SPENSER’S FAERIE QUEENE (continued 7)

The Hermite heales both Squire and dame Of their sore maladies: He Turpine doth defeate, and shame For his late villanies.

No wound, which warlike hand of enemy i Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light, As doth the poysnous sting, which infamy Infixeth in the name of noble wight: For by no art, nor any leaches might It euer can recured be againe; Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright Of Podalyrius did in it retaine, Can remedy such hurts; such hurts are hellish paine. Such were the wounds, the which that Blatant Beast ii Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame; And being such, were now much more increast, For want of taking heede vnto the same, That now corrupt and curelesse they became. Howbe that carefull Hermite did his best, With many kindes of medicines meete, to tame The poysnous humour, which did most infest Their ranckling wounds, and euery day them duely drest. For he right well in Leaches craft was seene, iii And through the long experience of his dayes, Which had in many fortunes tossed beene, And past through many perillous assayes, He knew the diuerse went of mortall wayes, And in the mindes of men had great insight; Which with sage counsell, when they went astray, He could enforme, and them reduce aright, And al the passions heale, which wound the weaker spright. For whylome he had bene a doughty Knight, iv As any one, that liued in his daies, And proued oft in many perillous fight, Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies, And in all battels bore away the baies. But being now attacht with timely age, And weary of this worlds vnquiet waies, He tooke him selfe vnto this Hermitage, In which he liu’d alone, like carelesse bird in cage. One day, as he was searching of their wounds, v He found that they had festred priuily, And ranckling inward with vnruly stounds, The inner parts now gan to putrify, That quite they seem’d past helpe of surgery, And rather needed to be disciplinde With holesome reede of sad sobriety, To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde: Giue salues to euery sore, but counsell to the minde. So taking them apart into his cell, vi He to that point fit speaches gan to frame, As he the art of words knew wondrous well, And eke could doe, as well as say the same, And thus he to them sayd; Faire[489] daughter Dame, And you faire sonne, which here thus long now lie In piteous languor, since ye hither came, In vaine of me ye hope for remedie, And I likewise in vaine doe salues to you applie. For in your selfe your onely helpe doth lie, vii To heale your selues, and must proceed alone From your owne will, to cure your maladie. Who can him cure, that will be cur’d of none? If therefore health ye seeke, obserue this one. First learne your outward sences to refraine From things, that stirre vp fraile affection; Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talk restraine From that they most affect, and in due termes containe. For from those outward sences ill affected, viii The seede of all this euill first doth spring, Which at the first before it had infected, Mote easie be supprest with little thing: But being growen strong, it forth doth bring Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient paine In th’inner parts, and lastly scattering Contagious poyson close through euery vaine, It neuer rests, till it haue wrought his finall bane. For that beastes teeth, which wounded you tofore, ix Are so exceeding venemous and keene, Made all of rusty yron, ranckling sore, That where they bite, it booteth not to weene With salue, or antidote, or other mene It euer to amend: ne maruaile ought; For that same beast was bred of hellish strene, And long in darksome Stygian den vpbrought, Begot of foule Echidna, as in bookes is taught. Echidna is a Monster direfull dred, x Whom Gods doe hate, and heauens abhor to see; So hideous is her shape, so huge her hed, That euen the hellish fiends affrighted bee At sight thereof, and from her presence flee: Yet did her face and former parts professe A faire young Mayden, full of comely glee; But all her hinder parts did plaine expresse A monstrous Dragon, full of fearefull vglinesse. To her the Gods, for her so dreadfull face, xi In fearefull darkenesse, furthest from the skie, And from the earth, appointed haue her place, Mongst rocks and caues, where she enrold doth lie In hideous horrour and obscurity, Wasting the strength of her immortall age. There did Typhaon with her company, Cruell Typhaon, whose tempestuous rage Make th’heauens tremble oft, and him with vowes asswage. Of that commixtion they did then beget xii This hellish Dog, that hight the Blatant Beast; A wicked Monster, that his tongue doth whet Gainst all, both good and bad, both most and least, And poures his poysnous gall forth to infest The noblest wights with notable defame: Ne euer Knight, that bore so lofty creast, Ne euer Lady of so honest name, But he them spotted with reproch, or secrete[490] shame. In vaine therefore it were, with medicine xiii To goe about to salue such kynd of sore, That rather needes wise read and discipline, Then outward salues, that may augment it more. Aye me (sayd then Serena sighing sore) What hope of helpe doth then for vs remaine, If that no salues may vs to health restore? But sith we need good counsell (sayd the swaine) Aread good sire, some counsell, that may vs sustaine. The best (sayd he) that I can you aduize, xiv Is to auoide the occasion of the ill: For when the cause, whence euill doth arize, Remoued is, th’effect surceaseth still. Abstaine from pleasure, and restraine your will, Subdue desire, and bridle loose delight, Vse scanted diet, and forbeare your fill, Shun secresie, and talke in open sight: So shall you soone repaire your present euill plight. Thus hauing sayd, his sickely patients xv Did gladly hearken to his graue beheast, And kept so well his wise commaundements, That in short space their malady was ceast, And eke the biting of that harmefull Beast Was throughly heal’d. Tho when they did perceaue Their wounds recur’d, and forces reincreast, Of that good Hermite both they tooke their leaue, And went both on their way, ne ech would other leaue. But each the[491] other vow’d t’accompany, xvi The Lady, for that she was much in dred, Now left alone in great extremity, The Squire, for that he courteous was indeed, Would not her leaue alone in her great need. So both together traueld, till they met With a faire Mayden clad in mourning weed, Vpon a mangy iade vnmeetely set, And a lewd foole her leading thorough dry and wet. But by what meanes that shame to her befell, xvii And how thereof her selfe she did acquite, I must a while forbeare to you to tell; Till that, as comes by course, I doe recite, What fortune to the Briton Prince did lite, Pursuing that proud Knight, the which whileare Wrought to Sir Calidore[492] so foule despight; And eke his Lady, though she sickely were, So lewdly had abusde, as ye did lately heare. The Prince according to the former token, xviii Which faire Serene to him deliuered had, Pursu’d him streight, in mynd to bene ywroken Of all the vile demeane, and vsage bad, With which he had those two so ill bestad: Ne wight with him on that aduenture went, But that wylde man, whom though he oft forbad, Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent, Would he restrayned be from his attendement. Arriuing there, as did by chaunce befall, xix He found the gate wyde ope, and in he rode, Ne stayd, till that he came into the hall: Where soft dismounting like a weary lode, Vpon the ground with feeble feete he trode, As he vnable were for very neede To moue one foote, but there must make abode; The whiles the saluage man did take his steede, And in some stable neare did set him vp to feede. Ere long to him a homely groome there came, xx That in rude wise him asked, what he was, That durst so boldly, without let or shame, Into his Lords forbidden hall to passe. To whom the Prince, him fayning to embase, Mylde answer made; he was an errant Knight, The which was fall’n into this feeble case, Through many wounds, which lately he in fight[493] Receiued had, and prayd to pitty his ill plight. But he, the more outrageous and bold, xxi Sternely did bid him quickely thence auaunt, Or deare aby, for why his Lord of old Did hate all errant Knights, which there did haunt, Ne lodging would to any of them graunt, And therefore lightly bad him packe away, Not sparing him with bitter words to taunt; And therewithall rude hand on him did lay, To thrust him out of dore, doing his worst assay. Which when the Saluage comming now in place, xxii Beheld, eftsoones he all enraged grew, And running streight vpon that villaine base, Like a fell Lion at him fiercely flew, And with his teeth and nailes, in present vew, Him rudely rent, and all to peeces tore: So miserably him all helpelesse slew, That with the noise, whilest he did loudly rore, The people of the house rose forth in great vprore. Who when on ground they saw their fellow slaine, xxiii And that same Knight and Saluage standing by, Vpon them two they fell with might and maine, And on them layd so huge and horribly, As if they would haue slaine them presently. But the bold Prince defended him so well, And their assault withstood so mightily, That maugre all their might, he did repell, And beat them back, whilest many vnderneath him fell. Yet he them still so sharpely did pursew, xxiv That few of them he left aliue, which fled, Those euill tidings to their Lord to shew. Who hearing how his people badly sped, Came forth in hast: where when as with the dead He saw the ground all strow’d, and that same Knight And saluage with their bloud fresh steeming red, He woxe nigh mad with wrath and fell despight, And with reprochfull words him thus bespake on hight. Art thou he, traytor, that with treason vile, xxv Hast slaine my men in this vnmanly maner, And now triumphest in the piteous spoile Of these poore folk, whose soules with black dishonor And foule defame doe decke thy bloudy baner? The meede whereof shall shortly be thy shame, And wretched end, which still attendeth on her. With that him selfe to battell he did frame; So did his forty yeomen, which there with him came. With dreadfull force they all did him assaile, xxvi And round about with boystrous strokes oppresse, That on his shield did rattle like to haile In a great tempest; that in such distresse, He wist not to which side him to addresse. And euermore that crauen cowherd Knight[494] Was at his backe with heartlesse heedinesse, Wayting if he vnwares him murther might: For cowardize doth still in villany delight. Whereof whenas the Prince was well aware, xxvii He to him turnd with furious intent, And him against his powre gan to prepare; Like a fierce Bull, that being busie bent To fight with many foes about him ment, Feeling some curre behinde his heeles to bite, Turnes him about with fell auengement; So likewise turnde the Prince vpon the Knight, And layd at him amaine with all his will and might. Who when he once his dreadfull strokes had tasted, xxviii Durst not the furie of his force abyde, But turn’d abacke, and to retyre him hasted Through the thick prease, there thinking him to hyde. But when the Prince had once him plainely eyde, He foot by foot him followed alway, Ne would him suffer once to shrinke asyde But ioyning close, huge lode at him did lay: Who flying still did ward, and warding fly away. But when his foe he still so eger saw, xxix Vnto his heeles himselfe he did betake, Hoping vnto some refuge to withdraw: Ne would the Prince him euer foot forsake, Where so he went, but after him did make. He fled from roome to roome, from place to place, Whylest euery ioynt for dread of death did quake, Still looking after him, that did him chace; That made him euermore increase his speedie pace. At last he vp into the chamber came, xxx Whereas his loue was sitting all alone, Wayting what tydings of her folke became. There did the Prince him ouertake anone, Crying in vaine to her, him to bemone; And with his sword him on the head did smyte, That to the ground[495] he fell in senselesse swone: Yet whether thwart or flatly it did lyte, The tempred steele did not into his braynepan byte. Which when the Ladie saw, with great affright xxxi She starting vp, began to shrieke aloud, And with her garment couering him from sight, Seem’d vnder her protection him to shroud; And falling lowly at his feet, her bowd Vpon her knee, intreating him for grace, And often him besought, and prayd, and vowd; That with the ruth of her so wretched case, He stayd his second strooke, and did his hand abase. Her weed she then withdrawing, did him discover, xxxii Who now come to himselfe, yet would not rize, But still did lie as dead, and quake, and