every place,  
Where so he fled, he followed him apace:  
So that he shortly forced him to forsake  
The height, and down descend unto the base.  
There he him coursed a fresh, and soon did make  
To leave his proper form, and other shape to take.   

Into a Fox himself he first did turn;  
But he him hunted like a Fox full fast:  
Then to a bush himself he did transform,  
But he the bush did beat, till that at last  
Into a bird it changed, and from him past,  
Flying from tree to tree, from wand to wand:  
But he then stones at it so long did cast,  
That like a stone it fell upon the land,  
But he than took it up, and held fast in his hand.   

So he it brought with him unto the knights,  
And to his Lord Sir Artegall it lent,  
Warning him hold it fast, for fear of slights.  
Who whilst in hand it griping heart he hent,  
Into a Hedgehog all unwares it went,  
And pricked him so, that he away it threw.  
Then 'gan it run away incontinent,  
Being returned to his former hue:  
But Talus soon him overtook, and backward drew.   

But when as he would to a snake again  
Have turned himself, he with his iron flail  
'Gan drive at him, with so huge might and main,  
That all his bones, as small as sandy grayle  
He broke, and did his bowels disentrayle;  
Crying in vain for help, when help was passed.  
So did deceit the self deceiver fail,  
There they him left a carrion outcast;  
For beasts and fowls to feed upon for their repast.   

Thence forth they passed with that gentle Maid,  
To see her Lady, as they did agree.  
To which when she approached, thus she said;  
Lo now, right noble knights, arrived ye be  
Nigh to the place, which ye desired to see:  
There shall ye see my sovereign Lady Queen  
Most sacred wight, most debonaire and free,  
That ever yet upon this earth was seen,  
Or that with Diadem hath ever crowned been.   

The gentle knights rejoiced much to hear  
The praises of that Prince so manifold,  
And passing little further, comen were,  
Where they a stately palace did behold,  
Of pompous show, much more than she had told;  
With many towers, and terrace mounted high,  
And all their tops bright glittering with gold,  
That seemed to out shine the dimmed sky,  
And with their brightness dazed the strange beholder's eye.   

There they alighting, by that Damsel were  
Directed in, and showed all the sight:  
Whose porch, that most magnific did appear,  
Stood open wide to all men day and night;  
Yet warded well by one of much might,  
That sat thereby, with giantlike resemblance,  
To keep out guile, and malice, and despite,  
That under show oftimes of feigned semblance,  
Are wont in Prince's courts to work great scathe and hindrance.   

His name was Awe; by whom they passing in  
Went up the hall, that was a large wide room,  
All full of people making troublous din,  
And wondrous noise, as if that there were some,  
Which unto them was dealing righteous doom.  
By whom they passing, through the thickest press,  
The marshal of the hall to them did come;  
His name height Order, who commanding peace,  
Them guided through the throng, that did their clamours cease.   

They ceased their clamours upon them to gaze;  
Whom seeing all in armour bright as day,  
Strange there to see, it did them much amaze,  
And with unwonted terror half affray.  
For never saw they there the like array.  
Ne ever was the name of war there spoken,  
But joyous peace and quietness always,  
Dealing just judgements, that moat not be broken  
For any bribes, or threats of any to be wroken.   

There as they entered at the Scriene, they saw  
Some one, whose tongue was for his trespass vile  
Nailed to a post, adjudged so by law:  
For that therewith he falsely did revile,  
And foul blaspheme that Queen for forged guile,  
Both with bold speeches, which he blazed had,  
And with lewd poems, which he did compile;  
For the bold title of a Poet bade  
He on himself had ta'en, and railing rhymes had sprad.   

Thus there he stood, whilst high over his head,  
There written was the purport of his sin,  
In cyphers strange, that few could rightly read,  
BON FONS: but bon that once had written been,  
Was razed out, and Malipiero was now put in.  
So now Malfont was plainly to be red;  
Either for th'evil, which he did therein,  
Or that he likened was to a welhed  
Of evil words, and wicked slanders by him shed.   

They passing by, were guided by degree  
Unto the presence of that gracious Queen:  
Who sat on high, that she might all men see,  
And might of all men royally be seen,  
Upon a throne of gold full bright and sheen,  
Adorned all with gems of endless price,  
As either might for wealth have gotten been,  
Or could be framed by workman's rare device;  
And all embossed with Lions and with Flourdelice.   

All over her a cloth of state was spread,  
Not of rich tissue, nor of cloth of gold,  
Nor of aught else, that may be richest red,  
But like a cloud, as likest may be told,  
That her broad spreading wings did wide unfold;  
Whose skirts were bordered with bright sunny beams,  
Glistering like gold, amongst the plights enrolled,  
And here and there shooting forth silver streams,  
'mongst which crept little Angels through the glittering gleams.   

Seemed those little Angels did uphold  
The cloth of state, and on their purpled wings  
Did bear the pendants, through their nimblesse bold:  
Besides a thousand more of such, as sings  
Hymns to high God, and carols heavenly things,  
Encompassed the throne, on which she sat:  
She Angellike, the heir of ancient kings  
And mighty Conquerors, in royal state,  
Whilst kings and kesars at her feet did them prostrate.   

Thus she did fit in sovereign Majesty,  
Holding a Sceptre in her royal hand,  
The sacred pledge of peace and clemency,  
With which high God had blest her happy land,  
Maugre so many foes, which did withstand.  
But at her feet her sword was likewise laid,  
Whose long rest rusted the bright steely brand;  
Yet when as foes enforced, or friends sought aid,  
She could it sternly draw, that all the world dismayed.   

And round about, before her feet there sat  
A bevie of fair Virgins clad in white,  
That goodly seemed t'adorn her royal state,  
All lovely daughters of high jove, that height,  
Litae by him begot in loves delight,  
Upon the righteous Themis: those they say  
Upon Jove's judgement seat wait day and night,  
And when in wrath he threats the world's decay,  
They do his anger calm, and cruel vengeance stay.   

They also do by his divine permission  
Upon the thrones of mortal Princes tend,  
And often treat for pardon and remission  
To suppliants, through frailty which offend.  
Those did upon Mercillaes' throne attend:  
Just Dice, wise Eunomie, mild Eirene,  
And them amongst, her glory to commend,  
Sat goodly Temperance in garments clean,  
And sacred Reverence, yborn of heavenly strene.   

Thus did she sit in royal rich estate,  
Admired of many, honoured of all,  
Whilst underneath her feet, there as she sat,  
An huge great Lion lay, that moat appall  
An hardy courage, like captived thrall,  
With a strong iron chain and collar bound,  
That once he could not move, nor quich at all;  
Yet did he murmur with rebellion's sound,  
And softly royne, when salvage choler 'gan redound.   

So sitting high in dreaded sovereignty,  
Those two strange knights were to her presence brought;  
Who bowing low before her Majesty,  
Did to her mild obeisance, as they ought,  
And meekest boon, that they imagine mought.  
To whom she eke inclining her withal,  
As a fair stoup of her high soaring thought,  
A cheerful countenance on them let fall,  
Yet tempered with some majesty imperial.   

As the bright sun, what time his fiery teme  
Towards the western brim gins to draw,  
Gins to abate the brightness of his beme,  
And fervour of his flames somewhat adaw:  
So did this mighty Lady, when she saw  
Those two strange knights such homage to her make,  
Bate somewhat of that Majesty and awe,  
That whilom wont to do so many quake,  
And with more mild aspect those two to entertake.   

Now at that instant, as occasion fell,  
When these two stranger knights arrived in place,  
She was about affairs of common weal,  
Dealing of justice with indifferent grace,  
And hearing pleas of people mean and base.  
'mongst which as then, there was for to be heard  
The trial of a great and weighty case,  
Which on both sides was then debating hard:  
But at the sight of these, those were a while debarred.   

But after all her princely entertain,  
To th'hearing of that former cause in hand,  
Herself eftsoons she 'gan convert again;  
Which that those knights likewise moat understand,  
And witness forth aright in foreign land,  
Taking them up unto her stately throne,  
Where they moat hear the matter thoroughly scanned  
On either part, she placed th'one on th'one,  
The other on the other side, and near them none.   

Then was there brought, as prisoner to the bar,  
A Lady of great countenance and place,  
But that she it with foul abuse did mar;  
Yet did appear rare beauty in her face,  
But blotted with condition vile and base,  
That all her other honour did obscure,  
And titles of nobility deface:  
Yet in that wretched semblant, she did sure  
The people's great compassion unto her allure.   

Then up arose a person of deep reach,  
And rare insight, hard matters to reveal;  
That well could charm his tongue, & time his speech  
To all assays; his name was called Zele:  
He 'gan that Lady strongly to appeal  
Of many heinous crimes, by her enured,  
And with sharp reasons rang her such a peel,  
That those, whom she to pity had alured,  
He now t'abhor and loathe her person had procured.   

First 'gan he tell, how this that seemed so fair  
And royally arrayed, Duessa height  
That false Duessa, which had wrought great care,  
And much mischief unto many a knight,  
By her beguiled, and confounded quite:  
But not for those she now in question came,  
Though also those mote questioned be aright,  
But for vild treasons, and outrageous shame,  
Which she against the dread Mercilla oft did frame.   

For she whilom (as ye moat yet right well  
Remember) had her counsels false conspired,  
With faithless Blandamour and Paridell,  
(Both two her paramours, both by her hired,  
And both with hope of shadows vain inspired.)  
And with them practised, how for to deprive  
Mercilla of her crown, by her aspired,  
That she might it unto herself derive,  
And triumph in their blood, whom she to death did drive.   

But through high heavens grace, which favour not  
The wicked drifts of traitorous desynes,  
'Gainst loyal Princes, all this cursed plot,  
Ere proof it took, discovered was betimes,  
And th'actors won the meed meet for their crimes.  
Such be the meed of all, that by such mean  
Unto the type of kingdoms title climes.  
But false Duessa now untitled Queen,  
Was brought to her sad doom, as here was to be seen.   

Strongly did Zele her heinous fact enforce,  
And many other crimes of foul defame  
Against her brought, to banish all remorse,  
And aggravate the horror of her blame.  
And with him to make part against her, came  
Many grave persons, that against her pled;  
First was a sage old Sire, that had to name  
The kingdoms care, with a white silver head,  
That many high regards and reasons 'gainst her red.   

Then 'gan Authority her to appose  
With peremptory power, that made all mute;  
And then the law of Nations 'gainst her rose,  
And reasons brought, that no man could refute;  
Next 'gan Religion 'gainst her to impute  
High God's behest, and power of holy laws;  
Then 'gan the People's cry and Commons suit,  
Importune care of their own public cause;  
And lastly justice charged her with breach of laws.   

But then for her, on the contrary part,  
Rose many advocates for her to plead:  
First: there came Pity, with full tender heart,  
And with her joined Regard of womanhood;  
And then came Danger threatening hidden dread,  
And high alliance unto foreign power;  
Then came Nobility of birth, that bread  
Great ruth through her misfortunes tragic stowre;  
And lastly Grief did plead, & many tears forth power.   

With the near touch whereof in tender heart  
The Briton Prince was sore empassionate,  
And wox inclined much unto her part,  
Through the sad terror of so dreadful fate,  
And wretched ruin of so high estate,  
That for great ruth his courage 'gan relent.  
Which when as Zele perceived to abate,  
He 'gan his earnest fervour to augment,  
And many fearful objects to them to present.   

He 'gan t'efforce the evidence anew,  
And new accusements to produce in place:  
He brought forth that old hag of hellish hue,  
The cursed Ate, brought her face to face,  
Who privy was, and party in the case:  
She, glad of spoil and ruinous decay,  
Did her appeach, and to her more disgrace,  
The plot of all her practice did display,  
And all her trains, and all her treasons forth did lay.   

Then brought he forth, with grisly grim aspect,  
Abhorred Murder, who with bloody knife  
Yet dropping fresh in hand did her detect,  
And there with guilty bloodshed charged rife:  
Then brought he forth Sedition, breeding strife  
In troublous wits, and mutinous uproar:  
Then brought he forth Incontinence of life,  
Even foul Adultery her face before,  
And lewd Impiety, that her accused sore.   

All which when as the Prince had heard and seen,  
His former fancy's ruth he 'gan repent,  
And from her party eftsoons was drawn clean.  
But Artegall with constant firm intent,  
For zeal of justice was against her bent.  
So was she guilty deemed of them all.  
Then Zele began to urge her punishment,  
And to their Queen for judgement loudly call,  
Unto Mercilla mild for justice 'gainst the thrall.   

But she, whose Princely breast was touched near  
With piteous ruth of her so wretched plight,  
Though plain she saw by all, that she did hear,  
That she of death was guilty found by right,  
Yet would not let just vengeance on her light;  
But rather let in stead thereof to fall  
Few perling drops from her fair lamps of light;  
The which she covering with her purple pall  
Would have the passion hid, and up arose withal.    

Cant. X.  
Prince Arthur takes the enterprise  
for Belgee for to fight,  
Gerioneos Seneschal  
he slays in Belges right.  

SOme Clerks do doubt in their devicefull art,  
Whether this heavenly thing, whereof I treat,  
To weeten Mercy be of justice part,  
Or drawn forth from her by divine extreate.  
This well I wot, that sure she is as great,  
And meriteth to have as high a place,  
Sith in th'Almighties everlasting seat  
She first was bred, and borne of heavenly race;  
From thence poured down on men, by influence of grace.   

For if that Virtue be of so great might,  
Which from just verdict will for nothing start,  
But to preserve inviolated right,  
Oft spill the principal, to save the part;  
So much more than is that of power and art,  
That seeks to save the subject of her skill,  
Yet never doth from doom of right depart:  
As it is greater praise to save, then spill,  
And better to reform, then to cut off the ill.   

Who then can thee, Mercilla, thoroughly praise,  
That herein dost all earthly Princes pass?  
What heavenly Muse shall thy great honour raise  
up to the skies, whence first derived it was,  
And now on earth itself enlarged has,  
From th'utmost brink of the Armericke shore,  
Unto the margin of the Molucas?  
Those Nations far thy justice do adore:  
But thine own people do thy mercy praise much more.   

Much more it praised was of those two knights;  
The noble Prince, and righteous Artegall,  
When they had seen and heard her doom a rights  
Against Duessa, damned by them all;  
But by her tempered without grief or gall,  
Till strong constraint did her thereto enforce.  
And yet even then ruing her wilful fall,  
With more than needful natural remorse,  
And yielding the last honour to her wretched corpse.   

During all which, those knights continued there,  
Both doing and receiving courtesies,  
Of that great Lady, who with goodly cheer  
Them entertained, fit for their dignities,  
Approving daily to their noble eyes  
Royal examples of her mercies rare,  
And worthy patterns of her clemencies;  
Which till this day 'mongst many living are,  
Who them to their posterities do still declare.   

Amongst the rest, which in that space befell,  
There came two Springals of full tender years,  
far thence from foreign land, where they did dwell,  
To seek for succour of her and of her Pears,  
With humble prayers and intreatfull tears;  
Sent by their mother, who a widow was,  
Wrapped in great dolours and in deadly fears,  
By a strong Tyrant, who invaded has  
Her land, and slain her children ruefully alas.   

Her name was Belgae, who in former age  
A Lady of great worth and wealth had been,  
And mother of a fruitful heritage,  
Even seventeen goodly sons; which who had seen  
In their first flower, before this fatal teen  
Them overtook, and their fair blossoms blasted,  
More happy mother would her surely ween,  
Then famous Niobe, before she tasted  
Latona's children's wrath, that all her issue wasted.   

But this fell Tyrant, through his tortuous power,  
Had left her now but five of all that brood:  
For twelve of them he did by times devour,  
And to his Idols sacrifice their blood,  
Whilst he of none was stopped, nor withstood.  
For sooth he was one of matchless might,  
Of horrible aspect, and dreadful mood,  
And had three bodies in one wast empight,  
And th'arms and legs of three, to secure him in fight.   

And sooth they say, that he was borne and bred  
Of giants race, the son of Geryon,  
He that whilom in Spain so sore was dread,  
For his huge power and great oppression,  
Which brought that land to his subjection,  
Through his three bodies power, in one combynd;  
And eke all strangers in that region  
arriving, to his kine for food assigned;  
The fairest kine alive, but of the fiercest kind.   

For they were all, they say, of purple hue,  
Kept by a cowherd, height Eurytion,  
A cruel carl, the which all strangers slew,  
Ne day nor night did sleep, t'attend them on,  
But walked about them ever and anon,  
With his two headed dog, that Orthrus height;  
Orthrus begotten by great Typhaon,  
And foul Echidna, in the house of night;  
But Hercules them all did overcome in fight.   

His son was this, Geryoneo height;  
Who after that his monstrous father fell  
Under Alcides' club, straight took his flight  
From that sad land, where he his sire did quell,  
And came to this, where Belge then did dwell,  
And flourish in all wealth and happiness,  
Being then new made widow (as befell)  
After her Noble husbands late decease;  
Which gave beginning to her woe and wretchedness.   

Then this bold Tyrant, of her widowhood  
Taking advantage, and her yet fresh woes,  
Himself and service to her offered,  
Her to defend against all foreign foes,  
That should their power against her right oppose.  
Whereof she glad, now needing strong defence,  
Him entertained, and did her champion chose:  
Which long he used with careful diligence,  
The better to confirm her fearless confidence.   

By means whereof, she did at last commit  
All to his hands, and gave him sovereign power  
To do, what ever he thought good or fit.  
Which having got, he 'gan forth from that hour  
To stir up strife, and many a Tragic stowre,  
Giving her dearest children one by one  
Unto a dreadful Monster to devour,  
And setting up an Idol of his own,  
The image of his monstrous parent Geryone.   

So tyrannising, and oppressing all,  
The woeful widow had no means now left,  
But unto gracious great Mercilla call  
For aid, against that cruel Tyrant's theft,  
Ere all her children he from her had reft.  
Therefore these two, her eldest sons she sent,  
To seek for succour of this Lady's gieft:  
To whom their suit they humbly did present,  
In th'hearing of full many Knights and Ladies gent.   

Amongst the which then fortuned to be  
The noble Briton Prince, with his brave Pear;  
Who when he none of all those knights did see  
Hastily bend, that enterprise to hear,  
Nor undertake the same, for cowherd fear,  
He stepped forth with courage bold and great,  
Admired of all the rest in presence there,  
And humbly 'gan that mighty Queen entreat,  
To grant him that adventure for his former feat.   

She gladly granted it: then he strait way  
Himself unto his journey 'gan prepare,  
And all his armours ready dight that day,  
That nought the morrow next mote stay his fare.  
The morrow next appeared, with purple hair  
Yet dropping fresh out of the Indian fount,  
And bringing light into the heavens fair,  
When he was ready to his steed to mount;  
Unto his way, which now was all his care and count.   

Then taking humble leave of that great Queen,  
Who gave him royal gifts and riches rare,  
As tokens of her thankful mind beseen,  
And leaving Artegall to his own care;  
Upon his voyage forth he 'gan to far,  
With those two gentle youths, which him did guide,  
And all his way before him still prepare.  
Ne after him did Artigall abide,  
But on his first adventure forward forth did ride.   

It was not long, till that the Prince arrived  
Within the land, where dwelled that Lady sad,  
Whereof that Tyrant had her now deprived,  
And into moors and marshes banished had,  
Out of the pleasant soil, and cities glad,  
In which she want to harbour happily:  
But now his cruelty so sore she dread,  
That to those fens for fastness she did fly,  
And there herself did hide from his hard tyranny.   

There he her found in sorrow and dismay,  
All solitary without living wight;  
For all her other children, through affray,  
Had hid themselves, or taken further flight:  
And eke herself through sudden strange affright,  
When one in arms she saw, began to fly;  
But when her own two sons she had in sight,  
She 'gan take heart, and look up joyfully:  
For well she witted this knight came, secure to supply.   

And running unto them with greedy joys,  
Fell strait about their necks, as they did kneel,  
And bursting forth in tears; Ah my sweet boys,  
(Said she) yet now I gi'en new life to feel,  
And feeble spirits, that 'gan faint and reel,  
Now rise again, at this your joyous sight.  
Already seems that fortunes headlong wheel  
Gins to turn, and sun to shine more bright,  
Then it was wont, through comfort of this noble knight.   

Then turning unto him; And you Sir knight  
(Said she) that taken have this toilsome pain  
For wretched woman, miserable wight,  
May you in heaven immortal guerdon gain  
For so great travel, as you do sustain:  
For other meed may hope for none of me,  
To whom nought else, but bare life doth remain,  
And that so wretched one, as ye do see  
Is liker lingering death, than loathed life to be.   

Much was he moved with her piteous plight,  
And low dismounting from his lofty steed,  
'Gan to recomfort her all that he might,  
Seeking to drive away deep rooted dread,  
With hope of help in that her greatest need.  
So thence he wished her with him to wend,  
Unto some place, where they moat rest and feed,  
And she take comfort, which God now did send:  
Good heart in evils doth the evils much amend.   

Ay me (said she) and whether shall I go?  
Are not all places full of foreign powers?  
My palaces possessed of my foe,  
My cities sacked, and their sky-threating towers  
Razed, and made smooth fields now full of flowers?  
Only these marshes, and miry bogs,  
In which the fearful ewftes do build their bowers,  
Yield me an hostry 'mongst the croaking frogs,  
And harbour here in safety from those ravenous dogs.   

Nathlesse (said he) dear Lady with me go,  
Some place shall us receive, and harbour yield;  
If not, we will it force, maugre your foe,  
And purchase it to us with spear and shield:  
And if all fail, yet farewell open field:  
The earth to all her creatures lodging lends.  
With such his cheerful speeches he doth wield  
Her mind so well, that to his will she bends  
And binding up her locks and weeds, forth with him wends.   

They came unto a City far up land,  
The which whilom that Ladies own had been;  
But now by force extort out of her hand,  
By her strong foe, who had defaced clean  
Her stately towers, and buildings sunny sheen;  
Shut up her haven, marred her merchants trade,  
Robbed her people, that full rich had been,  
And in her neck a Castle huge had made,  
The which did her command, without needing persuade.   

That Castle was the strength of all that state,  
Until that state by strength was pulled down,  
And that same city, so now ruinated,  
Had been the key of all that kingdoms crown;  
Both goodly Castle, and both goodly Town,  
Till that th'offended heavens list to lower  
Upon their bliss, and baleful fortune frown.  
When those 'gainst states and kingdoms do conjure,  
Who then can think their headlong ruin to recure.   

But he had brought it now in servile bond,  
And made it bear the yoke of inquisition,  
striving long time in vain it to withstand;  
Yet glad at last to make most base submission,  
And life enjoy for any composition.  
So now he hath new laws and orders new  
Imposed on it, with many a hard condition,  
And forced it, the honour that is dew  
To God, to do unto his Idol most untrue.   

To him he hath, before this Castle green,  
Built a fair Chapel, and an Altar framed  
Of costly ivory, full rich beseen,  
On which that cursed Idol far proclaimed,  
He hath set up, and him his God hath named,  
Offering to him in sinful sacrifice  
The flesh of men, to Gods own likeness framed,  
And pouring forth their blood in brutish wize,  
That any iron eyes, to see it would agrize.   

And for more horror and more cruelty,  
Under that cursed Idols altar stone;  
An hideous monster doth in darkness lie,  
Whose dreadful shape was never seen of none  
That lives on earth; but unto those alone  
The which unto him sacrificed be.  
Those he devours, they say, both flesh and bone:  
What else they have, is all the Tyrant's fee;  
So that no whit of them remaining one may see.   

There eke he placed a strong garrison,  
And set a Seneschal of dreaded might,  
That by his power oppressed every one,  
And vanquished all venturous knights in fight;  
To whom he want show all the shame he might,  
After that them in battle he had won.  
To which when now they 'gan approach in sight,  
The Lady counselled him the place to shun,  
Whereas so many knights had foully been fordone.   

Her fearful speeches nought he did regard,  
But riding straight under the Castle wall,  
Called aloud unto the watchful ward,  
Which there did wait, willing them forth to call  
Into the field their Tyrant's Seneschal.  
To whom when tidings thereof came, he straight  
Calls for his arms, and arming him withal,  
eftsoons forth pricked proudly in his might,  
And 'gan with courage fierce address him to the fight.   

They both encounter in the middle plain,  
And their sharp spears do both together smite  
Amid their shields, with so huge might and main,  
That seemed their souls they would have riven quite  
Out of their breasts, with furious despite.  
Yet could the Seneschals no entrance find  
Into the Prince's shield, where it empight;  
So pure the metal was, and well refynd,  
But shivered all about, and scattered in the wind.   

Not so the Princes, but with restless force,  
Into his shield it ready passage found,  
Both through his haberieon, and eke his corpse:  
Which tumbling down upon the senseless ground,  
Gave leave unto his ghost from thraldom bound,  
To wander in the grisly shades of night.  
There did the Prince him leave in deadly swound,  
And thence unto the castle marched right,  
To see if entrance there as yet obtain he might.   

But as he nigher drew, three knights he spied,  
All armed to point, issuing forth a pace,  
Which towards him with all their power did ride,  
And meeting him right in the middle race,  
Did all their spears attonce on him enchase.  
As three great Culuerings for battery bend,  
And leveled all against one certain place,  
Do all attonce their thunder's rage forth rend,  
That makes the walls to stagger with astonishment.   

So all attonce they on the Prince did thunder;  
Who from his saddle swerved nought aside,  
Ne to their force gave way, that was great wonder,  
But like a bulwark, firmly did abide,  
Rebutting him, which in the midst did ride,  
With so huge rigour, that his mortal spear  
Past through his shield, & pierced through either side,  
That down he fell upon his mother dear,  
And powered forth his wretched life in deadly drear.   

Whom when his other fellows saw, they fled  
As fast as feet could carry them away;  
And after them the Prince as swiftly sped,  
To be avenged of their unknightly play.  
There whilst they entering, th'one did th'other stay,  
The hindmost in the gate he overhent,  
And as he pressed in, him there did slay:  
His carcase tumbling on the threshold, sent  
His groaning soul unto her place of punishment.   

The other which was entered, laboured fast  
To sperre the gate; but that same lump of clay,  
Whose grudging ghost was thereout fled and passed;  
Right in the midst of the threshold lay,  
That it the Postern did from closing stay:  
The whiles the Prince hard pressed in between,  
And entrance won. Straight th'other fled away,  
And ran into the Hall, where he did ween  
Himself to save: but he there slew him at the screen.   

Then all the rest which in that Castle were,  
Seeing that sad ensample them before,  
Durst not abide, but fled away for fear,  
And them conveyed out at a Postern door.  
Long sought the Prince, but when he found no more  
T'oppose against his power, he forth issued  
Unto that Lady, where he her had lore,  
And her 'gan cheer, with what she there had viewed,  
And what she had not seen, within unto her showed.   

Who with right humble thanks him goodly greeting,  
For so great prowess, as he there had proved,  
Much greater than was ever in her weeting,  
With great admiraunce inwardly was moved,  
And honoured him, with all that her behoved.  
Thenceforth into that Castle he her led,  
With her two sons, right dear of her beloved,  
Where all that night themselves they cherished,  
And from her baleful mind all care he banished.    

Cant. XI  
Prince Arthure overcomes the great  
Gerioneo in fight:  
Doth slay the Monster, and restore  
Belge unto her right.  

IT often falls in course of common life,  
That right long time is overborne of wrong,  
Through avarice, or power, or guile, or strife,  
That weakens her, and makes her party strong:  
But justice, though her doom she do prolong,  
Yet at the last she will her own cause right.  
As by sad Belge seems, whose wrongs though long  
She suffered, yet at length she did requite,  
And sent redress thereof by this brave Briton Knight.   

Whereof when news was to that Tyrant brought,  
How that the Lady Belge now had found  
A Champion, that had with his Champion fought,  
And laid his Seneschal low on the ground,  
And eke himself did threaten to confound,  
He 'gan to burn in rage, and fries in fear,  
Doubting sad end of principle unsound:  
Yet sith he heard but one, that did appear,  
He did himself encourage, and take better cheer.   

Nevertheless himself he armed all in haste,  
And forth he fared with all his many bad,  
Ne stayed step, till that he came at last  
Unto the Castle, which they conquered had.  
There with huge terror, to be more ydrad,  
He sternly marched before the Castle gate,  
And with bold vaunts, and idle threatening bad  
Deliver him his own, ere yet too late,  
To which they had no right, nor any wrongful state.   

The Prince stayed not his answer to devise,  
But opening straight the spar, forth to him came,  
Full nobly mounted in right warlike wize;  
And asked him, if that he were the same,  
Who all that wrong unto that woeful Dame  
So long had done, and from her native land  
Exiled her, that all the world spoke shame.  
He boldly answered him, he there did stand  
That would his doings justify with his own hand.   

With that so furiously at him he flew,  
As if he would have overrun him straight,  
And with his huge great iron axe 'gan hue  
So hideously upon his armour bright,  
As he to pieces would have chopped it quite:  
That the bold Prince was forced foot to give  
To his first rage, and yield to his despite;  
The whilst at him so dreadfully he drive,  
That seemed a marble rock asunder could have rive.   

Thereto a great advantage eke he has  
Through his three double hands thrice multiplied,  
Besides the double strength, which in them was:  
For still when fit occasion did betide,  
He could his weapon shift from side to side,  
From hand to hand, and with such nimblesse sly  
Can wield about, that ere it were espied,  
The wicked stroke did wound his enemy,  
behind, beside, before, as he it list apply.   

Which uncouth use when as the Prince perceived,  
He 'gan to watch the wielding of his hand,  
Lest by such slight he were unwares deceived;  
And ever ere he saw the stroke to land,  
He would it meet, and warily withstand.  
One time, when he his weapon feigned to shift,  
As he was wont, and changed from hand to hand,  
He met him with a counterstroke so swift,  
That quite smit off his arm, as he it up did lift.   

Therewith, all fraught with fury and disdain,  
He brayed aloud for very fell despite,  
And suddenly t'avenge himself again,  
'Gan into one assemble all the might  
Of all his hands, and heaved them on height,  
Thinking to pay him with that one for all:  
But the sad steel seized not, where it was height,  
Upon the child, but somewhat short did fall,  
And lighting on his horse's head, him quite did maul.   

down straight to ground fell his astonished steed,  
And eke to th'earth his burden with him bare:  
But he himself full lightly from him freed,  
And 'gan himself to fight on foot prepare.  
Whereof when as the Giant was aware,  
He wox right blithe, as he had got thereby,  
And laughed so loud, that all his teeth wide bare  
One might have seen enraunged disorderly,  
Like to a rank of piles, that pitched are awry.   

eftsoons again his axe he reached on high,  
Ere he were thoroughly buckled to his gear,  
And can let drive at him so dreadfully,  
That had he chanced not his shield to rear,  
Ere that huge stroke arrived on him near,  
He had him surely cloven quite in twain.  
But th'Adamantine shield, which he did bear,  
So well was tempered, that for all his main,  
It would no passage yield unto his purpose vain.   

Yet was the stroke so forcibly applied,  
That made him stagger with uncertain sway,  
As if he would have tottered to one side.  
Wherewith full wroth, he fiercely 'gan assay,  
That curtsy with like kindness to repay;  
And smote at him with so importune might,  
That two more of his arms did fall away,  
Like fruitless branches, which the hatchets slight  
Hath pruned from the native tree, and cropped quite.   

With that all mad and furious he grew,  
Like a fell mastiff through enraging heat,  
And cursed, and band, and blasphemies forth threw,  
Against his Gods, and fire to them did threat,  
And hell unto himself with horror great.  
Thenceforth he cared no more, which way he struck,  
Nor where it light, but 'gan to vouchsafe and sweat,  
And gnashed his teeth, and his head at him shook,  
And sternly him beheld with grim and ghastly look.   

Nought feared the child his looks, ne yet his threats,  
But only waxed now the more aware,  
To save himself from those his furious heats,  
And watch advantage, how to work his care:  
The which good Fortune to him offered fair.  
For as he in his rage him overstrooke,  
He ere he could his weapon back repair,  
His side all bare and naked overtook,  
And with his mortal steel quite through the body struck.   

Through all three bodies he him struck attonce;  
That all the three attonce fell on the plain:  
Else should he thrice have needed, for the nonce  
Them to have stricken, and thrice to have slain.  
So now all three one senseless lump remain,  
Enwallowed in his own black bloody gore,  
And biting th'earth for very deaths disdain;  
Who with a cloud of night him covering, bore  
down to the house of dole, his days there to deplore.   

Which when the Lady from the Castle saw,  
Where she with her two sons did looking stand,  
She towards him in haste herself did draw,  
To greet him the good fortune of his hand:  
And all the people both of town and land,  
Which there stood gazing from the cities wall  
Upon these warriors, greedy t'understand,  
To whether should the victory befall,  
Now when they saw it fallen, they eke him greeted all.   

But Belge with her sons prostrated low  
Before his feet, in all that people's sight;  
'mongst joys mixing some tears, 'mongst weal, some woe,  
Him thus bespoke; O most redoubted Knight,  
The which hast me, of all most wretched wight,  
That erst was dead, restored to life again,  
And these weak imps replanted by thy might;  
What guerdon can I give thee for thy pain,  
But even that which thou savedst, thine still to remain?   

He took her up for by the lily hand,  
And her recomforted the best he might,  
Saying; Dear Lady, deeds ought not be scanned  
By th'author's manhood, nor the doers might,  
But by their truth and by the causes right:  
That same is it, which fought for you this day.  
What other meed then need me to requite,  
But that which yieldeth virtues meed always?  
That is the virtue self, which her reward doth pay.   

She humbly thanked him for that wondrous grace,  
And further said; Ah Sir, but moat ye please,  
Sith ye thus far have tendered my poor case,  
As from my chiefest foe me to release,  
That your victorious arm will not yet cease,  
Till ye have rooted all the relics out  
Of that wild race, and established my peace.  
What is there else (said he) left of their rout?  
Declare it boldly Dame, and do not stand in doubt.   

Then wot you, Sir, that in this Church hereby,  
There stands an Idol of great note and name,  
The which this Giant reared first on high,  
And of his own vain fancies thought did frame:  
To whom for endless horror of his shame,  
He offered up for daily sacrifice  
My children and my people, burnt in flame;  
With all the tortures, that he could devise,  
The more t'aggrate his God with such his bloody guise.   

And underneath this Idol there doth lie  
An hideous monster, that doth it defend,  
And feeds on all the carcases, that die  
In sacrifice unto that cursed fiend:  
Whose ugly shape none ever saw, nor kend,  
That ever scaped: for of a man they say  
It has the voice, that speeches forth doth send,  
Even blasphemous words, which she doth bray  
Out of her poisonous entrails, fraught with dire decay.   

