SPENSER’S FAERIE QUEENE (continued 2)

The Ladies for the girdle striue of famous Florimell: Scudamour comming to Cares house, doth sleepe from him expell.

It hath bene through all ages euer seene, i That with the praise of armes and cheualrie, The prize of beautie still hath ioyned beene; And that for reasons speciall priuitie: For either doth on other much relie. For he me seemes most fit the faire to serue, That can her best defend from villenie; And she most fit his seruice doth deserue, That fairest is and from her faith will neuer swerue. So fitly now here commeth next in place, ii After the proofe of prowesse ended well, The controuerse of beauties soueraine grace; In which to her that doth the most excell, Shall fall the girdle of faire Florimell: That many wish to win for glorie vaine, And not for vertuous vse, which some doe tell That glorious belt did in it selfe containe, Which Ladies ought to loue, and seeke for to obtaine. That girdle gaue the vertue of chast loue, iii And wiuehood true, to all that did it beare; But whosoeuer contrarie doth proue, Might not the same about her middle weare, But it would loose, or else a sunder teare. Whilome it was (as Faeries wont report) Dame Venus girdle, by her steemed deare, What time she vsd to liue in wiuely sort; But layd aside, when so she vsd her looser sport. Her husband Vulcan whylome for her sake, iv When first he loued her with heart entire, This pretious ornament they say did make, And wrought in Lemno with vnquenched fire: And afterwards did for her loues first hire, Giue it to her, for euer to remaine, Therewith to bind lasciuious desire, And loose affections streightly to restraine; Which vertue it for euer after did retaine. The same one day, when she her selfe disposd v To visite her beloued Paramoure, The God of warre, she from her middle loosd, And left behind her in her secret bowre, On Acidalian[84] mount, where many an howre She with the pleasant Graces wont to play. There Florimell in her first ages flowre Was fostered by those Graces, (as they say) And brought with her from thence that goodly belt away. That goodly belt was Cestus[85] hight by name, vi And as her life by her esteemed deare. No wonder then, if that to winne the same So many Ladies sought, as shall appeare; For pearelesse she was thought, that did it beare. And now by this their feast all being ended, The iudges which thereto selected were, Into the Martian field adowne descended, To deeme this doutfull case, for which they all contended. But first was question made, which of those Knights vii That lately turneyd, had the wager wonne: There was it iudged by those worthie wights, That Satyrane the first day best had donne: For he last ended, hauing first begonne. The second was to Triamond behight, For that he sau’d the victour from fordonne: For Cambell victour was in all mens sight, Till by mishap he in his foemens hand did light. The third dayes prize vnto that[86] straunger Knight, viii Whom all men term’d Knight of the Hebene speare, To Britomart was giuen by good right; For that with puissant stroke she downe did beare The Saluage Knight, that victour was whileare, And all the rest, which had the best afore, And to the last vnconquer’d did appeare; For last is deemed best. To her therefore The fayrest Ladie was adiudgd for Paramore. But thereat greatly grudged Arthegall, ix And much repynd, that both of victors meede, And eke of honour she did him forestall. Yet mote he not withstand, what was decreede; But inly thought of that despightfull deede Fit time t’awaite auenged for to bee. This being ended thus, and all agreed, Then[87] next ensew’d the Paragon to see Of beauties praise, and yeeld the fayrest her due fee. Then first Cambello brought vnto their view x His faire Cambina, couered with a veale; Which being once withdrawne, most perfect hew And passing beautie did eftsoones reueale, That able was weake harts away to steale. Next did Sir Triamond vnto their sight The face of his deare Canacee vnheale; Whose beauties beame eftsoones did shine so bright, That daz’d the eyes of all, as with exceeding light. And after her did Paridell produce xi His false Duessa, that she might be seene, Who with her forged beautie did seduce The hearts of some, that fairest her did weene; As diuerse wits affected diuers beene. Then did Sir Ferramont vnto them shew His Lucida that was full faire and sheene, And after these an hundred Ladies moe Appear’d in place, the which each other did outgoe. All which who so dare thinke for to enchace, xii Him needeth sure a golden pen I weene, To tell the feature of each goodly face. For since the day that they created beene, So many heauenly faces were not seene Assembled in one place: ne he that thought For Chian folke to pourtraict beauties Queene, By view of all the fairest to him brought, So many faire did see, as here he might haue sought. At last the most redoubted Britonesse, xiii Her louely Amoret did open shew; Whose face discouered, plainely did expresse The heauenly pourtraict of bright Angels hew. Well weened all, which her that time did vew, That she should surely beare the bell away, Till Blandamour, who thought he had the trew And very Florimell, did her display: The sight of whom once seene did all the rest dismay. For all afore that seemed fayre and bright, xiv Now base and contemptible did appeare, Compar’d to her, that shone as Phebes light, Amongst the lesser starres in euening cleare. All that her saw with wonder rauisht weare, And weend no mortall creature she should bee, But some celestiall shape, that flesh did beare: Yet all were glad there Florimell to see; Yet thought that Florimell was not so faire as shee. As guilefull Goldsmith that by secret skill, xv With golden foyle doth finely ouer spred Some baser metall, which commend he will Vnto the vulgar for good gold insted, He much more goodly glosse thereon doth shed, To hide his falshood, then if it were trew: So hard, this Idole was to be ared, That Florimell her selfe in all mens vew She seem’d to passe: so forged things do fairest shew. Then was that[88] golden belt by doome of all xvi Graunted to her, as to the fayrest Dame. Which being brought, about her middle small They thought to gird, as best it her became; But by no meanes they could it thereto frame. For euer as they fastned it, it loos’d And fell away, as feeling secret blame. Full oft about her wast she it enclos’d; And it as oft was from about her wast disclos’d. That all men wondred at the vncouth sight, xvii And each one thought, as to their fancies came. But she her selfe did thinke it doen for spight, And touched was with secret wrath and shame Therewith, as thing deuiz’d her to defame. Then many other Ladies likewise tride, About their tender loynes to knit the same; But it would not on none of them abide, But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was vntide. Which when that scornefull Squire of Dames did vew, xviii He lowdly gan to laugh, and thus to iest; Alas for pittie that so faire a crew, As like can not be seene from East to West, Cannot find one this girdle to inuest. Fie on the man, that did it first inuent, To shame vs all with this, Vngirt vnblest. Let neuer Ladie to his loue assent, That hath this day so many so vnmanly shent. Thereat all Knights gan laugh, and Ladies lowre: xix Till that at last the gentle Amoret Likewise assayd, to proue that girdles powre; And hauing it about her middle set, Did find it fit, withouten breach or let. Whereat the rest gan greatly to enuie: But Florimell exceedingly did fret, And snatching from her hand halfe angrily The belt againe, about her bodie gan it tie. Yet nathemore would it her bodie fit; xx Yet nathelesse to her, as her dew right, It yeelded was by them, that iudged it: And she her selfe adiudged to the Knight, That bore the Hebene speare, as wonne in fight. But Britomart would not thereto assent, Ne her owne Amoret forgoe so light For that strange Dame, whose beauties wonderment She lesse esteem’d, then th’others vertuous gouernment. Whom when the rest did see her to refuse, xxi They were full glad, in hope themselues to get her: Yet at her choice they all did greatly muse. But after that the Iudges did arret her Vnto the second best, that lou’d her better; That was the Saluage Knight: but he was gone In great displeasure, that he could not get her. Then was she iudged Triamond his one; But Triamond lou’d Canacee, and other none. Tho vnto Satyran she was adiudged, xxii Who was right glad to gaine so goodly meed: But Blandamour thereat full greatly grudged, And litle prays’d his labours euill speed, That for to winne the saddle, lost the steed. Ne lesse thereat did Paridell complaine, And thought t’appeale from that, which was decreed, To single combat with Sir Satyrane. Thereto him Ate stird, new discord to maintaine. And eke with these, full many other Knights xxiii She through her wicked working did incense, Her to demaund, and chalenge as their rights, Deserued for their perils recompense. Amongst the rest with boastfull vaine pretense Stept Braggadochio forth, and as his thrall Her claym’d, by him in battell wonne long sens[89]: Whereto her selfe he did to witnesse call; Who being askt, accordingly confessed all. Thereat exceeding wroth was Satyran; xxiv And wroth with Satyran was Blandamour; And wroth with Blandamour was Eriuan; And at them both Sir Paridell did loure. So all together stird vp strifull[90] stoure, And readie were new battell to darraine. Each one profest to be her paramoure, And vow’d with speare and shield it to maintaine; Ne Iudges powre, ne reasons rule mote them restrains. Which troublous stirre when Satyrane auiz’d, xxv He gan to cast how to appease the same, And to accord them all, this meanes deuiz’d: First in the midst to set that fayrest Dame, To whom each one[91] his chalenge should disclame, And he himselfe his right would eke releasse: Then looke to whom she voluntarie came, He should without disturbance her possesse: Sweete is the loue that comes alone with willingnesse. They all agreed, and then that snowy Mayd xxvi Was in the middest plast[92] among them all; All on her gazing wisht, and vowd, and prayd, And to the Queene of beautie close did call, That she vnto their portion might befall. Then when she long had lookt vpon each one, As though she wished to haue pleasd them all, At last to Braggadochio selfe alone She came of her accord, in spight of all his fone. Which when they all beheld they chaft[93] and rag’d, xxvii And woxe nigh mad for very harts despight, That from reuenge their willes they scarse asswag’d: Some thought from him her to haue reft by might; Some proffer made with him for her to fight. But he nought car’d for all that they could say: For he their words as wind esteemed light. Yet not fit place he thought it there to stay, But secretly from thence that night her bore away. They which remaynd, so soone as they perceiu’d, xxviii That she was gone, departed thence with speed, And follow’d them, in mind her to haue reau’d From wight vnworthie of so noble meed. In which poursuit[94] how each one did succeede, Shall else be told in order, as it fell. But now of Britomart it here doth neede, The hard aduentures and strange haps to tell; Since with the rest she went not after Florimell. For soone as she them saw to discord set, xxix Her list no longer in that place abide; But taking with her louely Amoret, Vpon her first aduenture forth did ride, To seeke her lou’d, making blind loue her guide. Vnluckie Mayd to seeke her enemie, Vnluckie Mayd to seeke him farre and wide, Whom, when he was vnto her selfe most nie, She through his late disguizement could him not descrie. So much the more her griefe, the more her toyle: xxx Yet neither toyle nor griefe she once did spare, In seeking him, that should her paine assoyle; Whereto great comfort in her sad misfare Was Amoret, companion of her care: Who likewise sought her louer long miswent, The gentle Scudamour, whose hart whileare That stryfull[95] hag with gealous discontent Had fild, that he to fell reueng was fully bent. Bent to reuenge on blamelesse Britomart xxxi The crime, which cursed Ate kindled earst, The which like thornes did pricke his[96] gealous hart, And through his soule like poysned arrow perst, That by no reason it might be reuerst, For ought that Glauce could or doe or say. For aye the more that she the same reherst, The more it gauld, and grieu’d him night and day, That nought but dire reuenge his anger mote defray. So as they trauelled, the drouping night xxxii Couered with cloudie storme and bitter showre, That dreadfull seem’d to euery liuing wight, Vpon them fell, before her timely howre; That forced them to seeke some couert bowre, Where they might hide their heads in quiet rest, And shrowd their persons from that stormie stowre. Not farre away, not meete for any guest They spide a little cottage, like some poore mans nest. Vnder a steepe hilles side it placed was, xxxiii There where the mouldred earth had cav’d the banke; And fast beside a little brooke did pas Of muddie water, that like puddle stanke, By which few crooked sallowes grew in ranke: Whereto approaching nigh, they heard the sound Of many yron hammers beating ranke, And answering their wearie turnes around, That seemed some blacksmith dwelt in that desert ground. There entring in, they found the goodman selfe, xxxiv Full busily vnto his worke ybent; Who was to weet a wretched wearish elfe, With hollow eyes and rawbone cheekes forspent, As if he had in prison long bene pent: Full blacke and griesly did his face appeare, Besmeard with smoke that nigh his eye-sight blent; With rugged beard, and hoarie shagged heare, The which he neuer wont to combe, or comely sheare. Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent, xxxv Ne better had he, ne for better cared: With blistred hands emongst the cinders brent, And fingers filthie, with long nayles vnpared, Right fit to rend the food, on which he fared. His name was Care; a blacksmith by his trade, That neither day nor night[97] from working spared, But to small purpose yron wedges made; Those be vnquiet thoughts, that carefull minds inuade. In which his worke he had sixe seruants prest, xxxvi About the Andvile standing euermore, With huge great hammers, that did neuer rest From heaping stroakes, which thereon soused sore: All sixe strong groomes, but one then other more; For by degrees they all were disagreed; So likewise did the hammers which they bore, Like belles in greatnesse orderly succeed, That he which was the last, the first did farre exceede. He like a monstrous Gyant seem’d in sight, xxxvii Farre passing Bronteus, or Pyracmon[98] great, The which in Lipari doe day and night Frame thunderbolts for Ioues auengefull threate. So dreadfully he did the anduile beat, That seem’d to dust he shortly would it driue: So huge his hammer and so fierce his heat, That seem’d a rocke of Diamond it could riue, And rend a sunder quite, if he thereto list striue. Sir Scudamour there entring, much admired xxxviii The manner of their worke and wearie paine; And hauing long beheld, at last enquired The cause and end thereof: but all in vaine; For they for nought would from their worke refraine, Ne let his speeches come vnto their eare. And eke the breathfull bellowes blew amaine, Like to the Northren winde, that none could heare:[99] Those Pensifenesse did moue; and Sighes the bellows weare. Which when that warriour saw, he said no more, xxxix But in his armour layd him downe to rest: To rest he layd him downe vpon the flore, (Whylome for ventrous Knights the bedding best) And thought his wearie limbs to haue redrest. And that old aged Dame, his faithfull Squire, Her feeble ioynts layd eke a downe to rest; That needed much her weake age to desire, After so long a trauell, which them both did tire. There lay Sir Scudamour long while expecting, xl When gentle sleepe his heauie eyes would close; Oft chaunging sides, and oft new place electing, Where better seem’d he mote himselfe repose; And oft in wrath he thence againe vprose; And oft in wrath he layd him downe againe. But wheresoeuer he did himselfe dispose, He by no meanes could wished ease obtaine: So euery place seem’d painefull, and ech changing vaine. And euermore, when he to sleepe did thinke, xli The hammers sound his senses did molest; And euermore, when he began to winke, The bellowes noyse disturb’d his quiet rest, Ne suffred sleepe to settle in his brest. And all the night the dogs did barke and howle About the house, at sent of stranger guest: And now the crowing Cocke, and now the Owle Lowde shriking him afflicted to the very sowle. And if by fortune any litle nap xlii Vpon his heauie eye-lids chaunst to fall, Eftsoones one of those villeins him did rap Vpon his headpeece with his yron mall; That he was soone awaked therewithall, And lightly started vp as one affrayd; Or as if one him suddenly did call. So oftentimes he out of sleepe abrayd, And then lay musing long, on that him ill apayd. So long he muzed, and so long he lay, xliii That at the last his wearie sprite opprest With fleshly weaknesse, which no creature may Long time resist, gaue place to kindly rest, That all his senses did full soone arrest: Yet in his soundest sleepe, his dayly feare His ydle braine gan busily molest, And made him dreame those two disloyall were: The things that day most minds, at night doe most appeare. With that, the wicked carle the maister[100] Smith xliv A paire of redwhot[101] yron tongs did take Out of the burning cinders, and therewith Vnder his side him nipt, that forst to wake, He felt his hart for very paine to quake, And started vp auenged for to be On him, the which his quiet slomber brake: Yet looking round about him none could see; Yet did the smart remaine, though he himselfe did flee. In such disquiet and hartfretting payne, xlv He all that night, that too long night did passe. And now the day out of the Ocean mayne Began to peepe aboue this earthly masse, With pearly dew sprinkling the morning grasse: Then vp he rose like heauie lumpe of lead, That in his face, as in a looking glasse, The signes of anguish one mote plainely read, And ghesse the man to be dismayd with gealous dread. Vnto his lofty steede he clombe anone, xlvi And forth vpon his former voiage fared, And with him eke that aged Squire attone; Who whatsoeuer perill was prepared, Both equall paines and equall perill shared: The end whereof and daungerous euent Shall for another canticle be spared. But here my wearie teeme nigh ouer spent Shall breath it selfe awhile, after so long a went.

Both Scudamour and Arthegall Doe fight with Britomart, He sees her face; doth fall in loue, and soone from her depart.

What equall torment to the griefe of mind, i And pyning anguish hid in gentle hart, That inly feeds it selfe with thoughts vnkind, And nourisheth her owne consuming smart? What medicine can any Leaches art Yeeld such a sore, that doth her grieuance hide, And will to none her maladie impart? Such was the wound that Scudamour did gride; For which Dan Phebus selfe cannot a salue prouide. Who hauing left that restlesse house of Care, ii The next day, as he on his way did ride, Full of melancholie and sad misfare, Through misconceipt; all vnawares espide An armed Knight vnder a forrest side, Sitting in shade beside his grazing steede; Who soone as them approaching he descride, Gan towards them to pricke with eger speede, That seem’d he was full bent to some mischieuous deede. Which Scudamour perceiuing, forth issewed iii To haue rencountred him in equall race; But soone as th’other nigh approaching, vewed The armes he bore, his speare he gan abase, And voide his course: at which so suddain case He wondred much. But th’other thus can say; Ah gentle Scudamour, vnto your grace I me submit, and you of pardon pray, That almost had against you trespassed this day. Whereto thus Scudamour, Small harme it were iv For any knight, vpon a ventrous knight Without displeasance for to proue his spere. But reade you Sir, sith ye my name haue hight, What is your owne, that I mote you requite. Certes (sayd he) ye mote as now excuse Me from discouering you my name aright: For time yet serues that I the same refuse, But call ye me the Saluage Knight, as others vse. Then this, Sir Saluage Knight (quoth he) areede; v Or doe you here within this forrest wonne, That seemeth well to answere to your weede? Or haue ye it for some occasion donne? That rather seemes, sith knowen armes ye shonne. This other day (sayd he) a stranger knight Shame and dishonour hath vnto me donne; On whom I waite to wreake that foule despight, When euer he this way shall passe by day or night. Shame be his meede (quoth he) that meaneth shame, vi But what is he, by whom ye shamed were? A stranger knight, sayd he, vnknowne by name, But knowne by fame, and by an Hebene speare, With which he all that met him, downe did beare. He in an open Turney lately held, Fro me the honour of that game did reare; And hauing me all wearie earst, downe feld, The fayrest Ladie reft, and euer since withheld. When Scudamour heard mention of that speare, vii He wist right well, that it was Britomart, The which from him his fairest loue did beare. Tho gan he swell in euery inner part, For fell despight, and gnaw his gealous hart, That thus he sharply sayd; Now by my head, Yet is not this the first vnknightly part, Which that same knight, whom by his launce I read, Hath doen to noble knights, that many makes him dread. For lately he my loue hath fro me reft, viii And eke defiled with foule villanie The sacred pledge, which in his faith was left, In shame of knighthood and fidelitie; The which ere long full deare he shall abie. And if to that auenge by you decreed This hand may helpe, or succour ought supplie, It shall not fayle, when so ye shall it need. So both to wreake their wrathes on Britomart agreed. Whiles thus they communed, lo farre away ix A Knight soft ryding towards them they spyde, Attyr’d in forraine armes and straunge aray: Whom when they nigh approcht, they plaine descryde To be the same, for whom they did abyde. Sayd then Sir Scudamour, Sir Saluage knight Let me this craue, sith first I was defyde, That first I may that wrong to him requite: And if I hap to fayle, you shall recure my right. Which being yeelded, he his threatfull speare x Gan fewter, and against her fiercely ran. Who soone as she him saw approaching neare With so fell rage, her selfe she lightly gan To dight, to welcome him, well as she can: But entertaind him in so rude a wise, That to the ground she smote both horse and man; Whence neither greatly hasted to arise, But on their common harmes together did deuise. But Artegall beholding his mischaunce, xi New matter added to his former fire; And eft auentring his steeleheaded launce, Against her rode, full of despiteous ire, That nought but spoyle and vengeance did require. But to himselfe his felonous intent Returning, disappointed his desire, Whiles vnawares his saddle he forwent, And found himselfe on ground in great amazement. Lightly he started vp out of that stound, xii And snatching forth his direfull deadly blade, Did leape to her, as doth an eger hound Thrust to an Hynd within some couert glade, Whom without perill he cannot inuade. With such fell greedines he her assayled, That though she mounted were, yet he her made To giue him ground, (so much his force preuayled) And shun his mightie strokes, gainst which no armes auayled. So as they coursed here and there, it chaunst xiii That in her wheeling round, behind her crest So sorely he her strooke, that thence it glaunst Adowne her backe, the which it fairely blest From foule mischance; ne did it euer rest, Till on her horses hinder parts it fell; Where byting deepe, so deadly it imprest, That quite it chynd his backe behind the sell, And to alight on foote her algates did compell. Like as the lightning brond from riuen skie, xiv Throwne out by angry Ioue in his vengeance, With dreadfull force falles on some steeple hie; Which battring, downe it on the church doth glance, And teares it all with terrible mischance. Yet she no whit dismayd, her steed forsooke, And casting from her that enchaunted lance, Vnto her sword and shield her soone betooke; And therewithall at him right furiously she strooke. So furiously she strooke in her first heat, xv Whiles with long fight on foot he breathlesse was, That she him forced backward to retreat, And yeeld vnto her weapon way to pas: Whose raging rigour neither steele nor bras Could stay, but to the tender flesh it went, And pour’d the purple bloud forth on the gras; That all his mayle yriv’d, and plates yrent, Shew’d all his bodie bare vnto the cruell dent. At length when as he saw her hastie heat xvi Abate, and panting breath begin to fayle, He through long sufferance growing now more great, Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh assayle, Heaping huge strokes, as thicke as showre of hayle, And lashing dreadfully at euery part, As if he thought her soule to disentrayle. Ah cruell hand, and thrise more cruell hart, That workst such wrecke on her, to whom thou dearest art. What yron courage euer could endure, xvii To worke such outrage on so faire a creature? And in his madnesse thinke with hands impure To spoyle