Borough of
Keighley
Education
Committee.
Keigbley Trade & Grammar Scbool.
Headmaster :
Thos. P. Watson. M.A., B.Sc., F.R.S.E.
"f\is Book -was presented,
to tne School Library
6y
pupil from Session
to
Session
©n
)a ii
THE WORKS
MACMILLAN AND 00., LIMITED
LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA
MADBAS • MBLBOUBNK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
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TORONTO
Cl)t (globe
THE WORKS
OF
EDMUND SPENSER
EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS AND MANUSCRIPTS
BV
R. MORRIS
MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL OF THE PHILOLOGICAL SOCIKI V
WITH A MEMOIR
BY
JOHN W. HALES, M.A.
LATK FELLOW OF CHRIST'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL OF THE I-HILOIOGICAL SOCIETY
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1920
First Edition, Globe Svo. 1869. Reprinted 1871, i8y3> 1876»
1879, 1883, 1886, 1890. Crown Svo. 1893, with Memoir
corrected, 1897. Reprinted 1899, 1902, 1904, 1906, 1907,
1909, 1910, 1912, IQI8, 1920.
PREFACE.
IN the present edition of Edmund Spenser's works no attempt has been made
either to modernize the Poet's language or to furnish the reader with an
eclectic text. I have been simply content to reprint the earliest known edi-
tions of Spenser's various poems, correcting here and there some few errors
that have crept into them, by a careful collation with subsequent editions, most
of which were published in the lifetime of the poet. For an account of these
with their dates of publication the reader is referred to the Biographical
Memoir. Appendix I., at the end of this volume, contains all the most im-
portant variations from the original editions, and will enable the critical reader
to judge favourably or otherwise of this part of my work, in which I have
received some assistance from the previous labours of Church, Jortin, Warton,
and Todd, as well as from the excellent editions of Professor Child and Mr.
J. P. Collier. This present edition is the only modern one that contains a faithful
reprint of the first edition of the Daphnai'da, by means of which I have been
enabled to present a text free at least from one error that appears in every
edition after 1591.*
The prose Treatise on Ireland, as printed by Sir James Ware, and followed
by all recent editors, was found on examination to be very inaccurate and
incomplete.! It seemed scarcely fair to Spenser's memory to let this single
piece of prose remain in so unsatisfactory a state. I have therefore re-edited
it from three manuscripts belonging to the library of the British Museum.
* The edition of 1596 and all subsequent ones read—
' I will withdraw me to some darksome place,
Or some deere cave."
Some editors have proposed to read dreere for deere, but deepe, the lection of the first edition, is in-
telligible enough.
t The title itself as given by Ware is incorrectly stated. All the manuscripts, as well as the entry
on the books of the Stationers' Company, read ' A View of the PRESENT State of Ireland,' but,
curiously enough, the word ' present ' is omitted in all editions that I have seen .
iv PREFACE.
The text itself is from the Additional Manuscript, 22022, the oldest of the
three manuscripts ; and, according to Sir James Ware's account of some of the
best manuscripts seen by him, the Ad. MS. is evidently a very good one.
Harleian MS., 1932, which very closely resembles, even in its omissions,
Ware's text, and Harleian MS. 7388, are very fair manuscripts, and have been
collated throughout with the Additional Manuscript and Ware's text.
In compiling the Glossary I have endeavoured to make it as complete
as possible; and this, it is hoped, will in some measure compensate for the
absence of notes, for which no space could be found in the present volume. I
have made free use of the labours of previous editors; Todd's Index, Pro-
fessor Child's Notes, and the glossaries of Mr. J. P. Collier and Mr. Kitchin,
have been consulted, and have facilitated and lightened my glossarial work.
In Appendix II. will be found Spenser's Letters to Gabriel Harvey, reprinted
from the edition of 1580. They are also to be found, but in a very inaccurate
form, in the Folio Edition, 1679, of Spenser's works.
R. M.
AUGUST, 1869.
CONTENTS.
EDMUND SPENSER .
A LETTER OP THE AUTHORS
PAGE
xi
CANTO 1
„ II
„ III
„ IV.
„ V
„ VI
„ VTI
VERSES ADDRESSED TO THB AUTHOR . 5
VERSES ADDRESSED, BY THE AUTHOR
OP THE FAERIE QUEEN, TO VARIOUS
NOBLEMEN, ETC ...... 7
THE FIRST BOOK OP THE FAERIE
QUEENE, CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF THE
KNIGHT OF THI; RED CROSSE, on OF Hou-
NESSE ........ 11
CANTO 1 ........ 11
II ........ 17
III ....... 22
IV ....... 27
V ........ 32
VI ....... 38
VII ....... 43
„ VIII ....... 49
„ IX ....... 64
X ....... 60
XI ....... 68
• „ XII ....... 74
THE SECOND BOOK OF THE FAERIE
QUEENE, CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF SlB
GUYON, OR OF TEMPERAUNCE ... 79
80
86
91
96
102
106
112
VIII ....... 119
IX ....... 125
X. ...... 131
XI ....... 139
XII. , , , ? , J45
PAGE
THE THIRDE BOOKE OF THE FAERIE
QUEENE, CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF
BRITOMARTIS, OR OF CHASTITY . . . 155
CANTO 1 155
„ II 163
III .168
IV 178
„ V 182
VI 188
VII 193
„ VIII 200
IX. . 206
X.
XI.
XII.
211
218
224
THE FOURTH BOOKE OF THE FAERIE
QUEENE, CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF
CAMBEL AND TRTAMOND, OR OF FRIEND-
SHIP 229
CANTO I. . . . . . . .229
„ II 235
III 241
IV 247
V 252
VI 257
„ VII 262
„ VIII 267
„ IX 274
X 279
XI 285
XII 291
THE FIFTH BOOKE OF THE FAERIE
QUEENE, CONTAYNING THE LKGEND OP
ARTEGALL, OR OF JUSTICE .... 295
CANTO I. .
II.
» HI.
296
300
306
CONTENTS.
CANTO IV 31°
V. .
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X. .
XI.
xn.
316
322
327
332
337
343
347
354
THE SIXTE BOOKE OF THE FAERIE
QUEENE, COXTAYNING THE LEGEND OF
SIR CAUDORE, OR OF COURTESIE . . 360
CANTO 1 361
„ H 366
„ m 371
„ IV 377
V 381
„ VI 386
„ VH 391
„ VIII 396
„ IX 402
„ X. 407
XL, 412
„ XII 418
TWO CANTOS OF MUTABILITIE : WHICH,
BOTH FOB FORME AND MATTER, APPEARS TO
BE PARCELL OF SOME FOLLOWING BOOKE OF
THE FAERIE QUEENE, UNDER THE LEGEND
OF CONSTANCES 423
CANTO VI
VII
423
429
436
TO HIS BOOKE . . . . . .440
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER . . 446
THE RUINES OF TIME . . . .489
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES . . 497
VIRGIL'S GNAT ..... .504
PROSOPOPOIA ; OR MOTHER HUBBERDS
TALE . . 512
THE RUINES OF ROME .
. 526
MUIOPOTMOS ; OR THE FATE OF THE Bur-
TERFLIE 532
VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIE . 536
PAGE
THE VISIONS OF BELLAY . . .538
THE VISIONS OF PETRARCH ... 541
DAPHNAI'DA 542
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAIN . 549
ASTROPHEL 559
THE DOLEFULL LAY OF CLORINDA . 562
THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS 563
A PASTORAL AEGLOGUE ON THE
DEATH OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY,
KNIGHT, ETC 566
AN ELEGIE, OR FRIENDS PASSION,
FOR HIS ASTROPHEL . . . .568
AN EPITAPH UPON THE RIGHT
HONOURABLE SIR PHILIP SIDNEY,
KNIGHT 570
ANOTHER OF THE SAME . . . .571
AMORETTI AND EPITHALAMION . . 572
EPIGRAMS 586
EPITHALAMION 587
FOWRE HYMNES 592
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE . 592
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE 596
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE . . 599
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE . 602
PROTHALAMION, OR A SPOUSALL VERSE . 605
SONNETS 607
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF
IRELAND, DISCOURSED RT WAY OF A DIA-
LOGUE BETWKENE EUDOXUS AND IBEJJ.SUS 609
APPENDIX I.— VARIATIONS FROM THE
ORIGINAL EDITIONS . . . .685
APPENDIX n.— LETTERS FROM SPEN-
SER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HAR-
VEY . . 706
GLOSSARY
711
INDEX TO FIKST LINES.
PACK
A GENTLE Knight was pricking on the plaine 11 1
A gentle shepheard borne in Arcady . . 559 [
A harder lesson to learne Continence . . 106 |
A shepheards boye, (no better doe him call,) . 446 ;
After long stormes and tempests over-blowne . 306
After long stormes and tempest sad assay . 582
After so long a race as I have ran . . . 585
Ah ! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine . . 572
Ah for pittie ! wil rancke Winter's rage . 448
Ahl whither doost thou now, thou greater
Muse 429
Ah! whither Love! wilt thou now carrie
mee? 596
Ah ! why hath nature to so hard a hart . . 577
And is there care in heaven ? And is there
love 119
And ye, brave Lord, whose goodly personage . 8
Arion, when, through tempests cruel wracke . 578
As Diane hunted on a day .... 586
As Pilot well expert in perilous wave . . 112
As then, no winde at all there blew . . 568
As when a ship, that flyes fayre under sayle . 38
Ay me ! how many perils doe enfold . . 49
Ay me ! to whom shall I my case com plaine . 562
BE nought dismayed that her immoved mind 573
Behold ! I see the haven nigh at hand . . 74
Being my self captyved here in care . . 583
Being one day at my window all alone . . 541
But ah for pittie ! that I have thus long . . 285
By this the Northerne wagoner had set . .17
CALME was the day, and through the trembling
ayre 605
Colin, my deare, when shall it please thee
sing 480
Colin, well fits thy sad cheare this sad stownd 566
Collyn, I see, by thy new taken taske . . 5
Come forth, ye Nymphes, come forth, forsake
your wat'ry bowres 563
Comming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found,) 582
Cuddie, for shame ! hold up thy heavy head . 476
PAGE
DAIIKE is the day, when Phoebus face is
shrowded 572
Dayly when do I seeke and sew for peace . 574
Diggon Davie ! I bidde her godday . . . 473
Doe I not see that f ayrest yniages . . . 580
FAIRE Proud ! now tell me, why should f aire
be proud? 577
Fayre bosom! fraught with vertues richest
tresure 584
Fayre cruell ! why are ye so fierce and cruell ? 580
Fayre eyes ! the myrrour of my mazed hart . 573
Fayre is my love, with her fayre golden heares 585
Fayre Thames streame, that from Ludds stately
towne . . 6
Fayre ye be sure, but cruell and unkind . 581
Firebrand of hell, first tynd in Phlegeton . 235
Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king 583
GOE, little booke! thy selfe present . . 440
Great God of love, that with thy cruell darts 262
Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny . . 577
HAPPY, ye leaves ! when as those lilly hands . 573
Hard is the doubt, and difficult to deeme . 274
Harvey, the happy above happiest men . . 607
Here have I cause in men just blame to find . 168
High time now gan it wex for Una fayre . 68
How long, shall this lyke dying lyfe endure . 676
I JOY to see how, in your drawen work . . 683
I saw, in secret to my Dame .... 586
I sing of deadly dolorous debate . . • 532
In brave poursuitt of honorable deed . . 96
Innocent paper ; whom too crnell hand . . 580
In that proud port, which her so goodly
graceth . . 574
In vain I thinke, right honourable Lord . 9
In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace . 575
In youth, before I waxed old . . . . 686
via
INDEX TO FIRST LINES.
PAGE
Is it her nature, or is it her will . . .579
Is not thilke the mery moneth of May . . 458
Is not thilke same a goteheard prowde . . 466
It chaunced me on day beside the shore . . 489
It falls me here to write of Chastity . . 155
It hath bene through all ages ever seene . . 252
It often fals, (as here it earst befell) . . 247
It often fals, in course of common life . . 347
It was the month in which the righteous Maide 512
It was the time, when rest, soft sliding downe 538
JOY of my life ! full oft for loving you
LACKYNG my love, I go from place to place . 584
Leave, lady I in your glasse of cristall clene . 579
Let not one sparke of filthy lustre fyre . . 585
Like as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde . 418
Like as a ship with dreadfull storm long tost . 377
Like as an Hynd forth singled from the heara 193
Like as the gentle hart it selfe bewrayes . . 391
Lo ! Collin, here the place whose plesaunt syte 463
Lo! I, the Man whose Muse whylome did maske 11
Loe ! I have made a Calender for every yeare . 486
Long languishing in double malady . . 580
Long- while I sought to what I might compare 574
Love lift me up upon thy golden wings . . 599
Love, that long since hast to thy mighty powre 592
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace . . 583
Lyke as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde . 578
Lyke as the Culver, on the bared bough . . 586
MACJNIFICKE Lord, whose vertues excellent . 7
Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare . 579
Me thought I saw the grave where Laura lay 5
Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it . 584
More then most faire, full of the living fire . 574
Most glorious Lord of lyf e ! that, on this day . 683
Most happy letters ! fram'd by skilfull trade . 684
Most Noble Lord, the pillor of my life . . 8
Most sacred fyre, that burnest mightily . . 168
My hungry eyes, through greedy covetize . 578
My love is lyke to yse, and I to fyre . . 577
NE may I, without blot of endless blame . 9
New yeare, forth looking out of Janus gate . 673
No wound, which warlike hand of enemy . 386
Nought is more honorable to a knight . . 300
Nought is on earth more sacred or divine . 327
Nought is there under heav'ns wide hollow-
nesse 22
Nought under heaven so strongly doth allure . 322
Now (jinnes that goodly frame of Temperaunce 1 45
Now turne againc my teme, thou jolly swayne 402
PAGE
O GOODLY golden chayne, wherewith yfere . 54
O hatefull hellish Snake I what furie furst . 218
O sacred hunger of ambitious mindes . . 354
0 what an easie thing is to descry . . .381
O ! What an endlesse work have I in hand . 291
O ! why doe wretched men so much desire . 241
Of all Gods workes which doe this woilde
adorne 125
Of Court, it seemes, men Courtesie doe call . 361
Of lovers sad calamities of old ... 229
Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay . . 581
Oft, when my spirit doth spred her bolder
winges 583
One day as I unwarily did gaze . . . 575
One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies . 574
One day I wrote her name upon the sand . 584
One day, whiles that my daylie cares did sleepe 536
PENELOPE, for her Ulisses sake . . . 576
BAPT with the rage of mine own ravisht
thought 602
Receive, most noble Lord, a simple taste . 8
Receive, most Noble Lord, in gentle gree . 1
Redoubted Knights, and honorable Dames . 206
Redoubted Lord, in whose corageous mind . 8
Rehearse to me, ye sacred Sisters Nine . . 497
Remembrance of that most Heroicke spirit . 9
Renowmed Lord, that for your worthinesse . 9
Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd . 574
Right well I wote, most mighty Soveraine . 79
Rudely thou wrongest my deare harts desire . 573
SEE ! how the stubborne damzell doth deprave 577
Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake . . 579
Shepheards, that wont, on pipes of oaten reed 559
Silence augmenteth grief, writing encreaseth
rage 571
Since did I leave the presence of my love . 586
Since I have lackt the comfort of that light . 586
So oft as homeward I from her depart . . 580
So oft as I her beauty doe behold . . .581
So oft as I this history record .... 200
So oft as I with state of present time . . 296
So soone as day forth dawning from the East . 316
Some Clarkes doe doubt in their devicefull
art 343
Some men, I wote, will deeme in Artegall . 322
Soone as the morrow fayre with purple beames 9t
Sweet is the Rose, but growes upon a brere . 576
Sweet Smile ! the daughter of the Queene of
Love 578
Sweet warriour ! when shall I have peace with
you? . 581
INDEX TO FIRST LINES.
IX
PAGE
TELL me, good Hobbinoll, what garre8 thee
greete? 454
Tell me, Perigot, what shalbe the game . . 470
Tell me, when shall these wearie woes have
end ........ 578
That conning Architect of cancred guyle . 80
That Mantuane Poetes incompared spirit . 9
The antique Babel, Empresse of the East . 608
The Chian Peincter, when he was requirde . 10
The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre love, is
vaine 682
The famous Briton Prince and Faery Knight 155
The famous warriors of anticke world . . 583
The gentle shepheard satte beside a springe . 484
The glorious image of the Maker's beautie . 582
The glorious pourtraict of that Angels face . 575
The joyes of love, if they should ever last . 412
The laurel-leafe, which you this day doe wearc 577
The love which me so cruelly tormenteth . 579
The merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring . 575
The morow next, so soone as Phoebus Lamp . 211
The noble hart that harbours vertuous thought 32
The Panther, knowing that his spotted hyde . 680
The paynefull smith, with force of fervent
heat 577
The prayse of meaner wits this worke like profit
brings 6
The rolling wheele, that runneth often round 575
The rugged forhead, that with grave foresight 229
The sacred Muses have made alwaies clame . 7
The shepheards boy (best knowen by that
name) 549
The soverayne beauty which I doo admire . 573
The waies, through which my weary steps I
guyde 360
The weary yeare his race now having run . 582
The world that cannot deeme of worthy things 585
They, that in the course of heavenly sphearca
areskild 581
This holy season, fit to fast and pray . . 576
Tho, whenas chearelesse Night ycovered had . 224
Thomalin, why sytten we soe . . . . 452
Those prudent heads, that with theire counsel <
wise 7
Though vertue then were held in highest price 296
Thrise happie she ! that is so well assured . 581
Thus when Sir Gnyon with his faithful guyde 86
To all those happy blessings, which ye have . 582
To looke upon a worke of rare devise . . 6
To praise thy life, or waile thy worthie death 570
To thee, thon art the sommers Nightingale . 8
To you, right noble Lord, whose carefull brest 8
True he it said, what ever man it sayd . . 279
PAGE
True is, that whilome that good Poet sayd . 371
Trust not the treason of those smyliug lookes 580
UNQUIET thought ! whom at the first I bred . 573
Unrighteous Lord of Love, what law is this . 574
Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring . 586
VENEMOUS toung, tipt with vile adders sting 585
WAS it a dreame, or did I see it playne . . 584
We now have playde (Augustus) wantonly . 504
Was it the worke of Nature or of Art . . 576
Weake is th' assurance that weake flesh re-
poseth 581
Well may I weene, faire Ladies, all this while 188
Well said the Wiseman, now prov'd true by
this 267
What equall torment to the griefe of mind . 257
What-ever man be he whose heavie minde . 542
What guyle is this, that those her golden
tresses 578
What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might . 60
What man so wise, what earthly witt so ware 43
What man that sees the ever-whirling wheele 423
What Tygre, or what other salvage wight . 337
What vertue is so fitting for a knight . . 366
What warre so cruel, or what siege so sore . 139
When I behold that beauties wonderment . 676
When I bethinke me on that speech whyleare 436
When my abodes prefixed time is spent . . 579
When stout Achilles heard of Helen's rape . 6
When those renoumed noble Peres of Greece . 579
Where is the Antique glory now become . 175
Wherefore doth vaine antiquitie so vaunt . 608
Who ever doth to temperance apply . . 102
Who ever gave more honourable prize . . 9
Who now does follow the foule Blatant Beast 407
Who now shall give unto me words and sound 13 1
Whoso upon him selfe will take the skill . 310
Who so wil seeke, by right deserts, t'attaine . 608
Wonder it is to see in diverse mindes . . 182
Wrong'd, yet not daring to expresse my paine 504
YE gentle Ladies, in whose soveraine powre . 396
Ye heavenly gpirites, whose ashie cinders lie . 626
Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes . 587
Ye tradefull Merchants, that, with weary toyle 575
Young knight whatever, that dost armes pro-
fesse 37
EDMUND SPENSER.
Ille velut fldis arcana sodalibus olim
Credebat libris ; neque, si male cesserat, nnquam
Decurrens alio, neque si bene ; quo fit ut omnia
Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabella
Vita senis.
Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing in their urns draw golden light.
THE LIFE of SPENSER is wrapt in a similar obscurity to that which hides from us his
great predecessor Chaucer, and his still greater contemporary Shakspere. As in the
case of Chaucer, our principal external authorities are a few meagre entries in certain
official documents, and such facts as may be gathered from his works. The birth-year
of each poet is determined by inference. The circumstances in which each died are
a matter of controversy. What sure information we have of the intervening events
of the life of each one is scanty and interrupted. So far as our knowledge goes, it
shows some slight positive resemblance between their lives. They were both connected
with the highest society of their times ; both enjoyed court favour, and enjoyed it in
the substantial shape of pensions. They were both men of remarkable learning.
They were both natives of London. They both died in the close vicinity of West-
minster Abbey, and lie buried near each other in that splendid cemetery. Their
geniuses were eminently different : that of Chaucer was of the active type, Spenser's
of the contemplative ; Chaucer was dramatic, Spenser philosophical ; Chaucer objec-
tive, Spenser subjective ; but in the external circumstances, so far as we know them,
amidst which these great poets moved, and in the mist which for the most part enfolds
those circumstances, there is considerable likeness.
Spenser is frequently alluded to by his contemporaries ; they most ardently recog-
nised in him, as we shall see, a great poet, and one that might justly be associated
with the one supreme poet whom this country had then produced — with Chaucer, and
they paid him constant tributes of respect and admiration ; but these mentions of
him do not generally supply any biographical details.
The earliest notice of him that may in any sense be termed biographical occurs in
a sort of handbook to the monuments of Westminster Abbey, published by Camden
in 1606. Amongst the 'Reges, Reginse, Nobiles, et alij inEcclesia Collegiata B. Petri
xa
EDMUND SPENSER.
Westmonasterii sepulti usque ad annum 1606 ' is enrolled the name of Spenser, with
the following brief obituary :
' Edmundus Spencer Londinensis, Anglicorum Poetarum nostri seculi facile princeps,
quod ejus poemata faventibus Musis et victuro genio conscript* comprobant. Obijt
immature morte anno salutis 1598, et prope Galfredum Chaucerum conditur qui
felicissime poesin Anglicis literis primus illustravit. In quem haec scripts sunt
epitaphia : —
Hie prope Chaucerum situs est Spenserins, ilh
Proximus ingenio proximus ut tumulo.
Hie prope Chaucerum, Spensere poeta, poetam
Conderis, et versu quam tumulo propior.
Anglica, te vivo, vtxit plausitque po&is ;
Nnnc moritura timet, te moriente, mori.'
' Edmund Spencer, of London, far the first of the English Poets of our age, as his
poems prove, written under the smile of the Muses, and with a genius destined to live.
He died prematurely in the year of salvation 1598, and is buried near Geoffrey Chaucer,
who was the first most happily to set forth poetry in English writing : and on him
were written these epitaphs : —
Here nigh to Chaucer Spenser lies ; to whom
In genius next he was, as now in tomb.
Here nigh to Chaucer, Spenser, stands thy hearse,*
Still nearer standst thon to Hm in thy verse.
Whilst thou didst live, lived English poetry ;
Now thou art dead, it fears that it shall die.*
The next notice is found in Drummond's account of Ben Jonson's conversations
with him in the year 1618 :
' Spencer's stanzas pleased him not, nor his matter. The meaning of the allegory of
his Fairy Queen he had delivered in writing to Sir Walter Eawleigh, which was, " that
by the Bleating Beast he understood the Puritans, and by the false Duessa the Queen
of Scots." He told, that Spencer's goods were robbed by the Irish, and his house and
a little child burnt, he and his wife escaped, and after died for want of bread in King
Street ; he refused 20 pieces sent him by my lord Essex, and said he was sure he had
no time to spend them.'t
The third record occurs in Camden's History of Queen Elizabeth (Annales rerum
Anglkarum et Hifiernicarum regnante Elizabetha), first published in a complete form
in 1628. There the famous antiquary registering what demises marked the year
1598 (our March 25, 1598, to March 24, 1599), adds to his list Edmund Spenser, and
thus writes of him : ' Ed. Spenserus, patria Londinensis, Cantabrigienis autem alumnus,
Musis adeo arridentibus natus ut omnes Anglicos superioris aevi Poetas, ne Chaucero
quidem concive excepto, superaret Sed peculiar! Poetis fato semper cum paupertate
conflictatus, etsi Greio Hiberniae proregi fuerit ab epistolis. Vix enim ibi secessum et
Bcribendi otium nactus, quam a rebellibus e laribus ejectus et bonis spoliatus, in
Angliam inops reversus statim exspiravit, Westmonasterii prope Chaucerum impensis
• Compare ' Underneath this sable hearse, tic.'
t Works of William Drummond of Hawthornden. Edinburgh, 1711, p. 225.
EDMUND SPENSER.
comitis Essexiae inhumatus, Poetis funus ducentibus flebilibusque carminibus et
calamis in tumulum conjectis.' * This is to say : ' Edmund Spenser, a Londoner by
birth, and a scholar also of the University of Cambridge, born under so favourable
an aspect of the Muses that he surpassed all the English Poets of former times, not
excepting Chaucer himself, his fellow-citizen. But by a fate which still follows Poets,
he always wrestled with poverty, though he had been secretary to the Lord Grey,
Lord Deputy of Ireland. For scarce had he there settled himself into a retired
privacy and got leisure to write, when he was by the rebels thrown out of his dwelling,
plundered of his goods, and returned into England a poor man, where he shortly after
lied and was interred at Westminster, near to Chaucer, at the charge of the Earl of
Essex, his hearse being attended by poets, and mournful elegies and poems with the
pens that wrote them thrown into his tomb.' f
In 1633, Sir James Ware prefaced his edition of Spenser's prose work on the State of
Ireland with these remarks : —
' How far these collections may conduce to the knowledge of the antiquities and
state of this land, let the fit reader judge : yet something I may not passe by
touching Mr. Edmund Spenser and the worke it selfe, lest I should seeme to offer
injury to his worth, by others so much celebrated. Hee was borne in London of an
ancient and noble family, and brought up in the Universitie of Cambridge, where
(as the fruites of his after labours doe manifest) he mispent not his time. After this
he became secretary to Arthur Lord Grey of Wilton, Lord Deputy of Ireland, a
valiant and worthy governour, and shortly after, for his services to the Crowne, he
had bestowed upon him by Queene Elizabeth, 3,000 acres of land in the countie of
Corke. There he finished the latter part of that excellent poem of his " Faery Queerie,"
which was soone after unfortunately lost by the disorder and abuse of his servant,
whom he had sent before him into England, being then a rcbellibus (as Camden's
words are) e laribus ejectus et bonis spoliatus. He deceased at Westminster in the
year 1599 (others have it wrongly 1598), soon after his return into England, and
was buried according to his own desire in the collegiat church there, neere unto
Chaucer whom he worthily imitated (at the costes of Robert Earle of Essex),
whereupon this epitaph was framed.' And then are quoted the epigrams already
given from Camden.
The next passage that can be called an account of Spenser is found in Fuller's
Worthies of England, first published in 1662, and runs as follows : —
' Edmond Spencer, born in this city (London), was brought up in Pembroke-hall in
Cambridge, where he became an excellent scholar; but especially most happy in
English Poetry; as his works do declare, in which the many Chaucerisms used (for I
will not say affected by him) are thought by the ignorant to be blemishes, known by
the learned to be beauties, to his book ; which notwithstanding had been more sale-
able, if more conformed to our modern language.
'There passeth a story commonly told and believed, that Spencer presenting his
poems to queen Elizabeth, she, highly affected therewith, commanded the lord Cecil,
* Annalts, ed. Hearne, iil. 783.
t History of Elizabeth, Queen of England. Ed. 1688, pp. 564, 5C5.
xiv EDMUND SPENSER.
her treasurer, to give him an hundred pound; and when the treasurer (a good steward
of the queen's money) alledged that sum was too much ; '< Then give him, quoth the
queen " What is reason ; " to which the lord consented, but was so busied, belike, about
matters of higher concernment, that Spencer received no reward, whereupon he
presented this petition in a small piece of paper to the queen in her progre!
I was promis'd on a time,
To have reason for my rhyme ;
From that time unto this season,
I receiv'd nor rhyme nor reason.
« Hereupon the queen gave strict order (not without some check to her treasurer),
for the present payment of the hundred pounds the first intended unto him.
•He afterwards went over into Ireland, secretary to the lord Gray, lord deputy
thereof ; and though that his office under his lord was lucrative, yet got he no estate ;
but sait'h my author " peculiari poetis fato semper cum paupertate connietatus est," So
that it fared little better with him than with William Xilander the German (a most
excellent linguist, antiquary, philosopher and mathematician), who was so poor, that
(as Thuanus saith), he was thought " fami non famae scribere/'
' Returning into England, he was robb'd by the rebels of that little he had ; and
dying for grief in great want, anno 1598, was honourably buried nigh Chaucer in
Westminster, where this distich concludeth his epitaph on his monument
Anglica, te viTO, visit plausitque poesis ;
None moritura timet, te moriente, mori.
Whilst thou didst live, liv'd English poetry
Which fears now thou art dead, that she shall die.
' Nor must we forget, that the expence of his funeral and monument was defrayed at
the sole charge of Robert, first of that name, earl of Essex.'
The next account is given by Edward Phillips in his Theatrum Poetarum Anglicano-
rum, first published in 1675. This Phillips was, as is well known, Milton's nephew,
and according to Warton, in his edition of Milton's juvenile poems, ' there is good
reason to suppose that Milton threw many additions and corrections into the Theatrum
Poetarum.' Phillips' words therefore have an additional interest for us. ' Edmund
Spenser,' he writes, ' the first of our English poets that brought heroic poesy to any
perfection, his " Fairy Queen " being for great invention and poetic heighth, judg'd little
inferior, if not equal to the chief of the ancient Greeks and Latins, or modern Italians;
but the first poem that brought him into esteem was his " Shepherd's Calendar," which
so endeared him to that noble patron of all vertue and learning Sir Philip Sydney,
that he made him known to Queen Elizabeth, and by that means got him preferred to
be secretary to his brother * Sir Henry Sidney, who was sent deputy into Ireland,
where he is said to have written his " Faerie Queen;" but upon the return of Sir Henry,
his employment ceasing, he also return'd into England, and having lost his great
friend Sir Philip, fell into poverty, yet made his last refuge to the Queen's bounty,
and had 500/. ordered him for his support, which nevertheless was abridged to 100Z.
• Father.
EDMUND SPENSER.
by Cecil, who, hearing of it, and owing him a grudge for some reflections in Mother
Hubbard's Tale, cry'd out to the queen, What ! all this for a song? This he is said
to have taken so much to heart, that he contracted a deep melancholy, which soon
after brought his life to a period. 83 apt is an ingenuous spirit to resent a slighting,
even from the greatest persons ; and thus much I must needs say of the merit of so
great a poet from so great a monarch, that as it is incident to the best of poets some-
times to flatter some royal or noble patron, never did any do it more to the height,
or with greater art or elegance, if the highest of praises attributed to so heroic a
princess can justly be termed flattery.' *
When Spenser's works were reprinted — the first three books of the Faerie Queene
for the seventh time — in 1679, there was added an account of his life. In 1687,
Winstanley, in his Lives of the most famous English Poets, wrote a formal bio-
graphy.
These are the oldest accounts of Spenser that have been handed down to us. In
several of them mythical features and blunders are clearly discernible. Since Winstan-
ley's time, it maybe added, Hughes in 1715, Dr. Birch in 1731, Church in 1758,
Upton in that same year, Todd in 1805, Aikin in 1806, Eobinson in 1825, Mitford
in»1839, Prof. Craik in 1845, Prof. Child in 1855, Mr. Collier in 1862, Dr. Grosart in
1881, have re-told what little there is to tell, with various additions and subtrac-
tions.
Our external sources of information are, then, extremely scanty. Fortunately our
internal sources are somewhat less meagre. No poet ever more emphatically lived in
his poetry than did Spenser. The Muses were, so to speak, hio own bosom friends, to
whom he opened all his heart. With them he conversed perpetually on the various
events of his life ; into their ears he poured forth constantly the tale of his joys and
his sorrows, of his hopes, his fears, his distresses.
He was not one of those poets who can put off themselves in their works, who can
forego their own interests and passions, and live for the time an extraneous life.
There is an intense personality about all his writings, as in those of Milton and of
Wordsworth. In reading them you can never forget the poet in the poem. They
directly and fully reflect the poet's own nature and his circumstances. They are, as it
were, fine spiritual diaries, refined self-portraitures. Horace's description of his own
famous fore-runner, quoted at the head of this memoir, applies excellently to Spenser.
On this account the scantiness of our external means of knowing Spenser is perhaps
the less to be regretted. Of him it is eminently true that we may know him from his
works. His poems are his best biography. In the sketch of his life to be given here
his poems shall be our one great authority.
* Theati-um Poet. Anglic., ed. Brydges, 1800, pp. 148, 149,
a2
EDMUND SPF-NSER.
CHAPTER I.
1552-1579.
FROM SPENSER'S BIRTH TO THE PUBLICATION OF THE SHEPHEARD'S CALENDAR.
EDMUND SPENSER was born in London in the year 1552, or possibly 1551. For loth
these statements we have directly or indirectly his own authority. In his Prothalamion^
he sings of certain swans whom in a vision he saw floating down the river ' Themmes,'
that ,
At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kyndly nurse.
That to me gave this lifes first native sourse,
Though from another place I take my name,
An house of auncient fame.
A MS. note by Oldys the antiquary in Winstanley's Lives of ike most famous
English Poets, states that the precise locality of his birth was East Smithfield. East
Smithfield lies just to the east of the Tower, and in the middle of the sixteenth
century, when the Tower was still one of the chief centres of London life and im-
portance, was of course a neighbourhood of far different rank and degree from its
present social status. The date of his birth is concluded with sufficient certainty
from one of his sonnets, viz. sonnet 60 ; which it is pretty ^ell ascertained was
composed in the year 1593. These sonnets are, as we shall see, of the amorous
wooing sort ; in the one of them just mentioned, the sighing poet declares that it is
but a year since he fell in lore, but that that year has seemed to him longer
Then al those fourty which my life out-went.
Hence it is gathered that he was most probably born in 1552. The inscription, then,
over his tomb in Westminster Abbey errs in assigning his birth to 1553 ; though the
error is Irss flagrant than that perpetrated by the inscription that preceded the
present one, which set down as his natal year 1510.
Of his parents the only fact secured is that his mother's name was Elizabeth. This
appears from sonnet 74, where he apostrophizes those
Most happy letters I fram'd by skilfull trade
With which that happy name was first desynd,
The which three times thrise happy hath me made,
With guifts of body, fortune and of mind.
The first my being to me gave by kind
From mothers womb detiv'd by dew descent.
EDMUND SPENSER. xvii
The second is the Queen, the third ' my love, my lives last ornament.' A careful
examination by Mr. Collier and others of what parish registers there are extant in
such old churches as stand near East Smithfield — the Great Fire, it will be re-
membered, broke out some distance west of the Tower, and raged mainly westward —
has failed to discover any trace of the infant Spenser or his parents. An ' Edmund
Spenser' who is mentioned in the Books of the Treasurer of the Queen's Chamber in
1569, as paid for bearing letters from Sir Henry Norris, her Majesty's ambassador in
France, to the Queen,* and who with but slight probability has been surmised to be
the poet himself, is scarcely more plausibly conjectured by Mr. Collier to be the poet's
father. The utter silence about his parents, with the single exception quoted, in the
works of one who, as has been said above, made poetry the confidante of all his joys
and sorrows, is remarkable.
Whoever they were, he was well connected on his father's side at least. ' The
nobility of the Spensers,' writes Gibbon, ' has been illustrated and enriched by the
trophies of Marlborough ; but I exhort them to consider the " Faerie Queen " as the
most precious jewel of their coronet.' Spenser was connected with the then not
ennobled, but highly influential family of the Spencers of Althorpe, Northamptonshire.
Theirs was the 'house of auncient fame,' or perhaps we should rather say they too
belonged to the ' house of auncient fame ' alluded to in the quotation made above from
the Prothalamion. He dedicates various poems to the daughters of Sir John Spencer,
who was the head of that family during the poet's youth and earlier manhood down
to 1580, and in other places mentions these ladies with many expressions oi regard
and references to his affinity. ' Most faire and vertuous Ladie,' he writes to the ' Ladie
Compton and Mountegle,' the fifth daughter, in his dedication to her of his Mother
Hiibbcrds Tale, 'having often sought opportunitie by some good meanes to make
knowen to your Ladiship the humble affection and faithfull duetic, which I have
alwaies professed and am bound to beare to ihat house, from whence yee spring, 1
have at length found occasion to remember the same by making a simple present to
you ,of these my idle labours, &c.' To another daughter, ' the right worthy and
vertuous ladie the Ladie Carey,' he dedicates his Muiopotmos ; to another, ' the right
honorable the Ladie Strange,' his Tearcs of the Muses. In the latter dedication h«
speaks of ' your particular bounties, and also some private bands of affinitie, which it
hath pleased your Ladiship to acknowledge.' It was for this lady Strange, who became
subsequently the wife of Sir Thomas Egerton, that one who came after Spenser —
Milton — wrote the Arcades. Of these three kinswomen, under the names of Phyllis,
Charillis, and sweet Amaryllis, Spenser speaks once more in his Colin Clouts Come
Home Again ; he speaks of them as
The honour of the noble familie
Of which I meanest boast myself to be.
For the particular branch of the Spencer or Spenser family — one branch wrote the
name with s, another with c — to which the poet belonged, it has been well suggested
* See Peter Cunningham's Introduction to Extracts from Accounts of the Recels at Court, (Shafc-
spear C Society.)
EDMUND SPENSER.
that it was that settled in East Lancashire in the neighbourhood of Pendle Forest. It
is known on the authority of his friend Kirke, whom we shall mention again presently,
that Spenser retired to the North after leaving Cambridge ; traces of a Northern
dialect appear in the Shepheardes Calendar ; the Christian name Edmund is shown by
the parish registers to have been a favourite with one part of the Lancashire branch-
wit h that located near Filley Close, three miles north of Hurstwood, near Burnley.
Spenser then was born in London, probably in East Smithfield, about a year before
those hideous Marian fires began to blaze in West Smithfield. He had at least one
sister, and probably at least one brother. His memory would begin to be retentive
about the time of Queen Elizabeth's accession. Of his great contemporaries, with
most of whom he was to be brought eventually into contact, Ealeigh was born at
Hayes in Deronshire in the same year with him, Camden in Old Bailey in 1551,
Hooker near Exeter in or about 1553, Sidney at Penshurstin 1554, Bacon at York
House in the West Strand, 1561, Shakspere at Stratford-on-Avon in 1564, Robert
Devereux, afterwards second Earl of Essex, in 1567.
The next assured fact concerning Spenser is that he was educated at the Merchant
Taylors' School, then just founded. This we learn from an entry in ' The Spending of
the Money of Kobert Nowell, Esq.,' of Reade Hall, Lancashire, brother of Alexander
Nowell, Dean of St. Paul's. In an accompt of sums 'geven to poor schollers of dyvers
gramare scholles ' we find Xs. given, April 28, 1569, to ' Edmond Spensore
Scholler of the Merchante Tayler Scholl ; ' and the identification is established by
the occasion being described as ' his gowinge to Penbrocke Hall in Chambridge,' for
we know that the future poet was admitted a Sizar of Pembroke College, then styled
Hall, Cambridge, in 1569. Thus we may fairly conclude that Spenser was not only
London born but London bred, though he may have from time to time sojourned
with relatives and connections in Lancashire * before his undergraduateship, as well
as after. Thus a conjecture of Mr. Collier's may confidently be discarded, who in the
muster-book of a hundred in Warwickshire has noted the record of one Edmund
Fpenser as living in 1569 at Kingsbury, and conjectures that this was the poet's
father, and that perhaps the poet spent his youth in the same county with Shakspere.
It may be much doubted whether it is a just assumption that every Edmund Spenser
that is in any way or anywhere mentioned in the Elizabethan era was either the poet
or his father. Nor, should it be allowed that the Spenser of Kingsbury was indeed
the poet's father, could we reasonably indulge in any pretty pictures of a fine friend-
ship between the future authors of Hamlet and of the Faerie Queene. Shakspere was
a mere child, not yet passed into the second of his Seven Ages, when Spenser, being
then about seventeen years old, went up to the University. However, this matter
i.eed not be further considered, as there is no evidence whatever to connect Spenser
with Warwickshire.
• It may be suggested that what are called the archaisms of Spenser's style may be in part
due to the author's long residence in the country with one of the older forms of the language spoken
all round him and spoken by him, iu fact his vernacular. I say in part, because of course his much
study of Chaucer must be taken into account. But, as Mr. Richard Morris has remarked to me, he
could not have drawn from Chaucer those forms and words of a northern dialect which appear in the
CUniar.
EDMUND SPENSER.
But in picturing to ourselves Spenser's youth we must not think of London as it
now is, or of East Smithfield as now cut off from the country by innumerable acres of
bricks and mortar. The green fields at that time were not far away from Spenser's
birthplace. And thus, not without knowledge and sympathy, but with appreciative
variations, Spenser could re-echo Marot's ' Eglogue au Roy sous les noms de Pan et
Robin,' and its description of a boy's rural wanderings and delights. See his
Shepheardes Calendar, December : —
Whilome in youth when flowrd my joyfull spring,
Like swallow swift I wandred here and there ;
For heate of heedlesse lust me did so sting,
That I oft doubted daunger had no feare :
I went the wastefull woodes and forrest wide
Withouten dread of wolves to bene espide.
I wont to raunge amid the mazie thicket
And gather nuttes to make my Christmas game,
And joyed oft to chace the trembling pricket.
Or hunt the hartlesse hare till she were tame.
What wreaked I of wintrie ages waste ?
Tho deemed I my spring would ever last.
How often have I scaled the craggie oke
All to dislodge the raven of her nest ?
How have I wearied, with many a stroke,
The stately walnut-tree, the while the rest,
Under the tree fell all for nuttes at strife ?
For like to me was libertie and life.
To be sure he is here paraphrasing, and also is writing in the language of pastoral
poetry, that is, the language of this passage is metaphorical ; but it is equally clear
that the writer was intimately and thoroughly acquainted with that life from which
the metaphors of his original are drawn. He describes a life he had lived.
It seems probable that he was already an author in some sort when he went up *t
Cambridge. In the same year in which he became an undergraduate there appeared
a work entitled, ' A Theatre wherein be represented as well the Miseries and
Calamities that follow the Voluptuous Worldlings as also the greate Joyes and
Plesures which the Faithful do enjoy. An Argument both Profitable and Delectable
to all that sincerely loue the Word of God. Deuised by S. John Vander Noodt.'
Vander Noodt was a native of Brabant who had sought refuge in England, ' as well
for that I would not beholde the abominations of the Romyshe Antechrist as to escape
the handos of the bloudthirsty.' ' In the meane space,' he continues, ' for the avoyding
of idlenesse (the very mother and nourice of all vices) I have among other my
travayles bene occupied aooute thys little Treatyse, wherein is sette forth the vilenesse
and basenesse of worldely things whiche commonly withdrawe us from'heavenly and
spirituall matters.' This work opens with six pieces in the form of sonnets styled
epigrams, which are in fact identical with the first six of the Visions of Petrarch sub-
sequently published amongst Spenser's works, in which publication they are said to have
been ' formerly translated.' After these so-called epigrams come fifteen Sonnets, eleven
of which are easily recognisable amongst the Visions of Bellay, published along with
the Visions of Petrarch. Ther» is indeed as little difference between the two sets
EDMUND SPENSER.
of poems as is compatible with the fact that the old series is written m blank Terse,
the latter in rhyme. The sonnets which appear for the first time in the Visions
are those describing the Wolf, the River, the Vessel, the City. There are four pieces
of the older series which are not reproduced in the later. It would seem probable
that they too may have been written by Spenser in the days of his youth, though at a
later period of his life he cancelled and superseded them. They are thereft
printed in this volume. (See pp. 699-701.)
Vander Noodt it must be said, makes no mention of Spenser in his volume,
would seem that he did not know English, and that he wrote his Declaration— a.
Bort of commentary in prose on the Visions-in French. At least we are told that
this Declaration is translated out of French into English by Theodore Eoest. All
that is stated of the origin of his Visions is: 'The learned poete M. Francisce
Petrarche, gentleman of Florence, did invent and write in Tuscan the six firste ....
which because they serve wel to our purpose: I have out of the Brabants speache turned
them into the English tongue ;' and ' The other ten visions next ensuing ar described
of one loachim du Bellay, gentleman of France, the whiche also, because they serve
to our purpose I have translated them out of Dutch into English.' The fact of the
Visions being subsequently ascribed to Spenser would not by itself carry much
weight. But, as Prof. Craik pertinently asks, 'if this English version was not the
work of Spenser, where did Ponsonby [the printer who issued that subsequent
publication which has been mentioned] procure the corrections which are cot mere
typographical errata, and the additions and other variations* that are found in his
edition?'
In a work called Tragical Tales, published in 1587, there is a letter in verse, dated
1569, addressed to 'Spencer' by George Turberville, then resident in Russia as secretary
to the English ambassador, Sir Thomas Randolph. Anthony a Wood says this Spencer
was the poet ; but it can scarcely have been so. ' Turberville himself,' remarks
Prof. Craik, ' is supposed to have been at this time in his twenty-ninth or thirtieth
year, which is not the age at which men choose boys of sixteen for their friends.
Besides, the verses seem to imply a friendship of some standing, and also in the
person addressed the habits and social position of manhood. ... It has not been
commonly noticed that this epistle from Russia is not Turberville's only poetical
address to his friend Spencer. Among his "Epitaphs and Sonnets" are two other
pieces of verse addressed to the same person.'
To the year 1569 belongs that mention referred to above of payment made one
' Edmund Spenser' for bearing letters from France. As has been already remarked, i
is scarcely probable that this can have been the poet, then a youth of some seventeen
years on the verge of his undergraduateship.
The one certain event of Spenser's life in the year 1569 is that he was then eLtered
as a sizar at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. He ' proceeded B.A.' in 1573, and 'com-,
menced M.A.' in 1576. There is some reason for believing that his college life was.
troubled in much the same way as was that of Milton some sixty years later-that
there prevailed some misunderstanding between him and the scholastic authorities..
• These are given in the Appendix to the present work.
EDMUND SPENSER.
He mentions his \iniversity with respect in the Faerie Quecne, in book iv. canto xi.
where, setting forth what various rivers gathered happily together to celebrate the
marriage of the Thames and the Medway, he tells how
The plenteous Ouse came far from land
By many a city and by many a towne ;
And many rivers taking under-hand
Into his waters as he passeth downe,
The Ole, the Were, the Grant, the Sture, the Rowne.
Thence doth by Huntingdon and CAMBRIDGE flit ;
My mother Cambridge, whom as with a crowne
He doth adorne, and is adorn'd of it
With many a gentle Mase and many a learned wit.
But he makes no mention of his college. The notorious Gabriel Harvey, an intimate
friend of Spenser, who was elected a Fellow of Pembroke Hall the year after the future
poet was admitted as a sizar, in a letter written in 1580, asks: 'And wil you needes
have my testimoniall of youre old Controllers new behaviour ? ' and then proceeds to
heap abusive words on some person not mentioned by name but evidently only too
well known to both the sender and the receiver of the epistle. Having compiled a
list of scurrilities worthy of Falstaff, and attacked another matter which was an
abomination to him, Harvey vents his wrath in sundry Latin charges, one of which
runs: ' Csetera fere, ut olim : Bellum inter capita st membra continuatum.' ' Other
matters are much as they were : war kept up between the heads [the dons] and the
members [the men].' Spenser was not elected to a fellowship ; he quitted his college,
with all its miserable bickerings, after he had taken his master's degree. There can be
little doubt, however, that he was a most diligent and earnest student during his
residence at Cambridge ; during that period, for example, he must have gained that
knowledge of Plato's works which so distinctly marks his poems, and found in that
immortal writer a spirit most truly congenial. But it is conceivable that be pursued
his studies after his own manner, and probably enough excited by his independence
the strong disapprobation of the master and tutor of the college of his day.
Among his contemporaries in his own college were Lancelot Andrews, afterwards
Master, and eventually Bishop of Winchester, the famous preacher ; Gabriel Harvey,
mentioned above, with whom he formed a fast friendship, and Edward Kirke, the ' E.K.'
who, as will be seen, introduced to the world Spenser's first work of any pretence.
Amongst his contemporaries in the university were Preston, author of Cambyses, and
Still, author of Gammer Gurtons Needle, with each of whom he was acquainted. The
friend who would seem to have exercised the most influence over him was Gabriel
Harvey ; but this influence, at least in literary matters, was by no means for the best.
Harvey was some three or four years the senior, and of some academic distinction.
Probably he may be taken as something more than a fair specimen of the average
scholarship and culture given by the universities at that time. He was an extreme
classicist ; all his admiration was for classical models and works that savoured of
them ; he it was who headed the attempt made in England to force upon a modern
language the metrical system of the Greeks and Latins. What baneful influence he
exercised over Spenser in this last respect will be shown presently. Kirke was
EDMUND SPENSER.
Spenser's other close friend ; he was one year junior academically to the poet. He
too, as we shall see, was a profound admirer of Harvey.
After leaving the university in 1576, Spenser, then, about twenty-four years of age,
returned to his own people in the North. This fact is learnt from his friend
' E. K.'s ' glosses to certain lines in the sixth book of the Shepheardes Calendar.
E. K. speaks ' of the North countrye where he dwelt,' and ' of his removing out of
the North parts and coming into the South.' As E. K. writes in the spring of 1579,
and as his writing is evidently some little time subsequent to the migration he speaks
of, it may be believed that Spenser quitted his Northern home in 1577, and, as we
shall see, there is other evidence for this supposition. About a year then was passed
in the North after he left the University.
These years were not spent idly. The poetical fruits of them shall be mentioned
presently. What made it otherwise a memorable year to the poet was his falKng
deeply in love with some fair Northern neighbour. Who she was is not known. He
who adored her names her Eosalind, 'a feigned name,' notes E. K., ' which being well
ordered will bewray the very name of hys love and mistresse, whom by that name he
coloureth ' Many solutions of this anagram have been essayed, mostly on the sup-
position that the lady lived in Kent; but Professor Craik is certainly right in insist-
ing that she was of the North. Dr. Grosart and Mr. Fleay, both authorities of im-
portance, agree in discovering the name Eose Dinle or Dinley ; but of a person so
Christian-named no record has yet been found, though the surname Dyneley or Dinley
occurs in the Whalley registers and elsewhere. In the Eclogue of the Shepheardes
Calendar, to which this note is appended, Colin Clout— so the poet designates
himself— complains to Hobbinol — that is, Harvey — of the ill success of his passion.
Harvey, we may suppose, is paying him a visit in the North ; or perhaps the pastoral
is merely a versifying of what passed between them in letters. However this may be,
Colin is bewailing his hapless fate. His friend, in reply, advises him to
Forsake the soyle that so doth thee bewitch, &c.
Surely E. K.'s gloss is scarcely necessary to tell us what these words mean1
' Come down,' they say, ' from your bleak North country hills where she dwells who
binds you with her spell, and be at peace far away from her in the genial South
land. In another Eclogue (April) the subduing beauty is described as ' the Widdowes
daughter of the Glen,' surely a Northern address. On these words the well-informed
,K. remarks: • He calleth Rosalind the Widowes daughter of the glenne that is
of a country hamlet or borough, which I thinke is rather sayde to coloure and concele
the person, than simply spoken. For it is well known, even in spight.e of Colin and
Hobbinol, that she is a gentlewoman of no meane house, nor endowed with anye
vulgare and common gifts, both of nature and manners : but suche indeede, as neede
ither Colin be ashamed to have her made knowne by his verses, nor Hobbinol be
jreved that so she should be commended to immortalize for her rare and singulai
lrtues. Whoever this charming kdy was, and whatever glen she made bright with
ler presence, it appears that she did not reciprocate the devoted affection of the
stud.ous young Cambridge graduate who, with probably no apparent occupation, was
loitering for a while in her ncmity. It was some other-he is called Menalcas in
EDMUND SPENSER.
one of his rival's pastorals — who found favour in her eyes. The poet could only wail
and beat his breast. Eclogues I. and VI. are all sighs and tears. Perhaps in the
course of time a copy of the Faerie Queene might reach the region where Mcnalcas
and Rosalind were growing old together ; and she, with a certain ruth perhaps mixed
with her anger, might recognise in Mirabella an image of her fair young disdainful
pelf.* The poet's attachment was no transient flame that flashed and was gone. When
at the instance of his friend he travelled southward away from the scene of his dis-
comfiture, he went weeping and inconsolable. In the Fourth Eclogue Hobbinol is
discovered by Thenot deeply mourning, and, asked the reason, replies that his grief is
because
The ladde whome long I loved so deare
Nowe loves a lasse that all his love doth scorne ;
He plongd in paync, his tressed locks dooth teare.
Shepheards delights he dooth them all f orsweare :
Hys pleasant pipe, \vhych made us meriment,
He wylfully hath broke, and doth forbeare
His wonted songs, wherein he all outwent.
Colin thon kenst, the Southerne shepheardes boye ;
Him Love hath wounded with a deadly darte. &c.
The memory of Rosalind, in spite of her unkindness, seems to have been fondly cherished
by the poet, and yielded to no rival vision — though there may have been fleeting fits
of passion — till some fourteen years after he and she had parted — till the year 1592,
when, as we shall see, Spenser, then living in the south of Ireland, met that Elizabeth
who is mentioned in the sonnet quoted above, and who some year and a half after
that meeting became his wife. On the strength of an entry found in the register
of St. Clement Danes Church in the Strand — '26 Aug. [1587] Florenc Spenser,
the daughter of Edmond' — it has been conjectured that the poet was married
before 1587. This conjecture seems entirely unacceptable. There is nothing to
justify the theory that the Edmund Spenser of the register was the poet. It is simply
incredible that Spenser, one who, as has been said, poured out all his soul in his
poems, should have wooed and won some fair lady to his wife, without ever a poetical
allusion to his courtship and his triumph. It is not at all likely, as far as one can
judge from their titles, that any one of his lost works was devoted to the celebration
of any such successful passion. Lastly, besides this important negative evidence,
there is distinct positive testimony that long after 1587 the image of Rosalind had
not been displaced in his fancy by any other loveliness. In Colin Clouts Come Home
Again, written, as will be seen, in 1591, though not published till 1595, after the poet has
' full deeply divined of love and beauty,' one Melissa in admiration avers that all true
lovers are greatly bound to him — most especially women. The faithful Hobbinol says
that women have but ill requited their poet : —
* This supposed description of his first love was written probably during the courtship, which
eiuk-d, as we shall see, in his marriage. The First Love is said to be portrayed in cant, vii., the Last
in cant. x. of book vi. of the Faerie Queene. But this identification of Rosalind and Mirabilla is, after
all, but a conjecture, and is not to be accepted as gospel.
xxiv
EDMUND SPENSER.
' He is repayd with scorne and foule despite,
That yrkes each gentle heart which it doth heare.'
4 Indeed,' says Lucid, ' I have often heard
Faire Kosalind of divers fowly blamed
For being to that swaine too cruell hard.
Lucid however would defend her on the ground that love may not be compelled :—
4 Beware therefore, ye groomes, I read betimes
How rashly blame of Rosalind ye raise.'
This caution Colin eagerly and ardently reinforces, and with additions. His heart
was still all tender towards her, and he would not have one harsh word thrown at
her : —
Ah! Shepheards, then said Cohn, ye ne weet
How great a guilt upon your heads ye draw
To make so bold a doome, with words unmeet,
Of thing celestiall which ye never saw.
For she is not like as the other crew
Of shepheards daughters which emongst you bee,
But of divine regard and heavenly hew,
Excelling all that ever ye did see ;
Not then to her that scorned thing so base,
But to myselfe the blame that lookt so hie,
So hie her thoughts as she herselfe have place
And loath each lowly thing with lofty eie ;
Yet so much grace let her vouchsafe to grant
To simple swaine, sith her I may not love,
Yet that I may her honour paravant
And praise her worth, though far my wit above.
Such grace shall be some guerdon for the griefe
And long affliction which I have endured ;
Such grace sometimes shall give me some reliefe
And ease of paine which cannot be recured.
And ye my fellow shepheards, which do see
And heare the languors of my too long dying,
Unto the world for ever witnesse bee
That hers I die, nought to the world denying
This simple trophe of her great conquest."
This residence of Spenser in the North, which corresponds with that period of
Milton's life spent at his father's house at Hortcn in Buckinghamshire, ended, as
there has been occasion to state, in the year 1577. What was the precise cause of
Spenser's coming South, is not known for certain. ' E.K.* says in one of his glosses,
already quoted in part, that the poet ' for speciall occasion of private affayres (as I
have bene partly of himselfe informed) and for his more preferment, removing out of
the North parts, came into the South, as Hobbinoll indeede advised him privately.' It
is clear from his being admitted at his college as a sizar, that his private means were
not good. Perhaps during his residence in the North he may have been dependent on
the bounty of his friends. It was then in the hope of some advancement of his
fortunes that, bearing with him no doubt in manuscript certain results of all his
life's previous labour, he turned away from his cold love and her glen, and all her
country, and set his face Town-ward.
EDMUND SPENSER.
It is said that his friend Harvey introduced him to that famous accomplished
gentleman — that mirror of true knighthood — Sir Philip Sidney, and it would seem
that Penshurst became for some time his home. There has already been quoted a line
describing Spenser as ' the southern shepheardes boye.' This southern shepherd is
probably Sidney. Sidney, it would seem, introduced him to his father and to his
uncle, the Earl of Leicester. If we are to take Irenaeus' words literally — and there
seems no reason why we should not— Spenser was for a time at least in Ireland, when
Sidney's father was Lord Deputy. Irenaeus, in A View of the Present State of
Ireland, certainly represents Spenser himself; and he speaks of what he said at the
execution of a notable traitor at Limerick, called Murrogh O'Brien ; see p. 63ft of this
volume. However, he was certainly back in England and in London in 1579, residing
at the Earl of Leicester's house in the Strand, where Essex Street now stands. He
dates one of his letters to Harvey, ' Leycester House, this 5 October, 1579.' Perhaps
at this time he commenced, or renewed, or continued his acquaintance with his distin-
guished relatives of Althorpe. During the time he spent now at Penshurst and in
London, he mixed probably with the most brilliant intellectual society of his time.
Sidney was himself endowed with no mean genius. He, Lord Leicester, Lord Strange,
and others, with whom Spenser was certainly, or in all probability, acquainted, were
all eminent patrons and protectors of genius.
This passage of Spenser's life is of high interest, because in the course of it that
splendid era of our literature commonly called the Elizabethan Period may be said
to have begun. Spenser is the foremost chronologically of those great spirits who
towards the close of the sixteenth century lifted up their immortal voices, and spoke
words to be heard for all time. In the course of this present passage of his life, he
published his first important work— a work which secured him at once the hearty
recognition of his contemporaries as a tree poet risen up amongst them. This work
was the Shepheardes Calendar, to which so many references have already been made.
It consists of twelve eclogues, one for each month of the year. Of these, three (i.,
vi., and xii.), as we .have seen, treat specially of his own disappointment in love.
Three (ii., viii., and x.) are of a more general character, having old age, a poetry com-
bat, ' the perfect pattern of a poet' for their subjects. One other (iii.) deals with love-
matter.-. One (iv.) celebrates the Queen, three (v , vii , and ix.) discuss ' Protestant
and Catholic,' Anglican and Puritan questions. One (xi.) is an elegy upon ' the death
of seme maiden of great blood, whom he calleth Dido.' These poems were ushered into
the woild by Spenser's college friend Edward Kirke, for such no doubt is the true
interpretation of the initials E.K. This gentleman performed his duty in a somewhat
copious manner. He addressed ' to the most excellent and learned both orator and
poet Mayster Gabriell Harvey' a letter warmly commending 'the new poet' to his
patronage, and defending the antique verbiage of the eclr gues ; he prefixed to the
whole work a general argument, a particular one to each part ; he appealed to every
poem a ' glosse ' explaining words and allusions. The work is dedicated to Sir
Philip Sidney. It was published in the winter of 1579-80.
More than once in the course of it, Spenser refers to Tityrus as his great master.
The twelfth eclogue opens thus :
EDMUND SPENSER.
The gentle shepheard sat beside a springe
All in the shadow of a bushye brere,
That Colin height, which well could pype and singe,
For nee of Tityrus his songes did lere.
Titvru* on EK's authority, was Chaucer. It is evident from the language— both
the words and the verbal forms-used in this poem that Spenser had zealously studied
Chaucer, whose greatest work had appeared just about two centuries before Spenser's
first important publication. The work, however, in which he imitates Chaucer's
manner is not the Shepheardes Calendar, but his Prosopopoia or Mother Hubberds Tale,
which he says writing in a later year, he had 'long sithens composed m the raw
conceipt of my youth.' The form and manner of the Shepheardes Calendar reflected
not Chaucer's influence upon the writer, but the influence of a vast event which had
changed the face of literature since the out-coming of the Canterbury Tales-
revival of learning. That event had put fresh models before men, had greatly
modified old literary forms, had originated new. The classical influence impressed
upon Europe was by no means an unmixed good ; in some respects it retarded the
natural development of the modern mind by overpowering it with its prestige and
stupefying it with a sense of inferiority ; while it raised the ideal of perfection, it
tended to give rise to mere imitations and affectations. Amongst these new forms
was the Pastoral. When Virgil, Theocritus, ' Daphnis and Chloe,' and other writers
and works of the ancient pastoral literature once more gained the ascendency, then a
modern pastoral poetry began to be. This poetry flourished greatly in Italy in the
sixteenth century. It had been cultivated by Sannazaro, Guarini, Tasso. Arcadia
hud been adopted by the poets for their country. In England numerous Eclogues
made their appearance. Amongst the earliest and the best of these were Spenser's.
It would perhaps be unjust to treat this modern pastoral literature as altogether an
affectation. However unreal, the pastoral world had its charms — a pleasant feeling
imparted of emancipation, a deep quietude, a sweet tranquillity. If vulgar men
discovered their new worlds, and trafficked and bustled there, why should not the
poet discover his Arcadia, and repose at his ease in it, secure from the noises of feet
going and coming over the roads of the earth ?
That fine melodiousness, which is one of Spenser's signal characteristics, may be
perceived in his Eclogues, as also a native gracefulness of style, which is another
distinguishing mark of him. Perceivable, too, are his great, perilous fluency of
language and his immense fecundity of mind. The work at once secured him a front
place in the poetical ranks of the day. Sidney mentions it in his Apologiefor Poetrle ; *
Abraham Fraunce draws illustrations from it in his Lawyers Logicke, which appeared
in 1588; Meres praises it; 'Maister Edmund Spenser,' says Drayton, 'has done
enough for the immortality, had he only given us his Shepheardes Calendar, a master-
piece, if any.' It is easy to discern in Lycldas signs of Milton's study of it.
During Spenser's sojourn in the society of the Sidneys and the Dudleys, letters
passed between him and Harvey, some of which are extAt. From these, and from
the editorial notes of Kirke, we hear of other works written by Spenser, ready to be
t See tola work amongst Mr. Albert excellent Engluh RtprinU.
EDMUND SPENSER.
given to the light. The works thus heard of are Dreames, Legends, Court of Cupide,
The English Poet, The Dying Pelican, Stemmata Dudleiana, Slomher, A'ine English
Comedies, The EpitJtalamion Thamtsis, and also The Faerie Queene commenced. Of
these works perhaps the Legends, Court of Cupid, and Epithalamion Thamesis were
subsequently with modifications incorporated in the Faerie Queene; the Stemmata
Dudleiana, Nine English Comedies, Dying Pelican, are altogether lost. The Faerie
Qiuene had been begun. So far as written, it had been submitted to the
criticism of Harvey. On April 10, 1580, Spenser -writes to Harvey, wishing him
to return it with his ' long expected judgment r upon it. Harvey had already pro-
nounced sentence in a letter dated April 7, and this is the sentence : ' In good faith
I had once again nigh forgotten your Faerie Queene ; howbeit, by good chaunce I hare
nowe sent hir home at the laste, neither in better nor worse case than I founde hir.
And must you of necessitie have my judgement of hir indeede ? To be plaine, I am
voyde of al judgement, if your nine Comcedies, whemnto, in imitation of Herodotus,
you give the names of the Nine Muses, and (in one man's fansie not unworthily),
come not neerer Ariostoes Comcedies, eytber for the finenesse of plausible elocution,
or the rareness of poetical invention, than that Elvish queene doth to his Orlando
Furioso, which notwithstanding, you will needes seem to emulate, and hope to overgo,
as you flatly professed yourself in one of your last letters. Besides that, you know
it hath bene the usual practise of the most exquisite and odde wittes in all nations,
and especially in Italie, rather to shewe and adraunce themselves that way than any
other; as namely, those three notorious dyscoursing heads Bibiena, Machiavel, and
Aretine did (to let Bembo and Ariosto passe), with the great admiration and wonderment
of the whole countrey ; being indeede reputed matchable in all points, both for conceyt
of witte, and eloquent decyphering of matters, either with Aristophanes and Menander
in Greek, or with Plautus and Terence in Latin, or with any other in any other tong.
But I will not stand greatly with you in your owne matters. If so be the Faery
Queen be fairer in your eie than the Nine Muses, and Hobgoblin runne away with the
garland from Apollo ; marke what I saye, and yet I will not say that I thought ; but
there is an end for this once, and fare you well, till God or some good Aungell putte
you in a better minde.'
Clearly the Faerie Queene was but little to Harvey's taste. It was too alien from
the cherished exemplars of his heart. Happily Spenser was true to himself, and
went on with his darling work in spite of the strictures of pedantry. This is not the
only instance' in which the dubious character of Harvey's influence is noticeable. The
letters, from one of which the above doom is quoted, enlighten us also as to a grand
scheme entertained at this time for forcing the English tongue to conform to the
metrical rules of the classical languages. Already in a certain circle rime was dis-
credited as being, to use Milton's words nearly a century afterwards, 'no necessary
adjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the
invention of a barbarous age to set off -wretched matter and lame metre.' A similar
attempt was made in the course of the sixteenth century in other parts of Europe,
and with the same final issue. Gabriel Harvey was an active leader in this deluded
movement. When Sidney too, and Dyer, another poet of the time, proclaimed a
EDMUND SPENSER
' general surceasing and silence of bald rhymes, and also of the very best too, instead
whereof they have by authority of their whole senate, prescribed certain laws and
rules of quantity of English syllables for English verse, having had already thereof
great practice,' Spenser was drawn ' to their faction.'
1 1 am of late,' he writes to Harvey, ' more in love wyth my Englishe versifying than
with ryming ; whyche I should have done long since if 1 would then have followed
your councell.' In allying himself with these Latin prosody bigots Spenser sinned
grievously against his better taste. ' I like your late Englishe hexameters so exceed-
ingly well,' he writes to Harvey, ' that I also enure my pen sometime in that kinde,
whyche I fynd in deed, as I have heard you often defende in word, neither so harde
nor so harsh [but] that it will easily and fairly yield itself to our moother tongue.
For the onely or chiefest hardnesse whyche seemeth is in the accente ; whyche some-
times gapeth and as it were yawneth il-favouredly, comming shorte of that it should,
and sometimes exceeding the measure of the number ; as in carpenter the middle
sillable being used short in speache, when it shall be read long in verse, seemeth like
a lame gosling that draweth one legge after hir. And heaven being used shorte as
one syllable, when it is in verse stretched with a Diastole is like a lame dogge, that
holdes up one legge.' * His ear was far too fine and sensitive to endure the fearful
sounds uttered by the poets of this Procrustsean creed. The language seemed to groan
and shriek at the agonies and contortions to which it was subjected ; and Spenser
could not but hear its outcries. But he made himself as deaf as might be. ' It is to
be wonne with custom,' he proceeds, in the letter just quoted from, ' and rough words
must be studied with use. For why, a God's name, may not we, as the Greekes. have
the kingdom of oure owne language, and measure our accentes by the sounde, reserving
the quantitie to the verse ? . . . I would hartily wish you would either send me the
rules or precepts of arte which you observe in quantities ; or else follow mine that
Mr. Philip Sidney gave me, being the very same which Mr. Drant devised, but
enlarged with Mr. Sidney's own judgement, and augmented with my observations, that
we might both accorde and agree in one, leaste we overthrowe one another and oe
overthrown of the rest.' He himself produced the following lines in accordance, as ne
fondly hoped, with the instructions of the new school : —
IAMBICUM TEIMETRUM.
TJnhappie verse ! the witnesse of my unhappie state,
[as indeed it was in a sense not meant]
Make thy selfe fluttring winge of thy fast flying thought,
And fly forth unto my love whersoever she be.
Whether lying reastlesse ir. heavy bedde, or else
Sitting so cheerelesse at the cheerefull boorde. or else
Playing alone carelesse on hir heavenlie virginals.
If in bed, tell hir that my eyes can take no reste ;
If at boorde. tell hir that my month can eat no meetc ;
If at hii virginals, tell her I can beare no mirth.
* Ancient Critical Essayt, ed. Hazlewood, 1815, pp. 259, 260.
EDMUND SPENSER. xxix
Asked why ? "Waking love suffereth no sleepe ;
Say that raging love doth appall the weake stomacke,
Say that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
Tell hir that hir pleasures were wonte to lull me aslecpe,
Tell hir that hir beauty was wonte to feede mine eyes,
Tell hir that hir sweete tongue was wonte to make me mirth.
Now doe I nightly waste, wanting my kindlie reste,
Now doe I dayly starve, wanting my daily food,
Now doe I always dye wanting my timely mirth.
And if I waste who will bewaile my heavy chance ?
And if I starve, who will record my cursed end ?
And if I dye, who will saye, This was Immerito ?
Spenser of the sensitive ear wrote these lines. When the pedantic phantasy which
had for a while seduced and corrupted him had gone from him, with what remorse he
must have remembered these strange monsters of his creation ! Let us conclude our
glance at this sad fall from harmony by quoting the excellent words of one who was a
bitter opponent of Harvey in this as in other matters. ' The hexameter verse,' says
Nash in his Fowre Letters Confuted, 1 592, ' I graunt to be a gentleman of an auncient
house (so is many an English beggar), yet this clyme of ours hee cannot thrive in ; our
speech is too craggy for him to set his plough in ; hee goes twitching and hopping in
our language like a man running upon quagmiers up the hill in one syllable and
down the dale in another ; retaining no part of that stately smooth gate, which he
vaunts himself e with amongst the Greeks au<! Latins.'
Some three years were spent by Spenser in the enjoyment of Sidney's friendship and
the patronage of Sidney's father and uncle. During this time he would seem to have
been constantly hoping for some preferment. According to a tradition, first recorded
by Fuller, the obstructor of the success of his suit was the Treasurer, Lord Burghley.
It is clear that he had enemies at Court — at least at a later time. In 1591, in his dedi-
cation of Colin Clouts Come Home Again, he entreats Ealeigh, to ' with your good coun-
tenance protest against the malice of evil mouthes, which are always wide open tocarpe at
and misconstrue my simple meaning.' A passage in the Ruines of Time (see the lines
beginning ' O grief of griefs ! 0 full of all good hearts ! ') points to the same conclusion ;
and so the concluding lines of the Sixth Book of the Faerie Queene, when, having told
how the Blatant Beast (not killed as Lord Macaulay says in his essay on Bunyan, but)
' supprest and tamed ' for a while by Sir Calidore, at last broke his iron chain and
ranged again through the world, and raged sore in each degree and state, he adds : —
Ne may this homely verse, of many meanest,
Hope to escape his venemous despite,
More then my former writs, all were they cleanest
From blamefull blot and free from all that wite
With which some wicked tongues did it backebite,
And bring into a mighty Peres displeasure,
That never so deserved to endite.
Therefore do you, my rimes, keep better measure,
And seeke to please ; that now is counted wise mens threasure.
In the Tears of the Muses Calliope says of certain persons of eminent rank : —
b
EDMUND SPFNSER.
Their great revenues all in sumptuous pride
They spend that nought to learning they may spare ;
And the rich fee which Poets wont divide
Now Parasites and Sycophants do share.
Several causes have been suggested to account for this disfavour. The popular
tradition was pleased to explain it by making Burghley the ideal dullard who has no
soul for poetry— to whom one copy of verses is very much as good as another, and no
copy good for anything. It delighted to bring this commonplace gross-minded person
into opposition with one of the most spiritual of geniuses. In this myth Spenser
represents mind, Burghley matter. But there is no justification in facts for this
tradition. It may be that the Lord Treasurer was not endowed with a high intel-
lectual nature ; but he was far too wise in his generation not to pretend a virtue if
he had it not, when circumstances called for anything of the sort. When the Queen
patronized literature, we may be sure Lord Burghley was too discreet to disparage
and oppress it. Another solution refers to Burghley's Puritanism as the cause of the
misunderstanding ; but, as Spenser too inclined that way, this is inadequate. Pro-
bably, as Todd and others have thought, what alienated his Lordship at first was
Spenser's connection with Leicester ; what subsequently aggravated the estrangement
was his friendship with Essex.
CHAPTER II.
1580—1589.
IN the year 1 580 Spenser was removed from the society and circumstances in which,
except for his probable visit to Ireland, he had lived and moved as we have seen, for
some three years. From that year to near the close of his life his home was to be in
Ireland. He paid at least two visits to London and its environs in the course of these
eighteen years ; but it seems clear that his home was in Ireland. Perhaps his
biographers have hitherto not truly appreciated this residence in Ireland. We shall
see that a liberal grant of land was presently bestowed upon him in the county of
Cork ; and they have reckoned him a successful man, and wondered at the querulons-
ness that occasionally makes itself heard in his works. Towards the very end of this
life, Spenser speaks of himself as one
Whom sullein care
Through discontent of my long frnitlesse stay
In princes court and expectation vayne
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away
Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne.
Those who marvel at such language perhaps forget what a dreary exile the poet's life
in Ireland must in fact have been. It is true that it was relieved by several journeys
to England, by his receiving at least one visit from an English friend, by his finding,
during at any rate the earlier part of his absence, some congenial English friends
residing in the country, by his meeting at length with that Elizabeth whose excelling
EDMUND SPENSER.
beauty he has sung so sweetly, and whom be married ; it is also truo that there was
in him — as in Milton and in Wordsworth — a certain great self-con tainedness,* that he
carried his world with him wherever he went, that he had great allies and high
company in the very air that flowed around him, whatever land he inhabited ; all this
is true, but yet to be cut off from the fellowship which, however self-sufficing, he so
dearly loved — to look no longer on the face of Sidney his hero, his ideal embodied, his
living Arthur, to hear but as it were an echo of the splendid triumphs won by his and
our England in those glorious days, to know of his own high fame but by report, to
be parted from the friendship of Shakspere — surely this was exile. To live in the
Elizabethan age, and to be severed from those brilliant spirits to which the fame of
that age is due ! Further, the grievously unsettled, insurgent state of Ireland at this
time — as at many a time before and since — must be borne in mind. Living there
was living on the side of a.volcanic mountain. That the perils of so living were not
merely imaginary, we shall presently see. He did not shed tears and strike his bosom,
like the miserable Ovid at Tomi ; he ' wore rather in his bonds a cheerful brow, lived,
and took comfort,' finding his pleasure in that high spiritual communion we have
spoken of, playing pleasantly, like some happy father, with the children of his train,
joying in their caprices, their noblenesses, their sweet adolescence ; but still it was
exile, and this fact may explain that tone of discontent which here and there is
perceptible in his writings, f
When in 1580 Arthur, Lord Grey of Wilton, was appointed Lord Deputy of Ireland,
he — perhaps through Lord Leicester's influence, perhaps on account of Spenser's
already knowing something of thecountry — made Sponsor his Private Secretary. There
can be no doubt that Spenser proceeded with him to Dublin. It was in Ireland,
probably about this time, that he made or renewed his acquaintance with Sir Walter
Raleigh. In 1581 he was appointed Clerk of Degrees and Eecognizances in the Irish
Court of Chancery, a post which he held for seven years, at the end of which time he
received the appointment of Clerk to the Council of Munster. In the same year in
which he was assigned the former clerkship, he received also a lease of the lands and
Abbey of Enuiscorthy in Wexford county. It is to be hoped that his Chancery Court
duties permitted him to reside for a while on that estate. ' Enniscorthy,' says the
Guide to Ireland published by Mr. Murray, ' is one of the prettiest little towns in
the Kingdom, the largest portion of it being on a .steep hill on the right bank of
the Slaney, which here becomes a deep and navigable stream, and is crossed by a
« One might quote of these poets, and those of a like spirit, Wordsworth's lines on ' the Character-
tics of a Child three years old,' for in the respect therein mentioned, as in others, these poets are ' as
j children : '
As a faggot sparkles on the hearth,
Not less if unattended and alone,
Than when both young and old sit gathered round,
And take delight in its activity ;
Even so thii happy creature of herself
Is all-sufficient; Solitude to her
Is blithe society, who Jills the air
Witk gladness and involuntary songs.
t See Colin ClouCs Come Home Again, vv. 180-184, quoted below.
b2
EDMUND SPENSER.
bridge of six arches.' There still stands there ' a single tower of the old Franciscan
monastery.' But Spenser soon parted with this charming spot, perhaps because of its
inconvenient distance from the scene of his official work. In December of the year in
which the lease was given, he transferred it to one Richard Synot. In the following
year Lord Grey was recalled. ' The Lord Deputy,' says Holinshed, ' after long suit
for his revocation, received Her Majesty's letters for the same.' His rule had been
marked by some extreme, perhaps necessary, severities, and was probably some-
what curtly concluded on account of loud complaints made against him on this
score. Spenser would seem to have admired and applauded him, both as a ruler
and as a patron and friend. He mentions him with much respect in his View of
the Present State of Ireland. One of the sonnets prefixed to the Faerie Queene is
addressed ' to the most renowmned and valiant lord the lord Grey of Wilton,' and
speaks of him with profound gratitude : —
Most noble lord, the pillot of my life.
And patrone of my Muses pupillage ;
Through whose large bountie, poured on me rife
In the first season of my feeble age,
I now doe live bound yours by vassalage ;
Sith nothing ever may redeeme nor reave
Out of your endlesse debt so sure a gage,
Vouchsafe in worth this small guift to receave,
Which in your noble hands for pledge I leave
Of all the rest, that I am tyde t' account.
Lord Grey died in 1593. Spenser may have renewed his friendship with him in
1589, when, as we shall see, he visited England. For the present their connection
was broken. It may be considered as fairly certain that when his lordship returned
to England in 1582, Spenser did not return with him, but abode still in Ireland.
There is, indeed, a ' Maister Spenser ' mentioned in a letter written by James VI. of
Scotland from St. Andrews in 1583 to Queen Elizabeth: 'I have staied Maister
Spenser upon the letter quhilk is written with my auin hand quhilk sail be readie
within tua daies.' It may be presumed that this gentleman is the same with him of
whose postal services mention is found, as we have seen, in 1569. At any rate there
is nothing whatever to justify his identification with the poet. On the other hand,
there are several circumstances which seem to indicate that Spenser was in Ireland
continuously from the year of his going there with Lord Grey to the year of his
visiting England with Raleigh in 1589, when he presented to her Majesty and
published the first three books of the Faerie Queene. Whatever certain glimpses we
can catch of Spenser during these ten years, he is in Ireland.
We have seen that he was holding one clerkship or another in Ireland during
all this time. In the next place, we find him mentioned as forming one of
a company described as gathered together at a cottage near Dublin in a work
by his friend Lodovick * Bryskett, written, as may be inferred with considerable
• This is the ' Lodovick ' mentioned in Sonnet 33, quoted below. It was from him a little later in
688, that Spenser obtained by 'purchase' the succession to the office of Clerk of the Government
Council of Mnnster. See Dr. Grosart's vol. L p. 161.
EDMUND SPENSER.
certainty, some time in or about the year 1582, though not published till 1606.
This work, entitled A Discourse of Civill Life ; containing the Ethike part of
Morall Philosophic, ' written to the right honorable Arthur, late Lord Grey of
» Wilton ' — written before his recall in 1582 — describes in the introduction a party
met together at the author's cottage near Dublin, consisting of ' Dr. Long, Primate
of Ardmagh; Sir Eobert Dillon, knight; M. Dormer, the Queene's sollicitor ;
Capt. Christopher Carleil ; Capt. Thomas Norreis ; Capt. Warham St. Leger ;
Capt. Nicholas Dawtrey ; and M. Edmond Spenser, late your lordship's secre-
tary ; and Th. Smith, apothecary.' In the course of conversation Bryskett envies
' the happinesse of the Italians who have in their mother-tongue late writers that
have with a singular easie method taught all that which Plato or Aristotle have
confusedly or obscurely left written.' The ' late writers ' who have performed this
highly remarkable service of clarifying and making intelligible Plato and Aristotle —
perhaps the ' confusion ' and ' obscurity' Bryskett speaks of mean merely the difficul-
ties of a foreign language for one imperfectly acquainted with it — are Alexander
Piccolomini, Gio. Baptista Giraldi, and Guazzo, ' all three having written upon the
Ethick part of Morall Philosopie [sic] both exactly and perspicuously.' Bryskett
then earnestly wishes — and here perhaps, in spite of those queer words about Plato
and Aristotle, we may sympathise with him— that some of our countrymen would
promote by English treatises the study of Moral Philosophy in English.
' In the meane while I must struggle with those bookes which I vnderstand and content myselfe
to plod upon them, in hope that God (who knoweth the sincerenesse of my desire) will be pleased
to open my vnderstanding, so as I may reape that profit of my reading, which I trauell for-
Yet is there a gentleman in this company, whom I have had often a purpose to intreate, that as his
leisure might serue him, he would vouchsafe to spend some tune with me to instruct me in some hard
points which I cannot of myselfe understand ; knowing him to be not onely perfect in the Greek
tongue, but also very well read in Philosophic, both morall and naturall. Keuertheless such is my
bashfulnes, as I neuer yet durst open my mouth to disclose this my desire unto him, though I have
not wanted some hartning thereunto from himselfe. For of loue and kindnes to me, he encouraged
me long sithens to follow the reading of the Greeke tongue, and offered me his helpe to make me
vnderstand it. But now that so good an oportunitie is offered vnto me, to satisfle in some sort my
desire ; I thinke I should commit a great fault, not to myselfe alone, but to all this company, if I
should not enter my request thus farre, as to moue him to spend this time which we have now
destined to familiar discourse and conuersation, in declaring unto us the great benefits which men
obtaine by the knowledge of Morall Philosophic, and in making us to know what the same is, what be
the parts thereof, whereby vertues are to be distinguished from vices ; and finally that he will be
pleased to run ouer in such order as he shall thinke good, such and so many principles and rules
thereof, as shall serue notonly for my better instruction, but also for the contentment and satisfaction
of you al. For I nothing doubt, but that euery one of you will be glad to heare so profitable a dis-
course and thinke the time very wel spent wherin so excellent a knowledge shal be reuealed unto
you, from which euery one may be assured to gather some fruit as wel as myselfe. Therefore (said I)
turning myselfe to M. Spenser, It is you sir, to whom it pertaineth to shew yourselfe courteous now
unto us all and to make vs all beholding unto you for the pleasure and profit which we shall gather
from your speeches, if you shall vouchsafe to open unto vs the goodly cabinet, in which this excellent
ire of vertues lieth locked up from the vulgar sort. And thereof in the behalfe of all as for
lyselfe, I do most earnestly intreate you not to say vs nay. Vnto which wordes of mine euery man
jplauding most with like words of request and the rest with gesture and countenances expressing as
much, M, Spenser answered in this manor : Though it may seeme hard for me, to refuse the request
made by you all, whom euery one alone, I should for many respects be willing to gratifie ; yet as the
case standeth, I doubt not but with the consent of the most part of you, I shall be excused at this
time of this taake which would be laid vpon me, for. sure I am, that it is not vnknowne unto yoa,
EDMUND SPENSER,
that I haue alreedy vndertaken a work tending to the same effect, which is in heroical verse under the
title of a Faerie Queene to represent all the moral vertucs, assigning to enery vertue a Knight to bo
the patron and defender of the same, in whose actions and feates of arms and chiualry the operations
of that vertue, whereof he is the protector, are to be expressed, and the vices and unruly appetites
that oppose themselves against the same, to be beaten down and ouercome. Which work, as I haue
already well entred into, if God shall please to spare me life that I may finish it according to my
mind, your wish (if. Bryskett) will be in some sort accomplished, though perhaps not so effectually
as you could desire. And the same may very well serue for my excuse, if at this time I crane to be
forborne in this your request, since any discourse, that I might make thus on the sudden in such a
subject would be but simple, and little to yonr satisfactions. For it would require good aduisement
and premeditation for any man to vndertake the declaration of these points that you have proposed,
containing in effect the Ethicke part of Morall Philosophic. Whereof since I haue taken in hand to
discourse at large in my poeme before spoken, I hope the expectation of that work may serue to free
me at this time from speaking in that matter, notwithstanding your motion and all your intreaties.
But I will tell you how I thinke by himselfe he may very well excuse my speech, and yet satisfie al]
yon in this matter. I haue scene (as he knoweth) a translation made by himselfe out of the Italian
tongue of a dialogue comprehending all the Ethick part of Moral Philosophy, written by one of
those three he formerly mentioned, and that is by Giraldi vnder the title of a dialogue of ciuil life.
If it please him to bring us forth that translation to be here read among vs, or otherwise to deliuer to
us, as his memory may serue him, the contents of the same ; he shal (I warrant you) satisfie you all
at the ful, and himselfe wil haue no cause but to thinke the time well spent in reuiewing his labors,
especially In the company of so many his friends, who may thereby reape much profit and the tran-
slation happily fare the better by some mending it may receiue in the perusing, as all writings else
may do by the often examination of the same. Neither let it trouble him that I so tnrne ouer to him
againe the taske he wold haue put me to ; for it falleth out fit for him to verifie the principall of all
this Apologie, euen now made for himselfe ; because thereby it will appeare that he hath not with-
drawne himselfe from seruice of the state to liue idle or wholly priuate to himselfe, but hath spent
gome time in doing that which may greatly benefit others and hath serued not a little to the bettering
of his owne mind, and increasing of his knowledge, though he for modesty pretend much ignorance,
and pleade want in wealth, much like some rich beggars, who either of custom, or for couetousnes, go
to begge of others those things whereof they haue no want at home. With this answer of 'M.
Speakers it seemed that all the company were wel satisfied, for after some few speeches whereby they"
had shewed an extreme longing after his worke of the Fairie Queene, whereof some parcels had been
by some of them scene, they all began to presse me to produce my translation mentioned by M.
Spenter that it might be perused among them ; or else that I should (as near as I could) deliuer unto
them the contents of the same, supposing that my memory would not much faile me in a thing so
studied and advisedly set downe in writing as a translation must be."
Bryskett at length assents to Spenser's proposal, and proceeds to read his translation
of Giraldi, -which is in some sort criticised as he reads, Spenser proposing one or two
questions 'arising principally,' as Todd says, 'from the discussion of the doctrines
of Plato and Aristotle.' This invaluable picture of a scene in Spenser's Irish life
shows manifestly in what hign estimation his learning and genius were already held,
and how, in spite of Harvey's sinister criticisms, he had resumed his great work. It
tells us too that he found in Ireland a warmly appreciative friend, if indeed he had
not known Bryskett before their going to Ireland. Bryskett too, perhaps, was ac-
quainted with Sir Philip Sidney ; for two of the elegies written on that famous
knight's death and printed along with Astrophel in the elegiac collection made by
Spenser were probably of Bryskett's composition, viz., The Mourning Muse of
Thestylis, where 'Liffey's tumbling stream' is mentioned, and the one entitled A
Pastoral Eclogue, where Lycon offers to ' second' Colin's lament for Phillisides.
What is said of the Faerie Queene in the above quotation may be illustrated from
the sonnet already quoted from, addressed to Lord Grey — one of the sonnets that in
EDMUND SPENSER.
our modern editions are prefixed to the great poem. It speaks of the great
poem as
Rude rymes, the which a rustick Muse did weave
In savadgo soyle, far from Parnosso mount.
See also the sonnet addressed to the Right Honourable the Earl of Ormond and
Ossory.
A sonnet addressed to Harvey, is dated ' Dublin this xviij of July, 1586.' Again,
in the course of the decad now under consideration, Spenser received a grant of land
in Cork — of 3,028 acres, out of the forfeited estates of the Earl of Desmond.
All these circumstances put together make it probable, and more than probable, that
Spenser remained in Ireland after Lord Grey's recall. How thorough his familiarity
with the country grew to be, appears from the work concerning it which he at last
produced.
The years 1586-7-8 were eventful both for England and for Spenser. In the first
Sidney expired of wounds received at Zutphen ; in the second, Mary Queen of Scots
was executed ; in the third, God blew and scattered the Armada, and also Leicester
died. Spenser weeps over Sidney — there was never, perhaps, more weeping, poetical
and other, over any death than over that of Sidney — in his Astrophel, the poem above
mentioned. This poem is scarcely worthy of the sad occasion — the flower of knight-
hood cut down ere its prime, not yet
In flashing
When blighting was nearest.
Certainly it in no way expresses what Spenser undoubtedly felt when the woeful news
came across the Channel to him in his Irish home. Probably his grief was ' too deep
for tears.' It was probably one of those ' huge cares' which, in Seneca's phrase, not
•'loquuntur,' but ' stupent.' He would fain have been dumb and opened not his mouth ;
but the fashion of the time called upon him to speak. He was expected to bring
his immortelle, so to say, and lay it on his hero's tomb, though his limbs would
scarcely support him, and his hand, quivering with the agony of his heart, could with
difficulty either weave it or carry it. All the six years they had been parted, the
image of that chivalrous form had never been forgotten. It had served for the one
model of all that was highest and noblest in his eyes. It had represented for him all
true knighthood. Nor all the years that he lived after Sidney's death was it for-
gotten. It is often before him, as he writes his later poetry, and is greeted always
with undying love and sorrow. Thus in the Ruines of Time, he breaks out in a sweet
fervour of unextinguished affection :
Most gentle spirite breathed from above,
Out of the bosom of the Makers blis,
In whom all bountie and all vertuous love
Appeared in their native propertis
And did enrich that noble breast of his
With treasure passing all this worldes worth,
Worthie of heaven itselfe, which brought it forth.
His blesaed spirite, full of power divine
And influence of all celestial! grace,
EDMUND SPENSER.
Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime,
Fled backe too soone unto his native place ;
Too soone for all that did his love embrace,
Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he
Bobd of all right and true nobilitie.
Yet ere his happie soule to heaven went
Out of this fleshie gaole, he did devise
Unto his heavenlie Maker to present
His bodie as a spotles sacrifice,
And chose, that guiltie hands of enemies
Should powre forth th' offring of his guiltles blood,
So life exchanging for his countries good.
0 noble spirite, live there ever blessed,
The world's late wonder, and the heaven's new ioy.
Live ever there, and leave me here distressed
With mortall cares and cumbrous worlds anoy ;
But where thou dost that happiness enioy,
Bid me, O bid me quicklie come to thee,
That happie there I male thee alwaies see.
Yet whilest the Fates affoord me vitell breath,
1 will it spend in speaking of thy praise,
And sing to thee nntill that timelie death
By Heaven's doome doe ende my earthlie dales :
Thereto doo thon my humble spirite raise,
And into me that sacred breath inspire
Which thou there breathest perfect and entire.
It is not quite certain in what part of Ireland the poet was living when the news
that Sidney was not reached him. Was he still residing a* Dublin, or had he trans-
ferred his home to that southern region which is so intimately associated with his
name ? The sonnet to Harvey above mentioned shows that he was at Dublin in July
of the year of his friend's death. It has been said already that he did not resign his
Chancery clerkship till 1538. We know that he was settled in Cork county, at Kil-
colman castle, in 1589, because Raleigh visited him there that year. He may then
have left Dublin in 1588 or 1589. According to Dr. Birch's Life of Spenser, prefixed
to the edition of the Faerie Queene in 1751,* and the Biographia Britannica, the grant
of land made him in Cork is dated June 27, 1586. But the grant, which is extant, is
dated October 26, 1591. Yet certainly, as Dr. Grosart points out, in the 'Articles'
for the ' Undertakers,' which received the royal assent on June 27, 1586, Spenser is set
down for 3,028 acres ; and that he was at Kilcolman before 1591 seems certain. As
he resigned his clerkship in the Court of Chancery in 1588, and was then appointed,
as we have seen, clerk of the Council of Munster, he probably went to live somewhere
in the province of Munster that same year. He may have lived at Kilcolman before
it and the surrounding grounds were secured to him ; he may have entered upon
possession on the strength of a promise of them, before the formal grant was issued.
He has mentioned the scenery which environed his castle twice in his great poem ;
» Dr. Birch refers in his note to The Ancient and Pretent State of the County and City of Cork, by
Charles Smith, voL i. book L c. }. p. 58-63. Edit. Dubh'n 1780, 8vp. And Fiennes Moryson's
Itinerary, part U. p, 4.
EDMUND SPENSER.
but it is worth noticing that both mentions occur, not in the books published, as we
shall now very soon see, in 1590, but in the books published six years afterwards.
In the famous passage already referred to in the eleventh canto of the fourth book,
describing the nuptials of the Thames and the Medway, he recounts in stanzas xl—
xliv. the Irish rivers who were present at that great river-gathering, and amongst
them
Swift Awniduff which of the English man
Is cal'de Blacke-watcr, and the Liffar deep,
Sad Trowis, that once his people over-ran,
Strong Allo tombling from Slewlogber steep,
And Mulla mine, whose waves I whilom taught to weep.
The other mention occurs jn the former of the two cantos Of Mutability. There
the poet sings that the place appointed for the trial of the titles and best righto of both '
'heavenly powers' and ' earthly wights' was
Upon the highest bights
Of Arlo-hill (who knowes not Arlo-hill ?)
That is the highest head (in all metis sights)
Of my old father Mole, whom shepheards quill
Eenowmed hath with hymnes fit for a rurall skill.
His poem called Colin Clouts Come Home Again, written in 1591, and dedicated to Sir
W. Raleigh ' from my house at Kilcolman the 27 of December, 1591'* — written therefore
after a lengthy absence in England — exhibits a full familiarity with the country
round about Kilcolman. On the whole then we may suppose that his residence at
Kilcolman began not later than 1588. It was to be roughly and terribly ended ten
years after.
We may suppose he was living there in peace and quiet, not perhaps undisturbed by
growing murmurs of discontent, by signs of unrepressed and irrepressible hostility
towards his nation, by ill-concealed sympathies with the Spanish invaders amongst
the native population, when the Armada came and went. The old castle in which
he lived had been one of the residences of the Earls of Desmond. It stood some
two miles from Doneraile, on the north side of a lake which was fed by the river Awbeg
or Mulla, as the poet christened it.
' Two miles north-west of Doneraile,' writes Charles Smith in his Natural and Civil
History of the County aud City of Cork, 1774, (i. 340, 341) — ' is Kilcoleman, a ruined
castle of the Earls of Desmond, but more celebrated for being the residence of the
immortal Spenser, when he composed his divine poem The Faerie Queene. The castle
is now almost level with the ground, and was situated on the north side of a fine
}ake, in the midst of a vast plain, terminated to the east by the county of Waterford
mountains ; Bally-howra hills to the north, or, as Spenser terms them, the mountains
of Mole, Nagle mountains to the south, and the mountains of Kerry to the west. It
commanded a view of above half the breadth of Ireland ; and must have been, when
the adjacent uplands were wooded, a most pleasant and romantic situation ; from
frhence, no doubt, Spenser drew several parts of the scenery of his poem.'
« Todd proposes to regard this date as a printer's error for 1595, quite unnecessarily,
EDMUND SPENSER.
Here, then, as in some cool sequestered vale of life, for some ten years, his visits
to England excepted, lived Spenser still singing sweetly, still, as he might say, piping,
with the woods answering him and his echo ringing. Sitting in the shade he would
play many ' a pleasant fit ; ' he would sing
Borne hymne or morall laie,
Or carol made to praise his loved lasse ;
he would see in the rivers that flowed around his tower beings who lived and loved,
and would sing of their mutual passions. It must have sounded strangely to hear the
notes of his sweet voice welling forth from his old ruin — to hear music so subtle
and refined issuing from that scarred and broken relic of past turbulencies —
The shepheard swaines that did about him play
•with greedie listf all eares
Did stand astonisht at his curious skill
Like hartlesse deare, dismayed with thunders sound.
He presents a picture such as would have delighted his own fancy, though perhaps
the actual experience may not have been unalloyed with pain. It is a picture which
in many ways resembles that presented by one of a kindred type of genius, who has
already been mentioned as of affinity with him — by Wordsworth. Wordsworth too
sang in a certain sense from the shade, far away from the vanity of courts, and the
uproar of cities ; sang ' from a still place, remote from men ; ' sang, like his own
Highland girl, all alone with the ' vale profound ' ' overflowing with the sound ; '
finding, too, objects of friendship and love in the forms of nature which surrounded his
tranquil home.
Of these two poets in their various lonelinesses one may perhaps quote those exquisite
lines written by one of them of a somewhat differently caused isolation : each one oi
them too lacked
Not friends for simple glee,
Nor yet for higher sympathy.
To his side the fallow-deer
Came and rested without fear ;
The eagle, lord of land and sea,
Stooped down to pay him fealty.
He knew the rocks which angels haunt
Upon the mountains visitant;
Ht hath kenned them taking wing ;
And into caves where Faeries sing
He hath entered ; and been told
By voices how men lined of old.
Here now and then he was visited, it may be supposed, by old friends. Perhap (
that distinguished son of the University of Cambridge, Gabriel Harvey, may for i
while have been his guest; he is introduced under his pastoral name of Hobbinol, a I
present at the poet's house on his return to Ireland. The most memorable of thesl
visits was that already alluded to-that paid him in 1589 by Sir Walter Kaleigh wit !
whom it will be remembered he had become acquainted some nine years befonj
EDMUND SPENSER.
Raleigh, too, had received a grant from the same huge forfeited estate, a fragment of
which had been given to Spenser. The granting of these, and other shares of the
Desmond estates, formed part of a policy then vigorously entertained by the English
Government — the colonising of the so lately disordered and still restless districts of
Southern Ireland. The recipients were termed ' undertakers ; ' it was one of iheir
duties to repair the ravages inflicted during the recent tumults and bring the lands
committed to them into some state of cultivation and order.
The wars had been followed by a famine. ' Even in the history of Ireland,' writes
a recent biographer of Sir Walter Raleigh, ' there are not many scenes more full of
horror than those which the historians of that period rapidly sketch when showing us
,the condition of almost the whole province of Munster in the year 1584, and the years
immediately succeeding.' *
The claims of his duties as an ' undertaker,' in addition perhaps to certain troubles
at court, where his rival Essex was at this time somewhat superseding him in the
royal favour, f and making a temporary absence not undesirable, brought Raleigh into
Cork County in 1589. A full account of this visit and its important results is given
us in Colin Clouts Come Home Again, which gives us at the same time a charming
picture of the poet's life at Kilcolman. Colin himself, lately returned home from
England, tells his brother shepherds, at their urgent request, of his ' passed fortunes.'
He begins with Raleigh's visit. One day, he tells them, as he sat
Under the foote of Mole, that mountaine hore,
Keeping my sheepe amongst the cooly shade
Of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore,
a ctrange shepherd, who styled himself the Shepherd of the Ocean—
Whether allured with my pipes delight,
Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about,
Or thither led by chaunce, I know not right —
found him out, and
Provoked me to plaie some pleasant fit.
He sang, he tells us, a song of Mulla old father Mole's daughter, and of another
river called Bregog who loved her. Then his guest sang in turn : —
His song was all a lamentable lay
Of great unkindnesse and of usage hard,
Of Cynthia the ladie of the sea.
Which from her presence faultlesse him debard,
And erer and anon, with singults rife,
He cryed out, to make his undersong :
Ah ! my loves queene and goddesse of my life,
Who shall me pittie when thou doest me wrong ?
* Mr. Edward Edwards, 1868, 1. c. vi. ; see also Colin Clouts Come Home Again, w. 312-319.
\ ' My lord of Essex hath chased Mr. Raleigh from the court and confined him in Ireland.'— Letter,
dated Augnst 1", 1589, from Captain Francis Allen to Antony Bacon, Esq.— Quoted by Todd from
Dr. Birch's Memoirt of queen Elizabeth.— Bee Mr. Edwards's life of Raleigh, I. c. viji.
EDMUND SPENSER.
After they had made an end of singing, the shepherd of the ocean
Gan to cast great lyking to my lore,
And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot
That banisht had my self e, like wight forlore,
Into that waste where I was quite forgot,
and presently persuaded him to accompany him ' his Cinthia to see.'
It has been seen from one of Harvey's letters that the Faerie Qmene was already
begun in 1580 ; and from what Bryskett says, and what Spenser says himself in his
sonnets to Lord Grey, and to Lord Ormond, that it was proceeded with after the poet
had passed over to Ireland. By the close of the year 1589 at least three books were
completely finished. Probably enough parts of other books had been written; but
only three were entirely ready for publication. No doubt part of the conversation}
that passed between Spenser and Raleigh related to Spenser's work. It may be-
believed that what was finished was submitted to Raleigh's judgment, and certainly.
concluded that it elicited his warmest approval.* One great object that Spenser pro-t
posed to himself when he assented to Raleigh's persuasion to visit England, was thej
publication of the first three books of his Faerie Queene.
CHAPTER m.
1/590.
THUS after an absence of about nine years, Spenser returned for a time to England
he returned ' bringing his sheaves with him.' Whatever shadow of misunderstandin
had previously come between his introducer — or perhaps re-introducer — and ht
Majesty seems to have been speedily dissipated. Ealeigh presented him to tl
Queen, who, it would appear, quickly recognised his merits. ' That goddess '
To mine oaten pipe enclin'd her eare
That she thenceforth therein gan take delight,
And it desir'd at timely houres to heare
Al were my notes but rude and roughly dight.
In the Registers of the Stationers' Company for 1 589 occurs the following entr;
quoted here from Mr. Arbor's invaluable edition of them : —
Primo Die Decembris.— Master Ponsonbye. Entered for his Copye a book intituled the fayre QueeD
dysposed into xli bookes &c. Aucthorysed vnder thandes of the Archb. of Canterbery & bothe tl
Wardens, vjd.
The letter of the author's prefixed to his poem ' expounding his whole intention i
the course of this worke, which for that it giveth great light to the reader, for tl
better understanding is hereunto annexed,' addressed to ' Sir Walter Raleigh, Knigh
Lord Wardein of the Stanneryes and her Maiesties liefetenaunt of the county
• See Raleigh's lines entitled 'A Vision upon this Oonceiptof the Faery Qveene,' prefixed tot
fairie Queene.
EDMUND SPENSER. xli
Cornewayll,' is dated January 23, 1589 — that is, 1590, according to the New Style.
Shortly afterwards, in 1 590, according to both Old and New Styles, was published by
William Ponsonby ' THE FAERIE QCEENE, Disposed into twelve books, Fashioning
XII Morall vertues.' That day, which we spoke of as beginning to arise in 1579,
now fully dawned. The silence of well nigh two centuries was now broken, not again
to prevail, by mighty voices. During Spenser's absence in Ireland, William Shak-
spere had come up from the country to London. The exact date of his advent it
seems impossible to ascertain. Probably enough it was 1585 ; but it may have been
a little later. We may, however, be fairly sure that by the time of Spenser's arrival
in London in 1589, Shakspere was already occupying a notable position in his
profession as an actor ; and what is more important, there can be little doubt he was
already known not only as an actor, but as a play-writer. What he had already
written was not comparable with what he was to write subsequently ; but even those
early dramas gave promise of splendid fruits to be thereafter yielded. In 1593
appeared Venus and Adonis; in the following year Lucrece ; in 1595, Spenser's
Epithalamion; in 1596, the second three books of the Faerie Quecne; in 1597
Borneo and Juliet, King Richard the Second, and King Richard the Third were printed,
and also Bacon's Essays and the first part of Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity. During all
these years various plays, of increasing power and beauty, were proceeding from
Shakspere's hands ; by 1598 about half of his extant plays had certainly been com-
'Dosed. Early in 1599, he, who may be said to have ushered in this illustrious period,
ie whose radiance first dispersed the darkness and made the day begin to be, our
poet Spenser, died. But the day did not die with him ; it was then but approaching
its noon, when he, one of its brightest suns, set. This day may be said to have fully
broken in the year 1590, when the first instalment of the great work of Spenser's life
made its appearance.
The three books were dedicated to the Queen. They were followed in the original
edition— are preceded in later editions — first, by the letter to Raleigh above mentioned ;
then by six poetical pieces of a commendatory sort, written by friends of the poet —
by Raleigh who writes two of the pieces, by Harvey who now praises and well-wishes
the poem he had discountenanced some years before, by ' R. S.,' by ' H. B.,' by ' W. L. ; '
lastly, by seventeen sonnets addressed by the poet to various illustrious personages ;
to Sir Christopher Hatton, to Lord Burghley, to the Earl of Essex, Lord Charles
Howard, Lord Grey of "Wilton, Lord Buckhurst, Sir Francis Walsingham, Sir John
Norris, Knight, lord president of Munster, Sir Walter Raleigh, the Countess of
Pembroke, and others. The excellence of the poem was at once generally perceived
and acknowledged. Spenser had already, as we have seen, gained great applause by
his Shepheardes Calendar, published some ten years before the coming out of his
greater work. During these ten years he had resided out of England, as has been
seen ; but it is not likely his reputation had been languishing during his absence.
Webbe in his Discourse of English Poetrie, 1586, had contended ' that Spenser may
well wear the garlande, and step before the best of all English poets.' The Shepheardes
Calendar had been reprinted in 1581 and in 1586 ; probably enough, other works of
ais had been circulating in manuscript ; the hopes of the country had been directed
xlii EDMUND SPENSER.
towards him ; he was known to be engaged in the composition of a great poem No
doubt he found himself famous when he reached England on the visit suggested I
Raleigh; he found a most eager expectant audience; and when at last his Foe
Quetne appeared, it was received with the utmost delight and ^miration. He was
spoken of in the same year with its appearance as the new laureate * In the sprm,
the following year he received a pension from the crown of 601. per annum. Prob-
ably however, then, as in later days, the most ardent appreciates of Spenser were the
men'of the same craft with himself-the men who too, though in a different degree, or
in a different kind, possessed the ' vision and the faculty divine.'
This great estimation of the Faerie Queene was due not only to the intrinsic charms
of the poem-to its exquisitely sweet melody, its intense pervading sense of beauty,
its abundant fancifulness, its subtle spirituality-but also to the time of its appear-
ance. For then nearly two centuries no great poem had been written in the Enghs
tongue. Chaucer had died heirless. Occleve's, lament over that great spirit's decease
had not been made without occasion : —
Alas my worthie maister honorable
This londis verray tresour and richesse
Deth by thy dethe bathe harm irreperable
TJuto us done ; hir vengeable duresse
Dispelled hathe this londe of swetnesse
Of Rethoryk fro us ; to Tullins
Was never man so like amonges us.f
And the doleful confession this orphaned rhymer makes for himself, might have
been well made by all the men of his age in England : —
My dere mayster, God his soule quite.
And fader Chaucer fayne would have me taught,
But I was dull, and learned lyte or naught.
No worthy scholar had succeeded the great master. The fifteenth century in
England had abounded in movements of profound social and political interest — in
movements which eventually fertilised and enriched and ripened the mind of the
nation ; but, not unnaturally, the immediate literary results had been of no great
value. In the reign of Henry VIII. the condition of literature, for various reasons,
had greatly improved. Surrey and Wyatt had heralded the advent of a brighter
era. From their time the poetical succession had never failed altogether. The most
memorable name in our literature between their time and the Faerie Queene is that of
Sackville, Lord Buckhurst— a name of note in the history of both our dramatic and
non-dramatic poetry. Sackville was capable of something more than lyrical essays.
He it was who designed the Mirror for Magistrates. To that poem, important as
compared with the poetry of its day, for its more pretentious conception, he himself
contributed the two best pieces that form part of it — the Induction and the Complaint
of Buckingham. These pieces are marked by some beauties of the same sort as those
which especially characterise Spenser; but they are but fragments; and in spirit
• Nash's Supplication of Pierce Pennilette, 1592.
t Skeat's Specimen! of English Literature, p. 11.
EDMUND SPENSER. xliii
they belong to an age which happily passed away shortly after the accession of Queen
Elizabeth— they are penetrated by that despondent tone which is so strikingly audible
in our literature of the middle years of the sixteenth century, not surprisingly, if the
general history of the time be considered. Meanwhile, our language had changed
much, and Chaucer had grown almost unintelligible to the ordinary reader. There-
fore, about the year 1590, the nation was practically without a great poem. At the
same time, it then, if ever, truly needed one. Its power of appreciation had been
quickened and refined by the study of the poetries of other countries ; it had trans-
lated and perused the classical writers with enthusiasm ; it had ardently pored over
the poetical literature of Italy. Then its life had lately been ennobled by deeds of
splendid courage crowned with as splendid success. In the year 1590, if ever, this
country, in respect of its literary condition and in respect of its general high and
noble excitement, was ready for the reception of a great poem.
Such a poem undoubtedly was the Faerie Queene, although it may perhaps be
admitted that it was a work likely to win favour with the refined and cultured sections
of the community rather than with the community at large. Strongly impressed on
it as were the instant influences of the day, yeb in many ways it was marked by a
certain archaic character. It depicted a world — the world of chivalry and romance —
which was departed ; it drew its images, its forms of life, its scenery, its very language,
from the past. Then the genius of our literature in the latter part of Queen Elizabeth's
jreign was emphatically dramatic ; in the intense life of these years men longed for
reality. Now the Faerie Queene is one long idealizing. These circumstances are to be
accounted for partly by the character of Spenser's genius, partly by the fact already
stated that chronologically Spenser is the earliest of the great spirits of his day. .In
truth he stands between two worlds : he belongs partly to the new time, partly to the
old ; he is the last of one age, he is the first of another ; he stretches out one hand
into the past to Chaucer, the other rests upon the shoulder of Milton.
CHAPTER IV.
. 1591-1599.
IT is easy to imagine how intensely Spenser enjoyed his visit to London. It is
uncertain to what extent that visit was prolonged. He dates the dedication of his
Colin Clouts Come Home Again 'from my house at Kilcolman, the 27 of December,
1591.' On the other hand, the dedication of his Daphnaida is dated 'London this
first of Januarie 1591,' that is 1592 according to our new style. Evidently there is
some mistake here. Prof. Craik 'suspects' that in the latter instance 'the date
lanuary 1591 ' is used in the modern meaning; he quotes nothing to justify such a
suspicion ; but it would seem to be correct. Todd and others have proposed to alter
the ' 1591 ' in the former instance to 1595, the year in which Colin Clouts Come Home
Again was published, and with which the allusions made in the poem to contemporary
xliv EDMUND SPENSER.
writers agree • but this proposal is, as we shall see, scarcely tenable. The manner
in which the publisher of the Complaints, 1591, of which publication we shall speak
presently introduces that work to the ' gentle reader,' seems to show that the poet was
not at the time of the publishing easily accessible. He speaks of having endeavoured
' by all good meanes (for the better encrease and accomplishment of your delights) to
get into my hands such small poems of the same authors, as I heard were disperst
abroad in sundrie hands, and not easie to bee come by by himselfe ; some of them
having been diverslie imbeziled and purloyned from him since his departure ouer sea.'
He says he understands Spenser 'wrote sundrie others' besides those now collected,
' besides some other Pamphlets looselie scattered abroad . . . which when I can either
by himselfe or otherwise attaine too I meane likewise for your fauour sake to set
foorth.' It may be supposed with much probability that Spenser returned to t
Irish castle some time in 1591, in all likelihood after February, in which month he
received the pension mentioned above, and on the other hand so as to have time to
write the original draught of Colin Clouts Come Home Again before the close of
December.
The reception of the Faerie Queene had been so favourable that in 1591— it would
seem, as has been shown, after Spenser's departure — the publisher of that poem
determined to put forth what other poems by the same hand he could gather
together. The result was a volume entitled ' Complaints, containing sundrie small
Poemes of the Worlds Vanitie, whereof the next page maketh mention. By Ed. Sp.'
4 The next page ' contains ' a note of the Sundrie Poemes contained in this volume : '
1. The Rnineg of Time.
2. The Teares of the Muses.
3. VirgUs Gnat.
4. Prosopopoia or Mother Hubbards Tale.
5. The Unifies of Rome, by Bellay.
6. Muiopotmos or The Tale of the Butterflle.
7. Visions of the Worlds Vanitie.
8. Bellayes Visions.
9. Petrarches Visions.
In a short notice addressed to the Gentle Reader which follows — the notice just
referred to — the publisher of the volume mentions other works by Spenser, and
promises to publish them too ' when he can attain to ' them. These works are Eccle-
siastes, The Seven Psalmi, and Canticum Canticorum — these three no doubt trans-
lations of parts of the Old Testament — A Sennight Slumber, The State of Lovers, the
Dying Pelican — doubtless the work mentioned, as has been seen, in one of Spenser's
letters to Harvey — The Howers of the Lord, and The Sacrifice of a Sinner. Many of
these works had probably been passing from hand to hand in manuscript for many
years. That old method of circulation survived the invention of the printing press for
many generations. The perils of it may be illustrated from the fate of the works just
mentioned. It would seem that the publisher never did attain to them ; and they
have all perished. With regard to the works which were printed and preserved, the
Ruines of Time, as the Dedication shows, was written during Spenser's memorable
visit of 1589-91 to England. It is in fact an elegy dedicated to the Countess of
Pembroke, on the death of Sir Philip Sidney, ' that most brave Knight, your most
EDMUND SPENSER. . xlv
noble brother deceased.' ' Sithens my late dimming into England,' the poet writes
in the Epistle Dedicatorie, ' some friends of mine (which might much prevaile with
me and indeede commaund me) knowing with howe straight bandes of duetie I was
tied to him ; as also bound unto that noble house (of which the chiefe hope then
rested in him) have sought to revive them by upbraiding me ; for that I have not
shewed anie thankefull remembrance towards him or any of them ; but suffer their
names to sleep in silence and forgetfulnesse. Whome chieflie to satisfie, or els to
avoide that fovde blot of unthankefulnesse, I have conceived this small Poeme,
intituled by a generall name of the Worlds Ruines : yet speciallie intended to the
renowming of that noble race from which both you and he sprong, and to the eter-
nizing of some of the chiefe of them late deceased.' This poem is written in a tone
that had been extremely frequent during Spenser's youth. Its text is that ancient
one ' Vanity of Vanities ; all is Vanity ' — a very obvious text in all ages, but perhaps
especially so, as has been hinted, in the sixteenth century, and one very frequently
adopted at that time. This text is treated in a manner characteristic of the age. It is
exemplified by a series of visions. The poet represents himself as seeing at Verulam
an apparition of a woman weeping over the decay of that ancient town. This
woman stands for the town itself. Of its whilome glories, she says, after a vain
recounting of them,
They all are gone and all with them is gone,
Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament
My long decay.
No one, she continues, weeps with her, no one remembers her,
Save one that maugre fortunes injurie
And times decay, and enuies cruell tort
Hath writ my record in true seeming sort.
Cambden the nourice of antiquitie,
And lauterne unto late succeeding age,
To see the light of simple veritie
Buried in ruines, through the great outrage
Of her owne people, led with warlike rage,
Cambden, though time all moniments obscure,
Yet thy just labours ever shall endure.
Then she rebukes herself for these selfish meanings by calling to mind how far
from solitary she is in her desolation. She recalls to mind the great ones of the land
who have lately fallen— Leicester, and Warwick, and Sidney — and wonders no longer
at her own ruin. Is not Transit Gloria the lesson taught everywhere ? Then other
visions and emblems of instability are seen, some of them not darkly suggesting that
what passes away from earth and apparently ends may perhaps be glorified elsewhere.
The second of these collected poems — The Tearcs of the Muses— dedicated, as we have
seen, to one of the poet's fair cousins, the Lady Strange, deplores the general intellec-
tual condition of the time. It is doubtful whether Spenser fully conceived what a
brilliant literary age was beginning about the year 1590. Perhaps his long absence
in Ireland, the death of Sidney who was the great hope of England Spenser knew,
tbfi ecclesiastical controversies raging when he revisited England, may partly account
0
xlvi . EDMUND SPENSER
for his despondent tone with reference to literature. He introduces each Muse weep-
ing for the neglect and contempt suffered by her respective province. He who describes
these tears was himself destined to dry them ; and Shakspere, who, if anyone, was to
make the faces of the Muses blithe and bright, was now rapidly approaching his prime.
There can be little doubt that at a later time Spenser was acquainted with Shakspere ;
for Spenser was an intimate friend of the Earl of Essex ; Shakspere was an intimate
friend of the E«rl of Southampton, who was one of the most attached friends of that
Earl of Essex. And a personal acquaintance with Shakspere may have been one of
the most memorable events of Spenser's visit to London in 1589. We would gladly
think that Thalia in the Teares of the Mutes refers in the following passage to
Shakspere : the comic stage, she sajs, is degraded,
And he the man whom Nature selfe had made
To mock herselfe and Truth to imitate,
With kindly counter un3er Mimick shade.
Our pleasant Willy, ah 1 is dead of late ;
With whom all joy aud jolly meriment
Is also deoded and in dolour drent.
The context shows that by ' dead ' is not meant physical death, but that
That game gentle spirit, from whose pen
Large streames of honnie and sweete nectar flowe,
produces nothing, sits idle-handed and silent, rather than pander to the grosser tastes
of the day. But this view, attractive as it is, can perhaps hardly be maintained.
Though the Tears of tJte Muses was not published, as we have seen, till 1591, it was
probably written some years earlier, and so before the star of Shakspere had arisen.
Possibly by Willy is meant Sir Philip Sidney, a favourite haunt of whose was his
sister's house at Wilton on the river Wiley or Willey, and who had exhibited some
comic power in his masque, The Lady of May, acted before the Queen in 1578. Some
scholars, however, take ' Willy ' to denote John Lily. Thus the passage at present
remains dark. If written in 1590, it certainly cannot mean Sidney, who had been
dead some years ; just possibly, but not probably, it might in that case mean
Shakspere.
Of the remaining works published in the Complaints, the only other one of recent
composition is Muiopotmos, which, as Prof. Craik suggests, would seem to be an
allegorical narrative of some matter recently transpired. It is dated 1590, but nothing
is known of any earlier edition than that which appears in the Complaints. Of the
other pieces by far the most interesting is Prosopopoia, or Mother Hubbards Tale, not
only because it is in it, as has been said, Spenser most carefully, though far from
successfully, imitates his great master Chaucer, but for its intrinsic merit — for its
easy style, its various incidents,, its social pictures. In the dedication he speaks of it
as ' These my idle labours ; which having long sithens composed in the raw conceipt rf
my youth, I lately amongst other papers lighted upon, and was by others, which liked
the same, mooved to set them foorth.' However long before its publication the poem
in the main was written, possibly some additions were made to it in or about the year
1 590 ; as for instance, the well-known passage describing ' a suitor's state,' which
reflects too clearly a bitter personal experience to have been composed before Spenser
had grown so familiar with the Court as he became during his visit to England under
EDMUND SPENSER. xlvii
Raleigh's patronage. But it is conceivable that his experience in 1578 and 1579 in-
spired the lines in question.
The remaining pieces in the Complaints consist of translations or imitations, com-
posed probably some years before, though probably in some cases, as has been shown,
revised or altogether recast.
Probably in the same year with the Complaints — that is in 1591 — was published
Dapfinaida,* 'an Elegie upon the death of the noble and vertuous Douglas Howard,
daughter and heire of Henry Lord Howard, Viscount Byndon, and wife of Arthur
Georges, Esquire.' This elegy was no doubt written before Spenser returned to
Ireland. It is marked by his characteristic diffiiseness, abundance, melody.
Certainly before the close of the year 1591 Spenser found himself once more in his
old castle of Kilcolman. A life at Court could never have suited him, however irksome
at times his isolation in Ireland may have seemed. When his friends wondered at his
returning unto
This barrein soyle,
Where cold and care and penury do dwell,
Here to keep sheepe with hunger and with toyle,
he made answer that he,
Whose former dayes
Had in rude fields bene altogether spent,
Durst not adventure such unknowen wayes,
Nor trust the guile of fortunes blandishment ;
But rather chose back to my sheepe to tourne,
Whose utmost hardnesse I before had tryde,
Then, having learnd repentance late, to mourne
Emongst those wretches which I there descryde.
That life, with all its intrigues and self-seekings and scandals, had no charms for him.
Once more settled in his home, he wrote an account of his recent absence from it,
which he entitled Colin Clouts Come Home Again. This poem was not published
till 1595 ; but, whatever additions were subsequently made to it, there can be no
doubt it was originally written immediately after his return to Ireland. Sitting in
the quiet to which he was but now restored, he reviewed the splendid scenes he had
lately witnessed ; he recounted the famous wits he had met, and the fair ladies he
had seen in the great London world ; and dedicated this exquisite diary to the friend
who had introduced him into that brilliant circle. It would seem that Raleigh had
accused him of indolence. That ever-restless schemer could not appreciate the poet's
dreaminess. ' That you may see,' writes Spenser, ' that I am not alwaies ydle as yee
think, though not greatly well occupied, nor altogither undutifull, though not precisely
officious, I make you present of this simple pastorall, unworthie of your higher
conceipt for the meanesse of the stile, but agreeing with the truth in circumstance and
matter. The which I humbly beseech you to accept in part of paiment of the infinite
debt in which I acknowledge myselfe bounden unto you for your singular favours and
Bundrie good turnes shewed to me at my late being in England, &c.'
The conclusion of this poem commemorates, as we have seen, Spenser's enduring
* This poem is in this volume reprinted from the edition of 1591. Mr. Morris thinks that Todd
was not aware of this edition. Mr. Collier reprinted from the 2nd edition— that of 159 J.
o2
xlv,,-, EDMUND SPENSER.
affection for that Rosalind who so many years before had turned away her ears from
his suit. It must have been some twelve months after those lines were penned,
that the writer conceived an ardent attachment for one Elizabeth. The active
research of Dr. Grosart has discovered that this lady belonged to the Boyle family—
a family already of importance and destined to be famous. The family seat was at
Kilcoran, near Youghal, and so we understand Spenser's singing of ' The sea that
neighbours to her near.' Thus she lived in the same county with her poet. The
whole course of the wooing and the winning is portrayed in the Amoretti or Sonneti
and the Epithalamium. It may be gathered from these biographically and otherwise
interesting pieces, that it was at the close of the year 1592 that the. poet was made a
captive of that beauty he so fondly describes. The first three sonnets would seem to
have been written in that year. The fourth celebrates the beginning of the year 1593
—the beginning according to our modern way of reckoning. All through that year
1593 the lover sighed, beseeched, adored, despaired, prayed again. Fifty-eight sonnets
chronicle the various hopes and fears of that year. The object of his passion re-
mained as steel and flint, while he wept and wailed and pleaded. His life was a long
torment. In vaine I ^^ an(i sew to ner for g^^
And doe myne humbled hart before her poure ;
The whiles her foot she in my necke doth place
And tread my life downe in the lowly floure.
In Lent she is his 'sweet saynt,' and he vows to find some fit service for her.
Her temple fayre is built within my mind
In which her glorious image placed is .
,f
But all his devotion profited nothing, and he thinks it were better ' at once to die.
He marvels at her cruelty. He cannot address himself to the further composition of
his great poem. The accomplishment of that great work were
Sufficient werke for one man's simple head,
All were it, as the rest, but rudely writ.
How then should I, without another wit,
Thinck ever to endure so tedious toyle !
Sith that this one is tost with troublous fit
Of a proud love that doth my spirit spoyle.
He falls ill in his body too. When the anniversary of his being carried into captivity
comes round, he declares, as has been already quoted, that the year just elapsed has
appeared longer than all the forty years of his life that had preceded it (sonnet 60).
In the beginning of the year 1594,
After long stormes and tempests sad assay
Which hardly I endured hertofore
In dread of death and daungerous dismay
With which my silly bark was tossed sore,
he did 'at length descry the happy shore.' The heart of his mistress softened towards
him. The last twenty-five sonnets are for the most part the songs of a lover accepted
and happy. It would seem that by this time he had completed three more books of
the Faerie Queene. and he asks leave in sonnet 70,
EDMUND SPEtiSER.
In pleasant mew
To sport my Muse and sing my loves sweet praise,
The contemplation of whose heavenly hew
My spirit to an higher pitch doth raise.
Probably the Sixth Book was concluded in the first part of the year 1594, just after
his long wooing had been crowned with success. In the tenth canto of that book he
introduces the lady of his love, and himself ' piping ' unto her. In a rarely pleasant
place on a fair wooded hill-top Calidore sees the Graces dancing, and Colin Clout
piping merrily. With these goddesses is a fourth maid ; it is to her alone that Colin
pipes : —
Pype, jolly shepheard, pype thou now apace
Unto thy love that made thee low to lout ;
Thy love is present there with thee in place ;
Thy love is there advaunst to be another Grace.
Of this fourth maid the poet, after sweetly praising the daughters of sky-ruling Jova,
sings in this wise : —
Who can aread what creature mote she bee ;
Whether a creature or a goddesse graced
With heavenly gifts from heven 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 lasse ;
Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did passe.
So farre, as doth the daughter of the day
All other lesser lights in light excell ;
So farre doth she in beautyfull array
Above all other lasses beare the bell ;
Ke lesse in vertue that beseems her well
Doth she exceede the rest of all her race.
The phrase ' country lass ' in this rapturous passage has been taken to signify that she
to whom it is applied was of mean origin ; but it scarcely bears this construction.
Probably all that is meant is that her family was not connected with the Court or the
Court circle. She was not high-born ; but she was not low-born. The final sonnets
refer to some malicious reports circulating about him, and to some local separation
between the sonneteer and his mistress. This separation was certainly ended in the
June following his acceptance — that is, the June of 1594 ; for in that month, on St
Barnabas' day, that is, on the llth, Spenser was married. This event Spenser cele-
brates in the finest, the most perfect of all his poems, in the most beautiful of all
bridal songs — in his Epithalamion. He had many a time sung for others ; he now
bade the Muses crown their heads with garlands and help him his own love's praises
to resound : —
So I unto my selfe alone will sing,
The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring.
Then, with the sweetest melody and a refinement and grace incomparable, he sin^.
with a most happy heart of various matters of the marriage day — of his love's waking,
of the merry music of the minstrels, of her coming forth in all the pride of her visible
EDMUND SPENSER.
loveliness, of that ' inward beauty of her lively spright ' which no eyes can see, of
her standing before the altar, her sad eyes still fastened on the ground, of the
bringing her home, of the rising of the evening star, and the fair face of the moon
looking down on his bliss not unfavourably, as he would hope. The Amoretti and
Epithalamion were registered at the Stationers' Hall on the 19th of November fol-
lowing the marriage. They were published in 1595, Spenser — as appears from the
1 Dedication ' of them to Sir Kobert Needham, written by the printer Ponsonby —
being still absent from England.
Meanwhile the poet had been vexed by other troubles besides those of a slowly
requited passion. Mr. Hardiman,* in his Irish Minstrelsy, has published three
petitions presented in 1593 to the Lord Chancellor of Ireland by Maurice, Lord Roche,
Viscount Fermoy, two against ' one Edmond Spenser, gentleman,' one against one
Joan Ny Callaghan — who is said to act ' by supportation and maintenance of Edmond
Spenser, gentleman, a heavy adversary unto your suppliant.' ' Where,' runs the first
petition, ' one Edmond Spenser, gentleman, hath lately exhibited suit against your
suppliant for three ploughlands, parcels of Shanballymore (your suppliant's inherit-
ance) before the Vice-president and Council of Munster, which land hath been here-
tofore decreed for your suppliant against the said Spenser and others under whom he
conveyed ; and nevertheless for that the said Spenser, being Clerk of the Council in
the said province, and did assign his office unto one Nicholas Curteys among other
agreements with covenant that during his life he should be free in the said office for
his causes, by occasion of which immunity he doth multiply suits against your sup-
pliant in the said province upon pretended title of others &c.' The third petition
averred that ' Edmond Spenser of Kilcolman, gentleman, hath entered into three
ploughlands, parcel of Ballingerath, and disseised your suppliant thereof, and con-
tinueth by countenance and greatness the possession thereof, and maketh great waste
of the wood of the said land, and converteth a great deal of corn growing thereupon
to his proper use, to the damage or the complainant of two hundred pounds sterling.
Whereunto,' continues the document, which is preserved in the Original Eolls Office,
' the said Edmond Spenser appearing in person had several days prefixed unto him
peremptorily to answer, which he neglected to do.' Therefore ' after a day of grace
given,' on the 12fh of .February, 1594, Lord Roche was decreed the possession.
Perhaps the absence from his lady love referred to in the concluding sonnets was
occasioned by this litigation. Perhaps also the 'false forged lyes '-the malicious
reports circulated about him-referred to in Sonnet 85, may have been connected
with these appeals against him. It is clear that all his dreams of Faerie did not make
him neglectful of his earthly estate. Like Shakspere, like Scott, Spenser did not
cease to be a man of the ^orld-we use the phrase in no unkindly sense— because he
was a poet. He was no mere visionary, helpless in the ordinary affairs of life In
the present case it would appear that he was even too keen in looking after his own
arts. Professor Craik charitably suggests that his poverty 'rather than
rapac,ty may be supposed to have urged whatever of hardness there was in his pro-
; is credible enough that these proceedings made him highly unpopular
• In* Uinartltv ; or. Bardic Remain, of Ireland, by J. Hardiman. London, 1831.
EDMUND SPEKSER.
with the native inhabitants of the district, and that they were not forgotten when the
day of reckoning came. ' His name,' says Mr. Hardiman, on the authority of Trotter's
Walks in Ireland* ' is still remembered in the vicinity of Kilcolman ; but the people
entertain no sentiments of respect or affection for his memory.'
In the same year with the Amoretti was published Colin Clouts Come Home Again,
.several additions having been made to the original version.
Probably at the close of this year 1595 Spenser a second time crossed to England,
accompanied, it may be supposed, by his wife, carrying with him in manuscript the
Second three books of his Faerie Qiteene, which, as we have seen, were completed
before his marriage, and also a prose work, A View of the Present State of Ireland.
Mr. Collier quotes the following entry from the Stationers' Register : —
20 die Januarii [1595].— Mr. Ponsonby. Entred &c. The Second Part of the Faerie Queene, cont. the
4, 5, and 6 bookes, vjd.
This second instalment — which was to be the last— of his great poem was duly pub-
lished in that year. The View of the Present State of Ireland was not registered
till April 1598. and then only conditionally. It was not actually printed till 1633.
During his stay in England he wrote the Hymns to Heavenly Love and Heavenly Beauty,
and the ProtJialamion, which were to be his last works.
More than four years had elapsed since Spenser had last visited -London. During
that period certain memorable works had been produced ; the intellectual power of
that day had expressed itself in no mean manner. When he arrived in London
towards the close of the year 1595, he would find Shakspere splendidly fulfilling the
promise of his earlier days ; he would find Ben Jonson just becoming known to fame ;
he would find Bacon already drawing to him the eyes of his time. Spenser probably
spent the whole of the year 1596, and part of 1597, in England. In 1597 appeared,
as has already been said, the first part of Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, and Bacon's
Essays, and also Jonson's Ever// Man in His Own Humour.
The reigning favourite at this time was the Earl of Essex. In 1596 his successful
descent upon Cadiz raised him to the zenith of his fame. With this nobleman Spenser
Was on terms of intimacy. At his London house in the Strand — a house which had
previously been inhabited by Spenser's earlier patron, the Earl of Leicester— it stood
where Essex Street now is, and is still represented by the two pillars which stand at
the bottom of that street — Spenser no doubt renewed his friendship with Shakspere.
This intimacy with Essex, with whatever intellectual advantages it may have been
attended, with whatever bright spirits it may have brought Spenser acquainted, pro-
bably impeded his prospects of preferment. There can be no doubt that one of the
motives that brought him to England was a desire to advance his fortunes. Camden
describes him as always poor. His distaste for his residence in Ireland could not but
have been aggravated by his recent legal defeat. But he looked in vain for further
preferment. He had fame, and to spare, and this was to suffice. It was during this
sojourn in England that he spoke of himself, as we have seen, as one
* ' The name and occupation of Spenser is handed do'vvn traditionally among them (the Insh) ; but
they seem to entertain no sentiments of respect or affection for his memory ; the bard came in rather
ungracious times, and the keen recollections of this untutored people are -wonderful.'— Trotter's Walls
through Ireland in the Years 1812, 1814, and 1817. London, 1819, p. 302.
lii EDMUND SPENSER.
Whom sullein care
Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay
In Princes court and expectation vayne
Of idle hopes which still doe fly away
Like empty shaddows, did afflict my brayne.
The publication of the second three books of the Faerie Queene, with a re-
impression of the first three books, placed him on the highest pinnacle of fame. Its
plentiful references to passing events — its adumbrations of the history of the time —
however it might damage the permanent value of the work from an artistic point
of view, increased its immediate popularity. How keenly these references were appre-
ciated appears from the anxiety of the Scotch King to have the poet prosecuted for his
picture of Duessa, in whom Mary Queen of Scots was generally recognised. ' Robert
Bowes, the English ambassador in Scotland, writing to Lord Burghley from Edin-
burgh 12th November, 1596, states that great offence was conceived by the King
against Edmund Spenser for publishing in print, in the second part of the Faery
Queen, ch. 9, some dishonourable effects, as the King deemed, against himself and his
mother deceased. Mr. Bowes states that he had satisfied the King as to the privilege
under which the book was published, yet he still desired that Edmund Spenser for this
fault might be tried and punished. It further appears, from a letter from George
Nicolson to Sir Robert Cecil, dated Edinburgh, 25 February, 1597-8, that Walter
Quin, an Irishman, was answering Spenser's book, whereat the King was offended.' *
The View of the Present State of Ireland, written dialogue-wise between Eudoxus
and Irenaeus, though not printed, as has been said, till 1633, seems to have enjoyed a
considerable circulation in a manuscript form. There are manuscript copies of this
tractate at Cambridge, at Dublin, at Lambeth, and in the British Museum. It is
partly antiquarian, partly descriptive, partly political. It exhibits a profound sense of
the unsatisfactory state of the country — a sense which was presently to be justified in
a frightful manner. Spenser had not been deaf to the ever-growing murmurs of dis-
content by which he and his countrymen had been surrounded. He was not in advance
of his time in the policy he advocates for the administration of Ireland. He was far
from anticipating that policy of conciliation whose triumphant application it may
perhaps be the signal honour of our own day to achieve. The measures he proposes
are all of a vigorously repressive kind ; they are such measures as belong to a military
occupancy, not to a statesmanly administration. He urges the stationing numerous
garrisons ; he is for the abolishing native customs. Such proposals won a not un-
favourable hearing at that time. They have been admired many a time since.
It is to this work of Spenser's that Protector Cromwell alludes in a letter to his
council in Ireland, in favour of William Spenser, grandson of Edmund Spenser, from
whom an estate of lands in the barony of Fermoy, in the county of Cork, descended on
him. ' His grandfather," he writes, ' was that Spenser who, by his writings touching
the reduction of the Irish to civility, brought on him the odium of that nation ; and
: those works and his other good services Queen Elizabeth conferred on him that
estate which the said William Spenser now claims.' t This latter statement is
* Cooper's Athen. Cantab.
* See MX. Edwards's L\fe of Raleyh, vol. i. p. 128.
EDMUND SPENSER. liii
evidently inaccurate. Spenser, as we have seen, had already held his estate for some
years when he brought his View to England.
Spenser dates the dedication of his Hymns from Greenwich, September 1, 1596.
Of these four hymns, two had been in circulation for some years, though now for the
first time printed ; the other two now first appeared. ' Having in the greener times
of my youth,' he writes, ' composed these former two hymnes in the praise of love and
beautie, and finding that the same too much pleased those of like age and disposition,
which being too vehemently caried with that kind of affection do rather sueke out
poyson to their strong passion than hony to their honest delight, I was moved by
one of you two most excellent ladies [the ladies Margaret, Countess of Cumberland,
Mary, Countess of Warwick] to call in the same ; but unable so to doe, by reason that
many copies thereof were formerly scattered abroad, I resolved at least to amend,
and by way of retraction to reforme them, making (instead of those two hymnes of
earthly or naturall love and beautie) two others of heavenly and celestiall.' This
passage is interesting for the illustration it furnishes of Spenser's popularity. It is
also highly interesting, if the poems themselves be read in the light of it, as showing
the sensitive purity of the poet's nature. It is difficult to conceive how those ' former
hymns ' should in any moral respect need amending. The moralising and corrective
purpose with which the two latter were written perhaps diminished their poetical
beauty ; but the themes they celebrate are such as Spenser could not but ever descant
upon with delight ; they were such as were entirely congenial to his spirit. He here
set forth certain special teachings of his great master Plato, and abandoned himself
to the high spiritual contemplations he loved. But perhaps the finest of these four
hymns is the second — that in honour of Beauty. Beauty was indeed the one worship
of Spenser's life — not mere material beauty — not ' the goodly hew of white and red
with which the cheekes are sprinkled,' or 'the sweete rosy leaves so fairly spred upon
the lips,' or ' that golden wyre,' or ' those sparckling stars so bright,' but that inner
spiritual beauty, of which fair hair and bright eyes are but external expressions.
So every spirit, as it is most pure
And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer bodie doth procure
To habit in, and it more fairely dight
With chearfull grace and amiable sight ;
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,
For soule is forme and doth the bodie make.
This hymn is one high refined rapture.
Before the close of the year 1596 Spenser wrote and published the ProtAalamion
or ' A spousall verse made in honour of the double marriage of the two honourable
and vertuous ladies, the ladie Elizabeth, and the ladie Katherine Somerset, daughters
to the right honourable the Earle of Worcester, and espoused to the two worthie
gentlemen, M. Henry Gilford and M. William Peter Esquyers.' It was composed
after the return of Essex from Spain, for he is introduced in the poem as then re-
siding at his house in the Strand. It is a poem full of grace and beauty, and of
matchless melodiousness.
Iiv EDMUND SPENSER.
This ie the last complete poem Spenser wrote. No doubt he entertained the idea
of completing his Faerie Queene; and perhaps it was after 1596 that he composed
the two additional cantos, which are all, so far as is known, that he actually wrote.
But the last poem completed and published in his lifetime was the Prothalamion.
This second visit to England at last came to an end. It was probably in 1597 that
he returned once more to Kilcolman. In the following year he was recommended by
her Majesty for Sheriff of Cork. But his residence in Ireland was now to be rudely
terminated.
The Irishry had, ever since the suppression of Desmond's rebellion in 1582, been
but waiting for another opportunity to rise, that suppression not having brought
pacification in its train. In the autumn of 1598 broke out another of these fearful
insurrections, of which the history of English rule in Ireland is mainly composed.
In the September of that year Spenser was at the zenith of his prosperity. In that
month arrived the letter recommending his appointment to be Sheriff of Cork. It
Beems legitimate to connect this mark of royal favour with the fact that at the begin-
ning of the preceding month Lord Burghley had deceased. The great obstructor of
the Queen's bounty was removed, and Spenser might hope that now, at last, the hour
of his prosperity was come. So far as is known, his domestic life was serene and
happy. The joys of the husband had been crowned with those of the father. Two
sons, as may be gathered from the names given to them — they were christened Sylvanus
and Peregrine— had been by this time born to him ; according to Sir William Betham,
•who drew up a pedigree of Spenser's family, another son and a daughter had been
born between the birth of Sylvanus and that of Peregrine. Then he was at this time
the recognised prince of living poets. The early autumn of 1598 saw him in the
culminating enjoyment of all these happinesses.
In October the insurgents burst roughly in upon his peace. No doubt his occupation
of the old castle of Desmond had ever been regarded with fierce jealousy. While he
had dreamed his dreams and sung his songs in the valley, there had been curses mut-
tered against him from the hills around. At last the day of vengeance came. The
outraged natives rushed down upon Kilcolman ; the poet and his family barely made
their escape ; his home was plundered and burned. According to Ben Jonson, in the
conversation with Drummond, quoted above, not all his family escaped ; one little
child, new born, perished in the flames. But, indeed, the fearfulness of this event
needs no exaggeration. In profound distress Spenser arrived once more in London,
bearing a despatch from Sir Thomas Norreys, President of Munster, to the Secretary
of State, and of course himself full of direct and precise information as to the Irish
tumult, having also drawn up an address to the Queen on the subject. Probably,
the hardships and horrors he had undergone completely prostrated him. On January
16, 1599, he died in Westminster. As to the exact place, a manuscript note found
by Brand, the well-known antiquary, on the title-page of a copy of the second edition
of the Faerie Queene, though not of indisputable value, may probably enough be
accepted, and it names King Street. Ben Jonson says, ' he died for lack of bread ; '
but this must certainly be an exaggeration. No doubt he returned to England
' inops ' -in a state of poverty— as Camden says ; but it is impossible to believe that
EDMUND SPENSER. lv
he died of starvation. His friend Essex and many another were ready to minister
to his necessities if he needed their ministry. Jonson's story is that he ' refused
twenty pieces sent him by my lord Essex, and said he was sure he had no time to
spend them.' This story, if it is anything more than a mere vulgar rumour, so far as it
shows anything, shows that he was in no such very extreme need of succour. Had his
destitution been so complete, he would hava accepted the pieces for his family, even
though ' he had no time to spend them himself.' It must be remembered that he was
still in receipt of a pension from the crown ; a pension of no very considerable
amount, perhaps, but still large enough to satisfy the pangs of hunger. But numerous
passages might be quoted to show that he died in somewhat straitened circumstances.
It was said, some thirty-four years after Spenser's death, that in his hurried flight
from Ireland the remaining six books of the Faerie Queene were lost. But it is very
unlikely that those books were ever completed.* Perhaps some fragments of them
may have perished in the flames at Kilcolman — certainly only two cantos have reached
us. These were first printed in 1611, when the first six books were republished.
The general testimony of his contemporaries is that his song was broken off in the
midst. Says Browne in his Britannia's Pastorals (Book ii. s, 1) :—
But ere he ended his melodious song,
An host of angels flew the clouds among,
And rapt this swan from his attentive matcsj
To make him one of their associates
In heaven's faire choir.
One S. A. Cokain writes : —
If, honour'd Colin, thou hadst lived so long
As to have finished thy Fairy song,
Not only mine but all tongues would confess,
Thou hadst exceeded old Maeonides.
He was buried near Chaucer — by his own wish, it is said — in Westminster Abbey,
' poetis funus ducentibus,' with poets following him to the grave — bearing the pall, as
we might say — the Earl of Essex furnishing the funeral expenses, according to
Camden. It would seem from a passage in Browne's Britannia's Pastorals ' that the
Queen ordered a monument to be erected over him, but that the money was otherwise
appropriated by one of her agents.' The present monument, restored in 1778, was
erected by Anne, Countess of Dorset, in 1620.
His widow married again before 1603, as we learn from a petition presented to the
Lord Chancellor of Ireland in that year, in which Sylvanus sues to recover from her
and her husband Roger Seckerstone certain documents relating to the paternal estate.
She was again a widow in 1606. Till a very recent time there were descendants of
Spenser living in the south of Ireland.
* No doubt he intended to complete his work. See book vi. canto v. st. 2 :
' When time shall be to tell the same ; '
but this time never was.
1869 JOHN W. HALES.
Kevised 1896.
THE FAERIE QVEENE.
DISPOSED INTO TWELUE BOOKS,
FASHIONING
XII. MOBALL VERTUES.
TO
THE MOST HIGH, MIGHTIE, AND MAGNIFICENT
EMPRESSE,
HENOWMBD FOE P1ETIE, VERTVE, AND ALL GRAT1OVS GOVERNMENT,
ELIZABETH,
BY THE GRACE OF GOD,
Qbtent of (Englaiiir, Jrabntt, anb irtlanb, anb of Virginia.
Iptftnbobr of % <faii|j, &t.
HER MOST HVMBLE SERVAVNT
EDMVND SPENSER,
DOTH, IN ALL HVMIUTIE,
DEDICATE, PRESENT, AND CONSECRATE
THESE HIS LABOVRS,
TO LIVE WITH THE ETERNITIE OF HER FAME.1
1 In the first edition of 1590 the Dedication WHS as follows :— To the most Mightie ai
Magnificent Empresse Elizabeth, by the Grace of God Qveene of England, France and Ireland
Defender of the Faith &c.
Her most humble Sernant :
ED. SPENSER.
EXPOUNDING HIS WHOLE INTENTION IN THE COURSE OK THIS WORKE : WHICH, FOR
THAT IT GIVETII CHEAT LIGHT TO THE READER, FOR THE BETTER
UNDERSTANDING IS HEREUNTO ANNEXED.
TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND VALOROUS
SIR WALTER RALEIGH, KNIGHT,
LORD WARDEIN OF THE STANNERYES, AND HER MAIESTIES LIEFETENAUNT OF THE
COUNTY OF CORNEWAYLL.
Sir, knowing how doubtfully all Allegories may \
be construed, and thin booke of mine, which I ',
have entituled the Faery Queene, being a con- j
tinned Allegory, or darke conceit, 1 haue thought i
good, as well f or avoy ding ofgealous opinions and \
misconstructions, us also for your better light in
reading thereof, (being so by you commanded.') \
to discover unto you the general intention and j
meaning, which in the wholecourse thereof J have j
fashioned, without expressing of any particular •,
purposes, or by accidents, therein occasioned.
The general! end therefore of all the booke is to
fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous
ami gentle discipline: Which for that I conceived
slioulde be most plausible and pleasing, being
coloured with an liistoricall fiction, the which the
most part of men delight to read, rather for
variety of matter then for profite of the ensample,
I chose the historye of King Arthure, as most
jilte fur the excellency of his person, being made
famous by many mens former workes, and also
furthest from Uie daungrr of envy, and suspition
of present time. In which I liar e followed all
the antique Poets historical! ; first Homere, tvho
in the Persons of Agamemnon and U/ysses hath
enttanipled a good governour and a vertuous man,
the one in his llias, the other in his Odysseis:
then Virgil, whose like intention was to due in
the person of Aeneas : after him Anosto com-
prised them both in his Orlando, and lately
Tasso dissevered them againe, and formed both
parts in two persons, namely that part which
they in Philosophy call Ktliice, or vertues of a
private man. coloured in his Rinaldo ; the other
named Polittce in his Godfredo. By enwtmple
W which cxci-lleute Poets, I labour topourtruict
in Arthure, before he rcas king, the image of a
brai-K knit/lit, perfected in the twelve private
uuirall aertues, as Aristotle hath devised; the
which is the purpose of these first twelve bfioltes:
which if I finde to be well accepted, 1 may be
perhaps encoraged to frame the other part of
polliticke vertues in his person, after that lice
came to be king.
To some, I hnow, this Methode will seeme
displeasaunt, which had rather have good disci-
pline delivered plainly in way of precepts, or
sermoned at large, as they use, then thus clowdity
enwrapped in Allegoricall devises. But such.
me seeme, should be satisfide with the use of
these dayes, seeing all things accounted by their
showes, and nothing esteemed of, that is not
delightful/ and pleasing to commune sence. For
this cause is Xenophon preferred before Plaio,
for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his
judgement, formed a Commune welth, such as it
should be ; but the other in the person of Cyrus,
and the Persians, fashioned a governement, such
as might best be : So much more profitable and
gratious is doctrine by ensample, then by rule.
So haue I laboured to doe in the person of
Arthure: u-home 1 conceive, after his long edu-
cation by Timjn, to whom he was by Merlin
delivered to be brought up, so soone as he wits
borne of the Lady Jgrayne. to have seene in a
dream or vision the Faery Queen, with a7iO.se
excellrnt beauty ravished, he awaking resolved
1o seeke her out; and so being by Merlin armed,
and by Timon throughly instructed, he went to
ieeke her forth in Faerye land. In that Faery
Queene 1 means glory in my generall intention,
but in my particular J conceive the most excellent
and glorious person of our soveraine the Queenr,
and her kinpdome in Faery land. And yet, in
some places els. I doe otherwise shadow her. Fur
considering .»/ie beareth two persons, the one of it
most royall Queene or Empresse. the other of a
most vertuous and beautifull Lady, this latttt
B2
A LETTER OF THE AUTHORS.
part in some places I doe expresse In Belphiebe, Faery Queene to assygne her some one of her
fashioning her name according to your owne ex- knights to take on him that exployt. Presently
fasli
cellent conceipt of Cynthia, (Phoebe and Cynthia
being both names of Diana.) So in the person
of Prince Arthurs I sette forth magnificence in
that clownish person, upstarting, desired that
adventure: whereatthe Queene much wondering,
and the Lady much gainesaying, yet he earnestly
particular ; which vertue,for that (according to ' importuned his desire. In the end the Lady told
Aristotle and the rest) it is the perfection of all him, that unlesse that armour which she brought,
the rest, and conteineth in it them all, therefore would serve him (that is, the armour of a Chris-
in the whole course I mention the deedes of
Arthure applyable to that vertue, which I write
of in that boohe. But of the xii. other vertues,
I make ill. other hnigh'ts the patrones, for the
more variety of the history: Of which these three
bookes contayn three.
The first of the knight of the Redcrosse, in
whome I expresse Holynes : The seconds of Sir
Guyon, in whome I sette forth Temperaunce : ! first booke, viz.
tian man specified by Saint Paul, vi. Ephes.)
that he could not succeed in that enterprise ; whicli
being forthwith put upon him, with dewe furni-
tures thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in
al that company, and was well liked of the Lady.
And eftesoones taking on him knighthood, and
mounting on tJiat straunge Courser, he went forth
witli her on that adventure : where beginne'th the
The third of Sritomartis, a Lady Knight, in
whome 1 picture Chastity. But, because the
beginning of the whole worke seemeth abrupte,
A gentle knight was pricking on theplayne. <kc.
The second day ther came in a Palmer, bear-
and as depending upon other antecedents, it needs '"ff an Infant with bloody hands, whose Parents
that ye know the occasion of these three knights ne complained to havebene slayn by an Enchaunt-
seuerall adventures. For the Methods of a Poet er«we called Acrasia ; and therfore craved of
historical is not such, as of an Historiographer. tJ'e Faery Queene, to appoint him some knight
For an Historiographer discourseth ofuffayres toperforme that adventure ; which being assigned
orderly as they were donne, accounting 'as well \ *o Sir Guyon, he presently went forth with t/uit
the times as the actions; but a Poet thrusteth **»« Palmar: which is the beginning of the
into the middest, even where it most concerneth \ second booke, and the whole subject thereof. The
him,andtliererecoursinglotliethingesforepaste, third day there ca>lte in a Groome, who com-
and divining of tiling KS to come, maketh a pleas-
ing Analysis of all.
The beginning therefore of my history, if it
were to be told by an Historiographer should be
the twelfth booke. which is the last; where I devise
tltat the Faery Queene kept her Annuall feaste
rii. dayes; nppon which xii. severall dayes, tlie
occasions of the xii. severall adventures hapned,
which, being undertaken by xii. several! knights,
are in these xii. hooks severally luindled and
discoursed. The first was this. In the begin-
ning of the feast, there presented him selfe a tall
clownishe younge man, who falling before the
Queene of Furies desired a boone (as the manner
then was) which during that feast she might not
refuse; which was that hee might have the at-
chieoement of any adventure, which during tliat
feaste should happen : that being graunted, he
rested him on tiie flonre, unfitte through his rus-
ticity for a betlzr place. Soone after entred a
faire Istdye in mourning weedes, riding on a
white Asse, with a dwarj'e behind her leading a
warlike steed, that bore the Armes of a kniqht.
and his speare in the du-arfes hand. Shee, fall-
ing before the Queene of Faeries, comptayned
tliat her fullirr and mother, an ancient King and
Qiteenf. had l>, ne l>u an huge dragon many years
a/tut n/> in n lirus-n Cattle, who thence suffred
them iu>t to yssew ; ard therefore besought the
plained before the Faery Queene, that a vile
Enchaunter, called Busirane, had in hand
most faire Lady, called Amoretta, whom he Aq
in most grievous torment, because she would n<
yield him the pleasure of her body. Wliereupon
Sir Scudamour, the lover of that La'ly, pre-
sently tooke on him that adventure. But tieii
vnable to performe it by reason of t/ie hard Ei
cliauntments, after long sorrow, in the end m
witli Britomartis, wlio succoured him, and res-
kewed his loue.
But by occasion hereof many other adventures
are intermedled; but ratfier as Accidents then
intendments: As the love of Jiritomart, the orrr-
throw of Marinell, tlie misery of Florimdl. the
vertuousnes of Belphabe. the lasciviousnes of
Hellenora, and many the like.
Thus much, Sir, I have briefly overronne tn
direct your understanding to the wel-head of the
History; that from thence gathering the whole
intention of the conceit, ye may as in a handfull
gripe al the discourse, which otherwise may hap-
pily seeme tedious and confused. So, humbly
craving the continuance of your honorable favour \
towards me, and th' eternall extablislnnent of\
your happinrs. I humbly tithe leave.
23. Tan-wry 1 /V.X9,
Yours nut*t humbly affectionate,
Ed. Spenser. I
VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR.
4 Vision upon this conceipt of the Faery
Queene.
<£'E thought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Within that Temple where the vestall flame
Was wont to burne ; and passing by that way
To see that buried dust of living fame,
Whose tumbe faire love, and fairer vertue kept,
All suddeinly I saw the Faery Queene :
At whose approch the soule of Petrarke wept,
And from thenceforth those graces were not seene ;
For they this Queene attended, in whose steed
Oblivion laid him downe on Lauras horse.
Hereat the hardest stones were seene to bleed,
And grones of buried ghostes the hevens did perse :
Where Homers spright did tremble all for griefe,
And curst th' accesse of that celestiall theife.
Another of the same.
The prayse of meaner wits this worke like profit i
brings, [sings. I
As doth the Cuckoes song delight when Philumena
If thou hast formed right true vertues face herein,
Vertue her selfo can best discerne to whom they i
written bin. [divine !
If thou hast beauty praysd, let her sole lookes i
Judge if ought therein be amis, and mend it by
her eine.
If Chastitie want ought, or Temperaunce her dew,
Behold her Princely mind aright, and write thy
Queene anew.
Meane while she shall perceive, how far her vertues
sore [of yore :
Alwve the reach of all that live, or such as wrote
And thereby will excuse and favour thy good will ;
Whose vertue can not be exprest, but by an Angels
quill.
Of me no lines are lov'd, nor letters are of price,
Of all which speak our English tongue, but those
of thy device.
W. R.
To the learned Shepeheard.
Colly n, I see, by thy new taken taske,
Some sacred fury hatli enricht thy braynes,
That leades thy muse in haughty verse to maskc,
And loath the layes that longs to lowly swaynes ;
That lifts thy notes from Shepheardes unto kinges :
So like the lively Larke that mounting singes.
Thy lovely Rosolinde seemes now forlorne,
And all thy gentle flockes forgotten quight :
Thy chaunged hart now holdes thy pypes in scorne,
Those prety pypes that did thy mates delight ;>
Those trusty mates, that loved thee so well ;
\V horn thou gav'st mirth, as they gave thee the bell.
Yet, as thou earst with thy sweete roundelayes
Didst stirre to glee our lackles in homely bowers ;
So moughtst thou now in these refyned layes
Delight the daintie cares of higher powers :
And so mought they, in their deepe skanning skill,
Alow and grace our Collyns flowing quyll.
And faire befall that Faery Queene of thine,
In whose faire eyes love linckt with vertue sittes :
Enfusing, by those bewties fyers devyne,
Such high conceites into thy humble wittes,
As raised hath poore pastors oaten reedes
From rustick tunes, to chaunt heroique deedes.
So mought thy Redcrosse knight with happy hand
Victorious be in that faire Hands right,
Which thou dost vayle in Type of Faery land,
Elizas blessed field, that Albion hight : [foes,
That shieldes her friendes, and warres her mightie
Yet still with people, peace, and plentie flowes.
But (jolly shepheard) though with pleasing style
Thou feast the humour of the Courtly trayne,
Let not conceipt thy setled sence beguile,
Ne daunted be through envy or disdaine.
Subject thy dome to her Empyring spright, [light.
From whence thy Muse, and all the world, takes
HOBYNOIX.
Fayre Thatnis streams, that from Ludds stately
towne
Runst paying tribute to the Ocean seas,
Let all thy Nymphes and Syrens of renowne
Be silent, whyle this Bryttane Orpheus playes.
Nere thy sweet bankes there lives that sacred
crowne,
Whose hand strowes Palme and never-dying bayes :
Let all at once, with thy soft murmuring sowne,
Present her with this worthy Poets prayes ;
For he hath taught hye drifts in shepehenles wccdes,
And deepe conceitcs now singes in Faeries deedes.
U.S.
VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR.
Grave Muses, march in triumph and with prayses
Our Goddesse here hath given you leave to land ;
And biddes this rare dispenser of your graces
Bow downe his brow unto her sacred hand.
Deserte findes dew in that most princely doome,
In whose sweete brest are all the Muses bredde :
So did that great Augustus erst in Eoome
With leaves of fame adorne his Poets hedde.
Faire 1x2 the guerdon of your Faery Queene,
Even of the fairest that the world hath seene !
H. B.
When stout Achilles heard of Helens rape,
And what revenge the States of Greece devisd,
Thinking by sleight the fatall warres to scape,
In womans weedes him selfe he then disguisde ;
But this devise Ulysses soone did spy,
And brought him forth the chaunce of warreto try.
When Spencer saw the fame was spredd so large,
Through Faery land, of their renowned Queene,
Loth that his Muse should take so great a charge,
As in such haughty matter to be seene,
To feeme a shepeheard then he made his choice ;
But Sydney heard him sing, and knew his voice.
And as Ulysses brought faire Thetis sonne
From his retyred life to menage armes.
So Spencer was by Sidney's speaches wonne
To blaze her fame, not fearing future harmes ;
For well he knew, his Muse would soone be tyred
In her high praise, that all the world admired.
Yet as Achilles, in those warlike frayes,
Did win the palme from all the Grecian Peeres,
So Spenser now. to his immortall prayse,
Hath wonne the Laurell quite from all his feres.
Whnt though his taske exceed a humaine witt,
He is excus'd, sith Sidney thought it fltt.
W. L.
To looke upon a worke of rare devise
The which a workman setteth out to view,
And not to yield it the deserved prise
That unto such a workmanship is dew,
Doth either prove the judgement to be naught,
Or els doth shew a mind with envy fraught.
To labour to commend a peece of worke,
Which no man goes about to discommend,
Would raise a jealous doubt, that there did lurke
Some secret doubt whereto the prayse did tend ;
For when men know the goodnes of the wyne,
'Tis needlesse for the hoast to have a sygne.
Thus then, to shew my judgement to be such
As can discerne of colours blacke and white,
As alls to free my minde from envies tuch,
That never gives to any man his right,
I here pronounce this workmanship is such
As that no pen can set it forth too much.
And thus I hang a garland at the dore ;
Not for to shew the goodness of the ware ;
But such hath beene the custome heretofore,
And customes very hardly broken are ;
And when your tast shall tell you this is trew,
Then looke you give your hoast his utmost dew.
IGNOTO.
VERSES
ADUKKSSED, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE FAERIE QUEHNE, TO VARIOUS NOBLEMEN, &C.
To the Right honourable Sir Christopher , To the Right Honourable the Earle of Oxen-
Hation, Lord high Chauncelor of England, \ ford, Lord high Chamberlayne of Eng.
<fe. land,
THOSE prudcntheads, that with theirc counsels
wise
Whylom the pillours of th' earth did sustaine,
And" taught ambitious Rome to tyrannise
And in the neck of all the world to rayne ,
Oft from those grave affaires were wont ab-
staine,
With the sweet Lady Muses for to play :
So Ennius the elder Africane,
So Maro oft did C»sars cares allay, [sway
So you, great Lord, that with your counsell
The burdeine of this kingdom mightily,
With like delightes sometimes may eke delay
The rugged brow of carefull Policy ,
And to these ydle rymes lend litle space,
Which for their titles sake may tind more grace.
Receive, most Noble Lord, in gentle gree,
The unripe fruit of an unready wit ;
Which by thy countenaunce'doth crave to
bee
Defended from foule Envies poisnous bit.
Which so to doe may thee right well befit,
Sith th' antique glory of thine auncestry
Under a shady vele is therein writ,
And eke thine owne long living memory,
Succeeding them in true nobility :
And also for the love which thou doest beare
To th' Heliconian ymps, and they to thee ; •
They unto thee, and thou to them, most
deare :
Deare as thou art unto thy selfe, so love
That loves and honours thee, as doth behove.
To the most honourable and excellent Lord the\
Earle of Essex. Great Maister of the To the right honourable the Earle of North-
Horse to her Hiffknesse, and knight of
the Noble order of the Garter, $c.
Magnificke Lord, whose verities excellent,
Doe merit a most famous Poets witt
To be thy living praises instrument,
umberland.
The sacred Muses have made alwaies clame
To be the Nourses of nobility,
And Registres of everlasting fame,
To all that armes professe and chevalry.
Yet doe not sdeigneto let thy name be writt Then, by like right the noble Progeny,
In this base Poeme, for thee far unfitt : Which them succeed in fame and worth, are
Nought is thy worth disparaged thereby ; tyde
But when my Muse, whose fethers, nothing T' embrace the service of sweete Poetry ,\
flitt, By whose endcvours they are glorifide ;
And eke from all, of whom it is envide,
To patronize the authour of their praise,
Doe yet but flagg, and lowly learne to fly,
With bolder wing shall dare alofte to sty
To the last praises of this Faery Queene ;
Then shall it make more famous memory
Of thine Hcroicke parts, such as they beene
Till then, vouchsafe thy noble countcnaunce
To these first labours needed furtheraunce.
Which gives them life, that els would soone
have dide,
Andcrownes their ashes with immortall bales.
; To thee, therefore, right noble Lord, 1 send
1 This present of my paines, it to defend.
VERSES ADDRESSED BY THE AUTHOR
To the right Honourable the Earle of
Ormond and Ossory.
Receive, most noble Lord, a simple taste
Of the wilde fruit which salvage soyl hath
bred ; [waste,
Which, being through long wars left almost
With brutish barbarisme is overspredd :
And, in so faire a land as may be redd,
Not one Parnassus nor one Helicone,
Left for sweet* Muses to be harboured,
But where thy selfe hast thy brave man-
sione :
There, in deede, dwel faire Graces many one,
And gentle Nymphes, delights of learned
And in thy person, without paragone, [wits;
All goodly bountie and true honour sits.
Such, therefore, as that wasted soyl doth yield,
Receive, dear Lord, in worth, the fruit of bar-
ren tii-ld.
To the right honourable the Lord Ch. Howard
And roughly wrought in an unlearned Loome:
The which vouchsafe, dear Lord, your favorable
doome.
To the right noble and valorous knight,
Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Wardein of thl
Stanneryes, and lifftenaunt of Cornewaile.
To thee, that art the sommers Nightingale,
Thy soveraine Goddesses most deare delight,
Why doe I send this rusticke Madrigale,
That may thy tunefull eare unseason quite?
Thou onely fit this Argument to write,
In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built
her bowre,
And dainty love learnd sweetly to endite.
My rimes I know unsavory and sowre,
To tast the streames that, like a golden showre,
Flow from thy fruitful! head, of thy love's
praise ;
Fitter, perhaps, to thonder Martiall stowre,
When so thee list thy lofty M use to raise :
Lord high Admiral of England, knight of Yet, till that thou thy'Poeme wilt make knowne,
the noble order of the Garter, and one o/^Let thy faire Cinthias praises be thus rudely
her Majesties privie Counsel, Sfc,
And ye, brave Lord, whose goodly personage
And noble deeds, each other garnishing,
lake you ensample to the present age
Of th' old Heroes, whose famous ofspring
The antique Poets wont so much to sing;
In this same Pageaunt have a worthy place,
Sith those huge castles of Castilian King,
That vainly threatnedkingdomes to displace,
Like flying doves ye did before you chace ;
And that proud people, woxen insolent
Through many victories, didst first deface
Thy praises everlasting monument
Is in this verse engraven semblably,
That it may live to all posterity.
To the most renowned and valiant Lord, the
Lord Grey of Wilton, knight of the Noble
order of the Garter, $c.
Most Noble Lord, the pillor of my life,
And Patrone of my Muses pupillage ;
Through whose large bountie, poured on me
In the first season of my feeble age, [rife
I now doe live, bound yours by vassalage ;
Sith nothing ever may redeeme, nor reave
Out of your endlesse debt, so sure a gage,
Vouchsafe in worth this small guift to re-
crave,
Which in your noble hands for pledge I leave
Of all the rest that I am tyde t' account :
Uude rymes, the which a rustick Muse did
weave
In savadge soyle, far from Parnasso Mount,
showne.
To the right honourable the Lord Burleig,
Lord high Threasurer of England.
To you, right noble Lord, whose carefull brest
To menage of most grave affaires is bent ;
And on whose mightie shoulders most doth
rest
Theburdeinof thiskingdomesgovernement,
As the wide compasse of the firmament
On Atlas mighty shoulders is upstayd,
Unfitly I these ydle rimes present,
The labor of lost time, and wit unstayd :
Yet if their deeper sence be inly wayd,
And the dim vele, with which from com-
mune vew
Their fairer parts are hid, aside be laytl,
Perhaps not vaine they may appeare to you.
Such as they be, vouchsafe them to receave,
And wipe theirfaults out of your censure grave. >.
E. S.
To the right honourable the Earle of Cum-
berland.
Redoubted Lord, in whose corageous mind
The tiowre of chevalry, now bloosming faire,
Doth promise fruite worthy the noble kind
Which of their praises have left you the
haire;
To you this humble present I prepare,
For love of vertue and of Martiall praise;
To which though nobly ye inclined are,
As goodlie well ye shew'd in late assaies,
TO SEVERAL NOBLEMEN, ETC.
fet brave ensample of long passed dales,
In which trew honor yee may fashioned see,
To like desire of honor may ye raise,
And fill your mind with magnanimitee.
Deceive it, Lord, therefore, as it was roent,
For honor of your name and high descent.
E. S.
To the right honourable the Lord of Huns-
don, high Chamberlains to her Majesty.
Renowmed Lord, that, for your worthinesse
And noble deeds, have your deserved place
High in the favour of that Emperesse,
The worlds sole glory anil her sexes grace :
ffere eke of right have you a worthie place,
Both for your nearnes to that Faerie Queen e
And for your owne high merit in like cace :
Of which, apparaunt proofe was to be scene,
When that tumultuous rage and fearfull deene
Of Northerne rebels ye did pacify,
And their disloiall powre defaced clene,
The record of enduring memory.
Live, Lord, for ever in this lasting verse,
That all posteritie thy honor may reherse.
To the right honourable the Lord of Buck-
hurst, one of her Majesties prime Counsell.
In vain I thinke, right honourable Lord,
By this rude rime to memorize thy name,
Whose learned Muse hath writ her owne re-
cord
In golden verse, worthy immortal fame :
Thou much more fit (were leasure to the same)
Thy gracious Soverains praises to compile,
And her imperiall Majestic to frame
In loftie numbers and heroicke stile.
But, sith thou maist not so, give leave a whil<
To baser wit his power therein to spend,
Whose grosse defaults thy daintie pen maj
And unadvised oversights amend. [tile
But evermore vouchsafe it to maintaine
Against vile Zoilus backbitings vaine.
To the right honourable Sir Fr. Walsingham
knight, principall Secretary to her Ma
jeslf/, and one of her honourable privy
Counsell.
That Mantuane Poetes incompared spirit,
Whose girland now is set in highest place,
Had not Mecamas, for his worthy merit,
It first advaunst to great Augustus grace.
Might long perhaps have lien in silence bace
Ne bene so much admir'd of later age. [trace
This lowly Muse, that learns like steps t
Flies for like aide unto your Patronage,
hat are the great Mecaenas of this age,
As wel to al that civil artes professe.
As those that are inspir'd with Martial rage,
And craves protection of her feeblenesse :
Vhich if ye yield, perhaps ye may her rayse
n bigger tunes to sound your living prayse.
£. S.
To the right noble Lord and most valiaunt
Captaine, Sir John Norris, knight, Lord
president of Mounster.
Vho ever gave more honourable prize
Tothesweet Muse then did the Martiall crew,
That their brave deeds she might immortalize
In her shril tromp, and sound their praises
dew V
Who then ought more to favour her thon you,
Moste noble Lord, the honor of this age,
And Precedent of all that armes ensue ?
iVhose warlike prowesse and manly courage,
Tempred with reason and advizement sage,
Hath fild sad Belgicke with victorious spoile;
In Fraunce and Ireland left a famous gage ;
And lately shakt the Lusitanian soile. [ fame,
Sith, then, each where thou hast dispreddthy
Love him that hath eternized your name.
E. S.
To the right honourable and most vcrtuous
Lady the Countesfe of Penbrokc.
Remembraunce of that most Heroicke spirit,
The hevens pride, the glory of our daies,
Which now triumpheth, through immortall
merit
Of his brava vertues, crownd with lasting
Of hevenlie blis and everlasting praies; [ baies
Who first my Muse did lift out of the flore,
To sing his sweet delights in lowlie laies ;
Bids me, most noble Lady, to adore
His goodly image, living evermore
In the divine resemblaunce of your face;
Which with your vertues ye embellish more,
And native beauty deck with hevenlie
grace :
For his, and for your owne especial sake,
Vouchsafe from him this token in £
to take.
good worth
E. S.
To the most vertuous and bcautifull Lady,
the Lady Carcw.
Ne may I, without blot of endlesse blame,
You, fairest Lady, leave out of this place ;
But with remembrauuce of your gracious
name, [grace
Wherewith that courtly garlond most ye
10
YERSES ADDRESSED BY THE AUTHOR.
And deck the world, adornc these verses base.
Not that these few lines can in them com-
prise
Those glorious ornaments of hcvcnly grace,
Wherewith ye triumph over feeble eyes,
And in subdued harts do tyranyse ;
For thereunto doth need a golden quill,
And silver leaves, them rightly to devise;
Hut to make humble present of good will:
Which, whenas timely meanes it purchase may,
In ampler wise it selfe will forth displav
£. S.
To all the gratious and bcautifull Ladies in
the Court.
The Chian Peincter. when he was requirde
To pourtraict Venus in her perfect hew,
To make his worke more absolute ,desird
Of all the fairest Maides to have the vew.
Much more me needs, to draw the semblant
trew
Of beauties Qucenc, the worlds sole wonder-
ment,
To sharpe my sence with sundry beauties vew,
And steale from each some part of ornament.
If all the world to seeke I overwent,
A fairer crew yet no where could I see
Then that brave court doth to mine eie
present, [to bee. ,
That the worlds pride seemcs gathered there
Of each a part I stole by cunning thcl'te:
Forgive it me, faire Dames, sith lesse ye have
not lefte.
E. S
THE FIRST BOOK
THE FAEEIE QUEENE
CONTAYNIXG THE LEGEND OF THE KNIGHT OF THF. RED CKOSSE, OR OF HOL1NE88E.
Lo ! I, the man whose Muse whylome did
maske,
ks time her taught, in lowly Shephards weeds,
km now enforst, a farre unfitter taske,
For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten
reeds,
And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds ;
[Vhose praises having slept in silence long,
He, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds
f"o blazon broade emongst her learned throng:
fierce warres and faithful loves shall moralize
my song.
ii
Helpe then, O holy virgin! chiefe of nyne,
ITiy weaker Novice to performe thy will;
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne
Phc antique rolles, which there lye hidden still,
)f Faerie knights, and fayrest Tanaquill,
iVhorn that most noble Briton Prince so long
Sought through the world, and suffered so
much ill,
That I must rue his undeserved wrong :
V, helpe thou mv weake wit, and sharpen my
dull tong !
And thou, most dreaded impe of highest
Jove,
Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart
At that good knight so cunningly didst rove,
That glorious fire it kindled in his hart ;
Lay now thy deadly Heben bowe apart,
And with thy mother mylde come to mine
ayde; [Mart,
Come, b'oth ; and with you bring triumphant
In loves and gentle jollities arraid, [allayd.
After his murdrous spoyles and bloiulie rage
IV
And with them eke. O Goddesse heavenly
Mirrour of grace and Majestie divine, [bright!
Great Ladie of the greatest Isle, whose light
Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world doth
shine,
Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne,
And raise my thoughtes, too humble and too
vile,
To thinke of that true glorious type of tliine,
The argument of mine afflicted stile :
The which to heare vouchsafe, 0 dearest dread,
a-while !
CANTO I.
The Patrone of true Holinesse
Foule Errour doth defeate :
Hypocrisie, him to entrappe,
Doth to his home cntreate.
A GENTLE Knight was pricking on the
plaine,
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde,
Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did re-
maine,
The cruell markes of many' a bloody fielde ;
Yet armes till that time did he never wield.
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt,
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield :
Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters
fitt.
12
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
And on his brest a bloodie Crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord.
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he
And dead, as living, ever him ador'd : [wore,
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd,
For soveraine hope which in his helpe he had.
Right faithfull true he was in deede and word,
But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad;
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.
in
Upon a great adventure he was bond,
That greatest Gloriana to him gave,
(That greatest Glorious Queene of Faery lond)
To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have,
Which of all earthly thinges he most did crave :
And ever as he rod'e his hart did eame
To prove his puissance in battell brave
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne,
Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearae.
IV
A lovely Ladic rode him faire beside,
Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow,
Yet she much whiter; but the same did hide
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low ;
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw :
As one that inly mournd, so was she sad,
And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow ;
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had,
And by her, in a line, a milkevhite lambe she
"lad.
v
So pure and innocent, as that same lambe,
She was in life and every vertuous lore ;
And by descent from Royall lynage came
Of ancient Kinges and Queenes, that had of
yore
Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne
shore,
And all the world in their subjection held ;
Till that infernall feend with foule uprore
Forwasted all their land, and them expeld ;
Whom to avenge she had this Knight from far
compeld.
VI
Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag,
That lasie seemd, in being ever last,
Or wearied with bearing of her bag
Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past,
The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast,
And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine
1 >id poure into his Lemans lap so fast,
That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain ;
And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves
were fain.
Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand,
A shadie grove not farr away they spide,
That promist ayde the tempest to withstand ;
Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers pride,
Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide
Not perceable with power of any starr :
And all within were pathes and alleies wide,
With footing wome, and leading inward farr.
Faire harbour that them seems, so in the}
entred ar.
VIII
And foorth they passe, with pleasure forwan
led,
Joying to heare the birdes sweete harmony,
Which, therein shrbudedfrom the tempest dred
Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky.
Much can they praise the trees so straight am
fay,
The say ling Pine ; the Cedar proud and tall
The vine-propp Elme ; the Poplar never dry
The builder Oake, sole king of forrests all ;
The Aspine good for staves ; the Cypress
funerall ;
IX
The Laurell, meed of mightie Conquerours
And Poets sage; the Firre that weepeth still
The Willow, worne of forlome Paramours ;
The Eugh, obedient to the benders will ;
The Birch for shaftes ; the Sallow for the mill
The Mirrhesweete-bleedingin the bitter wonm
The warlike Beech ; the Ash for nothing ill ;
The fruitfull Olive ; and the Platane round ;
The carver Holme ; the Maple seeldom inwar
sound.
x
Led with delight, they thus beguile the way.
Untill the blustring storme is overblowne ;
When, weening to returne whence they di
stray, [ shown'
They cannot finde that path, which first vri
But wander too and fro in waies unknowne,
Furthest from end then, when they neerei
weene, [ ownt
That makes them doubt their wits be not the
So many pathes, so many turnings scene,
That which of them to take in diverse doul
they been.
XI
At last resolving forward still to fare,
Till that some end they finde, or in or out,
That path they take that beaten seemd mo
And like to lead .the labyrinth about; [barl
Wnich when by tract they hunted had througl
out,
At length it brought them to a hollowe ca>
Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stoii
IANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Lftsoones dismounted from his courser brave,
to the Dwarfe a while his needlesse spere
he gave.
All
; well aware,' quoth then that Ladie milde,
Sfceast suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke:
Hie danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde,
beedes dreadl'ull doubts. Oft tire is without
smoke,
•d perill without show : therefore your stroke,
• Knight, with-hold, till further tryall made.'
Uh Ladie,' (sayd he) ' sliame were to revoke
•e forward footing for an hidden shade :
•rtue gives her selfe light through darknesse
for to wade.'
XIII .
J Yea but ' (quoth she) 'the perill of this place
better wot then you : though nowe too late
'o wish you backe returne with foule disgrace,
Jet wisedome warnes, whilestfootisin the gate.
ft stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate.
his is the wandring wood, this JKrrours den,
1 m< m.-ter vile, whom God and man does hate :
'hfivt';re I read beware.' 'Fly, fly!' (quoth then
Hie fearefull Dwarfe) ' this is noplace for living
men.'
XIV
But, full of fire and greedy hardiment,
[he youthfull Knight could not for ought be
ut forth unto the darksom hole he went,[staide;
Hid looked in : his glistring armor made
L litle glooming light, much like a shade ;
ly which he saw the ugly monster plaine,
jwlfe like a serpent horribly displaide,
rat th'other halfe did womans shape retaine,
llost lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile
disdaine.
xv
And, as she lay upon the durtie ground,
ler huge long taile her den all overspred,
jfet was in knots and many boughtes upwound,
Wnted with mortall sting. Of her there bred
i thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed,
lucking upon her poisnous dugs ; each one
)f sundrie shapes, yet all ill-favored :
loone as that uncouth light upon them shone,
nto her mouth they crept, and suddaiu all were
gone.
XVI
Their dam upstart out of her den effraide,
\nd rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile
About her cursed head ; whose folds displaid
IVerestretcht now forth at length without en-
traile.
She l(M>kt about, and seeing one in mayle,
Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe ;
For light she hated as the deadly bale,
Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine,
Where plain none might her see, nor she see
any plaine.
XVII
Which when the valiant Elfe percei v'd, he lept
As Lyon fierce upon the flying pray,
And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept
From turning backe. and forced her to stay :
Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray,
And turning fierce her speckled taile advaunst,
Threatning her angrie sting, him to dismay ;
Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand en-
haunst : [ der glaunst.
The stroke down from her head uiito her shoul-
Much daunted with that dint her sence was
dazd;
Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered round,
And all attonce her beastly bodie raizd
With doubled forces high above the ground :
Tho, wrapping up her wrethed sternearownd,
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine
All suddenly about his body wound,
That hand or foot to stirr he strove in vaine.
God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours end-
lesse traine !
XIX
His Lady, sad to see his sore constraint,
Cride out, 'Now, now, Sir knight, shew what
ye bee;
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint ;
Strangle her, els she sure will strangle thee.'
That when he heard, in great perplexitie,
His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine ;
And, knitting all his force, got one hand free,
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great
paine, [ const raine.
That soone to loose her wicked bands did her
Therewith she spewd out of her filthie maw
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke,
Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw,
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him
slacke [backe.
His grasping hold, and from her turue him
Her vomit full of bookes and papers was,
With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did
lacke,
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras:
Her filthie parbreake all the place defiled has.
As when old father Nilus gins to swell
With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale
Ills fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell,
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale :
7W.fi: FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
Rut, when his later spring gins to avale,
Huge heapes of rnudd he leaves, wherin there
breed
Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male
And partly femall, of his fruitful seed ;
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswher may no
man reed.
XXII
The same so sore annoyed has the knight,
That, welnigh choked with the deadly stinke,
Hi* forces faile, ne can no lenger right :
Whose corage when the feend perceivd to
shrinke,
She poured forth out of her hellish sinke
That detestable sight him much amazde.
To see th' unkindly Impes, of heaven accurst,
Devoure their dam ; on whom while so he gazd,
Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst,
Their belliesswolne he saw with fulnesse burst,
And bowels gushing forth : well worthy end
Ofsuchasdrunkeherlife the which them nurst!
Now needcth him no lenger labour spend,
His foes have slaine themselves, with whom he
should contend.
His Lady, seeing all that chauust from farre,
She poured iortn out ot Her Hell unite Approcht in hast to greet his victorie ; [ starre,
Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, ^ s&{, « Faire knignt> bome under happie
Deformed monsters, fowls, andblacke as mke, who gee your vanquisht foes before you ive>
Which swarming all about his legs did crall,
And him encombred sore, but could not hurt
at all.
XXIII
As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide,
When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west,
High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide,
Markes which doe byte their hasty supper
best;
A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest,
All striving to inlixe their feeble stinges,
That from their novance he no where can rest ;
Well worthie be you of that Armory,
Wherein ye have great glory wonne this day,
And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie(i
Your first adventure : many such I pray,
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it
may ! '
xxvir<
Then mounted he upon his Steede againe,
And with the Lady backward sought to wend.
That path he kept which beaten was most
Ne ever would to any byway bend, [plaine.
But still did follow one unto the end,
But with his clownish hands their tender wings The which at last out of the wood th em brought.
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their mur- So forward on his way (with God to trend)
He passed forth, and new adventure sought :
Long way he travelled before he heard ol
Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame
Then of the certeine perill he stood in,
Halle furious unto his foe he came,
Kesolvd in minde all suddenly to win,
Or soone to lose, before he once would lin :
And stroke at her with more then manly force,
That from her body, full of filthie sin,
He raft her hatefull heade without remorse :
ought.
At length they chaunst to meet upon the way
An aged Sire, in long blacke weedes yclad,
His feete all bare, hU beard all hoarie gray,
And by his belt his booke he hanging had :
Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad,
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent,
, Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad :
A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed And all the way he p,aved flg he went?
And often knockt his brest, as one that die.
repent.
XXX
He faire the knight saluted, louting low,
Who faire him quited, as that courteous was ;
And after asked him, if he did know
G roning full deadly, all with troublous feare jOf straunge adventures, which abroad did pas
Gathred themselves about her body round, i' Ah! my dear sonne,' (quoth he) ' how should
Weening their wonted entrance to have found] alas !
At her wide mouth; but being there withstood, Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,
from her corse.
XXV
Her scattered brood, soone as their Parent
deare
They saw so rudely fallinsc to the ground,
They flocked all about her bleeding wound,
And' sucked up their dying mothers blond.
Bidding his beades all day for his tre.«pa«,
Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell ?
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt With holy father sits not with such thinges t'.
their good. mell.
i.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
But if of daimger, which hereby doth dwell,
And homebredd evil ye desire to heare,
Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell,
Thatwasteth all this countrie, farre and ueare.'
1 Of such.' (saide he,) 'I chiefly doe inquere,
And shall thee well rewarde to shew the place,
In which that wicked wight his dayes doth
weare ;
For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace,
That such a cursed creature lives so long a
space.'
XXXII
•Far hence* (quoth he) ' in wastfull wilder-
nesse
His dwelling is, by which no living wight
May ever passe, but thorough great distressed
Now,' (saide the Ladie,) ' dra-.veth toward
night,
And well I wote, that of your later fight
Ye all fonvearied be ; for what so strong,
But, wanting rest, will also want of might?
The Sunne, that measures heaven all day long,
At night doth baite his steedes the Ocean
waves eniong.
XXXIII
•Then with the Sunne take, Sir, your timely
rest,
And with new day new worke at once begin :
Untroubled night, they say, gives counsell
best.'
'Right well, Sir knight, ye have advised bin,'
Quoth then that, aged man : ' the way to win
Is wisely to advise ; now day is spent :
Therefore with me ye may take up your In
For this same night.' The knight was well
content; [went.
So with that godly father to his home they
XXXIV
; A litle lowly Hermitage it was,
Downc in a dale, hard by a forests side,
Far from resort of people that did pas
In traveill t,o and froe : a litle wyde
There was an holy chappell edifyde,
Wherein the Hermite dewly wont to say
His holy thinges each morne and eventyde :
Thereby a christall streame did gently play,
Which "from a sacred fountaine welled forth
alway.
XXXV
Arrived there, the litle house they fill,
Ne looke for emertainement where none was;
Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their will :
The uubk-st mind th'e best contentment has.
With faire discourse the evening so they pas ;
For that olde man of pleasing wordes had" store,
And well could tile his tongue as smooth as
glas:
He told of Saintes and Popes, and evermore
He strowd an Ace-Mary after and before.
xxxvi
The drouping night thus creepeth on them
fast;
And the sad humor loading their eyeliddes,
As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast
Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep
them biddes.
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes:
Where when all drown d in deadly sleepe he
findes,
He to his studie goes ; and there amiddes
His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie kindes,
He seekes out mighty charmes to trouble sleepy
minds.
XXXVII
Then choosing out few words most horrible,
(Let none them read) thereof did verses frame ;
With which, and other spelles like terrible,
He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly Dame ;
And cursed heven ; and spake reprochful shame
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light :
A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name
Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead
night; .[night.
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to
And forth he cald out of deepe darknes drcdd
Legions of Sprights, the which, like litle flyes
Fluttring about his ever-damned hedd,
Awaite whereto their service he applyes,
To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies.
Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo,
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes:
The one of them he gave a message too, [doo.
The other by him selfe staide, other worke to
He, making speedy way through spersed ayre,
And through the world of waters wide and
deepe,
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire.
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe,
And low, where dawning day doth never peepe,
His dwelling is ; there Tethys his wet bed
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed,
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black
doth spred.
10
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
Whose double gates he findeth locked fast,
The one faire fram'd of burnisht Yvorj-,
The other all with silver overcast ;
And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye,
Watching to banish Care their enimy,
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe.
By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly,
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowneddeepe
In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he takes
keepe.
XLI
And more to lulle him in his slumber soft.
• A trickling streame from high rock tumbling
downe,
And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, [sowne
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the
Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne.
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes,
As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne,
Might there be heard ; but carelesse Quiet lyes
Wraot in eternal! silence farre from enimyes.
The Messenger spproching to him spake ;
But his waste wordes retournd to him in vaine :
So sound he slept, that nought mought him
awake. [paine,
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with
Whereat he gan to stretch ; but he againe
Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake.
As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake,
He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence
breake.
XLIII
The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake,
And threatned unto him the dreaded name
Of Hecate : whereat he gan to quake,
And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame
Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came.
'Hether' (qouth he,) 'me Arcbimago sent,
He that the stubborne Sprites can wisely tame,
He bids thee to him send for his intent [sent,'
A tit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers
The God obayde ; and, calling forth straight
way
A diverse'Dreame out of his prison darke,
Delivered it to him, and downe did lay
His heavie head, devoide of careful carkc;
Whose sences all were straight benumbd and
starke.
He, backe returning by the Yvorie (lore.
Remounted up as light as chearefull Larke ;
And on his litle winges the dreame he bore
In hast unto his Lord, where he him left afore.
Who all this while, with charmes and hidden
Had made a Lady of that other Spright, [artes,
And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes,
So lively and so like in all mens sight,
Thatweaker sence it could have ravisht quight:
The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt,
Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight.
Her all in white he clad, and over it
Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Una
tit.
XLVI
Now, when that ydle dreame was to him
Unto that Elfin knight he bad him fly. [brought,
Where he slept soundly void of evil thought,
And with false shewes abuse his fantasy,
In sort as he him schooled privily :
And that new creature, borne without her dew,
Full of the makers guyle, with usage sly
He taught to imitate that Lady trew,
Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned
hew.
XLVII
Thus, well instructed, to their worke they
haste ;
And, comming where the knight in slomber laj ,
The one upon his hardie head him plaste,
And made him dreame of loves and lustfull play,
That ni^h his manly hart did melt away,
Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy. "
Then seemed him his Lady by him lay,
And to him playnd, how that false winged boy
Her chaste hart had subdewd to learne Dame
Pleasures toy.
XLVIII
And she her selfe, of beautie sovereign*
Queene,
Fayre Venus, seemde unto his bed to bring
Her, whom he, waking, evermore did weene
To bee the chastest flowre that aye did spring)
On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king.
Now a loose Leman to vile service bound :
And eke the Graces seemed all to sing,
Hymen lit Hymen! dauncing all around ;
Why 1st freshest Flora her with Yvie girlondj
crowni
XLIX
la this great passion of unwonted lust,
Or wonted tfeare of doing ought amis,
He starteth up, as seeming to mistrust
Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his.
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
Lo ! there before his face his Ladie is,
Under blacke stole hyding her bayted hooke ;
And as halfe blushing oft'red him to kis,
With gentle blandishment and lovely looke,
Most like that virgin true which for her
knight him took.
All cleaue dismayd to see so uncouth sight,
And half enraged at her shamelesse guise,
He thought have slaine her in his tierce des-
pight ;
But hastie heat tempting with sufferance wise,
He stayde his hand ; and gan himselfe advise
To prove his sense, and tempt her faigned truth.
Wringing her hands, in wemens pitteous wise,
Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle ruth
Both for her noble blood, and for her tender
youth.
LI
And sayd, ' Ah Sir, my liege Lord, and my
Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate, [love,
And mightie causes wrought in heaven above,
Or the blind God that doth me thus amate,
For hoped love to winne me certaine hate ?
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die.
Die is my dew ; yet rew my wretched state,
You, whom my hard avenging destinie
Hath made judge of my life or death indif-
ferently.
LI I
1 Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave
My fathers kingdom ' — There she stopt with
teares ;
Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave,
And then againe begonne ; ' My weaker yeares,
Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly feares,
Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde :
Let me not die in languor and long teares.'
'Why, Dame,' (quoth he,) 'what hath ye thus
dismayd ?
What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me
affrayd V
' Love of your selfe,' she saide, ' and deare con-
straint,
Lets me not sleepe, but waste the wearie night
In secret anguish and unpittied plaint,
Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned
quight.'
Her doubtfull words made that redoubted
knight
Suspect her truth: yet since no' untruth he
knew,
Herfawning love with foule disdainefull spight
He would not shend ; but said, ' Deare dame,
I rew, [y°u grew.
That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto
' Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground ;
For all so'deare as life is to my hart,
I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound:
Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse
smart,
Where cause is none ; but to your rest depart.'
Not all content, yet seemd she to appease
Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,
And fed with words that could not chose but
please : • [ease.
So, sly ding softly forth, she turnd as to her
Long after lay he musing at her mood,
Much griev'd to thinke that gentle Dame so
light,
For whose defence he was to shed his blood.
At last, dull weannes of former fight
Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright,
That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his
braine
With bowres, and beds, and ladies deare de-
light :
But, when he saw his labour all was vaine,
With that misformed spright he backereturnd
againe.
CANTO II.
The gnilefull great Enchaunttr parts
The Redcrosse Knight from Truth :
Into whose stead faire falshood steps,
And workes him woefull ruth.
1 I To al that in the wide deepe wandring arre;
BY this the Northerne wagoner had set j And chearefull Chaunticlere with his note shrill
His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast starre Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre
That was in Ocean waves yet never wet, In hast was climbing up the Kasterne hill, [ fill :
j But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre Full envious that night so long his roome did
o
IS
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
When those accursed messengers of hell,
That feigning drearae, and that faire-forged
Spright,
Came to their wicked maister, and gan tel
Their bootelease paines, and ill succeeding
night:
Who, all in rage to see his skilfull might
Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine,
And sad Proserpines wrath, them to affright :
But, when he saw his threatning was but vaine,
He cast about, and searcht his baleful bokes
againe.
in
Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire,
And that false other Spright, on whom he spred
A seeming body of the subtile aire,
Like a young Squire, in loves and lusty-hed
His wanton daies that ever loosely led,
Without regard of armes and dreaded fight :
Those twoo he tooke, and in a secrete bed,
Covered with darkenes and misdeeming night,
Them both together laid to joy in vaine delight.
Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithfull
Unto his guest,who, after troublous sights [hast
And dreames, gan now to take more sound
repast;
Whom suddenly h _> wakes with fearful frights,
As one aghast with feends or damned sprights,
And to him cals ; ' Rise, rise ! unhappy Swaine,
That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked
wights [chaine:
Have knit themselves in Venus shameful
Come, see where your false Lady doth her
honor staine,'
All in amaze he suddenly up start
With sword in hand, and with the old man went ;
Who soone him brought into a secret part,
Where that false couple were full closely ment
In wanton lust and leud enbracement :
Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous fire ;
The eie of reason was with rage yblent,
And would have slaine them in his furious ire,
But hardly was restreined of that aged sire.
Retouming to his bed in torment great,
And bitter anguish of his guilty sight,
He could not rest ; but did his stout heart eat,
Then up he rose, and clad him hastily :
The dwarfe him brought his steed; so both
away do fly.
VII
Now when the rosy fingred Morning faire,
Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed,
Had spred her purple robe through deawy aire,
And the high hils Titan discovered,
The royall virgin shooke off drousy-hed ;
And, rising forth out of her baser bowre,
Lookt for her knight, who far away was fled,
And for her dwarfe, that wont to wait each
howre : [ woeful stowre.
Then gan she wail and weepe to see that
And after him she rode, with so much speede
As her slowe beast could make; but all in vaine,
For him so far had borne his light-foot steede,
Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdaine,
That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine:
Yet she her weary limbes would never rest;
But every hil and dale, each wood and plaine,
Did search, sore grieved in her gentle brest,
He so ungently left her, whome she loved best.
But subtill Archimago, when his guests
He saw divided into double parts,
And Una wandring in woods and forrests,
Th' end of his drift, he praisd his divelish a.
That had such might over true meaning harts: ' I
Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth make, j
How he may worke unto her further smarts ;
For her he hated as the hissing snake, [take.
And in her many troubles did most pleasure
He then devisde himselfe how to disguise ;
For by his mighty science he could take
As many formes and shapes in seeming wise,
As ever Proteus to himselfe could make :
Sometime a fowle, sometime a fish in lake, I ]
Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell ;
That of himselfe he ofte for feare would quake,
And oft would nie away. O ! who can tell
The hidden powre of herbes, and might o |
Magick spel?
But now seemde best the person to put on
Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest
And wast his inward gall with deepe despight. ! In mijrhty armes he was yclad anon,
Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring night. And silver shield; upon his coward brest
At last faire Hesperus in highest skie
Had spent his lampe, and brought forth
dawning light ;
A bloody crosse, and on his craven crest
A bounch of heares discolourd diversly.
| Full jolly knight he seemde, and wel addres' |
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
And when he sate u|M>n his courser free,
Saint Gc-orge liimsclfe ye would have deemed
him tn be.
xn
But he, the knight whose semblaunt he did
beare,
The true Saint George, was wandred far away.
.Still (lying from his thoughts andgealous feare :
Will was his guide, and griefe led him astray.
At last him chaunst to meete upon the way
A faithlesae Sarazin, all armde to point,
In whose great shield was writ with letters gay
S«H.V foy ; full large of limbe and every joint
He was, and cared not for God or man a point.
Hee had a faire companion of his way,
A goodly Lady clad in scarlot red,
Purfled with golu and pearle of rich assay ;
And like a Persian mitre on her hed
Shee wore, with crowns and owches garnished,
The which her lavish lovers to her gave.
Her wanton palfrey all was overspred
With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave,
Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses
brave.
With faire disport, and courting dalliaunce,
She intertainde her lover all the way ;
But, when she saw the knight his spcare ad-
vaunce,
She soone left off her mirth and wanton play,
And bad her knight addresse him to the fray,
His foe was nigh at hand. He, prickte with
pride
And hope to winnehis Ladies hearte that day,
Forth spurred fast : adowne his coursers side
The red blond trickling staind the way, as he
did ride.
xv
The knight of the Redcrosse, when him he
Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous, [spide
Gan fairely couch hisspeare, and towards ride.
Soone meete they both, both fell and furious,
That, daunted with theyr forces hideous,
Their steeds doe stagger, and amazed stand ;
And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous,
Astonicd with the stroke of their owne hand,
Doe backe rebutte, and ech to other yealdeth
land.
XVI
As when two rams, stird with ambitious pride,
Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flocke,
Their horned fronts so fierce on either side
Doe meete, that, with the terror of the shocke,
Astonied, both stand sencelesse as a blocke,
For^etfull of the hanging victory :
So stood these twaine, unmoved as a rocke,
Both staring fierce, and holding idely
The broken reliques of their former cruelty.
The Sarazin, sore daunted with the buffe,
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;
Who well it wards, and qnyteth cuff with cuff:
Kach others equall pui.«saunce envies,
And through their iron sides with cruell spies
Does seeke to perce ; repining courage yields
No foote to foe : the flashing tier flies,
As from a forge, out of their burning shields ;
And streams of purple blond new die the ver-
dant fields.
XVIII
' Curse on that Cross,' (quoth then the Sarazin,)
' That keepes thy body from the bitter titt !
Dead long ygoe, I wote, thou haddest bin,
Had not that charme from thee forwarned itt:
But yet I warne thee now assured sitt,
And hide thy head.' Therewith upon his crest
With rigor so outrageous he smitt,
That a large share it hewd out of the rest,
And glauncing downe his shield from blame
him fairly blest
XIX
Who, thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping
Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive ; [spark
And at his haughty helmet making mark,
So hugely stroke, that it the steele did rive,
And cleft his head. He, tumbling downe alive,
With blondy mouth his mother earth did kis,
Greeting his grave : his grudging ghost did
strive
With the fraile flesh; at last it flitted is,
Whither the soules doe fly of men that live
amis.
xx
The Lady, when she saw her champion fall
Like the old mines of a broken towre,
Staid not to waile his woefull funeral!,
But from him fled away with all her powre ;
Who after her as hastily gan scowre,
Bidding the dwarfe with him to bring away
The Sarazins shield, signeof theconqueroure.
Her soone he overtook e, and bad to stay ; [may.
For present cause .vas none of dread her to dis-
Shee turning backe, with ruefull counte-
naunce,
Cride, ' Mercy, mercy, Sir, vouchsafe to show
On silly Dame, subject to hard mischaunco,
And to your mighty wil ! ' Her humblesse low,
03
20
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n.
In so ritch weedes, and seeming glorious show,
Did much eramove his stout heroicke heart ;
And said, 'Deare dame, your suddeiu over-
throw
Much rueth me ; but now put feare apart,
And tel both who ye be, aud who that tooko
your part.'
XXII
' Melting in teares, then gan shee thus lament.
' The wretched woman, whom unhappy howre
Hath now made thrall to your commaudement,
Itefore that angry heavens list to lowre,
And fortune false" betraide me to thy powre,
W:i-< (O ! what now availeth that I was V)
Borne the sole daughter of an Emperour,
He that the wide West under his rule has,
And high hath set his throne where KberU
doth pas.
XXIII
' He, in the 6rst flowre of my freshest age,
Betrothed me unto the onely haire
Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage :
Was never Prince so faithfull and so faire,
Was never Prince so meeke and debonaire ;
But ere my hoped day of spousall shone,
My dearest Lord fell from high honors staire
Into the hands of hys accursed fone,
And cruelly was slaine ; that shall I ever mone.
1 His blessed body, spoild of lively breath,
Was afterward, I know not how, convaid,
And fro me hid : of whose most innocent death
When tidings came to mee, unhappy maid,
O, how great sorrow my sad soule assaid !
Then forth I went his woefull corse to find,
And many yeares throughout the world I straid,
A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind
With love long time did languish, as the striken
hind.
XXV
' At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin
To meete me wandring ; who perforce me led
With him away, but yet could never win
The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread.
There lies he now with foule dishonor dead,
Who, whiles he livde, was called proud Sans
foy,
The eldest of three brethren ; all three bred
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sans joy ;
And twixt them both was born the bloudy bold
Sans loy.
XXVI
' In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate,
Now miserable I. Fidessa, dwell,
Craving of you, in pitty of my state,
To doe none ill, if please ye not doe well.'
He in great passion al this while did dwell,
More busying his quicke eies her face to view,
Then his dull eares to heare what shee did tell;
And said, ' faire lady, hart of flint would rew
The undeserved woes and sorrowes, which ye
shew.
' Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye rest,
Having both found a new friend you to aid.
And lost an old foe that did you molest ;
Better new friend then an old foe is said.'
With chaunge of chear the seeming simple
maid
Let fal her eien, as shamefast, to the earth.
And yeelding soft, in that she nought gainsaid
So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth
And shee coy lookes : so dainty, they say
maketh derth.
Long time they thus together travelled ;
Til. weary of their way, they came at last
Where grew two goodly trees, that faire die
spred
Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast
And their greene leaves, trembling with ever
blast,
Made a calme shadowe far in compasse round
The fearefull shepheard, often there aghast,
Under them never sat, ne wont there sound
His mery oaten pipe, but shuiul th' unluckj
ground.
XXIX
But this good knight, soone as he them
spie.
For the coole shade him thither hastly got :
For golden Phoebus, now ymounted hie,
From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot
Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,
That living creature mote it not abide ;
And his new Lady it endured not.
There they alight, in hope themselves to nid
From the fierce heat, and rest their weary liml
a tide.
Faire seemely pleasaunce each to oth<
makes,
With goodly purposes, there as they sit ;
And in his falsed fancy he her takes
To be the fairest wight that lived yit ;
Which to expresse he bends his gentle wit :
And, thinking of those braunches greene tj
A girlond for her dainty forehead fit, [framj
He pluckt a bough ; out of whose rifte then
came fthesamj
Smal drops of gory bloud, that trickled dowJ
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
Therewith a piteous yelling voice was heard,
Crying, ' O ! spare with guilty hands to teare
Jlv tender sides in this rough rynd embard ;
But fly, ah ! Hy far hence away, for feare
Least "to you hap that happened to me heare,
And to this wretched Lady, my deare love ;
D, too deare love, love bought with death too
deare !'
Astond he stood, and up his heare did hove ;
And with that suddein horror could no member
move.
XXXII
At last whenas the dreadful! passion
Was overpast, and manhood well awake,
Yet musing at the straunge occasion,
And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake:
•What voice of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,
Dr guileful! spright wandring in empty aire,
Botli which frailc men doe oftentimes mistake,
Sends to my doubtful eares these speaches rare,
And rueful! plaints, mo bidding guiltlesse
blood to spare ?'
Then, groning deep ; ' Nor damned Ghost,'
(quoth he.) [speake;
'Nor guileful sprite to thee these words doth
But once a man, Fradubio, now a tree ; [ weake
Wretched man, wretched tree ! whose nature
A cruel! witch, her cursed will to wreake,
Hath thus tran sliirnid. and plastin open plain es,
Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake,
And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines ;
For though a tree I seme, yet cold and heat
me paines.'
XXXIV
Say on, Fradubio, then, or man or tree,'
uoth then the Knight ; ' by whose mischievous
rt thou misshaped thus, as now I see V [ arts
e oft finds med'cine who his griefe imparts,
But double griefs afflict concealing harts,
As raging flames who striveth to suppresse.'
'The autl.orthen,' (said he) 'of all my smarts,
Is one Duessa, a false sorceresse,
That many errant knights hath broght to
wretchednesse.
XXXV
) * In prime of youthly yeares, when corage
The fire (if love, and joy of chevalree, [hott
First kindled in my brest, it was my lott
To love this gentle Lady, whome ye see
Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree;
With whome, as once I rode accompanyde,
'.I Me chaunced of a knight eneountred bee,
That had a like 1'aire Lady by his syde;
iofl Lvke a faire Lady, but did fowle Dueasa hyde.
XXXVI
' Whose forged beauty he did take in hand
All other Dames to have exceeded farre :
I in defence of mine did likewise stand, [starre.
Mine, that did then shine as the Morning
So both to batteill fierce arraunged arre,
In which his harder fortune was to fall
Under my speare : such is the dye of warre.
His Lady, left as a prise martiall,
Did yield her comely person to be at my call.
XXXVII
' So doubly lov'd of ladies, unlike faire,
Th' one seeming such, the other such indeede,
One day in doubt I cast for to compare
Whether in beauties glorie did exceede:
A Rosy girlond was the victors meede.
Both seemde to win, and both seemde won to
So hard the discord was to be agreede. [bee,
Fraelissa was as faire as faire mote bee,
And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as shee.
XXXVIII
'The wicked witch, now seeing all this while
The doubtful! ballaunee equally to sway,
What not by right she cast to win by guile ;
And by her hellish science raisd straight way
A foggy mist that overcast the day,
And a dull blast, that breathing on her face
Dimmed her former beauties shining ray,
And with foule ugly forme did her disgrace :
Then was she fayre alone, when none was
faire in place.
XXXIX
'Then cride she out,"Fye, fye ! deformed
wight,
' Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine
' To have before bewitched all mens sight :
' 0 ! leave her soone, or let her soone be slaine."
Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine,
Eftsoones I thought her such as she me told,
And would have kild her ; but with faigned
paine [ hold :
The false witch did my wrathfull hand with-
So left her, where she now is turnd to treen
mould.
XL
'Thensforth I tooke Duessa for my Dame,
And in the witch unweetmg joyd long time,
Ne ever wist but that she was the same ;
Till on a day (that day is everie Prime,
When Witches wont do penance for their
I chaunst to see her in her proper hew, f crime,)
Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme :
A filthy foule old woman I did vew, [rew.
That ever to have toucht her I did deadly
22
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
« Her neather partes misshapen, monstruous,
\Voiv hidd in water, that I could not see;
But they did seeme more foule and hideous,
Then womans shape man would beleeve to bee.
Thensforth from her most beastly companie
I gan refraine, in minde to slipp away,
Soone as appeard safe opportunitie :
For danger great, if not assurd decay, [stray.
I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to
' The divelish hag by chaunges of my cheare
Perceiv'd my thought ; and, drownd in sleepie
night, [smeare
With wicked herbes and oyntments did be-
My body all, through charmes and magicke
might,
That all my senses were bereaved quight :
Then brought she me into this desert waste,
And by my wretched lovers side me pight ;
Where now, enclosd in wooden wals full faste,
Banisht from living wights, our wearie daies
we waste.'
XLIII
1 But how long time,' said then the Elfin
knight,
' Are you in this misformed hous to dwell V '
4 We may not chaunge,' (quoth he,) ' this evill
Till we be bathed in a living well : [ plight,
That is the terme prescribed by the spell.'
' O ! how,' sayd he, ' mote 1 that well out find,
That may restore you to your wonted well ? '
' Time and suflised* fates to former kynd
Shall us restore ; none else from hence may
us unbynd.'
XI. IV
The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight,
Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament,
And knew well all was true. But the good
Full of sad feare and ghastly drerimen t, [ knight,
When all this speech the living tree had spent,
The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground,
That from the blood he might be innocent,
And with fresh clay did close the wooden
wound: [her fownd.
Then, turning to his Lady, dead with feare
Her seeming dead he fownd with feigned
feare,
As all unweeting of that well she knew ;
1 And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare
Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids blew,
! And dimmed sight, with pale and deadly hew,
At last she up gan lift : with trembling cheare
I Her up he tooke, (too simple and too trew)
And oft her kist. At length, all passed feare,
He set her on her steede. and forward forth
did beare.
CANTO III.
Forsaken Troth long seekes her love,
And makes the Lyon mylde ;
Marres blind Devotions mart, and fals
In hand of leachonr vylde.
NOUGHT is there under heav'ns wide hollow
nesse,
That moves more deare compassion of mind.
Then beautie brought t'unworthie wretched-
nesse [unkind
Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes
I, whether lately through her brightnes blynd,
Or through alleageance, and fast fealty,
Which I do owe unto all womankynd,
Feele my hart perst with so great agony,
When such I see, that all for pttty I could dy.
And now it is empassioned so deepe.
For fairest Unaea sake, of whom I sing,
That my frayle eies these lines with teares do
8teope,
To thinke how she through guyleful handeling,
Though true as touch, though daughter of a
king,
Though faire as ever living wight was fayre,
Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting,
' Is from her knight divorced in despayre,
And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile witches
shayre.
in
Yet she, most faithfull Ladie. all this while
Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd,
Far from all peoples preace, as in exile,
In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd,
! To seeke her knight ; who, subtily betrayd
Through that late vision which tk""Enchaunte)'
wrought,
j Had her abandond. She, of nought affrayd,
i Through woods and wastnes wide him clailj
sought ; [brought
Yet wished tydinges none of him unto he
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way,
From her unhastie beast she (fid alight ;
Ami »n the grasse her dainty limbs did lay
In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight:
From her fayre head her lillet she undight,
Ami layd her stole aside. Her angels face,
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright,
And made a sunshine in the shady place ;
Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly
grace.
V
It fortuned, out of the thickest wood
A ramping Lyon rushed suddeinly,
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood.
Soone as the royall virgin he did spy.
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,
To have attonce devourd her tender corse ;
But to the pray when as he drew more ny,
His bloody rage aswagedwith remorse, [forse.
And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious
In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet,
And lickt her lilly hands with fawning long,
As he her wronged innocence did weet.
O, how can beautie maister the most strong,
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong !
Whose yielded pryde and proud submission,
Still dreading death, when she had marked
Her hart gan melt in great compassion ; [ long,
And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.
' The Lyon, Lord of everie beast in field,'
Quoth she, ' his princely puissance doth abate,
And mightie proud to humble weake does
yield,
•prgetfull of the hungry rage, which late
Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate :
But he, my Lyon, and my noble Lord,
How does he find in cruell hart to hate
Her, that him lov'd, and ever most adord
I As the God of my life? why hath he me ab-
hord?'
VIH
Redounding teares did choke th' end of her
plaint,
Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood;
And, sad to see her sorrowfull constraint,
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood :
With pittie calmd downe fell his angry mood.
At last, in close hart shutting up her payne,
Arose the virgin, borne of heavenly brood,
And to her snowy Palfrey got agayne,
To seeke her strayed Champion if she might
attayne.
The Lyon would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong gard
Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard :
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and
ward;
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent,
With humble service to her will prepard :
From her fayre eyes he tooke commandement,
And ever bv her lookes conceived her intent.
Long she thus travelled through deserts wyde,
By which she thought her wandring knight
shold pas,
Yet never shew of living wight espyde ;
Till that at length she found the troden graa,
In which the tract of peoples footing was,
Under the steepe foot of a mountaine hore :
The same she followes, till at last she has
A damzel spyde, slow footing her before,
That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore.
To whom approching she to her gan call,
To weet if dwelling place were nigh at hand ;
But the rude wench her answerd nought at all :
She cou Id not heare, nor speake, nor understand ;
Till, seeing by her side the Lyon stand,
With suddeine feare her pitcher downe she
And fled away : for never in that land [threw,
Face of fayre Lady she before did vew, [ hew.
And that dredd Lyons looke her cast in deadly
Full fast she fled, ne ever lookt behynd,
As if her life upon the wager lay ;
And home she came, whereas her mother blynd
Sate in eternall night : nought could she say ;
But, suddeine catching hold, did her dismay
With quaking hands, and other signes of feare :
Who, full of ghastly fright and cold affray,
Gan shut the dore. ' By this arrived there
Dame Una, weary Dame, and entrance did
requere :
XIII
Which when none yielded, her unruly Page
With his rude clawes the wicket open rent,
And let her in ; where, of his cruell rage
Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment,
Shee found them both in darksome corner pent ;
Where that old woman day and night did pray
Upon her beads, devoutly penitent:
Nine hundred Pater masters every day,
And thrise nine hundred A ves she was wont to
say.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
And to augment her painefull penaunce more,
Thrise every weeke in ashes shee did sitt,
And next her wrinkled skin rouyh eackecloth
wore,
And thrise three times did fast from any bitt ;
But now, for feare her beads she did forgett :
Thus, long the dore with rage and threats he
belt,
Yet of those fearfull women none durst rize.
The Lyon frayed them, him in to lett.
He would no lenger stay him to advize.
But open breakes the dore in furious wize,
Whose needlesse dread for to remove away, JAnd entring is, when that disdainfull beast,
Faire Una framed words and count'nauuce htt ; Encountriug fierce, him suddem doth surprize ;
And, seizing cruell clawes on trembling brest,
Under his Lordly foot him proudly hath sup-
prest.
xx
Him booteth not resist, nor succour call,
His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand ;
Who streight him rent in thousand peeces
small.
And quite dismembred hath : the thirsty land
Dronke up his life ; his corse left on the strand.
His fearefull freends weare out the wofull
night,
Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to understand
The heavie hap which on them is alight;
Affraid least to themselves the like mhhappen
might.
XXI
Now when broad day the world discovered
Up Una rose, up rose the lyon eke ; [ has,
And on their former journey forward pas,
In waies unknowne, her wandring knight to
seeke,
With paines far passing that long wandring
That for his love refused deitye. [ Greeke,
Which hardly doen, at length she gan them
pray, Lhcr may-
That in their cotage small that night she rest
The day is spent; and commeth drowsie night,
When every creature shrowded is in sleepe.
Sad Una downe her laies in weary plight,
And at her feete the Lyon watch doth keepe :
In stead of rest she does lament and weepe,
For the late losse of her deare loved knight,
And sighes, and grones, and evermore does
steepe
Her tender brest in bitter teares all nignt ;
All night she thinks too long, and often lookes
for light.
XVI
Now when Aldeboran was mounted hye
Above the shinie Cassiopeias chaire,
And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lye
One knocked at the dore, and in would fare :
He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware,
That ready entraunce was not at his call ;
Ft>r on his backe a heavv load he bare
Of nightly stelths, and pillage severall, !guch wefe the ]abours of thi8-Ladv meeke,
\\ hich he had got abroad by purchas cnminall. ; C4.:il „„„,,; — ^-m <.hof ,-,.„„, !,„ of-;ii j;j fl,
He was, to weete, a stout and sturdy thiefe,
Wont to robbe churches of their ornaments,
And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe,
Which given was to them for good intents :
The holv Saints of their rich vest iments
Still seeking him, that from her still did flye ;
Then furthest from her hope, when most she
weened nye.
XXII
Soone as she parted thence, the fearfull
twayne.
That blind' old woman, and her daughter dear,
He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept, '• Came forth; and, finding Kirkrapiiie there
And spoild the Priests of their habiliments; j slayne,
Whiles none the holy things in safety kept, j For anguish great they gan to rend their heare,
Then he by conning sleighta in at the window And beat their brests,"and naked flesh to teare :
crept.
XVIII
And all that he by right or wrong could find,
Unto this house he brought, and did bestow
Upon the daughter of this woman blind,
Abessa, daughter of Corceca slow.
With whom he whoredome usd. that few did
And fed her fatt with feast of offerings, [know,
And plenty, which in all the land did grow :
Ne spare 1 he to give hergold and rings ; [things.
And when they both had wept and wayld their (
fill,
Then forth they ran, like two amazed deare,
Halfe mad through malice and revenging will,
To follow her that was the causer of their UL
XXIII
Whome overtaking, they gan loudly bray,
With hollow houling, and lamenting cry;
Shamefully at her rayling all the way,
And now he to her brought part of his stolen And her accusing of dishonesty.
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
He thereto meeting said, ' My dearest Dame,
That was the flowre of faith and chastity :
And still, amidst her rayling, she did pray ;
That plagues, and mischiefes, and long misery, JFar be it from your°thought, and "fro mv wil,'
Might fall on her, and follow all the way, TO thinke that knighthood I so much should
shame,
As you to leave that have me loved stil,
And chose in Faery court, of meere goodwil,
And that in endlesse error she might ever stray.
But, when she saw her prayers nought pre-
vaile,
Shee backe retourned with some labour lost ;
And in the way, as shee did weepe and waile, To bring forth fruit, and make eternal derth,
•* ' . . ' T*I ri.. _i'iv i _^i i
A knight her mett in mighty armes embost,
Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost ;
But subtill Archimag, that Una sought
By trayne.s into new troubles to have toste :
Of that old woman tidings he besought,
If that of such a Lady shee could tellen ought.
Therewith she gan her passion to renew,
And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend her
Where noblest knights were to be found on
earth.
The earth shall sooner leave her kindlv skil
Then I leave vou, my liefe, yborn of hevenly
berth. "
XXIX
'And sooth to say, why I lefte you so long,
Was for to seeke adventure in straunge place ;
Where, Archimago said, a felon strong
To many knights did daily worke disgrace ;
But knight he now shall never more deface :
Good cause of mine excuse, that mote ye please
Well to accept, and evermore embrace
My faithfull service, that by land and seas
Have vowd you to defend. Now then, youi
plaint appease.'
heare,
Saying, that harlott she too lately knew,
That causd her shfd so many a bitter teare ;
And so forth told the story of her feare.
Much seemed he to mone her haplesse chaunce,
And after for that Lady did inquere ;
Which being taught, he forward gan advaunce of a11 her Passed pames: one loving howre
His fair enchaunted steed, and eke his charmed * or man7 >'eares of s0™? can dispence ;
launce * dram of sweete is worth a pound of sowre.
Shee has forgott how many a woeful stowre
For him she late endurd; she speakes no more
His lovely words her seemd due recompence
Ere long he came where Una traveild slow,
And that wilde champion wayting her besyde ;
Whome seeing such, for dread hee durst not
show
Him selfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde
Unto an hil ; from whence when she him spyde,
By his* like seeming shield her knight by name
She weend it was, and towards him gan ride :
Approaching nigh she wist it was the same ;
Aid with faire fearefull humblesse towards
him shee came :
And weeping said, 'Ah, my long lacked Lord,
Where have ye bene thus long out of my
sight ?
Much feared I to have bene quite abhord,
Or ought have done, that ye displeasen might.
That should as death unto my deare heart
light :
For since mine eie your joyous sight did mis,
Of past : true is, that true love hath no powre
To looken backe ; his eies be fixt before.
Before her stands her knight, for whom she
toyld so sore
Much like, as when the beaten marinere,
That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide,
Ofte soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare ;
And long time having tand his tawney hide
With blustring breath of Heaven, that none
can bide,
And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound ;
Soone as the port from far he has espide,
His chearfull whistle merily doth sound,
And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him
pledg around.
Such joy made Una, when her knight she
found ;
My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night, ' And eke th' enchaunter joyous seemde no lesse
And eke my night of death the shadow is ;
But welcome now, my light, and shining
lampe of blis!'
Then the glad marchant, that does vew from
ground
His ship far come from watrie wildernesse ;
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
He buries out vowes, and Neptune oft doth
blesse.
So forth they past ; and all the way they spent
Discoursing" of her dreadful late distresse,
In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment ;
Who told her all that fell, in journey as she
went.
XXXIII
They had not ridden far, when they might see
One pricking towards them with hastie heat,
Full strongly armd, and on a courser free
That through his fiersnesse fomed all with
sweat,
And the sharpe yron did for anger eat,
When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side :
His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat
Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde;
And on his shield Sansloy in bloody lines was
dyde.
XXXIV
When nigh he drew unto this gentle payre.
And saw the Red-crosse which the knight did
beare,
He burnt in fire ; and gan eftsoones prepare
Himselfe to batteill with his couched speare.
Loth was that other, and did faint through
feare,
To taste th' untryed dint of deadly steele :
But yet his Lady did so well him cheare,
That hope of new good hap he gan to feele ;
So bent his speare, and spurd his horse with
yron heele.
XXXV
But that proud Paynim forward came so ferce
And full of wrath," that, with his sharphead
speare, f perce ;
Through vainly crossed shield he quite did
And, had his staggering steed not shronke for
feare,
f beare :
Through shield and body eke he should him
Yet, so great was the puissance of his push,
That from his sadle quite he did him beare.
He, tombling rudely downe, to ground did rush,
And from his gored wound a well of bloud did
gush.
XXXVI
Dismounting lightly from his loftie steed,
He to him lept, in minde to reave his life,
And proudly said ; 'Lo ! there the worthie meed
Of him that slew Sansfoy with bloody knife :
Henceforth his ghost, freed from repining
strife,
In peace may passen over Lethe lake; [life,
When mourning altars, purgd with enimies
The black infernall Furies doen aslake :
Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall
from thee take.'
Therewith in haste his helmet gan unlace,
Till Una cride, ' O ! hold that heavie hand,
Deare Sir, what ever that thou be in place :
Enough is, that thy foe doth vanquish! stand
Now at thy mercy : Mercy not withstand ;
For he is one the truest knight alive,
Though conquered now he lye on lowly land ;
And, whilest him fortune favourd, fayre did
thrive fprive.'
In bloudy fiejd ; therefore, of life him not de-
XXXVIII
Her piteous wordes might not abate his rage,
But, rudely rending up his helmet, would
Have slayne him streight ; but when he sees
his" age,
And hoarie head of Archimago old,
His hasty hand he doth amased hold,
And halfe ashamed wondred at the sight:
For the old man well knew he, though untold,
In charmes and magick to have wondrous
might,
Ne ever wont in field, ne in round lists, to figh<:
XXXIX
And said, ' Why Archimago, lucklesse syre,
What doe I see? what hard mishap is this,
That hath thee hether brought to taste mine yre?
Or thine the fault, or mine the error is,
In stead of foe to wound my friend amis ? '
He answered nought, but in a traunce still lay,
And on those guilefull dazed eyes of his
The cloude of death did sit. Which doen away,
He left him lying so, ne would no lenger stay :
XL
But to the virgin comes ; who all this while
Amased stands, her selfe so mockt to see
By him, who has the guerdon of his guile,
For so misfeigning her true knight to bee:
Yet is she now in more perplexitie,
Left in the hand of that same Paynim bold,
From whom her booteth not at aft to file :
hold,
visage tc
Who, by her cleanly garment catching
Her from her Palfrey pluckt, her vis
behold.
But her fier? servant, full of kingly aw
And high disdaine, whenas his soveraine Dame,
So rudely handled by her foe he saw,
With gaping jawes full greedy at him came,
And, ramping on his shield, did weene the sam<
Have reft away with his sharp rending clawes
But he was stout, and lust did now inflame |
His corage more, that from his griping paweV
He hath his shield redeemd, and forth hiT
swerd he drawes.
CANTO III ]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
O ! then, too weake and feeble was the forse
Of salvage beast his puissance to withstand ;
For he was strong, and of so mightie corse,
As ever wielded speare in warlike hand,
And feates of armes did wisely understand.
Eft scenes he perced through his chaufed chest
With thrilling point of deadly yron brand,
AndlaunchthisLordlyhart: with death opprest
He ror'd aloud, whiles life forsooke his stub-
borne brest.
XLIII
Who now is left to keepe the forlorne maid
From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will?
Her faithful! gard remov'd, her hope dismaid,
Her selfe a yielded pray to save or spill :
He now, Lord of the field, his pride to fill,
With foule reproches and disdaineful spight
Her vildly entertaines ; and, will or nill,
Beares her away upon his courser .light:
Her prayers nought prevaile, his rage is more
of might.
XLIV
And all the way, witli great lamenting paine,
And piteous plai'ntes, she h'lleth his dull eares,
That stony hart could riven have in twaine ;
And all the way she wetts with flowing teares ;
But he, enrag'd with rancor, nothing heares.
Her servile beast yet would not leave her so,
But followes her far off, ne ought he fearcs
To be partaker of her wandring woe ; [foe.
More mild in beastly kind then that her beastly
CANTO IV.
To sinfull hous of Pryde Dnessa
Guydes the faithfull knight ;
Where, brothers death to wreak, Sansjoy
Doth chaleng him to fight.
I i Which ever after in most wretched case,
YOUNG knight whatever, that dost armes pro- , Like loathsome lazars, by the hedges lay.
fesse i Thether Duessa badd him bend his pace,
And through long labours huntest after fame, f^ste is wearie of the toilsom way,
Beware of fraud, beware of ficklenesse, [Dame; jAnd also nigh consumed is the lingnng day.
In choice, and chaunge of thy deare-loved
Least thou of her believe too lightly blame, iv
And rash misweening doe thy hart remove : i A stately Pallace built of squared briclie,
For unto knight there is no greater shame I Which cunningly was without morter laid.
Then lightnesse and inconstancie in love: (Whose wals were high, but nothing strong
That doth this Kedcrosse knights ensample! nor thick,
plainly prove.
And golden foile all over them displaid,
That purest skye with brightnesse they dis-
maid:
High lifted up were many loftie towres,
And goodly galleries far over laid,
Full of faire windowes and delightful bowres :
And on the top a Diall told the timely howres.
It was a goodly heape for to behould,
Who, after that he had faire Una lorne,
Through light misdeeming of her loialtie ;
And false Duessa in her sted had borne,
Called Fidess', and so supposd to be,
Long with her traveild ; till at last they see
A goodly building bravely garnished ;
The house of mightie Prince it seemd to be,
And towards it a broad high way that led, ^ . . .
All bare through peonies feet which thether And spake the praises of the workmatis witt ;
travelled" i "ut *u^ great pittie, that so faire a mould
Did on so weake foundation ever s»itt :
111 For on a sandie hill, that still did flitt
Great troupes of people traveild thetherward And fall away, it mounted was full hie,
Both day and night, of each degree and place ; • That every breath of heaven shaked itt :
But few returned, having scaped hard, |And all the hinder part.es, that few could spie,
With balefull beggery, or foule 'disgrace ; ! Were ruinous and old, but painted cunningly..
28
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
[BOOK i.
Arrived there, they passed in forth right ;
For still to all the gates stood open wide :
Yet charge of them was to a Porter hijcht,
Cald Malvenii, who entrance none denide :
Thence to the hall, which was on every side
With rich array and costly arras dight.
Infinite sortes of people did abide
There waiting long, to win the wished sight
Of her, that was the Lady of that Pallace bright.
VII
Bv them they passe, all gazing on them round
And to the Presence mount ; whose glorious vew
Their frayle amazed senses did confound :
In living Princes court none ever knew
Such endlesse richesse,andsosumpteous shew
Of griesly Pluto she the daughter was,
And sad Proserpina, the Queene of hell ;
Yet did she thinke her pearelesse worth to pas
That parentage, with pride so did she swell ;
And thundring Jove, that high in heaven doth
dwell
And wield the world, she claymed for her syre
Or if that any else did Jove excell ;
For to the highest she did still aspyre,
Or, if ought higher were than that, did it desyre.
XII
And proud Lucifera men did her call,
That made her selfe a Queene, and crownd to be;
Yet rightfull kingdome she had none at all,
Ne heritage of native soveraintie ;
But did usurpe with wrong and tyrannie
,
Ne Persia selfe, the nourse of pompous pride,
Like ever saw. And there a noble crew
Of Lords and Ladies stood on every side, And strong advizement of six wisards old,
Which with their presence fayre the place much Thatj with their C0unsel8 bad, her kingdome
Iw'fiiititid*' j:j i, l ]
beautifide.
VIII
High above all a cloth of State was spred,
And a rich throne, as bright as sunny day ;
On which there sate, most brave embellished
With royall robes and gorgeous array,
A mayden Queene that shone as Titans ray,
In glistring gold and perelesse pretious stone;
Yet her bright blazing beautie did assay
To dim the brightnesse of her glorious throne,
As envying her selfe, that too exceeding shone :
Exceeding shone, like Phoebus fayrest childe,
That did presume his fathers fyrie wayne,
And flaming mouthes of steedes, unwonted
wilde, f rayne :
Through highest heaven with weaker hand to
Proud of such glory and advancement vayne,
While flashing beames do daze his feeble eyen,
He leaves the welkin way most beaten playne,
And, rapt with whirling wheeles, inflames the
skyen [shyne.
With fire" not made to burae, but fayrely for to
So proud she shyned in her princely state,
Looking to heaven, for earth she did disdayne,
Ami sitting high, for lowly she did hate :
Lo ! underneath her scoruefull feete was layne
A dreadfull Dragon with an hideous trayne ;
And in her hand she held a mirrhour bright,
Wherein her face she often vewed fayne.
And in her selfe-lov'd semblance took delight;
For she was wondrous faire, as any living wight.
Upon the scepter which she now did hold :
Ne ruld her Kealme with lawes, bnt pollicie,
did uphold.
XIII
Soone as the Elfin knight in presence came,
And false Duessa, seeming Lady fayre,
A gentle Husher, Vankie by name, [ paire :
Made rowme, and passage for them did pre-
So goodly brought them to the lowest stayre
Of her high throne ; where they, on humble knee
Making obeysaunce, did the cause declare,
Why they were come her roiall state to see,
To prove the wide report of her great Majestee,
With loftie eyes, halfe loth to looke so lowe,
She thancked them in her disdainefull wise ;
Ne other grace vouchsafed them to showe
Of Princesse worthy ; scarse them bad arise.
Her Lordes and Ladies all this while devise
Themselves to setten forth to straungers sight:
Some frounce their curled heare in courtly
guise; [dight
Some prancke their ruffes ; and others trimly
Their gay attyre; each others greater pride
does spight.
xv
Goodly they all that knight doe entertayne,
Right glad with him to have increast their crew ;
But to Duess' each one himselfe did payne
All kindnesse and faire courtesie to shew,
For in that court whylouie her well they knew :
Yet the stout Faery mongst the middest crowo
Thought all their glorie vaine in knightly vew'
And that great Princesse too exceeding prowd
That to strange kuight no better countenance
allowd. '
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Sutlilcin uprisfth from her stately place
Tin1 miall Dame, and for her coche doth call :
All hurtlen forth ; and she, with princely pace,
As faire Aurora in her purple pall
Out of the East the dawning day doth call.
So forth she comes; her brightnes brode dolh
blaze.
The heapes of people, thronging in the hall,
Doe ride each other upon her to gaze : [amaze.
Her glorious glitterand light doth all mens eies
xvn
So forth she conies, and to her coche does
Adorned all with gold and girlonds gay, [clyme,
That seemd as fresh as Flora in her prime ;
And strove to match, in roiall rich array, [say,
Great Junoes golden chayre ; the which, they
The gods stand gazing on, when she does ride
To Joves high hous through heavens bras-
paved way,
Drawne of fayre Pecocks, that excell in pride,
And full of Argus eyes their tayles dispredden
wide.
But this was drawne of six unequall beasts,
On which her six sage Counsellours did ryde,
Taught to obay their bestiall beheasts,
With like conditions to their kindes applyde :
Of which the first, that all the rest did guyde,
Was sluggish Idlenesse, the nourse of sin ;
Upon a slouthfull Asse he chose to ryde, .
Arayd. in habit blacke, and amis thin,
Like to an holy Monck, the service to begin.
And in his hand his Portesse still he bare,
And by his side rode loathsome Gluttony,
Deformed creature, on a tilthie swync.
His belly was upblowne with luxury,
And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne ;
And like a Crane his necke was long and fyne
With which he swallowed up excessive feast,
For want whereof poore people oft did pync :
And all the way, most like a brutish beast,
He spued up his gorge, that all did him deteast.
In greene vine leaves he was right fitly clad,
For other clothes he could not weare for heate ;
And on his head an yvie girland had, [sweat.
From under which fast trickled downe the
Still as he rode he somewhat still did eat,
And in his hand did beare a bouzing can,
Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat
His dronken corse he scarse upholden can :
In shape and life more like a monster then a
man.
XXIII
Unfit he was for any worldly thing,
And eke unhable once to stirre or go ;
Not meet to be of counsell to a king,
Whose mind in meat and drinke was drowned so,
That from his frend he seeldorne knew his fo.
Full of diseases was his carcas blew,
And a dry dropsie through his flesh did flow,
Which by misdiet daily greater grew.
Such one was Gluttony, the second of that crew.
XXIV
And next to him rode lustfull Lechery
Upon a bearded Gote, whose rugged heare,
....« u ....... „.„ . „.„ — „ „..„ ,.~ «_.^, And whally eies (the signe of gelosv,)
That much was worne, but therein little redd;! Was like the person selfe whom he'did beare:
For of devotion he had little care, [dedd : ! Who rough, and blacke, and filthy, did appeare,
Still drownd in sleepe, and most of his daiesjUnseemely man to please faire Ladies eye;
Scarse could he once uphold his heavie hedd,
To looken whether it were night or day.
May seeine the wayne was very evill ledd,
When such an one had guiding of the way,
That knew not whether right he went, or else
astray.
xx
From worldly cares himselfe he did esloyne,
And greatly shunned manly exercise ;
From everie worke he chalenged essoyne,
For contemplation sake : yet otherwise
His life he led in lawlesse riotise.
By which he grew to grievous malady ;
For in his lustlesse limbs, through evill guise,
A shaking fever raignd continually.
Such one was Idlenesse, first of this company.
Yet he of Ladies oft was loved deare,
When fairer faces were bid standenby:
O ! who does know the bent of womens fantasy ?
In a greene gowne he clothed was full faire,
Which underneath did hide his filthinesse ;
And in his hand a burning hart he bare,
Full of vaine follies and new fanglenesse :
For he was false, and fraught with ficklenesse,
And learned had to love with secret lookes ;
And well could daunce, and sing with rueful-
nesse ;
And fortunes tell, and read in loving bookes,
And thousand other waies to bait his fle.-hly
hookes.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
XXVI
Inconstant man, that loved all he saw,
And lusted after all that he did love ;
Ne would his looser life be tide to law, [prove,
But joyd weake wemens hearts to tempt, and
If from their loyall loves he might them move :
Which lewdnes'fild him with reprochfull pain
Of that foule evill, which all men reprove,
That rotts the marrow, and consumes the braine.
Such one was Lechery, the third of all this
trainc.
xxvir
And greedy Avarice by him did ride,
Uppon a Camell loaden all with gold :
Two iron coffers hong on either side,
With precious nietall full as they might hold ;
And in his lap an heap of coine he told ;
For of his wicked pelfe his God he made,
And unto hell him selfe for money sold :
Accursed usury was all his trade, [waide.
And right and wrong ylike in equall ballaunce
XXVIII
His life was nigh unto deaths dore yplaste;
And thred-bare cote, and cobled shoes, hee ware ;
Ne scarse good morsell all his life did taste,
But both from backe and belly still did spare,
To fill his bags, and richesse to compare :
Yet childe ne kinsman living had he none
To leave them to ; but thorough daily care
To get, and nightly fearc to lose his owne,
He led a wretched life, unto himselfe unknowne.
XXIX
Most wretched wight, whom nothing might
suffise ;
Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest store :
Whose need had end, but no end covetise ;
Whose welth was want, whose plenty made
him pore ;
Who had enough, yett wished ever more ;
A vile disease : and eke in foote and hand
A grievous gout tormented him full sore,
That well he could not touch, nor goe, nor
stand. [band.
Such one was Avarice, the fourth of this faire
And next to him malicious Envy rode
Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw
Between his cankred teeth a venomous tode,
That all the poison ran about his chaw ;
But inwardly he chawed his owne maw
At neighbours welth, that made him ever sad,
For death it was, when any good he saw ;
And wept, that cause of weeping none he had ;
But when he heard of harme he wexed won-
drous glad.
XXXI
All in a kirtle of discolourd say
He clothed was, ypaynted full of eies ;
And in his bosome secretly there lay
An hatefull Snake, the which his taile uptyes
In many folds, and mortall sting implyes.
Still as "he rode he gnasht his teeth to" see
Those heapes of gold with griple Covetyse ;
And grudged at the great felicitee
Of proud Lucifera, and his owne companee.
XXXII
He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds,
And him no lesse, that any like did use ;
And who with gratious bread the hungry feeds,
His almes for want of faith he doth accuse.
So every good to bad he doth abuse ;
And eke the verse of famous Poets witt
He does backebite, and spightfull poison
spues
From leprous mouth on all that ever writt.
Such one vile Envy was, that tifte in row did
sitt.
XXXIII
And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath,
Upon a Lion, loth for to be led ;
And in his hand a burning brond he hath,
The which he brandisheth about his bed :
His eies did hurle forth sparcles fiery red,
And stared sterne on all that him beheld ;
As ashes pale of hew, and seeming ded ;
And on his dagger still his hand he held,
Trembling through hasty rage when cholerin]
him sweld.
XXXIV
His ruffin raiment all was staind with blood
Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent,
Through unadvized rashnes woxen wood ;
For of his hands he had no governement,
Ne car'd for blood in his avengement :
But, when the furious fitt was overpast,
His cruel facts he often would repent ;
Yet, wilfull man, he never would forecast
How many mischieves should ensue his heed-H
lesse hast.
XXXV
Full many mi^chiefes follow crucll Wrath : \
Abhorred bloodshed, and tumultuous strife,
Unmanly murder, and unthrifty scath,
Bitter despight, with rancours rusty knife,
And fretting griefc, the enemy of life :
All these, and many evils moe haunt ire,
The swelling Splene, and Frenzy raging
rife,
The shaking Palsey, and Saint Fraunces fire.
Such one was Wrath, the last of this ungodh
tire.
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
XXXVI
And. after all, upon the. wagon beame,
Rode Sathan with a smarting whip in hand,
With which he forward lasht the laesy teme,
3o oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand.
Huge routs of people did about them band,
Showtiug for joy ; and still before their way
A foggy mist had covered all the land;
And. underneath their feet, all scattered Lay
Dead sculls and bones of men whose life had
gone astray.
XXXVII
So forth they marchen in this goodly sort,
To take the solace of the open aire, [sport :
And in fresh flowring fields themselves to
Eniongst the rest rode that false Lady Lire,
The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire
Of proud Lucifer', as one of the traine :
But that good knight would not so nigh
repaire,
Him selfe estraunging from their joyaunce
vaine,
Whose fellowship seemd far unfitt for warlike
So, having solaced themselves a space
With pleasaunce of the breathing fields yfed,
They backe retourned to the princely Place;
Whereas an errant knight in armes ycled,
And heathnish shield, wherein with letters red,
Was writt Sansjny, they new arrived find :
Enflam'd with fury and fiers hardy hed,
He seemd in hart to harbour thoughts unkind,
And nourish bloody vengeaunce m his bitter
mind.
xxxix
Who, when the shamed shield of slaine
Sansfoy
He spide with that same Faery champions page,
Bewraying him that did of late destroy
His eldest brother ; burning all with rage,
He to him lept, and that same envious gage
Of victors glory from him snacht away:
But tli' Elfin knight, which ought that war-
like wage,
Disduind to loose the meed he wonne in fray ;
And, him rencountring fierce, reskewd the noble
pray.
XL
Therewith they gan to hurtlen greedily,
•doubted battaile ready to darrayn^
And clash their shields, and shake their swerds
on by, [traine;
That with their sturre they troubled all the
Till that great Queene, upon eternall paine
Of high displeasure that ensewen might,
Commaunded them their fury to refraine ;
And, if that either to that shield had right,
In equall lists they should the morrow next it
fight.
XLI
Ah dearest Dame,' quoth then the Paynim
' Pardon the error of enraged wight, ["bold,
Whome great griefe made forgett the raines to
hold
Of reasons rule, to see this recreaunt knight,
No knight, but treachour full of false despight
And shameful treason, who through guile hath
slayn
The prowest knight that ever field did fight,
Even stout Sansfoy, (O who can then refrayn ?)
Whose shield he bcares renverst, the more to
heap disdayn.
XLII
' And, to augment the glorie of his guile,
His dearest love, the faire Fidessa, loe!
Is there possessed of the tray tour vile;
Who reapes the harvest so wen by his foe,
Sowen in bloodie field, and bought with woe :
That brothers hand shall dearely well requight.
So be, 0 Queene ! you equall favour showe.'
Him litle answerd th' angry Elfin knight ;
He never meant with words, but swords, to
plead his right :
XLIII
But threw his gauntlet, as a sacred pledge
His cause in combat the next day to try :
So been they parted both, with harts on edge
To be aveng"'d each on his enimy.
That night they pas in joy and jollity,
Feasting and courting both in b'owre and hall ;
For Steward was excessive Gluttony,
That of his plenty poured forth to all :
Which doen, the* Chamberlain, Slowth, did to
rest them call.
XI.IV
Now whenasdarkesome night had all displayd
Her coleblacke curtein over brightest skye;
The warlike youthes, on dayntie couches layd,
Did chace away sweet sleepe from sluggish
eye,
To muse on meanes of hoped victory.
But whenas Morpheus had with leaden mace
Arrested all that courtly company,
Uprose Duessa from her resting place, [pace.
And to thePaynims lodging comes with silent
Whom broad awake she findes, in troublous fit t,
Fore-casting how his foe he might annoy;
And him amoves with speeches seeming fitt :
' Ah deare Sansjoy, next dearest to Sansfoy,
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK 1.
Cause of my new griefe, cause of my new joy;
Joyous to see bis ymage in mine e^e,
And greevd to thinke how foe did him destroy,
That was the flowre of grace and chevalrye ;
Lo ! his Fidessa, to thy secret faith I flye.'
With gentle wordes he can her fayrely greet.
And bad say on the secrete of her hart:
Then, sighing soft ; ' I learne that litle sweet
Oft tempred is,' (quoth she,) 'with muehell
smart: fdart
For since my brest was launcht with lovely
Of deare Sansfoy, I never joyed howre,
But in eternall woes my weaker hart
Have wasted, loving him with all my powre.
And for his sake have felt full many an heavie
stowre.
XLVII
' At last, when perils all I weened past,
And hop'd to reape the crop of all my care,
Xnto new woes unweeting I was cast
By this false faytor, who unworthie ware [snare
His worthie shield, whom he with guilefullj
Entrapped slew, and brought to shamefull
grave :
Me, silly maid, away with him he bare,
And ever since hath kept in darksom cave,
For that I would not yeeld that to Sansfoy I
gave.
XLVIII
' But since faire Sunne hath sperst that low-
ring clowd,
And to my loathed life now shewes some light,
Under your beames I will me safely shrowd
From dreaded storme of his disdainfull spight :
To you th' inheritance belonges by right
Of "brothers prayse, to you eke longes his
love.
Let not his love, let not his restlesse spright,
He unreveng'd, that calles to you above
From wandring Stygian shores, where it doth
endlesse move.'
Thereto said he, ' Faire Dame, be nought dis-
maid [gone :
For sorrowes past ; their griefe is with them
Ne yet of present perill be affraid,
For needlesse feare did never vantage none ;
And helplesse hap it booteth not to mone.
Dead is Sansfoy, his vitall paines are past,
Though greeved ghost for vengeance deep do
grone :
He lives that shall him pay his dewties last,
And guiltie Elfin blood shall sacrifice in hast.'
' O ! but I feare the fickle freakes,' (quoth shee)
' Of fortune false, and oddes of armes in field.'
' Why, dame,' (quoth he) ' what oddes can ever
bee,
Where both doe fight alike, to win or yield ?'
' Yea, but,' (quoth she) 'he beares a charmed
shield, [ perce ;
And eke enchaunted armes, that none can
Ne none can wound the man that does them
wield.' [ferce,
' Charmd or enchaunted,' answerd he then
' I no whitt reck ; ne yoa the like need to re-
herce.
LI
' But, faire Fidessa, sithens fortunes guile,
Or enimies powre, hath now captived you,
Returne from whence ye came, and rest a while,
Till morrow next that I the Elfe subdew,
And with Sansfoyes dead dowry you ende.w.1
' Ah me ! that is a double death,' (she said)
' With proud foes sight my sorrow to renew,
Where ever yet I be, my secret aide [obaid.
Shall follow you.' So, passing forth, she him
CANTO V.
The faithf ull knight in equall field
Subdewes his faithlesse foe ;
Whom false Duessa saves, and for
His cure to hell does goe.
THE noble hart that harbours vertuous
thought,
And is with childe of glorious great intent,
Can never rest, untill it forth have brought
Th'eternall brood of glorie excellent:
Such restlesse passion did all night torment
The flaming corage of that Faery knight,
Devizing how that doughtie turnament
With greatest honour he atchieven might :
Still did he wake, and still did watch for
[dawning light.
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
33
At last, the golden Orieutall gate
Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre ;
And Phoebus,fresh as brydegrome to his mate,
Came dauncing forth, shaking
havre.
his deawie
[ ayre.
And hurld his glistring beams through gloomy
Which when the wakeful Elfe perceiv'd, streight
Restarted up, and did him selfeprepayre [way,
In sunbright armes, and battailous array;
For with that Pagan proud he combatt will
that day.
in
And forth he comes into the commune hall;
Where carely waite him many a gazing eye.
To weet wha't end to straunger knights may fall.
There many Minstrales maken melody,
To drive away the dull melancholy ;
And many Bardes, that to the trembling chord
Can tune their timely voices cunningly ;
And many Chroniclers, that can record
Old loves, and warres for Ladies doen by many
a Lord.
IV
Soone after comes the cruell Sarazin,
In woven maile all armed warily ;
And sternly lookes at him, who not a pin
Does care for looke of living creatures eye.
They bring them wines of Greece and Araby,
And daintie spices fetch from furthest Ynd,
To kindle heat of corage privily ;
And in the wine a solemne oth they bynd
T'observe the sacred lawes of armes that are
assynd.
v
At last forth comes that far renowmed Queene
With royall pomp and princely majestic
She is ybrought unto a paled greene,
And placed under stately canapee,
The warlike feates of both those knights to see
On th' other side in all mens open vew
Duessa placed is, and on a tree
Sansfoy his shield is hangd with bloody hew
Both those the lawrell girlonds to the victor
dew.
VI
A shrilling trompett sownded from on hye,
And unto battaill bad them selves addresse :
Their shining shieldes about their wrestes the}
tye, [blesse
And burning blades about their heades doe
The instruments of wrath and heavinesse.
With greedy force each other doth assayle,
And strike so fiercely, that they do impresse
Deepe dinted furrowes in the battred mayle :
The Sarazin was stout and wondrous strong,
And heaped blowes like yron hammers great ;
For after blood and vengeance he did long :
The knight was fiers, and full of youthly heat,
And doubled strokes, like dreaded thunders
threat ;
For all for praise and honour he did fight.
Both stricken stryke, and beaten both doe beat,
That from their shields forth flyeth firie light,
And hewen helmets deepe shew marks of cithers
might.
VIII
So th' one for wrong, the other strives for
right.
As when a Gryfon, seized of his pray,
A Dragon fiers encountreth in his flight,
Through widest ayre making his ydle way,
That would his rightfull ravine rend away :
With hideous horror both together smight,
And souce so sore that they the heavens affray ;
The wise Southsayer, seeing so sad sight,
Th' amazed vulgar telles of warres and mortall
right.
IX
So th' one for wrong, the other strives for
right,
And each to deadly shame would drive his foe :
The cruell steele so greedily doth bight
In tender flesh, that streames of blood down
flow; [show,
With which the armes, that earst so bright did
Into a pure vennillion now are dyde.
Great ruth in all the gazers harts did grow,
Seeing the gored woundes to gape so wyde,
That victory they dare not wish to either side.
At last the Paynim chaunst to cast his eye,
His suddein eye flaming with wrathfull fyre,
Upon his brot'hers shield, which hong thereby :
Therewith redoubled was his raging yre,
And said ; ' Ah ! wretched sonne of wofull syre,
Doest thou sit wayling by blacke Stygian lake,
Whylest here thy shield is hangd for victors
hyre?
And, sluggish german, doest thy forces slake
To after-send his foe, that him may overtake?
' Goe, caytive Elfe, him quickly overtake,
And soone redeeme from his long-wandring
woe :
Goe, guiltie ghost, to him my message make,
That 1 his shield have quit from dying foe.'
The yron walles to ward their blowes are weak j Therewith upon his crest he stroke him so,
and fraile. [That twise he reeled, readie twise to fall;
34
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
End of the doubt full battaile deemed tho
The lookers on ; and lowd to him gan call
The false Duessa, 'Thine the shield, and I, and
all!'
XII
Soone as the Faerie heard his Ladie speake,
Out of his swowning dreame he gan awake ;
And quickning faith, that earst was woxen
weake,
The creeping deadly cold away did shake :
Thomov'd with wrath, and shame, and Ladies
Of all attonce he cast avengd to be, [sake,
And with so' exceeding fnrie at him atrake,
That forced him to stoupe upon his knee :
Had he not stouped so, he should have cloven
bee.
XIII
And to him said ; 'Goe now, proud Miscreant,
Thyselfe thy message do to german deare ;
Alone he, wandring, thee too long doth want :
Goe say, his foe thy shield with his doth beare.'
Therewith his heavie hand he high gan reare,
Him to have slaine ; when lo ! a darkesome
clowd
Upon him fell : he r.o where doth appeare,
But vanisht is. The Elfe him calls alowd,
But answer none receives; the darknes him
does shrowd.
XIV
In haste Duessa from her place arose,
And to him running said ; '0 ! prowest knight,
That ever Ladie to her love did chose,
Let now abate the terrour of your might,
And quench the flame of furious despight,
And bloodie vengeance : lo ! th' infernall
powres,
Covering your foe with cloud of deadly night,
Have borne him hence to Plutoes balefull
bow.'es : [glory yours.'
The conquest yours ; I yours; the shield, and
Not all so satisfide, with gready eye
He sought all round about, his thristy blade
To bathe in blood of faithlesse enimy";
Who all that while lay hid in secret shade.
He standes amazed how he thence should fade :
At last the trumpets Triumph sound on hie ;
And running Heralds humble homage made,
Greeting him goodly with new victorie,
And to him brought the shield, the cause of
enmitie.
xvt
Wherewith he goeth to that soveraine
Queene ;
And falling her before on lowly knee,
To her makes present of his service scene :
Which she accepts with thankes and goodly
Greatly advauncing his gay chevalree : [gree,
So marcheth home, and by her takes the
knight,
Whom all the people followe with great glee,
Shouting, and clapping all their hands on
hight, [bright.
That all the ayre it fills, and flyes to heaven
Home \3 he brought, and layd in sumptous
Where many skilfull leaches him abide [bed,
To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled.
In wine and oyle they wash his woundes wide,
And softly gan embalme on everie side :
And all the while most heavenly melody
About the bed sweet musicke did divide,
Him to beguile of griefe and agony ;
And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly.
As when a wearie traveller, that strayes
By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile,
Unweeting of the perillous wandring waves,
Doth meete a cruell craftie Crocodile, [guile,
Which, in false griefe hyding his harmefull
Doth weepe full sore, and sheddeth tender
The foolish man, that pities all this while[teares;
His mournefull plight, is swallowed up un-
wares, [cares.
Forgetfull of his owne that mindes an other*
XIX
So wept Duessa untill eventyde,
That shyning lampes in Joves high house
were light;
Then forth she rose, ne lenger would abide,
But comes unto the place where th' Hethen
knight, !>pright,
tn slombring swownd, nigh voyd of vitall
Lay cover'd with inchaunted cloud all day :
Whom when she found, as she him left in
plight,
lo wayle his wofull case she would not stay,
But to the Easterne coast of heaven makes
speedy way:
xx
Where griesly Night, with visage deadly sad.
That Phffibus chearefull face durst never vew,
And in a foule blacke pitchy mantle clad, [mew,
She findes forth comming from her darksome
Where she all day did hide her hated hew.
Before the dore her yron charet stood,
Already harnessed for journey new,
And cole lilacke steedes yborn'e of hellish brood,
That on their rusty bits did champ as they
were wood.
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
35
Who when she saw Duessa, sunny bright,
Adornd with gold and jewels shining cleare,
She greatly grew amazed at the sight,
And th' unacquainted light began to feare,
For never did such brightnes there appeare;
And would ha%re backe retyred to her cave,
Untill the witches speach she gan to heare,
Saying ; 'Yet. O thou dreaded Dame ! I crave
Abyde. till I have told the message which I
have.'
XXII
She stayd; and foorth Duessa gan proceede-
•O ! thou most auncient Grandmother of all.
More old then Jove, whom thou at lirst didst
breede,
Or that great house of Gods caelestiall,
Which wast begot iu Daemogorgon* hall.
And sawst the secrets of the world unmade .
Why suffrcdst thou thy Ntphewesdeare to fall.
With Kltin sword most shamefully betnule ?
Lo! where the stout Sansjoy doth sleepe in
deadly shade.
xxin
' And him before, I saw with bitter eyes
The bold Sansfoy shrinck underneath his speare:
And now the pray of fowles in field he lyes,
Nor wayld of friends, nor layd on groning
beare,
That whylorre was to me too dearely de-are.
O ! what of gods then boots it to be borne,
JIf old Areugles sonnes so evill heare?
Or who shall not great Nightes children scorne.
When two of three herNephewes are sofowle
forlorne ?
XXIV
% • Up, then ! up, dreary Dame, of darknes
Queene !
Go, gather up the reliques of thy race ;
iOr else goe them avenge, and let be scene
'That dreaded Night in brightest day hath
place,
And can the children of fayre light deface.'
Her feeling speaches some compassion mov'd
In hart, and chaunge in that great mothers face :
Yet pitty in her hart was never prov'd
•Till then, for evermore she hated, never lov'd :
And said, 'Deare daughter, rightly may I rew
The fall of famous children borne of mee,
And good successes which their foes ensew :
But who can turne the stream of destinee,
Or breake the chayne of strong necessitee,
Which fast is tyde to Joves eternall seat ?
The sonnes of Day he favoureth, I see,
And by my ruinesthinkes to make them great:
To make one great by others losse is bad ex-
cheat.
XXVI
' Yet shall they not escape so freely all,
For some shall pay the price of others guilt;
Ami he the man that made Sansfoy to fall,
Shall with his owne blood price that he hath
spilt.
But what art thou, thattelst of Nephews kilt? '
' I, that do seeme not I, Duessa ame,'
Quoth she, ; how ever now, in garments gilt
And gorgeous gold arayd, I to thee came,
Duessa I, the daughter of Deceiptand Shame.'
XXVII
Then, bowing downe her aged backe, she kist
The wicked witch, saying, ' In that fayre face
Thi, false resemblaunce of Deceipt, I wist,
Did closely lurke ; yet so true-seeming grace
It carried, that I scarse in darksome place
j Could it discerne, though I the mother bee
Of falshood, and route of Duessaes race.
O welcome, child ! whom I have longd to see,
And now haveseenc uuwares. Lo ! now I goe
with thee.'
XXVIII
Then tc her yron wagon she betakes,
And with her beares the fowle welfavourd
witch. [makes:
Through mirkesome aire her ready way she
Her twyibld Teme, of which two blacke as
pitch,
And two werebrowne, yet each to each unlich,
Did softly swim away, ne ever stamp
Unlcsse she chauust their stubborne mouths
to twitch; [champ,
Then, foming tarre, their bridles they would
And trampling the fine element would fiercely
ramp.
XXIX
So well they sped, that they be come at length
Unto the place whereas the Paynim lay,
Devoid of outward sence and native strength,
Coverd with charmed cloud from vew of day,
And sight of men, since his late luckelesse fray.
His cruell wounds, with cmddy blond con-
geald,
They binden up so wisely as they may,
And handle softly, till they can be heald:
So lay him in her charett, close in night con-
ceald.
XXX
And, all the while she stood upon the ground,
The wakefull dogs did never cease to bay,
As giving warning of th' unwonted sound,
With which her yron wheeles did them affray,
D2
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK I.
And her darke griesly lookc them much dismay :
The messenger of death, the ghastly owle,
With drery shriekes did also her bewray ;
And hungry wolves continually did howle
At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowle.
XXXI
Thence turning backe in silence softe they
stole,
And brought the heavy corse with easy pace
To yawning gulfe of deepe Avernus hole.
By that same hole an entraunce, darke and
bace,
With smoake and sulphur hiding all the place,
Descends to hell : there creature never past,
That backe retoumed without heavenly
grace;
But dreadfull Furies, which their chaines have
brast,
[ men aghast.
And damned sprights sent forth to make ill
There was Ixion turned on a wheele,
For daring tempt the Queene of heaven to sin ;
And Sisyphus an huge round stone did reele
Against an hill, ne might from labour lin ;
There thristy Tantalus hong by the chin ;
And Tityus fed a vultur on his maw ;
Typhoeusjoynts were stretched on agin;
Theseus condemned to endlesse slouth by law ;
And fifty sisters water in leke vessels draw.
They all, beholding worldly wights in place,
Leaveofftheirworke, unmindfull of their smart.
To gaze on them ; who forth by them doe pace,
Till they be come unto the furthest part;
Where was a Cave y wrought by wondrous art.
Deepe, darke, uneasy, dolefull, comfortlesse.
In which sad Aesculapius far apart
Emprisond was in chaines remedilesse ;
For that Hippolytus rent corse he did redresse.
Hippolytus a jolly huntsman was.
XXXII
By that same way the direfull dames doe
drive
Their mournefull charett, fild with rusty blood, . . ,
And downe to Plutoes house are come bilive : i That wont m charett ch ace the fommg bore :
Which passing through, on every side them; He all his Peeres in beauty didsurpas,
stood ! ^ut Ladies love as losse of time forbore :
The trembling ghosts with sad amazed mood,; His wanton stepdame loved him the more;
Chattring their iron teeth, and staring wide Bat, when she saw her offred sweets refusd,
Chattring the
With stony eies; and all the hellish brood
Of feends mfemall flockt on every side,
To gaze on erthly wight that with the Night
durst ride.
XXXIII
They pas the bitter waves of Acheron,
Where many soules sit wailing woefully,
And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton,
Whereas the damned ghosts in torments fry,
Aud with sharp shrilling shriekes doe bootlesse
cry,
Cursing high Jove, the which them thither sent.
The house of endlesse paine is built thereby,
In which ten thousand sorts of punishment
The cursed creatures doe eternally torment.
XXXIV
Before the threshold dreadfull Cerberus
His three deformed heads did lay along,
Curled with thousand adders venemous,
And lilled forth his bloody flaming long :
At them he gan to reare his bristles strong,
And felly gnarre, untill Daves enemy
Did him appease; then downe his taile he
hong,
And suffered them to passen quietly ;
For she in hell and heaven had power equally.
Her love she turnd to hate, and him before
His father fierce of treason false accuse!,
And with her gealous termes his open eares
abusd :
XXXVIII
Who, all in rage, his Sea-god syre besought
Some cursed vengeaunce on his sonne to cast.
From surging gulf two Monsters streight were
brought,
With dread whereof his chacing steedes aghast
Both charett swifte and huntsman overcast :
His goodly corps, on ragged cliffs yrent,
Was quite dismembred, and his members chast
Scattered on every mountaine as he went,
That of Hippolytus was lefte no moniment.
XXXIX
His cruell step-dame, seeing what wa? donne,
Her wicked daies with wretched knife did end,
In death avowing th' innocence of her sonne.
Which hearing, his rash syre began to rend
His heare, and hasty tong' that did offend :
Tho. gathering up the reliques of his smart,
By Dianes meanes, who was Hippolyts frend,
Them brought to Aesculape, that by hie art
Did heale them all againe, and joyned every
part
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
37
Such wondrous science in mans witt to rain
When Jove avizd, that could the dead revive,
And fates expired could renew again,
Of endlesse life he might him not deprive,
But. unto hell did thrust him downe alive,
With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore :
Where, long remaining, he did alwaies strive
Himselfe with salves to health for to restore,
And slake the heavenly tire that raged ever-
more.
XLI
There auncient Night arriving did alight
From her nigh weary wayne, and in her armes
To Aesculapius brought the wounded knight :
Whome having softly disaraid of armes,
Tho gan to him discover all his harmes,
Beseeching him with prayer and with praise,
If either salves, or oyles, or herbes. or charmes,
A fordonne wight from dore of death mote raise,
He would at her request prolong her nephews
daies.
XLII
'Ah Dame,' (quoth he) 'thou temptest me
in vaine,
To dare the thing, which daily yet I rew,
And the old cause of my continued paine
With like attempt to like end to renew.
la not enough, that, thrust from heaven dew,
Here endlesse penaunce for one fault I pay,
But that redoubled crime with vengeaunce new
Thou biddest me to eeke ? Can Night defray
The wrath of thundring Jove, that rules both
night and day ?'
' Not so,' (quoth she) 'but, sith that heavens
king
From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quight,
Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing ;
And fearest not that more thee hurten might,
Now in the powre of everlasting Night?
Goe to then, O thou far renowmed sonne
Of great Apollo! shew thy famous might
In medicine, that els hath to thee wonne
Great pains, and greater praise, both never to
be donne.'
XLIV
Her words prevaild : And then the learned
leach
His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay,
And all things els the which his art did teach :
Which having scene, from thence arose away
The mother of dredd darknesse, and let stay
Aveugles sonne there in the leaches cure •.
And, backe retourning, took her wonted way
To ronne her timely race, whilst Phoebus
pure
In westerue waves his weary wagon did recure.
The false Duessa, leaving noyous Night,
Returnd to stately pallace of Dame Pryde :
Where when she came, she found the Faery
knight
Departed thence; albec his woundes wyde
Not throughly heald unready were to ryde.
Good cause he had to hasten thence away;
For on a day his wary Dwarfe had spyde
Where in a dungeon deepe huge nombers
lay
Of caytive wretched thralls, that wayled night
* and day :
XIATt
A ruefull sight as could be seene with eie ,
Of whom he learned had in secret wise
The hidden cause of their captivitie;
How mortgaging their lives to Covetise,
Through wastfull Pride and wanton Riotise,
They were by law of that proud Tyrannesse,
Provokt with Wrath and Envyes false surmise,
Condemned to that Dongeon mercilesse,
Where they should live in wo, and dye in
wretcheduesse.
There was that great proud king of Babylon,
That would compell all nations to adore,
And him as onely God to call upon;
Till, through celestiall doome thrown out of
Into an Oxe he was transformd of yore, f dore,
There also was king Croesus, that enhaunst
His hart too high through his great richesse
store ;
And proud Antiochus, the which advaunst
His cursed hand gainst God, and on his altares
daunst.
XLVIII
And them long time before, great Nimrod was,
That first the world with sword and lire war-
And after him old Ninus far did pas f rayd ;
In princely pomp, of all the world obayd.
There also was that mightie Monarch layd
Low under all, yet above all in pride,
That name of native syre did fowle upbrayd,
And would as Ammons sonne be magnirid'e,
Till, scornd of God and man, a shamefull death
he elide.
XLIX
All these together in one heape were throwne,
Like carkases of beastes in butchers stall.
And in another corner wide were strowne
The Antique ruins of the Romanes fall :
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK I.
Great Romulus, the Grandsyre of them all ;
Proud Tarquin, and too lordly Lentulus;
Stout Scipio, and stubborne Hanniball;
Ambitious Sylla, and sterne Marius; [nius.
High Caesar," great Pompey, and tiers Anto-
Amongst these migh tie men were wemenmixt,
Proud wemen, vaine, forgetfull of their yoke •
The bold Semiramis, whose sides transfixt
With sonnes own blade her fowle reproches
spoke :
Fayre Sthenobcea, that her selfe did choke
With wilfull chord for wanting of her will ;
High minded Cleopatra, that with stroke
Of Aspes sting her selfe did stoutly kill ;
And thousands moe the like that did that don-
geon fill.
LI
Besides the endlesse routes of wretched
thralles,
Which thither were assembled day by day
From all the world, after their wofull falles,
Through wicked pride and wasted welthes
decay.
But most of all, which in that dongeon lay,
Fell from high Princes courtes, or Ladies
bowres,
Where they in ydle pomp, or wanton play,
Consumed had their goods and thriftlesse
howres, [stowres.
And lastly thrown themselves into these heavy
Whose case whenas the careful Dwarfe had
tould,
And made ensample of their mournfull sight
j Unto his Maister, he no lenger would
There dwell in perill of like painefull plight,
But earelv rose; and, ere that dawning
light
Discovered had the world to heaven wyde,
He by a privy Posterne tooke his flight,
That of no envious eyes he mote be spydc ;
For, doubtlesse, death ensewd if any him des-
cryde.
LIII
Scarse could he footing find in that fowle way,
For many corses, like a great Lay-stall,
Of murdred men, which therein strowed lay
Without remorse or decent funerall ;
Which al through that great Princesse pride
did fall,
And came to shamefull end. And them besyde,
Forth ryding underneath the castell wall, "
A Donghill of dead carcases he spyde ;
The dreadfull spectacle of that sad house of
Pryde.
CANTO VI.
From lawlesse lust by wondrous grace
Fayre Una is releast :
Whom salvage nation does adore,
And learnes her wise beheast.
As when a ship, that fives fayre under sayle,
An hidden rocke escaped hath unwares,
That lay in waite her wrack for to bewaile,
The Marriner yet halfe amazed stares
At perill past, and yet in doubt ne dares
To joy at his foolhappie oversight:
So doubly is distrest twixt joy and cares
The dreadlesse corage of this Elfin knight.
Having escapt so sad ensamples in his sight.
Yet sad he was, that his too hastie speed
The fayre Duess' had forst him leave behind ;
And yet more sad, that Una, his deare dreed,
Her truth had staynd with treason so unkind:
Yet cryme in her could never creature find ;
But for his love, and for her own selfe sake,
She wandred had from one to other Ynd,
Him for to seeke, ne ever would forsake,
Till her unwares the tiers Sansloy did overtake:
Who, after Archimagoes fowle defeat,
Led her away into a forest wilde ;
And, turning wrathfull fyre to lustfull heat,
With beastly sin thought her to have defilde,
! And made the vassall of his pleasures vilde.
Yet first he cast by treatie. and by traynes
Her to persuade that stubborne fort to yilde:
For greater conquest of hard love he gavnes,
That workes it to his will, then he that it con-
st raines.
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
39
With fawning wordes he courted her a while;
And, looking lovely and oft sighing sore,
Her constant hart did tempt with diverse guile :
Hut wordes, and lookes, and sighes she did
As rock of Diamond stedfast evermore, [abhore;
Yet for to feed his fyrie lustfull eye,
He snatcht the vele that hong her face before:
Then gan her beautie shyne as brightest skye,
And burnt his beastly hart t'efforce her chas-
titye.
v
So when he saw his flatt'ring artes to fayle,
And subtile engines belt from batteree;
With greedy force he gan the fort assayle,
Whereof he weend possessed soone to bee,
And win rich spoile of ransackt chastitee.
Ah heavens ! that doe this hideous act behold,
Anil heavenly virgin thus outraged see,
How can ye vengeance j ust so long withhold,
And hurle not flashing flames upon that Pay-
uim bold ?
VI
The pitteous mayden, carefull, comfortlesse,
Does throw out thrilling shriekes, and shriek-
ing cryes,
The last vaine helpe of wemens great distresse,
And with loud plaintes importuneth the skyes,
That molten starres doe drop like weeping eyes ;
And Phoebus, flying so most shamefull sight,
His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes,
And hydes for shame. What witt of mortal
wight [plight?
Can now devise to quitt a thrall from such a
Eternall providence, exceeding thought,
Where none appeares can make her selfe a way.
A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought,
From Lyons clawes to pluck the gryped pray.
Her shrill outcry es and shrieks so loud did bray,
That all the woodes and forestes did resownd :
A troupe of Faunes and Satyres faraway
Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd,
Whiles old Sylvanus slept in shady arber
sownd :
VIII
Who, when they heard that pitteous strained
In haste forsooke their rurall meriment, [voice,
And ran towardes the far rebownded noyce,
To weet what wight so loudly did lament.
Unto the place they come incontinent :
Whom when the raging Sarazin espyde,
A rude, mishapen, monstrous rablement,
Whose like he never saw, he durst not byde,
But got his ready steed, and fast away gan
ryde.
The wyld woodgods, arrived in the place,
There find the virgin, doolfull, desolate,
With ruffled rayments, and fayre blubbred face,
As her outrageous foe had left her late ; [hate.
And trembling yet through feare of former
All stand amazed at so uncouth sight,
And gin to pittie her unhappie state :
All stand astonied at her beautie bright,
In their rude eyes unworthieof so wofull plight.
She, more amazd, in double dread doth
dwell ;
And every tender part for feare does shake.
As when a greedy Wolfe, through honger fell,
A seely Lamb far from the flock does take,
Of whom he meanes his bloody feast to make,
A Lyon spyes fast running towards him,
The innocent pray in hast he does forsake ;
Which, quitt from death, yet quakes in every
lim [grim.
With chaunge of feare, to see the Lyon looke so
Such fearefull fitt assaid her trembling hart,
Ne word to speake, ne joynt to move, she had ;
The salvage nation feele her secret smart,
And read her sorrow in her count'nance sad ;
Their frowning forheades, with rough homes
And rustick horror, all asyde doe lav ; [yclad,
And, gently grenning, shew a semblance glad
To comfort her ; and, feare to put away,
Their backward bent knees teach her humbly
to obay.
XII
The doubtfull Damzell dare not yet committ
Her single person to their barbarous truth ;
But still twixt feare and hope amazd doessitt,
Late learnd what harme to hasty trust ensu'th.
They, in compassion of her tender youth,
And wonder of her beautie soverayne,
Are wonne with pitty and unwonted ruth ;
And, all prostrate upon the lowly plavne,
Doe kisse her feete, and fawne on her with
count'nance fayne
Their harts she ghesseth by their humble
And yieldes her to extremitie of time : [guise,
So from the ground she fearelesse doth arise,
And walketh forth without suspect of crime.
They, all as glad as birdes of joyous Prvmc,
Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing
round,
Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme;
4o
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
And with greene braunches strewing all the
ground,
Do worship her as Queene with olive girlond
cround.
XIV
And all the way their merry pipes they sound.
That all the woods with doubled Eccho ring;
And with their horned feet doe weare the
ground.
Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring.
So towards old Sylvanus they her bring ;
Who, with the noyse awaked, commeth out
To weet the cause, his weake steps governing
And aged limbs on cypresse stadle stout ,
And with an yvie twyne his waste is girt about.
Far off he wonders what them makes so glad ;
Or Bacchus merry fruit they did invent,
Or Cybelesfranticke rites have made them mad:
They, drawing nigh, unto their God present
That flowre of fayth and beautie excellent.
The God himselfe, vewing that mirrhour rare,
Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent :
His owne fayre Dryope now he thinkes not faire,
And Pholoe fowle, when her to this he doth
compaire.
XVI
The woodborne people fall before her flat,
And worship her as Goddesse of the wood ;
And old Sylvanus selfe bethinkes not what
To thinke of wight so fayre, but gazing stood
In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood :
Sometimes dame Venus selfe he seemes to see ;
But Venus never had so sober mood :
Sometimes Diana he her takes to be,
But misseth bow and shaftes, and buskins to
her knee.
By vew of her he ginneth to revive
His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse ;
And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive,
How fayre he was, and yet not fayre to this;
And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse
A gentle Hynd, the which the lovely boy
Did love as life, above all worldly blisse ;
For griefe whereof the lad n'ould after joy.
But pynd away in anguish and selfe-wild
annoy.
XVIII
The wooddy nymphes, faire Hamadryadea,
Her to behold do thither runne apace ;
And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades
Flocke all about to see her lovely face ;
But, when they vewed have her heavenly grace,
They envy her in their mahtious mind,
And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace •
But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind,
And henceforth" nothing taire but her on earth
they find.
XIX
Glad of such lucke, the luckelesse lucky mayd
Did her content to please their feeble eyes,
And long time with that salvage people stayd,
To gather breath in many miseryes.
During which time her gentle wit she plyes
To teach them truth, which worshipt her in
And made her th' Image of Idolatryes ; [vaine,
but when their bootlesse zeale she didrestrayne
From her own worship, they her Asse would
worship fayn.
xx
It fortuned, a noble warlike knight
By just occasion to that forrest came
To seeke his kindred, and the lignage right
From whence he tooke his weldeserved name :
He had in armes abroad wonne muchell fame,
And fild far landes with glorie of his might :
Plaine, faithful!, true, and enimy of shame,
And ever lov'd to fight for Ladies right;
But in vaine glorious frayes he litle did delight
A Satyres sonne, yborne in forrest wyld,
By straunge adventure as it did betyde,
And there begotten of a Lady myld,
Fayre Thyamis, the daughter of Labryde ;
That was in sacred bandes of wedlocke tyde
To Therion, a loose unruly swayne,
Who had more joy to raunge the forrest wyde,
And chase the salvage beast with busie payne,
Then serve his Ladies love, and waste in
pleasures vayne.
XXII
The forlorne mayd did with loves longing
burne,
And could not lacke her lovers company ;
But to the woods she goes, to serve her tunie,
And seeke her spouse that from her still does fly,
And followes other game and venery :
A Satyre chaunst her wandring for to finde;
And, kindling coles of lust in brutish eye,
The loyall linkes of wedlocke did unbinde,
And made her person thrall unto his beastly
kind.
XXIII
So long in secret cabin there he held
Her captive to his sensuall desyre,
Till that with timely fruit her belly sweld,
And bore a boy unto that salvage syre :
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Then home he suffred her for to retyre,
For ransome leaving him the late-borne childe ; 'Ah Satyrane, my dearling and my joy, [say:
For love of me leave off this dread'full \ '
Whom, till to ryper yeares he gan aspyre,
He nousled up in life and manners wilde,
Emongst wild beastes and woods, from lawes
of men exilde.
XXIV
For all he taught the tender ymp was but
To banish cowardize and bastard feare :
His trembling hand he would him force to put!
Upon the Lyon and the rugged Beare ; [ teare ;
And from the she Beares teats her whelps to
And eke wyld ronng Buls he would him make
To tan.e, and rydc their backes, not made to
beare;
And the Kobuckes in flight to overtake, [quake.
That everie beast for feare of him did fly, and
Thereby so fearlesse and so fell he grew,
That his* own syre, and maister of his guise,
Did often tremble at his horrid vew ;
And oft, for dread of hurt, would him advise
The angry beastes not rashly to despise,
Nor too much to provoke ; for he would learne
The Lyon stoup to him in lowly wise,
(A lesson hard) and make the Libbard steme
Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did
earne.
XXVI
And for to make his powre approved more,
Wyld beastes in yron yokes he would com pell ;
The spotted Panther, and the tusked Bore,
The Pardale swift, and the Tigre cruell,
The Antelope, and Wolfe both fiers and fell ;
And them constraine in equall teme to draw.
Such joy he had their stubborne harts to quell,
And sturdie courage tame with dreadfull aw,
That his beheast they feared as a tyrans law.
His loving mother came upon a day
Unto the woodes, to see her little sonne ;
And chaunst unwares to meet him in the way,
After his sportes and cruell pastime donne ;
When after him a Lyonesse did runne,
That roaring all with rage did lowd requere
Her children deare, whom he away had wonne :
The Lyon wlielpes she saw how he did beare,
And lull in rugged armes withouten childish
feare.
XXVIII
The foarefull Dame all quaked at the sight,
And turning backe gan fast to fly away ;
Untill, with love revokt from vaine affright,
She hardly yet perswaded was U> stay,
And then to him these womanish words gan
', [say
Play;
To dally thus with death is no fit toy :
Go, find some other play-fellowes, mine own
sweet bov.'
In these and like delightes of bloody game
He trayned was, till ryper years he raught ;
And there abode, whylst any beast of name
Walkt in that forrest, whom he had not taught
To feare his force: and then his courage
haught
Desvrd of forreine foemen to be knowne,
And far abroad for straunge adventures sought ;
In which his might was never overthrowne;
But through al Faery lond his famous worth
was blown.
xxx
Yet evermore it was his maner faire,
After long labours and adventures spent,
Unto those native woods for to repaire,
To see his syre and ofspring auncient.
And now he thither came for like intent;
Where he unwares the fairest Una found,
Straunge Lady in so straunge habiliment,
Teaching the Satyres, which her sat around,
Trew sacred lore, which from her sweet lips did
redound.
XXXI
He wondred at her wisedome hevenly rare,
Whose like in womens witt he never knew ;
And, when her curteous deeds he did compare,
Gan her admire, and her sad sorrowes rew,
Blaming of Fortune, which such troubles threw,
And joyd to make proofe of her cruelty
On gentle Dame, so hurtlesse and so trew :
Thenceforth he kept her goodly company,
And learnd her discipline of faith and verity.
XXXII
But she, all vowd unto the Redcrosse Knight,
His wandring perill closely did lament,
Ne in this new acquaintaunce could delight ;
But her deare heart with anguish did torment,
And all her witt in secret counsels spent,
How to escape. At last in privy wise
To Satyrane she shewed her intent ;
Who, glad to gain such favour, pan devise,
How with that pensive Maid he best might
thence arise.
XXXIII
So on a day, when Satyres all were gone
To do their service to Sylvanus old,
The gentle virgin, left behinde alone,
He led away with corage stout and bold.
THE FAERIE QUEEN E.
[BOOK i.
Too late it was to Satyres to be told,
Or ever hope recover her againe :
In value he seekes that having cannot hold.
So fast he carried her with carefull paine,
That they the woods are past, and come now
to the plaine.
XXXIV
The better part now of the lingring day
They traveihl had, whenas they far espide
A weary wight forwandring by the way;
And towards him they gan in "laste to ride,
To weete of newes that did abroad betide,
Or tidings of her knight of the Kedcrosse ;
But he them spying gan to turne aside
For feare, as see'md, or for some feigned losse :
More greedy they of newes fast towards him
do crosse.
XXXV
A silly man, in simple weeds forworne,
And solid with dust of the long dried way ;
His sandales were with toilsome travell torne,
And face all tand with scorching sunny ray,
As he had traveild many a sommers day
Through boyling sands of Arabie and Y'nde,
And in his hand a Jacobs staffe, to stay
His weary limbs upon ; and eke behind
His scrip did hang, in which his needments he
did bind.
xxxvi
The knight, approching nigh, of him inquerd
Tidings of warre, and of adventures new :
But warres, nor new adventures, none he herd.
Then Una gan to aske, if ought he knew,
Or heard abroad of that her champion trew,
That in his armour bare a croslet red ?
Ay me ! Deare dame,' (quoth he) ' well mav
I rew
To tell the sad sight which mineeies have red;
These eies did see that knight both living and
eke ded.'
XXXVII
That cruell word her tender hart so thrild,
That suddein cold did ronne through every
And stony horrour all her sences fild [vaine,
With dying fitt, that downe she fell for paine.
The knight her lightly reared up againe,
And comforted with curteous kind reliefe :
Then, wonne from death, she bad him tellen
plaine
The further processe of her hidden griefe :
The lesser pangs can beare who hath enclur'd
the chief.
XXXVIII
Then gan the Pilgrim thus : ' I chaunst this
This fatall day that shall I ever rew, [day,
To see two knights, in travell on my way,
(A sory sight) arraung'd in batteill'new,"
Both breathing vengeaunce, both of wrathfull
hew.
My feareful flesh did tremble at their strife,
To see their blades so greedily imbrew,
That, dronke with blood, yet thristed after life :
What more? the Kedcrosse knight was slain
with Pavnim knife.'
' Ah ! dearest Lord,' (quoth she) •' how might
that bee,
And he the stoutest knight that ever wonne V
' Ah ! dearest dame,' (quoth hee) ' how might I
see
The thing that might not be, and yet was donne?'
' Where is,' (said Satyrane) ' that Paynims
sonne,
That him of life, and us of joy, hath refte?'
' Not faraway.' (quoth he) ' he hence doth wonne,
Foreby a fountaine, where I late him lefte
Washing his bloody wounds, that through th
steele were cleft.'
Therewith the knight thence marched forth
in hast,
Whiles Una, with huge heavinesse opprest,
Could not for sorrow follow him so fast ;
And soone he came, as he the place hadghest,
Whereas that Pagan proud him selfe did rest
In secret shadow by a fountaine side :
Even he it was, that earst would have supprest
Faire Una ; whom when Satyrane espide.
With foule reprochfull words he boldly him
defide.
XLI
And said ; ' Arise, thou cursed Miscreaunt,
That hast with knightlesse guile, and trech-
erous train, [vaunt
Faire knighthood fowly shamed, and doest
Thatgood knight of the Kedcrosse to have slain :
Arise, and with like treason now maintain
Thy guilty wrong, or els thee guilty yield.'
The Sarazin, this hearing, rose amain,
And, catching up in hast his three-square shield
And sinning helmet, soone him buckled to the
field.
XLII
And, drawing nigh him, said : ' Ah ! misbora
In evill houre thy foes thee hither sent [ Elfe,
Anothers wrongs to wreak upon thy selfe :
Yet ill thou blamest me for having blent
My name with guile and traiterous intent :
That Kederosse knight, perdie, I never slew ;
But had he beene where earst his armes were
lent,
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
43
Led with their noise which through the aire
was thrown, [ had sown.
Arriv'd wher they in erth their fruitles blood
Whom all so soone as that proud Sarazin
Espide, he gan revive the memory
Of his leud lusts, and late attempted sin,
And lefte the doubtfull battell hastily,
To catch her, newly o fired to his eie ;
But Satyrane, with strokes him turning, staid,
And sternely bad him other businesse plie
Then hunt the steps of pure unspotted Maid :
Wherewith he al enrag'd these bitter speaches
said.
XLVII
' O foolish faeries sonne ' what fury mad
Hath thee incenst to hast thy dolefull fate?
Were it not better 1 that Laidy had
Then that thoti hadst repented it too late ?
Most sencelesse man he, that himselfe doth hate,
To love another: Lo ! then, for thine ayd,
Here take thy lovers token on thy pate.'
So they to fight; the whiles the foyallMayd
Fledd farre away, of that proud Paynim sore
afrayd.
XLvm
But that false Pilgrim, which that leasing
Being in deed old Archimage, did stay [told,
In secret shadow all this to behold ;
And much rejoyced in their bloody fray:
But, when he saw the Damsell passe away,
He left his stond, and her pursewd apace,
In hope to bring her to her last decay.
But for to tell her lamentable cace, [place.
And eke this battels end, will need another
Th' enchaunter vaine his errotir should not rew:
But thou his errour shalt, I hope, now proven
trew.'
XMII
Therewith they gan. both furious and fell,
To thrnder blowes, and tiersly to assaile
Each other, bent his enimy to quell,
That with their force they perst both plate
and maile.
And made wide furrowes in their fleshes fraile,
That it would pitty any living eie. [raile ,
Large floods of blood adowne their sides did
But floods of blood could not them satistie :
Both liongred after death ; both chose to win,
or die.
XLIV
So long they fight, and full revenge pursue,
That, fainting, each themselves to breatheu lett,
And, ofte refreshed, battell oft renuc.
As when two Bores, with rancling malice mett,
Their gory sides fresh bleeding fiercely frett;
Til breathlesse both themselves aside retire.
Where foming wrath their cruell tuskes they
whett, f respire,
And trample th' earth, the whiles they may
Then backe to fight againe, new breathed and
entire.
XLV
So fiersly, when these knights had breathed
once,
They gan to fight retourne, increasing more
Their puissant force, and cruell rage attonce,
With heaped strokes more hugely then before;
That with their drery wounds, and bloody gore,
They both, deformed, scarsely could bee known.
By this, sad Una fraught with anguish sore,
CANTO VII.
The Redcrosse knight is captive made
By Gynunt proud opprest :
Prince Arthnre meets with Una great-
ly with those newes distrest.
WHAT man so wise, what earthly wittso ware,
AS 10 discry the crafty cunning traine,
By which deceipt doth maske in visour faire,
Ami cast her coulours, died deepe in graine,
To seeme like truth, whose shape she well can
faine,
A"<1 fitting gestures to her purpose frame.
The guiltlesse man with guile to entertaine ?
Great maistresseof Vrart was that false Dame,
The false Duessa, cloked with Fidessaes name.
Who when, returning from the drery Night,
She fownd not in that perilous hous of Pryde,
Where she had left the noble Redcrosse knight,
Her hoped pray, she would no lenger byde,
But fortli she went to seeke him far and wide.
Ere long she fownd, whereas he wearie sate
To reste him selfe foreby a fountaine syde,
Disarmed all of yron-coted Plate ;
And by his side his steed the grassy forage
ate.
44
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
Hee feedes upon the cooling shade, and bayes
His sweatie forehead in the breathing wynd,
Which through the trembling leaves full
gently playes.
Wherein the chearefull birds of sundry kynd
Doechaunt sweet musick to delight his mynd.
The witch approching gan him fayrely greet,
And with reproch of carelesnes unkynd
Upbrayd, for leaving her in place unmeet,
With 'fovle words tempring faire, soure gall
with hony sweet.
IV
Unkindnesse past, they gan of solace treat,
And bathe in pleasaunce of the joyous shade,
Which shielded them against the boyling heat,
And with greene boughes decking a gloomy
glade,
About the fountaine like a girlond made ;
Whose bubbling wave did ever freshly well,
Ne ever would through fervent sommer fade :
The sacred Nymph, which therein wont to
dwell,
Was out of Dianes favor, as it then befell.
v
The cause was this : one day, when Phoebe fayre
With all her band was following the chace,
This nymph, quite tyr'd with heat of scorching
Sattdowneto restinmiddestof the race : [ayre,
The goddesse wroth gan fowly her disgrace,
And badd the watsrs, which from her did flow,
Be such as she her selfe was then in place.
Thenceforth her waters wexed dull and slow.
And all that drinke thereof do faint and feeble
grow.
VI
Hereof this gentle knight unweeting was ;
And lying downe upon the sandie graile,
Dronke of the ^streame, as cleare as christall
Eftsoones his manly forces gan to fayle, [glas :
And mightie strong was turnd to feeble frayle.
His chaunged powres at first them selves not
Till crudled cold his corage gan assay le, [felt;
And cheareful blood in fayntnes chill did melt,
Which like a fever fit through all his bodie
swell.
VII
Yet goodly court he made still to his Dame,
Pourd out in loosnesse on the grassy grownd,
Both carelesse of his health, and of his fame ;
Till at the last he heard a dreadfull sownd,
Which through the wood loud bellowing did
rebownd,
That all the earth for terror seemd to shake,
And trees did tremble. Th' Elfe, therewith
astcwnd,
Upstarted lightly from his looser make,
And his unready weapons gan in hand to take.
VIII
But ere he could his armour on him dight,
Or gett his shield, his monstrous enimy
With sturdie steps came stalking in his sight,
An hideous Geaunt, horrible and hye, [skye ;
That with his tallnesse seemd to threat the
The ground eke groned under him for dreed :
His living like saw never living eye,
Ne durst behold : his stature did exceed [seed.
The hight of three the tallest sonnes of mortall
IX
The greatest Earth his uncouth mother was,
And blustring ^Eolus his boasted syre ;
Who with his breath, which through the world
doth pas,
Her hollow womb did secretly inspyre,
And fild her hidden caves with stormie yre,
That she conceiv'd ; and trebling the dew time
In which the wombes of wemen doe expyre,
Brought forth this monstrous masse of earthly
slyme, [ full cryme.
Puft up with emptie wynd, and fild with sin-
So growen great, through arrogant delight
Of th' high descent whereof he was yborne,
And through presumption of his matchlesse
might,
All other powres and knighthood he did scorne.
Such now he marcheth to this man forlome,
And left to losse ; his stalking steps are stayde
Upon a snaggy Oke, which he had tome
Out of his mothers bowelles, and it made
His mortall mace, wherewith his foemen he
dismayde.
XI
That, when the knight he spyde, he gan ad-
With huge force and insupportable mayne,
And towardes him with dreadfull fury praunce ;
Who haplesse, and eke hopelesse, all in vaine
Did to him pace sad battaile to darrayne,
Disarmd, disgraste, and inwardly dismayde ;
And eke so faint in every joynt and vayne,
Through that fraile fountain which him feeble
made, [single blade.
That scarselv could he weeld his bootlesse
The Geaunt strooke so maynly mercilesse,
That could have overthrowne a stony trnvre ;
And, were not hevenly grace that did him
blesse,
He had beene pouldred all as thiu as flowre :
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
45
But he was wary of that deadly stowre,
And lightly lept from underneath the blow :
Yet so exceeding was the villeins powre,
That with the winde it did him overthrow,
And all his sences stound that still he lay full
low.
As when that divelish yron Engin, wrought
In deepest Hell, and framd by Furies skill,
With windy Nitre and quick Sulphur fraught,
And ramd with bollet rownd, ordaind to kill,
(Vix-oiveth fyre, the heavens it doth fill
With thundring noyse, and all the ayre doth
choke,
That none can breath, nor see, nor heare at will,
Through sinouldry cloud of duskish stincking
smoke ;
[ escapt the stroke.
That th' only breath him daunts, who hath
So daunted when the Geaunt saw the knight,
His heavie hand he heaved up on hye,
And him to dust thought to have battred
quight,
Untill Duessa loud to him gan crye,
'O great Orgoglio! greatest under skye,
O ! hold thy mortall hand Cor Ladies sake ;
Hold for my sake, and doe him not to dye,
But vanquish! thine eternall bondslave make,
And me, thy worthy meed, unto thy Leman
take.'
xv
He hearkned, and did stay from further
harmes,
To gayne so goodly guerdon as she spake :
So willingly she came into his armes,
Who her as willingly to grace did take,
And was possessed of his newfound make.
Then up he tooke the slum bred sencelesse
corse,
And, ere he could out of his swowne awake,
Him to his castle brought with hastie forse,
And in a Dongeon deepe him threw without
From that day forth Duessa was his deare.
And highly honourd in his haughtie eye :
He gave her gold and purple pall to weare,
And triple crowne set on her head full hye,
And her endowd with royall majestye.
Then, for to make her dreaded more of men,
Anil peoples hartes with awfull terror tye,
A monstrous beast vbredd in h'lthv fen
Such one it was, as that renowmed Snake
Which great Alcides in Stremona slew,
Long fostred in the filth of Lerna lake :
Whose many heades, out budding ever new,
Did breed him endlesse labor to subdew.
But this same Monster ranch more ugly was,
For seven great heads out of his body grew,
An yron brest, and back of scaly bras,
And all embrewd in blood his eyes did shine
as glas.
XVIII
His tayle was stretched out in wondrous
length,
That to the hous of hevenly gods it raught :
And with extorted powre, and borrow'd
strength,
The everburning lamps from thence it braught,
And prowdly threw to ground, as things of
naught ;
And underneath his filthy feet did tread
The sacred thinges, and holy heastes fore-
taught.
Upon this dreadfull Beast with sevenfold head
He sett the false Duessa, for moro aw and
dread.
The wofull Dwarfe, which saw his maisters
fall
Whiles he had keeping of his grasing steed.
And valiant knight become a caytive thrall,
When all was past, tooke up his forlorne weed ;
His mightie Armour, missing most at need ;
His silver shield, now idle, maisterlesse ;
His poynant speare that many made to bleed,
The rueful moniments of heavinesse ;
And with them all departes to tell his great
distresse.
He had not travaild long, when on the way
He wofull Lady, wofull Una, met,
Fast flying from that Paynims greedy pray,
Whilest Satyrane him from pursuit did let.
Who when her eyes she on the Dwarf had set,
And saw the signes that deadly tydinges spake,
She fell to ground for sorrowfull regret,
And lively breath her sad brest did forsake ;
Yet might her pitteous hart be seene to pant
and quake.
The messenger of so unhappie newes
Would faine have dyde : dead was his hart
.. .. . within,
He chose, which he had kept long time in dark-. Yet outwardly some little comfort shewes.
som den. |At last, recovering hart, he does begin
46
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
To rubb her temples, and to chaufe her chin,
And everie tender part does tosse and turne :
So hardly he the tiitted life does win
Unto her native prison to retourne ;
Then gins her grieved ghost thus to lament
and mourue :
XXII
'Ye dreary instruments of dolefull sight,
That doe this deadly spectacle behold.
Why doe ye lenger feed on loathed light,
Or liking find to gaze on earthly mould,
Sith cruell fates the carefull threds unfould,
The which my life and love together tyde ?
Now let the stony dart of sencelesse cold
Perce to my hart, and pas through everie side,
And let eternall night so sad sight fro me hyde.
XXIII
'O lightsome day! the lampe of highest Jove,
First made by him mens wandring wayes to
guyde,
\\ hen darknesse he in deepest dongeon drove
Henceforth thy hated face for ever hyde,
And shut up heavens windowes shyning wyde ;
For earthly sight can nought but sorrow breed,
And late repentance which shall long abyde :
Mine eyes no more on vanitie shall feed,
But seeled up with death shall have their
deadly meed.'
XXIV
Then downe againe she fell unto the ground,
But he her quickly reared up againe :
Thrise did she sinke adowne in deadly swownd,
And thrise he her reviv'd with busie paine.
At last when life recover'd had the raine,
And over-wrestled his strong enimy,
With foltring tong, and trembling everie vaine,
' Tell on,' (quoth she) ' the wofull Tragedy,
The which these reliques sad present "unto
mine eye.
XXV
'Tern] estuous fortune hath spent all herspight,
And thrilling sorrow throwne his utmost dart:
Thy sad tcng cannot tell more heavy plight
Then that I feele, and harbour in mfne hart :
Who hath endur'd the whole can beare ech
part.
If death it be, it is not the first wound f smart.
That launched hath my brest with bleeding
Begin, and end the bitter balefull stound ;
If lesse then that I feare, mom favour I have
found.'
XXVI
Then gan the Dwarfe the whole discourse de-
The subtile traines of Archiraago old ; [clare ;
The wanton loves of false Fidessa fayre, [bold ;
Bought with the blood of vanquish! Paynim
The wretched payre transferred to treen mould;
The house of Pryde, and perilles round about ;
The combat which he with Sansjoy did hould ;
The lucklesse conflict with the Gyaunt stout,
Wherein captiv'd, of life or death he stood in
doubt.
XXVII
She heard with patience all unto the end,
And strove to maister sorrowfull assay,
Which greater grew the more she did contend
And almost rent her tender hart in tway,
And love fresh coles unto her fire did la'y ;
For greater love, the greater is the losse.
I Was never Lady loved dearer day
I Then she did love the knight of the Kedcrosse
For whose deare sake so many troubles her
did tosse.
XXVIII
At last when fervent sorrow slaked was,
She up arose, resolving him to find
Alive or dead ; and forward forth doth pas,
All as the Dwarfe the way to her assynd ;
And evermore, in constant carefull mind,
She fedd her wound with fresh renewed bale.
Long tost with stormes, and bet with bitter
wind,
High over hills, and lowe adowne the dale,
She wandred many a wood, and measurd many
a vale.
At last she chaunced by good hap to meet
A goodly knight, faire marching by the way,
Together with his Squyre, arayed meet :
His glitterand armour shined far away,
Like glauncing light of Phoebus brightest
ray;
From top to toe no place appeared bare,
That deadly dint of steele endanger may.
Athwart his brest a bauldrick brave he ware,
That shind, like twinkling stars, with stones
most pretious rare.
And in the midst thereof one pretious stone
Of wondrous worth, and eke of wondrous
mights,
Shapt like a Ladies head, exceeding shone,
Like Hesperus emongst the lesser lights,
And strove for to amaze the weaker sights :
Thereby his mortall blade full comely hong
In yvory sheath, ycarv'd with curious slights,
Whose hilts were burnisht gold, and handk
strong
Of mother perle ; and buckled with a golden
long.
CANTO VII. 1
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
47
His haughtie Helmet, horrid all with gold,
Both glorious brightnesse and great ferrour
For all the crest a Dragon did enfold [bredd :
With greedie pawes, and over all did spredd
His golden winges: h is dreadfull hideous hedd,
Close couched on the bever, seenid to throw
From Haming mouth bright sparckles fiery redd,
That suddeine honour to faint hartes did show;
And scaly tayle was stretcht adowne his back
full low.
XXXII
Upon the top of all his loftie crest,
A bounch of heares discolourd diversly,
With sprincled pearle and gold full richly
drest,
Did shake, and seernd to daunce for jollity,
[Like to an almond tree ymounted hye
On top of greene Sclinis ell alone,
With blossoms brave bedecked daintily ;
Whose tender locks do tremble every one
At everie little breath that under heaven is
blowne.
XXXIII
His warlike shield all closely cover'd was,
Ne might of mortall eye be ever scene ;
Not made of steele, nor of enduring bras,
Such earthly mettals soon consumed beene,
But all of Diamond perfect pure and cleene
It framed was, one massy entire mould,
Hewen out of Adamant rocke with engines
keene,
That point of speare it never percen could,
•Ne dint of direfull sword divide the substance
would.
XXXIV
The same to wight he never wont disclose,
tBut whenas monsters huge he would dismay,
Or daunt unequall armies of his foes,
Or when the flying heavens he would affray ;
•or so exceeding shone his glistring ray,
That Phoebus golden face it did attaint,
As when a cloud his beamcs doth over-lay;
And silver Cynthia wcxed pale and faynt,
As when her face is staynd with magicke arts
constraint.
XXXV
No magicke arts hereof had any might,
por bloody wordes of bold Euchaunters call;
But all that was not such as seemd in night
Before that shield did fade, and suddeine fall
An,l \vhen him list the raskall routes appall,
xxxvi
Ne let it seeine that credence this exceedes ;
For he that made the same was knowne right
well
To have done much more admirable deedes.
It Merlin was, which whylome did excell
All living wightes in might of magicke spell:
Both shield and sword, and armour all he
wrought
For this young Prince, when first to armes he
fell;
But, when he dyde. the Faery Queene it brought
To Faerie lond, where yet "it may be scene, if
sought :
XXXVII
A gentle youth, his dearely loved Squire,
His speare of heben wood behind him bare,
Whose harm ef ul head, thrise heated in the fire,
Had riven many a brest with pikehead square :
A goodly person, and could menage faire
His stubborne steed with curbed canon bitt,
Who under him did trample as the aire,
And chauft that any on his backe should sitt:
The yron rowels into frothy fome he bitt.
Whenas this knight nigh to the Lady drew,
With lovely court he gan her entertaine ;
But, when he heard her answers loth, he knew
Some secret sorrow did her heart distraine ;
Which to allay, and calme her storming paine,
Faire feeling words he wisely gan display,
And for her humor fitting purpose faine,
To tempt the cause it selfe for to bewray,
Wherewith enmovd, these bleeding words she
gan to say.
XXXIX
' What worlds delight, or joy of living speach,
Can hart, so plungd in sea of sorrowes deep,
And heaped with so huge misfortunes, reach V
The carefull cold beginneth for to creep,
And in my heart his yron arrow steep,
Soone as I thinke upon my bitter bale.
Such helplesse harmes yts better hidden keep,
Then rip up griefe where it may not availe:
My last left comfort is my woes to weepe and
waile.'
' Ah Lady dcare,' quoth then the gentle knight,
1 Well may I ween your griefe is wondrous
rr — , great ; [ spright,
Meu into stones therewith he could transmew, For wondrous great griefe groneth in my
And stones to dust, and dust to nought at all ; Whiles thus I heare you of your sorrowes treat.
And, when him list the prouder lookes subdew, But, woefull Lady, let me you intrete,
He would them gazing blind, or turne to other For to unfold the" anguish of your hart:
hew. | Mishaps are maistred by advice discrete.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
And coimsell mitigates the greatest smart :
Found never help who never would his hurts
impart.'
XLI
'O, but,' (quoth she) 'great griefe will not be
tould,
And can more easily be thought then said.'
' Right so,' (quoth lie) ' but he that never would
Could never: will to might gives greatest aid.'
• But griefe,' (quoth she) ' does greater grow dis-
plaid,'
If then it find not helpe, and breeds despaire.'
4 Despaire breeds not,' (quoth he) 'where faith is
staid.' [paire.'
'No faith so fast,' (quoth she) 'but flesh does
' Flesh may empaire,' (quoth he) 'but reason can
repaire.'
XLII
His goodly reason, and well-guided speach,
So deepe did settle in her gracious thought,
That her perswaded to disclose the breach
Which love and fortune in her heart had
wrought ; [ brought
And said ; ' Faire Sir, I hope good hap hath
You to inquere the secrets of my griefe,
Or that your wisedome will direct my thought,
Or that your prowesse can me yield reliefe :
Then, heare the story sad, which I shall tell you
briefe.
XLIII
1 The forlorne Maiden, whom your eies have
scene
The laughing stocke of fortunes mockeries,
Am th' onely daughter of a King and Queene,
Whose parents deare, whiles equal destinies
Did ronne about, and their felicities
The favourable heavens did not envy,
Did spred their rule through all the territories,
Which Phisonand Euphrates flowethby,[ally:
And Gehons golden waves doe wash continu-
XL1V
' Till that their cruell cursed enemy,
An huge great Dragon, horrible in sight,
Bred in the loathly lakes of Tartary.
With murdrous ravine, and devouring might,
Their kingdome spoild, and countrey wasted
quight :
Themselves, for feare into his jawes to fall,
He forst to castle strong to take their flight;
Where, fast embard in mighty brasen wall,
He has them now fowr years besiegd to make
them thrall.
xi.v
' Full many knights, adventurous and stout,
Have enterpriz'd that Monster to subdew.
From every coast that heaven walks about
Have thither come the noble Martial crew
That famous harde achievements still pursew;
Yet never any could that girlond win,
But all still shronke, and still he greater grew:
All they, for want of faith, or guilt of sin,
The pitteous pray of his tiers cruelty have bin.
XLVI
' At last, yled with far reported praise, [spred,
Which flying fame throughout the world had
Of doughty knights, whom Faery land did raise,
That noble order hight of maidenhed,
Forthwith to court of Gloriane I sped,
Of Gloriane, great Queene of glory bright,
Whose kingdomes seat Cleopolis is red ;
There to obtaine some such redoubted knight,
That Parents deare from tyrants powre deliver
might.
XLVII
' Yt was my chauuce (my chaunce was faire
and good)
There for to find a fresh unproved knight ;
Whose manly hands imbrewd in guilty blood
Had never beene, ne ever by his might
Had throwne to ground the unregarded right :
Yet of his prowesse proofe he since hath made
(I witnes am) in many a cruell fight ;
The groning ghosts of many one dismaide
Have felt the bitter dint of his avenging blade.
' And ye, the forlorne reliques of his powre,
His biting sword, and his devouring speare,
Which have endured many a dreadful! stowre.
Can speake his prowesse that did earst you beare.
And well could rule; now he hath left yot
To be the record of his ruefull losse, [ hean
And of my dolefull disaventurous deare.
O ! heavie record of the good Redcrosse,
Where hare yee left vour lord that could s
well you tosse *l
XLIX
'Well hoped I, and faire beginnings had.
That he my captive languor should redeeme
Till, all unweeting, an Enchaunter bad
His sence abusd, and made him to misdeem
My loyalty, not such as it did seeme,
That rather death desire then such despight
Be judge, ye heavens, that all things rigi
esteeme,
How I him lov'd, and love with all my migli
So thought I eke of him, and think Tthougl
aright.
L
' Thenceforth me desolate he quite forsooke
To wander where wilde fortune would me lea
And other bywaies he himselfe betooke,
Where never foote of living wight did tread.
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
49
That brought not backe the balefull body dead :
In which him chaunced false Uuessa meete,
Mine onely foe, mine onely deadly dread ;
Who with her witchcraft, and "misseeming
sweete,
Inveigled him to follow her desires unmeete.
' At last, by subtile sleights she him betraid
Unto his foe, a Gyaunt huge and tall ;
Who him disarmed, dissolute, dismaid,
Unwares surprised, and with mighty mall
The monster mercilesse him made to fall,
Whose fall did never foe before behold :
And now in darkesome dungeon, wretched
thrall,
Hemedilesse for nie he doth him hold.
This is my cause of griefe, more great then
may be told.'
Ere she had ended all she gan to faint :
But he her comforted, and faire bespake :
' Certes, Madame, ye have great cause of plaint ;
That stoutest heart, I weene, could cause to
quake :
But be of cheare, and comfort to you take ;
For till I have acquitt your captive knight,
Assure your selfe I will you not forsake.'
His chearefull words reviv'd her chearelesse
spright, [ever right.
So forth they went, the Dwarfe them guiding
AY me ! how many perils doe enfold
The righteous man, to make him daily fall,
Were not that heavenly grace doth him uphold,
And stedfast truth acquite him out of all.
Her love is firme, her care continuall,
So oft as he, through his own foolish pride
Or weaknes, is to sinfull bands made thrall :
Els should this Redcrosse knight in bands have
CANTO VIII.
Faire virgin, to redeeme her deare,
Brings Arthure to the fight :
Who slaves the Gyaunt, wounds the beast,
And stripe Duessa quight.
Of that same homes great virtues weren told,
Which had approved bene in uses manifold.
Was never wight that heard that shrilling
sowml,
But trembling feare did feel in every vaine :
Three miles it might be easy heard arownd,
And Ecchoes three aunswer'd it selfe againe :
dyde, [thither guyd. i No false enchauntment, nor deceiptfull train?.
For whose deliverance she this Prince doth i| Might once abide the terror of that blast,
But presently was void and wholly vaine :
No gate so strong, no locke so firme and fast,
But with that percing noise flew open quite,
I They sadly traveild thus, untill they came
Nigh to a castle builded strong and bye :
Then cryde the Dwarfe, 'Lo! yonder is the
same
or brast.
v
The same before the Geaunts gate he blew,
Jn which my Lord, my liege, doth lucklesse Jy That all the castle quaked from the grownd,
Thrall to that Gyaunts hatefull tyranny : And every dore of freewill open flew.
Therefore, deare Sir, your mightiepowres assay.' j The Gyaunt selfe, dismaied with that sownd,
The noble knight alighted by and by j Where he with his Duessa dalliaunce fownd,
From loftie steed, and badd the Ladie stay, ' In hast came rushing forth from inner bowre,
To see what end of fight should him befall that i With staring countenance sterne, as one
day. astownd, [ stowre
And staggering steps, to weet what suddem
Had wrought that horror strange, and dar'd
So with Ins Squire, th admirer of his might, jjis dreaded powre
He marched forth towardes that castle wall, |
Whose gates he fownd fast shutt, ne living; vi
wight ! And after him the proud Duessa came,
To warue the same, nor answere commers call. High mounted on her many headed beast,
Then tooke that Squire an home of bugle small, And every head with fyrie'tongue did flame,
Which hong adowne his side in twisted gold
And tasselles gay. Wyde wonders over all
: And every head was crowned on his creast,
'And bloody mouthed with late cruell feast.
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
[BOOK i.
That when the knight beheld, his mightie shild
Upon his manly arme he soone addrest,
And at him fiersly Hew, with corage tild,
And eger greedinesse through every member
thrild.
vi r
Therewith the Gyant buckled him to fight.
Inflame! with scornefull wrath and high dis-
daine,
And lifting up his dreadfull club on hight,
All armd with ragged snubbes and knottie
graine,
Him thought at first encounter to have slame.
But wise and wary was that noble Pere ;
And, lightly leaping from so monstrous maine,
Did fayre avoide the violence him nere :
It booted nought to thinke such thunderbolts
to beare.
VIII
Ne shame he thought to shonne so hideous
might :
The ydle stroke, enforcing furious way,
Missing the marke of his misaymed sight,
Did fall to ground, and with his heavy sway
So deepely dinted in the driven clay,
That three yardes deepe a furrow up did
throw.
The sad earth, wounded with so sore assay,
Did grone full grievous underneath the blow,
And trembling with strange feare did like an
erthquake show.
As when almightie Jove, in wrathfull mood,
To wreake the guilt of mortall sins is bent,
Hurles forth his thundring dart with deadly
food
Knrold in flames, and smouldring dreriment,
Through riven cloudes and molten firmament;
The fiers threeforked engin, making way,
Both loftie towres and highest trees hath rent,
And all that might his angry passage stay ;
And, shooting in the earth, castes up a mount
of clay.
x
His boystrous club, so buried in the grownd,
He coulu not rearen up againe so light,
But that the Knight him at advantage fownd
And, whiles he strove his combred clubbe to
quight
Out of the earth, with blade all burning bright
He smott off his left arme, which like a block
Did fall to ground, depnv'd of native might:
Large streames of blood out of the truncked
stock
Forth gushed, like fresh water streame from
riven rocke.
Dismayed with so desperate deadly wound,
And eke impatient of unwonted payne,
He loudly brayd with beastly yelling sownd,
That all the fieldes rebellowed againe.
As great a noyse, as when in Cymbrian plaine
An heard of Bulles, whom kindly rage doth
sting,
Doe for the milky mothers want complaine,
And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing :
The neighbor woods arownd with hollow mur-
mur ring.
XII
That when his deare Duessa heard, and saw
The evil stownd that daungerd her estate,
Unto his aide she hastily did draw [of late,
Her dreadfull beast ; w'ho, swolne with blood
ame ramping forth with proud presumpteous
gate,
And threatned all his heacles like flaming
brandes.
But him the Squire made quickly to retrate,
Encountring fiers with single sword in hand ;
And twixt him and his Lord did like a bul-
warke stand.
XIII
The proud Duessa, full of wrathfull spight,
And fiers disdaine to be affronted so,
Enforst her purple beast with all her might,
That stop out of the way to overthroe,
Scorning the let of so unequall foe :
But nathemore would that corageous swayne
To her yeeld passage gainst his Lord to goe,
But. with outrageous strokes did him restraine,
And with his body bard the way atwixt them
twaine.
XIV
Then tooke the angrie witch her golden cup,
Which still she bore, replete with magick artesj
Death and despeyre did many thereof sup,
And secret poyson through their inner paries,
Th' eternall bale ofheavie wounded harts:
Which, after charmes and some enchaunt-
me.nts said,
She lightly sprinkled on his weaker partes :
Therewith his sturdie corage soon was quayd
And all his sences were with suddein dread
dismayd.
xv
So downe he fell before the cruell beast,
Who on his neck his bloody clawes did seize,
That life nigh crusht out of his panting brest
No powre he had to stirre, nor will to rize.
That when the carefull knight gan well avise
He lightly left the foe with whom he fought,
And to the beast gan turne his enterprise ;
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
For wondrous anguish in his hart it wrought,
To see his loved Squyre into such thraldom
brought:
XVI
And, high advauncing his blood-thirstie blade,
Stroke one of those deformed heades so sore,
That of his puissaunce proud ensample made:
His monstrous scalpe downe to his teeth it tore,
And that misformed shape misshaped more.
A sea of blood gusht from the gaping wownd,
That her gay garments staynd with filthy
And overflowed all the field arownd, [gore,
That over shoos in blood he waded on the
grownd.
XVII
Thereat he rored for exceeding painc, [bred ;
That to have heard great horror would have
And scourging th' emptie ayre with his long
trayne,
Through great impatience of his grieved hed,
His gorgeous ryder from her loftie sted
Would have cast downe, and trodd in durty
myre,
Had not the Gyaunt soone her succoured ;
Who, all enrag'd with smart and frantick yre.
Came hurtling in full fiers, and forst the knight
retyre.
XVIII
The force, which wont in two to be disperst,
In one alone left hand he now unites,
Which is through rage more strong then both
were erst ;
With which his hideous club aloft he dites,
And at his foe with furious rigor smites,
That strongest Oake might seeme to overthrow.
The stroke upon his shield so heavie lites,
That to the ground it tloubleth him full low :
What mortall wight could ever beare so mon-
strous blow ?
XIX
And in his fall his shield, that covered was,
Did loose his vele by chaunce, and open flew;
The light whereof, that hevens light did pas,
Such blazing brightnesse through the ayer
threw,
That eye mote not the same endure to vew.
Which when the Gyaunt spyde with staring
eye,
He downe let fall his arme, and soft withdrew
His weapon huge, that heaved was on hye
For to have slain the man, that on the groun
did lye.'
xx
And eke the fruitfull-headed beast, amazd
At Hashing beames of that sunshiny shield,
Became stark blind, and all his sences dazd,
That downe he tumbled on the durtie field,
And seemd himselfe as conquered to yield.
iVhom when his maistresse proud perceiv'd to
fall,
iVhiles yet his feeble feet for faintnesse reeld,
Jnto the Gyaunt lowdly she gan call; [all.1
0 ! helpe, Orgoglio ; helpe ! or els we perish
At her so pitteous cry was much amoov'd
ier champion stout ; and for to ayde his frend,
Againe his wonted angry weapon proov'd,
3ut all in vaine, for he has redd his end
n that bright shield, and all their forces spend
Them selves in vaine : for, since that glauncing
lie hath no powre to hurt, nor to defend, [sight,
As where th' Almighties lightning brond does
light, [ces quight.
It dimmes the dazed eyen, and daunts the sen-
XXII
Whom when the Prince, to batteill new ad-
drest [see,
And threatning high his dreadfull stroke, did
His sparkling blade about his head he blest.
And smote off quite his right leg by the knee,
That downe he tombled ; as an aged tree,
High growing on the top of rocky clift,
Whose hartstrings with keene steele nigh
hewen be ;
The mightie trunck, halfe rent with ragged rift,
Doth roll adowne the rocks, and fall with feare-
full drift.
XXIII
Or as a Castle, reared high and round,
By subtile engins and malitious slight
Is undermined from the lowest ground,
And her foundation forst, and feebled quight,
At last downe falles; and with her heaped
hight
Her hastie ruine does more heavie make,
And yields it selfe unto the victours might.
Such was this Gyaunts fall, that seemd to shake
The stedfast globe of earth, as it for feare did
quake.
XXIV
The knight, then lightly leaping to the pray,
With mortall steele him smot againe so sore,
That headlesse his umveldy bodie lay,
All wallowd in his owne fowle bloody gore,
Which flowed from his wounds in wondrous
store.
But, soone as breath out of his brest did pas,
That huge great body, which the Gyaunt bore,
Was vanisht quite ; and of that monstrous mas
Was nothing left, but like an emptie blader
was.
li
THE FAERIE QUEEtfE.
[BOOK I.
Whose grievous fall when false Ducssa spyde,
Her golden cup she cast unto the ground,
And crowned mitre rudely threw asyde:
Such percing griefe her stubborne hart did
wound,
That she could not endure that dolefull stound
But leaving all behind her fled away :
The light-foot Squyre her quickly turnd
around,
And, by hard meanes enforcing her to stay,
So brought unto his Lord as his deserved pray.
xxvr
The roiall Virgin which beheld from farre.
In pensive plight and sad perplcxitie, [warre,
The whole atchievement of this doubtfull
Came running fast to greet his victorie,
With sober gladnesse and myld modestie ;
And with sweet joyous cheare him thus be-
spake :
' Fayre braunch of noblesse, flowre of chevalrie,
That with your worth the world amazed make,
How shall I quite the paynes ye suffer for my
sake?
XXVII
' And you, fresh budd of vertue springing fast.
Whom these sad eyes saw nigh unto deaths
dore,
What hath poore Virgin for such perill past
Wherewith you to reward ? Accept therefore
My simple selfe, and service evermore :
And he that high does sit, and all things see
Witti equall eye, their merites to restore,
Behold what ye this day have done for mee.
And what I cannot quite reouite with usuree.
XXVIII
•But sith the heavens, and your faire hande-
Have made you master of the field this day,
Your fortune maister eke with governing,
And, well begonne, end all so well, I pray !
Ne let that wicked woman scape away ;
For she it is, that did my Lord bethrall,
My dearest Lord, and deepe in dongeon lay,
Where he his better dayes hath wasted all :
O heare, how piteous he to you for ayd does
call I '
XXIX
Forthwith he gave in charge unto his Squyre,
That scarlot whore to keepen carefully ;
Whyles he himselfe with creedie great desyre
Into the Castle entred forcibly,
Where living creature none he did espye.
Then gan he lowdly through the house to call ,
But no man car'd to answere to his crye :
There raignd a solemne silence over all ;
Nor voice was heard, nor wight was see:ie in
bowre or hall.
XXX
At last, with creeping crooked pace forth came
An old old man, with beard as white as snow,
That on a staffe his feeble steps did frame,
And guyde his wearie gate both too and fro,
For his eye sight him fayled long ygo ;
And on his arme a bounch of keyes he bore,
The which unused rust did overgrow :
Those were the keyes of every inner dore ;
But he could not them use, but kept them still
in store.
xxxi
But very uncouth sight was to behold,
How he did fashion his untoward pace ;
For as he forward moovd his footing old,
So backward still was turnd his wrincled face :
Unlike to men, who ever, as they trace,
Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.
This was the auncient keeper of that place,
And foster father of the Gyaunt dead ;
His name Ignaro did his nature right aread.
His reverend heares and holy gravitee
The knight much honord, as beseemed well ;
And gently askt, where all the people bee,
Which in that stately building wont to dwell :
Who answerd him full soft, he could not tell.
Again he askt, where that same knight was layd,
j Whom great Orgoglio with his puissaunce fell
I Had made his caytive thrall : againe he sayde,
He could not tell; ne ever other answere made.
XXXIII
Then asked he, which way he in might pas?
He could not tell, againe he answered.
Thereat the courteous knight displeased was,
And said ; ' Old syre, it seemes thou hast nol
How ill it sits with that same silver lied, [red
In vaine to mocke, or mockt in vaine to bee :
But if thou be, as thou art pourtrahed
With natures pen, in ages grave degree,
Aread in graver wise what I demauud of thee.'
XXXIV
His answere likewise was, he could not tell:
Whose sencelesse speach, and doted ignorance,
Whenas the noble Prince had marked well,
He ghest his nature by his countenance,
And calmd his wrath with goodly temperance.
Then, to him stepping, from his arme did reacli
Those keyes, and made himselfe free enterance
Each dore he opened without any breach ,
There was no barre to stop, nor foe him tc
empeach.
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
53
There all within full rich arayd he found,
With royall arras, and resplendent gold,
And did with store of every thing abound,
That greatest Princes presence might behold.
But all the floore (too filthy to be told)
With blood of guiltlesse babes, and innocents
trew, [fold,
Which there were slaine as sheepe out of the
Defiled was, that dreadfull was to vew;
And sacred ashes over it was strowed new.
XXXVI
And there beside of marble stone was built
An Altare, carv'd with cunning ymagery,
On which trew Christians blood was often spilt,
And holy Martyres often doen to dye
With cruell malice and strong tyranny:
Whose blessed sprites, from underneath the
stone,
To God for vengeance cryde continually;
And with great griefe were often heard to
grone, f piteous mone.
That hardest heart would bleede to hear their
Through every rowme he sought, and everie
bowr,
But no where could he find that wofull thrall :
At last he came unto an yron doore,
That fast was lockt. but key found not at all
Emongst that bounch to open it withall ;
Hut. in the same a little grate was pight,
Through which he sent his voyce, and lowd
did call
With all his powre, to weet if living wight
Were housed therewithin, whom he enlargen
might.
XXXVIII
Therewith an hollow, dreary, murmuring voyce
These pitteous plaintes and dolours did re-
sound : [choyce
' 0 ! who is that, which briuges me happy
Of death, that here lye dying every stound,
Yet live perforce in balefull darkenesse bound ?
For now three Moones have changed thrice
their hew, [ground,
And have been thrice hid underneath the
Since I the heavens chearefull face did vew.
0 ! welcome thou, that doest of death bring
tydings trew.'
xxxix
Whii-h when that Champion heard, with
percing point
Of pitty ilc-arc his hart was thrilled sore-
And trembling horrour ran through every joynt,
For ruth of gentle knight so fowle forlore •
Which shaking off, he rent that yron dore
With furious force and indignation fell ;
Where entred in, his foot could find no flore,
But all a deepe descent, as darke as hell,
That breathed ever forth a tilthie banefull smell.
But nether darkenesse fowle, nor filthy bands,
Nor noyous smell, his purpose could withhold,
(Entire affection hateth nicer hands)
But that with constant zele and corage bold,
After long paines and labors manifold,
He found the meanes that Prisoner up to reare ;
Whose feeble thighes, unable to uphold [beare;
His pined corse, him scarse to light could
A ruefull spectacle of death and ghastly drere.
His sad dull eies, deepe sunck in hollow pits,
Could not endure th' unwonted sunneto view;
His bare thin cbeekes for want of better bits,
And empty sides deceived of their dew,
Could make a stony hart his hap to rew ;
His rawbone armes, whose mighty brawned
bowrs [hew,
Were wont to rive steele plates, and helmets
Were clene consum'd ; and all his vitall powres
Decayd, and al his flesh shronk up like withered
flowres.
XLH
Whome when his Lady saw, to him she ran
With hasty joy : to see him made her glad,
And sad to view his visage pale and wan,
Who earst in flowres of freshest youth was clad.
Tho, when her well of teares she wasted had,
She said ; ' Ah dearest Lord ! what evill starre
Jn you hath frownd, and pourd his influence
That of your selfe ye thus berobbed arre, [bad,
And this misseeming hew your manly looks
doth marre ?
XLIII
' But welcome now, my Lord in wele or woe,
Whose presence I have lackt too long a day :
And fie on Fortune, mine avowed foe. [alay;
Whose wrathful wreakes them selves doe now
\nd for t hese wronges shall treble penauncc pay
}f treble good : good growes of evils priefe.'
The chearelesse man, whom sorrow did dismay,
Had no delight to treaten of his griefe ;
.Us long endured famine needed more reliefe.
XLIV
'Faire Lady,' then said that victorious
knight,
The things, that grievous were to doe, or beare,
Them to renew, I wote, breeds no delight ,
3est musicke breeds delight in loathing eare
54
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
But th' only good that growes of passed feare j Her wrizled skin, as rough as maple rind
Is to be wise, and ware of like agein.
This daies ensample hath this lesson deare
Deepe written in my heart with yron pen,
That blisse may not abide in state of mortall
' Henceforth, Sir knight, take to you wonted
strength,
And maister these mishaps with patient might.
Loe! where your foe lies strecht in monstrous
length ;
And loe ! that wicked woman in your sight,
The roote of all your care and wretched plight.
Now in your powre, to let her live, or die.'
1 To doe "her die,' (quoth Una) ' were despight,
And shame t' avenge so weake an enimy ;
But spoile her of her scarlot robe, and let her
fly-'
XT, VI
So, as she bad, that witch they disaraid,
And robd of roiall robes, and purple pall.
And ornaments that richly were displaid ;
Ne spared they to strip her naked all.
Then, when they had despoyld her tire and call,
Such as she wa's their eies might her behold,
That her misshaped parts did them appall :
A loathly, wrinckled hag, ill favoured, old.
Whose secret filth good manners biddeth not
be told.
XLVII
Her crafty head was altogether bald,
And, as in hate of honorable eld.
Was overgrowne with scurfe and filthy scald :
Her teeth out of her rotten gummes were feld,
And her sowre breath abhominably smeld ;
Her dried dugs, lyke bladders lacking wind.
Hong downe, and filthy matter from them
weld;
So scabby was that would have loathd all
womankind.
XT,VIJI
Her neather parts, the shame of all her kind,
My chaster Muse for shame doth blush to
write ;
But at her rompe she growing had behind
A foxes taile, with dong all fowly dight ;
most monstrous were in sight;
Eagles claw,
For one f them was
With griping talaunts armd to greedy fight ,
The other like a beares uneven paw,
More ugly shape yet never living creature saw.
XMX
Which when the knights beheld amazd they
were,
And wondred at so fowle deformed wight.
' Such then,' (said Una,) ' as she seemeth here,
Such is the face of falshood : such the sight
Of fowle Duessa, when her borrowed light
Is laid away, and counterfesaunce knowne.'
Thus when "they had the witch disrobed quight,
And all her filthy feature open showne,
They let her goe at will, and wander waies
unknowne.
Shee, flying fast from heavens hated face.
And from the world that her discovered wide,
Fled to the wastfull wildemesse apace,
From living eies her open shame to hide,
And lurkt in rocks and caves, long unespide.
But that faire crew of knights, and Una faire,
Did in that castle afterwards abide,
To rest them selves, and weary powres repaire;
Where store they fownd of al that dainty w
and rare.
CANTO IX.
His loves and lignage Arthure tells:
The knights knitt friendly bands :
Sir Trevisan flies from Despeyre,
Whom Redcros knight withstands.
O GOODLY golden chayne, wherewith yfere
The vertues linked are in lovely wize ;
And noble mindes of yore allyed were,
In brave poursuitt of chevalrous emprize,
That none did others safety despize.
Nor aid envy to him in need that stands ;
But friendly each did others praise devize,
How to advaunce with favourable hands,
As this good Prince redeemd the Redcrosse
knight from bands.
Who when their powres, empayrd through
labor long,
With dew repast they had recured well,
And that weake captive wight now wexed
strong.
Them list no lenger there at leasure dwell,
But forward fare as their adventures fell :
But, ere they parted, Una faire besought
That straunger knight his name and nation
tell;
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
55
Least so great good, as he for her had wrought,
Should die unknown, and buried be in thankles
thought.
in
'Faire virgin,' (said the Prince.) 'yee me
require
A thing without the corapas of my witt;
For both the lignage, and the certein Sire,
From which I sprong, from mee are hidden yit-t :
For all so soone as life did me admitt
Into this world, and shewed hevens light,
From mothers pap I taken was unfitt,
And streight deliver'd to a Fary knight,
To be upbrought in gentle thewes and martiall
might.
IV
'Unto Old Timon he me brought bylive;
Old Timon, who in youthly yeares hath beene
In warlike feates th' expertest man alive,
And is the wisest now on earth 1 weene :
His dwelling is low in a valley greene,
Under the foot of Rauran mossy hore,
From whence the river Dee, as silver cleene,
His tombling billowes rolls with gentle rore ;
There all my daies he traind mee up in ver-
tuous lore.
v
' Thither the great magicien Merlin came,
As was his use, ofttimes to visitt mee,
For he had charge my discipline to frame,
And Tutors nouriture to oversee.
Him oft and oft I askt in privity,
Of what lomes and what lignage I did spring ;
Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee,
That I was sonne and heire unto a king,
A.S time in her just term the truth to light
should bring.'
VI
' Well worthy impe,' said then the Lady gent.
' And Pupill fitt for such a Tutors hand !
But what adventure, or what high intent,
Hath brought you hither into Faery land,
Aread, Prince Arthure, crowne of Martiall
band '? '
1 Full hard it is,' (quoth he) ' to read aright
The course of heavenly cause, or understand
The secret meaning of th' eternall might,
That rules mens waies; and rules the thoughts
of living wight.
VII
' For whether he, through fatal deepe foresight.
Me hither sent for cause to me unghest;
Or that fresh bleeding wound, which day
and night
Whilome doth rancle in my riven brest,
With forced fury following his behest,
Me hither brought by wayes yet never found,
You to have helpt 1 hold my selfe yet blest."
' Ah ! courteous Knight,' (quoth she) ' what
secret wound [ground ? '
Could ever find to grieve the gentlest hart on
' Dear Dame,' (quoth he) ' you sleeping spark es
awake, [ grow :
Which, troubled once, into huge flames will
Ne ever will their fervent fury slake,
Till living moysture into smoke do flow,
And wasted life doe lye in ashes low:
Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire,
But, told, it flames ; and, hidden, it does glow,
I will revele what ye so much desire.
Ah. Love ! lay down thy bow, the whiles I
may respyre.
IX
' It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares,
When corage first does creepe in manly chest.
Then first the cole of kindly heat appeares
To kindle love in every living brest :
But me had warnd old Timons wise behest,
Those creeping flames by reason to subdew,
Before their rage grew to so great unrest,
As miserable lovers use to rew, [wexeth new.
Which still wex old in woe, wniles wo stil
' That ydle name of love, and lovers life,
As losse of time, and vertues enimy,
I ever scornd, and joyd to stirre up strife,
In middest of their mournfull Tragedy ;
Ay wont to laugh when them I heard to cry,
And blow the fire which them to ashes brent :
Their God himselfe, grievd at my libertie,
Shott many a dart at me with fiers intent ;
But I them warded all with wary government.
' But all in vaine : no fort can be so strong,
Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sownd,
But will at last be wonne with battrie long,
Or unawares at disavantage fownd.
Nothing is sure that growes on earthly grownd ;
And who most trustes inarmeof fleshly might.
And boastes in beauties chaine not to be bownd,
Doth soonest fall in disaventrous fight,
And yeeldes his caytive neck to victours most
despight.
XII
' Ensample make of him your haplesse joy,
And of my selfe now mated, as ye see;
Whose prouder vaunt that proud avenging boy
Did soone pluck downe, and curbd my libertee.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
For on a clay, prickt forth with jollitee
Of looser life and heat of hardiment.
Raunging the forest wide on courser free,
The fields, the floods, the heavens, with one
consent,
[ intent.
Did seeme to laugh on me, and favour mine
' Forwearied with my sportes, I did alight
From loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd ,
The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight,
And pillow was my helmett fay re displayd ;
Whiles every sence the humour sweet embayd,
And slombring soft my hart did steale away,
Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd
Her daintie limbes full softly down did lay :
So fayre a creature yet saw never sunny day.
' Most goodly glee and lovely blandishment
She to me made, and badd me love her deare ;
For dearely sure her love was to me bent,
As, when just time expired, should appeare.
But whether dreames delude, or true it were,
Was never hart so ravisht with delight,
Ne living man like wordes did ever heare,
As she to me delivered all that night ;
And at her parting said, She Queene
Faeries night.
xv
' When I awoke, and found her place devoyd,
And nought but pressed gras where she had
I sorrowed all so much as earst I joyd, [lyen,
And washed all her place with watry eyen.
From that day forth I lov'd that face divyne;
From that day forth I cast in carefull mynd,
To seek her out with labor and long tyne,
And never vowd to rest till her I fynd :
Nyne monethes I seek in vain, yet ni'll that
vow unbynd.'
XVI
Thus as he spake, his visage wexed pale,
And chaunge of hew great passion did bewray ;
Yett still he strove to cloke his inward bale,
And hide the smoke that did his fire display,
Till gentle Una thus to him gan say :
< O happy Queene of Faeries ! that hast fownd,
Mongst many, one that with his prowesse may
Defend thine honour, and thy foes confownd.
True loves are often sown, but seldom grow
on grownd.'
XVII
' Thine, O ! then,' said the gentle Redcrosse
knight,
Next to that Ladies love, shalbe the place,
) fayrest virgin ! full of heavenly light,
Whose wondrous faith, exceeding earthly race,
Was firmest fixt in myne extremes t case.
And you, my Lord, the Patrone of my life,
Of that great Queene may well gaine worthie
grace,
For onely worthie you through prowes priefe,
Vf living man mote worthie be to be herliefe.'
ew,
So diversly discoursing of their loves,
The golden'Sunne his glistring head gan sfo
And sad remembraunce now the Prince amoves
With fresh desire his voyage to pursew ;
Als Una earnd her traveill to renew. [ bynd,
Then those two knights, fast friendship for to
And love establish each to other trew,
Gave goodly gifts, the signes of gratefull mynd,
And eke, as'pledges firme, right hands together
joynd.
XIX
Prince Arthur gave a boxe of Diamond sure,
Embowd with gold and gorgeous ornament,
Wherein were closd few drops of liquor pure,
Of wondrous worth, and vert-ue excellent,
That any wownd could heale incontinent. [ gave
Which to requite, the Redcrosse knight him
A booke, wherein his Saveours testament
Was writt with golden letters rich and brave:
A worke of wondrous grace, and hable soules
to save.
xx
Thus beene they parted ; Arthur on his way j
To seeke his love, and th' other for to fight
With Unaes foe, that all her realme did pray.
But she, now weighing the decayed plight
And shrunken synewes of her chosen knight,
Would not a while her forward course pursew,
Ne bring him forth in face of dreadfull fight,
Till he recovered had his former hew ; [ knew.
For him to be yet weake and wearie well she
So as they traveild, lo ! they gan espy
An armed knight towards them gallop fast,
That seemed from some feared foe to fly,
3r other griesly thing that him aghast.
Still as he fledd his eye was backward cast,
As if his feare still followed him behyncl :
Als flew his steed as he his bandes had brast,
And with his winged heeles did tread the wynd,
As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his kynd.
Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head
To bee unarmd, and curld uncombed heares
Jpstaring stiffe, dismaid with uncouth dread :
'for drop of blood in all his face appeares,
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
57
Nor life in limbe ; and, to increase his feares,
In fowle reproch of knighthoodes fayre degree,
About his neck an hempen rope he weares,
That with his glistring arnies does ill agree ;
But he of rope or armes has now no menioree.
The Redcrosse knight toward him crossed fast,
To weet what mister wight was so dismayd.
There him he findes all sencelesse and aghast,
That of him selfe he seemd to be afraj-d ;
Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd,
Till he these wordes to him deliver might:
Sir knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd,
But not so happy as mote happy bee :
He lov'd, as was his lot, a Lady gent,
That him againe lov'd in the least degree;
For she was proud, and of too high intent,
And joyd to see her lover languish and laments
' From whom retourning sad and comfortlesse,
As on the way together we did fare,
We met that villen, (God from him me blesse!)
That cursed wight, from whom I scapt whyle-
are,
A man of hell that calls himselfe Despayre:
And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight? w,ho first us greets, and after fayre areedes
For never knight I saw in such misseeming \ Of tydmges straunge, and of ad ventures rare:
plight.'
XXIV
He answerd nought at all ; but adding new
Feare to his first auiazment, staring wyde
With stony eyes and hartlesse hollow hew,
Astonisht stood, as one that had aspyde
Infernall furies with their chaines untyde.
Him yett againe, and yett againe, bespake
The gentle knight ; who nought to him replyde;
But, trembling every joynt, did inly quake,
And foltring tongue, at last, these words seemd
forth to shake ;
XXV
' For Gods deare love, Sir knight, doe me not
stay ;
For loe ! he comes, he comes fast after mee.'
Eft looking back would faine have runne away ;
But he him forst to stay, and tellen free
The secrete cause of his perplexitie :
Yet nathemore by his bold hartie speach
Could his blood frosen hart emboldened bee,
But through his boldnes rather feare did reach;
Yett, forst, at last he made through silence
suddein breach.
'And am I now in safetie sure,' (quoth he)
1 From him that would have forced me to dye ?
And is the point of death now turnd fro mee,
That I may tell this haplesse history ?' fnye.'
' Fear nought," (quoth he) 'no daunger now is
'Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace,'
(Said h«) ; the which with this unlucky eye
I late Ixjheld ; and, had not greater grace
Me reft from it, had bene partaker of the place.
XXVII
'I lately chaunst (Would I had never
chaunst ! )
Willi a fayre knight to keepen companee,
Sir Terwin hight, that well himselfe advaunst
In all aflayres, and was both l«>ld and free ,
So creeping close, as Snake in hidden weedes.
Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly
deedes.
XXIX
' Which when he knew, and felt our feeble
harts
Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe,
Which love had launched with his deadly
darts,
With wounding words, and termes of foule
repriefe,
He pluckt from us all hope of dew reliefe,
That earst us held in love of lingring life ;
Then hopelesse, hartlesse, gan the cunning
thiefe
Perswade us dye, to stint all further strife :
To me he lent this rope, to him a rusty knife.
' With which sad instrument of hasty death,
That wofull lover, loathing lenger light,
A wyde way made to let forth living breath :
But I, more fearefull or more lucky wight,
Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight,
Fledd fast away, halfc dead with dying
feare ;
| Ne yet assur'd of life by you, Sir knight,
Whose like infirmity like chaunce may beare ;
But God you never let his charmed speaches
heare ! '
XXXI
' How may a man,' (said he) 'with idle speaeh
Be wonne to spoyle the Castle of his health?'
' I wote,' (quoth he) ' whom tryall late did
teach,
That like would not for all this worldes wealth.
His subtile tong like dropping honny mealt'h
Into the heart, and searcheth every vaine ;
That, ere one be aware, by secret stealth
His powre is reft, and weaknes doth remainc.
O ! never, Sir, desire to try his guileftill traine.'
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK I.
XXXII
' Certes,' (sayd he) ' hence shall I never rest,
Till I that treachours art have heard and tryde :
And you. Sir knight, whose name mote I re-
Of grace do me unto his cabin guyde.' [ quest,
' I, that hight Trevisan,' (quoth he) 'will ryde
Against my liking backe to doe you grace :
But nor for gold nor glee will I abyde
By you, when ve arrive in that same place ;
For lever had I die then see his deadly face.'
XXXIII
Ere long they come where that same wicked
wight
His dwelling has. low in an hollow cave,
For underneath a craggy cliffypight,
Darke, dolefull, dreary, like a greedy grave,
That still for carrion carcases doth crave :
On top whereof ay dwelt the ghastly Owle,
Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave
Far from that haunt all other chearefull fowle ;
And all about it wandring ghostes did wayle
and howle.
XXXIV
And all about old stockes and stubs of trees,
Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seene,
Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees ;
On which had many wretches hanged beene,
Whose carcase-" were scattred on the greene,
And throwne about the cliffs. Arrived there,
That bare-head knight, for dread and dolefull
teene,
Would faine have fled, ne durst approchen neare;
But th' other forst him staye, and comforted
in feare.
XXXV
That darkesome cave thev enter, where thev
find
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,
Musing full sadly in his sullein mind :
His griesie lockes, long growen and unbound,
Disordred hong about his shoulders round,
And hid his face, through which his hollow
eyne
Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound ;
His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie am:
pine, [dyne.
Were shronke into his jawes, as he did never
XXXVI
His garment, nought but many ragged clouts
With thornes together pind and patched was,
The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts;
And him beside there lay upon the gras
A drearv corse, whose life away did pas.
All wallowd in his own yet luke-warme blood,
That from his wound yet welled fresh, alas !
[n which a rusty knife fast, fixed stood,
And made an open passage for the gushing flood.
Which piteous spectacle, approving trew
The wofull tale that Trevisan had told,
Whenas the gentle Redcrosse knight did vew,
With fine zeale he burnt in courage bold
Him to avenge before his blood were cold,
And to the villein sayd ; ' Thou damned wighr,
The authour of this fact we here behold.
What justice can but judge against thee right,
With thine owne blood to price his blood, here
shed in sight?'
XXXVIII
What franticke fit,' (quoth he) 'hath thus
distraught
Thee, foolish man, sc rash a doome to give ?
What justice ever other judgement taught,
But he should dye who merites not to live?
None els to death this man despayring drive
But his owne guiltie mind, deserving death.
Is then unjust to each his dew to give ?
Or let him dye, that loatheth living breath.
Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath ?
XXXIX
Who travailes by the wearie wandring way
To come unto his wished home in haste,
And meetes a flood that doth his passage stay
Is not great grace to helpe him over past,
Or free his feet that in the myre sticke fast ?
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours
good;
And fond, that ioyest in the woe thou hast !
Why wilt not let him passe, that long hatl
stood [ flood '
Upon the bancke, yet wilt thy selfe not pas
'He there does now enjoy et email rest
And happy ease, which thou doest want an
crave.
And further from it daily wanderest :
What if some little payne the passage have,
That makes frayle flesh to feare the bitte
wave, [long eas<
Is not short payne well borne, that bringe
And laves the soule to sleene in quiet grave':
Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,
Ease after warre, death after life, does great!
please."
XLI
The knight muchwondred at his suddeine wi
And sayd ; ' The terme of life is limited,
Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten, it :
The souldier mav not move from watchful! stec
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
59
Nor leave his stand unt ill his Captaine bed.'
'Who life did limit by almightie doome,'
(Quoth he) 'knowes best the termes esta-
blished ;
And he, that points the Centonell his roome,
Doth license him depart at sound of morning
droome.'
XLII
'Is not his deed, what ever thing is donne
Iu heaven and earth ? Did not he all create
To die againe ? All ends that was begonne :
Their times in his eternall booke of fate
Are written sure, anxl have their certein date.
Who then can strive with strong necessitie,
That holds the world in his still chaunging
state,
Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie?
When houre of death is come, let none aske
whence, nor why.
'The lenger life, I wote, the greater sin ;
The greater sin, the greater punishment :
All those great battels, which thou boasts to
win [ment,
Through strife, and blood-shed, and avenge-
Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent;
For life must life, and blood must blood, repay.
Is not enough thy evill life forespent V
For he that once hath missed the right way,
fe further he doth goe, the further he doth
stray.
XLIV
'Then doe no further goe, no further stray,
But here ly downe, and to thy rest betake,
Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may ;
For what hath life that may it loved make,
And gives not rather cause it to forsake?
Feare.sicknesse,age, losse, labour,sorrow,strife.
Payne, hunger, cold that makes the hart to
quake,
And ever fickle fortune rageth rife;
All which, and thousands mo, do make a loath-
some life.
xi,v
' Thou, wretched man, of death hast greatest
need,
If in true ballaunce thou wilt weigh thy state;
For never knight, that dared warlike deed,
More luckless dissaventures did amate:
Witnos the dungeon deepp, wherein of late
Thy life shutt up for death so oft did call ;
And though good lucke prolonged hath thy
date,
Tet death then would the like mishaps forestall.
Into the which hereafter thou maist happen
tall,
' Why then doest thou, O man of sin ! desire
To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree ?
Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire
High heaped up with huge iniquitee,
Against the day of wrath to burden thee ?
Is not enough, that to this Lady mild
Thou falsed hast thy faith with perjuree,
And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vild, [clefild ?
With whom in al abuse thou hast thy selfe
XLVII
'Is not he just, that all this doth behold
From highest heven, and beares an equall eie?
Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold,
And guilty be of thine impietie ?
Is not his lawe, Let every sinner die; [donne,
Die shall all flesh ? What then must needs be
Is it not better to doe willinglie,
Then linger till the glas be all out ronne ?
Death is the end of woes : die soone, 0 faeries
sonne!'
XLVIII
The knight was much enmoved with his speach,
That as a swords poynt through his hart did
perse,
And in his conscience made a secrete breach,
Well knowing trew all that he did reherse,
And to his fresh remembraunce did reverse
The ugly vew of his deformed crimes ;
That all his manly powres it did disperse,
As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes ;
That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted often-
times.
XLIX
In which amazement when the Miscreaunt
Perceived him to waver, weake and fraile, [daunt,
Whiles trembling horror did his conscience
And hellish anguish did his soule assaile ;
To drive him to despaire, and quite to quailc,
Hee shewd him, painted in a table plaine,
The damned ghosts that doe in torments waile,
And thousand feends that doe them endlesse
paine [remaine.
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall
The sight whereof so throughly him dismaid,
That nought but death before his eies he saw,
And ever burning wrath before him laid,
By righteous sentence of th' Almighties law.
Then gan the villein him to overcraw, [fire,
And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison.
And all that might him to perdition draw ;
And bad him choose what death he would de-
sire; [Gods ire.
For dcat li was dew to him that had provokt
6o
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK I.
But, whenas none of them he saw him take,
He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene,
And gave it him in hand : his hand did quake
And tremble like a leafe of Aspin greene,
And troubled blood through his pale face was
seene
To come and goe with tidings from the heart,
As it a ronning messenger had beene.
At last, resolv'd to work his finall smart,
He lifted up his hand, that backe againe did
start.
LII
Which whenas Una saw, through every vaine
The crudled cold ran to her well of life,
As in a swowne : but, soone reliv'd againe,
Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife,
And threw it to the ground, enraged rife,
And to him said ; ' Fie, fie, faint hearted Knight!
What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife V
Is this the battaile which thou vauntst to
fight
With that tire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and
bright?
' Come ; come away, f raile, feeble, fleshly wight
Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart,
Ne divelish thoughts dismay thy constant
spright :
In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part ?
Why shouldst thou then despeire, that choser
art ? [grace
Where justice growes, there grows eke greatei
I The which doth quench the brond of hellisl
smart,
And that accurst hand-writing doth deface.
Arise, sir Knight ; arise, tad leave this curset
place.'
LIV
So up he rose, and thence amounted streight
Which when the carle beheld, and saw his gues
Would safe depart, for all his subtile sleight,
He chose an halter from among the rest,
And with it hong him selfe, unbid, unblest.
But death he could not worke himselfe thereby
For thousand times he so him selfe had drest
Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die,
Till he should die his last, that is, eternally.
CANTO X.
Her faithfull knight fairo Una brings
To house of Holinesse ;
Where be is tanght repentaunce, and
The way to hevenly blesse.
WHAT man is he, that boasts of fleshly
And vaine assuraunce of mortality, [might
Which, all so soone as it doth come to fight
Against spirituall foes, yields by and by,
Or from the fielde most cowardly doth fly !
Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill,
That thorough grace hath gained victory :
If any strength we have, it is to ill, [will.
But all thagood is Gods, both power and eke
By that which lately hapned Una saw
That this her knight'was feeble, and too faint ;
And all his sinewes woxen weake and raw,
Through long enprisonment, and hard con-
straint,
Which he endured in his late restraint,
That yet he was unfitt for bloody fight.
Therefore, to cherish him with diets daint,
She cast to bring him where he chearen might,
Till he recovered bad his late decayed plight.
There was an auncient house nor far away,
Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lor
And pure unspotted life : so well, they say,
It governd was, and guided evermore,
Through wisedome of a matrone grave and hore
Whose onely joy was to relieve the needes
Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore
All night she spent in bidding of her bedes.
And all the day in doing good land godl;
deedes,
IV
Dame Cadia men did her call, as thought
From heaven to come, or thither to arise ;
The mother of three daughters, well upbrougl
In goodly thewes, and godly exercise :
The eldest two, most sober, chast, and wise,
Fidelia and Speranza, virgins were ;
Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solen
nize;
But faire Charissa.to a lovely fere [der
Was lincked, and by him had many pledg<
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
61
Arrived there, the dore they find fast lockt,
For it was warely watched night and day,
For feare of many foes ; but, when they knockt,
The Porter opened unto them streight way.
He was an aged syre, all hory gray,
With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full slow,
Wont on a staffe his feeble steps to stay,
Right Humilta. They passe in, stouping low ;
For ftreight and narrow was the way which
he did show.
VI
Each goodly thing is hardest to begin ;
But. entred in, a spatious court they see,
Both plaine and pleasaunt to be walked in ;
Where them does meete a francklin faire and
free.
And entertaines with comely courteous glee ;
His name was Zele, that him'right well became :
For in his speaches and behaveour hee
Did labour lively to expresse the same,
And gladly did* them guide, till to the Hall
they came.
VII
There fayrely them receives a gentle Squyre,
Of myld demeanure and rare courtesee,
Right cleanly clad in comely sad attyre ;
In word and deede that shewd great modestee.
And knew his good to all of each degree,
Bight Reverence. He them with speaches
meet
Does faire entreat ; no courting nicetee,
But simple, trew, and eke unfained sweet,
As might become a Squyre so great persons to
greet.
VIII
And afterwardes them to his Dame he leades,
That aged Dame, the Lady of the place,
Who all this while was busy at her beades ;
Which doen, she up arose with seemely grace,
And toward them full matronely did pace.
Where, when that fairest Una she beheld,
Whom well she knew to spring from hevenly
race,
Her heart with joy unwonted inly sweld,
As feeling wondrous comfort in her weaker eld :
And, her embracing, said ; ' O happy earth,
Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread !
Most vertuous virgin, borne of hevenlv berth,
That, to redeeme thy woefull parents head
From tyrans rage and ever-dying dread,
Hast wandred through the world now long a
day,
lett ceassest not thy weary soles to lead ;
What grace hath thee now hither brought this
way?
Or doen thy feeble feet unweeting hither stray?
' Straunge thing it is an errant knight to see
Here in this place ; or any other wight,
Thathitherturnes his steps. Sofew there bee,
That chose the narrow path, or seeke the right :
All keepe the broad high way, and take delight
With many rather for to goe astray,
And be partakers of their evill plight,
Then with a few to walke the Tightest way.
Ofoolishmen ! why hastye to your own decay?'
' Thy selfe to see, and tyred limbes to rest,
0 matrone sage,' (quoth she) ' Phither came ;
And this good knight his way with me addrest,
Ledd with thy prayses, and broad-blazed fame,
That up to heven is blowne.' The auncient
Dame
Him goodly greeted in her modest guyse,
And enterteynd them both, as best became,
With all the court'sies that she could devyse,
Ne wanted ought to shew her bounteous or wise.
Thus as they gan of sondrie thinges devise,
Loe ! two most goodly virgins came in place,
Ylinked arme in arme in lovely wise :
With countenance demure, and modest grace,
They numbred even steps and equall pace ;
Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight,
Like sunny beames threw from her Christall face
That could have dazd the rash beholders sight,
And round about her head did shine like uevens
light.
XIII
She was araied all in lilly white,
And in her right hand bore a cup of gold,
With wine and water fild up to the hight,
In which a Serpent did himselfe enfold,
That horrour made to all that did behold ;
Hut she no whitt did chaunge her constant
mood :
And in her other hand she fast did hold
A booke, that was both signd and seald with
blood;
Wherein darke things were writt, hard to be
understood.
xiv
Her younger sister, that Speranza hight,
Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well ;
Not all so chearefull seemed she of sight,
As was her sister : whether dread did dwell
62
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell.
Upon her arme a silver anchor lay,
Whereon she leaned ever, as befell;
And ever up to heven, as she did pray, [way.
Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarved other
They, seeing Una, towardes her gan wend,
Who" them encounters with like courtesee ;
Many kind speeches they betweene them spend,
And greatly joy each other for to see :
Then to the knight with shamefast modestie
They turne themselves, at Unaes meeke re-
quest,
And him salute with well beseeming glee :
Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best,
And goodly gan discourse of many a noble gest.
XVI
Then Una thus • ' But she, your sister deare,
The deare Charissa, where is she become ?
Or wants she health, or busie is elswhere ?'
' Ah ! no,' said they, ' but forth she may not
For she of late is lightned of her wombe, [come ;
And hath encreast the world with one sonne
more,
That her to see should be but troublesome.'
' Indeed,' (quoth she) ' that should her trouble
sore ; [more !'
But thankt be God, and her encrease so ever-
Then said the aged Caelia, ' Deare dame,
And you, good Sir, I wote that of youre toyle
And labors long, through which ye hither
came,
Ye both forwearied be : therefore, a whyle
I read you rest, and to your bowres recoyle.'
Then called she a Groome, that forth him ledd
Into a goodly lodge, and gan despoile
Of puissant armes, and laid in easie bedd
His name was meeke Obedience, rightfully
•redd.
XVIII
Now when their wearie limbes with kindlv
rest,
And bodies were refresht with dew repast,
Fayre Una gan Fidelia fayre request,
To have her knight into her schoolehous plaste,
That of her heavenly learning he might taste,
And heare the wisedom of her wordes divine.
She graunted ; and that knight so much
agraste,
That she him taught celestiall discipline,
And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in
them snine.
And that her sacred Booke, with blood ywritt,
That none could reade except she did them
She unto him disclosed every whitt ; [teach
And heavenly documents thereout did preach
That weaker witt of man could never reach ;
Of God; of grace; of justice; of free-will;
That wonder was to heare her goodly s peach
For she was liable with her wordes to kill,
And rayse at?aine to life the hart that she die
thrill.
xx
And, when she list poure out her larger
spright,
She would commaund the hasty Sunne to stay,
Or backward turne his course from hevens
hight : [may ;
Sometimes great hostes of men she could dis-
Dry-shod to passe she parts the flouds in tway ;
And eke huge mountaines from their native
seat [away,
She would commaund themselves to beare
And throw in raging sea with roaring threat.
Almightie God her gave such powre and puis-
saunce great.
XXI
The faithfull knight now grew in little space,
By hearing her, and by her sisters lore,
To such perfection of all hevenly grace,
That wretched world he gan for to abhore,
And mortall life gan loath as thing forlore,
Greevd with remembrance of his wicked waves,
And prickt with anguish of his sinnes so s'ore,
That he desirde to end his wretched dayes :
So much the dart of sinfull guilt the soule dis
But wise Speranza gave him comfort sweet,
And taught him how to take assured hold
Upon her silver anchor, as was meet ;
Els had his sinnes, so great and manifold,
Made him forget all that Fidelia told.
In this distressed doubtfull agony,
When him his dearest Una did behold
Disdeining life, desiring leave to dye,
She found her selfe assayld with" great
plexity ;
XXIII
And came to Caelia to declare her smart ;
Who, well acquainted with that commune
plight,
Which sinfull horror workes in wounded hart,
Her wisely comforted all that she might,
With goodly counsell and advisement ri^ht ;
And streightway sent with carefull diligence,
To fetch a Leach, the which had great insight'
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
In that disease of grieved conscience, [Patience.
And well could cure the same : His name was
xxiv
\Vlin. cnmmingto that sowle-diseased knight,
Could hardly him intreat to tell his grief:
Which knowne, and all that noyd his heavie
spright
;>rcht, eftsoones he gan apply relief
Of >alves and med'cines, which had passing
prief ;
And thereto added wordes of wondrous might.
Bv which to ease lie him recured brief,
And much aswag'd the passion of his plight,
That he his paine endur'd, as seeming now
more light. .
XXV
But yet the cause and root of all his ill,
Inward corruption and infected sin,
5Jot purg'd nor heald, behind remained still,
,And festring sore did ranckle yett within,
Close creeping twixt the marow and the skin:
Which to extirpe, he laid him privily
Downe in a darksome lowly place far in,
Whereas he meant his corrosives to apply,
And with streight diet tame his stubborne
malady.
XXVI
In ashes and sackcloth he did array
His daintie corse, proud humors to abate ;
And dieted with fasting every day,
The swelling of his woundes to mitigate ;
And made him pray both earely and eke late:
mud ever, as superfluous flesh did rott,
^Amendment readie still at hand did wayt,
To pluck it out with pincers fyrie whott,
That soone in him was lefte no one corrupted
jott.
XXVII
And bitter Penaunce, with an yron whip,
Was wont him once to disple every day:
And sharp Remorse his hart did prick and nip,
That drops of blood thence like a well did play :
And sad Repentance used to embay
His blamefull body in salt water sore,
The lilthy blottes of sin to wash away.
So in short space they did to health restore
The man that would not live, but erst lay at
deathes dore.
xxvin
In which his torment often was so great,
That like a Lyon he would cry and rore,
And rend his flesh, and his owne synewes eat.
His <>u :ie deare Una, hearing evermore
His ruefull shriekes and gronings, often tore
Her guiltlesse garments and her golden heare,
For pitty of his payne and anguish sore:
Yet all with patience wisely she did beare.
For well she wist his cry me could els be never
cleare.
XXIX
Whom, thus recover'd by wise Patience
And trew Repentaunce, they to Una brought:
Who, joyous of his cured conscience,
Him dearely kist, and fayrely eke besought
Himselfe to chearish. and consuming thought
To put away out of his carefull brest.
By this Charissa, late in child-bed brought,
Was woxen strong, and left her fruitful! nest :
To her fayre Una brought this unacquainted
guest.
XXX
She was a woman in her freshest age,
Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare,
With goodly grace and comely personage,
That was on earth not easie to compare ;
Full of great love, but Cupids wanton snare
As hell she hated ; chaste in worke and will :
Her necke and brests were ever open bare,
That ay thereof her babes might sucke their
fill;
The rest was all in yellow robes arayed still.
A multitude of babes about her hong,
Playing their sportes, that joyd her to behold;
Whom still she fed whiles they were weake and
young,
But thrust them forth still as they wexed old:
And on her head she wore a tyre of gold,
Adornd with gemmes and owches wondrous
fayre.
Whose passing price uneath was to be told :
And by her syde there sate a gentle payre,
Of turtle doves, she sitting in an y vory chayre.
The knight and Una entring fayre her greet,
And bid her joy of that her happy brood ;
Who them requites with court'sies seeming
meet,
And entertaynes with friendly chearefull mood.
Then Una her besought, to be so good
As in her vertuous rules to schoole her knight,
Kow after all his torment well withstood
In that sad house of Penaunce, where his
spright
Had past the paines of hell and long-enduring
night.
XXXIII
She was right joyous of her just request ;
And taking by the hand that Faeries sonne,
Gan him instruct in everie good behest,
| Of love, and righteousnes, and well to donne. j
64
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK L
And wrath and hatred warely to shonne,
That drew on men Gods hatred and his wrath.
And manv soules in dolours had fordonne :
In which'when him she well instructed hath,
From thence to heaven she teacheth him the
ready path.
XXXIV
Wherein his weaker wandring steps to guyde,
An auncient matrone she to her does call,
Whose sober lookes her wisedome well des-
| Ne car'd to hoord for those whom he did breede:
, iThe grace of God he layd up sti'.l in store,
Which as a stocke he left unto his seede.
He had enough ; what need him care for more?
And had he lesse, yet some he would give to the
pore.
xxxix
The third had of their wardrobe custody,
In which were not rich tyres, nor garments gay
The plumes of pride, and winges of vanity,
crvcle . But clothes meet to keepe keene cold away,
Her name was Mercv ; well knowne over-all And naked nature seemely to aray ;
To be both gratious and eke liberall : With which bare wretched wights he dayly clad,
To whom the carefull charge of him she gave, The images of God in earthly clay ;
To leade aright, that he should never fall
In all his waies through this wide worldes
wave ;
That Mercy in the end his righteous soule
might save-
XXXV
' The godly Matrone by the hand him beares
Forth from her presence, by a narrow way,
Scattred with bushy thornes and ragged breares,
Which still before him she remov'd away,
That nothing might his ready passage stay :
And ever, when his feet encombred were,
Or gan to shrinke, or from the right to stray,
She held him fast, and firmely did upbeare,
As carefull Nourse her child from falling oft
does reare.
XXXVI
Eftsoones unto an hoi}- Hospitall,
That was foreby the way, she did him bring ;
And, if that no spare clothes to give he had,
His owne cote he would cut, and it distribut
glad.
XL
The fourth appointed by his office was
Poore prisoners to relieve with gratious ayd,
And captives to redeeme with price of bras
From Turkes and Sarazins, which them hac
stayd :
And though they fault}' were, yet well he wayc
That God to us'forgiveth every howre [layd
Much more then that whv they in bands were
And he, that harrowd hefl with heavie stowre,
The faulty soules from thence brought to hi
heavenly bowre.
XLI
The fift had charge sick persons to attend,
And comfort those in point of death which lay
For them most needeth comfort in the end,
In which seven Bead-men, that had vowed all When sin, and hell, and death, doe most disma
Their life to service of high heavens King,
Did spend their daies in doing godly thing.
Their gates to all were open evermore,
That by the wearie way were travelling ;
And one sate wayting ever them before, [pore.
To call in commers-by that needy were and
XXXVII
The first of them, that eldest was and best,
As Guardian and Steward of the rest.
His office was to give entertainement
And lodging unto all that came and went ;
Not unto such as could him feast againe,
And double quite for that he on them spent ;
But such as want of harbour did constraine :
Those for Gods sake his dewty was to entertaine.
XXXVIII
The second was as Almner of the place :
His office was the hungrv for to feed.
And thristy give to drinke ; a worke of grace.
The feeble soule departing hence away.
All is but lost, that living we bestow,
If not well ended at our dying day.
O man ! have mind of that last bitter throw ;
For as the tree does fall, so lyes it ever low.
XLTI
The sixc had charge of them now being dea<
In seemely sort their corses to engrave,
And deck with dainty flowres their brydall bed
That to their heavenly spouse both sweet an
brave [save
They might appeare, when he their soules slia
The wondrous workmanship of Gods own
mould,
Whose face he made all beastes tofeare, and gav
All in his hand, even dead we honour should.
Ah, dearest God, me graunt, I dead be nc
defould !
The seventh, now after death and buriall dom
Had charge the tender Orphans of the deau
And wydowes ayd, least they should be undom
He feard not once himselfe to be in need, I In face of judgement he their right would pieai
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Ne ought the powre of mighty men did dread
In their defence ; nor would for gold or fee
Be wonne their rightfull causes downe to tread ;
And, when they stood in most necessitee,
He did supply their want, and gave them ever
free.
XLIV
There when the Elfin knight arrived was,
The tirst and chiefest of the seven, whose care
Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas :
Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare
And alwaies led, to her with reverence rare
He humbly lotited in meeke lowlinesse,
And seemely welcome for her did prepare :
For of their" order she was Patronesse,
Albe Charissa were their chiefest founderesse.
There she awhile him staves, himselfe to rest,
That to the rest more hable he might bee ;
During which time, in every good behest,
And godly worke of Almes and charitee,
Shee him" instructed with great industree.
Shortly therein so perfect he became,
That, from the first unto the last degree,
His mortal! life he learned had to frame
In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or
blame.
XL VI
Thence forward by that painfull way they pas
Forth to an hill that was both steepe and hy,
On top whereof a sacred chappell was,
And eke a litle Hermitage thereby,
Wherein an aged holy man did lie.
That day and night said his devotion,
Ne other worldly busines did apply :
His name was hevenly Contemplation ;
Of God and goodnes was his meditation.
xt.vn
Great grace that old man to him given had ;
For (ind he often saw from heavens hight:
All were his earthly eien both blunt and bad,
And through great age had lost their kindly
sight, [spright.
Yet wondrous quick and persaunt was his
As Eagles eie that can behold the Sunne.
That hill they scale with all their powre and
might,"
That his fraile t highes, iiigh weary and fordonne,
Gan faile; but by her helpe the top at last he
•wonne.
XLVIII
There they doc finde that godly aged Sire,
With snowy lookes adowne his shoulders shed
As hoary frost with spangles doth attire
The mossy braunches of an Oke halfe ded.
bone might through his body well be red
And every sinew seene, through his long fast'
?or nought he car'd his carcas long unfad ;
3is mind was full of spiritual repast, [chast.