Which when the Prince heard tell, his heart 'gan earn  
For great desire, that Monster to assay,  
And prayed the place of her abode to learn.  
Which being show'd, he 'gan himself straight way  
Thereto address, and his bright shield display.  
So to the Church he came, where it was told,  
The Monster underneath the Altar lay;  
There he that Idol saw of massy gold  
Most richly made, but there no Monster did behold.   

Upon the Image with his naked blade  
Three times, as in defiance, there he struck;  
And the third time out of an hidden shade,  
There forth issewd, from under th'Altars smoke,  
A dreadful fiend, with fowl deformed look,  
That stretched itself, as it had long lain still;  
And her long tail and feathers strongly shook,  
That all the Temple did with terror fill;  
Yet him nought terrified, that feared nothing ill.   

An huge great Beast it was, when it in length  
Was stretched forth, that nigh filled all the place,  
And seemed to be of infinite great strength;  
Horrible, hideous, and of hellish race,  
Borne of the brooding of Echidna base,  
Or other like infernal furies kind:  
For of a Maid she had the outward face,  
To hide the horror, which did lurk behind,  
The better to beguile, whom she so fond did find.   

Thereto the body of a dog she had,  
Full of fell ravine and fierce greediness;  
A Lion's claws, with power and rigour clad,  
To rend and tear, what so she can oppress;  
A Dragon's tail, whose sting without redress  
Full deadly wounds, where so it is empight;  
And Eagles wings, for scope and speediness,  
That nothing may escape her reaching might,  
Whereto she ever list to make her hardy flight.   

Much like in foulness and deformity  
Unto that Monster, whom the Theban Knight,  
The father of that fatal progeny,  
Made kill herself for very hearts despite,  
That he had red her Riddle, which no wight  
Can ever lose, but suffered deadly doole.  
So also did this Monster use like slight  
To many a one, which came unto her school,  
Whom she did put to death, deceived like a fool.   

She coming forth, when as she first beheld  
The armed Prince, with shield so blazing bright,  
Her ready to assail, was greatly quelled,  
And much dismayed with that dismayful sight,  
That back she would have turned for great affright.  
But he 'gan her with courage fierce assay,  
That forced her turn again in her despite,  
To save herself, least that he did her slay:  
And sure he had her slain, had she not turned her way.   

though when she saw, that she was forced to fight,  
She flew at him, like to an hellish fiend,  
And on his shield took hold with all her might,  
As if that it she would in pieces rend,  
Or reave out of the hand, that did it heard.  
Strongly he strove out of her greedy gripe  
To lose his shield, and long while did contend:  
But when he could not quite it, with one stripe  
Her Lion's claws he from her feet away did wipe.   

With that aloud she 'gan to bray and yell,  
And fowl blasphemous speeches forth did cast,  
And bitter curses, horrible to tell,  
That even the Temple, wherein she was placed,  
Did quake to hear, and nigh asunder braced.  
though with her huge long tail she at him struck,  
That made him stagger, and stand half aghast  
With trembling joints, as he for terror shook;  
Who nought was terrified, but greater courage took.   

As when the Mast of some well timbered hulk  
Is with the blast of some outrageous storm  
Blown down, it shakes the bottom of the bulk,  
And makes her ribs to crack, as they were torn,  
Whilst still she stands as stonisht and forlorn:  
So was he stound with stroke of her huge tail.  
But ere that it she back again had borne,  
He with his sword it struck, that without fail  
He jointed it, and marred the swinging of her flail.   

Then 'gan she cry much louder than afore,  
That all the people there without it heard,  
And Belge self was therewith stonied sore,  
As if the only sound thereof she feared.  
But then the fiend herself more fiercely reared  
Upon her wide great wings, and strongly flew  
With all her body at his head and beard,  
That had he not foreseen with heedful view,  
And thrown his shield atween, she had him done to rue.   

But as she priest on him with heavy sway,  
Under her womb his fatal sword he thrust,  
And for her entrails made an open way,  
To issue forth; the which once being burst,  
Like to a great Mill damn forth fiercely gushed,  
And powered out of her infernal sink  
Most ugly filth, and poison therewith rushed,  
That him nigh choked with the deadly stink:  
Such loathly matter were small lust to speak, or think.   

Then down to ground fell that deformed Mass,  
Breathing out clouds of sulphur fowl and black,  
In which a puddle of contagion was,  
More loathed than Lerna, or than Stygian lake,  
That any man would nigh awhaped make.  
Whom when he saw on ground, he was full glad,  
And straight went forth his gladness to partake  
With Belge, who watched all this while full sad,  
Waiting what end would be of that same danger dread.   

Whom when she saw so joyously come forth,  
She 'gan rejoice, and show triumphant cheer,  
Lauding and praising his renowned worth,  
By all the names that honourable were.  
Then in he brought her, and her showed there  
The present of his pains, that Monsters spoil,  
And eke that Idol deemed so costly dear;  
Whom he did all to pieces break and foil  
In filthy dirt, and left so in the loathely soil.   

Then all the people, which beheld that day,  
'Gan shout aloud, that unto heaven it rung;  
And all the damsels of that town in ray,  
Came dancing forth, and joyous carols song:  
So him they led through all their streets along,  
Crowned with garlands of immortal bay,  
And all the vulgar did about them throng,  
To see the man, whose everlasting praise  
They all were bound to all posterities to raise.   

There he with Belgae did a while remain,  
Making great feast and joyous merriment,  
Until he had her settled in her rain,  
With safe assurance and establishment.  
Then to his first emprize his mind he lent,  
Full loath to Belgae, and to all the rest:  
Of whom yet taking leave, thenceforth he went  
And to his former journey him addressed,  
On which long way he road, ne ever day did rest.   

But turn we now to noble Artegall;  
Who having left Mercilla, straight way went  
On his first quest, the which him forth did call,  
To weet to work Irenaes' franchisement,  
And eke Grantortoes worthy punishment.  
So forth he fared as his manner was,  
With only Talus waiting diligent,  
Through many perils and much way did pass,  
Till nigh unto the place at length approached he has.   

There as he traveled by the way, he met  
An aged wight, wayfaring all alone,  
Who through his years long since aside had set  
The use of arms, and battle quite foregone:  
To whom as he approached, he knew anon,  
That it was he which whilom did attend  
On fair Irene in her affliction,  
When first to Fairy court he saw her wend,  
Unto his sovereign Queen her suit for to commend.   

Whom by his name saluting, thus he 'gan;  
Hail good Sir Sergis, truest Knight alive,  
Well tried in all thy Lady's troubles than,  
When her that Tyrant did of Crown deprive;  
What new occasion doth thee hither drive,  
Whiles she alone is left, and thou here found?  
Or is she thrall, or doth she not survive?  
To whom he thus; She liveth sure and sound;  
But by that Tyrant is in wretched thraldom bound.   

For she presuming on th'appointed tide,  
In which ye promised, as ye were a Knight,  
To meet her at the salvage islands side,  
And then and there for trial of her right  
With her unrigteous enemy to fight,  
Did thither come, where she afraid of nought,  
By guileful treason and by subtle slight  
Surprised was, and to Grantorto brought,  
Who her imprisoned hath, and her life often sought.   

And now he hath to her prefixed a day,  
By which if that no champion do appear,  
Which will her cause in battailous array  
Against him justify, and prove her clear  
Of all those crimes, that he 'gainst her doth rear  
She death shall by. Those tidings sad  
Did much abash Sir Artegall to hear,  
And grieved sore, that through his fault she had  
Fallen into that Tyrant's hand and usage bad.   

Then thus replied; Now sure and by my life,  
Too much am I too blame for that fair Maid,  
That have her drawn to all this troublous strife,  
Through promise to afford her timely aid,  
Which by default I have not yet defrayed.  
But witness unto me, ye heavens, that knew  
How clear I am from blame of this upbraid:  
For ye into like thraldom me did throw,  
And kept from complishing the faith, which I did owe.   

But now aread, Sir Sergis, how long space,  
Hath he her lent, a Champion to provide:  
Ten days (quoth he) he granted hath of grace,  
For that he weeneth well, before that tide  
None can have tidings to assist her side.  
For all the shores, which to the sea accost,  
He day and night doth ward both far and wide,  
That none can there arrive without an host:  
So her he deems already but a damned ghost.   

Now turn again (Sir Artegall then said)  
For if I live till those ten days have end,  
Assure yourself, Sir Knight, she shall have aid,  
Though I this dearest life for her do spend;  
So backward he atone with him did wend.  
Tho as they road together on their way,  
A rout of people they before them kend,  
Flocking together in confused array,  
As if that there were some tumultuous affray.   

To which as they approached, the cause to know,  
They saw a Knight in dangerous distress  
Of a rude rout him chase to and fro,  
That sought with lawless power him to oppress,  
And bring in bondage of their brutishness:  
And far away, amid their rakehell bands,  
They spied a Lady left all succourless,  
Crying, and holding up her wretched hands  
To him for aid, who long in vain their rage withstands.   

Yet still he strives, ne any peril spares,  
To rescue her from their rude violence,  
And like a Lion wood amongst them fares,  
Dealing his dreadful blows with large dispense,  
'Gainst which the pallid death finds no defence.  
But all in vain, their numbers are so great,  
That nought may boot to banish them from thence:  
For soon as he their outrage back doth beat,  
They turn afresh, and oft renew their former threat.   

And now they do so sharply him assay,  
That they his shield in pieces battered have,  
And forced him to throw it quite away,  
Fro dangers dread his doubtful life to save;  
Albe that it most safety to him gave,  
And much did magnify his noble name.  
For from the day that he thus did it leave,  
Amongst all Knights he blotted was with blame,  
And counted but a recreant Knight, with endless shame.   

Whom when they thus distressed did behold,  
They drew unto his aid; but that rude rout  
Them also 'gan assail with outrage bold,  
And forced them, how ever strong and stout  
They were, as well approved in many a doubt,  
Back to recoil; until that iron man  
With his huge flail began to lay about,  
From whose stern presence they diffused ran,  
Like scattered chaff, the which the wind away doth fan.   

So when that Knight from peril clear was freed,  
He drawing near, began to greet them fair,  
And yield great thanks for their so goodly deed,  
In saving him from dangerous despair  
Of those, which sought his life for to impair.  
Of whom Sir Artegall 'gan then inquire  
The whole occasion of his late misfare,  
And who he was, and what those villains were,  
The which with mortal malice him pursued so near.   

To whom he thus; My name is Bourbon height,  
Well known, and far renowned heretofore,  
Until late mischief did upon me light,  
That all my former praise hath blemished sore;  
And that fair Lady, which in that uproar  
Ye with those caitiffs saw, Flourdelis height,  
Is mine own love, though me she have forlese,  
Whether withheld from me by wrongful might,  
Or with her own good will, I cannot read aright.   

But sure to me her faith she first did plight,  
To be my love, and take me for her Lord,  
Till that a Tyrant, which Grandtorto height,  
With golden gifts and many a guileful word  
enticed her, to him for to accord.  
O who may not with gifts and words be tempted?  
Sith which she hath me ever since abhorred,  
And to my foe hath guilefully consented:  
Ay me, that ever guile in women was invented.   

And now he hath this troop of villains sent,  
By open force to fetch her quite away:  
'Gainst whom myself I long in vain have bend,  
To rescue her, and daily means assay,  
Yet rescue her thence by no means I may:  
For they do me with multitude oppress,  
And with unequal might do overlay,  
That oft I driven am to great distress,  
And forced to forego th'attempt remediless.   

But why have ye (said Artegall) forborn  
Your own good shield in dangerous dismay?  
That is the greatest shame and foulest scorn,  
Which unto any knight behappen may  
To lose the badge, that should his deeds display.  
To whom Sir Bourbon, blushing half for shame,  
That shall I unto you (quoth he) bewray;  
Lest ye therefore moat happily me blame,  
And deem it done of will, that through enforcement came.   

True is, that I at first was dubbed knight  
By a good knight, the knight of the Redcrosse;  
Who when he gave me arms, in field to fight,  
Gave me a shield, in which he did endoss  
His dear Redeemers badge upon the boss:  
The same long while I bore, and therewithal  
Fought many battles without wound or loss;  
Therewith Grandtorto self I did appall,  
And made him oftentimes in field before me fall.   

But for that many did that shield envy,  
And cruel enemies increased more;  
To stint all strife and troublous enmity,  
That bloody scutcheon being battered sore,  
I laid aside, and have of late forbore,  
Hoping thereby to have my love obtained:  
Yet can I not my love have nathemore;  
For she by force is still fro me detained,  
And with corruptfull bribes is to untruth mis-trayned.   

To whom thus Artegall; Certes Sir knight,  
Hard is the case, the which ye do complain;  
Yet not so hard (for nought so hard may light,  
That it to such a straight mote you constrain)  
As to abandon, that which doth contain  
Your honour's stile, that is your warlike shield.  
All peril ought be less, and less all pain  
Then loss of fame in disaventrous field;  
die rather, then do aught, that mote dishonour yield.   

Not so; (quoth he) for yet when time doth serve,  
My former shield I may resume again:  
To temporize is not from truth to swerver,  
Ne for advantage term to entertain,  
When as necessity doth it constrain.  
Fie on such forgery (said Artegall)  
Under one hood to shadow faces twain.  
Knight's ought be true, and truth is one in all:  
Of all things to dissemble foully may befall.   

Yet let me you of courtesy request,  
(Said Bourbon) to assist me now at need  
Against these peasants, which have me oppressed,  
And forced me to so infamous deed,  
That yet my love may from their hands be freed.  
Sir Artegall, albe he erst did wite  
His wavering mind, yet to his aid agreed,  
And buckling him eftsoons unto the fight,  
Did set upon those troops withal his power and might.   

Who flocking round about them, as a swarm  
Of flies upon a birchen bough doth cluster,  
Did them assault with terrible alarm,  
And over all the fields themselves did muster,  
With bills and glaives making a dreadful lustre;  
That forced at first those knights back to retire:  
As when the wrathful Boreas doth bluster,  
Nought may abide the tempest of his ire,  
Both man and beast do fly, and succour do inquire.   

But when as overblown was that brunt,  
Those knights began a fresh them to assail,  
And all about the fields like Squirrels hunt;  
But chief Talus with his iron flail,  
'Gainst which no flight nor rescue moat avail,  
Made cruel havoc of the base crew,  
And chased them both over hill and dale:  
The rascal many soon they overthrew,  
But the two knights themselves their captains did subdue.   

At last they came whereas that Lady bode,  
Whom now her keepers had forsaken quite,  
To save themselves, and scattered were abroad:  
Her half dismayed they found in doubtful plight,  
As neither glad nor sorry for their sight;  
Yet wondrous fair she was, and richly clad  
In royal robes, and many jewels dight,  
But that those villains through their usage bade  
Them foully rend, and shamefully defaced had.   

But Bourbon straight dismounting from his steed,  
Unto her ran with greedy great desire,  
And catching her fast by her ragged weed,  
Would have embraced her with heart entire.  
But she backstarting with disdainful ire,  
Bade him avaunt, ne would unto his lore  
Alured be, for prayer nor for meed.  
Whom when those knights so forward and forlore  
Beheld, they her rebuked and upbraided sore.   

Said Artegall; what foul disgrace is this,  
To so fair Lady, as ye seem in sight,  
To blot your beauty, that unblemished is,  
With so foul blame, as breach of faith once plight,  
Or change of love for any world's delight?  
Is aught on earth so precious or dear,  
As praise and honour? Or is aught so bright  
And beautiful, as glories beams appear,  
Whose goodly light than Phoebus' lamp doth shine more clear?   

Why then will ye, fond Dame, attempted be  
Unto a stranger's love, so lightly placed,  
For gifts of gold, or any worldly glee,  
To leave the love, that ye before embraced,  
And let your fame with falsehood be defaced.  
Fie on the pelf, for which good name is sold,  
And honour with indignity debased:  
Dearer is love then life, and fame than gold;  
But dearer than them both, your faith once plighted hold;   

Much was the Lady in her gentle mind  
Abashed at his rebuke, that bitten her near,  
Ne ought to answer thereunto did find;  
But hanging down her head with heavy cheer,  
Stood long amazed, as she amated wear.  
Which Bourbon seeing, her again assayed,  
And clasping twixt his arms, her up did rear  
Upon his steed, whiles she no whit gainsaid,  
So bore her quite away, nor well nor ill apaid.   

Nathlesse the iron man did still pursue  
That rascal many with unpitied spoil,  
Ne ceased not, till all their scattered crew  
Into the sea he drove quite from that soil,  
The which they troubled had with great turmoil.  
But Artegall seeing his cruel deed,  
Commanded him from slaughter to recoil,  
And to his voyage 'gan again proceed:  
For that the term approaching fast, required speed.    

Cant. XII.  
Artegall doth Sir Bourbon aid,  
And blames for changing shield:  
He with the great Grantorto fights,  
And slayeth him in field.  

O Sacred hunger of ambitious minds,  
And impotent desire of men to rain,  
Whom neither dread of God, that devils binds,  
Nor laws of men, that common weals contain,  
Nor bands of nature, that wild beasts restrain,  
Can keep from outrage, and from doing wrong,  
Where they may hope a kingdom to obtain.  
No faith so firm, no trust can be so strong,  
No love so lasting then, that may endure long.   

Witness may Bourbon be, whom all the bands,  
Which may a Knight assure, had surely bound,  
Until the love of Lordship and of lands  
Made him become most faithless and unsound:  
And witness be Gerioneo found,  
Who for like cause fair Belge did oppress,  
And right and wrong most cruelly confound:  
And so be now Grantorto, who no less  
Than all the rest burst out to all outrageousness.   

'Gainst whom Sir Artegall, long having since  
Taken in hand th'exploit, being thereto  
Appointed by that mighty Fairy Prince,  
Great Gloriane, that Tyrant to fordoo,  
Through other great adventures hethertoo  
Had it forslackt. But now time drawing nigh,  
To him assigned, her high behest to do,  
To the sea shore he 'gan his way apply,  
To weet if shipping ready he moat there descry.   

though when they came to the sea coast, they found  
A ship all ready (as good fortune fell)  
To put to sea, with whom they did compound,  
To pass them over, where them list to tell:  
The wind and weather served them so well,  
That in one day they with the coast did fall;  
Whereas they ready found them to repel,  
Great hosts of men in order martial,  
Which them forbade to land, and footing did forstall.   

But nathemore would they from land refrain,  
But when as nigh unto the shore they drew,  
That foot of man might sound the bottom plain,  
Talus into the sea did forth issue,  
Though darts from shore & stones they at him threw;  
And wading through the waves with steadfast sway,  
Maugre the might of all those troops in view,  
Did win the shore, whence he them chaste away,  
And made to fly, like doves, whom the Eagle doth affray.   

The whiles Sir Artegall, with that old knight  
Did forth descend, there being none them near,  
And forward marched to a town in sight.  
By this came tidings to the Tyrant's ear,  
By those, which erst did fly away for fear  
Of their arrival: wherewith troubled sore,  
He all his forces straight to him did rear,  
And forth issuing with his scouts afore,  
Meant them to have encountered, ere they left the shore.   

But ere he marched far, he with them met,  
And fiercely charged them with all his force;  
But Talus sternly did upon them set,  
And brushed, and battered them without remorse,  
That on the ground he left full many a corpse;  
Ne any able was him to withstand,  
But he them overthrew both man and horse,  
That they lay scattered over all the land,  
As thick as doth the seed after the sowers hand.   

Till Artegall him seeing so to rage,  
Willed him to stay, and sign of truce did make:  
To which all hearkening, did a while assuage  
Their forces fury, and their terror slake;  
Till he an Herald called, and to him spoke,  
Willing him wend unto the Tyrant straight,  
And tell him that not for such slaughters sake  
He thither came, but for to try the right  
Of fair Irenaes' cause with him in single fight.   

And willed him for to reclaim with speed  
His scattered people, ere they all were slain,  
And time and place convenient to areed,  
In which they two the combat might darraine.  
Which message when Grantorto heard, full fain  
And glad he was the slaughter so to stay,  
And pointed for the combat twixt them twain  
The morrow next, ne gave him longer day.  
So sounded the retreat, and drew his folk away.   

That night Sir Artegall did cause his tent  
There to be pitched on the open plain;  
For he had given straight commandment,  
That none should dare him once to entertain:  
Which none durst break, though many would right feign  
For fair Irena, whom they loved dear.  
But yet old Sergiss did so well him pain,  
That from close friends, that dared not to appear,  
He all things did purvey, which for them needful wear.   

The morrow next, that was the dismal day,  
Appointed for Irenas death before,  
So soon as it did to the world display  
His cheerful face, and light to men restore,  
The heavy Maid, to whom none tidings bore  
Of Artegals' arrival, her to free,  
Looked up with eyes full sad and heart full sore;  
Weening her life's last hour then near to be,  
Sith no redemption nigh she did nor hear nor see.   

Then up she rose, and on herself did dight  
Most squalid garments, fit for such a day,  
And with dull countenance, and with doleful sprite,  
She forth was brought in sorrowful dismay,  
For to receive the doom of her decay.  
But coming to the place, and finding there  
Sir Artegall, in battailous array  
Waiting his foe, it did her dead heart cheer,  
And new life to her lent, in midst of deadly fear.   

Like as a tender Rose in open plain,  
That with untimely drought nigh withered was,  
And hung the head, soon as few drops of rain  
Thereon distil, and dew her dainty face,  
Gins to look up, and with fresh wont grace  
Dispreds the glory of her leaves gay;  
Such was Irenas countenance, such her case,  
When Artegall she saw in that array,  
There waiting for the Tyrant, till it was far day.   

Who came at length, with proud presumptuous gate,  
Into the field, as if he fearless were,  
All armed in a cote of iron plate,  
Of great defence to ward the deadly fear,  
And on his head a steel cap he did wear  
Of colour rusty brown, but sure and strong;  
And in his hand an huge Polaxe did bear,  
Whose steal was iron studded, but not long,  
With which he want to fight, to justify his wrong.   

Of stature huge and hideous he was,  
Like to a Giant for his monstrous height,  
And did in strength most sorts of men surpas,  
Ne ever any found his match in might;  
Thereto he had great skill in single fight:  
His face was ugly, and his countenance stern,  
That could have frayed one with the very sight,  
And gaped like a gulf, when he did gerne,  
That whether man or monster one could scarce discern.   

Soon as he did within the lists appear,  
With dreadful look he Artegall beheld,  
As if he would have daunted him with fear,  
And grinning grisly, did against him wield  
His deadly weapon, which in hand he held.  
But th'Elfin swain, that oft had seen like fight,  
Was with his ghastly countenance nothing quelled,  
But 'gan him straight to buckle to the fight,  
And cast his shield about, to be in ready plight.   

The trumpets sound, and they together go,  
With dreadful terror, and with fell intent;  
And their huge strokes full dangerously bestow,  
To do most damage, where as most they meant.  
But with such force and fury violent,  
The tyrant thundered his thick blows so fast,  
That through the iron walls their way they rend,  
And even to the vital parts they passed,  
Ne ought could them endure, but all they cleft or braced.   

Which cruel outrage when as Artegall  
Did well avize, thenceforth with wary heed  
He shunned his strokes, where ever they did fall,  
And way did give unto their graceless speed:  
As when a skilful Mariner doth reed  
A storm approaching, that doth peril threat,  
He will not bide the danger of such dread,  
But strikes his sails, and vereth his mainsheat,  
And lends unto it leave the empty air to beat.   

So did the Fairy knight himself abeare,  
And stooped oft his head from shame to shield;  
No shame to stoop, ones head more high to rear,  
And much to gain, a little for to yield;  
So stoutest knights done oftentimes infield.  
But still the tyrant sternly at him laid,  
And did his iron axe so nimbly wield,  
That many wounds into his flesh it made,  
And with his burdenous blows him sore did overlade.   

Yet when as fit advantage he did spy,  
The whiles the cursed fellow high did rear  
His cruel hand, to smite him mortally,  
Under his stroke he to him stepping near,  
Right in the flank him struck with deadly drear,  
That the gore blood thence gushing grievously,  
Did underneath him like a pond appear,  
And all his armour did with purple dye;  
Thereat he brayed loud, and yelled dreadfully.   

Yet the huge stroke, which he before intended,  
Kept on his course, as he did it direct,  
And with such monstrous poise adown descended,  
That seemed nought could him from death protect:  
But he it well did ward with wise respect,  
And twixt him and the blow his shield did cast,  
Which thereon seizing, took no great effect,  
But biting deep therein did stick so fast,  
That by no means it back again he forth could wrested.   

Long while he tugged and strove, to get it out,  
And all his power applied thereunto,  
That he therewith the knight drew all about:  
Nathlesse, for all that ever he could do,  
His axe he could not from his shield undo.  
Which Artegall perceiving, struck no more,  
But losing soon his shield, did it forego,  
And whiles he cumbered was therewith so sore,  
He 'gan at him let drive more fiercely than afore.   

So well he him pursewed, that at the last,  
He struck him with Chrysaor on the head,  
That with the sauce thereof full sore aghast,  
He staggered to and fro in doubtful stead.  
Again whiles he him saw so ill bestead,  
He did him smite with all his might and main,  
That falling on his mother earth he fed:  
Whom when he saw prostrated on the plain,  
He lightly reft his head, to ease him of his pain.   

Which when the people round about him saw,  
They shouted all for joy of his success,  
Glad to be quit from that proud Tyrant's awe,  
Which with strong power did then long time oppress;  
And running all with greedy joyfulness  
To fair Irena, at her feet did fall,  
And her adored with due humbleness,  
As their true Liege and Princess natural;  
And eke her champion's glory sounded over all.   

Who straight her leading with meet majesty  
Unto the palace, where their kings did rain,  
Did her therein establish peaceably,  
And to her kingdoms seat restore again;  
And all such persons, as did late maintain  
That Tyrant's part, with close or open aid,  
He sorely punished with heavy pain;  
That in short space, whiles there with her he stayed,  
Not one was left, that durst her once have disobayd.   

During which time, that he did there remain,  
His study was true justice how to deal,  
And day and night employed his busy pain  
How to reform that ragged commonweal:  
And that same iron man which could reveal  
All hidden crimes, through all that realm he sent,  
To search out those, that used to rob and steal,  
Or did rebel 'gainst lawful government;  
On whom he did inflict most grievous punishment.   

But ere he could reform it thoroughly,  
He through occasion called was away,  
To Fairy Court, that of necessity  
His course of justice he was forced to stay,  
And Talus to revoke from the right way,  
In which he was that Realm for to redress.  
But envies cloud still dimmeth virtues ray.  
So having freed Irena from distress,  
He took his leave of her, there left in heaviness.   

though as he back returned from that land,  
And there arrived again, whence forth he set,  
He had not passed far upon the strand,  
When as two old ill favoured Hags he met,  
By the way side being together set,  
Two grisly creatures; and, to that their faces  
Most foul and filthy were, their garments yet  
Being all raged and tattered, their disgraces  
Did much the more augment, and made most ugly cases.   

The one of them, that elder did appear,  
With her dull eyes did seem to look askew,  
That her mis-shape much helped; and her foul hear  
Hung lose and loathsomely: Thereto her hue  
Was wan and lean, that all her teeth arow,  
And all her bones might through her cheeks be red;  
Her lips were like raw leather, pale and blue,  
And as she spoke, therewith she slavered;  
Yet spoke she seldom, but thought more, the less she said.   

Her hands were foul and dirty, never washed  
In all her life, with long nails over reached,  
Like puttocks claws: with th'one of which she scratched  
Her cursed head, although it itched nought;  
The other held a snake with venom fraught,  
On which she fed, and gnawed hungrily,  
As if that long she had not eaten ought;  
That round about her jaws one might descry  
The bloody gore and poison dropping loathsomely.   

Her name was Envy, known well thereby;  
Whose nature is to grieve, and grudge at all,  
That ever she sees done prays-worthily,  
Whose sight to her is greatest cross, may fall,  
And vexeth so, that makes her eat her gall.  
For when she wanteth other thing to eat,  
She feeds on her own maw unnatural,  
And of her own foul entrails makes her meat;  
Meat fit for such a monsters monstruous dyeat.   

And if she happed of any good to hear,  
That had to any happily betided,  
Then would she inly fret, and grieve, and tear  
Her flesh for felnesse, which she inward hid:  
But if she heard of ill, that any did,  
Or harm, that any had, then would she make  
Great cheer, like one unto a banquet bid;  
And in another's loss great pleasure take,  
As she had got thereby, and gained a great stake.   

The other nothing better was, than she;  
Agreeing in bad will and cankered kind,  
But in bad manner they did disagree:  
For what so Envy good or bad did find,  
She did conceal, and murder her own mind;  
But this, what ever evil she conceived,  
Did spread abroad, and throw in th'open wind.  
Yet this in all her words might be perceived,  
That all she sought, was men's good name to have bereaved.   

For whatsoever good by any said,  
Or done she heard, she would straightways invent,  
How to deprave, or slanderously upbraid,  
Or to misconstrue of a man's intent,  
And turn to ill the thing, that well was meant.  
Therefore she used often to resort,  
To common haunts, and companies frequent,  
To hark what any one did good report,  
To blot the same with blame, or wrest in wicked sort.   

And if that any ill she heard of any,  
She would it eke, and make much worse by telling,  
And take great joy to publish it to many,  
That every matter worse was for her melling.  
Her name was height Detraction, and her dwelling  
Was near to Envy, even her neighbour next;  
A wicked hag, and Envy self excelling  
In mischief: for herself she only vexed;  
But this same both herself, and others eke perplexed.   

Her face was ugly, and her mouth distort,  
Foaming with poison round about her gills,  
In which her cursed tongue full sharp and short  
Appeared like Aspis sting, that closely kills,  
Or cruelly does wound, whom so she wils:  
A distaff in her other hand she had,  
Upon the which she little spins, but spills,  
And feigns to weave false tales and leasings bad,  
To throw amongst the good, which others had disprad.   

These two now had themselves combynd in one,  
And linked together 'gainst Sir Artegall,  
For whom they waited as his mortal fone,  
How they might make him into mischief fall,  
For freeing from their snares Irena thrall,  
Besides unto themselves they gotten had  
A monster, which the Blatant beast men call,  
A dreadful fiend of gods and men ydrad,  
Whom they by slights allured, and to their purpose lad.   

Such were these Hags, and so unhandsome dressed:  
Who when they nigh approaching, had espied  
Sir Artegall returned from his late quest,  
They both arose, and at him loudly cried,  
As it had been two shepherds curs, had scryde  
A ravenous Wolf amongst the scattered flocks.  
And Envy first, as she that first him eyed,  
Towards him runs, and with rude flaring locks  
About her ears, does beat her breast, & forehead knocks.   

Then from her mouth the gobbet she does take,  
The which whilere she was so greedily  
Devouring, even that halfe-gnawen snake,  
And at him throws it most despitefully.  
The cursed Serpent, though she hungrily  
Erst chawd thereon, yet was not all so dead,  
But that some life remained secretly,  
And as he passed afore withouten dread,  
Bitten him behind, that long the mark was to be read.   

Then th'other coming near, 'gan him revile,  
And foully rail, with all she could invent;  
Saying, that he had with unmanly guile,  
And foul abusion both his honour blended,  
And that bright sword the sword, of justice lent  
Had stained with reproachful cruelty,  
In guiltless blood of many an innocent:  
As for Grandtorto, him with treachery  
And trains having surprised, he foully did to die.   

Thereto the Blatant beast by them set on  
At him began aloud to bark and bay,  
With bitter rage and fell contention,  
That all the woods and rocks nigh to that way,  
Began to quake and tremble with dismay;  
And all the air rebellowed again.  
So dreadfully his hundred tongues did bray,  
And evermore those hags themselves did pain,  
To sharpen him, and their own cursed tongs did strain.   

And still among most bitter words they spoke,  
Most shameful, most unrighteous, most untrue,  
That they the mildest man alive would make  
Forget his patience, and yield vengeance dew  
To her, that so false slanders at him threw.  
And more to make than pierce & wound more deep,  
She with the sting, which in her vile tongue grew,  
Did sharpen them, and in fresh poison steep:  
Ye the past on, and seemed of them to take no keep.   

But Talus hearing her so lewdly rail,  
And speak so ill of him, that well deserved,  
Would her have chastised with his iron flail,  
If her Sir Artegall had not preserved,  
And him forbidden, who his hest observed.  
So much the more at him still did she scold,  
And stones did cast, yet he for nought would swerver  
From his right course, but still the way did hold  
To Fairy Court, where what him fell shall else be told.     

THE sixth BOOK OF THE FAIRY QUEEN. Containing THE LEGEND OF S. CALIDORE OR OF COURTESY.  


THe ways, through which my weary steps I guide,  
In this delightful land of Fairy,  
Are so exceeding spacious and wide,  
And sprinkled with such sweet variety,  
Of all that pleasant is to ear or eye,  
That I nigh ravished with rare thoughts delight,  
My tedious travel do forget thereby;  
And when I gi'en to feel decay of might,  
tI strength to me supplies, & cheers my dulled sprite.   

Such secret comfort, and such heavenly pleasures,  
Ye sacred imps, that on Parnassus dwell,  
And there the keeping have of learning's threasures,  
Which do all worldly riches far excel,  
Into the minds of mortal men do well,  
And goodly fury into them infuse;  
Guide ye my footing, and conduct me well  
In these strange ways, where never foot did use,  
Ne none can find, but who was taught them by the Muse.   

reveal to me the sacred nursery  
Of virtue, which with you doth there remain,  
Where it in silver bower does hidden lie  
From view of men, and wicked world's disdain.  
Since it at first was by the Gods with pain  
Planted in earth, being derived at furst  
From heavenly seeds of bounty sovereign,  
And by them long with careful labour nursed,  
Till it to ripeness grew, and forth to honour burst.   

Amongst them all grows not a fairer flower,  
Then is the bloosme of comely courtesy,  
Which though it on a lowly stalk do bower,  
Yet brancheth forth in brave nobility,  
And spreads itself through all civility:  
Of which though present age do plenteous seem,  
Yet being matched with plain Antiquity,  
Ye will them all but feigned shows esteem,  
Which carry colours fair, that feeble eyes misdeem.   

But in the trial of true courtesy,  
It's now so far from that, which then it was,  
That it indeed is nought but forgery,  
Fashioned to please the eyes of them, that pass,  
Which see not perfect things but in a glass:  
Yet is that glass so gay, that it can blind  
The wisest sight, to think gold that is bras.  
But virtues seat is deep within the mind,  
And not in outward shows, but inward thoughts defynd.   

