6. D

6. DICTION AND STYLE.--The peculiar diction of the _Faerie Queene_ should receive the careful attention of the student. As a romantic poet, Spenser often preferred archaic and semi-obsolete language to more modern forms. He uses four classes of words that were recognized as the proper and conventional language of pastoral and romantic poetry; viz. (a) _archaisms_, (b) _dialect_, (c) _classicisms_, and (d) _gallicisms_. He did not hesitate to adopt from Chaucer many obsolete words and grammatical forms. Examples are: the double negative with _ne_; _eyen_, _lenger_, _doen_, _ycladd_, _harrowd_, _purchas_, _raught_, _seely_, _stowre_, _swinge_, _owch_, and _withouten_. He also employs many old words from Layamon, Wiclif, and Langland, like _swelt_, _younglings_, _noye_, _kest_, _hurtle_, and _loft_. His dialectic forms are taken from the vernacular of the North Lancashire folk with which he was familiar. Some are still a part of the spoken language of that region, such as, _brent_, _cruddled_, _forswat_, _fearen_, _forray_, _pight_, _sithen_, _carle_, and _carke_. Examples of his use of classical constructions are: the ablative absolute, as, _which doen_ (IV, xliii); the relative construction with _when_, as, _which when_ (I, xvii), _that when_ (VII, xi); the comparative of the adjective in the sense of "too," as, _weaker_ (I, xlv), harder (II, xxxvi); the participial construction after _till_, as, _till further tryall made_ (I, xii); the superlative of location, as, _middest_ (IV, xv); and the old gerundive, as, _wandering wood_ (I, xiii). Most of the gallicisms found are anglicized loan words from the French _romans d'aventure_, such as, _disseized_, _cheare_, _chappell_, _assoiled_, _guerdon_, _palfrey_, _recreaunt_, _trenchand_, _syre_, and _trusse_. Notwithstanding Spenser's use of foreign words and constructions, his language is as thoroughly English in its idiom as that of any of our great poets. "I think that if he had not been a great poet," says Leigh Hunt, "he would have been a great painter." "After reading," says Pope, "a canto of Spenser two or three days ago to an old lady, between seventy and eighty years of age, she said that I had been showing her a gallery of pictures. I do not know how it is, but she said very right. There is something in Spenser that pleases one as strongly in old age as it did in youth. I read the _Faerie Queene_ when I was about twelve, with infinite delight; and I think it gave me as much, when I read it over about a year or two ago." The imperishable charm of the poem lies in its appeal to the pure sense of beauty. "A beautiful pagan dream," says Taine, "carries on a beautiful dream of chivalry." The reader hears in its lines a stately and undulating rhythm that intoxicates the ear and carries him on with an irresistible fascination, he sees the unsubstantial forms of fairyland go sweeping by in a gorgeous and dreamlike pageantry, and he feels pulsing in its luxuriant and enchanted atmosphere the warm and beauty-loving temper of the Italian Renaissance. "Spenser is superior to his subject," says Taine, "comprehends it fully, frames it with a view to the end, in order to impress upon it the proper mark of his soul and his genius. Each story is modified with respect to another, and all with respect to a certain effect which is being worked out. Thus a beauty issues from this harmony,--the beauty in the poet's heart,--which his whole work strives to express; a noble and yet a laughing beauty, made up of moral elevation and sensuous seductions, English in sentiment, Italian in externals, chivalric in subject, modern in its perfection, representing a unique and admirable epoch, the appearance of paganism in a Christian race, and the worship of form by an imagination of the North." CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE EVENTS IN SPENSER'S LIFE A.D. CONTEMPORARY EVENTS Birth of Edmund Spenser (about) 1552 Birth of Sir Walter Raleigh 1553 Death of Edward VI; Mary crowned. 1554 Mary marries Philip of Spain. 1558 Death of Mary; Elizabeth crowned. 1560 Charles IX, king of France. 1568 Council of Trent. _Visions of Bellay_, published, 1569 _Sonnets of Petrarch_, published, 1569 Enters Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, 1569 1572 Gregory XIII, Pope of Rome. 1572 Massacre of St. Batholomew. 1574 Henry III, king of France. Received M.A., leaves Cambridge, 1576 Rudolph II, emperor. Leaves Lancashire, 1578 Elizabeth aids the Netherlands. Visits Lord Leicester, 1579 _The Shepheards Calender_, 1579 Goes to Ireland, 1580 Massacre of Smerwick. 1581 Tasso's _Jersalem Delivered_. Lord Grey's return to England, 1582 1584 Assassination of William the Silent. 1585 Sixtus V, Pope. Drake's voyage. 1585 Leicester goes to the Netherlands. 1586 Death of Sir Philip Sidney. First marriage (before) 1587 Execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Clerk to the Council of Munster, 1588 Defeat of Spanish Armada. Death of Leicester. Visits England with Raleigh, 1589 Assassination of Henry III; Henry IV crowned. _The Faerie Queene_, Books I, 1590 Shakespeare's _Love's II, III, Labour's Lost_. _Mother Hubberds Tale, Tears of 1591 Shakespeare's _Comedy of Errors, the Muses, Ruines of Time, Henry VI_. Daphnaida, The Visions_ 1591 Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_, trans. 1593 Shakespeare's _Midsummer Night's Dream_. 1593 _Richard III._ Second marriage, 1594 Shakespeare's _Richard II_. _Colin Clout's Come Home Again_, 1595 Shakespeare's _King John_. _Amoretti, Epithalamion, Hymns_ 1595 Johnston's _Seven Champions of Christendom._ _Astrophel, Prothalamion,_ 1596 Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_. _The Faerie Queene_, Books I-VI 1596 Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour._ _Vision of the Present State of 1598 Edict of Nantes, Ireland_ Philip III crowned. Death of Spenser, 1599 Revolt of Irish. Expedition of Essex to Ireland. * * * * * THE FAERIE QUEENE * * * * * LETTER TO SIR WALTER RALEIGH A LETTER of the Authors expounding his whole intention in the course of this worke;[1] which, for that it giveth great light to the reader, for the better understanding is hereunto annexed. TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND VALOROUS SIR WALTER RALEIGH, KNIGHT. _Lo: Wardein of the Stanneries, and her majesties lieutenaunt of the countie of Cornewayll._ SIR, Knowing how doubtfully all Allegories may be constructed, and this booke of mine, which I have entituled _The Faery Queene_, being a continued Allegorie, or darke conceit, I have thought good, as well for avoyding of jealous opinions and misconstructions, as also for your better light in reading thereof, (being so, by you commanded) to discover unto you the generall intention and meaning, which in the whole course thereof I have fashioned, without expressing of any particular purposes, or by-accidents therein occasioned. The generall end therefore of all the booke, is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline. Which for that I conceived shoulde be most plausible and pleasing, beeing coloured with an historicall fiction, the which the most part of men delight to read, rather for varietie of matter than for profit of the ensample: I chose the historie of king Arthure, as most fit for the excellencie of his person, beeing made famous by many mens former workes, and also furthest from the danger of envie, and suspicion of present time. In which I have followed all the antique poets historicall: first Homer, who in the persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses hath ensampled a good governour and a vertuous man, the one in his _Ilias_, the other in his _Odysseis_: then Virgil, whose like intention was to doe in the person of _Æneas_: after him Ariosto comprised them both in his _Orlando_: and lately Tasso dissevered them againe, and formed both parts in two persons, namely, that part which they in philosophy call _Ethice_, or vertues of a private man, coloured in his _Rinaldo_: the other named _Politice_, in his _Godfredo_. By ensample of which excellent Poets, I laboure to pourtraict in Arthure, before he was king, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve private morall vertues, as Aristotle hath devised: which if I find to be well accepted, I may be perhaps encoraged to frame the other part of pollitike vertues in his person, after he came to bee king. To some I know this Methode will seem displeasant, which had rather have good discipline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or sermoned at large, as they use, then thus clowdily enwrapped in Allegoricall devises. But such, mee seeme, should be satisfied with the use of these dayes, seeing all things accounted by their showes, and nothing esteemed of, that is not delightfull and pleasing to common sense. For this cause is Xenophon preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his judgement, formed a Commune-wealth, such as it should be; but the other, in the person of Cyrus and the Persians, fashioned a government, such as might best be: So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by ensample then by rule. So have I laboured to do in the person of Arthure: whom I conceive, after his long education by Timon (to whom he was by Merlin delivered to be brought up, so soone as he was borne of the Lady Igrayne) to have seen in a dreame or vision the Faerie Queene, with whose excellent beautie ravished, hee awaking, resolved to seek her out: and so, being by Merlin armed, and by Timon throughly instructed, he went to seeke her forth in Faery land. In that Faery Queene I mean _Glory_ in my generall intention: but in my particular I conceive the most excellent and glorious person of our soveraine the Queene, and her kingdome in Faery land. And yet, in some places else, I doe otherwise shadow her. For considering shee beareth two persons, the one of a most royall Queene or Empresse, the other of a most vertuous and beautifull lady, this latter part in some places I doe expresse in Belphoebe, fashioning her name according to your owne excellent conceipt of Cynthia,[2] (Phoebe and Cynthia being both names of Diana). So in the person of Prince Arthure I sette forth magnificence in particular, which vertue, for that (according to Aristotle and the rest) it is the perfection of all the rest, and containeth in it them all, therefore in the whole course I mention the deeds of Arthure appliable to the vertue, which I write of in that booke. But of the twelve other vertues I make XII other knights the patrons, for the more varietie of the historic: Of which these three bookes containe three. The first, of the Knight of the Red crosse, in whom I expresse Holinesse: the second of Sir Guyon, in whome I set foorth Temperance: the third of Britomartis, a Lady knight, in whom I picture Chastitie. But because the beginning of the whole worke seemeth abrupt and as depending upon other antecedents, it needs that yee know the occasion of these three knights severall adventures. For the Methode of a Poet historicall is not such as of an Historiographer. For an Historiographer discourseth of affaires orderly as they were done, accounting as well the times as the actions; but a Poet thrusteth into the middest, even where it most concerneth him, and there recoursing to the things forepast, and divining of things to come, maketh a pleasing analysis of all. The beginning therefore of my historie, if it were to be told by an