RODOMONTHS' INFERNAL, OR The Devil conquered. ARIASTOS Conclusions. Of the Marriage of Rogero with Bradamanth his Love, & the fell sought Battle between Rogero and Rodomonth the never-conquered Pagan. Written in French by Philip de Portes, and Paraphrastically translated by G. M. AT LONDON Printed by V. S. for Nicholas Ling. 1607. TO THE RIGHT Honourable his very singular good Lord, the Lord Mount-eagle, all that can be wished in his own best wishes. THere is nothing more usually common in this last part of this worst age (most Honourable, and virtuously Honourable Lord) than the publication of Books, however their genealogies spring even from the lightest vanities: amongst whom, (to save the World and Bitterness a labour) I condemn myself, as an Author and Abettor of that customary error, only with this halfe-part excuse, that albe in my writings I have neither Feminine honey, nor Masculine gall, yet I either do, or desire to retain a tasteful relish of a little saltness; which, may it carry but the least imagined season in your Noble sense, I shall slightly respect the curiosity of any other, however his stomach be esteemed for best judgement. The Noble Frenchman Mounsieur Portes, who was the first Author of this work, was a man of great wit, famous learning, and Noble place; each of which curry in them, defence sufficient to shield him from imputation: so that questionless, the body of the work must needs be fair, and only the deformity in his English apparel: and no wonder, for I protest the Translation was finished, and forth of my hands above a dozen years agone, a time wherein bombasted breeches, and strait whale-boned doublets had neither use nor estimation. However, all mine escapes, both boldness in daring to your presence, rudeness in the work, & wants in mine Art's perfection, must fly under the covert of your Noble Patronage; a defence, that giving my Muse an immortal life, shall bind my love and service to you, and your Honourable house for ever. Your Honours humbly devoted, G. M. TO READERS OF both kinds. TO find as many excuses, as curious senses can faults, were to begin a new Legend Auri, or a second part of the Book of Martyrs: a pair of gates, through which, this little Poem would not be seen to steal: wherefore, briefly, to help what I know is weak, this Paraphrase was first intended for one private man's repast, and not for a wedding table; the time when Poesy was less, but more beloved: Poets fewer, but not so bitter: and Readers in general, by much, much better affected. Now, since time, impudency, and other powers, plucks the blush from my cheeks, and that perforce I am prostituted to the rack of your imaginations, stretch me not beyond my strength, the rather for my confession sake: but considering the days of this poor Poems creation, take pity that he was too soon borne: and out of that clemency, it may be, he will bring you as much delight, as some other children of his own year: and myself shall extol that in you, which is seldom or never found in a multitude: some justice. Farewell. G. M. THE ARGUMENT OF THE POEM. ROdomonth King of Argier and Sarza, being a man of most extreme pride and courage, coming into France with King Agramant, who to revenge the death of Trai●●o his father, slain by Pipin King of France, had conducted thither a most puissant army against Charlimaine, the son of Pipin: after the wars were almost finished, and both Agramant, Mandricard, Gradasso, and divers other Kings slain, this Rodomonth understanding that Rogero, a Prince of excellent virtue and prowess, who also was a confederate and assistant unto Agramant, was not only converted and becomed a Christian, but also should take to wife Bradamant, the daughter of Duke Aimon, one of the twelve Peers of France; being mightily enraged thereat, upon the wedding day, he cometh and challengeth Rogero the combat, in which fight Rodomonth is slain: whose soul, after his death (retaining the violence, fury, and madness, which he possessed in his life) descending into hell, maketh open wars against Pluto the god of hell, and even conquereth and turmoileth all the devils therein: till having overheated himself, and seeking for water to quench his thirst, he happeneth upon Lethe, the river of Forgetfulness; on which, when he had drunk, he instantly forgot all that was passed (except Love) and so returneth back to the earth: where he wandered, till he found the Castle of Isabella, the daughter of the King of Spain; whom albe he had formerly loved most entirely, yet he had slain unluckily: and about that Castle, he is bound by the Destinies to wander for an hundred years, because his body wanted burial. Rodomonths' Infernal. 1 I Sing of him and his eternal ire, Whose wraths high tempest never calm could boot, That in his life shaked heavens immortal fire, And made the earth to tremble at his foot: That first made air weep tears of wronged desire, Of Fury's tree both body, head, and root: The high contemner of all deity, Afflictions master and the wrack of Pity. 2 Of him I sing that washed all France in blood, Great man, great might, but angers greatest great, Whose soul when Roger sent to Charon's flood, Black Pluto's Mariner did fair entreat, Shaking like reed that in some marish stood, And all hell scared, his rigorous arms await: Paleness (forsworn) then seized on Ditis' face, And Proserpina to new-felt fears gave place. 3 Then were the furies with his view affright, And shrunk to hide their wave-like snaky hairs, Whilst he through girt with mad outrageous might, Thunders his bedlam wrath in dead men's ears: And like an host drags forth the sole-sad Night, To slay the beauty heavens forehead bears. God of my Muse and me grace of my song, Sweeten my harsh lines with thy music tongue. 4 WHat time brave Leon had to Paris brought, The soul of Virtu, Roger Prince of arms, (Whom Charlemagne and all his Peers had sought) And in the view of France seized those alarms, Aimon. Which old Mount Alban governors had wrought 'Gainst him the dear controller of his harms: Now to make sweet his life so loathsome led, Roger unto his Bradamante is wed. 5 To Bradamante, the joy of Aimons' age, Bradamant was Aimons' daughter, and sister to Rinaldo. The martial Conqueress of all the world, 'Gainst whom, durst none but he strong battle gage, For all Knights else by her were over-hurld, Only his eyes lance did her power assuage, And in her hairs twine were his senses curled: That striving who the battles glory won, Neither were conquered, both were overcome. 6 This nuptial wedding, this conjunct of hearts, Charles for Charlymaine. Charles seeks to deify with all renown France could afford, or hidden Magic arts Could dignify with nights bright starry crown: Two days in never-equald joys departs, Whilst heavens forehead never lent a frown. And in all Tilting, Tourney, and all fight, The praise and prize on Roger's fortunes light. 