2.8 EDMUND SPENSER

(1552-1599)

Although connected to a “house of auncient fame,” that of the Spencers of Althorpe, Northampton, Edmund Spenser entered Pembroke College, Cambridge as a poor scholar. There he benefitted from the Renaissance concept of the perfect courtier and studied Hebrew, Greek, Latin, French, vernacular English, and vocal and instrumental music. He also acquired proper deportment by acting in annual plays performed for the court. He published his first poetry while at Cambridge, including translations from Petrarch (1304-1374) and Joachim du Bellay (1522-1560). He also became friends with the poet and scholar Gabriel Harvey (c. 1552-1631) who later published his correspondence with Spenser and whom Spenser later portrayed as Hobinol in Shepheardes Calendar (1579). After earning his Master of Art degree, he returned to London where Harvey introduced Spenser to Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586) and secured him a place in the household of Robert Dudley, 1st Earl of Leicester (1532-1588). Although he may have traveled to various places, including Ireland—likely serving as private messenger to Leicester— Spenser spent most of his time at the homes of either Sidney or Leicester. Sidney’s Defense of Poesy as well as his Protestant advocacy seem especially to have influenced Spenser. And it is Sidney to whom Spenser dedicated his pastoral eclogue (classically-styled poem on a pastoral subject) Shepheardes Calendar.

This work was modeled on Greek, Italian, and French pastorals but was particularly indebted to Chaucer, as appears in its use of archaic language. It establishes and builds on the growing interest in native poetry. Interest in native, or vernacular, English literature was growing due to increased education, Renaissance learning, and increased nationalism. Spenser’s poetic fame grew as he circulated several of his poetic works among friends. For a short time, Spenser was a member of the “Areopagus,” a group of writers including Fulke Greville, 1st Baron Brooke (1554-162) that promoted English as a literary language. Among Spenser’s important contributions to this endeavor are the ABAB BCBC CDCD EE rhyme scheme of what came to be known as the Spenserian sonnet as well as the Spenserian stanza, comprising eight lines in iambic pentameter with the final line in iambic hexameter.

In 1580, Spenser was appointed private secretary by Arthur Grey, Baron Grey de Wilton (1536-1593), the new Lord Deputy, with whom Spenser traveled to Ireland. Grey actively suppressed Irish rebels and attempted to do the same to Roman Catholicism in Ireland. After Grey left Ireland, Spenser remained there as a civil servant, acquiring property in County Kildare, Cork, and Munster. Sir Walter Raleigh, who had extensive property in Munster, visited Spenser in 1589. Raleigh encouraged Spenser’s literary ambitions, and the two returned to London where Raleigh presented Spenser to Elizabeth I. In 1590, Spenser published the first installment of The Faerie Queene, dedicated to “the most mighty and magnificent Empresse Elizabeth, by the grace of God, Queene of England, France, and Ireland; Defender of the Faith, &c.” He prefaced his epic with sonnets commended to such important figures of his day as William Cecil, 1st Baron Burghley (1520-1598), Raleigh, and Mary (Sidney) Herbert, the Countess of Pembroke.

The Faerie Queene won Spenser immediate acclaim and a pension of fifty pounds a year, but not the preferment at Court to which he aspired. He returned to Ireland, to his duties as clerk, to the management of his estate, and to his writing. In 1594, he married Elizabeth Boyle, who was related to Sir Richard Boyle, later created the first Earl of Cork. The next year, Spenser commemorated his courtship and marriage in his Amoretti and Epithalamion, the latter after the classical celebration of a bride and bridegroom.

In 1596, he published the second instalment of The Faeirie Queene at the Stationers’ Hall. The following year, Elizabeth I recommended him as Sheriff of Cork in Ireland. The tone of his Mutability Cantos, the last cantos of The Faerie

Queene he wrote, was justified by the

final events of his life. During Tyrone’s Rebellion, his castle at Kilcolman was sacked and burnt to the ground. Spenser and his family escaped to Cork. He then traveled to Westminster with dispatches for Elizabeth I, including his own policy statement on the “recovery of the Realme of Ireland.” Whatever role he may have played in that recovery was cut short by his death, following a sudden illness soon after his arrival in Westminster. He died on January 16, 1599. He was buried at Westminster Abbey, next to Chaucer.

Envisaged as a national epic, The Faerie Queene draws on Arthurian legend and includes elements of romance, fable, and allegory. Although he completed only six of the twenty-four books he projected, Spenser seems to have offered a completed poem through which he declared himself to be a Poet, that is, his country’s Virgil. Indeed, the body of Spenser’s work as a whole follows Virgil’s, who wrote in the order of the creation of the arts: pastoral, romances, and epics. The opening of The Faerie Queene echoes Virgil’s Aeneid, as does also its overall structure with twelve cantos similar to the Aeneid’s twelve books. Each book of the Faerie Queene is dedicated to a single virtue: Holiness, Temperance, Chastity, Friendship, Justice, and Courtesy. As a national epic, The Faerie Queene is also a religious and moral work, an embodiment of its dedicated virtues, the forms of which we cannot actually see. However, we can see beauty (with which we can fall in love), so Spenser presents these virtues as beauties, as abstract ideals made concrete.

Each book also has its own hero, beginning with the Redcrosse Knight, the knight of holiness. The technical hero is Prince Arthur, who connects with each book’s hero, traveling through their lives and assisting them as he searches for his beloved, Gloriana, who first joined him in a dream. Prince Arthur represents the complete gentleman, for each virtue is magnified in him in the appropriate book, and at the epic’s end, Arthur will be the perfect (or perfected) knight. The real virtue needed to read the epic is constancy, which is the virtue announced in the Mutability Cantos, the fragment that “completes” the epic.

The conception of the poem, the twelve virtues formed in Prince Arthur, is found in Sidney’s Defense of Poesy which declares the intent of poetry to be making the reader virtuous. Prince Arthur models the perfect gentleman and courtier for England, and the grand intent and effect of Spenser’s poem is to produce a similarly-perfected reader.

The Faerie Queene is also an allegory, writing in which the subject and object are both divided and brought together. One of the first people we meet in Book I, Canto I is a beautiful virgin named Una whose parents (Adam and Eve) are held captive by a dragon (death); Una represents Veiled Truth, and allegory is a form of Veiled Truth. The allegory in Canto I represents not only the one true (Protestant) church—that frees all sons of Adam and daughters of Eve from death—but also Spenser’s literary art. The Redcrosse Knight mistakenly defends unveiled truth in the figure of (the Roman Catholic, Whore of Babylon) Duessa, the “two-faced,” not-at-all virgin, false mirror of Una. Veiled and unveiled Truth thus represent how allegory can be two things at the same time: truth and fiction (or “lie”). Like a labyrinth, this epic leads the reader past images and symbols of art to truth itself.

2.8.1 from The Faerie Queene

Book I

Canto I

The Patron of true Holinesse

foule Errour doth defeate;

Hypocrisie him to entrappe

doth to his home entreate.

I

A GENTLE Knight was pricking on the plaine,

Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde,

Wherein old dints of deepe wounds did remaine,

The cruel markes of many’a bloudy fielde;

Yet armes till that time did he never wield:

His angry steede did chide his foming bitt,

As much disdayning to the curbe to yield:

Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,

As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.

II

And on his brest a bloudie Crosse he bore,

The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,

For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,

And dead as living ever him ador’d:

Upon his shield the like was also scor’d,

For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had:

Right faithfull true he was in deede and word,

But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad;

Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.

III

Upon a great adventure he was bond,

That greatest Gloriana to him gave,

That greatest Glorious Queene of Faerie lond,

To winne him worship, and her grace to have,

Which of all earthly things he most did crave;

And ever as he rode, his hart did earne

To prove his puissance in battell brave

Upon his foe, and his new force to learne;

Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne.

IV

A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside,

Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow,

Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide

Under a vele, that wimpled was full low,

And over all a blacke stole she did throw,

As one that inly mournd: so was she sad,

And heavie sat upon her palfrey slow;

Seemed in heart some hidden care she had,

And by her in a line a milke white lambe she lad.

V

So pure and innocent, as that same lambe,

She was in life and every vertuous lore,

And by descent from Royall lynage came

Of ancient Kings and Queenes, that had of yore

Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne shore,

And all the world in their subjection held;

Till that infernall feend with foule uprore

Forwasted all their land, and them expeld:

Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compeld.

VI

Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag,

That lasie seemd in being ever last,

Or wearied with bearing of her bag

Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past,

The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast,

And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine

Did poure into his Lemans lap so fast,

That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain,

And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.

VII

Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand,

A shadie grove not far away they spide,

That promist ayde the tempest to withstand:

Whose loftie trees yclad with sommers pride

Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide,

Not perceable with power of any starre:

And all within were pathes and alleies wide,

With footing worne, and leading inward farre:

Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they entred arre.

VIII

And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led,

Joying to heare the birdes sweete harmony,

Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred,

Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky.

Much can they prayse the trees so straight and hy,

The sayling Pine, the Cedar proud and tall,

The vine-prop Elme, the Poplar never dry,

The builder Oake, sole king of forrests all,

The Aspine good for staves, the Cypresse funerall.

IX

The Laurell, meed of mightie Conquerours

And Poets sage, the firre that weepeth still,

The Willow worne of forlorne Paramours,

The Eugh obedient to the benders will,

The Birch for shaftes, the Sallow for the mill,

The Mirrhe sweete bleeding in the bitter wound,

The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill,

The fruitfull Olive, and the Platane round,

The carver Holme, the Maple seeldom inward sound.

X

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way,

Untill the blustring storme is overblowne;

When weening to returne, whence they did stray,

They cannot finde that path, which first was showne,

But wander too and fro in wayes unknowne,

Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene,

That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne:

So many pathes, so many turnings seene,

That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been.

XI

At last resolving forward still to fare,

Till that some end they finde or in or out,

That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare,

And like to lead the labyrinth about;

Which when by tract they hunted had throughout,

At length it brought them to a hollow cave

Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout

Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave,

And to the Dwarfe awhile his needlesse spere he gave.

XII

Be well aware, quoth then that Ladie milde,

Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke:

The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde,

Breedes dreadfull doubts: Oft fire is without smoke,

And perill without show: therefore your stroke,

Sir Knight, with-hold, till further triall made.

Ah Ladie, (said he) shame were to revoke

The forward footing for an hidden shade:

Vertue gives her selfe light, through darkenesse for to wade.

XIII

Yea but (quoth she) the perill of this place

I better wot then you, though now too late

To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace,

Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate,

To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate.

This is the wandring wood, this Errours den,

A monster vile, whom God and man does hate:

Therefore I read beware. Fly fly (quoth then

The fearefull Dwarfe) this is no place for living men.

XIV

But full of fire and greedy hardiment,

The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide,

But forth unto the darksome hole he went,

And looked in: his glistring armor made

A litle glooming light, much like a shade,

By which he saw the ugly monster plaine,

Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide,

But th’other halfe did womans shape retaine,

Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine.

XV

And as she lay upon the durtie ground,

Her huge long taile her den all overspred,

Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwound,

Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred

A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed,

Sucking upon her poisnous dugs, eachone

Of sundry shapes, yet all ill favored:

Soone as that uncouth light upon them shone,

Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone.

XVI

Their dam upstart, out of her den effraide,

And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile

About her cursed head, whose folds displaid

Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile.

She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle

Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe;

For light she hated as the deadly bale,

Ay wont in desert darknesse to remaine,

Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plaine.

XVII

Which when the valiant Elfe perceiv’d, he lept

As Lyon fierce upon the flying pray,

And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept

From turning backe, and forced her to stay:

Therewith enrag’d she loudly gan to bray,

And turning fierce, her speckled taile advaunst,

Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay:

Who nought aghast his mightie hand enhaunst:

The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glaunst.

XVIII

Much daunted with that dint, her sence was dazd,

Yet kindling rage, her selfe she gathered round,

And all attonce her beastly body raizd

With doubled forces high above the ground:

Tho wrapping up her wrethed sterne arownd,

Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine

All suddenly about his body wound,

That hand or foot to stirre he strove in vaine:

God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine.

XIX

His Lady sad to see his sore constraint,

Cride out, Now now Sir knight, shew what ye bee,

Add faith unto your force, and be not faint:

Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee.

That when he heard, in great perplexitie,

His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine,

And knitting all his force got one hand free,

Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine,

That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine.

XX

Therewith she spewd out of her filthy maw

A floud of poyson horrible and blacke,

Full of great lumpes of flesh and gobbets raw,

Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke

His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe:

Her vomit full of bookes and papers was,

With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke,

And creeping sought way in the weedy gras:

Her filthy parbreake all the place defiled has.

XXI

As when old father Nilus gins to swell

With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale,

His fattie waves do fertile slime outwell,

And overflow each plaine and lowly dale:

But when his later spring gins to avale,

Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherein there breed

Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male

And partly female of his fruitful seed;

Such ugly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man reed.

XXII

The same so sore annoyed has the knight,

That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke,

His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight.

Whose corage when the feend perceiv’d to shrinke,

She poured forth out of her hellish sinke

Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small,

Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke,

With swarming all about his legs did crall,

And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all.

XXIII

As gentle Shepheard in sweete even-tide,

When ruddy Phoebus gins to welke in west,

High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide,

Markes which do byte their hasty supper best,

A cloud of combrous gnattes do him molest,

All striving to infixe their feeble stings,

That from their noyance he no where can rest,

But with his clownish hands their tender wings

He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.

XXIV

Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame,

Then of the certeine perill he stood in,

Halfe furious unto his foe he came,

Resolv’d in minde all suddenly to win,

Or soone to lose, before he once would lin

And strooke at her with more then manly force,

That from her body full of filthie sin

He raft her hatefull head without remorse;

A streame of cole black bloud forth gushed from her corse.

XXV

Her scattred brood, soone as their Parent deare

They saw so rudely falling to the ground,

Groning full deadly, all with troublous feare,

Gathred themselves about her body round,

Weening their wonted entrance to have found

At her wide mouth: but being there withstood

They flocked all about her bleeding wound,

And sucked up their dying mothers blood,

Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good.

XXVI

That detestable sight him much amazde,

To see th’ unkindly Impes, of heaven accurst,

Devoure their dam; on whom while so he gazd,

Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst,

Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst,

And bowels gushing forth: well worthy end

Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst;

Now needeth him no lenger labour spend,

His foes have slaine themselves, with whom he should contend.

XXVII

His Ladie seeing all that chaunst, from farre

Approcht in hast to greet his victorie,

And said, Faire knight, borne under happy starre,

Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye:

Well worthie be you of that Armorie,

Wherin ye have great glory wonne this day,

And proov’d your strength on a strong enimie,

Your first adventure: many such I pray,

And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may.

XXVIII

Then mounted he upon his Steede againe,

And with the Lady backward sought to wend;

That path he kept which beaten was most plaine,

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 frend)

He passed forth, and new adventure sought;

Long way he travelled, before he heard of ought.

XXIX

At length they chaunst to meet upon the way

An aged Sire, in long blacke weedes yclad,

His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray

And by his belt his booke he hanging had;

Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad,

And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent,

Simple in shew, and voyde of malice bad,

And all the way he prayed, as he went,

And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.

XXX

He faire the knight saluted, louting low,

Who faire him quited, as that courteous was:

And after asked him, if he did know

Of straunge adventures, which abroad did pas.

Ah my deare Sonne (quoth he) how should, alas,

Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,

Bidding his beades all day for his trespas,

Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell?

With holy father sits not with such things to mell.

XXXI

But if of daunger which hereby doth dwell,

And homebred evil ye desire to heare,

Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell,

That wasteth all this countrey farre and neare.

Of such (said he) I chiefly do inquere,

And shall you well reward to shew the place,

In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare:

For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace,

That such a cursed creature lives so long a space.

XXXII

Far hence (quoth he) in wastfull wildernesse

His dwelling is, by which no living wight

May ever passe, but thorough great distresse.

Now (sayd the Lady) draweth toward night,

And well I wote, that of your later fight

Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong, But wanting rest will also want of might?

The Sunne that measures heaven all day long,

At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean waves emong.

XXXIII

Then with the Sunne take Sir, your timely rest,

And with new day new worke at once begin:

Untroubled night they say gives counsell best.

Right well Sir knight ye have advised bin,

(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.

XXXIV

A little lowly Hermitage it was,

Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side,

Far from resort of people, that did pas

In travell to and froe: a little wyde

There was an holy Chappell edifyde,

Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say

His holy things each morne and eventyde:

Thereby a Christall streame did gently play,

Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway.

XXXV

Arrived there, the little house they fill,

Ne looke for entertainement, where none was:

Rest is their feast, and all things at their will:

The noblest mind the best contentment has.

With faire discourse the evening so they pas:

For that old man of pleasing wordes had store,

And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas,

He told of Saintes and Popes, and evermore

He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before.

XXXVI

The drouping Night thus creepeth on them fast,

And the sad humour loading their eye liddes,

As messenger of Morpheus on them cast

Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleepe them biddes.

Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes:

Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes,

He to this study goes, and there amiddes

His Magick bookes and artes of sundry kindes,

He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble sleepy mindes.

XXXVII

Then choosing out few words most horrible,

(Let none them read) thereof did verses frame,

With which and other spelles like terrible,

He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly Dame,

And cursed heaven and spake reprochfull shame

Of highest God, the Lord of life and light;

A bold bad man, that dar’d to call by name

Great Gorgon, Prince of darknesse and dead night,

At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight.

XXXVIII

And forth he cald out of deepe darknesse dred

Legions of Sprights, the which like little flyes

Fluttring about his ever damned hed,

Awaite whereto their service he applyes,

To aide his friends, or fray his enimies:

Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo,

And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes;

The one of them he gave a message too,

The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo.

XXXIX

He making speedy way through spersed ayre,

And through the world of waters wide and deepe,

To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.

Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,

And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,

His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed

Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe

In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed,

Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.

XL

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast,

The one faire fram’d of burnisht Yvory,

The other all with silver overcast;

And wakeful dogges before them farre do lye, Watching to banish Care their enimy,

Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.

By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly,

And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe

In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he takes keepe.

XLI

And more, to lulle him in his slumber soft,

A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,

And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,

Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne

Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne:

No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,

As still are wont t’annoy the walled towne,

Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes,

Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enemyes.

XLII

The messenger approching to him spake,

But his wast wordes returnd to him in vaine:

So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake.

Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine

Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe

Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake.

As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine

Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake,

He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake.

XLIII

The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,

And threatned unto him the dreaded name

Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake,

And lifting up his lumpish head, with blame

Halfe angry asked him, for what he came.

Hither (quoth he) me Archimago sent,

He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame,

He bids thee to him send for his intent

A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent.

XLIV

The God obayde, and, calling forth straightway

A diverse dreame out of his prison darke,

Delivered it to him, and downe did lay His heavie head, devoide of carefull carke,

Whose sences all were straight benumbed and starke.

He backe returning by the Yvorie dore,

Remounted up as light as chearefull Larke,

And on his litle winges the dreame he bore

In hast unto his Lord, where he him left afore.

XLV

Who all this while with charmes and hidden artes,

Had made a Lady of that other Spright,

And fram’d of liquid ayre her tender partes

So lively, and so like in all mens sight,

That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight:

The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt,

Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight:

Her all in white he clad, and over it

Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Una fit.

XLVI

Now when that ydle dreame was to him brought,

Unto that Elfin knight he bad him fly,

Where he slept soundly void of evill thought,

And with false shewes abuse his fantasy,

In sort as he him schooled privily:

And that new creature, borne without her dew,

Full of the makers guile, with usage sly

He taught to imitate that Lady trew,

Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned hew.

XLVII

Thus well instructed, to their worke they hast,

And coming where the knight in slomber lay,

The one upon his hardy head him plast

And made him dreame of loves and lustfull play,

That nigh his manly hart did melt away,

Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy:

Then seemed him his Lady by him lay,

And to him playnd, how that false winged boy,

Her chast hart had subdewd, to learne Dame Pleasures toy.

XLVIII

And she herselfe of beautie soveraigne Queene,

Fayre Venus seemde unto his bed to bring Her, whom he waking evermore did weene,

To bee the chastest flowre, that ay did spring

On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king,

Now a loose Leman to vile service bound:

And eke the Graces seemed all to sing,

Hymen Iö Hymen dauncing all around,

Whilst freshest Flora her with Yvie girlond crownd.

XLIX

In this great passion of unwonted lust,

Or wonted feare of doing ought amis,

He started up, as seeming to mistrust

Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his:

Lo there before his face his Lady is,

Under blake stole hyding her bayted hooke;

And as halfe blushing offred him to kis,

With gentle blandishment and lovely looke,

Most like that virgin true, which for her knight him took.

L

All cleane dismayd to see so uncouth sight,

And half enraged at her shamelesse guise,

He thought have slaine her in his fierce despight:

But hasty heat tempring with suffrance wise,

He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe advise

To prove his sense, and tempt her faigned truth.

Wringing her hands in womans pitteous wise,

Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle ruth,

Both for her noble bloud, and for her tender youth.

LI

And said, Ah Sir, my liege Lord and my love,

Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate,

And mightie causes wrought in heaven above,

Or the blind God, that doth me thus amate,

For hoped love to winne me certaine hate?

Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.

Die is my dew; yet rew my wretched state

You, whom my hard avenging destinie

Hath made judge of my life or death indifferently.

LII

Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave

My Fathers kingdome—There she stopt with teares;

Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave,

And then againe begun; My weaker yeares

Captiv’d to fortune and frayle worldly feares,

Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde:

Let me not dye in languor and long teares.

Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayd?

What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd?

LIII

Love of your selfe, she saide, and deare constraint,

Lets me not sleepe, but wast the wearie night

In secret anguish and unpittied plaint,

Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight.

Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight

Suspect her truth: yet since no’ untruth he knew,

Her fawning love with foule disdainefull spight

He would not shend; but said, Deare dame I rew,

That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you grew.

LIV

Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground;

For all so deare as life is to my hart,

I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound:

Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart,

Where cause is none, but to your rest depart.

Not all content, yet seemd she to appease

Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,

And fed with words that could not chuse but please,

So slyding softly forth, she turned as to her ease.

LV

Long after lay he musing at her mood,

Much griev’d to thinke that gentle Dame so light,

For whose defence he was to shed his blood.

At last, dull wearinesse of former fight

Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright,

That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine,

With bowres, and beds, and Ladies deare delight:

But when he saw his labour all was vaine,

With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe.

Canto II

The guilefull great Enchaunter parts

the Redcrosse Knight from truth,

Into whose stead faire Falshood steps,

and workes him wofull ruth .

I

BY this the Northerne wagoner had set

His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast starre,

That was in Ocean waves yet never wet,

But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre

To all that in the wide deepe wandring arre:

And chearefull Chaunticlere with his note shrill

Had warned once, that Phœbus fiery carre

In hast was climbing up the Easterne hill,

Full envious that night so long his roome did fill.

II

When those accursed messengers of hell,

That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged Spright

Came to their wicked maister, and gan tell

Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeeding night:

Who all in rage to see his skilfull might

Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine

And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright.

But when he saw his threatning was but vaine,

He cast about, and searcht his baleful bookes againe.

III

Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire,

And that false other Spright, on whom he spred

A seeming body of the subtile aire,

Like a young Squire, in loves and lustybed

His wanton dayes that ever loosely led,

Without regard of armes and dreaded fight:

Those two he tooke, and in a secret bed,

Coverd with darknesse and misdeeming night,

Them both together laid, to joy in vaine delight.

IV

Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithfull hast

Unto his guest, who after troublous sights

And dreames, gan now to take more sound repast, Whom suddenly he wakes with fearfull frights,

As one aghast with feends or damned sprights,

And to him cals, Rise, rise, unhappy Swaine

That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked wights

Have knit themselves in Venus shameful chaine,

Come see where your false Lady doth her honour staine.

V

All in amaze he suddenly upstart

With sword in hand, and with the old man went

Who soone him brought into a secret part

Where that false couple were full closely ment

In wanton lust and leud embracement:

Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire,

The eye of reason was with rage yblent,

And would have slaine them in his furious ire,

But hardly was restreined of that aged sire.

VI

Returning to his bed in torment great,

And bitter anguish of his guiltie sight,

He could not rest, but did his stout heart eat,

And wast his inward gall with deepe despight,

Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring night.

At last faire Hesperus in highest skie

Had spent his lampe and brought forth dawning light,

Then up he rose, and clad him hastily;

The Dwarfe him brought his steed: so both away do fly.

VII

Now when the rosy-fingred Morning faire,

Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed,

Had spread her purple robe through deawy aire,

And the high hils Titan discovered,

The royall virgin shooke off drowsy-hed;

And rising forth out of her baser bowre,

Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled,

And for her Dwarfe, that wont to wait each houre:

Then gan she waile and weepe, to see that woefull stowre.

VIII

And after him she rode with so much speede

As her slow beast could make; but all in vaine:

For him so far had borne his light-foot steede,

Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdaine,

That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine;

Yet she her weary limbes would never rest,

But every hill and dale, each wood and plaine,

Did search, sore grieved in her gentle brest,

He so ungently left her, whom she loved best.

IX

But subtill Archimago, when his guests

He saw divided into double parts,

And Una wandring in woods and forrests,

Th’ end of his drift, he praisd his divelish arts,

That had such might over true meaning harts:

Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make,

How he may worke unto her further smarts:

For her he hated as the hissing snake,

And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.

X

He then devisde himselfe how to disguise;

For by his mightie science he could take

As many formes and shapes in seeming wise,

As ever Proteus to himselfe could make:

Sometime a fowle, sometime a fish in lake,

Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell,

That of himselfe he ofte for feare would quake,

And oft would flie away. O who can tell

The hidden power of herbes and might of Magicke spell?

XI

But now seemde best the person to put on

Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest:

In mighty armes he was yclad anon:

And silver shield, upon his coward brest

A bloudy crosse, and on his craven crest

A bounch of haires discolourd diversly:

Full jolly knight he seemde, and well addrest,

And when he sate upon his courser free,

Saint George himself ye would have deemed him to be.

XII

But he the knight, whose semblaunt he did beare,

The true Saint George, was wandred far away,

Still flying from his thoughts and gealous feare;

Will was his guide, and griefe led him astray.

At last him chaunst to meete upon the way

A faithless Sarazin all arm’d to point,

In whose great shield was writ with letters gay

Sans foy: full large of limbe and every joint

He was, and cared not for God or man a point.

XIII

He had a faire companion of his way,

A goodly Lady clad in scarlot red,

Purfled with gold and pearle of rich assay,

And like a Persian mitre on her hed

She wore, with crowns and owches garnished,

The which her lavish lovers to her gave;

Her wanton palfrey all was overspred

With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave,

Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave.

XIV

With faire disport and courting dalliaunce

She intertainde her lover all the way:

But when she saw the knight his speare advaunce,

She soone left off her mirth and wanton play,

And bade her knight addresse him to the fray:

His foe was nigh at hand. He prickt with pride

And hope to winne his Ladies heart that day,

Forth spurred fast: adowne his coursers side

The red bloud trickling staind the way, as he did ride.

XV

The knight of the Redcrosse when him he spide,

Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous,

Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards ride:

Soone meete they both, both fell and furious,

That daunted with their forces hideous,

Their steeds do stagger, and amazed stand,

And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous,

Astonied with the stroke of their owne hand

Doe backe rebut, and each to other yeeldeth land.

XVI

As when two rams stird with ambitious pride,

Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flocke,

Their horned fronts so fierce on either side

Do meete, that with the terrour of the shocke

Astonied both, stand sencelesse as a blocke,

Forgetfull of the hanging victory:

So stood these twaine, unmoved as a rocke,

Both staring fierce, and holding idely

The broken reliques of their former cruelty.

XVII

The Sarazin sore daunted with the buffe

Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;

Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with cuff:

Each others equall puissaunce envies,

And through their iron sides with cruell spies

Does seeke to perce: repining courage yields

No foote to foe. The flashing fier flies

As from a forge out of their burning shields,

And streams of purple bloud new dies the verdant fields.

XVIII

Curse on that Crosse (quoth then the Sarazin),

That keepes thy body from the bitter fit;

Dead long ygoe I wote thou haddest bin,

Had not that charme from thee forwarned it:

But yet I warne thee now assured sitt,

And hide thy head. Therewith upon his crest

With rigour so outrageous he smitt,

That a large share it hewd out of the rest,

And glauncing down his shield from blame him fairly blest.

XIX

Who thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark

Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive,

And at his haughtie helmet making mark,

So hugely stroke, that it the steele did rive,

And cleft his head. He tumbling downe alive,

With bloudy mouth his mother earth did kis.

Greeting his grave: his grudging ghost did strive

With the fraile flesh; at last it flitted is,

Whither the soules do fly of men that live amis.

XX

The Lady when she saw her champion fall,

Like the old ruines of a broken towre,

Staid not to waile his woefull funerall,

But from him fled away with all her powre;

Who after her as hastily gan scowre,

Bidding the Dwarfe with him to bring away

The Sarazins shield, signe of the conqueroure.

Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay,

For present cause was none of dread her to dismay.

XXI

She turning backe with ruefull countenaunce,

Cride, Mercy mercy Sir vouchsafe to show

On silly Dame, subject to hard mischaunce,

And to your mighty will. Her humblesse low

In so ritch weedes and seeming glorious show,

Did much emmove his stout heroicke heart,

And said, Deare dame, your suddin overthrow

Much rueth me; but now put feare apart,

And tell, both who ye be, and who that tooke your part.

XXII

Melting in teares, then gan she thus lament;

The wretched woman, whom unhappy howre

Hath now made thrall to your commandement,

Before that angry heavens list to lowre,

And fortune false betraide me to your powre,

Was, (O what now availeth that I was!)

Borne the sole daughter of an Emperour,

He that the wide West under his rule has,

And high hath set his throne, where Tiberis doth pas.

XXIII

He in the first flowre of my freshest age,

Betrothed me unto the onely haire

Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;

Was never Prince so faithfull and so faire,

Was never Prince so meeke and debonaire;

But ere my hoped day of spousall shone,

My dearest Lord fell from high honours staire

Into the hands of his accursed fone,

And cruelly was slaine, that shall I ever mone.

XXIV

His blessed body spoild of lively breath,

Was afterward, I know not how, convaid

And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death

When tidings came to me, unhappy maid,

O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid.

Then forth I went his woefull corse to find,

And many yeares throughout the world I straid,

A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind

With love long time did languish as the striken hind.

XXV

At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin

To meete me wandring, who perforce me led

With him away, but yet could never win

The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread;

There lies he now with foule dishonour dead,

Who whiles he livde, was called proud Sansfoy,

The eldest of three brethren, all three bred

Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy;

And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold Sansloy.

XXVI

In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate,

Now miserable I Fidessa dwell,

Craving of you in pitty of my state,

To do none ill, if please ye not do well.

He in great passion all this while did dwell,

More busying his quicke eyes, her face to view,

Then his dull eares, to heare what she did tell;

And said, Faire Lady hart of flint would rew

The undeserved woes and sorrowes which ye shew.

XXVII

Henceforth in safe assuraunce 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 chaunge of cheare the seeming simple maid

Let fall her eyen, as shamefast to the earth,

And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain-said,

So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth,

And she coy lookes: so dainty they say maketh derth.

XXVIII

Long time they thus together traveiled,

Till weary of their way, they came at last

Where grew two goodly trees, that faire did spred

Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast,

And their greene leaves trembling with every blast,

Made a calme shadow far in compasse round:

The fearfull Shepheard often there aghast

Under them never sat, ne wont there sound

His mery oaten pipe, but shund th’ unlucky ground.

XXIX

But this good knight soone as he them can spie,

For the cool shade him thither hastly got:

For golden Phœbus now ymounted hie,

From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot

Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,

That living creature mote 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.

XXX

Faire seemely pleasaunce 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 yit;

Which to expresse he bends his gentle wit,

And thinking of those braunches greene to frame

A girlond for her dainty forehead fit,

He pluckt a bough; out of whose rift there came

Small drops of gory bloud, that trickled down the same.

XXXI

Therewith a piteous yelling voyce was heard,

Crying, O spare with guilty hands to teare

My tender sides in this rough rynd embard,

But fly, ah fly far hence away, for feare

Least to you hap, that happened to me heare,

And to this wretched Lady, my deare love,

O too deare love, love bought with death too deare.

Astond he stood, and up his haire did hove,

And with that suddein horror could no member move.