But where shall I in all Antiquity  
So fair a pattern find, where may be seen  
The goodly praise of Princely courtesy,  
As in yourself, O sovereign Lady Queen,  
In whose pure mind, as in a mirror sheen,  
It shows, and with her brightness doth inflame  
The eyes of all, which thereon fixed been;  
But meriteth indeed an higher name:  
Yet so from low to high uplifted is your name.   

Then pardon me, most dreaded Sovereign,  
That from yourself I do this virtue bring,  
And to yourself do it return again:  
So from the Ocean all rivers spring,  
And tribute back repay as to their King.  
Right so from you all goodly virtues well  
Into the rest, which round about you ring,  
Fair Lords and Ladies, which about you dwell,  
And do adorn your Court, where courtesies excel.    

Cant. I.  
Calidore saves from Maleffort,  
A Damsel used vylde:  
Doth vanquish Crudor, and doth make  
Briana wax more mild.  

OF Court it seems, men Courtesy do call,  
For that it there most useth to abound;  
And well beseemeth that in Prince's hall  
That virtue should be plentifully found,  
Which of all goodly manners is the ground,  
And root of civil conversation.  
Right so in Fairy court it did redound,  
Where courteous Knights and Ladies most did won  
Of all on earth, and made a matchless paragon.   

But 'mongst them all was none more courteous Knight,  
Then Calidore, beloved over all,  
In whom it seems, that gentleness of sprite  
And manners mild were planted natural;  
To which he adding comely guise withal,  
And gracious speech, did steal men's hearts away.  
Nathlesse thereto he was full stout and tall,  
And well approved in batteilous affray,  
That him did much renown, and far his fame display.   

Ne was there Knight, ne was there Lady found  
In Fairy court, but him did dear embrace,  
For his fair usage and conditions sound,  
The which in all men's liking gained place,  
And with the greatest purchased greatest grace:  
Which he could wisely use, and well apply,  
To please the best, and th'evil to embase.  
For he loathed leasing, and base flattery,  
And loved simple truth and steadfast hovesty.   

And now he was in travel on his way,  
Upon an hard adventure sore bestead,  
Whenas by chance he met upon a day  
With Artegall, returning yet half sad  
From his late conquest, which he gotten had.  
Who whenas each of other had a sight,  
They knew themselves, and both their persons rad:  
When Calidore thus first; Hail noblest Knight  
Of all this day on ground, that breathen living sprite.   

Now tell, if please you, of the good success,  
Which ye have had in your late enterprise.  
To whom Sir Artegall 'gan to express  
His whole exploit, and valorous emprize,  
In order as it did to him arise.  
Now happy man (said then Sir Calidore)  
Which have so goodly, as ye can devise,  
Achieved so hard a quest, as few before;  
That shall you most renowned make for evermore.   

But where ye ended have, now I begin  
To tread an endless trace, withouten guide,  
Or good direction, how to enter in,  
Or how to issue forth in ways untryde,  
In perils strange, in labours long and wide,  
In which although good Fortune me befall,  
Yet shall it not by none be testifyde.  
What is that quest (quoth then Sir Artegall)  
That you into such perils presently doth call?   

The Blattant Beast (quoth he) I do pursue,  
And through the world incessantly do chase,  
Till I him overtake, or else subdue:  
Yet know I not or how, or in what place  
To find him out, yet still I forward trace.  
What is that Blattant Beast? (then he replied)  
It is a Monster bred of hellish race,  
(Than answered he) which often hath annoyed  
Good Knights and Ladies true, and many else destroyed.   

Of Cerberus whilom he was begot,  
And fell Chimaera in her darksome den,  
Through fowl commixture of his filthy blot;  
Where he was fostered long in Stygian fen,  
Till he to perfect ripeness grew, and then  
Into this wicked world he forth was sent,  
To be the plague and scourge of wretched men:  
Whom with vile tongue and venomous intent  
He sore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly torment.   

Then since the salvage Island I did leave  
Said Artegall, I such a Beast did see,  
The which did seem a thousand tongues to have,  
That all in spite and malice did agree,  
With which he bayd and loudly barked at me,  
As if that he attonce would me devour.  
But I that knew myself from peril free,  
Did nought regard his malice nor his power,  
But he the more his wicked poison forth did pour.   

That surely is that Beast (said Calidore)  
Which I pursue, of whom I am right glad  
To hear these tidings, which of none afore  
Through all my weary travel I have had:  
Yet now some hope your words unto me add.  
Now God you speed (quoth then Sir Artegall)  
And keep your body from the danger dread:  
For ye have much ado to deal withal,  
So both took goodly leave, and parted several.   

Sir Calidore thence traveled not long,  
When as by chance a comely Squire he found,  
That through some more mighty enemies wrong,  
Both hand and foot unto a tree was bound:  
Who seeing him from far, with piteous sound  
Of his shrill cries him called to his aid.  
To whom approaching, in that painful stound  
When he him saw, for no demands he staid,  
But first him losde, and afterwards thus to him said.   

Unhappy Squire, what hard mishap thee brought  
Into this bay of peril and disgrace?  
What cruel hand thy wretched thraldom wrought,  
And thee captived in this shameful place?  
To whom he answered thus; My hapless case  
Is not occasioned through my misdesert,  
But through misfortune, which did me abase  
Unto this shame, and my young hope subvert,  
Ere that I in her guileful trains was well expert.   

Not far from hence, upon yond rocky hill,  
Hard by a straight there stands a castle strong,  
Which doth observe a custom lewd and ill,  
And it hath long mayntaind with mighty wrong:  
For may no Knight nor Lady pass along  
That way, (and yet they needs must pass that way,)  
By reason of the straight, and rocks among,  
But they that Lady's locks do shave away,  
And that knight's beard for toll, which they for passage pay   

A shameful use as ever I did hear,  
Said Calidore, and to be overthrown.  
But by what means did they at first it rear,  
And for what cause, tell if thou have it known.  
Said then that Squire: The Lady which doth own  
This Castle, is by name Briana height.  
Then which a prouder Lady liveth none:  
She long time hath dear loved a doughty Knight,  
And sought to win his love by all the means she might.   

His name is Crudor, who through high disdain  
And proud despite of his self pleasing mind,  
Refused hath to yield her love again,  
Until a Mantle she for him do find,  
With beards of Knights and locks of Ladies lynd.  
Which to provide, she hath this Castle dight,  
And therein hath a Seneschal assigned,  
Called Maleffort, a man of much might,  
Who executes her wicked will, with worse despite.   

He this same day, as I that way did come  
With a fair Damsel, my beloved dear,  
In execution of her lawless doom,  
Did set upon us flying both for fear:  
For little boots against him hand to rear.  
Me first he took, unable to withstand;  
And whiles he her pursued every where,  
Till his return unto this tree he bond:  
Ne wot I surely, whether her he yet have fond.   

Thus whiles they spoke, they heard a rueful shrieke  
Of one loud crying, which they straight way guest,  
That it was she, the which for help did seek.  
though looking up unto the cry to lest,  
They saw that Carl from far, with hand unblessed  
Hailing that maiden by the yellow hear,  
That all her garments from her snowy breast,  
And from her head her locks he nigh did tear,  
Ne would he spare for pity, nor refrain for fear.   

Which heinous sight when Calidore beheld,  
eftsoons he loosed that Squire, and so him left,  
With hearts dismay and inward dolour quelled,  
For to pursue that villain, which had reft  
That piteous spoil by so injurious theft.  
Whom overtaking, loud to him he cried;  
Leave faytor quickly that misgotten waif  
To him, that hath it better justified,  
And turn thee soon to him, of whom thou art defied.   

Who hearkening to that voice, himself upreard,  
And seeing him so fiercely towards make,  
Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard,  
But rather more enraged for those words sake;  
And with stern countenance thus unto him spoke.  
Art thou the caitiff, that defyest me,  
And for this Maid, whose party thou dost take,  
Wilt give thy beard, though it but little be?  
Yet shall it not her locks for ransom fro me free.   

With that he fiercely at him flew, and laid  
On hideous strokes with most importune might,  
That oft he made him stagger as vnstayd,  
And oft recuile to shun his sharp despite.  
But Calidore, that was well skilled in fight,  
Him long forbore, and still his spirit spared,  
Lying in wait, how him he damage might.  
But when he felt him shrink, and come to ward,  
He greater grew, and 'gan to drive at him more hard.   

Like as a water stream, whose swelling source  
Shall drive a Mill, within strong banks is penned,  
And long restrained of his ready course;  
So soon as passage is unto him lent,  
Breaks forth, and makes his way more violent.  
Such was the fury of Sir Calidore,  
When once he felt his foeman to relent;  
He fiercely him pursued, and pressed sore,  
Who as he still decayed, so he increased more.   

The heavy burden of whose dreadful might  
When as the Carl no longer could sustain,  
His heart 'gan faint, and straight he took his flight  
Toward the Castle, where if need constrain,  
His hope of refuge used to remain.  
Whom Calidore perceiving fast to fly,  
He him pursued and chased through the plain,  
That he for dread of death 'gan loud to cry  
Unto the ward, to open to him hastily.   

They from the wall him seeing so aghast,  
The gate soon opened to receive him in,  
But Calidore did follow him so fast,  
That even in the Porch he him did win,  
And cloven his head asunder to his chin.  
The carkarsse tumbling down within the door,  
Did choke the entrance with a lump of sin,  
That it could not be shut, whilst Calidore  
Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore.   

With that the rest, the which the Castle kept,  
About him flocked, and hard at him did lay;  
But he them all from him full lightly swept,  
As doth a steer, in heat of summers day.  
With his long tail the bryzes brush away.  
Thence passing forth, into the hall he came,  
Where of the Lady self in sad dismay  
He was ymett, who with uncomely shame  
'Gan him salute, and fowl upbraid with faulty blame.   

False traitor Knight, (said she) no Knight at all,  
But scorn of arms that hast with guilty hand  
Murdered my men, and slain my Seneschal;  
Now comest thou to rob my house unmanned,  
And spoil myself, that can not thee withstand?  
Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight  
Than thou, that shall thy treason understand,  
Will it avenge, and pay thee with thy right:  
And if none do, yet shame shall thee with shame requite   

Much was the Knight abashed at that word;  
Yet answered thus; Not unto me the shame,  
But to the shameful doer it afford.  
Blood is no blemish; for it is no blame  
To punish those, that do deserve the same;  
But they that break bands of civility,  
And wicked customs make, those do defame  
Both noble arms and gentle courtesy.  
No greater shame to man then inhumanity.   

Then do yourself, for dread of shame, forego  
This evil manner, which ye here maintain,  
And do in stead thereof mild curtsy show  
To all, that pass. That shall you glory gain  
More than his love, which thus ye seek t'obtain.  
Wherewith all full of wrath, she thus replied;  
Vile recreant, know that I do much disdain  
Thy courteous lore, that dost my love deride,  
Who scorns thy idle scoff, and bids thee be defied.   

To take defiance at a Lady's word  
(Quoth he) I hold it no indignity;  
But were he here, that would it with his sword  
abet, perhaps he moat it dear abye.  
Cowherd (quoth she) were not, that thou wouldst fly,  
Ere thou do come, he should be soon in place.  
If I do so, (said he) than liberty  
I leave to you, for aye me to disgrace  
With all those shames, that erst ye spoke me to deface.   

With that a Dwarf she called to her in haste,  
And taking from her hand a ring of gold,  
A privy token, which between them past,  
Bade him to fly with all the speed he could,  
To Crudor, and desire him that he would  
Vouchsafe to rescue her against a Knight,  
Who through strong power had now herself in hold,  
Having late slain her Seneschal in fight,  
And all her people murdered with outrageous might.   

The Dwarf his way did haste, and went all night;  
But Calidore did with her there abide  
The coming of that so much threatened Knight,  
Where that discourteous Dame with scornful pride,  
And fowl entreaty him indignifyde,  
That iron heart it hardly could sustain:  
Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guide,  
Did well endure her womanish disdain,  
And did himself from frail impatience refrain.   

The morrow next, before the lamp of light,  
Above the earth upreard his flaming head,  
The Dwarf, which bore that message to her knight,  
Brought answer back, that ere he tasted bread,  
He would her succour, and alive or dead  
Her foe deliver up into her hand:  
Therefore he willed her do away all dread;  
And that of him she moat assured stand,  
He sent to her his bassenet, as a faithful band.   

Thereof full blithe the Lady straight became,  
And 'gan t'augment her bitterness much more:  
Yet no whit more appalled for the same,  
Ne ought dismayed was Sir Calidore,  
But rather did more cheerful seem therefore.  
And having soon his arms about him dight,  
Did issue forth, to meet his foe afore;  
Where long he stayed not, when as a Knight  
He spied come pricking on with all his power and might.   

Well weaned he straight, that he should be the same,  
Which took in hand her quarrel to maintain;  
Ne stayed to ask if it were he by name,  
But couched his spear, and ran at him amain.  
They been ymett in midst of the plain,  
With so fell fury, and dispiteous force,  
That neither could the others stroke sustain,  
But rudely rolled to ground both man and horse,  
Neither of other taking pity nor remorse.   

But Calidore uprose again full light,  
Whiles yet his foe lay fast in senseless sound,  
Yet would he not him hurt, although he might:  
For shame he weaned a sleeping wight to wound.  
But when Briana saw that dreary stound,  
There where she stood upon the Castle wall,  
She deemed him sure to have been dead on ground,  
And made such piteous mourning therewithal,  
That from the battlements she ready seemed to fall.   

Nathlesse at length himself he did uprear  
In lustless wise, as if against his will,  
Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,  
And 'gan to stretch his limbs; which feeling ill  
Of his late fall, a while he rested still:  
But when he saw his foe before in view,  
He shook off luskishness, and courage chill  
Kindling a fresh, 'gan battle to renew,  
To prove if better foot than horseback would ensue.   

There then began a fearful cruel fray  
Betwixt them two, for mastery of might.  
For both were wondrous practic in that play,  
And passing well expert in single fight,  
And both inflamed with furious despite:  
Which as it still increased, so still increased  
Their cruel strokes and terrible affright;  
Ne once for ruth their rigour they released,  
Ne once to breath a while their anger's tempest ceased.   

Thus long they traced and traversed to and fro,  
And tried all ways, how each mote entrance make  
Into the life of his malignant foe;  
They hewed their helms, and plates asunder broke,  
As they had potshares been; for nought moat slake  
Their greedy vengeances, but gory blood,  
That at the last like to a purple lake  
Of bloody gore congealed about them stood,  
Which from their riven sides forth gushed like a flood.   

At length it chanced, that both their hands on high,  
At once did heave, with all their power and might,  
Thinking the utmost of their force to try,  
And prove the final fortune of the fight:  
But Calidore, that was more quick of sight,  
And nimbler handed, than his enemy,  
Prevented him before his stroke could light,  
And on the helmet smote him formerly,  
That made him stoop to ground with meek humility.   

And ere he could recover foot again,  
He following that fair advantage fast,  
His stroke redoubled with such might and main,  
That him upon the ground he groveling cast;  
And leaping to him light, would have unlast  
His Helm, to make unto his vengeance way.  
Who seeing, in what danger he was placed,  
Cried out, Ah mercy Sir, do me not slay,  
But save my life, which lot before your foot doth lay.   

With that his mortal hand a while he stayed,  
And having somewhat calmed his wrathful heat  
With goodly patience, thus he to him said;  
And is the boast of that proud Ladies threat,  
That menaced me from the field to beat,  
Now brought to this? By this now may ye learn,  
Strangers no more so rudely to entreat,  
But put away proud look, and usage stern,  
The which shall nought to you but foul dishonour yearn.   

For nothing is more blameful to a knight,  
That curtsy doth as well as arms profess,  
How ever strong and fortunate in fight,  
Then the reproach of pride and cruelness.  
In vain he seeketh others to suppress,  
Who hath not learned himself first to subdue:  
All flesh is frail, and full of fickleness,  
Subject to fortune's chance, still changing new;  
What haps to day to me, to morrow may to you.   

Who will not mercy unto others show,  
How can he mercy ever hope to have?  
To pay each with his own is right and due.  
Yet since ye mercy now do need to crave,  
I will it grant, your hopeless life to save;  
With these conditions, which I will propound:  
First, that ye better shall yourself behave  
Unto all errant knights, whereso on ground;  
Next that ye Ladies aid in every stead and stound.   

The wretched man, that all this while did dwell  
In dread of death, his hests did gladly hear,  
And promised to perform his precept well,  
And whatsoever else he would reqire.  
So suffering him to rise, he made him swear  
By his own sword, and by the cross thereon,  
To take Briana for his loving fere,  
Withouten dower or composition;  
But to release his former foul condition.   

All which accepting, and with faithful oath  
Binding himself most firmly to obey,  
He up arose, how ever lief or loath,  
And swore to him true fealty for aye.  
Then forth he called from sorrowful dismay  
The sad Briana, which all this beheld:  
Who coming forth yet full of late affray,  
Sir Calidore upcheard, and to her teld  
All this accord, to which he Crudor had compelled.   

Whereof she now more glad, then sorry erst,  
All overcome with infinite affect,  
For his exceeding courtesy, that pierced  
Her stubborn heart with inward deep effect,  
Before his feet herself she did project,  
And him adoring as her lives dear Lord,  
With all due thanks, and dutiful respect,  
Herself acknowledged bound for that accord,  
By which he had to her both life and love restored.   

So all returning to the Castle glad,  
Most joyfully she them did entertain,  
Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,  
To show her thankful mind and meaning feign,  
By all the means she moat it best explain:  
And after all, unto Sir Calidore  
She freely gave that Castle for his pain,  
And herself bound to him for evermore;  
So wondrously now changed, from that she was afore.   

But Calidore himself would not retain  
Nor land nor fee, for hire of his good deed,  
But gave them straight unto that Squire again,  
Whom from her Seneschal he lately freed,  
And to his damsel as their rightful meed,  
For recompense of all their former wrong:  
There he remained with them right well agreed,  
Till of his wounds he waxed hole and strong,  
And then to his first quest he passed forth along.    

Cant. II.  
Calidore sees young Tristram slay  
A proud discourteous knight,  
He makes him Squire, and of him learns  
his state and present plight.  

WHat virtue is so fitting for a knight,  
Or for a Lady, whom a knight should love,  
As Courtesy, to bear themselves aright  
To all of each degree, as doth behove?  
For whether they be placed high above,  
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know  
Their good, that none them rightly may reprove  
Of rudeness, for not yielding what they own:  
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.   

Thereto great help dame Nature self doth lend:  
For some so goodly gracious are by kind,  
That every action doth them much commend,  
And in the eyes of men great liking find;  
Which others, that have greater skill in mind,  
Though they enforce themselves, cannot attain.  
For every thing, to which one is inclined,  
Doth best become, and greatest grace doth gain:  
Yet praise likewise deserve good thews, enforced with pain.   

That well in courteous Calidore appears,  
Whose every act and deed, that he did say,  
Was like enchantment, that through both the eyes,  
And both the ears did steal the heart away.  
He now again is on his former way,  
To follow his first quest, when as he spied  
A tall young man from thence not far away,  
Fight on foot, as well he him descried,  
Against an armed knight, that did on horseback ride.   

And them beside a Lady fair he saw,  
Standing alone on foot, in foul array:  
To whom himself he hastily did draw,  
To weet the cause of so uncomely fray,  
And to departed them, if so be he may.  
But ere he came in place, that youth had killed  
That armed knight, that low on ground he lay;  
Which when he saw, his heart was inly child  
With great amazement, & his thought with wonder filled.   

Him steadfastly he marked, and saw to be  
A goodly youth of amiable grace,  
Yet but a slender slip, that scarce did see  
Yet seventeen years, but tall and fair of face  
That sure he deemed him borne of noble race.  
All in a woodman's jacket he was clad  
Of lincoln green, belayed with silver lace;  
And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,  
And by his side his hunter's horn he hanging had.   

Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,  
Pinked upon gold, and paled part per part,  
As then the guise was for each gentle swain;  
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,  
Whose fellow he before had sent apart;  
And in his left he held a sharp boar-spear,  
With which he want to launch the salvage heart  
Of many a Lion, and of many a Bear  
That first unto his hand in chase did happen near.   

Whom Calidore a while well having viewed,  
At length bespoke; what means this, gentle swain?  
Why hath thy hand too bold itself imbrued  
In blood of knight, the which by thee is slain,  
By thee no knight; which arms impugneth plain?  
Certes (said he) loath were I to have broken  
The law of arms; yet break it should again,  
Rather than let myself of wight be strooken,  
So long as these two arms were able to be wroken.   

For not I him as this his Lady here  
May witness well, did offer first to wrong,  
Ne surely thus unarmed I likely were;  
But he me first, through pride and puissance strong  
Assailed, not knowing what to arms doth long.  
Perdie great blame, (than said Sir Calidore)  
For armed knight a wight unarmed to wrong.  
But then aread, thou gentle child, wherefore  
Betwixt you two began this strife and stern uproar.   

That shall I soothe (said he) to you declare.  
I whose unryper years are yet unfit  
For thing of weight, or work of greater care,  
Do spend my days, and bend my careless wit  
To salvage chase, where I thereon may hit  
In all this forest, and wild woody rain:  
Where, as this day I was enraunging it,  
I chanced to meet this knight, who there lies slain,  
Together with this Lady, passing on the plain.   

The knight, as ye did see, on horseback was,  
And this his Lady, (that him ill became,)  
On her fair feet by his horse side did pass  
Through thick and thin, unfit for any Dame.  
Yet not content, more to increase his shame,  
When so she lagged, as she needs mote so,  
He with his spear, that was to him great blame,  
Would thump her forward, and enforce to go,  
Weeping to him in vain, and making piteous woe.   

Which when I saw, as they me passed by,  
Much was I moved in indignant mind,  
And 'gan to blame him for such cruelty  
Towards a Lady, whom with usage kind  
He rather should have taken up behind.  
Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdain,  
took in foul scorn, that I such fault did find,  
And me in am thereof reviled again,  
Threatening to chastise me, as doth t'a child pertain.   

Which I no less disdaining, back returned  
His scornful taunts unto his teeth again,  
That he straight way with haughty choler burned,  
And with his spear struck me one stroke or twain;  
Which I enforced to bear though to my pain,  
Cast to requite, and with a slender dart,  
Fellow of this I bear, thrown not in vain,  
Struck him, as seemeth, underneath the heart,  
That through the wound his spirit shortly did departed.   

Much did Sir Calidore admire his speech  
Tempered so well, but more admired the stroke  
That through the mails had made so strong a breach  
Into his heart, and had so sternly wroke  
His wrath on him, that first occasion broke.  
Yet rested not, but further 'gan inquire  
Of that same Lady, whether what he spoke,  
Were sooth so, and that th'unrighteous ire  
Of her own knight, had given him his own due hire.   

Of all which, when as she could nought deny,  
But cleared that stripling of th'imputed blame,  
Said then Sir Calidore; neither will I  
Him charge with guilt, but rather do quite claim:  
For what he spoke, for you he spoke it, Dame;  
And what he did, he did himself to save:  
Against both which that knight wrought knightlesse shame.  
For knights and all men this by nature have,  
Towards all womankind them kindly to behave.   

But sith that he is gone irrevocable,  
Please it you Lady, to us to aread,  
What cause could make him so dishonourable,  
To drive you so on foot unfit to tread,  
And lackey by him, 'gainst all womanhood?  
Certes Sir knight (said she) full loath I were  
To raise a living blame against the dead:  
But since it me concerns, myself to clear,  
I will the truth discover, as it chanced whylere.   

This day, as he and I together road  
Upon our way, to which we weren bent,  
We chanced to come foreby a covert glade  
Within a wood, whereas a Lady gent  
Sat with a knight in joyous iolliment,  
Of their frank loves, free from all jealous spies:  
Fair was the Lady sure, that moat content  
An heart, not carried with too curious eyes,  
And unto him did show all lovely courtesyes.   

Whom when my knight did see so lovely fair,  
He inly 'gan her lover to envy,  
And wish, that he part of his spoil might share.  
Whereto when as my presence he did spy  
To be a let, he bade me by and by  
For to alight: but when as I was loath,  
My loves own part to leave so suddenly,  
He with strong hand down from his steed me throw'th,  
And with presumptuous power against that knight straight goeth.   

Unarmed all was the knight, as then more meet  
For Lady's service, and for loves delight,  
Then fearing any foeman there to meet:  
Whereof he taking odds, straight bids him dight  
Himself to yield his love, or else to fight.  
Whereat the other starting up dismayed,  
Yet boldly answered, as he rightly might;  
To leave his love he should be ill apaid,  
In which he had good right 'gainst all, that it gainsaid.   

Yet since he was not presently in plight  
Her to defend, or his to justify,  
He him requested, as he was a knight,  
To lend him day his better right to try,  
Or stay till he his arms, which were thereby,  
Might lightly fetch. But he was fierce and hot,  
Ne time would give, nor any terms abye,  
But at him flew, and with his spear him smote;  
From which to think to save himself, it booted not.   

Mean while his Lady, which this outrage saw,  
Whilst they together for the quarry strove,  
Into the covert did herself withdraw,  
And closely hid herself within the grove.  
My knight hers soon, as seems, to danger drove  
And left sore wounded: but when her he missed,  
He wox half mad, and in that rape 'gan rove  
And range through all the wood, where so he witted  
She hidden was, and sought her so long, as him list.   

But when as her he by no means could find,  
After long search and chauff, he turned back  
Unto the place, where me he left behind:  
There 'gan he me to curse and ban, for lack  
Of that fair booty, and with bitter wrack  
To wreak on me the guilt of his own wrong.  
Of all which I yet glad to bear the pack,  
strove to appease him, and persuaded long:  
But still his passion grew more violent and strong.   

Then as it were t'avenge his wrath on me,  
When forward we should far, he flat refused  
To take me up (as this young man did see)  
Upon his steed, for no just cause accused,  
But forced to troth on foot, and foul misused,  
Pounching me with the butt end of his spear,  
In vain complaining, to be so abused.  
For he regarded neither plaint nor tear,  
But more enforced my pain, the more my plaints to hear.   

So passed we, till this young man us met,  
And being moved with pity of my plight,  
Spoke, as was meet, for ease of my regret:  
Whereof befell, what now is in your sight.  
Now sure (than said Sir Calidore) and right  
Me seems, that him befell by his own fault:  
Or through support of countenance proud and haut  
To wrong the weaker, oft falls in his own assault.   

Then turning back unto that gentle boy,  
Which had himself so stoutly well acquit;  
Seeing his face so lovely stern and coy,  
And hearing th'answers of his pregnant wit,  
He praised it much, and much admired it;  
That sure he weaned him borne of noble blood,  
With whom those graces did so goodly fit:  
And when he long had him beholding stood,  
He burst into these words, as to him seemed good.   

Fair gentle swain, and yet as stout as fair,  
That in these woods amongst the Nymphs dost won,  
Which daily may to thy sweet looks repair,  
As they are wont unto Latona's son,  
After his chase on woody Cynthus done:  
Well may I certes such an one thee read,  
As by thy worth thou worthily hast won,  
Or surely borne of some Heroic seed,  
That in thy face appears and gracious goodly head.   

But should it not displease thee it to tell;  
(Unless thou in these woods thyself conceal,  
For love amongst the woody Gods to dwell;)  
I would thyself require thee to reveal,  
For dear affection and unfeigned zeal,  
Which to thy noble parsonage I bear,  
And wish thee grow in worship and great weal.  
For since the day that arms I first did rear,  
I never saw in any greater hope appear.   

To whom then thus the noble youth; may be  
Sir knight, that by discovering my estate,  
Harm may arise unwitting unto me;  
Nevertheless, sith ye so courteous seemed late,  
To you I will not fear it to relate.  
Then wot ye that I am a Briton borne,  
Son of a King, how ever through fate  
Or fortune I my country have forlorn,  
And lost the crown, which should my head by right adorn.   

And Tristram is my name, the only heir  
Of good king Meliogras which did rain  
In cornwall, till that he through lives despair  
Untimely died, before I did attain  
Ripe years of reason, my right to maintain.  
After whose death, his brother seeing me  
An infant, weak a kingdom to sustain,  
Upon him took the royal high degree,  
And sent me, where him list, instructed for to be.   

The widow Queen my mother, which then height  
Fair Emiline, conceiving then great fear  
Of my frail safety, resting in the might  
Of him, that did the kingly Sceptre bear,  
Whose jealous dread enduring not a pear,  
Is wont to cut off all, that doubt may breed,  
Thought best away me to remove somewhere  
Into some foreign land, where as no need  
Of dreaded danger might his doubtful humour feed.   

So taking counsel of a wise man red,  
She was by him advised, to send me quite  
Out of the country, wherein I was bred,  
The which the fertile Lioness is height,  
Into the land of Fairy, where no wight  
Should weet of me, nor work me any wrong  
To whose wise read she hearkening, sent me straight  
Into this land, where I have word thus long,  
Since I was ten years old, now grown to stature strong.   

All which my days I have not lewdly spent,  
Nor spilled the blossom of my tender years  
In ydlesse, but as was convenient,  
Have trained been with many noble feres  
In gentle thews, and such like seemly leres.  
'mongst which my most delight hath always been,  
To hunt the salvage chase amongst my peers,  
Of all that rangeth in the forest green;  
Of which none is to me unknown, that e'er was seen.   

Ne is there hawk, which mantleth her on perch,  
Whether high towering, or accosting low,  
But I the measure of her flight do search,  
And all her prey, and all her diet know.  
Such be our joys, which in these forests grow:  
Only the use of arms, which most I joy,  
And fitteth most for noble swain to know,  
I have not tasted yet, yet past a boy,  
And being now high time these strong joints to employ.   

Therefore, good Sir, sith now occasion fit  
Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldom may,  
Let me this crave, unworthy though of it,  
That ye will make me Squire without delay,  
That from henceforth in batteilous array  
I may bear arms, and learn to use them right;  
The rather since that fortune hath this day  
Given to me the spoil of this dead knight,  
These goodly gilded arms, which I have won in fight.   

All which when well Sir Calidore had heard,  
Him much more now, then erst he 'gan admire,  
For the rare hope which in his years appeared,  
And thus replied; fair child, the high desire  
To love of arms, which in you doth aspire,  
I may not certes without blame deny;  
But rather wish, that some more noble hire,  
(Though none more noble than is chivalry,)  
I had, you to reward with greater dignity.   

There him he caused to kneel, and made to swear  
Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies all,  
And never to be recreant, for fear  
Of peril, or of aught that might befall:  
So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call.  
Full glad and joyous then young Tristram grew,  
Like as a flower, whose silken leaves small,  
Long shut up in the bud from heavens view,  
At length breaks forth, and broad displays his smile hue.   

Thus when they long had treated to and fro,  
And Calidore betook him to departed,  
Child Tristram prayed, that he with him might go  
On his adventure, vowing not to start,  
But wait on him in every place and part.  
Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight,  
And greatly joyed at his so noble heart,  
In hope he sure would prove a doughty knight:  
Yet for the time this answer he to him behight.   

Glad would I surely be, thou courteous Squire,  
To have thy presence in my present quest,  
That moat thy kindled courage set on fire,  
And flame forth honour in thy noble breast:  
But I am bound by vow, which I professed  
To my dread Sovereign, when I it assayed,  
That in achievement of her high behest,  
I should no creature join unto mine aid,  
For thy I may not grant, that ye so greatly prayed.   

But since this Lady is all desolate,  
And needeth safeguard now upon her way,  
Ye may do well in this her needful state  
To secure her, from danger of dismay;  
That thankful guerdon may to you repay.  
The noble imp of such new service fain,  
It gladly did accept, as he did say.  
So taking courteous leave, they parted twain,  
And Calidore forth passed to his former pain.   

But Tristram then despoiling that dead knight  
Of all those goodly implements of praise,  
Long fed his greedy eyes with the fair sight  
Of the bright metal, shining like Sun rays;  
Handling and turning them a thousand ways.  
And after having them upon him dight,  
He took that Lady, and her up did raise  
Upon the steed of her own late dead knight,  
So with her marched forth, as she did him behight.   

There to their fortune leave we them awhile,  
And turn we back to good Sir Calidore;  
Who ere he thence had traveild many a mile,  
Came to the place, whereas ye heard afore  
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded sore  
Another knight in his despiteous pride;  
There he that knight found lying on the flore,  
With many wounds full perilous and wide,  
That all his garments, and the grass in vermeill died.   

And there beside him sat upon the ground  
His woeful Lady, piteously complaining  
With loud laments that most unlucky stound,  
And her sad self with careful hand constraining  
To wipe his wounds, and ease their bitter paining.  
Which sorry sight when Calidore did view  
With heavy eyen, from tears uneath refraining,  
His mighty heart their mournful case can rue,  
And for their better comfort to them nigher drew.   

Then speaking to the Lady, thus he said:  
Ye doleful Dame, let not your grief impeach  
To tell, what cruel hand hath thus arrayed  
This knight unarmed, with so unknightly breach  
Of arms, that if I yet him nigh may reach,  
I may avenge him of so foul despite.  
The Lady hearing his so courteous speech,  
'Gan rear her eyes as to the cheerful light,  
And from her sorry heart few heavy words forth sight.   

In which she show'd, how that discourteous knight  
(Whom Tristram slew) them in that shadow found,  
joying together in unblamed delight,  
And him unarmed, as now he lay on ground,  
Charged with his spear and mortally did wound,  
Withouten cause, but only her to reave  
From him, to whom she was for ever bound:  
Yet when she fled into that covert grieve,  
He her not finding, both them thus nigh dead did leave.   

When Calidore this rueful story had  
Well understood, he 'gan of her demand,  
What manner wight he was, and how clad,  
Which had this outrage wrought with wicked hand.  
She then, like as she best could understand,  
Him thus described, to be of stature large,  
Clad all in gilded arms, with azure band  
Quartered athwart, and bearing in his targe  
A Lady on rough waves, rowed in a summer barge.   

Then 'gan Sir Calidore to guess straight way  
By many signs, which she described had,  
That this was he, whom Tristram erst did slay,  
And to her said; Dame be no longer sad:  
For he, that hath your Knight so ill bestead,  
Is now himself in much more wretched plight;  
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,  
The meed of his desert for that despite,  
Which to yourself he wrought, & to your loved knight.   

Therefore fair Lady lay aside this grief,  
Which ye have gathered to your gentle heart,  
For that displeasure; and think what relief  
Were best devise for this your lovers smart,  
And how ye may him hence, and to what part  
Convey to be recured. She thanked him dear,  
Both for that news he did to her impart,  
And for the courteous care, which he did bear  
Both to her love; and to herself in that sad drear.   