quiuer, That euen the Prince his basenesse did despize, And eke his Dame him seeing in such guize, Gan him recomfort, and from ground to reare. Who rising vp at last in ghastly wize, Like troubled ghost did dreadfully appeare, As one that had no life him left through former feare. Whom when the Prince so deadly saw dismayd, xxxiii He for such basenesse shamefully him shent, And with sharpe words did bitterly vpbrayd; Vile cowheard dogge, now doe I much repent, That euer I this life vnto thee lent, Whereof thou caytiue so vnworthie art; That both thy loue, for lacke of hardiment, And eke thy selfe, for want of manly hart, And eke all knights hast shamed with this knightlesse part. Yet further hast thou heaped shame to shame, xxxiv And crime to crime, by this thy cowheard feare. For first it was to thee reprochfull blame, To erect this wicked custome, which I heare, Gainst errant Knights and Ladies thou dost reare; Whom when thou mayst, thou dost of arms despoile, Or of their vpper garment, which they weare: Yet doest thou not with manhood, but with guile Maintaine this euill vse, thy foes thereby to foile. And lastly in approuance of thy wrong, xxxv To shew such faintnesse and foule cowardize, Is greatest shame: for oft it falles, that strong And valiant knights doe rashly enterprize, Either for fame, or else for exercize, A wrongfull quarrell to maintaine by fight[496]; Yet haue, through prowesse and their braue emprize, Gotten great worship in this worldes sight. For greater force there needs to maintaine wrong, then right. Yet since[497] thy[498] life vnto this Ladie fayre xxxvi I giuen haue, liue in reproch and scorne; Ne euer armes, ne euer knighthood dare Hence to professe: for shame is to adorne With so braue badges one so basely borne; But onely breath sith that I did forgiue. So hauing from his crauen bodie torne Those goodly armes, he them away did giue And onely suffred him this wretched life to liue. There whilest he thus was setling things aboue, xxxvii Atwene that Ladie myld and recreant knight, To whom his life he graunted for her loue, He gan bethinke him, in what perilous plight He had behynd him left that saluage wight, Amongst so many foes, whom sure he thought By this quite slaine in so vnequall fight: Therefore descending backe in haste, he sought If yet he were aliue, or to destruction brought. There he him found enuironed about xxxviii With slaughtred bodies, which his hand had slaine, And laying yet a fresh with courage stout Vpon the rest, that did aliue remaine; Whom he likewise right sorely did constraine, Like scattred sheepe, to seeke for safetie, After he gotten had with busie paine Some of their weapons, which thereby did lie, With which he layd about, and made them fast to flie. Whom when the Prince so felly saw to rage, xxxix Approching to him neare, his hand he stayd, And sought, by making signes, him to asswage: Who them perceiuing, streight to him obayd, As to his Lord, and downe his weapons layd, As if he long had to his heasts bene trayned. Thence he him brought away, and vp conuayd Into the chamber, where that Dame remayned With her vnworthy knight, who ill him entertayned. Whom when the Saluage saw from daunger free, xl Sitting beside his Ladie there at ease, He well remembred, that the same was hee, Which lately sought his Lord for to displease: Tho all in rage, he on him streight did seaze, As if he would in peeces him haue rent; And were not, that the Prince did him appeaze, He had not left one limbe of him vnrent: But streight he held his hand at his commaundement. Thus hauing all things well in peace ordayned, xli The Prince himselfe there all that night did rest, Where him Blandina fayrely entertayned, With all the courteous glee and goodly feast, The which for him she could imagine best. For well she knew the wayes to win good will Of euery wight, that were not too infest, And how to please the minds of good and ill, Through tempering of her words and lookes by wondrous skill. Yet were her words and lookes but false and fayned, xlii To some hid end to make more easie way, Or to allure such fondlings, whom she trayned Into her trap vnto their owne decay: Thereto, when needed, she could weepe and pray, And when her listed, she could fawne and flatter; Now smyling smoothly, like to sommers day, Now glooming sadly, so to cloke her matter; Yet were her words but wynd, and all her teares but water. Whether such grace were giuen her by kynd, xliii As women wont their guilefull wits to guyde; Or learn’d the art to please, I doe not fynd. This well I wote, that she so well applyde Her pleasing tongue, that soone she pacifyde The wrathfull Prince, and wrought her husbands peace. Who nathelesse not therewith satisfyde, His rancorous despight did not releasse, Ne secretly from thought of fell reuenge surceasse. For all that night, the whyles the Prince did rest xliv In carelesse couch, not weeting what was ment, He watcht in close awayt with weapons prest, Willing to worke his villenous intent On him, that had so shamefully him shent: Yet durst he not for very cowardize Effect the same, whylest all the night was spent. The morrow next the Prince did early rize, And passed forth, to follow his first enterprize.

Turpine is baffuld, his two knights doe gaine their treasons meed, Fayre Mirabellaes punishment for loues disdaine decreed.

Like as the[499] gentle hart it selfe bewrayes, i In doing gentle deedes with franke delight, Euen so the baser mind it selfe displayes, In cancred malice and reuengefull spight. For to maligne, t’enuie, t’vse shifting slight, Be arguments of a vile donghill mind, Which what it dare not doe by open might, To worke by wicked treason wayes doth find, By such discourteous deeds discouering his base kind. That well appeares in this discourteous knight, ii The coward Turpine, whereof now I treat; Who notwithstanding that in former fight He of the Prince his life receiued late, Yet in his mind malitious and ingrate He gan deuize, to be aueng’d anew For all that shame, which kindled inward hate. Therefore so soone as he was out of vew, Himselfe in hast he arm’d, and did him fast pursew. Well did he tract his steps, as he did ryde, iii Yet would not neare approch in daungers eye, But kept aloofe for dread to be descryde, Vntill fit time and place he mote espy, Where he mote worke him scath[500] and villeny. At last he met two knights to him vnknowne, The which were armed[501] both agreeably, And both combynd, what euer chaunce were blowne, Betwixt them to diuide, and each to make his owne. To whom false Turpine comming courteously, iv To cloke the mischiefe, which he inly ment, Gan to complaine of great discourtesie, Which a straunge knight, that neare afore him went, Had doen to him, and his deare Ladie shent: Which if they would afford him ayde at need For to auenge, in time conuenient, They should accomplish both a knightly deed, And for their paines obtaine of him a goodly meed. The knights beleeu’d, that all he sayd, was trew, v And being fresh and full of youthly spright, Were glad to heare of that aduenture new, In which they mote make triall of their might, Which neuer yet they had approu’d in fight; And eke desirous of the offred meed, Said then the one of them; Where[502] is that wight, The which hath doen to thee this wrongfull deed, That we may it auenge, and punish him with speed? He rides (said Turpine) there not farre afore, vi With a wyld man soft footing by his syde, That if ye list to haste a litle more, Ye may him ouertake in timely tyde.[503] Eftsoones they pricked forth with forward pryde, And ere that litle while they ridden had, The gentle Prince not farre away they spyde, Ryding a softly pace with portance sad, Deuizing of his loue more, then of daunger drad. Then one of them aloud vnto him cryde, vii Bidding him turne againe, false traytour knight, Foule womanwronger, for he him defyde. With that they both at once with equall spight Did bend their speares, and both with equall might Against him ran; but th’one did misse his marke, And being carried with his force forthright, Glaunst swiftly by; like to that heauenly sparke, Which glyding through the ayre lights all the heauens darke. But th’other ayming better, did him smite viii Full in the shield, with so impetuous powre, That all his launce in peeces shiuered quite, And scattered all about, fell on the flowre. But the stout Prince, with much more steddy stowre Full on his beuer did him strike so sore, That the cold steele through piercing, did deuowre His vitall breath, and to the ground him bore, Where still he bathed lay in his owne bloody gore. As when a cast of Faulcons make their flight ix At an Herneshaw, that lyes aloft on wing, The whyles they strike at him with heedlesse might, The warie foule his bill doth backward wring; On which the first, whose force her first doth bring, Her selfe quite through the bodie doth engore, And falleth downe to ground like senselesse thing, But th’other not so swift, as she before, Fayles of her souse, and passing by doth hurt no more. By this the other, which was passed by, x Himselfe recouering, was return’d to fight; Where when he saw his fellow lifelesse ly, He much was daunted with so dismall sight; Yet nought abating of his former spight, Let driue at him with so malitious mynd, As if he would haue passed through him quight: But the steele-head no stedfast hold could fynd, But glauncing by, deceiu’d him of that he desynd. Not so the Prince: for his well learned speare xi Tooke surer hould, and from his horses backe Aboue a launces length him forth did beare, And gainst the cold hard earth so sore him strake, That all his bones in peeces nigh he brake. Where seeing him so lie, he left his steed, And to him leaping, vengeance thought to take Of him, for all his former follies meed, With flaming sword in hand his terror more to breed. The fearefull swayne beholding death so nie, xii Cryde out aloud for mercie him to saue; In lieu whereof he would to him descrie, Great treason to him meant, his life to reaue. The Prince soone hearkned, and his life forgaue. Then thus said he, There is a straunger knight, The which for promise of great meed, vs draue To this attempt, to wreake his hid despight, For that himselfe thereto did want sufficient might. The Prince much mused at such villenie, xiii And sayd; Now sure ye well haue earn’d your meed, For th’one is dead, and th’other soone shall die, Vnlesse to me thou hether bring with speed The wretch, that hyr’d you to this wicked deed.[504] He glad of life, and willing eke to wreake The guilt on him, which did this mischiefe breed, Swore by his sword, that neither day nor weeke He would surceasse, but him, where so he were, would seeke. So vp he rose, and forth streight way he went xiv Backe to the place, where Turpine late he lore; There he him found in great astonishment, To see him so bedight with bloodie gore, And griesly wounds that him appalled sore. Yet thus at length he said, How[505] now Sir knight? What meaneth this, which here I see before? How fortuneth this foule vncomely plight, So different from that, which earst ye seem’d in sight? Perdie (said he) in euill houre it fell, xv That euer I for meed did vndertake So hard a taske, as life for hyre to sell; The which I earst aduentur’d for your sake. Witnesse the wounds, and this wyde bloudie lake, Which ye may see yet all about me steeme. Therefore now yeeld, as ye did promise make, My due reward, the which right well I deeme I yearned[506] haue, that life so dearely did redeeme. But where then is (quoth he halfe wrothfully[507]) xvi Where is the bootie, which therefore I bought, That cursed caytiue, my strong enemy, That recreant knight, whose hated life I sought? And where is eke your friend, which halfe it ought? He lyes (said he) vpon the cold bare ground, Slayne of that errant knight, with whom he fought; Whom afterwards my selfe with many a wound Did slay againe, as ye may see there in the stound. Thereof false Turpin was full glad and faine, xvii And needs with him streight to the place would ryde, Where he himselfe might see his foeman slaine; For else his feare could not be satisfyde. So as they rode, he saw the way all dyde With streames of bloud; which tracting[508] by the traile, Ere long they came, whereas in euill tyde That other swayne, like ashes deadly pale, Lay in the lap of death, rewing his wretched bale. Much did the Crauen seeme to mone his case, xviii That for his sake his deare life had forgone; And him bewayling with affection base, Did counterfeit kind pittie, where was none: For wheres no courage, theres no ruth nor mone. Thence passing forth, not farre away he found, Whereas the Prince himselfe lay all alone, Loosely displayd vpon the grassie ground, Possessed of sweete sleepe, that luld him soft in swound. Wearie of trauell in his