XXXII

At last whenas the dreadfull passion

Was overpast, and manhood well awake,

Yet musing at the straunge occasion,

And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake;

What voyce of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,

Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire,

Both which fraile men do oftentimes mistake,

Sends to my doubtfull eares these speaches rare,

And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse bloud to spare?

XXXIII

Then groning deepe, Nor damned Ghost, (quoth he,)

Nor guileful sprite to thee these wordes doth speake,

But once a man Fradubio, now a tree,

Wretched man, wretched tree; whose nature weake

A cruell witch her cursed will to wreake,

Hath thus transformd, and plast in open plaines,

Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake,

And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines:

For though a tree I seeme, yet cold and heat me paines.

XXXIV

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 med’cine, who his griefe imparts;

But double griefs afflict concealing harts,

As raging flames who striveth to suppresse.

The author then (said he) of all my smarts,

Is one Duessa a false sorceresse,

That many errant knights hath brought to wretchednesse.

XXXV

In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hot

The fire of love and joy of chevalree

First kindled in my brest, 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 rode accompanyde,

Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee,

That had a like faire Lady by his syde,

Like a faire Lady, but did fowle Duessa hyde.

XXXVI

Whose forged beauty he did take in hand,

All other Dames to have exceeded farre;

I in defence of mine did likewise stand,

Mine, that did then shine as the Morning starre.

So both to battell fierce arraunged arre,

In which his harder fortune was to fall

Under my speare: such is the dye of warre:

His Lady left as a prise martiall,

Did yield her comely person to be at my call.

XXXVII

So doubly lov’d of Ladies unlike faire,

Th’ one seeming such, the other such indeede,

One day in doubt I cast for to compare,

Whether in beauties glorie did exceede;

A Rosy girlond was the victors meede:

Both seemde to win, and both seemde won to bee,

So hard the discord was to be agreede.

Fraelissa was as faire, as faire mote bee,

And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as shee.

XXXVIII

The wicked witch now seeing all this while

The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway,

What not by right, she cast to win by guile,

And by her hellish science raisd streightway

A foggy mist, that overcast the day,

And a dull blast, that breathing on her face,

Dimmed her former beauties shining ray,

And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace:

Then was she faire alone, when none was faire in place.

XXXIX

Then cride she out, Fye, fye, deformed wight,

Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine

To have before bewitched all mens sight;

O leave her soone, or let her soone be slaine.

Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine,

Eftsoones I thought her such, as she me told,

And would have kild her; but with faigned paine

The false witch did my wrathfull hand with-hold;

So left her, where she now is turnd to treen mould.

XL

Then forth I tooke Duessa for my Dame,

And in the witch unweeting joyd long time,

Ne ever wist but that she was the same,

Till on a day (that day is every Prime,

When Witches wont do penance for their crime)

I chaunst to see her in her proper hew,

Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme:

A filthy foule old woman I did vew,

That ever to have toucht her I did deadly rew.

XLI

Her neather parts misshapen, monstruous,

Were hidd in water, that I could not see.

But they did seeme more foule and hideous,

Then womans shape man would beleeve to bee.

Thensforth from her most beastly companie

I gan refraine, in minde to slip away,

Soone as appeard safe opportunitie:

For danger great, if not assur’d decay,

I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray.

XLII

The divelish hag by chaunges of my cheare

Perceiv’d my thought, and drownd in sleepie night,

With wicked herbs and ointments did besmeare

My body all, through charms and magicke might,

That all my senses were bereaved quight:

Then brought she me into this desert waste,

And by my wretched lovers side me pight,

Where now enclosd in wooden wals full faste,

Banisht from living wights, our wearie dayes we waste.

XLIII

But how long time, said then the Elfin knight,

Are you in this misformed house to dwell?

We may not chaunge (quoth he) this evil plight,

Till we be bathed in a living well;

That is the terme prescribed by the spell.

O how, said he, mote I that well out find,

That may restore you to your wonted well?

Time and suffised fates to former kynd

Shall us restore, none else from hence may us unbynd.

XLIV

The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight,

Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament,

And knew well all was true. But the good knight

Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment,

When all this speech the living tree had spent,

The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground,

That from the bloud he might be innocent,

And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound:

Then turning to his Lady, dead with feare her found.

XLV

Her seeming dead he found with feigned feare,

As all unweeting of that well she knew,

And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare

Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids blew

And dimmed sight with pale and deadly hew

At last she up gan lift: with trembling cheare

Her up he tooke, too simple and too trew,

And oft her kist. At length all passed feare,

He set her on her steede, and forward forth did beare.

Canto III

Forsaken Truth long seekes her love,

and makes the Lyon mylde,

Marres blind Devotions mart, and fals

in hand of leachour vylde.

I

NOUGHT is there under heav’ns wide hollownesse,

That moves more deare compassion of mind,

Then beautie brought t’ unworthy wretchednesse

Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind.

I, whether lately through her brightnesse blind,

Or through alleageance and fast fealtie,

Which I do owe unto all woman kind,

Feele my hart perst with so great agonie,

When such I see, that all for pittie I could die.

II

And now it is empassioned so deepe,

For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing,

That my fraile eyes these lines with teares do steepe, To thinke how she through guilefull handeling,

Though true as touch, though daughter of a king,

Though faire as ever living wight was faire,

Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting,

Is from her knight divorced in despaire,

And her due loves deriv’d to that vile witches share.

III

Yet she most faithfull Ladie all this while

Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd

Far from all peoples prease, as in exile,

In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd,

To seeke her knight; who subtilly betrayd

Through that late vision, which th’ Enchaunter wrought,

Had her abandond. She of nought affrayd,

Through woods and wastnesse wide him daily sought;

Yet wished tydings none of him unto her brought.

IV

One day nigh wearie of the yrkesome way,

From her unhastie beast she did alight,

And on the grasse her daintie limbes did lay

In secret shadow, farre from all mens sight:

From her faire head her fillet she undight,

And laid her stole aside. Her angels face

As the great eye of heaven shyned bright,

And made a sunshine in the shadie place;

Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.

V

It fortuned out of the thickest wood

A ramping Lyon rushed suddainly,

Hunting full greedy after salvage blood;

Soone as the royall virgin he did spy,

With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,

To have attonce devourd her tender corse:

But to the pray when as he drew more ny,

His bloody rage asswaged with remorse,

And with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse.

VI

In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet,

And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong, As he her wronged innocence did weet.

O how can beautie maister the most strong,

And simple truth subdue avenging wrong?

Whose yeelded pride and proud submission,

Still dreading death, when she had marked long,

Her hart gan melt in great compassion,

And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.

VII

The Lyon Lord of every beast in field,

Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate,

And mightie proud to humble weake does yield,

Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late

Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate:

But he my Lyon, and my noble Lord,

How does he find in cruell hart to hate,

Her that him lov’d, and ever most adord,

As the God of my life? why hath he me abhord?

VIII

Redounding teares did choke th’ end of her plaint,

Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood;

And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint

The kingly beast upon her gazing stood;

With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood.

At last in close hart shutting up her paine,

Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood,

And to her snowy Palfrey got againe,

To seeke her strayed Champion, if she might attaine.

IX

The Lyon would not leave her desolate,

But with her went along, as a strong gard

Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate

Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:

Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward,

And when she wakt, he waited diligent,

With humble service to her will prepard:

From her faire eyes he tooke commaundement,

And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.

X

Long she thus traveiled through deserts wyde,

By which she thought her wandring knight shold pas,

Yet never shew of living wight espyde;

Till that at length she found the troden gras,

In which the tract of peoples footing was,

Under the steepe foot of a mountaine hore;

The same she followes, till at last she has

A damzell spyde slow footing her before,

That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore.

XI

To whom approching she to her gan call,

To weet, if dwelling place were nigh at hand;

But the rude wench her answerd nought at all;

She could not heare, nor speake, nor understand;

Till seeing by her side the Lyon stand,

With suddaine feare her pitcher downe she threw,

And fled away: for never in that land

Face of faire Ladie she before did vew,

And that dread Lyons looke her cast in deadly hew.

XII

Full fast she fled, ne never lookt behynd,

As if her life upon the wager lay,

And home she came, whereas her mother blynd

Sate in eternall night: nought could she say,

But suddaine catching hold, did her dismay

With quaking hands, and other signes of feare;

Who full of ghastly fright and cold affray,

Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there

Dame Una, wearie Dame, and entrance did requere.

XIII

Which when none yeelded, her unruly Page

With his rude claws the wicket open rent,

And let her in; where of his cruell rage

Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment,

She found them both in darkesome corner pent;

Where that old woman day and night did pray

Upon her beads devoutly penitent;

Nine hundred Pater nosters every day,

And thrise nine hundred Aves she was wont to say.

XIV

And to augment her painefull pennance more,

Thrise every weeke in ashes she did sit,

And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore,

And thrise three times did fast from any bit:

But now for feare her beads she did forget.

Whose needlesse dread for to remove away,

Faire Una framed words and count’nance fit:

Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray,

That in their cotage small that night she rest her may.

XV

The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night,

When every creature shrowded is in sleepe;

Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight,

And at her feete the Lyon watch doth keepe:

In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe

For the late losse of her deare loved knight,

And sighes, and grones, and ever more does steepe

Her tender brest in bitter teares all night,

All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light.

XVI

Now when Aldeboran was mounted hie

Above the shynie Cassiopeias chaire,

And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lie,

One knocked at the dore, and in would fare;

He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware,

That readie entrance was not at his call:

For on his backe a heavy load he bare

Of nightly stelths, and pillage severall,

Which he had got abroad by purchase criminall.

XVII

He was, to weete, a stout and sturdy thiefe,

Wont to robbe Churches of their ornaments,

And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe,

Which given was to them for good intents;

The holy Saints of their rich vestiments

He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept,

And spoild the Priests of their habiliments,

Whiles none the holy things in safety kept;

Then he by conning sleights in at the window crept.

XVIII

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 whoredome usd, that few did know,

And fed her fat with feast of offerings,

And plentie, which in all the land did grow;

Ne spared he to give her gold and rings:

And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.

XIX

Thus long the dore with rage and threats he bet,

Yet of those fearfull women none durst rize,

The Lyon frayed them, him in to let:

He would no longer stay him to advize,

But open breakes the dore in furious wize,

And entring is; when that disdainfull beast

Encountring fierce, him suddaine doth surprize,

And seizing cruell clawes on trembling brest,

Under his Lordly foot him proudly hath supprest.

XX

Him booteth not resist, nor succour call,

His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand,

Who streight him rent in thousand peeces small,

And quite dismembred hath: the thirsty land

Drunke up his life; his corse left on the strand.

His fearefull friends weare out the wofull night,

Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to understand

The heavie hap, which on them is alight,

Affraid, least to themselves the like mishappen might.

XXI

Now when broad day the world discovered has,

Up Una rose, up rose the Lyon eke,

And on their former journey forward pas,

In wayes unknowne, her wandring knight to seeke,

With paines farre passing that long wandring Greeke,

That for his love refused deitie;

Such were the labours of his Lady meeke,

Still seeking him, that from her still did flie;

Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nie.

XXII

Soone as she parted thence, the fearfull twaine,

That blind old woman and her daughter deare,

Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slaine,

For anguish great they gan to rend their heare,

And beat their brests, and naked flesh to teare.

And when they both had wept and wayld their fill,

Then forth they ran like two amazed deare,

Halfe mad through malice, and revenging will,

To follow her, that was the causer of their ill.

XXIII

Whom overtaking, they gan loudly bray,

With hollow howling, and lamenting cry,

Shamefully at her rayling all the way,

And her accusing of dishonesty,

That was the flowre of faith and chastity;

And still amidst her rayling, she did pray,

That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery

Might fall on her, and follow all the way,

And that in endlesse error she might ever stray.

XXIV

But when she saw her prayers nought prevaile,

She backe returned with some labour lost;

And in the way as shee did weepe and waile,

A knight her met in mighty armes embost,

Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost,

But subtill Archimag, that Una sought

By traynes into new troubles to have tost:

Of that old woman tidings he besought,

If that of such a Ladie she could tellen ought.

XXV

Therewith she gan her passion to renew,

And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend her heare,

Saying, that harlot she too lately knew,

That caused her shed so many a bitter teare,

And so forth told the story of her feare:

Much seemed he to mone her haplesse chaunce,

And after for that Ladie did inquere;

Which being taught, he forward gan advaunce

His fair enchaunted steed, and eke his charmed launce.

XXVI

Ere long he came where Una traveild slow,

And that wilde Champion wayting her besyde:

Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show

Himselfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde

Unto an hill; from whence when she him spyde,

By his like seeming shield, her knight by name

She weend it was, and towards him gan ryde:

Approaching nigh, she wist it was the same,

And with faire fearefull humblesse towards him shee came:

XXVII

And weeping said, Ah my long lacked Lord,

Where have ye bene thus long out of my sight?

Much feared I to have bene quite abhord,

Or ought have done, that ye displeasen might,

That should as death unto my deare heart light:

For since mine eye your joyous sight did mis,

My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night,

And eke my night of death the shadow is;

But welcome now my light, and shining lampe of blis.

XXVIII

He thereto meeting said, My dearest Dame,

Farre be it from your thought, and fro my will,

To thinke that knighthood I so much should shame,

As you to leave, that have me loved still,

And chose in Faery court of meere goodwill,

Where noblest knights were to be found on earth:

The earth shall sooner leave her kindly skill,

To bring forth fruit, and make eternall derth,

Then I leave you, my liefe, yborne of heavenly berth.

XXIX

And sooth to say, why I left you so long,

Was for to seeke adventure in strange place,

Where Archimago said a felon strong

To many knights did daily worke disgrace;

But knight he now shall never more deface:

Good cause of mine excuse; that mote ye please

Well to accept, and evermore embrace

My faithfull service, that by land and seas

Have vowd you to defend: now then your plaint appease.

XXX

His lovely words her seemd due recompence

Of all her passed paines: one loving howre

For many yeares of sorrow can dispence:

A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre:

She has forgot, how many a woful stowre

For him she late endurd; she speakes no more

Of past: true is, that true love hath no powre

To looken backe; his eyes be fixt before.

Before her stands her knight, for whom she toyld so sore.

XXXI

Much like, as when the beaten marinere,

That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide,

Oft soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare,

And long time having tand his tawney hide

With blustring breath of heaven, that none can bide,

And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound,

Soone as the port from farre he has espide,

His chearefull whistle merrily doth sound,

And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him pledg around.

XXXII

Such joy made Una, when her knight she found;

And eke th’ enchaunter joyous seemd no lesse,

Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground

His ship farre come from watrie wildernesse,

He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse:

So forth they past, and all the way they spent

Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse,

In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment:

Who told her all that fell in journey as she went.

XXXIII

They had not ridden farre, when they might see

One pricking towards them with hastie heat,

Full strongly armd, and on a courser free,

That through his fiercenesse fomed all with sweat,

And the sharpe yron did for anger eat,

When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side;

His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat

Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde,

And on his shield Sans loy in bloudie lines was dyde.

XXXIV

When nigh he drew unto this gentle payre

And saw the Red-crosse, which the knight did beare,

He burnt in fire, and gan eftsoones prepare

Himselfe to battell with his couched speare.

Loth was that other, and did faint through feare,

To taste th’ untryed dint of deadly steele;

But yet his Lady did so well him cheare,

That hope of new goodhap he gan to feele;

So bent his speare, and spurd his horse with yron heele.

XXXV

But that proud Paynim forward came so fierce,

And full of wrath, that with his sharp-head speare,

Through vainly crossed shield he quite did pierce,

And had his staggering steede not shrunke for feare,

Through shield and bodie eke he should him beare:

Yet so great was the puissance of his push,

That from his saddle quite he did him beare:

He tombling rudely downe to ground did rush,

And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush.

XXXVI

Dismounting lightly from his loftie steed,

He to him lept, in mind to reave his life,

And proudly said, Lo there the worthie meed

Of him that slew Sansfoy with bloudie knife;

Henceforth his ghost freed from repining strife,

In peace may passen over Lethe lake,

When mourning altars purgd with enemies life,

The blacke infernall Furies doen aslake:

Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall from thee take.

XXXVII

Therewith in haste his helmet gan unlace,

Till Una cried, O hold that heavie hand,

Deare Sir, what ever that thou be in place:

Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquisht stand

Now at thy mercy: Mercie not withstand:

For he is one the truest knight alive,

Though conquered now he lie on lowly land,

And whilest him fortune favourd, faire did thrive

In bloudie field: therefore of life him not deprive.

XXXVIII

Her piteous words might not abate his rage,

But rudely rending up his helmet, would

Have slaine him straight: but when he sees his age,

And hoarie head of Archimago old,

His hasty hand he doth amazed hold,

And halfe ashamed, wondred at the sight:

For that old man well knew he, though untold,

In charmes and magicke to have wondrous might,

Ne ever wont in field, ne in round lists to fight;

XXXIX

And said, Why Archimago, lucklesse syre,

What doe I see? what hard mishap is this,

That hath thee hither brought to taste mine yre?

Or thine the fault, or mine the error is,

Instead of foe to wound my friend amis?

He answered nought, but in a traunce still lay,

And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his

The cloude of death did sit. Which doen away,

He left him lying so, ne would no lenger stay:

XL

But to the virgin comes, who all this while

Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see

By him, who has the guerdon of his guile,

For so misfeigning her true knight to bee:

Yet is she now in more perplexitie,

Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold,

From whom her booteth not at all to flie;

Who, by her cleanly garment catching hold,

Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her visage to behold.

XLI

But her fierce servant, full of kingly awe

And high disdaine, whenas his soveraine Dame

So rudely handled by her foe he sawe,

With gaping jawes full greedy at him came,

And ramping on his shield, did weene the same

Have reft away with his sharpe rending clawes:

But he was stout, and lust did now inflame

His corage more, that from his griping pawes

He hath his shield redeem’d, and foorth his swerd he drawes.

XLII

O then too weake and feeble was the forse

Of salvage beast, his puissance to withstand:

For he was strong, and of so mightie corse,

As ever wielded speare in warlike hand,

And feates of armes did wisely understand.

Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest

With thrilling point of deadly yron brand,

And launcht his Lordly hart: with death opprest

He roar’d aloud, whiles life forsooke his stubborne brest.

XLIII

Who now is left to keepe the forlorne maid

From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will?

Her faithfull gard remov’d, her hope dismaid,

Her selfe a yielded pray to save or spill.

He now Lord of the field, his pride to fill,

With foule reproches, and disdainfull spight

Her vildly entertaines, and will or nill,

Beares her away upon his courser light:

Her prayers nought prevaile, his rage is more of might.

XLIV

And all the way, with great lamenting paine,

And piteous plaints she filleth his dull eares,

That stony hart could riven have in twaine,

And all the way she wets with flowing teares:

But he enrag’d with rancor, nothing heares.

Her servile beast yet would not leave her so,

But followes her farre off, ne ought he feares,

To be partaker of her wandring woe,

More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe.

Canto IV

To sinfull house of Pride, Duessa

guides the faithfull knight,

Where brother’s death to wreak Sansjoy

doth chalenge him to fight.

I

YOUNG knight whatever that dost armes professe,

And through long labours huntest after fame,

Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse, In choice, and change of thy deare loved Dame,

Least thou of her beleeve too lightly blame,

And rash misweening doe thy hart remove:

For unto knight there is no greater shame,

Then lightnesse and inconstancie in love;

That doth this Redcrosse knights ensample plainly prove.

II

Who after that he had faire Una lorne,

Through light misdeeming of her loialtie,

And false Duessa in her sted had borne,

Called Fidess’, and so supposd to bee;

Long with her traveild, till at last they see

A goodly building, bravely garnished,

The house of mightie Prince it seemd to bee:

And towards it a broad high way that led,

All bare through peoples feet, which thither traveiled.

III

Great troupes of people traveild thitherward

Both day and night, of each degree and place,

But few returned, having scaped hard,

With balefull beggerie, or foule disgrace;

Which ever after in most wretched case,

Like loathsome lazars, by the hedges lay.

Thither Duessa bad him bend his pace:

For she is wearie of the toilesome way,

And also nigh consumed is the lingring day.

IV

A stately Pallace built of squared bricke,

Which cunningly was without morter laid,

Whose wals were high, but nothing strong, nor thick,

And golden foile all over them displaid,

That purest skye with brightnesse they dismaid:

High lifted up were many loftie towres,

And goodly galleries farre over laid,

Full of faire windowes and delightful bowres;

And on the top a Diall told the timely howres.

V

It was a goodly heape for to behould,

And spake the praises of the workmans wit;

But full great pittie, that so faire a mould

Did on so weake foundation ever sit:

For on a sandie hill, that still did flit

And fall away, it mounted was full hie,

That every breath of heaven shaked it:

And all the hinder parts, that few could spie,

Were ruinous and old, but painted cunningly.

VI

Arrived there, they passed in forth right;

For still to all the gates stood open wide:

Yet charge of them was to a Porter hight

Cald Malvenù, who entrance none denide:

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 Pallace bright.

VII

By them they passe, all gazing on them round,

And to the Presence mount; whose glorious vew

Their frayle amazed senses did confound:

In living Princes court none ever knew

Such endlesse richesse, and so sumptuous shew;

Ne Persia selfe, the nourse of pompous pride

Like ever saw. And there a noble crew

Of Lordes and Ladies stood on every side,

Which with their presence faire the place much beautifide.

VIII

High above all a cloth of State was spred,

And a rich throne, as bright as sunny day,

On which there sate most brave embellished

With royall robes and gorgeous array,

A mayden Queene, that shone as Titans ray,

In glistring gold, and peerelesse pretious stone:

Yet her bright blazing beautie did assay

To dim the brightnesse of her glorious throne,

As envying her selfe, that too exceeding shone.

IX

Exceeding shone, like Phœbus fairest childe,

That did presume his fathers firie wayne,

And flaming mouthes of steedes unwonted wilde

Through highest heaven with weaker hand to rayne;

Proud of such glory and advancement vaine,

While flashing beames do daze his feeble eyen,

He leaves the welkin way most beaten plaine,

And rapt with whirling wheeles, inflames the skyen,

With fire not made to burne, but fairely for to shyne.

X

So proud she shyned in her Princely state,

Looking to heaven; for earth she did disdayne:

And sitting high; for lowly she did hate:

Lo underneath her scornefull feete was layne

A dreadfull Dragon with an hideous trayne,

And in her hand she held a mirrhour bright,

Wherein her face she often vewed fayne,

And in her selfe-lov’d semblance tooke delight;

For she was wondrous faire, as any living wight.

XI

Of griesly Pluto she the daughter was,

And sad Proserpina the Queene of hell;

Yet did she thinke her pearlesse worth to pas

That parentage, with pride so did she swell;

And thundring Jove, that high in heaven doth dwell,

And wield the world, she claymed for her syre,

Or if that any else did Jove excell:

For to the highest she did still aspyre,

Or if ought higher were then that, did it desyre.

XII

And proud Lucifera men did her call,

That made her selfe a Queene, and crownd to be,

Yet rightfull kingdome she had none at all,

Ne heritage of native soveraintie,

But did usurpe with wrong and tyrannie

Upon the scepter, which she now did hold:

Ne ruld her Realmes with lawes, but pollicie,

And strong advizement of six wisards old,

That with their counsels bad her kingdome did uphold.

XIII

Soone as the Elfin knight in presence came,

And false Duessa seeming Lady faire,

A gentle Husher, Vanitie by name

Made rowme, and passage for them did prepaire:

So goodly brought them to the lowest staire

Of her high throne, where they on humble knee

Making obeyssance, did the cause declare,

Why they were come, her royall state to see,

To prove the wide report of her great Majestee.

XIV

With loftie eyes, halfe loth to looke so low,

She thanked them in her disdainefull wise;

Ne other grace vouchsafed them to show

Of Princesse worthy, scarse them bad arise.

Her Lordes and Ladies all this while devise

Themselves to setten forth to straungers sight:

Some frounce their curled haire in courtly guise,

Some prancke their ruffes, and others trimly dight

Their gay attire: each others greater pride does spight.

XV

Goodly they all that knight do entertaine,

Right glad with him to have increast their crew:

But to Duess’ each one himselfe did paine

All kindnesse and faire courtesie to shew;

For in that court whylome her well they knew:

Yet the stout Faerie mongst the middest crowd

Thought all their glorie vaine in knightly vew,

And that great Princesse too exceeding prowd,

That to strange knight no better countenance allowd.

XVI

Suddein upriseth from her stately place

The royall Dame, and for her coche did call:

All hurtlen forth, and she with Princely pace,

As faire Aurora in her purple pall,

Out of the east the dawning day doth call:

So forth she comes: her brightnesse brode doth blaze;

The heapes of people thronging in the hall,

Do ride each other, upon her to gaze:

Her glorious glitterand light doth all mens eyes amaze.

XVII

So forth she comes, and to her coche does clyme,

Adorned all with gold, and girlonds gay,

That seemd as fresh as Flora in her prime,

And strove to match, in royall rich array,

Great Junoes golden chaire, the which they say

The Gods stand gazing on, when she does ride

To Joves high house through heavens bras-paved way

Drawne of faire Pecocks, that excell in pride,

And full of Argus eyes their tailes dispredden wide.

XVIII

But this was drawne of six unequall beasts,

On which her six sage Counsellours did ryde,

Taught to obay their bestiall beheasts,

With like conditions to their kinds applyde:

Of which the first, that all the rest did guyde,

Was sluggish Idlenesse the nourse of sin;

Upon a slouthful Asse he chose to ryde,

Arayd in habit blacke, and amis thin,

Like to an holy Monck, the service to begin.

XIX

And in his hand his Portesse still he bare,

That much was worne, but therein little red,

For of devotion he had little care,

Still drownd in sleepe, and most of his dayes ded;

Scarse could he once uphold his heavie hed,

To looken, whether it were night or day:

May seeme the wayne was very evill led,

When such an one had guiding of the way,

That knew not, whether right he went, or else astray.

XX

From worldly cares himselfe he did esloyne,

And greatly shunned manly exercise,

From every worke he chalenged essoyne,

For contemplation sake: yet otherwise,

His life he led in lawlesse riotise;

By which he grew to grievous malady;

For in his lustlesse limbs through evill guise

A shaking fever raignd continually:

Such one was Idlenesse, first of this company.

XXI

And by his side rode loathsome Gluttony,

Deformed creature, on a filthie swyne;

His belly was up-blowne with luxury,

And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne,

And like a Crane his necke was long and fyne,

With which he swallowed up excessive feast,

For want whereof poore people oft did pyne;

And all the way, most like a brutish beast,

He spued up his gorge, that all did him deteast.

XXII

In greene vine leaves he was right fitly clad;

For other clothes he could not weare for heat,

And on his head an yvie girland had,

From under which fast trickled downe the sweat:

Still as he rode, he somewhat still did eat,

And in his hand did beare a bouzing can,

Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat

His dronken corse he scarse upholden can,

In shape and life more like a monster, then a man.

XXIII

Unfit he was for any worldly thing,

And eke unhable once to stirre or go,

Not meet to be of counsell to a king,

Whose mind in meat and drinke was drowned so,

That from his friend he seldome knew his fo:

Full of diseases was his carcas blew,

And a dry dropsie through his flesh did flow:

Which by misdiet daily greater grew:

Such one was Gluttony, the second of that crew.

XXIV

And next to him rode lustfull Lechery,

Upon a bearded Goat, whose rugged haire,

And whally eyes (the signe of gelosy),

Was like the person selfe, whom he did beare:

Who rough, and blacke, and filthy did appeare,

Unseemely man to please faire Ladies eye;

Yet he of Ladies oft was loved deare,

When fairer faces were bid standen by:

O who does know the bent of womens fantasy?

XXV

In a greene gowne he clothed was full faire,

Which underneath did hide his filthinesse,

And in his hand a burning hart he bare,

Full of vaine follies, and new fanglenesse,

For he was false, and fraught with ficklenesse;

And learned had to love with secret lookes;

And well could daunce, and sing with ruefulnesse,

And fortunes tell, and read in loving bookes,

And thousand other wayes, to bait his fleshly hookes.

XXVI

Inconstant man, that loved all he saw,

And lusted after all that he did love;

Ne would his looser life be tide to law,

But joyd weak wemens hearts to tempt and prove,

If from their loyall loves he might them move;

Which lewdnesse fild him with reprochfull paine

Of that fowle evill, which all men reprove,

That rots the marrow and consumes the braine:

Such one was Lecherie, the third of all this traine.

XXVII

And greedy Avarice by him did ride,

Upon a Camell loaden all with gold;

Two iron coffers hong on either side,

With precious mettall full as they might hold;

And in his lap an heape of coine he told;

For of his wicked pelfe his God he made,

And unto hell him selfe for money sold;

Accursed usurie was all his trade,

And right and wrong ylike in equall ballaunce waide.

XXVIII

His life was nigh unto deaths doore yplast,

And thred-bare cote, and cobled shoes he ware,

Ne scarse good morsell all his life did tast,

But both from backe and belly still did spare,

To fill his bags, and richesse to compare;

Yet chylde ne kinsman living had he none

To leave them to; but thorough daily care

To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne,

He led a wretched life unto him selfe unknowne.

XXIX

Most wretched wight, whom nothing might suffise,

Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest store,

Whose need had end, but no end covetise,

Whose wealth was want, whose plenty made him pore,

Who had enough, yet wished ever more;

A vile disease, and eke in foote 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 faire band.

XXX

And next to him malicious Envie rode,

Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw

Betweene his cankred teeth a venemous tode,

That all the poison ran about his chaw;

But inwardly he chawed his owne maw

At neighbours wealth, that made him 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 harme, he wexed wondrous glad.

XXXI

All in a kirtle of discolourd say

He clothed was, ypainted full of eyes;

And in his bosome secretly there lay

An hatefull Snake, the which his taile uptyes

In many folds, and mortall sting implyes.

Still as he rode, he gnasht his teeth, to see

Those heapes of gold with griple Covetyse;

And grudged at the great felicitie

Of proud Lucifera, and his owne companie.

XXXII

He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds,

And him no lesse, that any like did use,

And who with gracious bread the hungry feeds,

His almes for want of faith he doth accuse;

So every good to bad he doth abuse:

And eke the verse of famous Poets witt

He does backebite, and spightfull poison spues

From leprous mouth on all that ever writt:

Such one vile Envie was, that fifte in row did sitt.

XXXIII

And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath,

Upon a Lion, loth for to be led;

And in his hand a burning brond he hath,

The which he brandisheth about his hed;

His eyes did hurle forth sparkles fiery red,

And stared sterne on all that him beheld,

As ashes pale of hew and seeming ded;

And on his dagger still his hand he held,

Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in him sweld.

XXXIV

His ruffin raiment all was staind with blood,

Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent,

Through unadvized rashnesse woxen wood;

For of his hands he had no governement,

Ne car’d for bloud in his avengement:

But when the furious fit was overpast,

His cruell facts he often would repent;

Yet wilfull man he never would forecast,

How many mischieves should ensue his heedlesse hast.

XXXV

Full many mischiefes follow cruell Wrath;

Abhorred bloodshed and tumultuous strife,

Unmanly murder, and unthrifty scath,

Bitter despight, with rancours rusty knife,

And fretting griefe the enemy of life;

All these, and many evils moe haunt ire,

The swelling Splene, and Frenzy raging rife,

The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces fire:

Such one was Wrath, the last of this ungodly tire.

XXXVI

And after all, upon the wagon beame

Rode Sathan, with a smarting whip in hand,

With which he forward lasht the laesie teme,

So oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand.

Hugh routs of people did about them band,

Showting for joy, and still before their way

A foggy mist had covered all the land;

And underneath their feet, all scattered lay

Dead sculs and bones of men, whose life had gone astray.

XXXVII

So forth they marchen in this goodly sort,

To take the solace of the open aire,

And in fresh flowring fields themselves to sport;

Emongst the rest rode that false Lady faire,

The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire

Of proud Lucifera, as one of the traine:

But that good knight would not so nigh repaire,

Him selfe estraunging from their joyaunce vaine,

Whose fellowship seemd far unfit for warlike swaine.

XXXVIII

So having solaced themselves a space

With pleasaunce of the breathing fields yfed,

They backe retourned to the Princely Place;

Whereas an errant knight in armes ycled,

And heathnish shield, wherein with letters red

Was writ Sans joy, they new arrived find:

Enflam’d with fury and fiers hardy-hed

He seemd in hart to harbour thoughts unkind,

And nourish bloudy vengeaunce in his bitter mind.