Historiographer, should be the twelfth booke, which is the last; where I devise that the Faery Queene kept her annuall feast twelve daies; uppon which twelve severall dayes, the occasions of the twelve severall adventures hapned, which being undertaken by XII severall knights, are in these twelve books severally handled and discoursed. The first was this. In the beginning of the feast, there presented him selfe a tall clownish younge man, who falling before the Queene of Faeries desired a boone (as the manner then was) which during that feast she might not refuse: which was that hee might have the atchievement of any adventure, which during that feast should happen; that being granted, he rested him selfe on the fioore, unfit through his rusticitie for a better place. Soone after entred a faire Ladie in mourning weedes, riding on a white Asse, with a dwarfe behind her leading a warlike steed, that bore the Armes of a knight, and his speare in the dwarfes hand. She falling before the Queene of Faeries, complayned that her father and mother, an ancient King and Queene, had bene by an huge dragon many yeers shut up in a brazen Castle, who thence suffered them not to issew: and therefore besought the Faery Queene to assigne her some one of her knights to take on him that exployt. Presently that clownish person upstarting, desired that adventure; whereat the Queene much wondering, and the Lady much gaine-saying, yet he earnestly importuned his desire. In the end the Lady told him, that unlesse that armour which she brought would serve him (that is, the armour of a Christian man specified by Saint Paul, V. Ephes.) that he could not succeed in that enterprise: which being forth with put upon him with due furnitures thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in al that company, and was well liked of the Lady. And eftesoones taking on him knighthood, and mounting on that straunge Courser, he went forth with her on that adventure: where beginneth the first booke, viz. A gentle knight was pricking on the playne, etc. The second day there came in a Palmer bearing an Infant with bloody hands, whose Parents he complained to have bene slaine by an enchauntresse called Acrasia: and therefore craved of the Faery Queene, to appoint him some knight to performe that adventure, which being assigned to Sir Guyon, he presently went foorth with the same Palmer: which is the beginning of the second booke and the whole subject thereof. The third day there came in a Groome, who complained before the Faery Queene, that a vile Enchaunter, called Busirane, had in hand a most faire Lady, called Amoretta, whom he kept in most grevious torment. Whereupon Sir Scudamour, the lover of that Lady, presently tooke on him that adventure. But beeing unable to performe it by reason of the hard Enchauntments, after long sorrow, in the end met with Britomartis, who succoured him, and reskewed his love. But by occasion hereof, many other adventures are intermedled; but rather as accidents then intendments. As the love of Britomart, the overthrow of Marinell, the miserie of Florimell, the vertuousness of Belphoebe; and many the like. Thus much, Sir, I have briefly-over-run to direct your understanding to the wel-head of the History, that from thence gathering the whole intention of the conceit, ye may as in a handfull gripe all the discourse, which otherwise may happely seem tedious and confused. So humbly craving the continuance of your honourable favour towards me, and th' eternall establishment of your happines, I humbly take leave. Yours most humbly affectionate, EDM. SPENSER. 23 Januarie, 1589. [1] The letter served as an introduction to the first three books of the _Faerie Queene_. [2] An allusion to Sir Walter Raleigh's poem _Cynthia_. * * * * * _To the Right Noble and Valorous Knight_, SIR WALTER RALEIGH, _Lord Wardein of the Stanneryes, and Lieftenaunt of Cornewaile_, To thee that art the sommers Nightingale, Thy soveraigne Goddesses most deare delight, Why doe I send this rustick Madrigale, That may thy tunefull eare unseason quite? Thou onely fit this argument to write In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her bowre, And dainty Love learnd sweetly to endite. My rimes I know unsavory and sowre, To taste the streames, that, like a golden showre, Flow from thy fruitfull head, of thy Loves praise; Fitter perhaps to thunder martiall stowre, When so thee list thy loftie Muse to raise: Yet, till that thou thy poeme wilt make knowne, Let thy faire Cinthias praises be thus rudely showne. E.S. * * * * * TO THE MOST HIGH, MIGHTIE, AND MAGNIFICENT EMPERESSE RENOWNED FOR PIETIE, VERTVE, AND ALL GRATIOVS GOVERNMENT ELIZABETH BY THE GRACE OF GOD Queen of England, Fraunce and Ireland, and of Virginia, Defender of the Faith etc. HER MOST HUMBLE SERVAUNT EDMVND SPENSER DOTH IN ALL HUMILITIE DEDICATE, PRESENT, AND CONSECRATE THESE HIS LABOVRS TO LIVE WITH THE ETERNITIE OF HER FAME. * * * * * THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENE CONTAINING THE LEGENDE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CROSSE, OR OF HOLINESSE * * * * * I Lo I the man,° whose Muse whilome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds, Am now enforst a far unfitter taske, For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds, And sing of Knights and Ladies° gentle deeds; 5 Whose prayses having slept in silence long, Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broade emongst her learned throng: Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song. II Helpe then, O holy Virgin chiefe of nine,° 10 Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will; Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights° and fairest Tanaquill,° Whom that most noble Briton Prince° so long 15 Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his undeserved wrong: O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong. III And thou most dreaded impe of highest Jove,° Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart 20 At that good knight so cunningly didst rove, That glorious fire it kindled in his hart, Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart, And with thy mother milde come to mine ayde; Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart,° 25 In loves and gentle jollities arrayd, After his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd. IV And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright,° Mirrour of grace and Majestie divine, Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose light 30 Like Phoebus lampe° throughout the world doth shine, Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne, And raise my thoughts, too humble and too vile, To thinke of that true glorious type of thine,° The argument of mine afflicted stile:° 35 The which to heare, vouchsafe, O dearest dred,° a-while. * * * * * 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: 5 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, 10 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: 15 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, 20 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 25 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 30 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, 35 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 40 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. 45 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, 50 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, 55 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: 60 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, 65 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,° 70 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, 75 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, 80 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, 85 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. 90 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, 95 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, 100 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. 105 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 110 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: 115 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, 120 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, 125 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° 130 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. 135 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 140 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 145 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, 150 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, 155 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, 160 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: 165 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, 170 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 175 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. 180 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, 185 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, 190 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, 195 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, 200 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, 205 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, 210 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; 215 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, 220 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. 225 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, 230 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 235 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, 240 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; 245 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)° 250 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 255 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, 260 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. 265 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. 270 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, 275 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 280 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, 285 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: 290 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° 295 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 300 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, 305 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. 310 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. 315 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: 320 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, 325 (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; 330 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 335 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; 340 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. 345 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, 350 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, 355 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. 360 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: 365 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, 370 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. 375 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 380 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, 385 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 390 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 395 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, 400 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. 