Yet could she not devise by any wit,  
How thence she might convey him to some place.  
For him to trouble she it thought unfit,  
That was a stranger to her wretched case;  
And him to bear, she thought it thing too base.  
Which when as he perceived, he thus bespoke;  
Fair Lady let it not you seem disgrace,  
To bear this burden on your dainty back;  
Myself will bear a part, coportion of your pack.   

So off he did his shield, and downward laid  
Upon the ground, like to an hollow bear;  
And pouring balm, which he had long puruayd,  
Into his wounds, him up thereon did rear,  
And twixt them both with parted pains did bear,  
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was done.  
Thence they him carried to a Castle near,  
In which a worthy ancient Knight did won:  
Where what ensued, shall in next Canto be begun.    

Cant. III.  
Calidore brings Priscilla home,  
Pursues the Blatant Beast:  
Saves Serena whilst Calepine  
By Turpine is oppressed.  

TRue is, that whilom that good Poet said,  
The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known.  
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayed,  
As by his manners, in which plain is shown  
Of what degree and what race he is grown.  
For seldom seen, a trotting Stallion get  
An ambling Colt, that is his proper own:  
So seldom seen, that one in baseness set  
Doth noble courage show, with courteous manners met.   

But evermore contrary hath been tried,  
That gentle blood will gentle manners breed;  
As well may be in Calidore descried,  
By late ensample of that courteous deed,  
Done to that wounded Knight in his great need,  
Whom on his back he bore, till he him brought  
Unto the Castle where they had decreed.  
There of the Knight, the which that Castle ought,  
To make abode that night he greatly was besought.   

He was to weet a man of full ripe years,  
That in his youth had been of much might,  
And borne great sway in arms amongst his pears:  
But now weak age had dimmed his candle light.  
Yet was he courteous still to every wight,  
And loved all that did to arms incline.  
And was the father of that wounded Knight,  
Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine,  
And Aldus was his name, and his sons Aladine.   

Who when he saw his son so ill bedight,  
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a Bear,  
By a fair Lady, and a stranger Knight,  
Was inly touched with compassion dear,  
And dear affection of so doleful drear,  
That he these words burst forth; Ah sorry boy,  
Is this the hope that to my hoary hear  
Thou brings? aye me, is this the timely joy,  
Which I expected long, now turned to sad annoy?   

Such is the weakness of all mortal hope;  
So tickle is the state of earthly things,  
That ere they come unto their aimed scope,  
They fall too short of our frail reckonings,  
And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,  
In stead of comfort, which we should embrace:  
This is the state of Keasars' and of Kings.  
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,  
Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case.   

So well and wisely did that good old Knight  
Temper his grief, and turned it to cheer,  
To cheer his guests, whom he had stayed that night,  
And make their welcome to them well appear:  
That to Sir Calidore was easy gear;  
But that fair Lady would be cheered for nought,  
But sighed and sorrowed for her lover dear,  
And inly did afflict her pensive thought,  
With thinking to what case her name should now be brought.   

For she was daughter to a noble Lord,  
Which dwelled thereby, who sought her to affy  
To a great pere; but she did disaccord,  
Ne could her liking to his love apply,  
But loved this fresh young Knight, who dwelled her nigh,  
The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne,  
And of less livelood and ability,  
Yet full of valour, the which did adorn  
His meanness much, & make her th'others riches scorn.   

So having both found fit occasion,  
They met together in that luckless glade;  
Where that proud Knight in his presumption  
The gentle Aladine did erst invade,  
Being unarmed, and set in secret shade.  
Whereof she now bethinking, 'gan t'aduize,  
How great a hazard she at erst had made  
Of her good fame, and further 'gan devise,  
How she the blame might salve with coloured disguise.   

But Calidore with all good courtesy  
Feigned her to frolic, and to put away  
The pensive fit of her melancholy;  
And that old Knight by all means did assay,  
To make them both as merry as he may.  
So they the evening past, till time of rest,  
When Calidore in seemly good array  
Unto his bower was brought, and there undressed,  
Did sleep all night through weary travel of his quest.   

But fair Priscilla (so that Lady height)  
Would to no bed, nor take no kindly sleep,  
But by her wounded love did watch all night,  
And all the night for bitter anguish weep,  
And with her tears his wounds did wash and steep.  
So well she washed them, and so well she watched him,  
That of the deadly swound, in which full deep  
He drenched was, she at the length dispatched him,  
And drove away the stound, which mortally attached him.   

The morrow next, when day 'gan to uplooke,  
He also 'gan uplooke with dreary eye,  
Like one that out of deadly dream awoke:  
Where when he saw his fair Priscilla by,  
He deeply sighed, and groaned inwardly,  
To think of this ill state, in which she stood,  
To which she for his sake had wittingly  
Now brought herself, and blamed her noble blood:  
For first, next after life, he tendered her good.   

Which she perceiving, did with plenteous tears  
His care more than her own compassionate,  
Forgetful of her own, to mind his fears:  
So both conspiring, 'gan to intimate  
Each others grief with zeal affectionate,  
And twixt them twain with equal care to cast,  
How to save hole her hazarded estate;  
For which the only help now left them last  
Seemed to be Calidore: all other helps were passed.   

Him they did deem, as sure to them he seemed,  
A courteous Knight, and full of faithful trust:  
Therefore to him their cause they best esteemed  
Whole to commit, and to his dealing just.  
Early, so soon as Titan's beams forth burst  
Through the thick clouds, in which they steeped lay  
All night in darkness, dulled with iron rust.  
Calidore rising up as fresh as day,  
'Gan freshly him address unto his former way.   

But first him seemed fit, that wounded Knight  
To visit, after this nights perilous pass,  
And to salute him, if he were in plight,  
And eke that Lady his fair lovely lass.  
There he him found much better than he was,  
And moved speech to him of things of course,  
The anguish of his pain to overpass:  
'mongst which he namely did to him discourse,  
Of former days mishap, his sorrows wicked source.   

Of which occasion Aldine taking hold,  
'Gan break to him the fortunes of his love,  
And all his disaduentures to unfold;  
That Calidore it dearly deep did move.  
In th'end his kindly courtesy to prove,  
He him by all the bands of love besought,  
And as it moat a faithful friend behove,  
To safeconduct his love, and not for aught  
To leave, till to her father's house he had her brought.   

Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight,  
It to perform: so after little stay,  
That she herself had to the journey dight,  
He passed forth with her in fair array,  
Fearless, who ought did think, or aught did say,  
Sith his own thought he knew most clear from wit.  
So as they passed together on their way,  
He can devise this counter-cast of slight,  
To give fair colour to that Lady's cause in sight.   

Straight to the carcase of that Knight he went,  
The cause of all this evil, who was slain  
The day before by just avengement  
Of noble Tristram, where it did remain:  
There he the neck thereof did cut in twain,  
And took with him the head, the sign of shame.  
So forth he passed through that days pain,  
Till to that Lady's father's house he came,  
Most pensive man, through fear, what of his child became.   

There he arriving boldly, did present  
The fearful Lady to her father dear,  
Most perfect pure, and guiltless innocent  
Of blame, as he did on his Knighthood swear,  
Since first he saw her, and did free from fear  
Of a discourteous Knight, who her had reft,  
And by outrageous force away did bear:  
Witness thereof he show'd his head there left,  
And wretched life forlorn for vengement of his theft.   

Most joyful man her sire was her to see,  
And hear th'adventure of her late mischance;  
And thousand thanks to Calidore for fee  
Of his large pains in her deliverance  
Did yield; Ne less the Lady did advance.  
Thus having her restored trustily,  
As he had vowed, some small continuance  
He there did make, and then most carefully  
Unto his first exploit he did himself apply.   

So as he was pursuing of his quest  
He chanced to come whereas a jolly Knight,  
In covert shade himself did safely rest,  
To solace with his Lady in delight:  
His warlike arms he had from him undight;  
For that himself he thought from danger free,  
And far from envious eyes that mote him spite.  
And eke the Lady was full fair to see,  
And courteous withal, becoming her degree.   

To whom Sir Calidore approaching nigh,  
Ere they were well aware of living wight,  
Them much abashed, but more himself thereby,  
That he so rudely did upon them light,  
And troubled had their quiet loves delight.  
Yet since it was his fortune, not his fault,  
Himself thereof he laboured to acquit,  
And pardon craved for his so rash default,  
That he 'gainst courtesy so foully did default.   

With which his gentle words and goodly wit  
He soon allayed that Knights conceived displeasure,  
That he besought him down by him to sit,  
That they moat treat of things abroad at leisure;  
And of adventures, which had in his measure  
Of so long ways to him befallen late.  
So down he sat, and with delightful pleasure  
His long adventures 'gan to him relate,  
Which he endured had through dangerous debate.   

Of which whilst they discoursed both together,  
The fair Serena (so his Lady height)  
Allured with mildness of the gentle wether,  
And pleasance of the place, the which was dight  
With divers flowers distinct with rare delight;  
Wandered about the fields, as liking led  
Her wavering lust after her wandering sight,  
To make a garland to adorn her head,  
Without suspect of ill or dangers hidden dread.   

All suddenly out of the forest near  
The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware,  
Caught her thus loosely wandering here and there,  
And in his wide great mouth away her bare.  
Crying aloud in vain, to show her sad misfare  
Unto the Knights, and calling oft for aid,  
Who with the horror of her hapless care  
Hastily starting up, like men dismayed,  
Ran after fast to rescue the distressed maid.   

The Beast with their pursuit incited more,  
Into the wood was bearing her apace  
For to have spoiled her, when Calidore  
Who was more light of foot and swift in chase,  
Him overtook in midst of his race:  
And fiercely charging him with all his might,  
Forced to forego his prey there in the place,  
And to betake himself to fearful flight;  
For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight.   

Who nevertheless, when he the Lady saw  
There left on ground, though in full evil plight,  
Yet knowing that her Knight now near did draw,  
staid not to secure her in that affright,  
But followed fast the Monster in his flight:  
Through woods and hills he followed him so fast,  
That he nould let him breath nor gather sprite,  
But forced him gape and gasp, with dread aghast,  
As if his lungs and lights were nigh a sunder braced.   

And now by this Sir Calepine (so height)  
Came to the place, where he his Lady found  
In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,  
All in gore blood there tumbled on the ground,  
Having both sides through grypt with grisly wound.  
His weapons soon from him he threw away,  
And stooping down to her in dreary swound,  
Upreared her from the ground, whereon she lay,  
And in his tender arms her forced up to stay.   

So well he did his busy pains apply,  
That the faint spirit he did revoke again,  
To her frail mansion of mortality.  
Then up he took her twixt his arms twain,  
And setting on his steed, her did sustain  
With careful hands softing foot her beside,  
Till to some place of rest they moat attain,  
Where she in safe assurance moat abide,  
Till she recured were of those her wounds wide.   

Now when as Phoebus with his fiery wain  
Unto his Inn began to draw apace;  
though waxing weary of that toilsome pain,  
In traveling on foot so long a space,  
Not wont on foot with heavy arms to trace,  
down in a dale forby a rivers side,  
He chanced to spy a fair and stately place,  
To which he meant his weary steps to guide,  
In hope there for his love some succour to provide.   

But coming to the rivers side, he found  
That hardly passable on foot it was:  
Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,  
Ne witted which way he through the ford moat pass.  
Thus whilst he was in this distressed case,  
Devising what to do, he nigh espied  
An armed Knight approaching to the place,  
With a fair Lady linked by his side,  
The which themselves prepared through the ford to ride   

Whom Calepine saluting (as became)  
Besought of courtesy in that his need,  
For safe conducting of his sickly Dame,  
Through that same perilous ford with better heed,  
To take him up behind upon his steed,  
To whom that other did this taunt return.  
pardie thou peasant Knight, mightst rightly read  
Me then to be full base and evil borne,  
If I would bear behind a burden of such scorn.   

But as thou hast thy steed forlorn with shame,  
So far on foot till thou another gain,  
And let thy Lady likewise do the same,  
Or bear her on thy back with pleasing pain,  
And prove thy manhood on the billows vain.  
With which rude speech his Lady much displeased,  
Did him reprove, yet could him not restrain,  
And would on her own Palfrey him have eased,  
For pity of his Dame, whom she saw so diseased.   

Sir Calepine her thanckt, yet inly wroth  
Against her Knight, her gentleness refused,  
And carelessly into the river goth,  
As in despite to be so fowl abused  
Of a rude churl, whom often he accused  
Of fowl discourtesy, unfit for Knight  
And strongly wading through the waves unused,  
With spear in th'one hand, stayed himself upright,  
With th'other staid his Lady up with steady might.   

And all the while, that same discourteous Knight,  
Stood on the further bank beholding him,  
At whose calamity, for more despite  
He laughed, and mocked to see him like to swim.  
But when as Calepine came to the brim,  
And saw his carriage past that peril well,  
Looking at that same Carl with countenance grim,  
His heart with vengeance inwardly did swell,  
And forth at last did break in speeches sharp and fell.   

Vnknightly Knight, the blemish of that name,  
And blot of all that arms upon them take,  
Which is the badge of honour and of fame,  
Lo I defy thee, and here challenge make,  
That thou for ever do those arms forsake;  
And be for ever held a recreant Knight,  
Unless thou dare for thy dear Lady's sake,  
And for thine own defence on foot alight,  
To justify thy fault 'gainst me in equal fight.   

The dastard, that did hear himself defied,  
Seemed not to weigh his threatfull words at all,  
But laughed them out, as if his greater pride,  
Did scorn the challenge of so base a thrall:  
Or had no courage, or else had no gall.  
So much the more was Calepine offended,  
That him to no revenge he forth could call,  
But both his challenge and himself contemned,  
Ne cared as a coward so to be condemned.   

But he nought weighing what he said or did,  
Turned his steed about another way,  
And with his Lady to the Castle rid,  
Where was his won; ne did the other stay,  
But after went directly as he may,  
For his sick charge some harbour there to seek;  
Where he arriving with the fall of day,  
Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meek,  
And mild entreaty lodging did for her beseek.   

But the rude Porter that no manners had,  
Did shut the gate against him in his face,  
And entrance boldly unto him forbade.  
Nevertheless the Knight now in so needy case,  
'Gan him entreat even with submission base,  
And humbly prayed to let them in that night:  
Who to him answered, that there was no place  
Of lodging fit for any errant Knight,  
Unless that with his Lord he formerly did fight.   

Full loath am I (quoth he) as now at erst,  
When day is spent, and rest us needeth most,  
And that this Lady, both whose sides are pierced  
With wounds, is ready to forego the ghost:  
Ne would I gladly combat with mine host,  
That should to me such courtesy afford,  
Unless that I were thereunto enforced.  
But yet aread to me, how height thy Lord,  
That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the ford.   

His name (quoth he) if that thou list to learn,  
Is height Sir Turpine, one of much might,  
And manhood rare, but terrible and stern  
In all assays to every errant Knight,  
Because of one, that wrought him fowl despite.  
Ill seems (said he) if he so valiant be,  
That he should be so stern to stranger wight:  
For seldom yet did living creature see,  
That courtesy and manhood ever disagree.   

But go thy ways to him, and fro me say,  
That here is at his gate an errant Knight,  
That house-rome craves, yet would be loath t'assay  
The proof of battle, now in doubtful night,  
Or courtesy with rudeness to requite:  
Yet if he needs will fight, crave leave till morn,  
And tell with all, the lamentable plight,  
In which this Lady languisheth forlorn,  
That pity craves, as he of woman was yborn.   

The groom went straight way in, and to his Lord  
Declared the message, which that Knight did move;  
Who sitting with his Lady then at board,  
Not only did not his demand reprove,  
But both himself reviled, and eke his love;  
Albe his Lady, that Blandina height,  
Him of ungentle usage did approve  
And earnestly entreated that they might  
Find favour to be lodged there for that same night.   

Yet would he not persuaded be for aught,  
Ne from his currish will awhit reclaim.  
Which answer when the groom returning, brought  
To Calepine, his heart did inly flame  
With wrathful fury for so foul a shame,  
That he could not thereof avenged be:  
But most for pity of his dearest Dame,  
Whom now in deadly dannger he did see;  
Yet had no means to comfort, nor procure her glee.   

But all in vain; for why, no remedy  
He saw, the present mischief to redress,  
But th'utmost end perforce for to abye,  
Which that night's fortune would for him address.  
So down he took his Lady in distress,  
And laid her underneath a bush to sleep,  
Covered with cold, and wrapped in wretchedness,  
Whiles he himself all night did nought but weep,  
And wary watch about her for her safeguard keep.   

The morrow next, so soon as joyous day  
Did show itself in sunny beams bedight,  
Serena full of dolorous dismay,  
Twixt darkness dread, and hope of living light,  
Upreared her head to see that cheerful sight.  
Then Calepine, how ever inly wroth,  
And greedy to avenge that vile despite,  
Yet for the feeble Lady's sake, full loath  
To make there longer stay, forth on his journey goth.   

He goth on foot all armed by her side,  
Vpstaying still herself upon her steed,  
Being unable else alone to ride;  
So sore her sides, so much her wounds did bleed:  
Till that at length, in his extremest need,  
He chanced far off an armed Knight to spy,  
Pursuing him apace with greedy speed,  
Whom well he witted to be some enemy,  
That meant to make advantage of his misery.   

Wherefore he stayed, till that he nearer drew,  
To weet what issue would thereof betide,  
though whenas he approached nigh in view,  
By certain signs he plainly him descried,  
To be the man, that with such scornful pride  
Had him abused, and shamed yesterday;  
Therefore misdoubting, lest he should misguyde  
His former malice to some new assay,  
He cast to keep himself so safely as he may.   

By this the other came in place likewise,  
And couching close his spear and all his power,  
As bend to some malicious enterprise,  
He bade him stand, t'abide the bitter avoure  
Of his sore vengeance, or to make avoure  
Of the lewd words and deeds, which he had done:  
With that ran at him, as he would devour  
His life attonce; who nought could do, but shun  
The peril of his pride, or else be overrun.   

Yet he him still pursewed from place to place,  
With full intent him cruelly to kill,  
And like a wild goat round about did chase,  
Flying the fury of his bloody will.  
But his best succour and refuge was still  
Behind his Ladies back, who to him cried,  
And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,  
As ever he to Lady was affyde,  
To spare her Knight, and rest with reason pacified.   

But he the more thereby enraged was,  
And with more eager felnesse him pursewed,  
So that at length, after long weary chase,  
Having by chance a close advantage viewed,  
He over reached him, having long eschewed  
His violence in vain, and with his spear  
Struck through his shoulder, that the blood ensewed  
In great abundance, as a well it were,  
That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did appear.   

Yet ceased he not for all that cruel wound,  
But chaste him still, for all his Ladies cry,  
Not satisfied till on the fatal ground  
He saw his life powered forth dispiteously:  
The which was certes in great jeopardy,  
Had not a wondrous chance his rescue wrought,  
And saved from his cruel villainy.  
Such chances oft exceed all humane thought:  
That in another Canto shall to end be brought.    

Cant. four  
Calepine by a salvage man  
from Turpine rescued is,  
And whilst an Infant from a Bear  
he saves, his love doth miss.  

LIke as a ship with dreadful storm long tossed,  
Having spent all her masts and her groundhold,  
Now far from harbour likely to be lost,  
At last some fisher bark doth near behold,  
That giveth comfort to her courage cold.  
Such was the state of this most courteous knight  
Being oppressed by that faytour bold,  
That he remained in most perilous plight,  
And his sad Lady left in pitiful affright.   

Till that by fortune, passing all foresight,  
A salvage man, which in those woods did won,  
Drawn with that Ladies loud and piteous shright,  
Toward the same incessantly did run,  
To understand what there was to be done.  
There he this most discourteous craven found,  
As fiercely yet, as when he first begun,  
Chase the gentle Calepine around,  
Ne sparing him the more for all his grievous wound.   

The salvage man, that never till this hour  
Did taste of pity, neither gentlesse knew,  
Seeing his sharp assault and cruel stoure  
Was much emmoved at his perils view,  
That even his ruder heart began to rue,  
And feel compassion of his evil plight,  
Against his foe that did him so pursue:  
From whom he meant to free him, if he might,  
And him avenge of that so villainous despite.   

Yet arms or weapon had he none to fight,  
Ne knew the use of warlike instruments,  
Save such as sudden rage him lent to smite,  
But naked without needful vestments,  
To clad his corpse with meet habiliments,  
He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,  
No more then for the stroke of straws or bents:  
For from his mother's womb, which him did bear  
He was invulnerable made by Magic lere.   

He stayed not t'aduize, which way were best  
His foe t'assail, or how himself to guard,  
But with fierce fury and with force infest  
Upon him ran; who being well prepared,  
His first assault full warily did ward,  
And with the push of his sharppointed spear  
Full on the breast him struck, so strong and hard,  
That forced him back recoil, and reel areare;  
Yet in his body made no wound nor blood appear.   

With that the wild man more enraged grew,  
Like to a Tiger that hath missed his prey,  
And with mad mood again upon him flew,  
Regarding neither spear, that mote him slay,  
Nor his fierce steed, that mote him much dismay.  
The salvage nation doth all dread despize:  
though on his shield he griple hold did lay,  
And held the same so hard, that by no wize  
He could him force to lose, or leave his enterprise.   

Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro,  
And every way did try, but all in vain:  
For he would not his greedy gripe forego,  
But hailed and pulled with all his might and main,  
That from his steed him nigh he drew again.  
Who having now no use of his long spear,  
So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to strain,  
Both spear and shield, as things that needless were▪  
He quite forsook, and fled himself away for fear.   

But after him the wild man ran apace,  
And him pursued with importune speed,  
(For he was swift as any Buck in chase)  
And had he not in his extremest need,  
Bene helped through the swiftness of his steed,  
He had him overtaken in his flight.  
Who ever, as he saw him nigh succeed,  
'Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,  
And shrieked out, a thing uncomely for a knight.   

But when the Salvage saw his labour vain,  
In following of him, that fled so fast,  
He weary wox, and back returned again  
With speed unto the place, whereas he last  
Had left that couple, near their utmost cast.  
There he that knight full sorely bleeding found,  
And eke the Lady fearfully aghast,  
Both for the peril of the present stound,  
And also for the sharpness of her rankling wound.   

For though she were right glad, so rid to be  
From that vile lozel, which her late offended,  
Yet now no less encumbrance she did see,  
And peril by this salvage man pretended;  
'Gainst whom she saw no means to be defended,  
By reason that her knight was wounded sore.  
Therefore herself she wholly recommended  
To God's sole grace, whom she did oft implore,  
To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.   

But the wild man, contrary to her fear,  
Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,  
And by rude tokens made to her appear  
His deep compassion of her doleful stound,  
Kissing his hands, and crouching to the ground;  
For other language had he none nor speech,  
But a soft murmur, and confused sound  
Of senseless words, which nature did him teach,  
T'express his passions, which his reason did impeach.   

And coming likewise to the wounded knight,  
When he beheld the streams of purple blood  
Yet flowing fresh, as moved with the sight,  
He made great moan after his salvage mood,  
And running straight into the thickest wood,  
A certain herb from thence unto him brought,  
Whose virtue he by use well understood:  
The juice whereof into his wound he wrought,  
And stopped the bleeding strait, ere he it staunched thought.   

Then taking up that Recreants shield and spear,  
Which erst he left, he signs unto them made,  
With him to wend unto his woning near:  
To which he easily did them persuade  
far in the forest by a hollow glade,  
Covered with mossy shrubs, which spreading broad  
Did underneath them make a gloomy shade;  
There foot of living creature never trod,  
Ne scarce wild beasts durst come, there was this wights abode.   

Thither he brought these unacquainted guests;  
To whom fair semblance, as he could, he showed  
By signs, by looks, and all his other gests.  
But the bare ground, with hoary moss bestrowed,  
Must be their bed, their pillow was unsow,  
And the fruits of the forest was their feast:  
For their bad Stuard neither ploughed nor sowed,  
Ne fed on flesh, ne ever of wild beast  
Did taste the blood, obeying natures first behest.   

Yet howsoever base and mean it were,  
They took it well, and thanked God for all,  
Which had them freed from that deadly fear,  
And saved from being to that caitiff thrall.  
Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)  
Compelled were themselves a while to rest,  
Glad of that easement, though it were but small;  
That having there their wounds awhile redressed,  
They moat the abler be to pass unto the rest.   

During which time, that wild man did apply  
His best endeavour, and his daily pain,  
In seeking all the woods both far and nigh  
For herbs to dress their wounds; still seeming feign,  
When ought he did, that did their liking gain.  
So as ere long he had that knights wound  
Recured well, and made him whole again:  
But that same Ladies hurts no herb he found,  
Which could redress, for it was inwardly unsound.   

Now when as Calepine was waxed strong,  
Upon a day he cast abroad to wend,  
To take the air, and hear the thrushes song,  
Unarmed, as fearing neither foe nor friend,  
And without sword his person to defend.  
There him befell, unlooked for before,  
An hard adventure with unhappy end,  
A cruel Bear, the which an infant bore  
Betwixt his bloody jaws, besprinkled all with gore.   

The little babe did loudly scrike and squall,  
And all the woods with piteous plaints did fill,  
As if his cry did mean for help to call  
To Calepine, whose ears those shrieches shrill  
Piercing his heart with pity's point did thrill;  
That after him, he ran with zealous haste,  
To rescue th'infant, ere he did him kill:  
Whom though he saw now somewhat overpast,  
Yet by the cry he followed, and pursued fast.   

Well then him chanced his heavy arms to want,  
Whose burden moat impeach his needful speed,  
And hinder him from liberty to pant:  
For having long time, as his daily weed,  
Them wont to wear, and wend on foot for need,  
Now wanting them he felt himself so light,  
That like an Hawk, which feeling herself freed  
From bells and jesses, which did let her flight,  
Him seemed his feet did fly, and in their speed delight.   

So well he sped him, that the weary Bear  
Ere long he overtook, and forced to stay,  
And without weapon him assailing near,  
Compelled him soon the spoil adown to lay.  
Wherewith the beast enraged to lose his prey,  
Upon him turned, and with greedy force  
And fury, to be crossed in his way,  
Gaping full wide, did think without remorse  
To be avenged on him, and to devour his corpse.   

But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayed,  
But catching up in hand a ragged stone,  
Which lay thereby (so fortune him did aid)  
Upon him ran, and thrust it all atone  
Into his gaping throat, that made him groan  
And gasp for breath, that he nigh choked was,  
Being unable to digest that bone;  
Ne could it upward come, nor downward pass,  
Ne could he brook the coldness of the stony mass.   

Whom when as he thus cumbered did behold,  
striving in vain that nigh his bowels braced,  
He with him closed, and laying mighty hold  
Upon his throat, did gripe his gorge so fast,  
That wanting breath, him down to ground he cast;  
And then oppressing him with urgent pain,  
Ere long enforced to breathe his utmost blast,  
Gnashing his cruel teeth at him in vain,  
And threatening his sharp claws, now wanting power to strain.   

Then took he up betwixt his arms twain  
The little babe, sweet relics of his prey;  
Whom pitying to hear so sore complain,  
From his soft eyes the tears he wypt away,  
And from his face the filth that did it ray,  
And every little limb he searched around,  
And every part, that under sweathbands lay,  
Lest that the beasts sharp teeth had any wound  
Made in his tender flesh, but whole them all he found.   

So having all his bands again uptyde,  
He with him thought back to return again:  
But when he looked about on every side,  
To weet which way were best to entertain,  
To bring him to the place, where he would feign,  
He could no path nor tract of foot descry,  
Ne by inquiry learn, nor guess by aim.  
For nought but woods and forests far and nigh,  
That all about did close the compass of his eye.   

Much was he then encumbered, ne could tell  
Which way to take: now West he went a while,  
Then North; then neither, but as fortune fell.  
So up and down he wandered many a mile,  
With weary travel and uncertain toil,  
Yet nought the nearer to his journeys end;  
And evermore his lovely little spoil  
Crying for food, did greatly him offend.  
So all that day in wandering vainly he did spend.   

At last about the setting of the Sun,  
Himself out of the forest he did wind,  
And by good fortune the plain champion won:  
Where looking all about, where he moat find  
Some place of succour to content his mind,  
At length he heard under the forests side  
A voice, that seemed of some woman kind,  
Which to herself lamenting loudly cried,  
And oft complained of fate, and fortune oft defied.   

To whom approaching, when as she perceived  
A stranger wight in place, her plaint she stayed,  
As if she doubted to have been deceived,  
Or loath to let her sorrows be bewrayed.  
Whom when as Calepine saw so dismayed,  
He to her drew, and with fair blandishment  
Her cheering up, thus gently to her said;  
What be you woeful Dame, which thus lament,  
And for what cause declare, so moat ye not repent.   

To whom she thus, what need me Sir to tell,  
That which yourself have erst ar so right?  
A woeful dame ye have me termed well;  
So much more woeful, as my woeful plight  
Cannot redressed be by living wight.  
Nathlesse (quoth he) if need do not you bind,  
Do it disclose, to ease your grieved sprite:  
Ofttimes it haps, that sorrows of the mind  
Find remedy unsought, which seeking cannot find.   

Then thus began the lamentable Dame;  
Sith than ye needs will know the grief I hoard,  
I am th'unfortunate Matilde by name,  
The wife of bold Sir Bruin, who is Lord  
Of all this land, late conquered by his sword  
From a great Giant, called cormorant;  
Whom he did overthrow by yonder ford,  
And in three battles did so deadly daunt,  
That he dare not return for all his daily vaunt.   

So is my Lord now seized of all the land,  
As in his fee, with peaceable estate,  
And quietly doth hold it in his hand,  
Ne any dares with him for it debate.  
But to these happy fortunes, cruel fate  
Hath joined one evil, which doth overthrow  
All these our joys, and all our bliss abate;  
And like in time to further ill to grow,  
And all this land with endless loss to overflow.   

For th'heavens envying our prosperity,  
Have not vouchsafed to grant unto us twain  
The gladfull blessing of posterity,  
Which we might see after ourselves remain  
In th'heritage of our unhappy pain:  
So that for want of heirs it to defend,  
All is in time like to return again  
To that foul fiend, who daily doth attend  
To leap into the same after our lives end.   

But most my Lord is grieved herewithal,  
And makes exceeding moan, when he does think  
That all this land unto his foe shall fall,  
For which he long in vain did sweat and swink,  
That now the same he greatly doth forethink.  
Yet was it said, there should to him a son  
Be gotten, not begotten, which should drink  
And dry up all the water, which doth run  
In the next brook, by whom that fiend should be fordone.   

Well hoped he then, when this was prophesied,  
That from his sides some noble child should rise,  
The which through fame should far be magnifide,  
And this proud giant should with brave emprize  
Quite overthrow, who now gins to despize  
The good Sir Bruin, growing far in years;  
Who thinks from me his sorrow all doth rise.  
Lo this my cause of grief to you appears;  
For which I thus do mourn, and pour forth ceaseless tears.   

Which when he heard, he inly touched was  
With tender ruth for her unworthy grief,  
And when he had devized of her case,  
He 'gan in mind conceive a fit relief  
For all her pain, if please her make the priefe.  
And having cheered her, thus said; fair Dame,  
In evils counsel is the comfort chief,  
Which though I be not wise enough to frame,  
Yet as I well it mean, vouchsafe it without blame.   

If that the cause of this your languishment  
Be lack of children, to supply your place,  
Low how good fortune doth to you present  
This little babe, of sweet and lovely face,  
And spotless spirit, in which ye may enchase  
What ever forms ye list thereto apply,  
Being now soft and fit them to embrace;  
Whether ye list him train in chivalry,  
Or noursle up in lore of learned Philosophy.   

And certes it hath oftentimes been seen,  
That of the like, whose lineage was unknown,  
More brave and noble knights have raised been,  
As their victorious deeds have often shown,  
Being with fame through many Nations blown,  
Then those, which have been dandled in the lap.  
Therefore some thought, that those brave imps were sown  
Here by the Gods, and fed with heavenly sap,  
That made them grow so high t'all honourable hap.   

The Lady hearkening to his sensefull speech,  
Found nothing that he said, unmeet nor geason,  
Having oft seen it tried, as he did teach.  
Therefore inclining to his goodly reason,  
Agreeing well both with the place and season,  
She gladly did of that same babe accept,  
As of her own by livery and seisin,  
And having over it a little wept,  
She bore it thence, and ever as her own it kept.   

Right glad was Calepine to be so rid  
Of his young charge, whereof he skilled nought:  
Ne she less glad; for she so wisely did,  
And with her husband under hand so wrought,  
That when that infant unto him she brought,  
She made him think it surely was his own,  
And it in goodly thews so well upbrought,  
That it became a famous knight well known  
And did right noble deeds, the which elsewhere are shown.   

But Calepine, now being left alone  
Under the greenewoods' side in sorry plight,  
Withouten arms or steed to ride upon,  
Or house to hide his head from heavens spite,  
Albe that Dame by all the means she might,  
Him oft desired home with her to wend,  
And offered him, his courtesy to requite,  
Both horse and arms, and what so else to lend,  
Yet he them all refused, though thanked her as a friend.   

And for exceeding grief which inly grew,  
That he his love so luckless now had lost,  
On the cold ground, maugre himself he threw,  
For fell despite, to be so sorely crossed;  
And there all night himself in anguish tossed,  
Vowing, that never he in bed again  
His limbs would rest, ne lig in ease embossed,  
Till that his Lady's sight he moat attain,  
Or understand, that she in safety did remain.    

Cant. V.  
The salvage serves Matilda well  
till she Prince Arthure find,  
Who her together with his Squire  
with th'Hermit leaves behind.  

O What an easy thing is to descry  
The gentle blood, how ever it bewrapt  
In sad misfortunes foul deformity,  
And wretched sorrows, which have often happed?  
For howsoever it may grow misshapt,  
Like this wild man, being undisciplynd,  
That to all virtue it may seem unapt,  
Yet will it show some sparks of gentle mind,  
And at the last break forth in his own proper kind.   

That plainly may in this wild man be red,  
Who though he were still in this desert wood,  
'mongst salvage beasts, both rudely borne and bred,  
Ne ever saw fair guise, ne learned good,  
Yet showed some token of his gentle blood,  
By gentle usage of that wretched Dame.  
For certes he was borne of noble blood,  
How ever by hard hap he hither came;  
As ye may know, when time shall be to tell the same.   