XXXIX

Who when the shamed shield of slaine Sansfoy

He spide with that same Faery champions page,

Bewraying him, that did of late destroy

His eldest brother, burning all with rage

He to him leapt, and that same envious gage

Of victors glory from him snatcht away:

But th’ Elfin knight, which ought that warlike wage

Disdaind to loose the meed he wonne in fray,

And him rencountring fierce, reskewd the noble pray.

XL

Therewith they gan to hurtlen greedily,

Redoubted battaile ready to darrayne,

And clash their shields, and shake their swords on hy,

That with their sturre they troubled all the traine;

Till that great Queene upon eternall paine

Of high displeasure that ensewen might,

Commaunded them their fury to refraine,

And if that either to that shield had right,

In equall lists they should the morrow next it fight.

XLI

Ah dearest Dame, (quoth then the Paynim bold,)

Pardon the error of enraged wight,

Whom great griefe made forget the raines to hold

Of reasons rule, to see this recreant knight,

No knight, but treachour full of false despight

And shamefull treason, who through guile hath slayn

The prowest knight that ever field did fight,

Even stout Sansfoy (O who can then refrayn?)

Whose shield he beares renverst, the more to heape disdayn.

XLII

And to augment the glorie of his guile,

His dearest love, the faire Fidessa, loe

Is there possessed of the traytour vile,

Who reapes the harvest sowen by his foe,

Sowen in bloudy field, and bought with woe:

That brothers hand shall dearely well requight,

So be, O Queene, you equall favour showe.

Him litle answerd th’ angry Elfin knight;

He never meant with words, but swords to plead his right.

XLIII

But threw his gauntlet as a sacred pledge,

His cause in combat the next day to try:

So been they parted both, with harts on edge

To be aveng’d each on his enimy.

That night they pas in joy and jollity,

Feasting and courting both in bowre and hall;

For Steward was excessive Gluttonie,

That of his plenty poured forth to all;

Which doen, the Chamberlain Slowth did to rest them call.

XLIV

Now whenas darkesome night had all displayed

Her coleblacke curtein over brightest skye,

The warlike youthes on dayntie couches layd,

Did chace away sweet sleepe from sluggish eye,

To muse on meanes of hoped victory.

But whenas Morpheus had with leaden mace

Arrested all that courtly company,

Up-rose Duessa from her resting place,

And to the Paynims lodging comes with silent pace.

XLV

Whom broad awake she finds, in troublous fit,

Forecasting, how his foe he might annoy,

And him amoves with speaches seeming fit:

Ah deare Sansjoy, next dearest to Sansfoy,

Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new joy,

Joyous, to see his ymage in mine eye,

And greev’d, to thinke how foe did him destroy,

That was the flowre of grace and chevalrye;

Lo his Fidessa to thy secret faith I flye.

XLVI

With gentle wordes he can her fairely greet,

And bad say on the secret of her hart.

Then sighing soft, I learne that litle sweet

Oft tempred is (quoth she) with muchell smart:

For since my brest was launcht with lovely dart

Of deare Sans foy, I never joyed howre,

But in eternall woes my weaker hart

Have wasted, loving him with all my powre,

And for his sake have felt full many an heavie stowre.

XLVII

At last when perils all I weened past,

And hop’d to reape the crop of all my care,

Into new woes unweeting I was cast,

By this false faytor, who unworthy ware

His worthy shield, whom he with guilefull snare

Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull grave.

Me silly maid away with him he bare,

And ever since hath kept in darksome cave,

For that I would not yeeld, that to Sans foy I gave.

XLVIII

But since faire Sunne hath sperst that lowring clowd,

And to my loathed life now shewes some light,

Under your beames I will me safely shrowd,

From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight:

To you th’ inheritance belongs by right

Of brothers prayse, to you eke longs his love.

Let not his love, let not his restlesse spright,

Be unreveng’d, that calles to you above

From wandring Stygian shores, where it doth endlesse move.

XLIX

Thereto said he, Faire Dame, be nought dismaid

For sorrowes past; their griefe is with them gone:

Ne yet of present perill be affraid;

For needlesse feare did never vantage none

And helplesse hap it booteth not to mone.

Dead is Sansfoy, his vitall paines are past,

Though greeved ghost for vengeance deepe do grone:

He lives, that shall him pay his dewties last,

And guiltie Elfin blood shall sacrifice in hast.

L

O but I feare the fickle freakes (quoth shee)

Of fortune false, and oddes of armes in field.

Why Dame (quoth he) what oddes can ever bee,

Where both do fight alike, to win or yield?

Yea but (quoth she) he beares a charmed shield,

And eke enchaunted armes, that none can perce,

Ne none can wound the man that does them wield.

Charmd or enchaunted (answerd he then ferce)

I no whit reck, ne you the like need to reherce.

LI

But faire Fidessa, sithens fortunes guile,

Or enimies powre, hath now captived you,

Returne from whence ye came, and rest a while

Till morrow next, that I the Elfe subdew,

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 obaid.

Canto V

The faithfull knight in equall field

subdewes his faithlesse foe,

Whom false Duessa saves, and for

his cure to hell does goe .

I

THE noble hart, that harbours vertuous thought,

And is with child of glorious great intent,

Can never rest, untill it forth have brought Th’ eternall brood of glorie excellent.

Such restlesse passion did all night torment

The flaming corage of that Faery knight,

Devizing, how that doughtie turnament

With greatest honour he atchieven might;

Still did he wake, and still did watch for dawning light.

II

At last the golden Orientall gate,

Of greatest heaven gan to open faire,

And Phoebus fresh, as bridegrome to his mate,

Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie haire:

And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy aire.

Which when the wakeful Elfe perceiv’d, streightway

He started up, and did him selfe prepaire,

In sunbright armes, and battailous array:

For with that Pagan proud he combat will that day.

III

And forth he comes into the commune hall,

Where earely waite him many a gazing eye,

To weet what end to straunger knights may fall.

There many Minstrales maken melody,

To drive away the dull melancholy,

And many Bardes, that to the trembling chord

Can tune their timely voyces cunningly,

And many Chroniclers that can record

Old loves, and warres for Ladies doen by many a Lord.

IV

Soone after comes the cruell Sarazin,

In woven maile all armed warily,

And sternly lookes at him, who not a pin

Does care for looke of living creatures eye.

They bring them wines of Greece and Araby,

And daintie spices fetcht from furthest Ynd,

To kindle heat of corage privily:

And in the wine a solemne oth they bynd

T’ observe the sacred lawes of armes, that are assynd.

V

At last forth comes that far renowmed Queene,

With royall pomp and Princely majestie;

She is ybrought unto a paled greene,

And placed under stately canapee,

The warlike feates of both those knights to see.

On th’ other side in all mens open vew

Duessa placed is, and on a tree

Sans-foy his shield is hangd with bloody hew:

Both those the lawrell girlonds to the victor dew.

VI

A shrilling trompet sownded from on hye,

And unto battaill bad them selves addresse:

Their shining shieldes about their wrestes they tye,

And burning blades about their heads do blesse,

The instruments of wrath and heavinesse:

With greedy force each other doth assayle,

And strike so fiercely, that they do impresse

Deepe dinted furrowes in the battred mayle;

The yron walles to ward their blowes are weak and fraile.

VII

The Sarazin was stout, and wondrous strong,

And heaped blowes like yron hammers great;

For after bloud and vengeance he did long.

The knight was fiers, and full of youthly heat,

And doubled strokes, like dreaded thunders threat:

For all for prayse and honour he did fight.

Both stricken strike, and beaten both do beat,

That from their shields forth flyeth firie light,

And helmets hewen deepe show marks of eithers might.

VIII

So th’ one for wrong, the other strives for right;

As when a Gryfon seized of his pray,

A Dragon fiers encountreth in his flight,

Through widest ayre making his ydle way,

That would his rightfull ravine rend away;

With hideous horror both together smight,

And souce so sore that they the heavens affray:

The wise Soothsayer seeing so sad sight,

Th’ amazed vulgar tels of warres and mortall fight.

IX

So th’ one for wrong, the other strives for right,

And each to deadly shame would drive his foe:

The cruell steele so greedily doth bight

In tender flesh that streames of bloud down flow,

With which the armes, that earst so bright did show,

Into a pure vermillion now are dyde:

Great ruth in all the gazers harts did grow,

Seeing the gored woundes to gape so wyde,

That victory they dare not wish to either side.

X

At last the Paynim chaunst to cast his eye,

His suddein eye, flaming with wrathful fyre,

Upon his brothers shield, which hong thereby:

Therewith redoubled was his raging yre,

And said, Ah wretched sonne of wofull syre,

Doest thou sit wayling by blacke Stygian lake,

Whilest here thy shield is hangd for victors hyre,

And sluggish german doest thy forces slake

To after-send his foe, that him may overtake?

XI

Goe caytive Elfe, him quickly overtake,

And soone redeeme from his long wandring woe;

Goe guiltie ghost, to him my message make,

That I his shield have quit from dying foe.

Therewith upon his crest he stroke him so,

That twise he reeled, readie twise to fall;

End of the doubtfull battell deemed tho

The lookers on, and lowd to him gan call

The false Duessa, Thine the shield, and I, and all.

XII

Soone as the Faerie heard his Ladie speake,

Out of his swowning dreame he gan awake,

And quickning faith, that earst was woxen weake,

The creeping deadly cold away did shake:

Tho mov’d with wrath, and shame, and Ladies sake,

Of all attonce he cast avengd to bee,

And with so’ exceeding furie at him strake,

That forced him to stoupe upon his knee;

Had he not stouped so, he should have cloven bee.

XIII

And to him said, Goe now proud Miscreant,

Thy selfe thy message do to german deare;

Alone he wandring thee too long doth want:

Goe say, his foe thy shield with his doth beare.

Therewith his heavie hand he high gan reare,

Him to have slaine; when loe a darkesome clowd

Upon him fell: he no where doth appeare,

But vanisht is. The Elfe him calls alowd,

But answer none receives: the darkness him does shrowd.

XIV

In haste Duessa from her place arose,

And to him running said, O prowest knight,

That ever Ladie to her love did chose,

Let now abate the terror of your might,

And quench the flame of furious despight,

And bloudie vengeance; lo th’ infernall powres,

Covering your foe with cloud of deadly night,

Have borne him hence to Plutoes balefull bowres.

The conquest yours, I yours, the shield, the glory yours.

XV

Not all so satisfide, with greedie eye

He sought all round about, his thristie blade

To bath in bloud of faithlesse enemy;

Who all that while lay hid in secret shade:

He standes amazed, how he thence should fade.

At last the trumpets Triumph sound on hie,

And running Heralds humble homage made,

Greeting him goodly with new victorie,

And to him brought the shield, the cause of enmitie.

XVI

Wherewith he goeth to that soveraine Queene,

And falling her before on lowly knee,

To her makes present of his service seene:

Which she accepts, with thankes, and goodly gree,

Greatly advauncing 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 hight,

That all the aire it fils, and flyes to heaven bright.

XVII

Home is he brought, and laid in sumptuous bed:

Where many skilfull leaches him abide,

To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled.

In wine and oyle they wash his woundes wide,

And softly can embalme on every side.

And all the while, most heavenly melody

About the bed sweet musicke did divide,

Him to beguile of griefe and agony:

And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly.

XVIII

As when a wearie traveller that strayes

By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile,

Unweeting of the perillous wandring wayes,

Doth meete a cruell craftie Crocodile,

Which in false griefe hyding his harmefull guile,

Doth weepe full sore, and sheddeth tender teares:

The foolish man, that pitties all this while

His mournefull plight, is swallowed up unawares,

Forgetfull of his owne, that mindes anothers cares.

XIX

So wept Duessa untill eventide,

That shyning lampes in Joves high house were light:

Then forth she rose, ne lenger would abide,

But comes unto the place, where th’ Hethen knight

In slombring swownd nigh voyd of vitall spright,

Lay cover’d with inchaunted cloud all day:

Whom when she found, as she him left in plight,

To wayle his woefull case she would not stay,

But to the easterne coast of heaven makes speedy way.

XX

Where griesly Night, with visage deadly sad,

That Phœbus chearefull face durst never vew,

And in a foule blacke pitchie mantle clad,

She findes forth comming from her darkesome mew,

Where she all day did hide her hated hew.

Before the dore her yron charet stood,

Alreadie harnessed for journey new;

And coleblacke steedes yborne of hellish brood,

That on their rustie bits did champ, as they were wood.

XXI

Who when she saw Duessa sunny bright,

Adornd with gold and jewels shining cleare,

She greatly grew amazed at the sight,

And th’ unacquainted light began to feare:

For never did such brightnesse there appeare,

And would have backe retyred to her cave,

Until the witches speech she gan to heare,

Saying, Yet, O thou dreaded Dame, I crave

Abide, till I have told the message which I have.

XXII

She stayd, and foorth Duessa gan proceede

O thou most auncient Grandmother of all,

More old then Jove, whom thou at first didst breede,

Or that great house of Gods cælestiall,

Which wast begot in Daemogorgons hall,

And sawst the secrets of the world unmade,

Why suffredst thou thy Nephewes deare to fall

With Elfin sword, most shamefully betrade?

Lo where the stout Sansjoy doth sleepe in deadly shade.

XXIII

And him before, I saw with bitter eyes

The bold Sansfoy shrinke underneath his speare;

And now the pray of fowles in field he lyes,

Nor wayld of friends, nor layd on groning beare,

That whylome was to me too dearely deare.

O what of Gods then boots it to be borne,

If old Aveugles sonnes so evill heare?

Or who shall not great Nightes children scorne,

When two of three her Nephews are so fowle forlorne?

XXIV

Up then, up dreary Dame, of darknesse Queene,

Go gather up the reliques of thy race,

Or else goe them avenge, and let be seene,

That dreaded Night in brightest day hath place,

And can the children of faire light deface.

Her feeling speeches some compassion moved

In hart, and chaunge in that great mothers face:

Yet pittie in her hart was never proved

Till then: for evermore she hated, never loved.

XXV

And said, Deare daughter rightly may I rew

The fall of famous children borne of mee,

And good successes, which their foes ensew:

But who can turne the streame of destinee,

Or breake the chayne of strong necessitee,

Which fast is tyde to Joves eternall seat?

The sonnes of Day he favoureth, I see,

And by my ruines thinkes to make them great:

To make one great by others losse, is bad excheat.

XXVI

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 owne bloud price that he has spilt.

But what art thou, that telst of Nephews kilt?

I that do seeme not I, Duessa am,

(Quoth she) how ever now in garments gilt,

And gorgeous gold arrayd I to thee came;

Duessa I, the daughter of Deceipt and Shame.

XXVII

Then bowing downe her aged backe, she kist

The wicked witch, saying; In that faire face

The false resemblance of Deceipt I wist

Did closely lurke; yet so true-seeming grace

It carried, that I scarce in darkesome place

Could it discerne, though I the mother bee

Of falshood, and roote of Duessaes race.

O welcome child, whom I have longd to see,

And now have seene unwares. Lo now I go with thee.

XXVIII

Then to her yron wagon she betakes,

And with her beares the fowle welfavourd witch:

Through mirkesome aire her readie way she makes.

Her twyfold Teme, of which two blacke as pitch,

And two were browne, yet each to each unlich,

Did softly swim away, ne ever stampe,

Unlesse she chaunst their stubborne mouths to twitch;

Then foming tarre, their bridles they would champe,

And trampling the fine element would fiercely rampe.

XXIX

So well they sped, that they be come at length

Unto the place, whereas the Paynim lay,

Devoid of outward sense, and native strength,

Coverd with charmed cloud from vew of day

And sight of men, since his late luckelesse fray.

His cruell wounds with cruddy bloud congeald

They binden up so wisely, as they may,

And handle softly, till they can be healed:

So lay him in her charet close in night concealed.

XXX

And all the while she stood upon the ground,

The wakefull dogs did never cease to bay,

As giving warning of th’ unwonted sound,

With which her yron wheeles did them affray,

And her darke griesly looke them much dismay:

The messenger of death, the ghastly Owle

With drery shriekes did also her bewray;

And hungry Wolves continually did howle,

At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowle.

XXXI

Thence turning backe in silence soft they stole,

And brought the heavie corse with easie pace

To yawning gulfe of deepe Avernus hole.

By that same hole an entrance darke and bace

With smoake and sulphure hiding all the place,

Descends to hell: there creature never past,

That backe returned without heavenly grace;

But dreadfull Furies which their chaines have brast,

And damned sprights sent forth to make ill men aghast.

XXXII

By that same way the direfull dames doe drive

Their mournefull charet, fild with rusty blood,

And downe to Plutoes house are come bilive:

Which passing through, on every side them stood

The trembling ghosts with sad amazed mood,

Chattring their yron teeth, and staring wide

With stonie eyes; and all the hellish brood

Of feends infernall flockt on every side,

To gaze on earthly wight that with the Night durst ride.

XXXIII

They pas the bitter waves of Acheron,

Where many soules sit wailing woefully,

And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton,

Whereas the damned ghosts in torments fry,

And with sharpe shrilling shriekes doe bootlesse cry,

Cursing high Jove, the which them thither sent.

The house of endlesse paine is built thereby,

In which ten thousand sorts of punishment

The cursed creatures doe eternally torment.

XXXIV

Before the threshold dreadfull Cerberus

His three deformed heads did lay along,

Curled with thousand adders venemous,

And lilled forth his bloudie flaming tong:

At them he gan to reare his bristles strong,

And felly gnarre, until Dayes enemy

Did him appease; then downe his taile he hong

And suffred them to passen quietly:

For she in hell and heaven had power equally.

XXXV

There was Ixion turned on a wheele,

For daring tempt the Queene of heaven to sin;

And Sisyphus an huge round stone did reele

Against an hill, ne might from labour lin;

There thirsty Tantalus hong by the chin;

And Tityus fed a vulture on his maw;

Typhœus joynts were stretched on a gin,

Theseus condemnd to endlesse slouth by law,

And fifty sisters water in leake vessels draw.

XXXVI

They all beholding worldly wights in place,

Leave off their worke, unmindfull of their smart,

To gaze on them; who forth by them doe pace,

Till they be come unto the furthest part;

Where was a Cave ywrought by wondrous art,

Deepe, darke, uneasie, dolefull, comfortlesse,

In which sad Aesculapius farre apart

Emprisond was in chaines remedilesse,

For that Hippolytus rent corse he did redresse.

XXXVII

Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was

That wont in charett chace the foming Bore:

He all his Peeres in beauty did surpas,

But Ladies love as losse of time forbore:

His wanton stepdame loved him the more,

But when she saw her offred sweets refused,

Her love she turnd to hate, and him before

His father fierce of treason false accused,

And with her gealous termes his open eares abused.

XXXVIII

Who all in rage his Sea-god syre besought,

Some cursed vengeaunce on his sonne to cast,

From surging gulf two monsters straight were brought,

With dread whereof his chasing steedes aghast,

Both charet swift and huntsman overcast.

His goodly corps on ragged cliffs yrent,

Was quite dismembred, and his members chast

Scattered on every mountaine, as he went,

That of Hippolytus was left no moniment.

XXXIX

His cruell step-dame seeing what was donne,

Her wicked dayes with wretched knife did end,

In death avowing th’ innocence of her sonne,

Which hearing, his rash Syre began to rend

His haire, and hastie tongue that did offend.

Tho gathering up the relicks of his smart,

By Dianes meanes, who was Hippolyts frend,

Them brought to Æsculape, that by his art

Did heale them all againe, and joyned every part.

XL

Such wondrous science in mans wit to raine

When Jove avizd, that could the dead revive,

And fates expired could renew againe,

Of endlesse life he might him not deprive,

But unto hell did thrust him downe alive,

With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore:

Where long remaining, he did alwaies strive

Himselfe with salves to health for to restore,

And slake the heavenly fire, that raged evermore.

XLI

There auncient Night arriving, did alight

From her nigh wearie waine, and in her armes

To Æsculapius brought the wounded knight:

Whom having softly disarayd of armes,

Tho gan to him discover all his harmes,

Beseeching him with prayer, and with praise,

If either salves, or oyles, or herbes, or charmes

A fordonne wight from dore of death mote raise,

He would at her request prolong her nephews daies.

XLII

Ah Dame (quoth he) thou temptest me in vaine,

To dare the thing, which daily yet I rew,

And the old cause of my continued paine

With like attempt to like end to renew.

Is not enough, that thrust from heaven dew

Here endlesse penance for one fault I pay,

But that redoubled crime with vengeance new

Thou biddest me to eeke? can Night defray

The wrath of thundring Jove that rules both night and day?

XLIII

Not so (quoth she) but sith that heavens king

From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quight,

Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing;

And fearest not, that more thee hurten might,

Now in the powre of everlasting Night?

Goe to then, O thou farre renowmed sonne

Of great Apollo, shew thy famous might

In medicine, that else hath to thee wonne

Great paines, and greater praise, both never to be donne.

XLIV

Her words prevaild: And then the learned leach

His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay,

And all things else, the which his art did teach:

Which having seene, from thence arose away

The mother of dread darknesse, and let stay

Aveugles sonne there in the leaches cure,

And backe returning tooke her wonted way,

To runne her timely race, whilst Phœbus pure,

In westerne waves his weary wagon did recure.

XLV

The false Duessa leaving noyous Night,

Returnd to stately pallace of Dame Pride;

Where when she came, she found the Faery knight

Departed thence, albe his woundes wide

Not throughly heald, unreadie were to ride.

Good cause he had to hasten thence away;

For on a day his wary Dwarfe had spide

Where in a dongeon deepe huge numbers lay

Of caytive wretched thrals, that wayled night and day.

XLVI

A ruefull sight, as could be seene with eie;

Of whom he learned had in secret wise

The hidden cause of their captivitie,

How mortgaging their lives to Covetise,

Through wastfull Pride and wanton Riotise,

They were by law of that proud Tyrannesse,

Provokt with Wrath, and Envies false surmise,

Condemned to that Dongeon mercilesse,

Where they should live in woe, and die in wretchednesse.

XLVII

There was that great proud king of Babylon,

That would compell all nations to adore,

And him as onely God to call upon,

Till through celestiall doome throwne out of dore,

Into an Oxe he was transform’d of yore:

There also was king Croesus, that enhaunst

His hart too high through his great riches store;

And proud Antiochus, the which advaunst

His cursed hand gainst God and on his altars daunst.

XLVIII

And them long time before, great Nimrod was,

That first the world with sword and fire warrayd;

And after him old Ninus farre did pas

In princely pompe, of all the world obayd;

There also was that mightie Monarch layd

Low under all, yet above all in pride,

That name of native syre did fowle upbrayd,

And would as Ammons sonne be magnifide,

Till scornd of God and man a shamefull death he dide.

XLIX

All these together in one heape were throwne,

Like carkases of beasts in butchers stall.

And in another corner wide were strowne

The antique ruines of the Romaines fall:

Great Romulus the Grandsyre of them all,

Proud Tarquin, and too lordly Lentulus,

Stout Scipio, and stubborne Hanniball,

Ambitious Sylla, and sterne Marius,

High Caesar, great Pompey, and fierce Antonius.

L

Amongst these mightie men were wemen mixt,

Proud wemen, vaine, forgetfull of their yoke:

The bold Semiramis, whose sides transfixt

With sonnes own blade, her fowle reproches spoke;

Faire Sthenoboea, that her selfe did choke

With wilfull cord, for wanting of her will;

High minded Cleopatra, that with stroke

Of Aspes sting her selfe did stoutly kill:

And thousands moe the like, that did that dongeon fill;

LI

Besides the endlesse routs of wretched thralles,

Which thither were assembled day by day,

From all the world after their wofull falles

Through wicked pride, and wasted wealthes decay.

But most of all, which in the Dongeon lay,

Fell from high Princes courts, or Ladies bowres;

Where they in idle pompe, or wanton play,

Consumed had their goods, and thriftlesse howres,

And lastly throwne themselves into these heavy stowres.

LII

Whose case when as the carefull Dwarfe had tould,

And made ensample of their mournefull sight

Unto his maister, he no lenger would

There dwell in perill of like painefull plight,

But early rose, and ere that dawning light

Discovered had the world to heaven wyde,

He by a privie Posterne tooke his flight,

That of no envious eyes he mote be spyde:

For doubtlesse death ensewd, if any him descryde.

LIII

Scarse could he footing find in that fowle way,

For many corses, like a great Lay-stall,

Of murdred men which therein strowed lay,

Without remorse, or decent funerall:

Which all through that great Princesse pride did fall

And came to shamefull end. And them beside

Forth ryding underneath the castell wall,

A donghill of dead carkases he spide,

The dreadfull spectacle of that sad house of Pride.

Canto VI

From lawlesse lust by wondrous grace

fayre Una is releast:

Whom salvage nation does adore,

and learnes her wise beheast.

I

AS when a ship, that flyes faire under saile,

An hidden rocke escaped hath unwares,

That lay in waite her wrack for to bewaile,

The Marriner yet halfe amazed stares

At perill past, and yet in doubt ne dares

To joy at his foole-happie oversight:

So doubly is distrest twixt joy and cares

The dreadlesse courage of this Elfin knight,

Having escapt so sad ensamples in his sight.

II

Yet sad he was that his too hastie speede

The faire Duess’ had forst him leave behind;

And yet more sad, that Una his deare dreed

Her truth had staind with treason so unkind;

Yet crime in her could never creature find,

But for his love, and for her owne selfe sake,

She wandred had from one to other Ynd,

Him for to seeke, ne ever would forsake,

Till her unwares the fiers Sansloy did overtake.

III

Who, after Archimagoes fowle defeat,

Led her away into a forest wilde,

And turning wrathfull fyre to lustfull heat, With beastly sin thought her to have defilde,

And made the vassal of his pleasures wilde.

Yet first he cast by treatie, and by traynes,

Her to persuade that stubborne fort to yilde:

For greater conquest of hard love he gaynes,

That workes it to his will, then he that it constraines.

IV

With fawning words he courted her awhile,

And looking lovely, and oft sighing sore,

Her constant hart did tempt with diverse guile,

But wordes and lookes, and sighes she did abhore;

As rocke of Diamond steadfast evermore,

Yet for to feed his fyrie lustfull eye,

He snatcht the vele that hong her face before;

Then gan her beautie shyne, as brightest skye

And burnt his beastly hart t’efforce her chastitye.

V

So when he saw his flatt’ring artes to fayle,

And subtile engines bett from batteree;

With greedy force he gan the fort assayle,

Whereof he weend possessed soone to bee,

And with rich spoile of ransackt chastitee.

Ah heavens! that do this hideous act behold,

And heavenly virgin thus outraged see,

How can ye vengeance just so long withold

And hurle not flashing flames upon that Paynim bold?

VI

The pitteous maiden carefull comfortlesse,

Does throw out thrilling shriekes, and shrieking cryes,

The last vaine helpe of womens great distresse,

And with loud plaints importuneth the skyes,

That molten starres do drop like weeping eyes;

And Phœbus flying so most shameful sight,

His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes,

And hides for shame. What wit of mortall wight

Can now devise to quit a thrall from such a plight?

VII

Eternal providence exceeding thought,

Where none appeares can make herselfe a way:

A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought,

From Lyons clawes to pluck the griped pray.

Her shrill outcryes and shriekes so loud did bray,

That all the woodes and forestes did resownd;

A troupe of Faunes and Satyres far away

Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd,

Whiles old Sylvanus slept in shady arber sownd:

VIII

Who when they heard that pitteous strained voice,

In haste forsooke their rurall meriment,

And ran towards the far rebownded noyce,

To weet, what wight so loudly did lament.

Unto the place they come incontinent:

Whom when the raging Sarazin espide,

A rude, mishapen, monstrous rablement,

Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide,

But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ride.

IX

The wyld woodgods arrived in the place,

There find the virgin dolefull desolate,

With ruffled rayments, and faire blubbred face,

As her outrageous foe had left her late;

And trembling yet through feare of former hate:

All stand amazed at so uncouth sight,

And gin to pittie her unhappie state;

All stand astonied at her beautie bright,

In their rude eyes unworthy of so wofull plight.

X

She more amaz’d, in double dread doth dwell;

And every tender part for feare doth shake:

As when a greedie Wolfe, through hunger fell,

A seely Lambe farre from the flocke does take,

Of whom he meanes his bloudie feast to make,

A Lyon spyes fast running towards him,

The innocent pray in hast he does forsake,

Which quit from death yet quakes in every lim

With chaunge of feare, to see the Lyon looke so grim.

XI

Such fearefull fit assaid her trembling hart,

Ne word to speake, ne joynt to move she had:

The salvage nation feele her secret smart,

And read her sorrow in her count’nance sad;

Their frowning forheads with rough hornes yclad,

And rustick horror all a side doe lay;

And gently grenning, show a semblance glad

To comfort her, and feare to put away,

Their backward bent knees teach her humbly to obay.

XII

The doubtfull Damzell dare not yet commit

Her single person to their barbarous truth;

But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sit,

Late learnd what harme to hasty trust ensu’th:

They in compassion of her tender youth,

And wonder of her beautie soveraine,

Are wonne with pitty and unwonted ruth,

And all prostrate upon the lowly plaine,

Do kisse her feete, and fawne on her with count’nance faine.

XIII

Their harts she ghesseth by their humble guise,

And yieldes her to extremitie of time;

So from the ground she fearlesse doth arise,

And walketh forth without suspect of crime:

They all as glad, as birdes of joyous Prime,

Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing round,

Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme,

And with greene braunches strowing all the ground,

Do worship her, as Queene, with olive girlond cround.

XIV

And all the way their merry pipes they sound,

That all the woods with doubled Eccho ring,

And with their horned feet do weare the ground,

Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring.

So towards old Sylvanus they her bring;

Who with the noyse awaked commeth out

To weet the cause, his weake steps governing,

And aged limbs on Cypresse stadle stout;

And with an yvie twyne his wast is girt about.

XV

Far off he wonders, what them makes so glad,

Or Bacchus merry fruit they did invent,

Or Cybeles franticke rites have made them mad,

They drawing nigh, unto their God present

That flowre of faith and beautie excellent.

The God himselfe, vewing that mirrhour rare,

Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent;

His owne faire Dryope now he thinkes not faire,

And Pholoe fowle when her to this he doth compaire.

XVI

The woodborne people fall before her flat,

And worship her as Goddesse of the wood;

And old Sylvanus selfe bethinkes not, what

To thinke of wight so faire, but gazing stood,

In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood;

Sometimes Dame Venus selfe he seemes to see,

But Venus never had so sober mood;

Sometimes Diana he her takes to bee,

But misseth bow, and shaftes, and buskins to her knee.

XVII

By vew of her he ginneth to revive

His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse,

And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive,

How faire he was, and yet not faire to this,

And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse

A gentle Hynd, the which the lovely boy

Did love as life, above all worldly blisse;

For griefe whereof the lad n’ould after joy,

But pynd away in anguish and selfe-wild annoy.

XVIII

The wooddy Nymphes, faire Hamadryades,

Her to behold do thither runne apace,

And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades

Flocke all about to see her lovely face:

But when they vewed have her heavenly grace,

They envy her in their malitious mind,

And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace:

But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind,

And henceforth nothing faire but her on earth they find.

XIX

Glad of such lucke, the luckelesse lucky maid,

Did her content to please their feeble eyes,

And long time with that salvage people staid,

To gather breath in many miseries.

During which time her gentle wit she plyes,

To teach them truth, which worshipt her in vaine,

And made her th’ Image of Idolatryes;

But when their bootlesse zeale she did restraine

From her own worship, they her Asse would worship fayn.

XX

It fortuned a noble warlike knight

By just occasion to that forrest came,

To seeke his kindred, and the lignage right,

From whence he tooke his well deserved name:

He had in armes abroad wonne muchell fame,

And fild far lands with glorie of his might,

Plaine, faithfull, true, and enimy of shame,

And ever lov’d to fight for Ladies right:

But in vaine glorious frayes he litle did delight.

XXI

A Satyres sonne yborne in forrest wyld,

By straunge adventure as it did betyde,

And there begotten of a Lady myld,

Faire Thyamis the daughter of Labryde,

That was in sacred bands of wedlocke tyde

To Therion, a loose unruly swayne;

Who had more joy to raunge the forrest wyde,

And chase the salvage beast with busie payne,

Then serve his Ladies love, and wast in pleasures vayne.