former fight, xix He there in shade himselfe had layd to rest, Hauing his armes and warlike things vndight, Fearelesse of foes that mote his peace molest; The whyles his salvage page, that wont be prest, Was wandred in the wood another way, To doe some thing, that seemed to him best, The whyles his Lord in siluer slomber[509] lay, Like to the Evening starre adorn’d with deawy ray. Whom when as Turpin saw so loosely layd, xx He weened well, that he in deed was dead, Like as that other knight to him had sayd: But when he nigh approcht, he mote aread Plaine signes in him of life and liuelihead. Whereat much grieu’d against that straunger knight, That him too light of credence did mislead, He would haue backe retyred from that sight, That was to him on earth the deadliest despight. But that same knight would not once let him start, xxi But plainely gan to him declare the case Of all his mischiefe, and late lucklesse smart; How both he and his fellow there in place Were vanquished, and put to foule disgrace, And how that he in lieu of life him lent, Had vow’d vnto the victor, him to trace And follow through the world, where so he went, Till that he him deliuered to his punishment. He therewith much abashed and affrayd, xxii Began to tremble euery limbe and vaine; And softly whispering him, entyrely prayd, T’aduize him better, then by such a traine Him to betray vnto a straunger swaine: Yet rather counseld him contrarywize, Sith he likewise did wrong by him sustaine, To ioyne with him and vengeance to deuize, Whylest time did offer meanes him sleeping to surprize. Nathelesse for all his speach, the gentle knight xxiii Would not be tempted to such villenie, Regarding more his faith, which he did plight, All were it to his mortall enemie, Then to entrap him by false treacherie: Great shame in lieges blood to be embrew’d. Thus whylest they were debating diuerslie, The Saluage forth out of the wood issew’d Backe to the place, whereas his Lord he sleeping vew’d. There when he saw those two so neare him stand, xxiv He doubted much what mote their meaning bee, And throwing downe his load out of his hand, To weet great store of forrest frute, which hee Had for his food late gathered from the tree, Himselfe vnto his weapon he betooke, That was an oaken plant, which lately hee Rent by the root; which he so sternely shooke, That like an hazell wand, it quiuered and quooke. Whereat the Prince awaking, when he spyde xxv The traytour Turpin with that other knight, He started vp, and snatching neare his syde His trustie sword, the seruant of his might, Like a fell Lyon leaped to him light, And his left hand vpon his collar layd. Therewith the cowheard deaded with affright, Fell flat to ground, ne word vnto him sayd, But holding vp his hands, with silence mercie prayd. But he so full of indignation was, xxvi That to his prayer nought he would incline, But as he lay vpon the humbled gras, His foot he set on his vile necke, in signe Of seruile yoke, that nobler harts repine. Then letting him arise like abiect thrall, He gan to him obiect his haynous crime, And to reuile, and rate, and recreant call, And lastly to despoyle of knightly bannerall. And after all, for greater infamie, xxvii He by the heeles him hung vpon a tree, And baffuld so, that all which passed by, The picture of his punishment might see, And by the like ensample warned bee, How euer they through treason doe trespasse. But turne we now backe to that Ladie free, Whom late we left ryding vpon an Asse, Led by a Carle and foole, which by her side did passe. She was a Ladie of great dignitie, xxviii And lifted vp to honorable place, Famous through all the land of Faerie, Though of meane parentage and kindred base, Yet deckt with wondrous giftes of natures grace, That all men did her person much admire, And praise the feature of her goodly face, The beames whereof did kindle louely fire In th’harts of many a knight, and many a gentle squire. But she thereof grew proud and insolent, xxix That none she worthie thought to be her fere, But scornd them all, that loue vnto her ment, Yet was she lou’d of many a worthy pere, Vnworthy she to be belou’d so dere, That could not weigh of worthinesse aright. For beautie is more glorious bright and clere, The more it is admir’d of many a wight, And noblest she, that serued is of noblest knight. But this coy Damzell thought contrariwize, xxx That such proud looks would make her praysed more; And that the more she did all loue despize, The more would wretched louers her adore. What cared she, who sighed for her sore, Or who did wayle or watch the wearie night? Let them that list, their lucklesse lot deplore; She was borne free, not bound to any wight, And so would euer liue, and loue her owne delight. Through such her stubborne stifnesse, and hard hart, xxxi Many a wretch, for want of remedie, Did languish long in lifeconsuming smart, And at the last through dreary dolour die: Whylest she, the Ladie of her libertie, Did boast her beautie had such soueraine might, That with the onely twinckle of her eye, She could or saue, or spill, whom she would hight. What could the Gods doe more, but doe it more aright? But loe the Gods, that mortall follies vew, xxxii Did worthily reuenge this maydens pride; And nought regarding her so goodly hew, Did laugh at her, that many did deride, Whilest she did weepe, of no man mercifide. For on a day, when Cupid kept his court, As he is wont at each Saint Valentide, Vnto the which all louers doe resort, That of their loues successe they there may make report;[510] It fortun’d then, that when the roules[511] were red, xxxiii In which the names of all loues folke were fyled, That many there were missing, which were ded, Or kept in bands, or from their loues exyled, Or by some other violence despoyled. Which when as Cupid heard, he wexed wroth, And doubting to be wronged, or beguyled, He bad his eyes to be vnblindfold both, That he might see his men, and muster them by oth. Then found he many missing of his crew, xxxiv Which wont doe suit and seruice to his might; Of whom what was becomen, no man knew. Therefore a Iurie was impaneld streight, T’enquire of them, whether by force, or sleight, Or their owne guilt, they were away conuayd. To whom foule Infamie, and fell Despight Gaue euidence, that they were all betrayd, And murdred cruelly by a rebellious Mayd. Fayre Mirabella was her name, whereby xxxv Of all those crymes she there indited was: All which when Cupid heard, he by and by In great displeasure, wild a Capias Should issue forth, t’attach that scornefull lasse. The warrant straight was made, and therewithall A Baylieffe errant forth in post did passe, Whom they by name there[512] Portamore did call; He which doth summon louers to loues iudgement hall. The damzell was attacht, and shortly brought xxxvi Vnto the barre, whereas she was arrayned: But she thereto nould plead, nor answere ought Euen for stubborne pride, which her restrayned. So iudgement past, as is by law ordayned In cases like, which when at last she saw, Her stubborne hart, which loue before disdayned, Gan stoupe, and falling downe with humble awe, Cryde mercie, to abate the extremitie of law. The sonne of Venus who is myld by kynd, xxxvii But where he is prouokt with peeuishnesse, Vnto her prayers piteously enclynd, And did the rigour of his doome represse; Yet not so freely, but that nathelesse He vnto her a penance did impose, Which was, that through this worlds wyde wildernes She wander should in companie of those, Till she had sau’d so many loues, as she did lose. So now she had bene wandring two whole yeares xxxviii Throughout the world, in this vncomely case, Wasting her goodly hew in heauie teares, And her good dayes in dolorous disgrace: Yet had she not in all these two yeares space, Saued but two, yet in two yeares before, Through[513] her dispiteous pride, whilest loue lackt place, She had destroyed two and twenty more. Aie me, how could her loue make half amends therefore?[514] And now she was vppon the weary way, xxxix When as the gentle Squire, with faire Serene, Met her in such misseeming foule array; The whiles that mighty man did her demeane With all the euill termes and cruell meane, That he could make; And eeke that angry foole Which follow’d her, with cursed hands vncleane Whipping her horse, did with his smarting toole Oft whip her dainty selfe, and much augment her doole. Ne ought it mote auaile her to entreat xl The one or th’other, better her to vse: For both so wilfull were and obstinate, That all her piteous plaint they did refuse, And rather did the more her beate and bruse. But most the former villaine, which did lead Her tyreling iade, was bent her to abuse; Who though she were with wearinesse nigh dead, Yet would not let her lite, nor rest a little stead. For he was sterne, and terrible by nature, xli And eeke of person huge and hideous, Exceeding much the measure of mans stature, And rather like a Gyant monstruous. For sooth he was descended of the hous Of those old Gyants, which did warres darraine Against the heauen in order battailous, And sib to great Orgolio, which was slaine By Arthure, when as Vnas Knight he did maintaine. His lookes were dreadfull, and his fiery eies xlii Like two great Beacons, glared bright and wyde, Glauncing askew, as if his enemies He scorned in his ouerweening pryde; And stalking stately like a Crane, did stryde At euery step vppon the tiptoes hie, And all the way he went, on euery syde He gaz’d about, and stared horriblie, As if he with his lookes would all men terrifie. He wore no armour, ne for none did care, xliii As no whit dreading any liuing wight; But in a Iacket quilted richly rare[515] Vpon checklaton he was straungely dight, And on his head a roll of linnen plight, Like to the Mores of Malaber he wore; With which his locks, as blacke as pitchy night, Were bound about, and voyded from before, And in his hand a mighty yron club he bore. This was Disdaine, who led that Ladies horse xliv Through thick and thin, through mountains and through plains, Compelling her, wher she would not, by force[516], Haling her palfrey by the hempen raines. But that same foole, which most increast her paines, Was Scorne, who hauing in his hand a whip, Her therewith yirks, and still when she complaines, The more he laughes, and does her closely quip, To see her sore lament, and bite her tender lip. Whose cruell handling when that Squire beheld, xlv And saw those villaines her so vildely[517] vse, His gentle heart with indignation sweld, And could no lenger beare so great abuse, As such a Lady so to beate and bruse; But to him stepping, such a stroke him lent, That forst him th’halter from his hand to loose, And maugre all his might, backe to relent: Else had he surely there bene slaine, or fowly shent. The villaine, wroth for greeting him so sore, xlvi Gathered him selfe together soone againe, And with his yron batton, which he bore, Let driue at him so dreadfully amaine, That for his safety he did him constraine To giue him ground, and shift to euery side, Rather then once his burden to sustaine: For bootelesse thing him seemed, to abide[518] So mighty blowes, or proue the puissaunce of his pride. Like as a Mastiffe hauing at a bay xlvii A saluage Bull, whose cruell hornes doe threat Desperate daunger, if he them assay, Traceth his ground, and round about doth beat, To spy where he may some aduauntage get; The whiles the beast doth rage and loudly rore:[519] So did the Squire, the whiles the Carle did fret, And fume in his disdainefull mynd the more, And oftentimes by Turmagant and Mahound swore. Nathelesse so sharpely still he him pursewd, xlviii That at aduantage him at last he tooke, When his foote slipt (that slip he dearely rewd,) And with his yron club to ground him strooke; Where still he lay, ne out of swoune awooke, Till heauy hand the Carle vpon him layd, And bound him fast: Tho when he vp did looke, And saw him selfe captiu’d, he was dismayd, Ne powre had to withstand, ne hope of any ayd. Then vp he made him rise, and forward fare, xlix Led in a rope, which both his hands did bynd; Ne ought that foole for pitty did him spare, But with his whip him following behynd, Him often scourg’d, and forst his feete to fynd: And other whiles with bitter mockes and mowes He would him scorne, that to his gentle mynd Was much more grieuous, then the others blowes: Words[520] sharpely wound, but greatest griefe of scorning growes. The faire Serena, when she saw him fall l Vnder that villaines club, then surely thought That slaine he was, or made a wretched thrall, And fled away with all the speede she mought, To seeke for safety, which long time she sought: And past through many perils by the way, Ere she againe to Calepine was brought; The which discourse as now I must delay, Till Mirabellaes fortunes I doe further say.