7 Who of the glorious Architect would learn, The rare pavilion, the enchanted tower, Or who would Troyes rich miracle discern, Wrought by divine hands in a holy bower: Where human art from heavenly arts did earn Perfections title in a blessed hour, Ariosto can. 46. Let him to Ariosto's Legend run, Great light of Poesy, and Poet's sun. 8 But when the third days curtain was o're-spred, Giving the world's eye leave to cheer the earth: And Charlymaine emperiously was led With drums, with trumpets, vials, flutes, & mirth, Such as no Age hath known, or Time hath read, Unto melissa's tent called Wonders birth; Melissa a famous enchantress. Where all the heavenly revels were contained Whilst meaner objects, meaner eyes disdained. 9 Then when the Peers sat round about their king, The 12. Signs. Like Nature's twins, through which the Sun doth ride, And monthly keeps a several progressing; And every Baron sat by others side, Taking what place Birth or Desert could win, Lending abundance to abundant pride: cloyed with accates, yet still desiring more, Digest with talk what they had ta'en before. 10 Confusedly like overflowing streams, Ran the disturbed echo of their speech: Or like tumultuous muttering heard in dreams, Which through our troubled sense makes senseless breach: Or like the clamours in the Sun's pure beams, Made by the busy Bees (which labour teach) Such tingling music from their lips did break, Till the fair Bride fairly began to speak. 11 With golden Oratory guilding thought, And sweetening ears with pleasant honey words, She tells the fearful combats she had fought 'Gainst Pagan Knights, Princes, & mighty Lords, And most of all, the glory she had bought, In foiling Rodomonth, whom fame affords More high renown for martial chivalry, Than Homer lent Achilles' deity. 12 Unto her words her Auditors assume The style of immortality and praise, And that the times-wast richly might consume joined unto hers, they paint more bloody days, Adding to battles past, a present plume, Which warlike dangers hie to heaven might raise; Whilst others told the sackings of great towns, Where infants cries, the mother's shriekings drowns. 13 Thus deeply wading in their bloody theme, Historifying mortal immortal deeds, Charles like Apollo set in his golden team, Cheering with looks both plants and sovereign weeds Now placed between the two united beams, The Bride & Bridegroom, (on whom beauty feeds:) He saw a mighty man clad all in black, Mounted upon a mighty coursers back. 14 Who with a slow-foote majesty did pace Towards them all, with a disdainful eye, Sending contempt, the curtain of his face, To plead the hate that in his heart did lie: Reverence he scorned, nor did he yield one grace To Charles, the ladies, or to any by, Till all in muse what his amaze would make, Thus unto Roger and the rest he spoke. 15 Roger, I am great Rodomount the King, Of fruitful Argier on the Afric bounds, Whom Virtue and Renown doth hither bring, To challenge thee false traitor, whose name sounds In heathen ears like jews trumps when they ring, And will approve, that in thy heart abounds, Falsehood unto thy chieftain, and thy faith, Which from thy birth thou shouldst preserve till death. 16 And therewithal aver, that no true Knight, Ought to dispute of thee, or of thy fame, Though (brazen faced) thou shunnest not the light, Which of thy monstrous perjuries exclaim: All which to justify in single fight, Behold my hand made ready for the same, A mighty engine made by Nature's skill, To scourge thy damned execrable ill. 17 Yet if thy coward's heart pine with remorse, And certain knowledge make thee faint in sin: Choose for thine aid, to double thy dead force, Some of these Knights that hem thy courage in, Four, five, or if full twenty, near the worse, The more they mount, the more my fame shall win, Whilst I immortalised by this great deed, Will triumph when thy trembling heart shall bleed 18 Here paused the Pagan, yet with staring eye, Bright as a fiery Metyor in the dark, Casting on all th'assembly looks awry, Struck in them wonder that his words did mark: Yet having leave, Roger did thus reply: Stern king of Sarza, unto mine answer hark: Pure as the Sun mine honour I respect, And false thou liest that falsely dost detect. 19 Unto my King I ever have been true, Linking Eternity unto my love, Even from the first age, to this last, none knew Spot in my faith, which evermore did move Stainless, unblemished, whilst affection drew My constant thoughts the highest heavens above: And here (false Pagan) shall my life maintain, That yet my life did never suffer stain. 20 And for these multitudes to aid my wrong, My single self, single shall thee suffice, Well shalt thou find me bold enough and strong To quell the storms that from thy furies rise, And in my soul, I hope ere it be long, Thou shalt confess (with anguish from thine eyes) That one alone contending in the right, Is both too many, and of too great might. 21 This said; the two fair sons of Oliver, Sanson, Orlando, Renald, and the rest, strove who should first Roger from wrong deliver, Kindling a greedy ardour in their breast, Alleging that his spowsals should discever Him from this conflict, and to them addressed This quarrels ground; whilst Bradamant did swear, Marfyza Roger's sister. And fair Marfyza, they apart would bear. 22 But Roger fiercer, mad with their desire; Breeding new Aetna's in his boiling heart, Swore their excuse should not make him retire, For sole to him belonged that dreadful part: Here-with he takes his armour (bright as fire) Made by enchantment, and by Magic art; And scarce would stay (so earnest was his flame) Had not those states helped to put on the same. 23 Marfyza and fair Bradamant his bride, Begirt his curates on his manly back, Charles couched his trusty sword unto his side, His spurs Orlando buckles; nor doth lack His helm, which on his head Astolpho tied, Dudon his stirrup holds, and in this wrack, Namus about the field takes special charge, To martial it, and make it clear and large. 24 Rinaldo held his courser by the rain, Whose hollow hoof beating the humble ground, (As basest element) in high disdain Spurned it, and gave it many a dreary wound: And chiding his controlling bit in vain, A milk-white foamy mantle 'bout it is wound; Then neighing loud, charging his well pricked ears, He shows his joys in warlike acts appears. 25 Like Danae's son on the Pegasian steed, So mounted Roger on this princely beast, Whilst Oliver gave to their further speed, Spears of one length & strength; neither increased, But gave to equal chance their equal deed: Then like two Bulls with fiery rage oppressed, Leaving the Herd, retiring to their course, So parted they, to meet with greater force. 26 The half-dead living Ladies looking on, Trembled poor souls, as doth the silly Doves, Who in the mild air playing the sands upon, By storms are driven to shroud in houses roves, Whilst under clouds the Sun to rest is gone, And all the heavens with mourning visage moves: Even so the pitying Ladies wept no less, When they beheld the Pagans mightiness. 