XXII

The forlorne mayd did with loves longing burne

And could not lacke her lovers company,

But to the wood she goes, to serve her turne,

And seeke her spouse that from her still does fly,

And followes other game and venery:

A Satyre chaunst her wandring for to finde,

And kindling coles of lust in brutish eye,

The loyall links of wedlocke did unbind,

And made her person thrall unto his beastly kind.

XXIII

So long in secret cabin there he held

Her captive to his sensuall desire,

Till that with timely fruit her belly sweld,

And bore a boy unto that salvage sire:

Then home he suffred her for to retyre,

For ransome leaving him the late borne childe;

Whom till to ryper yeares he gan aspire,

He noursled up in life and manners wilde,

Emongst wild beasts and woods, from lawes of men exilde.

XXIV

For all he taught the tender ymp, was but

To banish cowardize and bastard feare;

His trembling hand he would him force to put

Upon the Lyon and the rugged Beare;

And from the she Beares teats her whelps to teare;

And eke wyld roaring Buls he would him make

To tame, and ryde their backes not made to beare;

And the Robuckes in flight to overtake,

That every beast for feare of him did fly and quake.

XXV

Thereby so fearlesse, and so fell he grew,

That his owne sire and maister of his guise

Did often tremble at his horrid vew,

And oft for dread of hurt would him advise,

The angry beasts not rashly to despise,

Nor too much to provoke; for he would learne

The Lyon stoup to him in lowly wise,

(A lesson hard) and make the Libbard sterne

Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did earne.

XXVI

And for to make his powre approved more,

Wyld beasts in yron yokes he would compell;

The spotted Panther, and the tusked Bore,

The Pardale swift, and the tigre cruell,

The Antelope, and Wolfe both fierce and fell;

And them constraine in equall teme to draw.

Such joy he had, their stubborne harts to quell,

And sturdie courage tame with dreadfull aw,

That his beheast they feared, as a tyrans law.

XXVII

His loving mother came upon a day

Unto the woods, to see her little sonne;

And chaunst unwares to meet him in the way,

After his sportes, and cruell pastime donne;

When after him a Lyonesse did runne,

That roaring all with rage, did lowd requere

Her children deare, whom he away had wonne:

The Lyon whelpes she saw how he did beare,

And lull in rugged armes, withouten childish feare.

XXVIII

The fearefull Dame all quaked at the sight,

And turning backe, gan fast to fly away,

Untill with love revokt from vaine affright,

She hardly yet perswaded was to stay,

And then to him these womanish words gan say;

Ah Satyrane, my dearling, and my joy,

For love of me leave off this dreadfull play;

To dally thus with death is no fit toy,

Go find some other play-fellowes, mine own sweet boy.

XXIX

In these and like delights of bloudy game

He trayned was, till ryper yeares he raught;

And there abode, whilst any beast of name

Walkt in that forest, whom he had not taught

To feare his force: and then his courage haught

Desird of forreine foemen to be knowne,

And far abroad for straunge adventures sought;

In which his might was never overthrowne;

But through all Faery lond his famous worth was blown.

XXX

Yet evermore it was his manner faire,

After long labours and adventures spent,

Unto those native woods for to repaire,

To see his sire and offspring auncient.

And now he thither came for like intent;

Where he unwares the fairest Una found,

Straunge Lady, in so straunge habiliment,

Teaching the Satyres, which her sat around,

Trew sacred lore, which from her sweet lips did redound.

XXXI

He wondred at her wisedome heavenly rare,

Whose like in womens wit he never knew;

And when her curteous deeds he did compare,

Gan her admire, and her sad sorrowes rew,

Blaming of Fortune, which such troubles threw,

And joyd to make proofe of her crueltie,

On gentle Dame, so hurtlesse, and so trew:

Thenceforth he kept her goodly company,

And learnd her discipline of faith and veritie.

XXXII

But she all vowd unto the Redcrosse knight,

His wandring perill closely did lament,

Ne in this new acquaintaunce could delight,

But her deare heart with anguish did torment,

And all her wit in secret counsels spent,

How to escape. At last in privie wise

To Satyrane she shewed her intent;

Who glad to gain such favour, gan devise

How with that pensive Maid he best might thence arise.

XXXIII

So on a day when Satyres 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 Satyres to be told,

Or ever hope recover her againe:

In vaine he seekes that having cannot hold.

So fast he carried her with carefull paine,

That they the woods are past, and come now to the plaine.

XXXIV

The better part now of the lingring day,

They traveild had, whenas they farre espide

A weary wight forwandring by the way,

And towards him they gan in haste to ride,

To weete of newes, that did abroad betide,

Or tydings of her knight of the Redcrosse.

But he them spying, gan to turne aside,

For feare as seemd, or for some feigned losse;

More greedy they of newes, fast towards him do crosse.

XXXV

A silly man, in simple weedes forworne,

And soild with dust of the long dried way;

His sandales were with toilsome travell torne,

And face all tand with scorching sunny ray,

As he had traveild many a sommers day,

Through boyling sands of Arabie and Ynde;

And in his hand a Jacobs staffe, to stay

His wearie limbes upon: and eke behind,

His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind.

XXXVI

The knight approaching nigh, of him inquerd

Tidings of warre, and of adventures new;

But warres, nor new adventures none he herd.

Then Una gan to aske, if ought he knew,

Or heard abroad of that her champion trew,

That in his armour bare a croslet red.

Aye me, Deare dame (quoth he) well may I rew

To tell the sad sight which mine eies have red.

These eies did see that knight both living and eke ded.

XXXVII

That cruell word her tender hart so thrild,

That suddein cold did runne through every vaine,

And stony horrour all her sences fild

With dying fit, that downe she fell for paine.

The knight her lightly reared up againe,

And comforted with curteous kind reliefe:

Then, wonne from death, she bad him tellen plaine

The further processe of her hidden griefe:

The lesser pangs can beare, who hath endur’d the chiefe.

XXXVIII

Then gan the Pilgrim thus, I chaunst this day,

This fatall day, that shall I ever rew,

To see two knights in travell on my way

(A sory sight) arraung’d in battell new,

Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrathfull hew:

My fearefull flesh did tremble at their strife,

To see their blades so greedily imbrew,

That drunke with bloud, yet thristed after life:

What more? the Redcrosse knight was slaine with Paynim knife.

XXXIX

Ah dearest Lord (quoth she) how might that bee,

And he the stoughtest knight, that ever wonne?

Ah dearest dame (quoth he) how might I see

The thing, that might not be, and yet was donne?

Where is (said Satyrane) that Paynims sonne,

That him of life, and us of joy hath reft?

Not far away (quoth he) he hence doth wonne

Foreby a fountaine, where I late him left

Washing his bloudy wounds, that through the steele were cleft.

XL

Therewith the knight thence marched forth in hast,

Whiles Una with huge heavinesse opprest,

Could not for sorrow follow him so fast;

And soone he came, as he the place had ghest,

Whereas that Pagan proud him selfe did rest,

In secret shadow by a fountaine side:

Even he it was, that earst would have supprest

Faire Una: whom when Satyrane espide,

With fowle reprochfull words he boldly him defide.

XLI

And said, Arise thou cursed Miscreaunt,

That hast with knightlesse guile and trecherous train

Faire knighthood fowly shamed, and doest vaunt

That good knight of the Redcrosse to have slain:

Arise, and with like treason now maintain

Thy guilty wrong, or els thee guilty yield.

The Sarazin this hearing, rose amain,

And catching up in hast his three-square shield,

And shining helmet, soone him buckled to the field.

XLII

And drawing nigh him said, Ah misborne Elfe,

In evill houre thy foes thee hither sent,

Anothers wrongs to wreake upon thy selfe:

Yet ill thou blamest me, for having blent

My name with guile and traiterous intent:

That Redcrosse knight, perdie, I never slew,

But had he beene, where earst his arms were lent,

Th’ enchaunter vaine his errour should not rew:

But thou his errour shalt, I hope, now proven trew.

XLIII

Therewith they gan, both furious and fell,

To thunder blowes, and fiersly to assaile

Each other bent his enimy to quell,

That with their force they perst both plate and maile,

And made wide furrowes in their fleshes fraile,

That it would pitty any living eie.

Large floods of bloud adowne their sides did raile;

But floods of bloud could not them satisfie:

Both hungred after death: both chose to win, or die.

XLIV

So long they fight, and fell revenge pursue,

That fainting each, themselves to breathen let,

And oft refreshed, battell oft renue:

As when two Bores with rancling malice met,

Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely fret,

Til breathlesse both them selves aside retire,

Where foming wrath, their cruell tuskes they whet,

And trample th’ earth, the whiles they may respire;

Then backe to fight againe, new breathed and entire.

XLV

So fiersly, when these knights had breathed once,

They gan to fight returne, increasing more

Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce.

With heaped strokes more hugely then before,

That with their drerie wounds and bloudy gore

They both deformed, scarsely could be known.

By this, sad Una fraught with anguish sore,

Led with their noise, which through the aire was thrown: Arriv’d, wher they in erth their fruitles bloud had sown.

XLVI

Whom all so soone as that proud Sarazin

Espide, he gan revive the memory

Of his lewd lusts, and late attempted sin,

And left the doubtfull battell hastily,

To catch her, newly offred to his eie:

But Satyrane with strokes him turning, staid,

And sternely bad him other businesse plie,

Then hunt the steps of pure unspotted Maid:

Wherewith he all enrag’d, these bitter speaches said.

XLVII

O foolish faeries son, what fury mad

Hath thee incenst, to hast thy doefull fate?

Were it not better I that Lady had,

Then that thou hadst repented it too late?

Most senseless man he, that himselfe doth hate

To love another. Lo then for thine ayd

Here take thy lovers token on thy pate.

So they two fight; the whiles the royall Mayd

Fledd farre away, of that proud Paynim sore afrayd.

XLVIII

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 bloudy fray:

But when he saw the Damsell passe away,

He left his stond, and her pursewd apace,

In hope to bring her to her last decay,

But for to tell her lamentable cace,

And eke this battels end, will need another place.

Canto VII

The Redcrosse knight is captive made

by Gyaunt proud opprest,

Prince Arthur meets with Una great-

ly with those newes distrest .

I

WHAT man so wise, what earthly wit so ware,

As to discry the crafty cunning traine,

By which deceipt doth maske in visour faire,

And cast her colours dyed deepe in graine,

To seeme like Truth, whose shape she well can faine,

And fitting gestures to her purpose frame;

The guiltlesse man with guile to entertaine?

Great maistresse of her art was that false Dame,

The false Duessa, cloked with Fidessaes name.

II

Who when returning from the drery Night,

She fownd not in that perilous house of Pryde,

Where she had left, the noble Redcrosse knight, Her hoped pray; she would no lenger bide,

But forth she went, to seeke him far and wide.

Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie sate

To rest him selfe, foreby a fountaine side,

Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate,

And by his side his steed the grassy forage ate.

III

He feedes upon the cooling shade, and bayes

His sweatie forehead in the breathing wind,

Which through the trembling leaves full gently playes,

Wherein the cherefull birds of sundry kind

Do chaunt sweet musick, to delight his mind:

The Witch approaching gan him fairely greet,

And with reproch of carelesnesse unkind

Upbrayd, for leaving her in place unmeet,

With fowle words tempring faire, soure gall with hony sweet.

IV

Unkindnesse past, they gan of solace treat,

And bathe in pleasaunce of the joyous shade,

Which shielded them against the boyling heat,

And with greene boughes decking a gloomy glade,

About the fountaine like a girlond made;

Whose bubbling wave did ever freshly well,

Ne ever would through fervent sommer fade:

The sacred Nymph, which therein wont to dwell,

Was out of Dianes favour, as it then befell.

V

The cause was this: One day, when Phœbe fayre

With all her band was following the chace,

This Nymph, quite tyr’d with heat of scorching ayre,

Sat downe to rest in middest of the race:

The goddesse wroth gan fowly her disgrace,

And bad the waters, which from her did flow,

Be such as she her selfe was then in place.

Thenceforth her waters waxed dull and slow,

And all that drinke thereof do faint and feeble grow.

VI

Hereof this gentle knight unweeting was,

And lying downe upon the sandie graile, Drunke of the streame, as cleare as cristall glas:

Eftsoones his manly forces gan to faile,

And mightie strong was turned to feeble fraile.

His chaunged powres at first them selves not felt,

Till crudled cold his corage gan assaile,

And cheareful bloud in faintnesse chill did melt,

Which like a fever fit through all his body swelt.

VII

Yet goodly court he made still to his Dame,

Pourd out in loosnesse on the grassy grownd,

Both carelesse of his health, and of his fame:

Till at the last he heard a dreadfull sownd,

Which through the wood loud bellowing did rebownd,

That all the earth for terrour seemd to shake,

And trees did tremble. Th’ Elfe therewith astownd,

Upstarted lightly from his looser make,

And his unready weapons gan in hand to take.

VIII

But ere he could his armour on him dight,

Or get his shield, his monstrous enimy

With sturdie steps came stalking in his sight,

An hideous Geant, horrible and hye,

That with his tallnesse seemd to threat the skye,

The ground eke groned under him for dreed;

His living like saw never living eye,

Ne durst behold: his stature did exceed

The hight of three the tallest sonnes of mortall seed.

IX

The greatest Earth his uncouth mother was,

And blustering Æolus his boasted syre,

Who with his breath, which through the world doth pas,

Her hollow womb did secretly inspire,

And fild her hidden caves with stormie yre,

That she conceived; and trebling the dew time,

In which the wombes of women do expire,

Brought forth this monstrous masse of earthly slime

Puft up with emptie wind, and fild with sinfull crime.

X

So growen great through arrogant delight

Of th’ high descent, whereof he was yborne,

And through presumption of his matchlesse might,

All other powres and knighthood he did scorne.

Such now he marcheth to this man forlorne,

And left to losse: his stalking steps are stayde

Upon a snaggy Oke, which he had torne

Out of his mothers bowelles, and it made

His mortall mace, wherewith his foeman he dismayde.

XI

That when the knight he spide, he gan advance

With huge force and insupportable mayne,

And towardes him with dreadfull fury praunce;

Who haplesse, and eke hopelesse, all in vaine

Did to him pace, sad battaile to darrayne,

Disarmd, disgrast, and inwardly dismayde,

And eke so faint in every joynt and vaine,

Through that fraile fountaine, which him feeble made,

That scarsely could he weeld his bootlesse single blade.

XII

The Geaunt strooke so maynly mercilesse,

That could have overthrowne a stony towre,

And were not heavenly grace, that did him blesse,

He had beene pouldred all, as thin as flowre:

But he was wary of that deadly stowre,

And lightly lept from underneath the blow:

Yet so exceeding was the villeins powre,

That with the wind it did him overthrow,

And all his sences stound, that still he lay full low.

XIII

As when that divelish yron Engin wrought

In deepest Hell, and framd by Furies skill,

With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur fraught,

And ramd with bullet round, ordaind to kill,

Conceiveth fire, the heavens it doth fill

With thundring noyse, and all the ayre doth choke,

That none can breath, nor see, nor heare at will,

Through smouldry cloud of duskish stincking smoke,

That th’ onely breath him daunts, who hath escapt the stroke.

XIV

So daunted when the Geaunt saw the knight,

His heavie hand he heaved up on hye,

And him to dust thought to have battred quight,

Untill Duessa loud to him gan crye;

O great Orgoglio, greatest under skye,

O hold thy mortall hand for Ladies sake,

Hold for my sake, and do him not to dye,

But vanquisht thine eternall bondslave make,

And me, thy worthy meed, unto thy Leman take.

XV

He hearkned, and did stay from further harmes,

To gayne so goodly guerdon, as she spake:

So willingly she came into his armes,

Who her as willingly to grace did take,

And was possessed of his new found make.

Then up he tooke the slombred sencelesse corse,

And ere he could out of his swowne awake,

Him to his castle brought with hastie forse,

And in a Dongeon deepe him threw without remorse.

XVI

From that day forth Duessa was his deare,

And highly honourd in his haughtie eye,

He gave her gold and purple pall to weare,

And triple crowne set on her head full hye,

And her endowd with royall majestye:

Then for to make her dreaded more of men,

And peoples harts with awfull terrour tye,

A monstrous beast ybred in filthy fen

He chose, which he had kept long time in darksome den.

XVII

Such one it was, as that renowmed Snake

Which great Alcides in Stremona slew,

Long fostred in the filth of Lerna lake,

Whose many heads out budding ever new

Did breed him endlesse labour to subdew:

But this same Monster much more ugly was;

For seven great heads out of his body grew,

An yron brest, and back of scaly bras,

And all embrewd in bloud, his eyes did shine as glas.

XVIII

His tayle was stretched out in wondrous length,

That to the house of heavenly gods it raught,

And with extorted powre, and borrow’d strength,

The ever-burning lamps from thence it braught,

And prowdly threw to ground, as things of naught;

And underneath his filthy feet did tread

The sacred things, and holy heasts foretaught.

Upon this dreadfull Beast with sevenfold head

He sett the false Duessa, for more aw and dread.

XIX

The wofull Dwarfe, which saw his maisters fall,

Whiles he had keeping of his grasing steed,

And valiant knight become a caytive thrall,

When all was past, tooke up his forlorne weed,

His mightie armour, missing most at need;

His silver shield, now idle maisterlesse;

His poynant speare, that many made to bleed,

The rueful moniments of heavinesse,

And with them all departes, to tell his great distresse.

XX

He had not travaild long, when on the way

He wofull Ladie, wofull Una met,

Fast flying from that Paynims greedy pray,

Whilest Satyrane him from pursuit did let:

Who when her eyes she on the Dwarfe had set,

And saw the signes, that deadly tydings spake,

She fell to ground for sorrowfull regret,

And lively breath her sad brest did forsake,

Yet might her pitteous hart be seene to pant and quake.

XXI

The messenger of so unhappie newes,

Would faine have dyde: dead was his hart within,

Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes:

At last recovering hart, he does begin

To rub her temples, and to chaufe her chin,

And everie tender part does tosse and turne.

So hardly he the flitted life does win,

Unto her native prison to retourne:

Then gins her grieved ghost thus to lament and mourne.

XXII

Ye dreary instruments of dolefull sight,

That doe this deadly spectacle behold,

Why do ye lenger feed on loathed light,

Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould,

Sith cruell fates the carefull threeds unfould,

The which my life and love together tyde?

Now let the stony dart of senselesse cold

Perce to my hart, and pas through every side,

And let eternall night so sad sight fro me hide.

XXIII

O lightsome day, the lampe of highest Jove,

First made by him, mens wandring wayes to guyde,

When darkenesse he in deepest dongeon drove,

Henceforth thy hated face for ever hyde,

And shut up heavens windowes shyning wyde:

For earthly sight can nought but sorrow breed,

And late repentance, which shall long abyde.

Mine eyes no more on vanitie shall feed,

But seeled up with death, shall have their deadly meed.

XXIV

Then downe againe she fell unto the ground;

But he her quickly reared up againe:

Thrise did she sinke adowne in deadly swownd

And thrise he her reviv’d with busie paine,

At last when life recover’d had the raine,

And over-wrestled his strong enemie,

With foltring tong, and trembling every vaine,

Tell on (quoth she) the wofull Tragedie,

The which these reliques sad present unto mine eie.

XXV

Tempestuous fortune hath spent all her spight,

And thrilling sorrow throwne his utmost dart;

Thy sad tongue cannot tell more heavy plight,

Then that I feele, and harbour in mine hart:

Who hath endur’d the whole, can beare each part.

If death it be, it is not the first wound,

That launched hath my brest with bleeding smart.

Begin, and end the bitter balefull stound;

If lesse then that I feare, more favour I have found.

XXVI

Then gan the Dwarfe the whole discourse declare,

The subtill traines of Archimago old;

The wanton loves of false Fidessa faire,

Bought with the blood of vanquisht Paynim bold;

The wretched payre transformed to treen mould;

The house of Pride, and perils round about;

The combat, which he with Sansjoy did hould;

The lucklesse conflict with the Gyant stout,

Wherein captiv’d, of life or death he stood in doubt.

XXVII

She heard with patience all unto the end,

And strove to maister sorrowfull assay,

Which greater grew, the more she did contend,

And almost rent her tender hart in tway;

And love fresh coles unto her fire did lay:

For greater love, the greater is the losse.

Was never Lady loved dearer day,

Then she did love the knight of the Redcrosse;

For whose deare sake so many troubles her did tosse.

XXVIII

At last when fervent sorrow slaked was,

She up arose, resolving him to find

Alive or dead: and forward forth doth pas,

All as the Dwarfe the way to her assynd:

And evermore, in constant carefull mind,

She fed her wound with fresh renewed bale;

Long tost with stormes, and bet with bitter wind,

High over hills, and low adowne the dale,

She wandred many a wood, and measurd many a vale.

XXIX

At last she chaunced by good hap to meet

A goodly knight, faire marching by the way

Together with his Squire, arrayed meet:

His glitterand armour shined farre away,

Like glauncing light of Phœbus brightest ray;

From top to toe no place appeared bare,

That deadly dint of steele endanger may:

Athwart his brest a bauldrick brave he ware,

That shynd, like twinkling stars, with stons most pretious rare.

XXX

And in the midst thereof one pretious stone

Of wondrous worth, and eke of wondrous mights,

Shapt like a Ladies head, exceeding shone,

Like Hesperus emongst the lesser lights,

And strove for to amaze the weaker sights:

Thereby his mortall blade full comely hong

In yvory sheath, ycarv’d with curious slights;

Whose hilts were burnisht gold, and handle strong

Of mother pearle, and buckled with a golden tong.

XXXI

His haughtie helmet, horrid all with gold,

Both glorious brightnesse, and great terrour bred;

For all the crest a Dragon did enfold

With greedie pawes, and over all did spred

His golden wings: his dreadfull hideous hed

Close couched on the bever, seem’d to throw

From flaming mouth bright sparkles fierie red,

That suddeine horror to faint harts did show,

And scaly tayle was stretcht adowne his backe full low.

XXXII

Upon the top of all his loftie crest,

A bunch of haires discolourd diversly,

With sprincled pearle, and gold full richly drest,

Did shake, and seemd to daunce for jollity,

Like to an Almond tree ymounted hye

On top of greene Selinis all alone,

With blossoms brave bedecked daintily;

Whose tender locks do tremble every one

At every little breath that under heaven is blowne.

XXXIII

His warlike shield all closely cover’d was,

Ne might of mortall eye be ever seene;

Not made of steele, nor of enduring bras,

Such earthly mettals soone consumed beene;

But all of Diamond perfect pure and cleene

It framed was, one massie entire mould,

Hewen out of Adamant rocke with engines keene,

That point of speare it never percen could,

Ne dint of direfull sword divide the substance would.

XXXIV

The same to wight he never wont disclose,

But when as monsters huge he would dismay,

Or daunt unequall armies of his foes,

Or when the flying heavens he would affray;

For so exceeding shone his glistring ray,

That Phœbus golden face it did attaint,

As when a cloud his beames doth over-lay;

And silver Cynthia wexed pale and faint,

As when her face is staynd with magicke arts constraint.

XXXV

No magicke arts hereof had any might,

Nor bloudie wordes of bold Enchaunters call;

But all that was not such as seemd in sight,

Before that shield did fade, and suddeine fall;

And, when him list the raskall routes appall,

Men into stones therewith he could transmew,

And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all;

And when him list the prouder lookes subdew,

He would them gazing blind, or turne to other hew.

XXXVI

Ne let it seeme, that credence this exceedes,

For he that made the same, was knowne right well

To have done much more admirable deedes.

It Merlin was, which whylome did excell

All living wightes in might of magicke spell:

Both shield, and sword, and armour all he wrought

For this young Prince, when first to armes he fell;

But when he dyde, the Faerie Queene it brought

To Faerie lond, where yet it may be seene, if sought.

XXXVII

A gentle youth, his dearely loved Squire,

His speare of heben wood behind him bare,

Whose harmefull head, thrice heated in the fire,

Had riven many a brest with pikehead square:

A goodly person, and could menage faire

His stubborne steed with curbed canon bit,

Who under him did trample as the aire,

And chauft, that any on his backe should sit;

The yron rowels into frothy fome he bit.

XXXVIII

When as this knight nigh to the Ladie drew,

With lovely court he gan her entertaine;

But when he heard her answeres loth, he knew

Some secret sorrow did her heart distraine:

Which to allay, and calme her storming paine,

Faire feeling words he wisely gan display,

And for her humour fitting purpose faine,

To tempt the cause it selfe for to bewray;

Wherewith emmov’d, these bleeding words she gan to say.

XXXIX

What worlds delight, or joy of living speach

Can heart, so plung’d in sea of sorrowes deep,

And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach?

The carefull cold beginneth for to creepe,

And in my heart his yron arrow steepe,

Soone as I thinke upon my bitter bale:

Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden keepe,

Then rip up griefe, where it may not availe,

My last left comfort is, my woes to weepe and waile.

XL

Ah Ladie deare, quoth then the gentle knight,

Well may I weene your griefe is wondrous great;

For wondrous great griefe groneth in my spright,

Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat.

But wofull Ladie, let me you intrete

For to unfold the anguish of your hart:

Mishaps are maistred by advice discrete,

And counsell mittigates the greatest smart;

Found never helpe who never would his hurts impart.

XLI

O but (quoth she) great griefe will not be tould,

And can more easily be thought then said.

Right so (quoth he), but he that never would,

Could never: will to might gives greatest aid.

But griefe (quoth she) does greater grow displaid,

If then it find not helpe, and breedes despaire.

Despaire breedes not (quoth he) where faith is staid.

No faith so fast (quoth she) but flesh does paire.

Flesh may empaire (quoth he) but reason can repaire.

XLII

His goodly reason, and well guided speach,

So deepe did settle in her gracious thought,

That her perswaded to disclose the breach,

Which love and fortune in her heart had wrought,

And said; Faire Sir, I hope good hap hath brought

You to inquire the secrets of my griefe,

Or that your wisedome will direct my thought,

Or that your prowesse can me yield reliefe:

Then heare the storie sad, which I shall tell you briefe.

XLIII

The forlorne Maiden, whom your eyes have seene

The laughing stocke of fortunes mockeries,

Am th’ only daughter of a King and Queene,

Whose parents deare, whilest equal destinies

Did runne 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 Gehons golden waves doe wash continually.

XLIV

Till that their cruell cursed enemy,

An huge great Dragon horrible in sight,

Bred in the loathly lakes of Tartary,

With murdrous ravine, and devouring might

Their kingdome spoild, and countrey wasted quight:

Themselves, for feare into his jawes to fall,

He forst to castle strong to take their flight,

Where fast embard in mighty brasen wall,

He has them now foure yeres besiegd to make them thrall.

XLV

Full many knights adventurous and stout

Have enterpriz’d that Monster to subdew;

From every coast that heaven walks about,

Have thither come the noble Martiall crew,

That famous hard atchievements still pursew;

Yet never any could that girlond win,

But all still shronke, and still he greater grew:

All they for want of faith, or guilt of sin,

The pitteous pray of his fierce crueltie have bin.

XLVI

At last yledd with farre reported praise,

Which flying fame throughout the world had spred,

Of doughty knights, whom Faery land did raise,

That noble order hight of Maidenhed,

Forthwith to court of Gloriane I sped

Of Gloriane great Queene of glory bright,

Whose Kingdomes seat Cleopolis is red,

There to obtaine some such redoubted knight,

The Parents deare from tyrants powre deliver might.

XLVII

It was my chance (my chance was faire and good)

There for to find a fresh unproved knight,

Whose manly hands imbrew’d in guiltie blood

Had never bene, ne ever by his might

Had throwne to ground the unregarded right:

Yet of his prowesse proofe he since hath made

(I witnesse am) in many a cruell fight;

The groning ghosts of many one dismaide

Have felt the bitter dint of his avenging blade.

XLVIII

And ye the forlorne reliques of his powre,

His byting sword, and his devouring speare,

Which have endured many a dreadfull stowre,

Can speake his prowesse, that did earst you beare,

And well could rule: now he hath left you heare

To be the record of his ruefull losse,

And of my dolefull disaventurous deare:

O heavie record of the good Redcrosse,

Where have you left your Lord, that could so well you tosse?

XLIX

Well hoped I, and faire beginnings had,

That he my captive languor should redeeme,

Till all unweeting, an Enchaunter bad

His sence abusd, and made him to misdeeme

My loyalty, not such as it did seeme;

That rather death desire, then such despight.

Be judge ye heavens, that all things right esteeme,

How I him lov’d, and love with all my might,

So thought I eke of him, and thinke I thought aright.

L

Thenceforth me desolate he quite forsooke,

To wander, where wilde fortune would me lead,

And other bywaies he himselfe betooke,

Where never foot of living wight did tread,

That brought not backe the balefull body dead;

In which him chaunced false Duessa meete,

Mine onely foe, mine onely deadly dread,

Who with her witchcraft, and misseeming sweete,

Inveigled him to follow her desires unmeete.

LI

At last by subtill sleights she him betraid

Unto his foe, a Gyant huge and tall,

Who him disarmed, dissolute, dismaid,

Unwares surprised, and with mighty mall

The monster mercilesse him made to fall,

Whose fall did never foe before behold;

And now in darkesome dungeon, wretched thrall,

Remedilesse, for aie he doth him hold;

This is my cause of griefe, more great then may be told.

LII

Ere she had ended all, she gan to faint:

But he her comforted and faire bespake,

Certes, Madame, ye have great cause of plaint,

The stoutest heart, I weene, could cause to quake.

But be of cheare, and comfort to you take:

For till I have acquit your captive knight,

Assure your selfe, I will you not forsake.

His chearefull wordes reviv’d her chearelesse spright,

So forth they went, the Dwarfe them guiding ever right.

Canto VIII

Faire virgin, to redeeme her deare

brings Arthur to the fight:

Who slayes that Gyant, woundes the beast,

and strips Duessa quight .

I

AY me, how many perils doe enfold

The righteous man, to make him daily fall,

Were not that heavenly grace doth him uphold, And stedfast truth acquite him out of all.

Her love is firme, her care continuall,

So oft as he through his owne foolish pride,

Or weaknesse is to sinfull bands made thrall:

Else should this Redcrosse knight in bands have dydd

For whose deliverance she this Prince doth thither guide.

II

They sadly traveild thus, until they came

Nigh to a castle builded strong and hie:

Then cryde the Dwarfe, Lo yonder is the same,

In which my Lord my liege doth lucklesse lie,

Thrall to that Gyants hateful tyrannie:

Therefore, deare Sir, your mightie powres assay.

The noble knight alighted by and by

From loftie steede, and bad the Ladie stay,

To see what end of fight should him befall that day.

III

So with the Squire, th’ admirer of his might,

He marched forth towards that castle wall;

Whose gates he found fast shut, ne living wight

To ward the same, nor answere commers call.

Then tooke that Squire an horne of bugle small.

Which hong adowne his side in twisted gold

And tassels gay. Wyde wonders over all

Of that same hornes great vertues weren told,

Which had approved bene in uses manifold.

IV

Was never wight that heard that shrilling sownd,

But trembling feare did feel in every vaine;

Three miles it might be easie heard around,

And Ecchoes three answerd it selfe againe:

No false enchauntment, nor deceiptfull traine,

Might once abide the terror of that blast,

But presently was voide and wholly vaine:

No gate so strong, no locke so firme and fast,

But with that percing noise flew open quite, or brast.

V

The same before the Geants gate he blew,

That all the castle quaked from the ground, And every dore of freewill open flew.

The Gyant selfe dismaied with that sownd,

Where he with his Duessa dalliance fownd,

In hast came rushing forth from inner bowre,

With staring countenance sterne, as one astownd,

And staggering steps, to weet, what suddein stowre,

Had wrought that horror strange, and dar’d his dreaded powre.

VI

And after him the proud Duessa came

High mounted on her many-headed beast;

And every head with fyrie tongue did flame,

And every head was crowned on his creast,

And bloody mouthed with late cruell feast.

That when the knight beheld, his mightie shild

Upon his manly arme he soone addrest,

And at him fiercely flew, with courage fild,

And eger greedinesse through every member thrild.

VII

Therewith the Gyant buckled him to fight,

Inflam’d with scornefull wrath and high disdaine,

And lifting up his dreadfull club on hight,

All arm’d with ragged snubbes and knottie graine,

Him thought at first encounter to have slaine.