Prince Arthure ouercomes Disdaine, Quites Mirabell from dreed: Serena found of Saluages, By Calepine is freed.

Ye gentle Ladies, in whose soueraine powre i Loue hath the glory of his kingdome left, And th’hearts of men, as your eternall dowre, In yron chaines, of liberty bereft, Deliuered hath into your hands by gift; Be well aware, how ye the same doe vse, That pride doe not to tyranny you lift; Least if men you of cruelty accuse, He from you take that chiefedome, which ye doe abuse. And as ye soft and tender are by kynde, ii Adornd with goodly gifts of beauties grace, So be ye soft and tender eeke in mynde; But cruelty and hardnesse from you chace, That all your other praises will deface, And from you turne the loue of men to hate. Ensample take of Mirabellaes case, Who from the high degree of happy state, Fell into wretched woes, which she repented late. Who after thraldome of the gentle Squire, iii Which she beheld with lamentable eye, Was touched with compassion entire, And much lamented his calamity, That for her sake fell into misery: Which booted nought for prayers, nor for threat To hope for to release or mollify; For aye the more, that she did them entreat,[521] The more they him misust, and cruelly did beat. So as they forward on their way did pas, iv Him still reuiling and afflicting sore, They met Prince Arthure with Sir Enias, (That was that courteous Knight, whom he before Hauing subdew’d, yet did to life restore,) To whom as they approcht, they gan augment Their cruelty, and him to punish more, Scourging and haling him more vehement; As if it them should grieue to see his punishment. The Squire him selfe when as he saw his Lord, v The witnesse of his wretchednesse, in place, Was much asham’d, that with an hempen cord He like a dog was led in captiue case, And did his head for bashfulnesse abase, As loth to see, or to be seene at all: Shame would be hid. But whenas Enias Beheld two such, of two such villaines thrall, His manly mynde was much emmoued therewithall. And to the Prince thus sayd; See you Sir Knight, vi The greatest shame that euer eye yet saw? Yond Lady and her Squire with foule despight Abusde, against all reason and all law, Without regard of pitty or of awe. See how they doe that Squire beat and reuile; See how they doe the Lady hale and draw. But if ye please to lend me leaue a while, I will them soone acquite, and both of blame assoile. The Prince assented, and then he streight way vii Dismounting light, his shield about him threw, With which approching, thus he gan to say; Abide ye caytiue treachetours vntrew, That haue with treason thralled vnto you These two, vnworthy of your wretched bands; And now your crime with cruelty pursew. Abide, and from them lay your loathly hands; Or else abide the death, that hard before you stands. The villaine stayd not aunswer to inuent, viii But with his yron club preparing way, His mindes sad message backe vnto him sent; The which descended with such dreadfull sway, That seemed nought the course thereof could stay: No more then lightening from the lofty sky. Ne list the Knight the powre thereof assay, Whose doome was death, but lightly slipping by, Vnwares defrauded his intended destiny. And to requite him with the like againe, ix With his sharpe sword he fiercely at him flew, And strooke so strongly, that the Carle with paine Saued him selfe, but that he there him slew: Yet sau’d not so, but that the bloud it drew, And gaue his foe good hope of victory. Who therewith flesht, vpon him set anew, And with the second stroke, thought certainely To haue supplyde the first, and paide the vsury. But Fortune aunswerd not vnto his call; x For as his hand was heaued vp on hight, The villaine met him in the middle fall, And with his club bet backe his brondyron bright So forcibly, that with his owne hands might Rebeaten backe vpon him selfe againe, He driuen was to ground in selfe despight; From whence ere he recouery could gaine, He in his necke had set his foote with fell disdaine. With that the foole, which did that end awayte, xi Came running in, and whilest on ground he lay, Laide heauy hands on him, and held so strayte, That downe he kept him with his scornefull sway, So as he could not weld[522] him any way. The whiles that other villaine went about Him to haue bound, and thrald without delay; The whiles the foole did him reuile and flout, Threatning to yoke them two[523] and tame their corage stout. As when a sturdy ploughman with his hynde xii By strength haue ouerthrowne a stubborne steare, They downe him hold, and fast with cords do bynde, Till they him force the buxome yoke to beare: So did these two this Knight oft tug and teare. Which when the Prince beheld, there standing by, He left his lofty steede to aide him neare, And buckling soone him selfe, gan fiercely fly Vppon that Carle, to saue his friend from ieopardy. The villaine leauing him vnto his mate xiii To be captiu’d, and handled as he list, Himselfe addrest vnto this new debate, And with his club him all about so blist, That he which way to turne him scarcely wist: Sometimes aloft he layd, sometimes alow; Now here, now there, and oft him neare he mist; So doubtfully, that hardly one could know Whether more wary were to giue or ward the blow. But yet the Prince so well enured was xiv With such huge strokes, approued oft in fight, That way to them he gaue forth right to pas. Ne would endure the daunger of their might, But wayt aduantage, when they downe did light. At last the caytiue after long discourse, When all his strokes he saw auoyded quite, Resolued in one t’assemble all his force, And make one end of him without ruth or remorse. His dreadfull hand he heaued vp aloft, xv And with his dreadfull instrument of yre, Thought sure haue pownded[524] him to powder soft, Or deepe emboweld in the earth entyre: But Fortune did not with his will conspire. For ere his stroke attayned his intent, The noble childe preuenting his desire, Vnder his club with wary boldnesse went, And smote him on the knee, that neuer yet was bent. It neuer yet was bent, ne bent it now, xvi Albe the stroke so strong and puissant were, That seem’d a marble pillour it could bow, But all that leg, which did his body beare, It crackt throughout, yet did no bloud appeare; So as it was vnable to support So huge a burden on such broken geare, But fell to ground, like to a lumpe of durt, Whence he assayd to rise, but could not for his hurt. Eftsoones the Prince to him full nimbly stept, xvii And least he should recouer foote againe, His head meant from his shoulders to haue swept. Which when the Lady saw, she cryde amaine; Stay stay, Sir Knight, for loue of God abstaine, From[525] that vnwares ye weetlesse doe intend; Slay not that Carle, though worthy to be slaine: For more on him doth then him selfe depend; My life will by his death haue lamentable end. He staide his hand according her desire, xviii Yet nathemore him suffred to arize; But still suppressing gan of her inquire, What meaning mote those vncouth words comprize, That in that villaines health her safety lies: That, were no might in man, nor heart in Knights, Which durst her dreaded reskue enterprize, Yet heauens them selues, that fauour feeble rights, Would for it selfe redresse, and punish such despights. Then bursting forth in teares, which gushed fast xix Like many water streames, a while she stayd; Till the sharpe passion being ouerpast, Her tongue to her restord, then thus she sayd; Nor heauens, nor men can me most wretched mayd Deliuer from the doome of my desart, The which the God of loue hath on me layd, And damned to endure this direfull smart, For penaunce of my proud and hard rebellious hart. In prime of youthly yeares, when first the flowre xx Of beauty gan to bud, and bloosme delight, And nature me endu’d with plenteous dowre, Of all her gifts, that pleasde each liuing sight, I was belou’d of many a gentle Knight, And sude and sought with all the seruice dew: Full many a one for me deepe groand and sight, And to the dore of death for sorrow drew, Complayning out on me, that would not on them rew. But let them loue that list, or liue or die; xxi Me list not die for any louers doole: Ne list me leaue my loued libertie, To pitty him that list to play the foole: To loue my selfe I learned had in schoole. Thus I triumphed long in louers paine, And sitting carelesse on the scorners stoole, Did laugh at those that did lament and plaine: But all is now repayd with interest againe. For loe the winged God, that woundeth harts, xxii Causde me be called to accompt[526] therefore, And for reuengement of those wrongfull smarts, Which I to others did inflict afore, Addeem’d me to endure this penaunce sore; That in this wize, and this vnmeete array, With these two lewd companions, and no more, Disdaine and Scorne, I through the world should stray, Till I haue sau’d so many, as I earst did slay. Certes (sayd then the Prince) the God is iust, xxiii That taketh vengeaunce of his peoples spoile. For were no law in loue, but all that lust, Might them oppresse, and painefully turmoile, His kingdome would continue but a while. But tell me Lady, wherefore doe you beare This bottle thus before you with such toile, And eeke this wallet at your backe arreare, That for these Carles to carry much more comely were? Here in this bottle (sayd the sory Mayd) xxiv I put the teares of my contrition, Till to the brim I haue it full defrayd: And in this bag which I behinde me don, I put repentaunce for things past and gon. Yet is the bottle leake, and bag so torne, That all which I put in, fals out anon; And is behinde me trodden downe of Scorne, Who mocketh all my paine, and laughs the more I mourn. The Infant hearkned wisely to her tale, xxv And wondred much at Cupids iudg’ment wise, That could so meekly make proud hearts auale, And wreake him selfe on them, that him despise. Then suff’red he Disdaine vp to arise, Who was not able vp him selfe to reare, By meanes his leg through his late luckelesse prise, Was crackt in twaine, but by his foolish feare Was holpen vp, who him supported standing neare. But being vp, he lookt againe aloft, xxvi As if he neuer had receiued fall; And with sterne eye-browes stared at him oft, As if he would haue daunted him withall:[527] And standing on his tiptoes, to seeme tall, Downe on his golden feete he often gazed, As if such pride the other could apall; Who was so far from being ought amazed, That he his lookes despised, and his boast dispraized. Then turning backe vnto that captiue thrall, xxvii Who all this while stood there beside them bound, Vnwilling to be knowne, or