And pyn'd his flesh to keepe his body low and
Who, when these two approching he aspide,
At their first presence grew agrieved sore,
That forst him lay his hevenly thoughts aside;
\nd had he not that Dame respected more,
tVhom highly he did reverence and adore,
rTe would not once have moved for the knight.
They him saluted, standing far afore.
Who, well them greeting, humbly did requight,
And asked to what end they clomb that
tedious hight?
i,
What end,' (quoth she) ' should cause us
take such paine,
3ut that same end, which every living wight
Should make his marke high heaven to attaine ?
;s not from hence the way, that leadeth right
To that most glorious house, that glistreth
bright
With burning starres and everliving fire,
Whereof the keies are to thy hand behight
By wise Fidelia? Shee doth thee require,
To shew it to this knight, according his desire.'
'Thrise happy, man,' said then the father
grave,
Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth
lead,
And shewes the way his sinfull soule to save !
Who better can the way to heaven aread
Then thou thyselfe, that was both borne and
bred
In hevenly throne, where thousand Angels
shine V
Thou doest the praiers of the righteous sead
Present before the majest}' divine,
And his avenging wrath to clemency incline.
LI I
' Yet, since thou bidst, thy pleasure shalbe
donne.
Then come, thou man of earth, and see the way,
That never yet was seene of Faeries sonne ;
That never leads the traveller astray,
But after labors long and sad delay,
Brings them to joyous rest and endlesse blis.
But first thou must a season fast and pray,
Till from her bands the spright assoiled is,
And have her strength recur'd from fraile in-
firmitis.'
66
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
' That done, he leads him to the highest
Mount ,
Such one as that same mighty man of God,
That blood-red billowes, like a walled front,
On either side disparted with his rod,
Till that his army dry-foot through them yod.
Dwelt forty daies" upon ; where, writt in stone
With bloody letters by the hand of God,
The bitter doome of death and balefull mone
He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him
shone :
Now are they Saints all in that Citty sam,
More dear unto their God then younglings to
their dam.'
Or like that sacred hill, whose head full hie,
Adornd with fruitfull Olives all arownd,
IB, as it were for endlesse memory
Of that deare Lord who oft thereon was fownd,
For ever with a flowring girlond crownd :
Or like that pleasaunt Mount, that is for ay
Through famous Poets verse each where re-
nownd,
On which the thrise three learned Ladies play
Their hevenly notes, and make full many a
lovely lay.
LV
From thence, far off he unto him did shew
A little path that was both steepe and long,
Which to a goodly Citty led his vew ,
Whose wals and" towres were builded high
and strong
Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong
( 'annot describe, nor wit of man can tell ;
Too high a ditty for my simple song.
The Citty of the greate king hight it well,
Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth
dwell.
As he thereon stood gazing, he might see
The blessed Angels to and fro descend
From highest heven in gladsome companee,
And with great joy into that Citty wend,
As commonly as frend does with his frend.
Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere,
What stately building durst so high extend
Her lofty towres unto the starry sphere,
And what unknowen nation there empeopled
were ?
1 Faire Knight,' (quoth he) ' Hierusalem that
The new Hierusalem, that God has built [ is
For those to dwell in that are chosen his,
His chosen people, purg'd from sinful guilt
With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt
On cursed tree, of that unspotted lam,
That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt •.
1 Till now,' said then the knight, ' I weened
well,
That great Cleopolis, where I have beene,
j In which that fairest Faery Queene doth dwell,
The fairest citty was that "might be scene ;
And that bright towre, all built of christall
clene,
Panthea, seemd the brightest thing that wa
But LOW by proofe all otherwise I weene,
For this great Citty that does far surpas,
And this bright Angels towre quite dims th«
towre of glas.'
' Most trew,' then said the holy aged man
Yet is Cleopolis, for earthly frame.
The fairest peece that eie beholden can.
And well beseemes all knights of noble nam
iThat covett in th' immortall bnoke of fame
To be eternized, that same to haunt,
And doen their service to that soveraigne Dam
That glory does to them for guerdon graun
For she is hevenly borne, and heaven m
justly vaunt.
'And thou, faire ymp, sprong out fro
English race,
How ever now accompted Elfins sonne,
Well worthy doest thy sen-ice for her grace
To aide a virgin desolate, foredonne ;
But when thou famous victory hast wonne,
And high emongst all knights hast hong t
shield,
Thenceforth the suitt of earthly conque
• shonne,
And wash thy hands from guilt of bloody fie
For blood can nought but sin, and wars b
sorrows yield.
' Then sock this path that I to thee presag
Which after all to heaven shall thee send ;
Then peaceably thy painefull pilgrimage
To yonder same Hierusalem doe bend,
Where is for thee ordaind a blessed end :
For thou, emongst those Saints whom th
doest see,
Shalt be a Saint, and thine owne nations frf
And Patrone : thou Saint George shalt cal
bee,
Saint George of mery England, the signe
victoree '
IANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
' Unworthy wretch,' (quoth he) ' of so great
grace,
How dare 1 thinke such glory to attaine? '
'These, that have it attaynd, were in like
cace,
iVs wretched men, and lived in like paine.'
;But deeds of armes must I at last be faine
\nd Ladies love to leave, so dearely bought ? '
;What need of armes, where peace doth ay
remaine,'
[Said he) 'and bitter battailes all are fought ?
te for loose loves, they'are vaine, and vanish
into nought.'
LXIII
'0! let me not,' (quoth he) 'then turne a-
gaine
Backe to the world, whose joyes so fruitlesse
are ;
But let me heare for aie in peace remaine,
Jt Streightway on that last long voiage fare,
rhat nothing may my present hope ernpare.'
That may not be,' (said he) ' ne maist thou
yitt
Forgoe that royal maides bequeathed care,
rtTio did her cause into thy hand committ,
Pill from her cursed foe thou have her freely
quitt.'
'The
en shall I soone,' (quoth he) ' so God me
\bett that virgins cause disconsolate, [grace,
\nd shortly back returne unto this place,
Fo walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate.
But now aread, old father, why of late
Didst thou behight me borne of English blood.
Whom all a Faeries sonne doen nominate? '
'That word shall I,' (said he) ' avouchen good,
Sith to thee is uuknowne the cradle of thy
brood.
'For, well I wote, thou sprintjst from ancient
race
Of Saxon kinges, that have with mightie hand,
And many bloody battailes fought in face,
High reard tueir royall f hroxiu in Britans land,
And vanquish! them, unable to withstand :
From thence a Faery thee unweeting reft,
There as thou slepst in tender swadling band,
And her base Elrin brood there for thee left :
Such, men do Chaungelings call, so chaung'd
by Faeries theft.
' Thence she thee brought into this Faery
lond,
And in an heaped furrow did thee hyde ;
Where thee a Ploughman all unwee'ting fond,
As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde.
And brought thee up in ploughmans state to
byde,
Whereof Georgos he thee gave to name ;
Till prickt with courage, and thy forces pryde,
To Faery court thou cam'st to seek for fame,
And prove thy puissant armes, as seemes thee
best became,'
LXVII
' O holy Sire ! ' (quoth he) ' how shall I quight
The many favours I with thee have fownd,
That hast my name and nation redd aright,
And taught" the way that does to heaven
bownd ! '
This saide, adowne he looked to the grownd
To have returnd ; but dazed were his eyne
Through passing brightnes, which did" quite
confound
His feeble sence, and too exceeding shj-ne.
Sodarke are earthly thinges compardto things
divine.
At last, whenas himselfe he gan to fynd,
To Una back he cast him to retyre,
Who him awaited still with pensive mynd.
Great thaukes, and goodly meed, to that good
syre
He thens departing gave for his paynes hyre
So came to Una, who him joyd to see ;
And, after litle rest, gan him desyre
Of her adventure myndfull for to bee.
So leave they take "of Caelia and her daugh-
ters three.
68
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i
CANTO Xf.
The knight with that old Dragon fights
Two days incessantly :
The third him overthrowes, and gayns
Most glorious victory.
HIGH time now gan it wex for Una fayre
To thinke of those her captive Parents deare,
And their forwasted kingdom to repayre :
Whereto whenas they now approched neare,
With hartie Avordes her knight she gan to
cheare,
And in her modest maner thus bespake : [deare,
' Deare knight, as deare as ever knight was
That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake,
High heven behold the tedious toyle ye for me
take!
it
'Now are we come unto my native soyle,
And to the place where all our perilles dwell ;
Here hauntes that feend, and does his dayly
spoyle ;
Therefore, henceforth, bee at your keeping well,
And ever ready for your foeman fell :
The sparke of noble corage now awake,
And strive your excellent selfe to excell :
That shall ye evermore renowmed make [take.'
Above all knights on earth, that batteill under-
Then badd the knight, his Lady yede aloof,
And to an hill herselfe withdraw asyde ;
From whence she might behold that battaillc
proof.
And eke be safe from daunger far descryde.
| She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde" —
Now, O thou sacred Muse ! most learned Dair
Fayre ympe of Phoebus and his aged bryde,
iThe Nourse of time and everlasting fame,
That warlike handes ennoblest with immort:)
name :
V!
0 ! gently come into my feeble brest ;
Come gently, but not with that mightie rat
'Wherewith the martiall troupes thou do]
infest,
And hartes of great Heroes doest enrage,
That nought their kindled corage may aswa; j
Soone as thy dreadful! trompe begins' to sow I
The God of warre with his tiers equipage
Thou doest awake, sleepe never he so sown<
And scared nations doest with horror ste|
astownd.
And pointing forth, ' Lo ! yonder is,' (said she)
' The brasen towre, in which my parents deare
For dread of that huge feend emprisond be ;
Whom I from far see on the walles appeare,
Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly
And on the top of all I do espye [cheare":
The watchman wayting tydings glad to heare ;
That, (O my Parents !) might I happily
Unto you bring, to ease you of your misery !'
With that thej'heardaroaringhideous sownd,
That all the ayre with terror filled wyde,
And seemdnneath to shake the stedfast ground.
Kftsoones that dreadful Dragon they espyde,
VVhere stretcht he lay upon the sunny side
Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill :
But, all so soone as he from far descryde
Those glistring armes that heven with 1 in-lit
did fill, [untill. I
He rousd himselfe full blyth, and hastned them
VII
Fayre Goddesse, lay that furious fitt asyi
Till I of Avarres and bloody Mars doe sing,
And Bryton h'eldes Avith Sarazin blood bed-
Twixt that great faery Queene and Pay'
king,
ThatAvith their horror heven and earth did r
A Avorke of labour long, and endlesse prav
But now a while lett downe that haiif
string,
And to my tunes thy second tenor rays*
That I this man of God his godlv ar'uie
. . O J
blaze.
i via
By this, the dreadful Beast drew nig)
hand,
Halfe flying and halfe footing in his haste]
ThatAvith his largenesse measured much
And made Avide shadow under his huge AV,<
As mountaine doth the A-alley overcaste.
Approching nigh, he reared high afore
His body monstrous, horrible, and vaste
:ANTO XL]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
69
Which, to increase his wondrous grcatnes more,
\V:is swoln with wrath and poyson, and witli
bloody gore ;
IX
And over all with brasen scales was armd,
Like plated cote of steele, so couched neare
rhat nought mote perce ; ne might his corse
bee harmd
With dint of swerd, nor push of pointed speare :
Which as an Eagle, seeing pray appeare,
His aery plumes doth rouze, full rudely dight ;
So shaked he, that horror was to heare :
For as the clashing of an Armor bright,
Such noyse his rouzed scales did send unto the
knight.
x
His flaggy winges, when forth he did display,
Were like* two sayles, in which the hollow
wynd
la gathered full, and worketh speedy way :
And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd,
Were like mayne-yardes with flying canvas
lynd ;
With which whenas him list the ayre to beat,
And there by force unwonted passage fynd,
Fhe cloudes before him fleud for terror great,
And all the hevens stood still amazed with his
threat.
XI
His huge long tayle, wownd up in hundred
foldes,
Does overspred his long bras-scaly back,
Whose wreathed boughtes when ever he un-
foldes,
And thick entangled knots adown does slack,
Bespotted as with shieldes of red and blacke,
It sweepeth all the land behind him farre,
And of three furlongs docs but litle lacke;
And at the point two stinges in fixed arre,
liuth deadly sharp, that sharpest steele ex-
ceeden farre.
XII
Butstinges and sharpest steele did far exceed
The sb.arpnesse of his cruel rending clawes :
l>ead was it sure, as sure as death in deed,
What everthing docs touch his ravenous pawcs,
Or what within his reach he ever drawes.
Hut his most hideous head my tongue to tell
Hoes tremble ; for his decpe (fevouringjawes
Wyde gaped, like the gricsly mouth of hell,
Through which into his darkeabysseall ravin
fell.
XIII
And, that more wondrous was, in either jaw
Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged were,
Inwhich yett trickling blood, and gobbets raw,
Of late devoured bodies did appeare,
That sight thereof bredd cold congealed feare ;
Which to increase, and all atonce to kill,
A cloud of smoothering smoke, and sulphure
scare,
Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still,
That all the avre about with smoke and stench
did till.
XIV
His blazing eyes, like two bright shining
shieldes,
Did buriie with wrath, and sparkled living
fyre :
As two broad Beacons, sett in open fieldes,
Send forth their flames far off to every shyre,
And warning give thatenimies conspyre
With fire and sword the region to invade :
So rlam'd his eyne with rage and rancorous yre ;
But far within, as in a hollow glade,
Those glaring lampes were sett that made a
dreadfull shade.
So dreadfuuy he lowardes him did pas,
Forelifting up a-loft his speckled brest,
And often bounding on the brused gras,
As for great joyance of his newcome guest.
Eftsoones he gan advance his haughty crest,
As chauffed Bore his bristles doth upreare ;
And shoke his scales to battaile ready drest,
That made the Redcrosse knight nigh quake
for tea re,
As bidding bold defyaunce to his foeman
neare.
XVI
The knightgan fayrely couch his steady speare,
And fiersely ran at him with rigorous might :
The pointed steele, arriving rudely theare,
His harder hyde would nether perce nor
bight,
But, glauncingby, foorth passed forward right.
Yet sore amoved" with so puissaunt push,
The wrathfull beast about him turned light,
And him so rudely, passing by, did brush
With his long tayle, that horse and man to
ground did rush.
Both horse ana man up lightlv rose againe,
And fresh encounter towardes him addrest ;
But t h' ydle stroke yet backe recoyld in vaine,
And found no place his deadly point to rest.
Exceeding rage enfiam'd the furious Beast,
To be avenged of so great despight ;
For never felt his imperceable brest
So wondrous force from hand of living wight ;
Yet had he prov'd the powre of many a puis-
sant knight.
70
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK \.
Then, with his waving wings displayed wyde,
Himselfe up high he lifted from the ground,
And with strong flight did forcibly divyde
His hideous tayle then hurled he about,
And therewith all enwrapt the nimble thyes
Of his froth-fomy steed, whose courage stout
The ridding avre, which nigh too" feeble found Striving to loose the knott that fast him tyes
Her flitting'paYts, and element unsound, Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash imply
To beare so great a weight : he, cutting way
With his broad sayles, abouthim soared round;
At last, low stouping with unweldy sway,
Snatcht up both horse and man, to beare them
quite away.
XIX
Long he them bore above the subject plaine,
So far as Ewghen bow a shaft may send,
Till struggling strongdid him at last constraine
To let them downe before his flightes end :
As hagard hauke, presuming to contend
With hardy fowle above his hable might,
His wearie pounces all in vaine doth spend
To trusse the pray too heavy for his flight ;
Which, comming down to ground, does free it
selfe by tight.
xx
He so disseized of his gryping grosse,
The knight his thrillant speare againe assayd
In his bras-plated body to embosse, [layd ;
And three mens strength unto the stroake he
Wherewith the stifle beame quaked as affrayd,
That to the ground he is perforce constraynC
To throw his ryder ; who can quickly ryse
From off the earth, with durty blood distaym
For that reprochfull fall right fowly he disdayii
XXIV
And fercely tooke his trenchand blade in han
With which he stroke so furious and so fell,
That nothing seemd the puissaunee could wi
Upon his crest the hardned yron fell, [ stan
But his more hardned crest was amid so we
That deeper dint therein it would not make
Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell,
That from thenceforth he shund the like to ta
But when he saw them come he did them s
forsake.
xxv
The knight was wroth to see his strokebeguy
And smot againe with more outrageous mig
But backe againe the sparcling steele recoy
Aud left not any marke where it did light,
As if in Adama'nt rocke it had beene pight.
The beast, impatient of his smarting wound
.,, . ., .. i* . a.j .* j A lie ut*A*>i, iiuuaiieut ui 1110 auuu«nH w
And glauncing from his scaly necke did glyde And f so'fier(£ and fordble despight, [groun
Close under his left wing, then broad displavd: Thought with his winffes to lst%e above
The percing steele there wrought a wound full
wyde, [lowdly cryde.
That with the uncouth smart the Monster
He cryde, as raging seas are wont to rore
When wintry storme his wrathful wreck does
threat ;
Fhe rolling billowes beate the ragged shore,
As they the earth would shoulder from her seat;
And greedy gulfe does gape, as he would eat
His neighbour element in his revenge :
Then gin the blustring brethren boldly threat
To move the world from off his stedfast henge,
And boystrous battaile make, each other to
avenge.
XXII
The steely head stuck fast still in his flesh,
Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the wood,
And quite a sunder broke. Forth flowed fresh
A gushing river of blacke gory blood,
That drowned all the land whereon he stood ;
The streame thereof would drive a water-mill :
Trebly augmented was his furious mood
With bitter sence of his deepe rooted ill,
That flames of fire he threw forth from his
large nosethril.
But his late wounded wing unserviceable four
XXVI
Then full of griefe and anguish vehement,
He lowdly brayd, that like was never heard
And from his wide devouring oven sent
A flake of fire, that flashing in his beard
Him all amazd, and almost made afeard :
The scorching flame sore swinged all his fa<
And through his armour all his body seard,
That he could not endure so cruell cace,
But thought his armes to leave, and heir
to unlace.
XXVII
Not that great Champion of the antique wo~
Whom famous Poetes verse so much
vaunt,
And hath for twelve huge labours high ext
So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt,
When him the poysoned garment did enchai
When Centaures
charmd ;
blood and
bloody ve;
[dai
As did this knight twelve thousand dole
Whom fyrie steele now burnt, that erst
armd;
That erst him goodly armd, now mo.*t ol
him harmd.
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
XXVIII
Faynt, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieved, brent,
With heat, toyle, wounds, armes, smart, and
inward fire,
That never man such mischiefes did torment :
Death better were ; death did he oft desire,
But death will never come when needes require.
Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld,
He cast to suffer him no more respire,
But gan his sturdy sterne about to weld,
And him so strongly stroke, that to the ground
him feld.
XXIX
It fortuned, (as fayre it then befell)
Behynd his backe, unweeting, where he stood,
Of auncient time there was a springing well,
From which fast trickled forth a silver flood,
Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good :
Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got
That liappy land, and all with innocent blood
Defy Id those sacred waves, it rightly hot
The" well of life, ne yet his vertues had
forgot :
XXX
For unto life the dead it could restore,
And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away ;
Those that with sicknesse were infected sore
It could recure ; and aged long decay
Renew, as one were borne that very day.
.Both Silo thisv and Jordan, did excell,
'And th' English Bath, and eke the German
Span ;
Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus, match this well :
Into the same the knight back pverthrowen
fell.
Now gan the golden Phoebus for to steepe
His liorie face in billowes of the west,
And his faint steedes watred in Ocean deepe,
Whiles from their journall labours they did
rest;
When that infernall Monster, having kest
His wearie foe into that living well,
Gan high advaunce his broad discoloured brest
Above his wonted pitch, with countenance fell,
And dapt his yron wings as victor he did
dwell.
XXXII
Which v.-hon his pensive Lady saw from farre,
Great woe and sorrow did her soule assay,
As v, ceiling that the sad end of thewarre;
And gan to highest God entirely pray
That feared chaunce from her to turne away :
With folded hands, and knees full lowly bent.
All night shoe watcht, ne once adowne would
lay
Her dainty limbs in her sad dreriment,
But praying still did wake, and waking did
lament.
XXXIII
The morrow next gan c arely to appeare,
That Titan rose to runne his daily race ;
But earely, ere the morrow next gan reare
Out of the sea faire Titans deawy face,
Up rose the gentle virgin from her place,
And looked all about, if she might spy
Her loved knight to move his manly pace :
For she had great doubt of his safety,
Since late she saw him fall before his enimy.
XXXIV
At last she saw where he upstarted brave
Out of the well, wherein he drenched lay :
As Eagle, fresh out of the ocean wave,
Where he hath lefte his plumes all hory gray,
And deckt himselfe with fethers youthly gay,
Like Eyas hauke up mounts unto the skies,
His newly-budded pineons to assay,
And marveiles at himselfe stil as he flies :
So new .this new-borne knight to battell new
did rise.
XXXV
Whom when the damned feend so fresh did
No wonder if he wondred at the sight, [spy,
And doubted whether his late enimy
It were, or other new supplied knight.
He now, to prove his late- renewed might,
High brandishing his bright deaw-burning
blade,
Upon his crested scalp so sore did smite,
That to the scull a yawning wound it made :
The deadly dint his dulled sences all dismaid.
XXXVI
I wote not whether the revenging steele
Were hardned with that holy water dew
Wherein he fell, or sharper edge did feele,
Or his baptized hands now greater grew,
Or other secret vertue did ensew ;
Els never could the force of fleshly arme,
Ne molten met t all, in his blood embrew ;
For till that stowiid could n»ver wight him
harme [charme.
By subtilty, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty
XXXVII
The cruell wound enraged him so sore,
That loud he yelled for exceeding paine;
As hundred ramping Lions seemd to rore,
Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine :
Then gan he tosse alof*. his stretched trains,
And therewith scourge thebuxome aireso sor^
That to his force to yielden it was faine ;
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore,
That high trees overthrew, and rocks inpeeces
tore.
XXXVIII
The same advauncing high above his head,
With sharpe intended sting so rude him smott,
That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead ;
Ne living wight would have him life beliott :
The mortall sting his angry needle shott
Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder
seasd,
Where fast it stucke, ne would thereout be gott :
The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd,
Ne might his rancling paine with patience be
appeasd.
XXXIX
But yet, more mindfull of his honour deare
Then of the grievous smart which him did
wring,
From loathed soile he can him lightly reare,
And strove to loose the far infixed sting:
Which when in vaine he tryde with strugge-
Inflam'd with wrath, his raging blade he hefte,
And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string
Of his huge taile he quite a sender clefte ;
Five joints thereof he hewd, and but the stump
him lefte.
XL,
Hart cannot thinke what outrage and what
cries,
With fowle enfouldred smoake and flashing fire,
The hell-bred beast threw forth unto the skies,
That all was covered with darknesse dire :
Then, fraught with rancour and engorged yre,
He cast at once him to avenge for all ;
And, gathering up himselfe out of the mire
With his uneven wings, did fiercely fall
Upon his sunne-liright shield, and grypt it
fast withall.
Much was the man encombred with his hold,
In feare to lose his weapon in his paw,
Ne wist yett how his talaunts to unfold;
Nor harder was from Cerberus greedy jaw
To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw
To reave by strength the griped gage away :
Thrise he assayd it from his foote to draw,
And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay ;
It booted nought to thinke to rohbe him of his
pray.
XI. II
Tlio, when he saw no power might prevaile,
His trustv sword he cald to his last aid,
Wherewith he fiersly did his foe assaile,
And double blowes about him stoutly laid,
That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid,
As sparkles from the Andvile use to tiy,
When heavy hammers on the wedge are swaid :
Therewith at last he forst him to unty
One of his grasping feete, him to defend
thereby.
x i,i 1 1
The other foote, fast fixed on his shield,
Whenas no strength nor stroks mote him con-
straine
To loose, He yet the warlike pledge to yield,
He smott thereat with all his might ami maine,
That nought so wondrous puissaunce might
sustaine :
Upon the joint the lucky steele did light,
And made such way that hewd it quite in
twaine ;
The paw yett missed not his minis lit might,
But hong'still on the shield, as it at first was
pight.
For griefe thereof and divelish despight,
From his infernall fournace forth he threw
Huge flames that dimmed all the hevens light,
Knrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew:
As burning Aetna from his boyling stew
Doth belch out flames, and rockes in peeces
broke,
And ragged ribs of mountaines molten new,
Enwrapt in coleblacke clowds and filthy smoke,
That al the land with stench and heven with
horror choke.
The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilence,
So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire
A little backeward for his best defence,
To save his body from the scorching fire,
Which he from hellish entrailes did expire.
It chaunst, (eternall God that chaunce did
guide)
As he recoiled backeward, in the mire
His nigh foreweried feeble feet did slide,
And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore
terrifide.
There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,
I^oaden with fruit and apples rosy redd,
As they in pure vermilion had been dide,
Whereof great verities over-all were redd ;
For happy life to all which thereon fedd,
And life eke everlasting did befall :
Great God it planted in that blessed stedd
With his Almighty hand, and did it call
The tree of life, the crime of our first fathers
fall.
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
73
In all the world like was not to be fownd.
Her golden locks for hast were loosely shed
About her eares, when Una her did marke
Save in that soile, where all good things did Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,
From heven high to chace the
darke ;
chearelesse
[larke.
grow,
And freely s prong out of the fruitfull grownd,
As incorrupted Nature did them sow,
Till that dredd Dragon all did overthrow.
Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,
Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoones did know
Both good and ill. O mournfull memory !
That tree through one mans fault hath doen , , -
us all to dv. ?d cllcl llimselfe to battaile ready dight ;
Whose early foe awaiting him beside
XLVIII To have devourd, so soone as day he spycle,
From that first tree forth flowd, as from a When^now^s^v himselfe so freshly reare,
well,
With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting
Then freshly up arose the doughty knight,
All healed of his hurts and woundes wide,
A trickling streame of Balme, most -soveraine
And daintv deare, which on the ground still
fell,'
And overflowed all the fertile plaine,
As it had deawed bene with timely raine:
Life and long health that gracious ointment
gave, [againe
And deadly wounds could heale, and reare
The seucelesse corse appointed for the grave :
Into that same he fell, which did from death
him save.
For nigh thereto the ever damned Beast
Durst not approch, for he was deadly made,
And al that life preserved did detest ;
Yet he it oft adventur'd to invade.
By this the drouping day-light gan to fade.
And yield his rowme to sad succeeding night,
Who with her sable mantle gan to shade
The face of earth and waves of living wight,
And high her burning torch set up in heaven
bright.
L
When gentle Una saw the second fall
Of her deare knight, who, weary of long tight
And faint through losse of blood, moov'd not
at all,
But lay, as in a dreame of deepe delight,
Besmeard with pretious Balme, whose vertuous
might
Did heale his woundes. and scorching heat alay ;
Againe she stricken was with sore affright,
And for his safetie gan devoutly pray,
And watch the noyous night, and wait for
joyous day.
u
The joyous day gan early to appeare;
And t'ayre Aurora from the deawy bed
Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare
With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red ;
As if late fight had nought him daninifyde,
He woxe dismaid, and gan his fate to feare:
Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advaunced
And in his first encounter, gaping wyde,
He thought attonce him to have swallowd
quight,
And rusht upon him with outragious pryde ;
Who him rencountring fierce, as liauke in
flight,
Perforce rebutted backe. The weapon bright,
Taking advantage of his open jaw, [might,
Kan through his mouth with so importune
That deepe emperst his darksom hollow maw,
And, back retyrd, his life blood forth with all
did draw.
So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath,
That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift ;
So downe he fell, that th' earth him underneath
Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift ;
So downe he fell, as an huge rocky cliff, [away,
Whose false foundacion waves have was lit
With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland rift,
And rolling downe great Neptune doth dismay :
So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine
lay.
LV
The knight him selfeeven trembled at his fall,
So huge and horrible a masse it seemd ;
And his deare Lady, that beheld it all,
Durst not approch for dread which she mis-
deem d ;
But yet at last, whenas the direfull feend
She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright
She nigher drew, and saw that joyous end :
Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithful!
knight,
That had atchievdc so great a conquest by his
might.
74
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK L
CANTO XII.
Fayre Una to the Kedcrosse Knight
Betrouthed is with joy :
Though false Duessa, it to barre,
Her false sleightes doe imploy.
BEHOLD ! I see the haven nigh at hand
To which I meane my wearie course to bend ;
Vere the maine shete, and beare up with the
land,
The which afore is fayrly to be kend,
And seemeth safe from storms that may offend ;
There this fayre virgin wearie of her way
Must landed bee, now at her journeyes end ;
There eke my feeble barke a while may stay,
Till mery wynd and weather call her thence
away.
ii
Scarsely had Phoebus in the glooming East
Yett harnessed his fyrie-footed teeme,
Ne reard above the earth his flaming creast,
When the last deadly smoke aloft did steeme,
That signe of last outbreathed life did seeme
Unto the watchman on the castle-wall ;
Who thereby dead that balefull Beast did deeme,
And to his Lord and Lady lowd gan call,
To tell hotf he had scene the Dragons fatall fall.
Uprose with hasty joy, and feeble speed,
That aged Syre, the Lord of all that land,
And looked forth, to weet if trew indeed
Those tydinges were, as he did understand :
Which whenas trew by tryall he out fond,
He badd to open wyde his brasen gate,
Which longtime had beene shut, and'outof bond
Proclaymed joy and peace through all his state ;
For dead now was their foe, which them forrayed
late.
IV
Then gan triumphant Trompets sownd on hye,
That sent to heven the ecchoed report
Of their new joy, and happie victory
Gainst him, that had them long opprest with
And fast imprisoned in sieged fort. [tort.
Then all the people, as in solemne feast,
To him assembled with one full consort,
Hcjoycing at the fall of that great beast,
From whose eternall bondage now they were|
releast.
Forth came that auncient Lord, and aged
Queene,
Arayd in antique robes downe to the grownd,
And sad habiliments right well beseene :
A noble crew about them waited rownd
Of sage and sober peres, all gravely gownd ;
Whom far before did march a goodly band
Of tall young men, all hable annes to sownd
But now they laurell braunches bore in hand,
Glad signe of victory and peace in all thei
land.
VI
Unto that doughtie Conquerour they came,
And him before themselves prostrating low,
Their Lord and Patrone loud did him pro
clame,
And at his feet their lawrell boughes did throw
Soone after them, all dauncing on a row,
The comely virgins came, with girlands dight
As fresh as flowres in medowgreene doe grow
When morning deaw upon their leaves dotl
light; [on bight
And in their handes sweet Timbrels all uphek
And them before the fry of children yong
Their wanton sportes and childish mirth die
Play,
And to the Maydens sownding tymbrels song
In well attuned notes a joyous lay,
And made delightfull mus'ick all the way,
Untill the}- came where that faire virgin stood.
As fayre Diana in fresh sommers day
Beholdeshernymphes enraung'd in shady wood
Some wrestle, some do run, some bathe in
christall flood.
So she beheld those maydens meriment
With chearefull vew ; who, when to her they
came,
Themselves to ground with gracious humblessc
And her ador'd by honorable name, [bent
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
75
Lifting to heven her everlasting fame :
Then on her head they sett a girlond greene,
And crowned her twixt earnest and twixt
game :
Who, in her self- resemblance well beseene,
Did seeme, such as she was, a goodly maiden
Queene.
And after all the raskall many ran,
Heaped together in rude rablement,
To see the face of that victorious man,
Whom all admired as from heaven sent,
And gazd upon with gaping wonderment ;
But when they came where that dead Dragon
lay, [tent,
Stretcht on the ground in monstrous large ex-
The sight with ydle feare did them dismay,
Ne durst approch him nigh to touch, or once
assav.
Some feard, and fledd ; some feard, and well
it faynd ;
One, that would wiser seeme then all the rest,
Warnd him not touch, for yet perhaps remaynd
Some lingring life within his hollow brest,
Or in his wombe might lurke some hidden nest
Of many Dragonettes, his fruitfull seede :
Another saide, that in his eyes did rest
Yet sparckling fyre, and badd thereof take
heed ;
Another said, he saw him move his eyes indeed.
One mother, whenas her foolehardy chyld
Did come too neare, and with his talants play,
Halfe dead through feare, her litle babe re-
vyld,
And to hergossibs gan in counsell say;
' How can I tell, but that his talants may
Yet scratch my sonne, or rend his tender hand ? '
So diversly them selves in vaine they fray ;
Whiles some more bold to measure him nigh
stand,
To prove how many acres he did spred of land.
Thus flocked all the folke him rownd about ;
The whiles that hoarie king, with all his traine,
Being arrived where that champion stout
After his foes defeasaunce did remaine,
Him goodly greetes,and fay re does entertayne
With princely gifts of yvory and gold, f paine.
And thousand thankes him yeeldes for all his
Then when his daughter deare he does behold,
Her dearely doth imbrace, and kisseth manifold.
And after to his Pallace he them bringes,
With shau i lies, and trompets, and with Clarions
sweet;
And all the way the joyous people singes,
And with their garments strowes the paved
street; [meet
Whence mounting up, they fynd purveyaunce
Of all, that royall Princes court became ;
And all the floore was underneath their feet
Bespredd with costly scarlott of great name,
On which they lowly sitt, and tilting purpose
frame.
What needes me tell their feast and goodly
guize,
In which was nothing riotous nor vaine V
What needes of dainty dishes to devize,
Of comely services, or courtly trayne ?
My narrow leaves cannot in them contayne
The large discourse of roiall Princes state.
Yet was their manner then but bare and playne ;
For th' antique world excesse and pryde did
hate : [late.
Such proud luxurious pompe is swollen up but
Then, when with ineates and ilrinkes of every
kinde
Their fervent appetites they quenched had,
That auncient Lord gan fit occasion tinde,
Of straunge adventures, and of perils sad
Which in his travell him befallen had,
For to demaund of his renowmed guest : [sad,
Who then with utt'rance grave, and count'nance
From poynt to poynt, as is before exprest,
Discourst his voyage long, according his re-
quest.
XVI
Great pleasure, mixt with pittiful regard,
That godly King and Queene did passionate,
Whyles they his pittifull adventures heard ;
That oft they did lament his lucklesse state,
And often blame the too importune fate
That heapd on him so many wrathfull wreakes ;
For never gentle knight, as he of late,
So tossed was in fortunes cruell freakes :
And all the while salt teares bedeawd the
hearers cheaks.
Then sayd that royall Pere in sober wise;
1 Deare S'onne, great beene the evils which ye
bore
From first to last in your late enterprise,
That I note whether praise or pitty more;
76
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
For never living man, I weene, so sore
In sea of deadly daungers was distrest:
But since now safe ye seised have the shore,
And well arrived are, (high God be blest !)
Let us devize of ease and everlasting rest.'
Whiles on her wearie journey she did ride ;
And on her now a garment she did weare
! All lilly white, withoutten spot or pride,
jThat seemd like silke and silver woven neare;
But neither silke nor silver therein did appeare.
' Ah dearest Lord ! ' said then that doughty
knight,
' Of ease or rest I may not yet devize ;
For by the faith which I to armes have plight,
I bownden am streight after this emprize,
As that your daughter can ye well advize,
Hacke to retourne to that great Faery Queene,
And her to serve sixe yeares in warlike wize,
(iainstthat proud Faynim king that works her
teene: fbeene.'
Therefore I ought crave pardon, till I there have
XIX
' Unhappy falls that hard necessity,'
(Quoth he) ' the troubler of my happy peace,
And vowed foe of my felicity ;
Ne I against the same can justly preace :
But since that band ye cannot now release,
Nor doen undo, (for vowes may not be vayne)
Soone as the terme of those six yeares shall
cease.
Ye then shall hither backe retourne agayne,
The marriage to accomplish vowd betwixt you
twayn.
xx
• Which, for my part, I covet to performe
In sort as through the world I did proclame,
That who-so kild that monster most deforme,
And him in hardy battayle overcame,
Should have mine onely "daughter to his Dame,
And of my kingdome heyre apparaunt bee :
Therefore, since now to thee perteynes the same
By dew desert of noble chevalree, [to thee.'
Both daughter and eke kingdome lo ! I yield
XXI
Then forth he called that his daughter fayre,
The fairest Un', his onely daughter deare,
His onely daughter and his only hayre ;
Who forth proceeding with sad sober cheare,
As bright as doth the morning starre appeare
Out of the East, with flaming lockes bedight,
To tell that dawning day is drawing neare,
And to the world does bring long-wished light :
So faire and fresh that Lady shewd herselfe in
sight
XXII
So faire and fresh, as freshest flowre in May ;
For she had layd her mournefull stole aside,
And widow-like sad wimple throwne away,
Wherewith her heavenly beautie she did hide,
The blazing brightnesseof her beauties beame,
And glorious light of her sunshyny face,
To tell were as to strive against the streame :
My ragged rimes are all too rude and bace
Her heavenly lineaments for to euchace.
Ne wonder ; for her own deare loved knight,
All were she daily with himselfe in place,
Didwondermuchathercelestialsight : [dight.
Oft had he scene her faire, but never so faire
So farrely dight when she in presence came,
She to her Syre made humble reverence,
And bowed low, that her right well became,
And added grace unto her excellence :
Who with great wisedome and grave eloquence
Thus gan to say — But, eare he thus had sayd,
With flying speede, and seeming great pretence,
Came running in, much like a man dismayd,
A Messenger with letters, which his message
sayd.
XXV
All in the open hall amazed stood '
At suddeinnesse of that unwary sight,
And wondred at his breathlesse hasty mood :
But he for nought would stay his passage right,
Till fast before the king he did alight ;
Where falling flat great humblesse he did make.
And kist the ground whereon his foot was pight;
Then to his handes that writt he did betake,
Which he disclosing read thus, as the papei
spake :
XXVI
' To thee, most mighty king of Eden fayre,
Her greeting sends in these sad lines addrest
The wofull daughter and forsaken heyre
Of that great Emperour of all the West ;
And bids thee be advized for the best,
Ere thou thy daughter linck, in holy band
Of wedlocke, to that new unknowen'guest :
For he already plighted his right hand
Unto another love, and to another land.
XXVII
•To me, sad mayd, or rather widow sad,
He was affyaunced long time before,
And sacred pledges he both gave, and had,
False erraunt knight, infamous, and forswore !
Witnesse the burning Altars, which he swore,
And guilty heavens of his bold perjury;
Which though he hath polluted oft of'yore,
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
77
Yet I to them for judgement just doe fly,
And them conjure t' avenge this shameful!
injury.
XXVIII
' Therefore, since mine lie is, cr free or bond,
Or false or trew, or living or else dead,
Withhold, O soverayne Prince ! your hasty hond
From knitting league with him, I you aread ;
Ne weene my right with strength adowne to
tread,
Through weaknesse of my widowhed or woe ;
For truth is strong her rightfull cause to plead,
And shall finde friends, if need requireth soe.
So bids thee well to fare. Thy neither friend
nor foe, Fidessa.'
x.xi x
When he these bitter byting wordes had red,
The tydings straunge did him abashed make,
That still he sate long time astonished,
As in great muse, ne word to creature spake.
At last his solemn silence thus he brake,
With doubtfull eyes fast fixed on his guest :
' Redoubted knight, that for myne only sake
Thy life and honor late adventurest, [prest.
Let nought be hid from me that ought to be ex-
XXX
' What moane these bloody vowes and idle
threats,
Throwne out from womanish impatient mynd?
What hevens? what altars? what enraged
heates,
Here heaped up with termes of love unkynd,
My conscience cleare with guilty bands would
bynd?
High God be witnesse that I guiltlesse ame ;
But if yourselfe, Sir knight, ye faulty fynd,
Or wrapped be in loves of former Dame,
With cryme doe not it cover, but disclose the
same.'
XXXI
To whom the Redcrosse knight this answere
sent :
' My Lord, my king, be nought hereat dismayd,
Till well ye wote by grave intendiment,
What woman, and wherefore, doth me upbrayd
With breach of love and loialty betrayd.
It was in my mishaps, as hitherward
I lately traveild, that unwares I strayd
Out of my way, through perils straunge and1
hard, fdeclard.'
That day should faiie me ere I had them all
XXXII
' There did I find, or rather I was fownd
Of i his false woman that Fidessa hight,
Fidessa hight the falsest Dame on grownd,
Most false Duessa, royall richly dight,
That easy was t' inveigle weaker sight:
Who by her wicked arts and wylie skill,
Too false and strong for earthly skill or might,
Unwares me wrought unto her wicked will,
And to my foe betrayd when least I feared ill.'
XXXIII
Then stepped forth the goodly royall Mayd,
And on the ground herselfe prostrating low,
With sober countenance thus to him sayd :
' O ! pardon me, my soveraine Lord, to sheow
The secret treasons, which of late I know
To have bene wrought by that false sorceresse :
Shee, onely she, it is, that earst did throw
This gentle knight into so great distresse,
That death him did awaite in daily wretched-
nesse.
xxxiv
' And now it seemes, that she suborned hath
This crafty messenger with letters vaine,
To worke new woe and improvided scath,
By breaking of the band betwixt us twaine ;
Wherein she used hath the practicke paine
Of this false footman, clokt with simplenesse,
Whome if ye please for to discover plaine,
Ye shall him Archimago find, I ghesse. [ lesse.'
The falsest man alive : who tries, shall find no
The king was greatly moved at her speach ;
And, all with suddein indignation fraight,
Bad on that Messenger rude hands to reach.
Eftsoones the Gard, which on his state did wait,
Attacht that fay tor false, and bound him strait,
Who seeming sorely chauffed at his band,
As chained beare whom cruell dogs doe bait,
With ydle force did faine them to withstand,
And often semblaunce made to scape out of
their hand.
XXXVI
But they him layd full low in dungeon deepe,
And bound him hand and foote with yron chains ;
And with continual watch did warely keepe.
Who then would thinke that by his subtile
trains
He could escape fowle death or deadly pains ?
Thus, when that Princes wrath was'pacifide,
He gan renew the late forbidden bains.
And to the knight his daughter deare he tyde
With sacred rites and vowes for ever to abyde.
XXXVII
His owne two hands the holy knotts did knitt,
That none but death for ever can divide ;
His owne two hands, for such a turnemost fitt,
The housling fire did kindle and provide,
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i.
And holy water thereon sprinckled wide;
At which the bushy Teade a groome did light,
And sacred lamp in secret chamber hide,
Where it should not be quenched day nor night,
For feare of evil fates, but burnen ever bright.
XXXVIII
Then gan they sprincklc all the posts with
wine,
And made great feast to solemnize that day :
They all perfumde with frankincense divine,
And precious odours fetcht from far away,
That all the house did sweat with great aray:
And all the while sweete Musicke did apply
Her curious skill the warbling notes to play,
To drive away the dull Melancholy ;
The whiles one sung a song of love and jollity.
During the which there was an heavenly noise
Heard sownd through all the Pallace pleasantly,
Like as it had bene many an Angels voice
Singing before th' eternall majesty,
In their trinall triplicities on hye :
Yett wist no creature whence that hevenly
Proceeded, yet each one felt secretly f swee"t
H imselfe thereby refte of his sences meet,
And ravished with rare impression in his sprite.
Great joy was made that day of young and
old,
And solemne feast proclaymd throughout the
land,
That their exceeding merth may not be told :
Suffice it heare by signes to understand
The usuall joyes at knitting of loves band.
Thrise happy man the knight himselfe did
hold,
Possessed of his Ladies hart and hand ;
And ever, when his eie did her behold,
His heart did seeme to melt in pleasures mani-
fold.
Her joyous presence, and sweet company,
In full content he there did long enjoy ;
Ne wicked envy, ne vile gealosy,
His deare delights were hable to annoy :
Yet, swimming in that sea of blisfull j'oy,
He nought forgott how he whilome had sworne,
In case he could that monstrous beast de-
stroy,
Unto his Faery Queene backe to retourne ;
The which he shortly did, and Una left to
mourne.
Now, strike your sailes, yee jolly Mariners,
For we be come unto a quiet rode,
Where we must land some of our passengers,
And light this weary vessell of her lode:
Here she a while may make her safe abode,
Till she repaired have her tackles spent,
And wants supplide ; And then againe abroad
On the long voiage whereto she is bent :
Well may she speede, and fairely linish hf.r
intent !
BOOK II. j
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
79
THE SECOND BOOK
OF
THE FAEEIE QUEENE
CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF SIR GUYON, OR OF TEMPERAUNCE.
That nothing is but that which he hath seene?
RIGHT well I wote, most mighty Soveraine, What if within the Moones fayre shining
spheare,
What if in every other starre unseene
Of other worldes he happily should heare,
| He wonder would much more ; yet such to
some appeare.
That all this famous antique history
Of some th' aboundance of an ydle braine
Will judged be, and painted forgery,
Rather then matter of just memory ;
Sith none that breatheth living aife does know
Where is that happy land of Faery,
Which I so much doe vaunt, yet no where
show,
But vouch antiquities, which no body can
know.
But let that man with better sence advize,
That of the world least part to us is red;
And daily how through hardy enterprize
Many great Regions are discovered,
Which to late age were never mentioned.
Who ever heard of th' Indian Peru ?
Kr who in venturous vessell measured
The Amazon huge river, now found trew ?
Or fruitfullest Virginia who did ever vew?
Of faery lond yet if he more inquyre,
By certein signes, here sett in sondrie place,
He may it fynd ; ne let him then admyre,
But yield his sence to bee too blunt and Dace,
That no'te without an hound tine footing trace.
And thou, O fayrest Princesse under sky !
In this fayre mirrhour maist behold thy face,
And thine owne realmes in lond of Faery,
And in this antique ymage thy great auncestry.
The which O ! pardon me thus to enfold
In covert vele, and wrap in shadowes light,
That feeble eyes your glory may behold,
Which ells could not endure those beames
Yet all these were, when no man did them bright,
know, j But would bee dazled with exceeding light.
Yet hove from wisest ages hidden beene ; JO! pardon, and vouchsafe with patient eare
And later times thinges more unknowne shall' The brave adventures of this faery knight,
show. The good Sir Guyon, gratiously to heare ;
Why then should witlesse man so much mis- In whom great'rule of Teir.p'raunce goodly
weene, doih appeare.
8o
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
CANTO I.
Gnyon, by Archimage abnsd,
The Redci'osse knight awaytes ;
Fyndes Mordant and Amavia slaine
With pleasures poisoned baytes.
THAT conning Architect of cancred guyle,
Whom Princes late displeasure left in bands,
For falsed letters, and suborned wyle,
Soone as the Redcrosse knight he understands
To beene departed out of Eden landes,
To serve againe his soveraine Elfin Queene,
His artes he moves, and out of caytives handes
Himselfe he frees by secret meanes unseene ;
His shackles emptie lefte, himselfe escaped
cleene.
ii
And forth he fares, full of malicious mynd,
To worken mischiefe, and avenging woe,
Where ever he that godly knight may fynd,
His onely hart-sore, and his onely foe;
Sith Una now he algates must forgoe,
Whom his victorious handes did earst restore
To native crowne and kingdom late ygoe ;
Where she enjoyes sure peace for evermore,
As wetherbeaten ship arryv'd on happie shore.
Him therefore now the object of his spight
And deadly food he makes: him to offend,
By forged 'treason or by open fight,
He seekes, of all his drifte the aymed end :
Thereto his subtile engins he does bend,
His practick witt and his fayre fyled tonge.
Nath'lesse th' Enchannter would not spare
In hope to win occasion to his will ; f his payne,
Which when he long awaited had in vayne,
He chaungd his mynd from one to other ill ;
For to all good he enimy was still.
Upon the way him fortuned to meete,
Fayre marching underneath a shady hill,
A goodly knight, all armd in harnesse meete,
That from his head no place appeared to his
feete.
VI
His carriage was full comely and upright ;
His countenance demure and temperate;
But yett so sterne and terrible in sight,
Thatcheard hisfriendes, and did his foes amate:
He was an Elfin borne of noble state
And mickle worship in his native land :
Well could he tourney, and in lists debate.
And knighthood tooke of good Sir Hiions hand,
When with king Oberon he came to Faery land.
Him als accompanyd upon the way
I A comely Palmer, c'lad in black attyre,
1 Of rypest yeares, and heares all hoarie gray,
i That with a staffe his feeble steps did stire,
! Least his long way his aged limlies should I ire :
And, if by lookes one may the mind aread,
_.. • — .• — .• -- r,- He seemd to be a sage and sober syre :
With thousand other sleightes; for well he kend And ever with slow pace the knight did lead,
His credit now in doubtfull ballaunce hong : Who taught his trampling steed with equall
tor hardly could bee hurt who was alreadv' steps to tread
stong. 'vm
iv Such whenas Archimago them did view.
Still as he went he craftie stales did lay, ille weened well to worke some uncouth wyle : j
With cunning traynes him to entrap un wares, 'Eftsoones untwisting his deceiptfull clew,
And privy spyals plast in all his way, [ fares, He gan to weave a web of wicked guyle,
To weete what course he takes, and how he And, with faire countenance and flattring style
To ketch him at a vauntage in his snares. To them approching, thus the knight bespake ;
But now so wise and wai y was the knight j ' Fayre sonne of Mars, that seeke with warlike
By tryall of his former harmes and cares, spoyle, [ make,
That he descryde and shonned still his slight: (And great' atchiev'ments, great your selfe tc
The fish that once was caught new bait will Vouchsafe to stay your steed for humble misers
nardly byte. sane.
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEEtfE.
He stayd his steed for humble misers sake,
And badd tell on the tenor of his playnt : ;
Who feigning then in every limb to quake
Through inward feare, and seeming pale and
faynt, [paynt :
With piteous mone his percing speach gan
'Deare LadyJ how shall I declare thy cace.
Whom late I left in languorous constraynt ?
Would God! thy selfe now present were in
place [thee grace.
To tell this ruefull tale : thy sight could win
x
'Or rather would, O! would it so had chaunst,
That you, most noble Sir, had present beene
When that lewd rybauld, with vyle lust
advaunst,
Laid first his tilthie hands on virgin cleene,
To spoyle her dainty corps, so faire and sheene
As on the earth, great mother of us all,
With living eye more fayre was never seene
Of chastity and honour virginall : [did call.
Witnes.ye heavens, whom she in vaine to help
XI
'How may it be,' sayd then the knight halfe
wroth, [shent ? '
' That knight should knighthood ever so have
'None but that saw,' (quoth he) ' would weene
for troth,
How shamefully that Mayd he did torment :
Her looser golden lockes he rudely rent, [sword
And drew her on the ground ; and his sharpe
Against her snowy brest he fiercely bent,
And threatned death with many a bloodie
word : [abhord.'
Tounge hates to tell the rest that eye to see
XII
. Therewith amoved from his sober mood,
' And lives he yet,' (said he) ' that wrought
this act?
And doen the heavens afford him vitall food ? '
'He lives,' (quoth he) 'and boasteth of the fact,
Ne yet hath any knight his courage crackt.'
• Where may that treachour then,' (sayd he)
' be found,
Or by what meanes may I his footing tract ? '
•That shall I shew,' (sayd he) 'as sure a*
hound [in!; wound.'
The stricken Deare doth chalenge by the bleed -
XIII
HP stiyd not lenger talke, but with fierce yre
And zealous haste away is quickly gone
To seeke that knight, where him that crafty
Squyre
Supposd to be. They do arrive anone
Where sate a gentle Lady all alone,
With garments rent, and heare discheveled,
Wringing her hancles, and making piteous
mone:
Her swollen eyes were much disfigured,
And her faire face with teares was fowly
blubbered.
The knight, approching nigh, thus to her
said:
' Fayre Lady, through fowle sorrow ill bedight,
Great pitty is to see you thus disrnayd,
And marre the blossom of your beauty bright :
For-thy appease your griefe and heavy plight,
And tell the cause of your conceived payne ;
For, if he live that hath you doen despight,
He shall you doe dew recompence agayne,
Or els his wrong with greater puissance main-
taine.'
xv
Which when she heard, as in despightfull wise
She wilfully her sorrow did augment,
And offred hope of comfort did despise :
Her golden lockes most cruelly she rent,
And scratcht her face with ghastly dreriment;
Xe would she speake, ne see, ne yet be seene,
But hid her visage, and her head downe bent,
Either for grievous shame, or for great teene,
As if her hart with sorrow had transfixed
beene:
XVI
Till her that Squyre bespake : ' Madame, my
liefe,
For Gods deare love be not so wilfull bent,
But doe vouchsafe now to receive reliefe,
The which good fortune doth to you present.
For what bootes it to weepe and "to wayment
When ill is chaunst, but doth the ill increase,
And the weake minde with double woe tor-
ment?' [appease
When she her Squyre heard speake, she gan
Her voluntarie paine, and feele some secret ease.
Eftsoone she said ; ' Ah ! gentle trustie
Squyre,
What comfort can I, wofull wretch, conceave?
Or why should ever 1 henceforth desyre
To see faire heavens face, and life not leave,
Sith that false Tray tour did my honour reave?'
'False traytour certes, ' (saide the Faerie
knight)
' I read the man, that ever would deceave
A gentle Lady, or her wrong through might :
Death were too litle paine for such a fowie
despight.
a
82
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iir
' But now, fayre Lady, comfort to you. make,
And read who hath re wrought this shamefnil
plight,
That short revenge the man may overtake,
Where-so he be, and soone upon him light.'
'Certes,' (saide she) ' I wote not how he hight,
Rut under him a gray steede he did wield,
Whose sides with dapled circles weren dight;
Upright he rode, and in his silver shield [ field.
He bore a bloodie Crosse that quartred all th
XIX
'Now by my head,' (saide Gtiyon) 'much ]
muse, " [ amis
How that same knight should doe so fowle
Or ever gentle Damzell so abuse :
For, may I boldly say, he surely is
A right good knight, and trew of word ywis
I present was, and can it witnesse well, [pris
When armes he swore, and streight did enter-
Th' adventure of the Errant damozell ;
In which he hath great glory wonne, as I
heare tell.
xx
' Xathlesse he shortly shall againe be tryde,
And lairely quit, him of th' imputed blame ;
Els, be ye sure, he dearely shall abyde,
Or make you good amendment for the same :
All wrongs have mendes, but no amendes of
shame.
Now therefore, Lady, rise out of your paine,
And see the salving of your blotted name.'
Full loth she seemd thereto, but yet did faine,
For she was inly glad her purpose so to gaine.
XXI
Her purpose was not such as she did faine,
Ne yet her person such as it was seene ;
But under simple shew, and semblant plaine,
Ltirkt false Duessa secretly unseene,
As a chaste Virgin that had wronged beene :
So had false Archimago her disguysd,
To cloke her guile with sorrow and sad teene ;
And eke himselfe had craftily devisd
To be her Squire, and do her service well
aguisd.
XXII
Her, late forlorne and naked, he had found
Where she did wander in waste wildernesse,
Lurking in rockes and caves far under ground,
And with greene mosse cov'ring her nakednesse
To hide her shame and loathly filthinesse,
Sith her Prince Arthur of proud ornaments
And borrowd beauty spoyld. Her nathelesse
Th' enchaunter finding fit for his intents
Did thus revest, and deckt with dew habili-
ments.
For all he did was to deceive good knights,
And draw them from pursuit of praise and
fame
To slug in slouth and sensuall delights,
And end their daies with irrenowmed shame.
And now exceeding griefe him overcame,
To see the Kedcrosse thus advaunced hye ;
Therefore this craftie engine he did frame,
Against his praise to stirre up enmitye
Of such, as vertues like mote unto him allye.
So now he Guyon guydes an uncouth way
Through woods and mountaines, till they came
at last
Into a pleasant dale that lowly lay
Betwixt two hils, whose high heads overplast
The valley did with coole shade overcast :
Through midst thereof a little river rold,
By which there sate a knight with helme
unlaste,
Himselfe refreshing with the liquid cold,
After his travell long and labours manifold.
' Lo ! yonder he,' cryde Archimage alowd,
That wrought the shamefull fact which I did
shew ;
And now he doth himselfe in secret shrowd,
To fly the vengeaunce for his outrage dew :
But vaine ; for ye shall dearely do him rew,
•k> God ye speed and send you good successe,
Which we far off will here abide to vew.'
;io they him left inflam'd with wrathfulnesse,
That streight against that knight his speare
he did addresse.
Who, seeing him from far so fierce to pricke, j
His warlike armes about him gan embrace,
And in the rest hia ready speare did sticke :
Tho, when as still he saw him towards pace,
He gan rencounter him in equall race.
They bene ymett, both ready to affrap,
When suddeinly that warriour gan abace
Elis threatned speare, as if some new mishap, j
Had him betide, or hidden danger did entrap :J
And cryde, ' Mercie, Sir knight I and mercie,
Lord,
?or mine offence and heedelesse hardiment,
That had almost committed crime abhord,
And with reprochfull shame mine honou (
shent,
Whiles cursed steele against that badge I bent I
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
The sacred badge of my Redeemers death,
Which on your shield i.s set for ornament !'
But his fierce foe his steed could stay uneath,
Who, prickt with courage kene, did cruell
liattell breath.
XXVIII
lint, when he heard him speake, streight way
he knew
His n-rour; and, himselfe inclyning, sayd ;
' Ah ! deare Sir Guyon, well becommeth jrou,
But me behoveth rather to upbrayd,
i Whose hastie hand so far from reason strayd,
That almost it did haynous violence
On that fayre 3rmage of that heavenly Mayd,
That decks and armes your shield with faire
defence : [offence.'
Your court'sie takes on you anothers dew
So beene they both at one, and doen upreare
Their bevers bright each other for to greet ;
Goodly comportaunce each to other beare,
And entertaine themselves with court'sies meet.
Then said the Redcrosse knight ; ' Now mote
I weet,
Sir Guvon, why with so fierce saliaunce,
And fell intent, ye did at earst me meet ;
For sith I kuow your goodly governaunce,
Great cause, I weene, you guided, or some un-
couth chaunce.
'Certes,' (said he) ' well mote I shame to tell
The fond encbeason that me hither led.
A false infamous faitour late befell
^tHe for to meet, that seemed ill bested,
And playnd of grievous outrage, which he red
A knight had wrought against a Ladie gent ;
Which to avenge he to this place me led,
Where you he made the marke of his intent,
And now is rled : foule shame him follow wher
he went ! '
XXXI
So can he turne his earnest unto game,
Through goodly handling and wise tem-
peraunce.
By this his aged Guide in presence came ;
Who, soone as on that knight his eye did
glaunce.
Eftsoones of him had perfect cognizaunce,
Sith him in Faery court he late avizd ;
And sayd ; ' Fayre sonne, God give you happy
chaunce,
And that deare Crosseuppon your shield devizd,
Wherewith above all knights ye goodly seeme
aguizd 1
' Joy may you have, and everlasting fame,
Of late most hard atchiev'ment by you donne,
For which enrolled is your glorious name
In heavenly Regesters above the Sunne,
Where you a Saint with Saints your seat have
wonne :
But wretched we, where ye have left your marke,
Must now anew begin like race to ronne.
God guide thee, Guyon, well to end thy warke,
And to the wished haven bring th5F weary
barke ! '
XXXIII
' Palmer,' him answered the Redcrosse knight,
' His be the praise that this atchiev'ment
wrought,
Who made my hand the organ of his might •.
More then goodwill to me attribute nought ;
For all I did, I did but as I ought.
But you, faire Sir, whose pageant next ensewes,
Well mote yee thee, as well can wish your
thought,
That home ye may report thrise happy newes ;
For well }-e worthy bene for worth and gentle
thewes.'
xxxiv
So courteous conge both did give and take,
With right hands plighted, pledges of good
will.
Then Guyon forward gan his voyage make
With his blacke Palmer, that him guided still:
Still he him guided over dale and hill,
And with his steedy staffe did point his way ;
His race with reason, and with words his will,
From fowle intemperaunce he ofte did stay,
And suffred not in wrath his hasty steps to
stray.
XXXV
In this faire wize they traveild long yfere,
Through many hard assayes which did betide ;
Of which he honour still away did beare,
And spred his glory through all countryes wide.
At last, as chaunst them by a forest side
To passe, for succour from "the scorching ray,
They heard a ruefull voice, that dearnlv cride
With percing shriekes and many a dole/nil lay;
i Which to attend awhile their forward steps
they stay.
XXXVI
'But if that carelesse hevcns,' (quoth she)
' despise
The doome of just revenge, and take delight
To see sad pageaunts of mens miseries,
As bownd by them to live in lives despight',
i Yet can they not warne death from wretched
wight.
Q2
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n.
Come, then ; come soone ; come sweetest
death, to me,
And take away this long lent loathed light :
Sharpe be thy* wounds, but sweete the medi-
cines be, [dome free.
That long captived soules from weary thral-
XXXVII
'But thou, sweete Babe, whom frowning
froward fate
Hath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall,
Sith heven thee deignes to hold in living state.
Long maist thou live, and better thrive withall
Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall.
Live thou •' and to thy mother dead attest
That cleare she dide from blemish criminall :
Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brest
Loe ! I for pledges leave. So give me leave
to rest.'
XXXVIII
With that a deadly shrieke she forth did throw
That through the wood re-echoed againe ;
And after gave a grone so deepe and low
That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine,
Or thrild with point of thorough-piercing
paine :
As gentle Hynd, whose sides with cruell steele
Through launched, forth her bleeding life does
raine, [feele,
Whiles the sad pang approching shee does
Braies out her latest breath, and up her eies
doth seele.
XXXIX
Which when that warriour heard, dismounting
straict
From his tall steed, he rusht into the thick,
And soone arrived where that sad pourtraict
Of death and dolour lay, halfe dead, halfe
quick ;
In whose white alabaster brest did stick
A cruell knife that made a griesly wownd,
From which forth gusht a stream of gore blood
thick,
That all her goodly garments staind arownd,
And into a deepe" sanguine dide the grassy
grownd.
XL
Pitifull spectacle of deadly smart,
Beside a bubling fountaine low she lay,
Which shee increased with her bleeding hart,
And the cleane waves with purple gore did
ray :
Als in her lap a lovely babe did play
His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew ;
.For in her streaming blood he did embay
His litle hands, and tender joints embrew :
Pitifull spectacle, as ever eie did vew !
Besides them both, upon the soiled gras
The dead corse of an armed knight was spred,
Whose armour all with blood besprincled was;
His ruddy lips did smyle, and rosy red
Did paint"his chearefull cheekes, yett being ded ;
Seemd to have beene a goodly personage,
Now in his freshest flowre of lusty-lied,
Fitt to inflame faire Lady with loves rage,
But that fiers fate did crop the blossome of his
Whom when the good Sir Guyon did behold,
His hart gan wexe as starke as marble stone*
And his fresh blood did frieze with fearefull
cold,
That all his sences seemd berefte attone :
At last his mighty ghost gan deepe to grone,
As Lion, grudging in his great disdaine,
Moumes inwardly, and makes to him selfe
mone;
Til ruth and fraile affection did constraine
His stout courage to stoupe, and shew his in-
ward paine.
XLIII
Out of her gored wound the cruell steel
He lightly snatcht, and did the floodgate stop
With his'faire garment ; then gan softly feel
Her feeble pulse, to prove if any drop
Of living blood yet in her veynes did hop :
Which when he "felt to move," he hoped faire
To call backe life to her forsaken shop.
So well he did her deadly wounds repaire.
That at the last shee gan to breath out living
aire.
XLIV
Which he perceiving greatly gan rejoice,
And goodly counsell, that for wounded hart
Is meetest med'cine, tempred with sweete voice :
' Ay me ! deare Lady, which the ymage art
Of ruefull pitty and impatient smart,
What direfullchaunce,armd with avemrfngfate,
Or cursed hand, hath plaid this cruell part.
Thus fowle to hasten your untimely date?
Speake, 0 dear Lady, speake! help never conn
too late.'
XLV
Therewith her dim eie-lids she up gan reare,
On which the drery death did sitt as sad
As lump of lead, and made darke clouds appeare
But when as him, all in bright armour clad,
Before her standing she espied had,
As one out of a deadly dreame affright,
She weakely started, yet she nothing drad :
Streight downe againe herselfe, in great de
pight, f and ligli
She groveling threw to ground, as hating "
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Thegentleknighthersoone with carefull paine
Uplifted light, and softly did uphold :
Thrise he her reard, and thriseshesunck againe,
Till he his armes about her sides gan fold,
And to her said ; ' Yet, if the stony cold
Have not all seized on your frozen hart,
Let one word fall that may your grief unfold,
And tell the secrete of your mortall smart :
He oft finds present helpe who does his griefe
impart.'
% XLVII
Then, casting up a deadly looke, full low
Shee sight from bottome of her wounded brest;
And after, many bitter throbs did throw,
With lips full pale and foltring tong opprest,
These words she breathed forth from riven chest :
'Leave, ah ! leave off, whatever wight thou bee,
To lett a weary wretch from her dew rest,
And trouble dying soules tranquilitee ;
Take not away, now got, which none would
give to me.'
XLVII I
'Ah ! far beit,'(saidhe)'Dearedame,fromee,
To hinder soule from her desired rest,
Or hold sad life in long captivitee ;
For all I seeke is but to have redrest
The bitter pangs that doth your heart infest.
Tell then, 0 Lady ! tell what fatall priefe
Hath with so huge misfortune you opprest ;
That I may cast to compas your reliefe,
Or die with you in sorrow, and partake your
With feeble hands then stretched forth oil hye,
As heven accusing guilty of her death,
And with dry drops congealed in her eye,
In these sad wordes she spent her utmost breath:
1 Heare then, O man ! the sorrowes that uneath
My tong can tell, so far all sence they pas.
' Him fortuned (hard fortune ye may ghesse)
To come, where vile Acrasia does wonne;
Acrasia, a false enchaunteresse,
That many errant knightes hath fowle fordonne ;
Within a waudring Island, that doth ronne
And stray in perilous gulfe, her dwelling is.
Fayre Sir, if ever there ye travell, shonne
The cursed land where many wend amis,
And know it by the name : it hight the Bowre
of bits.
LII
' Her blis is all in pleasure, and delight,
Wherewith she makes her lovers dronken mad;
And then with words, and weedes, of wondrous
might,
On them she workes her will to uses bad :
My liefest Lord she thus beguiled had ;
For he was flesh : (all flesh doth frayltie breed)
Whom when I heard to beene so ill bestad,
Weake wretch, I wrapt myselfe in Palmers weed,
And cast to seek him forth through danger and
great dreed.
LIU
' Now had fayre Cynthia by even tournes
Full measured three quarters of her yeare,
And thrise three tymes had fild her crooked
homes,
Whenas my wombe her burdein would forbeare,
And bad me call Lucina to me neare.
Lucina came ; a manchild forth I brought
The woods, the nymphes, my bowres, my mid-
wives, weare :
Hard help at need ! So deare thee, babe, I bought ;
Yet nought too dear I deemd, while so my deare
I sought.
LIV
' Him so I sought ; and so at last I fownd,
Where him that witch had thralled to her wity
In chaines of lust and lewde desyres ybownd,
Loe ! thisdeadcorpse that lies here underneath, And go transformed from his fonner yskm
The gentlest kn.ght, that ever on greene gras That me he knew not neth fai m»
pay steed with spurs did pncke, the good Sir Tm th h wige han<m and fflire
' Was, (ay the while, that he is not so now !)
"My Lord, my love, my deare Lord, my deare
love !
So long as hevens just with equall brow
IVouchsafed to behold us from above.
One day, when him high corage did emmove,
As wont ye knightes to seeke adventures wilde,
He pricked forth his puissant force to prove.
Me then he left enwombed of this childe,
ivern-
I him recured to a better will, f aunoe,
Purged from drugs of fowle intemperaunce :
Then meanes I gan devise for his deliveraunce.
'Which when the vile Enchaunteresse per-
ceiv'd,
How that my Lord from her I would reprive,
With cup thus charmdhim parting she deceivd;
•' Sad verse, give death to him that death does
, "Andlosseoflovetoherthatlovestolive, [give,
This luckles childe, whom thus ye see withi" So soone as Bacchus with the Nymphe does
blood denld. | So parted we, and on our journey drive ; [lincke !""
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii
Till, coming to this well, he stoupt to drincke : .Reserve her cause to her eternall doome ;
The charnie fulfild, dead suddeinly he downe And, in the meane, vouchsafe her honorable
did sincke. toombe.'
LIX
palm >' I™1*1. he' ' dcath » a? e(lua11 doome
ba< ' e<ommon ln °f rest;
' Which when I, wretch ' — Not one word more I
she savd I lo Sooa ancl oa(1< lne common ln ol J
But breaking off the end for want of breath, | £}* af*r death the tryall is to come,
And slvding soft, as downe to sleepe her layd, Whe° best shall bee to them that lived best;
»_j _± i.j -i, •_ _. ?_ _t_* j_L»». '; But both alike, when death hath both supprest,
Religious reverence doth buriall teene ;
Which whoso wants, wants so much of his rest:
And ended all her woe in quiet death.
That seeing, good Sir Guyon could uneath
,
From teares abstayne ; for griefe his hart did
grate,
And from so heavie sight his head did wreath,
Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate,
Which plonged had faire Lady in so wretched
state.
For all so great shame after death I weene,
As selfe to dyen bad, unburied bad to*beene.'
LX
So both agree their bodies to engrave :
The great earthes wombe they open to the sky,
And with sad Cypresse seemely it embrave ;"
- • — ve ;
Then turning to his Palmer said ; ' Old syre,i Then, covering with a clod their closed eye,
3r.},r.i,i ••>«> irmarm nf «i..rt >ii it ;.j i l hin
Behold the ymage of mortalitie,
And feeble nature cloth'd with fleshly tyre.
When raging passion with fierce tyranny
Robs reason of her dew regalitie,
And makes it servaunt to her basest part,
The strong it weakens with innrmitie,
And with bold furie armes the weakest hart :
The strong through pleasure soonest falles, the
They lay therein their corses tenderly,
And bid" them sleepe in everlasting peace.
But, ere they did their utmost obsequv,
Sir Guyon, more affection to increacc, jreleace.
Bynempt a sacred vow, which none should av
LXI
The dead knights sword out of his sheath he
drew,
weake through smart.'
LVIII
'But temperaunce' (said he)
squire j into the grave, and gan devoutly sw
Betwixt them both can measure out a meane; ' Such and such evil God on Guyon i
With which he cutt a lock of all their heare,
, Which medling with their blood and earth he
with golden I threw
•eare ;
reare,
Nether to melt in pleasures whott desyre, \ And worse and worse, young Orphane, be thy
Nor frye in hartlesse griefe and dolefull tene : payne,
Thrise happy man, who fares them both If I, or thou, dew veugeaunce doe forbeare,
atweene . , Till guiltie blood her guerdon doe obtayne !'
But sith this wretched woman overcome So shedding many teares they closd the earth
Of anguish, rather then of crime, hath bene, I agayne. '
CANTO II.
Babes bloody handes may not be clensd :
The face of golden Meane :
Her sisters, two Extremities,
Strive her to banish cleane.
' Ah ! lucklesse babe, borae under cruell
starre,
And in dead parents balefull ashes bred,
Full little weenest thou what sorrowes are
THUS when Sir Guyon with his faithful guyde
Had with dew rites and dolorous lament
The end of their sad Tragedie uptyde,
The litle babe up in his armes he hent ; . „, „ neeiieBl U10U WIiat wrm^K
\\ ho with sweet pleasaunce, and bold blan- Left thee for porcion of thy livelyhed:
dishment, poore Orphane ! in the wild world scattered,
Gan smy Icon them, that rather ought to weepe, As budding braunch rent from the native
As carelesse of his woe, or innocent tree
Of that was doen ; that ruth emperced deepe And throw'en forth, till it be withered.
In that knightes hart, and wordes with bitter Such is the state of men : Thus enter we
teares did steepe : i lnto this life with woe, and end with miseree ! !
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Then, soft, himselfe inclyning on his knee
Downe to that well, did "in the water weene
(So love does loath dlsdainefull nicitee)
His guiltie handes from bloody gore to cleene.
He washt them oft and oft, yet nought they
beene
For all his washing cleaner. Still he strove ;
Yet still the litle hands were bloody seene :
The which him into great amaz'ment drove,
And into diverse doubt his wavering wonder
clove.
He wist not whether blott of fowle offence
Might not be purgd with water nor with bath ;
Or that high God, in lieu of innocence,
Imprinted had that token of his wrath,
To shew how sore bloodguiltinesse he hat'th ;
Or that the charme and veneme which they
dronck,
Their blood with secret filth infected hath,
Being diffused through the senceless tronck,
That through the great contagion direful
deadly stonck.
v
Whom thus at gaze the Palmer gan to bord
With goodly reason, and thus fayre bespake;
1 Ye bene right hard amated, gratious Lord,
And of your ignorance great merveill make,
Whiles cause not well conceived ye mistake :
But know, that secret vertues are infusd
In every fountaine. and in everie lake, [chusd,
Which who hath skill them rightly to have
To proofe of passing wonders hath full often
usd :
VI
' Of those, some were so from their sourse in-
dewd [pap
By great Dame Nature, from whose fruitfull
Their welheads spring, and are with moisture
deawd ;
Which feedes each living plant with liquid sap,
And filles with flowres fayre Floraes painted
But other some, by guifte of later grace, [lap :
Or by good prayers, or by other hap,
Had vertue pourd into their waters bace,
And thenceforth were renowmd, and sought
from place to place.
' Such is this well, wrought by occasion
straunge,
Which to her Nymph befell. Upon a day,
As she the woodes with bow and shaftes did
raunge,
The hartlessc Hynd and Robucke to dismay,
Dan Faunus chaunst to meet her by the way,
And, kindling fire at her faire-burning eye,
Inflamed was to follow beauties pray,
And chaced her that fast from him did fly ;
As hynd from her, so she fled from her enimy.
vin
' At last, when fayling breath began to faint,
And saw no meanes to scape, of shame affrayd,
She set her downe to weepe for sore constraint ;
And to Diana calling lowd for ayde,
Her deare besought to let her die a mayd.
The goddesse heard ; and suddeine, where she
sate [mayd
Welling out streames of teares, and quite dis-
With stony feare of that rude rustick mate,
Transformd her to a stone from stedfast vir-
gins state.
IX
' Lo ! now she is that stone ; from whose two
heads, [flow,
As from two weeping eyes, fresh streames do
Yet colde through feare and old conceived
dreads ;
And yet the stone her semblance seemes to show,
Shapt like a maide, that such ye may her know :
And yet her vertues in her water byde,
For it is chaste and pure as purest snow,
Neletsherwaves withanyfilth bedyde; [tryde.
But ever, like herselfe, unstayned hath beene
x
' From thence it comes, that this babes bloody
hand
May not be clensd with water of this well:
Ne certes, Sir, strive you it to withstand,
But let them still be bloody, as befell,
That they his mothers innocence may tell,
As she bequeathd in her last testament ;
That, as a sacred Symbole, it may dwell
In her sonnes flesh, to mind revengement, [ment.1
And be for all chaste Dames an endlesse moni-
He hearkned to his reason, and the childe
Uptaking, to the Palmer gave to beare;
But his sad fathers armes with blood defilde,
An heavie load, himselfe did lightly reare ;
And turning to that place, in which whyleare
He left his loftie steed with golden sell [theare :
And goodly gorgeous barbej, him found not
By other accident, that earst befell, I not tell.
He is convaide ; but how, or where, here fits
XII
Which when Sir Guyon saw, all were he wroth,
Yet algates mote he soft himselfe appease,
And fairely fare on foot, how ever loth :
His double burden did him sore disease.
88
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ir.
So long they travelled with litle ease,
Till that at" last they to a Castle came,
Built on a rocke adjoyning to the seas :
It was an auncient worke of antique fame,
And wondrous strong by nature, and by skil-
full frame.
XIII
Therein three sisters dwelt of sundry sort,
The children of one syre by mothers three ;
Who dying why lorn e" did divide this fort
To them by equall shares in equall fee :
But stryfull mind and diverse qualitee
Drew them in part es, and each made others foe:
Still did they strive and daily disagree ;
The eldest did against the youngest goe, [woe.
A.nd both against the middest meant to worken
Where when the knight arriv'd, he was right
well
Receiv'd, as knight of so much worth became,
Of second sister, who did far excell
The other two : Medina was her name,
A sober sad and comely courteous Dame ;
Who rich arayd, and yet in modest guize,
In goodly garments that her well became,
Fayre marching forth in honorable wize,
Him at the threshold mett, and well did en-
terprize.
xv
She led him up into a goodly bowre,
And comely courted with meet inodestie ;
Ne in her speach, ne in her haviour,
Was lightnesse seeue or looser vanitie,
But gratious womanhood, and gravitie.
Above the reason of her youthly yeares.
Her golden lockes she roundly did uptye
In breaded tramels, that no looser heares
Did out of order stray about her daintie cares.
Whilest she her selfe thus busily <ViJ frame
Seemely to entertaine her new-come guest,
Newes hereof to her other sisters came,
Who all this while were at their wanton rest.
Accourtingeach her trend with lavish fest:
They were two knights of perelesse puissaunce,
And famous far abroad for warlike gest,
Which to these Ladies love did countenaunce,
And to his mistresse each himselfe strove to
advaunce.
XVII
He that made love unto the eldest Dame,
Was hight Sir Huddibras, an hardy man ;
Yet not so good of deedes as great of name,
Which he by many rash adventures wan,
Since errant armes to sew he first began :
More huge in strength then wise in workes he
And reason with foole-hardize over ran ; [was,
Sterne melancholy did his courage pas,
And was, for terrour more, all armd in shyning
bras.
But l:e that lov'd the youngest was Sansloy;
He, that faire Una late fowle outraged,
The most unruly and the boldest boy
That ever warlike weapons menaged,
And all to lawlesse lust encouraged [might;
Through strong opinion of his matchlesse
Xe ought he car'd whom he endamaged
By tortious wrong, or whom bereav'd of right:
He, now this Ladies Champion, chose for love
to fight.
These two gay knights, vowd to so diverse
loves,
Each other does envy with deadly hate,
And daily warre against his foeman moves,
In hope to win more favour with his mate,
And th' others pleasing service to abate,
To magnifie his owne. But when they heard
How in that place straunge knight arrived late,
Both knight es and ladies forth right angry far'd,
And fercely unto battell sterne themselves
prepar'd.
But ere they could proceede uuto the place
Where he abode, themselves at discord fell,
And cruell combat joynd in middle space :
With horrible assault, and fury fell,
They heapt huge strokes the scorned life to
quell,
That all on uprore from her settled seat,
The house was raysd, and all that in did dwell.
Seemd that lowde thunder with amazement
great [fouldring heat.
Did rend the ratling skyes with flames of
The noyse thereof cald forth that straunger
knight,
To wcet whatdreadfull thing was there in houd ;
Where whenas two brave knightes in bloody
fight
With deadly rancour he enraunged fond,
His sunbroad shield about his wrest he bond,
And shyning blade uiisheathd, with which he
ran
Unto that stead, their strife to understond;
And at his first arrivall them began
With goodly meanes to pacific, well as he can.
ro ii.]
THE FAERIE ~ QUEENE.
But they, him spying, both with greedy forse
Attonce upon him ran, and him beset
With strokes of mortall steele without remorse,
And on his shield like vron sledges bet:
As when a Beare and Tygre, being met
In cruell fight on Lybicke Ocean wide,
Espye a traveller with feet surbet,
Whom they in equall pray hope to divide, '
They stint their strife and him assayle on
everie side.
XXIII
But he, not like a weary traveilere,
Their sharp assault right boldly did rebut,
And suffred not their blowes to byte him nere,
But with redoubled buffes them backe did put :
Whose grieved mindes, which cholerdidenglut,
Against themselves turning their wrathful!
spight, [cut;
•Can with new rage their shieldes to hew and
{But still, when Guyon came to part their fight,
With heavie load on him they freshly gan to
smight.
As a tall ship tossed in troublous seas,
.Whom raging windes, threatning to make the
pray
(0f the rough rockes, doe diversly disease,
^Meetes two contrarie billowes by the way,
That her on either side doe sore assay,
[And boast to swallow her in greedy grave ;
fehee, scorning both their spights, does make
wide way,
[And with her brest breaking the fomy wave,
Does ride on both their backs, and faire her
self doth save.
ISo boldly he him beares, and rusheth forth
Betweene them both by conduct of his blade.
Wondrous great prowesse and heroick worth
lie shewd that day, and rare ensample made,
•Then two so mighty warriours he dismade.
Attonce he wards and strikes ; he takes and
paies ;
JIow forst to yield, now forcing to invade ;
[Before, behind, and round about him laies ;
So double was his paines, so double be his
praise.
XXVI
Straimge sort of tight, three valiaunt knights
to see
Three combates joine in one, and to darraine
A triple warre with triple enmitee,
All for their Ladies froward love to gaine,
Which gotten was but hate. So love does raine
la stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous
warre ;
He maketh warre, he maketh peace againe,
And yett his peace is but continual Jarre :
0 miserable men that to him sub!ect arre I
XXVII
Whilst thus they mingled were in furious
armes,
The faire Medina, with her tresses torne
And naked brest, in pitty of their harmes,
Emongst them ran ; and, falling them beforne,
Besought them by the womb which them had
born, [deare,
And by the loves which were to them most
And by the knighthood which they sure had
sworn,
Their deadly cruell discord to forbeare,
And to her just conditions of faire peace to
heare.
XXVIII
But her two other sisters, standing by,
Her lowd gainsaid, and both their champions
Pursew the end of their strong enmit}', [bad
As ever of their loves they would be glad :
Yet she with pitthy words, and counsell sad,
Still strove their stubborne rages to revoke;
That at the last, suppressing fury mad,
They gan abstaine from dint of direful 1 stroke,
And hearken to the sober speaches which she
spoke.
'Ah, puissaunt Lords! what cursed evil
Or fell Erinnys, in your noble harts [Spright,
Her hellish brond hath kindled with despight,
And stirdyouup to worke your wilfull smarts?
[s this the joy of armes ? be these the parts
Of glorious knighthood, after blood to thrust,
Aud not regard dew right and just desarts 'i
Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust,
That more to mighty hands then rightf ull cause
doth trust.
XXX
' And were there rightfull cause of difference,
Yet were not better fayre it to accord
Then with bloodguiltinesse to heape offence,
And mortal vengeauncejoyne to crime abhord ?
O ! fly from wrath ; fly, O my liefest Lord !
Sad be the sights, and bitter fruites of warre,
And thousand furies wait on wrathfull sword ;
Ne ought the praise of prowesse more doth
marre
Then fowle revenging rage, and base contentious
Jarre,
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
XXXI
'But lovely concord, and most sacred peace,
Doth nourish vertue, and fast friendship breeds,
Weakeshe makes strong, and strong thing does
increace,
Till it the pitch of highest praise exceeds ;
Brave be her warres, and honorable deeds,
By which she triumphes over yre and pride,
And winnes an Olive girlond for her meeds.
Be, therefore, O my deare Lords ! pacifide,
And this misseeming discord meekely lay aside.
She scould, and frownd with froward coun-
tenaunce ;
nwortby of faire Ladies comely governaunce.
But young Perissa was of other mynd,
Full of disport, still laughing, loosely light,
And quite contrary to her sisters kynd ;
No measure in her mood, no rule of right,
But poured out in pleasure and delight :
In wine and meats she flowd above the banck,
And in excesse exceeded her owne might :
In sumptuous tire she ioyd her selfe to pranck,
tor-
Her gracious words their rancour did appall
And suncke so deepe into their boyling brests,
That downe they lett their cruell weapons fall,
And lowly did abase their lofty crests
To her faire presence and discrete behests.
Then she began a treaty to procure.
And stablish terms betwixt both their requests
That as a law for ever should endure ;
Which to observe in word of knights thej
did assure.
XXXIII
Which to confirme, and fast to bind their
league,
After their weary sweat and bloody toile,
She them besought, during their quiet treague
Into her lodging to repaire awhile,
To rest themselves, and grace to reconcile.
They soone consent : so forth with her they fare
Where they are veil receivd, and made tospoile
Themselves of soiled armes, and to prepare
Their minds to pleasure, and their mouths to
dainty fare.
XXXIV
And those two froward sisters, their faire
loves, [loth,
Came with them eke, all were they wondrous
And fained cheare, as for the time behoves,
But could not colour yet so well the troth,
But that their natures bad appeard in both ;
For both did at their second sister grutch
And inly grieve, as doth an hidden moth
The inner garment frett, not th' utter touch :
One thought her cheare too litle, th' other
thought too mutch.
XXXV
Elissa (so the eldest bight) did deeme
Such entertainment base, ne ought would eat,
Ne ought would speake, but evermore did seeme' Fresh memory in me of that great Queene,
As discontent for want of merth or meat : [Great and most glorious virgin Queene alive,
No solace could her Paramour intreat iThat with her soveraine power, and sceptei
Her once to show, ne court, nor dalliaunce ; ! All Faery lond does peaceably sustene. [shene
But with bent lowring browes, as she would In widest Ocean she her throne does reare,
threat, JThat over all the earth it may be scene ;
But of her love too lavish: (litle have she
thanck !)
XXXVII
Fast by her side did sitt the bold Sansloy,
Fitt mate for such a mincing mineon,
Who in her loosenesse tooke exceeding joy .
Might not be found a francker franion,
Of her leawd parts to make companion :
But Huddibras, more like a Malecontent,
Did see and grieve at his bold fashion ;
Hardly could he endure his hardiment,
Yett still he satt, and inly did him selfe
ment.
XXXVIII
Betwixt them both the faire Medina sate
With sober grace and goodly carriage :
With equall measure she did moderate
The strong extremities of their outrage.
That forward paire she ever would asswage,
When they would strive dew reason to exceed,
But that same froward twaine would accorage,
And of her plenty adde unto their need:
So kept she them in order, and her selfe in heed
XXXIX
Thus fairely shee attempered her feast,
And pleasd them all with meete satiety.
At last, when lust of meat and drinke was
She Guyon deare besought of curtesie [ceast,
To tell from whence he came through jeopardy,
And whither now on new adventure bownd :
Who with bold grace, and comely gravity,
Drawing to him the eies of all arownd.
From lofty siege began these words aloud to
sownd.
xtf
' This thy demaund, O Lady ! doth revive
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
As morning Sunne her beames dispredden Eftsoones devi.sd redresse for such annoyes :
cleare, [appeare. Me, all unfitt for so great purpose, she em-
And iu her face faire peace and mercy doth
In her the richesse of all heavenly grace
In chiefe degree are heaped up on hye:
And all, that els this worlds enclosure bace
Hath great or glorious in mortal! eye,
Adornes the person of her Majestye ;
That men, beholding so great excellence
And rare perfection in mortalitye,
Doe her adore with sacred reverence,
As th' Idole of her makers great magnificence.
' To her I homage and my service owe,
In number of the noblest knightes on ground;
ployes.
XLIV
' Now hath faire Phebe with her silver face
Thrise seene the shadowes of the neather
Sith last I left that honorable place, [world,
In which her roiall presence is enrold;
Xe ever shall I rest in house nor hold,
Till I that false Acrasia have wonne;
Of whose fowle deedes, too hideous to bee told,
I witnesse am, and this their wretched sonne,
Whose wofull parents she hath wickedly for-
donne.'
XLV
'Tell on, fayre Sir,' said she, 'that doleful!
tale, [restraine,
From which sad ruth does seeme you to
That we may pitty such unhappie bale,
Mongst whom on me she deigned to bestowe JAnd learnefrom pleasures poysontoabstaine:
Order of Maydenhead, the most renowncl ! \\\ by ensample good doth often gayne.'
That may this day in all the world be found.
An yearely solemne feast she wontes to hold,
The day that first cloth lead the yeare around,
To which all knights of worth and courage bold
Kesort, to heare of straunge adventures to be
told.
XLIII
' There this old Palmer shewd himselfe that
day,
And to that mighty Princesse did complaine
Of grievous mischiefes which a wicked Fav
Then forward he his purpose gan pursew,
And told the story of the mortall payne,
Which Mordant and Amavia did rew,
As with lamenting eyes him selfe did lately vew.
Night was far spent ; and now in Ocean deep
Orion, flying fast from hissing snake,
His flaming head did hasten for to steep,
When of his pitteous tale he end did make :
j Whilst with delight of that he wisely spake
Had wrought, and many whelmd in deadly i Those guestes,beguyled. did beguyle their eyes
paine ;
Whereof he crav'd redresse. My Soveraine,
Whose glory is in gracious deed's, and joyes
Of kindly sleepe that did them overtake.
At last, when they had markt the chaunged
skyes, [to rest him hyes.
Throughout the world her mercy to maintains, They wist their houre was spent: then each
CANTO III.
Vaine Braggadocchio, getting Guy-
ons horse, is made the scorne
Of knighthood trew ,- and is of fayre
Belphoebe fowle forlorne.
SooNEas the morrow fayre with purple beames
Disperst the shadowes of the misty night,
And Titan, playing on the eastern streames,
Gan cleare the d'eawy ayre with springing light,
SirGuyon, mindful! of his vow yplight,
Eratrose from drowsie couch, and him addrest
Unto the journey which he had behight:
His puissant armes about his noble brest,
Then, taking Conge' of that virgin pure,
The bloody -handed babe unto her truth
Did earnestly commit t. and her conjure
In vertuous lore to traine his tender youth,
And all that gentle noriture ensu'th;
And that, so soone as ryper yeares he raught,
He might, for memory of that dayes ruth,
1 Be called Ruddymane ; and thereby taught
And many-folded shield he bound about his:T' avenge his Parents death on them that had
wrest, it wrought.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK it.
So forth lie far'd, as now befell, on foot,
Sith his good steed is lately from him gone ;
Patience perforce : helplesse what may it boot
To frett for anger, or for griefe to mone ?
His Palmer now shall foot no more alone.
So fortune wrought, as under greene woodes
syde
He lately heard that dying Lady grone,
He left his steed without, and speare besyde,
And rushed in on foot to avd her ere she dvde.
The whyles a losell wandring by the way,
One that to bountie never cast his mynd,
Ne thought of honour ever did assay
His baser brest, but in his kestrell kynd
A pleasing vaine of glory he did fynd,
To which his flowing toung and troublous
spright [clynd:
Gave him great ayd, and made him more in-
He, that brave steed there finding ready dight,
Purloynd both steed and speare, and ran away
full light.
v
Now gan his hart all swell in jollity,
And of him selfe great hope and help conceiv'd,
That puffed up with smoke of vanity,
And with selfe-loved personage deceiv'd,
He gan to hope of men to be receiv'd [bee :
For such as he him thought, or faine would
But for in court gay portaunce he perceiv'd,
And gallant shew to be in greatest gree,
Eftsoones to court he cast t' advaunce his first
degree.
VI
And by the way he chaunced to espy
One sitting ydle'on a .«unny banck,
To him avaunting in great bravery, [pranck,
As Peacocke that his painted plumes doth
He smote his courser in the trembling flanck,
And to him threatned his hart- thrill ing speare :
The seely man, seeing him ryde so ranck,
And ayme at him, fell flatt to ground for feare,
And crying, ' Mercy ! ' loud, his pitious handes
gan reare.
VII
Thereat the Scarcrow wexed wondrous prowd,
Through fortune of his first adventure fayre,
And with big thundring voice revyld him lowd:
'Vile Caytive, vassall of dread and despayre,
Unworthie of the commune breathed ayre,
Why livest thou, dead dog, a lenger day,
And doest not unto death thyselfe prepayre ?
Dy, or thyselfe my captive yield for ay.
Great favour I thee graunt for aunswere thus
to stay.'
' Hold, O deare Lord ! hold your dead-doing
hand,' [thrall.'
Then loud he cryde ; ' I am your humble
' Ay wretch/ (quoth he) 'thy destinies withstand
My wrathful! will, and doe for niercv call.
I give thee life : therefore prostrated fall,
And kisse my stirrup ; that thy homage bee.'
The Miser threw him selfe, as an Offau,
Streight at his foot in base humilitee,
And cleeped him his liege, to hold of him
in fee.
IX
So happy peace they made and faire accord.
Eftsoones this iiegeman gan to wexe more
bold,
And when he felt the folly of his Lord,
In his owne kind he gan him selfe unfold ;
For he was wylie witted, and growne old
In cunning sleightes and practick knavery.
From that day forth he cast for to uphold"
His ydle humour with fine flattery.
And blow the bellowes to his swelling vanity.
Trompart, fitt man for Braggadochio,
To serve at court in view of vaunting eye ;
Vaine-glorious man. when fluttring wind doea
blow
In his light winges, is lifted up to skye ;
The scorne of knighthood and trew chevalrye,
To thinke, without desert of gentle deed
And noble worth, to be advaunced hye :
Such prayse is shame; but honour, vertues
meed, [seed.
Doth beare the fayrest flowre in honourable
So forth they pas. a well consorted payre,
Till that r.t length with Archimage they meet :
Who seeing one, that shone in armour fayre,
On goodly courser thondring with his feet,
Eftsoones supposed him a person meet
Of his revenge to make the instrument ;
For since the Redcrosse knight he erst did wee<
To been with Guyon knitt in one consent,
The ill, which earst to him, he now to Guyoc
ment.
XII
And coming close to Trompart gan inquere
Of him, what mightie warriour that mote bee
That rode in gol'den sell with single spere,
But wanted sword to wreake his enmitee ?
' He is a great adventurer,' (said he) [gone
' That hath his sword through hard assay for-
And now hath vowd, till he avenged bee
NTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
93
Of that despight, never to wearen none:
That speare is him enough to doen a thousand
grone/
XIII
TV enchaunter greatly joyed in the vaunt,
And wet-lied well ere long his will to win,
And both his foen with equall foyle to daunt.
Th'» to him louting lowly did begin
Ko plaine of wronges. which had committed bin
By (Juyon. and by that false Kedcrosse knight ;
t wo, through treason and deceiptfull gin.
Had slayne Sir Mordant and his Lad}- bright :
That mote him honour win to wreak so foule
despight.
XIV
[ Therewith all suddeinly he seemd enragd,
threatned death with dreadfull counten-
aunce,
if their lives had in his hand beene gagd ;
ndwith stifteforceshakinghismortall launee,
To let him weet his doughtie valiaunce,
Thus said : • Old man great sure shal be thy
meed, [geaunce
f, where those knights for feare of dew ven-
^oe lurke, thou certeinly to mee areed.
hat I may wreake on them their hainous
hatefull deed.'
'Certes, my Lord,' (said he) 'that shall I
soone,
nd give you eke good helpe to their decay.
Jut mote I wisely you advise to doon,
Jive no ods to your foes, but doe purvay
four selfe of sword before that bloody day ;
for they be two the prowest knights on grownd,
Vnd oft approv'd in many hard assay ;
Ind eke of surest steele that may be fownd,
)o arme your self against that day, them to
confownd.'
XVI
[_' Dotard,' (said he) ' let be thy deepe advise :
ernes that through many yeares thy wits
thee faile,
Ind that weake eld hath left thee nothing wise ;
£ls never should thy judgement be so frayle
• measure manhood by the sword or mayle.
i not enough fowre quarters of a man.
fithouten sword or shield, an hoste to quayle ?
iou litle votes t what this right-hand can :
e they which have beheld the battailes
which it wan.'
XVII
I The man was much abashed at his boast ;
tet well he wist that whoso would contend*
fith either of those knightes on even coast,
Id neede of all his armes him to defend,
Yet feared least his boldnesse should oflend,
When Braggadocchio saide ; ' Once I did
sweare, [to end.
When with one sword seven knightes I brought
| Thenceforth in battaile never sword to beare,
But it were that which noblest knight on earth
doth weare.'
XVIII
' Perdy, Sir knight,' saide then th' enchaunter
blive,
That shall I shortly purchase to your hond ;
For now the best and noblest knight alive
Prince Arthur is, that wonnes in Faerie lond :
He hath a sword that flames like burning brond.
The same by my device I undertake
Shall by to morrow by thy side be fond.'
At which bold word that boaster gan to quake,
And wondred in his minde what mote that
Monster make.
He stayd not for more bidding, but awav
Was suddein vanished out of his sight : f play
The Northerne winde his wings did broad dis-
At his commaund, and reared him up light
From off the earth to take his aerie flight.
They lookt about, but nowhere could espye
Tract of his foot: then dead through great af-
fright
They both nigh were, and each bad other five :
Both fled attonce, ne ever backe retourned eye ;
Till that they come unto a forrest greene,
In which they shrowd themselves from cause-
les feare ; [beene .
Yet feare them followes still where so they
Each trembling leafe and whistling wind they
heare,
As ghastly bug, does greatly them affeare :
Vet both doe strive their fearefulnesse to faine.
At last they heard a home that shrilled cleare
Throughout the wood that ecchoed againe,
And made the forrest ring, as it would rive in
twaine.
XXI
Eft through the.thicke they heard one rudely
rush,
With noyse whereof he from his loftie steed
Downe fell to ground, and crept into a bush,
To hide his coward head from dying dreed :
But Trompart stoutly stayd to taken heed
Of what might hap. Eftsoone there stepped
A goodly Ladie clad in hunters weed, [foorth
That seemd to be a woman of great worth,
And by her statelv portance borne of heavenly
'birth.
94
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
Her face so faire as flesh it seemed not,
But hevenly pourtraict of bright Angels hew,
Cleare as the skye, withouten blame or blot,
Through goodly mixture of complexions dew ;
And in her cheekes the vermeill red did shew
Like roses in a bed of lillies shed,
The which ambrosiall odours from them threw,
Below her ham her weed did somewhat trayne,
And her streight legs most bravely were em-
In gilden buskins of costly Cordwayne, [bayld
All bard with golden bendes, which were
entayld
With curious antickes, and full fayre atimayld :
Before, they fastned were under her knee
And gazers sence with double pleasure fed, j In a rich Jewell, and therein entrayld
Hable to heale the sicke, and to revive the ded. The ends of all the knots, that none might see
How they within their fouldings close en-
wrapped bee :
XXVIII
Like two faire marble pillours they were scene,
Which doe the temple of the Gods support,
Whom all the people deckc with girlands
And honour in their festivall resort; [greene,
Those same with stately grace and princely
port [grace ;
She taught to tread, when she herselfe would
But with the woody Nymphes when she did
play,
Or when the flying Libbard she did chace,
She could them nimbly move, and after fly
apace.
XXIX
And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she
held,
And at her backe a bow and quiver gay,
Stuft with steele-headed dartes, wherewith she
queld
The salvage beastes in her victorious play,
Knit with a golden bauldricke, which forelay
Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide
Her daintie paps ; which, like young fruit in
Nowlittle gan to swell, an'l being tide [May,
Through her thin weed their places only sig-
nifide.
XXX
Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre,
About her shoulders weren loosely shed,
And, when the winde emongst them did in-
They waved like a penon wyde dispred, [spyre,
And low behinde her backe were scattered":
And, whether art it were or heedlesse hap,
As through the flouring forrest rash she fled,
In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves
In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame,
Kindled above at th' hevenly makers light,
And darted fyrie beames out of the same,
So passing persant, and so wondrous bright,
That quite bereav'd the rash beholders sight :
In them the blinded god his lustfull fyre
To kindle oft assayd, but had no might ;
For, with dredd Majestie and awfull yre,
She broke his wanton darts, and quenched bace
desyre.
XXIV
Her yvorie forhead, full of bountie brave,
Like a broad table did it selfe dispred,
For Love his loftie triumphes to engrave,
And write the battailes of his great godhed :
All good and honour might therein be red,
For there their dwelling was. And, when she
spake, [shed ;
Sweete wordes like dropping honny sne did
And twixt the perles and rubins softlr brake
A silver sound, that heavenly musicke seemd
to make.
XXV
Upon her eyelids many Graces sate,
Under the shadow of her even browes,
Working belgardes and amorous retrate ;
And everie one her with a grace endowes,
And everie one with meekenesse to her bowes.
So glorious mirrhour of celestiall grace,
And soveraine moniment of mortall vowes,
How shall frayle pen descrive her heavenly face,
For feare, through want of skill, her beaiitv to
disgrace ?
xxvi .
So faire, and thousand thousand times more
faire,
She seemd, when she presented was to sight ;
And was yclad, for heat of scorching aire,
All in a silken Camus lilly whight,
Purtted upon with many a folded plight,
Which all above besprinckled was throughout
With golden aygulets, that glistred bright
Lake twinckling starres ; and all the skirt
Was hemd with golden fringe. C about
did lap,
[did enwrap.
And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes
Such as Diana by the sandy shore
Of swift Eurotas, or on Cynthus greene, [ lore,
Where all the Nymphes have her unwares for-
Wandreth alone with bow and arrowes keene,
;ANTO in.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
95
Po seeke her game : Or as that famous Queene
Jf Amazons, whom Pyrrhus did destroy,
Che day that first of 1'riame she was seene,
Jid shew her selfe in great triumphant joy,
Ebsuccourtheweake state of sad afflicted Troy.
Such when as hartlesse Trompart her did
vew,
Je was dismayed in his coward minde,
bid doubted whether he himselfe should shew,
)r fly away, or bide alone behinde ;
Both feare and hope he in her face did finde :
when she at last him spying thus bespake :
Hayle, Groome ! didst not tliou see a bleeding
Hynde,
[strake?
whose right haunch earst my stedfast arrow
ff thou didst, tell me, that I may her over-
take.'
Wherewith reviv'd, this answere forth he
threw :
|Q (Joddesse, (for such I thee take to bee)
For nether doth thy face terrestriall shew,
r voyce sound mortall ; I avow to thee,
ch wounded beast as that I did not see,
,h earst into this forrest wild I came.
t mote thy goodlyhed forgive it mee,
weete which of the gods I shall thee name,
lat unto thee dew worship I may rightly
frame '
XXXIV
'o whom she thus —but ere her words ensewd,
ito the bush her eye did suddein glaunce,
which vaine Braggadocchio was mewd,
nd saw it stirre : she lefte her percing launce.
id towards gan a deadly shafte advaunce.
mind to marke the beast,
stow re
At which sad
chaunce,
at crying ; ' 0 ! what ever hevenly powre,
r earthly wight thou be, withhold this deadly
howre.
xxxv
0 ! stay thy hand ; for yonder is no game
,jor thy fiers arrowes, them to exercize ;[ name
But loe ! my Lord, my liege, whose warlike
• far renowmd through many bold emprize ;
And now in shade lie shrowded yonder lies.'
She staid : with that he crauld out of his nest,
Fort li creeping on his caitive hands and thies ;
And, standing stoutly up, his lofty crest
•d fiercely shake, and rowze as commiug late
from rest.
As fearftill fowle, that long in secret cave
For dread of soring hauke her selfe hath hid,
Nor caring how, her silly life to save,
She her gay painted plumes disorderid :
Seeing at last her selfe from daunger rid,
Peepes forth, and soone renews her native
She gins her feathers fowle disfigured [pride:
Prowdly to prune, and sett on every side ;
She shakes off shame, ne thinks how erst she
did her hide.
xxxvn
So when her goodly visage he beheld.
He gan himselfe to vaunt : but, when he vewd
Those deadly tooles which in her hand she
Soone into other fitts he was transmewd, [held,
Till she to him her gracious speach renewd :
' All haile. Sir knight ! and well may thee be-
fall,
As all the like, which honor have pursewd
Through deeds of armes and prowesse martial?.
All vertue merits praise, but such the most of
all.'
XXXVIII
To whom he thus : ' 0 fairest under skie !
Trew be thy words, and worthy of thy praise,
That warlike feats doest highest glorifie.
Therein I have spent all my youthly dales,
And many battailes fought and many fraies
Throughout the world, wher-so they might be
Endevoring my dreaded name to raise [found,
Above the Moone, that fame may it resound
In her eternall tromp, with laurell girlond
cround.
xxxix
' But what art thou, O Lady ! which doest
raunge
In this wilde forest, where no pleasure is,
And doest not it for joyous court exchaunge,
Emongst thine equall peres, where happy blis
And all delight does raigne, much more then
this?
There thou maist love, and dearly loved be,
And swim in pleasure, which thou here doest
mis : [see :
There maist thou best be seene, and best maist
The wood is fit for beasts, the court is fitt for
thee.'
XL
' \Vho-soinpompeofprowdestate' (quoth she)
' Does swim, and bathes him selfe in courtly
blis,
Does waste his dayes in darke obscuritee,
And in oblivion ever buried is ;
Where ease abownds yt's-eath to doe amis :
But who his limbs with labours, and hismynr!
Behaves with cares, cannot so easy mis.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
Abroad in armes, at home in studious kynd,
Who seekes with painfull toile shall honor
soonest fynd :
XLI
' In woods, in waves, in warres, she wonts to
dwell,
And wil be found with perill and with paine;
Ne can the man that moulds in ydle cell
Unto her happy mansion attaine :
Before her gate high God did Sweate ordaine,
And wakefull watches ever to abide ;
But easy is the way and passage plaine
To pleasures pallace : it may soone be spide,
And day and night her dores to all stand open
wide.
XLII
' In Princes court' — The rest she would have
sayd,
But that the foolish man, fild with delight
Of her sweete words that all his sence dismayd,
And with her wondrous beauty ravisht quight,
Gan burne in filthy lust ; and*, leaping light,
Thought in his bastard armes her to embrace.
With that she, swarving backe, her Javelin
bright
Against him bent, and fiercely did menace :
So turned her about, and fled' a way apace.
Which when the Pesaunt saw, amazd he stood,
And grieved at her flight ; yet durst he nott
Pursew her steps through wild unknowen wood :
Besides he feard her wrath, andthreatned shott,
Whiles in the bush he lay, not yett forgott :
Ne car'd he greatly for her presence vayne,
But turning said to Trompart ; ' What fowle
blott
Is this to knight, that Lady should agayne
Depart to woods untoucht, and leave so prouc
disdayne.'
XLIV
'Perdy,' (said Trompart) ' lett her pas at will,
Least by her presence daunger mote befall;
For who can tell (and sure I feare it ill)
But that shee is some powre celestiall ?
For whiles she spake her great words did appal!
My feeble corage, and my heart oppresse,
That yet 1 quake and tremble over-all.'
' And I,' (said Braggadocchio) ' thought nolesse,
When first I heard her horn sound with sucl
ghastlinesse.
XLV
' For from my mothers wombe this grace ]
Me given by eternall destiny, [have
That earthly thing may not my corage brave
Dismay with feare, or cause one foot to rlye,
But either hellish feends, or powres on hye:
Which was the cause, when earst that home ]
heard,
Weening it had beene thunder in the skye,
I hid my selfe from it, as one affeard ;
But, when I other knew, rny self I boldly reard
' But now, for feare of worse that may betide
Let us soone hencedepart.' They soone agree
So to his steed he gott, and gan to ride
As one unfitt therefore, that all might see
He had not trayned bene in chevalree.
I Which well that valiaunt courser did discerne
For he despisd to tread in dew degree,
But chaufd and foin'd with corage fiers anc
sterne, [erne,
i And to be easd of that base burden stiD did
CANTO IV.
Gnyon does Furor bind in chaines,
And stops occasion :
Delivers Phaon, and therefore
By strife is rayld uppon.
IN brave poursuitt of honorable deed,
There is I know not (what) great difference
Betweene the vulgar and the noble seed,
Which unto things of valorous pretence
Seevnes to be borne by native influence ;
As feates of armes, and love to entertaine :
But chiefly skill to ride seemes a science
Proper to gentle blood : some others faine
To menage steeds, as did this vaunter, but in
vaine.
But he, the rightfull owner of that steecte,
Who well could menage and subdew his pride
The whiles on foot was forced for to yeed
With that blacke Palmer, his most trust}
guide,
Who suffred not his wandring feete to slide ;
But when strong passion, or weake fleshli-
nesse,
Would from the right way seeke to draw hin
wide,
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
97
He would, through temperaunce and stedfast-
nesse,
Teach liim the weak to strengthen, and the
strong suppresse.
It fortuned, forth faring on his way,
He saw from far, or seemed for to see,
Some troublous uprore or contentious fray,
Whereto he drew in hast it to agree.
A mad man, or that feigned mad to bee.
Drew by the heare along upon the grownd
A handsom stripling with great crueltee,
Whom sore he bett, and gor'd with many a
wownd,
That cheekes with teares, and sydes with blood,
did all abownd.
And him behynd a wicked Hag did stalke,
In ragged robes and filthy disaray;
Her other leg was lame, that she no'te walke,
But on a staffe her feeble steps did stay :
Her lockes, that loathly were and hoarie gray,
Grew all afore, and loosely hong unrold ;
But all behinde was bald, and worne away,
That none thereof could ever taken hold ;
And eke her face ill-favourd, full of wrinckles
old.
And ever as she went her toung did walke
In fowle reproch, and termes of vile despight,
Provoking him, by her outrageous talke,
To heape more vengeance on that wretched
wight :
Sometimes she raught him stones, wherwith to
smite,
Sometimes her staffe, though it her one leg
were,
Withouten which she could not goe upright ;
Ne any evill meanes she did forbeare,
That might him move to "Tath, and indigna-
tion reare.
VI
The noble Guyon, mov'd with great remorse
Approching, first the Hag did thrust away ;
And after, adding more impetuous forse,
His mighty hands did on the madman lay,
And pluckt him backe ; who, all on fire streight
way,
Against him turning all his fell intent,
With beastly brutish rage gan him assay,
And smott, "and bitt, and kickt, and scratch!,
and rent,
And did he wist not what in his avengement.
And sure he was a man of mickle might,
tfad he had governaunce it well to guyde ;
But, when the frantick fitt inflamd his spright,
His force was vaine, and strooke more often
wyde,
Then at the aymed marke which he had eyde :
And oft himselfe he chaunst to hurt unwares,
WhyJest reason, blent through passion, nought
descryde ;
But, as a blindfold Bull, at randon fares,
And where he hits nought knowes, and whom
he hurts nought cares.
His rude assault and rugged handeling
Straunge seemed to the knight, that aye with
foe
In fayre defence and goodly menaging
Of armes was wont to fight ; yet nathemoe
VVas he abashed now, not fighting so ;
But more enfierced through his currish play,
Him sternly grypt, and hailing to and fro,
To overthrow him strongly did assay,
But overthrew him selfe unwares, and lower
lay:
IX
And being downe the villein sore did beate
And bruze with clownish fistes his manlv
face;
And eke the Hag, with many a bitter threat,
Still cald upon to kill him in the place.
With whose reproch, and odious menace,
The knight emboyling in his haughtie hart
Knitt all his forces, and g&n soone unbrace
His grasping hold : so lightly did upstart,
And drew his deadly weapon to maintaine hit
part.
x
Which when the Palmer saw, he loudly
cryde,
' Not so, O Guyon ! never thinke that so
That Monster can be maistred or deitroyd :
He is not, ah ! he is not such a foe,
As steele can wound, or strength can over-
throe.
That same is Furor, cursed cruel wight,
That unto knighthood workes much shame
and woe ;
And that same Hag, his aged mother, hight
Occasion ; the roote of all wrath and despight,
' With her, whoso will raging Furor tame,
Must tirst begin, and well her amenage:
First her restraine from her reprochfull blame
And evill meanes, with which she doth enrage
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
FBOOK ir.
Her frantick sonne, and kindles his corage ;
Tlien, when she is withdrawne or strong with-
stood,
It's eath his ydle fury to as wage,
And calme the tempest of his passion wood :
The bankes are overflowne when stopped is the
flood.'
XII
Therewith Sir Guyon left his first emprise,
And, turning to that woman, fast her hent
Bv the hoare lockes that hong before her eyes,
Ar.d to the ground her threw : yet n'ould she
stent
Her bitter rayling and foule revilement,
But still provokt her sonne to wreake her
wrong;
But nathelesse he did her still torment,
And, catching hold of her ungratious tonge
Thereon an yron lock did fasten firme and
strong.
XIII
Then, whenas use of speach was from her reft,
With her two crooked handes she signes did
make,
And beckned him, the last help she had left ;
But he that last left helpe away did take,
And both her handes fast bound unto a stake,
That she note stirre. Then gan her sonne to
flye
Full fast away, and did her quite forsake ;
But Guyon after him in hast did hye,
And soone him overtooke in sad perplexitye.
In his strong armes he stifly him embraste,
Who him gainstriving nought at all prevaild
For all his power was utterly defaste,
And furious fitts at earst quite weren quaild :
Oft he re'nforst, and oft his forces fayld,
Yet yield he would not, nor his rancor slack.
Then him to ground he cast, and rudely hayld.
And both his hands fast bound behind hi-
backe,
And both his feet in fetters to an vron racke.
With hundred yron chaines he did him bind
And hundred knots, that did him sore con-
st mine ;
Yet his great yron teeth he still did grind
And grimly gnash, threatning revenge in vaine
His burning eyen, whom bloody strakes die
stoine. [fyre
Stared full wide, and threw forth sparkes o;
And more for rauck despight then for great
paiue,
Shakt his long locks colourd like copper-wyre,
And bitt his tawny beard to shew his raging
yre.
XVI
Thus when as Guyon Furor had captivd,
Turning about he saw that wretched Squyre,
Whom that mad man of life nigh late deprivd,
Lying on ground, all soild with blood and
myre :
Whom w'henas he perceived to respyre,
He gan to comfort, and his wouncles to dresse.
Being at last recured, he gan inquyre [tresse,
What hard mishap him brought to such dis-
Aud made that caytives thrall, the thrall oi
wretchednesse.
With hart then throbbing, and with watry
eyes, [the hap,
Fayre Sir' (quoth he) 'what man can shun
That hidden lyes unwares him to surpryse V
Misfortune waites advantage to entrap
The man most wary in her whelming lap :
So me weake wretch, of many weakest one,
Unweeting and unware of such mishap,
She brought to mischiefe through Occasion,
Where this same wicked villein did me HgW
upon.
XVIII
It was a faithlesse Squire, that was the sours*
Of all my sorrow and of these sad teares,
With whom from tender dug of commune riourst
Attonce I was upbrought; and eft, when yearet
More rype us reason lent to chose our Peares,
Our selves in league of vowed love wee knitfr
In which we long time, without gealous feare*
Or faultie thoughts, contvnewd as was titt ;
And for my part, I vow, dissembled not a whitt
' It was my fortune, commune to that age,
To love a Lady fayre of great degree,
The which was borne of noble parentage,
And set in highest seat of dignitee,
Yet seemd no lesse to love then lov'd to bee :
Long I her serv'd, and found her faithfull still
Ne ever thing could cause us disagree.
Love, that two harts makes one, makes eke on«
will; [fulfill
Each strove to please, and others pleasure t<
'My friend, night Philemon, I did partake
Of all my love and all my privitie ;
Who greatly joyous seemed for my sake,
And gratious to that Lady as to mee ;
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
99
Ne ever wight that mote so welcome bee
As he to her, withouten blott or blame ;
Ne ever thing that she could think or see,
But unto him she would impart the same.
0 wretched man, that would abuse so gentle
Dame!
XXI
'At last such grace I found, and meanes I
wrought,
That I that Lady to my spouse had wonne ;
Accord of friendes, consent of Parents sought,
Affyaunce made, my happinesse begonne,
There wanted nought but few rites to be donne,
Which manage make : that day too farre did
seeme.
Most joyous man, on whom the shining Sunne
Did shew his face, my selfe I did csteeme,
And that my falser friend did no less joyous
deeme.
xxir
1 But ear that wished day his beame clisclosd,
He, cither envying my toward good,
Or of him selfe to treason ill disposd,
One day unto me came in friendly mood,
And told for secret, how he understood
That Lady, whom 1 had to me assvnd,
Bad both distaind her honorable blood,
And eke the faith which she to me did bynd ;
And therefore wisht me stay till I more truth
should fynd.
XXIII
•The gnawing anguish, and sharp gelosy,
Which his sad speach infixed in my brest,
Kanckled so sore, and festred inwardly,
That my engreeved mind could find no rest,
Till that the truth thereof I did out wrest ;
And him besought, by that same sacred band
Betwixt us both, to counsell me the best :
He then with solemne oath and plighted hand
Assurd, ere long the truth to let me understand.
XXIV
1 Ere long with like againe he boorded mee,
Saying, he now had boulled all the tioure,
And that it was a groonie of base degree,
Which of my love was partener Paramoure :
Who used in a darkesome inner bowre
Her oft to meete : which better to approve,
He promised to bring me at that howre,
When I should see that would me nearer move,
And drive me to withdraw my blind abused love.
XXV
' This gracelesse man, for furtherance of his
guile,
Did court the handmayd of my Lady deare,
Who, glad t' embosome his affection vile,
Did all she might more pleasing to appeare.
One day, to worke her to his will more neare,
He woo'd her thus : Pryene, (so she hight,)
What great despight doth fortune to thee beare,
Thus lowly to abase thy beautie bright,
That it should not deface all others lesser light ?
XXVI
But if she had her least helpe to thee lent,
T' adorne thy forme according thy desart,
Their blazing pride thou wouldest soone have
blent, [part,
And staynd their prayses with thy least good
Ne should faire Claribell with all her art,
Tho' she thy Lady be. approch thee neare :
For proofe thereof, this evening, as thou art,
Aray thyselfe in her most gorgeous geare,
That I may more delight in thy embracement
deare.
XXVII
' The Mayden, proud through praise and mad
through love,
Him hearkned to, and soone her selfe arayd,
The whiles to me the treachour did remove
His craftie engin , and, as he had sayd,
Me leading, in a secret corner layd,
The sad spectatour of my Tragedie : [playd,
Where left, he went, and his owne false part
Disguised like that groome of base degree,
Whom he had feignd th' abuser of my love to
bee.
XXVIII
' Eftsoones he came unto th' appointed place,
And with him brought Pryene, rich arayd,
[n Claribellaes clothes. Her proper face
[ not descerned in that darkesome shade,
But weend it was my love with whom he playd.
Ah God ! what horrour and tormenting grk-t'e
My hart, my handes, mine eies, and all assayd 1
Me liefer were ten thousand deathes priefe
Then wounde of gealous worme, and shame of
such repriefe.
XXIX
' I home retourning, fraught with fowl
despigiit,
And chawing vengeaunce all the way I went,
Soone as my loathed love appeard in sight,
With wrathfull hand I slew her innocent,
That after soone I dearely did lament ;
For, when the cause of tliat outrageous deede
Demaunded, I made plaine and evident,
Her faultie Handmayd, which that bale did
breede, [her vreede.
Confest how Philemon her wrought tochaunge
XXX
' Which when I heard, with horrible affright
And hellish fury all enragd, I sought
Upon myselfe that vengeable despight
H2
100
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
To punish : yet it better first I thought
To wreake my wrath on him that first it
wrought :
To Philemon, false faytour Philemon,
I cast to pay that I so dearely bought.
Of deadly drugs I gave him drinke anon,
And washt away his guilt with guilty potion.
' Thus heaping crime on crime, and griefe on
griefe,
To losse of love adjoyning losse of frend,
I meant to purge both with a third mischiefe,
And in my woes beginner it to end :
That was'Pryene ; she did first offend,
She last should smart : with which cruell
intent,
When I at her my murdrous blade did bend,
She fled away with ghastly dreriment,
And I, poursewing my fell* purpose, after went.
pell:
Gainst fort of Reason, it to overthrow :
Wrath, gelosy, griefe, love, this Squyre have
laide thus low.
xxxv
' Wrath, gealosie, griefe, love, do thus ex
Wrath is a fire ; and gealosie a weede ;
Griefe is a flood ; and love a monster fell;
The fire of sparkes. the weede of little seede,
The flood of drops, the Monster filth didbreede:
But sparks, seed, drops, and filth, do thus delay ;
The sparks soone quench, the springing seed
outweed,
The drops dry up, and filth wipe cleane away:
So shall wrath, gealosy, griefe, love, die and
decay.'
XXXVI
' Unlucky Squire,' (saide Guj-on) ' sith tho*
hast
Falne into mischiefe through intern peraunce,
Henceforth take heede of that thou now ha;
hast
past,
And guyde thv waies with wane governaunce,
' Feare gave her wmges, and rage enforst my Least w'oree ^tide thce bv some £ter chaunce>
flight ;
Through woods and plaines so long
I did
chace,
her
Till this mad man, whomj'our victorious might
Hath now fast bound, me met in middle space.
As I her, so he me poursewd apace,
And shortly overtooke : I, breathing yre,
Sore chauffed at my stay in such a cace,
And with my heat kindled his cruell fyre ;
Which kindled once, his mother did more rage
inspyre.
XXXIII
' Betwixt them both they have me doen to dye,
Through wounds, and strokes, and stubbofne
handeling,
That death were better then such agony
As griefe and fury unto me did bring :
Of which in me yet stickes the mortall sting,
That during life will never be appeasd ! '
When he thus ended had his sorrowing,
Said Guyon ; ' Squyre, sore have ye beene
diseasd,
France be easd.'
But all your hurts may soone through tempe-
XXXIV
Then gan the Palmer thus ; 'Most wretched
man,
That to affections does the bridle lend !
In their beginning they are weake and wan,
But soone through sufFrancegrowe tofearefull
end: [tend;
Whiles they are weake, betimes with them con-
For, when they once to perfect strength do grow,
Strong warres they make, aad cruell battrv
bend
But read how art thou nam'd, and of what kin ? '
' Phaon I hight,' (quoth he) ' and do advaunce
Mine auneestry from famous Coradin,
Who first to rayse our house to honour did
begin.1
Thus as he spake, lo ! far away they spyde
A varlet ronning towardes hastily,
Whose flying feet so fast their way applyde,
That round about a cloud of dust did fly'.
Which, mingled all with sweat e, did dim his eye.
He soone approched, panting, breathlesse, who
And all so soyld that none could him descry
His countenaunce was bold, and bashed not
For Guyons lookes, but scornefull eyeglaunce
at him shot.
XXXVIII
Behind his backe he bore a brasen shield,
On which was drawen faire, in colours fit,
A flaming fire in midst of bloody field,
And round about the wreath this word wa.
writ,
Burnt I doe burne. Right well beseemed it
To be the shield of some redoubted knight :
And in his hand two dartes, exceeding flit
And deadly sharp, he held, whose heads wer
dight
In poyson and in blood of malice and despighl
XXXIX
When he in presence came, to Guvon first
He boldly spake ; 'Sir knight, if knight tho
Abandon this forestalled place at erst, [ bet
For feare of further harme. I counsell thee ;
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Or bide the channce at thine owne jeopardee.'
The knight at his great boldnesse wondered ;
And, though he scornd his ydle vanitee,
Vet mildly him to purpose answered;
For not to grow of nought he it conjectured.
' Varlet, this place most dew to me I deeme,
Yielded by him that held it forcibly :
But whence should come that harme, which
thou dost seeme
To threat to him that mindes his chaunce
t' abye?'
' Perdy,' (sayd he) ' here conies, and is hard by,
A knight of wondrous powre and great assay.
That never yet encountred enemy
But did him deadly daunt, or fowle dismay ;
Ne thou for better hope, if thou his presence
stay.'
XLl
'How hight he then,' (sayd Guyon) 'and
from whence ?'
' Pyrochles is his name, renowmed farre
For his bold feates and hardy confidence,
Full oft approvd in many a cruell warre ;
The brother of Cymochles, both which arre
The sonnes of old Aerates and Despight ;
Aerates, sonne of Phlegeton and Jarre ;
But Phlegeton is sonne of Herebus and Night ;
But Herebus sonne of Aeternitie is hight.
' So from immortall race he does proceede,
That mortall hands may not withstand his
might,
Drad for his derring doe and bloody deed ;
For all in blood and spoile is his delight.
His am I Atin, his in wrong and right,
That matter make for him to worke upon,
And stirre him up to strife and cruell fight.
Fly therefore, fly this fearefull stead anon,
Least thy foolhardize worke thy sad confusion.'
Art thou now bownd ? for well mote I discerne
Great cause, that carries thee so swifte and
light.'
My Lord,' (quoth he) 'me sent, and streight
To seeke Occasion, where so she bee : [ behight
For he is all disposd to bloody tight,
And breathes out wrath and hainous crueltee :
Hard is his hap that first fals in his jeopardee.'
' Mad man,' (said then the Palmer) 'that does
seeke
Occasion to wrath, and cause of strife :
Shee comes unsought, and shonned followeseke.
Happy ! who can ab.staine, when Rancor rife
Kindles Revenge, and threats his rusty knife.
Woe never wants where every cause is caught ;
And rash Occasion makes unquiet life !'
' Then loe ! wher bound she sits, whom thou
hast sought,' [brought/
Said Guyon : 'let that message to thy Lord be
That when the varlett heard and saw, streight
way [knight,
He wexed wondrous wroth, and said ; ' Vile
That knights and knighthood doest with shame
upbray,
Andshewst th'ensample of thychildishe might,
! With sill}' weake old woman that did fight !
Great glory and gay spoile, sure hast thou gott,
And stoutly prov'd thy puissaunce here in sight.
That shall Pyrochles well requite. I wott,
And with thy blood abolish so reprochfullblott.'
'His be that care, whom most it doth concerne,'
(Sayd he) ' but whither with such hasty flight
With that one of his thrillant darts he threw,
Headed with yre and vengeable despight.
The quivering steele his armed end wel knew,
And to his brest it selfe intended right :
I But he was wary, and, ere it empight
Jn the meant niarke, advaunsthis shield atweene,
On which it seizing no way enter might,
But backe rebownding left the forckhead keene:
Eftsoones he fled away, and might no where be
scene.
IO2
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK II.
CANTO V.
Pyrochles does with Guyon fight,
And Furors chayne nntyes.
Who him sore wounds : whiles Atin to
Cymochles for ayd flyes.
WHO ever doth to temperaunce apply
His stedfast life, and all his actions frame,
Trust me, shal find no greater enimy
Then stubborne perturbation to the same ;
Sore bruzed with the fall he slow uprose,
And all enraged thus hiui loudly shent ;
' Disleall Knight, whose coward corage chose
To wreake it selfe on beast all innocent,
To which right wel the wise doe give that name, 'And shund the marke at which it should be
For it the goodly peace of staled mindes ment ; [frayl : j
If wonted force and fortune doe me not much
With that he drew his naming sword,
strooke
After that varlets flight, it was not long
Ere on the plaine fast pricking Guyon spide
One in bright armes embatteiled full strong,
That, as the Sunny beanies do glaunce and glide j At him so fiercely, that the upper marge
Upon the trembling wave, so shined bright, i Of his sevenfolded shield away it tooke,
And round about him threw forth sparkling fire, And, glauncing on his helmet, made a large
That seemd him to enflame on every side : j And open gash therein : were not his targe
His steed was bloody red, and fomed yre, j That broke the violence of his intent, [charge :
When with the maistring spur he did him The weary sowle from thence it would dis-
roughly stire. Nathelesse so sore a buff to him it lent, [bent
Approching nigh, he never staid to greete,
Ne chaffar words, prowd corage to provoke,
But prickt so fiers, that underneath his feete
The smouldring dust did rownd about him
That made him reele, and to his brest his bevei
Exceeding wroth was Guyon at that blow
And much ashamd that stroke of living arm
Should him dismay, and make him stoupsolow
Though otherwise it did him litle harme :
smoke,
Both horse and man nigh able for to choke ;
And fayrly couching his steeleheaded speare, Tho, hurling high his yron braced arme
Him first saluted with a sturdy stroke : |He smote so manly on his shoulder plate,
It booted nought Sir Guyon, comming neare, That all his left side it did quite disarme;
To thincke such hideous puissaunce on foot to Yet there the steel stayd not, but inly bate
beare ; j Deepe in his flesh, and opened wide a re
iv floodgate.
But lightly shunned it ; and, passing by, vin
With his bright blade did smite at him so fell, Deadly dismayd with horror of that dint
That the sharpe steele, arriving forcibly i Pyrochles was, and grieved eke entyre ;
On his broad shield, bitt not, but glauncing fell Yet nathemore did it his fury stint,
On his horse necke before the quilted sell, i But added flame unto his former fire,
And from the head the body sundred quight. That wel nigh molt his hart in raging yre :
So him dismounted low he did compell
On foot with him to matchen equall tight :
The truncked beast fast bleeding did him
fowly dight.
Ne thenceforth his approved skill, to ward,
Or strike, or hurtle rownd in warlike gyre,
Remembred he, ne car'd for his saufgard,
But rudely rag'd, and like a cruell tygre far'
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
103
He hewd, and lasht, and foynd, and thondred
blowes,
And every way did seeke into his life ; [throwes,
Ne plate, ne male, could ward so mighty
But j'eilded passage to his cruell knife.
But Guyon, in the heat of all his strife,
Was wary wise, and closely did awayt
Avauntage, whilest his foe did rage most rife :
Sometimes athwart, sometimes he strook him
strayt, [such bayt.
And falsed oft his blowes t' illude him with
Like as a Lyon, whose imperiall powre
A prowd rebellious Unicorn defyes,
T" avoide the rash assault and wrathful stowre
Of his fiers foe, him to a tree applyes, [spyes,
' And when him ronning in full course he
He slips aside ; the whiles that furious beast
His precious home, sought of his enimyes,
Strikes in the stocke, ne thence can be releast,
But to the mightv victor yields a bounteous
feast.
XI
With such faire sleight him Guyon often
fayld,
Till at the last all breathlesse, weary, faint,
Him spying, with fresh onsett he assayld,
And kindling new his corage seeming queint,
Strooke him so hugely, that through great con-
straint
He made him stoup perforce unto his knee,
And doe unwilling worship to the Saint,
That on his shield depainted he did see : [hee.
Such homage till that instant never learned
Whom Guyon seeing stoup, poursewed fast
The present offer of fairo victory,
And soone his dreaclfull blade about he cast,
Wherewith he smote his haughty crest so live.
That streight on grownd made him full low' to
lye;
Then on his brest his victor foote he thrust :
With that he cryde ; ' Mercy ! doe me not dye,
Xe deeme thy force by fortunes doome unjust,
That hath (maugre her spight) thus low me
laid in dust.'
.
Kftsoones his cruel hand Sir Guyon stayd,
Tempring the passion with advizement slow,
And maistring might on enimy dismayd ;
For th' equall die of warre he well did know :
Then to him said ; ' Live, and alleagaunce owe
To him that gives thee life and libertv;
And henceforth by this daies ensample trow,
That hasty wroth, and heedlesse hazardry,
Doe breede repentaunce late, and lasting in-
famy.'
XIV
So up he let him rise ; who, with grim looke
And count'naunce sterne, upstanding, gan tc
grind
His grated teeth for great disdeigne, and shooke
His sandy lockes, long hanging downe behind,
Knotted in blood and dust, for grief of mind
That he in ods of armes was conquered:
Yet in himselfe some comfort he did find,
That him so noble knight had maystered ;
Whose bounty more then might, yet both, he
wondered.
xv
Which Guyon marking said ; ' Be nought
agriev'd,
Sir knight, that thus ye now subdewed arre :
Was never man, who most conquestes atchiev'd,
But sometimes had the worse, and lost by warre,
Yet shortly gaynd that losse exceeded farre.
Losse is no shame, nor to bee lesse then foe ;
But to bee lesser then himselfe doth marre
Both loosers lott, and victours prayse alsoe :
Vaine others overthrowes who selfe doth over
throw.
XVI
' Fly, O Pyrochles ! fly the dreadfull warre
That in thy selfe thy lesser partes do move ;
Outrageous anger, and woe-working j arre,
Direfull impatience, and hart-murdring love :
Those, those thy foes, those warriours fai
remove,
Which thee to endlesse bale captived lead.
But sith in might thou didst my mercy prove,
Of courtesie to mee the cause aread [ dread
That thee against me drew with so impetuous
' Dreadlesse,' (said he) ' that shall I soone
declare. [ tort
It was complaind that thou hadst done great
Unto an aged woman, poore and bare,
And thralled her in chaines with strong effort,
Voide of all succour and needfull comfort ;
That ill beseemes thee, such as I thee see,
To worke such shame. Therefore, I thee exhort
To chaunge thy will, and set Occasion free,
And to her captive sonne yield his first libertee,
Thereat Sir Guyon smylde ; ' And is that all,
(Said he) ' that thee so'sore displeased hath?
Great mercy, sure, for to enlarge a thrall,
Whose freedom shall thee turne to greatest
scath 1
104
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S,
[BOOK n.
Nathlesse now quench thy whott emboyling
wrath :
Loe! there they bee ; to thee I yield them free.'
Thereat he, wondrous glad, out of the path
Did lightly leape, where he them bound did see,
And gan to breake the bands of their captivitee.
Soone as Occasion felt her selfe untyde,
Before her sonne could well assoyled bee.
She to her use returnd, and streight defyde
Both Guyon and Pyrochles ; th' one (said
shee)
Bycanse he wonne ; the other, because hee
Was wonne. So matter did she make of
nought,
To stirre up strife, and garre them disagree :
But, soone as Furor was enlargd, she sought
To kindle his quencht fyre, and thousand causes
wrought.
XX
It was not long ere she inflam'd him so,
That he would algates with Pyrochles fight,
And his redeemer chalengd for his foe,
Because he had not well mainteind his right,
But yielded had to that samestraungerknight.
Now'gan Pyrochles wex as wood as hee,
And him affronted with impatient might :
So both together fiers engrasped bee,
Whyles Guyon standing by their uncouth strife
does see.
Him all that while Occasion did provoke
Against Pyrochles, and new matter fram'd
Upon the old, him stirring to bee wroke
Of his late wronges, in which she oft him
blam'd
For suffering such abuse as knighthood sham'd,
And him dishabled quyte. But he was wise,
Ne would with vaine occasions be inflam'd ;
Yet others she more urgent did devise ;
Yet nothing could him fo impatience entise.
Their fell contention still increased more,
And more thereby increased Furors might,
That he his foe has hurt and wounded sore,
And him in blood and durt deformed quight.
His mother eke, more to augment his spight,
Now brought to him a flaming fyer brond,
Which she in Stygian lake, ay burning
bright,
Had kindled : that she gave into his hond,
That armd with fire more hardly he mote him
withstond.
Tho gan that villein wex so fiers and strong,
That nothing might sustaine his furious forse :
He cast him downe to ground, and all along
Drew him through durt and myre without
remorse,
And fowly battered his comely corse,
That Guyon much disdeigned so loathly sight.
At last lie was compeld to cry perforse,
' Help, O Sir Guyon ! helpe, most noble knight,
To ridd a wretched man from handes of hellish
wight ! '
The knight was greatly moved at his playnt, I
And gan him dight to succour his distresse,
Till that the Palmer, by his grave restraynt,
Him stayd from yielding pitifull redresse,
And said ; ' Deare sonne, thy causelesse ruth I
represse,
Ne let thy stout hart melt in pitty vayne:
He that his sorrow sought through wilfulnesse, j}
And his foe fettred would release agayne,
Deserves to taste his follies fruit, "repented?
payne, '
Guyon obayd : So him away he drew
From needlesse trouble of renewing fight
Already fought, his voyage to poursew.
But rash Pyrochles varlett, Atin hight,
When late he saw his Lord in heavie plight
Under Sir Guyons puissaunt stroke to fall,
Him deeming dead, as then he seemd in sight,
Fledd fast away to tell his funerall [call
Unto his brother, whom Cymochles men di
He was a man of rare redoubted might,
Famous throughout the world for warlik
prayse,
And glorious spoiles, purchast in perilous fight
Full many doughtie knightes he in his dayes
Had doen to death, subdewde in equall frayes
Whose carkases, for terrour of his name,
Of fowles and beastes he made the piteou
prayes,
And hong their conquerd armes, for more dc
fame,
On gallow trees, in honour of his dearest Dam
XXVII
His dearest Dame is that Enchaunteresse,
The vyle Acrasia, that with vaine delightes,
And ydle pleasures in her Bowre of Blisse.
Does charme her lovers, and the feeble sprighti
,
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
105
Can call out of the bodies of fraile wightes ;
Whom then she does transforms to monstrous
hewes,
And horribly misshapes with ugly sightes,
Captiv'd eternally in yron mewes [shewes.
And darksom dens, where Titan his face never
There Atin fownd Cymochles sojourning,
To serve his Lemans love : for he by kynd
Was given all to lust and loose living,
When ever his fiers handes he free mote fynd :
And now he has pourd out his ydle mynd
In daintie delices, and lavish joyes,
Having his warlike weapons cast behynd,
And flowea in pleasures and vaine pleasing
toyes,
Mingled emongst loose Ladies and lascivious
boyes.
XXIX
And over him art, stryving to compayre
With nature, did an Arber greene dispred,
Framed of wanton Yvie, flouring fayre.
Through which the fragrant Eglantine did
spred
His prickling armes, entrayld with roses red,
Which daintie odours round about them threw:
And all within with flowres was garnished,
That, when myld Zephyrus emongst them blew,
[colors shew.
Did breath out bounteous smels, and painted
And fast beside there trickled softly downe
A gentle streame, whose murmuring wave did
play
Emongst the pumy stones, and made a sowne,
To lull him soft asleepe that by it lay :
The wearie Traveiler, wandring that way,
Therein did often quench his thristy heat,
And then by it his wearie limbes display.
Whiles creeping slomber made him to forget
His former payne, and wypt away his toilsom
And on the other svde a pleasaunt grove
Was shott up high, full of the stately tree
That dedicated is t' Olympick Jove,
And to his sonne Alcides, whenas hee
In Xemus gayned goodly victoree:
Therein the mery birdes of every sorte
Chaunted alowd" their chearefull harmonee,
And made emongst them selves a sweete con-
sort,
That quickned the dull spright with musicall
comfort.
There he him found all carelesly displaid,
In secrete shadow from the sunny ray,
On a sweet bed of lillies softly \&\^
Amidst a flock of Damzelles fresh and gay,
That rownd about him dissolute did play"
Their wanton follies and light meriments:
Every of which did loosely disaray
Her upper partes of meet habiliments,
And shewd them naked, deckt with many
ornaments.
XXXIH
And every of them strove with most delights
Him to aggrate, and greatest pleasures shew :
Some framd faire lookes, glancing like evening
lights ;
Others sweet wordes, dropping like honny dew ;
Some bathed kisses, and did soft embrew
The sugred licour through his melting lips :
One boastes her beautie, and does yield to vew
Her dainty limbes above her tender hips ;
Another her out boastes, and all for tryall
strips. •
xxxrv
He, like an Adder lurking in the weedes,
His wandring thought in deepe desire does
steepe,
And his frayle eye with spoyle of beauty feedes:
Sometimes he falsely faines himselfe to sleepe,
Whiles through their lids his wanton eies do
peepe
To steale a snatch of amorous conceipt,
Whereby close fire into his heart does creepe :
So he them deceives, deceivd in his deceipt,
Made dronke with drugs of deare voluptuous
receipt.
XXXV
Atin, arriving there, when him he spyde
Thus in still waves of deepe delight to wade,
Fiercely approching to him lowdly cryde,
' Cymochles ; oh ! no, but Cymochles shade,
In which that manly person late did fade.
What is become of great Aerates sonne ?
Or where hath he hong up his mortall blade,
That hath so many haughty conquests wonne ?
Is all his force forlorne, and all his glory donne?
XXXVI
Then, pricking him with his sharp-pointed
dart, [knight,
He saide ; ' Up, up ! thou womanish weake
That here in Ladies lap entombed art,
Unmindfull of thy praise and prowest might,
And weetlesse eke of lately wrought despight,
I Whiles sad Pyrochles lies on sencelesse ground,
I And groneth out his utmost grudging spright
lo6
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii
Through many c. stroke and many a streaming
wound,
Calling thy help in vaine that here in joyes art
dround.'
XXXVII
Suddeinlyout of his delightfull dreame
The man ' awoke, and would have questiond
more;
But he would not endure that wofull theame
For to dilate at large, but urged sore,
With percing wordes aud pittifull implore,
Him hasty to arise. As one affright
With hellish feends, or Furies made uprore,
He then uprose, inflamd with fell despight,
And called for his armes, for he would alga
tight :
XXXVIII
They bene ybrought ; he quicklydoes him dight,
And "lightly mounted passeth on his way;
Ne Ladies "loves, ne sweete entreaties, might
Appease his heat, or hastie passage stay ;
For he has vowd to beene avengd that day
(That day it selfe him seemed all too long)
On him, that did Pyrochles deare dismay :
So proudly pricketh on his courser strong,
And Atin'ay him pricks with spurs of shama
and wrong.
CANTO VI.
Gnyon is of immodest Merth
Led into loose desyre ;
Fi?hts with Cymochles, whiles his bro-
ther burns in furious fyre.
A HARDER lesson to learne Continence
In joyous pleasure then in grievous paine ;
For s'weetnesse doth allure the weaker sence
So strongly, that uneathes it can refraine
From that which feeble nature covets faine :
But griefe and wrath, that be her enemies
And foes of life, she better can abstaine :
Yet vertue vauntes in both her victories,
And Gnyon in them all shewes goodly may-
steries.
ii
Whom bold Cymochles travelling to finde,
With cruell purpose bent to wreake on him
The wrath which Atin kindled in his mind,
Came to a river, by whose utmost brim
Wayting to passe, he saw whereas did swim
Along the shore, as swift as glannce of eye,
A litle Gondelay, bedecked trim
Which when far off Cymochles heard and saw,
He lowdly cald to such as were abord
The little" barke unto the shore to draw,
And him to ferry over that deepe ford.
The merry mariner unto his word
Soone hearkned, and her painted bote streight-
Turnd to the shore, where that same warliki
She in receiv'd ; but Atin by no way [Lon
She would admit, albe the knight her mucl
did pray.
v
Eftsoones her shallow ship away did slide, i
More swift then swallow sheres the liquid sky<
I Withouten care or Pilot it to guide,
| Or winged canvas with the wind to fly :
' Onely she turnd a pin, and by and by
jit cut away upon the yielding wave,
Ne cared she her course for to apply ;
[ha?
With boughes and arbours woven cunninglv, For it was taught the wav which she won
rr»i * i • i i • . t *• * « " * _»-
That like a litle forrest seemed outwardly.
And both from rocks and flats it selfe coa
wisely gave.
VI
And all the way the wanton Damsell found j
New merth her passenger to entertaine ;
And therein sate a Lady fresh and fayre,
Making sweet solace to herselfe alone :
Sometimes she song as lowd as larke in ayre, For she in pleasannt purpose did abound,
Sometimes she laught, as merry as Pope Jone; And greatly joyed merry tales to faine.
Yet was there not with her else any one, Of which a'store-house did with her remain
That to her might move cause of meriment : Yet seemed, nothing well they her l>ecame ;
Matter of merth enough, though there were For all her wordes she drownd with laught
none, vaine,
She could devise ; and thousand waies invent And wanted grace in utt'ring of the same,
To feede her foolish humour and vaine jolli- That turned all her pleasaunce to a scoffi
menu
game.
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
107
And other whiles vaine toyes she would devize,
As her fantasticke wit did most delight :
Sometimes her head she fondly would aguize
With gaudy girlonds, or fresh flowrete (light
About her necke, or rings of rushes plight :
Sometimes, to do him laugh, she would a .-say
To laugh at shaking of the leaves light
Or to behold the water worke and play
About her little frigot, therein making way.
Her light behaviour and loose dalliaunce
Gave wondrous great contentment to the
knight,
That of his way he had no sovenaunce,
Nor care of vow'd revenge and cruell fight,
But to weake wench did yield his martiall
might :
80 easie was to quench his flamed minde
With one sweete drop of seasuaU delight.
So easie is t'appease the stormy winde [kind.
Of malice in the calme of pleasaunt woman
Diverse discourses in their way they spent ;
Mongst which Cymochles of her questioned
Both what she was, and what that usage ment,
•inch in her cott she daily practized ?
* Vaine man,' (saide she) 'that wouldest be
reckoned
A straunger in thy home, and ignoraunt
Of Phaedria, (for so my name is red)
Of Phadria, thine owne fellow servaunt ;
Forthou to serve Acrasia thy selfe doest vaunt.
And that gay payre, issewing on the shore,
Disburdned her. Their way they forward take
Into the land that lay them faire before,
Whose pleasaunce she him shewd, and plenti-
full great store.
It was a chosen plott of fertile land,
Emongst wide waves sett, like a litle nest,
As if it had by Natures cunning hand
Bene choycely picked out from all the rest,
And laid forth for ensample of the best :
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on
grownd,
No arborett with painted blossomes drest
And smelling sweete, but there it might be
fownd [al arownd.
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels
No tree whose braunches did not bravely
spring ;
No braunch whereon a fine bird did not sitt ;
No bird but did her shrill notes sweetely sing;
No song but did containe a lovely clitt.
Trees, braunches, birds, and songs, were framed
For to allure fraile mind to carelesse ease : [fitt
Carelesse the man soone woxe, and his weake
witt
Was overcome of thing that did him please ;
So pleased did his wrathfull purpose faire ap-
pease.
XIV
Thus when shee had his eyes and sences fed
With false delights, and fild with pleasures
Into a shady dale she soft him led, [vayn,
And layd him downe upon a grassy playn ;
And her sweete selfe without dread or disdayn
She sett beside, laying his head disarmd
In her loose lap, it softly to sustayn,
Where soone he slumbred fearing not be harmd :
The whiles with a love lay she thus him sweetly
c harmd.
1 In this wide Inland sea, that hight by name
The Idle lake, my wandring ship I row,
That knowes her port, and thither sayles by
ayme,
Ne care, ne feare I how the wind do blow,
Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow :
k>th slow and swift alike doservemy tourne ; , ^oU, O man ! that toilesome paines doest
«e swelling Neptune ne lowd thundnng Jove ta^e ferowes
nnge my cheare, or make me ever The flowrS)' the fields> ^d aU that pltasaunt
•M. ,• J?1 . . I bourne. HOW thev them selves doe thine ensample make.
boat can safely passe this penlous Whiles -nothing envious nature thepm forth
throwes
Out of her fruitful! lap ; how no man knowes,
Whiles thus she talked, and whiles thus she They spring, they bud, they blossome fresh
toyd, and faire, " [showes ;
They were far past the passage which he spake, And decke the world with their rich pompous
And come unto an Island waste and voyd, Yet no man for them taketh paines or care.
That floted in the midst of that great lake; I Yet no man to them can his carefull paines
There her small Gondelay her port did make, | compare.
io8
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n.
xvr
'The lilly, Lady of the flowring field,
The flowre-delace, her lovely Paramoure,
Bid thee to them thy fruitlesse labors yield,
And soone leave off this toylsome weary stoure :
Loe, loe ! how brave ahe decks her bounteous
boure,
With silkin curtens and gold coverletts,
Therein to shrowd her sumptuous Belamoure ;
Yet nether spinnes nor cards, ne cares nor
fretts, [letts.
But to her mother Nature all her care she
1 Why then doest thou, O man ! that of them
Art Lord, and eke of nature Soveraine, [all
Wilfully make thyselfe a wretched thrall,
And waste thy joyous howres in needelesse
paine,
Seeking for daunger and adventures vaine ?
What bootes it al to have, and nothing use?
Who shall him rew that swimming in the
maine
Will die for thrist, and water doth refuse ?
Refuse such fruitlesse toile, and present plea-
sures chuse.'
XVIII
By this she had him lulled fast asleepe,
That of no worldly thing he care did take :
Then she with liquors strong his eies did steepe,
That nothing should him hastily awake.
So she him lefte, and did her selfe betake
Unto her boat again, with which she clefte
The slouthfull wave of that great griesy lake :
Soone shee that Island far behind her lefte,
And now is come to that same place where
first she wefte.
XIX
By this time was the worthy Guyon brought
Unto the other side of that wide strond
Where she was rowing, and for passage sought.
Him needed not long call : shee soone to hond
Her ferry brought, where him she byding fond
With his sad guide : him selfe she tooke aboord,
But the Blacke Palmer suffred still to stond,
Ne would for price or prayers once affoord
To ferry that old man over the perlous foord.
Guyon was loath to leave his guide behind,
Yet being entred might not backe retyre ;
For the flitt barke, obaying to her mind,
Forth launched quickly as she did desire,
Ne gave him leave to bid that aged sire
Adieu ; but nimbly ran her wonted course
Through the dull billowes thicke as troubled
mire,
Whom nether wind out of their seat could forse
Nor timely tides did drive out of their sluggish
And by the way, as was her wonted guize,
Her mery fitt shee freshly gan to reare,
And did of joy and jollity devize,
Her selfe to cherish, and her guest to cheare.
The knight was courteous, and did not forbeare
Her honest merth and pleasaunce to partake:
But when he saw her toy, and gibe, and geare.
And passe the bonds of modest merimake,
Her dalliaunce he despis'd, and follies did for-
sake.
XXII
Yet she still followed her former style,
And said and did all that mote him delight,
Till they arrived in that pleasaunt lie,
Where sleeping late she lefte her other knigh
But whenas Guyon of that land had sight,
He wist him selfe amisse, and angry said ;
' Ah, Dame ! perdy ye have not doen me righ
Thus to mislead mee, whiles I you obaid :
Me litle needed from my right way to t
straid.'
XXIII
Faire Sir,' (quoth she) 'be not displeasd at all
Who fares on sea may not commaund his wa
Ne wind and weather at his pleasure call:
The sea is wide, and easy for to stray ;
The wind unstable, and doth never stay.
But here a while ye may in safety rest,
Till season serve new passage to assay :
Better safe port then be in seas distrest.'
Therewith she laught, and did her earnest en'
in jest.
XXIV
But he, halfe discontent, mote nathelesse
Himselfe appease, and issewd forth on shore
The joyes whereof and happy fruitfulnesse,
Such as he saw she gan him lay before,
And all, though pleasaunt, yet she made mu
more : [sprin
The fields did laugh, the flowres did freshl
The trees did bud, and early blossomes bore
And all the quire of birds did sweetly sing,
And told that gardins pleasures in the
caroling.
XXV
And she, more sweete then any bird
bough,
Would oftentimes emongst them beare a par
And strive to passe (as she could well enoug
Their native musicke by her skilful art :
So did she all that might his constant hart
Withdraw from thought of warlike enterpri:
And drowne in dissolute delights *part,
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
109
Where noise of armes, or vew of martiall guize,
JUight not revive desire of knightly exercize.
XXVI
But he was wise, and wary of her will,
And ever held his hand upon his hart ;
Yet would not seeme so rude, and thewed ill,
AS to despise so curteous seeming part
That gentle Lady did to him impart :
But, fairly tempring, fond desire subdewd,
And ever her desired to depart.
She list not heare, but her disports poursewd,
\nd ever bad him stay till time the tide
renewd.
XXVII
And now by this Cymochles howre was spent,
That he awoke out of his ydle dreme ;
And, shaking off his drowsy dreriment,
Gan him avize, howe ill did him beseme
In slouthfull sleepe his molten hart to steme,
And quench the brond of his conceived yre :
Tho up he started, stird with sharne extreme,
Ne staied for his Damsell to inquire,
But marched to the Strond there passage to
require.
XXVIII
And in the way he with Sir Guyon mett,
Accompanyde with Phaedria the faire :
Eftsoones he gan to rage, and inly frett,
Crying ; ' Let be that Lady debonaire,
Thou recreaunt knight, and soone thyselfc
prepaire
To batteile, if thou meane her love to gayn.
Loe, loe! already how the fowles in aire
Doe flocke, awaiting shortly to obtayn
Thy carcas for their pray, the guerdon of thy
payn.'
XXIX
And therewithall he fiersly at him flew,
And with importune outrage him assayld ;
Who, soone prepard to field, his sword forth
drew,
And him with equall valew countervayld :
Their might ie strokes their haberjeons dis-
mayld,
And naked made each others manly spalles ;
The mortall steele despiteously entayld
Deepe in their flesh, quite through the yron
walles,
That a large purple streame adowne their
giambeux falles.
Cymochles, that had never mett before
S<> puissant foe, with envious despight
His prowd presumed force increased more,
Disdeigning to bee held so long in fight.
Sir Guyon, grudging not so much his might
As those unknightly raylinges which he spoke,
With wrathfull fire his corage kindled bright,
Thereof devising shortly to be wroke,
And doubling all his powres redoubled every
stroke.
XXXI
Both of them high attonce their handes en-
haunst, [sway.
And both attonce their huge blowes down did
Cymochles sword on Guyons shield yglaunst,
And thereof nigh one quarter sheard away ;
But Guyons angry blade so fiers did play
On th' others helmett, which as Titan shone,
That quite it clove his plumed crest in tway,
And bared all his head unto the bone ;
Wherewith astonisht, still he stood as sence-
lesse stone.
XXXII
Still as he stood, fayre Phaedria, that beheld
That deadly daunger, soone atweene them ran ;
And at their feet her selfe most humbly feld,
Crying with pitteous voyce, and count'nance
wan,
' Ah, well away ! most noble Lords, how can
Your cruell eyes endure so pitteous sight,
To shed your lives on ground ? Wo worth the
man,
That first did teach the cursed steele to bight
In his owne flesh, and make way to the living
spright !
XXXIII
' If ever love of Lady did empierce
Your yron brestes, or pittie could find place,
Withhold your bloody handes from battaill
fierce;
And, sith for me ye fight, to me this grace
Both yield, to stay your deadly stryfe a space.'
They stayd a while, and forth she gan pro-
ceede:
' Most wretched woman and of wicked race,
That am the authour of this hainous deed,
And cause of death betweene two doughtie
knights do breed !
' But, if for me ye fight, or me will serve,
Not this rude kynd of battaill, nor these armes
Are meet, the which doe men in bale to sterve,
And doolefull sorrow heape with deadly harmes :
Such cruell game my scarmoges disarmes.
Another warre, and other weapons, I
Doe love, where love does give his sweet
Alarmes
Without bloodshed, and where the enimy
Does yield unto his foe a pleas aunt victory.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
' Debatefull strife, and cruell enmity,
The famous name of knighthood fowly shend ;
But lovely peace, and gentle amity,
And in Amours the passing howres to spend,
The mightie martiall handes doe most com-
Of love they ever greater glory bore [mend
Then of their annes ; Mars is'Cupidoes frend,
And is for Venus loves renowmed more
Then all his wars and spoiles, the which he did
of yore.'
xxxvi
Therewith she sweetly smyld. They, though
full bent
To prove extremities of bloody fight,
Yet at her speach their rages gan relent,
And calme the sea of their tempestuous spight.
Such powre have pleasing wordes : such is the
Of courteous clemency in gentle hart, [might
Now after all was ceast, the Faery knight
Besought that Damzell suffer him depart,
And yield him ready passage to that other part.
XXXVII
She no lesse glad then he desirous was
Of his departure thence ; for of her joy
And vaine delight she saw he light did pas,
A foe of folly and immodest toy,
Still solemne sad, or still disdainful! coy ;
Delighting all in armes and cruell warre,
That her sweet peace and pleasures did annoy,
Troubled with terrour and unquiet Jarre,
That she well pleased was thence to amove him
farre.
XXVIII
Tho him she brought abord, and her swift bote
Forthwith directed to that further strand ;
The which on the dull waves did lightly flote,
And soone arrived on the shallow sand,
Where gladsome Guyon salied forth to land,
And to that Damsel! thankes gave for reward
Upon that shore he spyed Atin stand,
There by his maister left, when late he far'd
In Phsedrias flitt barck over that perlous shard.
Well could he him remember, sith of late
He with Pyrochles sharp debatement made :
Streight gan he him revyle, and bitter rate,
As Shepheardes curre, that in darke eveninges
shade
Hath tracted forth some salvage beastes trade :
' Vile Miscreaunt,' (said he) whither dost thou
five [invade ?
The shame and death, which will thee soone
What coward hand shall doe thee next to dye,
That art thus fowly fledd from famous enimy ?'
With that he stifly shooke his steelhead dart :
But sober Guyon, hearing him so rayle,
Though somewhat moved in his mightie hart,
Yet with strong reason maistred passion
fraile,
And passed fayrely forth. He, turning taile,
Back to the strond retyrd, and there still stayd,
Awaiting passage which him late did faile";
The whiles Cymochles with that wanton mayd
The hasty heat of his avowd revenge delayd.
Whylest there the varlet stood, he saw from
farre
An armed knight that towardes him fast ran ;
He ran on foot, as if in lucklesse warre
His forlorne steed from him the victour wan :
He seemed breathlesse, hartlesse, faint.and wan:
And all his armour sprinckled was with blood,
And soyld with durtie gore, that no man can
Discerne the hew thereof. He never stood,
But bent his hastie course towardes the vdle
flood.
XLII
The varlett saw, when to the flood he came,
How without stop or stay he fiersly lept,
And deepe him selfe beducked in the same,
That in the lake his loftie crest was stept,
Ne of his safetie seemed care he kept ;
But with his raging armes he rudely flasht
The waves about, and all his armour swept.
That all the blood and filth away was washt ;
Yet still he bet the water, and the billowesj
dasht.
XLIII
Atin drew nigh to weet what it mote bee,
For much he wondred at that uncouth sight
Whom should he but his owne deare Lor
there see,
His owne deare Lord Pyrochles in sad plight
Readj' to drowne him selfe for fell despight :
' Harrow now out. and well away ! ' he cryde, \
' What dismall day hath lent this cursed light
To see my Lord so deadly damnifyde ?
Pyrochles, 0 Pyrochles ! what is thee betvde ?
' I burne, I burne, I burne ! ' then lowd
cryde,
'O ! how I burne with implacable fyre;
Yet nought can quench mine inly flaming syd«
Sor sea of licour cold, nor lake'of myre :
Nothing but death can doe me to respyre.'
Ah ! be it,' (said he) ' from Pyrochles farre
After pursewiag death once to requyre,
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Or think, that ought those puissant hands
may marre : [starre.'
Death is for wretches borne under unhappy
Perdye, then is it fitt for me,' (said he)
'That am, I weene, most wretched man alive ;
Burning in flames, yet no flames can I see,
And dying dayly, dayly yet revive.
0 Atin ! helpe' to me last death to give.'
The varlet at his plaint was grieved so sore,
That his deepe wounded hart in two did rive ;
And, his owne health remembring now no more,
Did follow that ensamplc which he blam'd afore.
XLVI
Into the lake he lept his Lord to ayd,
(So Love the dread of daunger doth despise)
And of him catching hold him strongly stayd
From drowning. But more happy he then wise,
[Of that seas nature did him not avise :
The waves thereof so slow and sluggish were,
Engrostwith mud which did themfowle agrise,
That every weighty thing they did upbeare,
Ne ought mote ever sinck downe to the
bottom there.
Whiles thus they strugled in thatydle wave,
And strove in vaine, the one him selfe to
drowne,
The other both from drowning for to save,
Lo ! to that shore one in an auncient gowne,
Whose hoary locks great gravitie did crowne,
Holding in hand a goodly arming sword,
By fortune came, ledd with the troublous sowne :
Where drenched deepe he fownd in that dull
ford [Lord.
The carefull servaunt stryving with his raging
Him Atin spying knew right well of yore,
And lowdly cald ; ' Help, helpe! 0 Archimage !
To save my Lord in wretched plight forlore ;
Helpe with thy hand, or with thy counsell sage :
Weake handes, but counsell is most strong in
age.'
Him when the old man saw, he wondred sore
To see Pyrochles there so rudely rage ;
Yet sithens helpe, he saw, he needed more
Then pitty, he in hast approched to the shore,
XLIX
And cald ; ' Pyrochles ! what is this I see ?
What hellish fury hath at earst thee hent ?
Furious ever I thee knew to bee,
Yet never in this straunge astonishment.'
' These flames, these flames ' (he cryde) ' doe
me torment.' [see
' Wha flames,' (quoth he), when I thee present
In daunger rather to be drent then brent ? '
' Harrow ! the flames which me consume,'
(said nee) [bee.
' Ne can be quencht, within my secret bowelles
' That cursed man, that cruel feend of hell,
Furor, oh ! Furor hath me thus bedight :
His deadly woundes within my liver swell,
And his whott fyre burnes in mine entralles
bright,
Kindled through his infernall brond of spight,
Sith late with him I batteill vaine would boste ;
That now, I weene, Joves dreaded thunder light
Does scorch not halfe so sore, nor damned
ghoste
In flaming Phlegeton does not so felly roste.
Which when as Archimago heard, his griefe
He knew right well, and him attonce disarm 'd ;
Then searcht his secret woundes, and made a
priefe
Of every place that was with brazing harrnd,
Or with the hidden fire too inly warmd.
Which doen, he balmes and" herbes thereto
applyde.
And evermore with mightie spels them charmd,;
That in short space he has them qualifyde,
And him restor'd to helth that would have
algates dyde.
112
THE FAERIE QUEEHE.
[BOOK. u.
CANTO VII.
Guyon findes Mamon in a delve
Sunning bis threasnre hore ;
Is by him tempted, and led downe
To see his secrete store.
As Pilot well expert in perilous wave,
That to a stedfast starre his course hath bent,
When foggy mistes or cloudy tempests have
The faithfidl light of that faire lampe yblent,
And cover'd heaven with hideous dreriment,
Upon his card and compas tirmes his eye,
The maysters of his long experiment,
And to them does the steddy helme apply,
Bidding his winged vessell fairely forward fly :
So Guyon having lost his trustie guyde,
Late left beyond that Ydle lake, proceedes
Yet on his way, of none accompanyde ;
And evermore himselfe with comfort feedes
Of his own vertues and praise- worthie deedes.
So, long he yode, yet no adventure found,
Which fame of her shrill trompet worthy reedes ;
For still he traveild through wide wastfull
ground,
[around.
That nought but desert wildernesse shewed all
At last he came unto a gloomy glade,
Cover'd with boughes and shrubs from heavens
light,
\\ hereas he sitting found in secret shade
An uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight,
Of griesly hew and fowle ill favour'd sight :
His face with smoke was land, and eies were
bleard,
His head and beard with sout were ill bedight,
His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have ben
seard [clawes appeard.
In smythes fire-spitting forge, and navies like
His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust,
Was underneath enveloped with gold ; [ dust,
Whose glistring glosse, darkned with filthy
Well yet appeared to have beene of old
A worke of rich entayle and curious mould,
Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery ;
And in his lap a masse of coyne he told,
And turned upside downe, to feede his eye
And covetous desire with his huge threasury.
And round about him lay on every side
Great heapes of gold that never could be spent;
Of which some were rude owre, not purifide
Of Mulcibers devouring element ;
Some others were new driven, and distent
Into great Ingowes and to wedges square ;
Some in round plates withouten moniment ;
But most were stampt, and in their metal bare
The antique shapes of kings and kesars
straunge and rare.
Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright
And haste he rose for to remove aside [sigh
Those pretious hils from straungers enviou
And downe them poured through an hole fu
Into the hollow earth, them there to hide. [ wi<
But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd
His hand that trembled as one terrifyde ;
And though himselfe were at the sight dismay
Yet him prforce restraynd, and to him doub
full savd :
' What art thou, man, (if man at all thou an
That here in desert hast thine habitaunce,
And these rich hils of welth doest hide apar
From the worldes eye, and from her rigl
usaunce V
Thereat, with staring eyes fixed askaunce.
In great disdaine he answerd : ' Hardy EL
That darest view my direfull countenaunce,
I read thee rash and" heedlesse of thy selfe,
To trouble my still seate, and heapes of pi
tious pelfe.
VIII
' God of the world and worldlings I me call
Great Mammon, greatest god below the sky
That of my plenty poure out unto all,
And unto none my graces do envye :
Riches, renowme, and principality,
Honour, estate, and all this worldes good.
For which men swinck and sweat incessant
Fro me do flow into an ample flood,
And in the hollow earth have their etemall bro
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
' Wherefore, if me thou deigne to serve and sew,
At thy commaund lo! all these mountaines bee:
Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew,
All these may not suflise, there shall to thee
Ten times so much be nombred francke and
free.' [vaine,
' Mammon,' (said he) ' thy godheads vaunt is
And idle offers of thy golden fee ;
To them that covet such eye-glutting gaine
Proffer thy giftes, and fitter servaunts enter-
taine.
x
'Me ill besits, that in dcr-doing armes
And lionours suit my vowed daies do spend,
Unto thy bounteous baytes and pleasing
charmes,
With which weake men thou witchest, to attend ;
Kegard of worldly mucke doth fowly blend,
And low abase the high heroicke spright,
That joyes for crownes and kingdomes to con-
fend: [delight;
Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes be my
Those be the riches fit for an advent'rous knight.'
•Vaine glorious Elfe,' (saidehe) 'doest not thou
weet,
That money can thy wantes at will supply ?
Slteilds. .steeds, and armes, and all things for
thee meet,
It can purvay in twinckling of an eye ;
And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply.
Do not I kings create, and throw the crowne
Sometimes to him that low in dust doth ly,
And him that raignd into his rowme thrust
downe, [renowne ? '
And whom I lust do beape with glory and
' All otherwise ' (saide he) ' I riches read,
And deeme them roote of all disquietnesse :
First jr(,t with guile, and then preserv'd with
dread,
And after spent with pride and lavishnesse,
Leaving behind them griefe and hcavinesse:
Infinite mix-liiefes of them doe arize,
Strife and debate, bloodshed and bitternesse,
Outrageous wrong, and hellish covetize,
That noble heart as great dishonour doth despize.
XIII
'Ne thine be kingdomes, ne the scepters thine;
But realmes and rulers thou doest both con-
found,
And loyall truth to treason doest incline :
Witnesse the guiltles.se blood pourd ot't on
ground,
The crowned often slaine, the slayer cround;
The sacred Diaderne in peeces relit,
And purple robe gored with many a wound,
Castles surprizd, great cities sackt and l.ivn; :
So inak'st thou kings, and gaynest wrongful!
government.
XIV
' Long were to tell the troublous stormcs that
tosse
The private state, and make the life unsweet :
Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth
crosse,
And in frayle wood on Adrian gulf doth fleet,
Doth not, I wecne, so many evils meet.'
Then Mammon vexing wroth ; ' And why then,'
sayd,
Are mortall men so fond and undiscreet
So evill thing to seeke unto their ayd,
And having not complain?, and having it up-
brayd?'
' Indeede,' (quoth he) ' through fowle intem-
peraunce,
Frayle men are oft captiv'd to covetise ;
But would they thinkc with how small allow-
annce
Untroubled Nature doth her selfe suffise,
Such superfluities they would despise,
Which with sad cares empeach our native joyes.
At the well-head the purest st reames arise ;
But mucky filth his braunching armes annoyc s.
And with uncomely weedes the gentle wave
accloyes.
XVI
The antique world, in his first flowring youth,
Fownd no defect in his Creators grace ;
But with glad thankes, and uiireproved truth,
The guifts of soveraine bounty did embrace :
Like Angels life was then mens happy cace ;
But later ages pride, like corn-fed steed,
Abusd her plenty and fat swolne encreace
To all licentious lust, and gan exceed
The measure of her meane and naturall first
need.
' Then gan a cursed hand the qniet wombe
Of his great Grandmother with steele to wound,
And the hid treasures in her sacred tombe
With Sacriledge to dig. Therein he fownd
Fountaines of gold and silver to abownd,
Of which the matter of his huge desire
And pompous pride eftsoones he did compownd ;
Then avarice gan through his veines inspire
His greedy flames, and kindled life-devouring
fire.'
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n
'Sonne,' (said he then) 'lett be thy bitter scorne,
And leave the rudenesse of that antique age
To them that liv'd therin in state forlorne:
Thou, that doest live in later times, must wage
Thy workes for wealth, and life for gold engage.
If then thee list my offred grace to use,
Take what thou please of all this surplusage
If thee list not, leave have thou to refuse :
But thing refused doe not afterward accuse.'
1 Me list not' (said the Elfin knight) 'receave
Thing offred, till I know it well be gott;
Ne wote I but thou didst these goods bereave
From rightfull owner by unrighteous lott,
Or that bloodguiltinesse or guile them blott.'
' Perdy,' (quoth he) ' yet never eie did vew,
Ne tong did tell, ne hand these handled not ;
But safe I have them kept in secret mew
From hevens sight, and powre of al which
them poursew.'
xx
1 What secret place ' (quoth he) ' can safely hold
So huge a masse, and hide from heavens eie?
Or where hast thou thy wonne, that so much
gold
Thou canst preserve from wrong and robbery ? '
' Come thou,' (quoth he) ' and see.' So by and by
Through that thick covert he him led, and
fownd
A darkesome way, which'no man could descry,
That deep descended through the hollow
grownd,
[arownd.
And was with dread and horror compassed
That stretcht itselfe into an ample playne ;
Through which a beaten broad high way did
trace,
That streight did lead to Plutoes griesly rayne.
By that waves side there sate internall Payne,
And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife:
The one in hand an yron whip did strayne,
The other brandished a bloody knife ;
And both did gnash their tee'th, and both did
threten life.
XXII
On thother side in one consort there sate
Cruell Revenge, and rancorous Despight,
Disloyall Treason, and hart-burning Hate ;
But gnawing Gealosy, out of their sight
Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bight;
And trembling Feare still to and fro did fly,
And found no place wher safe he shroud him
might:
Lamenting Sorrow did in darknes lye, £ eye
And shame his ugly face did hide from livfr
And over them sad horror with grim hew
Did alwaies sore, beating his yron wings ;
And after him Owles and Xight-ravens flew,
The hatefull messengers of heavy things,
Of death and dolor telling sad tidings ;
Whiles sad Celeno, silting on a clifte,
A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings,
That hart of flint asonder could have rifte ;
Which having ended after him she flyeth
swifte.
them
All these before the gates of Pluto lay,
By whom they passing spake unto
nought ;
But th' Elfin knight with wonder all the way
Did feed his eyes, and fild his inner thought.
At last him to a litle dore he brought,
That to the gate of Hell, which gaped wide,
Was next adjoyning, ne them parted ought :
Betwixt them both was but a litle stride,
That did the house of Richesse from hell-mouth j
divide.
XXV
Before the dore sat selfe-consuming Care,
Day and night keeping wary watch and ward,|
For feare least Force or Fraud should unawar
Breake in, and spoile the treasure there in gard :
Ne would he suffer Sleepe once thither-ward
Approch, albe his drowsy den were next ;
For next to death is Sleepe to be compard ;
Therefore his house is unto his annext :
Here Sleep, ther Richesse, and Hel-gate then
both betwext.
XXVI
So soon as Mammon there arriv'd, the dore
To him did open and affborded way :
Him followed eke Sir Guyon evermore,
Ne darkenesse him, ne daunger might dismay]
Soone as he entred was, the dore streight wa_
Did shutt, and from behind it forth there leptl
An ugly feend, more fowle then disroall day, |
The which with monstrous stalke behind
stept, [ kep
And ever as he went dew watch upon
XXVII
Well hoped hee, ere long that hardy guest,
If ever covetous hand, or lustfull eye,
Or lips he layd on thing that likte'him best,
Or ever sleepe his eie-strings did untye,
Should be his pray. And therefore still on
He over him did hold his cruell clawes,
IThreatning with greedy gripe to doe him dy
NTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
(1 rend In peeces with his ravenous pawes,
sver he transgrest the fatall Stygian lawes.
Who it to rob and ransacke did intend.
Then Mammon, turning to that warriour, said;
XXVIII
bat houses forme within was
strong,
ke an huge cave hewne out of rocky clifte,
>m whose rough vaut the ragged breaches
hong
ibost with massy gold of glorious guifte,
d with rich met ail loaded every rifte,
at heavy ruine the}' did seeme to threatt ;
d over them Arachne high did lifte
r cunning web, and spred her subtile nett,
wrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more
black then Jett.
oth roofe, and floore, and walls, were all of
gold,
t overgrowne with dust and old decay,
d hid in darkenes, that none could behold
e hew thereof; for vew of cherefull day
1 never in that house it selfe display,
t a faint shadow of uncertein light :
[•h as a lamp, whose life does fade away,
as the Moone, cloathed with clowdy night,
es show to him that walkes in feare and sad
affright.
XXX
i all that rowme was nothing to be seene
t huge great yron chests, and coffers strong,
1 bard with double bends, that none could
em to efforce by violence or wrong : [weene
every side they placed were along ;
t all the grownd with sculs was scattered,
id dead metis bones, which round about were
flong;
hose lives, it seemed, whilome there were shed,
:d their vile carcases now left unburied.
XXXI
hey forward passe ; ne Guyon 3*et spoke
1 that they came unto an yron dore, [word,
Wch to them opened of his owne accord,
id shewd of richesse such exceeding store,
eie of man did never see before,
ever could within one place be fownd,
ough all the wealth which is, or was of yore,
uld gathered be through all the world arownd,
id that above were added to that under
grownd.
XXXII
he charge thereof unto a covetous Spright
mmaunded was, who thereby did attend,
id warily awaited day and night,
om other covetous feends it to defend,
'Loe! here the worldes blis : loe! here the end,
I To which al men doe aynie, rich to be made :
rude and Such grace now to be happy is before thee laid.'
' Certes,' (sayd he) ' I n'ill thine offred grace,
Ne to be made so happy doe intend :
Another blis before mine eyes I place,
Another happines, another end.
To them that list these base regardes I lend ;
But I in armes, and in atchieveinents brave,
Do rather choose my flitting houres to spend,
And to be Lord of those that riches have,
Then them to have my selfe, and be their ser-
vile sclave.'
Thereat the feendhis gnashing teeth did grate,
And griev'd so long to lacke his greedie pray ;
For well he weened that so glorious bayte
Would tempt his guest to take thereof assay ;
Had he so doen, he had him snatcht away, "
More light then Culver in the Faulcons fist.
Eternal! God thee save from such decay !
But, whenas Mammon saw his purpose mist,
Him to entrap unwares another way he wist.
Thence forward he him ledd, and shortly
brought
Unto another rowme, whose dore forthright
To him did open, as it had beene taught.
Therein an hundred raunges weren pight,
And hundred fournaces all burning bright :
By every fournace many feendes did byde,
Deformed creatures, horrible in sight ;
And every feend his busie paines applyde
To melt the golden metall, ready to be tryde.
One with great bellowes gathered filling ayre,
And with forst wind the fewell did inflame ;
Another did the dying bronds repayre
With vron tongs, and sprinckled ofte the same
With liquid waves, tiers Vulcans rage to tame,
Who, maystring them, renewd his fonner heat :
Some scumd the drosse that from the metal?
came;
Some stird the molten owre with ladles great ;
And everj' one did swincke, and every one did
sweat.
XXXVII
But, when an earthly wight they present saw
Glistring in armes and battailous aray,
12
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK it
From their whot work they did themselves
withdraw
To wonder at the sight ; for till that day
They never creature saw that cam that way :
Their staring eyes sparckling with fervent fyre
And ugly shapes did nigh the man dismay,
That, were it not for shame, he would retyre ;
Till that him thus bespake their soveraine
Lord and syre ;
xxxvin
'Behold, thou Faeries sonne, with mortall
That living eye before did never see. [ eye,
The thing, that thou didst crave so earnestly,
To weet whence all the wealth late shewd by
Proceeded, lo! now is reveald to thee. [mee
Here is the fountaine of the worldes good :
Now, therefore, if thou wilt enriched bee,
Avise thee well, and chaunge thy wilfull mood,
Least thou perhaps hereafter wish, and be
withstood.'
XXXIX
' Suffise it then, thou Money God,' (quoth hee)
'That all thine ydle offers I refuse.
All that I need I have : what needeth mee
To covet more then I have cause to use ?
With such vaine shewes thy worldlinges vyle
abuse ;
But give me leave to follow mine emprise.'
Mammonwas much displeasd, yet no'te he ch use
But beare the rigour of his bold mes prise ;
And thence him forward ledd him further to
entise.
XL
He brought him, through a darksom narrow
strayt,
To a broad gate all built of beaten gold :
The gate was open ; but therein did wavt
A sturdie villein, stryding stifle and bold,
As if the highest God defy he would :
In his right hand an yron club he held,
But he himselfe was all of golden mould,
Yet had both life and sence, and well could
Soone as those glitterand armes he did espye
That with their brightnesse made that dark
nes light,
His'harmefull club he gan to hurtle bye,
And threaten batteill to the Faery knight ;
Who likewise gan himselfe to batteill dight,
Till Mammon did his hasty hand withhold,
And counseld him abstaine from perilous light
For nothing might abash the villein bold,
Ne mortall steele em perce his miscreated inoulc
XLIII
So having him with reason pacifyde,
And that liers Carle commaunding to forbeare,
He brought him in. The rowme was larg
and wyde,
As it some Gyeld or solemne Temple weare.
Many great golden pillours did upbeare
The massy roofe, and riches huge sustayne ;
And every pillour decked was full deare
With crownes, and Diademes, and titles vaine
Which mortall Princes wore whiles they o
earth did rayne.
weld
f queld.
That cursed weapon, when his cruell foes he
Disdayne he called was, and did disdayne
To be so cald, and who so did him call :
Sterne was his looke, and full of stomacke
vayne ;
His portaunce terrible, and stature tall,
Far passing th' hight of men terrestriall,
Like an huge Gyant of the Titans race ; f small.
That made him scorne all creatures great and
And with his pride all others powre deface :
More fitt emongst black fiendes then men to
have his place.
Df every sort and nation under skye,
Which with great uprore preaced to draw ner
To th' upper part, where was advaunced hye
A stately siege of soveraine majesty e :
And thereon satt a woman, gorgeous gay
And richly cladd in robes of royaltye,
That never earthly Prince in such aray
His glory did enhaunce, and pompous pryd
display.
Her face right wondrous faire did seeme '
bee, [thre"
That her broad beauties beam great brightn*
Through the dim shade, that all men migl
it see:
Yet was not that same her owne native hew
But wrought by art and counterfeited shew,
Thereby more lovers unto her to call :
Nath'lesse most hevenly faire in deed and ve
She by creation was, till she did fall ;
Thenceforth she sought for helps to cloke h ,
crime withall.
xwi
There, as in glistring glory she did sift,
She held a great gold chaine ylincked well,
Whose upper end to highest heven was knit.
And lower part did reach to lowest Hell ;
And all that preace did rownd about her sw
To catchen hold of that long chaine. theret|
To climbe aloft, and others to excel! :
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
117
That was Ambition, rash desire to sty,
And every linck thereof a step of dignity.
Some thought to raise themselves to high
By riches and unrighteous reward ; [degree
Soiiic by close shouldring ; some by flatteree ;
Ot IIITS through friendes ; others for base regard,
And all by wrong waies for themselves pre-
pard :
Those that were up themselves kept others low;
Those that were low themselves held others
hard,
Ne suffred them to ryse or greater grow ;
But every one did strive his fellow downe to
throw.
XLVIII
Which whenas Guyon saw, he gan inquire,
What meant that preace about that Ladies
throne,
And what she was that did so high aspyre V
Him Mammon answered ; ' That goodly one,
Whom all that folke with such contention
Doe flock about, my deare, my daughter is :
Honour and dignitie from her alone
Derived are, and all this worldes blis,
For which ye men doe strive ; few gett, but
many mis :
XLIX
: And fayre Philotime she rightly hight.
The fairest wight that wonneth under skie,
But that this darksom neather world her light
Doth dim with horror and deformity ;
Wort hie of heven and hye felicitie,
From whence the gods have her for envy
thrust :
But, sith thou hast found favour in mine eye,
Thy spouse I will her make, if that thou lust,
That she may thee advance for works and
merits just.'
L
'Gramercy, Mammon,' (said the gentle
knight)
' For so great grace and offred high estate ;
But I, that am fraile flesh and earthly wight,
Unworthy match for such immortall mate
My selfe well wote, and mine unequall fate :
And were I not, yet is my trouth yplight,
And love avowd to other Lady late,
That to remove the same I have no might :
To chaungelove causelesseis reproch to warlike
knight '
LI
Mammon emmoved was with inward wrath ;
Yet, forcing it to fayne, him forth thence ledd.
Through griesly shadowes by a beaten path,
Into a gardin goodly garnished
With hearbs and fruits, whose kinds mote not
be redd :
Not such as earth out of her fruitfull woomb
Throwes forth to men, sweet and well savored,
But direfull deadly black, both leafe and bloom,
Fitt to adorne the dead, and deck the drery
toombe.
There mournfull Cypresse grew in greatest
store,
And trees of bitter Gall, and Heben sad ;
Dead sleeping Poppy, and black Hellebore ;
Cold Coloquintida, and Tetra mad ;
Mortall Samnitis, and Cicuta bad,
With which th' unjust Atheniens made to dy
Wise Socrates ; who, thereof quaffing glad,
Pourd out his life and last Philosophy
To the fayre Critias, his dearest Belamy !
The Gardin of Proserpina this hight ;
And in the midst thereof a silver seat,
With a thick- Arber goodly over-dight,
In which she often usd from open heat
Her selfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat :
Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree,
With braunches broad dispredd and body great,
Clothed with leaves, that none the wood mote
see,
And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might
bee.
Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright,
That goodly was their glory to behold :
On earth like never grew, ne living wight
Like ever saw, but they from hence were sold;
For those which Hercules, with conquest bold
Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began,
And planted there did bring forth fruit of gold;
And those with which th' Euboean young man
wan
Swift Atalanta, when through craft he her out
Here also sprong that gdodly golden fruit,
With which Acontius got his lover trew,
Whom he had long time sought with fruitlesse
suit :
Here eke that famous golden Apple grew,
The which emongst the gods false Ate threw;
For which th' Idaean Ladies disagreed,
Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew,
And had of her fayre Helen for his meed,
That many noble Greekes and Trojans made
to bleed.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n.
The warlike Elfe much wondfed at this tree,
So fayre and great that shadowed all the
* ground,
And his broad braunches, laden with rich fee,
Did stretch themselves without the utmost
bound
Of this great gardin, compast with a mound ;
Which over-hanging, they themselves did
steepe
In a blacke flood, which flow'd about it round.
That is the river of Cocytus deepe,
In which full many soules do endlesse wayle
and weepe.
LVII
Which to behold he clomb up to the bancke,
And looking downe saw many damned wightes
In those sad waves, which direfull deadly
stancke,
Plonged continually of cruell Sprightes,
That with their piteous cryes, and yelling
shrightes,
They made the further shore resounden wide.
Emongst the rest of those same ruefull sightes,
One cursed creature he by chaunce espide, [side.
That drenched lay full deepe under the Garden
LVIII
Deepe was he drenched to the upmost chin,
Yet gaped still as coveting to drinke
Of the cold liquor which he waded in ;
And stretching forth his hand did often thinke
To reach the fruit which grew upon the
brincke ; [mouth,
But both the fruit from hand, and flood from
Did fly abacke, and made him vainely swincke ;
The whiles he sterv'd with hunger, and with
drouth,
He daily dyde, yet never throughly dyen couth.
LIX
The knight, him seeing labour so in vaine,
Askt who he was, and what he ment thereby?
Who, groning deepe, thus answerd him againe ;
' Most cursed of all creatures under skye,
Lo ! Tantalus, I here tormented Ive :
Of whom high Jove wont whylome feasted
bee;
Lo ! here I now for want of food doe dye :
But, if that thou be such as I thee see, [mee !'
Of grace I pray thee, give to eat and drinke to
IiX
' Nay, nay, thou greedy Tantalus,' (quoth he)
' Abide the fortune of thy present fate ;
And unto all that live in high degree,
Eosample be of mind intemperate,
TO teach them how to use their present state.*
Then gan the cursed wretch alowd to cry,
Accusing highest Jove and gods ingrate ;
And eke blaspheming heaven bitterly,
As author of unjustice, there to let him dye.
He lookt a litle further, and espyde
Another wretch, whose carcas deepe was drent
Within the river, which the same did hyde ;
But both his handes, most filthy feculent,
Above the water were on high extent,
And faynd to wash themselves incessantly,
Yet nothing cleaner were for such intent,
But rather fowler seemed to the eye ;
So lost his labour vaine and ydle industry.
The knight him calling asked who he was ?
Who, lifting up his head, him answerd thus ;
I Pilate am, the falsest Judge, alas !
And most unjust; that, by unrighteous
And wicked doome, to Jewes despiteous
Delivered up the Lord of life to dye,
And did acquite a murdrer felonous ;
The whiles my handes I wa.sht in purity,
The whiles my soule was soyld with fowle in- 1
iquity.'
LXIII
Infinite moe tormented in like paine
He there beheld, too long here to be told :
Ne Mammon would there let him long remayne||
For terrour of the tortures manifold,
In vhich the damned soules he did behold,
But roughly him bes pake : ' Thou fearef ull foole ||
Why takest not of that same fruite of gold ?
Ne sittest downe on that same silver stoole,
To rest thy weary person in the shadow coole i
LXIT
All which he did to do him deadly fall
In frayle intemperaunce through smfull bay
To which if he inclyned had at all, [way
That dreadfull feeud, which did behinde hii
Would him have rent in thousand peeces stray I
But he was wary wise in all his way,
And well perceived his deceiptfull sleight,
Ne suffred lust his safety to betray.
So goodly did beguile the Guyler of his praj
LXV
And now he has so long remained theare,
That vitall powres gan wexe both weake and v,
For want of food andsleepe, which two upbea.
Like mightie pillours, this frayle life of ma
That none without the same enduren can :
For now three dayes of men were full
wrought,
Since be this hardy enterprize began :
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
119
Forthy great Mammon fayrely he besought
Into the world to guyde him baeke, as he him
brought.
The God, though loth, yet was constraynd
t' obay ;
For lenger time then that no living wight
Below the earth might suffred be to stay :
So backe againe him brought to living light.
But all so soone as his enfeebled spright
Gan sucke this vitall ayre into his bresit,
As overcome with too exceeding might,
The life did flit away out of her nest,
And all his sences were with deadly fit opprest.
CANTO VII I.
Sir Gnyon, layd in swowne, is by
Aerates sonnes despoyld ;
Whom Arthure soone hath reskewed,
And Paynim brethren fOyld.
is there care in heaven? And is there
love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures bace,
That may compassion of their evilles move ?
There is : else much more wretched were the
cace [grace
Of men then beasts. But O ! th' exceeding
Of highest God that loves his creatures so,
And all his workes with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed Angels he sends to and fro, [foe.
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked
How oft do they their silver bowers leave,
To come to succour us that succour want !
How oft do they with golden pineons cleave
The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant,
Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant !
They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward,
And their bright Squadrons round about us
plant ;
And all for love, and nothing for reward.
O ! why should hevenly God to men have such
regard V
in
During the while that Guyon did abide
In Mamons house, the Palmer, whom whyleare
That wanton Mayd of passage had denide,
By further search had passage found elsewhere ;
And, being on his way, approched neare
Where Guyon lay in traunce ; when suddeinly
He heard a vovce that called lowd and cleare,
' Come hither f hither ! O, come hastily !'
That all the fields resounded with the ruefull
The Palmer lent his eare unto the noyce,
To weet who called so importunely :
Againe he heard a more efforced vovce,
That bad him come in haste. He by and by
His feeble feet directed to the cry ;
Which to that shady delve him brought at last,
Where Mammon earst didsunne his threasury ;
There the good Guyon he found slumbring fast
In senceles dreame ; which sight at first him
sore aghast.
v
Beside his head there satta faire young man,
Of wondrous beauty and of freshest 3-eares,
Whose tender bud to blossome new began,
And florish faire above his equall peares :
His snowy front, curled with golden heares,
Like Phoebus face adornd with sunny rayes,
Divinely shone; and two sharpe" winged
sheares,
Decked with diverse plumes, like painted Jayes,
Were fixed at his backe to cut his ayery waves.
VI
Like as Cupido on Idsean hill,
When having laid his cruell bow away
And mortall arrowes, wherewith he doth fill
The world with murdrous spoiles and bloody
pray,
With his faire mother he him dights to play,
And with his goodly sisters, Graces three :
The Goddesse, pleaded with his wanton play,
Suffers her selfe through sleepe beguild to bee,
The whiles the other Ladies mind theyr mery
glee.
VII
Whom when the Palmer saw, abasht he was
Through fear and wonder that he nought could
say,
1 ill him the childe bespoke ; ' Long lackt, alas !
Hath bene thy faithfull aide in hard assay,
i Whiles deadly fitt thy pupill doth dismay.
' Behold this heavy sight, thou reverend Sire I
! But dread of death and dolor doe away ;
j For life ere long shall to her home retire,
| And he that brcathlesse seems shal corage both
respire.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
' The charge, which God doth unto me arrett,
Of his deare safety, I to thee commend ;
Yet will I not forgoe, ne yet forgett
The care thereof my selfe unto the end,
But evermore him succour, and defend
Against his foe and mine : watch thou, I pray ,
For evill is at hand him to offend.1
So having said, eftsoones he gan display
His painted nimble wings, and vanisht quite
away.
IX
The Palmer seeing his lefte empty place,
And his slow eies beguiled of their sight,
Woxe sore affraid, and standing still a space
Gaz'd after him, as fowle escapt by flight
At last, him turning to his charge behight,
U'ith trembling hand his troubled pulse gan
try;
Where finding life not yet dislodged quight,
He much rejoyst, and courd it tenderly,
As chicken newly hatcht, from dreaded destiny.
At last he spide where towards him did pace
Two Paynim knights al armd as bright as
skie,
And them beside an aged Sire did trace,
And far before a light-foote Page did flie,
That breathed strife and troublous enmitie.
Those were the two sonnes of Aerates old,
Who, meeting earst with Archimago slie
Foreby that idle strond, of him were told
That he which earst them combatted was Guyon
bold.
XI
Which to avenge on him they dearly vowd,
Where ever that on ground thev mote him
find:
False Archimage provokte their corage prowd,
And stryful Atin in their stubborne mind
Coles of contention and whot vengeaunce tind.
Now bene they come whereas the Palmer sate,
Keeping that slombred corse to him assind :
Well knew they both his person, sith of late
With him in bloody armes they rashly did
debate.
XII
Whom when Pyrochles saw, inflam'd with rage
That sire he fowl bespake : Thou dotard vile,
That with thy brutenesse shendst thy comely
Abandon soone, I read, the caytive spoile [age.
Of that same outcast carcas, that erewhile
Made it selfe famous through false trechery,
And crownd his coward crest with knightly
stile;
Loe ! where he now inglorious doth lye,
To proove he lived il that did thus fowly dye.
To whom the Palmer fcarlesse answered :
Certes, Sir knight, ye bene too much to blame,
Thus for to blott the honor of the dead,
And with fowle cowardize his carcas shame,
Whose living handes immortalizd his name.
Vile is the vengeaunce on the ashes cold.
And envy base to barke at sleeping fame.
Was never wight that treason of him told :
Your self his prowesse prcv'd, and found him
fiers and bold.'
Then sayd Cymochles : ' Palmer, thou doest
dote,
Xe canst of prowesse ne of knighthood deeme,
Save as thou seest or hearst. But well I wote,
That of his puissaunce tryall made extreeme;
Yet gold al is not that doth golden seeme ;
Ne all good knights that shake well speare and
shield.
The worth of all men by their end esteeme,
And then dewpraise or dewreproch them yield;
Bad therefore I him deeme that thus lies dead
on field.'
xv
Good or bad,' gan his brother fiers reply,
'What doe I recke, sith that he dide entire?
Or what doth his bad death now satisfy
The greedy hunger of revenging yre, [sire ?
Sith wrathfull hand wrought not "her owne de-
Yet since no way is lefte to wreake my spight,
I will him reave of armes, the victors hire,
And of that shield, more worthy of good knight ;
For why should a dead dog be deckt in armour
bright?'
XVI
' Fayr Sir,' said then the Palmer suppliaunt,
' For knighthoods love doe not so fowle a deed,
Ne blame your honor with so shamefull vaunt
Of vile revenge. To spoile the dead of weed
Is sacrilege, and doth all shines exceed :
But leave these relicks of his living might
To decke his herce, and trap his tomb-blacke
steed.' [have dight,
' What herce or steed ' (said he) ' should he j
But be entombed in the raven or the kight ? '
With that, rude hand upon his shield he laid, '
And th' other brother gan his helme unlace,
Both fierceh' bent to have him disaraid ;
Till that they spyde where towards tliem
pace
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
121
An armed knight, of bold and bounteous grace,
Whose squire bore after him an heben launce
And coverd shield. Well kend him so far space
Th' enchaunter by his armes and amenaunce,
When under him he saw his Lybian steed to
praunce ;
xvni
And to those brethren sayd ; 'Rise, rise bylive.
And unto batteil doe your selves addresse ;
For yonder comes the prowest knight alive,
J'rince Arthur, tiowre of grace and nobilesse,
That hath to Paynim knights wrought gret
distresse,
And thousand Sar'zins fowly donne to dye.'
That word so deepe did in their harts impresse,
That both eftsoones upstarted furiously,
Andgan themselves prepare to batteill greedily
But fiers Pyrochles, lacking his owne sword,
The want thereof now greatly gan to plaine,
And Archimage besought, him that afford
Which he had brought for Braggadochio vaine
'So would I,' (said th' enchaunter) 'glad and
faine
Beteeme to you this sword, you to defend,
Or ought that els your honour might main-
taine;
But that this weapons powre I well have kend
To be contrary to the worke which ve intend:
'For that same knights owne sword this is,
of yore
Which Merlin made by his almightie art
For that his noursling, when he knighthood
swore,
Therewith to doen his foes eternall smart.
The nietall first he mixt with Medaewart,
That no enchauntment from his dint might
save;
Then it in flames of Aetna wrought apart,
And seven times dipped in the bitter wave
Of hellish Styx, which hidden vertue to it gave.
'The vertue is, that nether steele nor stone
The stroke thereof from entraunce may defend ;
Ne ever may be used by his tone,
Ne forst his rightful owner to offend;
Ne ever will it breake, ne ever bend :
Wherefore Morddure it rightfully is hight.
In vaine therefore, Pyrochles, should I lend
The same to thee. against his lord to fight;
For sure yt would deceive thy labor and thy
might'
'Foolish old man,' said then the Pagan wroth,
'That weenest words or charms may force
withstond :
Soone shalt thou see, and then beleeve for troth,
That I can carve with this inchaunted brand
His Lords owne flesh.' Therewith out of his
hond
That vertuous steele he rudely snatcht away,
And Guyons shield about his wrest he bond:
So ready dight fierce battaile to assay,
And )»«tch his brother proud in battailous aray,
XXIII
By this, that straunger knight in presence
came,
And goodly salued them ; who nought againe
Him answered, as courtesie became ; [daine,
But with sterne lookes, and stomachous dis-
Gave signes of grudge and discontentment
vaine.
Then, turning to the Palmer, he gan spy
Where at his feet, with sorrowfull demayne
And deadly hew, an armed corse did lye.
In whose dead face he redd great magnanimity.
Sayd he then to the Palmer: 'Reverend Syre,
What great misfortune hath betidd this knight?
Or did his life her fatall date expyre,
Or did he fall by treason, or by fight V
How ever, sure I rew his pitteous plight.'
• Not one, nor other,' sayd the Palmer grave,
'Hath him befalne; bntcloudes of deadly night
A while his heavy eylids cover'd have, [wave:
And all his sences drowned in deep sencelesse
Which those his cruell foes, that stand here-
by,
Making advauntage, to revenge their spight,
Would him disarme and treaten shamefully ;
Unworthie usage of redoubted knight.
But you, faire Sir, whose honourable sight
Doth promise hope of helpe and timely grace,
Mote I beseech to succour his sad plight,
And by your powre protect his feeble cace ?
First prayse of knighthood is fowle outrage to
deface.'
XXVI
' Palmer, (saidhe) 'no knight so rude, I weene,
As to doen outrage to a sleeping ghost ;
Xe was there ever noble corage scene,
That in advauntage would his puissaunce host :
Honour is least where oddes appeareth most.
Vlay bee, that better reason will aswage
The rash revengers beat. Words, well dispost,
122
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
[BOOK ii.
Have secrete powre t' appease inflamed rage :
If not, leave unto me thy knights last patron-
age.'
XXVII
Tho, turning to those brethren, thus bespoke :
' Ye warlike pay re, whose valorous great might,
It seemes, just wronges to vengeaunce doe
provoke, [knight,
To wreake your wrath on this dead seeming
Mote ought allay the stonne of your despight,
And settle patience in so furious heat '}
Not to debate the chalenge of your right,
But for his carkas pardon I entreat,
Whom fortune hath already laid in lowest seat.'
To whom Cymochles said; 'For what art thou,
That mak'st'thy selfe his dayes-man, to prolong
The vengeaunce prest? Or who shall let me
now
On this vile body from to wreak my wrong,
And made his carkas as the outcast dong ?
Why should not that dead carrion satisfye
The guilt which, if he lived had thus long,
His life for dew revenge should deare abye V
The trespass still doth live, albee the person dye.'
XXIX
' Indeed,' then said the Prince, 'theevill donne
Dyes not, when breath the body first doth leave ;
But from the grandsyre to the Nephewes sonne,
And all his seede the curse doth often cleave,
Till vengeaunce utterly the guilt bereave :
So streightly God doth judge. But gentle
That doth against the dead his hand upheave,
His honour staines with rancour and despight,
And great disparagment makes to his former
might.'
XXX
Pyrochles gan reply the second tyme,
And to him said : ' Now, felon, sure I read,
How that thou art partaker of his cryme :
Therefore, by Termagaunt thou shall be dead.'
With that his hand, more sad then lomp of
lead,
Uplifting high, he weened with Morddure,
His owne good sword Morddure, to cleave his
head
The faithfull steele such treason no'uld endure,
But, swarving from the marke, his Lordes life
did assure.
XXXI
Yet was the force so furious and so fell,
That horse and man it made to reele asyde :
Nath'lesse the Prince would not forsake his sell,
For well of yore he learned had to ryde,
But full of anger fiersly to him cryde ;
' False traitour ! miscreaunt ! thou broken hast
The law of armes to strike foe undefide :
But thou thy treasons fruit, I hope, shalt taste
Right sowre, and feele the law the which thou
hast defast.'
XXXII
With that his balefull speare he fiercely bent
Against the Pagans brest, and therewith
thought
His cursed life out of her lodge have rent ;
But ere the point arrived where it ought,
That seven fold shield, which he from Guyon
brought,
He cast between to ward the bitter stownd :
Through all those foldes the steelehead passage
wrought, [ to grounc
And through his shoulder perst ; wherwith
He groveling fell, all gored in his gushing
wound.
XXXIII
Which when his brother saw, fraught with
great griefe
And wrath, he to him leaped furiously,
And fowly saide : ' By Mahoune, cursed thiefe.
That direfull stroke thou dearely shalt aby :'
Then, hurling up his harmefull blade on h'y,
Smote him so hugely on his haughtie crest,
That from his saddle forced him to fly ;
Els mote it needes downe to his' manly brest
Have cleft his head in twaine, and life theno
dispossest.
XXXIV
Now was the Prince in daungerous distresse
Wanting his sword when he on foot shouli
fight:
His single speare could doe him small redress
Against two foes of so exceeding might,
The least of which was match for any knight
And now the other, whom he earst did daunt.
Had reard him selfe againe to cruel fight
Three times more furious and more puissaun'
Unmindfull of his wound, of his fate ignoraun
XXXV
So both attonce him charge on either syde j
With hideous strokes and importable powre, i
That forced him his ground to traverse wyde i
And wisely watch to ward that deadly sto'wn^
For in his shield, as thicke as stcrmie showr I
Their strokes did raine : yet did he nev j
quaile,
Ne backward shrinke, but as a stedfast towi
Whom foe with double battry doth assaile, j
Them on her bulwarke beares, and bids the '
nought availe.
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
123
XXXVI
So stoutly he withstood their strong assay ;
Till that at last, when he advantage spyde,
His poynant speare he thrust with puissant
sway [wyde,
At proud Cymochles, whiles his shield was
That through his thigh the mortall steele did
gryde :
He, swarving with the force, within his flesh
Did breake the launce, and let the head abyde.
Out of the wound the red blood flowed fresh,
That underneath his feet soone made a purple
plesh.
XXXVII
• Horribly then he gan to rage and rayle,
Cursing his Gods, and him selfe damning deepe :
Als when his brother saw the red blood rayle
Adowne so fast, and all his armour steepe,
For very felnesse lowd he gan to weepe,
And said ; ' Caytive, curse on thy cruell bond,
That twise hath spedd ; yet shall it not thee
keepe
From the third brunt of this my fatall brond :
Lo! where the dreadfull Death behynd thy
backe doth stond.'
With that he strooke, and thother strooke
withal), [might:
That nothing seemd mote beare so monstrous
The one upon his covered shield did fall, [byte ;
And glauncing downe would not his owner
But thother did upon his troncheon smyte,
Which hewing quite asunder, further way
It made, and on his hacqueton did lyte,
The which dividing with importune sway,
It seizd in his right side, and there the dint
did stay.
XXXIX
Wyae was the wound, and a large lukewarme
flood.
Red as the Rose, thence gushed grievously ;
That when the Paynym spyde the streaming
blood,
Gave him great hart and hope of victory.
On th" other side, in huge perplexity
The Prince now stood, havinghis weapon broke;
Nought could he hurt, but still at warde did ly :
Yet with his troncheon he so rudely stroke
Cymochles twise, that twise him forst his foot
revoke.
XL
Whom when the Palmer saw in such distresse,
Sir Guyon's sword he lightly to him raught,
And said ; ' Fayre Sonne, great God thy right
hand blesse,
To use that sword so well as he it ought ! '
Glad was the knight, and with fresh courage
fraught,
When as againe he armed felt his bond :
Then like a Lyon, which hath long time saught
1 His robbed whelpes, and at the last them fond
Emongst theshepeheard swaynes, then wexeth
wood and yond :
So fierce he laid about him, and dealt blowes
On either side, that neither mayle could hold,
Ne shield defend the thunder of his throwes :
Now to Pyrochles many strokes he told ;
Eft to Cymochles twise so many fold ;
Then, backe againe turning his busie hond,
Them both atonce compeld with courage bold
To yield wide way to his hart-thrilling brond;
And though they both stood stiflfe, yet could
not both withstoud.
As salvage Bull, whom two fierce mastives
bayt,
When rancour doth with rage him once engore,
Forgets with wary warde them to awayt,
But with his dreadfull homes them drives afore,
Or flings aloft, or treades downe in the flore,
Beathing out wrath, and bellowing disdaine,
That all the forest quakes to heare him rore :
So rag'd Prince Arthur twixt, his foemen
twaine, [sustaine.
That neither could his mightie puissaunce
But ever at Pyrochles when he smitt,
(Who Guyons shield cast ever him before,
Whereon the Faery Queenes pourtract was
writt,)
His hand relented and the stroke forbore,
And his deare hart the picture gan adore •,
Which oft the Paynim sav'd from deadly
stowre : [more ;
But him henceforth the tame can save no
For now arrived is his fatall howre, [powre.
That no'te avoyded be by earthly skill or
For when Cymochles saw the fowle reproch,
Which them appeached, prickt with guiltie
shame
And inward griefe, he fiercely gan approch,
Resolv'd to put away that loathly blame,
Or dye with honour and desert of fame ;
And on the haubergh stroke the Prince so sore,
That quite disparted all the linked frame,
And pierced to the skin, but bit no more ;
Yet made him twise to reele, that never moov'd
afore.
124
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n.
Whereat renfierst with wrath and sharp regret,
He stroke so hugely with Ids borrowd blade.
That it tnipierst the Pagans burganet ;
And, cleaving the hard steele, did deepe invade
Into his head, and cruell passage made
Quite through his brayne. He, tombling
downe on ground, [shade
Breathd out his ghost, which, to th' infernall
Fast flying, there eternall torment found
For all the sinnes wherewith his lewd life did
abound.
XLVI
Which when his german saw, the stony feare
Ran to liis hart, and all his sence dismayd,
Ne thenceforth life ne corage did appeare;
But as a man whom hellish feendes have fraj'd,
Long trembling still he stoode : at last (has sayd ;
' Traytour, what hast thou doen ? How ever
may
Thy cursed hand so cruelly have swayd
Against that knight! Harrow and well away!
After so wicked deede whv liv'st thou lenger
day ? '
XLV1I
With tliat all desperate, as loathing light,
And with revenge desyring soone to dye,
Assembling all his force and utmost might,
With his owne swerd he fierce at him did flye,
And strooke, and foynd, and lasht outrageously,
Withouten reason or regard. Well knew
The Prince, with pacience and sufferaunce sly
So hasty heat soone cooled to subdew :
Tho, when this breathlesse woxe, that batteil
gan renew.
XLVIII
As when a windy tempest bloweth hye,
That nothing may withstand his " stormy
stowre, [flye ;
The clowdes, as thinges affrayd, before him
But all so soone as his outrageous powre
Is layd,' they fiercely then begin to showre ;
And, as in scorne of his spent stormy spight,
Now all attonce their malice forth do poure :
So did Prince Arthur beare hirnselfe in fight,
And suffred rash Pyrochles waste his ydle
might.
XLIX
At last, when as the Sarazin perceiv'd
How that straunge sword refusd to serve his
neede, [deceiv'd,
But when he stroke most strong the dint
He flong it from him ; and, devoyd of dreed,
Upon him lightly leaping without heed
Twixt his two mighty annex engrasped fast,
Thinking to overthrowe and downe him
tred:
Buthim in strength and skill the Prince surpast,
And through his nimble sleight did under him
down cast.
L
Nought booted it the Paynim then to strive;
For as a Bittur in the Eagles clawe,
That may not hope by flight to scape alive,
Still waytes for death with dread and trem-
bling aw ;
So he, now subject to the victours law,
Did not once move, nor upward cast his eye,
For vile disdaine and rancour, which ' did
gnaw
His hart in twaine with sad melancholy ;
As one that loathed life, and yet desp'ysd to
dye.
in
But full of princely bounty and great mind,
The Conquerour nought cared him to slay:
But casting wronges and all revenge behind,
More glory thought to give life then decay,
And sayd ; ' Paynim, this is thy dismall day;
Yet if thou wilt renounce thy miscreaunce,
And my trew liegeman yield thy selfe for ay,
Life will I graunt thee for thy valiaunce,
And all thy wronges will wipe out of my
sovenaunce.'
Vi
' Foole ! ' (sayd the Pagan) ' I thy gift defye,
But use thy fortune as it doth befall ;
And say, that I not overcome doe dye,
But in despight of life for death doe call.'
Wroth was the Prince, and sory yet withall,
That he so wilfully refused grace ;
Yet sith his fate so cruelly did fall,
His shining Helmet he gan soone unlace,
And left his headlesse body bleeding all the
place.
LI II
By this Sir Guyon from his traunce awakt,
Life having maystered her sencelesse foe,
And looking up, whenas his shield he lakt
And sword saw not, he wexed wondrous woe •,
But when the Palmer, whom he long ygoe
Had lost, he by him spyde, right glad he grew, ,
And saide ; ' Deare sir, whom wandring to and ;
fro
I long have lackt, I joy thy face to vew :
Firme is th}- faith, whom daunger never fro
me drew.
LIV
' But read, what wicked hand hath robbed mee
Of my good sword and shield ? ' The Palmer,
glad
With so fresh hew uprysing him to see.
Him answered: ' Fayre sonne, be no whit sad j
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
For want of weapons ; they shall soone be had.'
So gan he to discourse the whole debate,
Which that straungc knight for him sustained
had,
And those two Sarnzins confounded late,
Whose carcases on ground were horribly pros-
trate.
i.v
V 'hich when he heard, and saw the tokens
trew,
His hart with great affection was embayd,
And to the Prince, bowing with reverence dew
As to the patrone of his lite, thus sayd ; \_nyd
'My Lord, my Hege, by whose most gratious
\ live this day, and see my foes sabdewd,
What may suffice to be for meede repayd
Of so great graces as ye have me shewd,
But to be ever bound '
LVI
To whom the Infant thus ; ' Fayre Sir, what
need
Good turnes be counted as a servile bond
To bind their dooers to receive their meed ?
Are not all kuightes by oath bound to withstond
Oppressours powre "by armes and puissant
hond?
Suffise that I have done my dew in place.'
• So goodly purpose they together fond
!0f kindnesse and of courteous aggrace;
|The whiles false Archiuiage and Atin fled apace
CANTO IX.
The house of Temperance, in which
Doth sober Alma dwell,
Besiegd of many foes, whom straung-
er knightes to flight compell.
i ..Thousand times fairer than her mortall hew,
OF all Gods workes which doe this worlde O ! how great wonder would your thoughts
devoure,
And infinite desire into your spirite poure.
adorne,
There is no one more faire and excellent
Then is mans body, both for powre and forme
Whiles it is kept in sober government ;
But none then it more fowle and indecent, t ghee is the mighty Queene of Faery,
Distempred through misrule and passions Whose faire retrain I in my shield doe beare ;
bace ; i Shee is the flowre of grace and chastity
It growes a Monster, and incontinent Throughout the world, renowmed far and neare,
Doth loose his dignity and native grace: My liefe, my liege, my Soveraine, my deare,
Behold, who list, both one and other in this Whose glor'v shineth as the morning* starre,
place.
And with her light the earth enlumines
cleare :
Far reach her mercies, and her praises farre.
After the Paynim brethren conquer'd were, — — 7 — i »
The Briton Prince recovering his stolne sword, As well in state of peace, as puissaunce in
And Guyon his lost shield, they both yfere warre.'
Fortli passed on their way in fayre accord,
Till him the Prince with gentle court did bord :
'Sir knight, mote I of you this court'sy read,
To weot whv on vour shield, so goodly scord, ' , .
Beare ve the picture of that Ladies head ? | TWhom gracious lot t and thy -real vali
Full li\vly is the semblaunt, though the sub- Have ma(le thee soldler of that Pnl
ely
stance dead.'
' Fayre Sir,' (sayd he) ' if in that picture dead !
Such life ye read", and vertue in vaine show ;
What mote ye weene, if the trew lively-head
Of that most glorious visage ve did vew :
But yf the beauty of her mind ye knew,
That is, her bounty, and imperiall powre,
' Thrise happv man,' (said then the Briton
knight)"
valiauncp
Princesse
bright,
Which with her bounty and glad countenaunce
Doth blesse her servaunts, and them high
advaunce.
How may straunge knight hope ever to aspire,
By faithful! service and meete amenaunee,
Unto such blisse? sufficient were that hire
For losse of thousand lives, to die at hei
desire.'
126
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
Said Guyon, ' Noble Lord, what meed so
Or grace of earthly Prince so soveraine, [great,
But by your wondrous worth and warlike feat
Ye well may hope, and easel}- attaine ?
But were your will her sold to entertaine,
And numbred be mongst knights of Mayden-
hed,
Great guerdon, well I wote, should you remaine,
And in her favor high bee reckoned,
As Arthegall and Sophy now beene honored.'
1 Certes,' (then said the Prince) ' I God avow
That sith I armes and knighthood first did
plight,
My whole desire hath beene, and yet is now,
To serve that Queene with al my powre and
might. [light,
Seven times the Sunne, with his lamp-burning
Hath walkte about the world, and I no lesse,
Sith of that Goddesse I have sought the sight,
Yet no where can her find : such happinesse
Heven doth to me envy, and fortune favour-
lesse.'
VIII
' Fortune, the foe of famous chevisaunce,
' Seldom ' (said Guyon) ' yields to vertue
aide, [chaunce,
But in her way throwes mischiefe and mis-
Whereby her course is stopt and passage staid :
But you, faire Sir, be not herewith dismaid,
But constant keepe the way in which ye stand ;
Which, were it not that I "am els delaid
With hard adventure which I have in hand,
T labour would to guide you through al Faery
land.'
IX
' Gramercy Sir,' said he ; ' but mote I weete
What straunge adventure doe ye now pursew ?
Perhaps my succour or advizement meete
Mote stead you much your purpose to subdew.'
Then gan Sir Guyon all the story shew
Of false Acrasia, and her wicked wiles ;
Which to avenge the Palmer him forth drew
From Faery court. So talked they, the whiles
They wasted had much way, and measurd
many miles.
x
And now faire Phoebus gan decline in naste
His weary wagon to the Westerne vale,
Whenas they spide a goodly castle, plaste
Foreby a river in a pleasaunt dale;
Which choosing for that evenings hospitale,
They thither marcht : but when they came in
sight,
And from their sweaty Coursers did avale,
They found the gates fast barred long ere night,
And every loup fast lockt, as fearing foes des-
pight.
XI
Which when they saw, they weened fowle
reproch
Was to them doen, their entraunce to forestall,
Till that the Squire gan nigher to approch,
And wind his home under the castle wall,
That with the noise it shooke as it would falL
Eftsoones forth looked from the highest spire
The watch, and lowd unto the knights did call,
To weete what they so rudely did require ?
Who gently answered, They entraunce did
desire.
XII
' Fly fly, good knights,' (said he) ' fly fast
away,
If that your lives ye love, as meete ye should ;
Fly fast, and save your selves from neare de-
cay ; [ would :
Here may ye not have entraunce, though we
We would> and would againe, if that we
But thousand enemies about us rave, [could ;
And with long siege us in the castle hould.
Seven yeares this wize they us besieged have,
And many good knights slaine that have us
sought to save.'
XIII
Thus as he spoke, loe ! with outragious cry
A thousand villeins rownd about them swarmd
Out of the rockes and caves adjoyning nye ;
Vile caitive wretches, ragged, rude, deformd,
All threatning death, all in straunge manner
armd; [speares, ,
Some with unweldy clubs, some with long I
Some rusty knifes, some staves in fier warmd : 1
Sterne was their looke; like wild amazed'
steares,
Staring with hollow eies. and stifle upstanding '
heares.
XIV
Fiersly at first those knights they did assayle, |
And drove them to recoile ; but when againe
They gave fresh charge, their forces gan to
Unhable their encounter to sustaine ; [fayle, I
For with such puissaunce and impetuous maineS
Those Champions broke on them, that forstj
them fly, [swainej
Like scattered Sheepe, whenas the Shepherds!
A Lyon and a Tigre doth espye, [forest nye. I
With greedy pace forth rushing from the]
xv
A while they fled, but soone retournd againe
With greater fury then before was fownd ;
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
127
And evermore their cruell Capitaine [rownd,
Sought with his raskall routs t'enclose them
And, overronne, to tread them to the grownd :
But soone the knights with their bright burn-
ing blades [ fownd,
Broke their rude troupes, and orders did con-
Hewing and slashing at their idle shades ;
For though they bodies seem, yet substaunce
from them fades.
As when a swarme of Gnats at eventide
Out of the fennes of Allan doe arise, f wide,
Their murmuring small trompetts sownden
Whiles in the aire their clustring army Hies,
That as a cloud doth seeme to dim the skies ;
Ne man nor beast may rest, or take repast
For their sharpe wounds and noyous injuries,
Till the fierce Northerne wind with blustring
blast [ cast.
Doth blow them quite away, and in the Ocean
XVII
Thus when they had that troublous rout
disperst,
Unto the castle gate they come againe,
And entraunce crav'd which was denied erst.
Now when report of that their perlous paine,
And combrous conflict which they did sustaine.
Came to the Ladies eare which there did dwell,
Shee forth issewed with a goodly traine
Of Squires and Ladies equipaged well,
And entertained them right fairely, as befell.
XVIII
Alma she called was ; a virgin bright,
That had not yet felt Cupides wanton rage;
Yet was shee woo'd of many a gentle knight,
And many a Lord of noble parentage,
That sought with her to lincke in marriage :
For slice was faire as faire mote ever bee,
And in the flowre now of her freshest age ;
Yet full of grace and goodly modestee, [see.
That even heven rejoyced her sweete face to
In robe of lilly white she was arayd,
That from her shoulder to her heele downe
raught ;
The traine whereof loose far behind her strayd,
Braunched with gold and perle most richly
wrought, [ taught
And borne of two faire Damsels which were
That service well. Her yellow golden heare
Was trimly woven and in tresses wrought,
Ne other tire she on her head did weare,
But crowned with a garland of sweete Rosiere.
Goodly shee entertaind th,ose noble knights,
And brought them up into her castle hall ;
Where gentle court and gracious delig-ht
Shee to them made, with mildnesse virginall,
Shewing her selfe both wise and liberall.
Then, when they rested had a season dew,
They her besought of favour speciall
Of that faire Castle to affoord them vew :
Shee graunted ; and, them leading forth, the
same did shew.
First she them led up to the Castle wall,
That was so high as foe might not it clime,
And all so faire and fensible withall ;
Not built of bricke, ne yet of stone and lime,
But of thing like to that ^Egyptian slime,
Whereof king Nine whilome built Babell towre.
But O great pitty ! that no lenger time
So goodly workemanship should not endure :
Soone it must turne to earth ; no earthly thing
is sure.
The frame thereof seemd partly circulare,
And part triangulare ; O worke divine !
Those two the first and last proportions are ;
The one imperfect, mortall, feminine,
Th' other immortal), perfect, masculine;
And twixt them both a quadrate was the base,
Proportiond equally by seven and nine;
Nine was the circle sett in heavens place :
All which compacted made a goodly Diapase.
Therein two gates were placed seemly well ;
The one before, by which all in did pas,
Did th' other far in workmanship excell ;
For not of wood, nor of enduring bras.
But of more worthy substance fram'd it was:
Doubly disparted, it did locke and close,
That when it locked none might thorough pas,
And when it opened, no man might it close,
Still open to their friendes, and closed to their
foes.
XXIV
Of hewen stone the porch was fayrely wrought,
Stone more of valew, and more smooth and
fine,
Then Jett or Marble far from Ireland brought .
Over the which was cast a wandring vine,
Enchaced with a wanton yvie twine;
And over it a fayre Portcullis hong,
Which to the gate directly did incline
With comely compasse and com pact ure strong.
Nether unseeirly short, nor yet exceeding
long.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK
XXV
Within the Barbican a Porter sate,
Day and night duely keeping watch and ward:
Nor wight nor word* mote passe out of the gate,
But in good order, and with dew regard;
Utterers of secrets he from thence debard,
Bablers of folly, and blazers of cryme :
His larunibellmight lowil and v/yde be hard
When cause requyrd, but never out of time ;
Early and late it rong, at evening and at prime.
And rownd about the porch on every syde
Twise sixteene warders salt, all armed bright
In glistring steele, and strongly fortifyde :
Tall yeomen seemed they and of great might,
And were enrannged ready still for fight.
By them as Alma passed with her guestes,
They din obeysaunce, as beseemed right,
And then againe retourned to their restes :
The Porter eke to her did lout with humble
gestes.
XXVII
Thence she them brought into a stately Hall,
Wherein were many tables fayre dispred,
And ready dight with drapets festival!,
Against the viaundes should be ministred
At th' upper end there sate, yclad in red
Downe to the ground, a comely personage,
That in his hand a white rod menaged :
He Steward was, hight Diet ; rype of age,
And in demeanure sober, and in counsel! sage.
XXVIII
And through the Hall there walked to and
A Jolly yeoman, Marshall of the same, [fro
Whose name was Appetite : he did bestow
Both guestes and meate, when ever in they
came,
And knew them how to order without blame,
As him the Steward badd. They both attune
Did dewty to their Lady, as became;
Who, passing by, forth Jedd her guestes anone
Into the kitchin rowme, ne spard for nicenesse
It was a vaut ybuilt for great dispence,
With many raunges reard along the wall.
And one great chimney, whose long toiinell
thence
The smoke forth threw. And in the midst of all
There placed was a caudron wide and tall
Upon a mightie fornace, burning whott,
More whott then Aetn', or flaming Mongiball
For day and night it brent, nc censed not.
So long as any thing it in the caudron gott.
But to delay the heat, least by mischaiince
It might breake out and set the whole on fyre,
There added was by goodly ordinaunce [styre
An huge great payre of bellowes, which did
Continually, and cooling breath inspyre.
About the "Caudron many Cookes accoyld
With hookes and ladles, as need did requyre ;
The whyles the viaundes in the vessell boyld
They did about their businesse sweat, and
sorely toyld.
XXXI
The maister Cooke was cald Concoction ;
A carefull man, and full of comely guyse.
The kitchin clerke, that hight Digestion,
Did order all th' Achates in seemely wise,
And set them forth, as well he could devise.
The rest had severall offices assynd ;
Some to remove the scum as it did rise;
Others to beare the same away did mynd ;
And others it to use according to his kynd.
XXXII
But all the liqueur, which was fowle and
waste,
Not good nor serviceable elles for ought,
They in another great rownd vessell plaste.
TiH by a conduit pipe it thence were brought?
And all the rest, that noj-ous was and nought,
By secret waves, that none might it espy,
\Vas close convaid, and to the backgate brought,
That cleped was Port Esquiline, whereby
It was avoided quite, and throwne out privily.
XXXIII
Which goodly order and great workmans skill
Whenas those knightes beheld, with rare delight
And gazing wonder they their mindes did till;
For never had they seene so straunge a sight.
Thence backe againe faire Alma led them right,
And scone into a goodly Parlour brought,
That was with royall arras richly dight,
In which was nothing pourtrahed nor wrought ;
Not wrought nor pourtrahed, but easie to be
thought
XXXIV
And in the midst thereof upon the floure
A lovely bevy of faire Ladies sate,
Courted of many a jolly Paramoure,
The which them did in modest wise amate,
And each one sought his Lady to aggrate :
And eke emongst them litle Cupid playd
His wanton sportes, being retourned late
From his fierce warres, and having from hin-
layd
His cruel bow, wherewith he thousands hatl
dismayd.
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE,
129
Diverse delights they fownd them selves to
please; D°,vi
Some song in sweet consort; some laught for
Some plaid with strawes; some ydly satt at ease ;
But other some could not abide to toy ;
All pluasaunce was to them griefe and annoy:
This fround, that faund, the third for shame
did blush,
Another seemed envious or coy,
Another in her teeth did gnaw a rush;
But at these straungers presence every one
did hush.
xxxvi
1 Soone as the gracious Alma came in place,
They all attonce out of their seates arose,
And to her homage made with humble grace:
Whom when the knights beheld, they gan dis-
pose
Themselves to court, and each a damzell chose.
[The Prince by chaunce did on a Lady light,
'That was right faire and fresh as* morning
rose,
|But somwhat sad and solemne eke in sight,
As if some pensive thought constraind her
gentle spright.
XXXVII
In a long purple pall, whose skirt with gold
Was fretted all about, she was arayd ;
And in her hand a Poplar braunch did hold :
To whom the Prince in courteous maner sayd;
' Gentle Madame, why beene ye thus dismayd.
And your faire beautie doe with sadnes spill i
Lives any that you hath thus ill apayd V
Or doen you love? or doen you lack your will?
What ever bee the cause, it surebeseemes vou
ill.'
XXXVIII
' Fayre Sir,' said she, halfe in disdaineful wise,
' How is it that this mood in me ye blame,
And in your selfe doe not the same advise ?
Him ill beseemes anothers fault to name,
That may unwares bee blotted with the same:
lYnsive I yeeld I am, and sad in mind,
Through great desire of glory and of fame;
Nt- ought, I weene, are ye therein behynd,
That have three years sought one, yet no
where can her find.'
XXXIX
The Prince was inly moved at her speaoh.
Well weeting trew what she had rashly told;
Yet with faire semblauut sought to hyde the
breach,
Which chaunge of colour did perforce unfold,
Now seeming flaming whott, now stony cold:
Tho, turning soft aside, he did inquyre
What wight she was that Poplar braunch did
hold ?
It answered was, her name was Prays-desire,
That by well doing sought to honour to aspyre.
The whyles the Faery knight did entertayne
Another Damsell of that gentle crew,
That was right fayre and modest of demayne,
But that too oft she chaung'd her native hew.
Straunge was her tyre, and all her garment
blew,
Close rownd about her tuckt with many a plight:
Upon her fist the bird, which shonneth vew,
And keepes in coverts close from living wight,
Did sitt, as yet ashamd how rude Pan did her
dight.
XLI
So long as Guyon with her commoned,
Unto the grownd she cast her modest eye-,
And ever and anone with rosy red
The bashfull blood her snowy* cheekes did dye,
That her became, as polisht yvory
Which cunning Craftesman hand hathoverlayd
With fayre vermilion or pure Castory.
Great wonder had the knight to see the mayd
So straungely passioned, and to her gently
said:
XLII
'Fayre Damzell, seemeth by your troubled
cheare,
That either me too bold ye weene, this wise
Vou to molest, or other ill to feare
That in the secret of your hart close lyes,
From whence it doth, as cloud from sea, aryse.
If it be I, of pardon 1 you pray;
But if ought else that" I mote not devyse,
I will, if please .vou it discure, assay
To ease you of that ill, so wisely as I ma}'.'
She answerd nought, but more abasht for shame
Held downe her head, the whiles her lovely face
The flashing blood with blushing did inflame,
And the strong passion mard her modest grace,
That Guyon mervayld at her uncouth cace;
Till Alma him bespake : ' Why wonder yee,
Faire Sir. at that which ye so much embrace?
She is the fountaine of your modestee:
You shamefast are, but Shamefastnes it selfe
is shee.'
XLIV
Thereat the Elfe did blush in privitee,
And turnd his face away , but she the same
Dissembled faire, and faynd to oversee.
Thus they awhile with court and goodly game
130
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
Themselves did solace each one with his Dame,
Till that great Lady thence away them sought
To vew her Castles other wondrous frame :
Up to a stately Turret she them brought,
Ascending by" ten steps of Alabaster wrought.
That Turrets frame most admirable was,
Like highest heaven compassed around,
And lifted high above this earthly masse,
Which it survewd as fails doen lower ground ;
But not on ground mote like to this be found :
Not that, which antique Cadmus whylome
built
In Thebes, which Alexander did confound;
Nor that proud towre of Troy, though richly
guilt, [Greekes was spilt.
From which young Hectors blood by cruell
XLVI
The roofe hereof was arched over head,
And deckt with flowers and herbars daintily :
Two goodly Beacons, set in watches stead,
Therein gave light, and flamd continuallj- ;
For they of living fire most subtilly
Were made, and set in silver sockets bright,
Cover'd with lids deviz'd of substance sly,
That readily they shut and open might.
O ! who can tell the prayses of that makers
might?
XLVII
Ne can I tell, ne can I stay to tell, [powre,
This parts great workemanship and wondrous
That all this other worldes worke doth excel),
And likest is unto that heavenly towre
That God hath built for his owne blessed bowre.
Therein were divers rowmes, and divers stages ;
But three the chiefest and of greatest powre,
In which there dwelt three honorable sages,
The wisest men, I weene, that lived in their
ages.
XLVIII
Not he, whom Greece, the Nourse of all good
arts,
By Pho?bus doome the wisest thought alive,
Might be compar'd to these by many parts :
Nor that sage Pylian syre, which did survive
Three ages, such as mortall men contrive,
By whose advise old Priams cittie fell,
With these in praise of pollicies mote strive.
These three in these three rowmes did sondn
dwell,
And counselled faire Alma how to goverae well
The first of them could things to come foresee
The next could of thinges present best advize
The third things past could keep in memoree:
So that no time nor reason could arize.
3ut that the same could one of these comprize
?or-thy the first did in the forepart sit,
That nought mote hinder his quicke prejudiz
He had a sharpe foresight and working wit
That never idle was, ne once would rest a whi
L
His chamber was dispainted all within
With sondry colours, in the which were wri
Infinite shapes of thinges dispersed thin ;
Some such as in the world were never yit,
Ne can devized be of mortall wit ;
Some daily seene and knowen by their names
Such as in idle fantasies do flit ;
Infernall Hags, Centaurs, feendes, Hippodame
Apes, Lyons, Aegles, Owles, iboles, lovers
children, Dames.
And all the chamber filled was with fives
Which buzzed all about, and made such" soun
That they encombred all mens eares and eyes
Like many swarmes of Bees assembled rount
After their hives with honny do abound.
All those were idle thoughtes and fantasies,
Devices, dreames, opinions unsound,
Shewes, visions, sooth-sayes, and prophesies
And all that fained is, as leasings, tales, and lie:
LII
Emongst them all sate he which wonned ther
That hight Phantasies by his nature trew ,
A man of yeares yet fresh, as mote appere,
Of swarth complexion, and of crabbed hew,
That him full of melancholy did shew ;
Bent hollow beetle browes, sharpe staring eye
That mad or foolish seemd : one by his vew
Mote deeme him borne with ill-disposed skye
When oblique Saturae sate in th' house
agonyes.
LIII
Whom Alma having shewed to her guestes
Thence brought them to the second rowrr
whose wals
Were painted faire with memorable gestes
Of famous Wisards , and with picturals
Of Magistrates, of courts, of tribunals,
Of commen-wealthes, of states, of pollicy,
Of lawes, of judgementes, and of decretals,
All artes, all science, all Philosophy, [witti '
And all that in the world was ay thoug
LIV
Of those that rowme was full; and them aino
There sate a man of ripe and perfect age,
WTio did them meditate all his life long,
That through continuall practise and usage
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
He now was growne right wise and wondrous
sage : [see
Great pleasure had those straunger knightes to
His goodly reason and grave personage,
That his disciples both desyrd to bee ;
But Alma thence them led to th' hindmost
rowme of three.
That chamber seemed ruinous and old,
And therefore was removed far behind,
Yet were the wals, that did the same uphold,
Right firme and strong, though somwhat they
declind ;
And therein sat an old old man, halfe blind,
And all decrepit in his feeble corse,
Yet lively vigour rested in his mind,
And recompenst them with a better scorse :
Weake body wel is chang'd for minds redoub-
led forse.
LVI
This man of infinite remembraunce was,
And things foregone through many ages held,
Which he recorded still as they did pas,
Ne suffred them to perish through long eld,
As all things els the which this world dotli
weld;
But laid them up in his immortall scrine,
Where they for ever incorrupted dweld :
The warres he well remembred of king Nine,
Of old Assaracus, and Inachus divine.
The yeares of Nestor nothing were to his,
Xe yet Mathusalem, though longest liv'd ',
For he remembred both their infancis ;
Ne wonder then, if that he were depriv'd
Of native strength now that he them surviv'd.
His chamber all was hangd about with rolls
And old records from auncic'nt times derivd,
Some made in books, some in long parchment
scrolls,
That were all worm-eaten and full of canker
holes.
LVIII
Amidst them all he in a chaire was sett,
Tossing and turning them withouten end ;
But for he was unhable them to fett,
A litle boy did on him still attend
To reach, when ever he for ought did send ;
And oft when thinges were lost, or laid amis,
That boy them sought and unto him did lend:
Therefore he Anamnestes cleped is ;
And that old man Eumnestes, by their pro-
pertis.
LIX
The knightes there entring did him reverence
dew,
And wondred at his endlesse exercise :
Then as they gan his Library to vew,
And antique Kegesters for to avise,
There chaunced to the Princes hand to rize
An auncient booke, hight Briton moniments,
That of this lands tirst conquest did devize,
And old division into Regiments,
Till it reduced was to one mans governements.
Sir Guyon chaunst eke on another booke,
That hight Anttqititee of Faery loud:
In which whenas he greedily did looke,
Th' ofspring of Elves andFaeryestherehefond,
As it delivered was from hond to hond :
Whereat they, burning both with fervent fire
Their countreys auncestry to understond,
Crav'd leave of Alma and that aged sire
To read those bookes;who gladly graunted
their desire.
CANTO X.
A chronicle of Briton kings.
From Brute to Utliers rayne ;
And rolls of Elfin Emperonrs,
Till time of Gloriane.
WHO now shall give unto me words and sound
Equall unto this haughty enterprise ? [ground
Or who shall lend me wings, with which from
My lowly verse may loftily arise,
And lift it selfe unto the highest skyes ?
More ample spirit than hitherto was wount
Here needes me, whiles the famous auucestryes
Of my most dreaded Soveraigne I recount,
By which all earthly Princes she doth far sur-
mount.
ii
Ne under Sunne that shines so wide and faire,
Whence all that lives does borrow life and light,
Lives ought that to her linage may compaire ;
Which though from earth it be derived right
K2
132
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
Vet doth it selfe stretch forth to hevens bight, And flying fast as Roebucke through the fen,
And all the world with wonder overspred ;
A labor huge, exceeding far my might.
How shall fraile pen, with feare disparaged,
Conceive such soveraine glory and great
bounty bed V
in
Argument worth}- of Maeonian quill ;
Or rather worthy of great Phoebus rote,
Whereon the ruines of great Ossa hill,
And triumphes of Phlegnean Jove, he wrote,
That all the Gods admird his lofty note.
But if some relish of that h evenly lay
His learned daughters would to me report
To decke my song withall, I would assay
Thy name, 0 soveraine Queene ! to blazon far
away.
Thy name, 0 soveraine Queene ! thy realme,
and race,
From this renowmed Prince derived arre.
Who mightily upheld that royall mace [farre
Which now thou bear'st, to thec descended
From mighty kings and conquerours in warre,
Thy fathers "and great Grandfathers of old,
Whose noble deeds above the Northern starre
All naked without shame or care of cold,
By hunting and by spoiling liveden :
Of stature huge, and eke of corage bold,
That sonnes of men amazd their steranesse tc
behold.
But whence they sprong, or how they were I
begott,
Uneath is to assure ; uneath to wene
That monstrous error, which doth some assott, |
That Dioclesians fifty daughters shene
Into this land by chaunce have driven bene ,
Where, companing with feends and filthy]
Sprights
Through vaine illusion of their lust unclene.
They brought forth Geaunts, and such dread
ful wights
As far exceeded men in their immeasurd might?
They held this land, and with their filthiness ;
Polluted this same gentle soyle long time;
That their owne mother loathd their beastlij
nesse,
And gan abhorre her broods unkindly crime,
Immortall fame for over hath enrold ; [told. All were they borne of her owne native slim'1
As in that old mans booke they were in order Until that Brutus, anciently deriv'd
From roiall stocke of old Aisaracs line,
Driven by fatall error here arriv'd.
The land which warlike Britons now possesse,
And therein have their mighty empire raysd,
In antique times was salvage wildernesse,"
Unpeopled, unmannurd, unprovd, unpraysd ;
Xe was it Island then, ne was it paysd
Arnid the ocean waves, ne was it sought
Of merchants farre for profits therein praysd;
But was all desolate, and of some thought
And them of their unjust possession depriv'd)
x
But ere he had established his throne,
And spred his empire to the utmost shore,
He fought great batteils with his salvage fomi
In which he them defeated evermore,
And many Giaunts left on groning flore :
By sea to have bene from the Celticke mayn-1 'hat well can witnes yet unto this dav
1 Jll L i *rTU~. TT 1_ l_* ; l-J *i-L ll
land brought.
VI
Ne did it then deserve a name to have,
Till that the venturous Mariner that way
Learning his ship from those white rocks to
save,
Which all along the Southerne sea-coast lay
Threatning unheedy wrecke and rash decay,
For safety that same his sea-marke made,"
And namd it ALBION : But later day,
Finding in it fit ports for fishers trade,
Gan more the same frequent, and further to
invade.
VII
But far in land a salvage nation dwelt
Of hideous Giaunts, and halfe beastly men.
That never tasted grace, nor goodnes felt ;
The westerne Hogh, besprincled with the g<
Of mighty Goe'mot, whotne in stout fray
Coriueus conquered, and cruelly did slay.
XI
And eke that ample Pitt, yet far renownd ,
For the large leape which Debou did comp< |
Coulin to make, being eight lugs of grownd i
Into the which retourning backe he fell :
But those three monstrous stones doe m
excell,
Which that huge sonne of hideous Albion,
Whose father Hercules in Fraunce did que
Great Godmer threw, in fierce contention,
At bold Canutus ; but of him was slaine at
XII
In meed of these great conquests by tl
But wild like beastes lurking in loathsome den, Corineus had that Province utmost west [g
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
133
To liiin assigned for his worthy lott,
Which of his name and memorable gest
He called Cormvaile, yet so called best ;
And Debons shayre was that is Devonshyre :
But Canute had his portion from the rest,
The which he cald Canutium. for his hyre ;
NowCantium,which Kent wecomenly inquyre
Thus Brute this Realme unto his rule sub-
dewd,
And raigned long in great felicity,
Lov'd of his freends, and of his foes eschewd :
He left three sonnes, his famous progeny,
Home of fayre Inogene of Italy;
Mongst whom he parted his imperiall state,
And Locrine left chiefe. Lord of Britany.
At last ripe age bad him surrender late
His life, and long good fortune, unto finall
fate.
XIV
Locrine was left the soveraine Lord of all :
But Albanact had all the Northerne part,
Which of himselfe Albania he did call ;
And Camber did possesse the Westerne quart
Which Severne now from Logris doth depart :
And each his portion peaceably enjoyd,
Ne was there outward breach, nor grudge in
hart,
That once their quiet government annoyd ;
But each his paynes to others profit still em-
ployd.
xv
Untill a nation straunge, with visage swart,
And corage fierce that all men did affray,
Which through the world then swarmd in
every part,
And overflowd all countries far away,
Like Noyes great flood, with their importune
This land invaded with like violence, [sway
And did themselves through all the North dis-
play:
Untill that Locrine for his Realities defence,
Did head against them make and strong muni-
ficence.
XVI
He them encountred, a confused rout,
Foreby the River that whylome was hight
The ancient Abus, where with courage stout
He them defeated in victorious fight,
And chaste so fiercely after fearefull flight,
That forst their chiefetain, for his safeties sake
(Their Chiefetain Humber named was aright,)
Unto the mighty streame him to betake,
Where he an end of batteill and of liie did
make,
The king retourned proud of victory,
And insolent wox through unwonted ease,
That shortly he forgot the jeopardy,
»Vhich in his land he lately did appease,
Anil fell to vaine voluptuous disease :
lov'd faire Ladie Estrild, leudly lov'd,
Whose wanton pleasures him too much did
please,
That quite his hart from Guendolene remov'o,
From Guendolene his wife, though alwaies
faithful prov'd.
XVIII
The noble daughter of Corineus
WouM not endure to bee so vile disdaind,
But, gathering force and corage valorous,
Encountred him in batteill well ordaind,
[n which him vanquish! she to fly constraint! :
But she so fast pursewd, that him she tooke
And threw in bands, where he till death re-
maind ;
Als his faire Leman flying through a brooke
She overhent, nought moved with her piteous
looke ,
XIX
But both her selfe, and eke her daughter deare,
Begotten by her kingly Paramoure,
The faire Sabrina, almost dead with feare,
She there attached, far from all succoure ;
The one she slew upon the present floure ;
But the sad virgin, innocent of all,
Adowne the rolling river she did poure,
Which of her name now Severne men do call :
Such was the end that to disloyall love did fall
Then for her sonne, which she to Locrin bore,
Maoan was young, unmeet the rule to sway,
In her owne hand the crowne she kept in store,
Till ryper years he raught and stronger stay ;
During which time, her powre she did display
Through all this Realme. the glory of her sex,
And first taught men a woman to obay :
But, when her sonne to mans estate did wex,
She it surrendred, ne her selfe would lenger
vex.
XXI
Tho Madan raignd, unworthie of his race,
For with all shame that sacred throne he tild.
Next Mempri.se, as unworthy of that place;
In which being consorted with Manild,
For thirst of single kingdom him he kild.
But Ebranck salved both their infamies
With noble deedes, and warreyd on Brunchild
In Renault, where yet of his victories
Brave moniments remaine, which yet that land
envies,
'34
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n.
An happy man in his first dayes he was,
And happy father of faire progeny :
For all so many weekes as the yeare has,
So many children he did multiply:
Of which were twentie sonnes, which did apply
Their mindes to prayse andchevalrousdesyre:
Those germans did subdew all Germany,
Of whom it hight; but in the end their Syre
With foule repulse from Fraunce was forced to
retyre.
XXIII
Which blott his sonne succeeding in his seat,
The second Brute, the second both in name
And eke in semblaunce of his puissaunce great
Right well recur'd, and did away that blame
With recompence of everlasting fame :
He with his victour sword first opened
The bowels of wide Fraunce, a forlorne Dame,
And taught her first how to be conquered ;
Since which, with sondrie spoiles she hath been
ransacked.
XXIV
Let Scaldis tell, and let tell Hania,
And let the marsh of Esthambruges tell,
What colour were their waters that same day,
And all the moore twixt Elversham and Dell,
With blood of Henalois which therein fell.
How oft that day did sad Brunchildis see
The greene shield dyde in dolorous vermeil ?
That not Scuith guiridh it mote seeme to bee,
But rather y sculth gogh, signe of sad crueltee.
His sonne, king Leill, by fathers labour long,
Enjoyd an heritage of lasting peace,
And built Cairleill, and built Cairleon strong
Next Huddibras his realme did not encrease,
But taught the land from wearie wars to cease
Whose footsteps Bladud following, in artes
Exceld at Athens all the learned preace,
From whence he brought them to these salvage
parts,
And with sweet science mollificle their stub-
borne harts.
XXVI
Ensample of his wondrous faculty,
Behold the boyling bathes at Cairbadon,
Which seeth with secret fire eternally,
And in their entrailles, full of quick Brimston
Nourish the flames which they are warrm
upon.
That to their people wealth they forth do well
And health to every forreyne nation :
Vet he at last, contending to excell
The reach of men, through flight into fon
mischief fell.
XXVII
Next him king Leyr in happie peace long
raynd,
Jut had no issue male him to succeed,
Jut three faire daughters, which were well
uptraind
n all that seemed fitt for kingly seed :
klongst whom his realme he equally decreed
To have divided. Tho, when feeble age
h to his utmost date he saw proceed,
4e cald his daughters, and with speeches sage
nquyrd, which of them most did love her
parentage ?
XXVIII
The eldest, Gonorill, gan to protest [lov'd ;
That she much more than her ownc life him
And Regan greater love to him profest
Then all the world, when ever it were proov'd ;
But Cordeill said she lov'd him as behoov'd :
tVhose simple answere, wanting colours fayre I
To paint it forth, him to displeasaunce moov'd,
That in his crown he counted her no hayre,
But twixt the other twain his kingdom whole |
did shayre.
XXIX
So wedded th' one to Maglan king of Scottes, I
And thother to the king of Cambria, [lottes ; j
And twixt them shayrd his realme by equal! |
But without dowre the wise Cordelia
Was sent to Aggannip of Celtica.
Their aged Syre, thus eased of his crowne,
A private life ledd in Albania
With Gonorill, long had in great renowne,
That nought him griev'd to beene from rule
deposed downe.
XXX
But true it is that, when the oyle is spent,
The light goes out, and weeke is t hrowne away
So, when he had resignd his regiment,
His daughter gan despise his droupmg day,
And wearie wax of his continuall stay.
Tho to his daughter Regan he repayrd,
Who him at first well used every way ;
But when of his departure she despayrd,
Her bountie she abated, andhischeareempayrc
XXXI
The wretched man gan then avise too late,
That love is not where most it is profest ;
Toe truely tryde in his extremest state.
At last, resolv'd likewise to prove the rest,
He to Cordelia him selfe addrest,
Who with entyre affection him receav'd,
As for her Syre and king her seemed best ;
And after all an army strong she leav'd,
To war on those which him had of his realrr i
bereav'd.
ONTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'35
So to his crowne she him restord againe;
In which he dyde, made ripe for death by eld,
And after wild it should to her remaine,
Who peaceably the same long time did weld,
And all mens harts in dew obedience held ;
Till that her sisters children, woxen strong,
Through proud ambition against her rebeld,
And overcommen kept in prison long, [hong.
Till weary of that wretched life her selfe she
XXXIII
Then gan the bloody brethren both to raine ;
But fierce Cundah ga'n shortly to envy
His brother Morgan, prickt with proud disdaine
To have a pere in part of soverainty ;
And kindling coles of cruell enmity,
Raisd warre, and him in batteill overthrew.
Whence as he to those woody hilles did flv,
\Vhich hight of him Glamorgan, there him
slew:
Then did he raigne alone, when he none equall
knew.
XXXIV
His sonne Rivall' his dead rowme did supply ;
In whose sad time blood did from heaven rayne.
Next great Gurgustus, then faire Caecily,
In cons tant peace their kingdomes did contayne.
After whom Lago, and Kinmarke did rayne,
And Gorbogiid, till far in years he grew :
Then his ambitious sonnes unto them twayne
Arraught the rule, and from their father drew;
Stout Ferrex and sterne Porrex him in prison
threw.
But 0 ! the greedy thirst of royall crowne,
That knowes no kinred, nor regardes no right,
Stird Porrex up to put his brother downe ;
Who, unto him assembling forreigne might.
Made warre on him, and fell him selfe in fight :
Whose death t'avenge, his mother mercilesse,
Most mercilesse of women, Wyden hight,
Her other sonne fast sleeping did oppresse,
And with most cruell hand him murdred
pittilesse.
XXXVI
Here ended Brutus sacred progeny, [borne
Which had seven hundred yeares this scepter
With high reuowme and great felicity: [torne
The noble braunch from th' antique stocke was
Through discord, and the roiall throne forlorne.
Thenceforth this Realme was into factions rent,
WhO eat each of Brutus boasted to be borne,
That in the end was left no moniment
Of Brutns, nor of Britons glorie auncient.
Then up arose a man of matchlesse might,
And wondrous wit to menage high affayre%
Who, stird with pitty of the stressed plight
Of this sad realme, cut into sondry shayres
By such as claymd themselves Brutes "right-
full hayres,
Gathered the Princes of the people loose
To taken counsell of their common cares;
Who, with his wisedom won, him streight did
choose [loose.
Their king, and swore him fealty to win or
Then made he head against his enimies,
And Tinner slew of Logris miscreate;
Then Ruddoc and proud Stater, both allyes,
This of Albany newly nominate,
And that of Cambry king confirmed late,
He overthrew through his owne valiaunce;
Whose countries he redus'd to quiet state,
And shortly brought to civile governaunce,
Now one, which earst were many made through
variaunce.
XXXIX
Then made he sacred lawes, which some men
Were unto him reveald in vision; [say
By which he freed the Travellers high-way,
The Churches part, and Ploughmans portion,
Restraining stealth and strong extortion,
The gratious Numa of great Britany ;
For till his dayes, the chiefe dominion
By strength was wielded without pollicy:
Therefore he first wore crowne of gold for
dignity.
XL
Donwallo dyde, (for what may live for ay ?)
And left two sonnes, of pearelesse prowesse
both.
That sacked Rome too dearely did assay,
The recompence of their perjured oth ;
And ransackt Greece wel tryde, when they
were wroth ;
Besides subjected France and Germany,
Which yet their praises speake, all be they
And inly tremble at the memory [loth,
Of Brennus and Belinus, kinges of Britany.
Next them did Gurgiunt, great Belinus sonne,
In rule succeede, and eke in fathers praise ;
He Easterland subdewd,andDenmarke wonne,
And of them both did foy and tribute raise,
The which was dew in his dead fathers daies.
He also gave to fugitives of Spayne,
Whom he at sea found wandiing from their
waies,
136
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK n.
A seate in Ireland safely to remayne,
Which they should hold of him, as subject to
Britayne.
XLII
After him raigned Guitheline his hayre,
The justest man and trewest in his daies,
Who had to wife Dame Mertia the fayre,
A woman worthy of immortall praise, [ laves,
Which for this "Realme found many goodly
And wholesome Statutes to her husband
He left two sonnes, too young to rule aright,
Androgeus and Tenantius, pictures of his might.
XI/VH
Whilst they were young, Cassibalane, their
Was by the p'eople chosen in their sted, [ Erne,
Who o"n him tooke the roiall Diademe,
And goodly well long time it governed ;
Till the prowde Romanes him disquieted,
And warlike Caesar, tempted with the name
Of this sweet Island never conquered,
Those yet of her be Mertian lawes both nam'd
and thought.
XLI1I
Her sonne Sisilhis after her did rayne;
And then Kimarus ; and then Danius :
Next whom Morindus did the crowne susta yne ;
Who, had he not with wrath outrageous
And cruell rancour dim'd his valorous
And mightie deedes, should matched have
the best :
As well in that same field victorious
Against the forreine Morands he exprest ;
Yet lives his memorie, though carcas sleepe in
rest.
XLIV
Five sonnes he left, begotten of one wife,
All which successively by turnes did rayne :
First Gorboman, a man of vertuous life ,
Next Archigald, who for his proud disdayne
Deposed was from princedome soverayne,
And pitteous Elidure put in his sted ;
Who shortly it to him restord agayne,
Till by his death he it recovered :
But P'eridure and Vigent him disthronized.
In wretched prison long he did remaine,
Till they outnigned had their utmost date,
And then therein reseized was againe,
And ruled long with honorable state,
Till he surrendered Realme and life to fate.
Then all the sonnes of these five brethren raynd
By dew successe, and all their Nephewes late ;
Even thrise eleven descents the crowne retaynd,
Till aged Hely by dew heritage it gayiid.
He had two sonnes, whose eldest, called Lud,
Left of his life most famous memory,
And endlesse moniments of his great good :
The ruin'd wais he did resedifye
Of Troynovant, gainst force of enimy,
And built that gate which of his name is hight,
By which he lyes entombed solemnly.
Yet twise they were repulsed backe againe,
And twise renforst backe to their ships to fly ;
The whiles with blood they all the shore did
staine,
And the gray Ocean into purple dy :
Xe had they footing found at last, perdie,
Had not Androgeus, false to native soyle,
And envious of Uncles soveraintie,
Betrayd his countrey unto forreine spoyle.
Nought els but treason ftom the first this land
did foyle.
XLIX
So by him Caesar got the victory,
Through great bloodshed and many a sad assay, j
In which himselfe was charged heavily
Of hardy Nennius, whom he yet did slay,
But lost his sword, yet to be scene this day. <
Thenceforth this land was tributarie made
T'ambitious Rome, and did their rule obay,
Till Arthur all that reckoning defrayd :
Yet oft the Briton kings against them strongly {
swayd.
L,
Xext him Tenantius raignd ; then Kimbeline.
What time th' eternall Lord in fleshly slime <
Enwombed was, from wretched Adams line
To purge away the guilt of sinfull crime.
O joyous memorie of happy time,
That heavenly grace so plenteously displayd!
(O too high ditty for my simple rime !)
Soone after this the Romanes him warraycl .
For that their tribute he refusd to let be payd i
Good Claudius, that next was Emperour,
An army brought, and with him batteile fought
In which the king was by a Treachetour
Disguised slaine, ere any thereof thought :
Yet ceased not the bloody fight for ought ;
For Arvirage his brothers place supplyde
Both in his armes and crowne, and by tha
draught
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'37
Did drive the Romanes to the weaker syde,
That they to peace agreed. So all was paci-
fyde.
LI I
W;ii never king more higrrly magnifide,
Nor dredd of Romanes, then was Arvirage ;
For which the Emperour to him allide
His (laughter Genuiss' in marriage :
Yet. shortly he renounst the vassallage
Of Home againe, who hither hastly sent
Vespasian, that with great spoile and rage
Forwasted all, till Genuissa gent
Persuaded him to ceasse, and her lord to relent.
He diile , and him succeeded Marius,
Who joyd his dayes in great tranquillity.
Then Coyll ; and after him good Lucius,
That first received Christianity,
The sacred pledge of Christes Evangely.
Yet true it is, that long before that day
Hither came Joseph of Arimathy, [say>
And yet, though overcome in haplesse fight,
Shee triumphed on death, in enemies despight.
Her reliques Fulgent having gathered,
Fought with Severus, and him overthrew,
Y'et in the chace was slaine of them that Hed,
So made them victors whome he did subdew.
Then gan Carausius tirannize anew,
And gainst the Romanes bent their proper
powre ;
But him Allectus treacherously slew,
And tookc on him the robe of Emperoure :
Jsath'lesse the same enjoyed but short happy
howre :
LVIII
For Asclepiodate him overcame,
And left inglorious on the vanquisht playne,
Without or robe or rag to hide his shame:
Then afterwards he in his stead did raigne,
But shortly was by Coyll in batteill slaine :
Who after long debate, since Lucies tvme,
Who brought with him the holv grayle, they! Was of the Britons first crownd Soveraine.
And preacht the truth ; but since it greatly
did decay.
LIV
This good king shortly without issew dide,
Whereof great trouble in the kingdome grew,
That did her selfe in sondry parts divide,
And with her powre her owne selfe overthrew,
Whilest Romanes daily did the weake subdew :
Which seeing, stout llunduca up arose,
And taking armes the Britons to her drew;
With whom she marched streight against her
foes,
^close.
And them unwares besides the Severne did en-
There she with them a cruell batteill tryde,
Not with so good successe as shee deserv'd ;
15y reason that the Captaines on her syde,
Corrupted by Paulinus, from her swerv'd :
Yet, such as'were through former flight pre-
serv'd
Gathering againe, her Host she did renew,
And with fresh corage on the victor servd •
But being all defeated, save a few, [slew.
Kather then fly, or be captiv'd, her selfe she
0 famous moniment of womens prayse !
Hatchable either to Semiramis,
Who
Or t
)ni antique history so high doth rayse,
o Hypsiphil', or to Thomiris.
Then gan this Realme renew her passed prime:
He of his name Coylchester built of stone and
lime.
LIX
Which when the Romanes heard, they hither
sent
Constantius, a man of mickle might,
With whome king Coyll made an agreement,
And to him gave for wife his daughter bright,
Fayre Helena, the fairest living wight;
Who in all godly thewes and goodly praise
Did far excell, but was most famous night
For skil in Musicke of all in her dales,
As well in curious instruments as cunning
laies.
LX
Of whom he did great Constantine begett,
Who afterward was Emperour of Rome,
To which whiles absent he his mind did sett,
Octavius here lept into his roome,
And it usurped by unrighteous doome :
But he his title justifide by might,
Slaying Traherne, and having overcome
The Romane legion in dreadfull fight.
So settled he his kingdome, and confirmd
his right :
But wanting yssew male, his daughter deare
He gave in wedlocke to Maximian,
And him with her made of his kingdome heyre,
Or to Hypsiphil', or to Thomiris. Who soone by meanes thereof the Empire wan,
Her Host two hundred thousand numbred is ; Till murdretl by the freends of Gratian. [land,
Who, whiles good fortune favoured her might, Then gan the 'Hunnes and Picts invade this
Triumphed oft against her enemis ; | Puring the raigne of Maxjminian ;
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Who dying left none heire them to withstand,
But that they overran all parts with easy
hand.
LXIt
The weary Britons, whose war-hable youth .
Was by Maximian lately ledd away,
With wretched miseryes and woefull ruth,
Were to those Pagans made an open pray,
And daily spectacle of sad decay :
Whome Komane warres, which now fowr
hundred yeares
And more had wasted, could no whit dismay ;
Til, by consent of Commons and of Peares,
They crownd the second Constantine with
joyous teares.
Who having oft in batteill vanquished
Those spoylefull Picts, and swanning Easter-
lings,
Long time in peace his realme established,
Yet oft annoyd with sondry bordragings,
Of neighbour Scots, and forrein Scatterlings
With which the world did in those dayes
abound :
Which to outbarre, with painefull pyonings
From sea to sea he heapt a mighty mound,
Which from Alcluid to Panwelt did that bor-
der bownd.
LXIV
Three sones he dying left, all under age ;
By meanes whereof their uncle Vortigere
Usurpt the crowne during their pupillage ;
Which th' Infants tutors gathering to feare
Them closely into Armorick did beare :
For dread of whom, and for those Picts an-
noyes,
He sent to Germany straunge aid to reare ;
From whence eftsoones arrived here three
hoyes •
Of Saxons, whom he for his safety imployes.
LXV
Two brethren were their Capitavns, which
hight
Hengist and Horsus, well approv'd in warre,
And both of them men of renowmed might;
Who making vantage of their civile Jarre,
And of those forreyners which came from
farre,
Grew great, and got large portions of land,
That in the Realme ere long they stronge
an-e [hand
Then they which sought at first their helping
And Vortiger have forst the kbgdome t
aband.
[BOOK ii.
But by the helpe of Vortimere his sonne,
le is againe unto his rule restord ;
And Hengist, seeming sad for that was donne,
deceived is to grace and new accord, [word.
Through his faire daughters face and flattring
Soone after which three hundred Lords he slew
3f British blood, all sitting at his bord ;
Whose dolefull moniments who list to rew,
Th' cternall marks of treason may at Stonheng
By this the sonnes of Constantine, which fled,
Ambrose and Uther, did ripe yeares attayne,
And, here arriving, strongly challenged
The crowne which Vortiger did long detayne:
Who, flying from his guilt, by them "was
slayne ; [death.
And Hengist eke soon brought to shamefull
Thenceforth Aurelius peaceably did rayne,
Till that through poyson stopped was his breath;
So now entombed lies at Stoneheng by the
heath.
LXVIII
After him Uther, which Pendragon hight,
Succeeding — There abruptly it did end.
Without full point, or other Cesure right ;
As if the rest some wicked hand did rend,
Or th' Author selfe could not at least attend
To finish it : that so untimely breach
The Prince him selfe halfe seemed to offend ;
Yet secret pleasure did offence empeach,
And wonder of antiquity long stopt his speach.
At last, quite rnvisht with delight to heare
The royall Ofspring of his native land,
Cryde out ; 'Deare countrey ! O! how dearely
deare
Ought thy remembraunce and perpetuall bane
Be to thy foster Childe, that from thy hand
Did commun breath and nouriture receave.
How brutish is it not to understand
How much to her we owe. that all us gave ;
That gave unto us all what ever good we have )
But Guyon all this while his booke did read j
Ne yet has ended ; for it was a great
And ample volume, that doth far excead
My leasure so iong leaves here to repeat :
It told how first Prometheus did create
A man, of many parts from beasts deryv'd,
And then stole fire from heven to animate
His worke, for which he was by Jove depryv'J
Of life him self, and hart-strings of an Aeg'1
ryv'd.
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
139
That man so made he called Elfe, to weet
Quick, the first author of all Elfin kynd ;
Who, wandring through the world with wearie
feet,
Did in the gardins of Adonis fynd
A goodly creature, whom he deemd in mynd
To be no earthly wight, but either Spright,
Or Angell, th' authour of all woman kynd ;
Therefore a Fay he her according hight,
Of whom all Faeryes spring, and fetch their
lignage right.
Of these a mighty people shortly grew,
I And puissant kinges which all the world
warrayd,
And to them selves all Nations did subdew.
The first and eldest, which that scepter swayd,
Was Elfin; him all India obayd,
And all that now America men call :
Next him was noble Elfinan, who laid
Cleopolis foundation first of all :
But Elfiline enclosd it with a golden wall.
His sonne was Elfinell, who overcame
The wicked Gobbelines in bloody field ;
But Elfant was of most renowmed fame,
Who all of Christall did Panthea build :
Then Elfar, who two brethren gyauntes kild,
The one of which had two heades, th' other
three :
Then Elfinor, who was in magick skild ;
He built by art upon the glassy See
A bridge of bras, whose sound hevens thunder
seem'd to bee.
LXXIV
He left three sonnes, the which in order raynd,
And all their Ofspring, in their dew descents ;
! Even seven hundred Princes, which maintaynd
With mightie deedes their sondry govern-
ments;
That were too long their infinite contents
Here to record, ne much materiall :
Yet should they be most famous moniments,
And brave ensample, both of martiall
j And civil rule, to kinges and states imperiall.
LXXV
After all these Elficleos did rayne,
The wise Elficleos, in great Majestic,
Who mightily that scepter did sustayne,
And with rich spoylcs and famous victorie
Did high advaunoe the crowne of Faery :
He left two sonnes, of which faire EJferou,
The eldest brother, did untimely dy ;
Whose emptie place the mightie Oberon
Doubly supplide, in spousall and dominion.
LXXVI
Great was his power and glorie over all
Which, him before, that sacred seate did fill,
That yet remames his wide memorialL
He dying left the fairest Tanaquill,
Him to succeede therein, by his last will :
Fairer and nobler liveth no'ne this howre,
Xe like in grace, ne like in learned skill ;
Therefore they Glorian call that glorious flowre:
Long mayst thou, Glorian, live in glory and
great powre !
LXXVII
Beguyld thus with delight of novelties,
And naturall desire of countryes state,
So long they redd in those antiquities,
That how the time was fled they quite forgate;
Till gentle Alma, seeing it so late,
Perforce their studies broke, and them besought
To thinke how supper did them long awaite :
So halfe unwilling from their bookes them
brought, [ought.
And fayrely feasted as so noble knightes she
CANTO XI.
The enimies of Temperauncc
Besiege her dwelling place :
Prince Arthure them repelles, and fowle
Maleger doth deface.
WHAT warre so cruel, or what siege so sore,
As that which strong affections doe apply
Against the forte of reason evermore,
To bring the sowle into captivity?
Their force is fiercer through infirmity
Of the fraile flesh, relenting to their rage,
And exercise most bitter tyranny
Upon the partes brought into their bondage*
No wretchednesse is like to sinfull vellenage.
14.0
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
But in a body which doth freely yeeld
His partes to reasons rule obedient,
And letteth her that ought the .scepter weeld,
All happy peace and goodly government
Is setled* there in sure establishment.
There Alma, like a virgin Queene most bright,
Doth florish in all beautie excellent ;
And to her guestes doth bounteous banket (light,
Attempred goodly well for health and for
delight
in
Karly, before the Morne with cremosin ray
The windowes of bright heaven opened had,
Through which into the world the dawning
day
Might looke, that maketh even' creature glad,
Uprose Sir Guyon, in bright armour clad,
And to his purpesd journey him prepar'd :
With him the Palmer eke in habit sad
Him selfe addrest to that adventure hard :
So to the rivers sydethey both together far'd:
Where them awaited ready at the ford
The Ferriman, as Alma had behight,
With his well rigged bote : They goe abord,
And he eftsoones gan launch his barke forth-
right.
Ere long they rowed were quite out of sight,
And fast the land behynd them fled away.
But let them pas, whiles wind and wether
right
Doe serve their turnes: here I awhile must stay,
To see a cruell fight doen by the prince this
day.
v
For all so soone as Guyon thence was gon
Upon his voyage with his trustie guyde,
That wicked band of villeins fresh begon
That castle to assaile on every side,
And lay strong siege about it far and wyde.
So huge and infinite their numbers were,
That all the land they under them did hyde ;
So fowle and ugly, that exceeding feare "
Their visages imprest when they approched
neare,
VI
Them in twelve troupes their Captein did
dispart,
And round about in fittest steades did place,
Where each might best offend his proper part,
And his contrary object most deface,
As every one seem'd meetest in that cace.
Seven of the same against the Castle gate
In strong entrenchments he did closely place,
Which with incessaunt force and endlesse hate
They battred day and night, and entraunce
did awate.
VII
The other five five sondry waves he sett
Against the five great Bulwarkesof that pyle,
And unto each a Bulwarke did arrett,
T" assayle with open force or hidden guyle,
In hope thereof to win victorious spoile.
They all that charge did fervently apply
With greedie malice and importune toyle,
And planted there their huge artillery,
With which they dayly made most dreadfull
batterj-.
VIII
The first troupe was a monstrous rablcment
Of fowle misshapen wightes, of which some
were
Headed like Owles, with beckes uncomely bent;
Others Tke Dogs; others like Gryphons dreare ;
And some had wings; and some had clawes to
teare :
And even- one of them had Lynces eyes ;
And every one did bow and arrowes beare.
All those were lawlesse lustes, currupt envyes,
And covetous aspects, all cruell enimyes.
Those same against the bulwarke of the Sight
Did lay strong siege and battailous assault,
Xe once did yield it respitt day nor night ;
But soone as'Titan gan his head exault,
And soone againe as he his light withhault,
Their wicked engins they against it bent ;
That is, each thing by which the eyes may
fault :
But two then all more huge and violent,
Beautie and Money, they that Bulwarke sorelj
rent.
x
The second Bulwarke was the Hearing sence,
Gainst which the second troupe assignment
makes;
Deformed creatures, in straunge difference,
Some having heads like Harts, some like to
Snakes, [ brakes :
Some like wilde Bores late rouzd out of the
Slaunderous reproches, and fowle infamies.
Leasinges, backbytinges, and vain-glorious
crakes,
Bad counsels, prayses, and false flatteries :
All those against that fort did bend their
batteries.
XI
Likewise that same third Fort, that is tht
Smell,
Of that third troupe was cruelly assayd ;
CANTO xi.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
141
Whose hideous shapes were like to feendes of
hell,
[ dismay <l,
Some like to houndes, some like to Apes,
Some like to Puttockes, all in plumes arayd ;
All shap't according their conditions :
For by those ugly formes wereu pourtrayd
Foolish delights, and fond abusions,
Which doe that
illusions.
sence besiege with light
And that fourth band which crucll battry
bent
Against the fourth Bulwarke. that is the Taste,
Was, as the rest, a grysie rablement; [ faste
Some mouth'd like greedy Oystriges ; some
Like loathly Toades ; some fashioned in the
Like swine : for so deformd is luxury, [waste
Surfeat. misdiet, and unthriftie waste,
'Vaine feastes, and ydle superfluity :
•All those this sences Fort assayle incessantly.
But the fift troupe, most horrible of hew
And ferce of force, is dreadfull to report ;
For some like Snailes, some did like spyders
shew,
And some like uglyUrchins thick and short :
Cruelly they assayed that fift Fort,
Armed with dartes of sensuall Delight,
.With stinges of carnall lust, and strong effort
Of feeling pleasures, with which day and night
The noble Virgin, Ladie of the Place,
Was much dismayed with that dreadful sight,
For never was she in so evill cace,
Till that the Prince, seeing her wofull plight,
Gau her recomfort from so sad affright,
Offring his service, and his dearest life
For her defence against that Carle to light,
Which was their chiefe and th' authour of that
strife :
She him remercied as the Patrone of her life.
Eftsoones himselfe in glitterand armes he
dight,
And his well proved weapons to him hent;
So, taking courteous conge", he benight
Those gates to be unbar'd, and forth he went.
Fayre mote he thee, the prowest and most
gent,
That ever brandished bright steele on hye !
Whome soone as that unruly rablement
With his gay Squyreissewing did espve, [cry :
They reardamost outrageous dreadfull yelling
And thercwithall attonce at him let fly [ snow,
Their fluttring arrow es, thicke as "flakes of
And round about him flocke impetuously,
Like a great water flood, that tombling low
Against that sameVft bulwarke they continued From the hlgh mountaines, threates to over-
tight.
XIV
Thus these twelve troupes with dreadfull
puissaunce
Against that Castle restlesse siege did lay,
And evermore their hideous Ordinaunce
Upon the Bulwarkes cruelly did play,
That now it gan to threaten ntare decay:
And evermore their wicked Capitayn
Provoked them the breaches to assay,
Sometimes with threats, sometimes with hope
of gayn.
[~ attayn.
Which by the ransack of that peece they should
xv
On th' other syde, th' assieged Castles ward
Their stedfast stonds did mightily maintaine,
And many bold repulse and many hard
Atchievement wrought, with perill and with
payne,
That goodly frame from mine to sustaine:
And those two brethren Gyauntes did defend
The walles so stoutly with their sturdie mayne,
That never entraunce any durst pretend,
.But they to direfull death their groning ghosts
did send.
flow
With suddein fury all the fertile playne,
And the sad husbaudmans long hope doth
throw [vayne;
Adowne the streame, and all his vowes make
Nor bounds nor banks his headlong ruine may
sustayne.
XIX
Upon his shield their heaped hayle he bore,
And with his swcrd disperst the raskall
flockes,
Which fled asonder, and him fell before ;
As withered leaves drop from their dryed
stockes, [locks :
When the wroth Western wind does reave their
And underneath him his courageous steed,
The fierce Spumador, trode them downe like
docks ;
The fierce Spumador, borne of heavenly seed,
Such as Laomedon of Phoebus race did breed.
Which suddeine horrour and confused cry
When as their Capteine heard, in haste he y ode
i The cause to weet, and fault to remedy :
I Upon a Tygre swift and tierce he rode,
THE FAERIE QUEENR.
[BOOK1L
That as the winde ran underneath his lode,
Whiles his long legs nigh raught unto the
ground.
Full large he was of limbe, and shoulders brode
But of such subtile substance and unsound,
That like a ghost he seem'd whose grave-
clothes were unbound :
And in his hand a bended bow was scene,
And many arrowes under his right side,
All deadly daungerous, all cruell keene,
Headed with flint, and fethers bloody dide ;
Such as the Indians ?n their quivers hide:
Those could he well direct and straight as line,
And bid them strike the marke which he had
eyde ;
Ne was there salve, ne was there medicine,
That mote recure their wounds ; so inly they
did tine.
XXII
As pale and wan as ashes was his looke,
His body leane and meagre as a rake,
And skin all withered like a dryed rooke ;
Thereto as cold and drery as a snake,
That seemd to tremble evermore and quake ;
AH in a canvas thin he was bedight,
And girded with a belt of twisted brake :
Upon his head he wore an Helmet light,
Made of a dead mans skull, that seemd a
ghastly sight.
XXIII
Maleger was his name ; and after him
There follow'd fast at hand two wicked Hags,
With hoary lockes all loose, and visage grim ;
Their feet unshod, their bodies wrapt in rags,
And both as swift on foot as chased Stags ;
And yet the one her other legge had lame,
Which with a staffe, all full of litle snags,
She did support, and Impotence her name.
But th' other was Impatience, arm'd with
raging flame
XXIV
Soone as the Carle from far the Prince espyde
Glistring in armes and warlike ornament, "
His Beast he felly prickt on either syde,
And his mischievous bow full readie bent,
Witli which at him a cruell shaft he sent :
But he was wane, and it warded well
Upon his shield, that it no further went,
But to the ground the idle quarrell fell:
Then he another and another did expelL
XXV
Which to prevent the Prince his mortall speare
Soone to him raught, and fierce at him did
ride,
To be avenged of that shot whyleare ;
But he was not so hardy to abide
That bitter stownd, but turning quicke aside
His light-foot beast, rted fast away for feare :
Whom to poursue the Infant after hide
So fast as his good Courser could him beare ;
But labour lost it was to wcene approch him
neare.
XXVI
For as the winged wind his Tigre fled,
That vew of eye could scarse him overtake,
Ne scarse his feet on ground were seene to tred :
Through hils and dales he speedy way did
make,
Ne hedge ne ditch his readie passage brake ;
And in his flight the villein turn'd his face
^As wonts the Tartar by the Caspian lake,
Whenas the Russian him in fight does chace)
Unto his Tygres taile, and shot at him apace.
XXVII
Apace he shot, and yet he fled apace,
Still as the greedy knight nigh to him drew ;
And oftentimes he would relent his pace,
That him his foe more fiercely should pour-
sew :
But when his uncouth manner he did vew,
rle gan avize to follow him no more,
Butkeepehis standing, and his shaftes eschew,
Jntill he quite had spent his perlous store,
And then assayle him fresh, ere he could shift
for more.
XXVIII
But that lame Hag, still as abroad he strew
rlis wicked arrowes, gathered them againe,
And to him brought, fresh batteill to renew ;
>Vhich he espying cast her to restraine
•"rom yielding succour to that cursed Swaine, |
And her attaching thought her hands to tye ;
Jut soone as him dismounted on the plaine
rhat other Hag did far away espye
Binding her sister, she to him ran hastily ;
XXIX
And catching hold of him, as downe he lent, I
rlim backeward overthrew, and downe him I
stayd
With their rude handes and gryeslv graple-J
ment;
Till that the villein, comming to their ayd,
Jpon him fell, and lode upon him layd:'
<ull litle wanted but he had him slaine,
And of the battell balefull end had made,
iad not his gentle Squire beheld his painc,
And commen to his reskew, ere his bittfl
bane.
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'43
So greatest and most glorious thing on
ground
May often need the helpe of weaker hand ;
So feeble is mans state, and life unsound,
Thar in assuraunce it may never stand,
Tiil it dissolved be from earthly band.
Proofe be thou, Prince, the prowest man alyve,
And noblest borne of all in Britayne land ;
Yet thee tierce Fortune did so nearely drive,
That, had not grace thee blest, thou shouldest
not survive.
XXXI
The Squyre arriving fiercely in his armes
iSnatcht first the one, and then the other Jade,
'His chiefest letts and authors of his harmes,
lAnd them perforce withheld with threatned
blade,
, Least that his Lord they should behinde invade;
[The whiles the Prince, prickt with reprochful
shame,
As one awakte out of long slombring shade,
Revivynt; thought of glory and of fame,
United all his powres to purge him selfe from
blame.
XXXII
Like as a fire, the which in hollow cave
Bath long bene underkept and down supprest,
With murmurous disdayne doth inly rave,
And grudge in so streight prison to "be prest,
At last breakes forth with furious unrest,
And strives to mount unto his native seat ;
All that did earst it hinder and molest, [heat,
Yt now devoures with flames and scorching
And carries into smoake with rage and horror
great.
XXXIII
So mightely the Briton Prince him rouzo.
\ Out of his holdc, and broke his caytive bands;
And as a Beare, whom angry curres have touzd,
Having off-shakt them and escapt their hand*,
Becomes more fell, and all that him withstands
Treads down and overthrowes. Now had the
Carle
Alighted from his Tigre, and his hands
Discharged of his bow and deadly quar'le,
To seize upon his foe flatt lying on the marie.
XXXIV
Which now him turnd to disavantage deare ;
For neither can he fly, nor other harme,
But trust unto his strength and manhood
meare,
Sith now he is far from his monstrous swarnie,
And of his weapons did himselfe disarme.
The knight, yet wrothfull for his late disgrace,
Fiercely advaunst his valorous right arme,
And him so sore smott with his yron mace,
That groveling to the ground he fell, and lild
his place.
XXXV
Wei weened hee that field was then his owne,
And all his labor brought to happy end ;
When suddein up the villeine overthrowne
Out of his swowne arose, fresh to contend,
And gan him selfe to second battaill bend,
As hurt he had not beene. Thereby there lay
An huge great stone, which stood upon one
end,
And had not bene removed many a day ;
Some land-marke seemd to bee, or signe of
sundry way :
xxxvi
The same he snatcht, and with exceeding
sway
Threw at his foe, whe was right well aware
To shonne the engin of his meant decay;
Jt booted not to thinke that throw to beare,
But grownd he gave, and lightly lept areare:
Eft fierce retourning, as a faulcon fayre,
That once hath failed of her souse full neare,
Remounts againe into the open ayre,
And unto better fortune doth her selfe pre-
payre.
XXXVII
So brave retourning, with his brandisht blade
He to the Carle him selfe agayn addrest,
And strooke at him so sternely, that he made
An open passage through his riven brest,
That halle the steele behind his backe did rest;
Which drawing backe, he looked evermore
When the hart blood should gush out of his
chest,
Or his dead corse should fall upon the flore ;
But his dead corse upon the flore fell nathe-
more.
XXXVIII
Ne drop of blood appeared shed to bee,
All were the wownd so wide and wonderous
That through his carcas one might playnly
see.
Halfe in amaze with horror hideous,
And halfe in rage to be deluded thus,
Again through both the sides he strooke him
quight,
That made his spright to grone full piteous ;
Yet nathemore forth fled his groning spright,
But freshly, as at first, prepard himselfe to
fight.
XXXIX
Thereat he smitten was with great affright,
And trembling terror did his hart apall;
Ke wist he what to thinke of that same sight,
lie what to say, ne what to doe at all:
114
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
He doubted least it were some magicall
Illusion that did beguile his sense,
Or wandring ghost that wanted funerall,
Or aery spirite under false pretence,
Or hellish feend raysd up through divelish
science.
XL
His wonder far exceeded reasons reach,
That he began to doubt his dazded sight,
And oft of error did himselfe appeach :
Flesh without blood, a person without sprif-lit.
Wounds without hurt, a body without might.
That could doe harme, yet could not harmed
bee.
That could not die, yet seemd a mortall wight,
That was most strong in most infirmitee ;
Lake did he never heare, like did he never see.
Awhile he stood in this astonishment,
Yet would he not for all his great dismay
(jive over to effect his first iuient,
And th' utmost meanes of victory assay,
Or th' utmost yssew of his owne decay.
His owne good sword Mordure, that never
fayld
At need till now, he lightly threw away,
And his bright shield that nought him now
avayld ,
And with his naked hands him forcibly assay Id.
Twixt his two mighty armes him up he
snatcht,
And crusht his carcas so against his brest,
That the disdainfull sowle he thence dispatcht,
And th' ydle breath all utterly exprest.
Tho, when he felt him dead, adowne he kest
The lumpish corse unto the sencelesse grownd;
Adowne he kest it with so puissant wrest,
That backe againe it did alofte rebownd,
And gave against his mother earth a grone-
full sownd.
As when Joves harnesse-bearing Bird from
liye
Stoupes at a flying heron with proud disdayne,
The stone-dead quarrey falls soforciblye,
That yt rebownds against the lowly playne,
A second fall redoubling backe agayne.
Then thought the Prince all penl sure was
past,
And that he victor onely did remayne ;
No sooner thought, then that the Carle as fast
(Jan heap huge strokes on him, as ere he down
was cast.
Nigh his wits end then woxe th' amazed
knight,
And thought his labor lost, and travell vayne,
Against this lifelesse shadow so to fight :
Yet life he saw, and felt his mighty mayne,
That, whiles he marveild still, did still him
pavne ;
Forthy he gan some other waves advize,
How to take life from that dead-living
swaync,
Whom still he marked freshly to arize
From th' earth, and from her womb new spiri
to repnze.
XLV
He then remembred well, that had bene say
How th' Earth his mother was, and first hir
bore,
She eke, so often as his life decayd,
Did life with usury to him restore.
And revsd him up much stronger then befor
So soone as he unto her wombe did fall :
Therefore to grownd he would him cast n
more,
Ne him committ to grave terrestriall.
But beare him farre from hope of succoui
usuall.
XLVI
Tho up he caught him twixt his puissan
hands,
And having scruzd out of his carrion corse
The lothfufl life, now loosd from sinfull band
Upon his shoulders carried him perforse
Above three furlongs, taking his full course
Until he came unto a standing lake ;
Him thereinto he threw without remorse,
Ne stird, till hope of life did him forsake :
So end of that Carles dayes and his own
paynes did make.
XLVII
Which when those wicked Hags from far di
spye,
Like two mad dogs they ran about the lands
And th' one of them with dreadfull yellin
crye,
Throwing away her broken chaines and band
And having queneht her burning fier-brands
Hedlong her selfe did cast into that lake;
But Impotence with her owne wilfull hands
One of Malegers cursed darts did take,
So ryv'd her trembling hart, and wicked er,
did make.
XLVIII
Thus now alone he conquerour remaines :
Tho, camming to his Squyre that kept his stee
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'45
Thought to have mounted ; but his feeble XLIX
vaines Where many Groomes and Squy res ready were
Him faild thereto, and served not his need, To take him from his steed full tenderly :
Through losse of blood which from his wounds And eke the fayrest Alma mett him there
did bleed, With balme, and wine, and costly spicery,
That he began to faint, and life decay : !To comfort him in his infirmity.
But his good Squyre, him helping up with | Eftesoones shee causd him up to be convayd,
speed, I And of his armes despoyled easily
With stedfast hand upon his horse did stay, In sumptuous bed shee'made him to be layd :
And led him to the Castle by the beaten And al the while his wounds were dressing by
way. him stayd.
CANTO XII.
Guyon, by Palmers governaunce,
Passing through perilles great.
Doth overthrow the Bowre of blis.
And Acrasy defeat.
j Kow ginnes that goodly frame of Temper-
aunce
Fayrely to rise, and her adorned bed
To pricke of highest prayse forth to advaunce,
Formerly grounded and fast setteled
On firme foundation of true bountyhed :
And this brave knight, that for this vertue
fightes,
jNow comes to point of that same perilous sted,
Where Pleasure dwelles in sensuall delights,
Mongst thousand dangers, and ten thousand
Magick mights.
Two dayes now in that sea he sayled has,
$Je ever land beheld, ne living wight,
Ne ought save perill still as he did pas:
Tho. when appeared the third Morrow bright
Upon the waves to spred her trembling light,
An hideous roring far nway tbey heard,
That all their sences filled with affright ;
And streight they saw the raging surges reard
Up to the skyes, that them of drowning made
affeard.
in
Said then the Boteman, 'Palmer, stere aright,
And keepe an even course; for yonder way
\Ve needes must pas (God doe us well acquight !)
That is the Gulfe of Greedinesse. they say,
That deepe engorgeth all this worldes pray ;
Which having swallowd up excessively,
He soone in vomit up againe doth lay,
And bolcheth forth his superfluity,
That all the seas for feare doe seeme away to fly.
' On thother syde an hideous Kocke is pight
Of mightie Magnes stone, whose craggie clift
Depending from on high, dreadfull to sight,
Over the waves his rugged armes doth lift,
And threatneth downe to throw his ragged rift-
On whoso cometh nigh ; yet nigh it drawes
All passengers, that none from it can shift :
For, whiles they fly that Gulfesdevouringjawes,
They on this rock "are rent, and sunck in helples
Forward they passe, and strongly he them
rowes,
Untill they nigh unto that Gulfe arryve,
Where streame more violent and greedy growes :
Then he with all his puisaunce doth stryve
To strike his oares, and mightily doth drive
The hollow vessell through the threatfull wave:
Which, gaping wide to swallow them alyve
In th' huge abysse of his engulfing grave,
Doth rore at them in vaine, and with great
terrour rave.
VI
They, passing by, that grisely mouth did see
Sucking the seas into his entralles deepe,
, That seemd more horrible then hell to bee,
; Or that darke dreadfull hole of Tartare steepe
Through which the damned ghosts doen often
creepe
Backe to the world, bad livers to torment :
But nought that falles into this direfull deepe
Xe that approcheth nigh the wyde descent,
May backe retourne, but is condemned to b«
drent.
146
THE FAERIE QUEENED
[BOOK n.
On thother side they saw that perilous Rocke,
Threatning it selfe on them to ruinate,
On whosesharp cliftes the ribs of vessels broke :
And shivered ships, which had beene wrecked
Yet stuck with carkases exanimate [late,
Of such, as having all their substance spent
In wanton joyes and lustes intemperate,
Did afterwards make shipwrack violent
Beth of their life and fame, for everfowly blent.
Forthy thishight The Rocke of vile Reproch,
A dauiigerous and detestable place,
To which nor fish nor fowle did once approch,
But yelling Meawes, with Seagulles hoars and
bace,
And Cormoyraunts, with birds of ravenous race
Which still sat waiting on that wastfull clift
For spoile of wretches, whose unhappy cace,
After lost credit and consumed thrift,
At last them driven hath to this despairefull
drift. '
IX
The Palmer, seeing them in safetie past,
Thussaide; ' Behold th' ensamples in our sights
Of lustfull luxurie and thriftlesse wast.
What now is left of miserable wightes,
Which spent their looser daies in leuddelightes,
Hut shame and sad reproch, here to be red
By these rent reliques, speaking their ill
Let all that live hereby be counselled [plightes?
To shunne Rocke of Reproch, and it as death
to dred !'
x
So forth they rowed; and that Ferryman
With his stiffe oares did brush the sea so
strong,
That the hoare waters from his frigot ran,
And the light bubles daunced all along,
Whiles the salt brine out of the billowes sprong.
At last far off they many Islandes spy
On every side noting the floodes emong :
Then said the knight ; ' Lo ! I the land descry ;
Therefore, old Syre, thy course doe thereunto
apply.'
XI
'That may not bee,' said then the Fern-man,
' Least wee unweeting hap to be fordonne;
For those same Islands, seeming now and than,
Are not firme land, nor any certein wonne,
But stragling plots which "to and fro doeronne
In the wide waters : therefore are they hight
The Wandring Islands. Therefore doe them
shonne; [wight
For they have ofte drawne many a wandrlng
Intomost deadly daunger and distressed plight.
Yet well they seeme to him, that fnrre doth
vew,
Both faire and fruitful!, and the grownd dispred
With grassy greene of delectable hew ;
And the tall trees with leaves appareled
Are deckt with blossoms dyde in white and red,
That mote the passengers thereto allure;
But whosoever once hath fastened
His foot thereon, may never it recure,
But wandreth evermore uncertein and unsure.
' As th' Isle of Delos whylome, men report,
Amid th' Aegasan sea long time did stray.
Ne made for shipping any certeine port,
Till that Latona travelling that way,
Flying from Junoes wrath and hard assay,
Of her fayre twins was there delivered,
Which afterwards did rule the night and dav
Thenceforth it firmely was established.
And for Apolloes temple highly herried.'
They to him hearken, as beseemeth meete,
And passe on forward : so their way does ly.
That one of those same Islands, which doe
fleet
In the wide sea, they needes must passen by,
Which seemd so sweet and pleasaunt to the
eye,
That it would tempt a man to touchen there:
Upon the banck they sitting did espy
A daintie damsell dressing of her heare,
By whom a little skippet noting did appeare.
She, them espying, loud to them can call,
Bidding them nigher draw unto the shore,
For she had cause to busie them withall ;
And therewith lowdly laught : But nathemor
Would they once turne, but kept on as afore
Which when she saw, she left her lockes un
dight,
And running to her boat withouten ore,
From the departing land it launched light,
And after them did drive with all her powcj
and might.
XVI
Whom overtaking, she in merry sort
Them gan to bord, and purpose diversly ;
Now faining dalliaunce and wanton sport,
Xow throwing forth lewd wordes immodestl- j
Till that the Palmer gan full bitterly
Her to rebuke for being loose and light :
Which not abiding, but more scornfully
CANTO XI I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Scoffing at him that did herjust.lv wite,
She tiirnd her bote about, and from them
rowed quite.
XVII
That was the wanton Phiedria, which late
Did ferry him over the Idle lake :
Whom nought regarding they kept on their
gate,
And all her vaine allurements did forsake;
When them the wary Boteman thus bespake :
' Here now behovcth us well to avyse,
And of our safety good heecle to take ;
For here before a perlous passage lyes,
Where many Mennayds haunt maki.ig false
melodies :
XVIII
' But by the way there is a great Quicksand,
And a whirlepoole of hidden jeopardy ;
Therefore, Sir Palmer, keepe an even hand.
For twixt them both the narrow way doth ly.'
Scarse had he saide, when hard at hand they
spy
That quicksand nigh with water covered ;
But by the checked wave they did descry
It plaine, and by the sea discoloured :
It called was the quickesand of Uiitliriftyhed.
They, passing by, a goodly Ship did see
Laden from far with precious merchandize,
And bravely furnished as ship might bee,
rVhich through great disaventure, or mesprize,
ler selfe had ronne into that hazardize ;
iVhose mariners and merchants with much
toyle
jabour'd in vaine to have recur'd their prize,
Vnd the rich wares to save from pitteous spoyle;
8ut neither toyle nor traveill might her backe
recoyle.
xx
On th' other side they see that perilous Poole,
•»orejri)at called was the Whirlepoole of decay;
In which full many had with haplesse doole
Beene suncke, of whom no memorie did stay :
VVhose circled waters rapt with whirling swny,
to a restlesse wheele, still ronning round,
)id covet, as they passed by that way,
\> draw their bote within the utmost bound
3f his wide Labyrinth, and then to have them
dround.
XXI
But th' heedful Boteman strongly forth did
stretch
lis brawnie armes, and all his bodie straine,
That th' utmost sandy breach they shortly
fetch,
iVhiles the dredd daunger does behind remaine.
Suddeine they see from midst of all the Maine
The surging waters like a mountaine rise,
And the great sea, puft up with proud dis-
daiue,
To swell above the measure of his guise,
As threatning to devoure all that his powre
despise.
XXII
The waves come rolling, and the billowes rore
Outragiously, as they enraged were,
Or wrathfull Neptune did them drive before
His whirling charet for exceeding feare ;
For not one puffe of winde there did appeare,
That all the three thereat woxe much afrayd
Unweeting what such horrour straunge "did
reare.
Eftsoones they saw an hideous hoast arrayd
Of huge Sea monsters, such as living sence
dismayd :
Most ugly shapes and horrible aspects,
Such as Dame Nature selfe mote feare to see,
Or shame that ever should so fowle defects
From her most cunning hand escaped bee;
All dreadfull pourtraicts of deformitee :
Spring-headed Hydres ; and sea-shouldring
Whales ;
Great whirlpooles which all fishes make to flee ;
Bright Scolopendraes arm'd with silver scales;
Mighty Monoceroses with immeasured tayles.
XXIV
The dreadful Fish that hath deserv'd the name
Of Death, and like him lookes in dreadful!
hew;
The griesly Wasserman. that makes his ganic
The flying ships with swiftnes to pursew :
The horrible Sea-satyre, that doth shew
His fearefull face in time of greatest stoime;
Huge Ziflius, whom Mariners eschew
No lesse then rockes. (as travellers iuforme)
And greedy Ros marines with visages deforme
All these, and thousand thousands many more,
And more deformed Monsters thousand fold,
With dreadfull noise and hollow romblin^
rore
Came rushing, in the fomy waves enrold,
Which seem'd to fly for feare them to behold.
Ne wonder, if these did the knight appall ;
For all that here on earth we dreadfull hold,
Be but as bugs to fearen babes w it hall,
Compared to the creatures in the seas en-
trail.
Li
148
THE FAERIE QUEE^E.
[BOOK ii.
' Feare nought,' then saide the Palmer well
aviz'd,
' For these same Monsters are not these in deed,
But are into these fearefull shapes disguiz'd
By that same wicked witch, to worke us dreed,
And draw from on this journey to proceed.'
Tho lifting up his vertupus staffe on hye.
He smote the sea, which calmed was with
speed,
And all that dreadfull Annie fast gan flye
Into great Tethys bosome, where they hidden
lye.
XXVII
Quit from that danger forth their course they
kept;
And as they went they heard a ruefull cry
Of one that wayld and pittifully wept,
That through the sea resounding plaints did fl y :
At last they in an Island did espy
A seeroely Maiden sitting by the" shore,
That with great sorrow and sad agony
Seemed some great misfortune to deplore,
And lowd to them for succour called evermore.
Which Guyon hearing streight his Palmer bad
To stere the bote towards that dolefull Mayd,
That he might know and ease her sorrow sad ;
Who, him avizing better, to him sayd :
' Faire Sir, be not difpleasd if disobayd :
For ill it were to hearken to her cry,
For she is inly nothing ill apayd ; "
But onely womanish fine forgery, [mity.
Your stubborue hart t'affect with fraile intir-
XXIX
' To which when she your courage hath in-
clind
Through foolish pitty, then her guilefull bayt
She will embosome deeper in your mind,
And for your mine at the last awayt.'
The Knight was ruled, and the Boteman strayt
Held on his course with stayed stedfastnesse,
Ne ever shroncke, ne ever sought to bayt
His tyred armes for toylesome wearinesse.
But with his oares did sweepe the watry wilder-
nesse.
XXX
And now they nigh approched to the sted
Whereas those Mermayds dwelt : it was a still
And calmy bay, on th' one side sheltered
With the brode shadow of an hoarie hill ;
On th' other side an high rocke toured still,
That twixt them both a pleasaunt port they
And did like an hni fe Theatre fulfill : [ made,
There those five sisters had continuall trade,
And usd to bath themselves in that deceipt-
full shade.
XXXI
They were faire Ladies, till they fondly
striv'd
With th' Heliconian maides for maystery ;
Of whom they, over-comen, were d'epriv'd
Of their proud beautie, and th' one moyity
Transformd to fish for their bold surquedry ;
But th' upper halfe their hew retayned still,
And their sweet skill in wonted melody :
Which ever after they abusd to ill, [ did kill.
T' allure weake traveillers, whom gotten they
XXXII
So now to Guyon, as he passed by,
Their pleasaunt tunes they sweetly thus ap-
' O thou fayre sonne of gentle Faery, [ plyde : |
That art in mightie annes most magnifyde
Above all knights that ever batteill tryde,
O ! turne thy rudder hitherward awhile
Here may thy storme-bett vessell safely ryde
This is the Port of rest from troublous toyle,
The world es sweet In from paiue and weari-j
some turmoyle,'
XXXIII
With that the rolling sea, resounding soft,
In his big base them fitly answered;
And on the rocke the waves breaking aloft
A solemne Meane unto them measured;
The whiles sweet Zephyrus lowd whisteled
His treble, a straunge kinde of harmony,
Which Guyons senses softly tickeled,
That he the boteman bad row easily, fled.']
And let him heare some part of their rare nn
xxxiv
But him the Palmer from that vanity
With temperate advice discounselled, "
That they it past, and shortly gan descry
The land to which their course they leveled
When suddeinly a grosse fog over-spred
With his dull vapour all that desert has,
And heavens chearefull face enveloped,
That all things one, and one as nothing wa.<J
And this great Universe seemd one contu;]
mas.
XXXV
Thereat they greatly were dismayd, ne wi j
How to direct theyr way in darkenes wide,
But feard to wander in that wastefull mist. \
For tombling into misehiefe unespide :
Worse is the daunger hidden then descride,
Suddeinly an innumerable flight [crj
Of harmefull fowles about them flutter!
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
And with their wicked wings them ofte did
smight,
And sore annr»y«<l, groping in that griesly night.
XXXVI
Even «11 the nation of unfortunate
And /atall birds about them flocked were,
Such as by nature men abhorre and hate;
The ill-fas te Owle, deaths dreadfull messengere ;
The hoars Night-raven, trump of dolefull drere ;
The lether-wiuged Batt, dayes enimy;
The ruefull Strich, still waiting on the bere;
The whistler shrill, that whoso heares doth dy ;
The hellish Harpyes, prophets of sad destiny.
XXXVII
All those, and all that els does horror breed,
About them flew, and fild their sayles with
feare :
Yet stayd they not, but forward did proceed,
Whiles th' >>ne did row, and th' other stifly
steare ;
Till that at last the weather gan to cleare,
And the faire land it selfe did playnly sheow.
Said then the Palmer; 'Lo! where does appeare
The sacred soile where all our perills grow.
Therfore, Sir knight, your ready arms about
you throw.'
He hearkned, and his armes about him tooke,
The whiles the nimble bote so well her sped,
That with her crooked keele the land she
Then forth the noble Guyon sallied, [strooke :
And his sage Palmer that him governed ;
But th' other by his bote behind did stay.
They marched fayrly forth, of nought ydred.
Both firmely armd for every hard assay,
With constancy and care, gainst daunger and
dismay.
XXXIX
Ere long they heard an hideous bellowing
Of many beasts, that roard outrageously,
As if that hungers poynt or Venus sting
Had them enraged with fell surquedry :
let nought they feard, but past on hardily,
Untill they came in vew of those wilde beasts,
Who all aitonce, gaping full greedily,
And rearing fercely their upstaring crests,
Ran towards to devoure those unexpected
guests.
XL
But sooneas they approcht with deadly threat,
The Palmer over them his staflfe upheld, [feat.
His mighty staffe, that could all charmes de-
Eftesoones tbeir stubborne corages were o^ueld,
And high advaunced crests downe meekely
feld;
Instead of fraying, they them selves did feare,
And trembled" as them passing they beheld :
Such wondrous powre did in that staffe appeare,
All monsters to subdew to him that did it
beare.
XLI
Of that same wood it fram'd was cunningly.
Of which Caduceus whilome was made,
Caduceus, the rod of Mercury, [invado
With which he wonts the Stygian realmes
Through ghastly horror and eternall shade:
Th' infernall feends with it he can asswage,
And Orcus tame, whome nothing can persuade..
And rule the Furyes when they most doe rage
Such vertue in his staffe had eke this Palmer
sage.
XLII
Thence passing forth, they shortly doe arryve
Whereas the Bowre of Blisse was situate ;
A place pickt out by choyce of best alyve,
That natures worke by art can imitate :
In which whatever in this worldly state
Is sweete and pleasing unto living sense,
Or that may dayntest fantasy aggrate,
Was poured forth with plentifull dis pence.
And made there to abound with lavish affluence.
XLIII
Goodly it was enclosed rownd about,
As well their entred guestes to keep within,
As those unruly beasts to hold without •,
Yet was the fence thereof but weake and thin :
Nought feard theyr force that fortilage to win,
But wisedomes powre, and temperaunces
might,
By which the mightiest things efforced bin :
And eke the gate was wrought of substaunct
light,
Rather for pleasure then for battery or fight.
Yt framed was of precious yvory,
That seemd a worke of admirable witt;
And therein all the famous history
Of Jason and Medaea was ywritt ;
Her mighty charmes, her furious loving fitt ;
His goodly conquest of the golden fleece,
His falsed fayth, and love too lightly flitt;
The wondred Argo, which in venturous peece
First through the Euxine seas bore all the
flowr of Greece.
XLV
Ye might have scene the frothy billowes fry
Under the ship as thorough them she went,
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
[BOOK ii.
That seemd the waves were into yvory,
Or yvory into the waves were sent ;
And otherwhere the snowy substaunce sprent
With vermeil, like the "boyes blood therein
shed,
A piteous spectacle did represent;
And otherwhiles, with gold besprinkeled,
Yt seemd thenchaunted flame which did
Cre'usa wed.
XLVI
All this and more might in that goodly gate
Be red, that ever open stood to all [sate
Which thither came ; but in the Porch there
A comely personage of stature tall.
And semblaunce pleasing, more then naturall
That travellers to him seemd to entize :
His looser garment to the ground did fall,
And flew about his heeles in wanton wize,
Not fitt for speedy pace, or manly exercize.
They in that place him Genius did call :
Not that celestiall powre, to whom the care
Of life, and generation of all
That lives, perteines in charge particulare,
Who wondrous things concerning our welfare,.
And straunge phantomes doth lett us ofte
foresee,
And ofte of secret ill bids us beware :
That is our Selfe, whom though we do not see,
Yet each doth in him selfe it well perceive to bee.
XI.VIII
Therefore a God him sage Antiquity
Did wisely make, and good Agdistes'call ;
But this same was to that quite contrary,
The foe of life, that good envyes to all,
That secretly doth us procure to fall [us see :
Through guilefull semblants which he makes
He of this Gardin had the governall,
And Pleasures porter was devizd to bee,
Holding a staffe in hand for mere forroalitee.
XLIX
With diverse flowres he daintily was deckt,
And strewed rownd about ; and by his side
A mighty Mazer bowle of wine was sett,
As if it had to him bene sacrifide,
Wherewith all new-come guests he gratyfide :
So did he eke Sir Guypn passing by ;
But he his ydle curtesie defide,
And overthrew his bowle disdainfully,
And broke his staffe with which he charmed
semblants sly.
L,
Thus being entred. they behold arownd
A large and spacious plaine, on evey side
Strowed with pleasauns ; whose fayre grassy
grownd
Mantled with greene, and goodly beautifide
With all the ornaments of Floraes pride,
Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in scorne
Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride
Did decke her. and too lavishly adorne,
When forth from virgin bowre she comes in
th' early morne.
Therewith the Heavens alwayes joviall
Lookte on them lovely, still in stedfast state,
Ne suffred storme nor frost on them to fall,
Their tender buds or leaves to violate ;
Nor scorching heat, nor cold intemperate.
T' afflict the creatures which therein did dwell;
But the milde ayre with season moderate
Gently attempred. and disposd so well,
That still it breathed forth sweet spirit and .
holesom smell:
More sweet and holesome then the pleasaunt 1
hill
Of Rhodope, on which the Nimphe that bore
A gyaunt babe herselfe for griefe did kill ;
Or the Thessalian Tempe, where of yore
Fayre Daphne Phoebus hart with love did(|
gore;
Or Ida. where the Godslov'd to repayre,
When ever they their heavenly bowres forlore;||T
Or sweet Parnasse, the haunt "of Muses fayre; f
Or Eden selfe, if ought with Eden mote com-||
payre.
LIII
Much wondred Guyon at the fayre aspect
Of that sweet place,"yet suffred no delight
To sincke into his sence, nor mind affect,
But passed forth, and lookt still forward right
Brydling his will and maystering his might,
Till that he came unto another gate ;
No gate, but like one, being goodly dightflatJ
With bowes and braunches, which did broad di
Their clasping armes in wanton wreathing
intricate :
LIV
So fashioned a Porch with rare device.
Archt over head with an embracing vine,
Whose bounches hanging downe seemd to
tice
All passers by to taste their lushious wine,
And did them selves into their hands incline
As freely offering to be gathered;
"ome deepe empurpled as the Hyacine,
>ome as the Rubine laughing sweetely red, I
Some like faire Eroeraudes, not yet we
ripened.
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
And them amongst some were of burnisht
gold,
So made by art to beautify the rest,
Which did themselves emongst the leaves en-
fold,
As lurking from the vew of covetous guest,
That the weake boughes, with so rich load
opprest
Did bow adowne as overburdened.
Under that Porch a comely dame did rest
Clad in fayre weedes but fowle disordered,
And garments loose that seemd unmeet for
womanhed.
LVI
In her left hand a Cup of gold she held,
And with her right the riper fruit did reach,
Whose sappy liquor, that with fulnesse sweld,
Into her cup she scruzd with daintie breach
Of her fine fingers, without fowle empeach,
That so faire winepresse made the wine more
sweet :
Thereof she usd to give to drinke to each,
Whom passing by she happened to meet :
It was her guise all Straungers goodly so to
greet.
LVII
So she to Guyon offred it to tast,
Who, taking it out of her tender bond,
The cup to ground did violently cast,
That all in peeces it was broken fond,
And with the liquor stained all the lond :
Whereat Excesse exceedingly was wroth,
Yet no'te the same amend, ne yet withstond,
I But suffered him to passe, all were she loth ;
Who, nought regarding her displeasure, forward
goth.
LVIII
There the most daintie Paradise on ground
It sclfe doth offer to his sober eye,
In which all pleasures plenteously abownd,
| Aud none does others happinesse envye ;
The painted flowres, the trees upshooting hye,
The dales for shade, the hilles for breathing
space
(The trembling groves, the christall running by,
So striving each th' other to undermine,
Each did the others worke more beautify ;
So differing both in willes agreed in fine :
So all agreed, through sweete diversity,
This Gardin to adorne with all variety.
And in the midst of all a fountaine stood,
Of richest substance that on earth might bee,
So pure and shiny that the silver flood
Through every channell running one might
see :
Most goodly it with curious ymageree
Was overwrought, and shapes of naked boyes,
Of which some seemd with lively jollitee
To fly about, playing their wanton toyes,
Whylest others did them selves embay in liquid
joyes.
LXI
And over all of purest gold was spred
A trayle of y vie in his native hew ;
For the rich metall was so coloured,
That wight who did not well avis'd it vew
Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew :
Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe,
That themselves dipping in the silver dew
Their fleecy flowres they fearefully did steepe,
Which drops of Christall seemd for wantones
to weep.
r.xn
Infinit streames continually did well
Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see.,
The which into an ample laver fell.
And shortly grew into so great quantitie,
That like a" litle lake it seemd to bee;
Whose depth exceeded not three cubits bight,
That through the waves one might the bottom
see,
All pav'd beneath with Jaspar shining bright,
That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle
upright.
LXIII
And all the margent round about was sett
With shady Laurell trees, thence to defend
The sunny beames which on the billowes bett,
And those which therein bathed mote offend.
As Guyon hapned by the same to wend,
Ami, that which all faire workes doth most|Two naked Damzelles he therein espvde,
aggrace, [place. which therein bathing seemed to contend
LThe art which all that wrought appeared in no
. One would have thought, (so cunningly the
rude
M>nd scorned partes were mingled with the fine)
That nature had for wantonesse ensude
Art, and that Art at nature did repine ;
And wrestle wantonly, ne car'd to hyde
Their dainty partes from vew of any which
them eyd.
LXIV
Sometimes the one would lift the other quight
Above the waters, and then downe againe
Her plong, as over-maystered by might,
Where both awhile would covered remaine,
152
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[POOR II.
And each the other from to rise restraine ; And counseld well him forward thence did
The whiles their snowy limbes, as through a draw.
vele, I Now are they come nigh to the Bowre of blis,
So through the christall waves appeared plaine : Of her fond favorites so nam'd amis,
Then suddeinly both -would themselves unhele, When thus the Palmer : ' Now, Sir, well avise;
And th' amorous sweet spoiles to greedy eyes For here the end of all our traveill is :
revele.
LXV
As that faire Starre, the messenger of morne,
His deawy face out of the sea doth reare ;
Or as the Cyprian goddesse, newly borne
Of th' Ocean's fruitfull froth, did tirst appeare :
Such seemed they, and so their yellow heare
Christalline humor dropped downe apace.
Whom such when Guyon saw, he drew him
neare,
And somewhat gan relent his earnest pace ;
His stubborne brest gan secret pleasaunce to
embrace.
LXVI
The wanton Maidens, him espying, stood
Gazing awhile at his unwonted guise ;
Then th' one her selfe low ducked in the flood,
Abasht that her a strauuger did avise ;
But thother rather higher did arise,
And her two lilly paps aloft displayd,
And all that might his melting hart entyse
To her delights she unto him bewrayd;
The rest hidd underneath him more desirous
made.
LXVII
With that the other likewise up arose,
And her faire lockes, which formerly were
bownd
Up in one knott, she low adowne did lose,
Which flowing low and thick her cloth 'd arownd,
And th' yvorie in golden mantle gownd :
So that faire spectacle from him was reft,
Yet that which reft it nolesse faire was fownd.
Here wonnes Acrasia, whom we must surprise,
Els she will slip away, and all our drift despise.
Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound,
Of all that mote delight a daintie eare,
Such as attonce might not on living ground,
Save in this Paradise, be heard elsewhere :
Right hard it was for wight which did it heare,
To read what manner musicke that mote bee •
For all that pleasing is to living eare
Was there consorted in one harmonee ;
Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters,
all agree:
The joyous birdes, shrouded in chearefull shade
Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet ;
Th' Angelicall soft trembling voyces made
To th' instruments divine respondence meet ;
The silver sounding instruments did meet
With the base murmure of the waters fall ;
The waters fall with difference discreet,
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call ;
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all
LXXII
There, whence that Musick seemed heard tc
bee,
Was the faire Witch her selfe now solacing
With a new Lover, whom, through sorceree
And witchcraft, she from farre did thither
bring :
There she had him now laid aslombering
So hidd in lockes and waves from lookers theft, In secret shade after long wanton joyes ,
Nought but her lovely face she for his looking Whilst round about them pleasauntly did sing
left. Many faire Ladies and lascivious boyes,
That ever mixt their song with light licentious
toves.
LXXIII
And all that while right over him she ho1
Withall she laughed, and she blusht withall,
That blushing to her laughter gave more grace,
And laughter to her blushing, as did fall.
Now when they spyde the knight to slacke his with her false eves' fast "fixed in 'his"sigh"C
Them to behold, and in his sparkling face [pace As seeking medicine whence she was stong,
The secrete signes of kindled lust appeare. Or greedily depasturing delight ;
Their wanton meriraents they did encreaee, (And oft inclining downe, with kisses light
And to him beckned to approch more neare, : por feare of waking hire, his lips bedewd,
And shewd him many sights that corage cold And through his humid eves did sucke hi.'
could reare.
I.XIX
On which when gazing him the Palmer saw,
He much rebukt those wandring eyes of his,
spright,
Quite molten into lust and pleasure lewd-,
Wherewith she sighed soft, as if his case shi
rewd.
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'53
The whiles some one did chaunt this lovely
lay :
Ah ! see, whoso fayre thing doest faine to see,
In springing flowre the image of thy day.
Ah ! see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly she<
Doth first peepe foorth with bashful! modestee,
That fairer seemes the lesse ye see her may.
Lo ! set; soone after how more bold and free
Her bared bosome she doth broad display ;
Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls
away.
LXXV
So passeth, in the passing of a day,
Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre ;
Ne more doth florish after first decay, [bowre
That carst was sought to deck both bed and
Of many a lady', and many a Paramowre.
Gather therefore the Rose whilest yet is prime,
For soone comes age that will her pride de-
flowre ;
Gather the Rose of love whilest yet is time,
Whilest loving thou mayst loved be with equall
crime.
LXXVI
He ceast ; and then gan all the quire of birdes
Their diverse notes t'attiuie unto his lay,
As in approvaunce of his pleasing wordes.
The constant payre heard all that he did say,
Yet swarved not, but kept their forward way
Through many covert groves and thickets close,
In which they creeping did at last display
That wanton Lady with her lover lose, ("pose.
Whose sleepie head she in her lap did soft dis-
LXXVII
Upon a bed of Roses she was layd, [sin ;
As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant
And was arayd, or rather disarayd,
All in a vele of silke and silver thin,
That hid no whit her alablaster skin, £bee :
But rather shewd more white, if more might
More subtile web Arachne cannot spin ;
Nor the fine nets, which oft we woven see
Of scorched deaw, do not in th' ayre more
lightly flee.
LXXVIII
Her snowy brest was bare to ready spoyle
Of hungry eies, which n'ote therewith be fild ;
And yet, through languour of her late sweet
toyle, [tild,
Few drops, more cleare then Xectar, forth dis-
That like pure Orient perles adowne it trild ;
And her faire eyes, sweet smyling in delight,
Moystened their fierie beames, with which she
thrild
Fraile harts, yet quenched not ; like starry light,
Which, sparckling on the silent waves, doea
seeme more bright.
LXXIX
The young man, sleeping by her, seemd to be
Some goodly swayne of honorable place,
That certes it great pitty was to see
Him his nobility so fowle deface :
A sweet regard and amiable grace,
Mixed with manly sternesse, did appeare,
Yet sleeping, in his well proportiond face ;
And on his tender lips the downy heare
Did now but freshly spring, and silken blos-
soms beare.
LXXX
His warlike Armes, the ydle instruments
Of sleeping praise, were hong upon a tree ;
And his brave shield, full of old moniments,
Was fowly ras't, that none the signes might
Ne for them ne for honour cared hee, [see :
Ne ought that did to his advauncement tend ;
But in lewd loves, and wastfull luxuree,
His dayes, his goods, his bodie, he did spend :
0 horrible enchantment, that him so did blend I
LXXXI
The noble Elfe and carefull Palmer drew
So nigh them, minding nought but lustfu:!
game, [threw
That suddein forth they on them rusht, and
A subtile net, which only for that same
The skilfull Palmer formally did frame :
•>o held them under fast ; the whiles the rest
Fled all away for feare of fowler shame.
The faire Enchauntresse, so unwares opprest,
Tryde all her arts and all her sleights thence
out to wrest.
LXXXII
And eke her lover strove, but all in vaine ;
For that same net so cunningly was wound,
That neither guile nor force might it distraine.
They tooke them both, and both them strongly
bound [ found :
[n captive bandes, which there they readie
But her in chaines of adamant he tyde ;
For nothing else might keepe her safe and
sound :
But Verdant (so he hight) he soone untyde,
And counsell sage in steed thereof to him ap-
ply de.
LXXXIII
But all those pleasaunt bowres, and Pallace
brave,
(inyon broke downe with rigour pittilesse ;
Ne ought their goodly workmanship might save
|Tl)em from the tempest of his wrathfulnesse,
154
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK ii.
But that their blisse he turn'd to balefulnesse.
Their groves he feld ; their gardins did deface;
Their arbers spoyle; their Cabinets suppresse;
Their ban ket houses burne ; their buildings race;
And, of the fay rest late, now made thefowlest
place.
LXXXIV
Then led they her away, and eke that knight
They with them led, both sorrowfull and sad.
The" way they came, the same retourn'd they
right,
Till they arrived where they lately had
Charm 'd those wild-beasts that'rag'd with
furie mad;
Which, now awaking, fierce at them gan fly,
As in their mistresse reskew whom they lad ;
But them the Palmer soone did pacify."
Then Guyon askt, what meant those beastes
which there did ly ?
Sayd he; 'These seeming beasts are men in-
deed, [thus;
Whom this Enchauntresse hath transformed
Whylome her lovers, which herlustes did feed,
Now turned into figures hideous,
According to their mindes like monstruous.'
• Sad end,' (quoth he) ' of life intemperate,
| And mourneful meed of joyes delicious!
I But, Palmer, if it mote thee so aggrate,
Let them returned be unto their former state.'
Streight way he with his vertuous staffe them
strooke,
And streight of beastes they comely men be-
Yet being men they did unmanly looke, [came;
And stared ghastly ; some for inward shame,
And some for wrath to see their captive Dame:
But one above the rest in speciall [name,
That had an hog beene late, hight Grylle by
Repyned greatly, and did him miscall "
That bad from hoggish forme him brought to
natural!.
LXXXVII
Saide Guyon ; ' See the mind of beastly man,
That hath so soone forgot the excellence
Of his creation, when he life began,
That now he chooseth with vile difference
To be a beast, and lacke intelligence ! ' [kinde
To whom the Palmer thus : ' The donghill
Delightes in filth and fowle incontinence:
Let Gryll be Gryll. and have his hoggish minde ;
But let us hence depart whitest wether serves
and winde.'
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'55
THE THIRDE BOOKE
OF
THE FAEEIE QUEENE
CONTAYNING THE LEGF.ND OF BRITOMARTIS, OR OF CHASTITY.
IT falls me here to write of Chastity,
The fayrest vertue, far above the rest :
for which what needes me fetch from Faery
Forreine ensamples it to have exprest?
Sith it is shrined in my Soveraines brest,
And formd so lively in each perfect part,
That to all Ladies, which have it profest,
Need but behold the pourtraict of her hart ;
If pourtrayd it might bee by any living art.
But living art may not least part expresse,
Nor life-resembling" pencil! it can paynt :
All were it Zeuxis or Praxiteles,
His dsedale hand would faile and greatly faynt,
And her perfections with his error t ynt :
Ne Poets witt, that passeth Painter farre
In picturing the parts of beauty daynt,
So hard a workemanship adventure darre,
For fear, through want of words, her excel-
lence to marre.
in
How then shall I, Apprentice to the skill
That whilome in divinest wits did rayne,
Presume so high to stretch mine humble quill?
Yet now my luckelesse lottdothmeconstrayne
j Hereto perforce. But, O dredd Soverayne !
• Thus far-forth pardon, sith that choicest witt
! Cannot your glorious pourtraict figure playne,
I That I in colotird showes may shadow itt,
And antique praises unto present persons fitt
But if in living colours, and right hew,
Thy selfe thou covet to see pictured,
Who can it doe more livelj-, or more trew,
Then that sweete verse, with Nectar sprinck-
In which a gracious servaunt pictured [eled,
His Cynthia, his heavens fayrest light ?
That witli his melting sweetnes ravished,
And with the wonder of her beames bright,
My sences lulled are in slomber of delight.
But let that same delitious Poet lend
A little leave unto a rusticke Muse [ mend,
To sing his mistresse prayse; and let him
If ought amis her liking may abuse:
Ne let his fayrest Cynthia refuse
In mirrours more then one her selfe to see ;
But either Gloriana let her chuse,
Or in Belphoebe fashioned to bee ; [chastitee.
In th' one her rule, in th' other her rare
CANTO I.
Gnyon encountreth Britomart :
Fayre Florimell is chaced :
Duessaes traines nnd Malecas-
taes champions are defaced.
1 Of the faire Alma greatly were procur'd
THF. famous Briton Prince and Faery knight, To make there lenger sojourne and abode ;
After long waves and perilous paines endur'd, But when thereto they might not be allur'd,
Having their weary limbes to perfect plight From seeking praise and deeds of armes abrode,
Restore!, and sory wounds right well re- They courteous conge' tooke, and forth together
cur'd, yode.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK III.
But the captiv'd Acrasia he sent,
Because of traveill long, a nigher way,
With a strong gard, all reskew to prevent,
And her to Faery court safe to convay ;
That her for witnes of his hard assay
Unto his Faery Queene he might present :
But he him selfe betooke another way,
To make more triall of his hardiment, [went.
And seek adventures as he with Prince Arthure
Long so they travelled through wastefull
waves, [wonne,
Where daungers dwelt, and perils most did
To hunt for glory and renowmed prayse.
Full many Countreyes they did overronne,
From the uprising to the setting Sunne,
And many hard adventures did atchieve ;
Of all the which they honour ever wonne,
Seeking the weake oppressed to relieve, [grieve
And to recover right for such as wrong die
At last, as through an open plaine they yode,
They spidea knight that towards pricked fayre ;
And him beside an aged Squire there rode,
That seemd to couch under his shield three-
square,
As if that age badd him that burden spare,
And yield it those that stouter could it wield.
He them espying gan him selfe prepare,
And on his arme addresse his goodly shield
That bore a Lion passant in a golden field.
v
Which seeing, good Sir Guyon deare besought
The Prince of grace to let him ronne that turne,
He graunted : then the Faery quickly raught
His poynant speare, and sharply gan to spurne
His foray steed, whose fiery feete did burne
The verdant gras as he thereon did tread ;
Ne did the other backe his foote returne,
But fiercely forward came withouten dread,
And bent his dreadful speare agairst the
others head.
VI
They beene ymett, and both theyr points
arriv'd ;
But Guyon drove so furious and fell, [have riv'd ;
That seemd both shield and plate it would
Nathelesse it bore his foe not from his sell,
But made him stagger, as he were not well :
But Guyon selfe, ere well he was aware,
Nigh a speares length behind his crouper fell ;
Vet in his fall so well him selfe he bare,
That mischievous mischaunce his life and
limbs did spare.
Great shame and sorrow of that fall he tooke ;
For never yet, sith warlike armes he bore
And shivering speare in bloody field first shooke,
He fownd him selfe dishonored so sore.
Ah ! gentlest knight, that ever armor bore.
Let not thee grieve dismounted to have beene,
And brought togrownd that never wast before;
For not thy fault, but secret powre unseene :
That speare encliaunted was which layd thee
on the greene.
VIII
But weenedst thou what wight thee over-
threw,
Much greater griefe and shamefuller regrett
For thy hard fortune then thou wouldst
renew,
That of a single damzell thou wert mett
On equall plaine, and there so hard besett :
Even the famous Britomart it was,
Whom straunge adventure did from Britavne
sett
To seeke her lover (love far sought alas !)
Whose image shee had scene in Venus looking
glas.
IX
Full of disdainefull wrath he fierce uprose
For to revenge that fowle reprochefull shame^
And snatching his bright sword began to
close
With her on foot, and stoutly forward came:
Dve rather would he then endure that same.
Which when his Palmer saw, he gan to feare
His toward perill, and untoward blame,
Which by that new rencounter he should reare;
For death sate on the point of that enchaunted
speare:
x
And halting towards him gan fayre per-
swade
Not to provoke misfortune, nor to weene
His speares default to mend with cruell blade
For by his mightie Science he had scene
The secrete vertue of that weapon keene,
That mortall puissaunce mote not withstand.
Nothing on earth mote alwaies happy beene :
Great hazard were it, and adventure fond,
To loose long gotten honour with one evil]
bond.
XI
By such good meanes he him discounselled
From prosecuting his revenging rage :
And eke the Prince like treaty handeled,
His wrathfull will with reason to aswagc ;
And laid the blame, not to his carriage,
But to his starting steed that swarv'd asyde.
And to the ill purveyaunce pf his page,
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
»57
That had his furnitures not firmely tyde.
Svj is his angry corage fayrly pacit'yde.
Thus reconcilement was betweene them knitt,
Tli rough goodly temperaunce and affection
chaste ;
And cither vowd with all their power and wit t
To let not others honour be defaste
Of friend or foe, who ever it embaste ;
Ne armes to beare against the others syde ;
In which accord the Prince was also plaste,
And with that golden cliaine of concord tyde.
So goodly all agreed they forth yfere did ryde.
0! goodlj- usage of those antique tymes,
In which the sword was servaunt unto right ;
When not for malice and contentious crymes,
But all for prayse, and proofe of manly might,
The martiall brood accustomed to fight :
Then honour was the meed of victory,
And yet the vanquished had no despight.
Let later age that noble use envy,
Vyle rancor to avoid and cruel surquedry.
Long they thus travelled in friendly wise,
Through countreyes waste, and eke well
edifyde,
Seeking adventures hard, to exercise
Their puissaunce, whylome full dernly tryde.
At length they came into a forest wyde,
Whose hideous horror and sad trembling sownd.
Full griesly seemd : Therein they long did
ryde,
Yet tract of living creature none they fownd,
Save Beares, Lyons, and Buls, which romed
them arownd.
xv
All suddenly out of the thickest brush,
I'poii a milkwhite Palfrey all alone,
A goodly Lady did foreby them rush,
Whose face did seeme as cleare as Christall
stone,
And eke, through feare, as white as whales bone:
Her garments all were wrought of beaten gold,
And all her steed with tinsell trappings shone,
Which fledu so fast that nothing mote him hold,
And scarse them leasure gave her passing to
behold.
XVI
Still as she fledd her eye she backward threw,
As fearing erill that poursewd her fast ;
And her faire yellow locks behind her flew,
Loosely dLsperst with puff of every blast:
All as a blazing starre doth farre outcast
His hearie beames, and flaming lockes dis-
predd,
At sight whereof the people stand aghast ;
But the sage wisard telles, as he has redd,
That it importunes death and dolefull drerv-
hedd.
XVII
So as they gazed after her a whyle,
Lo ! where a griesly foster forth did rush,
Breathing out beastly lust her to defyle :
His tyreling Jade he fiersly forth did push
Through thicke and thin, both over banck and
bush,
In hope her to attaine by hooke or crooke,
That from his gory sydes the blood did gush
Large were his limbes, and terrible his locke,
And in his clownish hand a sharp bore spe.ve
he shooke.
Which outrage when those gentle knights
did see,
Full of great envy and fell gealosy
They stayd not to avise who first should bee,
But all spurd after, fast as they mote tiy,
To reskew her from shamefull villany.
The Prince and Guyon equally bylive
Her selfe pursewd, in hope to win thereby
Most goodly meede, the fairest Dame alive :
But after the foule foster Timias did strive.
The whiles faire Britomart, whose constant
mind
Would not so lightly follow beauties chace,
Ne reckt of Ladies Love, did stay behynd,
And them awayted there a certaine space,
To weet if they would turne backe to that place ;
But when she saw them gone she forward
went,
As lay her journey, through that perlous Pace,
With stedfast corage and stout hardiment :
Ne evil thing she feard, ne evill thing she ment.
At last, as nigh out of the wood she cam;!,
A stately Castle far away she spydo,
To which her steps directly she did frame.
That Castle was most goodly edifyde,
And plaste for pleasure nigh that forrest syde :
But faire before the gate a spatious playne,
Man tied with greene, it selfe did spredden wydc.
On which she saw six knights, that did ilar-
rayne
Fiers battaill against one with cruell might and
i58
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK lit.
Mainely they all attonce upon him laid,
And sore beset on every side arownd, [maid,
That nigh he breathlesse grew, yet nought dis-
Ne ever to them yielded foot of grownd,
All had he lost much blood through many a
wownd,
But stoutly dealt his blowes, and every way,
To which he turned in his wrathfull stownd,
Made them recoile, and fly from dredd decay.
That none of all the six before him durst assay.
Like dastard Curres that, having at a bay
The salvage beast embost in wearie chace,
Dare not adventure on the stubborne pray,
Ne byte before, but rome from place to place
To get a snatch when turned is his face.
]n such distresse and doubtfull jeopardy
When Britomart him saw, she ran apace
Unto his reskew, and with earnest cry
Badd those same six forbeare that single enimy.
But to her cry they list not lenden eare,
Ne ought the more their mightie strokes sur-
ceasse.
But gathering him rownd about more neare,
Their direfull rancour rather did encreasse ;
Till that she rushing through the thickest
preasse
Perforce disparted their compacted gyre,
And soone compeld to hearken unto peace.
Tho gan she myldly of them to inquyre
The cause of their dissention and outrageous yre.
Whereto that single knight did answere frame :
' These six would me enforce by oddes of might
To chaunge my liefe, and love another Dame;
That death me liefer were then such despight,
So unto wrong to yield my wrested right :
For 1 love one, the truest one on grownd,
Ne list me chaunge ; she th' Errant Damzell
hight ;
For whose deare sake full many a bitter stownd
I have endurd, and tasted "many a bloody
wownd.'
XXV
'Cert es,' (said she) 'then beene ye sixe to blame,
To weene your wrong by force to justify;
For knight to leave his Lady were great shame
That faithfull is, and better were to dy.
All losse is lesse, and lesse the infamy,
Then losse of love to him that loves but one :
Ne may love be compeld by maistery ;
For soone as maistery comes sweet Love anone
Taketh his nimble winges, and soone away is
gone.'
XXVI
Then spake one of those six ; ' There dwelleth
Within this castle wall a Lady fay re, [here
Whose soveraine beautie hath no living pere ;
Thereto so bounteous and so debonayre,
That never any mote with her compayre :
She hath ordaind this law, which we approve,
That every knight which doth thiswayrepayre,
In case he have no Lady nor no love,
Shall doe unto her service, never to remove :
' But if he have a Lady or a Love,
Then must he her forgoe with fowle defame,
Or els with us by dint of sword approve,
That she is fairer then our fairest Dame ;
As did this knight, before ye hither came.'
' Perdy,' (said Britomart) 'the choise is hard;
But what reward had he that overcame?'
' He should advaunced bee to high regard,'
(Said they) ' and have our Ladies love for his
reward.
XXVIII
' Therefore aread, Sir, if thou have a love.'
' Love hath J sure,' (quoth she) 'but Lady none
Yet will I not fro mine own love remove,
Ne to your Lady will I service done,
But wreake your wronges wrought to this
knight alone,
And prove his cause.' With that, her mortal
speare
She mightily aventred towards one,
And downe him smot ere well aware he weare
Then to the next she rode, and downe the nex
did beare.
XXIX
Ne did she stay till three on ground she layi
That none of them himselfe could reare againe :
The fourth was by that other knight dismayd,
All were he wearie of his former paine ;
That now there do but two of six remaine,
Which two did yield before she did them smight
'Ah!' (said she then) 'now may ye all set
plaine, " [might
That truth is strong, and trew love most o:
That for his trusty servaunts doth so stronglj
fight.'
XXX
' Too well we see,' (saide they) ' and prove to<
well [might
Our faulty weakenes, and your matchless*
Forthy, faire Sir, yours be the Damozell,
Which by her owne law to your lot dothlight
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
'59
And we your liegemen faith unto you plight.'
So underneath her feet their swords they mard,
And, after, her besought, well as they might,
To enter in and reape the dew reward.
She graunted; and then in they all together
far'd.
XXXI
Long were it to describe the goodly frame,
And stately port of Castle Joyeous,
(For so that Castle hight by commun name)
Where they were entertayntl with courteous
And comely glee of many gratious
Faire Ladies, and of many a gentle knight,
Who, through a Chamber long and spacious,
Kftsoones them brought unto their Ladies
sight,
That of them cleeped was the Lady of Delight.
But for to tell the sumptuous aray
Of that great chamber should be labour lost;
For living wit, I weene, cannot display
The roiall riches and exceeding cost
Of every pillour and of every post,
Which all of purest bullion framed were, [bost;
And with great perles and pretious stones em-
That the bright glister of their beames cleare
Did sparckle forth great light, and glorious did
appeare.
XXXIII
These stranger knights, through passing,
forth were led
Into an inner rowme, whose royaltee
And rich purveyance might uneath be red;
Mote Princes place be seeme so deckt to bee.
Which stately manner whenas they did see,
The image of superfluous riotize,
Exceeding much the state of meane degree,
They greatly wondred whence so sumptuous
guize [devize.
Might be maintaynd, and each gan diversely
The wals were round about apparelled
With costly clothes of Arras and of Toure ;
In which with cunning hand was pourtrahed
The love of Venus and her Paramoure,
The fayre Adonis, turned to a flowre;
A worke of rare device and wondrous wit.
First did it shew the bitter balefull stowre,
Which her essayd with many a fervent fit,
When first her tender hart was with his beautie
•Bit.
xxxv
Then with what sleights and sweet allure-
ments she
Entyst the Boy, as well that art she knew.
And wooed him her Paramoure to bee ,
STow making girlonds of each flowre that grew,
To crowne his golden lockes with honour dew ;
Mow leading him into a secret shade f vew,
From his Beauperes, and from bright heavens
Where him to sleepe she gently would per-
swade,
Or bathe him in a fountaine by some covert
glade :
XXXVI
And whilst he slept she over him would spred
Her mantle, colour'd like the starry skyes,
And her soft arme lay underneath his hed,
And with ambrosiall kisses bathe his eyes ,•
And whilst he bath'd with her two crafty spyes
She secretly vrould search each daintie lim,
And throw into the well sweet Kosemaryes,
And fragrant violets, and Paunces trim ;
And ever with sweet Nectar she did sprinkle
him.
So did she steale his heedelesse hart away,
And joyd his love in secret unespyde."
But for she saw him bent to cruel! play,
To hunt the salvage beast in forrest wyde,
Dreadfull of daunger that mote him betyde,
She oft and oft adviz'd him to refraine
From chase of greater beastes, whose brutish
pryde
Mote breede him scath unwares'-but all in
vaine ; [doth ordaine ?
For who can shun the chance that dest'ny
Lo ! where beyond he lyeth languishing,
Deadly engored of a great wilde Bore ;
And by his side the Goddesse groveling
Makes for him endlesse mone, and evermore
With her soft garment wipes away the gore
Which staynes his snowy skin with hateful!
hew:
But, when she saw no helpe might him restore,
Him to a dainty flowre she did transmew,
Which in that cloth was wrought as if it lively
grew.
XXXIX
So was that chamber clad in goodly wize :
And rownd about it many beds were dight,
As whylome was the antique worldes guize,
Some for untimely ease, some for delight,
As pleased them to use that use it might ;
And all was full of Damzels and of Squyres,
Dauncing and reveling both day and night,
And swimming deepe in sensuall desyres ;
And Cupid still emongest them kindled lustfuli
fyres.
i6o
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
And all the while sweet Musicke did divide
Her looser notes with Lydian harmony ;
And all the while sweet birdes thereto applide
Their daintie laves and dulcet melody,
Ay caroling of love and jollity,
That wonder was to heare their trim consort.
Which when those knights beheld, with scorae-
full eye
They sdeigned such lascivious disport,
And loath'd the loose demeanure of that wan-
ton sort.
XM
Thence they were brought to that great
Ladies vew,
Whom they found sitting on a sumptuous bed
That glistred all with gold and glorious shew.
As the proud Persian Queenes accustomed.
She seemd a woman of great bountihed,
And of rare beautie, saving that askaunce
Her wanton eyes, ill signes of womanhed,
Did roll too lightly, and too often glaunce,
Without regard of "grace or comely amenaunce.
Long worke it were, and needlesse, to devize
Their goodly entertainement and great glee.
She caused them be led in courteous wize
Into a bowre, disarmed for to be,
And cheared well with wine and spiceree :
The Redcrosse Knight was soon disarmed
there;
But the brave Mayd would not disarmed bee,
But onely vented up her umbriere,
And so did let her goodly visage to appere.
XLIII
As when fayre Cynthia, in darkesome night,
Is in a noyous cloud enveloped, [light.
Where she may finde the substance thin and
Breakes forth her silver beames, and her bright
hed
Discovers to the world discomfited :
Of the poore traveller that went astray
With thousand blessings she is heried.
Such was the beautie and the shining ray,
With which fayre Britomart gave light unto
the day.
XLIV
And eke those six, which lately with her
fought,
Now were disarmd, and did them selves present
Unto her vew, and company unsought ;
For they all seemed courteous and gent,
And all sixe brethren, bome of one parent,
Which had them traynd in all civilitee,
And goodly taught to tilt and tumament :
Now were they liegmen to this Ladie free,
And her knights service ought, to hold of her
in fee.
xi,v
The first of them by name Gardante highr,
A jolly person, and of comely vew ;
The second was Parlante, a bold knight ;
And next to him Jocante did ensew ;
Basciante did him selfe most courteous shew;
But fierce Bacchante seemd too fell and keene i
And yett in armes Noctante greater grew :
All were faire knights, and goodly well beseene;
But to faire Britomart they all but shadowes
beene.
XI.VI
For shee was full of amiable grace
And manly terror mixed therewithal! ;
That as the one stird up affections bace,
So th' other did mens rash desires apall,
And hold them backe that would in error fall :
As hee that hath espide a vermeill Rose,
To which sharp thornes and breres the way I
forstall,
Dare not for dread his hardy hand expose,
But wishing it far off his ydle wish doth lose.
Whom when the Lady saw so faire a wight,
All ignorant of her contrary sex,
(For shee her weend a fresh and lusty knight,)
Shee greatly gan enamoured to wex
And with vaine thoughts her falsed fancy vex :
Her fickle hart conceived hasty fyre,
Like sparkes of fire which fall in sclender flex ]
That shortly brent into extreme desyre,
And ransackt all her veines with passion enty re |
XLVIII
Eftsoones shee grew to great impatience,
And into termes of open outrage brust,
That plaine discovered her incontinence ;
Ne reckt shee who her meaning did mistrust.]
For she was given all to fleshly lust,
And poured forth in sensuall delight,
That all regard of shame she had discust.
And meet respect of honor putt to flight :
So shamelesse beauty sooue becomes a loathl j
sight.
XLIX
Faire Ladies, that to love captived arre.
And chaste desires doe nourish in your mind j
Let not her fault your sweeie affections marr j
Xe blott the bounty of all womankind. [ fine j
'Mongst thousands good one wanton Darnell
Emongst the Roses grow some wicked weed; j
For this was not to love, but lust, inclind ;
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
161
For love docs alwaies brin
deeds,
And in each gentle hart desire of honor breeds.
forth bounteous The bird that knowe.s not the false fowlers call,
Into his hidden nett full easely doth fall.
Nought so of love this looser Dame did skill,
But as a cole to kindle fleshly flame,
Giving the bridle to her wanton will,
And treading uuder foote her honest name :
Such love is hate, and such desire is shame.
Still did she rove at her with crafty glaunce
Of her false eies, that at her hart did ayme,
And told her meaning in her countenaunce ;
But Britomart dissembled it with ignoraunce.
Supper was shortly dight, and downe they satt ;
Where they were served with all sumptuous fare,
Whiles fruitfull Ceres and Lyseus fatt
Pourd out their plenty without spight or spare.
Nought wanted there that dainty was and rare,
And aye the cups their bancks did overflow ;
And aye betweene the cups she did prepare
Way to her love, and secret darts did throw ;
But Britomart would not such guilfull message
know.
Da
So, when they slaked had the fervent heat
• appetite with meates of every sort,
The Lady did faire Britomart entreat
Her to disarme, and with delightful! sport
To loose her warlike limbs and strong effort ;
But when shee mote not thereunto be wonne,
(For shee her sexe under that straunge purport
Did use to hide, and plaine apparauuce shoune)
In playner wise to tell her grievaunce she
begonne.
mi
And all attonce discovered her desire [griefe,
With sighes, and sobs, and plaints, and piteous
The outward sparkes of her inburning fire ;
Which spent in vaine, at last she told her
briefe,
That but if she did lend her short reliefe
And doe her comfort, she mote algates dye :
But the chaste damzell, that had never priefe
Of such malengine and fine forgerye.
Did easely beleeve her strong extremity e.
LIV
Full easy was for her to have beliefe,
Who by self-feeling of her feeble sexe,
And by long triall of the inward griefe
Forthy she would not in discourteise wise
Scorne the faire offer of good will profest ;
For great rebuke it is love to despise,
Or rudely sdeigne a gentle harts request ,
But with faire countenaunce, as beseemed best,
Her entertaynd : nath'lesse shee inly deemd
Her love too light, to wooe a wandnng guest ,
Which she misconstruing, thereby esteemd
That from like inward fire that outward smoke
had steemd.
LVI
Therewith a while she her flit fancy fedd,
Till she mote winne fit time for her desire ;
But yet her wound still inward freshly bledd,
And through her bones the false instilled tire
Did spred it selfe, and venime close inspire.
Tho were the tables taken all away ;
And every knight, and every genne Squire,
Gan choose his Dame with Bascimano gay,
With whom he ment to make his sport
courtly play.
LVII
Some fell to daunce, some fel to hazardry,
Some to make love, some to make meryment,
As diverse witts to diverse things apply ;
And all the while faire Malecasta bent
Her crafty engins to her close intent.
By this th' eternall lampes, wherewith high Jove
Doth light the lower world, were halfe yspent,
And the moist daughters of huge Atlas strove
Into the Ocean deepe to drive their weary
drove.
LVIII
High time it seemed then for everie wight
Them to betake unto their kindly rest :
Eftesoones long waxen torches weren light
Unto their bowres to guyden every guest.
Tho, when the Britouesse saw all the rest
Avoided quite, she gan her selfe despoile,
And safe committ to her soft fethered nest ,
Wher through long watch, and late daies
weary toile, [quite assoile.
She soundly slept, and carefull thoughts did
Now whenas all the world in silence deepe
Yshrowded was, and every mortall wight
Was drowned in the depth of deadly sleepe ;
Faire Malecasta, whose engrieved spright
Wherewith imperious love her hart did vexe, I Could find no rest in such perplexed plight,
Could judge what paines doe loving harts Lightly arose out of her wearie bed,
perplexe. And, under the blacke vele of guilty Night,
Who nieanes no guile be guiled soonest shall, Her with a scarlott mantle covered [loped.
And to faire semblaunce doth light faith annexe: | That was with gold and Ermines faire enve-
162
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Then panting softe, and tremblingevery joynt,
Her fearfull feete towards the bowre shemov'd,
Where she for secret purpose did appoynt
To lodge the warlike maide, unwisely loov'd ;
And, to her bed approching, iirst she proov'd
Whether she slept orwakte: with her softe hand
She softely felt if any member moov'd,
And lent her wary eare to understand
If any puffe of breather signe ofsence sheefond.
Which whenas none she fond, with easy shifte,
For feare least her unwares she should abrayd,
Th' embroder'd quilt she lightly up did lifte,
And by her side her selfe she softly layd,
Of every finest fingers touch affrayd ;
Ne any noise she made, ne word she spake,
But inly sigh'd. At last the royall Mayd
Out of her quiet slomber did awake, [take.
And chaunged her weary side the better ease to
Where feeling one close couched by her side,
She lightly lept out of her filed bedd,
And to her weapon ran, in mimic to gride
The loathed leachour. But the Dame, halfe
dedd
Through suddein feare and ghastly drerihedd,
Did shrieke alowd, that through the hous it
rong,
And the whole family, therewith adredd,
Rashly out of their rouzed couches sprung,
And to the troubled chamber all in armes did
throng.
LXIII
And those sixe knights, that ladies Champions
And eke the Redcrosse knight ran to the stownd.
Halfe armd and halfe unarmd, with them
at t < ms :
Where when confusedly they came, they fownd
Their lady lying on the sencelesse grownd :
On thother side they saw the warlike Mayd
Al in her snow-white smocke, with locks un-
bownd,
Threatning the point of her avenging blaed ;
That with so troublous terror they were all
dismay d.
About their Ladye first they flockt arovvnd ;
Whom having laid in comfortable couch,
Shortly they reard out of her frosen swownd ;
And afterwardes they gan with fowle reproch
To stirre up strife, and troublous contecke
broch :
But by ensample of the last dayes losse,
None of them rashly durst to her approch,
Ne in so glorious spoile themselves embosse :
Her succourd eke the Champion of the bloody
Crosse.
LXV
But one of those sixeknights, Gardantehigh
Drew out a deadly bow and arrow keene,
Which forth he sent, with felonous despight
And fell intent, against the virgin sheene:
The mortall steele stayd not tifl it was seene
To gore her side ; yet was the wound not deepe
But lightly rased "her soft silken skin,
That drops of purple blood thereout did weepe,
Which did her lilly smock with staines of ver
meil steep.
LXVI
Wherewith enrag'd she fiercely at them flew
And with her flaming sword about her layd,
That none of them foule mischiefe could eschew
But with her dreadfull strokes were all dis
mayd :
Here, there, and every where, about her sway<
Her wrathfull steele, that none mote it abyde
And eke the Redcrosse knight gave her goo<
ayd,
Ay joyning foot to foot, and syde to syde ;
That in short space their foes they have quiti
terrifyde.
LXVII
Tho, whenas all were put to shamefull fligh
The noble Britomartis her arayd,
And her bright armes about her body dight.
For nothing would she lenger there be stayd,
Where so loose life, and so ungentle trade",
Was usd of knightes and Ladies seeming gent
So earely, ere the grosse Earthes gryesy shad
Was all disperst out of the firmament,
They tooke their steeds, and forth upon thei
journey went,
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
CANTO II.
The Redcrosse knight to Britomart
Describeth Artegall :
The wondrous myrrhour, by which she
In love with him did fall.
IERE have I cause in men just blame to fina,
iat in their proper praise too partial I bee,
nd not indifferent to woman kind,
whom no share in armes and chevalree
ley doe impart, ne maken memoree
' their brave gestes and prowesse rnartiall :
carse do they spare to one, or two, or three,
owme in their writtes ; yet the same writing
small [glories all.
oes all their deedes deface, and dims their
Jut by record of antique times I finde
utwemen wont in warres to beare most sway,
nd to all great exploites them selves inclind,
f which they st?ll the girlond bore away;
.11 envious Men, fearing their rules decay,
an coyne straight lawes to curb-their liberty :
ot sitii they warlike armes have laide away,
icy have exceld in artes and pollicy,
iat now we foolish men that prayse gin eke
t'envy.
in
Of warlike puissaunce in ages spent,
€thou, faire Britomart, whose prayse I wry te ;
Ut of all wisedom bee thou precedent,
soveraine Queene ! whose prayse I would
endyte,
ndite I would as dewtie doth excyte ;
ut ah ! my rymes too rude and rugged arre,
ftien in so high an object they do lyte,
nd, striving tit to make, I feare, doe marre :
hy selfe thy prayses tell, and make them
knowen farre.
IV
phe, travelling with Guyon, by the way
f sondry thinges faire purpose gan to tiind,
I'abridg their journey long, and lingring day ;
Longst which it fell into that Fairies mind
|o aske this Briton Maid, what uncouth wind
irought her into those partes, and what inquest
.ade her dissemble her disguised kind ?
aire Lady she him seemd, like Lady drest.
ut fairest knight alive, when armed was her
brest.
Thereat she sighing softly had no powre
To speake a while, ne ready answere make ,
But with hart-thrilling throbs and bitterstowre,
As if she had a fever lit t, did quake,
And even- daintie limbe with horrour shake ;
And ever and anone the rosy red
Flasht through her face, as it had beene a flake
Of lightning through bright heven fulmined :
At last, the passion past, she thus him answered.
Faire Sir, I let you weete, that from the howr*
I taken was from nourses tender pap,
I have been trained up in warlike stowre,
To tossen speare and shield, and to affrap
The warlike ryder to his most mishap :
Sithence I loathed have my life to lead,
As Ladies wont, in pleasures wanton lap,
To finger the line needle and nyce thread,
Me lever were with point of foemans speare be
dead.
VII
All my delight on deedes of armes is sett,
To hunt out perilles and adventures hard,
By sea, by land, where so they may be mett,
Onely for honour and for high regard,
Without respect of richesse or reward :
For such intent into these partes I came,
Withouten compasse or withouten card,
Far fro my native soyle, that is by name
The greater Brytayne, here to seek for praise
and fame.
VIII
' Fame blazed hath, that here in Faery lond
Doe many famous knightes and Ladies wonne,
And many straunge adventures to bee fond,
Of which great worth and worship may be
wonne ;
Which to prove, I this voyage have begonne.
But mote I weet of you, right courteous
knight,
Tydings of one that hath unto me donne
Late foule dishonour and reprochfull spight,
The which I seeke to wreake, and Arthegall
he hight.'
•I
164
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
The worde gone out she backe againe would
As her repenting so to have missayd, [call,
But that he, it uptaking ere the fall,
Her shortly answered : ' Faire martiall Mayd,
Certes ye misavised beene t' upbrayd
A gentle knignt with so unknightly blame ;
For, weet ye well, of all that ever playd
At tilt or tourney, or like warlike game,
The noble Arthegall hath ever borne the name.
'Forthy great wonder were it, if such shame
Should ever enter in his bounteous thought,
Or ever doe that mote deserven blame :
The noble corage never weeneth ought
That may unworthy of it selfe be thought.
Therefore, faire Damzell, be ye well aware,
Least that too farre ye have your sorrow sought :
You and your countrey both I wish welfare,
And honour both ; for each of other worthy
The royall Maid woxe inly wondrous glad,
To heare her Love so highly magnifyde ;
And ioyd that ever she affixed had
Her hart on knight so goodly glorifyde,
How ever finely she it faind to hyde.
The loving mother, that nine monethes did
beare
In the deare closett of her painefull syde
Her tender babe, it seeing safe appeare,
Doth not so much rejoyce as she rejoyced
theare.
XII
But to occasion him to further talke,
To feed her humor with his pleasing style,
Her list in stryfull termes with him to balke,
And thus replyde : ' How ever, Sir, ye fyle
Your courteous tongue his prayses to compyle,
It ill beseemes a knight of gentle sort,
Such as ye have him boasted, to beguyle
A simple maide, and worke so hainous tort,
In shame of knighthood, as I largely can
report.
XIII
' Let bee therefore my vengeaunce to disswade,
And read where I that fay tour false may find.'
' Ah ! but if reason faire might you perswade
To slake your wrath, and mollify your mind '
(Said he) ' perhaps ye should it better find :
For hardie thing it is, to weene by might
That man to hard conditions to bind,
Or ever hope to match in equall fight,
Whose prowesse paragone saw never living
wight
Ne soothlich is it easie for to read
Where now on earth, or how, he may be fownd ;
For he ne wonneth in one certeine stead,
But restlesse walketh all the world arownd,
Ay doing thinges that to his fame redownd,
Defending Ladies cause and Orphans right,
Whereso he heares that any doth confownd
Them comfortlesse through tyranny or might :
So is his soveraine honour raisde" to hevens
hight.'
xv
His feeling wordes her feeble sence much
And softly sunck into her molten hart : [please(
Hart that is inly hurt is greatly eased
With hope of thing that may allegge hi
smart;
For pleasing wordes are like to Magick art,
That doth the charmed Snake in slomber lay
Such secrete ease felt gentle Britomart,
Yet list the same efforce with faind gainesay
So dischord ofte in Musick makes the sweete
lay:—
XVI
And sayd ; ' Sir knight, these ydle termes
forbeare ;
And, sith it is uneath to finde his haunt,
Tell me some markes by which he may ap
If chaunce I him encounter paravaunt ; [peare
For perdy one shall other slay, or daunt :
What shape, what shield, what armes, wha
steed, what stedd,
And what so else his person most may vaunt?
All which the Redcrosse knight to point aredd.
And him in everie part before her fashioned.
Yet him in everie part before she knew,
However list her now her knowledge fayne,
Sith him whylome in Britayne she did vew,
To her revealed in a mirrhour playne ;
Whereof did grow her first engrafted payne,
Whose root and stalke so bitter yet did taste,
That but the fruit more sweetnes did contayne
Her wretched dayes in dolour she mote waste
And yield the pray of love to lothsome deatl
at last.
XVIII
By straunge occasion she did him behold,
And much more straungely gan to love hi
sight,
As it in bookes hath written beene of old.
In Deheubarth, that now South-wales is highl
What time king Ryence raign'd and deale>i
right,
The great Magitien Merlin had deviz'd,
By his deepe science and hell-dreaded might
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
165
A looking glassc, right wondrously aguiz'd,
Whose vertues through the wyde worlde soone
were solemniz'd.
It vertue had to shew in perfect eight
Whatever thing was in the world contaynd,
Betwixt the lowest earth and hevens bight,
•><> that it to the looker appertaynd :
Whatever foe had wrought, or frend had faynd,
Therein discovered was, ne ought mote pas,
ought in secret from the same remaynd ;
Forthy it round and hollow shaped was,
Like to the world itselfe, and seemd a world
of glas.
xx
Who wonders not, that reades so wonderous
worke ?
But who does wonder, that has red the Towre
Wherein th' Aegyptian Phao long did lurke
From all mens vew, that none might her dis-
coure,
Yet she might all men vew out of her bowre ?
'ircat 1'tolomiee it for his lemans sake
Ybuilded all of glasse, by Magicke powre,
And also it impregnable did make; [brake.
Yet when his love was false he with a peaze it
Such was the glassy globe that Merlin made,
And gave unto king Ryenee for his gard,
["hat never foes his kingdome might invade,
But he it knew at home before he hard
fydings thereof, and so them still debar'd.
!t was a famous Present for a Prince,
And worthy worke of infinite reward,
Dhat treasons could bewray, and foes convince :
Happy this Realme, had it remayned ever
since !
XXII
One day it fortuned fayre Britomari
Into her fathers closet to repayre ;
?or nothing he from her reserv'd apart,
Being his onely daughter and his hayre ;
Where when she had espyde that'mirrhour
fayre,
ier selfe awhile therein she vewd in vaine :
Tho, her avizing of the vertues rare
IVhich thereof spoken were, she gan againe
ler to bethinke of that mote to her selfe per-
taine.
XXIII
But as it falleth, in the gentlest harts
imperious Love hath highest set his throne,
\nd tyrannizeth in the bitter smarts
)f them that to him buxome are and prone :
So thought this Mayd (as maydens use to
done)
Whom fortune for her husband would allot :
Not that she lusted after any one,
For she was pure from blame of sinfull blott ;
Yet wist her life at last must lincke in that
same knot.
XXIV
Eftsoones there was presented to her eye
A comely knight, all arm'd in eomplete'wize,
Through whose bright ventayle, lifted up on
His manly face, that did his foes agrize, [hye.
And frends to termes of gentle truce entize,
Lookt foorth, as Phoebus face out of the east
Betwixt two shady mountaynes doth arize :
Portly his person was, and much increast
Through his Heroicke grace and honorable
gest.
XXV
Hiscrestwas covered with acouchant Hownd,
And all his armour seemd of antique mould,
But wondrous massy and assured sownd,
And round about yfretted all with gold,
In which there written was, with cyphres old,
Achilles armes, which ArfhegaJl did win :
And on his shield enveloped sevenfold
He bore a crowned little Ermelin,
That deckt the azure field with her fayre
pouldred skin.
XXVI
The Damzell well did vew his Personage
And liked well, ne further fastned not,
But went her way ; ne her unguilty age
Did weene, unwares, that her unlucky lot
Lny hidden in the bottome of the pot.
Of hurt unwist most daunger doth redound ;
But the false Archer, which that arrow shot
So slyly that she did -not feele the wound,
Did smyle full smoothly at her weetlessc wo-
full stound.
XXVII
Thenceforth the fether in her lofty crest,
Ruffed of love, gan lowly to availe ;
And her prowd portaunce and her princely gest,
With which she earst tryumphed, now did
quaile :
Sad, solemne, sowre, and full of fancies fraile,
She woxe ; yet wist she nether how, nor why.
She wist not, silly Mayd, what she did aile,"
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy ;
Yet thought it was not love, but some melan-
choly.
XXVIII
So soone as Night had with her pallid hew
Defaste the beautie of the shyning skye,
And ret'fe from men the worldes desired vew.
She with her Nourse adowne to sleepe did lye ;
i66
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
But sleepe full far away from her did fly :
In stead thereof sad sighes and sorrowes deepe
Kept watch and ward about her warily,
That nought she did but wayle, and often
8teepe [shedidweepe.
Her dainty couch with teares which closely
XXIX
And if that any drop of slombring rest
Did chaunce to still into her weary spright
When feeble nature felt her selfe opprest,
Streight-way with dreames, and with fantas-
tick sight
Of dreadfull things, the same was put to flight ;
That oft out of her bed she did astart,
As one with vew of ghastly feends affright :
Tho gan she to renew her former smart, £hart.
And thinke of that fayre visage written in her
XXX
One night, when she was tost with such un-
rest, rhight»
Her aged Nourse, whose name was Glauce
Feeling her leape out of her loathed nest,
Betwixt her feeble armes her quickly keight,
And downe againeher in her warme bed dight :
' Ah ! my deare daughter, ah ! my dearest
dread,
What uncouth fit,' (sayd she) ' what evill plight
Hath thee opprest, and with sad drearyhead
Chaunged thy lively cheare, and living made
thee dead ?
XXXI
' For not of nought these suddein ghastly
All night afflict thy naturall repose ; [ feares
And all the day, when as thine equall peares
Their fit disports with faire delight doe chose,
Thou in dull corners doest thy selfe inclose ;
Ne tastest Princes pleasures, ne doest spred
Abroad thy fresh youths fayrest flowre, bui
lose
Both leafe and fruite, both too untimely shed
As one in wilfull bale for ever buried.
' The time that mortall men their weary cares
Do lay away, and all wilde beastes do rest,
And every river eke his course forbeares,
Then doth this wicked evill thee infest,
And rive with thousand throbs thy thrillee
brest :
Like an huge Aetn* of deepe engulfed gryefe,
Sorrow is heaped in thy hollow chest, [ryfe
Whence foorth it breakes in sighes and anguisl
As smoke and sulphure mingled with confusec
atryfe.
XXXIH
' Ay me ! how much I feare least love it bee !
Jut 'if that love it be, as sure I read
Jv knowen signes and passions which I see,
Je it worthy of thv race and royall sead,
?hen I avow, by this most sacred head
)f my deare foster childe, to ease thy griefe
And win thy will : Therefore away doe dread :
or death nor daunger from thy dew reliefe
Shall me debarre : tell me therefore, my liefest
liefe !'
XXXIV
So having sayd, her twixt her armes twaine
>hee streightly straynd, and colled tenderly ;
And every trembling joynt and every vaine
Shee softly felt, and rubbed busily,
To doe the frosen cold away to fly ;
And her faire deawy eies with kisses deare
Shee ofte did bathe, and ofte againe did dry ;
And ever her importund not to feare
To let the secret of her hart to her appeare.
XXXV
The Damzell pauzd ; and then thus fearfully
Ah! Nurse, what needeth thee to eke
s not enough that I alone doe dye, [pavne
3ut it must doubled bee with death of twaine '
?or nought for me but death there doth remaine.
O daughter deare ! ' (said she) ' despeire no
whit;
For never sore but might a salve obtaine :
That blinded God, which hath ye blindly smit,
Another arrow hath your lovers hart to hit.'
xxxvi
' But mine is not ' (quoth she) ' like othe
wownd ;
For which no reason can finde remedy.'
Was never such, but mote the like be fownd,
(Said she) ' and though no reason may apply
Salve to your sore, yet love can higher stye
Then reasons reach, and oft hath wonder
donne.'
But neither God of love nor God of skye
Can doe ' (said she) ' that which cannot b
donne.' [ere begonne
' Things ofte impossible ' (quoth she) ' seem«
XXXVII
'These idle wordes' (said she) 'doe nougl
as wage [breed
My stubborne smart, but more annoiaum
For no, no usuall fire, no usuall rage
Yt is, O Nourse ! which on my life doth feed
And sucks the blood which from my hart dot
bleed:
But since thy faithful zele lets me not hyde
My crime, (if crime it be) I will it reed.
ANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
167
Tor Prince nor pere it is, whose love hath gryde
!y feeble brest of late, and launched this
wound wyde.
XXXVIII
* Nor man it is, nor other living wight,
'or then some hope I might unto me draw;
ut th' only shade and semblant of a knight,
Vhose shape or person yet I never saw,
lath me subjected to loves cruell law :
'he same one day, as me misfortune led,
in my fathers wondrous mirrhour saw,
And, pleased with that seeming goodly-hed,
Jnwares the hidden hooke with baite I swal-
lowed.
XXXIX
' Sitliens it hath infixed faster hold
Vitliin my bleeding bowells, and so sore
Now ninetieth in this same fraile fleshly mould,
'hat all my entrailes flow with poisnous gore,
\.nd th' ulcer groweth daily more and more ;
fe can my ronning sore trade remedee,
)ther then my hard fortune to deplore,
And languish, as the leafe fain from the tree,
Till death make one end of my daies and
miseree !'
XL
; Daughter,' (said she) ' what need ye be dis-
mayd ?
3r why make ye such Monster of your minde ?
)f much more uncouth thing I was affrayil,
)f filthy lust, contrary unto kinde ;
But this affection nothing straunge I finde ;
•"or who with reason can you aye reprove
To love the semblaunt pleasing most your
minde, [move ?
And yield your heart whence ye cannot re-
tfo guilt in you, but in the tyranny of love.
' Not so th' Arabian Myrrhe did set her mynd.
Sbr so did Biblis spend her pining hart ; "
But lov'd their native flesh against al kynd,
\.nd to their purpose used wicked art :
Yet playd Pasiphae' a more monstrous part,
That lov'd a Bui, and learnd a beast to bee.
Such shamefull lustes who loaths not, which
depart
From course of nature and of modestee ?
Sweete love such lewdnes bands from his faire
companee.
XLII
But thine, my Deare, (welfare thy heart, my
tlrari.' !)
Though straunge beginning had, yet fixed is
;0n one that worthy may perhaps appeare;
' And certes seetne.s bestowed not amis:
oy thereof have thou and eternall blis ! '
Vith that, upleaning on her elbow weake,
ler alablaster brest she soft did kis, [quake,
Yhich alljthat while shee felt to pant and
As it an Earth-quake were : at last she thus
bespake.
XLIII
Beldame, your words doe worke me litle ease ;
<Y>r though my love be not so lewdly bent
As those ye blame, yet may it nought appease
tfy raging smart, ne ought my flame relent,
3ut rather doth my helpelesse griefe augment ;
?or they, how ever shamefull and unkinde,
i'et did possesse their horrible intent ;
Short end of sorrowes they thcrby did finde;
So was their fortune good, though wicked were
their minde.
XLIV
' But wicked fortune mine, though minde be
[!an have no ende nor hope of my desire,
But feed on shadowes whiles 1 die for food,
And like a shadowe wexe, whiles with entire
Affection I doe languish and expire.
I, fonder then Cephisus foolish chyld,
Who, having vewed in a fountaine shere
His face, was with the love thereof beguvld ;
I, fonder, love a shade, the body far exyld.'
' Nought like,' (quoth shee) ' for that same
wretched boy
Was of him selfe the ydle Paramoure,
Both love and lover, without hope of joy,
For which he faded to a watrv flowre :
But better fortune thine, and better howre,
Which lov'st the shadow of a warlike knight;
No shadow but a body hath in powre :
That body, wheresoever that it light, [might.
May learned be by cyphers, or by Magicke
' But if thou may with reason yet represse
The growing erilf, ere it strength have gott,
And thee abandond wholy do possesse,
Against it strongly strive, and yield thee nott
Til thou in open fielde adowne be smott :
But if the passion mayster thy fraile might.
So that needs love or death must bee thy lott,
Then, I avow to thee, by wrong or right
To compas thy desire, and find that loved
knight.'"
XLVII
Her chearefull words much cheard the feeble
spright
Of the sicke virgin, that her downe she layd
1 68
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
In her warme bed to sleepe, if that she might ;
And the old- woman carefully displayd
The clothes about her round with busy ayd ;
So that at last a litle creeping sleepe
Surpri.sd herscnce: Shee, therewith well apayd,
The dronken lamp down in the oyl did steepe,
And sett her by to watch, and sett her by to
wecpe.
XLVIII
Earely, the morrow next, before that day
His joyous face did to the world revele,
They both uprose and tooke their ready way
Unto the Church, their praiers to appele
With great devotion, and with little zele:
For the faire Damzel from the holy herse
Her love-sicke hart toother thoughts did steale:
And that old Dame said many an idle verse,
Out of her daughters hart fond fancies to re-
verse.
XLIX
Retourned home, the royall Infant fell
Into her former fitt ; for-why no powre
Nor guidaunce of herselfe in her did dwell :
But th' aged Nourse, her calling to her bowre,
Had gathered Rew. and Savine, and the flowre
Of Camphora, and Calamint, and Dill ;
All which she in a earthen Pot did poure,
And to the brim with Coltwood did it fill,
And many drops of milk and blood through it
L
Then, taking thrise three heares from off her
head,
Them trebly breaded in a threefold lace,
And round about the Pots mouth bound the
thread ;
And, after having whispered a space
Certein sad words with hollow voice and bace,
Shee to the virgin sayd, thrise sayd she itt ;
' Come daughter, come ; come, sp'it upon my
face ;
Spitt thrise upon me, thrise upon me spitt ;
Th' uneven nomber for this busines is most
litt.'
That sayd, her rownd about she from her t urnd,
She turned her contrary to the Sunne;
Thrise she her turnd contrary, and returnd
All contrary ; for she the right did shunne ;
And ever what she did was streight undonne.
So thought she to undoe her daughters love ;
But love, that is in gentle brest begonne,
No ydle charmes so lightly may remove :
That well can witnesse who by tryall it does
prove.
Lit
Ne ought it mote the noble Mayd avavle,
Ne slake the fury of her cruell flame, [wayle,
But that shee still did waste, and still "did
That, through long languour and hart-burning
brame,
She shortly like a pyned ghost became
Which long hath waited by the Stygian strond.
That when old Glauce saw", for feare least blame
Of her miscarriage should in her be fond,
She wist not how t'ameud, nor how it to with-
stond.