27 The Pagan that even then spurred forth his horse, whose windlike fury flying more swift than thought Made the amazed ground quake through his course As if great jove some new revengement wrought. On th'other side, Roger with Princely force Ran with such puissance, that his horse hoofs taught The sullen earth (created dumb and lame) To sing, to cry, to echo and exclaim. 28 Or like a flood, that falling down a rock, Reverberats huge clamours through the stones, So sounds his noise, till meeting in the shock, That crack of thunder drowns the lesser ones; Bravely they meet, and in their meetings broke Their shiu'red staves (whereat their palfreys groans) With such pure might, that as if splints would fly Beyond all sight, they mounted in the sky. 29 Yet were their blows in nature different: For why, the Pagan lighting on his shield, Which Vulcan well had tempered, to prevent A greater force than mortal man could yield, With little hazard all in pieces rend: But Roger (taught how mighty acts to wield) With unknown puissance through his target strick, Albe it was of steel six inches thick. 30 And had his spear sustained his manly power, And not like feathered plumes flown in the air, The combat had ta'en end in that same hour: For why no armour able was to bear The huge encounter of that stormy shower, Whose lightning through his heart had made repair: Yet break it did, & with a breach so sound, That both the horses buttocks kissed the ground. 31 With help of bit and blame of angry spur, Their skilful riders raised them up again, Who in their saddles rock-like did not stir, But like to Imps of Sagittarius strain, All of one matter with their steeds concur, And managed mighty actions unto pain: And now with swords threatening the loss of breath Began the wounded Proem unto death. 32 Hot was th'assault, implacable the blows, Eager the wishes, either for others end, Each from his steeled coat main lightning throws, Which downward to the parched ground descend, Whose sunburnt face sweat to endure their woes, That even to wonders did new wonders lend: And in this fury both did seek a good, To make the earth drunk with their worthy blood. 33 Like wanton Goats winding upon a plain, Turning and tossing in their nimble salts, Now on the right, then on the left again; So did these knights, whom memory exalts, Handle their horses, seeking to regain Mighty advantage, either by others faults: And whilst their thoughts their furies overwhelms, Their swords kept time upon their sounding helms. 34 The Pagan which had lost his Serpents hide, That aged Time for Nemirod had made, His first great Grandsire, Lord of Babel's pride, And left forlorn, his memorable blade, Albe he now had girt unto his side, Another which for strength might heaven invade: Yet neither this, nor that, was found so hard, As to withstand the edge of Balysard. 35 Of Balysard Rogero's trusty sword, Which through the Pagan's steel had beat his way, For neither charm, nor temper could afford A surety unto his skin that day: Rebatelesse edge, hard stars, and might accord, The fatal scene of bloody death to play: Whilst Roger of the Pagans blood had made A scarlet mantle to empale his blade. 36 But Rodomonth that felt his sword rebound, Like to a tennis ball within a court, As oft as it on Roger's helm did sound, And found withal an infinite resort Of painful thoughts, purchased by many a wound, Albe he cloaks main griefs (his mad consort:) Yet when he saw the conduits of his blood, He grew impatient, mad, and raging wood. 37 Even like a Boar chaste in the wilderness, Envious of himself, wanting a mean To be avenged of venging mightiness, Gnashing his teeth, wrapped in a foamy strain: Or like the seas distempered ugliness, Hurled by the winter wind with might & main; Even so forsakes his shield, and doth intend, With both his hands to give the combat end. 38 Yet ere he heaved his hands, he cursed the sky, And slandered shamefully the god of war, Then with such might as storms in spring do fly, He lift them up, and fetching force from far, Stroke that the earth between the poles did cry: Or like an oak in a tempestuous jar, Rend by the roots, with unknown terror braves, The broad vast deserts, and the hollow caves. 39 So fell on Roger's helm this hateful blow, Which had it not by Magic art been wrought, His fame, no fame had lived to overgo: Yet so the puissance had his sense distraught, That 'gainst the saddle pommel twice in shoe, He knocked his head, robbed of recovering thought: The Pagan now exalted in his pride, Struck with like strength another on his side. 40 The golden rains, guide of Rogero's steed, Fell from his hand, open flew his holding thighs, And senseless with each motion moved like reed, Whilst weeping Honour in her waning cries: The Pagan hopeful, greedy in this deed, Doubles main strokes on strokes, and gods defies: Till in the end with multitudes of blows, He broke his sword, the terror of his foes. 41 Amazed at this, having but hilt in hand, With a small remnant of the broken blade, As if that heaven his will did countermand, Against the heavens black protestations made, Blasphemously the God of gods he band, And Mahomet with sternie threats doth lad: And vows, in spite of heaven, and heavenly power, Rogero shall not live to breathe an hour. 42 At this, the help-forsaken Knight he takes, And from his saddle lifts him up by force, Thence to the earth he throws him, whilst earth makes A silent sorrow for his murdered coarse: Which seen, the Pagan smiles, and then forsakes Thought of ensuing harm, and with his horse Trots in disdain about Rogero's head, Saying, his work was done, his foe was dead. 43 But as the Libique sea wronged with the wind, Recovers mightier forces in his foil, So Roger by his fall new strength doth find, And as awaked, makes all his sense recoil: And to augment his foes amazed mind, Nimbly rose up, whilst blushing rage did boil Fresh in his cheeks, for as his eyes did move, The first he spied was Bradamant his love. 44 Even Bradamant, whose pale, wan, troubled thought, Had almost wed her princely life to death, Which seen, with venging shame half captive brought, Vows a requital, or to lose his breath: At which, the Pagans bridle rain he caught, And on his thighs main deadly wound lai'th: All which he felt so vehement and sore, That Rodomonth grew madder than before. 45 The bedlam Turk, with whom their did remain Part of the blade that was in pieces flown, With it smote so on Roger's helm again, That once more almost he was overthrown: But the mild Prince seeing there did remain A great advantage, until then unknown, By the left hand doth take the Turk by force, And spite of spite pulls him besides his horse. 