Who when as now long time he lacked had  
The good Sir Calepine, that far was strayed,  
Did wax exceeding sorrowful and sad,  
As he of some misfortune were afraid:  
And leaving there this Lady all dismayed,  
Went forth straightway into the forest wide,  
To seek, if he perchance a sleep were laid,  
Or what so else were unto him betide:  
He sought him far & near, yet him no where he spied.   

though back returning to that sorry Dame,  
He showed semblant of exceeding moan,  
By speaking signs, as he them best could frame;  
Now wring both his wretched hands in one,  
Now beating his hard head upon a stone,  
That ruth it was to see him so lament.  
By which she well perceiving, what was done,  
'Gan tear her hair, and all her garments rend,  
And beat her breast, and piteously herself torment.   

Upon the ground herself she fiercely threw,  
Regardless of her wounds, yet bleeding rife,  
That with their blood did all the flore embrew,  
As if her breast new launched with murderous knife,  
Would straight dislodge the wretched weary life.  
There she long groveling, and deep groaning lay,  
As if her vital powers were at strife  
With stronger death, and feared their decay,  
Such were this Lady's pangs and dolorous assay.   

Whom when the Salvage saw so sore distressed,  
He reared her up from the bloody ground,  
And sought by all the means, that he could best  
Her to recure out of that stony swound,  
And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound.  
Yet nould she be recomforted for nought,  
Ne cease her sorrow and impatient stound,  
But day and night did vex her careful thought,  
And ever more and more her own affliction wrought.   

At length, when as no hope of his return  
She saw now left, she cast to leave the place,  
And wend abroad, though feeble and forlorn,  
To seek some comfort in that sorry case.  
His steed now strong through rest so long a space,  
Well as she could, she got, and did bedight,  
And being thereon mounted, forth did pace,  
Withouten guide, her to conduct aright,  
Or guard her to defend from bold oppressors might.   

Whom when her Host saw ready to departed,  
He would not suffer her alone to far,  
But 'gan himself address to take her part.  
Those warlike arms, which Calepine whilere  
Had left behind, he 'gan eftsoons prepare,  
And put them all about himself unfit,  
His shield, his helmet, and his curates bare.  
But without sword upon his thigh to sit:  
Sir Calepine himself away had hidden it.   

So forth they traveled an uneven pair,  
That mote to all men seem an uncouth sight;  
A salvage man matched with a Lady fair,  
That rather seemed the conquest of his might,  
Gotten by spoil, than purchased aright.  
But he did her attend most carefully,  
And faithfully did serve both day and night,  
Withouten thought of shame or villainy,  
Ne ever showed sign of foul disloyalty.   

Upon a day as on their way they went,  
It chanced some furniture about her steed  
To be disordered by some accident:  
Which to redress, she did th'assistance need  
Of this her groom, which he by signs did reed,  
And straight his cumbrous arms aside did lay  
Upon the ground, withouten doubt or dread,  
And in his homely wize began to assay  
T'amend what was amiss, and put in right array.   

'Bout which whilst he was busied thus hard,  
Lo where a knight together with his squire,  
All armed to point came riding thetherward,  
Which seemed by their portance and attire,  
To be two errant knights, that did inquire  
After adventures, where they moat them get.  
Those were to weet (if that ye it requre)  
Prince Arthur and young Timias, which met  
By strange occasion, that here needs forth be set.   

After that Timias had again recured  
The favour of Belphebe, (as ye heard)  
And of her grace did stand again assured,  
To happy bliss he was full high upreared,  
Nether of envy, nor of change afeard,  
Though many foes did him malign therefore,  
And with unjust detraction him did beard;  
Yet he himself so well and wisely bore,  
That in her sovereign liking he dwelled evermore.   

But of them all, which did his ruin seek  
Three mighty enemies did him most despite,  
Three mighty ones, and cruel minded eke,  
That him not only sought by open might  
To overthrow, but to supplant by slight.  
The first of them by name was called Despetto,  
Exceeding all the rest in power and height;  
The second not so strong but wise, Decetto;  
The third nor strong nor wise, but spightfullest Defetto.   

Ofttimes their sundry powers they did employ,  
And several deceits, but all in vain:  
For neither they by force could him destroy,  
Ne yet entrap in treasons subtle train.  
Therefore conspiring all together plain,  
They did their counsels now in one compound;  
Where singled forces fail, conjoined may gain.  
The Blatant Beast the fittest means they found,  
To work his utter shame, and thoroughly him confound.   

Upon a day as they the time did wait,  
When he did range the wood for salvage game,  
They sent that Blatant Beast to be a bait,  
To draw him from his dear beloved dame,  
Unwares into the danger of defame.  
For well they witted, that Squire to be so bold,  
That no one beast in forest wild or tame,  
Met him in chase, but he it challenge would,  
And pluck the pray oftimes out of their greedy hold.   

The hardy boy, as they devised had,  
Seeing the ugly Monster passing by,  
Upon him set, of peril nought adread,  
Ne skilful of the uncouth jeopardy;  
And charged him so fierce and furiously,  
That his great force unable to endure,  
He forced was to turn from him and fly:  
Yet ere he fled, he with his tooth impure  
Him heedless bit, the whiles he was thereof secure.   

Securely he did after him pursue,  
Thinking by speed to overtake his flight;  
Who through thick woods and brakes & briars him drew,  
To weary him the more, and waste his spite,  
So that he now has almost spent his sprite.  
Till that at length unto a woody glade  
He came, whose covert stopped his further sight,  
There his three foes shrouded in guileful shade,  
Out of their ambush broke, and 'gan him to invade.   

Sharply they all attonce did him assail,  
Burning with inward rancour and despite,  
And heaped strokes did round about him hail  
With so huge force, that seemed nothing might  
Bear off their blows, from piercing through quite.  
Yet he them all so warily did ward,  
That none of them in his soft flesh did bite,  
And all the while his back for best safeguard,  
He lent against a tree, that backward onset bard.   

Like a wild Bull, that being at a bay,  
Is baited of a mastiff, and a hound,  
And a curre-dog; that do him sharp assay  
On every side, and beat about him round;  
But most that cur barking with bitter sound,  
And creeping still behind, doth him encumber,  
That in his chafe he digs the trampled ground,  
And threats his horns, and bellows like the thunder,  
So did that Squire his foes disperse, and drive asunder.   

Him well behoved so; for his three foes  
Sought to encompass him on every side,  
And dangerously did round about enclose.  
But most of all Defetto him annoyed,  
Creeping behind him still to have destroyed:  
So did Decetto eke him cirumvent,  
But stout Despetto in his greater pride,  
Did front him face to face against him bend,  
Yet he them all withstood, and often made relent.   

Till that at length nigh tired with former chase,  
And weary now with careful keeping ward,  
He 'gan to shrink, and somewhat to give place,  
Full like ere long to have escaped hard;  
When as unwares he in the forest heard  
A trampling steed, that with his neighing fast  
Did warn his rider be upon his guard;  
With noise whereof the Squire now nigh aghast,  
revived was, and sad despair away did cast.   

eftsoons he spied a Knight approaching nigh,  
Who seeing one in so great danger set  
'mongst many foes, himself did faster high;  
To rescue him, and his weak part abet,  
For pity so to see him overset.  
Whom soon as his three enemies did view,  
They fled, and fast into the wood did get:  
Him booted not to think them to pursue,  
The covert was so thick, that did no passage show.   

Then turning to that swain, him well he knew  
To be his Timias, his own true Squire,  
Whereof exceeding glad, he to him drew,  
And him embracing twixt his arms entire,  
Him thus bespoke; My lief, my life's desire,  
Why have ye me alone thus long yleft?  
Tell me what world's despite, or heavens ire  
Hath you thus long away from me bereft?  
Where have ye all this while been wandering, where been waif?   

With that he sighed deep for inward tyne:  
To whom the Squire nought answered again,  
But shedding few soft tears from tender eyen,  
His dear affect with silence did restrain,  
And shut up all his plaint in privy pain.  
There they awhile some gracious speeches spent,  
As to them seemed fit time to entertain.  
After all which up to their steeds they went,  
And forth together road a comely couplement.   

So now they be arrived both in sight  
Of this wild man, whom they full busy found  
About the sad Serena things to dight,  
With those brave armours lying on the ground,  
That seemed the spoil of some right well renowned.  
Which when that Squire beheld, he to them stepped,  
Thinking to take them from that hylding hound:  
But he it seeing, lightly to him leapt,  
And sternly with strong hand it from his handling kept.   

Gnashing his grinded teeth with grisly look,  
And sparkling fire out of his furious eyen,  
Him with his fist unwares on th'head he struck,  
That made him down unto the earth incline;  
Whence soon upstarting much he 'gan repine,  
And laying hand upon his wrathful blade,  
Thought therewithal forthwith him to have slain,  
Who it perceiving, hand upon him laid,  
And greedily him griping, his avengement stayed.   

With that aloud the fair Serena cried  
Unto the Knight, them to dispart in twain:  
Who to them stepping did them soon divide,  
And did from further violence restrain,  
Albe the wyld-man hardly would refrain.  
Then 'gan the Prince, of her for to demand,  
What and from whence she was, and by what train  
She fell into that salvage villains hand,  
And whether free with him she now were, or in band.   

To whom she thus; I am, as now ye see,  
The wretchedst Dame, that live this day on ground,  
Who both in mind, the which most grieveth me,  
And body have received a mortal wound,  
That hath me driven to this dreary stound.  
I was erewhile, the love of Calepine,  
Who whether he alive be to be found,  
Or by some deadly chance be done to pine,  
Since I him lately lost, uneath is to define.   

In salvage forest I him lost of late,  
Where I had surely long ere this been dead,  
Or else remained in most wretched state,  
Had not this wild man in that woeful stead  
Kept, and delivered me from deadly dread.  
In such a salvage wight, of brutish kind,  
Amongst wild beasts in desert forests bred,  
It is most strange and wonderful to find  
So mild humanity, and perfect gentle mind.   

Let me therefore this favour for him find,  
That ye will not your wrath upon him wreak,  
Sith he cannot express his simple mind,  
Ne yours conceive, ne but by tokens speak:  
Small praise to prove your power on wight so weak.  
With such fair words she did their heat assuage,  
And the strong course of their displeasure break,  
That they to pity turned their former rage,  
And each sought to supply the office of her page.   

So having all things well about her dight,  
She on her way cast forward to proceed,  
And they her forth conducted, where they might  
Find harbour fit to comfort her great need.  
For now her wounds corruption 'gan to breed;  
And eke this Squire, who likewise wounded was  
Of that same Monster late, for lack of heed,  
Now 'gan to faint, and further could not pass  
Through feebleness, which all his limbs oppressed has.   

So forth they road together all in troop,  
To seek some place, the which moat yield some ease  
To these sick twain, that now began to droop,  
And all the way the Prince sought to appease  
The bitter anguish of their sharp disease,  
By all the courteous means he could invent,  
Somewhile with merry purpose fit to please,  
And otherwhile with good encouragement,  
To make them to endure the pains, did them torment.   

'mongst which, Serena did to him relate  
The foul discourt'sies and unknightly parts,  
Which Turpine had unto her showed late,  
Without compassion of her cruel smarts,  
Although Blandina did with all her arts  
Him otherwise persuade, all that she might;  
Yet he of malice, without her deserts,  
Not only her excluded late at night,  
But also traitorously did wound her weary Knight.   

Wherewith the Prince sore moved, there avoud,  
That soon as he returned back again,  
He would avenge th'abuses of that proud  
And shameful Knight, of whom she did complain.  
This wize did they each other entertain,  
To pass the tedious travel of the way;  
Till towards night they came unto a plain,  
By which a little Hermitage there lay,  
Far from all neighbourhoood, the which annoy it may.   

And nigh thereto a little Chapel stood,  
Which being all with Yuy overspread,  
Decked all the roof, and shadowing the rood,  
Seemed like a grove fair branched over head:  
Therein the Hermit, which his life here led  
In straight observance of religious vow,  
Was wont his hours and holy things to bed;  
And therein he likewise was praying now,  
Whenas these Knights arrived, they witted not where nor how.   

They stayed not there, but straight way in did pas.  
Whom when the Hermit present saw in place,  
From his devotion straight he troubled was;  
Which breaking of he toward them did pace,  
With stayed steps, and grave beseeming grace:  
For well it seemed, that whilom he had been  
some goodly person, and of gentle race,  
That could his good to all, and well did ween,  
How each to entertain with curtsy well beseen.   

And sooth it was said by common fame,  
So long as age enabled him thereto,  
That he had been a man of much name,  
Renowned much in arms and derring do:  
But being aged now and weary to  
Of wars delight, and world's contentious toil,  
The name of knighthood he did disavow,  
And hanging up his arms and warlike spoil,  
From all this world's encumbrance did himself assoil.   

He thence them led into his Hermitage,  
Letting their steeds to graze upon the green:  
Small was his house, and like a little cage,  
For his own turn, yet inly neat and clean,  
Decked with green boughs, and flowers gay beseen.  
Therein he them full fair did entertain  
Not with such forged shows, as fit been  
For courting fools, that courtesies would feign,  
But with entire affection and appearance plain.   

Yet was their fare but homely, such as he  
Did use, his feeble body to sustain;  
The which full gladly they did take in glee,  
Such as it was, ne did of want complain,  
But being well sufficed, them rested feign.  
But fair Serene all night could take no rest,  
Ne yet that gentle Squire for grievous pain  
Of their late wounds, the which the Blatant Beast  
Had given them, whose grief through sufferance sore increased.   

So all that night they passed in great disease,  
Till that the morning, bringing early light  
To guide men's labours, brought them also ease,  
And some assuagement of their painful plight.  
Then up they rose, and 'gan themselves to dight  
Unto their journey; but that Squire and Dame  
So faint and feeble were, that they ne might  
Endure to travel, nor one foot to frame:  
Their hearts were sick, their sides were sore, their feet were lame.   

Therefore the Prince, whom great affairs in mind  
Would not permit, to make their longer stay,  
Was forced there to leave them both behind,  
In that good Hermit's charge, whom he did pray  
To tend them well. So forth he went his way,  
And with him eke the salvage, that whilere  
Seeing his royal usage and array,  
Was greatly grown in love of that brave pere,  
Would needs departed, as shall declared be elsewhere.    

Cant. VI  
The Hermit heals both Squire and dame  
Of their sore maladies:  
He Turpine doth defeat, and shame  
For his late villainies.  

NO wound, which warlike hand of enemy  
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light,  
As doth the poisonous sting, which infamy  
Infixeth in the name of noble wight:  
For by no art, nor any leeches might  
It ever can recured be again;  
Ne all the skill, which that immortal sprite  
Of Podalyrius did in it retain,  
Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish pain.   

Such were the wounds, the which that Blatant Beast  
Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame;  
And being such, were now much more increased,  
For want of taking heed unto the same,  
That now corrupt and cureless they became.  
Howbe that careful Hermit did his best,  
With many kinds of medicines meet, to tame  
The poisonous humour, which did most infest  
Their rankling wounds, & every day them duly dressed.   

For he right well in Leaches craft was seen,  
And through the long experience of his days,  
Which had in many fortunes tossed been,  
And past through many perilous assays,  
For now her wounds corruption 'gan to breed;  
And eke this Squire, who likewise wounded was  
Of that same Monster late, for lack of heed,  
Now 'gan to faint, and further could not pass  
Through feebleness, which all his limbs oppressed has.   

So forth they road together all in troop,  
To seek some place, the which moat yield some ease  
To these sick twain, that now began to droop,  
And all the way the Prince sought to appease  
The bitter anguish of their sharp disease,  
By all the courteous means he could invent,  
Somewhile with merry purpose fit to please,  
And otherwhile with good encouragement,  
To make them to endure the pains, did them torment.   

'mongst which, Serena did to him relate  
The foul discourt'sies and unknightly parts,  
Which Turpine had unto her showed late,  
Without compassion of her cruel smarts,  
Although Blandina did with all her arts  
Him otherwise persuade, all that she might;  
Yet he of malice, without her deserts,  
Not only her excluded late at night,  
But also traitorously did wound her weary Knight.   

Wherewith the Prince sore moved, there avoud,  
That soon as he returned back again,  
He would avenge th'abuses of that proud  
And shameful Knight, of whom she did complain.  
This wize did they each other entertain,  
To pass the tedious travel of the way;  
Till towards night they came unto a plain,  
By which a little Hermitage there lay,  
Far from all neighbourhoood, the which annoy it may.   

And nigh thereto a little Chapel stood,  
Which being all with Yuy overspread,  
Decked all the roof, and shadowing the rood,  
Seemed like a grove fair branched over head:  
Therein the Hermit, which his life here led  
In straight observance of religious vow,  
Was wont his hours and holy things to bed;  
And therein he likewise was praying now,  
Whenas these Knights arrived, they witted not where nor how.   

They stayed not there, but straight way in did pas.  
Whom when the Hermit present saw in place,  
From his devotion straight he troubled was;  
Which breaking of he toward them did pace,  
With stayed steps, and grave beseeming grace:  
For well it seemed, that whilom he had been  
some goodly person, and of gentle race,  
That could his good to all, and well did ween,  
How each to entertain with curtsy well beseen.   

And sooth it was said by common fame,  
So long as age enabled him thereto,  
That he had been a man of much name,  
Renowned much in arms and derring do:  
But being aged now and weary to  
Of wars delight, and world's contentious toil,  
The name of knighthood he did disavow,  
And hanging up his arms and warlike spoil,  
From all this world's encumbrance did himself assoil.   

He thence them led into his Hermitage,  
Letting their steeds to graze upon the green:  
Small was his house, and like a little cage,  
For his own turn, yet inly neat and clean,  
Decked with green boughs, and flowers gay beseen.  
Therein he them full fair did entertain  
Not with such forged shows, as fit been  
For courting fools, that courtesies would feign,  
But with entire affection and appearance plain.   

Yet was their fare but homely, such as he  
Did use, his feeble body to sustain;  
The which full gladly they did take in glee,  
Such as it was, ne did of want complain,  
But being well sufficed, them rested feign.  
But fair Serene all night could take no rest,  
Ne yet that gentle Squire for grievous pain  
Of their late wounds, the which the Blatant Beast  
Had given them, whose grief through sufferance sore increased.   

So all that night they passed in great disease,  
Till that the morning, bringing early light  
To guide men's labours, brought them also ease,  
And some assuagement of their painful plight.  
Then up they rose, and 'gan themselves to dight  
Unto their journey; but that Squire and Dame  
So faint and feeble were, that they ne might  
Endure to travel, nor one foot to frame:  
Their hearts were sick, their sides were sore, their feet were lame.   

Therefore the Prince, whom great affairs in mind  
Would not permit, to make their longer stay,  
Was forced there to leave them both behind,  
In that good Hermit's charge, whom he did pray  
To tend them well. So forth he went his way,  
And with him eke the salvage, that whilere  
Seeing his royal usage and array,  
Was greatly grown in love of that brave pere,  
Would needs departed, as shall declared be elsewhere.    

Cant. VI  
The Hermit heals both Squire and dame  
Of their sore maladies:  
He Turpine doth defeat, and shame  
For his late villainies.  

NO wound, which warlike hand of enemy  
Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light,  
As doth the poisonous sting, which infamy  
Infixeth in the name of noble wight:  
For by no art, nor any leeches might  
It ever can recured be again;  
Ne all the skill, which that immortal sprite  
Of Podalyrius did in it retain,  
Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish pain.   

Such were the wounds, the which that Blatant Beast  
Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame;  
And being such, were now much more increased,  
For want of taking heed unto the same,  
That now corrupt and cureless they became.  
Howbe that careful Hermit did his best,  
With many kinds of medicines meet, to tame  
The poisonous humour, which did most infest  
Their rankling wounds, & every day them duly dressed.   

For he right well in Leaches craft was seen,  
And through the long experience of his days,  
Which had in many fortunes tossed been,  
And past through many perilous assays,  
He knew the diverse went of mortal ways,  
And in the minds of men had great insight;  
Which with sage counsel, when they went astray,  
He could inform, and them reduce aright,  
And all the passions heal, which wound the weaker sprite.   

For whilom he had been a doughty Knight,  
As any one, that lived in his days,  
And proved oft in many perilous fight,  
Of which he grace and glory won always,  
And in all battles bore away the bay.  
But being now attached with timely age,  
And weary of this world's unquiet ways,  
He took himself unto this Hermitage,  
In which he lived alone, like careless bird in cage.   

One day, as he was searching of their wounds,  
He found that they had festered privily,  
And rankling inward with unruly stounds,  
The inner parts now 'gan to putrefy,  
That quite they seemed past help of surgery,  
And rather needed to be disciplined  
With wholesome reed of sad sobriety,  
To rule the stubborn rage of passion blind:  
Give salves to every sore, but counsel to the mind.   

So taking them apart into his cell,  
He to that point fit speeches 'gan to frame,  
As he the art of words knew wondrous well,  
And eke could do, as well as say the same,  
And thus he to them said; fair daughter Dame,  
And you fair son, which here thus long now lie  
In piteous languor, since ye hither came,  
In vain of me ye hope for remedy,  
And I likewise in vain do salves to you apply.   

For in yourself your only help doth lie,  
To heal yourselves, and must proceed alone  
From your own will, to cure your malady.  
Who can him cure, that will be cured of none?  
If therefore health ye seek, observe this one.  
First learn your outward senses to refrain  
From things, that stir up frail affection;  
Your eyes, your ears, your tongue, your talk restaine  
From that they most affect, and in due terms contain.   

For from those outward senses ill affected,  
The seed of all this evil first doth spring,  
Which at the first before it had infected,  
Mote easy be suppressed with little thing:  
But being grown strong, it forth doth bring  
Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient pain  
In th'inner parts, and lastly scattering  
Contagious poison close through every vain,  
It never rests, till it have wrought his final bane.   

For that beasts teeth, which wounded you tofore,  
Are so exceeding venomous and keen,  
Made all of rusty iron, rankling sore,  
That where they bite, it booteth not to ween  
With salve, or antidote, or other mean  
It ever to amend: ne marvel aught;  
For that same beast was bred of hellish strene,  
And long in darksome Stygian den upbrought,  
Begot of foul Echidna, as in books is taught.   

Echidna is a Monster direful dread,  
Whom Gods do hate, and heavens abhor to see;  
So hideous is her shape, so huge her head,  
That even the hellish fiends affrighted be  
At sight thereof, and from her presence flee:  
Yet did her face and former parts profess  
A fair young Maiden, full of comely glee;  
But all her hinder parts did plain express  
A monstrous Dragon, full of fearful ugliness.   

To her the Gods, for her so dreadful face,  
In fearful darkness, furthest from the sky,  
And from the earth, appointed have her place,  
'mongst rocks and caves, where she enrolled doth lie  
In hideous horror and obscurity,  
Wasting the strength of her immortal age.  
There did Typhaon with her company,  
Cruel Typhaon, whose tempestuous rage  
Make th'heavens tremble oft, & him with vows assuage.   

Of that commixtion they did then beget  
This hellish Dog, that height the Blatant Beast;  
A wicked Monster, that his tongue doth whet  
'Gainst all, both good and bad, both most and least,  
And pours his poisonous gall forth to infest  
The noblest wights with notable defame:  
Ne ever Knight, that bore so lofty crest,  
Ne ever Lady of so honest name,  
But he them spotted with reproach, or secret shame.   

In vain therefore it were, with medicine  
To go about to salve such kind of sore,  
That rather needs wise read and discipline,  
Then outward salves, that may augment it more.  
Ay me (said then Serena sighing sore)  
What hope of help doth then for us remain,  
If that no salves may us to health restore?  
But sith we need good counsel (said the swain)  
Aread good sire, some counsel, that may us sustain.   

The best (said he) that I can you advise,  
Is to avoid the occasion of the ill:  
For when the cause, whence evil doth arise,  
Removed is, th'effect surceaseth still.  
Abstain from pleasure, and restrain your will,  
Subdue desire, and bridle lose delight,  
Use scanted diet, and forbear your fill,  
Shun secrecy, and talk in open sight:  
So shall you soon repair your present evil plight.   

Thus having said, his sickly patients  
Did gladly hearken to his grave behest,  
And kept so well his wise commandments,  
That in short space their malady was ceased,  
And eke the biting of that harmful Beast  
Was thoroughly healed. though when they did perceive  
Their wounds recured, and forces reincreast,  
Of that good Hermit both they took their leave,  
And went both on their way, ne each would other leave.   

But each th'other vowed t'accompany,  
The Lady, for that she was much in dread,  
Now left alone in great extremity,  
The Squire, for that he courteous was indeed,  
Would not her leave alone in her great need.  
So both together traveled, till they met  
With a fair Maiden clad in mourning weed,  
Upon a mangy jade unmeetely set,  
And a lewd fool her leading through dry and wet.   

But by what means that shame to her befell,  
And how thereof herself she did acquit,  
I must a while forbear to you to tell;  
Till that, as comes by course, I do recite,  
What fortune to the Briton Prince did light,  
Pursuing that proud Knight, the which whileare  
Wrought to Sir Calidore so foul despite;  
And eke his Lady, though she sickly were,  
So lewdly had abused, as ye did lately hear.   

The Prince according to the former token,  
Which fair Serene to him delivered had,  
Pursued him straight, in mind to been wrought  
Of all the vile demean, and usage bad,  
With which he had those two so ill bestead:  
Ne wight with him on that adventure went,  
But that wild man, whom though he oft forbade,  
Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent,  
Would he restrained be from his attendement.   

Arriving there, as did by chance befall,  
He found the gate wide open, and in he road,  
Ne stayed, till that he came into the hall:  
Where soft dismounting like a weary load,  
Upon the ground with feeble feet he trod,  
As he unable were for very need  
To move one foot, but there must make abode;  
The whiles the salvage man did take his steed,  
And in some stable near did set him up to feed.   

Ere long to him a homely groom there came,  
That in rude wise him asked, what he was,  
That durst so boldly, without let or shame,  
Into his Lords forbidden hall to pass.  
To whom the Prince, him feigning to embase,  
Mild answer made; he was an errant Knight,  
The which was fallen into this feeble case,  
Through many wounds, which lately he in fight,  
Received had, and prayed to pity his ill plight.   

But he, the more outrageous and bold,  
Sternly did bid him quickly thence avaunt,  
Or dear abye, for why his Lord of old  
Did hate all errant Knights, which there did haunt,  
Ne lodging would to any of them grant,  
And therefore lightly bade him pack away,  
Not sparing him with bitter words to taunt;  
And therewithal rude hand on him did lay,  
To thrust him out of door, doing his worst assay.   

Which when the Salvage coming now in place,  
Beheld, eftsoons he all enraged grew,  
And running straight upon that villain base,  
Like a fell Lion at him fiercely flew,  
And with his teeth and nails, in present view,  
Him rudely rend, and all to pieces tore:  
So miserably him all helpless slew,  
That with the noise, whilst he did loudly roar,  
The people of the house rose forth in great uproar.   

Who when on ground they saw their fellow slain,  
And that same Knight and Salvage standing by,  
Upon them two they fell with might and main,  
And on them laid so huge and horribly,  
As if they would have slain them presently.  
But the bold Prince defended him so well,  
And their assault withstood so mightily,  
That maugre all their might, he did repel,  
And beat them back, whilst many underneath him fell.   

Yet he them still so sharply did pursue,  
That few of them he left alive, which fled,  
Those evil tidings to their Lord to show.  
Who hearing how his people badly sped,  
Came forth in haste: where when as with the dead  
He saw the ground all strowed, and that same Knight  
And salvage with their blood fresh steaming red,  
He wox nigh mad with wrath and fell despite,  
And with reproachful words him thus bespoke on height.   

Art thou he, traitor, that with treason vile,  
Hast slain my men in this unmanly manner,  
And now triumphest in the piteous spoil  
Of these poor folk, whose souls with black dishonour  
And foul defame do deck thy bloody banner?  
The meed whereof shall shortly be thy shame,  
And wretched end, which still attendeth on her.  
With that himself to battle he did frame;  
So did his forty yeomen, which there with him came.   

With dreadful force they all did him assail,  
And round about with boisterous strokes oppress,  
That on his shield did rattle like to hail  
In a great tempest; that in such distress,  
He witted not to which side him to address.  
And evermore that craven cowherd Knight,  
Was at his back with heartless heediness,  
Waiting if he unwares him murder might:  
For cowardice doth still in villainy delight.   

Whereof whenas the Prince was well aware,  
He to him turned with furious intent,  
And him against his power 'gan to prepare;  
Like a fierce Bull, that being busy bent  
To fight with many foes about him meant,  
Feeling some cur behind his heels to bite,  
Turns him about with fell avengement;  
So likewise turned the Prince upon the Knight,  
And laid at him amain with all his will and might.   

Who when he once his dreadful strokes had tasted,  
Durst not the fury of his force abide,  
But turned aback, and to retire him hasted  
Through the thick press, there thinking him to hide.  
But when the Prince had once him plainly eyed,  
He foot by foot him followed always,  
Ne would him suffer once to shrink aside  
But joining close, huge load at him did lay:  
Who flying still did ward, and warding fly away.   

But when his foe he still so eager saw,  
Unto his heels himself he did betake,  
Hoping unto some refuge to withdraw:  
Ne would the Prince him ever foot forsake,  
Where so he went, but after him did make.  
He fled from room to room, from place to place,  
Whilst every joint for dread of death did quake,  
Still looking after him, that did him chase;  
That made him evermore increase his speedy pace.   

At last he up into the chamber came,  
Whereas his love was sitting all alone,  
Waiting what tidings of her folk became.  
There did the Prince him overtake anon,  
Crying in vain to her, him to bemoan;  
And with his sword him on the head did smite,  
That to the ground he fell in senseless swoon:  
Yet whether thwart or flatly it did light,  
The tempered steel did not into his braynepan bite.   

Which when the Lady saw, with great affright  
She starting up, began to shrieke aloud,  
And with her garment covering him from sight,  
Seemed under her protection him to shroud;  
And falling lowly at his feet, her bowed  
Upon her knee, entreating him for grace,  
And often him besought, and prayed, and vowed;  
That with the ruth of her so wretched case,  
He stayed his second struck, and did his hand abase.   

Her weed she then withdrawing, did him discover,  
Who now come to himself, yet would not rise,  
But still did lie as dead, and quake, and quiver,  
That even the Prince his baseness did despize,  
And eke his Dame him seeing in such guise,  
'Gan him recomfort, and from ground to rear.  
Who rising up at last in ghastly wize,  
Like troubled ghost did dreadfully appear,  
As one that had no life him left through former fear.   

Whom when the Prince so deadly saw dismayed,  
He for such baseness shamefully him shent,  
And with sharp words did bitterly upbraid;  
Vile cowherd dog, now do I much repent,  
That ever I this life unto thee lent,  
Whereof thou caitiff so unworthy art;  
That both thy love, for lack of hardiment,  
And eke thyself, for want of manly heart,  
And eke all knights hast shamed with this knightlesse part.   

Yet further hast thou heaped shame to shame,  
And crime to crime, by this thy cowherd fear.  
For first it was to thee reproachful blame,  
To erect this wicked custom, which I hear,  
'Gainst errant Knights and Ladies thou dost rear;  
Whom when thou mayst, thou dost of arms despoil,  
Or of their upper garment, which they wear:  
Yet dost thou not with manhood, but with guile  
Maintain this evil use, thy foes thereby to foil.   

And lastly in approvance of thy wrong,  
To show such faintness and foul cowardice,  
Is greatest shame: for oft it falls, that strong  
And valiant knights do rashly enterprise,  
Either for fame, or else for exercise,  
A wrongful quarrel to maintain by right;  
Yet have, through prowess and their brave emprize,  
Gotten great worship in this worlds sight.  
For greater force there needs to maintain wrong, then right.   

Yet since thy life unto this Lady fair  
I given have, live in reproach and scorn;  
Ne ever arms, ne ever knighthood dare  
Hence to profess: for shame is to adorn  
With so brave badges one so basely borne;  
But only breath sith that I did forgive.  
So having from his craven body torn  
Those goodly arms, he them away did give  
And only suffered him this wretched life to live.   

There whilst he thus was settling things above,  
atween that Lady mild and recreant knight,  
To whom his life he granted for her love,  
He 'gan bethink him, in what perilous plight  
He had behind him left that salvage wight,  
Amongst so many foes, whom sure he thought  
By this quite slain in so unequal fight:  
Therefore descending back in haste, he sought  
If yet he were alive, or to destruction brought.   

There he him found environed about  
With slaughtered bodies, which his hand had slain,  
And laying yet a fresh with courage stout  
Upon the rest, that did alive remain;  
Whom he likewise right sorely did constrain,  
Like scattered sheep, to seek for safety,  
After he gotten had with busy pain  
Some of their weapons, which thereby did lie,  
With which he laid about, and made them fast to fly.   

Whom when the Prince so felly saw to rage,  
Approaching to him near, his hand he stayed,  
And sought, by making signs, him to assuage:  
Who them perceiving, straight to him obeyed,  
As to his Lord, and down his weapons laid,  
As if he long had to his hests been trained.  
Thence he him brought away, and up conveyed  
Into the chamber, where that Dame remained  
With her unworthy knight, who ill him entertained.   

Whom when the Salvage saw from danger free,  
Sitting beside his Lady there at ease,  
He well remembered, that the same was he,  
Which lately sought his Lord for to displease:  
though all in rage, he on him straight did seize,  
As if he would in pieces him have rend;  
And were not, that the Prince did him appease,  
He had not left one limb of him unrent:  
But straight he held his hand at his commandment.   

Thus having all things well in peace ordained,  
The Prince himself there all that night did rest,  
Where him Blandina fairly entertained,  
With all the courteous glee and goodly feast,  
The which for him she could imagine best.  
For well she knew the ways to win good will  
Of every wight, that were not too infested,  
And how to please the minds of good and ill,  
Through tempering of her words & looks by wondrous skill.   

Yet were her words and looks but false and feigned,  
To some hid end to make more easy way,  
Or to allure such foundlings, whom she trained  
Into her trap unto their own decay:  
Thereto, when needed, she could weep and pray,  
And when her listed, she could fawn and flatter;  
Now smile smoothly, like to summers day,  
Now glooming sadly, so to cloak her matter;  
Yet were her words but wind, & all her tears but water.   

Whether such grace were given her by kind,  
As women wont their guileful wits to guide;  
Or learned the art to please, I do not find.  
This well I wot, that she so well applied  
Her pleasing tongue, that soon she pacified  
The wrathful Prince, & wrought her husband's peace.  
Who nevertheless not therewith satisfied,  
His rancorous despite did not release,  
Ne secretly from thought of fell revenge surcease.   

For all that night, the whiles the Prince did rest  
In careless couch, not weeting what was meant,  
He watched in close await with weapons priest,  
Willing to work his villainous intent  
On him, that had so shamefully him shent:  
Yet durst he not for very cowardice  
Effect the same, whilst all the night was spent.  
The morrow next the Prince did early rise,  
And passed forth, to follow his first enterprise.    