CANTO III.
Merlin bewrayes to Britomart
The state of Arthegall ;
And shews the famous Progeny,
Which from them springen shall.
MOST sacred fyre, that burnest mightily
In living brests, ykindled first above
Emongst th'eternall spheres and lamping sky,
And thence pourd into men, which men call
Love! [move
Not that same, which doth base affections
In brutish mindes, and filthy lust inflame.
But that sweete fit that doth true beautie love.
And choscth vertue for his dearest Dame,
Whence spring all noble deedcs and never
dying fame ;
11
Well did Antiquity a God thee deeme,
That over mortall mindes hast so great might,
To order them as best to thee doth seeme,
And all their actions to direct aright:
The fatall purpose of divine foresight
Thou doest effect in destined descents,
Through deepe impression of thy secret
might,
LMIg-UUj
And stirred* t up th' Heroe's high intents,
Which the late world admyres for won*
moniments.
wondrous
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
169
But thy dredd dartes in none doc triumph
more,
Ne braver proofe in any of thy powre
Shewd'st thou, then in this royall Maid of yore.
Making her seeke an unknowne Paramoure,
From the worlds end, through many a bitter
stowre: [rayse
From whose two loynes thou afterwardes did
Most famous fruites of matrimoniall bowre,
Which through the earth have spredd their
living prayse,
That Aime in tromp of gold eternally displayes.
IV
Begin then, O my dearest sacred Dame !
Daughter of Phoebus and of Memoryo,
That doest ehnoble with immortall name
The warlike Worthies, from antiquitye,
In thy great volume of Kternitye :
Begin, O Clio ! and recount from hence
My glorious Soveraines goodly auncestrye,
Till that by dew degrees, and long pretense,
Thou have it lastly brought unto her Excellence.
v
Full many wayes within her troubled mind
Old Glaucfe cast to cure this Ladies griefe ;
Full many waies she sought, but none could find,
Jfor herlies, nor charmes, nor counsel, that is
chief e
And choicest med'cine for sick harts reliefe :
Forthy great care she tooke, and greater feare,
Least that it should her turne to fowle repriefe
And sore reproch, when so her father deare
Should of his dearest daughters hard misfortune
heare.
VI
At last she her avisde, that he which made
•That mirrhour, wherein the sicke Damosell
So straungely vewed her straunge lovers shade,
To weet, the learned Merlin, well could tell
Under what coast of heaven the man did dwell,
And by what means his love might best be
wrought :
For, though beyond the Africk Ismael
Or th' Indian Peru he were, she thought
Him forth through infinite endevour to have
sought.
VII
Forthwith them selves disguising both in
straunge
And base atyre, that none might them bewray,
To Maridunum, that is now by chaunge [way :
[ Of name Cayr-Merdin cald, they tooke their
i There the wise Merlinwhylome wont (they say)
I To make his wonne, low underneath the ground,
' In a deepe delve, farre from the vew of day,
That of no living wight he mote be found,
When so he counseld with his sprights encom-
past round.
VIII
And, if thou ever happen that same way
To traveill, go to see that dreadful place.
It is an hideous hollow cave (they say)
Under a Rock that lyes a litle space
From the swift Barry, tombling downe apace
Emongst the woody hilles of Dynevowre :
But dare thou not, I charge, in any cace
To enter into that same balefull Bowre,
For feare the cruell Foendes should thee un-
wares devowre :
IX
But standing high aloft low lay thine eare,
And there such ghastly noyse of yron chaines
And brasen Caudrons thou shalt rombling
heare, [ paines
Which thousand sprights with long enduring
Doe tosse, that it will stonn thy feeble braines ;
And oftentimes great grones, and grievous
stownds, [ straines,
When too huge toile and labour them con-
And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing
sowndes [rebowndes.
From under that deepe Rock most horribly
The cause, some say, is this : A litle whyle
Before that Merlin dyde, he did intend
A brasen wall in compas to compyle
About Cairmardin, and did it commend
Unto these Sprights to bring to perfect end :
During which worke the Lady of the Lake,
Whom long he lov'd, for him in hast did send ;
Who, thereby forst his workemen to forsake,
Them bownd till his retourne their labour not
to slake.
XI
In the meane time, through that false Ladies
train e
He was surprisd, and buried under beare,
Ne ever to his worke returnd againe :
Nath'lesse those feends may not their work
forbeare,
So greatly his commandement they feare,
But there doe toyle and traveile day and night,
Untill that brasen wall they up doe reare ;
For Merlin had in Magick more insight
Then ever him before, or after, living wight:
For he by wordes could call out of the sky
Both Sunne and Moone, and make them him
obay ;
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
The Land to sea, and sea to mameland dry,
And darksom night he eke could turne to day:
Huge hostes of men he could alone dismay,
And hostes of men of meanest thinges could
When so him list his enimies to fray; [frame,
That to this day. for terror of his fame,
The feends do "quake when any him to them
does name.
XIII
And, sooth, men say that he was not the sonne
Of mortall Syre or other living wight,
But wondroiisly begotten, and begonne
Bv false illusion of a guilefull Spright
On a faire Lady Nonne, that whilome bight
Matilda, daughter to Pubidius,
Who was the lord of Mathraval by right,
And coosen unto king Ambrosius;
Whence he indued was with skill somerveilous.
They, here arriving, staid awhile without,
Ne durst adventure rashly in to wend,
But of their first intent gan make new dout.
For dread of daunger which it might portend ;
Untill the hardy Mayd (with love to frend)
First entering, the dreadfull Mage there fownd
Deepe busied bout worke of wondrous end,
And writing straunge characters in the grownd,
With which the stubborne feendes he to his
service bownd.
xvr
He nought was moved at their entraunce
bold,
For of their comming well he wist afore ;
Yet list them bid their businesse to unfold,
As if ought in this world in secrete store
Were from him hidden, or unknowne of yore.
Then Glance thus : ' Let not it thee offend,
That we thus rashly throtigh thy darksom
dore
Unwares have prest ; for either fatall end,
Or other mightie cause, us two did hither
send.'
XVI
He bad tell on ; And then she thus began.
' Now have three Moones with borrowd bro-
thers light [wan
Thrise shined faire, and thrise seemd dim ant
Sith a sore evill, which this virgin bright
Tormenteth and doth plonge in dolefull plight,
First rooting tooke ; but what thing it mote
bee,
Or whence it sprong, I can not read aright :
But this I read, that, but if remedee
Thou her afford, full shortly I her dead shall
Therewith th' Enchaunter softly gan to smyle
At her smooth speeches, weeting inly well
That she to him dissembled womanish guyle,
And to her said : ' Beldame, by that ye tell
More needeof leach-crafte hath your Damoze
Then of my skill: who helpe may have el
where,
In vaine seekes wonders out of Magick spell.'
Th' old woman wox half blanck those wordes
to heare,
And yet was loth to let her purpose plaine
appeare ;
XVIII
And to him said : ' Yf any leaches skill,
Or other learned meanes, could have redrest
This my deare daughters deepe engrafted ill,
Certes I should be loth thee to molest ;
But this sad evill, which doth her infest,
Doth course of naturall cause farre exceed,
And housed is within her hollow brest,
That either seemes some cursed witches deed,
Or evill spright, that in her doth such torment
breed.'
XIX
The wisard could no lenger beare her bord,
But, brusting forth in laughter, to her sayd :
Glauce, what n cedes this colourable word
To cloke the cause that hath it selfe bewrayd ?
Ne ye, fayre Britomartis, thus arayd,
More hidden are then Sunne in cloudy vele ;
Whom thy good fortune, having fate obayd,
Hath hither brought for succour to appele ;
The which the powres to thee are pleased to
revele.'
xx
The doubtfull Mayd, seeing her selfe des-
Was all abasht, and her pure yvory [cryde,
Into a cleare Carnation suddeine d'yde ;
As fayre Aurora, rysing hastily,
Doth by her blushing tell that she did lye
All night in old Tithonns frozen bed,
Whereof she seemes ashamed inwardly :
But her olde Nourse was nought dishartened,
But vauntage made of that which Merlin had
ared;
XXI
And sayd ; ' Sith then thou knowest all our
griefe,
(For what doest not thou knowe V) of grace II
pray,
Pitty our playnt. and yield us meet reliefe.'
With that the Prophet still awhile did stay, :
And then his spirite thus gan foorth display : (
' Most noble Virgin, that by fatall lore
Hast learn'd to love, let no whit thee dismay .
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
The hard beginne that meetes thee in the dore,
And with sharpe fits thy tender hart oppres-
seth sore :
XXII
' For so must all things excellent begin ;
And eke enrooted deepe must be that Tree,
Whose big embodied braunches shall not lin
Till they to hevens night forth stretched bee :
For from thy wombe a famous Progenee
Shall spring out of the auncient Trojan blood,
Which shall revive the sleeping memoree
Of those same antique Peres, the hevens brood,
Which Greeke and Asian rivers staynecl with
their blood.
XXIII
' Renowmed kings, and sacred Emperours,
Thy fruit full Ofspring, shall from thee descend;
Brave Captaines, and most mighty warriours,
That shall their conquests through all lands
extend,
And their decayed kingdomes shall amend :
The feeble Britons, broken with long warre,
They shall upreare, and mightily defend
Against their forren foe that commes from
farre,
Till universall peace compound all civill jarre.
' It was not, Britomart, thy wandring eye
Glauncing unwares in charmed looking glas,
But the streight course of hevenly destiny,
Led with eternall providence, that has
Guyded thy glaunce, to bring his will to pas :
Ne is thy fate, ne is thy fortune ill,
To love the prowest knight that ever was.
Therefore submit thy wayes unto his will,
And doe by all dew meanes thy destiny fulfill.'
' But read,' (saide Glauce) 'thou Magitian,
What meanes shall she out seeke, or what
waies take? [man?
How shall she know, how shall she finde the
Or what needes her to toyle, sith fates can
make
Way' for themselves their purpose to pertake?'
Then Merlin thus : ' Indeede the fates are
firme, [shake ;
And may not shrinck, though all the world do
Yet ought mens good endevours them conrirme,
And guyde the heavenly causes to their con-
stant terme.
XXVI
'The man, whom heavens have ordaynd to
The spouse of Britomart, is Arthegall : [ bee
He wonneth in the land of Fayeree,
Yet is no Fary borne, ne sib at all
To Elfes, but sprong of seed terrestriall,
And whylome by false Faries stolne away,
Whyles yet in infant cradle he did crall ;'
Ne other to himselfe is knowne this day,
But that he by an Elfe was gotten of a Fay :
XXVII
' But sooth he is the sonne of Gorloi's,
And brother unto Cador, Cornish king ;
And for his warlike feafes renowmed is,
From where the day out of the sea doth
Untill the closure of the Evening: [spring,
From thence him, firmely bound with faith-
full band, [bring,
To this his nati%re soyle thou backe shall
Strongly to ayde his countrey to withstand
The powre of forreine Paynims which invade
thy land.
XXVIII
Great ayd thereto his mighty puissaunce
And dreaded name shall give in that sad day;
Where also proofe of thy prow valiaunce
Thou then shalt make, t' increase thy lover's
pray. [sway,
Long time ye both in armes shall beare great
Till thy wombes burden thee from them dc
call,
And his last fate him from thee take away;
Too rathe cut off by practise criminall
Of secrete foes, that him shall make in mis-
chiefe fall.
XXIX
With thee yet shall he leave, for memory
Of his late puissaunce, his ymage dead,
That living him in all activity
To thee shall represent. He, from the head
Of his coosen Constantius, without dread
Shall take the crowne that was his fathers
right, [ stead :
And therewith crowne himselfe in th' others
Then shall he issew forth with dreadfull might
Against his Saxon foes in bloody field to fight.
XXX
' Like as a Lyon that in drowsie cave
Hath long time slept, himselfe so shall he
shake ; [brave
And comming forth shall spred his banner
Over the troubled South, that it shall make
The warlike Mertians for feare to quake :
Thrise shall he fight with them, and twise
shall win ; [make :
But the third time shall fayre accordaunce
And, if he then with victorie can lin,
He shall his dayes with peace bring to his
earthly In.
172
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
' His sonne, hight Vortipore, shall him snc-
In kingdome, but not in felicity : [ceede
Yet shall he long time warre with happy speed,
And with great honour many batteills try ;
But at the last to th' importunity
Of froward fortune shall be forst to yield :
But his sonne Malgo shall full mightily
Avenge his fathers losse with speare and shield,
And his proud foes discomfit in victorious
field
XXXII
' Behold the man ! and tell me, Britomart,
If ay more goodly creature thou didst see ?
How like a Gyaunt in each manly part
Beares he himselfe with portly majestee,
That one of th' old Heroe's seemes to bee !
He the six Islands, comprovinciall
In auncient times unto great Britainee,
Shall to the same reduce, and to him call
Their sondry kings to do their homage severall.
1 All which his sonne Careticus awhile
Shall well defend, and Saxons powre suppresse;
Untill a straunger king, from unknowne soyle
Arriving, him with multitude oppresse ;
Great Gormond, having with huge mightinesse
Ireland subdewd, and therein fixt his throne,
Like a swift Otter, fell through emptinesse,
Shall overswim the sea, with many one
Of his Norveyses, to assist the Britons fone.
xxxiv
' He in his furie all shall overronne,
And holy Church with faithlesse handes deface,
That thy sad people, utterly fordonne,
Shall to the utmost mounta'ines fly apace.
Was never so great waste in any place,
Nor so fowle outrage doen by living men ;
For all thy Citties they shall sacke and race,
And the greene grasse that groweth they shall
bren, [den.
That even the wilde beast shall dy in starved
XXXV
' Whiles thus thy Britons doe in languour pine,
Proud Etheldred shall from the North arise,
Serving th' ambitious will of Augustine,
And, passing Dee, with hardy enterprise
Shall backe repulse the valiaunt Brockwell
twise,
And Bangor with massacred Martyrs fill,
But the third time shall rew his foolhardise:
For Cadwan, pittying his peoples ill, [kill.
Shall stoutly him defeat, and thousand Saxons
' But after him, Cadwallin mightily
On his sonne Edwin all those wrongs shall
Ne shall availe the wicked sorcery [wreake ;
Of false Pellite his purposes to breake,
But him shall slay, and on a gallowes bleak
Shall give th' enchaunter his unhappy hire.
Then shall the Britons, late dismayd and weake,
From their long vassalage gin to respire, fire.
And on their Paynim foes avenge their ranckled
XXXVII
' Ne shall he yet his wrath so mitigate,
Till both the sonnes of Edwin he have slayne,
Offricke and Osricke, twinnes unfortunate,"
Both slaine in battaile upon Layburneplayne,
Together with the king of Louthiane,
Hight Adin, and the king of Orkeny,
Both joynt partakers of their fatall payne :
But Penda. fearefull of like desteny, * [fealty.
Shall yield him selfe his liegeman, and sweare
XXXVIII
' Him shall he make his fatall Instrument
T' afflict the other Saxons unsubdewd ;
He marching forth with fury insolent
Against the good king Oswald, who indewd
With heavenly powre, and by Angels reskewd,
Al holding crosses in their hands on bye,
Shall him defeate withouten blood imbrewd :
Of which that field, for endlesse memory,
Shall Hevenfield be cald to all posterity.
XXXIX
' Whereat Cadwallin wroth shall forth issew,
And an huge hoste into Northumber lead,
With which he godly Oswald shall subdew,
And crowne with martiredome his sacred head:
Whose brother Oswh), daunted with like dread,
With price of silver shall his kingdome buy ;
And Penda, seeking him adowne to tread,
Shall tread adowne, and doe him fowly dye ;
But shall with guifts his Lord Cadwallin pacify.
XL
' Then shall Cadwallin die ; and then the raine
Of Britons eke with him attonce shall dye ;
Ne shall the good Cadwallader, with paine
Or powre, be hable it to remedy,
When the full time, prefixt by destiny,
Shal be expird of Britons regiment :
For heven it selfe shall their successe envy,
And them with plagues and murrins pestilent
Consume, till all their warlike puissaunce be
spent.
XLI
Yet after all these sorrowes. and huge hills
Of dying people, during eight yeares space,
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
173
L'adwallader, not yielding to his ills,
b'rom Armoricke, where long in wretched cace
He liv'd, retourniiig to his native place,
Shal be by vision staide from his intent :
For th' heavens have decreed to displace
The Britons for their shines dew punishment
And to the Saxons over-give their government.
1 Then woe, and woe, and everlasting woe,
Be to the Briton babe that shal be borne
To live in thraldome of his fathers foe !
Late king, now captive ; late lord, now forlorne ;
First ill, and after ruled wickedly;
For, ere two hundred yeares be full outronne,
There shall a Raven, far from rising Sunne,
With his wide wings upon them fiercely fly,
And bid his faithlesse chickens overronne
The fruitfull plaines, and with fell cruelty
In their avenge tread downe the victors sur-
quedry.
XLVII
' Vet shall a third both these and thine sub-
dew.
There shall a Lion from the sea-bord wood
Banisht from princely bowre to wastefull wood !
O ! who shal helpe me to lament and mourne
The royall seed, the antique Trojan blood,
Whose empire lenger here then ever any stood? '
The Damzell was full deepe empassioned
Both for his griefe, and for her peoples sake,
Whoso future woes so plaine he fashioned ;
And, sighing sore, at length him thus bespake
' Ah ! but will hevens fury never slake,
Nor vengeaunce huge relent it selfe at last ?
Will not long misery late mercy make,
But shall their name for ever be defaste,
And quite from off the earth their memory be
raste ? '
XLIV
' Nay but the terme ' (sayd he) ' is limited,
That in this thraldome Britons shall abide ;
And the just revolution measured
That they as Straungers shal be notifide : [ plide,
For twise fowre hundreth yeares shalbe sup-
Ere they to former rule restor'd shal bee,
And their importune fates all satisfide :
Yet, during this their most obscuritee,
Their beames shall ofte breake forth, that men
- 1 Of Neustria come roring, with a crew
: Of hungry whelpes, his battailous bold brood,
them faire may see.
XLV
whose
surname shal be
'For Rhodoricke,
Great,
Shall of him selfe a brave ensample shew,
That Saxon kinges his friendship shall intreat ;
And llowell Dha shall goodly well indew
The salvage minds with skill of just and trew:
Then Griffyth Conan also shall upreare
His dreaded head, and the old sparkes renew
Of native corage, that his foes shall feare,
Least back againe the kingdom he from them
should beare.
XLVI
'Ne shall the Saxons selves all peaceably
Enjoy the crowne, which they from Britons
wonne
Whose clawes were newly dipt in cruddy
blood,
That from the Daniske Tyrants head shall rend
Ih' usurped crowne, as if that he were wood,
And the spoile of the countrey conquered
Emongst his young ones shall divide with
bountyhed.
XLVIII
Tho, when the terme is full accomplishid,
There shall a sparke of fire, which hath long-,
while
Bene in his ashes raked up and hid,
Bee freshly kindled in the fruitfull lie
Of Mona, where it lurked in exile ;
Which shall breake forth into bright burning
flame,
And reach into the house that beares the stile
Of roiall majesty and soveraine name:
So shall the Briton blood their crowne agayn
reclame.
XLIX
Thenceforth eternall union shall be made
Betweene the nations different afore,
And sacred Peace shall lovingly persuade
The warlike minds to learne her goodly lore,
And civile armes to exercise no more :
Then shall a royall Virgin raine, which shall
Stretch her white rod over the Belgicke shorj,
And the great Castle smite so sore withall,
That it shall make him shake, and shortly
learn to fall.
L
'But yet the end is not.' — There Merlin
stayd,
As overcomen of the spirites powre,
Or other ghastly spectacle dismayd,
That secretly he saw, yet note discoure :
Which suddein fitt, and halfe extatick stoure,
When the two fearefull wemen saw, they grew
Greatly confused in behaveoure.
At last, the fury past, to former hew
Hee turnd againe, and chearfull looks as earst
did shew.
«74
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Then, when them selves they well instructed
had
Of all that needed them to be inquird,
They both, conceiving hope of comfort glad,
With lighter hearts unto their home retird ;
Where they in secret coiinsell close conspire!,
How to effect so hard an enterprize,
And to possesse the purpose they desird :
Now this, now that, twixt them they did devize,
And diverse plots did frame to maske in strange
disguise.
LII
At last the Nourse in her foolhardy wit
Conceiv'd a bold devise, and thus bespake :
' Daughter, I deetne that counsel aye most tit,
That of the time doth dew advauntage take.
Ye see that good king Uther now doth make
Strong warre upon the Pavnim brethren,
bight
Octa and Oza, whome hee lately brake
Beside Cayr Verolame in victorious tight,
That now all Britany doth burne in armes
bright.
LIII
'That, therefore, uought our passage may
empeaeh,
Let us in feigned armes our selves disguize,
And our weake hands (need makes good
schollers) teach
The dreadful speare and shield to exercize :
Ne certes, daughter, that same warlike wize,
I weene, would you misseeme: for ye beene
tall,
And large of limbe t' atchieve an hard emprize ;
Neoughtyewant but skil, which practizesmall
Wil bring, and shortly make you a mavd
Martial].
nv
'And, sooth, it ought your corage much
inflame
To heare so often, in that royall hous,
From whence, to none inferior, ye came,
Bards tell of many wemen valorous,
Which have full many feats adventurous
Performd, in paragone of proudest men :
The bold Bunduca, whose victorious [dolen ;
Exployts made Rome to quake; stout Guen-
Renowmed Martia ; and redoubted Emmilen.
'And, that which more then all the rest may
sway,
Latedayes ensample, which these eyes beheld :
In the last field before Menevia,
Which Uther with those forrein Pagans held,
I saw a Saxon Virgin, the which feld
Great Ulfin thrise upon the bloody playne ;
And, had not Carados her hand withheld
From rash revenge, she had him surely sluyne :
Yet Carados himselfe from her escapt with
payne.'
LVI
'Ah! read,' (quoth Britomart) 'how is si
hight?'
' Fayre Angela' (quoth she) ' men do her cal
No whit lesse fayre then terrible in tight :
She hath the leading of a Martiall
And mightie people, dreaded more then all
The other Saxons, which doe, for her sake
And love, themselves of her name Angles call.
Therefore, taire Infant, her ensample make
Unto thy selfe, and equall corage to thee take.'
Her harty wordes so deepe into the mynd
Of the vong Dam/ell sunke, that great' desire
Of warlike armes in her forthwith they tynd,
And generous stout courage did inspyre,
That she resolv'd, unweeting to her Syre,
Advent'rous knighthood on her selfe to don ;
And counseld with her Nourse her Maides
To turne into a massy habergeon, [att vre
And bad her all things put in readinesse anon.
Th' old woman nought that needed did omit,
But all thinges did conveniently purvay.
It fortuned (so time their tunie did fitt)
A band of Britons, ryding on forray
Few dayes before, had gotten a great pray
Of Saxon goods : emongst the which was scene
A goodly Armour, and full rich arav,
Which long'd to Angela, the Saxon' Queene,
All fretted round with gold, and goodly wel
beseene.
MX
The same, with all the other ornaments,
iii^ Ryence caused to be hanged hy
In his chiefe Church, for endlesse moniments
Of his successe and gladfull victorv :
Of which her selfe avising readily."
In th' evening late old Glauce thither led
Faire Britomart, and, that same Armory
Downe taking, her therein appareled
Well as she might, and with brave bauldrick
garnished.
LX
Beside those armes there stood a mightie
speare,
Which Bladud made by Magick art of yore,
And usd the same in batteill aye to beare ;
Sith which it had beene here preserv'd in store,
CANTO HI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
175
Covered with secret cloud of silent night,
Themselves they forth convaid, and passed
forward right.
For his great virtues proved long afore:
For never -wight so fast in sell could sit,
But him perforce unto the ground it bore.
Both speare she tooke and shield which hong
hy it ; [purpose tit.
Both speare and shield of great powre, for her| Ne rested they, till that to Faery loud
They came, as 'Merlin them directed late :
f-XI Where, meeting with this Eedcrosse Knight,
Thus when she had the virgin all arayd, she fond
Another harnesse which did hang thereby j Of diverse thinges discourses to dilate,
About her selfe she dight, that the yong Mayd : But most of Arthegall and his estate.
She might in equall armes accompany, i At last their waves so fell, that they uiotc part:
And as her Squyre attend her carefully. j Then each to other, well affectionate,
Tho to their ready Steedes they clombe full Friendship professed with unfained hart.
light, [ them espy, i The Redcrosse Knight diverst, but forth rode
And through back waies, that none might! Britouiart.
CANTO IV.
Bold Marinell of Britomart
Is throwne on the Rich stroud :
Faire Florimell of Arthure is
Long followed, but not fond.
WHERE is the Antique glory now become,
That whylome wont in wemen to appeare?
Where be the brave achievements doen by
some? [speare,
Where be the batteilles, where the shield and
And all the conquests which them high did
reare,
That matter made for famous Poets verse,
And boastfull men so oft abasht to heare ?
Beene they all dead, and laide in dolefull herse,
Or doen they ouely sleepe, and shall againe
reverse ?
it
If they be dead, then woe is me therefore ;
But if they sleepe, O let them soone awake !
For all too long I burne with envy sore
To heare the warlike feates which Homere spake
Of bold Peuthesilee, which made a lake
Of Greekish blood so ofte in Trojan plaine ;
But when I reade, how stout Debora strake
Proud Sisera, and how Camill' hath slaine
The huge Orsilochus, I swell with great dis-
daine.
in
Yet these, and all that els had puissaunce,
Cannot with noble Britomart compare,
As well for glorie of great valiauiice,
As for pure chastitee and vertue rare,
That all her goodly deeded doe well declare.
Well worthie stock, from which the branches
s prong
That in late yeares so faire a blossome bare,
As thee, 0 Queene ! the matter of my song,
Whose lignage from this Lady I derive along.
Who when, through speaches with the Red-
crosse Knight,
She learned had th' estate of Arthegall,
And in each point her selfe informd aright,
A friendly league of love perpetuall
She with him bound, and Conge tooke wit hall :
Then he forth on his journey did proceede,
To seeke adventures which mote him befall,
And win him worship through his warlike deed,
Which alwaies of his paints he made the
chiefest meed.
v
But Britomart kept on her former course,
Ne ever dofte her armes, but all the way
Grew pensive through that amarous discourse,
By which the Redcrosse knight didearst display
Her lovers shape and chevalrous aray :
A thousand thoughts she fashiond in her
mind,
And in her feigning fancie did pourtray
Him such as fittest she for love could "find,
Wise, warlike, personable, courteous, and kind.
VI
\\ ith such selfe-pleasing thoughts her wound
she fedd,
And thought so to beguile her grievous smart •,
But so her smart was m uch more grievous bredd,
And the deepe wouud more deep engord her
hart,
176
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK in.
That nought but death her dolour mote depart.
So forth she rode, without repose or rest,
Searching all lands and each remotest part,
Following the guydance of her blinded guest,
Till that to the "sea-coast at length she her
addrest.
VII
There she alighted from her light-foot beast,
And sitting downe upon the rocky shore,
Badd her old Squyre unlace her lofty creast :
Tho having vewd awhile the surges hore
That gainst the craggy clifts did loudly rore,
And in their raging surquedry disdaynd
That the fast earth affronted them so sore,
And their devouring covetize restraynd ;
Thereat she sighed deepe, and after thus com-
playnd.
VIII
' Huge sea of sorrow and tempestuous griefe,
Wherein my feeble barke is tossed long
Far from the hoped haven of reliefe,
Why doe thy cruel billowes beat so strong,
And thy moyst mountaines each on others
throng,
Threatning to swallow up my fearefull lyfe ?
O ! doe thy cruell wrath and spightfull wrong
At length allay, and stint thy stormy strife,
Which in thy troubled bowels raignes and
rageth'ryfe.
IX
' For els my feeble vessel!, crazd and crackt
Through thy strong' buffets and outrageous
blowes,
Cannot endure, but needes it must be wrackt
On the rough rocks, or on the sandy shallowes,
The whiles that love it steres, and fortune
rowes :
Love, my lewd Pilott, hath a restlesse minde ;
And fortune, Boteswaine, no assurance knowes ;
But saile withouten starres gainst tvde and
winde: [blinde?
How can they other doe, sith both are bold and
For her great courage would not let her weejie,
Till that old Glauce gan with sharpe repriefe
Her to restraine, and give her good reliefe
Through hope of those, which Merlin had her
toM
Should of her name and nation be chiefe,
And fetch their being from the sacred mould
Of her immortall womb, to be in heaven enrold.
Thus as she her recomforted, she spyde
Where far away one, all in armour bright,
With hasty gallop towards her did ryde.
Her dolour soone she ceast, and on her dight
Her Helmet, to her Courser mounting light :
Her former sorrow into suddein wrath,
Both coosen passions of distroubled spright,
Converting, forth she beates the dusty path :
Love and despight attonce her courage kindled
hath.
XIII
As, when a foggy mist hath overcast
The face of hev en, and the cleare ayreengroste,
The world in darkenes dwels ; till that at last
The watry Southwinde, from the seabord coste
Upblowing, doth disperse the vapour lo'ste,
And poures it selfe forth in a stormy showre :
So the fayre Britomart, having disclo'ste
Her clowdy care into a wrathfull stowre,
The mist of griefe dissolv'd did into vengeance
' Thou God of windes, that raignest in the seas,
That raignest also in the Continent,
At last blow up some gentle gale of ease,
The which may bring my ship, ere it be rent,
Unto the gladsome port of her intent.
Then, when I shall my selfe in safety see,
A table, for eternall moniment
Of thy great grace and my great jeopardee?
Great Neptune, I avow to hallow unto thee !'
Then sighing softly sore, and inly deepe,
She shut up all her plaint in privy griefe
Eftsoones, her goodly shield addressing fayre,
That mortall speare she in her hand did take,
And unto battaill did her selfe prepayre.
The knight, approching, sternely her'bespake :
' Sir knight, that doestthy voyage rashly make
By this forbidden way in my despight,"
Ne doest by others death ens ample take,
I read thee soone retyre, whiles thou hast might,
Least afterwards it be too late to take thy flight.1
xv
Ythrild with deepe disdaine of his proud
threat.
She shortly thus : ' Fly they, that need to fly ;
Wordes fearen babes. "I meane not thee entreat
To passe, but maugre thee will passe or dy.'
Ne lenger stayd for th' other to reply, [knowne.
But with sharpe speare the rest made dearly
Strongly the straunge knight ran, and sturdily
Strooke her full on the brest, that made her
downe [her crown.
Decline her head, and touch her crouper with
XVI
But she againe him in the shield did smite
With so fierce furie and great puissaunee,
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
That, through his three-square scuchin percing
quite
And through his mayled hauberque, by mis-
chaunce
An hundred knights of honorable name
He had subdew'd, and them his vassals made
The wicked steele through his left side did
I im MI transfixed she before her bore
k-yond his croupe, the length of all her launce ;
Till, sadly soucing on the sandy shore, [gore,
le tombled on an heape, and wallowd in his
Like as the sacred Oxe that carelesse stands,
Vith gilden homes and flowry girlonds crownd,
'routl of his dying honor and cleare bandes,
Vhiles th' altars fume with frankincense
arownd,
All suddeinly, with mortall stroke astownd,
>oth groveling fall, and with his streaming gore
iHstaines the pillours and the holy grownd,
Lnd the faire rlowres that decked him afore :
So fell proud Marinell upon the pretious shore.
The martiall Mayd stayd not him to lament,
But forward rode, and kept her read}' way
Llong the strond ; which, as she over-went,
ihe saw bestrewed all with rich aray
K pearles and pretious stones of great assay,
And all the gravell mixt with golden owre :
Whereat she wondred much, but would not
stay
for gold, or perles, or protious stones, an howre,
But them despised all ; for all was in her powre.
Whiles thus he lay in deadly stonishment,
["ydings hereof came to his mothers eare :
lis mother was the blacke-browd Cymoe'nt,
The daughter of great Nereus, which did beare
This warlike sonne unto an earthly peare,
The famous Dumarin ; who, on a day
Finding the Nymph asleepe in secret wheare,
is he by chaunce did wander that same way,
iVas taken with her love, and by her closely lay.
xx
There he this knight of her begot, whom borne
he, of his father, Marinell did name;
ind in a rocky cave, as wight forlorne,
-.ong time she fostred up, till he became
^mighty man at armes, and mickle fame
Mdget through great adventures by him donne :
tor never man he suffred by that same
iirii strond to travel!, whereas he did wonne,
But that iie must do battail with the Sea-
nymphes sonne.
[glaunce.|That through all Faerie lond his noble fame
i- ^ I/ Li J i, I XT i_i j i & j* j _ii ;
Now blazed was, and feare did all invade.
That none durst passen through that perilous
glade :
And to advaunce his name and glory more,
tier Sea-god syre she dearely did perswade
I" endow hersonne with threasure and rich store
Bove all the sonnes that were of earthly
wombes ybore.
XXII
The God did graunt his daughters dearc
demaund,
To doen his Nephew in all riches flow ;
Eftsoones his heaped waves he did commauna
Out of their hollow bosome forth to throw
All the huge threasure, which the sea below
Had in his greedy gulfe devoured deepe,
And him enriched through the overthrow
And wreckes of many wretches, which did weepe
And often wayle their wealth, which he from
them did keepe.
XXIII
Shortly upon that shore there heaped was
Exceeding riches and all pretious things,
The spoyle of all the world ; that it did pas
The wealth of th' East, and pompe of Persian
kings :
old, amber, yvorie, perles, owches, rings,
And all that els was pretious and deare,
The sea unto him voluntary brings ;
That shortly he a great Lord did appeare,
As was in all the lond of Faery, or else wheare.
XXIV
Thereto he was a doughty dreaded knight,
Tryde often to the scath of many Deare,
That none in equall armes him matcheu might :
The which his mother seeing gan to feare
Least his too haughtie hardines might reare
Some hard mishap in hazard of his life.
Forthy she oft him counseld to forbeare
The bloody batteill and to stirre up strife,
But after all his warre to rest his wearie knife.
And, for his more assuraunce, she inquir'd
One day of Proteus by his mighty spell
(For Proteus was with prophecy inspir'd)
Her deare sonnes destiny to her to tell,
And the sad end of her sweet Marinell :
Who, through foresight of his eternall skill,
Bad her from womankind to keepe him well,
For of a woman he should have much ill ;
A virgin straunge and stout him should dismay
or kill.
1 78
THE. FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
XXVI
Forthy she gave him warning every day
The love of women not to entertaine ;
A lesson too too hard for living clay
From love in course of nature to refraine.
Yet he his mothers lore did well retaine,
And ever from fayre Ladies love did fly ;
Yet many Ladies fayre did oft complaine,
That they for love of him would algates dy :
Dy, who so list for him, he was loves enimy.
XXVII
But ah ! who can deceive his destiny,
Or weene by warning to avoyd his fate ?
That, when' he sleepes in most security
And safest seemes, him soonest doth ainate,
And findeth dew effect or soone or late ;
So feeble is the powre of fleshly arme.
His mother bad him wemens love to hate,
For she of womans force did feare no harme ;
So, weening to have arm'd him, she did quite
disarme.
XXVIII
This was that woman, this that deadly
wownd,
That Proteus prophecide should him dismay ;
The which his mother vainely did expownd
To be hart-wownding love, which should assay
To bring her sonne unto his last decay.
So tide be the termes of mortall state,
And full of subtile sophismes, which doe play
With double sences, and with false debate,
T' approve the unknowen purpose of eternall
fate.
XXIX
Too trew the famous Marinell it fownd,
Who, through late triall, on that wealthv
Strond
Inglorious now lies in sencelesse swownd,
Through heavy stroke of Britomartis hond.
Which when his mother deare did understand,
And heavy tidings heard, whereas she playd
Amongst her watry sisters by a pond,
Gathering sweete daffadillyes, to have made
Gay girlonds from the Sun their forheads fayr
to shade ;
XXX
Eftesoones both flowres and girlonds far away
Shee flong, and her faire deawy lockes yrent";
To sorrow huge she turnd her "former play,
And gamesom merth to grievous dreriment:
Shee threw her selfe downe on the Continent,
Ne word did speake, but lay as in a swowne,
Whiles all her sisters did for her lament
With yelling outcries, and with shrieking
sowne ; [crowne.
And everj- one did teare her girlond from her
XXXI
Soone as shee up out of her deadly fitt
Arose, shee bad her charett to be brought;
And all her sisters that with her did sitt
Bad eke attonce their charetts to be sought :
Tho, full of bitter griefe and pensife thought,
She to her wagon clombe ; clombe all the rest,
And forth together went with sorow fraught.
The waves, obedient to theyr beheast,
Them 3rielded ready passage, and their rage
surceast,
XXXII
Great Neptune stoode amazed at their sight,
Whiles on his broad rownd backe they softlv
slid,
A"nd eke him selfe mournd at their mournful j
plight,
Yet wist not what their wailing ment; yet did,|
For great compassion of their sorow, bid
His mighty waters to them buxome bee :
Eftesoones the roaring billowes still abid,
And all the griesly Monsters of the See
Stood gaping at their gate, and wondred thenr|
to see.
XXXIII
A teme of Dolphins raunged in aray
Drew the smooth charett of sad Cymoent :
They were all taught by Triton to obay
To the long raynes at her commaundement :
As swifte as swallowes on the waves the
went, [rea
That their brode flaggy finnes no fome dij
Ne bubling rowndell they behiude them sent
The rest, of other fishes drawen weare,
Which with their finny oars the swelling !
did sheare.
XXXIV
Soone as they bene arriv'd upon the brim
Of the Rich Strond, their charets they forlor)
And let their temed fishes softly swim
Along the margent of the fomy shore,
Least they their finues should bruze,
surbate sore
Their tender feete upon the stony grownd :
And comming to the place, where all in gor
And cruddy blood enwallowed they fownd
The lucklesse Marinell lying in deadly swov
XXXV
His mother swowned tbrise. andthethirdtii'
Could scarce recovered bee out of her paine :
Had she not beene devoide of mortall slime
Shee should not then have bene rely v'd aga
But, soone as life recovered had the raine,
Shee made so piteous mone and dearewayme1,
That the hard rocks could scarse from te W
refraine ;
:ANTOIV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
179
Vnd all her sister Nymphes with one consent
jupplide her sobbing breaches with sad com-
plement.
XXXVI
' Deare image of my selfe, (she sayd) ' that is
Phe wretched sonne of wretched mother borne,
s this thine high advauncement ? O! is this
fh' immortall name, with which thee, yet
uuborne,
fhy Grandsire Nereus promist to adorne?
Ifow lyest thou of life and honor refle;
Sow lyest thou a lumpe of earth forlorne ;
fe of thy late life memory is lefte,
<fe can thy irrevocable desteny bee wefte.
XXXVII
1 Fond Proteus, father of false prophecis !
d they more fond that credit to thee give !
t this* the worke of womans hand ywis,
at so deepe wound through these deare
members drive.
eared love ; but they that love doe live,
ut they that dye doe nether love nor hate :
ith'U'sse to thee thy folly I forgive;
nd to my selfe. and to accursed fate,
e guilt I doe ascribe : deare wisedom bought
too late !
XXXVIII
3 ! what availes it of immortall seed
beene ybredd and never borne to dye V
ire better I it deeme to die with speed
en waste in woe and waylfull miserye :
ho dyes, the utmost dolor doth abve ;
it who that lives is lefte to waile his losse :
life is losse, and death felicity :
id life worse then glad death; and greater
crosse [to engrosse.
see frends grave, then dead the grave self
XXXIX
But if the heavens did his dayes envie,
nd my short blis maligne, yet mote they well
us much afford me, ere that he did die,
at the dim eies of my deare Marinell
mote have closed, and him bed farewell,
ith other offices for mother meet
ley would not graunt
tt, maulgre them, farewell, my sweetest
sweet ! [shall meet ! '
arewell, my sweetest sonne, sith we no more
'bus when they all had sorowed their fill,
3ey softly gan to search his griesly wownd :
nd, that they might him handle more at will,
ley him disarmd ; and, spredding on the
grownd
Their watchet mantles frindgd with silver
rownd,
They softly wipt away the gelly blood
From th' orifice ; which having well upbownd,
They pourd in soveraine balme and Nectar
good, [food.
Good both for erthly med'cine and for hevenly
Thp when the lilly handed Liagore
(This Liagore whilome had learned skill
In leaches craft, by great Apolloes lore,
Sith her whilome upon high Pindus hill
He loved, and at last her wombe did fill
With hevenly seed, whereof wise Paeon sprong)
Did feele his pulse, shee knew there staled still
Some litle life his feeble sprites emong;
Which to his mother told, despeyre she from
her flong.
XLII
Tho, up him taking in their tender hands,
They easely unto her charett beare :
Her teme at her commaundement quiet stands,
Whiles they the corse into her wagon reare,
And strowe with flowres the lamentable beare.
Then all the rest into their coches clim,
And through the brackish waves their passage
sheare ;
Upon great Neptunes necke they softly swim,
And to her watry chamber swiftly carry him.
Deepe in the bottome of the sea her bowre
Is built of hollow billowes heaped hye,
Like to thicke clouds that threat a stormy
showre,
And vauted all within, like to the Skye,
In which the Gods doe dwell eternally :
There they him laide in easy couch well dight.
And sent in haste for Tryphon, to apply
Salves to his wounds, and medicines of might ;
For Tryphon of sea gods the soveraine leach is
night.
XLIV
The whiles the Nymphes sitt all about him
rownd,
Lamenting his mishap and heavy plight ;
And ofte his mother, vewing his wide wownd,
Cursed the hand that did so deadly smight
Her dearest sonne, her dearest harts delight :
But none of all those curses overtooke
The warlike Maide, th' ensample of that might;
But fairely well shee thryvd, and well did
brooke
Her noble deeds, ne her right course for
ought forsooke.
N2
i8o
THE FAERIE QUEEtfE.
[BOOK in.
Yet did false Archimage her still pursew,
To bring to passe his mischievous intent,
Now that he had her singled from the crew
Of courteous knights, the Prince and Faery gent,
Whom late in chace of beauty excellent
Shee lefte, pursewing that same foster strong,
Of whose fowle outrage they impatient,
And full of firy zele, him followed long,
To reskew her from shame, and to revenge her
wrong.
XLVI
Through thick and thin, through mountains
and through playns,
Those two great champions did attonce pursew
The fearefull damzell with incessant payns ;
Who from them fled, as light-foot hare from
vew
Of hunter swifte and sent of howndes trew.
At last they came unto a double way ;
Where, doubtfull which to take, her to reskew,
Themselves they did dispart, each to assay
Whether more happy were to win sr> goodly
pray.
XLVII
But Timias. the Princes gentle Squyre,
That Ladies love unto his Lord forlent,
And with proud envy and indignant yre
After that wicked foster fiercely went :
So beene they three three sondry waves ybent ;
But fayjest fortune to the Prince befelhTpent,
Whose chaunce it was, that soone he did re-
To take that way in which that Damozell
Was fledd afore, affraid of him as feend of hell.
XLVIII
At last of her far off he gained vew.
Then gan he freshly pricke his fomy steed,
And ever as he nigher to her drew,
So evermore lie did increase his speed.
And of each turning still kept wary heed:
Alowd to her he oftentimes did call,
To doe away vaine doubt and needlesse
dreed:
Full myld to her he spake, and oft let fall
Many meeke W)rdes to stay and comfort her
withall.
XLIX
But nothirg might relent her hasty flight,
So deepe th<s deadly feare of that foule swaine
Was earst impressed in her gentle spright.
Like as a fearefull Dove, which through the
raine
Of the wide ayre her way does cut amaine,
Having farre off espyde a Tassell gent,
Which after her his nimble winges doth
straine,
Doubleth her hast for feare to bee for-hent,
And with her pireons cleaves the liquid fir
mament.
i,
With no lesse hast, and eke with nolesse dreed
That fearefull Ladie fledd from him, thai
ment
To her no evill thought nor evill deed ;
Yet former feare of being fowly shent
Carried her forward with her first intent:
And though, oft looking backward, well sh
vewde
Her selfe freed from that foster insolent,
And that it was a knight which now her sewd(
Yet she no lesse the knight feard then tha
villein rude.
LI
His uncouth shield and straunge armes lu
dismayd,
Whose like in Faery lond were seldom seene,
That fast she from him fledd, no lesse afrayiJ
Then of wilde beastes if she had chased beemi
Yet he her followd still with corage keene
So long, that now the golden Hesperus
Wa.° mounted high in top of heaven sheene,
And warnd his other brethren joyeous
To light their blessed lamps in Joves eterm
nous.
LII
All suddeinly dim wox the dampish ayre,
And griesly shadowes covered heaven brigh
That now with thousand starres was deck]
fayre:
Which when the Prince beheld, a lothfull siglj
And that perforce, for want of lenger light,
He mote surceasse his suit, and lose the ho] |
Of his long labour, he gan fowly wyte
His wicked fortune that had turnd'aslope, .
And cursed night that reft from him so goo(
scope.
LIU
Tho, when her wayes he could no ml
descry,
But to and fro at disaventure straycl ;
Like as a ship, whose Lodestar suddeinly .
Covered with cloudes her Pilott hath c|
mayd;
His wearisome pursuit perforce he stayd, ,
And from his loftie steed dismounting low I
Did let him forage. Downe himselfe he la
Upon the grassy ground to sleepe a throw :L
The cold earth was his coucli, the hard sfcij
his pillow.
But gentle Sleepe envyde him any rest :
tn stead thereof sad sorow and disdaine
:ANTO iv.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
iSi
)f his hard hap did vexe his noble brest,
\nd thousand Fancies belt his ydle brayne
ritli tlieir light wings, the sights of semblants
vaine.
ft did he wish that Lady faire mote bee
is Faery Queene, for whom he did com-
plaine,
r that his Faery Queene were such as shee;
nd ever hasty Night he blamed bitterlie.
Night! thou foule Mother of annoyaunce
sad,
ster of heavie death, and nourse of woe,
st begot in heaven, but for thy bad
nd brutish shape thrust downe to hell
below,
Tiere, bv the grim floud of Cocytus slow,
tiy dwelling is in Herebus black hotts,
Slack Herebus, thy husband, is the foe
T all the Gods,) where thou ungratious
alfe of thy dayes doest lead in honour
hideous.
LVI
What had th' eternall Maker need of thee
he world in his continuall course to keepe,
hat doest all thinges deface, 'ne lettest see
he beautie of his worke? Indeed, in sleepe
lie slouthfull body that doth love to steepe
islustlesselimbes, and drowne his baser mind,
loth praise thee oft, and oft from Stygian
deepe
alles thee his goddesse, in his errour blind,
nd great Dame Natures handmaide chearing
every kind.
LVII
But well I wote, that to an heavy hart
hou art the roote and nourse of bitter cares,
reeder of new, renewer of old smarts :
istead of rest thou lendest rayling teares ;
istead of sleepe thou sendest troublous feares
nd dreadfull visions, in the which alive
he dreary image of sad death appeares :
) from the wearie spirit thou doest drive
esired rest, and men of happinesse deprive.
I
'Under thy mantle black there hidden lye
Light-shonning thefte, and traiterous intent,
Abhorred bloodshed, and vile felony,
Shamefull deceipt, and daunger imminent,
Fowle horror, and eke hellish dreriment :
All these, 1 wote, in thy protection bee,
And light doe shonne for feare of being shent ;
For light ylike is loth'd of them and thee ;
And all that lewdnesse love doe hate the light
to see.
LIX
'For day discovers all dishonest wayes,
And sheweth each thing as it is in deed:
The prayses of high God he faire displayes,
And his large bountie rightly doth areed :
Dayes dearest children be the blessed seed
Which darknesse shallsubdueand heaven win:
Truth is his daughter ; he her first did breed
Most sacred virgin without spot of sinne.
Our life is day, but death with darknesse doth
begin.
LX
' O ! when will day then turne to me againe,
And bring with him his long expected light ?
O Titan ! hast to reare thy joyous waine ;
Speed thee to spred abroad thy beames bright,
And chace away this too long lingring night ;
Chace her away, from whence she came, to hell :
She, she it is, that hath me done despight :
There let her with the damned spirits dwell,
And yield her rowrne to day that can it governe
well.'
LXI
Thus did the Prince that wearie night out-
weare
In restlesse anguish and unquiet paine ;
And earely, ere the morrow did upreare
His deawy head out of the Ocean maine,
He up arose, as halfe in great disdaine,
And elombe unto his steed. So forth he went
With heavy look and lumpish pace, that plaine
In him bewraid great grudge and maltalent :
His steed eke seemd t' apply his steps to his
intent.
ibz
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK IIL
CANTO V.
Prince Arthur heares of Florimell :
Three fosters Timias wound ;
Belphebe findes him almost dead,
And reareth out of sownd.
WONDER it is to see in diverse mindes
How diversly love doth his pageaunts play,
And shewes his powre in variable kindes :
The baser wit, whose ydle thoughts alway
Are wont to cleave unto the lowly clay,
It stirreth up to sensuall desire,
And in lewd slouth to wast his carelesse day ;
But in brave sprite it kindles goodly fire,
That to all high desert and honour doth aspire.
Ne suffereth it uncomely idlenesse
In his free thought to build her sluggish nest,
Ne suffereth it thought of ungentlenesse
Ever to creepe into his noble brest ;
But to the highest and the worthiest
Lifteth it up that els would lowly fall :
It lettes not fall, it lettes it not to rest ;
It lettes not scarse this Prince to breath at all,
But to his first poursuit him forward still doth
calL
in
Who long time wandred through the forest
wyde
To finde some issue thence ; till that at last
He met a Dwarfe that seemed terrifyde
With some late perill which he hard'ly past,
Or other accident which him aghast ;
Of whom he asked, whence he lately came,
And whither now he travelled so fast ?
For sore he swat, and, ronning through that
f nigh lame.
Thicke forest, was bescracht and both his feet For of
Panting for breath, and almost out of hart,
The Dwarfe him answerd ; ' Sir, ill mote I stay
To tell the same : I lately did depart
From Faery court, where I have many a day
Served a gentle Lady of great sway
' What mister wight,' (saide he) ' and
arayd?'
' Royally clad ' (quoth he) ' in cloth of gold,
As meetest may beseeme a noble mayd :
Her faire lockes in rich circlet be enrold,
A fayrer wight did never Sunne behold ;
And on a Palfrey rydes more white then sr
Yet she her selfe is whiter manifold.
The surest signe, whereby ye may her know
Is that she is the fairest wight alive, I trow I
VI
' Now certes, swaine,' (saide he) ' such one, |
weene,
Fast flying through this forest from her fo,
A foule ill-favoured foster, I have seene :
Her selfe, well as I might, I reskewd tho,
But could not stay, so fast she did foregoe,
Carried away with wings of speedy feare.'
' Ah, dearest God ! ' (quoth he) ' that is gr< |
woe,
And wondrous ruth to all that shall it heari I
But can ye read, Sir, how I may her tinde, j
where ? '
VII
' Perdy, me lever were to weeten that,'
(Saide he) ' then ransome of the richest knig |
Or all the good that ever yet I gat :
But froward fortune, and too forward Nighi |
Such happinesse did, maulgre, to me spight
And fro me reft both life and light attone. J
But, Dwarfe, aread what is that Lady brig
That through this forrest wandreth thus aloi I
straunge I have great r
and mone.'
' That Ladie is,' (quoth he) ' where so she i
The bountiest virgin and most debonaire
That ever living eye, I weene, did see.
Lives none this day that may with her com] j
In stedfast chastitie and vertue rare,
And high accompt through out all Elfin land, j The goodlv ornaments of beautie bright ;
Who lately left the same, and tooke this way. j And is ycleped Florimell the fayre,
Her now I seeke ; and if ye understand Faire Florimell belov'd of many a knight,
Which way she fared hath, good Sir, tell out Yet she lovea none but one, that Marine
bight.
of hand.'
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'83
1 A Sea-nymphcs sonne, that Marinell is hight,
Of my deare Dame is loved dearely well :
In other none, but him, she sets delight ;
All her delight is set on Marinell.
But he sets nought at all by Florimell;
For Ladies love his mother long ygoe
Did him, they say. forwarne through sacred
spell :
But fame now flies, that of a forreine foe
He is yslaine, which is the ground of all our
1 Five dales there be since he (they say) was
slaine,
And fowre since Florimell the Court forwent,
And vowed never to returne againe,
Till him alive or dead she did invent.
Therefore, faire Sir, for love of knighthood
And honour of trew Ladies, if ye may [ gent,
By your good counsell, or bold hardiment,
Or s'uccour her, or me direct the way,
Do one or other good, I you most humbly pray.
' So may ye gaine to you full great renowme
Of all good Ladies through the worlde so wide,
And haply in her hart finde highest rowme
Of whom ye seeke to be most inagnifide ;
At least eternall meede shall you abide.'
To whom the Prince : ' Dwarfe, comfort to
thee take,
For, till thou tidings learne what her betide,
I here avow thee never to forsake.
Ill weares he armes, that nill them use for
Ladies sake.'
XII
So with the Dwarfe he back retourn'd againe,
To seeke his Lady where he mote her finde ;
But by the way he greatly gan complaine
The want of his good Squire late lefte behinde,
For whom he wondrous pensive grew in
minde,
For doubt of daunger which mote him betide ;
For him he loved above all mankinde,
Having him trew and faithfull ever tride,
And bold, as ever Squyre that waited by
knights side :
XIII
Who all this while full hardly was assayd
Of deadly daunger, which to him betidd ;
For, whiles his Lord pursewd that noble Mayd
After that foster fowle he fiercely ridd
To bene avenged of the shame he did
To that faire Damzell : Him he chaced long
Through the thicke woods wherein he woulc
have hid
His shamefull head from his avengement strong,
And oft him threatned death for his outrageous
wrong.
XIV
Nathlesse the villein sped himselfe so well,
Whether through swiftnesse of his speedie
beast, [dwell,
knowledge of those woods where he did
That shortly he from daunger was releast,
And out of sight escaped at the least :
Yet not escaped from the dew reward
3f his bad deedes, which daily he increast,
S^e ceased not, till him oppressed hard
The heavie plague that for such leachours is
prepard.
xv
For soone as he was vanisht out of sight,
His coward courage gan emboldned bee,
And cast t' avenge him of that fowle despight
Which he bad borne of his bold enimee :
fho to his brethren came, for they were three
Ungratious children of one gracelesse syre,
And unto them complayned how that he
Had used beene of that foolehardie Squyre:
So them with bitter words he stird to bloodie
yre.
XVI
Forthwith themselves with their sad instru-
ments
Of spoyle and murder they gan arme bylive,
And with him foorth into the forrest went
To wreake the wrath, which he did earst
revive [drive
In their sterne brests, on him which late did
Their brother to reproch and shamefull flight ;
For they had vow'd that never he alive
Out of that forest should escape their might :
Vile rancour their rude harts had fild with
such despight.
Within that wood there was a covert glade,
Foreby a narrow foord, to them well knowne,
Through which it was uneath for wight to
And now by fortune it was overflowne. [wade ;
By that same way they knew that Squyre un-
knowne [set
Mote algates passe: forthy themselves they
There in await with thicke woods overgrowne,
And all the while their malice they did whet
With cruell threats his passage through the
ford to let.
It fortuned, as they devised had:
The gentle Squyre came ryding that same way,
1 84
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Unweeting of their wile and treason bad,
And through the ford to passen did assay ;
But that fierce foster, which late fled away,
Stoutly foorth stepping on the further shore.
Him boldly bad his passage there to stay,
Till he had made amends, and full restore
For all the damage which he had him doen
afore.
XIX
With that at him a quiv'ring dart he threw,
With so fell force, and villeinous despite,
That through his haberjeon the forkehead flew,
And through the linked mayles empierced
quite,
But had no powre in his soft flesh to bite.
That stroke the hardy Squire did sore displease,
But more that him he coidd not come to smite ;
For by no meanes the high banke he could
sease, [vaine disease.
But labour'd long in that deepe ford with
And still the foster with his long bore-speare
Him kept from landing at his wished will.
Anone one sent out of the thicket neare
A cruell shaft, headed with deadly ill,
And fethered with an unlucky quill :
The wicked steele stayd not till it did light
In his left thigh, and deepely did it thrill :
Exceeding griefe that wound in him empight,
But more that with his foes he could not come
to fight.
XXI
At last, through wrath and vengeannce mak-
ing way,
He on the bancke arryvd with mickle payne,
Where the third brother him did sore assay,
And drove at him with all his might and
mayne
A forest-bill, which both his hands did strayne ;
But warily he did avoide the blow,
And with his speare requited him againe,
That both his sides were thrilled with the
throw, [did flow.
And a large streame of blood out of the wound
He, tombling downe, with gnashing teeth did
The bitter earth, and bad to lett him in [bite
Into the balefull house of endlesse night, [sin.
Where wicked ghosts doe waile their former
Tho gan the battaile freshly to begin ;
For nathemore for that spectacle bad
Did th' other two their cruell vengeaunce blin,
But both attonce on both sides him bestad,
And load upon him layd his life for to have had.
Tho when that villayn he aviz'd, which late
Affrighted had the fairest Florimell,
Full of fiers fury and indignant hate
To him he turned, and with rigor fell
Smote him so rudely on the Pannikell,
That to the chin he clefte his head in twaine.
Downe on the ground his carkas groveling fell:
His sinfull sowle with desperate disdaine
Out of her fleshly ferme fled to the place of
paine.
XXIV
That seeing, now the only last of three
Who with that wicked shafte him wounded had.
Trembling with horror, as that did foresee
The fearefull end of his avengement sad, [ bad.
Through which he follow should his brethren
His boofelesse bow in feeble hand upcaught,
And therewith shott an arrow at the lad ;
Which, fayntly fluttering, scarce his helmet
raught, [naught.
And glauncing fel to ground, but him annoyed
With that he would have fled into the wood ;
But Timias him lightly overhent,
Right as he entring was into the flood.
And strooke at him with force so violent,
That headlesse him into the foord he sent :
The carcas with the streame was carried downe,
But th' head fell backeward on the Continent ;
So mischief fel upon the meaners crowne.
They three be dead with shame, the Squire
lives with renowne.
He lives, but takes small joy of his renowne ;
For of that cruell wound he bled so sore,
That from his steed he fell in deadly swowne :
Yet still the blood forth gusht in so great store,
That he lay wallowd all in his owne gore.
Now God thee keepe. thou gentlest squire alive,
Els shall thy loving Lord thee see no more ;
But both of comfort him thou shalt deprive.
And eke thy selfe of honor which thou didst <
atchive.
XXVII
Providence hevenly passeth living thought,
And doth for wretched mens reliefe make way ; j
For loe ! great grace or fortune thither brought^
Comfort to him that comfortlesse now lay.
In those same woods ye well remember may
How that a noble hunteresse did wonne,
Shee, that base Braggadoehio did affray,
And make him fast out of the forest ronne-,
Belphoebe was her name, as faire as Phoebiwj
sunne.
CANTO V.J
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
XXVIII
She on a day, as shee pursewd the chacc
Of some wilde beast, which with her arrowes
keene
She wounded had, the same along did trace
By tract of blood, which she had freshly seene
To have besprinckled all the grassy greene :
By the great persue which she there perceav'd,
Well hoped shee the beast engor'd had beene,
And made more haste the life to have bereav'd ;
But ah ! her expectation greatly was deceav'd.
Shortly she came whereas that wofull Squire,
With blood deformed, lay in deadly swownd ;
In whose faire eyes, like lamps of quenched fire,
The Christall humor stood congealed rowud :
His locks, like faded leaves fallen to grownd,
Knotted with blood in bounches rudely ran ;
And his sweete lips, on which before that
stownd
The bud of youth toblossome faire began, [wan.
Spoild of their rosy red were woxen pale and
Saw never living eie more heavy sight,
That could have made a rocke of stone to rew,
Orrivein twaine : which when that Lady bright,
Besides all hope, with melting eies did vew,
All suddeinly abasht shee chaunged hew,
And with sterne horror backward gan to start ;
But when shee better him beheld shee grew
Full of soft passion and unwonted smart : [hart.
The point of pitty perced through her tender
XXXI
Meekely shee bowed downe, to weete if life
Yett in his frosen members did remaine ;
And, feeling by his pulses beating rife
That the weake sowle her seat did vett retaine,
She cast to comfort him with busie paine.
His double folded necke she reard upright,
And rubdhis temples and each trembling vaine;
His mayled haberjeon she did undight,
And from his head his heavy burganet did light.
Into the woods thenceforth in haste shee went,
To seeke for hearbes that mote him remedy ;
For shee of herbes had great intendiment.
Taught of the Nymphe which from her infancy
Her nourced had" in trew Nobility :
There, whether yt divine Tobacco were,
Or Panachaea, or Polygony,
Shee fownd, and brought it to her patient dearo
Who al this while lay bleding out his hart
blood neare.
XXXIII
The soveraine weede betwixt two marble?
plaine
Shee pownded small, and did in peeces bruze ;
And then atweene her lilly handes twaine
nto his wound the juice thereof did scruze ;
And round about, as she could well it uze,
The flesh therewith 8hee suppled and did steepe.
r abate all spasme, and soke the swelling bruze;
And, after having search t the intuse deepe,
She with her scarf did bind the wound from
cold to keepe.
xxxiv
By this he had sweet life recur'd agavne,
And, groning inly deepe, at last his eies,
3is watry eies drizling like deawy rajme,
3e up gan lifte toward the azure skies,
?rom whence descend all hopelesse remedies :
Therewith he sigh'd ; and, turning him aside,
The goodly Maide, ful of divinities
And gifts of heavenly grace, he by him spide,
ler bow and gilden quiver lying him beside.
XXXV
Mercy, deare Lord!' (said he) 'what grace
is this
That thou hast shewed to me sinfull wight,
To send thine Angell from her bowre of blis
To comfort me in my distressed plight.
Angell, or Goddesse'doe I call thee right ?
What service may I doe unto thee meete,
That hast from darkenes me returnd to light,
And with thy hevenly salves and med'cines
sweete [blessed feete.'
[last drest my sinfull wounds? I kisse thy
Thereat she blushing said ; ' Ah ! gentle
Squire,
Nor Goddesse I, nor Angell ; but the Mayd
And daughter of a woody Nymphe, desire
No service but thy safety and ayd ;
Which if thou gaine, I shal be well apayd.
Wee mortall wights, whose lives and fortunes
To commun accidents stil open layd, [bee
Are bownd with commun bond of frailtee,
To succor wretched wights whom we captived
see.'
XXXVII
By this her Damzells, which the former chace
Had undertaken after her, arryv'd,
As did ~
Ls did Belphrebe, in the bloody place,
k.nd thereby deemd the beast had bene depriv'd
Of life, whom late their ladies arrow ryv'd :
Forthy the bloody tract they followd fast,
And every one to ronne the swiftest stryv'di
1 86
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
But two of them the rest far overpast,
And where their Lady was arrived at the last.
Where when they saw that goodly boy with
blood
Defowled, and their Lady dresse his wownd,
They wondred much ; and shortly understood
How him in deadly case theyr Lady fownd,
And reskewfd out of the heavy stownd.
Eftsoones his warlike courser, which was strayd
Farre in the woodes whiles that he lay in
s wownd, [stavd,
She made those Damzels search ; which being
They did him set theron, and forth with them
convayd.
XXXIX
Into that forest farre they thence him led,
Where was their dwelling, in a pleasant glade
With mountaines rownd about environed,
And mightie woodes which did the valley shade
And like a stately Theatre it made,
Spreading it selfe into a spatious plainc :
And in the midst a little river plaide
Emongst the pumy stones, which seemd to
plaine [restraine.
With gentle murmure that his cours they did
Beside the same a dainty place there lay,
Planted with mirtle trees and laurells greene,
In which the birds song many a lovely lay
Of Gods high praise, and of their loves sweet
teene,
As it an earthly Paradize had beene :
In whose enclosed shadow there was pight
A faire Pavilion, scarcely to bee scene,
The which was al within most richly dight,
That greatest Princes liking it mote well de-
light.
XLI
Thither they brought that wounded Squyre,
and la yd
In easie couch his feeble limbes to rest.
He rested him awhile ; and then the Mayd
His readie wound with better salves new drest :
Daily she dressed him, and did the best
His grievous hurt to guarish, that she might ;
That shortly she his dolour hath redrest,
And his foule sore reduced to faire plight :
It she reduced, but himselfe destroyed quight.
0 foolish physick, and unfrultfull paine,
That healesup one, and makes another wound !
She his hurt thigh to him recurd againe,
But hurt his hart, tfje which before was sound,
Through an unwary dart, which did rebownd
From her faire eyes and gratious countenaunce.
What bootes it him from death to be unbownd,
To be captived in endlesse duraunce
Of sorrow and despeyre without aleggeaunce I
Still as his wound did gather, and grow hole,
So still his hart woxe sore, and health decayd:
Madnesseto save a part, ami lose the whole'
Still whenas he beheld the heavenly Mayd,
Whiles dayly playsters to his wownd she" lavd,
So still his Malady the more mcreast,
The whiles her matchlesse beau tie him dis-
mayd.
Ah God ! what other could he do at least,
But love so fayre a Lady that his life releast ?
Long while he strove in his corageous brest
With reason dew the passion to subdew,
And love for to dislodge out of his nest :
Still when her excellencies he did vew,
Her soveraine bountie and celestiall hew,
The same to love he strongly was constraynd ;
But when his meane estate he did revew,
He from such hardy boldnesse was restraynd,
And of his lucklesse lott and cruell love thus
playnd :
XLV
' Unthankfull wretch,' (said he) ' is this the
meed, [quight ?
With which her soverain mercy thou doest
Thy life she saved by her gratious deed ;
But thou doest weene with villeinous despight
To blott her honour, and her heavenly light.
Dye rather, dye, then so disloyally
Deeme of her high desert, or seeme so light :
Fayre death it is, to shonne more shame, to dy :
Dye rather, dy, then ever love disloyally.
' But if to love disloyalty it bee,
Shall I then hate her that from deathes dore
Me brought? ah, farre be such reproch fro meet
What can I lesse doe then her love therefore,
Sith I her dew reward cannot restore ?
Dye rather, dye, and dying doe her serve ;
Dying her serve, and living her adore ;
Thy life she gave, thy life she doth deserve :
Dye rather, dye, then ever from her service
swerve.
XLVII
' But, foolish boy, what bootes thy service bace
To her to whom the hevens doe serve and sew?
Thou, a meane Squyre of meeke and lowly place j
She, h«venly borne and of celestiall hew.
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
187
How then V of all love taketh equall vew ;
And doth not highest God vouchsafe to take
The love and service of the basest crew?
If she will not, dye meekly for her sake :
Dye rather, dye, then ever so faire love for-
sake! '
XLVIII
Thus warreid he long time against his will ;
Till that through weaknessehewas forst atlast
To yield himselfe unto the mightie ill,
Which, as a victour proud, gan ransack fast
His inward partes, and all his entrayles wast,
That neither blood in face nor life in hart
It left, but both did quite drye up and blast ;
As percing levin, which the inner part
Of every thing consumes, and calcineth by art.
Which seeing fayre Belphoebe gan to feare,
Least that his wound were inly well not he-aid.
Or that the wicked steele empoysned were :
Litle shee weend that love he close conceald.
Yet still he wasted, as the snow congeald
When the bright sunne his beams theron
doth beat :
Yet never he his hart to her reveald ;
But rather chose to dye for sorow great,
Then with dishonorable tennes her to entreat.
She, gracious Lady, yet no paines did spare
To doe him ease, or doe him remedy.
Many Restoratives of vertues rare,
And costly Cordialles she did apply,
To mitigate his stubborne malady :
But that sweet Cordiall, which can restore
A love-sick hart, she did to him envy ;
To him, and to all th' unworthy world forlore
She did envy that soveraine salve in secret
store."
LI
That daintie Rose, the daughter of her Morne,
More deare then life she tendered, whose flowre
The girlond of her honour did adorne :
Ne suffred she the Middayes scorching powre,
Ne the sharp Northerne wind thereon to showre ;
But lapped up her silken leaves most chayre,
When so the froward skye began to lowre 5
But, soone as calmed was the christall avre.
She did it fayre dispred and let to florishfayre.
Eternall God, in his almightie powre,
To make ensample of his heavenly grace,
In Paradize whylome did plant this flowre ;
Whence he it fetcht out of her native place,
And did in stocke of earthly flesh enrace,
That mortall men her glory should admyre.
In gentle Ladies breste and bounteous race
Of woman kind it fayrest Flowre doth spyre,
And beareth fruit of honour and all chast
desyre.
LIII
Fayre ympes of beautie, whose bright shining
beames
Adonic the world with like to heavenly light,
And to your willes both royalties and Reames
Subdew, through conquest of your wondrous
might,
With this fayre flowre your goodly girlonds
Of chastity and vertue virginall, " [dight
That shall embellish more your beautie bright,
And crowne your heades with heavenly
coronall,
Such as the Angels weare before Gods tribunall !
To your faire selves a faire ensample frame
Of this faire virgin, this Belphebe fayre ;
To whom, in perfect love and spotlesse fame
Of chastitie, none living may compayre :
Ne poysnous Envy justly can empayre
The prayse of her fresh flowring Maydenhead;
Forthy she standeth on the highest" stayre
Of th' honorable stage of womanhead,
That Ladies all may follow her ensample dead.
In so great prayse of stedfast chastity
Nathlesse she was so courteous and kynde,
Tempred with grace and goodly modesty,
That seemed those two vertues strove to fynd
The higher place in her Heroick mynd :
So striving each did other more augment,
And both encreast the prayse of woman kynde,
And both encreast her beautie excellent :
So all did make in her a perfect complement
1 88
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK HI.
CANTO VI.
The birth of fayre Belphoebe and
Of Amorett is told :
The Gardins of Adonis fraught
With pleasures manifold.
WELL taay I weene, faire Ladies, all this while
Ye wonder how this noble Damozell
So great perfectiouc did in her compile,
Sith that in salvage forests she did dwell,
So farre from court and royall Citadell,
The great schoolmaistresse of all courtesy :
Seemeth that such wilde woodes should far
expell
All civile usage and gentility,
And gentle sprite deforme with rude rusticity.
But to this faire Belphoebe in her berth
The hevens so favorable were and free,
Looking with myld aspect upon the earth
In th' Horoscope of her nativitee,
That all the gifts of grace and chastitee
On her they poured forth of plenteous home :
Jove laught on Venus from his soverayne see.
And Phoebus with faire beames did her
adorne, [borne.
And all the Graces rockt her cradle being
Her berth was of the wombe of Morning dew,
And her conception of the joyous Prime ;
And all her whole creation did her shew
Pure and unspotted from all loathly crime
That is ingenerate in fleshly slime.*
So was this virgin borno, so was she bred ;
So was she trayned up from time to time
In all chaste vertue and true bounti-hed,
Till to her dew perfection she were ripened.
IV
Her mother was the faire Chrysogonee,
The daughter of Am phi sa, who by race
A Faerie was, yborne of high degree.
She bore Belphoebe ; she bore in like cace
Fayre Amoretta in the second place :
These two were twinnes, and twixt them two
did share
The heritage of all celestial! grace :
That all the rest it seemd they robbed bare
Of bounty, and of beautie, and all vertues
rare.
It were a goodly storie to declare
By what straunge accident faire Chrysogone
Conceiv'd these infants, and how them she bare
In this wilde forrest wandring all alone,
After she had nine moneths fulnld and gone:
For not as other wemens commune brood
They were enwombed in the sacred throne
Of her chaste bodie ; nor with commune food,
As other wemens babes, they sucked vitall
blood:
VI
But wondrously they were begot and bred
Through influence of th' hevens fruitfull ray
As it in antique bookes is mentioned.
It was upon a Sommers shinie day,
When Titan faire his beames did display,
In a fresh fountaine, far from all mens vew,
She bath'd her brest the boyling heat t'allay ;
She bath'd with roses red and violets blew,
And all the sweetest flowers that in the forrest
grew:
VII
Till faint through yrkesome wearines. adowne
Upon the grassy ground her selfe she layd
To sleepe. the whiles a gentle slombring
swowiie
Upon her fell, all naked bare displayd.
The sunbeames bright upon her body playcl,
Being through former bathing mollltide,
And pierst into her wombe, where they
embayd
With so sweet sence and secret powre unspide,
That in her pregnant flesh they shortly fruc-
tifide.
VIII
Miraculous may seeme to him that reades
So straunge ensample of conception ;
But reason teacheth that the fruitfull seades
Of all things living, through impression
Of the sunbeames in moyst complexion,
Doe life conceive .and quickned are by kynd :
So, after Xilus inundation,
Infinite shapes of creatures men doe fynd
Informed in the mad on which the Siinne hath
shynd.
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
189
Great father he of generation
Is rightly cald, th' authourot' life and light;
And his faire sister for creation
Ministreth matter tit, which, tempted right
With heate and humour, breedes the living
wight. [gone ;
So sprong these twinnes in womh of Chryso-
Yo.t wist she nought thereof, but sore affright,
Wondred to see her belly so upblone,
Which still increast till she her terme had full
outgone.
x
Whereof conceiving shame and foule disgrace,
Albe her guiltlesse conscience her cleard,
She fled into the wildernesse a space,
Till that unweeldy burden she had reard,
And shund dishonor which as death shefeard :
Where, wearie of long traveill, downe to rest
Her selfe she set, and comfortably cheard :
There a sad cloud of sleepe her overkest,
And seized every sence with sorrow sore
opprest.
XI
It fortuned, faire Venus having lost
Her little sonne, the winged god of love,
Who, for some light displeasure which him
crost,
Was from her fled as flit as ayery Dove,
And left her blisfull bowre of joy above :
(So from her often he had fled away,
When she for ought him sharpely did reprove,
And wandred in the world in straunge aray,
Disguiz'd in thousand shapes, that none might
him bewray.)
XII
Him for to seeke, she left her heavenly hous,
The house of goodly formes and faire aspect,
Whence all the world derives the glorious
Features of beautie, and all shapes select,
With which high God his workmanship hath
deckt; [wings
And searched everie way through which his
Had borne him, or his tract she mote detect :
She promist kisses sweet, and sweeter things,
Unto tiifi man that of him tydings to her
brings.
XIII
First she him sought in Court, where most he
us'd [not .
Whylome to haunt, but there she found him
But many there she found which sore accus'd
His falshood, and with fowle infamous blot
His cruell deedes and wicked wyles did spot :
Ladies and Lordes she everywhere mote heare
Complayning, how with his empoysned shot
Their wofull harts he wounded had whyleare
And so had left them languishing twixt hope
and feare.
XIV
She then the Cities sought from gate to gate,
And everie one did aske. did he him see?
And everie one her answerd, that too late
He had him seene, and felt the cruelteo
Of his sharpe dartes and whot artilleree :
And every one threw forth reproches rife
Of his mischievous deedes, and sayd that bee
Was the disturber of all civill life,
The enimy of peace, and authour of all strife.
xv
Then in the countrey she abroad him sought,
And in the rurall cottages inquir'd;
Where also many plaintes to her were brought,
How he t heir heedelesse harts with love had !ir d,
And his false venim through their veines in-
spir'd : [ sat
And eke the gentle Shepheard swaynes, which
Keeping their fleecy flockes as they were hyr'd,
She sweetly heard complaiue, both how and
what [thereat.
Her sonne had to them doen ; yet she did smile
XVI
But when in none of all these she him got,
She gan avize where els he mote him hyde :
At last she her bethought that she had not
Yet sought thesalvage woods and forests wyde.
In which full many lovely Nymphes abyde ;
Mongst whom might be that he did closely lye,
Or that the love of some of them him tyde :
Forthy she thither cast her course t' apply,
To search the secret haunts of Dianes company
XVII
Shortly unto the wastefull woods she came,
Whereas she found the Goddesse with her crew,
After late chace of their embrewed game,
Sitting beside a fountaine in a rew;
Some of them washing with the liquid dew
From off their dainty limbs the dusty sweat
And soyle, which did deforme their lively hew ;
Others lay shaded from the scorching heat,
The rest upon her person gave attendance great,
XVIII
She, having hong upon a bough on high
Her bow and painted quiver, had unlaste
Her silver buskins from her nimble thigh,
And hvir lanck loynes ungirt, and brests un-
braste,
After her heat the breathing cold to taste :
Her golden lockes, that late in tresses bright
Embreaded were for hindring of her haste,
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Now loose about her shoulders hong undight,
And were with sweet Ambrosia all besprinckled
light.
XIX
Soone as she Venus saw behinde her backe,
She was asham'd to be so loose surpriz'd ;
And woxe halfe wroth against her damzels
That had not her thereof before aviz'd, [slacke,
But suffred her so carelesly disguiz'd
Be overtaken. Soone her garments loose
Upgath'ring, in her bosome she compriz'd
Well as she might, and to the Goddesse rose ;
Whiles all her Nymphes did like a girlond her
enclose.
xx
Goodly she gan faire Cytherea greet,
And shortly asked her, what cause her brought
Into that wildernesse for her unmeet,
From her sweete bowres, and beds with plea-
sures fraught ? [thought.
That suddein chaunge she straunge adventure
To whom halfe weeping she thus answered ;
That she her dearest sonne Cupido sought,
Who in his frowardnes from her was fled,
That she repented sore to have him angered.
Thereat Diana gan to smile, in scorne
Of her vaine playnt, and to her scoffing sayd :
1 Great pitty sure that ye be so forlorne
Of your gay sonne, that gives ye so good ayd
To your disports : ill mote ye bene apayd.'
But she was more engrieved, and replide ;
'Faire sister, ill beseemes it to upbrayd
A dolefull heart with so disdainfull pride :
The like that mine may be }'our paine another
tide.
XXII
1 As you in woods and wanton wildernesse
Your glory sett to chace the salvage beasts,
So my delight is all in joyfulnesse,
In beds, in bowres, in banckets, and in feasts :
And ill becomes you, with your lofty creasts,
To scorne the joy that Jove" is glad to seeke :
We both are bownd to follow heavens beheasts,
And tend our charges with obeisaunce meeke.
Spare, gentle sister, with reproch my paine to
eeke;
XXIII
' And tell me, if that ye my sonne have heard
To lurke emongst your Nimphes in .secret
wize,
Or keepe their cabins : much I am affes.rd
Least he like one of them him selfe disguize,
And turne his arrowes to their exercize.
So may he long him selfe full easie hide ;
For he is faire and fresh in face and guize
As any Nimphe ; (let not it be envide.')
So saying, every Nimph full narrowh- shee eide,
But Phoebe therewith sore was angered,
And sharply saide : ' Goe, Dame ; goe, seeke
your boy,
Where you him lately lefte, in Mars his bed :
He conies not here ; we scorne his foolish joy,
Ne lend we leisure to his idle toy :
But if I catch him in this company,
By Stygian lake I vow, whose sad" annoy
The Gods doe dread, he dearly shall abye :
He clip his wanton wings, that he no more
shall flye.'
XXV
Whom whenas Venus saw so sore displeasd,
Shee inly sory was, and gan relent
What shee had said ; so her she soone appeasd
With sugred words and gentle blandishment,
Which as a fountaine from her sweete lips
went.
And welled goodly forth, that in short space
She was well pleasd, and forth her damzelL1
sent [place,
Through all the woods, to search from place to
If any tract of him or tidings they mote trace,
XXVI
To search the God of love her Nimphes she
sent
Throughout the wandring forest every where :
And after them her selfe eke with her went
To seeke the fugitive both farre and nere.
So long they sought, till they arrived were
In that same shady covert whereas lay
Faire Crysogone in slombry traunce whilere ;
Who in her sleepe (a wondrous thing to say)
Unwares had borne two babes, as faire as
springing day.
XXVII
Unwares she them conceivd, unwares she
bore:
She bore withouten paine, that she conceiv'd
Withouten pleasure ; ne her need implore
Lucinaes aide: which when they both perceiv'd,
They were through wonder nigh of sence be-
rev'd,
And gazing each on other nought bespake.
At last they both agreed her seeming griev'd
Out of her heavie swowne not to awake [take.
But from her loving side the tender bates to
XXVIII
Up they them tooke ; each one a babe up-
And with them carried to be fostered, [tooke,
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEEHE.
191
Dame Phoebe to a Nymphe her babe betooke
To be upbrought in perfect Maydenhed,
And, of her selfe, her name Belphoebo red :
But Venus hers thence far away convayd,
To be upbrought in goodly womanhed ;
And, in her litle loves stead, which was strayd,
Her Amoretta cald, to comfort her dismayd.
Slice brought her to her joyous Paradize,
W'licr most she wonnes when she on earth does
So faire a place as Nature can devize : [dwell ;
Whether in Paphos, or Cytheron hill, "
Or it in Gnidus bee. I wote not well ;
But well I wote by triall, that this same
All other pleasaunt places doth excell,
And called is by her lost lovers name,
The Gardin of Adonis, far renowmd by fame.
In that same Gardin all the goodly flowres,
Wherewith dame Nature doth her beautify,
And decks the girlonds of her Paramoures,
Are fetcht : there is the first seminary
Of all things that are borne to live and dye,
According to their kynds. Long worke it were
Here to account the endlesse progeny
Of all the weeds that bud and blossome there ;
But so much as doth need must needs be
counted here.
It sited was in fruitfull soyle of old,
And girt in with two walls on either side ;
The one of yron, t' c other of bright gold,
That none might thorough breake, nor over-
stride .
And double gates it had which opened wide,
By which both in and out men moten pas :
Th? one faire and fresh, the other old and dride.
Old Genius the porter of them was,
Old Genius, the which a double nature has.
XXXH
He letteth in, he letteth out to wend
All that to come into the world desire :
A thousand thousand naked babes attend
About him day and night, "which doe require
That he with fleshly weeds would them attire:
Such as him list, such as eternall fate
Ordained hath, he clothes with sinfull mire,
And sendeth forth to live in mortall state,
Till they agayn returne backe by the hinder
gate
XXXIII
After that they againe letourned beene,
They in that Gardin planted bee agayne,
And grow afresh, as they had never scene
fleshly corruption, nor mortall payne. [mayne,
Some thousand yeares so doen they there re-
And then of him are clad with other hew,
Jr sent into the chaungefull world agavne,
Till thither they retourne where first they
grew : : [to new.
So, like a wheele, arownd they ronne from ol<?
Nc needs there Gardiner to sett or sow,
To plant or prune ; for of their owne accord
All things, as they created were, doe grow,'
And yet remember well the mighty word
Which first was spoken by th' Almighty Lord,
That bad them to increase and multiply :
tfe doe they need with water of the ford,
3r of the clouds, to moysteu their roots dry;
For in themselves eternall moisture they "im-
ply-
XXXV
Infinite shapes of creatures there are bred,
And uncouth formes, which none yet ever
And every sort is in a sondry bed [knew:
Sett by it selfe, and ranckt in comely rew ;
Some litt for reasonable sowles t' indew ;
Some made for beasts, some made for birds to
weare ;
And all the fruitfull spawne of fishes hew
In endlesse rancks along enraunged were,
That seemd the Ocean could not containe
them there.
xxxvi
Daily they grow, and daily forth are sent
Into the world, it to replenish more ;
Yet is the stocke not lessened nor spent,
But still remaines in everlasting store,
As it at first created was of yore:
For in the wide wombe of the world there lyes,
1 n hatefull darknes and in deepe horrore.
An huge eternall Chaos, which supplyes
Thesubstauncesof natures fruitfull progcnyes.
XXXVII
All things from thence doe their first being
fetch,
And borrow matter whereof they are made ;
Which, whenas forme and feature it does ketch,
Becomes a body, and doth then invade
The state of life out of the griesly shade.
That substaunce is eterne, and bideth so ;
Ne when the life decayes and forme does fade,
Doth it consume and into nothing goe,
But chaunged is, and often altred to and froe.
XXXVIII
The substaunce is not chaungd nor altered,
But th' only forme and ci'tward fashion;
192
THE FAERIE QUEEXE.
[BOOK in.
For every substaunce is conditioned
To chaunge her hew. andsondry formes to don
Meet for her temper and complexion :
For formes are variable, and decay
By course of kinde and by occasion ;
And that faire flowre of beautie fades away,
As doth the lilly fresh before the sunny ray.
XXXIX
Great enimy to it, and to all the rest
That in the Gardin of Adonis springs,
Is wicked Tyme ; who with his scyth addrest
Does mow the flowring herbes and goodly
things,
And all their glory to the ground downe flings
Where they do wither, and are fowly mard :
He flyes about, and with his flaggy winges
Beates downe both leaves and buds without
regard,
Ne ever pitty may relent his malice hard.
Yet pitty often did the gods relent,
To see so faire thinges mard and spoiled
quight ;
And their great mother Venus did lament
The losse of her deare brood, her deare de-
light:
Her hart was pierst with pitty at the sight,
When walking through the Gardiu them she
saw,
Yet no'te she find redresse for such despight :
tor all that lives is subject to that law;
All things decay in time, and to their end
doe draw.
XLI
But were it not that Time their troubler is,
All that in this delightfull Gardin growes
Should happy bee, and have immortall blis :
For here all plenty and all pleasure flowes ;
And sweete love gentle fitts emongst them
throwes,
Without fell rancor or fond gealosy.
Franckly each Paramor his leman knowes,
Each bird his mate ; ne any does enw
Their goodly meriment and gay felicity.
XLII
There is continuall Spring, and harvest there
ContinualL both meeting at one tyine ;
For both the boughes doe laughing blossoms
beare,
And with fresh colours decke the wanton Pryme,
And eke attonce the heavy trees "they
clyme,
Which seeme to labour under their fruites lode :
The whiles the joyous birdes make their pas-
tyme
Emongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode,
And their trew loves without suspition tell
abrode.
XLIII
Right in the middest of that Paradise [top
There stood a stately Mount, on whose round
A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise,
Whose shady boughes sharp steele did never
lop,
Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did crop,
But like a girlond compassed the hight; [drop,
And from their fruitfull sydes sweet gum did
That all the ground, with pretious deaw bedight,
Threw forth most dainty odours and most
sweet delight.
XLIV
And in the thickest covert of that shade
There was a pleasaunt Arber, not by art
But of the trees owne inclination made,
Which knitting their rancke braunches, part
to part,
With wanton yvie twine entrayld athwart,
And Eglantine and Caprifole emong,
Fashiond above within their inmost part.
That nether Phoebus beams could through
them throng, [wrong.
Sbr Aeolus sharp blast could worke them any
And all about grew every sort of flowre,
To which sad lovers were transformde of yore ;
?resh Hyacinthus, Phoebus paramoure
And dearest love ;
foolish Narcisse, that likes the watry shore ;
Sad Amaranthus, made a flowre but late,
5ad Amaranthus, in whose purple gore
He seemes I see Amintas wretched fate,
To whom sweet Poets verse hath given end-
lesse date.
XLVI
There wont fayre Venus often to enjoy
ler deare Adonis joyous company,
And reape sweet pleasure of the wanton boy :
L'here yet, some say, in secret he does ly,
Capped in flowres and pretious spycery,
Jy her hid from the world, and from the skill |
)f Stygian Gods, which doe her love envy ;
Jut she her selfe, when ever that she will,
''ossesseth him, and of his sweetnesse take,']
her fill.
XLVI I
And sooth, it seemes, they say; for he may no
i'or ever dye, and ever buried bee
n balefull night where all thinges are forgot j
All be he subject to mortalitie,
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
193
Yet is eterne in mutabilitie,
And by succession made perpetuall,
Transformed oft, and chaunged diverslie ;
For him the Father of all formes they call :
rherfore needs mote he live, that living gives
to all.
And unto Psyche with great, trust and care
Committed her, yfostered to l>ee
And trained up in trew feminitee :
Who no lesse carefully her tendered
Then her owne daughter Pleasure, to whom shee
Made her companion, and her lessoned
In all the lore of love, and goodly womanhead.
There now he liveth in eternall blis,
'oying his goddesse, and of her enjoyd ;
ie feareth he henceforth that foe of his,
Vhich with his cruell tuske him deadly cloyd : ! o~f grace and beautie nofjle Paragone,
For that wilde Bore, the which him once an- j She brought her forth into the worldes vew,
She tirmely hath emprisoned for ay, [noyd, j To be th' ensample of true love alone,
In which when she to perfect ripenes grew,
"hat her sweet love his malice mote avoyd,
n a strong rocky Cave, which is, they say.
lewen underneath that Mount, that none him
losen may.
XLIX
There now he lives in everlasting joy,
Vith many of the Gods in company
Vhich thither haunt, and with the winged boy,
[porting him selfe in safe felicity:
Vho when he hath with spoiles and cruelty
tansackt the world, and in the wofull harts
)f many wretches set his triumphes hye,
And Lodestarre of all chaste affection
To all fayre Ladies that doe live on grownd.
To Faery court she came ; where many one
Admvrd her goodly haveour. and fownd
His feeble hart wide launched with loves cruel
wownd.
But she to none of them her love did cast,
Save to the noble knight Sir Scudantore,
To whom her loving hart she linked fast
In faithfull love, t' abide for evermore;
And for his dearest sake endured sore
hither resortes, and, laving his sad dartes | Aad lor h» dearest sake endured t
syde, with faire Adonis playes his wanton Sons trouble of an hamous ennny,
partes.
And his trew love faire Psyche with him
playes,
'ayre Psyche to him lately reconcyld,
ifter long troubles and unmeet upbrayes
nth which his mother Venus her revyld,
And eke himselfe her cruelly exyld:
lut now in stedfast love ami happy state
Who her would forced have to have forlore
Her former love and stedfast loialty,
As ye may elswhere reade thatruefull history.
But well I weene, ye first desire to learne
i What end unto that fearefull Damozell,
j Which fledd so fast from that same foster
stearne
he with him lives, and hath him borne achy Id, i Whom with his brethren Timias slew, befell:
Measure, that doth both gods and men aggrate, ! That was, to weet, the goodly Florimell ;
leasure,thedaughterofCupidandPsychelate.j Who wandring for to seeke h'er lover deare,
j Her lover deare, her dearest Marinell,
LI Into misfortune fell, as ye did heare,
Hither great Venus brought this infant fayre, And from Prince Arthure fled with wings of
'he yonger daughter of Chrysogonee, idle feare.
CANTO VII.
The witches gonne loves Florimell :
She flyes ; he faines to dy.
Satyrane saves the Sqnyre of Dames
From Gyauuts tyranny.
1 i So fledd fayre Florimell from her vaine feare,
LlKEasanH37nd forth singled fron) the heard, Long after she from perill was releast :
tiat hath escaped from a ravenous beast,
'ct flyes away of her owne feete afeard,
ind every leafe, that shaketh with the least
llurmure of windet her terror hath encreast ;
Each shade she saw, and each noyse she did
heare.
Di<l seeme to be the same which she escapt
whileare.
194
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
All that same evening she in flying spent,
And all that night her course continewed ,
Ne did she let dull sleepe once to relent,
Nor wearinesse to slack her hast, but fled
Ever alike, as if her former dred
Were hard behind, her ready to arrest ;
And her white Palfrey, having conquered
The maistring raines out of her weary wrest,
Perforce her carried where ever he thought
best.
in
So long as breath and hable puissaunce
Did native corage unto him supply,
His pace he freshly forward did advaunce,
And carried her beyond all jeopard}';
But nought that wanteth rest can long abjr :
He, having through incessant traveill spent
His force, at last perforce adowne did ly,
Ne foot could further mo%re. The Lady gent
Thereat was suddein strook with great aston-
ishment ;
IV
And, forst t' alight, on foot mote algates
fare
A traveller unwonted to such way :
Need teacheth her this lesson hard and rare,
That fortune all in equall launce doth sway,
And mortall miseries doth make her play."
So long she traveild, till at length she came
To an hilles side, which did to her bewray
A litle valley subject to the same,
All coverd with thick woodes that quite it
overcame.
v
Through the tops of the high trees she did
descry
A litle smoke, whose vapour thin and light
Keeking aloft tiprolled to the sky :
Which chearefull signe did send unto her sight
That in the same did wonne some living
wight.
Eftsoones her steps she thereunto applvd,
And came at last in weary wretched plight
Unto the place, to which her hope did guyde,
To finde some refuge there, and rest her vvearie
syde.
VI
There in a gloomy hollow glen she found
A little cottage, built of stickes and reedes
In homely wi/e, and wald with sods around;
In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes
And wilfull want, all carelesse of her'needes;
So choosing solitarie to abide
Far from all neighbours, that her divelish
deedes
And hellish arts from people she might hide,
And hurt far off unknowne whom ever she
envide.
VII
The Damzell there arriving entred in ;
Where sitting on the tiore the Hag she found
Busie (as seem'd) about some wicked gin :
Who, soone as she beheld that suddein stound,
Lightly upstarted from the dustie ground,
And with fell looke and hollow deadly gaze
Stared on her awhile, as one astound,
Ne had one word to speake for great amaze,
But shewd by outward signes that dread her
sence did daze.
At last, turning her feare to foolish wrath,
She askt, what devill had her thither brought,
And who she was, and what unwonted path
Had guided her, unwelcomed, unsought ?
To which the Damzell, full of doubtfull t
thought.
Her mildly answer'd : ' Beldame, be not wroth
With silly Virgin, by adventure brought
Unto your dwelling, ignorant and loth,
That crave but rowme to rest while tempest |
overblo'th.'
IX
With that adowne out of her christall eyne
Few trickling teares she softly forth let fall,
That like to orient perles did purely shyne
Upon her snowy cheeke ; and therewithal!
She sighed soft, that none so bestiall
Nor salvage hart, but ruth of her sad plight
Would make to melt, or pitteously appall :
And that vile Hag, all were her whole delight
In mischiefe, was much moved at so pitteou
sight ;
x
And gan recomfort her in her rude wyse,
With womanish compassion of her plaint,
Wiping the teares from her suffused eyes, |
And bidding her sit downe, to rest her faint
And wearie limbes awhile. She, nothinj
quaint
Nor 'sdeignfull of so homely fashion,
Sith brought she was now to so hard cor |
straint,
Sate downe upon the dusty ground anon ;
As glad of that small rest as Bird of tempe
gon.
XI
Tho gan she gather up her garments rent,
And her loose lockes to flight in order dew
With golden wreath and gorgeous ornamen
Whom such whenas the wicked Hag did ve
ANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
'95
ie was astonisht at her heavenly hew,
nd doubted her to deeine an earthly wight,
ut or some Goddesse, or of Dianes crew,
nd thought her to adore with humble spright:
adore thing so divine as beauty were
right.
XII
This wicked woman had a wicked sonne,
lie comfort of her age and wean' dayes,
laesy loord, for nothing good to donne,
ut stretched forth in ydlenesse alwayes,
e ever cast his mind to covet prayse,
r ply himselfe to any honest trade,
ut all the day before the sunny raves
e us'd to slug, or sleepe in slothfull shade:
uch laesinesse both lewd and poore attonce
him made.
3e, comming home at undertime, there found
be fayrest creature that he ever saw
itting beside his mother on the ground ;
lie sight whereof did greatly him adaw,
\nd his base thought with'terrour and with
aw
o inly smot, that as one, which hath gaz'd
n the bright Sunne unwares, doth soone
withdraw
is feeble eyne, with too much brightnes daz'd,
k> stared he on her, and stood long while
amaz'd.
XIV
Softly at last he gan his mother aske,
fhat mister wight that was, and whence
deriv'd, [maske,
hat in so straunge disguizement there did
nd by what accident she there arrived ?
ut she, as one nigh of her wits depriv'd,
Vith nought but ghastly lookes him answered ;
ike to a ghost, that lately is reviv'd
rom Stygian shores where late it wandered :
>o both at her, and each at other wondered.
But the fayre Virgin was so meeke and myld,
'hat she to them vouchsafed to embace
KT goodly port, and to their senses vyld
ler gentle speach applyde, that in short space
>he grew familiare in that desert place.
.hiring which time the Chorle, through her so
kind
Vnd cnurteise use, conceiv'd affection bace,
Vad east to love her in his brutish mind :
S'o love, but brutish lust, that was so beastlv
lind.
Yet had he not the hart, nor hardiment,
As unto her to utter his desire ;
His caytive thought durst not so high aspire:
,.... But with soft sighes and lovely semblaunces
but He ween'd that his affection entire
She should aread ; many resemblaunces
To her he made, and many kinde remein-
braunces.
Oft from the forrest wildings he did bring,
Whose sides empurpled were with smyling red;
And oft young birds, which he had taught to
sing,
His maistresse praises sweetly caroled:
Girlonds of flowres sometimes for her faire lied
He fine would dight ; sometimes the squirrell
wild
He brought to her in bands, as conquered
To be her thrall, his fellow-servant vild :
All which she of him tooke with countenance
meeke and mild.
'ly the wicked flame his bowels brent,
.nd shortly grew into outrageous tire ;
XVIII
But, past a while, when she fit season saw
To leave that desert mansion, she cast
In secret wize herselfe thence to withdraw,
For feare of mischiefe, which she did forecast
Might by the witch or by her sonne compast.
Her wearie Palfrey, closely as she might,
Now well recovered after long repast,
In his proud furnitures she freshly dight,
His late miswandred wayes now to remeasure
right.
XIX
And earely, ere the dawning day appear'd,
She forth issewed, and on her journey went :
She went in perill, of each noyse affeard,
And of each shade that did it selfe present ;
For still she feared to be overheat
Of that vile hag, or her uncivile sonne ;
Who when, too late awaking, well they kent
That their fayre guest was gone, they both
begonne f undonne.
To make exceeding mone, as they had been
But that lewd lover did the most lament
For her depart, that ever man did heare :
He knockt his brest with desperate intenl,
And scratch! his face, and with his teeth did
teare
His rugged flesh, and rent his ragged heare;
That his sad mother, seeing his sore plight,
Was greatly woe begon, and gan to feare
Least his fraile senses were emperisht quight,
And love to frenzy turnd, sith love is franticke
bight
02
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
All waves shee sought him to restore to plight,
With herbs, with charms, with counsel, and
with teares ; [might
But tears, nor charms, nor herbs, nor counsell,
Asswage the fury which his entrails teares :
So strong is passion that no reason heares.
Tho when all other helpes she saw to faile,
She turnd her selfe backe to her wicked leares;
And by her divelish arts thought to prevaile
To bringe her backe againe, or worke her finall
bale.
XXII
Eftesoones out of her hidden cave she cald
An hideous beast of horrible aspect,
That could the stoutest corage have appald ;
Monstrous, mishapt, and all his backe was
spect
With thousand spots of colours queint elect,
Thereto so swifte that it all beasts did pas :
Like never yet did living eie detect ;
But likest it to an Hyena was, [gras.
That feeds on wemens flesh as others feede on
It forth she cald, and gave itstreight in charge
Through thicke and thin her to poursew apace,
Ne once to stay to rest, or breath at large,
Till her he had attaind and brought in place,
Or quite devourd her beauties scornefull grace.
The Monster, swifte as word that from her
went,
Went forth in haste, and did her footing trace
So sure and swiftly, through his perfect sent
And passing speede, that shortly he her over-
bent.
XXIV
Whom when the fearefull Damzell nigh es-
pide,
No need to bid her fast away to flie :
That ugly shape so sore her terrifide,
That it she shund no lesse then dread to die ;
And her flitt palfrey did so well applv
His nimble feet to her conceived feare,
That whitest his breath did strength to him
supply,
From peril free he away her did beare ;
But when his force gan faile his pace gan wex
areare.
XXV
Which whenas she perceiv'd, she was dismayd
At that same last extremity ful sore,
And of her safety greatly grew afrayd.
And now she gan approch to the sea shore,
As it befell, that she could flie no more,
Bat yield herselfe to spoile of greedinesse :
Lightly she leaped, as a wight forlore,
From her dull horse, in desperate distresse,
And to her feet betooke her doubtfull sicker-
nesse.
XXVI
Not halfe so fast the wicked Myrrh a fled
From dread of her revenging fathers hond ;
Xor halfe so fast to save her maydenhed
Fled fearfull Daphne on th' ^Egaean strond,
As Florimell fled from that Monster yond,
To reach the sea ere she of him were raught :
For in the sea to drowne herselfe she fond,
Rather then of the tyrant to be caught :
Thereto fear gave her wings, and need he>
corage taught.
XXVII
It fortuned (high God did so ordaine)
As shee arrived on the roring shore,
In minde to leape into the mighty niaine,
A little bote lay hoving her before,
In which there slept a fisher old and pore,
The whiles his nets were drying on the sand.
Into the same shee lept, and with the ore
Did thrust the shallop from the floting strand
So safety fownd at sea which she fownd not a'
land.
The Monster, ready on the pray to sease,
Was of his forward hope deceived quight ;
Xe durst assay to wade the perlous seas,
But greedily long gaping at the sight,
At last in vaine was forst to turne his flight, j
And tell the idle tidings to his Dame :
Yet, to avenge his divelish despight,
He sett upon her Palfrey tired lame,
And slew him cruelly ere any reskew came- I
XXIX
And, after having him embawelled
To fill his hellish gorge, it chaunst a knight
To passe that way, as forth he travelled :
Yt was a goodly Swaine, and of great might, J
As ever man that bloody field did fight;
But in vain sheows, that wont yong knighij
bewitch,
And courtly services, tooke no delight ;
But rather joyd to bee then seemen sich,
For both to be and seeme to him was labor lid]
It was to weete the good Sir Satyrane,
That raungd abrode to seeke adventures wild ;
As was his wont, in forest and in plaine :
He was all armd in rugged steele unfilde,
As in the smoky forge it was compilde,
And in his Scutchin bore a Satyres hedd.
He comming present, where the Monster vilii
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
197
Upon that milke-white Palfreyes carcas fedd,
Unto his reskew ran, and greedily him spedd.
There well perceivd he that it was the horse
Whereon faire Florimell was wont to ride,
That of that feend was rent without remorse :
Much feared he least ought did ill betide
To that faire Maide, the flowre of wemens pride ;
For lier he dearely loved, and in all
1 1 is famous conquests highly magnifide :
Brides, her golden girdle, which did fall
From her in flight, he fownd, that did him sore
apall.
XXXII
Full of sad feare and doubtful! agony
Fiercely he flew upon that wicked feend.
And with huge strokes and cruell battery
Him forst to leave his pray, for to attend
Him selfe from deadly daunger to defend :
Full many wounds in his corrupted flesh
He did engrave, and muchell blood did spend,
Yet might not doe him die : but aiemore fresh
And fierce he still appeard, the more he did him
thresh.
XXXIII
He wist not how him to despoile of life,
Ne how to win the wished victory,
Sith him he saw still stronger grow through
strife,
And him selfe weaker through infirmity.
Greatly he grew enrag'd, and furiously
Hurling his sword away he lightly lept
Upon the beast, that with great cruelty
Rored and raged to be underkept ; [hept.
Yet he perforce him held, and strokes upon him
As he that strives to stop a suddein flood,
And in strong bancks his violence enclose,
Forceth it swell above his wonted mood,
And largely overflow the fruitful! plaine,
That all the countrey seemes to be a Maine,
And the rich furrowes flote, all quite fordonne :
The wofull husbandman dothlowd complaine
To see his whole yeares labor lost so soone,
For which to God he made so many an idle
boone:
XXXV
So him he held, and did through might amate.
So long he held him, and him bett so long,
That at the last his fiercenes gan abate,
And meekely stoup unto the victor strong-
Who, to avenge the implacable wrong
Which he supposed donne to Florimell,
4 Sought by all meanes his dolor to prolong,
Sith dint of steele his carcas could not quell;
His maker with her charmes had framed him
so well.
XXXVI
The golden ribband, which that virgin wore
About her sclender waste, he tooke in hand,
And with it bownd the beast, that lowd did
rore
For great despight of that unwonted band,
Yet dared not his victor to withstand,
But trembled like a lambe fled from the pray ;
And all the way him followd on the strand,
As he had long bene learned to obay ;
Yet never learned he su^h service till that day.
XXXVII
Thus as he led the Beast along the way,
He spide far off a mighty Giauntesse
Fast flying, on a Courser dapled gray,
From.a bold knight that with great hardinesse
Her hard pursewd, and sought for to sup-
presse.
She bore before her lap a dolefull Squire,
Lying athwart her horse in great distresse,
Fast bounden hand and foote with cords of
wire, [her desire.
Whom she did meane to make the thrall of
Which whenas Satyrane beheld, in haste
He lefte his captive Beast at liberty,
And crost the nearest way, by which he cast
Her to encounter ere she passed by ;
But she the way shund nathemore forthy,
But forward gallopt fast; which when he
spyde,
His mighty speare he couched warily,
And at her ran : she, having him descryde,
Her selfe to fight addrest, and threw h'er lode
aside.
XXXIX
Like as a Goshauke, that in foote doth beare
A trembling Culver, having spide on hight
An Eagle that with plumy wings doth sheare
The subtile ayre stouping with all his might,
The quarry throwes to ground with fell de-
spight,
And to the batteill doth her selfe prepare :
So ran the Geauntesse unto the fight.
Her fyrie eyes with furious sparkes did stare,
And with blasphemous bannes high God in
peeces tare.
XL
She caught in hand an huge great yron mace,
Wherewith she many had of life depriv'd ;
But, ere the stroke could seize his aymed place,
His speare amids her sun-brode shield arriv'd:
i98
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Yet nathetnore the steele asonder riv'd, I And, seeing none in place, he gan to make
All were the beame in bignes like a mast, i Exceeding mone, and curst that cruell chauna
Ne her out of the stedfast sadle driv'd ; Which reft from him so faire a chevisaunce.
But, glauncing on the tempred metall, brast At length he spyde whereas that wofull Squyre
In thousand shivers, and so forth beside her Whom he had reskewed from captivaunce"
past.
Her Steed did stagger with that puissaunt
strooke ;
But she no more was moved with that might
Then it had lighted on an aged Oke,
Or on the marble Pillour that is pight
Upon the top of Mount Olympus hight,
For the brave youthly Champions to assay
With burning "charet wheeles it nigh to smite;
But who that smites it mars his joyous play,
And is the spectacle of ruinous decay.
Yet, therewith sore enrag'd, with sterne re-
gard
Her dreadfull weapon she to him addrest,
Which on his helmet martelled so hard
That made him low incline his lofty crest,
And bowd his battred visour to his brest :
Wherewith he was so stund that he n'ote ryde,
But reeled to and fro from east to west.
Which when his cruell enimy espyde,
She lightly unto him adjoyned syde to syde ;
And, on his collar laving puissaunt hand,
Out of his wavering seat him phtckt perforse,
Perforse him pluckt, unable to withstand
Or helpe himselfe; and laying thwart her
horse,
In loathly wise like to a carrion corse,
She bore him fast away. Which when the
knight
That her pursewed saw, with great remorse
He nere was touched in his noble spright,
And gan encrease his speed as she encreast her
flight.
XLIV
Whom when as nigh approching she espyde,
£he threw away her burden angrily ;
For she list not the batteill to abide,
But made her selfe more light away to fly :
Yet her the hardy knight pursewd so nye
That almost in the backe he oft her strake ;
But still, when him at hand she did espy,
Of his strong foe, lay tombled in the myre,
Unable to arise, or foote or hand to styre.
To whom approching, well he mote perceive
In that fowle plight a comely personage
And lovely face, made fit for to deceive
Fraile Ladies hart with loves consuming rage
Now in the blossome of his freshest age.
He reard him up and loosd his yron bands,
And after gan inquire his parentage,
And how he fell into the Gyaunts hands,
And who that was which chaced her along th
lands.
Then trembling yet through feare the Squir
bespake :
' That Geauntesse Argante is behight,
A daughter of the Titans which did make
Warre against heven, and heaped hils on high |
To scale the skyes and put Jove from hi
right:
Her syre Typhoeus was ; who, mad throng
merth, [ migh
And dronke with blood of men slaine by hi
Through incest her of his owne mother Eart
Whvlome begot, being but halfe twin of tin
berth :
XLVIII
' For at that berth another Babe she bore ;
To weet, the mightie Ollyphant, that wrong!
Great wreake to many errant knights of yor
And many hath to foule confusion broug'ht.
These twinnes, men say, (a thing far passii:
thought) [wer
While in their mothers wombe enclosd th<
Ere they into the lightsom world were brougli
In fleshly lust were mingled both yfere,
And in that monstrous wise did to the wor
appere.
' So liv'd they ever after in like sin,
Gainst natures law and good behaveoure ;
She turnd, and semblaunce of faire fight did 'But greatest shame was to that maiden twi
make, [her take, j Who, not content so fowly to devours
But, when he stayd, to flight againe she did Her native flesh and staine her brothers bow
Did wallow in all other fleshly myre.
By this the good Sir Satyrane gan awake
Out of his dreame that did him long entraunce,
And suffred beastes her body to deflowre,
So whot she burned in that lustfull fyre ;
Yet all that might not slake her sensuail desyi '
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEEKE.
199
' But over all the countrie she did raunge
To seeke young men to quench her flaming
thrust,
And feed her fancy with delightfull chaunge :
Whom so she fittest findes to serve her last,
Through her inaine strength, in which she
most doth trust,
She with her bringes into a secret He,
Where in eternall bondage dye he must,
Or be the vassall of her pleasures vile.
And in all shamefull sort him selfe with her
defile.
i,i
' Me, seely wretch, she so at vauntage caught,
After she long in waite for me did lye,
And meant unto her prison to have brought,
Her lothsom pleasure there to satisfye;
That thousand deathes me lever were to dye
Then breake the vow that to faire Columbell
I plighted have, and yet keepe stedt'astly.
As for my name, it mistreth not to tell:
Call me the Squyre of Dames; that me
beseemeth well.
LI I
' But that bold knight, whom ye pursuing saw
That Geauntesse, is not such as she seemd,
But a faire virgin that in martiall law
And deedes of armes above all Dames is
deemd,
And above many knightes is eke esteemd
For her great worth : She Palladine is hight.
She you from death, you me from dread, re-
deemd ;
Ne any may that Monster match in fight,
But she, or such as she, that is so chaste a
wight.'
LIII
' Her well beseemes that Quest,' (quoth Saty-
rane) , [is this,
' But read, thou Squyre of Dames, what vow
Which thou upon thy selfe hast lately ta'ne ? '
'That shall I you recount,' (quoth he) 'ywis,
So be ye pleasd to pardon all amis.
That gentle Lady whom I love and serve,
After long suit and wearie servicis,
Did aske me, how I could her love deserve,
And how she might be sure that I would never
swerve ?
LIV
' I, glad by an)' meanes her grace to gaine,
Badd her commaund my life to save or spill.
Eftsoones she badd me, with incessaunt paine
To wander through the world abroad at will,
And every where, where with my power or
I might doe service unto gentle Dames, [skill
That I the same should faithfully fulfill ;
And at the twelve monethes end should bring
their names [ games.
And pledges, as the spoiles of my victorious
' So well I to faire Ladies service did,
And found such favour in their loving hartes,
That ere the yeare his course had compassid,
Thre hundred pledges for my good desartes,,
And thrice three hundred thanks for my good
partes,
I with me brought, and did to her present :
Which when she saw, more bent to eke my
smart es
Then to reward my trust}' true intent,
She gan for me devise a grievous punishment;
' To weet, that I my traveill should resume,
And with like labour walke the world arownd,
Ne ever to her presence should presume,
Till I so many other Dames had fownd,
The which, for all the suit I c"uld propownd,
Would me refuse their pledges to afford,
But did abide for ever chaste and sownd."
1 Ah ! gentle Squyre,' (quoth he) ' tell at one
word, [record ? '
How many fownd'st thou such to put in thy
LVII
' Indeed, Sir knight,' (said he) ' one word
may tell
All that I ever fownd so wisely 8ta)-d,
For onely three they were disposd so well ;
And yet three yeares I now abrode have strayd,
To fynd them out.' 'Mote I,' (then laughing
sayd [three,
The knight) 'inquire of thee what were those
The which thy proffred curtesie denayd V
jOr ill they seemed sure avizd to bee, [see.'
Or brutishly brought up, that ncv'r did fashions
' The first which then refused me,' (said hee)
'Certes was but a common Courtisane;
Yet flat refusd to have adoe with mee,
Because I could not give her many a Jane.'
(Thereat full hartely laughed Satyrane.)
' The second was an holy Nunne to chose,
Which would not let me be her Chappellane,
Because she knew, she said, I would disclose
Her counsell, if she should her trust in me re-
pose.
I.IX
' The third a Damzell was of low degree,
Whom I in countrey cottage fownd bychaunce:
Full litle weened I that chastitee
[Had lodging in so meane a muinttmaunce ;
200
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Yet was she fayre, and in her countenaunce
Dwelt simple truth in seemely fashion.
Long thus I woo'd her with due observ-
aunce.
In hope unto my pleasure to have won ;
But was as far at last, as when I first begon.
' Safe her, I never any woman found
That chastity did for it selfe embrace,
But were for other causes firme and sound ;
Either for want of handsome time and place,
Or else for feare of shame and fowle disgrace.
Thus am I hopelesse ever to attaine
My Ladies love in such a desperate case,
But all my dayes am like to waste in vaine,
Seeking to match the chaste with th' unchaste
Ladies traine.'
LXI
' Perdy ' (sayd Satyrane) ' thou Squyre of
"Dames,
Great labour fondly hast thou hent in hand,
To get small thankes, and therewith many
blames,
That may emongst Alcides labours stand.'
Thence backe returning to the former land,
Where late he left the Beast he overcame,
! He found him not; for he had broke his band,
! And was returnd againe unto his Dame,
j To tell what tydings of fayre Florimell became.
CANTO VIII.
The Witch creates a snowy La-
dy like to Florimell ;
Who wrong'd by Carle, by Proteus sav'd,
Is sought by Paridell.
So oft as I this history record,
My heart doth melt with meere compassion,
To t hinke how causeles.se, of her owne accord,
This gentle Damzell, whom I write upon,
Should plonged be in such affliction
Without all hope of comfort or reliefe ;
That sure, I weene, the hardest hart of stone
Would hardly finde to aggravate her griefe ;
idfedd
.,;. 1^1.1
Quite of all hope wherewith he long had fedd
His foolish malady, and long time had mieledd.
With thought whereof exceeding mad he grew,
And in his rage his mother would have slaine,
Had she not fled into a secret mew,
Where she was wont her Sprightes to enter-
taine,
For misery craves rather mercy then repriefe. The maisteA «f her art : there was she faine
To call them all in order to her ayde,
And them conjure, upon eternall paine,
To counsell her, so carefully dismayd,
How she might heale her sonne whose senses
But that accursed Hag, her hostesse late,
Had so enranckled her malitious hart,
That she desyrd th' abridgement of her fate,
Or long enlargement of her paihefull smart.
Now when the Beast, which by her wicked art
Late foorth she sent, she backe retourningspyde
Tyde with her golden girdle ; it a part
were decavd.
By their advice, and her owne wicked wit.
i She there deviz'd a wondrous worke to fra
Ofherrichspoyleswhcmihehadearstdestroyd Whose like on earth was never framed yit ;
She weend, and wondrous gladnes to her hart rhat even Nature selfe envide the same,
applvde. ; Andgrudg'd to see the counterfet should shame
m i The thing it selfe: In hand she boldly tooke
And, with it ronning hast'ly to her sonne, i \* make another like the former Dame,
Thsught with that sight him much to have An?.the,r Flo"me !: m ^P6 and l°°ke.
reliv'd i uvely and so like, that many it unstooke.
Who, thereby deeming sure the thing as donne, j
His former griefe with furie fresh reviv'd vi
Much more then earst, and would have algates The substance, whereof she the body made,
riv'd : Was purest snow in massv mould congeald,
The hart out of his brest : for sith her dedd Which she had gathered in a shady glade
He surely dempt, himselfe he thought depriv'd Of the Riphoean hils, to her reveal'd
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
201
By errant Sprights, but from all men con-
ceald :
The same she tempred with fine Mercury
And virgin wex that never yet was seald,
And mingled them with perfect vermily ;
That like a lively sanguine it seemd to the eye
Instead of eyes two burning lampes she set
In silver sockets, shyning like the skyes,
And a quicke moving Spirit did arrct
To stirre and roll them like to womens eyes :
Instead of yellow lockes she did devyse
With golden wyre to weave her curled head ;
Yet golden wyre was not so yellow thryse
As Florimells fayre heare : and, in the stead
Of life, she put a Spright to rule the carcas
dead;
VIII
A wicked Spright, yfraught with fawning
guyle
And fayre resemblance above all the rest,
Which with the Prince of Darkenes fell some-
whyle
From heavens blis and everlasting rest :
Him needed not instruct which way were best
Him selfe to fashion likest Florimell,
Ne how to speake, ne how to use his gest ;
For he in counterfesaunce did excell,
And all the wyles of wemens wits knew pass-
ing well.
IX
Him shaped thus she deckt in garments gay,
Which Florimell had left behind her late ;
That who so then her saw would surely say
It was her selfe whom it did imitate,
Or fayrer then her selfe, if ought algate
Might fayrer be. And then she forth her
Unto her sonne thatlay in feeble state ; [brought
Who seeing her gan streight upstart, and
thought [sought.
She was the Lady selfe whom he so long had
Tho fast her clipping twixt his armes twayne,
Extremely joyed in so happy sight,
And sooue forgot his former sickely payne :
Hut she, the more to seeme such as she higlit,
Coyly rebutted his embracement light;
Yet still, with gentle countenaunce. retain'd
Enough to hold a foole in vaine delight.
Him long she so with shadowes entertain'd,
As her Creatresse had in charge to her ordain'd.
Till on a day, as he disposed was
To walke the woodes with that his Idole faire,
Her to disport and idle time to pas
In th' open freshnes of the gentle aire,
A knight that way there chaunced to repaire ;
Yet knight he was not, but a boastfull swaine
That deedes of armes had ever in despaire,
Proud Braggadocchio, that in vaunting vaine
His glory did repose, and credit did maintaine.
He, seeing with that Chorle so faire a wight,
Decked with many a costly ornament.
Much merveiled thereat, as well he might,
And thought that match a fowle disparagement :
His bloody speare eftesoones he boldly bent
Against the silly clowne, who dead through
feare
Fell streight to ground in great astonishment.
' Villein,' (sayd he) ' this Lady is my deare ;
Dy, if thou if gainesay : I will away her beare.'
Mil
The fearefull Chorle di rst not gaiuesay nor
dooe,
But trembling stood, and yielded him the pray ;
Who, finding litle leasure her to wooe
On Trom parts steed her mounted without stay,
And without reskew led her quite away.
Proud man himselfe then Braggadochio deem'd,
And next to none after that happy day,
Being possessed of that spoyle, which seem'd
The fairest wight on ground, and most of men
esteern'd.
XIV
But, when hee saw him selfe free from poursyte,
He gan make gentle purpose to his Dame
With termes of love and lewdnesse dissolute;
For he could well his glozing speaches frame
To such vaine uses that him best became :
But she thereto would lend but light regard,
As seeming sory that she ever came
Into his powre, that used her so hard [prefard.
To reave her honor, which she more then life
Thus as they two of kindnes treated long,
There them by chaunce encountred on the way
An armed knight upon a courser strong,
Whose trampling feete upon the hollow lay
Seemed to thunder, and did nigh affray
That Capons corage : vet he looked grim,
And faynd to cheare his lad}' in dismay,
Who seemd for feare to quake in every lim,
And her to save from outrage meekely prayed
him.
XVI
Fiercely that straunger forward came : and,
nigh
Approching, with bold words and bitter threat
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK in.
Bad that same boaster, as he mote, on high,
To leave to him that lady for excheat,
Or bide him batteill without further treat.
That challenge did too peremptory seeme,
And fild his senses with abashment great;
Yet seeing nigh him jeopardy extreme,
He it dissembled well, and light seemd to
esteeme
XVII
Saying, 'Thou foolish knight, that weenst
with words
To steale away that I with blowes have wonne,
And brought through points of many perilous
swords :
But if thee list to see thy Courser ronne,
Or prove thy selfe, this sad encounter shonne,
And seeke els without hazard of thy hedd.'
At those prowd words that other knight
begonne
To wex exceeding wroth, and him aredd
To turne his steede about, or sure he shouk
bededd.
From courtly blis and wonted happinesse,
Didheapeonhernew waves of weary wretched-
' Sith then,' (said Braggadochio) ' needes thou
wilt
Thy daies abridge through proofe of puissaunce
Turne we our steeds ; that both in equall tilt
May meete againe, and each take happ\
chaunce.
This said, they both a furlongs mountenaunce
Retird their steeds, to ronne in even race ;
But Braggadochio, with his bloody launee,
Oyce having turnd, no more returnd his face,
But lefte his love to losse, and fled him selfe
apace.
For being fled into the fishers bote
For refuge from the Monsters cruelty,
Long so she on the mighty maine did flote,
And with the tide drove forward carelesly ;
For th' ayre was milde and cleared was the
skie,
And all his windes Dan Aeolus did keepe
From stirring up their stormy enmity,
I As pittying to see her waile and weepe :
But all the while the fisher did securely sleepe
XXII
At last when droncke with drowsinesse h
woke,
And saw his drover drive along the streame,
He was dismayd ; and thri.se his brest h
stroke,
For marveill of that accident extreame :
But when he saw that blazing beauties beam
Which with rare light his bote did beautifye,
He marveild more, and thought he yet di
dreame
Xot well awakte ; or that some extasye
Assotted had his sence, or dazed was his eye.
The knight, him seeing flic, had no regard
Him to poursew, but to the lady rode ;
And having her from Trompart' lightly reard,
Upon his Courser sett the lovely lode,"
And with her fled away without abode.
Well weened he, that fairest Florimell
It was with whom in company he yode,
And so her selfe did alwaies to him tell;
So made him thinke him selfe in heven that
was in hell.
But Florimell her selfe was far away,
Driven to great distresse by fortune straunge,
And taught the carefull Mariner to play.
Sith late mischaunce had her compeld to
chaunge
The land for sea, at randon there to raunge :
Yett there that cruell Queene avengeresse,
Not satisfyde so far her to estraunge
But when her well avizing hee perceiv'd
To be no vision nor fantasticke sight,
Great comfort of her presence he conceiv'd
And felt in his old corage new delight
To gin awake, and stir his frosen spright :
Tho rudely askte her, how she thither came ?
' Ah ! ' (sayd she) ' father, I note read aright
What hard misfortune brought me to this same
Yet am I glad that here I now in safety ame
XXIV
' But thou, good man, sith far in sea we bee,
And the great waters gin apace to swell,
That now no more we can the mayn-land see.
Have care, I pray, to guide the cock-bote well
Least worse on sea then us on land befell.'
Thereat th' old man did nought but fondly grin
And saide his boat the way could wisely tell ;
But his deceiptfull eyes did never lin ' [skin
To looke on her faire face and marke her snowj
XXV
The sight whereof in his congealed flesh
'ntixt such secrete sting of greedy lust,
That the drie withered stocke it gan refresh,
And kindled heat that soone in flame forU
brust ;
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
The driest wood is soonest burnt to dust.
Rudely to her he lept, and his rough bond
Where ill became him rashly would have
thrust ;
But she with angry scorne did him withstood,
And shamefully reproved for his rudenes fond.
XXVI
But he, that never good nor maners knew,
Her sliarpc rebuke full litle did esteeme;
Hard is to teach an old horse amble trew :
The inward smoke, that did before but steeme,
Broke into open fire and rage extreme ;
And now he strength gan adde unto his will,
Forcyng to doe that did him fowle misseeme.
Beastly he threwc her downc, ne car'd to spill
Her garments gay with scales of fish that all
did till.
XXVII
The silly virgin strove him to withstand
All that she might, and him in vaine revild :
Shee strugled strongly both with foote and
hand
To save her honor from that villaine vilde,
And cride to heven, from humane help exild.
O ! ye brave knights, that boast this Ladies
love,
Where be ye now, when she is nigh defild
Of filthy wretch ? well may she you reprove
Of falsehood or of slouth, when most it may
behove.
xxvni
But if that thou, Sir Satyran, didst weete,
Or thou, Sir Peridure, her son- state,
How soone would yee assemble many a fleete,
To fetch from sea that ye at land lost late !
Towres, citties, kingdoines, ye would ruinate
In your avengement and despiteous rage,
Ne "ought your burning fury mote abate ;
But if Sir Calidore could it presage,
No living creature could his cruelty asswage.
But sith that none of all her knights is nye,
See how the heavens, of voluntary grace
And soveraine favor towards chastitj-,
Doe succor send to her distressed cace ;
So much high God doth innocence embrace.
It fortuned, whitest thus she stifly strove,
And the wide sea importuned long space
With shrilling shriekes, Proteus abrade did
rove,
Along the fomy waves driving his finny drove.
XXX
Proteus is Shepheard of the seas of yore,
And hath the charge of Neptunes mighty
heard •,
An aged sire with head all frory hore,
And sprinckled frost upon his deawy beard :
Who when those pittifull outcries he heard
Through all the seas so ruefully resownd,
His charett swifte in hast he thither stearil,
Which with a teeme of scaly Phocas bowml
Was drawne upon the waves that fomed him
arowiid.
XXXI
And comming to that Fishers wandring bote,
That went at will withouten card or sayle,
He therein saw that yrkesome sight, which
smote
Deepe indignation and compassion frayle
Into his hart attonce: streight did he hayle
The greedy villein from his hoped pray,
Of which "he now did very litle fayle,
And with his staffe, that drives his heard
astray, [dismay
Him bett so sore, that life and sence did much
XXXII
The whiles the pitteous Lady up did ryse,
Ruffled and fowly raid with filthy soyle,
Andblubbred face with teares of her faire eyes :
Her heart nigli broken was with weary toyle,
To save her selfe from that outrageous spoyle ;
But when she looked up, to weet what wight
Had her from so infamous fact assoyld,
For shame, but more for feare of his grim sight,
Downe in her lap she hid her face, and lowdly
shright.
XXXIII
Her selfe not saved yet from daunger dredd
She thought, but chaung'd from one to other
feare :
Like as a fearefull partridge, that is fledd
From the sharpe hauke which her attached
neare,
Ami fals to ground to seeke for succor theare,
Whereas the hungry Spaniells she does spye
With greedy jawes her ready for to teare:
In such distresse and sad perplexity [by.
Was Florimell, when Proteus she did see her
But he endevored with speaches milde
Her to recomfort, and accourage bold,
Bidding her feare no more her foeman vilde,
Nor doubt himselfe ; and who he was her told :
Yet all that could not from affright her hold,
|Ne to recomfort her at all prevayld ;
' For her faint hart was with the frosen cold
Benumbd so inly, that her wits nigh fayld,
And all her sences with abashment quite were
quayld.
204
THE FA ERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Her up betwixt his rugged hands he reard,
And with his frory lips full softly kist, [beard
Whiles the cold ysickles from his rough
Dropped adowne upon her yvory brest :
Yet he him selfe so busily addrest,
That her out of astonishment he wrought;
And out of that same fishers filthy nest
Removing her, into his charet brought,
And there with many gentle termes her faire
besought.
XXXVI
But that old leachour, which with bold assault
That beautie durst presume to violate,
He cast to punish for his hainous fault :
Then tooke he him, yet trembling sith of late,
And tyde behind his charet, to aggrate
The virgin whom be had abusde so sore ;
So drag'd him through the waves in scornfull
And after cast him up upon the shore ; [ state,
But Florimell with him unto his bowre he bore.
His bowre is in the bottom of the maine,
Under a mightie rocke, gainst which doe rave
The roring billowes in their proud disdaine,
That with the angry working of the wave
Therein is eaten out an hollow cave, [keene
That seemes rough Masons hand with engines
Had long while laboured it to engrave-
There was his wonne ; ne living wight was
scene [ it cleane.
Save one old Nymph, bight Panope, to keepe
XXXVIII
Thither he brought the sory Florimell,
And entertained her the best he might,
And Panopfe her entertaind eke well,
As an immortall mote a mortall wight,
To winne her liking unto his delight :
With flattering wordes he sweetly wooed her.
And offered faire guiftes t' allure her sight;
But she both offers and the offerer
Despysde, and all the fawning of the flatterer
XXXIX
Dayly he tempted her with this or that,
And never su fired her to be at rest;
But evermore she him refused flat.
And all his fained kindnes did detest,
So finnely she had sealed up her brest.
Sometimes he boasted that a Hod he hight,
But she a mortall creature loved best :
Then he would make him selfe a mortall wight ;
But then she said she lov'd none, but a Faery
knight.
Then like a Faerie knight him selfe he drest,
For every shape on him he could endew ;
Then like a king he was to her exprest,
And offred kingdoms unto her in vew,
To be his Leman and his Lady trew :
But when all this he nothing "saw prevaile,
With harder meanes he cast her to subdew,
And with sharpe threates her often did assayle;
So thinking for to make her stubborne cofagc
quayle.
XLI
To dreadfull shapes he did him selfe trans-
forme;
Now like a Gyaunt ; now like to a feend ;
Then like a CJentaure ; then like to a storme
Raging within the waves: thereby he weend
Her will to win unto his wished eend ;
But when with feare, nor favour, nor with ail
He els could doe, he saw him selfe esteemd,
Downe in a Dongeon deepe he let her fall,
And threatned there to make her his eternall
thrall.
XLII
Eternall thraldome was to her more liefe
Then losse of chastitie, or chaunge of love:
Dye had she rather in tormenting griefe
Then any should of falsenesse her reprove,
Or loosenes, that she lightly did remove.
Most vertuous virgin ! glory be thy meed,
And crowne of heavenly prayse with Saintes
above, [ deed
Where most sweet hymmes of this thy famous
Are still emongst them song, that far my
rymes exceed.
XLIII
Fit song of Angels caroled to bee !
But yet whatso my feeble Muse can frame
Shal be t' advance thy goodly chastitee
And to enroll thy memorable name
In th' heart of every honourable Dame,
That they thy vertuous deedes may imitate,
And be partakers of thy endlesse fame.
Yt yrkes me leave thee in this wofull state,
To tell of Satyrane where I him left of late.
Who haying ended with that Squyreof Dames
A long discourse of his adventures vayne,
The which himselfe then Ladies more defames,
And finding not th' Hyena to be slayne,
With that same Squyre retourned back againe
To his first way. And, as they forward went,
They spyde a knight fayre pricking on the
As if he were on some adventure bent, f playoe,
And m his port appeared manly hardiment.
:ANTO viii.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Sir Satyrane him towardes did addresse, 'Tliese eyes did see that they will ever rew
To weet what wight he was, and what his T" have seene,' (quoth he) ' when as a mon-
quest, strous beast
And, commmgnigh, eftsoones he gan togesse, The Palfrey whereon she did travell slew,
Both by the burning hart which on his brest And of his bowels made his bloody feast:
He bare, and by the colours in his crest, j Which speaking token sheweth at the least
S'hat Paridell it was. Tho to him yode, ! Her certeine losse, if not her sure decay :
Anil him saluting as beseemed best, 'Besides, that more suspicion encreast,
Gan first inquireof tydingesfarreabrode, [rode. I found her golden girdle cast astray,
And al'terwardes on what adventure now he Distaynd with durt and blood, as relique of
the pray.'
L
Who thereto answering said : ' The tydinges < Ay me ! ' (said Paridell) ' the signes be sadd ;
bad, And, but God turne the same to good sooth-say.
Which now in Faery court all men doe tell, j That Ladies safetie is sore to be dradd .
Which turned hath great mirth to mourning Yet will I not forsake my forward way,
sad, Till triall doe more certeine truth bewray.'
Is the late mine of proud Marinell, I 'Fai re Sir,' (quoth he) 'well may it you succeed!
And suddein parture of faire Florimell
To find him forth : and after her are gone
All the brave knightcs that doen in armes
To savegard her ywandred all alone : [excell
Emongst the rest my lott (unworthy') is to be
'Ah! gentle knight,' (said then Sir Satyrane)
' Thy labour all is lost, I greatly dread,
That hast a thanklesse service on thee ta'ne,
And offrest sacrifice unto the dead :
For dead, I surely doubt, thou maist aread
Henceforth for ever Florimell to bee ;
That all the noble knights of Maydenhead,
Ne long shall Satyrane behind you stay,
But to the rest, which in this Quest proceed,
My labour adde, and be partaker of their speed.'
' Ye noble knights,' (said then the Squyre of
Dames)
' Well may yee speede in so praiseworthy payne !
But sith the Sunne now ginnes to slake his
beames
In deawy vapours of the westerne mayne,
i And lose the teme out of his weary wayne,
Mote not mislike you also to abate
Your zealous hast, till morrow next againe
Which her ador'd, may sore repent with nice, j Both lightof heven and strength of men relate:
And all faire Ladies may for ever sory bee.' Which if ye please, to yonder castle turne vour
gate.'
XLVIII
Which wordes when Paridell had heard, his
hew
That counsell pleased well : so all vfere
i Forth marched to a Castle them before ;
Gan greatly chaunge and seemd dismaidtobee; • Where soone arryving they restrained were
Then said : ' Fayre Sir, how may I weene it Of ready entraunce, which ought evermore
That ye doe tell 'in such uncerteiiitee ? [trew, To errant knights be commune : wondrous sore
Or speake ye of report, or did ye see [sore? Thereat displeasd they were, till that young
Just cause of dread, that makes ye doubt so Squyre . [dore
For, perdie. elles how mote it ever bee, I Gan them mforme the cause, why that same
That ever hand should dare for to engore | Was shut to all which lodging did desyre :
Her noble blood V The hevens such crueltie The which to let you weet will further time
abhore.' requyre.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
FBOOK in.
CANTO IX.
Malbecco will no strannge kniglits host,
For peevish gealosy.
Paridell giusts with Britomart :
Both shew their auncestry.
REDOUBTED knights, and honorable Dames,
To whom I levell all my labours end,
jThe privie guilt whereof makes him alway
Suspect her truth, and keepe continuall spy
Upon her with his other blincked eye ,
, least'with unworth'ie blames j Ke suffreth he resort of living wight
- - • • Approch to her, ne keepe her company.
But in close bowre her mewes from all mens
sight,
Depriv'd of kindly joy and naturall delight
This odious argument my rymes should shend,
Or ought your goodly patience offend,
Whiles of a wanton Lady I doe write,
Which with her loose incontinence doth blend
The shyning glory of your soveraine light;
And knighthood fowle defaced by a faithlesse
knight.
IT
But never let th' ensavnple of the bad
Offend the good ; for good, by paragone
Of evill, may more notably be rad, [tone ;
As white seemes fayrer macht with black e at-
Ne all are shamed by the fault of one :
For lo ! in heven, whereas all goodnes is,
Emongst the Angels, a whole legione
Of wicked Sprightes did fall from happy blis ;
What wonder then if one, of women all, did mis ?
Then listen. Lordings, if ye list to weet
The cause why Satyrane and Paridell
Mote not be entertaynd, as seemed meet,
Into that Castle, (as that Squyre does tell.)
' Therein a cancred crabbed Carle does dwell,
That has no skill of Court nor c.ourtesie,
Ne cares what men say of him, ill or well ;
For all his dayes he drownes in privitie.
Yet has full large to live and spend at libertie.
' Malbecco he, and Hellenore she hight ;
Unfitly yokt together in one teeine.
That is the cause why never any knight
Is suffred here to enter, but he seeme
Such as no doubt of him he ueede misdeeme.'
Thereat Sir Satyrane gan smyle, and say ;
' Extremely mad the man I surely deenie,
That ween'es with watch and hard restraynf
to stay
A wornans will, which is disposd logo astray.
' In vaine he feares that which he caunot
shonne ;
For who wotes not, that womans subtiltyes
Can guylen Argus, when she list misdonne?
It is not yron bandes, nor hundred eyes,
Nor brasen walls, nor many wakefull spyes,
That can withhold her wilfull wandring feet ;
But fast goodwill, with gentle courtesyes,
And timely service to her pleasures meet,
May her perhaps contaiue, that else would
algates fleet.'
VIII
'Then is he not more mad,' (sayd Paridell)
But all his minde is set on mucky pelfe, ' That hath him*elfe unto such service sold,
To hoord up heapes of evill gotten masse, [In dolefull thraldome all his dayes to dwell ?
For which he others wrongs, and wreckes him- | For sure a foole I doe him firmely hold,
Yet is he lincked to a lovelv lasse.
[selfe :
Whose beauty doth her bounty far surpasse ;
The which to him both far unequall yeares,
And also far unlike conditions has ;
For she does jov to play emongst her peares,
That loves his fetters, though they were of
gold.
But why doe wee devise of others ill,
Whyles thus we suffer this same dotard old
To keepe us out in scorne, of his owne will,
And to be free from hard restraynt and gealous And rather do not ransack all, and him selfe
feares.
v
' But he is old, and withered like hay,
Unfit faire Ladies service to suuolv :
kill ? '
IX
Nay, let us first ' (sayd Satyrane) ' entreat
The man by gentle meanes to let us in,
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
207
And afterwardes affray with cruell threat,
<>e that we to eftbrce it doe begin :
!'hen, if all fayle, we will by force it win,
And eke reward the wretch for his mesprise,
As may be worthy of his haynous sin.'
["hat counsell pleasd : then Paridell did rise
And to the Castle gate approcht in quiet wise.
Whereat soft knocking entrance he desyrd.
The good man selfe, which then the Porter
playd,
rlim answered, that all were now retyrd
Jnto their rest, and all the keyes convayd
[Tnto their maister, who in bed was layd,
That none him durst awake out of his dreme;
And therefore them of patience gently prayd.
Then Paridell began to chaunge his theme,
And threatned him with force and punishment
extreme :
XI
But all in vaine, for nought mote him relent.
And now so long before the wicket fast
They way ted, that the night was forward spent
And' the faire welkin fowly overcast
[Jan blowen up a bitter stormy blast,
With showre and hayle so horrible and dred,
That this faire many were compeld at last
To fly for succour to a little shed,
The "which beside the gate for swyne was
ordered.
It fortuned, soone after they were gone.
Another knight,whom tern pest thither brought,
Came to that Castle, and with earnest mone,
Like as the rest, late entrance deare besought:
But, like so as the rest, he prayd for nought ;
For flatly he of entrance was refusd.
Sorely thereat he was displeased, and thought
How to avenge himselfe so sore abusd,
And evermore the Carle of courtesie accusd.
But, to avoyde th' intolerable stowre,
He was compeld to seeke some refuge neare,
And to that shed, to shrowd him from the
showre,
He came, which full of guests he found why-
So as he was not let to enter there : [leare
Whereat he gan to wex exceeding wroth,
And swore that he would lodge with them
yferc,
Or them dislodge, all were they liefe or loth ;
And so defyde them each, and so defyde them
both.
Both were full loth to leave that needfull tent,
And both full loth in darkenesse to debate;
Yet both full liefe him lodging to have lent,
And both full liefe his boasting to abate :
But chiefely Paridell his hart (lid grate
To heare him threaten so despightfully,
As if he did a dogge in kenell rate
That durst not barke ; and rather had he dv
Then, when he was defyde, in coward corner ly.
Tho hastily remounting to his steed
Ele forth issew'd : like as a boystrous winde,
Which in th' earthes hollow caves hath long
ben hid
And shut up fast within her prisons blind,
Makes the huge element, against her kinde,
To move and tremble as it were aghast,
Untill that it an issew forth may finde : [blast
Then forth it breakes, and with his furious
Confounds both land and seas, and skyes doth
overcast.
Their steel-hed speares they strongly coucht,
and met
Together with impetuous rage and forse,
That with the terrour of their fierce affret
They rudely drove to ground both man and
horse,
That each awhile lay like a sencelesse corse.
But Paridell sore brused with the blow
Could not arise the counterchaunge to scorse,
Till that young Squyre him reared from below ;
Then drew he his bright sword, and gan about
him throw.
But Satyrane forth stepping did them stay,
And with faire treaty pacifide their yre.
Then, when they were accorded from the fray,
Against that Casties Lord they gan conspire,
To heape on him dew vengeaunce for his hire.
They beene agreed ; and to the gates they goe
To bum the same with unquenchable fire,
And that uncurteous Carle, their commune foe,
To doe fowle death to die, or wrap in grievous
woe.
XVIII
Malbecco, seeing them resolvd indeed
To flame the gates, and hearing them to call
For fire in earnest, ran with frarfull speed,
And to them calling from the castle wall,
Besought them humbly him to beare withall,
As ignorant of servants bad abuse
And slacke attendaunce unto straungers call.
208
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
The knights were willing all things to excuse,
Though nought belev'd, and entraunce late did
not refuse.
XIX
They beene y brought into a comely bowre,
And serve! of all things that mote needfull bee ;
Yet secretly their hosfe did on them lowre,
And welconide more for feare then charitee ;
But they dissembled what they did not see,
And welcomed themselves. Each gan undight
Their garments wett, and wean" armour free,
To dry them selves by Vulcanes flaming light,
And eke their lately bruzed parts to bring in
plight.
xx
And eke that straunger knight emongst the
Was for like need enforst to disaray : [rest
Tho, whenas vailed was her lofty crest,
Her golden locks, that were in trammells gay
Upbounden, did them selves adowne display
And raught u:.to her heeles ; like sunny
beames,
That in a cloud their light did long time stay,
Their vapour vaded, shewe their golden
gleames, [their azure streames.
And through the persant aire shoote forth
XXI
Shee also dofte her heavy haberjeon,
Which the faire feature ofher limbs did hyde ;
And her well-plighted frock, which she did won
To tucke about her short when she did rvde,
Shee low let fall, that flowd from her knck
syde
Downe to her foot with carelesse modestee.
Then of them all she plainly was espyde
To be a woman-wight, umvist to bee*
The fairest woman- wight that ever eie did see.
XXII
Like as Bellona (being late returnd
From slaughter of the Giaunts conquered ;
Where proud Encelade, whose wide nosethrils
burnd
With breatlied flames, like to a furnace redd,
Transfixed with her speare downe tombled dedd
From top of Hemus by him heaped hve ;)
Hath loosd her helmet from her lofty'hedd
And her Gorgonian shield gins to uhtye
From her lefte arme, to rest in glorious victorye.
-\XI1I
Which whenas they beheld, they smitten were
With great amazement of so wondrous sight •
And each on other, and they all on her,
Stood gasing, as if suddein great affright
Had them surprizd. At last, avizing right
Her goodly personage and glorious hew,
Which they so much mistooke, they tooke
delight
In their first error, and yett still anew [vew.
With wonder of her beautjr fed their hougry
XXIV
Yet note their hongry vew be satisfide,
But seeing still the more desir'd to see,
And ever firmely fixed did abide
In contemplation of divinitee :
But most they mervaild at her chevalree
And noble prowesse, which they had approv'd,
That much they faynd to know who she mote
Yet none of all them her thereof amov'd [bee ;
Yet every one her likte, and every one her
lov'd.
XXV
And Paridell, though partly discontent
With his late fall and fowle "indignity,
Yet was soone wonne his malice to relent,
Through gratious regard of her faire eye,
And knightly worth which he too late 'did try,
Yet tried did adore. Supper was dight;
Then they Malbecco pravd of courtesy,
That of his lady they might have the sight
And company at meat, to doe them more de-
light.
XXVI
But he, to shifte their curious request,
Gan causen why she could not come in place ;
Her erased helth, her late recourse to rest,
And humid evening ill for sicke folkes cace
But none of those excuses could take place,
Ne would they eate till she in presence came.
Shee came in presence with right comely grace,
And fairely them saluted, as became, [ Dame.
And shewd her selfe in all a gentle courteous
XXVII
They sate to meat ; and Satyranehis chaunce ,
Was her before, and Paridell beside ;
But he him selfe sate looking still askaunce
Gainst Britomart, and ever closely eide
Sir Satyrane, that glaunces might not glide :
But his blinde eie, that sided Paridell,
All his demeasnure from his sight did hide :
On her faire face so did he feede his fill,
And sent close messages of love to her at will <
And ever and anone, when none was ware,
With speaking lookes, that close embassagtj
bore,
He rov'd at her, and told his secret care
For all that art he learned had of yore ;
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
*OQ
Xe was she ignoraunt of that leud lore,
Uut in his eye his meaning wisely redd,
And with the like him aunswerd evermore.
Sliee sent at him one fyrie dart, whose hedd
Empoisned was with privy lust and gealous
dredd.
XXIX
He from that deadly throw made no defence,
But to the wound his weake heart opened
wyde :
The wicked engine through false influence
Past through his eies, and secretly did glyde
nto his heart, which it did sorely gryde.
But nothing new to him was that same paine,
*f e paine at all ; for he so ofte had tryde
The powre thereof, and lov'd so oft in vaine,
That thing of course he counted love to enter-
tains.
XXX
Thenceforth to her he sought to intimate
:Iis inward griefe, by meanes to him well
knowne :
Bacchus fruit out of the silver plate
rle on the table dasht, as overthrowne,
)r of the fruitfull liquor overflowne ;
And by the dauncing bubbles did divine,
therein write to lett his love be showne ;
iVhich well she redd out of the learned line :
A sacrament prophane in mistery of wine.
And, when so of his hand the pledge sheraught,
The guilty cup she fained to mistake,
And in her lap did shed her idle draught,
Shewing desire her inward flame to slake.
But such close signes they secret way did make
Unto their wils, and one eies watch escape :
Two eies him needeth. for to watch and wake,
IVho lovers will deceive. Thus was the ape,
By their faire handling, put into Malbeccoes
cape.
XXXII
Now, when of meats and drinks they had
their fill,
Purpose was moved by that gentle Dame
Unto those knights adventurous, to tell
Of deeds of armes which unto them became,
And every one his kindred and his name.
Then Paridell, in whom a kindly pride
Of gratious speach and skill his words to frame
Abounded, being ylad of so fitte tide
Him to commend to her, thus spako, of al
well eide.
XXXIII
'Troy, that art now nought but an idle name,
And in thine ashes buried low dost lie, [fame.
Though whilome far much greater then thy
Before that angry Gods and cruell skie
Upon thee heapt a direfull destinie ;
What boots it boast thy glorious descent,
And fetch from heven thy great genealogie,
Sith all thy worthie prayses being blent
Their ofspfing hath embaste, and later gloiv
shentf
XXXIV
' Most famous Worthy of the world, by whome
That wanre was kindled which did Troy inflame.
And stately towres of Ilion whilome
Brought unto ball-full mine, was byname
Sir Paris farrenowmd through noble fame ;
Who, through great prowesse and bold hardi-
nesse,
From Lacedaemon fetcht the fayrest Dame
That ever Greece did boast, or knight possesse,
Whom Venus to him gave for meed of worthi-
nesse;
XXXV
' Fayre Helene, flowre of beautie excellent,
And girlond of the mighty Conquerours,
That madest many Ladies deare lament
The heavie losse of their brave Paramours,
Which they far off beheld from Trojan tourea,
And saw the fieldes of faire Scanmnder strowne
With carcases of noble warrioures
Whose fruitlesse lives were under furrow sowne.
And Xanthus sandy bankes with blood all
overflowne.
XXXVI
' From him my linage I derive aright,
Who long before the ten yeares siege of Troy,
Whiles yet on Ida he a shepeheard hight,
On faire Oenone got a lovely boy,
Whom, for remembrance of her passed joy,
She, of his Father, Parius did name ;
Who, after Greekes did Priams realme destroy,
Gathred the Trojan reliques sav'd from flame.
And with them sayling thence to th' isle of
Paros came.
XXXVII
' That was by him cald Paros, which before
Hight Nausa : there lie many yeares did raine,
And built Nausicle by the Politick shore ;
The which he dying "lefte next in remains
To Paridas his sbnne.
From whom I Paridell by kin descend :
But, for faire ladies love and glories gaine,
My native soile have lefte, my dayes to spend
In seewing deeds of armes, my lives and labors
end.'
XXXVIII
Whenas the noble Britomart heard tell
Of Trojan warres and Priams citie sackt.
The ruefull story of Sir Paridell,
210
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK III.
She was empassiond at that piteous act,
With zelons envy of Greekes cruell fact
Against that nation, from whose race of old
She heard that she was lineally extract ;
For noble Britons sprong from Trojans bold,
And Troynovant was built of old Troyes ashes
cold.
XXXIX
Then, sighing soft awhile, at last she thus :
' O lamentable fall of famous towne !
Which raignd so many yeares victorious,
And of all Asie bore the soveraine crowne,
In one sad night consumd and throwen downe .
What stony hart, that heares thy haplesse fate.
Is not empierst with deepe compassiowne,
And makes ensample of mans wretched state,
That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at
evening late?
XL
' Behold, Sir, how your pitifull complaint
Hath fownd another partner of your payne ;
For nothing may impresse so deare con-
straint
As countries cause, and commune foes disdayne.
But if it should not grieve you back*e agayne
To turne your course, I would to heare desyre
What to Aeneas fell ; sith that men sayne
He was not in the cities wofull fyre
Consum'd, but did him selfe to safety retyre.'
' Anchyses sonne, begott of Venus fayre,'
Said he, ' out of the flames for safegard fled,
And with a remnant did to sea repayre ;
Where he through fatall errour long was led
Full many yeares, and weetlesse wandered
From shore to shore emongst the Lybick sandes,
Kre «est he fownd. Much there he suffered,
And many perilles past in forreine landes,
To save his people sad from victours vengefull
handes.
XLII
' At last in Latium he did arryve,
Where he with cruell warre was entertaind
Of th' inland folke, which sought him backe
to drive,
Till he with old Latinus was constraind
To contract wedlock, (so the fates ordaind)
Wedlocke contract in blood, and eke in blood
Accomplished, that many deare complaind :
The rivall slaine, the victour, through the flood
Escaped hardly, hardly praisd his wedlock good.
' Yet, after all, he victour did survive,
And with Latinus did the kingdom part ;
But after, when both nations gan to strive
Into their names the title to convart,
His sonne lulus did from thence depart
With all the warlike youth of Trojans blond,
And in long Alba plast his throne apart ;
Where faire it florished and long time stoud,
Till Romulus, renewing it, to Rome remoud.'
' There ; there,' (said Britomart) ' afresh ap-
peard
The glory of the later world to spring,
And Troy againe out of her dust was reard
To sitt in second seat of soveraine king
Of all the world, under her governing.
But a third kingdom yet is to arise
Out of the Trojans scattered ofspring,
That in all glory and great enterprise, [ise.
Both first and second Troy shall dare to equal-
' ItTrovnovant is hight, that with the waves
Of wealthy Thamis washed is along,
Upon whose stubborne neck, (whereat he raves
With roring rage, and sore him selfe does throng)
That all men feare to tempt his billowes strong,
She fastned hath her foot ; which stands so hy,
That it a wonder of the world is song
In forreine landes ; and all which passen by,
Beholding it from farre. doe thinke it threates
the skye.
XLVI
' The Trojan Brute did first that citie fownd, <
And Hygate made the meare thereof by West,
And Overt gate by North : that is the bownd
Toward the land ; two rivers bownd the rest.
So huge a scope at first him seemed best,
To be the compasse of his kingdomes seat :
So huge a mind could not in lesser rest,
Ne in small meares containe his glory great,
That Albion had conquered first by warlike ;
feat.'
XLVII
'Ah ! fairest Lady knight.' (said Paridell)
' Pardon, I pray, my heedlesse oversight.
Who had forgot that whylome I heard tell
From aged Mnemon ; for my wits beene light '
Indeed he said, (if I remember right)
That of the antique Trojan stocke there grew '
Another plant, that raught to wondrous night ;
And far abroad his mightie braunches threw
Into the utmost Angle of the world he knew.
XLVIII
' For that same Brute, whom much he did ad
vaunce
In all his speach, was Sylvius his sonne,
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
211
Whom having slain through luckles arrowes
glauuce,
He fled for feare of that he had misdonne,
Or els for shame, so fowle reproch to shonne,
And with him ledd to sea an youthly trayne;
Where wearie wandring they long time did
wonne,
And many fortunes prov'd in th' Ocean mayne,
And great adventures found, that now were
long to sayne.
At last by fatall course they driven were
Into an Island spatious and brode,
The furthest North that did to them appeare :
Which, after rest, they, seeking farre abrade,
Found it the fittest soyle for their abode,
Fruitfull of all thinges titt for living foode,
But wholy waste and void of peoples trode,
Save an huge nation of the Geaunts broode
That fed on living flesh, and dronck mens
vitall blood.
L
Whom he, through wearie wars and labours
long,
Subdewd with losse of many Britons bold :
In which the great Goemagot of strong
Conneus, and Coulin of Debon old, [cold,
Were overthrowne and laide on th' earth full
Which quaked under their so hideous masse-,
A famous history to bee enrold
In everlasting moniments of brasse,
That all the antique Worthies merits lar did
passe.
' His worke great Troynovant, his worke is
Faire Lincolne, both renowmed far away; [eke
That who from East to West will endlong
Cannot two fairer Cities find this day, [seeke,
Except Cleopolis : so heard I say
Old Mnemon. Therefore, Sir, I greet you well
Your countrey kin ; and you en ty rely pray
Of pardon for the strife, which late befell
Betwixt us both unknowne.' So ended Pari-
dell.
LII
But all the while that he these speeches spent,
Upon his lips hong faire Dame Hellenore
With vigilant regard and dew attent,
Fashioning worldes of fancies evermore
In her fraile witt, that now her quite forlore :
The whiles unwares away her wondring eye
And greedy eares her weake hart from her
Which he perceiving, ever privily, [bore ;
In speaking many false belgardes at her let
fly-
Mil
So long these knights discoursed diversly
Of straunge affaires, and noble hardiment,
| Which they had past with mickle jeopardy,
That now the humid night was farforth spent,
And hevenly lampes were halfendeale ybrent :
Which th' old man seeing wel, who too long
thought
Every discourse, and every argument,
'Which by thehoures he measured, besought
.Them go to rest. So all unto their bowres
were brought.
CANTO X.
Parldell rapeth Hellenore :
Malbecco her poursewes ;
Fynds emongst Satyres, whence with him
To turne she doth refuse.
THE morow next, so soone as Phoebus Lamp
Bewrayed had the world with early light,
And fresh Aurora had the shady damp
Out of the goodly hevcn amoved quight,
'Faire Britomart and that same Faery knight
Uprose, forth on their journey for to wend :
Hut Paridell complaynd, that his late fight
U'ith Britomart so sore did him offend,
*!That ryde he could not, till his hurts he did
amend,
So foorth they far'd ; but he behind them stayd,
Maulgre his host, who grudged grievously
I To house a guest that would be needes obayd,
I And of his owne him lefte not liberty :
, Might wanting measure moveth sufquedry.
| Two things he feared, but the third was death ;
That fiers youngmans unruly maystery ;
His money, which he lov'd as living breath ;
And his faire wife, whom honest long he kept
uneath
p?
212
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
But patience perforce, he must abie
What fortune and his fate on him will lay ;
Fond is the feare that findes no remedie :
Yet warily he watcheth every way,
By which he feareth evill happen may;
So th' evill thinkes by watching to prevent :
Ne doth he suffer her, nor night nor clay,
Out of his sight her selfe once to absent :
So doth he punish her. and eke him selfe
torment.
IV
But Paridell kept better watch then hec,
A fit occasion for his turne to finde.
False love ! why do men say thou canst not see,
And in their foolish fancy feigne thee blinde,
That with thy charmes the sharpest sight
doest binde, .
And to thy will abuse ? Thou walkest free,
And seest every secret of the minde ;
Thou seest all, yet none at all sees thee :
All that is by the working of thy Deitee.
And otherwhyles with amorous delights
And pleasing toyes he would her entertaine ;
Now singing sweetly to surprize her sprights,
Now making laves of love and lovers paine,
Bransles, Ballads, virelayes, and verses vaine ;
Oft purposes, oft riddles, he devysd,
And thousands like which flowed in his braine,
With which he fed her fancy, and entysd
To take to his new love, and leave her old
despysd.
IX
And every where he might, and everie while,
He did her service dewtifull, and sewd
At hand with humble pride and pleasing guile :
| So closely yet, that none but she it vewd,
Who well perceived all, and all indewd.
Thus finely did he his false nets dispred,
With which he many weake harts had subdewd
Of yore, and many had ylike misled :
What wonder then, if she were likewise carried ?
So perfect in that art was Paridell,
That he Malbeccoes halfen eye did wyle ;
His halfen eye he wiled wondrous well,
And Hellenors both eyes did eke beguyle,
Both eyes and hart attonce, during the whyle
That he ther,? sojourned his woundes to heale ;
That Cupid selfe, it seeing, close did smyle
To weet how he her love away did steale,
And bad that none their joyous treason should
re veal e.
VI
The learned lover lost no time nor tyde
That least a vantage mote to him afford,
Tet bore so faire a sayle, that none espyde
His secret drift, till lie her layd abord.'
When so in open place and commune bord
He fortun'd her to meet, with commune speach
He courted her; yet bay ted every word,
That his ungentle hoste n'ote him appeach
Of vile ungentlenesse, or hospitages breach.
But when apart (if ever her apart)
He found, then his false engins fast he plyde,
And all the sleights unbosomd in his hart :
He sigh'd, he sobd, he swownd, he perdy dyde,
And cast himselfe on ground her fast besyde:
Tho, when again e he him bethought to live,
H e wept, and wayltl, and false laments belyde,
Saying, but if she Itf ercie would him givej
That he mote algates dye, yet did his death
forgive.
No fort so fensible, no wals so strong,
But that continuall battery will rive,
Or daily siege, through dispurvayaunce long
And lacke of reskewes, will to parley drive ;
And Peece, that unto parley eare will give,
Wiil shortly yield it selfe, and will be made
The vassall of the victors will bylive :
That stratageme had oftentimes assayd
This crafty Paramoure, and now it plaine dia-j
play'd :
XI
For through his traines he her in trapped hath,
That she her love and hart hath wholy sold |
To him, without regard of gaine or scath,
Or care of credite, or ot husband old,
Whom she hath vow'd to dub a fayre Cucquold
Nought wants but time and place, whicl
shortly shee
Devized hath, and to her lover told.
It pleased well : So well they both agree :
So readie rype to ill ill wemeus counsels bee I
XII
Darke was the Evening, fit for lovers stealth |
When chaunst Malbecco busie be elsewhere,
She to his closet went, where all his wealth ,
Lay hid ; thereof she countlesse summes di i
reare,
The which she meant away with her to beaw j
The rest she fyr'd, for sport, or for despight:
As Hellene, when she saw aloft appeare
The Trojane flames and reach to hevens high<
Did clap her hands, and joyed at that dolefuj
sight
CANTO X.J
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
213
This second Helene, lay re Dame Hellenore,
The whiles her husband ran with sory haste
To quench the flames which she had tyn'd
before,
Laugh t at his foolish labour spent in waste,
Lnd ran into her lovers arincs right fast;
Vhere streight embraced she to him did cry
\nd call alowd for helpe, ere helpe were past ;
A>r lo ! that Guest did beare her forcibly,
And meant to ravish her, that rather had to
Ths wretched man hearing her call for ayd,
And ready seeing him with her to fly,
n his disquiet mind was much dismayd :
"Jut when againe he baekeward cast his eye,
And saw the wicked tire so furiously
Consume his hart, and scorch his Idoles face,
! was therewith distressed diversely,
: wist he how to turne, nor to what place :
iiVas never wretched man in such a wofull cace.
Ay when to him she cryde, to her he turnd,
And left the fire ; love money overcame :
But. when he marked how his money burnd,
He left his wife , money did love disclame :
Both was he loth to loo'se his loved Dame,
\nd loth to leave his liefest pelfe behincle ;
Yet, sith he n'ote save both, he sav'd that same
Which was the dearest to his dounghill minde,
The God of his desire, the joy of misers blinde.
Thus whitest all things in troublous uprore
were,
\nd all men busie to suppresse the flame,
The loving couple neede no reskew feare,
But leasure had and liberty to frame
Their purpost flight, free from all mens reclame,
And Night, the patronesse of love-stealth fayre,
Gave them safe conduct, till to end they came
So beene they gone yfere, a wanton payre
Of lovers loosely knit, where list them to re-
payre.
XVII
Soone as the cruell flames yslaked were,
Malbecco, seeing how his losse did lye, [lere,
Out of the flames which he had quencht wliy-
liito huge waves of griefe and gealosye
Full deepe emplonged was, and drowned nye
fwixt inward doole and felonous despight :
He rav'd, he wept, he stampt, helowd did cry
And all the passions that in man may light*
Did him attonce oppresse, and vex his caytive
spright.
Long thus he chawd the cud of inward griefe,
And did consume his gall with anguish sore :
Still when he mused on his late mischiefe,
Then still the smart thereof increased more,
And seemd more grievous then it was before.
At last when sorrow he saw booted nought,
Ne griefe might not his love to him restore,
He gan devise how her he reskew mought :
Ten thousand wayes he cast in his confused
thought.
XIX
At last resolving, like a Pilgrim pore,
To search her forth where so she might be fond,
And bearing with him treasure in close store,
The rest he leaves in ground : So takes in hond
To seeke her endlong both by sea and lond.
Long he her sought, he sought her far and
nere,
And every where that he mote understand
Of knights and ladies any meetings were ;
And of each one he mett he tidings did inquere.
But all in vaine : his woman was too wise
Ever to come into his clouch againe,
And hee too simple ever to surprise
The jolly Paridell, for all his paine.
One day. as hee forpassed by the plaine
With weary pace, he far away espide
A couple, seeming well to be his twaine,
Which hoved close under a forest side, [hide.
As if they lay in wait, or els them selves did
Well weened hee that those the sam e mote bee ,
And as he better did their shape avize,
Him seemed more their maner did agree ;
For th' one was armed all in warlike wize,
Whom to be Paridell he did devize ;
And th' other, al yclad in garments light
Discolourd like to womanish disguise,
He did resemble to his lady bright; [sight:
And ever his faint hart much earned at the
And ever faine he towards them would goe,
But yet durst not for dread approchen nie,
But stood aloofe, unweeting what to doe ;
Till that prickt forth with loves extremity
That is the father of fowle gealosy,
He closely nearer crept th? truth'to weet :
But, as he nigher drew, he easily
Might scerne that it was not his sweetest sweet,
Ne yet her Belajnour, the partner of his sheet >
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
XXIII
But it was scornefull Braggadochio,
That with his servant Trompart hoverd there,
Sith late he tied from his too earnest foe :
Whom such whenas Malbecco spyed clere,
He turned backe, and would have fled arere,
Till Trompart, ronning hastely, him did stay,
And bad before his soveraine Lord appere.
That was him loth, yet durst he not gainesay,
And comming him before low louted on the
lay,
XXIV
The Boaster at him stemely bent his browe,
As if he could have kild him with his looke,
That to the ground him meekely made to
bowe,
And awfull terror deepe into him strooke,
That every member of his body quooke.
Said he, 'Thou man of nought, what doest
thou here
Unfitly fitrnisht with thy bag and booke,
Where I expected one with shield and spere
To prove some deeds of arines upon an equall
pere?'
XXV
The wretched man at his imperious s peach
Was all abasht, and low prostrating said:
' Good Sir, let not my rudenes be no breach
Unto your patience, ne be ill ypaid ;
For I unwares this way by fortune straid,
A silly Pilgrim driven to distresse,
That seeke a Lady ' — There he suddein staid,
Which al good knights, that armes doe bear
this day, [may.
Are bownd for to revenge, and punish if they
' And you, most noble Lord, that can and dare
Redresse the wrong of miserable wight,
Cannot employ your most victorious speare
In better quarell then defence of right.
And for a Lady gainst a faithlesse knight :
So shall your glory bee advaunced much,
And all faire Ladies magnify your might,
And eke my selfe, albee I simple such,
Your worthy paine shall wel reward with
guerdon rich.'
XXIX
With that out of his bouget forth he drew
Great store of treasure, therewith him to tempt;
But he on it lookt scornefully askew,
As much disdeigning to be so misdempt,
Or a war-monger to DC basely nempt ;
And sayd; 'Thy offers base I greatly loth,
And eke thy words uncourteous and unkempt :
I tread m dust thee and thy money both,
That, were it not for shame'— So turned from
him wroth
But Trompart, that his maistres humor knew
In lofty looks to hide an humble minde,
Was inly tickled with that golden vew.
And in his eare him rownded close behinde :
Yet stoupt he not, but lay still in the winde,
And did the rest with grievous sighes sup- Waiting advauntage on the pray to sease,
presse, [bitternesse.|Till Trompart, lowly to the grownd inclinde,
While teares stood in his eies, few drops of Besought him his great corage to appease,
And pardon simple man that rash did him dis-
please.
take
' What Lady, man ?' (said Trompart)
good hart,
And tell thy griefe, if any hidden lye :
Was never better time to shew thy smart
Then now that noble succor is thee by,
That is the whole worlds commune remedy.'
Big looking like a doughty Doucepere,
At last he thus ; ' Thou clod of vilest clay,
I pardon yield, and with thy rudenes beare;
But weete" henceforth, that all that golden pray.
And all that els the vaine world vaunten may.
That chearful word his weak heart much did; I loath as doung, ne deeme my dew reward :
cheare, j Fame is my meed, and glory vertues pay :
And with vaine hope his spirits faint supply, But minds of mortall men are muchell mard
That bold he sayd ; O most redoubted Pere !
Vouchsafe with mild regard a wretches cace to
heare.'
XXVII
Then sighing sore, ' It is not long,' (saide hee)
'Sith I enjovd the gentlest Dame alive ;
Of whom a knight, no knight at all perdee,
But shame of all that doe for honor strive,
Bv treacherous deceipt did me deprive :
Through open outrage he her bore away,
And mov'd amisse with massy mucks unmeet
regard.
XXXII
' And more : I graunt to thy great misery
Gratious respect; thy wife shall backe be sent
And that vile knight, who ever that he bee,
Which hath thy lady reft and knighthoo-
shent,
By Sanglamort my sword, whose deadly deni
The blood hath of so many thousands shedd,
And with fowle force unto Ms will did drive ; I aweare, ere long shall dearely it repent;
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
215
Ne he twixt heven and earth shall hide his
hedd, [be dedd.'
But soone he shal be fownd, and shortly doen
XXXIII
The foolish man thereat woxe wondrous blith,
As if the word so spoken were halfe donne,
And humbly thanked him a thousand sith
That had from death to life him newly wonne.
Tho forth the Boaster marching brave begonne
His stolen steed to thunder furiously,
As if he heaven and hell would over-ronne,
And all the world confound with cruelty;
That much Malbecco joyed in his jollity.
Thus long they three together travelled,
Through many a wood and many an uncouth
To seeke his wife that was far wandered : [way,
But those two sought nought but the present
Pra7.
To weete, the treasure which he did bewray,
On which their eies and harts were wholly sett,
With purpose how they might it best betray;
For, sith the howre that first he did them lett
The same behold, therwith their keene desires
were whett.
XXXV
It fortuned, as they together far'd,
They spide where Paridell came pricking fast
Upon the plaine ; the which him selfe prepar'd
To guist with that brave straunger knight a
As on adventure by the way he past. [cast,
Alone he rode without his Paragone ;
For, having filcht her bells, her up he cast
To the wide world, and lett her fly alone :
He nould be clogd. So had he served many
one.
xxxvi
The gentle Lady, loose at randon lefte,
The greene-wood long did walke, and wander
wide
At wilde adventure, like a forlorne wefte ;
Till on a day the Satyres her espide
Straying alone withouten groome or guide :
Her up they tooke, and with them home her
ledd,
With them as housewife ever to abide,
To milk their gotes, and make them cheese and
bredd;
And every one as commune good her handeled
XXXVII
That shortly she Malbecco has forgott,
And eke Sir Paridell, all were he deare ;
Who from her went to seeke another lott,
And now by fortune was arrived here,
Where those two guilers with Malbecco were.
Soone as the old man saw Sir Paridell,
He fainted, and was almost dead with feare,
Ne word he had to speake his griefe to tell,
But to him louted low, and greeted goodly
well;
XXXVIII
And, after, asked him for Hellenore :
' I take no keepe of her,' (sayd Paridell)
'She wonneth in the forrest there before.'
So forth he rode as his adventure fell ;
The whiles the Boaster from his loftie sell
Faynd to alight, something amisse to mend ;
But the fresh Swayne would not his leasure
dwell,
But went his way : whom when he passed kend,
He up remounted light, and after faind to
wend.
'Perdy, nay,' (said Malbecco) 'shall ye not ;
But let him passe as lightly as he came :
For litle good of him is to be got,
And mickle perill to bee put to shame.
But let us goe to seeke my dearest Dame,
Whom he hath left in yonder forest wyld ;
For of her safety in great doubt I ame,
Least salvage beastes her person have despoyld:
Then all the world is lost, and we in vaine
have toyld.'
XL
They all agree, and forward them addresse :
Ah! but,' (said crafty Trompart) 'weete ye
well,
That yonder in that wasteful! wildernesse
Huge monsters haunt,, and many dangers
dwell ;
Dragons, and Minotaures, and feendes of hell,
And many wilde woodmen which robbe and
rend
All travellers : therefore advise ye well
Before ye enterprise that way to wend :
One may his journey bring too soone to evill
end.'
Malbecco stopt in great astonishment,
And with pale eyes fast fixed on the rest,
Their counsell crav'd in daunger imminent.
Said Trompart; 'You, that are the most op-
prest
With burdein of great treasure, I thinke best
Here for to stay in safetie behynd:
My Lord and I will search the wide forest.'
That counsell pleased not Malbeccoes mynd,
For he was much afraid him selfe alone to
fynd.
si6
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
'Then is it best,1 (said he) 'that ye doe
leave
Your treasure here in some security,
Either fast closed in some hollow greave,
Or buried in the ground from jeopardy,
Till we returne againe in safety :
As for us two, least doubt of us ye have,
Hence farre away we will blyndfolded ly,
Ne privy bee unto your treasures grave.'
It pleased ; so he did. Then they inarch for-
ward brave.
XLIII
Now, when amid the thickest woodes they
were,
They heard a noyse of many bagpipes shrill,
And shrieking" Hububs them approching
nere,
Which all the forest did with horrour fill.
That dreadfull sound the bosters hart did
thrill
With such amazment, that in hast he fledd,
Ne ever looked back for good or ill ;
And after him eke fearefull Trompart spedd :
The old man could not fly, but fell to ground
halfdedd.
XLIV
Yet afterwardes, close creeping as he might,
He in a bush did hyde his fearefull hedd.
The johy Satyres, full of fresh delight,
Came dauncing forth, and with them nimbly
ledd
Faire Helenore with girlonds all bespredd,
Whom their May-lady they had newly made :
She, proude of that new honour which they
redd,
And of their lovely fellowship full glade,
Daunst lively, and her face did with a Lawrell
shade.
XLV
The silly man that in the thickett lay
Saw all this goodly sport, and grieved sore ;
Yet durst he not against it doe or say,
But did his hart with bitter thoughts engore,
To see th' unkindnes of his Hellenore.
All day they daunced with great lusty-hedd,
And with their horned feet the greene gras
wore,
The whiles their Gotes upon the brouzes fedd,
Till drouping Phoebus gan to hyde his golden
hedd.
XLVI
Tho up they gan their mery pypes to trusse,
And all their goodly heardes did gather
rownd ;
But even' Satyre flrst did give a busse
To Hellenore ; so busses did abound.
Now gan the humid vapour shed the grownd
With perly deaw, and th' Earthes gloomy
shade
Did dim the brightnesse of the welkin rownd,
That every bird and beast awarned made
To shrowd themselves, whiles sleepe their
sences did invade.
Which when Malbecco saw. out of the bush
Upon his handes and feete he crept full light,
And like a Gote emongst the Gotes did rusli ;
That, through the helpe of his faire homes on
hight,
And misty dampe of misconceyving night,
And eke through likenesse of his gotish beard,
He did the better counterfeite aright :
So home he marcht emongst the horned heard,
That none of all the Satyres him espyde or
heard.
XLVIII
At night, when all they went to sleepe, he
vewd
Whereas his lovely wife emongst them lay,
Embraced of a Satyre rough and rude,
Who all the night did minde his joyous play :
Nine times he heard him come aloft ere day,
That all his hart with gealosy did swell ;
But yet that nights ensample did bewray
That not for nought his wife them loved so
well, [bell.
When one so oft a night did ring his matins
XLIX
So closely as he could he to them crept,
When wearie of their sport to sleepe thev fell,
And to his wife, that now full soundly slept,
He whispered in her eare, and did her tell
That it was he which by her side did dwell ;
And therefore prayd her wake to heare him
plaine.
As one out of a dreame not waked well
She turnd her, and returned backe againe;
Yet her for to awake he did the more con-
st raine.
L
At last with irkesom trouble she abrayd ,
And then perceiving that it was indeed
Her old Malbecco, which did her upbrayd
With loosenesse of her love and loathly deed,
She was astonisht with exceeding dreed,
And would have wakt the Satyre by her syde j
But he her prayd, for mercy or for meed,
To save his life, ne let him be descryde,
But hearken to his lore, and all his counsel!
hyde.
CANTO X.]
THE FAERTE QUEENE.
2:7
Tho gan he her perswade to leave that lewd
And loathsom lite, of God and man abhord,
And home returne, where all should be renewd
With perfect peace and bandes of fresh accord,
And she receivd againe to bed and bord,
As if no trespas ever had beene donne :
But she it all refused at one word,
And by no meanes would to his will be wonne,
But chose emongst the jolly batyres still to
He wooed her till day-spring he espyde.
But all in vaine ; and then turnd to the heard,
Who butted him with homes on even' syde,
And trode downe in the durt, where his hore
beard
Was fowly dight, and he of death afeard.
Early, before the heavens fairest light
Out of the ruddy East was fully reard,
The heardes out of their foldes were loosed
quight, [ plight.
And he emongst the rest crept forth in sory
LIII
So soone as he the Prison-dore did pas,
He ran as fast as both his feet could beare,
And never looked who behind him was,
Ne scarsely who before : like as a Beare,
That creeping close amongst the hives to reare
An hony-combe, the wakefull dogs espy,
And him assayling sore his carkas teare,
That hardly he with life away does fly, [pardy.
Ne stayes, till safe him selfe he see from jeo-
LIV
Ne stayd he, till he came nnto the place
Where late his treasure he entombed had ;
Where when he found it not, (for Trompart
Had it purloyned for his maister bad) [bace
With extreme fury he became quite mad,
And ran away, ran with him selfe away ;
That who so straungely had him scene bestadd,
With upstart hairo and staring eyes dismay,
From Limbo lake him late escaped sure would
say.
LV
High over hilles and over uales he fledd,
As if the wind him on his winges had borne ;
Ne banck nor bush could stay him, when he
spedd
His nimble feet, as treading still on thorne :
Griefe, and despight, and gealosy, and scorne,
Did all the way him follow hard behvnd;
And he himselfe himselfe loath'd so forlorne,
So shamefully forlorne of womankynd,
That, as a Snake, gtill lurked in bjs wounded
mynd,
Still fled he forward, looking backward still ;
Ne stayd his flight nor fearefull agony,
Till that he came unto a rocky hill
3ver the sea suspended dreadfully,
That living creature it would terrify
To looke adowne, or upward to the hight :
From thence he threw him selfe despiteously,
All desperate of his fore-datnued spright,
That seemd no help for him was left in living
sight.
LVII
But through long anguish and selfe-murdring
thought,
He was so wasted and forpined quight,
That all his substance was consum'd to nought,
And nothing left but like an aery Spright,
That on the rockes he fell so flit and light,
That he thereby receiv'd no hurt at all ;
But chaunced on a craggy cliff to light,
Whence lie with crooked clawes so long did
crall, [small.
That at the last he found a cave with entrance
Into the same he creepes, and thenceforth
Resolv'd to build his balefull mansion [there
In drery darkenes and continuall feare
Of that rocks fall, which ever and anon
Threates with huge mine him to fall upon,
That he dare never sleepe, but that one eye
still ope he keepes for that occasion ;
Ne ever rests he in tranquillity,
The roring billowes beat his bowre so boys-
trously.
tat
Ne ever is he wont on ought to feed
But todes and frogs, his pasture poysonous,
Which in his cold complexion doe breed
A filthy blood, or humour rancorous,
Matter of doubt and dread suspitious,
That doth with curelesse care consume the hart,
Corrupts the stomacke with gall vitious,
Cros-cuts the liver with internall smart,
And doth transfixe the soule with deathes eter-
nall dart.
LX
Yet can he never dye, but dying lives,
And doth himselfe with sorrow new sustaine,
That death and life attonce unto him gives,
And painefull pleasure turnes to pleasing paine.
There dwels he ever, miserable swaine,
Hatefull both to him selfe and every wight ;
Where he, through privy griefe and horrour
vaine,
Is woxen so deform 'd that he has quight
Forgot be was $ man, and Geloey ia hight,
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
I BOOK III.
CANTO XI.
Britomart chaceth Ollypbant ;
Findes Scudamour distrest :
Assayes the housa of Busyrane,
Where loves spoyles are cxprest.
O HATEFULL hellish Snake ! what furie furst
Brought thee from balefull house of Proserpine,
Where in her bosome she thee long had nurst,
And fostred up with bitter milke of tine,
Fowle Gealosy ! that turnest love divine
To joylesse dread, and mak'st the loving hart
With hatefull thoughts to languish and to pine,
And feed it selfe with selfe-consuming smart ?
Of all the passions in the mind thou vilest art !
O ! let him far be banished away,
And in his stead let Love for ever dwell ;
Sweete Love, that doth his golden wings em-
bay
In blessed Nectar and pure Pleasures well,
Untroubled of vile feareor bitter fell.
And ye, faire Ladies, that your kingdomes make
In th' harts of men, them governe wisely well.
And of faire Britomart ensample take,
That was as trew in love as Turtle to her make.
Who with Sir Satyrane, as earst ye red,
Forth ryding from Malbeccoes hostlesse hous,
Far off aspyde a young man, the which fled
From an huge Geaunt, that with hideous
And hatefull outrage1 long him chaced thus ;
It was that Ollyphant, the brother deare
Of that Argante vile and vitious,
From whom the Squyre of Dames was reft
whylere ; [ ought were.
This all as bad as she, and worse, if worse
For as the sister did in feminine
And filthy lust exceede all womankinde,
So he surpassed his sex masculine,
In beastly use, all that I ever finde :
Whom when as Britomart beheld behinde
The fearefull boy so greedily poursew,
She was emmoved in her noble minde,
T' employ her puissaunce to his reskew,
And pricked fiercely forward where (she did
him yew.
Ne was Sir Satyrane her far behinde,
But with like fiercenesse did ensew the chace.
Whom when the Gyaunt saw, he soone resinde
His former suit, and from them fled apace :
They after both, and boldly bad him bace,
And each did strive the other to outgoe ;
But he them both outran a wondrous space,
For ho was long, and swift as any Roe, [foe
And now made better speed t' escape his feared
VI
It was not Satyrane, whom he did feare,
But Britomart the flowre of chastity ; [beare, I
For he the powre of chaste hands might not j
But alwayes did their dread encounter fly :
And now so fast his feet he did apply,
That he has gotten to a forrest ueare,
Where he is shrowded in security.
The wood they enter, and search everie where , I
They searched di versely, so both divided were.
Fay re Britomart so long him followed,
That she at last came to a fountaine sheare,
By which there lay a knight all wallowed
I Upon the grassy ground, and by him neare
His haberjeon, his helmet, and his speare :
A little on his shield was rudely throwne,
! On which the winged boy in colours cleare
j Depeincted was, full easie to be knowne,
•And he thereby, where ever it in field was
showne.
VIII
His face upon the grownd did groveling ly,
As if he had beene slombring in the shade ; .
That the brave Mayd would not for courtesy
Out of his quiet slomber him abrade,
Nor seeme too suddeinly him to invade. £thro
Still as she stood, she heard with gnevoul
Him grone, as if his hart were peeces made, j
And with most painefull pangs to sigh and sol
That pitty did the Virgins hart of patience rol j
IX
At last forth breaking into bitter plaintes
Hesayd; 'OsoverayneLord! thatsjt'stpnhjj
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
219
And raignst in blis emongst thy blessed Saintes,
How suffrest thou such shamefull cruelty
So loug unwreaked of thine enimy ?
Or hast thou, Lord, of good mens cause no heed?
Or doth thy justice sleepe and silent ly?
What booteth then the good and righteous
deed, [no meed?
If goodnesse find no grace, nor righteousnes
'If good find grace, and righteousnes reward,
Why then is Amoret in caytive band,
Sith that more bounteous creature never far'd
On foot upon the face of living land ?
Or if that h evenly justice may withstand
The wrongfull outrage of unrighteous men,
Why then is Busirane with wicked hand
Suffred, these seven monethes day, in secret den
My Lady and my love so cruelly to pen !
1 My Lady and my love is cruelly pend
In dolefull darkenes from the vew of day,
Whilest deadly torments doe her chast brest
rend, ftwav>
And the sharpe steele doth rive her hart in
All for she Scudamore will not denay.
Yet thou, vile man, vile Scudamore, art sound,
Ne canst her ayde, ne canst her foe dismay ;
Unworthy wretch to tread upon the ground,
For whom so faire a Lady feeles so sore a
wound ! '
XI
There an huge heape of singults did oppresse
His strugling soule, and swelling throbs
cmpeach
His foltring toung with pangs of drerinesse,
Choking the remnant of his plaintife speach,
As if his dayes were come to their last reach :
Which when she heard, and saw the ghastly fit
Threatning into his life to make a breach,
Both with great ruth and terrour she was smit.
Fearing least fronv her cage the wearie soule
would flit.
XIII
Tho stouping downe she him amoved light;
Who, therewith somewhat starting, up gan
looke,
And seeing him behind a stranger knight,
Whereas no living creature he mistooke,
With great indignaunce he that sight forsooke
And, downe againe himselfe disdainfully
Abjecting, th' earth with his faire forheac
strooke :
Which the bold Virgin seeing gan apply
Fit medcine to his griefe, and spake thus
courtesly ;-~
'Ah gentle knight! whose deepe conceived
griefe
iVell seemes t' exceede the powre of patience,
fet, if that hevenly grace some goode reliefe
fou send, submit you to high providence ;
And ever in your noble hart prepense,
That all the sorrow in the world is lesse
Then verities might and values confidence :
For who nill bide the burden of distresse,
lilust not here thiuke to live ; for life is wretch-
ednesse.
xv
1 Therefore, faire Sir, doe comfort to you take,
And freely read what wicked felon so [make.
Hath outrag'd you, and thrald your gentle
Perhaps this hand may helpe to ease your woe,
And wreake your sorrow on your cruell foe ;
At least it faire endevour will apply.'
Those feeling words so neare the quicke did
That up his head he reared easily, [g06)
And, leaning on his elbowe, these few words
lett fly.
XVI
What boots it plaine that cannot be redrest,
And sow vaine sorrow in a fruitlesse eare,
Sith powre of hand, nor skill of learned brest,
Ne worldly price, cannot redeeme my deare
Out of her thraldome and continual! feare :
For he, the tyrant, which her hath in ward
By strong enchauntments and blacke Magicke
leare,
Hath in a dungeon deepe her close embard,
And many dreadfull feends hath pointed to her
gard.
XVII
There he tormenteth her most terribly
And day and night afflicts with mortall paine,
Because to yield him love she doth deny,
Once to me'yold, not to be yolde againe :
But yet by torture he would her constraine
Love to conceive in her disdainfull brest ;
Till so she doe, she must in doole remaine,
Ne may by living meanes be thence relest :
What boots it then to plaine that cannot be
redrest ? '
XVIII
With this sad hersall of his heavy stresse
The warlike Damzell was empassiond sore,
And sayd ; ' Sir knight, your cause is nothing
Then is your sorrow certes, if not more; [lesse
For nothing so much pitty doth implore
As gentle Ladyes helplesse misery :
But yet, if please ye listen to my lore,
I will, with proofe of last extremity.
Deliver her fro thence, or with her for you dy
220
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
•Ah! gentlest knight alive,' (sayd Scudamore)
'What huge heroicke magnanimity
Dwells in thy bounteous brest ! what couldst
thou more,
If shee were thine, and thou as now am 1 1
O ! spare thy happy dales, and them apply
To better boot; but let me die that ought :
More is more losse ; one is enough to dy.'
'Life is not lost,' (said she) 'for which is
bought [be sought.'
Endlesse renowm, that, more then death, is to
xx
Thus shee at length persuaded him to rise,
And with her wend to see what new successe
Mote him befall upon new enterprise.
His armes, which he had vowed to disprofesse,
She gathered up and did about him dresse,
And his forwandred steed unto him gott :
So forth they forth yfore make their progresse
And march not past the mountenaunce of a
shott, [did plott
Till they arriv'd whereas their purpose they
There they dismounting drew their weapons
And stoutly came unto the Castle gate, [bold
Whereas no gate they found them to withhold
Nor ward to waite at morne and evening late ;
But in the Porch, that did them sore amate,
A flaming fire, ymixt with smouldry smoke
And stinking sulphure, that with griesly hate
And dreadfull horror did all entraunce choke,
Enforced them their forward footing to revoke
Greatly thereat was Britomart dismayd,
Ne in that stownd wist how her selfe to beare
For daunger vaine it were to have assayd
That cruell element, which all things feare,
Ne none can suffer to approchen neare :
And, turning backe to Scudamour, thus sayd
' What monstrous enmity provoke we heare?
Foolhardy as th' Earthes children, the whic!
made
Batteill against the Gods, so we a God invade
' Daunger without discretion to attempt
Inglorious, beastlike is: therefore, Sir knight
Aread what course of you is safest dempt,
And how he with our foe may come to fight.
' This is ' (quoth he) ' the dolorous despight,
Which earst to you I playnd : for neither ma;
This tire be quencht by any witt or might,
STe yet by any meanes remov'd away ;
o mighty be th' enchauntments which the
same do stay.
What is there ells but cease these fruitlesse
paines,
And leave me to my former languishing 'I
raire Amorett must dwell in wicked chaines,
And Scudamore here die with sorrowing.'
Perdy not so,' (saide shee) ' for shameful
Yt we're t' abandon noble chevisaunce [thing
j"or shewe of perill, without venturing :
father let try extremities of chauuce,
Then enterprised praise for dread to di.savaunce.'
Therewith, resolv'd to prove her utmost might,
ler ample shield she threw before her face,
And her swords point directing forward right
Assayld the flame ; the which eftesoones gave
place,
And did it selfe divide with equall space,
That through she passed, as a thonder bolt
Perceth the yielding ayre, and doth displace
The soring clouds into sad showres ymolt ;
So to her void the flames, and did their force
revolt.
XXVI
Whom whenas Scudamour saw past the fire
Safe and untoucht, he likewise gan assav
With greedy will and envious desire, ["way :
And bad the stubborne flames to yield him
But cruell Mulciber would not obay
His threatfull pride, but did the more augment
His mighty rage, and with imperious sway
Him forst, (maulgre) his fercenes to relent,
And backe retire, all scorch t and pittifully
brent.
xxvn
With huge impatience he inly swelt,
More for great sorrow that he could not pas
Then for the burning torment which he felt ;
That with fell woodnes he effierced was,
And wilfully him throwing on the gras
Did beat and btmnse his head and brest ful
sore :
The whiles the Championesse now entred has
The utmest rowme, and past the foremost do re ;
The utmost rowme abounding with all precious
store :
XXVIII
For round about the walls yclothed were
With goodly arras of great majesty,
Woven with gold and silke, so close and nere
That the rich metall lurked privily,
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
221
As faining to be hidd from envious eye ;
Yet here, and there, and every where, nnwarcs
It shewd it selfc and shone unwillingly :
Like a discolourd Snake, whose hidden snares
Through the greene gras his long bright bur-
ni- lit back declares.
And in those Tapets weren fashioned
Many faire j>ourtraicts, and many a faire feate
And all of love, and al of lusty -hed,
As seemed by their semblaunt, did entreat :
And eke all Cupids warres they did repeate,
And cruell battailes, which he whilome fought
Whens dearely she with death bought her
desire.
But faire Alcmena better match did make,
Joying his love in likenes more entire :
Three nights in one, they say, that for her sake
He then did put, her pleasures lenger to par-
take.
XXXIV
Twise was he seene in soaring Eagles shape,
And with wide winges to beat the buxorae
ayre :
Once, when he with Asterie did scape;
Againe, when as the Trojane boy so fayre
•" i He snatcht from Ida hill, and with him bare:
Gainst all the uods to make his empire great ; \\\r A i- u* •*. i u 1 1
., i , f *,'«"• , \vondrous delight it was there to behould
Besides the huge massacres, which he wrought H , d Shepheards after him did stare,
troLht!^ thraldome Trembling through feare least down he fallen
should,
And often to him calling to take surer hould.
Therein was writt how often thondring Jove
Had felt the point of his hart-percing dart,
And, leaving heavens kingdomc, here did rove
In straunge disguize, to slake his scalding
smart ;
Now, like a Kam, faire Helle to pervart,
Now, like a Ball, Europa to withdraw:
Ah ! how the fearefull Ladies tender hart
Did lively seeme to tremble, when she saw
The huge seas under her t' obay her servaunts
law.
XXXI
Soone after that, into a golden showre
Him selfe he chaung'd, faire Danae" to vew ;
And through the roofe of her strong brascn
Did raine into her lap an hony dew ; [towre
The whiles her foolish garde, that litle knew
Of such deceipt, kept th' yron dore fast bard,
And watcht that none should enter nor issew :
Vaine was the watch, and bootlesse all the ward,
Whenas the God to golden hew him selfe
transfard.
XXXII
Then was he turnd into a snowy Swan,
To win faire Leda to his lovely trade:
0 wondrous skill ! and sweet wit of the man,
That her in daffodillies sleeping made
From scorching heat her daintielimbes to shade;
Whiles the proud Bird, ruffing his fethers wydc
And brushing his faire brest, did her invade :
She slept : yet twixt her eielids closely spyde
How towards her he rusht, and smiled at his
pryde.
XXXIII
Then shewd it how the Thebane Semelee,
Deceivd of gealous Juno, did require
To see him in his soverayne majestee
Armd with his thunderbolts and lightning fire,
XXXV
In Satyres shape Antiopa he snatcht ;
And like a fire, when he Aegin' assayd :
A shepeheard, when Mnemosyne he catcht ;
And like a Serpent to the Thracian mayd.
Whyles thus on earth great Jove these page-
aunts playd,
The winged boy did thrust into his throne,
And scoffing thus unto his mother sayd :
' Lo ! now the hevens obey to me alone,
And take me for their Jove, whiles Jove to
earth is gone.'
XXXVI
And thou, faire Phoebus, in thy colours bright
Wast there enwoven, and the sad distresse
In which that boy thee plonged, for despight
That thou bewray'dsthis mothers wan tonnesse.
When she with Tfrars was meynt in joyfulnesse :
Forthy he thrild thee with a leaden dart
To love faire Daphne, which thee loved lesse ;
Lesse she thee lov'dthen was thy just desart,
Yet was thy love her death, and her death was
thv smart.
So lovedst thou the lusty Hyacinct ;
So lovedst thou the faire Coronis deare ;
Yet both are of thy haplesse hand extinct,
Yet both in flowres doe live, and love thee
beare,
The one a Paunce, the other a sweet-breare :
For griefe whereof, ye mote have lively seene
The God himselfe rending his golden heare,
And breaking quite his garlond ever greene,
With other signes of sorrow and impatient
teene.
222
THR FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
XXXVIII
Both for those two, and for his owne deare
sonne,
The sonne of Climene, he did repent;
Who, bold to guide the charet of the Sunne,
Himselfe in thousand peecea fondly rent,
And all the world with flashing fire brent ;
So like, that all the walles did seeme to ilame :
Yet cruel! Cupid, not herewith content,
Forst him eftsoones to follow other game,
And love a Shephards daughter for his dearest
Dame.
xxxix
He loved Isse for his dearest Dame,
And for her sake her cattell fedd awhile,
And for her sake a cowheard vile became
The servant of Admetus, cowheard vile,
Whiles that from heaven he suffered exile.
Long were to tell each other lovely fitt ;
Now, like a Lyon hunting after spoile ;
Now, like a stag ; now, like a faulcon flit :
All which in that faire arras was most lively
writ.
XL
Next unto him was Neptune pictured,
In his divine resemblance wondrous lyke :
His face was rugged, and his hoarie lied
Dropped with brackish deaw : his threeforkt
Pyke- [stryke
He stearnly shooke, and therewith fierce did
The raging billowes, that on every syde
They trembling stood, and made a long broad
dyke,
That his swift charet might have passage wyde
Which foure great Hippodames did draw in
temewise tyde.
XLI
His seahorses did seeme to snort amayne,
And from their nosethrilles blow the'brynie
streame,
That made the sparckling waves to smoke
agayne, [creame
And flame with gold; but the white fomy
Did shine with silver, and shoot forth his beanie.
The God himselfe did pensive seeme and sad.
And hong adowne his head as he did dreame ;
For privy love his brest empierced had,
Ne ought but deare Bisaltis ay could make
him glad.
XLH •
He loved eke Tphimedia deare,
And Aeolus faire daughter, Arne hight,
For whom he turnd him selfe into a Steare,
And fedd on fodder to beguile her sight.
Also to win Deucalions daughter bright,
He turnd him selfe into a Dolphin fayre;
And like a winged horse he tooke his flight
To snaky-locke Medusa to repayre,
On whom he got faire Pegasus that flitteth
in the ayre.
XLIH
Next Saturne was, (but who would ever weene
That sullein Saturne ever weend to love?
Yet love is sullein, and Saturnlike seene,
As he did for Erigone it prove)
That to a Centaure did him selfe transmove.
So proov'd it eke that gratious God of wine,
When for to compasse Philliras hard love,
He turnd himselfe into a fruitfull vine,
And into her faire bosome made his grapea
decline.
XLIV
Long were to tell the amorous assayes,
And gentle pangues, with which he maked
meeke
The mightie Mars, to learne his wanton playes;
How oft for Venus, and how often eek
For many other Nymphes, he sore did shreek,
With womanish teares, and with unwarlike
Privily moystening his horrid cheeke: [smarts,
There was he painted full of burning dartes.
And many wide woundes launched through
his inner partes.
Ne did he spare (so cruell was the Elfe)
His owne deare mother, (ah ! whv should he
so?)
Ne did he spare sometime to pricke himselfe,
That he might taste the sweet consuming woe,
Which he had wrought to many others moe.
But, to declare the mournfull Tragedyes
And spoiles wherewith he all the ground did
strow,
More eath to number with how many eyes
High heven beholdes sad lovers nightly thee-
veryes.
XLVI
Kings, Queenes, Lords, Ladies, knights, and
Damsels gent,
Were heap'd together with the vulgar sort,
And mingled with the raskall rablement,
Without respect of person or of port,
To shew Dan Cupids powre and great effort '•
And round about a border was entrayld
Of broken bowes and arrowes shivered short ;
And a long bloody river through them rayld,
So lively and so like that living sence it fayhi
XL VI I
And at the upper end of that faire rowme
There was an Altar built of pretious stone
Df passing valew and of great renowme.
On which there stood an Image all alone
CANTO XI. 1
THE FAERIE
223
Of massy gold, which with his owne light
shone ;
And winges it had with sondry colours dight,
More sondry colours then the proud Pavone
Beares in his boasted fan, or Iris bright,
When her discolourd bow she spreds through
hevens hight.
Blyndfold he was ; and in his cruell fist
A mortall bow and arrowes keene did hold,
With which he shot at randon, when him list,
Some headed with sad lead, some with pure
gold;
[hold.)
(Ah man ! beware how thou those dartes be-
A wounded Dragon under him did ly,
Whose hideous tayle his lefte foot did enfold,
And with a shaft was shot through either eye,
That no man forth might draw, ne no man re-
medye.
XLIX
And underneath his feet was written thus,
Unto the Victor of the Gods this bee:
And all the people in that ample hous
Did to that image bowe their humble knee,
And oft committed fowle Idolatree.
That wondrous sight faire Britomart amazd.
Ne seeing could her wonder satisfie,
But ever more and more upon it gazd,
The whiles the passing brightnes her fraile
sences dazd.
L
Tho, as she backward cast her busie eye
To search each secrete of that goodly sted,
Over the dore thus written she did spye,
Bee bold : she oft and oft it over-red,
Vet could not find what sence it figured :
But what so were therein or writ or mcnt,
She was no whit thereby discouraged
From prosecuting of her first intent,
But forward with bold steps into the next
roome went.
LI
Much fayrer then the former was that roome,
And richlier by many partes arayd ;
For not with arras made in painefull loome,
But with pure gold it all was orerlayd,
Such as false love doth oft upon him weare;
For love in thousand monstrous formes doth
oft appeare.
LII
And all about the glistring walles were hong
With warlike spoiles and with victorious prayes
Of mightie Conquerours and Captaines strong,
Which were whilome captived in their dayes
To cruell love, and wrought their owne decayes.
Their swerds and speres were broke, and hau-
berques rent,
And their proud girlonds of tryumphant bayes
Troden in dust with fury insolent, [tent.
To shew the victors might and mercilesse in-
The warlike Mayd, beholding earnestly
The goodly ordinaunce of this rich Place,
Did greatly wonder; ne could satisfy
Her greedy eyes with gazing a long" space :
But more she mervaild that no footings trace
Nor wight appeard, but wastefull emptinesse
And solemne silence over all that place :
Straunge thing it seem'd, that none was to
possesse [fulnesse.
So rich purveyaunce, ne them keepe with care-
And, as she lookt about, she did behold
How over that same dore was likewise writ.
Be bolde, be bolde, and every where, Be bold;
That much she muz'd, yet could not construe it
By any ridling skill, or commune wit.
At last she spyde at that rowmes upper end
Another yron dore, on which was writ,
Be not too bold ; whereto though she did bend
Her earnest minde, yet wist not what it might
intend.
Thus she there wayted untill eventyde,
Yet living creature none she saw appeare.
And now sad shadowes gan the world to hyde
From mortall vew, and wrap in darkenes dreare ;
Yet nould she d'off her weary armes, for feare
j Of secret daunger, ne let sleepe oppresse
Wrought with wilde Antickes, which their Her heavy eyes with natures burdein deare,
follies playd j But drew her selfe aside in sickernesse,
In the rich metall as they living were. [made. [ And her wel-pointed wepons did about her
A thousand monstrous formes therein were dresse.
224
TttE FAERIE
[BOOK in.
CANTO XII.
The maske of Cnpid, nnd th' enchant-
ed Chamber are displayd ;
Whence Britomart redeemes faire A-
moret through charmes decayd.
THO, whenas chearelesse Night ycovered had
Fayre heaven with an universall clowd,
That every wight disraayd with darkenes sad
In silence and in sleepe themselves did shrewd,
She heard a shrilling Trompet sound alowd,
Signe of nigh battaill, or got victory :
Nought therewith daunted was her courage
But rather stird to cruell enmity, [prowd,
Expecting ever when some foe she might des-
cry.
ii
With that an hideous storme of winde arose,
With dreadfull thunder and lightning atwixt,
And an earthquake, as if it streight would lose
The worlds foundations from his centre fixt :
A direfull stench of smoke and sulphure mixt
Ensewd, whose noyaunce tild the fearefull steel
From the fourth howre of night untill the sixt;
Yet the bold Britonesse was nought ydred,
Though much emmov'd, but stedfast still per-
severed.
in
All suddeinly a stormy whirlwind blew
Throughout the house, that clapped every dore,
With which that yron wicket open flew^
As it with mighty levers had bene tore ;
And forth yssewd, as on the readie flore
Of some Theatre, a grave personage
That in his hand a braunch of laurell bore,
With comely haveour and count'nance sage.
Yclad in cos'tly garments fit for tragicke Stage.
The noble Mayd still standing all this vewil,
And merveild at his straunge intendiment.
With that a joyous fellowship issewd
Of Minstrales making goodly meriment,
With wanton Bardes, and Rymers impudent ,
All which together song full chearefully
A lay of loves delight with sweet conce'nt :
After whom marcht a jolly company,
In manner of a maske, enranged orderly.
Proceeding to the midst he stil did stand,
As if in mimic he somewhat had to say ;
And to the vulgare beckning with his'hand,
In signe of silence, as to heare a play,
By lively actions he gan bewray
Some argument of matter passioned :
Which doen, he backe retyred soft away,
And, passing by, his name discovered,
FASC, on his robe in golden letters cyphered.
The whiles a most delitious harmony [sound,
In full straunge notes was sweetly heard to
That the rare sweetnesse of the melody
The feeble sences wholy did confound,
And the frayle soule "in deepe delight nigh
drownd :
And, when it ceast. shrill trompets lowd did
That their report did far away rebound; [bray,
And, when they ceast, it gan againe to play,
The whiles the maskers marched forth in trim
aray.
VII
The first was Fansy, like a lovely Boy
Of rare aspect, and beautie without peare,
Matchable ether to that ympe of Troy,
Whom Jove did love and chose hiscup tobeare;
Or that same daintie lad, which was so deare
i To great Alcides, that, when as he dyde,
I He wailed womanlike with many a teare,
And every wood and every valley wyde
He filld with Hylas name; the Nymphes eke
Hylas cryde.
VIII
His garment nether was of silke nor say,
, But paynted plumes in goodly order dight,
j Like as the sunburnt Indians do aray
j Their tawney bodies in their proudest plight :
As those same plumes so seemd he vaine anc
That by his gate might easily appeare ;[ light
i For still he far'd as dauncing'in delight,
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
2*3
And in his hand a windy fan did beare,
That in the ydle ayre he mov'd still here and
theare.
And him beside marcht amorous Desyre,
iVho seemd of ryper yeares theii th' other
Swayne,
fet was that other swayne this elders syre,
^nd gave him being, commune to them twayne :
3is garment was disguysed very vayne,
And his embrpdered Bonet sat awry : [strayne,
I'wixt both his hands few sparks he close dul
A'hich still he blew and kindled busily,
That soone they life conceiv'd, and forth in
flames did fly.
x
Next after him went Doubt, who was yclad
n a discolour'd cote of straunge disguyse,
That at his backe a brode Capuccio had,
And sleeves dependaunt Albanese-wyse :
le lookt askew with his mistnistfull eyes,
And nycely Irode, as thornes lay in his way,
)r that the flore to shrinkc he "did avyse ;
\.m\ on a broken reed he still did stay
lis feeble steps, which shrunck when hard
thereon he lay.
XI
With him went Daunger, cloth'd in ragged
weed [made;
Wade of Beares skin, that him more dreadfull
ITet his owne face was dreadfull, ne did need
Straunge honour to deforme his griesly shade :
A net in th' one hand, and a rusty blade
[n th' other was ; this Mischiefe, that Mishap :
With th' one his foes he threatned to invade,
With th' other he his friends ment to enwrap ;
For whom he could not kill he practizd to en-
trap.
XII
Next him was Feare, all arm'd from top to toe,
Ifet thought himselfe not safe enough thereby,
But feard each shadow moving too or froe ;
And, his owne armes when glittering he cbd spy
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly,
As ashes pale of hew, and winged heel'd,
\nd evermore on Daunger fixt his eye,
Gainst whom he alwayes bent a brasen shield,
Which his right hand unarmed fearefully did
wield.
XIII
With him went Hope in rancke, a handsome
Mavd,
Of chearefull looke and lovely to behold :
In silken samite she was light arayd,
And her fayre lockes were woven up in gold :
She alway smyld, and in her hand did hold
An holy-water-sprinckle, dipt in deowe,
With which she sprinckled favours manifold
On whom she list, and did great liking sheowe,
Great liking unto man)', but true love to feowe.
And after them Dissemblaunce and Suspect
Marcht in one rancke, yet an unequall paire ;
For she was gentle and of milde aspect,
Courteous to all and seeming debonaire,
Goodly adorned and exceeding faire :
Yet was that all but paynted and pourloynd,
And her bright browes were deckt with bor-
rowed haire ; [ coynd,
Her deeds were forged, and her words false
And alwaies in her hand two clewes of silke
she twynd.
xv
But he was fowle, ill favoured, and grim,
Under his eiebrowes looking still askaunce;
And ever, as Dissemblaunce laught on him,
He lowrd on her with daungerous eyeglaunce,
Shewing his nature in his countenaunce :
His rolling eies did never rest in place,
But walkte each where for feare of hid mis-
chaunce,
Holding a lattis still before his face,
Through which he stil did peep as forward he
did pace.
XVI
Next him went Griefe and Fury, matchtyfere;
Griefe all in sable sorrowfully clad.
Downe hanging his dull head with heavy chere,
Yet inly being more then seeming sad :
A paire of Pincers in his hand he had,
With which he pinched people to the hart,
That from thenceforth a wretched life they
ladd,
In wilfull languor and consuming smart,
Dying each day with inward wounds of dolours
dart.
XVII
But Fury was full ill appareiled
In rags, that naked nigh she did appeare,
With ghastly looks and dreadfull drerihed;
And from her backe her garments she did teare,
And from her head ofte rente her snarled heare :
In her right hand a firebrand shee did tosse
About her head, still roming here and there ;
As a dismayed Deare in chace embost,
Forgetfull of his safety, hath hie right way
lost.
XVIII
After them went Displeasure and Pleasaunce,
He looking lumpish and full sulHu sad,
I
226
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
And hanging downe his heavy countenaunce ;
She chearfull, fresh, and full of joyaunce glad,
As if no sorrow she ne felt ne drad ;
That evill matched paire they seemd to bee :
An angry Waspe th' one in a viall had,
Th' other in hers an bony-laden Bee.
Thus inarched these six couples forth in faire
degree.
XIX
After all these there marcht a most faire Dame,
Led of two grysie Villeins, th' one Despight,
The other cleped Cruelty by name :
She, dolefull Lady, like a dreary Spright
Caid by strong charmes out of eternal! night,
Had Deathes owne ymage figurd in her face,
Full of sad signes, fearfull to living sight ;
Yet in that horror shewd a seemely grace,
And with her feeble feete did move a comely
pace.
xx
.Her brest all naked, as nett y vory
Without adorne of gold or silver bright,
Wherewith the Crat'tesman wonts it beautify,
Of her dew honour was despoyled quight ;
And a wide wound therein (O ruefull sight !)
Entrenched deep with knyfe accursed keene,
Yet freshly bleeding forth her fainting spright,
(The worke of cruell hand) was to be scene,
That dyde in sanguine red her skin all snowy
cleene.
XXI
At that wide orifice her trembling hart
Was drawne forth, and in silver basin layd,
Quite through transfixed with a deadly dart,
And in her blood yet steeming fresh embayd :
And those two villeins, which her steps upstayd,
When her weake feete could scarcely her
sustaine,
And fading vitall powres gan to fade,
Her forward still with torture did constraine,
And evermore encreased her consuming paine.
Next after her, the winged Ged him selfe
Came riding on a Lion ravenous.
Taught to obay the menage of that Elfe
That man and beast with powre imperious
Subdeweth to his kingdome tyrannous.
His blindfold eies he bad awhile unbinde,
That his proud spoile of that same dolorous
Faire Dame he might behold in perfect kinde ;
Which scene, he much rejoyced in his cruell
minde.
XXIII
Of which ful prowd. him selfe up rearing hye
He looked round about with sterne disdayne,
And did survay his goodly company ;
And, marshalling the evill-ordered trayne.
With that the darts which his right hand did
straine
Full dreadfully he shooke, that all did quake,
And clapt on hye his coulourd winges twaine,
That all his many it affraide did make :
Tho, blinding him againe, his way he forth
did take.
XXIV
Behinde him was Reproch, Repentance,
Shame; [behinJe:
Reproch the first, Shame next, Repent
Repentaunce feeble, sorrowfull, and lame ;
Reproch despightfull, carelesse, and unkinde ;
Shame most ill-favourd, bestiall, and blinde :
Shame lowrd, Repentaunce sighd, Reproch did
scould ; [entwinde,
Reproch sharpe stings, Repentaunce whips
Shame burning brond-yrons in her hand did
hold: [mould.
All three to each unlike, yet all made in one
XXV
And after them a rude confused rout
Of persons flockt, whose names is hard to read :
Emongst them was sterne Strife, and Anger
stout;
Unquiet Care, and fond Unthriftyhead ;
Lewd Losseof Time, and Sorrow seeming dead;
Inconstant Chaunge, and false Disloyalty ;
Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread
Of heavenly vengeaunce ; faint Infirmity ;
Vile Poverty ; and, lastly, Death with infamy.
XXVI
There were full many moe like maladies,
Whose names and natures I note readen well;
So many moe, as there be phantasies
In wavering wemens witt, that none can tell,
Or paines in love, or punishments in hell :
All which disguized marcht in masking wise
About the chamber by the Damozell ;
And then returned, having marched thrise,
Into the inner rowme from whence they first I
did rise.
XXVII
So soone as they were in, the dore streightwaj'
Fast locked, driven with that stormy blast
Which first it opened, and bore all away.
Then the brave Maid, which al this while was
plast
In secret shade, and saw both first and last,
Issewed forth, and went unto the dore
To enter in, but fownd it locked fast :
It vaine she thought with rigorous uprore
For to efforce, when charmes had closed it afore
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
22J
XXVIII
Where force might not availe, there sleight'
and art
She cast to use, both fitt for bard emprize :
Forthy from that same rowme not to depart
Till morrow next shee did her selfe avize,
When that same Maske againe should forth
arize.
The morrowe next appeard with joyous cheare
Calling men to their daily exercize:
Then she, as morrow fresh, her selfe did reare
Out of her secret stand that davfortooutweare.
All that day she outwore in wandering
And gazing on that Chambers ornament,
Till that againe the second evening
Her covered with her sable vestiment, [blent :
Wherewith the worlds faire beautie she hath
Then, when the second watch was almost past,
That brasen dore flew open, and in went
Bold Britomart, as she had late forecast,
Nether of ydle showes, nor of false charmes
aghast.
XXX
So soone as she was entred, rownd about
Shee cast her eies to see what was become
Of all those persons which she saw without :
Butlo ! they streight were vanisht all and some :
Ne living wight she saw in all that roome,
Save that same woefull Lady, both whose hands
Were bounden fast, that did her ill become,
And hersmall waste girt rownd withy ron bands
Upon a brasen pillour, by the which'she stands.
XXXI
And her before the vile Enchaunter sate,
Figuring straunge characters of his art:
With living blood he those characters wrate,
Dreadfully dropping from her dying hart,
Seeming transfixed with a cruell dart;
And all perforce to make her him to love.
Ah ! who can love the worker of her smart ?
A thousand charmes he formerly did prove,
^iet thousand charmes could not her stedfast
hart remove.
XXXII
Soone as that virgin knight he saw in place,
His wicked bookes in hast he overthrew,
Not caring his long labours to deface;
And, fiercely running to that Lady trew,
A murdrous knife out of his pocket drew,
The which he thought, for villeinous despight,
In her tormented bodie to em brew :
But the stout Damzell, to him leaping light,
His cursed hand withheld, and maistered his
might.
XXXIII
From her, to whom his fury first he ment,
The wicked weapon rashly lie did wrest,
And, turning to herselfe, his fell intent,
Unwares it strooke into her snowie chest,
That litle drops empurpled her faire brest.
Exceeding wroth therewith the virgin grew,
Albe the wound were nothing deepe imprest,
And fiercely forth her mortall blade she drew,
To give him the reward for such vile outrage
dew.
xxxiv
So mightily she smote him, that to ground
He fell halfe dead: next stroke him should
have slaine,
Had not the Lady, which by him stood bound,
Dernly unto her called to abstaine
From doing him to dy. For else her paine
Should be remedilesse; sith none but hee
Which wrought it could the same recure againe.
Therewith she stayd her hand, loth stayd to
bee; _ [see:
For life she him envyde, and long'd revenge to
XXXV
And to him said : ' Thou wicked man, whose
For so huge mischiefe and vile villany [meed
Is death, or if that ought doe death exceed ;
Be sure that nought may save thee from to dy
But if that thou this Dame do presently
Restore unto her health and former state:
This doe, and live, els dye undoubtedly.'
He, glad of life, that lookt for death but late.
Did yield him selfe right willing to prolong
his date :
XXXVI
And, rising up, gan streight to over-looke
Those cursed leaves, his charmes back to
reverse.
Full dreadfull thinges out of that balefull booke
He red, and measur'd manv a sad verse,
That horrour gan the virgins hart to perse,
And her faire locks up stared stiffe on end,
Hearing him those same bloody lynes reherse ;
And, all the while he red, she did extend
Her sword high over him, if ought he did
offend.
XXXVII
Anon she gan perceive the house to quake,
And all the dores to rattle round about :
Yet all that did not her dismaied make, [ dout :
Nor slack her threatfull hand for daungers
But still with stedfast eye and courage stout
Abode, to weet what end would come of all.
At last that mightie chaine, which round about
Q2
228
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK in.
Her tender waste was wound, adowne gan fall,
And that great brasen pillour broke in peeces
small.
XXXVIII
The cruel! steele, which thrild her dying hart,
Fell softly forth, as of his owne accord,
And the wyde wound, which lately did dispart
Her bleeding brest, and riven bowels gor'd,
Was closed up, as it had not beene bor'd ,
And every part to safety full sownd,
As she were never hurt, was soone restord.
Tho, when she felt her selfe to be unbownd
And perfect hole, prostrate she fell unto the
grownd.
XXXIX
Before faire Britomart she fell prostrate.
Saying; ' Ah noble knight ! what worthy meede
Can wretched Lady, quitt from wofull state,
Yield you in lieu of this your gracious deed ?
Your vertue selfe her owne reward shall breed,
Even immortal prayse and glory wyde,
Which 1 your vassall, by your prowesse freed,
Shall through the world" make to be notify de,
And goodly well advaunce that goodly well
was tryde.'
XL
But Britomart, uprearing her from grownd,
Said : ' Gentle Dame, reward enough I weene,
For many labours more then I have found,
This, that in safetie now I have you scene,
And meane of your deliverance nave beene.
Henceforth, faire Lady, comfort to you take,
And put away remembrance of late teene ;
Insted thereof, know that your loving Make
Hath no lesse griefe endured for your gentle
sake.'
XLI
She much was cheard to heare him mentiond,
Whom of all living wightes she loved best.
Then laid the noble Championesse strong hond
Upon th' enchaunter which had her distrest
So sore, and with foule outrages opprest.
With that great chaine, wherewith not long
ygoe [relest,
He bound that pitteous Lady prisoner, now
Himselfe she bound, more worthy to be so,
And captive with her led to wretchednesse
and wo.
Returning back, those goodly rowmes, which
She saw so rich and royally arayd, [erst
Now vanisht utterly and cleaue subverst
She found, and all their glory quite decayd ;
That sight of such a chaunge her much dismayd
Thence forth descending to that perlous porch
Those dreadfull flames she also found delayd
And quenched quite like a consumed torch,
That erst all entrers wont so cruelly to scorch.
XLHI
More easie issew now then entrance late
She found ; for now that fained dreadfull flame,
Which chokt the porch of that enchaunted gate
And passage bard to all that thither came,
Was vanisht quite, as it were not the same,
And gave her leave at pleasure forth to passe.
Th' Enchaunter selfe, which all that fraud did
frame
To have efforst the love of that faire lasse,
Seeing his worke now wasted, deepe engriev
was.
XLIV
But when the Victoresse arrived there
Where late she left the pensife Scudamore
With her own trusty Squire, both full of feare,
Neither of them she found where she them lore :
Thereat her noble hart was stonisht sore ;
But most faire Amoret, whose gentle spripht
Now gan to feede on hope, which she before
Conceived had, to see her own deare knight,
Being thereof beguyld, was tild with new af-
fright.
XLV
But he, sad man, when he had long in drede
Awayted there for Britomarts returne,
j Yet saw her not nor signe of her good speed,
I His expectation to despaire did turne,
Misdeeming sure that her those flames did
burne;
And therefore gan advize with her old Squire, I
Who her deare nourslings losse no lesse did \
mourne,
j Thence to depart for further aide t'enquire :
I Where let them wend at will, whilest here I
doe respire.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
240
THE FOURTH BOOKE
OF
THE FAERIE QUEENE
CONTAINING THE LEGEND OF CAMBEL AND TKIAMOND, OK OP FRIENDSHIP,
THE rugged forhead, that with grave foresight
Welds kingdomes causes and affaires of state,
My looser rimes (I wote) doth sharply wite
Fo'r praising love as I have done of late,
And magnifying lovers deare debate ;
By which fraile youth is oft to follie led,
Through false allurement of that pleasing baite.
That better were in vertues discipled,
Then with vaine poemes weeds to have their
fancies fed.
n
Such ones ill judge of love that cannot love,
Ne in their frosen hearts feele kindly flame •
In love were either c-iided or begunne :
Witnesse the fathor of Philosophic.
Which to his Critias, shaded oft from sunne,
Of love full manic lessons did apply, [deny
The which these Stoicke censours cannot well
To such therefore I do not sing at all ;
But to that sacred Saint inysoveraigneQueene
In whose chast brest all bountie naturall
And treasures of true love enlocked beene,
Bove all her sexe that ever yet was scene .
To her I sing of love, that loveth best,
And best is lov'd of all alive, I weene ,
Forthy they ought not thing unknowne j To her this song most fitly is addrest,
reprove,
Ne naturall affection faultlesse blame
For fault of few that have abusd the same ;
For it of honor and all vertue is [of fame,
The roote, and brings forth glorious flowres
That crowne true lovers with immortall blis,
The Queene of love, and Prince of peace from
heaven blest.
Which that she may the better deigne to
heare,
. , Do thou, dred infant, Venus dearling dove,
he meed of them that love, and do not live From her high spirit chase imperious feare,
And use of awfull Majestie remove .
Insted thereof with drops of melting love,
Which who so list looke backe to former ages,
And call to count the things that then were
donne,
[sages,
Shall find that all the workes of those wise
And brave exploits which great Heroe's wonne,
Deawd with ambrosial! kisses, by thee gotten
From thy sweete smyling mother from above,
Sprinckle her heart, and haughtie courage
soften,
[lesson often
That she may hearke to love, and reade this
CANTO I.
Fayre Britomart saves Amoret :
Duessa discord breedes
Twixt Scudamour and Blandan>r>ur :
Their fight and warlike deedes.
OF lovers sad calamities of old
Full many piteous stories doe remaine,
But none more piteous ever was ytold
Then that of Amorets hart-binding chaine,
And this of Florimels unworthie paine
The deare compassion of whose bitter fit
j My softened heart so sorely doth constrain^
|That I with teares full oft doe pittie it,
i And oftentimes doe wish it never had bene writ.
2JO
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
For from the time that Scudamour her bought
In perilous fight she never joyed day ;
A perilous light, when he with force her
brought
From twentie Knights that did him all assay ;
Yet fairely well he did them all dismay,
And with great glorie both the shield of love
And eke the Ladie selfe he brought away ,
Whom having wedded, as did him behove,
A new unknowen mischiefe did from him re-
For that same vile Enchauntour Busyran,
The very selfe same day that she was wedded,
Amidst" the bridale feast, whilest every man,
Surcharg'd with wine, were heedlesse'and ill-
bedded.
All bent to mirth before the bride was bedded,
Brought in that mask of love which late was
showen ;
And there the Ladie, ill of friends bestedded,
By way of sport, as oft in maskes is knowen,
Conveyed quite away to living wight un-
"knowen.
IV
Seven moneths he so her kept in bitter smart,
Because his sinfull lust she would not serve,
Untill such time as noble Britomart
Released her, that else was like to sterve
Through cruell knife that her deare heart did
kerve :
And now she is with her upon the way
Marching in lovely wise, that could deserve
No spot of blame, though spite did oft assay
To blot her with dishonor of so faire a pray.
Yet should it be a pleasant tale, to tell
The diverse usage, and demeanure daint,
That each to other made, as oft befell :
For Amoret right fearefull was and faint
Lest she with blame her honor should attaint,
That everie word did tremble as she spake,
And everie looke was coy and wondrous quaint,
And everie limbe that touched her did quake ;
Yet could she not but curteous countenance to
her make.
VI
For well she wist, as true it was indeed,
That her lives Lord and patrone of her health"
Right well deserved, as his duefull meed,
Her love, her service, and her utmost wealth :
All is his justly that all freely dealth.
Nathlesse her honor, dearer then her life,
She sought to save, as thing reserv'd from
stealth.
Die had she lever with Enchanters kcife
Then to be false in love, profest a virgine wife.
Thereto her feare was made so much the
greater
Through fine abusion of that Briton mayd ;
Who, for to hide her fained sex the better
And niaske her wounded mind, both did and
Full many things so doubtfull to be wayd,
That well she wist not what by them to gesse :
For other-whiles to her she purpos made
Of love, and other-whiles of lastfulfKSS.-?,
That much she feard his mind would grow to
some excesse.
VIII
His will she feard ; for him she surely thought
To be a man, such as indeed he seemed ;
And much the more by that he lately wrought,
When her from deadly thraldome he redeemed,
For which no service she too much esteemed : .
Yet dread of shame and doubt of fowle dis-
honor
Made her not yeeld so much as due she deemed.
Yet Britomart attended duly on her,
As well became a knight, and did to her all
honor.
IX
It so befell one evening, that they came
Unto a Castell, lodged there to bee,
Where many a knight, and many a lovely
Dame,
Was then assembled deeds of annes to see :
Amongst all which was none more faire then
shee,
That many of them mov'd to eye her sore.
The custome of that place was such, that hee,
Which had no love nor lemman there in store,
Should either winne him one, or lye without the
dore.
x
Amongst the rest there was a jolly knight,
Who, being asked for his love, avow'd
That fairest Amoret was his by right,
And offred that to Justine alowd.
The warlike virgine, seeing his so prowd
And boastfull chalenge, wexed inlie wroth ;
But for the present did her anger shrowd,
And sayd, her love to lose she was full loth,
But either he should neither of them have, or',
both.
XI
So foorth they went, and both together giusted ; 1
But that same younker soone was over-
throwne,
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
a;:
And made repent that he had rashly lusted
For thing unlawful!, that was not his owne :
Yet since he seemed valiant, though un-
knowne,
She, that no lesse was courteous then stout,
Cast how to salve, that both the custoune
showne
Were kept, and yet that Knight not locked out;
That seem'd full hard t' accord two things so
far iu dout.
XII
The Seneschall was cal'd to deeme the right:
Whom she requir'd, that first fayre Amoret
Might be to her allow'd, as to a Knight
That did her win and free from chalenge set:
Which straight to her was yeelded without let.
Then, since that strange Knights love from
him was quitted,
She claim'd that to her selfe, as Ladies det,
He as a Knight might justly be admitted;
So none should l>e out shut, sith all of loves
Avere fitted.
XIII
With that, her glistring helmet she unlaced;
Which doft, her golden lockes, that were up-
bound
Still in a knot, unto her heeles downe traced,
And like a silken veile in cumpasse round
About her backe and all her bodie wound :
Like as the shining skie in summers night,
What time the dayes with scorching heat
abound,
Is creasted all with lines of tine light,
That it prodigious seemes in common peoples
sight.
XIV
Such when those Knights and Ladies all
about
Beheld her, all were with amazement smit,
And every one gan grow in secret dout
Of this and that, according to each wit : [it ;
Some thought that some enchantment faygned
Some, that Bellona in that warlike wise
To them appear'd, with shield and armour fit ;
Some, that it was a maske of strange disguise:
So diversely each one did sundrie doubts de-
vise.
xv
But that young Knight, which through her
gentle deed
Was to that goodly fellowship restor'd,
Ten thousand thankes did yeeld her for her
meed,
And, doubly overcommen, her ador'd.
So did they all their former strife accord;
And eke fayre Amoret. now freed from feare,
More franke affection did to her afford.
And to her bed, which she was wont forbeare,
Now freely drew, and found right safe assu-
rance theare.
XVI
Where all that night they of their loves did
treat,
And hard adventures, twixt themselves alone,
That each the other gan with passion great
And griefull pittie privately bemone.
The morow next, so soone as Titan shone,
They both uprose and to their waies them
dight :
Long wandred they, yet never met with none
That to their willes could them direct aright,
Or to them tydings tell that mote their harts
delight.
XVII
Lo ! thus they rode, till at the last they spide
Two armed Knights that toward them did
pace,
And ech of them had ryding l>y his side
A Ladie, seeming in so farre a space :
But Ladies none they were, albee in face
And outward shew "faire semblance they did
bea;e;
For under maske of beautie and good grace
Vile treason and fowle falshood hidden were,
That mote to none but to the warie wise
appeare.
XVIII
The one of them the false Duessa hight,
That now had chang'd her former wonted
hew :
For she could d'on so manie shapes in sight..
As ever could Cameleon colours new ;
So could she forge all colours, save the trew.
The other no whit better was then shee,
But that such as she was she plaine did shew:
Yet otherwise much worse, if worse might bee,
And dayly more offensive unto each degree.
Her name was Ate, mother of debate
And all dissention which doth dayly grow
Amongst fraile men, that many a publike
state,
And many a private oft doth overthrow.
Her false Duessa, who full well did know
To be most fit to trouble noble knights
Which hunt for honor, raised from l>elow
Out of the dwellings of the damned sprights,
Where she in darknes wastes her cursed daies
and nights.
xx
Hard by the gates of hell her dwelling is ;
There, whereas all the plagues and harmes
abound
232
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Which punish wicked men that walke amisse :
It is a darksome delve farre under ground,
With thornes and barren brakes environd
round,
That none the same may easity out-win :
Yet many waies to enter may be found,
But none to issue forth when one is in ;
For discord harder is to end then to begin.
And all within, the riven walls were hung
With ragged monuments of times forepast,
All which the sad effects of discord sung :
There v.-ere rent robes and broken scepters
Altars defyld, and holy things defast ; [plast;
Disshivered speares, and shields ytorne in
twaine ;
Great cities ransackt, and strong castles rast ;
Nations captived, and huge armies slaine :
Of all which ruines there some relicks did re-
in aine.
xxn
There was the signe of antique Babvlon ;
Of fatall Thebes ; of Rome that raigned long ;
Of sacred Salem ; and sad Ilion,
For memorie of which on high there hong
The golden Apple, cause of all their wrong,
For which the three faire Goddesses did strive:
There also was the name of Nimrod strong ;
Of Alexander, and his Princes five
Which shar'd to them the spoiles that he had
got alive.
XXIII
And there the relicks of the drunken fray,
The which amongst the Lapithees befell;
And of the bloodie feast, which sent away
So many Centaures drunken soules to hell,
That under great Alcides furie fell ;
And of the dreadfull discord, which did drive
The noble Argonauts to outrage fell ;
That each of life sought others to deprive,
All mindlesse of the Golden fleece, which
made them strive.
And ekfe of private persons many moe,
That were too long a worke to co'unt them all :
Some, of sworne friends that did their faith
forgoe ;
Some, of borne brethren prov'd unnaturall ;
Some, of deare lovers foes perpetuall :
Witnesse their broken bandes there to be scene,
Their girlonds rent, their bowres despoyled all;
The moniments whereof there byding beene,
As plaine as at the first when they were fresh
and greene.
Such was her house within ; but all without,
The barren ground was full of wicked weedes,
Which she her selfe had sowen all about,
Now growen great, at first of little seedes,
The seedes of evill wordes and factious deedes;
Which, when to ripenesse due they growen
arre,
Bring foorth an infinite increase, that breedes
Tumultuous trouble, and contentious Jarre,
The which most often end in bloudshed and in
warre.
XXVI
And those same cursed seedes doe also serve
To her for bread, and yeeld her living food :
For life it is to her, when others sterve
Through mischievous debate and deadly feood,
That she may sucke their life, and drinke their
blood, [fed :
With which she from her childhood had ben
For she at first was borne of hellish brood,
And by infernall furies nourished ; [r
That by her monstrous shape might easily be
Her face most fowle and filthy was to see,
With squinted eyes contrarie waves intende
And loathly mouth, unmeete a mouth to bee,
That nought but gall and venim comprehende
And wicked wordes that God and man offended!
Her lying tongue was in two parts divided,
And both the parts did speake, and both con-
tended;
And as her tongue so was her hart discided,
That never thoght one thing, but doubly stil
was guided.
XXVIII
Als as she double spake, so heard she doubly
With matchlesse eares deformed and distort,
Fild with false rumors and seditious trouble,
Bred in assemblies of the vulgar sort,
That still are led with every light report :
And as her eares. so eke her feet were odde,
And much unlike ; th' one long, the other short,
And both misplast ; that, when th' one forward
yode,
The other backe retired and contrarie trode.
XXIX
Likewise unequall were her handes twalne ;
That one did reach the other pusht away;
That one did make the other mard againe,
And sought to bring all things unto decay ;
Whereby great riches, gathered nianie a dav,
She in short space did often bring to nought,
And their possessours often did dismay :
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
233
For all her studie was and all her thought
How she might overthrow the things that
Concord wrought.
So much her malice did her might surpas,
That even th' Almightie selfe she did maligne,
Because to man so mercifull he was,
And unto all his creatures so benigne,
Sith she her selfe was of his grace indigno ;
For all this worlds faire workmanship she tricle
Unto his last confusion to bring,
And that great golden chaine quite to divide,
Wi.th which it blessed Concord hath together
tide.
XXXI
Such was that hag which with Duessa roade ;
And, serving her in her malitious use
To hurt good knights, was, as it were, her
To sell her borrowed beautie to abuse: [baude
For though, like withered tree that wanteth
juyce,
She fid and crooked were, yet now of late
As fiTsh and fragrant as the floure-deluce
She was become, by chaunge of her estate,
And made full goodly joyance to her new-
found mate.
xxxn
Her mate, he was a jollie youthfull knight
That bore great sway in armes and chivalrie,
And was indeed a man of mickle might ;
'His name was Blandamour, that did descrie
His fickle mind full of inconstancie :
And now himselfe he fitted had right well
With two companions of like qualitie,
Faithlesse Duessa, and false Paridell, [tell.
That whether were more false full hard it is to
XXXIII
Now when this gallant with his goodly crew
From farre espide the famous I'.ri turn art,
Like knight adventurous in outward vew,
With his faire paragon, his conquests part,
Approching nigh, eftsoones his wanton hart
Was tickled with delight, and jesting sayd ;
' Lo ! there, Sir Paridel, for your desart
Hood lucke presentsyou withyond lovely mayd,
For pitie that ye want a fellow for your av'd.'
XXXIV
By that the lovely paire drew nigh to bond :
Whom when as Paridel more plaine beheld,
Albee in heart lie like affection fond,
\ ft mindfull how he late by one was feld
1 hat did those armes and that same scutchion
weld,
He had small lust to buy his love so deare,
But answered ; ' Sir, him wise I never held,
That, having once escaped perill neare,
Would afterwards afresh the sleeping evill
'This knight too late his manhood and his
might
I did assay, that me right dearely cost ;
Ne list I for revenge provoke new fight,
Ne for light Ladies love that soone is lost.'
The hot-spurre youth so scorning to be crost,
' Take then to you this Dame of mine,' (quoth
hee)
' And I, without your perill or your cost,
Will chalenge yond same other for my fee.'
So forth he fiercely prickt that one him scarce
could see.
XXXVI
The warlike Britonesse her soone addrest,
And with such uncouth welcome did receave
Her fayned Paramour, her forced guest,
That being forst his saddle soone to leave,
Him selfe he did of his new love deceave ;
And made him selfe thensample of his follie.
Which done, she passed forth, not taking leave,
And left him now as sad, as whilome jollie,
Well warned to beware with whom he dar'd to
dallie.
XXXVII
Which when his other companie beheld,
They to his succour ran with readie ayd ;
And, finding him unable once to weld,
They reared him on horsebacke and upstayd,
Till on his way they had him forth convayd :
And all the way, with wondrous griefe of mynd
And shame, he shewd him selfe to be dismayd
More for the love which he had left behynd,
Then that which he had to Sir Paridel resynd.
XXXVIII
Nathlesse he forth did march, well as he might,
And made good semblance to his companie,
Dissembling his disease and evill plight ;
Till that ere long they chaunced to espie
Two other knights, that towards them did ply
With speedie course, as bent to charge them
new :
Whom when as Blandamour approching nie
Perceiv'd to be such as they seemd in vew?
He was full wo, and gan his former griefe
renew.
For th' one of them he perfectly descride
To be Sir Scudamour, by that he bore
The God of love with wings displayed wide
Whom mortally he hated evermore",
234
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Both for his worth, that all men did adore,
And eke because his love he wonne by right :
Which when he thought, it grieved him full
sore,
That, through the bruses of his former fight,
He now unable was to wreake his old despight.
Forthy he thus to Paridel bespoke :
' Faire Sir, of friendship let me now you pray,
That as I late adventured for your sake,
The hurts whereof me now from battell stay,
Ye will me now with like good turne repay,
And justitie my cause on yonder knight.'
4 Ah ! Sir,' (said Paridell)" ' do not dismay
Your selfe for this ; my selfe will for you fight,
As ye have done for me : the left hand rubs
the right.'
XLI
With that he put his spurres unto his steed,
With speare in rest, and toward him did fare,
Like shaft out of a bow preventing speed :
But Scudamour was shortly well aware
Of his approch, and gan him selfe prepare
Him to receive with entertainment meete.
So furiously they met, that either bare
The other downe under their horses feete,
That what of them became themselves did
scarslv weete.
As when two billowes in the Irish sowndes,
Forcibly driven with contrarie tydes,
Do meete together, each abacke rebowndes
With roaring rage ; and dashing on all sides,
That filleth all the sea with foine, divydes
The doubtfull current into divers waves.
So fell those two in spight of both their prydes ;
But Scudamour himselfe did soone uprayse.
And, mounting light, his foe for lying long up-
brayes :
XLIII
Who, rolled on an heape, lay still in swound
All carelesse of his taunt and" bitter rayle ;
Till that the rest him seeing lie on ground
Ran hastily, to weete what did him ayle.
Where find'ing that the breath gan him to fayle,
With busie care they strove him to awake,"
And doft his helmet, and undid his mayle :
So much they did, that at the last they" brake
His slomber, yet so mazed that he nothing
spake.
XLIV
Which when as Blandamour beheld, he sayd :
' False faitour Scudamour, that hast by slight
And foule advantage this good Knight ilismayd.
A Knight much better then thy selfe behight,
Well falles it thee that I am not in plight
This day to wreake the dammage by thee donne.
Such is thy wont, that still when any Knight
Is weakned, then thou doest him overronne :
So hast thou to thy selfe false honour often
wonne.'
He little answer'd, but in manly heart
His mightie indignation did forbeare ;
Which was not yet so secret, but some part
Thereof did in his frouning face appeare :
Like as a gloomie cloud, the which doth beare
An hideous storme, is by the Northerne blast
Quite overblowne, yet doth not passe so cleare,
But that it all the skie doth overcast
With darknes dred, and threatens all the world
to wast.
' Ah gentle knight ! ' then false Duessa sayd,
' Why do ye strive for Ladies love so sore,
Whose chiefe desire is love and friendly aid
Mongst gentle Knights to nourish evermore ?
Ne be ye wroth, Sir Scudamour, therefore
That she, your love, list love another knight,
Ne do your selfe dislike a whit the more ;
For Love is free, and led with selfe delight,
Ne will enforced be with maisterdome or might.
XLVII
So false Duessa; but vile Ate thus : [both'
; Both foolish knights ! I can but laugh
That strive and storme with stirre outrageom
For her, that each of you alike doth loth,
And loves another, with whom now she goth 1
In lovely wise, and sleepes, and sports, and
playes ;
Whitest both you here with many a cursed ot) <
Sweare she is yours, and stirre up bloudie f raves
To win a willow bough, whilest other weare
the bayes.
XLVIII
'Vile hag!' (sayd Scudamour) why doe
thou lye,
And falsly seekst a vertuous wight to shame i
' Fond knight,' (sayd she) ' the thing that wit
this eye
I saw. why should I doubt to tell the same ?
'Then tell,' (quoth Blandamour) 'and fearens
blame :
Tell what thou saw'st, maulgre who so it heares
' I saw ' (quoth she) ' a stranger knight, who* :
name
I wote not well, but in his shield he beares
(That well I wote) the heads of many broke I
speares ;
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
235
XLIX
4 1 saw him have your Arcoret at will ;
I saw him kisse ; I saw him her embrace ;
I saw him sleepe with her all night his till ;
All manie nights ; and manie by in place
That present were to testifie the case.'
Which when as Scudamourdid heare, his heart
Was thrild with inward griefe : as when in
chace
The Parthian strikes a stag with shivering dart,
The beast astonisht stands in middest of his
smart.
L
So stood Sir Scudamour when this he heard,
Ne word had he to speake for great dismay,
But lookt on Glauce grim ; who woxe afeard
Of outrage for the words which she heard say,
Albee untrue she wist them by assay.
But Blandamour, whenashe d'id espie [wray,
His chaunge of cheere that anguish did be-
He woxe full blithe, as he had got thereby,
And gan thereat to triumph without victorie.
4 Lo ! recreant,' (sayd he) ' the fruitlesse end
Of thy vaine boast, and spoile of love misgot-
But Scudamour, for passing great despight,
Staid not to answer; scarcely did refraine
But that in all those knights and ladies sight
He for revenge had guiltlesse Glauce slaine :
But, being past, he thus began amaine :
' False traitour squire ! false squire of falsest
knight! [abstaine,
Why doth mine hand from thine avenge
this foule
[might V
Whose Lord hath done my lovs
despight ? u 0 -
Why do I not it wreake on thee, now in my
ten,
' Discourteous, disloyall Britomart,
Untrue to God, and unto man unjust !
What vengeance due can equall thy desart,
That hast with shamefull spot of sinfull lust
Defll'd the pledge committed to thy trust?
Let ugly shame and endlesse infamy
Colour thy name with foule reproaches rust !
Yet thou, false Squire, his fault shall deare aby,
And with thy punishment his penance shalt
supply.'
IJV
The aged Dame, him seeing so enraged,
[shend, jWas dead with feare; nathlesse, as Meede re-
Whereby the name of knight-hood thou dost quired,
And all true lovers with dishonor blotten : |His flaming furie sought to have assuaged
All things not rooted well will soone be rotten.' With sober words, that sufferance desired,
'Fy, iyi false knight,' (then false Duessa Till time the tryall of her truth expvred;
And evermore sought Britomart to cleare :
cryde)
[gotten ;
1 Unworthy life, that love with guile hast
Be thou, where ever thou do go or ryde,
Loathed of ladies all, and of all knights de-
fydel'
But he the more with furious rage was fyrcd,
And thrise his hand to kill her did upreare,
And thrise he drew it backe ; so did at last
forbeare.
CANTO II.
Blandamour winnes false Florimell ;
Paridell for her strives :
They are accorded : Agapfc
Doth lengthen her sonnes lives.
FIREBRAND of hell, first tynd in Phlegeton,
By thousand furies, and from thence out
thro wen
Into this world to worke confusion,
And set it all on fire by force unknowen,
Is wicked discord ; whose small sparkes once
blowen
JSone but a God or godlike man can slake ;
feuch as was Orpheus, that, when strife was
growen
Amongst those famous ympes of Greece, did
take
His silver Harpe in hand and shortly friends
them make:
Or such as that celestiall Psalmist was,
That, when the wicked feend his Lord tor-
mented,
With heavenly notes, that did all other pas
I The outrage of his furious fit relented.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK IV.
Such Musicke is wise words, with time con-
eented,
To moderate stiffe mindes disposd to strive :
Such as that prudent Romane well invented,
What time his people into partes did rive,
Them reconcyld againe, and to their homes did
drive.
in
Such us'd wise Glauce to that wrathfull
knight,
To calme the tempest of his troubled thought :
Yet Blandamour with termes of foule despight,
And Paridell her scornd, and set at nought,
As old and crooked and not good for ought.
Both they unwise, and warelesse of the evill
That by themselves unto themselves is wrought
Through that false witch, and that foule aged
drevill ;
The one a feeud, the other an incarnate devill.
With whom as they thus rode accompanide,
They were encountred of a lustie Knight
That had a goodly Ladie by his side,
To whom he made great dalliance and delight
It was to weete the bold Sir Ferraugh hight,
He that from Braggadocchio whilome reft
The snowy Florimell. whose beautie bright
Made him seeme happie for so glorious theft ;
Yet was it in due triall but a wandring weft.
Which when as Blandamour, whose fancie
ligbt
Was alwaies flitting as the wavering wind
After each beautie that appeard in sight,
Beheld, eftsoones it prickt his wanton mind
With sting of lust that reasons eye did blind,
That to Sir Paridell these words he sent :
4 Sir knight, why ride ye dumpish thus behind,
Since so good fortune doth to you present
So fayre a spoyle, to make you joyous meri-
" ment ? '
VI
But Paridell, that had too late a tryall
Of the bad issue of his counsell vaine, fall :
List not to hearke, but made this faire cleny-
4 Last turae was mine, well proved to my
paine; [gainer
This now be yours; God send you better
Whose scoffed words he taking halfe in scorne,
Fiercely forth prick t his steed as in disdaine
Against that Knight, ere he him well could
torne;
By meanes whereof he hath him lightly over-
borne.
Who, with the sudden stroke astonisht sore,
Upon the ground awhile in slomber lay;
The whiles his love away the other bore,
And, shewing her, did Paridell upbray :
Lo! sluggish Knight, tie victors happie pray.'
So fortune friends the bold : ' whom Parideii
Seeing so faire indeede, as he did say,
His hart with secret envie gan to swell,
And inly grudge at him that he had soed se
well.
VIII
Nathlesse proud man himselfe the other
Having so peerelesse paragon ygot: [deemed,
For sure the fayrest Florimell him seemed
To him was fallen for his happie lot,
Whose like alive on earth he weened not :
Therefore he her did court, did serve, did wooe.
With humblest suit that he imagine mot,
And all things did devise, and all things dooe,
That might her love prepare, and liking win
theretoo.
IX
She, in regard thereof, him recompenst
With golden words and goodly countenance,
And such fond favours sparingly dispenst :
Sometimes him blessing with a light eye-
glance,
And coy lookes tempting with loose dalliance:
Sometimes estranging him in sterner wise ;
That having cast him in a foolish trance,
He seemed brought to bed in Paradise.
And prov'd himselfe most foole in what bt
seem'd most wise.
So great a mistresse of her art she was,
And perfectly practiz'd in womans craft,
That though therein himselfe he thought to pas
And by his false allurements wylie draft
Had thousand women of their love beraft.
Yet now he was surpriz'd : for that false spright •
Which that same witch had in this forme en I
Was so expert in every subtile slight, [graft :
That it could overreach the wisest earfhlv
wight.
XI
Yet he to her did dayly service more.
And dayly more deceived was thereby ;
Yet Paridell him envied therefore,
As seeming plast in sole felicity :
So blind is lust false colours to descry.
But Ate soone discovering his desire,
And finding now fit opportunity Firf
To stirre up strife twixt love and spight am
Did privily put coles unto his secret tire.
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
237
By sundry meancs thereto she prickt him
forth ; [speeches,
Now with remembrance of those spightfull
Now with opinion of his owne more worth.
Now with recounting of like former breaches
Made in their friendship, as that Hag him
And ever when his passion is allayd, [teaches :
She it revives, and new occasion reaches ;
That on a time, as they together way'd,
He made him open chalenge, and thus boldly
sayd;
XITI
' Too boastfull Blandamoure ! too long I beare
The open wrongs thou doest me day by day :
Well know'st thou, when we friendship first
did sweare,
The covenant was, that even- spoyle or pray
Should equally be shard betwixt us tway.
Where is my part then of this Ladie bright,
Whom to thy selfe thou takest quite away V
Render therefore therein to me my right,
Or answere for thy wrong as shall fall out in
fight.'
XIV
Exceeding wroth thereat was Blandamour,
And gan this bitter auswere to him make :
' Too foolish Paridell ! that fayrest floure
Wouklst gather faine, and yet no paines
wouldst take:
But not so easie will I her forsake ;
This hand her wonne, this hand shall her defend.'
With that they gan their shivering speares to
shake,
And deadly points at eithers breast to bend,
Forget full "each to have bene ever others frend.
Their fine steedes with so untamed forse
Did beare them both to fell avenges end,
That both their speares with pitilesse remorse
Through shield and mayle and haberjeon did
wend,
And in their flesh a griesly passage rend,
That with the furie of their owne affret
Kach other horse and man to ground did send;
Where, lying still awhile, both did forget
The perilous present stownd in which their
lives were set.
As when two warlike Brigandines at sea,
, With nuirdrous weapons arm'd to cruell liicht
l>o meete together on the watry lea,
They stemme ech other with so fell despight,
That with the shocke of their owne heedlesse
might
Their wooden ribs are shaken nigh asonder.
They which from shore behold the dreadfull
sight [der,
3f flashing fire, and heare the ordenance thon-
Do greatly stand amaz'd at such unwonted
wonder.
XVII
At length the}' both upstarted in amaze,
As men awaked rashly out of dreme,
And round about themselves awhile did gaze;
fill seeing her, that Florimell did seme,
In doubt to whom she victorie should deeme,
Therewith their dulled sprights they edgd anew,
And, drawing both their swords, with rage ex-
treme,
Like two mad mastiffes, each on other flew,
And shields did share, and mailes did rash,
and helmes did hew.
xvin
So furiously each other did assayle,
As if their soules they would attonce have rent
Out of their brests, that streames of blond did
rayle
Adowne, as if their springs of life were spent ;
That all the ground with purple bloud was
sprent, [gore ;
And all their armours staynd with bloudie
Yet scarcely once to breath would they relent,
So mortall was their malice, and so sore
Become, of fayned friendship which they vow'd
afore.
And that which is for Ladies most besitting,
To stint all strife and foster friendly peace,
Was from those Dames so farre and so un-
fitting,
As that, instead of praying them surcease,
They did much more their cruelty encrease ;
Bidding them fight for honour of their love,
And rather die then Ladies cause release :
With which vaine termes so much they did
them move,
That both resolv'd the last extremities to prove.
There they, I weene, would fight untill this
day,
Had not a Squire, even he the Squire of Dames,
By great adventure travelled that way ;
Who seeing both bent to so bloudy games,
And both of old well knowing by their names,
Drew nigh, to weete the cause of their debate :
And first laide on those Ladies thousand blames,
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
That did not seeke t'appease their deadly hate,
But gazed on their harmes, not pittying their
estate.
And then those Knights he humbly did
beseech
To stay their hands, till he awhile had spoken ;
Who lookt a little up at that his speech,
Yet would not let their battell so be broken,
Both greedie fiers on other to be wroken :
Yet he to them so earnestly did call,
And them conjur'd by some well knowen token,
That they at last their wrothfull hands let fall,
Content to heare him speake, and glad to rest
withall.
XXII
First he desir'd their cause of strife to see :
They said, it was for love of FlorimelL
'Ah gentle Knights!' (quoth he) 'how may
that bee,
And she so farre astray, as none can tell? '
' Fond Squire,' full angry then sayd Paridell,
' Seest not the Ladie there before thy face? '
He looked backe, and, her avizing well,
VVeend, as he said, by that her outward grace
That fayrest Florimell was present there in
place.
XXIII
Glad man was he to see that joyous sight,
For none alive but joy'd in Florimell,
And lowly to her lowting thus benight :
' Fayrest of faire, that fairenesse doest excell,
This happie day I have to greete you well,
In which you safe I see, whom thousand late
Misdoubted lost through mischiefe that befell.
Long may you live in health and happie state ! '
She litle answer'd him. but lightly did aggrate.
Then, turning to those Knights, he gan anew :
1 And you, Sir Blandamour, and Paridell,
That for this Ladie, present in your vew,
Have rays'd this cruell warre and outrage fell,
Certes, me seemes, bene not advised well ;
But rather ought in friendship for her sake
To joyns your force, their forces to repell
That seeke perforce her from you both to take,
And of your gotten spoyle their owne triumph
to make.'
xxv
Thereat Sir Blandamour, with countenance
sterne
All full of wrath, thus fiercely him bespake :
' Aread, thou Squire, that I the man may learne,
That dare fro me thinke Florimell to take ! '
' Not one,' (quoth he) ' but many doe partake
Herein ; as thus : It lately so befell,
That Satyran a girdle did uptake
Well knowrie to appertaine to Florimell, [well.
Which for her sake he wore, as him beseemed
XXVI
'* But, when as she her selfe was lost and gone,
Full manj' knights, that loved her like deare,
Thereat did greatly grudge, that he alone
That lost faire Ladies ornament should weare,
And gan therefore close spight to him to beare ;
Which he to shun, and stop vile envies sting,
Hath lately caus'd to be proclaim'd each where
A solemne feast, with ptiblike turneying,
To which all knights with them their Ladica
are to bring :
xxvn
' And of them all she, that is fayrest found,
Shall have that golden girdle for reward ;
And of those Knights, who is most stout on
Shall to that fairest Ladie be prefard. [ground,
Since therefore she her selfe is now your ward,
To you that ornament of hers pertames
Against all those that chalenge it to gard
And save her honour with yourventrouspaines:
That shall you win more glory than ye here
find gaines.'
XXVIII
When they the reason of his words had hard,
They gan abate the rancour of their rage,
And with their "honours and their loves regard
The furious flames of malice to asswage.
Tho each to other did his faith engage,
Like faithfull friends thenceforth to joyne in one
With all their force, and battell strong to wage
Gainst all those knights, as their professed fone,
That chaleng'd ought in Florimell, save they
alone.
XXIX
So, well accorded, forth they rode together
In friendly sort that lasted but a while ;
And of all old dislikes they made faire weather
Yet all was forg'd and spfed with golden foyle
That under it hidde hate and hollow guyle.
Ne certes can that friendship long endure,
However gay and goodly be the style,
That doth ill cause or evill end enure; [sure
For vertue is the band that bindeth harts mos
XXX
Thus as they marched all in close disguise
Of fayned love, they chaunst to overtake
Two knights that lincked rode in lovely wise
As if they secret counsels did partake ;
And each not farre behinde him had his make
To weete, two Ladies of most goodly hew,
That twixt themselves did gentle purpose mak<
CANTO II.]
THE FAERTE QUEENE.
239
Unmindfull both of that discordfull crew,
The which with speedie pace did after them
pursew.
XXXI
Who, as they now approchod nigh at hand,
Deeming them doughtie, as they did appeare,
They sent that Squire afore, to understand
What mote they be : who, viewing them more
neare,
Returned readie newes, that those same weare
Two of the prowest Knights in Faery lond,
And those two Ladies their two lovers deare ;
Cnurngious Cambell, and stout Triamond,
With Canacee and Cambine linckt in lovely
bond.
XXXII
Whylome, as antique stories tellen us,
Those two were foes the fellonest on ground,
And battell made the dreddest daungerous
That ever shrilling trumpet did resound ;
Though now their acts be no where to be found,
As that renowmed Poet them compyled
With warlike numbers and Heroicke sound,
Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled.
On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
XXXIII
Put wicked Time that all good thoughts doth
waste, [weare,
And workes of noblest wits to nought cut-
That famous moniment hath quite defaste,
And robd the world of threasure endlesse deare,
The which mote have enriched all us heare.
0 cursed Eld ! the cankerworme of writs,
How may these rimes, so rude as doth appeare,
Hope to endure, sith workes of heavenly wits
Are quite devourd, and brought to nought by
little bits ?
XXXIV
Then pardon, 0 most sacred happie spirit !
That I thy labours lost may thus revive,
And steale from thee the meede of thy due
merit,
That none durst ever whilest thou wast alive,
And being dead in vaine yet many strive :
tfe dare 1 like ; but, through infusion sweete
Of thine owne spirit which doth in me survive,
1 follow here the footing of thy feete,
That, with thy meaning so I may the rather
meete."
XXXV
Cambelloes sister was fayre Canacee,
That was the learnedst Ladie in herdayes,
*Vu!i scene in everie science that mote bee,
And every secret worke of natures wayes ;
In wittie riddles, and in wise soothsayes ;
[n power of herbes, and tunes of beasts and
burds ;
And, that augmented all her other prayse,
She modest was in all her deedes and words,
And wondrous chast of life, yetlov'dof Knights
and Lords.
xxxvi
Full many Lords and many Knights her loved,
Yet she to none of them her liking lent,
^e ever was with fond affection moved,
But rul'd her thoughts with goodly governement,
for dread of blame and honours blemishment ;
And eke unto her lookes a law she made,
That none of them once out of order went,
But like to warie Centonels well stayd,
Still watcht on every side, of secret foes affrayd,
xxxy,n
So much the more as she refusd to love,
So much the more she loved was and sought,
That oftentimes unquiet strife did move
Amongst her lovers, and great quarrels wrought,
That oft for her in bloudie armes they fought.
Which whenas Cambell. that wasstout and wise,
Perceiv'd would breede great mischiefe, he be-
thought
How to prevent the perill that mote rise,
And turne both him and her to honour, in this
wise.
XXXVIII
One day, when all that troupe of warlike
wooers
Assembled were to weet whose she should bee,
All mightie men and dreadfull derring-dooers,
(The harder it to make them well agree)
Amongst them all this end he did decree ;
That, of them all which love to her did make,
They by consent should chose the stoutest
three [sake,
That with himselfe should combat for her
And of them all the victour should his sister
take.
XXXIX
Bold was the chalenge, as himselfe was bold,
And courage full of haughtie hardimeut,
Approved oft in perils manifold,
Which he atchiev'd to his great ornament •
But yet his sisters skill unto him lent
Most confidence and hope of happie speed,
Conceived by a ring which she him sent,
That, mongst the manie vertues which we reed,
Had power to staunch al wounds that mortally
did bleed.
XL
Well was the. rings great vertue knowen to all;
That dread thereof and his redoubted might
24O
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv
Did all that youthly rout so much appall,
That none of them durst undertake the fight
More wise they weend to make of love delight
Then life to hazard for faire Ladies looke ;
And yet uncertaine by such outward sight,
Though for her sake they all that perill tooke,
Whether she would them love, or in her liking
brooke.
XLI
Amongst those knights there were three
brethren bold.
Three bolder brethren never were yborne,
Borne of one mother in one happie mold,
Borne at one burden in one happie morne ;
Thrise happie mother, and thrise happie morne.
That bore three such, three such not to be fond!
Her name was Agape, whose children werne
All three as one ; the first hight Priamond,
The second Dyamondf the youngest Triamond.
Stout Priamond, but not so strong to strike ;
Strong Diamond, but not so stout a knight ;
But Triamond was stout and strong alike :
On horsebacke used Triamond to fight,
And Priamond on foote had more delight ;
But horse and foote knew Diamond to wield :
With curtaxe used Diamond to smite,
And Triamond to handle speare and shield,
But speare and curtaxe both usd Priamond in
field.
XLIII
These three did love each other dearely well,
And with so firme affection were allyde,
As if but one soule in them all did dwell,
Which did her powre into three parts divyde ;
Like three faire branches budding farre and
wide,
That from one roote deriv'd their vitall sap :
And like that roote that doth her life divide,
Their mother was ; and had full blessed hap
These three so noble babes to bring forth at
one clap.
XLIV
Their mother was a Fay, and had the skill
Of secret things, and all the powres of nature,
Which she by art could use unto her will,
And to her service bind each living creature,
Through secret understanding of their feature.
Thereto she was right faire, whenso her face
She list discover, and of goodly stature :
But she, as Fayes are wont, in privie place
Did spend her dayes, and lov'd in forests wyld
to space.
XLV
There on a day a noble youthly knight,
Seeking adventures in the salvage wood,
Did by great fortune get of her the sight,
As she sate carelesse by a cristall flood
Combing her golden lockes, as seemd her good
And unawares upon her laying hold,
That strove in vaine him long to have with-
stood,
Oppressed her, and there (as it is told)
Got these three lovely babes, that prov'd three
champions bold.
XLVI
Which she with her long fostred in that wood,
Till that to ripenesse of mans state they grew
Then shewing forth signes of their fathers
blood,
They loved armes, and knighthood did ensew,
Seeking adventures where they anie knew.
Which when their mother saw, she gan to dout
Their safetie ; least by searching daungers new.
And rash provoking perils all about,
Their days mote be abridged through theii
corage stout.
XLVII
Therefore desirous th' end of all their dayi
To know, and them t' enlarge with long" ex
tent,
By wondrous skill and many hidden wayes
To the three fatall sisters house she went.
Farre under ground from 'tract of living went
Downe in the bottome of the deepe Abysse,
Where Demogorgon, in dull darknesse'pent
Farre from the view of gods and heavens bliss
The hideous Chaos keepes, their dreadful
dwelling is.
XLVIII
There she them found all sitting round about
The direfull distaffe standing in the mid,
And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.
Sad Clotho held the rocke, the whiles the th
By griesly Lachesis was spun with paine.
That cruell Atropos eftsoones undid,
With cursed knife cutting the twist in twainc
Most wretched men, whose dayes depend 01
thrids so vaine '.
She, them saluting, there by them sate still ]
Beholding how the thrids of life they span :
And when at last she had beheld her fill,
Trembling in heart, and looking pale and wax i
Her cause of comming she to tell began. J
To whom fierce Atropos : ' Bold Fay, that dur; I
Come see the secret of the life of man,
Well worthie thou to be of Jove accurst,
And eke thy childrens thrids to be asundtl
burst ! '
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
241
Whereat she sore affrayil, yet her besought
To grannt her boone, and rigour to abate,
Tliat she might see her childrens thrids forth
brought,
And know the measure of their utmost date
To them ordained by eternall fate :
Which Clothograunting shewed her the same.
That when she saw, it did her much amate
To see their thrids so thin as spiders frame,
And eke so short, that seemd their ends out
shortly came.
Sliu then began them humbly to intreate
To draw them longer out, and better twine,
That so their lives might be prolonged late :
But Lachesis thereat gan to repine,
And sayd ; ' Fond dame, that deem'st of things
divine
As of humane, that they may sltred bee,
And chaung'd at pleasure for those impes of
thine !
Not so ; for what the Fates do once decree,
Not all the gods can chaunge, nor Jove him
self can free ! '
'Then since' (quoth she) ' the terme of each
mans life
For nought may lessened nor enlarged bee,
Graunt this ; that when ye shred with fatall
knile
His line, which is the eldest of the three,
Which is of them the shortest, as 1 see,
Eftsoones his life may passe into the next :
And, when the next shall likewise ended bee,
That both their lives may likewise be annext
Unto the third, that his may so be trebly wext.
They grauntcd it ; and then that cart-full Fay
Departed thence with full contented mynd ;
And, comming home, in warlike fresh aray
Them found all three according to their kynd :
But unto them what dcstinie was assyndj
Or how their lives were eekt, she did not tell ;
But evermore, when she tit time could fynd,
She warned them to tend their safeties well,
And love each other deare, what ever them
befell.
LIV
So did they surely during all their dayes,
And never discord did amongst them fall,
Which much augmented all their other praise ;
And now, t'increase affection natural!,
In love of Canacee they joyned all :
Upon which ground this same great batte'.l
grew,
Great matter growing of beginning small,
The which, for length, I will not here pursew,
But rather will reserve it for a Canto new.
CANTO III.
The battell twixt three brethren with
Cambell for Canaoee :
Cambina with true friendships bond
Dotli their long strife agree.
0! WHY doe wretched men so much desire
To draw their dayes unto the utmost date,
And doe not rather wish them soone expire,
Knowing the miserie of their estate,
And thousand perills which them still awate,
Tossing them like a boate amid the mayne,
That every houre they knocke at deathes gate?
And he that happie seemes, and least in payne.
Yet is as nigh his end as he that most doth
playne.
ii
Therefore this Fay I hold but fond and vaine,
The which, in seeking for her children three
Long life, thereby did more prolong their
paine :
Yet whilest they lived none did ever see
More happie creatures then they seem'd to bee ;
Nor more ennobled for their courtesie,
That made them dearely lov'd of each degree ;
Ne more renowmed for their chevalrie,
That made them dreaded much of all men fane
and nil-.
These three that hardie chalenge tooke in hand,
For Canacee with Cambell for to tight.
The day was set, that all might understand,
And pledges pawnd the same to keepe aright :
242
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
That day, the dreddest day that living wight
Did ever see upon this world to shine.
So soone as heavens window shewed light,
These warlike Champions, all in armour shine,
Assembled were in field the chalenge to define.
The field with listes was all about enclos'd.
To barre the prease of people farre away ;
And at th' one side sixe judges were dispos'd,
To view and dceme the deedes of armes that
And on the other side, in fresh aray, [day:
Fayre Canacee upon a stately stage
Was set, to see the fortune of that fray,
And to be seene, as his most worthie wage
That could her purchase with his lives adven-
tur'd gage.
v
Then entred Cambell first into the list,
With stately steps and fearelesse countenance,
As if the conquest his he surely wist,
Soone after did the brethren three advance
In brave aray and goodly amenance,
With scutchinsgiltand banners broad displayd ;
And, marching thrise in warlike ordinance,
Thrise lowted lowly to the noble Mayd.
The whiles shril trompets and loud clarions
sweetly playd.
VI
Which doen, the doughty chalenger came
forth,
All arm'd to point, his chalenge to abet :
Gainst whom Sir Priamond, with equall worth
And equall annes. himselfe did forward set.
A trompet blew ; they both together met
With dreadfull force and furious intent,
Carelesse of perill in their tiers affret,
As if that life to losse they had forelent,
And cared not to spare that should be shortly
spent.
VII
Right practicke was Sir Priamond in fight,
And throughly skild in use ol shield and speare ;
Ne lesse approved was Cambelloes might,
Ne lesse his skill in weapons did appeare:
That hard it was to weene which harder were.
Full many mightie strokes on either side
Were sent, that seemed death in them to beare ;
But they were both so watchfull and well eyde.
That they avoyded were, and vainelv bv'did
slyde.
VIII
Yet one, of many, was so strongly bent
By Priamond, that with unluckie glaunce
Through Cambels shoulder it unwarely went,
That forced him his shield to disadvaunce.
Much was he grieved with that gracelesse
chaunce ;
Yet from the wound no drop of blond there fell,
But wondrous paine, that did the more en-
haunce
His haughtie courage to avengement fell :
Smart daunts not mighty harts, but makes them
more to swell.
With that, his poynant speare he fierce aven-
tred
With doubled force close underneath his shield,
That through the mayles into his thigh it en-
tred,"
And, there arresting, readie way did yield
For bloud to gush forth on the grassie field ;
That he for paine himselfe n'ote right upreare,
But too and fro in great amazement reel'd ;
Like an old Oke, whose pith and sap is scare,
At puffe of every storme doth stagger her<
and theare.
Whom so dismayd when Cambell had espide ;
Againe he drove at him with double might.
That nought mote stay the stecle. till in hi
The mortall point most cruelly empight; [sid^
Where fast infixed, whitest he sought by rfigh
It forth to wrest, the staffe asunder brake,
And left the head behinde : with which des<
pight
He all enrag'd his shivering speare did shake1
And charging him afresh thus felly him be |
spake.
XI
' Lo ! faitour, there thy meede unto thee tak
The meede of thy mischalenge and abet.
Not for thine owne, but for thy sisters sake,
Have I thus long thy life unto thee let :
But to forbeare doth'not forgive the det.?
The wicked weapon heard his wrathfull vov
And. passing forth with furious affret.
Pierst through his bever quite into his brow,
That with the force it backward forced him I
bow.
Therewith asunder in the midst it brast,
And in his hand nought but the truncheon loft
The other halfe, behind yet sticking fast.
Out of his headpeece Cambell fiercely reft,
And with such furie backe at him it'heft,
That making way unto his dearest life.
His weasand-pipe it through his gorget cleft
Thence streames of purple bloud issuing rife
Let forth his wearie ghost, and made an er
of strife.
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
242
His wearie ghost assoyld from fleshly band
Did not, as others wont, directly fly
Unto her rest in Plutoes griesly land ;
S'e into ayre did vanish presently,
''Je chaunged was into a starre in sky;
lut through traduction was eftsoones derived,
,ike as his mother prayd the Destinie,
nto his other brethren that survived,
n whom heliv'd anew, of former life deprived.
Whom when on ground his brother next be-
held,
houuh sad and sorie for so heavy sight,
et leave unto his sorrow did not yeeld,
;ut rather stir'd to vengeance and despight,
"hrough secret feeling of his generous spright,
Jusht liercely forth the battell to renew,
a in reversion of his brothers right ;
Vnd chalenging the Virgin as his dew,
His foe was soone addrest : the trompets fresh-
ly blew.
xv
With that they both together fiercely met,
A if that each ment other to devoiire;
And with their axes both so sorely bet,
'hat neither plate nor mayle, .where as their
powre [stowre,
Tiey felt, could once sustaine the Videous
!ut rived were like rotten wood asunder ;
Vhilest through their rifts the ruddie bloud
did showre,
Lnd fire did flash, like lightning after thunder,
3iat fild the lookers on attonce with ruth and
wonder.
XVI
As when two Tygers prickt with hungers rage
lave by good fortune found some beasts fresh
spoyle,
Dn which 'they weene their famine to asswage,
And gaine a feastfull guerdon of their toyle,
Soth falling out doe stirre up strife full broyle,
And cruell battell twixt themselves doe make.
iVhiles neither lets the other touch the soyle,
iut cither sdeignes with other to partake :
So cruelly these Knightsstrove for that Ladies
sake.
XVII
Full many strokes, that mortally were ment,
The whiles were enterchaunged twixt them
two;
Yet they were all with so good wariment
( >r warded, or avoyded and let goe,
That still the life stood fearelesse of her foe ;
Till Diamond, disdeigning long delay
Of doubtfull fortune wavering to and fro,
Resolv'd to end it one or other way,
And heav'd his murdrous axe at him with
mighty sway.
XVIII
The dreadfull stroke, in case it had arrived
Where it was ment, (so deadly it was ment)
The soule had sure out of his bodie rived,
And stinted all the strife incontinent :
But Cambels fate that fortune did prevent ;
For, seeing it at hand, he swarv'd asyde,
And so gave way unto his fell intent ;
Who, missing of the marke which he had eyde,
Was with the force nigh feld, whilst his right
foot did slyde.
xix
As when a Vulture greedie of his pray,
Through hunger long that hart to him doth
lend,
Strikes at an Heron with all his bodies sway,
That from his force seemes nought may it
defend ;
The warie fowle, that spies him toward bend
His dreadfull souse, avoydes it, shunning light,
And maketh him his wing in vaine to spend ;
That with the weight of his owne weeldlesse
might [ereth flight.
He falleth nigh to ground, and scarse recov-
Which faire adventure when Cambello spide,
Full lightly, ere himselfe he could recowcr
From daungers dread to ward his naked side,
He can let drive at him with all his power,
And with his axe him smote in evill hower,
That from his shoulders quite his head he reft :
The headlesse tronke, as heedlesse of that
stower,
Stood still awhile, and his fast footing kept,
Till, feeling life to fayle, it fell, and deadly
slept.
XXI
They which that piteous spectacle beheld
Were much amaz'd the headlesse tronke to see
Stand up so long, and weapon vaine to weld,
Un wee ting of the Fates divine decree
For lifes succession in those brethren three.
For notwithstanding that one soule was reft,
Yet had the bodie not dismembred bee,
It would have lived, and revived eft ;
But, finding no fit seat, the lifelesse corse it left.
xxn
It left; but that same soule which therein
dwelt
Streight entring into Triamond him fild
With double life and griefe ; which when he felt,
As one whose inner parts had bene ythrild
El
244
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
With point of steele that close his hartbloud! And over-ruling him in his owne rayne,
spild. Drives backe the current of his kindly c
course,
And makes it seeme to have some other sourse ;
_ _ But when the floud is spent, then backe againe,
Against Cambello fiercely him addrest; [ prest. His borrowed waters forst to redisbourse,
Who him affronting sooiie, to fight wasreadie He sends the sea his owne with double gaine.
And tribute eke withall, as to his Soveraine.
spild,
He lightly lept out of his place of rest
And rushing forth into the emptie field,
Well mote ye wonder how that noble Knight,
After he had so often wounded beene,
Could stand on foot now to renew the fight :
But had ye then him forth advauncing scene,
Some newborne wight ye would him surely
weene ;
So fresh he seemed and so fierce in sight :
Like as a Snake, whom wearie winters teene
Hath worne to nought, now feeling sommers
might,
Casts off his ragged skin and freshly doth him
All was through vertue of the ring he wore ;
The which not onely did not from him let
One drop of bloud to fall, but did restore
His weakned powers, and dulled spirits whet,
Through working of the stone therein yset.
Else how could one of equall might with most,
Against so many no lesse mightie met,
( )nce thinke to match three such on equall cost,
Three such as able were to match a puissant
host?
XXV
Yet nought thereof was Triamond adredde,
Ne desperate of glorious victorie ;
But sharpely him assayld, and sore bestedde
With heapes of strokes, which he at him let flic
As thicke as hayle forth poured from the skie :
lie stroke, hesoust, he foynd, he hewd,he lasht,
And did his yron brond so fast applie,
That from the same the fierie sparkles flasht,
As fast as water- sprinkles gainst a rocke are
dasht.'
Much was Cambello daunted with his blowes :
S<> thicke they fell, and forcibly were sent,
That he was forst from daunger of the throwcs
Backe to retire, and somewhat to relent,
Till th' heat of his fierce furie he liad spent;
Which when for want of breath gan to abate,
He then afresh with new encouragement
Did him assayle, and mightily amate,
As fast as forward erst now backward to
retrate.
XXVII
Like as the tide, that comes fro th' Ocean
mayne,
Flowes up the Shenan with contrarieforse,
XX VIII
Thus did the battell varie to and fro,
With diverse fortune doubtfull to be deemed:
Now this the better had, now had his fo;
Then he halfe vanquisht. then the other seemed
Yet victors both them selves al waves esteemed
And all the while the disentrayled blood
Adowne their sides like litle rivers stremed,
That with the wasting of his vitall flood,
Sir Triamond at last full faint and feeble stood
XXIX
But Cambell still more strong and greate
grew,
Ne felt his blood to wast, ne powres emperisht
Through that rings vertue, that with vigou
new
Still when as he enfeebled was, him cherisht,
And all his wounds, and all his bruses gua
risht ;
"tovlt
Like as a withered tree, through husband^
Is often scene full freshly to have florisht,
And fruitful! apples to have borne awhile,
As fresh as when it first was planted in thj
soyle.
XXX
Through which advantage, in his strengt
he rose,
And smote the other with so wondrous migh i
That through the seame, which did his hai i
berk close,
Into his throate and life it pierced quight,
That downe he fell as dead in all mens sight (
Yet dead he was not, yet he sure did die,
As all men do, that lose the living spright.
So did one soule out of his bodie rlie
Unto her native home from mortall miserie.
XXXI
But nathelesse, whilst all the lookers-on
Him dead behight, as he to all appeard,
All unawares he started up anon,
As one that had out of a dreame bene reard,
And fresh assayld his foe : wlu> halfe affeard
Of tli' uncouth sight, as he some ghost lu
scene,
Stood still amaz'd, holding his idle sweard; '
Till, having often by him stricken beene,
He forced was to strike, and save hiinsel
from teene.
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
245
XXXII
Yet from thenceforth more warily he fought,
As one in feare the Stygian gods t' offend,
Ne followd on so fast," but rather sought
Him selfe to save, and daunger to defend,
Then life and labour both in vaine to spend,.
Which Triamond perceiving weened sure
He gan to faint toward the battels end.
And that he should not long on foote endure,
A signe which did to him the victorie assure.
XXXIII
Whereof full blith eftsoones his mightie hand
He lu-av'd on high, in mind with that same
blow
To make an end of all that did withstand :
Which Cambell seeing come was nothing slow
Him selfe to save from that so deadly throw ;
And at that instant reaching forth his sweard
Close underneath his shield, that scarce did
show,
Stroke him, as he his hand to strike upreard.
In th' arm-pit full, that through both sides
the wound appeard.
Yet still that direfull stroke kept on his way,
And, falling heavie on Cambelloes crest,
Strooke him so hugely that in swowne he lay,
And in his head an hideous wound imprest :
And sure, had it not happily found rest
Upon the brim of his brode-plated shield.
It would have cleft his braine downe to his
brest.
So both at once fell dead upon the field,
And each to other seemd the victorie to yield.
xxxv
Which when as all the lookers-on beheld.
They weened sure the warre was at an end ;
And" Judges rose, and Marshals of the field
Broke up the listes, their armes away to rend ;
And Canacee gan waylc her dearest frend.
All suddenly they both upstarted light,[ blend,
The one out of the swownd. which him did
The other breathing now another spright,
And fiercely each assayling gan afresh to right.
XXXVI
Long while they then continued in that wize.
As if but then the battell had begonne :
Strokes, wounds, wards, weapons, all they did
despise,
Xe either car'd to ward, or perill shonne,
Desirous both to have the battell donne ;
Ne either cared life to save or spill, [wonne.
Ne which of them did winne, ne which were
So wearie both of fighting had their fill,
That life it selfe seemd loathsome, and long
safetie ill.
XXXVII
Whilst thus the case in doubtfull ballance
hong,
Unsure to whether side it would incline,
And all mens eyes and hearts, which there
among
Stood gazing, filled were with rufull tine
And secret feare, to see their fatall fine,
All suddenly they heard a troublous noyes,
That seemd some perilous tumult to desine,
Confusd with womens cries and shouts of
boyes, [noyes.
Such as the troubled Theatres oftimes an-
XXXVIII
Thereat the Champions both stood still a
space,
To weeten what that sudden clamour ment :
Lo ! where they spyde with speedie whirling
One in a charet of straunge furniment [pace,
Towards them driving, like a storme out sent.
The charet decked was in wondrous wize
With gold and many a gorgeous ornament,
After the Persian Jlonarks antique guize,
Such as the maker selfe could best by art de-
vize.
And drawne it was (that wonder is to tell)
Of two grim lyons, taken from the wood,
In which their powre all others did excel!;
Now made forget their former cruell mood,
T' obey their riders best, as seemed good.
And therein sate a Ladie, passing faire
And bright, that seemed borne of Angels
brood,
And, with her beautie, bountie did compare,
Whether of them in her should have the greater
share.
XL
Thereto she learned was in Magicke leare,
And all the artes, that subtill wits discover,
Having therein benc trained many a yeare,
And well instructed by the Fay her mother,
That in the same she farre exceld all other :
Who understanding by her mightie art
Of th' evill plight, in which her dearest brother
Now stood, came forth in hast to take his part,
And pacific the strife, which causd so deadly
smart.
XLI
And as she passed through th' unruly preace
Of people, thronging thickc her to behold,
Her angrie teame breaking their bonds of peace
Great heapes of them, like sheepe in narrow fold,
246
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
For hast did over-runne, in dust enrould :
That, thorough rude confusion of the rout,
And pacing fairely forth did bid all haile,
First to her brother, whom she loved deare,
Andsome, that would seeme wise, theirwonder
XLII
In her right hand a rod of peace shee bore,
About the which two Serpents weren wound,
Entrayled mutually in lovely lore,
And by the tailes together firmely bound,
And both were with one olive garland crownd,
Like to the rod which Maias sonne doth wield,
Wherewith the hellish fiends he doth confound :
And in her other hand a cup she hild, [fild.
The which was with Nepenthe to the brim up-
XLJII
Nepenthe is a drinck of soverayne grace,
Devized by the Gods, for to asswage
Harts grief, and bitter gall away to chace,
Which stirs up anguish and contentious rage :
Instead thereof sweet peace and quiet-age
It doth establish in the troubled mynd.
Few men, but such as sober are and sage,
Are by the Gods to drinck thereof assynd ;
But such as drinck, eternall happinesse do fynd.
Such famous men, such worthies of the earth,
As Jove will have advaunced to the skie,
And there made gods, though borne of mortall
berth,
For their high merits and great dignitie,
Are wont, before they ma}' to heaven flie,
To drincke hereof, whereby all cares forepast
Are washt away quite from their memone.
So did those olde Heroe's hereof taste,
Before that they in blisse amongst the Gods
were plaste.
XLV
Much more of price and of more gratious powre,
Is this, then that same water of Ardenne.
The which Rinaldo drunck in happie howre,
Described by that famous Tuscane penne :
For that had might to change the hearts of men
Fro love to hate, a change of evill choise :
But this doth hatred make in love to brenne,
And heavy heart with comfort doth rejoyce.
Who would not to this vertue rather yeeld his
voice ?
XLVI
At last arriving by the listes side,
Shee with her rod did softly smite the raile,
Which straight flew ope, and gave her way to
Eftsooaes out of her Coch she gan availe, [ ride.
appeare.
They lightly her requit, (for small delight
They had as' then her long to entertaine)
And" eft them turned both againe to fight :
Which when she saw, downe on the bloudx
plaine [amaine
Her selfe she threw, and teares gaii slieti
Amongst her teares immixing prayers meeke
And with her prayers reasons, to restraine
From blouddy strife, and blessed peace to seeke
By all that unto them was deare, did then
beseeke.
XLVIII
But when as all might nought with then
prevaile, [wand
Shee smote them lightly with her powreful
Then suddenly, as if their hearts did faile,
Their wrathful! blades downe fell out of thei:
hand.
And they, like men astonisht, still did stand.
Thus wh'ilest their minds were doubtfully dis
traught.
And mighty spirites bound with mightier band
Her golden cup to them for dnnke she raught
Whereof, full glad for thirst, ech drunk ai
harty draught ;
XLIX
Of which so soone as they once tasted had,
Wonder it is that sudden change to see:
Instead of strokes, each other kissed glad,
And lovely haulst, from feare of treason free,
And plighted hands for ever friends to be.
When all men saw this sudden change of thing!
So mortall foes so friendly to agree,
For passing joy, which so great marvaile brings
They all gan "shout aloud, that all the heave
rings.
L
All which when gentle Canacee beheld,
In hast she from her lofty cliaire descended,
To weet what sudden tid'ings was befeld :
Where when she saw that cruell war so ende
And deadly foes so faithfully affreuded,
In lovely wise she gan that Lad}' greet,
Which had so great dismay so well amendec-:
And, entertaining her with curt'sies meet, i
Profest to her true friendship and affectu •
sweet.
LI
Thus when they all accorded goodly were,
The trumpets sounded, and they all 'arose.
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
247
Thence to depart with glee and gladsome
chere.
Where making joyous feast theire daies they
Those warlike champions both together chose j In perfect love, devoide of hatefull strife, [spent
Homeward to march, themselves there to Allide with bands of mutuall couplement;
repose : For Triamond had Canacee to wife,
And wise Cambina, taking by her side With whom he ledd a long and happie life;
Faire Canacee, as fresh as morning rose, I And Cambel tooke Cambina to his fere,
Unto her Coch remounting, home did ride, ; The which as life were to each other liefe.
Admir'd of all the people and much glori- So all alike did love, and loved were, [elswhere.
tide. i That since their dayes such lovers were not found
CANTO IV.
Satyrane makes a Turneyment
For love of Florimell :
Britomnrt winnes the prize from all,
And Artegall doth quell.
IT often fals. (as here it earst befell)
That mortall foes doe turne to faithfull frends,
And friends profest are chaungd to foemen
fell:
The cause of both, of both their minds depends,
And th' end of both likewise of both their
For enmitie, that of no ill proceeds [ends :
But of occasion, with th' occasion ends ;
Yet nigh approching he them fowle be-
pake,
Disgracing them, him selfe thereby to grace,
As was his wont : so weening way to make
To Ladies love, where so he came in place,
And with lewd termes their lovers to deface.
Whose sharpe provokement them incenst so
sore,
And friendship, which a faint affection breeds | That both were bent t' avenge his usage base,
Without regard of good, dyes like ill grounded! And gan their shields addresse them selves
seeds.
That well (me seemes) appeares, by that of
late
Twixt Cambell and Sir Triamond befell,
As als by this, that now a new debate
Stird up twixt Blandamour and Paridell,
The which by course befals me here to tell :
Who having those two other Knights espide
Marching afore, as ye remember well,
afore : [ bore.
For evill deedes may better then bad words be
v
But faire Cambina with perswasions myld
Did mitigate the fiercenesse of their mode,
That for the present they were reconcyld,
And gan to treate of deeds of armes abrode,
And strange adventures, all the way they
rode :
; Amongst the which they told, as then befell,
Sent forth their Squire to have them both des- ()f that great turney which was blazed brode,
cride> [side. Fm. that rich girdle of faire Florimell,
And eke those masked Ladies riding them be- The prize of her which did in beautie most
excell.
Who backe returning told, as he had scene,
That they were doughtie knights of dreaded
To which folke-mote they all with one con-
sent,
name, Sith each of them his Ladie had him by.
And those two Ladies their two loves unseene : Whose beautie each of them thought ex-
And therefore wisht them without blot or cellent,
blame j Agreed to travell, and their fortunes try.
To let them passe at will, for dread of shame. So as they passed forth they did espy
But Blandamour full of vainglorious spright, One in bright armes, with ready speare in rest,
And rather stird by his discordfull Dame, 'That toward them his course seem'd to apply :
Upon them gladly would have prov'd his might, Gainst whom Sir Paridell himselfe addrest,
But that he yet was sore of bis late luckless^ , Him weening, ere he nigh approcht, to have
tight. represt.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv
Which th' other seeing gan his course relent,
And vaunted speare eftsoones to disadvaunce,
As if he naught but peace and pleasure ment,
Xow falnc into their fellowship by chance :
Whereat they shewed curteous countenaunce.
So as he rode with them accompanide,
His roving eie did on the Lady glaunce
Which Blandamour had riding by his side :
Whom sure he weend, that he some-wher to-
fore had eiiie.
VIII
It was to weetc that snowy Florimell,
Which Ferrau late from Braggadocbio wonne
Whom he now seeing, her remembred well,
How having reft her from the witches sonne,
He soone her lost : wherefore he now begunn
To challenge her anew, as his owne prize,
Whom formerly he had in baftell wonne.
And proffer made by force her to reprize :
Which scorrefi'll offer Blandamour gan sooni
despize ;
IX
And said, ' Sir Knight, sith ye this Lady clame,
Whom he that hath were loth to lose so light
(For so to lose a Lady were great shame)
Yee shall her winne, as I have done, in fight :
And lo ! shee shall be placed here in sight,
Together with this Hag beside her set,
That who so winnes her may her have by right :
But he shall have the Hag that is ybet,
And with her alwaies ride, till he another get'
That offer pleased all the company :
So Florimell with Ate forth was brought,
At which they all gan laugh full merrily :
But Braggadochio said, he never thought
For such an Hag, that seemed worse then
nought,
His person to emperill so in fight ;
But if to match that Lady they had sought
Another like, that were like fa'ire and bright,
His life he then would spend to justitie his right.
At which his raine excuse they all gan smile,
As scorning his unmanly cowardize :
And Florimell him fowly gan revile.
That for her sake refus'd to enterprize
The battell, offred in so knightly wize :
And Ate eke provokt him privily
With love of her, and shame of such mesprize.
But nought he car'd for friend or enemy.
For in base mind nor friendship dw'els nor
enmity.
But Cambell thus did shut up all in jest :
' Brave Knights and Ladies, certes, ye do
wrong
To stirre up strife, when most us needeth resl
That we may us reserve both fresh and stroiij
Against the Turneiment which is not long,
When who so list to fight may fight his till :
Till then your challenges ye may prolong ;
And then it shall be tried, if ye will.
Whether shall have the Hag," or hold the Lady
still.'
XIII
They all agreed : so, turning all to game
And pleasaunt bord, they past forth on their
way.
And all that while, where so they rode or came,
That masked Mock-knight was their sport i
play.
Till that at length, upon th' appointed day
Unto the place of turneyment they came ;
Where they before them found in' fresh aray
Manieabrave knight and maniea daintiedame.
Assembled for to get the honour of that game!
There this faire crewe arriving did divide
Them selves asunder: Blandamour with those
'.){ his on th' die, the rest on th' other side.
But boastful Braggadochio rather chose,
For glorie vaine, their fellowsnip to lose,
That men on him the more might gaze alone.
The rest themselves in troupes did else dispose,
Like as it seemed best to every one;
The knights in couples marcht with ladies
linckt attone.
Then first of all forth came Sir Satyrane,
bearing that precious relicke in an a'rke
Jf gold, that bad eyes might it not prophane
iVhich drawing softly forth out of the darke,
rie open shewd. that all men it mote marke :
I gorgeous girdle, curiously embost
Vith pearle and precious stone, worth many i
marke;
fet did the workmanship farre passe the cost :
t was the same which latelv Florimel had lost.
The same aloft he hung in open vew,
^o be the prize of beautie and of might ;
^he which eftsoones discovered, to it drew
'he eyes of all, allur'd with close delight,
'nd hearts quite robbed with so glorious sight,
hat all men threw out vowes and wishes vaine.
Thrise happie Ladie, and thrise happie knight,
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Them seemd that could so goodly riches gaine,
So worthie of the perill, worthy of the painc.
XVII
Then tooke the bold Sir Satyrane in hand
An huge great speare, such as he wont to wield,
And, vauncing forth from all the other band
Of knights, addrest his maiden-headed shield,
Shewing him selfe all ready for the lield.
Gainst whom there singled from the other side
A Painim knight that well in arraes was skild,
And had in many a battell oft bene tride,
Right Bruncheval the bold, who fiersly forth
did ride.
XVIII
So furiously they both together met,
That neither could the others force sustame ;
As two fierce Bnls, that strive the rule to get
Of all the heard, meete with so hideous maine.
That both rebutted tumble on the plaine :
So these two champions to the ground were
feld,
Where in a maze they both did long remame.
And in their hands their idle troncheons held,
Which neither able were to wag, or once to
weld.
XIX
Which when the noble Ferramont espide,
He pricked forth in ayd of Satyran ;
And him against Sir Blandamour did ride
With all the strength and stifnesse that he can.
But the more strong and stiffely that he ran,
So much more sorely to the ground he fell,
That on an heape were tumbled horse and man :
Unto whose rescue forth rode Paridell ;
But him likewise with that same speare he eke
did quell.
xx
Which Braggadocchio seeing had no will
To hasten greatly to his parties ayd,
Albee his turne were next ; but stood there
still,
As one that seemed doubtfull or dismayd.
But Triamond, halfe wroth to see him 'staid,
Sternly stept forth and raught away his speare,
With winch so sore he Ferramont assaid,
That horse and man to ground he quite did
beare, [upreare.
That neither could in hast themselves againe
Which to avenge Sir Devon him did dight,
But with no better fortune then the rest :
For him likewise he quickly downe did smight,
And after him Sir Douglas'him addrest,
And after him Sir Palimord forth prest :
But none of them against his strokes could
stand,
But, all the more, the more his praise increst :
For either they were left uppon the land,
Or went away sore wounded of his haplesse
hand.
And now by this Sir Satyrane abraid
Out of the swowne, in which too long he lay ;
And looking round about, like one dismaid,
When as he saw the mercilesse affray
Which doughty Triamond had wrought that
day
Unto the noble Knights of Maidenhead,
His mighty heart did almost rend in tway,
For very gall, that rather wholly dead
Himselfe he wisht have beene, then in so bad
a stead.
Eftsoones he gan to gather up around
His weapons which lay scattered all abrode,
And, as it fell, his steed he ready found ;
On whom remounting fiercely forth he rode,
Like sparke of fire that from the andvile glode,
There where he saw the valiant Triamond
Chasing, and laying on them heavy lode,
That none his force were able to wlthstond,
So dreadfull were his strokes, so deadly was
his bond.
With that, at him his beam-like speare he
aimed,
And thereto all his power and might applide :
iThe wicked steele, for mischiefe first or-
dained,
And having now misfortune got for guide.
Staid not till it arrived in his side.
And therein made a very griesly wound.
That streames of blood his armour all bedide.
Much was he daunted with that direfull stound,
That scarse he him upheld from falling in a
swound.
Yet, as he might, himselfe he soft withdrew
Out of the field, that none perceiv'd it plaine;
Then gan the part of Chalengers anew
To range the field, and victorlike to raine,
That none against them battell durst main-
t air ic ;
By that the gloomy evening on them fell,
That forced them from fighting to refraine,
And trumpets sound to cease did them compell :
So Satyrane that dav was judg'd to beare the
bell.
250
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
The morrow next the Turney gan anew :
And with the tirst the hardy Satyrane
Appear'd in place, with all his noble crew :
On th' other side full many a warlike swaine
Assembled were, that glorious prize to gaine.
But mongst them all was not Sir Triamond,
Unable he new battell to darraine,
Through grievaunce of his late received wound,
That doubly did him grieve when so himselfe
he found.
XXVII
Which Cambell seeing, though he could not
salve,
Ne done undoe, yet, for to salve his name
And purchase honour in his friends behalve,
This goodly counterfesaunce he did frame :
The shield and armes, well knowne to be the
same
Which Triamond had worne, unwares to wight
And to his friend unwist, for doubt of blame
If he misdid, he on himselfe did dight,
That none could him discerne ; and so went
forth to fight.
There Satyrane Lord of the field he found,
Triumphing in great joy and jolity,
Gainst whom none able was to stand on
ground ;
That much he gan his glorie to envy,
And cast t' avenge his friends indignity.
A mightie speare eftsooues at him he bent ;
Who, seeing him come on so furiously,
Met him mid-way with equall hardiment,
That forcibly to ground they both together
went.
XXIX
They up againe them selves can lightly reare,
And to their tryed swords them selves betake;
With which they wrought such wondrous
marvels there.
That all the rest it did amazed make,
Ne any dar'd their perill to partake ;
Now cuffing close, now chacing to and fro,
Now hurtling round advantage for to take :
AS two wild Boares together grapling go,
Chaufing and foaiiug choler each against his
fo.
XXX
So as they courst, and turneyd here and
theare,
It chaunst Sir Satyrane his steed at last,
Whether through foundring or through sodein
feare,
To stumble, thaf his rider nigh he cast;
Wliich vauntage Cambell did pursue so fast,
That, ere him selfe he had recovered well,
So sore he sowst him on the compast creast,
That forced him to leave his loftie sell,
And rudely tumbling downe under his horse-
feete fell.
XXXI
Lightly Cambello leapt downe from his steed
For to have rent his shield and armes away,
That whylome wont to be the victors meed ;
When all unwaresi he felt an hideous sway
Of many swords that lode on him did lay.
An hundred knights had him enclosed round
To rescue Satyrane out of his pray,
All which at once huge strokes on him die
pound, [on ground
In hope to take him prisoner, where he stoot
XXXII
He with their multitude was nought dismayd
But with stout courage turnd upon them all;
And with his brondiron round about him layd I
Of which he dealt large almes, as did befall : :
Like as a Lion, that by chauucc doth fall
Into the hunters toile,*doth rage and rore,
In royall heart disdaining to be thrall.
But all in vaine: for what might one do more
They have him taken captive, though it griev i
him sore.
XXXIII
Whereof when newes to Triamond was brougl: ;
There as he lay, his wound he soone forgot, !
And starting up streight for his armour sough! \
In vaine he sought, for there he found it not
Cambello it away before had got.
Cambelloes armes therefore he on him threw
And lightly issewd forth to take his lot.
There he in troupe found all that warlike cre^
Leading his friend away, full sorie to his ve>
XXXIV
Into the thickest of that knightly preasse i
He thrust, and smote downe all that was b
tweene,
Caried with fervent zealc : ne did he ceasse.
Till that he came where he had Cambell seei
Like captive thral two other Knights atween
There he amongst them cruell havocke mak<
That they, which lead him, soone enforced bee
To let him loose to save their proper stakes, t
Who, being freed, from one a weapon lierce
takes.
XXXV
With that he drives at them with dreadfi »
might,
Both in remembrance of his friends late harn
And in revengement of his owne despight;
| So both together give a new allarme,
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
251
As if but now the battell wexed warme.
As when two greedy Wolves doc breake by force
Into an heard, furre from the husband farme,
They spoile and raviuc without all remorse ;
So did these two through all the h'eld their
foes enforce.
Fiercely they followd on their bolde emprize,
Till trumpets sound did warne them all to rest ;
Then all with one consent did yeeld the orize
To Triamond and Cam bell as the best.
But Triamond to Cambell it relest,
And Cumbcll it to Triamond trausferd,
Each labouring t' advance the others gest.
And make his praise before his owne preferd :
So that the doome was to another day differd.
XXXVII
The last day came, when all those knightes
•gains
Assembled were their deedes of armes to shew.
Full many deedes that day were shewed plaine :
But Satyrane, bove all the other crew,
His wondrous worth declared in all inens view,
For from the first he to the last endured :
And though some while Fortune from him
withdrew,
Yet evermore his honour he recured, [cured.
And with unwearied powre his party still as-
XXXVIII
.Ne was there Knight that ever thought of
armes, [knowen ;
But that his utmost prowesse there made
That, by their many wounds and carelesse
harmes, [strowen,
By shivered speares, and swords all under
By scattered shields, was easie to be showen.
There might ye see loose steeds at randon
ronne,
Whose lucklesse riders late were overthrowen;
And sqtiiers make hast to helpe their Lords
fordonnc. [wonne :
But still the Knights of Maidenhead the better
XXXIX
Till that there entered on the other side
A straunger knight, from whence no man could
?eed,
In quycnt disguise, full hard to be descride :
For all his armour was like salvage weed
With woody mosse bedight, and all his steed
With oaken leaves attrapt, that seemed fit
For salvage wight ; and thereto well agreed
His word, which on his ragged shield was writ,
Sulvagesse nans Jinesse, shewing secret wit.
He, at his first incomming, charg'd his spere
At him that first appeared in his sight :
That was to weet the stout Sir Sangliere,
Who well was knoweu to be a valiant Knight,
Approved oft in many a perlous fight.
Him at the first encounter downe he smote,
And overbore beyond his crouper quight ;
And after him another Knight, that hote
Sir Brianor, so sore that none him life behote.
Then, ere his hand he reard, he overthrew
Seven Knights, one after other as they came :
And, when his speare was brust, his-sword he
drew,
The instrument of wrath, and with the same
Far'd like a lyon in his bloodie game,
Hewing and slashing shields and helmets
bright,
And beating downe what ever nigh him came,
That every one gan shun his dreadfull sight,
No lesse then death it selfe, in daungerous af-
fright.
XLII
Much wondred all men what or whence he
came,
That did amongst the troupes so tyrannize,
And each of other gan inquire his name.
But when they could not learne it by no wize,
Most answerable to his wyld disguize
It seemed him to terme the Salvage Knight;
But certes his right name was otherwize.
Though knowne to few, that Arthegall he hight,
The doughtiest knight that liv'd that day, and
most of might.
XLIII
Thus was Sir Satyrane with all his band
By his sole manhood and achievement stout
Dismay 'd, that none of them in field durst stand,
But beaten were and chased all about.
So he continued all that day throughout,
Till evening that the Sunue gan downward
bend.
Then rushed forth out of the thickest rout
A stranger knight, that did his glorie shend:
So nought may be esteemed happie till the end.
He at his entrance charg'd his powrefull
speare
At Artegall, in middest of his pryde,
And therewith smote him on his Umbriere
So sore, that tombling backc he downe did
Over his horses taile above a stryde ; [slyde
Whence litle lust he had to rise againe :
Which Cambell seeing much the same envyde,
252
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
And ran at him with all his might and maine ;
But shortly was likewise scene lying on the
plaine.
XLV
Whereat full inly wroth was Triamond,
And cast t' avenge the shame doen to his
freend :
But by his friend himselfe eke soone he fond
Like as in sommers day. when raging heat
Doth burne the earth and boyled rivers drie.
That all bmte beasts, forst to refraine fro meat,
Doe hunt for shade, where shrowded they may
lie,
And, missing it, faine from themselves to flie ;
All travellers tormented are with paine:
In no lesse neede of helpe then him he weend. i A watry cloud doth overcast the skie,
All which when Blandamour from end to end | And poureth forth a sudden shoure of raine,
Beheld, he woxe therewith displeased sore, That -
And thought in mind it shortly to amend :
His speare he feutred, and at him it bore,
But with no better fortune then the rest afore.
XLVI
Full many others at him likewise ran.
But all of them likewise dismounted were ;
Xe certes wonder, for no powre of man
Could bide the force of that enchaunted speare,
all the wretched world recomforteth
again e.
XLVIII
So did the warlike Britomart restore
The prize to knights of Maydenhead that day,
Which else was like to have bene lost, and
bore
The prayse of prowesse from them all away.
Then shrilling trompets loudly gan to bray,
The which this famous Britomart did beare ; And bad them leave their labours and long
With which she wondrous deeds of arms! toyle
atchieved, To joyous feast and other gentle play,
And overthrew what ever came her neare, i Where beauties prize shold win that pretious i
That all those stranger knights full sore ! spoyle :
agrieved, [lieved. Where I with sound of trompe will also rest
And that late weaker band of chalengers re- a whyle.
CANTO V.
The Ladies for the girdle strive
Of famous Florimell :
Scndamour, comming to Cares House,
Doth sleepe from him expell.
IT hath bene through all ages ever scene.
That with the praise of annes and chevalrie
The prize of beautie still hath joyned beene ;
And that for reasons speciall privitie,
For either doth on other much relic.
For he, me seemes, most fit the faire to serve,
That can her best defend from villenie ;
And she most fit his service doth deserve,
That fairest is, and from her faith will never
So fitly now here commeth next in place,
After the proofe of prowesse ended well,
The controverse of beauties soveraine grace ;
Jn which, to her that doth the most excell,
Shall fall the girdle of faire Florimell :
That many wish to win for glorie vaine,
And not for rertuous use, which some doe tell
That glorious belt did in it selfe containc,
Which Ladies ought to love, and seeke for to
obtaine.
in
That girdle gave the vertue of chast love,
And wivehood true, to all that did it beare :
But whosoever contrarie doth prove,
Might not the same about her middle weare,
But it would loose, or else asunder teare.
Whilome it was (as Faeries wont report)
Dame Venus girdle, by her steemed deare
What time she usd to Hve in wively sort,
But layd aside when so she usd her looser sport
IV
( Her husband Vulcan whylome for her sake,
| When first he loved her with heart entire,
j This pretious ornament, they say, did make,
And wrought in Lemno with unquenched fire:
CANTO V.]
THE FAERTE QUEENE.
253
And afterwards did for her loves first hire
/Jive it to her, for ever to remaine,
Therewith to bind lascivious desire,
And loose affections streightly to restraine ;
\Vliii-h vertue it for ever after did retaine.
The same one day, when she her selfe disposd
To visile her beloved Paramoure,
The God of warre. she from her middle loosd,
And left behind her in her secret bowre
On Acidalian mount, where many an howre
She witli the pleasant Graces wont to play.
There Florimell, in her first ages flowre,
Was fostered by those Graces, (as they say)
A:ul brought with her from thence that goodly
belt away.
VI
That goodly belt was Cestus hight by name,
And as her life by her esteemed deare.
No wonder then, if that to winne the same
So many Ladies sought, as shall appeare ;
For pearelesse she was thought that did it
beare.
And now by this their feast all being ended,
The judge", which thereto selected were,
Into the Martian field adowne descended
To deeme this doutfull case, for which they
all contended.
VII
But first was question made, which of those
Knights
That lately turneyd had the wager wonne :
There was it judged, by those worthie wights,
That Satyranc the first day best had donne :
For he last ended, having first begonne.
The second was to Triamond behight,
For that he sav'd the victour from fordonne :
For Cambell victour was in all mens sight,
Till by mishap he in his foemens hand did
light.
VIII
The third dayes prize unto that straungpr
Knight, [speare,
Whom all men term'd Knight of the Hebene
To Britomart was given by good right;
For that with puissant stroke she downc did
beare
The Salvage Knight that victour was whileare.
And all the rest which had the best afore,
And to the last unconquer'd did appeare ;
For last is deemed best. To her therefore
The fayrest Ladie was adjudgd for Paramore,
But thereat greatly grudged Arthegall,
And much repynd, that both of victors meede
And eke of honour she did him forestall.
Yet mote he not withstand what was decreede,
But inly thought of that despightfull deede
Fit time t' awaite avenged for to bee.
This being ended thus, and all agreed,
Then next ensew'd the Paragon to see
Of beauties praise, and yeeld the fayrest her
due fee.
x
Then first Cambello brought into their vie\v
His faire Cambina, covered with a veale ;
Which, being once withdrawne, most perfect
hew
And passing beautie did eftsoones reveale,
That able was weake harts away to steale.
Next did Sir Triamond unto their sight
The face of his deare Canacee unheale ;
Whose beauties beame eftsoones did shine so
bright, [light.
That daz'd the eyes of all as with exceeding
XI
And after her did Paridell produce
His false Duessa, that she might be scene ;
Who with her forged beautie did seduce
The hearts of some that fairest her did weene,
As diverse wits affected divers beene.
Then did Sir Ferramont unto them shew
His Lucida, that was full faire and sheene:
And after these an hundred Ladies moe
Appear'd in place, the which each other did
outgoe.
XII
All which who so dare thinke for to enchace,
Him needeth sure a golden pen, I weene,
To tell the feature of each goodly face :
For, since the day that they created beene,
So many heavenly faces were not seene
Assembled in one place : ne he that thought
For Chian folke to pourtraict beauties Queene,
By view of all the fairest to him brought,
So many faire did see as here he might have
sought
XIII
At last, the most redoubted Britonesse
Her lovely Amoret did open shew ;
\Vhose face, discovered, plainely did expresse
The heavenly pourtraict of bright Angels hew.
Well weened all, which her that time did vew,
That she should surely beare the bell away ;
Till Blandamour, who thought he had the trew
And very Florimell, did her display,
The sight of whom once seene did all the rest
dismay.
XIV
For all afore that seemed fayre and bright,
Now base and contemptible did appeare,
254
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Compar'd to her that shone as Phebes light
Amongst the lesser starres in evening cleare.
All that, her saw with wonder ravish t weare.
And weenrl no mortall creature she should bee,
But some celestiall shape that flesh did beare :
Yet all were glad there Florimell to see,
Yet thought that Florimell was not so faire as
shee.
xv
As guilefull Goldsmith that by secret skill
With golden foyle doth finely over-spred
Some baser metall, which commend he will
Unto the vulgar for good gold insted,
He much more goodly glosse thereon doth shed
To hide his falshood.'then if it were trew :
So hard this Idole was to be ared,
That Florimell her selfe in all mens vew
She seem'd to passe : so forged things do fair-
est shew.
XVI
Then was that golden belt by doome of all
Oraunted to her, as to the fayrest Dame.
Which being brought, about her middle small
They thought to gird, as best it her became,
Hut by no meanes they could it thereto frame ;
For, ever as they fastned it, it loos'd
And fell away, as feeling secret blame.
Full oft alwut her wast she it cnclos'd,
And it as oft was from about her wast disclos'd :
That all men wondred at the uncouth sight.
And each one thought as to their fancies came.
But she her selfe did thinke it doen for spiglit,
And touched was with secret wrath and shame
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame.
Then many other Ladies likewise tride
About their tender loynes to knit the same ;
But it would not on none of them abide,
But when they thought it fast, eft soones it was
untide.
XVIII
Which when that scornefull Squire of Dames
did vew,
He lowdly gan to laugh, and thus to jest;
'Alas! for pittic that so faire a crew,
As like can not be seene from East to West,
Cannot find one this girdle to invest.
Fie on the man that did it first invent
To shame us all with this Uiigirt vnblest!
Let never Ladie to his love assent,
That hath this day so many so unmanly
shent.'
XIX
Thereat all Knights gan laugh, and Ladies
low re :
Till that at last the gentle Amoret
Likewise assayd to prove that girdles powre ;
And, having it about her middle set,
Did find it fit withouten breach or let.
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie,
But Florimell exceedingly did fret.
And snatching from her hand halfe angrily
The belt againe, about her body gan it tie.
Yet nathemore would it her bodie fit ;
Yet nathelesse to her, as her dew right,
It yielded was by them that judged it:
And she her selfe adjudged to the Knight
That bore the Hebene speare, as wonne in
fight.
But Britomart would not thereto assent,
Xe her owne Amoret forgoe so light [ derment
For that strange Dame, whose beauties won-
She lesse csteem'd then th' others vertuous
government.
XXI
Whom when the rest did see her to refuse,
They were full glad, in hope themselves to get
her :
Yet at her choice they all did greatly muse.
But, after that, the judges did arret her
Unto the second best that lov'd her better ;
That was the Salvage Knight: but he was
gone,
In great displeasure that he could not get her.
Then was she judged Triamond his one ;
But Triamond lov'd Canacee, and other none.
XXII
Tho untc Satyran she was adjudged,
Who was right glad to gaine so goodly meed : j
But Bland amour thereat full greatly grudged,
And litle prays'd his labours evill speed,
That for to winne the saddle lost the steed.
Ne lesse thereat did Paridell complaine,
And thought t'appeale from that which was]
decreed
To single combat with Sir Satyrane :
Thereto him Ate stird, new discord to main-j
taine.
XXIII
And eke, with these, full many othej
Knights
She through her wicked working did incense
Her to demaund and chalenge as their right
Deserved for their perils recompense, [tense
Amongst the rest, with boastl'ull vaine pre
Stept Braggadochio forth, and as his thrall
Her claym'd, by him in battell wonne Ion;
sens:
Whereto her selfe he did to witnesse call;
Who, being askt, accordingly confessed all.
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
XXTV
Thereat exceeding wroth was Satyran;
And wroth with Satyran was Blandamour;
Ami wroth with Blaudamour was Erivan;
Anil at them both Sir Paridell did loure.
So all together stird up strifull stoure,
And readie were new battell to darraine.
Each one profest to be her paramoure. [ taine ;
And vow'd with speare and shield it to main-
Ne Judges powre, ne reasons rule, mote them
restraine.
XXV
Which troublous stirre when Satyrane aviz'd,
He gan to cast how to appease the same,
And to accord them all this meanes deviz'd:
First in the midst to set that fay rest Dame,
To whom each one his chalenge should dis-
clame,
And he himselfe his right would eke releasse :
Then, looke to whom she voluntarie came,
He should without disturbance her possesse:
Sweete is the love that comes alone with
willingnesse.
XXVI
They all agreed: and then that snowy Mayd
Was in the middest plast among them all;
All on her gazing wisht, and vowd, and
prayd,
And to the Queene of beautie close did call,
That she unto their portion might befall.
Then, when she long had lookt upon each one,
As though she wished to have pleasd them all,
At last, to Braggadochio selfe alone
She came of her accord, in spight of all his
fone.
xxvn •
Which when they all beheld they chaft, and
rag'd,
And woxe nigh mad for very harts despight,
That from revenge their willes they scarce
asswag'd :
[might:
Some thought from him her to have reft by
Some proffer made with him for her to fight.
But he nought car'd for all that they could
say,
For he their words as wind esteemed light.
Yet not fit place he thought it there to stay,
But secretly from thence that night her bore
away.
XXVIII
They which remayud, so soone as they per-
ceiv'd
That she was gone, departed thence with speed
And follow'd them, in mind her to have
reav'd
From wight unworthie of so noble meed.
In which poursuit how each one did succeede,
Shall else be told in order, as it fell.
But now of Britomart it. here doth neede
The hard adventures and strange haps to tell,
Since with the rest she went not after Flori-
mell.
For soone as she them saw to discord set,
Her list no longer in that place abide;
But, taking with her lovely Amoret,
Upon her first adventure forth did ride,
To seeke her lov'd, making blind love hei
guide.
Unluckie Mayd, to seeke her enimie!
Unluckie Mayd, to seeke him farre and wide,
Whom, when he was unto her selfe most nie,
She through his late disguizement could him
not descrie !
So much the more her griefe, the more her
toyle •
Yet neither toyle nor griefe she once did spare,
In seeking him that should her paine assoyle;
Whereto great comfort in her sad misfarc
Was Amoret, companion of her care :
Who likewise sought her lover long miswent,
The gentle Scudamour, whose heart whileare
That stryfull hag with gealous discontent
Had fild, that he to fell reveng was fully bent :
Bent to revenge on blamelesse Britomart
The crime which cursed Ate kindled earst,
The which like thornes did pricke his gealous
hart,
And through his soule like poysned arrow perst,
That by no reason it might be reverst,
For ought that Glance could or doe or say.
For, aye the more that she the same rehcrst,
The more it gauld and griev'd him night and
day,
[defray.
That nought but dire revenge his anger mote
XXXII
So as they travelled, the drouping night,
Covered with cloudie stormeand bitter showre,
That dreadfull seem'd to every living wight,
Upon them fell, before her timely howre;
That forced them to seeke some covert bowre,
Where they might hide their heads in quiet
rest," . fstowre.
And shrowd their persons from that stormie
Not farre away, not meet for any guest,
They spide a" little cottage, like some poore
mans nest.
256
THE FAERIE QUEEKE.
FBOOK iv.
XXXIII
Under a steepe hilles side it placed was,
There where the mouldred earth had cav'd the
banke;
And fast beside a little brooke did pas
Of muddie water, that like puddle stanke,
By which few crooked sallowes grew in ranke:
Whereto approaching nigh they heard the
sound
Of many yrpn hammers beating ranke,
And answering their wearie turnes around,
That seemed some blacksmith dwelt in that
desert ground.
XXXIV
There entring in, they found the goodman
selfe
Full busily unto his worke ybent;
Who was to weet a wretched wearish elfe,
With hollow eyes and rawbone cheekes for-
spent,
As if he had in prison long bene pent:
Full blacke and griesly did his face appeare,
Besmeard with smoke that nigh his eye-sight
blent ;
With rugged beard, and hoarie shagged heare,
The which he never wont to combe, or comely
shcare.
XXXV
Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent,
Ne better had he, ne for better cared :
With blistred hands emougst the cinders
brent,
And fingers lilthie with long navies unpared,
Right fit to rend the food on which he fared.
His name was Care; a blacksmith by.his trade,
That neither day nor night from working
spared,
But to small purpose yron wedges made;
Those be unquiet thoughts that carefull minds
invade.
xxxvi
In which his worke he had sixe servants
prest,
About the Andvile standing evermore
With huge great hammers, that did never
rest [sore:
From heaping stroakes which thereon soused
All sixe strong groomes, but one then other
more;
For by degrees they all were disagreed ,
So likewise did the hammers which they
bore,
Like belles in greatnesse orderly succeed,
That he which was the last the first did farre
exceede.
XXXVII
He like a monstrous Gyant seem'd in sight
Farre passing Bronteus or Pyracmon great,
The which in Lipari doe day and night
Frame thunderbolts for Joves avengeful!
threate.
So dreadfully he did the andvile beat,
That seem'd to dust he shortly would it drive:
So huge his hammer, and so tierce his heat,
That seem'd a rocke of Diamond it could rive
And rend asunder quite, if he thereto hsi
strive.
XXXV HI
Sir Scudamour there entring much admired
The manner of their worke and wearie paine;
And, having long beheld, at last enquired
The cause and end thereof, but all in vaine ;
For Ihey for nought would from their work*
refraine,
Xe let his speeches come unto their care.
And eke the breathfull bellowes blew amainei
Like to the Northern winde, that none coul<
heare: [bellows weare1
Those Pensifenesse did move; and Sighes thi
XXXIX
Which when that warriour saw, he said n
more,
But in his armour layd him down to rest :
To rest he layd him downe upon the flore,
(Whylome for ventrous Knights the beddin;
best)
And thought his wearie limbs to have redresi
And that old aged Dame, his faithfull Squire
Her feeble joynts layd eke adowne to rest,
That needed much her weake age to desire,
After so long a travell which them both di
tire.
XL
There lay Sir Scudamour long while cxpectii!
When gentle sleepe his heavie eyes wuuil
close ;
Oft chaunging sides, and oftnewplaccelectinsj
Where better seem'd he mote himselfe repose!
And oft in wrath he thence againe uprose,
And oft in wrath he layd him downe againe. 'l
But wheresoever he did himselfe dispose,
He by no meanes could wished ease obtaine: j
So every place seem'd pamefull, and eo.!
changing vame.
And evermore, when he to sleepe did think'
The hammers sound his senses did molest,
And evermore, when he began to winke,
The bellowes noyse disturb'd his quiet Vcstj.
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEEfrE.
257
Ne suffred sleepe to settle in his brest .
And all the night the dogs did barke and
howle
About the house, at sent of stranger guest :
And now the crowing Cocke. and now the Owle
Lowde shriking, him afflicted to the very sowle.
XLII
And, if by fortune any litle nap
Upon his heavie eye-lids chaunst to fall,
Eftsoones one of those villeins him did rap
Upon his headpeece with his yron mall ;
That he was soone awaked therewithal!,
And lightly started up as one affrayd,
Or as if one him suddenly did call :
So oftentimes he out of 'sleepe abrayd,
Out of the burning cinders, and therewith
Under his side him nipt ; that, forst to wake,
He felt his hart for very paine to quake,
And started up avenged for to be
On him the which his quiet slomber brake:
Yet, looking round about him. none could see-,
Yet did the smart remaine, though he hiraselfe
did fie?.
XLV
Tn such disquiet and hart-fretting payne
He all that night, that too long night,' did passe
And now the day out of the Ocean mayne
Began to peepe above this earthly masse,
With pearly dew sprinkling the morning grasse :
Then up he rose, like heavie lumpe of lead,
And then lay musing long on that him ill apayd. That in his face, as in a looking glasse,
XLI1I | The signes of anguish one mote plainely read,
AB 1 ghesse the man to be dismayd with
So long he muzed, and so long he lay, gealous dread.
That at the last his wearie sprite, opprest
With fleshly weaknesse, which no creature may XLVI
Long time resist, gave place to kindly rest, I Unto his lofty steede he clombe anone,
That all his senses did full soone arrest : ,'And forth upon his former voiage fared,
Yet in his soundest sleepe his dayly leare j And with him eke that aged Squire attone;
His ydle braine gan busily molest, : who, whatsoever periil was prepared.
And made him dreame those two disloyall were: Both equall paines and equall periil shared;
The things, that day most minds, at night doe The end whereof and daungerous event
most appeare. I shall for another canticle be spared :
XLIV Ifiut here my wearie teeme, nigh over spent,
With that the wicked carle, the maister Smith, Shall breath it selfe awhile after so long
A yaire ul' red-whot yrou tongs did take a went.
CANTO VI.
Both Scndamour and Arthegall
Doe fight with Britomart :
He sees her face ; doth fall in love,
And soone from her depart.
WHAT equall torment to the griefe of mind
And pyning anguish hid in gentle hart,
That inly feeds it selfe with thoughts unkind,
And nourisheth her owne consuming smart ?
What medicine can any Leaches art
Yeeldsuch a sore, that "doth her grievance hide,
And will to none her malailie impart?
Such was the wound that Scudamour did gride,
for which Dan Phebus selfe cannot a salve pro-
vide.
ii
Who having left that restlesse house of Care,
The next day, as he on his way did ride,
Full of melancholic and sad misfare
Through misconceipt, all unawares espide
An armed Knight under a forrest side
Sitting in shade beside his grazing steede ;
Who, soone as them approaching he descride,
Gan towards them to pricke with eger speede,
That seera'd he was full bent to some mis-
chievous deede.
in
Which Scudamour perceiving forth issewed
To have rencountred him in equall race ;
But soone as th' other nigh approaching vewed
The armes he bore, his speare he gan abase
And voide his course : at which so suddain case
Hewondredmuch. But th' other thus can say:
' Ah, gentle Scudamour ! unto your grace
I me submit, and you of pardon pray, [day.'
'That almost had against you trespassed this
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Whereto thus Scudamotir : ' Small harme it
were
For any knight upon a ventrous knight
Without displeasance for to prove his spere.
But reade you, Sir, sith ye my name have hight,
What is your owne, that I mote you requite ?'
• Certes,' (sayd he) 'ye mote as now excuse
Me from discovering you my name aright,
For time yet serves that I the same refuse;
But call ye me the Salvage Knight, as others
' Then this, Sir Salvage Knight,' (quoth he)
' areede :
Or doe you here within this forrest wonne,
That seemeth well to answere to your weede,
Or have ye it for some occasion donne?
That rather seemes, sith knowen armes ye
shonne.'
'This other day ' (sayd he) ' a stranger knight
Shame and dishonour hath unto me donne,
On whom I waite to wreake that foule despight,
When ever he this way shall passe by day or
night.'
VI
' Shame be his meede,' (quoth he) ' that
meaneth shame!
But what is he by whom ye shamed were '?'
' A stranger knight,' sayd he, ' unknowne by
name,
But knowne by fame, and by an Ilebene speare,
With which he all that met him downe did
beare.
He, in an open Ttrrney lately held,
Fro me the honour of that game did reare ;
And having me, all wearie earst, downe feld,
The fayrest Ladie reft, and ever since withheld.'
When Scudamour heard mention of that
speare,
He wist right well that it was Britomart,
The which from him his fairest love did beare.
Tho gan he swell in even- inner part
For fell despight, and gnaw his gealous hart,
That thus he sharply sayd: 'Now, by my
head,
Yet is not this the first unknightly part,
Which that same knight, whom bv his launce
I read, ["him dread :
Hath doen to noble knights, that many makes
' For lately he my love hath fro me reft,
And eke 'ieliled with foule villame
The sacred pledge which in his faith was left,
In shame of knighthood and fidelitie ;
The which ere long full deare he shall abie:
And if to that avenge by you decreed
This hand may helpe, or succour ought supplie,
It shall not fayle when so ye shall it need.'
So both to wreake their wrathes on Britomart
agreed.
IX
Whiles thus they communed, lo ! farre away
A Knight soft ryding towards them they spyde,
Attyr'd in forraine armes and straunge aray :
Whom, when they nigh approcht, they plaine
descryde
To be the same for whom they did abyde.
Sayd then Sir Scudamour: ' Sir "Salvage]
knight,
Let me this crave, sith first I was defyde.
That first I may that wrong to him requite ; \
And, if I hap to fayle, you shall recure my
right.'
x
Which being yeelded, he his threatfull speare I
Can fewter, and against her fiercely ran.
Who soone as she him saw approching neare j
With so fell rage, her selfe she lightly gan
To dight, to welcome him well as she" can
But entertaind him in so rude a wise,
That to the ground she smote both horse am]
man ;
Whence neither greatly hasted to arise,
But on their common harmes together die
devise.
XI
But Artegall, beholding his mischaunce,
New matter added to his former fire ;
And, eft aventring his steele-headed launce,
Against her rode, full of despiteous ire,
That nought but spoyle and vengeance di<
require :
But to himselfe his felonous intent
Returning disappointed his desire.
Whiles unawares his saddle he forwent,
And found himselfe on ground in great amaze
ment.
XII
Lightly he started up out of that stound.
And snatching forth his din-full deadly blad<t
Did leape to her, as doth an eger hound
Thrust to an Hynd within some covert glade !
Whom without perill he cannot invade.
With such fell greedines he her assayled, J
That though she mounted were, yet he h{,|
_ made [ prevaylet I
To give him ground, (so much his fortj
And shun his mightie strokes, gainst whicli r I
armes avayled.
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
259
XIII
So, as they coursed here and there, it chattnst
That, in her wheeling round, behind her crest
So sorely he her strooke, that thence it glaunst
Adowne" her backe, the which it fairely blest
From foule mischance ; ne did it ever rest,
Till on her horses hinder parts it fell;
Where byting deepe so deadly it imprest,
That quite it chynd his backe behind the sell,
And to alight on foote her algates did compell :
Like as the lightning brond from riven skie,
Throwne out by angry Jove in his vengeance,
With dreadfull force falles on some steeple hie;
Which battring downe, it on the church doth
glance,
And teares it all with terrible mischance.
Jfet she no whit dismayd her steed forsooke,
And, casting from her that enchaun ted launce,
Unto her sword and shield her soone betooke;
And therewithall at him right furiously she
strooke.
So furiously she strooke in her first heat.
Whiles with long fight on foot he breathlesse
was,
That she him forced backward to retreat,
And yeeld unto her weapon way to pas :
Whose raging rigour neither steele nor bras
Could stay, but to the tender flesh it went,
And pour'd the purple bloud forth on the
gras;
That all his mayle yriv'd, and plates yrent,
Shew'd all his bodie bare unto the cruell dent.
At length, when as he saw her hastie heat
Abate, and panting breath begin to fayle,
He, through long sufferance growing now
more great,
Rose in his strength, and gan her fresh assayle,
Heaping huge strokes as thicke as showre o:
hayle,
And lashing dreadfully at every part,
As if lie thought her soule to disentrayle.
Ah, cruell hand ! and thrise more cruell hart,
That workst such wrecke on her to whom thou
dearest art !
What yron courage ever could endure
To worke such outrage on so faire a creature;
And in his madnesse thinke with hands im-
pure
To spoyle so goodly workmanship of nature,
The maker selfe resembling in her feature!
Certes some hellish furie or some feend
This mischiefe framd for their first loves de-
feature,
To bath their hands in bloud of dearest freend,
Thereby to make their loves beginning their
lives end.
XVIII
Thus long they trac'd and traverst to and fro,
Sometimes pursewing, and sometimes pursewed,
Still as advantage they espyde thereto :
But toward th' end Sir Arthegall renewed
His strength still more, but she still more
decrewed.
At last his lucklesse hand he heav'd on hie,
Having his forces all in one accrewed,
And therewith stroke at her so hideouslie,
That seemed nought but death mote be her
destinie.
XIX
The wicked stroke upon her helmet chaunst,
And with the force, whiche in it selfe it bore,
Her ventayle shard away, and thence forth
glaunst
Adowne in vaine, ne harm'd her any more.
With that her angels face, unseene afore,
Like to the ruddie morne appeard in sight,
Deawed with silver drops through sweating
sore,
But somewhat redder then beseem'd aright,
Through toylesome heate and labour of her
wearj" fight.
xx
And round about the same her yellow heare,
Having through stirring loosd their wonted
band,
Like to a golden border did appeare,
Framed in goldsmithes forge with cunning
hand:
Yet goldsmithes cunning could not understand
To frame such subtile wire, so shinie cleare ;
For it did glister like the golden sand,
The which Pactolus with his waters shere
f Throwes forth upon the rivage round about him
And as his hand he up againe did reare,
Thinking to worke on her his utmost wracke,
His powrelesse arme, benumbd with secret
feare,
From his revengefull purpose shronke abacke,
And cruell sword out of his fingers slacke
Fell downe to ground; as if the steele had
sence,
And felt some ruth or sence his hand did lacke,
Or both of them did thinke obedience
To doe to so divine a beauties excellence.
82
z6o
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
And he himselfe, long gazing thereupon,
At last fell humbly downe upon his knee,
And of his wonder made religion,
Weening some heavenly goddesse he did see,
Or else unweeting what it else might bee;
And pardon her besought his errour frayle,
That had done outrage in so high degree :
Whilest trembling horrour did his sense assayle,
And made ech member quake, and manly hart
to quayle.
XXIII
Nathelesse she, full of wrath for that late
stroke,
All that long while upheld her wrathfull hand,
With fell intent on him to bene ywroke;
And, looking sterne, still over him did stand,
Threatning to strike unlesse he would with-
stand:
And bad him rise, or surely he should die.
But, die or live, for nought he would up.stand,
But her of pardon prayd more earnestlie,
Or wreake on him her will for so great inj urie.
Which when as Scudamour, who now a-
brayd,
Beheld, whereas he stood not farre aside,
He was therewith right wondrously dismayd;
And drawing nigh, when as he plaiue des-
cride
That peerelesse paterne of Dame Natures pride
And heavenly image of perfection,
He blest himselfe as one sore terrifide :
And, turning feare to faint devotion,
Did worship her as some celestiall vision.
But Glauce, seeing all that chaunced there,
Well weeting how their errour to assoyle,
Full glad of so good end, to them drew nere,
And her salewd with seemely bel-accoyle,
Joyous to see her safe after long toyle.
Then her besought, as she to her was deare,
To graunt unto those warriours truce awhyle;
Which yeelded, they their bevers up did reare,
And shew'd themselves to her such as indeed
they were.
XXVI
When Britomart with sharpe avizefull eye
Beheld the lovely face of Artegall
Tempred with sternesse and stout majestic,
She gan eftsoones it to her mind to call
To be the same which in her fathers hall
Long since in that enchaunted glasseshesaw;
Therewith her wrathfull courage gan appall,
And haughtie spirits meekely to adaw.
That her enhaunced hand she downe can soft
withdraw.
XXVII
Yet she it forst to have againe upheld,
As fayning choler which was turn'd to cold :
But ever when his visage she beheld,
Her hand fell downe, and would no longer hold
The wrathfull weapon gainst his countnance
bold:
But, when in vaine to fight she oft assayd,
She arm'd her tongue, and thought at "him to
scold ;
Nathlesse her tongue not to her will obayd,
But brought forth speeches myld when she
would have missavd.
But Scudamour, now woxen inly glc.d
That all his gealous feare he false had found, j
And how that Hag his love abused had
With breach of faith and loyaltie unsound,
The which long time his grieved hart did
wound,
Him thus bespake: 'Certes, Sir Artegall,
I joy to see you lout so low on ground,
And now become to live a Ladies thrall,
That whylome in your minde wont to despise j
them all.'
XXIX
Soone as she heard the name of Artegall,
Her hart did leape, and all her hart-strings 1
tremble,
For sudden joy and secret feare withall ;
And all her vitall powres, with motion nimble
To succour it, themselves gan there assemble
That by the swift recourse of flushing blood
Right plaine appeard, though she it would dis-
semble,
And fayned still her former angry mood,
Thinking to hide the depth by troubling of the
flood.
XXX
When Glauce thus gan wisely all upkm't :
Ye gentle Knights, whom fortune here hath
To be spectators of this uncouth fit, [brought
Which secret fate hath in this Ladie wrought
Against the course of kind, ne mervaile nought
Ne thenceforth feare the thing that hethertoo
Hath troubled both your mindes with idlf
thought,
Fearing least she your loves away should woo
Feared in vaine, sith meanes, ye see, then
wants theretoo.
'And you, Sir Artegall, the salvage knight,
Henceforth may not disdaine that womans ham
CANTO VI. ]
THE FAERIE QUEEN E.
'
261
Hath conquered you anew in second fight :
For whylome they have conquerd sea and land.
Ami heaven it selfe, that nought may them
withstand.
Ne henceforth be rebellious unto love,
That is the crowne of knighthood, and the band
Of noble minds derived from above, [move.
Which, being knit with vertue, never will re-
XXXII
'And you, faire Ladie knight, my dearest
Dame,
Relent the rigour of your wrathfull will,
Whose tire were better turn'd to other flame ;
And, wiping out remembrance of all ill,
Graunt him your grace ; but so that he fulfill
The peuance which ye shall to him empart :
For lovers heaven must passe by sorrowes hell.'
Thereat full inly blushed Britomart,
But Artegall close smyliug joy'd in secret hart.
XXXIII
Yet durst he not make love so suddenly,
Xe thinke th' affection of her hart to draw
From one to other so quite contrary :
Besides her modest countenance he saw
So goodly grave, and full of princely aw,
That it his ranging fancie did refraine,
And looser thoughts to lawfull bounds with-
draw; [faine,
Whereby the passion grew more fierce and
Like to a stubborne steede whom strong hand
would restraine.
But Scudamour, whose hart twixt doubtfull
feare
And feeble hope hung all this while suspence,
Desiring of his Amoret to heare
Some gladfull newes and sure intelligence,
Her thus bespake : ' But, Sir, without offence
Mote I request you tydings of my love,
My Amoret, sith you her freed fro thence
Where she, captived long, great woes did prove :
That where ye left I may her seeke, as doth
behove.'
XXXV
To whom thus Britomart : ' Certes, Sir knight,
What is of her become, or whether reft,
I can not unto you aread a right :
For from that time I from enchaunters theft
Her freed, in which ye her all hopelesse left,
I her preserv'd from perill and from feare,
And evermore from villenie her kept:
Ne ever was there wight to me more deare
Then she, ne unto whom I mere true love did
beare:
1 Till on a day, as through a desert wyld
We travelled, both wearie of the way
We did alight, and sate in shadow myld,
Where fearelesse I to sleepe me downe did lay.
But when as I did out of sleepe abray,
I found her not where I her left whyleare,
But thought she wandred was, or gone astray :
I cal'd her loud, I sought her farre and neare,
But no where could her find, nor tydings of her
heare.'
XXXVII
When Scudamour those heavie tydings heard,
His hart was thrild with point of deadly feare,
Ne in his face or bloud or life appeard ;
But senselesse stood, like to a mazed steare
That yet of mortall stroke the stound doth
"beare, [mayd
Till Glauce thus: 'Faire Sir, be nought dis-
With needlesse dread, till certaintie ye heare ;
For yet she may be safe though somewhat
strayd: [affrayd.'
Its best to hope the best, though of the worst
XXXVIII
Nathlesse he hardly of her chearefull speech
Did comfort take, or in his troubled sight
Shew'd change of better cheare : so sore a
breach
That sudden newes had made into his spright,
Till Britomart him fairely thus behight:
' Great cause of sorrow certes, Sir, ye have ;
But comfort take ; for, by this heavens light,
I vow you dead or living not to leave, [reave.1
Till I her find, and wreake on him that did her
Therewith he rested, and well pleased was :
So, peace being confirm'd amongst them all,
They tooke their steeds, and forward thence
did pas
Unto some resting place, which mote befall,
All being guided by Sir Artegall :
Where goodly solace was unto them made,
And dayly feasting both in bowre and hall,
Untill that they their wounds well healed had,
And wearie limmes recur'd after late usage bad.
XL
In all which time Sir Artegall made way
Unto the love of noble Britomart,
And with meeke service and much suit did lay
Continuall siege unto her gentle hart ; [dart,
Which, being whylome launcht with lovely
More eath was new impression to receive;
How ever she her paynd with womanish art
To hide her wound, that none might it perceive :
Vaine is the art that seekes it selfe for to deceive.
262
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
XLI | Forth on his way to which he was ybent ;
So well he woo'd her, and so well he wrought Ne wight him to attend, or way to guide,
her,
As whylome was the custome ancient [ride,
With fake entreatie and sweet blandishment, | Mongst Knights when on adventures they did
That at the length unto a bay he brought her, Save that shealgateshim a while accompanide.
So as she to his speeches was content
To lend an eare, and softly to relent, [pour'd, XI-V
At last, through many vowes which forth he! And by the way she sundry purpose found
And many othes, she yeelded her consent
To be hi.s love, and take him for her Lord,
Till they with mariage meet might finish that
accord.
XLI i
Tho, when they had long time there taken rest,
Sir Artegall, who all this while was bound
Upon an hard adventure yet in quest,
Fit time for him thence to depart it found,
To follow that which he did long propound,
And unto her his congee came to take;
But her therewith full sore displeasd he found,
Of this or that, the time for to delay,
And of the perils whereto he was bound,
The feare whereof seem'd much her to affray ;
But all she did was but to weare out day.
Full oftentimes she leave of him did take;
And eft againe deviz'd some what to say,
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to make-,
So loth she was his companie for to forsake.
At last, when all her speeches she had spent,
And new occas;on fayld her more to find,
And loth to leave her late betrothed make, She left him to his fortunes government,
Her dearest love full loth so shortly to forsake. ! And backe returned with right heavie mind
To Scudamour, whom she had left behind:
XLIII With whom she went to seeke faire Amoret,
Yet he with strong perswasions her asswaged, Her second care, though in another kind :
And wonne her will to suffer him depart ; | For vertues onely sake, which doth beget
For which his faith with her he fast engaged, True love and faithfull friendship, she by her
And thousand vowes from bottome of his hart, did set.
That, all so soone as he by wit or art XLVII
Could that atchieve whereto he did aspire, Backe to that desert forrest they retvred,
He unto her would speedily revert : Where sorie Britomart had lost her late ;
No longer space thereto he did desire, [expire. There they her sought, and every where in- i
But till the horned moone three courses did quired
Where they might tydings get of her estate;
Yet found they none. But by what haplesse fate
With which she foH;he present was appeased, Or hard misfortune she was thence convayd,
And stolne away from her beloved mate,
Were long to te'll ; therefore, I here will stay
Untill another tvde that I it finish mav.
And yeelded leave, how ever malcontent
She inly were and in her mind displeased.
So, early in the morrow next, he went
Untill another tyde that I it finish may.
CANTO VII.
Amoret rapt by greedie lust
Belphebe saves from dread :
The Squire her loves ; and, being blam'd,
His dayes in dole doth lead.
GREAT God of love, that with thy cruell darts
Doest conquer greatest conquerors on ground,
And setst thy kingdome in the captive harts
Of Kings and Keasars to thy service bound ;
What glorie, or what guerdon hast thou found
In feeble Ladies tyranning so sore,
And adding anguish to the bitter wound
With which their lives thou lanchedst lonj
afore,
[ more ^
By heaping stormes of trouble on them dail;
it
So whylome didst thou to faire Florimell,
And so and so to noble Britomart :
So doest thou now to her of whom I tell,
The lovely Amoret, whose gentle hart
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE. .
263
Thou martyrest with sorow and with smart,
In salvage forrests and in deserts wide
With Beares and Tygers taking heavie part,
Withouten comfort and withouten guide,
Thatpittie istoheare the perils which she tride.
in
So soone as she witli that brave Britonesse
Had left that Turaeyment for beauties prise,
They travel'd long ; that now for wearinesse,
Both of the way and warlike exercise,
Both through a forest ryding did devise
T' alight, and rest their wearie limbs awhile.
There heavie sleepe the eye-lids did surprise
Of Britomart, iil'ter lung tedious toyle,
That did her passed paines in quiet rest assoyle.
The whiles faire Amoret, of nought affeard,
Walkt through the wood, for pleasure or for
need;
When suddenly behind her backe she heard
One rushing forth out of the thickest weed,
That, ere she back'e could turne to taken heed,
Had unawares her snatched up from ground :
Feebly she shriekt, but so feebly indeed
That Britomart. heard not the shrilling sound,
There where through weary travel she lay
sleeping sound.
v
It was to weet a wilde and salvage man ;
Yet was no man, but onely like in shape,
And eke in stature higher by a span;
All overgrowne with haire, that could awhape
An hardy hart ; and his wide mouth did gape
With huge great teeth, like to a tusked Bore :
For he lir'd all on ravin and on rape
Of men and beasts ; and fed on fleshly gore,
The signe whereof yet stain'd his bloudy lips
afore.
VI
His neather lip was not like man nor beast,
But like a wide deepe poke, downe hanging low,
In which he wont the relickes of his feast
And cruell cpoyle, which he had spard, to stow :
And over it his huge great nose did grow,
Full dreadfully empttqiled all with blond ;
And downe both sides two wide long eares
did glow, [stood,
And raught downe to his waste when up he
More great then th' eares of Elephants by
Indus flood.
VII
His wast was with a wreath of yvie greene
Engirt about, ne other garment wore,
For all his haire was like a garment seene;
And in his hand a tall young oake he bore,
Whose knottie snags were sharpned all afore,
And beath'd in tire for steele to be in sted.
But whence he was, or of what wombe ybore,
Of beasts, or of the earth, I have not red,
But certes was with milke of Wolves and
Tygres fed.
VIII
This ugly creature in his armes her snatcht,
And through the forrest bore her quite away,
With briers and bushes all to-rent and scratcht ;
Ne care he had, ne pittie of the pray, [day.
Which many a knight had sought so many a
He stayed not, but in his armes her bearing
Kan, till he oame to th' end of all his way,
Unto his cave farre from all |>eoples hearing,
And there he threw her in, nought feeling, ne
nought fearing.
For she, deare Ladie, all the \\ay was dead,
Whilest he in armes her bore, but, when she
felt
Her selfe downe soust, she waked out of dread
Streight into griefe, that her deare hart nigh
And eft gan into tender teares to melt [swelt,
Then, when she lookt about, and nothing found
But darknesse and dread horrour where she
She almost fell againe into a swound, [dwelt,
Ne wist whether above she were or under
ground.
x
With that she heard some one close by her side
Sighing and sobbing sore, as if the paine
Her tender hart in peeces would divide :
Which she long listning, softly askt againe
What mister wight it was that so did plaine ?
To whom thus aunswer'd was : 'Ah, wretched
wight !
That seekes to know anothers griefe in vaine,
Unweetingof thine ownelike haplesse plight :
Selfe to forget to mind another is over-sight.'
' Aye me ! ' (said she) ' where am I, or with
whom V
Eniong the living, or emong the dead ?
What shall of me, unhappy maid, become?
Shall death be th' end, or ought else worse,
a read?'
' Unhappy mayd ' (then answer'd she), ' whose
dread
Untride is lesse then when thou shalt it try :
Death is to him, that wretched life doth lead,
Both grace and gaine; but he in hell doth lie,
That lives a loathed life, and wishing cannot
die.
264
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
' This dismall day hath thee a caytive made,
And vassall to the vilest wretch alive,
Whose cursed usage and ungodly trade
The heavens abhurre, and into darkenesse drive;
For on the spoile of women he doth live,
Whose bodies chast, when ever in his powre
He may them catch unable to gainestrive,
He with his shamefull lust doth first deflowre,
And afterwardes themselves doth cruelly de-
voure.
XIII
' Now twenty daies, by which the sonnes oi
men [sheene.
Divide their works, have past through heven
Since I was brought into this dolefull den ;
During which space these sory eies have seen
Seaven women by him slaine, and eaten clene :
And now no more for him but I alone,
And this old woman, here remaining beene,
Till thou cam'st hither to augment our mone :
And of us three to morrow he will sure eate
one.'
XIV
' Ah, dreadfull tidings which thou doest de-
clare,'
(Quoth she) 'of all that ever hath beneknowen !
Full many great calamities and rare
This feeble brest endured hath, but none
Equall to this, where ever I have gone.
But what are you, whom like unlucky lot
Hath linckt with me in the same chaine attone ?
'To tell' (quoth she) 'that what ye see, needs
not ; [got !
A wofull wretched maid, of God and man for-
' But what I was it irkes me to reherse ;
Daughter unto a Lord of high degree ;
That joyd in happy peace, till fates perverse
With guilefull love did secretly agree
To overthrow my state and dignitie.
It was my lot to" love a gentle swaine,
Yet was he but a Squire of low degree;
Yet was he meet, unless mine eye did faine,
By any Ladies side for Lemaii to have laiue.
1 But for his meannesse and disparagement,
My Sire, who me too dearely well did love,
Unto my choise by no meanes would assent,
But often did my folly fowle reprove :
Yet nothing could my fixed mind remove,
But, whether willed or nilled friend or foe,
I me resolv'd the utmost end to prove ;
And, rather then my love abandon so,
Both gire and friends and all for ever to forgo.
'Thenceforth I sought by secret meanes to
worke
Time to my will, and from his wrathfull sight
To hide th' intent which in my heart did lurke,
Till I thereto had all things ready dight.
So on a day, umveeting unto wight,
I with that Squire agreede away to flit,
And in a privy place, betwixt us hight,
Within a grove appointed him to meete ;
To which I boldly came upon my feeble feete.
' But ah ! unhappy houre me thither brought, .
For in that place where 1 him thought to find,
There was I found, contrary to my thought,
Of this accursed Carle of hellish kind,
The shame of men, and plague of womankind :
Who trussing me, as Eagle doth his pray,
Me hether brought with him as swift as wind,
Where yet untouched till this present day,
I rest his wretched thrall, the sad ^Emylia.'
' Ah, sad jEmy\ia ! ' (then sayd Amoret)
' Thy ruefull plight I pitty as mine owne.
But read to me, by what devise or wit
Hast thou in all this time, from him unknowne.
Thine honor sav'd, though into thraldome
throwne ?' [man here
' Through helpe ' (quoth she) ' of this old wo-
I have so done, as she to me hath showne ;
For, ever when he burnt in lustfull fire,
She in my stead supplide his bestiall desire.'
Thus of their evils as they did discourse,
And each did other much bewaile and mone,
Loe ! where the villaine selfe, their sorrowe
sourse,
Came to the cave ; and rolling thence the stone
Which wont to stop the mouth thereof, tha
none
Might issue forth, came rudely rushing in,
And, spredding over all the flore alone,
Gan dight him selfe unto his wonted sinne ;
Which ended, then his bloudy banket shoul
beginne.
XXI
Which when as fearefull Amoret perceived,
She staid not th' utmost end thereof to try,
But, like a ghastly Gelt whose wits arereavec
Ran forth in hast with hideous outcry,
For horrour of his shamefull villany :
But after her full lightly he uprose,
And her pursu'd as fast "as she did flic ;
SANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
265
Full fast she file*, and farre afore him goes,
Me feeles the thornes and thickets pricke her Then w
tender toes.
XXII
Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor hill, nor dale she
staies,
3ut overleapes them all, like Robucke light,
And through the thickest makes her nighest
waies ;
And evermore, when with regardfull sight
She looking backe espies that griesly wight
Approching nigh, she gins to mend her pace,
And makes her feare a spur to hast her flight:
ifore swift then Myrrh' or Daphne in her race,
)r any of the Thracian Nimphes in salvage
chase.
XXIII
Long so she fled, and so he follow'd long;
\e living aide for her on earth appeares,
Jut-if the heavens helpe to redresse her wrong,
ioved with pity of her plenteous tearrs.
t fortuned Belphebe with her peares,
Phe woody Nimphs, and with that lovely boy,
Vas hunting then the Libbards and the Beares
n these wild woods, as was her wonted joy,
?o banish sloth that oft doth noble mindes
annoy.
XXIV
It so befell, as oft it fals in chace,
liat each of them from other sundred were ;
\ml that same gentle Squire arriv'd in place
Vhere this same cursed caytive did appeare
'ursuing that faire Lady full of feare :
And now he her quite overtaken had ;
And now he her away with him did beare
Jnder his arme, as seeming wondrous glad,
"'hat by his grenning laughter mote
be rad.
Which drery sight the gentle Squire espying
)<>th hast to'crosse him by the nearest way,
jKd with that wofull Ladies piteous crying,
\nd him assailes with all the might he may;
fet will not he the lovely spoile downe lay,
3ut with his craggy club in his right hand
defends him selfe, and saves his gotten pray :
Yet had it bene right hard him to withstand,
But that he was full light and nimble on the
land.
XXVI
Thereto the villaine used craft in fight;
For, ever when the Squire his javelin shooke,
He held the Lady forth before him right,
And with her body, as a buckler, broke
The puissance of his intended stroke:
And if it chaunst, (as needs it must in fight)
VVJijleet he on him was greedy to be wroke,
That any little blow on her did light,
nuild he laugh aloud, and gather great
delight.
XXVII
Which subtill sleight did him encumber much,
And made him oft, when he would strike,
forbeare ;
For hardly could he come the carle to touch,
But that he her must hurt, or hazard neare:
Yet he his hand so carefully did beare,
That at the last he did himselfe attaine,
And therein left the pike-head of his speare:
A streame of coleblacke bloud thence gusht
amaine, ^bestaine.
That all her silken garments did with bloud
With that he threw her rudely on the flore,
And, laying both his hands upon his glave,
With dreadfull strokes let drTve at him so sore,
That forst him flie abacke, himselfe to save:
Yet he therewith so felly still did rave,
That scarse the Squire his hacd could once up-
reare,
But for advantage ground unto him gave,
Tracing and traversing, now here, now there ;
For bootlesse thing it was to think such blowes
to beare.
Whilest thus in battell they embusied were,
Belphebe, raunging in that forrest wide,
The hideous noise of their huge strokes did
heare,
And drew thereto, making her eare her guide:
Whom when that theefe approching nigh es-
pide
farre off With bow in hand and arrowes ready bent,
He by his former combate would not bide,
But fled away with ghastly dreriment,
Well knowing her to be his deaths sole instru-
ment.
Whom seeing flie she speedily poursewed
With winged feete as nimble as the winde,
And ever in her bow she ready shewed
The arrow to his deadly marke desynde.
As when Latonaes daughter, cruell kynde,
In vengement of her mothers great disgrace,
With fell despight her cruell arrowes tynde
Gainst wofull Niobes unhappy race,
That all the gods did mone her miserable case.
So well she sped her, and so far she ventred,
That, ere unto his hellish den he raught,
Even as he ready was there to have en t red.
She sent an arrow forth with mighty draught,
266
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK iv.
That in the very dore him overcaught,
And, in his nape arriving, through it thrild
His greedy throte, therewith in two dis-
traught,
That all his vitall spirites thereby spild,
And all his hairy brest with gory bloud was
fild.
XXXII
Whom when on ground she groveling saw to
rowle,
She rau in hast his life to have bereft;
But, ere she could him reach, the sinfull sowle
Having his carrion corse quite sencelesse left
Was fled to hell, surcharg'd with spoile and
theft:
Yet over him she there long gazing stood,
And oft admir'd his monstrous shape, and oft
His mighty limbs, whitest all with filthy bloud
The place there overflowne seemd like a so-
daine flood.
Thence forth she past into his dreadfull den,
Where nought but darkesome drerinesse she
found,
Ke creature saw, but hearkned now and then
Some litle whispering, and soft groning sound.
With that she askt, what ghosts there under
ground
Lay hid in horrour of eternall night?
And bad them, if so be they were not bound,
To come and shew themselves before the light,
Now freed from feare and danger of that dis-
mall wight.
XXXIV
Then forth the sad ^Emylia issewed, [feare ;
Yet trembling every joynt through former
And after her the Hag, there with her mewed,
A fotile and lothsome creature, did appeare,
A leman fit for such a lover deare :
That mov'd Belphebe her no lesse to hate,
Then for to rue the others heavy cheare ;
Of whom she gan enquire of her estate,
Who all to her at large, as hapned, did relate.
XXXV
Thence she them brought toward the place
where late
She left the gentle Squire with Amoret:
There she him found by that new lovely mate,
Who lay the whiles in swoune, full sad'ly set,
From her faire eyes wiping the deawy wet
Which softly stiid, and kissing them atweene,
And handling soft the hurts which she did get ;
For of that Carle she sorely bruz'd had beene,
Als.of his owne rash hand one wound was to
be seene.
Which when she saw with sodaine glauncing
eye,
Her noble heart with sight thereof was fild
With deepe disdaine anil great indignity,
That in her wrath she thought them both have
thrild
With that selfe arrow which the Carle had kild ;
Yet held her wrathfull hand from vengeance
sore:
But drawing nigh, ere he her well beheld,
' Is this the faith ?' she said— and said no more.
But turnd her face, and fled away for evermore.
He seeing her depart arose up light,
Right sore agrieved at her sharpe reproofe,
And follow'd fast ; but, when he came in sight!
He durst not nigh approch, but kept aloofe,
For dread of her displeasures utmost proofe :
And evermore, when he did grace entreat,
And framed speaches fit for his behoofe,
Her mortall arrowes she at him did threat,
And forst him backe with fowle dishonor t
retreat.
XXXVIII
At last, when long he follow'd had in vaimj
Yet found no ease of griefe nor hope of grace!
Unto those woods he turned backe againe, .'
Full of sad anguish and in heavy case :
And, finding there fit solitary place
For wofull wight, chose out a gloomy glade,
\V I irrr hardly eye mote see bright heavens fa< j
For mossy trees, which covered all with sham
And sad melancholy : there he his cabin mad
xxxix
His wonted warlike weapons all he broke \
And threw away, with vow to use no more, j)
Ne thenceforth ever strike in battell stroke, i
Ne ever word to speake to woman more ;
But in that wildernesr-e, of men forlore,
And of the wicked world forgotten quight,
His hard mishap in dolor to deplore.
And wast his wretched daies in wofull pligh ,
So on him selfe to wreake his follies owne d 3
spight.
XL |
And eke his garment, to be thereto meet,
He wilfully did cut and shape anew; [sw(j
And his faire lockes, that wont with ointmei
To be einbaulm'd, and sweat out dainty dev(|
He let to grow and griesly to concrew,
Uncomb'd, uncurl'd, and carelesly unshed;
That in short time his face they overgrew,
And over all his shoulders did dispred, [r I
I That who he whilome was uneath was to
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
267
There lie continued in this carefull plight,
Wretchedly wearing out his youthly yeares,
Through wilfull penury consumed quight,
That like a pined ghost he soone appeares :
tor other food then that wilde forrest beares,
fe other drinke there did he ever tast
Then running water tempred with his teares,
The more his weakened body so to wast,
That out of all mens knowledge he was worne
at last.
XT.II
For on a day, by fortune as it fell,
H.-S owne deare 'Lord Prince Arthure came
that way,
Seeking adventures where he mote heare tell ;
And, as he through the wandring wood did
laving espide this Cabin far away, [stray,
fe to it drew, to weet who there did wonne ;
tVeening therein some holy Hermit lay,
I'liat did resort of sinfull people shonne,
3r else some woodman shrowded there from
scorching sunne.
XL1II
Arriving there he found this wretched man
Spending his daies in dolour and despaire,
And through long fasting woxen pale and wan,
ill overgrowen with rude and rugged haire ;
That albeit his owne dear Squire he were,
Yet he him knew not, ne aviz'd at all,
But like strange wight, whom he had scene no
where,
Saluting him gan into speach to fall,
And pitty much his plight, that liv'd like out-
cast thrall.
XLIV
But to his speach he aunswered no whit,
But stood still mute, as if he had beene dum,
Ne signe of sence did shew, ne common wit,
As one with griefe and anguishe overcum,
And unto every thing did aunswere mum :
And ever, when the Prince unto him spake,
He louted lowly, as did him becum,
And humble homage did unto him make,
Midst sorrow shewing joyous semblance for his
sake.
I At which his uncouth guise and usage quaint
iThe Prince did wonder much, yet could not
ghesse
[The cause of that his sorrowfull constraint ;
Yet weend, by secret signes of manlinesse
Which close appeard in that rude brutishnesse,
i That he whilome some gentle swaine had beene,
I Traind up in feats of armes and knightlinesse ;
| Which he observ'd, by that he him had seene
To weld his naked sword, and try the edges
keene.
XLVI
And eke by that he saw on every tree,
How he the name of one engraven had
Which likly was his liefest love to be,
From whom he now so sorely was bestad,
Which was by him BELPHEBK rightly rad.
Yet who was that Belphebe he ne wist ;
Yet saw he often how he wexed glad
When he it heard, and how the ground he kist
Wherein it written was, and how himselfe he
blist.
XLVII
Tho, when he long had marked his demeanor,
And saw that all he said and did was vaine,
Ne ought mote make him change his wonted
tenor,
Ne ought mote ease or mitigate his paine,
He left him there in languor to remaine,
Till time for him should remedy provide,
i And him restore to former grace againe:
| Which, for it is too long here to abide.
!I will deferre the end untill another tide.
CANTO VIII.
The gentle Squire recovers grace,
Sclannder her guests doth staine :
Corflambo chasetli Placidas,
And is by Arthnre slaine.
WEi.Lsaid the Wiseman,nowprov'dtrueby this
Which to this gpntle Squire did happen late,
That the displeasure of the mighty is
Then death it selfe more dread and desperate ;
For naught the same may calme ne mitigate,
Till time the tempest doe thereof delay
With sufferaunce soft, which rigour can abate,
And have the sterne remembrance wypt away
Of bitter thoughts, which deepe therein infixed
lay.
IT
Like as it fell to this unhappy boy,
Whose tender heart the faire Belphebe had
With one sterne looke so daunted, that no joy
In all his life, which afterwards he lad,
268
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK iv.
He ever tasted ; but with penaunce sad
And pensive sorrow pind and wore away,
Ne ever laught, ne once shew'd countenance
glad,
But alwaies wept and wailed night and day,
As blasted bloosme through heat doth languish
and decay :
in
Till on a day, as in his wontsd wise
His doole he made, there chaunst a turtle Do- :e
To come where he his dolors did devise,
That likewise late had lost her dearest love,
Which losse her made like passion also prove :
Who, seeing his sad plight, her tender heart
With deare compassion deeply did emmove,
That she gan mone his undeserved smart,
And with her dolefull accent beare with him a
part.
IV
Shee sitting by him, as on ground he lay,
Her mournefull notes full piteously did frame,
And thereof made a lamentable lay,
So sensibly compyld, that in the same
Him seemed oft he heard his owne right name.
With that he forth would poure so plenteous
teares,
And beat his breast unworthy of such blame,
And knocke his head, and rend his rugged
heares, [of Beares.
That could have perst the hearts of Tigres and
v
Thus, long this gentle bird to him did use
Withouten dread of perill to repaire
Unto his wonne, and with her mournefull muse
Him to recomfort in his greatest care,
That much did ease his mourning and misfare :
And every day, for guerdon of her song,
He part of his small feast to her would share ;
That, at the last, of all his woe and wrong
Companion she became, and so continued long.
VI
Upon a day as she him sate beside,
By chance he certaine miniments forth drew,
Which yet with him as relickes did abide
Of all the bounty which Belphebe threw
On him, whilst goodly grace she him did shew
Amongst the rest a Jewell rich he found,
That was a Ruby of right perfect hew,
Shap'd like a heart yet bleeding of the wound
And with a litle golden chaine about it bound,
The same he tooke, and with a riband new,
In which his Ladies colours were, did bind
About the turtles necke, that with the vew
Did greatly solace his engrieved mind.
All unawares the bird, when she did find
Her selfe so deckt, her nimble wings displaid.
And flew away as lightly as the wind :
Which sodaine accident him much dismaid.
And looking after long did mark which wa\
she straid.
VIII
But when as long he looked had in vaine,
Yet saw her forward still to make her flight,
His weary eie returnd to him againe,
Full of discomfort and disquiet plight,
That both his juell he had lost so light,
And eke his deare companion of his care.
But that sweet bird departing flew forthright
Through the wide region of the wastfull airr ;
Untill she came where wonned his Belphel!
faire.
IX
There found she her (as then it did betide)
Sitting in covert shade of arbors sweet,
After late wearie toile which she had tride :
In salvage chase, to rest as seeni'd her meet. \
There she alighting fell before her feet,
And gan to her her mournfull plaint to makii
As was her wont, thinking to let her weet
The great tormenting griefe that for her salvi
Her gentle Squire through her displeasured:?
pertake.
x
She, her beholding with attentive eye,
At length did marke about her purple brest I
That precious juell, which she formerly
Had knowne right well, with colourd ribban>
dresti
Therewith she rose in hast, and her addrest $
With ready hand it to have reft away,
But the swift bird obayd not her behest,
But swarv'd asic'e, and there againe did sta; \
She follow'd her, and thought againe it to assa i
And ever, when she nigh approcht, the Do !
Would flit a litle forward, and then stay
Till she drew neare. and then againe remov :
So tempting her still to pursue the pray,
And still from her escaping soft away :
Till that at length into that forrest wide
She drew her far, and led with slow delay.
In th' end she her unto that place did guide!
Whereas that wofull man in languor did abk I
Eftsoones she flew unto his fearelesse hand i
And there a piteous ditty new deviz'd,
As if she would have made her understand
His sorrowes cause, to be of her despis'd :
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
260
Whom when she saw in wretched weedes dis-
guiz'd,
With heary glib deform'd and meiger face,
Like ghost late risen from his grave agryz'd,
She knew him not, but pittied much his'case,
And wisht it were inherto doe him any grace.
He her beholding at her feet downe fell,
And kisttheground on which her sole didtread,
And washt the same with water which did well
i"rom his moist eies, and like two streames
procead ;
t'et spake no word, whereby she might aread
iVhat mister wight he was, or what he ment ;
Jut, as one daunted with her presence dread,
)iu'ly few ruefull lookes unto her sent,
As messengers of his true meaning and intent.
Yet nathemoro Ms meaning she ared,
3ut wondred much at his so selcouth case ;
Vnd by his persons secret seemlyhed
ll weend that he had beene some man of
place,
before misfortune did his hew deface ;
I'hat being mov'dwith ruth she thus bespake :
Ah ! wofull man, what heavens hard disgrace,
)r wrath of cruell wight on thee ywrake,
Or selfe-disliked life, doth thee thus wretched
make?
' If heaven, then none may it redresse or blame,
Sith to his powre we all are subject borne :
If wrathfull wight, then fowle rebuke and
shame
Fte theirs that have so cruell thee forlorne !
i&ut if through inward griefe or wilfull scorne
Jf life it be, then better doe advise :
?br he, whose daies in wilfull woe are worne,
The grace of his Creator doth despise,
That will not use his gifts for thanklesse nig-
ardise.'
XVI
When so he heard her say, eftsoones he bra*e,
lis sodaine silence which" he long had pent,
And, sighing inly deepe, her thus bespake :
Then have they all themselves against me
bent:
For heaven, first author of my languishment,
Snvying my too great felicity,
)id closely with a cruell one consent
I'o cloud my daies in dolefull misery,
Wl make me loath this life, still longing for
to die.
' Ne any but your selfe, O dearest dred,
Hath done this wrong, to wreake on worthles.ie
wight [bred :
Your high displesure, through misdeeming
That, when your pleasure is to deeme aright,
Be may redresse, and me restore to light !'
Which sory words her mightie hart did mate
With mild regard to see his ruefull plight,
That her inburning wrath she gan abate,
And him receiv'd igaine to former favours
state.
XVIII
In which he long time afterwards did lead
An happie life with grace and good accord,
Fearlesse of fortunes chaunge or envies dread,
And eke all mindlesse of his owne deare Lord
The noble Prince, who never heard one word
Of tydings what did unto him betide,
Or what good fortune did to him afford ;
But through the endlesse world did wander
wide, [scride.
Him seeking evermore, yet no where him de-
XIX
Till on a day, as through that wood he rode,
He chaunst to come where those two Ladies late,
yEmylia and Amoret, abode,
Both in full sad and sorrowfull estate :
The one right feeble through the evill rate
Of food which in her duresse she had found ;
The other almost dead and desperate
Through her late hurts, and through thathap-
lesse wound
With which the Squire, in her defence, her sore
astound.
xx
Whom wnen the Prince beheld, he gan torew
The evill case in which those Ladies lay;
But most was moved at the piteous vew,
Of Amoret, so neare unto decay,
That her great daunger did him much dismay.
Eftsoones that pretious liquour forth he drew,
Which he in store about him kept alway,
And with few drops thereof did softly dew,
Her wounds, that unto strength restor'd her
soone anew.
XXI
Tho, when they both recovered were right well,
He gan of them inquire, what evill guide
Them thether brought, and how their harmes
befell?
To whom they told all that did them betide,
And how from thraldome vile they were untide,
Of that same wicked Carle, by Virgins hond ;
Whose bloudie corse they shew'd him there
beside,
270
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
And eke his cave in which they both were bond :
At which he wondred much when all those
signes he fond.
And evermore he greatly did desire
To know what Virgin did them thence unbind,
And oft of them did earnestly inquire,
Where was her won, and how he mote her find.
But. when as nought according to his mind
He could out-learne, he them from ground did
No service lothsome to a gentle kind, [reare,
And on his warlike beast them both did oeare,
Himselfe by them on foot to succour them
from feare.
XXIII
So when that forrest they had passed well,
A litle cotage farre away they spide,
To which they drew ere night upon them fell ;
And entring m found none therein abide,
But one old woman sitting there beside
Upon the ground in ragged rude attyre,
With filthy lockes about her scattered wide,
Gnawing her navies for felnesse and for yre,
And there out sucking venime to her parts en-
tyre.
XXIV
A foule and loathly creature sure in sight,
And in conditions to be loath 'd no lesse ;
For she was stuft with rancour and despight
Up to the throat, that oft with bitternesse
1 1 forth would breake, and gush in great excesse,
Pouring out streames of poyson and of gall
Gainst all that truth or vertue doe professe ;
Whom she with leasings lewdly did miscall
And wickedly backbite : Her name men
Sclaunder call.
Her nature is all goodnesse to abuse,
And causelesse crimes continually to frame,
With which she guiltlesse persons may accuse,
And steale away the crowneof their good name :
Ne ever Knight so bold, ne ever Dame
So chast and loyall liv'd, but she would strive
With forged cause them falsely to defame;
Ne ever thing so well was doen alive,
But she with blame would blot, and of due
praise deprive.
XXVI
Her words were not, as common words are
ment,
Pexpresse the meaning of the inward mind,
But noysome breath, and poysnous spirit sent
From inward parts, with cancred malice lind,
And breathed forth with blast of bitter wind
Which passing through the eares would pierce
the hart, [kind
And wound the soule it selfe with griefe un-
For, like the stings of aspes that kill will
smart, [inner part
Her spightfull words did pricke and wound the
XXVII
Such was that Hag, unmeet to host sucl
guests, [fayne
Whom greatest Princes court would welcom<
But neede, that answers not to all requests,
Bad them not looke for better entertayne;
And eke that age despysed nicenesse vaine,
Enur'd to hardnesse and to homely fare.
Which them to warlike discipline did trayne, ,
And manly limbs endur'd with litle care"
Against all hard mishaps and fortunelesse mis
fare.