46 Now whether 'twere his strength, fine ssieght, or chance, I cannot guess, but on his feet he fell, No vantage was between them, more or less; Save in the swords, which Roger used so well, That when the Pagan over-neare did press, With point he kept him out, though near so fell: For he did deem in dangerous and ill, To close with one of such huge strength & skill 47 Again he saw the Pagan bleed so sore, That lingering time would give the conflict end, For strength flew forth at his veins opened door: Which Rodomonth perceiving, thought to lend Despair a desperate hazard, less or more; And therefore with a devilish force did send The hilt and pommel of the broken steel To Roger's head, which made him sound reel. 48 It struck him twixt the shoulder and the head, And gave to him a blow so firm and sound, That good Rogero therewith staggered, And hardly stood from falling on the ground; Rodomonth to close with him than hastened, But lo, his foot failed with his former wound: So that his too much haste (as oft we see) Hurt him, and made him fall upon his knee. 49 Roger accepting Times advantage lent, Wounded the Turk on head, on breast, and face, But he got up again incontinent, And made stark mad, with this most vile disgrace, Ran upon Roger, and in's arms him penned, Folding him with a most unkind embrace; And then they strive, heave, shove, thrust to and fro, And either seeks the others overthrow. 50 With force they strive, with art, and with agility, Whether shall sooner fall unto the ground; The Pagans strength was weakened by extremity, By means of many a deep received wound: Roger's art was great, great his ability, Much used to wrestle, and he quickly found Th'advantage, which he did not overslip, But on the weakest side, his foe did trip. 51 Down like a tower to the ground he went, Or like a rock thrown headlong in the sea, Whereby his blood in great abundance spent Freshly began to spring; making that day The earth (in scarlet clad) much to lament: Down is he held, to rise he finds no way; The while Rogero set his dagger's point Unto his throat, and to his chiefest joint. 52 And with sharp words (th'ambassadors of death) Told him, except to mercy he submit, Nothing should save his life, or lend him breath, Such firm resolve within his heart did sit; But Rodomonth, whose high courageous faith, Rather than yield, a thousand deaths thought fit, Spoke not a word, but strove himself to sunder From him; or if he could, to get him under. 53 Look how a Martin in a Mastiffs fang, Foams at the mouth, fights with his overthrow, Whilst from his red eyes beams of fire flung: And at the end, impatient of his woe, Grinning, lifts up his lips, where slavers hang, And his vain unrevenging teeth doth shoe: So doth the cruel Pagan strive and threat, But all he can cannot his death defeat. 54 Yet with long striving, and with wondrous pains He freed his better arm, and void of awe, His ponniard, which in his right hand remains, That in this latter conflict he did draw, He seeks to stab into Rogero's rains; But when the valiant youth the peril saw, Then for his safety's sake he was constrained To kill the cruel Turk, that grace disdained. 55 And lifting his victorious hand on high, In the Turks face he stabbed his dagger twice Up to the hilts, and quickly made him die, Ridding himself of trouble in a trice; Down to the lake where damned ghosts do lie Sunk his disdainful soul, now cold as ye: Blaspheming (as it were) and cursing loud, That was on earth so lofty and so proud. 56 The eie-beholders wondering at this deed, In shouts and cries to heaven bore Roger's fame, In gazing on him, Eyes and Ears do feed, And from all mouths his all great praises came; From age to sucking babes his acts succeed, And infant's sonnet on his sacred name; And all the Peers of France kindly embraced him, And Charlimaine within his arms inlaced him. 57 He kissed him kindly, and o'ercome with joy, Dissolved fair pearl, and silver on his check, Kind thoughts, more kinder thoughts sought to destroy; Eternal their abode, the King doth seek, As much Marfyza did, and would enjoy Perpetual comfort from his looks so meek: Orlando's love, nor yet Rinaldos lack, Aquitan and Griffin. Neither the warlike brothers, white and black. 58 Last, but not lest, for she exceeded all, Came Bradamant his bride, his love, his Queen, Thought-guiding goddess, warlike principal, Within whose eyes, are thousand Cupids seen, She on his hands kisses and tears le's fall, (So boundless her immortal pleasures been) And from his face wipes with her cheeks so bright The sweat and dust that hindered had his sight. 59 How many deaths, alas how many pains, How many slain hopes, what abundant fears Ran uncontrolled through this Lady's veins: How many idle wishes, what despairs, Felt she forlorn; the while the fight retains, A doubtful issue, who the triumph bears: Trembling for her Roger, her purest heart, Her god, her life, her love, and every part. 60 How many times successless did she wish Herself well armed, placed in her lovers stead, Not that she feared his stars would run amiss, But for the Pagans puissance made her dread; Who lent no minutes respite to her bliss, But with each stroke seemed to awake the dead: And more than with the blows the Pagan struck, He pierced her soul and life with every look. 61 Now contrary, ravished with her delight, She winds her arms like vines about his neck, Calls him her love, her joy, and her lives sprite, Her better self, all that her comforts deck; Now doth she chide the day for too slow flight, And evening for her lazy pace doth check, Making her prayers to Night, her welcome guest Whose silence must to waking love yield rest. 62 During this joy, numberless people flow About the body of the Pagan King, Whose monstrous greatness seemed to overgo The Aetnean Cyclops, or some greater thing: Some at his beard in admiration grow, Some of his countenance, some of his shape do ring; In brief, there's none believes that he is dead, Or that one man, such might could captive lead 63 Till Charlimaine both to cut off amaze, As also to make Roger's deeds divine, Caused to disarm the Turk (on whom they gaze,) And on fair pillars wrought of stately pine, (Trophies that time nor ruin should down raze) Within that place, most rich in Paris eine, Hung up his headpiece, curates, and the rest, With all that his great body did invest. 64 The mass of flesh, by force of horse and man, (For like a mountain it lay on the plain) Was dragged into the Voyrie, and than Left as a prey for Ravens to remain; Who highly feasted, in their croaking 'gan Triumph upon his carrion, and grow fain, Singing in base songs, that French babes to bear Might wonder when of Roger's acts they hear. 65 And now by this th'outrageous bedlam soul Of ever-angrie Rodomonth was got Down through the earth's sad corners, to the fowl Black stream of Acheron, which first doth float About the bounds of hell; on whose banks knowle Millions of sprights he sees with clamours troth: Crying on Charon, who transported then His Barge down laden with a world of men. 66 But he contemptuously hating to stay The lazy pleasure of the old man's sloth, Into the lake leaps headlong, and makes way With his divided arms; yet as he goeth, With spiteful threatenings ever did inveigh Against the Bardge-man, who was likewise wroth, And for he knew his Fare he had not paid, With Oar in hand, his landing passage stayed. 