405 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: 410 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, 415 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: 420 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 425 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, 430 _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 435 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, 440 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, 445 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. 450 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? 455 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 460 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: 465 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 470 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 475 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: 480 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, 485 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 490 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. 495 * * * * * 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: 5 And chearefull Chaunticlere° with his note shrill Had warned once, that Phoebus 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, 10 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 15 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 20 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, 25 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, 30 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, 35 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 40 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. 45 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. 50 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, 55 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, 60 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: 65 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, 70 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, 75 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, 80 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: 85 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? 90 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 95 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, 100 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, 105 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, 110 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 115 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, 120 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 125 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, 130 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. 135 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, 140 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 145 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 150 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;° 155 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, 160 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, 165 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, 170 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; 175 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. 180 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, 185 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; 190 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!) 195 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° 200 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 205 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 210 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 215 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; 220 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. 225 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, 230 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, 235 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, 240 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 245 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 250 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 Phoebus now ymounted hie, 255 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 260 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; 265 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. 270 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, 275 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 280 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, 285 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, 290 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, 295 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? 300 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, 305 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, 310 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. 315 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, 320 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, 325 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, 330 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, 335 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, 340 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; 345 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; 350 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, 355 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. 360 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 365 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° 370 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, 375 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? 380 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? 385 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 390 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: 395 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 400 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. 405 * * * * * 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, 5 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, 10 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, 15 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 20 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, 25 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 30 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; 35 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, 40 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. 45 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? 50 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, 55 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, 60 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; 65 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, 70 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 75 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, 80 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, 85 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. 90 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, 95 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, 100 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; 105 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, 110 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; 115 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, 120 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, 125 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: 130 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. 135 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, 140 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, 145 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, 150 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 155 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; 160 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: 165 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, 170 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 175 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. 180 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,° 185 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, 190 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, 195 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, 200 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 205 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, 210 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, 215 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, 220 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. 225 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, 230 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, 235 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, 240 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, 245 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,° 250 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 255 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 260 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: 265 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. 270 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, 275 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; 280 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 285 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, 290 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 295 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 300 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; 305 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, 310 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. 315 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, 320 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,° 325 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, 330 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 335 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, 340 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? 345 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, 350 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: 355 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. 360 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 365 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 370 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 375 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? 380 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, 385 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, 390 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, 395 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, 5 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, 10 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, 15 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,° 20 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: 25 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, 30 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; 35 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: 40 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. 