XXVIII
Then all that evening (welcommed with col
And chearelesse hunger) they together spent
Yet found no fault, but that the Hag did scol
And rayle at them with grudgefull disconten t
For lodging there without her owne consent j
Yet they endured all with patience milde,
And unto rest themselves all onely lent,
Regardlesse of that queane so base and vildc-,
To be unjustly blamd, and bitterly revild?.
XXIX
Here, well I weene, when as these rimes I i
red
With misregard, that some rash-witted wlgl
Whose looser thought will lightly be misled.,
These gentle Ladies will misdeeme too lighu
For thus conversing with this noble Knight |
Sith now of dayes such temperance is rare I
And hard tofinde, that heatof youthfull spri<j
For ought will from his greedie pleasure spar :
More hard for hungry steed t' abstaine frc '
pleasant lare.
XXX
But antique age, yet in the infancie
Of time, did live then like an innocent,
In simple truth and blamelesse chastitie,
Ne then of guile had made experiment ;
But, void of vile and treacherous intent,
Held vertue for it selfe in soveraine awe:
Then loyall love had royall regiment.
And each unto his lust did make a lawe,
From all forbidden things his liking to wi \
draw.
XXXI
The Lyon there did with the Lambe con<H
And eke the Dove sate by the Faulcona sic ',
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERTE QUEENE.
271
Ne each of other feared fraud or tort.
But did in safe securitic abide,
Withouten perill of the stronger pride : [old,
But when the world woxe old, it woxe warre
(Whereof it liight) and, having shortly tride
'the traines of wit, in wickednesse woxe bold,
And dared of all shines the secrets to unfold.
Then beautie, which was made to represent
The great Creatours owne resemblance bright,
Unto abuse of lawlesse lust was lent,
And made the baite of bestiall delight :
Then faire grew foule, and foule grew faire in
sight ; [man.
jid that, which wont to vanquish God and
Vas made the vassall of the victors might ;
Tien did her glorious flowre wex dead and
wan,
)espisd and troden downe of all that over-ran.
XXXIII
And now it is so utterly decayd,
'lial any bud thereof doth scarse remaine,
kit-if few plants, preserved through heavenly
ayd,
n Princes Court doe hap to sprout againe,
Jew'd with her drops of bountie Soveraine,
Vliich from that goodly glorious flowre pro-
ceed, [straine,
Sprung of the auncient stocke of Princes
th' onely remnant of that royall breed,
Vhose noble kind at first was sure of heavenly
seed.
XXXIV
Tho, soone as day discovered heavens face
'o sinfull men with darknes overdight,
'his gentle crewgan from their eye-lids chace
'he drowzie humour of the dampish night,
Ind did themselves unto their journey (light.
So forth they yode, and forward softly paced,
hat them to view had bene an uncouth sight.
low all the way the Prince on footpace traced,
?he Ladies both on horse, together fast em-
braced.
XXXV
Soone as they thence departed were afore,
That shamefull Hag, the slaunder of her sexe,
Them follow'd fast, and them reviled sore,
'lira calling theefe, them whores; that much
did vexe
lis noble hart : thereto she did annexe
'alse crimes and facts, such as they never men t.
That those two Ladies much asham'd did wexe :
The more did she pursue her lewd intent,
find ray I'd and rug'd, till she had all her poyson
spent.
At last ,when they were passed out of sight,
Yet she did not her spightfull speach forbeare,
But after them did barke, and still backbite,
Though there were none her hatefull words to
heare.
Like as a curre doth felly bite and teare
The stone which passed straunger at him
threw :
So she, them seeing past the reach of eare,
Against the stones and trees did rayle anew,
Till she had duld the sting which in her tongs
end grew.
XXXVII
They passing forth kept on their readie way,
With easie steps so soft as foot could stryde,
Both for great feeblesse, which did oft assay
Faire Amoret that, scarcely she could ryde,
And eke through heavie armes which sore
annoyd
The Prince on foot, not wonted so to fare;
Whose steadie hand was faine his steede to
guyde,
And all the way from trotting hard to spare ;
So was his toyle the more, the more that was
his care.
XXXVIII
At length they spide where towards them
with speed
A Squire came gallopping. as he would flie,
Bearing a litle Dwarfe before his steed,
That all the way full loud for aide did crie,
That seem'd his shrikes would rend the brasen
skie:
Whom after did a mightie man pursew,
Kyding upon a Dromedare on hie,
Of stature huge, and horrible of hew,
That would have maz'd a man his dreadfull
face to vew :
XXXIX
For from his fearefull eyes two fierie beanies,
More sharpe then points ofneedles,did proceede,
Shooting forth farre away t wo flaming streames,
Full of sad powre, that poysnous bale did
breede
To all that on him lookt without good heed,
And secretly his enemies did slay:
Like as the Basiliske. of serpents seede,
B'rom powrefull eyes close venim doth convay
Into the lookers hart, and killeth farre away.
XL,
He all the way did rage at that same Squire,
And after him full many threatnings threw,
With curses vaine in hfs avengefull ire ;
But none of them (so fast away h
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Him overtooke before ne came in vew :
\Vhere when he saw the Prince in armour
bright,
He cald to him aloud his case to rew,
And rescue him, through succour of his might,
From that his cruell foe that him pursewd in
sight.
XLI
Eftsoones the Prince tooke downe those Ladies
twaine
From loftie steede, and mounting in their stead
Came to that Squire, yet trembling every vaine ;
Of whom he gan enquire his cause of dread:
Who as he gan the same to him aread,
Loe ! hard behind his backe his foe was prest,
With dreadfull weapon ayroed at his head,
That unto death had doen him unredrest,
Had not the noble Prince his readie stroke re-
prest :
XLII
Who, thrusting boldly twixthim and the blow,
The burden of the deadly brunt did heare
Upon his shield, which lightly he did throw
Over his head before the harme came neare :
Nathlesse it fell with so despiteous dreare
And heavie sway, that hard unto his crowne
The shield it drove, and did the covering
reare : [downe
Therewith both Squire and dwarfe did tomble
Unto the earth, and lay long while in sense-
lesse swowne.
Whereat the Prince full wrath his strong
right hand
In full avengement heaved up on hie,
And stroke the Pagan with his steely brand
So sore, that to his saddle-bow thereby
He bowed low, and so a while did lie :
And, sure, had not his massie yron mace
Betwixt him and his hurt bene happily,
It would have cleft him to the girding place ;
Yet, as it was, it did astonish him long space.
XLIV
But, when he to himselfe returnd againe,
All full of rage he gan to curse and sweare,
And vow bv Mahoune that he should be slaine.
With that his murdrous mace he up did reare,
That seemed nought the souse thereof could
beare,
And therewith smote at him with all his might ;
But, ere that it to him approched neare,
The royall child with readie quickc foresight
Did shun the proofe thereof, and it avoyded
But, ere his hand he could recure againe
To ward his bodie from the balefull stound,
He smote at him with all his might and rnaine,
So furiously that, ere he wist, he found
His head before him tombling on the ground ;
The whiles his babling tongue did yet blas-
pheme
And curse his God that did him so confound:
The whiles his life ran foorthin bloudiestreame
His soule descended downe into the Stygian
reame.
Which when that Squire beheld, he woxe ful
glad
To see his foe breath out his spright in vaine
But that same dwarfe right sorie seem'd and
sad,
And howld aloud to see his Lord there slaine,
And rent his haire and scratch! his face foi
paiue.
Then gnn the Prince at leasure to inquire
Of all the accident there hapned plaine, [fire
And what he was whose eyes did flame wit!
All which was thus to him declared by thai
Squire.
XLVIl
This mightie man,' (quoth he) ' whom yoi
have slaine,
Of an huge Geauntesse whylome was bred,
And by his strength rule to himselfe did gain<
Of many Nations into thraldome led,
And mightie kingdomes of his force adred ;
Whom yet he conquer'd not by bloudie fight,
Ne hostes of men with banners brode dispred
But by the powre of his infectious sight,
With which he killed all that came within hi
might.
XLVIII
' Ne was he ever vanquished afore,
But ever vanquish! all with whom he fought:
Ne was there man so strong, but he down
bore;
Ne woman yet so faire, but he her brought
Unto his bay, and captived her thought :
For most of strength and beautie his desire
Was spoyle to make, and wast them unt
nought,
By casting secret flakes of lustfull fire
From his false eyes into their harts and part
entire.
' Therefore Corflambo was he cald aright.
j Though namelesse there his bodie now do:
i lie;
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
273
Yet hath he left one daughter that is hight
The faire Pceana, who seemes outwardly
So falre as ever yet saw living eie ;
And were her vertue like her beautie bright,
She were as faire as any under skie :
But ah ! she given is to vaine delight,
And eke too loose of life, and eke of love too
light.
L
' So, as it fell, there was a gentle Squire
That lov'd a Ladie of high parentage ;
But, for his meane degree might not aspire
To match so high, her friends with counsel]
Dissuaded her from such a disparage : [sage
But she, whose hart to love was wholly lent,
Out of his hands could not redeeme her gage,
But, tirmely following her first intent,
Resolv'd with him to wend, gainst all her
friends consent.
' So twixt themselves they pointed time and
place :
To which when he according did repaire,
An hard mishap and disaventrous case
Him chaunst: instead of his >Emylia faire,
This Gyants sonne, that lies there on the laire
An headlesse heape. him unawares there caught;
And all dismayd through mercilesse despaire
Him wretched thrall unto his dongeon brought,
Where he remaines, of all unsuccour'd and
unsought.
Lit
'This Gyants daughter came upon a day
Unto the prison, in her joyous glee,
To view the thrals which there in bondage lay :
Amongst the rest she chaunced there to see
This lovely swaine, the Squire of low degree ;
To whom she did her liking lightly cast,
And wooed him her paramour to bee :
From day to day she woo'd and prayd him fast,
And for his love him promist libertie at last.
' He, though affide unto a former love,
To whom his faith he firmely ment to hold,
Yet seeing not how thence he mote remove,
But by that meanes which fortune did unfold,
Her graunted love, but with affection cold,
To win her grace his libertie to get :
Yet she him still detaines in captive hold,
Fearing, least if she should him freely set,
He would her shortly leave, and former love
forget.
LIV
' Yet so much favour she to him hath hitrht
Above the rest, that he sometimes may space
And walke about her gardens of delight,
Having a keeper still with him in place;
Which keeper is this Dwarfe, her dearling base.
To whom the keyea of every prison dore
By her committed be, of speciall grace,
And at his will may whom he list restore,
And whom he list reserve to be afflicted more.
' Whereof when tydings came unto mine eare,
Full inly sorie, for the fervent zeale
Which I to him as to my soule did beare,
I thether went; where I did long conceale
My selfe, till that the Dwarfe did me reveale,
And told his Dame her Squire of low degree
Did secretly out of her prison steale ;
For me he did mistake that Squire to bee,
For never two so like did living creature see.
' Then was I taken and before her brought,
Who, through the likenesse of my. outward
Being likewise beguiled in her thought, [hew,
Gan blame me much for being so untrew
To seeke by flight her fellowship t' eschew,
That lov'd me deare. as dearest thing alive.
Thence she commaunded me to prison new ;
Whereof I glad did not gaine say nor strive,
But suffred that same Dwarfe me to her don-
geon drive.
LVII
There did I finde mine onely faithfull frend
In heavy plight and sad perplexitie ;
Whereof I sorie, yet myselfe did bend
Him to recomfort with my companie,
But him the more agreev'd I found thereby :
For all his joy, he said, in that distresse
Was mine and his ^Emylias libertie.
^Emylia well he lov'd, as I mote ghesse,
Yet greater love to me then her he did professc.
LVIII
' But I with better reason him aviz'd,
And shew'd him how, through error and mis-
thought
3f our like persons, eath to be disguiz'd,
3r his exchange or freedom might be wrought.
Whereto full loth was he, ne would for ought
Ikmsent that I, who stood all fearelesse free,
Should wilfully be into thraldome brought,
Till fortune did perforce it so decree :
Yet, over-ruld at last, he did to me agree.
LIX
'The morrow next, about the wonted howre.
The Dwarfe cald at the doore of Aniyas
To come forthwith unto his Ladies bowre :
nsteed of whom forth came I, Placidas,
T
274
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
And undiscerned forth with him did pas. ! And me pursew'd ; but nathemore would 1
There with great joyance and with gladsome Forgoe the purchase of my gotten pray,
Of faire Pceana I received was, [glee But have perforce him nether brought away.'
And oft imbrast, as if that I were hee, j Thus as they talked, loe ! where nigh at hand
And with kind words accoyd, vowing great! Those Ladies two, yet doubtfull through di*
| In presence came, desirous t' understand
Tydings of all which there had hapned on the
land.
Where soone as sad ^Emylia did espie
Her captive lovers friend, young Placidas,
All mindlessc of her wonted modestie
She to him ran, and him with streight embra.c
love to mee.
LX
' Which I, that was not bent to former love
As was my friend that had her long refus'd,
Did well accept, as well it did behove,
And to the present neede it wisely usd.
My former hardnesse first I faire excusd ;
And after promist large amends to make.
With such smooth termes her error I abusd
To my friends good more then for mine owne
sake,
For whose sole libertie I love and life did stake.
With which my weaker patience fortune proves
' Thenceforth I found more favour at her hand, • But what mishap thus long him fro my self.'.
That to her Dwarfe, which had me in his removes?'
charge,
She bad to lighten my too heavie band,
And graunt more scope to me to walke at large.
So on a day, as by the fiowrie marge
Of a fresh streame I with that Elfe did play,
Finding no meanes how I might us enlarge,
But if that Dwarfe I could with me convay,
Then gan he all this storie to renew,
And tell the course of his captivitie,
That her deare hart full deepely made to rev
And sigh full sore to heare the miserie
— t- 7 I In which so long he mercilesse did lie.
I lightly snatcht him up and with me bore; Then, after many teares and sorrowes spent, '
away. j She deare besought the Prince of remedie ;
i-xii j Who thereto did with readie will consent, i
'Thereat he shriekt aloud, that with his cry ' And well perform'd ; as shall appeare by li\
The Tyrant selfe came forth with yelling bray, ! event.
CANTO IX.
The Squire of low degree, releast,
JErnylia takes to wife :
Britomart fightes witli ninny Knights ;
Prince Arthur stints their strife.
HARD is the doubt, and difficult to deeme,
When all three kinds of love together meet
And doe dispart the hart with powre extreme,
Whether shall weigh the balance downe ; to
weet,
The deare affection unto kindred sweet,
Or raging fire of love to womankind,
Orzeale of friends combynd with vertues meet:
But of them all the band of vertuotis mind,
Me seemes, the gentle hart should most as-
sured bind.
ii
For naturall affection soone doth cesse,
And quenched is with Cupids greater flame :
But faithfull friendship doth them both suj
pre*se,
And them with maystring discipline doth tan 1
Through thoughts aspyring to eternall Aim>
For as the soule doth rule the earthly mass j
And all the service of the bodie frame,
So love of soule doth love of bodie passe,
No lesse then perfect gold surmounts l]
meanest brasse.
m
All which who list by tryall to assay
Shall in this storie find approved plaine;
In which these Squires true friendship mi
did sway
Then either care of parents could refraine, i
CANTO ix.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
275
)r love of fairest Ladie could constraine ;
<"or though I'oeana were as faire as morne,
fet did this trustie squire with proud disdain
'"or his friends sake her offred favours scorne
And she her selfe her syre of whom she wa
y borne,
IV
Now, after that Prince Arthur graunted ha
\> yeeld strong succour to that gentle swaync
Vho now long time had lyen in prison sad ;
le gan advise how best he mote darrayne
'hat enterprize for greatest glories gayne.
"hat headlesse tyrants tronke he reard fron
ground,
Vnd, having ympt the head to it agayne,
Ipon his usuall beast it tirmely bound,
\nd made it so to ride as it alive was found.
Then did he take that chaced Squire, and lay t
efore the ryder, as he captive were, [a)'('
md made his Uwarfe, though with unwilling
o guide the beast that did his maister beare,
ill to his castle they approched neare; [ward,
Thorn when the watch, that kept continual]
awcomminghome,all voide of doubtfull feare
e, running downe, the gate to him unbar.l ;
'horn straight the Prince ensuing in together
far'd.
VI
There did he find in her delitious boure
tie faire Poeana playing on a Rote
omplayning of her cruell Paramoure,
nd singing all her sorrow to the note,
s she had learned readily by rote ;
hat with the sweetnesse of her rare delight
lie Prince halfe rapt began on her to dote;
ill better him bethinking of the right,
e her unwares attacht, and captive held by
might.
VII
Whence being forth produc'd, when she per-
ceived
er owne deare sire, she calcl to him for aide ;
ut when of him no aunswere she received,
utsaw him sencelesse by the Squire upstaide,
ie weened well that then she was betraide :
ien f;an she loudly cry, and weepe, and waile,
nd that same Squire of treason to upbraide;
itall in vaine: her plaints might not prevailc,
e none there was to reskue her, ne none to
baile.
VIII
'hen tooke he that same Dwarfe, and him
compeld
> open unto him the prison dore,
And forth to bring those thrals which there he
held.
Thence forth were brought to him above a score
Of Knights and Squires to him nnknowne afore :
All which he did from bitter bondage free,
And unto former liberty restore.
Amongst the rest that Squire of low degree
Came forth full weake and wan, not like him
selfe to bee.
IX
Whom spone as faire ^Emylia beheld
And Placidas, they both unto him ran,
And him embracing fast betwixt them held,
Striving to comfort him all that they can,
And kissing oft his visage pale and wan :
That faire Pceana, them beholding both,
3an both envy, and bitterly to ban ;
Through jealous passion weeping inly wroth,
To see the sight perforce that both her eyes
were loth.
x
But when awhile they had together beene,
And diversly conferred of their case, [seene
She, "though full oft she both of them had
\sunder, yet not ever in one place,
$egan to doubt, when she them saw embrace,
Which was the captive Squire she lov'd so
deare,
deceived through great likenesse of their face:
<"or they so like in person did appeare,
"hat she uneath discerned whether whether
weare.
XI
And eke the Prince, when as he them avized,
"heir like resemblaunce much admired there,
nd mazd how nature had so well disguized
ler worke, and counterfet her selfe so nere,
"is if that by one patterne, seene somewhere,
ihe had them made a paragone to be,
>r whether it through skill or errour were,
'hus gazing long at them much wondred he:
o did the other Knights and Squires which
them did see.
XII
Then gan they ransacke that same Castle
strong, [sure,
n which he found great storeofhoorded threa-
he which that tyrant gathered had by wrong
Uid tortious powre, without respect or mea-
sure:
'pon all which the Briton Prince made seasure,
nd afterwards continu'd there a while
b rest him selfe, and solace in ocft pleasure
hose weaker Ladies after weary toile ;
'o whom he did divide part of his purchast
spoile.
T2
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i
And, for more joy, that captive Lady faire,
The faire Poeana, he enlarged free, •
And by the rest did set in sumptuous chaire
To feast and frollicke ; nathemore would she
Shew gladsome countenaunce nor pleasaunt
glee;
But grieved was for losse both of her sire,
And eke of Lordship with both land and fee:
But most she touched was with griefe entire
For losse of her new love, the hope of her de-
sire.
XIV
But her the Prince, through his well wonted
grace,
To better termes of myldnesse did entreat
From that fowle rudenesse which did her de-
face;
And that same bitter corsive, which did eat
Her tender heart and made refraine from meat,
He with good thewes and speaches well ap-
plyde
Did mollifie, and calme her raging hea* :
For though she were most faire, and goodly
dyde,
Yet she it all did mar with cruelty and pride.
And, for to shut up all in friendly love,
Sith love was first the ground of all her
griefe,
That trusty Squire he wisely well did move
Not to despise that damewhich lov'd him liefe,
Till he had made of her some better priefe ;
But to accept her to his wedded wife :
Thereto he offred for to make him chiefe
Of all her land and lordship during life.
He yeelded, and her tooke; so stinted all their
strife.
XVI
From that day forth in peace and joyous
blis
They liv'd together long without debate;
Ne private Jarre, ne spite of enemis,
Could shake the safe assuraunce of their state
And she, whom Nature did so faire create
That she mote match the fairest of her daies,
Yet with lewd loves and lust intemperate
Had it defaste, thenceforth reformd her waies
That all men much admyrde her change, anc
spake her praise.
XVII
Thus when the Prince had perfectly com-
pylde, [rest
These paires of friends in peace and setlec
Him selfe, whose minde did travell as will
chylde
Of his old love conceav'd in secret brest,
Resolved to pursue his former quest ;
And, taking leave of all, with him did beare
Faire Amoret, whom Fortune by bequest
Had left in his protection whileare,
Exchanged out of one into another feare.
XVIII
Feare of her safety did her not const raine;
?or well she wist now in a might}' liond
fier person, late in peril], did remaine,
Who able was all daungers to withstand :
But now in feare of shame she more dirt stoi
Seeing her selfe ail soly succourlesse,
Left in the victors powre, like vassall bond,
Whose will her weakenesse could no way
presse, [exces
[n case his burning lust should breake ir
But cause of feare, sure, had she none at a
Of him, who goodly learned had of yore
The course of loose affection to forstall,
And lawlesse lust to rule with reasons lore
That all the while he by his side her bore,
8he was as safe as in a Sanctuary.
Thus many miles they two together wore,
To seeke their loves dispersed diversly,
Yet neither showed to other their hearts privi
At length they came whereas a troupe-
Knights "
They saw together skirmishing, as seemed
Sixe they were all, all full of fell despight.
But foure of them the battell best beseemr
That which of them was best mote nor
deemed.
These foure were th ey from whom false Flori 1 1
By Braggadochio lately was redeemed ;
To weet, sterne Druon," and lewd Claribell. ;
Love-lavish Blandamour, and lustfull Pari<l
Druons delight was all in single life,
And unto Ladies love would lend no leasi t
The more was Claribell enraged rife
With fervent flames, and loved out of mea^ I
So eke lov'd Blandamour, but yet at plea.-f
Would change his liking, and new Lei
prove ;
But Paridell of love did make no threasur
But lusted after all that him did move :
So diversly these foure disposed were to 1-
But those two other, which beside them st
Were Britomart and gentle Scudamour ;
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
277
I Who all the while beheld their wrathful!
moode,
And wondred at their impacable stoure,
| Whose like they never saw till that same houre
>o dreadful! strokes each did at other drive,
And laid on load with all their might and
powre,
As if that every dint the ghost would rive
)ut of their wretched corses, and their lives
deprive.
XXIII
As when Dan jEolus, in great displeasure
""or losse of his deare love by Neptune hent,
Send si forth the winds out of'his hidden threa-
Jpori the sea to wreake his fell intent ; [sure
['hey breaking forth with rude unruliment
?rom all foure partsof heaven doe rage full sore,
And tosse the deepes, and teare the firmament,
And all the world confound with wide uprore,
As if instead thereof they Chaos would restore.
XXIV
Cause of their discord and so fell debate
Was for the love of that same snowy maid,
Whome they had lost in Turneyment of late ;
And, seeking long to weet which way she
straid, [braide
Met here together, where, through lewd up-
Of Ate and Duessa, they fell out ;
And each one taking part in others aide
This cruell conflict raised thereabout, [doubt :
Whose dangerous successe depended yet in
For sometimes Paridell and Blandamour
The better had, and bet the others backe ;
Eftsoones the others did the field recoure,
And on his foes did worke full cruell wracke :
Yet neither would their fiendlike fury slacke,
But evermore their malice did augment ;
Till that uneath they forced were, for lacke
Of breath, their raging rigour to relent,
And rest themselves for to recover spirits spent.
Then gan they change their sides, and new
parts take ;
For Paridell did take to Druons side,
For old despight which now forth newly brake
Gainst Blandamour, whom alwaies he envide ;
And Blandamour to Claribell relide :
So all afresh gan former fight renew. [tide.
As when two Barkes, this caried with the
That with the wind, contrary courses sew,
[f wind and tide doe change, their courses
change anew.
xxvn
Thenceforth they much more furiously gan
As if but then the battell had begonne ; [fare,
Xe helmets bright ne hawberks strong did
spare, [sponne,
That through the clifts the vermeil bloud out
And all adowne their riven sides did ronne.
Such mortall malice wonder was to see
In friends profest, and so great outrage donne:
But sooth is said, and tride in each degree,
Faint friends when they fall out most cruell
fomen bee.
XXVIII
Thus they long while continued in fight ;
Till Scudamcur and that same Briton maide
Bv fortune in that place did chance to light :
VVhom soone as they with wrathfull eie Ije-
wraide,
They gan remember of the fowle upbraide,
The which that Britonesse had to them donne
In that late Turney for the snowy maide ;
Where she had them both shamefully fordonne,
And eke the famous prize of beauty from them
Eftsoones all burning with a fresh desire
Of fell revenge, in their malicious mood [ire,
They from them selves gan turne their furious
And cruell blades, yet steeming with whot
bloud,
Against those two let drive, as they were wood :
Who wondring much at that so sodaine fit,
Yet nought dismayd, them stoutly well with-
stood ;
Xe yeelded foote, ne once abacke did flit,
But being doubly smitten likewise doubly smit.
The warlike Dame was on her part assaid
Of Claribell and Blandamour attone ;
And Paridell and Druon fiercely laid
At Scudamour, both his professed fone :
Fcure charged two, and two surcharged one ;
Yet did those two them selves so bravely beare,
That th' other litle gained by the lone,
But with their owne repayed duely weare,
And usury withall: such gaine was gotten
deare.
XXXI I
Full oftentimes did Britomart assay
Tospeake to them, and some emparlance move;
But they for nought their cruell hands would
stay,
Ne lend an eare to ought that might behove.
As when an eager mastiffe once doth prove
The tast of bloud of some engored beast,
No words may rate, nor rigour him remove
278
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
From greedy hold of that his blouddy feast :
So litle did they hearken to her sweet beheast
XXXII
Whom when the Briton Prince afarre beheli
With ods of so unequall match opprest,
His mighty heart with indignation sweld,
And inward grudge fild his heroicke brest :
Eftsoones him selfe he to their aide addrest,
And thrusting fierce into the thickest preace
Divided them, how ever loth to rest ;
And would them faine from battell to surceasse
With gentle words perswading them to friendlj
peace.
XXXIII
But they so farre from peace or patience were
That all at once at him gan fiercely flie,
And lay on load, as they him downe woulc
beare;
Like to a storme which hovers under skie,
Long here and there and round about doth stie,
At length breakes downe in raine, and hailc
and sleet,
First from one coast, till nought thereof be drie
And then another, till that likewise fleet ;
And so from side to side till all the world it weet
But now their forces greatly were decayd,
The Prince yet being fresh untoucht afore ;
Who them with speaches milde gan first dis-
swade [bore :
From such foule outrage, and them long for-
Till seeing them through suffrance hartned
more,
Him selfe he bent their furies to abate,
And layd at them so sharpely and so sore,
That shortly them compelled to retrate,
And being brought in daunger to relent too late.
XXXV
But now his courage being throughly fired,
He ment to make them know their follies prise.
Had not those two him instantly desired
T asswage his wrath, and pardon their mes-
prise :
At whose request he gan him selfe advise
To stay his hand, and of a truce to treat
In milder tearmes, as list them to devise ;
Mongst which the cause of their so cruell heat
He did them aske, who all that passed gan
repeat:
XXXVI
And told at large how that sam e errant Knigh t .
To weet faire Britomart, them late had foiled
In open turney, and by wrongfull fight
Both of their publicke praise had them des
poyled,
And also of their private loves beguyled,
Of two full hard to read the harder theft :
But she that wrongfull challenge soone assovled
And shew'd that she had not that Lady reft,
(As they suppos'dj but her had to her likini
left.
XXXVII
To whom the Prince thus goodly well replied I
'Certes, sir Knight, ye seemen much to blam I
To rip up wrong that battell once hath tried;)
Wherein the honor both of Armes ye shame,
And eke the love of Ladies foule defame ;
To whom the world this franchise ever yeelded |
That of their loves choise they might freedonl
clame, [shielded I
And in that right should by all knights
Gainst which, me seemes, this war ye wrong))
fully have wielded.'
XXXVIII
'And yet' (quoth she) 'a greater wrong rt|
maines :
For I thereby my former love have lost ;
Whom seeking ever since with endlesse paine j
tlath me much sorrow and much travell cost |
Aye me, to see that gentle maide so tost !'
But Scudamour, then sighing deepe, thus saidi
Certes, her losse ought me to sorrow most. I
IVhose right she is, where ever she be straideK
Through many perils wonne, and many fo \
tunes waide.
xxxix
' For from the first that her I love profest,
Jnto this houre, this present lucklesse hownj
' never joyed happinesse nor rest ;
Jut thus turmoild from one to other stowre
wast my life, and doe my daies devowre
n wretched anguishe and" incessant woe,
Jassing the measure of my feeble powre ;
That living thus a wretch, and loving so,
T neither can my love ne yet my life forgo.'
Then good Sir Claribell him thus bespake : ,
Now were it not, sir Scudamour, to you
)islikefull paine so sad a taske to take,
Hote we entreat you, sith this gentle crew
s now so well accorded all anew,
'hat as we ride together on our way,
re will recount to us in order dew
Jl that adventure which ye did assay
For that faire Ladies love: past pe'rils w>j
apay."
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
279
XLI To tell through what misfortune he had far'd
So gan the rest him likewise to require, In that atchievement, as to him befell,
But Britomart did him importune hard And all those daungers unto them declar'd:
To take on him that paine : whose great desire Which sith they cannot in this Canto well
He glad to satistie, him selfe prepar'd , Comprised be, I will them in another tell.
CANTO X.
Scndamonr doth his conquest tell
Of vcrtuous Amoret :
Great Venus Temple is describ'd ;
And lovers life forth set.
•TRUE he it said, what ever man it sayd,
That love with gall and hony doth abound ;
But if the one be with the other ward,
For every dram of hony therein found
A pound" of gall doth over it redound :
That I too true by triall have approved;
For since the day that first with deadly wound
My heart was launcht, and learned to have
| And purchase me some place amongst the best.
'I boldly thought, (so young mens thoughts
are bold)
That this same brave emprize for me did rest,
And that both shield and she whom I behold
Might be my lucky lot ; sith all by lot we hold.
loved,
[ moved.
' So on that hard adventure forth I went,
And to the place of perill shortly came :
I never joyed howre, but still with care was] That was a temple faire and auncient,
j Which of great mother Venus bare the name,
j And farre renowmed through exceeding fame,
'And yet such grace is given them from above, ! Much more then that which was in Paphos
That all the cares and evill which they meet
May nought at all their setled mindes remove,
But seeme, gainst common sence, to them most
sweet;
As bostiug in their martyrdoms unmeet.
So all that ever yet I have endured
I count as naught, and tread downe under feet,
Since of my love at length I rest assured,
That to disloyalty she will not be allured.
built,
Or that in Cyprus, both long since this same,
Though all the pillours of the one were guilt.
And all the others pavement were with yvory
spilt.
' And it was seated in an Island strong,
Abounding all with delices most rare,
And wall'd by nature gainst invaders wrong.
! That none mote have accesse, nor inward fare,
| But by one way that passage did prepare.
'Long were to tell the travell and long toile ; rt was a bridge ybuilt in goodlv wize [faire,
Through which this shield of love I late have with curious Corbes and pendants graven
wonne, I And, arched all with porches, did arize
And purchased this peerelesse beauties spoile,' <jn stately pillours fram'd after the Doricke
That harder may be ended, then begonne : giuze.
But since ye so desire, your will be donne.
Then hearke, ye gentle knights and Ladies free, •
Mv hard mishaps that ve mar learne to shonne; ' J, And for dffcnce thereof on th other end
For though sweet love'to conquer glorious bee, There rear,ed1 w,f *?••* faire *£?""*}
Yet is the paine thereof much greater then the i Th^ warded all which in or out did wend,
A11? nancked both the bridges sides along,
Gainst all that would it faine to force or wrong.*
And therein wonned twenty valiant Knights,
'What time the fame of this renowmed prise
Flew first abroad, and all mens eares possest,
I, having armes then taken, gan avise
To winne me honour by some noble gest,
All twenty tride in warres experience long ;
Whose office was against all manner wights
By all nieanes tomamtainethat castels ancient
rights.
280
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK iv.
' Before that Castle was an open plaine,
And in the midst thereof a piller placed ;
On which this shield, of many sought in vaine,
The shield of Love, whose guerdon me hath
Was hangd on high with golden ribbands laced :
And in the marble stone was written this,
With golden letters goodly well enchaced ;
Blessed the man that well can use Ins blis :
Wliose ever be the shield, faire Amoret be his.
' Which when I red, my heart did inly earne,
And pant with hope of that adventures hap:
Ne stayed further newes thereof to learne,
But with my speare upon the shield did rap,
That all the castle ringed witli the clap.
Streight forth issewd a Knight all arm'd to
proofe,
And bravely mounted to his most mishap :
Who, staying nought to question from aloofe
Ran fierce at me that fire glaunst from his
horses hoofe.
x
' Whom boldly I encountred (as I could)
And by good fortune shortly him unseated.
Eftsoones outsprung two more of equall mould;
But I them both with equall hap defeated.
So all the twenty I likewise entreated,
And left them groning there upon the plaine :
Then, preacing to the pillour, I repeated
The read thereof for guerdon of my paine,
And taking downe the shield with me did it
retaine.
XI
' So forth without impediment I past,
Till to the Bridges utter gate I came ;
The which I found sure lockt and chained fast.
I knockt, but no man aunswred me bv name;
I cald, but no man answred to my clame :
Yet I persever'd still to knocke and call,
Till at the last I spide within the same
Where one stood peeping through a crevis small,
To whom I cald aloud, halfe angry therewithall.
' That was to weet the Porter of the place,
Unto whose trust the charge thereof was lent :
His name was Doubt, that had a double face,
Th'one forward looking, th' other backeward
Therein resembling Janus auncient [bent,
Which hath in charge the ingate of the yeare :
And evermore his eyes about him went,
As if some proved perill he did feare, «
Or did misdoubt some ill whose cause di4 not.
appeare,
'On th' one side he, on th' other sate Delay,
Behinde the gate that none her might espy ;
Whose manner was all passengers to stay
And entertaine with her occasions sly :
Through which some lost great hope unheedily,
Which never they recover might againe ;
And others, quite excluded forth, did ly
Long languishing there in unpittied paine,
And seeking often entraunce afterwards in
vaine.
XIV
' Me when as he had privily espide
Bearing the shield which I had conquerd late,
He kend it streight, and to me opened wide.
So in I past, and streight he closd the gate :
But being in, Delay in close awaite [stay,
Caught hold on me, and thought my steps to
Feigning full many a fond excuse to prate.
And time to steale, the threasure of mans day,
Whose smallest minute lost no riches render
may.
xv
1 But by no meanes my way I would forslow
For ought that ever she could doe or say ;
But from my lofty steede dismounting low
Past forth on foote, beholding all the way
The goodly workes, and stones of rich assay,
Cast into sundry shapes by wondrous skill,"
That like on earth no where I recken may :
And underneath, the river rolling still
With murmure soft, that seem'd to serve the
workmans will.
XVI
' Thence forth I passed to the second gate,
The Gate of Good Desert, whose goodly pride
And costly frame were long here to relate.
The same to all stoode alwaies open wide ;
But in the Porch did evermore abide
An hideous Giant, dreadfull to behold,
That stopt the entraunce with his spacious
stride,
And with the terrour of his countenance bold
Full many did affray, that else faine enter
would.
XVII
' His name was Daunger, dreaded over-all,
Who day and night did watch and duely ward
From fearefull cowards entrance to forstall
And faint-heart-fooles, whom shew of perill \
hard
Could terrific from Fortunes faire adward :
For oftentimes faint hearts, at first espiall
Of his grim face, were from approaching scard ;
[Jnworthy they of grace, whom one deniall
Excludes from fairest hope withouten further
triall,
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
281
' Yet many doughty warriours, often tride
In greater perils to be stout and bold,
Durst not the sternnesse of his looke abide ;
But, soone as they his countenance did behold
Began to faint, and feele their corage cold.
Againe, some other, that in hard assaies
Were cowards knowne, and litle count did hold.
Either through gifts, or guile, or such like waies.
Crept in by stouping low, or stealing of the
kaies.
XIX
' But I. though meanest man of many moe,
Yet much disdaining unto him to lout,
Or creepe betweene his legs, so in to goe,
Ke.solv'd him to assault with manhood stout,
And either beat him in, or drive him out.
Eftsoones, advauncing that enchaun ted shield,
With all my might I gan to lay about :
Which when he saw, the glaive which he did
wield
He gan forthwith t 'a vale, and way unto me
yield.
xx
' So, as I entred, I did backeward looke,
For feare of harme that might lie hidden there;
And loe ! his hindparts, whereof heed I tooke,
Much more deformed fearefull, ugly were,
Then all his former parts did earst appere :
For hatred, raurther, treason, and despight,
With many moe lay in ambushment there,
Awayting to entrap the warelesse wight
Which did not them prevent with vigilant
foresight.
XXI
' Thus having past all perill, I was come
Within the compasse of that Islands space ;
The which did seeme, unto my simple doome,
The onely pleasant and delightfull place
That ever troden was of footings trace :
For all that nature by her mother-wit
Could frame in earth, and forme of substance
base,
Was there ; and all that nature did omit,
Art, playing second natures part, supplyed it.
' No tree, that is of count, in greenewood
From lowest Juniper to Ceder tall, [growes,
No flowre in field, that daintie odour throwes,
Anddeckes his branch with blossomes overall,
jBut there was planted, or grew naturall :
|Nor sense of man so coy and curious nice,
|But there mote find to please it selfe withall ;
'Nor hart could wish for any queint device,
'But there it present wap? and <iid fraile sense
entice.
' In such luxurious plentie of all pleasure,
It seem'd a second paradise to ghesse.
So lavishly enricht with Natures threasure,
That if the happie soules, which doe possesse
Th' Elysian fields and live in lasting blesse.
Should happen this with living eye to see,
They soone would loath their lesser happinesse,
And' wish to life return'd againe to bee,
That in this joyous place they mote have joy*
ance free.
XXIV
Fresh shadowes, fit to shroud from sunny raj' ;
Faire lawnds, to take the sunne in season dew;
Sweet springs, in which a thousand Nymphs
did play ;
Soft rombling brookes, that gentle slomber drew;
High reared mounts, the lands about to vew ;
Low looking dales, disloignd from common
gaze;
Delightfull bowres, to solace lovers trew ;
False Labyrinthes, fond runners eyes to daze ;
All which by nature made did nature selfe a-
' And all without were walkes and alleyea
dight
With divers trees enrang'd in even rankes ;
And here and there were pleasant arbors pight,
And shadie seates, and sundry flowring bankes,
To sit and rest the walkers wearie shankes :
And therein thousand payres of lovers walkt,
'raj-sing their god, and yeelding him great
thankes,
tfe ever ought but of their true loves talkt,
tfe ever for rebuke or blame of any balkt.
' All these together by themselves did sport
Their spotlesse pleasures and sweet loves con-
tent.
But, farre away from these, another sort
)f lovers lincked in true harts consent,
Vhich loved not as these for like intent,
But on chast vertue grounded their desire,
"arre from all fraud or fayned blandishment;
iVMch, in their spirits kindling zealous fire,
Brave thoughts and noble deedes did evermore
aspire.
' Such were great Hercules and Hyllus dear*
[Yew Jonathan and David trustie tryde
Stout Theseus and Pirithous his feare
Pylades and Orestes, by his syde ;
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Myid Titus and Gesippus without pryde ;
Damon and Pythias, whom death could not
sever :
All these, and all that ever had bene tyde
In bands of friendship, there did live for ever ;
Whose lives although decay'd, yet loves de-
cayed never.
XXVIII
1 Which when as I, that never tasted blis
Nor happie howre, beheld with gazefull eye,
I thought there was none other heaven then
this ;
And gan their endlesse happinesse envye,
That^being free from feare and gealosye
Might frankely there their loves desirepossesse;
Whilest I, through paines and perlous jeo-
pardie,
Was forst to seeke my lifes deare patronnesse :
Much dearer be the things which come through
hard distresse.
'Yet all those sights, and all that else I saw,
Might not my steps withhold, but that forth-
right "
Unto that purposd place I did me draw,
Where as my love was lodged day and night,
The temple of great Venus, that is hight
The Queene of beautie, and of love the mother,
There worshipped of ever}- living wight;
Whose goodly workmanship farre past all other
That ever were on earth, all were they set to-
gether.
XXX
' Not that fame famous Temple of Diane,
Whose hight all Ephesus did oversee,
And which all Asia sought with vowes pro-
phane,
One of the worlds seven wonders sayd to bee,
Might match with this by many a degree:
Nor that which that wise King of Jurie framed
With endlesse cost to be th' Almighties see ;
Nor all, that else through all the world is named
To all the heathen Gods, might like to this
be clamed.
' I, much admyring that so goodly frame,
Unto the porch approcht which open stood;
But therein sate an amiable Dame,
That seem'd to be of very sober mood,
And in her semblant shew'd great womanhood :
Strange was her tyre; for on her head a crowne
She wore, much like unto a Danisk hood,
Poudred with pearle and stone ; and all her
gowne [adowne.
Unwoven was with gold, that raught full low
On either side of her two young men stood,
Both strongly arm'd, as fearing one another ;
Yet were they brethren bothofhalfe the blood,
Begotten by two fathers of one mother,
Though of'ccntrarie natures each to other :
The one of them hight Love, the other Hate.
Hate was the elder, Love the younger brother;
Yet was the younger stronger in his state
Then th' elder, and him maystred still in all
debate.
xxxni
'Nathlesse that Dame so well them tempred
both,
That she them forced hand to joyne in hand,
Albe that Hatred was thereto full loth,
And turn'd his face away, as he did stand,
Unwilling to behold that lovely band.
Yet she was of such grace and vert no us might,
That her commaundment he could not with-
But bit his lip for felonous despight, [stand.
And gnasht hisyrontuskesat that displeasing
sight.
XXXIV
'Concord she cleeped was in common reed,
Mother of blessed Peace and Friendship trew
They both her twins, both borne of heavenly
seed,
And she her selfe likewise divinely grew ;
The which right well her workes divine di<
shew : [lends i
For strength and wealth and happinesse sh
And strife and warre and anger does subdew
Of litle much, of foes she maketh friends,
And to afflicted minds sweet rest and quie
sends.
XXXV
' By her the heaven is in his course containe
And" all the world in state unmoved stands,
As their Almightie maker first ordained,
And bound them with inviolable bands ;
Else would the waters overflow the lands,
And fire devoure the ayre, and hell them quigh
But that she holds them with her blessed hand
She is the nourse of pleasure and delight,
And unto Venus grace the gate doth open righ
XXXVI
' By her I entring half dismayed was ;
But she in gentle wise me entertayned,
And twixt her selfe and Love did let me pas
But Hatred would my entrance have n
strayned, [braynei
And with his club me threatned to 'ha'*
Had not the Ladie with her powrefull speacr,
Him from his wicked will uneath refrayned,;
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
283
And th' other eke his malice did empeach,
Till I was throughly past the perill of hi
reach.
XXXVII
•' Into the inmost Temple thus I came,
Which fuming all with fraiikensence I found
And odours rising from the altars llame.
Upon an hundred marble pillors round
The roofe up high was reared from the ground,
All deckt with crownes, and chaynes, and gir-
lands gay, [pound,
And thousand pretious gifts worth many a
The which sad lovers for their vowes did pay;
And all the ground was strow'd with flowres
as fresh as May.
XXXVIII
'An hundred Altars round about were set.
All Haming with their sacrifices fire,
That with the steme thereof the Temple swet,
Which rould in clouds to heaven did aspire,
And in them bore true lovers vowes entire :
And eke an hundred brasen caudrons bright,
To bath in joy and amorous desire,
Every of which was to a damzell bight;
For all the Priests were damzels in soft linnen
dight.
XXXIX
'Right in the midst the Goddesse selfe did
stand
Upon an altar of some costly masse,
Whose substance was uneath to understand :
For neither pretious stone, nor durefull brasse,
Nor shining gold, nor mouldring clay it was ;
But much more rare and pretious to esteeme,
Pure in aspect, and like to christall glasse,
Yet glasse was not, if one did rightly deeme;
But, being f'alre and brickie, likest glasse did
seeme.
XL
' But it in shape and beautie did excell
All other Idoles which the heathen adore,
Farre passing that, which by surpassing skill
Phidias did make in Paphos Isle of yore,
With which that wretched Greeke, that life
forlore,
Did fall in love : yet this much fairer shined,
But covered with a slender veile afore ;
And both her feete and legs together twyned
Were with a snake, whose head and tail were
fast combyned.
XLI
1 The cause why she was covered with a vele
Was hard to know, for that her Priests the
same
From peoples knowledge labour'd to concele :
But sooth it was not sure for womanish shame.
Norany blemish .vhich theworke moteblame;
But for, they say, she hath both kinds in one,
Both male and female, both under one name :
She syre and mother is her selfe alone, [none.
Begets and eke conceives, ne needeth other
XLII
' And all about her necke and shoulders flew
A flocke of litle loves, and sportg, and joyes,
With nimble wings of gold and purple hew;
Whose shapes seem'd not like to terrestriall
boyes,
But like to Angels playing heavenly toyes,
The whilest their eldes't brother was away,
Cupid their eldest brother; he enjoyes
The wide kingdome of love with lordly sway,
*id to his law compels all creatures to obay.
xuu
' And all about her akar scattered lay
Great sorts of lovers piteously complayning,
Some of their losse, some of their loves delay,
Some of their pride, some paragons disdayning,
Some fearing fraud, some fraudulently fayning,
As even- one had cause of good or ill.
Amongst the rest some one, through Loves
constrayning
Tormented sore, could not containe it still,
But thus brake forth, that all the temple it did
fill
XLIV
' " Great Venus ! Queenc of beautie and of grace,
The joy of Gods and men, that under skie
Doest fay rest shine, and most adorne thy place ;
That with thy smyling looke doest pacific
The raging seas, and makst the stormes to flie ;
Thee, goddesse, thee the winds, the clouds doe
feare,
And, when thou spredst thy mantle forth on hie,
The waters play, and pleasant lands appeare,
And heavens laugh, and al the world shews
joyous cheare.
XLV
' " Then doth the daedale earth throw forth to
thee
3ut of her fruitfull lap aboundant flowres ;
And then all living wights, soone as they see
The spring breake forth out of his lust}1 bowresy
The}' all doe learne to play the Paramours ;
First doe the merry birds, thy prety pages,
Privily pricked with thy lustfull powres,
Chirpe loud to thee out of their leavy cages,
And thee their mother call to coole theti
kindly rages.
XLVI
' " Then doe the salvage beasts begin to play
Their pleasant friskes, and loath their wonted
food:
284
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
The Lyons rore ; the Tygres loudly bray ;
The raging Buls rebellow through the wood,
And breaking forth dare tempt the deepest
flood [desire.
To come where thou doest draw them with
So all things else, that nourish vitall blood,
Soone as with fun- thou doest them inspire,
In generation seeke to quench their inward fire.
XLVII
"' So all the world by thee at first was made,
And dayly yet thou doest the same repayre ;
Ne ought on earth that merry is and glad,
Ne ought on earth that lovely is and fayre,
But thou the same for pleasure didst pre-
payre :
Thou art "the root of all that joyous is :
Great God of men and women, queene of th'
ayre,
Mother of laughter, and welspring of blisse,
0 graunt that of my love at last I may not
misse! "
XLVIII
' So did he say : but I with murmure soft,
That none might heare the sorrow of my hart,
Yet inly groning deepe and sighing oft,
Besought her to graunt ease unto my smart,
And to my wound her gratious help impart.
Whilest thus I spake, behold ! with happy eye
1 spyde where at the Idoles feet apart
A bevie of fayre damzels close did lye,
Way ting when as the Antheme should be sung
on bye.
XLIX
'The first of them did seeme of ryper yeares
And graver countenance then all the rest ;
Yet all the rest were eke her equall peares,
Yet unto her obayed all the best.
Her name was Womanhood; that she ex-
prest
By her sad semblant and demeanure wyse :
For stedfast still her eyes did fixed rest,
Ne rov'd at randon, after gazers guyse,
Whose luring baytes oft imes doe heedlesse harts
entyse.
L,
' And next to her sate goodly Shamefastnesse,
Ne ever durst her eyes from ground upreare,
Ne ever once did looke up from her desse,
As if some blame of evill she did feare,
That in her cheekes made roses oft appeare :
And her against sweet Cherefulnesse was placed,
Whose eyes, like twinkling stars in evening
cleare, [chaced,
Were deckt with smyles that all sad humors
And darted forth delights the which her good-
ly graced.
'And next to her sate sober Modestie,
Holding her hand upon her gentle hart;
And her against sate comely Curtesie,
That unto every person knew her part;
And her before was seated overthwart
Soft Silence, and submisse Obedience,
Both linckt together never to dispart ;
Both gifts of God, not gotten but from thence,
Both girlonds of his Saints against their foes
offence.
LI I
Thus sate they all around in seemely rate :
And in the midst of them a goodly mayd
Even in the lap of Womanhood there sate,
The which was all in lilly white arayd,
With silver streames amongst the linueii
stray'd;
Like to the Morne, when first her shyning face
Hath to the gloomy world itselfe bewray 'd:
That same was fayrest Amoret in place,
Shyning with beauties light and heavenly
vertues grace.
LIII
' Whom soone as I beheld, my hart gan throb
And wade in doubt what best were to be
donne ;
For sacrilege me seem'd the Church to rob,
And folly seem'd to leave the thing undonne
Which with so strong attempt I had begonne.
Tho, shaking oif all doubt and shamefast feare
Which Ladies love, I heard, had never wonne
Mongst men of worth, I to her stepped neare,
And by the lilly hand her labour'd up to
reare.
LJV
'Thereat that formost matrone me did
blame,
And sharpe rebuke for being over bold;
Saying, it was to Knight unseemely shame
Upon a recluse Virgin to lay hold,
That unto Venus services was sold.
To whom I thus : " Nay, but it fitteth best
For Cupids man with Venus mayd to hold,
For ill your goddesse services are drest
By virgins, and her sacrifices let to rest."
'With that my shield I forth to her did
show,
Which all that while I closely nad conceld;
On which when Cupid, with his killing bow
And cruell shafts, emblazond she beheld,
At sight thereof she was with terror queld,
And said no more: but I, which all thai
while
The pledge of faith, her band, engaged heldj
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
285
Like warie Hynd within the weedie soyle,
For no intreatie would forgoe so glorious
spoyle.
LVI
'And evermore upon the Goddesse face
Mine eye was fixt, for fcare of her offence;
Whom when I saw with amiable grace
To laugh at me, and favour my pretence,
I was emboldned with more confidence;
And nought for nicenessc nor for envy
sparing,
In presence of them all forth led her thence
All looking on, and like astonisht staring,
Yet to lay hand on her not one of all them
daring.
LVII
' She often prayd, and often me besought,
Sometime with tender teares to let her goe,
Sometime with witching smyles ; but yet, fc;
nought
That ever she to me could say or doe,
Could she her wished freedome fro me wooe :
But forth I led her through the Temple gate,
By which I hardly past with much adoe:
But that same Ladie, which me friended late
In entrance, did me also friend in my retrale.
' No lesse did Daunger threaten me with dread,
Whenas he saw me, maugre all his powre,
That glorious spoyle of beautie with me lead,
Then Cerberus, when Orpheus did recoure
His Leinan from the Stygian Princes boure :
But evermore my shield did me defend
Against the storme of every dreadfull stoure:
Thus safely with my love 1 thence did wend.'
So ended lie his tale, where I this Canto end.
CANTO XI.
Marinells former wound is heald,
He comes to Proteus hall.
Where Thames doth the Medway wedd,
And feasts the Sea-gods all.
BUT ah for pittie ! that I have thus long
Left a fay re Ladie languishing in payne:
Now well-away ! that I have doen such
wrong,
To let faire Florimell in bands remayne,
In bands of love, and in sad thraldomes
chayne; [fr66
From which, uulessesome heavenly powre her
By miracle, not yet appearing playne,
She lenger yet is like captiv'd to bee ;
That even to thinke thereof it inly pit ties mee.
Of all her lovers which would her have refr :
For wall'd it was with waves, which rag'd and
ror'd
As they the cliffe in peeces would have cleft;
Besides ten thousand monsters foule abhor'd
Did waite about it, gaping griesly, all begor'd.
And in the midst thereof did horror dwell,
And darkenesse dredd that never viewed day,
Like to the balefull house of lowest hell,
In which old Styx her aged bones alway,
Here neede you to remember, how erewhile
Unlovely Proteus, missing to his mind
That Virgins love to win by wit or wile,
Her threw into a dongeon deepe and blind,
And there in chaynes her cruelly did bind,
In hope thereby her to his bent to draw :
For, when as neither gifts nor graces kind
Her constant mind could move at all he saw,
He thought her to compell by crueltie and
Deepe in the bottome of an huge great rocke
The dongeon was, in which her bound he left,
That neither yron barres, nor brasen locke,
Did iieede to gard from force, or secret theft
I Old Styx the Grandame of the Gods, doth lay.
There did this lucklesse maj'd seven months
Ne ever evening saw, ne mornings rav, [abide,
Ne ever from the day the night descride,
But thought it all one night that did no lioures
divide.
v
And all this was for love of Marinell,
Who her despysd (ah ! who would her despyse ?)
And wemens love did from his hart expell,
And all thosejoyes that weake mankind entyse.
Nathlesse his pride full dearely he did pryse;
For of a womans hand it was "ywroke,
That of the wound he yet in languor lyes,
Ne can be cured of that cruell stroke
Which Britomart him gave, when lie did her
provoke.
286
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Yet farre and neare the Nymph his mother
sought,
And many salves did to his sore applie,
And many herbes did use. But when as
nought,
She saw, could ease his rankling maladie,
At last to Tryphon she for helpe did hie,
(This Tryphon is the seagods surgeon hight,)
Whom she besought to find some remedie,
And for his paines a whistle him benight,
That of a fishes shell was wrought with rare
delight.
VII
So well that Leach did hearke to her request.
And did so well employ his careful! paine,
That in short space his hurts he had redrest,
And him restor'd to healthfull state againe :
In which he long time after did remaine
There with the Nymph his mother, like her
thrall:
Who sore against his will did him retaine,
For feare of perill which to him mote fall
Through his too ventrous prowesse proved over
all
It fortun'd then, a solemne feast was there
To all the Sea-gods and their fruitfull seede,
In honour of the spousalls which then were
Betwixt the Medway and the Thames agreed.
Long had the Thames (as we in records reed)
Before that day her wooed to his bed,
But the proud Nymph would for no worldly
meed,
Nor no entreatie, to his love be led ;
Till now, at last relenting, she to him was wed.
So both agreed that this their bridale feast
Should for the Gods in Proteus house be made :
To which they all repayr'd, both most and
least,
As well which in the mightie Ocean trade,
As that in rivers swim, or brookes doe wade :
All which, not if an hundred tongues to tell,
And hundred mouthes, and voice of brasse I
had,
And endlesse memorie that mote excell,
In order as they came could I recount them
well.
Helpe, therefore, 0 ! thou sacred imp of Jove
The noursling of Dame Memorie his deare,
To whom those rolles, layd up in heaven above,
And records of antiquitie appeare,
To which no wit of man may comen neare :
Helpe me to tell the names of all those floods
And all those Nymphes, which then assembled
were
To that great banquet of the watry Gods,
And all their sundry kinds, and all their hid
abodes.
XI
First came great Neptune, with his threeforkt
mace,
That rules the Seas and makes them rise or fall ;
His dewy lockes did drop with brine apace
Under his Diademe imperiall :
And by his side his Queene with coronall,
Faire Amphitrite, most divinely faire,
Whose yvorie shoulders weren covered all,
As with a robe, with her owne silver haire,
And deckt with pearles which th' Indian seas
for her prepaire.
XII
These marched farre afore the other crew :
And all the way before them, as they went,
Triton his trompet shrill before them blew,
For goodly triumph and great jollyment,
That made the rockes to roare as they were
rent.
And after them the royall issue came,
Which of them sprung by lineall descent :
First the Sea-gods, which to themselves doe
clame [to tame.
The powre to rule the billowes, and the waves
Phorcys, the father of that fatall brood,
By whom those old Heroes wonne such fame ;
And Glaucus, that wise southsayes understood;
And tragicke Inoes sonne, the which became
A God of seas through his mad mothers blame,
Now hight Palemon, and is saylers frend;
Great Brontes ; and Astrneus, that did shame
Himselfe with incest of his kin unkend ;
And huge Orion, that doth tempests still por-
tend;
XIV
The rich Cteatus ; and Eurytus long ;
Neleus and Pelias, lovely brethren both ;
Mightie Chrysaor; and Cai'cus strong;
Eurypttlup, that calmes the waters wroth ;
And faire Euphremus, that upon them goth
As on the ground, without dismay or dread ;
Fierce Eryx : and Alcbius, that kuow'th
The waters depth, and doth their bottom e tread ;
And sad Asopus, comely with his hoarie head.
There also some most famous founders were
Of puissant Nations which the world possest,
CANTO XI.]
TItE FAERIE QUEEtfE.
287
Yet sonnes of Neptune, now assembled here :
Ancient Ogyges, even th' auncientest ;
And Inaclms renowmd above the rest ;
Phoenix, and Aon, and Pclasgus old ;
Great Belus, Phceax, and Agenor best;
And mightie Albion, father of the bold
And warlike people which the Britaine Islands
hold :
XVI
For Albion the sonne of Neptune was,
Who, for the proofe of his great puissance,
Out of his Albion did on dry-foot pas
Into old Gall, that now is deeped France,
To fight with Hercules, that did advance
To vanquish all the world with matchlesse
might;
And there his mortall part by great mischance
Was slaine : but that which is th' immortall
spright [was dight.
Lives still, and to this feast with Neptunes seed
But what doe I their names seeke to reherse,
Which all the world have with their issue fild ?
How can they all in this so narrow verse
Contayned be, and in small compasse hildV
Let them record them that are better skild,
And know the moniments of passed age :
Onely what needeth shall be here fulh'ld,
T' expresse some part of that, great equipage
Which from great Neptune do derive their
parentage.
XVIII
Next came the aged Ocean and his Dame
Old Tethys, th' oldest two of all the rest;
For all the rest of those two parents came,
Which afterward both sea and land possest ;
Of all which Nereus, th' eldest and the best,
Did first proceed, then -which none more up-
right,
Ne more sincere in word and deed profest ;
Most voide of guile, most free from fowle de-
spight. [right.
Doing him sclfe, and teaching others to doe
XIX
Thereto he was expert in prophecies,
And could the ledden of the gods unfold;
Through which, when Paris brought his fa-
mous prise,
The faire Tindarid lasse, he him fortold
That her all Greece with many a champion
bold
Should fetch againe, and finally destroy
Proud Priams rowne. So wise is Nereus old,
And so well skild ; nathlesse he takes great joy
Oft-times amongst the wanton Nymphs to
sport and toy.
And after him (he famous rivers came,
Which doe the earth enrich and beautide :
The fertile Nile, which creatures new doth
frame ; [skie ;
Long Rhodanus, whose sourse springs from the
Faire Ister, flowing from the mountaines hie •
Divine Scamander. purpled yet with blood
Of Greeks and Trojans which therein did die ;
Pactolus glistring with his golden flood ;
And Tygris fierce, whose s treamcs of none may
be withstood ;
XXI
Great Ganges, and immortall Euphrates,
Deepe Indus, and Maeander intricate.
Slow Peneus, and tempestuous Phasides,
Swift Rhene, and Alpheus still iinmaculate
Ooraxes, feared for great Cyrus fate,
Tybris, renowmed for the Romaines fame,
Rich Oranochy, though but knowen late;
And that huge River, which doth beare his
name [same.
Of warlike Amazons, who doe possesse the
Joy on those warlike women, which so long
Can from all men so rich a kingdome hold !
And shame on you, O men ! which boast your
strong [bold,
And valiant hearts, in thoughts lesse hard and
Yet quaile in conquest of that land of gold.
But this to you, O Britons ! most pertaines,
To whom the right hereof it selfe hath sold,
The which, for sparing litle cost or paines,
Loose so immortall glory, and so endlesse
gaines.
XXIII
Then was there heard a most celestiall sound
Of dainty musicke, which did next ensew
Before the spouse : that was Arion crownd ;
Who, playing on his harpe, unto him drew
The eares and hearts of all that goodly crew,
That even yet the Dolphin, which him bore
Through the Agsean seas ftom Pirates vew,
Stood still by him astonisht at his lore,
And all the raging seas for joy forgot to rore.
XXIV
So went he playing on the watery plaine ;
Soone after whom the lovely Bridcgroome
came.
The noble Thamis, with all his goodly traine ;
But him before there went, as best became,
His auncient parents, namely th' auncient
Thame.
But much more aged was his wife then he,
The Ouzc, whom men doe Isis rightly name;
288
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
Full weake and crooked creature seemed shee,
And almost blind through eld, that scarce her
way could see.
XXV
Therefore on either side she was sustained
Of two smal grooms, which by their names
were hight [which pained
The Churne and Charwell, two small streames,
Them selves her footing to direct aright,
Which fayled oft through faint and feeble
plight :
But Thame was stronger, and of better stay ;
Yet seem'd full aged by his outward sight,
With head all hoary, and his beard all gray,
Deawed with silver drops that trickled downe
alway.
XXVI
And eke he somewhat seem'd to stoupe afore
With bowed backe, by reason of the lode
And auncient heavy burden which he bore
Of that faire City, wherein make abode
So many learned impes, that shoote abrode,
And with their braunches spred all Britany,
No lesse then do her elder sisters broode.
Joy to you both, ye double noursery
Of Arts ! but, Oxford, thine doth Thame most
glorify.
XXVII
But he their sonne full fresh and jolly was,
All decked in a robe of watchet hew, [glas,
On which the waves, glittering like Christall
So cunningly enwoven were, that few
Could weenen whether they were false or trew :
And on his head like to a Coronet
He wore, that seemed strange to common vew,
In which were many towres and castels set,
That it encompast round as with a golden fret
Like as the mother of the Gods, they say,
In her great iron charet wonts to ride,
When to Joves pallace she doth take her way,
Old Cybele, arayd with pompous pride,
Wearing a Diademe embattild wide
With hundred turrets, like a Turribant ;
With such an one was Thamis beautifide ;
That was to weet the famous Troynovant,
In which her kingdomes throne is chielly re-
siant.
XXIX
And round about him many a pretty Page
Attended duely, ready to obay ;
All little Rivers which owe vassallage
To him, as to their Lord, and tribute pay :
The chaulky Kenet. and the Thetis gray,
The morish Cole, and the soft sliding Breane,
The wanton Lee, that oft doth loose his way ;
And the still Darent, in whose waters cleane
Ten thousand tishes play and decke his plea
sant streame.
XXX
Then came his neighbour flouds which nigl
him dwell,
And water all the English soile throughout :
They all on him this day attended well,
And with meet service waited him about,
Ne none disdained low to him to lout :
No, not the stately Severne grudg'd at all,
Ne storming Humber, though he looked stout
But both him honor'd as their principal!,
And let their swelling waters low before hin
fall
XXXI
There was the speedy Tamar, which devides
The Cornish and the Devonish confines ;
Through both whose borders swiftly downe i
glides, [clines
And, meeting Plim, to Plimmouth thence de
And Dart, nigh chockt with sands of tinn;
mines.
But Avon marched in more stately path.
Proud of his Adamants with which he shines
And glisters wide, as als' of wondrous Bath,
And Bristow faire, which on his' waves h
builded hath.
And there came Stonre with terrible aspect,
Bearing his sixe deformed heads on hye,
That doth his course through Blandford plain
direct,
And washeth Winborne meades in season dry<
Next him went Wylibourne with passage sly<
That of his wylinesse his name doth take,
And of him selfe doth name the shire therebv
And Mole, that like a nousling Mole doth mak
His way still under ground, till Thamis h
overtake.
XXXIII
Then came the Rother. decked all with wood
Like a wood God, and flowing fast to Rhy;
And Sture, that parteth with his pleasar
floods
The Easterne Saxons from the Southerne ny,
And Clare and Harwitch botn doth beautify :
Him follow'd Yar, soft washing Norwitch wal
And with him brought a present joyfully
Of his owne fish unto their festival^
Whose like none else could shew, the whic
they Ruffins call.
XXXIV
Next these the plenteous Ouse came far fro-
land,
By many a city and by many a towne-
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
289
And many rivers taking under-hand
Into his waters as he passeth downe,
The Cle, the Were, the Grant, the Sture, the
Rowne. [flit,
'hence doth by Huntingdon and Cambridge
ly mother Cambridge, whom ae with a
Crowne
le doth adorne, and is adorn 'd of it [wit.
Vith many a gentle Muse and many a learned
XXXV
And after him the fatall Welland went,
'hat, if old sawes prove true (which God for-
bid !)
ihall drowne all Holland with his excrement,
ind shall see Stamford, though now homely hid,
'hen shine in learning, more then ever did
Cambridge or Oxford, Englands goodly beames.
ind next to him the Nene downe softly slid ;
md bounteous Trent, that in him selfe en-
seames [streames.
Joth thirty sorts of fish, and thirty sundry
XXXVI
Next these came Tyne, along whose stony
bancke
'hat Komaine Monarch built a brasen wall,
Which mote the feebled Britons strongly
flancke
igainst the Picts that swarmed over-all,
Vhich yet thereof Gualsever they doe call:
md Twede, tlie limit betwixt Logris laud
A.nd Albany : And Eden, though but small,
ret often stainde with bloud of many a band
Of Scots and English both, that tyned on his
strand.
XXXVII
Then came those sixe sad brethren, like for-
lorne,
That whilome were (as antique fathers tell)
Sixe valiant Knights of one faire Nymphe
y borne,
Vhich did in noble deedes of annes excell,
\nd wonned there where now Yorke people
Whose bad condition yet it doth retuiiie,
Oft tossed with his stormes which therein still
remaine.
XXXIX
These after came the stony shallow Lone,
That to old Loncaster his name doth lend ;
And following Dee, which Britons long ygone
Did call divine, that doth by Chester tend ;
And Conway, which out of his streame doth send
Plenty of pearles to decke his dames withall ;
And Lindus that his pikes doth most commend,
Of which the auncient Lincolne men doe call :
All these together marched toward Proteus
hall.
XL
Ne thence the Irishe Rivers absent were,
Sith no lesse famous then the rest they bee,
And joyne in neighbourhood of kingdome nere,
Why should they not likewise in love agree,
And joy likewise this solemne day to see ?
They saw it all, and present were in place ;
Though I them all according their degree
Cannot recount, nor tell their hidden race,
Nor read the salvage cuntreis thorough which
they pace.
XLI
There was the Liffy rolling downe the lea,
The sandy Slane, the stony Aubrian,
The spacious Shenan spreading like a sea,
The pleasant Boyne, the fishy fruitfull Ban,
Swift Awniduff, which of the English man
Is cal'de Blacke-water, and the LifFar deep,
Sad Trowis, that once his people over-ran,
Strong Allo tombling from Slewlogher steep,
And Mulla mine, whose waves I whilom taught
to weep.
XLII
And there the three renowmed brethren were,
Which that great Gyant Blomius begot
Of the faire Nimph'Rheusa wandring there.
One day, as she to shunne the season whot
Under Slewboome in shady grove was got,
This Gyant found her and by force deflowr'd ;
dwell- [might I Whereof conceiving, she in time forth brought
Still Ure, swift Werfe. and Oze the most of These thrce faire sons, which being thenceforth
powrd [scowrd.
ligh Swale, unquiet Nide, and troublous Skell;
411 whom a Scythian king, that Humber hight,
~lew cruelly, and in the river drowned quight.
XXXVIII
But past not long ere Brutus warlicke sonne,
Locrinus, them aveng'd, and the same date,
liVhich the proud Humber unto them had donne,
By equall dome repayd on his owne pate:
<"or in the pelfe same river, where he late
iiad drenched them, he drowned him againe,
VIM! nain'd the river of his wretched fate
In three great rivers ran, and many countreis
The first the gentle Shure that, making way
By sweet Clonmell, adornes rich Waterford ;
The next, the stubborne Newre whose waters
gray
By faire Kilkenny and Rosseponre boord ;
The third, the goodly Barow which doth hoord
Great heapes of salmons in his deepe bosome
All which, long sundred, doe at last accord
u
200
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK iv.
To joyne in one, ere to the sea thev come ;
So, 'flowing all from one, all one at last become.
XLIV
There also was the wide embayed Mayre ;
The pleasaunt Bandon crownd with many a
wood;
The spreading Lee that, like an Island fayre,
Encloseth Corke with his devided flood;
And balefull Oure, late staind with English
blood, [tell:
With many more whose names no tongue can
All which "that day in order seemly good
Did on the Thamis attend, and waited well
To doe their dueful service, as to them beielL
Then came the Bride, the lovely Medua came,
Clad in a vesture of unknowen geare
And uncouth fashion, yet her well became,
That seem'd like silver, sprinckled here and
theare [ appeare,
With glittering spangs that did like starres
And wav'd upon, like water Chamelot,
To hide the metall, which yet every where
Bewrayd it selfe, to let men plainely wot
It was no mortall worke, that seem'd and yet
was not.
XLVI
Her goodly lockes adowne her backe did flow
Unto her waste, with flowres bescattered.
The which ambrosiall odours forth did throw
To all about, and all her shoulders spred
As a new spring ; and likewise on her hed
A Chapelet of sundry flowers she wore,
From under which the deawy humour shed
Did tricle downe her haire, Tike to the hore
Congealed litle drops which doe the morne
adore.
XI.VII
On her two pretty handmaides did attend.
One cald the Theise, the other cald the Crane,
Which on her waited things amisse to mend,
And both behind upheld her spredding traine;
Under the which her feet appeared plainp,
Her silver feet, faire washt against this day :
And her before there paced Pages twaine,
Both clad in colours like, and like array,
The Doune and eke the Frith, both which pre-
pard her way.
XLVIII
And after these the Sea Nymphs marched all,
All goodly damzels, deckt with long greene
VVhom of their sire Nereides men call, f haire.
All which the Oceans daughter to him bare,
The gray-eyde Doris ; all which fifty are, •
All which she there on her attending had :
Swift Proto, milde Eucrate, Thetis faire,
Soft Spio, sweete Endore, Sao sad.
Light Dotn, wanton Glauce, and Galene glad
White hand Eunica, proud Dynamene,
Joyous Thalia, goodly Amphitrite,
Lovely Pasithee, kinde Eulimene,
Lightfoote Cymothoe, and sweete Melite,
Fairest Pherusa, Phao lilly white,
Wondred Agave, Poris, and Nessea,
With Erato that doth in love delite,
And Panops, and wise Protomectea, [thsea
And snowy neckd Doris, and milkewhite Gala
Speedy Hippothoe, and chaste Actea,
Large Lisianassa, and Pronsea sage,
Euagore, and light Pontoporea,
And she that with her least word can asswaj,
The surging seas, when they do sorest rage, !
Cymodoce, and stout Autonoe,
A'nd Neso, and Eione well in age,
And, seeming still to smile, Glauconome,
And she that bight of manv heastes Polvnomi)
Fresh Alimeda deckt with girlond greene;
Hyponeo with salt-bedewed wrests ;
Laomedia like the christall sheene;
Liagore much praisd for wise behests ;
And Psamathe for her brode snowy brests ;
Cymo, Eupompe, and Themi.ste just ;
A'nd, she that vertue loves and vice detests,
Euarna, and Menippe true in trust,
And Nemertea learned well to rule her lust.
All these the daughters of old Xereus were
Which have the sea in charge to them assinc
To rule his tides, and surges to uprere,
To bring forth stormes, or fast them to upbim
And sailers save from wreckes of wrathfi
winde. [we
And yet, besides, three thousand more th<
Of th' Oceans seede, but Joves and Phoeb
kinde ;
The which in floods and fountaines doe appe
And all mankinde do nourish with their wati
clere.
The which, more eath it were for mort
wight
To tell the sands, or count the starres on h
CANTO XI.]
THE FA ERIE QUEENE.
291
Or ought more hard, then thiuke to reckon And there, amongst the rest, the mother was
right. | Of luckelesse Marinell, Cymodoce ;
But well I wote that these, which I descry
Were present at this great solemnity :
Which, for my Muse her selfe now tyred has.
Unto an other Canto I will overpas.
CANTO XII.
Marin for love of Florimell
In languor wastes his life :
The Nymph, his mother, getteth her
And gives to him for wife.
O! WHAT an endlesse worke have I in hand,
To count the seas abundant progeny,
Whose fruitfull seede farre passeth those in
laud,
Aud also those which wonne in th' azure sky :
For much more eath to 1«11 the starres on by,
Albe they endlesse seeme in estimation,
Then to recount the Seas posterity :
So fertile be the Houds in generation,
So huge their numbers, and so numberlesse
their nation.
it
Therefore the antique wisards well invented
That Venus of the foray sea was bred,
For that the seas by her are most augmented :
Witnesse th' exceeding fry which there are fed.
And wondrous sholes which may of none be red.
Then, blame me not if I have err'd in count
Of Gods, of Nymphs, of rivers, yet unred ;
For though their numbers do much more sur-
mount, [count.
Yet all those same were there which erst Idid re-
All those were there, and many other more,
Whose names and nations were too long to tell,
That Proteus house they fild even to the dore ;
Vet were they all in order, as befell,
According their degrees disposed well.
Amongst the rest was faire Cymodoce,
The mother of unlucky Marinell,
Who thither with her came, to learne and see
The manner of the Gods when they at banquet
be.
IV
But for he was halfe mortall, being bred
Of mortall sire, though of immortal 1 wombe,
He might not with immortall food be fed,
Ne witli th' eternall Gods to bancket come ;
But wa'.kt abrode, and round about did rome
To view the building of that uncouth place,
That seem'd unlike unto his earthly home :
Where, as he to and fro by chaunce did trace,
There unto him betid a disaveutrous case.
Under the hanging of an hideous clieffe
He heard the lamentable voice of one,
That piteously complaind her carefull grieffe,
Which never she before disclosd to none,
But to her selfe her sorrow did bemone :
So feelingly her case she did complaine,
That ruth it moved in the rocky stone,
iVnd made it seerae to feele her grievous paine,
And oft to grone with billowes beating from
the maine :
VI
Though vaine, I see, my sorrowes to unfold,
And count my cares when none is nigh to
heare,
Yet, hoping griefe may lessen being told,
I will them tell though unto no man neare :
For heaven, that unto all lends equall eare,
Is farre from hearing of my heavy plight ;
And lowest hell, to which I lie most neare,
Cares not what evils hap to wretched wight ;
And greedy seas doe in the spoile of life de-
light.
VII
' Yet loe ! the seas, I see, by often beating
Doe pearce the rockes, and hardest marble
weares :
But his hard rocky hart for no entreating
Will yeeld, but when my piteous plaints he
heares,
Is hardned more with my aboundant teares :
Yet though he never list to me relent,
But let me waste in woe my wretched yeares,
Yet will I never of my love repent,
But joy that for his sake I suffer prisonment.
' And when my weary ghost, with griefe out-
worue,
By timely death shall winne her wished rest,
Let then this plaint unto his eares be borne,
That blame it is to him, that armes profest,
To let her die whom he might have redrest.'
There did she pause, inforced to give place
Unto the passion that her heart opprest ;
U2
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK iv.
And, after she had wept and wail'd a space,
She gan afresh thus to renew her wretched case.
' Ye Gods of seas, if any Gods at all
Have care of right, or ruth of wretches wrong,
By one or other way me, woefull thrall,
Deliver hence out of this dungeon strong,
In which I daily dying am too long :
And if ye deeme me death for loving one
That loves not me, then doe it not prolong,
But let me die and end my daies attone,
And let him live unlov'd, or love him selfe
alone.
x
4 But if that life ye unto me decree,
Then let mee live as lovers ought to do,
And of my lifes deare love beloved be :
And if he should through pride your doome
undo,
Do you by duresse him compell thereto,
And in this prison put him here with me ;
One prison fittest is to hold us two.
So had I rather to be thrall then free :
Such thraldome or such freedome let it surely
be,
XI
1 ButO vaine judgement, and conditions vaine,
The which the prisoner points unto the free !
The whiles I him condemne, and deeme his
paine,
He where he list goes loose, and laughes at me.
So ever loose, so ever happy be !
But where so loose or happy that thon art,
Know, Marinell, that, all this is for thee.'
With that she wept and wail'd, as if her hart
Would quite have burst through great abund-
ance of her smart.
All which complaint when Marinell had heard,
And understood the cause of all her care
To come of him for using her so hard,
His stubborne heart, that never felt misfare,
Was toucht with soft remorse and pitty rare ;
That even for griefe of minde he oft did grone,
And inly wish that in his powre it weare
Her to redresse : but since he meanes found
none,
He could no more but her great misery bemone.
Thus whilst his stony heart with tender ruth
Was toucht. and mighty courage mollifide,
Dame Venus sonne, that tameth stubborne
youth
With iron bit, and maketh him abide
Till like a victor on his backe he ride,
Into his mouth his maystring bridle threw,
That made him stoupe, till he did him bestride:
Then gan he make him tread his steps anew,
And learne to love by learning lovers paines to
Now gan he in his grieved minde devise,
How from that dungeon he might her enlarge.
Some while he thought, by faire and humble
wise
To Proteus selfe to sue for her discharge :
But then he fear'd his mothers former charge
Gainst womens love, long given him in vaine :
Then gan he thinke, perforce with sword and
targe
Her forth to fetch, and Proteus to constraine :
But soone he gan such folly to forthinke againe.
xv
Then did he cast to steale her thence away,
And with him beare where none of her might
know :
But all in vaine, for-why he found no way
To enter in, or issue forth below ;
For all about that rocke the sea did flow :
And though unto his will she given were,
Yet without ship or bote her thence to row, j
He wist not how her thence away to bere,
And daunger well he wist long to continu
there.
XVI
At last, when as no meanes he could invent, |
Backe to him selfe he gan retume the blame,
That was the author of her punishment ;
And with vile curses and reprochfull shame
To damne him selfe by every evil name,
And deeme unworthy or of love or life,
That had despisde so chast and faire a dame, j
Which him had sought through trouble an
long strife, [to wifij
Yet had refusde a God that her had sough]
In this sad plight he walked here and there j
And romed round about the rocke in vaine,
As he had lost him selfe he wist not where ;
Oft listening if he mote her heare againe.
And still bemoning her unworthy paine.
Like as an Hynde, whose calfe is falne unwan J
Into some pit, where she him heares complaint I
An hundred times about the pit side fares I
Right sorrowfully mourning her bereaved care ]
XVIII
And now by this the feast was through!]
ended,
And every one gan homeward to resort :
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
293
Which seeing, Marinell was sore offended
That his departure thence should be so short,
And leave his love in that sea-walled fort.
Yet durst he not his mother disobay,
But her attending in full seemly sort,
Did march amongst the many all the way,
And all the way did inly mourne, like one
astray.
XIX
Being returned to his mothers bowre,
In solitary silence, far from wight,
He gan record the lamentable stowre,
In which his wretched love lay day and night
For hisdeare sake, that ill deserv'd that plight :
The thought whereof empierst his hart so deepe,
That of no worldly thing he tooke delight ;
Nc dayly food did take, ne nightly sleepe,
But pyn'd, and mourn'd, and languisht, and
alone did weepe.
That in short space his wonted chearefull hew
jan fade, and lively spirits deaded quight :
Bis cheeke- bones raw, and eie-pits hollow grew,
And brawney armes had lost their knowen
might,
That nothing like himselfe he seem'd in sight.
Ere long so weake of limbe, and sicke of love
He woxe, that lenger he note stand upright,
But to his bed was brought, and layd above,
Like ruefull ghost, unable once to stirre or
move.
XXI
Which when his mother saw, she in her mind
Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to weenc ;
Ne could by search nor any meanes out find
The secret cause and nature of his teene,
Whereby she might apply some medicine ;
But weeping day and night did him attend,
And mourn'd to see her losse before her eyne,
Which griev'd her more that she it could not
mend;
To see an hclplesseevill double griefe doth lend.
Nought could she read the roote of his disease.
Ne weene what mister maladie it is,
Whereby to seeke some meanes it to appease.
Most did she thinke, but most she thought
amis,
That that same former fatall wound of his
Whyleare by Tryphon was not throughly
healed,
But closely rankled under th' orifis :
Least did she thinke, that which he most con-
cealed, [vealed.
That love it was, which in his hart lay unre-
Therefore to Tryphon she againe doth hast,
And him doth chyde as false and fraudulent,
That fayld the trust which she in him had plast,
To cure her sonne, as he his faith had lent,
Who now was falne into new languishment
Of his old hurt, which was not throughly cured.
So backe he came unto her patient ;
Where searching every part, her well assured
That it was no old sore which his new paine
procured ;
XXIV
But that it was some other maladie,
Or grief unknowne, which he could not dis-
cerne :
So left he her withouten remedie.
Then gan her heart to faint, and quake, and
earne,
And inly troubled was the truth to learne.
Unto himselfe she came, and him besought,
Now with faire speches, now with threatnings
sterne,
If ought lay hidden in his grieved thought,
It to reveale; who still her answered, there
was nought,
XXV
Nathlesse she rested not so satisfide ;
But leaving watry gods, as booting nought,
Unto the shinie heaven in haste she hide,
And thence Apollo, King of Leaches, brought.
Apollo came; who, soone as he had sought
Through his disease, did by and by out find
That he did languish of some inward thought,
The which afflicted his engrieved mind ;
Which love he red to be, that leads each living
kind.
XXVI
Which when he had unto his mother told,
She gan thereat to fret and greatly grieve ;
And, comming to her sonne, gan first to
scold
And chyde at him that made her misbelieve :
But afterwards she gan him soft to shrieve,
And wooe with fair intreatie, to disclose
Which of the Nymphes his heart so sore did
mieve ;
For sure she weend it was some one of those,
Which he had lately scene, that for his love
he chose.
XXVII
Now lesse she feared that same fatall read,
That warned him of womens love beware,
Which being ment of mortall creatures sead,
For love of Nymphes she thought she need not
294
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK iv.
But prornist him, what ever wight she weare,
That she her love to him would shortly
gaine.
So he her told : but soone as she did heare
That Florimell it was which wrought his paine,
She gan afresh to chafe, and grieve in every
vaine.
XXVIII
Yet since she saw the streight extremitie,
In which his life unluckily was layd,
It was no time to scan the prophecie,
Whether old Proteus true or false had sayd,
That his decay should happen by a mayd.
It's late in death of daunger to advize,
Or love forbid him, that is life denayd;
But rather gan in troubled mind devize
How she that Ladies libertie might enter-
prize.
XXIX
To Proteus selfe to sew she thought ir
vaine,
Who was the root and worker of her woe,
Nor unto any meaner to complaine ;
But unto great king Neptune selfe did goe,
And, on her knee before him falling lowe,
Made humble suit unto his Majestic
To graunt to her her sonnes life, which his
foe,
A cruell Tyrant, had presumpteouslie
By wicked doome condemn'd a wretched death
to die.
XXX
To whom God Neptune, softly smyling, thus :
'Daughter, me seemes of double wrong j-e
plaine,
Gainst one that hath both wronged you and us ;
For death t' adward I ween'd did appertaine
To none but to the seas sole Soveraine.
Read therefore who it is which this hath
wrought,
And for what cause ; the truth discover plaine,
For never wight so evill did or thought,
But would some rightfull cause pretend, though
rightly nought,'
To whom she answer'd: 'Then, it is by
name
Proteus, that hath ordayn'd my sonne to die;
For that a waift, the which by fortune came
Upon your seas, he claym'd as propertie :
And yet nor his, nor his in equitie,
But yours the waift by high prerogative.
Therefore I humbly crave your Majestie
It to replevie, and my sonne reprive.
So shall you by one gift save all us three
alive.'
XXXII
He graunted it: and streight his warrant
made,
Under the Sea-gods seale autenticall,
Commaunding Proteus straight t' enlarge the
mayd,
Which wandring on his seas imperiall
He lately tooke, and sithence kept as thrall.
Which she receiving with meete thankeful-
nesse,
Departed straight to Proteus therewithall ;
Who, reading it with inward loathfulnesse,
Was grieved to restore the pledge he did
possesse.
XXXIII
Yet durst he not the warrant to withstand,
But unto her delivered Florimell :
Whom she receiving by the lilly hand,
Adniyr'd her beautie much, as she mote well, ;
For she all living creatures did excell ;
And was right joyous that she gotten had
So faire a wife for her sonne Marinell.
So home with her she streight the virgin lad,
Ami shewed her to him, then being sore be J
stad.
Who soone as he beheld that angels face
Ahorn'd with all divine perfection,
His cheared heart eftsoones away gan chace
Sad death, revived with her sweet inspection
And feeble spirit inly felt refection :
As withered weed through cruell winters tin
That feeles the warmth of sunny beanies r
flection,
Liftes up his head that did before decline,
And gins to spread his leafe before the fai
sunshine.
Right so himselfe did Marinell upreare,
When he in place his dearest love did spy ;
And though his limbs could not his bod
beare,
Xe former strength returne so suddenly,
Yet chearefull signes he shewed outwardly.
Ne lesse was she in secret hart affected,
But that she masked it witli modest ie.
For feare she should of lightnesse be detecte<
Which to another place I leave to be pe
fected.
BOOK V.I
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
295
THE FIFTH BOOKE
OK
THE FAEEIE QUEENE
COJ'TAYXING THE LEGEND OF AKTEGALL OR OF JUSTICE.
So oft as I with state of present time
The image of the antique world compare,
When as mans age was in his freshest prime,
And the first blossome of faire vertue bare ;
Such (Hides I finde twixt those, and these
which are,
As that, through long continuance of his course,
Meseemes the world is runne quite out of square
From the first point of his appointed sourse ;
And being once amisse growes daily wourse
and wourse :
li
For from the golden age, that first was
named,
It's now at earst become a stonie one ;
And men themselves, the which at first were
framed
Of earthly mould, and form'd of flesh and bone,
Are now transformed into hardest stone;
Such as behind their backs (so backward
bred)
Were throwne by Pyrrha and Deucalione :
And if then those may any worse be red,
Ihey into that ere long will be degendered.
Let none then blame me, if in discipline
Of vertue and of civill uses lore,
I doe not forme them to the common line
Of present dayes, which are corrupted sore,
But to the antique use which was of yore,
When good was onely for it selfe desyred,
And all men sought their owne, and none no
more;
When Justice was not for mostmeedout-hyred,
But simple Truth did rayne, and was of all
admyred.
IV
For that which all men then did vertue call,
Is now cald vice ; and that which vice was
bight,
Is now bight vertue, and so us'd of all :
Right now is wrong, and wrong that was is
right ;
As all things else in time are chaunged quight :
Ne wonder ; for the heavens revolution
Is wandred farre from where it first was
pight,
And so doe make contrane constitution
Of all this lower world, toward his dissolu-
tion.
v
For who so list into the heavens looke,
And search the courses of the rowling spheares,
Shall find that from the point where they first
tooke
Their setting forth, in these few thousandyeares
They all are wandred much ; that plaine ap-
peares :
For that same golden fleecy Ram, which bore
Phrixus and Helle from their stepdames
feares,
I Hath now forgot where he was plast of yore,
And shouldred hath the Bull which fayre Eu-
ropa bore :
VI
And eke the Bull hath with his bow-bent
horne
So hardly butted those two twinnes of Jove,
That they have crusht the Crab, and quite
him borne
Into the great Nema;an lions grove.
So now all range, and doe at randon rove
Out of their proper places farre away, [move,
And all this world with them amisse do«
296
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
And all his creatures from their course astray,
Till they arrive at their last ruinous decay.
Ne is that same great glorious lampe of
light,
That doth enlumine all these lesser fyres,
In better case, ne keepes his course more
right,
But is miscaried with the other Spheres :
For since the terme of fourteene hundred
veres,
That learned Ptolomaee his hight did take,
He is declyned from that marke of theirs
Nigh thirtie minutes to the Southerne lake ;
That makes me feare in time he will us quite
forsake.
And if to those ^Egyptian wisards old,
All loved vertue, no man was affrayd
Of force, ne fraud in wight was to be found :
No warre was knowne, no dreadfull trompets
sound;
Peace universall rayn'd mongst men and beasts,
And all things freely grew out of the ground •.
Justice sate high ador'd with solemne feasts,
And to all people did divide her dred be-
heasts :
Most sacred vertue she of all the rest,
Resembling God in his.imperiall might;
Whose soveraine powre is herein most ex-
prest,
That both to good and bad he dealeth right,
And all his workes with Justice hath bedight.
That powre he also doth to Princes lend,
And makes them like himselfe in glorious
sight
Which in Star-read were wont have best m-;To sit mvhjs own 8eat6) his c^^ to end,
sight? i And rule his people right, as he doth recom-
Faith may be given, it is by them told mend.
That since the time they first tooke the Sunnes
hight,
Foure times his place he shifted hath in sight, Dread Soverayne Goddesse, that doest high
And twice hath risen where he now doth | est sit
West, I In seate of judgement in th' Almighties stead
And wested twice where he ought rise aright : And with magnificke might and wondrous w:
But most is Mars amisse of all the rest, j Doest to thy people righteous doome aread.
And next to him old Saturne, that was wont That furthest Nations tilles with awful dread
be best.
Pardon the boldnesse of thy basest thrall,
That dare discourse of so divine a read
For during Saturnes ancient raigne it's saydj As thy great justice, praj-sed over-all ,
That all the world with goodnesse did a-
bound:
The instrument whereof* loe! here thv Arte
gall.
CANTO I.
Artegall trayn'd in Justice lore
Irenaes quest pursewed ;
He doth avenge on Sanglier
His Ladies blond embrewed.
THOUGH vertue then were held in highest
price,
In those old times of which I doe entreat,
Vet then likewise the wicked seede of vice
Began to spring ; which shortly grew fu]l
great, [beat :
And with their boughes the gentle plants did
But evermore some of the vertuous race
Rose up, inspired with heroicke heat,
That cropt the branches of the sient base,
And with strong hand their fruitful rancknes j
did deface.
Such first was Bacchus, that with furioui
might
All th' East, before untam'd, did over-ronne,
And wrong repressed, and establish! right,
Which lawlesse men had formerly fordonne :
There Justice first her princely rule begonne.
Next Hercules his like ensample shewed,
Who all the West with equall conquest wonne
And monstrous tyrants with his club sub
dewed:
The club of Justice dread with king-ly powr
endewed.
CANTO I.J
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
29)
Ana such was he of whom I have to tell,
The Champion of true Justice, Artegall :
Whom (as ye lately mote remember well)
An hard adventure, which did then befall,
Into redoubted perill forth did call ;
That was to succour a distressed Dame
Whom a strong tyrant did unjustly thrall,
And from the heritage, which she did clame,
Did with strong hand withhold; Grantorto
was his name.
IV
Wherefore the Lady, which Irena hight,
Did to the faery Queene her way addresse,
To whom complayning her afflicted plight,
She her besought of gratious redresse.
That soveraine Queene, that mightie Em-
peresse,
Whose glorie is to aide all suppliants pore,
And of weake Princes to be Patronesse,
Chose Artegall to right her to restore ;
For that to her he seem'd best skild in right-
eous lore.
v
For Artegall in justice was upbrought
Even from the cradle of his infancie,
And all the depth of rightfull doome was
taught
By faire Astraea with great industrie,
Whilest here on earth she lived mortallie :
For till the world from his perfection fell
Into all filth and foule iniquitie,
Astra-a here mongst earthly men did dwell,
And in the rules of justice them instructed
well.
VI
Whiles through the world she walked in this
sort,
Upon a day she found this gentle childe
Amongst his peres playing his childish sport ;
Whom seeing fit, and with no crime defilde,
She did allure with gifts and speaches milde
To wend with her. So thence him farre she
brought
Into a cave from companie exilde, fraught,
In which she noursled him till yeares he
And all the discipline of justice there him
taught.
VII
There she him taught to weigh both right
and wrong
In equall ballance with due recompence,
And equitie to measure out along
According to the line of conscience,
When so it needs with rigour to dispence :
Of all the which, for want there of mankind,
She caused him to make experience
Upon wyld beasts, which she in woods did find
With wrongfull powre oppressing others oi
their kind.
VIII
Thus she him trayned, and thus she him
taught
In all the skill of deeming wrong and right,
Untill the ripenesse of mans yeares he raught :
That even wilde beasts did feare his awfull sigh t,
And men admyr'd his over-ruling might ;
Ne any liv'd on ground that durst withstand
His dreadfull heast, much lesse him match in
fight,
Or bide the horror of his wreakfull hand,
When so he list in wrath lift up his steely
brand,
IX
Which steely brand, to make him dreaded
more,
She gave unto him, gotten by her slight
And earnest search, where it was kept in store
In Joves eternall house, unwist of wight,
Since he himselfe it us'd in that great fight
Against the Titans, that whylome rebelled
Gainst highest heaven : Chry asor it was hight ;
Chrysaor, that all other swords excelled,
Well prov'd in that same day when Jove those
Gyants quelled :
For of most perfect metall it was made,
Tempred with Adamant amongst the same,
And garnisht all with gold upon the blade
In goodly wise, whereof it tooke his name,
And was of no lesse vertue then of fame ;
For there no substance was so firme and hard,
But it would pierce or cleave, where so it came,
Ne any armour could his dint out- ward ;
But wheresoever it did light, it throughly
shard.
XI
Now, *vhen the world with sinne gan to a-
bound,
Astraea loathing lenger here to space [found,
Mongst wicked men, in whom no truth she
Keturn'd to heaven, whence she deriv'd her
race;
Where she hath now an everlasting place
Mongst those twelve signes, which nightly we
doe see
The heavens bright-shining baudricke to en-
And is the Virgin, sixt in her degree, [chace ;
And next her selfe her righteous ballance
hanging bee.
XII
Butwhen she parted hence shelefthergroome
An yron man, which did on her attend
THE FAERIE QUEEXE.
[BOOK v.
Alwayes to execute her stedfast doome,
And willed him with. Artegall to wend,
And doe what ever thing he did intend :
His name was Talus, made of yron mould,
Immoveable, resistlesse, without end ;
Who in his hand an yron flale did hould,
With which he thresht out falshood, and did
truth unfould.
XIII
He now went with him in this new inquest,
Him for to aide, if aide he chaunst to neecle,
Against that cruell Tyrant, which opprest
The faire Irena with his foule misdeede.
And kept the crowne in which she should suc-
ceed:
And now together on their way they bin,
When as they saw a Squire in squallid weed
Lamenting sore his sorrowfull sad tyne,
With many bitter teares shed from his blub-
bred evne.
To whom as they approched, they espide
A sorie sight as ever scene with eye,
An headlesse Ladie lying him beside
In her owne blood all wallow'd wofully,
That her gay clothes did in discolour die.
Much was hie moved at that ruefull sight ;
And flam'd with zeale of vengeance inwardly,
He askt who had that Dame so fouly dight,
Or whether his owne hand, or whether other
wight?
XV
' Ah ! woe is me, and well-away ! ' (quoth hee,
Bursting forth teares like springs out of a
banke),
' That ever I this dismall day did see !
Full farre was I from thinking such a pranke ;
Yet litle losse it were, and mickle thanke,
If I should graunt that I have doen the same,
That I mote drinke the cup whereof she dranke,
But that I should die guiltie of the blame
The which another did, who now is fled with
shame.'
XVI
' Who was it then,' (sayd Artegall) ' that
wrought V
And why? doe it declare unto me trew.'
' A knight,' (said he) ' if knight he may be
thought
That did his hand in Ladies bloud embrew,
And for no cause, but as I shall you shew.
This day as I in solace sate hereby
With a'fayre love, whose losse I now do rew,
There came this knight, having in companie
This lucklesse Ladie which now here doth
headlesse lie.
' He, whether mine seem'd fayrer in his eye,
Or that he wexed weary of his owne,
Would change with me, but I did it denye,
So did the Ladies both, as may be knowne:
But he, whose spirit was with pride upblowne,
Would not so rest contented with his right;
But, having from his courser her downe
throwne,
Fro me reft mine away by lawlesse might,
And on his steed her set to beare her out of
sight.
XVIII
Which when his Ladie saw, she follow'd fast,
And on him catching hold gan loud to crie
Not so to leave her, nor away to cast,
But rather of his hand besought to die.
With that his sword he drew all wrathfully, j
And at one stroke cropt off her head witl;|
scorn e,
In that same place whereas it now doth lie.
So he my love away with him hath borne.
And left me here both his and mine owue lov
to morne.'
XIX
' Aread ' (sayd he) ' which way then did h
make?
And by what markes may he be knowne againe':
' To hope ' (quoth he) ' him soone to overtak
That hence so long departed, is but vaine ;
But yet he pricked over yonder plaine,
And, as I marked, bore upon his shield,
By which it's easie him to know againe,
A broken sword within a bloodie field ;
Expressing well his nature which the sam
did wield.'
xx
No sooner sayd, but streight he after sent
His yron page, who him pursew'd so light,
As that it seem'd above the ground he went
For he was swift as swallow in her flight,
And strong as Lyon in his lordly might.
It was not long before he overtook e
Sir Sanglier, (so cleeped was that Knight)
Whom at the first he ghessed by his looke.
And by the other markes which of his shiel
he tooke.
XXI
He bad him stay, and backe with him retin
Who, full of scorne to be commaunded so,
The Lady to alight did eft require,
Whilest he reformed that uncivill fo.
And streight at him with all his force did g<
Who mov'd no more therewith, then when
rocke
Is lightly stricken with some stones throw*
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
299
But to him leaping lent him such a knocke,
That on the ground he layd him like a sence
lesse blocke.
XXII
But, ere he could him selfe recure againe,
Him in his iron paw he seized had ;
That when he wak't out of his warelesse paine,
He found him selfe umvist so ill bestad,
That lim he could not wag : Thence he him
lad,
Bound like a beast appointed to the stall :
The sight whereof the Lady sore adrad,
And fain'd to fly for feare of being thrall ;
But he her quickly stayd, and foist to wend
withall.
XXIII
When to the place they came, where Artegall
By that same carefull Squire did then abide,
rfe gently gan him to demaund of all
That did betwixt him and that Squire betide :
Who with sterne countenance and indignant
pride
Did aunswere, that of all he guiltlesse stood,
And his accuser thereuppon defide ;
For neither he did shed that Ladies bloud,
Nor tooke away his love, but his owne proper
good.
XXIV
Well did the Squire perceive him selfe too
weake
To aunswere his defiaunce in the field,
And rather chose his challenge off' to breake,
Then to approve his right with speare and
shield,
And rather guilty chose himselfe to yield :
But Artegall by signes perceiving plaine
That he it was not which that Lady kild,
But that strange Knight, the fairer love to
gaine,
Didst cast about by sleight the truth thereout
to straine ;
XXV
And sayd ; ' Now sure this doubtfull causes
3an hardly but by Sacrament be tride, [right
3r else by ordele, or by blooddy fight,
That ill perhaps mote "fall to either side ;
But if ye please that I your cause decide,
Perhaps I may all further quarrell end,
So ye will sweare my judgement to abide.'
Thereto they both did franckly condiscend,
And to his doome with listfull eares did both
attend.
XXVI
'Sith then,' (sayd he) 'ye both the dead
deny,
And both the living Lady claime your right,
Let both the dead and living equally
Devided be betwixt you here in sight,
And each of either take his share aright :
But looke, who does dissent from this my read,
He for a twelve moneths day shall in despight
Beare for his penaunce that same Ladies head,
To witnesse to the world that she by him is
dead.'
XXVII
Well pleased with that doome was Sangliere,
And offre«l streight the Lady to be slaine ;
But that same Squire, to whom she was more
dere,
When as he saw she should be cut in twaine,
Did yield she rather should with him remaine
Alive, then to him selfe be shared dead ;
And rather then his love should suffer paine,
Hechose with shame to beare that Ladies head:
True love despisetb. shame, when life is cald
in dread.
XXVIII
Whom when so willing Artegall perceaved ;
Not so, thou Squire,' (he sayd) ' but thine I
deeme
The living Lady, which from thee he reaved,
For worthy thou of her doest rightly seeme.
And you, Sir Knight, that love so light es-
' teeme,
As that ye would for little leave the same,
Take here your owne, that doth you best be-
seeme,
And with it beare the burden of defame,
Your owne dead Ladies head, to tell abrode
your shame.'
XXIX
But Sangliere disdained much his doome,
And sternly gan repine at his beheast ;
Ne would for ought obay, as did become,
To beare that Ladies head before his breast,
Until that Talus had his pride represt,
And forced him, maulgre, it up to reare.
Who when he saw it bootelesse to resist,
He tooke it up, and thence with him did beare,
As rated Spaniell takes his burden up for feare.
XXX
Much did that Squire Sir Artegall adore
For his great j ustice, held in high regard,
And as his Squire him ofFred evermore
To serve, for want of other meete reward,
And wend with him on his adventure hard ;
But he thereto would by no meanes consent,
But leaving him forth on his journey far'd :
Ne wight, with him but onely Talus went ;
They two enough t' encounter an whole Regi-
men*
300
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
CANTO II.
Artegall heares of Florimell,
Does with the Pagan fight :
Him slaies, drownes Lady Munera,
Does race her castle quight.
NOUGHT is more honorable to a knight,
Ne better doth beseeme brave chevalry,
Then to defend the feeble in their right,
And wrong redresse in such as wend awry:
Whilome those great Heroes got thereby
Their greatest glory for their rightfull deedes,
And place deserved with the Gods on hy.
Herein the noblesse of this knight exceedes,
Who now to perils great for justice sake pro-
ceedes.
ii
To which as he now was uppon the way,
He chaunst to meet a Dwarfe in hasty course,
Whom he requir'd his forward hast to stay
Till he of tidings mote with him discourse.
Loth was the Dwarfe, yet did he stay per-
forse,
And gan of sundry newes his store to tell,
As to his memory they had recourse ;
But chiefly of the fairest Florimell, „.„_ „„ 111V .
How she was found againe, and spousde to i Else he doth hold him backe or beat' away.
Harinell. Thereto he hath a groome of evill guize,
And many errant Knights hath there fordonne
That makes all men for feare that passage fo
to shonne.'
v
'What mister wight,' (quoth he) 'and hov(
far hence
Is he, that doth to travellers such harmes ? '
' He is' (said he) 'a man of great defence,
Expert in battell and in deedes of armes ;
And more emboldned by the wicked charmes
With which his daughter doth him still sup .
port;
Having great Lordships got and goodly farme,'-
Through strong oppression of his powre extori j
By which he stil them holds, and keepes wit '
strong effort.
' And dayly he his wrongs encreaseth more
For never wight he lets to passe that way
Over his Bridge, albee he rich or poore,
But he him makes his passage-penny pay
Whose scalp is bare, that bondage doth bi'
wray,
Which pols and pils the poore in piteous wizJ
But he him selfe uppon the rich doth tyrai ]
nize.
For this was Dony, Florimels owne Dwarfe,
Whom having lost, (as ye have heard why-
leare)
And finding in the way the scattred scarfe,
The fortune of her life long time did feare :
But of her health when Artegall did heare, < His name is hight Pollente, rightly so,
And safe returne, he was full inly glad, For that he is so puissant and strong,
And askt him where and when her bridale j That with his powre he all doth overgo,
cheare j And makes them subject to his mighty wronj 1
Should be solemniz'd; for, if time he had, | And some by sleight he eke doth underfong.l
He would be there, and honor to her spousallj For on a Bridge he custometh to fight, j
ad. j Which Is but narrow, but exceeding long ;
' Within three daies,' (quoth he) 'as I
here,
It will be at the Castle of the Strond ;
What time, if naught me let. I will be there
To doe her service so as I am bond :
But in my way, a little here beyond,
A cursed cruell Sarazin doth wonne,
I And in the same are many trap-fals pight,
do Through which the rider downe doth fit
through oversight.
That
keepes a Bridges
bond,
passage by strong
' And underneath the same a river flowes
That is both swift and dangerous deepe wit
all;
Into the which whom so he overthrowes,
iAll destitute of helpe doth headlong fall ;
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
301
But he him selfe through practise usuall,
Leapes forth into the floud, and there assaies
His I'oe confused through his sodaine fall,
That horse and man he equally dismaies,
And either both them drownes, or trayterous-
ly slides.
IX
'Then doth he take the spoile of them at
will,
And to his daughter brings, that dwels thereby;
Who all that comes doth take, and therewith
The coffers of her wicked threasury, [fill
Which she with wrongs hath heaped up so hy
That many Princes she in wealth exceedes,
Ami purchast all the countrey lying ny
With the revenue of her plenteous meedes :
Her name is Munera, agreeing with her
deedes.
x
'Thereto she is full faire, and rich attired,
With golden hands and silver feete beside,
That many Lords have her to wife desired,
Hut she them all despiseth for great pride.'
' Now by my life,' (sayd he) 'and God to guide,
None other way will 1 this day betake,
But by that Bridge whereas he doth abide :
Therefore me thither lead.' No more he spake,
But thitherward forthright his ready way did
make.
XI
Unto the place he came within a while,
Where on the Bridge he ready armed saw
The Sarazin, awayting for some spoile :
When as they to the passage gan to draw,
A villaine to'them came with scull all raw,
That passage money did of them require,
According to the custome of their law : f hire ;'
To whom he aunswerd wroth, ' Loe ! there thy
And with that word him strooke, that streight
he did expire.
XII
Which when the Pagan saw he wexed wroth,
And streight him selfe unto the fight addrest,
Ne was Sir Artegall behinde : so both
Together ran with ready speares in rest.
Right in the midst, whereas they brest to brest
Should meete, a trap was letten downe to fall
Into the floud : streight leapt the Carle unblest,
Well weening that his foe was falne withall ;
But he was well aware, and leapt before his
fall.
XIII
There being both together in the floud,
t They each at other tyrannously flew ;
Ne ought the water cooled their whot bloud,
But rather in them kindled choler new :
But there the Paynim, who that use well knew
To fight in water, great advantage had,
That oftentimes him nigh he overthrew :
And eke the courser whereuppon he rad
Could swim like to a fish, whiles he his backe
bestrad.
XIV
Which oddes when as Sir Artegall espide,
He saw no way but close with him in hast ;
And to him driving strongly downe the tide
Uppon his iron coller griped fast,
That with thestrainthis wesandnigh he brast.
There they together strove and struggled long
Either the other from his steede to cast ;
Ne ever Artegall his griple strong [hong.
For any thing wold slacke, but still upon him
As when a Dolphin and a Sele are met
In the wide champian of the Ocean plaine,
With cruell chaufe their courages they whei,
The maysterdome of each by force to gaine,
And dreadfull battaile twixt them do darraine :
They snuf, they snort, they bounce, they rage,
they rore,
That all the sea, disturbed with their traine,
Doth frie with fome above the surges hore.
Such was betwixt these two the troublesome
uprore.
XVI
So Artegall at length him forst forsake
His horses backe for dread of being drownd,
And to his handy swimming him betake.
Eftsoones him selfe he from his hold unbownd,
And then no ods at all in him he fownd ;
For Artegall in swimming skilfull was,
And durst the depth of any water sownd.
So ought each Knight, that use of perill has,
In swimming be expert, through waters force
to pas.
XVII
Then very doubtfull was the warres event,
Uncertaine whether had the better side ;
For both were skild in that experiment,
And both in armes well traind, and throughly
tride :
But Artegall was better breath'd beside,
And towards th' end grew greater in his might,
That his faint foe no longer could abide
His puissance, ne beare him selfe upright ;
But from the water to the land betooke his
flight.
XVIII
But Artegall pursewd him still so neare
With bright Chrysaor in his cruell hand,
That as his head he gan a litle reare
Above the brincke to tread upon the land,
302
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
He smote it off, that tumbling on the strand
It bit the earth for very fell despight,
And gnashed with his teeth, as if he band
High God, whose goodnesse he despaired quight,
Or curst the hand which did that'vengeance
on him dight.
His corps was carried downe along the Lee,
Whose waters with his filthy bloud it stayned ;
But his blasphemous head, that all might see,
He pitcht upon a pole on high ordayned ;
Where many years it afterwards remayned,
To be a mirrour to all mighty men.
In whose right hands great power is contayned.
That none of them the feeble over-ren,
But alwaies doe their powre within just com-
passe pen.
xx
That done, unto the Castle he did wend,
In which the Paynims daughter did abide,
Guarded of many which did her defend :
Of whom he entrance sought, but was denide,
And with reprochfull blasphemy defide,
Beaten with stones downe from the battilment,
That he was forced to withdraw aside,
And bad his servant Talus to invent
Which way he enter might without endanger-
ment.
XXI
Eftsoones his Page drew to the Castle gate,
And with his iron flale at it let flic,
That all the warders it did sore amate,
The which erewhile spake so reprochfully,
And made them stoupe that looked earst so hie.
Yet still he bet and bounst uppon the dore,
And thundred strokes thereon so hideouslie,
That all the peece he shaked from the flore,
And filled all the house with feare and great
uprore,
XXII
With noise whereof the Lad\r forth appeared
Uppon the Castle wall ; and, when she saw
The daungerous state in which she stood, she
feared
The sad effect of her neare overthrow ;
And gan entreat that iron man below
To cease his outrage, and him faire besought;
Sith neither force of stones which they did
throw, [wrought,
Nor powr of charms, which she against him
Might otherwise prevaile, or make him cease
for ought.
XXIII
But, when as yet she saw him to proceede
Unmov'd with prair rs or with piteous thought,
She ment him to corrupt with goodly meedc-
And causde great sackes with endlesse riches
Unto the battilment to be upbrought, [fraught
And powred forth over the Castle wall,
That she might win some time, though dearly
bought,
Whilest he to gathering of the gold did fall :
But he was nothing mov'd nor tempted
therewithall :
XXIV
But still continn'd his assault the more.
And layd on load with his huge yron fiaile,
That at the length he has yrent the dore,
And made way for his maister to assaile ;
Who being entred, nought did then availe
For wight against his powre them selves to
reare.
Each one did flie ; their hearts began to faile.!
And hid them selves in corners here and there ;
And eke their dame halfe dead did hide her]
self for feare.
xxv
Long thejr her sought, yet no where could
they finde her.
That sure they ween'd she was escapt away ;
But Talus, that could like a lime-hound windc I
her,
And all things secrete wisely could bewray, I
At length found out whereas she hidden lay I
Under an heape of gold. Thence he her dre>
By the faire lockes, and fowly did array
Withouten pitty of her goodly hew,
That Artegall him selfe her seemelesse pligh
did rew.
XXVI
Yet for no pitty would he change the cours
Of Justice, which in Talus hand did lye ;
Who rudely hayld her forth without remorse,
Still holding up her suppliant hands on bye,
And kneeling at his feete submissively :
Buthe her suppliant hands, those hands of gold
And eke her feete, those feete of silver trye,
Which sought unrighteousnesse, and jiistic
sold, [them behold
Chopt off, and nayld on high that all migh
XXVII
Her selfe then tooke he by the sclender wast
n vaine loud crying, and "into the flood
Over the Castle wall adowne her cast,
And there her drowned in the durty mud;
But the streame washt away her guilty blooc
Thereafter all that mucky pelfe he tooke,
The spoile of peoples evil gotten good.
The which her sire had scrap't bv hooke an
cropke, [brooki
And burning all to ashes powr'd it downe th
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
3°3
XXVIII
And lastly all that Castle quite lie raced,
Even from the sole of his foundation,
And all the hewen stones thereof defaced,
That there mote be no hope of reparation,
Nor memory thereof to any nation.
All which when Talus throughly had per-
fourmed,
Sir Artegall undid the evill fashion,
And wicked custom es of that Bridge refourmed;
Which done, unto his former journey he re-
tourned :
XXIX
In which they measur'd mickle weary way,
Till that at length nigh to the sea they drew ;
By which as they did travell on a day,
They saw before them, far as they could vew,
Full many people gathered in a crew ;
Whose great assembly they did much admire,
For never there the like resort they knew.
So towardes them they coasted, to enquire
What thing so many nations met did there
desire.
XXX
There they beheld a mighty Gyant stand
Upon a rocke, and holding forth on hie
An huge great paire of ballance in his hand,
With which he boasted, in his surquedrie,
That all the world he would weigh equallie,
If ought he had the same to counterpoys ;
For want whereof he weighed vanity,
And tild his ballauncc full of idle toys:
Yet was admired much of fooles, women, and
boys.
XXXI
He sayd that he would all the earth uptake
And all the sea, divided each from either :
So would he of the fire one ballaunce make,
And one of th' ayre, without or wind or wether :
Then would he ballaunce heaven and hell
together,
And all that did within them all containe,
Of all whose weight he would not misse a
fether: .
And looke what surplus did of each remaine,
He would to his owne part restore the same
againe :
XXXII
For-why, he sayd, they all unequall were,
And had encroched upon others share ;
Like as the sea (which plaine he shewed there)
Had worne the earth ; so did the fire the aire ;
60 all the rest did others parts empaire,
And so were realmes and nations run awry.
All which he undertooke for to repaire,
In sort as they were formed aunciently,
And all things would reduce unto equality.
Therefore the vulgar did about him flocke,
And cluster thicke unto his leasings vaine,
Like foolish flies about an hony-crockc^
In hope by him great benefite to gaine,
And uncontrolled freedome to obtaine.
All which when Artegall did see and heare,
How he mis-led the simple peoples traine,
In sdeignfiill wize he drew unto him neare,
And thus unto him spake, without regard or
feare,
xxxiv
' Thou that presum'st to weigh the world
And all things to an equall to restore, [anew,
Instead of right me seemes great wrong
dost shew,
And far above thy forces pitch to sore ;
For ere thou limit what is lesse or more
In every thing, thou oughtest first to know
What was the poyse of every part of yore :
And looke then how much it doth overflow
Or faile thereof, so much is more then just to
trow.
XXXV
'For at the first they all created were
In goodly measure by their Makers might;
And weighed out in ballaunces so nere,
That not a dram was missing of their right !
The earth was in the middle centre pight,
In which it doth immoveable abide,
Hemd in with waters like a wall in sight,
And they with aire, that not a drop can slide :
Al which the heavens containe, and in their
courses guide.
XXXVI
' Such heavenly justice doth among them
raine,
That every one doe know their certaine bound,
In which they doe these many yeares remaine,
And mongst them al no change hath yet beene
found; [pound,
But if thou now shouldst weigh them new in
We are not sure they would so long remaine :
All change isperillous, and all chaunce unsound.
Therefore leave off to weigh them all againe,
Till we may be assur'd they shall their course
retaine.'
XXXVII
' Thou foolishe Elfe,' (said then the Gyant
wroth)
' Seest not how badly all things present bee,
And each estate quite out of order goth ?
The sea it selfe doest thou not plainely see
Encroch uppon the land there under theei*
And th' earth it selfe how daily its increast
By all that dying to it turned bo •
304
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Were it not good that wrong were then surceast,
And from the most that some were given to the
least?
XXXVIII
1 Therefore I will throw downe these moun-
taines hie.
.And make them levell with the low!}' plaine :
These towring rocks, which reach unto the skie,
I will thrust downe into the deepest maine,
And, as they were, them equalize againe.
Tyrants, that make men subject to their law,
I will suppresse, that they no more may raine ;
And Lordmgs curbe that commons over-aw,
And all the wealth of rich men to the poore will
draw.'
XXXIX
'Of things unseene how canst thou deeme
aright,"
Then answered the righteous Artegall, £sight?
'Sith thou misdeem'st so much of things in
What though the sea with waves continuall
Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all ;
Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought,
For whatsoever from one place doth fall
Is with the tide unto another brought :
For there is nothing lost, that may be found if
sought.
XL
• Likewise the earth is not augmented more
By all that dying into it doe fade ;
For of the earth they formed were of yore :
How ever gay their blossome or their blade
Doe flourish now, they into dust shall vade.
What wrong then is it, if that when they die
The v turne to that whereof they first were made?
All in the powre of their grea't Maker lie :
All creatures must obey the voice of the Most
Hie.
XLI
' They live, they die, like as he doth ordaine,
Ne ever any asketh reason why.
The hils doe not the lowly dal'es disdaine,
The dales doe not the lofty hils e.nvy.
He maketh Kings to sit in soverainty;
He maketh subjects to their powre obay ;
He pulleth downe, he setteth up on hy ;
He gives to this, from that he takes away,
For all we have is his : what he list doe, he
may.
XLII
' What ever thing is done by him is donne,
Ne any may his mighty will withstand ;
Ne any may his soveraine power shoune,
Ne loose that he bath bound with stedfast
band.
In vaine therefore doest thou now take in hand
To call to count, or weigh his workes anew,
Whose counsels depth thou canst not under-
stand ;
Sith of things subject to thy daily vew
Thou doest not know the causes, nor their
courses dew.
' For take thy ballaunce, if thou be so wise,
And weigh the winde that under heaven doth
blow;
Or weigh the light that in the East doth rise ;
Or weigh the thought that from mans mind
doth flow :
But if the weight of these thou canst not show,
Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth
fall:
For how canst thou those greater secrets know,
That doest not know the least thing of them all?
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the
small.'
XLIV
Therewith the Gyant much abashed sayd,
That he of little things made reckoning light :
Yet the least word that ever could be layd
Within his ballaunce he could way aright.
' Which is ' (sayd he) ' more heavy then in
weight,
The right or wrong, the false or else the trew ? '
He answered that he would try it streight ;
So he the words into his ballaunce threw,
But streight the winged words out of his bal-
launce flew.
Wroth wext he then, and sayd that words
were light,
Ne would within his ballaunce well abide :
But he could justly weigh the wrong or right
' Well then,' sayd 'Artegall, ' let it be tride :
First in one ballance set the true aside.'
He did so first, and then the false he layd
In th' other scale ; but still it downe did slide
Anfl by no meane could in the weight be stayd
For by no meanes the false will with the tr'utl
be wayd.
XLVI
' Now take the right likewise,' sayd Artegale
1 And counterpeise the same with so mud
wrong.'
So first the right he put into one scale,
And then the Gyant strove with puissanc
strong
To fill the other scale with so much wrong;
But all the wrongs that he therein could lay
Might not it peise; yet did he labour long,
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEEME.
30$
And swat, and chaufd, and proved every way :
Yet all the wrongs could not a litle right downe
way.
XFA'II
Which when he saw he greatly grew in rage,
And almost would his balances have broken ;
But Artegall him fairely gan asswage,
And said, ' Be not upon thy balance wroken,
For they doe nought but right or wrong be-
token; .
But in the mind the doome of right must bee:
And so likewise of words, the which be spoken,
The eare must be the ballance, to decree
And judge, whether with truth orfalshood they
agree.
xi.vm
' But set the truth and set the right aside,
For they with wrong or falshood will not i'are,
And put two wrongs together to be tride,
Or else two falses, of each equall share,
And then together doe them both compare ;
For truth is one, and right is ever one.'
So did he ; and then plaine it did appeare,
Whether of them the greater were attone ;
But right sate in the middest of the beame
alone.
XLIX
But he the right from thence did thrust away,
For it was not the right which he did seeke,
But rather strove extremities to way,
Th' one to diminish, th' other for to eeke ;
For of the meane he greatly did misleeke.
That when the people, which had there about
Long wayted, saw his sudden desolation,
They gan to gather in tumultuous rout,
And mutining to stirre up civill faction
For certaine losse of so great expectation :
For well they hoped to have got great good,
And wondrous riches by his innovation.
Therefore resolving to revenge his blood
They rose in armes, and all in battell order
stood.
Which lawlesse multitude him comming too
In warlike wise when Artegall did vew,
He much was troubled, ne wist what to doo :
For loth he was his noble hands t' embrew
In the base blood of such a rascall crew ;
And otherwise, if that he should retire,
He fear'd least they with shame would him
pursew :
Therefore he Talus to them sent t' inquire
The cause of their array, and truce for to desire.
But soone as they him nigh approching spide,
They gan with all their weapons him assay,
And rudely stroke at him on every side ;
Yet nought they could him hurt, ne ought dis-
may:
But when at them he with his flaile gan lay,
He like a swarme of fives them overthrew ;
Whom when so lewdly minded Talus found, Ne a of them durst'come in his way,
Approching nigh unto him, cheeke by cheeke, I But here and there before his presence flew,
He shouldered him from off the higher ground, And hid themselves in holes and bushes from
And, down the rock him throwing, in the seal
him drotind.
L
Like as a ship, whom craell tempest drives
Upon a rocke with horrible dismay,
Her shattered ribs in thousand peeces rives,
And spoyling all her geares and goodly ray
Does make her selfe misfortunes piteous pray.
So downe the cliffe the wretched Gvant tum-
bled;
His battred ballances in peeces lay,
His timbered bones all broken rudely rumbled :
So was the high-aspyring with huge ruine
humbled.
his vew.
As when a Faulcon hath with nimble flight
Flowne at a flush of Ducks foreby the brooke,
| The trembling foule dismayd w'ith dreadfull
sight
Of death, the which them almost overtooke,
Doe hide themselves from her astonying looke
Amongst the flags and covert round about.
When Talus saw they all the field forsooke,
And none appear'd of all that raskall rout,
To Artegall he turn'd and went with him
throughout.
306
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
CANTO III.
The spousals of faire Florimell,
Where turney many knights :
There Braggadochio is uncas'd
In all the Ladies sights.
AFTER long storm es and tempests overblowne
Thesunne at length his joyous face doth clearc :
So when as fortune all her spight hath showne,
Some blisfull houres at last must needes ap-
peare;
Else should afflicted wights oftimes despeire :
So comes it now to Florimell by tourne,
After long sorrowes suffered whyleare,
In which captiv'd she many moneths did
mourne,
To tast of joy, and to wont pleasures to re-
tourne.
ii
Who being freed from Proteus cruell band
By Marinell was unto him affide,
And by him brought againe to Faerie land,
Where he her spous'd, and made his joyous
bride.
The time and place was blazed farre and wide,
And solemne feasts and giusts ordaSn'd there-
fore:
To which there did resort from every side
Of Lords and Ladies infinite great store ;
Ne any Knight was absent that brave courage
bore.
in
To tell the glorie of the feast that day,
The goodly service, the devicefull sights,
The bridegromes state, the brides most rich
aray,
The pride of Ladies, and the worth of knights,
The royall banquets, and the rare delights,
Were worke fit for an Herauld, not for me:
But for so much as to my lot here lights,
That with this present treatise dotu agree,
True vertue to advance, shall here recounted
bee.
IV
When all men had with full satietie
Of meates and drinkes their appetites suffiz'd,
To deedes of armes and proofe of chevalrie
They gan themselves addresse, full rich a-
guiz'd
As each one had his furnitures deviz'd.
And first of all issu'd Sir Marinell, [terpriz'd
And with him sixe kuights more, which en-
1 To chalenge all in right of Florimell,
• And to maintaine that she all others
cell.
did ex-
The first of them was hight Sir Orimont,
A noble Knight, and tride in hard assayes ;
The second had to name Sir Bellisont,
But second unto none in prowess e prayse ;
The third was Brunell, famous in his dayes ;
The fourth Ecastor, of exceeding might ;
The lift Armeddan, skild in lovely laves ;
Tlie sixt was Lansack, a redoubted Knight ;
All sixe well-seene in armes, and prov'd ii
many a fight.
And them against came all that list to giust
From every coast and countrie under sunne :
None was debard, but all had leave that lust
The trompets sound, then all together ronne.
Full many deeds of armes that day were donm.
And many knights unhorst, and many wour
ded,
As fortune fell ; yet little lost or wonne :
But all that day the greatest prayse redounde
To Marinell, whose name the He'ralds loud rt
sounded.
The second day, so soone as morrow light
Appear'd in heaven, into the field they came
And there all day continew'd cruell fight,
With divers fortune fit for such a game,
In which all strove with perill to winne farm
Yet whether side was victor note be ghest :
But at the last the trompets did proclame
That Marinell that day deserved best.
So they disparted were, and all men went 1
rest.
The third day came, that should due trya
lend
Of all the rest ; and then this warlike crew
Together met of all to make an end.
There Marinell great deeds of armes d
shew,
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
30?
And through the thickest like a Lyon flew,
g off helmes, and ryving plates ason-
der,
That every one his daunger did eschew :
So terribly his dreadfull strokes did thonder,
That all men stood amaz'd, and at his might
did wonder.
But what on earth can alwayes happie
stand ?
The greater prowesse greater perils find.
So farre he past amongst his enemies band,
That they have him enclosed so behind,
As by no meanes he can himselfe out wind :
And now perforce they have him prisoner
taken ;
And now they doe with captive bands him bind ;
And now they lead him thence, of all forsaken,
Unlesse some succour had in time him over-
taken.
x
It fortun'd, whylest they were thus ill
beset,
Sir Artegall into the Tilt-yard came,
With Braggadochio, whom he lately met
Upon the way with that his snowy Dame :
Where when he understood by common fame
What evil hap to Marinell betid,
He much was mov'd at so unwortl^e shame,
And streight that boaster prayd Vith whom
he rid, [hid.
To change his shield with him, to be the better
So forth he went, and scone them over-hent,
Where they were leading Marinell away ;
Whom he assayld with dreadlesse hardiment,
And forst the burden of their prize to stay.
They were an hundred knights of that array,
3f which th' one halfc upon himselfe did set,
The other stayd behind to gard the pray :
But he ere long the former fiftie bet,
And from the other fiftie soone the prisoner
fet.
So backe he brought Sir Marinell againe ;
Whom having quickly arm'd againe anew,
They bjth together joyned might and maine,
To set afresh on all the other crew :
Whom \vitli sore havocke soone they over-.
threw,
And chaced quite out of the field, that none
Against them durst his head to perill shew.
So were they left Lords of the field alone :
So Marinell by him was rescu'd from his
fone.
XIII
Which when he had peiform'd, then backe
againe
To Braggadochio did his shield restore ,
Who all this while behind him did remaine,
Keeping there close with him in pretious store
That his false Ladie, as ye heard afore.
Then did the trompets sound, and Judges rose,
And all these knights, which that day armour
bore,
Came to the open hall to listen whose
The honour of the prize should be adjudg'd b.y
those.
xiv
And thether also came in open sight
Fayre Florimell, into the common hall,
To greet his guerdon unto every knight,
And best to him to whom the best should fall.
Then for that stranger knight they loud did call,
To whom that day they should the girlond
yield,
Who came not forth ; but for Sir Artegall
Came Braggadochio, and did shew his shield,
Which bore the Sunne brode blazed in a gol-
den field.
xv
The sight whereof did all with gladnesse fill :
So unto him they did addeeme the prise
Of all that Tryumph. Then the trompets
shrill
Don Braggadochios name resounded thrise :
So courage lent a cloke tc cowardise.
And then to him came fayrest Florimell,
And goodly gan to greet his brave emprise,
And thousand thankes him yeeld, that had so
well
Approv'd that day that she all others did excell.
To whom the boaster, that all knights did blot
With proud disdaine did scornefull answer, e
make,
That what he did that day, he did it not
For her, but for his owne deare Ladies sake,
Whom on his perill he did undertake
Both her and eke all others to excell :
And further did uncomely speaches crake.
Much did his words the gentle Ladie quell,
And turn'd aside for shame to heare what he
did tell.
XVII
Then forth he brought his snowy Florimele,
Whom Tmmpart had in keeping there beside,
Covered from peoples gazement with a vele :
Whom when discovered they had throughly
eide,
X2
3o8
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK v.
With great amazement they were stupefide ;
And said, that surely Florimell it was,
Or if it were not Florimell so tride,
That Florimell her selfe she then did pas.
So feeble skill of perfect things the vulgar has,
Which when as Marmell beheld likewise,
He was therewith exceedingly dismayd,
Ne wist he what to thinke, or to devise ;
But. like as one whom feends had made affray d
He long astonisht stood, ne ought he sayd,
Ne ought he did, but with fast fixed eies
He gazed still upon that snowy mayd ;
Whom ever as he did the more avize,
The more to be true Florimell he did surmize.
As when two sunnes appeare in the asure skye,
Mounted in Phosbus charet fierie bright,
Both darting forth faire beames to each mans
eye,
And both adorn'dwithlampes of flaming light;
All that behold so strange prodigious sight,
Not knowing natures worke, nor what to weene,
Are rapt with wonder and with rare affright.
So stood Sir Marinell, when he had scene
Thesemblant of this false by his faire beauties
Queene.
xx
All which when Artegall, who all this while
Stood in the preasse close covered, well ad-
vewed,
And saw that boasters pride and gracelesse
guiie,
He could no longer beare, but forth issewed,
And unto all himselfe there open shewed,
And to the boaster said ; ' Thou losell base,
That hast with borrowed plumes thy selfe en-
dewed,
And others worth with leasings doest deface,
When they are all restor'd thou shall rest in
disgrace.
XXI
' That shield, which thou doest bcare, was it
indeed
Which this dayes honour sav'd to Marinell :
But not that arme, nor thou the man, I reed,
Which didst that service unto Florimell.
For proofe shew forth thy sword, and let it tell
What strokes, what dreadfull stoure, it stird
this day ;
Pr shew the wounds which unto thee befell ;
Or shew the sweat with which thou diddest
sway
So sharpe a battell. that so many did dismay.
But this the sword which wrought those
cruell stounds, f beare,
And this the arme the which that shield did
And these the signs ' (so shewed forth his
wounds)
' By which that glorie gotten doth appeare.
As for this Ladie, which he sheweth here,
Is not (I wager) Florimell at all ;
But some fayre Franion. fit for such a fere,
That by misfortune in his hand did fall.'
For proofe whereof he bad them FlorimeL
forth call.
XXIII
So forth the noble Ladie was ybrought,
Adorn'd with honor and all comely grace :
Whereto her bashful shamefastnesse ywroughl
A great increase in her faire blushing face,
As roses did with lilies interlace ;
For of those words, the which that boastei
threw,
She inly yet conceived great disgrace :
Whom when as all the people such did vew,
They shouted loud, and signes of gladnesse al
did shew.
XXIV
Then did he set her by that snowy one,
Like the true saint beside the image set,
Of both their beauties to make paragone
And triall, whether should the honor get.
Streight-way, so soone as both together met,
Th' enchaunted Damzell vanishtinto nought
Her snowy substance melted as with heat,
Ne of that goodly hew remayned ought,
But th' emptie girdle which about her wast wa
wrought.
xxv
As when the daughter of Thaumantes faire
Hath in a watry cloud displayed wide
Her goodly bow, which paints the liquid ayre
That all men wonder at her colours pride ;
All suddenly, ere one can looke aside,
The glorious picture vanisheth away,
Ne any. token doth thereof abide :
So did this Ladies goodly forme decay,
And into nothing goe, ere one could it bewray
Which when as ail that present were behelc
The}7 stricken were with great astonishment.
And their faint harts with senselesse horrou
queld,
To see the thing, that seem'd so excellent,
So stolen from their fancies wonderment
That what of it became none understood:
And Braggadochio selfe with dreriment
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
3<>9
S<> daunted was in his despeyring mood,
That like a lifelesse corse imnioveable
stood.
But Artegall that golden belt uptooke,
The which of all her spoyle was onely left ;
Which was not hers, as many it mistooke,
Hut Florimells owne girdle, from her reft
While she was flying, like a weary weft,
From that fouie monster which did her com-
pell
To perils great ; which he unbuckling eft
pri'-ented to the fayrest Florimell,
Who round about her tender wast it fitted
well.
xxvm
Full many Ladies often had assayd
About their middles that faire belt to knit ;
And many a one stippos'd to be a mayd :
Yet it to none of all their loynes would fit,
Till Florimell about her fastned it.
Such power it had, that to no womans wast
By any skill or labour it would sit,
Uolesse that she were continent and chast,
But it would lose or breake, that many had
disgrast.
XXIX
Whilest thus they busied were bout Flori-
mell,
And boastful! Braggadochio to defame,
Sir Guy on, as by fortune then befell,
Forth 'from the thickest preasse of people
came, [clame ;
His owne good steed, which he had stolne, to
And th' one hand seizing on his golden bit,
With th' other drew his sword ; for with the
same
He ment the thiefe there deadly to have smit :
And, had he not bene held, he nought hac1
fayld of it.
XXX
Thereof great hurly-burly moved was
Throughout the hall for that same warlike
horse;
For Braggadochio would not let him pas,
And Guyon would him algates have perforse,
Or it approve upon his carrion corse.
Which troublous stirre when Artegall per-
ceived,
He nigh them drew to stay th' avengers forsc.
And gan inquire how was that steed bereaved,
Whether by might extort, or else by slight
deceaved ?
XXXI
Who all that piteous storie, which befell
About that wofull couple which were slaine,
! And their young bloodie babe to him gan tell ;
ne With whom whiles he did in the wood re-
in aine,
His horse purloyned was by subtill traine,
For which he chalenged the thiefe to fight :
But he for nought could him thereto con-
straine ;
For as the death he hated such despight,
And rather had to lose then trie in armes his
right.
XXXII
Which Artegall well hearing, (though no
more
By law of armes there neede ones right to trie,
As was the wont of warlike knights of yore,
Then that his foe should him the tield denie,)
Yet, further right by tokens to descrie,
lie askt what privie tokens he did beare '?
' If that ' (said Guyon) ' may you satisfie,
Within his mouth a blacke spot doth appeare,
:>hapt like a horses shoe, who list to seeke it
there.'
XXXIII
Whereof to make due tryall, one did take
The horse in hand within his mouth to looke:
But with his heeles so sorely he him strake.
That all his ribs he quite in peeces broke,
That never word from that day forth he spoke.
Another, that would seeme to have more wit,
Him by the bright embrodered bed-stall tcoke ;
But by the shoulder him so sore he bit,
That he him maymed quite, and all his
shoulder split.
XXXIV
Ne he his mouth would open unto wight,
Untill that Guyon selfe unto him spake,
And called Brigadore, (so was he hight,)
Whose voice so soone as he did undertake,
Eftsoones he stood as still as any stake,
And suffred all his secret marke to see :
And, when as he him nam'd, for joy he brake
His bands, andfollow'd him with gladfull glee,
And friskt, and flong aloft, and louted low en
knee.
XXXV
Thereby Sir Artegall did plaine areed
That unto him tbe horse belong'd, and sayd ;
• Lo there ! Sir Guyon, take to you the steed,
As he with golden saddle is arayd.
And let that losell, plainely now displayd,
Hence fare on foot, till "he an horse have
gayned.'
But the proud boaster gan his doome upbrayd,
And him revil'd, and rated, and disdayned,"
That judgement so unjust against him had
ordayned.
3io
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
xxxvi j And out of court him scourged openly.
Much was the knight incenst with his lewd So ought all faytours that true knighthood
word
To have revenged that his villeny ;
And thrise did lay his hand upon his sword,
To have him slaine, or dearely doen aby :
But Guyon did his choler pacify,
Saying, ' Sir knight, it would dishonour bee
To you that are our judge of equity,
To wreake vour wrath on such a carle as hee
shame.
And armes dishonour with base villanie,
From all brave knights be banisht with defame;
For oft their lewdnes blotteth good deserts
with blame.
XXXIX
Now when these counterfeits were thus un-
Out of the fore-side of their forgerie, [cased
It's punishment enough that all his shame doe And in the sight of all men eleane disgraced,
All gan to jest and gibe full merilie
At the remembrance of their knaverie :
Ladies can laugh at Ladies, Knights
XXXVII
So did he mitigate Sir Artegall ;
But Talus by the backe the boaster hent,
And drawing him out of the open hall
Upon him did inflict this punishment :
First he his beard did shave, and fowly shent,
Then from him reft his shield, and it ren-
verst,
And blotted out his armes with falshood blent,
And himselfe bafTuld, and his armes unherst.
And broke his sword in twaine, and all his
armour sperst.
The whiles his guilefull groome was fled away,
But vaine it was to thinke from him to flie ;
Who overtaking him did disaray,
And all his face deform'd with infamie,
at
can
Knights,
To thinke with how great vaunt of braverie
He them abused through his subtill slights,
And what a glorious shew he made in all)
their sights.
There leave we them in pleasure and repast,
Spending their joyous dayes and gladfuli
And taking usurie of time fore-past, [nights.
With all deare delices and rare delights,
Fit for such Ladies and such lovely knights ;
And turne we here to this faire furrowes end
Our wearie yokes, to gather fresher sprights,
That, when as time to Artegall shall tend,
We on his first adventure may him forward
send.
CANTO IV.
Artegail dealeth right betwixt
Two brethren that doe strive :
Saves Terpine from the gallow tree,
And doth from death reprive.
WHOSO upon him selfe will take the skill
True Justice unto people to divide,
Had neede have mightie hands for to fulfill
That which he doth with righteous doome
decide,
And for to maister wrong and puissant pride :
For value it is to deeme of things aright,
And makes wrong doers justice to deride,
Unlesse it be perform 'd with dreadlesse might ;
For powre is the right hand of Justice truely
hight.
ii
Therefore whylome to knights of great em-
prise
The charge of Justice given was in tryst,
That they might execute her judgement!
wise, [ lust I
And with their might beat downe licentiou j
Which proudly didimpugne her sentence just
Whereof no braver president this day
Eemaines on earth, prescrv'd from yron rust
Of rude oblivion and long times decay,
Then this of Artegall, which here we hav
to say.
in
Who having lately left that lovely payre,
Enlincked fast in wedlockes loyall'bond,
Bold Marinell with Florimell the fayre,
With whom great feast and goodly glee 1
fond,
Departed from the Castle of the Strond
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
To follow his adventures first intent,
Which long agoe he taken had in bond :
Ne wight with him for his assistance went,
But that great yron groome, his gard and
government.
IV
With whom, as he did passe by the sea shore,
He chaunst to come whereas two comely
Squires,
Both brethren, whom one wombe together bore,
But stirred up with different desires,
Together stros-e. and kindled wrathfull fires :
And them beside two seemely damzells stood,
By all meanes seeking to asswage their ires ;
Now with faire words, but words did little good,
Now with sharpe threats, but threats the more
increast their mood.
And there before them stood a Coffer strong
Fast bound on every side with iron bands,
But seeming to have suffred mickle wrong,
Either by being wreckt uppon the sands,
Or being carried farre from forraine lands.
Seem'd that for it these Squires at ods did
fall, [hands ;
And bent against them selves their cruell
But evermore those Damzells did forestall
Their furious encounter, and their fiercenesse
pall.
VI
But firmely fixt they were with dint of sword
And battailes doubtfull proofe their rights to
Ne other end their fury would afford, [try,
But what to them Fortune would justify :
So stood they both in readinesse thereby
To joyne the combate with cruell intent,
When Artegall, arriving happily,
Did stay a while their greedy bickerment,
Till he had questioned the cause of their
dissent.
VII
To whom the elder did this aunswere frame :
'Then weete ye, Sir, that we two brethren be,
To whom our sire, Milesio by name,
Did equally bequeath his lands in fee,
Two Ilands, which ye there before you see
Not farre in sea ; of which the one appeares
But like a little Mount of small degree,
Yet was as great and wide, ere many yeares,
As that same other Isle, that greater bredth
now beares.
VIII
' But tract of time, that all things doth
decay, [spare,
And this devouring Sea, that naught doth
The most part of my laud hath washt away,
And throwne it up unto my brothers share:
So his encreased, but mine did empaire.
Before which time I lov'd, as was my lot,
That further mayd, hight Philtera the faire,
With whom a goodly doure I should have got,
And should have joyned bene to her in wed-
locks knot.
IX
Then did my younger brother, Amidas,
Love that same other Damzell, Lucy bright,
To whom but little dowre allotted was :
Her vertue was the dowre that did delight.
What better dowre can to a dame be hight '?
But now, when Philtra saw my lands decay
And former livelod fayle, she left me quight,
And to mv brother did ellope streight way ,
Who, taking her from me, his owne love left
astray.
x
She, seeing then her stlfe forsaken so,
Through dolorous despaire which she con-
ceyved,
Into the Sea her selfe did headlong throw,
Thinking to have her griefe by death be-
reaved :
Bnt see how much her purpose was deceaved !
Whilest thus, amidst the billowes beating of
her, [weaved,
Twixt life and death long to and fro she
She chaunst unwares to light uppon this coffer,
Which to her in that daunger hope of life did
offer.
XI
' The wretched mayd, that earst desir'd to die,
When as the paine of death she tasted had,
And but halfe scene his ugly visnomie,
Gan to repent that she had beene so mad
For any death to chaunge life, though most
bad:
And catching hold of this Sea-beaten chest,
(The lucky Pylot of her passage sad,)
After long tossing in the seas distrest,
Her weary barke at last uppon mine Isle did
rest.
XII
' Where I by chaunce then wandring on the
shore
Did her espy, and through my good endevour
From dreadfull mouth of death, which threat-
ned sore . [her.
Her to have swallow'd up, did helpe to save
She then, in recompence of that great favour
Which I on her bestowed, bestowed on me
The portion of that good which Fortune gave
her,
3I2
THE FAERTE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Together with her selfe in dowry free ; I5y what good right doc you withhold this
Both goodly portions, but of both the better day? '
she. " I ' What other right,' (quoth he) ' should you
xin esteeme,
Yet in this coffer which she with her brought But that the sea it to my share did lay? '
ithence we did finde con- ' Your "ght is g00(V (sa.vd he) ' and '<
Great threasure sithence
tained,
Which as our owne we tooke, and so it thought ;
But this same other Damzell since hatli fained
That to her selfe that threasure appertained
And that she did transport the same by sea,
To bring it to her husband new ordained,
But suffred cruell shipwracke by the way :
But whether it be so or no, I can not say.
' But, whether it indeede be so or no.
This doe I say, that what so good or ill
Or God or Fortune unto me did throw,
Not wronging any other by my will,
I hold mine owne, and so will hold it still.
And though my land he first did winue away,
And then my love, (though now it little skill)
Yet my good lucke he shall not likewise pray,
But I will it defend whilst ever that I mav.'
so I
deeme,
[should seeme.'
That what the sea unto you sent your own
Then turning to the elder thus he sayd :
' Now, Bracidas, let this likewise be showne ;
Your brothers threasure, which from him is
strayd,
Being the dowry of his wife well knowne,
By what right doe you claime to be your
owne?' [esteeme,
' What other right,' (quoth he) ' should you
But that the sea hath it unto me throwne '? '
' Your right is good,' (sayd he) ' and so I
deeme, [should seeme.
That what the sea unto you sent your own
So having sayd, the younger did ensew :
' Full true it is what so about our land
My brother here declared hath to you :
But not for it this ods twixt us doth stand,
But for this threasure throwne uppon his
strand ;
Which well I prove, as shall appeare by trial!,
To be this maides with whom I fastned hand.
Known by good markes and perfect good
espial! : [deniall.'
Therefore it ought be rendred her without
When they thus ended had, the Knight
began:
' Certes, your strife were easie to accord,
Would ye remit it to some righteous man.'
' Unto yourselfe,' said they, ' we give oar
word,
To bide that judgement ye shall us afford.'
' Then for assurance to my doome to stand,
Under my foote let each lay downe his sword ; u_ ^ ^ „ uv^ MM
And then you shall my sentence understand.' JA rouTof many peeple • farrVaway *
So each of them layd downe his sword out of To whom his course he hastily applide,
his hand. ™* . .« ...
Then Artegall thus to the younger sayd :
' Now tell me, Amidas, if that ye may,
Your brothers land the which the sea hath layd. With weapons in their hands as ready for tx
Unto your part, and pluckt from his away, | fight.
' For equall right in equall things doth stand ;
For what the mighty Sea, hath once possest,
And plucked quite from all possessors hand,
Whether by rage of waves that never rest,
Or else by wracke that wretches hath distrest,
He may dispose by his imperiall might,
As thing at randon left, to whom he list.
So, Amidas, the land was yours first hight ;
And so the threasure yours is, Bracidas, by
right.'
xx
When he his sentence thus pronounced had,
Both Amidas and Philtra were displeased ;
But Bracidas and Lucy were right glad,
And on the threasure by that judgement
seased,
So was their discord by this doome appeased,
And each one had his right. Then Artegall,
When as their sharpe contention he had ceased, j
Departed on his way, as did befall,
To follow his old quest, the which him forth
did call.
XXI
So as he travelled uppon the way,
He chaunst to come, where happily he spide
To weete the cause of their assemblaunce wide j
To whom when he approched neare in sight,
(An uncouth sight) he plain ely then descride \
To be a troupe of women, warlike dight,
CANTO IV. ]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
312
And in the midst of them he saw a Knight,
With both his hands behinde him pinnoed hard
And round about his necke an halter tight,
And ready for the gallow-tree prepard :
His face was covered, and his head was bar'd,
That who he was uneath was to descry ;
And with full heavy heart with them he far'd,
Griev'd to the soule, and groning inwardly,
That he of womens hands so base a death
should dy.
XXIII
But they, like tyrants mercilesse, the more
Bejoyced at his' miserable case,
And him reviled, and reproched sore
With bitter taunts and termes of vile disgrace.
Now when as Artegall, arriv'd in place,
Did aske what cause brought that man to
decay,
They round about him gan to swarme apace,
Meaning on him their cruell hands to lay,
And to have wrought unwares some villanous
assay.
XXIV
But he was soone aware of their ill minde,
And drawing backe deceived their intent:
Yet, though him selfe did shame on woman -
kinde
His mighty hand to shend, he Talus sent
To wrecke on them their follies hardyment :
Who with few sowces of his yron flale
Dispersed all their troupe incontinent,
And sent them home to tell a piteous tale
Of their vaine prowesse turned to their proper
bale.
XXV
But that same wretched man, ordayned to
die,
They left behind them, glad to be so quit :
Him Talus tooke out of perplexitie,
And horrour of fowle death for Knight unfit,
Who more then losse of life ydreaded it ;
And, him restoring unto living light,
So brought unto his Lord, where he did sit
Beholding all that womanish weake fight ;
Whom soone as he beheld he knew, and thus
behight :
XXVI
' Sir Turpine ! haplesse man, what make you
here ? rtkd^
Or have you lost your selfe and your discre-
That ever in this wretched case ye were ?
Or have ye yeelded you to proude oppression
Of womens powre, that boast of mens sub-
jection ?
Or else what other deadly dismall day
Is falne on vou by heavens hard direction
That ye were runne so fondly far astray
As for to lead your selfe unto your owne
decay V '
XXVII
Much was the man confounded in his mind,
Partly with shame, and partly with dismay,
That 'all astonisht he him selfe did find,
And little had for his excuse to say,
But onely thus : ' Most haplesse well ye may
Me justly terme, that to this shame am
brought, [day :
And made the scorne of Knighthod this same
But who can scape what his owne fate hath
wrought ? [thought.*
The worke of heavens will surpasseth humaine
XXVIII
' Right true : but faulty men use oftentimes
To attribute their folly unto fate,
And lay on heaven the guilt of their owne
But tell, Sir Terpin, ne let youamate [crimes.
Your misery, how fell ye in this state?'
Then sith ye needs ' (quoth he) ' will know
my shame,
And all the ill which chaunst to me of late,
I shortly will to you rehearse the same,
In hope ye will not turne misfortune to my
blame.
XXIX
' Being desirous (as all Knights are woont)
Through hard adventures deedes of armes to
And after fame and honour for to hunt, [try,
[ heard report that farre abrode did fly,
That a proud Amazon did late defy
All the brave Knights that hold of Maidenhead,
And unto them wrought all the villany
That she could forge in her malicious head,
Which some hath put to shame, and many
done be dead.
XXX
' The cause, they say, of this her cruell hate
[s for the sake of Bellodant the bold,
To whom she bore most fervent love of late,
And, wooed him by all the waies she could :
But when she saw at last that he ne would
For ought or nought be wonne unto her will,
She turn'd her love to hatred manifold,
And for his sake vow'd to doe all the ill
Which she could doe to Knights ; which now
she doth fulfill.
' For all those Knights, the which by force
or guile
she doth subdue, she fowly doth entreate.
first, she doth them of warlike armes despotic,
And cloth in womens weedes : And then with
threat
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Doth them compell to worke, to earne their
meat,
To spin, to card, to sew, to wash, to wring ;
Ne doth she give them other thing to eat
But bread and water or like feeble thing,
Them to disable from revenge adventuring.
XXXII
'But if through stout disdaine of manly
mind
Any her proud observaunce will withstand,
Uppon that gibbet, which is there behind,
She causeth them be hang'd up out of hand ;
In which condition I right now did stand :
For, being overcome by her in fight,
And put to that base service of her band,
I rather chose to die in lives despight,
Then lead that shamefull life, unworthy of a
Knight.'
XXXIII
' How hight that Amazon ? ' (sayd Artegall)
'And where and how far hence does she
abide ? ' [call,
'Her name' (quoth he) 'they Radigund doe
A Princesse of great powre and greater pride,
And Queene of Amazons, in armes well tride
And sundry battels, which she hath atchieved
With great successe, that her hath glorifide,
And made her famous, more then is believed ;
Ne would I it have ween'd, had I not late it
prieved.'
xxxiv
' Now sure,' (said he) ' and by the faith
that I
To Maydenhead and noble knighthood owe,
I will not rest till I her might doe trie,
And venge the shame that she to Knights
doth show.
Therefore, Sir Terpin, from you lightly throw
This squalid weede, the patterne of dispaire,
And wend with me, that ye may see and
know
How Fortune will your ruin'd name repaire
And knights of Maidenhead, whose praise she
would empaire.'
With that, like one that hopelesse was de-
. pryv'd
From deathes dore at which he lately lay,
Those yron fetters wherewith he was gyv'd,
The badges of reproch, he threw away,
And nimbly did him dight to guide the way
Unto the dwelling of that Amazone :
Which was from thence not past a mile or
tway,
A goodly citty and a mighty one,
The which, of her owne "name, she calle<:
Radegone.
xxxvi
Where they arriving by the watchman wer<
'Descried streight; who all the city warned
I How that three warlike persons did appeare,
'Of which the one him seem'd a Knight al
armed,
And th' other two well likely to have harmed
Eftsoones the people all to harnesse ran,
And like a sort of Bees in clusters swarmed :
Ere long their Queene her selfe, halfe li ke a man
Came forth into the rout, arid them t' arraj
began.
XXXVII
And now the Knights, being arrived neare, '
Did beat uppon the gates to enter in ;
And at the Porter, skorning them so few,
Threw many threats, if they the towne di
win.
To teare his flesh in peeces for his sin :
Which when as Radigund there commin,
heard,
Her heart for rage did grate, and teeth did grir
She bad that streight the gates should be unbare:
And to them way to make with weapons we!
prepard.
xxxvin
Soone as the gates were open to them set,
They pressed forward, entraunce to hav
made;
But in the middle way they were ymet
With a sharpe showre of arrowes, which thei
staid,
And better bad advise, ere they assaid
Unknowen perill of bold womens pride.
Then all that rout uppon them rudely laid,
And heaped strokes so fast on every side,
And arrowes haild so thicke, that they cou1
not abide.
XXXIX
But Radigund her selfe, when she espide
Sir Terpin, from her direfull doome acquit,
So cruell doale amongst her maides divide
T' avenge that shame they did on him commi
All sodaincly enflam'd with furious fit
Like a fell Lionesse at him she flew,
And on his head-peece him so fiercely smit,
That to the ground him quite she overthrew
Dismayd so with the stroke that he no colou:
knew.
XL
Soone as she saw him on the ground to gr<
veil,
She lightly to him leapt; and in his necke
:•
:
CANTO IV ]
THE FAERIE QUEEKE.
Her proud foote setting, at his head did levell.
Weening at once her wrath on him to wreake
And his contempt, that did her judg'ment
breake.
As when a Beare hath seiz'd her cruell clawes
Uppon the carkasse of some beast too weake,
Proudly stands over, and a while doth pause
To heare the piteous beast pleading her plain-
tiffe cause.
XLI
Whom when as Artegall in that distresse
By chaunce beheld, he left the bloucly slaugh-
ter
[n which he swam, and ranne to his redresse :
There her assarling fiercely fresh, he raught
her [her ;
Such an huge stroke, that it of sence distraught
And had she not it warded warily,
[t had depriv'd her mother of a daughter :
Nathlesse for all the powre she did apply
[t made her stagger oft, and stare with ghastly
eye.
XLII
Like to an Eagle, in his kingly pride
Soring through his wide Empire of the aire
To weartier his brode sailes, by chaunce hath
spide
A Goshauke, which hath seized for her share
Dppon some fowle that should her feast pre-
pare;
With dreadfull force he flies at her bylive,
That with his souce, which none enduren
dare,
Her from the quarrey he away doth drive,
And from her griping pounce the greedy prey
doth rive.
XLIII
But, soone as she her sence recover'd had,
She fiercely towards him her selfe gan dight,
Through vengeful wrath and sdeignfull pride
half mad ;
For never had she suffred such despight :
But ere she could jovne hand with him to
fight,
Her warlike maides about her flockt so fast,
fhat they disparted them, nu>»gre their
might,
And with their troupes did far asunder cast;
But mongst the rest the fight did untill evening
last.
XLIV
And every while that mighty yron man
With his strange weapon, never ',vont in
warre,
Them sorely vext, and courst, and overran,
And broke their bowes, and. did their shooting
That none of all the many once did darre
Him to assault, nor once approach him nie;
But like a sort of sheepe dispersed farre
For dread of their devouring enemie,
Through all the fields and vallies did before
him ilic.
XLV
But when as daies faire shinie-beame, yclowd-
ed
With fearefull shadowes of deformed night,
Warn'd man and beast in quiet rest be shrowd-
ed,
Bold Radigund with sound of trumpe on hight,
Causd all her people to surcease from fight ;
And gathering them unto her citties gate,
Made them all enter in before her sight ;
And all the wounded, and the weake in state,
To be convayed in, ere she would once retrate.
When thus the field was voided all away,
And all things quieted, the Elfin Knight,
Weary of toile and travell of that day,
Causd his pavilion to be richly pight
Before the city gate, in open sight ;
Where he him selfe did rest in safe'ty
Together with Sir Terpin all that night :
But Talus usde, in times of jeopardy,
To keepe a nightly watch for dread of treach.
ery.
XLVII
But Radigund, full of heart-gnawing griefe
For the rebuke which she sustain'd that dav,
Could take no rest, ne would receive reliefe";
But tossed in her troublous minde what way
She mote revenge that blot which on her lay.
There she resolv'd her selfe in single fight
To try her Fortune, and his force assay,
Rather then see her people spoiled quight,
As she had scene that day, a disaveuterous
sight.
XLVIII
She called forth to her a trusty mayd,
Whom she thought fittest for that businesse ;
Her name was Clarin, and thus to her sayd :
' Goe, damzell, quickly, doe thy selfe addresse
To doe the message which I shall expresse.
Goe thou unto that stranger Faery Knight,
Who yeester day drove us to such distresse :
Tell, that to morrow I with him wil fight.
And try in equall field whether hath greater
might.
XLIX
' But these conditions doe to him propound :
That if I vanquishe him, he shall obay
My law, and ever to my lore be bound ;
And so will I, if me he vanquish may,
316
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK \
What ever he shall like to doe or say.
Goe streight, and take with thee to witnesse
Sixe of thy fellowes of the best array, [it
And beare with you both wine and juncates lit,
And bid him eate : henceforth he oft shall
hungry sit.'
The Damzell streight obayd, and putting all
In readinesse, forth to the Towne-gate went;
Where, sounding loud a Trumpet from the wall,
Unto those warlike Knights she warning sent.
Then Talus forth issuing from the tent
Unto the wall his way did fearelesse take,
To weeten what that trumpets sounding
meat:
Where that same Damzell lowdly him bespak
And shew'd that with his Lord she woul
emparlaunce make.
So he them streight conducted to his Lord :
Who, as he could, them goodly well did greet
Till they had told their message word by wore
Which he accepting well, as he could weete,
Them fairely entertaynd with curt'sies meete
And gave them gifts and things of dcai
delight. [feet*
So backe againe they homeward turnd thci
But Artegall him selfe to rest did dight,
That he mote fresher be against the nej
daies fight.
CANTO V.
Artegall fights with Radigund,
And is subdewd by guile :
He is by her imprisoned,
But wrought by Clarins wile.
So soone as day forth dawning from the
East [withdrew,
Nights humid curtaine from the heavens
And earely calling forth both man and beast
Comaunded them their daily workes renew,
These noble warriors, mindefull to pursew
The last daies purpose of their vowed fight,
Them selves thereto preparde in order dew ;
The Knight, as best was seeming for a Knight,
And th' Amazon, as best it likt her selfe to
dight.
ii
All in a Camis light of purple silke
Woven uppon with silver, subtly wrought,
And quilted uppon sattin white as milke ;
Trayled with ribbands diversly distraught,
Like as the workeman had" their courses
taught ;
Which was short tucked for light motion
Up to her ham ; but, when she list, it raught
Downe to her lowest heele ; and thereuppon
She wore for her defence a may led habergeon.
And on her legs she painted buskins wore,
Basted with bends of gold on every side,
And mailes betweene, and laced close afore ;
Uppon her thigh her Cemitare was tide
With an embrodered belt of mickell pride ;
And on her shoulder hung her shield, bedeckt
Uppon the bosse with stones that shined wide,
As the faire Moone in her most full aspect
That to the Moone it mote be like in eac
respect.
IV
So forth she came out of the citty gate
With stately port and proud magnificence,
Guarded with many Damzels that did waite
Uppon her person for her sure defence,
Playing on shaumes and trumpets, that fro
hence
Their sound did reach unto the heavens highl
So forth into the field she marched thence,
Where was a rich Pavilion ready pight
Her to receive, till time they should begi
the fight.
v
Then forth came Artegall out of his tent,
All arm'd to point, and first the Lists d:
enter:
Soone after eke came she, with fell intent
And countenaunce fierce, as having full
bent her
That battells utmost triall to adventer.
The Lists were closed fast, to barre the rout
From rudely pressing to the middle center ;
Which in great heapes them circled all abou
Wayting how Fortune would resolve th;
daungerous dout.
The Trumpets sounded, and the field began
With bitter strokes it both began and ended
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
3'7
Having her thus disarmed of her shield,
She at the first encounter on him ran
With furious rage, as if she had intended
Out of his breast the very heart have Tended : \ Upon her helmet he againe her strooke,
But he, that had like tempests often tride, That downe she fell upon the grassie field
From that first flaw him selfe right well de- in sencelesse swoune, as if her life forsooke,
fended. i And pangs of death her spirit overtooke.
The more she rag'd, the more he did abide ; Whom when he saw before his foote prostrated,
She hewd, she foynd, she lasht, she laid on
every side.
VII
ifet still her blowes he bore, and her forbore,
'eening at last to win advantage new ;
et still her crueltie increased more,
4id, though powre faild, her courage did ac-
crew ;
'hi eh fayling, he gan fiercely her purscw.
ike as a Smith that to his cunning feat
'he stubborne mettall seeketh to subdew,
oone as he feeles it mollifide with heat,
rith his great yron sledge doth strongly on
it beat.
VIII
5o did Sir Artegall upon her lay,
s if she had an yron and vile beene,
hat flakes of fire, bright as the sunny ray,
ut of her steely armes were flashing scene,
hat all on fire ye would her surely weene ;
ut with her shield so well her selfe she warded
He to her lept with deadly dreadfull looke,
And her sunshynie helmet soone unlaced,
Thinking at once both head and helmet to have
raced.
But, when as he discovered had her face,
He saw, his senses straunge astonishment,
A miracle of natures goodly grace
In her faire visage voide of ornament,
But bath'd in blond and sweat together ment ;
Which in the rudenesse of that evill plight
Bewrayd the signes of feature excellent •
Like as the Moone in foggie winters night
Doth seeme to be her selfe, though darkned be
her light.
XIII
At sight thereof his cruell minded hart
Empierced was with pittifull regard, [apart,
That his sharpe sword he threw from him
Cursing his hand that had that visage mard :
'rom the dread daunger of his weapon keene, | Xo hand so cruell, nor no hart so hard,
'hat all that while her life she safely garded ; But ruth of beautie will it mollifie.
nt he that helpe from her against her will By this, upstarting from her swoune, she star'd
discarded. A while about her with confused eye ;
Like one that from his dreame is waked sud-
denlye.
For with his trenchant blade at the next
blow
'alfe of her shield he shared quite away,
"hat halfe her side it selfe did naked show,
Lnd thenceforth unto daunger opened way.
tnch was she moved with the mightie sway
f that sad stroke, that halfe enrag'd she grew,
nd, like a greedie Beare unto her prav, . - - ,
Vith her sharpe Cemitare at him she flew, \ \V lt.h ""ge.redoubled strokes she on him layd ;
hat glauncing downe his thigh the pnrpie And more mcreast her outrage merciesse,
blond forth drew lThe more that he Wlth meeke mtreatie prayd
Her wrathful hand from greedy vengeance to
have stayd.
0 ., , . , . ., , , ,. .
Soone as the , knight she there by her did spy
anding J" T ^ I w«?jftn e<B*
fresh assauilt uPon hlm sh.e dld fiY>
n ™™ h former cmelnesse :
Thereat she gan to triumph with great boast,
ind to upbrayd that chaunce which him misfell,
LS if the prize she gotten had almost.
Like as a Puttocke having spyde in sight
A gentle Faulcon sitting on an hill, [flight,
Vith spightfull speaches. fitting with her well; Whose other wing, now made unmeete for
"hat his great hart gan inwardly to swell j Was lately broken by some fortune ill;
indignation at her vaunting vaine, 'The foolish Kyte, led with licentious will,
.nd at her strooke with puissaunce fearefull Doth beat upon the gentle bird in vaine,
fell : | With many idle stoups her troubling still :
'et with her shield she warded it againe, Even so did Radigund with bootlesse paine
Tiat shattered all to peeces round about the Annoy this noble Knight, and sorely him
pluine. constraiue.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Nought could he do but shun the dred de-
spight
Of her fierce wrath, and backward still retyre:
And with his single shield, well as he might,
Beare off the burden of her raging yre :
And evermore he gently did desyre
To stay her stroks, and he himselfe would yield ;
Yet nould she hearke, ne let him once respyre,
Till he to her delivered had his shield,
And to her mercie him submitted in plaine field.
So was he overcome ; not overcome,
But to her yeelded of his owne accord ;
Yet was he justly damned by the doome
Of his owne mouth, that spake so warelesse
word,
To be her thrall and service her afford :
For though that he first victorie obtayned,
Yet after, by abandoning his sword,
He wilfull lost that he before attayned :
No fayrer conquest then that with goodwill is
gayned.
XVIII
Tho with her sword on him she flatling
strooke,
In signe of true subjection to her powre,
And as her vassall him to thraldome tooke :
But Terpine, borne to' a more unhappy howre,
As he on whom the lucklesse stars did lowre,
She caused to be attacht, and forthwith led
Unto the crooke, t' abide the balefull stowre
From which he lately had through reskew fled :
Where he full shamefully was hanged by the
hed.
XIX
But when they thought on Talus hands to lay,
He with his yron flaile amongst them thondred,
That they were fayne to let him scape away,
Glad from his companie to be so sondred ;
Whose presence all their troups so much en-
combred, £and slay,
That th' heapes of those which he did wound
Besides the rest dismayd,might notbenombred :
Yet all that while he would not once assay-
To reskew his owne Lord, but thought it just
t' obay.
XX
Then tooke the Amazon this noble knight,
Left to her will by his owne wilfull blame,
And caused him to be disarmed quight
Of all the ornaments of knightly name,
With which whylome he gotten had great
fame:
Instead whereof she made him to be dight
In womans weedes, that is to manhood shame,
And put before his lap a napron white,
Instead of Curiets and bases fit for fight.
So being clad she brought him from the fiei'l
In which he had bene trayned many a day,
Into a long large chamber, which was sield
With moniments of many Knights decay,
By her subdewed in victorious fray :
Amongst the which she causd his warliki
armes [wray
Be hang'd on high, that mote his shame be
And broke his sword, for feare of further hannes
With which he wont to stirre up battailou
alarm es.
XXII
There entred in he round about him saw
Many brave knights, whose names right wel
he knew,
There bound t' obay that Amazons proud law
Spinning and carding all in comely rew,
That his bigge hart loth'd so uncomely vew:
But they were forst, through penurie and pyn.
To doe those workes to them appointed dew ;
For nought was given them to sup or dyne,
But what their hands could earne by twistin;
linnen twyne.
XXIII
Amongst them all she placed him most low, |
And in his hand a distaffe to him gave,
That he thereon should spin both flax and tow]
A sordid office for a mind so brave :
So hard it is to be a womans slave.
Yet he it tooke in his owne selfes despight, j
And thereto did himselfe right well behave ]
Her to obay, sith he his faith had plight
Her vassall to become, if she him wonne i]
fight.
XXIV
Who had him scene imagine mote thereby
That whylome hath of Hercules bene told,
How for lolas sake he did apply
His mightie hands the distaffe vile to hold
For his huge club, which had subdew'd of ol J
So many monsters which the world annoyed]
His Lyons skin chaungd to a pall of gold,
In which, forgetting warres, he onely joyed i
In combats of sweet love, and with his mij
tresse toyed.
xxv
Such is the crueltie of womenkynd,
When they have shaken off the shamefsl
band, [byij
With which wise Nature did them strong)
T' obay the heasts of mans well-ruling hand]
^ANTO V.]
THE FAERIE
319
That then all rule and reason they withstand
To purchase a licentious libertie :
But vertuous women wisely understand,
That they were borne to base humilitie,
Unlesse the heavens them lift to lawfull sove-
raintie.
XXVI
Thus there long while continu'd Artegall.
Serving proud Kadigund with true subjection,
[low ever it his noble heart did gall
T' obay a womans tyrannous direction,
That might have had of life or death election:
But, having chosen, now he might not chaunge.
During which time the warlike Amazon,
Whose wandriug fancie after lust did raunge,
Gan cast a secret liking to this captive
straunge.
XXVII
Which long concealing in her covert brest,
She chaw'd the cud of lover's carefull plight ;
Yet could it not so thoroughly digest,
Being fast fixed in her wounded spright,
But it tormented her both day and night :
Yet would she not thereto yeeld free accord
To serve the lowly vassall of her might,
And of her servant make her soverayne Lord :
So great her pride that she such "basenesse
much abhord.
XXVIII
So much the greater still her anguish grew,
Through stubborne handling of her love-sicke
hart;
And still the more she strove it to subdew.
The more she still augmented her owne smart
And wyder made the wound of th' hidden dart.
At last, when long she struggled had in vaine,
She gan to stoupe, and her proud mind convert
To meeke obeysance of loves mightie raine,
And him entreat for grace that had procur'd
her paine.
XXIX
Unto her selfe in secret she did call
Her nearest handmayd, whom she most did
trust,
And to her said : ' Clarinda, whom of all
I trust alive, sith I thee fostred first,
Now is the time that I untimely must
Thereof make tryall in my greatest need.
It is so hapned that the heavens unjust,
Stoightingmy happie freedome, have agreed
To thrall my looser life, or my last bale to
breed.'
XXX
With that she turn'd her head, as halfe
abashed,
To hide the blush which in her visage rose
And through her eyes like sudden lightning
flashed,
Decking her cheeke with a vermilion rose;
But soone she did her countenance compose,
And to her turning thus began againe :
' This griefes deepe wound I would to thee
disclose, [paine;
Thereto compelled through hart-murdring
But dread of shame my doubtfull lips doth
still restraine."
' Ah ! my deare dread,' (said then the faith-
full Mayd) [withhold,
' Can dread of ought your dreadlesse hart
That many hath with dread of death dismayd,
And dare even deathes most dreadfull face
behold ?
Say on, my soverayne Ladie, and be bold :
Doth not your handmayds life at your foot
lie ?'
Therewith much comforted she gan unfold
The cause of her conceived maladie,
As one that would confesse, yet faine would it
denie.
XXXII
'Clarin,' (said she) 'thou seest yond Fayry
Knight,
Whom not my valour, but his owne brave mind
Subjected hath to my unequall might.
What right is it, that he should thraldome
find
For lending life to me, a wretch unkind,
That for such good him recompence with ill ?
Therefore I cast how 1 may him unbind,
And by his freedome get his free goodwill ;
Yet so, as bound to me he may continue still ;
XXXIII
'Bound unto me but not with such hard
bands
Of strong compulsion and streight violence,
As now in miserable state he stands ;
But with sweet love and sure benevolence,
Voide of malitious mind or foule offence :
To which if thou canst win him any way
Without discoverie of my thoughts pretence,
Both goodly meede of him it purchase may,
And eke with gratefull service me right well
apay.
XXXIV
' Which that thou mayst the better bring to
pas, [ bee,
Loe ! here this ring, which shall thy warrant
And token true to old Eumenias,
From tiRie to time, when thou it best shait
see,
320
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK i
That in and out thou mayst have passage free.
Goe now, Clarinda ; weU thy wits advise,
And all thy forces gather unto thee,
Armies of lovely lookes, and speeches wise,
With which thou canst even Jove himselfe to
love entise.'
The trustie Maj-d, conceiving her intent,
Did with sure promise of her good endevour
Give her great comfort and some harts content,
So, from her parting, she thenceforth did
labour
By all the meanes she might to curry favour
With th' Elfin Knight, her Ladies best be-
loved :
With daily shew of courteous kind behaviour,
Even at the marke-white of his hart she roved.
And with wide-glauncing words one day she
thus him proved.
XXXVI
' Unhappie Knight ! upon whose hopelesse
state
Fortune, envying good, hath felly frowned,
And cruell heavens have heapt an heavy fate ;
I rew that thus thy better dayes are drowned
In sad despaire, and all thy senses swowned
In stupid sorow, sith thy juster merit
Might else have with felicitie bene crowned:
Looke up at last, and wake thy dulled spirit
To thinke how this long death thou mightest
disinherit.'
XXXVII
Much did he marvell at her uncouth speach,
Whose hidden drift he could not well perceive;
And gan to doubt least she him sought t' ap-
peach
Of treason, or some guilefull traine did weave,
Through which she might his wretched life be-
reave, [her:
Both which to barre he with this answere met
' Fa ire Damzell, that with ruth (as I perceave)
Of my mishaps art mov'd to wish me better,
For such your kind regard I can but rest your
detter.
XXXVIII
' Yet, weet ye well, that to a courage great
It is no lesse beseeming well to beare
The s torme of fortunes f rowne or heavens threat,
Then in the sunshine of her countenance cleare
Timely to joy and carrie comely cheare :
For though this cloud have now me overcast,
Vet doe I not of better times despeyre ;
And though (unlike) they should for ever last,
Y"et in my truthes assurance I rest fixed fast.'
' But what so stonie minde,' (she then r
plyde)
' But if in his owne powre occasion lay,
Would to his hope t~ windowe open wyde,
And to his fortunes iielpe make readie way?
1 Unworthy sure' (quoth he) 'of better day,
That will not take the offer of good hope,
And eke pursew, if he attaine it may.'
Which speaches she applying to the scope
Of her intent, this further purpose to hi
shope.
XL
' Then why doest not, thou ill advized man,
Make meanes to win thy libertie forlorne,
And try if thou by faire en treat ie can [won
Move Radigund ? who, though she still \ia\
Her dayes in warre, yet (weet thou) was n
borne
Of Beares and Tygres, nor so salvage mynde
As that, albe all love of men she scorne,
She yet forgets that she of men was kynded
And sooth oft scene, that proudest harts bas
love hath blvnded.'
' Certes, Clarinda, not of cancred will,'
(Sayd he) ' nor obstinate disdainefull mind,
I have forbore this duetie to fulfill ;
For well I may this weene by that I fvnd,
That she a Queene, and come of Princely kyn<
Both worthie is for to be sewd unto,
Chiefely by him whose life her law doth byn
And eke of powre her owne doome to undo,
And als' of princely grace to be inclyn'd then
to.
XLII
'But want of meanes hath bene mine one!
let
From seeking favour where it doth abound ;
Which if I might by your good office get,
I to your selfe should rest for ever bound,
And readie to deserve what grace I found.'
She feeling him thus bite upon the bayt,
Yet doubting least his hold was but unsound
And not well fastened, would not strike hii
strayt,
But drew him on with hope fit leasure to away
xun
But, foolish Mayd ! whyles heedlesse of tl
hooke
She thus oft times was beating off and on,
Through slipperie footing fell into the brook
And there was caught to her confusion :
For, seeking thus to salve the Amazon,
She wounded was with her deceipts owne dai
And gan thenceforth to cast affection,
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE
321
Conceived close in her beguiled hart, I will a while with his first folly beare,
To Artegall, through pittieof his causelesse Till thou have tride againe, and tempted him
Yet durst she not disclose her fancies wound,
more neare.
' Say and do all that may thereto prevaile ;
Leave nought unpromist that may him per-
wacle,
\e to himselfe, for doubt of being sdayned,
Ne yet to any other wight on ground,
for feare her mistresse shold have knowledge ', Life, freedome, grace, and gifts of great availe,
[Jut to her selfe it secretly retayned [gayned ; With which the Gods themselves are mylder
iVithin the closet of her covert" brest, made:
The more thereby her tender hart was payned ; Thereto adde art, even womens witty trade,
The art of mightie words that men can charme;
With which in case thou canst him not invade.
Let him feele harduesse of thy heavie arme :
Who will not stoupe with good shall be made
stoupe with harme.
Sfet to awayt tit time she weened best,
And fairely did dissemble her sad thoughts un
rest.
One day her Ladie, calling her apart,
ran to demaund of her some tydings good,
Touching her loves successe, her lingring
smart.
Therewith she gan at first to change her mood
\.a one adaw'd, and halt'e confused stood ;
Jut quickly she it overpast, so soone
Vs she her face had wypt to fresh her blood :
'ho gan she tell her all that she had donne,
Vnd all the wayes she sought his love for to
have wonne:
XLVI
But sayd that he was obstinate and sterne,
Scorning her offers and conditions raine;
would be taught with any termes to lerne
>o fond a lesson as to love againe :
he rather would he in penurious paine,
his abridged dayes in dolour wast,
'hen his foes love or liking entertaine.
lis resolution was, both first and last,
Ii8 bodie was her thrall, his hart was freely
plast.
XLVII
Which when the crnell Amazon perceived,
ihe gan to storme, and rage, and rend her gall,
'or very fell despight which she conceived,
'o be so scorned of a base-borne thrall,
Vhose life did lie in her least eye-lids fall ;
if which she vow'd, with many a cursed threat,
^hat she therefore would him ere long forstall.
!athlesse, when calmed was her furious heat,
>he chang'd that threatfull mood, and mildly
gan en treat:
| What now is left, Clarinda ? what remaines,
'hat we may compasse this our enterprize ?
Ireat shame to lose so long employed paines,
kiul greater shame t' abide so great misprize,.
Vitli which he dares our offers thus despize:
et that his guilt the greater may appeare,
ind more my gratious mercie by this wize,
' Some of his diet doe from him withdraw,
For I him find to be too proudly fed :
Give him more labour, and with" streighter law,
That he with worke may be.forwearied :
Let him lodge hard, and" lie in strawen bed,
That may pull downe the courage of his pride;
And lay upon him, for his greater dread,
Cold yron chaines with which let him be tide;
And let what ever he desires be him denide.
When thou hast all this doen, then bring me
newes
3f his demeane : thenceforth not like a lover,
But like a rebell stout, I will him use;
For I resolve this siege not to give over,
fill I the conquest of my will recover.'
So she departed full of griefe and sdaine,
Which inlv did to great impatience move her:
But the false mayden shortly turn'd againe
Unto the prison, where her hart did thrall re-
maine.
LII
There all her subtill nets she did unfold.
And all the engins of her wit display ;
n which she meant him warelesse to enfold,
And of his innocence to make her pray.
So cunningly she wrought her crafts assay,
That both her Ladie, and her selfe withall,
And eke the knight attonce she did betray;
But most the knight, whom she with guilefull
call
)id cast for to allure into her trap to fall.
As a bad Nurse, which, fayning to receive
n her owne mouth the food ment for her chyld
>Vithholdes it to her selfe, and doeth deceive
fhe infant, so for want of nourture spoyld.-
322
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Even so Clarinda her owne Dame beguyld,
And turn'd the trust which was in her affyde,
To feeding of her private fire, which boyld
Her inward brest, and in her entrayles fryde,
The more that she it sought to cover and to
hyde.
LIV
For, comming to this knight, she purpose
fayned,
How earnest suit she earst for him had made
Unto her Queene, his freedome to have gayned,
But by no meanes could her thereto perswade;
But that instead thereof she sternely bade
His miserie to be augmented more,
And many yron bands on him to lade:
All which nathlesse she for his love forbore ;
So praying him t" accept her service evermore.
And, more then that, she promist that she
would,
In case she might finde favour in his eye,
Devize how to enlarge him out of hould.
The Fayrie, glad to gaine his libertie,
Can yeeld great thankes for such her curtesie ;
And with faire words, fit for the time and
place,
To feede the humour of her maladie,
Promist, if she would free him from that case,!
He wold, by all good means he might, deserve
such grace.
So daily he faire semblant did her shew,
Yet never meant he in his noble mind
To his owne absent love to be untrew:
Ne ever did deceiptfull Clarin find
In her false hart his bondage to unbind,
But rather how she mote him faster tye.
Therefore unto her mistresse most unkind
She daily told her love he did defye ;
And him she told her Dame his freedome di
denve.
Yet thus much friendship she to him did show
That his scarse diet somewhat was amended,
And his worke lessened, that his love mot
grow :
Yet to her Dame him still she discommended
That she with him mote be the more ofifemlet
Thus he long while hi thraldome there re
mayned,
Of both beloved well, b'ut litle frended,
Untill his owne true love his freedome gayned
Which in an other Canto will be best cor
tayned.
CANTO VI.
Tains brings newes to Britomart
Of Artegals mishap :
She goes to seeke him. Dolon meetes,
Who seekes her to entrap.
SOME men. I wote, will deeme in Artegall
(Jreat weaknesse, and report of him much ill,
For yeelding so himselfe a wretched thrall
To th' insolent commatind of womens will ;
That all his former praise doth fowly spill :
But he the man, that say or doe so dare,
Be well adviz'd that he stand stedfast still ;
For never yet was wight so well aware,
But he, at first or last, was trapt in womens
snare.
ii
Tel in the streightnesse of that captive state
This gentle knight himselfe so well behaved,
That notwithstanding all the subtill bait
With which those Amazons his love still
craved,
To his owne love his loialtie he saved :
Whose character in th' Adamantine mould
Of his true hart so rirmely was engraved,
That no new loves impression ever could
Bereave it thence : such blot his hono
blemish should.
Yet his owne love, the noble Britomart,
Scarse so conceived in her jealous thought,
What time sad tydings of his balefull smarl
!ln womans bondage Talus to her brought;
Brought in untimely houre, ere it was sougl
, For, after that the utmost date assynde
I For his returne she waited had for nought,
She gan to cast in her misdoubtfull mynde
A thousand feares, that love-sicke fancies fai
to fynde.
IV
Sometime she feared least some hard misli
Had him misfalne in his adventurous quest
Sometime least his false foe did him entrap
In traytrous traine, or had unwares opprest ;
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
3*3
But most she did her troubled mynd molest,
And secretly afflict with jealous i'eare,
Least some new love had him from her possest :
Yet loth she was, since she no ill did heare,
To thinke of him so ill ; yet could she not for-
beare.
v
One while she blam'd her selfe ; another
whyle
She him condemn'd as trastlesse and untrew ;
And then, her griefe with errour to beguyle,
She fayn'd to count the time againe anew,
As if before she had not counted trew :
For houres, but dayes ; for weekes that passed
were, [more few ;
She told but moneths, to make them seeme
Yet when she reckned them, still drawing neare.
Each hour did seeme a moneth, and every
moneth a yeare.
VI
But when as yet she saw him not returne,
She thought to send some one to seeke him
out ;
But none she found so fit to serve that turne,
\.s her owne selfe, to ease her selfe of dout.
Sow she deviz'd, amongst the warlike rout
)f errant Knights, to seeke her errant Knight,
And then againe resolv'd to hunt him out
Amongst loose Ladies lapped in delight :
And then both Knights envide, and Ladies
eke did spight.
One day when as she long had sought for ease
in every place, and every place thought best,
Yet found no place that could her liking please,
She to a window came that opened West,
Towards which coast her love his way addrest:
There looking forth, shee in her heart did find
Many vaine fancies working her unrest ;
And sent her winged thoughts, more swift then
wind,
To beare untq her love the message of her mind.
There as she looked long, at last she spide
One comming towards her with hasty speede.
Well weend she then, ere him she plaine de-
scride,
That it was one sent from her love indeede ;
Who when he nigh approcht, shee mote arede
That it was Talus. Artegall his groome :
Whereat her heart was tild with hope and
drede ,
Ne would she stay till he in place could come,
But ran to meete him forth to know his tidings
Even in the dore him meeting, she begun :
' And where is he thy Lord, and how far hence?
Declare at once : and hath he lost or wun ? '
The yron man. albe he wanted sence
And sorrowes feeling, yet, with conscience
Of his ill newes, did inly chill and quake,
And stood still mute, as one in great suspence ;
As if that by his silence he would make
Her rather reade his meaning then him selfe
it spake.
x
Till she againe thus sayd • ' Talus, be bold,
And tell what ever it be. good or bad, [hold.'
That from thy tongue thy hearts intent dotb
To whom he thus at length : ' The tidings sad,
That I would hide, will needs, I see. be rad.
My Lord, your love, by hard mishap doth lie
In wretched bondage, wofully bestad.'
' Ay me,' (quoth she) ' what wicked destinie !
And is he vanquish! by his tyrant enemy ? '
' Not by that Tyrant, his intended foe,
But by a Tyrannesse,' (he then replide)
4 That him captived hath in haplesse woe.'
' Cease, thou bad newes-man ! badly doest
thou hide
Thy maisters shame, in harlots bondage tide :
The rest my selfe too readily can spell.'
With that in rage she turn'd from him aside,
Forcing in vaine the rest to her to tell ;
And to her chamber went like solitary cell.
XII
There she began to make her monefull plaint
Against her Knight for being so untrew ;
And him to touch with falshoods fowle attaint,
That all his other honour overthrew.
3ft did she blame her selfe, and often rew,
For yeelding to a straungers love so light,
Whose life and manners straunge she never
knew;
And evermore she did him sharpely twight
For breacli of faith to her, which he 'had finnely
plight.
XIII
And then she in her wrath full will did cast
How to revenge that blot of honour blent,
To light with him, and goodly die her last .
And then againe she did her selfe torment,
Inflicting on her selfe his punishment, [threw
A while she walkt, and chauft ; a while she
Fler selfe uppon her bed, and did lament:
Yet did she not lament with loude alew,
As women wont, but with deepe sighes and
singults few
Y2
324
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK
Like as a wayward childe, whose sounder
sleepe
Is broken with some fearefull dreames affright,
With froward will doth set him selfe to weepe,
Ne can be stild for all his nurses might,
But kicks, and squals, and shriekes for fell
despight; [using,
Now scratching her, and her loose locks mis-
Now seeking darkcnesse, and now seeking light,
Then craving sucke, and then the sucke re-
fusing : [accusing.
Such was this Ladies fit in her loves fond
Which had her Lord in her base prison pent,
And so great honour with so fowlc reproch had
blent.
xix
So as she thus melaucholickc did ride,
Chawing the cud of griefe and inward paine,
She chaunst to meete, toward the even-tide,
A Knight that softly paced on the plaine,
As if him selfe to solace he were faine :
Well shot m yeares he seem'd, and rather beat
To peace then needlesse trouble to constraine,
j As well by view of that his vestiment,
As by his modest semblant that no eviJl incut
But when she had with such unquiet fits
Her selfe there close afflicted long in vaine,
Yet found no easement in her troubled wits,
She unto Talus forth return'd againe,
By change of place seeking to ease her paine ;
And gan enquire of him with mylder mood
The certaine cause of Artegals detaine,
And what he did, and in what state he stood,
And whether he did woo, or whether he were
yroo'd?
XVI
' Ah wellaway ! ' (sayd then the yron man)
' That he is not the while in state to woo ;
But lies in wretched thraldome, weake and wan,
Not by strong hand compelled thereunto,
But his owne doome, that none can now undoo.'
•Sayd I not then' (quoth shee), 'erwhilc a
right,
That this is things compacte betwixt you two,
Me to deceive of faith unto me plight^
Since that he was not forst, nor overcome in
fight?'
XVII
With that he gan at large to her dilate
The whole discourse of his captivance sad,
In sort as ye have heard the same of late :
All which when she with hard enduraunce had
Heard to the end, she was right sore bestad,
With sodaine stounds of wrath and griefe
at tone ;
Ne would abide, till she had aunswere made,
But streight her selfe did dight, and armor don,
And mounting to her stetde bad Talus guide
her on.
xvm
So forth she rode uppon her ready way,
To seeke her Knight, as Talus her did guide.
Sadly she rode, anil never word did say
Nor good nor bad, ne ever lookt aside, [hide
But still right downe; and in her thought did
The felnesse of her heart, right fully bent
To fierce avengement of that womaiis pride,
He comming neare gan gently her salute
With curteous words, in the mostcomely wize;
Who though desirous rather to rest mute,
Then termes to eutertaine of common guize,
Yet rather then she kindnesse would despize,
' She would her selfe displease , so him requite.
Then gan the other further to devize
Of things abrode, as next to hand did light,
And many things demauud, to which she
answer 'd light.
XXI
For little lust had she to talke of ought,
Or ought to heare that mote delightfull bee:
Her mimic was whole possessed of one thought,
I That gave none other place. Which when as
bee
, By outward signes (as well he might) did see,
. He list no lenger to use lothfull speach,
j But her besought to take it well in gree,
Sith shady dampe had dimd the heavens reach,
To lodge with him that night, unles good
cause empeach.
XXII
The Championesse, now seeing night at dore,
Was glad to yeeld unto his good request,
And with him went without gaine-saying
more.
Xot farre away, but little wide by West,
His dwelling was. to which he him addrest :
Where soouc arriving they received were
In seemely wise, as them "beseemed best;
For he, their host, them goodly well did cheare,
And talk't of pleasant things the night away
to weare.
XXIII
Thus passing th' evening well, till time of
rest,
Then Britomart unto a bowre was brought,
\\ here groomes awayted her to have undrest,-
But she ne would undressed be for ought,
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
325
Ne doffe her armes, though he her much be-
sought :
For she had vow'd, she sayd, i. ot to forgo
Those warlike weedes, till she revenge had
wrought
Of a late wrong uppon a mortall foe ;
Which she would sure performe, betide her
wele or wo.
XXIV
Which when their Host perceiv'd, right dis-
content
In minde he grew, for feare least by that art
He should his purpose misse, which close he
ment:
Yet taking leave of her he did depart.
There all that night remained Britomart,
Restlesse, recomfortlesse, with heart deepe
grieved, [ start.
Nor suffering the least twinckling sleepe to
Into her eye, which th' heart mote have re-
lieved ; [ reprieved :
But if the least appear'd, her eyes she streight
' Ye guilty eyes,' (sayd she) ' the which with
guyle
My heart at first betrayd, will ye betray
My life now too, for which a little whyle
Ye will not watch ? false watches, wellaway !
I wote when ye did watch both night and day
Unto your ibsse; and now neecles will ye
sleepe ?
Now ye have made my heart to wake alway,
Now will ye sleepe? ah! wake, and rather
weepe [yee waking keepe.'
To thinke of your nights want, that shouk
Thus did she watch, and weare the weary
night
In waylfull plaints that none was to appease
Now walking soft, now sitting still upright,
As sundry chaunge her seemed best to ease.
Ne lesse did Talus suffer sleepe to seaze
His eye-lids sad, but watcht continually,
Lving without her dore in great disease :
Like to a Spaniell wayting carefully
Least any should betray his Lady treacherously
XXVII
What time the native Belman of the night,
The bird that warned Peter of his fall,
First rings his silver Bell t' each sleepy wight
That should their mindes up to devotion call,
She heard a wondrous noise below the hill:
All sodainely the bed, where she should lie,
By a false trap was let adowne to fall
nto a lower roome, and by and by
The loft was raysd agame^ that no man could
it spie.
XXVIII
With sight whereof she was dismayd right
sore,
'erceiving well the treason which was ment ;
t'et stirred not at all for doubt of more,
?ut kept her place with courage confident,
Wayting what would ensue of that event.
t was not long before she heard the sound
.)f armed men comming with close intent
Towards her chamber ; at which dreadfull
stound [ about her bound.
She quickly caught her sword, and shield
XXIX
With that there came unto her chamber dort
Two Knights all armed ready for to light;
And after them full many other more,
A raskall rout, with weapons rudely dight •
Whom soone as Talus spide by glims of
night,
He started up, there where on ground he lay,
And in his hand his thresher ready keight. "
They seeing that let drive at him streightway,
And round about him preace in riotous aray.
XXX
But, soone as he began to lay about
With his rude yron tlaile, they gan to flic,
Both armed Knights and eke unarmed rout;
Yet Talus after them apace did plie,
Where ever in the darke he could them spie,
That here and there like scattred sheepe they
lay :
Then, backe returning where his Dame did lie,
He to her told the story of that fray,
And all that treason there intended did bewray.
XXXI
Wherewith though wondrous wroth, and inly
burning
To be avenged for so fowle a deede,
Yet being forst to abide the daies returning,
She there remain'd ; but with right wary heede,
Least any more such practise should proceede.
Now mote ye know (that which to Britomart
Unknowcn was) whence all this did proceede;
And for what cause so great mischievous smart
Was ment to her that never evill ment in
hart.
XXXII
The goodman of this house was Dolon hight ;
A man of subtill wit and wicked mindc,
That whilome in his youth had bene a Knight,
And armes had borne, but little good could
finde,
326
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
And much lesse honour by that warlike kinde Straight was the passage, like a ploughed
Of life : for he was nothing valorous, ridge, [the hdge.
But with slie shiftes and wiles did underminde
All noble Knights, which were adventurous,
And many brought to shame by treason trea-
cherous.
XXXIII
He had three sonnes, all three like fathers
That, if two met, the one mote needes fall over
XXXVII
There they did thinke them selves on her to
wreake ;
Who as she nigh unto them drew, the one
These vile reproches gan unto her speake :
--• i 'Thou recreant false travtor, that with lone
Like treacherous, like full of fraud and guile, ;Qf h knighthood stoine yet Knight
Of all that on this earthly compasse wonnes; I'-
The eldest of the which was slaine erewhile
By Artegall, through his owne guilty wile :
His name was Guizor ; whose untimely fate
For to avenge, full many treasons vile
His father Dolon had deviz'd of late
With these his wicked sons, and shewd his
art none,
j No more shall now the darkenesse of the night
Defend thee from the vengeance of thy fone ;
But with thy bloud thou slialt appease the
spright [ slight.'
Of Guizor by thee slaine, and murdred by thy
cankred hate.
Strange were the words in Britomartis eare,
For sure he weend that this his present guest Yet stayd she not for them, but forward fared,
Was Artegall, by many tokens plaine ; I Till to the periilous Bridge she came ; and there
But chiefly by that yron page he ghest, j Talus desir'd that he might have prepared
Which still was wont with Artegall remaine ; j The way to her, and those two losels scared ;
And therefore ment him surely to have slaine : But she thereat was wroth, that for despight
But by Gods grace, and her good heedinesse, | The glauncing sparkles through her bever
She was preserved from their traytrous traine. glared,
Thus she all night wore out in watchfulnesse, j And from her eies did flash out fiery light,
Ne suffred slothfull sleepe her eyelids to op-, Likes coles that through a silver Censer spar-
presse. kle bright.
The morrow next, so soone as dawning houre
Discovered had the light to living eye,
She forth yssew'd out of her loathed bowre,
With full intent t' avenge that villany
On that vilde man and all his family ;
And, comming down to seeke them where
they wond,
Nor sire, nor sonnes, nor any could she spie :
Each rowme she sought, but them all empty
fond. [ nether kond.
They all were fled for feare; but whether.
xxxvi
She saw it vaine to make there lenger stay,
But tooke her steede; and thereon mounting
light
Gan her addresse unto her former way.
She had not rid the mountenance of a flight,
But that she saw there present in her sight
Those two false brethren ou that periilous
Bridge,
On which Pollente with Artegall did fight.
She stayd not to advise which way to take,
But putting spurres unto her fiery beast,
Thorough the midst of them she way did make.
The one of them, which most her wrath in-
creast,
Uppon her speare she bore before her breast,
Till to the Bridges further end she past ;
Where falling downe his challenge he releast :
The other over side the Bridge she cast
Into the river, where he drunke his deadly last.
xt,
As when the flashing Levin haps to light
Uppon two stubborne oakes, which stand so
neare
That way betwixt them none appeares in sight ;
The Engin, fiercely flying forth, doth teare
Th' one from the earth, and through the aire
doth beare ;
The other it with force doth overthrow
Uppon one side, and from his rootes doth reare •
So did the Championesse those two there strow,
And to their sire their carcasses left to bestow.
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
3*7
CANTO VII.
Britomart comes to Isis Church,
Where shee strange visions sees :
She fights with Radigund, her slaies,
And Artegall thence frees.
NOUGHT is on earth more sacred or divine,
That Gods and men doe equally adore,
Then this same vertue that doth right define :
For th' hevens themselves, whence mortal men
implore
Right in their wrongs, are rul'd by righteous
lore
Of highest Jove, vrho doth true justice deale
To his inferiour GtSs, and evermore
Therewith containes his heavenly Common-
weale : [reveale,
The skill whereof to Princes hearts lie doth
Well therefore did the antique world invent
That Justice was a God of soveraine grace,
And altars unto him and temples lent,
And heavenly honours in the highest place ;
Calling him great Osyris, of the race
Of th' old ./Egyptian Kings thatwhylome were,
With fayned colours shading a true case ;
For that Osyris, whilest he lived here,
The justest man alive and truest did appeare.
His wife was Isis ; whom they likewise made
A Goddesse of great powre and soverainty,
And in her person cunningly did shade
That part of Justice which is Equity,
Whereof I have to treat here presently :
Unto whose temple when as Britomart
Arrived, shee with great humility
Did enter in, ne would that night depart ;
But Talus mote not be admitted to her part.
There she received was in goodly wize
Of many Priests, which duely did attend
Uppon the rites and daily sacritize,
All clad in linnen robes with silver hemd ;
And on their heads, with long locks cornel}'
kemd,
They wore rich Mitres shaped like the Moone,
To shew that Isis doth the Moone portend ;
Like as Osyris signifies the Sunne :
For that they both like race in equall justice
The Championesse them greeting, as she could,
Was thence by them into the Temple led ;
Whose goodly building when she did behould,
Borne upppn stately pillours, all dispred
With shining gold, and arched over hed,
She wondred at the workemans passing skill,
Whose like before she never saw nor red ;
And thereuppon long while stood gazing still,
But thought that she thereon could never gaze
her fill.
VI
Thence forth unto the Idoll they her brought ;
The which was framed all of silver fine,
So well as could with cunning hand be wrought,
And clothed all in garments made of line,
Hemd all about with fringe of silver twine :
Uppon her head she wore a Crowne of gold;
To shew that she had powre in things divine :
And at her feete a Crocodile was rold,
That with her wreathed taile her middle did
enfold.
VII
One foote was set uppon the Crocodile,
And on the ground the other fast did stand;
So meaning to suppresse both forged guile
And open force : and in her other hand
She stretched forth a long white sclender wand.
Such was the Goddesse ; whom when Brito-
mart
Had long beheld, her selfe uppon the land
She did prostrate, and with right humble hart
Unto her selfe her silent prayers did impart.
To which the Idoll, as it were inclining,
Her wand did move with amiable looke,
By outward shew her inward sence desining :
Who well perceiving how her wand sheshooke,
It as a token of good fortune tooke.
By this the day with dampe was overcast,
And joyous light the house of Jove forsooke;
328
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Which when she saw her helmet she unlaste. |Her linnen stole to robe of scarlet red,
And by the altars side her selfe to slumber' And Moone-like Mitre to a Crowne of gold;
plaste.
IX
For other beds the Priests there used none,
But on their mother Earths deare lap did lie,
And bake their sides uppon the cold hard stone
T enure them selves to sufferaunce thereby,
And proud rebellious flesh to mortify:
For by the vow of their religion,
They tied were to stedfast chastity
And continence of life, that, all forgon,
Tiiey mote the better tend to their devotion.
Therefore they mote not taste of fleshly food
Ne feed on ought the which doth bloud con
taiue,
Ne drinke of wine ; for wine, they say, is blood
Even the bloud of Gyants, which were slaine
By thundring Jove in the Phlegrean plaine :
For which the earth (as they the story tell)
Wroth with the Gods, which to perpetuall paine
Had damn'd her sonnes which gainst them die
rebell,
With inward griefe and malice did again? t them
swell.
XI
And of their vitall blond, the which was shec
Into her pregnant bosome, forth she brought
The fruitfull vine ; whose liquor bloudd)- red,
Having the mindes of men with fury fraught,
Mote in them stirre up old rebellious thought
To make new warre against the Gods againe.
Such is the powre of that same fruit, that
nought
The fell contagion may thereof restraine,
Ne within reasons rule her madding mood
containe.
XII
There did the warlike Maide her selfe repose,
Under the wings of Isis all that night ;
And with sweete rest her heavy eyes did close,
After that long dales toile and weary plight :
Where whilest her earthly parts with soft
delight
Of sencelesse sleepe did deeply drowned lie,
There did appeare unto her heavenly spright
A wondrous vision, which did close irnplie
The course of all her fortune and posteritie.
Her seem'd, as she was doing sacrifize
To Isis, deckt with Mitre on her hed
And linnen stole after those Priestes guize,
All sodainely she saw transfigured
That even she her selfe much wondered
At such a chaunge, and joyed to behold
Her selfe adorn'd with gems and jewels
manifold.
XIV
And, in the midst of her felicity,
An hideous tempest seemed from below
To rise through all the Temple sodainely,
That from the Altar all about did blow '
The holy tire, and all the embers strow
Uppon the ground ; which, kindled privily,
Into outragious flames unwares did grow,"
That all the Temple put in jeopardy
Of flaming, and her selfe in great perplexity.
With that the Crocodile, which sleeping lay
Under the Idols feete in fearelesse bowre,
Seem'd to awake in horrib^ dismay,
As being troubled with that stormy stowre ;
And gaping greedy wide did streight devoure
Both flames and tempest : with which growen
great
[powre,
And swolne with pride of his owne peerelesse
He gan to threaten her likewise to eat.
But that the Goddesse with her rod him
backe did beat.
XVI
Tho turning all his pride to humblesse
meeke,
3im selfe before her feete he lowly threw,
And gan for grace and love of her to seeke ;
>Vbich she accepting, he so neare her drew
That of his game she soone enwombed grew,
And forth did bring a Lion of great might,
That shortly did all other beasts subdew.
A'ith that she waked full of fearefull fright,
And doubtfully dismayd through that so un-
couth sight.
XVII
So thereuppon long while she musing Jay,
Vith thousand thoughts feeding her fantasie,
Jntill she spule the lampe of lightsome day
Jp-lifted in the porch of heaven hie :
Then up she rose fraught with melancholy,
And forth into the lower parts did pas,
fVhereas the Priestes she found full busily
Ibout their holy things for morrow Mas ;
Vhom she saluting faire, faire resaluted was :
XVIII
But by the change of her unchearefull looke,
'hey might perceive she was not well ip
plight,
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
329
Or that some pensivenesse to heart she tooke:
Therefore thus one of them, who seem'd in
sight
To be the greatest and the gravest wight,
To her bespake : ' Sir Knight, it seemes to me
That, thorough evill rest of this last night,
Or ill apayd or much dismayd ye be ; [see.'
That by your change of cheare is easie for to
'Certes,' (sayd she) 'sith ye so well have
spide
The troublous passion of my pensive mind,
I will not seeke the same from you to hide ;
But will my cares unfolde, in hope to find
Your aide to guide me out of errour blind.'
' Say on ' (quoth he) ' the secret of your hart
For, by the holy vow which me doth bind,
I am adiur'd best counsell to impart
To all that shall require my comfort in their
smart.'
xx
Then pan she to declare the whole discourse
Of all that vision which to her appeard,
As well as to her minde it had recourse.
All which when he unto the end had heard,
Like to a weake faint-hearted man he fared
Through great astonishment of that strange
And, with long locks up-standing, stifly stared
XXIII
' That Knight shall all the troublous stormes
asswage
And raging flames, that many foes shall reare
To hinder thee from the just heritage [ deare :
Of thy sires Crowne, and from thy countrey
Then shall thou take him to thy loved fere, "
And joyne in equall portion of thy realme ;
And afterwards a sonne to him shalt beare.
That Lion-like shall shew his powre extreame.
So blesse thee God, and give thee joyance of
thy dreame ! '
All which when she unto the end had heard,
She much was eased in her troublous thought,
And on those Priests bestowed rich reward ;
And royall gifts of gold and silver wrought
She for a present to their Goddesse brought.
Then taking leave of them, she forward went
To seeke her love, where he was to besought:
Ne rested till she came without relent
Unto the land of Amazons, as she was bent.
Whereof when
brought,
newes to Radigund was
Not with amaze, as women wonted bee,
She was confused in her troublous thought ;
But fild with courage and with joyous glee,
As glad to heare of armes, the which now she
Like one adawed with some dreadfull spright : I "" &•"- """•" "' T'T'V'"' ••"—• »«•
So. fild with heavenly fury, thus he her " be- ! Hadlong BU rc,cast': ^e bad to open bold,
That she the face of her new foe might see :
But when they of that yron man had told,
Which late her folke had slaine, she bad them
forth to hold.
XXVI
So there without the gate, (as seemed best)
She caused her Pavilion be pight ;
In which stout Britomart her selfe did rest,
Whiles Talus watched at the dore all night.
All night likewise they of the towne in fright
Uppon their wall good watch and ward did
keepe.
The morrow next, so soone as dawning light
Bad doe away the dampe of drouzie sleepe,
The warlike" Amazon out of her bowre did
peepe.
XXVII
And caused streight a Trumpet loud to shrill
To warne her foe to battell soone be prest :
Who, long before awoke, (for she ful ill
Could sleepe all night, that in unquiet brest
Did closely harbour such a jealous guest)
Was to the battell whilome read}* dight.
Eftsoones that warriouresse with haughty
crest
' Magnificke Virgin, that in queint disguise
Of British armes doestmaske thy royall blood,
So to pursue a perillous emprize,
How couldst thou weene, through that dis-
guized hood.
To hide thy state from being understood ?
Can from th' immortall Gods ought hidden
bee?
They doe thy linage, and thy Lordly brood,
They doe thy sire lamenting" sore for thee,
They doe thy love forlorne in womens thral-
dome see.
xxn
'The end whereof, and all the long event,
They do to thee in this same dreame discover ;
Fur that same Crocodile doth represent
The righteous Knight that is thy faithfull
Like to Osyris in all just endever: [lover,
For that same Crocodile Osyris is,
That under Isis feete doth sleepe for ever ;
To shew that clemence oft, in things amis.
Kestraines those sterne behests and cruell
doomes of Jus,
33°
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Did forth issue all ready for the fight:
Oil th' other side her foe appeared soone in
sight.
XXVIII
But ere they reared hand the Amazone
Began the streight conditions to propound,
With which she used still to tye her fone,
To serve her so as she the rest had bound :
Which when the other heard, she sternly
frown d
For high disdaine of such indignity,
And would no lenger treat, but bad them
sound ;
For her no other termes should ever tie
Then what prescribed were by lawes of che-
valrie.
XXIX
The Trumpets sound, and they together ran
With greedy rage, and with their faulchins
smot;
Ne either sought the others strokes to shun,
But through great fury both their skill forgot,
And practicke use in armes ; ne spared not
Their dainty parts, which nature had created
So faire and tender without staine or spot
For other uses then they them translated ;
Which they now hackt and hewd as if such use
they hated.
XXX
As when a Tygre and a Lionesse
Are met at spoyling of some hungry pray,
Both challenge it with equall greedinesse :
But first the Tygre clawes thereon did lay,
And therefore, loth to loose her right away,
Doth in defence thereof full stoutly stond :
To which the Lion strongly doth gainesay,
That she to hunt the beast first tooke in tiond;
And therefore ought it have where ever she it
fond.
XXXI
Full fiercely lavde the Amazon about,
And dealt her blowes unmercifully sore ;
Which Britomart withstood with courage stout,
And them repaide againe with double more.
So long they fought, that all the grassie flore
Was fild with bloud which from their sides did
flow,
And gushed through their armes, that all in gore
They trode, and on the ground their lives did
strow, [should grow.
Like fruitles seede, of which untimely death
XXXII
At last proud Radigund, with fell despight,
Having by chaunce espide advantage neare,
Let drive at her with all her dreadfull might,
And thus upbrayding said : ' This token beare
Unto the man whom thou doest love sodeare;
And tell him for his sake thy life thou gavest.'
Which spitefull words she, sore engriev'd to
heare, [pravest,
Thus answer'd : ' Lewdly thou my love de-
Who shortly must repent that now so vainely
bravest.'
Nath'lesse that stroke so cruell passage found,
That glauncing on her shoulder-plate it bit
Unto the bone, and made a griesly wound,
That she her shield, through raging smart of it,
Could scarse uphold : yet soone she it requit ;
For, having force increast through furious
paine,
She her so rudely on the helmet smit
That it empierced to the very braine,
And her proud person low prostrated on th«
plain e.
xxxiv
Where being layd, the wrothfull Britonesse
Stayd not till she came to her selfe againe,
But in revenge both of her loves distresse
And her late vilereproch though vaunted vaine,
And also of her wound which sore did paine,
She with one stroke both head and helmet cleft.
Which dreadfull sight when all her warlike
train e
There present saw, each one of sence bereft
Fled fast into the towne, and her sole victor
left.
XXXV
But yet so fast they could not home retrate,
But that swift Talus did the formost win ;
And, pressing through the preace unto the
gate.
Pelmell with them attonce did enter in.
There then a piteous slaughter did begin ;
For all that ever came within his reach
He with his yron flale did thresh so thin,
That he no worke at all left for the leach :
Like to an hideous storme, which nothing may
empeach.
XXXVI
And now by this the noble Conqueresse
Her selfe came in, her glory to partake ;
Where, though revengeful! vow she did pro-
fesse, [make
Yet when she saw the heapes which he did
Of slaughtred carkasses, her heart did quake
For very ruth, which did it almost rive,
That she his fury willed him to slake:
For else he sure "had left not one alive,
But all, in his revenge, of spirite would de-
prive.
CANTO VI I.I
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
33'
Tho, when she had his execution stayd,
She for that yron prison did enquire,
In which her wretched love was captive layd :
Which breaking open with indignant ire,
She entred into all the partes entire :
Where when she saw that lothly uncouth
sight
Of men disguiz'd in womanishe attire,
Her heart gan grudge for very deepe despight
Of so unmanly maske in misery misdight.
XXXVIII
At last when as to her owne Love she came.
Whom like disguize no lesse deformed had,
At sight thereof abasht with secrete shame
She turnd her head aside, as nothing glad
To have beheld a spectacle so bad ;
And then too well believ'd that which tofore
Jealous suspect as true untruely drad:
Which vaine conceipt now nourishing no more,
She sought with ruth to salve his sad misfor-
tunes sore.
XXXIX
Not so great wonder and astonishment
Did the most chast Penelope possesse
To see her Loid, that was reported drent
And dead long since in dolorous distresse,
Come home to her in piteous wretched nesse,
After long travell of full twenty yeares,
That she knew not his favours likelynesse,
For many scarres and many hoary heares,
But stood long staring on him mongst uncer-
taine feares.
XL
'Ah, my deare Lord! what sight is this?'
quoth she,
'What May-game hath misfortune made of you?
Where is that dreadfull manly looke •* where be
Those mighty palmes, the which ye wont t'
embrew
In bloud of Kings, and great hoastes to subdew?
Could ought on earth so wondrous change have
wrought,
As to have robde you of that manly hew ?
Could so great courage stouped have to ought?
Then, farewell Heshly force ! I see thy pride is
nought.'
XLI
Thenceforth she streight into a bowre him
brought,
And causd him those uncomely weedes undight ;
And in their steede for other rayment sought,
Whereof there was great store, and armors
bright,
Which had benereftfrom many anoble Knight,
Whom that proud Amazon subdewed had,
Whilest Fortune favourd her successe in
fight:
In which when as she him anew had clad,
She was reviv'd, and joyd much in his sem-
blance glad.
XLII
So there a while they afterwards remained,
Him to refresh, and her late wounds to heale :
During which space she there as Princess
rained,
And changing all that forme of common-weale
The liberty of women did repeale, [ toring
Which they had long usurpt ; and, them res-
To mens subjection, did true Justice deale,
That all they, as a Goddesse her adoring,
Her wisedome did admire, and hearkned to
her loring.
XLIII
For all those Knights, which long in captive
shade [free,
Had shrowded bene, she did from thraldome
And magistrates of all that city made,
And gave to them great living and large fee :
And that they should for ever faithfull bee,
Made them sweare fealty to Artegall ;
Who when him selfe now well recur'd did see,
He purposd to proceed, what so befall,
Uppon his first adventure which him forth did
call.
XLIV
Full sad and sorrowfull was Britomart
For his departure, her new cause of griefe ;
Yet wisely moderated her owne smart,
Seeing his honor, which she tendred chiefe,
Consisted much in that adventures priefe:
The care whereof, and hope of his successe,
Grave unto her great comfort and reliefe ;
That womanish complaints she did represse,
And tempred for the time her present heavi-
There she continu'd for a certaine space,
Till through his want her woe did more
increase :
Then hoping that the change of aire and place
Would change her paine, and sorrow some-
what ease,
She parted thence her anguish to appease.
Meane-while her noble Lord, sir Artegall,
Went on his way ; ne ever howre did cease
Till he redeemed had that Lady thrall :
That for another Canto will more fitly fall.
332
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
FROCK v.
CANTO VIII.
Prince Arthnre and Sir Artegall
Free Samient from feare :
They slay the Soudan, drive his wife
Adicia to despaire.
NOUGHT under heaven so strongly doth
allure
The sence of man, and all his mirule possesse,
As beauties lovely baite, that doth procure
Great warriours 6ft their rigour to represse,
And might}' hands forget their manlinesse ;
Drawne with the powre of an heart-robbing
And wrapt in fetters of a golden tresse, [eye,
That can with melting pleasaunce mollifye
Their hardned hearts, enur'd to bloud and
cruelty.
it
So whylome learnd that might}' Jewish
Soone after these he saw another Knight,
With speare in rest, and prickt with all his
might :
So ran they all, as they had benc at bace,
They being chased tha't did others chase.
At length he saw the hindmost overtake
One of those two, and force him turne his face ;
However loth he were his way to slake,
Yet mote he algates DOW abide, and answere
make.
VI
But th' other still pursu'd the fearefull Mayd ;
swaine, [might. Who still from him as fast away did flie,
Each of whose lockes did match a man in i Ne once for ought her speedy passage stayd,
To lay his spoiles before his lemans traine :
So also did that great Oetean Knight
For his loves sake his Lions skin undight ;
And so did warlike Antony neglect
The worlds whole rule for Cleopatras sight.
Till that at length she did before her spic
Sir Artegall ; to whom she straight did hie
With gladfull hast, in hope of him to get
Succour against her greedy enimy :
Who seeing her approch g'an forward set
Such wondrous powre hath wemens faire aspect | To save her from her feare, and him from force
To captive men, and make them all the world
reject.
in
Yet could it not sterne Artegall retaine,
Nor hold from suite of his avowed quest,
Which he had undertane to Gloriane ;
But left his love, albe her strong request,
Faire Britomart in languor and unrest,
And rode him selfe uppon his first intent,
Ne day nor night did ever idly rest ;
Ne wight but onely Talus with him went,
The true guide of his way and vertuous go-
vernment.
IV
So travelling, he chaunst far off to heed
A Damzell, flying on a palfrey fast
Before two Knights that after her did speed
With all their powre, and her full fiercely
In hope to have her overhent at last : [chas't
Yet fled she fast, and both them farre outwent,
to let
VII
But he, like hound full greedy of his pray,
Being impatient of impediment,
Ccntinu'd still his course, and by the way
Thought with his speare him quight have
So both together, ylike felly bent, f overwent.
Like fiercely met." But Artegall was stronger,
And better skild in Tilt and Turnament,
And bore him quite out of his saddle, longer
Then two speares length : So mischiefs over-
matcht the wronger.
And in his fall misfortune him mistooke ;
For on his head unhappily he pight, [broke,
That his owne waight his necke asunder
And left there dead. Meane-while the other
Knight
Defeated had the other faytour quight,
Carried with wings of feare, like fowle aghast, I And all his bowels in his body brast :
With locks all loose, and rayment all to-rent ; ! Whom leaving there in that dispiteous plight,
And ever as she rode her eye was backeward He ran still on, thinking to follow fast
bent. His other fellow Pagan which before him past
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
333
Instead of whom rinding there ready prest
Sir Artegnll, without discretion
He at him ran with ready speare in rest ;
Who, seeing him come still so fiercely oil,
Against him made againe. So both anou
Together met, and strongly either strooke
And broke their speares ; yet neither has
forgon
His horses backe, yet to and fro long shooke
And tottred, like two towres which through
a tempest quooke.
But, when againe they had recovered sence,
They drew their swords, in mind lo make
amends [pretence:
For what their speares had fayld of their
Which when the Damzell, who those deadly
ends [frends
Of both her foes had scene, and now her
For her beginning a more fearefull fray,
She to them runues in hast, and her haire
rends,
Crying to them their cruell hands to stay,
L'ntill they both doe heare what she to them
will say.
XI
They stayd their hands, when she thus gan
to speake : [ unwise
' Ah gentle Knights ! what meane ye thus
Upon your selves anothers wrong to wreake?
I am the wrong'd, whom yc did enterprise
Both to redresse, and both redrest likewise :
Witnesse the Paynims both, whom ye may see
There dead on ground. What doe ye then
devise
Of more revenge ? if more, then I am shee
Which was the roote of all : end your revenge
on mee.'
XII
Whom when they heard so say, they lookt
about
To weete if it were true as she had told;
Where when they saw their foes dead out of
doubt, [hold,
Eftsoones they gan their wrothfull hands to
And Ventailes reare each other to behold.
Tho when as Artegall did Arthure vew.
So faire a creature and so wondrous bold,
He much admired both his heart and hew,
And touchetl with intire affection nigh him
drew;
XIII
Saying, ' Sir Knight, of pardon I you pray,
Shat all unweeting have you wrong'd thus
sore,
Suffring my hand against my heart to stray ;
Which if ye please forgive, I will therefore
Yeeld for amends my selfe yours evermore,
Or what so penaunce shall by you be red.'
To whom the Prince : • Certes me needeth
more
To crave the same ; whom errour so mislecf,
As that I did mistake the living for the ded.
' But, sith ye please that both our blames
shall die,
Amends may for the trespasse soonebe made,
Since neither is endamadg'd much thereby.'
So can they both them selves full eath'per-
swade
To faire accordaunce, and both faults to shade,
Either embracing other lovingly,
And swearing faith to either on his blade,
Never thenceforth to nourish enmity,
But either others cause to maintaine mutual! v.
Then Artegall gar. of the Prince enquire,
What were those knights which there on
ground were layd,
And had receiv'd their follies worthy hire,
And for what cause they chased so that Mayd ?
' Certes I wote not well,' (the Prince then
sayd)
' But by adventure found them faring so,
As by the way unweetingly 1 strayd : [grow,
And lo ! the Damzell selle, whence all did
Of whom we may at will the whole occasion
know.'
XVI
Then they that Damzell called to them nie,
And asked her what were those two her fone,
From whom she earst so fast away did nie :
And what was she her selfe so woe-begone,
And for what cause pursu'd of them attone.
To whom she thus : 'Then wote ye well, that I
Doe serve a Queene that not far hence doth
wone,
A Princesse of great powre and majestic,
Famous through all the world, and honor'd
far and nie.
xvn
' Her name Mercilla most men use to call.
That is a mayden Queene of high renowne,
For her great bounty knowen over all
And soveraine grace, with which her royall
crowne
She doth support, and strongly beateth downe
The malice of her foes, which her envy
And at her happinesse do fret and frowne;
Yet she her selfe the more doth magnify,
And even to her foes her mercies multiply.
334
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
' Mongst many which maligne her happj
state,
There is a mighty man, which wonnes hereby
That with most fell despight and deadly hate
Seekes to subvert her Crowne and dignity,
And all his powre doth thereunto apply :
And her good Knights, of which so brave £
band
Serves her as any Princesse under sky,
He either spoiles, if they against him stand,
Or to his part allures, a'ud bribeth under hand
XIX
' Ne him sufficeth all the wrong and ill,
Which he unto her people does each day ;
But that he seekesby traytrous traines to spill
Her person, ami her sacred selfe to slay :
That, O ye Heavens, defend ! and turne away
From her unto the miscreant him selfe ;
That neither hath religion nor fay,
But makes his God of his ungodly pelfe,
And Idols ser\-es: so let his Idols serve the
Elfe!
xx
' To all which cruell tyranny, they say,
He is provokt. and stird up day and night
By his bad wife that hight Adicia;
Who counsels him. through confidenceof might,
To breake all bonds of law and rules of right r
For she her selfe professeth mortall foe
To Justice, and against her still doth fight,
Working to all that love her deadly woe,
And making all her Knights and people to doe
'Which my liege Lady seeing, thought it
best
With that his wife in friendly wise to deale,
For stint of strife and stablishment of rest
Both to her selfe and to her common-weale,
And all forepast displeasures to repeale.
So me in message unto her she sent,
To treat with her, bv way of enterdeale,
Of fintJI peace and faire attonement
Which might concluded be by mutuall con-
sent.
XXII
'All times have wont safe passage to afford
To messengers that come for causes just :
But this proude Dame, disdayning all accord,
Not onely into bitter termes forth brust, '
Reviling me and rayling as she lust,
But lastly, to make proofe of utmost shame,
Me like a dog she out of dores did thrust,
Miscalling me by many a bitter name.
That never did her ill, he once deserved blame.
' And lastly, that no shame might wanting be,
When 1 was gone, soone after me she sent
These two false Knights, whom there ye lying
see.
To be by them dishonoured and shent :
But, thankt be God, and your good hardiment,
They have 'he price of their owne folly payd.'
So said this Damzell, that hight Samient ;
And to those knights for their so noble ayd
Her selfe most gratefull shew'd, and heaped
thanks repay d.
XXIV
But they now having throughly heard and
scene [ complained
Al those great wrongs, the which that mayd
To have bene done against her Lady Queene
By that proud dame which her so much dis-
dained, [fained
Were moved much thereat ; and twixt them
With all their force to worke avengement
strong
Uppon the Souldan selfe, which it mnyntained,
And on his Lady, th' author of that wrong,
And nppon all those Knights that did to her
belong.
XXV
But, thinking best by counterfet disguise
To their deseigne to make the easier way,
They did this complot twixt them selves devise :
First, that Sir Artegall should him array
Like one of those two Knights which" dead
there lay ;
And then that "Damzell, the sad Samient,
Should as his purchast prize with him convay
[Jnto the Souldans court, her to present
Unto his scornefull Lady that for her had sent.
XXVI
So as they had deviz'd, Sir Artegall
FHm clad in th' armour of a Pagan knight,
And taking with him, as his vanquish! thrall,
That Damzell, led her to the Souldans right :
kVhere soone as his proud wife of her had sight,
?orth of her window as she looking lay.
She weened streight it was her Paynim Knight,
iVhich brought that Damzell as" his purchast
pray; [way.
And sent to him a Page that mote direct his
•
XXVII
Who bringing them to their appointed place,
)ffred his service to disarme the Knight •
Jut he refusing him to let unlace,
For doubt to be discovered by his sight,
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
335
Kept himselfe still in his straunge armour
dight :
Soone after whom the Prince arrived there,
And sending to the Souldan in despight
A bold defyance, did of him requere
That Darhsell whom he held as wrongfull
prisonere.
XXVI IT
Wherewith the Souldan all with furie fraught,
Swearing and banning most blasphemously,
Commaunded straight his armour to be
brought ;
And, mounting straight upon a charret hye,
(With yron wheeles and hookes ann'd dread-
fully,
And drawne of cruell steedes which he had fed
With flesh of men, whom through fell tyranny
He slaughtred had, and ere they were lialfe ded
Their bodies to his beastes for provender did
spred,)
XXIX
So forth he came, all in a cote of plate
Burnisht with bloudie rust; whiles on the
greene
The Briton Prince him readie did awavte,
In glistering armes right goodly well-beseene,
That shone as bright as doth the heaven
sheene :
And by his stirrup Talus did attend,
Playing his pages part, as he had beene
Before directed by his Lord ; to th* end
He should his dale to final execution bend.
Thus goe they both together to their geare,
With like fierce minds, but meanings different
For the proud Souldan, with presumpteous
cheare
And countenance sublime and insolent
Sought onely slaughter and avengement ;
But the brave Prince for honour and for right
Gainst tortious powre and lawlesse regiment,
In the behalfe of wronged weake did fight :
More in his causes truth he trusted then in
might.
XXXI
Like to the Thracian Tyrant, who they say
Unto his horses gave his guests for meat,
Till he himselfe was made their greedie pray,
And torne in pieces by Alcides great ;
So thought the Souldan, in his follies threat,
Either the Prince in peeces to have torne
With his sharp wheeles, in his first rages heat
Or under his fierce horses feet have bonie,
And trampled downe in dust his thoughts dis-
dained scorne.
But the bold child that perill well espying,
[f he too rashly to his charet drew,
iave way unto his horses speedie flying,
And their resistlesse rigour did eschew :
Yet, as he passed by, the Pagan threw
A shivering dart with so impetuous force,
That had he not it shun'd with heedfull vew,
tt had himselfe transfixed or his horse,
Or made them both one masse withouten more
remoi'se.
XXXIII
Oft drew the Prince unto his charret nigh,
[n hope some stroke to fasten on him neare,
But he was mounted in his seat so high,
And his wingfooted coursers him did beare
So fast away that, ere his readie speare
He could advance, he farre was gone and past:
Yet still he him did follow every where,
And followed was of him likewise full fast,
So long as in his steedes the flaming breath did
last.
xxxiv
Againe the Pagan threw another dart,
Of which he had with him abundant store
On every side of his ernbatteld cart,
And of all other weapons lesse or more,
Which warlike uses had deviz'd of yore :
The wicked shaft, guyded through th' ayrie
wyde
By some bad spirit that it to mischiefe bore,
Stayd not, till through his curat it did glyde,
And made a griesly wound in his enriven 'side.
XXXV
Much was he grieved with that haplesse
throe,
That opened had the welspring of his blood ;
But much the more, that to his hatefull foe
He mote not come to wreake his wrathfull
mood :
That made him rave, like to a Lyon wood,
Which being wounded of the huntsmans hand
Cannot come neare him in the covert wood,
Where he with boughes hath built his shady
stand, [brand.
And fenst himselfe about with many a flaming
Still when he sought t' approch unto him ny
His charret wheeles about him whirled round,
And made him backe againe as fast to fly ;
And eke his steedes, like to an hungry hound
That hunting after game hath carrion found,
So cruelly did him pursew and chace,
That his good steed, all were he much r&
nouud
33«>
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
For noble courage and for bardie race,
Durst not endure their sight, but fled from
place to place.
XXXVII '
Thus long they trast and traverst to and fro,
Seeking by every way to make some breach ;
Yet could the Prince not nigh unto him goe,
That one sure stroke he might unto him reach,
Whereby his strengthes assay he might him
teach.
At last from his victorious shield he drew
The raile, which did his powrefull light em-
peach,
And comming full before his horses vew,
As they upon him prest, it plaine to them did
shew.
XXXV'IH
Like lightening flash that hath the gazer
burned,
So did the sight thereof their sense dismay,
That backe againe upon themselves the}"
turned,
And with their ryder ranne perforce away :
Ne could the Souldan them from Hying stay
With raynes or wonted rule, as well he knew :
Nought feared they what he could do or say,
lint th' onely feare that was before their vew,
From which like mazed deare dismayfully they
flew.
XXXIX
Fast did they fly as them their feete could
beare
High over hilles, and lowly over dales,
As they were follow'd of their former feare.
In vaine the Pagan bannes, and sweares, and
rayles,
And backe with both his hands unto him hayles
The resty raynes, regarded now no more : "
He to them calles and speakes, yet nought
avayles ;
They heare him not, they have forgot his lore,
But go which way they list, their guide they
have forlore.
As when the firie-mouthed steedes, which
drew
The Sunnes bright wayne to Phaetons decay,
Soone as they did the monstrous Scorpion vew
With ugly craples crawling in their way,
The dreadfull sight did them so sore affray,
That their well-knowen courses they forwent ;
And, leading th' ever-burning lampe astray,
'1 his lower world nigh all to ashes brent,
And left their scorched patli yet in the firma-
ment
Such was the furie of these head-strong
steeds,
Soone as the infants sunlike shield they saw,
That all obedience both to words and deeds
They quite forgot, and scornd all former law :
Through woods, and rocks, and mountaines
they did draw
The yron charet, and the wheeles did teare,
And tost the Paynim without feare or awe;
From side to side they tost him here and there,
Crying to them in vaine that nould his crying
heare.
Yet still the Prince pursew'dhim close behind.
Oft making offer him to smite, but foui'-l
No easie meanes according to his mind :
At last they have all overthrowne to ground
Quite topside turvey. and the Pagan hound
Amongst the yron hookes and graples keene
Torne all to rags, and rent with many a
wound ;
That no whole peece of him was to be scene,
But scattred all about, and strow'd upon the
greene.
XLIII
Like as the cursed son of These'us,
That following his chace in dewy morne,
To fly his stepdames loves outrageous,
Of his owne steedes was all to peeces torne,
And his faire limbs left in the woods forlorne ;
That for his sake Diana did lament,
And all the wooddy Nymphes did wayle and
mourne •
So was this Souldan rapt and all to-rent,
That of his shape appear'd no litle moniment.
Onely his shield and armour, which there lay,
Though nothing whole, but all to-brusd and
broken,
He up did take, and with him brought away,
That mote remaine for an eternall token
To all mongst whom this storie should be
spoken,
How worthily, by heavens high decree,
Justice that day of wrong her selfe had wroken ;
That all men, which that spectacle did see,
By like ensample mote for ever warned bee.
XLV
So on a tree before the Tyrants dore
He caused them be hung in all mens sight,
To be a moniment for evermore.
Which when his Ladie from the castles hight
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
337
Beheld, it much appald her troubled spright : And, breaking forth out at a posterne dore,
Yet not, as women wont, in dolefull fit j Unto the wyld wood ranne, her dolours to de-
She was dismayd, or faynted through affright, j plore.
But gathered unto her her troubled wit,
And gan eftsoones devize to be aveng'd for it.
Streight downe she ranne, like an enraged
cow
That is berobbed of her youngling dere,
With knife in hand, and fatally did vow
To wreake her on that mayden messengere,
Whom she had causd be kept as prisonere
By Artegall, misween'd for her owne Knight,
That brought her backe : And, comming present
there,
She at her ran with all her force and might, Then Artegall, himselfe discovering plaine,
All flaming with revenge and furious despight. Did issue forth gainst all that warlike rout
Of knights and armed men, which did mairi-
As a mad bytch, when as the franticke fit
Her burning tongue with rage inflamed hath,
Doth runne at randon, and with furious bit
Snatching at every thing doth wreake her
wrath
On man and beast that commeth in her path.
There they doe say that she transformed was
Into a Tygre, and that Tygres scath
In crueltie and outrage she did pas, [has.
To prove her surname true, that she imposed
XLVII
Like raging Ino, when with knife in hand
She threw her husbands murdred infant out ;
Or fell Medea, when on Colchicke strand
Her brothers bones she scattered all about ;
Or as that madding mother, mongst the rout
Of Bacchus Priests, her owne deare flesh did
teare :
Yet neither Ino, nor Medea stout,
Nor all the Moenades so furious were,
As this bold woman when she saw that
Damzell there.
taine
That Ladies part, and to the Souldan lout :
All which he did assault with courage stout,
All were they nigh an hundred knights of name,
And like wyld Goates them chaced all about,
Flying from place to place with cowheard
shame ;
So that with fiuall force them all he overcame-
Then caused he the gates be opened wyde;
And there the Prince, as victour of that day,
With tryumph entertayn'd and glorifyde,
Presenting him with all the rich array
And roiall pompe, which there long hidden lay,
Purchast through lawlesse powre and tortious
wrong
| Of that proud Souldau whom he earst did slay.
• So both, for rest, there having stayd not long,
She forth did rome whether her rage hef bore, Marcht with that mayd ; fit matter for another
With franticke passion and with furie fraught ; : song.
But Artegall, being thereof aware,
Did stay her cruell hand ere she her raught ;
And, as she did her selfe to strike prepare,
Out of her fist the wicked weapon caught :
With that, like one enfelon'd or distraught,
CANTO IX.
Arthur and Artegall catch Guyle,
Whom Talus doth dismay :
They to Mercillaes pallace come,
And see her rich array.
WHAT Tygre, or what other salvage wight,
Is so exceeding furious and fell [might ?
As wrong, when it hath arm'd it selfe with
Not fit mongst men that doe with reason mell,
But mongst wyld beasts, and salvage woods,
to dwell ; [voure,
Where still the stronger doth the weake de
And they that most in boldnesse doe excell
Are dreadded most, and feared for their powre ;
Fit for Adicia there to build her wicked bowre.
There let her wonne, farre from resort of men,
Where righteous Artegall her late exyled ;
There let her ever keepe her damned den,
Where none may be with her lewd parts de-
fyled,
333
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Nor none but beasts may be of her despoyled ;
And tiirne we to the noble Prince, where late
We did him leave, after that he had foyled
The cruell Souldan, and with dreadfull fate
Had utterly subverted his unrighteous state.
Where having with Sir Artegall a space
Well solast in that Souldans late delight,
They both, resolving now to leave the place,
Both it and all the wealth therein behight
Unto that Damzell in her Ladies right,
And so would have departed on their way;
But she them woo'd, by all the meanes she
might.
And earnestly besought to wend that day
With her, to" see her Ladie thence not farre
away.
IV
By whose entreatie both they overcommen
Agree to goe with her: and by the way,
Which when those knights had heard, their
harts gan earne
To understand that villeins dwelling place.
And greatly it desir'd of her to learne,
And by which way they towards it should
trace. [pace
Were not ' (sayd she) ' that it should let your
Towards my Ladies presence, by you ment,
I would you guyde directly to the place.'
' Then let not that ' (said they) ' stay your in-
tent; [have hent.'
For neither will one foot, till we that carle
So forth they past, till they approched ny
Unto the rocke where was the villains won :
Which when the Damzell neare at hand did
spy, [ upon
She wani'd the knights thereof; who there-
Gan to advize what best were to be done.
So both agreed to send that mayd afore,
(As often Talles) of sundry things did commen: Where she might sit nigh to the den alone,
Mongst which that Damzell did to them be- Way ling, and raysmg pittifull uprore,
0 wrav [lay; ^s if she did some great calamitie deplore.
A straunge adventure, which not fane thence
To weet, a wicked villaine, bold and stout,
Which wonned in a rocke not farre away,
That robbed all the countrie there about,
And brought the pillage home, whence none
could get it out
Thereto both his owne wylie wit, (she sayd)
And eke the fastnesse of his dwelling place,
Both unassaylable, gave him great ayde :
For he so crafty was to forge and face,
So light of hand, and nymble of his pace,
So smooth of tongue, and subtile in his tale,
That could deceive one looking in his face :
Therefore by name Malengin they him call,
Well knowen bv his feates, and famous over-
all.
Through these his slights he many doth con-
found :
And eke the rocke, in which he wonts to dwell.
Is wondrous strong and hewen farre under
A dreadfull depth ; how deepe no man can tell,
But some doe say it goeth downe to hell :
And all within it full of wyndings is [smell
And hidden waves, that scarse an hound by
Can follow out those false footsteps of his,
Ne none can backe returne that once are gone
amis.
With noyse whereof when as the caytive
carle
Should issue forth, in hope to find some spoyle,
They in awayt would closely him ensnarle,
Ere to his den he backward could recoyle,
And so would hope him easily to foyle.
The Damzell straight went, as she was directed,
Unto the rocke ; and there, upon the soyle
Having her selfe in wretched wize abjected,
Gan weepe and wayle, as if great griefe had
her affected.
x
The cry whereof entring the hollow cave
Eftsoones brought forth the villaine, as they
ment,
With hope of her some wishfull boot to have.
Full dreadfull wight he was as ever went
Upon the earth, with hollow eyes deepe pent,
And long curld locks that downe his shoulders
shagged ;
And on his backe an uncouth vestiment
Made of straunge stuffe, but all to-worne and
ragged,
[jagged.
And underneath, his breech was allto-torne and
And in his hand an huge long staffe he held,
Whose top was arm'd with many an yron
hooke,
Fit to catch hold of all that he could weld,
CANTO IX. ]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
339
Or in the compasse of his douches tooke ;
And ever round about he cast his looke :
Als at his backe a great wyde net he bore,
With which he seldome fished at the brooke,
But usd to fish for (boles on the dry shore,
Of which he in faire weather wont to take
great store.
XII-
Him when the damzell saw fast by her side,
So ugly creature, she was nigh dismayd,
And now for helpe aloud in earnest cride :
But when the villaine saw her so affrayd,
He gan with guilefull words her to perswade
To banish feare ; and, with Sardonian sin vie
Laughing on her, his false intent to shade,
Gaii forth to lay his bayte her to beguyle,
That from her self uuwares he might her
steale the whyle.
Like as the fouler on his guilefull pype
Charmes to the birds full many a pleasant lay,
That they the whiles may take lesse heedie
keepe
How he his nets doth for their ruine lay :
So did the villaine to her prate aud play,
And many pleasant trickes before her show,
To turne her eyes from his intent away ;
For he in slights and jugling feates did flow,
And of legierdemayne the mysteries did know.
XIV
To which whilest she lent her intentive mind,
He suddenlv his net upon her threw,
That oversprad her like a puffe of wind ;
And snatching her scone up, ere well she knew,
Ran with her fast away unto his mew,
Crying for helpe aloud : But when as ny
He came unto his cave, and there did vew
The armed knights stopping his passage by.
He threw his burden downe, and fast away did
fly.
XV
But Artegall him after did pursew,
The whiles the Prince there kept the entrance
still.
Up to the rocke he ran, and thereon flew
Like a wyld Got?, leaping from hill to hill,
And dauncing on the craggy cliffes at will ;
That deadly daunger seem'd in all mens sight
To tempt, such steps, where footing was so ill :
Xe ought avayled for the armed knight
To thinke to follow him that was so swift and
light.
XVI
Which when he saw, his yron man he sent
To follow him ; for he was swift in chace.
He him pitrsewd where ever that he went ;
Both over rockes, and hilles, and every place
Where so he rled, he followd him apace ;
So that he shortly forst him to forsake
The liight, and downe descend unto the base:
There he him courst a- fresh, and soone did make
To leave his proper forme, and other shape to
take.
XVII
Into a Foxe himsclfe he first did toume ;
But he him hunted like a Foxe full fast :
Then to a bush himselfe he did transforme ;
But he the bush did beat, till that at last
Into a bird it chaung'd, and from him past,
Flying from tree to tree, from wand towaud;
But he then stones at it so long did cast,
'lhat like a stone it fell upon the land;
But he then tooke it up, and held fast in his
hand.
XVIII
So he it brought with him unto the knights,
And to his Lord Sir Artegall it lent,
Warning him hold it fast for feare of slights:
Who whilest in hand it gryping hard he hent,
Into a Hedgehogge all unwares it went,
And prickt him so that he away it threw :
Then ganne it runne away incontinent,
Being returned to his former hew ;
But Talus soone him overtooke, and back-
ward drew.
XIX
But, when as he would to a snake againe
Have turn'd himselfe, he with his yron flayle
Gan drive at him with so huge might and
maine,
That all his bones as small as sandy grayle
He broke, and did his bowels disentrayle,
Cryinginvaine for helpe.when helpe was past:
So did deceipt the selfe-deceiver fayle.
There they him left a carrion outcast [repast.
For beasts and foules to feede upon for their
Thence forth they passed with that gentle
Mayd
To see her Ladie, as they did agree ;
To which when she approched, thus she sayd :
' Loe ! now, right noble knights, arriv'd ye bee
Nigh to the place which ye desir'd to see :
There shall ye see my soveraync Lady Queene,
Most sacred wight, most debonayre and free,
That ever yet upon this earth was scene,
Or that with Diademe hath ever crowned
beene.'
XXI
The gentle knights rejoyced muck to heare
The prayses of that Prince so manifold ;
z2
34°
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
And, passing litle further, commen were
Where they a stately pallace did behold
Of pompous show, much more then she had
told ;
With many towres, and tan-as mounted hye,
And all their tops bright glistering with gold,
That seemed to outshine the dimmed skye,
And with their brightnesse daz'd the straunge
beholders eye.
XXII
There tney alighting by that Damzell were
Directed in. and shewed all the sight ;
Whose porch, that most magniticke did ap-
peare,
Stood open wyde to all men day and night ;
Yet warded w'ell by one of mickle might
Thatsate thereby, with gyantlike resemblance
To keepe out guyle, and malice, and despight
That under shew oftimes of fayned semblance
Are wont in Princes courts to worke great
scath and hindrance :
XXIII
His name was Awe ; by whom they passing
in
Went up the hall, that was a large wyde roome.
All full of people making troublous din [some
And wondrous noyse, as if that there were
Which unto them was dealing righteous
doome : [preasse,
By whom they passing through the thickest
The marshall of .the hall to them did come,
His name bight Order; who, commaunding
peace, [clamors ceasse.
Them guyded through the throng, that did their
XXIV
They ceast their clamors upon them to gaze;
Whom seeing all in armour bright as day,
Straunge there to see. it did them much amaze,
And with unwonted terror halfe affray,
For never saw they there the like array ;
Ne ever was the name of warre there spoken
But joyous peace and quietnesse alway
Dealing just judgements, that mote not be
broken [wroken.
For any brybes, or threates of any to be
XXV
There, as they entred at the Scriene, they saw
Some one whose tongue was for his trespasse
vyle
Nayld to a post, adjudged so by law ;
For that therewith he falsely did revyle
And foule blaspheme that Queene for forged
guyle,
Both with bold speaches which he blazed had,
And with lewd poems which he did compylc;
For the bold title of a poet bad [had sprad.
He on himselfe had ta'cn, and rayling rymes
Thus there he stood, whylest high over his
head
There written was the purport of his sin,
In cyphers strange, that few could rightly read,
Bon Font ; but Bon, that once had written
bin,
Was raced out, and Mai was now put in :
So now Malfont was plainely to be red,
Eyther for th' evill which he did therein,
Or that he likened was to a welhed [shed.
Of evill words, and wicked sclaunders by him
XXVII
They, passing by, were guyded by degree
Unto" the presence of that gratious Queene ;
Who sate on high, that she might all men see
And might of all men royally be seene,
Upon a throne of gold full bright and sheene,
Adorned all with gemmes of endlesse price,
As either might for wealth have gotten bene,
Or could be fram'd by workmans rare device ;
And all embost with Lyons and with Flour-
delice.
XXVIII
All over her a cloth of state was spred,
Not of rich tissew, nor of cloth of gold,
Nor of ought else that may be richest red,
But like a cloud, as likest may be told,
That her brode-spreading wings did wyde
unfold ; [beames,
Whose skirts were bordred with bright sunny
Glistring like gold amongst the plights enrold,
And here and there shooting forth silver
streames, [glittering gleames.
Mongst which crept litle Angels through the
XXIX
Seemed those litle Angels did uphold
The cloth of state, and on their purpled wings
Did beare the pendants through their nim-
blesse bold :
Besides, a thousand more of such as sings
Hymns to high God, and carols heavenly
things,
Encompassed the throne on which she sate, —
I She, Angel-like, the heyre of ancient kings
! And mightie Conquerors, in royall state,
Whylest kings and kesarsat her feet did them
prostrate.
XXX
Thus she did sit in soverayne Majestic,
Holding a Scepter in her royall hand,
The sacred pledge of peace and clemencie,
With which high God had blest her happie land.
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
341
Maugre so many foes which did withstand :
But at her feet her sword was likewise layde,
Whose long rest rusted the bright steely
brand; [ayde,
Yet when as foes enforst, or friends sought
She could it sternely draw, that all the world
dismayde.
XXXI
And round about before her feet there sate
A bevie of faire Virgins clad in white,
That goodly seem'dt' adorne her royall state;
All lovely daughters of high Jove, that bight
Litse, by him begot in loves delight
Upon the righteous Themis ; those, they say,
Upon Joves judgement-seat wayt day and
night; [decay.
And, when in wrath he threats the worlds
They doe his anger calmc, and cruell ven-
geance stay.
XXXII
They also doe, by his divine permission,
Upon the thrones of mortall Princes tend,
And often treat for pardon and remission
To suppliants, through frayltie which offend :
Those did upon Mercillaes throne attend,
Just Dice, wise Eunomie, myld Eirene ;
And them amongst, her glone to commend,
Sate goodly Temperance in garments clene,
And sacred Reverence yborne of heavenly
strene.
XXXIII
Thus did she sit in royall rich estate,
Admyr'd of many, honoured of all ; [sate,
Whylest underneath her feete, there as she
An huge great Lyon lay, that mote appall
An bardie courage, like captived thrall
With a strong yron chaine and coller bound,
That once he could not move, nor quich at all ;
Yet did he murmure with rebellious sound,
And softly royne, when salvage choler gan
redound.
XXXIV
So sitting high in dreaded soverayntie,
Those two strange knights were to her pre-
sence brought ;
Who, bowing low before her Maiestie,
Did to her myld obeysance, as tney ought,
And meekest boone that they imagine mought :
To whom she eke inclyning her withall,
As a faire stoupe of her high soaring thought,
A chearefitll countenance on them let fall,
Yet tempred with some majestic imperial!.
XXXV
As the bright sunne, what time his fierie
teme
Towards the westeme brim begins to draw,
Gins to abate the brightnesse of his beme,
And fervour of his flames somewhat adaw
So did this mightie Ladie, when she saw
Those two strange knights such homage to
her make,
Bate somewhat of that Majestie and awe
That whylonre wont to doe so many quake,
And with more myld aspect those two to
entertake.
XXXVI
Now at that instant, as occasion fell,
When these two stranger knights arriv'd in
She was about affaires of common-wele, [place,
Dealing with Justice with indifferent grace,
And hearing pleas of people meane and base :
Mongst which, as then, there was for to be
heard
The tryall of a great and weightie case,
Which on both sides was then debating hard ;
But at the sight of these those were awhile
debard.
XXXVII
But, after all her princely entertayne,
To th' hearing of that former cause in hand
Her selfe eftsoones she gan convert againe :
Which that those knights likewise mote under-
stand,
And witnesse forth aright in forrain land,
Taking them up unto her stately throne,
Where they mote heare the matter throughly
scantl
On either part, she placed th' one on th' one,
The other on the other side, and neare then
none.
XXXVIII
Then was there brought, as prisoner to the
A Ladie of great countenance and place,[barre,
But that she it with foule abuse did marre ;
Yet did appeare rare beautie in her face,
But blotted with condition vile and base,
That all her other honour did obscure,
And titles of nobilitie deface :
Yet in that wretched semblant she did sure
The peoples great compassion unto her allure,
Then up arose a person of deepe reach,
And rare in-sight hard matters to revele ;
That well could charme his tongue, and time
his speach
To all assay es ; his name was called Zele.
He gan that Ladie strongly to appele
Of many haynous crymes by her enured ;
And with sharp reasons rang her such a pele,
That those, whom she to pitie had allured,
He now t' abhorre ancj }oath her person had
procured.
342
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
First gan he tell how this, that seem'd so faire
And royally arayd, Duessa hight ;
That fa'lse "Duessa, which had wrought great
care
And mickle mischiefe unto many a knight,
By her beguyled and confounded quight :
But not for those she now in question came,
Though also those mote quest ion'd be aright,
But for vyld treasons and outrageous shame,
Which she against the dred Mercilla oft did
frame.
XLI
For she whylome (as ye mote yet right well
Remember) had her counsels false conspyred
With faithlesse Blandamour and Paridell,
(Both two her paramours, both by her hyred,
And both with hope of shadowes vaine in-
spyred)
And with them practiz'd, how for to depry ve
Mercilla of her crowne, by her aspyred,
That she might it unto her selfe deryve,
And tryumph in their blood whom she to death
"did dryve.
XLII
But through high heavens grace, which favour
The wicked driftes of trayterous desynes [not
Gainst loiall Princes, all this cursed plot,
Ere proofe it tooke, discovered was betymes,
And th' actours won the meede meet for their
crymes.
Such be the meede of all that by such mene
Unto the type of kingdomes title clymes !
But false Duessa, now untitled Queene,
Was brought to her sad doome, as here was
to be seene.
Strongly did Zele her haynous fact enforce.
And many other crimes of foule defame
Against tier brought, to banish all remorse,
And aggravate the horror of her blame :
And with him, to make part against her, came And
Many grave persons that against her pled.
First was a sage old Syre, that had to name
The Kingdomes Care, with a white silver hed,
That many high regards and reasons gainst
her red.
XLIV
Then gan Authority her to appose
With peremptorie powre, that made all mute ;
And then the Law of Nations gainst her rose,
And reasons brought that no man could refute:
Next gan Religion gainst her to impute
High Gods beheast, and powre of holy lawes ;
Then gan the Peoples cry and Commons sute
Importune care of their owne publicke cause;
And lastly Justice charged her with breach of
lawes.
* XLV
But then, for her, on the contrarie part,
Rose rnanj' advocates for her to plead :
First there came Pittie with full tender hart,
And with her joyn'd Regard of womanhead ;
And then came Daunger, threatning hidden
And high alliance unto forren powre ; [dread
Then came Nobilitie of birth, that bread
Great ruth through her misfortunes tragicke
stowre ; [forth powre.
And lastly Griefe did plead, and man}' teares
XLVI
With the neare touch whereof in tender hart
The Briton Prince was sore empassionate,
And woxe inclined much unto her part,
Through the sad terror of so dreadfull fate,
And wretched mine of so high estate ;
That for great ruth his courage gan relent :
Which when as Zele perceived to abate,
He gan his earnest fervour to augment,
And many fearefull objects to them to present.
He gan t' efforce the evidence anew,
And new accusements to produce in place :
He brought forth that old hag of hellish hew,
The cursed Ate, brought her face to face,
Who privie was and partie in the case :
She, glad of spoyle and ruinous decay,
Did her appeach ; and, to her more disgrace,
The plot of all her practise did display,
And all her traynes and all her treasons forth
did lay.
XLVIII
Then brought he forth with griesly grim as-
pect
Abhorred Murder, who, with bloudie knyfe
Yet dropping fresh in hand, did her detect,
there with guiltie bloudshed charged
ryfe : [stryfc
Then brought he forth Sedition, breeding
In troublous wits, and mutinous uprore :
Then brought he forth Incontinence of lyfe,
Even foule Adulterie her face before,
And lewd Impietie, that her accused sore.
XLIX
All which when as the Prince had heard and
His former fancies ruth he gan repent, [seene,
And from her partie eftsoones was drawen
•:leene :
But A, tegall, with constant firme intent
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
343
For zeale of Justice, was against her bent : .Though plaine she saw, by all that she did
So was she guiltie deemed of them all. heare,
Then Zele began to urge her punishment, ! That she of death was guiltie found by right,
And to their Queene for judgement loudly call, \ Yet would not let just vengeance on her light;
Unto Mercilla myld, for Justice gainst the .But rather let, instead thereof, to fall
thrall. iFew perling drops from her faire lampes of
L light ;
But she, whose Princely brest was touched! The which she covering with her purple pall
With piteous ruth of her so wretched plight,
Would have the passion hid, and up arose with-
all.
CANTO X.
Prince Arthur takes the cnterprize
For Belgee for to fight :
Gerioneos Seneschall
He slaves in Beiges right.
SOME Clarkes doe doubt in their devicefull
art
Whether this heavenly thing whereof I treat,
To weeten Mercie, be of Justice part,
Or drawne forth from her by divine extreate :
This well I wote, that sure she is as great,
And meriteth to have as high a place,
Sith in th' Almighties everlasting seat
She first was bred, and borne of heavenly race,
From thence pour'd down on men by influence
of grace.
ii
For if that Vertue be of so great might
Which from just verdict will for nothing start,
But to preserve inviolated right
Oft spilles the principall to save the part ;
So much more, then, is that of powre and art
That seekes to save the subject of her skill,
Yet never doth from doome of right depart,
As it is greater prayse to save then spill,
And better to refortne then to cut off the ill.
Who then can thee, Mercilla, throughly
prayse,
That herein doest all earthly Princes pas?
What heavenly Muse shall thy great honour
rayse
Up to the skies, whence first deriv'd it was,
And now on earth it selfe enlarged has
From th' utmost brinke of the Armericke shore
Unto the margent of the Molucas?
Those Nations farre thy justice doe adore;
But thine owne people do thy mercy prayse
much more.
Much more it praysed was of those two
knights,
The noble Prince and righteous Artegall,
When they had scene and heard her doome
a-rights
Against Duessa, damned by them all ;
But by her tempred without griefe or gall,
Till strong constraint did her thereto enforce :
And yet even then ruing her wilfull fall
With more then needfull naturall remorse,
And yeelding the last honour to her wretched
During all which, those knights continu'd
Both doing and receiving curtesies [there
Of that great Ladie, who with goodly chere
Them entertayn'd, fit for their dignities,
Approving dayly to their noble eyes
Royall examples of her mercies rare
Ami worthie paterns of her clemencies ;
Which till this day mongst many living are,
Who them to their posterities doe still declare.
Amongst the rest, which in that space befell,
There came two Springals of full tender yeares,
Farre thence from forrein land where they did
dwell,
To seeke for succour of her and her Peares,
With humble prayers and intreatfull teares ;
Sent by their mother, who, a widow, was
Wrapt in great dolours and in deadly feares
By a strong Tyrant, who invaded has
Her land, and slaine her children ruefully,
alas!
344
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
VII
Her name was Belgse ; who in former age
A Ladie of great worth and wealth had beenc,
And mother of a frutefull heritage,
Even seventeene goodly sonnes; which who
had seene
In their first flowre, before this fatall teene
Them overtooke and their faire blossomes
blasted,
More happie. mother would her surely weene
Then famous Xiobe, before she tasted
Utonaes childrens wrath that all her issue
wasted.
VIII
But this fell Tyrant, through his tortious
powre,
Had left her now but five of all that brood :
For twelve of them he did bv times devoure,
And to his Idols sacrifice their blood,
Whylestheof none was stopped nor withstood :
For soothly he was one of matchlesse might,
Of horrible aspect and dreadfull mood,
And had three bodies in one wast empight,
And th' armes and legs of three to succour him
in fight.
IX
And sooth they say that he was borne and
bred
Of Gyants race, the sonne of Geryon ;
He that whylome in Spaine so sore was dred
For his huge powre and great oppression,
Which brought that land to his subjection,
Through his three bodies powre in one com-
bynd;
And eke all strangers, in that region
Arryving, to his kyne for food assynd;
The fay rest kyne alive, but of "the fiercest
kynd:
x
For they were all, they say, of purple hew,
Kept by a cowheard, hight Eurytion,
A cruell carle, the which all strangers slew,
Ne day nor night did sleepe t' attend them on
But walkt about them ever and anone
With his two-headed dogge that Orthrus
hight ;
Orthrus begotten by great Typhaon
And foule Echidna in the house of night :
But Hercules them all did overcome in fight.
His sonne was this Geryoneo hight ;
Who, after that his monstrous father fell
Under Alcides club, streight tooke his flight
J'rom that sad land where he h's syre did
And came to this, where Beige then did dwell
And flourish in all wealth and happinesse,
Being then new made widow (as befell)
After her Noble husbands late decease ;
Which gave beginning to her woe and wretch-
ednesse.
XII
Then this bold Tyrant, of her widowhed
Taking advantage, and her yet fresh woes,
Himselfe and service to her offered,
Her to defend against all forrein foes
That should their powre against her right op-
pose:
Whereof she glad, now needing strong defence,
Him entertayn'd and did her champion chose ;
Which long he usd with carefull diligence,
The better to confirme her fearelesse confi-
dence.
XIII
Bv meanes whereof she did at last commit
All to his hands, and gave him soveraine
powre
To doe whatever he thought good or fit :
Which having got, he gan forth from that
howre
To stirre up strife and many a tragicke stowre ;
Giving her dearest children one by one
Unto a dreadfull Monster to devoure,
And setting up an Idole of his owne,
The image of his monstrous parent Geryone.
So tyrannizing and oppressing all,
The woefull widow had no meanes now left,
But unto gratious great Mercilla call
For ayde against that cruell Tyrants theft,
Ere all her children he from her had reft :
Therefore these two, her eldest sonnes, she
sent
To seeke for succour of this Ladies gieft ;
To whom their sute they humbly did present
In th' hearing of full many Knights and
Ladies gent.
xv
Amongst the which then fortuned to bee
The noble Briton Prince with his brave Peare;
Who when he none of all those knights did
Hastily bent that enterprise to heare, [see'
Nor undertake the same for cowheard feare,
He stepped forth with courage bold and great,
Admyr'd of all the rest in presence there,
And humbly gan that mightie Queene entreat
To graunt him that adventure for his forme*
feat
XVI
She gladly graunted it : then he straightway
Hiraselfe un^o his joujney gan prepare,
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
345
And all his armours readie dight that day,
That nought the morrow next mote stay his
fare.
The morrow next nppear'd with purple hayn
Yet dropping fresh out of the Indian fount,
And bringing light into the heavens fayre,
When he was readie to his steede to mount
Unto his way, which now was all his care and
count.
XVII
Then taking humble leave of that great
Queene,
Who gave him roiall giftes and riches rare,
As tokens of her thankefull mind beseene,
And leaving Artegall to his owne care,
Upon his voyage forth he gan to fare
With those two gentle youthes, which him
did guide
And all his way before him still prepare.
Ne after him did Artigall abide, [ride.
But on his first adventure forward forth did
XVIII
It was not long till that the Prince arrived
Within the land where dwelt that Ladie sad ;
Whereof that Tyrant had her now deprived,
And into moores and marshes banisht had,
Out of the pleasant soyle and cities glad,
In which she wont to harbour happily :
But now his cruelty so sore she drad,
That to those fennes for fastnesse she did fly.
And there her selfe did hyde from his hard
tyranny.
XIX
There he her found in sorrow and dismay,
All solitarie without living wight;
For all her other children, through affray,
Had hid themselves, or taken further flight :
And eke her selfe, through sudden strange
affright
When one in armes she saw, began to fly ;
But , when her owne two sonnes she had in sight,
She gan take hart and looke up joyfully ;
For well she wist this knight came succour to
supply.
XX
And, running unto them with greedy joyes,
Fell straight about their neckes as they die
kneele, [boyes,
And bursting forth in teares, ' Ah ! my sweet
(Sayd she) ; yet now I gin new life to feele ;
And feeble spirits, that gan faint and reele,
Now rise againe at this your joyous sight.
Alreadie seemes that fortunes headlong wheel <
Begins to turne, and sunne to shine more brigh
Then it was wont through cpraforf of thisnoble
knight.'
Then turning unto him; ' And you, Sir knight,'
Said she) ' that taken have this toj-lesome
paine
<"or wretched woman, miserable wight,
tfay you in heaven immortall guerdon gaine
Tor" so great travell as you doe sustaine !
•"or other meede may hope for none of mee,
To whom nought else but bare life doth re-
maine ;
And that so wretched one, as ye do see,
"s likerlingring death then loathed life to bee.'
Much was he moved with her piteous plight,
And low dismounting from his loftie steede
'Jan to recomfort her all that he might,
Seeking to drive away deepe-rooted dreede
Vith hope of helpe in that her greatest neede.
So thence he wished her with him to wend
Jnto some place where they mote rest and
feede,
And she take comfort which God now did send :
Good hart in evils doth the evils much amend.
Ay me!' (sayd she) 'and whether shall I
goe?
Are not all places full of forraine powres ?
Vly pallaces possessed of my foe,
My cities sackt, and their sky-threating towres
Raced and made smooth fields now full of
flowres?
3nely these marishes and myrie bogs,
[n which the fearefull ewftes do build their
bowres,
Yeeld me an hostry mongst the croking frogs,
And harbour here in safety from those raven-
ous dogs.'
XXIV
Nathlesse,' (said he) 'deare Ladie, with me
goe;
Some place shall us receive and harbour yield ;
If not, we will it force, maugre your foe,
And purchase it to us with speare and shield :
And if all fayle, yet farewell open field ;
The earth to all her creatures lodging lends.'
With such his chearefull speaches he doth
wield
Her mind so well, that to his will she bends ;
And, bynding up her locks and weeds, forth
with him wends.
They came unto a Citie farre up land,
The which whylpme Jhat Ladies pwne
bene;
346
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Bat now by force extort out of her hand
By her strong foe, who had defaced cleene
Her stately towres and buildings sunny
sheene,
Shut up her haven, mard her marchants trade,
Robbed her people that full rich had beene,
And in her necke a Castle huge had made,
The which did her commaund without needing
perswade.
XXVI
That Castle was the strength of all that state,
Untill that state by strength was pulled
downe ;
And that same citie, so now ruinate,
Had beue the keye of all that kingdomes
crowne ;
Both goodly Castle, and both goodly Towne,
Till that th' offended heavens list to lowre
Upon their blisse, and balefull fortune frowne :
When those gainst states and kingdomes do
conjure, [recure?
Who then can thinke their hedlong ruine to
But he had brought it now in servile bond,
And made it beare the yoke of Inquisition,
Stryving long time in vaine it to withstond ;
Yet glad at last to make most base submis-
sion,
And life enjoy for any composition :
So now he hath new lawes and orders new
Imposd on it with many a hard condition,
And forced it, the honour that is dew
To God, to doe unto his Idole most untrew.
To him he hath before this Castle greene
Built a faire Chappell, and an Altar framed
Of costly Ivory full rich beseene,
On which that cursed Idole, farre proclamed,
He hath set up, and him his God hath
Offring to him in sinfull sacrifice [named ;
The flesh of men, to Gods owne ilkenesse
framed,
And powring forth their bloudin brutishe wize,
That any yron eyes to see it would agrize.
XXIX
And. for more horror and more crueltie,
Under that cursed Idols altar-stone
An hideous monster doth in darknesse lie,
Whose dreadfull shape was never scene
none
That lives on earth ; but unto those alone
The which unto him sacrificed bee :
Those he devoures, they say, both flesh and
bone.
What else they have is all the Tyrants fee ;
So that no whit of them remayning one may
see.
xxx
There eke he placed a strong garrisone,
And set a Seneschall of dreaded might,
That by his powre oppressed every one,
And vanquished all ventrous knights in fight;
To whom he wont shew all the shame he
might,
After that them in battell he had wonne :
To which when now they gan approch in
sight,
The Ladle counseld him the place to shonne,
Where as so many knights had fouly bene
fordonne.
Her fearefull speaches nought he did regard,
But, ryding streight under the Castle wall,
Called aloud unto the watchfull ward
Which there did wayte, willing them forth to
call
Into the field their Tyrants Seneschall :
To whom when tydings thereof came, he
streight
Cals for his armes. and arming him withall
Eftsoones forth pricked proudly in his might,
And gan with courage fierce addresse him to
the fight.
XXXII
They both encounter in the middle plaine,
And their sharpe speares doe both together
smite [ maine
Amid their shields, with so huge might and
That seem'd their soules they wold have
ryven quight
Out of their breasts with furious despight :
Yet could the Seneschals no entrance find
Into the Princes shield where it empight,
(So pure the metall was and well refynd,)
But shivered all about, and scattered in the,
wynd:
XXXIII
Not so the Princes, but with restlesse force
Into his shield it readie passage found,
Both through his haberjeon and eke his corse;
Which tombling downe upon the senselesse
ground
Gave leave unto his ghost from thraldome bound
of To wander in the griesly shades of night.
There did the Prince him leave in deadly
swound,
And thence unto the castle marched right,
To, see if entrance there as yet obtaine he
might.
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
347
But, as he nigher drew, three knights he
spyde,
All aim d to point, issuing forth apace,
Which towards him with all their powre did
ryde,
And meeting him right in the middle race
Did all their speares attonce on him enchace.
As three great Ctilverings for battrie bent,
And leveld all against one certaine place,
Doe all attonce their thunders rage forth rent,
That makes the wals to stagger with astonish-
ment:
XXXV
So all attonce they on the Prince did
thonder,
Who from his saddle swarved nought asyde,
Ne to their force gave way, that was great
wonder ;
But like a bulwarke firmely did abj'de,
Rebutting him, which in the midst did ryde,
With so huge rigour, that his mortall speare
Past through his shield and pierst through
either syde ;
That downe he fell uppon his mother deare,
And powred forth his wretched life in deadly
dreare.
XXXVI
Whom when his other fellowes saw, they
fled
As fast as feete could carry them away;
And after them the Prince as swiftly sped,
To be aveng'd of their unknightly play.
There, whilest they entring th' one did th'
other stay,
The hindmost in the gate he overhent,
And, as he pressed in, him there did slay :
His carkasse, tumbling on the threshold, sent
His groning soule unto her place of punish-
ment.
XXXVII
The other which was entred laboured fast
To sperre the gate ; but that same lumpe of
clay, [past,
Whose grudging ghost was thereout fled and
Right in the middest of the threshold lay,
That it the Posterne did from closing stay:
The whiles the Prince hard preased in betweene,
And entraunce wonne: Streight th' other
fled away,
And ran into the Hall, where he did weene
Him selfe to save ; but he there slew him at
the skreene.
Then all the rest which in that Castle were,
Seeing that sad ensample them before,
Durst not abide, but fled away for feare,
And them convayd out at a Posterne dore.
Long sought the Prince ; but when he found
no more
T' oppose against his powre he forth issued
Unto that Lady, where he her had lore,
And her gan cheare with what she there had
vewed, [shewed :
And what she had not scene within unto her
XXXIX
Who with right humble thankes him goodly
greeting
For so great prowesse as he there had proved,
Much greater then was ever in her weeting,
With great admiraunce inwardly was moved,
And honourd him with all that her behoved.
Thenceforth into that Castle he her led
With her two sonnes, right deare of her be-
loved,
Where all that night them selves the}' cherished,
And from her balefull minde all care he ban-
ished.
CANTO XI.
Prince Arthure overcomes the great
Gerioneo in fight :
Doth slay the Monster, and restore
Belgfe unto her right.
IT often fals, in course of common life,
That right long time is overborne of wrong
Through avarice, or powre, or guile, or strife,
That weakens her, and makes her party strong ;
But Justice, though her dome she d.oe prolong,
Yet at the last she will her owne cause right :
As by sad Beige seemes ; whose wrongs though
long
She suffred, yet at length she did requight,
And sent red'resse thereof by this brave Briton
Knight.
348
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Whereof when newes was to that Tyrant
brought,
How that the Lady Beige now had found
A Champion, that had with his Champion
fought,
And laid his Seneschall low on the ground,
And eke him selfe did threaten to confound ;
He gan to burne in rage, and friese in feare,
Doubting sad end of principle unsound :
Yet, sith he heard but one that did appeare,
He did him selfe encourage and take better
cheare.
in
Nathelesse him selfe he armed all in hast,
And forth he far'd with all his many bad,
Ne stayed step, till that he came at last
Unto the Castle which they conquerd had :
There with huge terrour, to be more ydrad,
He sternely marcht before the Castle gate,
And, withhold vaunts and ydle threatning, bad
Deliver him his owne, ere yet too late,
To which they had no right, nor any wrong-
full state.
IV
The Prince staid not his aunswere to devize,
But, opening streight the Sparre, forth to him
came,
Full nobly mounted in right warlike wize ;
And asked him, if that he were the same,
Who all that wrong unto that wofull Dame
So long had done, and from her native land
Exiled her, that all the world spake shame.
He boldly aunswerd him, He there did stand
That would his doings justifie with his owne
hand.
V
With that so furiously at him he flew?
As if he would have over-run him streight ;
And with his huge great yron axe gan hew
So hideously uppon his armour bright,
As he to peeces would have chopt it quight,
That the bold Prince was forced foote to give
To his first rage, and yeeld to his despight ;
The whilest at him so dreadfully he drive,
That seem'd a marble rocke asunder could
have rive.
VI
Thereto a great advauntage eke he haa
Through his three double hands thrise multi-
plyde, [was :
Besides the double strength which in them
For stil, when fit occasion did betyde,
He could his weapon shift from side to syde,
From hand to hand ; and with such nimblesse
sly
CouW wield, About, that, ere it were espide,
The wicked stroke did wound his enemy
Behinde, beside, before, as he it list apply.
Which uncouth use when as the Prince per-
ceived,
He gan to watch the wielding of his hand,
Least by such slight he were un wares deceived;
And ever, ere he saw the stroke to land,
He would it meete and warily withstand.
One time when he his weapon faynd to shift,
As he was wont, and chang'd from hand to
hand,
He met him with a counterstroke so swift,
That quite smit off his arme as he it up did
lift
VIII
Therewith all fraught with fury and disdaine,
He brayd aloud for very fell despight ;
And sodainely, t' avenge him selfe againe
Gan into one'assemble all the might
Of all his hands, and heaved them on hight,
Thinking to pay him with that one for all :
But the sad steele seizd not, where it was hight,
Uppon the childe, but somewhat short did fall,
And lighting on his horses head him quite did
mall.
IX
Downe streight to ground fell his astonisht
steed,
And eke to th' earth his burden with him bare ;
But he him selfe full lightly from him freed,
And gan him selfe to fight on foote prepare :
Whereof when as the Gyant was aware,
He wox right blyth, as he had got thereby,
And laught so loud, that all his teeth wide
bare
One might have seene enraung'd disorderly,
Like to a rancke of piles that pitched are awry.
Eftsoones againe his axe he raught on hie,
Ere he were throughly buckled to his geare,
And can let drive at him so dreadfullie,
That had he chaunced not his shield to reare,
Ere that huge stroke arrived on him neare,
He had him surely cloven quite in twaine :
But th' Adamantine shield which he did beare
So well was tempred, that for all his maine
It would no passage yeeld unto his purpose
vaine.
Yet was the stroke so forcibly applide,
That made him stagger with uncertajne sway,
As if he would have tot^red to one s$e ;
Wherewith full wripth he fiercely gan assay
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
34'>
That curt'sie with like kindnesse to repay,
And smote at him with so importune might,
That two more of his aruies did fall away,
Like fruitlesse braunches, which the hatchets
slight [quight.
Hath pruned from the native tree, and cropped
XII
With that all mad and furious he grew,
Like a fell mastiffe through enraging heat,
And curst, and band, and blasphemies forth
threw
Against his Gods, and fire to them did threat,
And hell unto him selfe with horrour great.
Thenceforth he car'd no more which way he
st»t>oke, [sweat,
Nor where it light ; but gan to chaufe and
And gnasht his teeth, and his head at him
shooke, [looke.
And sternely him beheld with grim and ghastly
XIII
Nought fear'd the childe his lookes, ne yet
his threats,
But onely wexed now the more aware
To save him selfe from those his furious heats,
And watch advauntage how to worke his care,
The which good Fortune to him offred faire ;
For as he in his rage him overstrooke,
He, ere he could his weapon backe repaire,
His side all bare and naked overtooke,
And with his mortal steel quite through the
body strooke.
XIV
Through all three bodies he him strooke at-
tonce,
That all the three attonce fell on the plaine,
Else should he thrise have needed for the nonce
Them to have stricken, and thrise to have
slaine.
So now all three one sencelesse lumpe remaine,
Enwallow'd in his owne blacke hloudy gore,
And byting th' earth for very deaths disdaine ;
Who, with a cloud of night him covering, bore
Downe to the house of dole, his dales there to
deplore.
xv
Which when the Lady from the Castle saw,
Where she with her two sonnes did looking
stand,
She towards him in hast her selfe did draw
To greet him the good fortune of his hand :
And all the people, both of towne and land,
Which there stood gazing from the Citties wall
Uppon these warriours, greedy t' understand
To whether should the victory befall,
Now when they saw it falne, they eke him
greeted ail.
But Beige, with her sonnes, prostrated low
Before his feete in all that peoples sight,
Mongst joyes mixing some tears, mongst wele
some wo,
Him thus bespake: *O most redoubted Knight.
The which hast me, of all most wretched wight,
That earst was dead, restor'd to life againe,
And these weakeimpes replanted by thy might,
What guerdon can I give thee for thy paine,
But even that which thou savedst thine still
to remaine ? '
XVII
He tooke her up forby the lilly hand,
And her recomforted the best he might,
Saying; 'Deare Lady, deedes ought not be
scand
By th' authors manhood, nor the doers might,
But by their trueth and by the causes right:
That same is it which fought for you this day.
What other meed, then, need me to requight,,
But that which yeeldeth vertues meed alway?
That is, the vertue selfe, which her reward doth
pay.'
XVIII
She humbly thankt him for that wondrous
grace, [ please,
And further sayd : ' Ah ! Sir, but mote ye
Sith ye thus farre have tendred my poore case,
As from my chiefest foe me to release,
That your victorious arme will not yet cease,
Till ye have rooted all the relickes out
Of that vilde race, and stablished my peace.
' What is there else ' (sayd he) ' left of their
rout ? [dout.'
Declare it boldly, Dame, and doe not stand in
1 Then wote you, Sir, that in this Church
hereby
There stands an Idole of great note and name,
The which this Gyant reared first on hie,
And of his owne vaine fancies thought dfd
frame:
To whom, for endlesse horrour of his shame,
He offred up for daily sacrifize
My children and my people, burnt in flame
With all the tortures that he could devize,
The more t' aggrate his God with such his
blouddy guize.
xx
'And underneath this Idoll there doth lie
An hideous monster that doth it defend,
And feedes on all the carkasses that die
In sacrifize unto that cursed feeud ;
35°
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Whose ugly shape none ever saw, nor kciul,
That ever scap'd : for of a man, they say.
It has the voice, that speaches forth doth send,
Even blasphemous words, which she doth bray
Out of her poysnous entrails fraught with dire
decay.'
XXI
Which when the Prince heard tell, his heart
gan earne
For great desire that Monster to assay,
And prayd the place of her abode to learne ;
Which being shew'd, he gan him selfe streight-
way
Thereto addresse, and his bright shield display.
So to the Church he came, where it was told
The Monster underneath the Altar lay :
There he that Idoll saw of massy gold
Most richly made, but there no Monster did
behold.
XXII
Upon the Image with hi* naked blade
Three times, as in defiance, there he strooke ;
And the third time out of an hidden shade
There forth isse wd from under th' Altars smooke
A dreadfull feend with fowle deformed looke,
That stretcht it selfe as it had long lyen still ;
And her long taile and fethers strongly shooke,
That all the Temple did with terrour fill ;
Yet him nought terrified that feared nothing
ill.
XXIII
An huge great Beast it was, when it in length
Was st/etched forth, that nigh fild all the place,
And seem'd to be of infinite great strength:
Horrible, hideous, and of hellish race,
Borne of the brooding of Echidna base,
Or other like infernall furies kinde ;
For of a Mayd she had the outward face,
To hide the horrour which did lurke behinde,
The better to beguile whom she so fond did
finde.
XXIV
Thereto the body of a dog she had,
Full of fell ravin and fierce greedinesse;
A Lions clawes, with powre and rigour clad,
To rend and teare what so she can oppresse ;
A Dragons taile, whose sting without redresse
Full deadly wounds where so it is empight ;
And Eagles wings, for scope and speedinesse,
That nothing may escape her reaching might,
Whereto she ever list to make her hardy flight
That he had red her Riddle, which no wight
Could ever loose but suffred deadly doole :
So also did this Monster use like slight
To many a one which came unto her schoole,
Whom she did put to death, deceived like a
foole.
XXVI
She comming forth, when as she first beheld
The armed Prince with shield so blazing bright
Her ready to assaile, was greatly queld,
And muchdismayd with that dismayfull sight,
That backe she would have turnd" for gr
affright:
But he gan her with courage fierce assav,
That forst her turne againe in her despi'ght
To save her selfe, least that he did her slay ;
And sure he had her slaine, had she not turnd
her wav.
Much like in foulnesse and deformity
Unto that Monster, whom the Theban Knight,
The father of that fatall progeny,
Made kill her selfe for very hearts despight
Tho, when she saw that she was forst to fight,
She flew at him like to an hellish feend,
And on his shield tooke hold with all her might,
As if that it she would in peeces rend,
Or reave out of the hand that did it hend :
Strongly he strove out of her greedy gripe
To loose his shield, and long while did contend ;
But, when he could not quite it, with one stripe
Her Lions clawes he from her feete away did
wipe-.
XXVIII
With that aloude she gan to bray and yell,
And fowle blasphemous speaches forth did cast,
And bitter curses, horrible to tell ;
That even the Temple, wherein she was plast,
Did quake to heare. and nigh asunder brast :
Tho with her huge long taile she at him strooke,
That made him stagger and stand halfe agast,
With trembling joynts, as he for terrour
shooke ; [tooke.
Who nought was terrifide, but greater courage
XXIX
As when the Mast of some well-timbred hulke
Is with the blast of some outragious storme
Blowne downe, it shakes the bottome of the
bulke,
And makes her ribs to cracke as they were tome ;
Whilest still she stands, aa stonisht and for-
lorne:
So was he stound with stroke of her huge taile ;
But, ere that it she backe againe had borne,
He with his sword it strooke, that without faile
He jointed it, and mard the swinging of her
flaile.
XXX
Then gan she cry much louder then afore,
That all the people there without it heard,
CANTO XI. 1
THE FAERIE QUEEtfK.
35*
And Belgfe sene was therewith stonied sore,
As if the onely sound thereof she feard.
Hut then the i'eend licr selfe more fiercely reard
Uppon her wide great wings, and strongly flew
With all her hotly at his head and beard,
That had he not foreseene with heedfull vew,
And thrown his shield atween, she had him
done to rew.
XXXI
But, as she prest on him with heavy sway,
Under her woml>e hi.s fatall sword he thrust,
And for her entrailes made an open way
To issue forth ; the which, once being brust,
Like to a great Mill-damb forth fiercely gusht,
And powred out of her infernall sinke
Most ugly filth ; and poyson therewith rusht,
That him nigh choked with the deadly stinke.
Such loathly matter were small lust to speake
or thinke.
XXXII
Then downe to ground fell that deformed
Masse,
Breathing out clouds of sulphure fowle and
In which a puddle of contagion was, fblacke,
More loathd then Lerna, or then Stvgian lake,
That any man would nigh awhaped make :
Whom when he saw oil ground, he was full
glad, | take
And streight went forth his gladnesse to par-
With Beige, who watcht all this while full sad,
Way ting what end would be of that same
daunger drad.
XXXIII
Whom when she saw so joyously come forth.
She gan rejoyce and shew triumphant chere,
Lauding and praysing his renowmed worth
Bv all the names that honorable were.
Then in he brought her, and her shewed there
The present of hispaines, that Monsters spoyle,
And eke that Idoll deem'd so costly dere,
Whom he did all to peeces breake,'and foyle
In filthy durt, andleftso in the loathely soyle.
Then all the people which beheld that day
Gan shout aloud, ^iat unto heaven it rong;
And all the damzels of that towne in ray
Come dauncing forth, and joyous carrols song :
So him they led through all their streetes along
Crowned with girlonds of immortall baies ;
And all the vulgar did about them throng
To see the man, whose everlasting praise
They all were bound to all posterities to raise.
XXXV
There he with Belgse did awhile remaine
Making great feast and joyous merriment,
Untill he had her settled in her raine
With safe assuraunce and establishment :
Then to his first emprize his mind he lent,
Full loath to Belgae and to all the rest ;
Of whom yet taking leave thence forth he went,
And to his former journey him addrest ;
On which long way he rode, ne ever day did
rest.
XXXVI
But turne we now to noble Artegall ;
Who, having left Mercilla, streight way went
On his first quest, the which him forth did call,
To weet, to worke Irenaes franchisement,
And eke Grantortoes worthy punishment.
So forth he fared, as his manner was,
With onely Talus wayting diligent,
Through many perils ; and much way did pas,
Till nigh unto the place at length approcht he
has.
XXXVII
There as he traveld bv the way, he met
An aged wight wayfaring all alone, [set
Who through his yeares long since aside had
The use of armes, and butt ell quite forgone :
To whom as he approcht, he knew anone
That it was he which whilome did attend
On faire Irene in her affliction,
When first to Faery court he saw her wend,
Unto his soveraine Queene her suite for to com-
mend.
XXXVIII
Whom hy his name saluting, thus he gan :
' Haile, good Sir Sergis, truest Knight alive,
Well tride in all thy Ladies troubles than
When her that Tyrant did of Crowne deprive;
What new occasion doth thee hither drive,
Whiles she alone is left, and thou here found ?
Or is she thrall, Or doth she not survive? '
To whom he thus : ' She liveth sure and sound.
But by that Tyrant is in wretched thraldome
bound :
XXXIX
' For she presuming on th' appointed tyde,
In which ye promist, as ye were a Knight,
To meete her at the salvage Hands syde,
And then and there for triall of her right
With her unrighteous enemy to fight,
Did thither come; where she, afrayd of nought,
By guilefull treason and by subtill slight
Surprized was, and to Grantorto brought,
Who her imprisond hath, and her life often
sought.
xt,
'And now he hath to her prefixt a day,
By which if that no champion doe appeare,
Which will her cause in battailous array
Against him justifie, and prove her cleare
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Of all those crimes that he gainst her doth
reare.
She death shall sure aby.' Those tidings sad
Did much abash Sir Artegall to heare,
And grieved sore that through his fault she had
Fallen into that Tyrants hand and usage bad.
Then thus replide: 'Now sure and by my
life,
Too much am I too blame for that faire Maide,
That have her drawne to all this troublous
strife,
Through promise to afford her timely aide,
Which by default I have not yet defraide :
But witnesse unto me, ye heavens ! that know
How cleare I am from blame of this upbraide;
For ye into like thraldome me did throw,
And" kept from complishing the faith which I
did owe.
XLII
' But now aread, Sir Sergis, how long space
Hath he her lent a Champion to provide ? '
' Ten daies,' (quoth he) ' he graunted hath
grace,
For that he weeneth well before that tide
None can have tidings to assist her side:
For all the shores, which to the sea accoste,
He day and night doth ward both farre and
wide,
That none can there arrive without an hoste :
So her he deemes already but a damned
ghoste.'
XLIII
' Now turne againe,' (Sir Artegall then sayd)
' For, if I live till those ten daies have end,
Assure your selfe, Sir Knight, she shall have
ayd,
Though I this dearest life for her doe spend.'
So backeward he attone with him did wend :
Tho, as they rode together on their way,
A rout of people they before them kend,
Flocking together in confusde array ;
As if that there were some tumultuous affray.
To which as they approcht the cause to know,
They saw a Knight in daungerous distresse
Of a rude rout him chasing to and fro,
That sought with lawlesse powre him to op-
presse,
And bring in bondage of their brutishnesse :
And farre away, amid their rakehell bands,
They spide a Lady left all succourlesse,
Crying, and holding up her wretched hands
To' him for aide, who long in vaine their rage
withstands.
Yet still he strives, ne any perill spares,
To reskue her from their rude violence ;
And like a Lion wood amongst them fares,
Dealing his dreadfull blowes with large dig-
pence, [fence ;
Gainst which the pallid death findes no de-
But all in vaine : their numbers are so great,
That naught may boot to banishe them fiom
thence ;
For soone as he their outrage backc doth beat,
They turne afresh, and oft renew their former
threat.
And now they doe so sharpely him assay,
That they his shield in peeces battred have,
And forced him to throw it quite away,
Fro dangers dread his doubtfull life to save ;
Albe that it most safety to him gave,
And much did magnifie his noble name :
For, from the day that he thus did it leave.
Amongst all Knights he blotted was with
blame, [les shame.
of And counted but a recreant Knight with end-
XLVII
Whom when they thus distressed did behold,
They drew unto his aide ; but that rude rout
Them also gan assaile with outrage bold,
And forced them, how ever strong and stout
They were, as well approv'd in many a doubt,
Backe to recule : untill that yron man
With his huge flaile began to lay about ;
From whose sterne presence they diffused ran,
Like scattred chaffe the which the wind away
doth fan.
XLvm
So when that Knight from perill cleare was
freed,
He drawing neare began to greete them faire,
And yeeld great thankes for their so goodly
Insavinghim from daungerous despaire [deed,
Of those which sought his life for to empaire:
Of whom Sir Artegall gan then enquire
The whole occasion of his late misfare,
And who he was, and what those villaines were,
The which with mortall malice him pursu'd so
nere.
To whom he thus : ' My name is Burbon
bight,
Well knowne. and far renowmed heretofore,
Untill late mischiefe did uppon me light,
That all my former praise hath blemisht sore
And that faire Lady, which in that uprore
Ye with those caytives saw, Flourdelis night,
Is mine owne love, though me she have forlore,
CANTO XI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
353
Whether withheld from me by wrongfull might,
Or with her owne good will, I cannot read
aright.
L,
' But sure to me her faith she first did plight
To be my love, and take me for her Lord ;
Till that a Tyrant, which Grandtorto hight,
With golden giftes and many a guileful! word
Entyced her to him for to accord, [tempted ''.
0! who may not with gifts and words be
Sith which she hath me ever since abhord,
And to my foe hath guilefully consented :
Ay me, that ever guyle in women was invented!
LI
' And now he hath this troupe of villains sent
By open force to fetch her quite away :
Gainst whom my selfe I long in vaine have
To rescue her, and daily meanes assay; [bent
Yet rescue her thence by no meanes I may,
For they doe me with multitude oppresse,
And with unequall might doe overlay,
That oft I driven am to great distrcsse,
And forced to forgoe th' attempt remedilesse.'
LII
' But why have ye' (said Artegall) 'forborne
Your pwne good shield in daungerous dismay?
That is the greatest shame and foulest scorne,
Which unto any knight behappen may,
To loose the badge that should his deedes dis-
play.' [shame:
To whom Sir Burbon, blushing halfe for
' That shall I unto you ' (quoth he) ' bewray,
Least ye therefore mote happily me blame,
And deeme it doen of will, that through in-
forcement came.
' True is that I at first was dubbed knight
By a good knight, the knight of the. Red-
crosse ; [ fight,
Who, when he gave me armes in field to
Save me a shield, in which he did endosse
His deare Redeemers badge upon the bosse :
The same long while I bore, and therewithall
Fought many battels without wound or losse ;
Therewith Grandtorto selfe I did appall,
And made him oftentimes in n'eld before
me fall.
LIV
1 But for that many did that shield envie,
And cruell enemies increased more,
To stint all strife and troublous enmitie,
That bloudie scutchin, being battered sore,
I layd aside, and have of late forbore,
Hoping thereby to have my love obtayned ;
Yet can I not my love have nathemore,
For she by force is still fro me detayned,
And with corruptfull brybes is to untruth
mis-trayned.'
\.\
To whom thus Artegall : ' Certes, Sir knight,
Hard is the case the which ye doe complaine ;
Yet not so hard (for nought so hard may light
That it to such a streight mote you constraine)
As to abandon that which doth containe
Your honours stile, that is, your warlike shield.
All perill ought be lesse, and lesse all paine
Then losse of fame in disaventrous field :
Dye, rather then doe ought that mote dis-
honour yield.'
LVI
' Not so,' (quoth he) ' for yet, when time
doth serve,
My former shield I may resume againe :
To temporize is not from truth to swerve,
Ne for advantage terme to entertaine,
When as necessitie doth it constraine.'
' Fie on such forgerie ! ' (sayd Artegall)
' Under one hood to shadow faces twaine :
Knights ought be true, and truth is one in all :
Of all things, to dissemble, fouly may befall 1 '
LVII
' Yet let me you of courtesie request '
(Said Burbon) ' to assist me now at need
Against these pesants which have me opprest,
And forced me to so infamous deed,
That yet my love may from their hands be
Sir Artegall, albe he earst did wvte [freed.'
His wavering mind, yet to his aide agreed,
And, buckling him eftsoones unto the fight,
Did set upon those troupes with all his powre
and might.
LVIII
Who nocking round about them, as a swarme
Of rlyes upon a birchen bough doth cluster,
Did them assault with terrible allarme ;
And over all the fields themselves did muster,
With bils and glayves making a dreadful!
luster, [retyre :
That forst at first those knights backe to
As when the wrathfull Boreas doth bluster,
Nought may abide the tempest of his yre;
Both man and beast doe fly, and succour doe
inquyre.
LIX
But, when as overblowen was that brunt,
Those knights began afresh them to assayle,
And all about the fields like Squirrels hunt ;
But chiefly Talus with his yron flayle,
Gainst which no flight nor rescue moteavayle,
Made cruell havocke of the baser crew,
And chaced them both over hill and dale.
354
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
The raskall manic soone they overthrew ;
But the two knights themselves their captains
did subdew.
LX
At last they came whereas that Ladie bode,
Whom now her keepers had forsaken quight
To save themselves, and scattered were abrode.
Her halfe dismayd they found in doubtfull
plight, •
As neither glad nor sorie for their sight;
Yet wondrous faire she was, and richly clad
In roiall robes, and many jewels dighf ;
But that those villens through their usage bad
Them fouly rent, and shamefully defaced had.
But Burbon, streight dismounting from his
Unto her ran with greedie great desyre, [steed,
And catching her fast by her ragged weed
Would have embraced her with hart entyre ;
But she backstarting with disdainefull yre
Bad him avaunt, ne would unto his lore
Allured be for prayer nor for meed : [forlorc
Whom when those knights so froward and
Beheld, they her rebuked and upbrayded sore.
Sayd Artegall : « What foule disgrace is this
To so faire Ladie, as ye seeme in sight,
To blot your beautie/that unblemisht is,
With so foule blame as breach of faith once
plight,
Or change of love for any worlds delight !
Is ought on earth so pretious or deare
As prayse and honour? Or is ought so bright
And beautifull as glories beames appeare,
Whose goodly light then Phoebus lampe doth
shine more cleare ?
Why then will ye, fond Dame, attempted
Unto a strangers love, so lightly placed, [bee
For guiftes of gold or any worldly glee,
To leave the love that ye before embraced.
And let your fame with falshood be defaced '?
Fie on the pelfe for which good name is sold,
And honour with indignitie debased !
Dearer is love then life, and fame then gold ;
But dearer then them both your faith once
plighted hold.'
LXIV
Much was the Ladie in her gentle mind
Abasht at his rebuke, that bit her neare,
Ne ought to answere thereunto did find :
But, hanging down her head with heavie
cheare,
Stood long amaz'd as she amated weare :
Which Burbon seeing her againe assayd ;
And, clasping twixt his armes, her up did
reare [ sayd :
Upon his steede, whiles she no whit gaine-
So bore her quite away, nor well nor ill
apayd.
Nathlesse the yron man did still pursew
That raskall many with unpitied spoyle ;
Ne ceassed not, till all their scattred crew
Into the sea he drove quite from that soyle,
The which they troubled had with great ttir-
moyle.
But Artegall, seeing his cruell deed,
Commaunded him from slaughter to recoyle,
And to his voyage gan againe proceed ;
For that the terme, approching fast, required
speed.
CANTO XII.
Artegall doth Sir Burbon aide,
And blames for changing shield : i
He with the great Grantorto fights,
And slaieth him in field.
O SACRED hunger of ambitious mindes,
And impotent desire of men to raine !
Whom neither dread of God, that devils bindes,
Nor lawes of men, that common-weales con-
taine, [straine,
Nor bands of nature, that wilde beastes re-
Can keepe from outrage and from doing wrong,
Where they may hope a kingdome to obtaine :
i No faith so firme, no trust can be so strong,
No love so lasting then, that may enduren
long.
ii
Witnesse may Burbon be; whom all the
bands
Which may a Knight assure had surelv bound,
Untill the love of Lordship and of lands
Made him become most faithless and unsound :
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
355
And witnesse be Gerioneo found,
Who for like cause faire Beige did oppressc,
And right and wrong most cruelly confound :
And so be now Grantorto, who no lesse
Then all the rest burst out to all outragious-
nesse.
in
Gainst whom Sir Artegall, long having since
Taken in hand th' exploit, (being theretoo
Appointed by that mightie Faerie Prince,
Great Gloriane, that lyrant to fordoo,)
Through other great adventures hethertoo
Had it forslackt : But now time drawing ny
To him assynd her high beheast to doo,
To the sea-shore he gan his way apply,
To weete if shipping readie he mote there
descry.
IV
Tho when they came to the sea coast they
found
A ship all readie (as good fortune fell)
To put to sea, with whom they did compound
To passe them over where them list to tell.
The winde and weather served them so well,
That in one day they with the coast did fall ;
Whereas they readie found, them to repell,
Great hostes of men in order martiall,
Which them forbad to land, and footing did
for stall.
v
But nathemore would they from land refraine :
But, when as nigh unto the shore they drew
That foot of man might sound the bottome
plaine.
Talus into the sea did forth issew [him threw;
Though darts from shore and stones they at
And wading through the waves with stedfast
sway,
Maugre the might of all those troupes in vew,
Did win the shore ; whence he them chast away,
And made to fly like doves whom the Eagle
doth affray.
VI
The whyles Sir Artegall with that old knight
Did forth descend, there being none them neare,
And forward marched to a towne in sight.
By this came tydings to the Tyrants eare,
By those which earst did fly away for feare,
Of their arrival : wherewith troubled sore
He all his forces streight to him did reare,
And forth issuing with his scouts afore,
Meant them to have encouutred ere they left
the shore :
VII
But ere he marched farre he with them met,
And fiercely charged them with all his force :
But Talus sternely did upon them set,
And brusht and battred them without remorse,
That on the ground he left full many a corse ;
Ne any able was him to withstand,
But he them overthrew both man and horse,
That they lay scattred overall theland, [hand:
As thicke as doth the seede after the sowers
VIII
Till Artegall him seeing so to rage
Willd him to stay, and signe of truce did make :
To which all harkning did a while asswage
Their forces furie, and their terror slake ;
Till he an Herauld cald, and to him spake,
Willing him wend unto the Tyrant straight.
And tell him that not for such slaughters sake
He thether came, but for to trie the right
Of fayre Irenaes cause with him in single fight :
And willed him for to reclayme with speed
His scattred people, ere thev all were slaine,
And time and place convenient to areed,
In which they two the combat might darraine.
Which message when Grantorto heard, full
fayne
And glad he was the slaughter so to stay ;
And pointed for the combat twixt them twayne
The morrow next> ne gave him longer day :
So sounded the retraite, and drew his folke
away.
x
That night Sir Artegall did cause his tent
There to be pitched on the open plaine ;
For he had given streight commaundement
That none should dare him once to entertaine;
Which none durst breake, though many would
right faine
For faire Irena, whom they loved deare :
But yet old Sergis did so well him paine,
That from dose friends, that dar'd not to ap-
peare, [full weare.
He all things did purvay which for them need-
XI
The morrow next, that was the dismall day
Appointed for Irenas death before,
So soone as it did to the world display
His chearefull face, and light to men restore,
The heavy Mayd, to whom none tydings bore
Of Artegals arry vail her to free,
Lookt up with eyes full sad and hart full sore,
Weening her lifes last howre then neare to bee,
Sit h no redemption nigh she did nor heare nor
Then up she rose, and on her selfe did dight
Most squalid garments, fit for such a day ;
A A 2
356
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
And with dull countenance and with doleful
spright
She forth was brought in sorrowfull dismay
For to receive the doome of her decay :
But comraing to the place, and finding there
Sir Artegall, in battailous array
Wayting his foe, it did her dead hart cheare,
And new life to her lent in midst of deadly
feare,
XIII
Like as a tender Rose in open plaine,
That with untimely drought nigh withered was,
And hung the head, soone as few drops of raine
Thereon distill and deaw her daintie face,
Gins to looke up. and with fresh wonted grace
Dispreds the glorie of her leaves gay ;
Such was Irenas countenance, such her case,
When Artegall she saw in that array,
There way ting for the Tyrant till it was farre
day.
XIV
Who came at length with proud presump-
teous gate
Into the field, as if he fearelesse were,
All armed in a cote of yron plate
Of great defence to ward the deadly feare ;
And on his head a steele-cap he did weare
Of colour rustie-browne, but sure and strong;
And in his hand an huge Polaxe did beare,
Whose steale was yron-studded, but not long,
With which he wont to fight to Justine his
wrong :
xv
Of stature huge and hideous he was,
Like to a Giant for his monstrous bight,
And did in strength most sorts of men surpas,
Ne ever any found his match in might ;
Thereto he had great skill in single fight :
His face was ugly and his countenance sterne,
That could have frayd one with the very sight,
And gaped like a gulfe when he did gerne ;
That whether man or monster one couldscarse
discerae.
XVI
Soone as he did within the liistes appeare,
With dreadfull looke he Artegall beheld,
As if he would have daunted him with feare ;
And, grinning griesly, did against him weld
His deadly weapon which in hand he held :
But th' Elfin swayne, that oft had scene like
sight,
Was with his ghastly count'nance nothing
queld ;
But gan him streight to buckle to the fight,
And cast his shield about to be in readie
plight.
The trompets sound, and they together goe
With dreadfull terror and with fell intent ;
And their huge strokes full daungerously be-
stow,
To doc most dammage where as most they ment:
But with such force and furie violent
The Tyrant thundred his thicke blowes so fast,
That through the yron walles their way they
And even to the vitall parts they past, [rent,
Ne ought could them endure, but all they cleft
or brast.
XVIII
Which cruell outrage when as Artegall
Did well avize, thenceforth with warie heed
He shund his strokes, where ever they did fall,
And way did give unto their graoelesse speed ;
As when a skilfull Marrmer doth reed
A storme approchmg that doth perill threat,
He will not bide the daunger of such dread,
But strikes his sayles, and vereth his main-
sheat, [beat.
And lends unto it leave the emptie ayre to
So did the Faerie knight himselfe abeare,
And stouped oft his head from shame to shield ;
No shame to stoupe, ones head more high to
reare ;.
And, much to gaine, a litle for to yield :
So stoutest knights doen oftentimes in field.
But still the tyrant sternely at him layd,
And did his yron axe so nimbly wield,
That many wounds into his flesh it made,
And with his burdenous blowes him sore did
overlade.
XX
Yet when as fit advantage he did spy,
The whiles the cursed felon high did feare
His cruell hand to smite him mortally,
Under his stroke he to him stepping neare
Right in the flanke him strooke with deadly
dreare,
That the gore-bloud thence gushing grievously
Did underneath him like a pond appeare,
And all his armour did with purple dye :
Thereat he brayed loud, and yelled dreadfully.
Yet the huge stroke, which he before intended,
Kept on his course as he did it direct,
And with such monstrous poise adowne des-
cended, [protect ;
That seemed nought could him from death
But he it well did ward with wise respect,
And twixthim and the blow his shield did cast,
Which thereon seizing tooke no great effect j
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
357
But, by ting deepe therein did sticke so fast And that same yron man, which could reveale
That by no meanes it backe againe he forth All hidden crinies, through all that realrae he
sent
To search out those that usd to rob and steale,
could wrast.
Long while he tug'd and strove to get it out,
And all his powre applyed thereunto,
That he therewith the knight drew all ab out
Nathlesse, for all that ever he could doe,
His axe he could not from his shield undoe ;
Which Artegall perceiving strooke no more,
But loosing soone his shield did itforgoe;
And, whiles he combred was therewith so sore,
He gan at him let drive more fiercely then
afore.
XXIII
So well he him pursew'd, that at the last
He stroke him with Chrysaor on the hed,
That with the souse thereof full sore aghast
He staggered to and fro in doubtfull sted.
Againe, whiles he him aaw 30 ill bested,
He did him smite with all his might and
maine,
That, falling on his mother earth he fed :
Whom when he saw prostrated on the plaine,
He lightly reft his head to ease him of his
paine.
XXIV
Which when the people round about him
saw,
They shouted all for joy of his successe,
Glad to be quit from that proud Tyrants awe,
Which with strong powre did them long time
oppresse ;
And, running all with greedie joyfulnesse
To faire Irena, at her feet did fail,
And her adored with due humlilenesse
As their true Liege and Pnncesse naturall;
And eke her champions glorie sounded over-
all.
XXV
Who streight her leading with meete majestie
Unto the pallace where their kings did rayne,
Did her therein establish peaceablie,
And to her kingdomes seat restore agayne :
And all such persons, as did late maintayne
That Tyrants part with close or open ayde,
He sorely punished with heavie payne ;
That in short space, whiles there with her he
stayd,
fobayd.
Not one was left that durst her once have dis-
During which time that he did there remayne.
His studie was true Justice how to deale,
And day and night employ'd his busie |>aine
How to reforme that ragged common-weale :
Or did rebell gainst lawfull government;
On whom he did inflict most grievous punish-
ment.
xxvn
But, ere he coulde reforme it thoroughly,
He through occasion called was away
To Faerie Court, that of necessity
His course of Justice he was forst to stay,
And Talus to revoke from the right way
In which he was that Kealme for to redresse :
But envies cloud still dimmeth vertues ray.
So, having freed Irena from distresse,
He tooke his leave of her there left in heavi-
nesse.
XXVIII
Tho, as he backe returned from that land,
And there arriv'd againe whence forth he set,
He had not passed farre upon the strand,
When as two old ill favour'd Hags he met,
By the way side being together set ;
Two griesly creatures : and, to that their faces
Most foule and >filthie were, their garments
yet,
Being all rag'd and tatter'd, their disgraces
Did much the more augment, and made most
ugly cases.
XXIX
The one of them, that elder did appeare.
With her dull eyes did seeme to looke askew,
That her mis-shape much helpt ; and her foule
heare
Hung loose and loathsomely : Thereto her hew
Was wan and leane, that all her teeth arew,
And all her bones might through her cheekes
be red :
Her lips were, like raw lether, pale and blew:
And as she spake therewith she slavered-,
Yet spake she seldom, but thought more the
lesse she sed.
XXX
Her hands were foule and durtie, never
washt
In all her life, with long nayles over-raught,
Like puttocks clawes ; with th' one of which
she scracht
Her cursed head, although it itched naught :
The other held a snake with venime fraught,
On which she fed and gnawed hungrily.
As if that long she had not eaten ought ;
That round about her jawes one might descry
The bloudie gore and poyson dropping loth-
somely.
358
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v.
Her name was Envie, knowen well thereby,
Whose nature is to grieve and grudge at all
That ever she sees doen prays-worthily ;
Whose sight to her is greatest crosse may fall,
And vexeth so that makes her eat her gall;
For, when she wanteth other thing to eat,
She feedes on her owne maw unnaturall,
And of her owne foule entrayles makes her
meat;
Meat fit for such a monsters monsterous dyeat :
XXXII
And if she hapt of any good to heare,
That had to any happily betid,
Then would she inly fret, and grieve, and
teare
Her i'esh for felnesse, which she inward hid :
But if she heard of ill that any did,
Or harme that any had, then would she make
Great cheare, like one unto a banquet bid,
And in anothers losse great pleasure take,
As she had got thereby and gayned a great
stake.
xxxm
The other nothing better was then shee,
Agreeing in bad will and cancred kynd ;
But in bad maner they did disagree,
For what so Envie good or bad did fynd
She did conceale, and murder her owne
mynd;
But this, what ever evill she conceived,
Did spred abroad and throw in th' open
wynd:
Yet this in all her words might be perceived,
That all she sought was mens good name to
have bereaved.
xxxiv
For, whatsoever good by any sayd
Or doen she heard, she would streightwayes
invent
How to deprave or slaunderously upbrayd,
Or to misconstrue of a mans intent,
And turne to ill the thing that well was
ment-
Therefore she used often to resort
To common haunts, and companies frequent,
To hearke what any one did good report,
To blot the same with blame, or wrest in
wicked sort.
XXXV
And if that any ill she heard of any,
She would it eeke, and make much worse bj
telling,
And take great joy to publish it to many.
That every matter worse was /or her melling
ier name was hight Detraction, and her
dwelling
Was neare to Envie, even her neighbour next;
A wicked hag, and Envy selfe excelling
In mischiefe; for her selfe she onely vext,
Jut this same both her selfe and others eke
perplext.
XXXVI
Her face was ugly, and her mouth distort,
doming with poyson round about her gils,
in which her cursed tongue, full sharpe and
short,
Appear'd like Aspis sting that closely kils,
Or cruelly does wound whom so she wils :
A distaife in her other hand she had,
LTpon the which she litle spinnes, but spils ;
And faynes to weave false tales and leasings bad,
To throw amongst the good which others had
disprad.
XXXVII
These two now had themselves combynd in
one,
And linckt together gainst Sir Artegall ;
For whom they wayted as his mortall fone,
How they might make him into mischiefe
fall,
For freeing from their snares Irena thrall :
Besides, unto themselves they gotten had
A monster, which the Blatant Beast men
call,
A dreadfull feend, of gods and men ydrad,
Whom they by slights allur'd, and to their
purpose lad.
XXXVIII
Such were these Hags, and so unhandsome
drest :
Who when they nigh approching had espyde
Sir Artegall, return'd from his late quest,
They both arose, and at him loudly cryde,
As it had bene two shepheards curres had
scryde [flockes:
A ravenous Wolfe amongst the scattered
And Envie first, as she that first him eyde,
Towardes him runs, and, with rude flaring lockes
About her eares, does beat her brest and for-
head knockes.
XXXIX
Then from her mouth the gobbet she does
take,
The which whyleare she was so greedily
Devouring, even that halfe-gnawen snake,
And at him throwes it most despightfully :
The cursed Serpent, though she hungrily
Earst chawd thereon, yet was not all so dead
But that some life remayned secretly }
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
339
And, as he past afore withouten dread,
Bit him behind, that long the marke was to
be read.
XL
Then th' other comming neare gan him re-
vile,
And fouly rayle with all she could invent;
Saying that he had, with unmanly guile
And foule abusion, both his honour blent,
And that bright sword, the sword of Justice
Had stayned with reprochfull crueltie [lent,
In guiltlesse blood of many an innoce_nt :
As for Grandtorto, him with treacherie
And traynes having surpriz'd, he fouly did
to die.
XLI
Thereto the Blatant Beast, by them set on,
At him began aloud to barke and bay
With bitter rage and fell contention, [way
That all the woods and rockes nigh to that
Began to quake and tremble with dismay ;
And all the aire rebellowed againe,
So dreadfully his hundred tongues did bray :
And evermore those hags them selves did paine
To s harpen him, and their owne cursed tongs
did straine.
And still among most bitter wordes they spake,
Most shameful], most unrighteous, most un~
trew,
That they the mildest man alive would make
Forget his patience, and yeeld vcngeaunce
dew
To her, that so false sclaunders at him threw:
And more, to make them pierce and wound
more deepe, [grew
She with the sting which in her vile tongue
Did sharpen them, and in fresh poyson steepe:
Yet he past on, and seem'd of them to take no
keepe.
XLIII
But Talus, hearing her so lewdly raile,
And speake so ill of him that well deserved,
Would her have chastiz'd with his yron tlailc,
If her Sir Artegall had not preserved,
And him forbidden, who his heast observed:
So much the more at him still did she scold,
And stones did cast ; yet he for nought would
swerve
From his rightcourse, but still the way did hold
To Faerie Court ; where what him fell shall
else be told.
200
777.fi FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK VT.
THE SIXTE BOOKE
OF
THE FAEEIE QUEENE
CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF SIR CALIDORE, OR COUBTE8IE.
THE waies, through which my weary steps I
In this delightfull land of Faery, [guyde
Are so exceeding spacious and wyde.
And sprinckled with such sweet variety
Of all that pleasant is to eare or eye, [light,
That I, nigh ravisht with rare thoughts de-
My tedious travell doe forget thereby;
And, when I gin to feele decay of might,
It strength to me supplies, and chears my
dulled spright.
ii
Such secret comfort and such heavenly
pleasures,
Ye sacred imps, that on Parnasso dwell,
And there the keeping have of learnings
threasures
Which doe all worldly riches farre excell,
Into the mindes of mortall men doe well,
And goodly fury into them infuse,
Guyde ye my footing, and conduct me well
In these strange waies where never foote did
use, [the Muse.
Ne none can find but who was taught them by
Revele to me the sacred noursery
Of vertue, which with you doth there re-
maine,
Where it in silver bowre does hidden ly
From view of men, and wicked worlds dis-
daine ;
Since it at first was by the Gods with paine
Planted in earth, being derived at furst
From heavenly seedes of bounty soveraine,
And by them long with careful! labour nurst,
fill it to ripenesse grew, and forth to honour
burst.
Dwre,
Amongst them all growes not a fayrer
flowre
Then is the bloosme of comely courtesie ;
Which though it on a lowly stalke doe bov
Yet brancheth forth in brave nobilitie,
And spreds it selfe through all civilitie :
Of which though present age doe plenteous
seeme,
Yet, being matcht with plaine Antiquitie,
Ye will them all but fayned showes esteeme,
Which carry colours faire that feeble eies mis-
deeme.
v
But, in the triall of true curtesie,
Its now so farre from that which then it was,
That it indeed is nought but forgerie,
Fashion'd to please the eies of them that pas,
Which see not perfect things but in a glas :
Yet is that glasse so gay, that it can blynd
The wisest sight to thinke gold that is bras ;
But vertues seat is deepe within the mynd,
And not in outward shows, but inward thoughts
defynd.
VI
But where shall I in all Antiquity
So faire a patterne finde, where may be seene
The goodly praise of Princely curtesie,
As in your selfe, O soveraine Lady Queene ?
In whose pure minde, as in a mirrour sheene,
It showes, and with her brightnesse doth in-
flame
The eyes of all which thereon fixed beene,
But meriteth indeede an higher name :
Yet so from low to high uplifted is your fame.
Then pardon me, most dreaded Soveraine,
That from your selfe I doe this vertue bring,
CANTO I.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
And to your selfe doe it returne againe.
So from the Ocean all rivers spring,
And tribute backe repay as to their King :
Eight so from you all goodly vertues well
Into the rest which round about you ring,
Faire Lords and Ladies which about you dwell.
And doe ailortie your Court where courtesies
excell.
CANTO I.
Calidorc saves from Maleffort
A Damzell used vylde :
Doth vanquish Cruder ; and doth make
Briana wexe more mylde.
OF Court, it seemes, men Courtesie doe call,
For that it there most useth to abound ;
And well beseemeth that in Princes hall
That vertue should be plentifully found,
Which of all goodly manners is the ground,
And root* of civill conversation :
Right so in Faery court it did redound, [won
Where curteous Knights and Ladies most did
Of all on earth, and made a matchlesse para-
gon.
ii
But mongst them all was none more courteous
Then Calidore, beloved over-all, [Knight
In whom, it seemes, that gentk-nesse of spright
And manners mylde were planted naturall ;
To which he adding comely guize withall
And gracious speach, did steale mens hearts
away:
Nathlesse thereto he was full stout and tall,
And well approv'd in batteilous affray,
That him did much renowme, and far his fame
display.
in
Ne was there Knight ne was there Lady
found
In Faery court, but him did deare embrace
For his faire usage and conditions sound,
The which in all mens liking gayned place,
And with the greatest purchast greatest grace :
Which he could wisely use, and well apply,
To please the best, and th' evill to embase ;
For he loathd leasing and base flattery,
And loved simple truth and stedfast honesty.
And now he was in travell on his way,
Uppon an hard adventure sore bestad,
Whenas by chaunce he met uppon a day
With Artegall, returning yet halfe sad "
From his late conquest which he gotten had :
Who whenas each of other had a sight,
They knew them selves, and both their per-
sons rad ;
When Calidore thus first: 'Haile, noblest
Knight
Of all this day on ground that breathen living
spright !
v
' Now' tell, if please you, of the good successe
Which ye have had in your late enterprize.'
To whom Sir Artegall gan to expresse
His whole exploite and valorous emprize,
In order as it did to him arize.
' Xow, happy man,' (sayd then Sir Calidore)
' Which have, so goodly as ye can devize,
Atchiev'd so hard a quest, as few before ;
That shall you most renowmed make for ever-
more.
VI
' But where ye ended have, now I begin
To tread an endlesse trace, withouten guyde
Or good direction how to enter in,
Or how to issue forth in waies untryde,
In perils strange, in labours long and wide •,
In which although good Fortune me befall,
Yet shall it not by none be testifyde.'
' What is that quest,' (quoth then Sir Artegall)
' That you into such penis presently doth call ?'
' The Blattant Beast ' (quoth he) ' I doe pursew,
And through the world incessantly doe chase,
Till I him overtake, or else subdew :
Yet. know I not or how, or in what place
To find him out, yet still I forward trace.'
' What is that Blattant Beast ? ' (then he re-
plide.)
' It is a Monster bred of hellishe race,'
(Then answered he) ' which often hath annovd
Good Knights and Ladies true, and many else
destroyd.
VIII
' Of Cerberus whilome he was begot
And fell Chimsera, in her darkesome den,
Through fowle commixture of his filthy blot ;
Where he was fostred long in Stygian fen,
362
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK
Till he to perfect ripenesse grew ; and then
Into this wicked world he forth was sent
To be the plague and scourge of wretched men,
Whom with vile tongue and venemous intent
He sore doth wound, and bite, and cruelly tor-
ment.'
' Then, since the salvage Island I did leave,'
Saj'd Artegall, ' I such a Beast did see,
The which did seeme a thousand tongues to
have,
That all in spight and malice did agree ;
With which he bayd and loudly barkt at mee,
As if that he attonce would me devoure :
But I, that knew my selfe from perill free,
Did nought regard his malice nor his powre ;
But he the more his wicked poyson forth did
poure.'
x
' That surely is that Beast ' (saide Calidore)
' Which 1 pursue, of whom I am right glad
To heare these tidings, which of none afore
Through all my weary travell I have had ;
Yet now some hope your words unto me add.'
' Now God you speed,' (quoth then Sir Arte-
gall)
1 And keepe your body from the daunger drad,
For ye have much adoe to deale withall.'
So both tooke goodly leave, and parted severall.
Sir Calidore thence travelled not long,
When as by chaunce a comely Squire he found,
That thorough some more mighty enemies
wrong
Both hand and foote unto a tree was bound ;
Who, seeing him from farre, with piteous
sound
Of his shrill cries him called to his aide :
To whom approching, in that painefull stound
When he him saw, for no demaunds he staide,
But first him losde, and afterwards thus to him
saide.
' Unhappy Squire ! what hard mishap thee
Into this bay of perill and disgrace ? [brought
What cruell baud thy wretched thraldome
wrought,
And thee capty ved in this shamefull place ? '
To whom he answered thus: 'My haplesse
case
Is not occasiond through my misdesert,
But through misfortune, which did me abase
Unto this shame, and my young hope subvert,
Ere that I in her guilefull traines was well
expert.
'Not farre from hence, uppon yond rocky hill,
Hard by a streight, there stands a castle strong,
Which'doth observe a custome lewd and ill,
And it hath long mayntaind with mighty
wrong:
For may no Knight nor Lady passe along
That way, (and yet they needs must passe
that way,
By reason of the streight, and rocks among)
But they that Ladies lockes doe shave away,
And that knights berd, for toll which they for
passage pay.'
XIV
' A shamefull use as ever I did heare,'
Sayd Calidore, ' and to be overthrowne.
But by what meanes did they at first it reare,
And for what cause? tell, if thou have it
knowne.' [owne
Sayd then that Squire; 'The Lady, which doth
This Castle, is by name Briana hight,
Then which a prouder Lady liveth none :
She long time hath deare lov'd a doughty
Knight, [she might.
And sought to win his love by all the meanes
xv
' His name is Crudor ; who, through high dis-
daine
And proud despight of his selfe-pleasing mynd,
Refused hath to yeeld her love againe,
Untill a Mantle she for him doe fynd [lynd*
With beards of Knights and locks of Ladies
Which to provide she hath this Castle dight,
And therein hath a Seneschall assynd,
Cald Maleffort, a man of mickle might,
Who executes her wicked will with worse de-
spight.
XVI
' He, this same day, as I that way did come
With a faire Damzell, my beloved deare,
In execution of her lawlesse doome
Did set uppou us flying both for feare ;
For little bootes against him hand to reare.
Me first he tooke unhable to withstond,
And whiles he her pursued every where,
Till his returne unto this tree he bond ;
Ne wote I surely whether her he yet have fond.'
XVII
Thus whiles they spake they heard a ruefull
shrieke [ghest
Of one loud crying, which they streightway
That it was she the which for helpe did seeke.
Tho, looking up unto the cry to lest, [unblest
They saw that Carle from farre, with hand
Hayling that mayden by the yellow heare,
That all her garments from her snowy brest,
CANTO I. ]
THE FAERIE QUEENTL.
363
And from her head herlockes he nigh did teare,
Ne would he spare for pitty, nor refraine for
feare.
xvm
Which haynous sight when Calidore beheld,
Eftsoones he loosd that Squire, and so him left
With hearts dismay and inward dolour queld,
For to pursue that villaine, which had reft
That piteous spoile by so injurious theft;
Whom overtaking, loude to him he cryde :
; Leave, faytor, quickely that misgotten weft
To him that hath it better justifyde,
And turne thee soone to him of whom thou art
defyde.'
XIX
Who, hearkning to that voice, him selfe up-
reard,
And seeing him so fiercely towardes make,
Against him stoutly ran, as nought afeard,
But rather more enrag'd for those words sake ;
And with sterae count'naunce thus unto him
Bpake :
' Art thou the caytive that defyest me?
And for this Mayd, whose party thou doesttake,
Wilt give thy beard, though it but. little bee V
Yet shall it not her lockes for raunsomefro me
free.'
xx
With that he fiercely at him flew, and layd
On hideous strokes with most importune might,
That oft he made him stagger as unstayd,
And oft recuile to shunne his sharpe despight :
But Calidore, that was well skild in fight,
Him long forbore, and still his spirite spar'd,
Lying in waite how him he damadge might ;
But when he felt him shrinke, and come to
ward, [hard.
He greater grew, and gan to drive at him more
Likeasawater-streame,whoseswellingsourse
Shall drive a Mill, within strong bancks is pent,
And long restrayned of his ready course,
So soone as passage is unto him lent,
Break es forth, and makes his way more violent;
Such was the fury of Sir Calidore :
When once he felt his foeman to relent,
He fiercely him pursu'd, and pressed sore;
Who as h'e still decayd so he encreased more.
The heavy burden of whose dreadfull might
Whenas the Carle no longer could sustaine,
His heart gaa faint, and streight he tooke his
flight
Toward the Castle, where, if need constraine,
His hope of refuge used to remaine :
Whom Calidore perceiving fast to flic,
He him pursu'd and chaced through the plaino,
That he for dread of death gan loude to crie
Unto the ward to open to him hastilie.
XXIII
They, from the wall him seeing so aghast,
The gate soone opened to receive him in;
But Calidore did follow him so fast,
That even in the Porch he him did win,
And cleft his head asunder to his chin.
The carkasse tumbling downe within the dore
Did choke the entraunce with a lumpe of sin,
That it could not be shut ; whilest Calidore
Did enter in, and slew the Porter on the flore.
With that the rest the which the Castle kept
About him flockt, and hard at him did lay ;
But he them all from him full lightly swept,
As doth a Steare, in heat of sommers day,
With his long taile the bryzes brush away.
Thence passing forth into the hall he came,
Where of the Lady selfe in sad dismay
He was ymett, who with uncomely shame
Gan him salute, andfowle upbrayd with faulty
blame.
XXV
' False tray tor Knight !' (said she) ' no Knight
at all,
But scorne of urines, that hast with guilty hand
Murdred my men, and slaine my Seneschall,
Now comest thou to rob my house unmand,
And spoile my selfe that can not thee with-
stand '?
Yet doubt thou not, but that some better Knight
Then thou, that shall thy treason understand,
Will it avenge, and pay thee with thy right;
And if none do, yet shame shal thee with shame
requight.'
XXVI
Much was the Knight abashed at that word
Yet answer'd thus : ' Not unto me the shame,
But to the shamefull doer it afford.
Bloud is no blemish, for it is no blame
To punish those that doe deserve the same ;
But they that breake bands of civilitie,
And wicked customes make, those doe defame
Both noble armes and gentle curtesie.
No greater shame to man then inhumanitie.
XXVII
' Then doe your selfe, for dread of shame, for-
goe
This evill manner which ye here maintame,
And doe instead thereof mild curt'sie showe
To all that passe ; That shall you glory gaine
364
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
More then his love, which thus ye seeke t' ob-
taine.'
Wherewith all full of wrath she thusreplyde :
' Vile recreant ! know that I doe much disdaine
Thy courteous lore, that doest my love deride,
Who scornes thy ydle scoffe, and bids thee be
defyde.'
XXVIII
' To take defiaunce at a Ladies word
(Quoth he) ' I hold it no indignity ;
But were he here, that would it with his sword
Abett, perhaps he mote it dcare aby.'
' Cowherd ! ' (quoth she) ' were not that thou
vrouldst fly
Ere he doe come, he should be soone in place.'
' If I doe so,' (sayd he) ' then liberty
I leave to you for aye me to disgrace
With all those shames, that erst ye spake me
to deface.'
XXIX
With that a Dwarfe she cald to her in hast,
And taking from her haud a ring of gould,
A privy token which betweene them past,
Bad him to flie with all the speed he could
To Crudor ; and desire him that he would
Vouchsafe to reskne her against a Knight,
Who through strong powre had now her self
hi hould,
Having late slaine her Seneschall in fight,
And all her people murdred with outragiou
might:
XXX
The Dwarfe his way did hast, and went all
night ;
But Calidore did with her there abyde
The comming of that so much " threatned
Knight ; [ pryde
Where that discourteous Dame with scomfull
And fowle entreaty him indignifyde,
That yron heart it hardly could sustaine :
Yet he, that could his wrath full wisely guyde,
Did well endure her womanish disdaine,
And did him selfe from fraile impatience re-
fraine.
The morrow next, before the lampe of light
Above the earth upreard his flaming head,
The Dwarfe, which bore that message lo her
knight, [bread
Brought aunswere backe, that ere he tasted
He would her succour, and alive or dead
Her foe deliver up into her hand :
Therefore he wild her doe away all dread ;
And, that of him she mote assured stand,
He sent to her his basenet as a faithful]
band.
XXXII
Thereof full blyth the Lady streight became.
And gan t' augment her bitternesse much
more;
Yet no whit more appalled for the same,
Ne ought dismayed was Sir Calidore,
But rather did more chearefull seeme there-
fore:
And having soone his armea about him dight,
Did issue forth to meete his foe afore;
Where long he stayed not. when as a Knight
He spide come pricking on with all his powre
and might.
XXXIII
Well weend he streight that he should be the
same
Which tooke in hand her quarrell to maintaine j
Ne stayd to aske if it were he by name,
But coucht his speare, and ran at him ainaine.
They bene ymett in middest of the plaine
With so fell fury and dispiteous forse,
That neither could the others stroke susteine,
But rudely rowld to ground, both man and
horse, .
Neither of other taking pitty nor remorse.
XXXIV
But Calidore uprose againe full light,
Whiles yet his foe lay fast in sencelesse swound ;
Vet would he not him hurt although he might ;
For shame he weend a sleeping wight to wound.
But when Briaua saw that drery stound,
There where she stood uppon the Castle wall,
She deem'd him sure to have bene dead on
ground ;
And made such piteous mourning therewithall,
That from the battlements she ready seem d
tofalL
XXXV
Nathlesse at length him selfe he did upreare
In lustlesse wise; as if against his will,
Ere he had slept his fill, he wakened were,
And gan to stretch his limbs ; which feeling ill
Of his late fall, awhile he rested still :
But, when he saw his foe before in vew,
He shooke off luskishnesse ; and courage chill
Kindling afresh, gan battell to renew, [ensew.
To prove if better foote then horsebacke would
XXXVI
There then began a fearefull cruell fray
Betwixt them two for maystery of might ;
For both were wondrous practicke in that play.
And passing well expert in single fight,
And both inflam'd with furious despight;
Which as it still encreast, so still increast
Their cruell strokes and terrible affright ;
CANTO I.1]
THE FAERTE QUEENS.
Ne once for ruth their rigour they releast,
Ne once to breath awhile their angers tempest
ceast.
XXXVII
Thus long they trac'd and traverst to and fro,
And tryde all waies how each mote entrance
make
Into the life of his malignant foe : [brake,
They hew'd their helmes, and plates asunder
As they had potshares bene ; for nought mote
slake
Their greedy vengeaunces but goary bloixi,
That at the last like to a purple lake
Of bloudy gore congeal'd about them stood,
Wliich from their riven sides forth gushed like
a flood.
XXXVIII
. At length it chaunst that both their hands on
hie [might,
At once did heave with all their powre and
Thinking the utmost of their force to trie,
And prove the finall fortune of the fight ;
But Calidore, that was more quicke of sight
And nimbler handed then his enemie,
Prevented him before his stroke could light,
And on the helmet smote him formerlie,
That made him stoupe to ground with ineeke
humilitie :
XXXIX
And, ere he could recover foote agnine,
He, following that faire advantage fast,
His stroke redoubled with such might and
maine,
That him upon the ground he groveling cast ;
And leaping to him light would have unlast
His Helme, to make unto his vengeance way:
Who, seeing in what daunger he was plast,
Cryde out; ' Ah mercie, Sir! doe me not slay,
But save my life, which lot before your foot
doth lay.'
XL
With that his mortall hand a while he stayd ;
And, having somewhat calm'd his wrathful!
heat
With goodly patience, thus he to him sayd :
* And is the" boast of that proud Ladies threat,
That menaced me from the field to beat,
Now brought to this? By this now may ye
learne
Strangers no more so rudely to entreat,
But put away proud looke and usage sterne,
The which shal nought to you but foule dis-
honor yearne.
XLI
1 For nothing is more blamefull to a knight,
ITiat court'sie doth as well as armes professe,
However strong and fortunate in fight,
Then the reproch of pride and cruelnesse.
In vaine he seeketh others to suppresse,
Who hath not learnd him selfe first to subdew:
All flesh is frayle and full of ficklenesse,
Subject to fortunes chance, still chaungingnew:
What haps to day to me to morrow may to
you.
XLII
' Who will not mercie unto others shew,
How can he mercy ever hope to have ?
To pay each with his owne is right and dew ;
Yet since ye mercie now doe need to crave,
I will it graunt, your hopelesse life to save,
With these conditions which I will propound :
First, that ye better shall your selfe behave
Unto all errant knights, whereso on ground ;
Next, that ye Ladies ayde in every stead and
stound.'
XLIII
The wretched man, that all this while did
dwell
In dread of death, his beasts did gladly heare,
And promist to performe his precept well,
And whatsoever else he would requcre.
So, suffring him to rise, he made him sweare
By his owne sword, and by the crosse thereon,
To take Briana for his loving fere
Withouten dowre or composition ;
But to release his former foule condition.
All which accepting, and with faithfull oth
Bynding himselfe most nrmely to obay,
He up arose, however liefe or loth,
And swore to him true fealtie for aye.
Then forth he cald from sorrowfull dismay
The sad Briana which all this beheld ;
Who comming forth yet full of late affray
Sir Calidore upcheard, and to her teld
All this accord to which he Crudor had com-
peld.
XLV
Whereof she now more glad then sory caret,
All overcome with infinite affect
For his exceeding courtesie, that pearst
Her stubborne hart with inward deepe effect,
Before his feet her selfe she did project.;
And him adoring as her lives deare Lord,
With all due thankes and dutifull respect,
Her selfe acknowledged bound for that accord,
By which he had to ner both life and love re-
stord.
XLVI
So all returning to the Castle glad,
Most joyfully she them did entertaine ;
366
THE FAERIE QUEENE,
[BOOK vi.
Where goodly glee and feast to them she made,
Toshow her thankefull mind andmeaningfaine,
By all the meanes she mote it best explaine :
And, after all, unto Sir Calidore
She freely gave that Castle for his paine,
And her selfe bound to him for evermore ;
So wondrously now chaung'd from that she was
afore.
XLVII
But Calidore himselfe would not retaine
Nor land nor fee for hyre of his good deede,
But gave them streight unto that Squire
againe,
Whom from her Seneschall he lately freed,
And to his damzell, as their rightfull meed
For recompence of all their former wrong.
There he remaind with them right well
agreed,
j Till of his wounds he wexed hole and strong ;
[And then to his first quest he passed forth
along.
CANTO II.
Calidore sees young Tristram slay
A proud discourteous knight :
He makes him Squire, and of him learnes
His state and present plight.
WHAT vertue is so fitting for a knight,
Or for a Ladie whom a knight should love,
As Curtesie ; to beare themselves aright
To all of each degree as doth behove i
For whether they be placed high above
And them beside a Ladie faire he saw
Standing alone on foot in foule array ;
To whom himselfe he hastily did draw
To weet the cause of so uncomely fray,
And to depart them, if so be he may :
Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know j But, ere he came in place, that youth had kild
Their good ; that none them rightly may re- That armed knight, that low on ground he lay :
prove j Which when he saw, his hart was inly child
Of rudenesse for not yeelding what they owe: With great amazement, and his thought with
Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow.
Thereto great helpe dame Nature selfe dot!
lend;
For some so goodly gratious are by kind,
wonder fild.
Him stedfastly he markt, and saw to bee
A goodly youth of amiable grace,
Yet but a slender slip, that scarse did see
Yet seventeeneyeares, but tall and faire of face,
That every action doth them much commend, That sure he deem'd him borne of noble race :
And in the eyes of men great liking find, ; All in a woodmans jacket he was clad
Which others that have greater skill in mind, | Of Lincolne greene, belayd with silver lace ;
Though they enforce themselves, cannot at- And on his head an hood with aglets sprad,
taine ; I And by his side his hunters home he hanging
For everie thing to which one is inclin'd
Doth best become and greatest grace doth
gaine :
Yet praise likewise deserve good thewes enforst
with paine.
in
That well in courteous Calidore appeares:
had.
VI
Buskins he wore of costliest cordwayne,
Pinckt upon gold, and paled part per 'part,
As then the guize was for each gentle swayne:
In his right hand he held a trembling dart,
Whose fellow he before had sent apart ;
Whose every deed and word, that he did say, j And in his left he held a sharpe bore-speare,
Was like enchantment, that through both the! With which he wont to launch the salvage
And both the eyes did steale the hart away.
He now againe is on his former way
To follow his first quest, when as he spyde
A tall young man, from thence not farre awa)*,
Fighting on foot, as well he him descryde,
Against an armed knight that did on* horse-
backe ryde.
hart
Of many a Lyon and of many a Beare,
That first unto his hand in chase did happen
neaie.
VII
Whom Calidore awhile well having vewed
At length bespake ; ' What meanes this, gentle
Swaine.
CANTO II. "J
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Why bath thy hand too bold it selfe embrewed
In blood of knight, the which by thec is slaine,
By thee no knight ; which armes impugneth
plaine ? '
' Certes, ' (said he) ' loth were I to have broken
The law of armes : yet breake it should againe,
Rather then let myselfe of wight be stroken,
So long as these two armes were able to be
wroken.
VIII
' For not I him, as this his Ladie here
Mny witnesse well, did offer first to wrong,
Ne surely thus unarm'd I likely were ; [strong
But he me first through pride and puissance
Assayld, not knowing what to armes doth long.'
' Perdie great blame ' (then said Sir Calidore)
1 For armed knight a wight unarm'd to wrong :
But then aread, thou gentle chyld, wherefore
Betwixt you two began this strife and sterne
uprore.'
IX
' That shall I, sooth, ' (said he) ' to you de-
clare.
I, whose unryper yeares are yet unfit
For thing of weight or worke of greater care,
Doe spend my dayes and bend my carelesse wit
To salvage chace, where I thereon may hit
In all this forrest and wyld wooddie raine :
Where, as this day I was enraunging it, [slaine.
I chaunst to meete this knight, who there lyes
Together with this Ladie, passing on the plaine.
That he streightway with haughtie choler
burned,
f twaine ;
And with his speare strooke me one stroke or
Which I, enforst to beare though to my
paine,
. Cast to requite ; and with a slender dart,
Fellow of this I beare, throwne not in vaine,
Strooke him, as seemeth, underneath the hart,
That through the wound his spirit shortly
did depart.'
XIII
Much did Sir Calidore admyre his speach
Tempred so well, but more admyr'd the stroke
That through the mayles had made so strong
a breach
Into his hart, and had so sternely wroke
His wrath on him that first occasion broke ;
Yet rested not, but further gan inquire
Of that same Ladie, whether what he spoke
Were soothly so, and that th' unrighteous ire
Of her owne knight had given him his owne
due hire ?
XIV
Of all which when as she could nought deny,
But cleard that stripling of th' imputed
blame,
Sayd then Sir Calidore; 'Neither will I
Him charge with guilt, but rather doe quite
clame :
For what he spake, for you he spake it, Dame ;
And what he did, he did him selfe to save :
4 The knight, as ye did see, on horsebacke was,
And this his Ladle (that him ill became)
On her faire feet by his horse side did pas
Through thicke and thin, unfit for any Dame
Yet not content, more to increase his shame,
When so she lagged, as she needs mote so,
He with his speare, that was tohim great blame,
Would thumpe her forward and inforce to goe,
Weeping to him in vaine and making piteous
woe.
XI
' Which when I saw, as they me passed by.
Much was I moved in indignant mind,
And gan to blame him for such cruelty
Towards a Ladie, whom with usage kind
He rather should have taken up behind ;
Wherewith he wroth, and full of proud disdaine,
Tooke in foule scorne that I such fault did find,
And me in lieu thereof revil'd againe, [pertaine.
Threatning to chastize me, as doth t'a chyld
' Which I nolesse disdayning, backe returned
His scornefull taunts unto his teeth againe,
Against both which that
knightlesse shame ;
knight wrought
For knights and all men this by nature have,
Towards all womenkind them kindly to be-
have.
xv
' But, sith that he is gone irrevocable,
Please it you, Ladie, to us to aread
What cause could make him so dishonourable
To drive you so on foot, unfit to tread
And lackey by him. gainst all womanhead.'
' Certes, Sir knight,' (sayd she) 'full loth I
were
To rayse a lyving blame against the dead ;
But since it me concernes my selfe to clere,
1 will the truth discover as "it chaunst whyl-
ere.
XVI
' This day, as he and I together roade
Upon our way to which we weren bent,
We chaunst to come foreby a covert glade
Within a wood, whereas a Ladie gent
Sate with a knight in joyous jolliment
Of their franke loves, free from all gealous
spyes.
Faire was the Ladie, sure, that mote content
368
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
An hart not carried with too curious eyes,
And unto him did shew all lovely courtesyes.
' Whom when my knight did see so lovely
faire,
He inly gan her lover to envy,
And wish that he part of his spoyle might
share:
Whereto when as my presence he did spy
To be a let, he bad me by and by
For to alight : but when as I was loth
My loves owne part to leave so suddenly,
He with strong hand downe from his steed me
throw'th
And with presumpteous powre against that
knight streight go'th.
XVIII
' Unarm'd all was the knight, as then more
meete
For Ladies service, and for loves delight,
Then fearing any foeman there to meete :
Whereof he taking oddes, streight bids him
dight
Himselfe to yeeld his Love, or else to fight :
Whereat the other starting up dismayd,
Yet boldly answer'd, as he rightly might,
To leave his love he should be ill apayd,
In which he had good right gaynst all that it
gainesayd.
XIX
' Yet since he was not presently in plight
Her to defend, or his to Justine,
He him requested, as he was a knight,
To lend him day his better right to trie,
Or stay till he his armes, which were thereby,
Might lightly fetch : But he was fierce and
whot,
Ne time would give, nor any termes aby,
But at him flew, and with his speare him'smot ;
From which to thinke to save himselfe it
booted not.
xx
' Meane while his Ladie, -which this outrage
saw,
Whilest they together for the quarrey strove,
Into the covert did her selfe withdraw,
And closely hid her selfe within the grove.
My knight hers soone, as seemes, to daunger
drove,
And left sore wounded : but, when her he mist,
He woxe halfe mad ; and in that rage gan
rove [wist
And range through all the -wood, where so he
She hidden was, and sought her so long as him
list.
,
' But, when as her he by no meanes could
find,
After long search and chauff he turned backe
Unto the place where me he left behind :
There gan he me to curse and ban, for lacke
Of that faire bootie, and with bitter wracke
To wreake on me the guilt of his owne wrong:
Of all which I yet glad to beare the packe
Strove to appease him, and perswaded long ;
But still his passion grew more violent and
strong.
XXII
' Then, as it were t' avenge his wrath on m
When forward we should fare he flat refused
To take me up (as this young man did see)
Upon his steed, for no just cause accused,
But forst to trot on foot, and foule misused,
Pounching me with the butt end of his speare,
In vaine complayning to be so abused ;
For he regarded neither playnt nor teare,
But more enforst my paine, the more my plaints
to heare.
XXIII
So passed we till this young man us met;
And being moov'd with pittie of my plight
Spake, as was meet, for ease of my regret :
Whereof befell what now is in your sight.'
' Now sure,' (then said Sir fcalidure) ' and
right,
Me seemes, that him befell by his owne fault :
Who ever thinkes through confidence of
might, [hault,
Or through support of count'nance proud and
To wrong the weaker, oft falles in his owne
assault.'
XXIV
Then turning backe unto that gentle boy,
Which had himselfe so stoutly well acquit,
Seeing his face so lovely sterne and coy,
And hearing th' answeres of his pregnant wit,
He praysd it much, and much admyred it;
That sure he weend him borne of noble blood,
With whom those graces did so goodly fit :
And when he long had him beholding stood,
He burst into these wordes, as to him seemed
good:
XXV
' Faire gentle swayne, and yet as stout as fayre,
That in these woods amongst the Nymphs
dost wonne,
Which daily may to thy sweete lookes repayre,
As they are wont unto Latonaes sonne
After his chace on woodie Cynthus donne ;
Well may I, certes, such an one thee read,
As by thy worth thou worthily hast wonne,
CANTO II.]
THE FAEKfE QUEENE.
369
Or surely borne of some Heroicke sead,
That in thy face appearea and gratious goodly-
head.
• xxvi
But, should it not displease thee it to tell,
(Unlesse thou in these woods thy selfe con-
ceale
For love amongst the woodie Gods to dwell)
I would thy selfe require thee to reveale,
For deare affection and unfayned zeale
Which to thy noble personage I beare,
And wish thee grow in worship and great
weale;
For, since the day that armes I first did reare,
I never saw in any greater hope appeare.'
To whom then thus the noble Youth : ' May
be,
Sir knight, that, by discovering my estate,
Harme may arise unweeting unto me;
Nathelesse, sith ye so courteous seemed late,
To you I will not feare it to relate.
Then wote ye that I am a Briton borne,
Sonne of a King, (how ever thorough fate
Or fortune I my countrie have forlorne,
And lost the crowne which should my head
by right adorne,)
' And Tristram is my name, the onely heire
Of good king Meliogras which did rayne
In Cornewale, till that he through lives des-
peire
Untimely dyde, before I did attaine
Ripe yeares of reason my right to maintaine :
After whose death his brother, seeing mee
An infant, weake a kingdome to sustaine,
Upon hiir tooke the roiall high degree.
And sent me, where him list, instructed for to
bee.
XXIX
' The widow Queene my mother, which then
hight
Faire Emiline, conceiving then great feare
Of my fraile safetie, resting in the might
Of him that did the kingly Scepter beare,
Whose gealous dread induring not a peare
Is wont to cut off all that doubt may breed,
Thought best away me to remove somewhere
Into some forrein land, where as no need
Of dreaded daunger might his doubtfull hu-
mor feed.
XXX
• So, taking counsel! of a wise man red,
She was by him adviz'd to send me quight
Out of the countrie wherein I was bred,
The which the fertile Lionesse is bight,
Into the land of Faerie, where no wight
Should weet of me, nor worke me any wrong:
To whose wise read she hearkning sent me
streight
Into this land, where I have wond thus long
Since I was ten yeares old, now growen to
stature strong.
'All which my daies I have not lewdly
spent,
Nor spilt the blossome of my tender yeares
In ydlesse ; but, as was convenient,
Have trayned bene with many noble feres
In gentle thewes and such like seemly leres :
Mongst which my most delight hath alwaies
been
To hunt the salvage chace, amongst my peres,
Of all that raungeth in the forrest greene,
Of which none is to me unknowne that ev'r
was scene.
XXXII
' Ne is there hauke which mantleth her on
pearch,
Whether high towring or accoasting low,
But I the measure of her flight doe search,
And all her pray and all her diet know.
Such be ourjoyes which in these forrests grow •
Onely the use of armes, which most I joy,
And fitteth most for noble swayne to know,
I have not tasted yet ; yet past a boy, [to imploy.
And being now high time these strong joynts
' Therefore, good Sir, sith now occasion fit
Doth fall, whose like hereafter seldome may,
Let me this crave, unworthy though of it,
That ye will make me Squire without delay,
That from henceforth in batteilous array
I may beare armes, and learne to use them right ;
The rather, since that fortune hath this day
Given to me the spoile of this dead knight,
These goodlv gilden armes which I have won
in tight.'
XXXIV
All which when well Sir Calidore had heard,
Him much more now then earst he gan admire
For the rare hope which in his yeares appear'd,
And thus replide : ' Faire chyld, the high de-
sire
To love of armes, which in you doth aspire,
I may not, certes, without blame denie,
But rather wish that some more noble hire
(Though none more noble then is chevalrie)
I had, you to reward with greater dignitie.'
370
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
XXXV
There him he causd to kneele, and made to
sweare
Faith to his knight, and truth to Ladies all,
And never to be recreant for feare
Of perill, or of ought that might befall :
So he him dubbed, and his Squire did call.
Full glad andjoyous then young Tristram grew ;
Like as a flowre, whose silken leaves small
Long shut up in the bud from heavens vew,
At length breakes forth, and brode displayes
his smyling hew.
Thus when they long had treated to and fro,
And Calidore betooke him to depart, £goe
Chyld Tristram prayd that he with him might
On" his adventure, vowing not to start,
But wayt on him in everyplace and part:
Whereat Sir Calidore did much delight,
And greatly joy'd at his so noble hart,
In hope he sure would prove a dough tie knight :
Yet for the time this answere he to him behight.
XXXVII
1 Glad would I surely be, thou courteous Squire,
To have thy presence in my present quest,
That mote thy kindled courage set on fire,
And flame forth honour in thy noble brest ;
But I am bound by vow, which I profest
To my dread Soveraine, when I it assayd,
That "in achievement of her high behest
I should no creature joyne unto mine ayde :
For-thy I may not graunt that ye so greatly
prayde.
xxxvin
' But since this Ladie is all desolate,
And needeth safegard now upon her way,
Ye may doe well, in this her needfull state,
To succour her from daunger of dismay,
That thankfull guerdon may to you repay.'
The noble vmpe, of such new service fayne,
It gladly did accept, as he did say :
S« taking courteous leave they parted twayne,
And Calidore forth passed to his former payne.
XXXIX
ButTristram, then despoyling that dead knight
Of all those goodly implements of prayse,
Long fed his greedie eyes with the faire sight
Of the bright mettallshyninglikeSunne raves,
Handling and turning them a thousand wayes :
And, after having them upon him dight,
He tooke that Ladie, and her up did rayse
Upon the steed of her owne late dead knight ;
So with her marched forth, as she did him
behight.
There to their fortune leave we them awhile,
And turne we backe to good Sir Calidore ;
Who, ere he thence had traveild many a mile,
Came to the place whereas ye heard afore [sore
This knight, whom Tristram slew, had wounded
Another knight in his despiteous pryde :
There he that knight found lying on the flore
With many wounds full perilous and wyde,
That all his garments and the grasse in vermeill
dyde.
XLI
And there beside him sate upon the ground
His wofull Ladie, piteously complayning
With loud laments that most unluckie stound,
And her sad selfe with carefull hand constrayn-
ing,
To wype his wounds, and ease their bitter
payning.
Which sorie sight when Calidore did vew
With heavie eyne, from teares uneath refrayn-
ing,
His mightie hart their mournefull case can rew,
And for their better comfort to them nigher
drew.
XLII
Then speaking to the Ladie thus he said :
'Ye dolefull Dame, let not yourgriefeempeach
To tell what cruell hand hath thus arayd
This knight unarm 'd with so unknightly breach
Of annes, that, if I yet him nigh may reach,
I may avenge him of so foule despight.'
The Ladie, hearing his so courteous speach,
Gan reare her eyes as to the chearefull light,
And from her sory hart few heavie words forth
sight :
XLIII
In which she shew'd, how that discourteous
knight,
(Whom Tristram slew) them in that shadow
found
Joying together in unblam'd delight ;
And him unarm'd, as now he lay on ground,
Charg'd with his speare, and mortally did
wound,
Withouten cause, but onely her to reave
From him to whom she was for ever bound :
Yet when she fled into that covert greave,
He, her not finding, both them thus nigh dead
did leave.
XLIV
When Calidore this ruefull storie had
Well understood, he gan of her demand,
What manner wight he was, and how yclad,
Which had this outrage wrought with wicked
hand.
CANTO II.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
371
She then, like as she best could understand,
Him thus describ'd ; to be of stature large,
Clad all in gilden armes, with azure band
Quartred athwart, and bearing in his targe
A Ladie on rough waves row'd in a sommer
barge.
XLV
Then gan Sir Calidore to ghesse streight-
way,
By many signes which she described had,
That this was he whom Tristram earst did
slay,
And to her said : ' Dame, be no longer sad ;
For he. that hath your Knight so ill bestad,
Is now him selfe in much more wretched plight :
These eyes him saw upon the cold earth sprad,
The meede of his desert for that despight,
Which to your selfe he wrought and to your
loved knight.
XLVI
' Therefore, faire Lady, lay aside this griefe,
Which ye have gathered to your gentle hart
For that displeasure, and thinke what reliefe
Were best devise for this your lovers smart ;
And how ye may him hence, and to what part,
Convay to be recur'd.' She thankt him deare
Both for that newes he did to her impart,
And for the courteous care which he did beare
Both to her love and to her selfe in that sad
dreare.
XLVII
Yet could she not devise by any wit, [place ;
How thence she might convay'him to some
For him to trouble she it thought unfit,
That was a straunger to her wretched case ;
And him to beare she thought it thing too base.
Which when as he perceiv'd he thus bespake :
4 Faire Lady, let it not you seeme disgrace
To beare this burden on your dainty backe;
My selfe will beare a part, coportion of your
packe.'
XLVIII
So off he did his shield, and downeward layd
Upon the ground, like to an hollow beare ;
And powring balme, which he had long pur-
vayd,
Into his wounds, him up thereon did reare,
And twixt them both with parted paines did
beare, [donne.
Twixt life and death, not knowing what was
Thence they him carried to a Castle neare,
In which a worthy auncient Knight did wonne:
Where what ensu'd shall in next Canto be be-
gonne.
CANTO III.
Calidore brings Priscilla home ;
Pursues the Blatant Beast :
Saves Serena, whilest Calepine
By Turpine is opprest.
TRUE is, that whilome that good Poet sayd,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne :
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd
As by his manners; in which plaine is
showne
Of what degree and what race he is growne :
For seldome seene a trotting Station get
An ambling Colt, that is his proper owne :
So seldome seene that one in basenesse set
Doth noble courage shew with curteous man-
ners met.
ii
But evermore contrary hath bene tryde,
That gentle bloud will gentle manners breed ;
As well may be in Calidore descryde,
By late ensample of that courteous deed
Done to that wounded Knight in his great
need, [brought
Whom on his backe he bore, till he him
Unto the Castle where they had decreed :
There of the Knight, the which that Castle
ought, [besought.
To make abode that night he greatly was
He was to weete a man of full ripe yeares,
That in his youth had beene of mickle might,
And borne great sway in armes amongst his
peares ;
But now weake age had dimd his candle-light:
Yet was he courteous still to every wight,
And loved all that did to armes incline ;
And was the Father of that wounded Knight,
Whom Calidore thus carried on his chine ;
And Aldus was his name; and his sonnes,
Aladine.
IV
Who when he saw his sonne so ill bedight
With bleeding wounds, brought home upon a
beare
By a faire Lady and a straunger Knight,
BB2
372
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
Was inly touched with compassion deare,
And deare affection of so dolefull dreare,
That he these words burst forth : ' All, sory
boy!
Is this the hope that to my hoary heare
Thou brings? aie me! is this the timely joy,
Which I expected long, now turnd to sad
annoy ?
v
'• Such is the weakenesse of all mortall hope,
So tickle is the state of earthly things,
That, ere they come unto their aj'med scope,
They fall too short of our fraile reckonings,
And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,
Instead of comfort which we should embrace:
This is the state of Keasars and of Kings!
Let none therefore, that is in meaner place,
Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case.'
VI
So well and wisely did that good old Knight
Temper his griefe, and turned it to cheare,
To cheare his guests whom he had stayd
that night,
And make their welcome to them well appeare.
That to Sir Calidore was easie geare;
But that faire Lady would be cheard for
nought,
But sigh'd and sorrow'd for her lover deare,
And inly did afflict her pensive thought
With thinking to what case her name shoulc
now be brought :
For she was daughter to a noble Lord
Which dwelt thereby, who sought her to
afry
To a great pere ; but she did disaccord,
Ne could her liking to his love apply,
But lov'd this fresh young Knight who dwelt
her ny,
The lusty Aladine, though meaner borne
And of lesse livelood and h ability,
Yet full of valour the which did adorne
His meanesse much, and make her th' others
riches scorne.
VIII
So, having both found fit occasion,
They met together in that lucklesse glade ;
Where that proud Knight in his presumption
The gentle Aladine did earst invade,
Being unarm'd and set in secret shade.
Whereof she now bethinking, gan t' advize
How great a hazard she at earst had made
Of her good fame ; and further gan devize
How she the blame might salve with coloured
disguize.
But Calidore with all good courtesie
Fain'd her to frolicke, and to put away
The pensive lit of her melancholic ;
And that old Knight by all meanes did assay
To make them both as merry as he may.
So they the evening past till time of rest ;
When 'Calidore in seemly good array
Unto his bowre was brought, and there undrest
Did sleepe all night through weary travell of
his quest.
x
But faire Priscilla (so that Lady hight)
Would to no bed, nor take no kindely sleepe,
But by her wounded love did watch all night,
And all the night for bitter anguish weepe,
And with her teares his wounds did wash and
steepe : [wacht him,
So well she washt them, and so well she
That of the deadly swound, in which full deep*
He drenched was, she at the length dispacht
him, ^attacht him.
And drove away the stound which mortally
The morrow next, when day gan to uplooke,
He also gan uplooke with drery eye,
Like one that out of deadly dreame awooke:
Where when he saw his faire Priscilla by,
He deepely sigh'd. and groaned inwardly,
To thinke of this ill state in which she stood ,
To which she for his sake had weetingly
Now brought her selfe, and blam'd her noble
blood:
For first, next after life, he tendered her good.
Which she perceiving did with plenteous
teares
His care more then her owne compassionate,
Forgetfull of her owne to minde his feares :
So both conspiring gan to intimate
Each others griefe with zeale affectionate,
And twixt them twaine with equall care to
cast
How to save hole her hazarded estate ;
For which the onely helpe now left them last
Seem'd to be Calidore : all other helpes were
past.
XIII
Him they did deeme, as sure to them he
seemed,
A courteous Knight and full of faithfull trust;
Therefore to him their cause they best es-
teemed
Whole to commit, and to his dealing just.
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
373
Barely, so soone as Titans beames forth brust
Through the thicke clouds in which they
steeped lay
All night in darkenesse, duld with yron rust,
Calidore rising up as fresh as day
Gan freshly him addresse unto his former way.
But first him seemed fit that wounded
Knight
To visite, after this nights perillous passe,
And to salute him, if he were in plight,
And eke that Lady, his faire lovely lasse.
There he him found much better then he was ;
And moved speach to him of things of course,
The anguish of his paine to overpasse :
Mongst which he namely did to him discourse
Of former daies mishap, his sorrowes wicked
sourse.
Of which occasion Aldine taking hold
Gan breake to him the fortunes of his love,
And all his disadventures to unfold,
That Calidore it dearly deepe did move :
In th' end, his kynclly courtesie to prove,
He him by all the bands of love besought,
And as it mote a faithfull friend behove,
To safe-conduct his love, and not for ought
To leave, till to her fathers house he had her
brought.
Sir Calidore his faith thereto did plight
It to performe : so after little stay,
That she her selfe had to the journey dight,
He passed forth with her in faire array,
Fearlesse who ought did thinke or ought did
say, ffromwite:
Sith his own thought he knew most cleare
So. as they past together on their way,
He can devize this counter-cast of slight,
To give faire colour to that Ladies cause in
sight.
Streight to the carkasse of that Knight he
went.
The cause of all this evill, who was slaine
The day before by just avengement
Of noble Tristram, where it did remaine :
There he the necke thereof did cut in twaine
And tooke with him the head, the signe
shame.
So forth he passed thorough that daies paine,
Till to that Ladies fathers house he came ;
Most pensive man, through feare what of his
childe becanie,
There he arriving boldly did present
The fearefull Lady to her father deare,
Most perfect pure, and guiltlesse innocent
Of blame, as he did on his Knighthood sweare,
Since first he saw her, and did free from feare
Of a discourteous Knight, who her had reft
And by outragious force away did beare :
Witnesse thereof he shew'd his head there left,
And wretched life forlorne for vengement of
his theft.
XIX
Most joyfull man her sire was her to see,
And heare th' adventure of her late mis-
chaunce ;
And thousand thankes to Calidore for fee
Of his large paines in her deKveraunce
Did yeeld : Ne lesse the Lady did advaunee.
Thus having her restored trustily,
As he had vow'd, some small continuance
He there did make, and then most carefully
Unto his first exploite he did him selfe apply.
So, as he was pursuing of his quest,
He chaunst to come whereas a jolly Knight
In covert shade him selfe did safely rest,
To solace with his Lady in delight":
His warlike armes he had from him undight,
For that him selfe he thought from daunger
free, [spight ;
And far from envious eyes that mote him
And eke the Lady was full faire to see,
And courteous withall, becomming her degree.
To whom Sir Calidore approaching nye,
Ere they were well aware of living wight,
Them much abasht, but more him selfe
thereby,
That he so rudely did uppon them light,
And troubled had their quiet loves delight :
Yefc since it was his fortune, not his fault,
Him selfe thereof he labpur'd to acquite,
And pardon crav'd for his so rash default,
That he gainst courtesie so fowly did default,
With which his gentle words and goodly wit
He soone allayd that Knights conceiv'cl dis-
pleasure,
cf That he besought him downe by him to sit,
That they mote treat of things abrode at
leasure,
And of adventures, which had in his measure
Of so long waies to him befallen late.
Sp downe he gate, and. with deUghtfuli pleasure
374
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
His long adventures gan to him relate,
Which he endured had through daungerou
debate :
XXIII
Of which whilest they discoursed both to
gether,
The faire Serena (fo his Lady hight)
Allur'd with myldnesse of the gentle wether
And pleasaunce of the place, the which wa
dight
With divers flowres distinct with rare deligh
Waiulred about the fields, as liking led
Her wavering lust after her wandring sight,
To make a garland to adorne her lied,
Without suspect of ill or daungers hidden dree
XXIV
All sodainely out of the forrest nere
The Blatant Beast forth rushing unaware
Caught her, thus loosely wandring here a
there,
And in his wide great mouth away her bare
Crying aloud to shew her sad misfare
Unto the Knights, and calling oft for ayde ;
Who with the horrour of her haplesse care
Hastily starting up, like men dismayde,
Kan after fast to reskue the distressed mayde
The Beast, with their pursuit incited more,
Into the wood was bearing her apace
For to have spoyled her, when Calidore,
Who was more light of foote and swift in chace
Him overtooke in middest of his race ;
And, fiercely charging him with all his might,
Forst to forgoe his pray there in the place,
And to betake him selfe to fearefull flight ;
For he durst not abide with Calidore to fight.
Who nathelesse, when he the Lady saw
There left on ground, though in full evill plight,
Yet knowing that her Knight now neare did
draw,
Staide not to succour her in that affright,
But follow'd fast the Monster in his flight :
Through woods and hils he follow'd him so fast,
That he nould let him breath, nor gather
spright,
But forst him gape and gaspe,with dread aghast,
As if his lungs and lites were nigh asunder
brast.
XXVII
And now by this Sir Calepine (so hight)
Came to the place where he his Lady found
In dolorous dismay and deadly plight,
All in gore bloud there tumbled on the ground,
Having both sides through grypt with griesly
wound.
His weapons soone from him he threw away,
And stouping downe to her in drery swound
Uprear'd her from the ground whereon she lay,
And in his tender armes her forced up to stay.
XXVIII
So well he did his busie paines apply,
That the faint sprite he did revoke againe
To her fraile mansion of mortality :
Then up he tooke her twixt his armes twaine,
And setting on his steede her did sustaine
With carefull hands, soft footing her beside ;
Till to some place of rest they mote attaine,
Where she in safe assuraunce mote abide,
Till she recuredwere of those her woundes wide.
XXIX
Now when as Phoebus with his fiery waine
Unto his Inne began to draw apace ;
Tho wexing weary of that toylesome paine,
[n travelling on foote so long a space,
Not wont on foote with heavy armes to trace,
Downe in a dale forby a rivers syde
He chaunst to spie a faire and stately place.
To which he meant his weary steps to guyde,
In hope there for his love some succour to
provyde.
XXX
But, comming to the rivers side, he found
That hardly passable on foote it was ;
Therefore there still he stood as in a stound,
wist which way he through the foord mote
pas :
Thus whilest he was in this distressed case,
)evising what to doe, he nigh espyde
An armed Knight approaching to the place
Vitk a faire Lady lincked by his syde,
The which themselves prepard thorough the
foord to ride.
XXXI
Whom Calepine saluting (as became)
Jesought of courtesie, in that his neede,
"or safe conducting of his sickely Dame
'hrough that same perillous foord with better
heede,
'o take him up behinde upon his steed;
'o whom that other did this taunt returne :
Perdy, thou peasant Knight mightst rightly
le then to be full base and evill borne, [reed
f I would beare behinde a burden of such scorne.
XXXII
'But, as thou hast thy steed forlorne with
shame,
o fare on foote till them another gayne,
CANTO III.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
375
And let thy Lady likewise dee the same,
Or beare heron thy backe with pleasing; payne,
And prove thy mauhoodon the billowes vayne.'
With which rude speach his Lady much dis-
pleased
Did him reprove, yet could him riot restrayne,
And would on her owne Palfrey him have eased,
For pitty of his Dame whom she saw so diseased.
Sir Calepine her thanckt ; yet, inly wroth
Against her Knight, her gentlenesse refused,
And carelesly into the river goth,
As in despignt to be so fowle abused
Of a rude churle, whom often he accused
Of fowle discourtesie, unfit for Knight,
And,strongly wading through the waves unused.
With speare in th' one hand stayd him selfe
upright, [might.
With th' other staide his Lady up with steddy
XXXIV
And all the while that same discourteous
Knight
Stood on the further bancke beholding him ;
At whose calamity, for more despight,
He laugh t, and mockt to see him like to swim :
But when as Calepine came to the brim,
And saw his carriage past that perill well,
Looking at that same Carle with count'nance
grim,
His heart with vengeaunce inwardly did swell,
And forth at last did breake in speaches sharpe
and fell:
XXXV
' Unknightly Knight, the blemish of that
name,
And blot of all that armes uppon them take,
Which is the badge of honour and of fame,
Loe ! I defie thee ; and here challenge make,
That thou for ever doe those armes forsake,
And be for ever held a recreant Knight,
Unlesse thou dare, for thy deare Ladies sake
And for thine owne defence, on foote alight
To justifie thy fault gainst me in equall fight.'
The dastard, that did heare him selfe defyde,
Seem'd not to weigh his threatfull words at all,
But iaught them out, as if his greater pryde
Did scorne the challenge of so base a thrall ;
Or had no courage, or else had no gall
So much the more was Calepine offended,
That him to no revenge he forth could call,
But both his challenge and him selfe contemned
JJe cared as a coward so to be condemned.
XXXVII
But he, nought weighing what he sayd or did,
Turned his steede about another way,
And with his Lady to the Castle rid,
Where was his won : ne did the other stay,
But after went directly as he may, [seeke ;
For his sicke charge some harbour there to
Where he arriving with the fall of day
Drew to the gate, and there with prayers meeke
And myld entreaty lodging did for her beseeke.
XXXVIII
But the rude Porter that no manners had
Did shut the gate against him in his face,
And entraunce boldly unto him forbad :
Nathelesse the Knight, now in so needy case,
Gan him entreat even with submission base,
And humbly praid to let them in that night ;
iVho to him aunswer'd, that there was no place
)f lodging fit for any errant Knight,
Unlesse that with his Lord he formerly did fight.
' Full loth am I,' (quoth he) ' as now at earst
When day is spent, and rest us needeth most,
And that this Lady, both whose sides are pearst
With wounds, is ready to forgo the ghost ;
Se would I gladly combate with mine host,
That should to me such curtesie afford,
Qnlesse that I were thereunto enforst :
But yet aread to me, how hight thy Lord,
That doth thus strongly ward the Castle of the
Ford?'
XL
His name,' (quoth he) ' if that thou list to
learne,
Is hight Sir Turpine, one of mickle might
And manhood rare, out terrible and stearne
In all assaies to every errant Knight,
Because of one that wrought him fowle
despight.'
' 111 seemes,' (sayd he) ' if he so valiaunt be,
That he should be so steme to stranger wight;
For seldome yet did living creature see
That curtesie and manhood ever disagree.
' But go thy waies to him, and fro me say,
That here is at his gate an errant Knight,
That hoi'.se-rome craves ; yet would be loth t'
assay
The proofe of battell now in doubtfull night,
Or curtesie with rudenesse to requite :
Yet, if he needes will fight, crave leave till
morne,
And tell with all the lamentable plight
376
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK vi.
In which this Lady languisheth forlorne,
That pitty craves, as he of woman was yborne.'
XLII
The groome went streight way in, and to his
Lord [move:
Declar'd the message which that Knight did
Who, sitting with his Lady then at bord,
Not onely did not his demaund approve,
But both himselfe revil'd and eke his love ;
Albe his Lady, that Blandina hight,
Him of ungentle usage did reprove,
And earnestly entreated, that they might
Finde favour to be lodged there for that same
night
XLIII
Yet would he not perswaded be for ought,
Ne from his curriah will a whit reclame.
Which answer when the groome retnrning
To Calepine, his heart did inly flame [brought
With wrathfull fury for so foule a shame,
That he could not thereof avenged bee ;
But most for pitty of his dearest Dame,
Whom now in deadly daunger he did see,
Yet had no meanes to comfort, nor procure her
glee.
XLIV
But all in vaine ; for-why no remedy
He saw the present mischiefe to redresse,
But th' utmost end perforce for to aby,
Which that nights fortune would for him
addresse.
So downe he tooke his Lady in distresse,
And layd her underneath a bush to sleepe,
Cover'd with cold, and wrapt in wretchednesse ;
Whiles he him selfe all night did nought but
weepe, [keepe.
And wary watch about her for her safegard
XLV
The morrow next, so soone as joyous day
Did shew it selfe in sunny beames bedight,
Serena full of dolorous dismay, [ light,
Twixt darkenesse dread and hope of living
Uprear'd her head to see that chearefull sight
Then Calepine, however inly wroth,
And greedy to avenge that vile despight,
Yet for the feeble Ladies sake, full loth
To make there lenger stay, forth on his journey
goth.