67 Th'ambitious Pagan staring in his face, First smiled, then said, alas poor silly man, Thinkst thou, whom age hath linked to weak disgrace, Against immortal Rodomounth to stan; If all the devils in hell be in thy case, All shall be slaves to me, that all things can: Say thus said Rodomount the god of hell, Whose will's a law, whose law dare none repel. 68 Pack hence then crooked lozel, hide thy head, A better man, a braver boat I'll have, The boatswain, who such words near heard nor read, Thinking to drown him in the inky wave, Taking a stretcher, at the spirit laid: Which seen, the nimble Turk, with courage brave, Into the boat leaps, that with force it reels, And therewithal strikes up the old man's heels 69 Then on his snowy beard he claps his hold, Giving him buffets more than two or three, The silly wretch singled with courage cold, Yet to avoid him wants ability; Both were impatient, both their strengths unfold, Till they, the boat and all, o'erwhelmed be: With such a noise, as hell's vast vaults resounded, And Charon cried for Pluto's aid, confounded. 70 The soul of Rodomont from Kings descended, Swame down the river easily at his will, And drags along with him madly offended The boat and boatman, whether he will or nill: These as sad Trophies on his rage depended, Whom he torments with worse than worst of ill: Anon he land's them, and doth then begin, To look how he might hells great Palace win. 71 Pluto, that from hell's tower looked down, Sweats and torments himself to see this wrath, Scarce can he tell how to preserve his crown, All that by doom of destiny he hath; Now he begins to fret, to scold, and frown, Vowing injustice manageth his scathe: And then he fears high jove is down descended, To take from him the right he long defended. 72 The star of Sicill, Proserpin the fair, Lantern of hell, the paramour to Dis, Felt selfe-like pangs, and twice so great despair, By which her plaints grew more extreme than his; With heavy eyes, wan cheeks, and careless hair, Round about hell she runs madly amiss: And all the damned souls calls to her aid, With flattering words, thus in sweet liquor laid. 73 You souls (she said) you spirits miserable, That burn in ice, and frieze in scorching fire, And you that near to feel loves darts were able, To whom no golden touch of thoughts aspire; Though pity here by course is detestable, Yet pity me, pity my whole desire, And with that pity, keep and hold my right, For which, this proud imperious foe doth fight 74 See how his rage claims this vast Empery, Needs will he rule this damned fatal place, My crown he claims, my sceptres dignity, My husband's birthright, all black Night's embrace: Down falls my rule, unless your chivalry, Unto my eager hopes bid happy base: Which if you do, and I thereby repair My ruin'd thoughts, mark what I vow & swear. 75 By sacred Styx, by that obscure aspect, By the dread spindle of the fatal three Twins got by Erebus, and Night's defect; And by the rock on which the world doth lie, I vow my thoughts no labour shall neglect, Until those dames brands of your misery, Come to this place, and either ease your smarts, Or feel due pain for such stiff steeled hearts. 76 But as for you, that loves flames have not tasted, But live in hell for other heinous sins, If through your aid my woes away be wasted, And my joys Legend in your fame begins, Then never more henceforth shall you be blasted With tortures, woes, or aught that sorrow brings: And if in hell sweet solace may be had, I grant it them that make my sigh glad. 77 When fair Eurydice had spoken thus, The shadows which in black avernus lay, Thundering came up, and of her words discuss, Glad of her promise, and this holy day. All promise aid, no threats were burdenous, And Agrican himself did first display, Then Agramant, than Mandricard, then more, Each striving which should go the rest before. 78 All with imperious eagerness contend, Which first shall triumph over the Pagan King, At which debate, heavens frame with grief did bend Bowing his breast, to peace them summoning: But seeing that their rage did more extend, From this his vault did stormy lightning fling; Thunder and tempest flew from heavens door, Such storms till then was never seen before. 79 Even from the highest round that moveth all, To the low centre, Hell by some writers is said to be in the centre of the earth where we hell repute, The noise was heard, which did all ears appall, And from the same consuming fire did shoot, Which like well armed warriors in a brawl, Seemed with revenge each other to rebuke: Whose broken spears like fiery arrows fell, And hung from heaven unto the lowest hell. 80 Th'opposed earth at these extremes admired, Seeing hell quake, and heaven thus inflamed Struck dumb and blind, mercy for sins desired; Such prodigies fore times had never framed: Earth thinks the day of Doom is full expired, For all in all, and all things are ashamed: Only the Pagans soul from earth divided, Stood dreadless, & these hellish sights derided. 81 Th'imperial seat of heavenly love he threats, Bans air, and earth, and elemental powers, Vowing by his own rage, which all things beats, That if he meet, or find deaths hateful bowers, The life he took from him with mild entreats, He shall restore again in teary showers: And he in spite of Pluto's deity, Will there in hell erect his Empery. 82 Where ere he went, the Furies fled before him, The whilst his pride augmented by their flight, All things without hell gates ran to adore him; This bridge is feigned to be kept by Cerberus the three headed dog. And now the drawbridge stands within his sight, On it he proudly leaps, that quaking bore him, And vaunts himself thereof Lord, king, & knight: For why th' Ecchiddnian cur for fear was fled, And in the burning lake did hide his head. 83 And now he pulls the Eban bridge in sunder, And having Charon this while by the heels, Like to a maul makes his old pate to thunder, Beating the bridge, whose rent pillars reels, Whilst Pluto (who at all these acts did wonder) More woes than hell includes, with terror feels: His austere look, black, swarthy, angry red, Now grew exchanged pale, wan, dry, and dead. 84 Like hapless Pelops in an ivory mount, Unnaturally, so the black god stood, Of woes the huge infinitive account, With stern impatience makes him grow stark wood: This hard disastrous chance he doth recount, Boiling his heart in this distempered blood: Now this, now that, are grounds of this strange war, Now neither this, nor that, th'occasions are. 85 One while he thinks the bastard son of love, Great Hercules is come from heaven again, Hercules brought Proserpina from hell when Pluto had stolen her from her mother Ceres. Led by a second fire, a greater love, More fell than that of which the Poets feign: He dreads that he his bed-right will remove, Which very thought puts him to mighty pain: Aye me he cries, Proserpina thy face, From thence this furious war begins his race. 86 Scarce was that thought well settled in his thought, But a new humour dispossessed it strait, New broils, old wars unto confusion brought, Conceit torments conceit; and then the weight Of unknown sorrows madly him distraught, Now woes in words flew far beyond woes height; Until the anguish of his souls tormenting, Showers forth black tears, to bathe his heart relenting. 