seene at all, He from those bands weend him to haue vnwound. But when approching neare, he plainely found, It was his owne true groome, the gentle Squire, He thereat wext exceedingly astound, And him did oft embrace, and oft admire, Ne could with seeing satisfie his great desire. Meane while the Saluage man, when he beheld xxviii That huge great foole oppressing th’other Knight, Whom with his weight vnweldy[528] downe he held, He flew vpon him, like a greedy kight Vnto some carrion offered to his sight, And downe him plucking, with his nayles and teeth Gan him to hale, and teare, and scratch, and bite; And from him taking his owne whip, therewith So sore him scourgeth, that the bloud downe followeth. And sure I weene, had not the Ladies cry xxix Procur’d the Prince his cruell hand to stay, He would with whipping, him haue done to dye: But being checkt, he did abstaine streight way, And let him rise. Then thus the Prince gan say; Now Lady sith your fortunes thus dispose, That if ye list haue liberty, ye may, Vnto your selfe I freely leaue to chose, Whether I shall you leaue, or from these villaines lose. Ah nay Sir Knight (sayd she) it may not be, xxx But that I needes must by all meanes fulfill This penaunce, which enioyned is to me, Least vnto me betide a greater ill; Yet no lesse thankes to you for your good will. So humbly taking leaue, she turnd aside, But Arthure with the rest, went onward still On his first quest, in which did him betide A great aduenture, which did him from them deuide. But first it falleth me by course to tell xxxi Of faire Serena, who as earst you heard, When first the gentle Squire at variaunce fell With those two Carles, fled fast away, afeard Of villany to be to her inferd: So fresh the image of her former dread, Yet dwelling in her eye, to her appeard, That euery foote did tremble, which did tread, And euery body two, and two she foure did read. Through hils and dales, through bushes and through breres xxxii Long thus she fled, till that at last she thought Her selfe now past the perill of her feares. Then looking round about, and seeing nought,[529] Which doubt of daunger to her offer mought, She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine, And sitting downe, her selfe a while bethought Of her long trauell and turmoyling paine; And often did of loue, and oft of lucke complaine. And euermore she blamed Calepine xxxiii The good Sir Calepine, her owne true Knight, As th’onely author of her wofull tine: For being of his loue to her so light, As her to leaue in such a piteous plight. Yet neuer Turtle truer to his make, Then he was tride vnto his Lady bright: Who all this while endured for her sake, Great perill of his life, and restlesse paines did take. Tho when as all her plaints[530] she had displayd, xxxiv And well disburdened her engrieued brest, Vpon the grasse her selfe adowne she layd; Where being tyrde with trauell, and opprest With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest. There whilest in Morpheus bosome safe she lay, Fearelesse of ought, that mote her peace molest, False Fortune did her safety betray, Vnto a straunge mischaunce, that menac’d her decay. In these wylde deserts, where she now abode, xxxv There dwelt a saluage nation, which did liue Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode Into their neighbours borders; ne did giue Them selues to any trade, as for to driue The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed, Or by aduentrous marchandize to thriue; But on the labours of poore men to feed, And serue their owne necessities with others need. Thereto they vsde one most accursed order, xxxvi To eate the flesh of men, whom they mote fynde, And straungers to deuoure, which on their border Were brought by errour, or by wreckfull wynde. A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde. They towards euening wandring euery way, To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde, Whereas this Lady, like a sheepe astray, Now drowned in the depth of sleepe all fearelesse lay. Soone as they spide her, Lord what gladfull glee xxxvii They made amongst them selues; but when her face Like the faire yuory shining they did see, Each gan his fellow solace and embrace, For ioy of such good hap by heauenly grace. Then gan they to deuize what course to take: Whether to slay her there vpon the place, Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake, And then her eate attonce; or many meales to make. The best aduizement was of bad, to let her xxxviii Sleepe out her fill, without encomberment: For sleepe they sayd would make her battill better. Then when she wakt, they all gaue one consent, That since[531] by grace of God she there was sent, Vnto their God they would her sacrifize, Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud they would present, But of her dainty flesh they did deuize To make a common feast, and feed with gurmandize. So round about her they them selues did place xxxix Vpon the grasse, and diuersely dispose, As each thought best to spend the lingring space. Some with their eyes the daintest[532] morsels chose; Some praise her paps, some praise her lips and nose; Some whet their kniues, and strip their elboes bare: The Priest him selfe a garland doth compose Of finest flowres, and with full busie care His bloudy vessels wash, and holy fire prepare. The Damzell wakes, then all attonce vpstart, xl And round about her flocke, like many flies, Whooping, and hallowing[533] on euery part, As if they would haue rent the brasen skies. Which when she sees with ghastly griefful eies, Her heart does quake, and deadly pallid hew Benumbes her cheekes: Then out aloud she cries, Where none is nigh to heare, that will her rew, And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests embrew. But all bootes not: they hands vpon her lay; xli And first they spoile her of her iewels[534] deare, And afterwards of all her rich array; The which amongst them they in peeces teare, And of the pray each one a part doth beare. Now being naked, to their sordid eyes The goodly threasures of nature appeare: Which as they view with lustfull fantasyes, Each wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest enuyes. Her yuorie necke, her alablaster brest, xlii Her paps, which like white silken pillowes were, For loue in soft delight thereon to rest; Her tender sides[535], her bellie white and clere, Which like an Altar did it selfe vprere, To offer sacrifice diuine thereon; Her goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare Like a triumphall Arch, and thereupon The spoiles of Princes hang’d, which were in battel won. Those daintie parts, the dearlings of delight, xliii Which mote not be prophan’d of common eyes, Those villeins vew’d with loose lasciuious sight, And closely tempted with their craftie spyes; And some of them gan mongst themselues deuize, Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure. But them the Priest rebuking, did aduize To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure, Vow’d to the gods: religion held euen theeues in measure. So being stayd, they her from thence directed xliv Vnto a litle groue not farre asyde, In which an altar shortly they erected, To slay her on. And now the Euentyde His brode black wings had through the heauens wyde By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned For such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde: Of few greene turfes an altar soone they fayned, And deckt it all with flowres, which they nigh hand obtayned. Tho when as all things readie were aright, xlv The Damzell was before the altar set, Being alreadie dead with fearefull fright. To whom the Priest with naked armes full net Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well whet, Gan mutter close a certaine secret charme, With other diuelish ceremonies met: Which doen he gan aloft t’aduance his arme, Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud[536] alarme. Then gan the bagpypes and the hornes to shrill, xlvi And shrieke aloud, that with the peoples voyce Confused, did the ayre with terror fill, And made the wood to tremble at the noyce: The whyles she wayld, the more they did reioyce. Now mote ye vnderstand that to this groue Sir Calepine by chaunce, more then by choyce, The selfe same euening fortune hether droue, As he to seeke Serena through the woods did roue. Long had he sought her, and through many a soyle xlvii Had traueld still on foot in heauie armes, Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyles[537], Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes: And now all weetlesse of the wretched stormes, In which his loue was lost[538], he slept full fast, Till being waked with these loud alarmes, He lightly started vp like one aghast, And catching vp his arms streight to the noise forth past. There by th’vncertaine glims of starry night, xlviii And by the twinkling of their sacred fire, He mote perceiue a litle dawning sight Of all, which there was doing in that quire: Mongst whom a woman spoyld of all attire He spyde, lamenting her vnluckie strife, And groning sore from grieued hart entire, Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife Readie to launch her brest, and let out loued life. With that he thrusts into the thickest throng, xlix And euen as his right hand adowne descends, He him preuenting, layes on earth along, And sacrifizeth to th’infernall feends. Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends, Of whom he makes such hauocke and such hew, That swarmes of damned soules to hell he sends: The rest that scape his sword and death eschew, Fly like a flocke of doues before a Faulcons vew. From them returning to that Ladie backe, l Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find, Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke Of clothes to couer, what they[539] ought by kind, He first her hands beginneth to vnbind; And then to question of her present woe; And afterwards to cheare with speaches kind. But she for nought that he could say or doe, One word durst speake, or answere him a whit[540] thereto. So inward shame of her vncomely case li She did conceiue, through care of womanhood, That though the night did couer her disgrace, Yet she in so vnwomanly a mood, Would not bewray the state in which she stood. So all that night to him vnknowen she past. But day, that doth discouer bad and good, Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last: The end whereof Ile keepe vntill another cast.

Calidore hostes with Melibœ and loues fayre Pastorell; Coridon enuies him, yet he for ill rewards him well.