XI/VI
He goth on foot'e all armed by her side,
Upstaying still her selfe uppon her steede,
Being'unhable else alone to ride,
So sore her sides , so much her wounds did bleede ;
Till that at length, in his extrearoest neede,
He chaunst far off an armed Knight to spy
Pursuing him apace with greedy speede ;
Whom well he wist to be some enemy,
That meant to make advantage of his misery.
Wherefore he stayd, till that he nearer drew.
To weet what issue would thereof betyde :
Tho, whenas he approched nigh in vew,
By certaine signes he plainly him descryde
To be the man that with such scornefullpryde
Had him abusde and shamed yesterday ;
Therefore, misdoubting least he should rois-
guyde
His former malice to some new assay,
He cast to keepe him selfe so safely as he may.
XLVIII
By this the other came in place likewise,
And couching close his speare and allhispowre,
As bent to some malicious enterprise,
He bad him stand t' abide the bitter stoure
Of his sore vengeaunce, or to make avoure [done :
Of the lewd words and deedes which he had
With that ran at him, as he would devoure
His life attonce ; who nought could do but shun
The perill of his pride, or else be over-run.
XLIX
Yet he him still pursew'd from place to place,
With full intent him cruelly to kill,
And like a wilde goate round about did chace
Flying the fury of his bloudy will :
But his best succour and refuge was still
Behind his Ladies back ; who to him cryde,
And called oft with prayers loud and shrill,
As ever he to Lady was affyde,
To spare her Knight, and rest with reason
pacifyde :
L
But he the more thereby enraged was,
And with more eager felnesse him pursew'd ;
So that at length, after long weary chace,
Having by chaunce a close advantage vew'd,
He over raught him, having long eschew'd
His violence in vaine ; and with his spere
Strooke through his shoulder, that the blood en-
In great aboundance, as a well it were [ sew'd
That forth out of an hill fresh gushing did
appere.
LI
Yet ceast he not for all that cruell wound,
But chaste him still for all his Ladies cry;
Not satisfyde till on the fatall ground
He saw his life powrd forth despiteously ;
The which was certes in great jeopardy,
Had not a wondrous chaunce his reskue
And saved from his cruell villany. [wrought,
Such chaunces oft exceed all humaine thought!
That }n another C^ntp shall to end be brought,
CANTO IV.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
377
CANTO IV.
Calepine by a salvage man
From Turpine reskewed is ;
And, whylest an Infant from a Beare
He saves, Ijis love doth misse.
LIKE as a ship with dreadful! storme long tost,
Having spent all her inastes and her ground -
hold,
Now farre from harbour likely to be lost,
At last some tisher-barke doth neare behold,
That giveth comfort to her courage cold :
Such was the stateofthismostcourteous knight
Being oppressed by that faytour bold,
That he remayned" in most perilous plight,
And his sad Ladie left in pitifull affright :
Till that, by fortune passing all foresight,'
A salvage man, which in those woods did wonne,
Drawne with that Ladies loud and piteous
shright,
Toward the same incessantly did ronne
To understand what there was to be donne :
There he this most discourteous craven found,
As fiercely yet as when he first begonne,
Chasing the gentle Calepine around,
Ne sparing him the more for all his grievous
wound.
in
The salvage man, that never till this houre
Did taste of pittie, neither gentlesse knew,
Seeing his sharpe assault and cruell stoure,
Was much em moved at his perils vew, .
That even his ruder hart began to rew,
And feele compassion of his evill plight, .
Against his foe that did him so pursew ;
From whom he meant to free him, if he might,
And him avenge of that so villenous despight.
Yet armes or weapon had he none to fight,
Ne knew the use of warlike instruments,
Save such as sudden rage him lent to smite ;
But naked, without needfull vestiments
To clad his corpse with meete habiliments,
He cared not for dint of sword nor speere,
No more then for the stroke of strawes or
bents : [beare,
For from his mothers wombe, which him did
He was invulnerable made by JVJagicke leare.
He stayed not t' advize which way were best
His foe t' assayle, or how himselfe to gard,
But with fierce fury and with force infest
Upon him ran ; who being well prepard
His first assault full warily did ward,
And with the push of his sharp-pointed speare
Full on the breast him strooke, so strong and
hard
That forst him backe recoyle and reele areare,
Yet in his bodie made no wound nor bloud
appeare.
VI
With that the wyld man more enraged grew,
Like to a Tygre that bath mist his pray.
And with mad moode againe upon him flew,
Regarding neither speare that mote him slay,
Nor his fierce steed that mote him much dis-
may:
The salvage nation doth all dread despize,
Tho on his shield he griple hold did lay,
And held the same so hard, that by no wize
He could him force to loose, or leave his eu-
terprize.
VII
Long did he wrest and wring it to and fro,
And every way did try, but all in vaine ;
For he would not his greedie grype forgoe,
But hayld and puld with all his might and
maine,
That from his steed him nigh he drew againe:
Who having now no use of his long speare
So nigh at hand, nor force his shield to straine,
Both speare and shield, as things that need-
lesse were, [feare.
He quite forsooke, and fled himselfe away for
But after him the wyld man ran apace,
And him pursewed with importune speed,
(For he was swift as any Bucke in chace)
And, had he not in his extreamest need
Bene helped through the swiftnesse of his
He had him overtaken in his flight. [steedj
Who, ever 9S he gaw him nigh succeed,
37S
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK vi.
Gan cry aloud with horrible affright,
And shrieked out, a thin." uncomely for a
knight.
IX
But, when the Salvage saw his labour vaine
In following of him that fled so fast,
He wearie woxe, and backe return'd againe
With speede unto the place, whereas he last
Had left that couple nere their utmost cast :
There he that knight full sorely bleeding found,
And eke the Ladie fearefully aghast,
Both for the perill of the present stound,
And also for the sharpnesse of her rankling
wound :
x
For though she were right glad so rid to bee
From that vile lozell which her late offended ;
Yet now no lesse encombrance she did see,
And perill, by this salvage man pretended.
Gainst whom she saw no meanes to be de-
fended,
By reason that her knight was wounded sore :
Therefore her selfe she wholy recommended
To Gods sole grace, whom she did oft implore
To send her succour, being of all hope forlore.
But the wyld man, contrarie to her feare.
Came to her creeping like a fawning hound,
And by rude tokens made to her appeare
His deepe compassion of her dolefull stound,
Kissing his hands, and crouching to the
ground;
For other language had he none, nor speach,
But a soft murmure and confused sound
Of senselesse words, which nature did him
teach [em peach.
T expresse his passions, which his reason did
xn
/ And, comming likewise to the wounded
knight,
When he beheld the streames of purple blood
Yet flowing fresh, as moved with the sight,
He made great mone after his salvage mood ;
And, running streight into the thickest wood,
A certaine herbe from thence unto him
brought,
Whose vertue he by use well understood ;
The juyce whereof into his wound he wrought,
And stopt the bleeding straight, ere he it
staunched thought.
XIII
Then taking up that Recreants shield and
speare,
Which earat he left, fee signes unto them made
With him to wend unto his wonning neare ;
To which he easily did them perswade.
Farre in the forrest, by a hollow glade [brode
Covered with mossie shrubs, which spredding
Did underneath them make a gloomy shade,
Where foot of living creature never trode,
Ne scarse wyld beasts durst come, there wa§
this wights abode.
Thetherhebrought these unacquainted guests,
To whom faire semblance, as he could, he
shewed
By signes, by lookes, and all his other gests ;
But the bare ground with hoarie mosse
bestrewed
Must be their bed ; their pillow was unsowed :
And the frutes of the forrest was their feast ;
For their bad Stuard neither plough'd nor
sowed,
Ne fed on flesh, ne ever of wyld beast
Did taste the bloud, obaying natures first
beheast.
xv
Yet, howsoever base and meane it were,
They tooke it well, and thanked God for all,
Which had them freed from that deadly feare,
And sav'd from being to that caytive thrall.
Here they of force (as fortune now did fall)
Compelled were themselves awhile to rest,
Glad of that easement, though it were but
small;
That having there their wounds awhile redrest,
They mote the abler be to passe unto the rest.
XVI
During which time that wyld man did apply
His best endevour and his daily paine
In seeking all the woods both farre and nye
Forherbes to dress e their wounds ; stillseeming
faine
When ought he did, that did their lykinggaine.
So as ere long he had that knightes wound
Recured well, and made him whole againe ;
But that same Ladies hurt no herbe he found
Which could redresse, for it was inwardly
unsound.
XVII
Now when as Calepine was woxen strong,
Upon a day he cast abrode to wend,
To take the ayre and heare the thrushes song,
Unarm 'd, as fearing neither foe nor frend,
And without sword his person to defend :
There him befell, unlocked for before,
An hard adventure with unhappie end,
A cruell Beare, the which an infant bore [gore.
Betwixt his bloodie jawes, besprinckled all with
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
379
The litle babe did loudly scrike and squall,
And all the woods with piteous plaints did till,
As if his cry did meane for helpe to call
To Calepine, whose eares those shrieches shrill,
Percing his hart, with pities point did thrill ;
That after him he ran with zealous haste
To rescue th' infant, ere he did him kill :
Whom though he saw now somewhat overpast,
Yet by the cry he follow'd, and pursewed fast.
XIX
Well then him chaunst his heavy armes to
want, [speed,
Whose burden mote empeach his needful!
And hinder him from libertie to pant ;
For having long time, as his daily weed, [need,
Them wont to weare, and wend on foot for
Now wanting them he felt himselfe so light,
That like an Hauke, which feeling her selfe
freed
From bels and jesses which did let her flight,
Him seem'd his feet did fly and in their speed
delight.
XX £
So well he sped him, that the wearieBeare
Ere long he overtooke and foret to stay ;
And without weapon him assayling neare,
Compeld him soone the spoyle adowne to lay.
Wherewith the beast enrag'd to loose his pray
Upon him turned, and. with greedie force
And furie to be crossed in his way,
Gaping full wyde, did thiuke without remorse
To be aveng'd on him and to devoure his corse.
XXI
But the bold knight no whit thereat dismayd,
But catching up in hand a ragged stone
Which lay thereby (so fortune him did ayde)
Upon him ran, and thrust it all attone
Into his gaping throte, that made him grone
And gaspe for breath, that he nigh choked was,
Being unable to digest that bone;
Ne could it upward come, nor downward passe,
Ne could he brooke the coldnesse of the stony
masse.
XXII
Whom when as he thus combred did behold,
Stryving in vaine that nigh his bowels brast,
He with him closd, and, laying mightie hold
Upon his throte, did gripe his gorge so fast,
That wanting breath him downe to ground he
cast;
And, then oppressing him with urgent paine,
Ere long enforst to breath his utmost blast,
Gnashing his cruell teeth at him in vaine,
And threatning his sharpe. cl$ wes, now wanting
powre to traine.
Then tooke he up betwixt his armee twaine
The litle babe, sweet relickes of his pray ;
Whom pitying to heare so sore complame,
From his soft eyes the teares he wypt away,
And from his face the filth that did it ray ;
And every litle limbe he searcht around.
And every part that under sweath-bands lay,
Least that the beasts sharpe teeth had any
wound
Made in his tender flesh; but whole them all
he found.
XXIV
So, having all his bands againe uptyde,
He with him thought backe to returne againe ;
But when he lookt about on every syde,
To weet which way were best to entertaine
mild faine,
For nought but woods and forrests farre and
nye, [eve.
That all about did close the compasse ot his
XXV
Much was he then encombred, ne could tell
Which way to take : now West he went a-
while,
Then North, then neither, but as fortune fell :
So up and downe he wandred many a mile
With weary travell and uncertaine toile,
Yet nought the nearer to his journej-s end ,
And evermore his lovely litle spoile
Crying for food did greatly him offend :
So all that day in wandnng vainely he did
spend.
XXVI
At last, about the setting of the Sunne,
Him selfe out of the forest he did wynd,
And by good fortune the plaine champion
wonne :
Where, looking all about where he mote fynd
Some place of succour to content his mynd,
At length he heard under the forrests syde
A voice, that seemed of some woman kynd,
Which to her selfe lamenting loudly cryde,
And oft complayn'd of fate, and fortune oft
defyde.
XXVII
To whom approching, when as she perceived
A stranger wight in place, her plaint she
stayd,
As if she doubted to have bene deceived,
Or loth to let her sorrowes be bewrayd :
Whom when as Calepine saw so dismayd,
He to her drew, and with faire blandishment
Her chearing up, thus gently to her sayd :
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
' What be you, wofull Dame, which thus la-
ment,
[ repent.'
And for what cause, declare ; so mote ye not
XXVIII
To whom she thus : ' What need me. Sir, to
tell [right?
That which your selfe have earst ared so
A wofull dame ye have me termed well ;
So much more wofull, as my wofull plight
Cannot redressed be by living wight ! '
' Nathlesse,' (quoth he) 'if need doe not you
bynd,
Doe it disclose to ease your grieved spright :
Oftimes it haps that sorrowes of the mynd
Find remedie unsought, which seeking cannot
fynd.'
XXIX
Then thus began the lamentable Dame:
' Sith then ye needs will know the griefe '.
hoord,
I am th' unfortunate Matilde by name,
The wife of bold Sir Bruin, who is Lord
Of all this land, late conquer'd by his sword
From a great Gyant, called Cormoraunt,
Whom he did overthrow by yonder foord ;
And in three battailes did so" deadly daunt,
That he dare not returne for all his dailj
vaunt.
XXX
' So is my Lord now seiz'd of all the land,
As in his fee, with peaceable estate,
And quietly doth hold it in his hand,
Ne any dares with him for it debate :
And to these happie fortunes cruell fate
Hath joyn'd one evill, which doth overthrow
All these our joyes, and all our blisse abate ;
And like in time to further ill to grow,
And all this land with endlesse losse to over-
flow.
XXXI
'For th' heavens, envying our prosperitie,
Have not vouchsaft to graunt unto us twaine
The gladfull blessing of posteritie,
Which we might see after our selves remaine
In th' heritage of our unhappie paine:
So that for want of heires it to defend,
All is in time like to returne againe
To that foule feend. who dayly doth attend
To leape into the same after our lives end
XXXII
' But most my Lord is grieved herewithall,
And makes exceeding mone, when he does
thinke
That all this land unto his foe shall fall,
For which he long in yajne did sweate and
swinke,
That now the same he greatly doth forthinke.
Yet was it sayd, there should" to him a sonne
Be gotten, not begotten ; which should drinke
And dry up all the water which doth ronne
In the next brooke, by whom that feend shold
be fordonne.
XXXIII
' Well hop't he then, when this was prophe-
side, [rize,
That from his sides some noble chyld should
The which through fame should farre be mag-
nifide,
And this proud gyant should with brave emprize
Quite overthrow ; who now ginnes to despize
The good Sir Bruin growing farre in yeares,
Who thinkes from me his sorrow all doth rize.
Lo ! this my cause of griefe to you appeares ;
For which I thus doe mourne, and poure forth
ceaseless e tea res.'
Which when he heard, he inly touched was
With tender ruth for her unworthy griefe ;
And, when he had devized of her case,
He ganwn mind conceive a fit reliefe
For all her paine, if please her make the priefe ;
And, having cheared her, thus said : ' Faire
Dame,
In evils counsell is the comfort chiefe ;
Which though I be not wise enough to frame,
Yet, as I well it meane, vouchsafe it without
blame.
xxxv
' If that the cause of this your languishment
Be lacke of children to supply your place,
Lo ! how good fortune doth to you present
This litle babe, of sweete and lovely face,
And spotlesse spirit in which ye may enchace
Whatever formes ye list thereto apply,
Being now soft and fit them to embrace ;
Whether ye list him traine in chevalry,
Or noursle up in lore of learn'd Philosophy. •
XXXVI
^ ' And, certes, it hath oftentimes bene seene,
That of the like, whose linage was unknowne,
More brave and noble knights have raysed
beene
'As their victorious deedes have often showen,
Being with fame through many Nations
blowen.) [lap ;
Then those which have bene dandled in the
Therefore some thought that those brave imps
were sowen
rlere by the Gods, and fed with heavenly sap,
That made them grow so. bight t' all honorable
aap.'
CANTO IV. J
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
XXXVII
The Ladie, hearkning to his sensefull speach,
Found nothing that he said unmeet nor
geason,
Having oft scene it tryde as he did teach :
Therefore inclyning to his goodly reason,
Agreeing well both with the place and season,
She gladly did of that same babe accept,
As of her owne by liverey and seisin ;
And, having over it a litle wept,
She bore it thence, and ever as her owne it
kept.
XXXVIII
Right glad was Calepine to be so rid
Of his young charge whereof he skilled
nought,
Ne she lesse glad ; for she so wisely did,
And with her husband under hand so
wrought,
That, when that infant unto him she brought,
She made him think it surely was his owne ;
And it in goodly thewes so well upbrought,
That it became a famous knight well knowne
And did right noble deedes ; the which els
where are showne.
But Calepine, now being left alone
Under the greenewoods side in sorie plight,
Withouten armes or steede to ride upon,
Or house to hide his head from heavens spight,
Albe that Dame, by all the ineanes she might,
Him oft desired home with her to wend,
And offred him, his courtesie to requite,
Both horse and armes and what so else to lend,
Yet he them all refusd, though thankt her as
a frend ;
XL
And, for exceeding griefe which inly grew
That he his love so lucklesse now had lost,
On the cold ground maugre himselfe he threw
For fell despight to be so sorely crost ;
And there all night himselfe in anguish tost,
Vowing that never he in bed againe
His limbes would rest, ne lig in ease embost,
Till that his Ladies sight he mote attaiue,
I Or understand that she in safetie did remaine
CANTO V.
The salvage serves Serena well,
Till she Prince Arthurs fynd ;
Who her, together with his Sqnyre,
With th' Hermit leaves behynd.
O WHAT an easie thing is to descry
The gentle bloud, how ever it be wrapt
In sad misfortunes foule deformity
And wretched sorrowes, which have often hapt!
For howsoever it may grow mis-shapt,
Like this wyld man being undisciplynd,
That to all vertue it may seeme unapt,
Yet will it shew some sparkes of gentle mynd,
And at the last breake forth in his owne proper
kynd.
II
That plainely may in this wyld man be red,
Who, though he were still in this desert wood,
Mongst salvage beasts both rudely borne and
bred,
Ne ever saw faire guize, ne learned good,
Yet shewd some token of his gentle blood
By gentle usage of that wretched Dame :
For certes he was borne of noble blood,
How ever by hard hap he hether came,
As ye may know when time shall be to tell the
Who, when as now long time he lacked had
The good Sir Calepine, that farre was strayd,
Did wexe exceeding sorrowfull and sad,
As he of some misfortune were afrayd ;
And, leaving there this Ladie all dismayd,
Went forth streightway into the forrest wyde
To seeke if he perchance asleep were layd",
Or what so else were unto him betyde :
He sought him farre and neare, yet him no
where he spyde.
IV
Tho, backe returning to that sorie Dame,
He shewed semblant of exceeding mone
By speaking signes, as he them best could
frame,
Now wringing both his wretched hands in one,
Now beating his hard head upon a stone,
That ruth it was to see him so lament :
By which she well perceiving what was done,
Can teare her hayre, and all her garments rent,
And beat her breast, and piteously her selfe
torment.
382
THE FAERIE QUEEATE.
[BOOK vr.
Upon the ground her selfe she fiercely threw,
Regardless e of her wounds yet bleeding rife,
That with their bloud did all the flore imbrew,
As if her breast, new launcht with murdrous
knife,
Would streight dislodge the wretched wearie
life.
Withouten thought of shame or villeny,
Ne ever shewed signe of foule disloyalty.
Upon a day, as on their way they went,
It chaunst some furniture about her steed
To be disordred by some accident,
There she long groveling and deepe groning
As if her vitall powers were at strife
With stronger death, and feared their decay :
Such were this Ladies pangs and dolorous
Whom when the Salvage saw so sore distrest,
He reared her up from the bloudie ground,
And sought by all the meanes that he could
best
Her to recure out of that stony swound,
And staunch the bleeding of her dreary wound :
Yet nould she be recomforted for nought,
Nor cease her sorrow and impatient stound,
But day and night did vexe her carefull
[lay, Which to redresse she did th' assistance need
thought,
[wrought.
And ever more and more her owne affliction
At length, when as no hope of his retourne
She saw now left, she cast to leave the place,
And wend abrode, though feeble and forlorne,
To seeke some comfort m that sorie case.
His steede, now strong through rest so long a
space,
Well as she could she got, and did bedight ;
And being thereon mounted forth did pace
Withouten guide her to conduct aright,
Or gard her to defend from bold oppressors
might.
VIII
Whom when her Host saw readie to depart,
He would not suffer her alone to fare,
But gan himselfe addresse to take her part.
Those warlike armes which Calepine whyleare
Had left behind he gan eftsoones prepare,
And put them all about himselfe unfit,
His shield, his helmet, and his curate bare ;
But without sword upon his thigh to sit:
Sir Calepine himselfe away had hidden it.
So forth they traveld, an uneven payre
That mote to all men seeme an uncouth sight ;
A salvage man matcht with a Ladie fayre,
That rather seem'd the conquest of his might,
Gotten by spoyle then purchaced aright :
But he did her attend most carefully,
And faithfully did serve both day and night
Of this her groome ; which he by signes did
reede,
And streight his combrous armes aside did lay
Upon the ground withouten doubt or dreed ;
And in his homely wize began to assay
T' amend what was amisse, and put in right
aray.
XI
Bout which whilest he was busied thus hard,
Lo ! where a knight, together with his squire,
All arm'd to point came ryding thetherward ;
Which seemed, by then: portance and attire,
To be two errant knights, that did inquire
After adventures, where they mote them get.
Those were to weet (if that ye it require)
Prince Arthur and young Timias, which met
By straunge occasion that here needs forth be
set.
xn
After that Timias had againe recured
The favour of Belphebe (as ye heard)
And of her grace did stand againe assured,
To happie blisse he was full high uprear'd,
Nether of envy nor of chaunge afeard :
Though many foes did him maligne therefore,
And with unjust detraction him did beard,
Yet he himselfe so well and wisely bore,
That in her soveraine lyking he dwelt evermore
But of them all which did his ruine seeke,
Three mightie enemies did him most despight,
Three mightie ones, and cruell minded eeke,
That him not onely sought by open might
To overthrow, but to supplant by slight :
The first of them by name was cald Despetto,
Exceeding all the rest in powre and hight ;
The second, not so strong but wise, Decetto;
The third, nor strong nor wise, but spightfulleat,
Defetto.
XIV
Oftimes their sundry powres they did employ,
And several deceipts, but all in vaine ;
For neither they by force could him destroy,
Ne yet entrap in treasons subtill traine.
Therefore, conspiring all together plaine,
They did their counsels now in one compound:
Where singled forces faile, conjoynd may gaine.
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
383
The Blatant Beast the fittest meanes they found
To worke his utter shame, and throughly him
confound.
xv
Upon a day, as they the time did waite,
When he did raunge the wood forsalvage game,
They sent that Blatant Beast to be a baite
To draw him from his deare beloved dame
Unwares into the daunger of defame ;
For well they wist that Squire to be so bold,
That no one beast in forrest, wylde or tame,
Met him in chase but he it challenge would,
And plucke the pray oftimes out of their greedy
hould.
XVI
The hardy boy, as they devised had,
Seeing the ugly Monster passing by,
Upon him set, "of perill nought adrad,
Ne skilfull of the uncouth jeopardy ;
And charged him so fierce and furiously,
That his great force unable to endure,
He forced was to turne from him and fly :
Yet ere he fled he with his tooth impure
Him heedlesse bit, the whiles he was thereo
secure.
XVII
Securely he did after him pursew,
Thinking by speed to overtake his flight;
Who through thicke woods and brakes ant
briers him drew,
To weary him the more and waste his spight,
So that he now has almost spent his spright,
Till that at length unto a woody glade
He came, whose covert stopthis further sight
There his three foes shrowded in guilefull shad
Out of their ambush broke, and gan him t
invade.
XVIII
Sharpely they all attonce did him assaile,
Burning "with inward rancour and despight,
And heaped strokes did round about him hail
With so huge force, that seemed nothing migh
Beare off their blowes from percing thoroug'
quite:
Yet he them all so warily did ward,
That none of them in his soft flesh did bite ;
And all the while his backe for best safegard
He lent against a tree, that backeward onse
bard.
XIX
Like a wylde Bull, that, being at a bay,
Is bayted'of a mastiffe and a hound
And a curre-dog, that doe him sharpe assay
On every side, and beat about him round ;
But nostthatcurre, barkingwith bittersown
And creeping still behinde, doth him incombe
That in his chaufle he digs the trampled groum
nd threats his horns, and bellowes like the
thonder : [asonder.
o did that Squire his foes disperse and drive
xx
Him well behoved so ; for his three foes
ought to encompasse him on every side,
.nd dangerously did round about enclose :
ut most of all Defetto him annoyde,
reeping behinde him still to havedestroyde;
o did Decetto eke him circumvent ;
;ut stout Despetto in his greater pryde
)id front him, face to face against him bent:
he them all withstood, and often made
relent.
XXI
Till that at length, nigh tyrd with former
chace,
^nd weary now with carefull keeping ward,
le gan to shrinke and somewhat to give place,
full like ere long to have escaped hard ;
Vhen as unwares he in the forrest heard
A trampling steede, that with his neighing fast
)id warne his rider be uppon his gard ;
Vith noise whereof the Squire, now nigh
aghast,
Revived was, and sad dispaire away did cast.
Eftsoones he spide a Knight approching
nye;
Who, seeing one in so great daunger set
Vlongst many foes, him selfe did faster hye
To reskue him, and his weake part abet,
For pitty so to see him overset :
Whom soone as his three enemies did vew,
They fled, and fast into the wood did get.
Him booted not to thinke them to pursew,
The covert wa? so thicke that did no passage
shew.
XXIII
Then turning to that swaine him well he knew
To be his Timias, his owne true Squire ;
Whereof exceeding glad he to him drew,
And, him embracing twixt his armes entire,
Him thus bespake : ' My liefe, my lifes desire,
Why have ye me alone thus long yleft 1
Tell me what worlds despight, or heavens yre,
Hath you thus long away from me bereft '(
Where have ye all this while bin wandring,
where bene weft?'
With that he sighed deepe for inward tyne :
To whom the Squire nought aunswered againe,
But, shedding few soft teares from tender eyne,
His dear affect with silence did restraine,
And shut up all his plaint in privy paine.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
There they awhile some gracious speaches spent,
As to them seemed fit time lo entertaine;
After all which up to their steedes they went,
And forth together rode, a comely couplement.
So now they be arrived both in sight
Of this wyld man, whom they full busie foun
About the sad Serena things to dight,
With those brave armours lying on the grounc
That seem'd the spoile of some right well re
nownd : [step
Which when that Squire beheld, he to them
Thinking to take them from that hyldinj
hound ;
But he it seeing lightly to him lept,
And sternely with strong hand it from hi
handling kept.
Gnashing his grinded teeth with grieslj
looke,
And sparkling fire out of his furious evne,
Him with his fist unwares on th' head he
strooke,
That made him downe unto the earth encline
Whence soone upstarting much hegan repine
And laying hand upon his wrathfull blade
Thought there withall forthwith him to have
slaine ;
Who it perceiving hand upon him layd,
And greedily him griping his ave'ugemen
stayd.
XXVII
With that aloude the faire Serena cryde
Unto the Knight, them to dispart in twaine ;
Who to them stepping did them soone divide,
And did from further violence restraine,
Albe the wyld-man hardly would refraine.
Then gan the Prince of her for to demand
What and from whence she was, and by what
traine
She fell into that salvage villaines hand ?
And whether free with him she now were, or
in band ?
XXVIII
To whom she thus : ' I am, as now ye see,
. The wretchedst Dame that lives this day on
ground ;
Who both in minde, the which most grieveth
And body have receiv'd a mortall wound, [me,
That hath me driven to this drery stound.
I was erewhile the love of Calepine ;
Who whether he alive be to be found,
Or by some deadly chaunee be done to pine
Since I him lately lost, uneath is to define.
'In salvage forrest I him lost of late,
Where I had surely long ere this bene dead,
Or else remained in most wretched state,
Had not this wylde man in that wofull stead
Kept and delivered me from deadly dread.
In such a salvage wight, of brutish kynd,
Amongst wilde beastes in desert forrests bred,
It is most straunge and wonderfull to fynd
So milde humanity and perfect gentle myn
d'
' Let me therefore this favour for him finde,
That ye will not your wrath upon him wreake,
Sith he cannot expresse his simple minde,
Ne yours conceive, ne but by tokens speake :
Small praise to prove your powre on wight so
weake.' [swage,
With such faire words she did their heat as-
And the strong course of their displeasure
breake,
That they to pitty turnd their former rage,
And each sought to supply the office of her page.
So having all things well about her dight,
She on her way cast forward to proceede,
And they her forth conducted, where they
might
Finde harbour fit to comfort her great neede ;
For now her wounds corruption gan to breed :
And eke this Squire, who likewise wounded was
3f that same Monster late, for lacke of heed
Now gan to faint, and further could not pas
Through feeblenesse, which all his limbes op-
pressed has.
XXXII
So forth they rode together all in troupe
To seeke some place the which mote yecld
some ease [droupe :
To these sicke twaine, that now began to
And all the way the Prince sought to appease
The bitter anguish of their sharpe disease
3y all the courteous meanes he could invent ;
Somewhile with merry purpose, fit to please,
Lnd otherwhile with good encouragement
To make them to endure the pains did them
torment.
XXXIII
Mongst which Serena did to him relate
Tie foule discourt'sies and unknightly parts,
»Vhich Turpine had unto her shewed late,
Vithout compassion of her cruell smarts:
Although Blandina did with all her arts
lim otherwise perswade all that she might,
Tet he of malice, without her desarts,
CANTO V.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
Not onely her excluded late at night,
But also trayterously did wound her weary
Knight.
XXXIV
Wherewith the Prince sore moved there avoud
That soone as he returned backe againe,
He would avenge th' abuses of that proud
And shamefull Knight of whom she did com-
plaine.
This wize did they each other entertaine
To passe the tedious travell of the way,
Till towards night they came unto a plaine,
By which a little Hermitage there lay,
Fsr from all neighbourhood the which annoy
it may.
XXXV
And nigh thereto a little Chappell stoode,
Which being all with Yvy overspred
Deckt all the roofe, and, s'hadowing the roode,
Seem'd like a grove faire braimched over-hed:
Therein the Hermite, which his life here led
In streight observaunce of religious vow,
Was wont his howres and holy things to bed ;
And therein he likewise was praying now,
Whenas these Knights arriv'd, they wist not
where nor how.
He thence them led into his Hermitage,
Letting their steedes to graze upon the greene.
Small was his house, and like a little cage,
For his owne turne, yet inly neate and clene,
Deckt with greene boughes and flowers gay
beseene :
Therein he them full faire did entertaine
Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene
For courting fooles that curtesies would faine,
But with entire affection and appearauuce
plaine.
XXXIX
Yet was their fare but homely, such as hee
Did use his feeble body to sustaine,
The which full gladly they did take in gree,
Such as it was, ne did of want complaine,
But being well suffiz'd them rested faine.
But fair Serene all night could take no rest,
Ne yet that gentle Squire, for grievous paine
Of their late woundes, the which the Blatant
Beast
Had given them, whose griefe through suf-
frauuce sore increast.
So all that night they past in great disease,
They stayd not there, but streightwav in did ™1 that the morning; bringing earely light
J J. To guide mens labours, brought them also ease,
Whom when the Hermite present saw in place, ' "d some asswagement of their painefull plight
From his devotion streight he troubled was ;
Which breaking off he toward them did pace
.
With staved slps and grave beseeming grace : ,° mt and ee e were, tat tey ne m.g
' !"dUI to travell, nor one foote to frame:
Then up they rose, and ganthem selves to d.ght
nt° th«ir J.0""6/ ' but fat Squire and Dame
feeb e were, that they ne m.ght
For well It seem'd that whilome he hd beene
Some goodlv person, and of gentle race,
That fouldhis good to all; and well did
weene [seene.
How each to entertaine with curt'sie well be-
XXXVII
And soothly it was sayd by common fame,
So long as age enabled him thereto,
That he had bene a man of mickle name,
Renowmed much in armes and derring doe ;
But being aged now, and weary to
Of warres delight and worlds contentious toyle,
The name of knighthood he did disavow ;
And, hanging up his armes and warlike spoyle,
From all this worlds incombraunce didhimselfe
assoyle.
Their hearts were sicke ; their sides were sore ,
their feete were lame.
Therefore the Prince, whom great affaires in
mynd
Would not permit to make there lenger stay,
Was forced there to leave them both behynd
In that good Hejmits charge; whom he did
pray
To tend them well. So forth he went his way,
And with him eke the salvage, (that whyleare
Seeing his royall usage and array
Was greatly growne in love of that brave pere.)
Would needes depart ; as shall declared be else-
where.
CC
386 THE FAERIE QUEENE. [BOOK vi.
CANTO VI.
The Hermite heales both Squire and dame
Of their sore maladies :
He Turpine doth defeate, and shame
For his late villanies.
I | He tooke him selfe unto this Hermitage,
No wound, which warlike hand of enemy | In which he liv'd alone, like carelesse bird in
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 ever can recured be againe ;
One day, as he was searching of their
wounds,
He found that they had festred privily ;
And ranckling inward with unruly stounds,
IL c\ cr can id*t*»*»w •»« tAt,**"**./ , . ,£
Ne all the skill, which that immortall spright Ihe inner parts now gan to putrify
Of Podalvrius did in it retaine, j That quite they seem 'd past he pe of surgery ;
Can remedy such hurts: such hurts are hellish And rather needed to be disciplinde
paiu'e. i With holesome reede of sad sobriety,
| To rule the stubborne rage of passion blinde :
! Give salves to every sore, but counsell to the
Such were the wounds the which that Blatant • minde.
Beast vi
Made in the bodies of that Squire and Dame ; ^ ^ them rt into his cell<
And, being such, were now much more increase He to thatbpoint fit 8peaches gan to frame,
For want of taking heede unto the same, Ag he the ^ of wordg knew wondrous well
That now corrupt and curelesse they became : And eke CQuld doe &s WfiU M MV the game
Howbe that carefull Hermite did his best, :Andthus he to them sayd : 'Faire daughter
With many kindes of medicines meete, to, ^^ [now 1U
tame , , . - . ' And you, faire Sonne, which here thus lone
The poysnous humour which did most infest ,n .^ ]an since ye huher M
Their ranckling wounds, and every day them In ^ of mf ye hope for remedie,
duely drest. And j likewise in vaine doe salves to you
in applie :
For he right well in Leaches craft was scene; vn
And through the long experience of his dayes, ' « For in your selfe your onely helpe doth lie
Which had in many fortunes tossed beene To heale your selves, and must proceed alone
And past through many perillous assayes, From your owne will to cure your maladie.
He knew the diverse went of mortall wayes, i Who can him cure that will be cur'd of none ?
And in the mindes of men had great insight; If therefore health ye seeke, observe this one:
Which with sage counsell, when they went First learne your outward senses to refraine
astray, i From things that stirre up fraile affection :
He could enforme, and them reduce aright,
And all the passions heale which wound the
weaker spright.
Your eies, your eares, your tongue, your talk
restraine [containe.
From that they most affect, and in due termes
IV VIII
For whylome he had bene a doughty Knight, ! ' For from those outward sences, ill affected,
As any one that lived in his dales, i The seede of all this evill first doth spring,
And proved oft in many perillous fight, Which at the first, before it had infected,
Of which he grace and glory wonne alwaies, jMote easie be supprest with little thing;
And in all battels bore away the baies : i But being growen strong it forth doth bring
But being now attacht with timely age, Sorrow, and anguish, and impatient painc,
And weary of this worlds unquiet waits, In th' inner parts ; and lastly, scattering
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
387
Contagious poyson close through every vaine,
It never rests till it have wrought his finall
bane.
IX
' For that beastes teeth, which wounded you
tofore,
Are so exceeding venemous and keene,
Made all of rusty yron ranckling sore,
That where they bite it booteth not to weene
With salve, or antidote, or other mene,
It ever to amend : ne marvaile ought,
For that same beast was bred of hellish strene,
And long in darksome Stygian den upbrought,
Begot of foule
taught.
Echidna, as in bookes is
That rather needes wise read and discipline,
Then qutward salves that may augment it
more.'
' Aye me ! ' (sayd then Serena, sighing sore)
' What hope of helpe doth then for us rcnmino
If that no salves may us to health restore ? '
' But sith we need good counsel!,' (sayd the
swaine) [sustained
' Aread, good Sire, some counsell that may us
' The best
, xiv
(sayd he) ' that I can
Is to avoide the occasion of the ill :
For when the cause, whence evill doth arize,
Removed is, th' effect surceaseth still, [will ;
Abstaine from pleasure, and restraine your
Subdue desire, and bridle loose delight ;
Echidna is a Monster direful! dred, Use Kmted diet and forbeare your fill;
Whom Gods doe hate, and heavens abhor to shun secresie, and talke in open sight :
So shall you soone repaire your present evill
plight.'
So hideous is her shape, so huge her hed,
That even 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 uglinesse.
1 To her the Gods, for her so dreadful! face,
In fearefull darkenesse, furthest from the skie
And from the earth, appointed have her place
Mongst rocks and caves, 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
Makes th heavens tremble oft, and him with
vowes asswage.
' Of that commixtion they did then beget
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 pours his poysnous gall forth to infest
The noblest wights with notable defame:
Ne ever Knight that bore so lofty creast,
Ne ever Lady of so honest name,
But he them spotted with reproch, or secrete
shame.
xin
' In vaine therefore it were with medicine
To goe about to salve such kynd of sure.
Thus having sayd, his sickely patients
Did gladly hearken to his grave beheast,
And kept so well his wise commaundementa,
That in short space their malady was coast,
And eke the biting of that harmefull Beast
Was throughly heal'd. Tho when they did
perceave
Their wounds recur'd, and forces reincreast,
Of that good Hermite both they tooke their
leave,
[leave:
And went both on their way, ne ech would other
But each the other vow'd t' accompany :
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 leave alone in her great need.
So both together traveld, till they met
With a faire Mayden clad in mourning weed,
Upon a mangy jade unmeetely set,
And a lewd foole her leading thorough dry
and wet.
xvn
But by what meaues that shame to her
befell,
And how thereof her selfe she did acquite,
I must awhile 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 Calepine so foule despight ;
And eke his Lady, though she sickelv wi-re,
So lewdly had abusde, as ye did lately heare,
001
388
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
XVIII
The Prince, according to the former token
Which faire Serene to him delivered had,
Pursu'd him straight ; in mynd to bene ywro-
Of all the vile demeane and usage bad, [ken
With which he had those two so ill bestad :
Ne wight with him on that adventure went,
But that wylde man; whom though he oft
forbad,
Yet for no bidding, nor for being shent.
Would he restrained be from his attendement.
XIX
Arriving there, as did by chaunce befall,
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,
Upon the ground with feeble feete he trode,
As he unable were for very neede
To move one foote, but there must make
abode:
The whiles the salvage man did take his steede,
And in some stable neare did set him up to
feede.
xx
Ere long to him a homely groome there came,
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,
Mvlde answer made, he was an errant Knight,
The which was fall'n into this feeble case
Through many wounds, which lately he in
tight
Received had, and prayd to pitty his ill plight.
But he, the more outrageous and bold,
Stemely did bid him quickely thence avaunt,
Or deare aby ; for-why his Lord of old
Pid 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 Salvage, comming now in
place,
Beheld, eftsoones he all enraged grew.
And, running streight upon 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 helcelesse slew,
That with the noise, whilest lie did loudly rore,
The people of the house rose forth in great up-
Who when on ground they saw their fellow
slaine, [by,
And that same Knight and Salvage standing
Upon them two they fell with might and
And on them layd so huge and horribly, [ maine,
As if they would have 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 underni
him fell.
XXIV
Yet he them still so sharpely did pursew,
That few of them he left alive, which fled
Those evill tidings to their Lord to shew :
Who, hearing how his people badly sped,
Came forth in hast ; where, when as with the
dead [Knight
He saw the ground all strow'd, and that same
And salvage with their bloud fresh steeming
red, [spight,
He woxe nigh mad with wrath and fell de-
And with reprochfull words him thus bespake
on bight.
XXV
Art thou he, traytor, that with treason vile
Hast slaine my men in this unmanly 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 ?
Themeede 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.
XXVI
With dreadfull force they all did him assaile,
And round about with boystrous strokes op-
press e,
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 evermore that craven cowherd Knight
Was at his backe with heartlesse heedinesse,
Way ting if he unwares him murther might ;
For cowardize doth still in villany delight.
XXVII
Whereof whenas the Prince was well aware,
He to him turnd with furious intent,
And him against his powre gan to prepare ;
Like a fierce Bull, that being busie bent
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
To fight with many foes about him ment,
Feeling some curre bchinde his heeles to bite,
Turnes him about with fell avengement :
So likewise turndethe Princeuponthe Knight,
4nd layd at him amaine with all his will and
might.
XXVIII
Who, when he once his dreadfull strokes had
Durst not the furie of his force abyde, [ tasted,
But turn'd abacke, and to retyre him hasted
Through the thick prease, there thinking him
to hyde : [eyde,
But, when the Prince had once him plainely
He foot by foot him followed alway,
Ne would him suffer once to shrinke asyde,
But joyning close huge lode at him did lay ;
Who flying still did ward, and warding fly
away.
XXIX
But, when his foe he still so eager saw,
Unto his heeles himselfe he did betake,
Hoping unto some refuge to withdraw :
Ne would the Prince him ever foot forsake
Where so he went, but after him did make.
He fled from roome to roome. from place to place,
Whylest every joynt for dread of death did
quake,
Still looking after him that did him chace,
That made him evermore increase his speedie
pace.
XXX
At last he up into the chamber came
Whereas his love was sitting all alone,
Wayting what tydings of her folke became.
There did the Prince him overtake anone,
Crying in vaine to her him to bemone ;
Arid with his sword him on the head did smyte,
That to the ground he fell in senselesse swone :
Yet, whether thwart or flatly it did lyte.
The tempred steele did not into his bray nepan
byte.
XXXI
Which when the L%lie saw, with great af-
fright
She starting up began to shrieke aloud ;
And with her garment covering him from sight,
Seem'd under her protection him to shroud ;
And falling lowly at his feet her bowd
Upon her knee, intreating him for grace,
And often him besought, andprayd, and vowd,
That with the ruth of her so wretched case,
He stayd his second strooke, and did his hand
abase.
XXXII
Her weed she then withdrawing did him dis-
cover ;
WTio now come to himselfe yet would not rize,
But still did lie as dead, and quake, and quiver,
That even the Prince his basenesse did de-
spize;
And eke his Dame, him seeing in such guize,
Gan him recomfort and from ground to reare :
Who rising up at last in ghastly wize,
Like troubled ghost, did dreadfully appeare,
As one that had no life him left through for-
mer feare.
XXXIII
Whom when the Prince so deadly saw dismayd,
He for such basenesse shamefully him shent,
And with sharpe words did bitterly upbrayd :
' Vile cowheard dogge ! now doe I much repent,
That ever I this life unto thee lent,
Whereof thou, caytive, so unworthie art,
That both thy love, for lacke of hardiment,
And eke thy selfe, for want of manly hart,
And eke ail knights hast shamed with this
knightlesse part .
XXXIV
Yet further hast thou heaped shame to shame,
And crime to crime, by this thy cowheard
feare :
For first, it was to thee reprochfull blame
To erect this wicked custome, which I hcare
Gainst errant Knights and Ladies thou dost
reare; [spoile,
Whom when thou maystthou dost of arms de-
Or of their upper garment hey weare ;
Yet doest thou not with manhood, but with guile,
Maintaine this evil use, thy foes thereby to
foile.
XXXV
' And lastly, in approvance of thy wrong.
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 ;
Yet have through prowesse and their brtve
emprize
Gotten great worship in this worldes sight :
For greater force there needs to maintaine
wrong then right.
XXXVI
' Yet, since thy life unto this Ladie fayre
I given have, live in reproch and scorne,
Ne ever armes ne ever knighthood dare
Hence to professe ; for shame is to adorne
With so brave badges one so basely borne :
But onely breath, sith that I did forgive.'
So having from his craven bodie tome
Those goodly armes, he them away did give,
.And onely suffred him this wretche'd life to lives.
390
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
XXXVII
There whilesthethus wassetlingthings above,
Atwene that Ladie myld and recreant knight,
To whom his life he graunted for her love,
He gan bethinke him in what perilous plight
He had behynd him left that salvage wight
Amongst so many foes, whom sure he thought
fly this quite slame in so unequall fight :
Therefore descending backe in haste he sought
If yet he were alive, or to destruction brought.
XXXVIII
There he him found environed about [slaine,
With slaughtred bodies which his hand had
And laying yet afresh, with courage stout,
Upon the rest that did alive remaine ;
Whom he likewise right sorely did constraine,
Like scattred aheepe, 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
toflie.
xxxix
Whom when the Prince so felly saw to rage,
Approching to him neare, his hand he stayd,
And sought by making signes him to asswage ;
Who them perceiving streight to him obayd,
As to his Lord, and downe his weapons layd,
As if he long had to his beasts bene trayned.
Thence he him brought away, and up convayd
Into the chamber, where that Dame remayned
With her unworthy knight, who ill him en-
tertayned.
XL
Whom when the Salvage saw from daunger
Sitting beside his Ladie there at ease, [free,
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 have rent :
And, were not that the Prince did him appeaze,
He had not left one limbe of him unrent :
But streight. he held his hand at his com-
maundement.
XLI
Thus having all things well in peace ordayned,
The Prince himselfe there all that night did rest ;
Where him Blandina fayrely enterta3rned
With all the courteous glee and goodly feast
The which for him she could imagine best :
For well she knew the waves to win good will
Of «very 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,
To some hid end to make more easie way,
Or to allure such fondlings whom she trayned
Into her trap unto 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 given her by kynd,
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 apply de
Her pleasing tongue, that soone she pacifyde
The wrathfull Prince, and wrought her hus-
bands peace :
Who nathelesse, not therewith satisfyde,
His rancorous despight did not releasse,
Ne secretly from thought of fell revenge
surceasse :
XLIV
For all that night, the whyles the Prince did
rest
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 enter-
prize.
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
391
CANTO VII.
Turpine is bafTnld ; his two knights
Doe gaine their treasons meed :
Fayre Mirabellaes punishment
For Loves disdaine decreed.
LIKE as the gentle hart it selfe bewrayes
In doing gentle deedes with franke delight,
Even so the baser mind it selfe displayes
In cancred malice and revengefull spight :
For to maligne, t' envie, t' use 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 discovering his base
kind.
II
That well appears in this discourteous knight,
The coward Turpine, whereof now I treat ;
Who notwithstanding that in former fight
He of the Prince his life received late,
Yet in his mind, malitious and ingrate,
He gan devize to be aveng'd anew
For all that shame, which kindled inwardhate :
Therefore, so soone as he was out of vew,
Himselfe in hast he arm'd, and did him fast
pursew.
in
Well did he tract his steps as he did ryde,
Yet would not neare approch in daungers eye,
But kept aloofe'for dread to be descryde,
Untill tit time and place he mote espy,
Where he mote worke him scath and villeny.
A.t last he met two knights to him unknowne,
The which were armed both agreeably,
And both combynd, whatever chaunce were
blowne
Betwixt them to divide, and each to make his
owne.
IV
To whom false Turpine comming courteously,
To cloke the mischiefe which he inly ment,
(Jan to complxine 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 aydeatneed
For to avenge in time convenient,
They should accomplish both a knightly deed,
And for their painos obtaine of him a goodly
meed.
The knights beleev'd that all he sayd was
trew;
And being fresh and full of youthly spright,
Were glad to heare of that adventure new.
In which they mote make triall of their might
Which never yet they had approv'd in fight,
And eke desirous of the offred meed :
Said then the one of them ; 'Where is that wight
The which hath doen to thee thiswrongfull deed,
That we may it avenge, and punish him with
speed ? '
VI
'Herides' Csaid Turpine) 'therenotfarreafore,
With a wyld man soft footing by his syde ;
That, if ye list to haste a litle more,
Ye may him overtake in timely tyde.'
Efts oones 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,
Devizing of his'love more then of daunger drad.
Then one of them aloud unto him cryde,
Bidding him turne againe, false traytour
knight,
Foule woman-wronger, for he him defvde.
With that they both at once with equall spight
Did bend their speares, and both with equall
might fmarke,
Against him ran ; but th' one did misse his
And being carried with his force forthright
Glaunst swiftly by ; like to that heavenly
sparke,
Which glyding through the ayre lights all the
heavens darke.
But th' other, ayming better, did him smite
Full in the shield with so impetuous powre,
That all his launcc in peeces shivered quite,
And scattered all about fell on the flowre :
But the stout Prince, with much more steddy
stowre,
Full on his bever did him strike so sore,
392
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
That the cold steele, through piercing, did de-
vowre
His vitall breath, and to the ground him bore,
Where still he bathed lay in his owne bloody
gore.
IX
As when a cast of Faulcons make their flight
At an Herneshaw, that lyes aloft on wing,
The whyles they strike at him with heedlesse
might,
The wane 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
Butth' other, not so swift as she before, [thing;
Fayles of her souse, and passing by doth hurt
no more.
x
By this the other, which was passed by,
Hiinselfe recovering 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 drive at him with so malitious mynd.
As ifhe would have passed through him quight;
But thesteele-head no stedfast hold could fynd,
But glauncing by deceiv'd him of that he de-
synd.
XI
Not so the Prince ; for his well-learned speare
Tooke surer hould, and from his horses backe
Above 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,
nd to him leaping vengeance thought t
f him for all his former follies meed, [
o take
For th' one is dead, and th' other soone shall die,
Unlesse to me thou hether bring with speed
The wretch that hyr'd you to this wicked deed.'
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 up he rose, and forth streightway he went
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 now, Sir
knight
What meaneth this which here I see before ?
How fortuneth this foule uncomely plight,
So different from that which earst ye seem'd
in sight ? '
xv
' Perdie,' (said he) ' in evill houre it fell,
That ever I for meed did undertake
So hard a taske as life for hyre to sell ;
The which I earst adventur'd for your sake :
Witnesse the wounds, and this wyde bloudh
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 have, that life so dearely did re-
deeme.'
xvi
'But where then is' (quoth he halfe wroth-
fully) [bought,
' Where is the bootie, which therefore I
That cursed caytive, my strong enemy,
And
Of him for all his former follies meed, [breed. That recreant knight, whose
With flaming sword in hand his terror more to
xn
The fearfull swayne beholding death so nie,
Cryde out aloud for mercie, him to save ;
In lieu whereof he would to him descrie
Great treason to him meant, his life to reave.
The Prince soone hearkned. and his life forgave.
Then thus said he : ' There is a strauneer
knight,
The which, for promise of great meed, us drave
To this attempt to wreake his hid despight,
For that himselfe thereto did want sufficient
might.'
XIII
The Prince much mused at such villenie,
And sayd : ' Now sure ye well have carn'd
your meed ;
hated life I
sought? [ought?1
And where is eke your friend which halfe it
' He lyes' (said he) ' upon 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 Tur
And needs with
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 ; %vhich tracting by
the traile,
I Ere long they came, whereas in evill tyd§
pin was full glad and faine,
him streight to the place
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
393
That other swayne, like ashes deadly pale,-
Lay in the lap "of death, rewing his wretched
bale.
xvm
Much did the Craven seeme to mone his
case,
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 upon the grassie ground,
Possessed of sweete sleepe that luld him soft
in swound.
XIX
Wearie of travell in his former fight,
He there in shade himselfe had layd to rest,
Having his armes and warlike tilings un-
dight,
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 silver slomber lay,
Like to the Evening starre adorn'd with deawy
Whom when as Turpin saw so loosety layd,
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 livelihead:
Whereat, much griev'd against that straunger
knight,
That him too light of credence did mislead,
He would have backe retyrod from that sight,
That was to him on earth the deadliest despight.
But that same knight would not once let
him start,
But plainely gan to him declare the case
Of all his mischiefc 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 unto the victor him to trace
And follow through the world where so he
went,
Till that he him delivered to his punishment.
He, therewith much abashed and affrayd,
Began to tremble every limbe and vaine ;
And, softly whispering him, entyrely prayd
T' advize him better then by such a traiiie
Him to betray unto a straunger swaine:
Yet rather counseld him contrarywize,
Sith he likewise did wrong by him sustaine,
To joyne with him and vengeance to devize,
Whylest time did offer meanes him sleeping tc
surprize.
XXIII
Nathelesse, for all his speach the gentle
knight
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 diverslio,
The Salvage forth out of the wood issew'd
Backe to the place, whereas his Lord he sleep-
ing vew'd.
XXIV
There when he saw those two so neare him
stand, [bee;
He doubted much what mote their meaning
And throwing downe his load out of his hand,
(To weet, great store of forrest frute which hee
Had for Ins food late gathered from the tree,)
Himselfe unto his weapon he betooke,
That was an oaken plant, which lately hee
Rent by the root ; which be so sternely shooke,
That like an hazell wand it quivered and
quooke.
XXV
Whereat the Prince awaking, when he snyde
The traytour Turpin with that other knight,
He started up ; and snatching neare his syde
His trustie sword, the servant of his might,
Like a fell Lyon leaped to him light
And his left hand upon his collar layd.
Therewith the cowheard, deaded with affright,
Fell flat to ground, ne word unto him sayd,
But, holding up his hands, with silence mercic
prayd.
XXVI
But he so full of indignation was,
That to his prayer nought he would incline,
But, as he lay upon the humbled gras,
His foot he set on his vile necke, in signe
Of servile yoke, that nobler harts repine :
Then, letting him arise like abject thrall,
He gan to him object his hayiious crime,
And to revile, and rate, and recreant call,
And lastly to despoyle of knightly bannerall,
XXVII
And after all, for greater infamie,
He by the heeles him hung upon a tree,
394
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
And baffuld so, that all which passed by
The picture of his punishment might see,
And bv the like ensample warned bee,
How e'ver they through treason doe trespasse.
But turne we" now backe to that Ladie free,
Whom late we left rvding upon an Asse,
Led by a Carle and foole which by her side did
passe.
XXVIII
She was a Ladie of great dignitie,
And lifted up to honorable place,
Famous through all the land of Faerie :
Though of meane parentage and kindred base,
Yetdeckt 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 lovely fire
In th' harts of many a knight, and many a
gentle squire.
XXIX
But she thereof grew proud and insolent,
That none she worthie thought to be her fere,
But scomd them all that love unto her ment:
Yet was she lov'd of many a worthy pere:
Unworthy she to be belov'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 served is of noblest
knight.
XXX
But this coy Damzell thought contrariwize,
That such proud looks would make her praysed
more;
And that, the more she did all love despize,
The more would wretched lovers 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 bome free, not bound to any wight,
And so would ever live, and love her owne de-
light.
XXXI
Through such her stubborne stifnesse and hard
Manv a wretch for want of remedie [hart,
Did languish long in life-consuming smart.
And at the last through dreary dolour die :
Whylest she, the Ladie of her libertie,
Did boast her beautie had such soveraine might,
That with the onely twinckle of her eye
She could or save or spill whom she would high t :
What could theGods doe more, but doe it more
aright?
XXXII
But loe ! the Gods, that mortall follies vew,
Did worthily revenge 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,
Unto the which all lovers doe resort,
That of their loves successe they there may
make report ;
XXXIII
It fortun'd then, that when the roules were
red [ fyled,
In which the names of all loves folke were
That many there were missing ; which were ded,
Or kept in bands, or from their loves 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 tinblindfold both,
That he might see his men, and muster them
by oth.
xxxiv
Then found he many missing of his crew,
Which wont doe suit and service to his might,
Of whom what was becomen no man knew.
Therefore a Jurie was impaneld streight
T' enquire of them, whether by force, or sleight,
Or their owne guilt, they were away convayd ?
To whom foule Infamie and fell Despight"
Gave evidence, that they were all betrayd
And murdred cruelly by a rebellious Mayd.
XXXV
Fayre Mirabella was her name, whereby
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 there-
withall
A Baylieffe-errant forth in post did passe,
Whom they by name there Portamore did call;
He which doth summon lovers to loves judge-
ment hall.
xxxvi
The damzell was attacht, and shortly brought
Unto the barre whereas she was arrayned ;
But she thereto uould plead, noranswere ought,
Even for stubborne pride which herrestrayned.
So judgement past, as is by law ordayned
In cases like ; which when at last she saw,
Her stubborne hart, which love before dis-
dayned,
Ganstoupe; and, falling downe with humble
awe,
Cryde mercie, to abate the extremitie of law.
CANTO VII.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
395
XXXVII
The sonne of Venus, who is myld by kynd
But where he is pnn'okt with peevishnesse,
Unto her prayers piteously enclynd,
And did the rigour of his doome represse ;
Yet not so freely, but that nathelesse
He unto her a penance did impose,
Which was, that through this worlds wyde
wildernes
She wander should in companie of those,
Till she had sav'd so many loves as she did lose.
XXXVIII
So now she had beue wandring two whole
yeares
Throughout the world in this uncomely case,
Wasting her goodly hew in heavie teares,
And her good dayes in dolorous disgrace :
Yet had she not in all these two yeares space
Saved but two; yet in two yeares before,
Through her dispiteous pride, whilest love
lackt place,
She had destroyed two and twenty more.
Aie me ! how could her love make half amends
therefore ?
XXXIX
And now she was uppon the weary way,
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 evill termes and cruell meane
That he could make : And eeke that angry foole
Which follow'd her, with cursed hands uncleane
Whipping her horse, did with his smarting toole
Oft whip her dainty selfe, and much augment
her doole.
XL
Xe ought it mote availe her to entreat
The one or th' other better her to use ;
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 jade, was bent her to abuse;
Who, though she were with wearinesse nigh
dead,
Yet would not let her lite, nor rest alittlestead :
For he was sterne and terrible by nature,
And eeke of person huge and hideous,
Exceeding much the measure of mans stature,
And rather like a Gyaut monstruous :
For sooth he was descended of the hous
Of those old Gyants, which did warres darraine
Against the heaven in order battailous ,
And sib to great Orgolio, which was slnine
By Arthure, when as Unas Knight he did
maintaine.
His lookes were dreadfull, and his fiery eies,
Like twogreat Beacons, glared bright and wyde,
Glauncing askew, as if his enemies
He scorned in his overweening pryde;
And stalking stately, like a Crane, did stryde
At everv step uppon the tiptoes hie:
And, all the way he went, on every syde
He gaz'd about and stared horriblie,
As if he with his lookes would all men terrific.
He wore no armour, ne for none did care,
As no whit dreading any living wight;
Hut in a Jacket, quilted richly rare
Upon 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
Through thick and thin, through mountains
and through plains,
Compelling her, wher she would not, by force,
Haling her palfrey by the hempen raines :
But that same foole, which most increast her
paines,
Was Scorne; who having in his hand a whip,
Her therewith yirks ; and still, when she com-
plaines,
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 be-
held,
And saw those villaines her so vildely use,
His gentle heart with indignation sweld,
And could no lenger beare so great abuse
As such a Ladj' so to beate anil 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 benc slaine, or fowly
shent.
XLVI
The villaine, wroth for greeting him so sore,
Gathered him selfe together sooneagaine,
And with his vron batton which he bore
Let drive at him so dreadfully amainc,
396
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
That for his safety he did him constraine
To give him ground, and shift to every side,
Bather then once his burden to sustaine :
For bootelesse thing him seemed to abide
So mighty blowes, or prove the puissaunce of
his pride.
XLVII
Like as a Mastiffe having at a bay
A salvage Bull, whose cruell homes doe threat
Desperate daunger, if he them assay,
Traceth his ground, and round about doth beat,
To spy where he may some advauntage get,
The whiles the beast'doth rage and loudly rore ;
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.
XLVIII
Nathelesse so sharpely still he him pursewd,
That at advantage 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 heavy hand the Carle upon him layd,
And bound him fast : Tho, when he up did looke
And saw him selfe captiv'd, he was dismayd,
Ne powre had to withstand, ne hope of 'any
ayd.
XI.IX
Then up he made him rise, and forward fare,
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 behyncl,
Him often scourg'd, and forst his feete to fynd :
And other-whiles with bitter mockesandmowcs
He would him scorne, that to his gentle mynd
Was much more grievous then the others'
blowes :
Words sharpely wound, but greatest griefe of
scorning growes.
The faire Serena, when she saw him fall
Under that villaines club, then surely thought
j 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 sav.
CANTO VIII.
Prince Arthure overcomes Disdainc ;
Quites Mirabell from dreed :
Serena, found of Salvages,
By Calepine is freed.
YE gentle Ladies, in whose soveraine powre
Love hath the glory of his kingdome left,
And th' hearts of men, as your eternall dowre,
In vron chaines of liberty bereft,
Delivered hath into your hands by gift,
Be well aware how ye the same doe use,
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.
ii
And as ye soft and tender are by kynde,
Adornd with goodly gifts of beauties grace,
So be ye soft and tender eeke .in mynde ;
But cruelty and harduesse from you chace,
That all your other praises will deface,
And from you turne the love 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.
in
j Who after thraldome of the gentle Squire,
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,
The more they him misust, and cruelly did
beat.
IV
So as they forward on their way did pas,
Him still reviling and afflicting sore,
They met Prince Arthure with Sir Enias,
(That was that courteous Knight, whom h«
before
Having 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 grieve to see his punishment
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
397
The Squire him sclfe, when as he saw his Lord
The witnesse of his wretchecluesse in place,
Was much asham'd that with an hempen cord
He like a dog was led in captive case,
And did his head for bashfulnesse abase,
As loth to see or to be secne at all :
Shame would be hid. But whenas Enias
Beheld two such, of two such villaincs thrall,
His manly inyiide was much emuioved there-
withal! ;
VI
And to the Prince thus sayd: 'See you, Sir
Knight,
The greatest shame that ever eye yet saw,
Yorul 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 revile !
See. how they doe the Lady hale and draw !
But, if ye please to lend me leave awhile,
I will them soone acquite, and both of blame
assoile.'
VII
The Prince assented ; and then he, streight-
way
Dismounting light, his shield about him threw,
With which approching thus he gan to say :
' Abide, ye caytive treachetours untrew,
That have with treason thralled unto you
These two, unworthy 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.'
VIII
The villaine stayd not aunswer to invent,
But with his yron club preparing way,
His mindes sad message backe unto 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,
Unwares defrauded his intended destiny :
And, to requite him with the like againe,
With 'his sharpe sword he fiercely at him flew,
And strooke so strongly, that the Carle with
paine
Saved him selfe but that he there him slew;
Yet sav'd not so. but that the bloud it drew,
And gave his foe good hope of victory :
Who therewith flesht upon him set anew,
And with the second stroke thought certainely
To have supptyde the first, and paide the usury.
But Fortune aunswerd not unto his call ;
For, as his hand was heaved up 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 upon himselfe againe,
He driven was to ground in selfe despight ;
From whence ere he recovery could gaine,
He in his necke had set his foote with fell dis-
daine.
XI
With that the foole, which did that end away t e,
Came running in ; and, whilest on ground he
lay,
Laide heavy hands on him and held so straytc,
That downe he kept him with his scornefull
sway,
So as he could not weld him any way :
The whiles that other villaine went about
Plim to have bound and thrald without delay ;
The whiles the foole did him revile and Hout,
Threatning to yoke them two and tame their
corage stout.
XII
As when a sturdy ploughman with his hynde
By strength have overthrowne a stubborne
eteare, [bynde,
They downe him hold, and fast with cords do
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
Upon that Carle to save his friend from
jeopardy.
XIII
The villaine, leaving him unto his mate
To be captiv'd and handled as he list,
Himselfe addrest unto this new debate,
And with his club him all about so bli«t,
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 give or ward the
blow.
XIV
But yet the Prince so well enured was
With such huge strokes, approved oft in fight,
398
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi:
That way to them he gave forth right to pas ;
Ne would endure the daunger of their might,
But wayt advantage when they downe did
light.
At last the caytive, after long discourse,
When all his strokes he saw avoyded quite,
Resolved in one t' assemble all his force,
And make one end of him without ruth or re-
morse.
xv
His dreadfull hand he heaved up aloft,
And with his dreadfull instrument of yre
Thought sure have pownded 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, preventing his desire,
Under his club with wary boldnesse went,
And smote him on the knee that never yet was
bent.
XVI
It never yet was bent, ne bent it now,
Albe the stroke so strong and puissant were,
That seem'd a marble piilour it could bow ;
But all that leg, which did his body beare,
It crackt throughout, (yet did no" blond ap-
peare,)
So as it was unable to support
So huge a burden on such broken geare,
But fell to ground, like to a lutnpe of durt ;
Whence he assayd to rise, but could not for his
hurt.
Eftsoones the Prince to him full nimbly stept,
And least he should recover foote againe,
His head meant from his shoulders to have
swept.
Which when the Ladv saw, shecryde amaine;
'Stay, stay, Sir Knight! for love of God
abstaine
From that unwares 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 have lamentable end.
xvm
He staide his hand according her desire,
Yet nathemore him suffred to arize ;
But, still suppressing, gan of her inquire,
What meaning mote those uncouth 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 heavens them selves, that favour feeble
rights,
Would for it selfe redresse, and punish such
despights.
XIX
Then bursting forth in teares, which gushed
fast
Like many water streamer, awhile she stayd ;
Till the sharpe passion being overpast,
Her tongue to her restord, then thus she sayd :
' Nor heavens, nor men, can me, most wretched
mayd.
Deliver from the doome of my desart,
The which the God of love hath on me lavd,
And damned to endure this direfull smart,
For penaunce of my proud and hard rebellious
hart,
xx
' In prime of youthly yeares, when first the
flowre
Of beauty gan to bud, and bloosme delight,
And Nature me endu'd with plenteous dowre
Of all her gifts, that pleasde each living sight,
I was belov'd of many a gentle Knight,
And sude and sought with all the service 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.
XXI
' But let them love that list, or live or die,
Me list not die for any lovers doole ;
Ne list me leave my loved libertie
To pitty him that list to play the foole :
To love my selfe I learned had in schoole.
Thus I triumphed long in lovers 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
Causde me be called to accompt therefore ;
And for revengement of those wrongful!
smarts,
Which I to others did inflict afore,
Addeem'd me to endure this penaunce sore ;
That in this wize, and this unmeete array, .
With these two lewd companions, and no more,
Disdaine and Scorne, I through the world
should stray,
Till I have sav'd so many as I earst did slav-'
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
399
xxin
Certes,' (sayd then the Prince) ' the God is
just.
That taketh vengeaunce of his peoples spoile ;
For were no law in love, 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 ?'
XXIV
' Here in this bottle ' (sayd the sory Mayd)
' I put the tears of my contrition,
Till to the brim I have 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,
And wondred much at Cupids judgement wise,
That could so meekly make proud hearts
avale,
And wreake him selfe on them that him despise.
Then suffred he Disdaine up to arise,
Who was not able up him selfe to reare,
By meanes his leg, through his lateluckclesse
prise,
Was crackt in twaine, but by his foolish feare
Was holpen up, who him supported standing
neare.
XXVI
But being up he lookt againe aloft,
As if he never had received fall ;
And with sterne eye-browes stared at him oft,
As if he would have daunted him withall :
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.
XXVII
Then turning backe unto that captive thrall
Who all this while stood there beside them
bound,
Unwilling to be knowne or geene at all,
He from those bands weend him to have un-
wound;
Jut when approaching neare he plainely found
;t was his owne true groome, the gentle Squire,
He thereat wext exceedingly astound,
And him did oft embrace, and oft admire,
Sie could with seeing satisfie his great desire.
XXVIII
Meane-while the Salvage man, when he be-
held [Knight,
That huge great foole oppressing th' other
Whom with his weight unweldy downe he
held,
He flew upon him like a greedy kight
Unto some carrion offered to his sight ;
And, downe him plucking, with his navies and
teeth
an 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.
XXIX
Aid sure I weene, had not the Ladies cry
Procur'd the Prince his cruell hand to stay,
He would with whipping him have done to
dye ;
But being checkt he did abstaine streightway,
And let him rise. Then thus the Prince gan
say:
' Now, Lady, sith your fortunes thus dispose,
That if ye list have liberty ye may;
Unto your selfe I freely leave to chose,
Whether I shall you leave, or from these vil-
laines lose.'
' Ah ! nay. Sir Knight,' (said she) ' it may
not be,
But that I needes must by all meanes fulfill
This penaunce, which enjoyned is to me,
Least unto me betide a greater ill ;
Yet no lesse thankes to you for your good will.'
So humbly taking leave she turnd aside ;
But Arthure with the rest went onward still
On his first quest, in which did him betide
A great adventure, which did him from them
devide.
XXXI
But first it falleth me by course to tell
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 every foote did tremble which did tread,
And every body two, and two she foure did
read.
400
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi;
XXXII
Through hils and dales, through bushes and
through breres,
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
Which doubt of daunger to her offer mought,
She from her palfrey lighted on the plaine ;
And, sitting downe, her selfe awhile bethought
Of her long travell and turmoyling paine ;
And often did of love, and oft of lucke complaine.
XXXIII
And evermore she blamed Calepine,
The good Sir Calepine, her owne true Knight,
As th' onely author of her wofull tine ;
For being of his love to her so light,
As her to leave in such a piteous plight:
Yet never Turtle truer to his make,
Then he was tride unto his Lady bright
Who all this while endured for her sake
Great perill of his life, and restlesse paine%dic
take.
XXXIV
Tho when as all her plaints she had displaycl
And well disburdened her engrieved brest,
Upon the grasse her selfe adowne she layd ;
Where, being tyrde with travell, and opprest
With sorrow, she betooke her selfe to rest:
There whilestin Morpheus bosome safe she la}',
Fearelesse of ought that mote her peace molest,
False Fortune did her safety betray
Unto a strange mischauuce that menac'd her
decay.
In these wylde deserts where she now abode,
There dwelt a salvage nation, which did live
Of stealth and spoile, and making nightly rode
Into their neighbours borders ; ne did give
Them selves to any trade, (as for to drive
The painefull plough, or cattell for to breed,
Or by adventrous marchandize to thrive,)
Hut on the labours of poore men to feed,
And serve their owne necessities with others
need.
xxxvi
Thereto they usde one most accursed order,
To eate the flesh of men whom the}' mote fynde,
And straungers to devoure, which on "their
border
Were brought by errour or by wreckfull wynde ;
A monstrous cruelty gainst course of kynde !
They, towards evening wandering every way
To seeke for booty, came by fortune blynde
Whereas this Lady, like a sheepe astray,
Nowdrowned in the depth of sleope all fearelesse
lay.
Soone as they spide her, Lord ! what gladfull
glee
They made amongst them selves ; but when
her face
Like the faire yvory shining they did see,
Each gan his fellow solace and embrace
For joy of such good hap by heavenly grace.
Then gan they to devize what course to take;
Whether to slay her there upon the place,
Or suffer her out of her sleepe to wake,
And then her eate attonce,or many meales to
make.
XXXVIII
The best advizement was, of bad, to let her
Sleepe out her fill without encomberment ;
For sleepe, they sayd, would make her battill
better :
Then when she wakt they all gave one consent
That, since by grace of God she there was sent,
Unto their God they would her sacrifize,
Whose share, her guiltlesse bloud, they would
present ;
But of her dainty flesh they did devize
To make a common feast, and feed with gur-
mandize.
XXXIX
So round about her they them selves did place
Upon the grasse, and diversely dispose [ space :
As each thought best to spend the lingring
Some with their eyes the daintest morsels chose ;
Some praise her paps ; some praise her lips and
nose;
Some whet their knives, and strip their elboes
bare :
The Priest him selfe a garland doth compose
Of finest flowers, and with full busie care
His bloudy vessels wash, and holy fire prepare.
The Damzell wakes ; then all attonce upstart,
And round about her flocke, like many flies,
Whooping and hallowing on every pa'rt,
As if they would have rent the brasen skies.
Which when she sees with ghastly grieffiil eies,
Her heart does quake, and deadly pallied hew
Benumbes her cheekes : Then out aloud she
cries,
Where none is nigh to heare that will herrew,
And rends her golden locks, and snowy brests
embrew.
XLI
But all bootes not ; they hands upon her lay :
And first they spoile her 'of her jewels dearej
And afterwards of all her rich array ;
The which amongst them they in p'eeces teare,
CANTO VIII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
401
And of the pray each one a part doth beare.
'fow being naked, to their sordid eyes
Hie goodly threasures of nature appeare :
iVhich as they view with lust full fantasyes,
Lach wisheth to him selfe, and to the rest
envyes : —
XLII
Her y vorie neck ; her alablaster brest ;
lerpaps, which like white silken pillowes were
love in soft delight thereon to rest ;
ler tender sides ; her bellie white and elere,
>Vhich like an Altar did itselfe uprere
To offer sacrifice divine thereon ;
ler goodly thighes, whose glorie did appeare
..ike a triumphal Arch, and thereupon
[Tie spoiles of Princes hang'd which were in
battel won.
XLIII
Those daintie parts, the dearlings of delight,
rYhich mote not be prophan'd of common
eyes,
Those villeins view'd with loose lascivious sight,
And closely tempted with their craftie spyes ;
And some of them gan mongst themselves
devize
Thereof by force to take their beastly pleasure :
Jut them the Priest rebuking did advize
To dare not to pollute so sacred threasure
Vow'd to the gods: religion held even theeves
in measure.
XLIV
So, being stayd, they her from thence di-
rected
Unto a litle grove not farre asyde,
n which an altar shortly they erected
To slay her on. And now the Eventyde
His brode black wings had through the'heavens
wyde
By this dispred, that was the tyme ordayned
?or such a dismall deed, their guilt to hyde:
)f 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,
The Damzell was before the altar set,
ng alreadie dead with fearefull fright:
To whom the Priest with naked armes full net
Approching nigh, and murdrous knife well
whet.
Ian mutter close a certaine secret charme,
With other divelish ceremonies met :
Which doen, he gan aloft t'advance his armo.
Whereat they shouted all, and made a loud
alarm e.
Then gan the bagpypes and the homes to
shrill [voyce
And shrieke aloud, that, with the peoples
Confused, did the ayre with terror till,
And made the wood to tremble at the noyce :
The whyles she wayld, the more they did
rejoyce.
Now mote ye understand that to this /prove
Sir Calepine, by chaunce more then by choyce,
The selfe same evening fortune hether drove,
As he to seeke Serena through the woods did
rove.
XLVH
Long had he sought her, and through many
a soyle
Had traveld still on foot in heavie armes,
Ne ought was tyred with his endlesse toyle,
Ne ought was feared of his certaine harmes :
And now, all weetlesse of the wretched stormes,
In which his love was lost, he slept full fast ;
Till, being waked with these loud alarm es,
He lightly started up like one aghast,
And, catching up his arms, streight to the
noise forth past.
XLVIII
There by th' uncertaine glims of starry night,
And, by the twinkling of their sacred tire,
He mote perceive 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 unluckie strife,
And groning sore from grieved hart entire
Eftsoones he saw one with a naked knife
Readie to launch her brest, and let out loved
life.
XLIX
With that he thrusts into the thickest throng
And, even as his right hand adowne descends,
He him preventing layes on earth along,
And sacrifizeth to th' infernall feends :
Then to the rest his wrathfull hand he bends ;
Of whom he makes such havocke 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 doves before a Faulcons
vew .
r.
From them returning to that Ladie backe,
Whom by the Altar he doth sitting find
Yet fearing death, and next to death the lacke
Of clothes to cover what they ought by kind,
He first her hands beginneth to unbind,
jAnd then to question of her present woe,
[And afterwards to cheare with s peaches kind ;
402
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK vf
But she, for nought that he could say or doe,
One word durst speake, or answere him awhit
thereto.
So inward shame of her uncomely case
She did conceive, through care of womanhood,
That though the night did cover her disgrace
Yet she in so unwomanly a mood
Would not bewray the state in which she stood
So all that night" to him unknowen she past ;
But day, that doth discover bad and good,
Ensewing, made her knowen to him at last:
The end whereof He keepe untill another cast
CANTO IX.
Calidore hostes with Meliboe,
And loves fayre Pastorell :
Coridon envies him, yet he
For ill rewards him welL
Now turne againe my teme, thou jolly swayne,
Backe to the furrow which I lately left.
I lately left a furrow, one or twayne,
Unplough'd, the which my coulter hath not
cleft ;
Yet seem'd the soyle both fayre and frntefull eft,
As I it past: that were too great a shame,
That so rich frute should be from us bereft ;
Besides the great dishonour and defame,
Which should befall to Calidores immortall
Great travell hath the gentle Calidore
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, through forests,
and through plaines,
In that same quest which fortune on him cast,
Which he atchieved to his owne great gaines,
Reaping eternall glorie of his restlesse paines.
So sharply he the Monster did pursew,
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 private farmes
he scorsed.
IV
From thence into the open fields he fled,
Whereas the Heardes were keeping of their
neat, [fed)
And shepherds singing to their flockes (that
I>ayes of sweete love and youthes delightfull
heat :
Him thether eke, for all his fearefull threat,
He followed fast, and chaced him so me,
That to the folds, where sheepe at night dot
seat,
And to the litle cots, where shepherds lie
In winters wrathfull time, he forced him to flic
v
There on a day, as he pursew'd the chace,
He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes
Playing on pipes and caroling apace,
The whyles their beasts there in the buddet
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 thethei
brought,
VI
They answer'd him that no such beast the**
Nor any wicked feend that mote offend [saw
Their happie flockes, nordaungerto them draw
But if that such there were (as none they kend]
They prayd high God them farre from them t<
send.
Then one of them, him seeing so to sweat,
After his rtisticke wise, that well he weend,
Offred him drinke to quench his thirstie heat,
And, if he hungry were, him oflfred eke to eat
The knight was nothing nice, where was n<
need,
And tooke their gentle offer : so adowne
They prayd him sit, and gave him for to feed
Such homely what as serves the simple clowne
That doth d'espise the dainties of the towne.
Tho, having fed his fill, he there besyde
Saw a faire dam/ell, which did weare a crown<
Of sundry flowres with silken ribbands tyde,
Ycladinhome-madegreene thatherowne hand
had dyde.
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
403
Upon a litle hillocke she was placed
Higher then all the rest, and round about
Environ'd with a girland, goodly graced,
Of lovely lasses ; and them all without
The lustie shepheard swaynes sate in a rout,
The which did pype and sing her prayses dew,
And oft rejoyce, and oft for wonder shout,
As if some miracle of heavenly hew
Were downe to them descended in that earthly
vew.
IX
And soothly sure she was full fayre of face,
And perfectly well shapt in every 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 heavenly wight,
Did for their soveraine goddesse her esteeme,
And, caroling her name both day and night,
The fayrest Pastorella her by name did hight.
Ne was there heard, no was there shepheards
swayne,
But her did honour ; and eke many a one
Burnt in her love, and with sweet pleasing
payne
Full many a night for her did sigh andgrone:
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.
XI
Her whyles Sir Calidore there vewed well.
And niarkt 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 unwares 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,
Ne any will had thence to move away,
Although his quest were farre afore him gon :
But after he had fed, yet did he stay
And sate there still, untill the flying day
Was farre forth spent, discoursing diversly
Of sundry things as fell, to worke delay ;
And evermore his speach he did apply
To th' heards, but meant them to the damzelg
fantazy.
XIII
By this the moystie night approching fast
Her deawy humour gan on th' earth to shed,
That warn'd the shepheards to their homes to
Their tender flocks, now being fully fed, f hast
For feare of wetting them before their bed.
Then came to them a good old aged syre,
Whose silver lockes bedeckt his beard and hed,
With shepheards hooke in hand, and fit attyre,
That wild the damzell rise ; the day did now
expyre.
XIV
He was, to weet, by common voice esteemed
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 up, brought home and noursed well
As his owne chyld ; for other he had none ;
That she in tract of time accompted was his
She at his bidding meekely did arise,
And streight unto her litle flocke did fare :
Then all the rest about her rose likewise,
And each his sundrie sheepe with severall care
Gathered together, and them homeward bare :
Whylest everie one with helping hands did
strive, [share,
Amongst themselves, and did their labours
To helpe faire Pastorella home to drive
Her fieecie flocke; but Coridon most helpe did
give.
XVI
But Melibcee (so hight that good old man)
Now seeing Calidore left all alone,
And night arrived hard at hand, began
Him to invite unto his simple home ;
Which though it were a cottage clad with lome,
And all things therein meane, yet better so
To lodg_e then in the salvage fields to rome.
The knight full gladly soone agreed thereto,
(Being his harts owne wish,) and home with
him did go.
XVII
There he was welcom'd of that honest syre
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
DD 2
404
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
With small adoe, and nature satisfyde,
The which doth litle crave contented to abyde.
Tho when they had their hunger slaked well,
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 Shcpheards lead, without debate or
bitter strife.
XIX
' How much ' (sayd he) ' more happie is the
state
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 en-
mitie
Doe them afflict, which no man can appease ;
That certes I your happinesse envie,
And wish my lot were plast in such felicitie.'
xx
'Surely, my sonne,' (then answer'd he againe)
' If happie, then it is in this intent,
That having small yet doe I not complaine
.Of want, ne wish for more it to augment,
But doe my selfe with that I have 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.
XXI
• Therefore I doe not any one envy,
Nor am envyde of any one therefore :
They, that have much, feare much to loose
thereby,
And store of cares doth follow riches store.
The litle that I have growes dayly more
Without my care, but onely to attend it;
My lambes doe every yeare increase their score,
And my flockes father daily doth amend it.
What nave I, but to praise th' Almighty that
doth send it !
XXII
' To them that list the worlds gay showes 1
leave,
And to great ones such follies doe forgive ;
Which oft through pride do their owne perill
weave, [ drive
And through ambition downe themselves doe
To sad decay, that might contented live.
Me no such cares nor combrous thoughts
offend,
Ne once my minds unmoved quiet grieve ;
But all the night in silver sleepe I spend,
And all the day to what I list I doe attend.
Sometimes I hunt the Fox, the vowed foe
Unto my Lambes, and him dislodge away ;
Sometime the fawne I practise from the Doe,
Or from the Goat her kidde, how to convay :
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 every shade to rest from toyle,
And drinke of every brooke when thirst mj
throte doth boyle.
The time was once, in my first prime of yeares.
When pride of youth forth pricked my desire,
That I disdain'd amongst mine equal! peares
To follow sheepe and shepheards base attire :
For further fortune then I would inquire ;
And, leaving 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 never
thought
XXV
' With sight whereof soone cloyd, and long
deluded
With idle hopes which them doe entertaine,
After I had ten yeares my selfe excluded
From native 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 have learn'd to love more
deare
This lowly quiet life which I inherite here.'
XXVI
Whylest thus he talkt, the knight with greedy
eare
Hong still upon his melting mouth attent ;
Whose sensefull words empierst his hart so
neare,
That he was rapt with double ravishment,
Both of his speach, that wrought him great
content,
And also of the object of his vew,
On which his hungry eye was alwayes bent;
That twixt his pleasing tongue, and her faire
hew, [grew.
He lost himselfe, and like onehalfeentraunced
CANTO IX.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
405
XXVII
Yet to occasion meanes to worke his mind,
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 under foot doth tread
The mightie ones, affrayd of every chaunges
dread.
XXVIII
That even I, which daily doe behold
The glorie of the great mongst whom I won,
And now have prov'd what happinesse ye hold
In this small plot of your dominion,
Now loath great Lordship and ambition ;
And wish th' heavens so much had graced mee,
As graunt me live in like condition ;
Or that my fortunes might transposed bee
From pitch of higher place unto this low de-
gree."
In vaine ' (said then old Melibce) ' doe men
The heavens 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 use :
For not that which men covet most is best,
Nor that thing worst which men do most re-
But fittest is, that all contented rest [fuse ;
With that they hold : each hath his fortune in
his brest,
XXX
It is the mynd that maketh good or ill,
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 devize,
Sith each unto himselfe his life may fortunize.'
' Since then in each mans self ' (said Calidore)
It is to fashion his owne lyfes estate,
Give leave 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
shall resolve, or backe to turne againe,
may here with your sejfe some small repose
obtain e.
' Not that the burden of so bold a guest
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 give,
That may perhaps you better much withall,
And in this quiet make you safer live.'
So forth he drew much gold, and toward him
it drive.
XXXIII
But the good man, nought tempted with the
offer
Of his rich mould, did thrust it farre away,
And thus bespake : ' Sir knight, your boun-
teous proffer
Be farre fro me, to whom ye ill display
That mucky masse, the cause of mens decay,
That mote empaire my peace with daungera
But, if ye algates covet to assay [dread ;
This simple sort of life that shepheards lead,
Be it your owne : our rudenesse to your selfe
aread.'
XXXIV
So there that night Sir Calidore did dwell,
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 invent ;
And every 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 aug-
ment.
XXXV
But she that never had acquainted beene
With such queint usage, fit for Queenes and
Kings,
Ne ever had such knightly service scene,
But, being bred under base shepheards wings,
Had ever learn'd to love the lowly things,
Did litle whit regard his courteous guize,
But cared more for Colins carolings
Then all that he could doe, or ever devize :
His layes, his loves, his lookes, she did them
all despize.
XXXVI
Which Calidore perceiving, thought it best
To chaunge the manner of his loftie looke ;
And doffing his bright armes himselfe addrest
In shepheards weed ; and in his hand he tooke,
Instead of stecle-head speare, a shepheards
hooke ; [thought
That who hac} seene him then, would navebe-^
On Phrygian Paris by fjexippus brooke,
4o6
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK v;..
When he the love of fayre Oenone sought,
What time the golden apple was unto him
brought.
XXXVII
So being clad unto the fields he went
With the faire Pastorella every day,
And kept her sheepe with diligent attent,
Watching to drive the ravenous Wolfe away.
The whylest at pleasure she mote sport and
play ;
And every evening helping them to fold :
And otherwhiles, for need, he did assay
lu his strong hand their rugged teats to hold,
And out of them to presse the milke : love so
much could.
XXXVIII
Which seeing Coridon, who her likewise
Long time had lov'd, and hop'd her love to
gaine,
He much was troubled at that straungers guize,
And many gealous thoughts conceiv'd in vaine,
That this of all his labour and long paine
Should reap the harvest ere it ripened were :
That made him scoule, and pout, and oft com-
plaine
Of Pastorell to all the shepheards there,
That she did love a stranger swayne then him
more dere.
XXXIX
And ever, when "he came in companie
Where Calidore was present, he would loure
And byte his lip, and even for gealousie
Was readie oft his owne heart to devours,
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 ever shewed signe of rancour or of jarre.
And oft, when Coridon unto her brought
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
Yet she no whit his presents did regard, [ best ;
Ne him could find to fancie in her brest:
This new-come shepheardhad his market mard.
Old love is litle worth when new is more
prefard.
XLI
One day, when as the shepheard swaynes
together [glee,
Were met to make their sports and merrie
As thev are wont in faire sunshynie weather,
The whiles their flockes in snadowea shrouded
bee,
They fell to daunce : then did they all agree
That Colin Clout 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 closelv
bit.
XI,II
But Calidore, of courteous inclination,
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 Howry garlond tooke from her owne head,
And plast on his, he did it soone displace,
And did it put on Coridpns instead :
Then Coridon woxe frollicke, that earst seemed
dead.
XLIII
Another time, when as they did dispose
To practise games and maisteries to try,
They for their Judge 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' avenge his grudge, and worke
his foe great shame.
XLIV
But Calidore he greatly did mistake,
For he was strong and mightily stiffe pight,
That with one fall his necke he almost brake ;
And had he not upon him fallen light,
His dearest joynt he sure had broken quight.
Then was the oaken crowne by Pastorell
Given to Calidore as his due right ;
But he, that did in courtesie excell,
Gave it to Coridon, and said he wonne it well.
Thus did the gentle knignt himselfe abeare
Amongst that rusticke rout in all his deeds,
That even they, the which his rivals were,
Could not maligne him, but commend him
needs ;
For courtesie amongst the rudest breeds
Good will and favour. So it surely wrought
With this faire Mayd, and in her mynde the
seeds
Of perfect love did sow, that last forth brought
The finite of joy and blisse, though long tim«
dearely bought.
XLVI
Thus Calidore continu'd there long time
To winne the love of the faire Pastorell,
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
407
Which having got, lie used without crime j But what straunge fortunes unto him befell,
Or lilamefull blot ; but menaged so well, : Ere he attain'd the point by him intended,
That he, of all the rest which there did dwell, Shall more conveniently in other place be
Was favoured and to her grace commended. ; ended.
CANTO X.
Calidore sees the Graces dauncc
To Colins melody ;
The whiles his Pastorell is led
Into captivity.
WHO now does follow the foule Blatant
Beast,
Whilest Calidore does follow that faire Mayd,
1'nin yndfull of his vow, and high beheast
Which by the Faery Queene was on him layd,
That he should never leave, nor be delayd "
From chacing him, till he had it attchieved ?
But now, entrapt of love, which him betrayd,
He mindeth more how he may be relieved
With grace from her, whose love his heart hath
sore engrieved.
That from henceforth he meanes no more to
sew
His former quest, so full of toile and paine :
Another quest, another game in vew
He hath, the guerdon of his love to gaine ;
With whom he myndes for ever to remaine,
And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort,
Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine
Of courtly favour, fed with light report
Of every Waste, and sayling alwaies in the
port.
in
Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be
From so high step to stoupe unto so low;
For who had tasted once (as oft did he)
The happy peace which there doth overflow,
And prov'd the perfect pleasures which doe
grow [dales,
Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in
Would never more delight in painted show
Of such false blisse, as there is set for stales
T entrap unwary fooles in their eternall
bales.
IV
For what hath all that goodly glorious gaze
Like to one sight which Calidore did vew ?
The glaunee whereof their dimmed eies would
(UZ&
Th*t pcye/ more they should endure the shew
Of that sunne-shine that makes them looke
askew :
Ne ought, in all that world of beauties rare,
(Save onely Glorianaes heavenly hew,
To which what can compare?) can it compare ;
The which, as commeth now by course, I will
declare.
v
One day, as he did raunge the fields abroad,
Whilest his faire Pastorella was elsewhere,
He chaunst to come, far from all peoples troad,
Unto a place whose pleasaunce did appere
To passe all others on the earth which were :
For all that ever was by natures skill
Devized 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,
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 Bommer bud,
Spredding pavilions 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 majesty and
powre :
VII
And at the foote thereof a gentle flud
His silver waves did softly tumble downe,
Unmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud ;
Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder
clowne,
Thereto approch; ne filth mote therein drown e:
But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks did
sit [crowne,
In the woods shade which did the waters
Keeping all noysome things away from it,
And to the waters fall tuning their accents
fit,
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
And on the top thereof a spacious plaine
Did spred it selfe, to serve to all delight,
Either to daunce, when they to daunce would
faine,
Or else to course about their bases light ;
Ne ought there wanted which for pleasure
Desired be, or thence to banish bale, [might
So pleasauntly the hill with equall hight
Did seeme to overlooke the lowly vale ;
Therefore it rightly cleeped was mount Acidale.
They say that Venus, when she did dispose
Her selfe to pleasaunce, used to resort
Unto 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 even her owne Cytheron, though in it
She used most to keepe her royall court,
And in her soveraine Majesty to sit,
She in regard hereof refusde and thought
unfit.
x
Unto this place when as the Elfin Knight
Approcht, him seemed that the merry sound
Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight,
And many feete fast thumping th' hollow
ground, [bound.
That through the woods their Eccho did re-
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
He durst not enter into th' open greene,
For dread of them unwares to be descrydc'
For breaking of their daunce, if he were'seene ;
But in the covert of the wood did byde,
Beholding all, yet of them unespyde.
There he did see that pleased much his sight,
That even he him selfe his eyes envyde,
An hundred naked maidens lilly white
All raunged in a ring and dauncing in delight.
XII
All they without were raunged in a ring,
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 gtemme :
And in the middest of those same three was
placed
Another Darozell, as a precious gemnw
Amidst a ring most richly well enchaced,
That with her goodly presence all the rest
much graced.
XIII
Looke ! how the crowne, which Ariadne wore
Upon her yvory forehead, that same day
That Theseus her unto his bridale bore, [ fray
When the bold Centaures made that bloudy
With the fierce Lapithes which did them dis-
Being now placed in the firmament, [may,
Through the bright heaven doth her beams
display,
And is unto the starres an ornament, [lent.
Which round about her move in order excel^
Such was the beauty of this goodly band,
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 ever, as the crew
About her daunst, sweet flowres that far did
smell
And fragrant odours they uppon her threw ;
But most of all those three did her with gifts
endew.
xv
Those were the Graces, daughters of delight,
Handmaides of Venus, which are wont to
haunt [night:
Uppon this hill, and daunce there day and
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 jn the midst was placed paravaunt,
Was she to whom that shepheard pypt alone ;
That made him pipe so merrily, as never none.
She was, to weete, that jolly Shepheards
lasse,
Which piped there un!o that merry rout;
That jolly shepheard, which there piped, was
Poore Colin Clout, (who knowes not Colin.
Clout?)
He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst about.
Pype, jolly shepheard, pype thou now apace
Unto thy love that made thee low to lout :
Thy love is present there with thee in place ;
Thy love is there advaunst to be another
Grace.
xvn
Much wondred Calidore at this straunge
sight,
\Yhose liH§ before his eye bad never aeene j
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
409
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 have deluded beene.
Therefore, resolving what it was to know,
Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did
go-
XVIII
But, soone as he appeared to their vew,
They vanisht all away out of his sight, [knew ;
And cleane were gone, which way he neve.r
All save the shepheard, who, for fell despight
Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quight,
And made great mone for that unhappy turne :
But Calidore, though no lesse sory wight
For that mishap, yet seeing him to inourne,
Drew neare, that he the truth of all by him
mote learne.
XIX
And, first him greeting, thus unto him spake :
'Halle, jolly shepheard, which thy joyous
dayes
Here leadest in this goodly merry-make,
Frequented of these gentle Nymphes al waves,
Which to thee flocke to heare thy lovely
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,' answerd then that swaine,
'As thou unhappy, which them thence didst
chace,
Whom by no meanes thou canst recall againe;
For, being pone, none can them bring in place,
But whom they of them selves 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
grieves so sore? '
XXI
Tho gan that shepheard thus for to dilate :
' Then wote, thou shepheard, whatsoever thou
bee,
That all those Ladies, which thou sawest late,
Are Venus Damzels, all within her fee,
But differing in honour and degree :
They all are Graces which on her depend,
Besides ft 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.
xxn
' They are the daughters of sky-ruling Jove,
By him begot of faire Eurynome,
The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant grove,
As he, this way comming from feastfull glee
Of Thetis wedding with ^Eacidee,
In sommers shade him selfe 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 !
xxin
' These three on men all gracious gifts bestow,
Which decke the body or adorne the mynde,
To make them lovely or well-favoured show 5
As comely carriage, entertainement kynde,
Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde,
And all the complements of curtesie :
They teach us how to each degree and kynde
We should our selves demeane, to low, to hie,
To friends, to foes ; which skill men call Civility,
' Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme to
smile,
That we likewise should myld^ and gentle be ;
And also naked are, that without guiie
Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine may see,
Simple and true, from covert malice free ;
And eeke them selves so in their daunce they
bore, •
That two of them still froward seem'd to bee,
But one still towards shew'd her selfe afore ;
That good should from us goe, then come, in
greater store.
' Such were those Goddesses which ye did see ;
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 heavenly gifts from heven first enraced?
But what so sure she was, she worthy was
To be the fourth with those three othe'r placed :
Yet was she certes but a countrey lasse;
Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did
passe:
XXVI
' So farre, as doth the daughter of the day
All other lesser lights in light excell ;
So farre doth she in beautyfull array .
Above all other lasses beare the beu \
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
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,
Have for more honor brought her to this place.
And graced her so much to be another Grace.
XXVII
' Another Grace she well deserves to be,
In whom so many Graces gathered are,
Excelling much the meane of her degree ;
Divine resemblaunce, beauty soveraine 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,
That all the earth doest lighten with thy rayes,
Great Gloriana, greatest Majesty !
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 underneath thy feete to place her prayse ;
That when thy glory shall be farre displayd
To future age^ of her this mention may be
made ! '
XXIX
When thus that shepheard ended had his
speach,
Sayd Calidore : ' Now sure it yrketh mee,
That to thyblissel made this luckelesse breach,
As now the author of thy bale to be, [thee :
Thus to bereave thy loves deare sight from
But, gentle Shepheard, pardon thou my shame,
Who rashly sought that which I mote not see.'
Thus did the courteous Knight excuse his
blame, [frame.
And to recomfort him all comely meanes did
In such discourses they together spent
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 ravished,
That thence he had no will away to fare,
But wisht that with that shepheard he mote
dwelling share.
But that envenimd sting, the which of yore
jjfc poysnoug po;m) deepe fixed in his hart
Had left, now gan afresh to rancle sore,
And to renue the rigour of his smart ;
Which to recure no skill of Leaches art
Mote him availe, but to returne againe
To his wounds worker, that with lovely dart
Dinting his brest had bred his restlesse paine :
Like as the wounded Whale to shore flies from
the maine.
So, taking leave of that same gentle Swaine,
He backe returned to his rusticke wonne,
Where his faire Pastorella did remaiue:
To whome, in sort as he at first begonne,
He daily did apply him selfe to donne
All dewfull service, voide of thoughts impure ;
Xe any paines ne perill did he shonne,
By which he might her to his love allure,
And liking in her yet untamed heart procure.
I
And evermore the shepheard Coridon,
What ever thing he did her to aggrate,
Did strive 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 jealousie
did frize.
One day, as they all three together went
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 all too late.
XXXV
Which Coridon first hearing ran in hast
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 readj' now to rend
His loves deare spoile, in which his heart was
prayde,
He ran at him enraged, instead of being frayde.
He had no weapon but his shepheards hooke
To serve tlie vengeaunce of his wrathfull
will;
CANTO X.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
411
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 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 prevented.
XXXVII
From that day forth she gan him to affect,
And daily more her favour to augment ;
But Coridon for co\vherdize reject,
Fit to keepe sheepe, unfit for loves content :
The gentle heart scomes base disparagement.
Yet Calidore did not despise him quight,
But usde him friendly for further intent,
That by his fellowship he colour might
Both his estate and love from skill of any wight.
XXXVIII
So well he wood her, and so well he wrought
her,
With humble service, and with daily sute,
That at the last unto his will he brought her ;
Which he so wisely well did prosecute,
That of his love he reapt the timely frute,
And joyed long in close felicity, [brute,
Till fortune, fraught with malice, blinde and
That envies lovers long prosperity,
Blew up a bitter storme of foule adversity.
It fortuned one day, when Calidore
Was huiiting in the woods, (as was his trade)
A lawlesse people, Brigants night of yore,
That never usde to live by plough nor spade,
But fed on spoile and booty, which they made
Upon their neighbours which did nigh them
border,
The dwelling of these shepheards did invade,
And spoyld their houses, and them selves did
murder,
And drove away their flocks ; with other much
disorder.
XL
Amongst the rest, the which they then did
They spoyld old Melibee of all he had, [pray,
And all his people captive led away ; [lad,
Mongst which this lucklesse mayd away was
Faire Pastorella, sorrowfull and sad,
Most sorrowfull, most sad, that ever sight,
Now made the spoile of theeves and Brigants
bacl,
Which was the conquest of the gentlest Knight
That ever liv'd, and th' onely glory of bis
might.
XLI
With them also was taken Coridon,
And carried captive by those theeves away ;
Who in the covert of the night, that none*
Mote them descry, nor reskue from their pray,
Unto their dwelling did them close convay.
Their dwelling in a little Island was, [way
Covered with shrubby woods, in which no
Appeard for people in nor out to pas,
Nor any footing fynde for overgrowen gras :
For underneath the ground their way was
made [cover
Through hollow caves, that no man mote dis-
For the thicke shrubs, which did them alwaies
shade
From view of living wight and covered over ;
But darkenesse dredand daily night did hover
Through all the inner parts, wherein they
dwelt ;
Ne lightned was with window, nor with lover,
But with continuall candle-light, which delt
A doubtfull sense of things, not so well scene
as felt,
xun
Hither those Brigants brought their present
pray, [ward;
And kept them with continuall watch and
Meaning, so soone as they convenient may,
For slaves 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 theeves, she thought her self in hell,
Where with such damned fiends she should in
darknesse dwelL
XLIV
But for to tell the dolefull dreriment
And pittifull complaints which there she made,
Where day and night she nought did but la-
ment
Her wretched life shut up 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 leaves with comfort
glade —
And what befell her in that theevish wonne,
Will in another Canto better be begonne,
412
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[»OOK VI.
CANTO XI.
The Theeves fall out for Pastorell,
Whitest Melibee is slaine :
Her Calidore from them redeemes,
And bringeth backe againe.
THE joyes of love, if they should ever last
Without affliction or disquietnesse [cast,
That worldly chaunces doe amongst them
Would be on earth too great a blessednesse,
Liker to heaven then mortall wretchednesse :
Therefore the winged God, to let men weet
That here on earth is no sure happinesse,
A thousand sowres hath tempred with one
sweet,
[meet,
To make it seeme more deare and dainty, as is
Like as is now befalne to this faire Mayd,
Faire Pastorell, of whom is now my song :
Who being now in dreadfull darknesse layd
Amongst those theeves, which her in bondage
strong
Detaynd, yet Fortune, not with all this wrong
Contented, greater mischiefe on her threw,
And sorrowes heapt on her in greater throng ;
That who so heares her heavinesse, would rew
And pitty her sad plight, so chang'd from
pleasaunt hew.
Whylest thus she in these hellish dens re-
mayned,
Wrapped in. wretched cares and hearts unrest,
It so befell, (as Fortune had ordayned)
That he which was their Capitaine profest,
And had the chiefe commaund of all the rest,
One day, as he did all his prisoners vew,
With lustfull eyes beheld that lovely guest,
Faire Pastorella. whose sad mournefull hew
Like the faire Morning clad in misty fog did
shew.
IV
At sight whereof his barbarous heart was
fired,
And inly burnt with flames most raging what,
With looks, with words, with gifts he oft he»
wowed,
And mixed threats among, and much unto her
vowed.
But all that ever he could doe or say
Her constant mynd could not a whit remove,
Nor draw unto the lure of his lewd lay,
To graunt him favour or afford him love :
Yet ceast he not to sew, and all waies prove,
By which he mote accomplish his request,
Saying and doing all that mote behove ;
Ne day nor night he suffred her to rest,
But her all night did watch, and all the day
molest.
At last, when him she so importune saw,
Fearing least he at length the raines would
lend
Unto his lust, and make his will his law,
Sith in his powre she was to foe or frend,
She thought it best, for shadow to pretend
Some shew of favour, by him gracing small,
That she thereby mote either freely wend,
Or at more ease'continue there his thrall :
A little well is lent that gaineth mor^ withall.
So from thenceforth, when love he to he/
made,
With better tearmes she did him entertaine,
Which gave him hope, and did him halfe per-
swade,
That he in time her joyance should obtaine :
But when she saw through that small favours
gaine,
That further then she willing was he prest,
She found no meanes to barre him, but to faine
A sodaine sickenesse which her sore opprest.
And made unfit to serve his lawlesse miudea
behest.
That her alone he for his part desired
Of all the other pray which they had got,
And her in mynde did to him selfe allot. „ ..,.„„ . „„„ „
From that day forth he kyndnesse to her f Once to approch'to her In privkyT
showed, [mote ; I But onely mongst the rest by her to sit
And sought her Jove by all th,e meanes he ! Moqrning the rigour of her wa.Jady,
By meanes wherepf she wpuld not him permit
CANTO XI. ]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
413
And seeking all things meete for remedy ;
But she resolv'd no remedy to fynde,
Nor better cheare to shew in misery,
Till Fortune would her captive bonds unbynde :
Her sickenesse was not of the body, but the
mvnde.
During which space that she thus sicke did
lie, [wount
It chaunst a sort of merchants, which were
To skim those coastes for bondmen there to
buy,
Ami by such trafficke after gaines to hunt,
Arrived in this Isle, though bare and blunt,
T' inquire for slaves ; where being readie met
By some of these same theeves at the instant
brunt,
Were brought unto their Captaine, who was set
By his faire patients side with sorrowfull re-
gret.
x
To whom they shewed, how those marchants
were
Arriv'd in place their bondslaves for to buv ;
And therefore prayd that those same captives
there
Mote to them for their most commodity
Be sold, and mongst them shared equally.
This their request the Captaine much appalled,
Yet could he not their just demaund deny,
And willed streight the slaves should forth be
called,
And sold for most advantage, not to be for-
s tailed.
Then forth the good old Meliboe was brought,
And Condon with many other moe, [caught;
Whom they before in diverse spoyles had
All which he to the marchants sale did showe :
Till some, which did the sundry prisoners
knowe,
Gan to inquire for that faire shepherdesse,
Which with the rest they tooke not long agoe ;
And gan her forme and feature to express e,
The more t' augment her price through praise
of comlinesse.
XII
To whom the Captaine in full angry wize
Made answere, that the mayd of whom they
spake
Was his owne purchase and his onely prize ;
With which none had to doe, ne ought partake,
But he himselfe which did that conquest make :
Litle for him to have one silly lasse ; [weake,
Besides, through sicknesse now so wan and
That nothing meet in merchandise to passe :
So shew'd them her, to prove how pale and
weake she was.
The sight of whom, though now decayd and
mard,
And eke but hardly seene by candle-light,
Yet, like a Diamond of rich regard,
In doubtfull shadow of the darkesome night
With starrie beames about her shining bright,
These marchants fixed eyes did so. amaze,
That what through wonder, and what through
delight.
A while on her they greedily did gaze,
And did her greatly like, and did her greatly
praize.
XIV
At last when all the rest them offred were,
And prises to them placed at their pleasure,
They all refused in regard of her,
Ne ought would buy, how ever prisd with
measure, [ sure
Withouten her, whose worth above all threa-
They did esteeme, and offred store of gold:
But then the Captaine, fraught with more
displeasure,
Bad them be still; his love should not be sold ;
The rest take if they would ; he her to him
would hold.
xv
Therewith some other of the chiefest theeves
Boldly him bad such injurie forbeare ;
For that same mayd, how ever it him greeves,
Should with the rest be sold before him
theare,
To make the prises of the rest more deare.
That with great rage he stoutly doth denay ;
And, fiercely drawing forth his blade, d'oth
sweare
That who so bardie hand on her doth lay,
It dearely shall aby, and death for handsell
pay.
XVI
Thus, as they words amongst them multiply,
They fall to strokes, the frute of too much
talke,
And the mad steele about doth fiercely fly,
Not sparing wight, ne leaving any balke,
But making way for death at large to walke ;
Who, in the horror of the griesly night,
In thousand dreadful shapes doth mongst them
stalke, [light
And makes huge havocke ; whiles the candle-
Out quenched leaves no skill nor difference of
wight.
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
Like a sort of hungry dogs, ymet
About some carcase by the common way,
Doe fall together, stryving each to get
The greatest portion of the greedie pray,
All on confused heapes themselves assay,
And snatch, and byte, and rend, and tug, and
teare ;
That who them sees would wonder at their fray,
And who sees not would be affrayd to heare :
Such was the conflict of those cruell Brigants
there.
XVIII
But first of all their captives they doe kill,
Least they should joyne against the weaker
side,
Or rise against the remnant at their will :
Old MelitxE is slaine ; and him beside
His aged wife, with many others wide ;
But Coridon, escaping craftily,
Creepes forth of dores, whilst darknes him doth
And flyes away as fast as he can hye,
Ne stayeth leave to take before his friends doe
dye.
XIX
But Pastorella, wofull wretched Elfe,
Was by the Captaine all this while defended,
Who, minding more her safety then himselfe,
His target alwayes over her pretended ;
By means whereof, that mote not be amended,
lie at the length was slaine and layd on
ground,
Yet holding fast twixt both his armes extended
Fayre Pastorell, who, with the selfe same
wound
Launcht through the arme, fell down with him
in drerie swound.
There lay she covered with confused preasse
Of carcases, which dying on her fell, [ceasse ;
Tho, when as he was dead, the fray gan
And each to other calling did compell
To stay their cruell hands from slaughter fell,
Sith they that were the cause of all were gone :
Thereto they all attonce agreed well ;
Ami, lighting candles new, gan search anone,
How many of their friends were slaine, how
many fone.
XXI
Their Captaine there they cruelly found kild,
And in his armes the dreary dying mayd,
Like a sweet Angell twixt "two clouds uphild ;
Her lovely light was dimmed and decayd
With cloud of death upon her eyes displayd ;
Yet did the cloud make even that dimmed
light
Seeme much more lovely in that darknesse layd,
And twixt the twinckling of her eye-lids bright
To sparke out litle beames, like starres in fog-
gie night.
XXII
But when they mov'd the carcases aside,
They found that life did yet in her remaine :
Then all their helpes they busily apply de
To call the soule backe to her home ag'aine ;
And wrought so well, with labour and long
That they to life recovered her at last : [paine,
Who, sighing sore, as if her hart in twaine
Had riven bene and all her hart-strings brast,
With drearie drouping eyne lookt up like one
aghast.
XXIII
There she beheld, that sorehergriev'dtosee,
[hide, Her father and her friends about her lying,
Her selfe sole left a second spoyle to bee
Of those, that, having saved her from dying,
Renew'd her death by timely death denying.
What now is left her but to wayle and weepe,
Wringing her hands, and ruefully loud crying?
Ne cared she her wound in teares to steepe,
Albe with all their might those Brigants her
did keepe.
XXIV
But when they saw her now reliv'd againe,
They left her so, in charge of one, the best
Of many worst, who with unkind disdaine
And cruell rigour her did much molest ;
Scarse yeelding her due food or timely rest,
And scarsely suffring her infestred wound,
That sore her payn'd, by any to be drest.
So leave we her in wretched* thraldome bound,
And turne we backe to Calidore where we him
found.
XXV
Who when he backe returned from the wood,
And saw his shepheards cottage spoyled
quight,
And his love reft away, he wexed wood
And halfe enraged at that ruefull sight ;
That even his hart, for very fell despight,
And his owne flesh he readie was to teare :
He chauft, he griev'd, he fretted, and he
And fared like a furious wyld Beare, [sight,
Whose whelpes are stolne away, she being
otherwhere.
Ne wight he found to whom he might com-
plaine,
Ne wight he found of whom he might inquire,
CANTO XI.]
TffE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
That more increast the anguish of his paine :
He sought the woods, but no man could see
there; [heare:
He sought the plaines, but could no tydings
The woods did nought but ecchoes vaine re-
bound ;
The playnes all waste and emptie did appeare;
Where wont the shepheards oft their pypes
resound, [he found.
And feed an hundred flocks, there now not one
XXVII
At last, as there he romed up and downe,
He chaunst one comraing towards him to spy,
That seem'd to be some sorie simple clowne,
With ragged weedes, and lockes upstaring
As if he did from some late daunger fly, [hye,
And yet his feare did follow him behynd :
Who as he unto him approched nye,
He mote perceive by signes which he did fynd,
That Condon it "was, the silly shepherds
hynd.
XXVIII
Tho, to him running fast, he did hot stay
To greet him first, but askt where were the
rest?
Where Pastorell ?— Who full of- fresh dismay,
And gushing forth in teares, was so opprest,
That he no word could speake, but smit his
brest,
And up to heaven his eyes fast-streming threw
Whereat the knight amaz'd yet did not rest,
But askt againe, what mentthat rufull hew :
Where was his Pastorell ? where all the other
crew ?
XXIX
'Ah, well-away ! ' (sayd he, then sighing
sore)
' That ever t did live this day to see,
This dismall day, and was not dead before
Before 1 saw faire Pastorella dye.'
1 Die? out alas !' then Calidore did cry,
' How could the death dare ever her to quell ?
But read thou. shepheard, read what destiny
Or other dyrefull hap from heaven or hell
Hath wrought this wicked deed : doe feare
away, and *.ell.'
XXX
Tho, when the Shepheard breathed had a
whyle, [menc
He thus began : ' Where shall I then com
This wofull tale 'i or how tho^e Brigants vyle.
With oruell rage and dreadfull violence,
Spoyld all our cots, and caried us from hence
Or how faire Pastorell should have bene sold
To marchants, but was sav'd with strong de
fence;
)r how those theeves, whilest one sought her
to hold, [and bold,
"ell all at ods, and fought through fury fierce
XXXI
; In that same conflict (woe is me !) befell
his fatall chaunce, this dolefull accident,
>Vhose heavy tydings now I have to tell.
Irst all the captives, which they here had
hent,
Vere by them slaine by generall consent :
)ld Melibce and his good wife withall
~Tiese eyes saw die, and dearely did lament ;
Jut, when the lot to Pastorell did fall,
'heir Captaine long withstood, and did her
death forstall.
XXXII
' But what could he gainst all them doe alone j
t could not boot : needs mote she die at last,
onely scapt through great confusione
Jf cryes and clamors which amongst them past,
"n dreadfull darknesse dreadfully aghast ;
That better were with them to have bene dead,
Then here to see all desolate and wast,
3espoyled of those joyes and jolly-head,
>Vhich with those gentle shepherds here I
wont to lead.'
XXXIII
When Calidore these rue,full neweshad ra light,
ilis hart quite deaded was with anguish great,
And all his wits with doole were nigh dis-
traught,
That he his face, his head, his brest did beat,
And death it selfe unto himselfe did threat ;
3ft cursing th' heavens, that so cruell were
To her, whose name he often did repeat ;
And wishing oft that he were present there
When she was slaine, or had bene to her
succour nert.
XXXIV
But after gnefe awhile had had his course,
And spent it selfe in mourning, he at last
Began to mitigate his swelling sourse,
And in his mind with better reason cast
How he might save her life, if life did last;
Or, if that dead, how he her death might
wreake,
Sith otherwise he could not mend thing past;
Or if it to revenge he were too weake,
Then for to die with her, and his lives threed
to breake.
.\.\xv
Tho Coridon he prayd. sith he well knew
The readie way unto that, theevish wonne,
To wend with him, and be his conluct trew
Unto the place, to sec what should be dounc;
416
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
But he, whose hart through feare was late for-
donne,
Would not for ought be drawne to former drede,
But by all raeanes the daunger knowne did
shonne :
Yet Calidore so well him wrought with meed,
And faire bespoke with words, that he at last
agreed.
xxxvi
So forth thej' goe together (God before)
Both clad in shepheards weeds agreeably,
And both with shepheards hookes : But
Calidore
Had, underneath, him armed privily.
Tho, to the place when they approched nye
They chaunst, upon an hill not farre away,
Some flockes of sheepe and shepheards to
espy;
To wnom they both agreed to take their way,
In hope there newes to learne, how they mote
best assay.
XXXVII
There did they find, that which they did not
feare, ' [had reft
The selfe same flocks the which those theeves
From Melibos and from themselves whyleare ;
And certaine of the theeves there by them left,
The which, for want of beards, themselves
then kept.
Right well knew Coridon his owne late sheepe,
And seeing them for tender pittie wept ;
But when he saw the theeves which did them
keepe, [sleepe.
His hart gan fayle, albe he saw them all a-
XXXVIII
But Calidore recomforting his griefe,
Though not his feare, for nought may feare
disswade,
Him hardly forward drew, whereas the thiefe
Lay sleeping soundly in the bushes shade,
Whom Coridon him counseld to invade .
Now all unwares, and take the spoyle away ;
But he, that in his mind had closely made
A further purpose, would not so them slay,
But gently waking them gave them the time
of day.
XXXIX
Tho, sitting downe by them upon the greene,
Of sundrie things he purpose gan to faine,
That he by them might certaine tydings weene
Of Pastorell, were she alive or slaine :
Mongst which the theeves them questioned
againe, [were:
What mister men. and eke from whence they
To whom they aunswer'd, as did appertaine,
That they were poore heardgroomes, the which
whylere
Had from "their maisters fled, and now sought
hyre elswhere.
Whereof right glad they seem'd, and offer
made [keepe ;
To hyre them well if they their flockes would
For they themselves were evill groomes, they
sayd, [sheepe,
Unwont with beards to watch, or pasture
But to forray the land, or scoure the deepe.
Thereto they soone agreed, and earnest tooke
To keepe their flockes for litle hyre and chepe,
For they for better hyre did shortly looke :
So there all day they bode, till light the sky
forsooke.
XLI
Tho, when as towards darksome night it drew,
Unto their hellish dens those theeves them
brought ;
Where shortly they in great acquaintance grew,
And all the secrets of their entrayles sought.
There did they find, contrarie to their thought,
That Pastorell yet liv'd ; but. all the rest
Were dead, right so as Coridon had taught :
Whereof they both full glad and blyth did rest,
But chiefly Calidore, whom griefe had most
possest
XLII
At length, when they occasion fittest found,
In dead of night, when all the theeves did rest,
After a late forray, and slept full sound,
Sir Calidore him arm'd as he thought best,
Having of late by diligent inquest
Provided him a sword of meanest sort ;
With which he streight went to the Captaines
nest:
But Coridon durst not with him consort,
Ne durst abide behind, for dread of worse effort.
XLI1I
When to the Cave they came, they found It
fast:
But Calidore with huge resistlesse might
The dores assayled, and the locks upbrast :
With noyse whereof the theefe awaking light
Unto the entrance ran ; where the bold knight
Encountring him with small resistence slew,
The whiles faire Pastorell through great affright
Was almost dead, misdoubting least of-new
Some uprore were like that which lately she
did vew.
xuv
But when as Calidore was comen in,
And gan aloiul for Pastorell to call,
CANTO XI. J
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
41?
Knowing his voice, although not heard long
sin,
She sudden was revived therewithal!,
And wondrous joy felt in her spirits thrall :
Like him that being long in tempest tost,
Looking each houre into deathes mouth to fall,
At length espyes at hand the happie cost,
On which he safety hopes that earst feard to
be lost.
XLV
Her gentle hart, that now long season past
Had never joyance felt nor chearefull thought,
Began some smacke of comfort new to last,
Like lyfull heat to nummed senses brought,
And life to feele that long for death had sought.
Ne lesse in hart rejoyced Calidore,
When he her found'; "but, like to one distraught
And robd of reason, towards her him bore ;
A thousand times umbras t, and kist a thousand
But now by this, with noyse of late uprore,
The hue and cry was ra}rsed all about ;
And all the Brigants flocking in great store
Unto the cave gan preasse, nought having
dout
Of that was doen, and entred in a rout :
But Calidore in th' entry close did stand,
And entertayning them with courage stout,
Still slew the formost that came first to hand
So long till all the entry was with bodies mand.
Tho, when no more could nigh to him approch,
He breath 'd his sword, and rested him till day;
Which when he spyde upon the earth t'
encroch,
Through the dead carcases he made his way,
Mongst which he found a sword of better
say,
With which he forth went into th' open light,
Where all the rest for him did readie stay,
And, fierce assayling him, with all their might
Gan all upon him lay : there gan a dreadfull
fight.
XLVIH
How many flyes, in whottest sommers day,
Do seize upon some beast whose flesh is bare,
That all the place with swarmes do overlay,
And with their litle stings right, felly fare ;
So many theeves about him swarming are,
All which do him assayle on every side,
And sore oppresse, ne any him doth spare ;
But he doth with his raging brond divide
Their thickest troups, and round about him
scattreth wide.
XLIX
Like as a Lion mongst an heard of dere,
Disperseth them to catch his choysest pray ;
So did he fly amongst them here and there,
And all that nere him came did hew and slay,
Till he had strowd with bodies all the way ; "
That none his daunger daring to abide
Fled from his wrath, and did themselves convay
Into their caves, their heads from death to hide,
Ne any left that victorie to him envide.
Then, backe returning to his dearest deare,
He her gan to recomfort all he might
With gladfull speaches and with lovely cheare;
And forth her bringing to the joyous light,
Whereof she long had lackt the wishfull sight,
Deviz'd all goodly meanes from her to drive
The sad remembrance of her wretched plight :
3o her uneath at last he did revive
That long had lyen dead, and made again alive.
This doen, into those theevish dens he went,
And thence did all the spoyles and threasuree
take,
Which they from many long had robd and rent,
But fortune now the victors meed did make :
3f which the best he did his love betake ;
And also all those flockes, which they before-
Had reft from Melibce and from his make,
3e did them all to Coridon restore :
So drove them all away, and his love with
him bore.
E K
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
CANTO XII.
Payre Pastorella by great hap
Her parents understands.
Calidore doth the Blatant Beast
Snbdew, and bynd in bands.
LIKE as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde
Directs her course unto one certaine cost,
Is met of many a counter winde and tyde,
With which her winged speed is let and crost,
And Bellamour againe so well her pleased
With dayly service and attendance dew,
That of her love he was entyrely seized,
And closely did her wed, but knowne to few:
For all that hetherto hath long delayd
This gentle knight from sewing his first quest,
Though out of course, yet hath not bene mis-
To shew the courtesie by him profest [sayd,
Even unto the lowest and the least.
But now I come into my course againe,
To his achievement of the Blatant Beast:
Who all this while at will did range and raine,
Whilst none was him to stop, nor none him to
restraine.
in
Sir Calidore, when thus he now had raught
Faire Pastorella from those Brigants powre,
Unto the Castle of Belgard her brought,
Whereof was Lord the good Sir Bellamoure ;
Wio whylome was, in his youthes freshest
flowre,
A lustie knight as ever wielded speare,
And had endured many a dreadfull stoure
In bloudy battell for a Ladie deare,
The fayrest Ladie then of all that living were :
Yet did so streightly them asunder keepe,
That neither could to company of th other
And she her selfe in stormie surges tost ; | Which when her father understood, he grew
Yet, making many a horde and many a bay, | In so great rage that them in dongeon deepe
Still winneth way, ne hath her compasse lost: j Without compassion cruelly he threw;
Right so it fares with me in this long way,
Whose course is often stayd, yet never is astray.
creepe.
VI
Nathlesse Sir Bellamour, whether through
grace
Or secret guifts, so with his keepers wrought,
That to his love sometimes he came in place ;
Whereof her wombe, unwist to wight, was
fraught, [brought:
And in dew time a mayden child forth
Which she streightway, (for dread least if her
syre [sought,)
Should know thereof to slay he would have
Delivered to her handmayd, that for hyre
She should it cause be fostred under straunge
attyre.
VII
The trustie damzell bearing it abrode
Into the emptie fields, where living wight
Mote not bewray the secret of her lode,
She forth gan lay unto the open light
The litle babe, to take thereof a sight :
Whom whylest she did with watrie eyne
behold,
Upon the litle brest, like christall bright,
She mote perceive a litle purple mold,
That like a rose her silken leaves did faire
unfold.
VIII
Well she it markt, and pittied the more,
Her name was Claribell ; whose father hight
The Lord of Many Hands, farre renound
For his great riches and his greater might :
He, through the wealth wherein he did abound,
This daughter thought in wedlocke tt have
bound
! Yet could not remedie her wretched case ;
Unto the Prince of Picteland, bordering nere ; \ But, closing it againe like as before,
But she, whose sides before with secret wound Bedeaw'd with teares there left it in' the place.'
Of love to Bellamoure empierced were, | Yet left not quite, but drew a litle space
By all meanes shund to match with any for- Behind the bushes, where she did her hyde,
rein fere. To weet what mortall hand- or heavens "grace
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
419
Would for the wretched infants helpe provyde ;
For which it loudly cald, and pittifully cryde.
At length n Shepheard, which there by did
keepe
His fleecie flock upon the playnes around,
Led with the infants cry that loud did weepe,
Came to the place ; where, when he wrapped
found
Th' abandond spoyle, he softly it unbound ;
And, seeing there'that did him pittie sore,
He tooke it up and in his mantle wound ;
So home unto his honest wife it bore,
Who as her owne it nurst (and named) ever-
more.
x
Thus long continu'd Claribell a thrall,
And Bellamour in bands ; till that her syre
Departed life, and left unto them all :
Then all the stormes of fortunes former yre
Were turnd, and they to freedome did retyre.
Thenceforth they joy 'd in happinesse together,
And lived long in peace and love entyre,
'\Vithout disquiet or dislike of ether,
Till time that Calidore brought Pastorella
thether.
XI
Both whom they goodly well did entertaine ;
For Bellamour knew Calidore right well,
And loved for his prowesse, sith they twaine
Long since had fought in field : Als Claribell
Ne lease did tender the faire Pastorell, [ long.
Seeing her weake and wan through durance
There they a while together thus did dwell
In much delight, and many joyes among,
L'ntill the Damzell gan to wex more sound and
strong.
XII
Tho gan Sir Calidore him to advize
Of his first quest, which he had long forlore,
Asham'd to thinke how he that enterprize,
The which the Faery Qneene had long afore
Bequeath'd to him, forslacked had so sore ;
That much he feared least reproehfull blame
With fotile dishonour him mote blot therefore ;
Besides the losse of so much loos and fame,
As through the world thereby should glorifie
his name.
XIII
Therefore, resolving to returne in hast
Unto so great atchievement, he bethought
To leave his love, now perill being past,
With Claribell ; whylest he that monstersought
Throughout the world, and to destruction
brought.
So taking leave of his faire Pastorell,
Whom to recomfort all the meanes he wrought^
With thanks to Bellamour and Claribell,
He went forth on his quest, and did that him
befell.
XIV
But first, ere I doe his adventures tell
In this exploite, me needeth to declare
What did betide to the faire Pastorell
During his absence, left in heavy care
Through daily mourning and nightly misfare :
Yet did that auncient matrone all she might,
To cherish her with all things choice and rare ;
And her owne handmayd, that Melissa hight, '
Appointed to attend her dewly day and night.
XV
Who in a morning, when this Maiden faire
Was dighting her. having her snowy brest
As yet not laced, nor her golden haire
Into their comely tresses dewly drest,
Chaunst to espy upon her yvory chest
The rosie marke, which she remembred well
That litle Infant had, which forth she kest,
The daughter of her Lady Claribell,
The which she bore the whiles in prison she
did dwell.
XVI
Which well aviaing, streight she gan to cast
In her conceiptfull mynd that this faire Mayd
Was that same infant, which so long sith past
She in the open fields had loosely layd
To f ;tunes spoile, unable it to ayd :
So. full of joy, streight forth she ran in hast •
Unto her mistresse, being halfe dismayd,
To tell her how the heavens had her graste
To save her chylde, which in misfortunes
mouth was plaste.
The sober mother seeing such her mood,
Yet knowing not what meant that sodaine
thro,
Askt her, how mote her words be understood,'
And what the matter was that mov'd her so?
' My liefe,' (sayd she) ' ye know that long ygo,
Whilest ye in durance dwelt, ye to me gave
A little mayde, the which ye chylded tho;
The same againe if now ye list to have,
The same is yonder Lady, whom high God did
save.'
XVIII
Much was the Lady troubled at that speach,.
And gan to question streight, how she it knew ?
' Most certaine markes ' (sayd she) ' do me it
teach;
EE 2
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK VL
For on her brest I with these eyes did view
The litle purple rose which thereon grew,
Whereof her name ye then to her did give.
Besides, her countenaunce and her likely hew,
Matched with equall years, do surely prieve
That yond same is your daughter sure, which
yet doth live."
XIX
The matrone stayd no lenger to enquire,
But forth in hast ran to the straunger Mayd ;
Whom catching greedily, for great desire
Rent up her brest, and bosome open layd,
In which that rose she plainely saw displayd :
Then, her embracing twixt her armes twaine,
She long so held, and softly weeping sayd ;
' And livest thou, my daughter, now againe ?
And art thou yet alive, whom dead I long did
faine ? '
xx
Tho further asking her of sundry things,
And times comparing with their accidents,
She found at last, by very certaine signes
And speaking marker of passed monuments,
That this young Mayd, whom chance to her
presents,
Is her owne daughter, her owne infant deare.
Tho, woridring long at those so straunge
events,
A thousand times she her embraced nere,
With many a joyfuil kisse and many a melt-
ing tearc.
XXI
Who ever is the mother of one chylde,
Which having thought long dead she fyndes
alive,
Let her by proofe of that which she hath fylde
In her owne breast, this mothers joy descrive;
For other none such passion can contrive
In perfect forme, as this good Lady felt.
When she so faire a daughter saw survive,
As Pastorella was, that nigh she swelt
For passing joy, which did all into pitty melt
XXII
Thence running forth unto her loved Lord,
She unto him recounted all that fell ;
Who, joyning joy with her in one accord,
Acknowledg'd for his owne faire Pastorell.
There leave we them in joy, and let us tell
Of Calidore; who, seeking all this while
That monstrous Beast by finall force to quell,
Through every place with restlesse paine and
toile
Him follow'd by the tract of his outragious spoile.
xxm
Through all estates he found that he had
In which he many massacres had left, [past,
And to the Clergy now was come at last ;
In which such spoile, such havocke, and such
theft
He wrought, that thence all goodnesse he bereft,
That endlesse were to telL The Elfin Knight,
Who now no place besides unsought had left,
At length into a Monastere did light,
Where he him found despoyling all with maine
and might.
XXIV
Into their cloysters now he broken had,
Through which the Monckes he chaced here
and there,
And them pursu'd into their dortours sad,
And searched all their eels and secrets neare :
In which what filth and ordure did appeare,
Were yrkesome to report; yet that foule Beast,
Nought sparing them, the more did tosse and
teare,
And ransacke all their dennes from most to least,
Regarding nought religion, nor their holy
beast.
XXV
From thence into the sacred Church he broke,
And robd the Chancell, and the deskes downe
threw,
And Altars fouled, and blasphemy spoke,
And th' Images, for all their goodly hew,
Did cast to ground, whilest none was them to
rew;
So all confounded and disordered there :
But, seeing Calidore, away he flew,
Knowing his fatall hand by former feare ;
But he him fast pursuing soone approched
neare.
XXVI
Him in a narrow place he overtooke,
And fierce assailing forst him turne againe :
Sternely he turnd againe, when he him
strooke
With his sharpe steele, and ran at him amaine
With open mouth, that seemed to containe
A full good pecke within the utmost brim,
All set with yron teeth in raunges twaine,
That territide his foes, and armed him,
Appearing like the mouth of Orcus griesly
grim:
XXVII
And therein were a thousand tongs empight
Of sundry kindes and sundry quality;
Some were of dogs, that barked day anc
night;
And some of cats, thatwrawling still did cry;
And some of Beares, that groynd continually ;
And some of Tyjrres, that did seeme to gren
And snar at all that ever Dassed bv i
CANTO XII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
421
But most of them were tongues of in or tall men,
Which spake reprochfully, not caring where
nor when.
XXVIII
And them amongst were mingled here and
there [stings,
The tongues of Serpents, with three forked
That spat out poyson, and gore-blpudy gere,
At all that came within his ravenings ;
And spake licentious words and hatefull
Of good and bad alike, of low and hie. [things
Ne Kesars spared he a whit, nor Kings ;
But either blotted them with infamie,
Or bit them with his banefull teeth of injury.
But Calidore, thereof no whit afrayd,
Rencountred him with so impetuous might,
That th' outrage of his violence he stayd,
And bet abacke, threatning in. vaine to bite,
And spitting forth the poyson of his spight
That fomed all about his bloody jawes :
Tho, rearing up his former feete on hight,
lie rampt upon him with his ravenous pawes,
As if he would have rent him with his cruell
clawes :
XXX
But he, right well aware, his rage to ward
Did cast his shield atweene ; and, therewithall
Putting his puissaunce forth, pursu'd so hard,
That backeward he enforced him to fall ;
And, being downe, ere he new helpe could call,
His shield he on him threw, and fast downe
held:
Like as a bullocke, that in bloudy stall
Of butchers balefull hand to ground is feld,
Is forcibly kept downe, till he be throughly
queld.
XXXI
Full cruelly the Beast did rage and rore
To be downe held, and maystred so with
might,
That he gan fret and fome out bloudy gore
Striving in vaine to rere him selfe upright :
For still, the more he strove, the more the
Knight
Did him suppresse, and forcibly subdew,
That made him almost mad for fell despight :
He grind, hee bit, he scratcht, he venim threw,
And fared like a feend right horrible in hew :
XXXII
Or like the hell-borne Hydra, which they
faine
That great Alcides whilome overthrew,
After that he had labourd long in vaine
To crop his thousand heads, the which still new
Forth budded, and in greater number grew.
Such was the fury of this hellish Beast,
Whilest Calidore him under him downe threw \
Who nathemore his heavy load icleast,
But aye, the more he rag'd, the more his
powre increast.
xxxtn
Tho, when the Beast saw he mote nought
availe
By force, he gan his hundred tongues apply,
And sharpely at him to revile and raile
With bitter termes of shamefull infamy;
Oft interlacing many a forged lie,
Whose like he never once did speake. nor heare,
Nor ever thought thing so unworthily :
Yet did he nought, for all that, him forbeare,
But strained him so streightly that he chokt
him neare.
XXXIV
At last, when as he found his force to shrincke
And rage to quaile, he tooke a muzzel strong
Of surest yron, made with many a lincke :
Therewith he mured up his mouth along,
And therein shut up his blasphemous tong,
For never more defaming gentle Knight,
Or unto lovely Lady doing wrong ;
And thereunto a great long chaine he tight.
With which he drew him forth, even in hia
own despight.
XXXV
Like as whylome that strong Tirynthian
swaine [hell.
Brought forth with him the dreadfull dog of
Against his will fast bound in yron chaine,
And, roring horribly, did him compell
To see the hatefull sunne, that he might tell
To griesly Pluto what on earth was donne,
And to the other damned ghosts which dwell
For aye in darkenesse, which day-light doth
shonne :
So led this Knight his captyve with like con-
quest wonne.
Yet greatly did the Beast repine at those
Straunge bands, whose like till then he never
Ne ever any durst till then impose ; [bore,
And chauffed inly, seeing now no more
Him liberty was left aloud to rore :
Yet durst he not draw backe, nor once with-
stand
The proved powre of noble Calidore,
But trembled underneath his mighty hand,
And like a fearefull dog him followed through
the land.
423
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi.
Him through all Faery land he follow'd so,
As if he learned had obedience long,
That all the people, where so he did go,
Out of their townea did round about him
throng, [strong ;
To see him leade that Beast in bondage
And seeing it much wondred at the sight :
And all such persons as he earst did wrong
Rejoyced much to see his captive plight,
And much admyr'd the Beast, but more admyr'd
the Knight.
XXXVIII
Thus was this Monster, by the maystring
might
Of doughty Calidore, supprest and tamed,
That never more he mote endammadge wight
With his vile tongue, which many had defamed,
And many causelesse caused to be blamed.
So did he eeke long after this remaine,
Untill that, (whether wicked fate so framed
Or fault of men,) he broke his yron chaine,
And got into the world at liberty againe.
XXXIX
Thenceforth more mischiefe and more scath
he wrought
To mortall men then he had done before ;
Ne ever could, by any, more be brought
Into like bands, ne maystred any more :
Albe that, long time after Ualidore,
The good Sir Pelleas him tooke in hand,
And after him Sir Lamoracke of yore,
And all his brethren borne in Britaine land ;
Yet none of them could ever bring him into
band.
XL
So now he raungeth through the world
againe,
And rageth sore in each degree and state ;
Ne any is that may him now restraine,
He growen is so great and strong of late,
Barking and biting all that him doe bate,
Albe they worthy blame, or cleare of crime :
Ne spareth he most learned wits to rate,
Ne spareth he the gentle Poets rime ;
But rends without regard of person or of time.
Ne may this homely verse, of many meanest,
Hope to escape his venemous despite,
More then my former writs, all were they
cleanest
From blamefull blot, and free from all that wite
With which some wicked tongues did it backe-
bite,
And bring into a mighty Peres displeasure,
That never so deserved to endite. [measure,
Therefore do you, my rimes, keep better
And seeke to please ; that now is counted
wise mens threasure.
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
423
TWO CANTOS OF
MUTABILITIE:
WHICH, BOTH FOR FORME AND MATTER, APPEARS TO BE PARCELt OF SOME
FOLLOWING BOOKE OF
THE FAEKIE QUEENE,
UNDER
THE LEGEND OF CONSTANCIE.
CANTO VI.
Proud Change (not pleasd in mortall things
Beneath the Moone to raigne)
Pretends as well of Gods as Men
To be the Soveraine.
WHAT man that sees the ever- whirling wheele,
Of Change, the which all mortall things doth
sway,
But that therby doth find, and plainly feele,
How MUTABILITY in them doth play
Her cruell sports to many mens decay ?
Which that to all may better yet appeare,
I will rehearse that whylome I heard say,
How she at first her selfe began to reare
Gainst all the Gods, and th' empire sought
from them to beare.
ii
But first, here falleth fittest to unfold
Her antique race and linage ancient,
As I have found it registred of old
In Faery Land mongst records permanent.
She was, to weet, a daughter by descent
Of those old Titans that did wliylome strive
With Saturnes sonne for heavens regiment;
Whom though high Jove of kingdome did
deprive, [vive:
Yet many of their stemme long after did sur-
iii
And many of them afterwards obtain'd
Great power of Jove, nndthigh authority:
As Hecate', in whose almighty hand
He plac't all rule and principalitie,
To be by her disposed diversly
To Gods and men, as she them list divide ;
And drad Bellona, that doth sound on hie
Warres and allarums unto Nations wide,
That makes both heaven and earth to tremble
at her pride.
IV
So likewise did this Titanesse aspire
Rule and dominion to her selfe to gaine ;
That as a Goddesse men might her admire, .
And heavenly honors yield, as to them twaine:
And first, on earth she sought it to obtaine ;
Where shee such proofe and sad examples
shewed
Of her great power, to many ones great paine,
That not men onely (whom she soone subdewed)
But eke all other creatures her bad dooings
rewed.
v •
For she the face of earthly things so changed,
That all which Nature had establisht first
In good estate, and in meet order ranged,
She did pervert, and all their statutes- burst:
And all the worlds faire frame (which none
yet durst
Of Gods or men to alter or misguide)
She alter'd quite; and made them all accurst
That God had blest, and did at first provide
In that still happy state for ever to abide.
424
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK vn.
Ne shee the lawes of Nature onely brake,
But eke of Justice, and of Policie ;
And wrong of right, and bad of good did make
And death for life exchanged foolishlie :
Since which all living wights have learn'd to
And all this world is woxen daily worse, [die,
O pittious worke of MUTABILITY,
By which we all are subject to that curse,
And death, instead of life, have sucked from
our Nurse !
VII
And now, when all the earth she thus had
brought
To her behest, and thralled to her might,
She gan to cast in her ambitious thought
T attempt the empire of (be heavens hight,
And Jove himselfe to shoulder from his right.
And first, she past the region of the ayre
And of the fire, whose substance thin and slight
Made no resistance, ne could her contraire.
But ready passage to her pleasure did prepaire.
Thence to the Circle of the Moone she clambe.
Where Cynthia raignes in everlasting glory,
To whose bright shining palace straight she
came,
All fairely deckt with heavens goodly storie;
Whose silver gates (by which there sate an hory
Old aged Sire, with hower-glasse in hand,
Hight Time.) she entred, were he liefe orsory;
Ne staid e till she the highest stage had scand,
Where Cynthia did sit, that never still did
stand.
Her sitting on an Ivory throne shee found,
Drawne of two steeds, th' one black, the other
white,
Environd with tenne thousand starres around
That duly her attended day and night;
And by her side there ran her Page, that hight
Vesper, whom we the Evening-starre intend ;
That with his Torche, still twinkling like
twylight, [wend,
Her lightened all the way where she should
And joy to weary wandring travailers did lend :
That when the hardy Titanesse beheld
The goodly building of her Palace bright,
Made of the heavens substance, and up-held
With thousand Crystall pillors of huge hight,
She gan to bume in her ambitious spright,
And t' envie her that in such glory raigned.
Eftsoones she cast by force and tortious might
Her to displace, and to her selfe to have gained
The kingdome of the Night, and waters by her
wained.
XI
Boldly she bid the Goddesse downe descend,
And let her selfe into that Ivory throne ;
For she her selfe more worthy thereof wend,
And better able it to guide alone ;
Whether to men, whose fall she did bemone,
Or unto Gods, whose state she did maligne,
Or to th' infernall Powers her need give lone
Of her faire light and bounty most benigne,
Her selfe of all that rule she deemed most
condigne.
•XII
But she, that had to her that soveraigne seat
By highest Jove assign'd, therein to beare
Nights burning lamp, regarded not her threat,
Ne yielded ought for favour or for feare ;
But with sterne count'naunce and disdainfull
cheare,
Bending her horned browes, did put her back ;
And, boldly blaming her for comming there,
Bade her attonce from heavens coast to pack,
Or at her perill bide the wrathfull Thunders
wrack.
xin
Yet nathemore the Giantesse forbare,
But boldly preaeing-on raught forth her hand
To pluck her downe perforce from off her
chaire ;
And, there-with lifting up her golden wand,
Threatned to strike her if she did with-stand :
Where-at the starres, which round about her
blazed,
And eke the Moones bright wagon still did
stand,
All beeing with so bold attempt amazed,
And on her uncouth habit and sterne looke
still gazed.
XIV
Mean-while the lower World, which nothing
knew
Of all that chaunced heere, was darkned quite ;
And eke the heavens, and all the heavenly
crew
)f happy wights, now nnpnrvaid of light,
iVere much afraid, and wondred at that sight ;
Fearing least Chaos broken had his chaine,
And brought againe on them eternall night ;
But chiefely Mercury, that next doth raigne,
Ran forth in haste unto the king of Gods to
plaine.
XV
All ran together with a great out-cry
To Joves faire palace fixt in heavens" hight 5
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
425
And, beating at his gates full earnestly,
Can call to him alouil with all their might
To know what meant that suddaine lacke of
light.
The father of the Gods, when this he hoard.
Was troubled much at their so strange affright,
Doubting least Typhon were againe uprear'd,
Or other his old foes that once him sorely
fear'd.
XVI
Eftsoones the sonne of Maia forth he sent
Downe to the Circle of the Moone, to knowe
The cause of this so strange astonishment,
And why she did her wonted course forslowe ;
And if that any were on earth belowe
That did with charmes or Magick her molest,
Him to attache, and clowne to hell to throwe ;
But if from heaven it were, then to arrest
The Author, and him bring before his presence
prest.
XVII
The wingd-foot God so fast his plumes did
beat,
That soone he came where-as the Titanesse
Was striving with faire Cynthia for her seat ;
At whose strange sight and haughty hardi-
nesse
He wondred much, and feared her no lesse :
Yet laying feare aside to doe his charge,
At last he bade her (with bold stedfastnesse)
Ceasse to molest the Moone to walke at large,
Or come before high Jove her dooings to dis-
charge.
XVIII
And there-with-all he on her shoulder laid
His snaky-wreathed Mace, whose awfull power
Doth make both Gods and hellish fiends affraid :
Where- at the Titanesse did sternly lower,
And stoutly answer'd, that in evil'l bower
He from his Jove such message to her brought,
To bid her leave faire Cynthia's silver bower ;
Sith sb.ee his Jove and him esteemed nought,
No more then Cynthia's selfe ; but all their
kingdoms sought.
The Heavens Herald staid not to reply,
But past away, his doings to relate
Unto his Lord ; who now, in th' highest sky,
Was placed in his principall Estate,
With all the Gods about him congregate :
To whom when Hermes had his message told,
It did them all exceedingly amate,
Save Jove ; who, changing nought his count-
'nance bold, [ unfold ;
Pid unto theni at length these speeches wise
' Harken to mee awhile, yee heavenly
Powers !
Ye may remember since th' Earths cursed seed
Sought to assaile the heavens eternall towers,
And to us all exceeding feare did breed,
But, how we then defeated all their deed,
Yee all do knowe, and them destroyed quite ;
Yet not so quite, but that there did succeed
An off-spring of their bloud, which did alite
Upon the fruitfull earth, which doth us yet
despite.
' Of that bad seed is this bold woman bred,
That now with bold presumption doth aspire
To thrust faire Phoebe from her silver bed,
And eke our selves from heavens high Empire,
I f that her might were match to her desire,
Wherefore it now behoves us to advise
What way is best to drive her to retire,
Whether by open force, or counsell wise :
Areed, ye sonnes of God, as best as ye can de-
So having said, he ceast ; and with his brow
(His black eye-brow, whose doomefull dreaded
Is wont to wield the world unto his vow, [beck
And even the highest Powers of heaven to
check)
Made signe to them in their degrees to speake,
Who straight gan cast their counsell grave
and wise. [nought did reck
Mean-while th' Earths daughter, thogh she
Of Hermes message, yet gan now advise
What course were best to take in this hot
bold em prize.
XXIII
Eftsoones she thus resolv'd; that whil'stthe
(After returne of Hermes Embassie) [Gods
Were troubled, and amongst themselves at
Before they could new counsels re-allie, [ods,
To set upo'n them in that extasie, [lend.
And take what fortune, time, and place would
So forth she rose, and through the purest sky
To Joves high Palace straight cast to ascend,
To prosecute her plot. Good on-set boads
good end.
XXIV
Shee there arriving boldly in did pass ;
Where all the Gods she found in counsell
close,
All quite unarm'd, as then their manner was.
At sight of her they suddaine all arose
In great amaze, ne wist what way to chose:
426
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vn.
But Jove, all fearlesse, forc't them to aby ;
And in his soveraine throne gan straight dispose
Himselfe, more full of grace and Majestic,
That mote encheare his friends, and foes mote
terrific.
xxv
That when the haughty Titanesse beheld,
All were she fraught with pride and impu-
dence,
Yet with the sight thereof was almost queld;
And, inly quaking, seem'd as reft of sense
And voyd of speech in that drad audience,
Until that Jove himselfe her selfe bespake :
' Speake, thou fraile woman, speake with con-
fidence ; [now make ?
Whence art thou, and what doost thou here
What idle errand hast thou earths mansion to
forsake?"
XXVI
She, halfe confused with hia great com-
maund,
Yet gathering spirit of her natures pride,
Him boldly answer'd thus to his demaund :
' I am a daughter, by the mothers side,
Of her that is Grand-mother magnifide
Of all the Gods, great Earth, great Chaos
But by the fathers, (be it not envide) [child ;
I greater am in bloud (whereon I build)
Then all the Gods, though wrongfully from
heaven exil'd.
' For Titan (as ye all acknowledge must)
Was Satarnes elder brother by birth-right,
Both sonnes of Uranus ; but by unjust [slight,
And guilefull meanes, through Corybantes
The younger thrust the elder from his right :
Since which thou, Jove, injuriously hast held
The Heavens rule from Titans' sonnes by
might,
And them to hellish dungeons downe hast feld.
Witnesse, ye Heavens, the truth of all that I
have teld !'
Whil'st she thus spake, the Gods, that gave
good eare
To her bold words, and marked well her grace,
(Beeing of stature tall as any there
Of all the Gods, and beautifull of face
As any of the Goddesses in place,)
Stood all astonied ; like a sort of steeres,
Alongst whom some beast of strange and for-
raine race [peeres :
Unwares is chaunc't, far straying from his
So did their ghastly gaze bewray their hidden :
feares.
Till, having pauz'd awhile, Jove thus be-
spake :
1 Will never mortall thoughts ceasse to aspire
In this bold sort to Heaven claime to make,
And touch celestiall seats with earthly mire?
I would have thought that bold Procrustes
Or Typhons fall, or proud Ixions paine, [hire,
Or great Prometheus tasting of our ire,
Would have suffiz'd the rest for to restraine,
And warn'd all men by their example to re-
fraine.
XXX
' But now this oflf-scum of that cursed fry
Dare to renew the like bold enterprize,
And chalenge th' heritage of this our skie;
Whom what should hinder, but that we like-
Should handle as the rest of her allies, [wise
And thunder-drive to hell ? ' With that, he
shooke
His Xectar-deawed locks, with which theskyea
And all the world beneath for terror quooke,
And eft his burning levin-brond in hand he
tooke.
XXXI
But when he Iroked on her lovely face,
In which faire beames of beauty did appeare
That could the greatest wrath soone turne to
grace,
(Such sway doth beauty even in Heaven beare)
He staid his hand; and, having chang'd his
He thus againe in milder wise began : fcheare,
•But ah! if Gods should strive with fle?h
yfere, .
Then shortly should the progeny of man
Be rooted out, if Jove should do still what he
' But thee, faire Titans child, I rather weene,
Through some vaine errour, or inducement
light,
To see that mortall eyes have never seene ;
Or through ensample of thy sisters might,
Bellona, whose great glory thou doost spight,
Since thou hast seene her dreadfull power be-
lowe, [affright)
Mongst wretched men (dismaide with her
To bandie Crownes, and Kingdoms to bestowc :
And sure thy worth no lesse then hers doth
seem to showe.
' But wote thou this, thou hardy Titanesse,
That not the worth of any living wight
May challenge ought in Heavens interesse ;
Much lesse the Title of old Titans Right :
CANTO VI. J
THE FA ERIE QUEENh.
427
For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,
And by eternal doome of Fates decree,
Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright ;
Which to our selves we hold, and to whom
wee
Shall ^vortlly deeme partakers of our blisse to
bee.
XXXIV
' Then ceasse thy idle claime, thou foolish
gerle ;
And seeke by grace and goodnesse to obtaine
That place, from which by folly Titan fell :
There to thou maist perhaps, if so thou faine
Have Jove thy gracious Lord and Soveraine.'
So having said, she thus to him replide:
4 Ceasse, Saturnes sonne, to seeke by proffers
vaine
Of idle hopes t' allure me to thy side,
For to betray my Right before I have it tride.
' But thee, 0 Jove ! no equall Judge I deeme
Of my desert, or of my dewfull Right ;
That in thine owne behalfe maist partiall seeme :
But to the highest him, that is benight
Father of Gods and men by equall might,
To weet, the God of Nature , I appeale.'
There-at Jove wexed wroth, and in his spright
Did inly grudge, yet did it well conceale ;
And bade Dan Phoebus scribe her Appellation
Male.
XXXVI
Eftsoones the time and place appointed were,
Where all, both heavenly Powers and earthly
wights,
Before great Natures presence should appeare,
For triall of their Titles and best Rights :
That was, to weet, upon the highest hights
Of Arlo-hill (Who knowes not Arlo-hill ?)
That is the highest head (in all mens sights)
Of my old father MOLE, whom Shepheards
quill [skill.
Renowmed hath with hymnes fit for a rurall
And, were it not ill fitting for this file
To sing of hilles and woods mongst warres and
Knights,
I would abate the sternenesse of my stile,
Mongst these sterne stounds to mingle soft
delights ;
And tell how Arlo, through Dianaes spights,
(Beeing of old the best and fairest Hill
That was in all this holy Islands hights)
Was made the most unpleasant and most ill:
Meane-while, O Clio ! lend Calliope thy quill.
Whylome when IRELAND florished in fame
Of wealths and goodnesse, far above the rest
Of all that beare the British Islands name,
The gods then us'd (for pleasure and for rest)
Oft to resort there-to, when seem'd them best ,
But none of all there-in more pleasure found
Then Cynthia, that is soveraine Queene profest
Of woods and forresta which therein abound,
Sprinkled with wholsom waters more then most
on ground :
XXXIX
But mongst them all, as fittest for her game,
Eyther for chace of beasts with hound orboawe,
Or for to shrowde in shade from Phoebus flame,
Or bathe in fount aines that do freshly flowe
Or from high hilles or from the dales belowe,
She chose this Arlo ; where she did resort
With all her Nymphes enranged on a rowe,
With whom the woody Gods did oft consort,
For with the Nymphes the Satyres love to play
and sport.
XL
Amongst the which there was a Nymph that
Molanna ; daughter of old Father Mole, [hight
And sister unto Mulla faire and bright,
Unto whose bed false Bregog whylome stole,
That Shepheard Colin dearely did condole, [be :
And made her lucklesse loves well knowne to
But this Molanna, were she not so shole,
Were no lesse faire and beautifull then shee ;
Yet, as she is, a fayrer flood may no man see.
xn
For, first, she springs out of two marble Rocks,
On which a grove of Oakes high-mounted
growes,
That as a girlond seemrs to deck the locks
Of som faire Bride, brought forth with pom-
pous showes
Out of her bowre, that manv flowers strowes :
So through the flowry Dales she tumbling
downe
Through many woods and shady coverts flowe.=,
(That on each side her silver channell crowne)
Till to the Plaine she come, whose Valleyes
she doth drowne.
XLII
In her sweet streames Diana used oft
(After her sweaty chace and toylesome play)
To bathe her selfe ; and, after, on the soft
And downy grasse her dainty limbes to lay
In covert shade, where none behold her may j
For much she hated sight of living eye.
Foolish god Faunus, though full many a day
He saw her clad, yet longed foolishly" [vity.
To see her naked mongst her Nymphes in pri-
428
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vi
XLIII
No way he found to compasse his desire,
But to corrupt Molanna, this her maid,
Her to discover for some secret hire :
So her with flattering words he first assaid;
And after, pleasing gifts for her purvaid,
Queene-apples, and red Cherries from the tree,
With which he her allured, and betrayd
To tell what time he might her Lady see
When she her selfe did bathe, that he might
secret bee.
XLIV
There-to he promist, if shee would him
pleasure [better ;
With this smull boone, to quit her with a
To weet, that where-as shee had out of measure
Long lov'd the Fanchin, who by nought did
set her,
That he would undertake for this to get her
To be his Love, and of him liked well :
Besides all which, he vow'd to be her debter
For many moe good turnes then he would tell,
The least of which this little pleasure should
excelL
XLV
The simple mayd did yield to him anone ;
And eft him placed where he close might view
That never any saw, save onely one,
Who, for his hire to so foole-hardy dew,
Was of his hounds devour'd in Hunters hew.
Tho, as her manner was on sunny day,
Diana, with her Nymphes about'her, drew
To this sweet spring ; where, doffing her array,
She bath'd her lovely limbes, for Jove a likely
pray,
There Faunus saw that pleased much his eye,
And made his hart to tickle in his brest,
That, for great joy of some-what he did spy,
He could him not contains in silent rest ;
But, breaking forth in laughter, loud profest
His foolish thought : A foolish Faune indeed,
That couldst not hold thy selfe so hidden blest,
But wouldest needs thine owne conceit arced !
Babblers unworthy been of so divine a meed.
XLVII
The Goddesse, all abashed with that noise,
In haste forth started from the guilty brooke ;
And, running straight where-as she heard his
voice,
Enclos'd the bush about, and there him tooke,
Like darred Larke, not daring up to looke
On her whose sight before so much he sought.
Nigh all to peeces, that they left him nought;
And then into the open light they forth him
brought.
XLVIII
Like as an huswife, that with busie care
Thinks of her Dairy to make wondrous gaine,
Finding where-as some wicked beast unware
That breakes into her Da3rr' house, there doth
draine [paine,
Her creaming pannes, and frustrate all her
Hath, in some snare or gin set close behind,
Entrapped him, and caught into her traine ;
Then thinkes what punishment were best
assign'd,
And thousand deathes deviseth in her venge-
full mind.
XLIX
So did Diana and her maydens all
Use silly Faunus, now within their baile :
They mocke and scorne him, and him foule
miscall; [taile,
Some by the nose him pluckt, some by the
And by his goatish beard some did him haile:
Yet he (poore soule!) with patience all did
beare ; [vaile :
For nought against their wils might counter-
Ne ought he said, what ever he did heare,
But, hanging downe his head, did like a Mome
appeare.
L
At length, when they had flouted him their
fill,
They gan to cast what penaunce him to give.
Some would have gelt him ; but that same
would spill f live :
The Wood-gods breed, which must for ever
Others would through the river him have drive
And ducked deepe ; but that seem'd penaunce
light:
But most agreed, and did this sentence give,
Him in Deares skin to clad; and in that plight
To hunt him with their hounds, him selfe save
how hee might.
But Cynthia's selfe, more angry then the rest
Thought not enough to punish nim in sport,
And of her shame to make a gamesome jest ;
But gan examine him in straighter sort,
Which of her Nymphes, or other close consort
Him thither brought, and her to him betraid t
He, much affeard, to her confessed short
That 'twas Molanna which her so bewraid.
Thence forth they drew him by the homes, and i Then all attonce their hands upon Molanni
shooke laid.
CANTO VI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
429
But him (according as they had decreed)
With a Deeres-skin they covered, and then
chast
With all their hounds that after him did speed ;
But he, more speedy, from them fled more
fast
Then any Deere, so sore him dread aghast.
They after follow'd all with shrill out-cry,
Shouting as they the heavens would have
brast; [rlie,
That all the woods and dales, where he did
Did ring againe, and loud re-eccho to the skie.
So they him follow'd till they weary were ;
When, back returning to Molann' againe,
They, by commaund'ment of Diana, there
Her whelm'd with stones. Yet Faunus (for
her paine)
Of her beloved Fanchin did obtaine,
That her he would receive unto his bed :
So now her waves passe through a pleasant
Plaine,
Till with the Fanchin she her selfe do wed,
And (both combin'd) themselves in one faire I
Nath'lesse Diana, full of indignation,
Thence-forth abandond her delicious brooke,
In whose sweet streame, before that bad oc-;
casion,
So much delight to bathe her limbes she tooke :
Ne onely her, but also quite forsooke
All those faire forrests about Arlo hid ;
And all that Mountaine, which doth over-looke
The richest champain that may else be rid ;
And the faire Shure, in which are thousand
Salmons bred.
Them all, and all that she so deare did way,
Thence-forth she left ; and, parting from the
place,
There-on an heavy haplesse curse did lay ;
To weet, that Wolves, where she was wont to
space,
Should harbour'dbeand all those Woods deface,
And Thieves should rob and spoile that Coast
around : [Chase
Since which, those Woods, and all that goodly
Doth to this day with Wolves and Thieves a'-
bound : [since have found.
river spred.
i Which too- too true that lands in-dwellers
CANTO VII.
Pealing from Jove to Nature's bar,
Bold Alteration pleades
Large Evidence : but Nature soone
Her righteous Doome areads.
AH ! whither doost thou now, thou greater
Muse, [bring,
Me from these woods and pleasing forrests
And my fraile spirit, (that dooth oft refuse
This too high flight, unfit for her weake wing)
Lift up aloft, to tell of heavens King
(Thy soveraine Sire) his fortunate successe ;
And" victory in bigger notes to sing
Which he obtain'd against that Titanesse,
That him of heavens Empire sought to dis-
possesse ?
ii
Yet, sith I needs must follow thy behest,
Do thou my weaker wit with skill inspire,
Fit for this turne ; and in my feeble brest
Kindle fresh sparks of that immortal! fire
Which learned minds inflameth with desire
Of heavenly things : for who, but thou alone
That art yborne of heaven and heavenly
Sire,"
Can tell things doen in heaven so long ygone,
So farre past memory of man that may be
knowne ?
Now, at the time that was before agreed,
The gods assembled all on Arlo Hill ;
| As well those that are sprung of heavenly seed,
; As those that all the other world do fill,
j And rule both sea and land unto their will :
j Onely th' infernall Powers might not appeare ;
I As well for horror of their count'naunce ill,
As for th' unruly fiends which they did
feare ;
Yet Pluto and Proserpina were present
there.
430
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
LBOOK vn.
And thither also came all other creatures,
What-ever life or motion do retaine.
According to their sundry kinds of features,
That Arlo scarsly could them all containe,
So full they filled every hill and Plaine ;
And had not Natures Sergeant (that is Order)
Them well disposed by his busie paine,
And raunged farre abroad in every border,
They would have caused much confusion and
disorder.
V
Then forth issewed (great goddesse) great
dame Nature
With goodly port and gracious Majesty,
Being far greater and more tall of stature
Then any of the gods or Powers on hie :
Yet certes by her face and physnomy,
Whether she man or woman inly were,
That could not any creature well descry ;
For with a veile, that wimpled every where,
Her head and face was hid that mote to none
appeare.
VI
' That, some do say, was so by skill devized,
To hide the terror of her uncouth hew
From mortall eyes that should be sore agrized ;
For that her face did like a Lion shew,
That eye of wight could not indure to view :
But others tell that it so beautious was,
And round about such beames of splendor
threw,
That it the Sunne a thousand times did pass,
Ne could be seene but like an image in a glass.
That well may seemen true; for well 1
weene,
That this same day when she on Arlo sat,
Her garment was so bright and wondrous
sheene,
That my fraile wit cannot devize to what
It to compare, nor finde like stuffe to that :
As those three sacred Saints, though else most
wise,
Yet on mount Thabor quite their wits forgat,
When they their glorious Lord in strange dis-
guise [their eves.
Transfigur'd sawe ; his garments so did daze
In a fayre Plaine upon an equall Hill
She placed was in a pavilion ;
Not such as Craftes-men by their idle skill
Are wont for Princes states to fashion ;
But th' Earth herselfe, of her owne motion,
Out of her fruitfull bosome made to gruwe
Most dainty trees, that, shooting up anon,
Did seeme to bow their bloosming heads full
lowe
For homage unto her, and like a throne did
showe.
IX
So hard it is for any living wight
All her array and vestiments to tell,
That old Da'n Geffrey (in whose gentle spright,
The pure well head of Poesie did dwell)
In his Foules parley durst not with it mel,
But it transferd to Alane, who he thought
Had in his Plaint of kinds describ'd it well :
Which who will read set forth so as it ought,
Go seek lie out that Alane where he may be
sought.
x
And all the earth far underneath her feete
Was dight with flowers that voluntary grew
Out of the ground, and sent forth odours sweet ;
Tenne thousand mores of sundry sent and hew,
That might delightthe smell, orplease the view.
The which the Nymphes from all the brooks
thereby
Had gathered, they at her foot-stoole threw ;
That richer seem'd then any tapestry,
That Princes bowres adorne with painted
imagery.
XI
And Mole himselfe, to honour her the more,
Did deck himselfe in freshest faire attire ;
And his high head, that seemeth alwayes hore
With hardned frosts of former winters ire,
He with an Oaken girlond now did tire,
As if the love of some new Nymph, late scene,
Had in him kindled youthful! fresh desire,
And made himchangehisgrayattiretogreene:
Ah, gentle Mole ! such joyaiice hath thee well
beseene.
XII
Was never so great joyance since the day
That all the gods whylome assembled were
On Haemus hill in their divine array,
To celebrate the solemne bridall cheare
jTwixt Peleus and Dame Thetis pointed there;
Where Phoebus selfe, that god of Poets hight,
They say, did sing the spousall hymne full
cleere,
That all the gods were ravisht with delight
Of his celestiall song, and Musicks wondrous
might.
XIII
This great Grandmother of all creatures bred,
Great Nature, ever young, vet full of eld ; -
Still mooving, yet unmoved from her sted;
Unseene of an}-, yet of all beheld ;
Thus sitting in her throne, as I have teld,
CANTO VFI.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
43 »
Before her came dame Mutability ;
And, being lowe before her presence fcld
With meek obaysancc and humilitie,
Thus gan her'plaintif Plea with words to
amplifie :
XIV
' To thee, O greatest Goddesse, onely great !
An humble suppliant loe ! 1 lowely fly,
Seeking for Right, which I of thee entreat,
Who Right to all dost deale indifferently,
Damning all Wrong and tortious Injurie,
'Which any of thy creatures do to other
(Oppressing them with power unequally.)
Sith of them all thou art the equall mother,
And knittest each to each, as brother unto
brother.
xv
'To thee therefore of this same Jove I plaine,
And of his fellow gods that faine to be,
That challenge to themselves the whole worlds
raign,
Of which the greatest part is due to me,
And heaven it selfe by heritage in Fee :
For heaven and earth I both alike do deeme,
Sith heaven and earth are both alike to thee.
And gods no more then men t hou doest esteem e ;
For even the gods to thee, as men to gods, do
'Then weigh, 0 soveraigne goddesse! by
what right [ rainty,
These gods do claime the worlds whole sove-
And that is onely dew unto thy might
Arrogate to themselves ambitiously :
As for the gods owne principality,
Which Jove usurpes unjustly, that to be
My heritage Jove's selfe cannot denie,
From my great Grandsire Titan unto mee
Deriv'd by dew descent ; as Ls well kuowen to
thee.
XVII
' Yet manger Jove, and all his gods beside,
I do possesse the worlds most regiment ;
As if ye please it into parts divide,
And every parts inholders to convent,
Shall to your eyes appeare incontinent.
And, first, the Earth (great mother of us all)
That only seemes unmov'd and permanent.
And unto Mntabilitie not thrall, [rail :
Yet is she chang'd in part, and eeke in gene-
' For all that from her springs, and is ybredde,
How-over faire it flourish for a time,
Yet see we soone decay ; and, being dead,
To turne againe unto their earthly slime :
Yet, out of their decay and mortall crime,
We daily see new creatures to arize,
And of their Winter spring another Prime,
Unlike in forme, and chang'd by strange dis-
guise: [lessewise.
So turne they still about, and change in rest-
' As for her tenants, that is, man and beasts,
The beasts we daily see massacred dy
As thralls and vassals unto mens beheasts ;
And men themselves do change continually,
From youth to eld, from wealth to poverty,
From good to bad, from bad to worst of all :
Ne doe their bodies only flit and fly,
But eeke their minds (which they immortall
call) " [sious fall.
Still change and vary thoughts, as new occa-
' Ne is the water in more constant case,
Whether those same on high, or these belowe;
For th' Ocean moveth still from place to
place,
And every River still doth ebbe and flowe ;
Ne any Lake, that seems most still and slowe,
Ne Poole so small, that can his smoothnesse
holde
When any winde doth under heaven blowe ;
With which the clouds are also tost and roll'd,
Now like great Hills, and streight like sluces
them unfold.
XXI
' So likewise are all watry living wights
Still tost and turned with continual! change,
Never abiding in their stedfast plights :
The fish, still floting, doe at random range,
And never rest, but evermore exchange
Their dwelling places, as the streames them
carrie :
Ne have the watry foules a certaine grange
Wherein to rest, ne in one stead do tarry ;
But flitting still doe flie, and still their places
vary.
XXII
' Next is the Ayre ; which who feeles not by
sense
(For of all sense it is the middle meane)
To flit still, and with subtill influence
Of his thin spirit all creatures to maintaine
In state of life ? 0 weake life ! that does
On thing so tickle as th' unsteady ayre, [leane
Which every howre is chang'd and altred
cleane
With every blast that bloweth, fowle or faire:
The faire doth it prolong ; the fowle doth it
impaire.
432
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
[BOOK vn.
XXIII
' Therein the changes infinite beholde,
Which to her creatures every minute chaunce;
Now boyling hot, streight friezing deadly cold;
Now faire sun-shine, that makes all skip and
daunce ; [tenance
Streight bitter stormes, and balefull coun-
That makes them all to shiver and to shake :
Rayne, haile, and snowe do pay them sad
penance, [quake)
And dreadfull thunder-claps (that make them
With flames and flashing lights that thousand
changes make.
' Last is the fire ; which, though it live for
Necanbe quenched quite, yet every day [ever,
We see his parts, so soone as they do sever,
To lose their heat and shortly to decay ;
So makes himself his owne consuming pray :
Ne any living creatures doth he breed,
But all that are of others bredd doth slay ;
And with their death his cruell life dooth feed ;
Nought leaving but their barren ashes without
seede.
XXV
'Thus all these fower (the which the ground-
work bee
Of all the world and of all living wights)
To thousand sorts of Change we subject see :
Yet are they chang'd (by other wondrous
slights)
Into themselves, and lose their native mights ;
The Fire to Ayre, and th' Ayre to Water
sheere,
And Water into Earth; yet Water fights
With Fire, and Ayre with Earth, approaching
neere :
Yet all are in one body, and as one appeare.
1 So in them all raignes Mutabilitie ;
How-ever these, that Gods themselves do call,
Of them do claime the rule and soverainty ;
As Vesta, of the fire ajthereall ;
Vulcan, of this with us so usuall ;
Ops, of the earth ; and Juno, of the ayre ;
Neptune, of seas; and Nymphes, of Rivers all:
For all those Rivers to me subject are,
And all the rest, which they usurp, be all my
share.
XXVII
'Which to approven true, as I have told,
Vouchsafe, O Goddesse! to thy presence call
The rest which doe the world in being hold ;
As timea and seasons of the y wire that fall:
Of all the which demand in general!.
Or judge thyselfe, by verdit of thine eye,
Whether to me they are not subject afl.'
Nature did yeeld thereto ; and by-and-by
Bade Order' call them all before her Majesty.
XXVIII
So forth issew'd the Seasons of the yeare.
First, lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of
flowres [beare,
That freshly budded and new bloosmes did
(In which a thousand birds had built their
bowres
That sweetly sung to call forth Paramours)
And in his hand a javelin he did beare,
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)
A guilt engraven morion he did weare ;
That as some did him love, so others did him
feare.
XXIX
Then came the jolly Sommer, being dight
In a thin silken cassock coloured greene,
Th#t was unlyned all, to be more light ;
And on his head a girlond well beseene
He wore, from which, as he had chaufled been,
The sweat did drop; and in his hand he bore
A boawe and shaftes. as he in forrest greene
Had hunted late the Libbard or the Bore,
And now would bathe his limbes with labor
heated sore.
XXX
Then came the Autumne all in yellow clad,
As though he joyed in his plentious store,
Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full
glad
That he had banisht hunger, which to-fore
Had by the belly oft him pinched sore :
Upon his head a" wreath, that was enrold
With ears of come of every sort, he bore;
And in his hand a sickle he did holde,
To reape the ripened fruits the which the
earth had yold.
Lastly, came Winter cloathed all in frize,
Chattering his teeth for cold that did him
chill ; [freese,
Whil'st on his hoary beard his breath did
And the dull drops, that from his purpled
bill
As from a limbeck did adown distill.
In his right hand a tipped staffe he held,
With which his feeble steps he stayed still ;
For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld,
That scarse his loosed limbes he hable was to
weld.
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENE.
433
These, marching softly, thus in order went ;
And after them the Mo'nthes all riding came.
i"irst, sturdy March, with brows full sternly
And armed strongly, rode upon a Ram, [bent
^'he same which over Hellespontus swam ;
Tel in his hand a spade he also hent,
And in a bag all sorts of seeds ysame,
Vhich on the earth he strewed as he went,
And fild her wombe with fruitfull hope of
nourishment.
XXXIII
Next came fresh Aprill, full of lusty hed,
And wanton as a Kid whose home new buds :
Jpon a Bull he rode, the same which led
Duropa noting through th' Argolick fluds:
iis homes were gilden all with golden studs,
And garnished with garlonds goodly dight
)f all the fairest flowres and freshest buds
Vhich th' earth brings forth; and wet he
seem'd in sight [loves delight.
IVith waves, through which he waded for his
XXXIV
Then came faire May, the fayrest mayd on
ground,
)eckt all with dainties of her seasons pryde,
And throwing flowres out of her lap around :
Jpon two brethrens shoulders she did ride,
The twinnes of Leda ; which on eyther side
Supported her like to their soveraigne Queene :
Lord ! how all creatures laught when her they
spide
And leapt and daunc't as they had ravisht beene!
And Cupid selfe about her fluttred all in
greene.
xxxv
And after her came jolly June, arrayd
All in greene leaves, as he a Player were ;
fet in his time he wrought as well as playd,
That by his plough-yrons mote right well
appeare.
Jpon a Crab he rode, that him did beare
Vith crooked crawling steps an uncouth pase,
And backward yode, as Bargemen wont to
fare
lending their force contrary to their face ;
Jke that ungracious crew which faines demu-
rest grace.
XXXVI
Then came hot July boyling like to fire,
?hat all his garments he had cast away.
Jpon a Lyon raging yet with ire
le boldly rode, and made him to obay :
t was the beast that whylome did forray
The Nemxan forrest, till th' Amphytrionide
lim slew, and with his hide did him array.
Behinde his back a sithe, and by his side
Under his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.
XXXVII
The sixt was August, being rich arrayd
In garment all of gold downe to the ground ;
Yet rode he not. but led a lovely Mayd
Forth by the lilly hand, the which was cround
With eares of come, and full her hand was
found :
That was the righteous Virgin, which of old
Liv'd here on earth, and plenty made abound ;
But after Wrong was lov'd, and Justice solde,
She left th' unrighteous world, and was to
heaven extold.
XXXVIII
Next him September marched, eeke on foote,
Yet was he heavy laden with the spoyle
Of harvests riches, which he made his boot,
And him enricht with bounty of the soyle :
In his one hand, as fit for harvests toyle,
He held a knife-hook ; and in th' other hand
A paire of waights, with which he did assoyle
Both more and lesse, where it in doubt did
stand,
And equall gave to each as Justice duly scann'cl
XXXIX
Then came October full of merry glee ;
For yet his noule was totty of the must,
Which he was treading in the wine-fats see,
And of the joyous oyle, whose gentle gust
Made him so frollick and so full of lust :
Upon a dreadfull Scorpion he did ride,
The same which by Dianaes doom unjust
Slew great Orion ; and eeke by his side [tyde.
He had his ploughing-share and coulter ready
XL
Next was November ; he full grosse and fat
As fed with lard, and that right well might
seeme ;
For he had been a fatting hogs of late, [steem,
That yet his browes with sweat did reek and
And yet the season was full sharp and breem :
In planting eeke he took no small delight.
Whereon he rode not easie was to deeme ;
For it a dreadfull Centaure was in sight,
The seed of Saturne and faire Nais, Chiron
hight.
XLI
And after him came next the chill December :
Yet he, through merry feasting which he made
And great bonfires, did not the cold remember;
His Saviour's birth his mind so much did glad.
Upon a shaggy-bearded Goat he rode,
The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender yeares,
They say, was nourisht by th' Idsean mayd ;
FF
434
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
[BOOK vir
And in hishandabroad deepe boawle he beares,
Of which he freely drinks an health to all his
peeres.
XLII
Then came old January, wrapped well
In many weeds to keep the cold away;
Yet did he quake and quiver, like to quell,
And blowe his nayles to warm e them if he may;
For they were numbd with holding all the day
An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood
And from the trees did lop the needlesse spray :
Upon an huge great Earth-pot steane he stood,
From whose wide mouth there flowed forth the
Komane Flood.
XLIII
And lastly came cold February, sitting
In an old wagon, for he could not ride, _
Drawne of two fishes, for the season fitting,
Which through the flood before did softly slyde
And swim away : yet had he by his side
His plough and harnesse fit to till the ground,
And tooles to prune the trees, before the pride
Of hasting Prime did make them burgein
round.
•So past the twelve Months forth, and their dew
places found.
XLIV
And after these there came the Day and
Night,
Riding together both with equall pase,
Th' one on a Palfrey blacke, the other white ;
But Night had covered her uncomely face
With a blacke veile, and held in hand a mace,
On top whereof the moon and stars were pight ;
And sleep and darknesse round about did
trace:
But Day did beare upon his scepters hight
The goodly Sun encompast all with beames
bright.
XLV
Then came theHowres, fai re daughters of high
Jove
And timely Night; the which were all endewed
"With wondrous beauty fit to kindle love ;
But they were virgins all, and love eschewed
That might forslack the charge to them fore-
shewed
By mighty Jove ; who did them porters make
Of heavens gate (whence all the gods issued)
Which they did daily watch, and nightly wake
By even tumes, ne ever did their charge for-
sake.
XT.VI
And after all came Life, and lastly Death ;
Death with most grim and griesly visage
scene,
Yet is he nought but parting of the breath 5
Ne ought to see, but like a shade to weene,
Unbodied, unsoul'd, unheard, unseene :
But Life was like a faire young lusty boy,
Such as they faine Dan Cupid to have beene,
Full of delightfull health and lively joy,
Deckt all with flowres, and wings of gold fi
to employ.
XLVII
When these were past, thus gan the Tita
nesse :
Lo! mighty mother, now be judge, and say
Whether in all thy creatures more or lesse
CHANGE doth not raign and bear the greates
sway;
For who sees not that Time on all doth pray
But Times do change and move continually :
So nothing heere long standeth in one stay :
Wherefore this lower world who can deny
But to be subject still to Mutability ? '
XLVIII
Then thus gan Jove : ' Eight true it is, tha
these
And all things else that under heaven dwell
Are chaung'd of Time, who doth them al
disseise
Of being : But who is it (to me tell) [pel
That Time himselfe doth move, and still com
To keepe his course ? Is not that namely wee
Which poure that vertue from our heavenly eel
That moves them all, and makes them change<
be?
So them we gods do rule, and in them ak'
thee.
XLIX
To whom thus Mutability : ' The things,
Which we see not how they are mov'd am
swayd
Ye may attribute to your selves as Kings,
And say, they by your secret powre are made
But what we see not, who shall us perswade?
But were they so, as ye them faine to be,
Mov'd by your might and ordered by you:
Yet what if I can prove, that even yee [ ayde
Your selves are likewise chang'd, and subject
unto mee ?
t,
' And first, concerning her that is the first,
Even you, faire Cynthia ; whom so much yt
make
Joves dearest darling, she was bred and nurst
On Cynthus hill, whence she her name did
take;
Then is she mortal! borne, how-so ye crake :
Besides, her face and countenance every day
We changed see and sundry formes partate,
CANTO VII.]
THE FAERIE QUEENS.
435
Now hornd, now round, now bright, now browne
and gray ;
So that ' as changefull as the Moone ' men use
to say.
LI
' Next Mercury ; who though he lesse appeare
To change his hew, and alwayes seeme as one,
Yet he his course doth alter every yeare,
And is of late far out of order gone.
So Venus eeke, that goodly Paragone,
Though faire all night, yet is she darke all day :
And Phoebus selfe, who lightsome is alone,
Yet is he oft eclipsed by the way,
And fills the darkned "world w'ith terror and
dismay.
LII
'Now Mars, that valiant man, is changed
most;
For he sometimes so far runnes out of square,
That he his way doth seem quite to have lost,
And cleane without his usuall spheere to fare ;
That even these Star-gazers stonisht are
At sight thereof, and damne their lying bookes:
So likewise grim Sir Saturne oft doth spare
His sterne aspect, and calmehis crabbed lookes.
So many turning cranks these have, so many
crookea.
LIII
' But you, Dan Jove, that only constant are,
And King of all the rest, as ye doe clame,
Are you not subject eeke to this misfare?
Then, let me aske you this withouten blame ;
Where were ye borne ? Some say in Crete by
name,
Others in Thebes, and others other-where ;
But, wheresoever they comment the same,
They all consent that ye begotten were
And borne here in this world ; ne other can
appeare.
LIV
' Then are ye mortall borne, and thrall to me
Unlesse the kingdome of the sky yee make
Immortall and unchangeable to" be:
Besides, that power and vertue which ye spake,
That ye here worke, doth many changes take,
And your owne natures change; for each of
you,
That vertue have or this or that to make,
Is checkt and changed from his nature trew,
By others opposition or obliquid view.
1 Besides, the sundry motions of your Spheares,
So sundry wayes and fashions as clerkes faine,
Some in short space, and some in longer
yeares,
What is the same but alteration plaine?
Onely the starry skie doth still remaine:
Yet "do the Starres and Signes therein still
move,
And even itselfe is mov'd, as wizards saine :
But all that moveth doth mutation love ;
Therefore both you and them to me I subject
prove.
LVI
' Then, since within this wide great Universe
Nothing doth firme and permanent appeare,
But all things tost and turned by transverse,
What then should let, but I aloft should reare
My Trophee, and from all the triumph beare ?
Now judge then, (O thou greatest goddesse
trew)
According as thy selfe doest see and heare,
And unto me addoom that is my dew ;
That is, the rule of all, all being ruTd by you.'
So having ended, silence long ensewed ;
Ne Nature to or fro spake for a space,
But with firme eyes affixt the ground still
viewed.
Meane-while all creatures, looking in her face,
Expecting th' end of this so doubtfull case,
Did hang in long suspence what would ensew,
To whether side should fall the soveraine
place :
At length she, looking up with chearefull view,
The silence brake, and gave her dootne in
speeches few.
LVIII
I well consider all that ye have said,
And find that all things stedfastnesse do hate
And changed be ; yet, being rightly wayd,
They are not changed from their first estate ;
But by their change their being do dilate,
And turning to themselves at length againe,
Do worke their owne perfection so by fate :
Then over them Change doth not rule and
raigne,
But they raigne over Change, and do their
states maintaine.
' Cease therefore, daughter, further to aspire,
And thee content thus to be rul'd by mee,
For thy decay thou seekst by thy desire ;
But time shall come that all shall changed bee,
And from thenceforth none no more change
shal see.'
So was the Titanesse put downe and whist,
And Jove confirm'd in his imperiall see.
Then was that whole assembly quite dismist,
And Natur's selfe did vanish, whither no man
wist.
KF2
436
THE FAERIE QUEEN'S.
[BOOK vi r.
THE VIII. CANTO, UNFERFITE.
WHEN I bethinke me on that speech why-
Of Mutabilitie, and well it way !
[leare
Me seemes, that though she all unworthy were
Of the Heav'ns Rule ; yet, very sooth to say,
In all things else she beares the greatest sway : '
Then gin I thinke on that which Nature sayd,
Of that same time when no more Change shall
be,
But stedfast rest of all things, firmely stayd
Upon the pillours of Eternity,
Which makes me loath this state of life so That is contrayr to Mutabilitie;
tickle.
And love of things so vaine to cast away ;
Whose flowring pride, so fading and so fickle,
Short Time shall soon cut down with his con-
suming sickle.
For all that moveth doth in Change delight :
But thence-forth all shall rest eternally
With Him that is the God of Sabaoth'hight :
0! that great Sabaoth God, grant me that
Sabaoths sight
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
THE
SHEPHEARDES CALENDER:
CONTEYNING TWELVE ^EGLOGUES,
PROPORTIONABLE
TO THE TWELVE MONETHES.
To the noble and vertuous Gentleman, most worthy of
all titles both of learning and chevairie,
MAISTER PHILIP SIDNEY.
TO HIS BOOKE.
Goe, little booke ! thy selfe present,
As child whose parent is unkent,
To him that is the president
Of Noblesse and of chevalree :
And if that Envie barke at thee,
As sure it will, for succouref.ee
Under the shadow of his wing;
And asked who thee forth did bring,
A shepheards swaine, saye, did thee sing
All as his straying flocke hefedde:
And, when his honor has thee redde,
Crave pardon for my hardyhedde.
But, if that any aske thy name,
Say, thou wert base-begot with blame;
For-thy thereof thou takest shame.
And, when thou art past jeopardee.
Come tell me what was sayd ofmee,
And I will send more after thee.
IMJUBB&
TO THE MOST EXCELLENT AND LEARNED,
BOTH OKATOB AKD POETE,
MAYSTER GABRIELL HARVEY,
HIS VERIE SPECIAL AND SINGULAR GOOD PREND E. K. COMMENDETH THE GOOD LYKDfG OP THIS
HIS LABOUIt, AND THE PATRONAGE OP THE NEW POETE.
UNCOUTHE, unkiste, sayde the old famous
Poete Chaucer: whom for his excellencie and
wonderfull skil in making, his scholler
Lidgate, a worthy scholler of so excellent a
maister, calleth the Loadestarre of our
Language : and whom our Colin Clout in
his jEglogue calleth Tityrus the God of
shepheards, comparing hum to the wortfiines
of the Roman Tityrus, Virgile. Which
proverbe, myne owne good friend Ma. Harvey,
as in that good old Poete it served well
Pandares purpose for the bolstering of his
baudy brocage, so very well taketh place in this
our new Poete, who for that he is uncouthe
(as said Chaucer) is unkist, and unknown to
most men, is regarded but of few. But I
dout not, so soone as his name shall come
into the knowledge of men, and his worthines
be sounded in the tromp of fame, but that he
shall be not onely kiste, but also beloved of all,
embraced of the most, and wondred at of the
best. No lesse, I thinke, deserveth his witti-
nesse in devising, his pithinesse in uttering, his
complaints of love so lovely, his discourses of
pleasure so pleasantly, his pastoral rudenesse,
his morall wisenesse, his dewe observing of
Decorum everye where, in personages, in
seasons, in matter, in speach ; and generally,
in al seemely simplycitie of handeling his
matter, and framing his words : the which
of many thinges which in him be straunge, I
know w'ill seeme the straungest, the words them
selves being so auncient, the knitting of them
so short and intricate, and the whole Periode
and compasse ofspeacheso delightsome for the
roundnesse, and so grave for the straungenesse.
And firtte of the wordes to speake, I graunt
they be something hard, and of most men un-
used, yet both English, and also used of most
excellent Authors, and most famous Poetes.
In if/itnn, whenas this our Poet hath bene
much travelled and throughly redd, how could
it be, (as that worthy Oratour sayde) but that
walking in the sonne, although for other cause
he walked, yet needes he mought be sunburnt;
and, having the sound of those auncient Poetes
still ringing in his eares, he mought needes, in
singing, hit out some of theyr tunes. But
whether he useth them by such casualtye and
custome, or of set purpose and choyse, as
thinking them fittest for such rusticall rude-
nesse of sheplieards, eyther for that theyr
rough sounde would make his rymes more
ragged and rustical, or els because such aide
and obsolete wcrdes are most used of country
folke, sure I think, and think I think not
amisse, that they bring great grace, and, as
one would say, auctoritie to the verse. For
albe, amongst many other faultes, it specially
be objected of Valla against Livie, and of
other against Saluste, that with over much
studie they affect antiquitie, as coveting thereby
credence ana honor of elder yeeres, yet I am
of opinion, and eke the best learned are of the
lyke, that those auncient solemne wordes are a
great ornament, both in the one, and in the
other ; the one labouring to set forth in hys
worke an eternall image of antiquitie, and the
other carefully discoursing matters ofgravitie
and importaunce. For, if my memory fitile
not, Tullie, in that booke wherein he tnde-
voureth to set forth the paterne of a perfect
Oratour, sayth that ofttimes an auncient worde
maketh the style seeme grave, and at it wen
442
THE EPISTLE.
reverend, no otherwise then we honour and
reverence gray heares, for a certein religious
regard, which we have of old age. Yet nether
every where must old words be stuffed in, nor
the common Dialecte and maner of speaking
no corrupted therby, that, as in old buildings,
it seme disorderly and ruinous. But all as
in most exquisite pictures they use to blaze
and portraict not only the dai title lineaments
of beauty e, but also rounde about it to shadowe
the rude thickets and craggy cliffs, that, by the
basenesse of such parts, more excellency may
accrew to the principall; for of times wefynde
our selves, I knowe not how, singularly de-
lighted with the shewe of such naturall rude-
nesse, and take great pleasure in that disorderly
order. Even so doe those rough and harsh
termes enlumine, and make more clearly to
appeare, the brightnesse of brave and glorious
words. So oftentimes a dischorde in Musick
maketh a comely concordaunce : so great delight
tooke the worthy Poete Alceus to behold a
blemish in the joy nt of a wel shaped body. But,
if any will rashly blame such his purpose in
choyse of old and unwonted words, him may 1
more justly blame and condemne, or of
witlesse headinesse in judging, or ofheedelesse
hardinesse in condemning ; for, not marking
the compasse of hys bent, he wil judge of the
length of his cast : for in my opinion it is one
special pray se of many, whych are dew to this
Poete, that he hath laboured to restore, as to
theyr rightfull heritage, such good and
naturall English words, as have ben long
time out of use, and almost ckane disherited.
Which is the onely cause, that our Mother
tonge, which truely of it self is both ful enough
for prose, and stately enough for verse, hath
long time ben counted most bare and barrein
of both. Which default whenas some en-
devoured to salve and recure, they patched
•up the holes with peces and rags of other
languages, borrowing here of the French, there
of the Italian, every where of the Latine ;
not weighing how il those tongues accorde
with themselves, but much worse with ours :
So now they have made our English tongue
a gallimaufray, or hodgepodge of al other
speches. Other some, not so wel scene in the
English tonge as perhaps in other languages,
if they happen to here an olde word, albeit
very naturall and significant, crye out streight-
way, that we speak no English, but gibbrish,
or rather such as in old time Evanders
mother spake : whose first shame is, that they
are not ashamed, in their own mother tonge,
to be counted straungers and alienes. The
second thame no lesse then the first, that
what so they understand not, they streight
way deeme to be senselesse, and not at al to be
understode. Much like to the Mole in jEsopes
fable, that, being blynd her selfe, would in no
wise be perswaded that any beast could see.
The last, more shameful then both, that of
their owne country and natural speach, which
together with their Sources milk they sucked,
they have so base regard and bastard judge-
ment, that they will not onely themselves not
labor to garnish and beautifie it, but also repine,
that of other it shold be embellished. Like to
the dogge in the maunger, that him selfe can eate
no hay, and yet barketh at the hungry bullock,
that so fame would feeds : whose currish kind,
though it cannot be kept from barking, yet
conne I them thanke that they refrain from
byting.
Now, for the knitting of sentences, whych
they call the joynts and members therof, and
for al the compasse of the speach, it is round
without roughnesse, and learned without hard-
nes, such indeede as may be perceived of the
leasts, understoode of the moste, but judged
onely of the learned. For what in most
English wryters useth to be loose, and as it
were ungyrt, in this Authour is well grounded,
finely framed, and strongly trussed up together.
In regard wherof, I scorne and spue out the
rakehelly e route of our ragged rymers (for so
themselves use to hunt the letter) which without
learning boste, without judgement jangle,
without reason rage and fame, as if some
instinct of Poeticall spirite had newly ravished
them above the meanenesse of common capacitie.
And being, in the middest of all theyr bravery,
sodenly, eyther for want of matter, or of ryme,
or having forgotten theyr former conceipt, they
seeme to be so pained and travelled in theyr
remembrance, as it were a woman in childe-
birth, or as that same Pythia, when the trounce
came upon her: 'Os rabidum fera corda
domans, Sfc.'
Netkelesse, let them a Gods name feede on
theyr owne folly, so they seeke not to darken the
beames of others glory. As for Colin, under
whose person the Authour selfe is shadowed,
howfurre he is from such vaunted titles and
glorious showes, both him selfe sheweth, where
he sayth,
1 Of Muses Hobbin, I conne no skill.
And
' Enough is rue to paint out my unrest, &o.'
And also appeareth by the basenesse of the
name, wherein it semeth he chose rattier to un-
fold greqt matter of argument covertly then^
THE EPISTLE.
443
professing it, not suffice thereto accordingly.
Which moved him rather in JEglogues then
other wise to write, doubting perhaps his habi-
litie, which he little needed, or mynding to
furnish our tongue with this kinde, wherein it
faulteth ; or following the example of the best
and most auncient Poetes, which devised this
kind of wryting, being both so base for the
matter, and homely for the manner, at the first
to trye theyr habilities ; and as young birdes,
that be newly crept out of the nest, by little
first to prove theyr tender wyngs, before they
make a greater fiyght. So flew Theocritus, as
you may perceive he was all ready full fledged.
So flew Virgile, as not yet well feeling his
winges. Sofiew Mantuane, as not being full
somd. So Petrarque. So JBoccace. So
Marot, Sanazarus, and also divers other
excellent both Italian and French Poetes,
whose fating this Author every where follow-
eth ; yet so as few, but they be wel sented, can
trace him out. So finally flyeth this our new
Poete as a birde whose principals be scarce
growen out, but yet as one that in time shall be
'hable to keepe wing with the best.
Now, as touching the generall dry ft and
purpose of his jEglugues, I mind not to say
much, him selfe labouring to conceale it, One/y
this appeareth, that his unstayed yougth had
long wandred in tlte common Labyrinth of
Love, in which time to mitigate and allay the
heate of his passion, or els to warne (as he
sayth) the young shepheards, s. his eoualls
and companions, of his unfortunate folly, he
compiled these xij JEglogues, which, for that
they be proportioned to tlte state of the xij
monethes, he tenneth tiie Shephearda Calendar,
applying an olde name to a new worke. Here-
unto have I added a certain Glosse, or scho-
lion, for thexposition of old wordes, and
harder phrases ; which maner of g losing and
commenting, well I wote, wil seeme straunge
and rare in our tongue : yet, for so much as I
knew many excellent and proper devises, both
in wordes and matter, would passe in the
speedy course of reading, either as unknowen,
or as not marked, and that in this kind, as in
other, we might be equal to the learned of
other nations, I thought good to take the paines
upon me, the rather for that by meanes (if
some familiar acquaintaunce 1 wa» madeprivie
to his counsell and secret meaning in them, as
also in sundry other works of his, which albeit
I know he nothing so much hatetli as to promul-
gate, yet thus much have I adventured upon his
frendihip. him selfe being for long time furre
estrawtgtd, hoping that this will the rather
occasion him to put forth divers other excel-
lent works of his, which slepe in silence ; a*
his Dreames, his Legendes, hi* Court of
Cupide, and sondry others, whose commenda-
tions to set out were verye vaine, the thinges
though worthy of many, yet being knowen to
few. These my present paynes, if to any
they be pleasurable or profitable, be you judge,
mine own good maister Harvey, to whom I
have,botli in respect of your worthinesse gener-
ally, and otherwyse upon some particular and
special considerations, voued uiis my labour,
and the maydenheadof this our common f rends
Poetrie; himselfe having already in the be-
ginning dedicated it to the. Noble and worthy
Gentleman, the right worshipfull Ma. Phi.
Sidney, a special favourer and maintainer of
all kind of learning. Whose cause, I pray
you, Sir, yf Envie shall stur up any wrongful
accusasion, defend with your mighty Rlie-
torick and other your rare gifts of learning,
as you can, and shield with your good wil, as
you ought, against the malice and outrage of
so many enemies, as I know wil be set on fire
with the sparks of his kindled glory. And
thus recommending the Author unto you, as
unto his most special good f rend, and my selfe
unto you both, as one making singuler account
of two so very good and so chaise f rends, Ibid
you both most hartely farwel, and commit you
and your commendable studies to the tuicion
of the Greatest,
Your owne assuredly to be commaunded,
E.K,
Post scr.
NO W 1 trust, M. Harvey, that upon sight
of your speciallj rends and fellow Poets doings,
or els for envie of so many unworthy Quidams,
which catch at the garland which to you alone
is dewe, you will be perswaded to pluck out of
the hateful darknesse those so many excellent
English poemes of yours which lye hid, and
bring them forth to eternull light. Trust me,
you doe both them great wrong, in depriving
them of the desired sonne ; and also your selfe, I
in smoothering your deserved prayses ; and all '
men generally, in withholding from them so
divine pleasures, which they might conceive of
your gallant English verses, as they have
already doen of your Latine Poemes, which,
in my opinion, both for invention and Elocu-
tion are very delicate and superexcellent. And
thus againe I take my leave of my good Jtfays-
ter Harvey : from my lodging at London thy*
lO.ofAprill, 1579.
THE GENERALL ARGUMENT OF
THE WHOLE BOOKE.
LITTLE, I hope, needeth me at large to dis-
course the first Originall of ^Eglogues,
having alreadie touched the same. But, for
the word ^Eglogues, I know, is unknowen to
most, and also mistaken of some of the best
learned (as they think,) I wyll say somewhat
thereof, being not at all impertinent to my
present purpose.
They were first of the Greekes, the inven-
tours of them, called &ghgai, as it were
aiyui', or alyovofiiav \6yoi, that is, Goteheards
tales. For although in Virgile and others
the speakers be more Shepheards then Goat-
heards, yet Theocritus, in whom is more
ground of authoritie then in Virgile, this spe-
cially from that deriving, as from the tirst
head and welspring, the whole Invencion of
these ^Eglogues, maketh Goteheards the per-
sons and authors of his tales. This being, who
seethnotthegrossenesseof such as by colour
of learning would make us beleeve that they
are more rightly termed Eclogai, as they
would say, extraordinary discourses of un-
necessarie" matter : which definition albe in
substaunce and meaning it agree with the
nature of the thing, yet no whit answereth
with the ovoAuo-ts and interpretation of the
word. For thev be not termed Eclogues, but
jEglopues ; which sentence this authour very
we'll observing, upon good judgement, though
indeede few Goteheards have to doe herein,
nethelesse doubteth not to cal them by the
used and best knowen name. Other curious
discourses hereof I reserve to greater occasion.
These xij ./Eglogues, every where answer-
ing to the seasons of the twelve monthes, may
be well devided into three formes or ranckes.
For eyther they be Plaintive, as the first, the
sixt, the eleventh, and the twelfth; or Recrea-
tive, such as al those be, which containe
matter of love, or commendation of special
personages; or Moral, which for the most part
be mixed with some Satyrical bitternesse;
namely, the second, of reverence dewe t<« old
age ; the fift, of coloured deceipt ; the seventh
and ninth, of dissolute shepheards and pas-
tours ; the tenth, of contempt of Ppetrie and
pleasaunt wits. And to this division may
every thing herein be reasonablv applyed : a
few onely except, whose special! purpose and
meaning I am not privie to. And thus
much generally of these xij ^Eglogues. Now
will we speake particularly of all, and first of
the first, which he calleth by the first monethes
name, Januarie: wherein to some he may
seeme fowly to have faulted, in that he erroni-
ously beginneth with that moneth, which
beginneth not the yeare. For it is wel known,
and stoutely mainteyned with stronge reasons
of the learned, that the yeare beginneth in
March ; for then the sonne reneweth his
finished course, and the seasonable spring re-
fresheth the earth, and the plesaunce thereof,
being buried in the sadnesse of the dead win-
ter now worne away, reliveth.
This opinion maynteinethe olde Astrologers
and Philosophers, namely, the reverend An-
dalo, and Macrobius in his holydayes of Sa-
turne; which accoumpt also was generally
observed both of Grecians and Romans. But,
saving the leave of such learned heads, we
mayntaine a custome of coumpting the sea-
sons from the moneth January, upon a more
speciall cause then the heathen Philosophers
ever coulde conceive, that is, for the incarna-
tion of our mighty Saviour, and eternall
redeemer the L. Christ, who, as then renewing
the state of the decayed world, and returning
the compasse of expired yeres to theyr former
date and first commencement, left to us his
heires a memoriall of his birth in the ende of
the last yeere and beginning of the next.
Which reckoning, beside that eternall monu-
ment of our salvation, leaneth also uppon
good proofe of special judgement.
For albeit that in elder tymes, when as yet
the coumpt of the yere was not perfected, as
afterwarde it was by Julius Ctesar, they be-
THE GENERALL ARGUMENT.
445
gan to tel the monethes from Marches begin-
ning, and according to the same God (as is
sayd in Scripture) comaunded the people of
the Jewes, to count the moneth Abib, that
which we call March, for the first moneth, in
remembraunce that in thatmoneth he brought
them out of the land of ^Egipt: yet, accord-
ing to tradition of latter times, it hath
bene otherwise observed, both in govern-
ment of the Church and rule of Mightiest
Kealmes. For from Julius Caesar who first
observed the leape yeere, which he called
Bissextilem Annum, and brought into a more
certain course the odde wandring dayes which
of the Greekes were called iiirtp^aivovret, of
the Romanes intercalares, (for in such matter
of learning I am forced to use the termes of
the learned,) the monethes have bene nombred
xij, which in the first ordinaunce of Romulus
were but tenne, counting but ccciiij dayes in
every yeare, and beginning with March.
But Numa Pompilius, who was the father of-
al the Romain ceremonies and religion, seeing
that reckoning to agree neither with the
course of the sonne nor of the moone, there-
unto added two monethes, January and Feb-
ruary; wherin it seemeth, that wise king
minded, upon good reason, to begin the yeare
at Januarie, of him therefore so called tan-
quam Janua unni, the gate and entraunce of
the yere ; or of the name of the god Janus, to
which god for that the olde Paynims attrib-
uted the byrth and beginning of all creatures
new comming into the worlde, it seemeth
that he therfore to him assigned the begin-
ning and first entraunce of the yeare. Which
account for the most part hath hetherto con-
tinued: Notwithstanding that the ^Egiptians
beginne theyr yeare at September ; for that,
according to the opinion of the best Rabbins
and very purpose of the Scripture itselfe, God
made the worlde in that Moneth, that is
called of them Tisri. And therefore he com-
maunded them to keepe the feast of Pavilions
in the end of the yeare, in the xv. day of the
seventh moneth, which before that time wag
the first.
But our Authour respecting nether the
subtiltie of thone part, nor the antiquitie of
thother, thinketh it fittest, according to the
simplicitie of common understanding, to begin
with Januarie; wening it perhaps no decorum
that Shepheards should be seene in matter of
so deepe insight, or canvase a case of so
doubtful judgment. So therefore beginneth
he, and so continueth he throughout.
446
[L. 1-48:
THE SHEPHEAEDS CALENDER
JANUARIE.
JEGLOGA PRIMA. ARGUMENT.
thisfyrst ^Eglogue Colin Cloute, a shepheardes boy, complaineth him of his unfortunate love, being but
newly (as semeth) enamoured of a countrie lasse called Rosalinde: with vhich strong affection being
very sore traveled, he eompareth his carefull case to the sadde season of the yeare, to thefrostie ground,
to thefrosen trees, and to his oiene winter-beaten flocke. And,lastlye,fynding himselfe robbed of all
former pleasaunce and delights, hee breaketh his Pipe in peeces, and catteth him selfe to the ground.
COLIN CLOUTE.
A SHEPEHEARDS boye, (no better doe him call,)
When Winters wastful spight was almost
All in a sunneshine day, as did befall, [spent,
Led forth his flock, tha't had bene long ypent :
So faynt they woxe, and feeble in the folde,
That'now unnethes their feete could them
uphold.
All as the Sheepe, such was the shepeheards
looke,
For pale and wanne he was, (alas the while !)
May seeme he lovd, or els some care he tooke ;
Well couth he tune his pipe and frame his
stile:
Tho to a hill his faynting flocke he ledde,
And thus him playnd, the while his shepe
there fedde.
'Ye Gods of love, that pitie lovers payne,
(If any gods the paine of lovers pitie)
Looke from above, where you in joyes remain e,
And bowe your eares unto my dolefull dittie :
And, Pan, thou shepheards God that once
didst love, [prove.
Pitie the paines that thou thy selfe didst
4 Thou barrein ground, whome winters wrath
hath wasted,
Art made a myrrhour to behold my plight :
Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and after
hasted
Thy summer prowde, with Daffadillies dight ;
And now is come thy wynters stormy state,
Thy mantle mard, wherein thou maskedst
late.
4 Such rage as winters reigneth in my heart,
My life-bloud friesing with unkindly cold ;
Such stormy stoures do breede my balefull
smart,
As if my yeare were wast and woxen old ;
And yet, alas ! but now my spring begonne,
And yet, alas ! yt is already donne.
'You naked trees, whose shady leaves are lost,
Wherein the byrds were wont to build their
bowre, [frost,
And now are clothd with mosse and noary
Instede of bloosmes, wherewith your buds did
flowre; [raine,
I see your teares that from your boughes doe
Whose drops in drery ysicles remaine.
1 All so my lustfull leafe is drye and sere,
My timely buds with wayling all are wasted ;
The blossome which my braunch of youth did
beare [blasted ;
With breathed sighes is blowne away and
And from mine eyes the drizling teares de-
scend,
As on your boughes the ysicles depend.
' Thou feeble flocke, whose fleece is rough and
rent, [fare,
Whose knees are weake through fast and evill
Mayst witnesse well, by thy ill governement,
Thy maysters mind is overcome with care:
Thou weake, I wanne; thou leane, I quite
forlorne :
With mourning pyne I ; you with pyning
mourn e.
49-78-1
JANUARIE.
447
' A thousand sithes I curse that carefull hower
Wherein I longd the neighbour towne to see,
And eke teune thousand sithes I blesse the
etoure
Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight as shee :
Yet all for naught : such sight hath bred
my bane. [and payne !
Ah, God! that love should breede both joy
' It is not Hobbinol wherefore I plaine,
Albee my love he seeke with dayly suit;
His clownish gifts and curtsies I disdaine,
His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early fruit.
Ah, foolish Hobbinol ! thy gyfts bene vayne ;
Colin them gives to Rosalind againe.
' I love thilke lasse. (alas ! why doe I love ?)
And am forlorne, (alas! why am I lorne?)
Shee deignes not my good will, but doth re-
prove,
And of my rurall musicke holdeth scorne.
Shepheards devise she hateth as the snake,
And laugb.es the songs that Colin Clout doth
make.
'Wherefore, my pype, albee rude Pan thou
please,
Ifet for thou pleasest not where most I would :
And thou, unlucky Muse, that wontst to ease
My musing mynd, yet canst not when thou
should ;
Both pype and Muse shall sore the while
abye.'
So broke his oaten pype, and downe dyd lye.
By that, the welked Phoebus gan availe
His weary waine ; and nowe the frosty Night
Her man tleblack through heaven gan overhaile:
Which scene, the pensife boy, halfe in despight,
Arose, and homeward drove his sonned sheepe,
Whose hanging heads did seeme his carefull
case to weepe.
COLINS EMBLEME.
Anchora speme.
GLOSSE.
Colin Cloute, is a name not greatly need, and yet
have I sene a Poesie of II. Skeltons under that
title. But indeede the word Colin is Frenche, and
used of the French Poete Marot (if he be worthy
of the name of a Poete) in a certein jEglogue.
Under which name this Poete secretly shadoweth
himself, as sometimes did Virgil under the name
of Tityrus, thinking it much fitter then such
Latino names, for th« great unlikelyhoode of the
language.
Unnethes, scarcely.
Couthe, commeth of the verbe Connt, that is, to
know, or to have skill. As well interpreteth the
same, the worthy Sir Tho. Smith, in his booke of
government: wherof I have a perfect copie in
wryting, lent me by his kinseman, and my verye
singular good freend, M. Gabriel Harvey : as also
of some other his most grave and excellent wryt-
ings.
&ythe, time.
Neighbour towne, the next towne : expressing the
Latine Vicina.
Stoure, a fitt.
Sere, withered.
Hit clownish gyfU, imitateth Virgils verse.
' Rusticus es Cory don, nee munera curat Alexis.'
Hotbmol, is a fained country name, whereby, it
being so commune and usuall, seemeth to be hidden
the person of some his very gpeciall and most
familiar freend, whom he entirely and extraordin-
arily beloved, as peradventure shall be more large-
ly declared hereafter. In th.v s place seemeth to be
some savour of disorderly love, which the learned
call pcederastice ; but it is gathered beside his mean -
ing. For who that hath red Plato his dialogue called
Alcybiades, Xenophon, and Maximus Tyrius, of
Socrates opinions, may easily perceive, that such
love is muche to be alowed and liked of, specially
so meant, as Socrates used it : who sayth, that
indeede he loved Alcybiades extremely, yet not
Alcybiades person, but hys soule, which ia Alcybi-
ades owne selfe. And so is ptederastice much to be
prcef erred before gynerastice, that is, the love whiche
enflameth men with lust toward womankind. But
yet let no man thinke, that herein I stand with
Lucian, or his develish disciple Unico Aretino, in
defence of execrable and horrible sinnes of forbid-
den and unlawful fleshlinesse. Whose abominable
errour is fully confuted of Perionius, and others.
/ love, a prety Epanorthosis in these two verses ;
and withall a Paronomasia or playing with the
word, where he sayth / love thilke lasse alas, &c.
Rosalinde, is also a feigned name, which, being
wel ordered, wll bewray the very name of hys love
and mistresse, whom by that name he colonreth.
So as Ovide shadoweth hys love under the name of
Corynna, which of some is snpposed to be Julia,
themperor Augustas his daughter, and wyfe to
Agryppa. So doth Aruntius Stella every where
call his Lady Asteris and lanthis, albe it is wel
knowen that her right name was Violantilla : as
witnesaeth Statins in his Epithalamium. And BO
the famous Paragone of Italy, Madonna Coelia, in
her letters envelopeth her selfe under the name of
Zima : and Petrona under the name of Bellochia.
And this generally hath bene a common customs
of counterfeictinK the names of secret Personages.
Avail, bring downe.
Overhaile, drawe over.
448
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. I-
lucklesse love, yet, leaning on hope, he is some
what recomforted.
AH for pittie ! wil rancke Winters rage
These bitter blasts never ginne tasswage?
The kene cold blowes through my beaten hyde,
All as I were through the body'gryde :
My ragged rentes all shiver and shake.
As doen high Towers in an earthquake :
They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle
tayles,
Perke as a Peacock ; but now it avales.
Thenot.
Lewdly complainest thou, laesie ladde,
Of Winters wracke for making thee sadde.
Must not the world wend in his commun course,
From good to badd, and from badde to worse,
From worse unto that is worst of all,
And then returne to his former fall ?
Who will not suffer the stormy time,
Where will he live tyll the lusty prime ?
Selfe have I worne out thrise threttie yeares,
Some in much joy, many in many teares,
Yet never complained of cold nor heate.
Of Sommers flame, nor of Winters threat,
Ne ever was to Fortune foeman,
But gently tooke that ungently came;
And ever "my flocke was my chief e care,
Winter or Sommer they mought well fare.
Cuddle.
No marveile, Thenot, if thou can beare
Cherefully the Winters wrathful cheare ;
For Age and Winter accord full nie,
This chill, that cold ; this crooked, that wrye ;
And as the lowring Wether lookes downe,
So semest thou like Good Fryday to frowne :
But my flowring youth is foe to frost,
My shippe unwont in s tonnes to be tost.
His embleme or Poesye is here under added in
Italian, Anchora speme : the meaning wherof is,
that notwithstandeing his extreme passion and
FEBKUARIE.
.EGLOGA SECUNDA. ARGUMENT.
THIS jEglogue is rather morall and genet-all, then bent to any tecrete or particular purpose. It specially
conleyneth a discourse of old age, in thepersone of Thenot, an aide Shepheard, who for hit crookednesse
and unlustinesse is scorned of Cuddie, an unhappy Heardmans boye. The matter very well accordeth
with the season of the moneth, the yeare now drouping, and as it were drawing to his last age. For as
in this time of yeare, so then in our bodies, there is a dry and withering cold, which congealeth the
cradled blood, and frieseth the wetherbeaten flesh with stormes of Fortune, and hoare frosts of Care.
To which purpose the aide man telleth a tale of the Oake and the Bryer, so lively, and so feelingly, as, if
the thing were set forth in some Picture before our eyes, more plainly could not appeare.
CUDDIE. THEXOT.
Cuddle. Thenot.
The soveraigne of seas he blames in vaine,
That, once sea-beate, will to sea againe :
So loytring live you little heardgroomes,
Keeping your beastes in the budded broomes :
And, when the shining sunne laugheth once,
You deemen the Spring is come attonce ;
Tho gynne you, fond flyes ! the cold to
scorn e,
And, crowing in pypes made of greene corne,
You thinken to be Lords of the yeare ;
But eft, when ye count you freed from feare,
Comes the breme Winter with chamfred browes,
Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes,
' Drerily shooting his stormy darte,
Which cruddles the blood and pricks the harte:
Then is your carelesse corage accoied,
Your carefull heards with cold bene annoied :
Then paye you the price of your surquedrie,
With weeping, and wayling, and misery.
Cuddie.
Ah, foolish old man ! I scorne thy skill.
That would est me my springing youngth to
I deeme thy braine emperished bee [spil :
Through rusty elde, that hath rotted thee:
Or sicker thy head veray tottie is,
So on thy corbe shoulder it leanes amisse.
Now thy selfe hast lost both lopp and topp,
Als my budding braunch thou wouldest cropp ;
But were thy yeares greene, as now bene myne,
To other delights they would encline :
Tho wouldest thou learne to caroll of Love,
And hery with hymnes thy lasses glove ;
Tho wouldest thou pype of Phyllis prayse ;
But Phyllis is myne" for many dayes.
I wonne her with a gyrdle of'gelt^
Embost with buegle about the belt :
L. 67-168.]
FEBRUARIE.
449
Such an one shepeh cards would make full faine ;
Such an one would make thee younge againe.
Tlienot.
Thou art a fon of thy love to boste ;
All that is lent to love wyll be lost.
Cuddie.
Seest howe brag yond Bullocke beares,
So smirke, so smoothe, his pricked eares ?
His homes bene as broade as Kainebowe bent,
His dewelap as lythe as lasse of Kent :
See howe he venteth into the wynd ;
Weenest of love is not his mynd ?
Seemeth thy flocke thy counsell can,
So lustlesse bene they, so weake, so wan ;
Clothed with cold, and hoary wyth frost,
Thy flocks father his corage hath lost.
Thy Ewes, that wont to have blowen bags,
Like wailefull widdowes hangen their crags ;
The rather Lainbes bene starved with cold,
All for their Maister is lustlesse and old.
Thenot.
Cuddie, I wote thou kenst little good,
So vainely tadvaunce thy headlesse hood ;
For youngth is a bubble blown up with breath.
Whose witt is weakenesse, whose wage is death,
Whose way is wildernesse, whose ynne Pe-
naunce,
And stoope-gallaunt Age, the hoste of Gree-
But shall I tel thee a tale of truth, [vauncc.
Which I cond of Tityrus in my youth,
Keeping his sheepe on the hils of Kent?
Cuddie.
To nought more, Thenot, my mind is bent
Then to heare novells of his devise ;
They bene so well-thewed, and so wise,
What ever that good old man bespake.
Thenot.
Many meete tales of youth did he make,
And some of love, and some of chevalrie ;
But none fitter then this to applie.
Now listen a while and hearken the end.
There grewe an aged Tree on the greene,
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene,
With armes full strong and largely displayd,
But of their leaves they were disarayde :
The bodie bigge, and mightely pij,rht,
Throughly rooted, and of wonderous hight ;
Whilome had bene the King of the field,
And mochell mast to the husband did yielde,
And with his nuts larded many swine :
But now the gray mosse marred his rine ;
His bared boughes were beaten with stormes,
His toppe was bald, and wasted with wormes,
His honor decayed, his braunches sere.
Hard by his side grcwe a bragging Brere,
Which proudly thrust into Thelement,
And seemed to threat the Firmament :
It was embellisht with blossomes fayre,
And thereto aye wonned to repayre*
The shepheards daughters to gather flowres,
To peinct their girlonds with his colowres ;
And in his small bushes used to shrowde
The sweete Nightingale singing so lowde ;
Which made this foolish Brere wexe so bold,
That on a time he cast him to scold
And snebbe the good Oake, for he was old.
' Why standst there (quoth he) thou brutish
blocke ? [stocke ;
Nor for fruict nor for shadowe serves thy
Seest how fresh my flowers bene spredde,
Dyed in Lilly white and Cremsin redde,
With Leaves engrained in lusty greene ;
Colours meete to clothe a mayden Queene?
Thy wast bignes but combers the grownd,
And dirks the beauty of my blossomes rownd:
The mouldie mosse, which thee accloieth,
My Sinamon smell too much annoieth :
Wherefore soone I rede thee hence remove,
Least thou the price of my displeasure prove.'
So spake this bold brere with great disdaine :
Little him aunswered the Oake againe,
But yeelded, with shamt and greefe adawed,
That of a weede he was overcrawed.
Yt chaunced after upon a day,
The Hus-bandman selfe to come that way,
Of custome for to survewe his grownd,
And his trees of state in compasse rownd :
Him when the spitefull brere had espyed,
?auselesse complained, and lowdly cryed
Unto his lord, stirring up sterne strife.
' 0, my liege Lord ! the God of my life !
Pleaseth you ponder your Suppliants plaint,
Caused of wrong and cruell constraint,
Which I your poore Vassall dayly endure ;
And, but your goodnes the same recure,
Am like for desperate doole to dye,
Through felonous force of mine enemie.'
Greatly aghast with this piteous plea,
Him rested the goodman on the lea,
And badde the Brere in his plaint proceede.
With painted words tho gan this proude weede
(As most usen Ambitious folke:)
His colowred crime with craft to cloke.
' Ah, my soveraigne ! Lord of creatures all,
Thou placer of plants both humble and tall,
Was not I planted of thine owne hand,
To be the primrose of all thy land ;
Withflownng blossomes to furnish the prime,
And scarlot berries in Sommer time ?
GG
45°
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[t. 169-246^
How falls it then that this faded Oake,
Whose bodie is sere, whose braunches broke,
Whose naked Armes stretch unto the fyre,
Unto such tyrannic doth aspire ;
Hindering with his shade my lovely light,
And robbing me ot the swete sonnes sight ?
So beate his old boughes my tender side,
That oft the Moud springeth from woundes
Untimely my flowres forced to fall, [wyde;
That bene the honor of your Coronall :
And oft he lets his cancker-wormes light
Upon my braunches, to worke me more spight;
And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast,
Where-with my fresh flowretts bene defast :
For this, and many more such outrage,
Craving your goodlihead to as wage
The ranckorous rigour of his might,
Nought aske I, but onely to hold my right ;
Submitting me to your good sufferance,
And praying to be garded from greevance.'
To this the Oake cast him to replie
Well as he couth ; but his enemie
Had kindled such coles of displeasure,
That the good man noulde stay his leasure,
But home him hasted with furious heate,
Encreasing his wrath with many a threate :
His harmefull Hatchet he hent in hand,
(Alas ! that it so ready should stand !)
And to the field alone he speedeth,
(Ay little helpe to harme there needeth !)
Anger nould let him speake to the tree,
Enaunter his rage mought cooled bee ;
But to the roote bent his sturdy stroake,
And made many wounds in the wast Oake.
The Axes edge did oft turne again e,
As halfe unwilling to cutte the graine ;
Semed, the sencelesse yron dyd feare,
Or to wrong holy eld did forbeare ;
For it had bene an auncient tree,
Sacred with many a mysteree,
And often crost with the priestes crewe,
And often halowed with holy-water dewe :
>m
i But sike fancies weren foolerie,
J And broughten this Oake to this miserye ;
1 For nought mought they quitten him from
decay,
For fiercely the good man at him did lave.
The blocke oft groned under the blow,
And sighed to see his neare overthrow.
In fine, the steele bad pierced his pitta,
Tho downe to the earth he fell forthwith.
His wonderous weight made the ground to
quake,
Thearth shronke under him, and seemed to
shake : —
There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none !
Now stands the Brere like a lord alone,
Puffed up with pryde and vaine pleasaunce ;
But all this glee had no continuaunce :
For eftsones Winter gan to approche ;
The blustering Boreas did encroche,
And beate upon the solitarie Brere ;
For nowe no succoure was scene him nere.
Now gan he repent his pryde to late ;
For, naked left and disconsolate,
The byting frost nipt his stalke dead,
The watrie wette weighed downe his head,
And heaped snowe burdned him so sore,
That nowe upright he can stand no more ;
And, being downe, is trodde in the durt
Of cattell, and brouzed, and sorely hurt.
Such was thend of this Ambitious brere,
For scorning Eld —
Cuddle.
Now I pray thee, shepheard, tel it not forth :
Here is a long tale, and little worth.
So longe have I listened to thy speche,
That graffed to the ground is my breche :
My hart-blood is wel nigh frorne, I feele,
And my galage growne fast to my heele :
But little ease of thy lewd tale I tasted :
Hye thee home, shepheard, the day is nigh
wasted.
THEXOTS EMBI.EME.
Jddio, perche e vecchio,
fa suoi al suo essempio.
CUDDIES EMBLEME.
Niuno vecchio
Spaventa Jddio.
GLOSSE.
Kent, sharpe.
Gride, perced : an olde word much nsed of Lid-
gate, but not found (that I know of) in Chaucer.
Rants, yonng bullockes.
Wracte. ruine or Violence, whence commeth
shipwracke : and not ureoie.that is veneeauncec
wrath.
Potman, a foe.
Thenot, the name of a shepheard in Marot
-iEalosues.
FEBRUARIE.
45'
the toveraigne of Seas, is Neptune the God of the
peas. The saying IB borowed of Mimus Pnblianus,
which used this proverb in a verse.
' Improbe Neptunum accusat, qui iterum naufra-
gium facit.'
ffeardgromes, Chaucers verse almost whole.
Fond Flyes, He compareth carelesse slnggardes,
or ill husbandmen, to flyes that, so soone as the
sunne shineth, or y t wexeth anything warme, begin
to flye abroade, when sodeinly they be overtaken
with cold.
But eft when, averye excellent and lively descrip-
tion of Winter, so as may bee indifferently taken,
eyther for old Age, or for Winter season.
Breme, chill, bitter.
Cham/red, chapt, or wrinckled.
Actoied, plucked downe and daunted.
Siirquedrie, pryde.
Elde, oMe age.
Sicker, sure.
Tottie, wavering.
Corbe , crooked.
//we, worship.
Phyllis, the name of some mayde unknowen,
whom Cuddle, whose person is secrete, loved. The
name is usuall in Theocritus, Yirgile, and Man-
tuane.
Belle, a girdle or wast- band.
A fan, a foole.
Lythe, soft and gentle.
Venteth, snuffeth in the wind.
Thy flocks father, the Ramme.
Crags, neckes.
Rather lambes, that be ewed early in the begin-
ning of the yeare.
Youth if, a verye moral and pitthy Allegoric of
youth, and the lustes thereof, compared to a wearie
wayfaring man.
Tityrtu, I suppose he meanes Chaucer, whose
prayse for pleagaunt tales cannot dye. so long as
the memorie of hys name shal live, and the name
of Poetrie shal endure.
Well-thewed, that is, Bent moratte, full of morall
wisenesse.
There grew : This tale of the Oake and the Brere,
he telleth as learned of Chaucer, but it is cleane in
another kind, and rather like to ^Esopes fables. It
This embleme is spoken of Thenot, as a moral of
his former tale : namelye, that God, which is him-
eelfe most aged, being before al ages, and without
beginninge, maketh those, whom he loveth.like to
himself e, in heaping yeares unto theyre dayes, and
blessing them wyth longe lyfe. For the blessing
of age is not given to all, but unto those whome
God will so blesse. And albeit that many evil
men reache unto such fulnesse of yeares, and
some also wexe old in myserie and thraldome, yet
therefore is not age ever the lease blessing. For
even to such evill men such number of yeares is
added , that they may in their last dayes repent, and
come to their first home : So the old man checketh
the rash-headed boy for despysing his gray and
f rostye heares .
Whom Cuddye doth counterbuff with abyting
I is very excellente for pleasaunt descriptions, being
; altogether a certaine Icon, or Hypotyposis of dis-
| dainf ull younkers.
Embellish!, beautified and adorned.
To tconne, to haunt or frequent.
Sneb, checke.
Why standst, The speach is scorneful and very
presumptuous.
Engrained, dyed in grain.
Accloieth, encombreth.
Adatced, daunted and confounded.
Trees of state, taller trees, fitte for timber wood.
Sterne strife, said Chaucer, s. fell and sturdy.
0 my liege, a manor of supplication, wherein is
kindly coloured the affection and speache of Am-
bitious men.
Coronall, Garlande.
Floureti, yong blossomes.
The Primrose, the chiefe and worthiest.
Naked armes, metaphorically ment of the bare
bonghes, spoyled of leaves. This colourably he
speaketh, as adjudging hym to the fyre.
The blood, spoken of a blocke, as it were of a
living creature, figuratively, and (as they say,)
KO.T' (iKatrnov.
Hoarie lockes, metaphorically for withered leaves.
Hent, caught.
Nould, for would not.
Ay, evermore.
'\Younds, gashes.
Knaunter, least that.
The priests cretce, holy water pott, wherewith the
popishe priest used to sprinckle and hallowe the
trees from mischannce. Such blindnesse was in
those times, which the Poete suppcseth to have
bene the finall decay of this auncient Oake.
The blocke oft groned, a livelye figure, which
giveth sence and feeling to unsensible creatures,
as Virgile also sayeth : ' Saxa gemunt gravido,'
&.C.
Boreas, The Northerne wynd, that bringeth the
moste stormie weather.
Glee, chere and jollitie.
For scorning Eld, And minding (as shoulde seme)
to have made ryme to the former verse, he is con-
ningly cutte of by Cnddie, as disdayning to here
any more.
Ga/age, A startnppe or clownish shoe.
and bitter proverbe, spoken indeede at the first in
! contempt of old age generally : for it was an old
1 opinion, and yet is continued in some mens con-
! ceipt, that men of yeares have no feare of God at
| al, or not so much as younger folke ; for that being
i rypened with long experience, and having passed
I many bitter brunts and blastes of vengeaunce.they
dread no stormes of Fortune, nor wrathe of God,
nor dannger of menne, as being eyther by longe
and ripe \visedome armed against all mischaunces
and adversitie, or with much trouble hardened
against all troublesome tydes : lyke unto the Ape,
of which is sayd in yEsops fables, that, oftentimes
meeting the Lyon, he was at first sore aghast and
dismayed at the gnmnes and austeritie of hys
countenance, but at last, being acquainted with
his lookes, he was so furre from fearing him, tbil
oo2
452
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
he would familiarly gybe and jest with him : Suche
longe experience breedeth in some men securitie.
Although it please Erasmus, a great clerke, and
good old father, more fatherly and favonrablye to
construe it, in his Adages, for his own behoofe,
That by the proverbe, ' Nemo senex metuit Jovem,'
is not meant, that old men have no feare of God
at al, but that they be f urre from superstition and
Idolatrous regard of false Gods, as is Jupiter.
But his grcate learning notwithstanding, it is to
plaine to be gainsayd, that olde men are muche
more encliaed to such fond fooleries, then younger
heades.
MARCH.
.EGLOGA TERTIA. ARGUMENT.
fjf this &glogue two shepheards boyei, taking occasion of the season, beginne to make purpose of love, and
other pletaunce ichich to spring time is most agreeable. The speciall meaning hereof is, to give certaine
markes and tokens to know Cupide, the Poets God of Loce. But more particularly e, I thinke. in the
person of Thomalin is meant some secrete freend, tcho scorned Love and his knights so long, till at length
him selfe teas entangled, and unwares wounded with the dart of some beautifull regard, vhich is Cupides
arrow.
THOMALIN.
WILLY E.
Wil. THOMALIN, why sytten we soe,
As weren overwent with woe,
Upon so fayre a morow ?
The joyous time now nighes fast,
That shall alegge this bitter blast,
And slake the winters sorowe.
Tho. Sicker, Willye, thou warnest well ;
For Winters wrath beginnes to quell,
And pleasant spring appeareth :
The grasse nowe ginnes to be refresht,
The Swallow peepes out of her nest,
And clowdie Welkin eleareth.
I For als at home I have a syre,
j A stepdame eke, as whott as fyre,
That dewly adayes counts mine.
i Tho. Nay, but thy seeing will not serve,
\ My sheepe for that may chaunce to swerve,
| And fall into some mischiefe :
For sithens is but the third morowe
That I chaunst to fall asleepe with sorowe
i And waked againe with griefe ;
The while thilke «ame unhappye Ewe,
Whose clouted legge her hurt doth she we,
Fell headlong into a dell,
Wil. Seest not thilke same Hawthorne studde, And there unjoynted both her bones :
How bragly it beginnes to budde,
And utter his tender head ?
Flora now calleth forth eche flower,
And bids make readie Maias bowre,
That newe is upryst from bedde :
Tho shall we sporten in delight,
And learne with Lettice to wexe light,
That scornefully lookes askaunce ;
Tho will we little Love awake,
That nowe sleepeth in Lethe lake,
And pray him leaden our daunce.
Tho. Willye, I wene thou bee assot ;
For lustie Love still sleepeth not,
But is abroad at his game.
Wil, How kenst thou that he is awoke ?
Or hast thy selfe his slomber broke,
Or made previe to the same ?
Tho. No : but happely I hym spyde,
Where in a bush he did him hide,
With winges of purple and blewe ;
And, were not that my sheepe would stray,
The previe marks I would bewray,
Whereby by chaunce I him knewe.
Wil. Thoma'lin, have no care for-thy ;
My selfe will have a double eye,
Ylike to my flocke and thine;
Mought her necke bene joynted attones,
She shoulde have neede no more spell ;
Thelf was so wanton and so wood,
(But now I trowe can better good,)
She mought ne gang on the greene.
Wil. Let be, as may be, that is past :
That is to come, let be forecast :
Now tell us what thou hast seene.
Tho. It was upon a holiday,
When shepheardes groomeshan leave to plaj
I cast to goe a shooting.
Long wandring up and downe the land,
With bowe and bolts in either hand,
For bird? in bushes tooting,
At length within an Yvie todde,
(There shrouded was the little God)
I heard a busie bustling.
I bent my bolt against the bush,
Listening if any thing did rushe,
But then heard no more rustling :
Tho, peeping close into the thicke.
Might see the moving of some quicke
Whose shape appeared not ;
But were it faerie, feend, or snake,
My courage eamd it to awake,
And manfully thereat shotte.
L. 79-11 7.]
MARCH.
453
With that sprong forth a naked swayne
With spotted winges, like Peacocks trayne,
And laughing lope to a tree ;
His gylden quiver at his backe,
And silver bowe, which was but slacke,
Which lightly he bent at me :
That seeing. 1 levelde again e
And shott at him with might and maine,
As thicke as it had hayled.
So long I shott, that al was spent ;
Tho pumie stones I hastly hent
And threwe ; but noug'ht availed :
He was so wimble and so wight,
From bough to bough he lepped light,
And oft the puinies latched.
Therewith affrayd, I ranne away;
But he, that earst seemd but to playe,
A shaft in earnest snatched.
And hit me running in the heele :
For then I little smart did feele,
But soone it sore encreased ;
And now it ranckleth more and more,
And inwardly it festreth sore,
Ne wote I how to cease it.
Wil. Thomalin, I pittie thy plight,
Perdie with Love thou diddest light:
I know him by a token ;
For once I heard my father say,
How he him caught upon a day,
(Whereof lie wil be wroken)
F.ntangled in a fowling net,
Which he for carrion Crowes had set
That in our Peere-tree haunted:
Tho sayd, he was a winged lad,
But bowe and shafts as then none had,
Els had he sore be daunted.
But see, the Welkin thicks apace,
And stouping Phebus steepes his face :
Yts time to hast us homeward.
WILLYES EMBLEME.
To be wise, and eke to love,
Is graunted scarce to Gods above.
THOMALINS EMBLEME.
Qf Hony and of Gaule in love there is store ;
The Honye is much, but the Gaule is more.
GLOSSE.
This .^Sglogne seemeth somewhat to resemble
that same of Theocritus, wherein the boy likewise
telling the old man, that he had shot at a winged
boy in a tree, was by hym warned to beware of
mischiefe to come.
Overwent, overgone.
Alegge, to lessen or asswage.
To quell, to abate.
Welkin, the skie.
The twallow, which bird useth to be counted the
messenger, and as it were, the forerunner, of
springe.
Flora, the Goddease of flowres, but indede (as
saith Tacitus) a famous harlot, which, with the
abuse of her body having gotten great riches,
made the people of Home her heyre : who, in re-
membraunce of so great beneficence, appointed a
yearely feste for the memoriall of her, calling her,
not as she was, nor as some doe think. Andronica,
but Flora ; making her the Goddesse of flonres, and
doing yerely to her solemne sacrifice.
Maias bower, that is, the pleasaunt field, or ra-
ther the Maye bushes. Maia is a Goddesse, and
the mother of Mercuric, in honour of whome the
moneth of Maye is of her name so called, as sayth
Macrobius.
Lfttice, the name of some country lasse.
Ascaunee. askewe, or asquint.
For-thy, therefore.
Lethe, is a lake in hell, which the Poetes call tlie
lake of forgetf ulnes. For Lethe signifieth forget-
f ulnes. Wherein the soules being dipped did forget
the cares of their former lyfe. So that by love
sleeping in Lethe lake, he meaneth be was almost
forgotten, and out of knowledge, by reason of
winters hardnesse, when all pleasures, as it were,
sleepe and weare oute of minde.
Assotie, to dote.
Hit tlomber, To breake Loves slomber is to exer-
cise the delightes of Love, and wanton pleasures.
Winges of purple, so is he feyned of the Poetes.
For alt, he imitateth Virgils verse.
' Est mihi namque domi pater, est injusta no-
verca, tic.'
A dell, a hole in the ground.
Spell, is a kinde of verse or charme, that in elder
tymes they used often to say over every thing that
they would have preserved, as the Nightspel for
theeves, and the woodspell. And herehence, I
thinke, is named the gospel, as it were Gods spell,
or worde. And so sayth Chaucer, Listeneth Lord-
ings to my spell.
Gang, goe.
An Yvie todde, a thicke bush.
Swaine, a boye : For so is he described of the
Poetes to be a boye, s. alwayes freshe and lustie :
blindfolded, because ho maketh no difference of
personages : wyth divers coloured winges, s. fnl of
flying fancies : with bowe and arrow, that is, with
I glaunce of beautye, which prycketh as a forked
> arro we. He is sayd also to have shafts, some leaden,
+54
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. i -20.
some golden : that ie, both pleasure for the gracious
and loved, and sorow for the lover that is disdayn-
ed or forsaken. But who liste more at large to be-
hold Cupids colours and furniture, let him reade
ether Propertius, or Moschus his Idyllion of icing-
td love, being now most excellently translated
into Latine, by the singuler learned man Angelus
Politianus : whych worke I have scene, amongst
other of thys Poets doings, very wel translated
also into Englishe Rymes.
Wimble and wighte, Quicke and deliver.
In the heele, is very poetically spoken, and not
without speciall judgement. For I remember that
in Homer it is sayd of Thetis, that shee tooke her
young babe Achilles, being newely borne, and,
holding him by the heele, dipped him in the River
of Styx. The vertue whereof is, to defend and
keepe the bodyes washed therein from any mortall
wound. So Achilles being washed al over, save
onely his hele, by which his mother held, was in
the rest invulnerable : therf ore by Paris was feyned
to bee shotte with a poysoned arrowe in the heele,
whiles he was busie about the maryingof Polyxena
in the Temple of Apollo : which mysticall fable
Eustathius unfolding sayth : that by wounding in
the hele is meant lustfull love. For from the heele
(as say the best Phisitions) to the previe partee
there passe certaine veinesand slender synewes, as
also the like come from the head, and are carry ed
lyke little pypes behynd the eares : so that (as
sayth Hipocrates) yf those veynes there be cut a-
sonder. the partie straighte becommeth cold and
unfruiteful. Which reason our Poete wel weigh-
ing, maketh this shepheards boye of purpose to be
wounded by Love in the heele.
Latched, caught.
Wroken, revenged.
For once : In this tale is sette out the simplicitye
of shepheards opinion of Love.
Stouping Phoebus, is a Periphrasis of the sunne
setting.
EMBLEME.
Hereby is meant, that all the delights of Love,
wherein wanton youth walloweth, be but follye
mixt with bitternesse, and sorow sawced with
repentaunce. For besides that the very affection
of Love it selfe tormenteth the mynde. and vexeth
the body many wayes, with unrestfulnesse all
night, and wearines all day, seeking for that we
cannot have, and fynding that we would not have :
even the selfe things which best before us lyked,
in course of time, and channg of ryper yeares,
whiche also therewithal) chaungeth our wonted
lyking and former fantasies, will then seeme loth-
some, and breede us annoyaunce, when yougthes
flowre is withered, and we fynde our bodyes and
wits aunswere not to snche vayne jollitie and lust-
full pleasaunce.
APEIL.
^XJLOGA QUARTA. ARGUMENT.
THIS JSglogue is purposely intended to the honor and prayse of our most gracious sovereigne, Queene Eli-
zabeth. The speakers herein be Hobbinoll and Thenott, ttco shepheardes : the tchich ffobbinoll, being be/ore
mentioned greatly to have lazed Colin, is here set forth more largely, complayning him of that boyes great
misadventure in Love ; whereby his mynd was alienate and withdratcen not onely from him, who moste
loved him, but also from all former delightes and studies, as well in pleasaunt pyping,as conning
ryming and singing, and other his laudable exercises. Whereby he taketh occasion, for proof e of his
more excellencie and skill in poetrie, to recorde a songe, which the sayd Colin sometime made in honor
of her Majestie, whom abruptely he termeth Elysa.
THENOT.
The.
TELL me, good Hobbinol), what garres
thee greete ? [ytorae ?
What ? hath some Wolfe thy tender Lambes
Or is thy Bagpype broke, that soundes so
sweete ?
Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne ?
Or bene thine eyes attempred to the yeare,
Quenching the gasping furrowes thirst with
rayne ?
Like Aprilshoure so stremes the trickling teares
Adowne thy cheeke, to quenche thy thristye
payne.
Hob. Nor thys, nor that, so muche doeth
make me mourne. [deare,
But for the ladde, whome long I lovd so
HOBBIXOI.L.
Nowe loves a lasse that all his love doth scorne .
He, plongd in payne, his tressed locks dooth
teare.
Shepheards delights he dooth them all for-
sweare;
Hys pleasaunt Pipe, whych made us meri-
ment,
He wylfully hath broke, and doth forbeare
His wonted songs, wherein he all outwent.
The. What is he for a Ladde you so lament ?
Ys love such pinching payne to them that
prove ?
And hath he skill to make so excellent,
Yet hath so little skill to brydle love?
L. 21-126.] APRIL.
455
Hob. Colin thou kenst, the Southerne shep-
heardes boye : [darte :
Him Love hath wounded with a deadly
Whilome on him was all my care and joye,
- Forcing with gyfta to winne his wanton heart.
But now from me hys madding mynd is starte,
And woes the \Viddowes daughter of the
glenne ;
So nowe fayre Rosalind hath bredde hys smart,
So now his frend is chaunged for a frenne.
The. But if hys ditties bene so trimly dight,
I pray thee, Hobbinoll, recorde some one,
The whiles our flockes do graze about insight,
And we close shrowded in thys shade alone.
Hob. Contented I : then, will I singe his laye
Of fayre Elisa, Queene of shepheardes all,
Which once he made as by a spring he laye,
And tuned it unto the Waters fall.
' Ye dayntye Nymphs, that in this blessed
Doe bathe your brest, [brooke
Forsake your watry bowres, and hether looke,
At my request :
And eke you Virgins, that on Parnasse dwell,
Whence floweth Helicon, the learned well,
Helpe me to blaze
Her worthy praise,
Which in her sexe doth all excell.
' Of fayre Elisa be your silver song,
That blessed wight,
The flowre of Virgins : may shee florish long
In princely plight!
For shee is Syrinx daughter without spotte,
Which Pan, the shepheards God, of her begot :
So sprong her grace
Of heavenly race,
No mortall blemishe may her blotte.
' See, where she sits upon the grassie greene,
(0 seemely sight !)
Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene,
And ermines white :
Upon her head a Cremosin coronet,
With Damaske roses and Daifadillies set :
Bay leaves betweene,
And primroses greene,
Embellish the sweete Violet.
1 Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face,
Like Phoebe fayre?
Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,
Can you well compare ?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere :
Her modest eye,
Her Majestic,
Where have you seene the like but there?
' I sawe Phoebus thrust out his golden hcdde,
Upon her to gaze : [spredde,
But, when he sawe how broade her beames did
It did him amaze.
He bluiht to see another Sunne belowe,
Ne durst againe his fyrye face out showe :
Let him, if he dare,
His brightnesse compare
With hers, to have the overthrowe.
' Shewe thyselfe, Cynthia, with thy silver rayes,
And be not abasht :
When shee the beames of her beautj' displayes,
0, how art thou dasht !
But I will not match her with Latonaes seede,
Such follie great sorow to Niobe did breede :
Now she is a stone,
And makes dayly mono,
Warning all other "to take heede.
' Pan may be proud that ever he begot
Such a Belli bone;
And Syrinx rejoyse that ever was her lot
To beare such an one.
Soone as my younglings cryen for the dam
To her will I offer a milkwhite Lamb :
Shee is my goddesse plaine,
And I her shepherds swayne,
Albee forswonck and forswatt I am.
' I see Calliope speede her to the place,
Where my Goddesse shines ;
And after her the other Muses trace,
With their Violines. [beare,
Bene they not Bay braunches which they do,
All for E'lisa in her hand to weare ?
So sweetely they play,
And sing all the way,
That it a heaven is to heare.
' Lo ! how finely the Graces can it foote
To the Instrument :
They dauncen deffly, and singen soote,
In their meriment.
Wants not a fourth Grace, to make the daunce
even ?
Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven :
She shal be a Grace,
To fyll the fourth place,
And reigne with the rest in heaven.
'And whither rennes this bevie of Ladies bright,
Kaunged in a rowe ?
They bene all Ladyes of the lake behight,
That unto her goe.
Chloris, that is the chiefest Nvmph of all,
Of Olive braunches beares a Coronall :
Olives bene for peace,
When wars doe surcease :
Such for a Princesse bene principal!
456
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
. 127-161.
1 Ye shepheards daughters, that dwell on the
greene,
Hye you there apace :
Let none come there but that Virgins bene,
To adorne her grace :
And, when you come whereas shee is in place,
See that your rudenesse doe not you disgrace :
Binde your fillets faste,
And gird in your waste,
For more finenesse, with a tawdrie lace.
•Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gelliflowres;
Bring Coronations, and Sops in wine,
Worne of Paramoures :
Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loved Lillies :
The pretie Pawnee,
And the Chevisaunce,
Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.
' Now ryse up, Elisa, decked as thou art
In royall aray;
And now ye daintie Damsells may depart
Eche one her wav.
I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe :
Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song :
And if you come hether
When Damsines I gether,
I will part them all you among.'
The. And was thilk same song of Colins
owne making ?
Ah, foolish Boy ! that is with love yblent :
Great pittie is, he be in such taking,
For naught caren that bene so lewdly bent.
Hob. Sicker I hold him for a greater fon,
That loves the thing he cannot purchase.
But let us homeward, for night draweth on,
And twincling starres the daylight henca
chase.
THEXOTS EMBLEMK.
0 quam te memorem Virgo !
HOBBIJJOLS EMBLEMS.
0 dea certe I
GLOSSE.
(7ar*tt«flT«fc,canseththee weepe and complain.
Forlorne, left and forsaken.
Attempred to the yeare, agreeable to the season of
the yeare, that is Aprill, which moneth is most
bent to shoures and seasonable rayne : to quench,
that is, to delaye the drought, caused through dry-
nesse of March wyndes.
The Ladde, Colin Clout.
The Lease, Rosalinda.
Tressed lock*, wrethed and curled.
Is he for a laddet a straunge manner of speak-
ing, 8. what maner of Ladde is he ?
To mate, to rime and versifye. For in this word,
making, our olde Englishe Poetes were wont to
comprehend all the skil of Poetrye, according to
the Greeke woorde irottlv, to make, whence com-
rneth the name of Poetes.
Colin thou kenst, knowest. Seemeth hereby that
Colin perteyneth to some Southern nobleman, and
perhaps in Surrye or Kent, the rather bicause he
so often nameth the Kentish downcs, and before,
A.S lythe as lasse of Kent.
The Widows, He calleth Rosalind the Widowes
daughter of the glenne, that is, of a country Ham-
let or borough, which I thinke is rather sayde to
coloure and concele the person, then simply spoken.
For it is well knowen, even in spighte of Colin
and Hobbinoll, that shee is a Gentlewoman of no
meane house, nor endewed with anye vulgare and
common gifts, both of nature and manners : but
suche indeede, as neede nether Colin be ashamed
to have her made knowne by his verses, nor Hob-
binol be greyed, that so she should be commended
to immortalitie for her rare and singular vertues :
Specially deserving it no lesse, then eyther Myrto
the most excellent Poete Theocritus his dearling,
or Lauretta the divine Petrarches Goddesse. or
Himera the worthye Poete Stereichorus liys idol ;
upon whom he is sayd so much to have doted, that,
in regard of her excellencie, he scorned and wrote
against the beauty of Helena. For which his prae-
sumptuous and unheedie hardinesse, he is sayde by
vengeaunce of the Gods, thereat being offended, to
have lost both his eyes.
Frenne, a straunger. The word, I thinke, was
first poetically put, and afterwarde used in common
customs of speach for forene.
Dight, adorned.
Laye, a spnge, as Roundelayes and Virelayes.
In all this songe is not to be respected, what the
worthinesse of her Majestie deserveth, nor what to
: the highnes of a Prince is agreeable, but what is
mpste comely for the meanesse of a shepheard
i witte, or to conceive, or to utter. And therefore
I he calleth her Elysa, as through rudenesse trip-
, ping in her name ; and a shepheards daughter, it
; being very unfit, that a shepheards boy, brought
up in the shepefold, should know, or ever seme to
, have heard of, a Queenes roialty.
Ye daintie, is, as it were, an Exordium ad pr.tpar-
andos animos.
Virgins, the nine Muses, daughters of Apollo
and Memorle, whose abode the Poets faine to be
on Parnassus, a hill in Grece, for that in that
APRIL.
457
countrye specially florished the honor of all ex-
cellent studies.
Helicon is both the name of a fountaine at the
foote of Parnassus, and also of a mounteine in B:to-
tia, out of which floweth the famous spring Casta-
lius, dedicate also to the Muses : of which spring it
is sayd, that, when Pegasus the winged horse of Per-
seus (whereby is meant fame and flying renowme)
strooke the grownde with his hoofe, sodenly there-
out sprangc a wel of moste cleare and pleasaunte
water, which fro thenceforth was consecrate to
the Muses and Ladies of learning.
Your silver song, seemeth to imitate the like in
Hesiodus apyvptop fie'Aot •
Syrinx is the name of a Nymphe of Arcadie,
whom when Pan being in love pursued, she, flying
from him, of the Gods was turned into a reede.
So that Pan catching at the Reedes, in stede of the
Damosell, and puffing hard, (for he was almost
out of wind,) with hys breath made the Reedes to
pype ; which he seeing, tcoke of them, and, in re-
membraunce of his lost love, made him a pype
thereof. But here by Pan and Syrinx is not to bee
thonghte, that the shephearde simplye meante
those Poeticall Gods : but rather supposing (as
seemeth) her graces progenie to be divine and im-
mortall (so as the Paynims were wont to judge
of all Kinges and Princes, according to Homeres
saying,
" Quftbf St /*«'ya« «<rrt jiorpc^c'ot /SacriATJo?,
" : Aids «<rri, </>iAet Se i juijTi'tTa Zevs,')
could devise no parent* in his judgement so worthy
for her, as Pan the shepeheards God, and his best
beloved Syrinx. So that by Pan is here meant
the most famous and victorious king, her high-
nesse Father, late of worthy memorye, K. Henry
the eyght. And by that name, oftymes (as here-
after appeareth) be noted kings and mighty Po-
tentates : And in some place Christ himselfe, who
is the verye Pan and god of Shepheardes.
Cremosin coronet, he deviseth her crowne to be
of the finest and most delicate flowers, instede of
perles and precious stones, wherewith Princes
Diademes use to bee adorned and embost.
Embellish, beautifye and set out.
Phebe, the Moone, whom the Poets faine to be
Bister unto Phoebus, that is, the Sunne.
Medled, mingled.
Yfert, together. By the mingling of the Bedde
rose and the White is meant the uniting of the
two principall houses of Lancaster and Yorke : by
whose longe discord and deadly debate this realm
many yearcs was sore travelled, and almost cleane
decayed. Til tho famous Henry the seventh, of
the line of Lancaster, taking to wife the most ver-
tuous Princesse Elisabeth, daughter to the fourth
Edward of the house of Yorke, begat the most
royal Henry the eyght aforesayde, in whom was
the first union of the Whyte rose and the Redde.
Calliope, one of the nine Muses : to whome they
assigne the honor of all Poeticall Invention, and
the flrste glory e of the Heroical verse. Other say,
that shee is the Goddesse of Rethorick ; but by
Virgile it ismanifeste, that they myetake the thyng.
For there, in hys Epigrams, that arte semeth to be
attributed to Polymnia, saying,
' Signat cuncta manu, loquitnrque Polymnia
gestu."
Which seemeth specially to be meant of Action,
and elocution, both special partes of Rethorick :
besyde that her name, which (as some construe it)
importeth great remembraunce, conteineth ano-
ther part : but I holde rather with them, which call
her Polymnia, or Polyhymnia, of her good singing.
Bay branches, be the signe of honor and victory,
and therfore of mighty Conquerors worn in theyr
triuinphes, and eke of famous Poets, as saith Pe-
trarch in hys Sonets,
' Arbor vittoriosa triomphale,
' Honor d' Imperadori et di Poeti,' &c.
The Graces be three sisters, the daughters of Jupi-
ter, (whose names are Aglaia, Thalia, Euphrosyne ;
and Homer onely added a fourth, s. Pasithea)
otherwise called Charites, that is. thankes : whom
the Poetes feyned to be the Goddesses of all bonn-
tie and comelines, which therefore (as sayth Theo-
dontius) they make three, to wete, that men first
ought to be gracious and bountifull to other freely ;
then to receive benefits at other mens hands cur-
teously ; and thirdly, to requite them thankfully ;
which are three sundry Actions in liberalitye.
And Boccace saith, that they be painted naked (as
they were indeede on the tombe of C. Julius Ctesar)
the one having her backe toward us, and her face
fromwarde, as proceeding from us ; the other two
toward us, noting double thauke to be due to us
for the benefit we have done.
Deffly, finelye and nimbly.
Soote , sweete.
Jferiment, mirth.
Bevie, a beavie of ladyes, is spoken figuratively
for a company, or troupe : the termc is taken of
Larkes. For they say a Bevie of Larkes, even as a
Covey of Partridge, or an eye of Pheasaunts.
Ladyes of the lake be Nymphe?. For it was an
olde opinion amoiiRste the Auncient Heathen, that
of every spring and fountaine was a goddesse the
Sovernigne. Whiche opinion stucke in the myndes
of men not manye yeares sithence, by meanes of
certain fine fablers, and lowd lyers, such as were
the Authors of King Arthure the great, and such
like, who tell many an unlawfull leasing of the
Ladyes of the Lake, that is, the Nymphes. For
the word Nymphe in Greeke, signifieth Well water,
or otherwise, a Spouse or Bryde.
Behight, called or named.
Claris, the name of a Nymph, and signifieth
greenesse ; of whome is sayd. that Zephyr us, the
Westerne wind, being in love with her, and covet-
ing her to wyfe, gave her for a dowrie the chiefe-
dome and soveraigntye of al flowres, aid greene
herbes, (trowing on earth.
Olives bene. The Olive was wont to be the ensigne
of Peace and quietnesse, eyther for that it cannot
be planted and pruned, and so carefully looked to
as it ought, but in time of peace ; or els for that
the Olive tree, they say, will not growe neare the
Firre tree, which is dedicate to Mars the God of
battaile, and used most for speares, and other in-
struments of warre. Whereuppon is finely feigned,
that when Neptune and Minerva strove for the
naming of the citie of Athens, Neptune striking
the ground with his mace caused a horse to come
458
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[U 1-36.
forth, that importeth warre, but at Minervaes
stroke sprong out an Olive, to note that it should
be a nurse of learning, and such peaceable studies.
liinde your, spoken rudely, and according to
ahepheardes simplicitye.
Bring, all these be names of flowers. Sop* in
teinf, a flowre in colour much like to a Coronation,
but differing in smel and quantitye. Ftowre deltce,
that which they use to misterme flowre deluce,
being in Latine called Flos delitiarum.
A Bellibone, or a bonibell, homely spoken for a
fayre mayde, or Bonilasse.
Forstconck, and/orswatt, overlaboured and sunne-
bnrnt.
/ sate Phoebus, the snnne. A sensible narration,
and present view of the thing mentioned, which
they call irapoveria.
Cynthia, the Moone, so called of Cynthus a hyll,
where she was honoured.
Latonaes seede, Was Apollo and Diana. Whom,
when as Niobe the Wife of Amphion scorned, in
respect of the noble fruict of her wombe, namely
her seven sonnes, and so many daughters, Latona,
being therewith displeased, commaunded her sonne
Phoebus to slea al the sonnes, and Diana all the
daughters : whereat the unfortunate Niobe being
sore dismayed, and lamenting out of measure, was
feigned of the Poetes to be turned into a stone,
upon the sepulchre of her children : for which
cause the shepheard sayth, he will not compare
her to them, for feare of like misfortune.
Now rise, is the conclusion. For, having so
decked her with prayses and comparisons, he re-
tnrneth all the thanck of hys laboure to the excel-
lencie of her Majestic.
When Damsins, A base reward of a clownish
giver.
1'blent, Y is a poeticaU addition ; blent, blinded.
This Poesye is taken out of Virgile, and there of
him used in the person of vEneas to his mother Ve-
nus, appearing to him in likenesse of one of Dianaes
damosells : being there most divinely set forth. To
which similitude of divinitie Hobbinoll, compar-
ing the excelency of Elisa, and being, through the
worthynes of Colins song, as it were, overcome
with the hugenesse of his imagination, brusteth
out in great admiration, (0 quam te memorem
virgo!) being otherwise unhable, then by soddein
silence, to expresse the worthinesse of his conceipt.
Whom Thenot answereth with another part of the
like verse, as confirming by his graunt and ap-
provannce, that Elisa is no whit inferiour to the
Majestie of her, of whome that Poete so boldly
pronounced 0 dea certe.
MATE.
.EGLOGA QUINTA. ARGUMENT.
lit this fifte jfglogue, under the persons of tiro shepheards. Piers and Palinodie, be represented tteo formes
ofpastoures or Ministers, or the Protestant and the Catholique: whose ehiefe talke standeth in reasoning,
whether the life of the one miat be like the other: with trhom having shewed, that it is daungerous to
mainteine any felowship, or give too much credit to their colourable and feyned good will, he telleth him
a tale of thefoxe, that, by suclt a counterpoynt of era/lines, deceived and deroured the credulous tidde.
PALINODE.
PIERS.
Palinode, Is not thilke the mery moneth of PaL Sicker this morrowe, no lenger agoe,
When love-lads masken in fresh aray ? [ May, I sawe a shole of shepeheardes outgoe
How falles it, then, we no merrier bene,
Ylike as others, girt in gawdy greene?
Our bloncket liveryes bene all to sadde
For thilke same season, when all is ycladd
With pleasaunce: the grownd with grasse,
With singing, and shouting, and jolly chere :
Before them yode a lusty Tabrere,
That to the many a Horne-pype playd, [mayd.
Whereto they dauucen, eche one with his
To see those folkes make such jovysaunce,
the Woods [buds. Made my heart after the pype to daunce :
With greene leaves, the bushes with bloosming Tho to the greene Wood they speeden hem all,
Yougthes folke now flocken in every where, jTo fetchen home May with their musicall:
And home they bringen in a royall throne,
Crowned as king : and his Queene attone
Was Lady Flora, on whom did attend
A fayre flocke of Faeries, and a fresh bend
Of lovely Nymphs. (O that I were there,
To helpen the Ladyes their Maybush beare !)
Ah! Piers, bene not thy teeth on edge, to
thinke [swinck ?
To gather May bus-kets and smelling brere :
And home they hasten the postes to dight,
And all the Kirke pillours eare day light,
With Hawthorne buds, and swete Eglantine,
And girlonds of roses, and Sopps in wine.
Such merimake holy Saints doth queme,
But we here sitten as drownd in a dreme.
Pier*. For Younkers, Palinode, such follies
But we tway bene men of elder witt. [ fitte,
How great sport they gaynen with little
37-I43-]
At A YE.
459
Piers. Perdie, so farre am I from envie,
That their fondnesse inly I pitie :
Those faytours little regarden their charge,
While they, letting their sheepe runne at large,
Passen their time, that should be sparely spent,
In lustihede and wanton meryment. [stedde,
Thilke same bene shepeheardes for the Devils
That playen while their flockes be unfedde :
Well is it seene theyr sheepe bene not their
owne,
That letten them runne at randon alone :
But they bene hyred for little pay
Of other, that caren as little as they
What fallen the flocke, so they han the fleece,
And get all the gayne, paving but a peece.
I muse, what account both these will make ;
The one for the hire which he doth take,
And thother for leaving his Lords taske, [aske.
When great Pan account of shepeherdes shall
Pal. Sicker, now I see thou speakest of
spight,
All for thou lackest somedele their delight
I (as I am) had rather be envied,
All were it of my foe, then fonly pitied:
And yet, if neede were, pitied would be,
Rather then other should scorne at me :
For pittied is mishappe that nas remedie,
But scorned bene dedes of fond foolerie.
What shoulden shepheards other things tend,
Then, sith their God his good does them send,
Eeapen the fruite thereof, that is pleasure,
The while they here liven at ease and leasure?
For, when they bene dead, their good is ygoe,
They sleepen in rest, well as other moe :
Tho with them wends what they spent in cost,
But what they left behind them is lost.
Good is no good, but if it be spend ;
God giveth good for none other end.
Piers. Ah ! Palinodie, thou art a worldes
childe :
Who touches Pitch, mought needes be defilde ;
But shepheards (as Algrind used to say)
Mought not live ylike as men of the lave.
With them it sits to care for their heire,
Enaunter their heritage doe impaire. [ aunce,
They must provide for meanes of mainten-
And to continue their wont countenaunce :
But shepheard must walke another way,
Sike worldly sovenance he must forsay.
The sonne of his loines why should he regard
To leave enriched with that he hath spard ?
Should not thilke God, that gave him that
good,
Eke cherish his child, if in his waves he stood V
For if he mislive in leudnes and lust,
Little bootes all the welth and the trust,
That his father left by inheritaunce ;
All will be soonewasted with misgovernaunce;
;eepe.
But through this, and other their miscreaunce
They maken many a wrong chevisaunce,
Heaping up waves of welth and woe,
The floddes whereof shall them overflowe
Sike mens follie I cannot compare
Better then to the Apes folish care,
That is so enamoured of her young one,
(And yet, God wote, such cause hath she none)
That with her hard hold, and straight em-
bracing,
She stoppeth the breath of her youngling.
So often times, when as good is meant,
Evil ensueth of wrong entent.
The time was once, and may againe retome,
(For ought may happen, that hath bene be-
forne)
When shepeheards had none inheritaunce,
Ne of land, nor fee in sufferaunce,
But what might arise of the bare sheepe.
(Were it more or lesse) which they did to
Well ywis was it with shepheards thoe :
Nought having, nought feared they to forgoe ;
For Pan himselfe was their inheritaunce,
And little them served for their mayntenaunce.
The shepheards God so wel them guided,
That of nought they were unprovided ;
Butter enough, honye, milke, and whay,
And their flockes fleeces them to araye :
But tract of time, and long prosperitie,
That nource of vice, this of insolencie,
Lulled the shepheards in such securitie,
That, not content with loyall obeysaunce,
Some gan to gape for greedie governaunce,
And match them selfe with mighty potentates,
Lovers of Lordship, and troublers of states.
Tho gan shepheards swaines to looke aloft,
And leave to live hard, and learne to ligge
soft:
Tho, under colour of shepeheards, somewhile
There crept in Wolves, ful of fraude, and
That often devoured their owne sheepe, [guile,
And often the shepheards that did hem keepe :
This was the first sourse of shepheards sorowe,
That now nill be quittwith baile nor borrowe.
Pal. Three thinges to beare bene very bur-
denous,
But the fourth to forbeare is outragious :
Wemen, that of Loves longing once lust,
Hardly forbearen, but have it they must :
So when choler is inflamed with rage,
Wanting revenge, is hard to asswage :
And who can counsell a thristie soule,
With patience to forbeare the offred bowle ?
But of all burdens, that a man can beare,
Most is, a fooles talke to beare and to heare.
I wene the Gcaunt has not such a weight.
That beares on his shoulders the heavens
height.
460
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 144-247-
Thou findest faulte where nys to be found,
And buildest strong warke upon a weake
ground :
Thou raylest on, right withouten reason,
And blamest hem much for small encheason.
How shoulden shepheardes live, if not so ?
What! should they pynen iupayne and woe?
Nay, say I thereto^ by my deare borrowe,
If I may rest, I nill live in sorrowe.
Sorrowe ne neede be hastened on,
For he will come, without calling, anone.
While times enduren of tranquillitie,
Usen we freely our felicitie ;
For, when approchen the stormie stowres,
We mought with our shoulders beare of the
sharpe showres ;
And, sooth to sayne, nought seemeth sike
strife,
That shepheardes so witen ech others life,
And layen her faults the world beforne,
The while their foes done cache of hem scome.
Let none mislike of that may not be mended :
So conteck soone by concord mought be ended.
Piers. Shepheard, I list none accordaunce
make [ sake :
With shepheard that does the right way for-
And of the twaine, if choice were to me,
Had lever my foe then my freend he be ;
For what concord han light and darke sam ?
Or what peace has the Lien with the Lambe ?
Such faitors, when their false harts bene hidde,
Will doe as did the Foxe by the Kidde.
Pal. Now, Piers, of felowship, tell us that
saying : [straying.
For the Ladde can keepe both our flockes from
Piers. Thilke same Kidde (as I can well
Was too very foolish and unwise ; [devise)
For on a tyme, in Sommer season,
The Gate her dame, that had good reason,
Vode forth abroade unto the greene wood,
To brouze, or play, or what shee thought good :
But, for she had a motherly care
Of her young sonne, and wit to beware,
Shee set her youngling before her knee,
That was both fresh and lovely to see,
And full of favour as kidde mought be.
His Vellet head began to shoote out,
And his wreathed homes gan newly sprout :
The blossomes of lust to bud did beginne,
And spring forth ranckly under his chinne.
'My Sonne,' (quoth she and with that gan
weepe,
For carefull thoughts in her heart did creepe)
'God blesse thee, poore Orphane! as he
mought me,
And send thee joy of thy jollitee.
Thy father,' (that word she spake with payne,
For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twaine)
"
1 Thy father, had he lived this day,
To see the braunche of his body displaie,
How would he have joyed at this sweete sight !
But ah ! false Fortune such joy did him spight,
And cutte of hys dayes with untimely woe,
Betraying him into the traines of hys foe.
Now I. a waylfull widdowe behight,
Of my old age have this one delight,
To see thee succeede in thy fathers steade,
And florish in flowres of lusty-head :
For even so thy father his head upheld,
And so his hauty homes did he weld.'
Tho marking him with melting eves,
A thrilling throbbe from her hart did aryse,
And interrupted all her other speache
With some old sorowe that made a ne
breache :
Seemed shee sawe in the younglings face
The old lineaments of his fathers grace.
At last her solein silence she broke,
And gan his newe-budded beard to stroke.
'Kiddie, (quoth shee) thou kenst the great
care
I have of thy health and thy welfare,
Which many wyld beastes Hggen in waite
For to entrap in thy tender state :
But most the Foxe, maister of collusion :
For he has voued thy last confusion.
For-thy, my Kiddie, be ruld by mee,
And never give trust to his trecheree :
And, if he chaunce come when I am abroade,
Sperre the yate fast for feare of fraude :
Ne for all his worst, nor for his best,
Open the clore at his request.'
So schooled the Gate her wanton sonne,
That answerd his mother, all should be done.
Tho went the pensife Damme out of dore,
And chaunst to stomble at the threshold flore :
Her stombling steppe some what her amazed,
(For such, as signes of ill luck, bene dis-
praised ;)
Yet forth shee yode, thereat halfe aghast :
And Kiddie the dore sperred after her fast
It was not long, after shee was gone,
But the false Foxe came to the dore anone :
Not as a Foxe, for then he had be kend,
But all as a poore pedler he did wend,
Bearing a trusse of tryfles at hys backe,
As bells, and babes, and glasses, in hys packe -.
A Biggen he had got about his brayne,
For in his headpeace he felt a sore payne:
^His hinder heele was wrapt in a clout,
|For with great cold he had gotte the gout.
There at the dore he cast me downe hys pack,
And layd him downe, and groned, 'Alack I
Alack!
Ah, deare Lord ! and sweete Saint Charitee !
That some good body woulde once pitie mee !'
L. 248-317.]
MA YE.
461
Well beard Kiddie al this sore constraint,
And lengd to know tlie cause of his complaint :
Tho, creeping close behind the Wickets clink,
Prevelie he peeped out through a chinck,
Yet not so previlie but the Foxe him spyed ;
For deceitfull meaning is double eyed.
' Ah, good young maister ! ' (then gan he
crye)
' Jesus blesse that sweete face I espye,
And keepe yourcorpse from thecarefull stounds
That in my carrion carcas abouuds.'
The Kidd, pittying hys heavinesse,
Asked the cause of his great distresse,
And also who, and whence that he were ?
Tho he, that had well ycond his lere,
Thus medled his talke with many a teare :
' Sicke, sicke, alas ! and little lack of dead,
But I be relieved by your beastlyhead.
I am a poore sheepe, albe my coloure donne,
For with long traveile I am brent in the sonne :
And, if that my Grandsire me sayd be true,
Sicker, I am very sybbe to you :
So be your goodlihead doe not disdayne
The base kinred of so simple swaine.
Of inercye and favour, then, I you pray
With your ayu to fore-stall my neere decay. '
Tho out of his packe a glasse he tooke,
Wherein while Kiddie unwares did looke,
He was so enamored with the newell,
That nought he deemed deare for the Jewell :
Tho opened he the dore, and in came
The false Foxe, as he were starke lame :
His tayle he clapt betwixt his legs twayne,
Lest he should be descried by his trayne.
Being within, the Kidde made him good glee,
All for the love of the glasse he did see.
After his chere the Pedler can chat,
And tell many lesinges of this and that,
And how he could shewe many a fine knack :
Tho shewed his ware and opened his packe,
All save a bell, which he left behind
In the basket for the Kidde to fynd :
Which when the Kidde stooped downe to catch,
He popt him in, and his basket did latch :
Ne stayed he once the dore to make fast,
But ranne awaye with him in all hast, [hyde,
Home when "the doubtfull Damme had her
She motight see the dore stand open wyde.
All agast, lewdly she gan to call
Her Kidde; but he nould answere at all :
Tho on the flore she saw the merchaundise
Of which her soune had sette to deere a prise
What helpe? her Kidde shee knewe well was
gone:
Shee weeped. and wayled, and made great mone.
Such end had the Kidde, for he nould warned
Of craft, coloured with simplicitie : [be
And such end, perdie, does all hem remayne,
That of such falsers freendship bene fayne.
Pal. Truly, Piers, thou art beside thy wit,
Furthest fro" the marke, weening it to hit.
Now, I pray thee, lette me thy tale borrowe
For our Sir John, to say to morrowe
At the Kerke, when it is holliday ;
For well he meaues, but little can say.
But, and if foxes bene so crafty as so,
Much needeth all shepheards hem to knowe.
Piers, Of their falshode more could I re-
count,
But now the bright Sunne gynneth to dismount;
And, for the deawie night now cloth nye,
1 1 hold it best for us home to hye.
PALINODES K-MBLEME.
lid? fj.fl> aTTlOTOS ajriOTet.
PIERS HIS EMBLEME.
TYs S' apa Trt'oTis antar<|>{
GLOSSE.
mite, this same moneth. It is applyed to the
season of the moneth, when nil tnenne delight
them selves with pleasaunce of fieldes, and gardens,
and garments.
Bloncket liveria, gray coates.
Yclad, arrayed, Y redoundeth, as before.
In every where, a straunge, yet proper kind of
speaking.
Buskett, a diminutive, a. little bushes of hau-
thome.
Ktrke, church.
Queme, please.
JL thole, a multitude, taken of flshe, whereof some,
going in great companies, are sayde to gwimme In
u shole.
I'oiie, went.
Jovyssaunce, Joye.
Sirinri-, labour.
Jnly, entirely.
Faytours, vagabonds.
Great Pan, is Christ, the very God of all shep-
heards, which callcth hmiselfe the greate, and
good shepherd. The name is most rightly (me-
thinkes) applyed to him ; lor Pan sigiiitieth all, or
omnipotent, which is onely the Lord Jesus. And
by that name (as 1 remember) he is called of Base.
462
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
biue, in his fifte booke De Preparat. Ecany., who
thereof telleth a proper storye to that purpose.
Which story is first recorded of Plutarch, in his
booke of the ceasing of Oracles : and of Lavctere
translated, in his booke of walking sprightes ; who
say th, that about the same time that our Lord suf-
fered his most bitter passion, for the redemtion
of man, certein passengers sayling from Italy to
Cyprus, and passing by certaine lies called Paxae,
heard a voyce calling alowde Thamus, Thamus!
(now Thamns was the name of an ^Egyptian,
which was Pilote of the ship) who, giving eare to
the cry, was bidden, when he came to Palodes, to
tel that the great Pan was dead : which he doubt-
ing to doe, yet for that when he came to Palodes,
there sodeinly was such a calme of winde, that the
shippe stoode still in the sea unmoved, he was
forced to cry alowd, that Pan was dead : where-
withall there was heard snche piteous outcryes,
and dreadfull shriking, as hath not bene the like.
By whych Pan, though of some be understoode
the great Satanas, whose kingdome at that time
was by Christ conquered, the gates of hell broken
up, and death by death delivered to eternall death,
(for at that time, as he sayth, all Oracles sur-
ceased, and enchaunted spirits, that were wont to
delude the people, thenceforth held theyr peace :)
and also at the demannd of the Emperoure Tibe-
rius, who that Pan should be, answere was made
him by the wisest and best learned, that it was
the sonne of Mercuric and Penelope : yet I thinke
it more properly meant of the death of Christ,
the onely and very Pan, then suffering for his
flock.
1 at I am, seemeth to imitate the commen
proverb, Malim invidere mihi omnes, qiiam miseres-
cere.
Nat is a syncope, for ne has, or has not: as nould
for would not.
T/to with them doth imitate the Epitaphe of the
ryotous king Sardanapalus, which he caused to
be written on his tombe in Greeke : which verses
be thus translated by Tullie.
' Hsec habni quae edi, quaeqne exaturata libido
' Hausit, at ilia manent multa ac praeclara re-
licta.'
Which may thus be turned into English.
' All that I eate did I joye, and all that I greedily
gorged:
' As for those many goodly matters left I for
others.'
Much like the Epitaph of a good olde Erie of De-
vonshire, which though much more wisedome be-
wraieth then Sardanapalus, yet hath a smacke of
his sensuall delights and beastlinesse : the rymes
be these :
' Ho, ho ! who lies here ?
' I the good Earle of Devonshire,
' And Maulde my wife that was f ul deare :
'We lived together Iv. yeare.
' That we spent, we had :
' That we gave, we have :
1 That we lefte, we lost.'
•Algrind, the name of a ahepheard.
Men of the lay. Laymen.
Enaunter, least that.
Sovenaunce, remembraunce.
Miscreaunce, despeire, or misbeliefe.
Chevisaunce, sometime of Chaucer used for gaine :
sometime of other for spoyle, or bootie, or enter-
prise, and sometime for chiefdome.
Pan himselfe, God : according as is sayd in Deu-
teronomie, That, in division of the lande of Canaan,
to the tribe of Levie no portion of heritage should
bee allotted, for God himselfe was their inheri-
tannce.
Some gan, meant of the Pope, and his Antichris-
tian prelates, which usurpe a tyrannical dominion
in the Churche, and with Peters counterfet keyes
open a wide gate to al wickednesse and insolent
government. Nought here spoken, as of purpose
to deny fatherly rule and governaunce (as some
maliciously of late have done, to the great unreste
and hinderaunce of the Churche) but to displaye
the pride and disorder of such, as, in steede of feed-
ing their sheepe, indeede feede of theyr eheepe.
Bourse, welspring and originall.
Borrowe, pledge or suertie.
The Geaunte is the greate Atlas, whom the poetes
feign to be a huge geannt, that beareth Heaven on
his shoulders : being indeede a merveilous highe
mountaine in Mauritania, that now is Barbarie,
which, to mans seeming, perceth the cloudes, and
seemeth to touch the heavens. Other thinke, and
they not amisse, that this fable was meant of one
Atlas king of the same countrye, (of whome may
bee, that that hil had his denomination) brother to
Prometheus, who (as the Greekes say) did first fynd
out the hidden courses of the starres, by an excel-
lent imagination : wherefore the poetes feigned,
that he susteyned the firmament on hys shoulders :
Many other conjectures needelesse be told hereof.
Warke, wonke.
Encheason, cause, occasion.
Deare borow, that is our Saviour, the common
pledge of all mens debts to death.
Wyten, blame.
NouglU seemeth, is unseemely.
Contect, strife, contention.
Her, theyr, as useth Chaucer.
Han, for have.
Sam, together.
This tale is much like to that in JEsops fables,
but the Catastrophe and end is farre different. By
the Kidde may be understoode the simple sorte of
the faythfull and true Christians. By hys dame
Christe, that hath alreadie with carefull watche-
words (as hecre doth the gote) warned her little
ones, to beware of such doubling deceit. By the
Foxe, the false and faithlesse Papistes, to whom
is no credit to be given, nor felowshippe to be
used.
The Gate, the Gote : Northernely spoken, to tnrne
O into A.
Yode, went : afforesayd.
$he set, a figure called Fictio, which Useth to attri-
bute reasonable actions and speaches to unreason-
able creatures.
The bloosmes of lust, be the yong and mossie
heares, which then beginne to sproute and shoote
foorth, when lustfull heate beginneth to kindle.
And with, a very poetical waft*.
JUNE.
463
Orphane, a youngling or pupill, that needeth a
Tutour and governour.
That word, a patheticall parenthesis, to encrease
a caref nil hyperbaton.
The braunch, of the fathers body, is the child.
For even so, Alluded to the saying of Andromache
to Ascanius in Virgile.
• Sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat.'
A thrilling throb, a percing sighe.
Liggen, lye.
Maister of collusion, s. coloured guile, because
the Foxe, of al beasts, is most wily and crafty.
Sperre the yate, shut the dore.
For such, the gotes stombling is here noted as an
evill signe. The like to be marked in all histories :
and that not the leaste of the Lorde Hastingues in
King Eycharde the third his dayes. For, beside
his daungerous dreame (whiche was a shrewde
prophecie of his mishap that folowed) it is sayd,
that in the morning, ryding toward the tower of
London, there to sittie uppon matters of counsel!,
his horse stombled twise or thrise by the way :
which, of some, that ryding with him in his com-
pany were privie to his neere destenie, was secretly
marked, and afterward noted for memorie of his
great mishap that ensewed. For being then as
merye as man might be, and least doubting any
mortall daunger, he was, within two howres after,
of the Tyranne put to a shameful! deathe.
As belles, by such trifles are noted, the reliques
and ragges of popish superstition, which put no
smal religion in Belles, and Babies, s. Moles, and
glasses, s. Paxes, and such lyke trumperies.
Great cold, for they boast much of their outward
patience, and voluntarye sufferaunce, as a worke
of merite and holy humblenesse.
Siceete S, Charitie, The Catholiques common othe,
and onely speache, to have charitye alwayes in
their mouth, and sometime in their outward Ac-
tions, but never inwardly in fayth and godly zeale.
Clincke.n. keyhole. Whose diminutive is clicket,
nsed of Chaucer for a Key.
Stounds, fittes : aforesayde.
His lere, his lesson.
Medled, mingled.
Sestlihead, agreeing to the person of a beast
Sibbe, of kinne.
Newell, a newe thing.
To forestall, to praevent.
Glee, chere : afforesayde.
Deareaprice, his lyfe which he lost for those toyes.
Such en.de, is an Epiphonema, or rather the moral
of the whole tale, whose purpose is to wame the
protestaunt beware, how he giveth credit to the
unfaythfull Catholique ; wherof we have dayly
proofes sufficient, but one moste famous of all
practised of late yeares in Fraunce, by Charles the
nynth.
Fayne, gladde or desyrous.
Our sir John, a Popishe priest. A saying fit fot
the grosenesse of a shepheard, but spoken to taunte
unlearned Priestes.
Dismount, descende or set.
Nye, draweth nere.
EMBLEME.
Both these Emblemes make one whole Hexa- Piers thereto strongly replyeth with an other peece
metre. The first spoken of Palinodie, as in re-
proche of them that be distrustful!, is a peece of
Theognis verse, intending, that who doth most mis-
trust is most false. For such experience in falshod
breedeth mistrust in the mynd, thinking no lesse
guile to lurke in others then in hyvaselfe. But
of the same verse, saying, as in his former fable,
what fayth then is there in the faythlesse ? For if
fayth be the ground of religion, which fayth they
dayly false, what hold is then there of theyr reli-
gion ? And thys is all that they saye.
JUNE.
.&GLOGA SEXTA. ARGUMENT.
THIS jEglogve is wholly vowed to the complayning of Colins ill successe in his love. For being (at it afore-
laid) enamoured of a country louse, Rosalind, and liaeing (as seemelh) founde place in her heart, he
lamenteth to his deare frend ffobbinoll, that he is name forsaken unfaithfully, and in his steede
Menalcas, another shepheard, received disloyally. And this is the whole Argument of this jEglogue.
HOBBINOL.
Hob. Lo ! Collin, here the place whose plesaunt
syte [mynde :
From other shades hath weand my wandring
Tell me, what wants me here to worke de-
lyte?
The simple ayre, the gentle warbling wynde,
So calme, so coole, as no where else I fynde :
The grassye ground with daintye Daysies
dight,
COLIN CLOUT.
The Bramble bush, where Byrds of every kyndy
To the waters fall their tunes attemper right.
Col. O happy Hobbinoll! I blessethy state,
That Paradise hast founde whych Adam
lost:
Here wander may thy flocke, early or late,
Withouten dreade of Wolves to bene y tost -•
Thy lovely layes here mayst thou freely
boste.
464
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 14-102.
But I, unhappy man ! whom cruell fate
And angry Gods pursue from coste to coste,
Can nowhere fynd to shroude my lucklesse
pate.
Hob. Then, if by me thou list advised be,
Forsake the soyle'that so doth thee bewitch:
Leave me those hilles where harbrough nis to
see,
Nor holy-bush, nor brere, nor winding witche:
And to the dales resort, where shepheards
ritch,
And fruictfull flocks, bene every where to see :
Here no night- ravenes lodge, more black then
pitche,
Nor elvish ghosts, nor gastly owles doe flee.
But frendly Faeries, met with many Graces,
And lightfoote Nymphes, can chace the ling-
ring Night
With Heydeguyes, and trimly trodden traces,
Whilst systers nyne, which dwell on Parnasse
night,
Doe make them musick for their more delight:
And Pan himselfe, to kisse their christall
faces, [bright:
Will pype and daunce when Phoebe shineth
Such pierlesse pleasures have we in these places.
Col. And I, whylst youth and course of
carelesse yeeres,
Did let me walke withouten lincks of love,
In such delights did joy amongst my peeres :
But ryper age such pleasures doth reprove :
My fancye eke from former follies move
To stayed steps ; for time in passing weares,
(As garments doen, which wexen old above,)
And draweth newe delightes with hoary
heares.
Tho couth I sing of love, and tune my pype
Unto my plaintive pleas in verses made :
Tho would I seeke for Queene-apples unrype,
To give my Rosalind ; and in Sommer shade
Dight gaudy Girlonds was my common trade,
To crowne her golden locks : but yeeres more
rype,
And losse of her, whose love as lyfe I wayd,
Those weary wanton toyes away dyd wype,
Hub. Colin, to heare thy rymesand rounde-
layes, [singe,
Which thou wert wont on wastfull hylls «.o
I more delight then larke in Sommer dayes!
Whose Echo made the neyghbour groves to
ring, [spring
And taught the byrds, which in the lower
Did shroade in shady leaves from sonny rayes,
Frame to thy songe their chereful cheriping,
Or hold theyr peace, for shame of thy swete
layes.
I sawe Calliope wyth Muses moe,
Soone as thy oaten pype began to sound.
Theyr yvory Luyts and Tarnburius forgoe,
And" from " the " fountaine, where they sat
around,
Renne after hastely thy silver sound ;
But, when they came where thou thy skill
didst showe, [found
They drewe abacke, as halfe with shame con-
Shepheard to see them in theyr art outgoe.
Col. Of Muses, Hobbinol, I conne no skill,
For they bene daughters of the hyghest Jove,
And holden scorne of homely shepheards
quill :
For sith I heard that Pan with Phoebus strove,
Which him to much rebuke and Daunger
drove,
I never lyst presume to Parnasse hyll,
But, pyping lowe in shade of lowly grove,
I play to please myselfe, all be it ill.
Nought weigh I who my song doth prayse or
blame,
Ne strive to winne renowne, or passe the rest:
With shepheard sittes not followe flying fame,
But feede his flocke in fields where falls hem
best.
I wote my rymes bene rough, and rudely dreat;
The fytter they my carefull case to frame :
Enough is me to paint out my unrest,
And poore my piteous plaints out in the same.
The God of shepheards, Tityrus, is dead,
Who taught me homely, as I can, to make ;
He, whilst he lived, was the soveraigne head
Of shepheards all that bene with love ytake:
Well couth he wayle his Woes, and lightly
slake [bredd,
The flames which love within his heart had
And tell us mery tales to keepe us wake,
The while our sheepe about us safely fedde.
Nowe dead he is, and lyeth wrapt in lead,
(0 ! why should Death" on hym such outrage
showe ?)
And all hys passing skil with him is fledde,
The fame whereof doth dayly greater growe.
But, if on me some little d'rops would flowe
Of that the spring was in his learned hedde,
1 soone would learne these woods to wayle my
woe, [shedde.
And teache the trees their trickling teares to
Then should my plaints, causd of discurtesee,
As messengers of this my painfull plight,
Flye to my love, where ever that she bee,
And pierce her heart with poynt of worthy
wight,
As shee deserves that wrought so deadly spight,
And thon, Menalcas, that by trecheree
L. 103-120.]
JUNE.
465
Didst uuderfong my lasse to wexe so light,
shouldest well be knowne for such thy
villanee.
But since I am not as I wish I were,
Ye gentle Shepheards, which your flocks do
feede,
Whether on hylls, or dales, or other where,
Beure witnesse all of thys so wicked deede :
And tell the lasse, whose flowre is woxe a
weede,
And faultlesse fayth is turned to faithlesse
fere,
That she the truest shepheards hart made
bleede,
That lyves on earth, and loved her most dere.
Hob. O, carefull Colin ! I lament thy case :
Thy teares would make the hardest flint to flowe!
Ah, faithlesse Rosalind and voide of grace,
That art the roote of all this ruthfull woe!
But now is time, I gesse, homeward to goe :
Then ryse, ye blessed Flocks, and home apace,
Least night with stealing steppes doe you
forsloe, [trace.
And wett your tender Lambes that by you
COLIKS EMBLEMK.
Gia speme spenta.
GLOSSE.
Syte, situation and place.
Paradise, A Paradise in Greeke, signifieth a Gar-
den of pleasure, or place of delights. So he com-
[mreth the soile, wherin Hobbinoll made his abode,
» that earthly Paradise, in scripture called Eden,
wherein Adam in his first creation was placed :
which of the most learned is thought to be in
Mesopotamia, the most fertile pleasaunte country
ji the world (as may appeare by Diodorus Syculus
description of it, in the historic of Alexanders
conquest thereof,) lying betweene the two famous
Ryvers, (which are sayd in scripture to flowe out
of Paradise) Tygris and Euphrates, whereof it is
so denominate.
Forsake the soyle. This is no Poetical fiction, but
unfeynedly spoken of the Poete selfe, who for
ipeciall occasion of private affayres, (as I have
bene partly of himself e informed) and for his
Hiore preferment, removing out of the Northparts,
came into the South, as Hobbinoll indeede advised
Mm privately.
Those hylles, that is in the North conntrye, where
lie dwelt.
Nis, is not.
The Dales. The Sonthpartes, where he nowe
abydeth, which thoughe they be full of hylles and
woodes (for Kent is very hyllye and woodye ; and
therefore so called, for Kantsh in the Saxons tongue
signifteth woodie,) yet in respecte of the North-
partes they be called dales. For indede the North
Is counted the higher countrye.
Night Ravens, &c. By such hatef ull byrdes, hee
meaiieth all misfortunes (whereof they be tokens)
flying every where.
Frendly faeries. The opinion of Faeries and
elfes is very old, and yet sticketh very religiously
in the myndes of some. But to roote that rancke
opinion of Elfes oute of mens hearts, the truth is,
that there be no such thinges.nor yet the shadowes
of the things, but onely by a sort of bald Friers
and knavish shavelings so feigned ; which as in all
other things, so in that, sought* to nousell the
common people in ignoraunce, least, being once
acquainted with the truth of things, they wonlde
in tyme smell out the untruth of theyr packed
pelfe, and Massepenie religion. But the sooth is,
that when all Italy was distraicte into the Factions
of the Guelfes and the Gibelins, being two famous
houses in Florence, the name began through their
great mischiefes and many outrages, to be so odious,
or rather dreadfull, in the peoples eares, that, if
theyr children at any time were frowarde and
wanton, they would say to them that the Guelfe
or the Gibeiine came. Which words nowe from
them (as many things els) be come into our usage,
and, for Guelfes and Gibelines, we say Elfes and
Goblins. No otherwise then the Frenchmen used
to say of. that valiaunt captain, the very scourge
of Fraunce, the Lorde Thalbot, afterward Erie of
Shrewsbury, whose noblesse bred such a terrour in
the hearts of the French, that oft times even great
armies were def aicted and put to flyght at the onely
hearing of hys name. In somuch that the French
wemen, to affray theyr chyldren, would tell them
that the Talbot commeth.
Many Graces, though there be indeede but three
Graces or Charites (as afore is sayd) or at the ut-
most but foure, yet, in respect of many gyftes of
bounty there may be sayde more. AndsoMusaeus
sayth, that in Heroes ey'ther eye there sat a hun-
dred Graces. And, by that authoritye, thys game
Poete, in his Pageaunts, saith ' An hundred Graces
on her eyelidde sate,' &c.
Heydeguies, A country dannce or rownd. The
conceipt is, that the Graces and Nymphes doe
daunce unto the Muses and Pan his musicke all
night by Moonelight. To signifie th« pleasaunt-
nesse of the soyle.
Peeres. Equalles, and felow shepheards.
Quene-apples unripe, imitating Virgils verse.
' Ipse ego cana legam tenera lanngine mala.'
Neighbour groves, a straunge phrase in English,
but word for word expressing the Latine vicina
nemora.
Spring, not of water, but of young trees springing.
Calliope, afforesayde. Thys staffe is full of verie
poetical invention.
HH
466
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. i -60.
Tamlurines, an olde kind of instrument, which
of some is supposed to be the Clarion.
Pan with Phoebus, the tale is well knowne, howe
that Pan and Apollo, striving for excellencye in
musicke, chose Midas for their judge. Who, being
corrupted wyth partiall affection, gave the victorye
to Pan undeserved : for which Phoebus sette a
payre of Asses eares upon hys head, &c.
Tityrus, That by Tityrus is meant Chaucer, hath
bene already sufficiently sayde ; and by thys more
playne appeareth, that he sayth, he tolde merye
tales. Such as be hys Canterbnrie tales, whom he
calleth the God of Poetes for hys excellencie ; so as
Tullie calleth Lentulus, Deum vitas suce, s. the God
of hys life.
To make, to versifie.
0 vhy, A pretye Epanorthosis, or correction.
Discurtesie : he meaneth the falsenesse of his
lover Rosalinde, who forsaking hym hadde chosen
another.
Poynte of worthy wite, the pricke of deserved blame.
Menalcas, the name of a shephearde in Virgile ;
but here is meant a person unknowne and secrete,
against whome he often bitterly invayeth.
Umierfonge, undermyne, and deceive by false
suggestion.
EMULKME.
You remember that in the fyrst ^Eglogue Colins
Poesie was Anchora speme : for that as then there
was hope of favour to be found in tyme. But nowe
being clewie forlorne and rejected of her, as whose
hope, that was, is cleane extinguished and turned
into despeyre, he renounceth all comfort, and hope
of goodnesse to come : which is all the meaning of
thys Embleme.
JULYE.
2EGLOGA SEPTIMA. AKGUMENT.
I
THIS jEglogut is made in the honour and commendation of good ihepeheardes, and to the shame and
ditprayte of proud e and ambitious Pculours: Such as Morrell it here imagined to bee.
THOMALIN.
77io. Is not thilke same a goteheard prowde,
That sittes on yonder bancke,
Whose straying heard them selfe doth shrowde
Emong the bushes rancke V
Mor. What, ho! thou jollye shepheards
Come up the hyll to me ; [swayne,
Better is then the lowly playne,
Als for thv flocke and thee.
TTiom. Ah \ God shield, man, that I should
And learne to looke alofte ; [clime,
This reede is ryfe, that oftentime
Great clymbers fall unsoft.
In humble dales is footing fast,
The trode is not so tickle :
And though one fall through heedlesse hast,
Yet is his misse not mickle.
And now the Sonne hath reared up
His fyerie-footed teme,
Making his way betweene the Cuppe
And golden Diademe :
The rampant Lyon hunts he fast,
With dogges of noysome breath,
Whose balefull barking bringes in hast
Pyne, plagues, and dreery death.
Agaynst his cruell scortching heate,
Where hast thou coverture ?
The wastefull hylls unto his threate
Is a playne overture.
But, if thee lust to holden chat
With seely shepherds swayne,
MORRELL.
Come downe, and learne the little what,
That Thomalin can sayne.
Mor. Syker, thous but a laesie loord,
And rekes much of thy swinck,
That with fond termes, and witlesse words,
To blere mine eyes doest thinke.
In evill houre thou hentest in hond
Thus holy hylles to blame,
For sacred unto saints they stond,
And of them han theyr name.
St, Michels Mount who does not know,
That wardes the Westerne coste ?
And of St. Brigets bowre, I trow,
All Kent can rightly boaste :
And they that con of Muses skill
Sayne most-what, that they dwell
(As goteheards wont) upon a" hill,
Beside a learned well.
And wonned not the great God Pan
Upon mount Olivet,
Feeding the blessed flocke of Dan,
Which dyd himselfe beget ?
Thorn. O blessed sheepe ! O shepheard great ;
That bought his flocke so deare,
And them did save with bloudy sweat
From Wolves that would them teare.
Mor. Besyde, as holy fathers sayne,
There is a hyllye place,
Where Titan ryseth from the mayne
To rtnne hys dayly race,
[L. 61-176.]
yULYE.
467
Upon whose toppe the starres bene stayed,
And all the skie doth leane ;
There is the cave where Phoebe layec"
The shepheard long to dreame.
Whilome there used shepheards all
To feede theyr flocks at will,
Till by his foly one did fall,
That all the" rest did spill.
And, sithens shepheardes bene forsayd
From places of delight,
For-thy I weene thou be affrayd
To clime this hilles height.
Of Synah can I tell thee more,
And of our Ladyes bowre;
But little needes to strow my store,
Suffice this hill of our.
Here han the holy Faunes recourse,
And Sylvanes haunten rathe ;
Here has the salt Medway his sourse,
Wherein the Nymphes doe bathe ;
The salt Medway, that trickling stremis
Adowne the dales of Kent,
Till with his elder brother Themis
His brackish waves be meynt.
Here growes Melampode every where,
And Teribinth, good for Gotes :
The one my madding kiddes to smere,
The next to heale theyr throtes.
Hereto, the hills bene ni'gher heven,
And thence the passage ethe ;
As well can prove the piercing levin,
That seeldome falles bynethe.
Thorn. Syker, thou speakes lyke a lewde
Of Heaven to demen so ; [lorrell,
How be I am but rude and borrell,
Yet nearer wayes I knowe.
To Kerke the narre, from God more farre,
Has bene an old-sayd sawe,
And he, that strives to touch a starre,
Oft stombles at a strawe.
Alsoone may shepheard clymbe to skye
That leades in lowly dales,
As Goteherd prowd, that, sitting hye,
Upon the Mountaine sayles.
My seely sheepe like well belowe,
They neede not Melampode:
For th'ey bene hale enough, I trowe,
And liken theyr abode ;
But, if they with thy Gotes should yede,
They soone myght be corrupted,
Or like not of the frowie fede,
Or with the weedes be glutted.
The hylls where dwelled holy saints
I reverence and adore :
Not for themselfe, but for the sayncts
Which han be dead of yore.
And nowe they bene to heaven forewent,
Theyr good is with them goe :
Theyr sample onely to us lent,
That als we mought doe soe.
Shepheards they weren of the best,
And lived in lowlye leas :
And, sith theyr soules bene now at rest,
Why done we them disease ?
Such one he was (as I have heard
Old Algrind often sayne)
That whilome was the first shepheard,
And lived with little gayne :
And meeke he was, as meeke mought be,
Simple as simple sheepe ;
Humble, and like in eche degree
The flocke which he did keepe.
Often he used of hys keepe
A sacrifice to bring,
Nowe with a Kidde, now with a sheepe,
The Altars hallowing.
So lowted he unto hys Lord,
Such favour couth he fynd,
That sithens never was abhord
The simple shepheards kynd.
And such, I weene, the brethren were
That came from Canaan :
The brethren twelve, that kept yfere
The flockes of mighty Pan.
But nothing such thilk shephearde was
Whom Ida hyll dyd beare,
That left hys flocke to fetch a lasse,
Whose love he bought to deare ;
For he was proude, that ill was piiyd,
(No such mought shepheards bee)
And with lewde lust was overlayd :
Tway things doen ill agree.
But shepheard mought be meeke and mylde.
Well-eyed, as Argus was,
With fleshly follyes undefyled,
And stoute as steede of brasse.
Sike one (sayd Algrind) Moses was,
That sawe hys makers face,
His face, more cleare then Chris tall glasse.
And spake to him in place.
This had a brother (his name I knewe)
The first of all his cote,
A shepheard trewe, yet not so true
As he that earst I hole.
Whilome all these were lowe and lief,
And loved their flocks to feede ;
They never stroven to be cbiefe,
And simple was theyr weede :
But now (thanked be God therefore)
The world is well amend,
Their weedes bene not so nighly wore ;
Such simplesse mought them abend?
They bene yclad in purple and pall,
So hath theyr god them blist ;
They reigne and rulen over all,
And lord it as they list :
BBS
468
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 177-232-
Ygyrt with belts of glitterand gold.
(Mought they good sheepeheards bene ?)
Theyr Pan theyr sheepe to tliem has sold,
I save as some have scene.
For Palinode (if thou him ken)
Yode late on Pilgrimage
To Rome, (if such be Rome) and then
He saw thiike misusage ;
For shepeheards (sayd he) there doen leade,
As Lordes done other where ;
Theyr sheepe ban crustes, and they the bread ;
The chippes, and they the chere :
Thev han the fleece, and eke the flesh,
((3, seely sheepe, the while !)
The corne is theyrs, let other thresh,
Their handes they may not file.
They han great stores and thriftye stockes,
Great freendes and feeble foes :
What neede hem caren for their flocks,
Theyr boyes can looke to those.
These wisards welter in welths waves,
Pampred in pleasures deepe :
They han fatte kernes, and leany knaves,
Their fasting flockes to keepe.
Sike mister men bene all misgone,
They heapen hylles of wrath ;
Sike syrlye shepheards han we none,-
They keepen all the path.
Mor. Here is a great deale of good matter
Lost for lacke of telling :
Now, sicker, I see thou doest but clatter,
Harme may come, of melling.
Thou medlest more then shall have thanke,
To wyten shepheards welth :
When folke bene fat, and riches rancke,
It is a signe of helth.
But say me, what is Algrind, he
That is so oft bynempt ?
Thorn. He is a shepheard great in gree,
But hath bene long ypent.
One daye he sat upon a hyll,
(As now thou wouldest me :
But I am taught, by Algrinds ill,
To love the lowe degree) ;
For sitting so with bared scalpe,
An Eagle sored hye,
That, weening hys whyte head was chalke.
A shell-fish downe let flye :
She weend the shell-fishe to have broke,
But therewith bruzd his brayne ;
So now, astonied with the stroke,
He lyes in lingring payne.
Mor. Ah ! good Algrind ! his hap was ill,
But shall be better in time.
Now farwell, shepheard, sith thys hyll
Thou hast such doubt to climbe.
THOMALINS EMBLEME.
In media virtus.
MORRELLS EMBLEME.
In summo fcdicitas.
GLOSSE.
A Gottheard: by Gotes, in scryptnre, be repre-
sented the wicked and reprobate, whoso pastour
also must needes be such.
ISanck, is the seate of honor.
Straying heard, which wander out of the waye of
truth.
Als, for also.
Clymbf, spoken of Ambition.
Great clymbert, according to Seneca his verse.
' Decidunt celsa, graviore lapsus." Mickle, much.
The tonne, A reason why he refuseth to dwell on
Mountaines, because there is no shelter against the
scortching Sunne, according to the time of the yeare,
whiche is the whotest moneth of all.
The Cupp and Diademe, be two signes in the
Firmament, through which the sonne maketh his
course in the moneth of July.
Lion, Thys is poetically spoken, as if the Sunne
did hunt a Lion with one dogge. The meaning
whereof is, that in July the sonne is in Leo. At
which time the Dogge starre, which is called
Syrius, or Canicula, reigneth with immoderate
heate, causing pestilence, drougth, and many dis-
Overture, an open place. The word is borrowed
of the French, and used in good writers.
To holden chatt, to talke and prate.
A loorde was wont among the old Britons to
signifie a Lorde. And therefore the Danes, that
long time usurped theyr Tyrannic here in Bry-
taine, were called, for more dread then dignitie,
Lurdanes, s. Lord Danes. At which time it is
sayd, that the insolencie and pryde of that nation
was so outragious in thys Kealme, that if it for-
tuned a Briton to be going over a bridge, and sawe
the Dane set foote upon the same, he muste re-
tome backc. till the Dane were cleane over, or ela
abyde the pryce of his displeasure, which was no
lesse then present death. But being afterwarde
expelled, that name of Lurdane became so odious
unto the people, whom they had long oppressed,
tluit even at this daye they use, for more reproche,
to call the Quartane ague the Fever Lurdane.
Recks much of thy svcinck, counts much of thy
paynes.
Weetelesse, not understoode.
S. A/ichels mount, is a promontorie in the West
part of England.
JULYE.
469
A hill, Parnassus afforesayd.
Pan, Christ.
Dan, one trybe is put for the whole nation, per
Synecdochen.
Where Titan, the Sonne. Which story is to be
redde in Diodorus Syc. of the hyl Ida ; from whence,
he sayth, all night time is to bee seene a mightye
fire, as if the skye burned, which toward morning
beginneth to gather into a rownd forme, and thereof
ryseth the sonne, whome the Poetes call Titan.
The Shepheard is Endymion, whom the Poets
fayne to have bene so beloved of Phoebe, s. the
Moone, that he was by her kept asleepe in a cave
by the space of xxx yeares, for to enjoye his com-
panye.
There, that is, in Paradise, where, through errour
of the shepheards understanding, he sayth, that all
shepheards did use to feede theyr flocks, till />ne,
(that is Adam,) by hys follye and disobedience.jnade
all the rest of hys ofspring be debarred and shutte
out from thence.
Synah, a hill in Arabia, where God appeared.
Our Ladyes bowre, a place of pleasure so called.
Founts, or Sylvanes be of Poetes feigned to be
Gods of the Woode.
Medway, the name of a Ryver in Kent, which,
running by Rochester, meeteth with Thames,
whom he calleth his elder brother, both because
he is greater, and also falleth sooner into the Sea.
Ifeynt, mingled.
Melampode and Terebinth be hearbes good to cure
diseased Gotes : of thone speaketh Mantuane, and
of thother Theocritus.
Tefj/iiVSov Tpdytav elxarov aKpe/j.oi>a..
Nigher heaven : Note the shepheards simplenesse,
which supposeth that from the hylls is nearer waye
to heaven.
Levin, lightning, which he taketh for an argu-
ment to prove the nighnes to heaven, because the
lightning doth commonly light on hygh moun-
taynes, according to the saying of the Poete :
' Feriuntque summos fulmina monies.'
Lorrell, a losell.
A borrell, a playne fellowe.
Jfarre, nearer.
Hale, for hole.
Tede, goe.
Frowye, mustye or moesie.
Of yore, long agoe.
Forewente, gone afore.
Thejlrste shepheard, was Abell the righteous, who
(as Scripture sayth) bent hys mind to keeping of
sheepe, as did hys brother Cain to tilling the
grownde.
His keepe, hys charge, s. his flocke.
Lowted, did honour and reverence.
The brethren, the twelve sonnes of Jacob, which
were shepe-maisters, and lyved onelye thereupon.
Whom Ida, Paris, which being the sonne of
Priamus king of Troy, for his mother Hecubas
dreame, which, being with childe of hym, dreamed
shee broughte forth a firebrand, that set all the
towre of Ilium on fire, was cast forth on the hyll
Ida, where being fostered of shepheards, he eke in
time became a shepheard, and lastly came to the
knowledge of his parentage.
A lasse, Helena, the wyfe of Menelaus king of
Lacedemonia, was by Venus, for the golden Aple to
her geven, then promised to Paris, who thereupon
with a sorte of lustye Troyanes, stole her out of
Lacedemonia, and kept her in Troye, which was
the cause of the tenne yeares warre in Troye, and
the moste famous citye of all Asia lamentably
sacked and defaced.
Argus, was of the Poets devised to be full of eyes,
and therefore to hym was committed the keeping
of the transformed Cow, lo : so called, because
that, in the print of a Cowes foote, there is
figured an I in the middest of an 0.
His name, he meaneth Aaron, whose name, for
more Decorum, the shepehearde sayth he hath for-
got, lest his remembraunce and skill in antiquities
of holy writ should seeme to exceede the meane-
nesse of the Person.
~A'ot so true, for Aaron, in the absence of Moses,
started aside, and committed Idolatry.
In purple, spoken of the Popes arid Cardinalles,
which use such tyrannical colours and pompous
paynting.
Belts, Girdles.
Olitterand, glittering, a participle used sometime
in Chaucer, but altogether in I. Gower.
Theyr Pan, that is, the Pope, whom they count
theyr God and greatest shepheard.
Palinode, a shephearde, of whose report he seem'
eth to speak e all thys.
Wisards, greato learned heads.
Welter, wallowe.
Kerne, a Churle or Farmer.
Site mister men, suche kinde of men.
Surly, stately and prowde.
Jfelling, medling.
Bett, better.
Bynempte, named.
Oree, for degree.
A/grind, the name of a shepheard afforesayde,
whose myshap he alludeth to the chaunce that hap-
pened to the Poet 2Eschylus, that was brayned with
a shell-fishe.
By thys poesye Thomalin confirmeth that, which
in hys former speach by sondrye reasons he had
proved ; for being both hymselfe sequestred from
all ambition, and also abhorring it in others of hys
cote, he taketh occasion to prayse the meane and
lowly state, as that wherein is safetie without feare,
and quiet without daunger ; according to the say-
ing of olde Philosophers, that vertue dwelleth in
the middest, being environed with two contrary
vices : whereto Morrell replieth with continuaunce
of the same Philosophers opinion, that albeit all
bountye dwelleth in mediocritie, yet perfect felici-
tye dwelleth in supremacie : for they say, and most
true it is, that happinesse is placed in the highest
degree, so as if any thing be higher or better, then
that streight way ceaseth to be perfect happines.
Much like to that which once I heard alleaged in
defence of humilitye, out of a great doctour. ' Suo-
rum Christus humillimus : ' which saying a gentle
man in the companie taking at the rebownd,
beate backe againe with a lyke saying of another
doctoure, as he sayde ' 9uprum Deus altiasimus.'
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 1-76.
AUGUST.
.EGLOGA OCTAVA. ARGUMENT.
In this jflglogw is tet forth a delectable controversie, made in imitation of that in Theocritus: whereto alto
Virgile fashioned his third and seventh jEglogue. They choose for umpere of their strife, Cuddie,
a neatheards boye ; who, having ended their cause, reciteth also himselfe a proper song, whereof
Colin, he sayth, teas Authour.
WILLIE.
PERIGOT.
CUDDIK.
WU. TELL me, Perigot, what shalbe the game,
Wherefore with myne thou dare thy musick
Or benethy Bagpypesrennefarreout of frame?
Or hath the Crampe thy joynts benomd with
ache?
Per. Ah ! Willye, when the hart is ill assayde,
Bagpipe or joynts be well apayd?
foule evill hath the*> so bes-
Whilom thou was peregall to the best,
And wont to make the j oily shepeheards gladde,
With pyping and dauncing did passe the
Tell me, such a cup hast thou ever sene?
Well mought it beseme any harvest Queene.
Per. Thereto will I pawne yonder spotted
Lambe,
Of all my flocke there nis sike another,
For I brought him up without the Dambe :
But Colin Clout rafte me of his brother,
That he purchast of me in the playne field :
Sore against my will was I forst to yield.
Wil. Sicker, make like account of his brother.
But who shall judge the wager wonne or
lost? [other,
Per. That shall yonder heardgrome, and none
Pe, now I have
My old musick mard by a newe mischaunce. j
WO. Mischiefe mougfe to that »i«cli>™«e
be te
Werei,otbettotoshannethe»corMbingheate?
But reede me what payne doth thee so appall ;
Or lovest thou, or bene thy younglings mis-
went? [andmee:
Per. Love hath misled both my younglings
I pyne for payne, and they my payne to see.
WU. Perdie, and wellawaye, ill may they
thrive !
Never knew I lovers sheepe in good plight:
But, and if in rymes with me thou dare strive,
Such fond fantaies shall soone be put to flight
Per. That shall I doe, though mochell worse
I fared:
Never shall be sayde that Perigot was dared.
WU. Then loe, P'erigot, the Pledge which I
plight,
A mazer ywrought of the Maple warre,
Wherein is enchased many a fayre sight
Of Beres and Tygres, that maken fiers warre ;
And over them spred a goodly wild vine,
Entrailed with a wanton Yvie twine.
Thereby is a Lambe in the Wolves jawes :
But see, how fast renneth the shepheard
swayne
To save the innocent from the beastes pawes,
And here with his shepe-hooke hath him
slayne.
Sike a song never heardest thou but Colin
Cud. Gynne when ye lyst, ye jolly shepheards
twayne :
Sike a judge as Cuddie were for a king.
Per. ' It fell upon a holy eve,
Wil. Hey, ho, hollidaye!
Per. When holy fathers wont to shrieve ;
WU. Now gynneth this roundelay.
Per. Sitting upon a hill so hye,
WU. Hey, ho, the high hyll !
Per. The while my flocke did feede thereby ;
WU. The while the shepheard selfe did
Per. I saw the bouncing Bellibone, [spilL
WU. Hey, ho, BonibeU !
Per. Tripping over the dale alone,
Wil. She can trippe it very well.
Per. Well decked in a frocke of gray,
WU. Hey, ho, gray is greete !
Per. And in a Kirtle" of greene saye,
Wil. The greene is for maydens meete.
Per. A chapelet on her head she wore,
Wil. Hey, ho, chapelet !
Per. Of sweete Violets therein was store,
Wil. She sweeter then the Violet.
Per. My sheepe did leave theyr wonted food-
WU. Hey, ho, seely sheepe !
L. 77-I74-]
AUGUST.
Per. And gazd on her as they were wood,
Wil. Woode as he that did them keepe.
Per. As the bonilasse passed bye,
Wil. Hey, ho, bonilasse !
Per. She rovde at me with glauncing eye,
Wil. As cleare as the christall glasse ;
Per. All as the Sunnye beame so bright,
Wil. Hey, ho, the Sunne-beame !
Per. Glaunceth from Phoebus face forthright,
Wil. So love into thy hart did streame :
Per. Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes,
Wil. Hey, ho, the Thonder!
Per. Wherein the lightsome levin shroudes,
Wil. So cleaves thy soule asonder :
Per. Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye,
Wil. Hey, ho, the Moonelight !
Per. Upon the glyttering wave doth playe,
Wil. Such play is a pitteous plight.
Per. The glaunce into my heart did glide ;
Wil. Hey, ho, the glyder!
Per. Therewith my soule was sharply gryde,
Wil. Such woundes soone wexen wider.
Per. Hasting to raunch the arrow out,
Wil. Hey, ho, Perigot!
Per. I left the head in my hart-roote,
Wil. It was a desperate shot.
Per. There it ranckleth, ay more and more,
Wil. Hey, ho, the arrowe !
Per. Ne can I find salve for my sore :
Wil. Love is a curelesse sorrowe.
Per. And though my bale with death I bought,
Wil. Hey, ho, heavie cheere !
Per. Yet s'hould thilk lasse not from my
thought,
Wil. So you may buye golde to deere.
Per. But whether in paynefull love I pyne,
Wil. Hey, ho, pinching payne !
Per. Or thrive in welth, she shalbe mine,
Wil. But if thou can her obteine.
Per. And if for gracelesse greefe I dye,
Wil. Hey, ho, gracelesse griefe !
Per. Witnesse shee slewe me with her eye,
Wil. Let thy follye be the priefe.
Per. And you, that sawe it, simple shepe,
Wil. Hey, ho, the fay re flocke !
Per. For priefe thereof, my death shall weepe
Wil. And mone with many a mocke.
Per. So learnd I love on a holye eve,
Wil. Hey, ho, holidaye !
Per. That ever since my hart did greve,
Wil. Now endeth our roundelay.'
Cud. Sicker, sike a roundle never heard
Little lacketh Perigot of the best, [none
And Willye is not greatly overgone,
So weren his under-songs well addrest.
Wil. Herdgrome, I fear me, thou have a squint
eye:
Areede .uprightly who has the victorye
W. Fayth of my soule, I deeme ech have
gayned :
For-thy let the Lambe be Willye his owne :
And for Perigot, so well hath hym payned,
To him be the wroughten mazer alone,
"er. Perigot is well pleased with the doome :
Ne can Willye wite the witelesse herdgroome.
Wd. Never dempt more right of beautye, I
weene, [Queene.
The shepheard of Ida that judged beauties
Cud. But tell me, shepherds, should it not
yshend
Your roundels fresh, to teare a doolefull
verse
Of Rosalend (who knowes not Rosalend ?)
That Colin made? ylke can I you rehearse.
Per. Now say it, Cuddie, as thou art a ladde :
iVith mery thing its good to medle sadde.
Wil. Fayth of my soule, thou shalt ycrouned
be
In Colins stede, if thou this song areede ;
?or never thing on earth so pleaseth me
As him to heare, or matter of his deede.
Cud. Then listneth ech unto my heavy laye,
And tune your pypes as ruthful as ye may.
Ye wastefull Woodes ! beare witnesse of my
woe,
Wherein my plaints did oftentimes resound :
Ye carelesse byrds are privie to my cryes,
Which in your songs were wont to make a part:
Thou, pleasaunt spring, hast luld me oft asleepe,
Whose streames my tricklinge teares did ofte
augment.
' Resort of people doth my greefs augment,
The walled townes doe worke my greater woe;
The forest wide is fitter to resound
The hollow Echo of my carefull cryes :
I hate the house, since thence my love did part,
Whose waylefull want debarresmyne eyes from
sleepe.
Let stremes of teares supply the place of sleepe;
Let all, that sweete is, voyd : and all that may
augment [ my woe
My doole, draw neare ! More meete to wayle
Bene the wild woodes, my sorowes to resound,
Then bedde, or bowre, both which I fill with
cryes,
When I them see so waist, and fynd no part
' Of pleasure past. Here will I dwell apart
In gastfull grove therefore, till my last sleepe
Doe close mine eyes : so shall I not augment
With sight of such as chaunge my restlesse woe.
Helpe me, ye banefull byrds, whose shrieking
sound
Ys signe of dreery death, my deadly cryes
472
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 175-198
' Most ruthfully to tune : And as my cryes
(Which of my woe cannot bewray least part)
You heare all night, when nature craveth sleepe,
Increase, so let your yrksome yells augment.
Thus all the night in plaints, the daye in woe,
I vowed have to wayst, till safe and sound
' She home returne, whose voyces silver sound
To cheerefull songs can chaunge my cherelesse
cryes.
Hence with the Nightingale will I take part,
That blessed byrd, that spends her time of
sleepe [ment
In songs and plaintive pleas, the more taug-
The memory of hys misdeede that bred her woe.
And you that feele no woe,
When as the sound
Of these my nightly cryes
Ye heare apart,
Let breake your sounder sleepe,
And pitie augment.'
Per. O Colin, Colin ! the shepheards joy e,
How I admire ech turning of thy verse !
And Cuddie, fresh Cuddie, the liefest boye,
How dolefully his doole thou didst re-
hearse !
Cud. Then blowe your pypes, shepheards, tr
you be at home ;
The night nigheth fast, yts time to be gone.
PERIGOT HIS EMBLEME.
Vincenti gloria victi.
WILLYES EMBLEME.
Vinlo non vitto.
CUDDIES EMBLEME.
Felice chi piio.
GLOSSE.
Bettadde, disposed, ordered.
Peregall, equalL
Whilome, once.
Raftt, bereft, deprived.
Mitirent, gon a straye.
Ill may, according to Virgile.
' Infelix o semper ovis pecus.'
A mazers So also do Theocritus and Virgile
feigne pledges of their stnte.
Enchased, engraved. Such pretie descriptions
every where useth Theocritus to bring in his
ld> lliu. For which special! cause, iiidede, he by
that name termeth his 2Eglogues ; for Idyllion in
Greeke signifieth the shape or picture of any
thynge, wherof his booke is fnl. And not, as I have
heard some fondly guesse, that they be called not
Idyllia, but Hasdilia, of the Ooteheards in them.
Entrailed, wrought betwene.
Harvest Queen?, The manner of country folke in
harvest tyme.
Poutsf, Pease.
It fell upon: Perigot maketh all hys song in
prayse of his love, to whom Willy answereth every
underverse. By Perigot who is meant, I can not
uprightly say : but if it be who is supposed, his love,
shee deserveth no lesse prayse then he giveth her.
Greete, weeping and complaint.
Chaplet, a kinde of Garlond lyke a crowne.
Leven, Lightning.
Cynthia, was sayd to be the Moone.
Gryde, perced.
But if, not unlesse.
Squint eye, partial! judgement.
Ech have, so saith Virgile,
' Et vitula tu dignns, et hie," &c.
So by enterchaunge of gyfts Cuddie pleaseth both
partes.
Doome, judgement.
Dempt, for deemed, judged.
Wite the witelesse, blame the blamelesse.
The shepherd of Ida, was sayd to be Paris.
Beauties Queene, Venus, to whome Paris ad-
judged the golden Apple, as the pryce of her
beautie.
EMBLEME.
reang hereof
Perigot by his poesie claiming the conquest, and
Willye not yeelding, Cnddie the arbiter of theyr
cause, and Patron of his o\vu, semoth to chaJenge
ambiguous : for it, as his dew, saying, that he is happy which can
--- * ---- " ---- "
so abruptly ending : but hee meaneth eyther him,
that can win the beste, or moderate hjm self e " '
best, and leave of with the best,
L. 1-87.]
SEPTEMBER.
473
SEPTEMBER.
JEGLOGA NONA. ARGUMENT.
HEREIN Diggon Dame it devised to be a thepheard that, in hope of more gayne, d*-ove his sheepe into a/arre
countrye. The abuses whereof, and loose living of Popish prelates, by occasion of Hobbinols demaund,
he discoursed at large.
HOBBINOL. DlGGOU DAVIE.
Hob. DIGGON DAVIE ! I bidde her god
Or Diggon her is, or I missaye. [day ;
Dig. Her was her, while it was daye-light,
But now her is a most wretched wight :
For day, that was, is wightly past,
And now at earst the dirke night doth hast.
Hob. Diggon, areede who has thee so dight ?
Never I wist thee in so poore a plight, [leade ?
Where is the fayre flocke thou was wont to
Or bene they chaffred, or at mischiefe dead ?
Dig. Ah ! for love of that is to thee moste
leefe,
Hobbinol, I pray thee, gall not my old griefe :
Sike question ripeth up cause of newe woe,
For one, opened, mote unfolde many moe.
Hob. Nay, but sorrow close shrouded in hart,
I know, to kepe is a burdenous smart :
Eche thing imparted is more eath to beare :
When the rayne is fain, the cloudes wexen
cleare.
And nowe, sithence I sawe thy head last,
Thrise three Moones bene fully spent and past ;
Since when thou hast measured much grownd,
And wandred, I wene, about the world round,
So as thou can many thinges relate ;
But tell me first of thy flocks estate.
Dig. My sheepe bene wasted ; (wae is me
therefore !)
The jolly shepheard that was of yore
Is nowe nor jollye, nor shepeheard more.
In forrein costes men sayd was plentye ;
And so there is, but all of miserye :
I dernpt there much to have eeked my store,
But such eeking hath made my hart sore.
In tho countryes, whereas I have bene,
No being for those that truely mene ;
But for such, as of guile maken gayne,
No such countrye as there to remaine ;
They setten to sale their shops of shame,
And maken a Mart of theyr good name :
The shepheards there robben one another,
And layen bay tea to beguile her brother;
Or they will buy his sheepe out of the cote,
Or they will carven the shepheards throte.
The shepheardes swayne you cannot wel ken,
But it be by his pryde, from other men :
They looken bigge as Bulls that bene bate,
Aud bearen the cragge so stiffe and so state,
As cocke on his dunghill crowing cranck.
Hob. Diggon, I am so stiffe and so stanck,
That uneth may I stand any more :
And nowe the Westernc wind bloweth sore,
That nowe is in his chiefe sovercigntee,
Beating the withered leafe from the tree,
Sitte we downe here under the hill ;
Tho may we talke and tellen our fill,
And make a mocke at the blustring blast.
Now say on, Diggon, what ever thou hast.
Dig. Hobbin, ah Hobbin ! I curse the
stounde
That ever I cast to have lorne this grounde :
Wel-away the while I was so fonde
To leave the good, that I had in hande,
In hope of better that was uncouth !
So lost the Dogge the flesh in his mouth.
My seely sheepe (ah, seely sheepe !)
That here bj" there I whilome usd to keepe,
All were they lustye as thou didst see,
Bene all sterved with pyne and penuree :
Hardly my selfe escaped thilke payne,
Driven for neede to come home agayne.
Hob. Ah fon ! now by thy losse art taught,
That seeldome chaunge the better brought.'
Content who lives with tryed state
Neede feare no chaunge of frowning fate ;
But who will seeke for unknowne gayne,
Oft lives by losse, and leaves with payne.
Dig. I wote ne, Hobbin, how I was bewitcht
With vayne desire and hope to be enricht;
But, sicker, so it is, as the bright starre
Seemeth ay greater when it is farre :
I thought the soyle would have made me rich,
But nowe I wote it is nothing sich ;
For eyther the shepeheards bene ydle and still,
And ledde of theyr sheepe what way they wyll,
Or they bene false, and full of covetise,
And casten to compasse many wrong emprise :
But the more bene fraight with fraud and
spight,
Ne in good nor goodnes taken delight,
But kindle coales of conteck and yre,
Wherewith they setfe all the world on fire i
474
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 88-193.
Which when they thinken agayne to quench,
With holy water they doen hem all drench.
They save they con to heaven the high-way,
But," by "my soule, I dare undersaye
They never sette foote in that same troade,
But balk the right way, and strayen abroad.
They boast they ban the devill at commaund,
But aske hem therefore what they ban paund :
Marrie! that great Pan bought with deare
borrow,
To quite it from the blacke bowre of sorrowe.
But they ban sold thilk same long agoe,
For- thy woulden drawe with hem many moe.
But let hem gange alone a Gods name ;
As they han brewed, so let hem beare blame.
Hob. Diggon, I praye thee, speake not so
dirke;
Such myster saying me seemeth to mirke.
Dig. Then, playnely to speake of shepheards
most what,
Badde is the best ; (this English is flatt.)
Their ill haviour garres men missay
Both of their doctrine, and of theyr faye.
Theysayne the world is much war then it wont
All for her shepheards bene beastly and blont
Other sayne, but how truely I note,
All for they holden shame of theyr cote :
Some sticke not to say, (whole cole on her
tongue !)
That sike mischiefe graseth hem emong,
All for they casten too much of worlds care,
To deck her Dame, and enrich her heyre ;
For such encheason, if you goe nye,
Fewe chymneis reeking you shall espye :
The fatte Oxe, that wont ligge in the stal,
Is nowe fast stalled in her crumenalL
Thus chatten the people in theyr steads,
Ylike as a Monster of many heads ;
But they that shooten neerest the pricke
Sayne, other the fat from their beards doen
lick:
For bigge Bulks of Basan brace hem about
That with theyr homes batten the morestoute ;
But the leane soules treaden under foote,
And to seeke redresse mought little boote ;
For liker bene they to pluck away more,
Then ought of the gotten good to restore :
For they bene like foule wagmoires overgrast,
That, if thy galage once sticketh fast,
The more to wind it out thou doest swinck,
Thou mought ay deeper and deeper sinck.
Yet better leave of with a little losse,
Then by much wrestling to leese the grosse.
Hob. Nowe, Diggon, I see thou speakest
Better it were a little to feyne, [ to plaine ;
And cleanly cover that cannot be cured :
Such ill, as ia forced, mought nedes be en-
dured.
But of sike pastoures howe done the nocks
creepe ?
Dig. Sike as the shepheards, sike bene hei
sheepe,
For they nill listen to the shepheards voyce,
But-if he call hem at theyr good choyce ;
They wander at wil and stay at pleasure,
And to theyr foldes yeed at their owne leasure.
But they had be better come at their cal ;
For many han into mischiefe fall,
And bene of ravenous Wolves yrent,
All for they nould be buxome and bent.
Hob. Fye on thee, Diggon, and all thy
foule leasing !
Well is knowne that sith the Saxon king
Never was Woolfe seene, many nor some,
Nor in all Kent, nor in Christendome ;
But the fewer Woolves (the soth to sayne)
The more bene the Foxes that here remaine.
Dig. Yes, but they gang in more secrete wise,
And with sheepes clothing doen hem disguise.
They walke not widely as they were wont,
For feare of raungers and the great hunt.
But prively prolling to and froe,
Enaunter they mought be inly knowe.
Hob. Or prive or pert yf any bene,
We han great Bandogs will teare their skinne.
Dig. Indeede, thy Ball is a bold bigge curre,
And could make a jolly hole in theyr furre :
But not good Dogges hem needeth to chace,
But heedy shepheards to discerne their face ;
For all their craft is in their counteuaunce,
They bene so grave and full of mayntenaunce.
But shall I tell thee what my selfe knowe
Chaunced to Roffynn not long ygoe ?
Hob. Say it out, Diggon, whatever it hight,
For not but well mought him betight :
He is so meeke, wise, and merciable,
And with his word his worke is convenable.
Colin Clout, I wene, be his selfe boye,
(Ah, for Colin, he whilome my ioye !)
Shepheards sich, God mought us many send,
That doen so carefully theyr flocks tend.
Dig. Thilk same shepheard mought I well
He has a Dogge to byte or to barke; [marke,
Never had shepheard so kene a kurre,
That waketh and if but a leafe sturre.
Whilome there wonned a wicked Wolfe,
That with many a Lambe had glutted his gulfe,
And ever at night wont to repayre
[Into the flocke, when the Welkin shone faire,
if cladde in clothing of seely sheepe,
tVhen the good old man used to sleepe.
Tho at midnight he would barke and ball,
For he had eft learned a curres call,)
Vs if a Woolfe were emong the sheepe :
Yith that the shepheard would breake his
sleepe,
L. I94-259-]
SEPTEMBER.
475
And send out Lowder (for so his dog note)
To raunge the fields with wide open throte.
Tho, when as Lowder was farre awaye,
This Wolvish sheepe woulde catchen his pray,
A Lambs, or a Kidde, or a weanell wast ;
With that to the wood would he speede him
Long time he used this slippery pranck, [fast.
Ere Roffy could for his laboure him thanck.
At end, the shepheard his practise spyed,
(Tor Roffy is wise, and as Argus eyed,)
And when at even he came to the flocke,
Fast in theyr folds he did them locke,
And tooke out the Woolfe in his counterfect cote,
And let out the sheepes bloud at his throte.
him
If sike bene Wolves, as thou hast told,
How motight we, Diggon, hem be-hold ?
Dig, How, but, with heede and watchfull-
nesse,
Forstallen hem of their wilinesse :
For-thy with shepheards sittes not playe,
Or sleepe, as some doen, all the long day ;
But ever liggen in watch and ward,
From soddem force theyr flocks for to gard.
Hob. Ah, Diggon ! thilke same rule were
too straight,
All the cold season to wach and waite ;
We bene of fleshe, men as other bee,
Why should we be bound to such miseree ?
Whatever thing lacketh chaungeable rest,
Mought needes decay, when it is at best.
Dig. Ah ! but, Hobbinoll, all this long tale
Nought easeth the care that doth me forhaile ;
Hob. Marry, Diggon, what should
To take hisowne where ever it laye ? [ affray e
For, had his wesand bene a little widder,
He would have devoured both bidder and
shidder. [great curse ! j What shall I doe ? what way shall I wend,
Dig. Mischiefe light on him, and Gods ! My piteous plight and losse to amend ?
Too good for him had bene a great deale worse ; j Ah ! good Hobbinoll, mought I thee praye
For it was a perilous beast above all,
And eke had he cond the shepherds call,
And oft in the night came to the shepe-cote,
And called Lowder, with a hollow throte,
As if it the old man selfe had bene :
The dog his maisters voice did it wene,
Yet halfe in doubt he opened the dore,
And ranne out as be was wont of yore.
No sooner was out, but, swifter then thought,
Fast by the hyde the Wolfe Lowder caught ;
And, had not Roffy renne to the steven,
Lowder had be slaine thilke same even.
Hob. God shield, man, he should so ill have
All for he did his devoyr belive ! [thrive,
Of ayde or counsell in mv decaye.
Hob. Now, by my souie, Diggon, I lament
The haplesse mischiefe that has thee bent ;
Nethelesse thou seest my lowly saile,
That froward fortune doth ever availe :
But, were Hobbinoll as God mought please,
Diggon should soone find favour and ease :
But if to my cotage thou wilt resort,
So as I can I wil thee comfort;
j There mayst thou ligge in a vetchy bed,
Till fayrer Fortune shewe forth her head.
Dig. Ah, Hobbinoll ! God mought it thee
requite ;
Diggon on fewe such freends did ever lite.
DIGGONS EMBLEME.
Inopem me copia fecit.
GLOSSE.
The Dialecte and phrase of speache, in this Dia-
logue, seemeth somewhat to di ff er from the common .
The cause whereof is supposed to be, by occasion of
the party herein meant, who, being very freend to
the Author hereof, had bene long in forrain coun-
tryes, and there scene many disorders, which he
here recounteth to Hobbinoll.
Bidde her, Bidde good morrow. For to bldde, is
to praye, whereof commeth beades for prayers, and
so they say, To bidde his beades, s. to saye his
prayers.
Wiyhtly, quicklye, or sodenlye.
Chaffred, solde.
Dead at mischiefe, an unusuall speache, but much
usurped of Lidgate, and sometime of Chaucer.
Leefe, deare.
F.the, easie.
Thrite three moones, nine monethee.
Meatured, for traveled.
Woe, woe, Northemly.
Eeked, encreased.
Carven, cntte.
Kenne, know.
Cragge, neck.
State, stoutely.
Stanct, wearie or fainte.
And noire; he applieth it to the tvme of the
yeare, which la in thend of harvest, which they
call the fall of the leafe ; at which tyme the Wes-
terne wynde beareth meet swaye.
A mocke, Imitating Horace, ' Debet ludibrium
ventii.'
Lome, lefte.
Soote, swete.
Uncoulhe, unknowen.
Hereby there, here and there.
476
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
1-6.
As the brightt, translated out of Mantuane.
Emprite, for enterprise. Per Syncopen.
Contek, strife.
Trade, path.
Jfarrie that, that is, their soules, which by popish
Exorciames and practices they damne to hell.
Blacke, hell.
Ganye. goe.
Mister, maner.
Mirke, obscure.
Warre, worse.
Crumenall, purse.
Brace, compasse.
Encheson, occasion.
Overgrast, overgrowen with grasse.
Galage, shoe.
The grosse, the whole.
Buxome and bent, meeke and obedient.
Saxon King, King Edgare that reigned here in
Brytanye in the yeare of our Lord [957-975] which
king caused all the Wolves, whereof then was
store in this countrye, by a proper policie to be
destroyed. So as never since that time there have
ben Wolves here f ounde, unlesse they were brought
from other countryes. And therefore Hobbinoll
rebuketh him of untruth, for saying that there be
Wolves in England.
Nor in Chrittendome : this saying seemeth to be ^
strange and unreasonable ; but indede it was wont
to be an olde proverbe and common phrase. The '.
original whereof was, for that most part of Eng- j
land in the reigne of King Ethelbert was christened, ;
Kent onely except, which remayned long after in
mysbeliefe and cnchristened : So that Kent was
counted no part of Christendome.
Great hunt, Executing of lawes and iustice.
Knaunter, least that.
Inly, inwardly : afforesayde.
Prively or pert, openly, say th Chaucer.
Roffy, the name of a shepehearde in Marot his
JEglogue of Robin and the Kinge. Whome he here
commendeth for greate care and wise governaunce
of his flock.
Colin cloute : Now I thinke no man doubteth but
by Colin is meant the Authour self e, whose espe-
ciall good freend Hobbinoll sayth hee is, or more
rightly Mayster Gabriel Harvey : of whose speciall
commendation, aswell in Poetrye as Rhetorike and
other choyce learning, we have lately had a suf.
ficient tryall in divers his workes, but specially in
his ifusarum Lachrymce, and his late Gratulationum
Valdinensium, which boke, in the progresse at
Andley in Essex, he dedicated in writing to her
Majestie, afterward presenting the same in print
to her Highnesse at the worshipful! Maister Capells
in Hertfordshire. Beside other his sundrye most
rare and very notable writings, partely under un-
known tytles, and partly under counterf ayt names,
as his Tyrannomastix, his Ode Natalitia, his Ramei-
dos, and esspecially that parte of Philomttsus, his
divine Anlicosmopolita, and divers other of lyke
importance. As also, by the name of other shep-
heardes, he covereth the persons of divers other
his familiar freendes and best acquayntaunce.
This tale of Roffy seemeth to coloure some par-
ticular Action of his. But what, I certeinlye know
not.
Wanned, haunted.
Welkin, skie : afforesaid.
A weanell waste, a weaned youngling.
Hidder and shidder, he and she, Male and Female.
Steven, noyse.
Belive, quickly.
What ever, Ovids verse translated.
' Quod caret alterna requie durabile non est.'
Forehaile, drawe or distresse.
Vetchie, of Pease strawe.
This is the saying of Narcissus in Ovid. For | But our Diggon useth it to other purpose, as who
when the f oolishe boy, by beholding hys face in the j that, by tryall of many waves, had f ounde the
brooke, fell in love with his owne likenesse, and worst, and through greate plentye was fallen into
not hable to content him selfe with much looking great penurie. This poesie I knowe to have bene
thereon, he cryed out, that plentye made him poore, ! much used of the author, and to suche like effecte,
meaning that much gazing had bereft him of sence. I as fyrste Narcissus spake it.
OCTOBER.
-SGLOUA DECIMA. ARGUMENT.
IN Cuddie it set out theperfeete paterne of a Poete, whiche, finding no mainttnaunce of hi* ttate and studies,
complayneth of the contempte of Poetrie, and the causes thereof: Specially having bene in all ages, and
even amongst the most barbarous, alwayes of singular accoumpt and honor, and being indede so worthy
and commendable an arte; or rather no arte, but a divine gift and heavenly instinct not to bee gotten by
laboure and learning, but adorned with both; and poured into the witte by a certain 'Efflovenao-MO?
and celestial! inspiration, as the Author hereof els where at large discourseth in his booke called The
English Poete, which booke being lately come to my hands, J mynde also by Gods grace, upon further
advisement, to publish.
PIERCE. CUDDIE.
Piert. CUDDIE, for shame! hold up thy Whilome thou wont the shepheards ladde*
heavye head, to leade
And let us cast with what delight to chace, In rymea, in ridles, and in bydding base ;
And wearv thys long lingrjng fhoebus race. Now they in thee, an<| thou in pjeepe art dead,
L. 7-92.]
OCTOBER.
477
Cud. Piers, I have pyped erst so long with
payne,
That all mine Oten reedes bene rent and wore,
And ray poore Muse hath spent her spared
store,
Yet little good hath got, and much lesse gayne.
Such pleasaunce makes the Grashopper so
poore, [ straine.
And ligge so layd, when Winter doth her
The dapper ditties, that I wont devise
To feede youthes fancie, and the flocking fry,
Delighten much ; what I the bett for-thy ?
They ban the pleasure, I a sclender prise ;
I beate the bush, the byrds to them doe flye :
What good thereof to Cuddie can arise ?
Piers. Cuddie, the prayse is better then the
price,
The glory eke much greater then the gayne :
0 ! what an honor is it, to restraine
The lust of lawlesse youth with good advice,
Or pricke them forth with pleasaunce of thy
vaine,
Whereto thou list their trayned willes entice.
Soone as thou gynst to sette thy notes in frame,
O, how the rurall routes to thee doe cleave !
Seemeth thou dost their soule of sence bereave ;
All as the shepheard that did fetch his dame
From Plutoes balefull bowre withouten leave,
His musicks might the hellish hound did tame.
Cud. So praysen babes the Peacoks spotted
traine,
And wondren at bright Argus blazing eye ;
But who rewards him ere the more for-thy,
Or feedes him once the fuller by a graine ?
Sike prayse is smoke, that sheddeth in the
skye; [vayne.
Sike words bene wynd, and wasten soone in
Piers. Abandon, then, the base and viler
clowne ;
Lyft up thy selfe out of the lowly dust,
And sing of bloody Mars, of wars, of giusts ;
Turne thee to those that weld the awful crowne.
To doubted Knights, whose woundlesse armotu
rusts,
And helmes unbruzed wexen dayly browne.
There may thy Muse display her fluttryng
wing,
And stretch her selfe at large from East to
Whither thou list in fayre Elisa rest, [West ;
Or, if thee please in bigger notes to sing,
Advaunce the worthy whome shee loveth best,
That first the white beare to the stake did
bring.
And, when the stubbome stroke of stronger
stounds
Has somewhat slackt the tenor of thy string,
Of love and lustihead tho mayst thou sing,
And carroll lowde, and leade the Myllers
rownde,
All were Elisa one of thilke same ring ;
So mought our Cuddies name to heaven sownde.
Cud. Indeede the Romish Tityrus, I heare,
Through his Mecsenas left his O'aten reede.
Whereon he earst had taught his flocks to
feede.
And laboured lands to yield the timely care,
And eft did sing of warres and deadly drede,
So as the Heavens did quake his verse to here.
But ah ! Mecsenas is yclad in claye,
And great Augustus long ygoe is dead,
And all the worthies liggen wrapt in leade,
That matter made for Poets on to play :
For ever, who in derring-doe were dreade,
The loftie verse of hem was loved aye.
But after vertue gan for age to stoope,
And mightie manhode brought a bedde of ease,
The vaunting Poets found nought worth a
please
To put in preace emong the learned troupe :
Tho gan the streames of flowing wittes to cease,
And sonne-bright honour pend in shameful!
coupe.
And if that any buddes of Poesie,
Yet of the old stocke, gan to shoote agayne,
Or it metis follies mote be forst to fayne,
And rolle with rest in rymes of rybaudrye ;
Or, as it sprong, it wither must agayne :
Tom Piper makes us better melodic.
Piers. 0 pierlesse Poesye! where is then
thy place ?
If nor in Princes pallace thou doe sitt,
(And yet is Princes ppllace the most fitt,)
Ne brest of baser birth doth thee embrace,
Then make thee winges of thine aspyring wit,
And, whence thou camst, flye backe to heaven
apace.
Cud. Ah, Percy! it is all to weake and
wanne,
So high to sore and make so large a flight ;
Her peeced pyneons bene not so in plight:
For Colin fittes such famous flight to scanne ;
He, were he not with love so ill bedight,
Would mount as high, and sing as soote as
Swanne.
Piers. Ah, fon ! for love does teach him
climbe so hie,
And lyftes him up out of the loathsome myre :
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 93-120.
Such immortal mirrhor, as he doth admire,
Would rayse ones mynd above the starry skie,
And cause a caytive corage to aspire ;
For lofty love doth loath a lowly eye.
Cud. All otherwise the state of Poet stands ;
For lordly love is such a Tyranne fell,
That where he rules all power he doth expell ;
The vaunted verse a vacant head demaundes,
Ne wont with crabbed care the Muses dwell :
Unwisely weaves, that takes two webbes in
hand.
Who ever casts to compasse weightye prise,
And thinkes to throwe out thondring words of
threate,
Let powre in lavish cups and thriftie bitts of
meate,
For Bacchus frnite is frend to Phoebus wise ;
And, when with Wine the braine begins to
sweate,
The nombers Howe as fast as spring doth ryse.
Thou kenst not, Percie, howe the ryme should
rage,
O ! if my temples were distaind with wine,
And girt in girlonds of wild Yvie twine,
How 1 could reare the Muse on stately stage,
And ttache her tread aloft in buskin fine,
With queint Bellona hi her equipage !
But ah ! my corage cooles ere it be warme :
For-thy content us in thys humble shade,
Where no such troublous tydes han us assay de;
Here we our slender pypes may safely charme.
Piers. And, when my Gates shall han their
bellies layd,
Cuddie shall have a Kidde to store his farme.
CUDDIES EMBLEME.
Agitante calescimus UIo, 8fc.
GLOSSE.
This .Sglogue is made in imitation of Theocritus '
his xvi. Idilion, wherein he reproved the Tyranne
Hiero of Syracuse for his nigardise towarde
Poetes, in whome is the power to make men im-
mortal for theyr good dedes, or shameful for their
naughty lyfe. And the lyke also is in Mantuane.
The style hereof, as also that in Theocritus, is more
loftye then the rest, and applyed to the heighte of
Poeticall witte.
Cuddie. I doubte whether by Cuddie be specified
the authour selfe, or some other. For in the eyght
JEglogue the same person was brought in, singing
a Caution of Colins making, as he sayth. So that
some doubt that the persons be different.
Whilome, sometime.
Oaten reedtt, A vena.
Liyye to lay tie, lye so faynt and unlustye.
Dapper, pretye. «
Frye, is a bold Metaphore, forced from the spawn-
ing fishes ; for the multitude of young fish be called
the frye.
To rextraine: This place seemeth toconspyre with
Plato, who in his first booke de Legibus sayth, that
the first invention of Poetry was of very vertuous
intent. For at what time an infinite number of
youth usually came to theyr great solemne feastes
called Panegyrica, which they used every five yeere
to hold, some learned man, being more hable then
the rest for speciall gyftes of wytte and Musicke,
would take upon him to sing fine verses to the
people, in prayse eyther of vertue or of victory, or
of immortality, or such like. At whose wonderfull
gyft al men being astonied, and as it were ravished
with delight, thinking (as it was indeed) that he
was inspired from above, called him vatem : which
kinde of men afterward framing their verses to
lighter musick (as of musick be many kinds, some
sadder, some lighter, some martiaU, some heroical,
and so diversely eke affect the mynds of men,)
found out lighter matter of Poesie also, some play-
ing wyth love, some scorning at mens fashions,
some powred out in pleasures : and so were called
Poetes or makers.
Sence bereave: what the secrete working of Musick
is in the myndes of men, as well appeareth hereby,
that some of the anncient Philosophers, and those
the moste wise, as Plato and Pythagoras, held for
opinion, that the m.vnd was made of a certaine
harmonie and musicall nombers, for the great com-
passion, and likenes of affection in thone and in the
other, as also by that memorable history of Alex-
ander: to whom when as Timotheus the great
Musitian playd the Phrygian melody, it is said,
that he was distraught with such unwonted fury,
that, streightway rysing from the table in great
rage, he caused himself e to be armed, as ready to
goe to warre, (for that mnsick is very warlike.)
And immediatly when as the Musitian chaunged
his stroke into the Lydian and lonique harmony,
he was so furr from warring, that he sat as styl, as
if he had bene in matters of counsell. Such might
is in musick : wherefore Plato and Aristotle for-
bid the Arcadian Melodic from children and youth.
For that being altogither on the fyft and vii
tone, it is of great force to molifie and quench the
kindly courage, which useth to burne in yong
brests. So that it is not incredible which the Poete
here sayth, that Musick can bereave the soule of
sence.
The fhepheard that, Orpheus : of whom is said,
that by his excellent skil in Musick and Poetry, he
recovered his wife Eurydice from hell.
Argvt eyet: of Argus is before said, that Juno
to him committed her husband lupiter his Para-
OCTOBER.
479
(ton lo, bicauee he had an hundred eyes : but after-
warde Mercury, wyth hys Musick lulling Argus
aslepe, slew him and brought lo away, whose eyes
it is sayd that luno, for his eternali;memory. placed
in her byrd the Peacocks tayle ; for those coloured
spots indeede resemble eyes.
Wottndlesse armour, unwounded in warre, doe rust
through long peace.
Display, A poeticall metaphore, whereof the
meaning is, that, if the Poet list showe his skill
in matter of more dignitie then is the homely
jEglogue, good occasion is him offered of higher
veyne and more Heroicall argument in the person
of our most gratious sovereign, whom (as before)
he calleth Elisa. Or if matter of knighthoode and
cheYalrie please him better, that there he many
Noble and valiaunt men, that are both worthy. of
Us payne in theyr deserved prayses, and also favour-
ers of hys skil and faculty.
The worthy, he meaneth (as I guesse) the most
honorable and renowmed the Erie of Leycester,
whom by his cognisance (although the same be also
proper to other) rather then by his name he be-
wrayeth, being not likely that the names of worldly
princes be known to country clowne.
Slack, that is when thou chaungest thy verse from
stately discourse, to matter of more pleasaunce
and delight.
The Millers, a kind of dannce.
Ring, company of danncers.
The Romish Tityrus, wel knowen to be Virgile,
who by Miecenas means was brought into the
favour of the Emperor Augustus, and by him
moved to write in loftier kinde then he erst had doen .
Whereon, in these three verses are the three
severall workes of Virgil intended, for in teaching
his flocks to feede, is meant his JEglogues. In
labouring of lands, is hys Bncoliques. In singing
of warrs and deadly dreade, is his divine JEneis
figured.
In den-ing doe. In manhood and chevalrie.
For ever: He sheweth the cause why Poetes were
wont to be had in such honor of noble men, that
is, that by them their worthines and valor shold
through theyr famous Poesies be commended to ul
posterities. Wherefore it is sayd, that Achilles had
never bene so famous, as he is, but for Homeres
immortal verses, which is the only advantage
which he had of Hector. And also that Alexander
the great, comming to his tombe in Sigeus, with
naturall teares blessed him, that ever was his hap
to be honoured with so excellent a Poets work, as
so renowmed and ennobled onely by hys meanes.
Which being declared in a most eloquent Oration
of Tullies, is of Petrarch no lease woorthely sette
forth in a sonet.
1 Ginnto Alexandra a la famosa tomba
' Del fero Achille, sospirando disse :
• O fortunate, che si chiara tromba. Trouasti,' &c.
And that such account hath bene alwayes made
of Poetes, as well sheweth this, that the worthy
Scipio, in all his warres against Carthage and Nu-
mantia, had evermore in his company, and that in
a most familiar sort, the good olde poet Knnius ; as
also that Alexander destroying Thebes, when he
was enformed, that the famous Lyrick poet Pinda-
rus was borne in that citie. not onely commaunded
streightly, that no man should, upon payne of
death, do any violence to that house, by fire or
otherwise : but also specially spared most, and some
highly rewarded, that were of hys kinne. So fa-
voured he the only name of a Poete, which prayse
otherwise was in the same man no lesse famous,
that when he came to ransacking of king Darius
coffers, whom he lately had overthrowen, he
founde in a little coffer of silver the two bookes of
Homers works, as layd up there for special! jewels
and richesse, which he taking thence, put one of
them dayly in his bosome, and thother every night
layde under his pillowe. Such honor have Poetes
alwayes found in the sight of princes and noble
men, which this author here very well sheweth, as
els where more notably.
But after. He sheweth the cause of contempt of
Poetry to be idlenesse, and basenesse of mynd.
Pent, shut up in slonth, as in a coope or cage.
Tom piper, an ironicall Sarcasmus, spoken in de-
rision of these rude wits, whych make more ac-
count of a ryming rybaud, then of skill grounded
upon learning and judgment.
Ne brest, the meaner sort of men.
Her peeeed pineom, imperfect skil : Spoken wyth
humble modestie.
As soote as Siranne: The comparison seemeth to
be strange, for the swanne hath ever wonne small
commendation for her swete singing : but it is
sayd of the learned, that the swan, a little before
hir death, singeth most pleasantly, as prophecying
by a secrete instinct her neere destinie. As well
sayth the Poete elsewhere in one of his sonetts.
' The silver swanne doth sing before her dying
day,
' As shee that f eeles the deepe delight that is in
death,' &c.
Immortal! myrrhour, Beautie, which is an excel-
lent object of Poeticall spirites, as appeareth by
the worthy Petrarch, saying,
' Fiorir faceva il mio debile ingegno,
' A la sua ombra, et crescer ne gli affanni.'
A caytive corage, a base and abject minde.
For lofty love, I thinke this playing with the letter,
to be rather a fault then a figure, as wel in our
English tongue, as it hath bene alwayes in the
Latine called Cacotelon.
A vacant, imitateth Mantuanes saying, ' vacuum
curis divina cerebrum Poscit.'
Lavish cups, Besembleth the comen verse, ' Fce-
cundi calices quern non fecere disertuni.'
0 if my, he seemeth here to be ravished with a
Poetical furie. For (if one rightly mark) the
numbers rise so fill, and the verse groweth so big,
that it seemeth he had forgot the meanenesse of
shepheards state and stile.
Wild yrif, for it is dedicated to Bacchus, and
therefore it is sayd, that the Mmiades (that is
Bacchus franticke priestes) used in theyr sacrifice to
carry Thyrsos, which were pointed staves or Jav&-
lins, wrapped about with yvie.
In buskin, it was the maner of Poetes and plaiers
in tragedies to were buskins, as also in Comedies
to use stockes and light shoes. So that the buskin in
Poetry is used for tragical matter, as is said in Vir-
gile, ' Sola Sophocleo tua carmina digna cothurno.'
480
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
1-54-
And the like in Horace, 'Magnum loqui, nitiqne ' and comely, lightly leaping to her preferred her
some cortesie, which the Lady disdeigning. shaked
cothurno.'
Queint, strange.
Bellona, the goddesse of bat-
,
taile, that is, Pallas, which may therefore wel be
called qneint, for that fas Lncian saith) when
Jupiter hir father was in traveile of her, he caused
his sonne Vulcane with his axe to hew his head :
Out of which leaped forth lustely a valiant damsell
armed at all poyntes, whom seeing Vulcane so faire
her speare at him, and threatned his saucinesse.
Therefore such straungenesse is well applyed to her.
^Equipage, order.
Tydes, seasons.
Charme, temper and order ; for Charmes were
wont to be made by verses, as Ovid sayth, ' Aut si
carminibus.
Hereby is meant, as also in the whole course of
this ^glogue, that Poetry is a divine instinct, and
unnatural rage,passing the reach of common reason.
Whom Piers answereth Epiphonematicos, as ad
mitting the excellencye of the skyll, whereof in
Cuddie hee hadde already hadde a taste.
NOVEMBER.
-EGLOGA TODECIMA. ARGUMENT.
In this xi. jEglogue hee bewayleth the death of some mayden of greate blond, whom he calleth Dido. The
personage is secrete, and to me altogether unknoume, aloe of him selfe I often required the tame. This
dSglogue is made in imitation of Marot his song, which he made upon the death of Loys the Frenche
Queene; but farre passing his reache, and in myne opinion all other the Eglogues of this booke.
THENOT.
The. COLIN, my deare, when shall it please
thee sing,
As thou were wont, songs of some jouisaunce ?
Thv Muse to long slombreth in sorrowing,
Lulled a sleepe through loves misgovernaunce.
Now somewhat sing, whose endles sovenaunce
Emong the shepeheards swain es may 'aye re-
maine,
Whether thee list thy loved lasse advaunce,
Or honor Pan with hymnes of higher vaine.
CoL Thenot, now nis the time of merimake,
Nor Pan to herye, nor with love to playe ;
Sike myrth in May is meetest for to make,
Or summer shade, under the cocked hay.
But nowe sadde Winter welked hath the day,
And Phojbus, weary of his yerely taske,
Ystabled hath his steedes in lowlye laye,
And taken up his ynne in Fishes haske.
Thilke sollein season sadder plight doth aske,
And loatheth sike delightes as thou doest prayse :
The mornefull Muse in myrth now list ne
maske, [ dayes ;
As shee was wont in youngth and sommer
But if thou algate lust light virelayes,
And looser songs of love to underfong,
Who but thy selfe deserves sike Poetes prayse?
Relieve thy Oaten pypes that sleepen long.
The. The Nightingale is sovereigne of song,
Before him sits the Titmose silent, bee ;
And I, unfitte to thrust in skilfull thronge,
Should Colin make judge of my fooleree :
COLIN.
Nay, better learne of hem that learned bee,
And ban be watered at the Muses well ;
The kindelye dewe drops from the higher tree,
And wets the 4ittle plants that lowly dwell.
But if sadde winters wrathe, and season chill,
Accorde not with thy Muses meriment,
To sadder times thou mayst attune thy quill,
And sing of sorrowe and deathes dreeriment ;
For deade is Dido, dead, alas ! and drent ;
Dido ! the greate shepehearde his daughter
sheene.
The fayrest May she was that ever went,
Her like shee has not left behinde I weene :
And, if thou wilt bewayle my wofull tene,
1 shall thee give yond Cosset for thy payne ;
And, if thy rymes as rownde and rufull bene
As those that did thy Rosalind complayne,
Much greater gyfts for guerdon thou shalt
gayne,
Then Kidde or Cosset, which I thee bynempt.
Then up, I say, thou jolly shepeheard swayne,
Let not my small demaund be so contempt.
Col. Thenot, to that I choose thou doest
me tempt ;
But ah ! to well I wote my humble vaine,
And howemy rimes bene rugged and unkempt ;
Yet, as I conne, my conning I will strayne.
' Up, then, Melpomene ! the mournefulst Muse
of nyne,
Such cause of mourning never hadst afore ;
I" 55-147.]
NOVEMBER.
481
Up, grieslie ghostes ! and up my rufull ryme!
Matter of myrth now shalt thou have no more ;
For dead shee is, that mvrth thee made of yore.
Dido, my deare, alas f is dead,
Dead, and lyeth wrapt in lead.
O heavie herse !
Let streaming teares be poured out in store ;
O carefull verse !
' Shepheards, that by your flocks on Kentish
downes abyde,
Waile ye this wofull waste of Natures warke ;
Waile we the wight whose presence was our
pryde ; [carke ;
Waile we the wight whose absence is our
The sonne of all the world is dimine and darke :
The earth now lacks her wonted light,
And all we dwell in deadly night.
0 heavie herse ! [Larke ;
Breake we our pypes, that shrild as lowde as
O carefull verse 1
' Why doe we longer live, (ah ! why live we so
" long?) [woe?
Whose better dayes death hath shut up in
The fayrest floure our gyrlond all emong
Is faded quite, and into dust ygoe. [moe
Sing now, ye shejpheards daughters, sing no
The songs that Colin made you in her praise,
But into weeping turne your wanton layes.
O heavie herse ! [y£°e :
Nowe is time to dye: Nay, time •was long
O carefull verse !
4 Whence is it, that the flouret of the field
doth fade,
And lyeth buryed long in Win'ers bale;
Yet, soone as spring his mantle hath displayde,
It floureth fresh, as it should never fayle ?
But thing on earth that is of most availe,
As vertues braunch and beauties budde,
Reliven not for any good.
O heavie herse !
The braunch once dead, the budde eke needes
O carefull verse ! f must quaile ;
• She, while she was, (that was, a woful word
to sayne !)
For beauties prayse and plesaunce had no pecre ;
So well she couth the shepherds entertayne
With cakes and cracknells, and such country
chere: [swainc :
Ne would she scorne the simple shepheard.-
For she would cal him often heame,
And give him curds and clouted Creame.
O heavie herse !
Als Colin Cloute she would not once disdaync
O carefull verse I
But nowe sike happy chcere is turnd to heavie
chaunce,
Such pleasaunce now displast by dolors dint :
All musick sleepes, where death doth leade the
daunce,
And shepherds wonted solace is extinct.
The blew in black, the greene in gray is tinct ;
The gaudie girlonds deck her grave,
The faded flowres her corse em brave.
O heavie herse !
VIorne nowe, my Muse, now inorne with teares
O carefull verse ! [besprint;
O thou greate shepheard, Lobbin, how great
is thy griefe ! [ thee ?
Where bene the nosegayes that she dight for
The coloured chaplets wrought with a chiefe,
The knotted rush-ringes, andgilte Rosemaree?
For shee deemed nothing too deere for thee.
Ah ! they bene all yclad in clay ;
One bitter blast blewe all away.
0 heavie herse !
Thereof nought remaynes but the memoree ;
0 carefull verse !
' Ay me ! that dreerie Death should strike so
mortall stroke,
That can undoe Dame Natures kindly course ;
The faded lockes fall from the loftie oke,
The flouds do gaspe, for dryed is theyr sourse,
And flouds of teares flowe in theyr stead per-
forse:
The mantled medowes mourne,
Theyr sondry colours tourne.
O heavie herse !
The heavens doe melt in teares without re-
O carefull verse ! [morse ;
The feeble flocks in field refuse their former
foode, [to weepe ;
And hang theyr heads as they would learne
The beastes in forest wayle as they were woode,
Except the Wolves, that chase the wandring
sheepe,
Now she is gone that safely did hem keepe :
The Turtle on the bared brauuch
Laments the wound that death did launch.
O heavie herse !
And Philomele her song with teares doth
0 carefull verse ! [steepe ;
• The water Nymphs, that wont with her to
sing and daunce,
And for her girlond Olive braunches beare,
Nnwe balefull boughes of Cypres doeii ad-
vaunce ; [weare,
The Muses, that were wont greene bayes to
.Now bringen bitter Kldiv bnitmcl.ea scare;
II
482
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 148-208.
The fatall sisters eke repent
Her vitall threde so soone was spent.
O heavie herse !
Morne now, my Muse, now morne with heavy
0 carefull verse !
[cheare,
'0! trustlesse state of earthly things, and
slipper hope [nought,
Of mortal men, that swincke an I sweate for
And, shooting wide, doe misse the marked
scope;
Now have I learnd (a lesson derely bought)
That nys on earth assuraunce to be sought ;
For what might be in earthlie mould,
That did her buried body hould.
O heavie herse !
Yet saw I on the beare when it was brought ;
0 carefull verse !
' But maugre death, and dreaded sisters
deadly spight,
And gates of hel, and fyrie furies forse,
She hath the bonds broke of eternall night,
Her soule unbodied of the burdenous corpse.
Why then weepes Lobbin so without remorse ?
O* Lobb ! thy losse no longer lament ;
Dido nis dead, but into heaven hent
O happye herse !
Cease now, my Muse, now cease thy sorrowes
O joyfull verse ! [sourse ;
' Why wayle we then ? why weary we the
Gods with playnts,
As if some evill were to her betight ?
She raignes a goddesse now emong the saintes,
That whilome was the saynt of shepheards
light,
And is enstalled nowe in heavens hight.
I see thee, blessed soule, I see
Walke in Elisian fieldes so free.
O happy herse !
Might I once come to thee, (0 that I might !)
0 joyfull verse!
' Unwise and wretched men, to weete whats
good or ill,
We deeme of Death as doome of ill desert ;
But knewe we, fooles, what it us bringes until,
Dye would we dayly, once it to expert!
No daunger there the shepheard can astert ;
Fayre fieldes and pleasaunt laves there bene ;
The fieldes ay fresh, the grasse ay greene.
O happy herse !
Make hast, ye shepheards, thether to revert
O joyfull verse !
' Dido is gone afore ; (whose turne shall be the
next?)
There lives shee with the blessed Gods in blisse,
There drincks she Nectar with Ambrosia mixt,
And joyes enjoyes that mortall men doe misse.
The ho'nor now of highest gods she is,
That whilome was poore shepheards pryde,
While here on earth she did abyde.
O happy herse !
Ceasse now, my song, my woe now wasted i
O joyfull verse !'
The. Ay, francke shepheard, how bene thy
verses meint
With doleful pleasaunce, so as I ne wotte
Whether rejoyce or weepe for great constrainte.
Thyne be the cossette, well hast thow it gotte.
Up, Colin up ! ynough thou morned hast ;
Now gynnes to mizzle, hye we homeward fast.
COLINS EMBLEME.
La mart ny mord.
GLOSSE.
Jouitaunce, myrth.
Sovenaunce, remembrance.
Herie, honour.
Welted, shortned or empayred. As the Moone
being in the waine is sayde of Lidgate to welk.
In loirly lay, according to the season of the
moueth November, when the sonne draweth low
in the South toward his Tropick or returne.
Infifhet haste, the sonne reigneth, that is, in the
signe Pisces all November : a haske is a wicker pad,
wherein they use to cary fish.
Virtlaie*, a light kind of song.
See watred, for it is a saying of Poetes, that they
have dronk of the Muses well Castalias, whereof
was before sufficiently sayd.
Dreriment, dreery and heavy cheere.
The great shepheard, is some man of high degree,
and not, as some vainely suppose, God Pan. The
person both of the shephearde and of Dido is un-
knowen, and closely buried in the Authors conceipt.
But out of doubt I am, that it is not Rosalind, as
some imagin : for he speaketh soone after of her also.
Shene, fayre and shining.
May, for mayde.
Tene, sorrow.
Guerdon, reward.
Synempt, beqnethed.
Cosset, a lam be brought np without the dam.
Unkempt, Incompti. Not corned, that is, rui*e
and unhansome.
NOVEMBER.
483
'ltuiAem; The saildo and waylefull Mnse, used of
Poets in honor of Tragedies : as'saith Virgile, ' Mel-
pomene tragico proclamat incesta boatn.'
Up griesly gosts. The maner of Tragicall Poetes,
to cftll for helpe of Furies, and damned ghostes : so
is Hecuba of Euripides, and Tantalus bronght in of
Seneca. And the rest of the rest.
Jlerse, is the solemne obsequie in f nneralles.
Wast of, decay of so beautifull a peece.
Carke, care.
Ah why, an elegant Epanorthosis. as also soone
after : nay, time was long ago.
Flouret, a diminutive for a little floure. This is
a notable and sententious comparison, 'A minors
ad majus.'
Reliven not, live not againe, s. not in theyr earthly
bodies : for in heaven they enjoy their due reward.
The braunch. He meaneth Dido, who being as it
were the mayne braunch now withered, the buddes,
that is, beautie (as he sayd afore) can no more
nourish.
With cakes, fit for Bhepheards bankets.
Heame, for home, after the northerne pronoun-
cing.
Tinct, dyed or stayned.
The gaudie : the meaning is, that the things which
were the ornaments of her lyfe are made the honor
of her funerall, as is used in burialls.
Lobbin, the name of a shepherd, which seemeth
to have bene the lover and deere frende of Dido.
Rushrinys, agreeable for such base gyftes.
Faded lockes, dryed leaves. As if Nature her selfe
'oewayled the death of the Mayde.
Sourse, spring.
Mantled medowes, for the sondry flowres are like
n Mantle or coverlet wrought with many colours.
Philomek, the Nightingale : whome the Poetes
faine once to have bene a Ladye of great beauty,
till, being ravished by hir sisters husbande, she
desired to be turned into a byrde of her name,
whose complaintes be very wel set forth of Ma.
George Gascoin, a wittie gentleman, and the very
chefe of our late rymere, who, and if some partes of
learning wanted not (albee it is well knowen he
altogyther wanted not learning) no doubt would
have iittayned to the excelleneye of those famous
Poets. For gifts of wit and natural! promptnesse
appeare in hym aboundantly.
' Cypresse, used of the old Paynims in the furnish-
ing of their funerall Pompe, and properly the signe
of all sorow and heaviuesse.
The f atoll sisters, Clotho, Lachcsis, and Atropos,
daughters of Herebus and the Nighte, whom the
Poetes fayne to spinne the life of man. as it were
a long threde, which they drawe out in length, till
his fatal howre and timely death be come ; but if
by other casnaltie his dayes be abridged, then one
of them, that is, Atropos, is sayde to have cut
the threde in twain. Hereof commeth a common
verse.
' Clotho colura bajulat, Lachesis trahit, Atropos
occat.'
0 trustlesse, a gallant exclamation, moralized
with great wisedom, and passionate wyth great
affection.
Heart, a frame, wheron they use to lay the dead
corse.
Furies, of Poetes are f eyned to be three, Perse-
phone, Alecto, and Megera, which are sayd to be
the Anthonrs of all evill and mischief o.
Eternall night, is death or darknesse of hell.
Betight, happened.
/ tee, a lively Icon or representation, as if he saw
her in heaven present.