87 Then from those tears his sighs and sorrows fly, And to the caves imparts his heavy groans, From whose vast wombs impatient echoes cry, Yet neither know nor understand his moans: The damned souls in Phlegeton that lie, Danced to his sorrow in their fiery thrones: But he that saw his loss grow greater great, Implores their aids with this sad sweet intreat. 88 You airy ghosts and citizens of hell, You sad abortive monsters of the dark, All you that in perpetual torments dwell, Behold my woes, all my afflictions mark: Come number my distempered thoughts, then tell The fraught of fears borne in my body's bark: And though remorse did never you importune, Yet for yourselves and me, ease my misfortune. 89 I swear that he, what ever be his hap, That 'gainst this man, this monster, or this devil, Bravely will bear himself, and can entrap Th'unconquered strong, ridding us of his evil, Shall as my son sit on my sacred lap, And in our burning Palace bravely revel: All pains from him I'll banish and exclude, And call him hells new champion, Fortitude. 90 near shall he henceforth bathe in frosty fire, Or feel the iron torrents, hearts despite, Which from the doom of Minos do aspire, And on the poor condemned spirits light: But as myself sit in a seat much higher, As if from him I held my sovereign right: And this he spoke with such a feeling passion, As moved in all the ghosts a mild compassion. 91 Like Crows about a carrion newly slain, Or like small flies about a candle's flame, So millions of the subjects unto pain, Condemned souls about black Pluto came: First they whose lives the whole world did distain, Kindling mischievous brands with envies blame; Whose high ambitions wed to Policy, Stirred civil wars to murder Piety. 92 Up came the tyrants gorgd with bloody gore, And misers, whose insatiate greedy thirst, Overthrew nobility, and slew the poor: Then came the murderers, with blood half burst, Whose hands the guiltless hearts in pieces tore: The traitors came, up came the worst of worst, The mutinous, the strife-ingendring flame, The envious, and inconstant lovers came. 93 Up rise the souls, that had by favours hold, Taken the poor man's right to make him great; And with them those, which had for treasure sold Their country's freedom, to a foreign seat: Up came the slanderous wise, the desperate bold, The wilful perjured, on whom shames await: And these began aloft to elevate Their strengths and prowesses for Pluto's sake. 94 But when the king of Death had heard their vant, He sent them back, and thus their pride's repressed; Retire weak souls, vain, feeble, and inconstant, 'tis not on you my hopes or safeties rest, For he that must give cure unto my want, Confirm my peace, and make me happy blest: Must be a valiant Chieftain full of might, A famous warrior, and approved knight. 95 Even he whose fame is planted on the seas, In heaven, in earth, and here with us in hell; Who hath transported armies through all these, Whose blade hath conquered men & monsters fell: He that in chains of gold leads through dark ways enthralled kings, with whom all honours dwell: This is the soul must shine in arms for me, And venge my cause, and set mine Empire free. 96 The soul of king Gradasso hearing this, Mounted aloft, and thus made his reply. Leave to complain (thou god of devils bliss,) For if on Fame or Knighthood thou rely, Or on the Prince that near led man amiss; Whose troops have scaled those mounts which loss the sky: Then is it only I must set thee free, Though gods conspire to cope in arms with me. 97 A thousand wreaths of conquering Laurel binds My holy temples, with fair tresses curled, The rumour of my name spread in the winds, Hath dared the Champions of the Western world, Spain have I sacked, my sword all Belgia blinds, And France by me was topsy-turvy turned: Two vows I made, and brought to pass with pain, The like, the world shall never see again. 98 And these they were; In spring time of my years, Flying from Wealth, and Pleasure two fell foes, That often thralls and conquers mighty Peers, Devote to Valour, vowed despite of nose To give Orlando combat, and sans fears, To try in fight what force from Reinald flows: Which done, Orlando's horse I got as gain, And won the sword of Reinald for my pain. 99 This said, and seeking more his praise to say, The soul of Mandricard which aye disdained Such base false bruits should bear the prize away; Full fraught with fury, madly himself demeaned, And rushing forth, loud as the lions bray, Thundered this answer, hardly well restrained From handy blows; yet casting about his eye, Looked on Gradasso most despitefully. 100 Hark (quoth he) how this terror, scourge of flies, Warmed with the blood that boileth on his heart, Boasteth his manhood in a thousand lies: I saw the day, when spite of all his art, He Spanniel-like for mercy to me cries; I and I saw Astolpho, on whose part Honour, nor any valiant act depended, On whom the name of Knight never attended. 101 Even him I saw with a weak golden lance, (A weapon far unfitting for the war) O'erthrow this mighty one, and in a trance Left him disgraced, like a falling star; And yet himself 'bove us he doth advance, threateneth bright heaven, which can well declare That his contempt is false, his praise a shade, And only our deeds are immortal made. 102 These o'erthwart words made proud Gradasso mad (Madness is ever silent for a space) At length his fury burst from humour sad, And like a flame did all his soul embrace; For advocate, strokes and not words he had, Yet as he gave the lie, (words worst disgrace,) The mighty ghost of Agramant upraised, Bade them be still until he were appeased. 103 Then with a voice huge as a Northern gale, Doing to Pluto solemn reverence, He thus proceeded in his haughty tale; What fire is this, what winged violence, What high desire doth these great Peers exhale, And like false stars draw them unto offence, Like old men that forget decaying might, Making them grasp at what is mine by right. 104 For if the pride of arms this honour win, justice must plead me worthiest of the three, For thirty two anointed Kings have been Vassals to me, and my huge dignity; T'account my men, no number could begin, For why, they were more than the world could see, Exceeding all the sparkling starry light, Which in clear Phebe's hall do polish Night. 