Cant. VII.  
Turpine is baffled, his two knights  
do gain their treason's meed,  
Fair Mirabellaes' punishment  
for loves disdain decreed.  

LIke as the gentle heart itself bewrays,  
In doing gentle deeds with frank delight,  
Even so the base mind itself displays,  
In cankered malice and revengeful spite.  
For to malign, t'enuie, t'use shifting slight,  
Be arguments of a vile dunghill mind,  
Which what it dare not do by open might,  
To work by wicked treason ways doth find,  
By such discourteous deeds discovering his base kind.   

That well appears in this discourteous knight,  
The coward Turpine, whereof now I treat;  
Who notwithstanding that in former fight  
He of the Prince his life received late,  
Yet in his mind malicious and ingrate  
He 'gan denize, to be avenged anew  
For all that shame, which kindled inward hate.  
Therefore so soon as he was out of view,  
Himself in haste he armed, and did him fast pursue.   

Well did he tracked his steps, as he did ride,  
Yet would not near approach in dangers eye,  
But kept aloof for dread to be descried,  
Until fit time and place he moat espy,  
Where he moat work him scathe and villainy.  
At last he met two knights to him unknown,  
The which were armed both agreeably,  
And both combynd, what ever chance were blown,  
Betwixt them to divide, and each to make his own.   

To whom false Turpine coming courteously,  
To cloak the mischief, which he inly meant,  
'Gan to complain of great discourtesy,  
Which a strange knight, that near afore him went,  
Had done to him, and his dear Lady shent:  
Which if they would afford him aid at need  
For to avenge, in time convenient,  
They should accomplish both a knightly deed,  
And for their pains obtain of him a goodly meed.   

The knights believed, that all he said, was true,  
And being fresh and full of youthly sprite,  
Were glad to hear of that adventure new,  
In which they moat make trial of their might,  
Which never yet they had approved in fight;  
And eke desirous of the offered meed,  
Said then the one of them; where is that wight,  
The which hath done to thee this wrongful deed,  
That we may it avenge, and punish him with speed?   

He rides (said Turpine) there not far afore,  
With a wild man soft footing by his side,  
That if ye list to haste a little more,  
Ye may him overtake in timely tide:  
eftsoons they pricked forth with forward pride,  
And ere that little while they ridden had,  
The gentle Prince not far away they spied,  
Riding a softly pace with portance sad,  
Devizing of his love more, then of danger dread.   

Then one of them aloud unto him cried,  
Bidding him turn again, false traitor knight,  
Fowl womanwronger, for he him defied.  
With that they both at once with equal spite  
Did bend their spears, and both with equal might  
Against him ran; but th'one did miss his mark,  
And being carried with his force forthright,  
Glanced swiftly by; like to that heavenly spark,  
Which gliding through the air lights all the heavens dark.   

But th'other aiming better, did him smite  
Full in the shield, with so impetuous power,  
That all his lance in pieces shivered quite,  
And scattered all about, fell on the flower.  
But the stout Prince, with much more steady stowre  
Full on his beaver did him strike so sore,  
That the cold steel through piercing, did devour  
His vital breath, and to the ground him bore,  
Where still he bathed lay in his own bloody gore.   

As when a cast of Falcons make their flight  
At an Herneshaw, that lies aloft on wing,  
The whiles they strike at him with heedless might,  
The wary foul his bill doth backward wring;  
On which the first, whose force her first doth bring,  
Herself quite through the body doth engore,  
And falleth down to ground like senseless thing,  
But th'other not so swift, as she before,  
Fails of her sauce, and passing by doth hurt no more.   

By this the other, which was passed by,  
Himself recovering, was returned to fight;  
Where when he saw his fellow lifeless lie,  
He much was daunted with so dismal sight;  
Yet nought abating of his former spite,  
Let drive at him with so malicious mind,  
As if he would have passed through him quite:  
But the steelhead no steadfast hold could find,  
But glancing by, deceived him of that he desynd.   

Not so the Prince: for his well learned spear  
took surer hold, and from his horses back  
Above a lances length him forth did bear,  
And 'gainst the cold hard earth so sore him strake,  
That all his bones in pieces nigh he broke.  
Where seeing him so lie, he left his steed,  
And to him leaping, vengeance thought to take  
Of him, for all his former folly's meed,  
With flaming sword in hand his terror more to breed.   

The fearful swain beholding death so nigh,  
Cried out aloud for mercy him to save;  
In am whereof he would to him descry,  
Great treason to him meant, his life to reave.  
The Prince soon hearkened, and his life forgave.  
Then thus said he, There is a stranger knight,  
The which for promise of great meed, us drove  
To this attempt, to wreak his hid despite,  
For that himself thereto did want sufficient might.   

The Prince much mused at such villainy,  
And said; Now sure ye well have earned your meed,  
For th'one is dead, and th'other soon shall die,  
Unless to me thou hither bring with speed  
The wretch, that hired you to this wicked deed,  
He glad of life, and willing eke to wreak  
The guilt on him, which did this mischief breed,  
Swore by his sword, that neither day nor week  
He would surcease, but him, where so he were, would seek.   

So up he rose, and forth straight way he went  
Back to the place, where Turpine late he lore;  
There he him found in great astonishment,  
To see him so bedight with bloody gore,  
And grisly wounds that him appalled sore.  
Yet thus at length he said, how now Sir knight?  
What meaneth this, which here I see before?  
How fortuneth this foul uncomely plight,  
So different from that, which erst ye seemed in sight?   

Perdie (said he) in evil hour it fell,  
That ever I for meed did undertake  
So hard a task, as life for hire to sell;  
The which I erst adventured for your sake.  
Witness the wounds, and this wide bloody lake,  
Which ye may see yet all about me steam.  
Therefore now yield, as ye did promise make,  
My due reward, the which right well I deem  
I yearned have, that life so dearly did redeem.   

But where then is (quoth he half wrothfully)  
Where is the booty, which therefore I bought,  
That cursed caitiff, my strong enemy,  
That recreant knight, whose hated life I sought?  
And where is eke your friend, which half it ought?  
He lies (said he) upon the cold bare ground,  
Slain of that errant knight, with whom he fought;  
Whom afterwards myself with many a wound  
Did slay again, as ye may see there in the stound.   

Thereof false Turpin was full glad and feign,  
And needs with him straight to the place would ride,  
Where he himself might see his foeman slain;  
For else his fear could not be satisfied.  
So as they road, he saw the way all died  
With streams of blood; which tracting by the trail,  
Ere long they came, whereas in evil tide  
That other swain, like ashes deadly pale,  
Lay in the lap of death, ruing his wretched bale.   

Much did the Craven seem to moon his case,  
That for his sake his dear life had foregone;  
And him bewailing with affection base,  
Did counterfeit kind pity, where was none:  
For where's no courage, there's no ruth nor moan.  
Thence passing forth, not far away he found,  
Whereas the Prince himself lay all alone,  
Loosely displayed upon the grassy ground,  
Possessed of sweet sleep, that lulled him soft in swound.   

Weary of travel in his former fight,  
He there in shade himself had laid to rest,  
Having his arms and warlike things undight,  
Fearless of foes that moat his peace molest;  
The whiles his salvage page, that want be priest,  
Was wandered in the wood another way,  
To do some thing, that seemed to him best,  
The whiles his Lord in silver slumber lay,  
Like to the Evening star adorned with dewy ray.   

Whom when as Turpin saw so loosely laid,  
He weened well, that he in deed was dead,  
Like as that other knight to him had said:  
But when he nigh approached, he moat aread  
Plain signs in him of life and livelihead.  
Whereat much grieved against that stranger knight,  
That him too light of credence did misled,  
He would have back retired from that sight,  
That was to him on earth the deadliest despite.   

But that same knight would not once let him start,  
But plainly 'gan to him declare the case  
Of all his mischief, and late luckless smart;  
How both he and his fellow there in place  
Were vanquished, and put to foul disgrace,  
And how that he in am of life him lent,  
Had vowed unto the victor, him to trace  
And follow through the world, where so he went,  
Till that he him delivered to his punishment.   

He therewith much abashed and afraid,  
Began to tremble every limb and vain;  
And softly whispering him, entirely prayed,  
T'aduize him better, then by such a train  
Him to betray unto a stranger swain:  
Yet rather counselled him contrarywize,  
Sith he likewise did wrong by him sustain,  
To join with him and vengeance to devise,  
Whilst time did offer means him sleeping to surprise.   

Nevertheless for all his speech, the gentle knight  
Would not be tempted to such villainy,  
Regarding more his faith, which he did plight,  
All were it to his mortal enemy,  
Then to entrap him by false treachery:  
Great shame in lieges blood to be imbrued.  
Thus whilst they were debating diversly,  
The Salvage forth out of the wood issewed  
Back to the place, whereas his Lord he sleeping viewed.   

There when he saw those two so near him stand,  
He doubted much what moat their meaning be,  
And throwing down his load out of his hand,  
To weet great store of forest fruit, which he  
Had for his food late gathered from the tree,  
Himself unto his weapon he betook,  
That was an oaken plant, which lately he  
Rend by the root; which he so sternly shook,  
That like an hazel wand, it quivered and quooke.   

Whereat the Prince awaking, when he spied  
The traitor Turpin with that other knight,  
He started up, and snatching near his side  
His trusty sword, the servant of his might,  
Like a fell Lion leapt to him light,  
And his left hand upon his collar laid.  
Therewith the cowherd deadened with affright,  
Fell flat to ground, ne word unto him said,  
But holding up his hands, with silence mercy prayed.   

But he so full of indignation was,  
That to his prayer nought he would incline,  
But as he lay upon the humbled grass,  
His foot he set on his vile neck, in sign  
Of servile yoke, that nobler hearts repine.  
Then letting him arise like abject thrall,  
He 'gan to him object his heinous crime,  
And to revile, and rate, and recreant call,  
And lastly to despoil of knightly banner all.   

And after all, for greater infamy,  
He by the heels him hung upon a tree,  
And baffled so, that all which passed by,  
The picture of his punishment might see,  
And by the like ensample warned be,  
How ever they through treason do trespass.  
But turn we now back to that Lady free,  
Whom late we left riding upon an Ass,  
Led by a Carl and fool, which by her side did pass.   

She was a Lady of great dignity,  
And lifted up to honourable place,  
Famous through all the land of Fairy,  
Though of mean parentage and kindred base,  
Yet decked with wondrous gifts of nature's grace,  
That all men did her person much admire,  
And praise the feature of her goodly face,  
The beams whereof did kindle lovely fire  
In th'hearts of many a knight, and many a gentle squire.   

But she thereof grew proud and insolent,  
That none she worthy thought to be her fere,  
But scorned them all, that love unto her meant;  
Yet was she loved of many a worthy pere,  
Unworthy she to be beloved so dear,  
That could not weigh of worthiness aright.  
For beauty is more glorious bright and clear,  
The more it is admired of many a wight,  
And noblest she, that served is of noblest knight.   

But this coy Damsel thought contrariwize,  
That such proud looks would make her praised more;  
And that the more she did all love despize,  
The more would wretched lovers her adore.  
What cared she, who sighed for her sore,  
Or who did wail or watch the weary night?  
Let them that list, their luckless lot deplore;  
She was borne free, not bound to any wight,  
And so would ever live, and love her own delight.   

Through such her stubborn stiffness, and hard heart,  
Many a wretch, for want of remedy,  
Did languish long in life consuming smart,  
And at the last through dreary dolour die:  
Whilst she, the Lady of her liberty,  
Did boast her beauty had such sovereign might,  
That with the only twinkle of her eye,  
She could or save, or spill, whom she would height.  
What could the Gods do more, but do it more aright?   

But lo the Gods, that mortal follies view,  
Did worthily revenge this maidens pride;  
And nought regarding her so goodly hue,  
Did laugh at her, that many did deride,  
Whilst she did weep, of no man mercifide.  
For on a day, when Cupid kept his court,  
As he is wont at each Saint Valentide,  
Unto the which all lovers do resort,  
That of their loves success they there may make report.   

It fortuned then, that when the rolls were red,  
In which the names of all loves folk were filed,  
That many there were missing, which were ded,  
Or kept in bands, or from their loves exiled,  
Or by some other violence despoiled.  
Which when as Cupid heard, he waxed wroth,  
And doubting to be wronged, or beguiled,  
He bade his eyes to be unblindfold both,  
That he might see his men, and muster them by oath.   

Then found he many missing of his crew,  
Which wont do suit and service to his might;  
Of whom what was becomen, no man knew.  
Therefore a jury was impaneld straight,  
T'inquire of them, whether by force, or sleight,  
Or their own guilt, they were away conveyed.  
To whom foul Infamy, and fell Despite  
Gave evidence, that they were all betrayed,  
And murdered cruelly by a rebellious Maid.   

Fair Mirabella was her name, whereby  
Of all those crimes she there indicted was:  
All which when Cupid heard, he by and by  
In great displeasure, wild a Capias  
Should issue forth, t'attach that scornful lass.  
The warrant strait was made, and therewithal  
A Baylieffe errant forth in post did pass,  
Whom they by name there Portamore did call;  
He which doth summon lovers to loves judgement hall.   

The damsel was attached, and shortly brought  
Unto the bar, whereas she was arraigned:  
But she thereto nould plead, nor answer aught  
Even for stubborn pride, which her restrained.  
So judgement past, as is by law ordained  
In cases like, which when at last she saw,  
Her stubborn heart, which love before disdained,  
'Gan stoop, and falling down with humble awe,  
Cried mercy, to abate the extremity of law.   

The son of Venus who is mild by kind,  
But where he is provoked with peevishness,  
Unto her prayers piteously inclined,  
And did the rigour of his doom repress;  
Yet not so freely, but that nevertheless  
He unto her a penance did impose,  
Which was, that through this world's wide wilderness  
She wander should in company of those,  
Till she had saved so many loves, as she did lose.   

So now she had been wandering two whole years  
Throughout the world, in this uncomely case,  
Wasting her goodly hue in heavy tears,  
And her good days in dolorous disgrace:  
Yet had she not in all these two years space,  
Saved but two, yet in two years before,  
Through her dispiteous pride, whilst love lacked place,  
She had destroyed two and twenty more.  
Aye me, how could her love make half amends therefore.   

And now she was upon the weary way,  
When as the gentle Squire, with fair Serene,  
Met her in such misseeming foul array;  
The whiles that mighty man did her demean  
With all the evil terms and cruel mean,  
That he could make; And eke that angry fool  
Which followed her, with cursed hands unclean  
Whipping her horse, did with his smarting tool  
Oft whip her dainty self, and much augment her doole.   

Ne ought it moat avail her to entreat  
The one or th'other, better her to use:  
For both so wilful were and obstinate,  
That all her piteous plaint they did refuse,  
And rather did the more her beat and bruise.  
But most the former villain, which did lead  
Her tyreling jade, was bend her to abuse;  
Who though she were with weariness nigh dead,  
Yet would not let her light, nor rest a little stead.   

For he was stern, and terrible by nature,  
And eke of person huge and hideous,  
Exceeding much the measure of man's stature,  
And rather like a Giant monstruous.  
Forsooth he was descended of the house  
Of those old Giants, which did wars darraine  
Against the heaven in order battailous,  
And sib to great Orgoglio, which was slain  
By Arthure, when as Vnas Knight he did maintain.   

His looks were dreadful, and his fiery eyes  
Like two great Beacons, glared bright and wide,  
Glancing askew, as if his enemies  
He scorned in his overweening pride;  
And stalking stately like a Crane, did strided  
At every step upon the tiptoes hie,  
And all the way he went, on every side  
He gazed about, and stared horribly,  
As if he with his looks would all men terrify.   

He wore no armour, ne for none did care,  
As no whit dreading any living wight;  
But in a jacket quilted richly rare,  
Upon checklaton he was strangely dight,  
And on his head a roll of linen plight,  
Like to the Mores of Malaber he wore;  
With which his locks, as black as pitchy night,  
Were bound about, and voided from before,  
And in his hand a mighty iron club he bore.   

This was Disdain, who led that Lady's horse  
Through thick & thin, through mountains & through plains,  
Compelling her, where she would not by force  
Haling her palfrey by the hempen rains.  
But that same fool, which most increased her pains,  
Was Scorn, who having in his hand a whip,  
Her therewith yirks, and still when she complains,  
The more he laughs, and does her closely quip,  
To see her sore lament, and bite her tender lip.   

Whose cruel handling when that Squire beheld,  
And saw those villains her so vildly use,  
His gentle heart with indignation swelled,  
And could no longer bear so great abuse,  
As such a Lady so to beat and bruise;  
But to him stepping, such a stroke him lent,  
That forced him th'halter from his hand to lose,  
And maugre all his might, back to relent:  
Else had he surely there been slain, or foully shent.   

The villain wroth for greeting him so sore,  
Gathered himself together soon again,  
And with his iron batton, which he bore,  
Let drive at him so dreadfully amain,  
That for his safety he did him constrain  
To give him ground, and shift to every side,  
Rather than once his burden to sustain:  
For bootless thing him seemed, to abide,  
So mighty blows, or prove the puissance of his pride.   

Like as a Mastiff having at a bay  
A salvage Bull, whose cruel horns do threat  
Desperate danger, if he them assay,  
Traceth his ground, and round about doth beat,  
To spy where he may some advantage get;  
The whiles the beast doth rage and loudly roar,  
So did the Squire, the whiles the Carl did fret,  
And fume in his disdainful mind the more,  
And oftentimes by Turmagant and Mahu swore.   

Nevertheless so sharply still he him pursewd,  
That at advantage him at last he took,  
When his foot slipped (that slip he dearly rued,)  
And with his iron club to ground him struck;  
Where still he lay, ne out of swoon awoke,  
Till heavy hand the Carl upon him laid,  
And bound him fast: though when he up did look,  
And saw himself captived, he was dismayed,  
Ne power had to withstand, ne hope of any aid.   

Then up he made himself, and forward far,  
Led in a rope, which both his hands did bind;  
Ne ought that fool for pity did him spare,  
But with his whip him following behind,  
Him often scourged, and forced his feet to find:  
And other while with bitter mocks and mows  
He would him scorn, that to his gentle mind  
Was much more grievous, than the others blows:  
Words sharply wound, but greatest grief of scorning grows.   

The fair Serena, when she saw him fall  
Under that villains club, then surely thought  
That slain he was, or made a wretched thrall,  
And fled away with all the speed she mought,  
To seek for safety, which long time she sought:  
And past through many perils by the way,  
Ere she again to Calepine was brought;  
The which discourse as now I must delay,  
Till Mirabellaes' fortunes I do further say.    

Cant. VIII.  
Prince Arthure overcomes Disdain,  
Quites Mirabell from dread:  
Serena found of Saluages,  
By Calepine is freed.  

YE gentle Ladies, in whose sovereign power  
Love hath the glory of his kingdom left,  
And th'hearts of men, as your eternal dower,  
In iron chains, of liberty bereft,  
Delivered hath into your hands by gift;  
Be well aware, how ye the same do use,  
That pride do not to tyranny you lift;  
Lest if men you of cruelty accuse,  
He from you take that chiefedome, which ye do abuse.   

And as ye soft and tender are by kind,  
Adorned with goodly gifts of beauty's grace,  
So be ye soft and tender eke in mind;  
But cruelty and hardness from you chase,  
That all your other praises will deface,  
And from you turn the love of men to hate.  
Ensample take of Mirabellaes' case,  
Who from the high degree of happy state,  
Fell into wretched woes, which she repent late.   

Who after thraldom of the gentle Squire,  
Which she beheld with lamentable eye,  
Was touched with compassion entire,  
And much lamented his calamity,  
That for her sake fell into misery:  
Which booted nought for prayers, nor for threat  
To hope for to release or mollify;  
For aye the more, that she did them entreat  
The more they him misust, and cruelly did beat.   

So as they forward on their way did pass,  
Him still reviling and afflicting sore,  
They met Prince Arthure with Sir Enias,  
(That was that courteous Knight, whom he before  
Having subdued, yet did to life restore,)  
To whom as they approached, they 'gan augment  
Their cruelty, and him to punish more,  
Scourging and haling him more vehement;  
As if it them should grieve to see his punishment.   

The Squire himself when as he saw his Lord,  
The witness of his wretchedness, in place,  
Was much ashamed, that with an hempen cord  
He like a dog was led in captive case,  
And did his head for bashfulness abase,  
As loath to see, or to be seen at all:  
Shame would be hid. But whenas Enias  
Beheld two such, of two such villains thrall,  
His manly mind was much emmoved therewithal.   

And to the Prince thus said; See you Sir Knight,  
The greatest shame that ever eye yet saw?  
Yond Lady and her Squire with foul despite  
Abused, against all reason and all law,  
Without regard of pity or of awe.  
See how they do that Squire beat and revile;  
See how they do the Lady hale and draw.  
But if ye please to lend me leave a while,  
I will them soon acquit, and both of blame assoil.   

The Prince assented, and then he straight way  
Dismounting light, his shield about him threw,  
With which approaching, thus he 'gan to say;  
Abide ye caitiff treachetours untrue,  
That have with treason thralled unto you  
These two, unworthy of your wretched bands;  
And now your crime with cruelty pursue.  
Abide, and from them lay your loathly hands;  
Or else abide the death, that hard before you stands.   

The villain stayed not answer to invent,  
But with his iron club preparing way,  
His minds sad message back unto him sent;  
The which descended with such dreadful sway,  
That seemed nought the course thereof could stay:  
No more then lightning from the lofty sky.  
Ne list the Knight the power thereof assay,  
Whose doom was death, but lightly slipping by,  
Unwares defrauded his intended destiny.   

And to requite him with the like again,  
With his sharp sword he fiercely at him flew,  
And struck so strongly, that the Carl with pain  
Saved himself, but that he there him slew:  
Yet saved not so, but that the blood it drew,  
And gave his foe good hope of victory.  
Who therewith fleshed, upon him set anew,  
And with the second stroke, thought certainly  
To have supplied the first, and paid the usury.   

But Fortune answered not unto his call;  
For as his hand was heaved up on height,  
The villain met him in the middle fall,  
And with his club bet back his brondyron bright  
So forcibly, that with his own hands might  
Rebeaten back upon himself again,  
He driven was to ground in self despite;  
From whence ere he recovery could gain,  
He in his neck had set his foot with fell disdain.   

With that the fool, which did that end await,  
Came running in, and whilst on ground he lay,  
Laid heavy hands on him, and held so straight,  
That down he kept him with his scornful sway,  
So as he could not wield him any way.  
The while that other villain went about  
Him to have bound, and thralled without delay;  
The whiles the fool did him revile and flout,  
Threatening to yoke them tow & tame their courage stout.   

As when a sturdy ploughman with his hind  
By strength have overthrown a stubborn steer,  
They down him hold, and fast with cords do bind,  
Till they him force the buxom yoke to bear:  
So did these two this Knight oft tug and tear.  
Which when the Prince beheld, there standing by,  
He left his lofty steed to aid him near,  
And buckling soon himself, 'gan fiercely fly  
Upon that Carl, to save his friend from jeopardy.   

The villain leaving him unto his mate  
To be captived, and handled as he list,  
Himself addressed unto this new debate,  
And with his club him all about so blessed,  
That he which way to turn him scarcely witted:  
Sometimes aloft he laid, sometimes allow;  
Now here, now there, and oft him near he missed;  
So doubtfully, that hardly one could know  
Whether more wary were to give or ward the blow.   

But yet the Prince so well enured was  
With such huge strokes, approved oft in fight,  
That way to them he gave forth right to pass.  
Ne would endure the danger of their might,  
But wait advantage, when they down did light.  
At last the caitiff after long discourse,  
When all his strokes he saw avoided quite,  
Resolved in one t'assemble all his force,  
And make one end of him without ruth or remorse.   

His dreadful hand he heaved up aloft,  
And with his dreadful instrument of ire,  
Thought sure have pownded him to powder soft,  
Or deep emboweld in the earth entire:  
But Fortune did not with his will conspire.  
For ere his stroke attained his intent,  
The noble child preventing his desire,  
Under his club with wary boldness went,  
And smote him on the knee, that never yet was bend.   

It never yet was bend, ne bent it now,  
Albe the stroke so strong and puissant were,  
That seemed a marble pillar it could bow,  
But all that leg, which did his body bear,  
It cracked throughout, yet did no blood appear;  
So as it was unable to support  
So huge a burden on such broken gear,  
But fell to ground, like to a lump of dirt,  
Whence he assayed to rise, but could not for his hurt.   

eftsoons the Prince to him full nimbly stepped,  
And lest he should recover foot again,  
His head meant from his shoulders to have swept.  
Which when the Lady saw, she cried amain;  
Stay stay, Sir Knight, for love of God abstain,  
For that unwares ye weetlesse do intend;  
Slay not that Carl, though worthy to be slain:  
For more on him doth then himself depend;  
My life will by his death have lamentable end.   

He staid his hand according her desire,  
Yet nathemore him suffered to arise;  
But still suppressing 'gan of her inquire,  
What meaning moat those uncouth words comprise,  
That in that villains health her safety lies:  
That, were no might in man, nor heart in Knights,  
Which durst her dreaded rescue enterprise,  
Yet heavens themselves, that favour feeble rights,  
Would for itself redress, and punish such despites.   

Then bursting forth in tears, which gushed fast  
Like many water streams, a while she stayed;  
Till the sharp passion being overpast,  
Her tongue to her restored, then thus she said;  
Nor heavens, nor men can me most wretched maid  
Deliver from the doom of my desert,  
The which the God of love hath on me laid,  
And damned to endure this direful smart,  
For penance of my proud and hard rebellious heart.   

In prime of youthly years, when first the flower  
Of beauty 'gan to bud, and bloosme delight,  
And nature me endued with plenteous dower,  
Of all her gifts, that pleased each living sight,  
I was beloved of many a gentle Knight,  
And sued and sought with all the service dew:  
Full many a one for me deep groaned and sight,  
And to the door of death for sorrow drew,  
Complaining out on me, that would not on them rue.   

But let them love that list, or live or die;  
Me list not die for any lovers doole:  
Ne list me leave my loved liberty,  
To pity him that list to play the fool:  
To love myself I learned had in school.  
Thus I triumphed long in lovers pain,  
And sitting careless on the scorners stool,  
Did laugh at those that did lament and plain:  
But all is now repaid with interest again.   

For lo the winged God, that woundeth hearts,  
Caused me be called to account therefore,  
And for revengement of those wrongful smarts,  
Which I to others did inflict afore,  
Addeemed me to endure this penance sore;  
That in this wize, and this unmeet array,  
With these two lewd companions, and no more,  
Disdain and Scorn, I through the world should stray,  
Till I have saved so many, as I erst did slay.   

Certes (said then the Prince) the God is just,  
That taketh vengeance of his people's spoil.  
For were no law in love, but all that lust,  
Might them oppress, and painfully turmoil,  
His kingdom would continue but a while.  
But tell me Lady, wherefore do you bear  
This bottle thus before you with such toil,  
And eke this wallet at your back arrear,  
That for these Carls to carry much more comely were?   

Here in this bottle (said the sorry Maid)  
I put the tears of my contrition,  
Till to the brim I have it full defrayed:  
And in this bag which I behind me done,  
I put repentance for things past and gone.  
Yet is the bottle leak, and bag so torn,  
That all which I put in, falls out anon;  
And is behind me trodden down of Scorn,  
Who mocketh all my pain, & laughs the more I mourn.   

The Infant hearkened wisely to her tale,  
And wondered much at Cupid's iudg'ment wise,  
That could so meekly make proud hearts avail,  
And wreak himself on them, that him despise.  
Then suffered he Disdain up to arise,  
Who was not able up himself to rear,  
By means his leg through his late luckless prize,  
Was cracked in twain, but by his foolish fear  
Was helped up, who him supported standing near.   

But being up, he looked again aloft,  
As if he never had received fall;  
And with stern eyebrows stared at him oft,  
As if he would have daunted him with all:  
And standing on his tiptoes, to seem tall,  
down on his golden feet he often gazed,  
As if such pride the other could appall;  
Who was so far from being aught amazed,  
That he his looks despised, and his boast dispraized.   

Then turning back unto that captive thrall,  
Who all this while stood there beside them bound,  
Unwilling to be known, or seen at all,  
He from those bands weaned him to have unwound.  
But when approaching near, he plainly found,  
It was his own true groom, the gentle Squire,  
He thereat wext exceedingly astounded,  
And him did oft embrace, and oft admire,  
Ne could with seeing satisfy his great desire.   

Mean while the Salvage man, when he beheld  
That huge great fool oppressing th'other Knight,  
Whom with his weight unwieldy down he held,  
He flew upon him, like a greedy kite  
Unto some carrion offered to his sight,  
And down him plucking, with his nails and teeth  
'Gan him to hale, and tear, and scratch, and bite;  
And from him taking his own whip, therewith  
So sore him scourgeth, that the blood down followeth.   

And sure I ween, had not the Ladies cry  
Procured the Prince his cruel hand to stay,  
He would with whipping, him have done to die:  
But being checked, he did abstain straight way,  
And let him rise. Then thus the Prince 'gan say;  
Now Lady sith your fortunes thus dispose,  
That if ye list have liberty, ye may,  
Unto yourself I freely leave to choose,  
Whether I shall you leave, or from these villains lose.   

Ah nay Sir Knight (said she) it may not be,  
But that I needs must by all means fulfil  
This penance, which enjoined is to me,  
Lest unto me betide a greater ill;  
Yet no less thanks to you for your good will.  
So humbly taking leave, she turned aside,  
But Arthure with the rest, went onward still  
On his first quest, in which did him betide  
A great adventure, which did him from them divide.   

But first it falleth me by course to tell  
Of fair Serena, who as erst you heard,  
When first the gentle Squire at variance fell  
With those two Carls, fled fast away, afeard  
Of villainy to be to her inferred:  
So fresh the image of her former dread,  
Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeared,  
That every foot did tremble, which did tread,  
And every body two, and two she four did read.   

Through hills & dales, through bushes & through briars  
Long thus she fled, till that at last she thought  
Herself now past the peril of her fears.  
Then looking round about, and seeing nought.  
Which doubt of danger to her offer mought,  
She from her palfrey lighted on the plain,  
And sitting down, herself a while bethought  
Of her long travel and turmoiling pain;  
And often did of love, and oft of luck complain.   

And evermore she blamed Calepine,  
The good Sir Calepine, her own true Knight,  
As th'only author of her woeful tine:  
For being of his love to her so light,  
As her to leave in such a piteous plight.  
Yet never Turtle truer to his make,  
Then he was tried unto his Lady bright:  
Who all this while endured for her sake,  
Great peril of his life, and restless pains did take.   

though when as all her plaints, she had displayed,  
And well disburdened her engrieved breast,  
Upon the grass herself adown she laid;  
Where being tired with travel, and oppressed  
With sorrow, she betook herself to rest.  
There whilst in Morpheus' bosom safe she lay,  
Fearless of aught, that mote her peace molest,  
False Fortune did her safety betray,  
Unto a strange mischance, that menaced her decay.   

In these wild deserts, where she now abode,  
There dwelled a salvage nation, which did live  
Of stealth and spoil, and making nightly road  
Into their neighbour's borders; ne did give  
Themselves to any trade, as for to drive  
The painful plough, or cattle for to breed,  
Or by adventurous merchandise to thrive;  
But on the labours of poor men to feed,  
And serve their own necessities with others need.   

Thereto they used one most accursed order,  
To eat the flesh of men, whom they moat find,  
And strangers to devour, which on their border  
Were brought by error, or by wreckful wind.  
A monstrous cruelty 'gainst course of kind.  
They towards evening wandering every way,  
To seek for booty, came by fortune blind,  
Whereas this Lady, like a sheep astray,  
Now drowned in the depth of sleep all fearless lay.   

Soon as they spied her, Lord what gladfull glee  
They made amongst themselves; but when her face  
Like the fair ivory shining they did see,  
Each 'gan his fellow solace and embrace,  
For joy of such good hap by heavenly grace.  
Then 'gan they to devise what course to take:  
Whether to slay her there upon the place,  
Or suffer her out of her sleep to wake,  
And then her eat attonce; or many meals to make.   

The best advizement was of bad, to let her  
Sleep out her fill, without encomberment:  
For sleep they said would make her battill better.  
Then when she waked, they all gave one consent,  
That since by grace of God she there was sent,  
Unto their God they would her sacrifice,  
Whose share, her guiltless blood they would present,  
But of her dainty flesh they did devise  
To make a common feast, & feed with gourmandize.   

So round about her they themselves did place  
Upon the grass, and diversely dispose,  
As each thought best to spend the lingering space.  
Some with their eyes the daintest morsels chose;  
Some praise her paps, some praise her lips and nose;  
Some whet their knives, and strip their elbows bare:  
The Priest himself a garland doth compose  
Of finest flowers, and with full busy care  
His bloody vessels wash, and holy fire prepare.   

The Damsel wakes, than all attonce upstart,  
And round about her flock, like many flies,  
Whooping, and hallowing on every part,  
As if they would have rend the brazen skies.  
Which when she sees with ghastly griefful eyes,  
Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hue  
Benumbes her cheeks: Then out aloud she cries,  
Where none is nigh to hear, that will her rue,  
And rends her golden locks, and snowy breasts imbrue.   

But all boots not: they hands upon her lay;  
And first they spoil her of her iewls dear,  
And afterwards of all her rich array;  
The which amongst them they in pieces tear,  
And of the pray each one a part doth bear.  
Now being naked, to their sordid eyes  
The goodly threasures of nature appear:  
Which as they view with lustful fantasies,  
Each wisheth to himself, and to the rest envies.   

Her ivory neck, her alabaster breast,  
Her paps, which like white silken pillows were,  
For love in soft delight thereon to rest;  
Her tender sides her belly white and clear,  
Which like an Altar did itself uprere,  
To offer sacrifice divine thereon;  
Her goodly thighs, whose glory did appear  
Like a triumphal Arch, and thereupon  
The spoils of Princes hanged, which were in battle won.   

Those dainty parts, the darlings of delight,  
Which moat not be profaned of common eyes,  
Those villeins viewed with lose lascivious sight,  
And closely tempted with their crafty spies;  
And some of them 'gan 'mongst themselves devise,  
Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure.  
But them the Priest rebuking, did advise▪  
To dare not to pollute so sacred treasure,  
Vowed to the gods: religion held even thieves in measure.   