Now turne againe my teme thou iolly swayne, i Backe to the furrow which I lately left; I lately left a furrow, one or twayne Vnplough’d, the which my coulter hath not cleft: Yet seem’d the soyle both fayre and frutefull eft, As I it past, that were too great a shame, That so rich frute should be from vs bereft; Besides the great dishonour and defame, Which should befall to Calidores immortall name. Great trauell hath the gentle Calidore ii And toyle endured, sith I left him last Sewing the Blatant beast, which I forbore To finish then, for other present hast. Full many pathes and perils he hath past, Through hils, through dales, throgh forests, and throgh plaines In that same quest which fortune on him cast, Which he atchieued to his owne great gaines, Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines. So sharply he the Monster did pursew, iii That day nor night he suffred him to rest, Ne rested he himselfe but natures dew, For dread of daunger, not to be redrest, If he for slouth forslackt so famous quest. Him first from court he to the citties coursed, And from the citties to the townes him prest, And from the townes into the countrie forsed, And from the country back to priuate farmes he scorsed. From thence into the open fields he fled, iv Whereas the Heardes were keeping of their neat, And shepheards singing to their flockes, that fed, Layes of sweete loue and youthes delightfull heat: Him thether eke for all his fearefull threat He followed fast, and chaced him so nie, That to the folds, where sheepe at night doe seat, And to the litle cots[541], where shepherds lie In winters wrathfull time[542], he forced him to flie. There on a day as he pursew’d the chace, v He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes, Playing on pypes, and caroling apace, The whyles their beasts there in the budded broomes Beside them fed, and nipt the tender bloomes: For other worldly wealth they cared nought. To whom Sir Calidore yet sweating comes, And them to tell him courteously besought, If such a beast they saw, which he had thether brought. They answer’d him, that no such beast they saw, vi Nor any wicked feend, that mote offend Their happie flockes, nor daunger to them draw: But if that such there were (as none they kend) They prayd high God him[543] farre from them[543] to send. Then one of them him seeing so to sweat, After his rusticke wise, that well he weend, Offred him drinke, to quench his thirstie heat, And if he hungry were, him offred eke to eat. The knight was nothing nice, where was no need, vii And tooke their gentle offer: so adowne They prayd him sit, and gaue him for to feed Such homely what, as serues the simple clowne, That doth despise the dainties of the towne. Tho having fed his fill, he there besyde Saw a faire damzell, which did weare a crowne Of sundry flowres, with silken ribbands tyde[544], Yclad in home-made greene that her owne hands had dyde. Vpon a litle hillocke she was placed viii Higher then all the rest, and round about Enuiron’d with a girland, goodly graced, Of louely lasses, and them all without The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout, The which did pype and sing her prayses dew, And oft reioyce, and oft for wonder shout, As if some miracle of heauenly hew Were downe to them descended in that earthly vew. And soothly sure she was full fayre of face, ix And perfectly well shapt in euery lim, Which she did more augment with modest grace, And comely carriage of her count’nance trim, That all the rest like lesser lamps did dim: Who her admiring as some heauenly wight, Did for their soueraine goddesse her esteeme, And caroling her name both day and night, The fayrest Pastorella her by name did hight. Ne was there heard, ne was there shepheards swayne x But her did honour, and eke many a one Burnt in her loue, and with sweet pleasing payne Full many a night for her did sigh and grone: But most of all the shepheard Coridon For her did languish, and his deare life spend; Yet neither she for him, nor other none Did care a whit, ne any liking lend: Though meane her lot, yet higher did her mind ascend. Her whyles Sir Calidore there vewed well, xi And markt her rare demeanure, which him seemed So farre the meane of shepheards to excell, As that he in his mind her worthy deemed, To be a Princes Paragone esteemed, He was vnwares surprisd in subtile bands Of the blynd boy, ne thence could be redeemed By any skill out of his cruell hands, Caught like the bird, which gazing still on others stands. So stood he still long gazing thereupon, xii Ne any will had thence to moue away, Although his quest were farre afore him gon; But after he had fed, yet did he stay, And sate there still, vntill the flying day Was farre forth spent, discoursing diuersly Of sundry things, as fell,[545] to worke delay; And euermore his speach he did apply To th’heards, but meant them to the damzels fantazy. By this the moystie night approching fast, xiii Her deawy humour gan on th’earth to shed, That warn’d the shepheards to their homes to hast Their tender flocks, now being fully fed, For feare of wetting them before their bed; Then came to them a good old aged syre, Whose siluer lockes bedeckt his beard and hed, With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre, That wild the damzell rise; the day did now expyre. He was to weet by common voice esteemed xiv The father of the fayrest Pastorell, And of her selfe in very deede so deemed; Yet was not so, but as old stories tell Found her by fortune, which to him befell, In th’open fields an Infant left alone, And taking vp brought home, and noursed well As his owne chyld; for other he had none, That she in tract of time accompted was his owne. She at his bidding meekely did arise, xv And streight vnto her litle flocke did fare: Then all the rest about her rose likewise, And each his sundrie sheepe with seuerall care Gathered together, and them homeward bare: Whylest euerie one with helping hands did striue Amongst themselues, and did their labours share, To helpe faire Pastorella, home to driue Her fleecie flocke; but Coridon most helpe did giue. But Melibœe (so hight that good old man) xvi Now seeing Calidore left all alone, And night arriued hard at hand, began Him to inuite vnto his simple home; Which though it were a cottage clad with lome, And all things therein meane, yet better so To lodge, then in the saluage fields to rome. The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto, Being his harts owne wish, and home with him did go. There he was welcom’d of that honest syre, xvii And of his aged Beldame homely well; Who him besought himselfe to disattyre, And rest himselfe, till supper time befell. By which home came the fayrest Pastorell, After her flocke she in their fold had tyde, And supper readie dight, they to it fell With small adoe, and nature satisfyde, The which doth litle craue contented to abyde. Tho when they had their hunger slaked well, xviii And the fayre mayd the table ta’ne away, The gentle knight, as he that did excell In courtesie, and well could doe and say, For so great kindnesse as he found that day, Gan greatly thanke his host and his good wife; And drawing thence his speach another way, Gan highly to commend the happie life, Which Shepheards lead, without debate or bitter strife. How much (sayd he) more happie is the state, xix In which ye father here doe dwell at ease, Leading a life so free and fortunate, From all the tempests of these worldly seas, Which tosse the rest in daungerous disease; Where warres, and wreckes, and wicked enmitie Doe them afflict, which no man can appease, That certes I your happinesse enuie, And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie. Surely my sonne (then answer’d he againe) xx If happie, then it is in this intent, That hauing small, yet doe I not complaine Of want, ne wish for more it to augment, But doe my self, with that I haue, content; So taught of nature, which doth litle need Of forreine helpes to lifes due nourishment: The fields my food, my flocke my rayment breed; No better doe I weare, no better doe I feed. Therefore I doe not any one enuy, xxi Nor am enuyde of any one therefore; They that haue much, feare much to loose thereby, And store of cares doth follow riches store. The litle that I haue, growes dayly more Without my care, but onely to attend it; My lambes doe euery yeare increase their score, And my flockes father daily doth amend it. What haue I, but to praise th’Almighty, that doth send it? To them, that list, the worlds gay showes I leaue, xxii And to great ones such follies doe forgiue, Which oft through pride do their owne perill weaue, And through ambition downe themselues doe driue To sad decay, that might contented liue. Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts offend, Ne once my minds vnmoued quiet grieue, But all the night in siluer sleepe I spend, And all the day, to what I list, I doe attend. Sometimes I hunt the Fox, the vowed foe xxiii Vnto my Lambes, and him dislodge away; Sometime the fawne I practise from the Doe, Or from the Goat her kidde how to conuay; Another while I baytes and nets display, The birds to catch, or fishes to beguyle: And when I wearie am, I downe doe lay My limbes in euery shade, to rest from toyle, And drinke of euery brooke, when thirst my throte doth boyle. The time was once, in my first prime of yeares, xxiv When pride of youth forth pricked my desire, That I disdain’d amongst mine equall peares To follow sheepe, and shepheards base attire: For further fortune then I would inquire. And leauing home, to roiall court I sought; Where I did sell my selfe for yearely hire, And in the Princes gardin daily wrought: There I beheld such vainenesse, as I neuer thought. With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long deluded xxv With idle hopes, which them doe entertaine, After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded From natiue home, and spent my youth in vaine, I gan my follies to my selfe to plaine, And this sweet peace, whose lacke did then appeare. Tho backe returning to my sheepe againe, I from thenceforth haue learn’d to loue more deare This lowly quiet life, which I inherite here. Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy eare[546] xxvi Hong still vpon his melting mouth attent; Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so neare, That he was rapt[547] with double rauishment, Both of his speach that wrought him great content, And also of the obiect of his vew, On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent; That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her faire hew, He lost himselfe, and like one halfe entraunced grew. Yet to occasion meanes, to worke his mind, xxvii And to insinuate his harts desire, He thus replyde; Now surely syre, I find, That all this worlds gay showes, which we admire, Be but vaine shadowes to this safe retyre Of life, which here in lowlinesse ye lead, Fearelesse of foes, or fortunes wrackfull yre, Which tosseth states, and vnder foot doth tread The mightie ones, affrayd of euery chaunges dread. That euen I which daily doe behold xxviii The glorie of the great, mongst whom I won, And now haue prou’d, what happinesse ye hold In this small plot of your dominion, Now loath great Lordship and ambition; And wish the heauens[548] so much had graced mee, As graunt me liue in like condition; Or that my fortunes might transposed bee From pitch of higher place, vnto this low degree. In vaine (said then old Melibœ) doe men xxix The heauens of their fortunes fault accuse, Sith they know best, what is the best for them: For they to each such fortune doe diffuse, As they doe know each can most aptly vse. For not that, which men couet most, is best, Nor that thing worst, which men do most refuse; But fittest is, that all contented rest With that they hold: each hath his fortune in his brest. It is the mynd, that maketh good or ill, xxx That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore: For some, that hath abundance at his will, Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store; And other, that hath litle, askes no more, But in that litle is both rich and wise. For wisedome is most riches; fooles therefore They are, which fortunes doe by vowes deuize, Sith each vnto himselfe his life may fortunize. Since then in each mans self (said