105 Hills with the hollow downs I level made, Floods have I covered with mine armed host, Men on parched plains in bloody seas did wade, And hnnger-starued death through me did boast An Empire, that no time should make to fade, By me he got what ere fore times had lost: For day and night I held him at a bay, And still increased his kingdom and his sway. 106 Pluto thou knowest, and hell will witness bear, (For in thine Eban book my fame is writ) And from hell's gates no Fate shall ever wear My rumour out; or shall Oblivion sit, And my lives Chronicle in pieces tear: Thou knowest right well, that to this damned pit, Millions of millions, weeping are descended Of slaughtered souls, that my right-hand condemned. 107 Call Charon forth, let him for me protest, Whose arms in work did near wax feeble weak, Save with my powers, who numberless oppressed, And almost made his withered sinews break. Again, that these King's souls may live at rest, And vain hopes made no further vaunts to speak, Fetch forth thy bedrolls, paper-books & notes, Thy Chronicles, in which all souls thou coats. 108 Fetch forth the Antiquares of all those shades, Sent from the earth by Nature, Murder, Fight, Then shall they know I have enriched these glades More in the circuit of a winter's night, Then they in all their lives, with all their blades, Hell being peopled only by my might: Thus did these three, with haughty terms contend, And each to other hateful speeches lend. 109 Pluto aggrieved to see this civil brawl, Practised to knit them in continuing peace, To him new arguments this broil did call, Now doth he sweat to make their wraths surcease, And rage enraged, with rage he doth forestall, Their war doth Rodomont's great war increase: Who all this while upon the bridge did stand, Tearing the iron bars up with his hand. 110 But more he speaks, the more their angers rise, Like storms that make disturbed waves grow mad, Anon the god with falling fiery eyes, Thus to beseech with mildest terms was glad: Cease conquering Kings, these civil arms despise, A juster cause may here with praise be had: These three were the judges of Hell. As for your strife, best time shall it discuss, Fore Minos, Radamanth, and Eachus. 117 Thus to his grand tormentor having spoke, He with disdainful semblance turned about, And as like lightning from a dark cloud broke, Looked on Gradas, and Agramant the stout, And said, return poor fools, pride's foolish yoke, Unto the earth, and there anew find out Your leaden fames, which for a paltry sword, To one of you, such high praise did afford. 118 Agramant was the son of Traiano, who was slain by Pipin king of France. But as for thee Traiano's youthful heir, Led by young thoughts (inamorites to will) In venging hate thy prowess doth appear, Where I have scorned any by hate to ill; For all my acts Cupid's light wings do bear Up to fair Cithaeron his mother's hill: And he that offers Love his conquering sword, Is truly valiant both in deed and word. 119 Yet gracious Pluto, first disgrace this flame, And find a balm to cure loves hateful grief, Murder this fire, extinguish Cupid's name; Then will I fight, and purchase thee relief: To this desire, thus Dis doth answer frame, Ha Mandricard, control that vain belief, Which in loves ease doth any help assure, Love is alone impossible to cure. 120 The God of gods, and I myself am thralled, No Fate the bane of Venus' bait escheweth, Cupid's keen shafts the Fiends in hell have galled, And whilst his ceaseless rigour me pursueth, By whom is Deity alone forestald, I find no mean nor man that on me ruth: But look how fast my wretched flight pretendeth So fast he flies, and on my sorrow tendeth. 121 Earnest to follow on his tale begun, A sudden storm of tears fell from his eyes, And from his talk so great controlment won, That sound of words, strange sounding sighs supplies, Sighs that in fervour did exceed the Sun, Making hot flames on watery billows rise; Whilst Rodomonth exlaimd on Dis from far, And calls the fiends to combat, if they dare. 122 Now Mandricard the son of Agrican, By this was chosen champion for the dark, And armed in clouds, that Night from Nature won, Came marching forth, whilst every sovie did mark The comely puissance of the mighty man, And to his courage every ear did hark: Which he with hollow words bravely did cheer, Swearing a second death shall slay their fear. 123 But when the Pagan saw him thus prepared, Dissembling warlike Equipage in hell, Fast by the foot takes Charon ouerdared, And 'bout his head swings him, & makes him yell, Thence throws him at the head of Mandricard, Who with such violence upon him fell, That spite his heart he made him reel & fall, As when a Cannon beats a city wall. 124 Poor Charon thus the pellet of his might, Having o'erthrown the Tartar, tumbled by, And through mischance, on Pluto's foot did light, And with cold fear o'ercome began to cry, And like a coward king, fit Lord for Night, Let from his fist his iron sceptre fly, Which with a bought at each end seemed to be Great as the heavens great seeming Appletree. 125 Which massy bar the Pagan soon surprised, And like a tennis tossed it in his hand, Swearing no devil, nor devils dam sufficed To quench his hates eternal burning brand, New immortality (quoth he) disguised Arms me to win this never conquered land; Nor dare huge infinites my will resist, Whilst I possess this weapon in my fist. 126 Thus mad with pride, proud that he was so mad, He with this engine scald the gates of hell, A second death by death the Furies had, For ne'er a blow that from his crotcher fell, But made the shaking pit with terror sad, That all the souls in which dead slumbers dwell, Hied to their tombs by old confusion torn, And there with tears wept that they were forlorn. 127 But this the brave Tartarians soul revived, Like to a dreaming traveler from sleep, And blushing to behold what Rage achieved, With pensive looks seemed, though unseen to weep, Whose dying shame (for shame is near long lived) Cast down his eyes much lower than the deep, And lifting them again, whilst wrath repines, Displays a knot of fiery Serpentines. 128 Their backs and breasts were speckled blue and green, Their eyes & nostrils spewing flames of fire, Whose noisome smokes palpable felt and seen, Poisoned the air, and what than air was hire, With liquid venom, and resistless tiene, Which dropping from their scaly fins retire: These Mandricard threw fiercely at his foe, In hope to quittance his received woe. 129 But Rodomount whom nothing could apale, Smiled at revenge, weakened for want of breath, And jesting at them, boldly gripes them all, Squeezing the damned monsters to the death, The sight whereof, broke the Tartarians gall, When scorn by scorn made scorn of valour's faith; And with that thought, flies at the Pagans face, And force perforce, justles him from the place. 