Elysian fieldes, be devised of Poetes to be a place
of pleasure like Paradise, where the happye soules
doe rest in peace and eternal happynesse.
Dye would, the very expresse saying of Plato in
Phasdone.
Astert, befall unwares.
Nectar and Ambrosia, be feigned to be the drink
and foode of the gods : Ambrosia they liken to
Manna in scripture, and Nectar to be white like
Creme, whereof is a proper tale of Hebe, t'.iat spilt
a cup of it, and stayned the heavens, as yet appear-
eth. But I have already discoursed that at large
in my Commentarye upon the Dreames of the same
Anthour.
Meynt, mingled.
Which is as much to say, as death bitelh not. For
Ithough by course of nature we be borne to dye,
nd being ripened with age, as with a timely har-
est, we must be gathered in time, or els of our
elves we fall like rotted ripe fruite fro the tree :
et death is not to be counted for evill, nor (as the
oete sayd a little before) as doome of ill desert.
For though the trespasse of the first man bronght
death into the world, as the guerdon of sinne,
yet being overcome by the death of one that dyed
for al, it is now made (as Chaucer sayth) the grene
path way to life. So that it agreeth well with that
was sayd, that Death byteth not (that is) hurteth
not at all.
DECEMBER.
2EGLOGA DUODECIMA. ARGUMENT.
'His jKglogue (even as the first beganne) i* ended with a complaynte of Colin to God Pan ; wherein, as
train/ of his former wayes, hee proportioned his life to thefoure seasons of the yeare; comparing hys
youthe to the spring time, when he was fresh and free from loves follye. His manhoode to the sommer,
which, he sayth, was consumed with great* heate and excessive drouth, caused throughe a Comet or biasing
113
484
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
[L. 1-82.
ttarre by which hee meaneth love; which pattion it commonly compared to tuch flames and immoderate
heate. His riper yeares hee retembleth to an unstatonable haneste, wherein the fruites fall ere they be
rype. Hit latter age to winters chytl andfrostie season, now drawing neare to his last wide.
THE gentle shepheard satte beside a springe. ' Fro thence I durst in derring-doe compare
- • - - • v L With shepheards swayne what ever fedde in
field ;
And, if that Hobbinol right judgement bare,
To Pan his owne selfe pype I neede not yield :
For, if the flocking Nymphes did folow Pan,
The wiser Muses after Colin ranne.
All in the shadowe of a bushye brere,
That Colin hight, which wel could pype and
singe.
For he of Tityrus his songs did lere :
There, as he satte in secreate shade alone,
Thus gan he make of love his piteous mone.
' O soveraigne Pan ! thou god of shepheards
all,
Which of our tender Lambkins takest keepe,
And, when our flocks into miscbaunce mought
fall,
Doest save from mischiefs the unwary sheepe,
Als of their maisters hast no lesse regarde
Then of the flocks, which thou doest watch
and warde ;
« I tb.ee beseche (so be thou deigne to heare
Rude ditties, tund to shepheards Oaten reede,
Or if I ever sonet song so cleare,
As it with pleasaunce mought thy fancie feede)
Hearken awhile, from thy greene cabinet,
The rurall song of carefull Colinet.
•Whilome in youth, when flowrd my joyfull
spring,
Like Swallow swift I wandred here and there ;
For heate of heedlesse lust me so did sting,
That I of doubted daunger had no feare :
I went the wastefull woodes and forest wide,
Withouten dreade of Wolves to bene espyed.
1 1 wont to raunge amydde the mazie thickette,
And gather nuttes to make me Christmas
game,
And joyed oft to chace the trembling Pricket,
Or hunt the hartlesse hare til shee were tame.
What recked I of wintry e ages waste ? —
Tho deemed I my spring would ever laste.
'How often have I scaled the craggie Oke,
All to dislodge the Raven of her nest ?
How have I wearied with many a stroke
The stately Walnut-tree, the while the rest
Under the tree fell all for nuts at strife ?
For ylike to me was libertee and lyfe.
1 And for I was in thilke same looser yeares,
(Whether the Muse so wrought me from my
byrth,
Or I to much beleeved my shepherd peeres,)
Somedele ybent to soiig and musicks mirth,
A good old shephearde, Wrenock was his
name,
Made me by arte more cunning in the same.
' But, ah ! such pryde at length was ill re-
payde :
The shepheards God (perdie God was he none)
My hurtlesse pleasaunce did me ill upbraide ;
My freedome lorne, my life he lefte to mone,
"Love they him called that gave me check-
mate,
But better mought they have behote him
Hate.
' Tho gan my lovely Spring bid me farewel,
And Sommer season sped him to display
(For love then in the Lyons house did dwell)
The raging fyre that kindled at his ray.
A comett stird up that unkindly heate,
That reigned (as men sayd) in Venus seate.
' Forth was I ledde, not as I wont afore,
When choise I had to choose my wandring
wave,
But whether luck and loves unbridled lore
Wotilde leade me forth on Fancies bitte to
playe: [bo\vre,
The bush my bedde, the bramble was my
The Woodes can witnesse many a wofuil
stowre.
' Where I was wont to seeke the honey Bee,
Working her formall rowmes in wc-xen frame,
The grieslie Tode-stoole growne there mought
I se,
And loathed Paddocks lording on the same :
And where the chaunting birds luld me
asleepe,
The ghastlie Owle her grievous ynne doth
keepe.
Then as the springe gives place to elder time,
And bringeth forth the fruite of sommers pryde ;
Also my age, now passed youngthly pryme,
To thinges of ryper season selfe applyed,
And learnd of lighter timber cotes to frame,
Such as might save my sheepe and me fro
shame.
' To make fine cages for the Nightingale,
And Baskets of bulrushes, was my wont:
Who to entrappe the fish in winding sale
Was better scene, or hurtful beastes to hont ?
L. 83-156.]
DECEMBER.
485
I learned als the signes of heaven to ken,
How Phoebe fayles, where Venus sittes, and
when.
• And tryed time yet taught me greater thinges;
Th>j sodain rysing of the raging seas,
The soothe "of byrdes by beating of their
winges, [ease,
The power of herbs, both which can hurt and
And which be wont t' enrage the restlesse
shcepe,
And which be wont to workc eternall sleepe.
'But, ah ! unwise and witlesse Colin Cloute,
That kydst the hidden kinds of many a wede,
Yet kydst not' ene to cure thy sore hart-roote,
Whose ranckling wound as yet does rifely c
bleede. [wound ?
Why livest thou stil, and yet hast thy deathes
Why dyest thou stil, and yet alive art
founde ?
' Thus is my sommer worne away and wasted,
Thus is my harvest hastened all to rathe ;
The eare that budded faire is burnt and blasted,
And all my hoped gaine is turnd to scathe :
Of all the seedethat in my youth wassowne
Was nought but brakes and brambles to be
mowne.
My boughes with bloosmes that crowned
were at firste,
And promised of timely fruite such store,
Are left both bare and barrein now at erst ;
The nattring fruite is fallen to grownd before.
And rotted ere they were halfe mellow ripe;
My harvest, wast, my hope away dyd wipe.
' The fragrant flowres, that in my garden grewe,
Bene withered, as they had benegathered long ;
Theyr rootes bene dryed up forlacke of dewe,
Yet dewed with teares they han be ever
among. [spight,
Ah! wh'o has wrought my Rosalind this
To spil the flowres that should her girlond
dight ?
And I, that whilome wont to frame my pype
Unto the shifting of the shepheards foote,
8ike follies nowe have gathered as too ripe,
^nd cast hem out as rotten and unsoote.
The loser Lasse I cast to please no more ;
One if I please, enough is me therefore.
' And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care ;
j Which, when I thought have thresht in swell .
ing sheave,
Cockel for corne, and chaffe for barley, bare :
Soone as the chaffe should in the fan be fynd,
All was bio wue away of the wavering wynd.
' So now my yeare drawes to his latter terme,
My spring is spent, my sommer burnt up quite ;
My harveste hasts to stirre up Winter sterne,
And bids him clayme with rigorous rage hys
right: [stoure;
So nowe he stormes with many a sturdy
JSo now his blustring blast eche coste dooth
scoure.
' The carefull cold hath nypt my rugged rynde.
And in my face deepe furrowes eld hath pight :
My head besprent with hoary frost I fynd.
And by myne eie the Crow his clawe dooth
wright :
Delight is layd abedde; and pleasure past;
No sonne now shines ; cloudes han all over-
cast.
'Now leave, ye shepheards boyes, your merry
glee ; "
My Muse is hoarse and wearie of thys stoundet
Here will I hang my pype upon this tree :
Was never pype of reede did better sounde.
Winter is come that blowes the bitter blast e,
And after Winter dreerie death does hast,
4 Gather together ye my little flocke,
My little flock, that was to me so liefe;
Let me, ah ! lette me in your foldes ye lock,
Ere the breme Winter breede you greater griefe.
Winter is come, that blowes the balefull
breath,
And after Winter commeth timely death.
' Adieu, delightes, that lulled me asleepe ;
Adieu, my deare, whose love I bought so deare;
Adieu, my little Lambes and loved sheepe ;
Adieu, ye Woodes, that oft my witnesse were :
Adieu, good Hobbinoll, that was so true,
Tell Rosalind, her Colin bids her adieu.'
COLINS EMBLEME.
Vivitur ingenio : ceetera mortis erunt.
GLOSSE.
Tttiirus, Chaucer, as hath bene oft sayd.
Lambkins, young lambes.
Alt of their, seemeth to expresse Virgils verse.
' Pan curat oves ovinmque magistroe.'
Deigne, voutchsafe.
Cabinet, Colinet, diminutives.
Mazie, for they be like to a maze whence it ia hard
to get out agayne.
Peres, felowes and companions.
Mustek, that is Poetry, as Terence myth, 'Qui
artem tractant musicam,' speking of Poetes.
THE SHEPHEARDS CALENDER.
Derring doe, aforesayd.
Lions house: he imagineth simply that Cupid,
which is love, had his abode in the whote signe
Leo, which is in the middest of somer ; a prettie
allegory ; whereof the meaning is, that love in him
wrought an extraoi'dinarie heate of lust.
His ray, which is Cupides beame or flames of
Love.
A comele, a biasing starre, meant of beautie,
which was the caase of his whote love.
Venus, the goddesse of beauty or pleasure.
Also a signe in heaven, as it is here taken. So
he meaneth that beautie, which hath alwayes
aspect to Venus, was the cause of his unquietnes
in love.
Where I was : a fine description of the chaunge
of his lyfe and liking, for all things nowe seemed
to him to have altered their kindly course.
Lording : Spoken after the manner of Paddocks
and Progges sitting, which is indeed lordly, not
removing nor looking once aside, unlesse they be
sturred.
Then as: The second part, that is, his manhoode.
Cotes, Sheepecotes, for such be the exercises of
shepheards.
Sale, or sallow, a kinde of woodde like Wyllow,
fit to wreath and bynde in leapes to catch fish
withall.
Phoebe fay les, The Eclipse of the Moone, which is
alwayes in Cauda, or Capite Draconis, signes in
heaven.
Venus, B. Venus starre, otherwise called Hesperus,
and Vesper, and Lucifer, both because he seemeth
to be one of the brightest starres, and also first
ryseth, and setteth last. All which skill in starres
being convenient for shepheardes to knowe, Theo-
critus and the rest use.
Raying seat : The cause of the swelling and ebbing
of the sea commeth of the course of the Moone,
sometime encreasing, sometime wayning and de-
creasing.
Sooth of byrdes, A kind of soothsaying used in
elder tymes, which they gathered by the flying of
byrds : First (as is sayd) invented by the Thus-
canes, and from them derived to the Romanes who,
as it is sayd in Livie, were so supersticiously rooted
in the same, that they agreed that every Noble
man should put his sonne to the Thuscanes, by them
to be brought up in that knowledge.
Ofherbes : That wonderous thinges be wrought by
herbes, as well appeareth by the common working of
them in our bodies, as also by the wonderful en-
chauntments and sorceries that have bene wrought
by them, insomuch that it is sayde that Circe, a
famous sorceresse, turned men into sondry kinds of
beastes and Monsters, and onely by herbes : as the
Poete sayth,
' Dea saeva potentibus herbis, &c.'
Kidst, knewest.
Bare, of corne.
Scathe, losse, hinderaunce.
The fragrant flowres, sundry studies and laudable
partes of learning, wherein pur Poet is seene, be
they witnesse which are privie to this study.
Ever among, Ever and anone.
Thus is my. The thyrde part wherein is set forth
his ripe yseres as an untimely harvest that bring,
eth little fruite.
So note my yeere : The last part, wherein is des-
cribed his age, by comparison of wyntrye stormes.
Car (full cold, for care is sayd to coole the blood.
Glee, mirth.
Hoary frost, a metaphore of hoary heares scat-
tered lyke to a gray frost.
Breeme, sharpe and bitter.
Adiew delights, is a conclusion of all : where in
sixe verses he comprehendeth briefly all that was
touched in this booke. In the first verse his
delights of youth generally : In the second, the love
of Rosalind : In the thyrd, the keeping of sheepe,
which is the argument of all the ^Eglogues : In the
fourth, his complaints : And in the last two, his
professed f rendship and good will to his good friend
Hobbinoll.
The meaning whereof is, that all thinges perish
and come to theyr last end, but workes of learned
wits and monuments of Poetry abide for ever.
And therefore Horace of his Odes, a worke though
ful indede of great wit and learning yet of no so
great weight and importaunce, boldly sayth,
' Exegi monimentum are perennius,
• Quod nee imber edax, nee aquilo vorax.' &c.
LOB! 1 have made a Calender for every
yeare,
That steels in strength, and time in durance,
shall outweare ;
And, if I marked well the starres revolution,
It shall continewe till the worlds dissolution,
To teach the ruder shepheard how to feede his
sheepe,
And from the falsers fraude his folded fiocke to
heepe.
MERCK NON MERCKDB.
Therefore let not be envied, that this Poete in
his Epilogue sayth, he hath made a Calendar that
shall endure as long as time, &c. folowing the en-
sample of Horace and Ovid in the like.
'Grande opus exegi, quod nee lovis ira, neo
ignis,
'Nee ferum poterit nee edax abolere vetustas,'
&c.
Goe, lyttle Calender ! thou hast a free passe^
porte ;
Goe but a lowly gate emongste the meaner sorte :
Dare not to match thy pype with Tityrus his
style.
Nor with the Pilgrim that the Ploughman play de
awhyle ;
Sutfollowe themfarre off, and their high steppes
adore : [ more
The better please, the worse despise; I aske no
COMPLAINTS:
CONTAINING SUNDRIE SMALL POEMES
WORLDS VANITIE.
BY ED. SP.
A NOTE OF THE SUNDRIE POEMES CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.
1. Tfie Ruines of Time.
2. The Teares of the Muses.
3. Virgils Gnat.
4. Prosopopoia, or Moth'r Hubberds Tale.
6. The Raines of Rome : by Btllaij.
6. Muiopotmos, or The Tale of the Butter-
flie.
7. Visions of the Worlds Vanitie.
8. Bellayes Vision?.
9. Pctrarches Visions.
THE PKINTER TO THE GENTLE READER.
SINCE my late setting foorth of the Faerie
Queene, finding that it hath found a favour-
able passage amongst you, I have sithence
endevoured by all good meanes (for the
better encrease and accomplishment of your
delights,) to get into my handes such smale
Poemes of the same Authors, as I heard were
disperst abroad in sundrie hands, and not
easie to bee come by, by himselfe ; some of
them having bene diverslie imbeziled and
purloyned from him since his departure over
Sea. Of the which I have, by good meanes,
gathered togeather these fewe parcels present,
which I have caused to bee imprinted alto-
geather, for that they al seeme to containe like
matter of argument in them; being all com-
plaints and meditations of the worlds vauitie,
verie grave and profitable. To which effect I
understand that he besides wrote sundrie others,
namelie Ecclesiastes and Cardicum canticonim
translated, A senights slumber, The hell of
lovers, his Purpatorie, being all dedicated to
Ladies ; so as it may seeme he ment them all
to one volume. Besides some other Pamphlets
looselie scattered abroad : as The dying
Pellican, The bowers of the Lord, The
sacrifice of a sinner, The seven Psalmes, <tc.
which when I can, either by himselfe or
otherwise, attaine too, I meane likewise for
your favour sake to set foorth. In the meane
time, praying you gentlie to accept of these,
and graciouslie to entertaine the new Poet, 2
take leave.
L. 1-2 1.]
489
THE EUINES OF TIME.
DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT KOBI.E AND BEAUTIFUL!, LADIE,
THE LADIE MARIE,
COUNTESSE OF PKMBROOKE.
MOST Honourable and bountifull Lailie,
there bee long sithens deepe sowed in my
brest the secde of most entire love and
humble affection unto that most brave
Knight, your noble brother deceased ; which,
taking roote, began in his life time some what
to bud forth, and to shew themselves to him,
as then in theweakenes of their first spring ;
And would in their riper strength (had it
pleased high God till then to drawe out his
daies) spired forth fruit of more perfection.
But since God hath disdeigned the world of
that most noble Spirit, which was the hope
of all learned men, and the Patron of mv
young Muses, togeather with him both their
hope of anie further fruit was cut off, and also
the tender delight of those their first blossoms
nipped and quite dead. Yet, sithens my late
cumming into England, some frends of mine,
(which might much prevaile with me, and
indeede commaund me) knowing with howe
straight bandes of duetie 1 was tied to him,
as also bound unto that noble house, (of which
the chiefe hope then rested in him) have
sought to revive them by upbraiding me, for
that I have not shewed anie thankefull re-
membrance towards him or any of them, but
suffer their names to sleep in silence and
forgetf ulnesse. Whome chieflie to satisfie, or
els to avoide that fowle blot of unthankeful-
nesse, I have conceived this small Poeine,
intituled by a generall name of The Worlds
Ruines; yet speciallie intended to the re-
nowming of that noble race, from which both
you and he sprong, and to the eternizing of
some of the chiefe of them late deceased.
The which I dedicate unto your La. as whome
it most speciallie concerneth ; and to whome
I acknowledge my selfe bounden by manie
singular favours and great graces. I pray
for your Honourable happinesse; and so
humblie kisse your handes.
Your Ladiships ever
humblie at commaund.
£. S.
THE EUINES OF TIME.
[T chaunced me on day beside the shore
9f silver streaming Thamesis to bee,
NTigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore,
Of which there now remaines no memorie,
Nor anie little moniment to see,
By which the travniler, that fares that way,
This once was she,' may warned be to say.
There, on the other side, I did behold
Woman sitting, sorrowfullie wailing,
[tending her yeolow locks, like wyrie gold
\bout Her shoulders careleslie downe trailing,
And streames of teares from her faire eyes
forth railing :
In her right hand a broken rod she held, [ weld.
Which towards heaven shee seemd on high to
Whether she were one of that Rivers Nymphes,
Which did the losse of some dere love lament.
I doubt; or one of those three fatall Impes
Which draw the dayes of men forth in extent ;
Or th' auncient Genius of that Citie brent :
But, seeing her so piteouslie perplexed,
I (to her calling) askt what her so vexed.
490
THE RUINES OF TIME.
[L. 22-116.
' Ah ! what delight (quoth she) in earthlie
thing,
Or comfort can I, wretched creature, have ?
Whose happines the heavens envying,
From highest staire to lowest step me drave,
And have in mine owne bowels made my grave,
That of all Nations now I am forlorne,
The worlds sad spectacle, and fortunes scorne.'
Much was I mooved at her piteous plaint,
And felt my heart nigh riven in my brest
With tender ruth to see her sore constraint ;
That, shedding teares a while, I still did rest,
And after did her name of her request
' Name have I none (quoth she) nor anie being,
Bereft of both by Fates unjust decreeing.
' I was that Citie, which the garland wore
Of Britaines pride, delivered unto me
By Romane Victors, which it wonne of yore ;
Though nought at all but mines now I bee,
And lye in mine owne ashes, as ye see,
Verlame I was : what bootes it that I was,
Sith now I am but weedes and wastfull gras ?
' O vaine worlds glorie ! and unstedfast state
Of all that lives on face of sinfull earth !
Which, from their first untill their utmost date,
Taste no one hower of happines or merth ;
But like as at the ingate of their berth
They crying creep out of their mothers woomb,
So wailing backe go to their wofull toomb.
' Why then dooth flesh, a bubble-glas of breath,
Hunt after honour and advauncement vaine,
And reare a trophee for devouring death,
With so great labour and long lasting paine,
As if his daies for ever should remaine ?
Sith all that in this world is great or gaie
Doth as a vapour vanish, and decaie.
' Looke backe, who list, unto the former ages,
And call to count what is of them become :
Where be those learned wits and antique Sages,
Which of all wisedome knew the perfect
somme ?
Where those great warriors, which did over-
come
The world with conquest cf their might and
mail ic. [raine?
And made one meare of th' earth and of their
' What nowe is of th' Assyrian Lyonesse,
Of whome no footing now on earth appeares ?
What of the Persian Beares outragiousnesse,
Whose memorie is quite worne out with yeares,
Who of the Grecian Libbard now ought heares,
That overran the East with greedie powre,
And left his whelps their kingdomes to de-
voure?
And where is that same great seveu-headded
beast,
That made all nations vassals of her pride,
To fall before her feete at her beheast,
And in the necke of all the world did ride ?
Where doth she all that wondrous welth nowe
hide?
With her owne weight down pressed nowshee
lies,
And by her heaps her hugenesse testifies.
' 0 Rome ! thy mine I lament and rue,
And in thy fall my fatall overthrowe, [vewe
That whilom was, whilst heavens with equall
Deignd to behold me and their gifts bestowe,
The picture of thy pride in pompous shew :
And of the whole world as thou wast the Em-
presse,
So I of this small Northerne world was Prin-
ces se.
' To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre,
Adornd with purest golde and precious stone ;
To tell my riches, and endowments rare,
That by my foes are now all spent and gone ;
To tell my forces, matchable to none,
Were but lost labour, that few would beleeve,
And with rehearsing would me more agreeve.
' High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters,
Strong walls, rich porches, princelie pallaces,
Large streetes, brave houses, sacred sepulchers,
Sure gates, sweete gardens, stately galleries,
Wrought with faire pillours and fine imageries ;
All those (O pi tie !) now are turnd to dust,
And overgrowen with blacke oblivions rust.
' Theretoo for warlike power, and peoples store,
In Britannie was none to match with mee,
That manie often did abie full sore;
Ne Troynovant, though elder sister shee,
With my great forces might compared bee :
That stout Pendragon to his perill felt,
Who in a siege seaven yeres about me dwelt
' But long ere this, Bunduca, Britonnesse,
Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes
Bunduca, that victorious conqueresse, [ brought,
That, lifting up her brave heroick thought
Bove womens weaknes, with the Romanes
fought, [vailed;
Bought, and in field against them thrice pre-
1 et was she foyld, when as she me assailed.
'And though at last by force I conquered
were
Of hardie Saxons, and became their thrall,
Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full
deere,
And prizde with slaughter of their Generall \
L. II7-2I7.]
THE RUINES OF TIME.
491
The moniment of whose sad funerall,
For wonder of the world, long in me lasted,
But now to nought through spoyle of time is
wasted.
4 Wasted it is, as if it never were ;
And all the rest, that me so honord made
And of the world admired ev'rie where,
Is turnd to smoake, that doth to nothing fade ;
And of that brightnes now appeares no shade,
But greislie shades, such as doo haunt in hell
Withfearfull fiends, that in deep darknes dwell.
' Where my high steeples whilom usde to stand,
On which the lordly Faulcon wont to towre
There now is but an heap of lyme and sand,
For the Shriche-owle to build her balefull bowre:
And where the Nightingale wont forth to powre
Her resiles plaints, to comfort wakefull
Lovers, [Plovers.
There now haunt yelling Mewes and whining
4 And where the christall Thamis wont to slide
In silver channell, downe along the Lee,
About whose flowrie bankes on either side
A thousand Nymphes, with mirthfull jollitee,
Were wont to play, from all annoyance free,
There now no rivers course is to be scene,
But moorish fennes, and marshes ever greene.
'Seemes, that that gentle River for great
griefe
Of my mishaps, which oft I to him plained,
Or for to shunne the horrible mischiefe,
With which ne saw my cruell foes me pained,
And his pure streames with guiltles blood oft
stained ;
From my unhappie neighborhood farre fled,
And his sweete waters away with him led.
'There also, where the winged ships were scene
In liquid waves to cut their fomie waie,
And thousand Fishers numbred to have been,
In that wide lake looking for plenteous praie
Of fish, which they with baits usde to betraie,
Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store,
Nor ever ship shall saile there anie more.
4 They all are gone, and all with them is gone ;
Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament
My long decay, which no man els doth monc,
And mourne my fall with dolefull dreriuient.
Yet it is comfort in great languishment,
To be bemoned with compassion kinde,
And mitigates the anguish of the minde.
4 But me no man bewaileth, but in game,
Ne sheddeth teares from lamentable eie ;
Nor anie lives that mentioneth my name
To be remeuibred of posteritie,
Save One that, maugre fortunes injurie,
And times decay, and envies cruell tort,
Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort.
' Cambden ! the nourice of antiquitie,
And lanterne unto late succeding age,
To see the light of simple veritie
Buried in mines, through the great outrage
Of her owne people led with warlike rage :
Cambden ! though Time all moniments obscure,
Yet thy just labours ever shall endure.
4 But whie (unhappie wight !) doo T thus crie,
Andgrieve that my remembrance quite is raced
Out of the knowledge of posteritie,
And all my antique moniments defaced ?
Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed,
So soone as Fates their vitall thred have shorae,
Forgotten quite as they were never borne.
' It is not long, since these two eyes beheld
A mightie Prince, of most renowmed race,
Whom England high in count of honour held,
And greatest ones did sue to gaine his grace ;
Of greatest ones he, greatest in his place,
Sate in the bosome of his Soveraine,
And Bight and loyall did his word maintaine.
I saw him die, I saw him die, as one
Of the meane people, and brought foorth on
beare ;
1 saw him die, and no man left to mone
His dolefull fate, that late him loved deare :
Scarse anie left to close his eylids nearc ;
Scarse anie left upon his lips to laio
The sacred sod, or Requiem to saie.
' O ! trustlesse state of miserable men,
That builde your blis on hope of earthly thing,
And vainly thinkeyour selves halfe happie then,
When painted faces with smooth Mattering
Doo fawne on you, and your wide praises sing ;
And, when the courting masker louteth lowe,
Him true in heart and trustie to you trow.
All is but fained, and with oaker dido,
That everie shower will wash and wipe away ;
All things doo change that under heaven abide,
Ami after death all friendship doth decaie :
Therefore, what ever man bears t worldlie sway,
Living, on God and on thy selfe relie ;
For, when thou diest, all shall with thee die.
'He now is dead, and all is with him dead,
Save what in heavens storehouse he uplaid :
His hope is faild, and come to passe his di end,
And evill men, now dead, his deeds npbraid :
Spite bites the dead, that living never baiiU
He now is gone, the whiles the Foxe is crepi
Into the hole, the which the Badger swept.
492
THE RUINES OF TIME.
[L. 218-312
' He now is dead, and all his gloric gone,
And all his greatnes vapoured to nought,
That as a glasse upon the water shone,
Which vanisht quite, so soone as it was sought :
His name is worne alreadie out of thought,
Ne anie Poet seekes him to revive,
Yet manie Poets honourd him alive.
' Ne doth his Colin, carelesse Colin Cloute,
Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise,
Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout
Of shepherd groomes, which wont his songs to
praise :
Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise,
Untill he quite him of this guiltie blame.
Wake, shephcards boy, at length awake for
shame !
' And who so els did goodnes by him gaine,
And who so els his bounteous minde did trie,
Whether he shepheard be, or shepheards
swaine,
(For manie did, which doo it now denic,)
Awake, and to his Song a part applie :
And I, the whilest you mournefor his decease,
Will with my mourning plaints your plaint
increase.
' He dyde, and after him his brother clyde,
His brother Prince, his brother noble Peere,
That whilste he lived was of none envyde,
And dead is now, as living, counted deare,
Deare unto all that true affection beare :
Hut unto thee most deare, O dearest Dame !
His noble Spouse, and Paragon of fame.
' He, whilest he lived, happie was through thee
And, being dead, is happie now much more ;
Living, that lincked chaunst with thee to bee.
And dead, because him dead thou dost adore
As living, and thy lost. deare love deplore.
So whilst that thou, faire flower of chastitie,
Dost live, by thee thy Lord shall never die.
'Thy Lord shall never die, the whiles this
verse
Shall live, and surely it shall live for ever :
For ever it shall live, and shall rehearse
His worthie praise, and vertues dying never,
Though death his soule doo from his bodie
sever ;
And thou thy selfe herein shalt also live :
Such grace the heavens doo to my verses give.
' Ne shall his sister, ne thy father die,
Thy father, that good Earle of rare renowne,
And noble Patrone of weake povertie ;
Whose great good deeds, in countrey and in
Have purchast him in heaven an happie crowne,
Where he now liveth in eternall blis,
And left his sonne t' ensue those steps of his.
He, noble bud, his Grandsires livelie hayre,
Under the shadow of thy countenaunce
Nowginnes to shoote up fast, and flourish fayre
In learned artes. and goodlie governaunce,
That him to highest honour shall advaunce.
Brave Impe of IJedford ! grow apace in bountie,
And count of wisedome more than of thy
Countie.
' Ne may I let thy husbands sister die,
That goodly Ladie, sith she eke did spring
Out of his stocke and famous familie,
Whose praises 1 to future age doo sing ;
And foorth out of her happie womb did bring
The sacred brood of learning and all honour ;
In whom the heavens powrde all their gifts
upon her.
' Most gentle spirite, breathed from above
Out of the bosome of the makers blis,
In whom all bountie and all vertuous love
Appeared in their native propertis,
And did enrich that noble breast of his
With treasure passing all this worlde's worth,
Worthie of heaven it selfe, whicli brought '
forth.
' His blessed spirite, full of power divine
And influence of all celestiall grace,
Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime
Fled back too soone unto his native place ;
Too soone for all that did his love embrace,
Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he
Robd of all right and true nobilitie.
' Yet, ere his happie soule to heaven went
Out of this fleshlie gaole, he did devise
Unto his heavenlie maker to present
His bodie, as a spotles sacrifise ; •
And chose that guiltie hands of enemies
Should powre forth th' offring of his guiltles
blood :
So life exchanging for his countries good.
' 0 noble spirite ! live there ever blessed, [joy ;
The worlds late wonder, and the heavens new
Live ever there, and leave me here distressed
With mortall cares and cumbrous worlds anoy !
But, where thou dost that happines enjoy,
Bid me, 0 ! bid me quicklie come to thee,
That happie there I maie thee alwaies see.
' Yet, whilest the fates affoord me vitall breath,
I will it spend in speaking of thy praise,
And sing to thee, untill that timelie death
By heavens doome doo ende my earthlie daies, ;
THE RUINES OF TIME.
493
Thereto doo tliou my humble spirite raise,
And into me that sacred breath inspire,
Which thou there breathest perfect and entire.
' Then will I sing ; but who can better sing
Than thine owne sister, peerles Ladie bright,
Which to thee sings with deep harts sorrowing,
Sorrowing tempered with deare delight.
That her to heare I feele my feeble spright
Robbed of sense, and ravished with joy :
O sad joy, made of mourning and anoy !
• Yet will I sing ; but who can better sing
Than thou thy selfe, thine owne selfes valiance,
Than thou thy selfe, thine owne seltes valiance, And horrid house of sad Proserpina,
That, whitest thou livedst, madest the forrests They able are with power of mightie spell
ring.
[daunce,
Because they living cared not to cherishe
No gentle wits, through pride or covetize,
Which might their names for ever memorize.
Provide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye live,
That of the Muses ye may friended bee,
Which unto men eternitie do give ;
For they be daughters of Dame Memorie
And Jove, the father of eternitie,
And do those men in golden thrones repose,
Whose merits they to glorifie do chose.
' The sevenfold yron gates of grislie Hell,
To breake, and thence the soules to bring awaie
And fieldls^ resownd, and^ flockes^to leap jmd Out of dread darkenesse to eternall day, [die
And them immortall make, which els would
In foule forgetfulnesse, and nameles lie.
So whilome raised they the puissant brood
Of golden girt Alcmena, for great merite,
Out of the dust, to which the Oetsean wood
Had him consum'd, and spent his vitall spirite,
To highest heaven, where now he doth inherit <•
All happinesse in Hebes silver bowre,
Chosen to be her dearest Paramoure.
' So raisde they eke faire Ledaes warlick
twinnes,
And interchanged life unto them lent, [ginnes
That, when th' one dies, th' other then be-
To shew in Heaven his brightnes orient;
And they, for pittie of the sad wayment
Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make,
Her back againe to life sent for his sake.
So happie are they, and so fortunate,
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love,
That freed from bands of impacable fate,
And power of death, they live for aye above,
Where mortall wreakes their blis may not re-
move;
But with the Gods, for former vertues meede,
On Nectar and Ambrosia do feede.
' For deeds doe die, how ever noblie donne,
And thoughts of men do as themselves decay;
But wise wordes, taught in numbers for to
Recorded by the Muses, live for ay; [runne,
Ne may with storming showers be washt away,
Ne bitter-breathing windes with harmfull blast,
Nor age, nor envie, shall them ever wast.
' In vainc doo earthly Princes, then, in vaino,
Soeke, with Pyramides to heaven aspired,
Or huge Colosses built with costlie pain«'.
Or brasen Pillours never to be lired,
< )r Shrines made of the mettull most desired,
And shepheards leave their lambs unto mis-
chaunce,
To runne thy shrill Arcadian Pipe to heare :
O, happie were those dayes, thrice happie were !
1 But now, more happie thou, and wretched wee
Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice,
Whiles thou, now in Elisian fields so free,
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice
Of all that ever did in rimes rejoice, [ layes,
Conversest, and doost- heare their heavenlie
And they heare thine, and thine doo better
praise.
' So there thou livest, singing evermore,
And here thou livest, being ever song
Of us, which living loved thee afore, [throng
And now thee worship mongst that blessed
Of heavenlie Poets and HeroSs strong.
So thou both here and there immortall art,
And everie where through excellent desart.
' But such as neither of themselves can sing,
Nor yet are sung of others for reward,
Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing
Which never was, ne ever with regard
Their names shall of the later age be heard,
But shall in rustie darknes ever lie,
Unles they mcntiond be with infamie.
' What booteth it to have been rich alive ?
What to be great? what to be gracious?
When after death no token doth survive
Of former being in this mortall hous,
But sleepes in dust, dead and inglorious,
Like beast whose breath but in his nostrels is,
And hath no hope of happinesse or blis.
'How manie great ones may remembred be,
Which in their daies most famouslie did florish ;
Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now
see,
But as things wipt out with a sponge to perishe.
THE RUINES OF TIME.
494 __
To make their memories for ever live ;
For how can mortall immortalitie give ?
'Such one Mausolus made, the worlds great
wonder,
But now no remnant doth thereof remaine :
Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thun-
der:
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine :
Such one King Edmond,butwas rent for gaine.
All such vaine monimenis of earthlie masse,
Devour'd of Time, in time to nought doo passe.
' But Fame with golden wings aloft doth flie,
Above the reach of ruinous decay, [side,
And with brave plumes doth beate the azure
Admir'd of base-borne men from farre away :
Then, who so will with vertuous deeds assay
To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride,
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide.
' For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake.
Could save the sonne of Thetis from to die ;
But that blinde bard did him immortall make
With verses, dipt in deaw of Castalie :
Which made the Easterne Conquerour to crie,
O fortunate yong-man, whose vertue found
So brave a Trompe, thy noble acts to sound !
' Therefore in this halfe happie I doo read
Good Melibse, that hath a Poet got
To sing his living praises being dead,
Deserving never here to be forgot,
In spight of envie that his deeds would spot :
Since whose decease, learning lies unregarded,
And men of armes doo wander unrewarded.
' Those two be those two great calamities,
That long agoe did grieve the noble spright
Of Salomon with great indignities,
Who whilome was alive the wisest wight :
But now his wisedome is disprooved quite ;
For he, that now welds all things at his will,
Scorns th' one and th' other in his deeper skill.
1 0 griefe of griefes ! 0 gall of all good heartes !
To see that vertue should dispised bee
Of him, that first was raisde for vertuous parts,
Ar.d now, broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot up that nigh him planted bee:
0 let the man, of whom the Muse is scorned,
Nor alive nor dead be of the Muse adorned !
'O vile worlds trust ! that with such vaine il-
lusion
Hath so wise men bewitcbt, and overkest,
That they see not the way of their confusion.
O vainesse ! to be added to the rest,
That do my soule with inward griefe infest :
[L. 412-500.
Let them behold the piteous fall of mee,
And in my case their owne en sample see.
And who so els that sits hi highest seate
Of this worlds glorie, worshipped of all,
Ne feareth change of time, nor fortunes threate,
Let him behold the horror of my fall,
And his owne end unto remembrance call ;
That of like ruine he may warned bee,
And in himselfe be moov'd to pittie mee.'
Thus having ended all her piteous plaint,
With dolefull shrikes shee vanished away,
That I, through inward sorrowe wexen faint,
And all astonished with deepe dismay,
For her departure, had no word to say ;
But sate long time in sencelesse sad affright,
Looking still, if I might of her have sight.
Which when I missed, having looked long,
My thought returned greeved home againe,
Renewing her complaint with passion strong,
For ruth of that same womans piteous paine ;
Whose wordes recording in my troubled braine,
I felt such anguish wound my feeble heart,
That frosen horror ran through everie part.
So inlie greeving in my groning brest,
And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach,
Whose meaningmuch I laboredfoorth to wreste,
Being above my slender reasons reach ;
At length, by demonstration me to teach,
Before mine eies strange sights presented were,
Like tragicke Pageants seeming to appeare.
I
I SAW an Image, all of massie gold,
Placed on high upon an Altare faire,
That all, which did the same from farre beholde,
Might worship it, and fall on lowest staire.
Not that great Idoll might with this compaire,
To which th' Assyrian tyrant would have made
The holie brethren falsfie to have praid.
But th' Altare, on the which this Image staid,
Was (O great pitie ! built of brickie clay,
That shortly the foundation decaid,
With showres of heaven and tempests worne
away ;
Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay,
Scorned of everie one, which by it went ;
That I, it seeing, dearelie did lament.
Next unto this a statelie Towre appeared,
Built all of richest stone that might bee found,
And nigh unto the Heavens in height upreared,
But placed on a plot of sandie ground :
Not that great Towre, which is so much re-
nownd
5IO-599-]
THE RUINES OF TIME.
495
| For tongues confusion in Ilolie Writ,
f King Ninus worke, might be compar'd to it.
But O vaine labours of terrestriall wit,
That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a soyle,
As with each storme does fall away, and flit,
And gives the fruit of all your travailes toyle
To be the pray of Tvme. and Fortunes spoyle !
I saw this Towre fall sodainelie to dust,
That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was
brust
in
Then did I see a pleasant Paradize,
Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights,
Such as on earth man could not more devize,
With pleasures choyce to feed his cheerefull
sprights :
Not that, which Merlin by his magicke slights
Made for the gentle Squire, to entertaine
His fayre Belphcebe, could this gardine
stain e.
But O short pleasure, bought with lasting
paine !
Why will hereafter anie flesh delight
In earthlie blis, and joy in pleasures vaine,
Since that I sawe this "gardine wasted quite,
That where it was scarce seemed anie sight ?
That I, which once that beautie did beholde,
Could not from teares my melting eyes with-
holde.
IV
Soone after this a Giaunt came in place,
Of wondrous powre, and of exceeding stature,
That none durst vewe the horror of his face,
Yet was he milde of speach, and meeke of
nature :
Not he, which in despight of his Creatour
With railing tearmes defied the Jewish hoast,
Might with this mightie one inhugenes boast ;
For from the one he could to th' other coast
Stretch his strong thighes, and th' Ocean
overstride,
And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast.
| But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride !
One of his feete unwares from him did slide,
That downe hee fell into the deepe Abisse,
Where drowud with him is all his earthlie
bliss e.
v
Then did I see a Bridge, made all of golde,
Over the Sea from one to other side,
Withouten prop or pillour it t' upholde,
But like the coloured Rainbowe arched wide :
Not that great Arche, which Trajan edifide,
To be a wonder to all age ensuing,
Was matchable to this in equall vewing.
But (ah !) what bootes it to see earthlie thing
In glorie, or in greatnes to excell,
Sith time doth greatest things to ruine bring?
This goodlie bridge, one foote not fastned well,
Gan faile, and all the rest downe shortlie fell,
Ne of so brave a building ought remained,
That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained.
VI
I saw two Beares, as white as anie milke,
Lying together in a mightie cave,
Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as silke,
That salvage nature seemed not to have,
Nor after greedie spoyle of bloud to crave :
Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be found,
Although the compast world were sought
around.
But what can long abide above this ground
In state of blis, or stedfast happinesse ?
The Cave, in which these Beares lay sleeping
sound, [nesse,
Was but earth, and with her owne weighti-
Upon them fell, and did unwares oppresse ;
That, for great sorrow of their sudden fate,
Henceforth all worlds felicitie I hate.
\ Much was I troubled in my hcavie
spright,
At sight of these sad spectacles forepast,
That all my senses were bereaved quight,
And I in minde remained sore agast,
Distraught twixt feare and pitie ; when at
last
I heard a voyce, which loudly to me called,
That with the suddein shrill "I was appalled.
Behold (said it) and by ensample see,
That all is vanitie and griefe of minde,
Ne other comfort in this world can be,
But hope of heaven, and heart to God inclinde ;
For all the rest must needs be left behinde :
With that it bad me, to the other side
To cast mine eye, where other sights I spide.
UPON that famous Rivers further shore,
There stood a snowie Swan of heavenly hiew,
And gentle kinde as ever Fowle afore ;
A fairer one in all the goodlie criew
Of white Strimonian brood might no man
view :
There he most sweetly sung the prophecie
Of his owne death in "dolefull Elegie.
At last, when all his mourning melodie
He ended had, that both the snores resounded,
Feeling the fit that him forewarnd to die,
With loftie flight above the earth he bounded,
496
THE RUINES OF TIME.
[L. 600-686.
And out of sight to highest heaven mounted,
Where now he is become an heavenly signe,
There now the joy is his, here sorrow mine.
Whilest thus I looked, loe ! adowne the Lee
I sawe an Harpe stroong all with silver twyne,
And made of golde and costlie y vorie,
Swimming, that whylome seemed to have been
The Harpe on which Dan Orpheus was scene
Wylde beasts and forrests after him to lead,
But was th' Harpe of Philisides now dead.
At length out of the River it was reard
And borne above the cloudes to be divin'd,
Whilst all the way most heavenly noyse was
heard
With that she started up with cherefull sight,
When suddeinly both bed and all was gone,
And I in languor left there all alone.
v
Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood
A Knight all arm'd, upon a winged steed ;
The same that bred was of Medusaes blood,
On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly seed,
The faire Andromeda from perill freed :
Full mortally this Knight ywounded was,
That streames of blood foorth flowed on the
gras.
Yet was he deckt (small joy to him, alas ! )
With manie garlands for his victories, [chas
And with rich spoyles, which late he did pur-
rave atcheivements from his enemies ;
Through b
J> Fainting a
Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind, Fainting at last through long infirmities,
That wrought both joy and sorrow in my He smote his steed, that straight to heaven
mind:
So now in heaven a signe it doth appeare,
The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern
Beare.
in
Soone after this I saw, on th' other side,
A curious Coffer made of Heben wood.
That in it did most precious treasure hide,
Exceeding all this baser worldes good :
Yet through the overflowing of the flood
It almost drowned was, and done to nought,
That sight thereof mueh griev'd my pensive
thought.
him bore,
And left me here his losse for to deplore.
VI
Lastly I saw an Arke of purest golde
Upon a brazen pillour standing hie,
Which th' ashes seem'd of some great Prince
Enclosde therein for endles memorie [to hold,
Of him, whom all the world did glorifie :
Seemed the heavens with the earth did dis-
agree,
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee.
At last me seem'd wing-footed Mercuric,
At length, when most in perill it was brought, I From heaven descending to appease their strife,
Two Angels, downe descending with sTvift The **** dld beare Wlth him above the akie,
flight,
Out of the swelling streame it lightly caught,
And twixt their blessed armes it carried
qnight
Above the reach of anie living sight :
So now it is transform'd into that starre,
In which all heavenly treasures locked are.
Looking aside I saw a stately Bed,
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold,
That might for anie Princes couche be red,
And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold
Be for some bride, her joyous night to hold :
Therein a goodly Virgine sleeping lay ;
A fairer wight saw never summers day.
I heard a voyce that called farre away,
And her awaking bad her quickly dight,
For lo ! her Bridegrome was in readie ray
To come to her, and seeke her loves delight.
And to those ashes gave a second life,
To live in heaven where happines is rife :
At which the earth did grieve exceedingly,
And I for dole was almost like to die.
L1 Envoy.
Immortall spirite of Philisides,
Which now art made the heavens ornament,
That whilome wast the worldSs chiefst riches,
Give leave to him that lov'de thee to lament
His losse, by lacke of thee to heaven bent,
And with last duties of this broken verse,
Broken with sighes, to decke thy sable Herse
And ye, faire Ladie, th' honour of your daies,
And glorie of the world your high thoughts
scome,
Vouchsafe this moniment of his last praise
With some few silver-dropping teares t'adorne;
And as ye be of heavenlie off-spring borne,
So unto heaven let your high minde aspire,
And loath this drosse of sinfull worlds desire !
L. 1-24.]
497
THE TEAEES OF THE MUSES.
BY ED. SP.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE
THE LADIE STRANGE.
MOST brave and noble Ladie, the things.
that make ye so much honored of the world
as ye bee, are such, as (without my sim-
ple lines testimonie) are throughlie knowen
to all men ; namely, your excellent beautie,
your vertuous behavior, and your noble match
with that most honourable Lord, the verie
Paterne of right Nobilitie: But the causes i
for which ye have thus deserved of me to be i
honoured (if honour it be at all) are, both |
your particular bounties, and also some pri-
vate bands of affinitie, which it hath pleased
vour Ladiship to acknowledge. Of which
whenas I found my selfe in no part worthie,
I devised this last slender meanes, both to
intimate mv humble affection to your Ladi-
ship, and also to make the same universallie
knowen to the world ; that by honouring you
they might know me, and by knowing me
they might honor you. Vouchsafe, noble
Lady, to accept this simple (remembrance,
thogh not worthy of your self, yet such as,
perhaps, by good acceptance thereof, ye mav
hereafter cull out a more meet and memorable
evidence of your own excellent deserts. So,
recommending the same to j'our Ladiships
good liking, I humbly take leave.
Your La : humbly ever.
ED. SP.
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
REHEARSE to me, ye sacred Sisters nine,
The golden brood of great Apolloes wit,
Those piteous plaints and sorrowfull sad tine,
Which late ye powred forth as ve did sit
Beside the s'ilver Springs of Helicone,
Making your musick of hart-breaking mone.
Fa: since the time that Phoebus foolish
sonne
Ythundered. through Joves avengefull wrath,
For traversing the charret of the Sunne
Beyond the compasse of his pointed path,
Of "you, his mournfull Sisters, was lamented,
Such mournfull tunes were never since in-
vented.
Nor since that faire Calliope did lose
Her loved Twinnes, the deadings of her joy,
Her l^rtci, whom her unkindly foes,
The fatall Sisters, did for spight destroy,
Whom all the Muses did bewaile long space,
Was ever heard such wayling in this place.
For all their groves, which with the heavenly
noyses
Of their sweete instruments were wont to sound,
And th' hollow hills, from which their silver
voyces
Were wont redoubled Echoes to rebound,
Did now rebound with nought but rufull cries,
And yelling shrieks throwne up into the skies.
K K
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
[L. 25-i'xx
The trembling streames, which wont in chanels
cleare
To romble gently downe with murmur soft,
And were by them right tunefull taught to
beare
A Bases part amongst their consorts oft,
Now, forst to overflow with brackish teares,
With troublous noyse did dull their daintie
eares.
The joyous Nymphes and lightfoote Faeries
Which thether came to heare their musick
sweet,
And to the measure cf their melodies
Did learne to move their nimble-shifting feete,
Now, hearing them so heavily lament,
Like heavily lamenting from them went.
And all that els was wont to worke delight
Through the divine infusion of their skill,
And all that els seemd faire and fresh in sight,
So made by nature for to serve their will,
Was turned now to dismall heavinesse,
Was tumed now to dreadfull uglinesse.
Ay me ! what thing on earth, that all thing
breeds,
Might be the cause of so impatient plight ?
What furie, or what feend with felon deeds
Hath stirred up so mischievous despight ?
Can griefe then enter into heavenly harts,
And pierce immortall breasts with mortal]
smarts ?
Vouchsafe ye then, whom onely it concernes,
To me those secret causes to display ;
For none but you, or who of you it learnes,
Can rightfully aread so dolefull lay.
Begin, thou eldest Sister of the crew,
And let the rest in order thee ensew.
CLIO.
Heare, thou great Father of the Gods on hie,
That most art dreaded for thy thunder darts;
And thou, our Syre, that raignst in Castalie
And mount Parnasse, the God of goodly Arts :
Heare, and behold the miserable state
Of us, thy daughters, dolefull desolate.
Behold the fowle reproach and open shame,
The which is day by day unto us wrought
By such as hate the honour of our name,
The foes of learning and each gentle thought ;
They, not contented us themselves to scorne,
Doo seeke to make us of the world forlorne,
Ne ondy they that dwell in lowly dust,
The sonnes of darknes and of ignoraunce,
But they, whom thou, great Jove, by doome
unjust
Didst to the type of honour earst advaunce :
They now, puft up with sdeignfull insolence,
Despise the brood of blessed Sapience.
The sectaries of my celestiall skill,
That wont to be the worlds chiefe ornament,
And learned Impes that wont to shoote up still,
And grow to height of kingdomes government,
They underkeep, and with their spredding
armes [harmes.
Do beat their buds, that perish through their
It most behoves the honorable race
Of mightie Peeres true wisedome to sustaine,
And with their noble countenaunce to grace
The learned forheads, without gifts or gaine ;
Or rather learnd themselves behoves to bee,
That is the girlond of Nobilitie.
But (ah !) all otherwise they doo esteeme
Of th' heavenly gift of wisdomes influence,
And to be learned it a base thing deeme :
Base minded they that want intelligence ;
For God himselfe for wisedome most is praised,
And men to God thereby are nighest raised.
But they doo onely strive themselves to raise
Through pompous pride, and foolish vanitie :
In th' eyes of people they put all their praise,
And onely boast of Armes and Auncestrie ,
But vertuous deeds, which did those Armes
tirst give
To their Grandsyres, they care not to atchive.
So I, that doo all noble feates professe
To register, and sound in trump of gold, [ nesse,
Through their bad dooings, or base slothful-
Finde nothing worthie to be writ, or told ;
For better farre it were to hide their names,
Than telling them to blazon out their blames.
So shall succeeding ages have no light
Of things forepast, nor mouiments of time 5
And all that in this world is worthie higlit
Shall die in darknesse, and lie hid in slime:
Therefore I mourne with deep harts sorrowing,
Because I nothing noble have to sing.
With that she raynd such store of streaming
teares,
That could have made a stonie heart to weep;
And all her Sisters rent their golden heares,
And their faire faces with salt humour steep.
So ended shee ; and then the next anew,
Began her grievous plaint as doth ensew.
MELPOMINE.
O ! who shall powre into my swollen eyes
A sea of teares that never may be dryde,
A brasen voice that may with shrilling cryes
Pierce the dull heavens" and fill the aver wide,
And yron sides that sighing may endure,
•I'o waile the wretchednes of world impure?
L. 1 21-220.]
7Y/21 TEARES OF THE MUSES.
499
Ah, wretched world ! the den of wickedncsse,
Deformd with filth and fowle iniquitie ;
Ah, wretched world ! the house of heavinesse,
Filcl with the wreaks of mortall miserie;
Ah, wretched world ! and all that is therein,
The vassals of Gods wrath, and slaves of sin.
Most miserable creature under sky
Man without understanding doth appeare ;
For all this worlds affliction he thereby,
And Fortunes freakes, is wisely taught to beare :
Of wretched life the onely joy shee is,
And th' only comfort in calamities.
She armes the brest with constant patience
Against the bitter throwes of dolours darts :
She solaceth with rules of Sapience
The gentle minds, in midst of worldlie smarts :
When he is sad, shee seeks to make him merie,
And doth refresh his sprights when they be
werie.
But he that is of reasons skill bereft,
And wants the staffe of wisedome him to stay,
Is like a ship in midst of tempest left
Withouten helme or Pilot her to sway :
Full sad and dreadfull is that ships event ;
So is the man that wants intendiment.
Whie then doo foolish men so much despize
The precious store of this celestiall riches ?
Why doo they banish us, that patronize
The name of learning ? Most unhappie
wretches !
The which lie drowned in deep wretchednes,
Yet doo not see their owne unhappiness.
My part it is and my professed skill
The Stage with Tragick buskin to adorne,
And fill the Scene with plaint, and outcries shrill
Of wretched persons to misfortune borne ;
But none more tragick matter I can finde
. Than this, of men depriv'd of sense and minde.
j For all mans life me seemes a Tragedy,
Full of sad sights and sore Catastrophees ;
I First comming to the world with weeping eye,
Where all his dayes, like dolorous Trophees,
Are heapt with spoyles of fortune and of feare,
And he at last laid forth on balefull beare.
So all with rufull spectacles is fild,
Fit for Megera or Persephone ;
But I that in true Tragedies am skild,
The flowre of wit, finde nought to busie me :
Therefore I mourne, and pitifully mone,
Because that mourning matter f have none.
Then gan she wofully to waile, and wring
Her wretched hands in lamentable wise :
And ali her Sisters, thereto answering, [cries.
Threw forth lowd shrieks and drerie dolefull
So rested she ; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
THALIA.
Where be the sweete delights of learnings
treasure
That wont with Comick sock to beautefie
The painted Theaters, and fill with pleasure
The listners eyes and cares with melodic ;
In which I late was wont to raine as Queene,
And maske in mirth with Graces well bescenc?
O ! all is gone ; and all that goodly glee,
Which wont to be the glorie of gay wits,
Is layd abed, and no where now to see ;
And in her roome unseemly Sorrow sits,
With hollow browes and gfeisly countenaunce,
Marring my joyous gentle dalliaunce.
And him beside sits ugly Barbarisme,
And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late
Out of dredd darknes of the deepe Abysme,
Where being bredd, he light and heaven does
hate :
They in the mindes of men now tyrannize,
And the faire Scene with rudenes foule disguize.
All places they with follie have possest,
And with vaine toyes the vulgare entertaine ;
But me have banished, with all the rest
That whiiome wont to wait upon my traine,
Fine Counterfesaunce, and unhurtfull Sport,
Delight, and Laughter, deckt in seemly sort
All these, and all that els the Comick Stage
With seasoned wit and goodly pleasance graced,
By which mans life in his likest image
Was limned forth, are wholly now defaced ;
And those sweete wits, which wont the like to
frame,
Are now despizd, and made a laughing game.
And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made
To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate,
With kindlj- counter under Mimick shade,
Dur pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late :
With whom all joy and jolly meriment
Is also deaded, and in dolour drent.
In stead thereof scoffing Scurrilitie,
And scornfull Follie with Contempt is crept,
liolling in rymes of shameles ribaudrie
Without regard, or due Decorum kept;
Each idle wit at will presumes to make,
And doth the Learneds taskc upon him take.
But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen
Large streames of honnie and sweete Nectar
Howe,
Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men,
Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe,
KK2
500
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
[L. 221-312.
Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell,
Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell.
So am I made the servant of the manie,
And laughing stocke of all that list to scorne ;
Not honored nor cared for of anie,
But loath'd of losels as a thing forlorne:
Therefore I mourne and sorrow with the rest,
Untill my cause of sorrow be redrest.
Therewith she lowdly did lament and shrike,
Pouring forth streames of teares abundantly ;
And all her Sisters, with compassion like,
The breaches of her singults did supply.
So rested shee ; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
EUTERPE.
Like as the dearling of the Summers pryde,
Faire Philomele, when winters stormie wrath
The goorlly fields, that earst so gay were dyde
In colours divers, quite despoyled hath,
All cornfortlesse doth hide her chearlesse head
During the time of that her widowhead :
So we, that earst were wont in sweet accord
All places with our pleasant notes to fill,
Whilest favourable times did us afford
Free libertie to chaunt our charmes at will,
All comfortlesse upon the bared bow,
Like wofull Culvers, doo sit wayling now,
For far more bitter storme than winters stowre
The beautie of the world hath lately wasted,
And those fresh buds, which wont so faire to
flowre, [blasted;
Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms
And those yong plants, which wont with fruit
t'abound,
Now without fruite or leaves are to be found.
A stonie coldnesse hath benumbd the se*nce
And livelie spirits of each living wight,
And dimd with darknesse their intelligence,
Darknesse more than Cymerians daylie night:
And monstrous error, riving in the avre,
Hath mard the face of all that seined fayre.
Image of hellish horrour, Ignorance,
Borne in the bosome of the black Abysse,
And fed with Furies milke for sustenaunce
Of his weake infancie, begot amisse
By yawning Sloth on hisowne mother Night;
So hee his sonnes both Syre and brother hight.
He, armd with blindnesse and with boldnes
stout, [defaced;
(For blind is bold) hath our fayre light
And, gathering unto him a ragged rout
Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwellings
raced
And our chast bowers, in which all vertue
rained,
With brutishnesse and beastlie filth hath
stained.
The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon,
So oft bedeawed with our learned laves,
And speaking streames of pure Castalion,
The famous witnesse of our wonted praise,
They trampled have with their fowle footings
trade,
And like to troubled puddles have them made.
Our pleasant groves, which planted were with
paines,
That with our musick wont so oft to ring,
And arbors sweet, in which the Shepheards
swaines
Were wont so oft their Pastoralls to sing,
They have cut downe, and all their pleasaunce
That now no pastorall is to bee hard, [mard,
Instead of them, fowle Goblins and Shriek-
owles
With fearfull howling do all places fill ;
And feeble Eccho now laments and howles
The dreadfull accents of their outcries shrill.
So all is turned into wildernesse,
Whilest Ignorance the Muses doth oppresse.
And I, whose joy was earst with Spirit full
To teach the warbling pipe to sound aloft,
My spirits now dismayd with sorrow dull
Doo mone my miserie with silence soft:
Therefore I mourne and waile incessantly,
Till please the heavens affoord me remedy.
Therewith shee wayled with exceeding woe,
And pitious lamentation did make ;
And all her sisters, seeing her doo soe,
With equall plaints her sorrowe did partake.
So rested shee ; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
TERPSICHOKE.
Whoso hath in the lap of soft delight
Beene long time luld, and fed with pleasures
sweet, [spight
Feareles through his own fault or Fortunes
To tumble into sorrow and regreet,
Yf chaunce him fall into caiamitie,
Findes greater burthen of his miserie.
So wee that earst in joyance did abound,
And in the bosome of all blis did sit,
Like virgin Queenes, with laurell garlam:
Ground
For vertues meed and ornament of wit.
Sith ignorance our kingdomedid confound,
Bee now become most wretched wightes on
ground.
3 13-406.]
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
501
And in our royall thrones, which lately stood
In th' hearts of men to rule them carefully,
He now hath placed his accursed brood,
By him begotten of fowle infamy;
Blind Error, scornefull Follie, and base Spight.
Who hold by wrong that wee should have by
right.
They to the vulgar sort now pipe and sing,
And make them merrie with their fooleries ;
They cherelie chaunt, and rymes at raiulon
fling,
The fruitfull spawne of their ranke fantasies :
They feede the eares of fooles with flattery,
And good men blame, and losels magnify.
All places they doo with their toyes possesse,
And raigne in liking of the multitude ;
The schooles they fill with fond new fangle-
nesse, [rude;
And sway in Court with pride and rashnes
Mongst simple shepheards they do boast their
skill,
And say their musicke matcheth Phoebus quill.
The noble hearts to pleasures they allure,
And tell their Prince that learning is but vaine:
Faire Ladies loves they spot with thoughts
impure.
And gentle mindes with lewd delights distaine ;
Clerks they to loathly idlenes entice,
And fill their bookes with discipline of vice.
So every where they rule, and tyrannize,
For their usurped kingdomes maintenaunce,
The whiles we silly Maides, whom theydispize
And with reprochfull scorne discount eiuiuuiT,
From our owne native heritage exilde,
Walk through the world of every one revilde.
Nor anie one doth care to call us in,
Or once vouchsafeth us to entertaiue,
Unlesse some one perhaps of gentle kin,
For pitties sake compassion our paine,
And yeeld us some reliefe in this distresse ;
Yet to be so reliev'd is wretchednesse.
So wander we all carefull comfortlesse,
Yet none doth care to comfort us at all ;
So seeke we helpe our sorrow to redresse,
Yet none vouchsafes to answere to our call ;
Therefore we mourne and pittilesse complaine
Because none living pittieth our paine.
With that she wept and wofullie waymented
That naught on earth her griefe might pacific
And all the rest her dolefull din augmented
With shrikes and groanes and grievous agonie
So ended shee ; and then the next in rew
Began her piteous plaint, as doth ensew,
EUATO.
fe gentle Spirits, breathing from above,
Vhere ye in Venus silver bowre were bred,
"houghts halfe devine, full of the fire of love,
Vith beawtie kindled, and with pleasure fed,
Vhich ye now in securitie possesse,
j'orgetfull of your former heavinesse ;
Vow change the tenor of your joyous layes,
With which ye use your loves to deitie,
And blazon foorth an earthlie beauties praise
Above the cornpasse of the arched skie ;
Now change your praises into piteous cries,
And Eulogies turne into Elegies.
Such as ye wont, whenas those bitter stounds
}f raging love first gan you to torment,
And launch your hearts with lamentable
wounds
Df secret sorrow and sad languishment,
Before your Loves did take you unto grace;
Those now renew, as fitter for this place.
For I that rule in measure moderate
The tempest of that stormie passion,
And use to paint in rimes the troublous state
Of Lovers life in likest fashion,
Am put from practise of my kindlie skill,
Banisht by those that Love with leawdnea
fill.
Love wont to be schoolmaster of my skill,
And the devicefull matter of my song ;
Sweete Love devoyd of villanie or ill,
But pure and spotles, as at first he sprong
Out of th' Almighties bosome, where he nests ;
From thence infused into mortall brests.
Such high conceipt of that celestiall fire,
The base-borne brood of blindnes cannot
gesse,
Ne ever dare their dunghill thoughts aspire
Unto so loftie pitch of perfectnesse,
But rime at riot, and doo rage in love ;
Yet little wote what doth thereto behove.
Faire Cytheree, the Mother of delight,
And Queene of beautie, now thou maist go
pack;
For lo ! thy Kingdome is defaced quight,
Thy scepter rent, and power put to wrack ;
And thy gay Sonne, that winged God of Love,
May now goe prune his plumes like ruffed
Dove.
And ye three Twins, to light by Venus
"brought,
The sweete companions of the Muses late,
From whom what ever thing is goodly
thought,
Doth borrow grace, the fancie to aggrate;
502
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
[L. 407-504-
Go beg with us, and be companions still,
As heretofore of good, so now of ill.
For neither j'ou nor we shall anie more
Find entertainment or in Court or Schoole ;
For that which was accounted heretofore
The learneds meed is now lent to the foole :
He sings of love, and maketh loving layes,
And they him heare, and they him highly
prayse.
With that she powred foorth a brackish flood
Of bitter teares, and made exceeding mone ;
And all her Sisters, seeing her sad mood,
With lowd laments her answered all at one.
So ended she ; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
CALLIOPE.
To whom shall I my evill case complaine,
Or tell the anguish of my inward smart,
Sith none is left to remedie my paine,
Or deignes to pitie a perplexed hart ;
But rather seekes my sorrow to augment
With fowle reproach, and cruell banishment ?
For they, to whom I used to applie
The faithfull service of my learned skill,
The goodly off-spring of Joves progenie,
That wont the world with famous acts to fill ;
Whose living praises in heroick style,
It is my chiefe profession to compyle ;
They, all corrupted through the rust of time
That doth all fairest things on earth deface,
Or through unnoble sloth, or sinfull crime,
That doth degenerate the noble race,
Have both desire of worthie deeds forlorne,
And name of learning utterly doo scorne.
Ne doo they care to have the auncestrie
Of th' old Heroe's memorizde anew ;
Ne doo they care that late posteritie [dew,
Should know their names, or speak their praises
But die forgot from whence at first they sprong,
As they themselves shalbe forgot ere'long.
What bootes it then to come from glorious
Forefathers, or to have been nobly bredd ?
What oddes twixt Irus and old Inachus,
Twixt best and worst, when both alike are
dedd;
If none of neither mention should make,
Nor out of dust their memories awake ?
Or who would ever care to doo brave deed,
Or strive in vertue others to excell,
If none should yeeld him his deserved meed,
Due praise, that is the spur of dooing well ?
For if good were not praised more than ill,
"None would choose goodnes of his owne free-
will.
Therefore the nurse of vertue I am hight,
And golden Trompet of eternitie,
That lowly thoughts lift up to heavens hight.
And mortall men have powre to deifie :
Bacchus and Hercules I raisd to heaven,
And Charlemaine amongst the Starris seaven.
But now I will my golden Clarion rend,
And will henceforth immortalize no more ;
Sith I no more finde worthie to commend
For prize of value, or for learned lore:
For noble Peeres, whom I was wont to raise,
Now onely seeke for pleasure, nought for
praise.
Their great revenues all in sumptuous pride
They spend, that nought to learning they may
spare ;
And the rich fee, which Poets wont divide,
Now Parasites and Sycophants doo share :
Therefore I mourne and endlesse sorrow make,
Both for my selfe and for my Sisters sake.
With that she lowdly gan to waile and shrike,
And from her eyes a sea of teares did powre ;
And all her sisters, with compassion like,
Did more increase the sharpnes of her showre.
So ended she ; and then the next in rew
Began her plaint, as doth herein ensew.
URANIA.
What wrath of Gods, or wicked influence
Df Starres conspiring wretched men t' afflict,
Hath powrd on earth this noyous pestilence,
That mortall mindes doth inwardly infect
With love of blindnesse and of ignorance,
To dwell in darkenesae without sovenance ?
iVhat difference twixt man and beast is left,
When th' heavenlie light of knowledge is put
out,
And th' ornaments of wisdome are bereft ?
Then wandreth he in error and in doubt,
Unweeting of the danger hee is in,
Through fleshes frailtie, and deceipt of sin.
[n this wide world in which they, wretches,
stray,
:t is the onelie comfort which they have,
'.t is their light, their loadstarre, and their day ;
3ut hell, and darkenesse, and the grislie grave,
Is ignorance, the enemy of grace, [debace.
That mindes of men borne heavenlie doth
Through knowledge we behold the worlds
creation,
low in his cradle first he fostred was ;
And judge of Natures cunning operation,
low things she formed of a formelesse mas :
3y knowledge wee do learne our selves to knowe
And what to man, and what to God, wee owe
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
503
?rom hence wee mount aloft unto the skie,
And looke into the Christall firmament :
There we behold the heavens great Hierarchic,
The Starres pure light, the Spheres swii't
movement,
The Spirites and Intelligences fayre, [chayre.
And Angels waighting on th Almighties
And there, with humble minde and high in-
sight,
Th' eternall Makers majestic wee viewe,
His love, his truth, his glorie, and his might,
And mcrcie more than mortall men can vew.
0 soveraigne Lord ! O soveraigne happinesse,
To see thee, and thy mercie measurelesse !
Such happinesse have they that doo embrace
The precepts of my heavenlie discipline ;
But shame and sorrow and accursed case
Have they that scorne the schooleofarts divine,
And banish me, which do professe the skill
To make men heavenly wise through humbled
will.
How ever yet they mee despise and spight,
1 feede on sweet contentment of my thought,
And please my selfe with mine owne selfe-
delight,
In contemplation of things heavenlie wrought:
So, loathing earth, I looke up to the sky,
And, being driven hence, I thether fly.
Thence I behold the miserie of men, [breed.
Which want the blis that wisedom would them
And like brute beasts doo lie in loathsome den
Of ghostly darkenes, and of gastlie dreed ;
For whom I mourne, and for my selfe com-
plaine,
And for my Sisters eake whom they disdaine.
With that shee wept and waild so pityouslie,
As if her eyes had beene two springing wells ;
And all the rest, her sorrow to supplie,
Did throw forth shrieks and cries and dreery
yells.
So ended shee ; and then the next in rew
Began her mournfull plaint, as doth ensew.
POLYHYMNIA.
A dolefull case desires a dolefull song,
Without vaine art or curious complements ;
And squallid Fortune, into basenes flong,
Doth scorne the pride of wonted ornaments :
Then fittest are these ragged rimes for mee,
To tell my sorrowes that exceeding bee.
For the sweet numbers and melodious meas ures,
With which I wont the winged words to tie.
And make a tune full Diapase of pleasures,
Now being let to runne at libertie
By those which have no skill to rule them right
Have now quite lost their naturall delight,
Heapes of huge wordes uphoorded hideously,
With horrid sound though having little sence,
They thinke to be chiefe praise of Poetry ;
And, thereby wanting due intelligence,
Have mard the face of goodly Poe'sie,
And made a monster of their fantasie.
Whilom in ages past none might profes»e
But Princes and high Priests that secret skill ;
The sacred lawes therein they wont expresse,
And with deepe Oracles their verses fill :
Then was shee held in soveraigne dignitie,
And made the noursling of Nobilitie.
But now nor Prince nor Priest doth hermain-
tayne,
But suffer her prophaned for to bee
Of the base vulgar, that with hands unclcane
Dares to pollute her hidden mysterie ;
And treadeth under foote hir holie things,
Which was the care of Kesars and of Kings.
One onetie lives, her ages ornament,
And myrrour of her Makers majestic,
That with rich bountie, and deare cherishment,
Supports the praise of noble Po6sie ;
Ne onelie favours them which it professe,
But is her selfe a pee"reles Poetresse.
Most peereles Prince, most peereles Poetresse,
The true Pandora of all heavenly graces,
Divine Elisa, sacred Emperesse !
Live she for ever, and her royall P'laces
Be fild with praises of divinest wits,
That her eteniize with their heavenlie writs!
Some few beside this sacred skill esteme,
Admirers of her glorious excellence ;
Which, being lighined with her beawties beme,
Are thereby fild with happie influence ;
And lifted up above the worldes gaze,
To sing with Angels her immortall praize.
But all the rest, as borne of salvage brood,
And having beene with Acorns alwaies fed,
Can no whit savour this celestiall food,
But with base thoughts are into blindnesse led,
And kept from looking on the lightsome day :
For whome I waile and weepe all that I may.
Eftsoones such store of teares shee forth did
powre,
As if shee all to water would have gone ;
And all her sisters, seeing her sad stowre,
Did weep and waile, and made exceeding mone,
And all their learned instruments did breake:
The rest untold no living tongue can speak e.
504
IL. 1-32.
VIRGILS GNAT.
LONG SINCE DEDICATED
TO THE MOST NOBLE AND EXCELLENT LORD,
THE EARLE OF LEICESTER,
LATE DECEASED.
WRONG'D yet not daring to expresse my paine,
To you (great Lord) the causer of my care,
In clowdie teares my case I thus complame
Unto yourselfe, that onely privie are:
But if that any Oedipus unware
Shall chaunce, through power of some divining spngnt,
To reade the secrete of this riddle rare,
And know the purporte of my evill plight.
Let him rest pleased with his owne insight,
Ne further seeke to glose upon the text ;
For griefe enough it is to grieved wight
To feele his fault, and not be further vext.
But what so by my selfe may not be showen,
May by this Gnatts complaint be easily knowen.
VIRGILS GNAT.
WE now have playde (Augustus) wantonly,
Tuning our song unto a tender Muse,
And, like a cobweb weaving slenderly,
Haveonely playde : let thus much then excuse
He shall inspire my verse with gentle mood
Of Poets Prince, whether he woon beside
Faire Xanthus sprincled with Chimaeras blood,
Or in the woods of Astery abide ;
This Gnats small Poeme, that th' whole history J Or whereas mount Parnasse, the Muses brood,
Is but a jest, though envie it abuse: [blame, iDoth his broad forhead like two homes divide,
But who such sports and sweet delights doth j And the sweete waves of sounding Castaly
Shall lighter seeme than this Gnats idle name. With liquid foote doth slide downe easily.
Hereafter, when as season more secure I Wherefore ye Sisters, which the glorie bee
Shall bring forth fruit, this Muse shall speak Of the Pierian streames, fayre Naiades,
to thee Go too, and, dauncing all in companie,
Jn bigger notes, that may thy sense allure, Adorne that God : and thou holie Pales,
And for thy worth frame some fit Poe'sie : jTo whome the honest care of husbandrie
The golden ofspring of Latona pure, Returneth by continuall successe,
And ornament of great Joves progenle, Have care for to pursue his footing light
Phrebus, shall be the author of my song, jThrogh the wide woods and groves, with green
Playing on yvorie harp with silver strong, Jeaves digbt,
- 33-125-1
VIRGTLS GNAT.
5°5
Professing thee I lifted am aloft
Betwixt the forrest wide and starrie sky :
And thou, most dread (Octavius), which oft
To learned wits givest courage worthily,
0 come, (thou sacred childe) come sliding soft,
And favour my beginnings graciously ;
For not these leaves do sing that dreadfull
stound, [ ground*
When Giants bloud did staine Phlegrajan
Nor how th' halfe-horsy people, Centaures hight,
Fought with the bloudfe Lapithaes at bord :
Nor how the East with tyranous despight
Burnt th' Attick towres, and people slew with
sword ,
Nor bow mount Athos through exceeding might
Was digged downe . nor yron bands abord
The Pontick sea bv their'huge Navy cast,
My volume shall renowne, so long since past.
Nor Hellespont trampled with horses feete,
When flocking Persians did the Greeks affray ;
But my soft Muse, as for her power more meete,
Delights (with Phoebus friendly leave) to play
An easie running verse with tender feete.
And thou, (dread sacred child) to thee alway,
Let everlasting lightsome glory strive,
Through the worlds endles ages to survive.
And let an happie roome remaine for thee
Uongst heavenly ranks, where blessed soules
do rest ;
And let long lasting life with joyous glee,
As thy due meede that thou deservest best,
Hereafter many yeares remembered be
Amongst good men. of whom thou oft are blest ;
Live thou for ever in all happinesse!
But let us turne to our first businesse.
The fiery Sun was mounted now on hight
Up to the heavenly towers, and shoteach where
Out of his golden 'Charet glistering light ;
And favre Aurora, with her rosie hcare.
The hatefull darknes now had put to flight;
When as the shepheard, seeing day appeare,
His little Goats gan drive out of their stalls,
To feede abroad where pasture best befalls.
To an high rnountaines top he with them
went,
Where thickest grasse did cloat h the open hills .
They now amongst tbe woods and thickets
ment.
Now in the valleies wandring at their wills,
Spread themselves farre abroad through each
descent, ["Us,
Some on the soft grecne grasse feeding their
Some, clam bring through the hollow cliffes on hy
Nibble thp busljie shrubs which ffrowe thereby.
Others the utmost boughs of trees do«crop.
And brouze the woodbine twigges that freshly
bud ;
This with full bit doth catch the utmost top
Of some soft Willow, or new growen stud ;
This with sharpc teeth the bramble leaves
doth lop,
And chaw the tender prickles in her Cud ;
The whiles another high doth overlooke
Her owne like image in a christall brooke.
() ! the great happincs, which shepheards have,
Who so loathes not too much the poore estate,
With minde that ill use doth before deprave,
Ne measures all things by the costly rate
Of notise, and semblants'outward brave !
No such sad cares, as wont to macerate
And rend the greedie mimics of covetous men,
Do ever creepe into the shepheards den.
Ne cares he if the fleece, which him arayes,
Be not twice steeped in Assyrian dye ;
Ne glistering of golde, which underlayes
The summer beames, doe blinde his gazing
eye ;
Ne pictures beautie, nor the glauncing raves
Of precious stones, whence no good commeth
by;
Ne yet his cup embost with Imagery
Of Baetus or of Alcons vanity.
Ne ought the whelky pearles esteemeth hee,
Which are from Indian seas brought far away ;
But with pure brest from carefull sorrow free,
On the soft grasse his limbs doth oft display,
In sweete spring time, when flowres varietic
With sundrie colours paints the sprinckled
lay:
There, lying all at ease from guile or spight,
With pype of fennie reedes doth him delight.
There he, Lord of himselfe, with palme be-
dight,
His looser locks doth wrap in wreath of vine :
There his milk-dropping Goats be his delight,
And fruitefull Pales, and the forrest greene,
And darkesome caves in pleasaunt vallies
pight,
Whereas continuall shade is to be scene,
And where fresh springing wells, as christall
neate,
Do alwayes flow to quench his thirstie heate.
0 ! who can lead, then, a more happie life
Than he, that with cleane minde, and heart
sincere,
No greedy riches knowes nor bloudie strife,
No deadly tight of warh'ck fleete doth fears'
Ne runs in perill pf foes cruell knife,
VIRGILS GNAT.
[L. 126-214
That in the sacred temples he may reare
A trophee of his glittering spoyles and
treasure,
Or may abound in riches above measure.
Of him his God is worshipt with his sythe,
And not with skill of craftsman polished :
He joyes in groves, and makes himselfe ful
blythe
With sundrie flowers in wilde fleldes gathered ;
Ne frankincens he from Panchaea buyth :
Sweete quiet harbours in his harmeless head.
And perfect pleasure buildes her joyous bowre,
Free from sad cares that rich mens hearts
devowre.
This all his care, this all his whole indevour,
To this his minde and senses he doth bend,
How he may flow in quiets matchles treasour,
Content with any food that God doth send ;
And how his limbs, resolv'd through idle
leisour,
Unto sweete sleepe he may securely lend
In some coole shadow from the scorching heat.
The whiles his flock their chawed cuds do
eate.
O flocks ! O Faunes ! and O ye pleasaunt Springs
Of Tempe ! where the countrey Nymphs are
rife, [sings
Through whose not costly care each shepheard
As merrie notes upon his rusticke Fife,
As that Ascrsean bard, whose fame now rings
Through the wide world, and leads as joyfull
life;
Free from all troubles and from worldly toyle,
In which fond men doe all their dayes tur-
moyle.
In such delights whilst thus his carelesse time
This Shepheard drives, upleaning on his batt,
And on shrill reedes chaunting his rustick rime,
Hyperion, throwing foorth his beames full
hott,
Into the highest top of heaven gan clime,
And, the world parting by an equall lott,
Did shed his whirling flames on either side,
As the great Ocean doth himselfe divide.
Then gan the shepheard gather into one
His stragling Goates, and drave them to a
foord,
Whose cserule streame, rombling in Pible stone,
Crept under mosse as greene as any goord.
Now bad the Sun halfe heaven overgone,
When he his heard back from that water foord
Drave, from the force of Phoebus boyling ray,
Into thick shadowes, there themselves to
lay.
Soone as he them plac'd in thy sacred wood
(O Delian Goddesse !) saw, to" which of yore
Came the bad daughter of old Cadmus brood,
Cruell Agave, flying vengeance sore
Of king Nictileus for the guiltie blood
Which she with cursed hands had shed before
There she halfe frantick, having slaiue hei
, sonne,
Did shrowd her selfe like punishment to shonne
Here also playing on the grassy greene,
Woodgods, and Satyres, and swift Dryades,
With many Fairies oft were dauncing scene.
Not so much did Dan Orpheus represse
The streames of Hebrus with his songs, 1
weene,
As that faire troupe of woodie Goddesses
Staied thee, (O Peneus !) powring foorth to thec
From cheerefull lookes great mirth and glad-
some glee.
The verie nature of the place, resounding
With gentle murmure of the breathing ayre,
A pleasant bowre with all delight abounding
In the fresh shadowe did for them prepayre,
To rest their limbs with wearines redounding-.
For first the high Palme trees, with braunches
Out of the lowly vallies did arise, [faire,
And high shoote up their heads into the skyes.
And them amongst the wicked Lotos grew,
Wicked for holding guilefully away
Ulysses men, whom rapt with sweetenes new,
Taking to hoste, it quite from him did stay ;
And eke those trees, in whose transformed hew
The Sunnes sad daughters waylde the rash
decay
Of Phaeton, whose limbs, with lightening rent,
They, gathering up, with sweete teares did
lament.
And that same tree, in which Demophoon,
By his disloyalty lamented sore,
Eternall hurte left unto many one :
Whom als accompanied the Oke, of vore
Through fatall charmes transformd to such
an one ;
The Oke, whose Acornes were our foode, before
That Ceres seede of mortall men were knowne,
Which first Triptoleme taught how to be
sowne.
Here also grew the rougher rinded Pine,
The great Argoan ships brave ornament,
Whom golden Fleece did make an heavenly
signe;
Which coveting, with his high tops extent,
To make the mountaines touch the starres,
divine,
Decks all the forrest with embellishment ;
L. 215-312.]
VIRGILS GNAT.
5°7
And the blacke Holme that loves the watrie
vale ;
And the sweete Cypresse, signe of deadly bale.
Emongst the rest the clambring Yvie grew,
Knitting his wanton arrnes with grasping hold,
Least that the Poplar happely should rew
Her brothers strokes, whose boughes she doth
enfold
With her lythe twigs, till they the top survcw,
And paint with pallid greene'her buds of gold.
Next did the Myrtle tree to her approach,
Not yet unmindfull of her olde reproach.
But the small Birds, in their wide boughs em-
bowring, [consent ;
Chaunted their sundrie tunes with sweete
And under them a silver Spring, forth powring
His trickling streaines, a gentle murmure sent ;
Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimie scowling
Of the moist moores, their jarring voyces bent,
And shrill grashoppers chirped them around ;
All which the ayrie Echo did resound.
In this so pleasant place this Shepheards flocke
Lay everie where, their wearie limbs to rest,
On everie bush, and everie hollow rocke,
Where breathe on them the whistling wind
mote best ; [ stocke,
The whiles the Shepheard self, tending his
Sate by the fountaine side, in shade to rest.
Where gentle slumbring sleep oppressed him
Displaid on ground, and seized everie lira.
Of trecherie or traines nought tooke he keep,
But, looslie on the grassie greene dispredd,
His dearest life did trust to careles sleep ;
Which, weighing down his drouping drowsie
hedd,
In quiet rest his molten heart did steep,
Devoid of care, and feare of all falshedd ;
Had not inconstant fortune, bent to ill,
Bid strange mischance his quietnes to spilL
For at his wonted time in that same place
An huge great Serpent, all with speckles pide,
To drench himselfe in moorish slime did trace,
There from the boyling heate himselfe to hide :
He, passing by with rolling wreathed pace,
With brandisht tongue the emptie aire did
gride,
And wrapt his scalie boughts with fell despight,
That all things Beem'd appalled at his sight.
Now, more and more having himselfe enrolde,
His glittering breast he liftcth up on hie,
And with proud vaunt his head aloft doth
holde ;
His creste above, spotted with purple die,
On everie side did shine like scalie golde ;
And his bright eyes, glauncing full dreadfullie,
' Did seeme to flame out flakes of Hashing fvre,
And with sterae lookes to threaten kindled yre.
Thus wise long time he did himselfe dispace
There round about, when as at last he spide,
Lying along before him in that place,
That flocks grand Captaine and most trustie
guide
Eftsoones more fierce in visage, and in pace,
Throwing his tine eyes on everie side,
He commeth on, and all things in his wa}-
Full stearnly rends that might bis passage stay.
Much he disdaines that anie one should dare
To come unto his haunt; for which intent
He inly burns, and gins straight to prepare
The weapons, which Nature to him hatli lent :
Fellie he hisseth, and doth fiercely stare,
And hath his jawes with angrie spirits rent,
That all his tract with bloudie drops is stained
And all his foldes are now in length outstrained.
Whom, thus at point prepared, to prevent,
A litle noursling of the humid ayre,
A Gnat, unto the sleepie Shepheard went ;
And, marking where his ey-Uds twinckling rare
Shewd the two pearles which sight unto him
lent,
Through their thin coverings appearing fayre,
His little needle there infixing deep,
Warnd him awake, from death himselfe to keep.
Wherewith enrag'd he fiercely gan upstart,
And with his hand him rashly bruziiig slewe
As in avengement of his needles smart,
That streight the spirite out of his senses flew,
And life out of his members did depart:
When, suddenly casting aside his vew,
He spide his foe with felonous intent,
And fervent eyes to his destruction bent
All suddenly dismaid, and hartles quight,
He fled abackc, and catching hastie holde
Of a yong alder hard beside him pight,
It rent, and streight about him gan beholde
What God or Fortune would assist his might
But whether God or Fortune made him bold
Its hard to read : yet hardie will he had
To overcome, that made him lesse adrad.
The scalie backe of that most hideous snake
Enwrapped round, oft faining to retire
And oft him to assaile, he fiercely strake
Whereas his temples did his creak-front tyre ;
And, for he was but slowe, did slowth off shake
And gazing ghastly on, (for feare and yre
Had blent so much his sense, that lesse he
feard)
Yet when he saw him slaine himselfe he
cheard.
VIRGILS GNAT.
[L. 313-412.
By this the Night forth from the darksome
bowre
Of Herebus her teemed steedes gan call,
And laesie Vesper in his timely howre
From golden Oeta gan proceede withall ;
Whenas the Shepheard after this sharpestowre,
Seeing the doubled shadowes low to fall,
Gathering his straying flocke, does homeward
fare,
And unto rest his wearie joynts prepare.
Into whose sense so soone as lighter sleepe
Was entered, and now loosing everie lim,
Sweete slumbring deaw in carelesnesse did
steepe,
The Image of that Gnat appeard to him,
And m sad tearmes gan sorrowfully weepe,
With greislie countenaunce and visage grim,
Wailing the wrong which he had done of late,
In steed of good, hastning his cruell fate.
Said he, ' What have I, wretch, deserv'd, that
Into this bitter bale I am outcast, [thus
Whilest that thy life more deare and precious
Was than mine owne, so long as it did last V
I now, in lieu of paines so gracious,
Am tost in th' ayre with everie windie blast :
Thou, safe delivered from sad decay,
Thy careles limbs in loose sleep dost display.
( So livest thou ; but my poore wretched ghost
Is forst to ferric over Lethes river,
And spoyld of Charon too and fro am tost.
Seest thou not how all places quake and quiver,
Lightned with deadly lamps on everie post ?
Tisiphone each where doth shake and shiver
Her flaming fire-brond, encountring me,
Whose lockes uncombed cruell adders be.
' And Cerberus, whose many mouthes doo bay
And barke out flames, as if on fire he fed ;
Adowne whose necke, in terrible array,
Ten thousand snakes cralling about his hed
Doo hang in heapes, that horribly affray,
And bloodie eyes doo glister firie red ;
He oftentimes me dreadfullie doth threaten
With painfull torments to be sorely beaten.
' Ay me ! that thankes so much should faile of
meed;
For that I thee restor'd to life againe,
Even from the doore of death and deadlie dreed !
Where then is now the guerdon of my paine ?
Where the reward of my so piteous deed ?
The praise of pitie vanish t is in vaine,
And th' antique faith of Justice long agone
Out of the land is fled away and gone.
' I saw anothers fate approaching fast,
And Jeft mine owne his safetie to tender ;
[nto the same mishap I now am cast,
And shun'd destruction doth destruction
render :
Not unto him that never hath trespast,
But punishment is due to the offender.
Yet let destruction be the punishment,
So long as thankfull will may it relent.
I carried am into waste wildernesse,
Waste wildernes, amongst Cymerian shades,
Where endles paines and hideous heavinesse
Is round about me heapt in darksome glades ;
For there huge Othos sits in sad distresse,
Fast bound with serpents that him oft invades ;
Far of beholding Ephialtes tide,
Which once assai'd to burne this world so wide.
' And there is mournfull Tityus, mindefull yet
Of thy displeasure, O Latona faire !
Displeasure too implacable was it,
That made him meat for wild foules of the avrc.
Much do I feare among such fiends to sit ;"
Much do I feare back to them to repayre,
To the black shadowes of the Stygian shore,
Where wretched ghosts sit wailing evermore.
' There next the utmost brinck doth he abide,
That did the bankets of the Gods bewray,
Whose throat through thirst to nought nigh
being dride
His sense to seeke for ease tunies every way :
And he, that in avengement of his pride
For scorning to the sacred Gods to pray,
Against a mountaine rolls a mightie stone,
Calling in vaine for rest, and can have none.
Go ye with them, go, cursed damosells,
Whose bridale torches foule Erynnis tynde ;
And Hymen, at your Spousalls sad, foretells
Tydings of death and massacre unkinde :
With them that cruell Colchid mother dwells,
The which conceiv'd in her revengefull minde
With bitter woundes her owne deere babes to
slay,
And murdred troupes upon great heapes to lay.
There also those two Pandionian maides,
Calling on Itis, Itis ! evermore,
Whom, wretched boy, they slew with guiltio
blades ;
For whome the Thracian king lamenting sore,
Turn'd to a Lapwing, fowlie them upbraydes,
And flutteringround about them still does sore:
There now they all eternally complaine
Of others wrong, and suffer endles paine.
' But the two brethren borne of Cadmus blood,
Whilst each does for the Sovereignty contend,
Blinde through ambition, and with vengeance
wood,
Each doth against the others bodie bend
L. 413-510.]
VIRGILS GNAT.
509
His cursed steele, of neither well withstood,
And with wide wounds their carcases doth rend ;
That yet they both doe mortall foes remaine,
Sith each with brothers bloudiehandwasslaine.
Ah (waladay !) there is no end of paine,
Nor chaungc of labour may intreated bee ;
Yet I beyond all these am carried faine,
Where other powers farre different I see,
And must passe over to th' Elisian plaine :
There grim Persephone, encountring mee,
Doth urge her fellow Furies earnestlie
With their bright firebronds me to terrific.
' There chast Alceste lives inviolate,
Free from all care, for that her husbands daies
She did prolong by changing fate for fate.
Lo ! there lives also the immortall praise
Of womankinde, most faithfull to her mate,
Penelope ; and from her farre awayes
A rulesse rout of yongtnen which her woo'd,
All slaine with darts, lie wallowed in their
blood.
' And sad Eurydice thence now no more
Must turne to" life, but there detained bee
For looking back, being forbid before :
Yet was the guilt thereof, Orpheus, in thee.
•Sold sure he was, and worthie spirite bore,
That durst those lowest shadowes goe to see,
And could beleeve that anie thing could please
Fell Cerberus, or Stygian powres appease :
' Ne feard the burning waves of Phlegeton,
Nor those same mournfull kingdomes, com-
passed
With rustle horrour and fowle fashion ;
And deep digd vawtes; and Tartar covered
With bloodie night, and darke confusion ;
And judgement scales, whose Judge is deadlie
dred,
A judge, that after death doth punish sore
The faults which life hath trespassed before.
' But valiant fortune made Dan Orpheus bolde
For the swift running rivers still did stand,
The same was able with like lovely lay
The Queene of hell to move as easily,
To yeeld Eurydice unto her fere
Backe to be borne, though it unlawfull were;
' She, (Ladie) having well before approored
The feends to be too cruell and severe,
Observ'd th' appointed way, as her behooved,
Ne ever did her ey-sight turne arere,
Ne ever spake, ne cause of speaking mooved ;
But, cruell Orpheus, thou much crueller.
Seeking to kisse her, brok'st the Gods decree,
And thereby mad'st her ever damn'd to be.
' Ah ! but sweete love of pardon worthie is,
And doth deserve to have small faults remitted,
If Hell at least things lightly done amis
Knew how to pardon, when ought is omitted ;
Yet are ye both received into blis,
And to the seates of happie soules admitted :
And you beside the honourable band
Of great Heroe's doo in order stand.
' There be the two stout sonnes of Aeacus,
Fierce Peleus, and the hardie Telamon,
Both seeming now full glad and joyfious
Through their Syres dreadfull jurisdiction,
Being the Judge of all that horrid hous :
And both of them, by strange occasion,
Renown'd in choyce of happie marriage
Through Venus grace, and vertues cariage.
' For th' one was ravisht of his owne bond-
maide,
The faire Ixione captiv'd from Troy;
But th' other was with Thetis love'assaid,
Great Nereus his daughter and his joy.
On this side them there is a yongman layd,
Their match in glorie, mightie, fierce, and
coy;
That from th' Argolick ships with furious yre
Belt back the furie of the Trojan fyre.
' O ! who would not recount the strong divorces
Of that great warre, which Trojanes oft be-
helde?
And the wilde beasts their furie did withhold,
To follow Orpheus musicke through the land:
And th' Okes, deep grounded in the earthly
molde,
Did move, as if they could him understand ;
\nd the shrill woods, which were of sense be-
reav'd, [ceav'd.
Through their hard barke his silver sound re-
' And eke the Moone her hastie steedes did
stay,
Drawing in teemes along the starrie skie ;
And didst (O monthly Virgin !) thou delay
Thy nightly course, to heare his melodie ?
And oft beheld the warlike Greekish forces,
When Tencrian soyle with bloodie rivers
swelde,
And wide Sigsean shores were spred with corses,
And Simois and Xanthus blood outwelde ;
Whilst Hector raged with outragious minde,
Flames, weapons, wounds, in Greeks fleete to
have tynde.
' For Ida selfe, in ayde of that fierce fight.
Out of her mountaines ministred supplies ;
And, like a kindly nourse, did yeeld (forspight)
Store of firebronds out of her nourseries
Unto her foster children, that they might
Inflame the Navie of their enemies,
VIRGILS GNAT.
[L. 511-600.
And all the Rhetaean shore to ashes turne, I For loftie type of honour, through the glaunce
Where lay the ships which they did seeke to Of envies dart, is downe in dust prostrate,
bume.
' Gainst which the noble sonne of Telamon
Oppos'd himselfe, and, thwarting his huge
shield,
Them battell bad, gainst whom appeard anon
Hector, the glorie of the Trojan field :
Both fierce and furious in contention [shrild,
Encountred, that their mightie strokes so
As the great clap of thunder which doth ryve
and cloudes asunder
The ratling heavens,
dryve.
' So th' one with fire and weapons did contend
To cut the ships from turning home againe
To Argos ; th' other strove for to defend
The force of Vulcane with his might anc
maine*
Thus th' one Aeacide did his fame extend
But th' other joy'd, that, on the Phrygian
playne
Having the blood of vanquisht Hector shedd,
He compast Troy thrice with his bodie dedd.
' Againe great dole on either partie grewe,
That him to death unfaithful! Paris sent ;
And also him that false Ulysses slewe,
Drawne into danger through close ambush-
ment ;
Therefore from him Lae'rtes sonne his vewe
Doth turne aside, and boasts his good event
In working of Strymonian Ilhaesus fall,
And efte in Dolons subtile surprysall.
' Againe the dreadfull Cycones him dismay,
And blacke Laestrigones, a people stout :
Then greedie Scilla, under whom there bay
Manie great bandogs which her gird about :
Then doo the Aetnean Cyclops him affray,
And deep Charybdis gulphing in and out :
Lastly the squalid lakes of Tartarie,
And griesly Feends of hell him terrific.
' There also goodly Agamemnon bosts,
The glorie of the stock of Tantalus,
And famous light of all the Greekish hosts ;
Under whose conduct most victorious,
The Dorick flames consum'd the lliack posts.
Ah ! but the Greekes themselves, more dolo-
rous,
To thee, O Troy ! paid penaunce for thy fall ;
In th' Hellespont being nigh drowned all.
' Well may appeare by proofe of their mis-
chaunce,
Thechaungfull turning of mens slipperie state,
That none whom fortune freely doth ad-
vaunce
Himselfe therefore to heaven should elevate;
And all that vaunts in worldly vanitie
Shall fall through fortunes mutabilitie.
' Th' Argolicke power returning home againe,
Enricht with spoyles of th' Ericthonian towre,
Did happie winde and weather entertaine,
And with good speed the fomie billowcs
scowre:
No signe of storme, no feare of future paine,
Which soone ensued them with heavie stowre.
Nereis to the Seas a token gave,
[ clave.
The whiles their crooked keeles the surges
• Suddenly, whether through the Gods decree,
Or haplesse rising of some froward starre,
The heavens on everie side enclowded bee :
Black stormes and fogs are blowen up from
farre,
That now the Pylote can no loadstarre see,
But skies and seas doo make most dreadfull
warre ;
The billowes striving to the heavens to reach,
And th' heavens striving them for to impeach.
'And in avengement of their bold attempt.
Both Sun and starres and all the heavenly
powres
Conspire in one to wreake their rash contempt,
And downe on them to fall from highest
towres :
The skie, in pieces seeming to be rent,
Throwes lightning forth, andhaile, and harm-
ful showres,
That death on everie side to them appeares
In thousand formes, to worke more ghastly
feares.
' Some in the greedie flouds are sunke and
drent;
Some on the rocks of Caphareus are throwne:
Some on th' Eubcick Gift's in pieces rent ;
Some scattred on the Hercaean shores un
knowne ;
And manie lost, of whom no moniment
Remaines, nor memorie is to be showne :
Whilst all the purchase of the Phrigian pray,
Tost on salt billowes, round about doth strav.
Here manie other like Heroes bee.
Equall in honour to the former crue,
tVhom ye in goodly scales mav placed see,
Descended all from" Rome by linage due ;
From Rome, that holds the world in sove-
reigntie.
And doth all Nations unto her subdue \
Elere Fabii and Decii doo dwell,
EJoratii that in vertue did excell.
•L. 601-688.]
VIRGILS GNAT.
- And here the antique fame of stout Camill
Doth ever live ; and constant Curtius,
' Who, stirty bent his vowed life to spill
For Countreyes health, a gulph most hideous
Amidst the Towne with his owne corps did
fill,
T' appease the powers ; and prduent Mutius,
Who in his flesh endur'd the scorching flame,
To daunt his foe by ensample of the same.
' And here wise Curius, companion
Of noble vertues, lives in endles rest ;
And stout Flaminius, whose devotion
Taught him the fires scorn 'd furie to detest ;
And here the praise of either Scipion
Abides in highest place above the best,
To whom the ruin'd walls of Carthage vow'd,
Trembling their forces, sound their praises
lowd.
' Live thev for ever through their lasting
praise !
But I, poore wretch, am forced to retourne
To the sad lakes that Phoebus sunnie raves
Doo never see, where soules doo alwaies
mourne ;
And by the wayling shores to waste my dayes
Where Phlegeton with queuchles flames doth
burne ; [sever
By which just Minos righteous soules doth
From wicked ones, to live in blisse for ever.
' Me therefore thus the cruell fiends of hell,
Girt with long snakes, and thousand yroi
chaynes, [compel
Through doome of that their cruell Judge
With bitter torture, and impatient paines,
Cause of my death and just complaint to tell
For thou art he whom my poore ghost com-
I To be the author of her ill unwares, [plaines
| That careles hear'st my intolerable cares.
' Them therefore as bequeathing to the winde
I jl now depart, returning to thee never,
And leave this lamentable plaint behinde :
But doo thou haunt he soft downe-rolling
river, [minde
..nd wilde greene woods and fruitful pastures
UAnd let the flitting aire my vaine words sever.
iThus having said, he heavily departed
I With piteous crie, that anie would havi
smarted.
ow, when the sloathfull fit of lifes sweete res
ad left the heavie Shepheard, wondrous care
His inlv grieved minde full fore opprcst;
hat balefull sorrow he no longer beares
'or that Gnats death, which deeply vaa
imprest,
Jut bends what ever power his aged yeares
"tim lent, yet being such as through their
might
le lately slue his dreadfull foe in fight.
ty that same River lurking under greene,
iftsoones he gins to fashion forth a place ;
And, squaring it in compasse well besecne,
There plotteth out a tombe by measured
space :
rlis yron-headed spade tho making cleene,
Co dig up sods out of the flowrie grasse,
rlis worke he shortly to good purpose brought,
T ike as he had conceiv'd it in his thought.
An heape of earth he hoorded up on hie,
[inclosing it with banks on everie side,
And thereupon did raise full busily
A little mount, of greene turffs edifide \
And on the top of all, that passers by
Might it behold, the toomb he did provide
Of smoothest marble stone in order set,
That never might his luckie scape forget.
And round about he taught sweete flowres to
growe :
The Rose engrained in pure scarlet die ;
The Lilly fresh, and Violet belowe ;
The Marigolde. and cherefull Rosemarie ;
The Spartan Mirtle, whence sweet gumb does
flowe ;
The purple Hyacinthe, and fresh Cost marie ;
And Saffron, sought for in Cilician soyle ;
And Lawrell, th' ornament of Phoebus toylc.
Fresh Rhododaphne, and the Sabine flowre,
Matching the wealth of th' auncient Frank-
incencc ;
And pallid Yvie, building his owne bowre ;
And Box, yet mindfull of his olde offence ;
Red Amaranthus, lucklesse Paramour ;
Oxeye still greene, and bitter Patience;
Ne wants there pale Narcisse, that, in a well
Seeing his beautie, in love with it fell.
And whatsoever other flowre of worth,
And whatso other hearb of lovely hew, [forth,
The joyous Spring out of the ground brings
To cloa'th her selfe in colours fresh and new,
He planted there, and reard a mount of r.-irih.
In whose high front was writ as doth ensue.
Tn thee, small Gnat, in lieu of kin life saved,
The Shepheard hut h tin/ lit ulim rccnrd engraved.
512
IT. .t-r»2.
PEOSOPOPOIA:
OR
BY ED. SP.
DEDICATED TO THE EIGHT HONORABLE, THE
LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE
LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE.
MOST faire and vertuous Ladie ; having often
sought opportunitie by some good meanes to
make knowen to your Ladiship the humble
affection and faithfull duetie, which I have
alwaies professed, and am bound to beare to
that House, from whence yee spring, I have
at length found occasion to remember the
same, by making a simple present to you of
these my idle labours; which having long
sithens composed in the raw conceipt of my
youth, I lately amongst other papers lighted
upon, and was by others, which liked the
same, mooved to set them foorth. Simple is
the device, and the composition meane, yet
carrieth some delight, even the rather because
of the simplicitie and meannesse thus person-
ated. The same I beseech your Ladiship take
in good part, as a pledge of that profession
which I have made to you; and keepe with
vou untill, with some other more worthie
labour, I do redeeme it out of your hands,
and discharge my utmost dutie. Till then,
wishing your Ladiship all increase of honour
and happinesse, I humblie take leave.
Your La : ever humbly ;
ED. SP.
PEOSOPOPOIA: OR MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE
IT was the month in which the righteous Maide,
That for disdaine of sinfull worlds upbraide
JFled back to heaven, whence she was first con-
ceived,
Jnto her silver bowre the Sunne received ;
And the hot Syrian Dog on him awayting,
After the chafed Lyo.ir cruell bayting,
Corrupted had th' ayre with his noysome
breath, [death.
And powr'd on th' earth plague, pestilence, and
Emongst the rest a wicked maladie
Raign'd emongst men, that manic did to die,
Depriv'd of sense and ordinarie reason,
That it to Leaches seemed strange and geason.
My fortune was, mongst manic others moe,
To be partaker of their common woe ;
And my weake bodie, set on fire with griefe,
Was rob'd of rest and naturall reliefe.
In this ill plight there came to visile mee
Some friends, who. sorie my sad case to see,
Began to comfort me in chearfull wise,
And meanes of gladsome solace to devise :
But seeing kindly sleep refuse to doe
His office, and my feeble eyes forgoe,
L. 23-130.]
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
5*3
They sought my troubled sense howtodeceavetFor I likewise have wasted much good time,
With talke, that might unquiet fancies reave; Still way ting to preferment up to clime,
And, sitting all in seates about me round,
With pleasant tales (fit for that idle stound)
They cast in course to waste the wearic howres.
Some tolde of Ladies, and their Paramoures ;
Some of brave Knights, and their renowned
Squires ;
Some of the Faeries and their strange attires;
And some of Giaunts, hard to be beleeved ;
That the delight thereof me much releeved.
Amongst the rest a good old woman was,
Hight Mother Hubberd, who did farre surpas
The rest in honest mirth, that seem'd her
well:
She, when her turne was come her tale to tell,
Tolde of a strange adventure, that betided
Betwixt the Foxe and th' Ape by him mis-
guided ;
The which, for that my sense it greatly pleased,
All were my spirite heavie and deseased,
lie write in termes as she the same did say,
So well as I her words remember may.
No Muses aide me needes heretoo to call ;
Base is the style, and matter meane withall.
Whilome (said she) before the world was
civill,
The Foxe and th' Ape, disliking of their evill
And hard estate, determined to seeke £lyeke,
Their fortunes farre abroad, lyeke with his
For both were craftie and unhappie witted ;
Two fellowes might no where be better fitted.
The Foxe. that first this cause of griefe did finde,
Gan first thus plaine his case with words un-
kinde.
4 Neighbour Ape, and my Gossip eke beside,
(Both two sure bands in" friendship to be tide)
To whom may I more trustely complaine
The evill plight that doth me sore constraine
And hope thereof to finde due remedie?
Heare, then, my paine and inward agonie.
Thus manie yeares I now have spent and worne
In meane regard, and basest fortunes scorne,
Dooing my Countrey service as I might.
No lesse, I dare saie" than the prowdest wight;
And still I hoped to be up advaunced,
For my good parU ; but still it has mischaunced
Now therefore that no lenger hope I see,
But froward fortune still to follow mee,
And losels lifted up on high, where I did looke,
I meane to turne the next leafe of the booke :
Yet, ere that anie way I doo betake,
I meane my Gossip privie first to make.'
'Ah! my deare Gossip, (answer'd then the
Ape)
Deeply doo your sad words my wits awhape,
Whilest others alwayes have before me slept,
And from my beard the fat away have swept ;
That now unto despaire I gin to growe.
And meane for better winde about to throwe.
Therefore to me, my trustie friend, aread
Thy councell : two is better than one head.'
' Certes (said he) I meane me to disguize
In some straunge habit, after uncouth wize;
Or like a Pilgrim, or a Lymiter,
Or like a Gipsen, or a Juggeler,
And so to wander to the worlde's ende,
To seeke my fortune, where I may it mend :
For worse than that I have I caniiot meete.
Wide is the world I wote, and everie streete
ts full of fortunes, and adventures straunge,
Dontinuallie subject unto chaunge.
Say, my faire brother now, if this device
Doth like you, or may you to like entice.'
' Surely (said th' Ape) it likes me wondroiu
well ;
And would ye not poore fellowship expell,
My selfe would offer you t' accompanie
In this adventures chauncefull jeopardie :
For to wexe olde at home in idlenesse
Is disadven trous, and quite fortunelcsse ;
Abroad, where change is, good may gotten bee.'
The Foxe was glad, and quickly did agree :
So both resolv'd, the morrow next ensuing,
So soone as day appeard to peoples vewing,
On their intended journey to proceede ;
And over night whatso theretoo did neede
Each did prepare, in readines to bee.
The morrow next, so soone as one might see
Light out of heavens windowes forth to looke,
Both their habiliments unto them tooke,
And put themselves (a Gods name) on their
Whenas the Ape, beginning well to wey
This hard adventure, thus began t' advise.
' Now read, Sir Reynold, as ye be right wise,
What course ye weene is best for us to take,
That for our selves we may a living make.
Whether shall we professe some trade or skill,
Or shall we varie our device at will,
Even as new occasion appeares?
Or slnill we tie our selves for certaine yearos
To anie service, or to anie place ?
For it behoves, ere that into the race
We enter, to resolve first hereupon.'
' Now surelv brother (said the Foxe anon)
Ye have this matter motioned in season;
For everie thing that is begun with reason
Will come by readie meanes unto his end,
But things rriiscounselled must needs miswnij.
Both for because your griefe doth great appeare, Thus therefore I advize upon the case,
And eke because my selfe am touched neare: ,That not to anie certaine trade or place,
L I
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
[L. 131-234-
Nor anie man, we should our selves applie;
For why should he that is at libertie [borne,
Make himselfe bond? sith then we are free
Let us all servile base subjection scorne ;
And as we bee sonnes of the world so wide,
Let us our fathers heritage divide,
And chalenge to our selves our portions dew
Of all the patrimonie, which a few
Now hold in hugger mugger in their hand,
And all the rest doo rob of good and land.
For now a few have all, and all have nought,
Yet all be brethren ylike dearly bought :
There is no right in this partition,
Ne was it so by institution
Ordained first, ne by the law of Nature.
But that she gave like blessing to each creture,
As well of worldly livelode as of life,
That there might be no difference nor strife,
Nor ought cald mine or thine : thrice happie
then
Was the condition of mortall men.
That was the golden age of Saturne old,
But this might better be the world of gold ;
For without golde now nothing wilbe got,
Therefore (if please you) this shalbe our plot:
We will not be of anie occupation ;
Let such vile vassals, borne to base vocation,
Drudge in the world, and for their living
droyle,
Which have no wit to live withouten toyle;
But we will walke about the world at pleasure
Like two free men, and make our ease our
treasure.
Free men some beggers call, but they be free,
And they which call them so more beggers bee;
For they doo swinke and sweate to feed th
other, [gather,
Who live like Lords of that which they doo
And yet doo never thanke them for the same,
But as their due by Nature doo it clame.
Such will we fashion both our selves to bee,
Lords of the world ; and so will wander free
Where so us listeth, uncontrol'd of anie :
Hard is our hap, if we (emongst so manic)
Light not on some that may our state amend;
Sildome but some good commeth ere the end.'
Wellscenul the Ape to like this ordinaunce;
Yet, well considering of the circumstaunce,
As pausing in great doubt, awhile he staid,
And afterwards with grave advizement said :
' I cannot, my lief brother, like but well
The purpose of the com plot which ye tell;
For well I wot (compar'd to all the rest
Of each degree) that Beggers life is best .- [all.
And they, that thinke themselves the host of
Oft-times to begging are content to fall.
But this I wot withall, that we shall ronne
Into great daunger, like to bee undone,
Thus wildly to wander in the worlds eye,
Withouten pasport or good warrantye,"
For feare least we like rogues should be re-
puted,
And for eare-marked beasts abroad be bruted.
Therefore, I read that we our counsells call,
How to prevent this mischiefe ere it fall,
And how we may, with most securitie,
Beg amongst those that beggers doo dene.'
' Right well, deere Gossip, ye advized have,
(Said then the Foxe) but I this doubt will
For ere we farther passe I will devise [save ;
A pasport for us both in fittest wize,
And by the names of Souldiers us protect :
That now is thought a civile begging sect.
Be you the Souldier, for you likest are
For manly semblance, and small skill in
warre :
I will but wayte on you, and, as occasion
Falls out, my selfe fit for the same will
fashion.'
The pasport ended, both they forward went;
The Ape clad Souldierlike, fit for th' intent,
In a blew jacket with a crosse of redd
And manie slits, as if that he had shedd
Much blood throgh many wounds therein
rcceaved,
Which had the use of his right arme bereaved.
Upon his head an old Scotch cap he wore,
With a plume feather all to peeces tore :
His breeches were made after the new cut,
Al Portugese, loose like an emptie gut ;
And his hose broken high above the heeling,
And his shooes beaten out with traveling.
But neither sword nor dagger he did beare ;
Seemes that no foes revengement he did
feare :
In stead of them a handsome bat he held,
On which he leaned, as one farre in elde.
Shame light on him, that through so false
illusion,
Doth turne the name of Souldiers to abusion,
And that, which is the noblest mysterie,
Brings to reproach and common infavnie!
Long they thus travailed, yet never met
Adventure which might them a working set;
Yet manie waies they sought, and manie tryed,
Yet for their purposes none lit espyed.
At last they chaunst to meet upon the way
A simple husbandman in garments gray;
Yet though his vesture were but meane and
baco,
A good yeoman he was of honest place,
And more for thrift did care than for gay
clothing : [loathing.
Gay without good is good hearts greatest
The Foxe him spying, bad the Ape him dight
To play his part, for loe ! he was in sight
" 235-334-1
MOTHER I1UBBERDS TALE.
5'5
That (if he er'd not,) should them entertaine, Cattell to keep, or grounds to oversee ;
And yeeld them timely profile for their paine. And asked him, if he could willing bee
To keep his sheep, or to attend his swyne,
Or watch his mares, or take his charge of
kyne?
' Gladly (said he) what ever such like paine
Eftsoones the Ape himselfe gan up to reare,
And on his shoulders high his bat to beare,
As if good service he were fit to doo;
But little thrift for him he did it too :
And stoutly forward he his steps did straine,
That like a handsome swaine it him became.
When as they nigh approached, that good
man,
Seeing them wander loosly, first began
T' enquire of custome, what and whence they
To whom the Ape, ' I am a Souldiere, [were ?
That late in warres have spent my deerest
blood,
And in long service lost both limbs and good ;
And now, constrain'd that trade to overgive,
I driven am to seeke some meanes to live :
Which might it you in pitie please t' afford,
I would be readie, both in deed and word,
To doo you faithfull service all my dayes.
Ye put on me, I will the same sustaine ;
Butgladliest 1 of your tleecie sheepe
(Might it you please) would take on me the
keep.
For ere that unto armes I me betooke,
Unto my fathers s^heepe I usde to looke,
That yet the skill thereof I have not loste :
Thereto right well this Curdog, by my coste,
(Meaning the Foxe) will serve my sheepe to
gather,
And drive to follow after their Belwether.'
The Husbandman was meanly well content
Triall to make of his endevourment ;
And, home him leading, lent to him the charge
Of all his flocke, with libertie full large.
This yron world (that same he weeping sayes) : Giving accompt of th' annuall increce [fleece.
Brings downe the stowtest hearts to lowest I Both of their lambes, and of their woolly
state;
For miserie doth bravest mindes abate,
And make them seeke for that they wont to
scorn e,
Of fortune and of hope at once fbrlorne.'
The honest man, that heard him thus com-
plain e,
Was griev'd as he had felt part of his paine ;
And, well dispos'd him some reliefe to showe,
Askt if in husbandrie he ought did knowe,
To plough, to plant, to reap, to rake, to sowe,
To hedge, to ditch, to thrash, to thetch, to
mowe?
Or to what labour els he was prepar'd,
For husbands life is labourous and hard ?
Whenas the Ape him hard so much to talke
Of labour, that did from his liking balke,
He would have slipt the coller handsomly,
And to him said : ' Good Sir, full glad am I,
To take what paines may anie living wight ;
But my late maymed limbs lack wonted
might
To doo their kindly services as needeth.
Scarce this right hand the mouth with diet
feedeth,
So that it may no painfull worke endure,
Ne to strong labour can it selfe enure :
But if that anie other place you have,
Which askes small paines, but thriftines to
save,
Or care to overlooke, or trust to gather,
Ye may me trust as your owne ghostly
father.'
Witli that the husbandman gan him avize,
That it for him were fittest exercise
Thus is this Ape become a shepheard swnine,
And the false Foxe his dog (God give them
paine !)
For ere the yeare have halfe his course out-run,
And doo retnrne from whence he first begun,
They shall him make an ill accompt of thrift.
Now whenas Time, flying with wingfe swift,
Expired had the terme, that these two jarels
Should render up a reckning of their travels
Unto their master, which it of them sought,
Exceedingly they troubled were in thought,
Ne wist what answere unto him to frame,
Ne how to scape great punishment, or shame,
For their false treason and vile theeverie :
For not a lambe of all their flockcs supply
Had they to shew ; but, ever as they bred,
They slue them, and upon their fleshes fed ;
For that disguised Dog lov'd blood to spill,
And drew the wicked Sh«pheard to his will.
So twixt them both they not a lambkin left,
And when lambes fail'd the old sheepes lives
they reft ;
That how t' acquite thcaiselves unto their Lord
They were in doubt, and flatly set abonl.
The Foxe thencounserd th' Ape for to require
Respite till morrow t' answere his desire;
For times delay new hope of helpe still breeds.
The goodman granted, doubting nought thi-ir
deeds,
And bad next day that all should readie be :
But they more subtill meaning hud than he;
For the next morrowes meed they closely im-nt,
For feare of afterclaps, for to prevent :
And that same evening, when all shrowded were
In careles sleep, they without care or feare
LLl
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
[L. 335-440.
Cruelly fell upon their flock in folde,
And of them slew at pleasure what they wolde.
Of which whenas they feasted had their fill,
For a full complement of all their ill,
They stole away, and tooke their hastie flight,
Carried in clowdes of all-concealing night.
So was the husbandman left to his losse,
And they unto their fortunes change to tosse:
After which sort they wandered long while,
Abusing manie through their cloaked guile,
That at the last they gan to be descryed
Of everie one, and all their sleights espyed.
So as their begging now them failed quyte,
For none would give, but all men would them
•wyte : [living,
Yet would they take no paines to get their
But seeke some other way to gaine by giving,
Much like to begging, but much better named,
For manie beg which are thereof ashamed.
And now the Foxe had gotten him a gowne,
And th' Ape a cassocke sidelong hanging downe;
For they their occupation meant to change,
And now in other state abroad to range :
For, since their souldiers pas no better spedd,
They forg'd another, as for Clerkes booke-redd.
Who passing foorth, as their adventures fell,
Through manie haps, which needs not here to
tell, [meete,
At length chaunst with a formall Priest to
Whom they in civill manner first did greete,
And after askt an almes for Gods deare love.
The man straightway his choler up did move,
And with reproachfull tearmes gan them revile,
For following that trade so base and vile ;
And askt what license, or what Pas they had ?
' Ah ! (said the Ape, as sighing wondrous sad)
Its an hard case, when men of good deserving
Must either driven be perforce to sterving,
Or asked for their pas by everie squib,
That list at will them to revile or snib :
And 3-et (God wote) small oddes I often see
Twixt them that aske, and them that asked bee.
Xatheles, because you shall not us misdeeme,
But that we are as" honest as we seeme,
Yee shall our pasport at your pleasure see,
And then ye will (I hope") well mooved bee.'
Which when the Priest beheld, he vew'd it nere,
As if therein some text he studying were.
But little els (God wote) could thereof skill;
For read he could not evidence, nor will,
Ne tell a written word, ne write a letter,
Ne make one title worse, ne make one better:
Of such deep learning little had he neede,
Ne yet of Latine, ne of Greeke, that breede
Doubts mongst Divines, and difference of texts,
From whence arise diversitie of sects,
And hatefull heresies, of God abhor'd :
But this good Sir did follow the plaine word,
Ne medled with their controversies vaine ;
All his care was, his service well to saine,
And to read Homelies upon holidayes ;
When that was done, he might "attend his
plaves :
An easie life, and fit high God to please.
He, having overlook! their pas at ease,
Gan at the length them to rebuke againe,
That no good trade of life did entertaine,
But lost their time in wandring loose abroad ;
Seeing the world, in which they booties boad,
Had wayes enough for all therein to live ;
Such grace did God unto his creatures give.
Said then the Foxe : ' Who hath the world
not tride, . [wide :
From the right way full eath may wander
We are but Novices, new come abroad,
We have not yet the tract of anie troad,
Nor on us taken anie state of life,
But readie are of anie to make preife.
Therefore might please you, which the world
have proved,
Us to advise, which forth but lately moved,
Of some good course that we might under-
take ;
Ye shall for ever us your bondmen make.'
The Priest gan wexe halfe proud to be so
praide,
And thereby willing to affoord them aide ;
' It seemes (said he) right well that ye be
Clerks,
Both by your wittie words, and by your werks.
Is not that name enough to make a living
To him that hath a whit of Natures giving?
How manie honest men see ye arize
Daylie thereby, and grow to goodly prize ;
To Deanes, to Archdeacons, to Commissaries,
To Lords, to Principalls, to Prebendaries?
All jolly Prelates, worthie rule to beare,
Who ever them envie : yet spite bites neare.
Why should ye doubt, then, but that ye like-
Might unto some of those in time arise ? [wise
In the meane-time to live in good estate.
Loving that love, and hating those that hate ;
Being some honest Curate, or some Ticker
Content with little in condition sicker.
' Ah ! but (said th' Ape) the charge is won-
drous great,
To feed mens soules, and hath an heavie threat.'
' To feede mens soules (quoth he) is not in man ;
For they must feed themselves, doo what we can.
We are but charg'd to lay the meate before :
Eate they that list, we need to doo no more.
But God it is that feedes them with his grace,
The bread of life powr'd downe from heavenly
place.
Therefore said he, that with the budding rod
Did rule the Jewes, All shalbe taught of God.
L. 441-546.]
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
5»7
That same hath Jesus Christ now to him
raught,
By whom the flock is rightly fed, and taught :
He is the Shepheard, and the Priest is hee;
\Ve but his shepheard swaines ordain'd to bee.
Therefore herewith doo not your selfe dismay ;
Ne is the paines so great, but beare ye may,
For not so great, as it was wont of yore,
It's now a dayes, ne halfe so streight and sore.
They whilome used duly everie day
Their service and their holie things to say,
At morne and even, besides their Anthemes
sweete,
Theirpenie Masses, and their Com plynes meete,
Their Diriges, their Trentals, and their shrifts,
Their memories, their singings, and their gifts.
Now all those needlesse works are laid away ;
Now once a weeke, upon the Sabbath day,
It is enough to doo our small devotion,
And then to follow any merrie motion.
Ne are we tyde to fast, but when we list ;
Ne to weare garments base of wollen twist,
But with the finest silkes us to aray,
That before God we may appeare more gay,
Resembling Aarons glorie in his place:
For farre unfit it is, that person bace
Should with vile cloaths approach Gods
majestie,
Whom no uncleannes may approachen nie ;
Or that all men, which anie master serve,
Good garments for their service should deserve ;
But he that serves the Lord of boasts mosl
high,
And that in highest place, t' approach him
nigh,
And all the peoples prayers to present
Before his throne, as on ambassage sent
Both too and fro, should not deserve to weare
A garment better than of wooll or heare.
Beside, we may have lying by our sides
Our lovely Lasses, or bright shining Brides :
We be not tyde to wilfull chastitie,
But have the Gospell of free libertie.'
By that he ended had his ghostly sermon,
The Foxe was well induc'd to be a Parson,
And of the Priest eftsoones gan to enquire,
How to a Benefice he might aspire V
' Marie, there (said the Priest) is arte indeed :
Much good deep learning one thereout may
reed ;
For that the ground-worke is, and end of all,
How to ofataine a Beneficiall.
First, therefore, when ye have in handsome wise
Your selfe attyred. as you can devise,
Then to some Noble-man your selfe applye,
Or other great one in the world6s eye,
That hath a zealous disposition
To God, and so to his religion.
There must thou fashion eke a godly zeale,
Such as no carpers may contrayre reveale ;
For each thing fained ought more warie bee.
There thou must walke in sober gravitee,
And seeme as Saintlike as Saint Kadegund :
Fast much, pray oft, looke lowly on the ground,
And unto everie one doo curtesie meeke :
These lookes (nought saying) doo a benefice
seeke,
And be thou sure one not to lacke or long.
But if thee list unto the Court to throng,
And there to hunt after the hoped pray,
Then must thou thee dispose another way :
For there thou needs must learne to laugh, to
To face, to forge, to scoffe, to companie, [lie,
To crouche, to please, to be a beetle-stock
Of thy great Masters will, to scorne, or mock.
So maist thou chaunce mock out a Benefice,
Unlesse thou canst one conjure by device,
Or cast a figure for a Bishoprick ;
And if one could, it were but a schoole trick.
These be the wayes by which withaut reward
Livings in Court be gotten, thougn full hard ;
For nothing there is done without a fee :
The Courtier needes must recompenced bee
With a Benevolence, or have in gage
The Primitias of your Parsonage :
Scarse can a Bishoprick forpas them by,
But that it must be gelt in privitie.
Doo not thou therefore seeke a living there,
But of more private persons seeke elswhere,
Whereas thou maist compound a better penie,
Ne let thy learning question'd be of anie.
For some good Gentleman, that hath the right
Unto his Church for to present a wight,
Will cope with thee in reasonable wise;
That if the living yerely doo arise
To fortie pound, that then his yongest sonne
Shall twentie have, and twentie thou hast
wonne :
Thou hast it wonne, for it is of franke gift,
And he will care for all the rest to shift,
Both that the Bishop may admit of thee,
And that therein thou maist maintained bee.
This is the way for one that is unlern'd
Living to get, and not to be discern'd.
But they, that are great Clerkes, have nearer
wayes,
For learning sake to living them to raise ;
Yet manie eke of them (God wote) are driven
T' accept a Benefice in peeces riven. [ courst
How saist thou (friend) have I not well dis-
Upon this Common-place, (though plaine, not
wourst ?)
Better a short tale than a bad long shriving:
Needes anie more to learne to get a living ?'
' Now sure, and by my hallidome, (quoth he)
Ye a great master are in your degree :
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
[L. 547-646.
Great thankes I yeeld you for your discipline,
And doo not doubt but duly to encline
My wits theretoo, as ye shall shortly heare.'
The Priest him wisht good speed, and well to
fare:
So parted they, as cithers way them led.
But th' Ape and Foxe ere long so well them
Through the Priests holesome counsell lately
tought, [wroght.
And throgh their owne faire handling wisely
That they a Benefice twixt them obtained ;
And craftie Reynold was a Priest ordained,
And th' Ape his Parish Clarke procur'd to bee.
Then made they revell route and goodly glee ;
But, ere long time had passed, they so ill
Did order their affaires, that th' evill will
Of all their Parishners they had constraind ;
Who to the Ordinarie of them complaurd,
How fowlie they their offices abus'd,
And them of crimes and heresies accus'd,
That Pur.-ivants he often for them sent ;
But they neglected his commaunde'ment.
So long'persisted obstinate and bolde,
Till at the length he published to holde
A Visitation, and them cyted th ether :
Then was high time their wits about to
geather.
What did they then, but made a composition
With their next neighbor Priest, for light con-
dition,
To whom their living they resigned quight
For a few pence, and ran away by night.
So passing through the Countrey in disguize,
They fled farre off, where none might them
surprize ;
And after that long straicd here and there,
Through everie field and forrest farre and nere,
Yet never found occasion for their tourne,
But almost sterv'd did much lament and
mourne.
At last they chaunst to meete upon the way
The Mule all deckt in goodly rich aray,
With bells and bosses that full lowdly rung,
And costly trappings that to ground downe
hung.
Lowly they him saluted in meeke wise ;
But he through pride and fatnes gan despise
Their meanesse; scarce vouchsafte them to
requite.
Whereat the Foxe, deep groning in his sprite,
Said ; 'Ah ! sir Mule, now blessed be the day,
That I see you so goodly and so gay
In your attyres, and eke" your silken hyde
Fil'd with round flesh, that everie bone doth
hide.
Seemes that in fruitfull pastures ye doo live,
Or 1'ortune doth you secret favour" give.'
' Foolish Foxe (said the Mule) thy wretched
need
Praiseth the thing that doth thy sorrow breed :
For well I weene, thou canst not but envie
My wealth, compar'd to thine owne miserie,
That art so leane and meagre waxen late,
That scarse thy legs uphold thy feeble gate.'
' Ay me ! (said'then the Foxe) whom evill hap
Unworthy in such wretchednes doth wrap,
And makes the scorne of other beasts to bee :
But read (faire Sir, of grace) from whence come
yee;
Or what of tidings you abroad doo heare ?
Newes may perhaps some good unweeting
beare.'
' From royall Court I lately came (said he)
Where all the braverie that eye may see,
And all the happinesse that heart desire,
Is to be found : he nothing can admire,
That hath not seene that heavens portracture.
But tidings there is none, I you assure,
Save that which common is, and knowne to all
That Courtiers, as the tide, doo rise and fall.'
' But tell us (said the Ape) we doo you pray,
Who now in Court doth beare the greatest sway,
That, if such fortune doo to us befall,
We make seeke favour of the best of all ?'
' Marie, (said he) the highest now in grace
Be the wilde beasts, that swiftest are in
chase;
For in their speedie course and nimble flight
The Lyon now doth take the most delight;
But chieflie joyes on foote them to beholde,
Enchaste with chaine and circulet of golde.
So wilde a beast so tame j-taught to bee,
And buxome to his bands, is joy to see ;
So well his golden Circlet him beseemeth.
But his late chayne his Liege unmeete es-
teemeth ;
For so brave beasts she loveth best to see
In the wilde forrest raunging fresh and free.
Therefore if fortune thee in Court to live,
fn case thou ever there wilt hope to thrive,
To some of these thou must thy selfe apply ;
Els as a thistle-downe in th' ayre doth flie,
So vainly shalt thou too and fro be tost,
And loose thy labour and thy fruitles cost.
And yet full few which follow them, I see,
For vertues bare regard advaunced bee,
But either for some gainfull benefit,
Or that they may for their owne turnes be fit.
Nath'les perhaps ye things may handle soe,
That ye may better thrive than thousands moe.'
'But (said the Ape) how shall we first
come in,
That after we may favour seeke to win?'
' How els (said he) but with a good bold face,
And with big words, and with a stately pace,
I.. 647-752.]
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
519
That men may thinke of you in general!,
That to be in you which is not at all :
For not by that which is, the world now
deemeth,
(As itwas wont) butby that same that seemeth.
Ne do I doubt but that ye well can fashion
Your selves theretoo, according to occasion.
So fare ye well ; good Courtiers may ye bee !
So, proudlie neighing, from them parted hee.
Then gan this craftie couple to devize,
How for the Court themselves they might
aguize ;
For thither they themselves meant to addresse,
In hope to iinde there happier successe.
So well they shifted, that the Ape anon
Himselfe had cloathed like a Gentleman,
And the slie Foxe, as like to be his groome,
That to the Court in seemly sort they come ;
Where the fond Ape, himselfe uprearing hy
Upon his tiptoes, stalketh stately by,
As if he were some great Magnifico,
And boldlie doth amongst the boldest go ;
And his man Reynold, with fine counterfe-
saunce,
Supports his credite and his countenaunce.
Then gan the Courtiers gaze on everie side,
And stare on him, with big lookes basen wide,
Wondring what mister wight he was, and
whence :
For he was clad in strange accoustrements,
Fashion'd with queint devises, never scene
In Court before, yet there all fashions beene ;
Yet he them in newfanglenesse did pas.
But his behaviour altogether was
Alia Turchesca, much the more admyr'd ;
And his lookes loftie, as if he aspyr'd'
To dignitie, and sdeign'd the low degree; [see
That all which did such strangenesse in him
By secrete meanes gan of his state enquire,
And privily his servant thereto hire :
Who, throughly arm'd against such coverture,
Reported unto all, that he was sure
A noble Gentleman of high regard, [far'd,
Which through the world had with long travel
And seene the manners of all beasts on ground;
Now here arriv'd, to see if like he found.
Thus did the Ape at first him credit gaine,
Which afterwards he wisely did maintaine
With gallant showe, and daylie more augment
Through his fine fe.ites and Courtly comple-
ment; [spring,
For he could play, and daunce, and vaute, and
And all that els pertaines to reveling,
Onely through kindly aptnes of his joynts.
Besides, he could doo manie other poynts,
The which in Court him served to good stead;
For he mongst Ladies could their fortunes
read
Out of their hands, and merie leasings tell,
And juggle finely, that became him well.
But he so light was at legierdemaine,
That what he toucht came not to light againe;
Yet would he laugh it out, and proudly looke,
And tell them that they greatly him mistooke.
So would he scoffe them out with mockerie,
For be therein had great felicitie ;
And with sharp quips joy'd others to deface,
Thinking that their disgracing did him grace:
So whilst that other like vaine wits he pleased,
And made to laugh, his heart was greatly eased.
But the right gentle minde woulde bite his lip,
To heare the Javell so good men to nip ;
For, though the vulgar yeeld an open eare,
And common Courtiers love to gybe and fleare
At everie thing which they heare spoken ill,
And the best speaches with ill meaning spill,
Yet the brave Courtier, in whose beauteous
thought
Regard of honour harbours more than ought,
Doth loath such base condition, to backbite
Anies good name for envie or despite:
He stands on tearmes of honourable minde,
Ne will be carried with the common winde
Of Courts inconstant mutabilitie,
Ne after everie tattling fable flie;
But heares and sees the follies of the rest,
And thereof gathers for himselfe the best.
He will not creepe, norcrouche with fained face,
But walkes upright with comely stedfast pace,
And unto all doth yeeld due curtesie;
But not with kissed hand belowe the knee,
As that same Apish crue is wont to doo :
For he disdaines himselfe t' embase theretoo.
He hates fowle leasings, and vile flatterie,
Two filthie blots in noble gentrie ;
And lothefull idlenes he doth detest,
The canker worme of everie gentle brest ;
The which to banish with faire exercise
Of knightly feates, he daylie doth devise :
Now menaging the mouthes of stubborne
steedes,
Now practising the proofe of warlike deedes,
Now his bright armes assaying, now his speare,
Now the nigh aymed ring away to beare.
At other times he casts to sew the chacc
Of swift, wilde beasts, or runne on foote a race,
T' enlarge his breath, (large breath in armes
most needfull)
Dr els by wrestling to wex strong and heedfull,
Or his stiffe armes to stretch with Eughen
bowe,
And manly legs, still passing too and fro,
Without a gowned beast him fast beside,
A vaine ensample of the Persian pride ;
IVho, after he had wonnc th* Assyrian foe,
Did ever after scorne on foote to goe.
520
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
. 753-856.
Thus when this Courtly Gentleman with
toyle
Himselfe hath wearied, he cloth recoyle
Unto his rest, and there with sweete delight
Of Musicks skill revives his toyled spright;
Or els with Loves, and Ladies gentle sports,
The joy of youth, himselfe he recomforts;
Or lastly, when the bodie list to pause,
His minde unto the Muses he withdrawes :
Sweete Ladie Muses, Ladies of delight,
Delights of life, and ornaments of light!
With whom he close confers with wise dis-
course, [course,
Of Natures workes, of heavens continuall
Of forreine lands, of people different,
Of kingdomes change, of divers gouvernment,
Of dreadfull battailes of renowmed Knights ;
With which he kindleth his ambitious sprights
To like desire and praise of noble fame,
The onely upshot whereto he doth ayine :
For all his minde on honour fixed is,
To which he levels all his purposis,
And in his Princes service spends his dayes,
Not so much for to gaine, or for to raise
Himselfe to high degree, as for his grace,
And in his liking to winne worthie place,
Through due deserts and comely carriage,
In whatso please employ his personage,
That may be matter meete to gaine him praise :
For he is fit to use in all assayes,
Whether for Armes and warlike amenaunce,
Or else for wise and civill governaunce.
For he is practiz'd well in policie,
And thereto doth his Courting most applie :
To learne the enterdeale of Princes strange,
To marke th' intent of Counsells, and the
. change
Of states, and eke of private men somewhile,
Supplanted by fine falshood and faire guile ;
Of all the which he gathereth what is fit
T' enrich the storehouse of his powerfull wit,
Which through wise speaches and grave con-
ference
He daylie eekes, and brings to excellence.
Such is the rightfull Courtier in his kinde,
But unto such the Ape lent not his minde :
Such were for him no fit companions,
Such would descrie his lewd conditions ;
But the yong lustie gallants he did chose
To follow, meete to whom he might disclose
His witlesse pleasance, and ill pleasing vaine.
A thousand wayes he them could entertaine,
With all the thriftles games that may be
found ;
With mumming and with masking all around,
With dice, with cards, with halliards farre
unfit
With shuttelcocks. misseeiuing maiilie wir,
With courtizans, and costly riotize,
Whereof still somewhat to his share did rize :
Ne, them to pleasure, would he sometimes
scorne
A Pandares coate (so basely was he borne) .
Thereto he could fine loving verses frame,
And play the Poet oft. But ah ! for shame,
Let not sweete Poets praise, whose pnely pride
Is virtue to advaunce, and vice deride,
Ne with the worke of losels wit defamed,
Ne let such verses Poetrie be named !
Yet he the name on him would rashly take,
Maugre the sacred Muses, and it make
A servant to the vile affection •
Of such, as he depended most upon ;
And with the sugrie sweete thereof allure
Chast Ladies eares to fantasies impure.
To such delights the noble wits he led
Which him reliev'd, and their vaine humours
fed
With fruitles follies and unsound delights.
But if perhaps into their noble sprights
Desire of honor or brave thought of armes
Did ever creepe, then with his wicked charmes
And strong conceipts he would it drive away,
Ne suffer it to house there halfe a day.
And whenso love of letters did inspire
Their gentle wits, and kindle wise desire,
That chieflie doth each noble minde adorne,
Then he would scoffe at learning, and eke
The Sectaries thereof, as people base [scorne
And simple men, which never came in place
Of worlds affaires, but, in darke corners mewd,
Muttred of matters as their bookes them
shewd,
Ne other knowledge ever did attaine,
But with their gownes their gravitie maintaine.
From them he would his impudent lewde
.speach
Against Gods holie Ministers oft reach,
And mocke Divines and their profession.
What else then did he by progression,
But mocke high God himselfe, whom they
professe ?
But what car'd he for God, or godlinesse ?
All his care was himselfe how to advaunce,
And to uphold his courtly countenaunce
By all the cunning meanes he could devise :
Were it by honest wayes, or otherwise,
He made small choyce ; yet sure his honestie
Got him small gaines, but shameies rlatterie,
And filthie brocage, and unseemly shifts,
And borowe base, and some good Ladies gifts :
But the best helpe, which chiefly him sustain'd,
Was his man Raynolds purchase which he
gain'd.
For he was school'd by kinde in all the skill
Of close conveyance, "and each practise ill
857-958.]
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
52'
Of coosinage and cleanly knaverie,
/Which oft maintain'd his masters braverie.
Besides, he usde another slipprie slight,
In taking on himselfe, in common sight,
False personages fit for evene sled,
With which he thousands cleanly coosined : .
Now like a Merchant, Merchants to deceave,
With whom his credite he did often leave
In gage for his gay Masters hopelesse dett •
Now like a Lawyer, when he land would lett,
Or sell fee-simples in his Masters name.
Which he had never, nor ought like the same.
Then would he be a Broker, and draw in
Both wares and money, by exchange to win :
Then would he seeme a farmer, that would
sell
Bargaines of woods, which he did lately fell,
Or corne, or cattle, or such other ware,
Thereby to coosin men not well aware :
Of all the which there came a secret fee, [bee.
To th' Ape, that he his counte.iaunce might
Besides all this, he us'd oft to beguile
Poore suters, that in Court did haunt some
while ;
For he would learne their busines secretly,
And then informe his Master hastely,
That he by meanes might cast them to pre-
vent,
And beg the sute the which the other ment.
Or otherwise false Reynold would abuse
The simple Suter, and wish him to chuse
His Master, being one of great regard
In Court, to coaipas anie sute not hard,
In case his paines were recompenst with
reason.
So would he worke the silly man by treason
To buy his Masters frivolous good will,
That had not power to doo him good or ill.
So pitifull a thing is Suters state !
Most miserable man, whom wicked fate
Hath brought to Court, to sue for had ywist,
That few have found, and manie one hath
mist!
Full little knowest thou, that hast not tride,
What hell it is in suing long to bide :
To loose good dayes, that might be better
spent;
To wast long nights in pensive discontent ;
To speed to day, to be put back to morrow ;
To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow ;
To have thy Princes grace, yet want her
Peeres ;
To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres ;
To fret thy sou'e with crosses and with cares ;
To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dis-
paires ; £ronne,
To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to
To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.
Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end,
That doth his life in so long tendance spend !
Who ever leaves sweete home, where meane
estate
In safe assurance, without strife or hate,
Findes all things needfull for contentment
meeke,
And will to Court for shadowes vaine to seeke,
Or hope to gaine, himselfe will a daw trie:
That curse God send unto mine enemie !
For none but such as this bold Ape, unblest,
Can ever thrive in that unluckie quest ;
Or such as hath a Reynold to his man,
That by his shifts his Master furnish can.
But yet this Foxe could not so closely hide
His craftie feates, but that they were'descride
At length by such as sate in justice seate,
Who for the same him fowlie did entreate;
And having worthily him punished,
Out of the Court for ever banished.
And now the Ape wanting his huckster man,
That wont provide his necessaries, gan
To growe into great lacke, ne could upholde
His countenance in those his garments olde;
Ne new ones could he easily provide,
Though all men him uncased gan deride,
Like as a Puppit placed in a play,
Whose part once past all men bid take away :
So that he driven was to great distresse,
And shortly brought to hopelesse wretched-
nesse.
Then, closely as he might, he cast to leave
The Court, not asking any passe or leave ;
But ran away in his rent rags by night,
Ne ever stayd in place, ne spake to wight,
Till that the Foxe, his copesmate he had found,
To whome complayning his unhappy stound,
At last againe with him in travel! joynd,
And with him far'd some better chaunce to
fynde.
So in the world long time they wandered,
And mickle want and hardnesse suffered ;
That them repented much so foolishly
To come so farre to seeke for misery,
And leave the sweetnes of contented home,
Though eating hipps, and drinking watry fome.
Thus as they them complayned too and fro,
Whilst through the forest rechlesse they did
goe,
Lo ! where they spide, how, in a gloomy glade,
The Lyon sleeping lay in secret shade,
His Crowne and Scepter lying him beside,
And having doft for heate his dreadfull hide :
Which when they sawe. the Ape was sore
afrayde,
And would' have fled with terror all dismayde.
But him the Foxe with hardy words did s'tay,
And bad him put all cowardize away :
522
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
[L. 959-1060.
For now was time (if ever they would hope)
To ayme their counsels to the fairest scope,
And "them for ever highly to advaunce,
In case the good, which their owne happie
chaunce
Them freely offred, they would wisely take.
Scarse could the Ape yet speake, so did he
quake ; [growe
Yet, as he could, he askt how good might
Where nought but dread and death do seeme
in show ? f sound,
'Now, (sayd he) whiles the Lyon sleepeth
May we his Crowne and Mace take from the
ground,
And eke his skinne, the terror of the wood,
Wherewith we may our selves (if we thinke
good)
Make Kings of Beasts, and Lords of forests all
Subject unto that powre imperiall.' [wretch,
' Ah ! but .(sayd the Ape) who is so bold a
That dare his hardy hand to those outstretch,
When as he knowes his ineede, if he be spide,
To be a thousand deathes, and shame beside ?'
' Fond Ape ! (sayd then the Foxe) into whose
brest
Never crept thought of honor, nor brave gest,
Who will not venture life a King to be,
And rather rule and raigne in sovereign see,
Than dwell in dust inglorious and bace,
Where none shall name the number of his
place?
One joyous howre in blisfull happines,
I chose before a life of wretchednes.
Be therefore counselled herein by me,
And shake off this vile harted cowardree.
If he awake, yet is not death the next,
For we may coulor it with some pretext
Of this, or that, that may excuse the cryme :
Else we may flye ; thou to a tree mayst clyme,
And I creepe" under ground, both from his
reach:
Therefore be rul'd to doo as I doo teach.'
The Ape, that earst did nought bnt chill
and quake,
Now gan some courage unto him to take,
And was content to attempt that enterprise,
Tickled with glorie and rash covetise :
But first gan question, whether should assay
Those royall ornaments to steale away?
' Marie, that shall your selfe, (quoth he theretoo)
For ye be fine and nimble it to doo ;
Of all the beasts, which in the forrests bee,
Is not a fitter for this turne than yee:
Therefore, my owne deare brother, take good
hart.
And ever thinke a Kingdome is your part.'
Loath was the Ape, though praised, to adventer,
Yet faintly gan into his worke to enter,
AfraJd of everie leafe that stir'd him by,
And everie stick that underneath did ly,
Upon his tiptoes nicely he up went,
For making noyse, and still his eare he lent
To everie sound that under heaven blew ;
Now went, now stopt, now crept, now back-
ward drew,
That it good sport had been him to have eyde :
Yet at the last, (so well he him applyde)
Through his fine handling, and his cleanly play,
He all those royall signes had stolne away,
And with the Foxes helpe them borne aside
Into a secret corner unespide.
Whither whenas they came they fell at words,
Whether of them should be the Lord of Lords :
For th' Ape was stryfull, and ambicious;
And the Foxe guile'full, and most covetous ;
That neither pleased was to have the rayne
Twixt them divided into even twaine,
But either (algates) would be Lords alone ;
For Love and Lordship bide no paragone.
'I am most worthie, (said the Ape) sith I
For it did put my life in jeopardie :
Thereto I am in person and in stature
Most like a Man, the Lord of everie creature,
So that it seemeth I was made to raigne,
And borne to be a Kingly soveraigne.'
' Nay (said the Foxe) Sir Ape, you are astray :
For though to steale the Diademe away
Were the worke of your nimble hand, yet f
Did first devise the plot by pollicie ;
So that it wholly ^pringeth from my wit :
For which also I claime my selfe more fit
Than you to rule ; for government of state
Will without wisedome soone be ruinate.
And where ye claime your selfe for outward
shape
Most like a man, Man is not like an Ape
In his chiefe parts, that is, in wit and spirite ;
But I therein most like to him doo merite,
For my slie wyles and subtill craftinesse,
The title of the Kingdome to possesse.
Nath'les (my brother} since we passed are
Unto this point, we will appease our Jarre ;
And I with reason meete will rest content,
That ye shall have both crowne and govern-
ment,
Upon condition, that ye ruled bee
In all affaires, and counselled by mee ;
And that ye let none other ever drawe
Your minde from me, but keepe this as a lawe :
And hereupon an oath unto me plurht.'
The Ape was glad to end the str.fe so light,
And thereto swore; for who would not oft
sweare,
And oft unsweare, a Diademe to beare ?
Then freely up those royall spoyles he tooke;
Yet at the Lyons skin he inly quooke;
L. I06l-Il66.]
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
5*3
Jut it dissembled, and upon his head
^he Crowne, and on his backe the skin he did,
\.nd the false Foxe him helped to array.
?hen, when he was all dight, he tooke his way
nto the forest, that he might be scene
)f the wilde beasts in his new glory sheene.
iTiere the two first whome he encountred were
fhe Sheepe and th' Asse, who, striken both
with feare,
At sight of him, gan fast away to flye ;
iut unto them the Foxe alowd did cry,
And in the Kings name bad them both to stay,
Jpon the payne that thereof follow may.
lardly, naythles, were they restrayned so,
fill that the Foxe forth toward them did goe,
And there disswaded them from needlesse feare,
'or that the King did favour to them beare ;
And therefore dreadles bad them come to Corte,
for no wild beasts should do them any torte
There or abroad; ne would his majestye
Jse them but well, with gracious clemencye,
As whome he knew to him both fast and true.
5o he perswaded them, with homage due
Themselves to humble to the Ape prostrate,
Vho, gently to them bowing in his gate,
•teceyved them with chearefull entertayne.
Thenceforth proceeding with his princely
trayne,
Ele shortly met the Tygre, and the Bore,
iVhich with the simple Camell raged sore
"n bitter words, seeking to take occasion
Jpon his fleshly corpse to make invasion :
3ut, soone as they this mock-King did espy,
rheir troublous strife they stinted by and by,
Thinking indeed that it the Lyon was.
rle then, to prove whether his powre would pas
As currant, sent the Foxe to them streightway,
3ommaunding them their cause of strife be-
wray;
And, if that wrong on eyther side there were,
That he should warne the wronger to appeare
The morrow next at Court, it to defend ;
In the mean-time upon the King t' attend.
The subtile Foxe so well his message sayd,
That the proud beasts him readily obayd :
kVhereby the Ape in wondrous stomack woxe,
strongly encorag'd by the crafty Foxe ;
That King indeed himselfe he shortly thought,
And all the Beasts him feared as they ought,
And followed unto his palaice 113-6 ;
Where taking Conge', each one by and by
Departed to his home in dreadfull awe,
Full of the feared sight which late they
sawe.
The Ape, thus seized of the Kegall throne,
F.ftsones by counsell of the Foxe alone,
Gan to provide for all things in assurance,
1'hat so his rule might lenger have endurance.
First to his Gate he pointed a strong gard,
That none might enter but with issue hard :
Then, for the safegard of his personage,
He did appoint a warlike equipage
Of forreine beasts, not in the forest bred,
But part by land and part by water fed ;
For tyrannic is with strange ayde supported.
Then unto him all monstrous beasts resorted
Bred of two kindes, as Griffons, Minotaures,
Crocodiles, Dragons, Beavers, and Centaures :
With those himselfe he strengthned mightelie,
That feare he neede no force of cnemie.
Then gan he rule and tyrannize at will,
Like as the Foxe did guide his graceles skill ;
And all wylde beasts made vassals of his
pleasures, f treasures.
And with their spoyles enlarg'd his private
No care of justice, nor no rule of reason,
No temperance, nor no regard of season,
Did thenceforth ever enter in his minde ;
But crueltie, the signe of currish kinde,
And sdeignfull pride, and wilfull arrogaunce :
Such followes those whom fortune doth ad-
vaunce.
But the false Foxe most kindly plaid his
For whatsoever mother-wit or arte [part;
Could worke, he put in proofe : no practise slie,
No counterpoint of cunning policie,
No reach, no breach, that might him profit
bring,
But he the same did to his purpose wring.
Nought suffered he the Ape to give or graunt,
But through his hand must passe the Fiuiint.
All offices, all leases by him lept,
And of them all whatso he likte he kept.
Justice he solde injustice for to buy,
And for to purchase for his progeny.
Ill might it prosper that ill gotten was ;
But, so he got it, little did he pas.
He fed his cubs with fat of all the soyle,
And with the sweete of others sweating toyle;
He crammed them with crumbs of Benefices,
And fild their mouthes with meeds of male-
fices:
Hecloathed them with all colours, save white,
And loded them with lordships and with might,
So much as they were able well to beare,
That with the weight their backs nigh broken
were :
He chaffred Cliayres in which Churchmen
were set,
And breach of lawes to privie ferme did let:
No statute so established might bee,
Nor ordinaunce so needfuli, but that hee
Would violate, though not with violence,
Yet under colour of the confidence
The which the Ape repos'd in him alone,
And reckned him the kingdomes corner stono.
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
[L. 1167-1268.
And ever, -when he ought would bring to pas,
His long experience the platforme was :
And. when he ought not pleasing would put by
The cloke was care of thrift, and husbandry,
For to encrease the common treasures store ;
But his owne treasure he encreased more,
And lifted up his loftie towres thereby,
That they began to threat the neighbour sky;
The whiles the Princes pallaces fell fast
To ruine (for what thing can ever last?)
And whilest the other Peeres, for povertie,
Were forst their auncient houses to let lie,
And their olde Castles to the ground to fall,
Which their forefathers, famous over-all,
Had founded for the Kingdomes ornament,
And for their memories long raoniment :
But he no count made of Xobilitie,
Xor the wilde beasts whom armes did glorifie,
The Kealmes chiefe strength and girlond
the crowne, [adowne,
All these through fained crimes he thrust
Or made them dwell in darknes of disgrace ;
For none, but whom he list, might come in
place.
Of men of armes he had but small regard,
But kept them lowe, and streigned verie hard.
For men of learning little he esteemed ;
His wisdome he above their learning deemed.
As for the rascall Commons least he cared,
For not so common was his bountie shared :
Let God, (said he) if please, care for the manie.
I for my selfe must care before els anie.
So did he good to none, to manie ill,
So did he all the kingdome rob and pill,
Yet none durst speake, ne none durst of him
plaine, [gaine.
So great he was in grace, and rich through
Ne would he anie let to have accesse
Unto the Prince, but by his owne addresse,
For all that els did come were sure to faiie.
Yet would he further none but for availe ;
For on a time the Sheepe, to whom of yore
The Foxe had promised of friendship store,
What time the Ape the kingdome first did
gaine, [plaine;
Came to the Court, her case there to corn-
How that the Wolfe, her mortall enemie,
Had sithence slaine her Lambe most cruellie,
And therefore crav'd to come unto the King,
To let him knowe the order of the thing.
' Soft, Gooddie Sheepe ! (then said the Foxe)
not soe :
Unto the King so rash ye may not goe ;
He is with greater matter busied
Than a Lambe, or the Lambes owne mothers
bed,
Ne, certes, may I take it well in part,
That ye my cousin Wolfe so fowly thwart,
And seekewith slaunder his good name to blot;
For there was cause, els doo it he would not :
Therefore surcease, good Dame, and hence
depart.'
So went the Sheepe away with heavie hart :
So many moe, so everie one was used,
That to give largely to the boxe refused.
Now when high Jove, in whose almightie
hand [stand,
The care of Kings and power of Empires
Sitting one day within his turret hye, [eye,
From whence he vewes, with his black-lidded
Whatso the heaven in his wide vawte con-
taines,
And all that in the deepest earth remaines,
And troubled kingdome of wilde beasts be-
helde,
Whom not their kindly Sovereigne did welde,
of But an usurping Ape, with guile suborn'd,
Had all subverst, he sdeignfully it scorn'd
In his great heart, and hardly did refraine,
But that with thunder bolts he had him slaine,
And driven downe to hell, his dewest meed :
But, him avizing, he that dreadfull deed
Forbore, and rather chose with scornfull shame
Him to avenge, and blot his brutish name
Unto the world, that never after anie
Should of his race be voyd of infamie ;
And his false counsellor, the cause of all,
To damne to death, or dole perpetuall,
From whence he never should bequit, norstal'd.
Forthwith he Mercuric unto him cal'd,
And bad him flie with never-resting speed
Unto the forrest, where wilde beasts doo breed,
And there enquiring privily, to learne
What did of late chaunce happen to the Lyon
stearne,
That he rul'd not the Empire, as he ought?
And whence were all those plaints unto him
brought
Of wronges, and spoyles. by salvage beasts
committed ?
Which done, he bad the Lyon be remitted
Into his seate, and those same treachours vile
Be punished for their presumptuous guile.
The Sonne of Maia, soone as he receiv'd
That word, streight with his azure wings he
cleav'd
The liquid clowdes, and lucid firmament ;
Ne staid, till that he came with steep descent
Unto the place where his prescript did showe.
There stouping, like an arrowe from a bowe,
He soft arrived on the grassie plaine.
And fairly paced forth with easie paine,
Till that unto the Pallace nigh he came.
Then gan he to himselfe new shape to frame;
And that faire face, and that Ambrosiall hew,
Which wonts to decke the Gods im mortall crew
t. 1269-1368.]
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
525
And beautefie the shinie firmament,
He doft, unfit for that rude rabblement.
•>o, standing by the gates in strange disguize,
He gan enquire of some in secret wize,
Both of the King, and of his government,
And of the Foxe, and his false blandishment :
And evermore he heard each one complaine
f fotile abuses both in realme and raine ;
Which yet to prove more true he meant to see,
And an ey-witnes of each thing to bee.
fbo on his head his dreadfull hat he dight,
Which maketh him invisible in sight,
And mocketh th' eyes of all the lookers on,
Making them thinke it but a vision.
Through power of that he runnes through
enemies swerds; [herds
Through power of that he passeth through the
3f ravenous wilde beasts, and doth beguile
Their greedie mouthes of the expected spoyle ;
Through power of that his cunning theeveries
He wonts to worke, that none the same espies ;
And, through the power of that, he putteth on
What shape he list in apparition.
That on his head he wore, and in his hand
He tooke Caduceus, his snakie wand,
With which the damned ghosts he governeth,
And furies rules, and Tartare tempereth.
With that he causeth sleep to seize the eyes,
And feare the harts of all his enemyes ;
And, when him list, an universal! night
Throughout the world he makes on everie
As when his Syre with Alcumena lay. [wight;
Thus dight, into the Court he tooke his
way, [scride,
Both through the gard, which never him de-
And through the watchmen, who him never
spide :
Thenceforth he past into each secrete part,
Whereas he saw, that sorely griev'd his hart,
Each place abounding with fowle injuries,
And fild with treasure rackt with robberies ;
Each place defilde with blood of guiltles
beasts, [beheasts:
Which had been slaine to serve the Apes
Gluttonie, malice, pride, and covetize,
And lawlesnes raigning with riotize;
Besides the infinite extortions,
Done through the Foxes great oppressions,
That the complaints thereof could not be
tolde.
Which when he did with lothfull eyes beholde,
He would no more endure, but came his way,
And cast to seeke the Lion where he may,
That he might worke the avengement for this
shame [blame.
On those two caytives, which had bred him
And, seeking all the forrest busily,
At last he found, where sleeping he did ly.
The wicked weed, which there the Foxe uiu
lay,
From underneath his head he tooke away,
And then him waking, forced up to rize.
The Lion looking up gan him avize,
As one late in a traunce, what had of long
Become of him ; for fantasie is strong.
1 Arise, (said Mercuric) thou sluggish beast,
That here liest senseles, like the corpse deceast,
The whilste thy kingdoms from thy head is
rent,
And thy throne royall with dishonour blent:
Arise, and doo thyself redeeme from shame.
And be aveng'd" on those that breed thy
blame.'
Thereat enraged, soone he gan upstart,
Grinding his teeth, and grating his great
hart;
And. rouzing up himselfe, for his rough hide
He gan to reach, but no where it espide.
Therewith he gan full terribly to rore, ,
And chafte at that indignitie right sore :
But when his Crowne and scepter both he
wanted, [panted ;
Lord! how he fum'd, and sweld, and rag'd, and
And threatned death, and thousand deadly
dolours, [ honours.
To them that had purloyn'd his Princely
With that in hast, disroabed as he was,
He toward his owne Pallace forth did pas ;
And all the way he roared as he went,
That all the forrest with astonishment
Thereof did tremble, and the beasts therein
Fled fast away from that so dreadfull din.
At last he came unto his mansion,
Where all the gates he found fast lockt anon,
And Minnie warders round about them stood :
With that he roar'd alowd, as he were wood,
That all the Pallace quaked at the stound,
As if it quite were riven from the ground,
And all within were dead and hartles left:
And th' Ape himselfe, as one whose wits were
reft,
Fled here and there, and everie corner sought,
To hide himselfe from his owne feared thought
But the false Foxe, when he the Lion heard,
Fled closely forth, streightway of death
afeard,
And to the Lion came, full lowly creeping.
With fained face, and watrie eyne halfe
weeping,
T" excuse his former treason and abusion,
And turning all unto the Apes confusion.
Nath'les the royall Beast forbore beleeving,
But bad him stay at ease till further preeving.
Then, when ne saw no' entraunce to him
graunted,
Roaring yet lowder that all harts it daunted,
5*6
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE.
[L. 1369-1388.
Upon those gates with force he fiercely flewe,
And, rending them in pieces, felly slewe
The Foxe, first Author of that treacherie,
He did uncase, and then away let flie :
Those warders strange, and all that els he But th' Apes long taile (which then he had)
met. [get:
But th' Ape still flying he no where might
From rowme to rowme, from beam to beame
he fled
All breathles, and for feare now almost ded ;
Yet him at last the Lyon spide. and caught,
And forth with shame unto his judgement
brought.
Then all the beasts he caus'd assembled bee,
To heare their doome, and sad ensample see.
he quight
Cut off, and both eares pared of their hight ;
Since which all Apes but halfe their eares
have left.
And of their tailes are utterlie bereft.
So Mother Hubberd her discourse did end,
Which pardon me, if I amisse have pend ;
For weake was my remembrance it to hold,
And bad her tongue that it so bluntly
tolde.
THE RUINES OF ROME:
BY BELLA!'.
YE heavenly spirites, whose ashie cinders lie
Under deep ruines, with huge walls opprest,
But not your praise, the which shall never die
Through your faire verses, ne in ashes rest ;
If so be shrilling voyce of wight alive
May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell,
Then let those deep Abysses open rive,
That ye may understand my shreiking yell.
Thrice having seene under the heavens veale
Your toombs devoted compasse over-all,
Thrice unto you with lowd voyce I appeale,
And for your antique furie here doo call,
The whiles that I with sacred horror sing
Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing \
ii
Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise,
And sharped steeples high shot up in ayre ;
Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze,
And Nylus nurslings their Pyramides faire ;
The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie
Of Joves great Image in Olympus placed;
Mausolus worke will be the Carians glorie;
And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced:
The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth
The great Colosse, erect to Memorie ;
And what els in the world is of like worth,
Some greater learned wit will magnifie :
But I will sing above all moniments
Seven Romane Hils, the worlds Seven Won-
derments.
in
Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome here
seekest,
And nought of Rome in Rome perceiv'st at all,
These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou
seest,
Olde Palaces, is that which Rome men call.
Beholde what wreake, what ruine, and what
wast, [powrf!
And how that she. which with her mightie
Tam'd all the world, hath tam'd herselfe at.
last ; [devowre -
The pray of time, which all things doth
Rome now of Rome is th' onely funerall,
And onely Rome of Rome hath victorie ;
Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall
Remaines of all. O worlds inconstancie !
That which is firme doth flit and fall away.
And that is flitting doth abide and stay.
IV
She, whose high top above the starres did sore,
One foote on Thetis, th' other on the Morning,
One hand on Scythia, th' other on the More,
Both heaven and earth in roundnesse com-
passing ;
Jove fearing, least if she should greater growe,
The Giants old should once again uprise,
Her whelm'd with hills, these seven nils, which
benowe [skies:
Tombes of her greatnes which did threate the
Upon her head he heapt Mount Saturnal,
Upon her bellie th' antique Palatine.
Upon her stomacke laid Mount Quirinal,
On her left hand the noysome Esquiline,
And Caslian on the right ; but both herfeete
Mount Vimiuall and Aventine doo meete.
v
Who lists to see what ever nature, arte, [se«v
And heaven could doo, O Rome ! thee let him
59-144- ]
THE RUINES OF ROME.
527
In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte,
By that which but the picture is of thec.
/Rome is uo more : but if the shade of Rome
[May of the bodie yeeld a seeming sight,
It's like a corse drawnc forth out of the tombe
I By Magicke skill out of eternall night
The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed,
And her great spirite, rejoyned to the spirite
Of this great masse, is in the same enwoinbed;
But her brave writings, which her famous
merite
In spight of time out of the dust doth reare,
Doo make her Idole through the world
appeare.
VI
uch as the Berecynthian Goddesse bright,
her swifte charret with high turrets crownde,
'roud that so manie Gods she brought to light;
uch was this Citie in her good daies fownd :
'his Citie, more than that great Phrygian
mother
lenowm'd for fruite of famous progenie,
Vhose greatnes by the greatnes of none other,
iut by her selfe, her equall match could see.
lome" onely might to Rome compared bee,
.nd onely Rome could make great Rome to
tremble :
>o did the Gods by heavenly doome decree,
hat other earthlie power should not resemble
Her that did match the whole earths
puissaunce, [vaunce.
And did her courage to the heavens ad-
This peoples vertue yet so fruitfull was
Of vertuous nephewes, that posteritie,
Striving in power their grandfathers to passe,
The lowest earth join'd to the heaven hie;
To th' end that, having all parts in their
power, [quight ;
Nought from the Romane Empire might be
And that though time doth Commonwealths
devowre,
Yet no time should so low embase their hight,
That her head, earth'd in her foundations
deep,
Should not her name and endles honour
keep.
IX
Ye cruell starrea, and eke yc Gods unkmde,
Heaven envious, and bitter stepdame Nature !
Be it by fortune, or by course of kinde,
That ye doo weld th' affaires of earthlie crea-
ture;
Why have your hands long sithence travelled
To frame this world that doth endure so long ?
Or why were not these Romane palaces
Made of some matter no less firme and strong ?
I say not, as the common voyce doth say,
That all things which beneath the Moonc have
Are temporall, and subject to decay : [ being
But I say rather, though not all agreeing
With some that weene the contrarie in
thought,
That all this whole shall one day come to
nought.
'e sacred ruines, and ye tragick sights,
Vhich onely doo the name of Rome retaine,
)lde moniments, which of so famous sprights
'he honour yet in ashes doo maintaine ;
'riumphant Arcks, spyres, neighbours to the
skie,
'hat you to see doth th' heaven it selfe appall ;
Uas ! by little ye to nothing flie,
'he peoples fable, and the spoyle of all :
And though your frames do for a time make
warre
Jainst time, yet time in time shall ruinate
'our workes and names, and your lastreliqtics
marre.
Vly sad desires, rest therefore moderate ;
*For if that time make ende of things so sure,
It als will end the paine which I endure.
lirough arnics and vassals Rome the world
subdu'd, [strengtl
"hat one would weene that one sole Cities
loth land and sea in roundnes had survew'd,
.'o be the measure of her bredth and length :
As that brave sonne of Aeson, which by
charmes
Atcheived the golden Fleece in Colchid laud,
Out of the earth engendred men of armes
Of Dragons teeth, sowue in the sacred sand;
So this brave Towne, that in her youthlic daies
An Hvdra was of warriours glorious,
Did till with her renowmed nourslings praiso
The lirie sunnes both one and other hous :
But they at last, there being then not living
An Hercules so ranke seed to represse,
Emongst themselves with cruell furie striving,
Mow'd downe themselves with slaughter mer-
cilesse ;
Renewing in themselves that rage unkinde,
Which whilom did those earthborn brethren
blinde.
Mars, shaming to have given so great head
To his off-spring, that niortall puissaunce,
Puft up with pride of Romane hardiehead,
Secm'd above heavens powre it selfe to a
vaunce ;
5*8
THE RtJINES OF ROME.
[L. 145-234-
Cooling againe his former kindled heate,
With which he had those Romane spirits fild,
Did blowe new fire, and with enflamed breath
Into the Gothicke colde hot rage instil'd.
Then gan that Nation, th' earths new Giant
brood,
To dart abroad the thunder bolts of warre,
And, beating downe these walls with furious
mood
Into her mothers bosome, all did marre ;
Toth' end that none, all were it Jove his sire,
Should boast himselfe of the Komane Empire
XII
Like as whilome the children of the earth
Heapt hils on hils to scale the starrie skie,
And fight against the Gods of heavenly berth
Whiles Jove at them his thunderbolts let Hie,
All suddenly with lightning overthrowne,
The furious squadrons downe to ground die
fall,
[grone
That th' earth under her childrens weight did
And th' heavens in glorie triumpht over all :
So did that haughtie front, which heaped was
On these seven Komane hils, it selfe upreare
Over the world, and lift her loftie face
Against the heaven, that gan her force to feare.
But now these scorned fields bemone her
fall,
And Gods secure feare not her force at all.
Nor the swift furie of the flames aspiring,
Nor the deep wounds of victours raging blade,
Nor ruthlesse spoyle of souldiers blood-desiring,
The which so oft thee, (Rome) their conquest
Ne stroke on stroke of fortune variable, [made ;
Ne rust of age hating continuance,
Nor wrath of Gods, nor spight of men unstable,
Northouoppos'd against thine owne puissance ;
Nor th' horrible uprore of windes high blowing,
Nor swelling streames of that God snakie-
paced,
Which hath so often with his overflowing
Thee drenched, have thy pride so much abaced,
But that this nothing, which they have
thee left, ' [reft.
Makes the world wonder what they from thee
XIV
As men in Summer fearles passe the foord
Which is in Winter lord of all the plaine,
A.nd with his tumbling streames doth beare
aboord
[vaine:
The ploughmans hope and shepheards labour
And as the coward beasts use to despise
The robie Lion after his lives end, [hardise
Whetting their teeth, and with vaine fool-
Daring the foe that cannot him defend :
And as at Troy most dastards of the Greekes
Did brave about the corpes of Hector colde ;
So those, which whilome wont with pallii
cheekes
The Romane triumphs glorie to behold, [vaine
Now on these ashie tombes shew boldnesse
And, conquer'd, dare the Conquerour dis
daine.
xv
Ye pallid spirits, and ye ashie ghoasts,
Which, joying in the brightnes of your day,
Brought foorth those signes of your presump-
tuous boasts
Which now their dusty reliques do bewray ;
Tell me, ye spirits, (sith the darksome river
Of Styx, not passable to soules returning,
Enclosing you in thrice three wards for ever,
Doo not restraine your images still mourning''
Tell me then, (for perhaps some one of you
Yet here above him secretly doth hide)
Doo ye not feele your torments to accrewe,
When ye sometimes behold the ruin'd pride
Of these old Romane works, built with your
hands,
Now to become nought els but heaped sands'
XVI
Like as ye see the wrathfull Sea from farre
In a great mountaine heap't with hideous
noyse,
Eftsoones of thousand billowes shouldred narre
Against a Rocke to breake with dreadful:
poyse :
Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharpe blast
Tossing huge tempests through the troubled
skie,
Eftsoones having his wide wings spent in wast,
To stop his wearie cariere suddenly :
And as ye see huge flames spred diverslie,
"athered in one up to the heavens to spyre,
Eftsoones consum'd to fall downe feebily,
So whilom did this Monarchic aspyre,
As waves, as winde, as fire, spred over all,
Till it by fatall doome adowne did fall.
5o long as Joves great Bird did make his flight,
Bearing the fire with which heaven doth us fray,
3eaven had not feare of that presumptuous
might,
rvith which the Giaunts did the Gods assay:
But all so soone as scortching Sunne had brent
His wings which wont the earth to overspredd,
The earth out of her massie wombe forth sent,
That
antique
adredd.
which made heaven
Then was the Germane Raven in disguise
That Romane Eagle scene to cleave asunder,
1, 235-322.]
THE RUINES OF ROME.
5*9
And towards heaven freshly to arise
Out of these mouutaines, now con sum \l to
pouder; [lightning,
In which the foule, that serves to beare the
la now 110 more seen flying, nor alighting.
These heapes of stones, these old wals, which
ye see,
Were first enclosures but of salvage soyle ;
And these brave Pallaces, which may st red bee
Of time, were shepheards cottages somewhile.
Then tooke the shepheards Kingly ornaments,
And the stout hynde arm'd his right hand with
steele :
Kftsoones their rule of yearely Presidents
Grew great, and sixe months greater a great
deele ;
Which, madeperpetuall, rose to so great might,
That thence th' Imperiall Eagle rooting tooke,
Till th' heaven it selfe, opposing gainst her
Her power to Peters successor betooke ; [might,
Who, shepheardlike, (as fates the same
foreseeing)
Doth shew that all things turne to their first
being.
xix
All that is perfect, which th' heaven beautefies;
All that's imperfect, borne belowe the Moone ;
All that doth feede our spirits and our eies,
And all that doth consume our pleasures soone ;
All the mishap the which our dales outweares,
All the good hap of th' oldest times afore,
Rome, in the time of her great ancestors,
Like a Pandora, locked long in store.
But destinie this huge Chaos turmoyling,
In which all pood and evill was enclosed,
Their heavenly vertues from these woes as-
soyling,
Caried to heaven, from sinfull bondage losed :
But their great sinnes, the causers of their
paine,
Under these antique mines yet remaine.
xx
No otherwise than raynie cloud, first fed
With earthly vapours gathered in the ayre,
Eftsoones in cotnpas arch't, to steepe his hed,
Doth plonge himselfe in Tethys bosome faire ;
And, mounting up againe from whence he came,
With his great bellie spreds the dimmed world,
Till at the last, dissolving his moist frame,
In raine, or snowe. or haile. he forth is horld ;
This Citie, which was first butshepheards shade,
Uprising by degrees, grewe to such height,
That Queene of land and sea her selfe she
made.
At last, not able to beare so great weight,
Her power, dispcrst through all the world
did vade ; [fade.
To shew that all in th' end to nought shall
The same, which Pyrrhus and the puissaunce
Of Afrike could not tame, that same braveCitie,
Which, with stout courage arm'd against mis-
chaunce,
Sustein'd the shocke of common enmitie ;
Long as her ship, tost with so manic freakes,
Had all the world in annes against her bent,
Was never scene, that anie fortunes wreakes
Jould breake her course begun with brave
intent.
But, when the object of her vertue failed,
Her power it selfe against it selfe did arme ;
As he that having long in tempest sailed,
Faine would arive, but cannot for the storme,
If too great winde against the port him drive,
Doth in the port it selfe his vessell rive.
When that brave honour of the Latine name,
Which mear'd her rule with Africa, and Byze,
With Thames inhabitants of noble fame,
And they which see the dawning day arize ;
Her nourslings did with mutinous uprore
Harten against her selfe her conquer'd spoile,
Which she had wonne from all the world
afore,
Of all the world was spoyl'd within a while :
So, when the compast course of the universe
In sixe and thirtie thousand yeares is ronne.
The bands of th' elements shall backe reverse
To their first discord, and be quite undonne:
The seedes, of which all things at first were
bred,
Shall in great Chaos wombe againe be hid.
xxni
O ! wane wisedome of the man, that would
That Carthage towres from spoile should be
forberne,
To th' end that his victorious people should
With cancring laisure not be overwome :
He well foresaw how that the Komane courage
Impatient of pleasures faint desires,
Through idlenes would tume to civill rage,
And be her selfe the matter of her tires;
For, in a people given all to ease,
Ambition is engendred easily;
As, in a vicious bodie, grose disease
Soone growes through humours superfluity.
That came to passe, when, gwolne with
plenties pride,
Kor prince, nor peere, nor kin, they would
abide.
KM
53°
THE RUINES OF ROME.
[L. 323-410.
If the blinde furie, which warres breedeth oft,
Wonts not t' enrage the hearts of equall beasts,
Whether thev fare on foote, or flie aloft,
Or armed be'with clawes, or scalie creasts,
What fell Krynnis, with hot burning tongs,
Did grype your hearts with noysome rage
imbe.w'd,
That, each to other working cruell wrongs,
Your blades in your owne bowels you em
brew'd ?
Was this (ye Romanes)) your hard destinie,
Or some old sinne, whose unappeased guilt
Powr'd vengeance forth on you eternal! ie ?
Or brothers blood, the which at first was spilt
Upon your walls, that God might not endure
Upon the same to set foundation sure ?
0 that 1 had the Thracian Poets harpe,
For to awake out of th' infernall shade
Those antique Caesars, sleeping long in darke,
The which this auncient Citie whilome made
Or that I had Amphions instrument,
To quicken, with his vitall notes accord,
The stonie joynts of these old walls now rent,
By which th' Ausonian light might be restor'd
Or that at least I could, with pencill fine,
Fashion the pourtraicts of these Palacis,
By paterae of great Virgils spirit divine !
1 would assay with that which in me is,
To builde, with levell of my loftie style,
That which no hands can evermore compyle
Who list the Romane greatnes forth to figure
Him needeth not to seeke for usage right
Of line, or lead, or rule, or squaire, to measuri
Her length, her breadth, her deepnes, or he
hight ;
But him behooves to vew in compasse round
All that the Ocean graspes in his long armes
Be it where the yerely starre doth scortch th
ground,
Orwherecolde Boreas bloweshis bitter storm es
Rome was th' whole world, and al the worL
was Rome ;
And if things nam'd their names doo equalize
When land and sea ye name, then name y
Rome;
A.nd, naming Rome, ye land and sea comprize
For th' auncient Plot of Rome, displaye<
plaine,
The map of all the wide world doth containe
Hiou that at Rome astonisht dost behold
the antique pride which menaced the skie,
hese haughtie heapes, these palaces of olde,
Ahese wals, these arcks, these baths, these
temples hie ;
udge. by these ample ruines vew, the rest
''he which injurious time hath quite outworne,
since of all workmen helde in reckning best ;
ret these olde fragments are for pat ernes borne :
n also marke how Rome, from day to day,
Jepayring her decayed fashion,
lenewes herselfe with buildings rich and gay ;
That one would j udge, that the Romaine Daemon
Doth yet himselfe with fatall hand enforce,
Againe on foote to reare her pouldred
corse.
XXVIII
He that hath scene a great Oke drie and dead,
Yet clad with reliques of some Trophees olde,
Lifting to heaven her aged hoarie head,
Whose foote in ground hath left but feeble
holde,
But halfe disbowel'd lies above the ground,
Shewing her wreathed rootes, and naked
armes,
And on her trunke, all rotten and unsound,
Dnely supports herselfe for meate of wormes ;
And, though she owe her fall to the first
Yet of the devout people is ador'd, [winde,
And manie yong plants spring out of her
rinde:
Who such an Oke hath seene, let him record
That such this Cities honour was of yore,
And mongst all Cities florished much more.
All that which Aegypt whilome did devise,
All that which Greece their temples to em-
brave
After th' lonicke, Atticke, Doricke guise ;
Or Corinth skil'd in curious workes to grave •,
All that Lj'sippus practike arte could forme,
Apelles wit, or Phidias his skill,
Was wont this auncient Citie to adorne, [fill.
And the heaven it selfe with her wide wonders
All that which Athens ever brought forth wise;
All that which Afrike ever brought forth
All that which Asie ever had of prise, [strange ;
Was here to see. O mervelous great change !
Rome, living, was the worlds sole ornament,
And, dead, is now the worlds sole moniment.
Like as the seeded field greene grasse first
showes, [spring,
Then from greene grasse into a stalke doth
And froir a stalke into an eare forth-growes,
Which eare the frutefull graine doth shortly
.bring ;
And as in season due the husband mowes
1.411-462.]
THE RUINES OF ROME.
531
The waving lockes of those faire yeallow
heares, [rowea
Which, bound in sheaves, and layd in comelv
Upon the naked fields in stackes he reares :
So grew the Romane Empire by degree,
Till that Barbarian hands it quite did spill,
And left of it but these olde markes to see,
Of which all passers by doo somewhat pill :
As they which gleane, the reliques use to
.gather, [scater
Which th' husbandman behind him cnanst to
XXXI
That same is now nought but a champian
wide,
Where all this worlds pride once was situate.
No blame to thee, whosoever dost abide
By Nyle, or Gange. or Tygre, or Euphrate ;
Ne Afrike thereof guiltie'is, nor Spame,
Nor the bolde people by the Thamis brincks,
Nor the brave warlicke' brood of Alemaine,
Nor the borne Souldier which Rhine running
drinks :
Thou onely cause, O Civill furie ! art, [spigot,
Which, sowing in th' Aemathian fields thy
Didst arm i • thy hand against thy proper hart ;
To th' end that when thou wast in greatest
hight,
To greatnes growne, through long prosperitie,
Thou then adowne might'st fall more hor-
riblie.
XXXII
Hope ye, my verses, that posteritie
Of age ensuing shall you ever read ?
Hope ye, that ever immortalitie
So meane Harpes worke may chalenge for hei
meed ?
If under heaven anie endurance were,
These moniments, which not in paper writ,
But in Porphyre and Marble doo appeare,
Might well have hop'd to have obtained it.
Nath'les my Lute, whom Phoebus deignd to
give,
Cease not to sound these olde antiquities ;
For if that time d«o let thy glorie live,
Well maist thou boast, how ever base thou
bee,
That thou art first, which of thy Nation song
Th' olde honour of the people'gowned long.
L" Envoy.
Bellay, first garland of free Poesie
That France brought forth, though fruitful! of
brave wits,
Well worthie thou of immortalitie,
That long hast traveld, by thy learned writs,
Olde Rome out of her ashes to revive,
And give a second life to dead decayes !
Needes must he all eternitie survive,
That can to other give eternall dayes :
Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy
prayse
Excelling all that ever went before.
And, after thee, gins Bartas hie to rayse
His heavenly Muse, th' Almightie to" adore.
Live, happie spirits, th' honour of your
name,
And fill the world with never dying fame!
MUIOPOTMOS,
FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE.
BY ED. SP.
DEDICATED TO THE MOST FAIRE AND VERTUOUS I,AJHK,
THE LADIE CAREY.
TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AND VF.RTCODS LADIE,
THE LA : CAREY.
MOST brave and bountifull La : for so excel-
lent favours as I have received at your sweet
handes, to offer these fewe leaves, as in re-
compence, should be as to offer flowers to the
Gods for their divine benefites. Therefore I
have determined to give my selfe wholy to
you. as quite abandoned from my selfe, and
absolutely vowed to your services : which in
all right is ever held for full recompcnce of
debt or damage, to have the person yeelded.
My person I wot wel how little worth it is.
But the faithfull minde and humble zeale
which I beare unto your La : may perhaps be
more of price, as may please you to account
M M 2
532
MUIOPOTMOS.
[L. 1-78.
and use the poore service thereof; which
taketh glory to advance your excellent partes
and noble vertues, and to spend it selfe in
honouring you : not so much for your great
bounty to my self, which yet may not be un-
miiuled; nor for name or kindreds sake by
you vouchsafed, being also regardable ; as
"for that honourable name, which yee have
by your brave deserts purchast to your self,
and spred in the mouths of al men: with
which I have also presumed to grace my
verses, and under your name to commend to
the world this small Poeme, the which be-
seeching your La : to take in worth, and of
all things therein according to your wonted
graciousnes to make a milde construction, I
humbly pray for your happines.
Your La : ever humbly ;
E. S.
MUIOPOTMOS : OR THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE.
I SING of deadly dolorous debate, j For he so swift and nimble was of flight,
Stir'd up through wrathfull Nemesis despight, That from this lower tract he dared to slie
Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate,
Drawne into armes, and proofe of mortall tight,
Through prowd ambition and hart-swelling
hate,
Whilest neither could the others greater might
And sdeignfull scorne endure ; that from small
jarre
Up to the clowdes, and thence with pineons
To mount aloft unto the Cristall skie, [ light
To view the workmanship of heavens hight :
Whence, down descending, he along would flie
Upon the streaming rivers, sport to finde ;
And oft would dare to tempt the troublous
winde.
Their wraths at length broke into open warre.
So on a Summers dav, when season milde
The roote whereof and tragicall effect, [nyne! With gentle calme the world had quieted,
Vouchsafe, 0 thou the mournfulst Muse of And high in heaven Hyperions fierie childe
That wontst the tragick stage for to direct, Ascending did his beames abroad dispred.
In funerall complaints and waylfull tyne,
Keveale to me, and all the meanes detect,
Through which sad Clarion did at last decline
To lowest wretchednes : And is there then
Such rancour in the harts of mightie men ?
Of all the race of silver- winged Flies
Which doo possesse the Empire of the aire,
Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies,
Was none more favourable, nor more faire,
Whilst heaven did favour his felicities.
Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire
Of Muscaroll ; and in his fathers sight
Of all alive did seeme the fairest wight.
With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed
Of future good, which his yong toward yeares.
Full of brave courage and bold hardyhed,
Above th' ensample of his equall peares,
Did largely promise, and to him fore-red,
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender teares)
That he in time would sure prove such an one,
As should be worthie of his fathers throue.
The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire
Of lustfull yongth began to kindle fast,
Did much disdaine to subject his desire
To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast,
But joy'd to range abroad in fresh attire,
Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast ;
Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures
smilde,
Yong Clarion, with vauntfull lustie-head,
After his guize did cast abroad to fare :
And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare.
His breastplate first, that was of substance pure,
Before his noble heart he firmely bound,
That mought his life from yron death assure,
And ward his gentle corpes from cruell wound;
For it by arte was framed to endure
The bit of balefull steele and bitter stownd.
No lesse than that which Vulcane made to sheild
Achilles life from fate of Troyau f eld.
And then about his shoulders broad he threw
An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom hee
In salvage forrest by adventure slew,
And reft the sppyle his ornament to bee ;
Which, spreddiug all his backe, with dread-
full view
Made all that him so horrible did see
Thinke him Alcides with the Lyons skin,
When the Naemean Conquest he did win.
Upon his head his glistering Burganet,
The which was wrought by wonderous device
And curiously engraven, he did set :
The metall was of rare and passing price ;
XT_ J. 11ML . »
And, with unwearied wings, each part t' inquire :Not Bilbo steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet,
Of the wide rule of his renowmed sire. |Nor costly Oricalche from strange Phrenice,
- 79-176.]
MUIOPOTKTOS.
533
But such as could both Phoebus arrowes
ward,
\jid th' hayling darts of heaven beating hard.
Pherein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,
Strongly outlaunced towards either side,
L,ike two sharpe speares his enemies to gore :
.like as a warlike Brigandine, applyde
Po fight, laves forth her threatfuirpikes afore
fhe engines which in them sad death cloo
hyde :
k> did this flie outstretch his fearefull homes,
fet so as him their terrour aiore adornes.
Lastly his shinie wings as silver bright,
fainted with thousand colours, passing farre
Ml Painters skill, he did about him dight :
Sot halfe so manic sundrie colours arre
In Iris bowe ; ne heaven doth shine so bright,
Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre;
Sor Junoes Bird in her ey-spotted traine
So many goodly colours doth containe.
So (may it be withouten perill spoken?)
rhe Archer God, the sonne of Cytheree,
Phat joyes on wretched lovers to be wroken,
\nd heaped spoyles of bleeding harts to gee.
Scares in his wings so manie a changefull
token.
\h, my liege Lord ! forgive it unto mee.
[f ought against thine honour I have tolde ;
ITet sure those wings were fairer manifolde
Full many a Lndie faire, in Court full oft
Beholding them, him secretly envide,
A.nd wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft
A.nd golden faire, her Love would her provide:
3r that, when them the gorgeous Flie had doft,
Some one, that would with grace be gratifide,
From him would steale them privily away,
knd bring to her so precious a pray.
Report is. that dame Venus, on a day
In spring, when flowres doo clothe the fruitful
ground,
Walking abroad with all her Nymphes to play,
Bad her faire damzels, flocking her arownd,"
Fo gather flowres her forhead to array :
Emongst the rest a gentle Nymph was found,
light Astery, excelling all the crewe
n curteous usage and unstained hewe ;
Vho, beeing nimbler joynted than the rest,
.nd more industrious, gathered more store
if the fields honour than the others best;
finch they in secret harts envying sore,
'olde Venus, when her as the worthiest
he praisd', that Cupide (as they heard before)
)id lend her secret aide, in gathering
Oto her lap the children, of the spring.
Whereof the Goddesse gathering jealous
feaYe,
Sot yet unmindfull how not long agoe
Her sonne to Psyche secrete love did beare,
And long it close conceal'd, till mickle woe
Thereof arose, and manie a rufull teare,
Reason with sudden rage did overgoe ;
And, giving hastie credit to th' accuser.
Was led away of them that did abuse her.
Eftsoones that Damzell, by her heavenly
might,
She turn'd into a winged Butterflie,
[n the wide aire to make her wandring flight;
And all those flowres, with which so plenteous-
lie
Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight,
She placed in her wings, for memorie
Of her pretended crime, though crime none
were:
Since which that flie them in her wings doth
beare.
Thus the fresh Clarion, being readie dight,
Unto his journey did himselfe addreese,
And with good speed began to take his flight.
Over the fields, in his franke lustinesse,
And all the champain o're he soared light ;
And all the countre3r wide he did possesse,
Feeding upon their pleasures bounteouslie,
That none gainsaid, nor none did him envie.
The woods, the rivers, and the medowes
green,
With his aire-cutting wings he measured wide,
Ne did he leave the mountaines bare unseene,
Nor the ranke grassie fennes delights untride.
But none of these, how ever sweete they beene,
Mote please his fancie, nor him cause t' abide:
His choicefull sense with every change doth
flit:
No common things may please a wavering wit.
To the gay gardins his unstaid desire
Him wholly caried, to refresh his sprights :
There lavish Nature, in her best attire,
Powres forth sweete odors and alluring sights ;
And Arte, with her contending, doth aspire
T' excell the nattirall with made delights ;
And all, that faire or pleasant may be found,
[n riotous excesse doth there abound.
There he arriving round about doth flie,
From bed to bed, from one to other border,
And takes survey, with curious busie eye.
Of everv flowre and herbe there set in order :
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly,
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder,
Xe with his feete their silken leaves deface,
But pastures on Uie pleasures of each place.
534
MUIOPOTMOS.
[L. 177-272.
And evermore, with most varietie
And change of sweetnesse, (for all change is
sweete)
He casts his glutton sense to satisfie,
Now sucking of the sap of herbe most meete,
Or of the deaw which yet on them does lie,
Now in the same bathing his tender feete;
And then he pearcheth on some braunch
thereby,
To weather him, and his moyst wings to dry.
And then againe he turneth to his play,
To spoyle the pleasures of that Paradise;
The wholesome Saalge, and Lavender still
gray, [eyes,
Ranke-smelling Rue, and Cummin good for
The Roses raigning in the pride of May,
Sharpe Isope, good for greene wounds remedies,
Faire Marigoldes, and Bees-alluring Thime
Sweet Marjoram, and Daysies decking prime :
Coole Violets, and Orpine growing still,
Kmbathed Balme, ami chearfull Galingale,
Fresh Costmarie, and breathfull Camomill,
Dull Poppie, and drink-quickning Setuale,
Veyne-healing Verven, and hed-purging Dill,
Sound Savorie, and Bazil hartie-hale,
Fat Colworts, and comforting Perseline,
Colde Lettuce, and refreshing Rosmarine.
And whatso else of vertue good or ill
Grewe in this Gardin, fetcht from farre away,
Of everie one he takes, and tastes at will,
And on their pleasures greedily doth pray.
Then, when he hath both plaid and fed his
fill,
In the warme Sunne he doth himselfe embay,
And there him rests in riotous suffisaunce
Of all his gladfulnes, and kingly joyaunce.
What more felicitie can fall to creature
Then to enjoy delight with libertie,
And to be Lord of all the workes of Nature,
To raine in th' aire from th' earth to highest Arachne
skie, [ture,
To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious fea-
To take what ever thing doth please the eie ?
Who rests not pleased with such happines,
Well worthy he to taste of wretchednes.
But what on earth can long abide in state,
Or who can him assure of happie day,
Sith morning faire may bring fowle evening
late,
And least mishap the most blisse alter may ?
For thousand perills lie in close awaite
About,us daylie, to worke our decay ;
That none, except a God, or God him guide,
May them avoyde, or remedie provide.
And whatso heavens in their secret doome
Ordained have, how can fraile fleshly wight
Forecast, but it must needs to issue come ?
The sea, the aire, the fire, the day, the night,
And th' armies of their creatures all and some
Do serve to them, and with importune might
Warre against us, the vassals of their will
Who then can save what the}' dispose to spill ?
Not thou, O Clarion ! though fairest thou
Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie Flie,
Whose cruell fate is woven even now
Of Joves owne hand, to worke thy miserie.
Ne may thee help the manic hartie vow,
Which* thy old Sire with sacred pietie
Hath powred forth for thee, and th' altars
sprent :
Nought may thee save from heavens avenge-
meat.
It fortuned (as heavens had behight)
That in this gardin, where yong Clarion
Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight,
The foe of faire things, th' author of confusion,
The shame of Nature, the bondslave of spight,
Had lately built his hatefull mansion ;
And, lurking closely, in awayte now lay,
How he might anie in his trap betray.
But when he spide the joyous Butterflie
In this faire plot dispacing too and fro,
Feareles of foes and hidden jeopardie,
Lord ! how he gan for to bestirre him tho,
And to his wicked worke each part applie.
His heart did earne against his hated foe,
And bowels so with ranckling poyson swelde,
That scarce the skin the strong contagion
helde.
The cause why he this Flie so maliced
Was (as in stories it is written found)
For that his mother, which him bore and
bred,
The most fine-fingred workwoman on ground,
i, by his means was vanquished
Of Pallas, and in her owne skill confound,
When she with her for excellence contended,
That wrought her shame, and sorrow never
ended.
For the Tritonian goddesse. having hard
Her blazed fame which all the world had fil'd,
Came downe to prove the truth, and due
reward
For her prais-worthie workmanship to yeild ;
But the presumptuous Damzell rashly dar'd
The Goddesse selfe to chalenge to the field,
And to compare with her in curious skill
Of workes with loome, with needle, and with
uuilL
- 273-366.]
MUIOPOTMOS.
535
Minerva did the chalenge not refuse,
But deign 'd with her tlie paragon to make :
So to tlieir worke they sit, and each doth
chuse
What storie she will for her tapet take.
Arachne figur'd how Jove did abuse
Europa like a Bull, and on his backe
Her through the sea did beare; so lively
scene, [weene.
That it true Sea, and true Bull, ye would
She seem'd still backe unto the land to lookc,
And her play-fellowes aide to call, and feare
The dashing" of the waves, that up she tooke
Her daintie feete, and garments gathered neare ;
But (Lord!) how she in everie member
shooke,
When as the land she saw no more appeare,
But a wilde wildernes of waters deepe :
Then gan she greatly to lament and weepe.
Before the Bull she pictur'd winged Love,
With his yong brother Sport, light fluttering
Upon the waves, as each had been a Dove ;
The one his bowe and shafts, the other
Spring
A burning Teade about his head did move,
As in their Syres new love both triumphing:
And manie Nymphes about them nocking
The signe by which he chalengeth the place ;
That all the Gods, which saw his wondrous
Did surely deeme the victorie his due: [might,
But seldome seene, forejudgment proveth true.
Then to her selfe she gives her Aegide shield,
And steelhed speare, and morion on her hedd,
Such as she oft is seene in warlicke lield :
Then sets she forth, how with her weapon
ctredd
[did yield
round,
[sound.
And manie Tritons which their homes did
And round about her worke she did empale
With a faire border wrought of sundrie
flowres,
Enwoven with an Yvie-winding trayle :
A goodlv worke, full tit for kingly bowres';
Such as'Dame Pallas, such as Envie pale,
That al good things with venemous tooth
devowres,
[bright
Could not accuse. Then gan the Goddesse
Her selfe likewise unto her worke to dight.
She made the storie of the olde debate
Which she with Neptune did for Athens trie:
Twelve Gods doo sit around in royall state,
And Jove in midst with awfull Majestie,
To judge the strife betweene them stirrec
late:
Each of the Gods, by his like visnomie
Eathe to be knowe'n ; but Jove above them
all,
By his great lookes and power Imperiall.
Before them stands the God of Seas in place,
Clayming that sea-coast Citie as his right.
And strikes the rockes with his three-forke
mace;
Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight,
She smote the ground, the which streight foorth
A fruitfull Olyve tree, with berries spredd,
That all the Gods admir'd : then, all the storie
She compast with a wreathe of Olyves hoarie.
Emongst these leaves she made a Butterflie,
Vith excellent device and wondrous slight,
^luttring among the Olives wantonly,
?hat seem'd to live, so like it was in sight :
The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,
The silken downe writh which his backe is
dight,
lis broad outstretched homes, his hayriethies,
iis glorious colours, and his glistering eies.
iVhich when Arachne saw, as overlaid
And mastered with workmanship so rare,
She stood a-stonied long, ne ought gainesaid;
And with fast fixed eyes on her did stare,
And by her silence, signe of one dismaid,
The victorie did yeeld her as her share :
Yet did she inly fret and felly burne,
And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne :
That shortly from the shape of womanhed,
Such as she was when Pallas she attempted,
She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed,
Pined with griefe of folly late repented :
Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered
To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe
empted ;
And her faire face to fowle and loathsome hewe,
And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe.
This cursed creature, mindful! of that olde
Enfested grudge, the which his mother felt,
So soone as Clarion he did beholde,
His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt ;
And weaving straight a net with mauie a fold
About the cave in which he lurking dwelt,
With fine small cords about it stretched wide,
So finely spoune that scarce they could be
spide.
Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne,
Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne,
Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost,
Nor anie skjl'd in loupes of fingring fine..
536
MUIOPOTMOS.
[L. 367-440.
Might in their divers cunning ever dare
With this so curious networke to compare.
Ne doo I thinke, that that same subtil gin,
The which the Lemnian God framde craftily,
Mars sleeping with his wife to compasse in,
That all the Gods with common mockerie
Might laugh at them, and scorne their shame-
full sin,
Was like to this. This same he did applie
For to entrap the careles Clarion,
That rang'd each where without suspition.
Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe
That hazarded his health, had he at all,
But walkt at will, and wandred too and fro,
In the pride of his freedome principall :
Little wist he his fatall future woe,
But was secure; the liker he to fall.
He likest is to fall into mischaunce,
That is regardles of his governaunce.
Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was hight)
Lay lurking covertly him to surprise ;
And all his gins, that him entangle might,
Brest in good order as he could devise.
At length, the foolish Flie, without foresight,
As he that did all daunger quite despise,
Toward those parts came flying carelesslie,
Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.
Who, seeing him, with secret joy therefore
Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine;
And his false hart, fraught with all treasons
store,
Was fil'd with hope his purpose to obtaine :
Himselfe he close upgathered more and more
Into his den, that his deceitfull traine
By his there being might not be bewraid,
Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made.
Like as a wily Foxe, that having spide
Where on a sunnie banke the Lambes doo play,
Full closely creeping by the hinder side,
Lyes in ambushment of his hoped pray,
Ne stirreth limbe; till, seeing readie tide,
He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away
One of the litle yonglings unawares:
So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares.
Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes
j A well of teares, that all may overflow ?
Or where shall I linde lamentable cryes,
And mournfull tunes enough my griefe to
show?
Helpe, 0 thou Tragick Muse ! me to devise
Notes sad enough t' cxpresse this bitter throw:
For loe ! the drerie stownd is now arrived,
That of all happines hath us deprived.
The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate
Or wicked Fortune i'aultles him misled,
Or some ungracious blast, out of the gate
Of Aeoles raine, perforce him drove on hed,
Was (0 sad hap, and howre unfortunate !)
With violent swift flight forth caried
Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe
Had framed for his finall overthroe.
There the fond Flie, entangled, strugled long,
Himselfe to free thereout ; but all in vaine :
For striving more, the more in laces strong
Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his winge's twaine
In lymie snares the subtill loupes among;
That in the ende he breathlesse did remaine,
And, all his yongthly forces idly spent,
Him to the mercy of th' avengeV lent.
Which when the greisly tyrant did espie,
Like a grimme Lyon rushing with fierce might
Out of his den, he seized greedelie
On the resistles pray ; and, with fell spight,
Under the left wing stroke his weapon slie
Into his heart, that his deepe-groning spright
In bloodie streames foorth fled into the airs,
His bodie leff. the spectacle of care.
VISIONS OF THE WOELDS VANITIE.
ay, whiles that my daylie cares did sleepe,
My spirit shaking off her earthly prison.
Began to enter into meditation deepe
Of things exceeding reach of common reason;
Such as this age, in which all good is geason,
And all that humble is, and meane debaced,
Hath brought forth in her last declining sea-
Griefe of good mindes, to see goodnesse
disgraced! [placed,
On which when as my thought was throghly
Unto my eyes strange" showes presented were,
Picturing that which I in minde embraced,
That yet those sights empassion me full nere
Such as they were (faireLadie!) take in worth,
That when time serves may brine things
better forth.
15-94-1
VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANTTTE.
53?
summers day, when Phoebus fairly shone,
saw a Bull as white as driven snowe,
ith gilden homes embowed like the Moone,
« fresh flowring meadow lying lowe :
•> to his eares the verdant grasse did growe,
id the gay rloures did offer to be eaten ;
it he with fat ncs so did overflowe, [beaten,
lat he all wallowed in the weedes downe
car'd with them his daintie lips to sweeten :
Jl that a Brize, a scorned little creature,
trough his faire hide his angrie sting did
threaten,
nd vext so sore, that all his goodly feature
And all his plenteous pasture nought him
pleased :
So by the small the great is oft diseased.
in
side the fruitfull shore of muddie Nile,
pon a sunnie banke outstretched lay.
monstrous length, a mightie Crocodile,
iat, cram'd wi th guiltles blood and greedie pray
" wretched people travailing that way, [pride,
ought all things lesse than his disdainful
saw a little Bird cal'd Tedula,
ic least of thousands which on earth abide,
•at forst this hideous beast to open wide
ic griesly gates of his devouring hell,
nd let him feede, as Nature did provide,
xm his jawes, that with blacke venime swell.
Why then should greatest things the least
disdaine,
Sith that so small so mightie can constraine ?
IV
\e kingly Bird, that beares Joves thunder-
clap,
ne day did scorne the simple Scarabee.
oud of his highest service, and good hap,
lat made all other Foules his thralls to bee :
le silly Flie, that no redresse did see,
»ide where the Eagle built his towring nest,
id, kindling fire within the hollow tree,
irnt up his yong ones, and himselfe distrest ;
P> suffred him in anie place to rest,-
at drove in Joves owne lap his egs to lay ;
here gathering also filth him to infest,
>rst with the filth his egs to fling away :
For which when as the Foule was wroth,
said Jove,
1 Lo ! how the least the greatest may reprove.'
v
ward the sea turning my troubled eye,
saw the lish (if fish I may it cleepe)
lat makes the sea before his face to flye,
id with his flaggie finnes doth seerne to
sweepe
The fomie wares out of the dreadful! deep,
The huge Leviathan, dame Natures wonder,
Making his sport, that manie makes to weep :
A sword-fish small him from the rest did sunder,
That, in his throat him pricking softlv under,
His wide Abysse him forced forth to spewe,
That all the sea did roare like heavens thunder.
A nd all the waves were stain'd with fil thie hewe.
Hereby I learned have not to despise
Whatever thing seems small in common eyes.
VI
An hideous Dragon, dreadful! to behold,
Whose backe was arm'd against the dint of
speare [golde,
With shields of brasse that shone like burnisht
And forkhed sting that death in it did beare,
Strove with a Spider his unequal! peare ;
And bad defiance to his enemie.
The subtill vermin, creeping closelv neare,
Did in his drinke shed poyson privilie;
Which, through his entrailes spreddrag di-
versly,
Made him to swell, that nigh his bowells brust,
And him enforst to yeeld the victorie.
That did so much hi his owne greatnesse trust.
O ! how great vainnesse is it then to scorne
The weake, that hath the strong so oft
forlorne !
VII
High on a hill a goodly Cedar grewe,
Of wondrous length, and straight proportion,
That farre abroad her daintie odours threwe ;
Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon,
Her match in beautie was not anie one.
Shortly within her inmost pith there bred
A litlc wicked worme, perceiv'd of none,
That on her sap and vitall moysture fed :
Thenceforth her garland so much honoured
Began to die, (O great ruth for the same !)
And her faire lockes fell from her loftie head,
That shortly balde and bared she became.
I, which this sight beheld, was much dis-
mayed
To see so goodly thing so soone decayed.
Soone after this I saw an Elephant,
Adorn'd with bells and bosses gorgeouslie
That on his backe did beare (as batteilant)
A gilden towre, which shone exceedinglie ;
That he himselfe through foolish vanitie,
Both for his rich attire and goodly forme,
Was puffed up with passing surquedrie,
And shortly gan all other beasts to scorne.
Till that a little Ant, a silly worme.
Into his nosthriln creeping," so him pained,
VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIE.
95-15
That, casting downe his towres, he did deforme ]
Both borrowed pride, and native beautie
stamed. [ glorie,
Let therefore nought, that great is, therein
Sith so small thing his happines may varie. ', What time the Eomaine Empire bore the rail
IX
Looking far foorth into the Ocean wide,
A goodly ship with banners bravely dight,
And flag in her top-gallant, I espide
That dead himselfe he wisheth for despigh
So weakest may anoy the most of might !
Of all the world and florisht most in might,
The nations gan their soveraigntie disdain
And cast to quitt them from their bondag
quight :
Through the maine sea making her merry flight So> ^^ ^ shrouded were in silent night,
i The Galles were, by corrupting of a mayde,
, Possest nigh of the Capitol through slight,
'Had not a Goose the treachery bewrayde ;
If then a Goose great Rome from ruine stayd
And Jove himselfe, the patron of the place,
Preserved from being to his foes betrayde ;
Faire blew the w'tnde into her bosome right ;
And th' heavens looked lovely all the while,
That she did seeme to daunce, as in delight,
And at her owne felicitie did smile.
All sodainely there clove unto her keele
A little fish, that men called Remora,
Which stopt her course, and held her by the WhX do. vaine men mean thinS8 s? much defac
heele, [away.
That winde nor tide could move her thence
Straunge thing, me seemeth, that so small
a thing
Should able be so great an one to wring.
x
A mighty Lyon, Lord of all the wood,
Having his hunger throughly satisfide
And in their might repose their most assu
ance,
Sith nought on earth can chalenge Ion
endurance ?
When these sad sights were overpast and gon
My spright was greatly moved in her rest,
With inward ruth and deare affection,
With pray of beasts and spoy'le of living blood, To see so great things by so small distrest
Safe in his dreadles den him thought to hide : Thenceforth I gan in my engrieved brest
His sternesse was his prayse, his strength his To scorne all difference of great and small,
And all his glory in his cruell clawes. [pride, Sith that the greatest often are opprest,
I saw a wasp, that fiercely him defide, j And unawares doe into daunger fall.
And bad him battaile even to his jawes : j And ye, that read these ruines tragicall,
Sore he him stong, that it the blood forth Learne by their losse to love the low degree
drawes, ' And, if that fortune chaunce you up to call
And his proude heart is fild with fretting ire: \ Tojionours seat, forget not what you be :
In vaine he threats his teeth, his tayle, his
pawes,
And from hia bloodie eyes doth sparkle fire :
For he, that of himselfe is most secure,
Shall finde his state most fickle and m
sure.
THE VISIONS OF BELLAY.
IT was the time, when rest, soft sliding downe
From heavens hight into mens heavy eyes,
In the forgetfulnes of sleepe doth drowne
The carefull thoughts of mortall miseries ;
Then did a Ghost before mine eyes appeare,
On that great rivers banck, that runnes by
Rome;
Which, calling me by name, bad me to reare
My lookes to heaven whence all good gifts do
come, [hee)
And crying lowd, Loe! now beholde (quoth
What under this great temple placed is :
Lo, all is nought but flying vanitee !
So I. that know this worlds inconstancies,
Sith onely God surmounts all times decay
In God alone my confidence do stay.
ii
On high hills top I saw a stately frame,
An hundred cubits high by just assize, [sam
With hundreth pillours fronting faire tl
All wrought with Diamond after Dorick wizi
Nor brick nor marble was the wall in view,
But shining Christall, which from top to bas
Out of her womb a thousand rayons threw
On hundred steps of Afrike golds enchase:
Golde was the parget ; and the seeling briijh
Did shine all scaly with great plates of gold>|
The floore of Jasp and Emeraude was dight.
O worlds vainesse ! Whiles thus I did behol
27-I2O.]
THE VISIONS OF BELLAY.
539
An earthquake shocke the hill from lowest
seat,
And overthrew this frame with mine great.
in
ien did a sharped spyre of Diamond bright,
en feete each way in square appeare to mee,
jstly proportion'!! up unto his hight,
o far as Archer might his level see :
tie top thereof a pot did seeme to beare,
"ade of the mettall, which we most do honour ;
ad in this golden vessel couched weare
lie ashes of a mightie Emperour :
pon foure corners of the base were pight,
o beare the frame, foure great Lyons of gold ;
worthy tombe for such a worthy wight.
Uas, this world doth nought but grievance
hold!
I saw a tempest from the heaven descend,
Which this brave monument with flash did
rend.
IV
saw raysde up on yvorie pillowes tall,
fhose bases were of richest mettalls warke,
he chapters Alablaster, the fryses christall,
he double front of a triumphall Arke:
n each side purtraid was a Victorie,
lad like a Nimph, that wings of silver weares,
nd in triumphant chayre was set on hie,
he auncient glory of the Romaine peares.
'o worke it seem'd of earthly craftsmans wit,
lut rather wrought by his owne industry,
hat thunder-dartes for Jove his syre doth fit.
et me no more see faire thing under sky,
Sith that mine eyes have seene so faire asight
With sodain fall to dust consumed quight.
v
hen was the faire Dodouian tree far seene,
fpon seaven hills to spread his gladsome
gleame,
.nd conquerours bedecked with his greene,
Jong the bancks of the Ausonian streame :
iere many an auncient Trophee was addrest,
jid many a spoyle, and many a goodly show,
yhich that brave races greatnes did attest,
hat whilome from the Troyan blood did flow,
avisht I was so rare a thing to vew ;
fhen lo ! a barbarous troupe of clownish fone
he honour of these noble boughs down threw :
Jnder the wedge I heard the tronck to grone;
And, since, I saw the roote in great disdaine
A twinne of forked trees send forth agaiiie.
saw a Wolfe under a rockie cave
Joursing two whelpes; I saw her litle ones
wanton dalliance the teate to crave, [nones-
I saw her raunge abroad to seeke her food,
And roming through the field with greedie
rage [blood
T'embrew her teeth and clawes with lukew arm
Of the small heards, her thirst for to asswage.
I saw a thousand huntsmen, which descended
Downe from the mountaines bordring Lorn-
bardie, [rended.
That with an hundred speares her flank wide
1 saw her on the plaine outstretched lie,
Throwing out thousand throbs in her owne
soyle ;
Soone on a tree uphang*d I saw her spoyle.
I saw the Bird that can the sun endure,
With feeble wings assay to mount on hight ;
By more and more she gan her wings t'assure
Following th' ensample of her mothers sight »
I saw her rise, and with a larger flight
To pierce the cloudes, and with wide pinneons
To measure the most haughtie mountaines
hight,
Untill she raught the Gods owne mansions :
There was she lost ; when tmddaine I behelde,
Where, tumbling through the ayre in firie fold,
All flaming downe she on the plaine was felde,
And soone her bodie tum'd to ashes colde.
1 saw the foule, that doth the light dispise,
Out of her dust like to a worm arise.
I saw a river swift, whose fomy billowes
Did wash the ground-work of an old great wall ;
I saw it cover'd all with griesly shadowes,
That with black horror did the ayre appall :
Thereout a strange beast with seven heads
arose, [coure,
That townes and castles under her brest did
And seem'd both milder beasts and fiercer foes
Alike with equall ravine to devoure.
Much was I mazde, to see this monsters kinde
In hundred formes to change his fearefull hew ;
When as at length I saw the wrathfull winde,
Which blows cold storms, burst out of Scithian
mew, [as thought,
That sperat these cloudes; and, in so short
Thisdreadfull shape was vanished to nought.
IX
Then all astonied with this mighty ghoast,
An hideous bodie big and strong I sawe,
With side-long beard, and locks down hang-
ing loast,
Sterne face, and front full of Satiirnlike awe
Who, leaning on the belly of a pot,
Pourd foorth a water, whose out gushing flood
Ran bathing all the creakie shore aflot,
Vhile she her neck wreath'd from them for the Whereon the Troyan prince spiltTurnus blood
540
THE VISIONS OF BELLA Y.
[L. I2I-2ICJ
And at his feete a bitch wolfe suck did yeeld
To two young babes : His left the palme tree
stout,
His right hand did the peacefull olive wield ;
And head with Lawrell garnisht was about.
Sudden both Palme and Olive fell away,
And faire greene Lawrell branch did quite
decay.
x
Hard by a rivers side a virgin faire. [throbs,
Folding her armes to Heaven with thousand
And outraging her cheekes and golden haire,
To falling rivers sound thus tun'd her sobs.
' Where is (quoth she) this whilom honoured
face?
Where the great glorie and the auncient praise,
In which all worlds felicitie had place,
When Gods and men my honour up did raise ?
Suffisd it not that civill warres me made
The whole worlds spoile, but that this hydra
Of hundred Hercules to be assaide, [new,
With seven heads, budding monstrous crimes
So many Neroes and Caligulaes [anew,
Out of these crooked shores must dayly
rayse V '
XI
Upon an hill a bright flame I did see
Waving aloft with triple point to skie,
Which, like incense of precious Cedar tree,
With balmie odours fil'd th' ayre farre and nie.
A Bird all white, well feathered on each wing,
Hereout up to the throne of Gods did flie,
And all the way most pleasant notes did sing,
Whilst in the smoake she unto heaven did stie.
Of this faire fire the scattered raves forth threw
On everie side a thousand shining bearaes :
When sudden dropping of a silver dew
(O grievous chance !) gan quench those precious
flames ;
That it, which earst so pleasant sent did yeld,
Of nothing now but noyous sulphure srheld.
I saw a spring out of a rocke forth rayle,
As cleare as Christall gainst, the Sunnie beames,
The bottome yeallow, like the golden grayle
That bright Pactolus washeth with his strea'mes;
It seem'd that Art and Nature had assembled
All pleasure there, for which mans hart could
long;
And there a noyse alluring sleepe soft trembled.
Of manie accords more sweete than Mermaids
song:
The seates and benches shone as yvorie,
And hundred Nymphes sate side by side about ;
When from nigh hills, with hideous outcrie,
A troupe of Satyres in the place did rout,
Which with th»ir villeine feete the stream- 1
did ray [Nymphes away |
Threw down the seats, and drove the
Much richer then that vessell seem'd to bee,
Which did to that sad Florentine appeare,
Casting mine eyes farre off, I chaunst to see
Upon the Latine Coast herselfe to reare :
But suddenly arose a tempest great,
Bearing close envie to these riches rare,
Which gan assaile this ship with dreadful
•- threat,
This ship to which none other might compare
And finally the storme impetuous
Sunke up these riches, second unto none,
Within the gu'fe of greedie Nereus.
I saw both ship and mariners each one,
And all that treasure, drowned in the maine
But I the ship saw after raisd' againe.
Long having deeply gron'd these Visions sad,
I saw a Citie like unto that same,
Which saw the messenger of tidings glad ;
But that on sand was built the goodly frame
It seem'd her top the firmament did rayse,
And. no lesse rich than faire, right worthie sun
(If ought here worthie) of immortall dayes,
Or if aught under heaven might firme endure
Much wondred I to see so faire a wall:
When from the Northerne coast a storme arose
Which, breathing furie from his inward gall
On all which did against his course oppose,
Into a clowde of dust sperst in the aire
The weake foundations of this citie faire.
xv
At length, even at the time, when Morpheus
Most trulie doth unto our eyes appeare,
Wearie to see the heavens still wavering thus
I saw Typhceus sister comming neare ;
Whose head, full bravely with a morion hidcl
Did seeme to match the" Gods in Majestic.
She, by a rivers bancke that swift downe slide!
Over all the world did raise a Trophee hie ,
An hundred vanquish! Kings under her lay,
With armes bound at their backs in shameful!
wize.
Whilst I thus mazed was with great affray,
I saw the heavens in warre against her rize r
Then downe she stricken fell with clap ol
thonder, [wonder.
That with great noyse I wakte in sudden
I- 1-84.]
541
THE VISIONS OF PETEARCH,
FORMERLY TRANSLATED.
EJNG one day at my window all alone, j Within this wood, out of a rocke did rise
io manie strange things happened me to see, i A spring of water, mildly rumbling downe,
ta much it gneveth me to thinke thereon. ; Wlierto approched not in anie wise
It my right hand a Hynde appear'd to mee, (The homely shepheard, nor the ruder clowne;
lo faire as mote the greatest god dehte ; ! But manie Muses, and the Nymphes withalL
wo eager dogs did her pursue in chace, (That sweetly in accord did tune their voyce
)f which the one was blacke, the other white . , To the soft sounding of the waters fall :
iVith deadly force so in their cruell race jThat my glad hart thereat did muchrejovce.
They pmcht the haunches of that gentle beast, I But, while herein I looks my ehiefe delight '
That at the last, *nd in short time, I spide, I saw (alas) the gaping earth devoure
Under a Rocke, where she, alas, opprest,
Fell to the ground, and there untimely dide.
Cruell d3ath vanquishing so noble beautie,
Oft makes me wayle s'o hard a destenie.
After, at sea a tall ship did appeare,
lade all of Heben and white Yvorie;
?he sailes of golde, of silke the tackle were :
lilde wasthewinde, calmeseem'dthe sea to bee.
The spring, the place, and all cleane out of
sight; [houre,
Which yet aggreeves my hart uvjn to this
And wounds my soule with rufull memorie,
To see such pleasures gon so suddenly.
v
I saw a Phoenix in the wood alone,
With purple wings, and crest of golden hewe;
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anone,
'he skie eachwhere did show full bright and i That of some heavenly wight I had the vewe;
Unttll he came unto the broken tree,
And to the spring, that late devoured was.
What say I more ? each thing at last we see
Doth passe away : the Phcenix there alas,
Spying the tree destroid, the water dride,
Himselfe smote with his beake, as in disdaine,
And so foorthwith in great despight he dide ,
That yet my heart burnes in exceeding paine,
,
i
Jut sudden storme did so turmoyle the aire,
Lnd tumbled up the sea, that she (alas)
itrake on a rock, that under water lay,
\nd perished past all recoverie.
}, how great ruth, and sorrowfull assay,
)oth vex my spirite with perplexitie,
Thus in a moment to see lost and drown'd,
So great riches as like cannot be found !
he heavenly branches did I see arise
'ut of the fresh and lustie Lawrell tref ,
midst the yonggreene wood ; of Paradise
ome noble plant 1 thought myselfe to see:
uch store of birds therein yshrpwded were,
haunting in shade their sundrie melodic,
'hat with their sweetnes I was ravish't nere.
fhile on this Laurell fixed was mine eie,
"he skie gan everie where to overcast,
ind darkned was the welkin all about,
Vhen sudden flash of heavens tire out brast,
nd rent this royall tree quite by the roote ;
For ruth and pitie of so haples pliglit :
O let mine eyes no more see such a sight!
VI
At last so faire a Ladic did I spie,
That thinking yet on her I burne and quake;
On hearbs and flowres she walked pensively,
Milde, but yet Love she proudly did forsake :
White seein'd her robes, yet woven so they
were,
As snowe and golde together had been wrought :
Above the wast a darke clowde shrouded her,
A stinging serpent by 'he heele her caught :
Wherewith she languisht as the gathered
floure ;
And, well assur'd, she mounted up to joy.
Alas, on earth so nothing doth endure.
Which makes me much and ever to com- But bitter griefe and sorrowfull annoy;
plaine ; Which make thislife wretclu'd and tnisi-rnhK*,
For 110 such shadow shalbe had againe. I Tossed with stonnes of fortune variable !
542
THE VISIONS OF PETRARCH.
. 85-9:
When I behold this tickle trusties state
Of vaine worlds glorie, flitting too and fro,
And mortall men tossed by troublous fate
In restles seas of 'vretchednes and woe ;
I wish I might this wearie life forgoe,
And shortly turne unto my happie rest,
Where ray free spirite might not anie moe
Be vext with sights, that doo her peace molest.
And ye, faire Ladie, in whose bounteous bres
All heavenly grace and vertue shrined is,
When ye, these rythmes doo read, and ve'
the rest, [blis
Loath this base world, and tiiirke of heaven
And though ye be the fairest of God
creatures,
Yet thinke, that death shall spoyle you
goodly features.
DAPHNAIDA:
AN ELEGIE
UPON THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE AND VERTOOUS
DOUGLAS HOWARD,
DAUGHTER AND HEIHK OF HENRY LORD HOWARD, VISCOUNT BYNDON,
AND WIFE OF ARTHURE GORGES, E9QUIER.
DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LADY
HELENA, MARQUESSE OF NORTHAMPTON.
BY ED. SP.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VERTUOUS LADY
HELENA, MARQUESSE
I HAVE the rather presumed humbly to offer
unto your Honour the dedication of this little
Poeme, for that the noble and vertuous Gentle-
woman of whom it is written, was by match
neere alied, and in affection greatly devoted,
unto your Ladiship. The occasion why I wrote
the same, was as well the great good fame
which I heard of her deceassed, as the par-
ticular good will which I bear unto her husband
Master Arthur Gorges, a lover of learning
and vertue, whose house, as your Ladiship by
mariage hath honoured, so doe I find the
name of them, by many notable records, to
be of great antiquitie in this Realme, and such
as have ever borne themselves with honour-
able reputation to the world, and unspotted
loyaltie to their Prince and Countrey : besides,
OF NORTH-HAMPTON.
so lineally are they descended from th
Howards, as that the Lady Anne Howarc
eldest daughter to John Duke of Norfolk*
was wife to Sir Edmund, mother to Si
Edward, and grandmother to Sir Williar
and Sir Thomas Gorges, knigbtes : and there
fore I doe assure my selfe that no due honou
done to the White Lyon, but will be mos
gratefull to your Ladiship, whose husban*
and children do so neerely participate wit)
the bloud of that noble family. So in al
dutie I recommende this Pamphlet, and th
good acceptance thereof, to your honourabl
favour and protection. London, this first
Januarie, 1591.
Your Honours humblv ever.
" ED. SP.
DAPHNAIDA.
WHAT-EVER man be he whose heavie minde,
With griefe of mournefull great mishap op-
prest,
Fit matter for his cares increase would finde,
Let reade the rufull plaint herein exprest,
Of one, (I weene), the wofulst man alive,
Even sad Alcyon, whose empierced brest
Sharpe sorrowe did in thousand peeces rive.
DAPHNAlDA.
543
But whoso else in pleasure findeth sense,
)r in this wretched life dooth take delight
Let him be bani.sht farre away from hence ;
*fe let the sacred Sisters here be night,
Though they of sorrowe heavilie can MIII; :
For even their heavie song would breede de-
light;
But here no tunes, save sobs and grones, shall
ring.
'n stead of them, and their sweet harmonie,
~Liet those three I'm all Sisters, whose sad hands
Doo weave the direfull threds of destinie.
And in their wrath breake off the vitall bands',
Approach hereto ; and let the dreadfull Queene
Of Darkenes deepe come from the Stygian
strands,
And grisly Ghosts, to heare the dolefull teene.
'n gloomie evening, when the wearie Sun,
After his dayes long labour drew to rest,
And sweatie steeds, now having overrun
The compast skie, gan water in the west,
[ walkt abroade to breath the freshing ayre
'n open fields, whose flowring pnde, opprest
With early frosts, had lost their beautie fairc.
There came unto my minde a troublous thought,
fVhich dayly dooth my weaker wit possesse,
Se lets it rest untill it forth have brought
Her long borne Infant, fruit of heavinesse,
Which she conceived hath through meditation
)f this worlds vainnesse and lifes wretched-
ness e,
That yet my soule it deepely doth cmpassion.
•to as I muzed on the miserie
In which men live, and I of many most
Most miserable man ; I did espie
Where towards me a sory wight did cost,
Jlad all in black, that mourning did bewray,
And Jaakob staffe in hand devoutlie crost,
Like to some Pilgrim come from farre away.
Elis carelesse locks uncombed and unshorne,
Hong long adowne, and beard all overgrowne,
That well he seemd to be sum wight forlome;
Oowne to the earth his heavie eyes were
throwne,
A.8 loathing light ; and ever as he went
He sighed soft, and inly deepe did grone,
As if his heart in peeces would have rent.
Approaching nigh, his face I vewed nere,
(Vnd by the semblant of his countenaunce
Me seerad I had his person scene elsewhere,
Most like Alcyon seeming at a glaunce ;
Alcyon he, the jollie Shepheard swaine
That wont full merrilie to pipe and daunco,
And fill with pleasance every wood and plaine.
Yet halfe in doubt, because of his disguize,
I softlie sayd, Alcyon ! There-with-all
He lookt aside as in disdainefull wise,
Yet stayed not, till I againe did call : [sound,
Then, turning back, he saide, with hollow
' Who is it that dooth name me, wofull thrull,
The wretchedst man that treades this dav on
ground ? '
' One, \vhome like wofulnesse, impressed deepe,
Hath made fit mate thy wretched case to heare,
And given like cause with thee to waile and
weepe ; [beare.
Griefe findes some ease by him that like does
Then stay, Alcyon, gentle shepheard ! stay,
(Quoth I ) till thou have to my t rust ie eare
Committed what thee dooth so ill apay.'
' Cease, foolish man !' (saide he, halfe wroth-
fully)
' To seeke to heare that which cannot be tolde,
For the huge anguish, which dooth multiplye
My dying paines, no tongue can well unfold ;
Ne doo I care that any should bemonc
My hard mishap, or any weepe that would,
But seeke alone to weepe, and dye alone.'
' Then be it so,' (quoth I) ' that thou are bent
To die alone, unpitied, unplained ;
Yet, ere thou die, it were convenient
To tell the cause which thee theretoo con-
strained,
Least that the world thee dead accuse of guilt,
And say, when thou of none t-halt be main-
tained.
That thou for secret crime thy blood hast spilt.'
' Who life doocs loath, and longs to bee unbound
From the strong shackles of fraile Ile.-li.'
quoth he, [ground,
' Nought cares at all what they, that live on
Deem the occasion of his death to bee ;
Rather desires to be forgotten quight,
Than question made of his calamitic ,
For harts deep sorrow hates both life and light
' Yet since so much thou secmst to rue my
griefe, F nought,
And' carest for one that for himselfe cares
(Signe of thy love, though nought for my relief e,
For my reliefe exceedeth living thought ;)
I will to thee this heavie case relate:
Then harken well till it to ende bee brought
For never didst thou heare more haplesse fate.
' Whilome I usde (as thou right well doest
know)
My little flocke on westerne downes to keepe,
Not far from whence Sabrinaes streame doth
flow,
544
DAPHNAIDA.
[L. io2-ig(
And flowrie bancks with silver liquor steepe ;
Nought carde I then for worldly change or
chaunce,
For all my joy was on my gentle sheepe,
And to my pype to caroll and to daunce.
:It there befell, as I the fields did range
Fearelesse and free, a faire young Lionesse,
White as the native Rose before the chaunge
Which Venus blood did in her leaves impresse,
I spied playing on the grassie playne
Her youthfull sports and kindlie wantonnesse,
That did all other Beasts in beawtie staine.
' Much was I moved at so goodly sight,
Whose like before mine eye had seldome
scene,
And gan to cast how I her compasse might,
' Long thus I joyed in my happinesse,
And well did hope my joy would have no end
But oh, fond man ! that in worlds fickleness*
Reposedst hope, or weenedst her thy frend
That glories most in mortall miseries,
And daylie doth her changefull counsels bem
To make new matter tit for Tragedies;
'For whilest I was thus without dread or dout
A cruell Satyre with his murdrous dart,
Greedie of mischiefe, ranging all about,
Gave her the fatall wound of deadlie smart,
And reft fro me my sweete companion,
And reft fro me my love, my life, my hart :
My Lyonesse (ah, woe is mee !) is gon !
' Out of the world thus was she reft awaie,
Out of the world, unworthie such a spoyle,
And bring to hand that yet had never beene ;j And borne to heaven, for heaven a fitter prav
So well I wrought with mildnes and with j Much fitter than the Lyon, which with toyfe
Alcides slew, and fixt in firmament ;
Her now I seek throughout this earthlie sovle
And seeking misse, and missing doe lament.'
Therewith he gan afresh to waile and weepe,
That I for pittie of his heavie plight
pame,
That I her caught disporting on the green e,
And brought away fast bound with silver
chaine.
' And afterwards I handled her so fayre,
That though by kind shee stout and salvage
Could not abstaine mine eyes with teares tc
steepe ;
For being borne an auncient Lions haire, I But, when I saw the anguish of his spright
And of the race that all wild beastes do feare, Some deale alaid, I him bespake againe ;
Yet I her fram'd, and wan so to my bent, \' Certes, Alcyon, painfull is thy plight.
That shee became so meeke and milde of That it in me breeds almost equall paine.
,, cheare, ! ' Yet doth not mv dull wit well understand
As the least lamb in all my flock that went :
' For shee in field, where-ever I did wend,
Would wend with me, and waite by me all day •
And all the night that I in watch did spend,
If cause requir'd, or els in sleepe, if nay,
Shee would all night b y mee or watch or sleepe
And evermore when I did sleepe or play,
She of my Hock would take full warie keepe.
' Safe then, and safest were my sillie sheepe,
Ne fear'd the Wolfe, ne fear'd the wildest beast,
The riddle of thy loved Lionesse ;
For rare it seemes in reason to be skand,
That man, who doth the whole worlds rult
possesse,
Should to a beast his noble hart embase,
And be the vassall of his vassalesse ; [ case.
Therefore more plaine arcade this doubtful
Then sighing sore, 'Daphne thou knewest,
quoth he,
'She now is dead ;' ne more endured to say,
But fell to ground for great extreamitie ;
All were my self, through griefe, in deadh
I found miscaried or in plaine or wood.
' Oft did the Shepeheards, which my hap did
heare,
And oft their lasses, which my luck envide,
Daylie resort to me from farre and neare,
To see my Lyonesse, whose praises Avide
Were spred abroad ; and when her worthinesse
Much greater than the rude report they tride,
They her did praise, and my good "fortune
blesse.
Then gan I him to comfort all my best,
And with milde counsaile strove to mitigate
The stormie passion of his troubled brest.
But he thereby was more empassionate ;
As stubborne steed, that is with curb re-
strained,
Becomes more tierce and fervent in his gate ;
And, breaking foorth at last, thus dearuelia
plained :
!
L. 197-291.]
DAPILVAIDA.
! What man henceforth that breatheth vitall
ay re
Will honour heaven, or heavenlie powers adore,
Which so unjiistlie doe their judgments share
Mongst earthlie wightes, as to afflict so sore
The innocent, as tho.se which do transgressc,
And do not spare the best or fayrest, more
Than worst or fowlest, but doe both oppresse?
'If this be right, why did they then create
The world so fay re, sith fairenesse is neglected?
Or whie be they themselves immaculate.
If purest things be not by them respected ?
She faire, shee pure, most faire, most pure shee
was,
Yet was by them as thing impure rejected ;
Yet shee in purenesse heaven it selfe did pas.
1 In purenesse and in all celestiall grace,
That men admire in goodlie womankinde.
She did excell, and seem'd of Angels race,
Living on earth like Angell new divinde,
Adorn 'd with wisedome and with chastitie,
And all the dowries of a noble mind,
Which did her beautie much more beautifie.
' No age hath bred (since fayre Astnea left
The sinfull world) more vertue in a wight;
And, when she parted hence, with her she
reft [ quight.
Great hope, and robd her race of bountie
Well may the shepheard lasses now lament ;
For dubble losse by her hath on them light,
To loose both her and bounties ornament.
' Ne let Elisa, royall Shepheardesse,
The praises of in v parted love envy,
For she hath praises in all plenteousnesse
Powr'd upon her, like showers of Castaly,
By her own Shepheard, Colin, her owne 'Shep-
herd,
That her with heavenly hymnes doth deifie,
Of rustick muse full hardly to be betterd.
' She is the Rose, the glorie of the day,
And mine the 1'rimrose in the lowly shade :
Mine, ah ! not mine ; amisse I mine did say :
Not mine, but His, which mine awhile her
made;
Mine to be His, with him to live for ay.
O that so faire a flower so soone should fade,
And through untimely tempest fall away !
: She fell away in her first ages spring,
Whil'stvet her leafe was greene, and fresh her
rinde, [did bring,
And whil st her braunch faire blossomes foorth
She fell away against all course of kinde.
545
For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong ;
She fel away like fruit blowne downe with
winde.
Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my under-
song.
ii
'What hart so stony hard but that would
weepe,
And poure foorth fountaines of incessant teares ?
What Timon but would let compassion creepe
Into his brest, and pierce his frosen eares?
In stead of teares, whose brackish bitter well,
I wasted have, my heart-blood dropping
weares, [fell.
To thinke to ground how that faire blossome
' Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye,
Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent,
But as one toy Id with travaile downe doth lye,
So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went,
And closde her eyes with carelessc quietnesse;
The whiles soft death away her spirit hent,
And soule assqyld from sinfull fleshlinesse.
' Yet ere that life her lodging did forsake,
She, all resolv'd, and ready to remove,
Calling to me (ay me!) this wise bespake;
" Alcyon ! ah, my first and latest love !
Ah ! why does my Alcyon weepe and mourne,
And grieve my ghost, that ill mote him be-
hove,
As if to me had chanst some evill tourne !
'" I, since the messenger is come for mee,
That summons soules unto the bridale feast
Of his great Lord, must needesdepart from thee,
And straight obay his soveraine beheast ;
Why should Alcyon then so sore lament
That I from miserie shall be releast,
And freed from wretched long imprisonment !
' " Our daies are full of dolor and disease,
Our life afflicted with incessant paine,
That nought on earth may lessen or appease ;
Why then should I desire here to remaine !
Or why should he, that loves me, sorie bee
For my deliverance, or at all complaine
My good to heare, and toward joyes to see !
'" I goes, and long desired have to goe ;
I goe with gladnesse to my wished rest,
Whereas no worlds sad care nor wasting woe
May come their happie quiet to molest;
Hut Saints and Angels in celestiall thrones
Kternally Him praise that hath them blest ;
There shall I be amongst those bit »ril om-i.
' " Yet, ere I goe. a pledge I leave with thee
Of the late love the which betwixt us past,
My yong Ambrosia ; in lieu of mee,
Love her ; so shall our love for ever last.
X N
546
DAPHKA'IDA.
[L. 292-385.
Thus, deare ! adieu, whom I expect erelong." —
So having said, away she softly past :
Weep, Shepheard! weep, to make mine
undersong.
in
So oft as I record those piercing words,
Which yet are deepe engraven in my brest,
And tho'se last deadly accents, which like swords
Did wound ray heart, and rend my bleeding
chest,
With those sweet sugred speaches doo compare,
The which my soule first conquerd and possest,
The first beginners of my endles care :
' And when those pallid cheekes and ashy hew,
In which sad Death his pourtraicture had writ,
And when those hollow eyes and deadly view,
On which the clowde of ghastly night did sit,
I match with that sweet smile and chearfull
brow,
Which all the world subdued unto it,
How happie was I then, and wretched now !
' How happie was I when I saw her leade
The Sheplieards daugli ters dauncing in a rownd!
How trimly would she trace and softly tread
The tender grasse, with rosie garland crownd !
And when she list advance her heavenly voyce,
Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made as-
townd,
And flocks and shepheards caused to rejoyce.
4 But now, ye Shepheard lasses ! who shall
lead "
Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes ?
Or who shall dight your bowres, sith she is
dead
That was the Lady of your holy-dayes ?
Let now your blisse be turned into bale,
And into plaints convert your joyous playes,
And with the same fill every hill and dale.
' Let Bagpipe never more be heard to shrill,
That may allure the senses to delight,
Ne ever Shepheard sound his Oaten quill
Unto the many that provoke them might
To idle pleasance ; but let ghastlinesse
And drery horror dim the chearfull light,
To make the image of true heavinesse :
' Let birds be silent on the naked spray,
And shady woods resound with dreadful! yells ;
Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay,
And parching drougth drie up the christall
wells ;
Let th' earth be barren, and bring foorth no
flowres, [knells,
And th' ayre be filled with noyse of doleful!
And wandring spirits walke untimely howres.
' And Nature, nurse of every living thing,
Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse,
And cease henceforth things kindly forth to
bring,
But hideous monsters full of uglinesse ;
For she it is that hath me done this wrong,
No nurse, but Stepdame, cruell, mercilesse.
Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my under-
song.
IV
My little flocke, whom earst I lov'd so well,
And wont to feede with finest grasse that grew,
Feedeye hencefoorth on bitter Astrofell,
And stinking Smallage, and unsaverie Kew ;
And, when your mawes are with those weeds
corrupted,
Be ye the pray of Wolves ; ne will I rew
That with your carkasses wild beasts be glut-
ted.
' Ne worse to you, my sillie sheepe ! I pray,
Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall
Than to my selfe, for whose confusde decay
To carelcsse heavens I doo daylie call ;
But heavens refuse to heare a wretches cry ;
And cruell Death doth scorne to come at call,
Or graunt his boone that most desires to dye.
' The good and righteous he away doth take,
To plague th' unrighteous which alive remaine ;
But the ungodly ones he doth forsake,
By living long to multiplie their paine ;
Els surely death should be no punishment,
As the Great Judge at first did it ordaine,
But rather riddance from long languishment.
' Therefore, my Daphne they have tane away ;
For worth ie of a better place was she :
But ir°, unworthie willed here to stay,
That x ith her lacke I might tormented be.
Sith then they so have ordred, I will pay
Penance to her, according their decree,
And to her ghost doo service day by day.
'For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage.
Throughout the world from one to other end,
And in affliction wast my better age :
My bread shall be the anguish of my mind,
My drink the teares which fro mine eyes dc
mine,
My bed the ground that hardest I may finde ;
So will I wilfully increase my paine.
'And she, my love that was, my Saint that is
U hen she beholds from her celestiall throne
(In which shee joyeth in eternall blis)
My bitter penance, will my case bemone,
And pitie me that living thus doo die ;
For heavenly spirits have compassion
On mortall men, and rue their miseri*.
t. 386-485.1
DAPHNAfbA.
547
' So when I have with sorowe satisfide I ' So doo I live, so doo I davlie die
Th importune fates, which vengeance on me| And pine away in selfe-consuming paine !
And th' heavens with long languor paciflde,
She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke,
Will send for me ; for which I davlie long ;
And will till then my painful penance eeke.
Weep, Shepheard ! weep, to make mv under-
song.
v
' Hencefoorth I hate what ever Nature made,
And in her workmanship no pleasure trade,
For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade ;
So soone asjon them blowes the Northern wiude,
They tarrie not, but flit and fall away,
Leaving behind them nought but griefe of
minde,
And mocking such as thinke they long will
stay.
' I hate the heaven, because it doth withhold
Me from my love, and eke my love from me ;
I hate the earth, because it is the mold
Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie ;
I hate the fire, because to nought it flyes ;
I hate the Ayre, because sighes of it be ;
I hate the Sea, because it teares supplyes.
' I hate the day, because it lendeth light
To see all things, and not my love to see ;
1 hate the darknesse and the drery night,
Because they breed sad balefulnesse in mee ;
I hate all times, because, all times doo flye
So fast away, and may not stayed bee,
But as a speedie post that passeth by. .
' I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with
Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie,
And feeble spirits in their force maintaine,
Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong
My wearie dales in dolor and disdaine !
Weep, Shepheard ! weep, to make my under-
song,
VI
' Why doo I longer live in lifes despight,
And doo not dye then in despight of death;
Why doo I longer see this loathsome light
And doo in darknesse not abridge my breath,
Sith all my sorrow should have end thereby.
And cares tinde quiet ! Is it so uneath
To leave this life, or dolorous to dye ?
' To live I finde it deadly dolorous,
For life drawes care, and care continuall woe ;
Therefore to dye must needes be joyeous,
And wishfull thing this sad life to forgoe :
But I must stay ; I may it not amend,
My Daphne hence departing bad me so ;
She bad me stay, till she for me did send.
' Vet, whitest I in this wretched vale doo stay
My wearie feete shall ever wandring be,
That still I may be readie on my way
When as her messenger doth come for me;
Xe will I rest my feete for feeblenesse,
Ne will I rest my limmes for frailtie,
Ne will I rest mine eyes for heavinesse.
But, as the mother of the Gods, that sought
For faire Eurydice, her daughter deere,
Throughout the world, with wofull heavie
crying; [eares; I thought;
I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld mine ; So will I travell whilest I tarrie heere,
I hate to tast, for food withholds my dying ; j Ne will I lodge, ne will I ever tin,
I hate to see, mine eyes are dimdwith teares ;,Ne, when as drouping Titan draweth neere
I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left; |To loose his teeme, will I take up my Inne.
I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with feares : , Ne sleepe (fhe harbenger of w?arie wij,ht9)
Shall ever lodge upon mine ey-lids more;
Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting spri^hts,
Nor failing force to former's! reugth restore :
But I will wake an 1 sorrow all the night
So all my senaes from me are bereft.
I hate all men, and shun all womankinde ;
The one, because as I they wretched are ;
The other, for because I doo not finde
My love with them, that wont to be their
Starre :
And life I hate, because it will not last ;
And Heath I hate, because it life doth marre ;
And all 1 hate that is to come or past.
, ' So all the world, and all in it I hate,
Because it changeth ever too and fro,
And never standeth in one certaine state,
But still unstedfast, round about doth goe
Like a Mill-wheele in midst of miserie,
Driven with stream es of wretchednesse and woe,
Tnat dying lives, and living still does dye.
With Philumene, my fortune to deplore;
With Philumene, the partner of my plight.
'And ever as I see the starres to fall,
And under ground to goe to give them 'i^'M
Which dwell in darknes, I to minde will call
How my fair Starre (that shinde on me so
Fell sodainly and faded under ground ; [bright)
Since whose departure, day is turud to night.
And night without a Venus- starre is found.
• But soone as day doth shew his deawie face.
And cults foorth men unto their toylsome trade,
DAPHNAlDA.
[L. 486-567. !
1 will withdraw me to some darksome place,
Or some deepe eave, or solitarie shade;
There will I sigh, and sorrow all day long.
And the huge burden of my cares unlade.
Weep, Shepheard ! weep, to make my under-
song.
VII
And ye, faire Damsels! Shepheards dere
delights, [sesse,
That with your loves do their rude hearts pos-
When as my hearse shall happen to your
sightes,
Vouchsafe to deck the same with Cyparesse ;
And ever sprinckle brackish teares among,
In pitie of mv undeserv'd distresse.
'VPS finfilt npvpr mArA np- mi i_« i_ V *. i- j j t *i i
t~ - 1 he which, I, wretch, endured have thus long.
Faire thing on earth, ne feed on false delight
Of ought that framed is of mortall moulde,
Sith that my fairest flower is faded quight ;
For all I see is vaine and transitorie,
Ne will be helde in anie stedfast plight,
But in a moment loose their grace and glorie.
' And ye fond men ! on fortunes wheele that
ride,
Or in ought under heaven repose assurance,
Be it riches, beautie, or honors pride,
Be sure that they shall have no long endurance,
But ere ye be aware will flit away ; f usance
For nought of them is yours, but th' onely
Of a small time, which none ascertaine may. '
' And ye, true Lovers ! whom desastrous
chaunce
Hath farre exiled from your Ladies grace,
To mourne in sorrow and sad sufferaunce,
When ye doo heare me in that desert place
Lamenting lowde my Daphnes Elegie,
Help me to wayle my miserable case,
And when life parts vouchsafe to close mine eye.
' And ye, more happie Lovers ! which enjoy
The presence of your dearest loves delight",
When ye doo heare my sorrowfull annoy,
Yet pittie me in your empassiond spright,
And thinke that such mishap, as chaunst to
me,
May happen unto the most happiest wight;
For all inens states alike unstedfast be.
' And ye, my fellow Shepheards ! which do
feed
Your carelesse flocks on hils and open plaines.
With better fortune than did me succeed,
Remember yet my undeserved paines ;
And, when ye heare that I am dead or slaine.
Lament my "lot, and tell your fellow-swaines
Tiii.1: sad Alcyon dyde in lifes disdaiue.
' And ye, poore Pilgrimes ! that with restlesse
toyle
Wearie your selves in wandring desert waves,
Till that you come where ye your vowes
assoyle,
When passing by ye read these wofull laves,
On my grave written, rue my Daphnes wrong,
And mourne for me that languish out my
dayes. [song-'
Cease, Shepheard ! cease, and end thy under-
Thus when he ended had his heavie plaint,
The heaviest plaint that ever I heard sound,
His cheekes wext pale, and sprights began to
faint,
As if againe he would have fallen to ground ;
Which when I saw, I (stepping to him light.)
Amooved him out of his stonie swound,
And gau him to recomfort as I might.
But he no waie recomforted would be,
Nor suffer solace to approach him nie,
But casting up a sdeinfull eie at me,
That in his traunce I would not let him lie,
Did rend his haire, and beat his blubbred face,
As one disposed wilfullie to die,
That I sore griev'd to see his wretched cass.
Tho when the pang was somewhat overpast,
And the outragious passion nigh appeased,
I him desirde sith daie was overcast,
And darke night fast approched, to be pleased
To turne aside, unto my Cabinet,
And staie with me, till" he were better eased
Of that strong stownd which him so sore beset,
But. by no meanes I could him win thereto,
Ne longer him intreate with me to staie,
Rut without taking leave he foorth did goe
Withstaggring pace and dismall lookes dismay,
As if that death he in the face had scene,
Or hellish hags had met upon the way;
But what of him became I cannot weene.
549
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.
BY ED. SPENCER.
TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AND NOBLE KNIOHT
SIR WALTER RALEIGH,
CAPTAINE OF HER MAJESTIES GUARD, LORD WARDEIX OF THE STANNERIES,
AND LIEUTENANT OF THE OOUNTIE OF CORNWALL.
THAT you may see that I am not alwaies
ydle as yee thinke, though not greatly well
occupied, nor altogither undutifull, though
not precisely officious, I make you present of
this simple pastorall, unwofthie of your
higher conceipt for the meanesse of the stile,
but agreeing with the truth in circumstance
and matter. The which I humbly beseech
yen to accept in part of paiment of the infi-
nite debt in which I acknowledge my selfe
bounden unto you, for your singular favours
and sundrie good turnes, shewed tome at my
late being in England, and with your good
countenance protect against the *malice of
evill mouthes. which are alwaies wide open
to carpe at and misconstrue my simple mean-
ing. I pray continually for your happinesse.
From my house of Kilcolman, the 27. of
December, 1591.
Yours very humbly.
COLIN CLOUTS CfcME HOME AGAINE.
THE shepheards boy (best knowen by that
name)
That after Tityrus first sung his lay,
Laies of sweet love, without rebuke or blame,
Sate (as his custome was) upon a day,
Charming his oaten pipe unto his peres,
The shepheard swaines that did about him play :
Who all the while, with greedie listfull eares,
Did stand astonisht at his curious skill,
Like hartlesse deare, dismayd with thunders
At last, when as he piped had his fill, [sound.
He rested him : and, sitting then around,
One of those groomes (a jolly groome was he,
As ever piped on an oaten reed,
And lov'c! this shepheard dearest in degree,
Hight Hobbinol ;) gan thus to him areed.
4 Colin, nay liefe, my life, how great a losse
Had all the shepheards nation by thy lacke:
And I, poore swaine, of many, greatest crosse !
That, sith thy Muse first since thy turning
backe
Was heard to sound as she was wont on hye.
Hast made us all so lilessed and so blythe.
Whitest thou wast hence, all dead in dole did
lie: [sythe,
The woods were heard to waile full many a
And all their birds with silence to complaine :
The fields with faded flowers did seem to
mourne,
And all their flocks from feeding to rcfraine :
The running waters wept for thy returne,
And all their fish with languor did lament :
Out now both woods and fields and floods
revive,
Sith thou art come, their cause of meriment,
That us, late dead, has made againc alive :
Hut were it not too painfull to repeat
The passed fortunes, which to thee befell
In thy late voyage, we thee would entreat,
Now at thy leisure them to us to tell.'
To whom the shepheard gently answered
thus ;
' Hobbin, thou temptest me to that I covet :
For of good passed newly to discus,
By dubble usurie doth twi.se renew it.
And since I saw that Angels blessed eie,
55°
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.
[i.. 41-1
Her worlds bright sun, her heavens fairest light,
My mind, full of my thoughts satietie,
Doth feed on sweet contentment of that sight :
Since that same day in nought I take delight,
Ne feeling have in any earthly pleasure,
But in remembrance of that glorious bright,
My lifes sole blisse, my hearts eternall threa-
sure. [awake ;
Wake then, my pipe; my sleepie Muse,
Till I have told her praises lasting long :
Hobbin desires, thoti maist it not forsake ;—
Harke then, ye jolly shepheards, to my song.'
With that they all gan throng about him
neare,
With hungrie eares to heare his harmonic :
The whiles their flocks, devoyd of dangers feare,
Did round about them feed at libertie.
As water doth within his bancks appeare.'
' Of fellowship (said then that bony Boy)
Record to us that lovely lay againe : [annoy.
The staie whereof shall nought these eares
Who all that Colin makes do covet faine.'
' Heare then (quoth he) the tenor of my tale.
In sort as I it to that shephsard told :
No leasing new, nor Grandams fable stale,
But auncient truth confirm'd with credence old.
' Old father Mole, (Mole hight that moun-
tain gray
That walls the Northside of Armulla dale)
He had a daughter fresh as floure of May,
Which gave that name unto that pleasant" vale:
Mulla, the daughter of old Mole, so hight
The Nimph, which of that water course has
Under the foote of Mole, that mountaine hore,
Keeping my sheepe amongst the cooly shade
Of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore ;
There a straunge shephcard chaunst to find
me out,
Whether allured with my pipes delight,
Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about,
charge,
[right
That, springing out of Mole, doth run downe
To Buttevant, where, spreading forth at large,-
[t giveth name unto that auncient Cittie,
Which Kilnemullah cleped is of old ; [pittie
Whose ragged mines breed great ruth and
To travailers, which it from far behold.
Full faine she lov'd, and was belov'd full faine
3f her owne brother river, Bregog hight,
Or thither led by chaunce, I know not right : So hight because of this deceitfull traine,
AVhom when I asked from what place he came, | Which he with Mulla wrought to win delight.
And how he hight, himselfe he did j'cleepe
The Shepheard of the Ocean by name,
And said he came far from the main-sea deepe,
He, sitting me beside in that same shade,
Provoked me to plaie some pleasant fit;
And, when he heard the musicke which I made,
He found himselfe full greatly pleasd at it :
Yet, semuling my pipe, he tooke in bond
My pipe, before that aemuled of many,
And plaid thereon ; (for well that skill he cond ;)
Himselfe as skilfull in that art as any.
He pip'd, I sung ; and, when he sung, I piped ;
By chaunge of turnes, each making other mery ;
Neither envying other, nor envied,
So piped we, until we both were weary.'
There interrupting him, a bonie swaine,
That Cuddy hight, him thus atweene bespake :
' And, should it not thy readie course restraine,
But her old sire more carefull of her good,
And meaning her much better to preferre,
Did thinke to match her with the neighbour
flood,
Which Allo hight, Broad-water called farre ;
And wrought so well with his continuall paine,
Tnat he that river for his daughter wonne :
The dowre agreed, the day assigned plaine,
The place appointed where it should be doone.
Nath-lesse the Nymph her former liking held;
For love will not be drawne, but must be
ledde;
And Bregog did so well her fancie weld,
That her good will he got her first to wedde.
But for her father, sitting still on hie,
Did warily still watch which way she went,
And eke from far observ'd, with jealous eie,
Which way his course the wanton Bregog
I would request thee, Colin, for my sake, bent ;
To tell what thou didst sing, when he did Him to deceive, for all his watchfull ward,
plaie ;
For well I weene it worth recounting was,
Whether it were some hymne, or morall laie,
Or carol made to praise thy loved lasse.'
' Nor of my love, nor of my lasse (quoth he,)
I then did sing, as then occasion fell :
For love had me forlorne, forlorne of me,
That made me in that desart chose to dwell.
But of my river Bregogs love I soong,
Which to" the shiny Mulla he did beare,
And yet doth bcare, and ever will, so long
The wily lover did devise this slight :
First into many parts his streame he shar'd,
That, whitest the one was watch t, the other
might
Passe unespide to meete her by the way ;
And then, besides, those little streames so
broken
He under ground so closely did convay,
That of their passage doth appeare no'token,
Till they into the Mullaes water slide.
So secretlv did he his love enjoy
L. 146-245.! COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.
sr»
Yet not so secret, but it was descride,
And told her lather by a shepheards boy,
Who, wondrous wroth, for that so foule de-
spight,
In great avenge did roll downe from his hill
Huge mightie stones, the which encomber
might
His passage, and his water-courses spill.
So of a River, which he was of old,
He none was made, but scattrcd all to nought;
And, lost emong those rocks into him rold,
Did lose his name : so deare his love he bought.'
Which having said, him Thestylis bespake ;
' Now by my life this was a naery lay,
Worthie of Colin selfe, that did it make.
But read now eke, of friendship I thee pray,
What dittie did that other shepheard sing :
For I do covet most the same to heare,
• As men use most to covet forreine thing.'
' That shall I eke (quoth he) to you declare :
His song was all a lamentable lay
Of great unkindnesse, and of usage hard,
Of Cynthia the Ladie of the Sea,
Which from her presence fa tiltlesse him debard.
And ever and anon, with singults rife,
He cryed out, to make his undersong ;
So to the sea we came ; the sea, that is
A world of waters heaped up on hie,
Rolling like mountaines in wide wildernesse,
Horrible, hideous, roaring with hoarse crie.'
• And is the sea (quoth Coridon) so fearfull?'
' Fearful much more (quoth he) then hart
can fear : [Doping din-full
Thousand wyld beasts with deep mouthes
Therin stil wait poore passengers to tcare.
Who life doth loath, and longs death to In-bold.
Before he die, ahcadie dead with feare, [cold.
And yet would live with heart halfe stonie
Let him to sea, and he shall see it there.
And yet as ghastly drcadfull, as it seemes,
Bold men, presuming life for gaine to sell,
Dare tempt that gulf, and in those wandring
stremes [hell.
Seek waies unknowne, waies leading down to
For, as we stood there waiting on the strond.
Behold! an huge great vessel! to us came,
Daunting upon the waters back to lond,
As if it scornd the daunger of the same ;
Yet was it but a wooden frame and fraile,
Clewed togither with some subtile matter.
Yet had it armes and wings, and head and
taile,
Ah ! my loves queene, andgoddesse of my life. (And life to move it selfe upon the water.
Who shall me pittie, when thou doest me
wrong ? '
Then gan a gentle bonylasse to speake,
That Marin hight ; ' Right well be sure did
plaine,
[breake,
That could great Cynthiaes sore displeasure
And move to take him to her grace againe.
But tell on further, Colin, as befell
Twixt him and thee, that thee did hence dis-
Strange thing ! how bold and swift the mon-
ster was, [raine,
That neither car'd for wynd, nor l.aile, nor
Xor swelling waves, but thorough them did
passe
So proudly, that she made them roare agaiue.
The same aboord us gently did rcceave,
And without harrae us farrc away did l>eare,
So farre that land, our mother, us did leave.
suade.' [well, And nought but sea and heaven to us appeare.
; When thus our pipes we both had wearied Then hartlesse quite, and full of inward feare,
(Quoth he) and each an end of singing made
He gan to cast great lyking to my lore,
And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot,
That banisht bad my selfe, like wight forlore,
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot.
The which to leave, thenceforth he counseld
mee, [.full
Unmeet for man, in whom was ought regard-
And wend with him, his Cynthia to see ;
Whose grace was great, and bounty most re-
wardfull.
Besides her peerlesse skill in making well,
And all the ornaments of wondrous wit,
Such as all womankynd did far excell ;
Such as the world admyr'd, and praised it :
So what with hope of good, and hate of ill,
He me perswaded forth with him to fare.
Nought tookel with me, but mine oaten quill :
Small needmeuts else need sbepbeard to pre-
pare.
That shcpheard I besought to me to tell,
Under what skie, or in what world we were,
In which I saw no living people dwell.
Who, me recomforting all that he might,
Told me that that same was the Regiment
Of a great shepheardesse, that Cynthia hight,
His liege, his Ladie, and his lifes Regent. —
' If then (quoth I) a shepheardesse she bee,
Where be the tlockcs and beards, which she
doth keep ?
And where may I the hills and pastures see,
( )n which she useth for to feed her sheepe?"
' These be the hills (quoth he) the surges
hie,
On which faire Cynthia her beards doth feed :
Her beards be thousand fishes with their trie,
Which in the bosome of the billow es breed.
Of them the shepheard which hath charge in
chief,
Is Triton, blowing loud his wreathed home :
552
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [i,. 246-347.
At sound whereof, they all for their relief
Wend too and fro at evening and at morne.
And Proteus eke with him does drive his
heard
Of slinking Seales and Porcpisces together,
With hoary head and deawy dropping beard,
Compelling them which way he list, and
whether.
And, I among the rest, of man}- least,
Have in the Ocean charge to me assignd ;
Where I will live or die at her beheast.
And serve and honour her with faithfull mind.
Besides an hundred Nymphs all heavenly borne,
And of iminortall race, doo still attend
To wash faire Cynthiaes sheep, when they be
shorne, [ end.
And fold them up. when they have made an
Those be the shepheards which my Cynthia
At sea, beside a thousand moe at land : [serve
For land and sea my Cynthia doth deserve
To have in her commandement at hand.'
Thereat I wondred much, till, wondring
more
And more, at length we land far offdescryde :
Which sight much gladed me ; for much afore
I feard. least land we never should have eyde :
Thereto our ship her course directly bent,
As if the way she perfectly had knowne.
We Lunday passe ; by that same name is ment
An island, which the first to west was showne,
From thence another world of land we kend,
Floting amid the sea in jeopardie, [hemd,
And round about with mightie white rocks j
Against the seas encroching crueltie. [fields t Had people grace it gratefully to use":
Those same, the shepheard told me, were the For God his gifts there plenteously bestowes,
1 n which dame Cynthia her landheards fed ; "— ' "~- ..--,.
Faire goodly fields, then which Armulla yields
None fairer, nor more fruitfull to be red :
The first, to which we nigh approched, was
An high headland thrust far into the sea,
Like to an home, whereof the name it has,
Yet seemed to be a goodly pleasant lea :
There did a loftie mount at first us greet,
Which did a stately heape of stones upreare,
That seemd amid the surges for to fleet,
Much greater then that "frame, which us did
For that same land much larger is then this,
And other men and beasts and birds doth feed •.
There fruitfull corne, faire trees, fresh herbage.
is,
And all things else that living creatures need.
Besides most goodly rivers there appeare,
No whit inferiour to thy Fanchins praise,
Or unto Allo, or to Mulla cleare :
Nought hast thou, foolish boy, seene in thv
daies.' [ here,
' But if that land be there (quoth he) as
And is theyr heaven likewise there all one ?
And, if like heaven, be heavenly graces there,
Like as in this same world where we do wone ?'
4 Both heaven and heavenly graces do much
more
(Quoth he) abound in that same land then this:
For there all happie peace and plenteous store
Conspire in one to make contented blisse.
No wayling there nor wretchednesse is heard,
No bloodie issues nor no leprosies,
No griesly famine, nor no raging sweard,
No nightly bordrags, nor no hue and cries ;
The shepheards there abroad may safely lie,
On hills and downes, withouten dread or daun-
ger : [troy
No ravenous wolves the good mans hope des-
Nor outlawes fell affray the forest raunger.
There learned arts do florish in great honor,
And Poets wits are had in peerlesse price :
Religion hath lay powre to rest upon her,
Advancing vertue and suppressing vice.
For end, all good, all grace there freely growes,
beare;
There did our ship her fruitfull wombe unlade,
And put us all ashore on Cynthias land.
' What land is that thou meant, (then Cuddy
sayd)
And is there other then whereon we stand ?'
4 Ah ! Cuddy (then quoth Colin) thous a
But gracelesse men them greatly "do abuse.'
4 But. say on further (then said Corylas)
The rest of thine adventures, that betyded.'
4 Foorth on our voyage we by land did
passe,
(Quoth he) as that same shepheard still us
guyded,
Untill that \ve to Cynthiaes presence came :
Whose gloric greater then my simple thought.
I found much greater then the former fame ,
Such greatnes I cannot compare to ought :
But if I her like ought on earth might read,
I would her lyken to a crowne of lillies,
Unon a virgin brydes adorned head,
With Roses dight and Gooldsand Daffadilli2E;
Or like the circlet of a Turtle true,
In which all colours of the rainbow bee ;
Or like faire Phebes garlond shining new,
fon> [ worke :|In which all pure perfection one may see'.
That hast not seene least part of natures j But vaine it is to thinke, bv paragoiie
Much more there is unkend then thou doest Of earthly things, to judge'of things divine:
k°n; [lurkeJHer power, her'mercy, her wisdome, none
And much more that does from mens knowledge | Can deeme, but who "the Godhead can define.
L. 348-4470 COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.
553
Why then do I, base ohephcard, bold and And there is old Palemon free from spight
iin — f 11 _•
blind,
Presume the things so sacred to prophane?
More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind,
The image of the heavens in shape humane.'
With that Alexis broke his tale asunder,
Saying; 'By wondring at thy Cynthiaes
praise,
Colin, thy selfe thou mak'st us more to wonder,
And her upraising doest thy selfe upraise.
But let us heare what grace she shewed thee,
And how that shepheard strange thy cause
advanced.'
' The Shepheard of the Ocean (quoth he)
Unto that Goddesse grace me first enhanced,
And to mine oaten pipe enclin'd her eare,
That she thenceforth therein gan take de-
light;
And it desir'd at timely houres to heare,
All were my notes but rude and roughly
dight;
For not by measure of her owne great mynd,
And wondrous worth, she mott my simple
song, [fynd
But joyd that country shepheard ought could
Worth barkening to, emongst the learned
throng.'
[shec
' Why ? (said AJexis then) what needeth
That is so great a shepheardesse her selfe,
And hath so many shepheards in her fee,
To heare thee sing, a simple silly Elfe ?
Or be the shepheards which do serve her
laesie,
That they list not their men' pipes applie ?
Or be their pipes untunable and craesie,
That they cannot her honour worthylie ?'
' Ah ! nay (said Colin) neither so,' nor so :
For better shepheards be not under skic,
Nor better liable, when they list to blow
Their pipes aloud, her name to gloritie.
There is good Harpalus, now woxen aged
In fait hl'iill service of faire Cynthia :
And there is Corydon though meanly waged,
Yet hablest wit of most I know this day.
And there is sad Alcyon bent to mourne,
Though fit to frame an everlasting dittie,
Whose gentle spright for Daphnes death
Whose carefull pipe may make the hearer
rew :
Yet he himselfe may rewcd be more right.
That sung so long untill quite hoarse he grew.
And there is Alabaster throughly taught
In all this skill, though known/yet to few;
Yet, were lie knownc to Cynthia as he ought,
His Elisei's would be reddc anew.
Who lives that can match that heroick song,
Which he hath of that tnightie Princesse
made?
O dreaded Dread, do not thy selfe that wrong,
To let thy fame lie so in hidden shade:
But call it forth, O call him forth to thee,
To end thy glorie which he hath lx>gun :
That, when he finisht hath as it should be,
No braver Poeme can be under Sun.
Nor Po nor Tyburs swans so much renowned,
Nor all the brood of Greece so highly praised,
Can match that Muse when it with' bayes is
crowned,
And to the pitch of her perfection raised.
And there is a new shepheard late up sprong,
The which doth all afore him far surpasse;
Appearing well in that well tuned song,
Which late he sung unto a scornfull lasse.
Yet doth his trembling Muse but lowly flie,
As daring not too rashly mount on hight.
And doth her tender plumes as yet but trie
In loves soft laies and looser tho'ughts delight.
Then rouze thy feathers quickly, Daniell,
And to what course thou please thy selfe ad-
vance :
But most, me seemes, thy accent will excell
In Tragick plaints and passionate mischance.
And there that Shepheard of the Ocean is,
That spends his wit in loves consuming
smart :
Full sweetly tempred is that Muse of his,
That can empierce a Princes mightie hart
There also is (ah no, he is not now !)
Hut since I .-aid he is, he quite is gone,
Ainyntas quite is gone, and lies full low,
Having his Amaryllis left to mone.
Helpe, 0 ye shepheards, helpe ye all in this,
Helpe Amaryllis this her losse'to mourne:
doth tourn Her losse is yours, your losse Amyntas is.
Sweet laves of love to endlesse plaints of Ainyntas, floure of shepheards pride forlonie:
piftie. He whitest he lived was the noblest swaine,
Ah! pensive boy, pursue that brave conccipt 'That ever piped in an oaten quill :
In thy sweete Eglantine of Meriflure ;
Lift up thy notes unto their wonted height,
That may "thy Muse and mates to mirth allure.
There eke is Palin worthie of great praise,
Alho he envie at my rustick quill :
And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise
His tunes from laies to matter of more skill.
Both did he other, which could pipe, main-
taine, [skill.
And eke could pipe himselfe with pawing
And there, though last not least, is Action,
A gentler shepheard may no where bo found:
Whose Muse, full of high thoughts invention,
Doth lik<- liini^i lli- IKr. j.-ally sound.
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COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [L. 448-559.
All these, and many others mo rcmaine,
Now, after AstrofeU is dead and gone :
But, while as Astrofell did live and raine,
Amongst all these was none his paragone.
All these do florish in their sundry kynd,
And do their Cvnthia immortall make:
Yet found I lyking in her royall mynd,
Not for my skill, but for that shepheards sake.'
Then spake a lovely lasse, hight Lucida :
'Shepheard, enough of shepheards thou hast
Which favour thee, and honour Cynthia : [told,
But of so many Nymphs, which she doth hold
In her retinew", thou hast nothing sayd ;
That seems, with none of them thou favor
foundest,
Or art ingratefull to each gentle mayd,
That none of all their due deserts resoundest.'
' Ah far be it (quoth Colin Clout) fro me.
That I of gentle Mayds should ill deserve !
For that my selfe I do professe to be
Vassall to one, whom all my dayes I serve ;
The beame of beautie sparkled from above,
The floure of vertue and pure chastitie,
The blossome of sweet joy and perfect love,
The pearle of peerlesse grace and modestie :
To her my thoughts I daily dedicate,
To her my heart I nightly martyrize :
To her my love I lowly do prostrate,
To her my life I wholly sacrifice :
My thought, my heart, my love, my life is shee,
And I hers ever onely, ever one :
One ever I all vowed hers to bee,
One ever I, and others never none.' [Mayd,
Then thus Melissa said ; ' Thrise happie
Whom thou doest so enforce to deifie : [ made
That woods, and hills, and valleyes thou hast
Her name to eccho unto heaven hie.
But say, who else vouchsafed thee of grace ?'
' They all (quoth he) me graced goodly well.
That all I praise ; but in the highest place,
Urania, sister unto Astrofell,
In whose brave mynd, as in a golden cofer,
All heavenly gifts and riches locked are ;
More rich then pearles of Ynde, or gold of Opher,
And in her sex more wonderfull and rare.
Ne lesse praise-worthie I Theana read, [dight
Whose goodly beames though they be overr-
With mourning stole of carefull wydowhead,
Yet through that darksome vale do glister
bright :
She is the well of bountie and brave mvnd,
Excelling most in glorie and great light:
She is the ornament of womankind,
And courts chief garlond with all vertues dight,
Therefore great Cynthia her in chiefest grace
Doth hold, and next unto her selfe advance,
Well worthie of so honourable place,
For her great worth and noble governance ;
Ne lesse praise-worthie is her sister deare,
Faire Marian, the Muses onely darling :
Whose beautie shyneth as the morning cleare,
With silver deaw upon the roses pearling.
Ne lesse praise-worthie is Mansilia, [traine:
Best knowne by bearing up great Cynthiaes
That same is she to whom Daphnaidu
Upon her neeces death I did complaine :
She is the paterne of true womanheatl,
And onely mirrhor of feminitie :
Worthie next after Cynthia to tread,
As she is next her in nobilitie.
Ne lesse praise-worthie Galathea seemes,
Then best of all that honourable crew,
Faire Galathea with bright shining beames,
Inflaming feeble eyes that her do view.
She there then waited upon Cynthia,
Yet there is not her won ; but here with us
About the borders of our rich Coshma,
Now made of Maa, the Nymph delitious.
Ne lesse praise-worthie faire Neaera is,
Neasra ours, not theirs, though there she be ;
For of the famous Shure, the Nymph she is,
For high desert, advaunst to that degree.
She is the blosome of grace and curtesie,
Adorned with all honourable parts :
She is the braunch of true nobilitie,
Belov'd of high and low with faithfull harts.
Ne lesfe praise-worthie Stella do I read,
Though nought my praises of her needed arrc,
Whom verse of noblest shepheard lately dead
Hath prais'd and rais'd above each other starre.
Ne lesse praisworthie are the sisters three,
The honor of the noble familie :
Of which I meanest boast my selfe to be,
And most that unto them I am so nie ;
Phyllis, Charillis, and sweet Amaryllis.
Phyllis, the faire, is eldest of the three :
The next to her is bountifull Charillis :
But th' youngest is the highest in degree.
Phyllis, the floure of rare perfection,
Faire spreading forth her leaves with fresh
delight,
That, with their beauties amorous reflexion.
Bereave of sence each rash beholders sight
But sweet Charillis is the Paragone
Of peerlesse price, and ornament of praise,
Admyr'd of all, yet envied of none,
Through the myld temperance of her goodly
raies.
Thrise happie do I hold thee, noble swaine,
The which art of so rich a spoile possest,
And, it embracing deare without disdaine,
Hast sole possession in so chaste a bres t ! [ bee,
Of all the shepheards daughters which there
And yet there be the fairest under skie,
Or that elsewhere I ever yet did see,
A fairer Nymph yet never saw mine eie :
L. 560-663.] CO UN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.
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She is the pride and primrose of the rest,
Made by the Maker selfe to be admired ;
And like a goodly beacon high addrest,
That is with sparks of hevenlie beautie fired.
But Amaryllis, whether fortunate
Or else unfortunate may I aread,
That free'd is from Cupids yoke by fate,
Since which she doth new bauds adventure
dread ; —
Shepheard, what ever thou hast heard to be
In this or that praysd diversly apart,
In her thou maist them all assembled see,
And seald up in the threasure of her hart.
Ne thee lesse worthie, gentle Flavia,
.For thy chaste life and vertue I esteeiue :
"Se thee lesse worthie, curteous Candida,
For thy true love and loyaltie I deeme.
Besides yet many mo that Cynthia serve,
Bight noble Nymphs, and high to be com-
mended :
But, if I all should praise as they deserve,
This sun would faileme ere I halfe had ended :
^herefore, in closure of a thankfull mynd,
leeme it best to hold eternally j^shrynd,
lieir bounteous deeds and noble favours
^hen by discourse them to indignifie.'
So having said, Aglmira him bespake :
Colin, well worthie were those goodly favours
Jestowd on thee, that so of them doest make,
And them requitest with thy thankfull labours.
But of great Cynthiaes goodnesse, and high
grace,
("inish the storie which thou hast begunne.'
' More eath (quoth he) it is in such a case
low to begin, then know how to have donne.
<\>r everie gift, and everie goodly meed,
Vhichshe on me bestowd, demaunds a day ;
\nd everie day, in which she did a deed,
)emaunds a yeare it duly to display. [ing,
ler words were like a streame of honny neet-
?he which doth softly trickle from the hive,
3able to melt the hearers heart unweeting,
bid eke to make the dead againe alive,
ler deeds were like great clusters of ripe
grapes,
Yhich load the braunches of the fruitfull vine ;
firing to fall into each mouth that gapes,
nd fill the same with store of timely wine,
er lookes were like beames of the morning
Sun, [East,
'orth looking through the windowes of the
iVhen first the neecie cattell have begun
pon the perled grasse to make their feast,
er thoughts are like the fume of Franckincence,
iVhich from a golden Censer forth doth rise,
nd throwing forth sweet odours mounts fro
thence
rolling globes up to the vauted skies.
There she beholds, with high aspiring thought,
The cradle of her owne creation,
Emongstthe seats of Angels heavenly wrought
Much like an Angell in all forme and fashion.
' Colin, (said Cuddy then) thou hast forgot
Thy selfe, me seemes, too much, to mount so
hie:
Such loftie flight base shepheard secmeth not.
From rlocks and fields, to angels and to skie.'
'True (answered he) but her great excellence
Lifts me above the measure of my might :
That, being fild with furious insolence,
I feele my selfe like one yrapt in spright.
For when I thinke of her, as oft I ought,
Then want I words to sptake it fitly forth :
And, when I speake of her what I have
thought,
I cannot thinke according to her worth :
Yet will I thinke of her, yet will I speake,
So long as life my limbs doth hold together ;
And, when as death these vitall bands shall
breake,
Her name recorded I will leave for ever.
Her name in every tree I will endosse, [grow:
That, as the trees do grow, her name may
And in the ground each where will it engrosse,
And fill with stones, that all men may it know.
The speaking woods, and murmuring waters
fall,
Her name He teach in knowen terms to frame:
And eke my lambs, when for their dams thev
He teach to call for Cynthia by name, [call,
And, long while after I am dead and rotten,
Amongst the shepheards daughters dancing
rownd.
My laves made of her shall not be forgotten,
But sung by them with flowrygyrlondscrownd.
And ye, who so ye be, that still survive,
When as ye heare her memory renewed,
Be witnesse of her bountie here alive, [sln\v<><l.'
Which she to Colin her poore shepheard
Much was the whole assembly of thoseheards
Moov'd at his speech, so feelingly he spake :
And stood awhile astonisht at his words,
Till Thestylia at last their silence brake,
Saying : 'Why Colin, since thou foundst such
With Cynthia'and all her noble crew ; [grace
Why didst thou ever leave that happie place,
In which such wealth might unto thee accrew;
And back returnedst to this barrein soyle,
Where cold and care and penury do dwell,
Here to keep sheepe, with hunger and with
toyle?
Most wretched he, that is and cannot telL*
' Happie indeed (said Colin) I him hold,
That may that blessed presence still enjoy,
Of fortune and of envy uncomptrold,
Which still are wont most happie states t'annoy :
556
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [L. 664-770.
But I, by that which little while I prooved,
Some part of those enormities did see,
The which in Court continually hooved,
And followd those which happie seemd to bee.
Therefore I, silly man, whose former dayes
Had in rude fields bene altogether spent,
Durst not adventure such unknowen wayes,
Nor trust the guile of fortunes blandishment :
But rather chose back to my sheep to tourne,
Whose utmost hardnesse I before had tryde,
Then, having learnd repentance late, to mourne
But are like bladders blowen up with wynd,
That being prickt do vanish into noughts.
Even such is all their vaunted vanitie, [away.
Nought else but smoke, and fumeth sooni
Such is their glorie that in simple eie [gay.
Seeme greatest, when their garments are most
So they themselves for praise of fooles do sell,
And all their wealth for painting on a wall ;
With price whereof they buy a golden bell,
And purchace highest rowmes in bowre and
Whiles single Truth and simple Honestie [halfc
Emongst those wretches which I there de- ] Do wander up and downe despys'd of all ;
scrvde.' [spight Their plaine attire such glorious gallantry
' Shepheard, (said Thestylis) it seemes of Disdaines so much, that none them in dot!
Thou speakest thus gainst their felicitie,
Which thou enviest, rather then of right
call.'
That ought in them blameworthie thou doest
spie.' [will
' Cause have I none (quoth he) of cancred
To quite them ill, that me demeand so well :
But selfe-regard of private good or ill
Moves me of each, so as I found, to tell [wit,
And eke to warne yong shepheards wandring
Which, through report of that lives painted
Abandon quiet home to seeke for it, [ blisse,
And leave their lambes to losse, misled amisse.
For, sooth to say, it is no sort of life,
For shepheard tit to lead in that same place.
Where each one seeks with malice, and with
strife,
To thrust downe other into foule disgrace,
Himselfe to raise: and he doth soonest rise
That best can handle his deceitfull wit "
In subtil shifts, and finest sleights devise,
Either by slaundring his well-deemed name,
Through leasings lewd, and fained forgerie ;
Or else by breeding him some blot of blame,
By creeping close into his secrecie ;
To which him needs a guilefull hollow hart,
Masked with faire dissembling curtesie,
A filed toung, furnisht with tearmes of art,
No art of schoole, but Courtiers schoolery.
For arts of schoole have there small counten-
ance,
Counted but toyes tobusie ydle braines;
And there professours find small maintenance,
But to be instruments of others gaines.
Ne is there place for any gentle wit,
Unlesse to please it selfe it can applie ;
But shouldred is, or out of doore quite shit,
As base, or blunt, unmeet for melodic.
For each mans worth is measured by his weed,
As harts by homes, or asses by their eares :
Yet asses been not all whose eares exceed,
Nor yet all harts that homes the highest beares ;
For highest lookes have not the highest mynd,
Nor haughtie words most full of highest
thoughts :
' Ah ! Colin, (then said Hobbinol) the blame
Which thou imputest, is too generall,
As if not any gentle wit of name
Nor honest mynd might there be found at all.'
For well I wot, sith I my selfe was there,
To waiton Lobbin, (Lobbin well thou knewest,)
Full many worthie ones then waiting were, i
As ever else in Princes Court thou vewest.
Of which among you many yet remaine,
Whose names I cannot readily now ghesse : I
Those that poore Sutors papers do retaine,
And those that skill ofmedicine professe,
And those that do to Cynthia expound
The ledden of straunge languages in charge : !
For Cynthia doth in sciences abound,
And gives to their professors stipends large. I
Therefore unjustly thou doest wyte them all» I
For that which thou mislikedst in a few.'
'Blame is (quoth he) more blamelesse
general],
Then that which private erronrs doth pursewjl
For well I wot, that there amongst them bee
Full many persons of right worthie parts,
Both for report of spotlesse honestie,
And for profession of all learned arts,
Whose praise hereby no whit impaired is,
Though blame do light on those that faultia
bee;
For all the rest do most-what fare amis,
And yet their owne misfaring will not see : I
For either they be puffed up with pride,
Or fraught with envie that their galls do swell,
Or they their dayes to ydlenes.se divide,
Or drownded lie in pleasures wastefull well,
In which like Moldwarps nousling still they
lurke,
Unmindfull of chiefe parts of manlinesse ; '3
And do themselves, for want of other worke;
Vaine votaries of laesie Love professe,
Whose sen-ice high so basely they ensew,
That Cupid selfe of them ashamed is,
And, mustring all his men in Venus vew,
Denies them quite for servitors of his,'
771-870.] COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.
5S7
' And is Love then (said Corylaa) once
knowne
'n Court, and his sweet lore professed there?
•eened sure he was our God alone,
d only woond in fields and forests here :'
Not so, (quoth he) Love most aboundeth
there.
r all the walls and windows there are writ,
full of love, and love, and love my deare,
d all their talke and studie is of it.
any there doth brave or valiant seeme,
lesse that some gay Mistresse badge he
beares :
any one himselfe doth ought esteeme,
ilesse he swim in love up to the eares.
t they of love, and of his sacred lere,
s it should be) all otherwise devise,
en we poore shephearda are accustom d
here,
id him do sue and serve all otherwise :
r with lewd speeches, and licentious deeds,
is mightie mysteries they do prophane,
id use his yiUe name to other needs.
:t as a complement for courting vaine.
him they do not serve as they professe,
it make him serve to them for sordid uses ;
i ! my dread Lord, that doest liege hearts
posses se,
renge thy selfe on them for their abuses,
ut we poore shepheards whether rightly so,
r through our rudenesse into errour led",
o make religion how we rashly go
• serve that God, that is so greatly dred ;
>r him the greatest of the Gods we deeme,
irne without Syre or couples of one kynd ;
ir Venus selfe doth soly couples seeme,
ith male and female through commixture
joynd :
pure and spotlesse Cupid forth she brought,
nd in the gardens of Adonis nurst:
here growing he hia owne perfection
wrought,
nd shortly was of all the Gods the first,
ten got he bow and shafts of gold and lead,
which so fell and puissant he grew,
irf Jcve himselfe his powre began to dread,
id, taking up to heaven, him godded new.
om thence he shootes his arrowes every
where
to the world, at randon as he will,
us fraile men, his wretched vassals here,
ke as himselfe us pleaseth save or spill,
we him worship, so we him adore
ith humble hearts to heaven uplifted hie,
lat to true loves he may us evermore
•eferre, and of their grace us dignitie :
is there shepheard, ne yet shepheards
swaine,
What ever feeds in forest or in field,
That dare with evil deed or leasing vaine
Blaspheme his powre, or termes unworthie
yield.' [rage
' Shepheard, it seemes that some celestial)
Of Love (quoth Cuddy) is breath'd into ihy
brest,
That powreth forth these oracles so sage
Of that high powre, wherewith thou art
posses t.
But never wist I till this present day,
Albe of love I alwayes humbly deemed,
That he was such -an one as thou doest say,
And so religiously to be esteemed.
Well may it seeme, by this thy deep insight,
That of that God the Priest thou shouldest
bee,
So well thou wot'st the mysterie of his might,
As if his godhead thou didst present see.'
' Of loves perfection perfectly to speake,
Or of his nature rightly to define,
Indeed (said Colin) passeth reasons reach,
And needs his priest t' expresse his powre
divine.
For long before the world he was ybore,
And bred above in Venus bosome deare :
For by his powre the world was made of yore,
And all that therein wondrous doth nppeare.
For how should else things so far from attone,
And so great enemies as of them bee,
Be ever drawne together into one
And taught in such accordance to agrci ?
Through him the cold began to covet heat,
And water fire; the light to mount on hie,
And th' heavie downe to peize ; the hungry
And voydnesse to seeke full satictie. [t' eat,
So, being former foes, they wexed friends,
And gan by litle learne to love each other :
So, being knit, they brought forth other kyiuls
Out of the fruitfullwombe of theirgr eat mother.
Then first gan heaven out of darknesse dread
For to appeare, and brought forth chearfull
day :
Next gan the earth to shew her naked head,
Out of deep waters which her drownd alway:
And, shortly after, everie living wigiit
Crept forth like wormea out of her .«iimi?
nature.
Soone as on them the Suns life-giving-light
Had powred kindly heat and formall feature,
Thenceforth they gan each one his like to love,
And like himselfe desire for to beget :
The Lyon chose his mate, the Turtle Dove
Her deare, the Dolphin his owne Dolphir.et;
But man, that had the sparkeof reasons might
[More then the rest to rule his passion.
Chosa for his love the fairest in his sitrht
, Like as himselfe was fairest by creation :
553
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE. [L. 871-955.
For beautie is the bayt which with delight
Doth man allure for to enlarge his kynd ;
Beautie, the burning lamp of heavens light,
Darting her beames into each feeble mynd :
Against whose powre, nor God nor man can
fynd
Defence, ne ward the daunger of the wound;
But, being hurt, seeke to be medicynd
Of her that first did stir that mortall stownd.
Then do they cry and call to love apace,
With praiers lowd importuning the skie,
Whence he them heares ; and, when he list
shew grace, [die.
Does graunt them grace that otherwise would
So love is Lord of all the world by right,
And rules the creatures bv his powrfull saw:
All being made the vassalls of his might,
Through secret sence which thereto doth them
draw.
Thus ought all lovers of their lord to deeme,
And with chaste heart to honor him alway :
But who so else doth otherwise esteeme,
Are outlawes, and his lore do disobay.
For their desire is base, and doth not me.it
The name of love, but of disloyall lust :
Xe mongst true lovers they shall place inherit,
But as Exuls out of his court be thrust.'
So having said, Melissa spake at will ;
' Colin, thou now full deeply hast divynd
Of Love and beautie; and, with wondrous skill,
Hast Cupid selfe depainted in his kynd,
To thee are all true lovers greatly bound.
That doest their cause so mightily defend :
But most, all wemen are thy debtors found,
That doest their bountie still so much com-
mend.
' That ill (said Hobbinol) they him requite,
For having loved ever one most deare:
He is repayd with scorne and foule despite,
That yrkes each gentle heart which it doth
heare.'
' Indeed (said Lucid) I have often heard
Faire Rosalind of divers fowly blamed
For being to that swaine too cruell hard,
That her bright glorie else hath much defamed.
But who can tell what cause had that faire
To use him so that used her so well ; [Mayd
Or who with blame can justly her upbrayd
For loving not ? for who can love compell ?
And, sooth to say, it is foolhardie thing,
Rashly to wyten creatures so divine ;
For demigods they be and first did spring
From heaven, though graft in frailnesse femi-
nine.
And well I wote, that oft I heard it spoken,
How one, that fairest Helene did revile,
Through judgement of the gods to been
ywroken,
Lost both his eyes and so remaynd long while.
Till he recanted had his wicked rimes,
And made amends to her with treble praise.
Beware therefore, ye groomes, I read betimes,
How rashly blame of Rosalind ye raise.'
' Ah ! shepheards, (then said Colin) ye ne
weet
How great a guilt upon your heads ye draw,
To make so bold a doome, with words unmeet,
Of things celestiall which ye never saw.
For she is not like as the other crew [bee,
Of shepheards daughters which emongst you
But of divine regard and heavenly hew,
Excelling all that ever ye did see.
Xot then to her that scorned thing so base,
But to ?uy selfe the blame that lookt so hie :
So hie her thoughts as she her selfe have
place,
And loath each lowly thing with loftie eie.
Yet so much grace let her vouchsafe to grant
To simple swaine, sith her I may not love :
Yet that I may her honour paravant,
And praise her worth, though far my wit above.
Such grace shall be some guerdon for the griefe,
And long affliction which I have endured :
Snch grace sometimes shall give me some re-
liefe,
And ease of paine which cannot be recured.
And ye, my fellow shepheards, which do see
And heare the languors of my too long dying.
Unto the world for ever witnesse bee,
That hers I die, nought to the world denying,
This simple trophe of her great conquest.' —
So, having ended, he from ground did rise,
And after him uprose eke all the rest :
All loth to part, but that the glooming skies
\Varnd them to draw their bleating flocks to
rest.
I-34-]
559
ASTEOPHEL,
A PASTORALL ELEGIE,
OPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST NOBLE AND VALOROUS KNIGHT
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
DEDICATED TO THE MOST BEAUTIFULL AND VERTUOUS LADIE,
THE COUNTESS OF ESSEX.
HEPHEARDS, that wont, on pipes of oaten
reed, [ smart ;
3ft times to plaine your loves concealed
And with your piteous" lay es have learnd to
breed
Compassion in a countrey lasses hart
learken, ye gentle shepheards, to my song,
And place my dolefull plaint your plaints
emong.
'o you alone I sing this mournfull verse,
'he uiournfulst verse that ever man heard tell :
To you whose softened hearts it may empierse
With dolours dart for death of Astrophel.
To you I sing and to none other wight.
For well I wot my rymes bene rudely dighu
Yet as they been, if any nycer wit
Shall hap to heare, or covet them to read :
Thinke he, that such are for such ones most
fit,
Made not to please the living but the dead.
And if in him found pity ever place,
Let him be moov'd to pity such a case.
ASTROPHEL.
i GENTLE shepheard borne in Arcady,
)f gentlest race that ever shepheard bore,
ibout the grassie bancks of Haemony
Did keepe his sheep, his litle stock and store :
""ull carefully he kept them day and night,
n fairest fields; and Astrophel he hight.
foung Astrophel, the prid2 of shepheards
praise,
"oung Astrophel, the rusticke lasses love :
'ar passing all the pastors of his daies,
n all that seemly shepheard might behove,
n one thing onely fayling of the best,
'hat he was not so happie as the rest,
'or from the time that first the Nymph his
mother rfcetl :
Um forth did bring, and taught her lambs to
. sclender swaine, excelling far each other,
,n comely shape, like her that did him breed,
le grew up fast in goodnesse and in grace,
.nd doubly faire wox both in mynd and face.
i Which daily more and more he did augment,
' With gentle usuage and demeanure myld :
That all rnens hearts with secret ravishment
He stole away, and weetingly bcguyld.
Ne spight it selfe, that all good things doth
spill,
Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.
His sports were faire, his joyance innocent.
Sweet without sowre, and honny without gall:
And he himselfe seemed made for meriment,
Merily masking both in bowre and hall.
There was no pleasure nor delightful! play.
When Astrophel so ever was away.
For he could pipe, and dauncc, and caroll sweet,
Emongst the shepheards in their shearing
feast;
As Somers larke that with her song doth urr.'t
The dawning day forth comming from the
East.
56o
ASTROPHEL.
And laves of love he also could compose :
Thrise happie she, whom he to praise did
chose.
Full many Maydens often did him woo,
Them to vouchsafe emongst his rimes to name,
Or make for them as he was wont to doo
For her that did his heart with love inflame.
For which they promised to dight for him
Gay chapelets of flowers and gyrlonds trim.
And many a Nymph both of the wood and
brooke,
£]oone as his oaten pipe began to shrill,
Both christall wells and shadie groves forsook e,
To heare the charmes of his enchanting skill ;
And brought him presents, flowers if it were
prime.
Or mellow fruit if it were hirvest time.
But he for none of them did care a whit,
Yet woodgods for them often sighed sore :
Ne for their gifts umvorthie of his wit,
Yet not unworthie of the countries store.
For one alone he cared, for one he sigh't.
His lifes desire, and his deare loves delight.
Stella the faire, the fairest star in skie,
As faire as Venus or the fairest faire,
( A fairer star saw never living eie.)
Shot her sharp pointed beames through purest
aire.
Her he did love, her he alone did honor.
His thoughts, his rimes, his songs were all
upon her.
To her he vowd the service of his daies,
On her he spent the riches of his wit :
For her he made hymnes of immortall praise,
Of onely her he sung, he thought, he writ.
Her. and but her, of love he worthie deemed ;
For all the rest but litle he esteemed.
Xe her with ydle words alone he wowed.
And verses vaine, (yet verses are not vaine.)
But with brave deeds to her sole service vowed,
And bold achievements her did entertaine.
For both in deeds and words he nourtred was,
Both wise and hardie, (too hardie, alas !)
In wrestling nimble, and in renning swift,
In shooting steddie, and in swimming strong :
Well made to strike, to throw, to leape, to lift,
And all the sports that shepheards are emong.
In every one he vanquisht every one,
He vanquish! all, and vanquisht was of none.
Besides, in hunting such felicitie,
Or rather infelicitie, he found,
That every field and forest far away
He sought, where salvage beasts do most
abound.
No beast so salvage but he could it kill ;
No chace so hard, but he therein had skill.
Such skill, matcht with such courage as he had,
Did prick him foorth with proud desire of
praise
To seek abroad, of daunger nought ydrad,
His mistresse name, and his owne fame to
raise.
What needeth perill to be sought abroad,
Since round about us it doth make aboad !
It fortuned as he that perilous game
In forreine soyle pursued far away,
Into a forest wide and waste he came,
Where store he heard to be of salvage pray.
So wide a forest and so waste as this,
Nor famous Ardeyn, nor fowle Arlo, is.
There his welwoven toyles, and subtil traines,
He laid the brutish nation to enwrap:
So well he wrought with practise and with
paines,
That he of them great troups did soone entrap.
Full happie man (misweening much) was hoe,
So rich a spoile within his power to see.
Eftsoones, all heedlesse of his dearest hale,
Full greedily into the heard he thrust,
To slaughter them, and worke their finall bale,
Least that his toyle should of their troups be
brust.
VVide wounds emongst them many one he made,
Now with his sharp bore-spear, now with his
blade.
His care was all how he them all might kill.
That none might scape, (so partiall unto none:)
111 mynd so much to mynd anothers ill,
As to become unmyndfull of his owne.
But pardon that unto the cruell skies,
That from himselfe to them withdrew his eies.
So as he rag'd emongst that beastly rout,
A cruell beast of most accursed brood [stout,)
Upon him turnd, (despeyre makes cowards
And, with fell tooth accustomed to blood,
Launched his thigh with so mischievous might,
That it both bone and muscles ryved quight.
So deadly was the dint and deep the wound.
And so huge streames of blood thereout did
That he endured not the direfull stound, [ flow,
But on the cold deare earth himselfe did throw ;
The whiles the captive hoard his nets did rend,
And, having none to let, to wood did wend.
Ah ! where were ye this while his shepheard
peares.
To whom alive was nought so deare as hee :
And ye fayre Mayds, the matches of hisyearesi
Which in his grace did boast you most to bee I
L. 131-216.]
ASTROPHEL.
561
Ah ! where were ye. when he of you had need,
I To stop his wound that wondrou'sly did bleed!
Ah ! wretched boy, the shape of dreryhead,
And sad ensample of mans suddein end :
Full litle faileth but thou shalt be dead,
Unpitied, unplaynd, of foe or frend :
Whitest none is nigh, thine eylids up to close,
And kisse thy lips like faded leaves of rose.
A sort of shepheards, sewing of the chace,
As they the forest raunged on a dav,
By fate or fortune came unto the place,
Where as the lucklesse boy yet bleeding lay ;
Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled.
Had not good hap those shepheards thether led.
They stopt his wound, (too late to stop it was !)
And in their unm>s then softly did him reare :
Tho (as he wild) unto his loved lasso,
His dearest love, him dolefully did beare.
The dolefulst beare that ever man did see,
Was Astrophel, but dearest unto mee !
She, when she saw her love in such a plight,
With cradled blood and filthie gore deformed,
That wont to be with flowers and gyrlonds
dight,
And her deare favours dearly well adorned ;
Her face, the fairest face that eye mote see,
She likewise did deforme, like him to bee.
Heryellow locks that shone so bright and long,
As Sunny beames in fairest somers day,
She fiersly tore, and with outragious wrong
From her red cheeks the roses rent away ;
And her faire brest, the threasury of joy,
She spoyld thereof, and filled with annoy.
His palled face, impictured with death,
She bathed oft with teares, and dried oft :
And with sweet kisses suck t the wasting breath
Out of his lips like lilies pale and soft :
And oft she cald to him, who answerd nought,
But onely by his lookes did tell his thought.
The rest of her impatient regret,
And piteous mone the which she for him made,
No toong can tell, nor any forth can set,
But he whose heart like s'orrow did invade.
At last, when paine his vitall powres had spent,
His wasted life her wearie lodge forwent.
Which when she saw, she staied not a wmt,
But after him did make untimely haste :
Forth-with her ghost out of her corps did flit,
And followed her make like turtle chaste,
To prove that death their hearts cannot divide,
Which living were in love so firmly tide.
The gods, which all things see, this same be-
held.
And, pit tying this paire of lovers trew,
Transformed them, there Iving on the field,
Into one flowre that is both red and blew;
It first growes red, and then to blew doth fade,
Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made.
And in the midst thereof a star appeares,
As fairly formd as any star in skyes;
Resembling Stella in her freshest "yeares,
Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes:
And all the day it standeth full of deow,
Which is the teares. that from her eyes did flow.
That hearbe of some Starlight is cald by name,
Of others Penthia, though not so well :
But thou, where ever thou doest finde the same,
From this day forth do call it Astrophel :
And, when so ever thou it up doest take,
Do pluck it softly for that shepheards sake.
Hereof when tydings far abroad did passe,
The shepheards all which loved him full deare,
And sure full deare of all he loved was,
Did thether flock to see what they did heare.
And when that pitteous spectacle they vewed,
The same with bitter teares they all bedewed.
And every one did make exceeding mone,
With inward anguish and great gricfe opprest:
And every one did weep and waile, and numr.
And meanes deviz'd to shew his sorrow best.
That from that houre, since first on grassie
greene [seen.
Shepheards kept sheep, was not like mourning
But first his sister that Clorinda hight,
The gentlest sheplieardease that lives this day,
And most resembling both in shape and spright
Her brother deare, began this dolefull lay.
Which, least I inarre the sweetness? of the
vearse,
In sort as she it sung I will rehearse.
oo
562
[L, 1-76.
THE DOLEFTJLL LAY OF CLORINDA.
(These verses are supposed to have been written by Mary Countess of Pembroke,
sister to Sir Philip Sidney.)
AY me, to whom shall I my case complaine.
That may compassion my impatient griofe !
Or where shall I unfold my inward paine,
That my enriven heart may find reliefe !
Shall I unto the heavenly powres it show?
Or unto earthly men that dwell below ?
To heavens '? ah ! they alas ! the authors were,
And workers of my unremedied wo:
For they foresee what to us happens here,
And they foresaw, yet suffred this be so.
From them comes good, from them comes
also il; [to spill ?
That which they made, who can them warne
To men ? ah ! they alas ! like wretched bee,
And subject to the heavens ordinance :
Bound to abide whatever they decree,
Their best redresse is their best sufferance.
How then can they, like wretched, comfort
mee,
The which no lesse need comforted to bee ?
Then to my selfe will I my sorrow mourne,
Sith none alive like sorrowfull remaines :
And to my selfe my plaints shall back retourne,
To pay their usury with doubled paines.
The woods, the hills, the rivers, shall resound
The mournful 1 accent of my sorrowes ground.
Woods, hills, and rivers, now are desolate,
Sith he is gone the which them all did grace :
And all the fields do waile their widow state,
Sith death their fairest flowre did late deface.
The fairest flowre in field that ever grew,
Was Astrophel ; that was, we all may rew.
What cruell hand of cursed foe unknowne,
Hath cropt the stalke which bore so faire a
flowre ?
Untimely cropt, before it well were growne,
And cleane defaced in untimely howre.
Great losse to all that ever him did see,
Great losse to all, but greatest losse to mee !
Breake now your gyrlonds, 0 ye shepheards
lasses, [gon
Sith the fayre flowre, which them adorrid, i
The flowre, which them adornd, is gone to
ashes,
Sever againe let lasse put gyrlond on.
In stead of gyrlond, weare sad Cypres nowe,
And bitter Elder, broken from the bowe.
Ne ever sing the love-layes which he made ;
Who ever made such layes of love as hee ?
Ne ever read the riddles, which he sayd
Unto your selves, to make you mery glee.
Your mery glee is now laid all abed,
Your mery maker now alasse ! is dead.
Death, the devourer of all worlds delight,
Hath robbed you, and reft fro me my joy :
Both you and me, and all the world he quight
Hath robd of joyance, and left sad annoy.
Joy of the world, and shepheards pride was
hee!
Shepheards, hope never like againe to see !
Oh Death! thou hast us of such riches reft,
Tell us at least, what hast thou with it done ?
What is become of him whose flowre here left
Is but the shadow of his likenesse gone ?
Scarse like the shadow of that which he was,
Nought like, but that he like a shade did
pas.
But that immortall spirit, which was deckt
With all the dowries of celestiall grace,
By soveraiae choyce from th' hevenly quire?
select,
And lineally deriv'd from Angels race,
0 ! what is now of it become aread.
Ay me ! can so divine a thing be dead ?
Ah ! no : it is not dead, ne can it die,
But lives for aie, in blisfull Paradise:
Where like a new-borne babe it soft doth lie,
In bed of lillies wrapt in tender wise ;
And compast all about with roses sweet,
And daintie violets from head to feet.
There thousand birds, all of celestiall brood,
To him do sweetly caroll day and night ;
And with straunge notes, of him well under-
stood,
Lull him asleep in Angelick delight ;
L. 77-IQ8.] THE DOLEFULL LAY OF CLORINDA.
Wliilest iu sweet dreame to him presented
bee
Iminortall beauties, which no eye may see.
But he them sees, and takes exceeding pleasure
Of their divine aspects, appearing plaine,
And kindling love in him above all measure;
Sweet love, still joyous, never feeling paine :
For what so goodly forme he there doth see,
He may enjoy from jealous rancor free
There liveth he in everlasting blis,
Sweet spirit never fearing more to die:
Ne dreading hanne from any foes of his,
Ne fearing salvage beasts more crueltie.
\V h iles t we here, wretches, waile his private
lack,
And with vaine vowes do often call him back.
But live thou there, still happie, happie spirit,
And give us leave thce here thus to lament !
563
Not thee that doest thy heavens joy inherit,
But our owne selves that here in dole are drent
Tims do we weep and waile, and wear our
eies,
Mourning, in others, our own miseries.
WHICH when she ended had, another swaiue
Of gentle wit and daintie sweet device,
Whom Astrophel full deare did uiiiertuine,
Wliilest here he liv'd, and held in passing price,
Hight Thestylis, began his moumfull lounie :
And made the Muses in his song to mourne.
And after him full many other moe,
As evcric one in order lov'd him best,
Gan dight themselves t' expresne their in wan I
woe,
With dolefull laves unto the time addrest :
The which I here in order will rehearse,
Aa fittest flowrea to deck his mournfull hearse.
THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS.
[Tliis and the succeeding Poem are supposed to have been written by Lotlou-ick Dtytkett.)
COME forth, ye Xymphes, come forth, forsake
your watry bowres,
[meut :
Fame and rcnowmeto us for glorious martial!
deed?.
But now ihv ireful bemea have chill'd our
harts with cold ;
[our land :
Thou hast estrang'd thy self, and deignest not
Farre oft' to others now thv fuvour honour
breeds,
y lavoi
( dime,
(I feare ;)
Aud high disdaine doth cause thee shun our
For haust thou not bene wroth, or that time
neare at baud,
[EogUnd made;
Thou wouldst have heard the crv that wul'ul
Forsake your mossy caves, and help me to la-
tlelp me to tune my dolefull notes to gurgling
sound [teares of ours
Df Liffies tumbling streames : Come, let salt
Mix with his waters fresh. O come, let one
consent £ deadly wound
Joyne us to mourne with wailfull plaints the
Which fatall clap hath made, decreed by higher
powres ; [yrent
The dreery day in which they have from us Eke Zelauds piteous plaiuts, and Holland*
The noblest plant that might from East to I toren heare, [ mynd :
West be found. j Would haply have appras'd thy divine angry
Uourne, mourn, great Philips fall, mourn we Thou shouldst have seen ihe trees refu-i- to
his wofull end, [from the tree, | yeeld their shade,
Whom spitefull Death hath pluct untimely And wailing to let fall the honor of their head;
Whiles yet his yeares in nowre did promise! And birds in mournfull tunes lamenting in
wrrthie frute. [knight defend ?| their kiude.
Ah dreadful Mars, why didst thou not thy Up from his tombe the mightie CariaMl r..-e.
fhat wrathfull mood, what fault of ours, hath Who, cursingoft the fates that this mishap hud
moved thee
bred,
inikinile.
3f such a shining light to leave us destitute? His hoary locks he tare, calling the !
Thou with benigne aspect sometime did^ us The Thames was heard to roan-, the
behold, [old, I and eke the Mose, [chance did rut-.
Thou hast in Britons valour tane delight of The Schald, the Danow selfe, this great
And with thy presence oft vouchsaft to attri-
bute
With torment and with ^ncf : their fountain*
pure ami cleere
oo*
THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTVLlS. [L. 37-113.
Were troubled, and with swelling flouds de-
clar'd their woes.
The Muses comfortles, the Nymphs with
paled hue,
[and neere,
Which languisheth being shred by culter as it
past.
[veines, which were
A trembling chill y cold ran throgh their
With eies brimfull of teares to see his fatall
The Silvan Gods likewise, came running farre howre, [declare,
And all with teares bedeawd, and eyes cast j Whose blustring sighes at first their sorrow did
up_on hie ; [to crie. Next, murmuring ensude; at last they not
O help, 0 help, ye Gods, they ghastly gan
1) chaunge the cruell fate of this so rare a
wight,
[out his age.
And graunt that natures course may measure
The beasts their foode for. ooke, and, trembling
fearfully, [FO fright.
Each sought his cave or den, this cry did them
Out from amid the waves, by storme then
stirr'd to rage, [ Ocean hoare,
This crie did cause to rise th' old father
Who grave with eld, and full of majestic in
sight. [teares and plaints,
Spake in this wise. ' Refrain (quoth he) your
Cease these, your idle words, make vaine
requests no more. [fixed stint
No humble speech, nor mone, may move the
Of destinie or death : Such is His will that
paints [with store
The earth with colours fresh ; the darkest skies
Of starry lights : And though your teares a
hart of flint [will prevailed
Might tender make, yet nought herein they
Whiles thus he said, the noble knight, who
gan to feele
[dint
His vitall force to faint, and death with cruell
Of direfull dart his mortall bodie to assaile,
With eyes lift up to heav'n, and courage
franke as steele,
[exprest,
With cheerful! face, where valour lively was
But humble mynd, he said : ' O Lord, if ought
this fraile [f advaunce ;
And earthly carcasse have thy service sought
If my desire have bene still to relieve th'
opprest ; [spent
If justice to maintaine that valour 1 have
Which thou me gav'st; or if henceforth I
might advaunce [if thou think best :
Thy name, thy truth, then spare me (Lord)
Fofbeare these unripe ycares. But if thy will
he bent,
[set:
If that prefixed time be come which thou hast
Through pure and fervent faith, I hope now
to be plast
[blood
Inth' everlasting blis, which with thy precious
Thou purchase didst for us.' With that a
sigh he fet,
And straight a cloudie mist his sences overcast;
His lips waxt pale and wan, like damaske
roses bud
Cast from the stalke, or like in field to purple
flowre,
forbeare [enviously
Plaine outcries, all against the heav'ns that
Depriv'd us of a spright so perfect and so
rare. [hide his face
The sun his lightsom beames did shrowd, and
For griefe, whereby the earth feard night
eternally: [turn'd their streamer,
The mountaines eachwhere shooke, the rivers
And th' aire gan winterlike to rage and fret
apace :
[fierie gleam es,
And grisly ghosts by night were seene, and
Amid the clouds with claps of thunder, that
did seeme [beast afeard :
To rent the skies, and made both man and
The birds of ill presage this lucklesse chance
foretold,
[made man deemo
By demfull noise ; and dogs with howling
Some mischief was at hand : for such they do
esteeme
As tokens of mishap, and so have done of old.
Ah ! that thou hadst but heard his lovely
Stella plaine [ing cheere,
Her greevous losse, or seene her heavie mourn-
While she. with woe opprest, her sorrowes did
Her
unfold,
haire hung
lose,
[shoulders twaine ;
neglect, about her
And from those two bright starres to him some-
time so deere,
[foyson downe
Her heart sent drops of pearle, which fell in
Twixt lilly and the rose. She wroong her hands
with paine, [pheere,
And piteously gan say : ' My true and faithfull
Alas, and woe is me ! why should my fortune
frowne
On me thus frowardly to rob me of my joy ?
What cruell envious hand hath taken thee
away, [stay?
And with thee my content, my comfort, and my
Thou onelie wast the ease of trouble and annoy,
When they did me assaile ; in thee my hopes
did rest. " [day
Alas, what now is left but grief, that night aiiil
Afflicts this wofull life, and with continual!
_ rage [bresl !
Jorments ten thousand waies my miserable
O greedie envious heav'n, what needed thee to
have
Knricht with such a Jewell this nnhappie age;
To take it back aga'ine so soone! Alas, when
?ha11 [since thy grave,
Aline eies see ought that may content them,
L. 114-190.] THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYL1S.
565
My onely treasure hides, the joyes of mv poore
hart! [equall
I As here with thee on earth I liv'tl, even so
On Nt ptune warre was made by Aeolus and
his traine,
[ed th' aire,
Who, letting loose the winds, tost and torment-
.Me thinkes it were with thee in heav'n I did So that on ev'ry coast men shipwrack did
abide: [part- 1 abide, [waves,
lAnd as our troubles all we here on earth did Or else were swallowed up in open sea with
I So reason would that there of thy most happie^nd such as came to shoare were beaten with
state despaire. [still to slide,
I had my share. Alas, if thou my trustie guide . The Medwaies silver streames, that wont so
Were wout to be, how canst thou leave me thus
alone
[late,
Were troubled now and wrothe ; whose hidden
hollow caves
[mans eye,
In darknesse and astray; w^ake, wearie, deso- ! Along his banks with fog then shrowded from
Plung'd in a world of woe, refusing for to take • Ay Phillip did resownd, aie Phillip they did
Me with thee to the place of rest where thou crie. [stif it craves)
art gone ! ' [her toong ; His nimphs were seen no more (thogh custom
This said, she held her peace, for sorrow tide. With hairespred to the wyn<i themselves to
And insteed of more words, set-rod that her! bath or sport,
eies a lake [therefro : Or with the hooke or net, barefooted wantonly,
Of teares had bene. they flow'd so pleiiteously The pleasant dantie fish to entangle or deceive.
And, with her sobs and sighs, th' aire round The shepheards left their wonted places of
about her roong.
[ slaine,
resort,
[men' laves
If Venus, when she waild her deare Adonis Their bagpipes now were still; their loving
Ought moov'd in thy fiers hart compassion ol Were quite forgot ; and now their flocks men
her woe, [emong, ! might perceive
His noble sisters plaints, her sighes and teares To wander and to straie, all carelesly neglect.
Would sure have made thee milde, and inly
rue her paine :
A urora halfe so faire her selfe did never show,
When, from old Tithons bed, shee weeping did
arise. [ofraine,
And in the stead of mirth and pleasure, nights
and daves
[plaints, and mone.
Nought els was to be heard, but woes, com-
But thou (0 blessed soule !) doest haply not
respect [pure affect,
The blinded Archer-boy, like larke in showre These teares we shead, though full of loving
Sat bathing of his wings, and glad the time did Having affixt thine eyes on that most glorious
spend
f faire cies:
throne,
[reignes ;
Under those cristall drops, which fell from her Where full of majestic the High Creator
And at their brightest beames him proynd in In whose bright shining face thyjoyes are all
lovely wise. [amend, | complete, [alwaies one,
Yet, sorie for her grief, which he could not Whose love kindles thy spright; where happie
The gentle boy gan wipe her eies, and clear Thou liv'st in blis that earthly passion never
those lights, staines ; [lar sweet*
Those lights through which his glory and his Where from the purest spring the sacred Nee
conquests shine. Is thy continuall drinke ; where thou doest
The Graces tuckt her hair, which hung like gather now
threds of gold, Of well emploied life th' inestimable gaines,
Along her yvoriebrest, the treasure of delights. There Venus on thee smiles, Apollo gives thee
I All things with her to weep, it seemed, diden-
cline,
[stones so cold.
place,
[bov
And Mars in reverent wise doth to thy vt-rtue
most.
The trees, the hills, the dales, the caves, the] And decks his fiery sphere, to do thee honour
The aire did help them mourne, with dark
clouds, raine, and mist,
Forbearing many a day to cleare it selfe againe;
In highestpart whereof, thy valour for to grace,
A chaire of gold he sets to thee, and there iloth
Which made them eftsoones feare the dales of j tell ! l>M:i>t
Pirrha shold [untwist. Thy noble acts arew, whereby even they that
Of creatures spoile the earth, their fatall threds Themselves of auncient fame, a* Pirrhua,
For Phoebus gladsome raies were wished for in Hannibal),
vaine, I Scipio, and Caesar, with the rest that did excell
And with her quivering light Latonas daughter lit martiall prowesse, high thy glorie do a«l-
faire, [mans guide. mire. [tall,
ad Charles-waine eke refus'd to be the ship- 1 All haile, therefore, O worthie Phillip immor-
THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS. [L. igi-195-
The flowre of Sydneyes race, the honour of thy
name! [aspire,
Whose worthie praise to sing, thy Muses not
But sorrowfull and sad these teares to thee let
fall;
Yet wish their verses might so farre and wide
thy fame
Extend, that envies rage, nor time, might end
the same.
A PASTORALL AEGLOGTO
UPON THK .
DEATH OF SIE PHILLIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT, ETC.
I,YCON.
COLIN, well fits thy sad cheare this sad stownd,
This wofull stownd, wherein all things com-
plaine
This great mishap, this greevous losse of owres.
Hear'st thou the brown ? How with hollow
sownd
He slides away, and murmuring doth plaine,
And seemes to say unto the fading flowres,
Along his bankes, unto the bared trees,
Phillisides is dead. Up jolly swaine,
Thou that with skill canst tune a dolefull lay,
Help him to mourn. My hart with grief doth
freese,
Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part
Sure would 1 beare, though rude : but, as I may,
With sobs and sighes 1 second will thy song,
And so expresse the sorrowes of my hart.
Colin. Ah Lycon, Lycon ! what need skill,
to teach [long
A grieved mynd powre forth his plaints ? how
Hath the pore turtle gou to school (weenest
thou) [each
To learne to mourne her lost make ! No, no,
Creature by nature can tell how to waile.
Seest not these nocks, how sad they wander
now?
Seemeth their leaders bell thoir bleating tunes
In dolefull sound. Like him, not one doth faile
With hanging head to shew a heavie cheare.
What bird (1 pray thee) hast thou seen, that
prunes
Himselfe of late ? did any cheerfull note
Come to thine eares, or gladsome sight appeare
Unto thine eies, since that same fatall howre ?
Hath not the aire put on his mourning coat,
And testified his grief with flowing teares?
Sith then, it seemeth each thing to his powre
Doth us invite to make a sacl consort; [theirs.
Come, let us joyne our mournfnll song with
Griefe will endite, and sorrow will enforce,
Thy voice ; and Eccho will our words report.
Lycon. Though my rude rymes ill with thy
verses frame,
That others farre excell, yet will I force
My selfe to answere thee the best I can, [name.
And honor my base words with his high
But if my plaints annoy thee where, thou sit
In secret shade or cave ; vouchsafe (0 Pan)
To pardon me, and hear this hard constraint
With patience while I sing, and pittie it.
And eke ye rurall Muses, that do dwell
In these wilde woods : if ever piteous plaint
We did endite, or taught a wofull minde
With words of pure affect his griefe to tell,
Instruct me now. Now, Colin, then goe on,
And I will follow thee, though farre behinde,
Colin. Phillisides is dead. O harmfull death,
O deadly harme ! Unhappie Albion,
When shalt thou see, emong thy shepheards all.
Any so sage, so perfect ? Whom unneath
Envie could touch for vertuous life and skill ;
Curteous, valiant, and liberall.
Behold the sacred Pales, where with haire
Untrust she sitts, in shade of yonder hill.
And her faire face, bent sadly downe, doth send
A floud of teares to bathe the earth ; and there
Doth call the heav'ns despightfull, envious,
Cruell his fate, that made so short an end
Of that same life, well worthie to have bene
Prolonged with many yeares, happie and
famous.
The Nvmphs and Oreades her round about
Do sit "lamenting on the grassie grene ;
And with shrill cries, beating their whitest
brests,
L. 66-162.1
A PASTORALL AEGLOGUE.
Accuse the direfull dart that death sent out
To give the fatall stroke. The starres they
blame,
That deafe or carelesse seeme at their request.
The pleasant shade of stately groves they shun ;
They leave their cristall springs, where they
wont frame
Sweet bowrcs of Myrtel twigs and Lawrcl faire,
With liis sweet caroling, which could asswagc
The fiercest wrath of Tygre or of Kcare :
Ye Silvans, Fawnes, and Satyrrs. that emonp
These thickets oft have daunst after lib pi (to ;
Ye Nymphs and Nayades with golden hearc
That, oft have left vour purest cristall springs
To hearken to his layes, that coulden wipe
.Away all griefe and sorrow from vour harts !
Tosport themselves free from thescorching Sun. Alas! who now is left that like him sings?
And now the hollow caves where horror darke When shall you heareagaine like harmonic?
Doth dwell, whence banisht is the gladsome So sweet a sownd who to you row impart >
aire> [their time| Loe where engraved by his hand yet livi-s
They seeke ; and there in mourning spend The name of Stella in vonder bay "tree.
With wailt'ull tunes, whiles wolves do howle Happie name! happie tree! faire may you
and barke,
And seem to beare a bourdon to their plaint.
Lycon. Phillisides is dead. O dolefull ryme!
Why should my toong expresse thee ? who is
left
Now to uphold thy hopes, when thev do faint,
Lycon, unfortunate ! What spiteful! fate,
What lucklesse destinie, hath thee bereft
Of thy chief comfort, of thy onely stay !
Where is become thy wonted happie state,
(Alas !) wherein through many a hill and dale,
Through pleasant woods, and many an un-
knowne way,
Along the bankes of many silver streames,
Thou with him yodest ; and with him didst scale
The craggie rocks of th' Alpes and Appenine !
Still with the Muses sporting, while those
Of vertue kindled in his noble brest, [beames
Which after did so gloriously forth shine !
But (woe is me !) they now yquenched are
All suddeinly, and death hath them opprest.
Loe, father Neptune, with sad countenance,
How he sitts mourning on the strond now bare,
Yonder, where th' Ocean with his rolling waves
The white feete washeth (wailing this mis-
chance)
Of Dover cliffes.
His sacred skirt about
The sea-gods all are set ; from their moist caves
All for his comfort gathered there they be.
The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout,
The fruitfull Severne, with the rest are come
To helpe their lord to mourne, and eke to see
The dolefull sight, and sad pomp funerall,
grow, f gives
And spred your sacred branch, which honor
To famous Emperors and Poets crownc,
Unhappie flock that wander scattrcd now,
What marvell if through grief ye woxenleane,
Forsake your food, and hang your heads
adowne !
For such a shepheard never shall you guide,
Whose parting hath of weale bereft you clcane.
Lycon. Phillisidcs is dead. 0 happie sprite,
That now in heav'n with blessed soules doest
bide. [above.
Looke down a while from where thou sitst
And see how busie shepheards be to cndite
Sad songs of grief, their sorrowes to declare,
And gratefull memory of their kynd love.
Behold my selfe with Colin, gentle swaine,
(Whose lerned muse thou cherisht most why-
leare,)
Where we, thy name recording, seeke to ease
The inward torment and tormenting paine,
That thy departure to us both hath bred ;
Ne can each others sorrow yet appease.
Behold the fountains now left desolate,
And withred grasse with cypres boughes be
spred ; [strew ;
Behold these floures which on thy grave we
Whichfaded,shewthegiversf;i<liMl >t;tu-, [pure)
(Though eke they shew their iVrvent zealc and
Whose onely comfort, on thy welfare grew.
Whose praiers importune shall theheav'ns for
That, to thy ashes, rest they may assure : [ay,
That learnedst shepheards honor may thy name
Of the dead corps passing through his kin;;- With yeerly praises, and the Xymphs alway
dome. [crown'd/Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest
And all their heads, with Cypres gyrlonds! flowres ;
With wofnll shrikes salute him great ami And that for ever may endure thv fame.
small
Eke wailfull Ecoho, forgetting her deare
Narcissus, their last accents doth resownd.
( 'nl in. The sun (lo 0 hastued hath his face
to steep [showres
In western waves ; and th' aire with stormy
Colin. Phillisides is dead. O lucklesse age ! Warnes us to drive homewards our silly sheep :
O widow world! 0 brookes and fountains Lycon, leu's rise, and take of them good keep.
cleere! Virtute minima: ctetera furtumi
O hills, O dales, 0 woods! that oft have rongl
568
[L. 1-72.
AN ELEGIE,
FRIENDS PASSION, FOR HIS ASTROPHEL.
WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT,
LORD GOVERNOUR OF FLUSHING.
( This Poem was written by Matthew lloydon.)
As then, no winde at all there blew,
No swelling cloude accloid the aire ;
The skie, like glasse of watchet hew,
Reflected Phoebus golden haire ;
The garnisht tree no pendant stird,
No voice was heard of anie bird.
There might you see the burly Beare,
The Lion king, the Elephant ;
The maiden Unicorne was there,
So was Acteons horned plant,
And what of wilde or tame are found,
Were coucht in order on the ground.
Alcides speckled poplar tree,
The palme that Moiiarchs do obtaine,
With love-juice staind the mulberie,
The fruit that dewes the poets braiue ;
And Phillis philbert there away,
Comparde with mirtle and the bay.
The tree that coffins doth adorne,
With stately height threa tiling the skie ;
And, for the bed of love forlorne,
The blacke and dolefull ebonie :
All in a circle compast were,
Like to an ampitheater.
Upon the branches of those trees,
The airie-winged people sat,
Distinguished in od degrees ;
One sort is this, another that,
Here Philomell, that knowes full well.
What force and wit in love doth dwell.
The skie-bred Egle, roiall bird,
Percht there upon an oke above;
The Turtle by him never stird,
Example of immortall love.
The Swan that sings about to dy,
Leaving Meander stood thereby.
And. that which was of woonder most,
The Phoenix left sweet Arabic;
And, on a Caedar in this coast,
Built up her tombe of spicerie,
As I conjecture, by the same
Preparde to take her dying flame.
In midst and center of this plot,
I saw one groveling on the grasse ;
A man or stone, I knew not that:
No stone ; of man the figure was,
And yet I could not count him one,
More than the image made of stone.
At length I might perceive him reare
His bodie on his elbow end :
Earthly and pale with gastly cheare,
Upon his knees he upward tend,
Seeming like one in uncouth stound,
To be ascending out the ground.
A grievous sigh forthwith he throwes,
As might have torne the vitall strings ;
Then down his cheeks the teares so flows,
As doth the streame of many springs.
So thunder rends the cloud in twaine,
And makes a passage for the raine.
Incontinent, with trembling sound;
He wofully gan to complaine ;
Such were the accents as might wound,
And teare a diamond rocke in twaine :
After his throbs did somewhat stay,
Thus heavily he gan to say :
O sunne ! (said he) seeing the sunne,
On wretched me why dost thou shine?
My star is falne, my comfort done,
Out is the apple of my eine :
Shine upon those possesse delight,
And let me live in endlesse night.
L. 73-I80-]
AN ELEGIE.
569
0 griefe that liest upon my soule,
As heavie as a mount of lead,
The remnant of my life controll,
Consort me quickly with the dead ;
Halfe of this hart, this sprite, and will,
Di'de in the brest of Astrophill.
And you, compassionate of my wo,
Gentle birds, beasts, and shadie trees,
1 am assurde ye long to kno
What be the sorrowes me agreev's ;
Listen ye then to that insu'th.
And heare a tale of teares and ruthe.
You knew, who knew not Astrophill ?
(That I should live to say I knew,
And have not in possession still !)
Things knowne permit me to renew ;
Of him you know his merit such,
I cannot say, you heare, too much.
Within these woods of Arcadie
He chiefe delight and pleasure tooke,
And on the mountaine Parthenie,
Upon the chrystall liquid brooke,
The .Muses met him ev'ry day
That taught him sing, to write, and say.
When he descended downe to the mount,
His personage seemed most divine,
A thousand graces one might count
Upon his lovely cheerfull eine ;
To heare him speake and sweetly smile,
You were in Paradise the while."
A sweet attractive kinde of grace,
A full assurance given by lookes,
Continuall comfort in a face,
The lineaments of Gospell bookes ;
I trowe that countenance cannot lie
Whose thoughts are legible in the eie.
Was never eie did see that face,
Was never eare did heare that tong,
Was never minde did minde his grace,
That ever thought the travell long ;
But eies, and cares, and ev'ry thought,
Were with his sweete perfections caught.
O God, that such a worthy man,
In whom so rare desarts d'id raigne,
Desired thus, must leave us than,
And we to wish for him in vaine !
0 could the stars that bred that wit,
In force no longer fixed sit !
Then being fild with learned dew,
The Muses willed him to love ;
That instrument can aptly shew,
How finely our conceits will move :
As Bacchus opes dissembled harts,
So Love sets out our better parts.
Stella, a Nymph within this wood,
Most rare and rich of heavenly blis,
The highest in his fancie stood,
And she could well demerite this:
Tis likely they acquainted soune ;
He was a Sun, and she a Moone.
Our Astrophill did Stella love ;
O Stella, vaunt of Astrophill,
Albeit thy graces gods may move,
Where wilt thou rinde an Astrophill !
The rose and lillie have their prime,
And so hath beau tic but a time.
Although thy bcautie do exceed,
In common sight of ev'rv eie,
Yet in his Poesies when "we reede,
It is apparent more thereby,
He that hath love and judgement too
Sees more than any other doo.
Then Astrophill hath honord thee ;
For when thy bodie is extinct,
Tliy graces shall eternall be
And live by vertue of his hike ;
For by his verses he doth give
To short -livilt- beautie aye to livr.
Above all others this is hee,
Which erst approoved in his sonn,
That love and honor might agree,
And that pure love will do no wrong.
Sweet saints ! it is no sinne nor blame,
To love a man of vertuous name.
Did never love so sweetly breath
In any mortall brest before,
Did never Muse inspire beneath
A Poets braine with finer store :
He wrote of love with high conceit,
And beautie reard above her height.
Then Pallas afterward attvrde
Our Astrophill with her d'evice,
Whom in his armor heaven admyrde,
As of the nation of the skies ;
He sparkled in his armes afarra.
As he were dight with fierie stairs.
The blaze whereof when Mars beheld,
(An envious eie doth see afar,)
Such majestic (quoth he) is seeld.
Such majestie my mart may mar ;
Perhaps this may a .<uter be,
To set Mare by his deitir.
In this surmize he made with speede
An iron cane, wherein he put
The thunder that in cloudes do breed* \
The flame and bolt togither shut
With privie force burst out againe,
And so our Astrophill was slainc.
570
AN ELEGIE.
[L. 181-234.
This word (was slainc) straightway did move, '
And natures inward life strings twitch ;
The skie immediately above
Was dimd with hideous clouds of pitch,
The wrastling winds from out the ground
Fild all the aire with ratling sound.
The bending- trees exprest a grone,
And sigh'd the sorrow of his fall ;
The forrest beasts made ruthfull mone,
The birds did tune their mourning call,
And Philomell for Astrophill
Unto her notes annext a phill.
The Turtle dove with tunes of rnthc
Shewd feeling passion of his death ;
Me thought she said, 1 tell thee truthe,
Was never he that drew in breath
Unto his love more trustie found,
Than he for whom our griefs abound.
The swan, that was in presence heere,
Began his funerall dirge to sing :
Good things (quoth he) may scarce appeere,
But passe away with speedie wing.
This mortall life as death is tride,
And death gives life ; and so he di'de.
The gensrall sorrow that was made,
Among the creatures of each kinde,
Fired the Phoenix where she laide,
Her ashes flying with the winde,
So as I might with reason see,
That such a Phoenix nere should bee.
Haply the cinders, driven about,
May breede an offspring neere that kinclc
But hardly a peere to that, I doubt ;
It cannot sinke into my minde,
That under branches ere can bee
Of worth and value as the tree.
The Egle markt with pearcing sight
The mournfull habite of the place,
And parted thence with mounting fiijht
To signifie to Jove the case,
What sorrow nature doth sustaine
For Astrophill by envie slaine.
And while I followed with mine eie
The flight the Egle upward tooke,
All things did vanish by and by,
Ar.d disappeared from my looke:
The trees, beasts, birds, and grove was
gone ;
So was the friend that made this mons
This spectacle had firmly wrought
A deepe compassion in my spright ;
My molting hart issude. me thought,
In streames forth at mine ties aright ;
And here my pen is forst to shrinke.
My teares discollor so mine inke
AN EPITAPH
UPON THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT,
LORD GOVERNOR OF FLUSHING.
(The Authors of the tico following poems are unknown.)
To praise thy life, or waile thy worthie death, Drawne was thy race aright from princely
And want thy wit, thy wit high, pure, divine,
Is far beyond the powre of mortall line,
Nor any "one hath worth that draweth breath.
h'ne; [gave.
Xor lesse than such, (by gifts that nature
.L-n/i auj vi«v «mt*i.» ... ,1 L .1 •........,.,,, 1 1. .....,,,.. I lie common mother that all creatures have,)
Yet rich in zeale, though poore in learnings ! Doth vertue show> and P«ncely linage shine,
lore,
A king gave thee thy name ; a kingly minde,
That God thee gave, who found it" now too
And friendly care obscurde in secret brest,
And love that envie in thy life supprest,
Thy deere life done, and death, hath doubled
more.
And I, that in thy time, and living state,
Did onely praise thy vertues in my thought,
As one that seeld the rising sun hath sought,
With words and teares now waile thy time-
lease fate,
deere
For this base world, and hath resumde it neere,
To sit in skies, and sort with powres divine.
Kent thy birth daies, and Oxford held thy
youth ;
[nor time;
The heavens made hast, and staid nor veers
. 22-60.]
AN EPITAPH.
The fruits of age grew ripe in tliv first prime,
Thy will, thy words ; thy words the scales of
571
Great gifts and wisedom rare imployd (hoc
thence, [kings;
To treat from kings with those more great than
Such hope men had to lay the highest things
On thy wise youth, to be transported hence!
Whence to sharpe wars sweet honor did thec
call,
Thy countries love, religion, and thy friends:
Of worthy men the marks, the lives, and
ends,
And her defence, for whom we labor all.
There didst thou vanquish shame and tedious
What hath he lost, that such great grace hath
WOOII '>.
[sure
,,
loong yeeres for endles yeeres, and hoi* un-
Of fortune* gifts for wealth that still shall
(hire ;
Oh ! happie race with so great praises run.
England doth hold thy Hms that bred the
same,
Flaunders thy valure where it last was tried,
The Campe thy sorrow where tliv bodie died;
Thy friends, thy want; the world, thy vcrtues
fame.
Nations thy wit, our raindcs lay up thy love;
Letters thy learning, thy losse, yceres'loiig to
come;
In worthy harts sorrow hath made thy tombe ;
stage.
Back to
-«,-, [might: Thy soule and spright enrich the "heavens
Griefe, sorrow, sicklies, and base fortunes I above.
Tliv rising day saw never wofull night, TK,. ia^. UK-
But past-with praise from of thU worldly rS^^^^SS^fiS^
waile thy fall :
to the campe, by thee that day was Env.ie her 8tinP> and 8Pite hath lcft ner R»U ;
brought, [fame ;i Malice her selfe a mourning garment weares.
First thine owne death, and after thy long mi ' " ' *
Teares to the soldiers, the proud Castilians
shame,
Vertue exprest, and honor truly taught.
That day their Hanniball died, our Scipio fell ;
Scipio, Cicero, and Petrarch of our time ! [rime,
Whose vertues, wounded by my worthlesse
Let Angels speake, and heaven thy praises tell.
ANOTHER OF THE SAME.
SILENCE augmenteth grief, writing encreaseth
rage, [the wonder of our age ;
Staid are my thoughts, which lov'd, and lost,
Yet quickned now with fire, though dead with
frost ere now. [quick, I know not how.
Enrag'de I write, I know not what : dead,
Hard harted mindes relent, and rigors teares
abound, [no fault she found ;
And envie strangely rues his end, in whom
Knowledge her light hath lost, valor hath
slaine her knight; [worlds delight.
Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the
Place pensive wailes his fall, whose presence
was her pride; [my spring tide:
Time crieth out, My ebbe is come; his lite \\.is
Fame mournes in that she lost the ground of
her reports; [sundry sorts.
Ecli living wight laments his lacke, and all in
He was (wo worth that word !) to ech well
thinking minde [vertue ever shinde,
A spotlesse friend, a matchles man, whose
Declaring in his thoughts, his life, and that
he writ, [ deepest works of wit.
Highest conceits, longest foresights, and
He, onely like himselfe. was second unto none,
Whose deth (though life) we rue, and wrong,
and al in vain do mone:
Their losse, not him, waile they, that fill the
world with cries ; [ ladder to the skiei.
Death slue not him, but he made death his
Now sinke of sorrow I, who live : the more the
wrong; [thred is al to long,
Who wishing death, whom deth denies, whose
Who tied to wretched life, who lookes for no
reliefe, [ending griofc.
Must spend my ever dying dales in never
Harts ease and onely I, like parallels run on,
Whose equall length keep equall bredth, and
never meet in one ; [ sorrowes cell.
Yet for not wronging him. my thoughts my
Khali not run out, though Irak'c they will, in
liking him so well.
Farewell to you, my hopes, my wonted waking
dreamt .- ; [ thy beames!
Farewell, sometimes enjoyed joy ; eclipsed are
Farewell selfe pleasing thoughts which quiet -
nes brings fourth; [minds of wcxirth.
And farewel friendships sacred league, uniting
572
33-40.
And farewell mery hart, the gift of guiltlesse
mindes, [assignes ;
And all sports, which, for lives restore, varietie
Let all, that sweete is, voyd; in me no mirth
may dwell : [content, farewell !
Phillip, the cause of all this woe, my lives
Now rime, the sonne of rage, which art no kin
to skill,
[knowes not how to kill,
And endlese griefe, which deads my life, yet
Go, seeke that haples tombe ; which if ye hap
to finde,
[so good a minde.
Salute the stones, that keep the lims that held
AMORETTI AND EPITHALAMION.
WRITTEN NOT LONG SINCE BY
EDMUNDE SPENSER.
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIFFL'LL
SIR ROBART NEEDHAM, KNIGHT.
SIR, to gratulate your safe return from Ire-
land, I had nothing so readie, nor thought any
thing so meete. as these sweete conceited
Sonets, the deede of that wel deserving gen-
tleman, maister Edmond Spenser: whose name
sufficiently warranting the worthinesse of the
work. I "do more confidently presume to
publish it in his absence, under your name, to
whom (in my poore opinion) the patronage
therof doth in some respectes properly apper-
taine. For, besides your judgement and «ie-
lighte in learned poesie, this gentle Muse, for
her former perfection long wished for in
!Englande, nowe at the length crossing the
]Seas in your happy companye, (though to
your selfe unknowne) seemeth to make choyse
of you, as meetest to give her deserved
countenaunce, after her retourae : entertaine
her, then, (Right worshipfull) in sorte best be-
seeming your gentle minde, and her merite,
and take in worth my good will herein, who
seeke no more but to shew my selfe yours in
all dutifull affection.
W. P.
TO THE AUTHOK.
DARKE is the day, when Phoebus face is
shrowded,
And weaker sights may wander so one astray :
But, when they see his glorious raies unclou-ded,
With steddy steps they keepe the perfect way :
So, while this Muse inforraine landes dotii stay,
Invention weepes, and pens are cast aside ;
The time, like night, deprivd ofchearefull day;
And few do write, but (all !) too soone may slide.
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide,
And with thy wit illustrate Englands fame,
Dawnting thereby our neighboures auncient pride.
That do, for poesie, chaUendge cheefest name :
So we that live, and ages that svcceede,
With great applause thy learned works shall
reedf. G. W. SENIOR.
Ah ! Colin, whetiier on the lowly plaine,
typing to shepherds thy sweete roundelaits:
Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine,
Heroick deedes of past or present dales ;
Or whether in thy lovely mistris praise,
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill;
Thy muse hath got such grace and power 13
please,
With rare invention, bewtified by skill,
As who therein can ever joy their Jill!
O ! therefore let that happy muse proceede
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill,
Where endles honour s/tall be made thy meede:
Because no malice of succeeding daies
Can rase those records of thy lasting praise.
G. W. L«
SONNETS.
573
HAPPY, ye leaves ! when as those lilly hands,
Which hold my life in their dead-doing might,
Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheeriessc
bower,
Wils him awake, and soone about him dight
Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft bands, His wanton wings and darU of deadlv power.
Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight. | For lusty Spring now in his timely tiowre
And happy lines! on which, with starry light. Is ready to come forth, him to receive:
Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to And warnes the Earth with divers-colon! flowre
look,
And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
Written with teares in harts close-bleeding
book.
And happy rymes ! bath'd in the sacred brooke
Of Helicon, whence she derived is ;
When ye behold that Angels blessed looke^ Rudd thou Wf d , d .
My scales long-lacked foode, my heavens blu ; In ,ill(ii fault wi^h „„•„,„ Uv • ,
Leaves, lines, aud rvmes. seeke her to mease -n,,, *i,:_ . _.!,:-». T j ._ _•'_ i_ • *,
To decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle weave.
Then you, faire flowre ! in whom fresh youth
doth raine,
Prepare your selfe new love to entertainc.
Leaves, lines, aud rymes, seeke her to please
alone,
Whom if ye please, I care for other noue !
ii
Unquiet thought! whom at the first I bred
Of th' inward bale of my love-pined hart ;
And sithens have with sighes and sorrowes fed,
Till greater then my wombe thou woxen art :
Breake forth at length out of the inner part,
In which thou lurkest lyke to vipers brood ;
And seeke some succour both to ease my smart,
And also to sustayne thy selfe with food.
Hut. if in presence of that fayrest proud
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet ;
And, with meckc humblesseand afflicted mood,
Pardon for thee, and grace for me. intreat :
Which if she graunt, then live, and my love
cherish :
[perish.
If not, die soone ; and I with thee will
in
The soverayne beauty which I doo admyrc.
Witnesse the world how worthy to be prayzed !
The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fyre
In my fraile spirit, by her from basenesse
ravsed ;
[dazed,
That, being now with her huge brigntnesse
Base thing I can no more endure to view :
But, looking still on her, I stand amazed
At wondrous sight of so celestiall hew. [dew,
So when my toung would speak her praises
It stopped is with thoughts astonishment ;
And, when my pen would write her titles true,
It ravisht is with fancies wonderment :
Yet in my hart I then both speake and write
The wonder that my wit cannot endite.
IV
New yeare, forth looking out of Janus gate,
Doth seeme to promise hope of new delight :
And, bidding th' old Adieu, his passed date
Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish sprint :
And, calling forth out of sad Winters night
The thing which I doo most in her admire.
Is of the world unworthy most envide:
For in those lofty lookes is close implide,
Scorn of base things, and sdeigne of foulc dis-
honor :
Thretning rash eies which gaze on her so wide,
That loosely they ne dare to looke upon her.
Such pride is praise ; such portlinesse is
honor ;
That boldned innocence beares in hir eies ;
And her faire countenance, like a goodly ban-
Spreds in defiaunce of all enemies. " [nc-r.
Was never in this world ought worthy tride.
Without some spark of such self-p'leasing
pride.
VI
Be nought dismayd that her unmoved mind
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride :
Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kvnd,
The harder wonne, the tinner will abide.
The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride,
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre ;
But, when it once doth burne. it doth divide
Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven
So hard it is to kindle new desire [a>[>ire.
In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever :
Deepe is the wound, that dints the part* en tin*
With chast affects that naught but death ran
sevt r ;
Then thinke not long in taking litle paine
To knit the knot, that ever shall remaine.
Fayre eyes ! the myrrour of my mazed hart,
What wondrous vertue is rontaynd in you,
The which both lyfe and death forth from v,.u
Into the object of your mighty view ? f dart,
F<>r. when ye mildly looke with lovely hew,
Then is my soule with life and love in^'inM :
Hut when ye lowre, or looke on me askew,
Then doe I die, a.s one with lightning •
But, since that Ivfe is more then death deayred,
574
SOAW£TS.
Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best ;
That vour bright beams, of my weak eies
admyred,
May kindle" living fire within my brest.
Such life should be the honor of your light,
Such death the sadensample of your might.
VIII
More then most faire, full of the living fire,
Kindled above unto the Maker neere;
Xo eies but joyes, in which al powers conspire,
That to the "world naught else be counted
deare ; [guest
Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound ;
But Augels come to lead fraile mindes to rest
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound.
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me
within; fspeake;
You stop my toung, and teach my hart to
You calme the storme that passion did begin,
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue
weak. ' [never;
Dark is the world, where your light shined
Well is he borne, that may behold you ever.
IX
Long-while I sought to what I might com-
pare [spright;
Those powrefull eies, which lighten my dark
Yet find I nought on earth, to which I dare
Resemble th' ymage of their goodly light.
Not to the Sun ; for they doo shine by night ;
Nor to the Moone ; for they are changed never ;
Nor to the Starres ; for they have purer sight ;
Nor to the Fire ; for they consume not ever ;
Xor to the Lightning ; for they still persever :
Nor to the Diamond ; for they are more tender ;
Nor unto Cristall ; for nought may them sever ;
Nor unto Glasse ; such basenesse mought
offend her.
Then to the Maker selfe they likest be,
Whose light doth lighten all that here we see.
x
Unrighteous Lord of Love, what law is this,
That me thou makest thus tormented be,
The whiles she lordeth in licentious blisse
Of her freewill, scorning both thee and me ?
See ! how the Tvrannesse doth joy to see
The huge massacres which her eyes do make ;
And humbled harts brings captive unto thee,
That thou of them mayst mightie vengeance
take,
But her proud hart doe thou a little shake.
And that high look, with which she doth
comptroll
All this worlds pride, bow to a baser make,
And al her faults in thy black booke enroll :
That I may laugh at her in equall sort,
As she doth laugh at me, and makes my
pain her sport.
XI
Dayly when I do seeke and sew for peace,
And hostages doe offer for my truth ;
She. cruell warriour, doth herselfe addresse
To battell, and the weary war renew'th ;
Ne wilbe moov'd with reason, or with rewth,
To graunt small respit to my restlesse toile ;
But greedily her fell intent ppursewth,
Of my poore life to make unpittied spoile.
Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle,
I would her yield, her wrath to pacify:
But then she seeks, with torment and titrmoyle,
To force me live, and will not let me dy.
All paine hath end, and every war hath
peace;
But mine, no price nor prayer may surcease.
XII
One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies
To make a truce, and termes to entertaine :
All fearelesse then of so false enimies,
Which sought me to entrap in treasons traine.
So, as I then disarmed did remaine,
A wicked ambush which lay hidden long
In the close covert of her guilefull even,
Thence breaking forth, did thick about me
throng.
Too feeble I t'abide the brunt so strong,
Was forst to yeeld my selfe into their hands ;
Who, me captiving streight with rigorous
wrong,
Have ever since me kept in cruell bands.
So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine,
Against your eies, that justice I may gaine.
XIII
In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth,
Whiles her faire face she reares up to the skie,
And to the ground her eie-lids low embaseth,
Most goodly temperature ye may descry ;
Myld humblesse, mixt with awfull majesty.
For, looking on the earth whence she was
Her minde remembreth her mortalitie. [borne,
Whateo is fayrest shall to earth returne.
But that same lofty countenance seemes to
scorne [clime ;
Base thing, and thinke how she to heaven may
Treading downe earth as lothsome and for-
lome, [ slime.
That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy
Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me ;
Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be.
XIV
Retourne agayne. my forces late dismayd,
Unto the siege by you abandon'd quite.
SONNETS.
57S
Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd,
So fayre a peece, for one repulse so light.
Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater
might
[belay :
Then those small forts which ye were wont
Such haughty mynds, enur'd to hardy fight,
Disdayne to yield unto the first assay.
Bring therefore all the forces that ye may,
And lay incessant battery to her heart ;
Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and
dismay ;
Those engins can the proudest love convert :
And, if those fayle, fall downe and dy before
her;
So dying live, and living do adore her.
xv
Yc tradefull Merchants, that, with weary
Vet many wondrous tilings there are beside :
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes
glide ; " [hart ;
The charming smiles, that rob sence from the
The lovely pleasauce ; and die lofty pride ;
Cannot expressed be by any art.
toyle,
[gain ;
[netde.
Do seeke most pretious things to make your
And both the Indias of their treasure spoile ;
What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?
Tor loe, my love doth in her selfe containe
All this worlds riches that may farre be found :
f Saphyres, loe, her eies be Saphyres plaiue ;
f Rubies, loe, hir lips be Kubics sound ;
f Pearles, hir teeth be Pearles, both pure and
f Yvorie, her forehead Yvory weene ; [round ;
( Gold, her locks are finest Gold on ground ;
[f Silver, her faire hands are Silver sheene :
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind adornd with verities manifold.
One day as I unwarily did gaze
L)n those fayre eyes, my loves immortall
The whiles my stonisht hart stood in amaze,
Through sweet illusion of her lookes delight ;
[ mote perceive how, in her glauncing sight,
Legions of loves with little wings did fly ;
Darting their deadly arrowes, fyry bright,
At every rash beholder passing by.
One of those archers closely 1 did spy,
Avming his arrow at my very hart :
When suddenly, with twincle of her eye,
The Damzell broke his misintended dart
Had she not so doon, sure I had bene slayne
Yet as it was, I hardly scap't with paine.
XVII
The glorious pourtraict of that Angels face,
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil,
A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth
That can expresse the life of things indeed.
The rolling wheele that runneth often round,
The hardest steele, in tract of time doth teare :
And drilling drops, that often doe redound.
The firmest flint doth in continuance weare :
Vet cannot I, witli many a dropping teare
And long intrcaty, soften her hard hart;
That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to
heart,
Or looke with pitty on mv payneful smart ;
[Jut. when I plcade, she bids me play my part ;
And, when I weep, she sayes, Teares are but
water,
And, when I sigh, she sayes, I know the art;
And, when I waile, she tunics hir selfe to
laughter. [vaine,
So do I weepe, and wayle, and plead e in
Whiles she as steele and Hint doth still re-
mayne.
XIX
The merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring,
His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded,
That warnes al lovers wayt upon their king.
Who now is comming forth with girland
crouned.
With noyse whereof the quyre of Byrds re-
sounded,
Their anthemes sweet, devized of loves prayse,
That all the woods theyr ecchoes back re-
bounded,
As if they knew the meaning of their layes.
But mongst them all, which did Loves honor
rayse,
No word "was heard of her that most it ought ;
But she his precept proudly disobayes,
And doth his ydle message set at nought.
Therefore, O Love, unlesse she tnnie to thee
Ere Cuckow end, let her a rebell be !
xx
In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace,
And doe myne humbled hart In-fore her poure ;
The whiles'her foot she in my netke doth place,
And tread mv life d«iwne in the l»wly lloure.
576
SONNETS.
Then either Lyon or the Lyonesse ;
Shames not to be with guiltlesse bloud de-
fylde,
But taketh glory in her cruelnesse.
Fayrer then fayrest ! let none ever say,
That ye were blooded in a yeelded pray.
Was it the worke of Nature or of Art,
Which tempred so the feature of her face,
That pride and meeknesse, mixt by equall part
Doe both appearet' adonie her beauties grace?
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride dis-
place,
She to her love doth lookers eyes allure ;
And, with sterne countenance, back again doth
chace
Their looser lookes that stir up lustes impure :
With such strange termes her eyes she doth
inure,
That, with one looke, she doth my life dismay ;
And with another doth it straight recure ;
Her smile me drawes ; her frowne me drives
away. [lookes ;
Thus doth she traine and teach me with her
Such art of eves I never read in bookes !
This holy season, fit to fast and pray,
Men to devotion ought to be inclynd:
Therefore, I lykewise, on so holy day,
For my sweet Saynt some service fit will find.
Her temple fayre is built within my mind,
In which her glorious ymage placed is ;
On which my thoughts doo day and night
attend,
Lyke sacred priests that never thinke amisse !
There I to her, as th' author of my blisse,
Will builde an altar to appease her yre ;
And on the same my hart will sacrifise,
Burning in flames of pure and chast desyre:
The which vouchsafe, O goddesse, to accept,
Amongst thy deerest r Clicks to be kept.
Penelope, for her Ulisses sake,
Deviz'd a Web her wooers to deceave ;
Such subtile craft my Damzell doth conceave,
Th' importune suit of my desire to shonne:
For all that I in many dayes doo veave,
In one short houre I find by her undonne.
So, when I thinke to end that I begonne,
I must begin and never bring to end:
For with one looke shespilsthatlonglsponne;
And with one word my whole years work
doth rend.
Such labour like the Spyders web I fynrt..
Whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least
wynd.
XXIV
When I behold that beauties wonderment,
And rare perfection of each goodly part ;
Of natures skill the onely complement ;
I honor and admire the Makers art.
But when I feele the bitter balefull smart.
Which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke in
mee,
That death out of theyr shiny beames doe dart ;
I thinke that I a new Pandora see,
Whom all the Gods in councell did agree
Into this sinfull world from heaven to send;
That she to wicked men a scourge should
bee,
For all their faults with which they did offend.
But, since ye are my scourge, I will in-
treat,
That for my faults ye will me gently beat.
How long shall this lyke dying lyfe endure,
And know no end of her owne mysery.
But wast and weare away in termes unsure,
Twixt feare and hope depending doubtfully !
Yet better were attonce to let me die,
And shew the last ensample of your pride ;
Then to torment me thus with cruelty,
To prove your powre, which I too well have
tride.
But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide
A close intent at last to shew me grace :
Then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,
As meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace:
And wish that more and "greater they might
™. be»
That greater meede at last may tume to mee.
Sweet is the Rose, but growes upon a "brere ;
Sweet is the Junipere, but sharpe his bough ;
Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere ;
Sweet is the Firbloome, but his braunchs
i^evii u a »T cu iici n m*cto iu ucucavc . is rough ;
In which the worke thatsheall day did makejSweet is the Cypresse, but his rynd is tough;
The same at night she did againe unreave : Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre
enough ;
And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill.
So every sweet with soure is tempred still,
That maketh it be coveted the more :
For easie things, that may be got at will.
Most sorts of men doe set'but little store.
Why then should laccoumpt of little paine.
That endlesse pleasure shall unto megaineJ
SONNETS.
577
XXVII
Faire Proud ! now tell me, why should faire
be proud,
Sith all worlds glorie is but drosse uncleane,
And in the shade of death it selfe shall shroud
However now thereof ye little weene !
That goodly Idol], now so gay beseene,
Shall doffe her fleshes borrowd fayre attyre,
And be forgot as it had never beene;
That many now much worship and admire !
Ne any then shall after it inquire,
Ne any mention shall thereof remaine,
But what this verse, that never shall expyre,
Shall to your purchas with her thankles paine !
Faire ! be no lenger proud of that shall perish
But that, which shall you make immortall
cherish.
XXVIII
The laurel-leafe, which you this day doe
weare,
Gives me great hope of your relenting mynd :
For since it is the badge which I doe beare,
Ye, bearing it, doe seeme to me inclind :
The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find,
Let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire
With sweet infusion, and put you in mind
Of that proud mayd, whom now those leaves
attyre :
Proud Daphne, scorning Phffibus lovely fyre,
On the Thessalian shore from him did Hie :
For -which the gods, in theyr revengefull yre,
Did her transforme into a laurell-tree.
Then fly no more, fayre Love, from Phebus
chace,
But in vour brest his leafe and love embrace.
prave
tfy simple meaning with dtsdaynfull scorne;
V.iid by the bay, which I unto her gave,
See! how the stubborne damzell doth de-
prave
My simple r
And by the bu. ,
Accoumpts my self her captive quite forlorne.
The bay (quoth she) is of the victours borne,
Yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr meeds,
And they therewith doe Poetes heads adorne,
To sing the glory of their famous deedes.
But sith she will the conquest challeng needs,
Let her accept me as her faithfull thrall :
That her great triumph, which my skill ex-
ceeds,
I may in trump of fame blaze over-alL
Then would I decke her head with glorious
bayes, [pray so.
And fill the world with her victorious
XXX
Mv love is Ivke to yse, and I to fyre ;
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolv'd through my so hot dcsyre.
Rut harder growes the more I her in treat I
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not delayd by her hart-frosen cold ;
Rut that I burne much more in boyling sweat,
And feele my flames augmented manifold !
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, should harden
yse ;
And yse, which is congeald with sencelesse cold,
Should kindle fyre by wonderfull devyse !
Such is the powre of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kymL
Ah ! why hath nature to so hard a hart
Given so goodly giftes of beauties grace !
Whose pryde depraves each other better part,
And all those pretious ornaments deface.
Sith to all other beastes of bloody race
A dread fii 11 countenaunce she given hath ;
That with theyr terrour al the rest may
chace,
And warne to shun the daunger of thcyr wrath.
But my proud one doth worke the greater
scath,
Through sweet allurement of her lovely hew ;
That she the better may in bloody bath
Of such poor thralls her cruell hands embrew.
But, did she know how ill these two accord
Such cruelty she would have soone abhord
XXXII
The paynefull smith, with force of fervent
heat,
The hardest yron soone doth mollify ;
That with his heavy sledge he can it beat,
And fashion to what he it list apply.
Yet cannot all these flames, in which I fry.
Her hart more harde then yron soft a whit -.
Xe all the playnts and prayers, with whieh I
Doe beat on th and vile of her stubbcrne wit
Rut still, the more she fervent sees my tit,
The more she frieseth in her wilfull pryde ;
And harder growes, the harder she is smit
With all the playnts which to her be applydo.
What then remaines but I to ashes bimir,
And she to stones at length all frosen turnr!
XXXIII
Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny.
To that most sacred Empresse, my dear dred,
Sot finishing her (Juoone of FaCry,
That mote enlarge her living prayses, dead.
But Lodwiek. this of grace to me a read :
[)o ye not tbinck th' accomplislnwnt of it
^uilieient worke for one mans simple head,
Ml were it, aa the rest, but rudely writ?
S7S
SONNETS.
How then should I, without another wit,
Thinck ever to endure so tsedious toyle !
Sins that this one is tost with troublous fit
Of a proud love, that doth my spirite spoyle.
Ceasse then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt
me. rest ;
Or lend you me another living brest.
xxxiv
LyKe as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde,
By conduct of some star, doth make her way ;
Whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty guyde,
Out of her course doth wander far astray !
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright
ray
Me to direct, with cloudes is over-cast,
Doe wander now, in darknesse and dismay,
Through hidden perils round about me plast ;
Yet hope I well that, when this storme is
My Helice, the lodestar of my lyfe, [past,
Will shine again, and looke on me at last,
With lovely light to cleare my cloudy grief,
Till then I wander carefull, comfortlesse,
In secret sorow, and sad pensivenesse.
XXXV
My hungry eyes, through greedy covetize
Still to behold the object of their paine,
With no contentment can themselves suffize;
But, having, pine ; and, having not, com-
plaine.
For, lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne ;
And, having it, they gaze on it the more ;
In their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine,
Whose eyes him starv'd : so plenty makes me
poore.
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store
Of that faire sight, that nothing else they
brooke,
But lothe the things which they did like before,
And can no more endure on them to looke.
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,
And all their showes but shadowes, saving
she.
XXXVI
Tell me, when shall these wearie woes have
end,
Or shall their ruthlesse torment never cease ;
But al my dayes in pining langour spend,
Without hope of aswagement or release ?
Is there no meanes for me to purchace peace,
Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes ;
But that their cruelty doth still increace,
And dayly more augment my miseryes ?
But, when ye have shewd ail extremityes,
Then thinke how litle glory ye have gayned
By slaying him, whose life, though ye despyse,
Mote have your life in honour long maintayned.
But by his death, which some perhaps will
mone,
Ye shall condemned be of many a one.
XXXVII
What guyle is this, that those her golden
She doth attyre under a net of gold ; [tresses
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold, or heare, may scarse be
told?
Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden snare ;
And, being caught, may craftily enfold
Theyr weaker harts, which are not wel aware ?
Take heed, therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe
stare
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net,
In which, if ever ye entrapped are,
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get.
Fondnesse it were for any, being free,
To covet fetters, though they golden bee !
XXXVIII
Arion, when, through tempests cruel wracke,
He forth was thrown into the greedy seas ;
Through the sweet musick, which bis harp
did make,
Allur'd a Dolphin him from death to ease.
But my rude musick, which was wont to please
Some dainty eares, cannot, with any skill,
The dreadfull tempest of her wrath" appease,
Nor move the Dolphin from her stubborn will,
But in her pride she dooth persever still.
All carelesse how my life for her decayes :
Yet with one word she can it save or spill.
To spill were pitty, but to save were prayse !
Chose rather to be praysd for dooing good,
Then to be blam'd for spilling guiltlesse
blood.
XXXIX
Sweet Smile ! the daughter of the Queene ol
Love,
Expressing all thy mothers powrefull art.
With which she wants to temper angry Jove,
When all the gods he threats with thundring
dart;
Sweet is thy vertue, as thy selfe sweet art.
For, when on me thou shinedst late in sadnesse,
A melting pleasance ran through every part,
And me revived with hart-robbing gladnesse.
Whylest rapt with joy resembling heavenly
madnes,
My soule was ravisht quite as in a traunce ;
And feeling thence, no more her sorowea
sadnesse,
Fed on the fulnesse of that chearefull glaunce,
More sweet than Nectar, or Ambrosiall meat,
Seemd every bit which thenceforth I did eat
SONNETS.
579
[ark when she smiles with amiable cheare,
nd tell me whereto can ye lyken it ;
fhen on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare
Vn hundred Graces as in shade to sit.
ykest it seemeth, in my simple wit,
nto the fayre sunshine in somers day ;
'hat, when a dreadfull storme away is flit,
'hrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly
ray;
t sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray,
nd every beast that to his den was fled,
omes forth afresh out of their late dismay,
nd to the light lift up theyr drouping hed.
So my storme-beaten hart likewise is cheared
With that sunshine, when cloudy looks are
cleared.
XLI
s it her nature, or is it her will,
'o be so cruell to an humbled foe ?
' nature ; then she may it mend with skill :
' will ; then she at will may will forgoe.
ut if her nature and her wil be so, [most,
'hat she will plague the man that loves her
nd take delight t' encrease a wretches woe ;
'hen all her natures goodly guifts are lost :
nd that same glorious beauties ydle boast
a but a bayt such wretches to beguile,
.s, being long in her loves tempest tost,
he meanes at last to make her pitious spoyle.
O fayrest fayre ! let never it be named,
That so fayre beauty was so fowly shamed.
XLII
'he love which me so cruelly tormenteth,
pleasing is hi my extreamest paine,
'hat, all the more my sorrow it augmenteth,
'he more I love and doe embrace my bane,
'e doe I wish (for wishing were but vaine)
o be acquit fro my continual smart ;
Jut joy, her thrall" for ever to remayne,
nd yield for pledge my poore captyved hart ;
'he which, that it from her may ne'ver start,
X!t her, yf please her, bynd v/ith adamant
chayne: [vart
V.ncl from all wandring loves, which mote per-
il is safe assurance, strongly it restrayne.
Ouely let her abstaine from cruelty.
And doe me not before my time to dy.
XLIII •
Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake V
.nd, if I speake, her wrath renew I shall ;
.nd, if I silent be, ray hart will breake,
•r choked be with overflowing gall.
Vhat tyranny is this, both my hart to thrall,
.nd eke my toung with proud restraint to tie ;
'hat nether I may speake nor thinke at all,
".ut like a stupid stock in silence die !
Yet I my hart with silence secretly
Will teach to speak, and my just cause to plead ;
And eke mine eies, with meek humility,
Love-learned letters to her eyes to read ;
Which her deep wit, that true harts thought
can spel,
Wil soon conceive, and learne to construe
well.
XLIV
When those renoumed noble Peres of Greece,
Thrugh stubborn pride, amongst themselves did
Forgetfull of the famous golden fleece ; f jar,
Then Orpheus with his harp thevr strife did bar.
But this continual!, cruell, civill wane,
The which my selfe against my selfe doe make;
Whilest my weak powres of passions warreid
No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake. [arre ;
But, when in hand my tunelesse harp I take,
Then doe I more augment my foes despight ;
And griefe renew, and passions doe awake
To battaile, fresh against my selfe to fight.
Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle
peace,
The more I fynd their malice to increase.
XLV
Leave, lady ! in your glasse of crisUll dene,
Your goodly selfe for evermore to vew :
And in my selfe, my inward selfe, I meane,
Most lively lyke behold your semblunt trew.
Within my hart, though hardlv it can shew
Thing so divine to vew of earthly eye,
The fayre Idea of your celestial! hew
And every part remaincs immortally :
And were it not that, through your cruelty,
With sorrow dimmed and deform'd it were,
The'goodly ymage of your vixnomy,
Clearer then cristall, would therein appere.
But, if your selfe in me ye playne will see,
Remove the cause by which your fayre
beames darkned be.
XLV I
When my abodes prefixed time is spent,
My cruell fayre straight bids me wend my way :
But then from heaven moat hideous storm ea
are sent,
As willing me against her will to stay.
Whom then shall I, or heaven or her, obay ?
The heavens know best what is the best ft>r me
Hut as she will, whose will my life doth swny
My lower heaven, so it perforce must bee.
But ye high hevens, that all this sorowe see,
Sitli all your tempests cannot hold me backe,
Aswage your storms ; or else both you, and she,
Will both together me too sorely wracke.
Knough it is for one mail t<> Mi-t.-iinr
The stormes, which sliu alone on me doth
mine.
rrl
SONNETS.
Trust not the treason of those srnyling lookes,
Untill ye have theyr guylefull traynes well
tryde :
For they are lyke but unto golden hookes,
That from the foolish tish theyr bayts doe hyde :
So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth
guyde
Unto her "love, and tempte to theyr decay ;
Whome, being caught, she kills* with cruell
pryde,
And feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray :
Yet, even whylst her bloody hands them slay,
Her eyes looke lovely, and upon them smyle ;
That they take pleas'ure in her cruell play,
And, dying, doe themselves of payne beguyle.
O m'ighty charm ! which makes men love
theyr bane, [payne.
And thinck they dy with pleasure, live with
XLVIII
Innocent paper ; whom too cruell hand
Did make the matter to avenge her yre:
And, ere she could thy cause wel understand,
Did sacrifize unto the greedy fyre.
Well worthy thou to have found better hyre,
Then so bad end for hereticks ordayned ;
Yet heresy nor treason didst conspire,
But plead thy maisters cause, unjustly payned
Whom she, all carelesse of his griefe con-
strayned
To utter forth the anguish of his hart:
And would not heare, when he to her coin playned
The piteous passion of his dying smart.
Yet live for ever, though against her will.
Andspeake her good, though she requite it ill
XLIX
Fayre cruell ! why are ye so fierce and cruell?
Is it because your eyes have powre to kill ?
Then know that mercy is the Mighties Jewell :
And greater glory thinke, to save then spill.
But if it be your" pleasure, and proud will,
To shew the" powre of your imperious eyes;
Then not on him that never thought you ill,
But bend your force against your enemyes :
Let them feele the utmost of your crueltyes ;
And kill with looks as Cockatrices doo :
But him, that at your footstoole humbled lies,
With mercifull regard give mercy too.
Such mercy shall you make admyr'd to be ;
So shall you live, "by giving life to me.
Long languishing in double malady
Of my harts wound, and of my bodies griefe ;
There came to me a leach, that would apply
Fit medicines for my bodies best reliefe.
Vayne man, quod I, that hast but. little priefe
In "deep discovery of the mynds disease ;
ts not the hart of all the body chiefe,
And rules the members as it selfe doth please ?
Then, with some cordialls, seeke first to appease
The inward languor of my wounded hart,
And then my body shall have shortly ease :
But such sweet cordialls passe Physitions art.
Then, my lyfes Leach ! doe yourskill reveale;
And, with one salve, both hart and body
heale.
LI
Doe I not see that fayrest ymages
Of hardest marble are of purpose made,
For that they should endure through many ages,
Ne let theyr famous moniments to fade?