But wise and wary was that noble Pere,

And lightly leaping from so monstrous maine,

Did faire avoide the violence him nere;

It booted nought to thinke such thunderbolts to beare.

VIII

Ne shame he thought to shunne so hideous might:

The idle stroke, enforcing furious way,

Missing the marke of his misaymed sight

Did fall to ground, and with his heavie sway

So deepely dinted in the driven clay,

That three yardes deepe a furrow up did throw:

The sad earth wounded with so sore assay,

Did grone full grievous underneath the blow,

And trembling with strange feare, did like an earthquake show.

IX

As when almightie Jove, in wrathfull mood,

To wreake the guilt of mortall sins is bent,

Hurles forth his thundring dart with deadly food,

Enrold in flames, and smouldring dreriment,

Through riven cloudes and molten firmament;

The fierce threeforked engin making way

Both loftie towres and highest trees hath rent,

And all that might his angry passage stay,

And shooting in the earth, casts up a mount of clay.

X

His boystrous club, so buried in the ground,

He could not rearen up againe so light,

But that the knight him at avantage found,

And whiles he strove his combred clubbe to quight

Out of the earth, with blade all burning bright

He smote off his left arme, which like a blocke

Did fall to ground, depriv’d of native might;

Large streames of bloud out of the truncked stocke

Forth gushed, like fresh water streame from riven rocke.

XI

Dismayed with so desperate deadly wound,

And eke impatient of unwonted paine,

He lowdly brayd with beastly yelling sound,

That all the fields rebellowed againe;

As great a noyse, as when in Cymbrian plaine

An heard of Bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting,

Do for the milkie mothers want complaine,

And fill the fields with troublous bellowing,

The neighbour woods around with hollow murmur ring.

XII

That when his deare Duessa heard, and saw

The evil stownd, that daungerd her estate,

Unto his aide she hastily did draw

Her dreadfull beast, who swolne with blood of late

Came ramping forth with proud presumpteous gate,

And threatned all his heads like flaming brands.

But him the Squire made quickly to retrate,

Encountring fierce with single sword in hand,

And twixt him and his Lord did like a bulwarke stand.

XIII

The proud Duessa, full of wrathfull spight,

And fierce disdaine, to be affronted so,

Enforst her purple beast with all her might

That stop out of the way to overthroe,

Scorning the let of so unequall foe:

But nathemore would that courageous swayne

To her yeeld passage, gainst his Lord to goe,

But with outrageous strokes did him restraine,

And with his bodie bard the way atwixt them twaine.

XIV

Then tooke the angrie witch her golden cup,

Which still she bore, replete with magick artes;

Death and despeyre did many thereof sup,

And secret poyson through their inner parts,

Th’ eternall bale of heavie wounded harts;

Which after charmes and some enchauntments said

She lightly sprinkled on his weaker parts;

Therewith his sturdie courage soone was quayd,

And all his senses were with suddeine dread dismayd.

XV

So downe he fell before the cruell beast,

Who on his neck his bloody clawes did seize,

That life nigh crusht out of his panting brest:

No powre he had to stirre, nor will to rize.

That when the carefull knight gan well avise,

He lightly left the foe, with whom he fought,

And to the beast gan turne his enterprise;

For wondrous anguish in his hart it wrought,

To see his loved Squire into such thraldome brought.

XVI

And high advauncing his blood-thirstie blade,

Stroke one of those deformed heads so sore,

That of his puissance proud ensample made;

His monstrous scalpe downe to his teeth it tore,

And that misformed shape mis-shaped more:

A sea of blood gusht from the gaping wound,

That her gay garments staynd with filthy gore,

And overflowed all the field around;

That over shoes in bloud he waded on the ground.

XVII

Thereat he roared for exceeding paine,

That to have heard great horror would have bred,

And scourging th’ emptie ayre with his long traine,

Through great impatience of his grieved hed

His gorgeous ryder from her loftie sted

Would have cast downe, and trod in durtie myre,

Had not the Gyant soone her succoured;

Who all enrag’d with smart and franticke yre,

Came hurtling in full fierce, and forst the knight retyre.

XVIII

The force which wont in two to be disperst,

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 Oake might seeme to overthrow:

The stroke upon his shield so heavie lites,

That to the ground it doubleth him full low:

What mortall wight could ever beare so monstrous blow?

XIX

And in his fall his shield, that covered was,

Did loose his vele by chaunce, and open flew:

The light whereof, that heavens light did pas,

Such blazing brightnesse through the aier threw,

That eye mote not the same endure to vew.

Which when the Gyaunt spyde with staring eye,

He downe let fall his arme, and soft withdrew

His weapon huge, that heaved was on hye

For to have slaine the man, that on the ground did lye.

XX

And eke the fruitfull-headed beast, amazd

At flashing beames of that sunshiny shield,

Became starke blind, and all his sences daz’d,

That downe he tumbled on the durtie field,

And seem’d himselfe as conquered to yield.

Whom when his maistresse proud perceiv’d to fall,

Whiles yet his feeble feet for faintnesse reeld,

Unto the Gyant loudly she gan call,

O helpe Orgoglio, helpe, or else we perish all.

XXI

At her so pitteous cry was much amoov’d

Her champion stout, and for to ayde his frend,

Againe his wonted angry weapon proov’d:

But all in vaine: for he has read his end

In that bright shield, and all their forces spend

Themselves in vaine: for since that glauncing sight,

He had no powre to hurt, nor to defend;

As where th’ Almighties lightning brond does light,

It dimmes the dazed eyen, and daunts the senses quight.

XXII

Whom when the Prince, to battell new addrest,

And threatning high his dreadfull stroke did see,

His sparkling blade about his head he blest,

And smote off quite his right leg by the knee,

That downe he tombled; as an aged tree,

High growing on the top of rocky clift,

Whose hartstrings with keene steele nigh hewen be,

The mightie trunck halfe rent, with ragged rift

Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with fearefull drift.

XXIII

Or as a Castle reared high and round,

By subtile engins and malitious slight

Is undermined from the lowest ground,

And her foundation forst, and feebled quight,

At last downe falles, and with her heaped hight

Her hastie ruine does more heavie make,

And yields it selfe unto the victours might;

Such was this Gyants fall, that seemd to shake

The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did quake.

XXIV

The knight then lightly leaping to the pray,

With mortall steele him smot againe so sore,

That headlesse his unweldy bodie lay,

All wallowd in his owne fowle bloudy gore,

Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous store.

But soone as breath out of his breast did pas,

That huge great body, which the Gyaunt bore,

Was vanisht quite, and of that monstrous mas

Was nothing left, but like an emptie bladder was.

XXV

Whose grievous fall, when false Duessa spide,

Her golden cup she cast unto the ground,

And crowned mitre rudely threw aside;

Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did wound,

That she could not endure that dolefull stound,

But leaving all behind her, fled away;

The light-foot Squire her quickly turnd around,

And by hard meanes enforcing her to stay,

So brought unto his Lord, as his deserved pray.

XXVI

The royall Virgin which beheld from farre,

In pensive plight, and sad perplexitie,

The whole atchievement of this doubtfull warre,

Came running fast to greet his victorie,

With sober gladnesse, and myld modestie,

And with sweet joyous cheare him thus bespake:

Faire braunch of noblesse, flowre of chevalrie,

That with your worth the world amazed make,

How shall I quite the paines ye suffer for my sake?

XXVII

And you fresh budd of vertue springing fast,

Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto deaths dore,

What hath poore Virgin for such perill past

Wherewith you to reward? Accept therefore

My simple selfe, and service evermore;

And he that high does sit, and all things see

With equall eyes, their merites to restore,

Behold what ye this day have done for mee,

And what I cannot quite, requite with usuree.

XXVIII

But sith the heavens, and your faire handeling

Have made you master of the field this day,

Your fortune maister 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 deepe in dongeon lay,

Where he his better dayes hath wasted all.

O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does call.

XXIX

Forthwith he gave in charge unto his Squire,

That scarlot whore to keepen carefully;

Whiles he himselfe with greedie great desire

Into the Castle entred forcibly,

Where living creature none he did espye;

Then gan he lowdly through the house to call:

But no man car’d to answere to his crye.

There raignd a solemne silence over all,

Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seene in bowre or hall.

XXX

At last with creeping crooked pace forth came

An old old man, with beard as white as snow,

That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame,

And guide his wearie gate both to and fro:

For his eye sight him failed long ygo,

And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore,

The which unused rust did overgrow:

Those were the keyes of every inner dore,

But he could not them use, but kept them still in store.

XXXI

But very uncouth sight was to behold,

How he did fashion his untoward pace,

For as he forward moov’d his footing old,

So backward still was turnd his wrincled face,

Unlike to men, who ever as they trace,

Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.

This was the auncient keeper of that place,

And foster father of the Gyant dead;

His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.

XXXII

His reverend haires and holy gravitie

The knight much honord, as beseemed well,

And gently askt, where all the people bee,

Which in that stately building wont to dwell.

Who answerd him full soft, he could not tell.

Again he askt, where that same knight was layd,

Whom great Orgoglio with his puissance fell

Had made his caytive thrall, againe he sayde,

He could not tell: ne ever other answere made.

XXXIII

Then asked he, which way he in might pas:

He could not tell, againe he answered.

Thereat the curteous knight displeased was,

And said, Old sire, it seemes thou hast not red

How ill it sits with that same silver hed,

In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee:

But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed

With natures pen, in ages grave degree,

Aread in graver wise, what I demaund of thee.

XXXIV

His answere likewise was, he could not tell.

Whose sencelesse speach, and doted ignorance

When as the noble Prince had marked well,

He ghest his nature by his countenance,

And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance.

Then to him stepping, from his arme did reach

Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance.

Each dore he opened without any breach;

There was no barre to stop, nor foe him to empeach.

XXXV

There all within full rich arrayd he found,

With royall arras and resplendent gold.

And did with store of every thing abound,

That greatest Princes presence might behold.

But all the floore (too filthy to be told)

With bloud of guiltlesse babes, and innocents trew,

Which there were slaine, as sheepe out of the fold,

Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew,

And sacred ashes over it was strowed new.

XXXVI

And there beside of marble stone was built

An Altare, carv’d with cunning ymagery,

On which true Christians bloud was often spilt,

And holy Martyrs often doen to dye,

With cruell malice and strong tyranny:

Whose blessed sprites from underneath the stone

To God for vengeance cryde continually,

And with great griefe were often heard to grone,

That hardest heart would bleede, to hear their piteous mone.

XXXVII

Through every rowme he sought, and every bowr,

But no where could he find that woful thrall:

At last he came unto an yron doore,

That fast was lockt, but key found not at all

Emongst that bounch, to open it withall;

But in the same a little grate was pight,

Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd did call

With all his powre, to weet, if living wight

Were housed there within, whom he enlargen might.

XXXVIII

Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce

These pitteous plaints and dolours did resound;

O who is that, which brings me happy choyce

Of death, that here lye dying every stound,

Yet live perforce in balefull darkenesse bound?

For now three Moones have changed thrice their hew,

And have been thrice hid underneath the ground,

Since I the heavens chearfull face did vew,

O welcome thou, that doest of death bring tydings trew.

XXXIX

Which when that Champion heard, with percing point

Of pitty deare his hart was thrilled sore,

And trembling horrour ran through every joynt

For ruth of gentle knight so fowle forlore:

Which shaking off, he rent that yron dore,

With furious force, and indignation fell;

Where entred in, his foot could find no flore,

But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell,

That breathed ever forth a filthie banefull smell.

XL

But neither darkenesse fowle, nor filthy bands,

Nor noyous smell his purpose could withhold,

(Entire affection hateth nicer hands)

But that with constant zeale, and courage bold,

After long paines and labours manifold,

He found the meanes that Prisoner up to reare;

Whose feeble thighes, unhable to uphold

His pined corse, him scarse to light could beare.

A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere.

XLI

His sad dull eyes deepe sunck in hollow pits,

Could not endure th’ unwonted sunne to view;

His bare thin cheekes for want of better bits,

And empty sides deceived of their dew,

Could make a stony hart his hap to rew;

His rawbone armes, whose mighty brawned bowrs

Were wont to rive steele plates, and helmets hew,

Were cleane consum’d, and all his vitall powres

Decayd, and all his flesh shronk up like withered flowres.

XLII

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 earst in flowres of freshest youth was clad.

Tho when her well of teares she wasted had,

She said, Ah dearest Lord, what evill starre

On you hath fround, and pourd his influence bad,

That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre,

And this misseeming hew your manly looks doth marre?

XLIII

But welcome now my Lord, in wele or woe,

Whose presence I have lackt too long a day;

And fie on Fortune mine avowed foe,

Whose wrathful wreakes them selves doe now alay.

And for these wrongs shall treble penaunce pay

Of treble good: good growes of evils priefe.

The chearelesse man, whom sorrow did dismay,

Had no delight to treaten of his griefe;

His long endured famine needed more reliefe.

XLIV

Faire Lady, then said that victorious knight,

The things, that grievous were to do, or beare,

Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight;

Best musicke breeds delight in loathing eare:

But th’ onely good, that growes of passed feare,

Is to be wise, and ware of like agein.

This dayes ensample hath this lesson deare

Deepe written in my heart with yron pen,

That blisse may not abide in state of mortall men.

And maister these mishaps with patient might;

Loe where your foe lyes stretcht in monstrous length,

And loe that wicked woman in your sight,

The roote of all your care, and wretched plight,

Now in your powre, to let her live, or dye.

To do her dye (quoth Una) were despight,

And shame t’avenge so weake an enimy;

But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her fly.

XLVI

So as she bad, that witch they disaraid,

And robd of royall robes, and purple pall,

And ornaments that richly were displaid;

Ne spared they to strip her naked all.

Then when they had despoiled her tire and call,

Such as she was, their eyes might her behold,

That her misshaped parts did them appall,

A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill favoured, old,

Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not be told.

XLIX

Which when the knights beheld, amazd they were,

And wondred at so fowle deformed wight.

Such then (said Una) as she seemeth here,

Such is the face of falshood, such the sight

Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light

Is laid away, and counterfesaunce knowne.

Thus when they had the witch disrobed quight,

And all her filthy feature open showne,

They let her goe at will, and wander wayes unknowne.

L

She flying fast from heavens hated face,

And from the world that her discovered wide,

Fled to the wastfull wildernesse apace,

From living eyes her open shame to hide,

And lurkt in rocks and caves long unespide.

But that faire crew of knights, and Una faire

Did in that castle afterwards abide,

To rest them selves, and weary powres repaire,

Where store they found of all that dainty was and rare.

the Knights knit friendly hands:

Sir Trevisan flies from Despayre,

whom Redcrosse Knight withstands .

I

O GOODLY golden chaine, wherewith yfere

The vertues linked are in lovely wize:

And noble mindes of yore allyed were,

In brave poursuit of chevalrous emprize,

That none did others safety despize,

Nor aid envy to him, in need that stands,

But friendly each did others prayse devize,

How to advaunce with favourable hands,

As this good Prince redeemd the Redcrosse knight from bands.

II

Who when their powres empaird through labour long,

With dew repast they had recured well,

And that weake captive wight now wexed strong,

Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell,

But forward fare, as their adventures fell,

But ere they parted, Una faire besought

That straunger knight his name and nation tell;

Least so great good, as he for her had wrought,

Should die unknown, and buried be in thanklesse thought.

III

Faire virgin (said the Prince) ye me require

A thing without the compas of my wit:

For both the lignage and the certain Sire,

From which I sprong, from me are hidden yit.

For all so soone as life did me admit

Into this world, and shewed heavens light,

From mothers pap I taken was unfit:

And streight deliver’d to a Faery knight,

To be upbrought in gentle thewes and martiall might.

IV

Unto old Timon he me brought bylive,

Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath beene

In warlike feates th’expertest man alive, Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore,

From whence the river Dee as silver cleene,

His tombling billowes roll with gentle rore:

There all my dayes he traind me up in vertuous lore.

V

Thither the great magicien Merlin came,

As was his use, ofttimes to visit me:

For he had charge my discipline to frame,

And Tutours nouriture to oversee.

Him oft and oft I askt in privitie,

Of what loines and what lignage I did spring:

Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee,

That I was sonne and heire unto a king,

As time in her just terme the truth to light should bring.

VI

Well worthy impe, said then the Lady gent,

And pupill fit for such a Tutours hand.

But what adventure, or what high intent

Hath brought you hither into Faery land,

Aread Prince Arthur, crowne of Martiall band?

Full hard it is (quoth he) to read aright

The course of heavenly cause, or understand

The secret meaning of th’ eternall might,

That rules mens wayes, and rules the thoughts of living wight.

VII

For whether he through fatall deepe foresight

Me hither sent, for cause to me unghest,

Or that fresh bleeding wound, which day and night

Whilome doth rancle in my riven brest,

With forced fury following his behest,

Me hither brought by wayes yet never found;

You to have helpt I hold myself yet blest.

Ah curteous knight (quoth she) what secret wound

Could ever find, to grieve the gentlest hart on ground?

VIII

Deare dame (quoth he) you sleeping sparkes awake,

Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow, And wasted life do lye in ashes low.

Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire,

But told it flames, and hidden it does glow;

I will revele what ye so much desire:

Ah Love, lay down thy bow, the whiles I may respire.

IX

It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares,

When courage first does creepe in manly chest,

Then first the coale of kindly heat appeares

To kindle love in every living brest;

But me had warnd old Timons wise behest,

Those creeping flames by reason to subdew,

Before their rage grew to so great unrest,

As miserable lovers use to rew,

Which still wex old in woe, whiles woe still wexeth new.

X

That idle name of love, and lovers life,

As losse of time, and vertues enimy,

I ever scornd, and joyd to stirre up strife,

In middest of their mournfull Tragedy,

Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry,

And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent:

Their God himselfe, griev’d at my libertie,

Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent,

But I them warded all with wary government.

XI

But all in vaine: no fort can be so strong,

Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sound,

But will at last be wonne with battrie long,

Or unawares at disadvantage found:

Nothing is sure, that growes on earthly ground:

And who most trustes in arme of fleshly might,

And boasts in beauties chaine not to be bound,

Doth soonest fall in disaventrous fight,

And yeeldes his caytive neck to victours most despight.

And of my selfe now mated, as ye see;

Whose prouder vaunt that proud avenging boy

Did soone pluck downe and curbd my libertie.

For on a day, prickt forth with jollitie

Of looser life, and heat of hardiment,

Raunging the forest wide on courser free,

The fields, the floods, the heavens with one consent

Did seeme to laugh on me, and favour mine intent.

XIII

For-wearied with my sports, I did alight

From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd;

The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight,

And pillow was my helmet faire displayd:

Whiles every sence the humour sweet embayd,

And slombring soft my hart did steale away,

Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd

Her daintie limbes full softly down did lay:

So faire a creature yet saw never sunny day.

XIV

Most goodly glee and lovely blandishment

She to me made, and bad me love her deare;

For dearely sure her love was to me bent,

As when just time expired should appeare.

But whether dreames delude, or true it were,

Was never hart so ravisht with delight,

Ne living man like words did ever heare,

As she to me delivered all that night;

And at her parting said, She Queene of Faeries hight.

XV

When I awoke, and found her place devoyd,

And nought but pressed gras, where she had lyen,

I sorrowed all so much as earst I joyd,

And washed all her place with watry eyen.

From that day forth I lov’d that face divine;

From that day forth I cast in carefull mind

To seeke her out with labour, and long tyne,

And never vowd to rest till her I find,

Nine monethes I seeke in vain, yet ni’ll that vow unbind.

And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray;

Yet still he strove to cloke his inward bale,

And hide the smoke that did his fire display,

Till gentle Una thus to him gan say;

O happy Queene of Faeries, that has found

Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may

Defend thine honour, and thy foes confound:

True Loves are often sown, but seldom grow on ground.

XVII

Thine, O then, said the gentle Recrosse knight,

Next to that Ladies love, shal be the place,

O fairest virgin, full of heavenly light,

Whose wondrous faith exceeding earthly race,

Was firmest fixt in mine extremest case.

And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life,

Of that great Queene may well gaine worthy grace:

For onely worthy you through prowes priefe,

Yf living man mote worthie be, to be her liefe.

XVIII

So diversly discoursing of their loves,

The golden Sunne his glistring head gan shew,

And sad remembraunce now the Prince amoves

With fresh desire his voyage to pursew;

Als Una earnd her traveill to renew.

Then those two knights, fast friendship for to bynd,

And love establish each to other trew,

Gave goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull mynd,

And eke the pledges firme, right hands together joynd.

XIX

Prince Arthur gave a boxe of Diamond sure,

Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament,

Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure,

Of wondrous worth, and vertue excellent,

That any wound could heale incontinent:

Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him gave

A booke, wherein his Saveours testament

Was writ with golden letters rich and brave;

A worke of wondrous grace, and able soules to save.

To seeke his love, and th’ other for to fight

With Unaes foe, that all her realme did pray.

But she now weighing the decayed plight,

And shrunken synewes of her chosen knight,

Would not a while her forward course pursew,

Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull fight,

Till he recovered had his former hew:

For him to be yet weake and wearie well she knew.

XXI

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 griesly thing, that him aghast.

Still as he fled, his eye was backward cast,

As if his feare still followed him behind;

Als flew his steed, as he his bands had brast,

And with his winged heeles did tread the wind,

As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his kind.

XXII

Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head

To be unarmd, and curld uncombed heares

Upstaring stiffe, dismayd with uncouth dread;

Nor drop of bloud in all his face appeares

Nor life in limbe: and to increase his feares

In fowle reproch of knighthoods faire degree,

About his neck an hempen rope he weares,

That with his glistring armes does ill agree;

But he of rope or armes has now no memoree.

XXIII

The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast,

To weet, what mister wight was so dismayd:

There him he finds all sencelesse and aghast,

That of him selfe he seemd to be afrayd;

Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd,

Till he these wordes to him deliver might;

Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd,

And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight:

For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight.

Feare to his first amazment, staring wide

With stony eyes, and hartlesse hollow hew,

Astonisht stood, as one that had aspide

Infernall furies, with their chaines untide.

Him yet againe, and yet againe bespake

The gentle knight; who nought to him replide,

But trembling every joint did inly quake,

And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake.

XXV

For Gods deare love, Sir knight, do me not stay;

For loe he comes, he comes fast after mee.

Eft looking back would faine have runne away;

But he him forst to stay, and tellen free

The secret cause of his perplexitie:

Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach

Could his bloud-frosen hart emboldned bee,

But through his boldnesse rather feare did reach,

Yet forst, at last he made through silence suddein breach.

XXVI

And am I now in safetie sure (quoth he)

From him, that would have forced me to dye?

And is the point of death now turnd fro mee,

That I may tell this haplesse history?

Feare nought: (quoth he) no daunger now is nye.

Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace,

(Said he) the which with this unlucky eye

I late beheld, and had not greater grace

Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the place.

XXVII

I lately chaunst (would I had never chaunst)

With a faire knight to keepen companee,

Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe advaunst

In all affaires, and was both bold and free,

But not so happy as mote happy bee:

He lov’d, as was his lot, a Ladie gent,

That him againe lov’d in the least degree:

For she was proud, and of too high intent,

And joyd to see her lover languish and lament.

As on the way together we did fare,

We met that villen (God from him me blesse)

That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyleare,

A man of hell, that cals himselfe Despaire:

Who first us greets, and after faire areedes

Of tydings strange, and of adventures rare:

So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes,

Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes.

XXIX

Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts

Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,

Which love had launched with his deadly darts,

With wounding words and termes of foule repriefe,

He pluckt from us all hope of due reliefe,

That earst us held in love of lingring life;

Then hopelesse hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe

Perswade us die, to stint all further strife:

To me he lent this rope, to him a rustie knife.

XXX

With which sad instrument of hasty death,

That wofull lover, loathing lenger light,

A wide way made to let forth living breath.

But I more fearfull, or more luckie wight,

Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight,

Fled fast away, halfe dead with dying feare:

Ne yet assur’d of life by you, Sir knight,

Whose like infirmitie like chaunce may beare:

But God you never let his charmed speeches heare.

XXXI

How may a man (said he) with idle speach

Be wonne, to spoyle the Castle of his health?

I wote (quoth he) whom triall late did teach,

That like would not for all this worldes wealth:

His subtill tongue, like dropping honny, mealt’h

Into the hart, and searcheth every vaine;

That ere one be aware, by secret stealth

His powre is reft, and weaknesse doth remaine.

O never Sir desire to try his guilefull traine.

Till I that treacherours art have heard and tride;

And you Sir knight, whose name mote I request,

Of grace do me unto his cabin guide.

I that hight Trevisan (quoth he) will ride,

Against my liking backe, to do you grace:

But not 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.

XXXIII

Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight

His dwelling has, low in an hollow cave,

Farre underneath a craggie clift ypight,

Darke, dolefull, drearie, like a greedy grave,

That still for carrion carcases doth crave:

On top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly Owle,

Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave

Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle;

And all about it wandring ghostes did waile and howle.

XXXIV

And all about old stockes and stubs of trees,

Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seene,

Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees;

On which had many wretches hanged beene,

Whose carcases were scattered on the greene,

And throwne about the clifts. Arrived there,

That bare-head knight for dread and dolefull teene,

Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen neare,

But th’ other forst him stay, and comforted in feare.

XXXV

That darkesome cave they enter, where they find

That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,

Musing full sadly in his sullein mind;

His griesie lockes, long growen, and unbound,

Disordred hong about his shoulders round,

And hid his face; through which his hollow eyne

Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound;

His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie and pine,

Were shronke into his jawes, as he did never dine.

With thornes together pind and patched was,

The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts;

And him beside there lay upon the gras

A drearie corse, whose life away did pas,

All wallowed in his owne yet luke-warme blood,

That from his wound yet welled fresh alas;

In which a rustie knife fast fixed stood,

And made an open passage for the gushing flood.

XXXVII

Which piteous spectacle, approving trew

The wofull tale that Trevisan had told,

When as the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew,

With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold,

Him to avenge, before his bloud were cold,

And to the villein said, Thou damned wight,

The author of this fact we here behold,

What justice can but judge against thee right,

With thine owne bloud to price his bloud, here shed in sight.

XXXVIII

What franticke fit (quoth he) hath thus distraught

Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give?

What justice ever other judgement taught,

But he should die, who merites not to live?

None else to death this man despayring drive,

But his owne guiltie mind deserving death.

Is then unjust to each his due to give?

Or let him die, that loatheth living breath?

Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?

XXXIX

Who travels by the wearie wandring way,

To come unto his wished home in haste,

And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay,

Is not great grace to helpe him over past,

Or free his feet that in the myre sticke fast?

Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good,

And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast,

Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood

Upon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood?

And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave,

And further from it daily wanderest:

What if some little paine the passage have,

That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wave?

Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,

And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave?

Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,

Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.

XLI

The knight much wondred at his suddeine wit,

And said, The terme of life is limited,

Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten it;

The souldier may not move from watchfull sted,

Nor leave his stand, untill his Captaine bed.

Who life did limit by almightie doome

(Quoth he) knowes best the termes established;

And he, that points the Centonell his roome,

Doth license him depart at sound of morning droome.

XLII

Is not his deed, what ever thing is donne

In heaven and earth? did not he all create

To die againe? all ends that was begonne.

Their times in his eternall booke of fate

Are written sure, and have their certaine date.

Who then can strive with strong necessitie,

That holds the world in his still chaunging state,

Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie?

When houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why.

XLIII

The lenger life, I wote the greater sin,

The greater sin, the greater punishment:

All those great battels, which thou boasts to win,

Through strife, and blood-shed, and avengement,

Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent:

For life must life, and blood must blood repay.

Is not enough thy evill life forespent?

For he that once hath missed the right way,

The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.

But here lie downe, 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?

Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife,

Paine, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake;

And ever fickle fortune rageth rife,

All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life.

XLV

Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need,

If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state:

For never knight, that dared warlike deede,

More lucklesse disaventures did amate:

Witnesse the dungeon deepe, wherein of late

Thy life shut up, for death so oft did call;

And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date,

Yet death then would the like mishaps forestall,

Into the which hereafter thou maiest happen fall.

XLVI

Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desire

To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree?

Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire

High heaped up with huge iniquitie,

Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?

Is not enough, that to this Ladie milde

Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjurie,

And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vilde,

With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde?

XLVII

Is not he just, that all this doth behold

From highest heaven, and beares an equall eye?

Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold,

And guilty be of thine impietie?

Is not his law, Let every sinner die:

Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be donne,

Is it not better to doe willinglie,

Then linger, till the glasse be all out ronne?

Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faeries sonne.

That as a swords point through his hart did perse,

And in his conscience made a secret breach,

Well knowing true all that he did reherse,

And to his fresh remembraunce did reverse

The ugly vew of his deformed crimes,

That all his manly powres it did disperse,

As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes,

That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes.

XLIX

In which amazement, when the Miscreant

Perceived him to waver weake and fraile,

Whiles trembling horror did his conscience dant,

And hellish anguish did his soule assaile,

To drive him to despaire, and quite to quaile,

He shew’d him painted in a table plaine,

The damned ghosts, that doe in torments waile,

And thousand feends that doe them endlesse paine

With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remaine.

L

The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid,

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 villein him to overcraw,

And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, fire,

And all that might him to perdition draw;

And bad him choose, what death he would desire:

For death was due to him, that had provokt Gods ire.

LI

But when as none of them he saw him take,

He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene,

And gave it him in hand: his hand did quake,

And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene,

And troubled bloud through his pale face was seene

To come, and goe with tidings from the heart,

As it a running messenger had beene.

At last resolv’d to worke his finall smart,

He lifted up his hand, that backe againe did start.

The crudled cold ran to her well of life,

As in a swowne: but soone reliv’d againe,

Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife,

And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,

And to him said, Fie, fie, faint harted knight,

What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife?

Is this the battell, which thou vauntst to fight

With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright?

LIII

Come, come away, fraile, seely, fleshly wight,

Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart,

Ne divelish thoughts dismay thy constant spright.

In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part?

Why shouldst thou then despeire, that chosen art?

Where justice growes, there grows eke greater grace,

The which doth quench the brond of hellish smart,

And that accurst hand-writing doth deface.

Arise, Sir knight, arise, and leave this cursed place.

LIV

So up he rose, and thence amounted streight.

Which when the carle beheld, and saw his guest

Would safe depart for all his subtill sleight,

He chose an halter from among the rest,

And with it hung himselfe, unbid unblest.

But death he could not worke himselfe thereby;

For thousand times he so himselfe had drest,

Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die,

Till he should die his last, that is, eternally.

Canto X

Her faithfull knight faire Una brings

to house of Holinesse,

Where he is taught repentance, and

the way to heavenly blesse .

I

WHAT man is he, that boasts of fleshly might

And vaine assurance of mortality,

Which all so soone as it doth come to fight Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill, That thorough grace hath gained victory.

If any strength we have, it is to ill,

But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will.

II

But that, which lately hapned, Una saw,

That this her knight was feeble, and too faint;

And all his sinews woxen weake and raw,

Through long enprisonment, and hard constraint,

Which he endured in his late restraint,

That yet he was unfit for bloudy 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.

III

There was an auntient house not farre away,

Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore,

And pure unspotted life: so well they say

It governd was, and guided evermore,

Through wisedome of a matrone grave and hore

Whose onely joy was to relieve the needes

Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore:

All night she spent in bidding of her bedes,

And all the day in doing good and godly deedes.

IV

Dame Cœlia men did her call, as thought

From heaven to come, or thither to arise,

The mother of three daughters, well upbrought

In goodly thewes, and godly exercise:

The eldest two, most sober, chast, and wise,

Fidelia and Speranza virgins were,

Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize:

But faire Charissa to a lovely fere

Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere.

V

Arrived there, the dore they find fast lockt;

For it was warely watched night and day, He was an aged syre, all hory gray,

With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full slow,

Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay,

Hight Humiltà. They passe in stouping low;

For streight and narrow was the way which he did show.

VI

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin,

But entred in a spacious court they see,

Both plaine, and pleasant to be walked in,

Where them does meete a francklin faire and free,

And entertaines with comely courteous glee,

His name was Zele, that him right well became,

For in his speeches and behaviour hee

Did labour lively to expresse the same,

And gladly did them guide, till to the Hall they came.