so goodly workmanship of nature, The maker selfe resembling in her feature? Certes some hellish furie, or some feend This mischiefe framd, for their first loues defeature, To bath[102] their hands in bloud of dearest freend[103], Thereby to make their loues beginning, their liues end. Thus long they trac’d, and trauerst to and fro, xviii Sometimes pursewing, and sometimes pursewed, Still as aduantage they espyde thereto: But toward th’end Sir Arthegall renewed His strength still more, but she still more decrewed. At last his lucklesse hand he heau’d on hie, Hauing his forces all in one accrewed, And therewith stroke[104] at her so hideouslie, That seemed nought but death mote be her destinie. The wicked stroke vpon her helmet chaunst, xix And with the force, which in it selfe it bore, Her ventayle shard away, and thence forth glaunst A downe in vaine, ne harm’d her any more. With that her angels face, vnseene afore, Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight, Deawed with siluer drops, through sweating sore, But somewhat redder, then beseem’d aright, Through toylesome heate and labour of her weary fight. And round about the same, her yellow heare xx Hauing through stirring loosd their wonted band, Like to a golden border did appeare, Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning hand: Yet goldsmithes cunning could not vnderstand To frame such subtile wire, so shinie cleare. For it did glister like the golden sand, The which Pactolus with his waters shere, Throwes forth vpon the riuage round about him nere. And as his hand he vp againe did reare, xxi Thinking to worke on her his vtmost wracke, His powrelesse arme benumbd with secret feare From his reuengefull purpose shronke abacke, And cruell sword out of his fingers slacke Fell downe to ground, as if the steele had sence, And felt some ruth, or sence his hand did lacke, Or both of them did thinke, obedience To doe to so diuine a beauties excellence. And he himselfe long gazing thereupon, xxii At last fell humbly downe vpon his knee, And of his wonder made religion, Weening some heauenly goddesse he did see, Or else vnweeting, what it else might bee; And pardon her besought his errour frayle, That had done outrage in so high degree: Whilest trembling horrour did his sense assayle, And made ech member quake, and manly hart to quayle. Nathelesse she full of wrath for that late stroke, xxiii All that long while vpheld her wrathfull hand, With fell intent, on him to bene ywroke, And looking sterne, still ouer him did stand, Threatning to strike, vnlesse he would withstand: And bad him rise, or surely he should die. But die or liue for nought he would vpstand But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie, Or wreake on him her will for so great iniurie. Which when as Scudamour, who now abrayd, xxiv Beheld, whereas he stood not farre aside, He was therewith right wondrously dismayd, And drawing nigh, when as he plaine descride That peerelesse paterne of Dame natures pride, And heauenly image of perfection, He blest himselfe, as one sore terrifide, And turning his[105] feare to faint deuotion, Did worship her as some celestiall vision. But Glauce, seeing all that chaunced there, xxv Well weeting how their errour to assoyle, Full glad of so good end, to them drew nere, And her salewd with seemely belaccoyle, Ioyous to see her safe after long toyle. Then her besought, as she to her was deare, To graunt vnto those warriours truce a whyle; Which yeelded, they their beuers vp did reare, And shew’d themselues to her, such as indeed they were. When Britomart with sharpe auizefull eye xxvi Beheld the louely face of Artegall, Tempred with sternesse and stout maiestie, She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call, To be the same which in her fathers hall Long since in that enchaunted glasse she saw. Therewith her wrathfull courage gan appall, And haughtie spirits meekely to adaw, That her enhaunced hand she downe can soft withdraw. Yet she it forst to haue againe vpheld, xxvii As fayning choler, which was turn’d to cold: But euer when his visage she beheld, Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance bold: But when in vaine to fight she oft assayd, She arm’d her tongue, and thought at him to scold; Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd, But brought forth speeches myld, when she would haue missayd. But Scudamour now woxen inly glad, xxviii That all his gealous feare he false had found, And how that Hag his loue abused had With breach of faith and loyaltie vnsound, The which long time his grieued hart did wound, He[106] thus bespake; Certes[107] Sir Artegall, I ioy to see you lout so low on ground, And now become to liue a Ladies thrall, That whylome in your minde wont to despise them all. Soone as she heard the name of Artegall, xxix Her hart did leape, and all her hart-strings tremble, For sudden ioy, and secret feare withall, And all her vitall powres with motion nimble, To succour it, themselues gan there assemble, That by the swift recourse of flushing blood Right plaine appeard, though she it would dissemble, And fayned still her former angry mood, Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the flood. When Glauce thus gan wisely all vpknit; xxx Ye gentle Knights, whom fortune here hath brought, To be spectators of this vncouth fit, Which secret fate hath in this Ladie wrought, Against the course of kind, ne meruaile nought, Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hethertoo Hath troubled both your mindes with idle thought, Fearing least she your loues away should woo, Feared in vaine, sith meanes ye see there wants theretoo. And you Sir Artegall, the saluage knight, xxxi Henceforth may not disdaine, that womans hand Hath conquered you anew in second fight: For whylome they haue conquerd sea and land, And heauen it selfe, that nought may them withstand.[108] Ne henceforth be rebellious vnto loue, That is the crowne of knighthood, and the band Of noble minds deriued from aboue, Which being knit with vertue, neuer will remoue. And you faire Ladie knight, my dearest Dame, xxxii Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will, Whose fire were better turn’d to other flame; And wiping out remembrance of all ill, Graunt him your grace, but so that he fulfill The penance, which ye shall to him empart: For louers heauen must passe by sorrowes hell. Thereat full inly blushed Britomart; But Artegall close smyling ioy’d in secret hart. Yet durst he not make loue so suddenly, xxxiii Ne thinke th’affection of her hart to draw From one to other so quite contrary: Besides her modest countenance he saw So goodly graue, and full of princely aw, That it his ranging fancie did refraine, And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds withdraw; Whereby the passion grew more fierce and faine, Like to a stubborne steede whom strong hand would restraine. But Scudamour whose hart twixt doubtfull feare xxxiv And feeble hope hung all this while suspence, Desiring of his Amoret to heare Some gladfull newes and sure intelligence, Her thus bespake; But Sir without offence Mote I request you tydings of my loue, My Amoret, sith you her freed fro thence, Where she captiued long, great woes did proue; That where ye left, I may her seeke, as doth behoue. To whom thus Britomart, Certes[109] Sir knight, xxxv What is of her become, or whether reft, I can not vnto you aread a right. For from that time I from enchaunters theft Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse left, I her preseru’d from perill and from feare, And euermore from villenie her kept: Ne euer was there wight to me more deare Then she, ne vnto whom I more true loue did beare. Till on a day as through a desert wyld xxxvi We trauelled, both wearie of the way We did alight, and sate in shadow myld; Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay. But when as I did out of sleepe abray, I found her not, where I her left whyleare, But thought she wandred was, or gone astray. I cal’d her loud, I sought her farre and neare; But no where could her find, nor tydings of her heare. When Scudamour those heauie tydings heard, xxxvii His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare; Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard, But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare, That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth beare. Till Glauce thus; Faire Sir, be nought dismayd With needelesse dread, till certaintie ye heare: For yet she may be safe though somewhat strayd; Its best to hope the best, though of the worst affrayd. Nathlesse he hardly of her chearefull speech xxxviii Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight Shew’d change of better cheare: so sore a breach That sudden newes had made into his spright; Till Britomart him fairely thus behight; Great cause of sorrow certes Sir ye haue: But comfort take: for by this heauens light I vow, you dead or liuing not to leaue, Till I her find, and wreake on him that her did reaue. Therewith he rested, and well pleased was, xxxix So peace being confirm’d amongst them all, They tooke their steeds, and forward thence did pas Vnto some resting place, which mote befall, All being guided by Sir Artegall. Where goodly solace was vnto them made, And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall, Vntill that they their wounds well healed had, And wearie limmes recur’d after late vsage bad. In all which time, Sir Artegall made way xl Vnto the loue of noble Britomart, And with meeke seruice and much suit did lay Continuall siege vnto her gentle hart, Which being whylome launcht[110] with louely dart, More eath was new impression to receiue, How euer she her paynd with womanish art To hide her wound, that none might it perceiue: Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to deceiue. So well he woo’d her, and so well he wrought her, xli With faire entreatie and sweet blandishment, That at the length vnto a bay he brought her, So as she to his speeches was content To lend an eare, and softly to relent. At last through many vowes which forth he pour’d, And many othes, she yeelded her consent To be his loue, and take him for her Lord, Till they with mariage meet might finish that accord. Tho when they had long time there taken rest, xlii Sir Artegall, who all this while was bound Vpon an hard aduenture yet in quest, Fit time for him thence to depart it found, To follow that, which he did long propound; And vnto her his congee came to take. But her therewith full sore displeasd he found, And loth to leaue her late betrothed make, Her dearest loue full loth so shortly to forsake. Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged, xliii And wonne her will to suffer him depart; For which his faith with her he fast engaged, And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart, That all so soone as he by wit or art Could that atchieue, whereto he did aspire, He vnto her would speedily reuert: No longer space thereto he did desire, But till the horned moone three courses did expire. With which she for the present was appeased, xliv And yeelded leaue, how euer malcontent She inly were, and in her mind displeased. So early in[111] the morrow next he went Forth on his way, to which he was ybent. Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide, As whylome was the custome ancient Mongst Knights, when on aduentures they did ride, Saue that she algates him a while accompanide. And by the way she sundry purpose found xlv Of this or that, the time for to delay, And of the perils whereto he was bound, The feare whereof seem’d much her to affray: But all she did was but to weare out day. Full oftentimes she leaue of him did take; And eft againe deuiz’d some what to say, Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make: So loth she was his companie for to forsake. At last when all her speeches she had spent, xlvi And new occasion fayld her more to find, She left him to his fortunes gouernment, And backe returned with right heauie mind, To Scudamour, who she had left behind, With whom she went to seeke faire Amoret, Her second care, though in another kind; For vertues onely sake, which doth beget True loue and faithfull friendship, she by her did set. Backe to that desert forrest they retyred, xlvii Where sorie Britomart had lost her late; There they her sought, and euery where inquired, Where they might tydings get of her estate; Yet found they none. But by what haplesse fate, Or hard misfortune she was thence conuayd, And stolne away from her beloued mate, Were long to tell; therefore I here will stay Vntill another tyde, that I it finish may.