45 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 50 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, 55 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 60 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, 65 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 70 To dim the brightnesse of her glorious throne, As envying her selfe, that too exceeding shone. IX Exceeding shone, like Phoebus fairest childe,° That did presume his fathers firie wayne, And flaming mouthes of steedes unwonted wilde 75 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, 80 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 85 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. 90 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, 95 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, 100 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: 105 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, 110 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, 115 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 120 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 125 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; 130 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. 135 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: 140 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, 145 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 150 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, 155 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, 160 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, 165 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, 170 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, 175 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. 180 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, 185 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; 190 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, 195 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, 200 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: 205 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), 210 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: 215 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, 220 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. 225 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; 230 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, 235 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, 240 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, 245 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 250 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, 255 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; 260 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; 265 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. 270 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. 275 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, 280 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 285 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; 290 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; 295 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; 300 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, 305 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, 310 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. 315 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, 320 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, 325 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: 330 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, 335 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 340 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 345 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, 350 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; 355 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. 360 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 365 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, 370 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, 375 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: 380 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, 385 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, 390 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, 395 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, 400 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. 405 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 410 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, 415 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. 420 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, 425 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, 430 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; 435 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,° 440 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? 445 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. 450 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. 455 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 5 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, 10 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 15 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, 20 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, 25 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 30 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 35 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, 40 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. 45 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: 50 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, 55 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. 60 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, 65 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: 70 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 75 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, 80 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, 85 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? 90 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, 95 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,° 100 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, 105 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; 110 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, 115 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, 120 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. 125 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: 130 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. 135 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. 140 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: 145 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 150 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, 155 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 160 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, 165 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, 170 But to the easterne coast of heaven makes speedy way. XX Where griesly Night,° with visage deadly sad, That Phoebus chearefull face durst never vew, And in a foule blacke pitchie mantle clad, She findes forth comming from her darkesome mew, 175 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. 180 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, 185 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 190 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, 195 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; 200 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? 205 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, 210 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 215 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, 220 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.° 225 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? 230 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 235 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 240 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: 245 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; 250 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, 255 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: 260 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, 265 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. 270 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, 275 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 280 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 285 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, 290 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, 295 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, 300 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: 305 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; 310 There thirsty Tantalus hong by the chin; And Tityus fed a vulture on his maw; Typhoeus joynts were stretched on a gin, Theseus condemnd to endlesse slouth by law, And fifty sisters water in leake vessels draw. 315 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, 320 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 325 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, 330 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, 335 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 340 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, 345 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 350 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, 355 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. 360 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, 365 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, 370 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, 375 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, 380 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 385 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: 390 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 Phoebus pure, 395 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 400 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. 405 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, 410 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,° 415 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 420 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; 425 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, 430 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 435 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,° 440 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; 445 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; 450 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, 455 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, 460 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, 465 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, 470 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, 475 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 5 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 10 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, 15 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, 20 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: 25 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, 30 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 35 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, 40 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? 45 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; 50 And Phoebus 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, 55 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; 60 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, 65 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, 70 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, 75 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, 80 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, 85 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. 