VII

There fairely them receives a gentle Squire,

Of milde demeanure, and rare courtesie,

Right cleanly clad in comely sad attire;

In word and deede that shew’d great modestie,

And knew his good to all of each degree,

Hight Reverence. He them with speeches meet

Does faire entreat; no courting nicetie,

But simple true, and eke unfained sweet,

As might become a Squire so great persons to greet.

VIII

And afterwards them to his Dame he leades,

That aged Dame, the Ladie of the place:

Who all this while was busy at her beades:

Which doen, she up arose with seemely 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 hart with joy unwonted inly sweld,

As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld.

Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread,

Most vertuous virgin borne of heavenly berth,

That, to redeeme thy woefull parents head,

From tyrans rage, and ever dying dread,

Hast wandred 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 doen thy feeble feet unweeting hither stray?

X

Strange thing it is an errant knight to see

Here in this place, or any other wight,

That hither turnes his steps. So few there bee

That chose the narrow path, or seeke the right:

All keepe the broad high way, and take delight

With many rather for to go astray,

And be partakers of their evill plight,

Then with a few to walke the rightest way;

O foolish men, why haste ye to your owne decay?

XI

Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbes to rest,

O matrone sage (quoth she) I hither came;

And this good knight his way with me addrest,

Led with thy prayses and broad-blazed fame,

That up to heaven is blowne. The auncient Dame

Him goodly greeted in her modest guise,

And entertaynd them both, as best became,

With all the court’sies that she could devise,

Ne wanted ought, to shew her bounteous or wise.

XII

Thus as they gan of sundry things devise,

Loe two most goodly virgins came in place,

Ylinked arme in arme in lovely wise,

With countenance demure, and modest grace,

They numbred even steps and equall pace:

Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight,

Like sunny beames threw from her christall face,

That could have dazd the rash beholders sight,

And round about her head did shine like heavens light.

And in her right hand bore a cup of gold,

With wine and water fild up to the hight,

In which a Serpent did himselfe enfold,

That horrour made to all that did behold;

But she no whit did chaunge her constant mood:

And in her other hand she fast did hold

A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood:

Wherin darke things were writ, hard to be understood.

XIV

Her younger sister, that Speranza hight,

Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well;

Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight,

As was her sister; whether dread did dwell,

Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell:

Upon her arme a silver anchor lay,

Whereon she leaned ever, as befell:

And ever up to heaven, as she did pray,

Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarved other way.

XV

They seeing Una, towards her gan wend,

Who them encounters with like courtesie;

Many kind speeches they betwene them spend,

And greatly joy each other well to see:

Then to the knight with shamefast modestie

They turne themselves, at Unaes meeke request,

And him salute with well beseeming glee;

Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best,

And goodly gan discourse of many a noble gest.

XVI

Then Una thus; But she your sister deare,

The deare Charissa where is she become?

Or wants she health, or busie is elsewhere?

Ah no, said they, but forth she may not come:

For she of late is lightned of her wombe,

And hath encreast the world with one sonne more,

That her to see should be but troublesome.

Indeed (quoth she) that should be trouble sore;

But thankt be God, and her encrease so evermore.

And you good Sir, I wote that of youre toyle,

And labours long, through which ye hither came,

Ye both forwearied be: therefore a whyle

I read you rest, and to your bowres recoyle.

Then called she a Groome, that forth him led

Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile

Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bed;

His name was meeke Obedience rightfully ared.

XVIII

Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest,

And bodies were refresht with due repast,

Faire Una gan Fidelia faire request,

To have her knight into her schoolehouse plaste,

That of her heavenly learning he might taste,

And heare the wisedom of her words divine.

She graunted, and that knight so much agraste,

That she him taught celestiall discipline,

And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine.

XIX

And that her sacred Booke, with blood ywrit,

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 heare her goodly speach:

For she was able with her words to kill,

And raise againe to life the hart that she did thrill.

XX

And when she list poure out her larger spright,

She would commaund the hastie Sunne to stay,

Or backward turne his course from heavens hight;

Sometimes great hostes of men she could dismay;

Dry-shod to passe, she parts the flouds in tway;

And eke huge mountaines from their native seat

She would commaund, themselves to beare away,

And throw in raging sea with roaring threat.

Almightie God her gave such powre, and puissaunce great.

By hearing her, and by her sisters lore,

To such perfection of all heavenly grace,

That wretched world he gan for to abhore,

And mortall life gan loath, as thing forlore,

Greevd with remembrance of his wicked wayes,

And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so sore,

That he desirde to end his wretched dayes:

So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dismayes.

XXII

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 sinnes so great and manifold

Made him forget all that Fidelia told.

In this distressed doubtfull agonie,

When him his dearest Una did behold,

Disdeining life, desiring leave to die,

She found her selfe assayld with great perplexitie.

XXIII

And came to Cœlia to declare her smart,

Who well acquainted with that commune plight,

Which sinfull horror workes in wounded hart,

Her wisely comforted all that she might,

With goodly counsell and advisement right;

And streightway sent with carefull diligence,

To fetch a Leach, the which had great insight

In that disease of grieved conscience,

And well could cure the same; his name was Patience.

XXIV

Who comming to that soule-diseased knight,

Could hardly him intreat to tell his griefe:

Which knowne, and all that noyd his heavie spright

Well searcht, eftsoones he gan apply relief

Of salves and med’cines, which had passing priefe,

And thereto added words of wondrous might;

By which to ease he him recured briefe,

And much aswag’d the passion of his plight,

That he his paine endur’d, as seeming now more light.

Inward corruption and infected sin,

Not purg’d nor heald, behind remained still,

And festring sore did rankle yet within,

Close creeping twixt the marrow and the skin.

Which to extirpe, he laid him privily

Downe in a darkesome lowly place farre in,

Whereas he meant his corrosives to apply,

And with streight diet tame his stubborne malady.

XXVI

In ashes and sackcloth he did array

His daintie corse, proud humors to abate,

And dieted with fasting every day,

The swelling of his wounds to mitigate,

And made him pray both earely and eke late:

And ever as superfluous flesh did rot

Amendment readie still at hand did wayt,

To pluck it out with pincers firie whot,

That soone in him was left no one corrupted jot.

XXVII

And bitter Penance with an yron whip,

Was wont him once to disple every day:

And sharpe Remorse his hart did pricke and nip,

That drops of blood thence like a well did play:

And sad Repentance used to embay

His bodie in salt water smarting sore,

The filthy blots of sinne to wash away.

So in short space they did to health restore

The man that would not live, but earst lay at deathes dore.

XXVIII

In which his torment often was so great,

That like a Lyon he would cry and rore,

And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes eat.

His owne deare Una hearing evermore

His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often tore

Her guiltlesse garments, and her golden heare,

For pitty of his paine and anguish sore;

Yet all with patience wisely she did beare;

For well she wist his crime could else be never cleare.

And trew Repentaunce they to Una brought:

Who joyous of his cured conscience,

Him dearely kist, and fairely eke besought

Himselfe to chearish, and consuming thought

To put away out of his carefull brest.

By this Charissa, late in child-bed brought,

Was woxen strong, and left her fruitfull nest;

To her faire Una brought this unacquainted guest.

XXX

She was a woman in her freshest age,

Of wondrous beauty, and of bountie rare,

With goodly grace and comely personage,

That was on earth not easie to compare;

Full of great love, but Cupid’s wanton snare

As hell she hated, chast in worke and will;

Her necke and breasts were ever open bare,

That ay thereof her babes might sucke their fill;

The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still.

XXXI

A multitude of babes about her hong,

Playing their sports, that joyd her to behold,

Whom still she fed, whiles they were weake and young,

But thrust them forth still as they wexed old:

And on her head she wore a tyre of gold,

Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous faire,

Whose passing price uneath was to be told:

And by her side there sate a gentle paire

Of turtle doves, she sitting in an yvorie chaire.

XXXII

The knight and Una entring faire her greet,

And bid her joy of that her happie brood;

Who them requites with court’sies seeming meet,

And entertaines with friendly chearefull mood.

Then Una her besought, to be so good

As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight,

Now after all his torment well withstood,

In that sad house of Penaunce, where his spright

Had past the paines of hell, and long enduring night.

And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne,

Gan him instruct in every good behest,

Of love, and righteousnesse, and well to donne,

And wrath, and hatred warely to shonne,

That drew on men Gods hatred and his wrath,

And many soules in dolours had fordonne:

In which when him she well instructed hath,

From thence to heaven she teacheth him the ready path.

XXXIV

Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guide,

An auncient matrone she to her does call,

Whose sober lookes her wisedome well descride:

Her name was Mercie, well knowne over all,

To be both gratious, and eke liberall:

To whom the carefull charge of him she gave,

To lead aright, that he should never fall

In all his wayes through this wide worldes wave,

That Mercy in the end his righteous soule might save.

XXXV

The godly Matrone by the hand him beares

Forth from her presence, by a narrow way,

Scattred with bushy thornes, and ragged breares,

Which still before him she remov’d away,

That nothing might his ready passage stay:

And ever when his feet encombred were,

Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to stray,

She held him fast, and firmely did upbeare,

As carefull Nourse her child from falling oft does reare.

XXXVI

Eftsoones unto an holy Hospitall,

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 dayes in doing godly thing:

Their gates to all were open evermore,

That by the wearie way were traveiling,

And one sate wayting ever them before,

To call in commers by, that needy were and pore.

Of all the house had charge and governement,

As Guardian and Steward of the rest:

His office was to give entertainement

And lodging, unto all that came, and went:

Not unto such, as could him feast againe,

And double quite, for that he on them spent,

But such, as want of harbour did constraine:

Those for Gods sake his dewty was to entertaine.

XXXVIII

The second was as Almner of the place,

His office was, the hungry for to feed,

And thristy give to drinke, a worke of grace:

He feard not once him selfe to be in need,

Ne car’d to hoord for those whom he did breede:

The grace of God he layd up still in store,

Which as a stocke he left unto his seede;

He had enough, what need him care for more?

And had he lesse, yet some he would give to the pore.

XXXIX

The third had of their wardrobe custodie,

In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay,

The plumes of pride, and wings of vanitie,

But clothes meet to keepe keene could away,

And naked nature seemely to aray;

With which bare wretched wights he dayly clad,

The images of God in earthly clay;

And if that no spare cloths to give he had,

His owne coate he would cut, and it distribute glad.

XL

The fourth appointed by his office was,

Poore prisoners to relieve with gratious ayd,

And captives to redeeme with price of bras,

From Turkes and Sarazins, which them had stayd,

And though they faultie were, yet well he wayd,

That God to us forgiveth every howre

Much more then that why they in bands were layd,

And he that harrowd hell with heavie stowre,

The faultie soules from thence brought to his heavenly bowre.

And comfort those, in point of death which lay;

For them most needeth comfort in the end,

When sin, and hell, and death do most dismay

The feeble soule departing hence away.

All is but lost, that 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 lyes it ever low.

XLII

The sixt had charge of them now being dead,

In seemely sort their corses to engrave,

And deck with dainty flowres their bridall bed,

That to their heavenly spouse both sweet and brave

They might appeare, when he their soules shall save.

The wondrous workmanship of Gods owne mould,

Whose face he made all beasts to feare, and gave

All in his hand, even dead we honour should.

Ah dearest God me graunt, I dead be not defould.

XLIII

The seventh, now after death and buriall done,

Had charge the tender orphans of the dead

And widowes ayd, least they should be undone:

In face of judgement he their right would plead,

Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread

In their defence, nor would for gold or fee

Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread:

And, when they stood in most necessitee,

He did supply their want, and gave them ever free.

XLIV

There when the Elfin knight arrived was,

The first and chiefest of the seven, whose care

Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas:

Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare,

And alwayes led, to her with reverence rare

He humbly louted in meeke lowlinesse,

And seemely welcome for her did prepare:

For of their order she was Patronesse,

Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.

That to the rest more able he might bee:

During which time, in every good behest

And godly worke of almes and charitee,

She him instructed with great industree;

Shortly therein so perfect he became,

That from the first unto the last degree,

His mortall life he learned had to frame

In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame.

XLVI

Thence forward by that painfull way they pas,

Forth to an hill, that was both steepe and hy;

On top whereof a sacred chappell was,

And eke a little Hermitage thereby,

Wherein an aged holy man did lye,

That day and night said his devotion,

Ne other worldly busines did apply;

His name was heavenly Contemplation;

Of God and goodnesse was his meditation.

XLVII

Great grace that old man to him given had;

For God he often saw from heavens hight,

All were his earthly eyen both blunt and bad,

And through great age had lost their kindly sight,

Yet wondrous quick and persant was his spright,

As Eagles eye, that can behold the Sunne:

That hill they scale with all their powre and might,

That his fraile thighes nigh weary and fordonne

Gan faile, but by her helpe the top at last he wonne.

XLVIII

There they do finde that godly aged Sire,

With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed,

As hoarie frost with spangles doth attire

The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded.

Each bone might through his body well be red,

And every sinew seene through his long fast:

For nought he car’d his carcas long unfed;

His mind was full of spirituall repast,

And pyn’d his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast.

At their first presence grew agrieved sore,

That forst 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 requight,

And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious height.

L

What end (quoth she) should cause us take such paine,

But that same end which every living wight

Should make his marke, high heaven to attaine?

Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right

To that most glorious house that glistreth bright

With burning starres and everliving fire,

Whereof the keyes are to thy hand behight

By wise Fidelia? She doth thee require,

To show it to his knight, according his desire.

LI

Thrise happy man, said then the father grave,

Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead,

And shewes the way, his sinfull soule to save.

Who better can the way to heaven aread,

Then thou thy selfe, that was both borne and bred

In heavenly throne, where thousand Angels shine?

Thou doest the prayers of the righteous sead

Present before the majestie divine,

And his avenging wrath to clemencie incline.

LII

Yet since thou bidst, thy pleasure shal be donne.

Then come thou man of earth, and see the way,

That never yet was seene of Faeries sonne,

That never leads the traveiler astray,

But after labors long, and sad delay,

Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse blis.

But first thou must a season fast and pray,

Till from her bands the spright assoiled is,

And have her strength recur’d from fraile infirmitis.

Such one as that same mighty man of God,

That blood-red billowes like a walled front

On either side disparted with his rod,

Till that his army dry-foot through them yod,

Dwelt forty dayes upon; where writ in stone

With bloudy letters by the hand of God,

The bitter doome of death and balefull mone

He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone.

LIV

Or like that sacred hill, whose head full hie,

Adornd with fruitfull Olives all arownd,

Is, as it were for endlesse memory

Of that deare Lord who oft thereon was fownd,

For ever with a flowring girlond crownd:

Or like that pleasaunt Mount, that is for ay

Through famous Poets verse each where renownd,

On which the thrise three learned Ladies play

Their heavenly notes, and make full many a lovely lay.

LV

From thence, far off he unto him did shew

A litle path, that was both steepe and long,

Which to a goodly Citie led his vew;

Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong

Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong

Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell;

Too high a ditty for my simple song;

The Citie of the great king hight it well,

Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell.

LVI

As he thereon stood gazing, he might see

The blessed Angels to and fro descend

From highest heaven in gladsome companee,

And with great joy into that Citie wend,

As commonly as friend does with his frend.

Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere,

What stately building durst so high extend

Her loftie towres unto the starry sphere,

And what unknowen nation there empeopled were.

The new Hierusalem, that God has built

For those to dwell in, that are chosen his,

His chosen people purg’d from sinfull guilt

With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt

On cursed tree, of that unspotted lam,

That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt:

Now are they Saints all in that Citie sam,

More dear unto their God then younglings to their dam.

LVIII

Till now, said then the knight, I weened well,

That great Cleopolis, where I have beene,

In which that fairest Faerie Queene doth dwell,

The fairest citie was that might be seene;

And that bright towre all built of christall cleene,

Panthea, seemd the brightest thing that was:

But now by proofe all otherwise I weene;

For this great Citie that does far surpas,

And this bright Angels towre quite dims that towre of glas.

LIX

Most trew, then said the holy aged man;

Yet is Cleopolis, for earthly frame,

The fairest peece that eye beholden can;

And well beseemes all knights of noble name,

That covett in th’ immortall booke of fame

To be eternized, that same to haunt,

And doen their service to that soveraigne dame,

That glorie does to them for guerdon graunt:

For she is heavenly borne, and heaven may justly vaunt.

LX

And thou faire ymp, sprong out from English race,

How ever now accompted Elfins sonne,

Well worthy doest thy service for her grace,

To aide a virgin desolate fordonne.

But when thou famous victory hast wonne,

And high emongst all knights hast hong thy shield,

Thenceforth the suit of earthly conquest shonne,

And wash thy hands from guilt of bloudy field:

For blood can nought but sin, and wars but sorrowes yield.

Which after all to heaven shall thee send;

Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage

To yonder same Hierusalem do bend,

Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end:

For thou emongst those Saints, whom thou doest see,

Shall be a Saint, and thine owne nations frend

And Patrone: thou Saint George shalt called bee,

Saint George of mery England, the signe of victoree.

LXII

Unworthy wretch (quoth he) of so great grace,

How dare I thinke such glory to attaine?

These that have it attaind, were in like cace,

(Quoth he) as wretched, and liv’d in like paine.

But deeds of armes must I at last be faine

And Ladies love to leave so dearely bought?

What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine,

(Said he,) and battailes none are to be fought?

As for loose loves, they’re vain, and vanish into nought.

LXIII

O let me not (quoth he) then turne againe

Backe to the world, whose joyes so fruitlesse are;

But let me here for aye in peace remaine,

Or streight way on that last long voyage fare,

That nothing may my present hope empare.

That may not be, (said he) ne maist thou yit

Forgo that royall maides bequeathed care,

Who did her cause into thy hand commit,

Till from her cursed foe thou have her freely quit.

LXIV

Then shall I soone (quoth he) so God me grace,

Abet that virgins cause disconsolate,

And shortly backe returne unto this place,

To walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate.

But now aread, old father, why of late

Didst thou behight me borne of English blood,

Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate?

That word shall I (said he) avouchen good,

Sith to thee is unknowne the cradle of thy blood.

Of Saxon kings, that have with mightie hand

And many bloody battailes fought in place

High reard their royall throne in Britane land,

And vanquisht them, unable to withstand:

From thence a Faerie thee unweeting reft,

There as thou slepst in tender swadling band,

And her base Elfin brood there for thee left.

Such men do Chaungelings call, so chang’d by Faeries theft.

LXVI

Thence she thee brought into this Faerie lond,

And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde,

Where thee a Ploughman all unweeting fond,

As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde,

And brought thee up in ploughmans state to byde

Whereof Georgos he gave thee to name;

Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde,

To Faerie court thou cam’st to seeke for fame,

And prove thy puissaunt armes, as seemes thee best became.

LXVII

O holy Sire (quoth he) how shall I quight

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, adowne he looked to the ground,

To have returnd, but dazed were his eyne

Through passing brightnesse, which did quite confound

His feeble sence and too exceeding shyne.

So darke are earthly things compard to things divine.

LXVIII

At last whenas himselfe he gan to find,

To Una back he cast him to retire;

Who him awaited still with pensive mind.

Great thankes and goodly meed to that good syre

He thence departing gave for his paines hyre.

So came to Una, who him joyd to see,

And after little rest, gan him desire

Of her adventure mindfull for to bee.

So leave they take of Cœlia, and her daughters three.

two dayes incessantly;

The third him overthrowes, and gayns

most glorious victory .

I

HIGH time now gan it wex for Una faire

To thinke of those her captive Parents deare,

And their forwasted kingdome to repaire:

Whereto whenas they now approched neare,

With hartie wordes her knight she gan to cheare,

And in her modest manner thus bespake;

Deare knight, as deare as ever knight was deare,

That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake,

High heaven behold the tedious toyle ye for me take.

II

Now are we come unto my native soyle,

And to the place where all our perils dwell;

Here haunts that feend, and does his dayly spoyle;

Therefore henceforth be at your keeping well,

And ever ready for your foeman fell.

The sparke of noble courage now awake,

And strive your excellent selfe to excell:

That shall ye evermore renowmed make,

Above all knights on earth that batteill undertake.

III

And pointing forth, Lo yonder is (said she)

The brasen towre in which my parents deare

For dread of that huge feend emprisond be,

Whom I from far, see on the walles appeare,

Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly cheare:

And on the top of all I do espye

The watchman wayting tydings glad to heare,

That O my parents might I happily

Unto you bring, to ease you of your misery.

IV

With that they heard a roaring hideous sound,

That all the ayre with terrour filled wide,

And seemd uneath to shake the stedfast ground.

Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill.

But all so soone as he from far descride

Those glistring armes, that heaven with light did fill,

He rousd himselfe full blith, and hastned them untill.

V

Then bad the knight his Lady yede aloofe,

And to an hill her selfe withdraw aside:

From whence she might behold that battailles proof,

And eke be safe from daunger far descryde:

She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde.

Now O thou sacred muse, most learned Dame,

Faire ympe of Phœbus and his aged bride,

The Nourse of time and everlasting fame,

That warlike hands ennoblest with immortall name;

VI

O gently come into my feeble brest

Come gently, but not with that mighty rage,

Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest,

And harts of great Heroës doest enrage,

That nought their kindled courage may aswage,

Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to sownd,

The God of warre with his fiers equipage

Thou doest awake, sleepe never he so sownd,

All scared nations doest with horrour sterne astownd.

VII

Faire Goddesse, lay that furious fit aside,

Till I of warres and bloody Mars do sing,

And Briton fields with Sarazin bloud bedyde,

Twixt that great Faery Queene, and Paynim king,

That with their horrour heaven and earth did ring;

A worke of labour long and endlesse prayse:

But now a while let downe that haughtie string

And to my tunes thy second tenor rayse,

That I this man of God his godly armes may blaze.

VIII

By this the dreadfull Beast drew nigh to hand,

Halfe flying, and halfe footing in his haste, As mountaine doth the valley overcast.

Approching nigh, he reared high afore

His body monstrous, horrible, and vaste,

Which to increase his wondrous greatnesse more,

Was swoln with wrath, and poyson, and with bloudy gore.

IX

And over, all with brasen scales was armd,

Like plated coate of steele, so couched neare,

That nought mote perce, ne might his corse be harmd

With dint of sword, nor push of pointed speare;

Which, as an Eagle, seeing pray appeare,

His aery plumes doth rouze, full rudely dight;

So shaked he, that horrour was to heare,

For as the clashing of an Armour bright,

Such noyse his rouzed scales did send unto the knight.

X

His flaggy wings when forth he did display,

Were like two sayles, in which the hollow wynd

Is gathered full, and worketh speedy way:

And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd,

Were like mayne-yards, with flying canvas lynd;

With which whenas him list the ayre to beat,

And there by force unwonted passage find,

The cloudes before him fled for terrour great,

And all the heavens stood still amazed with his threat.

XI

His huge long tayle wound up in hundred foldes,

Does overspred his long bras-scaly backe,

Whose wreathed boughts when ever he unfoldes,

And thicke entangled knots adown does slacke,

Bespotted as with shields of red and blacke,

It sweepeth all the land behind him farre,

And of three furlongs does but litle lacke;

And at the point two stings in-fixed arre,

Both deadly sharpe, that sharpest steele exceeden farre.

The sharpnesse of his cruell rending clawes;

Dead was it sure, as sure as death in deed,

What ever thing does touch his ravenous pawes,

Or what within his reach he ever drawes.

But his most hideous head my toung to tell

Does tremble: for his deepe devouring jawes

Wide gaped, like the griesly mouth of hell,

Through which into his darke abisse all ravin fell.

XIII

And that more wondrous was, in either jaw

Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged were,

In which yet trickling blood, and gobbets raw

Of late devoured bodies did appeare,

That sight thereof bred cold congealed feare:

Which to increase, and as atonce to kill,

A cloud of smoothering smoke and sulphure seare,

Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still,

That all the ayre about with smoke and stench did fill.

XIV

His blazing eyes, like two bright shining shields,

Did burne with wrath, and sparkled living fyre:

As two broad Beacons, set in open fields,

Send forth their flames far off to every shyre,

And warning give, that enemies conspyre

With fire and sword the region to invade;

So flam’d his eyne with rage and rancorous yre:

But farre within, as in a hollow glade,

Those glaring lampes were set, that made a dreadfull shade.

XV

So dreadfully he towards him did pas,

Forelifting up aloft his speckled brest,

And often bounding on the brused gras,

As for great joyance of his newcome guest.

Eftsoones he gan advance his haughtie crest,

As chauffed Bore his bristles doth upreare,

And shoke his scales to battell ready drest;

That made the Redcrosse knight nigh quake for feare,

As bidding bold defiance to his foeman neare.

And fiercely ran at him with rigorous might:

The pointed steele arriving rudely theare,

His harder hide would neither perce, nor bight,

But glauncing by forth passed forward right;

Yet sore amoved with so puissaunt push,

The wrathfull beast about him turned light,

And him so rudely passing by, did brush

With his long tayle, that horse and man to ground did rush.

XVII

Both horse and man up lightly rose againe,

And fresh encounter towards him addrest:

But th’idle stroke yet backe recoyld in vaine,

And found no place his deadly point to rest.

Exceeding rage enflam’d the furious beast,

To be avenged of so great despight;

For never felt his imperceable brest

So wondrous force, from hand of living wight;

Yet had he prov’d the powre of many a puissant knight.

XVIII

Then with his waving wings displayed wyde,

Himselfe up high he lifted from the ground,

And with strong flight did forcibly divide

The yielding aire, which nigh too feeble found

Her flitting parts, and element unsound,

To beare so great a weight: he cutting way

With his broad sayles, about him soared round:

At last low stouping with unweldie sway,

Snatcht up both horse and man, to beare them quite away.

XIX

Long he them bore above the subject plaine,

So far as Ewghen bow a shaft may send,

Till struggling strong did him at last constraine

To let them downe before his flightes end:

As hagard hauke, presuming to contend

With hardie fowle, above his hable might,

His wearie pounces all in vaine doth spend

To trusse the pray too heavy for his flight;

Which comming downe to ground, does free it selfe by fight.

The knight his thrillant speare again assayd

In his bras-plated body to embosse,

And three mens strength unto the stroke he layd;

Wherewith the stiffe beame quaked, as affrayd,

And glauncing from his scaly necke, did glyde

Close under his left wing, then broad displayd:

The percing steele there wrought a wound full wyde,

That with the uncouth smart the Monster lowdly cryde.

XXI

He cryde, as raging seas are wont to rore,

When wintry storme his wrathfull wreck does threat

The roaring billowes beat the ragged shore,

As they the earth would shoulder from her seat,

And greedy gulfe does gape, as he would eat

His neighbour element in his revenge:

Then gin the blustring brethren boldly threat

To move the world from off his steadfast henge,

And boystrous battell make, each other to avenge.

XXII

The steely head stucke fast still in his flesh,

Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the wood,

And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed fresh

A gushing river of blacke goarie blood,

That drowned all the land, whereon he stood;

The streame thereof would drive a water-mill:

Trebly augmented was his furious mood

With bitter sence of his deepe rooted ill,

That flames of fire he threw forth from his large nosethrill.

XXIII

His hideous tayle then hurled he about,

And therewith all enwrapt the nimble thyes

Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage stout

Striving to loose the knot that fast him tyes,

Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash implyes,

That to the ground he is perforce constraynd

To throw his rider: who can quickly ryse

From off the earth, with durty blood distaynd,

For that reprochfull fall right fowly he disdaynd.

With which he stroke so furious and so fell,

That nothing seemd the puissaunce could withstand:

Upon his crest the hardned yron fell,

But his more hardned crest was armd so well,

That deeper dint therein it would not make;

Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell,

That from thenceforth he shund the like to take,

But when he saw them come, he did them still forsake.

XXV

The knight was wroth to see his stroke beguyld,

And smote againe with more outrageous might;

But backe againe the sparckling steele recoyld,

And left not any marke, where it did light,

As if in Adamant rocke it had bene pight.

The beast impatient of his smarting wound,

And of so fierce and forcible despight,

Thought with his wings to stye above the ground;

But his late wounded wing unserviceable found.

XXVI

Then full of griefe and anguish vehement,

He lowdly brayd, that like was never heard,

And from his wide devouring oven sent

A flake of fire, that, flashing in his beard,

Him all amazd, and almost made affeard:

The scorching flame sore swinged all his face,

And through his armour all his body seard,

That he could not endure so cruell cace,

But thought his armes to leave, and helmet to unlace.

XXVII

Not that great Champion of the antique world,

Whom famous Poetes verse so much doth vaunt,

And hath for twelve huge labours high extold,

So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt,

When him the poysond garment did enchaunt,

With Centaures bloud and bloudie verses charm’d;

As did this knight twelve thousand dolours daunt,

Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that earst him arm’d,

That erst him goodly arm’d, now most of all him harm’d.

With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire,

That never man such mischiefes did torment;

Death better were, death did he oft desire,

But death will never come, when needes require.

Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld,

He cast to suffer him no more respire,

But gan his sturdy sterne about to weld,

And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground him feld.

XXIX

It fortuned, (as faire it then befell,)

Behind his backe unweeting, where he stood,

Of auncient time there was a springing well,

From which fast trickled forth a silver flood,

Full of great vertues, and for med’cine good.

Whylome, 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 vertues had forgot.

XXX

For unto life the dead it could restore,

And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away,

Those that with sicknesse were infected sore

It could recure, and aged long decay

Renew, as one were borne that very day.

Both Silo this, and Jordan did excell,

And th’ English Bath, and eke the German Spau;

Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus match this well:

Into the same the knight back overthrowen, fell.

XXXI

Now gan the golden Phœbus for to steepe

His fierie face in billowes of the west,

And his faint steedes watred in Ocean deepe,

Whiles from their journall labours they did rest,

When that infernall Monster, having kest

His wearie foe into that living well,

Can high advance his broad discoloured brest

Above his wonted pitch, with countenance fell,

And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell.

Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay,

As weening that the sad end of the warre,

And gan to highest God entirely pray,

That feared chance from her to turne away;

With folded hands and knees full lowly bent,

All night she watcht, ne once adowne would lay

Her daintie limbs in her sad dreriment,

But praying still did wake, and waking did lament.

XXXIII

The morrow next gan early to appeare,

That Titan rose to runne his daily race;

But early ere the morrow next gan reare

Out of the sea faire Titans deawy 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.

XXXIV

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 gray,

And deckt himselfe with feathers youthly gay,

Like Eyas hauke up mounts unto the skies,

His newly budded pineons to assay,

And marveiles at himselfe, still as he flies:

So new this new-borne knight to battell new did rise.

XXXV

Whom when the damned feend so fresh did spy,

No wonder if he wondred 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 scalpe so sore did smite,

That to the scull a yawning wound it made;

The deadly dint his dulled senses all dismaid.

Were hardned with that holy water dew,

Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele,

Or his baptized hands now greater grew;

Or other secret vertue did ensew;

Else never could the force of fleshly arme,

Ne molten mettall in his blood embrew;

For till that stownd could never wight him harme,

By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme.

XXXVII

The cruell wound enraged him so sore,

That loud he yelded for exceeding paine;

As hundred ramping Lyons seem’d to rore,

Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine:

Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine,

And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore,

That to his force to yeelden it was faine;

Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore,

That high trees overthrew, and rocks in peeces tore.

XXXVIII

The same advauncing high above his head,

With sharpe intended sting so rude him smot,

That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead,

Ne living wight would have him life behot:

The mortall sting his angry needle shot

Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd,

Where fast it stucke, ne would there out be got:

The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd,

Ne might his ranckling paine with patience be appeasd.

XXXIX

But yet more mindfull of his honour deare,

Then of the grievous smart, which him did wring,

From loathed soile he can him lightly reare,

And strove to loose the far infixed sting:

Which when in vaine he tryde with struggeling,

Inflam’d with wrath, his raging blade he heft,

And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string

Of his huge taile he quite a sunder cleft,

Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left.

With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire,

The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skyes,

That all was covered with darkenesse dire:

Then fraught with rancour, and engorged ire,

He cast at once him to avenge for all,

And gathering up himselfe out of the mire,

With his uneven wings did fiercely fall,

Upon his sunne-bright shield, and gript it fast withall.

XLI

Much was the man encombred with his hold,

In feare to lose his weapon in his paw,

Ne wist yet, how his talaunts to unfold;

For harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw

To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw

To reave by strength the griped gage away:

Thrise he assayd it from his foot to draw,

And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay,

It booted nought to thinke to robbe him of his pray.