Why then doe I, untrainde in lovers trade,
Her hardnes blame, which I should more com-
Sith neve rought was excellent assayde [mend?
Which was not hard t' atchieve and bring to
end.
Ne ought so hard, but he, that would attend,
Mote soften it and to his will allure :
So doe I hope her stubborn e hart to bend,
And that it then more stedfast will endure :
Onely my paines wil be the more to get her ;
But, having her, my joy wil be the greater.
So oft as homeward I from her depart,
I goe lyke one that, having lost the field.
Is prisoner led away with heavy hart,
Despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield.
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yccld
To sorrow and to solitary paine ;
From presence of my dearest deare exylde,
Long-while alone in langour to remaine.
There let no thought of joy, or pleasure vaine,
Dare to approch, that may my solace breed ;
But sudden dumps, and d'rery sad disdayne
Of all worlds gladnesse, more my torment feed.
So I her absens will my penaunce make,
That of her presens I my meed may take.
LIII
The Panther, knowing that his spotted hyde
Doth please all beasts, but that his looks them
fray;
Within a bush his dreadfull head doth hide,
To let them gaze, whylest he on them may pray:
Right so my cruell fayre with me doth play ;
For, with the goodly semblant of her hew,
She doth allure me to mine owne decay,
And then no mercy will unto me shew.
Great shame it is, thing so divine in Anew,
Made for to be the worlds most ornament,
To make the bayte her gazers to embrew :
Good shames to be to ill an instrument !
SONNETS.
581
But mercy doth with beautie best agree,
As in theyr Maker ye them best may see.
LIV
Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay,
My love, lyke the Spectator, ydly sits;
Beholding me, that all the pagea'nts play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,
And mask in myrth lyke to a Comedy :
Soone after, when my joy to sorrow flits,
I waile, and make my woes a Tragedy.
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye,
Delights not in my merth, nor rues my'smart :
But, when I laugh,"she mocks; and, when I cry,
She laughes, and hardens evermore her hart.
What then can move her ? if nor merth nor
mone,
She is 110 woman, but a sencelesse stone.
So oft as I her beauty doe behold,
And therewith doe her cruelty compare,
I marvaile of what substance was the mould,
The which her made attonce so cruell faire.
Not earth, for her high thoghts more heavenly
are:
Not water ^ for her love doth burne like fyre :
Not ayre ; for she is not so light or rare :
Not fyre : for she doth friese with faint desire.
Then needs another Element inquire
Whereof she mote be made , that is, the skye.
For to the heaven her haughty lookes aspire :
And eke her mind is pure immortall hye.
Then, sith so heaven ye lykened are the best,
Be lyke in mercy as in all the rest.
Fayre ye be sure, but cruell and unkind,
As' is a Tygre, that with greedinesse [find
Hunts after bloud; when he by chance doth
A feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse.
Fayre be ye sure, but proud and pittilcsse,
As is a storme, that all things doth prostrate ;
Finding a tree alone all comfortlesse,
Beats on it strongly, it to ruinate.
Fayre be ve sure, but hard and obstinate,
As'is a rocke amidst the raging floods :
Gaynst which, a ship, of succour desolate,
Doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and goods.
That ship, that tree, and that same beast,
am I,
Whom ye doe wreck, doe ruine, and destroy.
LVII
Sweet warriour ! when shall I have peace
with you ?
High time it is this warre now ended were
Which I no lenger can endure to sue,
Ne your incessant bat try more to beare:
So weake my powres, so sore my wounds,
appeare,
That wonder is how I should liv«> a jot,
Seeing my hart through-launced every where
With thousand arrowcs, which your eiea have
shot:
Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not,
But glory thinke to make these cruel stourea.
Ye cruell one ! what glory can be got,
In slaying him that would live gladly yours !
Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely
grace,
That al my wounds wil heale in little space.
LV1II
By her tfiat is most cultured to her selfe.
Weake is th* assurance that weake flesh rc-
poseth
In her owne powre, and scorneth others ayde ;
That soonest fals, when as she most supposeth
Her selfe assurd, and is of nought affrayd.
All flesh is frayle, and all her strength uhstayd,
Like a value bubble blowen up with ayre:
Devouring tyme aud changeful chance have
prayd^
Her glories pride that none may it repayre.
Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fayre,
But fayleth, trusting on his owne assurance;
And he, that standeth on the hyghest stayre,
Fals lowest ; for on earth nought hath cn'diir-
aunce. [go farre,
Why then doe ye, proud fayre, misdmne
That to your selie ye most assured anx- !
Thrise happie she ! that is so well assured
Unto her selfe, and setled so in hart,
That nether will for better be allured,
Ne fcard with worse to any chaunce to start;
But, like a steddy ship, doth strongly part
The raging waves, and keepes ner course
aright ;
Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart,
Ne ought for fayrer weathers false delight
Such selfe-assurance need not feare the snight
Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends :
Hut, in the stay of her owne stedfast might,
Nether to one her selfe nor other bends.
Most happy she, that most assur'd doth rest;
But he most happy, who such one loves best.
They, that in course of heavenly sphearcs are
skild,
To every planet point his sundry year. :
SONNETS.
In which her circles voyage is fulfild,
As Mars in three-score yeares doth run his
spheare.
So, since the winged god his planet cleare
Began in me to move, one yeare is spent :
The which doth longer unto me appeare,
Then al those fourty which my life out-went.
Then by that count, which lovers books invent,
The spheare of Cupid fourty yeares containes :
Which I have wasted in long languishment.
That seemd the longer for my greater paines.
But let my loves fayre Planet short her
wayes,
This yeare ensuing, or else short my dayes.
The glorious image of the Makers beautie,
My soverayne saynt, the Idoll of my thought,
Dare not 'henceforth, above the bounds
dewtie,
T' accuse of pride, or rashly blame for ought.
For being, as she is, divinely wrought,
And of the brood of Angels hevenly borne ;
And with the crew of blessed Saynts upbrought,
Each of which did her with they r guifts adorne ;
The bud of joy, the blossome of the morne,
Thebeame of light, whom mortal eyes admyre ;
What reason is it then but she should scorne
Base things, that to her love too bold aspire !
Such heavenly formes ought rather worshipt
be,
Then dare be lov'd by men of meane degree.
The weary yeare his race now having run,
The new begins his compast course anew :
With shew of morning mylde he hath begun,
Betokening peace and plenty to ensew.
So let us, which this chaunge of weather vew,
Chaunge eke our mynds, and former lives
amend ;
The old yeares sinnes forepast let us eschew,
And fly the faults with which we did offend.
Then shall the new yeares joy forth freshly
send,
Into the glooming world, his gladsome ray :
And all these stormes, which now his beauty
blend,
Shall turne tocaulmes,and tymely cleare away.
So, likewise, Love ! cheare you your heavy
spright,
And chaunge old yeares annoy to new de-
light
LXIII
After long stormes and tempests sad assay,
Which hardly I endured heretofore,
In dread of death, and daungerous dismay,
With which my silly barke was tossed sore :
I doe at length descry the happy shore,
In which I hope ere long for to any ve :
Fayre soyle it seemes from far, and fraught
with store
Of all that deare and daynty is alyve.
Most happy he ! that can at last atchyve
The joyous safety of so sweet a rest •,
Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive
Remembrance of all paines which him opprest.
All paines are nothing in respect of this ;
All sorrowes short that gaine eternall blisse.
Comming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found,)
Me seemd, I smelt a gardin of sweet flowres,
That dainty odours from them threw around,
For damzels fit to decke their lovers bowres.
Her lips did smell lyke unto Gillyflowers ;
of Her ruddy cheekes, lyke unto Roses red ;
Her snowy browes, like budded Bellamoures ;
Her lovely eyes, lyke Pincks but newly spred ;
Her goodly bosome, lyke a Strawberry bed;
Her neck, lyke to a bounch of Cullambynes ;
Her brest, lyke Lillyes, ere theyr leaves be
shed;
Her nipples, lyke yong blossomed Jessemynes :
Such fragrant flowers doe give most odorous
smell;
But her sweet odour did them all excell.
The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre love, is
That fondly feare to loose your liberty ; [ vaine,
When, loosing one, two liberties ye gayne,
And make him bond that bondage earst dyd fly.
Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth
Without constraynt, or dread of any ill : [tye
The gentle birde feeles no captivity
Within her cage ; but singes, and feeds her fill.
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill
The league twixt them, that loyal love hath
bound :
But simple truth, and mutuall good-will,
Seekes with sweet peace, to salve each others
wound : [towre,
There Fayth doth fearlesse dwell in brasen
And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred
bowre.
LXV-
To^all those happy blessings, which ye have
With plenteous nand by heaven upon you
thrown ;
This one disparagement they to you gave,
That ye your love lent to so meane a one.
Yee, whose high worths surpassing paragon
Could not on earth have found one fit for mate,
Ne but in heaven matchable to none,
Why did ye stoup unto so lowly state?
SONNETS.
583
But ye thereby much greater glory gate,
Then had ~e sorted with a princes pere :
For, now your light doth more itselfe dilate,
And, in my darknesse, greater doth appeare,
Yet, since your light hath once enlumind me,
With my reflex yours shall encreased be.
Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escapt away,
Sits downe to rest him in some shady place,
With panting hounds beguiled of their pray :
So, after long pursuit and vaine assay,
When I all weary had the chace forsooke,
The gentle deare returnd the selfe-same way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next
brooke :
There she, beholding me with mylder looke,
Sought not to fly, but fearelesse still did bide ;
Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke,
And with her owive goodwill hit fyrmely tyde.
Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so
wyld,
So goodly wonne, with her owne will be-
guyld.
LXVIII
Most glorious Lord of lyfe ! that, on this day,
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin ;
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win :
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin ;
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye.
Being with thy deare blood clene washt from
May live for ever in felicity ! [sin,
And that thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love thee for the same againe ;
And for thy sake, that all lykc deare didst
buy,
With love may one another entertayne !
So let us love, deare lore, lyke as we ought
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught
LXIX
The famous warriors of anticke world
Used Trophees to erect in stately wize ;
In which they would the records have enrold
Of theyr great deeds and valorous emprize.
What trophee then shall I most fit devize,
In which I may record the memory
Of my loves conquest, peerelesse beauties prise,
Adorii'd with honour, love, and chastity !
Even this verse, vowd to eternity.
Shall be thereof immortall moniment;
And tell her prayse to all posterity.
That may admire such worlds rare wonderment
The happy purchase of my glorious spoile,
Gotten at last with labour and long toyle.
Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king,
In whose cote-armour richly are duplayd
\11 sorts of flowers, the which on earth do
[n goodly colours gloriously array d ; [spring,
3oe to my love, where she" is carelesse layd,
Yet in her winters bowre not well awake ;
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid,
b'nlesse she doe him by the forelock take ;
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make,
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely "crew;
Where every one, that misseth then' her make,
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whitest it
is prime ;
For none can call againe the passed time.
LXXI
[ oy to see how, in your drawen work,
Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe compare ;
And me unto the Spyder, that doth lurke
In close away t, to catch her unaware :
Right so your selfe were caught in cunning
snare
Of a deare foe, and thralled to his love ;
In whose streight bands ye now captived are
So firmely, that ye never may remove.
But as your worke is woven all above
With woodbyiid flowers and fragrant Eglan-
tine;
So sweet your prison you in time shall prove.
With many deare delights bedecked fyne.
And all thensforth ctemall peace shall see
Betweene the Spyder and the gentle Bee.
LXXII
Oft, when my spirit doth spred her bolder
winges,
In mind to mount up to the purest sky ;
It down is weighd with thoght of earthly
And clogd with burden of mortality; [things,
Where, when that soverayne beauty it doth
Resembling heavens glory in her light, [>py,
Drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it wick
doth fly,
And unto heaven forgets her former flight.
There my fraile fancy, led with full dclii;lit,
Doth bath in blisse, and mantleth most at
MM ;
Xe thinks of other heaven, lint how it might
Her harts desire with most contentment please.
Hurt need not. wish none other happiness*,
But here on earth to have such heveni
blisse.
LXXIII
Fieing my self captyved hero in rare.
My hart" (whom none with servile bands can
tye,
SONNETS.
But the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,)
Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly.
Lyke as a byrd, that in ones hand doth spy
Desired food, to it doth make his flight :
Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre
eye
To feed his fill, fives backe unto your sight.
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall :
Perhaps he there may leame, with rare de-
light,
To sing your name and prayses over-all :
That it hereafter may you not repent,
Him lodging in your bosome to have lent.
LXXIV
Most happy letters ! fram'd by skilfull trade,
With which that happy name was first desynd,
The which three times thrise happy hath me
made,
With gaifts of body, fortune, and of mini
The first my being" to me gave by kind,
From mothers womb deriv'd by dew descent :
The second is my sovereigne Queene most
kind,
That honour and large richesse to me lent:
The third, my love, my lifes last ornament,
By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed :
To speake her prayse and glory excellent,
Of all alive most worthy to be praysed.
Ye three Elizabeths ! for ever live,
That three such graces did unto me give.
LXXV
One day I wrote her name upon the strand ;
But came the waves, and washed it away :
Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand ;
But came the tyde, and made my paynes his
pray. [assay
Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine
A mortall thing's© to immortalize ;
For I my selve shall lyke to this decay,
And eek my name bee wyped out lykewize.
Not so, quod I ; let baser things devize
To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame :
My verse your vertues rare shall dternize,
And in the hevens wryte your glorious name.
Where, whenas death shall all the world
aubdew,
Our love shall live, and later life renew.
LXXVI
Fayre bosome ! fraught with vertues richest
tresure,
The neast of love, the lodging of delight,
The bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure,
The sacred harbour of that hevenly spright ;
How was I ravisht with your lovely sight,
And my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray !
Whiles diving deepe through amorous in-
sight,
On the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray ;
And twixt her paps, (like early fruit in May,
Whose harvest seemd to hasten now apace.)
They loosely did theyr wanton winges display,
And there to rest themselves did boldly place.
Sweet thoughts ! I envy your so happy re
Which oft 1 wisht, yet never was so blest
Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne ;
A goodly table of pure yvory,
All spred with juncats, fit to entertayne
The greatest Prince with pompous roialty :
Mongst which, there in a silver dish did ly
Twoo golden apples of unvalewd price ;
Far passing those which Hercules came by,
Or those which Atalanta did entice ;
Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinfull vice ;
That many sought, yet none could ever taste ;
Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from Para-
dice
By Love himselfe, and in his garden plaste.
Her brest that table was, so richly spredd ;
My thoughts the guests, which would
thereon have fedd.
LXXVIII
Lackyng my love, I go from place to place,
Lyke a young fawne, that late hath lost the
hynd; [face,
And seeke each where, where last I sawe her
Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd.
I seeke the fields with her late footing synd ;
I seeke her bowre with her late presence
deckt,
Yet nor in field nor bowre I her can fynd;
Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect :
But, when myne eyes I thereunto direct,
They ydly back returne to me agayne :
And, when I hope to see theyr trew obje'ct,
I fynd my selfe but fed with fancies vayne.
Ceasse then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to
see ;
And let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee,
LXXIX
Men call you fayre, and you doe credit, it,
For that your selfe ye dayly such doe see :
But the trew fayre, that i's the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of
For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, "[me :
Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious .
But enely that is permanent and free [hew;
From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew. ,
SOMMET5.
5»5
That is true beautie : that doth argue you
To be divine, and borne of heavenly seed ;
Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom
true
I And perfect beauty did at first proceed :
He onely fayrej and what he fayre hat
made;
All other fayre, lyke flowrec, untymely fad
i.x xx
After so long a race as I have run
Through Faery land, which those six book
compile,
Give leave to rest me being halfe fordonne,
And gather to myselfe new breath awhile.
Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle,
Out of my prison I will breake anew ;
And stoutly will that second worke assoyle,
With strong endevour and attention dew.
Till then give leave to me, in pleasant mew
To sport my muse, and sing my loves swee
praise;
The contemplation of whose heavenly hew,
My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse,
But let her prayses yet be low and meane,
Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene.
LXXXI
Fayre is my love, when her fayre goldei
heares [marke
With the loose wynd ye waving chance to
Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes
appeares ;
Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke.
Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barkc.
With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay ;
Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft dotf
dark
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away.
But fayrest she, when so she doth display
The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight :
Throgh which her words so wise do make
their way
To beare the message of her gentle spright.
The rest be works of natures wonderment :
But this the worke of harts astonishment
Joy of my life ! full oft for loving you
I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed :
But then the more your owne mishap I rew,
That are so much by so meane love embased.
For, had the equall hevens so much you
graced
In this as in the rest, ye mote invent
Som hevenly wit, whose verse could have
enchased
Your glorious name in golden moniment.
Hut since ye deignd so goodly to relent
£° m?.£?ur tLhra11' in *"om w little worth ;
That little, that I am, shall all be spent
In setting your immortaU pravses forth :
ci ,,S?J°fty arPument> uplifting me,
shall lift you up unto an high degree.
LXXXIII
Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre
Breake out, that may her sacred peace mo-
lest ;
Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre
Attempt to work her gentle mindes unrest :
But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest,
And modest thoughts breathd from wel-
tempred sprites,
Goe visit her in her chast bowre of rest
Accompanyde with angelick delightes.
There fill your selfe with those most joyous
sights,
The which my selfe could never yet attayne-.
But speake no word to her of these sad
plights,
Vhich her too constant stiffcnesse doth con-
strayn.
Onely behold her rare perfection,
And blesse your fortunes fayre election.
LXXXIV
'he world that cannot deeme of worthy
things,
Hien I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter :
o does the Cuckow, when the Mavis sings,
egin his witle*se note apace to clatter.
Jut they that skill not of so heavenly matter,
11 that they know not envy or admyre ;
ather then envy, let them wonder at her,
ut not to deeme of her desert aspyre.
eepe, in the closet of my parts entyre,
er worth is written with a golden quill,
lat me with heavenly fury doth inspire,
ml my glad mouth with "her sweet prayses
lill. [shal tfiumler,
Which when as Fame in her shrill trump
Let the world chose to envy or to wonder.
LXXXV
Venemous toung, tipt with vile adders sting,
Of that selfe kynd with which the Furies fell
Theyr snaky heads doe combe, from which a
spring
Of povsoned words and snitefull speeches well;
I .ft ail the plagues, and horrid paines, of hell
Upon thee fall for thine accurso<l hyre
That with false forged lyes, which thou didst
Mi,
In my true love did stirrc up coles of yre ;
586
SONNETS.
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre,
And, catching hold on thine owne wicked bed,
Consume thee quite, that didst with guile con-
spire
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred !
Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy re-
ward,
Dew to thy selfe, that it for me prepaid !
LXXXVI
Since I did leave the presence of my love,
Many long weary dayes I have outworne ;
And many nights, that slowly seemd to move
Theyr sad protract from evening untill morne.
For, when as day the heaven doth adorne,
I wish that night the noyous day would end :
And, when as night hath us of light forlorne,
I wish that day would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And faine my griefe with chaungea to be-
guile,
That further seemes his terme still to extend,
And maketh every minute seeme a myle.
So sorrow still doth seeme too long to last ;
But joyous houres doe fly away too fast.
LXXXVII
Since I have lackt the comfort of that light,
The which was wont to lead my thoughts
astray ;
I wander as in darkenesse of the night,
Aitrayd of every dangers least dismay.
Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day,
When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne,
But th' onely image of that heavenly ray,
Whereof some glance doth in mine eie re-
mayne.
Of which beholding the Idsea playne,
Through contemplation of my purest part,
With light thereof I doe my selfe sustayne,
And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart.
But, with such brightnesse whylest I fill
my mind,
I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd.
Lyke as the Culver, on the bared bough,
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate ;
And, in her songs, sends many a wishfull vow
For his returne that seemes to linger late :
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourne to my selfe the absence of my love;
And, wandring here and there all desolate,
Seek with my playnts to match that mournful
dove.
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove
Can comfort me, but her owne joyous sight :
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can
move,
In her unspotted pleasauns to delight.
Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I
mis,
And dead my life that wants such lively blis.
EPIGEAMS.
IN youth, before I waxed old,
The blynd boy, Venus baby,
For want of cunning made me bold,
In bitter hyve to grope for honny :
But, when he saw me stung and cry,
He tooke his wings and away did fly.
ii
As Diane hunted on a day,
She chaunst to come where Cupid lay,
His quiver by his head :
One of his shafts she stole away.
And one of hers did close convay
Into the others stead :
With that Love wounded my Loves hart,
But Diane beasts with Cupids dart.
in
I saw, in secret to my Dame
How little Cupid humbly came,
And eayd to her ; ' All hayle, my mother' '
But, when he saw me laugh, for shame
His face with bashfull blood did flame,
Not knowing Venus from the other.
' Then, never blush, Cupid, quoth I,
For many have err'd in this beauty.'
IV
Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring
All in his mothers lap ;
A gentle Bee, with his loud trumpet murm-
About him flew by hap. ['ring?
Whereof when he was wakened with the
And saw the beast so small ; [noyse,
' Whats this (quoth he) that gives so great 8
That wakens men withallV [voyce
In angry wize he flyes about,
And threatens all with corage stout.
To whom his mother closely smiling sayd,
Twixt earnest and twixt g'ame :
£PITHALAMfOJV.
' See ! thou thyselfe likewise art lyttle made,
If thou regard the same.
And yet thou suffrest neyther gods in sky,
Nor men in earth, to rest :
But, when thou art disposed cruelly,
Theyr sleepe thou doost molest.
Then eyther change thy cruelty.
Or give like leave unto the fly.'
Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so content,
Would needs the fly pursue ;
And in his hand, with heedlesse hardimcnt,
Him caught for to subdue.
But, when on it he hasty hand did lay,
The Bee him stung therefore :
' Now out alasse, he cryde, and wel-away !
I wounded am full sore :
The Fly, that I so much did scorne,
Hath hurt me with his little home.'
Unto his mother straight he weeping came,
And of his griefe complayned :
Who could not chose but laugh at his fond
Though sad to see him pained. [game,
' Think now (quod she) my sonne, how great
Of those whom thou dost wound : [the smart
587
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,
I hat pitty never found :
Therefore, henceforth some pith' take,
When thou doest spoyle of We're make.'
Shetooke him streight full pitiously lamenting
And wrapt him in her smock :
She wrapt him softly, all the while repenting
That he the fly did mock.
She drest his wound, and it cmbaulmed wel
With salve of soveraignc might:
And then she bath'd him in a dainty well,
The well of deare delight.
Who would not oft be stung as this,
To be so bath'd in Venus bib?
The wanton boy was shortly wel recured
Of that his malady :
But he, soone afteV, fresh againe enured
His former cruelty.
And since that time he wounded bath mv
With his sharpe dart of love : [sel/e
And now forgets the cruell carelesse elfe
His mothers heast to prove.
So now I languish, till he please
My pining anguish to appease.
EPITHALAMION.
YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, [rymes,
Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful!
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in yoar simple
But joyed in theyr praise ; [layes.
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did
rayse,
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment:
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside ;
And, having all your heads with girlands
crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound ;
Ne let the same of any be envide :
So Orpheus did for his owne bride !
So I unto my selfe alone will sing; [""tf-
The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho
Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe
His golden beame upon the hils doth sprcd,
Having disperst the nights unchearef ull dampe,
Doe ye awake ; and, with fresh lusty-hed,
Go to the bowre of my beloved love,
My truest turtle dove ;
Bid her awake ; for Hvmen w awake.
And long since ready forth his maske in move,
With his bright Tead that flames with man"
a flake,
And many a bachelor to waite on him,
In theyr fresh garments trim.
Bid her awake therefore, and soonc her diirht.
For lo ! the wished day is come at last,
That shall, for all the paynesand sorrowes past,
Pay to her usury of long delight :
And, whylest she doth her dight.
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
eccho ring.
Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can
heare
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare :
Al with gay girlands goodly wel btvoenc.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland.
For my fayre love, of lillves and of rose*,
l?<mml" tru< love ui/e, witn a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridal* poses.
588
EPITHALAMION.
[L. 46-143-
dream es,
that dimmed
And let them eeke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridale bowers. [tread,
And let the ground whereas her foot shall
For feare the stones her tender foot should
wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred lyke the discolored mead.
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt ;
The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing,
The woods shall to you answer, and your Eccho
ring.
YQ Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull
heed
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed ;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo ex-
cell;)
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take ; [1'ght,
By rid up the locks the which hang scatterd
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the christall bright,
That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the
dore,
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre ;
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to
devoure, [neer ;
With your steele darts doo chace from comming
Be also present heere,
To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,
That all the woods may answer, 'and your
eccho ring.
, my love, awake! for it is time;
The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her silver coche to clyme ;
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed.
IiaiK i how the cheerefull birds do chaunt
theyr laies
And carroll of Loves praise.
The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft;
The Thrush replyes ; the Mavis descant playes :
The Ouzell shrills ; the Ruddock warbles soft ;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this dayes merriment.
Ah ! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus
long,
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T' awayt the comming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds love-learned song,
The deawy leaves among !
Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
Ihat all the woods them answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
My love is now awake out of her dreames,
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed
were [ beams
With darksome cload, now shew theyr goodly
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight,
Helpe quickly her to dight : [begot,
But first come ye fayre houres, which were
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night ;
Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot,
And al, that ever in this world is fayre,
Doe make and still repayre : [ Queene,
And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian
The which doe still adorne her beauties pride>
Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride :
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene
Some graces to be seene ;
And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your
eccho ring.
Now is my love all ready forth to come :
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt :
And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome,
Prepare your selves ; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good aray,
Fit for so joyfull day :
The joyfulst da3* that ever sunne did see.
Faire Sun ! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be,
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.
O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse !
If ever I did honour thee aright,
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse ;
But let this day, let this one day, be myne ;
Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing,
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
Harke j how the Minstrils gin to shrill aloud
Their merry Musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud.
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite
When they their tymbrels smyte,
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe ravish quite;
The whyles the boyes run up and downe the
street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,
As if it were one voyce,
Hymen, io Hymen, 'Hymen, they do shout ;
That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill.;
To which the people standing all about,
144-245-1
EPITHALAMION.
589
As in approvance, doe thereto applaud,
And loud advaunce her laud ;
And evermore thev Hymen, Hymen sing,
That al the woods them answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
Loe ! where she comes along with portlv pace
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East,
Arysing forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin best
So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene
Some angell she had beene.
Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres
atweene,
Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre ;
And, being crowned with a girland grccnc,
Seeme lyke some mayden Queene,
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixed are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,
So farre from being proud.
Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho
ring.
Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye sec
So fayre a creature iu your towne before ;
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adornd with beaut ves grace and vertues store?
Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright,
Her forehead vvory white, [Ridded,
Her cheekes lyke* apples which the sun hatli
Her lips Ivke cherryes charming men to byte,
Herbrest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded,
Her paps lyke lyllies budded,
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre ;
And all her body like a pallace fayre,
Ascending up, with many a stately slayre,
To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre.
Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze,
Upon her so to gaze,
Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,
To which the w'oods did answer, and your
eccho ring ?
But if ye saw that which no eves can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that
sight,
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red
Medusaes mazeful hed.
There dwels sweet love, and constant chastity,
Unspotted fayth, and cornel}' womanhood,
Regard of honour, and mild modesty ;
There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne,
And giveth lawes alone,
The which the base affections doe obav,
And yeeld theyr sen-ices unto her will ;
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once scene these her celestial thrcn-
And unrevealed pleasures, [sures,
Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing,
That al the woods should answer, 'and your
echo ring.
Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in.
And all the ppstes adorne as 'doth behove,
And all the pillours deck with girlands trim,
For toreceyve this Saynt with honour dew,
That commeth in to you.
With trembling steps, and humble reverence,
She commeth in, before th' Almighties view;
Of her ye virgins learne obedience,
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces :
Bring her np to th' high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endlesse matrimony mako ,
And let the roring Organs loudly" play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes ;
The whiles, with hollow throates,
The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing,
That al the woods may answere, and their
eccho ring.
Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her spcakes.
And blesseth her with his two happy hands.
How the red roses flush up in her rh.
And the pure snow, with goodly verm i 1 1 rtayno
Like crimsin dyde in grayne :
That even th' Angels, which continually
About the sacred A 1 tare doe remaine,
Forget their service and about her fly,
Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayrr,
The more they on it stare.
Hut her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with gocdly modesty,
That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry,
Which may let in a little thought unaownd.
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand.
The pledge of all our baml !
•Mng, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing,
That all the woods may answere, and your
eccho ring.
s" • >\\- al is done : bring home the bride againc ;
!5ring home the triumph of our vi.-tory :
{ring home, with you the glory of IUT gainc
With joyance bring her and with jollity.
590
EPITHALAMION.
[L. 246-348.
Never had man more joy full day then this,
Whom heaven would heape with blis,
Make feast therefore now all this live-long
day;
This day for ever to me holy is.
Poure out the wine without restraint or stay,
Poure not by cups, but by the belly full,
Poure out to all that wull,
And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine,
That they may sweat, and drunken be withall.
Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall,
And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of vine ;
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest,
For they can doo it best :
The whiles the maydens doe theyr Carroll sing,
To which the woods shall answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
Ring ye the bols, ye yong men of the towne,
And leave your wonted labors for this day :
This day is holy ; doe ye write it downe,
That ye for ever it remember may.
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,
With Barnaby the bright,
From whence declining daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill ordained was,
To chose the longest day in all the yeare,
And shortest night, when longest fitter weare :
Yet never day so long, but late would passe.
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,
And bonefiers make all day ;
And daunce about them, and about them sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
eccho ring.
Ah ! when will this long weary day have end,
And lende me leave to come unto my love ?
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers
spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move ?
Hast thee, O fayrest Planet, to thy home,
Within the Westerne fome:
Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest.
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome,
And the bright evening-star with golden creast
Appeare out of the East. [love !
Fay re childe of beauty ! glorious lampe of
That all the host of heaven in rankes doost
lead, [dread,
And guydest lovers through the nights sad
How chearefully thou lookest from alwve,
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling
light,
As joying in the sight
Of these glad many, which for joy doe sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their
echo ring 1
Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past;
Enough it is that all the day was youres :
Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast,
Now bring the Bryde into the brydall bourea
The night is come, now soon her disaray.
And in her bed her lay ;
Lay her in lillies and in violets,
And silken courteins over her display,
And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets.
Behold how goodly my faire love does ly,
In proud humility !
Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was,
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke.
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon,
And leave my love alone,
And leave likewise your former lay to sing :
The woods no more shall answere, nor ycut
echo ring.
Now welcome, night ! thou night so long ex-
pected,
That long daies labour doest at last defray,
And all my cares, which cruell I>ove collected,
Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye :
Spread thy broad wing over my love aud me.
That no man may us see;
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,
From feare of perrill and foule horror free.
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap,
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy
The safety of our joy,
But let the night be calme, and quietsome,
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray :
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay.
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome.-
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie
And begot Majesty.
And let the mayds and yongmen cease to sing;
Ne let the woods them answer nor theyr
eccho ring.
Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares,
Be heard all night within, nor yet without :
Ne let false whispers, breeding'hidden feares,
Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout.
Let no deluding dreames, ncr dreadfull sights,
Make sudden sad affrights ; [harmes,
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse
Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights,
Neletmischivous witches with theyr charmes,
Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence we see
not,
Fray us with things thao be not : [heard,
Let not the shriech Oule no^ the Storke be
Sor the night Raven, that still deadly yels ;
Sor damned ghosts, cald up with mighty spels,
Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard :
349-433-]
EPITHALAMION.
Ne let th' unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still
Make us to wish theyr choking. [croking
Let none of these theyr drery accents sing ;
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho
ring.
But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe,
That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,
And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe,
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant
playne ;
The whiles an hundred little winged loves,
Like divers-fethered doves,
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproves,
Their prety stealthes shal worke, and snares
shal spread
To filch away sweet snatches of delight,
Conceald through covert night.
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will !
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes,
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes,
Taen what ye do, albe it good or ill.
All night therefore attend your merry play,
For it will soone l>e day :
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing ;
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho
And thou, great Juno ! which with awful
might
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize ;
And the religion of the faith first plight
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnizei
And eeke for comfc rt often called art
3f women in their smart ;
Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart .
And thou, glad Genius ! in whose gentle hand
The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine,
Without blemish or staine :
And the sweet pleasures 01' theyr loves delight
With secret ayde doest succour and supply,
Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny ;
Send us the timely fruit of this same night.
And thou, fayre rfebe! and thou, Hymen free!
Grant that it may so be.
Til which we cease your further prayse to
sing;
Ne any woods shall answer, nor your Eccho
ring.
And ye high heavens, the temple of th? pod*.
In which a thousand torches flaming bright
Doe borne, that to us wretched earthly clods
In dreadful darknesse lend desired light ;
ring.
And all ye powers which in the same remayne,
More then we men can faync !
Who is the same, which at my window peepes? Poure out your blessing on us plentiously,
Or whose is that faire face that shines so And happy influence upon us raine,
bright?
Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes.
But walkes about high heaven al the night ?
O ! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy
That we may raise a large posterity,
Which from the earth, which they may long
With lasting happinesse, [possewe
Up to your, haughty pallaces may mount ;
My lo've with me to spy : [thought, And, for the guerdon of thevr glorious im-rit,
For thou likewise didst love, though now un- Mav heavenly tabernacles there inherit,
And for a fleece of wooll, which privily
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought,
His pleasures with thee wrought.
Therefore to us be favorable now ;
And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge,
And generation goodly dost enlarge,
Enciine thy will t'effect our wishfull vow,
And the chast wombe informe with timely
seed,
That may our comfort breed :
Till v.-hich we cease our hopefull hap to sing ;
Ne let the woods us answere, nor our Eccho
ring.
Of blessed Saints for to increase the count
So let us rest, sweet love, in hone of this.
And cease till then our tynirly joycs to sing .
The woods no more us answer, nor our ecchc
ring!
Song ! made in lieu of many ornament*,
li'itli which my love should duly have been dect_
Which cutting off through hasty accident*,
Ye would not stay your dew time to tjcjiect,
But promist both to recompen* ;
Be unto her a goodly onuimrnt.
And for tliort time an endlestc monimciil.
592
FOWRE HYMNES,
MADE BY
EDM. SPENSER.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND MOST VKRTUOUS LADIES,
THE LADIE MARGARET,
COUNTESSE OF CUMBERLAND, AND
THE LADIE MARIE,
COCNTESSE OF WARWICKE.
HAVING in the greener times of my youth,
composed these former two Hymnes in the
praise of Love and Beautie, and finding that
the same too much pleased those of like age
and disposition, which being too vehemently
caried with that kind of affection, do rather
sucke out poyson to their strong passion, then
hony to their honest delight, I was moved by
the one of you two most excellent Ladies, to
call in the same. But, being unable so to doe,
by reason that many copies thereof were for-
merly scattered abroad, I resolved at least to
amend, and, by way of retractation, to reforme
them, making, in stead of those two Hymnes
of earthly or naturall love and beautie, two
others of heavenly and celestialL The which
T flop dedicate joyntly unto you two honorable
sisters, as to the most excellent and rare
ornaments of all true love and beautie, both
in the one and the other kinde; humbly be-
seeching you to vouchsafe the patronage of
them, and to accept this my humble sen-ice,
in lieu of the great graces and honourable
favours which ye dayly shew unto me, untill
such time as I may, by better meanes, yeeld
you some more notable testimonie of my
thankfull mind and dutifull devotion. And
even so I pray for your happinesse. Green-
wich this first of September, 1596. Your
Honors most bounden ever,
in all humble service,
ED. SP.
AN HYMNE IN HONOUE OF LOVE.
LOVK, that long since hast to thy mighty
powre
Perforce subdude my poore captiv6d hart,
And, raging now therein with restlesse
stowre,
Doest tyrannize in everie weaker part :
Faine would I seeke to ease my bitter smart
By any service I might do to thee,
Or ought that else might to thee pleasing bee.
And now t' asswage the force of this new
flame,
And make thee more propitious in my need,
I meane to sing the praises of thy name,
And thy victorious conquests to areed,
By which thou madest many harts to bleed
Of mighty Victors, with wyde wounds ran-
brewed,
And by thy cruell darts to thee subdcwed.
Onely 1 feare my wits enfeebled late.
Through the sharpe sorrowes which thou hast
me bred, [reiate
Should faint, and words should faile me to
The wondrous triumphs of my great god-hed :
But, if thou wouldst vouchsafe to overspred
Me with the shadow of thy gentle wing,
I should enabled be thy actes to sing.
Come, then, O come, thou mightie God of
Love,
Out of thy silver bowres and secret bli: se,
L. 24.-IK
AN IIYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE.
593
Where thou doest sit in Venus lap above,
Bathing thy wings in her ambrosiall kisse,
That sweeter farre then any Nectar is ;
Come softly, and my feeble breast inspire
With gentle furie, kindled of thy fire.
And ye, sweet Muses ! which have often
proved
The piercing points of his avengefull darts ;
And ye, faire Nimphs ! which oftentimes have
loved
The cruell worker of your kindly smarts,
Prepare your selves, and open wide your harts
For to receive the triumph of your glorie,
That made you merie oft when ye were
sorie.
And ye, faire blossomes of youths wanton
breed,
Which in the conquests of your beautie bost
Wherewith your lovers feeble eyes you feed,
But cterve their harts that needeth nourture
most, [host,
Prepare your selves to march amongst his
And all the way this sacred hymne do sing,
Made in the honor of your Soveraigne king.
GREAT GOD OF MIGHT, that reignestin the
mynd,
And all the bodie to thy hest doest frame,
Victor of gods, subduer of mankynd,
That doest the Lions and fell Tigers tame,
Making their cruell rage thy scornefull game,
And in their roring taking great delight ;
Who can expresse the glorie of thy might ?
Or who alive can perfectly declare
The wondrous cradle of thine infancie,
When thy great mother Venus first thee bare,
Begot of Plentie and of Penurie,
Though elder then thine owne nativitie,
And yet a chyld, renewing still thy yeares,
And yet the eldest of the neavenly Peares ?
For ere this worlds still moving migh tie masse
Out of great Chaos ugly prison crept,
In which his goodly face long hidden was
From heavens view, and in deepe darkncsse
kept,
Love, that had now long time securely slept
In Venus lap, unarmed then and naked,
Gan reare his head, by Clotho being waked :
And, taking to him wings of his owne heate,
Kindled at first from heavens life-giving fya-,
He gan to move out of his idle seate ;
Weakely at first, but after with desyre
Lifted aloft, he gan to mount up hyre,
And, like fresh Eagle, make his hardie flight
Through all that great wide wast, yet wanting
light
Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way,
His owne faire mother, for all creatures sake,
Did lend him light from her owne goodly ray;
Then through the world his way he gan to
take,
The world, that was not till he did it make.
Whose sundrie parts he from themselves did
sever
The which before had lyen confused ever.
The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fyre,
Then gan to raunge them selves in huge array,
And with contrary forces to conspyre
Each against other by all meanes'they may,
Threatning their owne confusion and decay :
Ayre hated earth, and water hated fyre,
Till Love relented their rebellious yfe.
He then them tooke, and, tempering goodly
well
Their contrary dislikes with loved meanes,
Did place them all in order, and compell
To keepe them selves within their sundrie
raines,
Together linkt with Adamantine chaines ;
Yet so, as that in every living wight
They mixe themselves, and shew their kindly
might.
So ever since they firmely have remained,
And duly well observed his beheast ;
Through" which now all these things that arc
contained
Within this goodly cope, both most and least,
Their being have, and daylv are increaat
Through secret sparks of his infused fyre,
Which in the barraine cold he doth inspyro.
Thereby they all do live, and moved are
To multiply the likenesse of their kynd,
Vhilest they seeke onely, without further
care, [ fynd ;
To quench the flame which they in bonriaft
iut, man that breathes a more iramortall my ml,
Cot for lusts sake, but for eternitie,
Seekes to enlarge his lasting progenie :
•"or, having yet in his deducted spright
Some sparks remaining of that heavenly fyre,
le is onlumind with that goodly light,
' ntn like goodly semblant to aspyre ;
Therefore in choice of love he doth desyre
That seemes on earth most heavenly to em-
brace,
That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly race.
•'I>T sure of all that in this mortall frame
'untamed is, nought more divine doth seemc,
)r that resembletn more th' immortal! tlanv
Of heavenly light, then Beauties glorious
beamew
QQ
594
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE.
[L. 117-212.
What wonder then, if with such rage extreme
Fraile men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to
see,
At sight thereof so much enravisht bee ?
Which well perceiving, that imperious boy
Doth therwith tip his sharp empoisned darts.
Which glancing through the eyes with coun-
tenance coy [harts,
Rest not till they have pierst the trembling
And kindled flame in all their inner parts,
Which suckes the blood, and drinketh up the
lyfe,
Of carefull wretches with consuming griefc.
Thenceforth they playne, and make ful piteous
mone
Unto the author of their balefull bane :
The daies they waste, the nights they grieve
and grone, [daine;
Their lives they loath, and heavens light dis-
No light but that, whose lampe doth yet remaine
Fresh burning in the image of their eye,
They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye.
That whilst thou tyrant Love doest laugh and
scorne [plav>
At their complaints, making their paine thy
Whylest they lye languishing like thrals for-
lorne,
The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay ;
And otherwhyles, their dying to delay,
Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her
Whose love before their life they doe prefer.
So hast thou often done (ay me, the more !)
To me thy vassall, whose yet bleeding hart
With thousand wounds thou mangled hast so
sore,
That whole remaines scarse any little part ;
Yet, to augment the anguish of my smart,
Thou hast enfrosen her disdainefull brest,
That no one drop of pitie there doth rest.
Why then do I this honor unto thee,
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name,
Since thou doest shew no favour unto mee,
Ne once move ruth in that rebellious Dame,
Somewhat to slacke the rigour of my flame ?
Certes small glory doest tnou winne hereby,
To let her live thus free, and me to dy.
But if thou be indeede. as men thee call,
The worlds great Parent, the most kind pre-
server
Of living wights, the soveraine Lord of all,
How falles it then that with thy furious fer-
vour
Thou doest afflict as well the not-deserver,
As him that doeth thy lovely heasts despize,
And on thy subjects most doest tyrannize ?
Yet herein eke thy glory seemeth more,
By so hard handling those which best thee
serve,
That, ere thou doest them unto grace restore,
Thou mayest well trie if they will ever swerve,
And mayest them make it better to deserve,
And, having got it, may it more esteeme;
For things hard gotten men more dearely deeme.
So hard those heavenly beauties he enfyred
As things divine, least passions doe impresst
The more of stedfast mynds to be admyred,
The more they stayed be on stedfastnesse ;
But baseborne mynds such lamps regard the
lesse,
Which at first blowing take not hastie fyre ;
Such fancies feele no love, but loose desyre.
For love is Lord of truth and loialtie,
Lifting himselfe out of the lowly dust
On golden plumes up to the purest skie,
Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust,
Whose base affect through cowardly distrust
Of his weake wings dare not to heaven fly,
But like a moldwarpe in the earth doth ly.
His dunghill thoughts, which do themselves
enure
To dirtie drosse, no higher dare aspyre,
Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure
The flaming light of that celestiall fyre
Which kindleth love in generous desvre,
And makes him mount above the native mighl
Of heavie earth, up to the heavens hight.
Such is the powre of that sweet passion,
That it all sordid basenesse doth expell,
And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion
Unto a fairer forme," which now doth dwell
In his high thought, that would it selfe excell,
Which he beholding still with constant sight,
Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light.
Whose image printing in his deepest wit,
He thereon feeds his hungrie fantasy,
Still full, yet never satisfyde with it ;
Like Tantale, that in store doth sterved ly,
So doth he pine in most satiety ;
For nought may quench his infinite desyre,
Once kindled through that first conceived fyre.
Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is,
Ne thinks on ought but how it to attaine ;
His care, his joy, his hope, is all on this,
That seemes in" it all blisses to containe,
In sight whereof all other blisse seemes vaine :
Thrise happie man ! might he the same pos-
sess e,
He faines himselfe, and doth his fortune blessi
And though he do not win his wish to end,
Yet thus farre happie he himselfe doth weene,
r.. 213-308.]
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR; OF LOVE.
595
That heavens such hap pic grace did to him
lend,
Ae thing on earth so heavenly to have scene
His harts enshrined saint, his heavens queene,
Fairer then fairest, in his fayning eye,
Whose sole aspect he counts felicitye.
Then forth he casts in his unquiet thought,
What he may do, her favour to obtaine ;
What brave exploit, what perill hardly
wrought [ paine,
What puissant conquest, what adventurous
May please her best, and grace uuto him
gaine ;
He dreads no danger, nor misfortune feares,
His faith, his fortune, in his breast he bcares.
Thou art his god, thou art his mightie guyde,
Thou, being blind, letst him not see his feares,
But cariest him to that which he hath cydc,
Through seas, through flames, through thou-
sand swords and speares ; [stand,
Ne ought so strong that may his force with-
With which thou armest his resistlesse hand.
Witnesse Leander in the Kuxine waves,
And stout iEneas in the Trojane fyre,
Achilles preassing through the Phrygian
glaives,
And Orpheus, daring to provoke the yre
Of damned fiends, to get his love retyre ; [way
For both through heaven and hell thou makest
To win them worship which to thee obay.
And if, by all these perils and these paynes,
He may but purchase lyking in her eye,
What heavens of joy then to himselfe he
faynes!
Eftsoones he wypes quite out of memory
Whatever ill before he did aby :
Had it bene death, yet would' he die againe,
To live thus happie as her grace to gaine.
Yet, when be hath found favour to his will,
He nathemore can so contented rest,
But forceth further on, and striveth still
T" approch more neare, till in her inmost
brest
He may embosomd bee and loved best ;
And \et not best, but to be lov'd alone ;
For love can not endure a Paragone.
The feare whereof, O how doth it torment
His troubled mynd with more then hdhsh
paine !
And to his fayning fansie represent
Sights never seene, and thousand ghadowes
To breake his sleepe, and waste his ydle brnme :
Thou that hast never lov'd canst not beleevc
Least part of th' evils which poore lovers
greeve.
The gnawing envie, the hart-fretting feare,
The vaine surmizes, the distrustfull showes,
The false reports that flying talcs doe beare,
The doubts, the daungers, the delayes, the
woes,
The fayned friends, the unassured foes, [toll,
With thousands more then any tongue can
Doe make a lovers life a wretches helL
Yet is there one more cursed then they all.
That cancker-worme, that monster, Gd"-io.
Which eates the hart and fcedes upon the gall,
Turning all loves delight to niisene,
Through feare of loosing his felicitic.
Ah, Gods ! that ever ye that monster placed
In gentle love, that all his joyes defaced !
By these, 0 Love! thou doest thy entrance
make
[Into thy heaven, and doest the more endecre
Thy pleasures unto those which them partake,
As after stormes, when clouds begin to cleare,
The Sunne more bright and glorious doth ap-
peare ;
So thou thy folke, through paines of Purgatorie
Dost beare unto thy blisse, and heavens glorie.
There thou them places! in a Paradize
)f all delight and joyous happie rest,
inhere they doe feede on Nectar heavenly -wire,
A'ith Hercules and Hebe, and the rest
)t' Venus dearlings, through her bountie blest ;
And lie like Gods in yvorie beds aravd,.
With rose and liUies over them displayd.
There with thy daughter Pleasure they doe
play [blame,
Their huftlesse sports, without rebuke or
Viul in her snowy bosome boldly lay
Their quiet heads, devoyd of guilty shame,
After full joyance of their gentle game ;
Then her they crowne their Goddesse and their
Queene,
And decke with floures thy altars well besecnc.
Ay me ! deare Lord ! that ever I might hope,
For ail the paines and woes that I endure,
To come at length unto the wished scope
Of my desire, or might myselfe assure
That happie port for ever to recure ! [all,
Then would I thinke these paines no paines at
And all my woes to be but penance smalL
Then would I sing of thine immortall praise
An heavenly Hymne, such a* the Angels sing,
Ami thy triumphant name thru MM I raise
Itove all the gods, thee oncly honoring
My guide, my God, my victor, and mv king:
Till then, dread Lord ! vouchsafe to Uke of me
This simple song, thus fram'd in praise of
thee.
QQ3
59*
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUT IE.
[L. j-86.
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE.
A. n ! whither, Love ! wilt thou now carrie mee ?
What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire
Into my feeble breast, too full of thee ?
Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre,
Thou in me kindlest much more great desyre,
And up aloft above my strength doest rayse
The wondrous matter of my fyre to prayse.
That as I earst, in praise of thine owne name,
So now in honour of thy Mother deare,
An honourable Hymne I eke should frame,
And, with the brightnesse of her beaut ie cleare,
The ravisht harts of gazefull men might reare
To admiration of that heavenly light,
From whence proceeds such soule-enchaunting
might.
Therto do thou, great Goddesse! Queene of
Beauty,
Mother of love, and of all worlds delight,
Without whose soverayne grace and kindly
dewty
Nothing on earth seemes fayre to fleshly sight,
Doe thou vouchsafe with thy love-kindling
light
T' illuminate my dim and dulled eyne,
And beautifie this sacred hymne of thyne :
That both to thee, to whom I meane it most,
And eke to her, whose faire immortall beame
Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghost,
That now it wasted is with woes extreame,
1 1 may so please, that she at length will streame
Some'deaw of grace into my withered hart,
After long sorrow and consuming smart.
WHAT TIME THIS WORLDS GREAT WORK-
MAISTER DID CAST
To make al things such as we now behold,
It seemes that he before his eyes had plast
A goodly Paterae, to whose perfect mould
He fashiond them as comely as he could,
That now so faire and seemely they appeare,
As nought may be amended any wheare.
That wondrous Paterae, wheresoere it bee,
Whether in earth layd up in secret store,
Or else in heaven, that no man may it see
With sinfull eyes, for feare it to deflore,
Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore ;
Whose face and feature doth so much excell
All mortall sence, that none the same may tell.
Thereof as every earthly thing partakes
Or more or lesse, by influence divine,
So it more faire accordingly it makes,
And the grosse matter of this earthly myne
Which clotheth it thereafter doth refyne.
Doing away the drosse which dims the light
Of that faire beame which therein is empight,
b'or, through infusion of celestiall powre,
The duller earth it quickneth with delight,
And life-full spirits privily doth powre
Through all the parts, that to the lookers sight
They seenze to please ; That is thy soveraine
might, [beame
O Cyprian Queene! which flowing from the
Of thy bright starre, thou into them doest
streame.
That is the thing which giveth pleasant grace
To all things faire, that kindleth lively fyre,
Light of thy lamp e; which, shyning in the
face,
Thence to the soule darts amorous desyre,
And robs the harts of those which it admyre ^
Therewith thou pointest thy Sons poysned
arrow, [ marrow.
That wounds the life, and wastes the inmost
How vainely then doe ydle wits invent,
That beautie is nought else but mixture made
Of colours faire, and goodly temp'rament
Of pure complexions, that "shall quickly fade
And passe away, like to a sommers shade ;
Or that it is but comely composition
Of parts well measurd, with meet disposition !
Hath white and red in it such wondrous powre,
That it can pierce through th' eyes unto the
hart, [stowre,
And therein stirre such rage and restlesse
As nought but death can stint his dolours
smart?
Or can proportion of the outward part
Move such affection in the inward mynd,
That it can rob both sense, and reason blynd ?
Why doe not then the blossomes of the field,
Which are arayd with much more orient hew,
And to the sense most daintie odours yield,
Worke like impression in the lookers vew ?
Or why doe not faire pictures like powre shew,
In which oft-times we nature see of art
Exceld, in perfect limming even- part?
But ah ! beleeve me there is more then so,
lhat workes such wonders in the minda
men;
L. 87-177.] AN HYMNE 77V HONOUR OF BEAUTIE.
597
I, that have often prov'd, too well it know,
And who so list the like assayes to ken,
Shall find by tryall, and confesse it then,
That Beautie is not, as fond men misdeeme,
An outward shew of things that onely seeme.
For that same goodly hew of white and red,
With which the cheekes are sprinckled, shal
decay,
And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairely spred
Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away
To that they were, even to corrupted clay :
That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so
bright,
Shall turnetodust, and loose their goodly light.
But that faire lampe, from whose celestiall ray
That light proceedes, which kindleth lovers
Snail never be extinguish! nor decay ; [tire,
But, when the vitall spirits doe expyre,
Unto her native planet shall retyre ;
For it is heavenly borne and can not die,
Being a parcell of the purest skie.
For when the soule, the which derived was,
At first, out of that great immortall Spright,
By whom all live to love, whilomc did pas
Downe from the top of purest heavens hight
To be embodied here, it then tooke light
And lively spirits from that fayrest starre
Which lights the world forth from his firie
carre.
Which powre retayning still or more or lease,
When she in rleshly seede is eft enraced.
Therefore where-ever that thou doest behold
\ comely corpse, with beautic faire endewed,
\nuw this for certaine, that the same doth
hold
A beauteous soule, with faire conditions thewed,
Fit to receive the seede of vertue strewed ;
i-'or all that faire is, is by nature good ;
That is a signe to know the gentle blood.
Yet oft it falles that many a gentle my ml •*•
Dwels in deformed tabernacle drownd,
Either by chaunce, against the course of kynd.
Or
through unaptnesse
fownd,
in the substance
Which it assumed of somes tubborne grownd,
That will not yield unto her formes direction,
But is deform d with some foule imperfection.
And oft it falles, (aye me, the more to row !)
That goodly beautie, albe heavenly borne,
Is foule abusd, and that celestiall hew,
Which doth the world with her delight adome,
Made but the bait of sinne, and sinners scorne,
Whitest every one doth seeke and sew to have
it,
But every one doth seeke but to deprave it.
Yet nathemore is that faire beauties blame,
But theirs that do abuse it unto ill :
Nothing so good, but that through guilty
shame
May be corrupt, and wrested unto will :
Nathelesse the soule is faire and beauteous
still,
>\ nen sne HI iiesiny seuuc i» en, CUIUUCM, — i ,,.../.,. ,_
Through every part she doth the same im- How ever fleshes fault it filthy make;
presse, ' ^ or thing8 immortall no corruption take.
presse,
According as the heavens have her graced,
And frames her house, in which she will be
placed,
Fit for her selfe, adorning it with spoyle
Of th' heavenly riches which she robd ere-
whyle.
Therof it comes that these faire soules, which
have
The most resemblance of that heavenly light,
Frame to themselves most beautifull and
brave
Their fleshly bowre, most fit for their delight,
And the grosse matter by a soveraine might
Tempers so trim, that it may well be scene
A pallace fit for such a rirgm Queene.
So every spirit, as it is most pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer bodie doth procure
To habit in, and it more fairely (light
With chearefull grace and amiable sight ;
For of the soule the bodie formo doth take ;
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
But ye, faire Dames ! the worlds dearo orna-
ments
And lively images of heavens light,
Let not your beames with such disparage-
ments
Ikdinid,andyourbrightgloriedftrkncdquight;
But, mindful! still of your firsi countries sight,
Doe still preserve your first informed grace,
Whose shadow yet ahynes in your beauteous
face.
Loath that foule blot, that hellish fiPrbrand,
Disloiall lust faire beauties foulest blame,
That base affections, which your cares would
bland
Commend to you by loves abused name,
But is indeede the bondslave of defame;
Which will the garland of your glorie marre.
And quench the light of your bright shyni: g
starre.
But gentle I»ve. that loiall is and trew,
Will more illumine your resplendent ray.
598
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAU TIE. [L. 178-273.
And adde more brightnesse to your goodly hew,
From light of his pure fire; which, by like
way
Kindled of yours, your likenesse doth display;
Like as two" mirrours, by opposd reflexion,
Doe both expresse the faces first impression.
Therefore, to make your beautie more appeare,
It vou behoves to love, and forth to lay
That heavenly riches which in you ye beare,
That men the more admyre their fountaine
may ;
For else what booteth that celestiall ray,
If it in darknesse be enshrined ever,
That it of loving eyes be vewed never ?
But, in your choice of Loves, this well advize,
That likest to your selves ye them select,
The which your forms first sourse may sym-
pathize,
And with like beauties parts be inly deckt ;
For, if you loosely love without respect,
Jt is no" love, but "a discordant warre,
Whose unlike parts amongst themselves do
jarre.
For Love is a celestiall harmonic
Of likely harts composd of starres concent,
Which joyne together in sweete sympathie,
To worke ech others joy and true content,
Which they have harbourd since their first
descent [see
Out of their heavenly bowres, where they did
And know ech other here belov'd to bee.
Then wrong it were that any other twaine
Should in loves gentle band combyned bee
But those whom heaven did at first ordaine, .
And made out of one mould the more t' agree ;
For all, that like the beautie which they see,
Streight do not love ; for Love is not so light
As streight to bume at first beholders sight
But they, which love indeede, looke otherwise,
With pure regard and spotlesse true intent,
Drawing out of the object of their eyes
A more refyned forme, which they present
Unto their mind, voide of all blemishment ;
Which it reducing to her first perfection,
Beholdeth free from fleshes frayle infection.
And then conforming it unto the light.
Which in it selfe it hath remaining still,
Of that first Sunne, yet sparckling in his sight,
Thereof he fashions in his higher skill
An heavenly beautie to his fancies will :
And, it embracing in bis mind entyre,
The mirrour of his owne thought doth admyre.
Which seeing now so inly faire to be.
As outward it appeareth to the eye,
And with his spirits proportion to agree,
He thereon fixeth all his fantasie,
And fully setteth his felicitie ;
Counting it fairer then it is indeede,
And yet indeede her fairenesse doth exceede.
For lovers eyes more sharply sighted bee
Then other mens, and in deare loves delight
See more then any other eyes can see,
Through mutual! receipt of beame's bright,
Which carrie privie message to the spright,
And to their eyes that inmost faire display,
As plaine as light discovers dawning day."
Therein they see, through amorous eye-
glaunces,
Armies of Loves still flying too and fro,
Which dart at them their litle fierce launces ;
Whom having wounded, backe againe they go,
Carrying compassion to their lovely foe ;
Who, seeing her faire eyes so sharpe effect,
Cures all their sorrowes with one sweete
aspect.
In which how many wonders doe they reede
To their conceipt, that others never see !
Now of her smiles, with which their soules
they feede.
Like Gods" with Nectar in their bankets free;
Now of her lookes, which like to Cordials bee ;
But when her words embassade forth she sends,
Lord, how sweete musicke that unto them
lends!
Sometimes upon her forhead they behold
A thousand Graces masking in delight;
Sometimes within her eye-lids they unfold
Ten thousand sweet belgards, which to their
sight [night ;
Doe seeme like twinckling starres in frostie
But on her lips, like rosy buds in May,
So many millions of chaste pleasures play.
All those, O Cytherea ! and thousands more
Thy handmaides be, which do on thee attend,
To decke thy beautie with their dainties store,
That may it more to mortall eyes commend,
And make it more admyrd of foe and frend ;
That in mens harts thou mayst thy throne
enstall,
And spred thy lovely kingdome over-all.
Then 16, tryumph ! O great Beauties Queene,
Advance the banner of thy conquest hie,
That all this world, the which thy
beene,
May draw to thee, and with dew fe'altie
Adore the powre of thy great Majestic,
Singing this Hymne in honour of thy name,
Compyld by me, which thy poore liegeman am !
L. 274-287.] AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE.
599
In lieu whereof graunt, O great Soveraine ! | And you, faire Venus dearling, mv dearc dread I
lhat she, whose conquering beautie doth Fresh flowre of grace, great Godclcsse of my
My trembling hart in her eternall chaine,
One drop of grace at length will to me give,
That I her bounden thrall by her may live,
And this same life, which "first .fro me she
reared,
May owe to her, of whom I it receaved.
life, r ren,i
When your faire eyes these fearefull lines aha!
Deigne to let fall one drop of dew reliefe,
That may recure my harts long pyning griefe,
And shew what wondrous powre your beauty
hath,
That can restore a damned wight from death.
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE.
LOVE, lift me up upon thy golden wings,
From this base world unto thy heavens bight,
Where I may see those admirable things
Which there thou workest by thy sovcraine
might,
Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight,
That I thereof an heavenly Hymne may sing
Unto the God of Love, high heavens king.
Many lewd laves (ah ! woe is me the more !)
In praise of that mad fit which fooles call
love,
I have in th' heat of youth made heretofore,
That in light wits did loose affection move ;
But all those follies now I do reprove,
And turned have the tenor of my string,
The heavenly prayses of true love to sing.
And ye that wont with greedy vaine desire
To reade my fault , and, wondring at my flame,
To warae your selves at my wide sparckling
fire, f blame,
Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my
And in her ashes shrowd my dying shame ;
For who my passed follies now purs ewes,
Beginnes his owne, and my old fault renewes.
BEFORE THIS WORLDS GREAT FRAME, in
which al things
Are now containd, found any being-place,
Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas wings
About that mightie bound which doth em-
brace [by space,
The rolling Spheres, and parts their houres
That High Eternall Powre, which now doth
move
In all these things, mov'd in it selfe by love.
It lov'd it sclfe, because it selfe was faire ;
(For faire is lov'd :) and of it selfe begot.
Like to it selfe his eldest sonne and heire,
Eternall, pure, and voide of sinfull blot,
The firstling of his joy, in whom no jot
Of loves dislike or pride was to be found,
Whom he therefore with equall honour
crownd.
With him he raignd, before all time prescribed,
In endlesse glorie and immortall might,
Together with that third from them derived,
Most wise, most holy, most almightie Spright !
Whose kingdomes throne no thought of
earthly wight [verse
Can comprehend, much lesse my trembling
With equall words can hope it to reherse.
Yet, 0 most blessed Spirit ! pure lampe of
light,
Eternall spring of grace and wisedome trew,
Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright
Some little drop of thy celestial! di-w,
That may my rymes with sweet infuse ern-
brew,
And give me words equall unto my thought,
To tell the marveiles by thy mercie wrought.
Yet being pregnant still with Down-full grace,
And full of fruitfull love, that loves to get
Things like himselfe, and to enlarge his race,
His second brood, though not in powre so
great,
Yet full of beautie, next he did beget
An infinite increase of Angels bright,
All glistring glorious in their Makers light.
To them the heavens illimitable bight
(Not this round heaven, which we from hence
behold,
Adornd with thousand lamps of burning light,
And with ten thousand gemmes of snvning
gold,)
He gave as their inheritance to hold,
That they might serve him in eternall blic,
And be partakers of those joycs of his.
There they in their trinall triplicities
About him wait, and on his will depend,
Either with nimble wings to cut the skies,
When he them on his messages doth send,
Or on his owne dread presence to attend,
Where they behold the glorie of hia light,
And caroll" Hymnes of love both day and
night.
Goo
AK HYMNE OP HEAVENLY LOVE.
[L. 71-168.
Both day, and night, is unto them all one ;
For he his beames doth still to them extend,
That darknesse there appeareth never none ;
Ne hath their day, ne hath their blisse, an end,
But there their termelesse time in pleasure
spend ;
Ne ever should their happiness decay,
Had not they dar'd their Lord to disobay.
But pride, impatient of long resting peace,
Did puffe them up with greedy bold ambition,
That they gan cast their state how to increase
Above the fortune of their first condition,
And sit in Gods owne seat without commission ;
The brightest Angell, even the Child of Light,
Drew millions more against their God to fight
Th' Almighty, seeing their so bold assay,
Kindled the flame of His consuming yre,
And with His onely breath them blew away
From heavens higtit, to which they did aspyre,
To deepest hell, and lake of damned fyre,
Where they in darknesse and dread horror
dwell.
Hating the happie light from which they fell.
So that next off-spring of the Makers love,
Next to Himselfe in glorious degree,
Degendering to hate, fell from above
Through pride, (for pride and love may ill
agree)
And now of sinne to all ensample bee :
How then can sinfull flesh itselfe assure,
Sith purest Angels fell to be impure?
But that Eternall Fount of love and grace,
Still flowing forth His goodnesse unto all,
Now seeing left a waste and emptie place
In His wydePallace, through those Angels fall,
Cast to supply the same, and to enstall
A new unknowen Colony therein,
Whose root from earths base groundworke
ahold begin.
Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to
nought, " [might,
Yet form'd by wondrous skill, and by His
According to an heavenly patterne wrought,
Which He had fashiond in his wise foresight,
He man did make, and breathd a living spright
Into his face most beautifull and fayre,
Endewd with wisedoines riches, heavenly, rare.
Such He him made, that he resemble might
Himselfe, as mortall thing immortall could;
Him to be Lord of every living wight
He made bv love out of His owne like mould,
In whom rfe might His mightieselfebehould;
For Love doth love the thing belov'd to see,
That like itselfe in lovely shape may bee.
But man, forgetfull of his Makers grace
No lesse then Angels whom he did ensew,
Fell from the hope of promist heavenly place,
Into the mouth of death, to sinners dew,
And all his off-spring into thraldome threw,
Where they for ever should in bonds remaine
Of never-dead yet ever-dying paine ,
Till that great Lord of Love, which him at
first
Made of meere love, and after liked well,
Seeing him lie like creature long accurst
In that deepe horror of despeyred hell,
Him, wretch, in doole would let no lenger
dwell,
But cast out of that bondage to redeeme,
And pay the price, all were his debt extreemc.
Out of the bosome of eternall blisse,
In which he reigned with his glorious syre,
He downe descended, like a most demisse
And abject thrall, in fleshes fraile attyre,
That He for him might pay sinnes deadly hyre,
And him restore unto that happie state
Fn which he stood before his haplesse fate.
[n flesh at first the guilt committed was,
Therefore in flesh it must be satisfyde ;
Nor spirit, nor Angell, though they man sur-
pas, [guyde,
Cknild make amends to God for mans mis-
But onely man himselfe, who selfe did slyde :
3o, taking flesh of sacred virgins wombe,
For mans deare sake he did a man become.
And that most blessed bodie, which was borne
Without all blemish or reprochfull blame,
He freely gave to be both rent and tome
3f cruell hands, who with despightfull shame
Revyling him, that them most vile became,
At length him nay led on a gallow-tree,
And slew the Just by most unjust decree.
3 huge and most unspeakable impression
3f loves deepe wound, that pierst the piteous
hart
Of that deare Lord with so entyre affection,
And, sharply launching every inner part,
Dolours of death into his soule did dart,
Doing him die that never it deserved,
To free his foes, that from his beast had
swerved !
What hart can feele least touch of so sore \
• launch, [wound?- ',
3r thought can think the depth of so deare
Whose bleeding sourse their streames yet never'
staunch
But stil do flow, and freshly still redound,
To heale the sores of sinfull soules unsound, 'V-
And dense the guilt of that infected cryme
Which was enrooted in all fleshly slyme.
[I,. 169-261.
AN HYMNE Of HEAVENLY LOVE.
6ot
O blessed Well of Love ! O Floure of Grace ! | And love our brethren ; thereby to approve
O glorious Morning-Starre ! O Lampe of How much, hiinsclfc that loved us, we love.
Then rouze thy selfe, O Earth ! out of thy
soyle,
In which thou wallowest like to filthy swync,
And doest thy mynd in durtv pleasures moyle,
Unmindfull of that dearest Lord of thync ;
Most lively image of thy Fathers face,
Eternall King of Glorie, Lord of Might,
Meekc Lambe of God, before all worlds be-
hight,
How can we thee requite for all this good?
Or what can prize that thy most precious
blood?
Yet nought thou ask'st in lieu of all this love,
But love of us, for guerdon of thy paine :
Ay me ! what can us lesse then that behove ?
Had he required life of us againe, [gaine ?
Had it beene wrong to aske his owne wath
He gave us life, he it restored lost ;
Then life were least, that us so litle cost.
But he our life hath left unto us free, [baml ;
Free that was thrall, and blessed that was
Ne ought demaunds but that we loving bee,
As he himselfe hath lov'd us afore-hand,
And bound therto with an eternall band,
Him first to love that us so dearely bought,
And next our brethren, to his image wrought.
Him first to love great right and reason is,
Who first to us our life and being gave,
And after, when we fared had amisse,
Us wretches from the second death did save ;
And last, the food of life, which now we have,
Even he himselfe, in his deare sacrament,
To feede our hungry soules, unto us lent.
Then next, to love our brethren, that were
made
Of that selfe mould, and that selfe Makers hand,
That we, and to the same againe shall fade,
Where they shall have like heritage of land,
How ever here on higher steps we stand,
Which also were with selfe-same price re-
deemed
That we, how ever of us light esteemed.
And were they not, yet since that loving Lord
Commaunded us to love them for his sake,
Even for his sake, and for his sacred word,
Which in his last bequest he to us spake,
We should them love, and with their needs
partake ;
Knowing that, whatsoere to them we give,
We give to him by whom we all doe live.
Such mercy he by his most holy reede
Unto us taught, and to approve it trew,
Ensampled it by his most righteous deede,
Shewing us mercie (miserable crew !)
That we the like should to the wretches shew,
Lift up to him thy heavie clouded eyne,
That thou his soveraine bountie mayst behold,
And read, through love, his mercies manifold.
Beginne from first, where he encradled was
In simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hav,
Betweene the toylefull Oxe and humbfe Asse,
And in what rags, and in how base aray,
The glory of our heavenly riches lay,
When him the silly Shepheards came to see,
Whom greatest Princes sought on lowest
knee.
From thence reade on the atorie of his life,
His humble carriage, his unfaulty wayes,
His cancred foes, his fights, his toyle, his
strife,
His paines, his povertie, his sharpe ansayes,
Through which he past his miserable da'yes,
Offending none, and doing good to all,
Yet being nialist both of great and .-mull.
And looke at last, how of most wretched wights
He taken was, betrayd, and false accused ;
How with most scornefull taunts, and fell dcs-
plghts,
He was revyld, disgrast, and foule abused ;
How scourgd, how crownd, how buffeted, how
brused ;
And lasfly, how twixt robbers erucifyde,
With bitter wounds through hands,* through
feet, and syde !
Then let thy flinty hart, that feelca no paiiic,
Empierced be with pittifull remorse,
And let thy bowels bleede in every vaine,
At sight of his most sacred heavenly corse,
So torne and mangled with malicious forae ;
And let thy soule, whose sins his sorrows
wrought,
Melt into t cares, and grone in grieved thought.
With sencc whereof, whitest so thy softened
spirit
Is inly toucht. and humbled with mecke zealo
Through meditation of his endlesse merit,
Lift up thy mind to th' Author of thy wealc,
And to his soveraine mercie doe appeale ;
Lenrne him to love that loved thee so dearc,
And in thy brest his blessed image beare.
With all thy hart, with all thy soule and
mind, [brace \
Thou
him love, and hia beheasts eni-
602
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE.
[L. 262-287.
All other loves, with which the world doth
blind
Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base,
Thou must renounce and utterly displace,
And give thy selfe unto him full and free,
That full and freely gave himselfe to thee.
Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest,
And ravisht with devouring great desire
Of his deare selfe, that shall thy feeble brest
Inflame with love, and set thee" all on fire
With burning zeale, through every part entire,
That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight,
But in his sweet and amiable sight.
Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee dye,
And all earthes glorie, on which men do gaze,
Seeme durt and drosse in thy pure-sighted eye,
Compar'd to that celestiall beauties blaze,
Whose glorious beames all fleshly sense doth
daze
With admiration of their passing light,
Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright.
Then shall thy ravisht soule inspired bee
With heavenly thoughts farre above humane
skil,
And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely see
Th' Idee of his pure glorie present still
Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill
With sweete enragement of celestiall love,
Kindled through sight of those faire thing?
above.
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE.
RAPT with the rage of mine own ravisht
thought,
Through contemplation of those goodly sights,
And glorious images in heaven wrought,
Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet de-
lights
Do kindle love in high conceipted sprights ;
I faine to tell the things that I behold,
But feele my wits to faile, and tongue to fold.
Vouchsafe then, O thou most Almightie
Spright! Inflow,
From whom all guifts of wit and knowledge
To shed into mv breast some sparkling light
Of thine eternall Truth, that I may show
Some litle beames to mortall eyes below
Of that immortall beautie, there with thee,
Which in my weake distraughted mynd I see ;
That with the glorie of so goodly sight
The hearts of men. which fondly here admyre
Faire seeming shewes, and feed on vaine
Transported with celestiall desyre [delight,
Of those faire formes, may lift themselves up
hyer,
And learne to love, with zealous humble dewty,
Th' eternall fountaine of that heavenly beauty.
Beginning then below, with th' easie vew
Of this base world, subject to fleshly eye,
From thence to mount aloft, by order dew,
To contemplation of th' immortall sky ;
Of the scare faulcon so I learne to fly,
That flags awhile her fluttering wings beneath,
Till she her selfe for stronger flight can breath.
Then looke, who list thy gazefull eyes to feed
With sight of that is faire. looke on'the frame
Of this wyde universe, and therein reed
The endlesse kinds of creatures which byname
Thou canst not count, much lesse their natures
ainie ;
All which are made with wondrous wise respect,
And all with admirable beautie deckt.
First, th' Earth, on adamantine pillers founded
Amid the Sea, engirt with brasen bands ;
Then th' Aire still flitting, but yet firmely
bounded
On everie side, with pyles of flaming brands,
Never consum'd, nor quencht with mortall
hands ;
And, last, that mightie shining christall wall,
Wherewith he hath encompassed this All.
By view whereof it plainly may appeare,
That still as every thing doth upward tend,
And further is from earth, so still more cleare
And faire it growes, till to his perfect end
Of purest beautie it at last ascend ; [ayre,
Ayre more then water, fire much more then
And heaven then fire, appeares more pure and
fayre.
Looke thou no further, but affixe thine eye
On that bright shynie round still moving
Masse, [Skye,
The house of blessed God, which men call
All sowd with glistring stars more thicke then
grasse,
Whereof each other doth in brightnesse passe,
But those two most, which, ruling night and
day,
As King and Qneene, the heavens Empire sway;
- 5 7- 1 5 7-1 AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE.
603
Arid tell me then, what hast thou ever scene
That to their beautie may compared bee,
Or can the sight that is most sharpe or keene
Endure their Captains flaming head to see ?
How much lesse those, much higher in degree,
And so much fairer, and much more then these,
As these are fairer then the land and seas ?
For farre above these heavens, which here we
Be others farre exceeding these in light, [see,
Not bounded, not corrupt, as these same bee,
But infinite in largenesse and in night,
Unmoving, uncorrupt, and spotlesse bright,
That need no Sunne t' illuminate their spheres,
But their owne native light farre passing theirs.
And as these heavens still by degrees arize,
Untill they come to their first Movers bound,
That in his mightie compasse doth comprize,
And carrie all the rest with him around ;
So those likewise doe by degrees redound,
And rise more faire. till they at last arive
To the most faire, whereto they all do strive.
Faire is the heaven where happy soules have
In full enjoyment of felicitie,
How much more those essentiall parts of his.
His truth, his love, his wisedome, and his blis.
His grace, his doome, his mercy, and his
might,
By which he lends us of himselfe a sight !
Those unto all he daily doth display,
And shew himselfe in th' image of his grace,
As in a looking-glasse, through which he may
Be seene of all his creatures vile and base,
That are unable else to see his face, [bright,
His glorious face ! which glistereth else so
That th' Angsls selves can not endure his
sight
But we, fraile wights ! whose sight cannot
sustaine [shvne,
The Suns bright beames when he on us doth
But that their points rebutted backe againe
Are duld, how can we see with feeble eyne
The glory of that Majestic Divine, ['darke,
In sight of whom both Sun and Moone are
Compared to his least resplendent sparke ?
The meanes, therefore, which unto us is lent
Whence they doe still behold the glorious face
Of the Divine Eternall Majestic;
More faire is that, where those Idees on hie
Enraunged be, which Plato so admyred,
And pure Intelligences from God inspyred.
Yet fairer is that heaven, in which doe raine
The soveraine Powres and mightie Potentates,
Which in their high protections doe containe
All mortall Princes and imperiall States;
And fayrer yet, whereas the royall Seates
And heavenly Dominations are set,
From whom all earthly governance is fet
Yet farre more faire be those bright Cherubins,
Which all with golden wings are overdight,
And those etcrnall burning Seraphins,
Which from their faces dart out fierie light ;
Yet fairer then they both, and much more
bright,
Be th' Angols and Archangels, which attend
On Gods owne person, without rest or end.
These thus in faire each other farre excelling.
As to the Highest they approch more neare,
Yet is that Highest farre beyond all telling,
Fairer then all the rest which there appeare,
Though all their beauties joynd together
were;
How then can mortall tongue hope to expresse
The image of such endlesse perfectnesse V
Cease then, my tongue! and lend unto my
mynd
Leave to'bethinke how great that beantic is,
Whose utmost parts so beautifull I fynd ;
[place, Him to behold, is on his workes to looke,
Which he hath made in beauty excellent,
And in the same, as in a brasen booke,
To reade enregistred in every nooke
His goodnesse, which his beautie doth declare •,
For all thats good is beautifull and faire.
Thence gathering plumesof perfect speculation,
To impe the wings of thy high flying mynd,
Mount up aloft through heavenly contem-
plation, [sonic do I'lynil,
From this darke world, whose damps the
And, like the native brood of Eagles kynd,
On that bright Sunne of Glorie fixe thine eyes,
Clear'd from grosse mists of fraile infirmities.
Humbled with feare and awfull reverence,
Before the footcstoole of his Majestic
Throw thy selfe downe, with trembling inno-
Ne dare looke up with corruptible eye [cence,
On the dred face of that groat Deity,
For t'cure, lest if he chaunce to looke on thee,
Thou turne to nought, and quite confounded
be.
But lowly fall before his mercie scate,
Close covered with the Lambes integrity
From the just wrath of his avengeful! threat?
That sits upon the righteous throne on by .
His throne is built upon Eternity,
Afore firme and durable then steele or brasse,
Or the hard diamond, which them both doth
His scepter is the rod of Rightcoiuinesse,
With which he bruseth all his foes to dust,
Anil the great Dragon strongly doth reprwe,
604
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE. [L. 158-254.
The fairenesse of her face no tongue can tell ;
For she the daughters of all wemens race,
And Angels eke, in beautie doth excell,
Sparkled on her from Gods owne glorious face,
And more increast by her owne goodly grace,
That it doth farre exceed all humane thought,
Ne can on earth compared be to ought.
Ne could that Painter (had he lived yet)
Which pictured Venus with so curious quill,
That all posteritie admyred it,
Have purtrayd this, for all his maistring skill;
Ne she her selfe, had she remained still,
And were as faire as fabling wits do fayne,
Could once come neare this beauty soveraynt.
But had those wits, the wonders of their dayes,
Or that sweete Teian Poet, which did spend
His plenteous vaine in setting forth her
prayse,
Seene but a glims of this which I pretend,
How wondrously would he her face commend,
Above that Idole of his fayning thought,
That all the world shold with his rimes be
fraught !
How then dare I, the novice of his Art,
Presume to picture so divine a wight,
Or hope t' expresse her least perfections part,
Whose beautie filles the heavens with her light,
And darkes the earth with shadow of her
sight?
Ah, gentle Muse ! thou art too weake and faint
Under the rigour of his judgement just ;
His seate is Truth, to which the faithfull trust,
From whence proceed her beames so pure and
bright
That all about him sheddeth glorious light :
Light, farre exceeding that bright blazing
gparke
Which darted is from Titans flaming head,
That with his beames enlumineth the darke
And dampish aire, whereby al things are red ;
Whose nature yet so much is marvelled
Of mortall wits, that it doth much amaze
The greatest wisards which thereon do gaze.
But that immortall light, which there doth
shine, [cleare,
Is many thousand times more bright, more
More excellent, more glorious, more divine,
Through which to God all mortall actions here,
And even the thoughts of men, do plaine ap-
peare ;
For from th' Eternall Truth it doth proceed,
Through heavenly vertue which her beames
doe breed.
With the great glorie of that wondrous light
His throne is all encompassed around,
And hid in his owne brightnesse from the
sight
Of all that looke thereon with eyes unsound ;
And underneath his feet are to be found
Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous fyre,
The instruments of his avenging yre.
There in his bosome Sapience doth sit,
The soveraine dearling of the Deity,
Clad like a Queene in royall robes, most fit
For so great powre and peerelesse majesty,
And all with gemmes and jewels gorgeously
Adornd, that brighter then the starres appeare,
And make her native brightnes seem more
cleare.
And on her head a crowne of purest gold
Is set, in signe of highest sovereignty ;
And in her hand a scepter she doth hold,
With which she rules the house of God on hy,
And menageth the ever-moving sky,
And in the same these lower creatures all
Subjected to her povrre imperiall.
Both heaven and earth obey unto her will,
And all the creatures which they both con tai ne
For of her fulnesse which the world doth fill
They all partake, and do in state remaine
As their great Maker did at first ordaine,
Through observation of her high beheast,
By which they first were made, and still in-
creast.
The pourtraict of so heavenly hew to paint.
Let Angels, which her goodly face behold
And see at will, her soveraigne praises sing,
And those most sacred mysteries unfold
Of that faire love of mightie heavens King ;
Enough is me t' admyre so heavenly thing,
And, being thus with her huge love possest,
In th' only wonder of her selfe to rest,
But who so may, thrise happie man him hold,
Of all on earth whom God so much doth grace
And lets his owne Beloved to behold ;
For in the view of her celestiall face
All joy, all blisse, all happinesse, have place ;
Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight
Who of her selfe can win the wishfull sight.
For she, out of her secret threasury
Plentie of riches forth on him will powre,
Even heavenly riches, which there hidden ly
Within the closet of her chastest bowre,
Th' eternall portion of her precious dowre,
Which mighty God hath given to her free,
And to all those which thereof worthy bee.
None thereof worthy be, but those whom ghee
| Vouchsafeth to her presence to receave,
L. 255-301.] AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE.
605
And letteth them her lovely face to see,
Whereof such wondrous pleasures they con-
ceave,
And sweete contentment, that it doth bereave
Their soule of sense, through infinite delight,
And them transport from flesh into the spnght.
In which they see such admirable things,
As carries them into an extasy,
And heare such heavenly notes and carolings,
Of Gods high praise, that filles the brasen sky ;
And feele such joy and pleasure inwardly,
That maketh them all worldly cares forget,
And onely thinke on that before them set.
Ne from thenceforth doth any fleshly sense,
Or idle thought of earthly things, remaine ;
But all that earst seemd sweet seemes now
offense,
And all that pleased carst now seemes to paine ;
Their joy, their comfort, theirdesire, their gaine,
Is fixed" all on that which now they see ;
All other sights but fayned shadowes bee.
And that faire lampe, which useth to inflame
The hearts of men with selfe-consuming fyre
Thenceforth seemes fowle, and full of sinfull
blame ; [aspyre
Aud all that pompe to which proud minds
By name of honor, and so much desyre,
Seemes to them basenesse, and all riches drove,
And all mirth sadnesse, and all lucre losse.
So full their eyes are of that glorious sight,
And senses fraught with such satictic,
That in nought else on earth they can delight,
But in th' aspect of that felicitie,
Which they have written in their inward ey ;
On which they feed, and in their fastened mynd
All happie joy and full contentment fynd. '
Ah, then, my hungry soule' which long hast
On idle fancies of thy foolish thought, [ fed
And, with false beauties flattring bait misled.
Hast after vaine deceiptfull shadowes sought.
Which all are fled, and now have left thee
nought
But late repentance through thy follies pricf;
Ah ! ceasse to gaze on matter of thy grief:
And looke at last up to that Soveraine Light,
From whose pure beams al perfect beauty
springs,
That kindleth love in every godly spright
Even the love of God ; which loathing brings
Of this vile world and these gay-seeming
things;
With whose sweete pleasures being so possest,
Thy straying thonghu henceforth for ever rest
PROTHALAMION.
OR,
A SPOUSALL VERSE,
MADE BT
EDM. SPENSER,
IN HONOUR OP THE DOUBLB MAKIAOE OK THE TWO HONORABLE AND VERTUOC8 I-ADIIW,
THE LADIE ELIZABETH. AND THE LADIE KATIIKKINE 8OMEKSBT, DAUGHTERS
RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EAKLE OF WORCESTER, AND ESPOUSED TO THK TWO WOKTIIIK
GENTLEMEN M. IIENHY GILFORD, AND M. WILLIAM PETER, E8QUTER8.
CALMK was the day, and1 through the trem-
bling ayre
Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titans beanies, which then did glys
When I, (whom sullein care, [fayrc ;
Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay
In Princes Court, and expectation vaync
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away,
Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my braync,)
Walkt forth to ease my payne
Along theshoareofsilverstrenming Themmes;
Whose rutty Bancke, ho which his River
hemmes
Was pavnted all with variable flowers,
And all the meadea adomd with damtie
gemmes
, Fit to deckc maydens bowrcs,
And crowne their Paramours
'Against the Brydale day, which is not lotlg:
Sweete Themmes! runnc softly, till I <n«l
my Song
6o6
PROTHALA MION.
[L. 19-119.
There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side,
A Flocke of Nytnphes T chaunced to espy,
All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby.
With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde,
As each had bene a Bryde ;
And each one had a little wicker basket,
Made of fine twigs, entrayled curiously,
In which they gathered flowers to till their
flasket,
And with fine Fingers crept full feateously
The tender stalkes on hye.
Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew,
They gathered some ; the Violet, pallid blew,
The little Dazie, that at evening closes,
The virgin Lillie, and the Primrose trew,
With store of vermeil Roses,
To decke their Bridegromes posies
Against the Brydale day, which was not long :
Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end
my Song.
With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe
Come softly swimming downe along the Lee ;
Two fairer Birds I yet did never see ;
The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew,
Did never whiter shew,
Nor Jove himselfe, when he a Swan would be,
For love of Leda, whiter did appeare ;
Yet LeJa was (they say) as white as he,
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare ;
So purely white they were,
[ bare,
That even the gentle streame, the which them
Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes
spare
To wet their silken feathers, least they might
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so
And marre their beauties bright,
That shone as heavens light,
[fayre,
[long:
Against their Brydale day, which was not
my Song.
Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had
Flowers their fill,
Ran all in haste to see that silver brood.
As they cnme floating on the Christal Flood ;
Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed
Their wondring eyes to fill; [still,
Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre,
Of Fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme
Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre
Which through the Skie draw Venus silver
Even as their Brydale day, which was not
long:
Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end
my Song.
Then forth they al! out of their baskets drew
Great store of Flowers, the honour of the field,
That to the sense did fragrant odours yeild,
All which upon those goodly Birds they threv
And all the Waves did strew,
That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme,
When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore,
Scattred with Flowres, through Thessaly they
• streeme,
That they appeare, through Lillies plenteous
Like a Brydes Chamber flore. [store,
Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two
Garlands bound [found,
Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead they
The which presenting all in trim Array,
Their snowie Foreheads therewithafl thev
Whil'st one did sing this Lay,
Prepaid against that Day,
[crownd,
[long:
Against their Brydale day, which was not
Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end
my Song.
'Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire orna-
ment,
And heavens glorie, whom this happie nowcr
Doth leade unto your lovers blisfull bower,
Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content
Of your loves couplement;
And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love,
With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you
smile,
Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remove
All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile
For ever to assoile.
'Weete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end LetendlessePeaceyoursteadfasthearts accord,
And blessed Plentie wait upon your bord ;
And let your bed with pleasures chast abound,
That fruitfull issue may to you afford,
Which may your foes confound,
And make your joyes redound
Upon your Brydale day, which is not long :
Sweete Themmes ! funne softlie, till I end
my Song.'
So ended she ; and all the rest around
To her redoubled that her undersong, [long :
Which said their brydale daye should not be
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground
Their accents did resound.
So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along,
For sure they did not seeme [Teeme ;
To be begot of any earthly Seede,
But rather Angels, or of Angels breede ;
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat. they say,
In sweetest Season, when each Flower and ; As he would speake. but that he lackt a tong)
The earth did fresh aray: [weede;Yet did by signes his glad affection show,
bo fresh they seem'd as day, (Making Ms streaine run slow.
I2O-l8o.]
PROTHALAMfON.
607
And all the foule which in his flood did dwell
Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell
The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend
The lesser starres. So they, enranged well,
Did on those two attend,
And their best service lend [long :
Against their wedding da}-, which was not
Sweete Themmes ! run softly, till I end
my Song.
At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kyndly Nurse,
That to me gave this Lifes first native sourse,
Though from another place I take >ny name,
An house of auncient fame : [towres
There when they came, whereas those bricky
The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe
ryde, [bowers,
Where now the studious Lawyers have their
There whylome wont the Templer Knights to
Till they decayd through pride: fbyde,
Next whereunto there standes a stately place,
Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace
Of that great Lord, which therein wont to
dwell, [case ;
Whose want too well now feeles my freendles
But ah ! here fits not well
Olde woes, but joyes, to tell
Against the bridale daye, which is not long :
Sweete Themmes ! ruune softly, till I end
my Song.
Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer,
Great Englands glory, and the Worlds wide
wonder, [did thunder,
Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine
And Hercules two pillors standing neere
Did make to quake and feare :
Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie !
That lilies t, England with thy triumohes fame.
Joy have thou of thy noble victorie,"
And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name
That promiseth the same ; [armet,
That through thy prowesse, and victorious
Thy country may be freed from forrainc
harmes ;
And great Elisaes glorious name may ring
Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide
Alarm es,
Which some brave muse may sing
To ages following.
Upon the Brydale dav. which is not long:
Sweete Themraes ! runne softly till I end
my Song.
From those high Towers this noble Lord is-
suing,
Like Radiant Hespcr, when his golden hayre
In th' Ocean billowcs he hath bathed fay re,
Descended to the Rivers open vewing,
With a great traiue ensuing.
Above the rest were goodly to bee scene
Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature,
Beseeming well the bower of anie Queen e,
With gifts of wit, and ornaments of nature,
Fit for so goodly stature,
That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in
sight, f bright ;
Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heavens
They two, forth pacing to the Rivers side,
Received those two faire Brides, their Loves
delight ;
Which, at th' appointed tyde,
Each one did make his Bryde
Agflinst their Brydale day, which is not long :
Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end
my Song.
SONNETS
WRITTEN BY SPENSER,
COLLECTED FKOM THE ORIGINAL PUBLICATIONS IN WHICH THET APPEARED.
To Hie right worxhipfull my singular good f rend,
M. Gabriell Harvey, Doctor of the Lawet.
HARVEY, the happy above happiest men
1 read ; that, sitting like a Looker-on
Of this worldes Stage, doest note with critique
pen
The sharpe dislikes of each condition :
And, as one carelesse of suspition,
Ne fawnest for the favour of the great;
Ne fearest foolish reprehension
Of faulty men, which daunger to thee threat :
But freely doest, of what thee list, entreat,
Like a great Lord of peerelesse liberty ;
Lifting the Good up to high Honours seat,
And the Evill damning evermore to dy :
For Life, and Death, is in thy doomefuD
writing !
So thy renowme lives ever by endighting.
Dublin, this xviij. of July, 1686.
Your devoted frend, during life,
KDMUND SPKNOKI
6o8
SONNETS.
(Prefixed to 'Nennio, or A Treatise of Nobility,'
**)
Who so wil seeke, by right deserts, t' attaine,
Unto the type of true Nobility ;
And not by painted shewes, and titles vaine,
Derived farre from famous Auncestrie :
Behold them both in their right visnomy
Here truly pourtray'd, as they ought to "be,
And striving both for termes of dignitie,
To be advanced highest in degree.
And, when thou doost with equal! insight see
The ods twixt both, of both them deem aright,
And chuse the better of them both to thee:
But thanks to him, that it deserves, behight ;
To Nenna first, that first this worke created,
And next to Jones, that truely it translated.
ED. SPENSKH.
in
Upon the Historie of George Castriot, alias
Scanderbeg, king of the Epirots, translated
into English.
Wherefore doth vaine antiquitie so vaunt
Her ancient monuments of mightie peeres,
And old Heroes, which their world did daunt
With their great deedes, and fild their chil-
drens eares?
Who, rapt with wonder of their famous praise,
Admire their statues, their Colossoes great :
Their rich triumphall Arcks which they did
raise,
Their huge Pyramids, which do heaven threat.
Lo ! one, whom later age hath brought t3
light,
Matchable to the greatest of those great ;
Great both by name, and great in power and
might,
And meriting a meere triumphant seate.
The scourge of Turkes, and plague of infi-
dels,
Thy acts, 0 Scanderbeg, this volume tels.
ED. SPENSER.
IV
(Prefixed to ' The Commonwealth and Govern-
ment of Venice. )
The antique Babel, Empresse of the East,
Upreard her buildinges to the threatned skie :
And second Babell, tyrant of the West.
Her ayry Towers upraised much more high.
But, with the weight of their own surquedry,
They both are fallen, that all the earth did
feare,
And buried now in their own ashes ly ;
Yet shewing, by their heapes, how great they
were.
But in their place doth now a third-appeare,
Fayre Venice, flower of the last worlds de-
light;
And next to them in beauty draweth neare,
But farre exceedes in policie of right.
Yet not so fayre her buildinges to behold
As Lewkenors stile that hath her beautie
told.
EDM. SPEXCER.
609
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
DISCOURSED BY WAY OF A DIALOGUE BETWEENE
EUDOXUS AND IRENjEUS.
Eudox.
BUT yf that count rey of Ireland, whence
you lately came, be soe goodly and com-
modious a soyle, as ye report, I wonder that
noe course is taken for the tourning therof
to good uses, and reducing of that savadge na-
tion to better government and civilitye.
Iren. Marry, soe there have beene divers
good pintles devised, and wise counsells cast
alleready about reformation of that realme ;
but they say, it is the fatall desteny of that
land, that noe purposes, whatsoever are meant
for her good, will prosper or take good effect,
which, whether it proceede from the very
GENIUS of the soyle, or influence of the
starres, or that Allmighty God hath not yet
appoynted the time of her reformation, or
that he reserveth her in this unquiett state
still for some secrett scourdge, which shall by
her come unto England, it is hard to be
knowen, but yet much to be feared.
Eudox. Surely I suppose this but a vayne
conceit of simple men, which judge thinges
by theyre effectes, and not by theyre causes ;
for I will rather thinke the cause of this evill,
which hangeth upon that countrey, to pro-
ceede rather of the unsoundness of the coun-
sells, and plottes, which you say have beene
oftentimes layed for the reformation, or of
fayntness in following and effecting the
same, then of any such fatall course or ap-
poyntment of God, as you misdeeme : but it
is the manner of men, that when they are
fallen into any absurditye, or theyr actions
succeede not as they would, they are ready
alhvayes to impute the blame therof unto
the heavens, soe to excuse their owne follyes
and imperfectiones. Soe have I allso heard
it often wished, (even of some whose grcate
wisedomes, in my opinion, should seeme to
judge more soundly of soe weighty a con-
sideration) that all that land were a sea-poole :
which kind of speach, is the manner rather
of desperat men fair driven, to wishe the
utter ruine of that they cannot redress, then
of grave counsellors which ought to thinke
nothing soe hard but that, through wysedome,
it may be roust red and subdued; *ince the
Poet sayeth, that ' the wyse man shall rule
even over the starres,' much more over tin-
earth ; for were it not the part of a desperat
phisition to wish his diseased patient dead,
rather then to applye the best endevoura of
his skill for his recovery. But since we arre
so farre entred, let ns, I pray you. a litle de-
vise, of those evills, by which'that countivy
is held in this wretched . :i-<-. that it cannot
(as you say) be recured. And yf it be not
paynfull to you, tell us what thinges, during
your late continuaunce there, you observed to
be mast offensive, and an empeachrmcnt unto
the good rule and government therof.
Iren. Surely, Kudox., the evill* which
you desire to be recounted are very many,
and allinost countable with those that were
hidden in the baskett of Pandora. Hut
since ye soe please, I will out of that intinit
number, recken but some that are most capi-
tal!, and commonly current both in the life
and conditions of privat men, as also in the
managing of publick a flay res and i •
the which you shall understand to be <>l di-
verse natures, as I observed them : for some
of them are of very great miiii|iiitve and
longe continuaunce ; others more late and of
lease enduraunce ; others davly growing and
encreasing continually a* the evill occasion
are every day offered.
Eudox. Tell them then, I pray you, in the
same order that you have now rehearsed
them; for there can be noe belter methode
then this which the very matter it self
otl'ereth. And when ye have reckned all the
evills, lett us henre, your opinion for re-
dressing of them : after which then- will per.
haps of it self appeare some reasonable way
to settle a sound and perfect rule of govern-
ment, by shunning the former evills, and
RB
f.io
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
following the offred good. The which me-
thode we may Jeame of the wise Phisitions.
which first require that the malady be kriowen
throughly, and discovered ; afterwardes doe
teach how to cure and redress it ; and lastly
doe prescribe a diett with straight rule and
orders to be dayly observed, for feare of a re-
lapse into the former disease, or falling into
some other more daungerous then it.
Iren. I will then, according to your ad-
visement, beginne to declare the evills,
which seeme to me most hurtfull to the
common-weale of that land ; and first, those
•which I sayd were most auncient and long
growen. And they allso are of three kindes ;
the first in the Lawes, the second in Customes,
and the third hi Religion.
Eudox. Why, Irenaeus, can there be any
evill in the Lawes? can thinges, which are
ordayned for the good and safetye of all,
turne to the evill and hurt of them ? This
well I wote, both in that state and in all
others, that were they not contayned in duty
with feare of law, which restrayueth offences,
and inflicteth sharpe punishment to misdoeres,
no man should enjoy any thing ; every mans
hand would be agaynst another. Therfore,
in finding fault with the lawes, I doubt me,
you shall much over-shoote your self, and
make me the more dislike your other dislikes
of that government,
Iren. The lawes, Eudox., I doe not blame
for themselves, knowing right well that all
lawes are ordayned for the good of the com-
mon-weale, and for repressing of licentious-
ness and vice ; but it falleth out in lawes,
no otherwise then it doth in phisick, which
was at first devised, and is yet dayly ment,
and ministred for the health of the patient.
But neverthelesse we often see, that either
through ignoraunceof thedysease, or through
unseasonableness of the time, or other acci-
dentes coming between, in steede of good, it
worketh hurt, and, out of one evill, throweth
the patient into many miseryes. Soe the
lawes were at first intended for the reforma-
tion of abuses, and peaceable continuaunce
of the subjectes ; but are sithence either dis-
anulled, or quite prevaricated through
chaunge and alterations of times, yet are they
good still in themselves ; but to that common-
wealth, which is ruled by them, they woorke
not that good which they should, and some-
times also, perhaps, that evill which they
would not.
Eudox. Whether do you meane this by
the common-law of the realme, or by the
Statute Lawes, and Actes of Parlyaments ?
Iren. Surely by them both ; for even the
common-law, being that which William of
Normandy brought in with his conquest and
laved upon the neck of England, though
it perhaps fitted well with the state of Eng-
land then being, and was readely obayed
through the power of the cemmar.d'er, which
had before subdued the people unto b»in, and
made easy way to the selling of his will ; yet
with the state of Ireland peradventure it doth
not so well agree, being a people altogither
stubborne, and untamed, or yf it were ever
tamed, yet now lately having quite shaken of
theyr yoke, and broken the bandes of theyre
obedience. For England (before the entraunce
of the Conquerour) was a peaceable kingdomc,
and but lately entred to the mild and goodly
government of K. Edward, surnamed the
Confessour ; besides now lately growen unto a
lothing and detestation of the unjust and
tyrannous rule of Harold, an usurper, which
made them the more willing to accept of any
reasonable conditions and order of the new
victor, thinking surely that it could be noe
worse then the later, and hoping well it
would be as good as the former : yet what the
proof of the first bringing in and establishing
of those lawes hath beene, was after to many
full bitterly made knowen. But with Ire-
land it is farr otherwise, for it is a nat ion ever
acquayn ted with warres, though but amongest
themselves, and in theyre owne kind of myli-
tary discipline, trayned up ever from theyr
youthes ; which they have never yet beene
taught to lay aside, nor made to learne ol>e-
dience unto lawe, scarcely to know the name
of lawe, but insteede therof have always pre-
served and kept theyr owne lawe, which is
the Brehoone lawe.
Eudox. What is that which ye call the
Brehoone Lawe ? it is a word to us altogither
unknowen.
Iren. It is a certayne rale of right un-
written, but delivered by tradition from one to
another, in which oftentimes there appcareth
greate shewe of equitye, in determining the
right betweene party and partye, but in
many thinges repugning quite both to God
and mans lawe : as for example, in the case of
murder, the Brehoon, that is theyr judge,
will compound betweene the murderer and the
frendes of the party murthered, which pro-
secute the action, that the malefactor shall
give unto them, or to the child or wife of
him that is slayne, a recompence, which they
call a Breaghe ; by which bi lawe of theyrs,
many murders are amongest them made up
and sinoothered. And this judge being (as he
VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 611
is called) the Lordes Brehoon, adjudgeth for
the most part a better share unto his lord, that
is the lord of the soyle, or the head of that
sept, and also unto himself, for his judge-
ment, a greater portion then unto the playn-
tiff or partyes greeved.
Eudox. This is a most wicked lawe indeed ;
but I trust it is not now used in Ireland
since the kinges of England have had the
absolute dominion therof, and established
theyr owne lawes there.
Iren. Yes, truly, for there be many wide
countryes in Ireland in which the lawes of
England were never established, nor any ac-
knowledgment of subjection made ; and also
even in those that are subdued, and seeme to
acknowledge subjection, yet the same Bre-
hoone lawe is practised amongst themselves,
by reason, that dwelling as they doe, whole
nations and septs of the Irish togither, with-
out any Englishman amongest them, they
may doe what they list, and compound or
altogither conceal araongest themselves theyr
owne crimes, of which noe notice can be had
by them which would and might amend the
same, by the rule of the lawes of England.
Eudox. What is this which you say ?
And is there any part of that realme or any
nation therin, which have not yet bene sub-
dued to the crowne of England ? Did not
the whole realme universally accept and ac-
knowledge our late prince of famous memory,
Henry- the Eighth, for theyr only king and
liedge lord ?
Iren. Yes, verely : in a Parliament
houlden in the time of Sir Antony Sent-
Leger, then Lord Deputye. all the Irish
lordes and principall men came in, and being
by sure meanes wrought therunto, acknow-
ledged King Henry for theyr soverayne lord,
reserving yet (as some say) unto themselves
all theyr owne former priviledges and seg-
niorves inviolate.
fludox. Then by that acceptaunce of his
sovereynty they also accepted of his lawes.
Why then should any other lawes be now
used amongest them ?
Iren. True it is that thereby they bound
themselves to his lawes and obedience, and in
case it had bene followed upon them, as it
should have bene, and a government ther-
upon presently setled amongest them agre-
able thereunto, they should have bene reduced
to perpetuall civilitye, and contayned in con-
tinuall dutye. But what bootes it to breake
a colt, and to lett him straight runn loose at
randome. Soe were this people at first well
handled, and wisely brought to acknowledge
alleageaunce to the Kinges of England ; but
being straight left unto themselves and thevr
owne inordinate life and manners, tli
soones forgott what before they were tau^M.
and soe soone as they were out of «ighr l>\-
themselves, shooke of they r bridels,and began
to colt anew, more licentiously then before.
Eudox. It is a great pittv, that soe good
an opportunitye was omitted', and soe happy
an occasion fore-staid, that might have bred'd
the eternall good of that land. But doe they
not still acknowledge that submission ?
Iren. Now they doe not; for now the
| heyres and posteritve of them which yMilt-d
the same are (as thev sav) either ignoraunt
therof, or doe willfully denye or stcdfasdy
j disavowe it.
jil Kudox. How can they doe soe justly t
W)oth not the act of the parent, in any In'w-
rull graunt or conveyaunce, bind the heyrra
for ever thereunto ? T Since then the aun-
cestours of those that now live yeelded thun-
selves then subjectes and liedgemcn, shall it
not ty« theyr children to the sariie subjec-
tion "ij
Iren. They say no ; for theyr auncostoure
had noe estate in any theyre landes, oigno-
ryes. or hereditamentes, longer then during
theyr owne lives, as they alledge, for all the
Irish doe hold theyr la'ndes by TVwixtrye;
which is (as say they) noe more then a
personal I estate for his life time, that is, Tan-
i.-tih. by reason that he is admitted ther-
unto by election of the countrry.
Eudox. What is this that you call
Tanist iu and Tanistrye ? They be names and
termes never hard of nor knowen to us.
Inn. It is a custome among all the Irish,
that presently after the death of any tln>vr
cheif Lordes or Captaynes, thev doe presently
assemble themselves to a place, generally
appoynted and knowen unto them, to choose
another in his steede; where they doe nomi-
nate and elect, for the most part, not the
eldest sonn, nor any of the children of thrvre
Lord deceased, but the next to him of blood,
that is the eldest and woorthyest; as com-
monly the next brother to him yf he have
any, "or the next cossin germaync, or soe
fodrth, as any is elder in that kinred or .««-pt,
and then next to him they choose the next of
bloud to be Tanutih, whoe shall next MH--
ceede him in the sayd Captaynrye, yf he live
thereunto.
Endox. Doe they not use any ceremonyes
in this election ? for* all barbarous nations are
commonly great observers of ceremonye* and
superstitious rites.
BB2
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
Irzn. They use to place hirn that shalbe
theyr C.iptayne, uppon a stone allwayes
reserved for that purpose, aud placed com-
monly upon a hill : in many of the which I have
seene the foote of a man formed and engraven,
which they say was the measure of theyr
first Captayns" foote, wheron he standing
receaveth an oth to preserve all the former
auncient customes of the countrey inviol-
able, and to deliver up the succession peace-
ably to his Tanistih, and then hath a wand
delivered unto him by some whose proper
office that is; after which, discending from
the stone, he turneth himself round aboute,
thrise forward, and thrise backward.
Eudox. But how is the Tanistih chosen ?
Iren. They say he setteth but one foote
upon the stone, and receaveth the like othe
that the Captayne did.
Ettdox. Have you ever hard what was
the occasion and first beginning of this cus-
tome V for it is good to knowe the same, and
may perhaps discover some secrett meaning
and entent therin, very materiall to the state
of that government.
Iren. I have heard that the beginning and
cause of this ordinaunce amongest the Irish,
was specially for the defence and maynten-
aunce of theyr landes in theyr posteritye,
and for excluding of all innovation or alie-
nation therof unto straungers, and specially
to the English. For when theyr Captayn
dyed, vf the segniory should discend to his
child, and he perhaps an Infant, another
might perad venture stepp in betwene, or
thrust him out by strong hand, being then
unable to defend his right, or to withstand the
force of a forreiner; and therfore they doe
appoynt the eldest of the kinn to have the
segniorye, for that he commonly is a man of
stronger yeares, and better experience to
mayntayne the inheritaunce, and to defend
the countrye, either agaynst the next border-
ing Lordes, which use commonly to encroch
one upon another as ech one is stronger, or
agaynst the English, which they thinke lye
still in wayte to wipe them out of theyr
landes and territoryes. And to this end the
Tanistih is allway readye knowen, yf it
should happen the Captayne suddaynly to
dye, or to be slayne in battell, or to be out of
the countrye, to" defend and keepe it from all
such doubles and daungers. For which cause
the Tanistih hath also a share of the coun-
trey allotted unto him, and certayne cut-
tinges and spendinges upon all the Inhabit-
auntes under the Lord.
Eudox. When I heare this woord Tanistih,
it bringeth to my mynd and remembraunce
what I have reade of Tania, that it should
signifie a province or segniorye, as Aquitania,
Lusitania, and Britania, the which some
thinke to be derived of Dania, that is, from
the Danes ; but, I thinke, amiss. For sure
it seemeth, that it came aunciently from
those barbarous nations that over-ratine the
world, which possessed those dominions,
wherof they are now soe called. And so it
may well be that from the first originall of
this woord Tanistih and Tanistrih came, ami
the custome therof hath sithence, as many
others els, bene continued. But to that
generall subjection of the land, wherof we
formerly spake, me seemes that this custome
or tenure can be no barr nor empeachement,
seing that in open Parliament by tlieyr sayd
acknowledgment they wayved the "benefit
therof, and submitted themselves notwith-
standing to the ordinaunce of theyr new
Soveraigne.
Iren. Yea, but they say, as I earst toldo
you, that they reserved theyr titles, tenures,
and signioryes whole and sound to them-
selves, and for proofe alleadgre, that they have
ever sithence remayned to th°m untouched,
soe as nowe to alter them, should (say they)
be a greate wronge. .
Eudox. What remedye is there, then, or
meanes to avoyde this inconvenience? for,
without first cutting of this daungerouH
custome, it seemeth hard to plante any
sounde ordinaunce, or reduce them to a civill
government, since all theyr ill customes are
permitted unto them.
Iren. Surely nothing hard ; for by this
Act of Parliament wherof we speake, nothing-
was given to King Henry which he had not;
before from his auncestours, but onely the
bare name of a King ; for all other absolute
power of principalitye he had in himself'
before derived from many former Kinges, his
famous progenitors and woorthy conquerours
of that land. The which, sithence they rirst
conquered and subdued unto them by'force,
what needeth afterward to enter into any such
idle termes with them to be called theyr
King, wheras it was in the power of the
conquerour to take upon himself what title
he will over the dominions conquered. For
all is the conquerours, as Tully to Brutus
saylh. Therfore (me seemes) insteede of so
great and meritorious a service as they bost
they performed to the King, in bringing all
the Irish to acknowledge him for theyr Leige,
they did great hurt unto his title, and have
left a perpetuall gall in the myndes of that
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IK EL A. YD. 613
people whoe, before being absolutely bound
to his obedience, are now tyed but wiih
termes, wheras els both they'r lives, theyr
landes, and theyr libertyes were in his free
power to appoynt what "tenures, what laves,
what conditions he would over them which
were all his: against which there could lie
no right full resistaunce, or yf there were, he
might, when he would, establish them with a
stionge hand.
Kmlox. Yea, but perhaps it seemed better
unto that noble King to bring them by theyr
owne accord unto his obedience, and to plant
a peaceable government amongest them,
then by such violent meanes to keepe them
under. Neither yet hath he thereby lost any
thing that he formerly had ; for having all
before absolutely in his owne power, it re-
mayneth so still unto him, he having neither
forgiven nor forgone anything therby unto
them, but having receaved something from
them ; that is, a more voluntary and loyall
subjection. Soe that her Majesty may yet,
when it shall please her, alter any thing of
those former ordinauuccs, or appoynt other
lawes, that may be more both for her owne
behoof, and for the good of that people.
Iren, Not soe; for it is not soe easye,
now that thinges are growen into an habile
and have theyre certayne course, to chaunge
the channell, and turne the streame another
way, for they may have nowe a colourable
pre'tence to withstand such Innovations,
having accepted of other lawes and rules
allreadyc. ,
Eudox. But you say they doe not accept of
them, but delight rather to leane to theyr old
customes and Brehoon lawes, though they be
much more unjust and also more inconvenient
for the common people, as by your late relation
of them I have gathered. As for the lawes
of England, they are surely most just and
most agreable both with the government and
with the nature of the people. How falles it
then, that you seeme to dislike of them as
not soe meete for that rcalme of Ireland, and
not only the Common Lawe, but also the
•Statutes and Acts of Parliaments, which were
specially provided and intended for th« onely
benelitt therof ?
Iren. I was about to have told you my
reason therm, but that yourself drewe me
away with other questions, for I was shewing
you by what meanes, and by what sort, the
Positive Lawes were first brought in and es-
tablished by the Norman Conquerour : which
were not by him devised or applyed to the
State of the Vealme then being, norasyet might
best be, (as should by lawgivers principally
be regarded) but wore indoede the very iawea
of his owne countrcy of Normandyr. Tin-
condition wherof how farr it diflWeth from
this of England is apparnunt to even- least
judgement. Hut to transfcrr the same Iawea
for the government of the realme of Ireland
was much more inconvenient and unm.itr;
for he found a better advaimtage of the time,
then was in the planting of them in Ireland,
and followed the execution of them with
more severitye, and was also present in par-
son to overlooke the Magistrate*, and to
overawe the subjectes with the tcrronr of his
swoord and countenaunce of hi* M.-ijc~t\e.
But not soe in Ireland, for they were "other-
wise affected, and yet doe soc remayne, soe
as the same lawes (me seeme>) ran* ill silt
with thevr disposition, or woorke that refor-
mation that is wished. For lawes ought to
be fashioned unto the manners and conditions
of the people, to whom they are ment, and
not to be imposed unto them according to
the simple rule of right ; for els (as 1 sayd)
in steede of good they mav woorke ill, and
pervert Justice to extreme Injustice. For he
that would transferr the lawes of the Lace-
demonians to the people of Athens should
find a greate absurditye and inconvenience.
For those Lawes of "Lacediemon were de-
vised by Lycurgus, as most proper and best
agreing" with that people, whom he knewe to
be enclyned alltogither to warres, and there-
fore wholly trayned them up even from tlieyr
craddels in armes and military exercises,
cleane contrarye to the institution of S>li-n,
who. in his lawes to the Athenien*, laboured
by all meanes to temper theyr warlick cour-
adge with sweete delight of learning and sci-
ences, soe that as much as the «>ne « xeclled ir.
armes, the other exceeded in knowledge. The
like regard and moderation ought to IK> had in
tempering, and managing of this stubbornc
nation of the Irish, to bring them from that
delight of licentious barbariMiicunto the love
of goodness and civilityo.
Kwliix. I can not see how that mn\
Iw then l>y the discipline of the lawes of Kng-
land: for" the English were, at the first, as
stout and warrelike a people as ever were the
Irish, and yet ye see are now brought uni<>
that civilitye, that no nation in the world
excelleth them in all goodly conversation,
and all the studyes of knowledge and hn-
manitye,
Iren. What they now be both you and
see very well, but by how many ih«.mve nnd
hard w'ayes they are" come thereunto, i
614
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
many civill broyles, by how many tumultuous
rebellions, that even hazarded oftentimes
the whole safetie of the kingdome, may easely
be considered: all which they nevertheless
fayrely overcame, by reason of the continuall
presence of the King ; whose onely parson is
oftentimes in steede of an army, to contayne
the unruly people from a thousand evill oc-
casions, which this wretched kingdome is, for
want therof, dayly carryed into. The which,
whensoe they make head, noe lawes, noe
penaltyes, can restrayne them, but that they
doe, in the violence of theyr furyes, treade
downe and trample under foote all both divine
and humane thinges, and the lawes them-
selves the}' doe specially rage upon, and
rend in peeces, as most repugnant to theyr
libertye and naturall freedome, which in theyr
madness they affect.
Eudox. It is then a very unseasonable time
to pleade lawe, when a swoord is drawen in the
hand of the vulgar, or to thinke to retayne
them with the feare of punnishmentes, when
they looke after libertye, and shake of all
government.
Iren. Then soe it is with Ireland continu-
ally, Eudoxus ; for the swoord was never yet
out of theyr hand ; but when they are weary
of warres, and brought downe to extreeme
wretchedness, then they creepe a litle per-
haps, and sue for grace, till they have gotten
new breath and recovered their strength
agayne. Soe as it is in vayne to speake of
planting of lawes, and plotting of pollicyes,
till they are altogither subdued.
Eudox. Were they not soe at the first con-
quering of them by Strangbowe, in the time
of King Henry the second ? was there not a
through way then made by the swoord for
the imposing of lawes uppon them V and were
they not then executed with such a mighty e
hand as you say was used by the Norman
Conquerour ? What oddes is there then in
this case ? why should not the same lawes
take as good effecte in that people as they
did heere, being in like sort prepared by the
swoord. and brought under by extremitye?
and why should they not continue in as good
force and vigour for the contayning of the
people ?
Iren. The case is yet not like, but there
appeareth a greate oddes betwene them ; for
by the conquest of Henry the Second, true it
is the Irish were utterly vanquished and sub-
dued, soe as noe enemye was able to hold up
his head agaynsthis power; in which theyre
weakness he brought in his lawes, and settled
them as now they there remayne, like as
William the Conquerour did ; soe as in thus I
much they agree, but in the rest, that is the I
cheifest, they varye ; for to whom did King
Henry the second impose those lawes ? not to
the Irish for the most part of them fledd from
his power into the desertes and mountaynes,
learing the wide countrey to the conquerour,
who in theyr steede eftsoones placed English
men, who possessed all theyr landes and did
quite shutt out the Irish, or the most part
of them. And to those new Inhabitauntes
and Colonyes he gave his lawes, to weete, the
same lawes under which they were borne and
bredd, the which it was noe d'ifficultye to place
amongest them, being formerly well enured
therunto; unto whom afterwardes there re-
payred divers of the poore distressed people of
the Irish for succour and relief; of whom,
such as they thought fitt for labour and in-
dustriously disposed, as the most part of
the baser sort are, they receaved unto them
as theyr vassals, but scarcely vouchsafed to
impart unto them the benefit! of those lawes,
under which themselves lived, but every one
made his will and comaundement a law unto
his owne vassall : thus was not the lawe of
England ever properly applyed unto the Irish
nation, as by a purposed plott of government,
but as they could insinuat and steale them-
selves under the same by theyr humble car-
riadge and submission.
Eudox. How comes it then to pass, that
having once beene soe lowe brought, and
throughly subjected, they afterwardes lifted
themselves soe strongly agayne, and sithence
doe stand soe stifly agaynst all rule and
government ?
Iren. They say that they continued in that
lowlyness, untill the time that the division
betweene the two bowses of Lancaster and
Yorke arose for the crowne of England : at
which time all the great English Lordes and
Gentellmen, which had great possessions in
Ireland, repayred over hither into England,
some to succour theyr freendes heere, and
to strengthen theyr* party to obtayne the
crowne ; others to defend theyr landes and
possessions heere agaynst such as hovered
after the same upon hope of alteration of the
kingdome, and succession of that side which
they favoured and affected. ^Phen the Irish,
whom they before had ba\jshed into the
mountaynes, where they lived onely upon
whif.p, rrif?\te3,\a8 it is recorded, seing now
Theyr landes *oe dispeopled, and weakened,
came downe into all the playnes adjoyning,
and thence expelling those fewe English that
remayned. repossessed them agayne; since
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 615
•which they have remayned in them, and,
growing greater, have brought under them
many of the English, which were before
theyr Lordes. This was one of the occasions
by which ail those countryes which, lying
neere unto any mountaynes or Irish desertes,
had bene planted with English, were shortly
displantcd and lost. As namely in Moimster
ail the landes adjoyning to Slewloghir, Arlo,
and the bogg of Allone. In Connaught all
the Countryes bordering uppon the Culuers,
Mointerolis and Oroirkecountrey. In Leinster
all the landes neighbouring unto the moun-
taynes of Glaunmaleerih, unto Shillelah,
unto the Briskelah, and Polmonte. In
Ulster, all the countreys neere unto Tyr-
connel, Tyrone, and the' Scotts.
Eudox. Surely this was a greate violence ;
but yet by your speach it seemeth that only
the countreyes and vallyes neere adjoyning
unto those niountaynes and desertes, were
thus recovered by the Irish ; but how comes
it nowe that we see almost all that realme
repossessed of them ? Was there any more
such evill occasions groweu by the troubles
of England ? Or did the Irish, out of those
places soe by them gotten, breake further
and stretch themselves through out the
whole land? for now, for ought that I can
understand, there is noe part but the bare
English pale in which the Irish have not
greatest footing.
Iren. But out of these small beginninges
by them gotten neere the mountaynes, did
they spredd themselves into the Inland ; and
also, to theyr further advauutage, there did
other like unhappy accidentes happen out of
England, which gave hart and good opportu-
nitye to them to regayne theyr old posses-
sions. For, in the raigne of King Edward
the ftrwrth, thinges remayned yet in the same
state that they were after the late breaking
out of the Irish, which I spoke of; and that
noble prince begann to cast an eye unto 1 re-
land, and to mynd the reformation of thinges
there runn amiss : for he sent over his brother
the woorthy Duke of Clarence, whoe having
marryed the heyre of the Earle of Ulster,
and by her having all the Earledome of Ulster,
and much in Meath and Mounster, very care-
fully went about the redressing of those late
evills ; and though he could not beate out the
Irish agayne, by reason of his short continu-
aunce, yet he did shutt them up within these
narrowe corners and glinnes under the moun-
taynes foote, in which they lurked; and soe
kept them from breaking any further, by
buyiding of strong holdes upon every border,
and fortifying all passages. Amongest which
he builded the castle of Clare in Tomoiul, of
which count rev he had the inheritaunce, and
of Mortimers landes adjoyning, which u now
(by the Irish) called Killalowe. But the
times of that good King growing also trouble-
some did lett the thorough reformation of all
thinges. And therunto soone after was added
another fatall mischeif, which wrought a
greater calamitye then all the former. For
the said Duke of Clarence, then Lord Lieu-
tenant of Ireland, was by practise of evill per-
sons about the King, his brother, called thence
away ; and soone after by sinister mcancs waa
cleane made away. Presently after whom
death all the nqrth revolting did sett up
O'neale for theyr Captayne, being before that
of small power and regard : and there arose
in that part of Tomond, one of the O- linens,
called Murroh en-Kanah, that is, Morrice
of the Feame, or wast wilde places, whoe
gathering unto him all the relicks of the
discontented Irish, eftsones surprised the
said castle of Clare, burnt all, and spovled
all the English dwelling there, and in short
space possessed all that countrey of beyond
the River of Shannon and neere adjoyning :
whence shortly breaking foorth, like a sud-
dayne tempest, he over-rann all Mounster
and Connaght ; breaking downe all the holdea
and fortresses of the English, defacing and
utterly subverting all corporal townes that
were not strongly walled : for those he had
noe meanes nor Engines to overthrow?, nei-
ther indcede would he stay at all about them,
but speedely rann forward, accounting hU
suddaynness his most advaunlagc, that he
might" overtake the Engli-h before they mul.l
fortifye or gather themselves togithct. Soe
in short space he clemie wiped out many
great townes, as first Inshequinn, then Killa-
loih, before called Clarifort, afterwardes,
Thurles, Mournc, liuttevant, and many
others, whose names I cannot remember, and
of some of which there is now noe memory
nor eigne remavninu'. I'l'l1"" report whcrof
then nocked unto him all the scumm of the
Irish out of all places, that ere long he had a
mighty army, and thence m.-irelu-d f.K.rth into
Leinster, where he wrought great outradges,
wasting all the countreys where he went,
for it was his pollicye to leave n<»e holdes be-
hind him, but to make all plaync and wait.
In the which he soone after created himself
King, and was called King of all Ireland;
which before him I doc not ieimml>er that any
did soe generally, hut oiiely Eitwardle Bruce.
Eudox. What ! was there ever any general 1
6i6
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
King of all Ireland ? I never heard it before,
but that it was allwayes (whilst it was under
the Irish) divided into fowre, and sometimes
into five kingdomes or dominions. But this
Edward le Bruce, what was he, that he could
make himself King of all Ireland?
Iren. I would tell you, in case you would
not challenge me anone for forgetting the
mattere which I had in hand, that is, the
inconvenience and unfitnes which I suppose
he to be in the lawes of the land.
Endox. No surely, I have no occasion, for
neither is this impertinent therunto ; for
sithence you did sett your course (as I
remember) in your first part to treate of the
evills which hindereth th« peace and good
ordering of that land, amongest which that
of the inconvenience of the lawes was the
first which you had in hand, this discourse
of the over-running and wasting of the
realme is very materiall therunto, for that
it was the begining of all the other evills,
which sithence have afflicted that land, and
opened a way unto the Irish to recover theyr
possession, and to beate out: the English
which had formerly wonne the same. And
besides, it will give a great light both unto
your second and third part, which is the
redressing of those evills, and planting of
some good forme and pollicye therin, by re-
newing the remembraunce of those occasions
and accidentes by which those mines hap-
pened, and laying before us the ensamples
of those times, to be compared with ours,
and to be warned by those which shall have
to do in the like. Therfore, I pray you, tell
them unto us, and as for the poynt where
you left, I will not forget afterwardes to call
you back agayne thereunto.
Iren. This" Edward le Bruce was brother
to Robert le Bruce, who was King of Scot-
land at such time as King Edward the
Second raigned here in England, and bare a
most malicious and spitefull mynd agaynst
King Edward, doing him all the hurt he
could, and annoying his territoryes of Eng-
land, whiles t he was troubled with civill warres
of his Barrens at home. He also, to woorke
him the more mischeif, sent over his sayd
brother Edward with a power of Scottes and
Eedd-shankes into Ireland, where, by the
meanes of the Lacyes and of the Irish with
whom he combined, they gott footing, and
gathering to him all the scatterlinges and
out-lawes out of all the woodes and moun-
taynes, in which they long had lurked,
inarched foorth into the' English Pale, which
then was cheifly in the north, from the
poynt of Donluce, and beyond unto Dublin :
having in the middest of her Knockfargus;
Belfast, Armagh, and Carlingfoord, which
are now the most out-boundes and aban-
doned places in the English Pale, and
indeede not counted of the English Pale at
all ; for it stretches now no further then
Dundalke tpwardes the north. There the
sayd Edward le Bruce spoyled and burnt ail
the olde English inhabitauntes, and sacked
and razed all cittyes and corporal towues
noe lesse then Murroghe en Kanagh, of
whom I earst told you : for he wasted
Belfast, Green-Castle, Kelles, Belltaibot,
Castletowne, Newton, and many others
good townes and strong holdes : he rooted
out the noble familyes of the Audleys,
the Talbots, the Touchets, the Chamberlains,
the Mandevils, and the Savages out of
Ardes, though of the Lord Savage there
remayne yet an heyre, that is now a very
poore gentellman of very meane condition,
yet dwelling in the Ardes. And coming
lastly to Dundalke, he there made himself
King, and raigned by the space of one whole
yeare, by the name of Edward King of
Ireland, untill that King Edward of England,
having sett some quiett in his affayres at
home, sent over the Lord John Bremmegham
to be generall of the warres agaynst him,
whoe, encountring him neere to Dundalke,
over-threwe his armye, and slewe himself,
and presently followed the victorye soe j
hottly upon the Scottes, that he suffered
them not to breathe, or to gather themselves
togither agayne, till they came to the sea-
cost. Notwithstanding, all the way that
they fledd, for very rancour and dispite in
theyr returne they utterly consumed and
wasted whatsoever they had before left un-
spoyled; soe that of all townes, castels,
fortes, bridges, and habitations, they left not
any stick standing, nor any people remayn-
ing ; for those fewe which yet survived, fledd
from their furie further into the English
Pale. Thus was all that goodly countrey
utterly wasted, and left desolat as yet it
remayneth to this day, which before hath
beene the cheif ornament and beautye of Ire-
land, for that of the north sometimes was as
populous and plentifull as any part of England,
and yeelded unto the K. of England as it ap-
peareth by good recordes, thirty thousand
markes of old mony by the yeare, besides
many thousandes of able men to serve them
in theyr warres. And sure it is yet a most
beautifull and sweet countrey as any is under
heaven, seamed thoroughout with many
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 617
goodly rivers, replenished with all sortes o
fish, most aboundantly sprinckled with main
sweet llandes and goodly lakes, like litl'e
Inland Seas, that will earn* even ships upon
thoyr waters, adorned with goodly woodcs
fltt for building of bowses and shippes, soe
comodiously, as that yf some princes in the
world had them, they would soone hope
to be lordes of all the seas, and ere long of
all the world ; also full of good portes and
havens opening upon England and Scotland,
as inviting us to come to them, to see what
excellent comodityes that countrey can af-
foord, besides the soyle it self most fertile,
fitt to yeeld all kind of fruite that shal be
comitted therunto. And lastly, the heavens
most milde and temperat, though somewhat
more moyst then the part toward the West.
Eiidox. Truly Irenaeus, what with your
prayses of the countrey , and what with your
discourse of the lamentable desolation tlierof
made by those ragtayle Irish Scottes, you
have filled me with great compassion of
theyr calamityes, that I doe much pittye that
sweete land, to be subject to soe many evills
as every day I see more and more throwen
nppon her, and doe half beginn to thinke,
that it is (as you sayd in the beginning) her
fatall misfortune, above all countreys that
I knowe, to be thus miserably tossed and
turmoyled with these variable stormes of
afflictions. But since we are thus farr entred
into the considerations of her mishaps, tell
me, have there bene any more such tempests,
as ye terme them, wherin she hath thus
wretchedly beene wracked ?
Iren. Many more, God wote, have there
bene, in which her principall partes have
bene rent and torne asunder, but none that I
can remember soe universall as these. And
yet the rebellion of Thomas Fitz Gerrald did
well-nygh stretch itself into all partes of
Ireland. lint, that, which was in the time of
the government of the Lord Gray, was surely
noe less generall then all those; for there
was no part free from the contagion, but all
conspired in one to cast of theyr subjection
to the crowne of England. Nevertheless,
tnrough the most wise and valiaunt hand-
ling of that right noble Lord, it gott not that
head which the former evills found ; for in
them the realme was left, like a shipp in a
storme amiddest all the raging surges, un-
ruled, and undirected of any : for they to
whom she was comitted either faynted in
theyr labour, or forsooke theyre charge. But
he "(like a most wise pilote) kept her course
tarefully, and held her moste strongly even
agaynst those roring billowes, that he
brought her safely out of all ; soe as long
after, even by the space of twelve or thirtene
yeares, she rode in peace, through his only
paynes and excellent enduraunce, how eve'r
envye list to bluster agaynst him. But of
this we shall have more occasion to speakc in
another place : now (if you please) lett us
returne agayne unto our first course.
Evdox. Truely I am very gladd to hearc
your judgement of the government of that
honorable man soe soundly; for I have
indeede oftentimes hard it maligned, and his
doings depraved of some, whoe (I perceave)
did rather of malicious mynd, or private
greeyaunce, seeke to detract 'from the honour
of his deedes and counsells. then of anv just
cause: but he was nevertheless, in the
judgement of all good and wise men, de-
fended and mayntayned. And now that
he is dead, his immortall fame surviveth,
and flourisheth in the mouthes of all people,
that even those that did backbite him, are
choaked with theyr owne venomo, and
breake theyre galles to heare his soe honor-
able report But left him rest in peace; and
turne we to our more troublcous matters of
discourse, of which I am right sorye that ve
make soe short an end, and covet t to pass
over to your former purposes; for there be
many other partes of Ireland, which I have
heard have bene noe less vexed with the like
stormes, then these which you have treated
of, as the countrey of the Birnes and
Tooles neere Dublin, with the insolent out-
rages and spoyles of I-'eugh mac Hughe, the
countreys of Katerlagh, Wexford. and Water
ord, of the Kevanaghs. The count revs c.f
jeis, Kilkenny, and Kildare of the Moore>.
The countreys of Ofalye and LiingfiMinl of
the Connors. The count rc\> of \\V-imeath,
Cavan. and Louth of the O Keylevs, the
Kellyes. and many others, soe as the discours-
ing of them, besides the pleasure which would
redounde out of theyr history, be also very
profitable for matter of pollicye.
Iren. All this which ye have named,
and many moe besides, often times have I
right well knowen. (and yet often limes doe)
kindlegreat fires of tumul'tnou* I>my1"s in the
countreys bordering upon them. All which to
rehearse should rather be to chronicle time-,
then to search into reformation of abuses in
that realme: and yet very needful] it wil lie
to consider them, and the evills which they
have often stirred up, that some redres's
therof, and prevention of the evills to come,
may thereby the rather be devised. But J
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
suppose we shall have a fitter opportunity
for the same, when we shall speake of the
particular abuses and enormityes of that
government, which wil be next after those
generall defectes and inconveniences which
I sayd were in the lawes, cus tomes, and
religion.
Eudox. Goe to then, a Godes name !
and followe the course which you have
promised to your self, for it fitteth best, I
must confess, with the purpose of your dis-
course. Declare your opinion, as you be-
gann, about the lawes of that realme, what
ineomodity you have conceaved to be in
them, cheifly in the Common Lawe, which I
would have thought to be most free from all
such dislike.
Iren. The Common Law is (as before I
sayd) of itself most rightfull and very con-
venient (I suppose) for the kingdome for the
which it was first devised ; for this (1 thinke)
as it seemes reasonable, that out of the
manners of the people, and abuses of the
countrey, for which they were invented,
they take theyr first beginning, or els they
should be most unjust ; for noe lawes of man
(according to the straight rule of right) are
just, but as in regard of the evills which they
prevent, and the safety of the common-weale
which they provide for. As for example, in
the true ballauncing of justice, it is a flatt
wrong to punish the thought or purpose of
any before it be enacted; for true Justice
punnisheth nothing but the evill act or wicked
woord ; yet by the lawes of all kingdomes it
is a capitall crime to devise or purpose the
death of the King: the reason is, for that
when such a purpose is effected, it should
then be to late to devise therof, and should
tume that common-weale to more hurt by
such loss of theyr Prince, then such punnish-
ment of the malefactours. And therfore the
lawe in that case punnisheth the thought ; for
better is a mischeif, then an inconvenience.
Soe that jus politician, though it be not of it
self just, yet by application, or rather ne-
cessitye, it is made just; and this only
respect maketh all lawes just Now then, yf
these lawes of Ireland be not likewise ap-
plyed and fitted for that realme, they are
sure very inconvenient,
Eudox. You reason strongly: but what
unfittness doe you finde in them for that
realme ? shewe us some particulars.
Iren. The Common Lawe appoynteth that
all tryall?, as well of crimes as titles and
rights, shal be made by verditt of a Jurye,
choosen out of the honestest and most sub-
stantiall free-holders. Now, most all the free-
holders of that realme are Irish, which when
the cause shall fall betwixt an Englishman
and an Irish, or betweene the Queene and
any fre-holder of that countrey, they make
noe more scruple to pass agaynst an English-
man, and the Queene, though it be to strayne
theyr othes, then to drinke milke unstrayned.
Soe" that, before the Jurye goe togither," it is
well knowen what the verdict will be. The
tryall herof have I soe often scene, that I
dare confidently avouch the abuse therof.
Yet is the lawe of itself, I say, good ; and the
first institution therof, being given to all
naturall Englishmen, very rightfull, but now
that the Irish have stept into the roomes of the
English, (whoe are now become soe heedfull
and provident to keepe them out from hence-
forth that they make noe scruple of conscience
to passe against them) yt is good reason
that either that course of the lawe for tryall
be altered or other provision for juryes made.
Eudox. In sooth, Irenaeus, you have dis-
covered a poynt woorthy the consideration ;
for heerby not only the English subject
findeth noe indifferency in deciding of his
cause, be it never soe just ; but alsoe the
Queene, as well in all pleas of the crowne, as
also in inquiryes for Escheates, landes at-
t aynted,wardstiips,concealmentes. and all such
like, is abused and exceedingly dammaged.
Iren. You say very true ; for I dare un-
dertake, that at this day there are more at-
taynted landes, concealed from her Majestic,
then she hath now possessions in all Ireland:
and it is noe small inconvenience ; for, beside
that she looseth soe much land as should turne
her to g/eat profitt, she besides looseth soe
many good subjectes, which might be assured
unto her, as those landes would yeld inhab-
itantes and living unto.
Eudox. But doe that people (say you) make
noe more conscience to perjure themselves '
in theyr verdictes, and damne theyr sowles ? :
Iren. Not only soe in theyr verdictes, but
also in all other theyr dealinges ; especially j
toward the English, they are most willfully
bent : for though they will not seeme mani-
festly to doe it, yet will some one or other
suttle-headed fellowe amongest them pike
some quirke, or devise some evasion, wherof
the rest will lightly take hold, and suffer'
themselves easely to" be ledd by him to that]
themselves desired. For in the most appa-
raunt matter that may be. the least question f
or doubt that can be moved will make a;
stopp unto them, and putt them quite out of'-,
the way. Besides that, of themselves they
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
are (for the most part) soe cautelous and
wylye-headed, specially being men of soe small
experience and practize in lawe matters, that
you would wonder whence they borrowe such
subtiltyes and slye shiftes.
Eudox. But, me thinkes, this inconvenience
mought be much helped by the Judges and
Cheif Magestrates which have the choosing
and nominating of those juryes, yf they would
have care to appoynt either most English-
men, or such Irishmen as were of the soundest
iudgemente and disposition ; for noe doubt
»ut some there be incorruptible. «^
I Jren. Some there be indeede as you sav\
/but then would the Irish party crye out "of
partiality, and complayne he hath noe justice,
that he is not used as a subject, that he is
not suffred to have the free benefitt of the
lawe ; and these outcryes the Magistrates there
doe much shunn, as they have cause, since
\ they are soe readily hearkened unto heere :
\neither can it be indeede, allthough the Irish
party would be soe contented to be soe com-
passed, that such English freeholders, which
are but fewe, and such faythful Irishmen,:
wjuch are indeed.?, aa fewp, sh«U allwayes be]
chosen for tryalls ; for being ~soe RiWe, th"ey
should be made weary of theyr free-holdes.
And therfore a good care is to be had by all
good occasions to encrease theyr numbers,
and to plant more by them. But were it soe,
that the juryes could be piked out of such
choyse men as you desire, there would never-
theless be as badd corruption in the tryall ;
for the evidence being brought in bv the base
Irish people, wil be as deceitfull as the
verdictes ; for they care much lesse then the
others what they sweare, and sure their
Lordes may compell them to saie any thinge ;
for I myself have heard, when one of that
base sort (which they call churles) being
challenged, and reproved for his false oth,
hath answered confidently, That his Lord
comaunded him, and it was the least thing
he could doe for his Lord to sweare for him ;
soe inconscionable are these common people,
and so litle feeling have they of God, or theyr
owne sowles good.
Eudox. It is a most miserable case, but
what helpe can there be in this ? for though
the manners of the tryalls should be altered,
yet the proof of every thing must needes
be by testimonyes of such persons as the
partyes shall produce; which yf they shall
corrupt, how can there ever any light of the
trueth appeare? what remedye is there for
this evill, but to make heavy lawes and
penal tyes agaynst juroure?
Iren. I thinke sure that will doc small
good ; for when a people are inclined to any
vice, or have noe touch of conscience, nor
sence of theyr evill doings, it is booteless to
thinke to restrayne them by any penaltyes
or feare of punnishment ; ' but" either the
occasion is to be taken away, or a more
understanding of the" right, and shame of the
fault to be imprinted. For yf that Licurgus
should have made it death for the Lace-
demonians to steale, they being a people
which naturally delighted in stealth ; or yf
it should be made a capitall crime for the
Flemmings to be taken in drounkenness,
there should have bene few Lacedemonians
then 'eft, and fewer Flemmings. Soe impos-
sible it is to remove any fault, soe generall in
a people, with terrour of lawes or most sharpe
restrayntes.
Eudox. What meanes may there then be
to avoyde this inconvenience? for the case
sure seemes very hard.
Iren. We are not yet come to that poynt
to devise remedyes for the evills, but only
are now to recount them ; of the which, this
that I have told you is one defect in the
Common Lawes.
Eudox. Tell us then (I pray you) further,
have you any more of this sort in "the Common
Lawes.
Iren. By rehearsall of this, I remember
also of an other like, which f have often
observed in tryalls to have wrought great
hurt and hindraunce, and that is, the .
tions which the Common Law allowoth a
fellon in his tryall ; for he may have (as you
knowe) thirty-six exceptions pcremptorye
agaynst the jurours, of which he shall shewe
noe cause. By which shift there being (as I
have shewed you) small store of honest jurye
men, he will either putt of his tryall, or
leave it to such men as (perhaps) are not of
the soundest sort, by whose meanes, yf he
can acquitt himself of the crime, as he ia
likely, then will he plague such as were
brought first to be of his jurye, and all such
as made anv party against him. And when
he comes fourth, he will make theyr cowes
and garrans to walke, yf he doe noe other
mischeif to thevr persons.
/•.'/»/" .r. This is a slye devise, but I thinke
it might soone be remedyed ; but we must
leave it awhile with the rest. In the meane-
while goe ve forward with others.
Irtn. There is an other noe less incon-
venient then this, whit-h is the tryall of
accessoryes to fellony ; for, by the Common
Lawe, the accessuryes cannot be proceeded
62O
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
agaynst, till the principall receave his try-
all. Now the case often falleth out in Ireland
that a stealth being made by a rebell, or an
outlawe, the stollen goodes are convayed to
some husbandman or gentellman, which hath
well to take to, and yet liveth most by the
receit of such goodes" stoln, where they are
found by the owner, and handled : wherupon
the party is perhaps apprehended and com-
mitted togoale, or putt upon suretyes, till the
sessions, at which time the owner, preferring
a bill of indictment, prooves sufficiently the
stealth to have bene made upon him by such
an outlaw, and to have bene found in the
possession of the prisoner, agaynst whom,
nevertheless, noe course of lawe can proceede,
or tryall can be had, for that the principall
theifis not to be gotten, notwithstanding
that he likewise standeth perhaps indited at
once with the receaver, being in rebellion, or
in the woodes, whereunto peradventure he
is flowne before he can be gotten, and soe the
receaver clean acquitted and discharged of
the crime. By which meanes the theeves are
greatly encouradged to steale, and theyr
maynfayners emboldened to receave theyr
stealths, knowing howe hardly they can be
brought to any tryall of lawe.
Eudox. Truly" this is a great incon-
venience, and a "great cause (as you say) of
the mayntenaunce of theeves. knowing theyr
receavers allwayes readye; for, were there
noe receavers, there would be noe theeves:
but this (me seemes) might easely be pro-
vided for by some Act of Parliament, that
the receaver, being convicted by good proofe,
might receave his tryall without his principall.
Iren. You say very true, Eudoxus, but it
is allmost impossible to be compassed. And
herin also you discover another imperfection
in the course of the Common Lawe, and tirst
ordinaunce of the realme ; for ye knowe that
the sayd Parliament must consist of the
peeres, gentellmen.feeeholders, and burgesses
of that realme it self. Nowe perhaps these
being themselves, or the most part of them
(as may seeme by their stiff with-standing
of this Act) culpable of this crime, or favour-
ers of theyr frendes, which are such by whom
theyr kitchins are sometime amended, will
not" suffer any such Statut to pass. Yet
hath it oftentimes beene attempted, and in
the time of Sir John Perrot very earnestly
(I remember) laboured, but by noe meanes
could be effected. And not only this, but
many other like, which are as needfull for the
reformation of that realme.
Eudox. This also is surely a great defect,
but we must not talke, you saie, of the re-
dressing of this, untill our second part come,
which purposely therfore is appoynted. Ther-
fore proceede to the recounting of more such
evills, yf you have any more.
lien. There is also a great inconvenience
which hath wrought great dammage both to
her Majesty, and to the common Mrealth.
through close and colourable conveyaunces oi
the landes and goodes of traytors, fellons, and
fugitives. As, when one of them myndeth to
goe into rebellion, he will convay away all his
landes and lordships to feoffees of trust, wher-
by he reserveth unto himself but an estate
for terme of life, which being determined
either by the swoord or by the halter, theyr
landes cometh straight unto theyr heyres,
and the Queue is defrauded of the intent of
the lawe, which layd that grevous punnish-
ment upon tray tours to forfeit all they r landes
to the Prince, to the end that men might be
the rather terrifyed from committing treasons ;
for manye which would litle esteeme of theyr
owne lives, yet for remorse of theyr wives and
children should be withheld from those hay-
nous crimes. This appeareth playnly in the
late Earle of Desmond; for, before his break-
ing foorth into his open rebellion, he had
convayed secretly all his landes to feoffees of
trust, in hope to have cutt of her Majestic
from the escheat of his landes.
Eudox. Yea, but this was well enough
avoyded ; for that Act of Parliament which
gave all his landes to the Quene did (as I
have heard) cut of and frustrat all such con-
veyaunces, as had any time by the space
of twelve yeares before his rebellion, bene
made; within the compass wherof, that fraud-
ulent feoffement, and many other the like of
his accomplices and fellowe traytors, which
were attaynted, hath bene made'voyd.
Iren. Very true, but how hardly that Act
of Parliament was wronge out of them, I can
witness ; and were it to be passed agayne, I
dare undertake it would never be compassed.
But were it soe that such Acts might easely
be brought to pass agaynst traytors and
fellons, yet were it not an endless trouble,
that noe traytour nor fellon should be attayn-
ted, but a Parliament must be called "for
bringing his landes to the Quene, which the
Common-Lawe giveth her.
Eudox. Then this is noe fault of the
Common-Lawe, but of the parsons which
woorke this fraud unto her Majestic.
Iren. Yes, mary ! for the Common-Lawe
hath left them this benefit!, wherof they make
advauntage, and wrest it to theyr badd pur-
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
621
poses. Soe as they are therby the bolder to
enter into evill actions, knowing that, yl" the
•woorst befall them, they shall loose nothing
but themselves, wherof they seeme surely to
be very careless, like as all barbarous people
are, as Caesar in his Comentaryes sayth, very
feareless of daunger.
Eudox. But what meane you of fugitives
herin ? Or how doth this concerne them ?
Jren. Yes, very greatly ; for ye shall un-
derstand that there be many ill disposed and
undutifull parsons of that realme, like as in
this poynt there are also in this realme of
England to many, which being men of good
inheritaunce, are for dislike of religion, or
daunger of the lawe into which they are runn,
or discontented with the present government,
rledd beyond the seas, where they live under
Princes, that are her Majesties professed
enemyes, and converse ana are confederat
with other traytors and fugitives which are
there abiding. The which nevertheless have
the benefit! of theyr landes heere, by pretence
of such colourable conveyaunces therof, form-
erly made by them to theyr privy frendes
heere of trust, whoe secretly doe send over
unto them the sayd revennues, wherwith they
are there mayntayned and enabled agaynst
her Majestie.
Eudox. I doe not thinke that there be
any such fugitives which are releved by the
profh't of theyr landes in England, for there
is a straighter order taken. And yf there
be any such in Ireland, it were good it were
likewise looked unto, for this evill may easely
be remedyed. But proceede.
Iren. It is also inconvenient in that realme
of Ireland, that the wardes and mariadges of
gentellmens children should be in the dispo-
sition of any of those Irish Lordes, as nowe
they are, by reason that theyr landes are held
by kuightes service of those Lordes. By
which meanes it cometh to pass that those
sayd gentellmens children, being thus in the
ward of those Lordes, are not only therby
brought up lewdly, and Irish-like,' but also
for ever after soe bound to theyr services, as
thev will runn with them into any disloyall
action.
Eudox. This greevaunce, Irenaeus, is also
complayned of in England, but howe can it
be remedyed ? since the service must follow
the tenure of the landes, and the landes were
given away by the Kinges of England to
those Lordes, w'hen they first conquered that
realrae ; and, to say trouth, this also would be
some prejudice to the Prince in her wardship.
Iren. I doe not meaiie this by the Prinw:.s
wardes, but by such as fall into the handes
of Irish Lordes ; for I could wish, and this 1
would enforce, that all those wardships were
in the Princes disposition; for then it might
be hoped, that she, for the universal! refor-
mation of that realme, would take better
order for the bringing up of those wardes in
good nurture, and not surfer them to come
into soe badd handes. And though these
thinges be allready passed away, by her
progenitours former grauntes, unto those «ayd
Lordes ; yet I could rind a way to remedye a
great port therof, as herafter, when litt time
serveth. shall appeare. And since we are
entred into speach of such grauntes of former
Princes, to sundry parsons of this realme of
Ireland, I will mention unto you some other,
of like nature to this, and of like inconve-
nience, by which the former Kinges of England
passed unto them a great part of theyr pre-
rogative; which though then it was well
intended, and perhaps well deserved of them
which receaved the same, yet now such a gapp
of mischeif lyeth open therby, that I could
wish it were well stopped. Of this sort are the
grauntes of Countyes Palentines in Ireland,
which though at first were graunted u[K>u
good consideration when they were first con-
quered, for that these landes lav then as a
very border to the wild Irish, subject to con-
tinuall invasion, soe as it was nerdefull to
uivi' them great privileges for the defence of
the inhabitauntes therof; yet now for that it
is noe more a border, nor frontyerd with ene-
myes, why should such privileges be any more
cunt ymied ?
Eudvxus. I would gladly knowe what ye
call a County Palentine, and whence it is soe
called.
Iren. It wts (as I suppose) first named
Palentine of i pale, as it were a pale and de-
fence to theyr inner landes, soe as it is called
the Kngli.»h Pale, nml therfore also is a I'al—
grave named, that is, an Eiirlc Palentine.
Others thinke of the Latine. ftalure, that is
to forrage or out-runn, because the man-ii. r<
and borderers use comonly soe to doe. Soe
as to have a County Palentine is, in effect,
but to have a privilege to s|xpyle the enemyes
borders adjoyning. And surely soe it u used
at this day, as a privileged place of spoylea
and -lealthes; for the County of Tip|*rarye,
which is nowe the onely Connive I'aleiiiinn
MI Ireland, is, by abuse of some badd ones,
made a receptacle to robb the rest of the
Connives almut it. by meanes ..f wln.sc jirivi-
li-^e-i none will followe iheyr Mealthes, soe U
it, being situat in the very lapp of all the
622
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
land, is made nowe a border, which how
inconvenient it is lett every man judge. And
though that right noble man, that is the Lord
of the libertye doe endevour himself all that
he may to yeeld equall justice unto all, yet
can there not but great abuses lurke in soe
inward and absolute a privilege, the consider-
ation wherof is to be respected carefully, for
the next succession. And much like unto
this graunte there are alsoe other privileges
graunted unto most of the corporations there ;
that they shall not be bound to any other
government then theyr owne, that they shall
not be charged with garrisons, that they shall
not be traveled foorth of theyre owne fraun-
chises, that they may buye and sell with
theeves and rebells, that all amercementes
and fines that shal be imposed upon them
shall come unto themselves. All which,
though at the time of theyr first graunt they
were tollerable, and perhaps reasonable, yet
nowe are most unreasonable and inconvenient;
but all these will easely be cutt of with the
superiour power of her "Majesties prerogative,
agaynst which her owne grauntes are not to be
pleaded or enforced.
Eudox. Nowe truly, Irenaeus, ye have
(me seemes) very well handled this poynt,
touching the inconveniences in the Common
Lawe there, by you observed ; and it seemeth
that you have a myndfull regard unto the
thinges that may concerne the good of that
realme. And yf you can as well goe
through with the* Statute Lawes of that land,
I will thinke you have not lost all your
time there. Therfore, I pray you, now take
them in hand, and tell us what you thinke
to be amiss in them.
Iren. The Statutes of that realme are not
many, and therfore we shall the sooner runn
through them. And yet of these fewe there
are sundrye impertinent and unnecessarye:
the which perhaps, though at the time of the
making of them were very needefull, yet
nowe through chaunge of time are cleane
antiquated, and altogither idle : as that
which forbiddeth any to weare theyr beardes
on the upper lipp, and none under the chinn :
that which putteth away saffron shirtes and
smockes ; that which restrayneth the use of
gilt bridles and petronells; that which is
appoynted to the recorders and clarkes of
Dublin and Drogheda, to take but two pence
for the copye of a playnt; that which
commaundeth bowes and arrowes ; that
which maketh that all Irishmen that shall
converse amongest the English shal be
taken for spyes, and soe punnished; that
which forbiddeth persons ameanable to lawe
to enter and distrayne in the landes in
which they have title ; and many other the
like I could rehearse.
Eudox. These, which you have repeated,
seeme very frivolous and fruiteless ; for by
the breach of them litle dammage or incon-
venience can come to the Common-wealth :
Neither, indeede, yf any transgress them, shall
he seeme woorthy of punnishment, scarce of
blame, saving for that they beare the name of
lawes. But lawes ought to be such, as that
the keeping of them should be greatly for
the behoofe of the Common-wealth, and the
vyolating of them should be very haynous,
and sharply punnished. But tell us of some
more waighty dislikes in the Statutes then
these, and that may more behoofully import
the reformation of them.
Iren. There is one or two Statutes which
make the wrongfull distrayning of any mans
goodes agaynst the forme of the Common
Lawe to be felony. The which Statutes
seeme surely to have bene at first ment for
the great good of the realme, and for
restrayning of a fowle abuse, which then
raigned commonly among that people^ and
yet is not altogither laved aside; that when
any one was indetted to another, he would
first demaund his dett, and, yf he were not
payed, he would straight goe and take a
distress of his goodes and chattels, where he
could find them, to the valewe : the which
he would keepe till h» were satisfyed, and this
the simple churle (as they call him) doth com-
monly use to doe yet through ignoraunce of
his misdoing, or evill use that hath long set-
tled amongest them. But this, though it be
sure most unlawfull, yet surely (me seemes)
to hard to make it death, since there is noe
purpose in the other party to steale the others
goodes, or to conceale the distress, but doth
it openly, for the most part before witnesses.
And agayne, the same Statutes are soe slack-
lye penned (besides the later of them is soe
unsensibly contryved that it scarce carryeth
any reason in it) that they are often and very
easely wrested to the fraud of the subject ; as
yf one going to distrayne upon his owne land
or tenement, where lawfully he may, yet yf
in doing therof he transgress the least "poynt
of the Common Lawe, he straight committeth
felonye. Or yf one by any other occasion
take any thing from another, as boies
use sometymes to cappe on another, the
same is straight felonye. This is a verve
hard lawe.
Eudox Nevertheless the evill use in dis-
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
623
trayning another mans goodes, you will not
•jenye but it is to be abolished and taken
away.
Iren. It is soe, but not by taking away
the subject withall ; for that is to violeut a
medecine, especially this use being per-
mitted, and made lawfull unto some, and to
other some death. As. to most of the
corporal townes, there it is graunted by
theyr charter, that they may, every man by
himself, without any officer (for that were
more tolerable) for ai.y dett, to distrayne the
goodes of any Irish, being found within
theyr libertye, or but passing through theyr
townes. And the first permission of this
was for that in those times when that graunt
was made, the Irish were not ameanable to
lawe, soe (is it was not safetye for the townes-
men to goe to them foorth to demaund theyr
dett, nor possible to drawe him into lawes,
so that he had leave to be his owne bayliff,
to arrest his dettors goodes within his owne
fraunchise. The which the Irish seeing
thought it was lawfull for them to distrayne
the townesmens goodes in the countrey where
they found it. And soe, by the example of
thatgraunteof the townes-men, they thought
it lawfull, and made it a use to distrayne
one anothers goodes for small detts. And
to say trueth, me thinkes it is hard for
everye tryfling dett, of two or three shil-
lings to be driven to lawe, which is soe farr
from them sometimes to be sought; for
which me thinkes it an heavye ordinaunce to
give death, especially to a rude man that is
ignoraunt of lawe, and thinketh a common use
or graunte to other men is a lawe for him-
self.
Eudox. Yea, but the judge, when it
cometh before him to tryall, may easelye
decide this doubt, and lay open the intent
of the lawe by his better discretion.
Iren. Yes) but it is daungerous to leave
the sence of the lawe unto the reason or will
of the judges, whoe are men and may be
miscarryed by affections, and many other
meanes." But the lawcs ought to be like
unto stonye tables, playne, stedfast, and
immoveable. There is also such another
Statute or two, which make Coygnye and
Liverye to be treason, noe less inconvenient
then the former, being, as it is penned, how
ever the first purpose therof were expedient ;
for therby now noe man can goe into another
mans howse for lodgings, nor to his owne
tenaunts howse to take victuall by the way,
notwithstanding that there is noe other
meanes for him to have lodging, nor horse
meate, nor mans meate. there being noe
Innes, nor none otherwise to be bought for
mony, but that he is endammaged to the
Statute of treason, whensoever he shall
happen to fall out with his tenaunt, or that
his saycl host list to complaync of grevaunce,
as oftentimes I have scene them very
maliciously doe through the least provo-
cation.
Eudox. I doe not well knowe, but by gess,
what you doe meane by these tennes of
Coygnye and Liverye : therfore I pray you
explane them.
Iren. I knowe not whether the woordes be
English or Irish, but I suppose them rather
to be auncient English, for the Irishmen can
make noe derivation nor analogye of them.
What Liverye is, we by common use in Eng-
land knowe well enough, namelye, that it is
allowaunce of horse-meate, as they commonly
use the woord in stabling, as to keepe horses
at liverye ; the which woord, as I gess, is de-
rived of livering or delivering foorth thoyr
nightlye foode. Soe in great bowses, the li-
verye is sayd to be served up for all night,
that is theyr nyghtes allowaunce for drinke.
And Liverye is also called the upper gar-
ment which sen-ing men weareth, soe called
(as I suppose) for that it is delivered and
taken from him at pleasure : soe it is appar-
aunt, that by the woord Liverye is meant
horse-meate,"like as by the woord Coygnye is
understood mans-meafe ; but how the woord
is derived is very hard to tell : some say of
coyne, because they used commonly in tlu-yr
Coygnyes, not only to take meate, but coyne
also ; and that taking of mony was specially
ment to be prohibited by that Statute : but I
think rather that this woord Coignye in de-
rived of the Irish. ^The which is a common
use amongest the Irish landlordes, to have a
common spending upon theyr tenauntes; for
all theyr tenauntes, being commonly but
tenauntes at will, they use to take of them
what victualls they list, for of victuall- tlu-y
were wont to make small reckning : neither
in this were the tenauntes wronged, for it was
an ordinarye and knowen custom^ and his
Lord commonlye used soe to covenaunt with
him, which yf" at any time the tenaunt mis-
liked, he might freelyc depart at his pliMiin.
But now bv this Statute the sayd Irish Lord
is wronged, for that he ia cutt of from his
customarye sen-ices of the which this was
one, besides many more of the like, as Cudil-
eehih, Cosshirh, BOOMfht, Shragh. Sorvhim.
and such like; the which (I think) at nr«t
were customea brought in bv the English
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
upon the Irish, for they were never woont,
and yet are very loth to yeld any certayne
rent, but onely such spendinges, saying com-
monly, ' Spend me and defend me.'
Eudox. Surely I take it as you say, that
therin the Irish Lordes hath greate wronge,
since it was an auncient custome, and nothing
contrarye to lawe, for to the willing there is
noe wrong done. And this right well I wote,
that even heere in England, there are in many
places as large customes as that of Coignye
and Liverye. But I suppose by your speach,
that it was the first meaning of the Statute
to forbidd the violent taking of victualls upon
other mens tenauntes agaynst theyr willes,
which surely is a great outrage, aud yet not
soe great (me seemes) as that it should be
made treason : for considering that the nature
of treason is concerning the realme, estate or
person of the King, or practising with his
enemyes, to the derogation and daunger of
his crowne and dignitye ; it is hardly wrested
to make this treason. But (as you earst
sayd) ' better a mischeif then an incon-
venience.'
Iren. Another Statute I remember, which
having beene an auncient English custome
is now upon advisement made an Irish lawe,
and that is called the Custome of Kin-cogish,
which is, that every head of every sept, and
every cheif of every kinred or familye, should
be answerable and bound to bring foorth every
one of that kinred or sept under hym at all
times to be justified, when he should be re-
quired or charged with any treason, felonye,
or other haynous crime.
Eudox. Why, surely this seemes a very
necessary lawe. For considering that many
of them be such losells and scatterlings, as
that they cannot easely by any sheriff, con-
stable, bayliff, or other ordinarye officer be
gotten, when they are challenged for any such
fact ; this is a very good meane to gett them
to be brought in by him, that is the head of
that sept, or cheif of that howse : wherfore I
wonder what just exception you can make
agaynst the same.
Iren. Trewe, Eudoxus, in the pretence of
the good of that Statute you have nothing
erred, for it seemeth very expedient and ne-
cessarye ; but the hurt which cometh therby
is greater then the good. For. whilest every
cheif of a sept standeth soe bound to the lawe
for every one of his bloudor sept that is under
him, inclusive everie one of his sept is put
under him, and he made greate by the com-
maunding of them all. For yf he may not
comaunde them, then that lawe doth wrong
which bindeth him to bring them foorth to
be justified : and yf he may comaunde them,
then he may comaunde them aswell to ill
as to good, whereby the lordes and captayns
of countreyes, and the principall and heades
of septs, are made stronger, when it should
be a most speciall care in policye to weaken
them, and to set up and strengthen divers
of his underlinges agaynst him, which,
whensoever he shall offer to swarve from
dutye may be able to beard him : for it is
very daungerous to leave the comaund of soe
many as some septs are, being five or six
thousand persons, to the will of one man,
whoe may leade them to what he will, as he
himself shal be inclyned.
Eudox. In very deede, Irenseus, it is very
daungerous, especially seing the disposition
of those people is not allwayes inclinable to
the best. And therfore I hold it noe wise-
dome to leave unto them to much comaund
over theyr kinred, but rather to withdrawe
theyr followers from them asmuch as may be,
and to gather them under the comaunde of
lawe by some better meane then this custome
of Kin-cogish. The which woord I woulde
be gladd to knowe what it namely signifyeth,
for the meaning therof I'seeme to understand
reasonable well.
Iren. It is a woord mingled of the Eng-
lish and Irish togither, soe as I am partly ledd
to thinke, that the custome therof was first
English, and afterwardes made Irish ; for such
an other lawe they had heere in England, as
I remember, made'by King Alured, that every
gentellman should continually bring foorth
his kinred and followers to the lawe. Soe Kin
is English, and Cogish signifyeth affinity in
Irish.
Eudox. Siththen we have thus reasonably
handled the inconvenience in the lawes, lett
us now pass unto the second part, which was,
as I remember, of the abuses of customes ;
in which, me seemes, you have a fayre cham-
pian layd open unto you, in which you may
at large stretch out your discourse into many
sweete remembraunees of antiquityes, from
whence it seemeth that the customs of that
countrey proceeded.
Iren. Indeede, Eudoxus, you say very true;
for alle the customes of the Irish, which I
have often noted and compared with that I
have reade, would minister occasion of most
ample discourse of the first originall of them,
and the antiquitye of that people, which in
trueth I doe thinke to be more auncient then
most that I knowe in this end of the world ;
soe as yf it were in the handling of some man
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 625
of sound judgement and plentiful! reading it
would be mostpleasaunt and proffitable. But
it may be we may, at some other time of
meeting, take occasion to treat therof more at
large. Heere onely it shall suffice to touche
such customes of the Irish as seeme offensive,
and repugnaunt to the good government of
that realme.
Eudox. Followe then your owne course, for
I shall the better content my self to forbeare
my desire nowe, in hope that you will, as you
sav, some other time more aboundantlv satis-
fye it.
//•en. Before we enter into the treatise of |
theyr customes, it is first needfull to consider
from whence they first sprong; for from
the sundry manners of the nations, from \
whence that people which now are called j
Irish were derived, some of the customes
that now remayne amongest them have bene
first fetcht, and since they have bene con-
tinued amongest them ; for not of one nation
was that people, but of many and of different
conditions and manners. But the cheifest
which have first possessed, and inhabited it,
I suppose to be Scythians, which at such
time as the Northerne Nations overflowed all
Christendome, came downe to the sea-cost,
where enquiring for other countreyes abrode,
and getting intelligence of this countrey of
Ireland, finding shipping convenient, passed
over thither, and arrived in the North-part
therof, which is now called Ulster, which
first inhabiting, and afterwardes stretching
themselves further into the land as theyr
numbers encreased, named it all of themselves
Scuttenland, which more breifly is called
Scutland, or Scotland.
Eudox. I wonder (Irenteus) whither you
runne soe farre astraie; for whylest wee
talke of Ireland, me thinkes you rip upp
thoriginall of Scotlande, but what is that to
this?
Iren. Surelyc verve much, for Scotlande
and Ireland are all one and the same.
Eudox. That seemeth more straunge ; for
we all knowe right well they are distinguished,
with a great sea running betwene them ; or
els there are two Scotlands.
Iren. Never the more are there two
Scotlands, but two kindes of Scotts there were
rivod (as I sayd) in the North partes of Ire-
land, where some of them afterwnrdcs passt-
into the next coast of Albin. now called
Scotland, which (aaer much trouble) they
possessed, and of themselves named it Scot-
land; but in process of time (as is commonly
seene) the denomination of the part prevayleel
in the whole, for the Irish Scottes putting
away the name of Scottes, were called onely
Irish, and the Albin Scottcs, leaving the
name of Albin, were called onely Scottea.
Therfore it cometh that of sonic writers
Ireland is called Scotia-major, and that which
nowe is called Scotland, is named Scotia-
minor.
Eudox. I doe now well understand your
distinguishing of the two sortes of Scottes,
and two Scotlandes, how that thi-> which i*
now called Ireland was auncicntly called
Irin, and afterwardes of some writer-
land, and that which now is called Scot-
land was formerly called Albin, before the
coming of the Scottes thither: but what
other nation inhabited the other partes of
Ireland ?
Irm. After this people thus planted In
the North, or before, (for the certayntye of
times in thingcs soe farr from all knowledge
cannot be justly avouched) another nation
coming out of Spayne arrived in the \Vrst
part of Ireland, and finding it wast, or
weakely inhabited, possessed it : who whether
they were native Spaynyards, or Gaulem
or Aftrieans, or Gothes, or some other of
those Northerne Nations which did over-
spredd all Christendome, it is impossible to
aifirme, onely some naked conjectures may
be gathered, but that out of Spayne cortmynly
they came, that doe all the Irish Chronicles
agree.
Eudox. You doe very boldly, Irenieus, ad-
venture upon the histbrve of soe auncient
times, and leane to confidently unto those
rrish Chronicles which are roost fabulous
and forged, in that out of them you dare
take in hand to lay open the originall of
such a nation soe antique, as that !)<*• monu-
ment remayneth of her beginning and first
inhabiting 'there ; specially having t>one in
those times allwayes without letters, but
onely bare traditio'ns of times and rcmem-
brau'nces of MAUDES, which use to forge and
falsifye even- thing as they list, to please or
displease any man.
Iren. Truly I must confess I doe »oe, bat
vet not soe absolutely as you suppose. I doe
nerin reive upon those Hard- «T bUlGhMH
niclers, though the Irish themselves, through
ilicyr igiioraunce in matters of Ic.-iniing and
deem jodgwnat, doe most constantly U lc\c
ami avouch thrm, hut unto tlii-m I-
add mv owne reading; and out of tht-m botb
6?.6
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
togither, with comparison of times, likewise
of manners and customes, affinitye of woordes
and names, propertyes of natures and uses,
resemblances of rytes and ceremonyes, monu-
mentes of churches and tombes, and many
other like circumstaunces. I doe gather a like-
lihood of trueth ; not certaynly affirming any
tiling, but by conferring of times, languages,
monument.es, and such like, I doe hunte out
a probabilitye of thinges, which I leave to
your judgement to beleve or refuse. Never-
theless there be some very auncieut authors
which make mention of these thinges. and
some moderne, which by comparing them
with present times, experience, and theyr
owne reason, doe open a windowe of great
light unto the rest that is yet unseene ; as
namely, of the older Caesar, Strabo, Tacitus,
Ptolomie, Plinie, Pompeius Mela, and Bero-
BUS : of the later, Vincentius, ^Eneas Silvius,
Luddus, Buekhanan ; of all which I doe give
most credit unto Buckhannn, for that he him-
self, being an Irish Scott or Picte by nation,
and being very excellently learned, and in-
dustrious to seeke out the trueth of these
thinges concerning the originall of his owne
people, hath both sett downe the teslimonyes
of the auucientes truely, and his owne opinion,
withall very reasonably, though in some
thinges he doth somewhat flatter. Besides,
the Bards and Irish Chroniclers themselves,
though throughe desire of pleasing perhaps
to much, and through ignoraunce of arte and
purer learning, they have clouded the trueth
of those times ; yet there appeareth amongest
them some reliques of the true antiquitye,
though disguised, which a well-eyed man may
happely discover and find out.
Eudox. Howe can there be any trueth in
(Jicin at all, since the auncient nations which
first inhabited Ireland were altogither desti-
tute of letters, much more of learning, by
which they might leave the veritye of
thinges written. And those Bards, coming
alsoe soe many hundred yeares after, could
not knowe what was done in former ages, nor
deliver certayntye of any thing, but what
they fayned out of theyr unlearned heades.
Iren. Those Bardes indede, Caesar writeth,
deliver noe certayne trueth of any thing,
neither is there any certayne hold to be
taken of any antiquitye which is receaved by
tradition, since all men be lyars, and may lye
when they will ; but yet for the antiquitye
of the written Chronicles of Ireland give me
leave to say something, not to justifye them,
but to shewe that some of them might say
trueth. For where ye say that the Irish have
all waves bene without letters, ye are therin
much deceaved,for it is certayne, that Ireland
hath had the use of letters very aunciently,
and long before England.
Eudox. Is it possible ? Howe comes it
then that they are soe barbarous still and
soe unlearned, being soe old schollers '? For
learning (as the Poet sayth) ' Emollit mores,
nee sinit esse feros:' whence then (I pray
you) could they have those letters ?
Iren. It is hard to say : for whether the}'
at theyr first coming into the land, or after-
wardes by trading with other nations which
had letters, learned them of them, or devised
them amongest themselves, it is very doubt-
full ; but that they had letters aunciently it is
nothing doubtfull. for the Saxons of England
are sayd to have theyr letters, and learning,
and learned men, from the Irish, and that also
appeareth by the likeness of the characters, for
the Saxons character is the same with the Irish.
Now the Scithyans never, as I can reade, of
old had letters amongest them : therfore it
seemeth that they had them from that nation
which came out of Spayne, for'in Spayne ther
was (as Strabo writeth) letters aunciently
used, whether brought unto them by the Phce-
nesians, or Persians, which (as it appeareth
by him) had some footing there, or from
Marseilles, which is sayd to have bene in-
habited first by the Greekes, and from them
to have had the Greeke character; of which
Marsilians it is sayd, that the Gaules learned
them first, and used them only for the fur-
theraunce of theyr trades and private busi-
ness: for the Gaules (as is strongly to be
prooved by many auncient and authentycal
writers) did first" inhabite all the sea-cost of
Spayne, even unto Cales and the mouth of
the Streits, and peopled also a great parte
of Italye, which appeareth bysundrye cittyes
and havens in Spayne called of them, ai
Portingallia, Gallicia, Galdunum : and alsofc
by sundrye nations therin dwelling, whicl
yet have receaved theyr owne names of tht
Gaules, as the Rhegni, Presamarci, Tamariti,
Nerii, and divers others. All which Pompeius
Mela, being himself a Spanyard, yet sayeth
to have descended from the Celties of Framed
wherhy it is to be gathered, that that nation
which came out of Spayne into Ireland were
aunciently Gaules, and that they brought
with them those letters which they had learned
in Spayne, first into Ireland, the which some
also say doe much resemble the old Phoeni-
cian character, being likewise distinguished
with pricke and accent, as theyrs aunciently ;
but the further enquirye therof needeth a
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 627
place of longer discourse then this our short
conference.
Eudox. Surely you have shewed a great
probabilitye of that which I had thought
impossible to have bene proved ; but that
which you now say, that Ireland should have
bene peopled with the Gaules, seemeth much
more straunge, for all theyr Chronicles doe
say, that the west and south was possessed
and inhabited of Spanyards : and Cornelius
Tacitus also doth strongly affirme the same,
all which you must overthrowe and falsifye,
or renounce your opinion.
Iren. Neither soc, nor soe ; for the Irish
Chronicles (as I sayd unto vou) being made
by unlearned men, and writing thinges ac-
cording to the appearaunce of the trueth
which they conceaved, doe err in the circurn-
stannces, not in the matter. For all that
came out of Spayne (they being noe diligent
searchers into the differences of nations) sup-
posed them to be Spanyards, and soe called
them ; but the groundwoorke thereof is never-
theless as I rayd true and certayne, however
they through ignoraunce disguise the same, or
through theirownevanitye( while they would
not seeme to be ignoraunt ), doe therupon build
and enlarge many forged historves of theyr
owne antiquitye, which they deliver to fooles,
and make them believe them for trewe : as for
example, that first of one Gathelus the sonn
of Cecrops or Argos, who having marryed
the King of ^Egipts daughter, thence sayled
with her into Spayne, and there inhabited :
Then that of Nemed and his fowre sonnes,
who coming out of Scytnia peopled Ireland,
and inhabited it with his sonnes two hundred
and fiftye yeares untill he was overcome of the
Gvauntes dwelling then in Ireland, and at
last quite banished and rooted out, after
whom two hundred yeares, the sonnes of one
Dela, being Scythyans, arrived there agayne,
and possessed* the whole land, of which" the
voungest, called Slevins, in the end made
himself monarch. Lastly, of the fowre
sonnes of Mylesius King of Spayne, which
conquered that land from the Scythyans, and
inhabited it with Spanyardes, and called
it of the name of the youngest, Hiberus,
Hybernia: all which are in very trueth
fables, and very Mylesian lyes (as the Latine
proverbe is), for never was'there such a King
of Spayne called Mylesius, nor any such
colonie" seated with" his aonnes, as they
fayne, that can ever be prooved; but yet
under these tales ye may in a manner see ,
the trueth lurke. For Scythians, heere in- >
habiting, they name and doe puf Spanyards, I
wherby appeareth that both those nations
heere inhabited, but whether very Spanyard*,
as the Irish greatlye affect, ij noe waves to
be prooved.
Eudox. Whence cometh it then that
the Irish doe soe greatly covett to fetch
themselves from the Spayniards, since the
old Gaules are a more aiincient and much
more honorable a nation ?
Iren. Even soe of a very desire of new
fangleness and vanitye, for being as they are
nowe accounted the most barbarous nation in
Christendome they to avoyde that repnx-hi
would derive themselves from the Span-
yards, whom they nowe see to be a very
honorable people, and next bordering unto
them : but all that is most vayne ; for from
the Spanyard that nowe is, or that peoplf
that nowe inhabites Spayne, they noe wave*
can approove themselves to discend ; neither
should it be greatly glorious unto them ; for
the Spanyard, that nowe is, is come from at
rude and savage nations as they, there being,
as it may be gathered by course of age*
and viewe of theyr owne historves, (though
they therin laboure much to ennoble them-
selves) scarce any dropp of the old Spanish
bloud left in them : for all Spayne was first
conquered by the Remains, and filled with
colonyes from them, which were still en-
creased, and the native Spanyard still cutt
of. Afterwardes the Carthageniam in all the
long Punicke Warres (having spoyled all
Spavne, and in the end subdued it wholye
to themselves) did, as it is likelye, root* out
all that were affected to the Rotnayns. And
lastly the Romaynes.havingagayne recovered
that count n-y Mul l>ett out Hannibal], did
doubtless cutt of all that favoured the Car-
thagenians, soe that betwixt them both, to
and froo, there was scarce a native Spanyard
left, but all inhabited of Romavns. * All
which tempcstes of troubles being over,
blowen, there long after arose a newe storme,
more dreadful! then all the former, which
over-rann all Spayne, and made an infinite
confusion of all thinges; that was. the com-
ing downe of the Gothes, the Hunnen, and
the Vandals : And lastly all the nations of
Scythva, which, like a niountaynr tlmle. did
over-dowe all Spayne, and quite drowne and
wash away whatsoever rehckes there were
left of the'land-bredd people, yea, and of all
the Romayns to. The which Nnrtheme na-
tions finding the complexion of that toyle,
and the vehement heatc there farr differing
from thoyr natures, tooke noe felicitye in
that countrey, but from thence patted over,
-
628
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
and did spredd themselves into all countreys
in Christendome, of all which there is none
but hath some mixture and sprinckling, yf
not through peopling of them. And yet
after all these the Moores and Barbarians,
breaking over out of Africa, did finally pos-
sess all Spayne. or the most part therof, and
did tredd downe under theyr heathenish
feete whatever litle they found there yet
standing. The which, though afterward
they were beaten out by Ferdinando of Ara-
gon and Isabell his wife, yet they were
not soe clensed, but that through the mar-
riadges which they had made, and mixture
with the people of the land, during theyr
long continuaunce there, they had left noe
pure dropp of Spanish bloud, noe more of
Komayne, nor of Scythyan. Soe that of all
nations under heaven (I suppose) the Span-
yard is the most mingled, most uncertayne,
and most bastardly ; wherfore most foolishlye
doe the Irish thinketo ennoble themselves by
wresting theyr auncientrye from the Spayn-
yarde, who is unable to derive himself from
any certayne.
Eudnx. You speake very sharpely, Irae-
neus, in dishonour of the Spanyard, whom
some other boast to be the only brave nation
under the skye.
Iren. Soe surely he is a very brave man ;
neither is that which I speake anything to
his derogation, for in that I saved he is a
mingled nation, it is noe disprayse, for I
thinke there is noe nation nowe in Christen-
dome, nor muche further, but is mingled, and
compounded with others : for it was a singular
providence of God, and a most admirable
purpose of his wisedome, to drawe those
northerne heathen nations downe into these
Christian partes, where they might receave
Christianitye, and to mingle nations soe re-
mote myraculously, to make, as it were, one
kinred and bloud of all people, and ech to
have knowlege of him.
Eudnx. Neither have you sure any more
dishonoured the Irish, for you have brought
them from very great and auncient nations,
as any were in the world, how ever fondly
they affect the Spanish. For both Scythians
and Gaules were two as mightye nations as
ever the world brought foorth. But is there
any token, denomination, or monument of the
Gaules yet rerhaynyng in Ireland, as there is
of the Scythians ?
Iren. Yea surely very many woordes of
the Gaules remayning, and yet daylye used in
common speache.
JEadox. Why what was the Gaulish
speach? is there any part of it still used
amongest any nation ?
Iren. The Gaulish speach is the very
Brittish, the which was very generally used
heere in all Brittayne before the coming in
of the Saxons ; and yet is retayned of the
Walshnuen, the Cornishmen, and the Brittons
of Fraunce, though time, woorking the al-
teration of all thinges, and the trading and
interdeale with other nations rounde about,
have chaunged and greatly altered the dialect
therof: but yet the originall woordes appeare
to be the same, as whoe that list to read in
Camden and Buckhanan, may see at large.
Besides, ther be many places, as havens,
hills, townes, and castles, which yet beare
names from the Gaules, of the which Bucha-
nan reherseth above 300 in Scotland, and I
can (I thinke) recount neere as manie in
Ireland which retaine the old denomination
of the Gaules, as the Menapii, the Cauci, the
Venti, and others : by all which and many
other very reasonable probabilityes (which this
short course will not suffer to be laved foorth)
it appeareth that the cheif inhabitauntes in
Ireland were Gaules, coming thither first out
of Spayne, and afterwardes from besides
Tanais, where the Gothes, the Hunnes, and
the Getes sate downe, they also being (as it
is sayd of some) auncient Gaules; and lastly
passing out of Gallia it self, from all the sea-
coste of Belgia and Celtica, into al the
southerne coastes of Ireland, which they
possessed and inhabited, wherupon it is at
this day, amongest the Irish a common use
to call any straunge inhabitaunt there
amongest them, Gaull, that is, discended
from the Gaules.
Eudox. This is very likely, for even soe
did those Gaules aunciently possess and
people all the southerne coastes of our
Brittayne, which yet retayne theyr old
names, as the BelgfB in Sommersettshire,
Wiltshire, and part of Hampshire, the Atre-
batii in Barkshire, Regni in Sussex and Sur-
rey, and many others. Nowe thus farr then
I understand your opinion, that the Scythians
planted in the North partes of Ireland; the
Spanyards (for soe we will call them, what
ever they were that came from Spayne) in
the West ; the Gaules in the South : soe that
there nowe remayneth tlia East partes to-
wardes England, "which I would be gladd to
understand from whence you thinke they
were peopled.
Iren. Man-, I thinke from the Brittons
themselves, of which though there be litle
footing now remayning, by reason that the
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
629
Saxons afterwardes, and lastly the English,
driving out all ths inhabitauntes therof, did
possess and people it themselves. Yet
amongest the Tooles, the Brinnes, the
Kavanaghs, and other nations in Leinster,
there is some memorye of the Brittons
remayning; as the Tooles are called of the
old Brutish woord Tol, that is, an hill
countrey, the Brinnes of the Brittish woord
Brin, that is, woodes, and the Kavanaghs of
the woord Kaun, that is, stronge ; soe that in
these three people the very denomination of
the old Brittons doth still remayne. Besides,
when any ttyeth under the succour or protec-
tion of any" agaynst an encmye, he cryeth
unto him, "Cummurreeih, that is in Brittish
helpe, for they call theyr owne language,
Cummeraig. Furthermore to proove the same,
Ireland is by Diodorus Siculua, and by
Strabo, called Britannia, and a part of
Great Brittayne. Finally it appeareth by
good record yet extant, that King Arthur,
and before him Gurgunt, had all that Hand
in his alleageaunce and subjection : herunto I
could add manye probabilityes of the names
of places, persons, and speeches, as I did in
the former, but they should be to longe for
this time, and I reserve them for anothee
And thus you have had my opinion, howe ail
that realme of Ireland was first peopled, and
by what nations. After all which the Sa:
succeeding, subdued it wholy unto themselves.
For first Egfrid, Kinge of Northumberlande,
did utterly wast and subdue it, as it appeareth
out of Bede his complaynt agaynst him ; fend
afterwardes King Edgar brought it unUer
his obedience, as it appeareth by an auncieX^
record, in which it is found written that he
subdued all the Hands of the Norlh, even
unto Norway, and them the king did bring
into his subjection.
Eudox. This ripping up of auncient his-
toryes, is very pleasing unto me, and indeede
savoureth of good conceite, and some reading
withall. I see heerby howe profitable tra-
vell, and experience of forreine nations, is to
him that will applye them to good pur-
pose. Neither indeede would I have thought,
that any such antiquityes could have bene
avouched for the Irish, that maketh me the
more to long to see some more of your obser-
vations, which ye have gathered out of that
countrey, and have erst half promised to putt
foorth: and sure in this mingling of nations
appeareth (as you erst have well noted) a
wonderfull providence and purpose or Ali-
mio-htve God, that stirred up that people oi
the°farthest partes of the woorld to seeke out
those regions so remote from them, and by
that meanes both to restore thcvr •!•
habitations, and to make himself know en to
the Heathen. But was there. I pray you,
noe more generall winning of that Hand,
then first by the Scytliinns, which you say
'; were the Scotts, and afterwardes by ^pnn-
i yards, besides the Gaules, Brittons, and
| Saxons ?
Irtii. Yes, there was an other, and that
I the last and the greatest, which was by the
' English, when the Earle Strangbowe, having
[ conquered that land, delivered up the same
[ unto the handes of Henry the second, then
j King, whoe sent over thither great store ol
S gentellmen, and other warlick people, among-
est whom he distributed the land, and settled
such a strong colonye therin, as never since
could, with all the subtill practises of the
Irish, be rooted out, but abide still a mighty
people, of soe many as remayne English of
them.
Eudox. What is this that you say, of soe
many as return iin Fii|'.IMi uf lluut-J-^V"
are npfrtiey that were once English abi
English still ?
Iren. Noe, for the most part of them are
degenerated and growen allmost meere Irish,
yea and more malicious to the English then
the very Irish themselves.
Eudox. What heare I V And is it possible
that an Englishman, brought up naturally in
such sweete civilitye as England •JbonM,
can find such liking in that barbarous rude-
ness, that he should forgett his owne nature,
and forgoe his owne nation ? how may this
be, or what (I pray you) may be the cause
hereof? .,, .
•^Iren. Surely, nothing but the first cvj]l/
ordinaurice and institution of that C
wealth. But therof now is here noe titt place
to speake, least, by the occasion therof <>fl«T-
ing matter of a long discourse, we might be
drawen from this that we have in hand, name-
ly, the handling of abuses in the customes of
Ireland.
Eudox. In tnicth, Irciunis, you do well i
member the plott of your first purpose { w
yet from that (me seemea) ye have mud
'swarved in all this long discourse, of the first
inhabiting of Ireland ; for what is that to
your purpose V
Iren. Trulye verv materiall; for yf ye
marked the course of all that speach well, It
was to shewe by what meanes the ciistoraes,
that nowe are in Ireland, being some of them
indeede verv straunge and allmost heathenish,
were first brought in: and that was, as I sayd,
630
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
by those nations from whom that countrey
was first peopled ; for the difference of man-
ners and customes doeth followe the differ-
ence of nations and people : the which I have
declared unto you to have bene thre speciall,
which seated themselves there ; to witt, first
the Scythians, then the Gaules, and lastly
the English. Notwithstanding that I ain not
ignoraunt, that there were sundrye other na-
tions which gott footing in that land, of the
which there yet remayne diverse great fami-
lyes and septs, of whom I will also in theyr
proper places make mention.
Kudox. You bring your self, Irenaeus,
very well into the way agayne, notwithstand-
ing that it seemeth that ye were never out
of the way, but nowe that ye have passed
through those antiquityes, which I could have
wished not soe soone ended, beginn, when you
please, to declare what customes and manners
have bene derived from those nations to the
Irish, and which of them you find fault with-
all.
Iren. I will then begin to count theyr
customes in the same order that I counted
theyr nations, and first with the Scythian or
Scottish manners. Of the which there is one
use amongest them, to keepe theyr cattell,
and to live themselves the most part of the
yeare in bolyes, pasturing upon the
tayn, and wast wild places; and removi
still to fresh land, as they have depastu
the former. The which appeareth playnelto
be the manner of the Scythians, as you m
reade in Olaus Magnus, and Jo. BohemusS
and yet is used amongest all the Tartarians
and the people about the Caspian Sea, which
are naturally Scythians, to live in heardes as
they call them, being the very same that the
Irish bolyes are, driving theyr cattell contin-
ually with them, and feeding onely upon
theyr milke and white meates.
Eudox, What fault can ye find with this
custome ? for though it be an old Scythian
use. yet it is very behoofull in that countrey
of Ireland, where there are greate mountaynes,
and wast desartes full of grasse, that the
same should be eaten downe, and nourish
many thousand of cattell for the good of the
whole realme, which cannot (me thinkes) be
well any other way, then by keeping those
Bolyes there, as ye have shewed.
Iren. But by'this custome of bolyes there
growe in the meane time many great enor-
mityes unto that Common-wealth. For first,
yf there be any out-lawes, or loose people, (as
they are never without some) which live upon
stealthes and spoyles, they are evermore suc-
coured and find relief onely in those Bolyes,
being upon the wast places, wheras els they
should be driven shortly to starve, or to come
downe to the townes to steale relief, where, by
one meane or other, they would soone be caught.
Besides, such stealthes of cattell as they
make, they bring commonly to those Bolyes,
where they are receaved readilye, and the
theif harboured from daunger of lawe, or such
officers as might light uppon him. Moreover,
the people that thus live in those Bolyes growe
therby the more barbarous, and live more
licentiously then they could in townes, using
what meanes they list, and practising what
mischeives and villanyes they will, either
agaynst the government there, by theyr com-
binations, or agaynst privat men, whom they
maligne, by stealing theyr goodes, or murder-
ing themselves. For there they thinke them-
selves halfe exempted from lawe and obedience,
and having once tasted freedome, doe, like a
steere that hath bene long out of his yoke,
grudge and repyne ever after to come undei
rule agayne.
Eudox. By your speache, Irenaeus, I per-
ceave more evills come by this use of bolyes,
then good by theyr grazing ; and therfofe it
may well be reformed: but that must be
in his due.tfaurse: do you proceed to the
~
Iren. TEijThave another custome frofc
the Scythians, that is the wearing of ManA
tells and long glibbes, which is a thick curled '
bush of hep.re. hanging downe over theyr eyes,y
and monstrously disguising them, which
*Botk^ery badd and hurtfull.
Eiidox. L)oe"Vtm-4kiake that thfi-marrtell
came from the Scythians? T would surely
thinke otherwise, for by that which I have
read, it appeareth that most nations in the
world aunciently used the mantell. For the
Jewes used it, as you may reade of Elias
mantell. The Chaldaeans also used it. as you
may reade in Diodorus. The JEgiptians like-
wise used it, as ye may reade in Herodotus,
and may be gathered by the description of
Berenice, in the Greeke Comentaryes upon
Calimachus. The Greekes also used it aun-
ciently, as appeareth by Venus mantell lined
with starres, though afterwardes they
chaunged the forme therof into their
cloakes, called Pallia, as some of the Irish
also doe. And the auncient Latines and
Romayns used it, as ye may reade in Virgill,
who was a very auncient antiqtiarye, — that
Evander, when yEnaeas came unto him at his
feast, did entertayne and feast him, sitting on
the grounde, and lying oil mantella. In soe-
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATF. OF IRELAND. 631
much as he useth this very woord MANTILE
for a inantell.
'Mantilla humi sternunt.'
Soe as it seemeth that the mantell was a gen-
erall habite to mast nations, and not proper
to the Scithians onely, as you suppose.
Iren. I cannot denye but that aunciently
it was common to most, and yet since dis*
used and laved away. But 'in
— r v«ir -ly^'m otu^c the decay of the Ko-
mayne EmpireTit was" renewed and brought
hi Ttgtmia by thnip VcirUiuu uailoBs when,
brraklng^oHt-oLthayr-colU-^HTes and frozen
they brought with them ttavr'usualLw-eetk-s.
fitt to sheild the cold, and" that continuall
frost, to which they had at homebene enured :
the which yet they left not of, by reason
that they were in perpetuall warres with the
nations whom they had invaded, but, still
removing from place to place, carryed all waves
with them that weede, as theyr howse, theyr
bedd, and theyr garment ; and, coming lastly
into Ireland, they found there more speciall
use therof, by reason of the rawe cold climate,
from whence it is nowe growen into that
general 1 use in which that people nowe have
it. After whom the Gaules succeeding, yet
finding the like necessitye for that garment,
continued-the like use therof.
Eudox. Slth then the necessitye therof
is soe comodious, as ye alleage, that it is
insteede of howsing, bedding, and clothing,
what reason have ye then to wish soe neces-
sary a thing cast of?
Jrc.t. Because the comoditye doth not
countervayle the discomoditie, for the incon-
veniences that therby doe arise are much
more many; for it is a fitt howse for an out-
lawe, a meete bedd for a rebell, and an apt
cloke for a theif. First the out-lawe being
for his many crimes and villanyes bannished
from the townes and bowses of honest men,
and wandring in wast places, furr from
daunger of lawe, maketh his mantell his
howse, and under it covereth himself from
the wrath of heaven, from the offem f
the earth, and from the sight of men. When
it rayneth it is his pent-howse ; when it
blowes it is his. tent ; when it freezeth it is
his tabernacle, fan Somrner he can weare it
loose, in winter hp^m wpare it. i-l<i.sc ^antH
times he •«aa_ug€it ; never heavy, never
combersome. Jpcewise for a retXill It Is -as
serviceable : form Ei5~waiU! thai he umkclh
(yf at least it besemetb, tbajiwmeorwaiT)
when he still rlyeth from his foe, and lurEeth
in tlic thick wopdes an4 straite
wayting'lbr-advahiagea. i^iaJutJ
and, jtllmpgtr-hig howSenold stuff For "the"
wood is hisIfiJWw against all leathers, and
his mantell is his cave to sleepe in. Therin
he wrappeth himself rounde, and enclosoth
•t himself strongly agaynst the gnattes, which
in that countrey doe more annove the naked
rebelles, whilest they keepe the" woodw, and
doe more sharply wound them then all theyr
enemyes swoordes or speares, which can come
seldome nigh them : yea, and oftentimes theyr
mantell serveth them when they are neere
driven, being wrapt about thevr left arme
in steede of a Targett, for it "is as hard to
cutt through it with a swoord ; besides it U
light to beare, light to throw.- away, and,
being (as they then commonly are) naked, it
is to them all in all. Lastly, for a thcif it is
soe handsome, as it may seeme it was lirst
invented for him ; for under it he can cleanly
convay any titt pillage that cometh hand-
somely in his way, and when he goeth abrode
in the night on "free-booting, it is his best
and surest frend; for lying, as they often
doe, two or thre nightes togither aLr
watch for theyr bo^^f, with that they can
pretelye shrowde tnernselves under a bush
or bankes side, till they may conveniently
doe theyr errand : and when all is done, he
can in his mantell pass through any towns
or company, being close hooded over his
head, as he useth, from knowledge of any
to whom he is endaungered. Besides all this,
yf he be disposed to doe mischeif or villanye
to any man, he may under his mantell goe
privilye armed without suspicion of any, car-
rying his head-peece, his skeane, or pistoll vt
he please, to be allwaye in readiness. Thus
necessaryc and fitting is a mantell for a badd
man, and surely for a badd howsewtfe it U
noe less convenient, for some of those that
be wandring women, there called of them
lieantoolhe, it is half a wardrolx- . for in
Sommer you shall have her arrayed com-
monlye but in her smockc and mantle, to be
more readye for her light services: in Winter,
and in her travel), it is her best cloke and
safegard, and also a coverlet t f'»r her lewde
•MTvi-e. And when she hntli lilled her
vessel!, under it she can hide l*>th her burden
ninl her blame ; yea, and when her bastard is
Mirne it serves insteede of a craddle and all
icr swadling cloutes. And as for all other
good woncen which love to doe but litle
vnnrkc. ii..ni> handsome it is to lye and
fe- 1 >e, or to lowze themselves in the sunn-
hine, they that have bcue but a while in
J*"\.
- ' x
632
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
-< uienure i win joyiie wiiu yuu in <
o ing it. But what blame lay you
r glibb? Take heede (I pray you) tl
-» be not to busye therwith for feare (
Ireland can well witness. Sure I am that
ye will thinke it very unfitt for good howse-
wives to stirre in, or to busy them selves
about theyr howse-wiverye in such sort as
they should. These be some of the abuses
for which I would thinke it meete to forbidd
all mantells.
Eudox. O evill mynded man, that having
reckned up soe many uses of a mantel!, will
yet wish it to be abandoned ! Sure I thinke
"Diogenes dish did never serve his master
more turnes, notwithstanding that he made
it his dish, his cupp, his measure, his water-
-r- pott, then a mantell doth an Irish man.
But I see they be all to badd intentes, and
therfore I will joyne with you in abolish-
to the
that you
usye therwith for leare of your
f; owne blame, seing our Englishmen take it
^ up in such a generall fashion to weare theyr
^ heare so unmeasurably long, that some of
o them exceede the longest Irish glibbes.
Iren. I feare not the blame of any un-
">" deserved dislikes ; but for the Irish glibbes,
•} say that, besides thevr savage jjrutishness
aPU ludhjoiiKi lillluness whici)is not i^ be
named, they are as fitt maskes as a_jaantell
is for a-tbiefc — for Whensoever he hath runn
himseif~mTo~that perill of lawe that he will
not be knowen. he either cutteth of his glibbe
quite, by which he becometh nothing like
himself, or pulleth it soe lowe downe over his
eyes, that it is very hard to discerne his
theivish countenaunce ; and therfore fitt to
be trussed up with the mantell.
Eudox. Truly these thre Scythian
abuses, I hold most fitt to be taken away
with sharpe penaltyes ; and surely I wonder
how they have bene kept thus long, notwith-
standing soe many good provisions and orders
as have bene devised for the reformation of
that people.
Iren. The cause therof shall appeare to
you hereafter ; but lett us now goe forward
with our Scythian customes, of which the
next that I have to treate of is the manner
of theyr raysing the crye in theyr conflictes,
and at other troublesome times of uproare :
the which is very naturall Scythian, as you
may reade in Diodorus Siculus, and in
Herodotus, describing the manner of the
Scythians and Persians coming to give the
charge at theyr battells : at the which it is
sayd, they come running with a terrible yell
and hubbabowe, as yf heaven and earth
would have gone togither, which is the very
image of the Irish hubbabowe, which theyr
kerne use at theyr first encounter. Besides,
the same Herodotus writeth, that they used
in theyr battells to call upon the names of
theyr captaynes or generalls, and sometimes
upon theyr greatest king deceased, as in the
battell of Tomyris agaynst Cyrus : whicli
custome to this day manifestly appeareth.
amongest the Irish. For at theyr joyning of
battell, they likewise call upon theyr cap-
taynes name, or the name of his auncestours :
As they under Oneale crye Landargabowe,
that is, the bloudye hand, which is Oneales
badge : they under O Brien call Laun-
laider, that is, the strong hand. And to
theyr ensample, the old English also which
there remayneth have gotten up theyr cryes
Scythian-like, as the Geraldins Croum-abowe,
and the Butlers Butleaur-abowe. And her-
in also lyeth open an other manifest proof
that the Irish be Scythes or Scotts, for in all
theyr encounters they use one very common
woord, crying Farrih, Farrih, which is a Scot-
ish woord, to weete, the name of one of the
first Kinges of Scotland, called Fargus, Fer-
gus, or Ferragus, which fought against the
Pictes, as ye may reade in Buckhanan De
rebus Scoticis; but as others write, it was
long before that, the name of theyr cheif
Captayne, under whom they fought agaynst
the Africans, the which was then soe for-
tunate unto them, that ever sithence they
have used to call upon his name in theyr
battells.
Eudox. Beleve me, this observation of
yours, Irenaeus, is very good and delight-
full ; farr beyond the blunt conceit of some,
who (I remember) have upon the same woord
Farrih, made a very gross conjecture; as
namely Mr. Stanihurst, who though he be
the same country man borne, that should
searche more neerely into the secrett of these
thinges, yet hath strayed from the trueth all
the heavens wide (as they say,) for he ther-
upon groundeth a very gross imagination,
that the Irish should discend from the Egyp-
tians which came into that iland, first under
the leading of one Scota the daughter of
Pharao, wherupon they use (sayth he) in
all theyr battells to call upon the name of
Pharao, crying Farrih, Farrih. Surely he
shootes wyde on the bowe hand, and very
farr from the marke. For I would first
knowe of him what auncient ground of au-
thoritye he hath for such a senceless fable, and
yf he found it in any of the rude Irish bookes,
as it may be he had, yet (me seemes) that a
man of his learning should not soe lightly
have bene carn-sd away with old wives tales
'A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
633
from approovaunce of his owne reason; for
whether Scota be an yEgyptian woord or
smack e of any learning or judgement lett the
learned judge. But this Scota rather cometh
of the Greeke scotos, that is, darkeness, which
hath not lett him see the light of the trueth.
Iren. You knowe not, Eudoxus, how
well Mr. Stanihurst could see in the darke ;
perhaps he hath owles or cats eyes, but well
I wote he seeth not well the light of the
trueth in matters of more waight. But as
for Farrih I have told you my conjecture
cnely, and yet thus much more I have to
proove a likelyehoode, that there are this
day yet in Ireland, many Irish men (cheifly
in the North partes) called by the name of
Farreehs. But lett that nowe be : this onely
for this place sufh'seth, that it is a common
woord used in thej'r Hubbobowes, the which
(with all the rest) is to be abolished, for
that it discovereth an affectation of Irish
captaynrye, which in this plattforme I en-
devour specially to beate dowue. There be
other sortes of cryes also used amongest the
Irish, which savoure greatly of the Scythian
barbarisme, as theyr lamentations at theyr
burialls, with dispayrefull out-cryes, and
immoderate waylinges, the which Mr. Stani-
hurst also might have used for an argument
to prove them Jigiptians, which lamented
for the death of Joseph. Others thinke this
custome to come from the Spayniardes, for
that they doe soe unmeasurably likewise be-
wayle theyr dead ; bnt the same is not proper
Spanish, but altogither heathenish, brought
in thither first either by the Scythians, or
the Moores, which were Africans, that long
possessed that countrey. For it is the man-
ner of all Pagans and Infidells to be intem-
perate in theyr waylinges of the dead, for
that they had* noe fayth nor hope of salva-
tion. And this ill custome also is specially
noted by Diodorus Siculus, to have bene in
the Scythians, and is yett amongest the
Northern Scotts.
Eudox. This is sure an ill custome also,
but it doth not soe much concerne civill
reformation, as an abuse of religion.
Iren. 1 did not rehearse it as one of the
abuses 'which I thought most woorthy of
reformation; but having made mention of
Irish cryes I thought this manner of lewd
crying and howling not impertinent to be
noted as uncivill and Scythian-like: for by
these oldcustomes, and other like conjectural!
circumstaunces, the discents of nations can
onely be prooved, where other monumeutes
of writinges be not remayning.
J-'.mlox. Then (I pray you) whcnsoevei
in your discourse you niecte with them by
the way, doe not shuune, but boldly touche
them ; for besides theyr greate pleasure and
delight for theyr antiquitye, they bring
also great profitt and helpe unto civilitye.
Iren. Then sith you will have it soe, I
will hcere take occasion, since I lately spake
of theyr manner of cryes in joyning battell,
to speake also somewhat of the manner of
theyr armes, anu array in battell, with other
customer perhaps woorthy the noting. And
first of theyr armes and weapons, amongest
which theyr brode swoordes are proper Scy-
thian, for such the Scythes used coinonly, as
ye may reade in Glaus Magnus. Ami the
same also used the old Scottes, as ye may
reade in Buckhanan, and in Solinus, where
the pictures of them are in the same forme
expressed. Al.-o tbi-yr short li""'"". °'"1 'ill"
quivers with shojf btimlrd nrtpwos, ore
alwrveFV Scythian, ai
»~V
a .-trin- .'I' \vnrol I n--i IH-III;. -:.i. -!-.!y U-nt, and
tynoseiHTOwes areTiot Thuch «bj?vfi h«lf •"
elh IChge, tipped with steele heades, made
like common brode arrowe heades, but
much more sharpe and slender, that they
enter into an armed man or horse most
cruelly, notwithstanding that they are short
foorth weakelye. Moreover, theyr long brode
shieldes, made but of wicker roddes, which
are commonly used amongest the sayd Nor-
thern Irish, but specially of the Scottes, are
brought from the Scythians, as ye may reade
in Olaus Magnus, Solinus, and others : like-
wise theyr going to battell without armour
on theyr bodyes or heades, l>ut kMti^ff«Mfo
to the "thickness of theyr glibbes, the which
(they say) will sometimes beare of a good
stroke, is mere savage and Scythian, as ye
may see in the sayd Images of the old
Scythes or Scottes, sett foorth by Herodianua
and others. Besides, theyr confused kind of
marche in heapes. without any order or array,
theyr clashing of swoordes togither, theyr
tierce running upon theyr enemyes, «nd theyr
manner of fight, re«embleth alltogither that
which is reade in historv.-s to have bene n«ed
of the Scythians. By which it may allmost
infallibly be gathered, togither with other
circumstaunces, that the Irish are very Scotts
or Scythes originally, though « thence inter-
mingled with many" other nations repayring
634
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
and joining unto them. And to these I may
add also another very stronge conjecture
which cometh to my mynd, that I have often
there observed amongest them ; that is, cer-
tayne religious ceremonyes, which are very
superstitiously yet used amongest them, the
which are also written by sundrye authours,
to have bene observed amongest the Scy-
thians, by the which it may very vehemently
be presumed that both the nations were
aunciently all one. For Plutark (as I re-
member) in his Treatise of Homer, ende-
vouring to searche out the truthe, what coun-
tryman Homer was. proveth it most strongly
(as he thinketh) that he was an ^Eolian
borne; for that in describing a sacrifice of
the Greekes, he omitted the chinbone, the
which all the other Grecians (saving the
^Eolians) doe use to burne in theyre sacri-
fices: allso for that he maketh theintralls to
be rested on five spittes, the which was
the proper manner of the ^Eolians whoe
onely, of all nations and countreys of Grecia,
used to sacrifice in that sort, whereas all the
rest of the Greekes used to rost them on thre
spittes. By which heinferreth, necessarilye,
that Homer was an JEolian.V And by the
same reason may I (as reasonaWie) conclude,
that the Irish are discended from the Sci-
thyans ; for that they use to this day some
of" the same ceremonyes which the Scy-
thians aunciently used^ As for example, ye
may reade in Lucian, in thatsweete dialogue
which is intituled Toxaris or of frendship,
that the common oath of the Scythians was
by the swoord, and by the fire, for that they
accounted these two speciall divine powers,
which should woorke vengeaunce on per-
jurours. So doe the Irish at this day, when
they goe to any battell, say certayne prayers
or charmes to theyr swoordes, making a cross
r . therewith upon the earth, and thrusting the
y pointes of theyr blades into the ground;
__ thinking therby to have the better success in
3 fight. Also they mn fnmr"""1y fT iivcjr"
_by theyr swoordes. Likewise at thekindlinff
- — M^y^gprtftync prayers or use some other
superstitious rites, which shcwetli (hnt Trfey
JumojIre~E5e fire and the light ; lor att~those
Northern nations, having bene used to be an-
noyed with much cold and darkenes, are wonte
therfore to have the fire and the sunn in great
veneration : like as contrariwise the Moores
and ^Egiptians, which are much offended and
greived with much extreme heate of the sunn,
doe every morning, when the? unn riseth, fall
to cursing and banning of him as theyr plague
and cheif scourge. Also the Scythians used,
when they would binde any solempne vowe
or combination amongest them, to drinke a
bowle of bloud togither, vowing therby to
spend theyr last bloud in that quarrell : and
even soe doe the wild Scotts, as ye may
reade in Buckhanan ; and some of the North-
ern Irish likewise. As ye may also reade in
the same booke, in the Tale of Arsacomas,
that it was the manner of the Scythians,
when any one of them was heavely wronged,
and would assemble unto him any forces of
people to joyne with him in his revenge, to
sitt in some publick place for certayne dayes
upon an oxe hide, to which there would
resort all such persons as being disposed to
take armes, would enter into his pay, or
joyne with him in his quarrell; and the
same ye may likewise reade to have bene the
auncient manner of the wild Scotts, which
are indeede the very naturall Irish. More-
over, the Scythians used to sweare by theyr
Kinges hand, as Olaus sheweth. And soe doe
the Irish nowe use to sweare by theyr Lordes
hand, and, to forsweare it, hold it more cri-
minall then to sweare by God. Also the
Scythians sayd, that they were once every
yeare turned into wolves, and soe is it writt3n
of the Irish : though Mr. Camden in a better
sence doth suppose it was a disease, called
Lycanthropia, soe named of the wolfe. And
yet some of the Irish doe use to make the
wolfe theyr gossip. The Scythians also used
to seeth theyr flesh in the hide; and soe doe
the Northern Irish yet. The Scythians like-
wise used to boyle the bloud of the beast yet
living, and to make meate thereof: and soe doe
the Irish still in the North. Many such cus-
tomes I could recount unto you. as of theyr
old manner of marrying, of burying, of
dauncing, of singing, of feasting, of cursing,
though Christians have wiped out the most
part of them, by resemblaunce wherof it
might playnly appeare unto you that the
nations are the same, but that by the reck-
ning of these fewe which I have told unto
you, I find my speach drawen out to a greatet
length then I purposed. Thus much onely
for this time, I hope, shall suflise you, to
thinke that the Irish are aunciently dis-
cended from the Scythians.
Eudox. Surely, Ireneus, I have, in these
fewe woordes, herd that from you which I
would have thought had bene impossible to
have bene spoken of times soe remote, and
custom es so auncient : with delight wherof I
was all that while as it were entraunced. and
carryed soe fair from mv self, as that \ pm
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 635
nowe right sorye that you ended soe soone.
But I marvell much howe it cometh to pass,
that in soe long continuaunce of time, and
many ages come betwene, yet any jote of
those old rites and superstitious custornes
should remayne amongest them.
Iren. It is noe cause of wonder at all ; for
it is the manner of all barbarous nations to be
very superstitious, and diligent observers of old
j customes and antiquityes ; which they receave
by continuall tradition from theyr parentes,
[ by recording of theyr Bards and Chronicles,
in theyr songes, and by daylye use and ex-
ample of theyr elders.
Eudox. But have you I pray you ob-
served any such customes amongest them,
brought likewise from the Spanyardes or
Gaules, as these from the Scythians ? thnt
may sure be very materiall u» your first pur-
pose.
Iren. Some perhaps I have ; and who that
will by this occasion more diligently marke
and compare theyr customes shall find many
more. But there are fewer I thinke re-
mayning of the Gaules or Spayayardes then
of the Scythians, by reason that the partes,
which they then possessed, lying upon the
coast of the Western e and Southerne Sea,
were sithence continually visited with straun-
gers and forrcin people, repayring thither
for traffick, and for fishing, which is very
plentifull upon these coast es: for the trade
and enterdeale of sea-cost nations one with
another woorketh more civilitye and good
fashions in them, all sea men being naturally
desirous of new fashions, then amongst the
inland dwellers, which are seldome seene of
forreiners ; yet some of such as I have noted, I
will recounte unto you. And first I will, for
the better creditt of the rest, shewe you one
out of theyr Statutes, amongest which it is
enacted that noe man shall weare his bearde
but onely on the upperlipp like muschachoes,
shavinge all the rest of his chinn. And this
was the auncient manner of Spaynyardes, as
vet it is of all the Mahometans to cutt of all
theyr beardes close, save only theyr muscha-
choes, which they weare long. And tin-
cause of this use was for that they, being
bredd in a hote country, founde much haire on
theyr faces and other partes to be noysome
unto them : for which cause they did cutt it
most away, like as contrarily all other
nations, brought up in cold countryes, doe
use to nourish theyr haire, to kepe them
warme, which was the cause that the Scyth-
ians and Scottes weare Glibbes (as I shewed
you) to keepe theyr heades warme, and long
beardes to defend theyr faces from cold.
From them also (I thinke) came saffron
shirtes and smockes, which was devised by
them in those hote countryes, where saffron
is very common and rife, for avovding that
evill which commeth by much " sweating,
and longe wearing of linnen : also the women
amongest the old Spain ardes had the charge
of all household aftayres, both at home and
abrode, (as Bohemus writeth) though nowe
the Spanyardes use it quite otherwise. And
soe have the Irish women the trust and care
of all thinges, both at home, and in the
h'eldes. Likewise rounde leather targetta is
the Spanish fashion, whoe used it (for the
most part) paynted, which in Ireland they
use also, in many places, coloured after they'r
rude fashion. Moreover the manner of t ln-'\ r
womens riding on the wrong side of tht-yr
horse, I meane with theyr faces towardes the
right side, as the Jri.sli u.-i-. is (as they say)
old Spanish, and, as some say, AfTricane, for
amongest them the women (they say) use so
to ride acrosse : Also the deepe smock sleeve
hanging to the grounde, which the Irish
women use, they say, it was old S|>ani.»h,
and is used yet in Barbarye:and yet that
should seeme rather to be' an old English
fashion ; for in armory the fashion of the
Manche, which is given in armes by many,
being indede nothing els then a sleeve, 'is
fashioned much like to that sleeve. And
that Knightes in auncient times used to
weare theyr mistress or loves sleeve, upon
theyr armes, as appeareth by that which
is written of Sir Launcelott, that he wore the
sleeve of the Fay re May do of Astcloth in a
tu nicy, whereat Queene Guenevcr was much
displeased.
Kuilnx. Your conceite is good, and well
fitting for thinges soe fair growen from cer-
taynte of knowledge and It-arum;:, onely
upon likely hoodes and conjectures. But have
you any customes remayning from the
Gaules or Brittons '{
Iren. I have observed a fewe of cither;
and whoe will better searche into them may
tinde more. And first the profession of tlu-yr
Bards who (as Caesar write! h) were usuall
amongest the Gaules; and the same was also
common amongest the Brittons anil is n»t
yet altogither left of by the Web»h which
•ire tlii-yr ]ni>trrityr. For all the fashions of
tin- ( Jaiilfs and Hrittons, as he test ifyetb, were
much like. The long dartes came also from
the Gaules, as ye may reade in the same
Casar, and in Jo. BohVmus. Likewise the
said Bohemus writeth. that the Gaules osed
636
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT \STATE OF IK EL AND
I
\STA
swoordes a hand full broade, and soe doe the
Irish nowe. Also that they used long wicker
sheildes in battayll that should cover theyr
whole bodyes, and so doe the Northern Irish ;
but because I have not scene such fashioned
targets used in the Southerne parts, but
onely amongst the Northern people, and
Irish-Scotts, I doe thinke that they were
rather brought in by the Scythians, then by
the Gaules. Also the Gaules used to drinke
theyr enemyes blond, and paynte themselves
with it : soe also they write, that the old Irish
werewonte, and soe I have scene some of the
Irish doe, not theyr enemyes but theyr
frendes bloud. As namely at the execution of
a notable tray tour at Limmericke, called Mur-
rogh O-Brein, I sawe an old woman, which
was his foster mother, take up his head,
whilest he was quartered, and sucked up all
the bloud running thereout, saying, that the
earth was not woorthye to drinke it, and
therewith also steeped her face and breast,
and tore her hayre, crying out and shreeking
out most terriblye.
Eudox. You have very well runne through
such customes as the Irish have derived from
the first old nations which inhabited that
land : namely, the Scythians, the Spanyardes,
the Gaules, "and the Brittons. It nowe re-
mayneth that you take in hand the customes
Of the old English which are amongest the
Irish : of which I doe not thinke that you
shall have much to finde fault with, con-
sidering that by the English most of the old
badd Irish customes were abolished, and more
civill fashions brought in theyr steede.
Iren. You think otherwise, Eudoxus,
then I doe ; for the cheifest abuses which are
nowe in that realme, are growen from the
English that were, but are nowe much
more lawless and licentious then the very
wild Irish: soe that as much care as was
then by them had to reforme the Irish, soe
much and more must nowe be used to reform
them ; soe much time doth alter the manners
of men.
Eudox. That seemeth very straunge
which you say, that men should soe much
degenerate from theyr first natures as to
growe wilde.
Iren. Soe much can libertye and ill ex-
ample doe.
Eudox. What libertye had the English
there, more then they had heere at home?
Were not the lawes plaunted amongest them at
the first, and had not they governours to courbe
and keepe them still in awe and obedience V
Iren. They had, but it was, for the most
part, such as did more hurte then good ; for
they had governours for the most part of
themselves, and commonly out of the two
howses of the Geraldins and the Butlers,
both adversaryes and corryvails one agaynst
the other. Whoe though, for the most parte,
they were but as deputyes under some of the
King of Englandes sonnes, brethren, or other
neere kinsemen, whoe were the Kinges lieu-
tenauntes, yet they swayed soe much, as they
had all the rule, and the others but the title.
Of which Butlers and Geraldins, albeit (I
must confess) theye were very brave and
woorthye men, as also of other the Peeres of
that realme, made Lord Deputyes and Lord
Justices at sundry times, yet thorough
greatnes of their late conquests and seignories
they grewe insolent, and bent both that
regall authoritye, and also theyr private
powers, one agaynst another, to the utter
subversion of themselves, and strengthening
of the Irish agayne. This ye may see
playnly discovered by a letter written from
the cittizens of Corke out of Ireland, to the
Earle of Shrewsbury then in England, and
remayning yet upon record, both in the Towre
of London, and also amongest the Chronicles
of Ireland. Wherein it is by them com-
plained, that the English Lord's and Gentle-
men, who then had great possessions in
Ireland, beganne, through pride and inso-
lencye, to make private warres one agaynst
another, and when either parte was weake
they would wage and drawe in the Irish
to take theyr parte, by which meanes they
both greatlie encouraged and enabled the
Irish, which till that time had bene shutt up
within the Mountayne of Slewloghir, and
weakened and disabled themselves, insoe-
much that theyr revenues were wonderfully
impayred, and some of them, which are there
reckoned to have bene able to have spent 12
or 13 hundred poundes per annum, of old
rent, (that I may say noe more) besides theyr
commodityes of creekes and havens, were
nowe scarce able to dispend the third part.
From which disorder, an other huge ca-
lamitye came upon them, as that, they are
nowe growen to be allmost as lewde as the
Irish : I meane of such English as were planted
above toward the West ; for the English Pale
hath preserved it self, through neereness of
their state, in reasonable civilitye, but the rest
which dwell above Conaught and in Moun-
ster, which is the sweetest soyle of Ireland,!
and some in Leinster and Ulster, are degen-
erate, and growen to be as very patchockes as
the wild Irish, yea and gom" "f tv.»m '^c,\9\
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. .537
QJUC.C shaken of tlievr English names, and put
a-t-bi>t the
. .
Kudox. Is it possible thaTaiTy Stimuli! sue
farre growe out of frame that they should in
BOB short space, quite forgett theyr countrey
and tlievr owne names? That is a most dan-
gerous lethargic, much woorse then that of
Messala Corvinus, who, being a most learned
man, through sickness forgate his owne
name. But can you counte us any of this
kinde ?
Iren. I cannot but by reporte of the Irish
themselves,who report,that theMack-mahon?,
in the Northe, were auncientlj- English ; to
witt, discended from the Fitz Ursulas, which
was a noble familye in England, and that
the same appeareth by the signification of
theyr Irish names. Likewise that the Mack-
swines, nowe in Ulster, were aunciently of the
Veres in England, but that they themselves,
for hatred of English, soe disguised theyr
names.
Eudox. Could they ever conceave any
such develish dislike of theyr owne natural!
countrey, as that they would be ashamed of
her name, and byte of her dugg from which
they sucked life ?
Iren. I wote well there should be none ;
but proude hartes doe oftentimes (like
wanton coltes) kicke at theyr mothers, as we
reade Alcibiades and Themistocles did, whoe,
being bannished out of Athens, ficdd unto the
King of Asia, and there stirred them up to warr
ogay nst theyr owne countrey, in which warres
they themselves were cheit'taynes. So they
say did these Mack-swines and' Mack-mahons,
or rather Veres and Fitz Ursulas, for private
despite, turne themselves agaynst England.
For at such time as Ro. Vere, Earle of
Oxford, was in the Barons warres agaynst
King Richard the Second, through the malice
of the Peeres, banished the realme and pro-
scribed, he with his kinseman Fitz Ursula
fledd into Ireland, where being prosecuted,
and afterwardes putt to death in England,
his kinseman, there remayning behind in
Ireland, rebelled, and. conspiring witli tin-
Irish, did quite cast of the English name and
alleageaunee, since which time they have
•jver soe remayned, and have ever sithence
bene counted meere Irish. The verve like is
also reported of the Mack-swines, Mack-ma-
hons, and Mack-sheeheis of MounsU-r, whoe
likewise were aunciently English, and old
followers of the Earle of Desmonde, until] the
raigne of King Edward the Fourth : at which
time the Earle of Desinoiule that then w:i-.
called Thomas, being through false subor-
nation (as they say) of the Queece for sons
offence by her agaynst him conceaveci,
brought to his death at Droghcda meet
unjustly, notwithstanding that he was a
very good and sound subject 10 the King.
Thereupon all his kinsmen of the (Jeraldins!
which then was a mightyo familye in
Mounster, in revenge of that huge wronge,
rose into armes agaynst the King, and
utterly renounced and foreooke all olx-clience
to the crowne of England; to whom the
sayd Mack-swines, Mack- slieelu-is, ami Mack-
mahons, being then servauntes and follower*,
did the like, and have ever sithen.-e ><n- con-
tinued. And with them (they nay) nil the
pMpU of Mounster went out. and many othere
of tin-in, which wore metre English, 'thcnre-
foorth joyned with the Irish agaynst the
King, and termed themselves inn-iv Irish,
taking on them Irish habits and rustomes,
which could never since be cleane wiped
away, but the contagion therof hath re-
mayned still amongest theyr posteritye*.
Of which sorte (they say) be most of the sur-
names which end in an, as Hernan, Shenan,
Maugan, &c. the which now account!- them-
selves meere Irish. Other greate house* then-
be of the old English in Ireland, whieh
through licentious conversing with the Irish,
or marrying, or fostering them, or lacke of
good nurture, or other such unhappye occa-
sions, have degenerated from theyr nunciciit
dignitye, and are nowe growi-n as Irish aa O-
hanlans breeche, as the provcrbe there is ; of
which sorte there are two most pitvfull
examples above the rest, to witt the "Lord
Bremechame, whoe being the most auncient
barron, I thinke. in England, nowe waxen the
most savage Irish amongcst them, naming
himself Irishlike. Noccorish ; and the other
is the greate Mortimer, whoe forgetting
howe greate he was once in England, or
English at all, is nowe become the most
barbarous of them all, and is called Mi. *
nihmarrih , and not much better then he i»
the old Lo. Courcye, who, having lewdly
wasted all the landes and signorycs that
lie had. allyed himself unto (he Irish and U
hiniM-lfalso nowe growen quite Irish.
l-'.iulof. Ill triieth this which vou tell U a
most shamefull hearing, and to be reformed
with most sharpe censures in ioe greate
personages, to the terror of the meaner:
fur where the lordcs and cheif men wax not
barbarous and bastardlike. what shal be
ii,.j.,-,l of the pesantes, and base people?
And hereby sure yon have made a fayi*
way unto your self to lay open the abuiM
x
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
cf theyr evill customes, which you are nowe
nexte"to declare, the which, noe doubt, ars
very badd and barbarous, being borrowed
from the Irish, as theyr apparrell, theyr
language, theyr riding, and many other the
like.
Iren. Von cannot but thinke them sure
to be very brute and uncivill ; for were they
at the best that they were of old, when they
were brought in, they should in soe long an
alteration of time seeme very straunge and
wonderfull. For it is to be thought, that
the use of all England was in the raigne of
Henry the Second, when Ireland was first
planted with English, very rude and bar-
barous, soe as yf the same should be nowe
used in England by any, it would seeme
woorthy of sharpe correction, and of newe
lawes for reformation, for it is but even the
other day since England grewe to be civill :
therfore in counting the evill customes of the
English there, I will not have regard
whether the beginning thcrof were English
or Irish, but will have respect onely to the
inconvenience therof. And tirst I have to
finde fault with the abuse of language, that
is, for the speaking of Irish amongest the
English, which as it is unnaturall that any
people should love anothers language more
then theyr owre, soe it is very inconvenient,
and the cause of many other erill.s.
Eudox. It seemeth straunge to me that
the Engli-h should take more delight to
speake that language then theyr owne,
wheras they should (me thinkes) rather
take scorne to acquaynte theyr tonges there-
with : for it hath bene ever the use of the
conquerours to dispise the language of the
conquered, and to force him by all meanes
to learne his. Soe did the Romayns al-
wayes use, in soe much as there is almost
noe nation in the worlde, but it is sprinckled
with theyr language. It were good therfore
(me thinkes) to searche out the originall
cause of this evill ; for, the same being
discovered, a redress therof wil be the more
easely provided. For I thinke it were
straunge, that the English being soe many,
and the Irish soe fewe as they then were left,
they being the fewer should drawe the more
unto theyr use.
Iren. I suppose that the cheifest cause
of the bringing in of the Irish language,
amongest them, was specially theyr fostring,
and marrving with the Irish, the which are
two most daungerous infections: for first the
child that sucketh the milke of the nurse,
jrpiif.t of necessitye learne his first speache of
her, the which being the first that is
to his tongue, is ever after most pleasing
unto him, in soe much as though he after-
ward be taught English, yet the smacke of
the first will allwayes abide with him ; and
not onely of the speache.but also of the
manners and conditions. SFor besides that
yong children be like apes, which will affecl
and imitate what they see done afore them,
specially of theyr nurses whom they love
soe well, they moreover drawe unto them-
selves, togither with theyr sucke, even the
nature and disposition of theyr nurses : for
the mynd followeth much the temperature of
the bodye ; and also the woordes are the
Image of the mynd, soe as, they proceeding
from the mynd, the mynd must needes be
affected with the woordes. Soe that the
speache being Irish, the harte must needea
be Irish ; for out of the aboundaunce of the
harte, the tonge speaketh. The next is the
marriadge with the Irish, which how daun-
gerous a thing it is in all common-wealthes
appeareth to every simplest sence ; and
though some greate ones have perhaps used
such matches with theyr vassals, and have
of them nevertheless raysed woorthy issue,
as Telamon did with Termessa, Alexander
the Great with Roxane, aud Julius Caesar
with Cleopatra, yet the example is soe
perilous, as it is not to be adventured : for in
steede of these fewe good, I could counte
unto them infinite many evill. And in-
deede how can such matching but bring
foorth an evill race, seing that commonly
the child taketh most of his nature of the
mother, besides speache, manners, and inclina-
tion, which are (for the most part) agreable
to the conditions of theyr mothers ? For by ,
them they are first framed and fashioned,
soe as what they receave once from them,
they will hardly ever after forgoe. Therfore
are these evill customes of fostring and
marrying with the Irish most carefully to
be restrayned; for of them two. the third
evill. that is the custome of language
(which I speake of) cheifly proceedeth.
Eudax. But are there not Lawes allready
appoynted. for avoyding of this evill ?
Iren. Yes, I thinke there be, but as good
never a whitt as never the better. For what
doe statutes avayle without penaltyes, or I
lawes without charge of execution? For soe
there is another like lawe enacted agaynst
wearing of Irish apparrell, but neverthemore
is it observed by any. or executed by them
that have the charge: for they in theyr pri-
vate discretions thinke it not fitt to be forced
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE Of IRELAND.
upon the poore wretches of that count rev,
which are not woorth the price of English ap-
parrell, nor expedient to be practised agaynst
the abler sorte, by reason that the bare
countrey (say they) dotli yeelde noe better :
and were there better to be had, yet these
were fitter to be used, as namely, the mantell
in traveling, because there be noe Innes
where meete bedding might be had, soe that
his mantell serves him then for a bedd and
the leather quilted jacke in journeying and
in camping, for that it is fittest to be under
his shirte of mayle, for any occasion of
soden service, as there happen many, and to
cover his thinn breeche on horseba'cke : the
greate linnen rowle, which the women weare,
to keepe theyr heades warme after cutting
theyr haire, which they use in any sickness ;
besides theyr thicke folded linnen shirtes,
theyr longe-sleeved smockes, theyr half-
sleeved coates, theyr silken filletts^ and all
the rest they will devise some colourable
reason for them, either of necessitye, or of an-
tiquitye, or of comeliness.
Eudax. But what coloure soe ever they
alleage, me thinkes it is not expedient, that
the execution of a lawe once ordayned
should lie left to the discretion of the judge
or officer, but that, without partialitye or
regarde, it should be fulfilled as well on
English, as Irish.
Iren. But they thinke this precisenes in
reformation of apparrell not to be soe materiall,
or greatly pertinent.
Eudox. Yes surely but it is; for mcns
apparrell is commonly made according to
theyr conditions, and'theyre conditions are
oftentimes governed by theyr garments: for
the person that is gowned is by his gowne
putt in mynd of gravitye, and also re-
strayned from lightnes by the very unaptnc_ss
of his weede. Therfore it is written by Aris-
totle, that when Cyrus had overcome the
Lydians that were a'warlicke nation, and de-
vised to bring them to a more peaceable life,
he chaunged theyr apparrell and musick,
and insteede of theyr shorte warlicke coates,
clothed them in loiig garments like women,
and in steede of theyr warlick musick, ap-
poynted to them certayne lascivious laves.
and loose gigges, by which in shorte space
thevr myndes were so mollyfyed and abated,
that they forgate theyr former fierceness, and
became most tender and effeminate: wherhy
it appeareth, that there is not a litle in the
garment to the fashioning of the mynde and
conditions. But be all these, which you have
described, the fashions of the Irish weede?
Iren. Noe; all these that I have reheareed
unto you, be not Irish garments, but English;
for the quilted leather Jacke is old Engli>h ;
for it was the proper weede of the horseman.
as ye mav reade in Chaucer, where he descri-
bct'h SirYhopas his apparrell and armoure,
when he went to fight agavnst the (Jyant, in
his robe of shecklaton, wfikh MbedtWofl is
that kind of gnilded leather with which they
use to embroder theyr Irish jackes. And
there likewise by all that description y>
may see the very fashion and manner of the
Irish horseman most lively set foorth, his
long hose, his shooes of costly cordewaynr,
his hacqueton, and his habberjon, with all* the
rest therto belonging.
Etidor. I surely thought that that manner
had bene kindly Irish, for it is farr differing
from that we have nowe ; as also all the
furniture of his horse, his strongp brasse
bitt, his slvding raynes, his shatmckpillion
without stirrops, his manner of mounting,
his fashion of riding, his charging of his
speare aloft above head, and the forme of
his speare.
Iren. Noe sure ; thev be native English,
and brought in by the Englishmen first into
Ireland : neither is the same counted an un-
comelye manner of riding,; for I have
heard some greate warriours say, that, in all
the sen-ices which they had scene abma.le in
forrayne countreys, they never sawe a more
comely horseman then the Iri-h man. nor
that cometh on more bravely in his charge :
neither is his manner of mounting unseeinelv,
though he wante stirrops. but mure ready
then with stimij)-; for in his getting up his
horse is still going, whcrby lie gayneth wny.
And therfore the 8tirr«n>s wen- eallo! s<>e in
scorne, as it were a stayre to gett HJ». l«einj;
derived of the old English woord sty, which
is, to gett up, or mounte.
Eudox. It seemcth then that ye finde
noe fault with this manner of riding: why
then would you have the quilted Jacke laved
away ?
Iren. I would not have that laved away,
but the abuse therof to be putt away ; for
being used to the end that it was framed,
that is. to be wonie in warre under n
shirte of mayle, it is allowable, as HWtH
shirte of mayle, and all his other furniture:
but to be w'orne daylye at home, anil in
townes and civill DUOM, it is « rude haSite
and most uncomely, seeming like a players
pavnted coate.
>;«r/,,.r. But it i* worno (they MV) like-
wise of Irish footemen ; how doe you allowe
640
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
of that? for I should think e it were un-
seemely.
Iren. Noe, not as it is used in warre,
for it is then worne likewise of a footeman
under a shirte of mayle, the which footeman
thay call a Galloglass, the which name doth
discover him to be also auncient English, for
Gallogla signifyes an English servitour or
yeoman. And he being soe armed, in a long
shirt of mayle downe to the calfe of his legg,
with a long* brode axe in his hand, was then
pedes gravis armatura:. and was insteede of
the armed footeman that nowe weareth a
corselett, before the corseletts were used, or
allmost invented.
Eudox, Then him beiike ye likewise
allow in your straight reformation of old
customes.
Iren. Both him and the kearne also
(whom onely I tooke to be the proper Irish
souldiour) can I allowe, soe that they use
that habite and custome of theyrs in the
warres onely, when they are ledd foorthe to
the service of theyr Prince, and not usually
at home, and in civill places, and besides doe
lay aside the evill and wild uses which the
galloglass and kearne doe use in their com-
mon trade of lyfe.
Eudox. What be those?
Iren. Marye, those be the most lothsome
and barbarous conditions of any people (I
thinke) under heaven ; for, from the time they
enter into that course, they doe use all the
beastly behaviour that may be to oppress all
men ; they spoyle as well the subject as the
enemy : they steale, they are cruell and
bloudye, full of revenge and delighting in
deadly execution, licentious, swearers, and
blasphemers, common ravishers of women,
and murtherers of children.
Endox. These be most villenous con-
ditions ; I marvayle then that ever they be
used or employed", or allmost suffred to live :
what good can there then be in them ?
Iren. Yet sure they are very valiaunte
and hardye, for the most part great endurours
of cold, labour, hunger, and all hardiness,
very active and stronge of hand, very swift
of foote, very vigilaunte and circumspect in
theyr enterprises, very present in perrills,
very great scorners of death.
Endox. Truly, by this that ye saie, it
seemes the Irishman is a very brave souldiour.
Iren. Yea surely, even in that rude kind
of sen-ice he beareth himself very couragious-
ly. But when he cometh to experience of
service abroade, and is putt to a peece, or a
pike, he makcth as woorthy a souldiour as any
nation he meeteth with. But lett us (I prav
you) turne agayne to our discourse of evill
customes amongest the Irish.
Eudox. Me thinkes, all this which you
speake of, concerneth the customes of the Irish
verey materiallie: for their uses in warre are
of no small importance to be considered, as
well to reforme those which are evill, as to
confirme and continue those which are good.
But followe you your owne course, and shewe
what other their customes ye have to dislike
of.
Iren. There is amongest the Irish a cer-
tayne kind of people called Bards, which are
to them insteede of poetts, whose profess ion is
to sett foorth the prayses anddisprayses of men
in theyr poems and rimes ; ftie which are had
in soe high request and estimation amongest
them, that none dare to displease them
for feare of running into reproche through
theyr offence, and to be made infamous in
the mouthes of all men. For theyr verses are
taken up with a generall applause, and
usually songe at all feasts and nieetinges, by
certayue other persons, whose proper function
that is, which also receave for the same greate
rewardes and reputation besides.
Eudox. Doe you blame this in them,
which I would otherwise have thought to
have bene woorthy of good accounte. and
rather to have bene mayntayned and aug-
mented amongest them, then to have bene
misliked V For I have reade that in all ages
Poettes have bene had in speciall reputation,
and that (me seemes) not without greate
cause ; for besides theyr sweete inventions,
and most wittye laves, they have alhvayes
used to sett foorth the prayses of the good and
vertuous, and to beate downe and disgrace
the badd and vicious. Soe that many brave
yong myndes have oftentimes, through hear-
ing of the prayses and famous Eulogies of
woorthy men song and reported unto them,
bene stirred up to affect like comcnda-
cions, and soe to strive to like desert es. Soe
they say the Lacedemonians were more en-
clined to desire of honour with the excellent
verses of the Poet Tirfcms, then with all the
exhortations of their Captaines, or authoritye
of theyr Itulers and Magistrates.
Iren. It is most true that such Poetts, as in
theyr writings doe laboure to better the man-
ners of men, and through the sweete bayte of
theyr numbers, to steale into yonge spiritts
a desire of honour and vertue, are worthy to
be had in great respect. But these Irish
Bards are for the most part of another mynd,
and soe fair from instructing yong men in
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 641
morall discipline, that they themselves doe
more desarve to be sharpely disciplined ; for
they seldome use to choose unto themselves
the doinges of good men for the ornamentes
of theyr poems, but whomsoever they find to
be most licentious of life, most bold and law-
less in his doinges, most daungerous and des-
perate in all partes of disobedience and rebel-
lious disposition, him they sett up and glori-
fye in theyr rimes, him they prayse to the
people, and to yong men make an example
to followe.
Eudox. I marvayle whate kind of speeches
they can find, or what face they can putt on,
to prayse such lewde persons as live soe law-
leslye and licentiouslye upon stealthes and
spoyles, as most of them' doe ; or how can
they thinke that any good mynde will ap-
plaude or approve the same?
Iren. There is none soe badd. Eudoxus.
but shall tinde some to favoure his doinges;
but such lycentious partes as these, tending
for the most parte to the hurte of the Eng-
lish, or mayntenaunce of theyre owne lewde
libertye, they themselves, being most desirous
therof, doe most allowe. Besides this, evill
thinges being decked and suborned with the
gay attyre of goodly woordes, may easely
deceave and carrye away the affection of a
yong mynd, that is not well stayed, but de-
sirous by some bold adventure to make proofe
of himself ; for being (as they all be) brought
up idelly without awe of parentes, without
precepts of masters, without feare of offence,
not being directed, or employed in any course
of life, which may carrye them to vertue, will
easely be drawen to followe such as any shall
sett before them : for a yong mynd cannot
rest; and yf he be not still busyetl in some
goodness, he will find himself such busines
as shall soone busye all about him. In which
yf he shall finde "any to prayse him, and to
give him encouragement, as those Bards and
rimers doe for a litle reward, or a share of a
stollen cowe, then waxeth he most insolent
and half madd with the love of himself, and
his owne lewde deedes. And as for woordes
to sett foorth such lewlness, it is not hard
for them to give a goo lly glose and paynted
shewe thereunto, bonowed even from the
prayses which are pnper to vertue itself.
As of a most notorious theif and wicked out-
lawe. which had lived all his lifetime of
upoyles and robberyes, one of these Bardes
in his prayse sayd, That he was none of
those idell milk-sops 'that was brought up
by the fire side, but that most of his dayes
he spent in armes and valyaunt enterprises;
that he did never eatc his ineate before he had
wonne it with his swoorde ; that he was not
slugging all night in a cabin under his man-
tell, but used comonlv to keepe others wak-
ing to defend theyr lives, and did light hit
candell at the tlarnes of theyr bowses to leade
him in the darkeness ; that the day was his
night, and the night his day ; that" he loved
not to lye long wooing of wenches to yeeld
unto him, but where he came he tooke bv
force the spoyle of other mens love, and left
but lamentations to theyr lovers; that his
musicke was not the harpe, nor laves of love,
but the cryes of people, and clashing of
armour; and that finally, he died not be-
wayled of many, but made many wayle when
he died that dearely bought his* death. Doe
not you thinke (Eudoxus) that many of these
prayses might be applyed to men of best de-
sarte? yet are they all yeelded to a most
notable traytoure, and amcngest some of the
Irish not smally accounted of. For the songe,
when it was first made and songe unto a per-
son of high degree, they were bought (as their
manner is) for forty crownes.
Eudox. And well woithyc sure ! But tell
me (I pray you) have they' any srte in theyr
compositions? or be they any thing wittvo
or well savoured, as Poems should be ?
Iren. Yea truly ; I have caused diverse
of them to be translated unto me that I
might understand them ; and rarely they
savoured of sweete witt and good invention,
but skilled not of the goodly omamentea of
Poetrye : yet were they sprinckled with some
prety flowers of theyr owne naturall devise,
which gave good grace ami oomliness unto
them, the which it is greate pittye to see soe
abused, to the gracing of wickedness and
vice, which would with good linage serve to
beautifye and adorne venue. This evill cos-
tome therfore needeth reformation. And
nowe next nl'trr the Irish Kearne, me SCOBM
the Irish Horse-buyes or Cuilles (as they call
them) would come well in order, the use of
which, though necessitye (as times nowe be)
doe enforce, yet in the thorough reformation
of that realme they should be cult of. For
the cause why they must nowe be permitted
is the wante of convenient Innc* fur lodging
of travellers on horsebscke, and of CfeUlecs to
tende theyr horses by the wave. But when
tliiu^d shalbe reduced to a better pais, this
nerili'th srNH-ially to be reformed ; for out of
the frye of these* rakehelle horee-boyes, grow*
ing up in kimverye and villuiyp, are theyr
keame continually su|>|>lved and maynUyii"!.
For having bene once brought up an idle
TT
642
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
horse-boy, he will never after fall to laboure,
but is onely made fitt for the halter. And
these also (which is one fowle over-sight)
are for the most parte bredd up amongest
Englishmen and souldiours, of whom learn-
ing to shoote in a peece, and being made
acquaynted with all the trades of the English,
they are afterwardes, when they become
kerne, made more fitt to cutt theyr throtes.
Next to this there is another much like, but
much more leude and dishonest ; and that
is, of theyre Kearrooglis, which are a kind
of people that wander up and downe to
gentell-mens bowses, living onely upon
cardes and dice, the which, though they have
litle or nothing of theyr owue, yet will they
playe for much mony, which yf they winne,
they waste most lightlie, and" if they loose,
they paic as slenderlie, but make recompence
with one stealth or another, whose onely
hurte is not, that they themselves are idle
lossels, but that through gaming they drawe
others to like lewdness and idleness. And
to these may be added another sorte of like
loose fellowes, which doe pass up and downe
amongest gentellmen by the name of Jesters,
but are (indeede) notable rogues, and par-
takers not onely of many stealthcs by setting
foorth other mens goodes to be stollen, but
also privy to many trayterous practises, and
common carryers of newes, with desire wher-
of you would woonder howe much the Irish
are'fedd : for they use commonlye to send up
and downe to knowe newes, and yf any meete
with another his second woorde is, What
newes ? Insoemuch that herof is told a
prety jest of a Frenche-man, whoe having
bene sometimes in Ireland, where he marked
theyr greate enquirye for ne\ve.«, and meet-
ing afterwardes in Fraunce an Irishman,
whom he knewe in Ireland, first saluted him,
and afterwardes thus merely : Sir, I pray you,
quoth he, tell me of curtesy. have ye hearde
yet any thing of the newes that ye soe much
enquired for in your countrey ?
Eudox. This argueth in them sure a
greate desire of Innovation, and therfore
these occasions that currish the same are
to be taken away, as namely, these Jesters,
Kearrooghs, Beantooilhs, and all such strag-
lers, for whom (me seemes) the shorte rid-
daunce of a marshall were meeter then any
ordinaunce or prohibition to restrayne them.
Therfore (I pray you) leave all these rabble-
mentes of such loose runnagates, and pass
to some other customes.
Iren, There is a great use amongest the
Irish to make greate assemblyes togither
upon a rath or hill, there to parley (they say)
about matters of wronge betwene towneship
and towneship, or one private person and
another. But well I wote, and true it often-
times hath bene prooved, that in these meet-
ings many mischeifs have bene both practised
and wrought; for to them doe commonly
resorte all the scumme of base people and
loose, where they may freely meete and
conferr of whate they list, which els they
could not doe without suspition or know-
ledge of others. Besides, at these parleyes
I have diverse times knowen, that many
Englishmen, and good Irish subjectes, have
bene villanously murthered by moving one
quarrell or another agaynst them. For the
Irish never come to those rathes but armed,
whether on horse or on foote, which the
English nothing suspecting, are then com-
monly taken at advauntage like sheepe in the
pin-folde.
Eudox. It may be, Irenaeus, that an
abuse may be in those meetings. But these
rounde hills and square bawnes. which ye see
soe strongly trenched and throwen up, were
(they say) at first ordayned for the same
purpose, that people might assemble theron ;
and therefore aunciently they were called
Folkemotes, that is, a place for people to
meete or talke of any thing that concerned
any difference betwene partyes and towne-
ships, which seemes yet to me very requi-
site.
Iren. Ya say very true, Eudoxus: the
first making of these high hilles was at
first indeed to verve good purpose for people
to meete ; but though in the times when
they were first made they might well serve
to good occasions, as perhaps they did then
in England, yet thinges being since altred,
and nowe Ireland much differing from that
state of England, the goode use that then was
of them is nowe turned to abuse; for these
hilles wherof you speake were (as ye may
gather by reading) appointed for two special
uses, and built by two severall nations. The
one is those which you call Folke-motes,
the which were builte by the Saxons, as the
woorde bewraieth ; for it signifyeth in Saxone
a meeting of folke or people, and those are
for the most parte in forme fowre square,
well trenched for meeting : the others that
are rounde were cast up by the Danes, as the
name of them doeth betoken, for they are
called Dane-rathes, that is, hills of the Danes,
the which were by them devised, not for
parlyes and treatyes, but appoynted as fortes
for them to gather unto in troublesome time,
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
643
when any trouble arose ; for the Danes, being
but fewe in comparison of the Saxon* in
England used this for theyr safetye : they
made these small rounde hilles, soe strongly
fenced, in every quarter of the hundred, to
the end that if in the night, or at any other
time, any troublous crye or uprore should
happen, they might repayre with all speede
unto theyr owne forte, which was appoynted
for theyr quarter, and there remayne safe,
till they could assemble themselves in greate
strength : for they were made soe stronge
with one small entraunce, that whosoever
came thither first, were he one or twoe, or
like fewe, he or they might there rest safe,
and defend themselves agaynst many, till
more succoure came unto them: And when
they were gathered to a sufficient number
they marched to the next forte, and soe for-
wardes till they mett with the perrill, or
kuewe the occasions therof. But besides
these two sortes of hilles, there were auncient-
ly diverse others ; for some were raysed, where
there had bene a greate battayll fought, as
a memorye or trophee therof; others, as monu-
mentes of burialls of the carcasses of all
those that were slayne in any fight, upou
whom they did throwe up such rounde
mountes, as memorialls for them, and some-
times did cast up greate heapes of stones, as
ye maie reade in many places of the Scrip-
ture, and other whiles they did throwe upp
many round heapes of earth in a Circle, like
a garland, or pitch manie longe stones on
ende in compasse, every of which (they say)
betokened some woorthy person of note
there slayne and buryed ; for this was theyr
auucieut custome, before Christianitye came
in amongest them that church-yardes were
inclosed.
Eudox. Ye have very well declared the
originall of these mountes an-J greate stones
incompassed, which some vaynlye terme the
old Gyaunts Trivetts, and thinke that those
huge stones could not els be brought into
order or reared up without the strength of
g vaunts or others. And some vaynlye thinke
that they were never placed there by man*
hand or arte, but onely remayned there since
the beginning, and were afterwardes dis-
covered by the deluge, and layed open as
then by the washing of the waters, or other
like casualtye. But lett them with those
dreames and" vayne imaginations please them-
selves; for you have satystied me mucl
better, both by that I see some confirmation
therof in Holye \Yritt, and also remember that
I have reade'iii many Historyes aud Chroni-
cles the like mounts and stones oftentimes
mentioned.
Iren. There be many greate authorityef
(I assure you) to proove the same ; but u
for these meetings on hilles, whcrof we were
speaking, it is very inconvenient that any
such should be permitted, specially in a peo-
ple soe evill mynded as they nowe be and
diversly shewe themselves.
Eiulox. But yet it is very needefull (me
seemes) for many other purposes, as for the
countrye to gather togither when there i*
any imposition to be layed upon them, to the
which they then may all agree at such meet-
ings to cutt and devi'de amongest themselves,
according to theyr holdinges and abilityea.
Soe as yf at those assemblyes there be any
officers, as Constables, or Itayliffs, or such like
amongest them, there can be noe perrill nor
doubt of such badd practises.
Iren. Nevertheless, daungerous are such
assemblyes, whether for Cease or ought «•!.«,
the Constables and Officers being also of the
Irish ; and yf any happen to be there of the
English, even to them they may nroove
perrillous. Therfore for avoyiling of all nuch
evill occasions, they were beat to be abolished.
Eudox. But what ia that which ye call
CesseV It is a woorde sure not used amongent
us heere, therfore (I pray you) exponnde the
same.
Inn. Cesse is none other but that which
your selfe called imposition, but it is in a
kind perhaps unacquaynted unto you. F»r
there are cesses of sundrye aortea; one in,
the ceasing of souldiours upon the count rev ;
for Ireland being a countrey of warre (aa it
is handled) nnd alwayes full of soul<lii>urv
they which have the government, whether
they find it the moat ease to the Queenea
purse, or most readye meanes at hand for the
victualling of the souldiours, or that necemi-
tye enforreth them therunto, doe scatter
the annye abrode the count ivy, and place
them in townes to take theyr victual!* of
them, at such vacant times as they 1\ •• ii"t
in campe, nor are otherwise imployed in *er-
vice. Another kimle of cesae, ia the imposing
of provision for the Governoura house- keeping,
which though it be moat necewarre, and be
also (for avoyding of all the evilN formerly
therin used) 'lately brought to a con>|»
yet it i.s nut without greate IIU-OIIM •:
noe lease then hccrcin Kngland, or rather much
more. The like cease ia alao charged u|«>u
the countn-y aometimea for victualling "f tl"
souldiours, "when they lye in garrison, at such
times as there U none rciuayning in th«
TT3
644
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
Queenes store, or that the same cannot con-
venientlye be conveyed to theyr place of
garrison. But those two are not easye to be
redressed when necessitye thereunto com-
pelleth; but as for the former, as it is not
necessarve, soe is it most hurtfull and offensive
tothepoore countreye, and nothing convenient
for the souldiours themselves, whoe, during
theyr lying at cesse, use all kind of out-
ragious disorder and villanye both towardes
the poore men that vittell and lodge them,
and also to all the rest of the countrey about
them, whom they abuse, oppresse, spoyle,
and afflicte by all the meanes they can in-
vente : for they will not onely not content
themselves \vithsuchvictuallsastheyrehostes
doe provide for them, nor yet as the place
perhaps will affoorde, but they will have
other meate provided, and aqua vita sent
for ; yea and monye besides laved at theyr
trenchers, which if they wante," then aboute
the house they walke with the wretched poore
man and the sillye poore wife, whoe are gladd
to purchase theyr peace with any thing. By
which vile manner of abuse, the countrey
people, yea and the very English which dwell
abrode and see, and sometimes feele these
outrages, growe into greate detestation of the
souldiours, and therebj' into hatred of the
very government, which draweth upon them
such evills : And therfore this ye may also
joyne unto the former evill customes which
we have to reproove in Ireland.
Eudox. Trulye this is one not the leaste,
and though the persons, by whom it is used
be of better note then the former rogish sorte
which ye reckned, yet the faulte (me seemes)
is noe lesse woorthy of a Marshall.
Iren. That were a harde course, Eudoxus,
to redresse every abuse- by a Marshall : it
would seeme to you very evill surgery to cutt
of every unsounde or sicke parte of the bodye,
which,"being by other due meanes recovered,
might afterwardes doe very good service to
the bodye agayne, and happely helpe to save
the whole : Therfore I thinke better that some
good salve for the redresse of this evill be sought
foorthe, then the least parte suffred to perrishe ;
but herof we have to speake in another place.
Nowe we will proceede to other like defectes,
amongest which there is one general! incon-
venience which raigneth allmost throughout
all Ireland : that is, of the Lordes of landes
and Free-holders, whoe doe not there use to
sett out theyr landes to farme, or for terme
of yeares, to theyr tenauntes, but only from
yeare to yeare, and some during pleasure;
neither inilede will the Irish tcnaunt or hus-
bandman otherwise take his land then soe
longe as he list himselfe. The reason herof
in the tenaunte is, for that the land-lordes
there use most shamefully to racke thi-yr
tenauntes, laying upon him Coygnye and
Li verve at pleasure, and exacting of him
(besides his covenaunte) what he please. Soe
that the poore husbandman either dare not
binde himselfe to him for longer time, or
that he thinketh by his continuall libertye
of chaunge to keepe his land-lord the rather
in awe for wronging him. And the reason
why the Land-lord will not longer covenaunte
with him is, for that he dayly looketh after
chaunges and alterations, and horereth in
expectation of newe worldes.
Eudox. But what evill commeth heerby to
the common-wealth ; or what reason is it
that any landlord should not set, nor any
tenaunt take his land as himself list ?
Iren. Marye ! the evills which cometh
thereby are greate, for by this meane both
the land-lord thinketh that he hath his
tenaunte more at comaunde, to followe him
into what action soever he shall enter, and
also the tenaunte, being left at his libertye,
is fitt for everye occasion of chaunge that
shal be offred by time ; and soe much also
the more readye and willing is he to runne
into the same, for that he hath noe such
estate in any his holding, noe such building
upon any farme, noe such costes imployed in
fencing and husbandring the same, as might
with-hold him from any such willfull course,
as his lordes cause, or his owne lewde dis-
position may carrye him unto. All which he
hath forborne, and spared so much expence,
for that he had noe rirme estate in his tene-
ment, but was onely a tenaunt at will orlitle
more, and soe at will may leave it. And
this inconvenience may be reason enough to
grounde any ordinaunce for the good of a
common-wealth, against the private behoofe
or will of any landlord that shall ref-.oe to
graunte any such terme or estate unto his
tenauute as may tende to the good of the
whole realme.
Eudox. Indeede (me seemes) it is a greate
willfullnes in any such lanu-lordes to refuse to
make any longer farmes unto theyr tenauntes,
as may, besides the generall good of the
realme. be also greatly for theyr owne proffitt
and avayle : For what reasonable man will
not thinke that the tenement shalbe made
much better for the lordes behoofe, yf the
tenaunte may by such good meanes be drawen
to builde himself some handsome habitation
theron, to ditcbe and enclose his grounde, to
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 645
manure and husband it as good farmers use ?
For when his tenauntes tenne shalbe expired,
it will yeeld him, in the renewing of his lease,
both a good tine, and also a better rente.
And also it wil be for the goode of the
tenaunte likewise, whoe by such buildings
and inclosures shall receave many benetitts :
first, by the handsomnes of his house, he shall
take greate comforte of his life, more safe
dwelling, and a delighte to keepe his sayde
howse neate and cleanlye, which nowe being,
as they commonly are, rather swynes-steades
then howses, is the clieifest cause of his soe
beastly manner of life, and savadge condi-
cion, lying and living togither with his beaste
in one howse, in one roome, and in one bedd,
that is, the cleane strawe, or rather the fowle
dongehill. And to all these other commodityes
he shall in shorte time finde a greater add'ed,
that is his owne wealth and riches encreased,
and wonderfully enlarged, by keeping his
cattell in inclosures, where they shall all-
waves have fresh pasture, that nowe is all
trampled and over-runne; wanne coverte,
that nowe lyeth open to all weather ; safe
being, that nowe are continually filched and
stollen.
/re/i. Ye have well, Eudoxus, counted
the comodityes of this one good ordinaunce,
amongest which this that ye named last is
not the least; for all togither being most
beneticiall both to the land-lord and tenaunte,
this cheirly redoundeth to the good of the
common-wealth, to have the land thus in-
closed, and well fenced. For it is both a
principall barre and impeacheraent unto
theevea from stealing of cattell in the night,
and also a gall agaynst all rebells, and out-
lawes, that shall rise up in any number
agaynst the govcrnement ; for the theif
thereby shall have much adoe, first to bring
foorth," and afterwardes to drive away his
stollen prey through the common high wayes,
where he 'shall soone be discried and mett
withall : And the rebell or open enemye, yf
any such shall happen, either at home, or
from abrode, shall easely be found when hi1
cometh foorthe, and also be well encountred
withall by a fewe in soe straite passages and
stronge inclosures. This therfore, when we
come to the reforming of all these evill cus-
tomes before mentioned, is needefull to be re-
membred. But nowe by this time me seomes
that I have well ninne throughe the evill
uses which I have observed in In land. And
howbeit there be many more abuses woorthyr,
the reformation both in publicke and in ]<ri-
vate amongcet them, yet these, for that they
are the more general!, and most tending to the
hurte of the common-wealthe, as thev have
come to my remembrance, I have, as'lin-iny
as I could, rehearsed them unto you. Wln-f-
fore nowe I thinke it best that we pans unto
our thirde part*, in which we noted incon-
veniences that are in religion.
Eudux. Surely you have very well handled
these two former, and yf you shall as well goe
thoroughe the thinle likewise, ye ahall im-rite
a very good meede.
Iren. Litle have I to say of religion, both
because the partes therof 'be not many, (it
self being but one) and my self ha\v not
beene much conversaunte in "that calling, but
as lightly passing by I have scene or heard:
Therfore the faulte which I finde in Religion
is but one, but the same is uiiivenall throughe
out all the countrey ; that is. that they are
all Papistes by theyre profession, but in ilie
same soe blindely'and brutishly enformed,
(for the most parte) as that vou would rather
thinke them Atheistesor IntidelU for not one
amongest an hundred knoweth anv grounds
of religion, or any article of his lay the, but
can perhaps say his'Pater noater, or his Ave
Maria, without any knowledge or under-
standing what one woordc therof meaneth.
Eudox. This is trulva most pitifull hear-
ing that soe many sowles should fall into the
devills handes at once and lacke the bleMed
comforte of the sweete gospell and Chn-i.s
dt-are passion. Aye me! now cometh it t»
pass that being a |>eople. as they an>, trading
with soe many nations, and frr<|iicnted of KM
man ye, yet they have not tasted anv parte of
these happye joyes nor once bene lightened
with the morning starre of trueth but lye
weltring in such spiritual! darkeness haiile
by hell-mouth, even readye to fall in ;
happely help not ?
Irrn. The general faulte cometh not of
any late abuse either in the people or thcyr
preistcs, whoe can teache noe belter then they
knowe, nor shewe noe more light then they
have seenr, but in the first institution and
planting of religion in all that real me. which
was as I trade in the time of Pope Olc*tin«,
whoe, as it is written, did tir.-t nond over
thither Piilladius, whoe there deceaninge, he
afterwardes sent over St. Patrickc, being bv
nation a lirittnn. who converted the peopw
iU iim then Iniidcll*) f n m paganumw and
christeiit (1 tin in. In which 1'njn-t time and
longe before it is certayne that n-ligion was
generally corrupted with tln-yr |Hi|u»h trinn-
IHTVC. ihiTt'iin- what othrr cmilil they learne
than, Uiea such tra»he u was taught** them,
646
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
and drinke of that cup of fornication with
which the purple harlott had then made all
nations drunken ?
Eudox. What ! doe you then blame and
finde faulte with soe good an Acte in that
good pope as the reducing of such a greate
people to Christianitye, bringing soe manye
sowles to Christ ? Yf £hat was ill, what "is
good?
Iren. I doe not blame the christening of
them, for to be sealed with the marke of the
Lambe, by what hand soever it be done
rightlye, Thold it a good and gracious woorke,
for the generall profession which they then
take upon them of the Cross and faythe of
Christ. I nothing double but that through
ihe powerful! grace of that mighty Saviour
it will woorke salvation in many of them ;
but nevertheless since they drinke not from
the pure spring of life but onely tasted of
such troubled waters as were brought unto
them, the dregges therof have bredd greate
contagion in theyr sowles, the which dayly
encreasing and being still more augmented
with their owne lewde lives and faulty
conversation hath nowe bredd in them this
generall disease that can not, but onely with
very stronge purgations, be clensed and car-
ryed away.
Eudox. Then for this defecte ye finde noe
faulte with the people themselves nor with
the priestes which take the charge of sowles,
but with the first ordinaunce and institution
therof?
Iren. Not soe, Eudoxus, for the sinne or
ignorannce of the preistes shall not excuse
the people, nor the authoritye of their greate
pastour, Peters successor, shall not excuse the
preist, but they all shall dye in theyr sinnes
for they have all erred and gone out of the
way togither.
Eudox. But yf this ignoraunce of the
people be such a burden to the pope, is it
not a blott unto them that nowe hold the place
of government, in that they which are in the
lighte themselves suffer a people under theyr
charge to wallowe in such deadly darkeness,
for I doe not see that the faulte is chaunged
but the faulte-master.
Iren. That which you blame, Eudox., is
not (I suppose) any faulte of will in these
godly fathers which have the charge therof,
but the inconvenience of the time and trouble-
some occasions, wherewith that wretched
realme hath continually bene turmoyled ; for
instruction in religion needeth quiett times,
and ere we seeke to settle a sounde discipline
in the clargye, we must purchase peace unto
the layetye ; for it is an ill time to preache
amongest swoordes, and most harde, or rather
impossible, it is to settell a good opinion in
the myndes of men for matters of religion
doubtfull, which have a doutless evill opinion
of ourselves ; for ere the newe be brought in,
the old must be removed.
Eudox. Then belike it is meete that some
fitter time be attended, that God send peace
and quietness there in civill matters before
it be attempted in ecclesiasticall. I would
rather have thought that (as it is sayde) cor-
rection should begin at the howse" of God,
and that the care of the sowle should have
bene preferred before the care of the bodye.
Iren. Most true, Eudoxus, the care o'f the
sowle and sowles matters are to be preferred
before the care of the bodye in consideration
of the woorthyness therof, but not till the
time of reformation ; for yf you should knowe
a wicked person daungerously sicke, having
nowe both sowle and bodye greatly diseased,
yet both recoverable, would ye not thinke it
ill advisement to bring the preacher before the
phisition ? For yf his bodye were neglected,
it is like that his languishing sowle being
disquieted by his diseasefull bodye, would
utterly refuse and lothe all spirituall corn-
forte ; butyf his bodye were first recured, and
brought to good frame, should there not then
be founde best time to recure his sowle also ?
Soe it is in the state of the realme : Ther-
fore (as I sayde) it is expedient, first to settle
such a course of government there, as therby
both civill disorders and also ecclesiasticail
abuses may be reformed and amended, wherto
needeth not any such great distaunce of times,
as ye suppose I require, but one joynte resolu-
tion for both, that eche might seconde and con-
firme the other.
Eudox. That we shall see when we come
therunto : in the meane time I consider thus
much, as ye have delivered, touching the
generall faulte which ye suppose in religion,
to weet, that it is popish ; but doe ye finde noe
particular abuses therin, nor in the ministers
therof?
Iren. Yes verely ; for what ever disorder
you see in the Churche of England ye may
tiude there, and many more : Namely, grosse
Simonye, greedy covetousness, fleshly incon-
tinence, cardess slouthe, and generally all
disordered life in the common cleargyeman.
And besides all these, they have theyr owne
particular enormityes; for all the Irish
priestes, which nowe enjoye the churche
livinges there, are in a manner meere lave-
men, go lyke laymen, live like laye men, and
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 647
followe all kinde of husbandrye, and other
worldly affayres, as thother Irish men doe.
They neither reade scriptures, nor preache
to the people, nor minister the sacrament of
communion ; but the baptisme they doe, for
they christen yet after the popish fashion, and
with popish ministration, onely they take the
tithes and offringes. and gather what fruites
els they may of theyr livinges, the which
they convert as badly, and some of them
(they say) paye as due tributes and shares of
theyr livinges to theyr Bishops (I speake of
those which are Irish) as they receave them
duelye.
Eudox. But is it suffered amongest them ?
It is wonderfull but that the governours doc
redreese such shamefull abuses.
Iren. Howe can they, since they knowe
them not ? For the Irish bishops have theyr
cleargye in such awe and subjection under
them, that they dare not complayne of them,
soe as they may doe unto them what they
please, for they, knowing thejT owne un-
woorthyness and incapacitye, and that they
are therfore still removable at theyr bishops
will, yeeld what pleaseth him, and he taketh
what he list : yea, and some of them whose
diocese are in remote partes, somewhat out
of the worldes eye, doe not not at all bestowe
the benefices, which are in theyr owne dona-
tion, upon anye, but keepethem in theyr owne
handes, and sett theyr owne servauntes and
horse-boyes to take up the tithes and fruites
of them," with the which some of them pur-
chase greate landes, and builde fayre castells
upon the same. Of which abuse yf any ques-
tion be moved they have a very seemely
colour of excuse, that they have noe woorthy
ministers to bestowe them upon, but keepe
them soe unbestowed for any such sufficient
person as any shall bring unto them.
Eudox. But is there noe lawe, or ordi-
naunce to meete with this mischeif, nor hath
it never before bene looked into ?
Iren. Yes, it seemes it hath ; for there is
a statute there enacted in Ireland, which
seemes to have bene grounded upon a good
meaning — That whatsoever ElgHriMMB,
being of good conversation and suilieicncy.
shal be brought unto any of the bishoppes,
and nominated unto any living within tht-yr
dioces that is presently voyde, that he shall
(without contradiction) be admitted therunto
before any Irish.
Eudox. This is surely a very good lawc,
and well provided for this evill. wi> ipMkeof;
and whv is not the same observed ?
Iren." I thiuke it is well observed, and
that none of the bishopps tran.«gre«e the
same, but yet it woorketh noe reformation
herof for many respect es. First there are noe
such sufficient English ministers sent over as
might be presented to any bishopp for anv
living, but the most parte of sach English as
come over thither of themselves are either un-
learned, or men of some badd note, for which
they have forsaken England, toe as the
bishop, to whom they shall>e presented, may
justly rejecte them "as incapable and iiiMit
ticient Secondly, the bishop himself is per-
haps an Irish man, whoe being made judge
by that lawe of the jullicicnoye of the minis-
ters, may at his owne will', dislike of the
Englishman, as unwoorthye in his opinion,
and admit t of any Irish whom he shall thinke
more meete for his turno. And yf he shall
at the instaunce of any Englishman of conn-
tenaunce there, whom lie will not rliiplratn.
accept of any such English minister as shal
be tendred unto him, yet he will underhand
carrye such a harde hande over him, or bv
his officers wringe him soe sore, u he will
soone make him wearyeof his poore living.
Lastly, the benefices themselves are soe
mean'e, and of soe small profit t in these I rah
countreyes, through the ill husbandrye of
the Irish people which inhabite them, that
they will not yeelde any competent mayn-
tenaunce for any honest minister to live on,
scarcely to buye him a gowne. And were all
this redressed "(as happdy it might I
what good shall any EnirlMi minister doc
amongest them, by preaching or teaching.
which either cannot understand him, or will
not heare him? Or what comforte of life
shall he have, when all his parishioners Me
soe unsociable, soe intractable, so ill-affected
unto him, as they usually be to all the Eng-
lish ? Or finally, howe dare allmost any hon-
c.-t ministers, 'that are peaceful! civil! Men,
commit t theyr hafetye into the handes of*
sue!) neighbours, a* "the boldest capUyncs
dare scarcely dwell by '{
Eudox. Litle pood then (I see) is by
that statute wrought, howe ever well intend-
ed : but the reformation then/ must growe
higher, and be brought fnun a stronger ordi-
naunce then the coinaunderoent or pcaaHye
of a lawe, which none dare enfonne or com-
playn of when it is broken : but have you any
in.'iv <>f those abuses in the ckargye ?
Iren. I could perhaps recken more, hot I
I •• n . .ive my s peach to growe to longe, and
ila-e may suffice to judp- "t" the |IMM
iiiM.rd. rs which raigne amongest them : »«
fur thu particulars, tht-y are to many to be
648
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
reckned. For the cleargye there (except
some fewe grave fathers which are in high
place ahout the state, and some fewe others
which are lately planted in theyr newe Col-
ledge,) are generally badd, licentious, and
most disordered.
Eudox. Ye have then (as I suppose) gone
through these three first parbes which ye pur-
posed unto your self; to weete, the Incon-
venience which ye observed in the lawes, in
the customes, and in the religion of that land ;
the which (me seemes) ye have so throughly
touched, as that nothing more remayneth to
be spoken thereof.
Iren. Not soe throughly as ye suppose,
that nothing more can remayne, but soe gen-
erally as I purposed ; that is, to laye open
the generall evills of that realme, which doe
hinder the good reformation therof: for to
counte the particular faultes of private men
should be a woorke to infinite; yet some
there be of that nature, that though they be
in private men, yet theyr evill reacheth to a
generall hurte, as the extortions of sherriffs,
subsherriffs, and theyr bayliffs; the corrup-
tion of vittaillors, cessors, and purveyors : the
disorders of seneschalls, captaynes, and theyr
souldiours, and many such like : All which I
will onely name heere, that theyr reformation
may be inynded in place where it most con-
cemeth. But there is one very fowle abuse
which, by the way, I may not omitt, and
that is in captaynes. who, notwithstanding
that they are specially employed to make
peace through stronge execution of warre, yet
they doe soe dandle theyr doinges, and dally o
in the service to them committed, as yf they
would not have the Enemye subdued, or
utterly beaten downe, for feare least after-
wardes they should neede imployment, and
soe be discharged of pay: for which cause
some of them that are laved in garrison doe
soe handle the matter, that they will doe noe
greate hurte to the enemy es, yet for colour
sake some men they will kill, even halfewith
the consent of the enemy, being persons
either of base regard, or enemies to the enemy,
whose heades eftsones they send to the go-
vernour for a comendacion of theyr great en-
devour, telling how weightye a service they
have perfounned by cutting of such and soe
dangerous rebells.
Eudox. Trulye this is a prettye mockerye,
and not to be permitted by the govern ours.
Iren. Yea! but how can the governours
knowe readely what persons those were, and
what the purpose of theyr killing was ? Yea,
and what will ye say, yf the captaynes doe
justifye this theyr course by ensample of
some of theyr governours, which (under Bene-
dicite, I doe tell it you,) doe practise the like
slightes in theyr governments ?
Eudox. Is it possible ? Take heede what
you say, Irenseus.
Iren. To you onely, Efldoxus, I doe tell
it, and that even with greate hartes greif,
and inwarde trouble of mynde to see her
Majestic soe much abused by some whom
she puttes in speciall trust of these greate
affayres : of which some, being mart iall men.
will not doe allwayes what they may for
quieting of thinges, but will rather winke at
some faultes, and will suifer them unpunished,
least that they (having putt all thinges in
that assuraunce of peace that they might)
should seeme aftenvardes not to be needed,
nor continued in theyr government with soe
great a charge to her Majestie. And ther-
fore they doe cunningly carrye theyr course
of government, and from one hand to another
doe bandie the service like a tennis-ball,which
they will never quite strike away, for feare
least afterwardes they should wante sporte.
Eudox. Doe you speake of under-magis-
trates, or principall governours ?
Iren. I doe speake of noe particulars, but
the trueth may be founde oute by tryalle and
reasonable insight into some of theyr dninges.
And yf I should say there is some blame
herof in some of the principall governours,
I think I rright also shewe some reasonable
proof of my speache. As for example, some
of them seing the end of theyr govern-
mente drawe nigh, and some miseheifs or
troublous practise growing up, which after-
wardes may woorke trouble to the next suc-
ceeding governours, will not attempt the re-
dress or cutting of therof, either for feare they
should leave the realme unquiett at the end of
theyr government, or that the next that com-
meth should receave the same to quiett. and
soe happely winne more prayse therof then
they before. And therfore they wi!l not (as
I sayd) seeke at all to redresse that evil], but
will either by graunting protection for a time,
or holding some imparlaunce with the rebell,
or by treatye of commissioners, or by other
like devises, onely smoother and keepe downe
the flame of the mischeif, soe as it may not
breake out in theyr time of government : what
comes aftenvardes they care not, or rather
wish the woorst. This course hath bene
noted in some governours.
Eudnx. Surely (Irenaeus) this, yf it were
true, should be woorthy of a heavyp j udgomc nt :
but it is harde to be" thought, that any go-
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 649
vernour would soe much either envye the
good of that realme which is putt into his
hand, or defrande her Majestic, whoe trusteth
him soe much, or maligne his successours
which shall possess his place, as to suffer an
evill to growe up, which he might timely
have kept under, or perhaps to nourrish it
with coloured countenaunces, or such sinister
mean es.
Iren. I doe not certaynly avouch soe
much, (Eudoxus) but the sequell of thinges
doth in a manner proove, and playnly speake
soe much, that the governours usually are
envious one of anothers greater glorye, which
yf they would seeke to excell by better
government, it should be a most laudable
emulation. But they doe quite otherwise :
for this (as ye may marke) is the common
order of them, that whoe cometh next in the
place will not followe that course of govern-
ment, how ever good, which his predecessor
held, either for disdayne of him, or doubt to
have his doings drowned in another mans
prayse, but will straight take a way quite
contrarye to the former : as yf the former
thought (by keeping under the Irish) to re-
forme them, the next, by discountenauncing
the English will currye favour with the
Irish, and soe make his government seeme
plausible in viewe, as having all the Irish at
his comaunde : but he that comes next after
will perhaps followe neither one nor the other,
but will dandle the one and the other in such
sort, as he will sucke sweete out of them
both, and leave bitterness to the poore lande,
which yf he that comes after shall seeke to
redress, he shall perhaps finde such crosses
as he shall be hardly able to beare, or doe
any good that might woorke the disgrace of
his predecessors. Examples herof ye may
see in the governors of late times sufficiently,
and in others of former times more mani- .
festly, when the government of that realme
was committed sometimes to the Geraldins, as
when the Howse of Yorke had the Crowne of
England ; sometimes to the Butlers, as when '
the Howse of Lancaster gott the same. And
other whiles, when an English governour was
appoyn ted, he perhaps founde enemyes ofboth.
And this is the wretchedness of that fatall
kingdome which, I thinke, therefore, was in
old times not called amisse Banna or sacra
Insula, taking sacred (sacra) for accursed.
Eudox. I am sorye to heare soe much as
ye reporte ; and nowe I beginne to conceave
somewhat more of the cause of her continuall
wretchedness then heretofore I foundo, and
wish that this inconvenience were well looked
into : for sure (me seemes) it is more waightre
then all the former, and more hardly to be re-
dressed in the governour then in the governed ;
as a maladye in a vitall parte is more incur-
able then in an exteraalL
Iren. You say very true ; but nowe that
we have thus ended all the abuses and incon-
veniences of that government, which was our
first parte, it followea next to speake of the
scconde, which was of the meanes to cure and
redress the same, which we must laboure to
reduce to the first beginning therof.
Eudox. Right soe, Irenanis : for by that
which I have noted in all this your discourse
ye suppose that the whole ordinaunce and
institution of that realmes government «a*.
both at first when it was placed, evill plotted,
and also since, through theyr other over-
sights, mime more out of square to that
disorder whichi , is nowe come to ; like a-
two indirect lines, the further they are drawen
out, the further they goe asunder.
Iren. I doe soe, Eudoxus, and as you say,
soe thinke. thnt the longer that govermi;.-nt
thus continueth, in the woone course will
that realme be; for it is all in vayne that
they nowe strive and endevour by fayre
meanes and peaceable plottcs to redrean the
same, without first removing all those incor-
veniences, and newe framing (as it were in t ho
forge) all that is worne out of fashion : For
all other meanes wilbc but as lost labour, by
patching up one hole to make main •
the Irish doc strongly hate and abhorre all
reformation and subjection to the Kngli-li.
by reason thnt, having bone once subdued by
them, they were thrust out of all theyr pos-
sessions. Soe as nowe they feare, that yf
they were agayne brought under, thev should
likewise be expelled out of all, which is the
cause that they hate the English government,
according to the saying, ' Quern mrtuunt oder-
unt :' Therfnre the reformation must nowe
be the strength of a greater power.
Eudox. But, me thinkes, that might be
by making of good lawes, and establishing
of newe statutes, with sharpe penalty?* and
punnishments for amendment of all that i*
presently amiss, and not (as ye roppoae) to
beginne all as it were anewe, and to alter the
whole forme of the government ; which howe
ilaimirerous a thing il is t<> attempt you your
sell'c must needea confess, and they which
have the managing of the realme* whole
pollicye cannot, without greatc cauae, feare
and refrayne : for all Innovation is perilona,
in-.. i •nnic'li as though it be mente for lb*
better, yet loe many accident* mod fearfull
650
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
events may come betwene, as that it may
hazarde the losse of the whole.
Iren. Very true, Eudoxus: all chaunge
is to be shunned, where the aftayres stand in
such state as that they mav continue in
quietness, or be assured" at all to abide as
they are. But that in the realme of Ireland
we see much otherwise, for everye day we
perceave the troubles to growe more upon us,
and one evill growing upon another, insoe-
much as there is noe parte sounde nor ascer-
tayned, but all have theyr eares upright,
wayting when the watch-woord shall come
that they should all rise generally into re-
bellion, and cast away the Lnglish subjection.
To which there nowe litle wanteth; for I
thinke the woorde be allreadye given, and
there wanteth nothing but opportunitye,
which trulye is the death of one noble par-
son, whoe, being himself most stedfast to his
most noble Queene and his countrey, coasting
upon the South-Sea, stoppeth the Ingate of
all that, evill which is looked for, and holdeth
in all those which are at his becke, with the
terrour of his greatness, and the assuraunce of
his honourable loyaltye : And therfore where
you thinke, that good and sounde lawes
might amende, and reforme thinges amiss,
there you thinke surely amisse. For it is
vayne'to prescribe lawes, where noe man
careth for keeping them, nor feareth the
daunger of breaking them. But all the realme
is first to be reformed, and lawes are after-
wardes to be made for keeping and conteyn-
ing it in that reformed estate.
Eudox. Howe then doe you thinke is the
reformation therof to be begunne, yf not by
lawes and ordinaunces ?
Iren. Even by the swoorde ; for all those
evills must first be cutt awaj- with a strong
hand, before any good can be planted : like
as the corrupt braunches and unholsome
boughes are first to be pruned, and the fowle
mosse clensed and scraped away, before the
tree can bring foorth any good fruite.
Eudox. Did you blame me, even nowe,
for wishing Kearne, Horse-boyes, and. Kear-
rooghs, to be cleane cutt of. as to violent a
meanes, and doe you your self nowe prescribe
the same medicine ? Is not the swoord the
most violent redress that may be used for an y
evill V
Iren. It is soe ; but yet where noe other
remedye may be founde, nor noe hope of re-
coverye had, there must needes this violent
meanes be used. As for the loose kind of peo-
ple which ye would have cutt of I blamed it,
for that they might otherwise be brought per-
haps to good, as namely by this way which
I sett before you.
Eudox. Is not your way all one in effect
with the former, which you founde faulte with ,
save onely this oddes, that I sayd by the
halter, and you say by the swoorde ? What
difference is there?
Iren. There is surely greate difference
when you shall understand it; for by the
swoorde which I named, I doe notmeane the
cutting of of all that nation with the swoorde,
which farre be it from me that I should ever
thinke soe desperatly, or wish soe uncharit-
ably, but by the swoorde I meane the royall
power of the Prince, which ought to stretche
it self foorthe in the cheifest strength to the
redressing and cutting of of those evills,
which I before blamed, and not of the people
which are evill. For evill people by good
ordinaunces and government may be made
goode ; but the evill that is of it self evill will
never become good.
Eudox. I pray you then declare your
mynde at large, how you would wish 'that
sword, which you meane, to be used to the
reformation of all those evills.
Iren. The first thing must be to send over
into that realme such a stronge power of men,
as that shall perforce bring in all that re-
bellious route of loose people, which either
doe nowe stande out in open armes, or in
wandring companyes doe keepe the woodes,
spoyling the good subject.
Eudox. You speake nowe, Irenaeus, of an
infinite charge to her Majestic, to send over
such an armye as should treade downe all
that standeth before them on foote, and lave
on the grounde all the stiff-necked people of
that lande ; for there is nowe but one outlawe
of any greate reckning, to weete, the Earle of
Tyrone, abrode in armes, agaynst whom you
see what huge charges she hath bene at, this
last yeare, in sending of men, providing of
victualls, and making head agaynst him: yet
there is litle or nothing at all done, but the
Queenes treasure spent, her people wasted,
the poor countrey troubled, and the enemyc
nevertheless brought unto noe more subjection
then he was, or list outwardly to shewe,
which in effect is none, but rather a scorne of
her power, and an emboldening of a proude
rebell, and an encouradgement unto all like
lewde disposed traytors that shall dare to lift
up theyr heeles agaynst theyr Soveraigne
Ladye. Therfore it were harde counsell '
drawe such an exceeding great charge up
her, whose event shal be so unccrtayne.
Iren. True indeede. yf the event shou
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 651
be uncertayne; but the certaintve of the
effect herof shal be soe infallible as that noe
reason can gainsaye it, neither shall the
charge of all this armye (the which I de-
matinde) be much greater then soe much as
in these two last yeares warres hath vaynly
bene expended. For I dare undertake, "that
it hath cost the Queene above 200000
poundes allreadye ; and for the present charge,
that she is nowe at there, amounteth to verve
neere 12000 poundes a monthe, wherof cast
ye the accoumpte; yet nothing is done. The
which somme, had it bene imployed as it
should be, would have effected all this lhat I
nowe goe about.
Eudox. Howe meane you to have it im-
ployed, but to be spent in the paye of soul-
diours, and provision ofvictualls?
Iren. Right soe, but it is nowe not dis-
bursed at once, as it might be, but drawen
out into a long length, by sending over nowe
20000 poundss, and the next halfe yeare
10000 poundes; soe as the souldiour in the
meane time, for wante of due provision of
victuall, and good payment of his due, is
starved and consumed ; that of a thousand,
that goe over lustye able men, in half a yeare
there are not left five hundred. And ye't the
Qneenes charges are never a whit the lesse,
but what is not payed in present monye is
accoumpted in dett, which will not be long
unpayed ; for the Captayne, halfe whose
souldiours are dead, and the other quarter
never mustered, nor scene, comes shortly to
demaunde payment heere of his whole
accoumpte, where, by good meanes of some
greate ones, and privye sharing with the
officers and servauntes of othersome, he
receaveth his dett, much less perhaps then
was due, yet much more indeede then he
justly deserved.
Eudox. I take this, sure, to be noe good
husbandrye ; for what must ncedes be spente
as good spent at once, where is enough, as
to have it drawen out into longe delayer,
seing that therby both the sen-ice is much
hindred, and yet nothing saved : but it may
be, Irenseus, that the Queenes treasure in soe
greate occasions of disbursementes (as it is
well knowen she hath bene at latelye) is not
allwayes soe readye nor soe plentiful!, as it
can spare soe greate a somme togither, but
being payed as it is, nowe some and then
some, it i's noe greate burthen to her, nor any
greate impoverishing to her coffers, seing
by such delaye of time, that it daylye cometh
in as fast as "she parteth it out
Iren. It may be as you sayd, but for the
through of so honorable a coane 1
doubt not but yf the Queenes coffers be not
soe well stored, (which we are not to looke
into) but that the whole realme which nowe,
as thinges be used, doe feele a continual l>ur-
den of that wietched realme hanging ui»,n
theyr backes, would, for a final! riddaunce
of all that trouble, be once troubled for all ;
and putt to all theyr shoulders, and helping
handes, and hartes also, to the defraying of
that charge, most gladfullie and wiflinglie;
and surely the charge, in effect, is nothing t..
the infynite great good which should c<.n»e
thereby, both to the Queene, and all this
realme generally, as when time serveth shal
be shewed.
Eudnx. Howe many men then would you
require to the finishing of this whii-h ye take
in hand '/ and howe long space would vou
have them entertayned ?
Iren. Verely, not above 10000 footemen,
and 1000 horse, and all those not ah.
space of one yeare and a halfe; for I m.nl.l
still, as the" heate of the service abatpth,
abate the number in pave, and make other
provision for them, as I will shewe.
Eudox. Surely, it see-moth not much
which ye require, nor noe long time; but
howe would you have them used? Would you
leade foorth your armye agaynst tin- Ki •
and seeke him where he Li to fight ?
Iren. Nee, Eudoxus ; it would not be, fin
it is well knowen thaflhe is a Hying enemye.
hiding himself in wooaes and boggra, from
whence he will not drawe foorth. but into
some straite passage or perillous fi>»rd^where
he knowes the ararie must needes paiwe;
there will he lye in wayre, and, vf he find*
advauntage fitt. will daungernusiy hazarde
the troubled souldiour. Therf..re to oeeke him
out that still llyeth. and tollowe dim that can
hardly be foaada were vaync and bootelem;
but I would deviilc my men in garrison uprm
his countrey, in such places an I should
thinke might mo.«t annoye him.
l'nil,i.r. Hut IK.WI- .MM that be, Ireiura*,
with so fewe men '< For ihr rnruiyi-, a* ytm
nowe see, is not all in one eountivy. IXIIMNDC
in I'Nti r, Mime in CoiMiaii^liti-, an. I > then in
LeyiiMer. S<n> as to pinnule ctmniri' garri-
sons in all these place* should neede many
inuiv ini-n then you ppeake of, or to plaunlr
all in one, and to leave the rent naked, fthould
be but to Imve them t.i the Kpovle.
Ire*, I wotiM wi»h tin- rh.-il power of tbe
annye to be garrisoned in one ocxintroy that
is strongest, and tlmther u|>»ii tlw rent that
are weakest: As for example, the Karle of
652
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
Tyrone is nowe accoumpted the strongest :
upon him would I lay 8000 men in garrison,
1000 uppon Feughe Mac-Hughe and the Ke-
vanaghs, and 1000 upon some parte of Con-
naughte, to be at the direction of the Gover-
nour.
Eudox. I see nowe all your men bestowed,
but in what places would you sett theyr
garrison that they might rise out most con-
venientlye to service ? And though perhaps I
am ignoraunte of the places, yet I will take
the mappe of Ireland, and lay it before me,
and make myne eyes (in the meane while)
my schoole-master, to guide my under-
standing to judge of your plott.
Iren. These 8000"in Ulster I would devide
likewise into fowre partes, soe as there should
be 2000 footemen in e verve garrison; the
which I would thus place. Upon the Black-
water, in some convenient place, as highe
uppon the River as might be, I would lave
one garrison. Another would I putt at Castle-
liffar, or there-abouts, soe as they should
have all the passages upon the river to
Loghfoyle. The thirde I would place about
Fearnemunnaghe or Bondraise, soe as they
might lye betwene Connaughte and Ulster,
to serve upon both sides, as occasion should
be offered ; and this therfore would I have
stronger then any of the rest, because it
should be most enforced, and most employed,
and that they might put wardes at Balla-
shaine and Belike, and all those passages.
The last would I sett about Moneham or
Belterbert, soe as it should fronte both upon
the enemye that wave, and also keepe the
countreys of Cavan and Meath in awe from
passing of stragglers and outgadders from
those partes, whence they use to come foorthe,
and oftentimes use to woorke much mischeif.
And to everye of these garrisons of 2000
footemen I would have 200 horsemen added,
for the one without the other can doe but
litle service. The fowre garrisons, thus
being placed, I would have to be vittayled
afore hand for halfe a year, which ye will say
to be harde, considering the corruption and
usuall wast of victualls But why should not
they be as well vittayled for soe long time, as
the shippes are usuallye for a yeare, and
sometimes two, seing it is easyer to keepe
them on lande then on water ? Theyr bread
would I have in flowre, soe as it might be
baked still to serve theyr necessary wante.
Theyr drinke also there brewed within them,
from time to time, and theyr beef before hand
barelled, the which may be used as it is
needefull; for I make noe doubt but fresh
victualls they will sometimes provide for
themselves amongest theyre enemyes creete.
Hereunto would I likewise have them have
a store of hose and shoes, with such other
necessaryes as may be needefull for soul-
diours, soe as they would have noe oc-
casion to look for relief from abroade, or
cause such trouble, for theyr continuall
supplye, as I see and have often prooved in
Ireland to be combersome to the Deputye,
and more dauugerous to them that retayne
them, then halfe the leading of an armve ;
for the enemye, knowing the ordinarye waves
by which theyr releif must be brought them,
useth commonlye to drawe himself into the
strayte passages thitherwardes, and often-
times doth daungerouslye distress them:
Besides, the paye of such forces as should
be sent for theyr convoy shall be spared the
charge of the carriadges, and the exactions
of the countrey likewise. But onely every
halfe yeare the supplye to be broughte by the
Deputye himselfe, and his power, whoe shall
then visite and overlooke all those garrisons,
to see what is needefull, to chaunge what is
expedient, and to direct what he shall best
advise. And these fowre garrisons issuing
foorthe, at such convenient times as they
shall have intelligence or espiall upon the
enemye, will so drive him from one side to
another, and tennis him amongest them, that
he shall finde no where safe to keepe his
creete, or hide himselfe, but flying from the
lire shall fall into the water, and out of one
daunger into another, that in shorte space
his creete, which is his moste sustenaunce,
shalbe wasted in praying, or killed in dri-
ving, or starved for wante of pasture in
the woodes, and he himself brought soe lowe,
that he shall have noe harte nor abilitye to
endure his wretchedness, the which will
surely come to pass in very shorte space ; for
one winters well following of him will soe
plucke him on his knees, that he will never
be able to stand up agayne.
Eudox. Doe you then thinke the winter
time fittest for the service of Ireland ? Howe
falles it then that our most employmentes be
in sommer, and the armyes then ledd com-
monly foorthe ?
Iren. It is surely miscoaceaved ; for it is
not with Ireland as it is with other coun-
treyes, where the warres flame most in som-
mer, and the helmefts glister brightest in the
fayre sunneshine : But in Ireland the winter
yeeldeth best service, for then the trees are
bare and naked, which use both to clot
and howse the kearne : the grounde is co
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 653
and wett, which useth to be his bedding; the
ayreis sharpeand bitter, which useth to blowe
through his naked sides and legges; the
kine are barren and without milke, which
useth to be his onely foode, neither yf he
kill them then, will they yeelde him any tics h.
nor yf he kee]>e them will they give him anv
foode; besides then being all in calfe (fo'r
the most parte) they will, through much
chasing and driving, cast all theyr calves and
loose theyr milke, which should" relay ne him
the next sommerV
Eudox. I doe well understand your rea-
son ; but, by your leave, I have hearde it
otherwise sayae, of some that were outlawes,
that in sommer they kept themselves quiett,
but in winter they would playe theyr partes,
and when the nightes were" longest, then
burne and spoyle most, soe that they might
safely retume before daye.
Iren. I have likewise hearde, and also
scene proof therof trewe : But that was of
such outlawes as were either abiding in well
inhabited countreyes, as in Mounster, or bor-
dering to the English pale, as Feugh Mac
Hughe, the Kevanaghs, the Moores, the
Dempsyes, the Ketins, the Kellyes or such
like : For for them indeede the winter is the
fittest time of spoyling and robbing, because
the nightes are then (as ye say) longest and
darkest, and also the countreyes rounde about
are then fullest of come, and good provision
•to be everye where gotten by them ; but it is
farre otherwise with a stronge peopled enemye
that possesseth a whole countrey, for the
other being but a fewe, are indede privilye
lodged, and kept in out villages, and corners
nigh the woodes and mountaynes, by some
thevr privye frendes, to whom they bring
theyr spoyles and stealthes, and of whom
they continuallye receave eecrett relief; but
the" open enemye having all his countrey
wasted, what by himself, and what by the
soulHiours, findeth then succour in noe place.
Townes there arc none of which he may gett
spoyle, they are all burnte; countrey IIOUM-*
and* farmours there are none, they be all
fledd ; bread he hath none, he ploughed not in
sommer ; flesh he hath, but yf he kill it in
winter, he shall wante milke in sommer, and
shortly want life. Therfore if they be well
followed but one winter, ye shall have litle
woorke with them the next sommrr.
Eudox. I doe nowe well perceave the dif-
ference, and doe verely thinke that the winter
time is the fittest for service : withall I per-
ceive the manner of your handlinge the ser-
vice, by drawing suddayne draughtes upon
the enemye, when ho looketh not for voo,
and to watche advauntagea upon him a* he
doth upon you. By which straight keeping
ot them in, and not suffring them long at
any time to rest, I must needes thinke that
they will soone be brought lowe, and driven
to great extreraityes. All which when you
have perfourmed, and brought them to "the
verve last cast, suppose that they will offer,
either to come in unto you and subniitt them-
selves, or that some of them will woke to
withdrawe themselves, what is your advise to
doe ? will you have them receaved ?
Iren. Noe; but at the beginning of those
warres. and when the garrisons are will
plaunted and fortifyed, I would wish a pro-
clamation were made generallye and tocometo
theyr knowlege:— That wha't persons soever
would within twenty dayesabsoliitly nubmitt
themselves, (excepting onely the very |>rin-
cipalls and ring-leaders) should finde" grace :
I doubt not, but upon the settling of thon
garrisons, such a terrour and neere cons i ill-r-
ation of theyr perillous estate wilbe -trie-ken
into most of them, that they will covet t
to drawe awave from theyr leaders. And
agayne I well knowe that the rebells them-
selves (as I sawe by proof in the Desmonds
warres) will tume away all theyr nisoall
people, whom thev thinke unserviceable, as
old men, women, children, and liintUn, (which
they call churlcs), which would onely wast
theyr rictualls, and yeeld them noe aytie; but
theyr cattell they will surely kcepe away:
'Ihese therfore, though pollicye would tume
them backe agayne that they might the
rather consume and afflict? the other rebells,
yet in a pityfull commiseration I could wish
them to be receaved ; the rather for that this
base sorte people doth not for the most parte
rebel 1 of himself, having noe harte tin r
unto, but is of force drawen by the graunde
rebells into theyr actions, and carryed away
with the vyolence of the streanie, els be
should be sure to loose all that he hath, and per-
haps his life al.so ; the which nowc he cam eth
unto them, in hope to enjoy them there, but
he is there by the strong rebells themselves
soone turned out of all, soe that the constrayme
herof may in him deserve pardon. Likewise
yf any of theyr able men or gentellmen shall
then offer to come awaye, and to bring theyr
cMiti-11 with them, as some noe doubte may
>ti-:ile them previlve away, I wish them aba*
to be receaved, for the disabling of the tnesaye,
but withall, that good assuranace mar be
taken for theyr true tx-haviour and absolute
submission, mid that they hen be not suf-
654
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
fred to remaine anie longer in those partes,
noe nor about the garrisons, but sent awaie
into the inner partes of the realme, and dis-
persed in such sort as they shall not coine
togither, nor easelie returne if they would :
For if they might be suffred to remayue
about the garrison, and there inhabite, as they
will offer to till the grounde and yeeld a
greate parte of the profitt therof, and of
theyr cattell, to the Coronell, wherwith they
have heretofore tempted many, they would
(as I have by experience knowen) be ever
after such a gall and inconvenience unto
them, as that theyr profitt should not recom-
pence theyr hurte; for they will privilye
releive theyr frendes that are foorthe ; they
will send the enemye secrett advertisement
of all their purposes and journeyes which
they meane to make upon them ; they will
also not sticke to drawe the enemye privilie
uppon them, yea and to betraye the forte it
selfe, by discoverye of all her defectes and
disadvauntages (yf any be) to the cutting of
all theyr throates. For avoyding wherof
and many other inconveniences, I wish that
they should be carryed farre from thence into
some other partes, soe that (as I sayd) they
come in and submitt themselves, upon the
first summons : but afterwardes I would have
none receaved, but left to theyr fortune and
miserable end. My reason is, for that those
which will afterwardes remayne without are
stoute and obstinat rebells. such as will never
be made dutifull and obedient, nor brought to
labour or civill conversation, having once
tasted that licentious life, and being acquaint-
ed with spoyles and outrages, will ever after
be readye for the like occasions, soe as there
is noe hope of theyr amendment or recoverye,
and therfore needefull to be cutt of.
Eudox. Surely of such desperat persons
as will willfully followe the course of theyr
owne follye, there is noe compassion to be had,
and for others ye have proposed a merciful!
meanes, much more then they have deserved :
but what then shalbe the conclusion of this
warre ? for you have prefixed a shorte time
of the continuaunce therof.
Iren. The end (I assure me) wil be very
shorte and much sooner then can be (in soe
greate a trouble, as it seemeth) hoped for. ail-
though there should none of them fall by
the swoorde, nor be slayne by the souldiour,
yet thus being kept from manuraunce, and
theyr cattell from running abrode, by this
har'derestraynte they would quickly consume
themselves, "and devoure one another. The
proof wherof I sawe sufficiently ensampled in
those late warres in Mounster; for notwith-
standing that the same was a most riche and
plentifull countrey, full of corne and cattell,
that you would have thought they would
have bene able to stand long, yet ere one
yeare and a halfe they were brought to such
wretchedness, as that'any stonye harte would
have rued the same. Out of every corner of I
the woodes and glinnes they came creeping
foorthe upon theyr handes, for theyr legges
could not beare them ; they looked" like ana- |
tomyes of death, they spake like ghostes
crying out of theyr graves ; they did eate of
the dead carrions, happy were they yf they
could finde them, yea, and one another soone
after, insoemuch as the very carcasses they
spared not to scrape out of theyr graves ; and
yf they founde a plotte of water-cresses or
sham-rokes, there the}- flocked as to a feast for
the time, yet not able long to continue there-
withall; that in shorte space there were none
allmost left, and a most populous and plen-
tifull countrey suddaynly made voyde of
man or beast : yet sure in all that warre, there
perished not many by the swoorde, but all by
the extremitye of famine which they them-
selves had wrought.
Eudox. It is a wonder that you tell, and
more to be wondred howe it should soe shortly
come to pass.
Iren. It is most true, and the reason also
very readye ; for ye must conceave that the
strength of all that nation is the Kearne, «
(ialloglasse, Stokaghe, Horsemen, and Horse-
boyes, the which having bene never used to
have any thing of their owne. and nowe
living upon the spoyle of others, make noe
spare of any thing, but havocke and con-
fusion of all they meete with, whether it be
theyr owne frendes goodes, or theyr foes.
And yf they happen to gett never soe great
spoyles at any time, the same they consume
and wast in a trice, as naturally delighting
in spoyle, though it doe themselves noe good.
On the other side, whatsoever they leave un-
spent, the souldiour, when he cometh there,
he havocketh and spoyleth likewise, soe that
betwene them both nothing is very shortly
left. And yet this is very necessarye to be
done for the soone finishing of the warre ; and
not onely this in this wise, but also all those
subjectes which border upon those parts, are
either to be removed and drawen away, or
likewise to be spoyled, that the enemye may
find noe succour therebye : for what th3
souldiour spares the rebellwill surely spoyla
Eudox. I doe nowe well understand you.
But nowe when all thinges are brought to
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 655
this pass, and all filled with this rufull spec-
tacle ofsoe many wretched carcasses starving,
goodly e coun treys wasted, soe huge a desola-
tion and confusion, as even 1 that doe but
hcare it from you, and doe picture it in my
mynde, doe greatlye pittye and commiserate
it, yf it shall happen, that the state of this
miserye and lamentable image of thinges
shal be told, and feelingly presented to her
Sacred Majestic, being by nature full of
mercy e and clemencye, whoe is most inclinable
to such pityfull complaynts, and will not en-
dure to heare such tragedyes made of her
people and poore subjectes as some about her
may insinuate ; then she perhaps, for verve
compassion of such calamityes, will not one-
ly stopp the streame of such violence, and
returne to her wconted mildenesse, but also
conne them litle thankes which have bene
the authors and counsellours of such blooddie
platformes. Soe I remember in the late
government of the good Lord Graye, when,
after long travell and many perilous assayes,
he had brought thinges allinost to this pass
that ye speake of, and that when it was even
made readye for reformation, and might have
bone brought to what her Majestic would,
like complaynte was made agaynst him, that
he was a bloudye man, and regarded not the
life of her subjectes noe more then dogges,
but had wasted and consumed all, soe as
nowe she had nothing almost left, but to
raigne in theyr ashes; her Majesties earewas
soone lente "thereunto, and all suddaynly
turned topsy turvy ; the noble Lord eft-sones
was blamed : the wretched people pittyed ; and
new counsells plotted, in which it was con-
cluded that a general pardon should be sent
over to all that would accept of it, uppon
which all former purposes were blaunked. the
(lovemour at a baye, and not onely all that
greate and long charge, which she had be-
fore bene at, quite lost and cancelled, but
also that hope of good which was even at
the doore putt backe, and cleane frustrated.
All which, whether it be true, or noe, your
selfe can well tell.
Iren. To true, Eudoxus, the more the
pittye, for I may notforgett soe memorable a
thing: neither can I be ignoraunte of that
perillous devise, and of the whole meanes by
which it was compassed, and very cunningly
contrived by sowing first dissention betwene
him and an other Noble Personage, whenn
they both founde at length ho we notably
thev had bene abused, and Imwe therhy,
under-hand, this universal alteration of
thiii"-es was brought aboute, but then to late
to stave the same ; for in the meane time all
that was formerly done with long labour and
great toyle, was (as you say) in a moment
undone, and that good Lord blotted with the
name of a bloudy man, whom, who that well
knewe, knewe him to be most gentt U affable,
loving, and temperate : but that the neces-
sitye of that present state of t hinges enforced
him to that violence, and allmost chaunged
his very natural! disposition. Hut otherwise
he was soe fair from delighting in bloud, that
oftentimes he suffred not just vengeance to
fall where it was deserved : and even some of
those which were afterwardes his accusers
had tasted to much of his mcrcye, and were
from the gallowes brought to be his accuser*.
But his course indeede was this, that he
spared not the heades and principal!* of any
mischeivous practize or rebellion, but Miewed
sharpe judgement on them, cheifly for ex-
amples sake, that all the meaner sorte, which
also then were generative infected with tlint
evill, might by terrour therof be reclavmed,
and saved, yf it might be possible, r'or in
that last conspiracyc of some of the Knglish
Pale, thinke you not that there were manve
more guiltye then they that felt the punUh -
ment, or was there any allmost clere from
the same? yet he touched onelv a fewe of
speciall note": and in the tryall of them aUoe
even to prevente the blame of crueltie and
partiall dealing, as seeking theyr bloud,
which he, in his great wisedome (as it seem-
eth,) did fore-ftee would be objected agaynsl
him ; he, for the avoyding therof, did use a
singular discretion and regarde. For the
.Jurye that went upon theyr tryall. he made
to be chosen out of theyr neerest kinsemen,
and theyr Judges he made of some of theyr
owne fathers, of others theyr uncles and
dearest frendes, whoe, when they could not
but jusllv condemn? them, yet uttrvd theyr
judgement in aboundaunce of teares, and
yet he even herin was counted bloudye and
cruell.
Kudox. Iiuieede soe have I hearde it
often here spoken, and I perceave (as I all-
waves vercly thought) that it was most un-
ju>ilve : for he was allwayes knowen to be »
most just, sincere, godly, and right noble
man, fair from such sternem, fair from such
uiiriu'hteousneH. Hut in that sharp* rxeen-
tion'of the Spaiiyardca at the Forte «.f 9mm
wi.-ke. I heard it s|»viallye noted, ai
were true as some reporied, Mirelye it was a
,uche to him in honour, for some »ay
that he pmmi-ed them life: others that at
least he did putt them iu hop« theroC
656
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
Iren. Both the one and the other is most
untrue ; for this I can assure you, my selfe
being as neere them as any, that he was soe
farr from either promising, or putting them
in hope, that when first theyr Secretarye,
called, as I remember. Jacques Geffray, an
Italian, being sent to treate with the Lord
Deputye for grace, was flatlye denjred ; and
afterwardes theyr Coronell, named Don Se-
bastian, came foorthe to intreate that they
might parte with theyr armes like souldiours,
at least with theyr" lives, according to the
custome of warre and lawe of nations, it was
strongely denyed him, and tolde him by the
Lord Deputye himselfe, that they could not
justlye pleade either custome of warre, or
lawe" of nations, for that they were not any
lawfull enemyes ; and yf they were, he willed
them to shewe by what commission they
came thither into another Princes dominions
to warre, whether from the Pope or the King
of Spayne, or any other : the which when
they sayd they had not, but were onely ad-
venturers that came to seeke fortune abrode,
and serve in warres amongest the Irish, who
desired to entertayne them, it was then tolde
them, that the Irish themselves, as the Earle
and John of Desaionde with the rest, were
noe lawfull enemyes, but rebells and tray-
tours; and therfore they that came to suc-
cour them noe better then roges and runna-
gates, specially coming with noe lycence, nor
commission from theyr owne King : Soe as
it should be dishonorable for him in the
name of his Queene to condicion or make
any termes with such rascalls, but left them
to theyr choise, to yeelde and submitt them-
selves^ or noe. Wherupon the sayd Coronel
did absolutely yeeld himselfe and the forte,
with all therin, and craved onely mercye,
which it being not thought good to shewe
them, both for daunger of themselves, yf,
being saved, they should afterwardes joyne
with the Irish, and also for terrour to the
Irish, who were much emboldened by those
forrayne succours, and also putt in hope of
more" ere long: there was noe other way but
to make that shorte end of them which was
made. Therfore most untruelye and ma-
liciously doe these evill tonges backbite and
slaunder the sacred ashes of that most just
and honorable personage, whose least vertue,
of many most excellent which abounded in
his herovcall spiritt, they were never able to
aspire unto.
Eudox. Trulye, Irenasus, I am right gladd
to be thus sati'sfyed by you in that I have
often hearde questioned, and yet was never
able, till nowe, to choke the mouth of such
detractours with the certayne knowledge of
theyr slaunderous untruthes: neither is the
knowledge herof impertinent to that which
we formerly had in hand, I meane to the
thorough prosecuting of that sharpe course
which ye have sett downe for the bringing
under of those rebells of Ulster and Con-
naught, and preparing a way for theyr per-
petuall reformation, least happely, by any
such sinister suggestions of cruelfye and to
much bloudshedd, all the plott might be
overthrowen, and all the cost and labour
therin employed be utterly lost and cast
a wave.
Iren, Ye say most true ; for, after that
Lordes calling away from thence, the two
Lordes Justices continued but a while : of
which the one was of mynde, (as it seemeth)
to have continued in the footing of his pre-
decessour, but that he was courbed and res-
trayned. But the other was more mildely
disposed, as was meete for his profession, and
willing to have all the pityfull woundes of
that commonwealth healed and recured, but
not with that heede as they should be. After
whom Sir John Perrot, succeding (as it were)
into another mans harvest, founde an open
way to what course he list, the which he bent
not to that poynte which the former gover-
nours intended, but rather quite contrarye,
as it. were in scorne of the former, and in a
vayne vaunte of his owne counsells, with the
which he was to willfullye carryed ; for he
did treade downe and disgrace all the Eng-
lish, and sett up and countenaunce the Irish
all that he could, whether thinking therby
to make them more tractable and buxome to
his government, (wherin he thought much
amiss) or privily plotting some other purposes
of his owne, as it partly afterwardes appeared ;
but surely his manner of government could
not be sounde nor holsome for that realme,
being soe contrarye to the former. For it
was even as two physitians should take one
sicke bodye in hand at two sundrye time
of which the former would minister all thing
meete to purge and keepe under the bodj
the other to pamper and strengthen it su
dainly agayne, wherof what is to be looke
for but a most daungerous relapse? Tli
which we see nowe through his rule, and tl
next after him, happened thereunto, beir
nowe more daungerously sicke then
before. Therfore by all meanes it must
forc-seene and assured, that after once entrir
into this course of reformation, there be afte
wardes noe remorse or drawing backe for i
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 657
sight of any such rufull objectes as must
therupon followe, nor for compassion of theyr
calamityes, seing that by noe other meanes
it is possible to recure them, and that these
are not of will, but of very urgent necessitye.
Eudox. Thus farre then ye have nowe
proceeded to plauute your garrisons, and to
directe theyr services ; of the which never-
theless I must needes conceave that there
cannot be any ceitayne direction sett downe,
soe that they must 'followe the occasions that
shal be dayly ofired, and diligently awayted.
But, by your leave (Irenaeus), notwithstand-
ing all this your carefull fore-sight and pro-
vision, (me thinkes) I see an evill lurke unes-
pyed, that may chaunce to hazarde all the
hope of this great service, yf it be not very-
well looked into ; and that is, the corruptions
of theyr captaines : for though they be placed
never soe carefully, and theyr companyes
tilled never soe sufficiently, yet may they, yf
they list, discanle tvhom they please, and
send away such as will perhaps willingly be
ridd of that daungerous and harde service ;
the which (I wote well) is theyr common
custome to doe, when they are layd in garri-
son, for then they may better hide their
defaults, then when they are in canine, where
they are continually eyed and noted of all
men. Besides, when theyr pay cometli, they
will (as they say) detayne the greatest portions
therof at "theyr pleasure, by an hundreth
shiftes that neede not heere to be named,
through which they oftentimes deccave the
souldiours, abuse the Qucene, and greatly
hinder the service. Soe that lett the Queene
pay never soe fullye, lett the muster-master
viewe them never soe diligently, lett the
deputyeor generall looke to them never soeex-
actly.'yct they can cossen them all. Therfore
(me seemes) it were good, yf it be possible, to
make some provision for this inconvenience.
Jren. It will surely be very harde ; but
the cheifest helpe for prevention hcrof must
be the care of the coronel that hath the go-
vernment of all his garrison, to have an eye
to theyr alteration, to knowe the nomber
and the names of the sickc souldiours, and the
slayne, to marke and observe theyr rankes
in theyr daylye rising foorthe to the service,
by which lie cannot easelye be abused, soe
that he himself be a man of speciall assur-
auuce and integritye. And therfore greatc
regarde is to be had in the choosing and
appointing of them. Besides, I would not l>y
any meane* that the captaynes should have
the paying of theyr souldiours, but that tin-re
nivould be a pay-master appoynted, of speciall
trust, which should pave everye man accord*
ing to his captaynes 'ticket!*, and the ao>
coumpte of the clarke of his bande, for br
this ineanes the captayne will never seeke to
falsitye his alterations, nor to diminish hi*
companye. nor to deceave hw gouldiouns
when nothing therof ahal be for his gavne.
This is the manner of the Spanyarde* cap-
taynes, whoe never hath to meddle with hi*
souldiours paye. and indeede scorneth the name
a.s base t<> be counted his souldiours pagador ;
whereas the contrary amongcst u-. hath
brought thinges to soe badda pass, that there
is noe captayne, but thinkes his band very
sufficient, yf he muster threscore. and stick ('a
not to say* openly, that he is unwoorthy of
a captaynship, that cannot make it wi...rth
500/. by the veare, the which Uiey right well
verefye by the proole.
Kudar. Truly I thinke this a verve good
meane to avoyde that inconvenience of cap-
taynes abuses. But what say you of the co-
ronel ? what authorityc thinke you raeete to
be given him ? whether will ye allow? him to
protecte, to safe conducte, and* to have marshal 1
lawe as they are accustomed ;
Jren. Yea verely, but all these to be limitted
with verve straight instructions. As thus for
protections, that they shall have authority^
after the first proclamation, for the space of
twentye dayes, to protect all that .-hull tome
in unto them, and them to sendc unto the
Lord Deputye with theyr safe conducte or
pass, to be at his disposition ; but soe u none
of them returne backe agayue, U-ing once
come in, but be presently sent away out of
the countrey, unto the next sin-mil, and M
convayed iii safetye. And likewise for mar-
shall lawe, that to the gouldiour it be not ex-
tended, but by tryall formerly made of his
ervinc, I iy ;i jnrye nf his fellowe souldioura at
it ''Mi-Ill to In . and not rashlve at the will or
>li>|ile:isure of the ronmt-l, aa I havesumetimea
>c.-ne to light lye. And as for otlu-r» of ih«
reliells that shall light into theyr handea,
that they be well aware of what condition
they be, and what holding they have. For. in
the last geuerall warres tin r. . I l.i'i «•• many
good freeholders executed by manhall lawe,
whose landes were tliereby savo<l to theyr
heyre8,wliielishoul.lotlierwisehaveeicbe*tid
to' lier Majestic. In all which, the greate
discretion and uprightness of the corooel
himself w to be the cheifest stay both for all
these doubts, and for many other difficulty**
that may in the service happen.
Eutlwc. Your caution is verve good: bttt
nowe touching the arche-rebell himaelfe, I
00
658
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
meane the Earle of Tyrone, if lie, in all the
time of these warres, should offer to come in
and submitt himselfe to her Majestic, would
you not have him receaved, giving good
hostages, and sufficient assuraunce of him-
self?
Iren. Noe, marye; for there is noe doubt,
but he will offer to come in, as he hath done
diverse times allreadye, but it is without any
intent of true submission, as the effect hath
well shewed ; neither indede can he nowe, yf
he would, come in at all, nor give that
assuraunce of himselfe that should be meete,
for being, as he is, very suttell-headed, seing
himselfe nowe soe farre engaged in this badd
action, can he thinke that by his submission
he can purchase to himselfe any safetye, but
that hereafter, when thinges shal be quieted,
these his villanyes will ever be remembred ?
And whensoever ho shall treade awrye (as
needes the most righteous must sometimes)
advauntage wil be taken therof, as a breache
of his pardon, and he brought to a reckning
for all former matters : besides, howe harde
it is now for him to frame himselfe to sub-
jection, that having once sett before his eyes
the hope of a kingdome, hath thereunto
founde not onely encouragement from the
greatest King of Christendome, but also
founde great fayntness in her Majesties
withstanding him,' whereby he is animated to
thinke that his power is to defende him,
and to offend further then he hath done,
whensoe he please, lett everye reasonable
man judge. But yf he himselfe should come
in, and leave all other his accomplices with-
out, as O-Donell, Mac-Mahon, Magueeirhe,
and the rest, he must needes thinke that then,
even they will ere long cutt his throate,
which having drawen them all into this
occasion, nowe in the middest of theyr
trouble giveth them the slip; wherby he
must needes perceave howe impossible a
thing it is for him to submit himselfe. But
vet yf he would doe soe, can he give any good
assuraunce of his obedience ? For howe weake
hold is there by hostages hath to often bene
prooved, and that which is spoken of taking
Shane 0-Neale-is sonnes from him, and
setting them up agaynst him is a verye
perillous counsell, and not by any meanes to
be putt in proofe ; for were they lett foorth
und could overthrowe him, whoe "should after-
wardes overthrowe them, or what assuraunce
can be had of them ? It wil be like the tale
in ^Esope of the wild horse, whoe, having
enmitye agaynst the stagg. came to a man to
desire" his ay do agaynst his foe, whoe yeelding
thereunto mounted upon his backe, and soe
following the stagge ere longe slewe him,
but then when the horse would have him
light he refused, but kept him ever after in
his service and subjection. Such, I doubt
not, would be the proof of Shane 0-Neale-is
sonnes. Therfore it is most daungerous to
attempt any such plott; for even that very
manner of plott, was the meanes by which
this trayterous Earle is nowe made soe great:
for whenas the last 0-Neale, called Tyrrelaghe
O-Neale, beganne to stand upon some tickell
termes, this fellowe, then called Baron of
Dungannan, was sett up as it were to bearde
him, and countenaunced and strengthened by
the Queene so farre, as that he is nowe able
to keepe her selfe play: much like unto a
gamester that having lost all, borroweth of
his next fellow gamester that is the most
winner, somewhat to mayntayne play, with
which he, setting unto him agayne, shortly
therby winneth all from the winner.
Eudox. Was this rebell first sett up by
the Quene (as you saie), and now become so
unduetifull ?
Iren. He was (I assure you) the most
outcast of all the O-Neales then, and lifted
up by her Majestie out of the dust, to that he
hath nowe wrought himself unto ; and nowe
he playeth like the frozen snake, whoe being
for compa&sion relieved by the husbandman,
soone after he was warme begann to hiss, and
threaten daunger even to him and his.
Eudox. He surely then deserveth the
punnishment of that snake, and should woor-
thely be hewed in peeces. But yf ye like not
of the raysing up of Shane 0-Neale-is sonnes
agaynst him, what say you then of that
advise which (I hearde) was given by some,
to drawe in the Scottes, to serve agaynst him ?
how like you that advise ?
Iren. Much woorse then the former; for
whoe is he that^is experienced in those partes
and knoweth not that the O-Neales are
neerelye allyed unto the Mac-Neales of Scot-
land, and to the Earle of Argile, from whom
they use to have all theyr succours of those
Scotts and Recidshankes ? Besides, all these
Scotts are, through long continuaunce, enter-
myngled and allyed to all the inhabitauntes
of the North ; soe as there is noe hope that
they will ever be wrought to serve fay thfully
agaynst theyr old frendes and kinsemen :
And yf they would, howe when the warres
are finished, and they have overthrowen him
shall they themselves be putt out? Doe we
not all knowe, that the Scotts were the first
inhabitauntes of all the North, and that those
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 659
which are nowe called North Irish were
indeede very Scotts, which challenge the
auncient inheritaunce and dominion of all
that countrey to be theyr owne aunciently.
This then were but to le'ape out of the pann
into the fire; for the cheifest caveat and
provisoe in the reformation of the Northe
must be to keepe out the Scotts.
Eudox. Indeede, I remember that in your
discourse of the first peopling of Ireland,"you
shewed that the Scythians or Scottes were
the first that sate'downe in the Northe, !
whereby it seemeth they may challenge some I
right therin. Howe comes it then that ;
O-Neale claymes the dominion therof, and
this Earle of Tyrone sayeth the right is in I
him ? I pray you resolve me therin ; for it is
verve needefull to be kuowen, and maketh
most to the right of the warre agaynst him,
whose success useth commonly to be according
to the justness of the cause, for which it is
made: For yf Tyrone have any right in
thatsegniorye (meseemes) it should be wrong
to thrust him out : or yf (as I remember ye
sayd in the beginning) that O-Neale, when
he acknowledged the King of England for
his liege Lord and Soveraigne, did (as he
alleageth) reserve in the same submission all
his segnioryes and rightes unto himselfe, it
should be accoumpted unjust to thrust him
out of the same.
Iren. For the right of O-Neale in the
segniorye of the Northe, it is surely none at
all: For beside that the Kinges of England
conquered all the realine, and thereby assumed
and invested all the right of that land to
themselves and theyr heyres and successours
for ever, soe as nothing was left in O-Neale
but what he receaved backe from them,
O-Xeale himselfe never had any auncient
segniorye in that countreye, but what by
usurpation and encrochement after the death
of the Duke of Clarence, he gott upon the
English, whose landes and possessions lieim:
formerly wasted by the Scotts, under the
leading of Edwarde'le Bruce, (as I formerly
declared unto you) he eft-sones entred into,
and sithence "hath wrongfullye detaynr.l.
through the other occupations and great
affayres which the Kinges of England (soone
after) fell into heere at home, soe as they
could not intend to the recoverye of that
countrey of the Northe, nor the restrayniiig
of the insolcncyeof O-Xeale; whoe, lading
none nowe to withstand him, raigned in that
desolation, and made himselfe Iconic of those
fewe people that remayned there. upjM.n
whom ever since he hath continued his first
usurped power, and nowe exacteth and ex-
torteth upon all men what be list : »oe that
nowe to subdue or expell an usurper, should
be noe unjust enterprize nor wrongfull warre,
but a restitution of auiicient right unto the
crowne of England, from whence they were
most unjustlve expelled and longe kept out.
Eudox. I am verve gladd herin to be
thus satisfyed by yon," that I mav the U td-r
satisfye them whom often I have hcarde ob-
ject these doubles, and slaunderoiutly to
barke at the courses which are hold agaynst
that traytcrous Earle and his adhorente*.
But nowe that you have thus settled vmir
service for Ulster and Connaughtc, I would
be gladd to heare your opinion for the pro-
secuting of Feugh Mac Hughe, whoe being
but a base villeyn, and of himselfe of noe
power, yet soe continually troubleth that state,
notwithstanding that he Iveth under thoyr
nose, that I disdayne his bold arrogaunryo,
and thinke it to be the greatest indignit ye to
the Queenc that may be, to suffer such a
caytifTto play such Rex, and by hi* example
not only to give harte and encouradgrmrnt to
all such bold rebells, but also to \<->-ll them
succoure and refuge ngavnst her Ma
whensoever they five into his ( 'iimmorn-fi^h.' :
wherfore I would first wish, before von enter
into your plott of sen-ice agaynst him, that
you should lave open by what meanes he,
being soe base, first lifted himselfe up to this
daiingerous greatnes. and how he mayn-
tayneth his parte agaynst the Queen* and
her power, notwithstanding all that hath
bene done and attempted agaynst him. And
whether also he hath any nrelenoe of ri-lit
in the latules which he holdeth, or in tho
warrcs thU he maketh for the mme?
Iren. I will soe, at your pleamire. and
since ye desire to know his first beginning. I
will not only discover tho first lirginiiiiix' "t"
his privat how*e, but aim the original! of all
Ins sept, of tin- Hirnes and Toole*, »o fan* a*
1 have loarm d tho same from aome of ihern-
selvos, and gnthorod the rest by readinge:
This people of the Birne* and T«"-!.
before I shewed unto you n>y ronjooture)
discended from the auncient liritton*, which
first inhabited all thooe K«.«torne pcrtM of
Ireland, ai theyr name* doe brt«.k, :
lirin in tho Brit tons language «gi'
hillye. and Tol hole, valloy or ilnrkr. whirb
11:11111-, it focmoth, thi-y tooko oi" t
wliicli they inhaliitiil. whirh i< nl'
mountayne and wnmlye. In tin- wlii.-»i il
•enWthtlMt over silli«'tu-<> the roiniiiL' i'i ••(
the Engli>h with I »ourmtiid-ne <J«lh, thejr
« u a
66o
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
have continued : Whether that theyr countrey
being soe rude and mountaynous was of them
dispised, and thought not woorthye the in-
habiting, or that they were receaved to grace
by them, and suffred to enjoye theyr lands
as unfitt for any other, yet it seemeth that in
some places of the same they did putt foote,
and fortifyed with sundrye castells, of which
the ruynes onely doe there now remayne,
since which time they are growen to that
strength, that they are able to lift up hand
agaynst all that state ; and nowe lately,
through the boldness and late good success of
this Feugh Mac Hugh, they are soe farr em-
boldened, that they threaten perill even to
Dublin, over whose necke they continually
hange. But touching your demaunde of this
Feughe-is right unto that countrey or the
segniorye which he claymes therin, it is most
vayne and arrogaunte. For this ye cannot be
ignoraunte of, that it was parte of that which
was given in inheritaunce by Deurmuid Mac
Murroghe, King of Leinster, to Strangbowe
with his daughter, and which Strangbowe gave
over to the King and to his heyres, soe as the
right is absolutely nowe in her Majestic: and
yf it were not, yet could it not be in this Feugh.
but in 0-Brin, which is the ancient lord of all
that countrey ; for he and his auncestours were
but followers unto O-Brin, and his grandfather,
Shane Mac Tirrelaghe, was a man of meanest
regarde amongest them, neither having wealth
nor power. But his sonne Hughe Mac Shane,
the father of this Feugh e, Jirst beganne to
lift up his head, and through thj strength
and greate fastness of Glau-Maleeirh, which
adjoyneth unto his howse of Ballinecorrih,
drewe unto him many theves and out-lawes,
which fledd unto the succour of that
glinne, as to a saunctuarye and brought
unto him parte of the spoyle of all the
countrey, through which he grewe stronge,
and in shorte space got to himselfe a greate
name thereby amongest the Irish, in whose
footing this his sonne continuing hath, through
man}- unhappy occasions, encreased his said
name, and the opinion of his greatness, soe
that iiowe he is become a daungerous enemy
to deale withall.
Eudox. Surely I can comend him that,
being of himselfe "of soe base condition, hath
through his owne hardiness lifted himselfe
up to that height that he dare now to fronte
princes, and make termes with greate poten-
tates ; the which as it is honorable to him,
soe it is to them most disgraceful!, to be
bearded of such a base varlett. that being
but of late growen out of the dounghill
beginneth nowe to overcrowe soe high moun-
taynes, and make himselfe greate protectour
of all outlawes and rebells that will repayre
unto him. But doe you thinke he is nowe
soe daungerous an enemye as he is counted,
or that it is soe harde to take him downe as
some suppose ?
Iren. Noe verely, there is noe great
reckning to be made of him ; for had he
ever bene taken in hand, when the rest of
the realme (or at least the partes adjoyning)
had bene quiett, as the honourable gentellman
that nowe governeth there (I ineane Sir
William Russell) gave a notable attempte
therunto, and had woorthely perfourmed it. yf
his course had not bene crossed unhappely,
he could not have stoode three monthes, nor
ever have looked up agaynst a verve meane
power : but nowe all the partes about him
being up in a madding moode, as the Moores
in Lease, the Kevenaghs in the county e of
Wexforde, and some of the Butlers in the
countye of Kilkennye, they all flocke unto
him, and drawe unto his countrey, as to a
strong hold where they thinke to be safe
from all that prosecute them: And from
thence they doe at theyr pleasures breake out
into all the borders adjoyning, which are well
peopled countreyes, as the countyes of
Dublin, of Kildare, of Catarlaghe, of Kil-
kenny, of Wexforde, with the spoiles wherof
they vittell and strengthen themselves, which
otherwise should in shorte time be starved,
and soone pined away ; soe that what he is
of himselfe you may hereby soone perceave.
Eudox. Then, by soe much as I gather
out of your speaches, the next way to end
the warres with him. and to rootc him quite
out, should be to keepe him from invading
those countreyes adjoyning, which (as I sup-
pose) is to be done, either by drawing all the
inhabitauntes of those next borders away.
and leaving them utterly wast, or by plant*
ing garrisons upon all those frontiers about
him, that, when he shall breake foorthe,
may sett upon him and shorten his returnc.
Iren. Ye conceave rightlye, Eudoxus,
but for the dispeopling and driving away of
all the inhabitauntes from the countrey s about
him, which ye speake of, should be a great
confusion and trouble, as well for the unwill-
ingness of them to leave theyr possessions,
as also for placing and providing for them in
other countreyes, (me seemes) the better
course should be by plaunting of garrisons
about him. the which, whensoever he shall
looke foorth, or be drawen out with desire
of the spoyle of those borders, or for ncv£8-
•A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 66 f
eitye of vittell, shal be allwayes readye to
intercept his going or coming. "
Eudox. Where then doe ye wish these
garrisons to be plaunted that they may serve
best agaynst him ; and howe manyc in e verve
garrison ?
Iren. I my selfe, by reason that (as I
told you) I am noe martiall man, will not
take uppon me to directe so daungerous
affayres, but onely as I understood by the
purposes and plotts, which the Lord Graye
who was well experienced in that service,
agaynst him did laye do wne : to the perfourm-
aunce whereof he onely required a 1000
men to be layed in fowre garrisons ; that is,
at Ballinecorrih 200 footemen and 50 horse,
which should shutt him out of his great
glinne, whereto he soe much trusteth; at
Knockelough 200 footemen and 50 horse, to
answere the countye of Catarlaghe ; at Arkloe
or Wickloe 200 footemen to defend all that
side towarde the sea ; in Shelelagh 100
footemen which should cutt him from the
Kevanaghs, and the countye of Wexforde ;
and about the three cas tells 50 horsemen,
which should defende all the countye of
Dublin; and 100 footemen at Talbots
Towne, which should keepe him from break-
ing out into the countye of Kildare, and be
allwayes on his necke on that side: The
which garrisons, soe layed, will soe busye
him, that he shall never rest at home, nor
stirre foorthe abrode but he shall be had ; as
for his creete they cannot be above grounde,
but they must needes fall into theyr handes
or starve, for he hath noe fastness nor refuge
for them. And as for his partakers of the
Moores, Butlers, and Kevanaghes, they will
soone leave him, when they see his fastness
and strong places thus taken from him.
Eudox. Surely this seemeth a plott of
great reason, and small difficultye which
promiseth hope of a shorte end. But what
speciall directions will ye sett downe for the
services and risings out of these garrisons ?
Iren. None other then the present occa-
sions shall minister unto them, and as by
good spialls, wherof there they cannot wante
store, they shall be drawen continually upon
him, soe as one of them shal be still upon
him, and sometimes all at one instant bayte
him. And this (I assure my selfe) will
demaunde no longe time, but wil be all
finished in the space of one yeare ; which
howe small a thing it is, unto the etemall
quietness which shall thereby be purchased
to that realme, and the great good which
shall growe to her Majestic, should (me
thinkes) readely drawe on her Highnes to
the undertaking of the enterprise.
Ewlax. You have very well (me secmwi),
IrenflBus, plotted a course for the atchicving
of those warres nowe in Ireland, whi<-h
seeme to aske noe long time, nor greate
charge, soe as the effecting therof be com-
mitted to men of sure trust, and some ex-
perience, as well in the same countrev as in
the manner of those services ; for y'f it be
left in the handes of Mich rawe captavnes as
Bare uuallye sent out of England, l>eing therto
preferred onely by frcndship, ami not chosen
by sufficiencye, it will soone fall to ground.
Iren. Therfore it were meete (me thinkes)
that such captaynes onely were thereunto
employed, as have formerly served in that
countreve, and bene at least lieutcnauntes
unto other captaynes there. For otherwise,
being brought and transferred from other
services abrode, as in Fraunoe, in Spayno,
and in the Lowe-countreyes, though they be
of good experience in those, and ha\«-
soe well deserved, yet in these they wil be
newe to seeke, and, before they have gathered
experience, they shall buyc it with great
loss to her Majestic, either by hazarding <>t
theyr companyes, through ignoraunce of the
places, and manner of the Irish services, or
by loosing a great parte of the time that i«
required hereunto, being but shorto, in which
it might be finished, before they have allmost
taken out a newe lesson, or can tell what is
to be done.
Eudox. You are noe good frend to newe
captaynes it seemes, Iren., that you barre
them from the credit t of this sen-ice: but
(to say trueth) me thinkes it were meete,
that any one, before he come to be a captayne,
should have bene a souKliour; for, ' Parere
qui nest-it, nescit imperare.' And beside*,
mere is great wrong done to the old soul-
diour, from whom all meanes of advaunce-
ment which is due unto him i.« cult of by
shuffling in these nowe culling cant ay nw
into the places for which he harh lone »
and perhaps better deserved. But nowe that
you have thus (as I suppose) finished all the
warre, and brought all thinges to that low*
ebbe which ye speake of, what COUP* will ye
take for the'bringing in of that reformation
which ye intend, and recovering all thingM
from this desolate estate, in which (me
thinkes) I behold them now.- l.-ft, unto that
|HTfect establishment and newe common-
wealth which ye have conceaved, of which «oe
great good ni.-iy re.ioinide to her Majettie,
and an assured peace be confirmed ? For that
662
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
is it whereunto we are nowe to looke, and
doe greatlye long for, being long sithence
made wearye with the huge charge which ye
have laved uppon us, and with the strong
enduraunce of soe many complayntes, soe
manye delayes, soe many doubts and daun-
gers,"as will hereof (I know well) arise : unto
the which before you come, it were meete (me
thinkes) that you should take some order for the
souldiour, which is nowe first to be discharged
and disposed of, some way; the which yf
you doe not well fore-see, may growe to be
as great an inconvenience as all this that we
suppose you have quitt us from, by the loose
leaving of soe many thousand souldiours,
which from hence foorth wil be unfitt for
any labour or other trade, but must either
seeke service and imployment abrode, which
may be daungerous, or els will perhaps
imploye themselves heere at home, as may be
discomodious.
Iren. You say verye true ; and it is a
thing indeede much misliked in this our
common-wealth that noe better course is
taken for such as have bene employed once
in service, but that returning, either maymed
and soe unable to labour, or otherwise, though
whole and sounde, yet afterwardes unwilling
to woorke, or rather willing to sett the hang-
man a woorke. But that needeth another
consideration ; but to this that we have nowe
in hande, it is farre from my meaning to
leave the souldiour soe at random, or to
leave that wast realme soe weake and desti-
tute of strength, which may both defend it
agaynst others that might seeke then to sett
upon it, and also kepe it from that relapse
which I before did fore-cast. For it is one
speciall good of this plott which I would
devise, that 6000 souldiours of these whom
I have nowe imployed in this service, and
made throughly acquaynted both with the
state of the countrey, and manners of the
people, should hencefoorth be still continued,
and for ever mayntayned of the countrey,
without any charge to her Majestic; and the
rest that either are old, and unable to serve
any longer, or willing to fall to thrifte, as I
have scene manye souldiours after the service
to proove verye good husbandes, should be
placed in parte of the landes by them wonne,
at such rate, or rather better then others, to
whom the same shal be sett out.
Eudax. Is it possible, Irenaeus? Can there
be any such meanes devised, that soe manye
men should be kept still in her Majesties
service without any charge to her at all?
Surelye this were an exceeding greate good,
both to her Highnes to have soe manve
old soaldiours allway readye at call, to
what purpose soever she list employe them,
and alsoe to have that land therbye sue
strengthned, that it shall neither feare any
forrein invasion, nor practize, which the Irish
shall ever attempte, but shall keepe them
under in continuall awe and firme obedience.
Iren. It is soe indeede. And yet this
trulye I doe not take to be any matter of
great difficultye, as 1 tliinke it will also soone
appeare unto you. And first we will speake
of the North parte, for that the same is of
most waight and importaunce. Soe soone as
it shall appeare that the enemye is brought
downe, and the stout rebell either cutt of, or
driven to that wretchedness that he is noe
longer able to hold up his head, but will
come to any conditions, which I assure my
selfe will be before the end of the second
Winter, I wish that there be a generall pro-
clamation made, that whatsoever out-lawes
will freelye come in, and submitt themselves
to her Majesties mercye, shall have libertye
soe to doe, where they shall either find that
grace they desire, or have leave to returne
agayne in safetye : uppon which it is likelye
that soe manye as survive will come in to
sue for grace, of which whoe-soe are thought
meete for subjection, and fitt to be brought
to good, may be receaved, or els all of them,
(for I thinke that all wilbe but a verye fewe ;)
uppon condicion and assuraunce that they
will submit themselves absolutelie to her
Majesties ordinaunce for them, by which
they shal be assured of life and libertye, and
be onelye t3red to such condicions as shal be
thought by her meete for contayning them
ever after in due obedience. To the which
condicions I nothing doubt but they will all
most readelye, and upon theyr knees sub-
mitt themselves, by the proof of that which
I sawe in Mounster. For upon the like pro-
clamation there, they all came in, both tagge
and ragge ; and when as afterwardes many of
them were denyed to be receaved, they bade
them doe with them what they would, for
they would not by any meanes returne agayne,
nor goe foorthe. For in this case who will
not accept allmost of any condicions, rather
then dye of hunger and miserye ?
Eudox. It is very likely soe. But what
then is the ordinaunce, and what be the con-
dicions which you will propose unto them,
which shall reserve unto them an assuraunce
of life and libertye ?
Iren. Soe soone then as they have given
the best assuraunce of themselves which
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 663
mny oc required, which must be (I suppose)
some of theyr principall men to remayne in
hostage one for another, and some oilier for
the rest, for other suretye I recken of none
that may binde them, neither of wife, nor
of children, since then perhaps they would
gladly be ridd of both from the famine; I
would have them tirst unarmed utterlye and
stript quite of all theyr warrlick weapons,
and then these condicions sett downe and
made knowen unto them, where they shal be
placed, and have land given unto them to
occupye and to live upon, in such sorte as
shall become good subjectes, to labour
thencefoorth for theyr living, and to applye
themselves to honest trades of civilitye as
they shall everye one be founde meete and
able for.
Eudux. Where then, a Gods name, will
you place them? In Leynster? or will you
tind out any new lande there for them that is
yet unknowen ?
Iren. Noe, I will place them all in the
countreye of the Brinnes and Tooles, which
Pheugh Mac Hughe hath, and in all the
landes of the Kevanaghs, which are nowe
in rebellion, and all the landes which will
fall to her Majestic there-abouts, which I
knowe to be verye spacious and large enough
to contayne them, being verye ueere twentye
or thirtye miles wyde.
Eudox. But what then will ye doe with
all the Brinnes there, the Tooles, and the
Kevanaughs, and all those that nowe are
joyned with them ?
"iren. At the same very time, and in the
same manner that I make that proclamation
to them of Ulster, will I have it also made to
these; and uppon theyr submission there-
unto, I will take like assuraunce of them as
of others. After which I will translate all
that remayne of them into the places of
thother in "Ulster, with all theyr creete, and
what else they have left them, the which I
will cause to be devided amongest them in
some meete sorte, as eche may thereby have
somewhat to sustayne himself a while with-
all, untill, by his further travell and labour
of the earthe, he shalbe able to provide him-
selfe better.
Eudox. But will you then give the lande
freelye unto them, and make them heyres of
the former rebells? soe may you perhaps
make them heyres also of all theyr former
villanyes and disorders; or howe els will you
dispose of them V
Iren. Not soe; but all the landes I will
give unto Englishmen whom I will have
drawen thither, who shall have the samo
with such estates as shal be thought meete,
and for such rentes aa shall eft-sones be
rated : under everye of these Englishmen
will I place some of the Irish to be tcnauutes
for a certayne rente, according to the quan-
titye of such land, as everye man shall have
allotted unto him, and shalbe founde able lo
weelde, \\herin this special! regarde shal be
had, that in noe place under an v land- Ionic
there shall remayne manye of them planted
togither, but dispersed wide from theyre ac-
quayntaunce, and scattred farre abrade
through all the countreye: For I hat is the
evill which I nowe tinde in all Ireland, that
the Irish dwell togither by theyr sept-, .m. I
severall nations, soe as they may practize or
conspire what they will ; whereas yf then
were English shedd amongest them and placed
over them, they should not be able once tu
styrre or murmure, but that it shoulde be
knowen, and they shortened according to
theyr demerit es.
Euiloq. Ye have good reason ; but what
Mting of rents meane you? To what end
doe you purpose the same?
Iren. My purpose is to rate the n-nt- <>f
all those landes of her Majestic in such »oru-,
unto those Englishmen which shall take
them, as they may be well able to lire ther-
upon, to yeeld her Majestic reasonable
cheverye, and also give a competent marnte-
naunce unto the garrisons, which shall be
there left amongest them ; for these sool-
diour* (as I told you) remayning of the
former garrisons I cast to be maintayned
u|K>n the rente of those lande* which thai be
escheated, and to have them divided through
all Ireland in such places as shalbe thought
most convenient, ana occasion may require.
And tliiswa-} the course which the
defrayed the pay of the garrison: and this
hath'bene allwayes observed of all princes
in all countrcyes to them newly subdued, to
sett garrisons amongest them to contayne
them in dutye, wh<*« burthen they nude
them to beare ; and the wante of this o*tt-
naunce, in the tint conquest of Ireland by
Henry the Second, was the cause of the
shorte decaye of that government, and the
quicke recoverye agayne of the Irish. Ther-
V
664
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
fore by all meanes it is to be provided for.
And this is it that I would blame, yf it should
not misbecome me, in the late planting of
Mounster, that noe care was had of this ordi-
naunce, nor any strength of a garrison pro-
vided for, by a certayne allowaunce out of
all the sayd landes, but onely the present
proritt looked unto, and the safe coutinuaunce
therof for ever hereafter neglected.
Eudox. But there is a bande of souldiours
layed in Mounster, to the maintenaunce of
which, what oddes is there whether the
Queene, receaving the rent of the countrey,
doe give pave at her pleasure, or that there
be a setled allowaunce appoynted unto them
out of her landes there ?
Iren. There is a great odcles, for nowe
that sayd rente of the countrey is not usuallye
applyed to the paye of the souldiours, but it
is (everye other occasion coming betweene)
converted to other uses, and the souldiours
in time of peace discharged and neglected as
unnecessarye ; whereas yf the sayde rente
were appoynted and ordayned by jm estab-
lishment to this ende onelye. it should riot
be turned to any other ; nor in troublesome
times, uppon everye occasion, her Majestic
be soe troubled with sending over newe soul-
diours as she nowe is, nor the countrey ever
should dare to mutinie, having still the soul-
diours on theyr necke, nor any forreyne
enemye dare to invade, knowing there soe
stronge and great a garrison allwayes readye
to receave them.
Eudux. Sith then ye thinke that this
Romescott of the paye of the souldiours
uppon the lande to be both the readyest way
to the souldiours, and least troublesome to her
Majestie, tell us (I pray you) how ye would
have the sayd landes rated, that both a rente
may rise thereout unto the Queene, and also
the souldiours paye, which (me seemes) wilbe
harde ?
Iren. First we are to consider how much
lande there is in all Ulster, that according to
the quantitye therof we may cesse the sayd
rente and allowaunce issuing therout. Ulster
(as the auncieut recordes of that realme doe
testifye) doth contayne nine thousand plowe-
landes, everye of which plow-landes contayn-
eth six score acres, after the rate of 21 foote to
every pearche of the sayd acre, which amount-
eth in the whole to 124000 acres, every of
which plow-landes I will rate at 46s. 8rf. by
the yeare ; which is not much more then
lfcd. an acre, the which yearely rent amount-
eth in the whole to 18000/. besides 6s. 8rf.
cbiefrie out of every plow-land. But because
the countye of Louthe. being a parte of Ulster,
and contayning in it 712 plow-landes, is not
wholye to escheate unto her Majestie as the
rest, they having in all those warres con-
tinued for the most parte dutiful!, though
otherwise nowe a greate parte thereof is
under the rebells, there is an abatement to be
made thereout of 400 or 500 plow-landes, as
I estimate the same, the which are not to pay
the whole yearely rent of 46s. Sd. out of
everye plow-land, like as the escheated
landes doe, but yet shall paye for theyr com-
position of cesse towardes the mayntenaunce
of souldiours 20s. out of everye plow-land :
soe as there is to be deducted out of the
former summe 200 or 300/. yearely, the which
nevertheless may be supplyed by the rent of
the fishing, which is exceeding greate in
Ulster, and also by an encrease of rente in
the best landes, and those that lye in the
best places neere the sea-cost. The which
18000Z. will defraye the intertaynment of
1500 souldiours, with some overplus toward
the paye of the vittaylers which are to be
imployed in the vittayling of the garrisons ?
Eudnx. Soe then, belike you meane to
leave 1500 souldiours in garrison for Ulster,
to be payed principallye out of the rent of
those landes which shal be there escheated to
her Majestie; the which, where (I praye
you) will you have garrizoned ?
Iren. I will have them devided into three
partes ; that is, 500 in even' garrison, the
which I will have to remayne in three of the
same places where they were before appoynted;
to weete, 500 at Strabane and about Loghe-
foyle. soe as they may holde all the passages
of that parte of the countrey, and some of
them be putt in wardes, upon all thestraytes
thereaboutes, which I knowe to be such, as
may stopp all passages into the countreye on
that side; and some of them also upon the
Ban, up towardes Logh-Sidney, as I for-
merlye directed. Also other 500 at the forte
upon Logh-Earne, and wardes taken out of
them which shal be layed at Fermanagh, at
Belicke, at Ballishannon,andon allthestraites
towardes Conaughte, the which I knowe doe
so stronglie commaund all the passap
that waie as that none can passe from Ulste
into Connaught without their leave. The
last 500 shall also remayne in theyr forte at
Monaghane, and some of them be drawen into
wardes, to keepe the keies of all that coun-
trey, both downewardes, and also towardes
O-Relyes countrey, and the pale ; and some
at Eniskillin, some at Belturbut, some at the
Blacke Forte, and soe alonge that river, as I
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 665
formerlye shewed in the first plaunting of
them. And moreover at everye of those fortes
I would have the state of "a towne laved
foprthe and encompassed, in the which I would
wish that there should be placed inhabit-
auntes of all sortes, as marchauntes, artificers,
and husbandmen, to whom there should be
charters and fraunchises graunted to incor-
porate them. The which, as it wil be no matter
of difticultye to drawe out of England persons
which should very gladlye be soe placed,
soe would it in shorte space turne those partes
to Create comoditye, and bring ere longe to
her Majestie much profit! ; for those places are
soe fitt for trade and trafficke, having most
convenient out-gates by diverse rivers to the
sea, and in-gates to the richest partes of the
lande, that they would soone be enriched, and
mightelye enlarged, for the verve seating of
the garrisons by them : besides, the safetye
and assuraunce that they shall woorke unto
them will alsoe drawe thither store of people
and trade, as I have scene examples at Mari-
boroughe and Phillipstowne in Leynster,
where by reason of these two fortes, though
there were but small wardes left in them,
there are two good townes nowegrowen, which
are the greatest staye of both those two coun-
ty es.
Eudox. Indeede (me seemes) three such
townes, as you say, would doe verve well in
those places with the garrisons, and in shorte
space would be soe augmented, as they would
be able with litle helpe to wall themselves
stronglye : but, for the plaunting of all the
rest of" the countrey, what order would ye
take?
Iren. What other then {as I sayd) to bring
people out of England, which should inhabite
the same ; whereunto though, I doubte not,
but greate troupes would be readye to runne,
vet for that in such cases, the wooret and
most decayed men are most readye to remove.
I would wish them rather to be chosen out
of all partes of the realme, either by discre-
tion of wise men thereunto appoynted, or by
lott, or by the drumme, as was the old use in
sending foorthe of colonyes, or such other
good meanes as shall in theyr wisedome be
thought meetest. Amongest the chiefest of
which I would have the lande sett into
segnioryes, in such sorte as it is nowe in
Mounster, and devided into hundreds and
parrishes, or wardes, as it is in England, and
layed out into shires as it was aiincieiuly .
viz. the countye of Downe, the. connive of
Antrim, the countye of Louthe, the counlye
of Armaghe, the "countye of Cavan, the
countye of Cclrane, thecouutye of Monahon,
tin- countye of Tyrone, the countye ••( K.-r-
managh, the countye of DMBcnlf, bt-ini; in
all tenne. Over all which Iri.-h I wish a
Lord President and a Counsell to bo placed,
which may keepe them afterwardes in awe
and obedience, and minister unto them justice
and equitye.
Euduj:. Thus I see the whole purpose of
your plot for Ulster, and nowi- I il,
heare your like opinion tor ('oii.iughte.
Irfn. By that which I have alln-adve sayd
of Ulster you may gather my opinion for
Conaughte, being verve answerable unto the
former. But for that the landes, which
therin shall escheate unto her Majesty, are
not soe intierlye togither as that they can be
accoumpted in one somme. it needeth that
they be considered severallye. The province
of Conaughte contayneth in the whole (as
anpeareth by the Recordes of Dublin) 7200
plow-landes of the former measure, and is of
late devided into six shires or countyes : the
countye of Clare, the countye of Leutrum,
the countye of Koscomman, the countye of
Gallowaye. the countye of Maitio. and the
countye of Sleugho. Of the which, all the
countye of Sleugho, all the countve of Maiho,
the most parte of the countye of koscomman,
the most parte of the countye of Lent rum. a
greate parte of the countye of (ialloway, and
some of the countye of Clare, is like to encheate
unto her .Majestie lor the n-Mlion of theyr
present possessours. The which two coun-
tyes of Sleugho and Maiho are supposed to
cbntayne allraost 3000 plow-lander, the rente
wherof, ratabile to the fonner, 1 vallewe all-
most at 6000/. per annum. The countye of
Roscomman. saving what pertayneth to the
bowse of Roscomman and some fcwe other
English there latelyc seated, is all one, and
therfore it i^ wholye likewise to escheate to
her Majestvo, saving those |a>rtions of Eng-
lish inhabitauntea; and even those English
doe (as I under-tan. I l.y them) pave as inu.-h
rente to her Majestie as is sett upon those in
Ulster, counting theyr composition r
therewithal!, soe as it may runne all into
one reckning with the former two county es:
Soe that this countyo of RoMXMiiman, con-
tayning l'2tMi plow lamle^. as it i* accouropted,
miiounieth to 2400/. l.y the year*, which wilh
thai former two countyes rente maketh about
8300/. for the former wanted somewhat*.
But what the escheated landasof the connive*
of Galloway and Leutrum will arise n»to •
yet uncertayne to define, till sun-ay therof be
made, for tliat those lanuea are
666
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
with the Earle of Clanrickarde, and others ;
but it is thought they be the one hall'e
of both these countyes, soe as they may be
counted to the valewe of one whole countye,
which contayneth above one thousand plow-
landes: for soe manye the least countye of
them all comprehendeth, which maketh two
thousand poundes more, that is, in all, 10 or
1 1 OOO/. Thother two countyes mus t remayne
till theyr escheates appear e, the which letting
pass, yet as unknowen, yet thus much is
knowen to be accounted for certayne, that the
composition of these two countyes, being rated
at 20s. every plow-land, will amounte to above
2000/. more: all which being layed togither
to the former, may be reasonably estimated
to rise unto 13000/. the which somme, togither
with the rente of the escheated landes in the
two last countyes, which cannot yet be
valewed, being, (as I doubt not,) no less then
a 1000/. more, will yeeld a pay largely unto
a thousand men and theyr victuallers, and
a thousand poundes over towardes the Gov-
ernour.
Eudox. Ye have (me thinkes) made but
au estimate of these landes of Couaughte even
at a verye venture, soe as it should beharde to
builde any certayntye of charge to be raysed
upon the same.
Iren. Not altogither upon uncertayntyes :
for thus much may easelye appeare unto you
for certayne, as the composition mony of
every pldwlaud amounteth unto ; for this I
would have you principally to understand,
that my purpose is to rate all the landes in
Ireland at 20*. every plowland, for theyr com-
position toward the garrison. The which I
knowe, in regarde of being freed from all other
charges whatsoever, wil be readely and most
gladly yeelded unto. So that there being in
all Ireland (as appeareth by theyr old re-
cordes) 43920 plowlandes, the same shall
amounte to the sum likewise of 43920/., and
the rest to be reared of the escheated landes
which fall to her Majestic in the sayd provinces
of Ulster, Conaughte, and that parte of Leinster
under the rebells; for Mounster we deale not
yet withall.
Eudox. But tell me this, by the way, doe
you then lay composition upon the escheated
landes as you doe upon the rest ? for soe (me
thinkes) you recken alltogither. And that
sure were to much to pay seaven nobles out
of every plow-hind, and composition mony
besides, that is 20s. out of every plow-land.
Iren. Xo, you mistake me ; I doe put only
seaven nobles rent and composition both upon
every plow-land escheated, that is 40s. for
composition, and 6s. 8d. for cheiferie to her
Majestie.
Eudox. I doe now conceave you ; proceedo
then (I pray you) to the appoynting of your
garrisons in Conaughte, and shewe us both
how many and where you would have them
placed.
Iren. I would have or,e thousand layd in
Conaughte in two garrisons ; namely, 500 in
the county of Maiho, about Clan Mac Costa-
lors, which shall keepe the Moores and the
Burkes of Mac William Enter: thother 500.
in the countye of Clanrickarde, about Garan-
doughe, that they may contayne the Connors
and the Burkes there, the Kellyes and Mack-
nyrrs, with all them there-about ; for that
garrison which I formerly placed at Lough-
hearne will serve for all occasions in the county
of Slegho, being neere adjoynyng thereto, soe
as in one nights marche they may be allmost
hi any place therof when neede shall require
them. And like as in the former places ol
garrisons in Ulster, I wished thre corporate
townes to be planted, which under the safe-
garde of that strengthe shall dwell and trade
safely with all the countrey about them, soe
would I also wish to be in this of Connaughte ;
and that besides, there were another estab-
lished at Athlone, with a convenient warde
in the castell there for theyr defence,
Eudox. What should that neede, sith the
Governour of Connaughte useth to lye there
alhvayes, whose presence wil be a defence to
all that townes hip?
Iren. I knowe he doth soe, but that is
much to be disliked that the Governour
should lye soe farr of, in the remotest place
of all the province, wheras it were meeter
that he should be continually abiding in the
middest of his charge, that he might both
looke out alike into all places of his govern-
ment, and also be soone at hand in any place,
where occasion shall demaunde him ; for the
presence of the Governour is (as you say) a;
great stay and bridle unto them that are ill
disposed : like as I see it is well observed in
Mounster, where the daylye good therof is
continually apparaunt: and, for this cause
also doe I greatly dislike the Lord Deputyes
seating at Dublin, being the outest corner" in
the realme, and least needing the awe of his
presence ; whereas (me seemes) it were litter,
since his proper care is of Leinster, though he
hath care of all besides generally, that "
should seate himselfe about Athie, or the
abouts, upon the skirte of that unqt
countrey, so that he might sitt, as it were, i
the very mayne. mast of his shipp, whence "
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 667
might easely over looke and sometimes over-
reache the Moores, the Butlers, the Demp-
sies, the Keatins, the Connors, O-Carrell,
0-Molloy, and all that heape of Irish nations
which there lye hudled togither without any
to over-rule them, or contayne them in dutye.
For the Irishman (I assure you) feares the
Government no longer then he is within
sight or reache.
Eudox. Surely (me thinkes) herein you
observe a matter of much importaunce, more
then 1 have hearde ever noted; but sure
that seemes soe expedient, as that I wonder
it hath bene heeretofore ever omitted; but
I suppose the instaunce of the cittizens of
Dublin is the greatest lett therof.
Iren. Truly, then it ought not to be soe ;
for noe cause have they to feare that it wil be
anv hindraunce for them ; for Dublin wil be
still, as it is, the key of all passages and
transportations out of England thither, to noe
less profitt of those cittizens then it nowe is,
and beside other places will thereby receave
some benefitt. But lett us nowe (I pray you)
come to Leinster, in the which I would wish
the same course to be observed as in Ulster.
Eudox. You meane for the leaving of the
garrisons in theyr fortes, and for planting of
English in all those countreyes betwene the
countye of Dublin and the countye of Wex-
forde ; but those wast wilde places, I thinke,
when they are wonne unto her Majestie, that
there is none that wil be hastye to seeke to
iuhabite them.
Iren. Yes enough, (I warraunte you ;) for
though the whole tracke of the countrey be
inountayne and woodye, yet there are many
goodly valleyes amongest them, titt for
fayre" habitations, to which those moun-
tayns adjoyning wil be a greate increase of
pasturage ; for that countrey is a very greate
soyle of cattell, and verye titt for breede : as
for corne it is nothing natural], save onely
for barley and otes, and some places for rye,
and therfore the larger penniwoorthes may be
allowed unto them, though otherwise the
wildness of the mountayne pasturage doc
recompence the badness of the soyle, so as I
doubt not but it will fynde iiihabitantes and
undertakers enoughe.
Eudox. Howe much then doe vou thiuke
that all those landes which Feugh Mac Hughe
holdeth under him may amounte unto, and
what rent may be reared therout to the
maynteuaunce of the garrisons that shal be
layed there?
Iren. Truly, it is impossible by ay me to
tell it, and as for experience aud knowledge
thereof I doe not thinke that there was even-
any of the particulars th. rut', but yet I will
(yf it please you) gesse therat, up|«.ri
gronnde onely of theyr judgement whirh
have formerly devided all that countrey into
two shires or countyes, namely the count vc
of Wicklow, and the countye of Fearnes : tic
which two I see noe cause but that thi-y
should wholyefcscheate unto her Majestic, ail
but the barronye of Arckloc wlii.'-h i> th.-
Earle of Onnond-is auncicnt inhcritaunvr,
and hath ever bene in his possession ; forallthv
whole lande is the Queenes, unless there Ix-
some graunte of any partc therof to be shewed
from her Majestie : as I thinke there is onely
of New-castell to Sir Henry Harrington, and
of the castcll of Fearnes to' Sir Thomas Maa-
terson, the rest, being allraost thirty.- miles
over, I doe suppose can contayne noe lean then
two thousand plowlaiides, which I will estimate
at 4000/. by the yeare. The rest of l>-in>tcr.
being seaven countves, to wit t. the count y<- of
Dublin, Kildare, Katarlaghe, Wexford, "Kil-
kennye, the King and Queenes countyes, doe
contayne in them 7400 plowlandes, which
amounteth to soe many poundes for composi-
tion to the garrison, that makes in the whole
11,400 poundes, the which somme will \ <-. M.-
pave unto a thousand souldioure, lit li- "want-
ing, which may be supplyed out of other
landes of the Kavanagbes, which are to be
escheated unto her Majestie for the rebellion
of theyr possessours, though ctln-rHi.se in-
deede they be of her Majesties owne auncient
demeane.
Eudox. It is greate reason. But tell us
nowe where would you wUhe those garrisons
to be layed, whether altogither, or to be dis-
persed in sundrye places of the countrey ?
Iren. Maryi", in sundrye places, to witt,
in this sorte, or much like as may be bettor
devised, for 200 in a place I doe thinke to be
enough for the safegarde of the countrey, and
keeping under all suddayne urwUrtra, that
shall seeke to trouble the peace therof: ther-
forc I wish to be layed at liallinecorrih, for
the keeping of all badd parsons from (ilan-
malour, and all the fastnens there-aboutea,
and also to contayne all that shal be planted
in tli"M- landes thencefoorUie, 200. Another
200 at Kiinckli.uu'h in tln-yrv former pkee of
garrison, to keepe the Hri.skrlagh and all those
mountaynes of the Kavanaghs; 200 more to
lie at Fearnes, and upwardes, inward upon
the Slane; 200 to be placed at the forte of
Lease, to restrayne the Moorw, Oworve, and
O-C*rrell ; other 200 at the forte of Ofilre,
to courbe the 0-Connon, O-Moloyt, 1U»
668
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
Coghlane, Maccagehan, and all those Irish
nations bordering there-abouts.
Eudox. Thus I see all your thousand men
bestowed in Leinster : what say you then of
Meathe ? Which is the first parte?
Jren. Meathe, which contayneth both East
Meath and West Meath, and of late the
Analie nowe called the countye of Loong-
forde, is accoinnpted therunt<fc But Meath it
selfe, according to the old recordes, con-
taineth 4320 plowlandes, and the countye of
Longfoorde 947, which in the whole make
5267 plowlandes, of which the composition
monye will amounte likewise to five thousand,
two hundred, threscore and seaven poundes
to the mayntenauuce of the garrison. But
because all Meathe, lying in the bosome
of that kingdoms, is allwayes quiett enough,
it is needeless to put any garrison there, soe
as all that, charge may be spared. But in the
countye of Longfoorde I wish 200 footemen
and fiftye horsemen to be placed in some
convenient seate betwene the Analie and
the Brenie, as about Lough Sillon. or some
like place of that river, soe as they mighte
keepe both the O-Relyes, and also the
O-Farrels, and all that out-skirte of Meathe
in awe ; the which use upon every light occa-
sion to be stirring, and, having contynuall
enmitye amongest themselves, doe thereby
oftentimes trouble all those partes, the charge
wherof being 3400 and odd poundes is to be
cutt out of that composition monye for Meath
and Longfoorde, the over-plus, being allmost
2000/. by the yeare, will come in clearlye to
her Majestie.
Eudox. It is woorth the harkening unto.
But nowe that you have done with Meath,
proceede (I pray you) with Mounster, that
we may see ho we it will rise there for the
mayntenaunce of the garrison.
Iren. Mounster contayneth by recorde at
Dublin 16000 plow-landes, the composition
wherof, at the least, will make 16000Z. by
the yeare, out of the which I would have a
thousand souldiours to be mayntayned for
the defence of that province, the charge of
which with the vittaylers wages, will amounte
to 12000/. by the yeare; the other 4000/. will
defray e the charges of the President and the
Counsell of that province.
Eudox. The reckning is easye ; but in
this accoumpte, by your leave, (me thinkes)
you are deeeaved. for in this somme of the
composition monye ye counte the landes of
the undertakers of that province, whoe are, by
theyr graunte from the Queene, to be free
from all such impositions whatsoever, ex-
cepting theyr onelye rent, which is sureiye
enough.
Iren. Ye say true, I did soe; but the same
20s. for evenr plowland I ment to have de-
ducted out of that rent due upon them to
her Majestie, which is noe hinderaunce, nor
charge at all more to her Majestie then it
nowe is, for all that rent which she receaves
of them, she putteth foorthe agayne to the
mayntenaunce of the Presidencye there, the
charge wherof it doth scarcely defraye ; wher-
as in this accoumpte both that charge of the
Presidencye, and also of 1000 souldiours more,
shal be mayntayned.
Eudox. It should be well, if it could be
brought to that. But nowe where will you
have your thousand men garrisoned ?
Iren. I would have 100 of them placed at
the Bain tree where is a most fitt place, not
onely to defend all that side of the west parte
from forrayne invasion, but also to answere
all occasions of troubles, to which that coun-
trey, being soe remote, is very subject. A
surely heere also would be planted a go
towne, having both a verve good haven ;
plentifull fishing, and the lande being
readye escheated to her Majestie, but forcebh
kepte from her by a ragtayle kerne tha
proclaymeth himselfe the bastarde sonne
the Earle of Clancare, being called DOE
Mac Cartye, whom it is meete to fore-see
cutt of; for whensoever the Earle shall dye
all those landes after him are to come unt
her Majestie: he is like to make a fowl
stirre there, though of himselfe of* noe powe
yet through supportaunce of some othe
whoe lye in the winde, and looke after tl
fall of that inheritaunce. Another 100 woul
I have placed at Castell-Mayne, whic
should keepe all Desmonde and Kerye, fo
it answereth them both most conveniently
Also about Kilmore in the countye of Cor
would I have placed 200, the which shou
breake that nest of theeves there, and awr
sweare equallie both to the countie of Lye
ericke. and also the countie of Corke : Anothe
hundred would I have lye at Corcke, as we
to comaunde the towne, "as also to be read}
for any forreyne occasion: Likewise
Waterford, would I place 200, for the sat
reasons, and also for other privye can
that are noe less important. Moreover
this side of Arlo, neere to Moscrie Whirls
which is the countrey of the Bourkes, about
Kill-Patricke, I would have 200 more to "
garrisoned, which should secure both
White Knightes countrey and Arlo,
Moscrie Whirke, by which places all
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
669
passages of theeves doe lye, which convaye
theyre stealthes from all Mounster downe-
wardes towardes Tippararye. and the English
Pale, and from the English Pale also up unto
Mounster, wherof they use to make a common
trade. Besides that," ere long I doubt that
the countye of Tippararye it selfe will neede
such a strength in it, which were good to be
there readye before the evill fall, that is
day lye of some expected : And thus you see
all vour garrisons placed.
Eudox. I see it right well, but lett me
(I pray you) by the way aske you the
reason wliye in those cittyes of Mounster,
namely VVaterford and Corcke, ye rather
placed garisons then in all thothers in
Ireland ? For they may thiuke themselves
to have great wronge to be soe charged
above all the rest.
Iren. I will tell you : those two cittyes,
above all the rest, doe offer an in-gate to the
Spanyards most ritlye, and also the inhabi-
tauntes of them are most ill affected to the
English government and most frendes to the
Spayniardes ; but yet, because they shall
not take exceptions to this that thev are
charged above all the rest, I will also faye a
charge upon the others likewise ; for indeede
•it is noe reason that the corporat townes,
enjoying greate fraunchises and privileges
from her Majestie, and living therby not
onlye safe, but drawing to them the wealth
of all the landc, should live soe free as not
to be partakers of the burthen of this
garrison for theyr owne safetye, specially
in this time of trouble, and seing all the
rest burthened ; and therfore I will thus
charge them all ratablye, according to theyr
abilityes, towardes theyr maintenaunce, the
which her Majestie may (vf she please)
spare out of the charge of the rest, and
reserve towardes her other costes, or els
adde to the charge of the Presidencye in the
Northe.
Waterforde
Corcke . .
Limoricke .
Gallwaye .
Dingellechoois
Klnsale . .
Youghill .
Kilmallocke
Clonmell .
Cashell . .
Fetherte . .
Kilkennye .
/.',,,/.,,• I
.<•
i
100
so
.10
50
10
10
10
10
10
10
10
M
3 <V*1<1V
Wexfonl
Drogheda
Rosse
Dumlalke
Mollingiarc
Newrye .
Trimme
Ardye .