Calidore) xxxi It is, to fashion his owne lyfes estate, Giue leaue awhyle, good father, in this shore To rest my barcke, which hath bene beaten late With stormes of fortune and tempestuous fate, In seas of troubles and of toylesome paine, That whether quite from them for to retrate I shall resolue, or backe to turne againe, I may here with your selfe some small repose obtaine. Not that the burden of so bold a guest xxxii Shall chargefull be, or chaunge to you at all; For your meane food shall be my daily feast, And this your cabin both my bowre and hall. Besides for recompence hereof, I shall You well reward, and golden guerdon giue, That may perhaps you better much withall, And in this quiet make you safer liue. So forth he drew much gold, and toward him it driue. But the good man, nought tempted with the offer xxxiii Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away, And thus bespake; Sir knight, your bounteous proffer Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay, That mote empaire my peace with daungers dread. But if ye algates couet to assay This simple sort of life, that shepheards lead, Be it your owne: our rudenesse to your selfe aread. So there that night Sir Calidore did dwell, xxxiv And long while after, whilest him list remaine, Dayly beholding the faire Pastorell, And feeding on the bayt of his owne bane. During which time he did her entertaine With all kind courtesies, he could inuent; And euery day, her companie to gaine, When to the field she went, he with her went: So for to quench his fire, he did it more augment. But she that neuer had acquainted beene xxxv With such queint vsage, fit for Queenes and Kings, Ne euer had such knightly seruice seene, But being bred vnder base shepheards wings, Had euer learn’d to loue the lowly things, Did litle whit regard his courteous guize, But cared more for Colins carolings Then all that he could doe, or euer[549] deuize: His layes, his loues, his lookes she did them all despize. Which Calidore perceiuing, thought it best xxxvi To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke; And doffing his bright armes, himselfe addrest In shepheards weed, and in his hand he tooke, In stead of steelehead speare, a shepheards hooke, That who had seene him then, would haue bethought On Phrygian Paris by Plexippus brooke, When he the loue of fayre Oenone[550] sought, What time the golden apple was vnto him brought. So being clad, vnto the fields he went xxxvii With the faire Pastorella euery day, And kept her sheepe with diligent attent, Watching to driue the rauenous Wolfe away, The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and play; And euery euening helping them to fold: And otherwhiles for need, he did assay In his strong hand their rugged teats to hold, And out of them to presse the milke: loue so much could. Which seeing Coridon, who her likewise xxxviii Long time had lou’d, and hop’d her loue to gaine, He much was troubled at that straungers guize, And many gealous thoughts conceiu’d in vaine, That this of all his labour and long paine Should reap the haruest, ere it ripened were, That made him scoule, and pout, and oft complaine Of Pastorell to all the shepheards there, That she did loue a stranger swayne then him more dere. And euer when he came in companie, xxxix Where Calidore was present, he would loure, And byte his lip, and euen for gealousie Was readie oft his owne hart to deuoure, Impatient of any paramoure: Who on the other side did seeme so farre From malicing, or grudging his good houre, That all he could, he graced him with her, Ne euer shewed signe of rancour or of iarre. And oft, when Coridon vnto her brought xl Or litle sparrowes, stolen from their nest, Or wanton squirrels, in the woods farre sought, Or other daintie thing for her addrest, He would commend his guift, and make the best. Yet she no whit his presents did regard, Ne him could find to fancie in her brest: This newcome shepheard had his market mard. Old loue is litle worth when new is more prefard. One day when as the shepheard swaynes together xli Were met, to make their sports and merrie glee, As they are wont in faire sunshynie weather, The whiles their flockes in shadowes shrouded bee, They fell to daunce: then did they all agree, That Colin Clout[551] should pipe as one most fit; And Calidore should lead the ring, as hee That most in Pastorellaes grace did sit. Thereat frown’d Coridon, and his lip closely bit. But Calidore of courteous inclination xlii Tooke Coridon, and set him in his place, That he should lead the daunce, as was his fashion; For Coridon could daunce, and trimly trace. And when as Pastorella, him to grace, Her flowry garlond tooke from her owne head, And plast on his, he did it soone displace, And did it put on Coridons in stead: Then Coridon woxe frollicke, that earst seemed dead. Another time, when as they did dispose xliii To practise games, and maisteries[552] to try, They for their Iudge did Pastorella chose; A garland was the meed of victory. There Coridon forth stepping openly, Did chalenge Calidore to wrestling game: For he through long and perfect industry, Therein well practisd was, and in the same Thought sure t’auenge his grudge, and worke his foe great shame. But Calidore he greatly did mistake; xliv For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight, That with one fall his necke he almost brake, And had he not vpon him fallen light, His dearest ioynt he sure had broken quight. Then was the oaken crowne by Pastorell Giuen to Calidore, as his due right; But he, that did in courtesie excell, Gaue it to Coridon, and said he wonne it well. Thus did the gentle knight himselfe abeare xlv Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds, That euen they, the which his riuals were, Could not maligne him, but commend him needs: For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds[553] Good will and fauour. So it surely wrought With this faire Mayd, and in her mynde the seeds Of perfect loue did sow, that last forth brought The fruite of ioy and blisse, though long time dearely bought[554]. Thus Calidore continu’d there long time, xlvi To winne the loue of the faire Pastorell; Which hauing got, he vsed without crime Or blamefull blot, but menaged so well, That he of all the rest, which there did dwell[555], Was fauoured, and to her grace commended. But what straunge fortunes vnto him befell, Ere he attain’d the point by him intended, Shall more conueniently in other place be ended.

Calidore sees the Graces daunce, To Colins melody: The whiles his Pastorell is led, Into captiuity.

Who now does follow the foule Blatant Beast, i Whilest Calidore does follow that faire Mayd, Vnmyndfull of his vow and high beheast, Which by the Faery Queene was on him layd, That he should neuer leaue, nor be delayd From chacing him, till he had it attchieued? But now entrapt of loue, which him betrayd, He mindeth more, how he may be relieued With grace from her, whose loue his heart hath sore engrieued. That from henceforth he meanes no more to sew ii His former quest, so full of toile and paine; Another quest, another game in vew He hath, the guerdon of his loue to gaine: With whom he myndes for euer to remaine, And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort, Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine Of courtly fauour, fed with light report[556] Of euery blaste, and sayling alwaies in[557] the port. Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be, iii From so high step to stoupe vnto so low. For who had tasted once (as oft did he) The happy peace, which there doth ouerflow, And prou’d the perfect pleasures, which doe grow Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales, Would neuer more delight in painted show Of such false blisse, as there is set for stales, T’entrap vnwary fooles in their eternall bales. For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze iv Like to one sight, which Calidore did vew? The glaunce whereof their dimmed eies would daze, That neuer more they should endure the shew Of that sunne-shine, that makes them looke askew. Ne ought in all that world of beauties rare, (Saue onely Glorianaes heauenly hew To which what can compare?) can it compare; The which as commeth now, by course I will declare. One day as he did raunge the fields abroad, v Whilest his faire Pastorella was elsewhere, He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad, Vnto a place, whose pleasaunce did appere To passe all others, on the earth which were: For all that euer was by natures skill Deuized to worke delight, was gathered there, And there by her were poured forth at fill, As if this to adorne, she all the rest did pill. It was an hill plaste in an open plaine, vi That round about was bordered with a wood Of matchlesse hight, that seem’d th’earth to disdaine, In which all trees of honour stately stood, And did all winter as in sommer bud, Spredding pauilions for the birds to bowre, Which in their lower braunches sung aloud; And in their tops the soring hauke did towre, Sitting like King of fowles in maiesty and powre. And at the foote thereof, a gentle flud vii His siluer waues did softly tumble downe, Vnmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud, Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder clowne Thereto approch, ne filth mote therein drowne: But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks did sit, In the woods shade, which did the waters crowne, Keeping all noysome things away from it, And to the waters fall tuning their accents fit. And on the top thereof a spacious plaine viii Did spred it selfe, to serue to all delight, Either to daunce, when they to daunce would faine, Or else to course about[558] their bases light; Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might[559] Desired be, or thence to banish bale: So pleasauntly the hill with equall hight, Did seeme to ouerlooke the lowly vale; Therefore it rightly cleeped was mount Acidale. They say that Venus, when she did dispose ix Her selfe to pleasaunce, vsed to resort Vnto this place, and therein to repose And rest her selfe, as in a gladsome port, Or with the Graces there to play and sport; That euen her owne Cytheron, though in it She vsed most to keepe her royall court, And in her soueraine Maiesty to sit, She in regard hereof refusde and thought vnfit. Vnto this place when as the Elfin Knight x Approcht, him seemed that the merry sound Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight, And many feete fast thumping th’hollow ground, That through the woods their Eccho did rebound. He nigher drew, to weete what mote it be; There he a troupe of Ladies dauncing found Full merrily, and making gladfull glee, And in the midst a Shepheard piping he did see. He durst not enter into th’open greene, xi For dread of them vnwares to be descryde, For breaking of their daunce, if he were seene; But in the couert of the wood did byde, Beholding all, yet of them vnespyde. There he did see, that pleased much his sight, That euen he him selfe his eyes enuyde, An hundred naked maidens lilly white, All raunged in a ring, and dauncing in delight. All they without were raunged in a ring, xii And daunced round; but in the midst of them Three other Ladies did both daunce and sing, The whilest the rest them round about did hemme, And like a girlond did in compasse stemme: And in the middest of those same three, was placed Another Damzell, as a precious gemme, Amidst a ring most richly well enchaced, That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced. Looke how the Crowne, which Ariadne wore xiii Vpon her yuory forehead that same day, That Theseus her vnto his bridale bore, When the bold Centaures made that bloudy fray, With the fierce Lapithes, which did them dismay; Being now placed in the firmament, Through the bright heauen doth her beams display, And is vnto the starres an ornament, Which round about her moue in order excellent. Such was the beauty of this goodly band, xiv Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell: But she that in the midst of them did stand, Seem’d all the rest in beauty to excell, Crownd with a rosie girlond, that right well Did her beseeme. And euer, as the crew About her daunst, sweet flowres, that far did smell, And fragrant odours they vppon her threw; But most of all, those three did her with gifts