90 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, 95 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 100 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, 105 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; 110 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, 115 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, 120 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; 125 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 130 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. 135 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; 140 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 145 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 150 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, 155 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: 160 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, 165 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 170 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: 175 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. 180 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 185 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 190 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, 195 * * * * * And made her person thrall unto his beastly kind. XXIII So long in secret cabin there he held * * * * * Then home he suffred her for to retyre, For ransome leaving him the late borne childe; Whom till to ryper yeares he gan aspire, 200 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 205 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, 210 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, 215 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. 220 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; 225 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 230 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 235 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, 240 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; 245 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 250 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; 255 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. 260 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. 265 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, 270 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, 275 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 280 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, 285 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. 290 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, 295 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; 300 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, 305 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. 310 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, 315 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, 320 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: 325 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, 330 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, 335 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 340 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 345 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, 350 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. 355 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 360 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, 365 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, 370 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 375 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; 380 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: 385 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; 390 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, 395 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. 400 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: 405 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 410 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 415 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 420 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,° 425 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, 5 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, 10 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 15 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, 20 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 25 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, 30 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, 35 Was out of Dianes favour, as it then befell. V The cause was this: One day, when Phoebe° 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: 40 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.° 45 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. 50 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, 55 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, 60 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 65 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, 70 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, * * * * * Brought forth this monstrous masse of earthly slime 75 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. 80 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. 85 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, 90 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, 95 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: 100 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, 105 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, 110 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, 115 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, 120 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, 125 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. 130 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: 135 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° 140 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; 145 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,° 150 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.° 155 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, 160 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, 165 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: 170 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. 175 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, 180 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, 185 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? 190 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, 195 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. 200 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 205 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, 210 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: 215 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. 220 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; 225 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, 230 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. 235 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 240 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, 245 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: 250 His glitterand armour shined farre away, Like glauncing light of Phoebus brightest ray; From top to toe no place appeared bare, That deadly dint of steele endanger may: Athwart his brest a bauldrick brave he ware, 255 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, 260 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. 265 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 270 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, 275 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, 280 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; 285 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, 290 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, 295 Or when the flying heavens he would affray; For so exceeding shone his glistring ray, That Phoebus golden face it did attaint, As when a cloud his beames doth over-lay; And silver Cynthia° wexed pale and faint, 300 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; 305 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. 310 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: 315 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, 320 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, 325 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; 330 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, 335 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? 340 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, 345 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. 350 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. 355 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, 360 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, 365 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, 370 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, 375 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, 380 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,° 385 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, 390 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, 395 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. 400 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 405 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) 410 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 415 (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, 420 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:° 425 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 430 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, 435 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, 440 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. 445 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, 450 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: 455 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, 460 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, 5 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 10 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. 15 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; 20 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 25 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, 30 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, 35 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, 40 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. 45 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.° 50 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, 55 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, 60 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, 65 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, 70 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, 75 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, 80 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 85 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. 90 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° 95 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 100 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.° 105 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, 110 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, 115 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, 120 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, 125 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. 