Amoret rapt by greedie lust Belphebe saues from dread, The Squire her loues, and being blam’d his dayes in dole[112] doth lead.

Great God of loue, that with thy cruell dart[113] i Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground, And setst thy kingdome in the captiue harts Of Kings and Keasars, to thy seruice bound, What glorie, or what guerdon hast thou found In feeble Ladies tyranning so sore; And adding anguish to the bitter wound, With which their liues thou lanchedst[114] long afore, By heaping stormes of trouble on them daily more? So whylome didst thou to faire Florimell; ii And so and so to noble Britomart: So doest thou now to her, of whom I tell, The louely Amoret, whose gentle hart Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart, In saluage forrests, and in deserts wide, With Beares and Tygers taking heauie part, Withouten comfort, and withouten guide, That pittie is to heare the perils, which she tride. So soone as she with that braue Britonesse iii Had left that Turneyment for beauties prise, They trauel’d long, that now for wearinesse, Both of the way, and warlike exercise, Both through a forest ryding did deuise T’alight, and rest their wearie limbs awhile. There heauie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise Of Britomart after long tedious toyle, That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle. The whiles faire Amoret, of nought affeard, iv Walkt through the wood, for pleasure, or for need; When suddenly behind her backe she heard One rushing forth out of the thickest weed, That ere she backe could turne to taken heed, Had vnawares her snatched vp from ground[115]. Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed, That Britomart heard not the shrilling sound, There where through weary trauel she lay sleeping sound. It was to weet a wilde and saluage man, v Yet was no man, but onely like in shape, And eke in stature higher by a span, All ouergrowne with haire, that could awhape An hardy hart, and his wide mouth did gape With huge great teeth, like to a tusked Bore: For he liu’d all on rauin and on rape Of men and beasts; and fed on fleshly gore, The signe whereof yet stain’d his bloudy lips afore. His neather lip was not like man nor beast, vi But like a wide deepe poke, downe hanging low, In which he wont the relickes[116] of his feast, And cruell spoyle, which he had spard, to stow: And ouer it his huge great nose did grow, Full dreadfully empurpled all with bloud; And downe both sides two wide long eares did glow, And raught downe to his waste, when vp he stood, More great then th’eares of Elephants by Indus flood. His wast was with a wreath of yuie greene vii Engirt about, ne other garment wore: For all his haire was like a garment seene; And in his hand a tall young oake he bore, Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore, And beath’d in fire for steele to be in sted. But whence he was, or of what wombe ybore, Of beasts, or of the earth, I haue not red: But certes was with milke of Wolues and Tygres fed. This vgly creature in his armes her snatcht, viii And through the forrest bore her quite away, With briers and bushes all to rent and scratcht; Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray, Which many a knight had sought so many a day. He stayed not, but in his armes her bearing Ran, till he came to th’end of all his way, Vnto his caue farre from all peoples hearing, And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne nought fearing. For she deare Ladie all the way was dead, ix Whilest he in armes her bore; but when she felt Her selfe downe soust, she waked out of dread Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh swelt, And eft gan into tender teares to melt. Then when she lookt about, and nothing found But darknesse and dread horrour, where she dwelt, She almost fell againe into a swound, Ne wist whether aboue she were, or vnder ground. With that she heard some one close by her side x Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine Her tender hart in peeces would diuide: Which she long listning, softly askt againe What mister wight it was that so did plaine? To whom thus aunswer’d was: Ah wretched wight That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine, Vnweeting of thine owne like haplesse plight: Selfe to forget to mind another, is ouersight[117]. Aye me (said she) where am I, or with whom? xi Emong the liuing, or emong the dead? What shall of me vnhappy maid become? Shall death be th’end, or ought else worse, aread. Vnhappy mayd (then answerd she) whose dread Vntride, is lesse then when thou shalt it try: Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead, Both grace and gaine; but he in hell doth lie, That liues a loathed life, and wishing cannot die. This dismall day hath thee a caytiue[118] made, xii And vassall to the vilest wretch aliue, Whose cursed vsage and vngodly trade The heauens abhorre, and into darkenesse driue. For on the spoile of women he doth liue, Whose bodies chast, when euer in his powre He may them catch, vnable to gainestriue, He with his shamefull lust doth first deflowre, And afterwards themselues doth cruelly deuoure. Now twenty daies, by which the sonnes of men xiii Diuide their works, haue past through heuen sheene, Since I was brought into this dolefull[119] den; During which space these sory eies haue seen Seauen women by him slaine, and eaten clene. And now no more for him but I alone, And this old woman here remaining beene; Till thou cam’st hither to augment our mone, And of vs three to morrow he will sure eate one. Ah dreadfull tidings which thou doest declare, xiv (Quoth she) of all that euer hath bene knowen: Full many great calamities and rare This feeble brest endured hath, but none Equall to this, where euer I haue gone. But what are you, whom like vnlucky lot Hath linckt with me in the same chaine attone? To tell (quoth she) that which ye see, needs not; A wofull wretched maid, of God and man forgot. But what I was, it irkes me to reherse; xv Daughter vnto a Lord of high degree; That ioyd in happy peace, till fates peruerse With guilefull loue did secretly agree, To ouerthrow my state and dignitie. It was my lot to loue a gentle swaine, Yet was he but a Squire of low degree; Yet was he meet, vnlesse mine eye did faine, By any Ladies side for Leman to haue laine. But for his meannesse and disparagement, xvi My Sire, who me too dearely well did loue, Vnto my choise by no meanes would assent, But often did my folly fowle reproue. Yet nothing could my fixed mind remoue, But whether willed or nilled friend or foe, I me resolu’d the vtmost end to proue, And rather then my loue abandon so, Both sire, and friends, and all for euer to forgo. Thenceforth I sought by secret meanes to worke xvii Time to my will, and from his wrathfull sight To hide th’intent, which in my heart did lurke, Till I thereto had all things ready dight. So on a day vnweeting vnto wight, I with that Squire agreede away to flit, And in a priuy place, betwixt vs hight, Within a groue appointed him to meete; To which I boldly came vpon my feeble feete. But ah vnhappy houre me thither brought: xviii For in that place where I him thought to find, There was I found, contrary to my thought, Of this accursed Carle of hellish kind, The shame of men, and plague of womankind, Who trussing me, as Eagle doth his pray, Me hether[120] brought with him, as swift as wind, Where yet vntouched till this present day, I rest his wretched thrall, the sad Æmylia. Ah sad Æmylia (then sayd Amoret,) xix Thy ruefull plight I pitty as mine owne. But read to me, by what deuise or wit, Hast thou in all this time, from him vnknowne Thine honor sau’d, though into thraldome throwne. Through helpe (quoth she) of this old woman here I haue so done, as she to me hath showne. For euer when he burnt in lustfull fire, She in my stead supplide his bestiall desire. Thus of their euils as they did discourse, xx And each did other much bewaile and mone; Loe where the villaine selfe, their sorrowes sourse, Came to the caue, and rolling thence the stone, Which wont to stop the mouth thereof, that none Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in, And spredding ouer all the flore alone, Gan dight him selfe vnto his wonted sinne; Which ended, then his bloudy banket should beginne. Which when as fearefull Amoret perceiued, xxi She staid not the[121] vtmost end thereof to try, But like a ghastly Gelt, whose wits are reaued, Ran forth in hast with hideous outcry, For horrour of his shamefull villany. But after her full lightly he vprose, And her pursu’d as fast as she did flie: Full fast she flies, and farre afore him goes, Ne feeles the thorns and thickets pricke her tender toes. Nor[122] hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale she staies, xxii But ouerleapes them all, like Robucke light, And through the thickest makes her nighest waies; And euermore when with regardfull sight She looking backe, espies that griesly wight Approching nigh, she gins to mend her pace, And makes her feare a spur to hast her flight: More swift then Myrrh’ or Daphne in her race, Or any of the Thracian Nimphes in saluage chase. Long so she fled, and so he follow’d long; xxiii Ne liuing aide for her on earth appeares, But if the heauens helpe to redresse her wrong, Moued with pity of her plenteous teares. It fortuned Belphebe with her peares The woody Nimphs, and with that louely boy, Was hunting then the Libbards and the Beares, In these wild woods, as was her wonted ioy, To banish sloth, that oft doth noble mindes annoy. It so befell, as oft it fals in chace, xxiv That each of them from other sundred were, And that same gentle Squire arriu’d in place, Where this same cursed caytiue did appeare, Pursuing that faire Lady full of feare, And now he her quite ouertaken had; And now he her away with him did beare Vnder his arme, as seeming wondrous glad, That by his grenning laughter mote farre off be rad. Which[123] drery sight the gentle Squire espying, xxv Doth hast to crosse him by the nearest way, Led with that wofull Ladies piteous crying, And him assailes with all the might he may, Yet will not he the louely spoile downe lay, But with his craggy club in his right hand, Defends him selfe, and saues his gotten pray. Yet had it bene right hard him to withstand, But that he was full light and nimble on the land. Thereto the villaine vsed craft in fight; xxvi For euer when the Squire his iauelin shooke, He held the Lady forth before him right, And with her body, as a buckler, broke The puissance of his intended stroke. And if it chaunst, (as needs it must in fight) Whilest he on him was greedy to be wroke, That any little blow on her did light, Then would he laugh aloud, and gather great delight. Which subtill sleight did him encumber much, xxvii And made him oft, when he would strike, forbeare; For hardly could he come the carle to touch, But that he her must hurt, or hazard neare: Yet he his hand so carefully did beare, That at the last he did himselfe attaine, And therein left the pike head of his speare. A streame of coleblacke bloud thence gusht amaine, That all her silken garments did with bloud bestaine. With that he threw her rudely on the flore, xxviii And laying both his hands vpon his glaue, With dreadfull strokes let driue at him so sore, That forst him flie abacke, himselfe to saue: Yet he therewith so felly still did raue, That scarse the Squire his hand could once vpreare, But for aduantage ground vnto him gaue, Tracing and trauersing, now here, now there; For bootlesse thing it was to think such blowes to beare. Whilest thus in battell they embusied were, xxix Belphebe raunging in that forrest wide, The hideous noise of their huge strokes did heare, And drew thereto, making her eare her guide. Whom when that theefe approching nigh espide, With bow in hand, and arrowes ready bent, He by his former combate would not bide, But fled away with ghastly dreriment, Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instrument. Whom seeing flie, she speedily poursewed xxx With winged feete, as nimble as the winde, And euer in her bow she ready shewed[124] The arrow, to his deadly marke desynde. As when Latonaes daughter cruell kynde, In vengement of her mothers great disgrace, With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde Gainst wofull Niobes vnhappy race, That all the gods did mone her miserable case. So well she sped her and so far she ventred, xxxi That ere vnto his hellish den he raught, Euen as he ready was there to haue entred, She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught, That in the very dore him ouercaught, And in his nape arriuing, through it thrild His greedy throte, therewith in two distraught, That all his vitall spirites thereby spild, And all his hairy brest with gory bloud was fild. Whom when on ground she groueling saw to rowle, xxxii She ran in hast his life to haue bereft: But ere she could him reach, the sinfull sowle Hauing his carrion corse quite sencelesse left, Was fled to hell, surcharg’d with spoile and theft. Yet ouer him she there long gazing stood, And oft admir’d his monstrous shape, and oft His mighty limbs, whilest all with filthy bloud The place there ouerflowne, seemd like a sodaine flood. Thence forth[125] she past into his dreadfull den, xxxiii Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she found, Ne creature saw, but hearkned now and then Some litle whispering, and soft groning sound. With that she askt, what ghosts there vnder ground Lay hid in horrour of eternall night? And bad them, if so be they were not bound, To come and shew themselues before the light, Now freed from feare and danger of that dismall wight. Then forth the sad[126] Æmylia issewed, xxxiv Yet trembling euery ioynt through former feare; And after her the Hag, there with her mewed, A foule and lothsome creature did appeare; A leman fit for such a louer deare. That mou’d Belphebe her no lesse to hate, Then for to rue the others heauy cheare; Of whom she gan enquire of her estate. Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate. Thence she them brought toward the place, where late xxxv She left the gentle Squire with Amoret: There she him found by that new louely mate, Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sadly set, From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet, Which softly stild, and kissing them atweene, And handling soft the hurts, which she did get. For of that Carle she sorely bruz’d had beene, Als of his owne rash hand one wound was to be seene. Which when she saw, with sodaine glauncing eye, xxxvi Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild With deepe disdaine, and great indignity, That in her wrath she thought them both haue thrild, With that selfe arrow, which the Carle had kild: Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance sore, But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld; Is this the faith,[127] she said, and said no more, But turnd her face, and fled away for euermore. He seeing her depart, arose vp light, xxxvii Right sore agrieued at her sharpe reproofe, And follow’d fast: but when he came in sight, He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe, For dread of her displeasures vtmost proofe. And euermore, when he did grace entreat, And framed speaches fit for his behoofe, Her mortall arrowes[128] she at him did threat, And forst him backe with fowle dishonor to retreat. At last when long he follow’d had in vaine, xxxviii Yet found no ease of griefe, nor hope of grace, Vnto those woods he turned backe againe, Full of sad anguish, and in heauy case: And finding there fit solitary place For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade, Where hardly eye mote see bright heauens face, For mossy trees, which couered all with shade And sad melancholy:[129] there he his cabin made. His wonted warlike weapons all he broke, xxxix And threw away, with vow to vse no more, Ne thenceforth euer strike in battell stroke, Ne euer word to speake to woman more; But in that wildernesse, of men forlore, And of the wicked world forgotten quight, His hard mishap in dolor to deplore, And wast his wretched daies in wofull plight; So on him selfe to wreake his follies owne despight. And eke his garment, to be thereto meet, xl He wilfully did cut and shape anew; And his faire lockes, that wont with ointment sweet To be embaulm’d, and sweat out dainty dew, He let to grow and griesly to concrew, Vncomb’d, vncurl’d, and carelesly vnshed; That in short time his face they ouergrew, And ouer all his shoulders did dispred, That who he whilome was, vneath was to be red. There he continued in this carefull plight, xli Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares, Through wilfull penury consumed quight, That like a pined ghost he soone appeares. For other food then that wilde forrest beares, Ne other drinke there did he euer[130] tast, Then running water, tempred with his teares, The more his weakened body so to wast: That out of all mens knowledge he was worne at last. For on a day, by fortune as it fell, xlii His owne deare Lord Prince Arthure came that way, Seeking aduentures, where he mote heare tell; And as he through the wandring wood did stray, Hauing espide this Cabin far away, He to it drew, to weet who there did wonne; Weening therein some holy Hermit lay, That did resort of sinfull people shonne; Or else some woodman shrowded there from scorching sunne. Arriuing there, he found this wretched man, xliii Spending his daies in dolour and despaire, And through long fasting woxen pale and wan, All ouergrowen with rude and rugged haire; That albeit his owne deare Squire he were, Yet he him knew not, ne auiz’d at all, But like strange wight, whom he had seene no where, Saluting him, gan into speach to fall, And pitty much his plight, that liu’d like outcast thrall. But to his speach he aunswered no whit, xliv But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum, Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit, As one with griefe and anguishe ouercum, And vnto euery thing did aunswere mum: And euer when the Prince vnto him spake, He louted lowly, as did him becum, And humble homage did vnto him make, Midst sorrow shewing ioyous semblance for his sake. At which his vncouth guise and vsage quaint xlv The Prince did wonder much, yet could not ghesse The cause of that his sorrowfull constraint; Yet weend by secret signes of manlinesse, Which close appeard in that rude brutishnesse, That he whilome some gentle swaine had beene, Traind vp in feats of armes and knightlinesse; Which he obseru’d, by that he him had seene To weld[131] his naked sword, and try the edges keene. And eke by that he saw on euery tree, xlvi How he the name of one engrauen had, Which likly[132] was his liefest loue to be, For whom he now so sorely was bestad; Which was by him BELPHEBE rightly rad. Yet who was that Belphebe, he ne wist; Yet saw he often how he wexed glad, When he it heard, and how the ground he kist, Wherein it written was, and how himselfe he blist: Tho when he long had marked his demeanor, xlvii And saw that all he said and did, was vaine, Ne ought mote make him change his wonted tenor, Ne ought mote ease or mitigate his paine, He left him there in languor to remaine, Till time for him should remedy prouide, And him restore to former grace againe. Which for it is too long here to abide, I will deferre the end vntill another tide.

The gentle Squire recouers grace, Sclaunder[133] her guests doth staine: Corflambo chaseth Placidas, And is by Arthure slaine.

Well said the wiseman, now prou’d true by this, i Which to this gentle Squire did happen late, That the displeasure of the mighty is Then death it selfe more dread[134] and desperate. For naught the same may calme ne mitigate, Till time the tempest doe thereof delay With sufferaunce soft, which rigour can abate, And haue the sterne remembrance wypt away Of bitter thoughts, which deepe therein infixed lay. Like as it fell to this vnhappy boy, ii Whose tender heart the faire Belphebe had[135] With one sterne looke so daunted, that no ioy In all his life, which afterwards he lad, He euer tasted, but with penaunce sad And pensiue sorrow pind and wore away, Ne euer laught, ne once shew’d countenance glad; But alwaies wept and wailed night and day, As blasted bloosme through heat doth languish and decay;[136] Till on a day, as in his wonted wise iii His doole he made, there chaunst a turtle Doue To come, where he his dolors did deuise, That likewise late had lost her dearest loue, Which losse her made like passion also proue. Who seeing his sad plight, her tender heart With deare compassion deeply did emmoue, That she gan mone his vndeserued smart, And with her dolefull accent beare with him a part. Shee sitting by him as on ground he lay, iv Her mournefull notes full piteously did frame, And thereof made a lamentable lay, So sensibly compyld, that in the same Him seemed oft he heard his owne right name. With that he forth would poure so plenteous teares, And beat his breast vnworthy of such blame, And knocke his head, and rend his rugged heares, That could haue perst[137] the hearts of Tigres and of Beares. Thus long this gentle bird to him did vse, v Withouten dread of perill to repaire Vnto his wonne, and with her mournefull muse Him to recomfort in his greatest care, That much did ease his mourning and misfare: And euery day for guerdon of her song, He part of his small feast to her would share; That at the last of all his woe and wrong Companion she became, and so continued long. Vpon a day as she him sate beside, vi By chance he certaine miniments forth drew, Which yet with him as relickes[138] did abide Of all the bounty, which Belphebe threw On him, whilst goodly grace she did him shew: Amongst the rest a iewell rich he found, That was a Ruby of right perfect hew, Shap’d like a heart, yet bleeding of the wound, And with a litle golden chaine about it bound. The same he tooke, and with a riband new, vii In which his Ladies colours were, did bind About the turtles necke, that with the vew Did greatly solace his engrieued mind. All vnawares the bird, when she did find Her selfe so deckt, her nimble wings displaid, And flew away, as lightly as the wind: Which sodaine accident him much dismaid, And looking after long, did marke which way she straid. But when as long he looked had in vaine, viii Yet saw her forward still to make her flight, His weary eie returnd to him againe, Full of discomfort and disquiet plight, That both his iuell he had lost so light, And eke his deare companion of his care. But that sweet bird departing, flew forth right Through the wide region of the wastfull aire, Vntill she came where wonned his Belphebe faire. There found she her (as then it did betide) ix Sitting in couert shade of arbors sweet, After late weary toile, which she had tride In saluage chase, to rest as seem’d her meet. There she alighting, fell before her feet, And gan to her her mournfull plaint to make, As was her wont, thinking to let her weet The great tormenting griefe, that for her sake Her gentle Squire through her displeasure did pertake[139]. She her beholding with attentiue eye, x At length did marke about her purple brest That precious iuell, which she formerly Had knowne right well with colourd ribbands[140] drest: Therewith she rose in hast, and her addrest With ready hand it to haue reft away. But the swift bird obayd not her behest, But swaru’d aside, and there againe did stay; She follow’d her, and thought againe it to assay. And euer when she nigh approcht, the Doue xi Would flit a litle forward, and then stay, Till she drew neare, and then againe remoue; So tempting her still to pursue the pray, And still from her escaping soft away: Till that at length into that forrest wide, She drew her far, and led with slow delay. In th’end she her vnto that place did guide, Whereas that wofull man in languor did abide. Eftsoones she flew vnto his fearelesse hand, xii And there a piteous ditty new deuiz’d, As if she would haue made him[141] vnderstand, His sorrowes cause to be of her despis’d. Whom when she saw in wretched weedes disguiz’d, With heary glib deform’d, and meiger face, Like ghost late risen from his graue agryz’d, She knew him not, but pittied much his case, And wisht it were in her to doe him any grace. He her beholding, at her feet downe fell, xiii And kist the ground on which her sole did tread, And washt the same with water, which did well From his moist eies, and like two streames procead, Yet spake no word, whereby she might aread What mister wight he was, or what he ment, But as one daunted with her presence dread, Onely few ruefull lookes vnto her sent, As messengers of his true meaning and intent. Yet nathemore his meaning she ared, xiv