XLII

Tho when he saw no power might prevaile,

His trustie sword he cald to his last aid,

Wherewith he fiercely did his foe assaile,

And double blowes about him stoutly laid,

That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid;

As sparckles from the Andvile use to fly,

When heavy hammers on the wedge are swaid;

Therewith at last he forst him to unty

One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby.

XLIII

The other foot, fast fixed on his shield,

Whenas no strength, nor stroks mote him constraine

To loose, ne yet the warlike pledge to yield,

He smot thereat with all his might and maine,

That nought so wondrous puissaunce might sustaine;

Upon the joint the lucky steele did light,

And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine;

The paw yett missed not his minisht might,

But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight.

From his infernall fournace forth he threw

Huge flames, that dimmed all the heavens light,

Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew:

As burning Aetna from his boyling stew

Doth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces broke,

And ragged ribs of mountains molten new,

Enwrapt in coleblacke clouds and filthy smoke,

That all the land with stench, and heaven with horror choke.

XLV

The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilence

So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire

A little backward for his best defence,

To save his body from the scorching fire,

Which he from hellish entrailes did expire.

It chaunst (eternall God that chaunce did guide,)

As he recoiled backward, in the mire

His nigh forwearied feeble feet did slide,

And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrifide.

XLVI

There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,

Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red,

As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,

Whereof great vertues 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 sted

With his Almighty hand, and did it call

The tree of life, the crime of our first fathers fall.

XLVII

In all the world like was not to be found,

Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,

And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground,

As incorrupted Nature did them sow,

Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow.

Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,

Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoones did know

Both good and ill: O mornefull memory:

That tree through one mans fault hath doen us all to dy.

A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraine

And dainty deare, which on the ground, still fell,

And overflowed all the fertile plaine,

As it had deawed bene with timely raine:

Life and long health that gratious ointment gave,

And deadly wounds could heale and reare againe

The senselesse corse appointed for the grave.

Into that same he fell: which did from death him save.

XLIX

For nigh thereto the ever damned beast

Durst not approch, for he was deadly made,

And all that life preserved did detest:

Yet he is oft adventur’d to invade.

By this the drouping day-light gan to fade,

And yield his roome to sad succeeding night,

Who with her sable mantle gan to shade

The face of earth, and wayes of living wight,

And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright.

L

When gentle Una saw the second fall

Of her deare knight, who wearie of long fight,

And faint through losse of blood, mov’d not at all,

But lay, as in a dreame of deepe delight,

Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose vertuous might

Did heale his wounds, and scorching heat alay,

Againe she stricken was with sore affright,

And for his safetie gan devoutly pray,

And watch the noyous night, and wait for joyous day.

LI

The joyous day gan early to appeare,

And faire Aurora from the deawy bed

Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare

With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red;

Her golden locks for haste were loosely shed

About her eares, when Una her did marke

Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred;

From heaven high to chase the chearelesse darke,

With merry note her loud salutes the mounting larke.

All healed of his hurts and woundes wide,

And did himselfe to battell ready dight;

Whose early foe awaiting him beside

To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde,

When now he saw himselfe so freshly reare,

As if late fight had nought him damnifyde,

He woxe dismayd, and gan his fate to feare;

Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advaunced neare.

LIII

And in his first encounter, gaping wide,

He thought attonce him to have swallowd quight,

And rusht upon him with outragious pride;

Who him r’encountring fierce, as hauke in flight

Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright

Taking advantage of his open jaw,

Ran through his mouth with so importune might,

That deepe emperst his darksome hollow maw,

And back retyrd, his life blood forth with all did draw.

LIV

So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath,

That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift;

So downe he fell, that th’ earth him underneath

Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift;

So downe he fell, as an huge rockie clift,

Whose false foundation waves have washt away,

With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift,

And rolling downe, great Neptune doth dismay;

So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay.

LV

The knight himselfe even trembled at his fall,

So huge and horrible a masse it seem’d,

And his deare Ladie, that beheld it all,

Durst not approch for dread, which she misdeem’d;

But yet at last, whenas the direfull feend

She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright,

She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end:

Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull knight,

That had atchieved so great a conquest by his might.

betrouthed is with joy:

Though false Duessa it to barre

her false sleights doe imploy .

I

BEHOLD I see the haven nigh at hand,

To which I meane my wearie course to bend;

Vere the maine shete, and beare up with the land,

The which afore is fairely to be kend,

And seemeth safe from storms that may offend;

There this faire virgin wearie of her way

Must landed be, now at her journeyes end:

There eke my feeble barke a while may stay

Till merry wind and weather call her thence away.

II

Scarsely had Phœbus in the glooming East

Yet harnessed his firie-footed teeme,

Ne reard above the earth his flaming creast;

When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme

That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme

Unto the watchman on the castle wall,

Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did deeme,

And to his Lord and Ladie lowd gan call,

To tell how he had seene the Dragons fatall fall.

III

Uprose with hastie joy, and feeble speed

That aged Sire, the Lord of all that land,

And looked forth, to weet if true indeede

Those tydings were, as he did understand,

Which whenas true by tryall he out found,

He bad to open wyde his brazen gate,

Which long time had bene shut, and out of hond

Proclaymed joy and peace through all his state;

For dead now was their foe which them forrayed late.

IV

Then gan triumphant Trompets sound on hie,

That sent to heaven the ecchoed report

Of their new joy, and happie victorie Then all the people, as in solemne feast,

To him assembled with one full consort,

Rejoycing at the fall of that great beast,

From whose eternall bondage now they were releast.

V

Forth came that auncient Lord and aged Queene,

Arayd in antique robes downe to the ground,

And sad habiliments right well beseene;

A noble crew about them waited round

Of sage and sober Peres, all gravely gownd;

Whom farre before did march a goodly band

Of tall young men, all hable armes to sownd,

But now they laurell braunches bore in hand;

Glad signe of victorie and peace in all their land.

VI

Unto that doughtie Conquerour they came,

And him before themselves prostrating low,

Their Lord and Patrone loud did him proclame,

And at his feet their laurell boughes did throw.

Soone after them all dauncing on a row

The comely virgins came, with girlands dight,

As fresh as flowres in medow greene do grow,

When morning deaw upon their leaves doth light:

And in their hands sweet Timbrels all upheld on hight.

VII

And them before, the fry of children young

Their wanton sports and childish mirth did play,

And to the Maydens sounding tymbrels sung,

In well attuned notes, a joyous lay,

And made delightfull musicke all the way,

Untill they came, where that faire virgin stood;

As faire Diana in fresh sommers day,

Beholds her Nymphes enraung’d in shadie wood,

Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in christall flood:

VIII

So she beheld those maydens meriment

With chearefull vew; who when to her they came, Lifting to heaven her everlasting fame: Then on her head they set a girland greene,

And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game;

Who in her self-resemblance well beseene,

Did seeme such, as she was, a goodly maiden Queene.

IX

And after, all the raskall many ran,

Heaped together in rude rablement,

To see the face of that victorious man:

Whom all admired, as from heaven sent,

And gazd upon with gaping wonderment.

But when they came where that dead Dragon lay,

Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large extent,

The sight with idle feare did them dismay,

Ne durst approch him nigh, to touch, or once assay.

X

Some feard, and fled; some feard and well it faynd;

One that would wiser seeme then all the rest,

Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps remaynd

Some lingring life within his hollow brest,

Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden nest

Of many Dragonets, his fruitfull seed;

Another said, that in his eyes did rest

Yet sparckling fire, and bad thereof take heed;

Another said, he saw him move his eyes indeed.

XI

One mother, when as her foolehardie chyld

Did come too neare, and with his talants play,

Halfe dead through feare, her little babe revyld,

And to her gossips gan in counsell say;

How can I tell, but that his talants may

Yet scratch my sonne, or rend his tender hand?

So diversly themselves in vaine they fray;

Whiles some more bold, to measure him nigh stand,

To prove how many acres he did spread of land.

The whiles that hoarie king, with all his traine,

Being arrived where that champion stout

After his foes defeasance did remaine,

Him goodly greetes, and faire does entertaine

With princely gifts of yvorie and gold,

And thousand thankes him yeelds for all his paine.

Then when his daughter deare he does behold,

Her dearely doth imbrace, and kisseth manifold.

XIII

And after to his Pallace he them brings,

With shaumes, and trompets, and with Clarions sweet;

And all the way the joyous people sings,

And with their garments strowes the paved street:

Whence mounting up, they find purveyance meet

Of all that royall Princes court became,

And all the floore was underneath their feet

Bespred with costly scarlot of great name,

On which they lowly sit, and fitting purpose frame.

XIV

What needs me tell their feast and goodly guize,

In which was nothing riotous nor vaine?

What needs of dainty dishes to devize,

Of comely services, or courtly trayne?

My narrow leaves cannot in them containe

The large discourse of royall Princes state.

Yet was their manner then but bare and plaine:

For th’ antique world excesse and pride did hate;

Such proud luxurious pompe is swollen up but late.

XV

Then when with meates and drinkes of every kinde

Their fervent appetites they quenched had,

That auncient Lord gan fit occasion finde,

Of straunge adventures, and of perils sad,

Which in his travell him befallen had,

For to demaund of his renowmed guest:

Who then with utt’rance grave, and count’nance sad,

From point to point, as is before exprest,

Discourst his voyage long, according his request.

That godly King and Queene did passionate,

Whiles they his pittifull adventures heard,

That oft they did lament his lucklesse state,

And often blame the too importune fate,

That heaped on him so many wrathfull wreakes:

For never gentle knight, as he of late,

So tossed was in fortunes cruell freakes;

And all the while salt teares bedeawd the hearers cheaks.

XVII

Then sayd the royall Pere in sober wise;

Deare Sonne, great beene the evils which ye bore

From first to last in your late enterprise,

That I note whether prayse, or pitty more:

For never living man, I weene, so sore

In sea of deadly daungers was distrest;

But since now safe ye seised have the shore,

And well arrived are, (high God be blest)

Let us devize of ease and everlasting rest.

XVIII

Ah, dearest Lord, said then that doughty knight,

Of ease or rest I may not yet devize,

For by the faith, which I to armes have plight,

I bounden am streight after this emprize,

As that your daughter can ye well advize,

Backe to returne to that great Faerie Queene,

And her to serve six yeares in warlike wize,

Gainst that proud Paynim king that workes her teene

Therefore I ought crave pardon, till I there have beene.

XIX

Unhappie falles that hard necessitie,

(Quoth he) the troubler of my happie peace,

And vowed foe of my felicitie;

Ne I against the same can justly preace:

But since that band ye cannot now release,

Nor doen undo; (for vowes may not be vaine,)

Soone as the terme of those six yeares shall cease,

Ye then shall hither backe returne againe,

The marriage to accomplish vowd betwixt you twain.

In sort as through the world I did proclame,

That whoso kild that monster most deforme,

And him in hardy battaile overcame,

Should have mine onely daughter to his Dame,

And of my kingdome heyre apparaunt bee:

Therefore since now to thee perteines the same,

By dew desert of noble chevalree,

Both daughter and eke kingdome, lo, I yield to thee.

XXI

Then forth he called that his daughter faire,

The fairest Un’ his onely daughter deare,

His onely daughter, and his onely heyre;

Who forth proceeding with sad sober cheare,

As bright as doth the morning starre appeare

Out of the East, with flaming lockes bedight,

To tell that dawning day is drawing neare,

And to the world does bring long wished light:

So faire and fresh that Lady shewd her selfe in sight.

XXII

So faire and fresh, as freshest flowre in May;

For she had layd her mournefull stole aside,

And widow-like sad wimple throwne away,

Wherewith her heavenly beautie she did hide,

Whiles on her wearie journey she did ride;

And on her now a garment she did weare,

All lilly white, withoutten spot, or pride,

That seemd like silke and silver woven neare,

But neither silke nor silver therein did appeare.

XXIII

The blazing brightnesse of her beauties beame,

And glorious light of her sunshyny face,

To tell, were as to strive against the streame;

My ragged rimes are all too rude and bace,

Her heavenly lineaments for to enchace.

Ne wonder; for her owne deare loved knight,

All were she dayly with himselfe in place,

Did wonder much at her celestiall sight:

Oft had he seene her faire, but never so faire dight.

She to her Sire made humble reverence,

And bowed low, that her right well became,

And added grace unto her excellence:

Who with great wisedome and grave eloquence

Thus gan to say. But eare he thus had said,

With flying speede, and seeming great pretence

Came running in, much like a man dismaid,

A Messenger with letters, which his message said.

XXV

All in the open hall amazed stood

At suddeinnesse of that unwarie sight,

And wondred at his breathlesse hastie mood.

But he for nought would stay his passage right,

Till fast before the king he did alight;

Where falling flat, great humblesse he did make,

And kist the ground, whereon his foot was pight;

Then to his hands that writ he did betake,

Which he disclosing, red thus, as the paper spake.

XXVI

To thee, most mighty king of Eden faire,

Her greeting sends in these sad lines addrest,

The wofull daughter, and forsaken heire

Of that great Emperour of all the West;

And bids thee be advized for the best,

Ere thou thy daughter linck in holy band

Of wedlocke to that new unknowen guest:

For he already plighted his right hand

Unto another love, and to another land.

XXVII

To me sad mayd, or rather widow sad,

He was affiaunced long time before,

And sacred pledges he both gave, and had,

False erraunt knight, infamous, and forswore:

Witnesse the burning Altars, which he swore,

And guiltie heavens of his bold perjury,

Which though he hath polluted oft of yore,

Yet I to them for judgement just do fly,

And them conjure t’avenge this shamefull injury.

Or false or trew, or living or else dead,

Withhold, O soveraine Prince, your hasty hond

From knitting league with him, I you aread;

Ne weene my right with strength adowne to tread,

Through weaknesse of my widowhed, or woe;

For truth is strong her rightfull cause to plead,

And shall find friends, if need requireth soe.

So bids thee well to fare, Thy neither friend, nor foe, Fidessa.

XXIX

When he these bitter byting wordes had red,

The tydings straunge did him abashed make,

That still he sate long time astonished,

As in great muse, ne word to creature spake.

At last his solemne silence thus he brake,

With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his guest;

Redoubted knight, that for mine onely sake

Thy life and honour late adventurest,

Let nought be hid from me, that ought to be exprest.

XXX

What meane these bloody vowes, and idle threats,

Throwne out from womanish impatient mind?

What heavens? what altars? what enraged heates

Here heaped up with termes of love unkind,

My conscience cleare with guilty bands would bind?

High God be witnesse, that I guiltlesse ame.

But if your selfe, Sir knight, ye faultie find,

Or wrapped be in loves of former Dame,

With crime do not it cover, but disclose the same.

XXXI

To whom the Redcrosse knight this answere sent

My Lord, my King, be nought hereat dismayd,

Till well ye wote by grave intendiment,

What woman, and wherefere doth me upbrayd

With breach of love, and loyalty betrayd.

It was in my mishaps, as hitherward

I lately traveild, that unwares I strayd

Out of my way, through perils straunge and hard;

That day should faile me, ere I had them all declard.

Of this false woman, that Fidessa hight,

Fidessa hight the falsest Dame on ground,

Most false Duessa, royall richly dight,

That easy was to invegle weaker sight:

Who by her wicked arts, and wylie skill,

Too false and strong for earthly skill or might,

Unwares me wrought unto her wicked will,

And to my foe betrayd, when least I feared ill.

XXXIII

Then stepped forth the goodly royall Mayd,

And on the ground her selfe prostrating low,

With sober countenaunce thus to him sayd;

O pardon me, my soveraigne Lord, to show

The secret treasons, which of late I know

To have bene wroght by that false sorceresse.

She onely she it is, that earst did throw

This gentle knight into so great distresse,

That death him did awaite in dayly wretchednesse.

XXXIV

And now it seemes, that she suborned hath

This craftie messenger with letters vaine,

To worke new woe and unprovided scath,

By breaking of the band betwixt us twaine;

Wherein she used hath the practicke paine

Of this false footman, clokt with simplenesse,

Whom if ye please for to discover plaine,

Ye shall him Archimago find, I ghesse,

The falsest man alive; who tries shall find no lesse.

XXXV

The king was greatly moved at her speach,

And, all with suddein indignation fraight,

Bad on that Messenger rude hands to reach.

Eftsoones the Gard, which on his state did wait,

Attacht that faitor false, and bound him strait:

Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band,

As chained Beare, whom cruell dogs do bait,

With idle force did faine them to withstand,

And often semblaunce made to scape out of their hand.

And bound him hand and foote with yron chains

And with continual watch did warely keepe:

Who then would thinke, that by his subtile trains

He could escape fowle death or deadly paines?

Thus when that princes wrath was pacifide,

He gan renew the late forbidden bains,

And to the knight his daughter dear he tyde,

With sacred rites and vowes for ever to abyde.

XXXVII

His owne two hands the holy knots did knit,

That none but death for ever can devide;

His owne two hands, for such a turne most fit,

The housling fire did kindle and provide,

And holy water thereon sprinckled wide;

At which the bushy Teade a groome did light,

And sacred lamp in secret chamber hide,

Where it should not be quenched day nor night,

For feare of evill fates, but burnen ever bright.

XXXVIII

Then gan they sprinckle all the posts with wine,

And made great feast to solemnize that day;

They all perfumde with frankencense divine,

And precious odours fetcht from far away,

That all the house did sweat with great aray:

And all the while sweete Musicke did apply

Her curious skill, the warbling notes to play,

To drive away the dull Melancholy;

The whiles one sung a song of love and jollity.

XXXIX

During the which there was an heavenly noise

Heard sound through all the Pallace pleasantly,

Like as it had bene many an Angels voice

Singing before th’ eternall Majesty,

In their trinall triplicities on hye;

Yet wist no creature whence that heavenly sweet

Proceeded, yet eachone felt secretly

Himselfe thereby reft of his sences meet,

And ravished with rare impression in his sprite.

And solemne feast proclaimd throughout the land,

That their exceeding merth may not be told:

Suffice it heare by signes to understand

The usuall joyes at knitting of loves band.

Thrise happy man the knight himselfe did hold,

Possessed of his Ladies hart and hand,

And ever, when his eye did her behold,

His heart did seeme to melt in pleasures manifold.

XLI

Her joyous presence, and sweet company

In full content he there did long enjoy;

Ne wicked envie, ne vile gealosy,

His deare delights were able to annoy:

Yet swimming in that sea of blissfull joy,

He nought forgot how he whilome had sworne,

In case he could that monstrous beast destroy,

Unto his Faerie Queene backe to returne;

The which he shortly did, and Una left to mourne.

XLII

Now strike your sailes ye jolly Mariners,

For we be come unto a quiet rode,

Where we must land some of our passengers,

And light this wearie vessell of her lode.

Here she a while may make her safe abode,

Till she repaired have her tackles spent,

And wants supplide. And then againe abroad

On the long voyage whereto she is bent:

Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent.

Book II

Canto VII

Guyon findes Mamon in a delue,

Sunning his threasure hore:

Is by him tempted, and led downe,

To see his secret store .

I

AS Pilot well expert in perilous waue,

That to a stedfast starre his course hath bent, And couer’d heauen with hideous dreriment, Vpon his card and compas firmes his eye,

The maisters of his long experiment,

And to them does the steddy helme apply,

Bidding his winged vessell fairely forward fly.

III

So Guyon hauing lost his trusty guide,

Late left beyond that Ydle lake, proceedes

Yet on his way, of none accompanide;

And euermore himselfe with comfort feedes,

Of his owne vertues, and prayse-worthy deedes.

So long he yode, yet no aduenture found,

Which fame of her shrill trompet worthy reedes:

For still he traueild through wide wastfull ground,

That nought but desert wildernesse shew’d all around.

III

At last he came vnto a gloomy glade,

Couer’d with boughes and shrubs from heauens light,

Whereas he sitting found in secret shade

An vncouth, saluage, and vnciuile wight,

Of griesly hew, and fowle ill fauour’d sight;

His face with smoke was tand, and eyes were bleard,

His head and beard with sout were ill bedight,

His cole-blacke hands did seeme to haue beene seard

In smithes fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes appeard.

IV

His yron coate all ouergrowne with rust,

Was vnderneath enueloped with gold,

Whose glistring glosse darkned with filthy dust,

Well yet appeared, to haue beene of old

A worke of rich entayle, and curious mould,

Wouen with antickes and wild Imagery:

And in his lap a masse of coyne he told,

And turned vpsidowne, to feede his eye

And couetous desire with his huge threasury.

Great heapes of gold, that neuer could be spent:

Of which some were rude owre, not purifide

Of Mulcibers deuouring element;

Some others were new driuen, and distent

Into great Ingoes, and to wedges square;

Some in round plates withouten moniment;

But most were stampt, and in their metall bare

The antique shapes of kings and kesars straunge and rare.

VI

Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright

And hast he rose, for to remoue aside

Those pretious hils from straungers enuious sight,

And downe them poured through an hole full wide,

Into the hollow earth, them there to hide.

But Guyon lightly to him leaping, stayd

His hand, that trembled, as one terrifyde;

And though him selfe were at the sight dismayd,

Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull sayd.

VII

What art thou man, (if man at all thou art)

That here in desert hast thine habitaunce,

And these rich heapes of wealth doest hide apart

From the worldes eye, and from her right vsaunce?

Thereat with staring eyes fixed askaunce,

In great disdaine, he answerd; Hardy Elfe,

That darest vew my direfull countenaunce,

I read thee rash, and heedlesse of thy selfe,

To trouble my still seate, and heapes of pretious pelfe.

VIII

God of the world and worldlings I me call,

Great Mammon, greatest god below the skye,

That of my plenty poure out vnto all,

And vnto none my graces do enuye:

Riches, renowme, and principality,

Honour, estate, and all this worldes good,

For which men swinck and sweat incessantly,

Fro me do flow into an ample flood,

And in the hollow earth haue their eternall brood.

At thy commaund lo all these mountaines bee;

Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew

All these may not suffise, there shall to thee

Ten times so much be numbred francke and free.

Mammon (said he) thy godheades vaunt is vaine,

And idle offers of thy golden fee;

To them, that couet such eye-glutting gaine,

Proffer thy giftes, and fitter seruaunts entertaine.

X

Me ill besits, that in der-doing armes,

And honours suit my vowed dayes do spend,

Vnto thy bounteous baytes, and pleasing charmes,

With which weake men thou witchest, to attend:

Regard of worldly mucke doth fowly blend,

And low abase the high heroicke spright,

That ioyes for crownes and kingdomes to contend;

Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes be my delight:

Those be the riches fit for an aduent’rous knight.

XI

Vaine glorious Elfe (said he) doest not thou weet,

That money can thy wantes at will supply?

Sheilds, steeds, and armes, and all things for thee meet

It can puruay in twinckling of an eye;

And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply.

Do not I kings create, and throw the crowne

Sometimes to him, that low in dust doth ly?

And him that raignd, into his rowme thrust downe,

And whom I lust, do heape with glory and renowne?

XII

All otherwise (said he) I riches read,

And deeme them roote of all disquietnesse;

First got with guile, and then preseru’d with dread,

And after spent with pride and lauishnesse,

Leauing behind them griefe and heauinesse.

Infinite mischiefes of them do arize,

Strife, and debate, bloudshed, and bitternesse,

Outrageous wrong, and hellish couetize,

That noble heart as great dishonour doth despize.

But realmes and rulers thou doest both confound,

And loyall truth to treason doest incline;

Witnesse the guiltlesse bloud pourd oft on ground,

The crowned often slaine, the slayer cround,

The sacred Diademe in peeces rent,

And purple robe gored with many a wound;

Castles surprizd, great cities sackt and brent:

So mak’st thou kings, and gaynest wrongfull gouernement.

XIV

Long were to tell the troublous stormes, that tosse

The priuate state, and make the life vnsweet:

Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth crosse,

And in frayle wood on Adrian gulfe doth fleet,

Doth not, I weene, so many euils meet.

Then Mammon wexing wroth, And why then, said,

Are mortall men so fond and vndiscreet,

So euill thing to seeke vnto their ayd,

And hauing not complaine, and hauing it vpbraid?

XV

Indeede (quoth he) through fowle intemperaunce,

Frayle men are oft captiu’d to couetise:

But would they thinke, with how small allowaunce

Vntroubled Nature doth her selfe suffise,

Such superfluities they would despise,

Which with sad cares empeach our natiue ioyes:

At the well head the purest streames arise:

But mucky filth his braunching armes annoyes,

And with vncomely weedes the gentle waue accloyes.

XVI

The antique world, in his first flowring youth,

Found no defect in his Creatours grace,

But with glad thankes, and vnreproued truth,

The gifts of soueraigne bountie did embrace:

Like Angels life was then mens happy cace;

But later ages pride, like corn-fed steed,

Abusd her plenty, and fat swolne encreace

To all licentious lust, and gan exceed

The measure of her meane, and naturall first need.

Of his great Grandmother with steele to wound,

And the hid treasures in her sacred tombe,

With Sacriledge to dig. Therein he found

Fountaines of gold and siluer to abound,

Of which the matter of his huge desire

And pompous pride eftsoones he did compound;

Then auarice gan through his veines inspire

His greedy flames, and kindled life-deuouring fire.

XVIII

Sonne (said he then) let be thy bitter scorne,

And leaue the rudenesse of that antique age

To them, that liu’d therein in state forlorne;

Thou that doest liue in later times, must wage

Thy workes for wealth, and life for gold engage.

If then thee list my offred grace to vse,

Take what thou please of all this surplusage;

If thee list not, leaue haue thou to refuse:

But thing refused, do not afterward accuse.

XIX

Me list not (said the Elfin knight) receaue

Thing offred, till I know it well be got,

Ne wote I, but thou didst these goods bereaue

From rightfull owner by vnrighteous lot,

Or that bloud guiltinesse or guile them blot.

Perdy (quoth he) yet neuer eye did vew,

Ne toung did tell, ne hand these handled not,

But safe I haue them kept in secret mew,

From heauens sight, and powre of all which them pursew.

XX

What secret place (quoth he) can safely hold

So huge a masse, and hide from heauens eye?

Or where hast thou thy wonne, that so much gold

Thou canst preserue from wrong and robbery?

Come thou (quoth he) and see. So by and by

Through that thicke couert he him led, and found

A darkesome way, which no man could descry,

That deepe descended through the hollow ground,

And was with dread and horrour compassed around.

That stretcht it selfe into an ample plaine,

Through which a beaten broad high way did trace,

That streight did lead to Plutoes griesly raine:

By that wayes side, there sate infernall Payne,

And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife:

The one in hand an yron whip did straine,

The other brandished a bloudy knife,

And both did gnash their teeth, and both did threaten life.

XXII

On thother side in one consort there sate,

Cruell Reuenge, and rancorous Despight,

Disloyall Treason, and hart-burning Hate,

But gnawing Gealosie out of their sight

Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bight,

And trembling Feare still to and fro did fly,

And found no place, where safe he shroud him might,

Lamenting Sorrow did in darknesse lye,

And Shame his vgly face did hide from liuing eye.

XXIII

And ouer them sad Horrour with grim hew,

Did alwayes sore, beating his yron wings;

And after him Owles and Night-rauens flew,

The hatefull messengers of heauy things,

Of death and dolour telling sad tidings;

Whiles sad Celeno, sitting on a clift,

A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings,

That hart of flint a sunder could haue rift:

Which hauing ended, after him she flyeth swift.

XXIV

All these before the gates of Pluto lay,

By whom they passing, spake vnto them nought.

But th’Elfin knight with wonder all the way

Did feed his eyes, and fild his inner thought.

At last him to a litle dore he brought,

That to the gate of Hell, which gaped wide,

Was next adioyning, ne them parted ought:

Betwixt them both was but a litle stride,

That did the house of Richesse from hell-mouth diuide.

Day and night keeping wary watch and ward,

For feare least Force or Fraud should vnaware

Breake in, and spoile the treasure there in gard:

Ne would he suffer Sleepe once thither-ward

Approch, albe his drowsie den were next;

For next to death is Sleepe to be compard:

Therefore his house is vnto his annext;

Here Sleep, there Richesse, and Hel-gate them both betwext.

XXVI

So soone as Mammon there arriu’d, the dore

To him did open, and affoorded way;

Him followed eke Sir Guyon euermore,

Ne darkenesse him, ne daunger might dismay.

Soone as he entred was, the dore streight way

Did shut, and from behind it forth there lept

An vgly feend, more fowle then dismall day,

The which with monstrous stalke behind him stept,

And euer as he went, dew watch vpon him kept.

XXVII

Well hoped he, ere long that hardy guest,

If euer couetous hand, or lustfull eye,

Or lips he layd on thing, that likt him best,

Or euer sleepe his eye-strings did vntye,

Should be his pray. And therefore still on hye

He ouer him did hold his cruell clawes,

Threatning with greedy gripe to do him dye

And rend in peeces with his rauenous pawes,

If euer he transgrest the fatall Stygian lawes.

XXVIII

That houses forme within was rude and strong,

Like an huge caue, hewne out of rocky clift,

From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong,

Embost with massy gold of glorious gift,

And with rich metall loaded euery rift,

That heauy ruine they did seeme to threat;

And ouer them Arachne high did lift

Her cunning web, and spred her subtile net,

Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more blacke then Iet.

But ouergrowne with dust and old decay,

And hid in darkenesse, that none could behold

The hew thereof: for vew of chearefull day

Did neuer in that house it selfe display,

But a faint shadow of vncertain light;

Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away:

Or as the Moone cloathed with clowdy night,

Does shew to him, that walkes in feare and sad affright.

XXX

In all that rowme was nothing to be seene,

But huge great yron chests and coffers strong,

All bard with double bends, that none could weene

Them to efforce by violence or wrong;

On euery side they placed were along.

But all the ground with sculs was scattered,

And dead mens bones, which round about were flong,

Whose liues, it seemed, whilome there were shed,

And their vile carcases now left vnburied.

XXXI

They forward passe, ne Guyon yet spoke word,

Till that they came vnto an yron dore,

Which to them opened of his owne accord,

And shewd of richesse such exceeding store,

As eye of man did neuer see before;

Ne euer could within one place be found,

Though all the wealth, which is, or was of yore,

Could gathered be through all the world around,

And that aboue were added to that vnder ground.

XXXII

The charge thereof vnto a couetous Spright

Commaunded was, who thereby did attend,

And warily awaited day and night,

From other couetous feends it to defend,

Who it to rob and ransacke did intend.

Then Mammon turning to that warriour, said;

Loe here the worldes blis, loe here the end,

To which all men do ayme, rich to be made:

Such grace now to be happy, is before thee laid.

Ne to be made so happy do intend:

Another blis before mine eyes I place,

Another happinesse, another end.

To them, that list, these base regardes I lend:

But I in armes, and in atchieuements braue,

Do rather choose my flitting houres to spend,

And to be Lord of those, that riches haue,

Then them to haue my selfe, and be their seruile sclaue.

XXXIV

Thereat the feend his gnashing teeth did grate,

And grieu’d, so long to lacke his greedy pray;

For well he weened, that so glorious bayte

Would tempt his guest, to take thereof assay:

Had he so doen, he had him snatcht away,

More light then Culuer in the Faulcons fist.

Eternall God thee saue from such decay.

But whenas Mammon saw his purpose mist,

Him to entrap vnwares another way he wist.

XXXV

Thence forward he him led, and shortly brought

Vnto another rowme, whose dore forthright,

To him did open, as it had beene taught:

Therein an hundred raunges weren pight,

And hundred fornaces all burning bright;

By euery fornace many feends did bide,

Deformed creatures, horrible in sight,

And euery feend his busie paines applide,

To melt the golden metall, ready to be tride.

XXXVI

One with great bellowes gathered filling aire,

And with forst wind the fewell did inflame;

Another did the dying bronds repaire

With yron toungs, and sprinckled oft the same

With liquid waues, fiers Vulcans rage to tame,

Who maistring them, renewd his former heat;

Some scumd the drosse, that from the metall came;

Some stird the molten owre with ladles great;

And euery one did swincke, and euery one did sweat.

Glistring in armes and battailous aray,

From their whot worke they did themselues withdraw

To wonder at the sight: for till that day,

They neuer creature saw, that came that way.

Their staring eyes sparckling with feruent fire,

And vgly shapes did nigh the man dismay,

That were it not for shame, he would retire,

Till that him thus bespake their soueraigne Lord and sire.