130 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. 135 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: 140 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, 145 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, 150 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, 155 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, 160 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, 165 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 170 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, 175 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. 180 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 185 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, 190 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, 195 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 200 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; 205 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, 210 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 215 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, 220 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. 225 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, 230 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, 235 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 240 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, 245 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, 250 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 255 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, 260 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: 265 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. 270 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, 275 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 280 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, 285 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. 290 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 295 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, 300 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; 305 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. 310 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.° 315 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: 320 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, 325 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, 330 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; 335 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, 340 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 345 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, 350 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, 355 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. 360 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; 365 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 370 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° 375 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; 380 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, 385 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; 390 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, 395 That blisse may not abide in state of mortall men. XLV Henceforth sir knight, take to you wonted strength, And maister these mishaps with patient might; Loe where your foe lyes stretcht in monstrous length, And loe that wicked woman in your sight, 400 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. 405 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, 410 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, 415 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. 420 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, 425 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, 430 To rest them selves, and weary powres repaire, Where store they found of all that dainty was and rare. * * * * * CANTO IX His loves and lignage Arthur tells: 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, 5 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, 10 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 15 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: 20 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: 25 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, 30 And is the wisest now on earth I weene; His dwelling is low in a valley greene, Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore,° From whence the river Dee° as silver cleene, His tombling billowes roll with gentle rore: 35 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. 40 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. 45 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? 50 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 55 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; 60 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, 65 Ne ever will their fervent fury slake, Till living moysture into smoke do flow, And wasted life do lye in ashes low. Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire, But told° it flames, and hidden it does glow; 70 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 75 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, 80 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, 85 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. 90 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: 95 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. XII Ensample make° of him your haplesse joy, 100 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, 105 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; 110 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 115 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, 120 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; 125 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. 130 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. 135 XVI Thus as he spake, his visage wexed pale, 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; 140 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, 145 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, 150 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, 155 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, 160 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, 165 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; 170 A worke of wondrous grace, and able soules to save. XX Thus beene they parted, Arthur on his way 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, 175 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. 180 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, 185 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 190 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, 195 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: 200 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, 205 And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight: For never knight I saw in such misseeming plight. XXIV He answerd nought at all, but adding new Feare to his first amazment, staring wide With stony eyes, and hartlesse hollow hew, 210 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, 215 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 220 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. 225 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. 230 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) 235 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, 240 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. XXVIII From whom returning sad and comfortlesse, As on the way together we did fare, 245 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: 250 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, 255 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: 260 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, 265 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. 270 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° 275 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. XXXII Certes (said he) hence shall I never rest, 280 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: 285 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, 290 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 295 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; 300 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, 305 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, 310 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. 315 XXXVI His garment nought but many ragged clouts, 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, 320 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 325 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, 330 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? 335 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? 340 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, 345 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 350 Upon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood? XL He there does now enjoy eternall rest And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave, And further from it daily wanderest: What if some little paine the passage have, 355 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. 360 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. 365 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 370 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, 375 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: 380 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? 385 For he that once hath missed the right way, The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray. XLIV Then do no further goe, no further stray, But here lie downe, and to thy rest betake, Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may. 390 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, 395 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: 400 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. 405 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? 410 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 415 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, 420 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. XLVIII The knight was much enmoved with his speach, That as a swords point through his hart did perse, 425 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, 430 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, 435 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 440 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. 445 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. 450 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 455 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. LII Which whenas Una saw, through every vaine 460 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, 465 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, 470 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, 475 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, 480 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, 485 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 Against spirituall foes, yeelds by and by, Or from the field most cowardly doth fly? 5 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, 10 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: 15 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, 20 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: 25 All night she spent in bidding of her bedes, And all the day in doing good and godly deedes. IV Dame Coelia° men did her call, as thought From heaven to come, or thither to arise, The mother of three daughters, well upbrought 30 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 35 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, For feare of many foes: but when they knockt, The Porter opened unto them streight way: 40 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. 