Kells . .
or
25
25
10
10
10
10
10
10
too
680
VP a
Dublin . . .
Somme .
p Trpnmna. to If
charge upon any towne, but to fore-see howe
the same may be answered and defrayed is
the cheifest parte of good advisement.
Iren. Surely this charge whicli I putt
upon them I knowe to be we reasonable at)
that it will not much be felte : for the porte
tuwnt-s that have benefitt of shipping may
cutt it easelye of theyr trading, and all inland
townes of theyr come and cattell : m-tln-r
doe I see, but since to them -]» ,-iallvo the
benctitt of peace doth redoundo, thai" thev
speciallye should beare the burthen of thi-yr
safegarde and defence, as we see all the
townes of the Lowe-Countreyes doe cutt
upon themselves an excise o'f all thingea
towarde the mayntenaunce of the warre
that is made in theyr behalfe, to which
though the.<c arc not to be compared in
riches, yet are they to be charged according
to theyr povertye.
Eudox. But nowe that you have thus
sett up these forces of soukUours, and pro-
vided well (as ye suppose) for theyr |>aie,
yet there remayneth to fore-cast how they
may be vittayled. and where purveyaunce
therof may be made ; for in Ireland it wife I
cannot see allmost howe any thing is to be
had for them, being allreadye so pitifully
wasted as it is with this shorte time of warre.
Iren. For the first two yeares indeede it
is needefull that they be vittayled out of
England throughlye, from halle yeare to
halfe ycare, aforehand, which time the
English Pale shall not be burthened at all.
but shall have time to recovere itselfe; and
Mounster also, being nowe reasonably f well
stored, will by that time, (yf God send
reasonable weather) be throughlye well
furnished to supplye a greate partc of that
charge, for I knowe there is greate plentye
of corne sente over sea from thence, the which
yf they might have sale for at home, they
would be gladd to have monye soe neere-
hand, specially yf they were straightly
res tray ned from transporting of it. Thrn-
unto also there wil be a greate helpe and
furtheraunce given in the putting forward of
husbandrye in all meete places, as heereafter
shall in "due place appeare. but hereafter,
when thinges shall growe unto a hcttrr
sin-ngthf. and the conn trey bo rrpl<-ni>hrii
with conic, as in shorte space it would, yf
it be well followed, for the countrey jK-opIf
themselves are great plovers, and »mall
spenders of come, then would I wish that
there should be good store of bowses and
magasins erected in all those greate place*
of garrison, and in all great townc*, as well
for the vittayling of souldiours and shippea,
670
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
as for all occasions of suddayne services, as
also for preventing of all times of dearthe
and scarcitye : and this wante is much to be
complayned of in England above all other
countreyes, whoe, trusting to much to the
usuall blessing of the earthe, doe never fore-
cast any such harde seasons, nor any such
suddayne occasions as these troublous times
may everye day bring foorth, when it will
be to late to gather provision from abrode,
and to bring it perhaps from farre for the
furnishing of shippes or souldiours, which
peradventure may neede to be presently
employed, and w'hose wante may (which
God forbidd) happyle hazzarde a kingdome.
Eudox. Indeede the wante of these
magasins of vittayls, I have hearde often-
times complayned of in England, and
wondred at in other countreyes. but that is
nothing nowe to our purpose ; but as for
these garrisons which ye have nowe soe
strongly plaunted throughout all Ireland,
and every place swarming with souldiours,
shall there be noe end of them ? For nowe
thus being (me seemes) I doe see rather a
countrey of warre then of peace and quiet,
which ye earst pretended to worke in
Ireland ;" for if you bringe all thinges to that
quietness which you sayd, what neede then
to mayntayne soe great forces as you have
charged upon it?
Iren. I will unto you, Eudoxus, in
privitye discover the drifte of my purpose :
I meane (as I tolde you) and doe well hope
heereby both to settell an eternall peace in
that oountrey, and also to make it verye
profitable to her Majestie, the which I see
must be brought in by a stronge hand, and
soe continued, till it runne in a stedfast
course of government, the which in this sorte
will neither be difficile nor daungerous ; for
the souldiour being once brought in for the
service into Ulster, and having subdued it
and Connaughte, I will not have him to
laye downe his armes any more, till he have
effected that which I purpose ; that is, first
to have this generall composition for the
mayntenaunce of these throughout all the
realme, in regarde of the troublous times,
and daylye daunger which is threatned to
this realme by the King of Spayne : And
therupon to bestowe all my souldiours in
such sorte as I have done, that noe parte of
all that realme shal be able or dare soe much
as to quinche. Then will I eftsones bring in
my reformation, and therupon establish such
an order of government as I may thinke
meetest for the good of that realme, which
being once established, and all thinges putt
into a right way, I doubt not but they will
runne on fayrely. And though they would
ever seeke to swarve aside, yet shall they
not be able without forreyne violence once
to remove, as you your selfe shall soone (I
hope) in your own reason readely conceave ;
which yf ever it shall appeare, then may
her Majestie at pleasure with-drawe some
of her garrisons, and turne theyr paye into
her purse, or yf she will never please soe to
doe (which I would rather wish), then shall
she have a number of brave old souldiours
allwayes readye for any occasion that she
will imploye them unto, supplying theyr
garrisons with fresh ones in theyr steede ;
the mayntenaunce of whom shal be noe
more charge to her Majestie then nowe that
realme is; for all the revennue therof, and
much more, she spendeth, even in the most
peaceable times that are there, as thinges
nowe stand. And in time of warre, which
is nowe surelye every seaventh yeare, she
spendeth infinite treasure besides to small
purpose.
Eudox. I perceave your purpose ; but
nowe that you have thus strongly made
wave unto your reformation, as that I see
the people soe humbled and prepared that
they will and must yeelde to any ordenaunce
that shal be given them, I doe much desire
to understand the same ; for in the be-
ginning you promised to shewe a meane
howe to redresse all those inconveniences
and abuses, which you shewed to be in that
state of government, which nowe standes
there, as in the lawes, customes, and re-
ligion : whcrin I would gladly knowe first,
whether, insteede of those lawes, ye would
have newe lawes made ? for nowe, for ought
that I see, you may doe what you please.
Iren. I see, Eudoxus, that you well re-
member our first purpose, and doe rightly
continue the course therof. First therfore
to speake of Lawes, since we first begonne
with them, I doe not thinke it convenient,
though nowe it be in the power of the
Prince to change all the lawes and make
newe; for that should breede a greate
trouble and confusion, as well in the English
now dwelling there and to be plaunted, as also
in the Irish. For the English, having bene
trayned up allwayes in the English govern-
ment, will hardly be enured unto any other,
and the Irish will better be drawcn to the
English, then the English to the Irish
government. Therfore since we cannot
nowe applye lawes fitt for the people, as in
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 671
the first institution of common-wealthes it
ought to be, we will applye the people, and
fitt them to the lawes, as it most conve-
niently may be. The lawes therfore we
resolve shall abide in the same sorte that
they doe, both Common Lawe and Stat-
utes, onelye such defectes in the Common
Lawe, and inconveniences in the Statutes,
as in the beginning we noted and as men of
deepe insight shall advise, may be chaunged
by some other newe Actes and ordinaunces
to be by a Parliament there confirmed : As
those of tryalls of Pleas of the Crowne, and
private rightes betwene pnrtyes, colourable
conveyaunces, accessaryes, &c.
Eudox. But howe will those be redressed
by Parliament, when as the Irish which
sway inost in Parliament (as you sayd),
shall oppose themselves agaynst them ?
Iren. That may nowe be well avoyded :
For nowe that soe many Free-holders of
English shal be established, they topther
with Burgesses of townes, and such other
loyall Irish-men as ma}- be preferred to be
Knightes of the Shire, and such like, wil be
able to bearde and counter-poise the rest;
whoe also, being nowe broughte more in awe,
.will the more easely submitt to any such
ordinaunces as shal be for the good of
themselves, and that realme generally*?.
Eudox. You say well for the increase of
Freeholders, for theyre numbers will hereby
be greatlye augmented ; but howe shall ft
pass through the higher howse, whick will
still consist all of Irish ?
Iren. Marye, that also may well be re-
dressed by the example of that which I have
hearde was done in the like case by King
Edward the Thirde (as I remember), whoe,
being greatly bearded and crossed by the
Lordes of the Clcargye, they being then by
reason of the Lordes Abbots and others, to
manye and to stronge for him, soc as he
could not for theyr frowardness order and
reforme thinges as he desired, was advised
todirecte out his writtes to certayne Gentell-
men of the best abilitye and trust, entitling
them therin Barron;>,"to serve and sitt as
Barrons in the next Parliament. By which
meanes he had soe many Barrons in his Par-
liament, as were able to waigh downe the
Cleargye and theyr frendes; the which Bar-
rons they say, were not afterwardes Lordes,
but only Bafronetts, as sundrye of them doe
vet retayne the name. And by the like de-
vise her Majestic may nowe likewise courbe
and cutt shorte these frtsh and unrulye Lordes
that hinder all good proceedinges.
Eudox. It seemeth noe less then for re-
forming of all those inconvenient statutes
that ye noted in the beginning, and re-
dressing of all those cvill customer, and
lastly, for settling sound religion amongrst
them : me thinkes ye shall not ncede nny
more to goe over those particulars agnvne.
which you mentioned, nor any other which
might besides be remembred," but to leave
all to the reformation of such Parlianionti-s
in which, by the good care of the Lord
Deputye and Counsell they may all be
amended. Therfore nowe you may come to
that generall reformation which you «|>ake
of, and bringing in of that establij-hment, by
which you sml all men should be contaynod
in dutye ever after, without the terrour of
warlicke forces, or violent wrestingc of thingcs
by sharpe punnishments.
Iren. I will soe at vour pleasure, the
which (me seemes) can by noe meanes be
better plotted then by example of such
other realmes as have bene annoyed with
like ovills, that Ireland nowe is, and useth
still to be. And first in this our realme of
England, it is manifest, by reporte of tho
Chronicles and auncient writers, that it was
greatlye infested with robbers and ont-lawe*,
which lurked in woodes and fast place*,
whence they used oftentimes to breake
foortbe into the highe waves, and sometimes
into the small villages to robbe and spoyle.
For redress wherof it is written that King
Allured, or Alfred, who then raignrd. did
devide the realme into shire*, and the shire*
into hundrethes, and the hundrethes into
rapes or wapentakes, and the wanentakea
into tithinges : Soe that trim tithingea made
an hundrethe, and five made a lathe or w«-
pentake, of which tenn, ech one was hound*-
for another, and the eldest nr l><'»t <if them,
! whom they called the Tithingman or Burse-
holder that is. the eldest pledge, became
suretye for all the rest, Soe that yf nny one
of them did starte into any undiilifull action,
the Burseholder was boundo to brinp- Mini
foorthe, whoe joyning eft-sones with all hi*
tithing, would followe that loose IXT-IHI
through all places, till they brought^ him in.
An. I yf all that tithing faylcd, then all that
lath was charged for that tythinge. and it
that lath foiled, then all the hundred WM
demaunded for them; and yf the- hundred,
then the shire, whoe, joyning oft
tou'ithrr. would not rc~t till they had found.-
out and delivered in that umlutifull fellowe
which was not amenable to law.
herin it aeemeth. that that good Saxon King
6*72
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
followed the Counsell of Jethro to Moyses,
whoe advised him to devide the people into
hundredes, and to sett Captaynes and wise
men of trust over them, which should take
the charge of them, and ease him of that
burthen. And soe did Romulus (as you
may reade) devide the Komaynes into tribes,
and" the tribes into Centuries or hundreds.
By this ordinaunce the King brought this
realme of England, (which before was most
troublesome) into that quiett state, that noe
one badd person could starte but he was
straight taken holde of by those of his owne
tithing, and theyr Burseholder, whoe being
his neghbour or next kinsman were privye
to all his waves, and looked narrowlye into
his life. The which institution (yf it were
observed in Ireland) would woorke that
effecte which it did then in England, and
keepe all men within the compass of dutye
and obedience.
JEudox. This is contrarye to that you
sayde before ; for, (as I remember.) you
sayd there was a greate disproportion betwene
England and Ireland, soe as the lawes which
were fitting for one would not fitt the other.
Howe comes it then, nowe, that you would
transferre a principall institution from Eng-
land to Ireland ?
Iren. This lawe was made not by a Nor-
man Conquerour, but by a Saxon King, at
what time England was very like to Ireland,
as nowe it standes : for it was (as I tolde
you) greatlve annoyed with robbers and out-
lawes, which troubled the whole state of the
realme, everye corner having a Robin Hoode
in it, that kepte the woodes, and spoyled all
passagers and inhabitauntes, as Ireland nowe
hath ; soe as, me seemes, this ordinaunce
would fitt verve well, and bring them all into
awe.
Eudox. Then, when you have thus tithed
the comunaltye, as ye say. and set Burse-
holders over them all, what would ye doe
when ye come to the gentellmen V would ye
holde the same course ?
Iren. Yea, marye, most speciallye; for
this you must knowe. that all the Irish
allmost boast themselves !o be gentellmen.
noe less then the \Velsh ; for yf he can derive
himselfe from the head of a septe, as most of
them can, (and they are experte by theyr
Bardes,) then he holdeth himselfe a gen-
tellman, and therupon scorneth eftsones to
•woorke, or use any handye labour, which he
sayeth is the life of a peasaunte or churle ;
but thencefoorth becometh either an horse-
boy, or a stokaghe to some kearne, enuring
himselfe to his weapon, and to his genteil
trade of stealing, (as they counte it.) Soe
that yf agentellman, or any woorthy yeoman of
them, have any children, the eldest perhaps
shal be kept, in some order, but all the rest
shall shifte for themselves, and fall to this
occupation. And moreover it is a common
use amongest some of theyr best gentellmens
sonnes, that soe soone as they are able to use
theyre weapons, they straight gather to
themselves three or fowre stragglers, or
kerne, with whom wandring a while idely
up and downe the countrey, taking onelye
meate, he at last falleth into some baud
occasion that shal be offred, which being
once made knowen, he is thencefoorth
counted a man of woorthe, in whome there \s
couradgb ; wherupon there drr.'.ve unto him
many other like loose yong men, which,
stirring him up with encouradgeraent, pro-
voke him shortly to flatt rebellion ; and this
happenes not onlye sometimes in the sonnes
of theyr gentellmen, but oftentimes also of
theyr nobellmen, speciallye of theyr base
sonnes, as there are fewe without some of
them. For they are not ashamed onely to
acknowledge them, but also boa.st of them,
and use them in such secrett services as they
themselves will not be seene in, as to plague
theyr enemyes, to spoyle theyr neghbours,
to oppress and crush some of their owne to
stubburne free-holders, which are not tract-
able to theyr bad willes. Two such bas-
tardes of the Lord Roches there are nowe out
in Mounster whom he doth not onely coun-
tenaunce but also privilye mayntayne and
releive mightely against his tenauntes ; such
other is there of the Earle of Clancartye in
Desmonde, and many others in many more
places.
Eudor. Then it seemes that this ordin-
aunce of tithing them by the polle is not
onelye fitt for the gentellmen, but also for
the nobellmen, whom I would have thought
to have bene of soe honorable myndes, as
that they should not neede such a base
kinde of being bounde to theyr alleageaunce,
•who should rather have helde in and stayed
all others from undutifulness. then neede to
be forced thereunto themselves.
Iren. Yet soe it is, Eudoxus : but yet
because the nobellmen cannot be tithed, there
being not many tithinges in them, and also
because a Burseholder over them should not
onlye be a greate indignitye, but also a daunger (
to add more power to them then they have,
or to make one the commaunder of tenn, I J
hold it meete that there were onely suretyes
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 673
taken of them, and one bounde for another,
whereby, yf any shall swarve, his suretyes
shall for safegarde of theyr bandes either
bring him in, or seeke to serve upon him :
and besides this, I would wish them all to be
sworne to her Majestic, which they never
yet were, but at theyr first creation; and
that oath would sure contayne them greatlye,
or the breache of it bring them to shorter
vengeaunce, for God useth to punnish per-
jurye sharpelye. Soe I reade, that in the
raigne of Edwarde the Second, and also of
Henry the Seaventh, (when the times were
verve broken) that there was a corporal oth
taken of all the lordes and best gentell-men,
)f fealtye to the King, which nowe is noe
iess needfull, because many of them arc sus-
pected to have taken another othe privilye
to some badd purposes, and therupon to have
receaved the Sacrament, and bene sworne to a
preist, which they thinke bindeth them more
then theyr alleageance to theyr Prince, or
love of theyr countrey.
hudox. This tithing of that common-
people, and taking suretyes of lordes and
gentellmen, I like verve well, but that it
wilbe very troublesome : should it not be as
!»vell to have them all booked, and the lordes
and gentell-men to take all the meaner sorte
upon themselves ? for they are best able to
bring them in, whensoever any of them
starti t h out.
Iren. This indeede (Eudoxus) hath bene
hitherto, and yet is a common order amongest
them, to have all the people booked by the
lordes and gentellmen, but vet it is the woorst
order that ever was devised ; for by this
booking of men all the inferiour sorte are
brought under the comaunde of theyr lordes,
and forced to followe them into any action
whatsoever. Nowe this you are to under-
stand, that all the rebellions that you see
from time to time happen in Ireland are not
begonne by the common people, but by the
lordes and captaynes of countreyes, upon
pride or willfull obstinacye agaynst the go-
vernment, which whensoever they will enter
into, they drawe with them all theyr people
and followers, which thinke themselves
bounde to goe with them, because they have
booked them and undertaken for them. And
this is the reason that ye have fewe such
badd occasions here in England, by reason
that the noblemen, however they should
happen to be ill disposed, should have noe
commaunde at all over the comunaltye,
though dwelling under them, because that
everve man standeth uppon himselfe, mud
buildeth his fortunes upon his ownc f«yth
and tirnic a,*suraunce : the which this man-
ner of tithing the polls will woorke also in
Ireland. For by this the people are broken
into many small partes, like litle strewn**,
that they cannot easel v come toghher into
one head, which is the principall reparde
that is to be had hi Ireland to keepe tin m
from growing to such a head, and adhering
unto great men.
Eudox. But yet I can not see howe this
can be well brought, without doing great
wrong to the noblemen there; fur at the
conquest of that realme, those great seg-
nioryes and lordships were given them by
the King, that they should be the rtnqMi
agaynst the Irish,' by the multitude of fol-
lowers and tenauntes under them : all which
hold theyr tenementes of them by fealtye,
and sucn services, whereby they are (by the
first graunt of the King) made bounde unto
them, and tyed to rise out with tin m into all
occasions of service. And this I have often
hearde. that when the Lord Drputye hath
raysed any general! hostinges, the noblemen
have clay mini the leading of them, by graunte
from the Kinges of England under the lire-ale
Scale exhibited; soe as the Deputyea would
not refuse them to have the leading of them,
or, yf they did, they would soe woorke, as
none of theyr followers should rise foorthe to
the hosting.
Iren. You say verye true ; but will you
see the finite of these grauntes? I have
knowen when these lordes have had the
leading of thevr owne followers under them
to the generafl hosting, thai they have for
the same cutt upon every plowland within
theyr countrey 40i. or more, whcrebye some
of them have gathered above 7 or 800/., and
others much more, into thryr pure, in lieu
wherof they have gathered unto Uwmaelvea
a number of loose kearne out of all parley
which they have carryed foorth with them,
to whom thev never 'gave pennye of ent*r-
t ay nement, allowed by the couutrey or forced
by them, but let them feede upon the coun-
treyes, and extort, upon all men where they
come ; for that people will never ankc better
cntertaynementtheii to have aoulourof sen-ice
orempibymentgiventheni, by which they will
poll and'spoyle soe outragiously, as the verve
Enemye can not doc much wnor>e: and they
also sometimes tunic to the Kiiemyes.
Kuthtx. It seemes the first intent of these
grauntes was agaynst the Irish, which nowe
some of them BM agayimt the Queene her
selfe. But nowe what remedye it there tot
xx
674
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
this? Or howe can these grannies of the
Kinges be avoyded, without wronging of
those lordes which had those landes and
lordships given them?
Iren. Surely they may be well enough ;
for most of those lordesj since theyr first
grauntes from the Kinges by which these
landes were given them, have sithence be-
stowed the most parte of them amongest theyr
kinsfolkes, as every lorde perhaps in his time
hath given one or other of his principall cas-
tells to his yonger sonne, and other to others,
as largely and as amplye as they were given
to him ; and others they have sold, and others
they have bought, which were not in theyr
first graunte, which nowe nevertheless they
bring within the compass therof, and take and
exacte upon them, as upon theirfirst demeanes,
all those kinde of services, yea and the verye
wilde Irish exactions, as Coignye and
Liverye, for him, and such like, by which
they poll and utterly undoe the poore ten-
anntes and freeholders unto them, which
either through ignoraunce knowe not theyr
tenures, or through greatness of theyr newe
lordes dare not challenge them; yea, and
some lordes of countreyes also, as greate ones
as themselves, are nowe by strong hand
brought under them, and made theyr vassalls.
As for example Arondell of Stronde in the
Countye of Corcke, whoe was aunciently a
greate lorde, and was able to spend 3500/. by
the yeare, as appeareth by good Recordes, is
nowe become the Lord Barryes man, and
doth to him all the services which are due
unto her Majestie. For reformation of all
which, it were good that a commission should
be graunted foorth under the Great Scale, as
I have scene once recorded in the old counsell
booke of Mounster; It was sent foorthe in the
time of Sir William Drurye unto persons of
speciall trust and judgement to enquire
throughout all Ireland, beginning with one
countye first, and soe resting a while till the
same were settled, by the verdicte of a
sounde and substantia)! jurye, how everye
man holdeth his landes, of whom, and by
what tenure, soe that everye one should be
admitted to shewe and exhibite what right
he hath, and by what services he holdeth his
land, whether in cheif or in socadge, or in
knightes service, or howe else soever. Ther-
upon would appeare, first howe all those
greate English lordes doe clayme those great
services, what segnioryes they usurpe, what
wardeships they take from the Queene, what
landes of hers theyconceale: and then howe
those Irish captaynes of countreves have
encroched upon the Queenes free-holders and
tenauntes, howe they have translated the
tenures of them from English holding unto
Irish Tanistrie, and defeated her Majestie of
all the rightes and dutyes which are to
accrewe to her therout, as wardeships,
liveryes, mariadges, fines of alienations, and
manye other comodityes; which nowe are
kepte and concealed from her Majestie to the
value of 60,000£ yearely, I dare undertake,
in all Ireland, by that which I knowe in one
countye.
Eudox. This, Irenaeus, would seeme a
daungerous commission, and readye to stirre
up all the Irish into rebellion, whoe knowing
that they have nothing to shewe for all those
landes which thoj- holde, but theyr swoordes,
would rather drawe them then suffer theyr
landes to be thus drawen away from them.
Iren. Nether should theyr landes be taken
away from them, nor the uttermost advaun-
tages enforced agaynst them : But this by
discretion of the commissioners should be
made knowen unto them, that it is not her
Majesties meaning to use any such ex-
tremitye, but onely to reduce thinges into
order of English lawe, and make them to hold
theyr landes of her Majestie, and restore to
her her due services, which they detayne out
of those landes which were aunciently held
of her. And that they should not onelye not
be thrust out, but also have estates and
grauntes of theyr landes nowe made to them
from her Majestie. soe as they should thence-
foorth holde them rightfullye, which they
nowe usurpe most wrongfullye ; and yet with-
all I would wish, that in all those Irish
countreye? there were some land reserved to
her Majesties free disposition for the better
contayning of the rest, and entermedling
them with English inhabitauntes and cus-
tomes, that knowledge might still be had b\
them, and of all theyr doinges, soe as noe
manner of practize or conspiracy e should be
had in hand amongest them, but notice should j
be given therof by one meanes or other, and
theyr practises prevented.
Eudax. Trulye neither can the English,
nor yet the Irish lords, thinke themselves
wronged, nor hardlye dealt withall herin,
to have that indeede which is none of theyr
owne at all, but her Majesties absolutly,
given to them with such equall condicions, as I
that both they may be assured therof, better I
then they are, and also her Majestie not de- 1 1
frauded of her right utterlye ; for it is a great jl
grace in a prince, to take that with condicions '(
which is "bsolutely her owne. Thus shall the ,
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
675
Irish be well satisfyed, and as for the great
men which had such grauntes made them at
first by the Kinges of England, it was in re-
garde that they should keepe out the Irish, and
defend the Kinges right, and his subjectes : but
nowe seeing that, insteede of defending them,
they robbe and spoyle them, and, insteede of
keeping out the Irish, they doe not onelye
make the Irish theyr tenauntes in those
landes, and thrust out the English, but also
they themselves become meere Irish, with
marrying with them, fostring with them,
and combining with them agaynstthe Queene;
what reason is there but that those grannies
and priviledges should be either revoked, or at
least reduced to the first intention for which
they were graunted? For sure in my no
opinion they are more sharply to be chastised
and reformed then the rude Irish, which, being
verye wilde at the first, are nowe become
somewhat more civill, when as these from
civilitye are growen to be wilde and meere
Irish.
Iren. Indeede as you say, Eudoxus, these
doe neede a sharper reformation then the
verye Irish, for they are much more stubborne,
ind disobedient to lawe and government, then
.!n- Irish be, and more malicious to the Eng-
ish that daylye are sent over.
Kudox. Is it possible I pray you ? Howe
comes it to pass, and what may be the reason
therof?
Iren. Marye ! they say that the lande is
heyrs onely b*y right, being first conquered by
;heyr auncestours, and that they are wronged
>y the newe English mens intruding therunto,
vhom they call Alloonagh with as greate re-
>roche as they would rate a dogge. And for
.hat some of theyr auncestours were in times
iast (when they were civill and incorrupted)
Justices and Deputyes of the lande, they thinke
that the like authoritye should be given to
.hem, and the charge of the realme left in
theyr handes ; which, for that they see it nowe
otherwise disposed, and that trust not given
them (which theyr auncestours had) they
thinke themselves greatly indignifyed and dis-
graced, and thereby growe both discontented
ind undutifull.
Eudox. In truth, Irenseus, this is more then
;ver I hearde, that English- Irish there should
be •woorse then the wilde Irish : Lord ! howe
quickly doth that countrey alter mens natures !
It is not for nothing (I perceave) that I have
leard, that the Counsell of England thinke it
noe good pollicie to have that realme reformed,
or planted with English, least they should
jrowe as undutifull as the Irish, and become
much more dnungerous: as apnearelh by the
example of the Lacies in the time of Ed'ward
the Second, which you spoke of, that shooke
of theyr alleageaunee to theyr nat until Prince.
and turned to the Scott (IUwi«d le Bruce),
devising to make him King of Ireland
Iren. Noe times have bene without badd
men: but as for that purpose of the Counsel!
of England, \vliieh ye spake of. that they
should keepe that realme from reformation, "I
thinke they are most lewdly abused, for the vr
great carefulness and earnest endevours d'oe
witness the contrarye. Neither is it t he-
nature of the countrey to alter mens manner*,
but the badd myndes of them, whoe having
bene brought up at home under a straight
rule of dutyeand obedience, being all wave* re-
strayned by sharpe penaltyes from lewile be-
haviour, soe soone as they come thither,
where they see lawes more 'slacklyc tended,
and the harde restraynt which they" wore u^-.l
unto nowe slacked, tfiey growe more loose and
careless of theyr dutye: and aa it is the
nature of all men to love libertye, soe they
become llutt libertines, and fall to all licen-
tiousness, more boldly daring to disobey the
lawe, through the presumption of favour and
frendship, then any Irish dare.
Eudox. Then yf that be soe, (me thinke*)
your late advisement was every evill, wherby
you wished the Irish to be sowed and sprinc-
kled with the English, and in all the Irish
count reyes to have English plaunted amongeat
them, for to bring them to English fashion-,
since the English be sooner drawen to the
Irish then the Irish to the English : for aa
you sayd before, if they must runne with the
streame, the greater number will carry e away
the less : Therfore (me scemes) by this resi-
son it should be better to parte the Irish and
English, then to mingle them togithrr.
Iren. Not soe, Eudoxus ; for where there
is noe good stay of government, and strung
ordinaunces to holde them, there iiuleede th<*
fewer will followe the more, but where there U
due order of discipline and good rule, there
the better shall goe formost, and the wonrse
shall followe. And therfore nowe. since Ire-
land is full of her owne nation, that may not
be rooted out, and somewhat stored with
English allreadye, and more to be, I thinke
it best by an union of manners, and confor-
mitye of myndea, to bring them to be one
]HII|.IC. and to putt away the dislikefull con-
ceit Ixith of the one, and" the other, whirl) wil
be by noe meanes better then l>y thin eater-
mingling of them : That neither nil the Irish
may dwell togitlier, nor all the English, but
zxl
676
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
by translating of them and scattring of them
by small numbers amongest the English, not
onely to bring them by clailye conversation
unto better liking of ech other, but also to
make both of them less able to hurte. And
therfore when I come to the tithing of them,
I will tithe them one with another, and for
the most parte will make an Irish man the
tithing man, wherby he shall take the less
exception to parcialitye, and yet be the more
tyed thereby. But when I come to the Head-
borough, which is the head of the Lathe, him
will 1 make an English man, or an Irish man
of noe small assuraunce : as also when I come
to appoynte the Alderman, that is the head of
that hundred, him will I surely choose to be
an English man of speciall regarde, that may
be a stave and piller of all the bouroughes
under him.
Eudox. What doe you meane by your
hundred, and what by your bourough ? By
that, which I have reade in auncient recordes
of England, an hundred did contayne an
hundreth villages, or as some say an hundreth
plowlandes, being the same which the Saxons
called a Cantred ; the which cantred, as I finde
recorded in the blacke booke of Ireland, did
contayne 30 Villatas terras, which some
call, quarters of land, and every Villata can
maintayne 400 cowes in pasture, and the 400
cowes to be devided into fowre heardes, so as
none of them shall come neere another : every
Villata containeth 17 plowlands, as is there
sett downe. And by that which I have
reade of a bourough it signifieth a free towne,
which had a principal! officer, called a head-
bourough, to become ruler, and undertaker for
all the dwellers under him, having for the
same fraunchises and priviledges graunted
them by the King, wherof it was called a free
bourough, and of the lawyers Franciple-
gium.
Iren. Both that which you say, Eudoxus,
is true, and yet that which I say not untrue;
for that which ye spake of deviding the coun-
trey into hundreds was a division of the
landes of the realme, but this which I tell,
was of the people, whoe were thus devided
bv the poll : soe that an hundreth in this sense
signifieth an hundreth pledges, which were
under the comaunde and assuraunce of theyr
alderman, the which (as I suppose) was also
called a wapentake, soe named of touching
the wapen or sparke of theyr alderman, and
swearing to followe him faythfullye and
serve theyr Prince trulye. But others thinke
that a "wapentake was 10 hundreds or
houroughs : Likewise a bouroughe, as I here
use it, and as the old lawe still use it, is not a
bourough towne, as they nowe call it, that is
a fraunchise towne, but a mayne pledge of a
hundreth free persons, therfore called a free
bourough or (as ye say) franciplegium : For
Borh in old Saxon signifyeth a pledge or
suretye, and yet it is soe used with us in some
speaches, as Chaucer sayeth; St. John to
borrowe, that is for assuraunce and warrantye.
Eudox. I conceave the difference. But
nowe that ye have thus devided the people
into those tithinges and hundreds, howe will
you have them soe preserved and continued?
For people doe often chaunge theyr dwell-
inges, and some must dye, whilst othersome
doe growe up unto strength of yeares, and
become men.
Iren. These hundreds I would wish them
to assemble themselves once every yeare
with theyr pledges, and to present them-
selves before the justices of the peace, which
shal be thereunto appoynted, to be surveyed
and numbred, to see what chaunge hath
happened since the yeare before; and the
defectes to supplye of those yong plauntes
late growen up, the which are diligently to
be overlooked and viewed of what condicion
and demeanour they be, soe as pledges may
be taken for them, and they putt into order
of some tithing : of all which alterations note
is to be taken, and bookes made thereof ac-
cordingly.
Euditx. Nowe (me thinkes) Irenaeus, ye
are to be warned to take heede, least una-
wares ye fall into that inconvenience which
you formerly found faulte with in others;
namely, that by this booking of them, you
doe not gather them unto a newe head, and
having broken theyr former strengthe, doe
not agayne unite them more stronglye : For
everye alderman, having all these free pledges
of his hundred under his comaund, (me
thinkes) yf he be ill disposed, may drawe all
his companie unto any evill action. And
likewise, by this assembling of them once a
yeare unto theyr alderman by theyr wapen-
takes, take heede least ye also give them oc-
casion and meanes to practise any harme hi
any conspiracye.
Iren. Neither of both is to be doubted ;
for the aldermen and headbouroughes will
not be such men of power and countenaunce
of themselves, being to be chosen thereunto,
as neede to be feared : Neither, yf he were, is
his hundred at his comaunde further then his
Princes service ; and also everye tithing-man
may controll him in such a case. And as for
the assembling of the hundred, much less is
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 677
any daunger therof to be doubted, seing it is
to be before a justice of peace, or some high
constable to be thereunto appoynted : Soe as
of these tithinges there can noe perill ensue,
but a certayiie aasuraunce of peace and great
good ; for they are thereby withdrawen from
theyr lordes, and subjected to theyr Prince.
Moreover for the better breaking of those
heades and septs, which (I tolde you) was
one of the greatest strengthes of the Irish,
me thinkes, it should doe very well to renewe
that old statute in Ireland that was made in
the realme of England (in the raigne of
Edward the Fourth), by which it was com-
aunded, that wheras all men then used to be
called by the name of theyr septs, according to
theyr severall nations, and had noe surnames
at all, that from thencefoorth ech one should
take unto himsclfe a severall surname, either
of his trade or facult3'e, or of some qualitye
of his body ot mynd, or of the place where he
dwelt, soe as everye one should be distin-
guished from the other, or from the most
parte, wherby they shall not onely not depend
upon the head of theyr sept, as nowe they
doe, but also shall in shorte time learne quite
to forgctt this Irish nation. And heerewithall
. would I also wish all the Oes and Macks,
which the heads of the septs have taken to
theyi names, to be utterlye forbidden and ex-
tinguished ; for that the same being an old
manner (as some say) first made by O-Brieu
for the strengthning of the Irish, the abro-
gating therof will as much enfeeble them.
Eudox. I like this ordinaunce verve well ;
but nowe that ye have thus devided and dis-
tinguished them, what other order will ye
take for thevr manner of life ? For all this,
though perhaps it may keepe them from
disobedience and disloyalt.ye, yet will it not
bring them from theyr barbarisme and sa-
vadge life.
Iren. The next thing that I will doe
shalbe to appoint* to everye one, that is not
able to live of his free-holde, a certaync trade
of life, to which he shall finde himseife fittest,
and shall*; thought ablest, the which trade
he shalbe bounde to followe, and live onely
therupon. All trades therfore, it is to be un-
derstood, are to be of three kindes, inanuall,
intelltctuall. and mixt. The first contayn-
ing all such as needeth exercise of bodj'lye
labour to the perfourmaunce of theyr pro-
fession; the other consisting onelye of the
exercise of witt and reason; the third sort,
partly of bodelye labour, and partly of witt,
but depending most of industrye and carefull-
ness. Of the first sorte be all handycraftes
and husbandrye lalxmr. Of the second be
all sciences, and tlnwe which are called the
liberall artea. Of the thirde is marchandize
and chafferie, that is, buying and selling;
and without all these three there is noo <-,.tn-
monwealth can allmost consult, or at the
least be perfect. But that wretched realme
of Ireland wanteth the most principall of
them, that is, the intellectual! ; therforc in
weking to reforme her state it Ls specially to
be looked unto. But because of husbandrye,
which supplyeth unto us all necessaryc things
for foode, wherby we cheiHy live, therfore
it is first to be provided for. "The tirs>t thing
therfore that we are to drawe these newe
tithed men unto, ought to be husbandryc.
First, because it is the most easyc to "be
learned, needing onely the labour of the
bodye; next, because it is most generall and
most needefull; then, because it u most
naturall; and lastlye, because it is nn>*t
enemy to warre, and most hatetli uiujiiu'tt-
ness: As the Poet sayeth,
' bclla cxecrata colonli : *
for husbandrye being the nuree of thrift, and
the daughterof industrye and labour, d< n -t. ill
all that may woorke herhinderaunce, and <li—
trove the travel! of hurhandes, whose ho|>c
is all her lives comfort <imt<> the plow^n : ther-
fore all those Kearne, otokaghs, and ll»r>r-
boyes are to be driven aud made tn employe
that ablcuesse of bodye, which they we're
wonte to use to tin-lie and villinivr. hem > -
foorth to labour and indiistryo) In the which,
by that time they have siwnte but a title
paync, they will finde such sweetness and
happy contentment, that they will aftcr-
wardes hardly be hay led away from it, or
drawcn to theyr woonted lewde life in tint-
verve and rogerye. And being thus once
entred thereunto, they are not onely to !«•
countenaunccd and encouradged by all good
mcanes, but also provided that theyr children
after them may be brought up likewise in
the same, and succeedc in the roomc* of theyr
fathers. To which end there is a Statute in
Ireland allreadye well provided, which nmi-
nundeth that all the sonnes of husbandmen
shal be trayned up in theyr fathers trade,
but it is (God wote) very slenderlyo exrruiiil.
Eudox. But doe you not count«, in thU
trade of husbandrye, j«iM uring of cat tell, ami
keeping of theyr Yowes, for that is rcckned
as a parte of hiwbandrye ?
fren. I knowe it is, and needfully* to be
n-fd. hut I din- not ineime to allowe HUM- ..f
those able bodyes, which are able to UM
678
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
bodely labour, to followe a fewe cowes grasing,
but such impotent persons, as being unable
for strong trarell, are yet able to drive
cattell to and fro the pasture ; for this
keeping of cowes is of it selfe a verve idle
life, and a fitt nurserye of a theefe. For
which cause ye remember that I disliked the
Irish manner of keeping Bolyes in Sommer
upon the mountaynes, and living after that
savadge sorte. "But yf they will algates
feede many cattell, or keepe them on the
mountaynes, lett them make some townes
neere the mountaynes side, where they
may dwell togither with neghbours, and be
conversaunt in the viewe of the world. And,
to say truth, though Ireland be by nature
counted a great soyle of pasture, yet had I
rather have fewer cowes kept, and men better
mannered, then to have such huge encrease
of cattell, and noe encrease of good condi-
cions. I would therfore wish that there were
made some ordinaunces amongest them, that
whosoever keepeth twenty e kine should keepe
a plough going, for otherwise all men would
fall to pasturing, and none to husbandrye,
which is a great cause of this dearth nowe in
England, and a cause of the usuall stealthes
nowe in Ireland: For looke into all coun-
treyes that live in such sorte by keeping of
cattell, and you shall finde that they are both
verve barbarous and uncivil), and also greatly
given to warre. The Tartarians, the Musco-
vites, the Norwayes, the Gothes, the Ar-
menians, and many others doe witness the
same. And therefore since nowe we purpose
to drawe the Irish from desire of warres and
tumults, to the love of peace and civilitye, it
is expedient to abridge theyr great custome
of bearding, and augment theyr more trade of
tillage and husbandrye. As for other occu-
pations and trades, they neede not to be en-
forced to, but every man bounde onelye to
followe one that he thinkes himselfe aptest
for. For other trades of artificers wil be
occupied for verye necessitye, and con-
strayned use of them ; and soe likewise will
marchandise for the gayne therof ; but learn-
ing, and bringing up in liberall sciences, will
not come of it selfe, but must be drawen on
with straight lawes and ordinaunces : And
therfore it were meete that such an acte were
ordayned, that all the sonnes of lordes, gen-
tellmen, and such others as are able to bring
them up in learning, should be trayned up
therin from theyr child-hoode. And" for that
end everye parrish should be forced to keepe
one pettye school-master, adjoyning to the
parish church, to be the more in viewe, which
should bring up theyr children in the first nidi-
men tes of lettere : and that, in everye count rev
or barronye, they should keepe an other able
school-master, which should instruct* them
in grammer, and in the principles of sciences,
to whom they should be compelled to send
theyr youth to be disciplined, wherby they
will in shorte time growe up to that civill
conversation, that both the children will loth
theyr former rudeness in which they wf-re
bredd, and also the parentes will, even by
the example of theyr yong children, perceave
the fowleness of theyr owne brutish beha-
viour compared to theyrs: for learning hath
that wonderfull power in it selfe, that it can
soften and temper the most sterne and savage
nature.
JEudox. Surelye I am of your mynd. that
nothing will bring them from theyr uncivill
life sooner then learning and discipline, next
after the knowledge and feare of God. And
therfore I doe still expect, that ye should
come therunto, and sett some order for reforma-
tion of religion, which is first to be respected ;
according to the saying of CHRIST, ' First
seeke the kingdome of heaven, and the righte-
ousnes therof.'
Jren. I have in mynde soe to doe ; but
lett me (I pray you) first finish that which I
had in hand, wherby all the ordinaunces
which shall afterwardes be sett for religion
may abide the more firmelye, and l>e observed
more diligentlye. Nowe that this people is
thus tithed and ordered, and everye one
bound unto some honest trade of life, which
shal be particularly entred and sett downe in
the tithing booke, yet perhaps there wil be
some stragglers and runnagates which will not
of themselves come in and yeeld themselves
to this order, and yet after the well finishing
of this present warre, and establishing of the
garrisons in all strong places of the countrey,
where theyre woonted refuge was most, I doe
suppose there will fewe stand out, or yf they
doe, they will shortly be brought in "by the
eares: But yet afterwardes, least any one
of these should swarve, or any that is tyed to
a trade should afterwardes not followe the
same, according to this institution, but should
straggle up and downe the countrey, or miche
in corners amongest theyr frendes idlye, as
Carooghs. Bardes, Jesters, and such like. I
would wish that there were a Provost Marshall
appoynted in everye shire, which should con-
tinuallye walke through the countrey, wit"
halfe a douzen, or half a score of horsemen, 1
take up such loose persons as they shoul
finde thus wandring, whom he should punn ~
A VIEW OF THE PRESENl STATE OF IRELAND.
679
by his owne authoritye, with such paynes as
the persons should seeme to deserve : for yf he
be but once taken soe idlye roging, he may
punnish him more lightlye^ as with stocked,
yc such like ; but yf he be fouude agayne eoe
loytring, he may scourge him with whippes, or
roddes, after which yf he be agayne taken, lett
trim have the bitterness of the marshall lawe.
Likewise yf any relickes of the old rebellion
be founde by him, that have not either come
in and submitted themselves to the lawe, or
that having once come in, doe breake foorthe
agayne, or walke disorderlye, lett them taste
of the same cupp in Gods name ; for it was
due unto them for theyr first guilte, and nowe
being revived by theyr later looseness, lett
them have theyr first desarte, as nowe being
founde uufittto'livein a commonwealth.
Eudox. This were a good manner ; but me
thinkes it is an unnecessarye charge, and
also unfitt to continue the name or forme of
any marshall lawe, when as there is a proper
officer allreadye appoynted for these turnes,
to witt the sheriff of the shire, whose peculiar
office it is to walke continuallye up and
downe his baly-wick, as ye would have a
marshall, to sna'tche up all those runnagates
tnd unprofitable members, and to bring them
to his goale to be punnished for the same.
Therfore this may well be spared.
Iren, Not soe, me seemes ; for though the
sherriff have this authoritye of himselfe to
take up all such stragglers, and imprison
them, yet shall he not doe soe much good,
nor wdorke that terrour in the hartes of them,
that a marshall shall, whom they shall knowe
to have power of life and death in such cases,
and speciallye to be appoynted for them :
Neither doth it hinder but that, though
it pertayne to the sherriff, the sherriff may
doe therin what he can, and yet the marshall
may walke his course besides ; for both of
them may doe the more good, and more
terrifye the idle rogues, knowing that though
he have a watche upon the one, yet he may
light upon the other. But this proviso is
needefull to be had in this case, that the
sheriff may not have the like power of life
as the marshall hath, and as heertofore they
have bene accustomed ; for it is daungerous
to give power of life into the handes of him
which may have benefitt by the partyes
death, as, yf the sayd loose liver have any
goods of his owne," the Sherriff is to seaze
therupon, wherby it hath often come to pass,
that some that have not deserved perhaps
judgement of death, though otherwise perhaps
offending, have ' bene for theyr goodes sake
caught up, and carryed straight to the boughe ;
a thing indeede very pittiful and veryc horri-
ble. Therfore by noe meanes I would \vi-h
the Sherriff to have such authoritye, nor vet to
emprison that loosell till the sessions, for soe
all gayles might soone be filled, but to send
him to theMarshall, whoe, eftsones finding him
faultye, shall give him meete correction, and
ridd him away foorthwith.
Eudox. I doe nowe perceave your reason
well. Hut come we nowe to that wherof we caret
spake, I mean, to religion and religious men ;
What order will you sett amongest them ?
Iren. For religion lit If have I to .-aye, my
selfe being (as I sayd) not professed therin,
and it selfe being but one, soe as there ia but
one waye therin ; for that which is true
onelye is, and the rest are not at all, yet in
planting of religion thus much is needfull to
be observed, that it be not sought forcebly to
be impressed into them with terrour and
sharpe penalties, as nowe is the manner, but
rather delivered and intimated with mildeness
and gentleness, soe as it may not be bated
afore it be understood^Tnd theyr Professors
dispised and rejected. I For this I knowe that
the most of the Irish are soe farre from under-
standing of the popish religion as they are of
the protestauntes profession y and yet doe
thev hate it though unknowtn, even for the
very hatred which they have of the English
and theyr government. Therfore it i* expe-
dient that some discrcete Ministers of ili«-\ r
owne countrey-men be first sent amongett
them, which by theyr milde persuasions and
instructions, as also by theyr sober life and
conversation, may drawe them first to under-
stand, and afterwardes to embrace, the doc-
trine of thevr salvation; for yf that the
auncient godly Fathers, which first converted
them, beinge "intidells, to the faith, were able
to drawe them from Intidelitye and paga-
nisme to the true beleefe in CHRIST, an St.
Pattricke, and SU Columbi howe much more
easelie shall the godlye teachers bring them
to the true understanding of that which
they allready profess? wherin it i* greate
wonder to see the oddes which ia betwene
the zeale of Popish prelates, and the
Ministers of the Gospell; for thev spare not
to come out of Spayne, from Rome, and
from Rhemcs, by long toyle and daungerous
travell hither, where they knowe perrill of
death awayteth them, and noe reward* nor
richcss ia "to be founde, onely to drawe the
people tn the Church of Rome; wheras some
of our idell Ministers, having a wave for
credit and estimation thereby opened unto
68o
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
them, and having the livinges of the countrey
offered them, without paynes, and without
perrill, will neither for the same, nor for any
love of God, nor zeale of religion, nor for all
the good they might doe by winning of soe
many sowles to God, be drawen foorth from
theyr warme nests and theyr sweete loves
side to looke out into Godes harvest, which is
even readye for the sickle, and all the fieldes
yellowe long agoe : doubtless those good old
godly Fathers will (I feare me) rise up in
the Daye of Judgement to condemne them.
Eudox. Surelye, it is great pittye,
Ireneus, that there are none chosen out of
the Ministers of England, good, sober, and
discreet men. which might be sent over
thither to teache and instructe them, and
that there is not as much care had of theyr
sowles as of theyr bodyes ; for the care of
both lyeth upon the Prince.
Iren. Were there never soe many sent
over they should doe smal good till one
enormitye be taken from them, that is, that
both they be restrained from sending theyr
yonge men abrode to other Universities be-
yond the seas, as Rhemes, Doway, Lovayne,
and the like, and that others from abrode be
restrayned from coming to them ; for they
lurking secretly in theyr bowses and in
corners of the countrey doe more hurte and
hinderaunce to religion with theyr private
persuasions, then all the others can doe good
with theyr publicke instructions ; and though
for these later there be a good statute there
ordayned, yet the same is notexecuted, and as
for the former there is noe lawe nor order for
theyr restrainte at all.
Eudox. I marvayle it is noe better looked
unto, and not only this, but that also which,
I remember, you mencioned in your abuses
concerning the profitts and revenues of the
landes of fugitives in Ireland, which by
pretence of certayne colourable convey-
aunces are sent continuallye over unto
them, to the comforting of them and others
agaynst her Majestie, for which heere in
England there is good order taken ; and
whye not then as well in Ireland? For
though there be noe statute there enacted
therfore, yet might her Majestie, by her
onelye prerogative, seaze all the fruits and
profitts of those fugitives landes into her
handes, till they come over to testifye theyr
true alleageaunce.
Iren. Indeede she might soe doe; but
the combrous times doe perhaps hinder the
regarde therof, and of many other good in-
tentions.
Eudox. But why then did they not mynd
it in peaceable times ?
Iren. Leave we that to theyr grave
considerations, but proceede we "forwards.
Next care in religion is to builde up and re-
payre all the ruinous churches, wherof the
most parte lye even with the grounde, and
some that have bene lately repayred are soe
unhandsomelye patched, and thatched, that
men doe even shnrure the places for the
uncomeliness therofl therfore I would wish
that there were order taken to have them
builte in some better forme, according to the
churches of England ; for the outward shewe
(assure your selfe) doth greatlye drawe the
rude people to the reverencing and fre-
quenting therof, what ever some of our late
to nice fooles saye, — ' there is nothing in the
seemelye forme and comely orders of the
churche.' And, for soe keeping and con-
tinuing them, there should likewise Church-
wardens of the gravest men in the parrish be
appoynted, as there be heere in England,
which should take the yearely charge both
herof, and also of the schoole-howses, which
I wished to be builded neere to the sayd
churches ; for mayntenaunce of both which,
it were meete that some severall portion of
lande were allotted, sith no more mort-
mains are to be looked for.
Eudox. Indeede (me seemes) it would be
soe convenient ; but when all is done, howe
will ye have your churches served, or your
Ministers mayntained? since the livinges
(as you sayd) are not sufficient scarce to
make them a newe gowne, much less to
yeelde meete maintenaunce according to the
dignitie of theyr degree.
Iren. There is noe way to helpe that,
but to lave two or thre of them togither,
untill such time as the countrey growe more
riche and better inhabited, at which time the
tithes and other oblations will also be more
augmented and better valewed: But nowe
that we have gone thus through all that
theyr sortes of trades, and sett a course for
theyre good establishment, lett us (yf you
please) goe next to some other needefull
pointes of other publicke matters, noe less
concerning the good of the commonweale,
though but accidentallye depending on the
former, ^nd first I wish that order were
taken for the cutting downe and opening of
all paces through woodes, soe that a wide
waye of the space of a hundreth yardes might
be laved open in everye of them for the safctie
of travellers, which use often in such perilous
places to be robbed, and sometimes mur-
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 681
thered. (Next, that Ibridges were buil
upon all \ivers, and ah-the foordes mam
and spilte, soe as none might pass any other
waye but by those bridges, and everye
bridge to have a gate and a small gate-
howse sett theron; wherof this good will
come that noe night stealthes (which are
commonlye driven in by-waves and by
blinde foordes unused of anye but such like)
shal be convayed out of one countrey into
another, as they use, but they must pass by
those bridges, where they may be either
haply encountred, or easeiy tracked, or not
suffred to pass at all, by meanes of those
jate-howses : Also that in all straytes and
narrowe passages, as betwene two bogges/
or through any deepe foorde, or under any
mountayne side, there should be some litle
fortilage, or wooden castell sett, which
should iceepe and comaunde that strayte,
wherby any rebell that should come in "the
countrey might be stopped the waye, or pass
with great perill. Moreover, that all highe
waves should be fenced and shutt up on
both sides, leaving onely forty e foote
breadthe for passage, soe as none should be
able to passe but through the highe waye,
wherby theeves and night robbers might" be
the more easeiy pursued and encountred,
when there shal be noe other waye to drive
theyr stollen cattell but therin, as I former-
lye declared. Further, that there should be
in sundrye convenient places, by the high
waves, townes appoynted to be builte, the
which should be free Bouroughes, and in-
corporate under Bayliffes, to be by theyr
inhabitaunts well and strongly intrenched,
or otherwise fenced with gates at each side
therof, to be shutt nightlye, like as there is
in manye places of the English Pale, and all
the wayes about it to be stronglye shutt up,
soe that none should passe but through those
townes : To some of which it were good that
the priviledge of a markett were given, the
rather to strengthen and enable them to
theyr defence, for nothing dothe sooner
cause civilitye in anye countreye then
manye markett townes, by reason that people
repairing often thither for theyr needes, will
daylye see and leame civill manners of the
letter sort. Besides, there is nothing doth
more staye and strengthen the countreye
then such corporate townes, as by propfe in
many rebellions hathe bene scene; in all
which when the countreye.'' have swarved,
the townes have stood stiffe and fast, nn«l
yeelded good relief to the souldiours in all
wcasions of sen-ice. And lastly there dotn
nothing more cnriche any countreye or
realme then manye townes ;" for to them will
all the people drawe and bring the fniites of
theyr trades, as well to make money of
them, as to supplye theyr noedefull urn-
and the counireymen wju ako ^ mon
industrious in tillage, and rearing all hus-
bandrye comodityes, knowing lhat thev shall
have readve sale for them at those townes :
and m all those townes should there be
convenient Innes erected for the lodging
and harbourghing of all travellers, which are
now oftentimes spoyled by lodging abrode
in weake thatched bowses," for wante of such
safe places to shrowde themselves in.
Eudox. But what protitt shall your mar-
kett townes reape of theyr markett, whereas
each one may sell theyr come and cattail
abrode in the countrey, and make tln\r
secrett bargaynes amongest themselves, as
nowe I understand they use ?
Iren. Indcedc, Kudoxus, they doe «oe,
and thereby noe small inconvenience doth
arise to the commonwealth ; for nowe, when
any one hath stollen a cowe or a garmn, he
may secretlye sell it in the countreye witi,<m|
privitye of anye, wheras yf he brought it in
the markett towne it would perhaps be
knowen, and the their discovered. Therfore
it were good that a straighte ordinaunce
were made, that none should buye or sell any
cattell but in some open markett (there bring
nowe markett townes everyo where at hand)
upon a great penaltye; neither should they
likewise buye any come to sell the name
agayne, unless it were to make malte therof ;
for by such engrossing and regrating we nee
the dearthe that nowe comonly raigneth
lift-re in England to have bene canned.
Heereunto also is to be added that good
ordinaunce, which I remember was once pro-
day in. il throughout all Ireland. That all
men should marke theyr cattell with an o|>en
severall markc upon theyr flanckes or but-
tocks, soe as yf they happened to be stollen,
they might appeare whose they were, and
they which should buye them might theriiy
Mispccte the owner, and be warned to
al>-taynr from buying of them of a suspected
I>erson with snioh an unknowen marke,
Kiidur. Surely these ordinauneca moan
verye expe<lient,' but upeciallye that of free
townes, of which I wonder there is inch
small store in Ireland and that in the flnt
(.enplini: and planting therof they were neg-
lertetl and omitted.
Iren. They wore not emitted; for therp
were, through all places of the count rye
682
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND.
convenient, manye good townes seated, which
through that inundation of the Irish, which
I first told you of, were utterlye wasted
and defaced, of which the mines are yet in
manye places to be scene, and of some noe
signe at all remayning, save onelye theyr
bare names, but theyr seates are not to be
founde.
Kudox. But howe then cometh it to pass,
that they have never since recovered, nor
their habitations reedifyed, as of the rest
which have bene noe less spoyled and wasted?
Iren. The cause therof was for that, after
theyr desolation, they were begged by gentell-
men of the Kinges, under colour to repayre
them and gather the poore reliques of the
people agayne togither, of whom having
obtayned them, they were soe farre from
reedifying of them, as that by all meanes
they have endevoured to keepe them wast,
least that, being repayred, theyre charters
might be renewed, and their Burgesses
restored to theyr landes, which they had
nowe in their possession ; much like as in
these old monumentes of abbeyes, and re-
ligious howses, we see them likewise use to
doe : For which cause it is judged that
King Henry the Eight bestowed them upon
them, knowing that therby they should
never be able to rise agayne. And even soe
doe these Lordes, in those poore old corporate
townes, of which I could name you diverse
but for kindling of displeasure. Therfore as
I wished manye corporate townes to be
erected, soe would I agayne wish them to be
free, not depending upon the service, nor
under the commaundement of anye but the
Governour. And being soe, they will both
strengthen all the countreye rounde about
them, which by theyr meanes wil be the
better replenished and enriched, and also be
as continuall holdes for her Majestic, yf the
people should revoke and breake out agayne ;
for without such it is easye to forraie and
over-runne the whole lande. Lett be for
example, all those free-buuroughes in the
Lowe-countreyes, which are nowe all the
strength therof. These and other like ordi-
naunces might be delivered for the good
establishment of that realme, after it is once
subdued ami reformed, in which it might be
afterwardes verye easelye kept and mayn-
tayned, with small care of the Govemours
and Counsell there appoynted, soe as that it
should in shorte space yeeld a plentifull
revenue to the crowne of England ; which
nowe doth but sucke and consume the trea-
surye therof, through those unsounde plottes
and changefull orders which are daylye
devised for her good, yet never effectually
prosecuted or perfourmed.
Eudox. But in all this your discourse!
have not marked any thing by you spoken
touching the appoyntment of the principall
Officer, to whom you wish the charge and
perfourmaunce of all this to be committed :
Onelye I observed some fowle abuses by you
noted in some of the late Govemours, the
reformation wherof you left for this present
time.
Iren. I delighte not to lave open the
! blames of soe great Magistrats to the rebuke
j of the woorlde, and therfore theyr reformation
I will not meddle with, but leave unto the
I wisedome of greater heades to be considered :
i onelye this much I will speake generally
therof, to satisfye your desire, that the
Government and cheif Magistracye I wish to
continue as it doth; to weete," that it be
ruled by a Lorde Deputye or Justice, for
that it is a very safe k'inde of rule: but
there-withall I wish that over him there
were placed also a Lord Lieutenaunt, of some
of the greatest personages in England (such
an one I could name, upon whom the eye of
all England is fixed, and our last hopes now
rest) ; whoe being entitled with that dignitye,
and being allwayes heere resident, may backe
and defende the good cause of the govern-
ment agaynst all malignours, which else will,
through theyr cunning woorking under hand,
deprave and pull backe what ever thinge
shal be well begunne or intended there, as we
commonlye see by experience at this day, to
the utter mine and desolation of that poor
realme : and this Lieutenauncye should be
noe discountenauncing of the Lord Deputye,
but rather a strengthning and maintayning
of all his doinges ; for nowe the cheif evill in
that government is, that noe Governour is
guffred to goe on with any one course, but
upon the least information heere, of this or
that, he is either stopped or crossed, and
other courses appoynted him from hence
which he shall runne, which howe incon-
venient it is, is at this howre to well felte.
And therfore this should be one principle in
the appoyntment of the Lord Deputyes au-
thoritye, that it shoulde be more ample and
absolute then it is, and that he should have
uncontrolled power to doe any thing that
he, with the advisement of the Counsell,
should thinke meete to be done : for it i»
not possible for the Counsell heere, to direct
a Governour there, whoe shal be forced
oftentimes to followe the necessitye of pre-
A VIEW OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. 683
sent occasions, and to take the suddayne ad-
vauntage of time, which being once loste
will not be recovered ; whitest, through ex-
pecting directions from hence, the delayes
wherof are oftentimes through other grea'ter
affayres most irkesome, the opportunitye there
in the meane time passes away, and greate
daunger often groweth, which by such timely
prevention might easel}- be stopped. And
this (I remember) is woorthelye observed by
Machiavell in his discourses upon Livye,
where he comendeth the manner of the Ro-
mayne government, in giving absolute power
to all theyr Counsuls and Governours, which
yf they abused, they should afterwardes
dearely answeare it : And the contrarye
therpf he reprehendeth in the States of
Venice, of Florence, and many other princi-
palities of Italye, whoe use to limitte
theyr cheif officers soe straightly, as that
therby oftentimes they have lost such
happye occasions as they could never come
unto agayne. The like wherof, whoe soe
hath bene conversaunte in that government
of Ireland, hath to often scene to theyr great
hindraunce and hurte. Therfore this I
could wish to be redressed, and yet not soe
but that in particular thinges he should be
restrayned, though not in the generall
government ; as namelye in this, that noe
offices should be solde by the Lord Deputye
for monye, nor noe pard'ons, nor protections
bought for rewardes, nor noe beeves taken for
Captaynries of countreys, nor noe shares of
Bishopricks for nominating theyr Bishops,
nor noe forfeytures, nor dispensations with
penall Statutes given to theyr servauntes or
frendes, nor noe selling of licences for trans-
portation of prohibited wares, and speciallye
of corne and flesh, with manye the like;
which neede some manner of restraint, or
els very great trust in the honourable dispo-
sition of the Lord Deputye.
Thus I have, Eudoxus, as breiflv as I
could, and as my remembraunce would serve
me, runne throughe the state of that whole
countrey, both to lett you see what it nowe
is, and also what it may be bv good care
and amendment : Not that I take upon me
to chaunge the pollicye of soe greate a king-
dome, or prescribe rules to such wise men aa
have the handling therof, but onelve to
shewe you the evills, which in my small
experience I have observed to be the clu-if
hinderaunces of the reformation therof ; and
by way of conference to declare my simple
opinion for the redresse therof, and establish-
ing a good course for that government;
which 1 doe not deliver for a perfect plott i.f
myne owne invention, to be onelve followed,
but as I have learned and und'erstood the
same by the consultacions and actions of
verye wise Governours and Counsellours
whom I have sometimes hearde treate
thereof. Soe have I thought good to sett
downe a remembraunce of them for myne
owne good, and your satisfaction, that
whoe so list to overlooke them, allthouvh
perhaps much wiser then they which have
thus advised of that state, yet at least,
by comparison herof, may perhaps belter
his owne judgement, and by the light of
others fore-going him may followe after
with more ease, and happely finde a fayrrr
wave thereunto then they which have gone
before.
Eudox. I thanke you, Irenteus, for this
your gentell paynes ; withall not forgetting,
nowe in the shutting up, to putt vou in mynde
of that which you have formerfye halfe pro-
mised, that heereafter when we shall mecte
agayne uppon the like good occasion, ye will
declare unto us those your observations
which ve have gathered of the Antiquities of
Ireland'.
685
APPENDIX I.
VARIATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS.
Page 4 (LETTER OK THE AUTHORS), col. 2, 1. 9,
PI. All the early editions read c.
P. 5 (VEKSES TO TUB AUTHOR), col. 2, 1. 13, fairt
(1609), fare (1590)
P. 5 (VKRSKS TO THE AUTHOR), Col. 2, 1. 17,
reedes (1609). The 4to. 1590 has reede.
P. 9 (VERSES BY THE AUTHOR), Col. 1, 1. 30,
ioveraint. The 4to. 1590 reads tocerain, but fol.
161 1 has toveraignei,
Page 11, book i. canto i. stanza 4, line 5, my
feeble (1596), mine feeble (1590).
P. 13, bk. I. c. i. st. 12, 1. 5, your ttmke. The
4to. 1590 reads your hardy itrokr; but it is cor-
rected in ' Faults escaped in the Print,' though the
incorrect reading is retained in the 4 to. 1596, and
in the fol. 1611.
P. 13, bk. I. c. i. st. 15, 1. 7, thapet (1690),
shape (1596).
P. 14, bk. I. c. i. st. 21, 1. 5, later spring. The
editions of 1590, 1596, and 1611 read later ebbe gint
t' avale (to avale), but this lection is corrected in
' Faults escaped in the Print.'
P. 14, bk. i. c. i. st. 23, 1. 9, oft (1590), Jof (Col-
lier).
P. 14, bk. I. c. i. st. 24, 1. 8, raft (1690), rtft
(1609).
P. 14, bk. I. c. i. st. 30,1. 9,«i^(1.190),Jttj(lC09).
P. 16, bk. I. c. i. st. 42, 1. 8, itghtt. The 4to.
1590 reads tighet. In the • Faults escaped in the
Print ' we are told to read tight*.
P. 17, bk. I. c. i. st. 50, 1. 3, He thought hare
(1590), He thought t' hate (1611).
P.17, bk.l.c.i.st. 50,1.8,can(1590),!7an(1679).
P. 17, bk. I. c. ii. Arg. 1. 3, Head (1696). The
4to. 1590 has tttpt.
P. 19, bk. i. c. ii. st. 14, 1. 4, et passim (Books i.
U.m.)q/(1596),o/(1596).
P. 19, bk. I. c. ii. st. 17, 1. 6, eruell tpiet. The
4to«. 1590, 1596, and fol. 1609 read crueUiri, which
is corrected in ' Faults escaped in the Print.1
P. 19, bk. I. c. ii. st. 17, 1. 9, die (1609), diet
(1590).
P. 19, bk. I. c. ii. st. 18, 1. 1, quoth (1696) qd.
( P. 19, bk. i. c. ii. st. 19, 1. 9, et passim (Boob I.
n. ni.) whither (1596), whether (1590).
P. 20, bk. I. c. ii. st. 22, 1. 6, thy (1690), four
P 20 bk. I. c. ii. st. 29, 1. 2, thade him thither
(1590), shade thitlur (.1696), thadov thither (160»).
P. 20, bk. I. c.ii. st. 29. 1.8. n
that mounted (1590, 1296). The reading In the
text is found in ' Fault* escaped in the Print.'
P. 21, bk. I. c. ii. St. 32, 1. 9, ptaintt (IAN).
plantt (1590).
P. 26. bk. I. c. iii. it. 38, 1. 7, the (1590), that
in errata.
P. 29, bk. I. c. ir. st. 16, 1. 3, hurtle* (1590).
hurlen (1609).
P. 29, bk. I. c. iv. gt. 23. L 7, dr? Jroptie (\&9Q),
? dire droptie (Upton), hydropty (Collier).
P. 29. bk. I. c. IT. »t. 24, 1. 3, tclaJlf (IS*)),
trailed (?).
P. 30, bk. I. c. iv. st. 27, 1. 6, ptffe (ISM), ptlfe
(1690).
P. 30, bk. I. c. IT. st 29, 1. 9,/onrt* (1596). forth
(1590).
P. 30, bk. I. C. ir. It. 80, 1. 4, thaw (16W), fair
(1609).
P. 80, bk. I. c. iv. it. 80, L «, »«v»6e«rf (1AM),
nn6or«(1590).
P. 30, bk. I. c. iv. it. 12, 1. 9, J(flt. Jlr* (1MO).
but fifte is among the errata in • Fanlu escaped in
the Print.'
P. 31, bk. I. c. iv. ft. 39, 1. S, faert (ISM), farf
(1590).
P. 31, bk. I. c. iv. rt. 41, L 9, renter* (1MO),
rt'nverit (1609).
P.31,bk. i. c.iv. rt. 43, 1L l,8,pto/pc,<rip«(liM).
pledy, edg (1&90).
P. 33, bk. I. c. v. it. 3. 1. 5. lurid. The 4U>.
1590 has hurlt, but Hurl,! i* in * Poult* escaped In
the Print.' The ediUoM 1AM, 1909 retain the in-
correct reading.
P. 38, bk. L c. v. st. 7, L 9. And hem Mmttt
deepe (1690), And helmtU kftfen drrpe (1AM).
P. 84, bk. I. c. v. it. IS, I. 2, thru* (1MO).
thirrie (\&6).
P. 36, bk. I.e. v.rt. 35.L 0.M«(1SW). taMliM).
P. 86. bk. 1. c. T. ft. 88. 1. 6. rltfi. The edition*
1590. 1596, Mid 18W md ctyfe. The correction ta
supplied in ' Fault* eacapcd In the Print.'
P. 37, bk. I. c. v. ft. 41, 1. 2, ni-jk (liSO). *v*
(ISM).
P. 38, bk. I. c. v. ft. 62, L », enter* (1AM), «••
tested (1690).
P. 88. bk. I. c. vi. ft. 1, 1. S. ra. The 4UM. •ad
folio 1609 read it. though in i* among the emt*.
P. 40, bk. I. c. vi. ft. I.'.. L 2. or Hacduu (ISM),
Of Batch** (ISM); Hutfbef. If BattMm.
685
APPENDIX I.
P. 41, bk. I. c. vi. st. 23, 1. 8, nousled (1590),
nourtled (1596).
P. 41, bk. i. c. vi. st. 26, 1.5, fieri and fell (1596),
«iri/»and cruell (1590).
P. 42, bk. I. c. vi. st. 33, 1. 9, woods (1596), usods
(1590).
P. 42, bk. i. c. vi. st. 39, 1. 7, he (1596), she
(1590).
P. 43, bk. I. c. vi. st. 47, 1. 8, to fight (1590), two
fight (1611).
P. 45, bk. I. c. vii. st. 12, 1. 9, stound (1596),
stoond (1590).
P. 45, bk. i. c. vii. st. 13, 1. 8, smoke (1596), smok
(1590).
P. 45, bk. I. c. vii. st. 18, 11. 4, 5, brought, naught
(1590), brought, nought (1596).
P. 45, bk. i. c. vii. st. 20, 1. 3, that (1590), the
(1596).
P. 46, bk. i. c. vii. st. 22, 1. 9. sight is omitted
in 4to. 1590, but is found in the4to. 1596.
P. 46, bk. I. c. vii. st. 29, 1. 4, glitterand (1590),
glitter and (1679).
P. 47, bk. I. c. vii. st. 32, 1. 18, whose (1609),
her (1590).
P. 47, bk. I. c. vii. st. 37, 1. 7, trample (1596),
amble (1590).
P. 47, bk. I. c. Tii. st. 37, 1. 8, chauft (1596),
chausl (1590).
P. 48, bk. I. c. vii. st. 43, 1. 5, ronne. The 4to.
1590 has come, which is amended in ' Faults es-
caped in the Print.'
P. 48, bk. i. c. vii. st. 47, I. 3, hands (1596).
The 4to. 1590 reads hand.
P. 49, bk. i. c. vii. st. 52, 1. 4, That. All the
early editions read that, but ? the.
P. 49, bk. I. c. viii. Arg. 1. 3, that gyaunt (1590,
1596), but the gyaunt is among the errata.
P. 49, bk. I. c. viii. st. 1, 1. 6, through (1596),
thorough (1590).
P. 50, bk. i. c. viii. st. 7, 1. 6, wise. The 4to.
1590 reads wist, which is corrected in 'Faults es-
caped in the Print.'
P. 51, bk. i. c. viii. st. 21, 1. 5, their ? his, i.e.
Argoglio's (Church).
P. 51, bk. L c. viii. st. 21, 1. 7, poiere (1596),
poure (1590).
P. 51, bk. i. c. viii. st. 22, 1. 4, right (so in all
old editions). Most modern editions read left.
P. 51, bk. I. c. viii. st. 24, 1. 6, hit (1596), her
(1590).
P. 53, bk. I. c. viii. st. 44, 1. 4, delight, ? dislike
(Upton).
P. 54, bk. I. c. ix. Arg. 1. 2, bands (1596). The
text of the 4 to. 1590 reads hands, but bands is in
' Faults escaped in the Print.'
P. 55, bk. i. c. ix. st. 9, 1. 3, the (among the
errata in 'Faults escaped in the Print.') Ed.
1590 reads that, a lection which Church defends.
P. 56, bk. I. c. ix. st. 12, 1. 9, on (from 'Faults
escaped in the Press'). Tha text has at.
P. 56, bk. I. c. ix. St. 17, 1. 8, proves (1590),
prowesxe (1609).
P. 58, bk. L c. ix. St. 32, 1. 7, glee (1590), Ifee
(Church).
P. 58, bk. I. c. ix. St. 33, 1. 3, cliff in errata,
clift (1590).
P. 58, bk. i. c. ix. St. 33, 1. 3, ypighl (1596),
ypliyht (1590).
P. 58, bk. I. st. 35, 1. 4, griesie (1590), griesly
(1C11).
P. 59, bk. I. c. ix. st. 42, 1. 7, holds. The 4to.
1590 reads hold.
P. 59, bk. i. c. ix. st. 46, 1. 7, falsed (1596),
falsest (1590).
P. 60, bk. I. c. ix. st. 52, 1. 1, sate (1596), heard
(1590).
P. 60, bk. I. c. ix. st. 52, 1. 3, reliv'd (1590), re-
liev'd (1611).
P. 60, bk. i. c. ix. st. 53, 1. 2, feeble (1590), seely
(1596). silly (1609).
P. 60, bk. I. c. ix. st. 53, 1. 6, greater (1596),
greter (1590).
P. 62, bk. I. c. x. st. 20, 1. 5, Dry-shod, &c. This
line is found in fol. 1609, but is omitted in the 4tos.
P. 63, bk. I. c. x. st. 27, 1. 6, His blamefull body
in salt water sore (1590), His body in salt water
smarting sore (1596).
P. 64, bk. i. c. x. st. 36, 1. 4, their. The 4to.
1590 reads there.
P. 65, bk. i. c. x. st. 52, 1. C, Brings. The 4to.
1590 has Bring.
P. 65, bk. I. c. x. st. 52, 1. 6. them (1590) ?him
or for traveller (1. 4) read travellers.
P. 66, bk. i. c. x. st. 57, 1. 6, pretious, adopted
rrom the errata in ' Faults escaped in the Print." '
The text of the 4to. 1590 has piteous, which is re-
tained by the fol. 1611.
P. 66. bk. I. c. x. st. 59, 1. 2, frame. The edi-
tions of 1590, 1596, 1609, 1611, read fame, though |
frame is among the errata in ' Faults escaped in
the Print.'
P. 67, bk. I. c. x. st. 62, 1. 4, As wretched, &c. '
(1590). The 4to. 1596 reads Quoth he, as wretched)
and lir'il in likepaine.
P. 67, bk. i. c. x. st. 62, 1. 8, And bitter battaUes,
inc. (1590), And battailes none are to be f ought (\W(>). {
P. 67, bk. i. c. x. st. 62, 1. 9, they ( 1590) is omit-
ted in 1596 and 1611.
P. 67, bk. i. c. x. st. 65, 1. 3, face (1590), plac4\
(1596).
P. 68, bk. I. c. xi. st. 3, This stanza is not fo
in the first 4to., but is in second 4to. 1596.
P. 70, bk. I. c. xi. st. 22, 1. 1, hit (1590), ? t
(Church).
P. 70, bk. i. c. xi. st. 26, 1. 6, swinged (1590),
singed (1609).
P. 71, bk. i. c. xi. st. 30, 1. 5, one. The 4tos.;
read its though one is in ' Faults escaped in the
Print.' Mr. Collier says there is no authority for
reading one.
P. 71, bk. i. c. xi. st. 37, 1. 2, yelled (1609)
yelded (1590).
P. 72, bk. i. c. xi. st. 41, 1. 4, Nor (1609),
(4tos. 1590, 1596).
P. 73, bk. i. c. xi. st. 54, 1. 7, poyse (1590) ? noy
P. 75, bk. i. c.'xii. st. 11, 1. 2, too (1596). to (16M
P. 75, bk. i. c. xii. st. 11, 1. 4, gossibs (1590), go*\
sips (1596).
P. 75, bk. i. c. xii. st. 17, 1. 4, note (1590), no'tt,
1596).
P. 77, bk. i. c. xii. st. 32, 1. 6, wylie (159C), wieM
(1590).
P. 77, bk. i. c. xii. st. 34, 1. 2, raine, adopted from
the errata. The text of the 4to. 1 o90 has faint.
Church thinks that faint = faigned or feigned is M
good reading.
GOO),
oust.
APPENDIX /.
68?
P. 77, bk. I. c. xii. st. 34, 1. 3, improvided (1590),
unprovided is found in some modern editions.
P. 77, bk. i. c. xii. st. 36, 1. 7, baini (1690), bane*
P. 78, bk. I. c. xii. st. 39, 1. 9, sprite (1590). Some
later editions, as 1011, read spreete.
P. 78, bk. I. c. xii. st. 40, L 9, Hi* (1590), Her
(1596).
P. 79, bk. n. Prol. st. 2. 1. 8, Amazon. The fol.
1609, following the text of 4to. 1590, reads Xm<(.>om,
ant Amazon is among the errata in ' Faults es-
caped in the Print.'
P. 79, bk. 11. st. 4, 1. 6, thou (1596), then (1590).
P. 80, bk. II. c. i. st. 3, 1. 2, food (1590), /eude
(1609).
P. 81, bk. n. c. i. st 12, 1. 9, chalenge (1596),
ehaleng (1590).
P. 81, bk. ii. c. i. st. 16, 1. 1, liefe (1596, 1609),
life (1590).
P. 82, bk. II. c. i. st. 20, 1. 2, quit (1590), quite
(1596).
P. 82, bk. n. c. i. st. 20, 1. 7, blotted (1596),
blotting (1590).
P. 83, bk. ii. c. i. st. 28, 1. 3, teell becommeth (1590,
1596), ill becommeth (1679).
P. 83, bk. II. c. i. st. 31, 1.4, on (1596), one
(1590).
P. 83, bk. n. c. i. st. 32, 1. 7, mutt (1696), mott
(1590).
P. 83, bk. n. c. i. st. 33, 1. 8, thrise is adopted
from the errata of 4to. 1590, but lltete occurs in all
eld editions.
P. 83, bk. n. c. i. St. 34, 1. 6, steedy (1590),
tteadie (1609).
P. 84, bk. n. c. i. st. 39, 1. 4, dolour (1590),
labour (1596).
P. 84, bk. n. c. i. st. 42, 1. 9, ttout courage (1590),
courage stout (1609).
P. 85, bk. II. c. i. St. 47, 1. 2, tight (1590), righ't,
(1609).
P. 86, bk. n. c. i. st. 68, 1. 4, fiye (1590) Ifryze
(Church).
P. 86, bk. n. c. i. st. 59, 1. 2, common (1596),
commen (1590).
P. 86, bk. II. c. i. st. 59, 1. 8, great (1596), greet
(1590).
P. 87, bk. n. c. ii. st. 4, 1. 3, lit* (1690), 1 lore
(Church).
P. 87, bk. n. c. ii. st. 5, 1. 3, hard (1596), hart (1590).
P. 87, bk. ii. c. ii. st. 7, 1. 7, pray (Collier). It is
chare in all the old editions.
P. 88, bk. n. c. ii. st. 12, 1. 8, fame (1696), frame
(1590).
P. 88, bk. n. c. ii. st. 21, 1. 2, hand (1609), hand
(1596).
P. 89, bk. II. c. ii. st. 28, 1. 2, their champion*.
The 4tp. 1590 reads her champion*, but 4to. 1696
las tlteir champion.
P. 89, bk. n. c. ii. st. 30, 1. 1, there (1609), their
(1590, 1596).
P. 89, bk. II. c. ii. Bt. 30, 1. 3, btoodguiltineue
(1609), bloodguiltr,ex*e (1590, 1596).
P. 90, bk. n. c. ii. Bt. S4, 1. 9, her (1590), their
(1596).
P. 90, bk. n. c. ii. Bt. 88, 1. fi, forward (1590),
Ifrovard (cf. 1. 7 of st. 38).
P. 91, bk. n. c. ii. st. 4!f, 1. 6, to hold. All the old
editions read to mate.
P. 91, bk. n. c. H. nt 44, L 4, r»roU. The 4to.
159(1 reads rntrold, tht- fol. 1609 introid.
P. 92, bk. n. c. lit. rt. 4, 1. 5, A pletmng MMM qf
P. 92, bk. n. c. iii. st 11, 1. 4. courier (1696),
courte (1690).
P. 93. bk. n. c. iii. st 20, 1. 5, doei greallf them
affeare (1690), their haire on end doe* reart (1696).
For greallf (in the errata) the text of the 4fax
1590 has unto.
P. 94, bk. II. c. iii. st 26, 1. 9, fringe (so all the
4t08.).
P. 95, bk. n. c. iii. st 35. 1. 4, manf bold em-
prite (1690), ? many a bold empriie (Jortin).
P. 96, bk. H. c. iii. st 45, 1. 4, one foot (1609),
<m/oo((1590).
P. 96, bk. II. c. iii. Bt 46, 1. 9, erne (1690), wnw
(1609).
P. 96, bk. H. c. iv. Arg. 1. 3, I-haon (16W).
Phedon (1596).
P. 97, bk. n. c. iv. st 4, 1. 6, loottlf (1596),
loo*lf (1590).
P. 98, bk. n. c. iv. st 12, 1. 3, hong (1690), hung
(1609).
P. 98, bk. n. c. iv. st 12, I. 8, tonge. The text
has tongue, which ia altered to tonge in the errata
of the 4' to. 1590.
P. 98, bk. II. c. iv. st 13, L 6, note (1690), no'H
(1609).
P. 98, bk. II. c. iv. st 17, 1. 6, one (1696), <
(1590).
P. 98. bk. n. c. iv. st 17, 1. 8, (
her gui(ful trech (1690).
P. 98, bk. II. c. iv. st 17, 1. 9, light
wandring ketch (1590).
P. 98. bk. u. c. iv. st 18, 1. 5, <
chute (1009).
P. 98, bk. II. c. iv. st 18, 1. 8, Or (1690), Our
(ICO'J).
P. 100, bk. u. c. Iv. st 38, 1. 4, thit word wot (so
all the old editions), thett trord* wtrt (Hughes'*
05*6),
(16M),
second edition).
P. 101, bk. II. c. iv. Bt. 40, 1. 8,
thold (1590).
run .
P. 101, bk. n. c. iv. st 45, 1. 6, thmt did Jlghl
(1590), Ihu* to fight (1696).
P. 102, bk. II. c. v. Arg. 1. 1. fyrochlei, tM,
(1590). The second 4U>. 16M) reads :—
fyrrochlft doe* trith Oufon .fight,
And furor* chafne unbind*;
Of u-hom tore hurt, for hi* rertnge
Attin Cfmochletjtnd*.
P. 102, bk. II. c. v. st 6. I. 9. dot me not math
/oW (1590), doe not much mefaile (1396).
P. 102. bk. II. c. v. st 8, 1. 7, hurtle (1MO).
hurle (1596), hurlen (1611).
P. 108, bk. n. c. v. st 10, L 7, enimfft (16M).
P. 103, bk. II. c. v. st 16, I. », who telft <I6«G).
tfhote telfe (\e09).
P. 104. bk.II. c.v. stl», L4,
(1690, 1696).
688
APPENDIX I.
P. 104, bk. II. c. v. st. 19, 1. 7, garre (1590). do
(1596).
P. 104, bk. u. c. v. st. 21, 1. 7, occasions (1590),
occasion (1609).
P. 104, bk. H. c. v. st. 22, 1. 5, spight (1590),
spright (1609).
P. 104, bk. II. c. v. st. 23, 1. 1, that (1590), the
(1609).
P. 105, bk. II. c. v. St. 29, 1. 5, prickling (1590),
pricking (1596).
P. 105, bk. II. c. v. st. 31, 1.5, In Nemus gayned,
&c. (1590), Gaynd in Nemea (1596).
P. 105, bk. n. c. v. st. 32, 1. 6, meriments. All
old copies read meriment.
P. 105, bk. II. c. v. st. 34, 1. 8, So he them (1590),
So them (1596 and 1609).
P. 106, bk. n. c.vi. st. 1, 1.7, abstaine (1590),
restraint (1596).
P. 106, bk. n. c. vi. st. 3, 1. 4, As merry as
Pope Jone (1590), that nigh her breath was gone
(1596).
P. 106, bk. n. c. vi. st. 3, 1. 6, That to her might
move (1590), That might to her move (1596).
P. 107, bk. II. c. vi. st. 12, 1. 9, and throwe her
sweete smds, &c. (1590), and her sweet smells throw,
&c. (1596).
P. 107, bk. n. c. vi. st. 14, 1. 9, whiles (1596),
whils (1590).
P. 107, bk. n. c. vi. st. 14, 1. 9, love lay (1590),
loud lay (1596).
P. 108, bk. u. c. vi. st. 18, 1. 7, wave . . . griesy
(1590), waves . . . griesly (1609).
P. 108, bk. n. c. vi. st. 21, 1. 8, bonds (1590),
bounds (1609).
P. 109, bk. n. c. vi. st. 27, 1. 9, there (1596), their
(1590).
P. 109, bk. II. c.vi. st. 29, 1.2, importune (1590),
importance (1596), important (1609).
P. 110, bk. II. c. vi. st. 38, 1. 5, salied (1590),
sailed (1609).
P. 110, bk. II. c. vi. st. 43, 1. 7, hath lent this
cursed light (1596), hath lent but this his cursed light
(1590).
P. Ill, bk. n. c. vi. st. 48, 1. 6, wondred (1596),
woundred (1690).
P. Ill, bk.n. c.vi. st. 50, 1.3, liver swell (1596),
livers swell (1590).
P. Ill, bk. n. c. vi. st. 51, 1. 5, fire too inly
(1596), fierinly (1590).
P. 112, bk. II. c. vii. st. 1, 1. 2, to a stedfast
starre, ? to the stedfast starre, i. e. the pole-star
(Church).
P. 112, bk. n. c. vii. st. 3, 1. 9, fire-spitting
(Ib90),fii-e-spelting (1609).
P. 112, bk. u. c. vii. st. 4, 1. 4, Well yetappeared
(1590), Well it appeared (1596).
P. 112, bk. n. c. vii. st. 5, 1. 6, Ingowes (1590),
Ingoes (1596), Ingots (1679).
P. 112, bk. n. c. vii. st. 5, 1. 9, straunge (1596),
straung (1590).
P. 112, bk. n. c. vii. st. 7, 1. 3, rich Mis (1590),
rich heapes (1596).
P. 113. bk. n. c. vir. st. 10, 1. 1, ill besits (1590),
ill befits (1609).
P. 113, bk. n. c. vii. st. 12, 1. 9, as great (1596),
in great (1590).
P. 114, bk. n. c. vii. st. 19, 1. 5, bloodguiltinesse
(1609), btoodguiltnesse ('690, 1596).
P. 114, bk. ii. c. vii. st. 21, 1. 5, infernall Payne
(1590), infernall Payne (1596). Perhaps infernall
Pay ne=infernal punishment should stand in the text.
Collier suggests eternal as an amended reading.
P. 114, bk. u. c. vii. st. 24, 1. 7, ought (1596),
nought (1590).
P. 115, bk. n. c. vii. st. 36, 1. 4, yron (1596),
dying (1590).
P. 115, bk. II. c. vii. st. 37, 1. 1, when an (1590),
when as (1596).
P. 116, bk. ii. c. vii. at. 39, 1. 8, mesprise(1590),
mespise (1596).
P. 116, bk. u. c. vii. st. 40, 1. 7, golden (1596).
yron (1590).
P. 116, bk. n. c. ii. st. 40, 1. 7, But (1596), And
(1590).
P. 116, bk. n. c. vii. st. 41, 1. 3, sterne was his
looke (1590), sterne was to looke (1596).
P. 117, bk. n. c. vii. st. 52, 1. 6, with which. All
the old copies read which with.
P. 118, bk. n. c. vii. st. 60, 1. 4, intemperate
(1596), more temperate (1590).
P. 118, bk. n. c. vii. st. 64, 1. 9, of his pray
(1590), ofthepray (1596).
P. 119, bk. n. c. viii. st. 3, 1. 8, Come hither,
hither (1609), Comehether, Come hether (1590).
P. 120, bk. II. c. viii. st. 16, 1. 7, tomb-blacke
(1596), tomblacke (1590).
P. 121, bk. ii. c. viii. st. 25, 1. 1, Which those
his cruell foes (from the errata in ' Faults escaped
in the Print '). The text of the 4tos. read :—
Which those same foes that stand hereby,
The folios (1609, 1611) have :—
Which those same foes, that doen awaite hereby.
P. 122, bk. n. c. viii. st. 29, 1. 7, upheave. All
old editions read upreare.
P. 122, bk. n. c. viii. st. 32, 1. 3, lodge (1596),
lodg (1590).
P. 122, bk. n. c. viii. st. 35, 1. 5, in his (1590),
on his (1609).
P. 123, bk. n. c. viii. st. 37, 1. 3, rayle (1590),
traile (1609).
P. 123, bk. n. c. viii. st. 40, 1. 4, so well as he it
ought (1590), so wisely as it ought (1609).
P. 123, bk. u. c. viii. st. 44, 1. 8, nomor«(1596),
not there, i.e. not there (1590).
P. 124, bk. H. c. viii. st. 47, 1. 4, swerd (1590),
sword (1596).
P. 124, bk. II. c. viii. st. 47, 1. 9, this (1590,
1596, 1609, 1611), he (1679).
P. 124, bk. u. c. viii. st. 48, 1. 8, Prince Arthur I
(1609), Sir Quyon (1590).
P. 124, bk. n. c. viii. st. 49, 1. 7, tred (1590),
treed (?).
P. 125, bk. n. c. viii. st. 55, 1. 3, bowing with. All
the old editions read with bowing ; but WITH is
directed to be deled among the errata in ' Faults
escaped in the Print.'
P. 125, bk. II. c. ix. st. 4, 1. 5, liefe (1590), lift
(1679).
P. 126, bk. n. c. ix. st. 6, 1. 9, Arthegall (1596),
Arthogall (1590)
P. 126, bk. ii. c. ix. st. 7, 1. 5, Seven times the '
Sunne (1590), Now hath the Sunne (1596).
P. 126, bk. n. c. ix. st. 7, 1. 6, Hath walkt
about (1590), Walktf round aboute (1596).
P. 126, bk. n. c. ix. st. 9, 1. 1, weele. All
editions read wote.
APPENDIX /.
689
P. 127, bk. n. c. ix. st. 16, 1.3, Capitaine(lG09),
Captaine, (1590).
P. 1-27, bk. n. c. ix. st. 18, 1. 3, woo'd (1596),
wooed (1590).
P. 127, bk. II. c. ix. rt. 21, 1.1, them (1596),
him (1590).
P. 127, bk. II. c. Ix. st. 21, 1. 3, /entitle (1590),
sensible (159C).
P. 128, bk. n. c. ix. st. 28, 1.4, meate (1590),
meet (1619).
P. 129, bk. n. c. ix. st. 37, 1. 8, doen you lore
1609), doen your love (1590).
P. 129, bk. n. c. ix. st. 38, 1. 2, mood. All old
editions read word.
P. 129, bk. ii. c. ix. st. 38, 1. 9, three yean
(1590), twelvemoneths (159C).
P. 129, bk. n. c.ix. st. 41, i. 7, Cattory (from
errata in ' Faults escaped in the Print'). The texts
of 1590, 1596 read lattery.
P. 129, bk. II. c.ix. st. 42, 1.1, cheare (1596),
cleare (1590). If the reader prefers cleare (the
reading which Collier prints and defends), he must
«ke it as a substantive in the sense of clearness,
tirenity.
P. 130, bk. n. c. ix. st. 48, 1. 3, these (1596), this
(1590).
P. 130, bk. n. c. ix. et. 49, 1. 4, reason, (so all
copies). Mr. Collier says that in Drayton's copy of
the fol. 1611 reaicn is altered to season.
P. 130, bk. n. c. ix. st. 52, 1. 9, th' Iwuse (1609),
fie house (1590).
P. 132, bk. n. c. x. st. 6, 1. 6, For safety that
(1590), For safeties sake that (1596).
P. 132, bk. II. c. x. st. 7, 1. 7, liteden (1690), lived
then (1596).
P. 132, bk.n. c. x. st. 7, 1. 9, slemnesse (1596),
sternesse (1590)
P. 133, bk. II. c.x. at. 15, 1. 9, munifkence (1596),
munifience (1590).
P. 133, bk. II. c. x. st. 19, 1. 5, upon the preterit
4oure (1590), in that impatient stoure (1596).
P. 133, bk. n. c. x. st. 20, 1. 2, to sway (1590).
of way (1596).
P. 134, bk. n. c. x. Bt. 24, 1. 8, ii mote (1596), he
mote (1590).
P. 134. bk. II. C. x. st. 30, 1. 2, weete (1590),
wike (1609).
P. 134, bk. n. c. x. St. 31, 1.1, too (1596), to
P. 135, bk. II. c. x. st. 34, 1. 7, then (1590), till
(1596), when (1609).
P. l:io, bk. II. c. x. st. 41, 1. 1, Ouryiunt (1590),
Gurgunt (1596).
p;i:!6, bk. II. C.x. st. 43, 1.1, Sitillut. All
copies read Sifillus.
P. 137, bk. n. c. x. st. 53, 1.2, in great (1590),
P. 138, bk. n. c. x. st. 65, 1. 9, hareforst (1590),
'? 140 "lik. H. c.xi. st, 9, 1.9, they that Bulitarte
trely rent (1596), they ayaintt that Buluarkt lent
(1p9.140, bk.il. e.xi. Bt.10, 1.2, assignment (1590),
dessinnment (1596).
ssinnment . .
P 141, bk. u. c. xi. rt. 11, 1. 4, dismayd (BO all
itions, ancient and modern) but J'*ll*"K'kZ'
editio
,
mis-made, made amiss, mis-shaped, ill-shape<l (Cl
If this conjecture be right, and it is extremely
plausible, the commit after ape should be deled.
Church thought that <lismay<t = dismayed (trigttt-
cned). and that ' Some liie to houndes. *>me lite to
apes,' should be read as in a parent herif, no that
dismayd will refer to feendt o/ Ml, of. • gtuMtly
spectacle dismayd,' ' F. Q.' l>k. in. o.iil. rt.W, 1. J.
P. 141, bk. II. c. xi. st. 13, 1. 2, is (1MO), MU
(1596).
I1. 141, bk. n. C. Xi. it. 13, 1.5, assayed (1690),
P. 142, bk. u. c. xi. Bf.. 21, 1. 8, there . . . tkere
(1609). their . . . their (l.V.m,.
P. 143, bk. n. c. xi. st. :;o. I. :>. surrire (among
the errata in ' Faults i-s.-u)»-.l in the Print '). The
text* of the 4to. 1690, and folios 1609, 1611 rrad
retire.
P. 143, bk. II. c. Xi. Bt. 32, 1. 6, unrest (1M6).
infest (1590).
P. 145, bk. n. c. xil. Arg. 1. 1, by (1596), through
(1690).
P. 145, bk. II. c. xii. Ar,:. 1. 2, passing Ihrvuyh
(1596), through passing (1590).
P. 146, bk. II. c. Xii. Bt. 8, 1. 4, hoars (1590),
hoarse (1596).
P. 146. bk. n. c. xii. st. 13. 1. 9, A^lloft
temple (1590), Apolloes honor (151)6).
P. 147, bk. u. c. xii. st. 21, 1. 1. heedful (1690),
earnest (1590).
P. 147, bk. 11. c. xii. rt. 23, 1. 9, monocerottt
(Child), monoeeros (l.WO).
P. 148, bk. II. c. xil. B. 27, 1. 4, sea rtsoun:lmy
(1609), sea the resounding (1690).
P. 149, bk.n. c.xii. st. 39, 1.8, upstaring (1490),
upstarting (1696).
P. 149, bk.n. c. xil. st. 43. 1.7, mightiest (\iM),
migtest (1690).
P. 160, bk. n. c. xil. Bt. 47, 1. 6, foresee (1609).
/or««(1590).
P. 160, bk. n. c. xil. rt.61. 1. 1, TherevM (1MO),
Thereto (1696).
P. 160, bk. n. c. xii. Bt. 64, 1. 7, //JNM-JM (Wll),
J/t/acint (1590).
P. 151, bk. H. c. xil. Rt.fiO. 1.6, eurioiu fmagtm
(1590), pure imayeree (1609).
P. 161, bk.II. c.xii. Bt. 61,1.8. feare/HlIf (\&90).
tenderly (1596).
P. 163, bk. II. C. xil. Bt. 76, 1. H, That (!596),
Tltot (1590).
1'. l.l:t. bk. II. c. xil. nt. 77. L 6, alMaster (16W,
1596, 1609, 1611), alabaster (1679).
P. 153, bk.n. c.xii. st. 81, 1.4, thatsame (\&96),
the same (V,W).
P. 154. bk. II. c. xii. Bt. 83, I. 7, ipofle (1MO),
spoyldO
P. 166. bk. HI. c. I. Prol. st. 1, 1. 2. TV fafrtst
(1590). That fayrett (1596)
r. l.Vi, lik'. in. c. I. J'rul. »t. 4, 1. 2, thy setft the*
(1.190), your selfe you (1696)
P. 163, bk. in. c. I. Am. 1. .1, Maleaulaei (from
errata in • Faults «»caped In ««• Print'). Th«
text* of 4to«. 1590, 1596, and follon 1609. 1611, n»J
italeraslats.
P. 160. bk. III. c. 1. Bt. 41, 1.8, lioktly (160»),
c.i. -.«. 1-7. ^M(llM).
1. 8,
burst (1609).
690
APPENDIX I.
P. 161, bk. in. c. i. st. 56, 1. 8, Bascimano (1590),
Saseio mani (1609).
P. 162, bk. in. c. i. st. 60, 1. 8, wary (1609),
weary (1590).
P. 162, bk. m. c. i. st. 60, 1. 9, fond (1590),
/and (1609).
P. 163, bk. in. c. ii. st. 3, 1. 6, too (1596), to (1590).
P. 163, bk. in. c. ii. st. 4, 1. 1, She travelling with
Ouyon by the way (so all old editions). Upton pro-
posed to read the, Redcrosse Knight instead of
Ouyon. Todd suggested Redcrosse, and Brayton,
according to Collier, proposed S. George.
P. 163, bk. m. c. ii. st. S, 1. 5, Which to prove
(1590), Which I to prove (1596).
P. 164, bk. in. c. ii. st. 15, 1. 4, allegge (1590),
alledge (1679).
P. 164, bk. m. c. ii. st. 16, 1. 9, part (1590),
point (1609). Mr. Collier says that Todd was a
careless collator, yet Todd is right in saying that
the folios read point, and Mr. Collier is wrong in
asserting that they read part.
P. 166, bk. ru. c. ii. st. 30, 1. 5, her in her tcarme
bed (1590), in her warme bed her dight (1596).
P. 167, bk. in. c.ii. st. 44, 1.1, minde (1590),
mine (1609).
P. 168, bk. m. c. ii. st. 50, 1. 2, breaded (1590),
braided (1609).
P. 168, bk. HI. c. iii. st. 1, 1. 1, Most (1590). Oh !
(1609).
P. 169, bk. m. c. iii. st. 3, 1. 1, dredd (1590),
drad (1609).
P. 169, bk. in. c. iii. st. 4, 1. 8, pretense (1590),
pretence (1596).
P. 171, bk. in. c. iii. St. 23, 1. 5, shall (1590), all
(1679).
P. 171, bk. in. c. iii. st. 29, 1. 1, with (1590),
where (1596).
P. 172, bk. m. c. iii. st. 35, 1. 1, thy (1590), the
(1596).
P. 172, bk. m. c. iii. st. 37, 1. 7, their (15DO),
the (1596).
P. 173, bk. m. c. iii. st. 44, 1. 5, yeares (in 1590)
is omitted by the 4to. 1596 and fol. 1609, and full
is inserted to render the line complete.
P. 173, bk. m. c. iii. st. 44, 1. 6, Ere they to
former rule, &c. (1596), Ere they unto their former
rule (1590).
P. 173, bk. m. c. iii. st. 50, 1. 9, Ilee (from the
errata in 'Faults escaped in the Print'). The
text of 4to. 1590 reads she, and omits as earst, which
are supplied from the fol. 1609.
P. 174, bk. in. c. iii. st. 53, 1. 3, (need mates
good schollers) teach (1590), whom need new strength
shall teach (1596).
P. 175, bk. m. c. iv. st. 5, 1. 8, she (1596), he
(1590).
P. 176, bk. m. c. iv. st. 8, 1. 9, thy (1590), these
(1596).
P. 176, bk. m. c. iv. st. 15, 1. 6, speare (1609),
speares (1590).
P. 178, bk. in. c. iv. st. 27, 1. C, fleshly (1596),
fleshy (1590).
P. 178, bk. m. c. iv. St. 30, L6, swownc (1596),
swound (1590).
P. 178, bk. m. c. iv. st. 33, 1. 4, raynes (1590),
traynes (1596).
P. 179, bk. m. c. IT. st. 39, 1. 9, sith we no more
shall meet (1596), till we aaaine -mny meet (1590).
P. 179, bk. in. c. iv. st. 40, 1. 6, gelly-blood
(1590). jelly d blood (1611).
P. 179, bk. m. c. iv. st. 43, 1. 4, vauled (1590),
vaulted (1609).
P. 180, bk. m. c. iv. St. 46, 1. 2, great (1596),
gret (1590).
P. 180, bk. m. c. iv. st. 48, 1. 1, off (1590), o/(1596).
P. 180, bk. m. c. iv. st. 49, 1. 8, forhent (1590),
forehent (1609).
P. 181, bk. in. c. iv. st. 59, 1. 5, Dayes dearest
children be (1596), 27ie children of day be (1590).
P. 182, bk. m. c. v. st. 3, 1. 2, till that at last
(1590), till at the last (1609).
P. 184, bk. m. c. v. st. 19, 1. 5, no (1596), now
0590).
P. 184, bk. m. c. v. st. 21, 1. 9, blood. The 4to.
1590 reads food, (1596) bloud.
P. 185, bk. in. c. v. st. 30, 1. 7, better (1596),
bitter (1590).
P. 185, bk. m. c. v. st. 37, 1. 3, did (1590) ? had
(Collier).
P. 186, bk. m. c. v. st. 39, 1. 9, his (1596), their
(1590).
P. 186, bk. in. c. v. st. 40, 1. 4, loves sweet teene
(1596), sweet loves teene (1590).
P. 186, bk. m. c. v. st. 40, t 9, liking (1590),
living (1596).
P. 186, bk. in. c. v, st. 44, 1. 5, bountie Ibeautie
CCollier).
P. 187, bk. m. c. iv. st. 50, 1.8. to all M (1590),
to is omitted in fol. 1609.
P. 187, bk. in. c. v. st. 51, 1. 9, let to (1590), le
it (1611). Collier is wrong in contradicting lodd'i
assertion that the fol. 1611 reads let it.
P. 187, bk. m. c. v. St. 53, 1. 9, weare (1609),
were (1590).
P. 188, bk. ni. c. vi. st. 3, 1. 9, were (1590),
(1596).
P. 188, bk. m. c. vi. st. 5, 1. 3, bare (1596), i
(1590).
P. 188, bk. m. c. vi. st. 6, 1. 5, his beames.
fol. of 1609 has his hot beames.
P. 189, bk. m. c. vi. st. 12, 1. 2, aspect.
4to. 1590 reads aspects.
P. 189, bk. m. c. vi. st. 12, 1. 4, beautie (1590),
beauties (1596).
P. 190, bk. m. c. vi. st. 20, 1. 5, chain
. . . straunge. The 4to. 1590 reads chaung .
straung ; the 4to. 1596 has change, strange.
P. 190, bk. m. c.vi. st. 25, 1.5, Which as (1609),
From which (4tos. 1590, 1596). Church proposed 1
read Of which a fountains, &c.
P. 190, bk. m. c. vi. st. 26, 1. 4. both farre an
neare (1596), omitted in the 4to. 1590.
P. 191, bk. m. c. vi. st. 28, 1. 6, thence (1590),
hence (1596).
P. 191, bk. m. c. vi. st. 29, 1. 5, Gnidus (1598)
Gnidas (1590).
P. 192, bk.m. c.vi. st. 39, .1, and to all (1590')
to is omitted in fol. 1611.
P. 192, bk. ra. c. vi. st. 40, 1. 6, saw. All tl
old copies read spyde.
P. 192, bk. m. c. vi. st. 42, 1. 5, heary (1596)
heavenly (1590).
P. 192, bk. ill. c. vi. st. 45, 1. 4, And dearest lov
(in 1609), omitted in the 4tos.
P. 1!)2, bk. in. c. vi. St. 45, 1. 5, JVarr«.>v(.1696)
Marcisse (1590).
APPENDIX I.
691
P. 193, bk. ra. c. vi. st. 48, 1. 9, loten (1590),
loosen (1609).
P. 193, bk. in. c. vi. st. 52, 1. 9, launched (159C),
launch (1590), launced (1609).
P. 193, bk. in. c. vii. Arg. 1. 4, Gyaunts. It is
Gynant in 1590. and Gyants in 1596.
P. 193, bk. in. c. vii. st. 1, 1. 8, she did (15%),
he did (1590).
P. 194, bk. m. c. vii. st. 5, 1. 1, the tops (1590),
Ih' tops (1609).
P. 194, bk. in. c. vii. st. 9, 1. 3, to (1596). two
(1590).
P. 195, bk. in. c. vii. st. 13, 1. 6, hath (1590),
had (1609).
P. 195, bk. in. c. vii. st. 18, 1. 5, Might by the
witch or by her sonne compost (1590). The verb be
must be understood before compost. Might be the
witch or that her sonne (1596).
P. 195, bk. m. c. vii. st. 19, 1. 6, her (1590),
Otat (1609).
P. 196, bk. in. c. vii. st. 23, 1. 4, he (1596), she
(1590).
P. 197, bk. in. c. vii. st. 32, 1. 7, muchell (1596),
nuch ill (1611). Collier is wrong in contradicting
Todd's assertion respecting the lection of the fol.
1611.
P. 198, bk. in. c. vii. st. 43, L 8, nere. The
4to. 1590 has were ; the 4to. 1596 reads neare.
P. 198, bk. HI. c. vii. st. 45, 1. 5, from him
;i590), him from (1609).
P. 198, bk. in. c. vii. st. 46, 1. 8. the (1590), that
(.1596).
P. 198, bk. in. c. vii. st. 48, 1. 4, And many
hath to &c. (1596), Till him Chylde Thopas to &.c.
(1590).
P. 200, bk. m. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 7, golden (1590),
broken (1596).
P. 200, bk. HI. c. viii. st. 5, 1. 1, advice:— device
(1590), advise (1596).
P. 201, bk. ra. c. viii. st. 6, 1. 7, tcex (1590),
wax (1609).
P. 201, bk. ra. c. viii. st. 7, 1. 4, to womens
(1590), a tcomans (1596).
P. 201, bk. in. c. viii. st. 9, 1. 9, whom (1609),
who (4tos.).
P. 202, bk. HI. c. viii. st. 17, 1. 3, brought,
through. The 4to. 1590 has broght, throgh.
P. 203, bk. ill. c. viii. st. 25, 1. 6, hand. It is
and in all old editions.
P. 203, bk. ill. c. viii. st. 30, 1. 3, frory (1609),
frowy (1590), but see p. 204, at. 35, 1. 2.
P. 203, bk. HI. c. viii. st. 32, 1. 7, Had . . .
assay Id (so all the old editions). Church proposed
to read Did . . . assoyle.
P. 203, bk. HI. c. viii. st. 33, 1. 9, her by (1590),
'hereby (1596).
P. 204, bk. in. c. viii. st. 37, 1. 9, hight (1596),
Ugh (1590).
P. 205, bk. ra. c. viii. St. 47, 1. 5, surely. Upton
mggested sorely.
P. 205, bk. HI. c. viii. st.49, 1. 2, Thace (1596),
To lutve (1590).
P. 206, bk. HI. c. ix. St. 2, 1. 4, attont (1596),
itlonce (1590).
P. 206, bk. in. c. ix. St. 7, 1. 3, misdonne (1596),
lisdonne (1590).
P. 208, bk. m. c. ix. st. 20, 1. 9, pertant (1590),
lersent (1609), present (1611).
P. 208, bk. m. c. ix. st. 22, 1. 1, Bttlona (1690),
Minerva (1596).
P. 208, bk. m. c. ix. st. 22, 1. 6, her tpeart
(1590), the tpeare (\VM).
J,;,"(i59ob)k-m- c-ix- 8t-32> K8- *
P. 209, bk. III. c. ix. st. 37, 1. 7, glorits (1590,
li>96, 1609), glorious (1611, l«7!t).
P. 210, bk. HI. c. ix. st. 4:i. 1. !», rtmoud (1590),
remou'd (1609), remor'tl (Ki7!i).
P. 210, bk. HI. c. ix. st. 45, 1. 3, nert (159«),
necks (1590).
P. 210, bk. HI. c. ix. st. 47, 1. 3, heard (1596),
hard (1590).
P. 211, bk. m. c. ix. st. 49, 1. 4, irhich, after
rest (1596), And after rest (1609).
P. 211, We. m. c. x. st. 2, 1 2, grierously (1696).
grivously (1590).
P. 212, bk. HI. c. x. si. 8, 1. 9, to (1596), iri/A
(1590).
P. 213, bk. HI. c. x. st. 18, 1. 4, Then (159C), So
(1590).
P. 213, bk. m. c. x. st. 21, 1. 9, earned (1590),
yearned (1609).
P. 214, bk. in. c. x. st. 31, L 8, and rM thy
(15!)6), that ifith thy (1590).
P.214, bk.m. c. x. st. 31, L7. rerttte* poy(lGM),
vertuous pray ( 1 .".90) .
P. 216, bk. HI. c. x. ft, 33, 1. 7, ortr-ronnr. It
is overonne in 1690.
P. 215, bk. in. c. x. st. 40, L 1, addrtstt. All,
old copies have addrest.
P. 215, bk. m. c. x. st. 40, 1, 3, teastffall (1596),
fait/if all (1590).
P. 215, bk.m. c. x. st.41, 1. 7. vide forest, (1690),
vild forest (1609).
P. 216, bk. HI. c. x. st. 47, 1. 1, the (1609), his
(1590).
P. 218, bk. IU. c. xi. st. 2, 1. 3, golden (1609),
golding (1690).
P. 218, bk. in. c. xi. st. 4, 1. 4, all that I erer,
Sic. (1590), that I did erer, &c. (1596).
P. 218, bk. HI. c. xi. St. 6, 1. 6, hut (K.itO),
w (1611). Collier is wrong in rontrnciie-tliiK
Todd's assertion respecting the reading of the M.
1611.
P. 218, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 7, 1. 6, of (l.VXi), off
(1596).
P. 219, bk. HI. c. xi. rt. 12, 1. 1, tinyiills (1609),
sini/ulfes (1590).
P. 220, bk. HI. c. xi. st. 19, death (1590), lltft
(Jortin).
P. 220, bk. m. r.xi. rt.22, 1.8, the rAir*(l«»«).
In 4to. 1590 the is omitted.
P. 220, bk. HI. c. xi. rt. 28, 1. 2, Inglorious,
oeastlite. The 4to. 1590 remta Inglorious and beatl-
lile. In fol. 1611 and Is omitted. Collier is wrong
in saying that no old edition omit* and.
P. 220, bk. m. c. xi. st. 27, 1. 7, entrtd (151W),
decte<l (1590).
P. 221, bk. in. c. xi. st. 28, 1. 8, Lite a (1596),
Lite to a (1590).
1'. •.--•!, bk. in. c. xi. st. 33, 1. 9, her (1690), kit
(1609).
692
APPENDIX I,
P. 221, bk. in. c. xi. st. 36, 1. 7, Ihee (1596), the
(1590).
P. 222, bk. ra. c.xi. st. 38, 1. 5, fire (1590), fier
(1596).
P.222, bk. in. c. xi. st. 39, 1.6, each other (1596),
his other (1590).
P. 222, bk. ni. c. xi. st. 39, 1. 8, staff (suggested
by Jortin). All old copies read hag.
P. 223, bk. in. c. xi. st. 47, 1. 9, hevens highl
(suggested by Church). All old editions read
heven bright.
P. 224, bk. ra. c. xii. st. 7, 1. 8, wood (1596),
word (1590).
P. 225, bk. m. c. xii. st. 9, 1. 3, other (1G09),
others (1596).
P. 225, bk. m. c. xii. st. 12, 1. 3, too or froe
(1590), to and fro (1596).
P. 225, bk. in. c. xii. st. 12, 1. 6, winged (1590),
wingy (1596).
P. 225, bk. in. c. xii. st. 17, 1. 6, did tosse (so
all copies). Church would omit did, and for tosse
read tost: In her right hand aJiKrbrand she tost.
P. 226, bk. in. c. xii. st. 18, 1. 5, drad (1596),
dread (1590).
P. 226, bk. in. c. xii. st. 18, 1. 8, hony-laden.
All old editions read hony-lady.
P. 226, bk. in. c. xii. st. 21, 1. 7, fading. Church
thinks that Spenser meant to write failing.
P. 226, bk. HI. c. xii. st. 21, 1.8, ttill (1596),
skill (1590).
P. 226, bk. ra. c. xii. st. 23, 1. 5, hand is omitted
in 4tos., but is among the errata in ' Faults es-
caped in the Print.'
P. 226, bk. m. c. xii. st. 26, 1. 7, by the (1590),
with that. (1596).
P. 226, bk. in. c. xii. st. 27, 1. 3, and bore all
away (1596), nothing did remayne (1590).
P. 226, bk. m. c. xii. st. 27, 1. 8, It (1590), In
(1611). Collier is wrong respecting the reading of
the folios.
P. 227, bk. ill. c. xii. st. 28, 1. 1, there (1609).
The 4tos. read their.
P. 227, bk. ni. c. xii. st. 29, 1. 1, wandering
(1590), wondering (1611).
P. 227, bk. in. c. xii. st. 33, 1. 3, to herselfe
(1596), to the next (1590).
P. 227, bk. m. c. xii. st.34, 1. 4, wnto/ier(lC09),
unto him (1590).
P. 228, bk. m. c. xii. st. 38, 1. 5, bor'd (1596),
sor'd, i.e. made sore, hurt (1590).
P. 228, bk. in. c. xii. st. 40, 1. 6, faire Lady
(1596), faire Lad (1590).
P. 228, bk. ill. c. xii. st. 45, 1. 9, Whitest here I
doe respire.
When Spenser printed his first three books of the
' Fairie Queene ' the two lovers. Sir Scudamore and
Amoret, have a happy meeting : but afterwards,
when he printed the fourth, fifth, and sixth books,
he reprinted likewise the first three books ; and,
among other alterations, he left out the five last
stanzas and made three new stanzas, viz. 43, 44,
45. More easie issew now, &c. By these alterations
this third book not only connects better with the
fourth, but the reader is kept in that suspense
which is necessary in a well-told story. The
stanzas which are mentioned above as omitted in
the second edition, and printed in the first, are the
following ; —
43.
At last she came unto the place, where late
" She left Sir Scudamour in great distresse,
" Twixt dolour and despight halfe desperate,
'• Of his loues succour, of his owne redresse,
" And of the hardie Britomarts successe :
" There on the cold earth him now thrown she
" found,
" In wilfull anguish and dead heavinesse,
" And to him cald ; whose voices knowen sound
Soon as he heard, himself he reared light from
" ground.
44.
There did he SPC, that most on earth him joyd,
" His dearest lone, the comfort of his duyts.
" Whose too long absence him had sore annoyd,
" And wearied his life with dull delayes.
" Straight he upstarted from the loathed layes,
" And to her ran with hasty egemesse,
" Like as a Deare, that greedily enibayes*
" In the cool soile, after long thirstinesse,
Which he in chace endured hath, now nigh
" breathlesse.
45.
Lightly he dipt her twixt his armes twaine,
" And streightly did embrace her body bright,
" Her body, late the prison of sad paine,
" Now the sweet lodge of loue and deare delight :
" But she, faire Lady, overcommen quight
" Of huge affection, did in pleasure melt,
" And in sweete ravishment pourd out her
" spright.
" No word they spake, nor earthly thing thpy
" felt,
But like twosenceles stocks in long embracement
'• dwelt.
46.
: Had ye them seene, ye would have surely thought
" That they had beene that faire Hermaphrodite,
" Which that rich Romane of white marble
" wrought,
" And in his costly Bath causd to bee site.
" So seemd those two, as growne together quite
" That Britomart, halfe envying their blesse,
" Was much empassiond in her gentle sprite,
" And to her selfe oft wisht like happinesse :
' In vain she wisht, that fate n'ould let her yo
47,
" Thus doe those loners, with sweet countervayle,
" Each other of loues bitter fruit despoile.
" But now my teme begins to faint and fayle,
" All woxen weary of their journall toyle :
" Therefore I will their sweatie yokes assoyle
" At this same furrowes end, till a new day ;
" And ye, faire Swayns, after your long turmoyle
" Now cease your worke, and at your pleasnr
" play :
" Now cease your work ; to morrow is an holy day.'l
P. 229, bk. iv. c. i. 1. 4, Triamond. All the earlj
editions have Telamond.
P. 231, bk. iv. c. i. st. 16, 1.4, grief ull (1596)
grief e-f nil (1609).
P. 231, bk. iv. c. i. st. 16, 1. 7, none (1596).
(1609).
P. 236, bk. iv. c. ii. st. 2, 1. 5, concented (1596)
contented (1679).
APPENDIX /.
693
P. 237, bk. iv. c. ii. st. 19, 1. 1, besitting (1596),
beJUting (1679).
P. 238, bk. rv. c. ii. st. 22, 1. 7, avitiny. The
4tos. have advizing, the folios avising.
P. 241, bk. iv. c. ii. st. 52, 1. 9, so be (.1596), be
» (?).
P. 242, bk. iv. c. iii. st. 7, 1. 4, *ti« (1609), sill,
(1596).
P. 242, bk. iv. c. iii. st.8, 1.8, avenyement (1609),
advengement (1596).
P. 242, bk. iv. c. iii. st. 9, 1. 6, n'ote (1609), not
(1596).
P. 243, bk. iv. c. iii. st. 13, 1. 8, other brethren
(so all copies). It should be second brother
(Church).
P. 243, bk. iv. c. iii. st. 20, 1.1, adventure (so
all copies) . It has been proposed to read advantage ;
but adventure =opportunity.
P. 245, bk. rv. c. iii. st. 36, 1. 3, teards (so all
copies). Church proposed to read swords.
P. 247, bk. IV. c. iii. st. 52, 1. 9, elswhere (1609),
elswere (1596).
P. 247, bk. iv. c. iv. st. 1. 1. 4, minds (1596),
lives (1609).
P. 247, bk. IV. c. iv. St. 2, 1. 3, als (1609), els
(1596).
P. 247, bk. iv. c. iv. st. 2, 1. 4, Blandamour
(1679), Scudumour (1596).
P. 248, bk. iv. c. iv. st. 8, 1. 2, Ferrau (1609),
Ferrat (1596).
, P. 248, bk. IV. c. iv. st. 13, 1. 5, worse (1609),
worst (1596).
P. 249, bk. iv. c. iv. st. 17, 1. 4, maiden-headed
(1596), ? satyr-headed (Church,.
P. 249, bk. iv. c. iv. Bt. 24, 1. 9, siround. The
4 to. has sound.
P. 249, bk. IV. c. iv. st. 24, 1. 1, beam-lite (1609),
bravelike (1596).
P. 250, bk. IV. c. iv. St. 29, 1.6, cuffing (1611),
cuffling (1596).
P. 252, bk. iv. c. v. st. 4, 1. 4, Lemno (1696),
Lemnos (1611).
P. 253, bk. iv. c. v. st. 5, 1. 5, Acidalian (1596),
Aridalian (1609).
P. 253, bk. rv. c. v. st. 6, 1. 8, Martian (1596),
? martial.
P. 254, bk. iv. c. v. st. 16, 1. 1, that (1596), the
(1609).
P. 2.54, bk. rv. c. v. st. 21, 1. 8, one (so all old
copies). Hughes reads own.
P. 254. bk. iv. c. v. st. 23, 1. 7, tent (1596),
since (1609).
P. 255, hk. iv. c. v. st. 25, 1. 5, one (1609),
once (1596).
P. 255, bk. iv. c. v. st. 31, 1. 3, hit (1609), her
P. 256, bk. iv. c. v. st. 36, 1. 4, unpared (1596),
reparsd (1611).
P. 256, bk. iv. c. v. st. 37, 1. 2, Pyracmon (1609).
Ed. 1596 reads 1'ijnacmon.
P. 256, bk. iv. c. v. st. 40, 1. 7, wheresoettr
(1596). icheresoere (1611).
P. 260, bk. iv. c. vi. st. 24, 1. 8, feare (1609),
bisfeare (1596).
P 260, bk. iv. c. vi. st. 28, 1. 6, Htm (proposed
by Upton and Church). Her (1896). He (1609]
P. 261. bk. iv. c. vi. St. 33, 1. 6, ranging (18»6),
raying (1611).
P. 262, bk. iv. c. vi. at. 44. 1. 4. m (1580;
Some modern editors, following fnl. 1 >'•»'.>. niter to un.
P. 262, bk. rv. c. vi. st. 46, 1.8, irAom (1609),
who (1596).
P. 262, bk. IV. c. vii. st. 1, 1. 1, darts (1809),
dart (1896).
P. 263, bk. IV. c. vil. st. 10, 1. 9, orer-iiyki
(1596), ore-tight (1609).
P. 264. bk. iv. c. vii. st. 12, 1. 1, eaftirt (1596).
Some editors have proposed to read captirt.
P. 265, bk. iv. c. vii. st.22, 1.1, Xorhed,jt(\!>96).
Mr. J. P. Collier proposes to rend for hnlye.
P. 265, bk. iv. c. vii. st. 23, 1.3, to (1696) is
omitted in Hi7:>.
P. 265, bk. IV. c. vii. st. 20, 1. 1, irhich (1009),
with (1 596).
P. 266, bk. IV. c. vii. st. 34, 1. 1, tad (1609),
said (1596).
P. 267. bk. IV. c. viii. st. 1, 1. 9, injtred (1596),
infected (1611).
P. 268, bk. iv. c. viii. st. 9, 1. 9. pertate (1596),
partake (1609).
P. 268, bk. iv. c. viii. st. 12, 1. 3, her (suggested
by Church), him (1596).
P. 274, bk. iv. c. viii. bt. 64, 1. 1, thit (1596),
his (1609).
P. 274, bk. iv. c. ix. Arg. 1. 2, .Einylia (sug-
gested by Church), I'UMUU (1596).
P. 274, bk. iv. c. ix. st. 1, 1. 8, tertuout (1609),
verlues (1596).
P. 274. bk. IV. C. ix. Bt. 3, L 3, thcte (1596),
this (1609).
P. 275, bk. IV. c. ix. st. 11, 1. 9, them (suggwted
by Church), Aim (1596).
P. 278, bk. iv. c. ix. st. 12, L 2, ht (1596),
? they or teas (Church).
P. 276, bk. iv. c. ix. Bt. 14. 1. 8, dydt=dyed,
complexioned. Church suggested egdt.
P. 276, bk. IV. c. ix. Bt. 17, 1. 5, guett. It is
guest in 1596 and in all old copies.
P. 276, bk. IV. c. ix. ft. 17, 1. 7, beguest (1596),
request (1611).
P. 277, bk. iv. c. Ix. st. 28, I. 8. widt. Mr. J.
P. Collier says that in Uray ton's copy of the fol. of
1611 tfililt is suggested im an emendation for vide.
P. 277, bk. iv. c. ix. Bt. 26. 1. 1, Then gan (pro-
posed by Church). In 1896 it is their yan, in 1611
there yan.
P. 277, bk. IV. c. Ix. Bt. 30, 1. 8, rtpaytd (1609),
repaired (1696).
P. 278. bk. iv. c. ix. st. 37, 1. 2, Kuiyht (1896),
? Kniyhts (Upton).
P. 279, bk. IV. c. x. St. 7, 1. 9, ancient (1609),
ancienlt (1596).
P. 280, bk. iv. c. x. Bt. 9, 1. 1, tamr (1696),
yearns (1611).
P. 280. bk. iv. c. x. Bt. 17, L 8, adfard (1896),
atcard (1609).
P. 281. bk. rv. c. x. ft. 19, L 1, meant* (1609).
nearest (1696).
P. 281, bk. IV. c. x. Bt. 28, 1.2, yhtut (1896),
, Mb IV. r. x. rt. 23, L 8, to bet (1896),
to yhettt (16««»). / yhette (1611).
P. 281. bk. IV. c. x. ft. 26, L 9, rntpin (1W6),
Hylut (1609).
6g4
APPENDIX I.
P. 282, bk. iv. c. x. st. 35, 1. 6, hell (so all
copies). Some editors have suggested mell= con-
found; but hell=O. E. hill or Ae/e=cover, which
agrees with its nominative maters. And fire de-
vovre the ayre is a parenthetical clause.
P. 284, bk. IV. c. x. st. 51, 1. 9, airlands (so all
editions), ? gardians (Church), ? guerdons (J. P.
Collier).
P. 284, bk. iv. c. x. st. 55, 1. 8, marie (1596)
? wearie (Church and Upton).
P. 285, bk. iv. c. x. st. 56, 1. 4, at (1596), on
(1609).
P. 285, bk. rv. c. xi. st. 4, 1. 2, dredd (1596)
drad (1609).
P. 285, bk. IV. c. xi. st. 4, 1. 6, seven (1596)
three (1609).
P. 287, bk. rv. c. xi. st. 17, 1. 6, age. All old
copies read times.
P. 287, bk. iv. c. xi. st. 19, 1. 4, fortold (1596),
foretold (1611).
P. 289, bk. iv. c. xi. st. 34, 1. 5, Grant (Child).
The ed. of 1596 reads Guant.
P. 290, bk. rv. c. xi. st. 45, 1.1, lovely (1596),
loving (1609).
P. 290, bk. iv. c. xi. st. 48, 1. 8, Endore (1596),
read Eudore (Child).
P. 290, bk. rv. c. xi. st. 52, 1. 7, but (so all
copies). Some editors have proposed to read both.
P. 292, bk. IV. c. xii. st. 13, 11. 1, 2, Thus whilst,
&c. (1596),
Thus whilst his stony heart was toticht with, &c.
: And mighty courage something mollifide (1609).
P. 293, bk. iv. c. xii. st. 23, 1. 9, That it was no
Old sore (1596), That no old fore it teas (1611).
P. 295, bk. v. ProL st. 2, 1. 2, at (1596), as
(1611).
P. 295, bk. v. Prol. st.2, 1.9, degendered (1596),
degenered (1611).
P. 296, bk. v. Prol. st. 7, 1. 8, thirtie (1596),
? thirteen.
P. 296, bk. V. Prol. st. 9, 1. 4, ne (1596), no
(1611).
P. 296, bk. v. Prol. st. 11, 1. 2, stead (1609),
place (1596).
P. 297, bk. V. C. i. st. 4, 1. 1, Irena (1609),
Eirena (1596).
P. 300, bk. v. c. ii. Arg. 1. 3, Munera, &c. The
4to. has Mornera. The correct reading was adopted
by Hughes.
P. 300, bk. v. c. ii. st. 2, 1. 7, As to his (1609),
And to his (1596).
P. 300, bk. v. c. ii. st. 4, 1. 1, he (1609), she
(1596).
P. 301, bk. v. c. ii. st. 11, 1. 4, When at. All
editions read Who as. Church proposed to read
Tho as=then as.
P. 303, bk. v. c. ii. st. 32, 1. 4, earth (1609),
tare (1596).
P. 304, bk. v. c. ii. st. 38, 1. 1, these (1596),
those. (1609).
P. 304, bk. V. c. ii. st. 44, 1. 4, way (1596),
weigh (1609).
P. 304, bk. v. c. ii. st. 45, 1. 8, weight (so all edi-
tions), ? scale (Church).
P. 305, bk. v. c. ii. st. 46, L 9, tray (1596), lay
(1609).
P. 308, bk. v. c. iii. st. 20, 1. 2. advewed (so all
iditions). Upton suggested had viewed.
P. 310, bk. v. c. iii. st. 40, 1.6, we here (1609),
were he re (3596).
P. 310, bk. v. c. iv. st. 1, 1. 3, Had neede hare
(1596). Had need of (1611).
P. 811, bk. v. c. iv. st. 8, 1.8, doure (1596),
dowre (1609).
P. 313, bk. v. c. iv. st. 22, 1. 2, pinnoed (1596),
pinniond (1611).
P. 314, bk. v. c. iv. st. 36, 1. 1, watchman (1609),
watchmen (1596).
P. 314, bk. v. c. iv. st. 36, 1. 8, halfe like a man
(1596), arm'd like a man (1609).
P. 314, bk. v. c. iv. st. 37, 1. 3, so few (so all
copies). Church proposed to alter nea're in 1. 1 to
new, so as to rhjTue with few. Mr. J. P. Collier
proposes to read to feare instead of so fete, thus
making a suitable rhyme for neare.
P. 314, bk. V. c. iv. st. 37, 1. 6, there (1596),
their (1611).
P. 314, bk. v. c. iv. st. 39, 1. 3, doale . . .
divide (1609), doile . . . davide (1596).
P. 323, bk. v. c. vi. st. 5, 11. 6, 7, For houres,
iic. (so all editions) ; but we ought to read, says
Church,
For dayes, but houres ; for moneths that passed were,
She told but weekes, &c.
P. 323, bk. v. c. vi. st. 13, 1. 9, singults (1609),
singulfs (1596).
P. 324, bk. v. c. vi. st. 16, 1. 7, things compacte.
Mr. J. P. Collier, following Church, reads thing
compacte=& concerted thing. But the clause may
stand if we look upon things as in the genitive
case.
P. 324, bk. v. c. vi. st. 17, 1. 5, Heard (1609),
Here (1596).
P. 325, bk. v. c. vi. st. 24, 1. 1, their (1596), her
(1609).
P. 325, bk. v. c. vi. st. 25, 1. 9, nights. Church
suggested Knight's.
P. 325, bk. v. c. vi. st. 29, 1. 5, glims (1596),
glimse (1609), glimpse (1679).
P. 326, bk. v. c. vi. st. 32. 1. 7, did (1596), ? had.
P. 326, bk. v. c. vi. st. 33, 1. 7, avenge (1596),
revenge (1609).
P. 326, bk. V. c. Ti. st. 34, 1. 7, their (1596),
that (1611).
P. 326, bk. v. c. vi. st. 35. 1. 5, vilde (1596), vile
(1609).
P. 327, bk. v. c. vii. st. 6, 1. 9, her wreathed
(1596), ?A« wreathed (Church).
P. 328, bk. v. c. vii. st. 13, 1. 5, to robe (1596),
to be (1611).
P. 331, bk. v. c. vii. st. 38, 1. 5, bad (1596), tad
(1609).
P. 331, bk. V. c. vii. st. 42, 1. 3, Princess (1609),
Princes (1596).
P. 335, bk. v. c. viii. st. 34, 1. 8, curat (1596),
euros (1679).
P. 336, bk. v. c. viii. st. 40, 1. 6, knowen (1609),
knowne (1596).
P. 337, bk. v. c. viii. st. 48, I. 6, whether (1596),
whither (1609).
P. 337, bk. v. c. viii. st. 50, 1. 8, cotcheard
(1596), coward (Iti09).
P. 339, bk. v. c. ix. st. 21, 1. 1, knightt (1596),
knight (1611).
P. 340, bk. v. c. ix. st. 26, L 4, Font. The
4to. of 1596 reads Font.
APPENDIX /.
P. 341, bk. v. c. ix. st. 33, 1.8, rebellious (1609),
rebellions (1596).
P. 342, bk. v. c. ix. st, 44, 1. 1, oppose (1596),
oppose (1609).
P. 343, bk. v. c. x. st. 6, 1. 4, and her (1609),
and of her (1596).
P. 344, bk. v. c. x. st. 8, 1. 4, Idols 1 1dol
(Church).
P. 845, bk. V. c. x. St. 18, 1. 8, fattnesse (1596),
safenesse (1611).
P. 345, bk. v. c. x. st. 23, 1. 1, whether (1596),
whither (1611).
P. 345, bk. v. c. x. st. 23, 1. 4, threating (1596),
threatning (1611).
P. 346, bk. v. c. x. st. 26, 1. 3, to note ? now to
(Church).
P. 347, bk. v. c. x. st. 37, 1. 6, hard preased
(1596), hadpreaced (1609).
P. 348, bk. v. c. xi. st. 5, 1. 9, have rive (1596),
not rive (1611).
P. 349, bk. V. c. xi. st. 12, 1. 4, to them (1596),
M, them (1679).
P. 349, bk. V. c. xi. st. 13, 1. 9, through (1609).
Ed. 1596 reads throgh.
P. 352, bk. v. c. xi. st. 40, 1. 6, shall sure
by. The 4to. 1596 omits the two words
ihall sure, which are supplied from the folio
1611.
P. 352, bk. v. c. xi. st. 41, 1. 2, too blame (1596),
to blame (1679).
P. 352, bk. v. c. xi. st. 41, 1. C, know (suggested
'by Upton), knew (1596).
P. 353, bk. v. c. xi. st. 54, 1. 9, corrvptfull
(1596), corrupted (1609).
P. 354, bk. v. c. xi. st. 61, 1. 7, meed (so all
editions). The rhyme requires hyre (Church).
P. 354, bk. v. c. xi. Bt. 61, 1. 8, froieard (1609),
forward (1596).
P. 354, bk. v. c. xii. st. 1, 1. 9, enduren (1609),
endure (1596).
P. 355, bk. v. c. xii. st. 5, 1. 9, the Eagle (1596),
th' Eagle (1609).
P. 356, bk. V. c. xii. st. 17, 1. 5, such (1596),
sure (1609).
P. 356, bk. V. c. xii. st. 19, 1. 2, tltame (1596),
? harme (Collier).
P. 357, bk. v. c. xii. st.30, 1.6, hungrily (1596),
hungerly (1609).
P. 360, bk. VI. Prol. st. 6, 1. 9, fame (adopted by
Collier), name (1596).
P. 362, bk. vi. c. 1. st. 8, 1. 7, wretched (1596),
""p.e364, bk.vi. c. i. st. 28, 1. 6, ere he (1609), ere thou
P. 364, bk. vi. c. i. st. 34, 1. 2, steound (adopted
~)y Child), sound (1596).
P. 365, bk. VI. c. i. st. 37, 1. 5, potthartt (1596),
wtshards (1611).
' P. 365, bk. vi. c. i. st. 40, 1. 9, yearne (159fi),
earne (1609).
P. 366, bk. vi. c. ii. st. 3, 1. 2, deed and teord
(1609), act and deed (1596).
P 366 bk. vi. c. ii. st. 3, 1. 8, earet. All old
6 P.°860, bk. TI. c. ii. st. 3, 1.4, eyes. All old
vi'c. ii. St. 39, 1. 2, implements
(1596), ornaments (1609).
P. 371, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 1, 1.3,a man (159o,%.
In 1679 a is omitted.
P. 372, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 12, 1. 7, tare liule (1^96).
salve hole (1«11).
P. 373, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 21, 1. 8, default (1596),
1 assault (Collier).
P. 374, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 24, 1. 5, Crying aloud to
shew (1609). The 4to. 1596 has Crying abud in
taine to shew, ic.
P. 374, bk. VI. c. iii. st. 28, 1. 6, toft footing
(1679), so/ting foot (159«).
P. 374, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 30, 1. 9, thorough (\6W).
The 4 to. 1596 has through.
P. 375, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 35, 1. 3, irhich (1606).
The 4 to. 1596 has that.
P. 376, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 42, 1. 4, approte (1609),
reprove (1596).
P. 376, bk. vi. c. ill. st. 42, 1. 7, reprore (1603),
approve (1596).
P. 376, bk. vi. c. iii. st. 48, I. 2, and all (so all
old editions), ? with all.
P. 378, bk. vi. c. iv. st. 13, 1. 8, where (1609),
there (1596).
P. 378, bk. VI. c. iv. st. 16, 1.8, hurt (1611),
hurts (1596).
P. 380, bk. VI. c. iv. st. 31, 1.5, of our un-
happie paine (so all old copies). Church proposed
of this our happie paine.
P. 380, bk. VI. c. iv. st. 35, 1. 3, Lo ! (1609),
Low (1596).
P. 381, bk. VI. c. v. Arg. 1. 1, Serena (Hughes),
Matilda (1596).
P. 384, bk. vi. c. v. st. 28, 1. 2, lives (1596), ? lite.
Professor Child prints lived.
P. 385, bk. vi. c. v. st. 36, 1. 4, off (1600), of
(1596).
P. 885, bk. VI. c. v. st. 39, 1. 3, oree (1609),
glee (1596).
P. 385, bk. vi. c.v. at. 41, 1. 2, there (1609).
The 4to. has their.
P. 386, bk. VI. c. vi. at. 4, 1. 4, Of trhich (1586),
In tr/iifh (1611).
P. 387, bk. vi. c. vi. st. 11, 1. 9, Mates. The
4to 1.096 has Mate.
P. 387, bk. vi. c. vi. *t. 17, 1. 7, Calrpine
(Hughes), Calidore (1596).
P. 889, bk. vi. c, vi. st. 35, L 6, fight (1609),
right (\&96).
P. 391, bk. vi. c. vii. st. 3, 1. 7, armed (1609).
The 4to. has arm'il.
P. 392, bk. VI. c. vii. st. A 1. 9, yearned (1596),
earned (1609).
P. 895, bk. VI. c. vii. st. 38, 1. 7, through (1609).
The 4to. 1596 has throgh.
P. 395. bk. VI. c. vii. st. 40, 1. 7, tyreli*g(\&»6),
tyrling (1679).
P. 396, bk. vi. c. viii. st. ::, 1. 9. mutt* (1S96),
mistu'd (1609).
P. 397, bk.vi. C. viii. st. II, 1. 9, too (1609),
tote (1596).
P. 898, bk. VI. c. viii. st. 15, 1. 3, potndtd
(1596), pawned (1609).
P. 898, bk. VL c. viii. st. 17, L6, From (1609),
For (1596).
P. 400, bk. VI. c. viii. St. 89, 1. 4, daiatut
(1596). daintiest (1609).
P. 401, bk. VI. c. viii. St. 47, 1, 8, toylt (1609),
loyles (1596).
696
APPENDIX 7.
P. 401, bk. VI. c. viii. st. 50, 1.4, they (1596),
sftee (1609).
P. 402, bk. vi. c. ix. st.iv. 1. 9, time (1596), ? tine
(Church and Upton).
P. 405, bk. vi. c. ix. st. 28, 1. 6, th' heavens
(1596). Some modern editions read the heaven.
P. 405, bk. vi. c. ix. st. 36, 1. 3, addrest (1596),
? he drett (Church).
P. 406, bk. vi. c. ix. st.,16, 1.8, Oenone (Hughes),
Benone (4to. 1596 and all old editions).
P. 406, bk. vi. c. ix. st. 45, 1. 9, bought (1596),
? sought (Church).
P. 407, bk. VI. c. ix. st. 46, 1. 5, did dwell (1611),
did well (1596).
P. 407, bk. vi. c. x. st. 2, 1. 9, in the port (1609).
The 4to. has OB the port.
P. 409, bk. vi. c. x. st. 22, 1. 5, jEacidee. The
4to. has jEcidee.
P. 409, bk. vi. c. x. st. 24, 1. 7, frouard (1611),
forward (1596).
P. 410, bk. vi. c. x. st. 34, 1. 9, her. Collier
suggests ere — before.
P. 411, bk. vi. c. x. st. 36, 1. 6, he (omitted in
all oiu editions).
P. 411, bk. vi. c. x. st. 42, 1. 5, daily (1596),
? deadly (Church).
P. 411, bk. vi. c. x. Bt. 44, 1. 8, And (1609),
But (1596).
P. 414, bk. vi. c. xi. st. 19, 1. 4, pretended
1 protended (Collier).
P. 414, bk. vi. c. xi. st. 24, 1. 1, reliv'd (1596),
reviv'd (1609).
P. 417, bk. vi. c. xi. st. 45, 1. 4, lyful (1596),
liffful (1609).
P. 419, bk. VI. c. xii. st. 12, 1. 8, loos (1596),
praise (1609).
P. 422, bk. vi. c. xii. st.40, 1. 7, learned (1596),
gentle (1609).
P. 422, bk. vi. c. xii. st. 41, 1. 3, cleanest (1596),
1 clearest (Child).
P. 429, bk. vn. c. vi. st. 53, 1. 6, unto (1609).
The folio 1611 has unto unto.
P. 429, bk. vn. c. vi. st. 54, 1. 8, champain
(1611), champion (1609).
P. 429, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 2, 1. 3, feeble. The
folios have sable.
P. 430, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 8, 1. 9, showe (1611),
shew (1609).
P. 430, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 9, 1. 1, hard (1611),
heard (1609).
P. 430, bk. vii. c. vii. st. 9, 1. 7, kinde. The
folios have kindes.
P. 430, bk. vii. c. vii. st. 10, 1. 7, they:—
which they (1611).
P. 430, bk. vii. c. vii. st. 12, 1. 5, Peleus (1611),
Pelene (1609).
P. 431, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 16, 1.3, thy (1609),
my (1611).
P. 432, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 28, 1. 3, bluosmes
did (1 609) . The ed . of 1 61 1 omits did.
P. 433, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 41, 1.5, rode (so all
copies); the rhyme requires rade.
P. 433, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 41, 1. 7, Idcean
(Upton). The folios read fcean.
P. 435, bk. vn. c. vii. st. 55, 1. 7, saine (1609),
faine (1611).
P. 436. bk. vn, o. viii. st, J, 1, 7, to cast (1609),
ynd (&st (161 J)
P. 436, bk. vn. c. viii. st.2, 1. 8,Sabaoth (1611),
Sabbaoth (1609).
P. 436, bk. vu. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 9, For that Mr.
Collier suggests thou. But there should perhaps
be no comma after God, and the sentence will be
an optative one signifying • O may that great God
of hosts grant me the enjoyment of that rest eter-
nal.' Perhaps Sabaoths sight is an allusion to the
ancient interpretation of the word Jerusalem, i.e.
visio pacts.
P. 436, bk. vn. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 9, Sabaoths
(1609 and 1611) ? Sabbaths (Church).
P. 436, bk. vn. c. viii. st. 2, 1. 9, Sabaoth God
(1611), Sabbaoth (Jod (1609).
THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDAR.
P. 440, 1. 4. Noblesse (1579), noblenesse (1597).
P. 440, 1. 12, my (1579), thy (1611).
P. 441, col. 1, 1.16, of fete (1579), of afewe (1597).
P. 441, col. 2, 1. 25, coveting (1579), covering
(1597).
P. 442, col. 1, 1. 5, common. The 4to. (1579) has
commen.
P. 442, col. 1, 1. 49, scene (1586), seme (1579 and
1581).
P. 442, col. 1, 1. 57, to be counted straungers
(1597), straungers to be counted (1579).
P. 442, col. 2, 1. 27, ungyrt (1579). All other old
editions read unright.
P. 443, col. 1, 1. 24, as one that (1597), as that
(1579).
P. 443, col. 2, 1. 21, rare (1579), rath (1597).
P. 443. col. 2, 11. 1, 2 from bottom, thys 10. (1579),
the tenth (1597).
P. 444, col. 1, 1. 13, more . . . then (1597), most
. . and (1579).
P. 444, col. 1, 1. 17, Jnvencion. The ed. 1579
has Jnvericion.
P. 444, col. 1, 1. 18, these (1597), AM (1579).
P. 444, col. 1, 1. 24, definition. The ed. 1579 has
definition.
P. 444, col. 1, 1. 35, ^Eglogues (1597). The ed.
1579 reads Eclogues.
P. 444, col. 1, 1. 40, containe (1597), conceive
(1579).
P. 445, col. 1, 1. 4, Abib. All old editions read
Abil.
P. 445, col. 2, 1. 8, entraunce. The ed. 1579 has
enrraunce.
P. 445, col. 2, 1. 13, itselfe (1597), *e//(1579).
P. 445, col. 2, 11. 21, 22, of thone part . . . of
thother (1579), of the one part . . . of the other (1597).
P. 445, col. 2, 1. 25, Shepheards (1597), Shep-
heard (1579).
P. 446 (Januarie), Arg. 1. 1, him (1579), himse/fe
(1597).
P. 446, Arg. 1, 5, delights (1579), delight (1597).
P. 446, 1. 34, bloosmes (1579), blossomes (1581)..
P. 447 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 1, who that hath (1597)
who hath (1579).
P. 447 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 3 from bottom, counter'
feicting (1579), counterfailing (1597).
P. 448 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 1, 1'oesye (1579), Posit
(1597).
P. 448 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 3, notwitftstandeiny.
The ed. 1579 reads notwithstande,
APPENDIX I.
607
P. 448 (FKBRUAUIE), 1. 17, threttie (1579), thirtie
P. 448, 1. 52, youngth (1579), youth (1597).
P. 448, 1. 57, hast (1597), hath (1579).
P. 449, 1.86, tadvaunce (1579), to advance (1597).
P. 449, 1. 142, overcrowed (1597), overawed (1579).
P. 450, 1. 181, oft (1579), o/(1597).
P. 450, 1. 189, To this the (1579), To this tfiis
(1597).
P. 450, 1. 218, to the earth (1579), to the ground
(1611).
P. 451 (Glosse), coL 1, 1. 9 from the bottom,
mtanes (1611). All 4tos. read meane.
P. 451 (Glosse), col. 2, L 11 from bottom, giveth
(\f>91),geveth (1579).
P. 451 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 10, wexe (1579),
waxe (1597).
P. 451 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 15, rath-headed
(1579), raw-headed (1697).
P. 451 (Einblenie), col. 2, 1. 8, God (1597), Gods
(1579).
P. 452 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 1, with him (1579),
at him (1597).
P. 452 (MAHCH), col. 1, 1. 4, niyhes (to be pro-
nonnced as a dissyllable). The 4tos. read Highest,
and fol. 1611 nigheth.
P. 452, col. 1, 1. 6, winter* (1579), winter (1597).
P. 452, col. 1, 1. 40, o/« (1579 and 1597), alai
(1581 and 1586).
P. 453 (Wyllyes Embleme), 1. 2, Gods (Child).
All old editions read God.
P. 453 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 9 from bottom, Goddesse
(1597). The 4to. 1579 has Goddei.
P. 454 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 5, winged tow (1597),
wandring love (1579).
P. 454 (APRIL), (Arg.), 1. 2, herein (1579), here
of (1597).
P. 454(Arg.), l.4,alienate (1579). alienated (1597).
P. 455, col. 1, 1.64, angelick (1579), angel-like
(1597).
P. 456, col. 1, \.\Z5, flnenesse (1597),/new(1579).
P. 456 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 12 from bottom, meaneise
(1579), meannes (1597).
P. 457 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 32, deffly (1597), deaffly
(1579).
P. 457, col. 2, 1. 18 from bottom, behight (1611).
The4tos. 1579, 1581. 1586, 1597, read bedight.
P. 458 (Glosse),col. 1, 1. 7, coronation (1579), car-
nation (1597).
P. 458 (Glosse), col. 2, 1.6. slea (1579),«tay(1597).
P. 458 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 9, of (1579), by (1697).
P. 458 (Glosee), col. 2, 1. 19, blinded (1579, 1581,
1586, 1597). Collier, who reads blended, is wrong
in stating that Todd has no authority for printing
blinded; fol. 1611 has blended.
P. 458 (MAYK), (Arg.), 1. 1, fifte (1597), first*
(1579).
P. 4£8, col. 2, 1. 19, no (1579), ne (1581).
P. 459, col. 1, 1. 54, great (1597), gread (1579).
P. 459, col. 1, 1. 82, foriay (\5W),foresay (1579).
P. 460, col. 1, 1. 150, say / (1597, 1611), layd 1
(1579).
P. 460, col. 1, 1. 159. witen (1579), tieiten (1611).
P. 460, col. 1, 1. 164, none (1579), no (U.97).
P. 460, col. 2, 1. 211, <7«!(1579, 1581, 1686, 1597),
her (1611).
P. 461, col. 1, 1. 273, foretlall (1597), forstall
P. 462 (Glosse), col. 1, 1.4, oracles (1379), miracia
(1597).
P. 462 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 8, passengers (1579),
persons (1597).
P. 462 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 1 from bottom. Alm-iml
(1597), Algrim (1579).
P. 462 (Glosse), col. 2. 11. 32, 34, of vhom . . .
I'rometheus, in 1579 and 1581, but omitted in 1586'
P. 462, col. 2, 1. 52, hyt (1579), her (1581).
P. 463, ool. 1, 1. 2, and (157!)). or (1586).
P.463, col.l, 1.29, 7V»-ann«(1579), 7Vro«<(1597).
P. 463, col. 2, 1. 15, agreeing (1597), a greeting
(1597).
P. 463, col. 2, 1. 22, beware (1579), to beware (1597).
P. 464 (JUNK), col. 1, 1. 16, shroude (1611),
shouder (1579).
P. 464, col. 1, 1. 24, ravenes (1611), ravene (1579,
1581, 1586).
P. 464, col. 2, 1. 98, painfutl (1579), plainefull
(1581, 1586).
P. 465 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 4 from bottom, all is
omitted in 1597.
P. 465 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 15, Lorde (1579), Lorde
o/(1597).
P. 465 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 16, noWew«(1579), noble-
nesse (1597).
P. 466 (Glosse), col. 1, 13, o/(1597), of the (1581).
P. 466 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 12, undermyne (1697),
undermynde (1579).
P. 466 (JULYE), col. 2, 1. 35, witlesse (1597), wett-
lesse (1679).
P. 466, col. 2, 1. 58, hyllye (1579), holy (1597).
P.467, col.l, 1. 69,/or«ayd(l 597), foresayd( 1579).
P.467. col. 1, 1.77, recourse (1581), re.wur*(1579).
P. 467, col. 1, 1. 99. a starre (1611). The 4tos.
1579, 1581, 1586, 1597 have the starret.
P. 467, col. 1, 1. 129, And (1586), As (1579, 1581).
P. 468, col. 1, 1. 191, other (1579), others (1597).
P. 468, col. 1, 1. 197, welter (1579), weltre (1697).
P. 468 (Thomalins Emblome). The old editions
have Palinodes Enbleine.
P. 468 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 10, lapsus (1579), laptu
(1597).
P. 468 (Gloase), col. 2, 1. 7, then (1597), and
(1579).
P. 468 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 9 from bottom, Uutt
(1579), the (1586).
P. 469 (Glosse), coL 1, 1. 17, of the (1597), of
(1579).
P. 469 (Gloase), col. 2, 1. 24, of a (1579), oftAt
(1597).
P. 470 (AUGUST), (Arg.), L 2, clioose (1579), chose
(1597).
P. 470, col. 1, 1. 10, did passe (1597), didst passe
(1579).
P. 470, coL 1, 1. 13. that mischaunce (1597), Uiat
neire mischaunce (1579).
P. 470, col. 2, 1. 46, hetheicard, read hetherward.
P. 470, col. 2, 1. .13, holy (1697), holly (1879).
P. 471, col. 1, L 84, thy hart (1579), my hart
(1597).
P. 471, col. 1, 1. 104, curelesse (Collier). All edl.
tions read careletse.
1'. 471, col. 2, 1. 162, debarres . . .from (1579),
debars . . . o/(1611).
P. 471. col. 2, 1. 166, voodes (1597). The4to.l679
has tcoddes.
P. 471, col. 2, 1. 167, or (1579), nor (1597).
APPENDIX I.
P. 471, col. 2, 1. 172, as (1597), a (1579).
P. 472, col. 2, 1. 198, nigheth (1579). The 4to.
1597 has higheth = hieth, hastens.
P. 472 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 4, sliee, omitted in 4to.
1579, is supplied from the edition of 1597.
P. 472, col. 2, 11. 14, 15, so . . . paries (1579),
omitted by 1597.
P. 473 (SEPTEMBER), col. 1, 1. 6, dirte (1579),
darke (1611).
P. 473, col. 1, 1. 13, ripeth (1579), rippeth (1597).
P. 473, col. 1, 1. 22, / wene (1579), weele (1597).
P. 47-3, col. 1, 1. 24, utate (1597), astate (1579).
P. 474, col. 1, 1. 99, For-thy (1579), For they
(1611).
P. 474, col. 1, 1. 112, whole (1579), hole (1597).
P. 474, col. 1, 1. 123, doen (1579), do (1597).
P. 474, col. 2, 1. 144, slay (1597), stray (1579).
P. 474, col. 2, 1. 145, yeed. The 4tos. have yeeld ;
c folio 1611 reads yead.
P. 474, col. 2, 1. 158, walke (1579), talke (1611).
P. 474, col. 2, 1. 160, to (1597), two (1579).
P. 474, col. 2, 1. 162, prM (1579), prit>ie (1597).
P. 475, col. 2, 1. 257, her (1579), AM (1597).
P. 475 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 1 from bottom, Thrise.
The 4to. 1579 has These ;.fol. 1611 Thrice.
P. 477 (OCTOBER), col. 2, 1. 75, 6e font to fayne
(1579), to forst to faine (1597), to force to faine
(1611).
P. 477, col. 2, 1. 79, thy place (1597), the place
(1579).
P. 477, col. 2, 1. 80, doe (1579), doas< (1597).
P. 477, col. 2, 1. 103, weightye. The 4to. 1579 has
trightye, the folio 1611 waightie.
P. 478, col. 2, 1. 12 from bottom, Arcadian. The
4to. 1579 has Aradian, 4to. 1597, fol. 1611 Arabian.
P. 479 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 11, is. So all old editions
(?) in.
P. 479 (Glosse), col.l, 11.27, 28,/rom stately dis-
course (1579), to state/;/ course (1597, 1611).
P. 479 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 32, wel knoicen to be Vir-
gile (1579), well knew noble Virgil (1597, 1611).
P. 479 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 3S, flocks (1079), flocke
(1597).
P. 479 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 2, by fire ; omitted in
4to. 1597.
P. 479 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 13, layde (1597), lay
(1579).
P. 479 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 40, Petrarch, saying (1579),
Petrarchs saying (1597).
P. 479 (Glosse, col. 2, 1. 12 from bottom, had
(1597), hath (1579).
P. 479 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 2 from bottom, is (1597),
it (1579).
P. 480 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 8, forth (1579), out
(1597).
P. 480 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 9, whom seeing Vulcane
sofaire (1579), whom Vulcan seeing so faire (1597,
1611).
P. 480 (NOVEMBER), (Arg.), 1. 2, aloe (1597), albeit
(1597).
P. 481, col. 1, 1. 78, you is not in 4tos., but occurs
in fol. 1611.
P. 481, col. 1, 1. 85, hath displayde. The 4to. 1579
reads doth displaye.
P. 481, col. 1, 1. 98, heame (1597), heme (1579).
P. 481, col. 1, 11. 98, 99, him (1597), hem (1579).
P. 481, col. 2, 1, 115, (olourd (1597), coloured
(1579).
P. 483 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 17, enjoy (1579), receive
(1597).
P. 483 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 25, dyed (1597), deyed
(1579).
P. 483 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 5, signe. Not in 1579,
but in 1597.
P. 483 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 7, Atropos daughters.
The 4to. 1579 reads Atropodas ughters.
P. 483 (Embleme), col. 2, 1.5, to (1579), of (1597),
P. 484 (DECEM.), col. 1, 1. 29, recked (1611). The
4tos. read wreaked.
P. 484, col. 2, 1. 43, derring-doe. The 4to. 1579
has derring to, butderring doe is in the Glosse, p. 486,
col. 2, 1. 1.
P. 484, col. 2, 1. 70, loathed (1579), loathing (1611).
P. 484, col. 2, 1. 76, season (1579), reason (1611).
P. 485, col. 1, 1. 89, (enrage (1597), to tenrage
(1579).
P. 485,col.2, l.U5,gathertogetherye(U97), gather
ye togither (1579).
P. 486 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 7, or (1579), of (1597).
P. 486 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 21, nor (1579), or (1597).
P. 486 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 27, leapes (1579), heapes
(1597).
P. 486 (Glosse), col. 1, 1. 41, in (1579), in the
(1597).
P. 486 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 16, knewest (1579), knowest
(1597).
P. 486 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 20, owr (how our in
1579), Aow is omitted by 1597.
P. 486 (Glosse), col. 2, 1. 23, Thus. The 4to. 1579
has This.
P. 486 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 3, of Poetry (in 1579).
is omitted by 1597.
P. 486 (Embleme), col. 1, 1. 8, nee ... nee. So
in all the 4tos. Some mod. editions read non . . .
non.
P. 486 (Embleme), col. 2, 1. 2, hath (in 1579) is
omitted by 1597.
P. 486 (Embleme), col. 2, 1. 5, quod (1597), quce
(1579).
P. 486 (Epilogue), col. 2, 1. 1 from bottom, despise
(1579), displease (1597).
THE KTJINES OF TIME.
P. 493, 1. 361, to (1591), do (1611).
P. 493, 1. 363, covetize. The edition 1591 reads
covertize.
P. 494, 1. 414, made (1591), ? had (Jortin).
P. 494, 1. 447, For he that now, &c. (1591), For
such as now have most the world at will (1611).
P. 494, 1. 451. AIM t/iat (1591), such as (1611).
P. 494, 1. 454, 0 let the man (1591), 0 let not those I
(1611).
P. 494, 1. 455, For alive, &c. (1591) Alive nor dead]
be of the Muse adorned (1611).
P. 494, 1. 499, brickie (1591), brittle (1611).
P. 495, 1. 541, Ocean (1611), Occaean (1591).
P. 495, 1. 551, trAicA (1611). The ed. 1591 reads|
with.
P. 495, 1. 571, Was but earth, &c. (1591), Was
of earth and with her weightinesse (1611).
P. 495, 1. 574, worlds (1611), words (1591).
P. 496, 1. 647, bred was (1611), was bred (1591).
P. 496, 1. 664, the earth (1591) th' earth (1611).
P. 496, 1. 675, worldes. All old editions
worlds.
APPENDIX I.
699
TEARES OF THE MUSES.
P. 498, 1. 113, anew, (?) in reif.
P. 499, 1. 126, of sin. Some mod. editions read
to fin.
P. 500, 1. 232, singult* (1611), singttlfs (1591).
P. 501, 1. 401, that winged God (1591), the winged
God.
P. 503, 1. 576, Poetretse (1591), Poetesse in some
mod. editions.
P. 503, 1. 600, living (1611), loving (1691).
P. 504,
P. 505,
hear.
P. 506,
mean.
P. 508,
P. 508,
P. 508,
P. 508,
P. 509,
P. 510,
P. 510.
arc.
P. 510,
VIRGIL'S GNAT.
1. 23, waves (1591), ? wave.
1. 122, heart (1611). The ed. 1591 lias
1. 149, Ascrcean. The ed. 1591 reads As-
1. 340, not (1611) is omitted by 4to. 1591.
1. 343,^r« (1591),/er (1611).
1. 387, throat. The 4to. 1591. reads threat.
1. 406, fluttering (1611), flattering (1591).
1. 417. waladay (1591), weladay (1611).
1. 536, ««Wi7e (1611), *fye (1591).
1. 575, billoices. The 4to. 1591 reads bit-
1. 588, Hercaean (1591) ? JEgean.
MOTHER HUBBERD'S TALE.
P. 513, 1. 53, Gossip (1611), Gothip (1591).
P. 513, 1. 67, lifted upon high (1591), lifted high
1611).
P. 513, 1. 87, worlds* (1611), world* (1591).
P. 515, 1. 264, thetch (1591), thatch (1611).
P. 516, 1. 340, carried (1591), ? cover'd (Collier).
P. 517, 1. 453, diriget (1611), dirges (1591).
P. 517, 1. 501, or (1591), ere (1611).
P. 518, 1. 629, she (1591), /tee (1611).
P. 519, 1. 648, at (in 1611), omitted by 1591.
P. 519, 1. 734, gentrie (1591). This word must bo
nronounced as three syllables (Todd). Perhaps
Spenser wrote genterie.
P. 519, 1. 735, lothefull (1591), ? slothefull (Col-
lier).
P. 519, 1. 830, kindle. The 4to. 1591 and the fol.
611 read kindly.
P. 522, 1. 997, whether. The 4to. 1591 has whi-
ther.
P. 522, 1. 1012, stopt. The 4to 1591 and fol. 1611
have slept.
P. 522, 1. 1019, whither. The 4to. 1591 reads
whether.
P. 524, 1. 1245, staVd (1591), ttall'd (1611).
THE RUINES OF ROME.
P. 526, 1. 21 , Mausolui. The 4to 1591 has Man-
P. 526, 1. 48, The Giants old (1611), the old Giants
'1691).
P. 527, 1. 119, palaces. The line is defective ;
'»' laces failed.
P. 528, 1.210, note (1611). Omitted by the 4to.
L591.
P. 529, 1. 243, ornamentt. The 4to. baa orna-
ment.
P. 529, 1. 270, Tethis (1591), Thetys (1611).
P. 529, 1. 272, dimned, read dimmed.
P. 531, 1. 414, stac/tes (1611), stalkes (1591).
MUIOPOTMOS.
P. 532, 1. 34, yongth (1591), youth (1611).
P. 533, 1. 149, champain o're he. The 4to. 1591
has champion he, but the fol. 1611 reads champaine
o're he.
P. 534, 1. 250, dispacing. The 4to. has displacing.
P. 535, 1. 335, hayrie (1591), ayrie (1611).
P. 535, 1. 354, enfested (1591), lenfesterd (Col-
lier).
P. 536, 1. 870, framde craftily (1611), did slily
frame (1591).
P. 536, 1. 392, hateful (1591), fatall (1611).
P. 536, 1. 431, yongthly. The 4to. has yougthty,
but see p. 532, 1. 34.
VISIONS OF THE WORLDS VANITIB.
P. 537, st. 3, 1. 11, did. The 4to. 1591 has doth.
P. 538, st. 8, 1. 12, native (1611), nature (1591).
VISIONS OF BELLA Y.
P. 538, st. 2, 1.9, On. The 4to. 1591 reads one.
P. 538, st. 2, 1. 9, Afrii-e golds, 1 Afrikes gold.
P. 539, st. 9, 1. 1, astonied. The 4to. 1591 reads
attained.
The following is an earlier version of ' The Vi-
sions of Bellay,' which is found in the ' THEATRE
FOH WORLDLINGS." ' A Theatre wherein be repre-
sented as wel the miseries and calamities that follow
the roluptuous Worldlings, As also the greatejoyes and
plesures which the faithfull do enjoy. An Argument
both profitable and delectable, to all that sincerely
lote the word of God. Devised by S. John rander
fioodt. Seene and allowed according to the order ap-
pointed. Imprinted at London by Henry Bynneinan.
Anno Domini. 1569.' 8vo. Then follow two pages
of Latin verses — ' In commendationem operis ab
Nobiliss. et virtutis Studiosissimo Domino, loanne
vander Noodt Patricio Antuerpicnsi ivditi. Car-
men.' and ' Doctor Gerardns Goossenius Medicua,
Physicus, et Poeta Brabant, moder. in Zoilum
Octastichon." And a Dedication to Q. Elizabeth,
dated ' At London your Majesties Citie and seato
royal. The 25. of May. 1569.' and signed, ' Your
Majesties most humble servant. lean vander ffoodt.'
Next come Spenser's six ' Visions of Petrarch '
(called Epigrams), with four additional lines at the
end, and then follow the remaining poems, entitled
' Sonets,' with descriptive woodcuts.
Then follow 107 leaves of Prose, entitled 'A
briefe declaration of the Authour upon his risimn,
taken out of the holy scriptures, and dyvers Ora-
tors, Poetes, Philosophers, and true histories.
Translated out of French into Englishe by Theo-
dore Roest.' The following is an extract. ' And
to sette the vanitie and inconstancie of worldly and
transitorie thyngs, the livelier before your eyes, I
have bronghte in here ttcmtie sightes or rysions, and
caused them to be grauen, to the ende al men may see
that with their eyes, whiche I goaboute to espresso
7oo
APPENDIX I.
by writing, to the delight and plesure of the eye
and eares, according unto the saying of Horace.
Orane tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci.
That is to say,
He that teacheth pleasantly and well,
Doth in eche poynt all others excell.
Of which oure visions the learned Poete M. Fran-
cisce Petrarche Gentleman of Florence, did invent
and write in Tuscan the six firste, after snche tyme
as hee had loved honestly the space of .xxi. yeares
a faire, gracious, and a noble Damosell, nam<
Laurette, or (as it plesed him best) Laura, borne of
Avinion, who afterward hapned to die, he being in
Italy, for whose death (to shewe his great grief) he
mourned ten yeares together, and amongest many
of his songs and sorowfull lamentations, devised
and made a Ballade or song, containyng the sayd
visions, which bicause they serve wel to our pur-
pose, / have out of the Brabants speeche, turned them
into the Englishe tongue.' fol. 13.
' The other ten visions next ensuing, ar described
of one loachim du Bellay, Gentleman of France,
the whiche also, bicause they serve to our purpose,
/ have translated Uwn out of Dutch into English.'
fol. 14.
SONETS.»
IT was the time when rest the gift of Gods
Sweetely sliding into the eyes of men,
Doth drowne in the forgetfulnesse of slepe,
The carefull tra voiles of the painefull day :
Then did a ghost appeare before mine eyes
On that great rivers banke that runnes by Borne,
And calling me then by my propre name,
He bade me upwarde unto heaven looke.
He cride to me, and loe (quod he) beholde.
What under this great Temple is coutainde,
Loe all is nought but flying vanitie.
So I knowing the worldes unstedfastnesse,
Sith onely God surmountes the force of ty
In God alone do stay my confidence.
On hill, a frame an hundred cubites hie
I sawe, an hundred pillers eke about,
All of fine Diamant decking the front,
And fashiond were they all in Dorike wise.
Of bricke, ne yet of marble was the wall,
But shining Christall, which from top to base
Out of deepe vaute threw forth a thousand rayes
Upon an hundred steps of purest golde.
Golde was the parget : and the sielyng eke
Did shine all scaly with fine golden plates.
The floor was Jaspis, and of Emeraude.
O worldes vainenesse. A sodein earthquake loe,
Shaking the hill even from the bottome deepe,
Threwe downe this building to the lowest stone.
Then did appeare to me a sharped spire
Of diamant, ten feete eche way in square,
Justly proportionde up unto his height,
So hie as mought an Archer reache with sight.
Upon the top therof was set a pot
Made of the mettall that we honour most.
And in this golden vessell couched were
The ashes of a mightie Emperour.
* Or ' The Visions of Bellay.'
Upon foure corners of the base there lay
To beare the frame, foure great Lions of golde.
A worthie tombe for such a worthie corps.
Alas, nought in this worlde but griefe endures.
A sodaine tempest from the heaven, I saw,
With flushe [?flashe] stroke downe this noble
monument.
I saw raisde up on pillers of Ivorie,
Whereof the bases were of richest golde,
ed The chapters Alabaster, Christall frises,
The double front of a triumphall arke.
On eche side portraide was a victorie.
With golden wings in habite of a Nymph.
And set on hie upon triumphing chaire,
The auncient glorie of the Romane lordes.
The worke did shew it selfe not wrought by man,
But rather made by his owne skilfull hande
That f orgeth thunder dartes for Jove his sire.
Let me no more see faire thing under heaucn,
Sith I have scene so faire a thing as this,
With sodaine falling broken all to dust.
Then I behelde the faire Dodonian tree,
Upon seven hilles throw forth his gladsome shade,
And Conquerors bedecked with his leaves
Along the bankes of the Italian streame.
There many auncient Trophees were erect,
Many a spoile, and many goodly signes,
To shewe the greatnesse of the stately race,
That erst descended from the Trojan bloud.
Ravisht I was to see so rare a thing,
When barbarous villaines in disordred keape,
Outraged the honour of these noble bowes.
I hearde the tronke to grone under the wedge.
And since I saw the roote in hie disdaine
Sende forth againe a twinne of forked trees.
I saw the birde that dares beholde the Sunne,
With feeble flight venture to mount to heaven,
By more and more she gan to trust hir wings,
Still folowing th' example of hir damme :
I saw hir rise, and with a larger flight
Surmount the toppes even of the hiest hilles,
And pierce the clondes, and with hir wings to
reache
The place where is the temple of the Gods,
There was bhe lost, and sodenly I saw
Where tombling through the aire in loinpe of fire.
All flaming downe she fell upon the plaiue.
I saw hir bodie turned all to dust,
And saw the foule that shunnes the cheref ull light
Out of hir ashes as a worme arise.
Then all astonned with this nightly ghost,
I saw an hideous body big and strong.
Long was his beard, and side did hang his hair,
A grisly forehed and Satnrnelike face.
Leaning against the belly of a pot
He shed a water, whose ontgushing streame
Ran flowing all along the creckie shoare
Where once the Troyan Duke with Turnus fought
And at his feete a bitch Wolfe did give sucke
To two yong babes. In his right hand he bare
The tree of peace, in left the conquering Palme,
His head was garnisht with the Laurel bow,
Then sodenly the Palme and Olive fell,
And faire greene Laurel witherd up and dide,
APPENDIX I.
70!
Hard by a rivers side, a wailing Nimphe,
Folding hir armes with thousand sighs to heaven,
Did tune hir plaint to falling rivers sound,
Benting hir faire visage and golden haire,
"Where is (quod she) this whilome honored face ?
Where is thy glory and the auncient praise,
Where all worldes hap was reposed.
When erst of Gods and man I worshipt was ?
Alas, sufflsde it not that civile bate
Made me the spoile and bootie of the world,
But this new Hydra mete to be assailde
Even by an hundred such as Hercules,
With seven springing heds of monstrous crimes,
So many Neroes and Calignlaes
Must still bring forth to rule this croked shore.
"pon a hill I saw a kindled flame,
•lour.t iuir like waves with triple point to heaven.
Which of incense of precious Ceder tree
With Balmelike odor did perfume the aire.
A bird all white, well fetherd on hir winges
Hereout did flie up to the throne of Gods,
And singing with most plesant melodie
She climbed up to heaven in the smoke.
Of this faire ttre the faire dispersed rayes
Threw forth abrode a thousand shining leames,
When sodain dropping of a golden shoure
Gan quench the glystering flame. O grevons
chaunge !
"hat which erstwhile so pleasaunt scent did yelde,
>f Sulphure now did breathe corrupted smel.
saw a fresh spring rise out of a rocke,
Here as Christall against the Sunny beames,
"he bottome yellow like the shining land,
"hat golden Pactol drives upon the plaine.
t seemed that arte and nature strived to joyne
'here in one place all pleasures of the eye.
'here was to heare a noise alluring slepe
Of many accordes more swete than Mermaids
song,
'he seates and benches shone as Ivorie,
.n hundred Nymphes sate side by side about,
Vhen from nie hilles a naked rout of Faunes
Vith hideous cry assembled on the place,
Vhich with their feete uncleane the water fonled,
Threw down the seats, and droue the Nimphs to
flight.
Vt length, even at the time when Morpheus
Most truely doth appeare unto our eyes,
Vearie to see th' inconstance of the heavens :
saw the great Typhseus sister come,
lir head full bravely with a morian armed,
n majestic she seemde to matche the Gods.
i.nd on the shore, harde by a violent streame,
i3he raisde a Trophee over all the worlde.
A.n hundred vanqiiisht kings gronde at hir feete,
?heir armes in shamefull wise bounde at their
backes.
While I was with so dreadfull sight afrayde,
saw the heavens warre against hir tho,
A.nd seing hir striken fall with clap of thunder,
With so great noyse I start in sodaine wonder.
The sixth, eighth, thirteenth, and fourteenth
Visions of Bellay," which are in Spenser's transla-
;ion of 1591, are not in the 'Theatre for World-
lings ;' but four others are substituted, of which the
writer thus speaks : ' And to the ende we myght
speake more at large of the thing, I have taken
foure viiiont out of the revelations of S. John, where
as the Holy Ghost by S. John setteth him (Anti-
christ) out in his colours.' Fol. 20.
I saw an ugly beast come from the sea,
That seven heads, ten crornes, ten homes did beare,
Having theron the vile blaspheming name.
The cruell Leopard she resembled much :
Feete of a beare, a Lions throte she had.
The mightie Dragon gave to hir his power.
One of hir heads yet there I did espie,
Still freshly bleeding of a grievous wonnde.
One cride alonde. What one is like (quod he)
This honoured Dragon, or may him withstande ?
And then came from the sea a savage beast.
With Dragons speche. and shewde his force by fire,
With wondrous signes to make all wights adore
The beast, in setting of hir image up.
I saw a Woman sitting on a beast
Before mine eyes, of Orenge colour hew :
Horrour and dreadfull name of blasphemie
Filde hir with pride. And seven heads I saw,
Ten homes also the stately beast did beare.
She seemde with glorie of the scarlet faire.
And with fine perle and golde puft up in heart.
The wine of hooredome in a cup she bare.
The name of Mysterie writ in hir face ;
The bloud of Martyrs dere were hir delite.
Most fierce and fell this woman seemde to me.
An Angell then descending downe from Heaven,
With thondring voice cride out alonde, and sayd,
Now for a truth great Babylon is fallen.
Then might I see upon a white horse set
The faithfull man with flaming countenaunce,
His head did shine with crounes set therupon.
The worde of God made him a noble name.
His precious robe I saw embrued with bloud.
Then saw I from the heaven on horses white,
A puissant armie come the selfe same way.
Then cried a shining Angell as me thought,
That birdes from aire descending downe on earth
Should warre upon the kings, and eate their flesh.
Then did I see the beast and Kings also
Joinyng their force to slea the faithfull man.
But this fierce hatefull beast and all hir traine
Is pitilesse throwne downe in pit of fire.
I saw new Earth, new Heaven, sayde Saint John.
And loe, the sea (quod he) is now no more.
The holy Citie of the Lorde, from hye
Descendeth parnisht as a loved spouse.
A voice then sayde, beholde the bright abode
Of God and men. For he shali be their God,
And all their teares he shall wipe cleanc away.
Hir brightnesse greater was than can be founde.
Square was this Citie, and twelve gates it had.
Eche gate was of an orient perfect pearle,
The houses golde, the pavement precious stone.
A lively streame, more cleere than Christall is,
Ranne through the mid, sprong from triumphant
seat.
There groww lifes frnite unto the Churches good.
J02
APPENDIX i.
THE VISIONS OP PETRARCH.
P. 541, st.l, 1.5, mote (1591), mought (Theatre for
Worldlings).
P. 541, st. 1, 1. 9, that (1591), thit (T. for W.).
P. 541, St. 2, 1. 19, show (1591), shew (T. for W.).
P. 541, st. 2, 11. 2-3—28. In the T. for W. these
lines are as follows: —
Stroke on a rock, that under water lay.
0 great misfortune, 0 great griefe, I say,
Thus in one moment to see lost and drownde
So great riches, as lyke can not befounde.
P. 541, st. 3, 1. 29, The (1591), Then (T. for W.).
P. 541, st. 3, 1. 30, the (1591), a (T. for W.).
P. 541, st. 3, 1. 31, Amidst (1591), Amidde (T.
for W.).
P. 541, st. 3, 1. 35, That icith, &c. (1591), My
sprites were raeisht with these pleasures thert (T.
for W.).
P. 541, st. 4. 1. 43, a (1591), the (T. for W.).
P. 541, st. 4, 1.49, To the soft (1591), Unto the
gentle (T. for W.)
P. 541, st. 4, 1. 50, That mygladheart, &c. (1591),
The sigJit tcherof dyd make my heart rejoyce (T. for
W.).
P. 541, st4, 1. 51, But, while herein, &c. (1591),
Sut while I take herein, &c. (T. for W.).
P. 541, st. 4, 11. 55, 56, are omitted by T. for W.
P. 541, st. 5, 1. 63, at last (1591), at length (T.
for W.)
P. 541, st. 5, 11. 68—70, These three lines are not
in T. for W. but instead we have the following
concluding line : — For pitie and love my heart yet
burnes in paine.
P. 541, st. 6, 1. 72, thinking yet (1591), in think-
ing (T. for W.)
P. 541, st. 6, 1. 81, on (1591), in (T. for W.).
P. 541, st. 6, 1. 82, and sorrowful annoy (1591),
That dothe our hearts anoy (T. for "W.).
P. 541, st. 6, 11. 83, 84, are omitted by T. for W.
P. 542, st. 7. This stanza does not occur in T.
for W., but the four following lines are added to
the Epigrams : —
My Song thus note in thy Conclusions,
Say boldly that these same six VISIONS
Do yelde unto thy lorde a siteete request,
Ere it be long within the earth to rest.
P. 542, st. 7, 1. 85, behold. The 4to. 1591 reads
beheld.
DAPHNAIDA.
P. 543, 1. 79, unpitied, unplained (1591). Some
mod. editions read unpitied and unplained.
P. 544, 11. 159, 160, fro (1591), from (1611).
P. 547, 1. 391, till (1596), tell (1591).
P. 547, 1. 478, ttarres (1591), starre (1596).
P. 548, 1. 487, deepe (1591), deere (1596).
COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAINE.
P. 549,
P. 550,
one (1595)
P. 550,
P. 550,
P. 551,
1, knowen. The 4to. 1595 reads knoune.
46, glorious bright, i. e. glorious bright
Some mod. editions read glory bright.
88, lasse (1611), losse (1595).
91, chose (1595). choose (1611).
. 168, swgults (1611), singulfs (1595.)
P. 552, 1. 315, bordi-cigs. The 4to. 1595 reads
bodrags.
P. 553, 1. 382, there is Conjdon. The 4to. 1595
reads there is a Corydon.
P. 554, 1. 487, Ura.iia. The ed. 1595 reads
Uriana.
P. 555, 1. 600, clusters. The 4to. 1595 reads ylusters.
P. 555, 1. 601, braunches (suggested by Collier).
Tbe4to. 1595 has bunches.
P. 556, 1. 670, durst. The ed. 1595 has darest.
P. 556, 1. 757. fare (1611), far (1595).
P. 566, 1. 762, drowndfd (1595), drowned (1611).
P. 557, 1. 860, her (referring to earth). Some
editions read their.
P. 557, 1. 861, life-giving. All old editions read
like (firing.
P. 558, 1. 884, the creatures (1611). Ed. 1595 has
their creatures. Collier suggests these.
ASTBOPHEL.
P. 559, 1.22, and weetingly (1595) ? iimceelingly.
P. 560, 1. 50, often (1611), oft (1595). Did Spen-
ser intend to write oft had sighed '!
P. 560, 1. 53, sight'i.e. sighed (1595), tigh't (1611).
P. 560, 1. 89, needeth (1611), need (1595).
P. 561, 1. 149, beare (1595), biere (1611),
THE DOLEFULL LAY OF CLORINDA.
P. 562, 1. 35, him did see (1611), him see (1595).
P. 562, 1. 50, fro me (1611), me fro (1595).
THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS.
P. 563, 1. 20, thy ireful. All old editions read
their ireful.
P. 563, 1. 34, Seyne. The old editions read Reyne.
P. 566, 1. 193, to thee let fall. Some editions
read to let thee fall.
A PASTORALL AEGLOGUE.
P. 566, 1. 29, testified. Ed. 1595 has testfled.
P. 566, 1. 41, hard (1595), sad (1611).
A3T ELEGIE.
P. 568, 1. 3, glasse. The ed. 1595 reads grasse.
P. 568, 1. 72, night (1611), might (1595).
P. 569, 1: 109, never (1611), ecer (1595).
P. 569, 1. 134, Astrophdl. The original has As-
trophrill.
P. 569. 1. 150, To short-livde (1595). Some edi- .
tions read The short-livde.
P. 569, 1. 155, nor (1595), or (1611).
P. 569, 1. 177, do (1595), doth (1611).
P. 570, 1.181, This word (1611), Hisword (\W>).
P. 570, 1. 206, of each kinde (1611), of kinde (1595).
P. 570, 1. 234, discollor (1611), discollors (15!»5).
AN EPITAPH (H.).
P. 571, 1. 25, parallels (1611), parables (1595).
P. 572, 1. 39, Go, seeke (1611), Go, seekes (1595).
SONNETS.
P. 574, st. 10, 1. 7, captive. Ed. 1595 reads cap- 1
tires.
P. 574, st. 11, 1. 8, unpittied. Ed. 1595 reads un
pitteid.
P. 575, st. 15, 1. 3, treasure. Ed. 1595 reads
treasures.
P. 576, st. 21, 1. 6, love. Ed. 1595 reads lores.
P. 576, st. 26, 1. 4, braunche is. The ed. of 159S
reads braunches.
P. 576, st. 26, 1. 5, rough read tough (1595).
APPENDIX I.
7°3
P. 578, st. 83, 1. 11, Sins (1595), Sith (1611).
P. 578, st. 35. This stanza is repeated in ed.
1695, and comes between stanzas 82 and 83. There
is a different reading in 1. 6, it is having it in our
text, but feeing it in the omitted version.
P. 580, st. 47. 1. 11, lier (1595), their (1611).
P. 580, st. 50, 1. 9, first (1595). Some copies read
for.
P. 580, st. 53, 1. 6, semblant (1597), semblance
(1611).
P. 581, st. 55, 1. 12, mind (1595). Some editions
read love.
P. 581, st. *7, 1. 10, these ? those.
P. 581, st. 58, 1.1, By her. Some editors pro-
oose to read To but By= concerning.
P. 681, st. 58, 1. 8, gloriet (1595). Some editions
(as 1611) read glorious.
P. 683, st. 71, 1. 9, above. Ed. 1595 reads about.
Did Spenser write : —
Rut as your worke is all about yvove ?
P. 585, st. 82, 1. 2, placed. Ed. 1595 has plac'd.
P. 586, st. 87, 1. 9, the idcea (1611), th' idtea,
(1595).
P. 586, st. 88, 1. 3, vow. The ed. 1595 reads
new.
EPITHALMION.
P. 587, I. 2, me (1595). Some editions read the.
P. 587, 1. 18, airlands. The ed. 1595 reads gir-
land.
P. 588, 1. 67, dore (so ed. 1595), but read deere as
ggested by Professor Child.
P. 588, 1. 92, dreames. All the old editions read
•eame.
P. 589, 1. 190, mazefull. The ed. 1595 has maze-
It, but amazefull is suggested by Professor Child.
P. 589, 1. 208, receyve. Ed. 1595 has rtcyee.
P. 590, 1. 290, nights sad dread (1611), nights
read (159.-,).
P. 590, 1. 341, Pouke. The ed. 1595 reads Ponke.
P. 591, 1. 359, your bed (1595). Some modern
spies read the bed.
P. 591, 1. 379, wool. The ed. 1595 has wall.
P. 591, 1. 385, thy will (1611), they will (1595).
HYMNES.
AN IlYilNK OP LOVE.
P. 593, 1. 69, mate (1596), made (1011).
1'. .->!•:;, 1. 83, hated fyre. Ed. 1596 has hate fyre.
P. 594, 1. 122, with.' Warton proposed to read
rom.
P. 594, 1. 150, Since (15!)6). Some mod. copies
•ead Sith.
P. 594, 1. 161, doest (1596). Some mod. copies
rend uolh.
P. 595, 1. 227, hath eyde (1596). Some copies
ead had eyde.
AN HYMXE OF BKAUTIK.
P. 596, 1. 6, doest (1596). Some mod. editions
ead doth.
P. 596, 1. 47, dothelh it (1596). Collier reads
/«<<•.< it.
P. 596, 1. 83, oft-times. Ed. 1596 has oftimes.
P. 597, 1. 147, Perform'd. The ed. 1596 reads
eform'ff.
P. 597, 1. 158, will "ievill.
P. 597, 1. 171, affections (1596), 1 affection.
P. 598, 1. 195, no love (1596), not lore (Collier).
P. 698, 1.222, to his fancies (1596), ? of his fan-
cies.
AN HVMM: OP HEAVENLIE LOVE.
P. 599, 1. 53, in powre (1596), of po,rre (Collier).
P. 600, 1. 72, still to them (1596). Collier reads
unto them.
P. 600, 1. 158, launching (l,-,!Mi). Some modern
editions read launcing.
P. KOI, 1. 179, of us (1596), for us (Collier).
P. 601, 1. 188, us so (1596), was so (Collier).
P. 601, 195, Even he himself*. Ed. 1596 has Eren
himselfe. In 1611 it is Even hfe himself.
P. 601, 1. 238, of great (1596), by great (Collier).
P. 602, 1. 266, to thte (1596), for thee (Kill).
HYMXE OP HEAVENLIK BEAUI'IE.
P. 603, 1. 121, Suns bright beames (1596), Sun-
bright beames (1611).
P. 604, 1. 165, And dampish aire. Ed. 159C reads
The dark and dampish aire.
P. 604, 1. 170, more bright (in 1611), is omitted
by 1596.
P. 605, 1. 270, topaine (1596), a paine (1611).
P. 605, 1. 294, on matter (1611), no matter (1596).
PROTHALAMION.
P. 605, 1. 5, whom (1596). Some copies read tchote.
P. 606, 1. 117, Yet (1611), Yeat (lo%).
SONNETS WRITTEN BY SPENSER.
I. This is taken from ' Foure Letters, and Cerfaine
Sonnets : Especially touching Robert Greene, ami other
parties, by him abused: tic. London. 4to. : Im-
printed by John Wolfe, 1592.'
II. This is prefixed to 'A'ennio, Or a Treatise of
Nobility, &c. Written in Italian by that fanwut
Doctor and worthy Knight, Sir John Baptista Nenna
of Sari. Done into English by William Jones, Gent.,
4tO. 1595."
III. Prefixed to the ' Historie of George Castript,
surnamed Scanderbeg, King of Albanie: Containing
his famous actes, tic. Neirly translated out of French
into English by X. I., Gentleman. Imprinted for W.
I'onsonby, 1596,' fol. There is a copy of this worV
in the Bodleian Library. AA. 37. Art. Sold.
IV. Prefixed to ' The Commonwealth and Govern-
ment of Venice. Written by the Cardinall Gasper
Contareno, and translated out of Italian into English
by Lewis Leirtemn; /:'.«/nire. London. Imprinted
by John Windet for Edmund ifattes, &c., 1599,' 4to.
A VIEW OF THE PRKSKNT STATE OP
IRELAND.*
P. 610, col. 2, 1. 17, tntred (22). enured (19).
P. 610, col. 2, 1.3 from bottom, Breaght (22),
Iriach (19).
P. 611, col. 1. 1. 39, sure (22),/«rirf 09).
P. 611, col. 2, 1. 10, forestald (1'2),fore*laked (19
and 73).
P. 611, col. 2, 11. 32, 33, Tanistih (22). Tanist (19).
P. 612, col. 1, 1. 30, innovation (19),i/irajt»»n (73).
• 22 = Additional MS. 22022. 19 = Hwl. MS.
19:f2. 73 = Harl. MS. 7S8S. W. = Ware's Text,
704
APPENDIX L
P. 612, col. 2, 1. 19, wayced (73), wayed, tcaied
(19 and 22).
P. 612, col. 2, 1. 41, of a King (22), 'Of a Kinge,
which tytle was gyven by the Trish rather for a
more greater honour of their conntrey then for any
gratification or addition of power to the kynge,
who was before Lord of Yreland ; which tytle did not
import the absolute soveraigne command of a lord
seignour over his subjects as over his vassalles ; for
all other absolute power of principalitie he had in
himself before deryved from manie former kinges,'
&c.
P. 613, col. 1, 1. 15, teepe Cn),pludce (19).
P. 613, col. 2, 1. 9 from bottom, utarrelike (19),
wicked (22).
P. 614, col. 2, 1. 15, enured (73), entred(22 and 19).
P. 615, col. 1, 11. 11, 12, Culvers, Mointerolis,
Oroirke. MS. 22 omits Culvers and Mointerolit ; 19
leads Culrert, JHoneroo (73 Moneroe), and Ourtet
(Orourdks 73).
P. 615, col.l, 11. 14, 15, Glaunmaleerih, ShilMah,
Brislelagh, Polmonte. MS. 19 has Glaumalor (73
Glamalour), Shillelagh and Brisklagh. Polmonte is
inserted from Ware s text.
P. 615, col. 1, 1. 11 from bottom, the Earle of
Ulster. Ware's text has the Earle of, which is
omitted in the Brit. Mus. MSS. For Ulster, 19
reads Lade.
P. 615, col. 2, 1. 2, builded . . . Tomond (22),
repaired . . . Thomond (19).
P. 615, col. 2, 1. 17 from bottom, Ctarifort (19),
dareforte (73), Clariford (Ware). Omitted by 22.
P. 615, col. 2, 1. 15 from bottom, Mourne and
Bultevant (19). Omitted by 22.
P. 615, col. 2, 1. 3 from bottom, remember (22),
reade (19).
P. 616, col. 1, 1. 14 from bottom, hurt (22),
scathe (19).
P. 616, col. 2, 1. 1, Donluce (Ware), Donlace (19).
Omitted by 22.
P. 616, col. 2, 1. 3, Belfast (19). Omitted by 22.
P. 616, col. 2, 1. 12, en Ranagh. Omitted by 22 ;
inserted from 19.
P. 616, col 2, 1. 14, Belfast . . . Newton. Omitted
by 22 ; inserted from 19.
P. 616, col. 2, 1. 23, in theArdes. Omitted by 22 ;
inserted from \Vare : 19 reads at the Ardts, 73 in
Ardes.
P. 616, col. 2, 1. 29, Bremmegham (22), Hretning-
ham (19).
P. 616, col. 2, 1. 35, to breathe or (22), to stale nor
(19).
P. 616, col. 2, 11. 47-56, and left . . . varres, in
22, 19, and 73, bat omitted by Ware.
P. 617, col. 1. 1 .18 from bottom, Gerald (22).
Garrett.(lS and 73).
P. 617, col. 2, 1.6, bluster (22), blatter (19, and
P. 6i7, col. 2, 1. 20 from bottom, Leis (22), Leix
(19).
P. 617, col. 2, 1. 16 from bottom, Oreyleys (73),
Orelies (19).
P. 617, col. 2, 11. 12-9 from bottom, All this . . .
kindle (22), All these which ye hare named and manie
moe besides often tymes have I right well knowen to
kyndle (19*.
P. 618, col. 2, 11. 18-22, to keepe . . . provision
(19). Omitted by 22, and Ware.
P. 619, coL 2, 1. 17 from the bottom, leavi (22)
dryre (19).
P. 619, col. 2, 1. 10 from bottom, garrans (19),
gerrans (22), garrandes (73).
P. 620, col. 2, 1. 3, which purposely therfore it
appointed (22), which is purposelie appointed there-
unto (IS).
P. 620, col. 2, 1. 18 from bottom, attaynted . . .
void (22). Ware and MSS. 19 and 73 omit hath
beene made royd; and for attaynted, Ware and 19
read conteyned.
P. 620. col. 2, 1. 16 from bottom, wronge (19),
wrought (22).
P. 621, col. 2, 1. 15 from bottom, Palentine (22),
Palatyne (19), Pailantyne (73).
P. 623, col. 2. 11. 4, 3 from bottom, Cuddeehih.
Cosshirh ((22), Caddie, Cossherie (19), Shragh and
Sorehim (73 Stragh and Brehim) are omitted in 22.
P. 624, col. 1, 1L 3, 4, saying commonly (22),
for their common sayinge is (19).
P. 624, col. 1. 1. 29, Kin-cogish (22), Kincon-
glishe (19), Kingongish (73)
P. 624, col. 1, 11. 4, 3 from bottom, inclusive . . .
him (19). Omitted by 22.
P. 624, col. 2, 1. 21 from bottom, Cogish (22),
Congish (73).
P. 624, col. 2, 1. 22 from bottom, followers (19),
fellowes (22).
P. 625, col. 1, 1. 26, / suppose to be Scitlhians
which at, &c. In Ware's text we have the following
passages (omitted in all the Brit. Mus. MSS.), which,
however, is directed to be crossed out as being then
agreeable to the best MS. copy ; which passage is also
omitted in the MS. of this ''View ' belonging to the
Marquis of Stafford (Todd) :—
Eudox. How commeth it then to passe, that the
Irish doe derive themselves from Gathelus the
Spaniard?
/ran. They doe, indeed, but (I conceive) without
any good ground. For if there were any such
notable transmission of a colony hether out of
Spaine, or any such famous conquest of this king-
dome by Gathelus, a Spaniard, as they would faine
believe, it is not unlikely, but the very Chronicles
of Spaine (had Spaine then beene in so high regard
as tiiey now have it) would not have omitted so
memorable a thing as the subduing of so noble a
realme to the Spaniard, no more than they doe now
neglect to memorize their conquest of the Indians,
specially in those times, in which the same was
supposed, being nearer unto the nourishing age of
learning and writers under the Romans. But the
Irish rtoe heerein no otherwise then our vaine
Englishmen doe in the Tale of Brutus, whom they
devise to have first conquered and inhabited this
land, it being as impossible to prove, that there was
ever any such Brutus of Albion or England as it is
that there was any such Gathelus of Spaine. But
surely the Scythians (of whom I earst fT»ke at, &c.)
P. "625, col. 1, 1. 37, Scuttenland (19), Scutier-
land (22).
P. 625, col. 1. 11. 39-45, / wonder . . . and the
same (in 19 and 7-3). Omitted by 22.
P. 626. col. 1, 11. 21-22, of all which . . . liuck-
hanan (22). Omitted by W.
P. 626, col. 1, 1. 43. leare (so all copies) ? team.
P. 626. col. 1, 1. 54, antiquitye (22), auncientnes
(19 and 73).
APPENDIX T.
P. 626, col. 2, 1.39, Cales(22), Cadie (19); 1.43,
Galdunum (W.), Galdum (22), GaMumen (19).
P. 626, col. 2, 1. 49, Celties (22), Celtct (19), Celti
(W.).
P. 627, col. 1, 1. 38, fiflye (11),fufleene (19).
P. 627, col. 1, 1. 44, Sleviut (22), Matiius (W.),
Stanius (19).
P. 627, col. 1, 11. 51-52, As the Latine proverbe is
(omitted by 22 ; in 19 and 73). W. reads ai the
later proverbe it.
P. 627, col. 2, 11. 11-14, for being . . . trou/</(22).
Omitted by W.
P. 628, col. 1, 1. 12, Itabell (22), Elizabeth (W.,
19 and 73).
P. 628, col. 1, 1. 23, auncientrye (22, 73 and W.),
aunceitrie (19).
P. 628, col. 2, 11. 17-21, of the which . . . o/the
Gaules (19 and 73). Omitted by 22
P. 628, col. 2, 1. 37, Gautl (22), Gaules (19),
Gald (73 and W.).
P. 629, col. 1, 1. 16. Cummurreeih (12), Cummer-
ick (19), Camericke (78).
P. 629, col. 2, 1. 5, winning (22), employing (W.
and 73), empeopling (19).
P. 630, col.1, 1. 30, bolyet (W. and 19), bogyes
(22 and 73).
P. 630, col. 1, 1. 53, bolyet (22), boolying (W.),
Bollinge (19 and 73).
P. 631, col. 1, L 28. Gaules (22 and W.), Africans
(1!) and 73).
P. 631, col. 1, 1. 56, besemeth (22), deterve (19).
P. 631, col. 2, 1.6, encloteUt (22), ensconceth (19).
P. 631, col. 2, 1. 44, Beantoolhe (22), Monashutt
(19 and 73), Monashitl (W.).
P. 632, col. 1, 11. 42,43, at hare . . . that people.
W reads a* hare been dented for that people ; 22,
taken for theyr reformation ; 19, as have been devised
for that people ; 73, as have been devised for the re-
formation of the people.
P. 632, col. 1, 11. 26-28, I say ... to be named
(22). Omitted by W.
P. 632, col. 2, 11. 13, 14, Launlaider (W.), Lan-
dargabo (19), Layarrigabowe (22).
P. 632, coL 2, 1. 36, blunt (22), blynde (19 and
W.).
P. 633, col. 1, 1. 1, approotaunce (22), apparance
(19).
P. 633, col. 1, 11. 2, 3, Seota . . . judgement (22),
Scota be lite an Egiptian iron/ or carrit ante smacke
of anie leaminge or judgement (19).
P. 683, col. 1, 1. 9, outlet or catt eyet (19), an
Otfle or call-is eytt (22).
P. 633, col. 1, 1. 15, Irish (W.), English (22).
P. 633, col. 1, 1. 17, Farreehs. W. has Frrragh;
22 farreelt; 19 Ferrah; 73 Ftrraghe.
P. 633, col. 2, 1. 50, clothing (19), lathing (22).
P. 634, col. 1, 1. \, joining (\9), camming (22).
P. 634, col.l, 1. 35, oath (l!l). tcealth (22).
P. 634, col. 2, 1.31, Lycant/iropia (W.), Hican-
thropia (22).
P. 635, col. 1, 1. 44, tharinge (19). themng (22).
P. 636, col. 2. 11, 47. 48, an other huge . . . iifxin
fhtm (22), and through ether huge calamities vhich
came upon them (19).
P. 637, col. 2, 11. 25, 26, fffrnan, Sftenan, Mau-
Oan (22), lleenan. Shenan, Uangan (W).
P. 037, col. 2, 11. 34-49, of which torte . . . quite
Irish (22, 19 and 73). Omitted by Ware, who states
that this passage is in the Lambeth MS., and iu the
MS. belonging to the Marquis of Stafford.
P. 639, col. 2, 1. 24, head (W.), hand (22, 19
and 73).
P. 640, col. 2, 11. 4-12, Me thinket . . . dislike yf
(19 and W.). Omittod by 22.
P. 640, col. 2, 1.48, Tirtaeus (W. and 19), Ty*
reut (22).
P. 642, col. 1, 1. 12, Kearrooght (22), Garrottes
(19).
P. 642, col. 2, 11. 45-50, by reading . . . of folke
(10), by reading those vhich you call Folkemutes the
trhich builte by tiro secerall nations, the one by the
Safont, at the vorde tignifyeth in Saxone meeting of
folke (22).
P. 643, col.l, 11. 30-34, at ye . . . of stones (1!)).
Omitted by 22.
P. 645, col. 2, 1. 29, to P. 646, col. 1, 1. 41, This
is truly . . . way toyither (22, 19 and 73). Omitted
by W.
P. 646, col. 1, 11. 52, 53, charge therof . . . but
the inconvenience (19), charge therof, nor any defect
of zeale for reformation herof, but the inconvenience
(22).
P. 649, col. 1, 11. 50-53, And thit it ... for ac-
cursed (omitted by W.).
P. 649, col. 1, 1. 52, timet not called amisse (19),
time* called banisse (22).
P. 656, col. 1, 1. 6, Jacques Geffray (22), Seguor
Jeffrey (19), Signior Jeffrey (W.)
P. 658, col. 1, 1. 37, Magueeirhe (22), ifacyuire
(73), Macknyre (19).
P. 658, col. 2, 1. 11, Tyrrelaghe 0-ffeale (22),
Turlagh Levagh (19), Turlough Oneale (73).
P. 658, col. 2. 1. 41, advise (22), devyce (19).
P. 659, col. 2, 1. 28, Cummerreeiyhe (22), Co-
mericke (19 and 73).
P. 659, col. 2, 11. 52, 53, Biin in the Brittons
. . . darle (22), Itrin in the Britons language tigni-
fieth icoodie, and Toll hi/lie (19 and 73).
P. 659, col. 2, 1. 58, Deurmuid-ne-Galh (22), Der-
monigle (19).
P. 660, col. 1, 1. 36, Glan-Maleeirh (22), Glan
Malar (19 and W.).
P. 660, col. 1, 1. 37, Ballinecorrih (22), Balline-
carre (19).
P. 660, col. 2, 1. 53, placing (19 and 73), plotting
(22).
P. 661, col. 1, 1. 48, good spiallt (22), good et-
pecialls (19).
P. 661, col. 1, 1. 61, bayte (22), baujoniny (19).
P. 6U3, col. 1, 1. 11, unto them . . . vhere they
(22), unto them that they thai be brought and re-
mored with such creete at they hate into Leintter,
ichere they, tic. (19).
P. 664, col. 1, 11. 52, 53, which amounteth . . .
acret (22). Omitted by W.
P. 672, col. 2, 1. 47, tinde of being bounde (19),
kindt of living being bound (2'J).
P. 675, col. 1,11.37,88, Alloonagh . . . dogge (22),
Xatcona, that it English (19).
P. 676, col. 1, 1. 54, tparke. All the MSS. agree
in this reading. Ware has tpeart, hut tparke may
l>e a provincial form of the O. Eng. sport he, a
battle axe.
ZZ
7o6
APPENDIX H.
LETTERS FEOM SPENSER (IMMERITO) TO GABRIEL HARVEY.
TO THE WORSHTPFTTLL
HIS YEKY SINGULAR GOOD FRIEND,
MAISTER G. H.
FELLOW OF TMNITEE HALL IN CAMBRIDGE.*
GOOD Master G. I perceive by your most cnrteous
and f rendly Letters your good will to be no lesse in
deed than I alwayes esteemed. In recompence
wherof , think I beseech you, that I wil spare neither
speech nor wryting, nor aught else, whensoever,
and wheresoever occasion shal be offred me : yea,
I will not stay, till it be offred, but will seeke it in
al that possibly I may. And that you may perceive
how much your Counsel in al things prevailetb.
with me, and how altogither I am ruled and over-
ruled thereby : I am now determined to alter mine
owne former purpose, and to subscribe to your ad-
vizement : being notwithstanding resolved stil, to
abide your farther resolution. My principal doubts
are these. First, I was minded for a while to have
intermitted the uttering of my writings : leaste by
over-much cloying their noble eares, I should gather
a contempt of myself, or else seeme rather for gaine
and commoditie to doe it, for some sweetnesse that
I have already tasted. Then also, meseemeth, the
work too base for his excellent Lordship, being
made in honour of a private Personage unknowne,
which «f some yl-willers might be upbraided not to
be so worthie, as you knowe she is : or the matter
not so weightie, that it should be offred to so
welghtie a Personage : or the like. The self e former
Title still liketh me well ynough, and yonr fine
Addition no lesse. If these, and the like donbtes,
maye be of importaunce in your seeming, to frus-
trate any parte of your advice. I beseeche yon
without the least selfe love of yonr own purpose,
touncell me for the beste : and the rather doe it
faithf ullye and carefully, for that, in all things I
attribute so muche to your judgement, that I am
evermore content to annihilate mine owne determi-
nations, in respecte thereof. And indeede for your
selfe to, it sitteth with you now, to call your wits
and senses togither (which are alwaiesatcall) when
occasion is so fairely offered of Estimation and
Preferment. For whiles the iron is hote, it is good
striking, and minds of Nobler varie as their Estates.
Veriim ne quid durius.
* Reprinted from 'Two other very commen-
dable Letters, of the same mens writing : l>oth
touching the f< resaid Artificiall Tersif ying, and
certain other Particulars. — More lately delivered
unto the Printer. — Imprinted at London by H.
Bynnemann, dwelling in Thames streate, neere
unto Baynardes Castell. Anno Domini, 1580. Cum
gratia et privilegio Regis Majestatis.'
I pray you bethinke you well hereof, good Mais-
ter G. and forthwith write me those two or three
special points and caveats for the nonce, De quibus
in tuperioribui illu mellitistimis longissimisque Lit-
teris tuis. Your desire to heare of my late being
with hir Majestie mnste dye in it selfe. As for the
twoo worthy Gentlemen, Master Sidney and Master
Dyer, they have me, I thanke them, in some use of
familiarity : of whom and to whome, what speache
passeth for youre credite and estimation, I leave to
your selfe to conceive, having alwayes so well con-
ceived of my unf ained affection and zeale towardes
you. And nowe they have proclaimed in their
apeiioirdfu a generall surceasing and silence of
balde Rymers, and also of the verie beste to : in
steade whereof they hane, by anthoritie of their
whole Senate, prescribed certaine Lawes and rules
of Quantities of Englishe sillables for English Terse :
having had thereof already great practise, and
drawen mee to their faction. Newe Bookes I heare
of none, but only of one, that writing a certaine
Booke, called The ScAoole of Abuse, and dedicating it
to Maister Sidney, was for his labor scorned : if at
leaste it be in the goodnesse of that nature to
scorne. Suche follie is it, not to regarde afore-
handethe inclination and qualitie of him to whome
wee dedicate oure Bookes. Suche mighte I hap-
pily incurre entitnling My Somber and the other
Pamphlets unto his honor. I meant them rather
to Maister Dyer. But I am of late more in love
wyth my Englishe Versifying than with Ryming :
whyche I should haue done long since, if I would
then haue followed yonr councell. Sed te solum
jam turn suspicabar cum Aschamo sapere : nti,
Aulam video egregios alere PoStas Anglicos.
Maister E. K. hartily desireth to be commem
unto your Worshippe : of whome what accomj
he maketh, your selfe shall hereafter perceive,
hys paynefull and dutifnll Verses of your selfe.
Thus much was written at Westminster yester-
night : but comming this morning, beeing the six-
teenth of October, to Mystresse Kerkes, to have i
delivered to the Carrier, I receyved yonr letter
sente me the laste weeke : whereby I perceive yo
ptherwhiles continue your old exercise of Versify
ing in Englishe ; whych glorie I had now though
shoulde have bene onely ours heere at London an
the Court.
Truste me, your Verses I like passingly well, am
envye your hidden paines in this kinde, or rathe
maligne, and grudge at your selfe, that woulde no
once imparte so muche to me. But once or twio
you make a breache in Maister Drants Rules : gum
tamen condonabimus tanto Po&ce, tucequt ipsius max
inue in his rebus auloritati. You shall see when wi
meete in London (whiche, when it shall be, certify
us) howe fast I have followed after yon in tlui
APPENDIX IT.
707
Cdnrse : beware Icaste in time I overtake you.
Vtruiitamen te solam sequar, (ut scrpenumero sum
pro/essus,) nunquam sane assequar dum vivam.
And nowe requite I yon with the like, not with
the verye beste, but with the verye shortest, namely,
with a few lambickes : I dare warrant they be pre-
cisely perfect for the feete (as you can easily judge),
and varie not one inch from the Eule. I will im-
parte yours to Maister Sidney and Maister Dyer at
my nexte going to the Courte. I praye you, keepe
mine close to your self e, or your verie entire friendes,
Maister Preston, Maister Still, and the reste.
lambicum Trimetrum.
Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state,
Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying
Thought, and fly forth unto my Love wherso-
ever she be :
Whether lying reastlesse in heavy bedde, or else
Sitting so cheerlesse at the cheerfull boorde, or
else
Playing aloiie carelesse on hir heavenlie Virgi-
nals.
If in Bed, tell hir, that my eyes can take no reste :
If at Boorde, tell hir, that my mouth can eate no
meate:
If at hir Virginals, tell hir, I can heareno mirth.
Asked why? say: Waking Love snffereth no sleepe:
' Say, that raging Love dothe appall the weake
stomacke :
Say, that lamenting Love marreth the Musicall.
Tell hir, that hir pleasures were wonte to lull me
asleepe :
Tell hir, that hir beaulie was wonto to feede
mine oyes :
Tell hir, that hir sweete Tongue was wonte to
make me mirth.
Nowe doe I nightly waste, wanting my kindely
reste:
Nowe doe I dayly starve, wanting my lively
foode:
Nowe doe I alwayes dye, wanting thy timely
mirth.
And if I waste, who will bcwaile my heavy chaunce ?
And if I starve, who will record my cursed end ?
And if I dye, who will saye : this was Immerito t
1 thought once agnyne here to haue made an
ende, with a heartie Vale of the be«t fashion : but
loe an ylfavoured myschauncc ! My last farewell,
whereof I made great accompt, and muche mar-
velled you shoulde make no mention thereof, I ain
nowe tolde (in the Divels name) was thorough one
mans negligence quite forgotten, but shoulde nowe
undoubtedly have beene sent, whether I hadde
come, or no. Seeing it can now be no otherwise, I
pray you take all togither, wyth all their faultes :
md nowe I hope, you will vouchsafe mee an
answeare of the largest size, or else I tell you true,
you shall bee verye deepe in my debte : notwyth-
standyng thys other sweete, but shorte letter, and
fine, "but fewe Verses. But I wonlde rather I
niiirht see youre owne good selfe, and receive a
IteciDrocall farewell from your owne sweete month.
Ad omatissimum til-urn, multisjam diu
NiiMIXlHfS CLAIUS.SIMUM G. H. IMMKKITO
sut, mox in Gallicu naciyaturi, tvrv\fi.r.
Sic mains egregium, sic non inimicns Amicnm ;
Sicque novus veterem jubet ipse Poetn Poetam,
Salvere, ac cnelo, post secula multa secundo
Jam reducem, coelo mage, quam mine ipse, se-
cundo
TJtier. Ecce Deus, (mod6 sit Deus ille, renixnm
Qui vocet in scelus, et juratos perdat amores)
Ecoe Deus mihi clara dedit mod6 signa Marinns,
Bt sua veligero lenis parat .Squora Ligno :
Mox sulcanda, suas etiam pater . 1 :<>ius Iras
Ponit, et ingentes animos Aquilonis —
Cuncta viis sic apta meis : ego solus ineptus.
Nam mihi nescio quo metis saucia vulncre,
dudnm
Flnctuat ancipiti Pelago, dum Navita proram
Invalidam validns rapit hue Amor, et rapit illuc.
Consiliis Batio melioribus usa, deciisque
Immortale levi diffessa Cupidinis Arcn.
Angimur hoc dnbio, et portu vexamur in ipso.
Magne pharetrati nnnc tu contemptor Amorte,
(Id tibi Dii nomen precorhaud impune remit*
tant)
Hos nod os exsolve, et eris mihi magnns Apollo.
Spiritus ad snmmos, scio, te generoeus Honores
Exstimulat, majusque docet spirare Poe'tam.
Quam levis est Amor, et tamen haud levis est
Amoromnis.
Ergo nihil land! reputas aequale perenni,
Prseque sacrosancta splendoris imagine tanti,
Csetera, qu» vecors, uti Numina, vulgus adorat,
Prsedia, Amicitias, urbana peculia, Nnmmos,
Quaeque placent oculis, formas, spectacnla,
Amores,
Conculcare soles, ut hunium, et ludibria sensns.
Digna meo certe Harveio sententia, digna
Oratore amplo, et gcneroso pectore, quam non
Stoica formidet vett>rum Sapientia vinclis
Sancire teternis : sapor haud tamen omnibus
idem.
Dicitur effaeti proles facunda Laertac,
Quamlibet ignoti jactata per a?quora Coell
Inqne procelloso longum exsul gurgite ponto,
Pras tamen amplexn lachrymostb Conjngis, ( )rtna
( 'crlfstes Divumque thoros sprevitse beatos.
Tantiim Amor, et Mulier, vel Amore potentior.
Ilium
Tu tamen illudis : tua Magnificentia tanta est :
Prseque subumbrata Splendoris Imagine tanti
Praeque illo Meritis fanniMs iidiiiine parto
Caetera, qnae Vecors, uti Numina, vulpus adorat,
Pnedia, Amicitias, annenta, pecnlia. nuiiiniiis,
Qnaaqne placent oculis.f ormas, specUicula, A mores,
Quaique placent ori, quteque auribus, omnin
tetnnis.
N;i • tu grande sapis, Sapor at sapientla non on. '
Omnis et in parvis ben«M|iii scit dosipuiase.
Siepe sui)pr<'iliis palmnni siipipntibus nufert.
Lndit Aristippum mod6tetricn Turba Sophorum,
Mitia pnrpureo mixierantem verba Tyranno
Ludit Aristippus dictamina vana Sophorum,
Quod levis emensi male torquet Cnlicis nmlna :
Kt quisquis pliu-uisse Stndet Heroibus altis,
l>i-sii>ui<M' siadct sic trratia crcscit ineptis.
Denique laurieeris quisquis sua tempora vfttis.
• XI
708
APPENDIX II.
Insignire volet, Populoque placere faventi,
Desipere insanns discit, turpemque pudendae
Stultitias laudem quserit. Pater Ennius unus
Dictus in innuraeris sapiens : laudatur at ipsa
Carmina vesano fudisse liquentia vino :
Nee tu pace tua, nostri Cato Maxime saecli,
Nomen honorati sacrum mereare Poe'tae,
Quantumvis illustre canas, et nobile Carmen,
Si ttultire relis, sic S[t]ultorum omnia plena,
Tuta sed in medio superest via gurgite, nam Qui
Nee reliquis nimium vult desipniase videri,
Nee sapuisse nimis, Sapientem dixeris nnum.
Hinc te merserit unda, illinc combusserit Ignis ;
Nee tu delicias nimis aspernare fluentes.
Nee ser6 Dominam.venientem in vota, nee Anrum,
Si sapis, ablatum, (Cnriis ea, Fabriciisque
Linque viris miseris miseranda Sophismata :
quondam
Grande sui decus ii, nostri sed dedecns sevi :)
Nee sectare nimis. Res utraque crimine plena.
Hoc benequicallet, (siquistamenhoc benecallet)
Scribe, vel invito sapientem hunc Socrate solnm.
Vis f acit una pios : Jostos f acit altera : et altra
Egreerifi cordata, ac f ortia pectora : verum
Omne tulit pnnctum, gui miscuit utile dulci.
Dii mihi, dnlce diu dederant : verum ntile nun-
quam:
Utile nunc etiam, 6 utinam quoque dulce dedis-
sent.
Dii mihi (quippe Diis sequivalia maxima parvis)
Ni nimis invideant mortalibus esse beatis,
Dulce simul tribnisse queant, simul utile : tanta
Sed Fortuna tua est : pariter quaeque utile, quasque
Dulce dat ad plaeitum : saevo nos sydere nati
Quaesitum imus earn per inhospita Caucasa longe,
Perque Pyrenees monies, Babilonaque turpem.
Quod si quassitum nee ibi invenerimus, ingens
JEqnor inexhaustis permensi erroribns, ultra
Flnctibus in mediis socii quaeremus TJlyssis.
Passibus inde Deam fessis comitabimur aegram,
Nobile qui furtum quaerenti defuit orbis.
Namque sinu pudet in patrio, tenebrisque pu-
dendis
Non nimis ingenio Juvenem infoelic evirentes
Officiis frustra deperdere vilibus Anno °,
Frugibus et vacuas speratis cernere spicas.
Ibimus ergo etatim : (quis eunti fausta pre-
cetur ?)
Et pede Clibosas f esso calcaoimus Alpes.
Quis dabit interea conditas rore Britanno,
Quis tibi Litterulaa ? quis carmen amore pelul-
cum!
Masa sub Oebalii desueta cacumine mentis,
Flebit inexhausto tarn longa silentia planctu,
Lugebitque sacrum lacrymis Helicona tacentem.
Harveiusque bonus (charus licet omnibus idem,
Idque suo merito. prope suavior omnibus turns,)
A/igelns et Gabriel, (quamvis comitatus amicis
Innumeris, geniumque choro stipatus amwno)
Jmmerito tamen unnm absentem saepe requiret,
Optabitque Utinam meus hie Edmundus adesset,
Qui nova scripsisset, nee Amores conticuisset
Ipse suos, et saape animo verbisque benignis
Fausta precaretur, Deus ilium aliquando reducat,
&c.
Plura rellem per Charites, ted non licet per Musas.
Vale, Vale plurimum, J/t amaliilissime fiarveie, meo
cordi, meorum omnium longe, charissime.
I was minded also to have sent you some English
verses : or Rymes, for a farewell : but by my troth,
I have no spare time in the world, to thinke on
such Toyes, that you know will demaund a freer
head, than mine is presently. I beseeche you by
all your Curtesies and Graces let me be answered
ere I goe : which will be (I hope, I feare, I thinke),
the next weeke, if I can be dispatched of my Lorde.
I goe thither, as sent by him, and maintained most
what of him : and there am to employ my time, my
body, my minde, to his Honours service. Thus
with many superhartie Commendations and Re-
commendations to your selfe, and all my f riendeg
with you, I endc my last Farewell, not thinking
any more to write unto you, before I goe : and
withall committing to your faithfull Credence the
eternall Memorie of our everlasting friendship, the
inviolable Memorie of our unspotted friendshippe,
the sacred Memorie of our vowed friendship : which
I beseech you Continue with usuall writings, as you
may, and of all things let me heare some Neweg
from you. As gentle M. Sidney, I thanke his good
Worship, hath required of me, and so promised to
doe againe. Qui monet, ut facias, quod jam facts ;
you knowe the rest. You may alwayes send them
most safely to me by Alistresse Kerke, and by none
other. So once againe, and yet once more, Fare-
well most hartily, mine owne srood Master //. and
love me, as I love you, and thinke upon poore 7m-
merito, as he thinketh nppon you.
Leycester House, this 5 [? 16] of October, 1579.
Per mare, per terra*,
Virus, mortuusque
Tuus Immento.
TO MY LONG APPROOVED AND SINGULAR
GOOD FRENDE, MASTER G. H.»
GOOD Master H. I doubt not but you have some
great important matter in hande, which al this
while restraineth your Penne, and wonted readi-
nesse in provoking me unto that, wherein your selfe
nowe faulte. If there bee any such thing in hatch-
ing, I pray you hartily, lette us knowe, before al the
worlde see it. But if happly you dwell alto?ither
in Justinians Courte, and give your selfe to be diy
voured of secreate Studies, as of all likelyhooa you
doe : yet at least imparte some your olde, or newe
Latine or Englishe, Eloquent and Gallant Poesies
, to us, from whose eyes, you saye, yon keepe in a
j manner nothing hidden. Little newes is here
stirred : but that olde greate matter still depending.
j His Honoure never better. I thinke the Earthquake
was also there wyth yon (which I would pladly
learne) as it was here with us : overthrowing divers
old buildings and peeces of Churches. Sure verye
* Reprinted from ' Three proper and wittie fami-
liar Letters : lately passed betwene two Universitie
i men : touching the Earthquake in Aprill last, and
1 our English refourmed Versifying. — With the Pre-
face of a wellwiller to them both. — Imprinted at
London by H. Bynneman, dwelling in Thames
streate, neere unto Baynardes Castell. Anno Do-
mini, 1580.— Cum gratia et privilegio Regia? Majes-
jtatis.'
APPENDIX If.
709
straunge to be hearde of in these Countries, and
yet I heare some saye (I knowe not howe trucly)
that they have knowne the like before in their
dayes. Sed quid vobis videlur magnis Philosophic?
I like your late Englishe Hexameters so exceedingly
well, that I also enure my Penne sometime in that
kitu li! : whyche I fynd indeede, as I have heard you
often defende in worde, neither so harde, nor so
harshe, that it will easily and fairely yeelde it selfc
to our Moother tongue. For the onely, or chief est
hardnesse, whych seemeth, is in the Accente :
whyche sometime gapeth, and, as it were, yawneth
ilfavouredly, comming shorte of that it should, and
sometime exceeding the measure of the Number,
as in Carpenter, the middle sillable being used
shorte in speache, when it shall be read long in
Verse, seemeth like a lame Gosling that draweth one
legge after hir : and Heaven being used shorte as one
siilable, when it is in verse stretched out with a
Diastole, is like a lame dogge that holdes up one
legge. But it is to be wonne with Custome, and
rough words must be subdued with Use. For, why
a Gods name, may not we, as else the Greekes,
have the kingdome of oure owne Language, and
measure our Accentes by the sounde, reserving the
Qnantitie to the Verse ? Loe, here I let you see
my olde use of toying in Byrnes turned into your
artificial straightnesse of Verse by this Tetrasticon.
I beseech you tell me yom-fansie without parcialitie.
See yee the hlindfonlded pretie God, that fea
thered Archer,
Of Lovers Miseries which maketh his bloodie
game?
Wote ye why, his Moother with a Veale hath
coovered his Face ?
Trust me, least he my Loove happely channce
to beholde.
Seeme they comparable to those two, which I
translated you ex tempore in bed, the last time we
lay togither in Westminster ?
That which I eate did I joy, and that which I
greedily gorged,
As for those many goodly matters leaft I for
others.
I would hartily wish, yon would either send me
the Rules and Preceptd of Arte, which you observe
in Quantities, or else followe mine, that M. Philip
Sidney gave me, being the very same which M.
Drant devised, but enlarged with M. Sidneys own
judgement, and augmented with my Observations,
that we might both accorde and agree in one :
leaste we overthrowe one an other, and be over-
thrown of the rest. Trust me, yoti will hardly be-
leeve what greate good liking and estimation Mais-
ter Dyer had of your Satyricall Verses, and I. since
the viewe thereof, having before of my selfe had
special 1 liking of Englishe Verbifying, am even
nowe aboute to give you some token, what, and
howe well therein I am able to doe : for, to tell yon
trueth, I minde shortely at convenient leysure. to
sette forth a Booke in this kinde, whiche I entitle
Epithalamion Thamesis; whyche Booke, I dare un-
dertake wil be very profitable for the knowledge,
and rare for the Invention and manner of handling.
For in setting forth the marriage of the Thames :
I ghewe his first beginning, and offspring, and all
the Conntrey, that he passeth thorough, and also
describe all the Rivers throughout Ensrlande, whyche
came to this Wedding, and their righfo names, and
right passage, &c. A worke, beleeve me, of much
labour, wherein notwitlistanding Master Uolinshed
hath mnche furthered and advantaged me, who
therein hath bestowed singular paines, in searching
oute their flrste heades and sources : and also in
tracing and dogging oute all their Course, til they
fall into the Sea.
O Tite, siquid, ego,
Ecquid erit pretij ?
But of that more hereafter. Nowe, my Dreames
and Dying Pellicane, being fully finished (as I
partelye signified in my laste Letters) and present-
lye to bee imprinted, I wil in hande forthwith with
my Faery Queene, whyche I praye you hartily send
me with al expedition : and your f rendly Letters,
and long expected Judgement wythal, whyche let
not be shorte, but in all pointes suche, as you ordi-
narilye use, and I extraordinarily desire. Multum
vale. Westminster. Quarto Nonas Aprilis 1580.
Sed, amabo te, meum Corciilum tibi se ex animo com-
mendat plurimum : jamdiu mirata, te nihil ad literas
suas responsi dedisse. Vide quceso, ne id tibi Capi-
tale sit: Mihi certe. quidemerit, tieque tibi hercle im-
pune, vt opinor, Iterum vale, & quam voles scepe,.
Yours alwayes to commaunde,
IMMERTTO.
Postscripte.
I take best my Dreames shoulde come forth
alone, being growen by meanes of the Glosse
(running continually in mauer of a Paraphrase)
full as great as my Calendar. Therm be some
things excellently, and many things wittily dis-
coursed of E. K. and the pictures so singularly set
forth and purtrayed, as if Michael Angelo were
there, he could (I think) nor amende the beste, nor
reprehende the worst. I know you woulde lyke
them passing wel. Of my Stemmata Dudleiana, and
especially of the sundry Apostrophes therein, ad-
dressed you knowe to whome, must more advise-
ment be had, than so lightly to sende themabroadc :
howbeit, trust me (though I doe never very well)
yet, in my owne fancie, I never dyd better. Verun-
tamen te tequor sol inn: nunquam vero assequar.
EXTRACT FROM HARVEY'S REPLY.*
But Master Collin Cloute is not every body, and
albeit his olde Companions, Master Cuddy and
Master Hobbinoll be as little beholding to their
Mistresse Poetrie, as ever you writ: yet he per-
adventure by the meanes of hir special favour,
and some personall priviledgo, may happely live by
Dying Pellieanei, and purchase great landee, aiid
lordshippCT, with the money, which his Calendar
and Dreames have, and will affourde him. Extra
jocum, I like your Dreames passingly well : and the
rather, bicause they savour of that singular extra-
ordinaric veine and invention, which I ever fancied
moste, and in a manor admired onelye in Lucian,
Petrarche, Aretine, Pasquill, and all the most deli-
* Reprinted from ' Tliree Proper and tcittie /ami-
liar Letters, &c,'
yio
APPENDIX II.
cate, and fine conceited Grecians and Italians : (for neither in better nor worse case, then I founde hir.
the Romanes to speake of, are but yerye ciphars in And must you of necessitie have my judgement of
this kinde :) whose chiefest endevour, and drifte hir indeedc ? To be plaine, I am voyde of al judge-
was, to have nothing vulgare, but in some respecte ment, if your Nine Comedies, whereunto in imita-
or other, and especially in lively hyperbolicall ampli-
fications, rare, queint, and odde in every pointe, and
as a man would saye, a degree or two at the leaste,
tion of Herodotus, you give the names of the Nine
Muses (and in one mans fansie not unworthily)
come not neerer Ariostoes Comoedies, eyther for the
above the reache, and compas^e of a common finenesse of plausible Elocution, or the rarenesse of
schollers capacitie. In whiche respecte notwith- Poetical Invention, then that Elvish Queene doth
standing, as well for the singularitie of the manner, to his Orlando Furioso, which notwithstanding, you
as the Divinitie of the matter, I hearde once a
Divine, preferre Saint Johns Revelation before al the
veriest Metaphysicall Visions, and jollyest conceited
Dreames or Extasies, that ever were devised by one
or other, howe admirable, or super excellent soever
they seemed otherwise to the worlde. And truely
wil needes seeme to emulate, and hope to overgo,
as you flatly professed yourself in one of your last
Letters.
Besides that you know, it hath bene the usual
practise of the most exquisite and odde wittes in all
nations, and specially in Jtalie, rather to shewe, and
I am so confirmed in this opinion, that when I j advaunce themselves that way, then any other :
bethinke me of the verie notablest, and moste won- I as namely, those three notorious discoursing heads,
derful Propheticall, or Poeticall Vision, that ever j Bibiena, Machiavel, and Aretine did, (to let Bembo
;I read, or hearde, me seemeth the proportion is so and Ariosto passe) with the great admiration, and
iunequall, that there hardly appeareth anye sev>- j wonderment of the whole country : being in deede
blaunce of Comparison : no more in a maner reputed matchable in all points, both for conceyt of
(especially for Poets) then doth betweene the in- ; Witte and eloquent decyphering of matters, either
comprehensible Wisdome of God, and the sensible with Aristophanes and Menandei- in Greek, or with
Wit of man. Plautus and Terence in Latin, or with any other, in
But what needeth this digression between you any other tong. But I wil not stand greatly with
and me ? I dare saye you wyll holde yonrselfe rea- yon in your owne matters. If so be the Faerye
sonably wel satisfied, if yotae Dreames be but as well Queene be fairer in your eie than the Nine Muses,
esteemed of in Englande, as Petrarches Visions be in and Hobgoblin runne away with the Garland from
Italy : which I assure you, is the very worst I wish Apollo : Marke what I saye, and yet I will not say
you. But, see, how I have the Arte Memorative at that I thought, but there an End for this once, and
commaundeinent. In good faith I had once againe fare you well, till God or some good Aungell putto
nigh forgotten your Faerie Qwene : howbeit by good you in a better ininde.
channce, I have nowe sent hir home at the laste, <
GLOSSAKY.
The numbers refer to the pages.
A, in ' A Gods name,' 442, 474
Abace, abase, to lower, to hang down, 82, 257, 397
Aband, to abandon, 138
Abashment, fear, 202, 203
Abeare, to behave, conduct, 356, 406
Abet, abed, to aid, support, maintain, 364, 383;
asserting falsely, 242
Abid, abode, remained, 178
Abie, aby, abye, to pay the penalty of, to atone for,
suffer for, 101, 122, 179, 212, 235, 258, 595 ; abide
by, 368
Abject, to throw or cast down, 219, 338
Abode, remained, 227 ; a delay, stay, 155, 202
Abolish, to wipe out, 101
Aboard, abord, from the bank, astray, at a loss,
515. Aborde, harbour, 418
Abouts, about, 58
Abrade, to rouse, wake up, 218
Abray (pret. abrayde), to start up suddenly, to
awake, 162, 257, 261 ; to quake with sudden fear,
261
Abusion, abuse, deceit, fraud, 141, 230, 359
Accloy, accloye, to clog up, choke, encumber, hinder,
113,449,568
Accoasting, skimming along near the ground, 369
Accompt, accoumpt, account, 444, 515
Accorage, to encourage, 90, 203
Accord, to grant, to agree, to reconcile, 255, 278,
448 ; an agreement, 99, 125
According, agreeably to, according to, 65, 75, 99,
141 ; accordingly, 139
Accoste, to go side by side, to adjoin, border, 352
Accourting, entertaining (courteously), 88
Accoustrement, garb, 519
Accoy, accoie, to subdue, daunt, tame, 448
Accoy, to coy, caress, 274
Accoy/, to assemble, gather together, 128
Accrete, to increase, 259, 317
Achates (Acates), purchased provisions, cates, 128
Acquiy/it. acquit, acquite, to deliver, release, 49, 145 ;
acquitted, free, 314
Adamants, chrystals, 288
Adaw, to adaunt, tame, moderate, 195, 260, 341,
449
Adayes, daily, 452
Addeeme, to adjudge, 307
Addoom, to adjudge, 435
Address, to prepare, adjust, direct, clothe, arm, 176,
192, 215. Addrest, ready, 2 i:i
AJjoyne, to approach, join, 198
Admiraunce, admiration, 347
Admire, to wonder at, 256, 266, 399
Adore, to adorn, 290
Adorne, ornament, 226
Adowne, down, 49
Adrad, adred, adredde, afraid, terrified, 162, 244,
272, 507
Adrad, to be frightened, 299
Advaunce, to extol, 34 ; impel, 81
Adventure, chance, 237 ; opportunity, 243 ; to at-
tempt, 314
Adview, to view, 308
Advize, advise, to consider, perceive, take thought
of, bethink, 79, 129, 294, 419
Advizement, consideration, 103, 126
Adward, an award, 280 ; to award, 294
jEtnuling, emulating, rivalling, 550 (icmuled, 550)
Afeard, afraid, 217, 235
Affear, to frighten, 93, 96
Affect, affection, 365 ; sorrow, 566 ; imitation, 594
Affection, passion, 100, 139, 168, 386
Affide, affyde, betrothed, 273, 306 ; intrusted, 322
Afflicted, low, humble, 11
Afford, to consent, 108
Affrap, to strike, to strike down, to encounter, to
assault, 82, 163
Affray, to terrify, fray, 184 ; terror, 340, 345
Affrende, to make friends, 246
Affrel, encounter, 207, 242
Affront, to confront, encounter, oppose, 50, 176,
244
Affy, to betroth, espouse, 372, 376 ; entrust, 322
Affyaunce, betrothal, 99
Afore, in front, before, 97, 170
Aggrace, favour, kindness, goodwill, 125; to make
gracious, 151
Aggrate, to please, delight, charm, treat politely,
105, 128, 193, 204, 238, 349, 410
Aglet, point, tag, 94, 366
Agree, to settle, to aiuse to agree, 97
Agreeably, alike, in a manner to agree, 391
Agrise, agrize, agryse, agryzt, to cause to shudder,
to terrify, to make disgusted, 111, 165, 346, 430
Agryz'd, having a terrible look, disfigured, 269
Ayttise, aguite, to deck, adorn, fashion, accoutre,
82,83, 165, 306, 519 ; to disguise, 107
Alablatter, alabaster, 167
Albe, albee, although, 37, 455
AJeggeaunce, alleviation, 186
A lew, howling, 323
Algate, algates, altogether, wholly, by all means, in
all ways, at all events, 161, 201, 259, nevertheless,
480
All, although, 155 ; ' all as'=as if, 448
712
GLOSSARY.
Allegge, to lessen, allay, 452
Almet, a free allowance, alms, 230
Alone (only), without compulsion, 255
A low, downwards, 397
Aloif, praise, 5
Alt, also, 80. 84, 123, 232
Amaint, violently, by force, 235, 256, 364
Amate, to daunt, subdue, to stupefy, terrify, 16,
87, 178, 197, 220 ; to keep company with, 128
Amaze, amazement, 194,237
Ambassage, embassy, 517
Amearst, amerced, punished, 583
Amenage, to manage, handle, 97
Amenaunce, carriage, behaviour, 160, 121, 212, 520
Amis, amice, a priestly vestment, 29
A mount, to mount up, ascend, 60
Amove, to move, remove, 31, 56, 219
Andvile, anvil, 72
Annoy, annoyance, grief, hurt, 40, 91, 129
Antickes, antiques, ancient, or fantastic figures, 94,
112, 223
Apace, fast, copiously, 286
Appall, to falter, 260 ; to weaken, 160
Appay, apay (praet. and p. p. appay'd, appaid), to
please, satisfy, pay, 129, 148, 354, 470, 543
Appeach, to impeach, accuse, 123, 144, 320, 342
Appease, to cease from, 25
Appete, to accuse, 341 ; to offer, 168
Appellation, appeal, 427
Apply, to attend to, 65 ; to bend one's steps to, 106
Approven, to pnt to the proof, to prove, 432
Approraanee, approval. 153
Arborett, little grove, 107
Aread, areed (p. p. ared), to tell, say, declare, de-
scribe, inform, teach, interpret, explain, 55, 57,
93, lf>4, 220, 238, 258, 309, 380 ; appoint, 355 ;
detect, 254
Arear, areare, arere, arrtart, to the rear, back-
ward, aback, 143, 1!)6, 214, 377, 509
Aret, arret, to allot, entrust, adjudge, 120, 140, 254
Arete, in a row, in order, 357.
Arguments, signs, indications, 391
Arights, rightly, 343
Arke, box, chest, 248
Arrat, tapestry of Arras, 28
Arraught (pret. of arreach), seized forcibly, 135
At, as 'if, 51,70, 126,197
Askauncc, sideways, 112, 160
Aslake, to slake, abate, appease, 26
Aslope, on the slope, aside, 180
Assay, to try, attempt, assail, attack, 20, 28, 97,
183, 277 ; an attempt, trial, 83, 92, 93 ; value, 19.
177
Assayde, affected, 470
Asseige, to besiege, 141
Assignment, design, 140
Assize, measure, 538
Assail, assoyl, to absolve, determine, set free, let
loose, renew. 65, 104, 160. 203, 243, 397, 533 ; to
pay, 548 ; remove. 255, 260
Assott, to befool, to beguile, bewilder, 132, 202, 452
Assure, to promise, assert confidently, 132
Assirage, to grow mild, 23
Assyn, to mark or point out, 46
Astart, to start up suddenly, 166
Astert, befall, come upon suddenly, 482
Astond, astound, astonied, astonished, stunned, 269,
408
Astonish, to stun, 272
Astonying, confounding, 305
Attach, to seize, take prisoner (attack, 203), 142,
275, 318
Attaine, attayne, to find, reach, fall in with, 265
Attaint, to stain, obscure, 47
Attempt, to tempt, 354
Attendement, intent, 388
Attent, attention, 211,406
A/lone (atone), at one, together, reconciled, 83, 128,
264, 277. Attone, attons, at once, together, 84, 182,
206
Attrapt, dressed, ?51
Alween, atweene, between, 185, 351, 390
Atteixt, between, at intervals, 224
Aumayl, to enamel, 94
Availe, avale, to fall, sink, lower, descend, bow
down, 126, 399, 447, 448
A taunt, depart, 388
Avauntage, advantage, 103
Avaunting, advancing (boastfully), 92
Avenge, revenge, 258
Arengement, revenge, 30, 184
Atentred, thrust forward (at a venture), 158, 242
Avenlring, pushing forward. 258
Avize, avyze, to perceive, consider, regard, view,
take note of, reflect, bethink, 37, 109, 157, 165,
169, 174, 238, 275, 419 ; advise, 273
Avizefull, observant, 260
Avoid, to depart, go out, 161
Avoure, 'to makeavonre'=to justify, maintain, 376
Attorned, made, was made aware, 216
Aitayte, to wait for, 157 ; watch, 280
Awhape, to terrify, frighten, 263. 351, 513
Aygulets (aglets), tags, points of gold, 94
Ay in, direction, 107
Babe, doll, 460
Bace, low, 36, 168
Bace, the game of prisoner's base, 476 ; ' bad bace'
=challenged, 218
Baffuld, disgraced (as a recreant knight), 391, 394
Kaile, to deliver, 275 ; custody, 428
Bains, banns (of marriage), 77
Bale, grief, sorrow, affliction, trouble, 13, 46, 91,
114 ; bales, ruins, 407 ; baleful, full of bale, de-
structive, deadly, 169, 241 ; balefulnesse, ruin,
154
Balke, to disappoint, to deal at cross pnrposes, 164,
281 ; a ridge between two furrows, 413
Balliards, billiards, 520
Ban, banne, to corse (band, cursed), 197, 275, 302;
349, 368, 601
Band, forbid, banish, 167 ; assemble, 31
Bandog, mastiff, 474
Bane, death, destruction, 142
Banket, banquet, 190, 264
Bannerall, a standard (shaped like a swallow's
tail), 393
Barbe, equipments of a horse, horse- armour, 87
Barbifart, a watch-tower, 128
Bard, ornamented with bars (ornaments of a
girdle), 94
Base, low, 18 ; the lower part, 339
Basenesse, a low humble condition, 371
Basen-tcide, widely extended, 619
Bases, armour for the legs, 318
Ba*h, to be abashed, 100
GLOSSARY.
Bastitri], base, lowborn, 41, 96
Batted, sewed slightly, 316
Bate, did bite, 102 ; fed, 473
Bate, to bait, attack, 422
Ball, stick, 506, 514
Battailous, ready for battle, in order for battle, 33,
173
Batteilant, embattled, fortified, 537
Battill (properly to fatten), to be of good flavour,
400
Batlon, stick, club, 395
Bauldricke, belt, 94, 297, 607
Batcne, a hill, 642
Bay, a standstill, a position in which one is kept at
bay, 362
Baite, to bathe, 44
Bayes (baiei), laurel*, 234, 38G
Boyt, bait, artifice, 103, 404 ; to bait (a bull), 123 ;
to cause to abate, to let rest, 148
Beades, prayers, 14
Beadrull, a list, 239
Beare, burden, 561 ; bier, 371
Beailli/head, ' your beattlyhead,' ' a greeting to the
person of a beast,' 461
Beath'd, plunged, 263
Beauprret, fair companions, 159
Becka, beaks, 140
Become, to come to, go to, to suit, to happen, 62,
67,88,121,209
Bed, bad, 59
Sedight, dressed, equipped, decked, adorned, 81,111,
192, 251, 382 ; ' ill-bedight,' disfigured, 1 12
Beduct, to dive, dip, 110
Be/tit, was fitting, proper, 127
Beginne, beginning. 171
Begord, stained with gore, 285
Behave, to employ, use. 95
Beheatt, behest, command, 90, 178
Behight, call, name, address, pronounce, promise,
command, 67, 91, 198, 238, 244, 286, 313, 455 ; or-
dained, 534; adjudged, entrusted, 65, 120, 253,383
Behoof e, profit, 266
Behote, to promise, 251 ; call, 484 ; behott, promised,
72
Betaccoyle, kind salutation or ip-eeting, 260
Belamoure, belamy, a lover, 108, 117
Belay, to beset, encompass, 575 ; adorn, 368
Beldame, fair lady, 167
Belgard, fair (or kind) looks, 94, 211, 598
Bellibone, a beautiful and good woman, 455
Belyde, counterfeited, 212
Ben (bene, been), are, 5832
Bend, band, 94, 114,316
Beneficiall, a benefice, 517
Bent, long stalks of (bent) grass, 377
Beraft, bereft, 236
Bert, to bear, 292 ; bier, 148
Beseeke, beseech, 246
Bexeene, ' well-beseen,' of good appearance, comely,
74
Beseme. bfseeme, to be seemly, to seem fit, to suit,
fit, become, appear, 128, 129, 159, 161, 276, 320,
470
Befitting, befitting, 237
Betpeake, to address, 316
Betpredd, adorned, 216
B'*prent, betprint, besprinkled, 481, 485
Betted (belted, bettedded), situated, placed, placed in
peril, 14, 85, 217, 267 ; treated, 388 ; attended,
230; beset, 184, 244; 'ill bested '=in a bad
plight, 83
Bestaine, to stain, 265
/;.<'-.'/•. to place, 128
Bettrad, bestrided, 301
Bet, did beat, 89
Betake (pret. betoote), to take (Into), to deliver, be-
stow, betake one'sself, 34, 59, 191, 417
Beteeme, to deliver, give, 121
Bethinke, to make up one's mind, 40
Bethrall, to take captive, 52
Betide, betyde, to befall, to happen to, 83, 110, 183 ;
betid, betyded, betight, befall, befallen, 307, 482, 552
Belt, better, 477
Beter, the front part of a helmet (covering the
mouth), 102
fiery, company (of ladies), 128
Jieiraile, to choose, select, 38
Beieray, to reveal, betray, accuse, 31, 36, 168, 244 ;
signify, 642
Bickerment, bickering, strife, 311
Bid, to pray, 14
Bide, to bid, offer, 202
Biggen, cup, 460
Bilite, bylire, blite, forthwith, quickly, 36, 475
Bils, battle-axes, 353
Blame, to blemish, 120 ; injury, hurt, 156
Btanckt, confounded, put out of countenance, 170
Blast, to wither, 187
Blatter, to bluster (in note), 704
Blaze, to blazon forth, proclaim, 68
Blemi.thment, a blemish, 239
Blend (pret. and p. part, bltrtt), to mix, confuse,
confound, defile, blemish, stain, obscure, 42, 99,
113, 206, 359, 525. Blent, blinded, obscured,
blotted, 97, 227, 310
Blere, to blear (one's eyes), deceive, 466
Bleu, to preserve, deliver, 19, 44, 87, 259 ; to bran-
dish, 33, 51
Blase, bliss, 281
Blin, to cease. 184
Blincked, dimmed, 206
Blind, dark, 285
Blitt, wounded, struck, 397
Mist, blessed, 267
Bloncket, liveries, grey coats, 458
Blont, blunt, unpolished, 474
IHoosme, blossom, bloom, 268, 446
Blot, blotttn, to defame, blemish. 230, 235
Blubbred, wet or stained with tears, 39, 298
Boad, ' booties boad' = lived uselessly, profitless!)',
516
Boads, bodes, portends, 425
Rode, abode, 354, 416
Boley (or buala), 630 ; ' place (situated in a grassy
hollow) enclosed by man in which to put cattle
in the spring and summer months, while on the
mountain pastures— a place that ensures safety.'
(HENRY KINAHAN in The Athenceum, Xo. 2167,
Hay 8, 1869)
Ballet, bullet, 45
Bolt, arrow, 452
Bond, bound, 108, 269
fioone, prayer, petition, 241, 341
Board, bord, to accost, to address, talk with, 87,
99, 125, 170 ; conversation, 212 ; go side by side,
GLOSSARY.
Boot, to avail, profit, 81, 102 ; booty, gain, 338, 443
Booting, availing, 293
Bore, borne, 247
Bordf, coast, 418
Bordraging (pi. bordrags), border ravaging, border
raid, 138, 552
Borowe, borrows, pledge, surety, 459, 460, 520
Borrell, rustic, 467
Basse, middle of shield, 353
Bouget, budget 21
Bought, fold, 13, 69, 507
BouU, to sift, bolt, 99
JBounse, to beat, 220
Bountie, bounty, goodness, 92, 206. Bounteous,
generous, good, 160, 164, 219. Bountyhed, gene-
rosity, 145, 160, 173
Bourdon, burden (of a song;, 567
Bourne, boundary, 107
Bout, about, 170
Bouzing-can, a drinking-can, 29
Bound, to lead (by a direct course). 67
Bomre, chamber, inner room, 161 ; to lodge, shelter,
360, 407
Boiors, muscles (of the shoulder), 53
Boy, a term of reproach, 105
Boy strom, rough, rude (as applied to a club), 50
Brace, to embrace, encompass, 474
Brag, proudly, 449. Bragly, proudly, 452. Brag-
ging, proud, 449
Brame, sharp passion (cf. O.E. breme, severe,
sharp), 168
Bransles, dances, brawls, 212
Bratt, burst, 36, 49, 198, 242
Brave, fair, beautiful, 94, 153
Braverie, finery, 521
Bravely, gallantly, splendidly, 107
Brawned, muscular, brawny, 53
Bray (braie), to cry out suddenly, cry aloud, utter
aloud. 350 ; gasp out, 84
Braynepan, skull, 389
Breaded, braided, embroidered, 88, 168
Breare, brere, briar, 64, 160, 213
Breech, breeches, 338
Breede, work, produce, 159
Breem, breme, boisterous, rough, sharp, 433, 448,
485
Brenne, to burn, 246
Brent, burnt, 55, 71, 160
Brickie, brittle, 283, 494
Brigandine, a kind of light vessel, 533
Brim, margin of the horizon, 341
Brize, bryze, gadfly, 363, 537
Brocage, pimping, 441, 520
Broch, to commence, broach, 162
Brode, abroad, 247
Brand, sword, 121, 226
Brondiron, sword, 250
Brands, embers, brands, 1 15
Brood, a brooding -place (? an error for 6oorf=O.E.
bood or abood, an abode, resting place ; cf. bode,
p. 354), 112
Brooke, to endure, bear brook, 179, 240
Brouzes, twigs, 216
Brunt, assault, 123
Brust, burst, 160, 202, 251
Bruted, renowned, bruited, 514
Brutenesse, brutishnesse, brutality, brute-like state,
120, 267
Buckle to, make ready, 348
Buff (pi. buffet), a blow, 89
Bug, apparition, bugbear, goblin, 93, 147
Buegle, wild ox, 49
Bugle, bead, 448
Bullion, pure gold, 159
Burdenous, heavy, 356
Burganet, headpiece, helmet, 124, 532
Burgein, burgeon, bud, 434
Buskets, bushes, 458
Busse, kiss. 216
But-if, unless, 271
Buxom, obedient, yielding, tractable, 71, 165, 213,
474
By-and-by, one by one, singly, 432, 523
Byde, abide, 87. Byding, abiding, remaining, 108,
232
Bylive, quickly, also active, 55, 183, 212. See Blire,
belive
Bynempt, named, appointed, 86, 468 ; bequeathed,
480
Cabinet, cottage, little cabin, 154, 547
Catrule, azure, 506
Caitive, caytive, subject, captive, 45, 55 ; vile, base,
menial, rascal, 80, 95, 123, 195
Call, caul, cowl, cap, 54
Camis, camus, a light loose robe of some light ma-
terial (as silk, &c.), chemise, 94, 316
Can or Gan (an auxiliary of the past tense), did,
32,348
Can, knows, 452, 453
Cancred, cankerd, corrupt, 80, 206
Canon bitt, a smooth round bit (for horses), 47
Capitayn, captain, 141
Caprifole, woodbine, 192
Captivaunce, captivity, 198
Captived, taken captive, enslaved, 98, 160
Capuccio. hood (of a cloak), capuchin, 225
Card, chart, 112
Care, sorrow, grief, injury, 268, 349. Careful, sor-
rowful, 39, 111, 544. Careless, free from care,
22, 544 ; uncared for, 251
Carke, care, sorrow, grief, 16, 481
Carl, carle, an old man, 206 ; churl, 60, 257
Carriage, burden, 375
Cant, to consider, plot, resolve, purpose, 71, 478,
197 ; time, period, opportunity, 402, ' nere their
utmost cast'= almost dead, 378 ; a couple, 392
Castory, colour (red or pink), 12S
Caudron, caldron, 169
Causen, to assign a cause or reason, explain, 208
Cautelous, wary, 619
Caved, made hollow, 256
Centonel, a sentinel, 59, 239
Certes, certainly, 164
Cesse, to cease, 274
Cesure, a breaking off, stop, 138
Chaffar, to chaffer, exchange, 102, 473
Chalenge, to claim, 122, 233, 238, 254 ; to track,
follow, 81 ; accusation, 278
Chamelot water, camlet watered, 290
Chamfred, wrinkled, furrowed, 448
Champain, champion, champion, open country,
plain, 301, 379, 429
Championesse, a female warrior, 228
Character, image, 322
Charge, assault, attack, 277
GLOSSARY.
715
Charget, chariot, 198
Charm, to tune, 549 ; a tune, song, 478, 500
Chanff, chaufe, to become warm, to be irritated, to
chafe, 26, 27, 47, 96, 432 ; rage, 301, 368, 383
Ihaunceful, hazardous, 513
Chaunticleer, the cock, 17
Chaw, jaw, 30 ; to chew, 30, 99, 505
'Jhayre, chary, 187
Chayre, chariot, 503
Cheare, chere, countenance, favour, cheer, 12, 247.
Chearen, to cheer up, 60
Checked, chequered, 147
Checklaton (O. E. cidatori), a rich kind of cloth, 395
Ctierelie, cheerfully, 501
Cherishment, a cherishing, 503
Cherry, to cherish, 409
Cheverye, chief rent, 663
Chevisaunce, enterprise, undertaking, performance,
bargain, 126, 198, 220, 456, 459
Chickens (faitiilesse), heathen brood, 173
Chif/e, 'wrought with a chiefe," worked with a
head (like a nosegay), 481
Childed, gave birth to a child, 419
Chimney, fireplace, 128
Chine, back, 371
Chorle, churl, 201
Chynd, cut, divided, 259
Clark, clerk, scholar, 343, 501
Clave, clove, cleft, did cleave, 109, 510
Cleane, cleene, cltne, pure, clean, 66 ; entirely, 264,
346, 434. Cleanly, skilfully, 521
deep, to call, 92, 159, 282
Clemence, clemency, 329
Clew, pk/-, purpose (properly a hank of thread), 80
Cli/t, cliff, 176
Clinch, clicket, latch, 461
Clom.be, climbed, mounted, 175, 257
Close, secret, 161, 187. Closely, secretly, 41, 166, 189
douches, clutches, 339
Clouted, bandaged with a clout or rag, 452
Cloyd, wounded, 193
Coa.it, to approach, 303
Coch, coach, 246
Cocked, in cocks (in heaps), 480
Cognizaunce, knowledge, recollection, 83
Colled, embraced, fondled, 166
Collusion, deceit, cunning, 460
Colour, pretence, 444 ; to hide, 411
Coloured, deceitful, crafty, 449
Coltcort, cabbage-plant, 534
Comber, to encumber, 449. Combrous, laborious,
troublesome, 127
Commen, common, to commune, discourse, 129, 338
Comment, to relate (falsely), 435
Commodity, advantage, 413
Commonly, in common, equally, 66
Compacle (?), compacted, concerted, 324
Compacted, close, 158. Compacture,n close knitting
together, 127
Companie, companion, 233
Compare, to collect, procure, 30
Compasse, circuit, 2K>
Compast, contrived, 19.r). Compost creast, the round
part of the helmet, 250
Compel, to cite, call to aid, 12
CumplemeiU, perfection (of character), 187 ; union,
247
Gomplish, to accomplish, 352
Complyne, evensong, 517
Comportaunce, behaviour, 83
Compound, to agree, 355
Comprize, to comprehend, understand, 130
Comprovinciall, to be contained in the same province
with, 172
Compyle, to heap up, 164, 169 ; frame, 268 ; settle,
reconcile, 276
Conceiptful, thoughtful, 419
Concent, to harmonize, 236
Concert, harmony, 224, 598
Concrew, to grow together, 267
Cond, learnt, 449,475
Condign, worthy, 424
Conditions, qualities, 206, 270, 597
Conduct, conductor, guide, 415 ; management, 89
Confusion, destruction, 460
Conge, leave, 155, 523
Conjure, to conspire, 346
Conne, to know, 464
Consort, company, companion, 428 ; concert, 160,
566 ; to combine, unite (in harmony), 152
Constraint, distress, uneasiness, 87
Containe, to restrain, control, 206, 354, 386
Conteck, dispute, 460
Contempt, contemned, 480
Contrive, to wear out, spend, 130
Controverse, debate, controversy, 252
Convenable, conformable, 474
Convent, to convene, summon, 431
Convert, to turn, 341
Convince, to conquer, overthrow, 165
Coosen, kindred, 170
Coosinage, fraud, 521
Cope, to chop, bargain with, 517
Copesmate, a companion, 521
Coportion, an equal portion, 371
Corage, heart, mind, 164 ; wrath, 214
Corbe, crooked, 448
Corbe, corbel, a projecting piece of wood, stone, or
iron, placed so as to support a weight of ma-
terial, 279
Cordewayne, cordwayne, cordovan leather, 94, 639
Coronall, a wreath, garland, 187
Coronation, carnation, 456
Corpse, a (living) body, 697. Corse, a body, 14, 20
bulk, frame, 27
Corsive, corrosive, 276
Cosset, a hand-reared lamb, 480
Cost, to approach, come to one's side, 543
Cote, sheep-fold. 467
Cott, a little boat, 107
Couched, bent, 156 ; laid (in order), 69
Could, knew, 385
Count, an object of interest or account, 345
Cnuntenaunce, to make a show of, 88
Counter, encounter, 499
Countercatt, counterplot, 373
Counterchaunge, return of a How, 207
Counterfesaunce, a counterfeiting, 54, 201
Counterpoys, to counterbalance, 303
Countervayle, to oppose, resist, 109
Coupe, a cage, coop, 477
Couplement, couple, 247
Coure, to cover, protect, 120
Courst, chaccd, 315
( 'out-ting, attendance at court, 520
Couth, could, 118 ; knew, knew how, 450, 464
7i6
GLOSSARY.
Covert, concealed, 79
Coverture, covering, shelter, 466
Covetise, covetize, covetousness, 30, 176
Cowardree, cowardice, 522
Cracknell, a, thin hard-baked biscuit, 447
Crtesie, cracked, 553
Crag, cragge, neck, 449, 473
Craggy, knotty, 265
Crake, to boast, 307 ; boast, boasting, 140, 434
Crank, a winding, 435
Crank, vigorously, 473
Grapples, grapples, claws, 336
Crated helth, impaired health, 208
Cratch, rack, crib, 601
Creakie, indented with creaks, 539
Creastea, crested, tufted, 231
Creete, cattle, live stock, 652
Cremosin, cremsin, crimson, 140, 449, 456
Cretee (priestes crewe)=creic<-t, cruise, vessel, 450
Crime, accusation, reproach, fault, 153, 449
Crisped, curly (hair), 94
Crooke (cross), gibbet, 318
Croslet, a little cross, 42
Cros-cut, to pierce or cut across, 217
Croud, a fiddle, 588
Cruddle, to curdle, 448. Cruddy, curdled, 44, 178
Crumenall, purse, 474
Cud, not the thing chewed, bnt the stomach where
the food is received before rumination, 505
Cuffing (or cuffling), striking, 25i)
Culler, a ploughshare, 5G4
Culver, dove, 115, 500
Cnlvering, culverin, a sort of cannon, 347
Cumbrous, troublesome, 14
Curats, curiets, cuirasses, 318, 382
Curelesse, hard to be cured, incurable, 217, 386,
471
Curtaxe, cutlass, 240
Cut, fashion, 514
Dcedale, skilful, 155 ; fertile. 283
Daint, daynt, dainty, 60, 155, 234 (superl. dayntest,
149). Dainty, rare, valuable, 20
Dallie, to trifle, 233. Dalliaunce, idle talk, trifling,
90
Dame, lady, 108
Damnify, to injure, damage, 73, 110
Damozel, damsel, 82
Danisk, Danish, 282
Dapper, neat, pretty, 477
Darrayne, to prepare, get ready, for battle, 31, 44,
157
Darred, dazzled, frightened (' a darred lark ' is
generally explained as a lark caught (? frightened)
by means of a looking-glass). 428
Dayetman, a judge, arbitrator, 122
Daze, to dazzle, dim, 13, 51, 573 ; to confound, 194
Dead-doing, death-dealing, 92
Deaded, deadened, 293
Dealth, bestows, 230
Deare, valuable, precious, 177
Deare, hurt, injury, 48 ; sore, sad, 143 ; sorely, 106
Dearling, darling, 273
Dearnelie, sorrowfully, mournfully (literally secretly,
hence lonely, sadly, &c.), 544
Deatc, to bedew, 87, 356
Debate, to contend, strive, 207, 380 ; battle, strife,
125, 397, Debasement, debate, 110
Debonaire, gracious, courteous, 20, 158, 182
Decay, to destroy, perish, relax, 124, 144, 363 ; de
strnction, ruin, death, 22, 43, 198, 223, 400
Deceased, taken by deceit, 309
Deceipt, deceit, 444
Decesse, decease, 344
Decreed, determined on, 258
Decrewed, decreased. 259
Deeme (pret. dempst), to judge, deem, 121 , 200, 220,
253, 471, 'deeme his pay ne'= adjudge his punish-
ment, 292
Deering-dooers, doers of daring deeds, 239
Deface, to defeat, 121
Defame, disgrace, dishonour, 310. 158, 299, 383
Defaste, defaced, destroyed, 98, 122, 165
Defeasaunce, defeat. 75
Defeature, defeat, 259
Defend, to keep or ward off. 151, 245
Deffly, deftly, gracefully, 455
Define, to settle, decide, 242
De/orme, shapeless, deformed. 147
Defray, to avert (by a proper settlement), 37 ;
appease, 255
Degendered, degenerated, 295
Delay, to temper, stop, remove, 100, 128, 228
Delice (Deluce), flower de-lice (=flos deliciarum),
the iris, 456
Delicts, delights, 105, 279, 310. Delightsome, delight-
ful
Dell, hole, 452
Delve, dell, hole, cave, 112, 119, 169, 232
Demayne, demeane, demeasnure. demeanour, bear-
ing, treatment, 121, 129, 208, 388. Demeand,
treated, 556
Demisse, submissive, 600
Dempt. See Deeme
Denay, to deny, 299. 210, 294, 413
Dent, dint, blo\v, 259
Deow, dew, 561
Depainted, depicted, 103
Depart, to divide, separate, remove, 133, 176 ; de-
parture, 195
Depeinct, d^peincten, to paint, 455
Depend, to hang down, 145, 446
Deprave, to defame, 330
Dernful, mournfnl, 564. See Dearnelie
Dernly, secretly, 227 ; grievously, severely, 157
Der-doing= performance of daring deeds, 113
Derring-doe, daring deeds, warlike deeds, 101, 383
477
Derlh, scarcity, 20
Deryve, to draw away, transfer, 23
Descrie, descry, to perceive, discover, M, 100, 233
reveal, 392
Descrive, to describe, 94, 420
Define, to denote, 245
Despairefull drift, hopeless cause, 146
Desperate, despairing, 244
Despight, anger, malice, 17, 81, 162 ; a scornfi
defiance, 309
Despightful, despiteous, malicious, 81, 118
Despoyl, to unrobe, undress, 145
Desse, dais, 284
Detynde, directed, 263
Delaine, detention, 324
Devicefull, full of devices (as masques, trium
&c.), 306
Devise, devize, to guess at. 129 ; purpose, 405 ;
GLOSSARY.
717
describe, talk, 160, 268. 405, 447. Devized, paint-
ed, 83. Devized of, reflected on, 380
Devoyr, duty, 475
DM, due, 125, 318. Deicfull, due, 427
Dewelap, palear, 449
Diapase, diapason, 127
JHti/iivd, variegated, 588
D([t', rence, choice, 154
Diffused, scattered, 352
Dight, to order, to arrange, prepare, dress, deck,
28, 82, 159, 273 ; mark, 150
Dilate, to spread abroad, enlarge upon, 150, 175
Dinting, striking, 410
Dint, scar, dent, 11 ; ' dolors dint '= pang of grief,
481
Diriges, dirges, 517
Dirk, to darken, 449 ; darkly, 474
Disaray, disorder, 97
Disaccord, to withhold consent, 372
Disadeaunce, to lower, to draw back, 242, 248
Disaventrous, unfortunate, unsuccessful, unhappy,
48, 273, 291, 353. Disaventure, mishap, misfor-
tune, 59, 373
Disburden, to unburden, 107
Discharge, to acquit oneself of, account for, 425
Discide, to cut in two. 232
Disciple, to discipline, 229
Disclaim, to expel, 213
Disclose (pret. discloste), to unfold, transform, 76,
. 1 76 ; set free, disengage. 254
Discolourd, many-coloured, 30, 213, 223
Discomfited, disconcerted, 160
Discommend, to speak disparagingly of, 322
Discounsell, to dissuade, 148
Discoure, discure, to discover, 129, 165
Discourse, shifting, 398
Discourteise, discourteous, 161
Discreet, differing, 152
Di.icu.it, thrown or shook of, 160
Disease, to distress, 87, 89 ; uneasiness, 184, 385,
404. Diseased, ill at ease, afflicted, 375
Disentrayle, to draw forth, to cause to flow, 244,
259, 339
Disgrace, deformity, 357
Disguizement, disguise, 255
Dishable, to disparage, 104
Disleall (disloyal), perfidious, 102, 235
Distiteful, disagreeable, 278
Disloignd, separated, 281
Dismall, fatal, 114
Dismay, to subdue, defeat, grieve, disquiet, K>8,
177, 233, 234 ; defeat, ruin, 805, 408. Dismayfa/l,
terrifying, 350
Dismautl = mismade, deformed, .41
Dismayl, to take off a coat of mail, 109
Dispacing, pacing, roaming, 5:34
Dispaiifiil, despairing. See Despaire/ull
Disparage, disparagement, 273
Dispart, to divide. 274
Dispence, to pay for, 25 ; expense, 128; abundance,
tea
Di.tpiteou.t, cruel, 19
Display, to spread out, 168 ; discover, 153
Disple, to discipline, 63
Dixpleasance, dispfeafaiince, displeasure, 134, 258
Disport, play, sport, 160
Disprad, dispred, spread abroad, 91, 266, 358
Dispraise, to disparage, 399
Dispre<lden (pi.), spread out, 29
Disprofesse, to abandon, 220
Dispureayaunce, want of provisions, 212
Disseise, disseize, to dispossess, 70, 434
Disshivered, shivered to pieces, 232
Dissolute, weak, 201
Distayne, to defile, 205
Distent, beaten out, 112
Dis/hroniie, to dethrone, 136
Distinct, marked, 374
Distraine, to rend, 153
Distraught, distracted, 246, 495 ; drawn apart, se-
parated, 266
Distroubled, greatly troubled, 176
Dite, dighte, to make ready, 81
Ditt, ditty, song, 107
Diverse, distracting, diverting, 16, 87
Dicerst, diverged, turned off, 175
Divide, to play a florid passage in music (Kitchin), 34
Divinde, deified, 645
Divorced, separated by force, 22
Doale=dole. destruction, 314
Documents, instructions, 62
Doe, to cause, 45
Doffe, to put off, 175, 208, 405
Dole, doole, sorrow, grief. 147, 213, 262, 268, 471,
549. Doolefull. sorrowful. 109
Dolor (dolour), grief, 164, 268
Dome, doome, doom, judgment, censure, 59, 251,
281, 289
Don, to put on, 192, 399
Done, donne, to do, 158, 195, 410 , ' of well to donne'
=of well-doing, 63 : DOEN, to cause, 93 ; DOES
(pi.), they do, 448
Donne, dun, 461
Doomefull, threatening doom, 425
nortours, sleeping apartments, 420
Doted, foolish, 82
Doubt, fear (also to fear), 183, 348, 349, 369, 379 ; a
matter of doubt. 352. Doubtful, fearful, 39, 112, 158
Douoled, redoubted, 477
Drad, dred, dread, dreaded, feared, 84, 101, 226,
227, 240, 346, 428 ; an object of reverence, 11,
269. DREDDKST, most dread, 239
Draft, drift, aim. purpose, 152, 236
Drapet, cloth, 128
Draught (=draft), stratagem, aim, 136, 265
Drare, drove, 606
Dread, fury, 103. Dreadful, fearful, 159
Dreare, Drere (Dreiiment), grief, sorrow, dreadful
force, 22, 50, 53, 149, 178, 347, 256, 272. Drerihed,
drearyhood, dryrihed, dreariness, affliction, 157,
162, 166, 228, 685
Drent, drowned, 118, 145
Dresse, to dispose, adorn, 220, 28-1, 4GO
Drevill, a slave. •_'::(;
Droome, a drum, 59
Droupe, to droop, 134
Droutit-hfd, drowsiness, 18
Drouth, drought, 118
Drover, a boat. 282
l>royle, to work slnggislily, 614
f)rugs, dregs, 85
Dumpish, heavy. '_':;<;
Ditraunce, bondage, 186
Durefull, enduring, L'S:(
Duresse, confinement, 269, 292
Dye, lot, destiny, 211
7i8
GLOSSARY.
Earne, to yearn, 12, 41, 293,452 ; to be grieved, 213
Earst, erst, first, soonest, previously, 51, 70, 83,165,
477 ; at earst, at length, 295 ; at present, 485
Easterlings, men of the East (Norwegians, Danes,
&c.), 138
Hath, elhe, easy, 95, 290, 535
Edge, to sharpen, 237
Edifye, to build, inhabit, 15, 157, 495
Eeke, eke, to increase, 37, 166, 199, 241 ; also, 459
Effierced, made fierce, inflamed, 220
Efforce, to oppose, 164
Efforced, efforst, forced, constrained, compelled (to
yield), 119, 228
Effraid, scared, 13
Eft, afterwards, again, forthwith, moreover, 82,
98, 123, 243, 402
Eftsoones, soon after, forthwith, 13, 159
Eide, seen, 248
Eine, eyes, 568
Eld, age, old age, 61, 93, 239, 288
Elfe, fairy, 112
Els (elles), else, elsewhere, otherwise, 37, 122, 189
Embace. erribase, to bring or cast down, humiliate,
195, 361, 388, 574. JSmbaste, debased, dishonoured,
157, 209
Embar, to guard, confine, 21, 48, 219
Embassade, ambassador, 598
Embassage, embassy, message, 208
EmbaUeil, to arm for battle, 102
Embaultn, to anoint, 206
Embay, to bathe, 56, 63, 84, 124, 151 ; bask, 534
Embayl, to bind up, 94
Embellisht, adorned (with flowers), 449
Embosome, to foster, 99
Emboss, to overwhelm, press hard, 57, 158, 225 ; to
surround, enclose, 25, 70, 381
Embosse, to adorn, ornament, array, 158, 162, 248
Embow, to arch over, to curve, bend, 56, 537
Emboieell, to take out the bowels, 196
Embower, to take shelter, 507
Emboyl, to boil (with anger), 97. Emboyled, heated,
71
Embrace, to brace, to fasten, or bind, 361 ; to pro-
tect, 203
Embracement, an embrace, 98, 201
Embrave, to decorate, 86, 481
Embreade, embroder, to embroider, 189, 225
Embrewe, to stain with blood, 189, 400
Embusied, occupied, 265
Erne, uncle, 136
Emeraud, emerald, 150
Emmove, to move, 85, 117
Emong, among, 146. Emongest, amongst, 159, 173
Empale, to enclose, fringe, .r>35
Empare, empair, to diminish, impair, hurt, 67,
134,311,352
Emparlaunce, treaty, 277, 316
Impart, assign, 261
impassioned, empassionate, moved or touched with
passion, feeling. 22, 210, 219, 342, 536
Empeach, to hinder, prevent, 53, 174, 219; hin-
drance, 113 ; disfigurement, 151
Empeopled, dwelt, 66
Emperce, empierce, to pierce through (pret. em-
perst, empierst), 86, 124, 184, 210
Emperill, to endanger, 248
Emperish, to perish, decay, 448
Empight, fixed, settled, 101 184, 242, 420
Emplonged, plunged, 213
Empoysoned, poisoned, 187, 189
Emprise, emprize, enterprise, attempt, 98, 11G, "07
310
Empurpled, purple-dyed, 150, 195, 227
Enaunter, lest, 450, 459
Enbosome, to fix firmly, 148
Enchace, enchase, to adorn, embellish, 76, 127, 280
518; to honour with befitting terms, 253; en
grave, 380 ; dart, 347
Encheason, reason, cause, occasion, 83, 460
Encomberment, hindrance, 400
Encroche, to come on, 450
Endamage, to damage, do harm, 422
Endangerment, danger, 302
Endevourment, endeavour, labour, 515
Endew, to endow, 32
Endite, to censure, 422
Endlong, from end to end, continuously, 211, 213
Endosse, write on the back, endorse, 353, 555
Endure, to harden, 270
Ene, once, 485
Enfelon'd, made fell or fierce, 337
Enfested. See Infest
Enfierce, to make fierce, 97
Enforme, to fashion, 386
Enfouldred, hurled out like thunder and lightning,
72
Engin, wiles, deceit, contrivance, 99, 161, 212
Engirt, surrounded, 602
Englut, to glut, fill, 89
Engore, to gore, wound, 159, 185, 277, 392
Engorge, to devour, glut, 145
Engraffed, engraft, implanted, fixed, 164, 236
Engrained, dyed, 449
Engrasp, to grasp, 104
Engrave, to bury, 64, 86, 104 ; to cut, pierce, 197
Engreeve, engriece, to grieve, to be vexed, 99, 161, 190
Engrosse, to buy up in large quantities, to regrate,
681 ; to write a large letter, 555
Engroste, made thick, 111, 176, 681
Enhaunse, to lift up, raise, 13, 109, 260
Enlargen, enlarge, to set at large, deliver, 53, 104,
274
Enlumine, to illumine, 296
Enmove, to move. See Emmove
Enrace, to implant, 187, 409
Enragement, rapture, 602
Enraunge, to range, 367
Enraunged, ranged in order, 191, 603
Enrold, encircled, 91, 147
Enseames, encloses, 289
Ensew, ensue, to follow after, pursue, 151, 160, 218'.
Ensuing, following, 275
Ensnarle, to ensnare, entangle, 338
Entayle, to carve, inlay, 94, 109, 112 ; (sb.) carving,
112
Enterdeale, negotiation, 334, 520
Enterpris, to undertake, 82
Enterprize, to entertain, 88 ; take in hand, 294
Entertain, take, receive (pay), 126, 370. Enler-
tayne, entertainment, hospitality, 90, 341, 523
Entertake, to entertain, 341
Entire, inward, internal, 160, 167, 195, 270 En-
tyrely, earnestly, 71, 393 ; entirely, 120
Entraile, etitrayl, to twist, entwine, interlace, 94,
192, 222, 246, 470
Entraile, twisting, entanglement, 13
GLOSSARY.
719
Enlra.il, the lowest part, depth (bowels), 147
Entreat, to treat of, treat, 213, 280, 296, 365
Enure, to use, practise, 238. Snared, accustomed,
397 ; committed habitually, 341
Vnvy, to be angry, indignant, 251 ; to emulate,
157
Znieallowe, roll about, 178, 349
Ziiteombed, pregnant, 85
rap, to wrap up, 70
•'quail, impartial, 427
Equipage, array, equipment, 68 ; to array, equip,
127
Zrtnelin, an ermine, 165
Vrmine, skin of the ermine, 161
trite, to yearn, 96
Zrranl, wandering, 201
Vrrour, wandering, 182, 210
Vrst, 477. See Earst
VSC/KW, escape, 401
Vsloyne, to withdraw, 29
Vspiall, sight, appearance, observation, 280, 312
Vssoyne, to excuse, 29
Estate, state, rank, 369
Eterne, eternal, ll»3. Eternize, to make eternal, 66,
603
Eternize, to immortalize, 503
Vthe, easy, 467
Bugh, yew, 12. Eughen, ewgJien, of yew, 70, 519
Erangely, gospel, 137
Vvill, poor, unskilful, 416
Exanimate, lifeless, 146
Vxcheat, gain, profit, escheat, 35, 202
Expert, to experience, 482
Expire, breathe out, 72 ; to fulfil a term, put an
end to, 44, 235
Express, to press out, 144
Extasie, surprise, 425
Extent, stretched out, 118
Extirpt, to root out, 63
Extort, extorted, 300
Extract, descended, 210
Extreate, extraction, 343
Exuls, exiles, 558
Ewftf, efts, 345
Eyas, newly- fledged young, 71, 599
Eyne, eyes, 29, 194
Face, to carrv a false appearance, 338
Fact, feat, deed, 210
Fail,/ayl, to deceive, 222, 293 ; to cause to fail, lf>3
Fain, fayne, glad, eager, 12, 261, 878; faynd, de-
sired, 208 ; faynet, delights. 358
Fain, fayne, to feign, dissemble, 34, 93; to mis-
take, 264; imagine, 420; 'fained dreadful ^ap-
parently dreadful, 228
Faitour, faytour, cheat, deceiver, vagabond, villain,
32, 204, 868, 459
Fallen, befall, 459
Falsed, falsified, deceived, 20, 160 ; insecure, weak,
73. Falnfs, falsehoods, 305. Falser, a liar, 461
Faltnng, faltering, 219
Fantasy, fantazy, fancy, 149 ; apprehension, 403
Fmv, to go, proceed, act, deal, 80, 87, 261, 277
Farforth, very far, 211
Paste, having a face, 141
Fastnesse, stronghold, 345
Fate, destined term of life, 200. Fatal, ordained by
fatea68v210
Fault, to offend, be in error, 140, 444
Favour, feature, 331
Favourlesse, not showing favour, 126
Fay, a fairy, 241 ; faith, 334, 474
Fear,feare, companion, 399 ; to/tare, together, 138
Fear,fearen, to frighten, 147, 176 ; ' feared of,'
alarmed by, 401
Fearfull, timid, 421
Feastfull, festival, 409
Feateously, neatly, 606
Feature, fashion, form, character, 54, 240
Fee, tenure, 88 ; pay, service, 409, 553 ; property,
233, 276
Feeble, enfeebled, 51. Feblesse, feebleness, 271
Feeld (golden), an emblazoned field (of a knight's
shield), 433
Feend, fiend, devil, 70
Feld, let fall, thrown down, 109, 233
Fell, befell, 249 ; gall, 218
Fell, fierce, cruel, 172, 220, 337. Felly, cruelly, 36,
142, 242, 417. Fellonest, most fell, 239. Fellon-
ous, wicked, fell, 162. Felnette, cruelty, fierce-
ness, 123, 270, 276
Feminitee, womanhood, 193
Feood, feud, enmity, 232
Fentible, fit for defence, defensible, 127, 212
Fere, companion, husband, 60, 247, 308, 418
Ferme, lodging, 184
Ferry, a ferry boat, 108
Fell, to fetch, 131 ; fetched (rescued), 307
Flew '-de-luce, the iris. See Delict
Feutre, fewtre, to place the spear in the rest, to
prepare for battle, 252, 258
Fiaunt, commission, fiat, 523
File, to defile, 162, 266
File, to polish, smoothe, 15, 556
Fine, end, 151. 245
Firm, to fix firmly, 112
Fit, to be fitting, 87 ; 'Of loves were JUted'=vten
suited, furnished with lovers, 231
Fit,fitt, emotion, passion, grief, 229, 260, 314, 3fiO ;
a musical strain, 68
Flaggy, loose, 69, 178
Flatt, plain, 474
Flake, a flash, 163
Flamed, inflamed, 107
Flasket, a basket, 606
Flailing, . flatwise, vfith the flat side (of the sword), 318
Flaw, a gust of wind,
Fleare, to mock, 519
Fleet, to sail, float, 146, 278, 552 ; to flit, 206
Flex, flax, 160
Flit, fleet, swift, 100, 222; changing, 161 ; unsub-
stantial, light, 217
Flit, flitte, to move, change, flee, 19, 222. Flitting,
fleeting, 70 ; yielding, 119, 161
Flong, tiutii.'. 603
Ftore, ground, spot, 143. 370
Flout, to mock, deride, 897, 428
Flowrets, little flowers, 450
Flushing, rapidly flowing, 260
Fodder, grass, 222
Foen, foes, 93
Foile, a leaf (of metal), 27
Poison, abundance-, plenty, 664
Foltmote, a meeting, assembly, 247
Fan, a fool, 449, 456, 552. Fonlii, foolishly, 459
Fond, foolish, doting, 68. 1(17 ; fondlino 'fool, 390.
7-TiO
GLOSSARY.
Fondly, foolishly, 313, 628. Fondness, folly, 459,
578
Fond, found, 151 ; tried, 196
Fone, foes, 20, 172, 358
Food feud, 50, 80
Fool/iappie, undesigned, 38
Foolhardise, foolhardiness, folly, 88, 528
For, notwithstanding, 177 ; for fear of ; what for=
what sort of ? 454
Fordo, to destroy, 355. Fordonne, utterly undone,
ruined, overcome, 37, 172, 250, 277
Foreby, forby, hard by, near, 42, 43, 183 ; with, 349 ;
past, 157 "
Forecast, previously determined, 227
Foredamned, utterly damned, 217
Forelay, to lay before, or over, 94
Forelent, given up entirely, 242
Forelifting, lifting up in front, 69
Forepast, gone by, 232
Fore-red, foretold, 532
Foreshewed, previously instructed, 434
Foreside, the side to the fore, external covering,
310
Forespent, forspent, utterly wasted, 256
Forestall, to take previous possession of, to hinder,
obstruct, 126,461, 611
Foretaught, previously taught, 45
Forewent, gone before, 467
Forged, false, 21
Forgery, fiction, deceit, 161 ; a counterfeit or as-
sumed character, 310
Forgive, to give up, 404
Forhaile, to overtake, 475
Forhent, overtaken, 180
Forlent, gave up, 180
Forlore, forlorn, utterly lost, abandoned, 45, 53, 94,
150, 173, 178, 187 ; forlore (pret.), decerted, 211 ;
lost (to sense of propriety), 354
Formally, expressly, 153
Formerlie, beforehand, 365
For pas, to pass over, 517
Forpassed, past by or through, 213, 310
Forpined, pined away, 217
Forray, to ravage, prey on, 416 ; a raid, 174 •
Forsake, to avoid, 70 ; renounce, 108
Forsay, forsake, 459
Forsayd, denied residence, banished, 467
Forslacke, forsloe, forslote, to delay, waste in sloth,
280, 355 ; neglect, omit, 425 ; impede, 465
Forstall, forstallen, to prevent, 475. See Forestall
Forsteat, spent with heat, 455
Forswonck, tired with over work, 456
Forthink, to repent, be sorry for, 380 ; to give up,
292
Forthright, straightway, 115
Forth y, therefore, because, 130, 452
Fortilage, a little fortress, 149, 681
Fortune, to happen, 165, 183, 392
Fortunize, to make happy, 405
Fortuneless, unfortunate, 270
Forwandre, to stray away, 42, 220
Forwasted, utterly wasted, 68, 136
Forwearie (forwearied), utterly wearie, worn out,
15, 56, 72
Forwent, left, 183, 258 ; did forgo, 561
Forworne, much worne, 42
Foster, forester, 157
Fouldring, thundering, 88
Found, established, 136
Foundring, toppling, falling, 250
Foy, allegiance, faith, 135
Foi/le, repulse, defeat, 93; to defeat, ruin, over-
throw, 136, 351
F.iyne, to thrust, push, 103, 124, 244, 317
Foyson, abundance, 564
Fraight, fraught, 473
Frame, to make, form, support, prepare, direct, 20
52, 56, 157, 158, 159 ; to put in shape for motion
385
Franchisement, deliverance, 351
Franck, free, forward, 90
Francklin, freeman, freeholder, 61
Franion, a loose woman, 90, 308
Fray, to frighten, terrify, alarm, 15, 17, 24, 75, 124
149, 170 ; affray, 234
Frenne, a stranger, 455
Fret, ornamental border, 288. Fretted, ornamented
with fret- work, 129, 174
Frett, to consume, 90
Friend, to befriend, 236, 285
Frigot, a little boat, 107
Friskes, gambols, 283
Frize, to freeze, 410
Fro, from, 114, 405
Frolicke, 'fained her to frolicke'= desired her to to
cheerful, 372
Fronts, foreheads. 19
Frorne, frozen, 450
Frory, frosty, frozen, 203, 204
Frounce, to fold, plait, 28
Fromara = from ward, at a distance from, 409
Frame, musty, 467
Fruict, fruit, 449
Fry, Swarms (of young children), 74
Fry, to foam, 149
Fulmined, fulminated. 163
Fume, to pass away like smoke, 556
Funeral!, death, 104
Fumiment, furnishing, 245
Furniture, gear, equipment, 157
Fylde, felt, 420
Fyle, to polish, 164
Fyled, kept in files, registered, 394
Gage, pledge, 31, 72, 93
Gain, against (as in grainstrive, 264), 98
Gainsay, denial, 1C4
Galage (galoche), a wooden shoe, 450
Galingale, sweet cyperus, 534
Gail, bile, 13
Gallimaiifray, hotch-potch, 442
Gamesome, pleasant, 428
Gan (can) began, did, 18, 48, 110, 120
Gang, to go, 452, 474
Gard, safeguard, protection, 165
Garran, a kind of horse, 681
Garre, to cause, make, 104, 455
Gasping, gaping, 454
Gastfull, fearful, dreary, 471
Gate, a goat, 460
Gate, way, procession, 147, 178
Gaudy green, a robe of a light green, 4f>S
Gazement, gaze, 307
Gealosy, gelosy, jealousy, 78, 100
Geare, gere, gear, dress, equipment, 99, 305, 398
421 ; matter, affair, 372
GLOSSARY.
tifare, to jeer, scoff, 108
Geason, rare, uncommon, 381, 512, 536
Gelly, clotted, 179
Gelt, gold, 448 ; bribed with gold, 186
Gelt. This word has been variously explained — by
some as a gelding, by others as a guilty person.
Professor Child explains it as a wild Irishman,
Celt, 264
Gelt, castrated, 428
Gent, gentle, kind, accomplished, 55, 57, 83, 160
Gere. See Geare
German, brother. 33, 34, 124
Gerne, to grin, 356
Gesse, to deem, think, guess, 39, 230
Gest, deed of arms, 06, 124, 378 ; gesture, deport-
ment, bearing, 128, 165, 201
Ghastly, terrible, 162, 16C. Ghasllinesse, terrible-
ness, !»0
Ghess, to guess, deem, 39
Ghost, spirit, soul, 46
Giambeux, leggings, greaves, 109
Gin, engine (of torture), 36 ; plot, contrivance,
snare, 93, 194
Gin, ginne, to begin, 13, 40, 70, 205
Gipsen, a gipsy, 51U
Gi'tst, tournaments, tilts, 11, 477,; to jonst, tilt,
230
Glade, valley, dale, 159
Glade, to gladden, 411
Glaive, glate, glayve, a sword, 265, 281, 353
Glee, pleasure ? fee property, 58
llenne, country, hamlet, 455
/lib, a thick bush of hair overhanging the eyes,
269, 630
Him*, glimpse, indistinct light, 401, 604
ilinne, glen, 615
Jlitterand, glittering, 141, 468
Glister, to glitter, shine, 13, 160, 223
llode, glided, 249
wlory, vainglory, boasting, 92
Glazing, deceitful, 201
[Slutted, filled, 474
r{narre, growl, snarl, 36
'lobbelme, goblin, 139
lobbet, morsel, piece, 13, 69
Godded, deified, 557
!oe, gone, 467
jondetay, gondola, 106
Soodlihtd, goodlihead, goodness, 95, 369, 450 ;
goodly appearance, 167
looldet, marigolds, 552
Gore, to pierce, wound, 162
Gore-blood, clotted blood, 84
large, throat, 13, 69, 242
lorget, armour for the throat, 242
GoilMicke, a large kind of hawk, 315
ronsib, kinsman, 75
Oourmnntlite, greediness, 410
Gorernall, government, 150
Jovernaunce, government, 83,
locernment, control, 254
Grate, favour, kindness, 118 ; to give favour to, 67
Iraffed, grafted, 450
Graile, gravel, 44
Graine, dye (scarlet), 43
Grammercy, many thanks,117
Grange, dwelling, place, 431
Graple, to tug, 2M)
Graplement, grasp, clutch, 142
Graste, graced, favoured, 419
Grate, to scorn, 86
Grayle, gravel, 339, 540
Grayle, the holy vessel said to have been used at
Our Saviour's Last Supper, 137
Greave, grove, 216, 370
Gree, degree, rank, 468 (st. 15)
Gree, favour, goodwill, 34, 92
Greete, to congratulate, praise, 307, 349 ; mournful,
470 ; to assign with praise (st. 14), 307 ; to weep,
454
Gren, to grin, snarl, 265, 420
Grenning, grinning, 39
Gride, pierce, 507
Grief ull, grievous, 231 , 400
Griesit, thick, slnggish, 108 ; gray, 58
Grieslie, grisely, horrible, 36, 145, 157
Grieved, hurt, 49
Grimnes, severity, savageness (Embl.), 451
Grin, to guash the teeth, 314
Gripe, to grasp, 70, 350
Griple, gripe, grasp; grasping, greedy, 30, 301, 377
Gronefull, full of groans, 144
Groome, man, a young man, a servant, 297, 376
G raise, heavy, 70 ; the whole, 474
Groundhold. ground-tackle (as cables, anchors), 37?
Groveling, with face flat to the ground, 84, 159, 184
Groynd, growled, 420
Grudge, grutch, to murmur, growl, 19, 84, 90, 167
Gryde, cut, pierce through, 123, 162, '209
Gryesy, grysie, squalid. 141, 226 ; foggy, moist, 162
Gryfon, gryphon, griffin (a fabulous animal), per-
haps used for vulture, eagle, 33
Grypt, 'through grypt' = throuyh-gyrd, pierced
through, 374
Guarish, to heal, 186, 244
Guerdon, reward, 66, 243
Guilen, to beguile, 206
Guiler, guyler, deceiver, 215
Guilt, guilded, 432
Quize, manner, mode (of life), custom, 349, 366
Gulfe, throat, 474
Gulphing, flowing (like a gulf), 510
Gust, taste, 433
Gybe, gibe (Embl.), 452
Gyeld, guild, courthouse, 116
Gynst, beginnest. 477
Gyre, circle, course, 102, 158
Gyvd, fettered, 314
Habergeon, haberjeon, a small coat of mail, armour
for the neck and breast, 109, 174
/{abiliment, clothing, 74, 82
Habitaunce, habitation, 111.
liable, able, fit, 66, 70
Hacqueton, a jacket worn under armour, 123
Iluijard, wild, untamed. 70 i
llailt, hayl, to drug, haul, 97, 98, 203
Hale, health, welfare, 560
Halfendtale, half part, 21 1
Ifal/en-eye=\\tdt ordinary sight, i.e. one eye. 212
Hallidome, 'by my halidom'=by my faith as a
Christian, 617
•Han (pi.), have, 452, 478
Hand, 'out of hand ' = at once, 182, 314; 'nigh
Amid '= near, 401
Handsell, price, reward, 413
3 A.
722
GLOSSARY.
Hansomty, neatly, 513
Hap, to happen, fortune, lot, 101, 380
Happily, haply, by chance, 79
Happy, successful, 156
Harborough, harbrough, shelter, 464
Hard, heard, 165
Hardiment, hardihood, boldness, 56, 82, 156, 133,
211
Hardnesse, rudeness, 274
Hardyhed, hardihood, 31,440
Ifarnesse, weapons, 314
Harrow, an exclamation of distress, a call for
help, 124
Harten, to encourage, incite, 529 ; hartned, encou-
raged, 278
Harttesse, timid, 87
Haske, a wicker basket for fish, 420
Haubergh, hauberk, hauberque, hawberk, a coat of
mail, 177, 223, 277
Haught, high, august, 41
Hault, haughty, 368
IJaulst, embraced, 246
Haunten, to frequent, 467
Haveour, haviour, deportment, behaviour, 193, 224.
455
HayU, to drag, 302, 362
Hazardiie, danger, 147
Hazardry, hazard, risk, 103 ; gaming, 161
Headlesse-liood, heedlessehood, heedlessness, 449
Heame, home, 481
Heard, herd, 448 ; a keeper of cattle, 403. Heard
groomet, herdsmen, 448
Heart, hair, 21, 126. Heat-it, hairy, 157
Heaft, hest, command, behest, 45, 245, 318 ; name,
290 ; office (of one who had taken vows), 420
Hfben, ebony, 117 ; of ebony wood, 11
Ifedstall, that part of the bridle which is put on
the horse's head, 309
Heedinesse, needfulness, 326
Heedy, wary, 474
Heeling, heel, 514
Hefte, raised, 72 ; threw, 242
Hell, to cover, 282
Helme, helmet, 237
Hem, them, 459
Hend, to seize, grasp, 350
Henge, hinge, 70
Hent, took, seized, 111, 141
Her, their, 460
Iferbars, herbs, 130
Hernethaw, heron, 392
Htvry, hery, to praise, worship, honour, 146,160,
448, 478
Hertall, rehearsall, 219
Herse, ceremonial, 168
Hfther, hither, 401, 455
Hew, shape, form, 16
Heir, hacking, 401
Heydeguyes, dances, 464
Hide, hastened. See If ye
Hidder (if not an error for hider= hither) = he-
deer ; animals of the male kind, 474
Hie, to hasten, 286
Hight, called, named, 58, 158 ; entrusted, 28 ; di-
rected, 348 ; pronounce worthy, hence deter-
mine, choose, 394 ; appointed, 264 ; purports, 474
Hight, ' on hight '—aloud, 388
mid, held, 287
Hippodames, sea-horses, 130, 222
Hoary frost, hoarfrost, 446
Hole, whole, 186
Holpen (pp.) helped, 399
Hond, hand, 225
Hong, hung, 189, 190
Honycrock, pot of honey, 303
Hood, state, manner, 329
Hooved, hovered, abode, 556
Hopelesse, unexpected, 185
Hore, hoary; 23
Horrid, rough, 47
Hospitage, hospitality, 212
Hospitale, a place of rest, 126
Hoste, to entertain, lodge, 270, 402, 506
Hostlesse, inhospitable, 218
Hostry, lodging, 345
Hot, hole, was called, 71, 251, 475 ; mentioned, 467
Houtling, sacramental, 77
Hove, rise, float, 21, 196 ; hover, 213
Howe, time, 95; ' good houre '=good fortune
406
Hoicres, devotional exercises, 385
Hoye, vessel, ship, 138
Hububs, shouts, din, 216
Hugger mugger, in secret, secretly, 514
Hunibleste, humility, humbleness, 19, 25, 74
Hurlyburly, noise of battle, 309
Hurtle, to rnsh, dash, hurl, attack, 29, 31, 51
brandish, 116 ; crowd, 250
Hurtlesse, innocent, 41
Husband, farmer, 244
Hyacine, hyacinth, 150
Hye, to hasten, 91,383 ; on hye, hastily, 606
Hylding, base, vile, 384
Hynde, a servant, 397
Idle, causeless, 193
Idole, image, 91, 254
m-fasle, having an ill-look, 149. ni-hedded, di
turbed in the head, 230
Imbrast, embraced, 274
Immeasured, unmeasured, 147
Imp, child, scion, shoot, 11, 187, 286, 349
Imp, to engraft, insert, 603
Impacable, unappeasible, 277, 493
Imperceable, not able to be pierced, 69
Implore, entreaty, 106
Imply, to enfold, entangle, envelop, 30, 70, 191
Importable, intolerable, 122
Importune, violent, savage. 73, 123 ; full of troubli
173 ; to threaten, 157 ; to solicit, 342
Importunely, with importunity, 119
Impresse, to make an impression, 140
Improvided, unprovided, nnlooked for, 77
In, inne, dwelling, lodging, 15, 148, 171, 547
In, 'in . . . /wte'=fall upon, 163
Incontinent, forthwith, immediately, 39
Indew, to put on. 191, 212
Indifferent, impartial, 163, 341. Indifferently, fan
partially, 431, 492
Indignaunce, indignation, 219
Indigne, unworthy, 233
Indignify, to treat with indignity, 364
Inferd, offered, 399
Infest, to make fierce oahostile, hostile, 377, 390
Influence, the power of the stars, 53
Informed, formed imperfectly, 188
GLOSSARY.
723
Infuse, infusion, 599
Jngate, entrance, 280, 499
Jngowe, ingot, 112
Inholder, inhabitant, 431
Inly, inwardly, 161, 164, 220 ; entirely, 459
Inquest, quest, adventure, 1 63, 298
Inquire, to call, 183
Insolence, unconrteonsness, 555
Insolent, rude, 180
Inspyre, to breathe, 94
I>tsu'th=ensu'th, follows, 91, 567
Intend, to stretch out, 72 ; to denote, name, 424 ;
direct one's course, 101
Intendiment, intention, 77,224 ; knowledge, 185, 499
Intent, purpose, 82
Intereste, interest, 426
Interlace, to intermingle, interweave, 308, 421
Intermed/e, to intermix, 4
Intimate, to communicate, 372
Intreat, to prevail upon, 90
Intuse. contusion, 185
Invade, to come into, 191
Inrent, to find out, 183, 302
Invest, to put on, 254
Ii-kes, wearies, 264
Irkesome, tired, weary, 17
Irrenotemed, inglorious, 82
Jacob's staff*, a pilgrim's staff. 42, 543
Jade, a horse, 157, 395 ; a scolding woman, 143
Jarre, quarrel, variance, 89
Jasp, jasper, 538
Javel, a worthless wretch, 515
Jeopardie, jeopardy, danger, 101
Jesses, strips of leather tied round the legs of
hawks, with which they are held upon the fist,
379
Jollie, jolty, handsome, pretty, lively, 11, 160, 233
Jolliment, jollitee, jollity, joyfulness, prettiness, live-
liness, 286, 367, 460
Jollyhead, jollity, 415
Jott, speck, small piece, 63
Journall, diurnal, 71
Jovial, bright, sunn}', 150
Joy, to rejoice, be glad, enjoy, 159
Joyaunce, joyfulness, merriment, 226
Joysaunce,jouisaunce, joyonsness, 458, 480
Juncates, junkets, 316
Kaies, keys, 281
Kearn, kearne. See Kern
Keepe, heed, care, charge, 10, 467, 484 ; to take
care, protect, ' heedie keepe' = watchful care, 339 ;
keepinge, guard. 459, 481
Ki-i<jM, caught, 166
Keind, combed, 327
Ken, to know, try, 597. Kend, tent, knew, per-
ceived, known. 74. 121, 195, 360, 552,460. Kenst,
didst know, 44!>, 4-r>2
Kern, an Irish foot-soldier, 640
Kerne, a fanner, 468
Kerte, to cut, 230
Kfsir, emperor, 112
Jfttt. cast, 71
Kestrell-tynd, base nature, 92
Kind, nature, 167.283; sex. 163; occupation, 96.
Kindly, natural, 50, 161, 209
Kitmd, kindred, 461
Kirtle, a coat fastened at the waist, 30
Knee, projection of rocks, 58
Knife, a sword, dagger, 103
Kon, know, 552. Kond, knew, 326
Kydst, knewest, 485
Kynded, begotten, 320
Lackey, to follow as a servant, 367
Lad, led, 154, 225
Lade, to load, 322
Laesie, lazy, 448
Laid, attacked, 277
Loire, plain, 273
Lamping, shining, 168, 573
Lanck loynes, slender waist, 189
Langurous, languid, 81
Lap, lappe, to fold, entangle, 94, 187
Larded, fattened, 449
Lore, pasture, 270
Large, bountiful, 50
Latched, seized, caught, 453
Launce, balance, 194
Launch, to pierce, 84, 261, 366
/.,i<; r. a basin, 151
Lay, field, lea, plain, 201, 214
Lay, cry, 83
Lay, to throw up, 145
Lay, law, 136
Layd, faint, 477
Laye, laity, 459
Laystall, a dunghill, aplace for the deposit of filth, 3rt
Lazar, leper, 27
Lea, field, 449
Leach, a physician, 170, 179
Leachcra/t, medical skill, 170
Leake, leaky, 398
I^eanu, lean, 468
Leap, a basket. 486
Leare, lore, counsel, 219, 245. Leares, lessons, 196
Leasing, lying, falsehood, 43, 130, 140
Least, lest, 350
Leave, to raise, 134
tedden, dialect, speech, 287, 556
Lee, river, 302, 496
Leese, to loose, 474
Lefte, lifted, 95
Legierdemain, sleight of hand, 339, 519
Lete, leaky, 36
Leman, a lover, 45, 105, 165
Lend, to give, provide, 131
Lengd, longed, 401
Lenger, longer, 14
Lepped, did leap, 453
Ltre, to learn, 484 ; lore, 461, 557
Lesinges, lies, 461
Lessoned, instructed, 193
, to listen, 362
Let, to hinder, 45, 85, 183; 'let 6*' = away with.
93 ; hindrance, 50, 143. 231
Level, to direct one's course, 148
favin, lightning, 187, 467. Levin brand, thunder-
bolt, 426
Leicd, ignorant, wicked, foolish, 450. Leirdly. fool-
ishly, 270, 448
Leirdnesse, wickedness. 181, 310
l.ibbard, leopard, 41, 94, 168, 166
Lich, like. 196
Lief, tie/e,dear, beloved, 25, 56 ; willing, 207 : ' Heft
8A2
724
GLOSSARY.
or sory'= willing or nn willing =lief or loth, 365, |
424: (comp.) liefer, 58, 99, 158; (snperl.) liefest,
213, ' liefest liefe' = dearest loved one, 166
Liege, lord, master — one to whom faith has been
pledged, 393. Liegeman, a vassal, one who owes
homage to a liege lord, 92
Liful, living, full of life, 417, 588
Lig, liggen, to lie, 381, 459, 460
Light, easy, ready, 161 ; to lighten, 185 ; befall, 353
Lightly, quickly, 761
Lignage, lynage, lineage, 40
Like, to please, 114
Like as, as if, 316
Likely, similar, 598
Likelynesse, likeness, 331
Lill, to put out the tongue, 36
Limbeck, retort, 432
Limehound, a bloodhound, limer, 302
Lin, to cease, 14, 36, 171, 202, 547
Lift, to desire, like, 125 ; (impers.) please, 164, 278.
Listful, attentive, 299
Lite, lyte, alight, befall, 387, 395
Livelod, litelood, livelihood, 311, 372
Lively, lifelike, living, 125, 159, 200
Livelyhed, livelyhead, livelihood, 86 ; living original,
125 ; motion of a living being, 393
Lieerey, delivery, 381
Loathly, loathsome, 232, 351
Loft, height, 16
Lome, clay, loam, 403
Lompish, dull, slow, 16, 181, 225
Long, to belong, 32, 174, 367
Loord, lout, 195, 446
Loos, fame, 419
Loose, to solve, 350
Lope, leapt, 453
Lapp, branch, 448
Lore, learning, teaching, fashion, 91, 246, 287 ;
speech, 354
Lore, lorn, left, deserted, 27, 228 ; lost sight of, 347
Loring, learning, 331 .
Lorrel, losell, lozell, a loose idle fellow, 92, 378, 467
Lose, to loosen, 224
Lusen, to set loose, 193. Z<wVe=loosed, dissolved, 176
Lot, fate, 365 ; share, 250
Lothfull, unwilling, unpleasant, loathsome, 180
Loup, loop, 126
Lout, lowt, to bow, to do obeisance, 65, 93, 214, 238
Lovely, loving, 25, 238, 246 ; lovingly, 246 ; lovely,
of love, 261, 394
Lover, an opening in the roof to let out the smoke,
411
Lug, a perch or rod of land, 132
Lumine, to illumine, 602
Luskishnesse, sluggishness, 364
Lutt, pleasure, desire, 251, 290, 480; to desire,
please, 113
Luster, a glittering, sheen, 353
Lustlesse, feeble, listless, 29, 181, 364
Lusty, pleasant, 449
Lustihede, lustyhed, lusty-head, pleasure, 216, 459,
532 ; pleasure (of youth), 460
Lymiter, a friar licensed to beg within a certain
district, 513
Lynage, lineage, 12
Lyne, linen, 535
Lyte, to alight, light, befall, 387
Lythe, pliant, 449, 507
Mace, sceptre, 132
Macerate, to tear, 505
Madding, foolish, 455
Mage, magician, 170
Magnes-stone, the magnet, 145
Mail, mayl, male, armour, 237
Maine, mayne, force, 44, 50, 141 ; ocean, 197.
Maine/y, maynly, strongly, violently, 40, 158
Mainsheat, mainsail, 356
Maintenaunce, condition, 199
Maisterdome, maislery, mastery, superiority, 106,
158, 234
Maistring, superior, controlling, 194, 274, 604
Mate, to write poetry, 441
Make, companion, mate, 44, 218, 238
Malefice, evil deed, 523
Malengine, ill intent, deceit, guile, 161
Malice (pret. malist), regarded with malice, bore
ill-will to, 406, 534, 601
Maligne, to grudge, 179
Mall, club, mallet, 49, 257 ; to maul, 318
Maltalent, ill-will, 181
Mand, blocked up with men, 417
Manie, many, company, multitude, 75, 292, 353
Manner, kind of, 279
Mantle, to rest with outspread wings, 369
Mard, spoilt, injured, dishonoured, 159, 214
Marge, margin, bank, 102, 274
Margent, margin, 178
Marie, ground, soil, 143
Marishes, marshes, 345
Martflled, hammered, 198
Martyr, to afflict, torment, 263
Martyrize, to devote as a martyr, 554
Maike, to conceal oneself by means of a mask (as
at a masquerade), 43, 174
Masse, wealth, 206 ; material, 283
Massy, massive, 214
Male, to stupefy, confound, arnate, 55
Matchlesse, not to be matched, 232
Mattgre, maulgre, in spite of, a curse on! 103, 179
220, 234 ; unwillingly, 299
Mavis, thrush, 588
Mayntenaujice, behaviour, 474
Mayslerdome, superiority, 301
Mazed, amazed, confounded, 234, 261
Mazeful=amazeful, wonderful, 589
Mazer, a kind of hard wood (probably the maple;
150; a bowl made of maple, and richly orna-
mented, 470
Me, ' he cast me down ' (1. 244), 260
Health, melteth, 57
Mean, middle, moderate, moderation, 113, 159,419;
means, 228 ; ' by meaner,' because, 399
Meanesse, humble birth, 372
Meanly, moderately, 513
Meare, pure, 143 ; boundary, 210
Mear'd, divided, shared, 529
Measure, moderation, 401
Medteicart, meadow-wort, 121
Measured, sang, 148
Measurelesse, boundless, 503
Meddle, medle, to mix, 86, 445
Meed, reward, 515
Meere, absolute, entire, 608
Meint, mingled, 482
Melampode, black hellebore, 4€7
Veil, to intermeddle, 14, 430
GLOSSARY.
725
Veiling, meddling, 358, 468
Memories, services for the dead, 517
Memorize, to commemorate, 502
Menage, to manage, guide (a horse), 47 ; to wield
(arms), 128 ; management, 226
Mtndes, amends, 82
Mene, means, 342, 387
Merit, purposed, meant, 227
Ment, joined, united, 18, 317
Merciable, merciful, 474
Mercie, mercy, thanks, favour, 103 ; thank yon, 82
Mercify, to pity, 394
Merimake, meryment, merry-making, sport, 108,
161,409,458
J/ery, pleasant, cheerful, 105
Mef prise, mesprize, contempt, insolence, 116, 207,
248 ; mistake, 147
Mem, to confine, secrete, 95, 206, 226 ; prison, 105,
114, 585 ; den, 339
Meynt, mingled, united, 467
Mickle, much, great, 97, 177, 211
Middest, midst, 251 ; midmost, 28
Mieee, to move, 293
Mincing, affected, 90
Mind, to call to mind, 87
Mindlesse, unmindful, 269
Minim,', a trifling song, but properly a musical
note, 410
Minii/n'nts, trifles, toys, 268
Mineon, a favourite, 90
Minisht, diminished, 72
Mirke, dark, ' to mirke' — \cry obscure, 474
Mirkesome, dark, 35
Mix, to sin, err, 95, 206
Misavized, ill-advised, misinformed, 164
Miiaymed, ill-aimed, 50
Miscall, to abuse, 155, 270
Mischalenye, false challenge, 242
Misconceipt, mistake, 257
Miscounselled, ill-advised, 513
Miscreant, unbeliever, 34
Miscreated, ill-formed, 116
Miscreaunce, false faith, misbelief, 124, 459
Misdeem, to deem amiss, misjudge, 73, 360. Mis-
deeming, misleading, 18. Misdempt, misjudged,
misweened, 214
Misdesert, crime, 362
Mitdid, failed, 250
Misdiet, over-eating, 29
Misdight, ill-dressed, 331
Misdonne, to misdo, 206
Misdoubting, fearing sadly, 376
Miser, wretch, 80
Mitfeign, to feign wrongfully, 26
Mis/are, misfortune, 352
Mit/aring, evil doing, 556 ; misfortune, 268, 270
Misgone, gone astray, 468
Misgovemaunre, misrule, 459
Misguyde, trespass, 376, 600
Mishappen, happen amiss, 24
Mishapt, misshaped, 196
Misleeke, mislike, to dislike, 305. 460
Misregard, misconstruction, 270
Missay, to say to no purpose, uselessly, 418 ; abuse,
speak ill of, 260, 474
Misseem, to be unseemly, to misbecome, 203
Misseeming, unseemly, wrong, 57, 90 ; deceit, 49
Misshape, deformity, 357
Misshapen, deformed, 140
Mister, sort of, manner of, 57, 182, 468
Misthought, mistake, 273
Mistooke, suspected, 219
Mistrayne, to mislead, 353
Mistreth, signifies, matters, 199
Misusage, abuse, 468
Misweene, to think amiss, 79
Misicende, to go wrong, 513
Mizzle, to rain in little drops, 482
Mo, moe, more, 59, 222
Mochell, much, 449, 470
Mold, mole, spot, 418
Moldwarp, mole, 556
Molt, melted, 102
Mome, blockhead, 428
Moniment, mark, stamp, 112 ; record, 131
Monoceros, sea-unicorn ( ? sword-fish), 147
Moorish, morish, marshy, 288, 607
Moralize, to cause to be moral, 153
More, root, plant, 430
Morion, helmet, 432, 535
Morrow, morning, 306
Mortal!, deadly, 89
Mortality, the estate of mortal man, 60
Most, greatest, 286
Mostwhat, generally, 556
Hot, mote (pi. mo/en), may, must, might, 191, 236,
267
Mott, measured, 553
Mought, might, 452
Mould, to moulder, 96 ; shape, form, 27
Mountenaunce, space, distance, 202, 220
Moves, insulting grimaces, mouths, 396
Moyity, half, 148
Moyle, to defile, 601
Muchell,much, great, 32, 40, 197, 214
Muck, wealth, 113, 214
Mucky, sordid, vile, 113, 206, 405
Mumming, masking, 520
Munificence (munifience), fortification, defence, 133
Mured, walled, enclosed, 421
Mute, to wonder, 82 ; wonderment, 77
Musical! , music, 458
Must, new wine, 433
Myndes, resolves, 101
Mysttrie, profession, trade, 514
Namely, especially, 434
Napron, apron, 318
Narre, nearer, 467
Nas, has not, 459
Native, natural, 325
A'athelesse, nathless, none the less, never the lees,
161,264
Nathemoe, nathemone, none the more, never the
more, 57, 97, 102, 184, 421
Ne, nor, 14
Neat, cattle, 402
Needments, necessaries, 551
fiempt, named, 214
Nephewes, descendants, grandchildren, 35, 122, 177
Net, rtett, pure, clean, 226, 401
Nethelesse, nevertheless, 442, 444
Neicell, a new thing, 461
Niyardise, niggardliness, miserliness, 269
Nigh, to approach. 452
Niyhly, nearly, 467
726
GLOSSARY.
Will, will not, 183, 219 ; trill or nill, willing or un-
willing, 27 ; ' milled,' nn willing, 264
Niinblesse, nitnbleness, 340
Jiip, to slander, 519
Nobilesse, noblesse, nobleness, nobility, 52, 441, 465
Nominate, to name, affirm, 67
Xones, nonce, occasion, 539
yoriture, nurture, nurture, bringing up, 91
Nurteyses, Norwegians, 172
Not, note, wot not, know not, knows not. (It some-
times seems to stand for ne mote=could not), 173,
192, 226, 293, 306
Nothing, not at all, 107
Notifye, to proclaim, 228
Nought, not, of no value, 128
Nould, would not, 40, 374, 394
Noule, the bead, pate, 433
Nourice, nurse, 491
Noursle, nousle, to nurse, foster, rear, 41, 297, 380
Nousling, nestling, burrowing, 288, 550
Norell, news, 449
Noyance, noyaunce, annoyance, 224
Noyd, noyed, annoyed, 63, 72, 160
Xoyes, noise, 245
Noyous, annoying, disagreeable, injurious, 37, 73
Noysome, hnrtfnl, 407
Nycely, carefully, 225
Nye, to draw near, 461
Nyt, is not, 460
Oaktr, ochre, 491
Obliguid, oblique, 435
Obsequy, funeral rite, 86
Oddes, advantage, 368
Of, off, 460 ; upon, 247 ; by, 112, 118, 285 ; of all,
above all, 407
Offal, that which falls off, 92
Offend, to harm, hurt, 151, 379
Of new, recently, 416
Ofspring, origin, 138
On, one, 489
Onely, chief, especial, 80
Ope, open, 246
Opprest, taken captive, 153
Or, ere, before, 517
Ordain, to set (the battle) in order, 133
Order, to arrange, 128 ; rank (of army), 127
Ordinaunce, arrangement, 128 ; ordinance, artillery,
141
Oricalche, a kind of brass, 532
Origane, bastard marjoram, 21
Other, left, 97, 358
Otherwhere, elsewhere, 150
Olheriehiles, sometimes, 212, 230
Ought, owned, 31, 123, 521 ; owed, 160
Outbarre, to arrest. 138
Outgo, to surpass, 253
OuOtured, let out for hire, 295
Outlaunced, outlaunched, 533
Out-learn, to learn from, 270
Outrage, violence, outburst, 90
Outstrained, outstretched, 507
Outtceace, wear out, 239 ; pass, spend, 227
Outirell, to gush or well out, 13 ; (pret.) outitelde, 509
Outicent, surpassed, 454
Outwin, to get out, 232
Outirind ( =outwin), to get out, 307
Outicrest, wrest out. discover, 99
Outtrrought, completed, passed, 118
Overall, everywhere, 72 ; all over, 69
Overbore, overthrew, 251
Overcame, overspread, 194
Overcawjht, overtook, 266
Ocercratf, to crow over, insult, 59, 449
Overdight, decked over, covered over, overspread,
117,271,554
Overgo, to overpower, surpass, 300, 471
Overgive, to give over, 173, 515
Overgrast, grown over with grass, 474
Overhaile, to draw over, 447
Ocerhent, overtook, 133, 307 ; overtaken, 184, 195
Overkest, overcast, 189, 494
Overlade, to overwhelm, 356
Ooerplast, overhanging, 82
Over-raught, overtook, 376
Over-red, read over, 223
Overpasse, pass over, alleviate, 373
Overren, to over-run, oppress, 302
Oversee, to overlook, 129, 515
Oversight, escape (through having overlooked a
danger), 38
Ocersicim, to swim over, 172
Overbore, overthrow, 251
Overthwart, opposite, 284
Overture, an open place, 466
Ocertcent, overcome, 452
One, to own. See Ought
Otech, a socket of gold to hold precious stones, a
jewel, 19, 63, 177
Oicre, ore, 112, 177
Otczell, blackbird, 588
Oyitrige, ostrich, 141
Pace, pose, step, pass, passage, 27, 157
Packe, to pack off, 424 ; a burden, 368
Paddock, toad, 484
Paine, payne, labour, pains. 141 ; punishment, 114 ;
'did him ,paine'=took pains, exerted himself,
355
Paire, to impair, 48
Paled, 'pinckt upon gold, and paled part per part,'
366 = 'adorned with golden points or eyelets,
and regularly intersected with stripes. In he-
raldry a shield is said to be parted per pale when
it is longitudinally divided by a pale or broad
bar'
Paled, fenced off, 33
Pall, to subdue, moderate, 3] 1
Pall, a cloak of rich material, 318, 467
Panathcea, panacea, 85
Pannikell, skull, crown, 184
Paragon, paragons, companion, equal, 233, 253, 283;
rivalry, 174
Paramour, a lover, 456
Paravaunt, first, beforehand, 164, 558 ; in front,
408
Parbreakf, vomit, 13
Pardale, panther, 41
Parentage, parent, 134
Parget, plaster, 538
Part, party, 249 ; depart, 24
Partake, to share, 98
Parture, departure, 205
Pat, passe (passing, surpassing), to surpass, exceed.
28, 63, 108, 177, 235, 308
Patiion, suffering, 20, 268. / 'assumed, affected
GLOSSARY.
727
with feeling, be grieved. Passionate, to express
feelingly, 75
Patchocke, clown, 636
Patronage, defence, 122. Patroneue, a female de-
fender, 65
Pounce, paicnct, pansy, 159, 221, 456
PaTone, peacock, 223
Payne, to take pains, exert, 28
Payse, to poise, balance, 132
Pealing, appealing, 429
Peare, pere, equal, 369
Peasant knight, base knight, 374
Peaze, blow, 165
Peece, fabric, fortified place, as a castle, ship, ic.,
66, 141, 149, 212, 302
Peeced, imperfect, 477
Peere-tree, pear tree, 453
Peinct, to paint, 449
Peise, peize, to poise, weigh, 301, 557
Pen, to confine, restrain, 302
Pendants, ornaments (of wood or stone) hanging
down from a Gothic roof, 279
Penne, feather, 69
Penurie, want of food, 318
Percen, to pierce, 47
Perdu, perdy, pardieu, truly, 42, 65, 93, 205
Peregall, equal, 470
Perforce, of necessity, 92
Perke, pert, brkk, 448
. Perlous, perilous, 157, 196, 228, 282
Persant, persaunt, piercing, 65, 94, 208
Perseline, parsley, 534
Persant, piercing, 208
Personage, personal appearance, 165
Persue, a track, 185,
Pert, open, plain, 474
Perveyaunce, provision. See Purveyaunce
Petronell, a kind of blunderbuss, 622
Pesaunt, a peasant, 96
Pheere=/ere, companion, 564
Physnomy, countenance, 430
Pictural, a picture, 130
Pigfit, fixed, placed, fastened, 22, 186, 449
Pill, to spoil, plunder, 300, 524, 531
Pine,pyne, sorrow, grief, 58 ; to waste away through
torment, 65 ; 'pined ghost,' a spirit wasted away
(through torment), 168, 267 ; done to pine, caused
to die, 384
Pinnoed, pinioned, 313
Pitteous, compassionate, tender-hearted, 136
Place , ' of place,' of rank, 269
Plaine, playne, to complain, 186, 219, 220
Plaintiffe, plaintive, :!!">
Platane, plane tree, 12
Pleataunce, pleasauns, pleasure, delight, 20, 450 ;
objects affording pleasure, 150
Pled, pleaded, 342
Ptesh, a shallow pool, plash, 123
Plight (p. p. plight), weave, plait, fold, 107, 208,
395 ; a plait, fold, 94, 340 ; condition, 208, 233
Ply, to move, 233
Poise, poyse, weight, force. 73, 356
Point, poynt, to appoint, 273, 292 ; a whit, ' '.opoynt '
= exactly, 164
Poke, a pouch, 263
Poll, to plunder, 300
Pollicie, statecraft, 135
Porctpucet, porpoises, 552
Port, parlance, porlaunce, demeanour, bearing, 92,
93, 116, 165, 204, 222
Portesse, breviary, 29
Possesse, to accomplish, 174
Potshares=potthards, fragments of broken vessels,
365
Pouke, a goblin called Puck or Robin GoodfeUow,
590
Pouldred, powdered, spotted, 44, 165 ; reduced to
powder, 530
Pounce, claws, talons, 70, 315
Pound, weight, balance, 'new in pound '= anew in
the balance, 303
Pourtralied, drawn, 128
Pourtraict, pourtraiture, portrait, image, 40, 94,
155, 253 (vb.), 442
Pousse, pease, 470
Poynant, piercing, sharp, 4fi, 122, 156, 242
Poyse, weight, 303 ; force, 73
| l*ractic,practicke, treacherous, deceitful, 77 ; skilful,
242, 364
Prancke, to trim, deck, adorn, adjust, 28, 90, 92 ; a
malicious trick, 298
Praunce, to prance, 44
Pray, to be the prey of, 410 ; to make a prey of,
312
Preace, prease, to press, 76, 242, 424 ; a press, crowd,
22, 116, 250
Preere, to prove, 525
Prefard, preferred, 238
Prefixt, fixed beforehand, 351
Prejudice, foresight, 130
Prepense, to consider, 219
Presage, to tell or point out, foresee, 66
I'resence, reception-room, 28
President, precedent, 310
Prett ready, prepared, 122, '244 •
Pretend, to attempt, 141 ; to stretch out (or over),
offer, 378, 414
Prevent, anticipate, 365, 398
Price , to pay the price of, atone for, 35, 58 ; value, 63
Prick, to ride hard, to spur on quickly, 298 ; point,
centre of target, 145, 474
Prickett, a buck, 484
Prief, priefe, proof, trial, experiment, 53, 56, 63, 85,
99, 380
Priere, to prove, 314
Prime, pryine, spring time, 21, 153, 192 ; morning,
128
Primitias, first fruits, 517
Primrose, chief rose, 449
Principle, beginning, 348
Prise, adventure, 399
Price, privy, secret, 474. Privitee, privitie, private
life, 98 ; intimate relation, 252
Procure, to arrange, entreat, 155
Prodigious, ominous, 231
Pro/tut, to present the appearance of, 387
Proine, proyne, to prune or trim the feathers, 666
Project, to throw forward, 365
Prolling, prowling, 474
Prolong, to postpone, 248
Prone, subjected, 165
Proper, own, peculiar, 187 ; proper good, own pro
perty, 299
Protensf, a stretching out, 169
Prove, to experience, try, feel, S61, 268, 306
Provokement, a provoking, 247
728
GLOSSARY.
Prew, brave; (superl.) Protcest, 31, 34, 171. Prowes,
prowess, 56
Prune, 95. See Proine
Pryse, to pay for, 285. See Price
Puddle, a small stream, 500
Puissant, powerful, 286
Pumie, pumy stones, pumice stones, 1?6, 453
Purchase, to obtain, to get, wia (.honestly or other-
wise), 93, 456
Purchas, purchase, property, booty, robbery, 24, 93,
413
Purfled, embroidered on the edge, 19, 94
Purport, disguise, 161
Pitrpos, purpose, conversation, discourse, 20, 75,93,
163, 201, 230 ; 'to purpose,' to the purpose, 101 ;
to speak as ' purpose diver fly ' — to speak of various
things, 146
Pursuivant, a pursuer, 518
Purvay, to provide, 93, 355
Purveyaunce, provision, management, 75, 156, func-
tion, 159, 223
Pattocte, a kite, 317
Pt/ne, pain (of hunger), 318 ; torment, 65
Pyoning, diggings, work of pioneers, 138
Quaile, to cast down, defeat, conquer, 98, 165, 203 ;
perish, 481
Quaint, nice, fastidious, 194, 230
Qualify, to ease, soothe, 111
Quarle, quarrel, a square-headed arrow, 142, 143
Quarrie, quarry, prey, game, 144, 197, 315
Quart, quarter, 133
Quayd, quailed, quelled, subdued, 50
Queane, a worthless woman, 270
Queint, quaint, 478 ; ' queint elect,' oddly chosen,
196
Queint, quenched, 103
Quell, to kill, to subdue, 116, 411 ; to perish, 434 ;
to abate, 452 ; to disconcert, frighten, 307, 356
Queme, to please, 458
Quest, expedition, pursuit, 199, 262
Quich, quinche, to stir, move, 341, 670
Quick, alive, 84 ; 'some quicke'= something alive,
452
Quietage, quietness, 246
Quight, to set free, 50 ; to requite, 186
Quilted, padded, 102
Quip, a jeer, taunt, 519 ; to sneer at, taunt, 395
Quire, company, 401
Quirt, a quip, 618
Quit, quite, quyie, to set free, to requite, repay, 19,
556 ; to return (a salute), 14, 62; freed, removed,
33, 67, 231 ; ' quite dame,' to release, 367
Quoote, quaked, 214
ftablement, a rabble, troop, 36, 75, 141, 525
Race, to raze, 154, 172 ; to cut, 317 ; raced, erased,
340
Rod, rode, 301
Rod, perceived, 206, 361. See Read
Raft, bereft, 14, 470
Ragged, rugged, 36
Raile, rayle, to flow, pour down, 43, 123, 181, 222,
237
Rain, rayne, to reign, 37 ; kingdom, 114, 180, 244
Rakehell, loose, worthless, 352
Ramp, tear, attack, 26, 35 ; leap, 421
Ranck, fiercely, 92 ; vigorous growing, 466
Randon, random, 202, 458
Ranckorous, sharp, 450
Ranke, fiercely, 256
Rape, rapine, 263
Rascal, raskall, low, base, worthless, 141, 22'J, ".."3
Rase (pret. rast), to erase, 153, 232
Rash, to tear violently, hack, 237, 307. Rafhiy,
nastily, suddenly, 162, 227, 237. Rash, quick, 132
Rate, to scold, 207
Rate, allowance, 269 ; order, state, 284
Rath, early, soon, 171, 467. Rather, early-born, 449.
Rath, mound, 642
RaugM, reached, extended, took, 41, 156, 249
Raunch, to wrench, 471
Ravin, ravine, plunder, prey, 32, 69, 263
Ravishment, ecstasy, 404
Ray, to defile, soil, 84, 203, 379, 540
Ray, array, 305, 351
Rayle, to flow, 237, 540. See Raile
Rayle, abuse, 234
Rayne, kingdom, 367
Rayons, rays, beams, 538
Read, reede, advice, 296, 369 ; motto, 280 ; proverb,
466 ; prophecy, 293
Read, reed (pret. rod, red), to know, declare, ex-
plain or advise, discover, perceive, suppose, 13,
14, 42, 52, 67, 107, 117, 164, 171 ; regard, 113, 374
Recedifye, to rebuild, 136
Reallie, to reform, 425
Reames, realms, 187
Reare, to raise, take up or away, steal, 108, 202,
212, 217 ; excite, 156 ; to rouse, 233
Reason, proportion, 88
Reave (pret. reft, raft), to bereave, take away
(forcibly), 26, 120, 141, 201
Rebuke, conduct deserving of reproof, rudeness, 161
Rebutte, to cause to recoil, 19, 73
Rechlesse, reckless, 521
Reclayme, to call back, 355 (sb.), 213
Recorde, to remember, to call to mind, 293, 455
Recoure, recover, recure, to recover, 243, 251
Recourse, to recur, return, 4 : ' had recourse' =did
recur, 300 ; return, 208, 260
Recoyle, to retire, retreat, 62
Recuite, recule, to recoil, 352, 363
Red, redd, declared, described, perceived, saw. 48,
67, 107, 117, 190, 216. 282, 429, 589. See Read
Redisbourse, to repay, 244
Redoubted, doughty, 206
Redound, to overflow, flow, be redundant, 23, 41
279
Redress, to reunite, remake, 36 ; to rest. 256
Reeil, to deem, 112. Reede, read, to advise, 13, 86
Reek, to smoke, 474
Reele, to roll, 198
Refection, refreshment, 294
Rtft, bereft, taken violently away, 152, 179, 236.
See Reave
Regalitie, rights of royalty, 86
Regarde, a subject demanding consideration or at-
tention, 115 ; value, 413
Regiment, government, command, 131, 172, 551
Rtke, to care, reck, 466
Relate, to bring back, 205
Release, to break loose from, 86 ; to give up, 237
Relent, to give way, to slacken, relax, soften, 190,
194, 237
Relidt, to ally, join, 277
GLOSSARY.
729
Relive, to recover, revive, live again, 60, 178, 200,
414, 481
Remeasure, to retrace. 195
Rmudilesse, without hope of rescue, 36
Remercy, to thank, 141
Remorse, pity, 198
Rencounter, to encounter, meet in battle, 31
Renfierced (renfient), made more fierce or=ren/ortt
= reinforced, 124
Ren/orst, reinforced, enforced, made fresh effort,
Renne, to run, 455, 470
Renverse, to reverse, overturn, 31, 310
Repent, repentance, 226 ; to grieve, 205
Repining, a failing (of courage), 19
Replevie, a law term signifying to take possession
of goods claimed, giving security at the same
time to submit the question of property to a
legal tribunal within a given time, 294
Report, to carry off, 83, 132
Repritf, reproof, shame, 57, 169, 176
Reprive, to deprive of, take away, 85
Reprire, reprieve, 294
Reprize, to retake, 144, 248
Requere, to require, demand, 41
Request, demand, 90
Requit, requited, returned, 246
Reseize, to reinstate, to be repossessed of, 136
Resemble, to compare, 213
Resemblaunce, look, regard, 195
Retiant, resident, 288
Respect, care, caution. 356
Respondence, correspondence, reply (in music), 152
Respyre, to breathe again, 98
Restlesse, resistless, 346
Restore, restitution, 184
Resty, restive, 336
Retourn, to turn (the e\es) back, 93
Retraite, picture, portrait, 94, 125
Retrate, a retreat, 94, 244, 284
Retyre, retirement, 406
Revel, a feast, 159
Revengement, revenge, 234
Reverse, to retnrn, to cause to return, 168, 175
Revest, to reclothe. 82
Rtvilement, a reviling, abuse, 98
Revoke, to recall, withdraw, 220
Revolt, to roll back, 220
Rew, rue, to pity, to lie sorry for, to lament over,
repent, 37, 172, 185
Rew, row, 189 ; ' in retr' in order, 499
Rtbauld, rybaitld, a loose impure person, ribald, 81
Richesse, riches, 115
Ridling, skill, skill in explaining riddles, 223
Rife, ryfe, abundant, abundantly, much, frequent,
166, 185, 242, 249. Rifelye, abundantly, 485
R\ft, split, broken, 114 ; gap, fissure, fragment, 20,
145, 243
Rigor, force, 184. Rigorous, violent, ?26
Rine, rind, 449
Ring, to encircle, 361
Riotise, riotize, riot, bxtravagance, 159, 228
Rivage, bank, 259
Rire, to split, tear, 156, 305r
Rizt, to come to, 131
Rocke, distaff. 240
Rode, raid, incursion, 400
Rode, roadstead, anchorage for ships, 78
Rang, rang, 162
Rontes, young bullocks, 448
Koode, a cross, crucifix, 385
Rosiere, a rose tree, 127
Jtoimarine, a sea-monster that was supposed to
feed on the dew on the tops of the sea rocks, 147 •-
rosemary, 534
Rote, a lyre, harp, 132, 275
HUH/I s, rolls, records, 394
Roundle, a roundelay, a kind of song, 471
Rout, crowd, troop, 127, 305
Rove, to shoot (with a sort of arrow called a rover),
11, 161,320,471
Rowel, the ring of a bit— any small moveable ring,
Roteme, place, space, 59, 183
Jtoumded, whispered, 214
Rotcndell, a round bubble (of foam), 178
Rowze, route, to shake up, 69, 95
Royne, to mutter, 341
Rabin, Rubine, the ruby, 94, 150
Ruddock, redbreast, 588
Rue, to grieve, 20, 343
Ruffed, ruffled, 165, 501. Ruffin, disordered, 30.
Ruffing, ruffling, 213
Ruinate, to ruin, 146, 346 ; ruined, 522
Ruing, pitying, 343
Rulesse, lawless, 509
Ruth, pity, 17, 182. Ruthfull, piteous, 465
Rutty, rooty, 605
Ryfe, frequent, common, 466
Ryve, to pierce, 185
Sacrament, oath of purgation taken by an accused
party, 299
Sacred, accursed, 53, 149, 354
Sad, firm, heavy, grave, 23, 61, 84, 89, 122
Saine, tayne, to say (pi. say), 435, 460, 481
Sake, cause, 34
Sale, a wicker net (made of sallows or willows;,
484
Salew, to salnte, 260
Saliaunce, onslaught, 83
Salted, leapt, sallied, 392
Sallow, willows, 266
Salvage, savage, wild, 23, 133, 173, 215, 251, 341
Salue, to salute, 121
Salve, to heal, save, remedy, 133, 250, 320
Salving, salvation, restoration, 82
-Sam, together, 66, 460
Samite, silk stuff, 225
Sample, example, 467
Sanguine, blood-colour, 201
Sardonian, sardonic, 339
Saufgard, guard, defence, 102. Saveyard, to
protect, 205
Saulge, sage, 534
Saw, word, saying, proverb, sentence, 558
Say, a thin stuff (for cloaks), 30, 224
Say, assay, proof, 417
Scald, scabby, 54
Stand, climbed, 424
Scarabee, a beetle, 537
Sfarmoges, skirmishes, 109
&caiht hurt, harm, damage, ruin, 77, 169, 212, 485,
577
Scatter, to let drop, 86
. » vagrant, 138, 624
730
GLOSSARY.
Scerne, to discern, 385
Schuchin, scutcliin, escutcheon, shield, device on a
shield, 177, 233, 242, 353
Scolopendra, a fish resembling a centipede, 147
Scope, aim, 482 ; dimension, 210 ; ' aymed scope,'
a mark aimed at, 372
Scorse, to exchange, 131, 207
Scorse, to chase, 402
Scould, scowled, 90
Scnene,scrine, scryne,skreene, a cabinet for papers,
a writing desk, 11, 131 ; entrance of a hall, 340
Scrite, shriek, 379
Scruze, to squecee, crush, 144, 151, 185
Scryde, descried, 358
Sdeigne, to disdain, 160, 161
Sea-shoitldring, having shoulders that displace the
sea, 147
Sear, to burn, 70 ; burning, 69
Sease, to fasten on, seize, 72
See, seat, 282
Seelde, seldom, rare, 69, 570
Seely, simple, innocent, 39, 92, 192, 466
Seem, ' nought seemeth' = it is not seemly, 460
Seeming, apparently, 226
Seemlesse, unseemly, 302
Seemly, in a seemly manner, 123 ; comely, 148 ;
apparent, 226
Seemlyhed, a seemly appearance, 269
Seene, skilled, experienced, 239, 442
Seew, to pursue, 209
Seised, taken possession of, 76
Seisin, possession, 381
Selcouth, seldom known, rare, strange, 269
Sell, seat, saddle, 87, 92, 156, 175, 250
Seiriblaunce, semblaunt, semblant, likeness, appear-
ance, phantom, 82, 150, 167, 168, 181, 195, 282 ;
cheer, entertainment, 378
Sence, feeling, 259
Seneschall, governor, steward, 231, 343
Sens, since, 254
Sensefull, sensible, 381
Sent, scent, perception, 16, 180, 196, 257
Sere, sear, 446
Serve, to bring to bear upon, 137
Set by, to esteem, 262
Several!, diverse, 24
Sew, to follow, 88, 113, 180, 186, 402 ; to solicit, 294
Seyne, to say. See Sayne
S/iade, to shadow, represent, 327
Shallop, sloop, 197
Shame, to feel shame, to be ashamed, 147
Shame/as', modest, 318
Shamefusliiesse, modesty, 308
Shard, division, boundary, 110 ; cut, 297
Sfiare, portion, piece, 19 ; to cut, 237, 297, 317
Shayres, shires, 135
Sheare, to cut, divide, 109, 178, 256
Sheare, shere, bright, clear, 218
Sheares, wings, 119
Shed, to spill life blood, to kill, 115
Sheene, shene, bright, shining, clear, 81, 90, 162, 180
Shend (pret. shent). to disgrace, defile, abuse, re-
proach, shame, 17, 81, 102, 120, 181, 206, 235,
467, 607
Shere, to cleave, divide, 106
Shere, bright, clear, 167, 259
Shew, mark, track, 23
Shidder (generally explained as she), but if not a
corruption of thider (thither) must mean
deer, she animals, 475
Shield, ' God shield,' God forbid, 466
Shine, shyne, a bright light, 67 ; bright, 242
Shiver, to quiver, 235, 237
Shole, shallow, 427
Shonne, to shun, 161
Shape, shaped, framed, 320
Shot, advanced (in years), 324
Shriche-owle, shriek owl, 491
Shriech, shriek, 379
Shrieve, to question (shrive), 293
Shrifts, confessions, 517
Shright, a shriek, 118, 377 ; to shriek, 203
Shrike, shriek, 494
Sftrill, to give out a ringing, shrill sound, 401, 48] I
a shrill sound, 495
Shrilling, shrill, 33, 203, 239
Shriving, confession, 517
Shroifde, to take shelter, 449
Sib, sibbe, akin, related, 395
Sich, such, 196, 171
Sicker, sure, 452
Sickernesse, security, safety, 223
Siege, seat, 90, 116
Sield, cieled, 318
Sient, scion, 296
Sight, sighed, 85
Sign, watchword ; representation, picture, 232
Sike, such, 460
Silly, simple, innocent, 42, 194, 216
Simplesse, simplicity, 467
Sin, since, 417
Singults, sighs, 219, 500
Sinke, hoard, deposit, 14
Sited, placed, situated, 191
Sith, sithe, sythe, time, since, 37, 124, 215, 534, 549
Sithens, since, since that tin*, 32, 37, 55, 111, 573
Sithes, times, 447, 191
Sits, is becoming, 14, 459
Skean, a dagger, 631
Still, to signify, to be a matter of importance, 31
Stippet, a little boat, 146
Slacke, slow, 190
Slake, to slack, 169, 332
Slaver, slobber, 357
Slight, sleight, device, trick, 46, 234, 339
Slipper, slippery, 482
Slombrv, sleepy, 190
Slug, to live idle, 82
Sly, subtle, clever, 124
Srnirke, neat, trim, 449
Smit, smote, 19, 348 ; smitten, 166, 231
Smot, smote, 158 ; smitten, 167
Smouldry, smouldring, suffocating, 102, 220
Snag, a knot, 142, 263
Snaggy, knotted, covered with knots, 44
Snags, knots, 263
Snaty-tcrealhed = (?) snakc-ywreathed, snake-en-
twined, 425
Snar, to snarl, 420
Snarled, twisted, 225
Snebbe, to reprove, snub, 449
Snib, to reprove, 516
Snub, knob (of a club), 50
Soare-falcon, a falcon of the first year, 602
Sold, pay, remuneration, 126
Solein, sad, 460
GLOSSARY.
731
Solemnize, a solemn rite, 60
Somedele, somewhat, 484
Song, sang, 106
thinned, sunned, exposed to the sun, 447
Sonneshine, sunshiny, 446
Soote, sweetlv, 456
Sooth, true, truth, 460 ; truly, 170, 174, 277
Soothe, augury. 485
Sooth/y, soolhlich, truly, indeed, 164, 344, 367
Soothsay, prediction, omen, 205
Sops in trine, a kind of flower like a carnation, 458
Sort, company, 160, 561
Sort, ' in sort,' inasmuch as, 76
Souce, souse, sowse, to swoop on, as a bird does upon
his prey, strike, attack, 33, 133, 177, 243, 244,
•_>.•)<>. 256, 263 ; the swoop (of a hawk), 143 ; blow,
272, 313
Souse, to immerse, 25
Southsity, soothsay, 286. Southsayer, soothsayer, 33
Sovenaunce, remembrance, 107, 111, 124, 459
Sownd, to wield, 74. Sound =-swound, swoon, 112
Sowne, a sound, 105, 111
Soicst, struck, 250
Soyle, prey, 243
Space, to walk, roam, 240, 273, 297
Spalles, the shoulders, 109
Spangs, spangles, 290
Sparckle forth, to cause to sparkle, 159
Spare, sparing, niggardliness, 161 ; to save, 263, 459
Sparke (? an error for sparthe), a battle-axe, 676
Sparre, bolt, bar, 348
Speculation, sight, 603
Speed, ' evill speed,' misfortune, 254
Spell, charm, 452
Sperre, to bolt, shut, 347, 460
Sperse, to disperse, scatter, 15, 310
Spies, spyes, keen glances, eyes, 19, 159, 398, 401
Spight, displeasure, grudge, 161
Spill, to ravage, destroy, 27, 19D
Spilt, pieced, inlaid, 279
Spired forth, produced, 489
Spoil, to ravage, carry off, 1 14
Spanned, flowed out quickly, 277
Spot, to blame, 189
Spoused, espoused, betrothed, 60
Sprad, spread, 340
Spray, branch, 434
Spred, spredden, to spread over, to cover, 167
Sprent, sprinkled, 150, 237, 534
Upright, spirit, 310
Spring, a springa!, youth, 535
Springal, & vouth, stripling, 343
Spring-headed, having heads that spring afresh,
147
Sprang, sprang, 162, 175
Spume, to spur, 156
apyali, spy, 80
Spyre, to shoot forth, 187
Squib, a paltry trifling fellow, M6
Squire, a square, a rule, a carpenter's measure, 86
Stadle, a staff, prop, 40
Staine, to disparage, 544
Stale, decoy, bait, 80, 407
Stalk, a stride, 114
Stal'd, stolen, taken, 524
Stand:, weary, 473
Stare, to shine, 197
Stared, ' up itartd,' stood up stiffly, 227
Start, strong, stiff, 16, 84
Star-read, knowledge of the starg, 296
Startuppe, a wooden shoe, 451 (Glosse)
Slate, stately, 473
Stay, to hold, hold up, support, 220
Siayd, caused to stay, 372
Stayed, constant, 148
Stayne, to dim, deface, 99
Stayre, a step, 187
Stead, sted, stedd, station, place, situation, 51, 58,
72, 164, 223, 249
Stead, to help, avail, bestead, 126
Steale, stale, handle, 356
Steane, a stone (vessel), 434
Steare, a steer, 222, 261
Sted, place, condition, 357 ; steed, horse, 51. See
Stead
Sleedy, steady, 83
Steely=steelen, of steel, 297
Steemed, esteemed, 252, 410
Steep, to bathe, btain, 162
Steltlu, thefts, 24
Sterne, to exhale, 109
Stemme, to rush against, 237
Stent, to cease, stop, 98
Sterve, to die, 230 ; to starve, 591
Steven, voice, cry, 475
Stew, a hot steaming place, 72
Stie, to ascend, 278
Still, to drop, flow, trickle, 166, 266
Stint, to stop, cease, 176, 243 ; a stop, limit, 564
Stir, styre, to stir, move, incite, provoke, 102, 198 ;
to direct, steer, 80
Stole, a long robe, 76
Slomachous, angry, 121
Stomacke, temper, J16
Stond, attach, 141
Stonied, astonished, alarmed, 351
Stound, stotcnd. stand, a moment of time, 52, 63 ;
(a time of) trouble, peril, alarm, assault, 122, 158,
162, 255 ; effort, 485 ; a stunning influence, a
blow, amazement, 258, 261, 308, 532; stunned,
350, 568
Stound, astonishment, amazement, 563
Stoup, to swoop, 144
Stout, stubborn, bold, 174, 226
Sioure, stottre, tumult, disturbance, battle, passion,
fit, 18, 159, 163,446, 447 ; paroxysm, 173 ; danger,
peril, 26, 32
Straine, race, lineage, 271.
Straine, strayne, to stretch out, 114
Straint, grasp, strain, 301
Stroke, strook, 95, 98, 507 ; a streak, 98
Straunge, foreign, borrowed. -'-'"'
Strayne, to wield. 114 ; to embody in strains, 480
Strayt, a street, 116
Streight, narrow, strait, strict, 366, 583 ; close, 274
Streightly, straitly, closely, 122, 166
Streightnetse, straitness, 322
Strene, strain, race, 341, 387
Streae, distress, 136, 219
Strich, the screech-owl, 149
Strif-ful, stry/ull, contentious, 88, 164, 243, 2W
Stroken, struck, 367
Strand, strand, 196
Strong, strung, 604
Strati, to spread oat, display, 467
Stub, stock of a tree, 58
732
GLOSSARY.
Stud, itudde, trunk, stock, 452 ; shrub bush, 505
Sty, to ascend, mount, 70, 117
Subject, lying beneath, 70, 194
Submiae, submissive, 284
Subtile, fine-spun, 153
Subversl, subverted, 228
Succeed, to approach, 377
Successe, succession, 136
Sue, solicit. See Sew
Sufferaunce, patience, endurance, 235
Suffisaunce, abundance, 534
Suffixed, satisfied, 22
Sugred, sweet, 105
Supple, to make supple, 185
Suppress, to overcome, keep down, 398
Surbatf, to batter, 178
Surbel, bruised, wearied, 89
Surcease, to leave off, utterly to cease, 158, 178,
237, 304
Surcharge, to attack with renewed vigour, 277
Surcharged, heavily laden, 266
Surplusage, excess, 114
Surprise, to seize suddenly, 410
Surmount, to surpass, 131
Surquedry, pride, insolence, presumption, 148, 157,
211, 303
Survieic, surcew, to overlook, survey, 449
Suspect, suspicion, 39
Swain, swayn, a labourer, youth, person, 393, 453
Swart, black, 133
Siearve, to swerve, retreat, 62, 96, 156
Steal, did sweat, 305
Sway, to swing, brandish, wield (arms), 136, 162 ;
force, 317 ; a rapid motion, 147
Stoeard, sword, 244. 552
Steeath-bands, swaddling-bands, 379
Smelt, fainted, swooned, 263 ; burnt, 44 ; (? swelled,
220)
Swinck, labour, toil, 112, 474
Swinge, to singe, 70
Swote, sweetly. See Soote
Swound, swoon, 263
Sybbe, akin, related, 461
Syter, truly, 467
Syrlye, surly, 468
Table, a picture, 59
Tabrere, one playing on a tabour, 458
Tackle (pi. tackles), rigging, 78
Tadvaunce, to advance, 449
Taking, sickness, 456
Talaunts, talons, 72
Tamburins, small drums, 464
Tane , taken, 546
Tapets, tapestry, figured work, 535
Tare, tore, 197
Targe, target, 102
Tarras, terrace, 340
Tatsal gent, the tiersel, or male gosshawk, 180
Tassicage, to assuage, 448
Tatcdrie lace, a lace (girdle) bought at the fair of
St. Audrey or St. Ethelred, 456
Teade, a torch, 78. 535, 587
Teene (tene), grief, sorrow, pain, 58, 76, 86, 213,
543 ; affliction, 343. See Tine
Teene (? leene, lend, give), to bestow, 186
Tell, to count, 114. Teld, told, 365
Temed, yoked in a team, 178
Temeirise, like a team, 222
Temper, to govern, control, 525
Tempring, controlling, governing, 109
Tend, to wait on, 310
Tender, to tend, attend to, 193, 372
Terebinth, the turpentine tree, 467
Termelesse, unlimited, 600
Thee, to prosper, thrive, 83
Theeteryes, thefts, 222
Thelement, the elements, 449
The//, the elf, 452
Tlten, than, 43, 166
Thereto, besides, 158
Thetch, thatch, 515
Thether, thither, 307
Theited, behaved, mannered, 109,597
Thetces, qualities, manners, 55, 60, 83, 137
Thick, a thicket, 84, 453
Thilk, thilke, that same, this, 447, 450, 456
Tho, thoe, then, 13, 17, 158, 459. Tho, the, pi those
474
Thone, the one, the first, 445
Thorough, through, 246, 374
Throughly, thoroughly, 118, 307, 383
Thother, that other, the other, 145, 445
Thous=thou et, thou art, 466, 552
Thrall, to take captive, enslave, 85,219 ; bring into ,
subjection, constrain, 319 ; a slave, 38 ; enslaved, ,
417
Threat, to threaten, 179, 227. Threat/all, threaten-
ing, 227
Thresher, a flail, 325
Threttie, thirty, 448
Thrid, a thread, 240
Thrill, to pierce, 153, 166, 184, 213, 266. ThrUlant,
piercing, 70, 101
Thrut, to thirst, 42 ; thirst, 108
Thristy, thirsty, 64, 105
Throw, time, while, 180
Throw, throe, pang, 64 ; thrust, attack, 103, 123,
184, 244, 245
Thrust, to thirst, 89 ; thirst, 199
Thwart, athwart, 198
Tickle, uncertain, insecure, 178,431, 542
Tide, tyde, time, season, opportunity, 20, 190, 209
Tight, tied, 421
Timbered, massive (like timbers), 305
Timelesse, untimely, 570
Timely, seasonable, beautiful, 446
Tinct, coloured, 481
Tine, affliction. 294
Tine, to light, kindle, inflame, 14, 120, 195, 213,
Tine or teen, sorrow, grief, pain, 218, 245, 294
Tire, rank, train, 30
Tire, tyre, attire, dress, 54, 63, 86, 430
Titmose, hedge-sparrow, 480
To = for (as in to f rend), 14
Todde, a thick bush, 452
To/ore, before, 248, 387
Too, very, 449, 460
Toole, weapon, 95
Tooting, looking about, 452
Top, head, 46
Toren heare, torn hair, 563
To-rent, rent asunder, 263
Tort, wrong, injury, 74, 103, 164, 271
Tortious, injurious, wrongful, 88, 275, 337
Totien, to brandish, toss, 163
GLOSSARY.
733
Tottie, tolty, tottering, unsteady, 433, 449
To-torne, torn to pieces, 338
Tourney, to tilt, joust, 80 (sb.), 164
Touze, to tease, worry, 143
Toward, favourable, 99 ; approaching, near at hand,
156
To-<corne, worn out, 338
Toy, pastime, sport, 110, 151 ; to play, 629
Toyle, net, 500
Trace, to walk, track, tract, 196, 271, 374
Tract, trace, 420 ; to trace, 110
Trade, footstep, tread, 110; occupation, 148 ; con-
duct, 162
Traduction, transfer, 243
Traine, trayne, to drag along, trail, to allure, 390 ;
wile, deceit, snare, trap, 38, 57, 169, 212, 271 ;
track, 301 ; assembly, 3(13
Trametl, a net for the hair, tresses, 88, 208
Transfard, transformed, 221
Transmew, to transmute, transform, 47, 95, 159
Transmove, to transpose, 222
Trap, to adorn (with trappings), 120, 527
Travelled, toiled, 120, 527
Trarell, toil, 3!W
Trayled, interwoven, adorned, 316
Treachour, treachetour, a traitor, 31,81,99, 136,397,
524
Treague, truce, 90
Treat, to discourse, hold parley with, 202 (sb.), 231
•Treen, of trees, 46
Trenchand, trenchant, cutting, 70, 317
Trentalt, services of 30 masses, which were usually
celebrated upon, as many different days, for the
dead, 617
Trie, to experience, 492 ; prove, a daw trie- prove a
jackdaw or fool, 521
Trild, flowed, 153
Trim, neat, well-formed, 159 ; pleasing, 160
Trinall, threefold, 78
Triplicity, quality of being threefold, 78
Troad, trade, path, footstep, 211, 466, 474
Troncheon, a headless spear, 123, 242
Troth, truth, 81
Troublous, restless, 92
Troir, to believe, 303
Truncked, truncated, having the head cut off, 102
Truxse, to pack up, 216 ; carry off, 70, 264 ; a bundle,
460
Tryde, proved, assayed, 87
Trye, tried, purified, 302
Tiirmoild, troubled, 278, 541
Turney, an encounter, 258, 278
Turribant, turban, 288
Tiray, twain, two, 109
Tifighl. to twit, 323
Tvyfold, twofold, 35
Tynde, kindled, 265, 508
Time, grief, pain, 56. See Tint, Teen
Time, to come to grief, to perish, 289
Tyranne, a tyrant, 478
Tyrannesse, a female tyrant, 37
Tyranning, acting like a tyrant, 262
Tyre, to dress, attire, 282
Tyreling ? weary, 157, 395
Ugly, horrible, 59
Umbriere, the visor of a helmet, 160, 251
Unacquainted, unusual, strange, 63
Unhid, without a prayer, 60
Unblest, un wounded, 301
Unbrace, to unfasten, 97
Uncivile, wild, uncivilised, 112
Uncouth, unusual, strange, 13, 163, 215, 267
Uncrudded, uncurdled, 589
Undefide, unchallenged, 122
Underfong, to surprise, circumvent, 300, 465
Underhand, secretly, 289
Underlay, to diminish, 605
Undersay, to affirm in contradiction to anyone,
474
Undersong, burden (of a song), 471
Understand, to learn the cause of (or perhaps to
take in hand for purpose of arbitration), 24
Undertake, to perceive, hear, 309
Undertime, time of the mid-day meal, 195
Undight, to undress, take off ornameuts, unloose,
23,146,185,190,392
Uneasy, disturbed, 159
Uneath, tiuneath, unneuthes, vneth, scarcely, with
difficulty, uneasily, 58, 68, 106, 183, 211, 473
Unespyde, unseen, 159
Unfilde, unpolished, 196
Ungentle, uncourteous, 162
Ungentlenesse, base conduct, 182
Unguilty, not conscious of guilt, 165
Unhable, incapable, 29
Unhappie paine, unsuccessful labours (because there
was no heir to reap the benefit of their pains;,
380
Unhappy, unfortunate, 111
Unhastie, slow, 28
Unheale, unhele, to expose, uncover, 152, 253
Unheedy, unwary, 132. Unheedily, unheedingly,
280
Unherst, ' took from the heree or temporary monu-
ment where the knights' arms were hung,' 310
Unkempt, uncombed, rude, 214, 480
Unkend, untent, unknown, 286, 440
Unkind, unnatural, 167
Unkindly, unnatural, 132, 446
Unlast, unlaced, 365
Unlich, unlike, 35
Unlike, not likely, 320
Unmannurd, not cultivated, 132
Unmard, uninjured, 407
Unmeet, unfit, 193, 232
Unnethes, scarcely, 446
Unnoble, ignoble, 602
Unpurvaide of, unprovided with, 424
Unred, untold, 291
Unredrett, without redress, unrescued, 272
Unreproved, blameless. 1 1 :t
Unres(fulneste, uneasiness, 454
Unshed, nnparted, 266
Unsoote, unswcet, 485
i'nspidie, unseen, 188
Unstayd, unsteady, 363
Unthrifty, wicked, 30
Unthrtftyhead, unthrift, 147, 226
l'>i/ill', unto, 68, 482
Untimely, unfortunately, 319
Untrujtt, unbound. 566
Unvalued, invaluable, 584
Unwary, unwary, unexpected, 76
Una-are, un wares, unawares, unexpectedly, 34, 159 ;
unknown, 250, 452, 461
134
GLOSSARY.
Unweeting, not knowing, unconscious, 21, 22, 174
Umceldy, unwieldy, 51
Untcist, unknown, 165, 250, 297
Unwont, unaccustomed, 448
Unworthy, undeserved, 380
Unwreaked, nnrevenged, 219
Upbraide, upbraiding, reproach, abuse, 277, 352,
512
Upbrast, burst open, 416
Upbray, to upbraid, 101, 239 ; an upbraiding, 163
Upltild, upheld, 414
Uphoorded, uphoarded, 503
Upreare, to raise up, 83, 173, 235
Upryst, uprisen, 452
Upstare, to stand up erect, 149, 217
Up-start, start up, 97, 121
L'pstay, to support, 226
I'ptyde, tied up, 86
Upwound, knotted, 13
Urchin, hedgehog, 141
Usage, behaviour, 267
Usaunce, usage, 112
Use, to practise, 252 ; habits, 104, 218
Utmost, uttermost, outmost, last, 90, 147, 220, 379,
420, 603
Utter, to put out or forth, 452 ; outer, 90, 280
Vade, to go, 304 ; to vanish, 208, 529
Vaile, to lay down, 208
Vaine, frail, 240
Vaine, the poetic vein, 477
Vainesse, vanity, 538
Valew, value, valour, courage, 109
Valiaunce, valour, 93, 171
Variable, various, 182
Vaunting, advancing, 249
Vaunt, to display, 1 1>4
Vauntage, advantage, opportunity, 199
Vaut, a vault, 115, 128
Vaute, to leap, 519
Vauted, vaulted, 179, 555
Vaift, a vault, 509, 524
Vele, a veil, 12, 161
Vellanage, villinage, slavery, 139
Vellet, velvet, 460
Vtnery, hunting, 40
Vengeable, revengeful, deserving of revenge, 19, 99
Vengeinent, revenge, 265
Venger, avenger, 24
Ventayle, the place of the helmet, 165, 259
Vented, lifted up the visor, 160
Venteth, snnffeth, 449
Ventre, to venture, 265
Ventrous, venturous, bold, adventurous, 149, 239
Vere, to veer, 356
Vermeil, vermeill, vermeil, rermily, vermilion, 134,
160, 201, 277
Vertuous, possessing virtue or power, 154
Vestimrnt, vestmeut, 227
Vetchy, consisting of the straw of the vetch (tare),
475
Vild, vile, 38, 349
Vildly, vilely, 14, 27
Villein, base-born, low, 142
Virelayes, light songs, 480, 54G
Virginal, pertaining to a virgin, 127
Visnomie, visage, 311, 535
Vitall. life-giving, 81
Voide, to avoid, turn aside, to remove, 258, 395
Voided, cleared, 315, 395
Wade, to walk, go, 13
Wae, woe, 473
Wag, to move (the limbs), 299
Wage, a pledge, 31 ; to pledge, 114
Wagmoires, quagmires, 474
Waide, weighed, proved, 278
Waift, a waif, an article found and not claimed by
an owner, 294
Waite, to watch, 220, (sb.) 460
Wakefull, watchful, 16, 206
Walke, to roll, wag, 97, 225
Wallowed, groveling, 218
Wan, gained, 88 ; took, 110
Wan, pale, faint, 110
Wand, branch of a tree, 339
Wanton, wild, 190
War, worse, 474
Ward, to guard, 310, 466
Ware, wary, cautious, 43, 208
Wareless, unaware, 236 ; unexpected, 299 ; heedless,
318
War-habit, fit for war, 138
Wariment, caution, 243
Warke, work, 83
War-monger, a mercenary warrior, 214
Warray, warrey, to make war on, to lay waste, 37,
133, 136
Warre, worse, 271
Wasserman, a sea monster in shape like a man, 147
Wast, to desolate, lay waste, 234; wasted, 446
Wast/ull, barren, uninhabited, wild, 22, 112, 223 ; '
devastating, 446
Wastness, wilderness, 22
Water-sprinckle, waterpot, 225, 244
Watces, waves, 145
Wax, vex, to grow, 207, 241
Way, to weigh, esteem, 429
Wayd, went on their way, 237 ; weighed, deter-
mined, 230
Waylfull, lamentable, 179, 449
Wayment, to lament, 81, 501 ; lamentation, 178, 493
Wayne, chariot, 29
Weanell, a weanling, lamb or kid, 475
Weare, to pass, spend (the time), 15
Wearish, mischievous, evil-disposed, 256
Weasand-pipe, windpipe, 242
Weather, to expose to the weather, 315
Weaved, waved, floated, 311
Weed, clothes, dress, 11, 45, 94, 120
Weeke, wick, 134
Weeldelesse, unwieldy, 243
Ween (pret. weend), to suppose, expect, think, 14,
17, 58, 99, 251
Weet, ireeten, to know, learn, understand, perceive,
23, 92, 157, 163, 185. To weet=to wit, 193
Wetting, knowledge, 347
Weetingly, knowingly, 372
Weetlesse, unconscious, ignorant, 106, 165, 210
Weft, a waif, 309
We/if, was wafted, 108 ; avoided, 179 ; a waif, a
thing cast adrift, 215
Wel-away the while, alas the i/lme ! 473
Weld, to wield, govern, 229, 338
Welke, to wane, 14, 207, 447
Welkin, sky, heavens, 28
GLOSSARY.
Well, weal, 22 ; very (irell affectionate), 175
Well, to pour, 134. Well-head, fountain head, 113
Well-away, an exclamation of great sorrow, alas!
124, 473
Well-ieene, experienced, 306
}\'ell-theieed, abounding in moral wisdom, 449
Welter, to roll, 468
Wend, to turn, go, 273
Went, journey, course, 2-17, 386
Wetand, weasand, windpipe, 301
Wex, to grow, increase, become, 120, 196, 207
Wex, wax, 201
Wholly, marked with streaks, 29
What, a thing— homely, what homely fare, 402
What for a, what sort of a, 455
Wheare, where, place, 66, 177
Whelky, shelly, 505
Whelm, to overwhelm, 91, 98
Whether, which of two, 21, 801
While, time; 'Alas the whUel' = vroe worth the
time! 446
Whileare, trAifrre=erewhile, formerly, lately, 57,
190, 253
Whiles, vhilest, whilst, 292
Whimpled, covered with a wimple, 430
Whirlpool, a kind of whale, 147
Whitt, silenced, 435
What, hot, 86, 128, 198
Wliylome, formerly, 28
Wicked, vile (chains), 220
Wide, round-about, 414
Widder, wider, 475
Wight = wite, blame ; ' worthy wight ' = merited
blame, 464
Wight, person, being, 129, 140
Wight, active, 453
Wightly, quickly, 473
Wilding, a wild apple, 195
Wimble, nimble, 453
Wimple, to gather, plait, fold, 12 ; a covering for
the neck, veil, 76
Win (out), get (out), 232 ; come up to, 363
Wisartl, wizard, wise man, 28, 296
ll'i.v, irize, mode, manner, guise, 161, 165, 173
Wist, iciste, knew, 165
Witth, to bewitch,
Witehe, a reed, 464
Witf, leiten, wyte, to blame, twit, reprove, 147, 180,
229, 460
Wile/esse, blameless, 471
Wilh-hault, withheld, 140
Withouten, without, 359
Wittesse, senseless, foolish, 466
Witt, mind, intelligence, 149. Wittily, wisely, sen-
sibly, 130
Wo, woe, sad, 124, 233
Womanhood, womanly feeling, 402
Won (did won), be wont, 208
Won, wonne (wanning), dwelling-place, abode, 114,
156, 270, 375, 378 ; to dwell, 42, 117, 184, 369
Wondred, marvellous, 149
Wanned, were wont, 449
Wont, to be accustomed, 226
Woorf, mad, frantic, furious, 30, 35, 98, 277
Woodne*, madness, 220
Woon, to dwell, 504, 557
Word, motto, 251
Wore, passed or spent the time, 27C
Worshippe, honour, reverence, 12, 163
Wortls, to be, 109
Wot, wote, know, knows, 7, 59, 206, 449
Wotes, knows, 206. Wotett, knowest, 93
Woundlesse, unwounded, 477
Wowed, wooed, 412
Woxe, waxen, become, grown, 30, 180, 271
Wracke, wreck, destruction, violence, 88, 448 ; to
take vengeance, 261. Wrackfull, avenging, 405
Wrast, to wrest, 357
Wrote, did write, 227
Wrawling, mewing like a cat, 420
Wreak, vengeance, 53, 75; ruin, 198; to avenge,
take vengeance on, 93, 164
Wreak/all, avenging, 297
Wreath, to turn, 86
Wreck, destruction, 21
Wrett, to wrench, twist, 153 ; a wrenching, over-
turning, 144, 153
Wreit, the wrist, 33, 194
Wrethe, to twist, 13
Wrigle, wriggling, 448
Writ (pi. writtes), writing, a written paper, 76, 16"
Wroke, wroken, avenged, 104, 238, 265, 453
Wrye, awry, crooked, 448
Wall, will, 690
Wyde, turned away (cf. wide of the mark), 123
Wyte, wyten, to blame, 353, 516, 558
Y, as a prefix of the past participle, is frequently
employed by Spenser, as Y-clad, clothed, 12, 14.
Y-fraught, filled, 20, Sic.
Yale, gate, 460
Ybent, turned, gone, 180
Ybet, beaten, 248
Yblrnt, blinded, dazzled, 18, 456
Ybore, born, 177
Ycond, learnt, 461
Yelad, clad, 14
Ycleepe, to call, 550
Ycleped, called, named, 182
Ydle, empty, 33
Ydlesse, idleness, 369
Ydrad, yd red, dreaded, feared, 11
Yead, ytde, yeed, to go (properly a preterite tense),
68, 96
Yearne, to earn, 365, 392
Yeuen, give in, 455
Yfere, together, in company with, 54, 455
Yf retted, adorned, 165
Ygo, ygoe, gone, ago, 1 i>. 183
Yglaunst, glanced, glidttl, IDS
Yilde, yield, 138
Yirks, jirks, lashes, 395
Ylikt, alike, 30
Ylk, same, 471
Ymolt, melted, 220
Ympe, youth, 224. Sec Imp
Ympt, joined, 276
Ynd, India, 38
Ynne, abode, inn, 480
Yod, yode, went, 60, 112, 202
Yodest, didst go, 667
Y-jld, yielded, 219
I'oni, yonder, 420
Yond, outrageous, terrible, 196
Yongthly, youthful. r,:w
Youngling, young of man or beast, 66
736
GLOSSARY.
Youngth, yongth, youth, 480, 532
Younker, a youth, 231
Youthly, youthful, 95
Ypent, pent up, 446
Yplight, plighted, 91
Yra.pt in spright, rapt in spirit, 555
Yrkes, wearies, 204
Yron-braced, sinewed like iron (of the arm), 102
Ytame, together, 433
Ythrilled, did sound shrill, 550
Ytost, harassed, 463
Ytcit, certainly, truly, 82, 199
Yviut, ' had Ywist,' yaia after-regret ; literally ' had
I known ' (how it would have turned out), 521
Ywrake, ywroke, ywroken, avenged, revenged, 2f
285, 388
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