XXXVIII

Behold, thou Faeries sonne, with mortall eye,

That liuing eye before did neuer see:

The thing, that thou didst craue so earnestly,

To weet, whence all the wealth late shewd by mee,

Proceeded, lo now is reueald to thee.

Here is the fountaine of the worldes good:

Now therefore, if thou wilt enriched bee,

Auise thee well, and chaunge thy wilfull mood,

Least thou perhaps hereafter wish, and be withstood.

XXXIX

Suffise it then, thou Money God (quoth hee)

That all thine idle offers I refuse.

All that I need I haue; what needeth mee

To couet more, then I haue cause to vse?

With such vaine shewes thy worldlings vile abuse:

But giue me leaue to follow mine emprise.

Mammon was much displeasd, yet no’te he chuse,

But beare the rigour of his bold mesprise,

And thence him forward led, him further to entise.

XL

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 villein, striding stiffe and bold,

As if that highest God defie he would;

In his right hand an yron club he held,

But he himselfe was all of golden mould,

Yet had both life and sence, and well could weld

That cursed weapon, when his cruell foes he queld.

To be so cald, and who so did him call:

Sterne was his looke, and full of stomacke vaine,

His portaunce terrible, and stature tall,

Far passing th’hight of men terrestriall;

Like an huge Gyant of the Titans race,

That made him scorne all creatures great and small,

And with his pride all others powre deface:

More fit amongst blacke fiendes, then men to haue his place.

XLII

Soone as those glitterand armes he did espye,

That with their brightnesse made that darknesse light,

His harmefull club he gan to hurtle hye,

And threaten batteill to the Faery knight;

Who likewise gan himselfe to batteill dight,

Till Mammon did his hasty hand withhold,

And counseld him abstaine from perilous fight:

For nothing might abash the villein bold,

Ne mortall steele emperce his miscreated mould.

XLIII

So hauing him with reason pacifide,

And the fiers Carle commaunding to forbeare,

He brought him in. The rowme was large and wide,

As it some Gyeld or solemne Temple weare:

Many great golden pillours did vpbeare

The massy roofe, and riches huge sustayne,

And euery pillour decked was full deare

With crownes and Diademes, and titles vaine,

Which mortall Princes wore, whiles they on earth did rayne.

XLIV

A route of people there assembled were,

Of euery sort and nation vnder skye,

Which with great vprore preaced to draw nere

To th’vpper part, where was aduaunced hye

A stately siege of soueraigne maiestye;

And thereon sat a woman gorgeous gay,

And richly clad in robes of royaltye,

That neuer earthly Prince in such aray

His glory did enhaunce, and pompous pride display.

That her broad beauties beam great brightnes threw

Through the dim shade, that all men might it see:

Yet was not that same her owne natiue hew,

But wrought by art and counterfetted shew,

Thereby more louers vnto her to call;

Nath’lesse most heauenly faire in deed and vew

She by creation was, till she did fall;

Thenceforth she sought for helps, to cloke her crime withall.

XLVI

There, as in glistring glory she did sit,

She held a great gold chaine ylincked well,

Whose vpper end to highest heauen was knit,

And lower part did reach to lowest Hell;

And all that preace did round about her swell,

To catchen hold of that long chaine, thereby

To clime aloft, and others to excell:

That was Ambition, rash desire to sty,

And euery lincke thereof a step of dignity.

XLVII

Some thought to raise themselues to high degree,

By riches and vnrighteous reward,

Some by close shouldring, some by flatteree;

Others through friends, others for base regard;

And all by wrong wayes for themselues prepard.

Those that were vp themselues, kept others low,

Those that were low themselues, held others hard,

Ne suffred them to rise or greater grow,

But euery one did striue his fellow downe to throw.

XLVIII

Which whenas Guyon saw, he gan inquire,

What meant that preace about that Ladies throne,

And what she was that did so high aspire.

Him Mammon answered; That goodly one,

Whom all that folke with such contention,

Do flocke about, my deare, my daughter is;

Honour and dignitie from her alone

Deriued are, and all this worldes blis

For which ye men do striue: few get, but many mis.

The fairest wight that wonneth vnder skye,

But that this darksome neather world her light

Doth dim with horrour and deformitie,

Worthy of heauen and hye felicitie,

From whence the gods haue her for enuy thrust:

But sith thou hast found fauour in mine eye,

Thy spouse I will her make, if that thou lust,

That she may thee aduance for workes and merites iust.

L

Gramercy Mammon (said the gentle knight)

For so great grace and offred high estate;

But I, that am fraile flesh and earthly wight,

Vnworthy match for such immortall mate

My selfe well wote, and mine vnequall fate;

And were I not, yet is my trouth yplight,

And loue auowd to other Lady late,

That to remoue the same I haue no might:

To chaunge loue causelesse is reproch to warlike knight.

LI

Mammon emmoued was with inward wrath;

Yet forcing it to faine, him forth thence led

Through griesly shadowes by a beaten path,

Into a gardin goodly garnished

With hearbs and fruits, whose kinds mote not be red:

Not such, as earth out of her fruitfull woomb

Throwes forth to men, sweet and well sauoured,

But direfull deadly blacke both leafe and bloom,

Fit to adorne the dead, and decke the drery toombe.

LII

There mournfull Cypresse grew in greatest store,

And trees of bitter Gall, and Heben sad,

Dead sleeping Poppy, and blacke Hellebore,

Cold Coloquintida, and Tetra mad,

Mortall Samnitis, and Cicuta bad,

Which with th’vniust Atheniens made to dy

Wise Socrates, who thereof quaffing glad

Pourd out his life, and last Philosophy

To the faire Critias his dearest Belamy.

And in the midst thereof a siluer seat,

With a thicke Arber goodly ouer dight,

In which she often vsd from open heat

Her selfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat.

Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree,

With braunches broad dispred and body great,

Clothed with leaues, that none the wood mote see

And loaden all with fruit as thicke as it might bee.

LIV

Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright,

That goodly was their glory to behold,

On earth like neuer grew, ne liuing wight

Like euer saw, but they from hence were sold;

For those, which Hercules with conquest bold

Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began,

And planted there, did bring forth fruit of gold:

And those with which th’Eubaean young man wan

Swift Atalanta, when through craft he her out ran.

LV

Here also sprong that goodly golden fruit,

With which Acontius got his louer trew,

Whom he had long time sought with fruitlesse suit:

Here eke that famous golden Apple grew,

The which emongst the gods false Ate threw;

For which th’Idaean Ladies disagreed,

Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew,

And had of her, faire Helen for his meed,

That many noble Greekes and Troians made to bleed.

LVI

The warlike Elfe much wondred at this tree,

So faire and great, that shadowed all the ground,

And his broad braunches, laden with rich fee,

Did stretch themselues without the vtmost bound

Of this great gardin, compast with a mound,

Which ouer-hanging, they themselues did steepe,

In a blacke flood which flow’d about it round;

That is the riuer of Cocytus deepe,

In which full many soules do endlesse waile and weepe.

And looking downe, saw many damned wights,

In those sad waues, which direfull deadly stanke,

Plonged continually of cruell Sprights,

That with their pitteous cryes, and yelling shrights,

They made the further shore resounden wide:

Emongst the rest of those same ruefull sights,

One cursed creature he by chaunce espide,

That drenched lay full deepe, vnder the Garden side.

LVIII

Deepe was he drenched to the vpmost chin,

Yet gaped still, as coueting to drinke

Of the cold liquor, which he waded in,

And stretching forth his hand, did often thinke

To reach the fruit, which grew vpon the brincke:

But both the fruit from hand, and floud from mouth

Did flie abacke, and made him vainely swinke:

The whiles he steru’d with hunger and with drouth

He daily dyde, yet neuer throughly dyen couth.

LIX

The knight him seeing labour so in vaine,

Askt who he was, and what he ment thereby:

Who groning deepe, thus answerd him againe;

Most cursed of all creatures vnder skye,

Lo Tantalus, I here tormented lye:

Of whom high Ioue wont whylome feasted bee,

Lo here I now for want of food doe dye:

But if that thou be such, as I thee see,

Of grace I pray thee, giue to eat and drinke to mee.

LX

Nay, nay, thou greedie Tantalus (quoth he)

Abide the fortune of thy present fate,

And vnto all that liue in high degree,

Ensample be of mind intemperate,

To teach them how to vse their present state.

Then gan the cursed wretch aloud to cry,

Accusing highest Ioue and gods ingrate,

And eke blaspheming heauen bitterly,

As authour of vniustice, there to let him dye.

Another wretch, whose carkasse deepe was drent

Within the riuer, which the same did hyde:

But both his hands most filthy feculent,

Aboue the water were on high extent,

And faynd to wash themselues incessantly;

Yet nothing cleaner were for such intent,

But rather fowler seemed to the eye;

So lost his labour vaine and idle industry.

LXII

The knight him calling, asked who he was,

Who lifting vp his head, him answerd thus:

I Pilate am the falsest Iudge, alas,

And most vniust, that by vnrighteous

And wicked doome, to Iewes despiteous

Deliuered vp the Lord of life to die,

And did acquite a murdrer felonous;

The whiles my hands I washt in puritie,

The whiles my soule was soyld with foule iniquitie.

LXIII

Infinite moe, tormented in like paine

He there beheld, too long here to be told:

Ne Mammon would there let him long remaine,

For terrour of the tortures manifold,

In which the damned soules he did behold,

But roughly him bespake. Thou fearefull foole,

Why takest not of that same fruit of gold,

Ne sittest downe on that same siluer stoole,

To rest thy wearie person, in the shadow coole.

LXIV

All which he did, to doe him deadly fall

In frayle intemperance through sinfull bayt;

To which if he inclined had at all,

That dreadfull feend, which did behind him wayt,

Would him haue rent in thousand peeces strayt:

But he was warie wise in all his way,

And well perceiued his deceiptfull sleight,

Ne suffred lust his safetie to betray;

So goodly did beguile the Guyler of the pray.

That vitall powres gan wexe both weake and wan,

For want of food, and sleepe, which two vpbeare,

Like mightie pillours, this fraile life of man,

That none without the same enduren can.

For now three dayes of men were full outwrought,

Since he this hardie enterprize began:

For thy great Mammon fairely he besought,

Into the world to guide him backe, as he him brought.

LXVI

The God, though loth, yet was constraind t’obay,

For lenger time, then that, no liuing wight

Below the earth, might suffred be to stay:

So backe againe, him brought to liuing light.

But all so soone as his enfeebled spright

Gan sucke this vitall aire into his brest,

As ouercome with too exceeding might,

The life did flit away out of her nest,

And all his senses were with deadly fit opprest.

Canto IX

The house of Temperance, in which

doth sober Alma dwell,

Besiegd of many foes, whom straunger

knightes to flight compell.

I

OF all Gods workes, which do this world adorne,

There is no one more faire and excellent,

Then is mans body both for powre and forme,

Whiles it is kept in sober gouernment;

But none then it, more fowle and indecent,

Distempred through misrule and passions bace:

It growes a Monster, and incontinent

Doth loose his dignitie and natiue grace.

Behold, who list, both one and other in this place.

II

After the Paynim brethren conquer’d were,

The Briton Prince recou’ring his stolne sword,

And Guyon his lost shield, they both yfere Sir knight, mote I of you this curt’sie read, To weet why on your shield so goodly scord

Beare ye the picture of that Ladies head?

Full liuely is the semblaunt, though the substance dead.

III

Faire Sir (said he) if in that picture dead

Such life ye read, and vertue in vaine shew,

What mote ye weene, if the trew liuely-head

Of that most glorious visage ye did vew?

But if the beautie of her mind ye knew,

That is her bountie, and imperiall powre,

Thousand times fairer then her mortall hew,

O how great wonder would your thoughts deuoure,

And infinite desire into your spirite poure!

IV

She is the mighty Queene of Faerie,

Whose faire retrait I in my shield do beare;

She is the flowre of grace and chastitie,

Throughout the world renowmed far and neare,

My liefe, my liege, my Soueraigne, my deare,

Whose glory shineth as the morning starre,

And with her light the earth enlumines cleare;

Far reach her mercies, and her prayses farre,

As well in state of peace, as puissaunce in warre.

V

Thrise happy man, (said then the Briton knight)

Whom gracious lot, and thy great valiaunce

Haue made thee souldier of that Princesse bright,

Which with her bounty and glad countenance

Doth blesse her seruaunts, and them high aduaunce.

How may straunge knight hope euer to aspire,

By faithfull seruice, and meet amenance,

Vnto such blisse? sufficient were that hire

For losse of thousand liues, to dye at her desire.

VI

Said Guyon, Noble Lord, what meed so great,

Or grace of earthly Prince so soueraine, But were your will, her sold to entertaine, And numbred be mongst knights of Maydenhed,

Great guerdon, well I wote, should you remaine,

And in her fauour high be reckoned,

As Arthegall, and Sophy now beene honored.

VII

Certes (then said the Prince) I God auow,

That sith I armes and knighthood first did plight,

My whole desire has beene, and yet is now,

To serue that Queene with all my powre and might.

Now hath the Sunne with his lamp-burning light,

Walkt round about the world, and I no lesse,

Sith of that Goddesse I haue sought the sight,

Yet no where can her find: such happinesse

Heauen doth to me enuy, and fortune fauourlesse.

VIII

Fortune, the foe of famous cheuisaunce

Seldome (said Guyon) yields to vertue aide,

But in her way throwes mischiefe and mischaunce,

Whereby her course is stopt, and passage staid.

But you, faire Sir, be not herewith dismaid,

But constant keepe the way, in which ye stand;

Which were it not, that I am else delaid

With hard aduenture, which I haue in hand,

I labour would to guide you through all Faery land.

IX

Gramercy Sir (said he) but mote I weete,

What straunge aduenture do ye now pursew?

Perhaps my succour, or aduizement meete

Mote stead you much your purpose to subdew.

Then gan Sir Guyon all the story shew

Of false Acrasia, and her wicked wiles,

Which to auenge, the Palmer him forth drew

From Faery court. So talked they, the whiles

They wasted had much way, and measurd many miles.

X

And now faire Phœbus gan decline in hast Foreby a riuer in a pleasaunt dale, Which choosing for that euenings hospitale,

They thither marcht: but when they came in sight,

And from their sweaty Coursers did auale,

They found the gates fast barred long ere night,

And euery loup fast lockt, as fearing foes despight.

XI

Which when they saw, they weened fowle reproch

Was to them doen, their entrance to forstall,

Till that the Squire gan nigher to approch;

And wind his horne vnder the castle wall,

That with the noise it shooke, as it would fall:

Eftsoones forth looked from the highest spire

The watch, and lowd vnto the knights did call,

To weete, what they so rudely did require.

Who gently answered, They entrance did desire.

XII

Fly, fly, good knights, (said he) fly fast away

If that your liues ye loue, as meete ye should;

Fly fast, and saue your selues from neare decay,

Here may ye not haue entraunce, though we would:

We would and would againe, if that we could;

But thousand enemies about vs raue,

And with long siege vs in this castle hould:

Seuen yeares this wize they vs besieged haue,

And many good knights slaine, that haue vs sought to saue.

XIII

Thus as he spoke, loe with outragious cry

A thousand villeins round about them swarmd

Out of the rockes and caues adioyning nye,

Vile caytiue wretches, ragged, rude, deformd,

All threatning death, all in straunge manner armd,

Some with vnweldy clubs, some with long speares,

Some rusty kniues, some staues in fire warmd.

Sterne was their looke, like wild amazed steares,

Staring with hollow eyes, and stiffe vpstanding heares.

And droue them to recoile: but when againe

They gaue fresh charge, their forces gan to faile,

Vnhable their encounter to sustaine;

For with such puissaunce and impetuous maine

Those Champions broke on them, that forst them fly,

Like scattered Sheepe, whenas the Shepheards swaine

A Lyon and a Tigre doth espye,

With greedy pace forth rushing from the forest nye.

XV

A while they fled, but soone returnd againe

With greater fury, then before was found;

And euermore their cruell Captaine

Sought with his raskall routs t’enclose them round,

And ouerrun to tread them to the ground.

But soone the knights with their bright-burning blades

Broke their rude troupes, and orders did confound,

Hewing and slashing at their idle shades;

For though they bodies seeme, yet substance from them fades.

XVI

As when a swarme of Gnats at euentide

Out of the fennes of Allan do arise,

Their murmuring small trompets sounden wide,

Whiles in the aire their clustring army flies,

That as a cloud doth seeme to dim the skies;

Ne man nor beast may rest, or take repast,

For their sharpe wounds, and noyous iniuries,

Till the fierce Northerne wind with blustring blast

Doth blow them quite away, and in the Ocean cast.

XVII

Thus when they had that troublous rout disperst,

Vnto the castle gate they come againe,

And entraunce crau’d, which was denied erst.

Now when report of that their perilous paine,

And combrous conflict, which they did sustaine,

Came to the Ladies eare, which there did dwell,

She forth issewed with a goodly traine

Of Squires and Ladies equipaged well,

And entertained them right fairely, as befell.

That had not yet felt Cupides wanton rage,

Yet was she woo’d of many a gentle knight,

And many a Lord of noble parentage,

That sought with her to lincke in marriage:

For she was faire, as faire mote euer bee,

And in the flowre now of her freshest age;

Yet full of grace and goodly modestee,

That euen heauen reioyced her sweete face to see.

XIX

In robe of lilly white she was arayd,

That from her shoulder to her heele downe raught,

The traine whereof loose far behind her strayd,

Braunched with gold and pearle, most richly wrought,

And borne of two faire Damsels, which were taught

That seruice well. Her yellow golden heare

Was trimly wouen, and in tresses wrought,

Ne other tyre she on her head did weare,

But crowned with a garland of sweete Rosiere.

XX

Goodly she entertaind those noble knights,

And brought them vp into her castle hall;

Where gentle court and gracious delight

She to them made, with mildnesse virginall,

Shewing her selfe both wise and liberall:

There when they rested had a season dew,

They her besought of fauour speciall,

Of that faire Castle to affoord them vew;

She graunted, and them leading forth, the same did shew.

XXI

First she them led vp to the Castle wall,

That was so high, as foe might not it clime,

And all so faire, and fensible withall,

Not built of bricke, ne yet of stone and lime,

But of thing like to that Ægyptian slime,

Whereof king Nine whilome built Babell towre;

But O great pitty, that no lenger time

So goodly workemanship should not endure:

Soone it must turne to earth; no earthly thing is sure.

And part triangulare, O worke diuine;

Those two the first and last proportions are,

The one imperfect, mortall, fœminine;

Th’other immortall, perfect, masculine,

And twixt them both a quadrate was the base,

Proportioned equally by seuen and nine;

Nine was the circle set in heauens place,

All which compacted made a goodly diapase.

XXIII

Therein two gates were placed seemly well:

The one before, by which all in did pas,

Did th’other far in workmanship excell;

For not of wood, nor of enduring bras,

But of more worthy substance fram’d it was;

Doubly disparted, it did locke and close,

That when it locked, none might thorough pas,

And when it opened, no man might it close,

Still open to their friends, and closed to their foes.

XXIV

Of hewen stone the porch was fairely wrought,

Stone more of valew, and more smooth and fine,

Then Iet or Marble far from Ireland brought;

Ouer the which was cast a wandring vine,

Enchaced with a wanton yuie twine.

And ouer it a faire Portcullis hong,

Which to the gate directly did incline,

With comely compasse, and compacture strong,

Neither vnseemely short, nor yet exceeding long.

XXV

Within the Barbican a Porter sate,

Day and night duely keeping watch and ward,

Nor wight, nor word mote passe out of the gate,

But in good order, and with dew regard;

Vtterers of secrets he from thence debard,

Bablers of folly, and blazers of crime.

His larumbell might lowd and wide be hard,

When cause requird, but neuer out of time;

Early and late it rong, at euening and at prime.

Twise sixteen warders sat, all armed bright

In glistring steele, and strongly fortifide:

Tall yeomen seemed they, and of great might,

And were enraunged ready, still for fight.

By them as Alma passed with her guestes,

They did obeysaunce, as beseemed right,

And then againe returned to their restes:

The Porter eke to her did lout with humble gestes.

XXVII

Thence she them brought into a stately Hall,

Wherein were many tables faire dispred,

And ready dight with drapets festiuall,

Against the viaundes should be ministred.

At th’upper end there sate, yclad in red

Downe to the ground, a comely personage,

That in his hand a white rod menaged,

He Steward was hight Diet; rype of age,

And in demeanure sober, and in counsell sage.

XXVIII

And through the Hall there walked to and fro

A iolly yeoman, Marshall of the same,

Whose name was Appetite; he did bestow

Both guestes and meate, when euer in they came,

And knew them how to order without blame,

As him the Steward bad. They both attone

Did dewty to their Lady, as became;

Who passing by, forth led her guestes anone

Into the kitchin rowme, ne spard for nicenesse none.

XXIX

It was a vaut ybuilt for great dispence,

With many raunges reard along the wall;

And one great chimney, whose long tonnell thence,

The smoke forth threw. And in the midst of all

There placed was a caudron wide and tall,

Vpon a mighty furnace, burning whot,

More whot, then Aetn’, or flaming Mongiball:

For day and night it brent, ne ceased not,

So long as any thing it in the caudron got.

It might breake out, and set the whole on fire,

There added was by goodly ordinaunce,

An huge great paire of bellowes, which did styre

Continually, and cooling breath inspyre.

About the Caudron many Cookes accoyld,

With hookes and ladles, as need did require;

The whiles the viandes in the vessell boyld

They did about their businesse sweat, and sorely toyld.

XXXI

The maister Cooke was cald Concoction,

A carefull man, and full of comely guise:

The kitchin Clerke, that hight Digestion,

Did order all th’Achates in seemely wise,

And set them forth, as well he could deuise.

The rest had seuerall offices assind,

Some to remoue the scum, as it did rise;

Others to beare the same away did mind;

And others it to vse according to his kind.

XXXII

But all the liquour, which was fowle and wast,

Not good nor seruiceable else for ought,

They in another great round vessell plast,

Till by a conduit pipe it thence were brought:

And all the rest, that noyous was, and nought,

By secret wayes, that none might it espy,

Was close conuaid, and to the back-gate brought,

That cleped was Port Esquiline, whereby

It was auoided quite, and throwne out priuily.

XXXIII

Which goodly order, and great workmans skill

Whenas those knights beheld, with rare delight,

And gazing wonder they their minds did fill;

For neuer had they seene so straunge a sight.

Thence backe againe faire Alma led them right,

And soone into a goodly Parlour brought,

That was with royall arras richly dight,

In which was nothing pourtrahed, nor wrought,

Not wrought, nor pourtrahed, but easie to be thought.

A louely beuy of faire Ladies sate,

Courted of many a iolly Paramoure,

The which them did in modest wise amate,

And eachone sought his Lady to aggrate:

And eke emongst them litle Cupid playd

His wanton sports, being returned late

From his fierce warres, and hauing from him layd

His cruell bow, wherewith he thousands hath dismayd.

XXXV

Diuerse delights they found them selues to please;

Some song in sweet consort, some laught for ioy,

Some plaid with strawes, some idly sat at ease;

But other some could not abide to toy,

All pleasaunce was to them griefe and annoy:

This fround, that faund, the third for shame did blush,

Another seemed enuious, or coy,

Another in her teeth did gnaw a rush:

But at these straungers presence euery one did hush.

XXXVI

Soone as the gracious Alma came in place,

They all attonce out of their seates arose,

And to her homage made, with humble grace:

Whom when the knights beheld, they gan dispose

Themselues to court, and each a Damsell chose:

The Prince by chaunce did on a Lady light,

That was right faire and fresh as morning rose,

But somwhat sad, and solemne eke in sight,

As if some pensiue thought constraind her gentle spright.

XXXVII

In a long purple pall, whose skirt with gold,

Was fretted all about, she was arayd;

And in her hand a Poplar braunch did hold:

To whom the Prince in curteous manner said;

Gentle Madame, why beene ye thus dismaid,

And your faire beautie do with sadnesse spill?

Liues any, that you hath thus ill apaid?

Or doen you loue, or doen you lacke your will?

What euer be the cause, it sure beseemes you ill.

How is it, that this word in me ye blame,

And in your selfe do not the same aduise?

Him ill beseemes, anothers fault to name,

That may vnwares be blotted with the same:

Pensiue I yeeld I am, and sad in mind,

Through great desire of glory and of fame;

Ne ought I weene are ye therein behind,

That haue twelue moneths sought one, yet no where can her find.

XXXIX

The Prince was inly moued at her speach,

Well weeting trew, what she had rashly told;

Yet with faire semblaunt sought to hide the breach,

Which chaunge of colour did perforce vnfold,

Now seeming flaming whot, now stony cold.

Tho turning soft aside, he did inquire,

What wight she was, that Poplar braunch did hold:

It answered was, her name was Prays-desire,

That by well doing sought to honour to aspire.

XL

The whiles, the Faerie knight did entertaine

Another Damsell of that gentle crew,

That was right faire, and modest of demaine,

But that too oft she chaung’d her natiue hew:

Straunge was her tyre, and all her garment blew,

Close round about her tuckt with many a plight:

Vpon her fist the bird, which shonneth vew,

And keepes in couerts close from liuing wight,

Did sit, as yet ashamd, how rude Pan did her dight.

XLI

So long as Guyon with her commoned,

Vnto the ground she cast her modest eye,

And euer and anone with rosie red

The bashfull bloud her snowy cheekes did dye,

That her became, as polisht yuory,

Which cunning Craftesman hand hath ouerlayd

With faire vermilion or pure Castory.

Great wonder had the knight, to see the mayd

So straungely passioned, and to her gently sayd, That either me too bold ye weene, this wise You to molest, or other ill to feare

That in the secret of your hart close lyes,

From whence it doth, as cloud from sea arise.

If it be I, of pardon I you pray;

But if ought else that I mote not deuise,

I will, if please you it discure, assay,

To ease you of that ill, so wisely as I may.

XLIII

She answerd nought, but more abasht for shame,

Held downe her head, the whiles her louely face

The flashing bloud with blushing did inflame,

And the strong passion mard her modest grace,

That Guyon meruayld at her vncouth cace:

Till Alma him bespake, why wonder yee

Faire Sir at that, which ye so much embrace?

She is the fountaine of your modestee;

You shamefast are, but Shamefastnesse it selfe is shee.

XLIV

Thereat the Elfe did blush in priuitee,

And turnd his face away; but she the same

Dissembled faire, and faynd to ouersee.

Thus they awhile with court and goodly game,

Themselues did solace each one with his Dame,

Till that great Ladie thence away them sought,

To vew her castles other wondrous frame.

Vp to a stately Turret she them brought,

Ascending by ten steps of Alablaster wrought.

XLV

That Turrets frame most admirable was,

Like highest heauen compassed around,

And lifted high aboue this earthly masse,

Which it suruew’d, as hils doen lower ground;

But not on ground mote like to this be found,

Not that, which antique Cadmus whylome built

In Thebes, which Alexander did confound;

Nor that proud towre of Troy, though richly guilt,

From which young Hectors bloud by cruell Greekes was spilt.

And deckt with flowers and herbars daintily;

Two goodly Beacons, set in watches stead,

Therein gaue light, and flam’d continually:

For they of liuing fire most subtilly

Were made, and set in siluer sockets bright,

Couer’d with lids deuiz’d of substance sly,

That readily they shut and open might.

O who can tell the prayses of that makers might!

XLVII

Ne can I tell, ne can I stay to tell

This parts great workmanship, and wondrous powre,

That all this other worlds worke doth excell,

And likest is vnto that heauenly towre,

That God hath built for his owne blessed bowre.

Therein were diuerse roomes, and diuerse stages,

But three the chiefest, and of greatest powre,

In which there dwelt three honorable sages,

The wisest men, I weene, that liued in their ages.

XLVIII

Not he, whom Greece, the Nourse of all good arts,

By Phœbus doome, the wisest thought aliue,

Might be compar’d to these by many parts:

Nor that sage Pylian syre, which did suruiue

Three ages, such as mortall men contriue,

By whose aduise old Priams cittie fell,

With these in praise of pollicies mote striue.

These three in these three roomes did sundry dwell,

And counselled faire Alma, how to gouerne well.

XLIX

The first of them could things to come foresee:

The next could of things present best aduize;

The third things past could keepe in memoree,

So that no time, nor reason could arize,

But that the same could one of these comprize.

For thy the first did in the forepart sit,

That nought mote hinder his quicke preiudize:

He had a sharpe foresight, and working wit,

That neuer idle was, ne once could rest a whit.

With sundry colours, in the which were writ

Infinite shapes of things dispersed thin;

Some such as in the world were neuer yit,

Ne can deuized be of mortall wit;

Some daily seene, and knowen by their names,

Such as in idle fantasies doe flit:

Infernall Hags, Centaurs, feendes, Hippodames,

Apes, Lions, AEgles, Owles, fooles, louers, children, Dames.

LI

And all the chamber filled was with flyes,

Which buzzed all about, and made such sound,

That they encombred all mens eares and eyes,

Like many swarmes of Bees assembled round,

After their hiues with honny do abound:

All those were idle thoughts and fantasies,

Deuices, dreames, opinions vnsound,

Shewes, visions, sooth-sayes, and prophesies;

And all that fained is, as leasings, tales, and lies.

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,

LII

Emongst them all sate he, which wonned there,

That hight Phantastes by his nature trew;

A man of yeares yet fresh, as mote appere,

Of swarth complexion, and of crabbed hew,

That him full of melancholy did shew;

Bent hollow beetle browes, sharpe staring eyes,

That mad or foolish seemd: one by his vew

Mote deeme him borne with ill disposed skyes,

When oblique Saturne sate in the house of agonyes.

LIII

Whom Alma hauing shewed to her guestes,

Thence brought them to the second roome, whose wals

Were painted faire with memorable gestes,

Of famous Wisards, and with picturals

Of Magistrates, of courts, of tribunals, All artes, all science, all Philosophy,

And all that in the world was aye thought wittily.

LIV

Of those that roome was full, and them among

There sate a man of ripe and perfect age,

Who did them meditate all his life long,

That through continuall practise and vsage,

He now was growne right wise, and wondrous sage.

Great pleasure had those stranger knights, to see

His goodly reason, and graue personage,

That his disciples both desir’d to bee;

But Alma thence them led to th’hindmost roome of three.

LV

That chamber seemed ruinous and old,

And therefore was remoued farre behind,

Yet were the wals, that did the same vphold,

Right firme and strong, though somewhat they declind,

And therein sate an old oldman, halfe blind,

And all decrepit in his feeble corse,

Yet liuely vigour rested in his mind,

And recompenst him with a better scorse:

Weake body well is chang’d for minds redoubled forse.

LVI

This man of infinite remembrance was,

And things foregone through many ages held,

Which he recorded still, as they did pas,

Ne suffred them to perish through long eld,

As all things else, the which this world doth weld,

But laid them vp in his immortall scrine,

Where they for euer incorrupted dweld:

The warres he well remembred of king Nine,

Of old Assaracus, and Inachus diuine.

LVII

The yeares of Nestor nothing were to his,

Ne yet Mathusalem, though longest liu’d;

For he remembred both their infancies:

Ne wonder then, if that he were depriu’d And old records from auncient times deriu’d, Some made in books, some in long parchment scrolles,

That were all worme-eaten, and full of canker holes.

LVIII

Amidst them all he in a chaire was set,

Tossing and turning them withouten end;

But for he was vnhable them to fet,

A litle boy did on him still attend,

To reach, when euer he for ought did send;

And oft when things were lost, or laid amis,

That boy them sought, and vnto him did lend.

Therefore he Anamnestes cleped is,

And that old man Eumnestes, by their propertis.

LIX

The knights there entring, did him reuerence dew

And wondred at his endlesse exercise,

Then as they gan his Librarie to vew,

And antique Registers for to auise,

There chaunced to the Princes hand to rize,

An auncient booke, hight Briton moniments,

That of this lands first conquest did deuize,

And old diuision into Regiments,

Till it reduced was to one mans gouernments.

LX

Sir Guyon chaunst eke on another booke,

That hight Antiquitie of Faerie lond,

In which when as he greedily did looke,

Th’off-spring of Elues and Faries there he fond,

As it deliuered was from hond to hond:

Whereat they burning both with feruent fire,

Their countries auncestry to vnderstond,

Crau’d leaue of Alma, and that aged sire,

To read those bookes; who gladly graunted their desire.