45 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, 50 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, 55 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 60 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: 65 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, 70 Her hart with joy unwonted inly sweld, As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld. IX And her embracing said, O happie earth, Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread, Most vertuous virgin borne of heavenly berth, 75 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? 80 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: 85 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? 90 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 95 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, 100 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, 105 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. XIII She was araied all in lilly white,° And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, 110 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 115 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, 120 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, 125 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: 130 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. 135 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, 140 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. XVII Then said the aged Coelia, Deare dame, 145 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 150 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, 155 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, 160 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, 165 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, 170 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; 175 [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. 180 XXI The faithfull knight now grew in litle space, 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, 185 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, 190 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, 195 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 Coelia to declare her smart, Who well acquainted with that commune plight, 200 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 205 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 210 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,° 215 That he his paine endur'd, as seeming now more light. XXV But yet the cause and root of all his ill, Inward corruption and infected sin, Not purg'd nor heald, behind remained still, And festring sore did rankle yet within, 220 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. 225 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: 230 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, 235 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, 240 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, 245 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; 250 Yet all with patience wisely she did beare; For well she wist his crime could else be never cleare. XXIX Whom thus recover'd by wise Patience And trew Repentaunce they to Una brought: Who joyous of his cured conscience, 255 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; 260 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; 265 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. 270 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, 275 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, 280 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, 285 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. XXXIII She was right joyous of her just request, And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne, 290 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: 295 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: 300 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, 305 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, 310 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. 315 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: 320 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. XXXVII The first of them that eldest was, and best, 325 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, 330 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, 335 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; 340 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, 345 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, 350 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, 355 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. 360 XLI The fift had charge sicke persons to attend, And comfort those, in point of death which lay; For them most needeth comfort in the end, When sin, and hell, and death do most dismay The feeble soule departing hence away. 365 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, 370 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, 375 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 380 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: 385 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: 390 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, 395 Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse. XLV There she awhile him stayes, him selfe to rest, That to the rest more able he might bee: During which time, in every good behest And godly worke of almes and charitee, 400 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. 405 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, 410 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; 415 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: 420 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, 425 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; 430 His mind was full of spirituall repast, And pyn'd his flesh, to keepe his body low and chast. XLIX Who when these two approaching he aspide, At their first presence grew agrieved sore, That forst him lay his heavenly thoughts aside; 435 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, 440 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 445 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. 450 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 455 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. 460 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. 465 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. LIII That donne, he leads him to the highest Mount; Such one as that same mighty man° of God, 470 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, 475 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 480 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 485 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 490 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. 495 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. 500 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. LVII Faire knight (quoth he) Hierusalem that is, 505 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, 510 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, 515 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; 520 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; 525 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: 530 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. 535 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. 540 LXI Then seek this path, that I to thee presage, 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: 545 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,° 550 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? 555 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; 560 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,° 565 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, 570 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, 575 Sith to thee is unknowne the cradle of thy blood. LXV For well I wote thou springst from ancient race Of Saxon kings, that have with mightie hand And many bloody battailes° fought in place High reard their royall throne in Britane land, 580 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. 585 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 590 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 595 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 600 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; 605 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 610 Of her adventure mindfull for to bee. So leave they take of Coelia, and her daughters three. * * * * * CANTO XI The knight with that old Dragon fights 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, 5 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, 10 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, 15 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 20 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, 25 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. 30 Eftsoones that dreadful Dragon° they espide, Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side,° Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill. But all so soone as he from far descride Those glistring armes, that heaven with light did fill, 35 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: 40 She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde. Now O thou sacred muse,° most learned Dame, Faire ympe of Phoebus and his aged bride, The Nourse of time and everlasting fame, That warlike hands ennoblest with immortall name; 45 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, 50 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, 55 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: 60 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, 65 That with his largenesse measured much land, And made wide shadow under his huge wast, As mountaine doth the valley overcast. Approching nigh, he reared high afore His body monstrous, horrible, and vaste, 70 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 75 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, 80 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, 85 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. 90 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, 95 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. XII But stings and sharpest steele did far exceed 100 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 105 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, 110 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, 115 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, 120 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, 125 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. 130 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. 