So being stayed, they her from thence directed  
Unto a little grove not far aside,  
In which an altar shortly they erected,  
To slay her on. And now the Euentyde  
His broad black wings had through the heavens wide  
By this dispred, that was the time ordained  
For such a dismal deed, their guilt to hide:  
Of few green turfs an altar soon they feigned,  
And decked it all with flowers, which they nigh hand obtained.   

though when as all things ready were aright,  
The Damsel was before the altar set,  
Being already dead with fearful fright.  
To whom the Priest with naked arms full net  
Approaching nigh, and murderous knife well whet,  
'Gan mutter close a certain secret charm,  
With other devilish ceremonies met:  
Which done he 'gan aloft t'advance his arm,  
Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud alarm.   

Then 'gan the bagpypes and the horns to shrill,  
And shrieke aloud, that with the people's voice  
Confused, did the air with terror fill,  
And made the wood to tremble at the noise:  
The whiles she wailed, the more they did rejoice.  
Now moat ye understand that to this grove  
Sir Calepine by chance, more than by choice,  
The self same evening fortune hither drove,  
As he to seek Serena through the woods did rove.   

Long had he sought her, and through many a soil  
Had traveled still on foot in heavy arms,  
Ne aught was tired with his endless toils,  
Ne aught was feared of his certain harms:  
And now all weetlesse of the wretched storms,  
In which his love was lost, he slept full fast,  
Till being waked with these loud alarms,  
He lightly started up like one aghast,  
And catching up his arms straight to the noise forth past.   

There by th'uncertain glims of starry night,  
And by the twinkling of their sacred fire,  
He moat perceive a little dawning sight  
Of all, which there was doing in that choir:  
'mongst whom a woman spoiled of all attire  
He spied, lamenting her unlucky strife,  
And groaning sore from grieved heart entire;  
eftsoons he saw one with a naked knife  
Ready to launch her breast, and let out loved life.   

With that he thrusts into the thickest throng,  
And even as his right hand adown descends,  
He him preventing, lays on earth along,  
And sacrifizeth to th'infernal fiends.  
Then to the rest his wrathful hand he bends,  
Of whom he makes such havoc and such hue,  
That swarms of damned souls to hell he sends:  
The rest that scape his sword and death eschew,  
Fly like a flock of doves before a falcons view.   

From them returning to that Lady back,  
Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find,  
Yet fearing death, and next to death the lack  
Of clothes to cover, what they ought by kind,  
He first her hands beginneth to unbind;  
And then to question of her present woe;  
And afterwards to cheer with speeches kind.  
But she for nought that he could say or do,  
One word durst speak, or answer him awhit thereto.   

So inward shame of her uncomely case  
She did conceive, through care of womanhood,  
That though the night did cover her disgrace,  
Yet she in so unwomanly a mood,  
Would not bewray the state in which she stood.  
So all that night to him unknown she passed.  
But day, that doth discover bad and good,  
ensuring, made her known to him at last:  
The end whereof I'll keep until another cast.    

Cant. IX.  
Calidore hosts with Meliboe  
And loves fair Pastorell;  
Coridon envies him, yet he  
for ill rewards him well.  

NOw turn again my teme thou jolly swain,  
Back to the furrow which I lately left;  
I lately left a furrow, one or twain  
Vnploughed, the which my coulter hath not cleft:  
Yet seemed the soil both fair and fruitful eft,  
As I it past, that were too great a shame,  
That so rich fruit should be from us bereft;  
Besides the great dishonour and defame,  
Which should befall to Calidores immortal name.   

Great travel hath the gentle Calidore  
And toil endured, sith I left him last  
Sewing the Blatant beast, which I forbore  
To finish then, for other present haste.  
Full many paths and perils he hath past,  
Through hills, through dales, through forests, & through plains  
In that same quest which fortune on him cast,  
Which he achieved to his own great gains,  
Reaping eternal glory of his restless pains.   

So sharply he the Monster did pursue,  
That day nor night he suffered him to rest,  
Ne rested he himself but nature's dew,  
For dread of danger, not to be redressed,  
If he for sloth forslackt so famous quest.  
Him first from court he to the cities coursed,  
And from the cities to the towns him priest,  
And from the towns into the country forced,  
And from the country back to private farms he scorsed.   

From thence into the open fields he fled,  
Whereas the Herds were keeping of their neat,  
And shepherds singing to their flocks, that fed,  
Lays of sweet love and youths delightful heat:  
Him thither eke for all his fearful threat  
He followed fast, and chased him so nigh,  
That to the folds, where sheep at night do seat,  
And to the little cots, where shepherds lie  
In winter's wrathful time, he forced him to fly.   

There on a day as he pursewed the chase,  
He chanced to spy a sort of shepherd grooms,  
Playing on pipes, and carolling apace,  
The whiles their beasts there in the budded brooms  
Beside them fed, and nipped the tender blooms:  
For other worldly wealth they cared nought.  
To whom Sir Calidore yet sweeting comes,  
And them to tell him courteously besought,  
If such a beast they saw, which he had thither brought.   

They answered him, that no such beast they saw,  
Nor any wicked fiend, that moat offend  
Their happy flocks, nor danger to them draw:  
But if that such there were (as none they kend)  
They prayed high God them far from them to send.  
Then one of them him seeing so to sweat,  
After his rustic wise, that well he weaned,  
Offered him drink, to quench his thirsty heat,  
And if he hungry were, him offered eke to eat.   

The knight was nothing nice, where was no need,  
And took their gentle offer: so adown  
They prayed him sit, and gave him for to feed  
Such homely what, as serves the simple clown,  
That doth despise the dainties of the town.  
though having fed his fill, he there beside  
Saw a fair damsel, which did wear a crown  
Of sundry flowers, with silken ribbons tied.  
Clad in home-made green that her own hands had died.   

Upon a little hillock she was placed  
Higher than all the rest, and round about  
Environed with a garland, goodly graced,  
Of lovely lasses, and them all without  
The lusty shepherd swains sat in a rout,  
The which did pipe and sing her praises dew,  
And oft rejoice, and oft for wonder shout,  
As if some miracle of heavenly hue  
Were down to them descended in that earthly view.   

And sooth sure she was full fair of face,  
And perfectly well shaped in every limb,  
Which she did more augment with modest grace,  
And comely carriage of her countenance trim,  
That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim:  
Who her admiring as some heavenly wight,  
Did for their sovereign goddess her esteem,  
And carolling her name both day and night,  
The fairest Pastorell her by name did height.   

Ne was there heard, ne was there shepherds swain  
But her did honour, and eke many a one  
Burnt in her love, and with sweet pleasing pain  
Full many a night for her did sigh and groan:  
But most of all the shepherd Coridon  
For her did languish, and his dear life spend;  
Yet neither she for him, nor other none  
Did care a whit, ne any liking lend:  
Though mean her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend.   

Her whiles Sir Calidore there viewed well,  
And marked her rare demeanour, which him seemed  
So far the mean of shepherds to excel,  
As that he in his mind her worthy deemed,  
To be a Prince's Paragon esteemed,  
He was unwares surprised in subtle bands  
Of the blind boy, ne thence could be redeemed  
By any skill out of his cruel hands,  
Caught like the bird, which gazing still on others stands.   

So stood he still long gazing thereupon,  
Ne any will had thence to move away,  
Although his quest were far afore him gone;  
But after he had fed, yet did he stay,  
And sat there still, until the flying day  
Was far forth spent, discoursing diversly  
Of sundry things, as fell to work delay;  
And evermore his speech he did apply  
To th'herds, but meant them to the damsels fantazy.   

By this the moystie night approaching fast,  
Her dewy humour 'gan on th'earth to shed,  
That warned the shepherds to their homes to hast  
Their tender flocks, now being fully fed,  
For fear of wetting them before their bed;  
Then came to them a good old aged sire,  
Whose silver locks bedecked his beard and head,  
With shepherds hook in hand, and fit attire,  
That wild the damsel rise; the day did now expyre.   

He was to weet by common voice esteemed  
The father of the fairest Pastorell,  
And of herself in very deed so deemed;  
Yet was not so, but as old stories tell  
Found her by fortune, which to him befell,  
In th'open fields an Infant left alone,  
And taking up brought home, and nursed well  
As his own child; for other he had none,  
That she in tract of time accounted was his own.   

She at his bidding meekly did arise,  
And straight unto her little flock did far:  
Then all the rest about her rose likewise,  
And each his sundry sheep with several care  
Gathered together, and them homeward bare:  
Whilst every one with helping hands did strive  
Amongst themselves, and did their labours share,  
To help fair Pastorell, home to drive  
Her fleecy flock; but Coridon most help did give.   

But Meliboee (so height that good old man)  
Now seeing Calidore left all alone,  
And night arrived hard at hand, began  
Him to invite unto his simple home;  
Which though it were a cottage clad with lome,  
And all things therein mean, yet better so  
To lodge, then in the salvage fields to room.  
The knight full gladly soon agreed thereto,  
Being his hearts own wish, and home with him did go.   

There he was welcomed of that honest sire,  
And of his aged Beldame homely well;  
Who him besought himself to disattyre,  
And rest himself, till supper time befell.  
By which home came the fairest Pastorell,  
After her flock she in their fold had tied,  
And supper ready dight, they to it fell  
With small ado, and nature satisfied,  
The which doth little crave contented to abide.   

though when they had their hunger slaked well,  
And the fair maid the table ta'en away,  
The gentle knight, as he that did excel  
In courtesy, and well could do and say,  
For so great kindness as he found that day,  
'Gan greatly thank his host and his good wife;  
And drawing thence his speech another way,  
'Gan highly to commend the happy life,  
Which Shepherds lead, without debate or bitter strife.   

How much (said he) more happy is the state,  
In which ye father here do dwell at ease,  
Leading a life so free and fortunate,  
From all the tempests of these worldly seas,  
Which toss the rest in dangerous disease?  
Where wars, and wrecks, and wicked enmity  
Do them afflict, which no man can appease,  
That certes I your happiness envy,  
And wish my lot were placed in such felicity.   

Surely my son (than answered he again)  
If happy, than it is in this intent,  
That having small, yet do I not complain  
Of want, ne wish for more it to augment,  
But do myself, with that I have, content;  
So taught of nature, which doth little need  
Of foreign helps to life's due nourishment:  
The fields my food, my flock my raiment breed;  
No better do I wear, no better do I feed.   

Therefore I do not any one envy,  
Nor am envied of any one therefore;  
They that have much, fear much to lose thereby,  
And store of cares doth follow riches store.  
The little that I have, grows daily more  
Without my care, but only to attend it;  
My lambs do every year increase their score,  
And my flocks father daily doth amend it.  
What have I, but to praise th'Almighty, that doth send it?   

To them, that list, the world's gay shows I leave,  
And to great ones such follies do forgive,  
Which oft through pride do their own peril weave,  
And through ambition down themselves do drive  
To sad decay, that might contented live.  
Me no such cares nor cumbrous thoughts offend,  
Ne once my minds unmoved quiet grieve,  
But all the night in silver sleep I spend,  
And all the day, to what I list, I do attend.   

Sometimes I hunt the Fox, the vowed foe  
Unto my Lambs, and him dislodge away;  
Sometime the fawn I practise from the Do,  
Or from the Goat her kid how to convey;  
Another while I baits and nets display,  
The birds to catch, or fishes to beguile:  
And when I weary am, I down do lay  
My limbs in every shade, to rest from toil,  
And drink of every brook, when thirst my throat doth boil.   

The time was once, in my first prime of years,  
When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,  
That I disdained amongst mine equal pears  
To follow sheep, and shepherds base attire:  
For further fortune than I would inquire.  
And leaving home, to royal court I sought;  
Where I did sell myself for yearly hire,  
And in the Princes gardin daily wrought:  
There I beheld such vainness, as I never thought.   

With sight whereof soon cloyed, and long deluded  
With idle hopes, which them do entertain,  
After I had ten years myself excluded  
From native home, and spent my youth in vain,  
I 'gan my follies to myself to plain,  
And this sweet peace, whose lack did then appear.  
though back returning to my sheep again,  
I from thenceforth have learned to love more dear  
This lowly quiet life, which I inherit here.   

Whilst thus he talked, the knight with greedy ear  
Hung still upon his melting mouth attended;  
Whose sensefull words empierst his heart so near,  
That he was rapt with double ravishment,  
Both of his speech that wrought him great content,  
And also of the object of his view,  
On which his hungry eye was always bend;  
That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her fair hue,  
He lost himself, and like one half entraunced grew.   

Yet to occasion means, to work his mind,  
And to insinuate his heart's desire,  
He thus replied; Now surely sire, I find,  
That all this world's gay shows, which we admire,  
Be but vain shadows to this safe retire  
Of life, which here in lowliness ye lead,  
Fearless of foes, or fortunes wrackful ire,  
Which tosseth states, and under foot doth tread  
The mighty ones, afraid of every changes dread.   

That even I which daily do behold  
The glory of the great, 'mongst whom I won,  
And now have proved, what happiness ye hold  
In this small plot of your dominion,  
Now loath great Lordship and ambition;  
And wish th'heavens so much had graced me,  
As grant me live in like condition;  
Or that my fortunes might transposed be  
From pitch of higher place, unto this low degree.   

In vain (said then old Meliboe) do men  
The heavens of their fortune's fault accuse,  
Sith they know best, what is the best for them:  
For they to each such fortune do diffuse,  
As they do know each can most aptly use.  
For not that, which men covet most, is best,  
Nor that thing worst, which men do most refuse;  
But fittest is, that all contented rest  
With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his breast.   

It is the mind, that maketh good or ill,  
That maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor:  
For some, that hath abundance at his will,  
Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store;  
And other, that hath little, asks no more,  
But in that little is both rich and wise.  
For wisdom is most riches; fools therefore  
They are, which fortunes do by vows devise,  
Sith each unto himself his life may fortunize.   

Since then in each man's self (said Calidore)  
It is, to fashion his own lives estate,  
Give leave awhile, good father, in this shore  
To rest my bark, which hath been beaten late  
With storms of fortune and tempestuous fate,  
In seas of troubles and of toilsome pain,  
That whether quite from them for to retrate  
I shall resolve, or back to turn again,  
I may here with yourself some small repose obtain.   

Not that the burden of so bold a guest  
Shall chargeful be, or change to you at all;  
For your mean food shall be my daily feast,  
And this your cabin both my bower and hall.  
Besides for recompense hereof, I shall  
You well reward, and golden guerdon give,  
That may perhaps you better much withal,  
And in this quiet make you safer live.  
So forth he drew much gold, and toward him it drive.   

But the good man, nought tempted with the offer  
Of his rich mould, did thrust it far away,  
And thus bespoke; Sir knight, your bounteous proffer  
Be far fro me, to whom ye ill display  
That mucky mass, the cause of men's decay,  
That moat impair my peace with dangers dread.  
But if ye algates covet to assay  
This simple sort of life, that shepherds lead,  
Be it your own: our rudeness to yourself aread.   

So there that night Sir Calidore did dwell,  
And long while after, whilst him list remain,  
Daily beholding the fair Pastorell,  
And feeding on the bait of his own bane.  
During which time he did her entertain  
With all kind courtesies, he could invent;  
And every day, her company to gain,  
When to the field she went, he with her went:  
So for to quench his fire, he did it more augment.   

But she that never had acquainted been  
With such quaint usage, fit for Queens and Kings,  
Ne ever had such knightly service seen,  
But being bred under base shepherds wings,  
Had ever learned to love the lowly things,  
Did little whit regard his courteous guise,  
But cared more for Colin's carolings  
Then all that he could do, or ever devise:  
His lays, his loves, his looks she did them all despize.   

Which Calidore perceiving, thought it best  
To change the manner of his lofty look;  
And doffing his bright arms, himself addressed  
In shepherds weed, and in his hand he took,  
In stead of steelhead spear, a shepherds hook,  
That who had seen him then, would have bethought  
On Phrygian Paris by Plexippus brook,  
When he the love of fair Benone sought,  
What time the golden apple was unto him brought.   

So being clad, unto the fields he went  
With the fair Pastorell every day,  
And kept her sheep with diligent attended,  
Watching to drive the ravenous Wolf away,  
The whilst at pleasure she moat sport and play;  
And every evening helping them to fold:  
And otherwhiles for need, he did assay  
In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold,  
And out of them to press the milk: love so much could.   

Which seeing Coridon, who her likewise  
Long time had loved, and hoped her love to gain,  
He much was troubled at that strangers guise,  
And many jealous thoughts conceived in vain,  
That this of all his labour and long pain  
Should reap the harvest, ere it ripened were,  
That made him scowl, and pout, and oft complain  
Of Pastorell to all the shepherds there,  
That she did love a stranger swain than him more dear.   

And ever when he came in company,  
Where Calidore was present, he would louvre,  
And bite his lip, and even for jealousy  
Was ready oft his own heart to devour,  
Impatient of any paramour:  
Who on the other side did seem so far  
From malicing, or grudging his good hour,  
That all he could, he graced him with her,  
Ne ever showed sign of rancour or of jar.   

And oft, when Coridon unto her brought  
Or little sparrows, stolen from their nest,  
Or wanton squirrels, in the woods far sought,  
Or other dainty thing for her addressed,  
He would commend his gift, and make the best.  
Yet she no whit his presents did regard,  
Ne him could find to fancy in her breast:  
This newcome shepherd had his market marred.  
Old love is little worth when new is more preferred.   

One day when as the shepherd swains together  
Were met, to make their sports and merry glee,  
As they are wont in fair sunshynie weather,  
The whiles their flocks in shadows shrouded be,  
They fell to dance: then did they all agree,  
That Colin clout should pipe as one most fit;  
And Calidore should lead the ring, as he  
That most in Pastorellaes' grace did sit.  
Thereat frowned Coridon, and his lip closely bit.   

But Calidore of courteous inclination  
took Coridon, and set him in his place,  
That he should lead the dance, as was his fashion;  
For Coridon could dance, and trimly trace.  
And when as Pastorell, him to grace,  
Her flowery garland took from her own head,  
And placed on his, he did it soon displace,  
And did it put on Coridon's in stead:  
Then Coridon wox frolic, that erst seemed dead.   

Another time, when as they did dispose  
To practise games, and masteries to try,  
They for their judge did Pastorell chose;  
A garland was the meed of victory.  
There Coridon forth stepping openly,  
Did challenge Calidore to wrestling game:  
For he through long and perfect industry,  
Therein well practised was, and in the same  
Thought sure t'avenge his grudge, & work his foe great shame.   

But Calidore he greatly did mistake;  
For he was strong and mightily stiff pight,  
That with one fall his neck he almost broke,  
And had he not upon him fallen light,  
His dearest joint he sure had broken quite.  
Then was the oaken crown by Pastorell  
Given to Calidore, as his due right;  
But he, that did in courtesy excel,  
Gave it to Coridon, and said he won it well.   

Thus did the gentle knight himself abeare  
Amongst that rustic rout in all his deeds,  
That even they, the which his rivals were,  
Can not malign him, but commend him needs:  
For courtesy amongst the rudest breeds:  
Good will and favour. So it surely wrought  
With this fair Maid, and in her mind the seeds  
Of perfect love did sow, that last forth brought  
The fruit of joy and bliss, though long time dearly bought.   

Thus Calidore continued there long time,  
To win the love of the fair Pastorell;  
Which having got, he used without crime  
Or blameful blot, but managed so well,  
That he of all the rest, which there did well,  
Was favoured, and to her grace commended.  
But what strange fortunes unto him befell,  
Ere he attained the point by him intended,  
Shall more conveniently in other place be ended.    

Cant. X.  
Calidore sees the Grace's dance,  
To Colin's melody:  
The whiles his Pastorell is led,  
Into captivity.  

WHo now does follow the foul Blatant Beast,  
Whilst Calidore does follow that fair Maid,  
Unmindful of his vow and high behest,  
Which by the Fairy Queen was on him laid,  
That he should never leave, nor be delayed  
From chasing him, till he had it attchieved?  
But now entrapped of love, which him betrayed,  
He mindeth more, how he may be relieved  
With grace from her, whose love his heart hath sore engrieved.   

That from henceforth he means no more to sew  
His former quest, so full of toil and pain;  
Another quest, another game in view  
He hath, the guerdon of his love to gain:  
With whom he minds for ever to remain,  
And set his rest amongst the rustic sort,  
Rather than hunt still after shadows vain  
Of courtly favour, fed with light report,  
Of every blast, and sailing always on the port.   

Ne certes moat he greatly blamed be,  
From so high step to stoop unto so low.  
For who had tasted once (as oft did he)  
The happy peace, which there doth overflow,  
And proved the perfect pleasures, which do grow  
Amongst poor hinds, in hills, in woods, in dales,  
Would never more delight in painted show  
Of such false bliss, as there is set for stales,  
T'entrap unwary fools in their eternal bales.   

For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze  
Like to one sight, which Calidore did view?  
The glance whereof their dimmed eyes would daze,  
That never more they should endure the show  
Of that sunshine, that makes them look askew.  
Ne ought in all that world of beauties rare,  
(Save only Glorianaes' heavenly hue  
To which what can compare?) can it compare;  
The which as cometh now, by course I will declare.   

One day as he did range the fields abroad,  
Whilst his fair Pastorell was elsewhere,  
He chanced to come, far from all peoples troad,  
Unto a place, whose pleasance did appear  
To pass all others, on the earth which were:  
For all that ever was by nature's skill  
Devized to work delight, was gathered there,  
And there by her were poured forth at fill,  
As if this to adorn, she all the rest did pill.   

It was an hill placed in an open plain,  
That round about was bordered with a wood  
Of matchless height, that seemed th'earth to disdain,  
In which all trees of honour stately stood,  
And did all winter as in summer bud,  
Spreading pavilions for the birds to bower,  
Which in their lower branches sung aloud;  
And in their tops the soaring hawk did tower,  
Sitting like King of fowls in majesty and power.   

And at the foot thereof, a gentle flood  
His silver waves did softly tumble down,  
Vnmard with ragged moss or filthy mud,  
Ne mote wild beasts, ne moat the ruder clown  
Thereto approach, ne filth moat therein drown:  
But Nymphs and Fairies by the banks did sit,  
In the woods shade, which did the water's crown,  
Keeping all noisome things away from it,  
And to the waters fall tuning their accents fit.   

And on the top thereof a spacious plain  
Did spread itself, to serve to all delight,  
Either to dance, when they to dance would feign,  
Or else to course about their bases light;  
Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might  
Desired be, or thence to banish bale:  
So pleasantly the hill with equal height,  
Did seem to overlook the lowly vale;  
Therefore it rightly cleped was mount Acidale.   

They say that Venus, when she did dispose  
Herself to pleasance, used to resort  
Unto this place, and therein to repose  
And rest herself, as in a gladsome port,  
Or with the Graces there to play and sport;  
That even her own Cithaeron, though in it  
She used most to keep her royal court,  
And in her sovereign Majesty to sit,  
She in regard hereof refused and thought unfit.   

Unto this place when as the Elfin Knight  
Approached, him seemed that the merry sound  
Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on height,  
And many feet fast thumping th'hollow ground,  
That through the woods their Echo did rebound.  
He nigher drew, to weet what moat it be;  
There he a troop of Ladies dancing found  
Full merrily, and making gladfull glee,  
And in the midst a Shepherd piping he did see.   

He durst not enter into th'open green,  
For dread of them unwares to be descried,  
For breaking of their dance, if he were seen;  
But in the covert of the wood did bide,  
Beholding all, yet of them unespyde.  
There he did see, that pleased much his sight,  
That even he himself his eyes envied,  
An hundred naked maiden's lily white,  
All ranged in a ring, and dancing in delight.   

All they without were ranged in a ring,  
And danced round; but in the midst of them  
Three other Ladies did both dance and sing,  
The whilst the rest them round about did hem,  
And like a garland did in compass stem:  
And in the midst of those same three, was placed  
Another Damsel, as a precious gem,  
Amidst a ring most richly well enchased,  
That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced.   

Look how the Crown, which Ariadne wore  
Upon her ivory forehead that same day,  
That Theseus her unto his bridal bore,  
When the bold Centaurs made that bloody fray.  
With the fierce Lapiths, which did them dismay;  
Being now placed in the firmament,  
Through the bright heaven doth her beams display,  
And is unto the stars an ornament,  
Which round about her move in order excellent.   

Such was the beauty of this goodly band,  
Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell:  
But she that in the midst of them did stand,  
Seemed all the rest in beauty to excel,  
Crowned with a rosy garland, that right well  
Did her beseem. And ever, as the crew  
About her danced, sweet flowers, that far did smell,  
And fragrant odours they upon her threw;  
But most of all, those three did her with gifts endew.   

Those were the Graces, daughters of delight,  
Handmaids of Venus, which are wont to haunt  
Upon this hill, and dance there day and night:  
Those three to men all gifts of grace do grant,  
And all, that Venus in herself doth vaunt,  
Is borrowed of them. But that fair one,  
That in the midst was placed paravaunt,  
Was she to whom that shepherd piped alone,  
That made him pipe so merrily, as never none.   

She was to weet that jolly shepherds lass,  
Which piped there unto that merry rout,  
That jolly shepherd, which there piped, was  
Poor Colin Clout (who knows not Colin clout?)  
He piped apace, whilst they him danced about.  
Pipe jolly shepherd, pipe thou now apace  
Unto thy love, that made thee low to lout;  
Thy love is present there with thee in place,  
Thy love is there advanced to be another Grace.   

Much wondered Calidore at this strange sight,  
Whose like before his eye had never seen,  
And standing long astonished in sprite,  
And rapt with pleasance, witted not what to ween;  
Whether it were the train of beauty's Queen,  
Or Nymphs, or Fairies, or enchanted show,  
With which his eyes moat have deluded been.  
Therefore resolving, what it was, to know,  
Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go.   

But soon as he appeared to their view,  
They vanished all away out of his sight,  
And clean were gone, which way he never knew;  
All save the shepherd, who for fell despite  
Of that displeasure, broke his bagpipe quite,  
And made great moan for that unhappy turn.  
But Calidore, though no less sorry wight,  
For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourn,  
Drew near, that he the truth of all by him moat learn.   

And first him greeting, thus unto him spoke,  
Hail jolly shepherd, which thy joyous days  
Here leadest in this goodly merry make,  
Frequented of these gentle Nymphs always,  
Which to thee flock, to hear thy lovely lays;  
Tell me, what moat these dainty Damsels be,  
Which here with thee do make their pleasant plays?  
Right happy thou, that mayst them freely see:  
But why when I them saw, fled they away from me?   

Not I so happy answered then that swain,  
As thou unhappy, which them thence didst chase,  
Whom by no means thou canst recall again,  
For being gone, none can them bring in place,  
But whom they of themselves list so to grace.  
Right sorry I, (said then Sir Calidore,)  
That my ill fortune did them hence displace.  
But since things passed none may now restore,  
Tell me, what were they all, whose lack thee grieves so sore.   

though 'gan that shepherd thus for to dilate;  
Then wot thou shepherd, whatsoever thou be,  
That all those Ladies, which thou sawest late,  
Are Venus' Damsels, all with in her fee,  
But differing in honour and degree:  
They all are Graces, which on her depend,  
Besides a thousand more, which ready be  
Her to adorn, when so she forth doth wend:  
But those three in the midst, do chief on her attend.   

They are the daughters of sky-ruling jove,  
By him begot of fair Eurynome,  
The Ocean's daughter, in this pleasant grove,  
As he this way coming from feastful glee,  
Of Thetis' wedding with AEcidee.  
In summers shade himself here rested weary.  
The first of them height mild Euphrosyne,  
Next fair Aglaia, last Thalia merry:  
Sweet Goddesses all three which me in mirth do cherry.   

These three on men all gracious gifts bestow,  
Which deck the body or adorn the mind,  
To make them lovely or well favoured show,  
As comely carriage, entertainment kind,  
Sweet semblant, friendly offices that bind,  
And all the compliments of courtesy:  
They teach us, how to each degree and kind  
We should ourselves demean, to low, to high;  
To friends, to foes, which skill men call Civility.   

Therefore they always smoothly seem to smile,  
That we likewise should mild and gentle be,  
And also naked are, that without guile  
Or false dissemblaunce all them plain may see,  
Simple and true from covert malice free:  
And eke themselves so in their dance they bore,  
That two of them still forward seemed to be,  
But one still towards show'd herself afore;  
That good should from us go, then come in greater store.   

Such were those Goddesses, which ye did see;  
But that fourth Maid, which there amidst them traced,  
Who can aread, what creature moat she be,  
Whether a creature, or a goddess graced  
With heavenly gifts from heaven first enraced?  
But what so sure she was, she worthy was,  
To be the fourth with those three other placed:  
Yet was she certes but a counrtey lass,  
Yet she all other country lasses far did pass.   

So far as doth the daughter of the day,  
All other lesser lights in light excel,  
So far doth she in beautiful array,  
Above all other lasses bear the bell,  
Ne less in virtue that beseems her well,  
Doth she exceed the rest of all her race,  
For which the Graces that here wont to dwell,  
Have for more honour brought her to this place,  
And graced her so much to be another Grace.   

Another Grace she well deserves to be,  
In whom so many Graces gathered are,  
Excelling much the mean of her degree;  
Divine resemblance, beauty sovereign rare,  
Firm Chastity, that spite ne blemish dare;  
All which she with such courtesy doth grace,  
That all her peers cannot with her compare,  
But quite are dimmed, when she is in place.  
She made me often pipe and now to pipe apace.   

Sun of the world, great glory of the sky,  
That all the earth dost lighten with thy rays,  
Great Gloriana, greatest Majesty,  
Pardon thy shepherd, 'mongst so many lays,  
As he hath sung of thee in all his days,  
To make one minime of thy poor handmaid,  
And underneath thy feet to place her praise,  
That when thy glory shall be far displayed  
To future age of her this mention may be made.   

When thus that shepherd ended had his speech,  
Said Calidore; Now sure it irketh me,  
That to thy bliss I made this luckless breach,  
As now the author of thy bale to be,  
Thus to bereave thy loves dear sight from thee:  
But gentle Shepherd pardon thou my shame,  
Who rashly sought that, which I moat not see.  
Thus did the courteous Knight excuse his blame,  
And to recomfort him, all comely means did frame.   

In such discourses they together spent  
Long time, as fit occasion forth them led;  
With which the Knight himself did much content,  
And with delight his greedy fancy fed,  
Both of his words, which he with reason red;  
And also of the place, whose pleasures rare  
With such regard his senses ravished,  
That thence, he had no will away to far,  
But wished, that with that shepherd he moat dwelling share.   

But that enuenimd sting, the which of yore,  
His poisonous point deep fixed in his heart  
Had left, now 'gan afresh to rankle sore,  
And to renew the rigour of his smart:  
Which to recure, no skill of Leaches art  
Mote him avail, but to return again  
To his wounds worker, that with lovely dart  
Dinting his breast, had bred his restless pain,  
Like as the wounded Whale to shore flies from the main.   

So taking leave of that same gentle swain,  
He back returned to his rustic won,  
Where his fair Pastorell did remain:  
To whom in sort, as he at first begun,  
He daily did apply himself to done,  
All dewfull service void of thoughts impair  
Ne any pains ne peril did he shun,  
By which he might her to his love allure,  
And liking in her yet untamed heart procure.   

And evermore the shepherd Coridon,  
What ever thing he did her to aggrate,  
Did strive to match with strong contention,  
And all his pains did closely emulate;  
Whether it were to carol, as they sat  
Keeping their sheep, or games to exercise,  
Or to present her with their labours late;  
Through which if any grace chanced to arise  
To him, the Shepherd straight with jealousy did freeze.   

One day as they all three together went  
To the green wood, to gather strawberries,  
There chanced to them a dangerous accident;  
A Tiger forth out of the wood did rise,  
That with fell claws full of fierce gourmandize,  
And greedy mouth, wide gaping like hell gate,  
Did run at Pastorell her to surprise:  
Whom she beholding, now all desolate  
'Gan cry to them aloud, to help her all too late.   

Which Coridon first hearing, ran in haste  
To rescue her, but when he saw the fiend,  
Through cowherd fear he fled away as fast,  
Ne durst abide the danger of the end;  
His life he steemed dearer than his friend.  
But Calidore soon coming to her aid,  
When he the beast saw ready now to rend  
His loves dear spoil, in which his heart was prayed,  
He ran at him enraged in stead of being frayed.   

He had no weapon, but his shepherds hook,  
To serve the vengeance of his wrathful will,  
With which so sternly he the monster struck,  
That to the ground astonished he fell;  
Whence ere he could recour, he did him quell,  
And hewing off his head, it presented  
Before the feet of the fair Pastorell;  
Who scarcely yet from former fear exempted,  
A thousand times him thanked, that had her death prevented.   

From that day forth she 'gan him to affect,  
And daily more her favour to augment;  
But Coridon for cowherdize reject,  
Fit to keep sheep, unfit for loves content:  
The gentle heart scorns base disparagement.  
Yet Calidore did not despise him quite,  
But used him friendly for further intent,  
That by his fellowship, he colour might  
Both his estate, and love from skill of any wight.   

So well he would her, and so well he wrought her,  
With humble service, and with daily suit,  
That at the last unto his will he brought her;  
Which he so wisely well did prosecute,  
That of his love he reaped the timely fruit,  
And joyed long in close felicity:  
Till fortune fraught with malice, blind, and brute,  
That envies lovers long prosperity,  
Blew up a bitter storm of foul adversity.   

It fortuned one day, when Calidore  
Was hunting in the woods (as was his trade)  
A lawless people, Brigants height of yore,  
That never used to live by plough nor spade,  
But fed on spoil and booty, which they made  
Upon their neighbours, which did nigh them border,  
The dwelling of these shepherds did invade,  
And spoiled their houses, and themselves did murder;  
And drove away their flocks, with other much disorder.   

Amongst the rest, the which they then did pray,  
They spoiled old Melibee of all he had,  
And all his people captive led away,  
'mongst which this luckless maid away was lad,  
Fair Pastorell, sorrowful and sad,  
Most sorrowful, most sad, that ever sight,  
Now made the spoil of thieves and Brigants bad,  
Which was the conquest of the gentlest Knight,  
That ever lived, and th'only glory of his might.   

With them also was taken Coridon,  
And carried captive by those thieves away;  
Who in the covert of the night, that none  
Mote them descry, nor rescue from their prey,  
Unto their dwelling did them close convey.  
Their dwelling in a little Island was,  
Covered with shrubby woods, in which no way  
Appeared for people in nor out to pass,  
Nor any footing find for overgrown grass.   

For underneath the ground their way was made,  
Through hollow caves, that no man moat discover  
For the thick shrubs, which did them always shade  
From view of living wight, and covered over:  
But darkness dread and daily night did hover  
Through all the inner parts, wherein they dwelled.  
Ne ligntned was with window, nor with lover,  
But with continual candlelight, which dealt  
A doubtful sense of things, not so well seen, as felt.   