endew. Those were the Graces, daughters of delight, xv Handmaides of Venus, which are wont to haunt Vppon this hill, and daunce there day and night: Those three to men all gifts of grace do graunt, And all, that Venus in her selfe doth vaunt, Is borrowed of them. But that faire one, That in the midst was placed parauaunt, Was she to whom that shepheard pypt alone, That made him pipe so merrily, as neuer none. She was to weete that iolly Shepheards lasse, xvi Which piped there vnto that merry rout, That iolly shepheard, which there piped, was Poore Colin Clout (who knowes not Colin Clout?) He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst about. Pype iolly shepheard, pype thou now apace Vnto thy loue, that made thee low to lout: Thy loue is present there with thee in place, Thy loue is there aduaunst to be another Grace. Much wondred Calidore at this straunge sight, xvii Whose like before his eye had neuer seene, And standing long astonished in spright, And rapt with pleasaunce, wist not what to weene; Whether it were the traine of beauties Queene, Or Nymphes, or Faeries, or enchaunted show, With which his eyes mote haue deluded beene. Therefore resoluing, what it was, to know, Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go. But soone as he appeared to their vew, xviii They vanisht all away out of his sight, And cleane were gone, which way he neuer knew; All saue the shepheard, who for fell despight Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quight, And made great mone for that vnhappy turne. But Calidore, though no lesse sory wight, For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourne, Drew neare, that he the truth of all by him mote learne. And first him greeting, thus vnto him spake, xix Haile iolly shepheard, which thy ioyous dayes Here leadest in this goodly merry make, Frequented of these gentle Nymphes alwayes, Which to thee flocke, to heare thy louely layes; Tell me, what mote these dainty Damzels be, Which here with thee doe make their pleasant playes? Right happy thou, that mayst them freely see: But why when I them saw, fled they away from me? Not I so happy[560], answerd then that swaine, xx As thou vnhappy, which them thence didst chace, Whom by no meanes thou canst recall againe, For being gone, none can them bring in place, But whom they of them selues list so to grace. Right sory I, (saide then Sir Calidore,) That my ill fortune did them hence displace. But since things passed none may now restore, Tell me, what were they all, whose lacke thee grieues so sore. Tho gan that shepheard thus for to dilate; xxi Then wote thou shepheard, whatsoeuer thou bee, That all those Ladies, which thou sawest late, Are Venus Damzels, all within[561] her fee, But differing in honour and degree: They all are Graces, which on her depend, Besides a thousand more, which ready bee Her to adorne, when so she forth doth wend: But those three in the midst, doe chiefe on her attend. They are the daughters of sky-ruling Ioue, xxii By him begot of faire Eurynome, The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant groue, As he this way comming from feastfull glee, Of Thetis wedding with Æacidee,[562] In sommers shade him selfe[563] here rested weary. The first of them hight mylde Euphrosyne, Next faire Aglaia, last Thalia merry: Sweete Goddesses all three which me in mirth do cherry. These three on men all gracious gifts bestow, xxiii Which decke the body or adorne the mynde, To make them louely or well fauoured show, As comely carriage, entertainement kynde, Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde, And all the complements of curtesie: They teach vs, how to each degree and kynde We should our selues demeane, to low, to hie; To friends, to foes, which skill men call Ciuility. Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme to smile, xxiv That we likewise should mylde and gentle be, And also naked are, that without guile Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine may see, Simple and true from couert malice free: And eeke them selues so in their daunce they bore, That two of them still froward[564] seem’d to bee, But one still towards shew’d her selfe afore; That good should from vs goe, then come in greater store. Such were those Goddesses, which ye did see; xxv But that fourth Mayd, which there amidst them traced, Who can aread, what creature mote she bee, Whether a creature, or a goddesse graced With heauenly gifts from heuen first enraced? But what so sure she was, she worthy was, To be the fourth with those three other placed: Yet was she certes but a countrey[565] lasse, Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did passe. So farre as doth the daughter of the day, xxvi All other lesser lights in light excell, So farre doth she in beautyfull array, Aboue all other lasses beare the bell, Ne lesse in vertue that beseemes her well, Doth she exceede the rest of all her race, For which the Graces that here wont to dwell, Haue for more honor brought her to this place, And graced her so much to be another Grace. Another Grace she well deserues to be, xxvii In whom so many Graces gathered are, Excelling much the meane of her degree; Diuine resemblaunce, beauty soueraine rare, Firme Chastity, that spight ne blemish dare; All which she with such courtesie doth grace, That all her peres cannot with her compare, But quite are dimmed, when she is in place. She made me often pipe and now to pipe apace. Sunne of the world, great glory of the sky, xxviii That all the earth doest lighten with thy rayes, Great Gloriana, greatest Maiesty, Pardon thy shepheard, mongst so many layes, As he hath sung of thee in all his dayes, To make one minime of thy poore handmayd, And vnderneath thy feete to place her prayse, That when thy glory shall be farre displayd To future age of her this mention may be made. When thus that shepherd ended had his speach, xxix Sayd Calidore; Now sure it yrketh mee, That to thy blisse I made this luckelesse breach, As now the author of thy bale to be, Thus to bereaue thy loues deare sight from thee: But gentle Shepheard pardon thou my shame, Who rashly sought that, which I mote not see. Thus did the courteous Knight excuse his blame, And to recomfort him, all comely meanes did frame. In such discourses they together spent xxx Long time, as fit occasion forth them led; With which the Knight him selfe did much content, And with delight his greedy fancy fed, Both of his words, which he with reason red; And also of the place, whose pleasures rare With such regard his sences rauished, That thence, he had no will away to fare, But wisht, that with that shepheard he mote dwelling share. But that enuenimd sting, the which of yore, xxxi His poysnous point deepe fixed in his hart Had left, now gan afresh to rancle sore, And to renue the rigour of his smart: Which[566] to recure, no skill of Leaches art Mote him auaile, but to returne againe To his wounds worker, that with louely dart Dinting his brest, had bred his restlesse paine, Like as the wounded Whale to shore flies from the maine. So taking leaue of that same gentle swaine, xxxii He backe returned to his rusticke wonne, Where his faire Pastorella did remaine: To whome in sort, as he at first begonne, He daily did apply him selfe to donne[567] All dewfull seruice voide of thoughts impure[568]: Ne any paines ne perill did he shonne, By which he might her to his loue allure, And liking in her yet vntamed heart procure. And euermore the shepheard Coridon, xxxiii What euer thing he did her to aggrate, Did striue to match with strong contention, And all his paines did closely emulate; Whether it were to caroll, as they sate Keeping their sheepe, or games to exercize, Or to present her with their labours late; Through which if any grace chaunst to arize To him, the Shepheard streight with iealousie did frize. One day as they all three together went xxxiv To the greene wood, to gather strawberies, There chaunst to them a dangerous accident; A Tigre forth out of the wood did rise, That with fell clawes full of fierce gourmandize, And greedy mouth, wide gaping like hell gate, Did runne at Pastorell her to surprize: Whom she beholding, now all desolate Gan cry to them aloud, to helpe her[569] all too late. Which Coridon first hearing, ran in hast xxxv To reskue her, but when he saw the feend, Through cowherd feare he fled away as fast, Ne durst abide the daunger of the end; His life he steemed dearer then his frend. But Calidore soone comming to her ayde, When he the beast saw ready now to rend His loues deare spoile, in which his heart was prayde, He ran at him enraged in stead of being frayde. He had no weapon, but his shepheards hooke, xxxvi To serue the vengeaunce of his wrathfull will, With which so sternely he the monster strooke, That to the ground astonished he fell; Whence ere he could recou’r, he did him quell, And hewing off his head, <he>[570] it presented Before the feete of the faire Pastorell; Who scarcely yet from former feare exempted, A thousand times him thankt, that had her death preuented. From that day forth she gan him to affect, xxxvii And daily more her fauour to augment; But Coridon for cowherdize reiect, Fit to keepe sheepe, vnfit for loues content: The gentle heart scornes base disparagement. Yet Calidore did not despise him quight, But vsde him friendly for further intent, That by his fellowship, he colour might Both his estate, and loue from skill of any wight. So well he wood her, and so well he wrought her, xxxviii With humble seruice, and with daily sute, That at the last vnto his will he brought her; Which he so wisely well did prosecute, That of his loue he reapt the timely frute, And ioyed long in close felicity: Till fortune fraught with malice, blinde, and brute, That enuies louers long prosperity, Blew vp a bitter storme of foule aduersity. It fortuned one day, when Calidore xxxix Was hunting in the woods (as was his trade) A lawlesse people, Brigants hight of yore, That neuer vsde to liue by plough nor spade, But fed on spoile and booty, which they made Vpon their neighbours, which did nigh them border, The dwelling of these shepheards did inuade, And spoyld their houses, and them selues did murder; And droue away their flocks[571], with other much disorder. Amongst the rest, the which they then did pray, xl They spoyld old Melibee of all he had, And all his people captiue led away, Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away was lad, Faire Pastorella, sorrowfull and sad, Most sorrowfull, most sad, that euer sight, Now made the spoile of theeues and Brigants bad, Which was the conquest of the gentlest Knight, That euer liu’d, and th’onely glory of his might. With them also was taken Coridon, xli And carried captiue by those theeues away; Who in the couert of the night, that none Mote them descry, nor reskue from their pray, Vnto their dwelling did them close conuay. Their dwelling in a little Island was, Couered with shrubby woods, in which no way Appeard for people in nor out to pas, Nor any footing fynde for ouergrowen gras. For vnderneath the ground their way was made, xlii Through hollow caues, that no man mote discouer For the thicke shrubs, which did them alwaies shade From view of liuing wight, and couered ouer: But darkenesse dred and daily night did houer Through all the inner parts, wherein they dwelt, Ne lightned was with window, nor with louer, But with continuall candlelight, which delt A doubtfull sense of things, not so well seene, as felt. Hither those Brigants brought their present pray, xliii And kept them with continuall watch and ward, Meaning so soone, as they conuenient may, For slaues to sell them, for no small reward, To merchants, which them kept in bondage hard, Or sold againe. Now when faire Pastorell Into this place was brought, and kept with gard Of griesly theeues, she thought her self in hell, Where with such damned fiends she should in darknesse dwell. But for to tell the dolefull dreriment, xliv And pittifull complaints, which there she made, Where[572] day and night she nought did but lament Her wretched life, shut vp in deadly shade, And waste her goodly beauty, which did fade Like to a flowre, that feeles no heate of sunne, Which may her feeble leaues with comfort glade.[573] But[574] what befell her in that theeuish wonne, Will in an other Canto better be begonne.