135 XVI The knight gan fairely couch his steadie speare, 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; 140 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, 145 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; 150 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, 155 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: 160 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 165 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; 170 Which comming downe to ground, does free it selfe by fight. XX He so disseized° of his gryping grosse, The knight his thrillant speare again assayd In his bras-plated body to embosse, And three mens strength unto the stroke he layd; 175 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. 180 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 185 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, 190 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: 195 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 200 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 205 From off the earth, with durty blood distaynd, For that reprochfull fall right fowly he disdaynd. XXIV And fiercely tooke his trenchand blade in hand, With which he stroke so furious and so fell, That nothing seemd the puissaunce could withstand: 210 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, 215 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, 220 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. 225 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: 230 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, 235 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; 240 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. XXVIII Faint, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieved, brent° With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and inward fire, 245 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, 250 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, 255 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 260 _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 265 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. 270 XXXI Now gan the golden Phoebus 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 275 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. XXXII Which when his pensive Ladie saw from farre, 280 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, 285 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; 290 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: 295 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, 300 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: 305 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. 310 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. 315 XXXVI I wote not, whether the revenging steele 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; 320 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, 325 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, 330 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, 335 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: 340 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, 345 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, 350 Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the stump him left. XL Hart cannot thinke, what outrage, and what cryes, With foule enfouldred smoake and flashing fire, The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skyes, That all was covered with darkenesse dire: 355 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. 360 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 365 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, 370 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, 375 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 380 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; 385 The paw yett missed not his minisht might,° But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight. XLIV For griefe thereof and divelish despight,° From his infernall fournace forth he threw Huge flames, that dimmed all the heavens light, 390 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, 395 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, 400 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. 405 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, 410 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, 415 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, 420 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. XLVIII From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well, A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraine 425 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 430 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: 435 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, 440 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, 445 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. 450 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 455 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. LII Then freshly up arose the doughtie knight, 460 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, 465 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, 470 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, 475 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 480 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; 485 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;° 490 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. 495 * * * * * CANTO XII Faire Una to the Redcrosse knight, 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; 5 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 Phoebus in the glooming East 10 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, 15 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, 20 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° 25 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 30 Gainst him, that had them long opprest with tort, And fast imprisoned in sieged fort. Then all the people, as in solemne feast, To him assembled with one full consort, Rejoycing at the fall of that great beast, 35 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 40 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. 45 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 50 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 55 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; 60 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, 65 Themselves to ground with gracious humblesse bent, And her ador'd by honorable name, Lifting to heaven her everlasting fame: Then on her head they set a girland greene, And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt game; 70 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: 75 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, 80 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, 85 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. 90 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 95 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. XII Thus flocked all the folke him round about, 100 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, 105 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; 110 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 115 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, 120 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; 125 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, 130 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. 135 XVI Great pleasures mixt with pittiful regard, 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, 140 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; 145 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; 150 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, 155 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, 160 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; 165 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, 170 The marriage to accomplish vowd betwixt you twain. XX Which for my part I covet to performe, In sort as° through the world I did proclame, That whoso kild that monster most deforme, And him in hardy battaile overcame, 175 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. 180 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 185 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; 190 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, 195 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, 200 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, 205 Did wonder much at her celestiall sight: Oft had he seene her faire, but never so faire dight. XXIV So fairely dight, when she in presence came, She to her Sire made humble reverence, And bowed low, that her right well became, 210 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, 215 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, 220 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. 225 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, 230 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, 235 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, 240 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. XXVIII Therefore since mine he is, or free or bond, Or false or trew, or living or else dead, 245 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, 250 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, 255 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, 260 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, 265 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. 270 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. 275 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. XXXII There did I find, or rather I was found 280 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, 285 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, 290 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 295 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, 300 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, 305 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, 310 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. 315 XXXVI But they him layd full low in dungeon deepe, 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? 320 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, 325 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, 330 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; 335 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, 340 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 345 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, 350 And ravished with rare impression in his sprite. XL Great joy was made that day of young and old, And solemne feast proclaimd throughout the land, That their exceeding merth may not be told: Suffice it heare by signes to understand 355 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. 360 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, 365 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, 370 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,° 375 And wants supplide. And then againe abroad On the long voyage whereto she is bent: Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent. * * * * * NOTES LINE 1. LO I THE MAN.... An imitation of the opening lines of Vergil's _Aeneid_:-- "Ille ego, qui quondam gracili modulatus avena Carmen,... Gratum opus agricolis, at nunc horrentia Martis." Referring to his _Shepheards Calender_ (1579) Spenser thus gracefully indicates his change from pastoral to epic poetry. 5-9. KNIGHTS AND LADIES. The poet here imitates the opening of Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_.