But wondred much at his so selcouth case, And by his persons secret seemlyhed Well weend, that he had beene some man of place, Before misfortune did his hew deface: That being mou’d with ruth she thus bespake. Ah wofull man, what heauens hard disgrace, Or wrath of cruell wight on thee ywrake? Or selfe disliked life doth thee thus wretched make? If heauen, then none may it redresse or blame, xv Sith to his powre we all are subiect borne: If wrathfull wight, then fowle rebuke and shame Be theirs, that haue so cruell thee forlorne; But if through inward griefe or wilfull scorne Of life it be, then better doe aduise[142]. For he whose daies in wilfull woe are worne, The grace of his Creator doth despise, That will not vse his gifts for thanklesse nigardise. When so he heard her say, eftsoones he brake xvi His sodaine silence, which he long had pent, And sighing inly deepe, her thus bespake; Then haue they all themselues against me bent: For heauen, first author of my languishment, Enuying my too great felicity, Did closely with a cruell one consent, To cloud my daies in dolefull[143] misery, And make me loath this life, still longing for to die. Ne any but your selfe, O dearest dred, xvii Hath done this wrong, to wreake on worthlesse wight Your high displesure, through misdeeming bred: That when your pleasure is to deeme aright, Ye may redresse, and me restore to light. Which sory words her mightie hart did mate With mild regard, to see his ruefull plight, That her inburning wrath she gan abate, And him receiu’d againe to former fauours state. In which he long time afterwards did lead xviii An happie life with grace and good accord, Fearlesse of fortunes chaunge or enuies dread, And eke all mindlesse of his owne deare Lord The noble Prince, who neuer heard one word Of tydings, what did vnto him betide, Or what good fortune did to him afford, But through the endlesse world did wander wide, Him seeking euermore, yet no where him descride. Till on a day as through that wood he rode, xix He chaunst to come where those two Ladies late, Æmylia and Amoret abode, Both in full sad and sorrowfull estate; The one right feeble through the euill rate Of food, which in her duresse she had found: The other almost dead and desperate Through her late hurts, and through that haplesse wound, With which the Squire in her defence her sore astound. Whom when the Prince beheld, he gan to rew xx The euill case in which those Ladies lay; But most was moued at the piteous vew Of Amoret, so neare vnto decay, That her great daunger did him much dismay. Eftsoones that pretious liquour forth he drew, Which he in store about him kept alway, And with few drops thereof did softly dew Her wounds, that vnto strength restor’d her soone anew. Tho when they both recouered were right well, xxi He gan of them inquire, what euill guide Them thether[144] brought, and how their harmes befell. To whom they told all, that did them betide, And how from thraldome vile they were vntide Of that same wicked Carle, by Virgins hond; Whose bloudie corse they shew’d him there beside, And eke his caue, in which they both were bond: At which he wondred much, when all those signes he fond. And euermore he greatly did desire xxii To know, what Virgin did them thence vnbind; And oft of them did earnestly inquire, Where was her won, and how he mote her find. But when as nought according to his mind He could outlearne, he them from ground did reare: No seruice lothsome to a gentle kind; And on his warlike beast them both did beare, Himselfe by them on foot, to succour them from feare. So when that forrest they had passed well, xxiii A litle cotage farre away they spide, To which they drew, ere night vpon them fell; And entring in, found none therein abide, But one old woman sitting there beside, Vpon the ground in ragged rude attyre, With filthy lockes about her scattered wide, Gnawing her nayles for felnesse and for yre, And there out sucking venime to her parts entyre. A foule and loathly creature sure in sight, xxiv And in conditions to be loath’d no lesse: For she was stuft with rancour and despight Vp to the throat, that oft with bitternesse It forth would breake, and gush in great excesse, Pouring out streames of poyson and of gall Gainst all, that truth or vertue doe professe, Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall, And wickedly backbite: Her name men Sclaunder call. Her nature is all goodnesse to abuse, xxv And causelesse crimes continually to frame, With which she guiltlesse persons may accuse, And steale away the crowne of their good name; Ne euer Knight so bold, ne euer Dame So chast and loyall liu’d, but she would striue With forged cause them falsely to defame; Ne euer thing so well was doen aliue, But she with blame would blot, and of due praise depriue. Her words were not, as common words are ment, xxvi T’expresse the meaning of the inward mind, But noysome breath, and poysnous spirit sent From inward parts, with cancred malice lind, And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind; Which passing through the eares, would pierce the hart, And wound the soule it selfe with griefe vnkind: For like the stings of Aspes, that kill with smart, Her spightfull words did pricke, and wound the inner part. Such was that Hag, vnmeet to host such guests, xxvii Whom greatest Princes court would welcome fayne, But neede, that answers not to all requests, Bad them not looke for better entertayne; And eke that age despysed nicenesse vaine, Enur’d to hardnesse and to homely fare, Which them to warlike discipline did trayne, And manly limbs endur’d with litle care Against all hard mishaps and fortunelesse misfare. Then all that euening welcommed with cold, xxviii And chearelesse hunger, they together spent; Yet found no fault, but that the Hag did scold And rayle at them with grudgefull discontent, For lodging there without her owne consent: Yet they endured all with patience milde, And vnto rest themselues all onely lent, Regardlesse of that queane so base and vilde, To be vniustly blamd, and bitterly reuilde. Here well I weene, when as these rimes be red xxix With misregard, that some rash witted wight, Whose looser thought will lightly be misled, These gentle Ladies will misdeeme too light, For thus conuersing with this noble Knight; Sith now of dayes such temperance is rare And hard to finde, that heat of youthfull spright For ought will from his greedie pleasure spare, More hard for hungry steed t’abstaine from pleasant lare. But antique age yet in the infancie xxx Of time, did liue then like an innocent, In simple truth and blamelesse chastitie, Ne then[145] of guile had made experiment, But voide of vile and treacherous intent, Held vertue for it selfe in soueraine awe: Then loyall loue had royall regiment, And each vnto his lust did make a lawe, From all forbidden things his liking to withdraw. The Lyon there did with the Lambe consort, xxxi And eke the Doue sate by the Faulcons side, Ne each of other feared fraud or tort, But did in safe securitie abide, Withouten perill of the stronger pride: But when the world woxe old, it woxe warre old (Whereof it hight) and hauing shortly tride The traines of wit, in wickednesse woxe bold, And dared of all sinnes the secrets to vnfold. Then beautie, which was made to represent xxxii The great Creatours owne resemblance bright, Vnto abuse of lawlesse lust was lent, And made the baite of bestiall delight: Then faire grew foule, and foule grew faire in sight, And that which wont to vanquish God and man, Was made the vassall of the victors might; Then did her glorious flowre wex dead and wan, Despisd and troden downe of all that ouerran. And now it is so vtterly decayd, xxxiii That any bud thereof doth scarse remaine, But if few plants preseru’d through heauenly ayd, In Princes Court doe hap to sprout againe, Dew’d with her drops of bountie Soueraine, Which from that goodly glorious flowre proceed, Sprung of the auncient stocke of Princes straine, Now th’onely remnant of that royall breed, Whose noble kind at first was sure of heauenly seed. Tho soone as day discouered heauens face xxxiv To sinfull men with darknes ouerdight, This gentle crew gan from their eye-lids chace The drowzie humour of the dampish night, And did themselues vnto their iourney dight. So forth they yode, and forward softly paced, That them to view had bene an vncouth sight; How all the way the Prince on footpace traced, The Ladies both on horse, together fast embraced. Soone as they thence departed were afore, xxxv That shamefull Hag, the slaunder of her sexe, Them follow’d fast, and them reuiled sore, Him calling theefe, them whores; that much did vexe His noble hart; thereto she did annexe False crimes and facts, such as they neuer ment, That those two Ladies much asham’d did wexe: The more did she pursue her lewd intent, And rayl’d and rag’d, till she had all her poyson spent. At last when they were passed out of sight, xxxvi Yet she did not her spightfull speach forbeare, But after them did barke, and still backbite, Though there were none her hatefull words to heare: Like as a curre doth felly bite and teare The stone, which passed straunger at him threw; So she them seeing past the reach of eare, Against the stones and trees did rayle anew, Till she had duld the sting, which in her tongs end grew. They passing forth kept on their readie way, xxxvii With easie steps so soft as foot could stryde, Both for great feeblesse, which did oft assay Faire Amoret, that scarcely she could ryde, And eke through heauie armes, which sore annoyd The Prince on foot, not wonted so to fare; Whose steadie hand was faine his steede to guyde, And all the way from trotting hard to spare, So was his toyle the more, the more that was his care. At length they spide, where towards them with speed xxxviii A Squire came gallopping, as he would flie;[146] Bearing a litle Dwarfe before his steed, That all the way full loud for aide did crie, That seem’d his shrikes would rend the brasen skie: Whom after did a mightie man pursew, Ryding vpon a Dromedare on hie, Of stature huge, and horrible of hew, That would haue maz’d a man his dreadfull face to vew. For from his fearefull eyes two fierie beames, xxxix More sharpe then points of needles did proceede, Shooting forth farre away two flaming streames, Full of sad powre, that poysonous bale did breede To all, that on him lookt without good heed, And secretly his enemies did slay: Like as the Basiliske of serpents seede, From powrefull eyes close venim doth conuay Into the lookers hart, and killeth farre away. He all the way did rage at that same Squire, xl And after him full many threatnings threw, With curses vaine in his auengefull ire: But none of them (so fast away he flew) Him ouertooke, before he came in vew. Where when he saw the Prince in armour bright, He cald to him aloud, his case to rew, And rescue him through succour of his might, From that his cruell foe, that him pursewd in sight. Eftsoones the Prince tooke downe those Ladies twaine xli From loftie steede, and mounting in their stead Came to that Squire, yet trembling euery vaine: Of whom he gan enquire his cause of dread; Who as he gan the same to him aread, Loe hard behind his backe his foe was prest, With dreadfull weapon aymed at his head, That vnto death had doen him vnredrest, Had not the noble Prince his readie stroke represt. Who thrusting boldly twixt him and the blow, xlii The burden of the deadly brunt did beare Vpon his shield, which lightly he did throw Ouer his head, before the harme came neare. Nathlesse it fell with so despiteous dreare And heauie sway, that hard vnto his crowne The shield it droue, and did the couering reare, Therewith both Squire and dwarfe did tomble downe Vnto the earth, and lay long while in senselesse swowne. Whereat the Prince full wrath, his strong right hand xliii In full auengement heaued vp on hie, And stroke the Pagan with his steely brand So sore, that to his saddle bow thereby He bowed low, and so a while did lie: And sure had not his massie yron mace Betwixt him and his hurt bene happily, It would haue cleft him to the girding place, Yet as it was, it did astonish him long space. But when he to himselfe returnd againe, xliv All full of rage he gan to curse and sweare, And vow by Mahoune that he should be slaine. With that his murdrous mace he vp did reare, That seemed nought the souse thereof could beare, And