Hither those Brigants brought their present prey,  
And kept them with continual watch and ward,  
Meaning so soon, as they convenient may,  
For slaves to sell them, for no small reward,  
To merchants, which them kept in bondage hard,  
Or sold again. Now when fair Pastorell  
Into this place was brought, and kept with guard  
Of grisly thieves, she thought herself in hell,  
Where with such damned fiends she should in darkness dwell.   

But for to tell the doleful dreariment,  
And pitiful complaints, which there she made,  
Where day and night she nought did but lament  
Her wretched life, shut up in deadly shade,  
And waste her goodly beauty, which did fade  
Like to a flower, that feels no heat of sun,  
Which may her feeble leaves with comfort glade.  
But what befell her in that thievish won,  
Will in an other Canto better be begun.    

Cant. XI.  
The thieves fall out for Pastorell,  
Whilst Melibee is slain:  
Her Calidore from them redeems,  
And bringeth back again.  

THe joys of love, if they should ever last,  
Without affliction or disquietness,  
That worldly chances do amongst them cast,  
Would be on earth too great a blessedness,  
Liker to heaven, then mortal wretchedness.  
Therefore the winged God, to let men weet,  
That here on earth is no sure happiness,  
A thousand sours hath tempered with one sweet,  
To make it seem more dear and dainty, as is meet.   

Like as is now befallen to this fair Maid,  
Fair Pastorell, of whom is now my song,  
Who being now in dreadful darkness laid,  
Amongst those thieves, which her in bondage strong  
Detained, yet Fortune not with all this wrong  
Contented, greater mischief on her threw,  
And sorrows heaped on her in greater throng;  
That who so hears her heaviness, would rue  
And pity her sad plight, so changed from pleasant hue.   

Whilst thus she in these hellish dens remained,  
Wrapped in wretched cares and hearts unrest,  
It so befell (as Fortune had ordained)  
That he, which was their captain professed,  
And had the chief command of all the rest,  
One day as he did all his prisoners view,  
With lustful eyes, beheld that lovely guest,  
Fair Pastorell, whose sad mournful hue  
Like the fair Morning clad in misty fog did show.   

At sight whereof his barbarous heart was fired,  
And inly burnt with flames most raging hot,  
That her alone he for his part desired  
Of all the other pray, which they had got,  
And her in mind did to himself allot.  
From that day forth he kindness to her showed,  
And sought her love, by all the means he moat;  
With looks, with words, with gifts he oft her wooed;  
And mixed threats among, and much unto her vowed.   

But all that ever he could do or say,  
Her constant mind could not a whit remove,  
Nor draw unto the lure of his lewd lay,  
To grant him favour, or afford him love.  
Yet ceased he not to sew and all ways prove,  
By which he moat accomplish his request,  
Saying and doing all that moat behove;  
Ne day nor night he suffered her to rest,  
But her all night did watch, and all the day molest.   

At last when him she so importune saw,  
Fearing lest he at length the rains would lend  
Unto his lust, and make his will his law,  
Sith in his power she was to foe or friend,  
She thought it best, for shadow to pretend  
Some show of favour, by him gracing small,  
That she thereby mote either freely wend,  
Or at more ease continue there his thrall:  
A little well is lent, that gaineth more withal.   

So from thenceforth, when love he to her made,  
With better terms she did him entertain,  
Which gave him hope, and did him half persuade,  
That he in time her ioyaunce should obtain.  
But when she saw, through that small favours gain,  
That further, than she willing was, he priest,  
She found no means to bar him, but to feign  
A sudden sickness, which her sore oppressed,  
And made unfit to serve his lawless minds behest.   

By means whereof she would not him permit  
Once to approach to her in privity,  
But only 'mongst the rest by her to sit,  
Mourning the rigour of her malady,  
And seeking all things meet for remedy.  
But she resolved no remedy to find,  
Nor better cheer to show in misery,  
Till Fortune would her captive bonds unbind,  
Her sickness was not of the body but the mind.   

During which space that she thus sick did lie,  
It chanced a sort of merchants, which were wont  
To skim those coasts, for bondmen there to buy,  
And by such traffic after gains to hunt,  
Arrived in this Isle though bare and blunt,  
T'inquire for slaves; where being ready met  
By some of these same thieves at the instant brunt,  
Were brought unto their Captain, who was set  
By his fair patient's side with sorrowful regret.   

To whom they showed, how those merchants were  
Arrived in place, their bondslaves for to buy,  
And therefore prayed, that those same captives there  
Mote to them for their most commodity  
Be sold, and 'mongst them shared equally.  
This their request the Captain much appalled;  
Yet could he not their just demand deny,  
And willed straight the slaves should forth be called,  
And sold for most advantage not to be forstalled.   

Then forth the good old Meliboe was brought,  
And Coridon, with many other more,  
Whom they before in diverse spoils had caught:  
All which he to the merchants sale did show.  
Till some, which did the sundry prisoners know,  
'Gan to inquire for that fair shepherdess,  
Which with the rest they took not long ago,  
And 'gan her form and feature to express,  
The more t'augment her price, through praise of comeliness.   

To whom the Captain in full angry wize  
Made answer, that the Maid of whom they spoke,  
Was his own purchase and his only prize,  
With which none had to do, ne ought partake,  
But he himself, which did that conquest make;  
Little for him to have one silly lass:  
Besides through sickness now so wan and weak,  
That nothing meet in merchandise to pass.  
So show'd them her, to prove how pale & weak she was.   

The sight of whom, though now decayed and marred,  
And eke but hardly seen by candlelight,  
Yet like a Diamond of rich regard,  
In doubtful shadow of the darksome night,  
With starry beams about her shining bright,  
These merchants fixed eyes did so amaze,  
That what through wonder, & what through delight,  
A while on her they greedily did gaze,  
And did her greatly like, and did her greatly praise.   

At last when all the rest them offered were,  
And prizes to them placed at their pleasure,  
They all refused in regard of her,  
Ne ought would buy, how ever prisd with measure,  
Withouten her, whose worth above all treasure  
They did esteem, and offered store of gold.  
But then the Captain fraught with more displeasure,  
Bade them be still, his love should not be sold:  
The rest take if they would, he her to him would hold.   

Therewith some other of the chiefest thieves  
Boldly him bad such injury forbear;  
For that same maid, how ever it him grieves,  
Should with the rest be sold before him there,  
To make the prizes of the rest more dear.  
That with great rage he stoutly doth denay;  
And fiercely drawing forth his blade, doth swear,  
That who so hardy hand on her doth lay,  
It dearly shall abye, and death for handsel pay.   

Thus as they words amongst them multiply,  
They fall to strokes, the fruit of too much talk,  
And the mad steel about doth fiercely fly,  
Not sparing wight, ne leaving any baulk,  
But making way for death at large to walk:  
Who in the horror of the grisly night,  
In thousand dreadful shapes doth 'mongst them stalk,  
And makes huge havoc, whiles the candlelight  
Out quenched, leaves no skill nor difference of wight.   

Like as a sort of hungry dogs ymet  
About some carcase by the common way,  
Do fall together, striving each to get  
The greatest portion of the greedy prey;  
All on confused heaps themselves assay,  
And snatch, and bite, and rend, and tug, and tear;  
That who them sees, would wonder at their fray,  
And who sees not, would be afraid to hear.  
Such was the conflict of those cruel Brigants there.   

But first of all, their captives they do kill,  
Lest they should join against the weaker side,  
Or rise against the remnant at their will;  
Old Meliboe is slain, and him beside  
His aged wife, with many others wide,  
But Coridon escaping craftily,  
Creeps forth of doors, whilst darkness him doth hide,  
And flies away as fast as he can high,  
Ne stayeth leave to take, before his friends do die.   

But Pastorell, woeful wretched Elf,  
Was by the Captain all this while defended,  
Who minding more her safety then himself,  
His target always over her pretended;  
By means whereof, that moat not be amended,  
He at the length was slain, and laid on ground,  
Yet holding fast twixt both his arms extended  
Fair Pastorell, who with the self same wound  
Launched through the arm, fell down with him in dreary swound.   

There lay she covered with confused press  
Of carcases, which dying on her fell.  
though when as he was dead, the fray 'gan cease,  
And each to other calling, did compel  
To stay their cruel hands from slaughter fell,  
Sith they that were the cause of all, were gone.  
Thereto they all attonce agreed well,  
And lighting candles new, 'gan search anon,  
How many of their friends were slain, how many soon.   

Their Captain there they cruelly found killed,  
And in his arms the dreary dying maid,  
Like a sweet Angel twixt two clouds uphild:  
Her lovely light was dimmed and decayed,  
With cloud of death upon her eyes displayed;  
Yet did the cloud make even that dimmed light  
Seem much more lovely in that darkness laid,  
And twixt the twinkling of her eyelids bright,  
To spark out little beams, like stars in foggy night.   

But when they moved the carcases aside,  
They found that life did yet in her remain:  
Then all their helps they busily applied,  
To call the soul back to her home again;  
And wrought so well with labour and long pain,  
That they to life recovered her at last.  
Who sighing sore, as if her heart in twain  
Had riven been, and all her heart strings braced,  
With dreary drooping eyen looked up like one aghast.   

There she beheld, that sore her grieved to see,  
Her father and her friends about her lying,  
Herself sole left, a second spoil to be  
Of those, that having saved her from dying,  
Renewed her death by timely death denying:  
What now is left her, but to wail and weep,  
Wring her hands, and ruefully loud crying?  
Ne cared she her wound in tears to steep,  
Albe with all their might those Brigants her did keep.   

But when they saw her now relieved again,  
They left her so, in charge of one the best  
Of many worst, who with unkind disdain  
And cruel rigour her did much molest;  
Scarce yielding her due food, or timely rest,  
And scarcely suffering her infestred wound,  
That sore her pained, by any to be dressed.  
So leave we her in wretched thraldom bound,  
And turn we back to Calidore, where we him found.   

Who when he back returned from the wood,  
And saw his shepherds cottage spoiled quite,  
And his love reft away, he waxed wood,  
And half enraged at that rueful sight,  
That even his heart for very fell despite,  
And his own flesh he ready was to tear,  
He chauft, he grieved, he fretted, and he sight,  
And fared like a furious wild Bear,  
Whose whelps are stolen away, she being otherwhere.   

Ne wight he found, to whom he might complain,  
Ne wight he found, of whom he might inquire;  
That more increased the anguish of his pain.  
He sought the woods; but no man could see there,  
He sought the plains; but could no tidings hear.  
The woods did nought but echoes vain rebound;  
The plains all waste and empty did appear:  
Where wont the shepherds oft their pipes resound,  
And feed an hundred flocks, there now not one he found.   

At last as there he rome up and down,  
He chanced one coming towards him to spy,  
That seemed to be some sorry simple clown,  
With ragged weeds, and locks upstaring high,  
As if he did from some late danger fly,  
And yet his fear did follow him behind:  
Who as he unto him approached nigh,  
He moat perceive by signs, which he did find,  
That Coridon it was, the silly shepherd's hind.   

though to him running fast, he did not stay  
To greet him first, but asked where were the rest;  
Where Pastorell? who full of fresh dismay,  
And gushing forth in tears, was so oppressed,  
That he no word could speak, but smit his breast,  
And up to heaven his eyes fast streming threw.  
Whereat the knight amazed, yet did not rest,  
But asked again, what meant that rueful hue:  
Where was his Pastorell? where all the other crew?   

Ah well away (said he then sighing sore)  
That ever I did live, this day to see,  
This dismal day, and was not dead before,  
Before I saw fair Pastorell die.  
Die? out alas then Calidore did cry:  
How could the death dare ever her to quell?  
But read thou shepherd, read what destiny,  
Or other direful hap from heaven or hell  
Hath wrought this wicked deed, do fear away, and tell.   

though when the shepherd breathed had a while,  
He thus began: where shall I then commence  
This woeful tale? or how those Brigants vile,  
With cruel rage and dreadful violence  
spoiled all our cots, and carried us from hence?  
Or how fair Pastorell should have been sold  
To merchants, but was saved with strong defence?  
Or how those thieves, whilst one sought her to hold,  
Fell all at odds, and fought through fury fierce and bold.   

In that same conflict (woe is me) befell  
This fatal chance, this doleful accident,  
Whose heavy tidings now I have to tell.  
First all the captives, which they here had hent,  
Were by them slain by general consent;  
Old Meliboe and his good wife withal  
These eyes saw die, and dearly did lament:  
But when the lot to Pastorell did fall,  
Their Captain long withstood, & did her death forstall,   

But what could he 'gainst all them do alone:  
It could not boot; needs moat she die at last:  
I only scaped through great confusione  
Of cries and clamours, which amongst them past,  
In dreadful darkness dreadfully aghast;  
That better were with them to have been dead,  
Then here to see all desolate and waste,  
Despoiled of those joys and jolly head,  
Which with those gentle shepherds here I wont to lead.   

When Calidore these rueful news had reached,  
His heart quite deadened was with anguish great,  
And all his wits with doole were nigh distraught,  
That he his face, his head, his breast did beat,  
And death itself unto himself did threat;  
Oft cursing th'heavens, that so cruel were  
To her, whose name he often did repeat;  
And wishing oft, that he were present there,  
When she was slain, or had been to her succour near.   

But after grief awhile had had his course,  
And spent itself in mourning, he at last  
Began to mitigate his swelling source,  
And in his mind with better reason cast,  
How he might save her life, if life did last;  
Or if that dead, how he her death might wreak,  
Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past;  
Or if it to revenge he were too weak,  
Then for to die with her, and his lives thread to break.   

though Coridon he prayed, sith he well knew  
The ready way unto that thievish won,  
To wend with him, and be his conduct true  
Unto the place, to see what should be done.  
But he, whose heart through fear was late fordone,  
Would not for ought be drawn to former dread,  
But by all means the danger known did shun:  
Yet Calidore so well him wrought with meed,  
And fair bespoke with words, that he at last agreed.   

So forth they go together (God before)  
Both clad in shepherds weeds agreeably,  
And both with shepherds hooks: But Calidore  
Had underneath, him armed privily.  
though to the place when they approached nigh,  
They chanced, upon an hill not far away,  
Some flocks of sheep and shepherds to espy;  
To whom they both agreed to take their way,  
In hope there news to learn, how they moat best assay.   

There did they find, that which they did not fear,  
The self same flocks, the which those thieves had reft  
From Meliboe and from themseles whilere,  
And certain of the thieves there by them left,  
The which for want of herds themselves then kept.  
Right well knew Coridon his own late sheep,  
And seeing them, for tender pity wept:  
But when he saw the thieves, which did them keep  
His heart 'gan fail, albe he saw them all asleep.   

But Calidore recomforting his grief,  
Though not his fear: for nought may fear dissuade;  
Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thief  
Lay sleeping sound in the bushes shade,  
Whom Coridon him counselled to invade  
Now all unwares, and take the spoil away;  
But he, that in his mind had closely made  
A further purpose, would not so them slay,  
But gently waking them, gave them the time of day.   

though sitting down by them upon the green,  
Of sundry things he purpose 'gan to feign;  
That he by them might certain tidings ween  
Of Pastorell, were she alive or slain.  
'mongst which the thieves them questioned again,  
What mister men, and eke from whence they were.  
To whom they answered, as did appertain,  
That they were poor heardgroomes, the which whylere  
Had from their masters fled, & now sought hire elsewhere.   

Whereof right glad they seemed, and offer made  
To hire them well, if they their flocks would keep:  
For they themselves were evil grooms, they said,  
Unwont with herds to watch, or pasture sheep,  
But to forray the land, or scour the deep.  
Thereto they soon agreed, and earnest took,  
To keep their flocks for little hire and cheap:  
For they for better hire did shortly look,  
So there all day they bided, till light the sky forsook.   

though when as towards darksome night it drew,  
Unto their hellish dens those thieves them brought,  
Where shortly they in great acquaintance grew,  
And all the secrets of their entrails sought.  
There did they find, contrary to their thought,  
That Pastorell yet lived, but all the rest  
Were dead, right so as Coridon had taught:  
Whereof they both full glad and blithe did rest,  
But chief Calidore, whom grief had most possessed.   

At length when they occasion fittest found,  
In dead of night, when all the thieves did rest  
After a late forray, and slept full sound,  
Sir Calidore him armed, as he thought best,  
Having of late by diligent inquest,  
Provided him a sword of meanest sort:  
With which he straight went to the captains nest.  
But Coridon durst not with him consort,  
Ne durst abide behind, for dread of worse effort.   

When to the Cave they came, they found it fast:  
But Calidore with huge resistless might,  
The doors assailed, and the locks upbrast.  
With noise whereof the thief awaking light,  
Unto the entrance ran: where the bold knight  
Encountering him with small resistance slew;  
The whiles fair Pastorell through great affright  
Was almost dead, misdoubting least of new  
Some uproar were like that, which lately she did view.   

But when as Calidore was comen in,  
And 'gan aloud for Pastorell to call,  
Knowing his voice although not heard long sin,  
She sudden was revived therewithal,  
And wondrous joy felt in her spirits thrall:  
Like him that being long in tempest tossed,  
Looking each hour into deaths mouth to fall,  
At length espies at hand the happy cost,  
On which he safety hopes, that erst feared to be lost.   

Her gentle heart, that now long season past  
Had never joyance felt, nor cheerful thought,  
Began some smack of comfort new to taste,  
Like lyfull heat to numbed senses brought,  
And life to feel, that long for death had sought;  
Ne less in heart rejoiced Calidore,  
When he her found, but like to one distraught  
And robbed of reason, towards her him bore,  
A thousand times embraced, and kissed a thousand more.   

But now by this, with noise of late uproar,  
The hue and cry was raised all about;  
And all the Brigants flocking in great store,  
Unto the cave 'gan press, nought having doubt  
Of that was done, and entered in a rout.  
But Calidore in th'entry close did stand,  
And entertaining them with courage stout,  
Still slew the foremost, that came first to hand,  
So long till all the entry was with bodies manned.   

though when no more could nigh to him approach,  
He breathed his sword, and rested him till day:  
Which when he spied upon the earth t'encroach,  
Through the dead carcases he made his way,  
'mongst which he found a sword of better say,  
With which he forth went into th'open light:  
Where all the rest for him did ready stay,  
And fierce assailing him, with all their might  
'Gan all upon him lay: there 'gan a dreadful fight.   

How many flies in hottest summers day  
Do seize upon some beast, whose flesh is bare,  
That all the place with swarms do overlay,  
And with their little stings right felly far;  
So many thieves about him swarming are,  
All which do him assail on every side,  
And sore oppress, ne any him doth spare:  
But he doth with his raging brand divide  
Their thickest troops, & round about him scattreth wide.   

Like as a Lion 'mongst an heard of dear,  
Disperseth them to catch his choicest prey;  
So did he fly amongst them here and there,  
And all that near him came, did hue and slay,  
Till he had strewed with bodies all the way;  
That none his danger daring to abide,  
Fled from his wrath, and did themselves convey  
Into their caves, their heads from death to hide,  
Ne any left, that victory to him envied.   

Then back returning to his dearest dear,  
He her 'gan to recomfort, all he might,  
With gladfull speeches, and with lovely cheer,  
And forth her bringing to the joyous light,  
Whereof she long had lacked the wishful sight,  
Devised all goodly means, from her to drive  
The sad remembrance of her wretched plight.  
So her uneath at last he did revive,  
That long had lain dead, and made again alive.   

This done, into those thievish dens he went,  
And thence did all the spoils and threasures take,  
Which they from many long had robbed and rend,  
But fortune now the victor's meed did make;  
Of which the best he did his love betake;  
And also all those flocks, which they before  
Had reft from Meliboe and from his make,  
He did them all to Coridon restore.  
So drove them all away, and his love with him bore.    

Cant. XII.  
Fair Pastorell by great hap  
her parents understands,  
Calidore doth the Blatant beast  
subdue, and bind in bands.  

LIke as a ship, that through the Ocean wide  
Directs her course unto one certain cost,  
Is met of many a counter wind and tide,  
With which her winged speed is let and crossed,  
And she herself in stormy surges tossed;  
Yet making many a board, and many a bay,  
Still winneth way, ne hath her compass lost:  
Right so it fares with me in this long way,  
Whose course is often stayed, yet never is astray.   

For all that hitherto hath long delayed  
This gentle knight, from sewing his first quest,  
Though out of course, yet hath not been missayd,  
To show the courtesy by him professed,  
Even unto the lowest and the least.  
But now I come into my course again,  
To his achievement of the Blatant beast;  
Who all this while at will did range and rain,  
Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to restrain.   

Sir Calidore when thus he now had reached  
Fair Pastorell from those Brigants power,  
Unto the Castle of Belgard her brought,  
Whereof was Lord the good Sir Bellamoure;  
Who whilom was in his youths freshest flower  
A lusty knight, as ever wielded spear,  
And had endured many a dreadful stoure  
In bloody battle for a Lady dear,  
The fairest Lady then of all that living were.   

Her name was Claribell, whose father height  
The Lord of Many islands, far renowned  
For his great riches and his greater might.  
He through the wealth, wherein he did abound,  
This daughter thought in wedlock to have bound  
Unto the Prince of Picteland bordering near,  
But she whose sides before with secret wound  
Of love to Bellamoure empierced were,  
By all means shunned to match with any foreign fere.   

And Bellamour again so well her pleased,  
With daily service and attendance dew,  
That of her love he was entirely seized,  
And closely did her wed, but known to few.  
Which when her father understood, he grew  
In so great rage, that them in dungeon deep  
Without compassion cruelly he threw;  
Yet did so straightly them a sunder keep,  
That neither could to company of th'other creep.   

Nathlesse Sir Bellamour, whether through grace  
Or secret gifts so with his keepers wrought,  
That to his love sometimes he came in place,  
Whereof her womb unwist to wight was fraught,  
And in due time a maiden child forth brought.  
Which she straight way for dread least, if her sire  
Should know thereof, to slay he would have sought,  
Delivered to her handmaid, that for hire  
She should it cause be fostered under strange attire.   

The trusty damsel bearing it abroad  
Into the empty fields, where living wight  
Mote not bewray the secret of her load,  
She forth 'gan lay unto the open light  
The little babe, to take thereof a sight.  
Whom whilst she did with watery eyen behold,  
Upon the little breast like crystal bright,  
She moat perceive a little purple mould,  
That like a rose her silken leaves did fair unfold.   

Well she it marked, and pitied the more,  
Yet could not remedy her wretched case,  
But closing it again like as before,  
Bedeawed with tears there left it in the place:  
Yet left not quite, but drew a little space  
Behind the bushes, where she her did hide,  
To weet what mortal hand, or heavens grace  
Would for the wretched infants help provide,  
For which it loudly called, and pitifully cried.   

At length a Shepherd, which there by did keep  
His fleecy flock upon the plains around,  
Led with the infants cry, that loud did weep,  
Came to the place, where when he wrapped found  
Th'abandoned spoil, he softly it unbound;  
And seeing there, that did him pity sore,  
He took it up, and in his mantle wound;  
So home unto his honest wife it bore,  
Who as her own it nursed, and named evermore.   

Thus long continued Claribell a thrall,  
And Bellamour in bands, till that her sire  
Departed life, and left unto them all.  
Then all the storms of fortunes former ire  
Were turned, and they to freedom did retire.  
Thenceforth they joyed in happiness together,  
And lived long in peace and love entire,  
Without disquiet or dislike of either,  
Till time that Calidore brought Pastorell thither.   

Both whom they goodly well did entertain;  
For Bellamour knew Calidore right well,  
And loved for his prowess, sith they twain  
Long since had fought in field. Als Claribell  
No less did tender the fair Pastorell,  
Seeing her weak and wan, through durance long.  
There they a while together thus did dwell  
In much delight, and many joys among,  
Until the damsel 'gan to wax more sound and strong.   

though 'gan Sir Calidore him to advise  
Of his first quest, which he had long forlese,  
Ashamed to think, how he that enterprise,  
The which the Fairy Queen had long afore  
Bequeathed to him, forslacked had so sore;  
That much he feared, least reproachful blame  
With foul dishonour him moat blot therefore;  
Besides the loss of so much loose and fame,  
As through the world thereby should glorify his name.   

Therefore resolving to return in haste  
Unto so great achievement, he bethought  
To leave his love, now peril being past,  
With Claribell, whilst he that monster sought  
Troughout the world, and to destruction brought.  
So taking leave of his fair Pastorell,  
Whom to recomfort, all the means he wrought,  
With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell,  
He went forth on his quest, and did, that him befell.   

But first, ere I do his adventures tell,  
In this exploit, me needeth to declare,  
What did betide to the fair Pastorell,  
During his absence left in heavy care,  
Through daily mourning, and nightly misfare:  
Yet did that ancient matron all she might,  
To cherish her with all things choice and rare;  
And her own handmaid, that Melissa height,  
Appointed to attend her duly day and night.   

Who in a morning, when this Maiden fair  
Was dighting her, having her snowy breast  
As yet not laced, nor her golden hair  
Into their comely tresses duly dressed,  
Chanced to espy upon her ivory chest  
The rosy mark, which she remembered well  
That little Infant had, which forth she kest,  
The daughter of her Lady Claribell,  
The which she bore, the while i● prison she did dwell.   

Which well avizing, straight she 'gan to cast  
In her conceiptfull mind, that this fair Maid  
Was that same infant, which so long sith past  
She in the open fields had loosely laid  
To fortunes spoil, unable it to aid.  
So full of joy, straight forth she ran in haste  
Unto her mistress, being half dismayed,  
To tell her, how the heavens had her graced,  
To save her child, which in misfortune's mouth was placed.   

The sober mother seeing such her mood,  
Yet knowing not, what meant that sudden thro',  
Asked her, how moat her words be understood,  
And what the matter was, that moved her so.  
My lief (said she) ye know, that long ygo,  
Whilst ye in durance dwelled, ye to me gave  
A little maid, the which ye childed tho;  
The same again if now ye list to have,  
The same is yonder Lady, whom high God did save.   

Much was the Lady troubled at that speech,  
And 'gan to question straight how she it knew.  
Most certain marks, (said she) do me it teach,  
For on her breast I with these eyes did view  
The little purple rose, which thereon grew,  
Whereof her name ye then to her did give.  
Besides her countenance, and her likely hue,  
Matched with equal years, do surely prieve  
That yond same is your daughter sure, which yet doth live   

The matron stayed no longer to inquire,  
But forth in haste ran to the stranger Maid;  
Whom catching greedily for great desire,  
Rend up her breast, and bosom open laid,  
In which that rose she plainly saw displayed.  
Then her embracing twixt her arms twain,  
She long so held, and softly weeping said;  
And livest thou my daughter now again?  
And art thou yet alive, whom dead I long did feign.   

though further ask her of sundry things,  
And times comparing with their accidents,  
She found at last by very certain signs,  
And speaking marks of passed monuments,  
That this young Maid, whom chance to her presents  
Is her own daughter, her own infant dear.  
though wondering long at those so strange events,  
A thousand times she her embraced near,  
With many a joyful kiss, and many a melting tear.   

Who ever is the mother of one child,  
Which having thought long dead, she finds alive,  
Let her by proof of that, which she hath field  
In her own breast, this mother's joy descriue:  
For other none such passion can contrive  
In perfect form, as this good Lady felt,  
When she so fair a daughter saw survive,  
As Pastorell was, that nigh she swelled  
For passing joy, which did all into pity melt.   

Thence running forth unto her loved Lord,  
She unto him recounted, all that fell:  
Who joining joy with her in one accord,  
Acknowledged for his own fair Pastorell.  
There leave we them in joy, and let us tell  
Of Calidore, who seeking all this while  
That monstrous Beast by final force to quell,  
Through every place, with restless pain and toil  
Him followed, by the tract of his outrageous spoil.   

Through all estates he found that he had past,  
In which he many massacres had left,  
And to the Clergy now was come at last;  
In which such spoil, such havoc, and such theft  
He wrought, that thence all goodness he bereft,  
That endless were to tell. The Elfin Knight,  
Who now no place besides unsought had left,  
At length into a Monastere did light,  
Where he him found despoiling all with main & might.   

Into their cloisters now he broken had,  
Through which the monks he chased here & there,  
And them pursued into their dortours sad,  
And searched all their cells and secrets near;  
In which what filth and ordure did appear,  
Were irksome to report; yet that foul Beast  
Nought sparing them, the more did toss and tear,  
And ransack all their dens from most to least,  
Regarding nought religion, nor their holy hest.   

From thence into the sacred Church he broke,  
And robbed the Chancel, and the desks down threw,  
And Altars fouled, and blasphemy spoke,  
And th'Images for all their goodly hue,  
Did cast to ground, whilst none was them to rue;  
So all confounded and disordered there.  
But seeing Calidore, away he flew,  
Knowing his fatal hand by former fear;  
But he him fast pursuing, soon approached near.   

Him in a narrow place he overtook,  
And fierce assailing forced him turn again:  
Sternly he turned again, when he him struck  
With his sharp steel, and ran at him amain  
With open mouth, that seemed to contain  
A full good peck within the utmost brim,  
All set with iron teeth in ranges twain,  
That terrified his foes, and armed him,  
Appearing like the mouth of Orcus' grisly grim.   

And therein were a thousand tongs empight,  
Of sundry kinds, and sundry quality,  
Some were of dogs, that barked day and night,  
And some of cats, that wrawling still did cry.  
And some of Bears, that groynd continually,  
And some of Tigers, that did seem to gren,  
And snar at all, that ever passed by:  
But most of them were tongues of mortal men,  
Which spoke reproachfully, not caring where nor when.   

And them amongst were mingled here and there,  
The tongues of Serpents with three forked stings,  
That spat out poison and gore bloody gear  
At all, that came within his ravenings,  
And spoke licentious words, and hateful things  
Of good and bad alike, of low and high;  
Ne Kesars' spared he a whit, nor Kings,  
But either blotted them with infamy,  
Or bitten them with his baneful teeth of injury.   

But Calidore thereof no whit afraid,  
Rencountred him with so impetuous might,  
That th'outrage of his violence he stayed,  
And bet aback, threatening in vain to bite,  
And spitting forth the poison of his spite,  
That foamed all about his bloody jaws.  
though rearing up his former feet on height,  
He rampt upon him with his ravenous paws,  
As if he would have rend him with his cruel claws.   

But he right well aware, his rage to ward,  
Did cast his shield atween, and therewithal  
Putting his puissance forth, pursued so hard,  
That backward he enforced him to fall,  
And being down, ere he new help could call,  
His shield he on him threw, and fast down held,  
Like as a bullock, that in bloody stall  
Of butchers baleful hand to ground is field,  
Is forcibly kept down, till he be thoroughly quelled.   

Full cruelly the Beast did rage and roar,  
To be down held, and mastered so with might,  
That he 'gan fret and foam out bloody gore,  
Striving in vain to rear himself upright.  
For still the more he strove, the more the Knight  
Did him suppress, and forcibly subdue;  
That made him almost mad for fell despite.  
He grind, he bitten, he scratched, he venom threw,  
And fared like a fiend, right horrible in hue.   

Or like the hellborn Hydra, which they feign  
That great Alcides whilom overthrew,  
After that he had laboured long in vain,  
To crop his thousand heads, the which still new  
Forth budded, and in greater number grew.  
Such was the fury of this hellish Beast,  
Whilst Calidore him under him down threw;  
Who nathemore his heavy load released,  
But aye the more he raged, the more his power increased.   

though when the Beast saw, he moat nought avail,  
By force, he 'gan his hundred tongues apply,  
And sharply at him to revile and rail,  
With bitter terms of shameful infamy;  
Oft interlacing many a forged lie,  
Whose like he never once did speak, nor hear,  
Nor ever thought thing so unworthily:  
Yet did he nought for all that him forbear,  
But strained him so straightly, that he choked him near.   

At last when as he found his force to shrink,  
And rage to quail, he took a muzzle strong  
Of surest iron, made with many a link;  
Therewith he mured up his mouth along,  
And therein shut up his blasphemous tongue,  
For never more defaming gentle Knight,  
Or unto lovely Lady doing wrong:  
And thereunto a great long chain he tied,  
With which he drew him forth, even in his own despite.   

Like as whilom that strong Tirynthian swain,  
Brought forth with him the dreadful dog of hell,  
Against his will fast bound in iron chain,  
And roaring horribly, did him compel  
To see the hateful sun, that he might tell  
To grisly Pluto, what on earth was done,  
And to the other damned ghosts, which dwell  
For aye in darkness, which day light doth shun.  
So led this Knight his captive with like conquest won.   

Yet greatly did the Beast repine at those  
Strange bands, whose like till then he never bore,  
Ne ever any durst till then impose,  
And chauff inly, seeing now no more  
Him liberty was left aloud to roar:  
Yet durst he not draw back; nor once withstand  
The proved power of noble Calidore,  
But trembled underneath his mighty hand,  
And like a fearful dog him followed through the land.   

Him through all Fairy land he followed so,  
As if he learned had obedience long,  
That all the people where so he did go,  
Out of their towns did round about him throng,  
To see him lead that Beast in bondage strong,  
And seeing it, much wondered at the sight;  
And all such persons, as he erst did wrong,  
Rejoiced much to see his captive plight,  
And much admired the Beast, but more admired the Knight,   

Thus was this Monster by the maystring might  
Of doughty Calidore, suppressed and tamed,  
That never more he moat endammadge wight  
With his vile tongue, which many had defamed,  
And many causeless caused to be blamed:  
So did he eke long after this remain,  
Until that, whether wicked fate so framed,  
Or fault of men, he broke his iron chain,  
And got into the world at liberty again.   

Thenceforth more mischief and more scathe he wrought  
To mortal men, than he had done before;  
Ne ever could by any more be brought  
Into like bands, ne mastered any more:  
Albe that long time after Calidore,  
The good Sir Pelleas him took in hand,  
And after him Sir Lamoracke of yore,  
And all his brethren borne in Britain land;  
Yet none of them could ever bring him into band.   

So now he rangeth through the world again,  
And rageth sore in each degree and state;  
Ne any is, that may him now restrain,  
He grown is so great and strong of late,  
Barking and biting all that him do bate,  
Albe they worthy blame, or clear of crime:  
Ne spareth he most learned wits to rate,  
Ne spareth he the gentle Poet's rhyme,  
But rends without regard of person or of time.   

Ne may this homely verse, of many meanest,  
Hope to escape his venomous despite,  
More than my former writs, all were they clearest  
From blameful blot, and free from all that wit,  
With which some wicked tongues did it backbite,  
And bring into a mighty Peres displeasure,  
That never so deserved to indite.  
Therefore do you my rhymes keep better measure,  
And seek to please, that now is counted wisemen's treasure.    
FINIS.