130 Unwares assailed, down falls the Turkish king, Into the damned pool of deadmen's bones; The opening billows greedily sucked him in, And yet aghast to hear his angry groans, Mounted him up again, lest wrath should bring Unto their source confused endless moans: And as he shaked himself, the drops fell down, With piteous grievance to behold his frown. 131 Mad with disgrace (madness from envy grows) The Pagan swimming, gained the shore again, Setting the lake on fire, where-ere he goes, Throws forth high mountains of admired disdain, The while his body like a furnace glows, Lending new torments to undying pain; And foaming like a stormy beaten flood, Belched rivers forth, that no restraint withstood. 132 When Pluto saw him diving in this brook, (The altar on which all the gods do swear) Unto his soul exalted joys he took, And thus his fainting army new doth cheer; Friends (said he) fellow mates, gloss of my look, My agents, even myself, my best compear, Mount you upon these walls, and then retort This damned devil from a landing port. 132 Which, who effects by unimagind might, To him a wealthy coronet of Yew, A wreath of Cypress, and a cloud of Night, I do bequeath, whom all souls shall review: But Mandricard, now jealous of his right, Seeing hell moved, cried, Pluto, is this true? Wilt thou dishonour me, shall any say, He seconded the Tartar in his fray? 133 False god, rebate thine idle promise past, And keep thy damned souls in iron chains, For if dishonour on my crest be placed, This power of mine, that all great power sustains, I'll turn upon thy head, and for disgrac't, Drown thee and him within these muddy streams: Whilst this was speaking, spite of might or main, Once more the Turk came to the shore again. 135 And all his body mantled in filthy mire, Like a stern Boar soiled in the Summer time, Yet in his countenance flamed eternal fire Much higher than infernal eyes could climb, Like lightning Salmicis winged with desire, Flies on the Tartar all besmeared with slime, And with his airy arms gripes air so sore, That Mandricard fell down, and could no more. 136 Hence doth victorious Rodomont pursue His all-wonne conquest to the gates of hell, And Pluto swore, Destiny was untrue; Yet trying all, what ever could repel, From his near bosom fatal enchantment drew, I mean Despair, Grief, and Amazement fell, Which in a vial he had closely placed, And these at Rodomont with rage he cast. 137 But these were made to wound the lovers breast, They had no motion in a flinty mind, Of which the Pagan made an idle jest, spilled it upon the ground, said, foolish blind, Poor god of hell, keep in thy rusty chest These Pedlars trinkets, for some weaker kind, For loving asses, and for wanton boys, Slain and o'ercome with silly children's toys. 138 For me, I fear no frost, no foil, no flame, No monster, filth, nor hellish excrement: To dread thy privy rage, were dastard shame, Nothing moves me under the firmament, All things are held in awe by my great name; And I as little fear thy worst intent, As stubborn Northern blasts, or Summer's hail, Fear to encounter an unfolded Snail. 139 Thus did he say (by rage taught what to say) And saying what he said, burnt with his ire Felt a strong drought make through his body way, Setting his soul and airy parts on fire; All which, his labours, passions, and pains obey, Adding huge violence to his desire; For being with his dryness almost burst, He leaves them all, & seeks to quench his thirst. 140 Like Hercules for Hyla, he runs mad, Crying and seeking for some cooling stream, Anon he finds one out, and then was glad; Lethe he finds, Lethe which Poets dream, That all Forgetfulness from it is had, (Memory takes from that still pond his maim:) The sight of which, when the proud Pagan He lays him down, & takes a mighty (caught, draft. 141 Sooner he had not touched the fatal spring, But all old memory and thought was gone, His former war, his rage, his combating, And every act before that present done: Hell he forgot, Fiends, Furies, and their King, (All which in consultation were alone,) And had decreed, and taken Pluto's crown, To make him King, and put old Ditis down. 142 But like a man that knows no former age, Or infants that forget their mother's womb, Meek as a Dove, that Lion-like did rage, He finds the way through which he first did come, Passes o'er Styx like a converted sage, And so ascending up by fatal doom, Once more the air, and earthly mansions won, Cheering his dead eyes with the living son. 143 Restless he passed like a windy gale, Through all the crooked corners of this round, Till he found out again that bloody vale, That ever to be memorised ground On which he took his death, and there his pale Dead mangled carcase, rend and torn he found; With broken skull, and flesh delacerate, About the which, a thousand Ravens sat. 144 Wrath at this sight wakened his sleepy brands, And on the feathered tyrants spits his gall, Rails, but his railings nothing understands, o'er mounts he chases them, o'er rocks, o'er dale, o'er floods, and seas, beating the beaten strands, Making the woods resound his hideous tale: Still following on, where ere they took their flight, Threatening the silly birds to prove his might. 145 Led thus by conduct of his winged foes, Not apprehending what, or where he was, Stareth about, and then records his woes, For well he knew the heavens adored place, Within this Paradise his Trophies shoes, Here all his thoughts, his cares, and wonder was: A tower he saw outbrave the element, Which was fair isabella's monument. 146 Fair Isabella, flower of virgin maids, Whose fame is registered on heavens face, In whose last end eternal virtue reads, Faith's perpetuity, and chaste thoughts grace; Whose never-mooved soul to ages pleads, Life, that no life or death shall counterface: Whose Angel love to Angel senses bared, Her too untimely end too well declared. 147 This mighty Tower, the Pagan's tears agnized, He knew the gates, the bridge, the swans, the flood, And all those knightly shields, by honour prized, Which he had won in seas of purple blood; For though that Lethe every thought surprised, Yet Love it could not, Love all charms withstood: And he that had forgot all other deeds, Records his Love, Love that perpetual bleeds. 148 Like Centaurs gazing on the Gorgon shield, So on this castle stone-like looked this king, And to it thousand orisons did yield, Dear tomb of Chastity, O glorious thing. And now since fates, that all the world doth wield, About whose work the frame of heaven doth hang, Have doomed unburied souls (though gods by birth) An hundred years to travel on the earth. 149 Therefore the Destinies this Pagan bound, So long to err about this holy shrine, Constant and joyful in his lovesick wound, Showing himself fearful to mortal eine, With cries & clamours shaking the troubled ground, At whose huge noise, both gods and men repine; Which seems to call, O pulchra clara stella, Rodomount, Rodomount, Isabella, Isabella. FINIS. AT LONDON Printed by V. S. for Nicholas Ling. 1607.