therewith smote at him with all his might. But ere that it to him approched neare, The royall child with readie quicke foresight, Did shun the proofe thereof and it auoyded light. But ere his hand he could recure againe, xlv To ward his bodie from the balefull stound, He smote at him with all his might and maine, So furiously, that ere he wist, he found His head before him tombling on the ground. The whiles his babling tongue did yet blaspheme And curse his God, that did him so confound; The whiles his life ran foorth[147] in bloudie streame, His soule descended downe into the Stygian reame. Which when that Squire beheld, he woxe full glad xlvi To see his foe breath[148] out his spright in vaine: But that same dwarfe right sorie seem’d and sad, And howld aloud to see his Lord there slaine, And rent his haire and scratcht his face for paine. Then gan the Prince at leasure to inquire Of all the accident, there hapned plaine, And what he was, whose eyes did flame with fire; All which was thus to him declared by that Squire. This mightie man (quoth he) whom you haue slaine, xlvii Of an huge Geauntesse whylome was bred; And by his strength rule to himselfe did gaine Of many Nations into thraldome led, And mightie kingdomes of his force adred; Whom yet he conquer’d not by bloudie fight, Ne hostes of men with banners brode dispred, But by the powre of his infectious sight, With which he killed all, that came within his might. Ne was he euer vanquished afore, xlviii But euer vanquisht all, with whom he fought; Ne was there man so strong, but he downe bore, Ne woman yet so faire, but he her brought Vnto his bay, and captiued her thought. For most of strength and beautie his desire Was spoyle to make, and wast them vnto nought, By casting secret flakes of lustfull fire From his false eyes, into their harts and parts entire. Therefore Corflambo was he cald aright, xlix Though namelesse there his bodie now doth lie, Yet hath he left one daughter that is hight The faire Pœana; who seemes outwardly So faire, as euer yet saw liuing eie: And were her vertue like her beautie bright, She were as faire as any vnder skie. But ah she giuen is to vaine delight, And eke too loose of life, and eke of loue too light. So as it fell there was a gentle Squire, l That lou’d a Ladie of high parentage, But for his meane degree might not aspire To match so high, her friends with counsell sage, Dissuaded her from such a disparage. But she, whose hart to loue was wholly lent, Out of his hands could not redeeme her gage, But firmely following her first intent, Resolu’d with him to wend, gainst all her friends consent. So twixt themselues they pointed time and place, li To which when he according did repaire, An hard mishap and disauentrous case Him chaunst; in stead of his Æmylia faire This Gyants sonne, that lies there on the laire An headlesse heape, him vnawares there caught, And all dismayd through mercilesse despaire, Him wretched thrall vnto his dongeon brought, Where he remaines, of all vnsuccour’d and vnsought. This Gyants daughter came vpon a day lii Vnto the prison in her ioyous glee, To view the thrals, which there in bondage lay: Amongst the rest she chaunced there to see This louely swaine the Squire of low degree; To whom she did her liking lightly cast, And wooed him her paramour to bee: From day to day she woo’d and prayd him fast, And for his loue him promist libertie at last. He though affide vnto a former loue, liii To whom his faith he firmely ment to hold, Yet seeing not how thence he mote remoue, But by that meanes, which fortune did vnfold, Her graunted loue, but with affection cold To win her grace his libertie to get. Yet she him still detaines in captiue hold, Fearing least if she should him freely set, He would her shortly leaue, and former loue forget. Yet so much fauour she to him hath hight, liv Aboue the rest, that he sometimes may space And walke about her gardens of delight, Hauing a keeper still with him in place, Which keeper is this Dwarfe, her dearling base, To whom the keyes of euery prison dore By her committed be, of speciall grace, And at his will may whom he list restore, And whom he list reserue, to be afflicted more. Whereof when tydings came vnto mine eare, lv Full inly sorie for the feruent zeale, Which I to him as to my soule did beare; I thether went where I did long conceale My selfe, till that the Dwarfe did me reueale, And told his Dame, her Squire of low degree Did secretly out of her prison steale; For me he did mistake that Squire to bee; For neuer two so like did liuing creature see. Then was I taken and before her brought, lvi Who through the likenesse of my outward hew, Being likewise beguiled in her thought, Gan blame me much for being so vntrew, To seeke by flight her fellowship t’eschew, That lou’d me deare, as dearest thing aliue. Thence she commaunded me to prison new; Whereof I glad did not gainesay nor striue, But suffred that same Dwarfe me to her dongeon driue. There did I finde mine onely faithfull frend lvii In heauy plight and sad perplexitie; Whereof I sorie, yet my selfe did bend, Him to recomfort with my companie. But him the more agreeu’d I found thereby: For all his ioy, he said, in that distresse Was mine and his Æmylias libertie. Æmylia well he lou’d, as I mote ghesse; Yet greater loue to me then her he did professe. But I with better reason him auiz’d, lviii And shew’d him how through error and mis-thought Of our like persons eath to be disguiz’d, Or his exchange, or freedome might be wrought. Whereto full loth was he, ne would for ought Consent, that I who stood all fearelesse free, Should wilfully be into thraldome brought, Till fortune did perforce it so decree. Yet ouerrul’d at last, he did to me agree. The morrow next about the wonted howre, lix The Dwarfe cald at the doore of Amyas, To come forthwith vnto his Ladies bowre. In steed of whom forth came I Placidas, And vndiscerned, forth with him did pas. There with great ioyance and with gladsome glee, Of faire Pœana I receiued was, And oft imbrast, as if that I were hee, And with kind words accoyd, vowing great loue to mee. Which I, that was not bent to former loue, lx As was my friend, that had her long refusd, Did well accept, as well it did behoue, And to the present neede it wisely vsd. My former hardnesse first I faire excusd; And after promist large amends to make. With such smooth termes her error I abusd, To my friends good, more then for mine owne sake, For whose sole libertie I loue and life did stake. Thenceforth I found more fauour at her hand, lxi That to her Dwarfe, which had me in his charge, She bad to lighten my too heauie band, And graunt more scope to me to walke at large. So on a day as by the flowrie marge Of a fresh streame I with that Elfe did play, Finding no meanes how I might vs enlarge, But if that Dwarfe I could with me conuay, I lightly snatcht him vp, and with me bore away. Thereat he shriekt aloud, that with his cry lxii The Tyrant selfe came forth with yelling bray, And me pursew’d; but nathemore would I Forgoe the purchase of my gotten pray, But haue perforce him hether[149] brought away. Thus as they talked, loe where nigh at hand Those Ladies two yet doubtfull through dismay In presence came, desirous t’vnderstand Tydings of all, which there had hapned on the land. Where soone as sad Æmylia did espie lxiii Her captiue louers friend, young Placidas; All mindlesse of her wonted modestie, She to him ran, and him with streight embras Enfolding said, And[150] liues yet Amyas? He liues (quoth he) and his Æmylia loues. Then lesse (said she) by all the woe I pas, With which my weaker patience fortune proues. But what mishap thus long him fro my selfe remoues? Then gan he all this storie to renew, lxiv And tell the course of his captiuitie; That her deare hart full deepely made to rew, And sigh full sore, to heare the miserie, In which so long he mercilesse did lie. Then after many teares and sorrowes spent, She deare besought the Prince of remedie: Who thereto did with readie will consent, And well perform’d, as shall appeare by his euent.

The Squire of low degree releast Pœana[151] takes to wife: Britomart fightes with many Knights,[152] Prince Arthur stints their strife.

Hard is the doubt, and difficult to deeme, i When all three kinds of loue together meet, And doe dispart the hart with powre extreme, Whether shall weigh the balance downe; to weet The deare affection vnto kindred sweet, Or raging fire of loue to woman kind, Or zeale of friends combynd with vertues meet. But of them all the band of vertuous[153] mind Me seemes the gentle hart[154] should most assured bind. For naturall affection soone doth cesse, ii And quenched is with Cupids greater flame: But faithfull friendship doth them both suppresse, And them with maystring discipline doth tame, Through thoughts aspyring to eternall fame. For as the soule doth rule the earthly masse, And all the seruice of the bodie frame, So loue of soule doth loue of bodie passe, No lesse then perfect gold surmounts the meanest brasse. All which who list by tryall to assay, iii Shall in this storie find approued plaine; In which these[155] Squires true friendship more did sway, Then either care of parents could refraine, Or loue of fairest Ladie could constraine. For though Pœana were as faire as morne, Yet did this trustie Squire[156] with proud disdaine For his friends sake her offred fauours scorne, And she her selfe her syre, of whom she was yborne. Now after that Prince Arthur graunted had, iv To yeeld strong succour to that gentle swayne, Who now long time had lyen in prison sad, He gan aduise how best he mote darrayne That enterprize, for greatest glories gayne. That headlesse tyrants tronke he reard from ground, And hauing ympt the head to it agayne, Vpon his vsuall beast it firmely bound, And made it so to ride, as it aliue was found. Then did he take that chaced Squire, and layd v Before the ryder, as he captiue were, And made his Dwarfe, though with vnwilling ayd, To guide the beast, that did his maister beare, Till to his castle they approched neare. Whom when the watch, that kept continuall ward Saw comming home; all voide of doubtfull feare, He running downe, the gate to him vnbard; Whom straight the Prince ensuing, in together far’d. There he did find in her delitious boure vi The faire Pœana playing on a Rote, Complayning of her cruell Paramoure, And singing all her sorrow to the note, As she had learned readily by rote. That with the sweetnesse of her rare delight, The Prince halfe rapt, began on her to dote: Till better him bethinking of the right, He her vnwares attacht, and captiue held by might. Whence being forth produc’d, when she perceiued vii Her owne deare sire, she cald to him for aide. But when of him no aunswere she receiued, But saw him sencelesse by the Squire vpstaide, She weened well, that then she was betraide: Then gan she loudly cry, and weepe, and waile, And that same Squire of treason to vpbraide. But all in vaine, her plaints might not preuaile, Ne none there was to reskue her, ne none to baile. Then tooke he that same Dwarfe, and him compeld viii To open vnto him the prison dore, And forth to bring those thrals, which there he held. Thence forth were brought to him aboue a score Of Knights and Squires to him vnknowne afore: All which he did from bitter bondage free, And vnto former liberty restore. Amongst the rest, that Squire of low degree Came forth full weake and wan, not like him selfe to bee. Whom soone as faire Æmylia beheld, ix And Placidas, they both vnto him ran, And him embracing fast betwixt them held, Striuing to comfort him all that they can, And kissing oft his visage pale and wan. That faire Pœana them beholding both, Gan both enuy, and bitterly to ban; Through iealous passion weeping inly wroth, To see the sight perforce, that both her eyes were loth. But when a while they had together beene, x And diuersly conferred of their case, She, though full oft she both of them had seene A sunder, yet not euer in one place, Began to doubt, when she them saw embrace, Which was the captiue Squire she lou’d so deare, Deceiued through great likenesse of their face, For they so like in person did appeare, That she vneath discerned, whether whether weare. And eke the Prince, when as he them auized, xi Their like resemblaunce much admired there, And mazd how nature had so well disguized Her worke, and counterfet her selfe so nere, As if that by one patterne seene somewhere, She had them made a paragone to be, Or whether it through skill, or errour were. Thus gazing long, at them much wondred he, So did the other knights and Squires, which him[157] did see. Then gan they ransacke that same Castle strong, xii In which he found great store of hoorded threasure, The which that tyrant gathered had by wrong And tortious powre, without respect or measure. Vpon all which the Briton Prince made seasure, And afterwards continu’d there a while, To rest him selfe, and solace in soft pleasure Those weaker Ladies after weary toile; To whom he did diuide part of his purchast spoile. And for more ioy, that captiue Lady faire xiii The faire Pœana[158] he enlarged free; And by the rest did set in sumptuous chaire, To feast and frollicke; nathemore would she Shew gladsome countenaunce nor pleasaunt glee: But grieued was for losse both of her sire, And eke of Lordship, with both land and fee: But most she touched was with griefe entire, For losse of her new loue, the hope of her desire. But her the Prince through his well wonted grace, xiv To better termes of myldnesse did entreat, From that fowle rudenesse, which did her deface; And that same bitter corsiue, which did eat Her tender heart, and made refraine from meat, He with good thewes and speaches well applyde, Did mollifie, and calme her raging heat. For though she were most faire, and goodly dyde, Yet she it all did mar with cruelty and pride. And for to shut vp all in friendly loue, xv Sith loue was first the ground of all her griefe, That trusty Squire he wisely well did moue Not to despise that dame, which lou’d him liefe, Till he had made of her some better priefe, But to accept her to his wedded wife. Thereto he offred for to make him chiefe Of all her land and lordship during life: He yeelded, and her tooke; so stinted all their strife. From that day forth in peace and ioyous blis, xvi They liu’d together long without debate, Ne priuate iarre, ne spite of enemis Could shake the safe assuraunce of their state. And she whom Nature did so faire create, That she mote match the fairest of her daies, Yet with lewd loues and lust intemperate Had it defaste; thenceforth reformd her waies, That all men much admyrde her change, and spake her praise. Thus when the Prince had perfectly compylde xvii These paires of friends in peace and setled rest, Him selfe, whose minde did trauell as with chylde, Of his old loue, conceau’d in secret brest, Resolued to pursue his former quest[159]; And taking leaue of all, with him did beare Faire Amoret, whom Fortune by bequest Had left in his protection whileare, Exchanged out of one into an other feare. Feare of her safety did her not constraine, xviii For well she wist now in a mighty hond, Her person late in perill, did remaine, Who able was all daungers to withstond. But now in feare of shame she more did stond, Seeing her selfe all soly succourlesse, Left in the victors powre, like vassall bond; Whose will her weakenesse could no way represse,[160] In case his burning lust should breake into excesse. But cause of feare sure had she none at all xix Of him, who goodly learned had of yore The course of loose affection to forstall, And lawlesse lust to rule with reasons lore; That all the while he by his side her bore, She was as safe as in a Sanctuary; Thus many miles they two together wore, To seeke their loues dispersed diuersly, Yet neither shewed to other their hearts priuity. At length they came, whereas a troupe of Knights xx They saw together skirmishing, as seemed: Sixe they were all, all full of fell despight, But foure of them the battell best beseemed, That which of them was best, mote not be deemed. Those foure were they, from whom false Florimell By Braggadochio lately was redeemed. To weet, sterne Druon, and lewd Claribell, Loue-lauish Blandamour, and lustfull Paridell. Druons delight was all in single life, xxi And vnto Ladies loue would lend no leasure: The more was Claribell enraged rife With feruent flames, and loued out of measure: So eke lou’d Blandamour, but yet at pleasure Would change his liking, and new Lemans proue. But Paridell of loue did make no threasure, But lusted after all, that him did moue. So diuersly these foure disposed were to loue. But those two other which beside them stoode, xxii Were Britomart, and gentle Scudamour, Who all the while beheld their wrathfull moode, And wondred at their impacable stoure, Whose like they neuer saw till that same houre: So dreadfull strokes each did at other driue, And laid on load with all their might and powre, As if that euery dint the ghost would riue Out of their wretched corses, and their liues depriue. As when Dan Æolus in great displeasure, xxiii For losse of his deare loue by Neptune hent, Sends forth the winds out of his hidden threasure, Vpon the sea to wreake his fell intent; They breaking forth with rude vnruliment, From all foure parts of heauen doe rage full sore, And tosse the deepes, and teare the firmament, And all the world confound with wide vprore, As if in stead thereof they Chaos would restore. Cause of their discord, and so fell debate, xxiv Was for the loue of that same snowy maid, Whome they had lost in Turneyment of late, And seeking long, to weet which way she straid,[161] Met here together, where through lewd vpbraide Of Ate and Duessa they fell out, And each one taking part in others aide, This cruell conflict raised thereabout, Whose dangerous successe depended yet in dout. For sometimes Paridell and Blandamour xxv The better had, and bet the others backe, Eftsoones the others did the field recoure, And on their foes did worke full cruell wracke: Yet neither would their fiendlike fury slacke, But euermore their malice did augment; Till that vneath they forced were for lacke Of breath, their raging rigour to relent, And rest themselues for to recouer spirits spent. There[162] gan they change their sides, and new parts take; xxvi For Paridell did take to Druons side, For old despight, which now forth newly brake Gainst Blandamour, whom alwaies he enuide: And Blandamour to Claribell relide. So all afresh gan former fight renew. As when two Barkes, this caried with the tide, That with the wind, contrary courses sew, If wind and tide doe change, their courses change anew. Thenceforth they much more furiously gan fare, xxvii As if but then the battell had begonne, Ne helmets bright, ne hawberks strong did spare, That through the clifts the vermeil bloud out sponne, And all adowne their riuen sides did ronne. Such mortall malice, wonder was to see In friends profest, and so great outrage donne: But sooth is said, and tride in each degree, Faint friends when they fall out, most cruell fomen bee. Thus they long while continued in fight, xxviii Till Scudamour, and that same Briton maide, By fortune in that place did chance to light: Whom soone as they with wrathfull eie bewraide, They gan remember of the fowle vpbraide, The which that Britonesse had to them donne, In that late Turney for the snowy maide; Where she had them both shamefully fordonne, And eke the famous prize of beauty from them wonne. Eftsoones all burning with a fresh desire xxix Of fell reuenge, in their malicious mood They from them selues gan turne their furious ire, And cruell blades yet steeming with whot bloud, Against those two let driue, as they were wood: Who wondring much at that so sodaine fit, Yet nought dismayd, them stoutly well withstood; Ne yeelded foote, ne once abacke did flit, But being doubly smitten likewise doubly smit. The warlike Dame was on her part assaid, xxx Of Claribell and Blandamour attone; And Paridell and Druon fiercely laid At Scudamour, both his professed fone. Foure charged two, and two surcharged one; Yet did those two them selues so brauely beare, That the other[163] litle gained by the lone, But with their owne repayed[164] duely weare, And vsury withall: such gaine was gotten deare. Full oftentimes did Britomart assay xxxi To speake to them, and some emparlance moue; But they for nought their cruell hands would stay, Ne lend an eare to ought, that might behoue, As when an eager mastiffe once doth proue The tast of bloud of some engored beast, No words may rate, nor rigour him remoue From greedy hold of that his blouddy feast: So litle did they hearken to her sweet beheast. Whom when the Briton Prince a farre beheld xxxii With ods of so vnequall match opprest, His mighty heart with indignation sweld, And inward grudge fild his heroicke brest: Eftsoones him selfe he to their aide addrest, And thrusting fierce into the thickest preace, Diuided them, how euer loth to rest, And would them faine from battell to surceasse, With gentle words perswading them to friendly peace. But they so farre from peace or patience were, xxxiii That all at once at him gan fiercely flie, And lay on load, as they him downe would beare; Like to a storme, which houers vnder skie Long here and there, and round about doth stie, At length breakes downe in raine, and haile, and sleet, First from one coast, till nought thereof be drie; And then another, till that likewise fleet; And so from side to side till all the world it weet. But now their forces greatly were decayd, xxxiv The Prince yet being fresh vntoucht afore; Who them with speaches milde gan first disswade From such foule outrage, and them long forbore: Till seeing them through suffrance hartned more, Him selfe he bent their furies to abate, And layd at them so sharpely and so sore, That shortly them compelled to retrate, And being brought in daunger, to relent too late. But now his courage being throughly fired, xxxv He ment to make them know their follies prise, Had not those two him instantly desired T’asswage his wrath, and pardon their mesprise. At whose request he gan him selfe aduise To stay his hand, and of a truce to treat In milder tearmes, as list them to deuise: Mongst which the cause of their so cruell heat He did them aske, who all that passed gan repeat. And told at large how that same errant Knight, xxxvi To weet faire Britomart, them late had foyled In open turney, and by wrongfull fight Both of their publicke[165] praise had them despoyled, And also of their priuate loues beguyled, Of two full hard to read the harder theft. But she that wrongfull challenge soone assoyled, And shew’d that she had not that Lady reft, (As they supposd) but her had to her liking left. To whom the Prince thus goodly well replied; xxxvii Certes sir Knight[166], ye seemen much to blame, To rip vp wrong, that battell once hath tried; Wherein the honor both of Armes ye shame, And eke the loue of Ladies foule defame; To whom the world this franchise euer yeelded, That of their loues choise they might freedom clame, And in that right should by all knights be shielded: Gainst which me seemes this war ye wrongfully haue wielded. And yet (quoth she) a greater wrong remaines: xxxviii For I thereby my former loue haue lost, Whom seeking euer since with endlesse paines, Hath me much sorrow and much trauell cost; Aye me to see that gentle maide so tost. But Scudamour then sighing deepe, thus saide, Certes her losse ought me to sorrow most, Whose right she is, where euer she be straide, Through many perils wonne, and many fortunes waide. For from the first that I her loue profest, xxxix Vnto this houre, this present lucklesse howre, I neuer ioyed happinesse nor rest, But thus turmoild from one to other stowre, I wast my life, and doe my daies deuowre In wretched anguishe and incessant woe, Passing the measure of my feeble powre, That living thus, a wretch and[167] louing so, I neither can my loue, ne yet my life forgo. Then good sir Claribell him thus bespake, xl Now were it not sir Scudamour to you[168] Dislikefull paine, so sad a taske to take, Mote we entreat you, sith this gentle crew Is now so well accorded all anew; That as we ride together on our way, Ye will recount to vs in order dew All that aduenture, which ye did assay For that faire Ladies loue: past perils well apay. So gan the rest him likewise to require, xli But Britomart did him importune hard, To take on him that paine: whose great desire He glad to satisfie, him selfe prepar’d To tell through what misfortune he had far’d, In that atchieuement, as to him befell. And all those daungers vnto them declar’d, Which sith they cannot in this Canto well Comprised be, I will them in another tell.